#like what a great whump opportunity to have them beat him up

[c4t1l1n4]

You know the brain rot is bad because I just watched Klaus (2019) and my immediate thought was to search AO3 for fics when I was done. Jesper is so whumpable, you don’t understand.

[imagine-darksiders]

A gentle touch.

[Strife/Reader]

Summary: Set three years after humanity is resurrected. Strife shows up unannounced in your bedroom in the middle of the night, which would have been rude enough without him getting blood all over your cream-coloured carpet.

Tags: Blood, injury, PTSD, knife, protective Strife, whump, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, sharing a bed ;), bandages and cleaning wounds, how not to administer first aid.

-----

You have the apocalypse to thank for turning you into such a light-sleeper. 

Even though the nights of sleeping with one eye open are far behind you and Earth is back on the road to a long and arduous recovery, you'll still jolt awake if your unconscious mind hears something scuttle beneath the floorboards of your freshly-restored home, and God forbid a tree branch should happen to scratch at the bedroom window...

Waking up with the feeling that your heart is three beats from bursting right out of your chest is exhausting, to say the least. And it isn't just you who suffers from the onset of hyper-vigilance.

It was a decidedly cruel consequence that the resurrected humans were able to recall their lives before the end of the world. Crueller still, they woke up to remember exactly how and where they eventually kicked the bucket, and of course, nobody knew that a significant chunk of time had passed at all since the end of the world and its rebirth.

They thought they were still in danger.

In one moment, all they knew was immense and excruciating pain, and then, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, they woke up again, screaming and writhing in the echoes of phantom pain that had occurred almost a century ago.

Three years down the line since ‘The Great Waking,’ and there isn’t a human alive who could claim that they’ve slept through an uninterrupted night.

------

The alarm clock on your bedside table has just ticked over to read '2:36am' when your eyes suddenly snap open and you fling yourself upright in bed, your spine ramrod straight and your ears ringing with a sharp, tinny note.

It isn’t a nightmare that wakes you. At least, not this time.

Worse.

It’s a sound.

An out-of-the-ordinary sound that isn't in keeping with the normal ambiance of your bedroom.

But where...? 

....It's coming from your window.

Tired eyes swivel to the curtains whilst your hand immediately flies out to blindly fumble with the drawer of your bedside table. Once your fingers find the cold, metal handle, you rip it open and plunge your hand inside, rummaging around until you feel the reassuring grip of your most precious possession.

Your trusty bread knife. Serrated edge, nine inch blade, perfect for cutting slices of toast in the morning and for tearing through the toughened hide of a hungry demon.

Peace between the Universe’s species had been declared once humanity was fully introduced to the connected realms, a decision that suited a vast majority of Creation. Hell, however, had offered up a fair amount of opposition to the notion before eventually conceding and agreeing – albeit begrudgingly – to honour the peace treaty alongside angels, makers, undead and the rest.

Even demon-kind knew not to incur the wrath of humanity's strongest and most ferocious protectors, the Horsemen.

But... there are always exceptions to the rule. Some demons just... hadn't gotten the memo.

It wouldn’t be the first time one of them had tried to make an assassination attempt on humanity’s envoy.

Heart in your throat, you grasp the knife securely in your dominant hand and peer through the darkness towards the window. 

Only a sliver of moonlight peeps through a tiny gap in the curtains. In another blink, the light suddenly disappears, and you know better than to assume that the moon has simply ducked behind a cloud. 

Something is standing at your window, blocking out the light.

You think you might actually be sick when you hear the sound again, claws scraping on wood – a sound you know all too well – well enough to send your head spinning into a panic.

Swallowing back the nausea in your throat, you brace yourself, instincts flicking between running for the door and knowing never to turn your back on a demon.

Sadly, the decision is swiftly taken out of your hands. Through the darkness and the deafening roar of blood rushing through your ears, you can make out the distinct sound of your window sliding slowly open.

The knife is a comforting weight in your hand. But it’s less than useless if you don’t calm down and try to remember the lessons that Death has taught you. If the eldest Horseman were here, he’d probably have berated you seven ways to Sunday by now for freezing up and missing an opportunity to better prepare yourself for an attack.

A dark silhouette pushes the fluttering fabric of your curtains aside and pulls itself halfway into your bedroom. 

Whatever it is, it’s big.

Breath catching in your throat, you clasp a handful of your duvet and get ready to fling it at the intruder as a distraction, hoping that it’ll be enough to buy you a precious few seconds to gain the upper hand. You've learned that humans are inherently weaker than demons, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned from Death, it’s that strength isn’t necessarily the deciding factor in any battle. You still have your wits. You only hope the demon has less.

Two luminous, golden eyes turn in your direction and you press yourself backwards into the headboard.

Several seconds drag by in perfect silence.

Then... 

“Hey.”

And just like, that tension leaves your body like a balloon deflating of air and you heave the loudest sigh you can muster, dropping the bread knife into your lap.

“Damn it, Strife! You about gave me a heart attack!”

With a 'whump,' you flop back against your pillows and take a second to breathe whilst one of the Four Horsemen drags himself the rest of the way through your bedroom window.

Strife.

It's only Strife...

Whilst certainly a dangerous being in his own right, you know you have nothing to fear from the Horseman who had all but appointed himself as your friend three, long years ago, all in an attempt to irritate his brother, Death, of course.

At least, at first.

Death was the one who pulled you from the dying Earth and preserved your life-force as you journeyed together on a quest to resurrect humanity, but after he made the jump to introduce you to his 'little' siblings, it had been Strife who'd taken a particular shine to you, and it had everything to do with a compatible, if terrible sense of humour.

That first meeting sparked what was sure to be an interesting friendship between the pair of you.

-----

“So, my brother went and got himself a human, huh?” Strife had teased, pointedly ignoring the withering look he received from Death to add, “Gotta say, I'm impressed, Kid. Didn't think anyone would have the inclination to willingly travel with my brother. But then, I guess...” He trailed off and you could almost see the smirk growing under his mask. “Deathperate times and all that, huh?”

At once, his siblings all groaned out varying noises of disapproval. Fury, the loudest, cocked her hip and shot Strife a frosty glower. “You are singlehandedly ruining our reputation, brother."

“She's right, you know,” you spoke up, trying not to flinch when all eyes snapped onto you once more, “That pun was pretty deadful.”

The brief, startled second of silence was soon blasted apart when Strife threw his head back and barked out a triumphant laugh, while Death slowly turned to look at you, utterly betrayed.

“Ha!” Strife's eyes positively gleamed with mischief, “You're right, human. Guess I should'a considered the reapercussions of a joke like that, huh?”

“I ought to have known introducing you two would be a mistake,” the eldest Horseman grumbled, earning a sympathetic look from War.

“Sorry, Death,” you said with a perfectly straight face, “You want us to get out of your scythe so you don’t have to look at us anymore?”

Strife had howled.

Death, however, merely heaved a long-suffering sigh. Fury's eyes all but rolled into the back of her skull and War just stood there, struggling to keep his lips from twitching at their corners.

And you had looked around at all of them, a little proud and blissfully unaware of what you'd just unwittingly signed yourself up for.

You'd had Strife's attention from that day on.

-----

Shaking off the fond memory, you tiredly will your mind back to the matter at hand.

You reach across your bed and drop the knife back into the drawer before leaning down and skirting your fingers over the wall in search of a switch. The next moment, there's a 'click!' and the room is illuminated by clustered fairy lights that you've draped around your ceiling, forcing you to squint blearily against the intrusion of light as Strife hauls his leg into your room.

“Honestly. How many times have I told you to use the door?”

“S'locked,” he grunts.

You're in the midst of rubbing your eyes to try and stimulate a little life back into your bones, so you miss the way he stumbles a few steps away from the wall and presses a gauntleted hand to his abdomen. 

“Yeah, it’s locked because it's-” You take a quick glance at the clock next to you. “-Two thirty in the morning! Strife, I’m supposed to be up at six to meet Ulthane! What do you need so badly that you'd-... Hey.. Are.. are you okay?”

At last taking a long, hard look, it suddenly occurs to you that the Horseman is... not entirely himself.

He's hunched over, his shoulders pulled in around his neck and his chest rising and falling in long, languid motions. The tattered cowl he wears around his neck hangs loose around his collarbones and it faces the very real threat of slipping off to the floor. At last, your eyes drop to the hand that's clamped over the left side of his abdomen and you blurt out a startled gasp.

In the paltry, pink glow of your fairy lights, you spot an unmistakably crimson liquid dribbling between his fingers, starkly contrasted against the steel-grey colour of his armour.

The next few seconds pass in a blur as you frantically begin kicking off your duvet and scramble out of bed, flying across the room to the Horseman's side.

“Strife! What'd you do!?”

“Oh, that's real sweet,” the Nephilim chuckles wryly whilst he collapses back against the wall and slides down it with a strained grunt, “Why're you – ung... assuming it's something I did?”

Without missing a beat, you snap, “This would hardly be the first time you got hurt because you're a wise-cracking jokester with a big mouth! Now tell me who you pissed off?!”

You drop onto your knees next to him and reach out, fingers hovering tentatively above his stomach. With your focus directed away from his helm, Strife doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes dart from left to right before they settle back on the top of your head.

“Ah, it was... just some demon, caught me slackin', that's all,” he shrugs, letting you carefully grasp his wrist and lift it away from his torso.

At once, fresh blood gushes from a deep gouge cut into in the dark, leather under-skin he wears beneath his cuirass and you yelp, slapping a hand over your mouth in abject horror.

The sound draws Strife's gaze to you and once he spots the shocked despair on your face, he gives himself a mental kick.

He hadn't meant to... He... doesn't like it when you’re scared because of him.

"Hey, no, no – I'm okay!” he rushes to reassure you, “Don't worry about this. I've had worse!”

“That's not the point, Strife!” you argue, dropping his wrist and carding your hands through your hair, “You're hurt now! And I don't – there's so much blood, and you-” Cutting yourself off, you squeeze your eyes shut and inhale deeply through your nose, willing your pulse to ease so that you can rationally address this situation. 

Another lesson Death had taught you - stay calm in a crisis. Panic kills.

Releasing a long, hard breath, you peel your eyes open again and nod, jaw set. “Okay. All right. I need to.. I need water. A-and I need to see the wound.”

The interrogation can come after you've dealt with... this.

“There's a bowl and flannel in my bathroom,” you announce, getting to your unsteady feet and gesturing towards Strife's cuirass, “Think you can get that off so I can have a look?”

Huffing out a breath of laughter, the Horseman winks at you suggestively and drawls, “An' here I was doin' things the hard way to get your attention. You know, you didn't have to wait till I got myself gutted before you asked me to take my armour off in your chambers.”

A wise-cracking flirt with a big mouth.

As exasperating as he is though, you don't mind it in the slightest.

This is your usual rapport, after all. A friendly back and forth interlaced with the occasional, flirtatious comment. At first, Strife had only initiated it because it drove an over-protective Death up the wall. The eldest Horseman had almost threatened to 'remove Strife's libido' until you'd up and flirted right back, distressing the old reaper even further.

It's funny. It's innocent. But right now, it's reassuring, if only somewhat, that Strife is behaving just like his shameless, old self.

Besides, you can give back as much as you get.

“Well, I had to wait for a good enough excuse,” you retort, “Couldn't come on too strong and risk scaring you off, now could I?”

In response, Strife just chuckles fondly and watches you turn and speed away to your ensuite, oblivious to the warm, soft glow radiating from his eyes.

In less than a minute, you're briskly striding back into the room, a dripping flannel in one hand and a bowl in the other, and he suddenly remembers that you'd asked him to remove his cuirass.

Mission failed.

But you don't even bat an eyelid to find it still in place, assuming that the Horseman can't get at the catches on the sides in his current state. 

In one, smooth motion, you drop down beside him once more and set the cloth and bowl nearby. “Here, let me help..”

The Horseman's pulse sputters when your tiny fingers reach around his torso and fumble with the buckles and straps that keep his armour securely in place. It doesn't pass his notice that your hands are trembling.

“Hey,” he calls, catching your eye for a moment before you go right back to fiddling with the cuirass, “This is nothin’, you know that, right?”

You only press your lips together and hum, clearly skeptical.

You're working fast and in almost no time at all, the straps have been released and you carefully take the Nephilim's broad shoulder, giving it a tug, guiding him to lean away from the walls so that you can start to peel the bulky armour off.

“Nng, hang on,” he mutters.

Reluctantly, you sit back to let him tug his chest piece loose before he simply drops it onto the carpet next to his legs with a dull 'clang.'

Exposed to the soft glow of your lights, your eyes are instantly drawn to the gaping wound that stretches in a horizontal line across the left side of his abdomen. It seems that something really has tried - and nearly succeeded - to gut him. Several inches long and goodness knows how deep, even against the iron-grey colour of his skin, the gash is alarmingly obvious and the blood far, far too noticeable for your liking. It still comes as something of a shock to learn that the Horsemen, barring Death, can actually bleed.

Wordlessly, you pick up the flannel and wring it out into the bowl of water, wondering if he'll mind that you didn't wait for the tap to get warm before you soaked it. It shouldn't surprise you that the Horseman doesn't protest or even flinch when you gently press the wet cloth to the bloodied skin around his wound, nowhere near the gash itself, not until you've cleared away some of the mess around it and determined its real depth.

You don't notice that his eyelids flutter closed once you press the cloth to his skin, nor do you see when their golden light fluctuates in contentment as the fingertips of your other hand press gently to his stomach, the pressure barely enough for him to feel, but enough to keep you steady whilst you daub at his drying blood.

It takes a formidable effort to suppress the shudder that nearly races up his spine. This is the first time he's felt your skin against his without a single piece of armour standing between you.

Creator, you're so soft! Just like he always imagined you would be.

“Jeezus, Strife,” you whistle, abruptly snatching his focus away from the soothing strokes of your silky fingers,“You've made a real mess of yourself. Why on Earth didn't you just go straight to Death? I thought he was the best healer in your family.”

The warm skin underneath your fingertips jumps as the Horseman puffs out a quick laugh, gazing dopily at your temple whilst you wipe at the edges of his wound with small, careful touches. 

“He is,” Strife readily agrees, “But the moody bastard wouldn't be nearly as gentle with me as you are.”

You blow an unimpressed huff from your nose and glance up at him in time to catch his lazy wink. “I can always press harder if you like?”

“Nah.” The Horseman settles himself more heavily against the wall, knocking his skull back against it and mumbling, “Just keep touchin' me all gentle like that. S'nice...”

Quite abruptly, the chatty Nephilim goes silent and the glow from his eyes that had illuminated your face only moments ago suddenly disappears.

“Strife?”

He doesn't respond.

“Hey, Cowboy! Don't you fall asleep on me, you hear?”

There's a long stretch of silence, then, “Won't,” he mumbles, cracking one eyelid open to peer down at you.

Harrumphing, you promptly turn back to the gash in his stomach and wipe the last of the dried blood off his skin, still far from clean, but at the very least, better than it had been.

“Right,” you declare, pulling away to stand up and drawing a decidedly petulant whine from the Horseman on your bedroom floor. “I'm gonna go get the first aid kit from downstairs.”

There’s a shift in his expression and something that hinges on alarm suddenly whistles through his blood.

“I won’t be long,” you promise, "Be right – Hey, woah! What're you doing!?”

Darting forwards, you hastily place your hands on each of Strife's broad shoulders, trying to push him back down as he grabs the window sill behind him and begins hauling himself up to his feet.

“What's it look like ‘m doing?” he answers gruffly, slouching forwards as if the weight of his own head is too much to keep aloft, “Comin’ with you”

Sputtering out a few, incredulous noises, you try to make him see sense. “I’ll bring the first aid kit to you! You need to rest! It's bad enough that you already climbed in through my second storey window!”

But Strife, stubborn as a mule and much, much stronger than you, isn't deterred by your protests. Grunting, he curls one arm over his stomach and takes a step forwards, ducking beneath your light fixture and standing to his full, imposing height.

Even with three years of companionship behind you, you’re still frequently taken aback at how effortlessly the Horseman can make you feel small and fragile when you stand close to him.

Knowing full well that you’ll never be able to force him down again, you allow your hands to slip from his shoulders and fall against your sides like lead weights. You aren’t sure why he’s suddenly so hellbent on following you, downstairs, of all places, but you don’t dwell on it, especially given that you’re far more preoccupied with the fresh blood that has already begun trickling out of his wound to replace the stains you’ve painstakingly cleaned away.

Puffing out your cheeks, you raise a hand and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Strife, please sit down?” You aren’t so proud that you won’t resort to begging, tired as you are and exasperated with his obstinate behaviour. “I’m worried about you...”

All at once, the Horseman stiffens. ‘Oh, now she’s fighting dirty,’ he muses to himself.

Gradually, you lift your eyes to meet his and try your very best to glare up at him, pinning him down with all the stern authority you can muster. For several, slow heartbeats, the Nephilim peers right back at you and you’re almost certain that you’ll lose this battle of wills, which is why it comes as such a shock when his fiery gaze falters, wavering slightly before it promptly drops to the floor near your feet.

It's... rare for Strife to be looked at by someone who isn't ashamed to show that they worry about him.

But the way you're looking at him now? Hell, the way you've been looking at him since he clambered through your bedroom window? You're practically broadcasting your concern.

Strife just... isn't used to seeing that. So he glances down instead, finding the fibres of your carpet particularly exhilarating tonight. Slowly, begrudgingly, he sinks down to sit on the edge of your bed, heavy enough that the frame creaks and groans under the weight of a fully grown Nephilim and he has to hold back a contented sigh at the softness beneath his legs.

From the corner of an eye, he can see that your jaw is hanging ajar and remains so until you give yourself a little shake and throw him a satisfied nod. “Thank you,” you huff before turning on your heel and striding purposefully from the room.

Strife listens raptly to your footsteps disappearing down the staircase, unaware that his hands have curled into tight fists around your duvet.

'It's fine,' he assuages the insistent voice at the back of his head, 'She's fine.'

He took care of the threat. That demon asshole isn't coming after his friend.

You’re only downstairs. He can already hear you pushing open the door to your little kitchen whilst the rest of his senses remain trained on the sounds and smells of the night.

It isn't as though something bad might happen just because his eyes aren't fixed upon you...

Frankly, he thinks he’s being more than generous to allow a full, Earth minute to pass as he taps his heel impatiently against the side of your bed.

Didn’t you say you’d be right back?

...

“Fuck it...”

-------

Perhaps, in hindsight, keeping your first aid kit on the top of the fridge hadn’t been one of your brightest ideas, given that you need a chair to reach it. Then again, securing immediate access to bandages and plasters hadn’t exactly been on the forefront of your mind when you were rebuilding your old home from the ruins it had been left in.

With a grunt, you drop your rickety kitchen chair next to the fridge and clamber up onto the seat. “I have got to find a better place for you,” you grumble at an apathetic first aid kit that sits gathering dust near the wall. Stretching your arm out, you manage to snag it by the handle and drag it towards you-

“The hell're you doing!?”

The violent jolt that shoots through you like lightening nearly sends you toppling off the chair. You let out a yelp, just barely catching yourself on the fridge with your free hand before you whip about to see none other than Strife silhouetted in the kitchen doorway.

“Wh- the hell are you doing!?” you retort, knitting your brows into a frown and clutching the first aid kit against your heaving chest, “Why aren’t you upstairs?”

The Horseman’s glowing eyes are fixed unsettlingly on the chair beneath your feet and rather than answer the question, he ducks under the doorframe and thunders towards you in a few, short strides, leaving you with no time to protest before he suddenly sweeps you up off the chair and into his arms, caging you against a solid chest.

At once, you begin to struggle. “Strife! Your wound! Put me down, you'll hurt yourself!”

But the Nephilim is hardly paying attention. His glare lingers on the flimsy, wooden chair legs for a moment before he flicks his gaze towards the large window above your sink, noting with no small degree of distaste that it isn't even shut.

It’s like you’re inviting danger in.

If you had any idea of the fate he and his siblings are currently trying to protect you from, you might just try a little harder to take better care of yourself.

“Hey!” you continue to protest against his hold but manage to refrain from jostling about too much, mindful of his injury. “For god's sake! What's gotten into you?!”

He offers little more than a noncommittal grunt in response and begins trailing back towards the staircase, casting brief glances at the french doors leading out onto your patio.

'Structural weakness,' he registers, 'Perfect point of entry for anything smaller than a Trauma...'

Shaking his head, he turns sideways to fit you through the kitchen door and takes the stairs up to your room.

After a second, he lowers his eyes to meet yours and finds himself meeting a highly unimpressed scowl. “What?” he asks, the very picture of innocence.

Raising your brows, you snap, “Don't you 'what' me! The hell is all this about? I told you to stay put!”

“You were takin' too long,” he shrugs.

“Too long!?” Indignant, you flick your wrist and rap the first aid kit against his collar bone, “I was gone a minute, max! If you were so worried about me taking too long to fix you up, then why are you moving around and making your injury worse!?”

The light of Strife's golden gaze dims and he turns his head away, staring up towards the top of the stairs and your bedroom door beyond. “S'not me m' worried about,” he mumbles.

It's such an about-face from his usual demeanour that you can do little but blink dumbly up at him and fall still against his chest, your mouth hanging agape.

In silence, the Horseman ducks through the door into your room and sidles over to the bed where, hesitantly, he lowers you down until you're sitting safely on the edge.

In the next moment however, just as Strife drops heavily onto the bed next to you, you slip away and settle on the floor instead, placing the first aid kit beside his boots and fumbling with the latches.

Despite blowing out a rough grumble of disapproval that sounds entirely too much like War for his liking, he lets you go.

Chewing on your lip, you stare at the contents for a moment before snatching up a pack of antiseptic wipes, tearing one out and bringing it up to his stomach.

“You want to tell me why you just exacerbated your injury to rescue me from my kitchen chair?” you ask him, adding as an afterthought, “This might sting a bit..”

When he doesn't reply, you glance up and quirk a brow at the underside of his chin, only to catch him peering back at you from behind heavy-lidded eyes. Then, with a weary sigh, he sags forwards and raises a hand to rub at the back of his neck, looking sheepish, of all things.

Unable to dispel your frown, you blindly begin brushing the wipe underneath his bleeding wound.

He doesn't even wince.

Strife tips his helm towards the bedroom window and slumps further backwards into your mattress, seeming so entirely out of place amidst the colourful duvet cover and frilly cushions.

“Okay,” he mutters, “I uh, I got a confession to make.”

Interest piqued, you make an acknowledging sound at the back of your throat and return your attention to his abdomen.

“Death didn't want us to tell you about this,” he continues quietly whilst you toss the now ruined wipe over your shoulder and pull out a fresh one, “And, to be honest, neither did I. We didn't want you to have to worry, y'know?”

You don't know. And you nearly ask him what you should be worrying about, but you soon let your mouth fall shut and settle for humming curiously instead, trusting that he'll tell you soon enough anyway.

There's a long pause, during which you find the courage to bring your fingers close to the edges of his wound and immediately have to withhold a gag when the motion sends another spout of blood oozing from the cut and dribbling down your wrist.

After a moment, Strife huffs and forges ahead, “Course, War and Fury did want to tell you-”

He's stalling, you realise belatedly.

“-War thinks you have every right to know. And Fury said there's nothin' for you to worry about anyway, cause we've got your back.”

“Fury said that?” you ask distractedly, dropping the wipe and rummaging around for a gauze pad. In response, Strife exhales, a tiny, hidden smile creeping onto his lips. “Fury says a lot of stuff about you that you don't know about.”

Gently, you unroll the gauze and press it against his wound. “Wow, you sure that's your sister?  Sounds like she might've been body snatched.”

“Ha!” The Horseman suddenly throws his head back. “Well, if she has been replaced, I sure as shit ain't going lookin' for the original. This Fury is... she's...”

He pauses, tipping his head in thought before eventually settling on, “She's learning.”

You blow out a long, impressed whistle and he nods his agreement, adding, “Yeah, s'weird for all of us too.”

The room lapses into silence once again as you stretch the gauze across Strife's abdomen and mutter, “Hold this,” before your hands are retreating and the Horseman's slide down to keep the bandage in place.

Reaching into the box once more, you take some bandages and begin to unfurl them gingerly over the top of the gauze. “Not hurting you, am I?”

You miss the soft expression he aims at the top of your head. “Never.”

You're more than aware that he probably won't tell you you've hurt him even if you were to stick your fingers in the wound twist them.

“Sooo~....?” you prompt.

Peering down at you, Strife cocks his head to one side and echoes, “Soooo?”

“What did Fury and War think I should know?”

“Oh. Right...” His reluctance is as painfully obvious as a slap to the face but you're slightly more focused on plunging your hand back into the first aid kit and rooting around for a roll of adhesive tape.

He observes you for a moment, growing more and more certain that despite your curiosity, you aren’t actually paying a great deal of attention to his words. Quite abruptly, he asks, “You listening?”

Emitting little more than a vague hum, you finally snag the tape and run your fingernail along the smooth surface, searching for the ever-elusive end.

“You sure?” Strife grunts skeptically, “Kid, this is kind of important.”

Without missing a beat, you nod your chin towards his injury and reply, “Yeah, well, you're kind of important too, buddy.”

Oh.

Oh, that's...

Strife wracks his brain, trying to pluck an appropriate response from amidst his tumbling thoughts. Part of him wants to scoff – of course he's important! He's Strife! The best, damn marksman who ever walked the realms of existence.

But then, there's another part of him that lurks deep behind the walls of hubris and brass he's been building meticulously for centuries, and it gives a little leap at the sound of your words, delighted beyond measure.

Averting his gaze, Strife lets out a chuckle. “You're getting soft.”

“Ah, I've always been soft.”

His heart thrums. “Wasn't talkin' about you, kid.”

You shoot him a smirk as you stick a piece of tape over the bandages covering his injury. “Well, if you're talking about yourself, then you're wrong again. You aren't getting soft. You've always been soft.”

The Horseman mutters something incoherent, but it's his distinct lack of an articulate response that speaks volumes to your ears.

The slight pressure of your fingers as they prod at the tape with tentative care leaves him mourning the centuries he's gone without knowing such a gentle touch. Rolling his eyes down to you, his smile droops and he sighs, sagging forwards to rest his elbows on his knees just as you attempt to place another strip of tape.

“Strife!” you complain, leaning back, “I need to put more tape on!”

He merely blinks at you languidly and says, “Later. I want you concentratin' on me right now.”

“I've been concentrating on you all night,” you huff, though you eventually concede and sit back on your haunches, peering up at the Horseman expectantly.

Studying your face for another moment, he breathes a long sigh and gestures to his stomach. "I told you a demon did this..."

“Uh huh...”

Solemnly, Strife continues, “So more specifically, it was a Shadow Caster. Been on her trail for a couple of weeks now. Finally caught up with her on some farmlands west of the city...” 

“Okay?” you nod, digesting the information, “And why were you on her trail?”

He hesitates, flicking his eyes between you and the window a few times before he quietly admits, “She was comin’ after one of my friends...”

“Who?”

The look he throws you is so pointed, you suddenly feel like a fool for missing the obvious.

“Ah.” Understanding, you slowly nod your head.

“Yup.”

“But, she's dead now, right?” You gesture to his wound. “You came straight here after killing her.”

Strife's eyes darken further and each time they try to land on your face, they seem to slide right off again and drop to the carpet. “Uh, yeah. She's dead.”

You heave a sigh. “She wasn't the only one who's after me.”

“... No..”

“I see.” Inhaling long and slow through your nose, you tip your head back and slap your hands on your thighs, rubbing at them anxiously as you gaze around the room. “So, do we know how many there are?”

The Horseman eyes you for several, silent seconds. Eventually though, he speaks up. “Got wind of a small group of about four of 'em. Demons mostly, one undead. You and I've got a mutual... uh, friend, who's been keeping his ears to the ground, and he reckons they’re aiming to provoke another war between Hell and Earth by killin' the human envoy.”

“Wow. Talk about sore losers,” you scoff humourlessly, “So, who is this mutual friend?”

Some of the tension bleeds out of Strife's posture once he notices that you haven't immediately flown into a panic. “C'mon kid,” he snorts, “You know I can't expose my source. He doesn't want you know that he cares about you. Thinks you might start askin' for discounts if you thought he was getting' soft.”

“Discounts, huh?” Your lips quirk up at their edges and Strife smacks a palm over his mask in mock distress.

“Ah, hell, I gave it away, didn't I?”

“I bet his name rhymes with Shmulgrim, doesn't it?” you laugh.

Chuckling, Strife leans back on his hands again and replies, “Hey, you came to that conclusion on your own. Technically, I never told you who my source was.”

With the atmosphere in your bedroom gradually becoming lighter and lighter, you follow the Horseman's lead and relax backwards onto your hands, stealing a surreptitious glance at the bandages adhered to his torso.

It's no longer as surprising as it used to be that Vulgrim is invested in the well-being of his 'valuable asset.' The Horsemen are perhaps his best clients, hence the vested interest in keeping himself in their good graces by looking out for their human ward.

Shaking your head with a knowing smirk, you push yourself up onto your feet and glance down at yourself, brushing off your pyjama shorts, only to grimace when your hands do nothing but smear Strife's blood all over the fabric.

“Sorry... for the mess.”

You raise your head at the sound of the Horseman's voice and find him glowering down at the stains he's dripped onto your carpet, his eyes hooded and glum.

Heaving a sigh that you hope conveys both exasperation and affection, you reach out and place your comparatively tiny hand on his shoulder to give the pauldron a reassuring squeeze, drawing his gaze back up to your face. “I don't care about the mess, Strife” you tell him matter-of-factly, “The carpet's just here to stop my feet getting cold in the morning. You're my best friend.”

Ever so slowly, his luminous eyes grow wide with wonder and he lets his jaw drop open to speak, but before he manages to utter a soft, 'what?' you give his shoulder a friendly jostle and add, “So long as you're okay, pal, that's the main thing. Now...”

Trailing off, you move back around the bed and let your fingers slide off the Horseman's arm, stepping up to the bedside table containing your pyjamas, oblivious to how swiftly and easily you've just swept the rug out from underneath Strife's feet. He twists himself around on your mattress to watch you, his eyes as wide as than dinner plates.

Did you mean to say... best?

He – well, he always knew that you considered him a friend! Hell, he'd even go so far as to say the two of you are close friends.

But best?

Best implies that there's nobody – nobody – that you hold in higher regard than him...

'How did I miss that!?' his psyche all but screams at him, 'When the Hell did I get so important!?”

You aren't even looking at him, too busy rummaging through your drawers, as if you have no idea that you've just pulled his heart right out of his chest and now you have it cradled in the palms of your hands.

You could crush the life out of him with hardly a word.

“So, you never did say!” you call out to him as you duck into your ensuite bathroom and flick the light on, hiding yourself from view whilst you change, “How does the master of marksmanship get tagged by a Shadowcaster in the first place? You’re not usually the type to get up close and personal. That’s more War’s thing, right?”

All at once, the threats that demon witch had made against you ring like klaxons in Strife’s head and he has to make a conscious effort to ignore his instinct to leap off the bed and barge into the bathroom just to be sure you’re safe. He hears the shuffling of fabric against skin as you pull off the bloodied shorts and begin to pull on the new ones.

Grinding his teeth, he spits out, “She just.. got me mad, is all. Made me wanna have the satisfaction of wringing her neck with my bare hands instead of filling her with bullets.”

“Wait, seriously?” Your silhouette suddenly appears in the bathroom doorway and and strife glances up, briefly enraptured by the halo of light glowing at your back. A fellow human might have likened you to an angel. Strife, however, knows that none of the feathery bastards could hold a candle to you. 

Garbed in clean shorts that smell distinctly of you, and not copper, you step out into your bedroom. “How’d a demon manage to make you mad? You’re like, the champ of not getting mad. It’s like your superpower.”

“Yeah, well..” he mutters, turning his helm away, “This time, she went too far.”

You’re quiet as you flop down onto the bed next to him, your eyes flicking between his downturned head to the fists that are clenched like vices at his sides, metal claws gripping fistfuls of your duvet so tightly, you’re worried he might end up poking holes in the cover.

Whatever had been said to him must have been bad if he’s this riled up.

Biting your lip, you let out a pensive hum and lean backwards, your fingers brushing over a soft lump near the headboard. At once, your eyes grow wide and your lips stretch into a sly grin as your hand closes over something fluffy and familiar.

Strife is still busy stewing when he’s suddenly brought out of his thoughts by a face that’s shoved promptly into his line of sight. He blinks, drawing his head away to properly see what you’re holding up in front of him.

He can’t contain a chuckle once he realises that it’s none other than your old, toy horse, dangling in front of him with its little, black ears flopping forwards to cover a pair of button eyes.

Allowing a smile to grace the edge of his mouth, the Horseman wordlessly relaxes his grasp on your duvet in favour of reaching out to gently take the soft toy out of your hands, lowering it down into his lap.

“I thought David Hasselhoof might make you feel better,” you tell him, bumping your shoulder against his companionably.

The Nephilim simply smiles, stroking his palm over the horse’s fuzzy mane.

“Hey, Strife?” 

“Mmm?”

You fiddle with your fingernail for a moment, dropping your eyes to the bed and taking a breath before you ask, “What did the demon say that made you so angry?”

It isn’t as though you want to pry. But having your friend turn up at your house in the dead of night with his stomach torn open warrants a couple of questions, in your honest opinion.

The Horseman’s brows knit together underneath his helm and he shifts slightly, twisting away from you further until you can’t even see the lights of his eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost dare to say that he looks shy. An impossibility, frankly.

When he speaks, his voice is gentle, a far cry from the normal, strident tone you’re used to hearing. “She, uh, she might’ve made a couple of threats about you.. Bad ones.” 

You wait for him to elaborate, but for some time, he doesn’t utter another word, prompting you to ask, “And?”

You very nearly reel backwards into your headboard when Strife whips around to face you. “And?!” he echoes, incredulous, “The Hell d’you mean ‘and?’ Isn’t that enough of a reason?!”

Taken aback, you lift your hands in a placating gesture and stammer, “Woah! I - I just meant... Well, it’s not like I haven’t been threatened before? Just seems like a weird thing for you to get so angry about.”

Without warning, the enormous Nephilim lurches to his feet, the cuddly horse left to tumble, forgotten out of his lap. “Did you not hear me?” he snaps, “She. Threatened. You!”

“A-and that... made you mad?”

“Did - Of course it did!” he all but howls, his voice cracking as it raises in pitch, “She made me listen to all the god damn, sick things she wanted to do to you when she found you! She said - she said, I’d never see you again!” Roughly, he drags his clawed fingertips through his spiky, black hair and exclaims, “Next thing I know, I’m droppin’ Redemption and Mercy, I’ve got her heart in my fist and I’m... I’m...” 

He trails off, knocked out of stride by his own admission. You remain silent, pressed up against your head board with the blankets clutched to your chest.

When he notices you staring up at him, small and wary amongst the sheets, the frustration saps from him like water circling the drain. “So... so yeah,” he huffs, his shoulders slumping and a great wave of shame crashing over him, “I got a little mad! I got a little pissed off. Cause I didn’t like hearin’ someone say they were gonna hurt my friend.”

And with that, he just... deflates, not unlike a punctured tyre. All the hot air inside him is dispelled with every heave of his mighty chest whilst he peers down at you, feeling the weight of your stare upon him. 

Guilt leaves a sour taste in his mouth, rancid and acidic.

You look so.. 

...scared.

Sometimes Strife forgets that to you, he’s an unassailable figure from biblical legend, a bringer of the end days and an ancient gunman with a body count higher than there are grains of sand on the earth. Of course you’re going to be scared of him when he’s raising his voice at you and towering over you like this. And all because he’d had the life scared out of him in the first place.

“I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to -” The words die on his lips and he sighs, defeatedly casting his eye over towards your bedroom window. He doesn’t want to leave you, not without knowing that his siblings have dealt with the remaining threats to your life. But... “I’ll just.. I’ll go.”

Turning his back on you, the Horseman bends to retrieve his discarded cuirass and takes a step towards the window, but a voice, thin as the cobwebs in the corner of your room, stops him in his tracks.

“Strife.” 

The Horseman doesn’t move. he just stares at the darkness through your curtains.

Minutes pass without another word said between you. He remains stubbornly silent, hardly daring to breathe let alone respond to his name, until eventually, he hears a soft huff and rustling behind him.

Footsteps pad across the room and your scent grows stronger as you draw near, wafting over him like an intoxicating aroma before your hand places itself into his palm and he instinctively curls his fingers around it, shuddering at the feel of your soft skin pressed like silk against his roughened hide.

Your tiny, fragile hand... Creator, he really is just a beast standing next to you, isn’t he? The last time he felt this monstrous was..

No. Strife abruptly slams the shutters of his mind down around any thoughts of the Animus. Now is not the time to let dredge up old memories.

Luckily, your voice breaks through the haze and keeps him grounded. “Come on, big guy. Stay here, please?"

“You want me to stay?” he chokes out a laugh, “Even after I scared you?”

“Scared me? What?” It’s your turn to sound confused. “You didn’t scare me Strife, you shocked me. I’ve never seen you this serious before.” 

The Horseman half turns to face you, giving you a glimpse of his warm, golden eyes. “And, I’ve never had a best friend before.” he admits slowly, hearing a soft intake of breath behind him.

“Wait?... I’m your best friend?”

With your hand still in his, Strife steps around slowly to face you, shooting you a quizzical glance. “Uh, yeah? I mean, I don’t exactly have a plethora of friends to choose from, so the competition isn’t that fie- Oof!”

He’s violently interrupted by a soft, squishy body colliding with his. 

You fling your arms around the stunned Horseman’s waist and bury your face into his chest, momentarily forgetting about his injury. Strife, meanwhile, has to employ every molecule of willpower he owns to refrain from flinching, fearing that you’ll let go if he does. He can’t ignore how high his heart just jumped at the feeling of you pressed against him, nor the way his soul soars after realising that you still trust him enough to get this close. 

It’s something that both he and his siblings are all having to get used to, these impromptu hugs. 

Fury had almost flipped you over her shoulder and onto the ground the first time you came at her with your arms open wide, assuming you were going in for an attack. 

War had pulled the most remarkable face, a mixture of alarm and wary delight that caused Strife to keel over in hysterics when you threw your arms around his broad stomach.

Death... Well, Strife hadn’t been around to witness your first hug with his oldest brother, but he imagines it must have been like hugging a block of cold stone.

And Strife? Well, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the first hug you gave him. It was so tight and comfortable, and for all of a moment, the only things that existed were the two of you. Inside the binding circle of your arms, his troubles couldn’t touch him, the anguish of his sins took a backseat and he became convinced that he could live happily and peacefully until the end of time trapped in your silent embrace.

The sentiment hasn’t dulled with frequency either. Every hug he receives is as powerful and intoxicating as the last. 

This one is no different. 

Strife's large, thickset arms carefully raise to your delicate back and shoulders, where he simply folds himself around you, pushing the nose of his helm into your soft, messy hair and drawing in a long, deep breath, earning your snort of amusement.

“You a big fan of coconut, then?”

“Is that what that smell is?” he mumbles, feeling the world settle around him as his eyes slip shut, “S'different from last time...”

“...Setting aside the fact that you remember what my hair smelled like last time we hugged.. I ran out of apple shampoo.”

“Mmm.” He trails off, humming into your hair, a sound that rumbles straight through you and leaves the top of your head tingling.

It takes your brain another few seconds to recall the injury on his torso.

“Oh, shit,” you hiss, leaning back and instantly finding your progress blocked by the Horseman's sturdy forearms. “I'm sorry, I didn't think -”

“- Eh, s'fine,” he cuts you off.

“It's not! I forgot, you need to be resting it!”

Strife grumbles his displeasure when you suddenly become very wriggly. “Strife, let go. You should be resting, not standing.”

Cracking one eye open, he roves his gaze over towards your bed. “Resting, huh? …. Not a bad idea.”

Without warning, he stoops down, and for the second time tonight, you find yourself suddenly swept up off your feet, bleating out a garbled squawk of alarm. “Stop picking me up! You'll start bleeding again!”

Smirking to himself, the Horseman takes two, loping steps towards your bed and lowers you down amongst the folds of the duvet, taking great pleasure in crawling over the top of you to get to the other side, armour and all. It isn't the first time he's rested in your bed, usually following a long night of playing your video games and catching up on all the human things he's been missing out on, and it likely won't be the last.

The bed springs creak despondently as he lifts his corner of the duvet and flops heavily onto his side next to you, grinning at the unimpressed glare you're shooting him.

“I like your bed,” he announces, burrowing himself deeper beneath the duvet, “You got a lot of pillows. And-”

His hand rustles beneath the covers for a moment before he winks... and slowly draws out David Hasselhoof, wiggling him back and forth in front of your eyes. “There's room for a threesome.”

“Oh my god. Goodnight, Strife!” Your lips quiver until you give in and crack a genuine smile, grabbing a pillow and whapping it softly down onto his helm. You get no resistance from the Horseman at all in retaliation. He merely lays there with his head hidden, black tufts of hair sticking out from behind your pillow as his shoulders bounce around a throaty chuckle.

Leaving him where he is, you roll over, turn off the fairy lights and plunge your bedroom into cozy, unassailable darkness.

A thick silence falls over the two of you, and the back of your neck begins to prickle, sensing without a shadow of a doubt that the Horseman's eyes are open and watching you. Sure enough, you peel your eyelids apart and find that your far wall is faintly illuminated by the golden light that emanates from his gaze.

Rolling your eyes, you resign yourself to a long night of fighting for your covers and kicking a wriggling Horseman back over onto his own side of the bed. And yet... if it's him, if it's Strife, it most likely won’t bother you in the slightest.

The alarm clock on your bedside table steadily ticks over to the three o'clock mark and you finally feel sleep crawl up behind your eyes. Just as you think you might nod off, however, the bed shakes ever so slightly, and behind you, there's the sound of shuffling sheets. It stops just as suddenly as it starts and you snort, chalking it up to a certain, restless Horseman trying to get used to the human-sized bed.

Several more minutes pass.

The shuffling starts up again, then it stops.

The same thing happens again a few more minutes later and your eyes snap open when something cool and solid nudges gently into the back of your head and you hear a quiet sniff before the whole bed shudders as the enormous Horseman laying upon it releases a monstrously low rumble of contentment.

-----

Strife leaves his helm right behind you all night, not that you'd know until the morning however, when you jerk awake to your bedroom door suddenly slamming open and Death thundering inside. He takes one look at his brother laying at your back and promptly begins a lecture that you're fairly certain will be the favoured topic of neighbourhood gossip for some time to come.

[supersilversleuth]

Your Words Aren’t Real (So Why Do They Hurt So Much?) by SuperSilverSpy

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Fandoms: DCU, DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Dick Grayson & Batfamily members, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson & Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake, Hurt Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson-centric, Dick Grayson Whump, Whump, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, I seem to be doing a lot of that these days…, Whumptober 2021, Mind Control, fear toxin, Hallucinations, anyway, Angst, SuperSilverSpy, SilverGrayson, SilverWhump, Taunting, Insults, ”who did this to you?”

Summary:

“Sometimes I wish you were my father, but I know you could never be. Bruce will always be my real father. You were just an inadequate stand-in.”

Dick choked, barely noticing the swift kick to his ribs before he was already stumbling back, ducking around Steph’s fist as he fought to regain his balance.

“You were a terrible brother,” said the voices of Jason and Tim. “All you ever did with me was make mistakes.”

OR Mind Control with a heaping of Angst

No. 3 - STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT… taunting | insults | “Who did this to you?”

Series:

Part 3 of 2021 Most Whumperful Time of the Year - Dick Grayson-centric

Language: English Words: 1,645 Chapters: 1/1

Nightwing awoke in a warehouse, surrounded by Batman, Red Hood, Robin, Spoiler, and Red Robin. They were all passed out on the ground, strange devices wrapped around their heads. They seemed relatively unharmed, not a bruise or laceration or twisted limb in sight.  He sighed in relief.

Looking around, Dick noted the absence of visible hostiles. He turned to Robin, who was closest to him and inspected the device around boy’s head; whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.  He felt along the smooth metal, searching (or feeling) for a way to remove it.

A moment later, several ding! sounds echoed in the warehouse, emitting from the head devices. Damian’s eyes opened, glowing a vibrant yellow. Dick backed up as the rest of his family began to rise around him. He knew mind control when he saw it, though that didn’t stop him from asking, “Uh…guys? You still in there?”

Their faces remained  expressionless as they turned threateningly towards him.

“Guess not,” he answered himself. “Looks like it’s just another exciting day in the life of the great and eternally stressed out Nightwing.”

He’d probably have to come up with yet another insightful and compelling speech to snap them out of it, par for the course for him at this point. Oh but how he wished it wasn’t. Every single time somebody in his family got brainwashed, or mind-controlled, or possessed (all of which happened way more often than it should), he was pretty much always the one to talk them down, or get beaten up and nearly killed for his efforts. It had reached a point where he wondered if Bruce was actively trying to get one of Dick’s siblings to accidentally kill him.

Well, at least one thing was different this time—he was facing off against five family members at once, instead of one, or two, or his entire f***ing team. But that was a story for another day.

Maybe, he could actually fight close to his full capability against them, without too much fear of hurting them. He didn’t have to knock them out or sedate them after all, he just needed to damage those device things around their heads.

Hood lunged at him first, guns drawn. Dick dodged, wrenching one of the man’s guns away with a grunt. He threw it across the room, knowing it did nothing for him in close quarters combat wherein he was attempting not to hurt, kill, or maim any of his would-be killers. There was no time for him to contemplate Jason’s likely reaction to the discovery of his ruined gun that would surely come later. Batman was already springing into action, fists swinging through the air in an unnaturally aimed-to-kill way.

Dick flipped around, dodging attacks from the two. He needed to bide his time, wait for the right opportunity to strike. He tried to electrocute them to short-circuit their metal head-band device things, but it didn’t really seem to do anything. He did, however, manage to get in a good hit to Jason’s head, which disoriented the man—and likely the person in control of him. Bruce went down next, Dick slipping the man’s belt out from around his waist in a move no one else in the world knew, and throwing a flash bomb in his face.

Pocketting what he could from the belt before tossing that too away (the emergency beacon didn’t work), he turned to face his new opponents. Spoiler and Robin, the short little duo wreaking havoc to his right, with Bruce and Jason getting back up on his left.

Whoever was controlling his family wasn’t the best at it, though forcing them to attempt murder against their own instincts was a feat in itself.

“You failed me,” said two very familiar voices in unison. It was Bruce and Damian.

Dick was so startled he almost didn’t manage to dodge the sneak attack Red Robin was attempting from behind.

“You failed the mission, our mission, you’ve failed the family I’ve given you, and the city I put in your responsibility.” It was just Bruce now, speaking blankly, words flowing out with no restraint.

Dick swallowed, but forced himself to ignore the man, ignore the words. It was probably just a program to detect negative emotion associated with thoughts of Nightwing and force the mind-controlled victim to...to say the thoughts out loud. Logically, he knew this.

Logic couldn’t prepare him for what came next.

“Sometimes I wish you were my father, but I know you could never be. Bruce will always be my real father. You were just an inadequate stand-in.”

Dick choked, barely noticing the swift kick to his ribs before he was already stumbling back, ducking around Steph’s fist as he fought to regain his balance.

“You were a terrible brother,” said the voices of Jason and Tim. “All you ever did with me was make mistakes.”

His vision had blurred at some point in time, he wasn’t sure when. A fist slammed into his jaw, a bow staff swiped at his feet. Purple flashed in the corner of his vision as his wrist was brutally snapped. Dick opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“They say never meet your heroes. I guess they were right then, hmmm? Except you were never my hero, and yet you still managed to disappoint me anyway.” Steph’s tone was sharp and biting as she jammed a shuriken into his shoulder.

Dick pushed her away, doing a messy backflip to land on Bruce, using what little momentum he had to push off towards Jason, tackling him for the umpteenth time.

“You were unfit to be a mentor, just look at you now. And the students become the masters…” said the scathing voices of Dami, Steph, and Tim. Laughter echoed in his ears, sounding cruelly amused. No, this wasn’t them, they would never say such things…

“Oh it’s all true,” said a voice from behind him, Jay’s voice. “What is it, Goldie, can’t handle the pressure?”

Dick tried in vain to block the voices out, focusing just long enough to knock the device around Tim’s head askew.

The boy fell to the ground, reality mixing with fantasy as Tim’s eyes looked up at him, cold and lifeless, as blood pooled around Tim’s twisted body, as if he’d fallen… Corpse-pale lips parted, harsh words spilling out onto unforgiving ground, “You think I’m just like you, but you’re wrong. I’m better. You couldn’t beat me if you tried. I’m too pure, somehow untainted by your doomed soul, even after all this time.”

Crazed laughter echoed in Dick’s ears, even as he blinked and saw Tim as he actually was, lying unconscious—and alive, on the ground.

“Look at that, failing to protect those you love most? You’re worthless to them, and to me. I should never have taken you in.” The words were growled in a familiar deep register, and yet...the tone was unusually cruel—

Dick found himself sprawled on the ground, back still smarting from where he’d been kicked. He struggled to his good hand and knees, only to hear the sound of a gun cocking. He looked up. Jason stood above him, Steph and Damian on either side.

“Tt, Grayson, always so pathetic.” For a moment, Dami seemed to be wearing an older version of his uniform, from when he was still Dick’s Robin…

Steph tossed her hair back, giggling, and Dick saw her in a different costume, that of Robin, and then it changed to Batgirl. Gah, he was so confused.

She wasn’t. “You’re not going to make it this time around. How does it feel knowing we’d all be glad? You’ve hurt us more than helped us, Dick. It’s time you’ve faced that fact.”

Jason smirked down at him. “Any last words? We all know you don’t deserve them, but, well,” he smirked, “I’m feeling charitable today.”

Dick lunged upward, body tensed as if to tackle, arms outstretched as if to hug. Dick himself wasn’t quite sure what it was meant to be, what he wanted anymore…

Bang!

The gun went off, bullet burying itself in Dick’s side.

Three pairs of feet began to kick at his prone body from all sides. He curled in on himself, clutching desperately at the bullet wound, mind hazy with blood loss and something...else… A scraping noise, close to his ear. Dick barely registered it through the pain of the systematic blows raining down. Another pair of feet entered his vision, Bruce’s Batman boots. Dick panicked, using one hand to staunch the blood flow while the other went to his neck, to where he instinctively knew the real problem was. There was a device, attached to his neck, like a mini version of what the others had, but missing a few parts. He yanked it off, and immediately, he heard the thumps of his hopefully just unconscious family members falling to the ground.

Dick squinted at the device, as he felt himself joining them in the land of darkness. A familiar scarecrow label stared back at him, Jervis Tetch craftsmanship was practically written all over the thing as well…

—

Jason woke, groggy and disoriented. He found himself amongst other bats, all lying on the floor in a circle like some kind of crazy sorcerer spell gone wrong. The others were slowly waking, blinking and shaking their heads as if to clear the fog away. And in the middle of it all, at the center of their little coming-back-to-the-land-of-the-living circle, lay Dick Grayson, covered in blood, close to passing out.

The guy was nearly unrecognizable, but Jason would recognize that ridiculous hairstyle anywhere. Scrambling over to his brother’s side, Jason ignored the way the room spun, placing a hand on Dick’s shoulder and looking down at the man, brow pinched in concern.

“Dickie?” he asked, “Who did this to you?”

[sentakushimasu]

diving off the deep end, breathe slow

pairing: sero hanta/iida tenya summary: Sero drowns during a training exercise. Today doesn't make Iida's list of top ten favourite days. genre: hurt/comfort, whump word count: 11.4k warnings: drowning, cpr, hospitals, slight vomit warning (no actual vomiting), hypothermia title from: dayseeker - drunk AO3

Sero tried to ignore the pang of disappointment in his chest as he saw Aizawa’s allocated teams. They were supposed to be randomly generated but Sero couldn’t help but feel like the world was out to get him.

Iida wasn’t on his team yet again.

It wasn’t a big deal, but every time they had a big scale training session, Sero wanted to try working on a team up with his boyfriend. They both had quirks that made them incredibly mobile, but they needed to work better in combat as a team.

Aizawa, however, seemed dead set on preventing that from happening.

Sero had to suppress a yelp as an arm wrapped around his neck and dragged him staggering along. He regained his balance as Kirishima let go of him, grinning widely.

Kirishima, Mina, Shinsou and himself in a team. They could make this work.

They’d all been arranged into five teams of four, tasked with placing quirk suppressing handcuffs on members of the other teams. Kirishima took the role of their self-proclaimed leader and happily accepted the five pairs of cuffs to share between the team. They’d been given the red ones, making it easier to keep track of who was cuffed by which team.

The other teams had other colours, and other interesting combinations of quirks. The blue team, consisting of Iida (their appointed leader), Yaoyorozu, Tsuyu and Uraraka, were likely going to be scarily efficient despite their lack of flashy quirks.

The green team was led by Deku, which, if that wasn’t scary enough, was followed by Shouji, Satou and Todoroki. Sero had to suppress a shudder just looking at that team. The only member who couldn’t easily snap him in half like a twig, could make mountains of ice and pyres of fire without batting an eye. He really hoped another team dealt with them before his team had the misfortune of running into them.

Less intimidating was the yellow team, fronted by Sero’s partner in crime, accompanied by Ojirou, Hagakure and Aoyama. Any team that let Kaminari take charge was not one that Sero felt the need to be scared of.

Bakugou was already barking out orders to the black team. Sero cringed in sympathy for Kouda, Jirou and Tokoyami. Their self-appointed leader was bound to run off on his own, leaving them without much opportunity to intimidate anyone they ran into. Tokoyami could be pretty terrifying in his own right, but going up against a team with Deku and Todoroki? He didn’t stand a chance.

Aizawa interrupted them, speaking in a bored tone, “the first team to use all of their quirk cuffs wins. No, you cannot cuff your teammates, doing so results in immediate disqualification for the entire team.”

Iida’s hand shot up. “Can we use the other teams’ handcuffs if we become separated from our team?”

“The team the cuffs belong to gets the point.”

Uraraka was the next one to raise her hand. “If we handcuff someone with their team’s handcuffs will their team still get disqualified?”

Aizawa paused for a second, regarding Uraraka with a lethargic look. “Yes.”

Okay, Sero had officially decided that the blue team was kind of terrifying. He wasn’t going to let himself be fooled by Uraraka’s round cheeks or the pink-heavy colour scheme of her hero outfit; she was out for blood.

As it turns out, Iida’s team was the only one asking any questions as Yaomomo joined the discussion. “Do we have to cuff both of their hands?”

“No, it’s the same as your previous exams. If you cuff one hand or ankle, you get the point.”

Mina leaned over and gave Sero a well-placed elbow to his ribs. “Don’t let glasses distract you, he’ll steal your handcuffs and disqualify our whole team while you’re busy making heart eyes.”

Sero just rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t let that happen.”

As if to exemplify the fact that Sero was a filthy liar, he made eye contact with Iida who promptly gave him a wave that he returned with what was undoubtedly an utterly lovesick grin if Mina’s exaggerated fake gagging was anything to go by.

“We’re screwed,” she whined.

Sero gave her a half-hearted glare. “You have such little faith in me.”

Aizawa directed their attention to a map of the training grounds they were located in today. Between the cityscape of ground beta and the added area of the river and its surrounding banks, clearly he was prepared for a lot of big scale altercations. There were five markings on the map, all with a colour corresponding to the different teams.

“Every team has a starting location and the next fifteen minutes to get there

Most of the teams’ locations were within ground beta, aside from the red dot next to the bridge and the blue dot a little ways down the path from the bridge, away from ground beta. Great, an area that Sero couldn’t even swing the majority of, and they were completely exposed to the wind.

He was beginning to think that it was much too cold for outdoor training. As he trailed behind Kirishima and Mina. Shinsou hung back but Sero didn’t hold it against him, they were certainly a much louder group than the purple haired boy would be comfortable with.

Although that didn’t explain why he still let Kaminari follow him around like a hyperactive clingy puppy.

After all, Sero, one of the most chaotic and academically-underwhelming members of class 1-A had somehow managed to be dating Mr Perfect, the class president, for the past four months. Now that had been a shock to the rest of the class, most of all, Sero Hanta whose heart still skipped a beat when Iida reached out to take his hand.

Shinsou at least looked like his hero suit wasn’t going to let him freeze, his capture weapon even seeming to act like a scarf. The same could not be said for anyone else on their team as they began the trek down the pathway up to the bridge.

“Kiri, how are you not a popsicle? You have sleeves but no shirt!” Mina claimed as she shivered.

“I’m invincible,” Kirishima shrugged as he tapped a hardened fist on his now hardened chest. For dramatic effect.

“It’s too cold to be outside,” Sero piped up, rubbing his arms in an attempt to keep the blood circulating. He was kind of hoping that they ran into Todoroki during training, at least being gently roasted alive was better than the cold he was currently experiencing.

Maybe when the exercise started, they would be able to warm up, but the distance between them and the closest group was quite significant and he wasn’t sure they’d be too into an all-out battle.

Maybe if Yaoyorozu made a net and Sero accidentally let himself get caught, Iida would carry him back to base. That was always an option.

The bridge was a good location. From their position in the middle of it, they would be able to see anyone trying to sneak up on them. It was a better vantage point than what the blue team had, that’s for sure.

The group was just standing on the path along the riverbank, Yaoyorozu already sparkling as she used her quirk. As Sero squinted his eyes he could tell that she was handing a jacket to Tsu, he couldn’t help but to feel sympathy for his classmate who was much more sensitive to the cold than everyone else.

There was a ringing noise coming from the wristband Kirishima had been given as their team’s acting leader, to signal the start of the exercise.

“Theoretically, we could just wait for them to come to us,” Shinsou offered. “Let Bakugou deal with Midoriya and Todoroki before he tries to blow our heads off.”

“Good plan,” Sero supplies, trying to show Shinsou some support. “I’ll swing up the bridge supports and keep an eye out if you guys want to sit by the railing and stay out of the wind.”

Mina eyed him warily. “What about you? The wind is gonna be worse up there.”

Sero shrugged. “Pro-hero Cellophane isn’t bothered by the cold.”

“You’re not a pro yet,” Mina corrected him, folding her arms across her chest.

“If you get too cold you’ll come back down, right?” Shinsou asked, his voice laced with an emotion Sero couldn’t pinpoint. “If you faint up there, it would be bad news.”

“I’ll be extra careful,” Sero said with a wink.

Kirishima gave Sero a thumbs up and at that, Sero turned to look up at the structure of the bridge, quickly dispensing his tape.

As the tape curled around the support beam and held its position as Sero gave it a firm tug, he used it to propel himself upwards.

It had probably only been five minutes of Sero leaning against the cold metal of the bridge’s support beams before their first challengers arrived. Sero could see two figures headed towards them. Smaller in stature and both dressed dark, it only took Sero a few seconds to identify Jirou and Tokoyami.

Jirou, they could handle pretty easily. Tokoyami would be trouble.

Mina and Kirishima wouldn’t be at all effective against Dark Shadow, so that match would come down to Sero and Shinsou.

Scratch that, it came down to Sero.

He’d only just managed to swing down onto the bridge and alert his team to their visitors before Jirou’s quirk ripped through the air.

The volume disoriented Sero for a moment, knocking him off balance before he could swing himself back up into the air. He needed to incapacitate Jirou if they had any hope of using Shinsou’s quirk. If Tokoyami couldn’t hear him speak, he couldn’t be brainwashed.

Sparing a glance behind him, Sero noticed that Mina and Shinsou were both struggling to stay oriented as the sound assaulted their senses. It was no Present Mic, but it was powerful enough to pose a threat to their group when their most powerful quirk needed to be heard to work.

They were lucky that Sero at least had a quirk that worked long distance because while Kirishima and Mina had to get close to their opponent to use their quirks, Sero was able to maneuver through the air.

He had gotten much better at using his quirk midair during his time at UA, able to turn and shoot another reel of tape at the railing across the bridge and pull himself back down to the ground.

His landing was smooth as he folded himself to roll across the asphalt and up onto his feet.

He would never complain about the gymnastics classes his mum had forced him into during middle school ever again.

With another spin, he was wrapping his tape around Jirou and yanking her towards him, her arms pinned to her sides. She was too startled to maintain her quirk, whipping her earphone jacks towards Sero, likely in hopes of deterring him.

It didn’t work. Of course. As Sero slapped the quirk suppressant cuffs on her wrist.

He offered Jirou an apologetic smile as she glared at him.

The moment was cut short by an impact sending Sero flying to the side.

He quickly adjusted his form so that he rolled on impact with the ground and could easily pull himself back up on his knees. Only to find himself faced with Dark Shadow moving towards him, swooping side to side menacingly.

Sero was a big fan of the sentient quirk, it was like having a dog in the dorms, if dogs were made of shadows and could speak. What he didn’t like about Dark Shadow, was its ability to absolutely throttle him right now.

Forcing himself to his feet, Sero started to back away from the quirk, hoping that his team would figure something out while he had the threat distracted. If Dark Shadow focused its attention on someone else then Sero could possibly manage to restrain Tokoyami and cuff him if he was fast enough.

“Tokoyami, help!” Jirou called out, sounding so panicked that even Sero’s head snapped up at the sound.

Just in time to see Tokoyami’s expression go blank and his stance lose its tension. The consequence of calling out to his teammate in concern.

Shinsou was kneeling on the ground a few metres away, his hand still on his mask, his unruly purple hair moving in the wind. Clever.

Dark Shadow was quick to snap its attention to Tokoyami, fussing over the boy who wasn’t responding to him.

Sero saw his opportunity and took it.

He shot out the tape, wrapping it around Tokoyami to restrain him in case something interrupted Shinsou’s mind control.

Dark Shadow quickly retreated back into Tokoyami and Sero couldn’t help the proud smile spreading across his face as he nodded at Shinsou and gave him a thumbs up.

Shinsou’s quirk was officially his favourite. That was badass.

Their relief was soon interrupted by a loud clatter.

Sero’s eyes fell on the black handcuffs now sitting in the middle of the bridge. Which could only mean that someone else was here, and Sero sincerely doubted that Kouda would be dropping things from a height like that. Which left the last person Sero wanted to fight right now. Bakugou Katsuki.

The sound of an explosion confirmed his suspicions.

The dropped handcuffs weren’t a mistake, they were a threat.

Sero barely had a second to shoot out more tape and grab Shinsou, pulling his teammate towards him as Bakugou descended on the place where he stood, his hands popping with explosions.

With his hands on Shinsou’s shoulders, Sero steadied the purple haired boy, loosening the hold of the tape.

“Are you hurt?” Sero asked quickly, his eyes worriedly scanning Shinsou for any signs that the tape hadn’t been fast enough.

Shinsou looked thoroughly spooked but shook his head after a few seconds, snapping back into focus. “No.”

“Good. Did you cuff Tokoyami?”

Shinsou nodded. Great, that kept their threats to a minimum.

“Good job,” Sero said, giving Shinsou’s shoulder a supportive pat. “Stay where he can’t get you.”

Sero didn’t wait for a reply as he dispensed his tape and swung himself up into the fray.

Bakugou was fixated on Kirishima, hitting the boy’s hardened exterior with explosion after explosion. Sero cringed in sympathy, Kirishima said that it didn’t hurt but it still had to be hot.

Choosing that moment to look away from the fight, Sero turned to pull himself even higher up, reading another set of handcuffs in his non-dominant hand.

That was the easy part.

He turned back to the fight only to see that Bakugou had successfully cuffed Kirishima who was just staring at his wrist in shock. And Bakugou was notorious for not knowing when to quit as he reared up to set off another explosion at Kirishima.

Shooting out his tape in a panic, Sero grabbed Bakugou by his waist and tugged him away from the redhead. Only for the explosion to be rounded on him.

Bakugou missed his mark and Sero foolishly let Bakugou explode the tape that tethered them together.

His enemy was now airborne, setting off explosions as he hovered, staring at Sero with murderous intent. Sero hoped he looked good because this was going to be his last day alive with Bakugou looking at him like that.

Sero was a lot of things, a smart guy who thought things through before he did them was not one of them.

He shot out tape at a support beam directly across the bridge, and prayed that Bakugou didn’t sever it as he yanked himself to the other side. His other hand readied with the handcuffs.

In a stroke of dumb luck, Sero managed to clip the black handcuffs above Bakugou’s gauntlet. The older boy had made a mistake dropping those as a threat.

Sero had a split second to be proud of himself as the incessant sound of popping ceased before he realised that he was swinging over the edge of the bridge and Bakugou was plummeting.

He was getting too far away, forgetting to halt the unwinding of his tape until he was a ridiculous distance out from the bridge. There was no way he could reach the explosive teen now.

He shot a new piece of tap at the railing and tried to pull himself back down, turning to shoot a second strand towards Bakugou to hopefully help his descent.

The tape missed and Sero was swinging too low, on course to swing under the bridge before he could pull himself back up the other side.

Shinsou’s capture weapon caught Bakugou and Sero had to hope his fall wasn’t too dramatic as the top of the bridge left his eyesight.

He just had to swing under the bridge and come up on the other side, and then he’d be able to check on everyone. It would only take him a few seconds to be back topside.

Sero felt the release of tension in his tape and before he even realised what was happening, he was in freefall and on a collision course with the river. That was the thing about his quirk, the constant looming threat of falling. In his panic, he tried to fling out some more tape, hoping it would find a purchase on some part of the underside of the bridge.

Or the railing that entered his line of sight as he fell along the trajectory of his previous swing. He could almost swear he saw a head of fluffy pink hair peeking over the railing.

His tape failed to connect with anything as his body hit water.

Which was freezing.

The shock of the impact and the temperature drop had Sero taking an involuntary breath of nothing but water, the coldness eagerly filling his lungs and pushing out whatever air he had left. He wasn’t sure if his helmet was still on his head or if it was just whatever the opposite of watertight was.

Even opening his eyes to the assault of the cold water didn’t help his case. He couldn’t see any light to tell him which way the surface was. All he knew was that his lungs burned and he could do nothing more than try to swim and hope he wasn’t sinking.

He tried to stay calm, but there was really no option for him other than to panic and hope that someone fished him out of the water.

Kirishima would sink like a stone if he even dared to jump in after Sero, he would immediately harden in contact with the water. Mina and Shinsou could swim but the jump off the bridge was far too dangerous.

Maybe Bakugou could get to the water with his explosions, but Sero couldn’t remember if he’d be able to propel them out of the river even if he did go after Sero. He didn’t see the end of Bakugou’s fall, his friend could very well be dangerously injured, far too poorly off to help the one who was responsible for his fall.

His head was so foggy.

There was a different quality to the darkness that crept in around the corner of his vision in comparison to the darkness of the water. Sero had always thought he could hold his breath for a long time, but he guessed that the gut instinct of inhaling the water would be his undoing.

Sero vaguely recalled that there was another group, closer to the riverbank. He couldn’t remember who had been there, but he could only hope that Tsu was nearby, she was perhaps the only one who would be able to get him. She was very qualified with water rescues.

The fog was growing thicker, heavier, and Sero wasn’t sure he had the energy to keep up his fight towards the surface.

It was always fun when a training exercise became a rescue mission. He just hoped that someone fished him out before it was too late.

Everything was heavy and Sero let the water take him.

-

Iida’s entire team snapped to attention when they heard a scream.

“SERO!”

It was raw and filled with genuine terror. Iida felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head as he turned in the direction the scream came from. Just in time to see a dark form hit the water at a high speed, white strips of tape hanging uselessly in the air as they floated down onto the river’s surface.

With bated breath, everyone watched the surface of the water, waiting for Sero to surface.

Iida’s mind was a whirlwind. Had he hit his head? Had he been blown from the bridge by one of their classmates’ stronger quirks? Why had Iida yet to see his boyfriend’s hair pop out the top of the water?

No one needed to say anything before Asui was racing down the riverbank and throwing out her tongue.

Asui pulled Sero from the water with ease, how she had even known where he was, was beyond Iida. He would have to thank her later, after he checked on his boyfriend.

That water had to be freezing, and Iida was not unfamiliar with the knowledge that Sero would lose his body heat a lot faster in cold water. He was in his winter version of his suit but it wasn’t waterproof.

Sero’s helmet had fallen off at some point, maybe even prior to him hitting the water, Iida noticed as he raced over to meet him and Asui.

Iida didn’t know what he was expecting when he crashed to his knees next to his boyfriend’s wet form. Coughing and complaining? Sure. Sero being completely limp, soaked to the bone and not giving Iida’s presence any acknowledgement? Not what Iida expected.

Sero’s dark hair was plastered to his skin by the water, his eyes were closed, his lips and the tip of his nose going a jarring shade of purple and grey.

“Sero?”

Iida wrapped his hand around the top of Sero's shoulder, where it met the base of his neck. He tried to ignore how cold Sero felt to the touch, blaming it on the water, but the temperature of his skin had anxiety curling in Iida’s gut. "Sero? Hanta, can you hear me?"

Sero offered him no response, not even a twitch or grumble like he usually did when Iida bothered him while the older boy was trying to take a cat nap on the common room couch.

Okay. Bad news.

"Call an ambulance, and Aizawa-sensei!" Iida called out. It came out a lot shakier than he was expecting.

He leant down so that his cheek hovered above Sero's mouth and nose, his hand resting atop his boyfriend's chest. He was hoping, begging, for the sensation of air brushing against his face or movement under his hand, even the sound of Sero's breathing or the sight of his chest rising and falling.

Worse news.

Sero wasn't breathing.

Iida wasn't wearing his watch so he couldn't be certain that it had been ten seconds but he knew that it had been too long without any indication that Sero could breathe.

Aizawa regularly made them revise first aid so it wasn't like Iida didn't know what to do.

But there was a world of difference between a CPR dummy and turning his giggling boyfriend onto his side, and Sero being completely unresponsive and being entirely dependent on Iida to help him.

Taking a deep breath and trying to shove his anxiety deeper inside himself, Iida positioned himself. With his knees pressed up against Sero’s side, his right hand over his left and his elbows locked straight.

His mind was a whirlwind as he started the compressions. Was he pressing hard enough? Was it fast enough? Was he even helping?

He was quick to shove the thoughts out of his mind, he couldn’t afford to think about anything other than the compressions. If he hesitated or freaked out, it could cost Sero his life.

“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty,” Iida counted under his breath. He leant down to Sero’s face, his hands tilting his boyfriend’s head back and pinching his nose as Iida’s mouth covered Sero’s cold one.

Two breaths and he was back to pumping Sero’s heart for him. Iida’s head swam at the thought.

Iida was counting his way through his second ground of compressions when someone fell into place on Sero’s other side. Iida didn’t even bother to look up at who they were, he only cared about one thing right now, seeing Sero awake and breathing.

“Iida.” So it was Yaoyorozu next to him. “I have a defibrillator. Attach it while I do the breaths, okay?”

Iida nodded firmly. “Okay.”

Fuck, he’d forgotten all about the defibrillator in his panic. Had she made it? He tried to pull up the mental map of where AEDs were located around campus but it was all a blur in his head. He couldn’t think clearly about anything other than Hanta.

He says his “thirty” loud enough for Yaoyorozu to hear him and she snapped into action, passing the opened defibrillator to Iida as she placed a bag-valve-mask over Sero’s nose and mouth.

Either she was truly the best at locating things under pressure or she was incredible at using her complex quirk in a panic. Iida couldn’t rule out either.

He would be grateful for her for the rest of his life, he suspected.

Iida grabbed the shears from the defibrillator box and started to cut away Sero’s hero costume. It was a simple motion, starting at the base of Sero’s throat and stopping just above his pelvis.

Vaguely, Iida was aware that Sero’s chest was falling for the second time and Yaoyorozu was setting the bag valve mask down next to his head.

“I’ll get it, you do compressions.”

Iida couldn’t find it in him to say anything, getting back into the rhythm of pushing on Sero’s chest. It was more physically draining than he had expected, his arms ached and his chest was begging to feel tight with the exhaustion. But he couldn’t stop. He would keep going until Sero’s heart was beating on its own.

Out of the corner of his eye, Iida can see Yaoyorozu peeling back the film on the AED pads so he took over the breaths for her. He didn’t even bother fumbling with the mask that was on the other side of Sero.

In the span of two rescue breaths, Yaoyorozu had dried off Sero’s torso with a towel that would have seemingly appeared out of midair if Iida didn’t know any better and attached the pads to his chest.

Iida hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do.

Yaoyorozu’s voice was firm yet comforting as she spoke. “Keep going.”

Thankfully, at least one of them could keep their head on straight right now.

As Iida continued the compressions, his heart breaking ten times over with every one, Yaoyorozu called out to someone outside of his field of vision.

“Uraraka, can you use the bag mask? Just squeeze it twice when Iida does thirty compressions.”

There was a silent exchange and another body kneeling on the ground with them.

The AED made a noise when Iida stopped his compressions. How long had it been? It felt like a lifetime. The amicable chatter he had been exchanging with Asui and Uraraka as they walked down the riverbank seemed like it had happened forever ago. Where was Aizawa? They needed help.

“Analysing rhythm, don’t touch the patient.”

Iida snatched his hands away from where they hovered close to Sero, shuffling back until his knees were no longer touching his boyfriend.

They waited with baited breath for the machine’s verdict.

“No shock advised. Continue compressions.”

Iida was back in position in less than a second, pushing down on his boyfriend’s chest again. Sero’s sternum was firm below the heel of Iida’s palm.

How many times had he languidly traced his fingers across Sero’s skin, trailing ghosts of fingertips over his boyfriend’s sternum, a flat palm pressed over where Iida could feel the strong thumping of Sero’s heart? He’d become so accustomed to just reaching out and touching Sero, it was normal, but this wasn’t like that.

There was no sight of black eyes watching him carefully as Sero’s lips curled into a smile, a soft “I love you” on his tongue.

The stupid monotonous “press, press, press” from the AED was not helping to ease Iida’s panic. He couldn’t do more than try to tune it out.

“Come on, Hanta,” Iida pleaded, his voice breaking with the pent up emotion he had accumulated in the past few minutes. “Breathe.” Iida was still pressing on Sero’s chest, hoping that with every thrust downwards that it would spur Sero into motion. “Please, Hanta. You have to breathe!”

Yaoyorozu and Uraraka both refrained from saying anything as the tears started to fall, Iida couldn’t keep them at bay anymore. He was tired, he was desperate, and Sero was still cold and unresponsive.

His tears hit the back of Iida’s hand, others pooling on Sero’s skin.

Aizawa couldn’t have picked a better or worse time to show up.

There was some shuffling and Aizawa was kneeling on the other side of Sero, Yaoyorozu having moved to take over the position by Sero’s head. Where did Uraraka go?

“Iida,” Aizawa said. He was clearly out of breath. Had he run to them? Iida didn’t doubt that his teacher would. After all, he’d proven himself willing to give his life for them. “Next round you’re swapping out with me,” he commanded in a low voice.

Iida shook his head. “I can’t”.

“You can. You’re tired and you need to let me take over. You’ve done well, let me help, Iida.”

Iida couldn’t keep up his argument. Aizawa was right, he was tired.

As he finished his round of compressions, he leant back heavily, turning his legs so that he didn’t sit on his engines.

Aizawa offered him a sympathetic look, but there was an edge to it - worry.

Iida couldn’t do anything more than watch as Aizawa took over. He kept his eyes trained on Sero’s face, mostly obscured by the mask. Yaoyorozu also had tears in her eyes but with her lips pressed into a firm line, they didn’t spill.

That’s when it really sank in.

This was supposed to be a routine training exercise, and now Sero might not walk away from it. How did everything go so wrong so quickly?

Aizawa was still going when he spoke, “Sero, if you open your eyes, I’ll give you an A on every test left in the semester.”

There was a weird quality to his voice. Iida wasn’t used to hearing this much identifiable emotion from his teacher, a plea with the unconscious kid he was supposed to take care of, masked in useless humour.

Sero would laugh if he made Aizawa cry. It had always been such a bizarre thing to think about, but Iida wasn’t so sure anymore.

His timing was almost comical.

As Aizawa started on his second round of compressions, the student beneath him jolted, spitting up water as he desperately tried to suck air into his lungs.

“Sero!” Yaoyorozu exclaimed, Iida had no doubt that she was crying those tears now.

“Turn him on his side,” Aizawa instructed as he slid his hands under Sero’s shoulder and hip, turning him towards Iida who quickly moved to help guide Sero into a stable side position.

He was breathing, and it finally felt like Iida could breathe too.

Sero was coughing as his chest spasmed, emptying his lungs of filthy river water.

Yaoyorozu was cooing and brushing Sero’s hair out of his face. If the tape user was more aware right now he probably would have been blushing at the ministrations, but currently they just helped to settle his panicked writhing.

“Just breathe, Sero,” Iida says, his voice uncharacteristically shaky but no one dares question it. He’s completely focused on holding Sero steady as he breathes. The sound is laboured and wheezy but it’s the most beautiful thing Iida has ever heard.

Iida doesn’t even look when Aizawa unwraps his capture weapon from around his neck and slides the bundle of fabric under Sero’s head. His scarred and much bigger than Yaoyorozu’s hand rested against the back of his student’s wet head for a few moments before he retracted it, instead opting to hold onto Sero’s wrist, feeling his pulse and looking at his watch on his other wrist.

“You did good, kid. Focus on breathing.”

Sero let out a weak and breathless laugh. He seemed to be done with coughing up the water, much to Iida’s relief. “Praise from Aizawa-sensei, I really must be dead.”

Aizawa didn’t look up from his watch. “Do you know where you are?”

“Somewhere wet,” Sero grumbled before shuddering. “I’m cold.”

“Yaoyorozu, do you think you could make him a blanket?”

Iida looked up at Yaoyorozu, only really looking at her at this moment. Her eyes were red and her face tear-streaked, she looked exhausted. He felt bad that Aizawa was asking her to do even more after she just exhausted herself and her quirk to save Sero’s life.

But Sero was shivering pretty aggressively under Iida’s hold. His lips and nose were still discoloured, and from this angle he could see that the purple tint extended to Sero’s eyelids.

She nodded. “Of course.”

Aizawa wrote something on the back of his hand as he set Sero’s hand down. Iida had no idea where his teacher had produced the pen but he was fairly impressed with Aizawa’s efficiency and professionalism. Especially considering that Iida and Yaoyorozu were both still crying. The wetness on Aizawa’s cheeks did not evade the class representative’s notice though.

As the sparkles in the corner of Iida’s vision died down, he was handed the corner of a very fluffy blanket, Aizawa taking the other as they tucked it around Sero.

“The ambulance is almost here,” Uraraka’s voice chirped helpfully from behind Iida. He hadn’t realised that she was still there.

“Thank you, Uraraka. Do you think you and Asui can meet them when they enter the training grounds and guide them here?” Aizawa asked, his voice so soft it was frankly unnerving.

“Of course, sensei!”

And with that, the two girls were gone.

“Tenya?” Sero croaked, snapping Iida back to focus.

“Yeah?”

If Aizawa noticed the use of Iida’s given name, he didn’t give any indication. Maybe he was just too relieved that Sero was alive to care much about anything else. The teacher just continued to kneel there with a hand on Sero’s back and his eyes on his watch.

“Are you okay?” Sero asked softly, reaching for Iida with a clumsy hand. Cold fingers wrapping around Iida’s own.

Iida takes a few seconds to be surprised. “What?”

“You’re crying.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Sero hums thoughtfully. “I like it better when you smile.”

They kept up the random chatter until the ambulance arrived. Aizawa took the role of talking to the paramedics and Iida was incredibly grateful for that, he wasn’t sure he could get through a sentence without crying at the moment. He was feeling very emotionally raw.

The paramedics were nice enough to work around Iida, whom Sero was still holding onto.

Sero grumbled when one of the paramedics secured an oxygen mask to his face, letting go of Iida’s hand to try and remove it. He was sitting up now but his eyes were still glossy and he didn’t seem entirely present. Iida snatched Sero’s hand back with a firm look.

“Don’t do that.”

“It feels weird,” Sero whined, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask.

“Too bad. Don’t drown next time.” Iida felt kind of guilty when he was being so strict with Sero, but he wasn’t about to let his boyfriend interfere with his medical care.

“You’re so mean to me.”

Iida was about to respond but he was interrupted by one of the paramedics, he was unsure if it was the same one that gave Sero the oxygen mask or not. “Do you think you can stand?”

Sero paused for a second, mulling over the question before he gave the paramedic a shake of his head.

“That’s okay, we can go at your pace. You can sit here for a little longer and try again or we could figure out some other option that suits you,” the paramedic said in such a comforting tone that even Iida felt reassured.

Sero seemed to perk up at that. “Can Tenya pick me up?”

Iida internally groaned. Their relationship was not going to be a secret from Aizawa after today.

“If that’s what you’re both comfortable with, then sure, I’ll just hold onto the oxygen tank and we’ll get you on the gurney and loaded into the ambulance, okay? It’s much warmer than out here, too.”

Iida had no qualms about lifting Sero. His boyfriend weighed basically nothing and loved being carried around regularly. Sometimes he would be too tired to be bothered walking up to his dorm and made Iida scoop him up and take him there to prevent him from sleeping on the couch and waking up with a crick in his neck.

With an arm under Sero’s shoulders and another behind his knees, Iida easily lifted his partner. It was only a matter of steps to the elevated surface of the gurney which he nestled Sero on easily.

The other paramedic was quick to cover Sero in blankets, especially considering that the one Yaoyorozu kindly provided was pretty much soaked through at this point. Iida hoped she would get some rest when she got back to the dorms, but figured most of the class would wait up for news on their classmate’s condition.

As the paramedics loaded the gurney into the ambulance, one of them turned to speak. “Who’s riding with?”

Iida turned to Aizawa, expecting to be given instructions to handle the class while Aizawa went with Sero to the hospital but Aizawa just nodded his head in the direction of the ambulance. “Go ahead.”

“But sensei-”

“No buts. I’ll wrap things up here and meet you at the hospital. I trust you can handle things for an hour.”

“I- thank you sensei!” Iida said, following his boyfriend into the back of the ambulance.

Turning back to look at Aizawa who was bending over to pick up his sodden capture scarf off the ground, Iida saw the group of their classmates that had gathered. Only a few of them were there, but they all looked off.

Iida’s entire group was there, of course. Yaoyorozu was folding up the soaked blanket she had made for Sero, her face still covered in tears. Uraraka had her arms around Tsuyu, both of them looking worse for wear.

At some point that Iida would not have been able to pinpoint if he tried, Sero’s team had joined them. Ashido was holding onto Kirishima, looking like she’d barely just stopped crying, Kirishima didn’t look much better, his own face streaked with tears. Shinsou hung back from the two, his mask in his hand as he watched everything with wide eyes.

Bakugou wasn’t a member of either group but he was there, looking uncharacteristically solemn. Iida idly wondered how much they’d seen. Bakugou was not known for being quiet, and he was just standing there with a vacant look as his arms hung limply by his side.

Iida turned back to Sero just in time to see him giving his friends a wave.

Out of everyone, he seemed to be taking it the best. He was soaked to the bone, visibly exhausted and had an oxygen mask strapped to his face but he still smiled when he met Iida’s eye.

-

“Tenya don’t let them take my suit,” Sero called out. Iida was growing more accustomed to Sero speaking through the oxygen mask, making communication much easier. It also helped that Sero was now a lot more aware than he had been in the ambulance.

“It’s beyond salvation, you’re going to need a new one,” Iida stated.

Sero just whined at him. “I don’t want them to cut my suit.”

Iida looked over at the nurse who was already most of the way done cutting the fabric away from Sero’s skin. “I already cut it.”

“But it’s okay when you do it.”

“If you’re brave and listen to the hospital staff, you’ll be able to go home earlier.”

Sero perked up at that. “Really? Can we watch a movie back at the dorms?”

“If you’re feeling up to it when you get discharged, then sure,” Iida said with a soft smile. He rubbed his palms against his thighs, cursing how uncomfortable it was to wear his suit for non-hero purposes. He did not design it with sitting in a chair in mind.

The other issue was that his hands would not stop shaking. It had been a solid half an hour of sitting in the ER with Sero but Iida couldn’t quell the constant trembling. It wasn’t even subtle, he had planned on texting the class group chat with an update but he couldn’t hold his phone steady for long enough to even unlock it.

Sero had noticed, pretty early on actually, he mumbled something about Iida’s shaky hands and offered to hold them. That had lasted for a short while until Sero had gotten tired of trying to comfort Iida. He was very exhausted, losing the energy to do much more than pipe up occasionally when he thought of something funny that he wanted to share.

Iida sincerely doubted that Sero would be able to hold out for an entire movie by the time they got back to the dorms. That was unless the doctor decided to keep Sero overnight, which was still possible.

However, Iida really hoped that wasn’t the case. He wasn’t sure he could handle going back to the dorms for the night and not being able to confirm his boyfriend’s safety with his own eyes.

If the anxiety seized him right now, he could just reach out and take Sero’s hand or look across the bed at the monitor that beeps to reaffirm that Sero’s heart was beating fine.

Iida wasn’t sure he could ever shake the fear of the realisation that it wasn’t. It hadn’t been. He’d come within a hair’s breadth of not sitting next to Sero’s hospital bed as the older boy complained about getting his suit cut off.

He could be sitting in the dorms right now, grieving with everyone else. But he wasn’t.

Sero looked extra unimpressed as he sat up, Iida leapt from his seat, his arm coming up behind Sero’s shoulders to stabilize him.

The nurse quickly tied the hospital gown in place and Sero was eased back onto the now elevated mattress so he could sit up and pout at Iida with minimal effort.

Sero spoke when the nurse left the room, pulling the curtain shut behind her. “It’s ugly.”

Iida rolled his eyes. “It’s practical.”

“Still ugly,” Sero grumbled. “I’m tired.

“Take a nap, I’ll be here the entire time. Just don’t mess with the wires.”

Sero rolled over onto his side and pulled his knees up to his chest. “Goodnight, Tenya.”

“It’s like 3pm.”

“Goodnight, Tenya,” Sero said again, his voice firmer.

Iida couldn’t help but sigh as he stood up again to press a kiss to the top of Sero’s head in his semi-dry hair. “Goodnight, Hanta.”

He lingered for a moment, drinking in the sight of his boyfriend. The whiteness of the hospital gown, the bed sheets and blankets all served to amplify how pale Sero looked. He still had that purple tint to his extremities. There were at least a billion wires poking out from the top of the hospital gown, all of them connected to some monitor or another. The oxygen mask was still firmly fixed to his face, a little grey rectangular clip on the index finger of his right hand to document the necessity for the mask.

He knew Sero had to be feeling pretty awful right now, but his boyfriend continued to joke and try to make Iida smile, it made his heart squeeze in his chest as Iida reached for the bundle of blankets that had slipped to Sero’s feet. He tucked them up to his boyfriend’s shoulders and pressed another kiss to his hair before returning to his seat.

-

After a trip to radiology for a chest x-ray that Iida had to sit in the waiting area for the duration of, Iida followed Sero up to a room in the pediatric ward.

It was weird, following the orderlies and his boyfriend’s hospital bed through the corridors and a bunch of kids. Some of them were crying and screaming, others running around with friends and giggling. He felt very out of place as an almost-adult still dressed head-to-toe in his hero gear.

As Sero was settled into the room, his oxygen mask was switched to a nasal cannula that showed off the fact that the colour had come back to his face. He still had his pile of blankets as well as an additional IV that the nurse said was warm saline to bring up his body temperature a little faster.

The wires were still there, as was the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger, and a little paper cup of tea in Sero’s hands that he slowly sipped.

Aizawa joined them after a little while, as Sero’s eyelids were beginning to droop again. “What’s the verdict?”

“They killed my suit,” Sero grumbled, pouting like a child.

Aizawa quirked a questioning eyebrow.

“They had to cut it off of him when he arrived,” Iida supplied helpfully.

“I’ll contact the support class when we get back to UA,” Aizawa said simply, ignoring Sero’s pout. He lifted up a hand with two cloth shopping bags dangling from his grip. “I got your classmates to get you both a change of clothes. I figured you didn’t want to be Ingenium right now, and Sero is going to need something to wear when he gets discharged.”

“When is that going to be?” Sero asked, bringing his paper cup to his lips again.

Aizawa levelled him with a stern gaze. “You almost died, Sero.” His expression and voice softened considerably. “I’m glad to see you’re doing better.”

“So when do I get to go home?”

“The doctor said that once his temperature and Oxygen levels are back within a normal range, they’ll keep him for a few extra hours for observation. Said it’s unlikely that they’ll keep him overnight unless a complication arises,” Iida explained.

Aizawa pointed an accusing finger in Sero’s direction. “Don’t even think about wracking up pneumonia or, god forbid, a cardiac arrest. You’ve already traumatised poor Iida enough for one day.”

Sero tapped the finger with his pulse oximeter clipped to it on his chin. “I could do another cardiac arrest, for the drama of it all.”

Iida made a choked noise. “Please don’t.”

Sero and Aizawa both turned to him, Sero’s eyes wide and Aizawa’s eyebrows pulled together - in concern.

“Do you need a hug, Iida?” Aizawa asked in his usual monotone, regarding his student with an unreadable expression.

“What?”

Aizawa spread his arms in an invitation. “Free dad hug, one-time offer.”

“No-” Iida started, not even able to finish his sentence through his surprise. Aizawa was offering to hug him. “No thank you, sensei.”

“Your loss,” Aizawa said with a shrug, dropping his arms back to his sides.

Sero perked up. “I want a dad hug. Can I have a dad hug?”

“No. You give me heart palpitations, you don’t get a dad hug.”

“Aww, just one?” Sero asked, reaching a hand out towards Aizawa. It was clear that Sero was milking this opportunity for all it was worth, he knew he’d never be able to be so casual with Aizawa under any other circumstance without getting scolded.

“Maybe if you still want one when you’re discharged. Focus on recovering for now.”

“On it. You’ve neer seen someone more recovered from drowning than me.”

Aizawa set one of the bags of clothes at the foot of the bed, holding out the other one for Iida to take.

“The Ingenium suit can’t be all that comfortable right now.”

Aizawa’s gaze softened when Iida held the bag of clothes to his chest but didn’t move, his eyes still glued to Sero. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Get changed.”

Iida wanted to object but Aizawa wasn’t wrong. His suit was big and clunky and awkward. It was making his back hurt from the simple task of trying to sit in a chair.

He nodded and quickly shuffled out of the room and to the bathroom at the end of the corridor.

He changed in record speed, not wanting to be away from Sero for too long. The trembling he had finally managed to suppress came back with a vengeance when he left Sero’s company.

Hurrying back, Iida slipped back into the room, dressed in a much more comfortable hoodie and sweatpants.

Aizawa looked up at Iida from his place in the lone seat next to Sero’s bed as the door fell shut behind Iida. “Iida, can I speak with you outside for a moment? It won’t take long.”

“Sure.” Iida said, meeting eyes with Sero who looked equally as confused.

Aizawa continued walking up the corridor until they approached a vending machine. He punched in a few numbers and inserted his money, in a matter of seconds there was a chocolate bar being pressed into Iida’s hand.

“Eat it. You look like you’re about to collapse.” Aizawa’s voice was missing its usual commanding edge but Iida obeyed nonetheless.

“Present Mic is staying with 1-A in the dorms. Last I heard they’re watching movies and ordering food.”

Iida hummed thoughtfully as he continued to eat the chocolate bar under Aizawa’s watchful gaze. “That’s good.”

“They’re all worried, but glad that you’re here with him.”

Iida didn’t have much more to offer than another hum.

He was folding up the empty wrapper with trembling fingers when Aizawa spoke again. “If they do end up deciding to keep him here for the night, I’ll see what I can do about you staying with him.”

Iida looked up at that. “What? Why?”

“Your hands have gotten considerably more shaky the longer we’ve been out here. Staying with your boyfriend will help you keep calm, and I don’t think either of you would benefit from being alone right now.”

Curse how observant Aizawa was. They always forgot, but he noticed the smallest things. “He’s not my boyfriend-”

“Iida,” Aizawa cut him off, “I have known you since you were a baby. You’re going to have to be a better liar than that to convince me.”

“How long have you known?”

“I’ve had my suspicions for a few months, you’re not exactly subtle. But Hizashi and I have been in and out of hospitals enough, I know that look. And Sero calling you by your given name when he was half-conscious while insisting that he hold your hand and be carried by you did not help your case,” Aizawa supplied.

“Ah, that makes sense.”

They stood there in silence for a little longer, before Aizawa of all people broke it.

“Iida.” The softness in his voice was back. This had been a very out of character night for the both of them.

“Yes, sensei?”

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine-” Iida started, looking up to meet Aizawa’s gaze. Which was full of concern as he regarded his student. Iida cut himself off with the strangled sob that clawed its way out of his throat.

And he fell apart. One crack in his resolve and it all came pouring out. He didn’t have the energy to try and stop the sobs and the tears in favour of saving face in front of his teacher.

Aizawa didn’t speak, he just pulled Iida into a hug. There was barely two inches of height between them but Iida had never felt so small.

He continued to cry, loud broken sobs into Aizawa’s shirt, his tears undoubtedly leaving a large wet patch in the fabric. He was just so overwhelmed, more than he had thought, and it all came spilling out of him at once.

Aizawa, to his credit, gave pretty good hugs. He held Iida steady, rubbing circles into his back and mumbling words of comfort. “It’s okay, let it out. You’re gonna be okay.”

It took a while for Iida to finally get his sobbing under control. He had no idea how long he'd been crying in Aizawa's arms but it was definitely too long.

Sero was probably wondering where they were.

Iida cleared his throat. "Sorry sensei, I-"

"Don't mention it," Aizawa cut in quickly. "You've had one hell of a day and you needed comfort. It's nothing to be ashamed about. Personally, I've probably spent more hours crying into Kayama's shoulder than I've spent sleeping in the past month."

"Midnight-sensei?"

Aizawa nodded. "She gives the best hugs."

“That makes sense,” Iida mumbled, wiping at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve.

“Are you feeling better?” Aizawa asked, punching a few more numbers into the vending machine. Iida was hit with the shocking realisation that he’d just had a breakdown in the middle of this corridor, in front of a vending machine. If anyone had wanted a snack all they would have seen was Iida sobbing in his teacher’s arms for god knows how long.

Iida laughed a little breathlessly, there was no humour in the gesture. “Aside from crying out half the fluid in my body, yeah. Thank you, sensei.”

Aizawa bent down to retrieve something from the vending machine, only to hand a water bottle to Iida.

“Let’s go check on trouble, what do you think?”

Iida nodded, smiling softly as Aizawa began walking back to Sero’s room.

-

Sero had been discharged at midnight. A full nine hours after his admission. It’d been a long night.

By 5pm, Sero had been taken off of his supplemental oxygen, and his levels stayed consistent in its absence.

The remaining seven hours passed without incident.

Most of them were spent with Sero insisting that Iida sit in the bed with him as he messed around on the younger boy’s phone. Iida had supervised Sero’s texting the class group chat and the older boy went as far as to send a selfie of himself and Iida to comfort their concerned classmates.

“Mina says you look worse than I do,” Sero chirped.

Iida just nodded, leaning his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Tell her I said thank you.”

Sero showed him a few pictures that had been sent in the group chat. One of Present Mic drinking a mug of something in the dorm kitchen with his hair out of it’s gelled spike and in a complicated arrangement of braids and Ashido standing next to him, looking incredibly proud of herself.

A picture of Bakugou sitting on the couch, his head on Kirishima’s chest, he appeared to be asleep, bundled up in a hoodie that was definitely not his if the print on the back was anything to go buy. Iida was fairly confident that Kirishima was the only student in their class who owned limited edition Crimson Riot merchandise.

Another picture, this time of the floor where Uraraka appeared to be demolishing Jirou and Todoroki in uno.

The final picture Sero showed him was a selfie sent by Kaminari, the electric boy looking very happy as he threw up a peace sign, Shinsou was sitting next to him and held up a less enthusiastic peace sign but still gave them a smile.

Soaking in the physical affirmation that Sero was okay as the older boy pressed into his side was enough to soothe Iida’s anxiety. He sat back as Sero messed around on his phone, chatting with their classmates until he got a little too overwhelmed for his tired mind to keep up with.

Sero had begged to watch a movie not long after he’d bid farewell to the class chat, only to fall asleep on Iida’s shoulder before they were even halfway through it. Iida, however, was not far behind him.

The nurses had been very stealthy with their regular vital checks, successfully not rousing either of the boys as Aizawa continued to do all the necessary paperwork and phone calls in silence.

The two of them were woken a little past midnight by Sero’s doctor carrying out a final check of the boy’s condition before happily handing Aizawa the discharge papers.

Aizawa and Iida waited in the corridor for a nurse to help Sero get changed. When the eldest boy joined them, he was wearing an outfit not dissimilar to Iida’s. In fact, he was wearing one of Iida’s hoodies that hung loose on his lanky frame.

Iida had half a mind to just carry Sero up to his room when he fell asleep in the passenger seat of Aizawa’s car, a blanket tucked under his chin.

Gently shaking his shoulder, Sero stirred with an unintelligent string of mumbling. “Tenya?”

“I know you wanna sleep, but we’re at the dorms now, so you gotta wake up enough to get to bed.”

“Carry me,” Sero grumbled, his hands fisting in the fabric of Iida’s hoodie.

Iida couldn’t help but to laugh a little at his partner’s antics. Sero was so clingy when he was tired. “I would, sweetheart, but everyone’s been waiting for us to get home and I’m afraid they might collapse if they see me carrying you inside.”

“That’s so rude of them.”

“Okay, you tell them that.”

“I will,” Sero said firmly as he stumbled, half-asleep, out of Aizawa’s car, his hands still latched onto his boyfriend, using Iida to steady himself.

Aizawa silently watched the scene unfold, never saying anything as he followed behind the pair. Eighteen sets of eyes landed on them the second they stepped over the threshold.

“Sero!” a cacophony of voices called out.

“Don’t crowd him, he’s exhausted,” Aizawa commanded over the buzzing activity around him. “Where’s Mic?”

Iida watched Bakugou shrug and point towards the common room couches with the jerk of his thumb. “He fell asleep.”

Aizawa quickly departed from Iida and Sero’s side, headed over to rouse his husband. Iida couldn’t fathom how they’d actually managed to keep their relationship a secret from the students for this long. They were nothing close to subtle.

Iida stepped back a little, his hand still in Sero’s as the class descended upon them. Kirshima, Kaminari and Ashido all took turns giving their friend a hug. There were lots of questions thrown around, and a lot more hugs for Sero to receive, even one for Iida from Yaoyorozu who looked as worn out as he felt.

Tears were shed, everyone basking in the relief that their classmate was back, safe and sound.

“You look wiped,” Kirishima said as he turned to Iida who just offered him a half-hearted smile.

“It’s been a long day. I think we’re just gonna head up to bed before Sero falls asleep standing up.”

Kirishima gave him a firm pat on the back. “Good luck with that, Bakubro is intent on feeding you both. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to admitting that he cares, do not take it lightly.”

Iida nodded before turning back to Sero who was almost swaying on his feet. “Let’s go sit down, Bakugou made food.”

Sero hummed, not even bothering to open his eyes as Iida wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “He’s a good cook.”

Sitting on one of the common room couches, under the watchful eyes of everyone who wasn’t convinced that Sero was okay just yet, Sero and Iida shared a bowl of tofu stir fry.

Sero didn’t have the stomach for much, and insisted that Iida feed him, too tired to operate chopsticks on his own. He’d fallen asleep curled up into Iida’s side before the bowl was even emptied.

Iida stayed on the couch with Sero for a little while, talking with his remaining company in a low voice until he started to feel himself drifting off. It was time they made their way up to bed.

There was truly no other option but to carry Sero upstairs at this point, it was nearing 2am and there was no hope to rouse his partner for long enough to get all the way up to either of their dorms.

Bakugou, Ashido, Kirshima and Kaminari had been the only ones to stay up with them until that point. Shinsou was also there but he had spent the better part of the last hour asleep with his head in Kaminari’s lap while the latter ran his hand through the unruly purple hair, so he didn’t really count.

Actually, Bakugou seemed to be the only one still fully awake, despite his tendency to go to bed much earlier than everyone else. He’d never admit to it, but he had been worried, Iida didn’t have to know Bakugou well to know that much.

“Thank you,” Iida said, careful not to wake Sero up as he spoke.

Bakugou just looked at him and huffed. “I didn’t do it for you, nerd.”

“I’m grateful nonetheless, do you want a hand getting everyone up to their rooms?”

“They can take themselves, just take him upstairs.”

Iida pretended not to notice the lack of his usual nicknames as he turned back to Sero, shaking his shoulder lightly.

“No,” Sero mumbled, turning to bury his face further into Iida’s shoulder. “Don’t wanna.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Sero turned his head upwards to give Iida a pointed look through his messy and now dry hair. “You’re gonna make me get up.”

“Correct.”

“No.”

Iida leaned down until his mouth was level with Sero’s ear. “If we go upstairs we can cuddle,” he whispered in a low voice.

Sero hummed. “Really? Lead the way, Class Prez.”

It was not a complicated process to scoop Sero up and into his arms, one arm under his back, the other curled behind his knees. Sero’s weight was a comfort to have resting against Iida’s chest as he walked them to the elevator.

It was times like this that he was glad his boyfriend weighed the same as a bunch of grapes. On a good day, Iida could easily lift the heavier members of their class, but at that moment he was beyond exhausted and he wasn’t sure if he could even carry Sero much further than up to his dorm.

The elevator ride up to the fifth floor passed by quickly, and Iida easily made his way to Sero’s dorm.

If Iida had to wager a guess who had put the extra blankets on the bed and arranged what looked like a care basket on the little table in the middle of the room, he would put all of his money on Ashido. She notoriously would pick on and tease the other members of the Bakusquad but she had proven herself to be incredibly thoughtful and considerate on multiple occasions.

He would have to remember to thank her in the morning.

For now, his only goal was getting his boyfriend into bed. After everything, Iida felt like he could sleep for a week, figuring that Sero was not going to object to that plan.

Setting Sero down on the bed, Iida moved to pull the blankets on top of his partner. As he tucked the edge of the blankets under his boyfriend’s chin, he moved to smooth the furrow in Sero’s brows with his thumb.

Sero blinked up at Iida then. His black eyes found blue ones in the low lighting. “Are you staying?”

“Sure,” Iida said. He had been planning to sleep in the hammock, giving Sero space but also being close enough to verify that he was safe.

“Not in the hammock,” Sero said sternly, narrowing his eyes at Iida. “You said we could cuddle.”

Iida sighed, there was no use trying to argue, he was putty in Sero’s hands. “Little spoon or big spoon?”

“Little spoon.”

Sero pulled the blankets back as he shuffled closer to the edge of the bed, making room for Iida to slot himself into place behind him. It wasn’t the smoothest job of sharing the bed that they’ve ever done but Iida eventually settled in, sliding his arms around Sero and holding him close to his chest.

Iida buried his face in the crook of Sero’s neck, breathing in the scent of his boyfriend. “I’m really glad you’re okay,” he mumbled into his shoulder.

He felt Sero’s soft laugh against his chest. “Me too. I can’t have some dude hitting you up with a ‘he would want you to move on’, you’re mine forever.”

“Forever,” Iida said, tightening his hold around Sero ever so slightly.

Sero hummed, the sound was low in his throat and Iida could feel the vibration of it against his skin. “Forever.”

-

Iida was lounging on Sero’s bed, not quite bothering to get up just yet. His eyes trailed Sero’s movements as the older boy circled his room. He had a check in with Recovery Girl in an hour so he was intent on getting changed himself. After the past few days, the soreness and exhaustion were starting to ease and he was a lot more mobile.

And that’s how Iida ended up face-to-face with a shirtless Sero who was still trying to figure out what shirt he wanted to wear as Iida’s eyes zeroed in on the dark purple bruising covering the front of his boyfriend’s chest.

It looked painful but Sero paid it no mind.

“Hanta?” Iida called out, sitting up with a much more tense posture than he had had moments ago.

“Hmm?”

“Are those bruises?”

Sero looked at Iida for a moment, confused, before looking down at his chest and giving his boyfriend a chuckle and a shrug. “Oh, those, yeah. I assume they’re from you, y’know, restarting my heart.” He paused, running a hand through his messy black hair. “Thanks for that by the way.”

“No problem…” Iida trailed off, starting at the mottled discolouration on Sero’s chest. He wondered if it had really hit Sero yet, truly how close the older boy had come to losing his life only two days ago.

The two of them had been excused from classes for at least a few days unless Sero was feeling up to going to class before then. Sero’s absence for the purpose of rest and recuperation, Iida’s to keep an eye on his boyfriend and look out for any symptoms of secondary drowning or pneumonia. He helped Sero to remember to take his antibiotics as well as just helping him do tasks that were a little too strenuous.

Aizawa had given them a stern look and told them to call him if they needed to or if they were worried about something. He’d also told the two of them that they had appointments with Hound Dog scheduled for them on the following Monday.

The rest of the class had informed the two of them that all training exercises had been suspended for the rest of the week until any changes to improve student safety could be made. Iida did not envy the meetings that Aizawa was undoubtedly going to be sitting through in the week to come.

“You know, you could always blame those on Aizawa-sensei,” Iida said, hoping to lighten the dark look that had crossed Sero’s face.

Sero blanched. “Aizawa-sensei saw me without a shirt on.”

Iida couldn’t help but to raise his eyebrows at the shift in mood. “I think that was the least of his concerns.”

“I can’t show my face ever again,” Sero groaned, flopping face first onto the bed. Only to let out another groan and roll onto his back, rubbing a free hand on his chest that had undoubtedly protested the motion.

“You are being dramatic.”

Sero rounded on Iida, giving him a serious look. “Do you think he noticed that my nipples are uneven?”

Iida just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up. “Your nipples are not uneven, Hanta.”

Sero nodded sagely. “Yaomomo definitely noticed.”

Iida threw a pillow at his boyfriend.

[killian-whump]

During this tragic Killian/Colin content (whump) drought, it got me thinking about OUAT. There was a lot of whump in the show for a "kids" show but what was a moment of whump that you wish the show had elaborated on or showed more of (other than all of it, of course)? Or light whump you wish they'd been able to go heavier on had Disney not been on their backs?

Well, I could've used an entire season and a half of the Underworld whump in episode 5x14. That shit sends me places.

For the most part, Once's whump was... silly? Honestly, I think Colin himself elevated the whumpy scenes he was in, sometimes just from the sheer sexiness of his characterization, sometimes through the sexy chemistry he had with his costars, and often because of his awesome acting when he's given the opportunity to plumb the depths of dark, angsty moments.

I have "documented" and giffed some of the other whump in the show... but a lot of it was, well, silly. No real peril, unbelievable or over-the-top bondage, phoned-in acting... Aside from Colin's scenes, I don't think there really was a lot of good whump - with some exceptions, of course. Regina's electro-torture scene was pretty awesome.

Anyway, yeah, if I could have more of something from Once... It would've been the Underworld torture in 5x14. I would've loved to have seen HOW Killian got so bloody... and WHAT those "creative beatings" were that Hades teased about... and I would've loved to see Colin go all out on those scenes - because he's at his very best when things get dark and angsty.

As for things I wish had been darker or more serious... Ooh, there's lots. I wish we could've gotten some more darkness and angst and peril when Tamara and Greg had him tied up in the clocktower. Colin gave us some great frustration and anger in those scenes, but Tamara and Greg were such nitwits it was hard to feel like Captain Hook was really in any danger with them.

OH! Another thing I'd have liked MORE of... Dark Hook is one of them. Could've had another season or so of him. I mean, we really only got him at full power for, like, one episode - RIP OFF. I would've loved an entire season of him being a terrible, horrible human being... with a peanutty good core buried deep, deep inside that's horrified by what he's become. Smack me up with that shit, please.

I also wish they'd gone darker with the Neverland stuff. Again, Colin delivered enough angst and post-traumatic responses to the place and to Pan himself that it really helped make everything FEEL dark and dangerous and foreboding... but then Pan was just like, "let's dance around a fire and mock people and not do much else" and you could practically FEEL the "don't get too dark here" constraints put on them by the powers that be. My own headcanons (which are shared by others, as well) are pretty well known... and I wish we'd gotten content even half as good as that.

Seasons 4 and 6 were mostly pants, so... 🤷‍♀️

I wish we'd gotten even darker stuff from Rogers and Gothel. What we DID get and as dark as they were willing to go (and hint at) was excellent, but I could've used moooooooar.

Honestly, I think Colin was better than the show itself. He delivered thrills and chills and sex appeal that the rest of the show just didn't quite measure up to. Like a Ferrari on a used car lot. I absolutely think the role of Killian Jones was perfect for him, but the production values, writing, and (at times) acting from his co-workers weren't up to the same standard.

ANYWAY

[emachinescat]

OH MY GOSH. Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh OH. MY. GOSH.

Okay, now that I've gotten that out of my system, here are my thoughts about Diamond + Quake + Carbon + Comms + Tower, in no particular order (spoilers ahead):

THE TRUTH IS OUT. I honestly went into this episode thinking that we were going to be faked out again, but they actually delivered! I loved everything about the reveal, though I think it was super irresponsible of Desi to throw out her comms because she didn't like what she heard, especially after Matty expressly told her not to.

I am honestly shocked that they gave Leanna's storyline closure. I never cared for her as a character myself, but I always loved how much Bozer cared about her. Justin's acting in this episode was phenomenal. It broke my heart. Great continuity, and amazing angst!

Okay, so you know at the beginning when Mac is talking about pressure? Yeeeaaahh, he's not just talking about diamonds. I'm not sure how the writers intended us to read that scene, but I did not see happy, entergetic man preparing to propose. I saw a man barely holding it together, on the verge of cracking, laughing and smiling and acting so exuberant in an effort to stave off everything bad he is feeling. There was a sense of wrongness about his energy in the beginning, like he's breaking apart at the seams. It was funny and cute, don't get me wrong, but... It was also chilling.

Look at Bozer putting Riley's feelings first. And the part of the conversation we hear during the big reveal is pretty much everything I could have dreamed. I still can't believe that MAC KNOWS.

The WHUMP in this episode!!! Hit by a car, out of breath after being forced to run for miles, the emotional manipulation and stress. And of course, Murdoc beating him to a pulp, all that manhandling and punching and shoving... Excellent whump.

I am, however, sorely disappointed in the lack of aftercare/consequences. At the VERY LEAST, Mac should have been moving stiffly, arms cradling his midsection, hunched over in pain. Come on, writers. People don't get the crap beat out of them and then walk away like it's nothing.

Again, though, the whump itself was excellent.

I also love the fact that this whole thing was a plot to get and execute Mac so that Andrews could take over Codex. I love a good revenge plot, and the fact that they were broadcasting the killing to Codex leaders gave me all the whumperflies.

Regarding the plot in and of itself, it doesn't make a ton of sense. I guess Murdoc chose to beat Mac to draw out the death and force him to suffer more, so that the revenge would be sweeter?? But I don't believe Murdoc could have actually killed him. He can't lose his rival, his muse, his favorite toy (an idea I explore in one of my fics, actually). I also don't really get why he would team up with Andrews. Well, my best guess is that he just wanted to play with Mac and Phoenix, and Andrews provided that opportunity.

Speaking of Murdoc, he was ON POINT. I adored every minute of his time on screen. And you all heard it too - he actually declared his love for Mac with the "better to have loved and murdered" line!! That just further proves his creepy, possessive obsession with Mac (another thing I explored in my fic)! So yes, Murdoc was the perfect villain. The only complaint is that I think he would have used Jack's death against them.

As far as Andrews goes, I do think he was criminally underused. He was such a great villain with so much potential, but there was almost no reason for him to be there with the way they used him. And I was very disappointed that his chain never ended up around Mac's neck.

Desi was... Interesting this episode. I'm not going any deeper into Mac's intended proposal, because they made it very clear that he is rushing things because of the losses (another mention of Jack, by the way!) and because of how close he is to caving under the pressure. But yeah, Desi was sometimes frustrating and difficult, but she was resigned and understanding at the end?? I'm not sure how to read her anymore.

I adored Russ in this episode. I love him anyway, but his energy, angst, angry breakdown... They were incredible.

The earthquake plot was unique too! I do wish we'd get a bit more MacGyvering in this season, though.

As a whole, everyone's acting was on a whole new level in this one! I was blown away by each and every performance!

Finally, THAT CLIFFHANGER. I am DYING!!!! So cruel. I really, really hope they do it justice in the next episode, which I cannot wait for!!

Overall, this has by far been my favorite episode this season! So, so, so good, despite my few nitpicks. I actually cannot get over just how much I enjoyed it - can't wait to watch it again tomorrow! :)

[whimperwoods]

Oswin - The Archdevil

Part 2 of a new series about Oswin Greystone, wizard con man and deeply unfortunate man.

So anyway, yeah, the captain of the guard wants a pet wizard. Things are not looking great for poor Oswin. They’re not looking great in his own series, now, because this is long enough to need a readmore. Let me know if you want to be on a taglist and I’ll start one. I’m not sure how much of this there will be, but he and his creepy captain really grabbed my imagination, so certainly there will be some more after this.

Continuation of this post.

tw: abuse, tw: abuse of authority, tw: fantasy police brutality (though he’s kind of stopped pretending to be acting as a cop at this point), tw: fantasy devil worship, tw: pet whump (working toward it anyway), tw: devil contracts

*****

Oswin’s legs couldn’t hold him, but the whip that had nearly killed him was back in the guard captain’s hand, so he kept dragging himself along beside him, crawling awkwardly forward on his good hand and his knees and nearly tangling himself up in the robes that, with the back sliced open, hung down in his way, barely attached to him anymore.

At the bottom of the steep, winding staircase, Oswin’s limbs were already quaking, and he let out a soft whimper that made his throat ache.

The captain moved around him and squatted down in front of his head, cupping his face in one hand. “First choice, pet. You’re going up two flights of stairs, up to my chambers over the main office. You may crawl, you may be dragged, or you may be carried. I spent too much on that healing potion to hope for dragging, but you’ll need to be a very good boy if I carry you.”

Oswin’s brain couldn’t catch up. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. This wasn’t how people talked. It wasn’t how people were. Except - wasn’t it? He’d been in the courts of petty, tyrannical lords before, on occasion. He’d watched men who could get away with it pinch serving women and belittle servants and - and perhaps that was what this man thought was happening. Perhaps he thought Oswin a servant, or likely to become one. And without Oswin’s books available to him, maybe he was right.

Oswin wanted to look down, to avert his eyes, but his time when he tried, the captain kept a steel grip on his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. They were dark, a brown that tended toward gray, without any of the warmth of his own, and hard as stones. He swallowed heavily, the pain in his throat insignificant next to the pain still raging across his back, but still easily made worse.

It had been hard enough getting himself to the foot of the stairs, and he couldn’t imagine breathing or moving would be easier on an incline.

“I can be a good boy, Master,” he whispered.

The captain smiled. “Clever. I’ll have to keep my eye on that. But then, I knew you would be. Come on, put your arms around my neck.”

Oswin knew he was a little underfed, but the captain picked him up like it was nothing. The pressure of the captain’s arm across his ruined back felt white-hot, and he cried out hoarsely as he wrapped his arms around the captain’s neck and tried to hold himself up, away from the contact. He wasn’t strong enough, and had to settle back into his new master’s grip, his eyes filling with tears and his breath growing ragged again.

“That doesn’t sound like being a good boy,” the captain whispered into his ear, a low half-growl, “That sounds like complaining when you’re being done a favor.”

Oswin forced himself to breathe through the pain, to catch his breath, to talk. His voice came out strained, and barely above a whisper. “No, Master, please! I’m grateful! I just -” he grunted in pain, in spite of himself, “I just needed to adjust but now I can be - I can be fully grateful, Master, please.”

He wasn’t sure he’d ever begged so much in one day, but this time it seemed to work, or at least, his master didn’t drop him down the stairs. Instead, the captain started climbing, not winded no the stairs even carrying Oswin’s weight. Oswin shivered in the man’s arms. He’d hoped during his whipping, before his mind fully abandoned him, that the beating would stop when the captain grew tired, but he was certain now that that hadn’t been the case.

He’d been in dangerous spots before, but this time - this time he couldn’t afford the sob that threatened to rise up in his throat, so he buried his face in the side of the captain’s neck, clinging more tightly so that the man wouldn’t think he had any thought of trying to get away.

The captain’s pleased little hum made the pressure behind Oswin’s eyes spike, but he couldn’t afford the tears, so he focused instead on his breathing, on keeping it steady, on leaning into the captain’s grip so as not to fall, and then they were at the top of the stairs and his master was still carrying him, his footsteps steady as he walked through a small receiving room, a smaller office, which was little more than a closet with a desk in it, and into a sparsely-decorated bedroom.

The captain set Oswin down on the floor, just inside the door, and Oswin watched as he pulled an old, soft-looking rug to the side and revealed a set of sigils carved into the floor in circles, which he calmly traced over in chalk, reinforcing them.

Oswin’s skin crawled, and his stomach soured, but he knew he had no hope of making it down the stairs, much less out of the building, without being caught and, presumably, tortured to death.

The captain retrieved a set of fine wax candles, more expensive than Oswin would have expected in a room like this, and Oswin thought, passively, that a quick death might have been worth it, but that wasn’t what he’d been promised.

The captain lit most of the candles and then came toward Oswin, manhandling him into the center of the circle without a word, and then arranging him on his knees, barking a single order: “Kneel.”

Oswin’s hands were bound behind his back, and he hung his head, not sure if he was going for deferential, or just for too pathetic to hurt again. Either way, the effort of staying upright soon took all of his attention, so that he hardly noticed the final candle being lit.

An enormous, winged figure stepped into the room, out of nowhere. He seemed to fill the space entirely, then shrunk down to merely looming, a head and a half taller than the guard captain and clearly strong enough to break either of them in half.

Oswin’s master was beside him, and knelt, too, albeit only on one knee, bowing deeply to the archdevil.

As the captain’s back straightened, the devil said, “Rise. Why do you request an audience, my champion?”

The captain got to his feet, but then bowed again, still standing. “I humbly propose an addendum to my contract, Master.”

Oswin’s mouth dried instantly. Power radiated from the archdevil like nothing he’d ever felt before, and his voice dripped with it. Was this fool really going to try to negotiate with it?

The archdevil laughed. “I already own your soul, child. What else is left to offer?”

The captain gestured toward Oswin. “His, for a start.”

Oswin looked up in surprise, and instantly regretted it. It had been one thing to sneak glances at the archdevil through his eyelashes; it was another to look directly up at him, meeting a pair of terrifying eyes that seemed made entirely of fire.

“You think you can make contracts with other people’s souls?”

“I can if you’re willing to agree to my terms - what I want is his soul, but not to keep, of course. I’m happy to cede it back to you the moment he dies. And my original contract stipulated that I was willing to work for you, but not to proselytize. It was a point of contention at the time, if I recall, but I told you I would not be certain enough to promise such a thing, outside myself, for some years. It has been ‘some years,’ Master, and I’m happy to find you new followers, provided that it does not jeopardize the other work I do for you.”

“And your interest in his soul?” the devil asked, still looking Oswin in the eye. Oswin found himself paralyzed, unable to look away. Under that devilish gaze, he felt like his chest was being torn apart, his insides pulled out and studied, even though no one was touching him.

“I’ve always wanted a pet wizard,” the captain said casually, “Call it professional curiosity. I know my magic is yours, of course, Master, but I’d like to study those humans who do it on their own - and I’d like to harness it. I won’t be learning myself, of course. I know where my skills lie, and the purpose you’d have me put them to. But I don’t like the idea of humans with power, and I want this one under my thumb, where I can learn to tear those apart.”

Oswin was shaking, the wounds across his back pulsing again, agonizing, while the devil’s eyes continued to rove over his front. He felt like a bug, pinned to a scientist’s paper, but the paper was burning, too, acidic and deadly.

“And why this one?” The devil’s eyes suddenly left him, turning their full force on the captain, and Oswin sagged forward, gasping for breath.

“This one’s a very interesting case,” the captain said. “No respect for a contract, which I’m hoping to beat out of him, but for once I had a wizard in my sights who wasn’t blatantly dangerous, and I thought I’d make good on the opportunity. He’s been selling counterfeit spell scrolls, and then disappearing to ply his trade somewhere else in town before his victims actually try to read or copy the damned things. The thing is, we know he’s strong enough that he could make the real thing, were he properly - motivated. He’s useful, but in need of - management.”

The archdevil hummed thoughtfully, and the captain added, “In our attempts to capture him, he displayed quite a bit of power and - spunk. I know better than to think I could control him without your direct assistance, my lord. But I hope to use him in your service.” He bowed again, more quickly this time.

The archdevil stepped forward into the circle, which Oswin had really been hoping he couldn’t do, and reached down, raising Oswin’s chin to make him look into those flaming eyes again, and nearly lifting him off the ground by the head as he did it.

“And I suppose it doesn’t hurt that he’s a pretty little thing, hmm?” the devil asked, his flame eyes flicking quickly to the captain and back.

The man chuckled. “No, my lord. It does not. Nor does it hurt that he’s already proven he breaks beautifully. You should have heard him begging earlier.”

“We will negotiate the details without him,” the archdevil said imperiously, “It’s simpler that way. And he can agree or refuse.”

Oswin was nearly hyperventilating in the devil’s grip.

“I’m not sure which I think is more interesting,” the devil added casually, before letting go of Oswin’s face and waving his hand in a pattern too quick for even Oswin’s practiced eyes to follow. A blanket of silence fell over him and he could hear nothing, not even his own breathing, for so long that he found himself collapsed inward before the sound returned, bowed low, with his forehead on the floor and his chest and stomach cushioned against his legs, where he could feel the rise and fall of the breaths he couldn’t hear and know that he was still alive.

He realized he was sobbing in dry, heaving gasps only when sound came rushing back to his ears, but he wasn’t sure how long he had been doing it.

“Very well,” the archdevil said, “Lift his head. I want to look him in the eyes again.”

The captain’s hands forced Oswin upward, tilting his head back to make him look up at the looming devil.

“Oswin the wizard,” the archdevil said, power already crackling in his voice in a way that seemed to bind up the air in Oswin’s lungs. “I assume there’s a surname that goes with that.”

“G-greystone, my lord,” Oswin said, the answer tearing out of him in spite of his dry mouth and aching throat, “My father was a mason, but thought to better himself, or at least our family.”

“Hmm, well, now you’ll be in service of a captain of the city guard - and of me. It seems he’ll be getting his wish.”

Oswin shuddered. The archdevil’s voice was oil-smooth, but so, so dangerous. He nodded wordlessly, knowing better than to disagree.

“Should you agree to cosign this addendum with my champion,” the archdevil continued, “You will be bound, body and soul, to his service. Your soul will be mine, to be delivered upon your permanent death. You will be marked as mine, but you will not receive any of my power, nor will you be allowed to use yours outside of your master’s orders.”

The archdevil’s mouth quirked upward into a smile. “I should warn you, wizard, this is an extremely bad deal for you. But my champion assures me that you are a genuine affront to order, and that whether you sign or not, you will be brought to heel. Or you could choose to be tortured to death. But you should know that your master’s contract with me stipulates that if you do not cooperate, he may kill you up to five times and have you returned to his care to try again. I have never seen a man strong enough to withstand being tortured to death a third time, much less a fourth. I’m afraid a bad deal is the only one you’ve got.”

Oswin’s mind swam. He was trapped again, pinned by those eyes, and he was burning, he was sure of it. His mind felt like it was caught in an earthquake, struggling to run to safety with the land bucking underneath him. Just as he took in a breath to speak, the archdevil interrupted him.

“Do not think you can make a deal of your own with me, instead, Oswin Greystone. This one likes a challenge, and he is a useful servant. I don’t make contracts with the desperate. Not worth the work of keeping an eye on them. Break his hold on you, and I will let the consequences be what they will. But try to take your soul back from me and I will destroy you where you stand. I do not have the patience to shepherd one who is reluctant.”

The captain held up a knife. “This agreement will be sealed in blood, or not at all. What do you choose, submission or death?”

The archdevil’s eyes had not left him. Gods, he was burning up. He knew with complete certainty that death, even drawn out, would mean facing this devil again, would mean those flaming eyes burning into him, that oil-slick voice talking to him, that crackling, unbearable power licking at the edges of his own, and he’d just wind up right back here again, waiting to be tortured.

What escaped his lips was a sob, and not an agreement, but the archdevil looked away, making a soft noise of satisfaction. “He chooses submission. Bring the parchment.”

[cruciatusforeplay]

This is part two of a hella big post. Check out part one here. These are all a lot more recent, so I'm gonna try to be less spoilery, but there are gonna be some.

A not-so-brief history of Hawkeye in Comics Part Two (spoilers below the cut)

A note on events, dying and doubling down on Hawkeyes

Comics love doing big events, and I'm not covering them in here. Partly because they are huge and complex and to just focus on Hawkeye would be an injustice to the stories, but also because the amount of stuff I would need to spoil would be way beyond just a little Hawkeye. Clint was involved in Secret Wars (1984), which was one of the first crossover events of its kind. Another notable era is 2004-2009, where there is an incredible amount of superhero politics driving big narratives. If you're new to comics, you might not know that characters dying is common and rarely permanent. This is relevant because while I said that I wouldn't talk about events, I think it would be pretty uncool to not mention that Hawkeye dies and is brought back to life (Avengers Disassembled, House of M, New Avengers #26). It's around here that Clint picks up the Ronin mantle.

This is also when Dark Reign/Dark Avengers is going on. For anyone who'd like some Clint whump from this era, there's a top notch naked torture scene in New Avengers Annual (2009). Clint is involved in several other big events and crossovers over later years, but that's definitely a seperate list.

In the time where Clint is dead, Captain America is hanging out with a group of newly formed Young Avengers, including archery badass Kate Bishop. Cap suggests to her that she take up the Hawkeye mantle and gives her Clint's old bow. After Clint returns, he becomes initially her mentor, before they form a very close friendship. Clint is initially doing Ronin things, but even when he lays down ninja robes, they decide to be very Hawkeye about the whole thing and both keep calling themselves Hawkeye, despite the obvious confusion this causes.

Hawkeye's ears: Hawkeye vs. Deadpool #0-4 (2014)

This is a fun little miniseries that you could treat as a Halloween special if you so desired. It's set in the time after Fraction's run and there are a few callbacks, but nothing major if you've not read that. Clint is a little short-tempered and hypermasculine in this run for my personal taste, but it's got lots of grumpy Clint Vs sassy Wade while they vaguely attempt to team up. The thing this run does really well is Clint's deafness, despite the lack of visible hearing aids. There are comments around lip-reading, wearing aids when wearing other headgear, there's some sign language, and this is the run where Deadpool pulls his mask up so Clint can lipread and see his face while he signs (facial expressions are really key in sign language). It's lovely. Otherwise the run gives you a Kate cameo, some Deadpool and Hawkeye disaster/shenanigans, and perhaps most importantly, the return of the skycycle.

Key background: All New Hawkeye #1-6 (2015)

This run is often overlooked, but the art in the flashbacks is beautiful. We get some key information around Clint and Barney's abusive home situation - with their dad who drank and beat them, and how they ended up in care after their parents died, and subsequently their early days in the circus. There is a definite shift in how Barney is characterized as a bad influence compared to the 2003 run. It parallels with the rest of the arc which focuses on Clint and Kate Bishop working together to get some kids out of a very bad situation. The rest of Lemires run is a little weird and has no major repurcussions for anyone except Barney (which I won't elaborate on because it's relevant to the Fraction run).

Back to your roots: Tales of Suspense #100-104 (2017)

Seeing Clint cycle back and return to Tales of Suspense is really lovely. This comic is one of my all time favourites. It's incredibly tight story-telling with a great plot and really fun dynamic. The premise is Clint and Bucky teaming up to figure out the body trail being left after Black Widow's death. Clint is obnoxious and a delightful mess, Bucky is sporting a permanent scowl and is hilariously level-headed. It's a lot of fun and it's a lovely build on the tension and teamwork between these two idiots (who I, as an avid Winterhawk shipper, am completely gone for, but even without that, this is a great comic.) It also has some killer covers, and the facial expressions are absolutely hilarious.

Hawkeyes together: Hawkeye #13-16 (2017) and West Coast Avengers #1-10 (2018)

The Hawkeye run is Kate Bishops run and it has a larger continuing storyline that runs from the beginning of her Hawkeye and way into WCA, but I've listed the issues that you'll want for Kate and Clint shenanigans, and you should be able to catch up without the rest if you don't want it. These comics are ridiculously fun, especially West Coast Avengers, which has Kate leading the team this time. There's loads of jokes, and it strikes a nice balance between Hawkeyes being disasters and being hyper competent. Truthfully, this is Kate's show, and Clint takes a backseat, but their dynamic is killer here so I think is deserves a mention. There are also plenty of Clint related wardrobe malfunctions and Lucky the Pizza Dog is around.

Our most recent boy: Hawkeye freefall #1-6 (2020)

I haven't read this one yet, but it's been extremely well received by the fandom. As a result, good news: no spoilers! It's a short run, which may have had something to do with it being published during 2020, and specifically around a time when Marvel were experiencing some major distribution issues (which would have led to digital release only and as a result lower sales), but that's all guesswork because I haven't actually researched it. This run has someone dressing as Ronin and letting Clint take the blame for their nefarious deeds (oh no!). Clint makes some classic Clint (read: dumpster fire) decisions, and the art looks fun and vibrant. Can't really give you more without reading it myself 😅 If you need more Clint still, he's also rumoured to be knocking around in the 2020 Black Widow run, but I've not had the money to get my mitts on that yet either.

Notable AUs:

Marvel is a big fan of throwing a well known cast into an alternative universes, so there are a few other places to look for him.

The Ultimates universe was largely speaking a bit of a shitshow, but they did give us a very dark and gritty Clint, so if that's your jam, ultimate hawkeye is the place to be. Old Man Hawkeye appears alongside Old Man Logan, and they are both, you guessed it, old. It's not the only time we get Clint as a wrinkly dude (the second half Lemire's run also has some timey-wimey stuff happening), but this is a version of Clint who is going blind (granted we've seen that before too, but this is a darker vibe than Blindspot). Wanna know who the greatest marksman is without his sight - old man Hawkeye for you! Finally there's the Zombie 'verse: zombie Clint is a little confused, but he's got the spirit. Clint got zombiefied and then left in some rubble as only a head for 40 years before getting picked up, so he's a little worse for wear. If you need that in your life then Marvel Zombies is your universe. For a full rundown of all the universes including animated and MCU, click here.

Notable aliases:

Clint's been a few other people than Hawkeye in the 616 universe (the main Marvel Comics universe). He used one of Hank Pyms growth serums and became a giant strongman in Avengers #63 (1969) and stuck around in his Goliath form for more than a few issues. After Cap had died, Clint returned from the dead and tried on Captain America for all of one issue in Fallen Son #3 (2007). He decided (with a little help from Kate) that it wasn't right to wear the uniform, which in turn led to some interesting tension between him and Bucky Barnes when Buck did become the new Captain America. Finally, there's his most well-known alternate persona: Ronin. Clint becomes Ronin after returning from the dead, wanting a break from his Hawkeye persona and an opportunity to become Ronin arises in New Avengers #27 (2007). Clint is not the only person to have used these aliases. Additionally, Hawkeye has been used not only by Clint and Kate Bishop, but also by Bullseye during the Dark Reign.

The things we haven't talked about

Like I said at the very beginning, there is a lot of Clint Barton knocking around in comics and even with all this there's a lot of content I haven't focused on. For instance, I've not talked a lot about his relationships, beyond his marriage to mockingbird (and really I only scratched the surface with that), and honestly once you start getting into interpersonal relationships we're starting to move on from what can be done in a Tumblr thread.

There are also some topic specific threads floating around, which you might like to look at too.

@vaguelyrotten has done a run down of some great dumpster fire Clint Barton comics (some of which I haven't listed) and you can see that here.

@bobbimorses did a great summary of Clint's historical deafness for instance which you can find here.

There's also this little bit all about Clint and Bucky in canon (thanks to @nightwideopen ) and how Winterhawk became a thing (thanks to @1000-directions )

This is slight sidenote, but @clintscoffeepot did a really great comprehensive of Fraction Clint's apartment which is just a really useful writing resource and you can get that here.

There is also this website which I stumbled across fairly far into writing this post which does actually look like it might be comprehensive.

If I've missed anything major, or listed something incorrectly or you just have some Clint related opinions that I need to know about, do hit me up.

[meat--grindr]

Ooof, so yea I’m officially in love with your writing style... keep on doin what you do! Also I can’t stop thinking about a sorta subby touch starved Martin and gender neutral reader. Yes, I am a clown 🤡 regardless have a great night!

L-Love? Gosh, I’m flattered!! I’m really glad to hear you like it so much!! Now you’ve also got me thinkin’ about a subby touch-starved Martin. I guess Clown City has two residents now! I suppose there’s nothing left for it but to write some smut to hide under the cut ;)

Martin the Touch Starved Submissive (Gender Neutral Reader) – NSFW

·       Martin Mathias. Supposed Creature of the Night, Drinker of Innocent Blood, and Haunter of Your Peripherals. He hangs, as always, at the edge of your personal space. Perching there beside you in the semi-darkness, you could almost forget that he was there. With his legs tucked up neatly beneath him, he takes up surprisingly little space. Slouching against the headboard, his hands rest in his lap, long fingers twisting and turning as he wrings his hands in his usual absentminded fashion.

·       He’s so close, you can feel the heat emanating from his body, close enough that you can feel the faintest caress of his breath against your neck, close enough that with a  mere flex of those pretty fingers, he could close the gap and touch you. But he doesn’t. He almost never does. Though you have a sneaking suspicion that he wants to most desperately. What gives him away?

·       Perhaps it’s the way his gaze lingers on your hands. You’ve caught him at it more than once: his dark eyes drinking in the way your hands flex as you run them through your hair. You’ve watched his pupils dilate as your fingers curled around a pencil for something so simple as jotting down a list of groceries. He could sit and watch you type for hours, entranced by the way your fingers fly across your keyboard, the satisfying klunk of typewriter keys far from the only thing sending shivers down his spine. Of course, you’ve noticed these things. for all his attempts at subtlety, he’s not very good at hiding from you. But you pretend, for his sake, that you haven’t caught on.

·       Or perhaps it’s the way his body seems to lean toward your own whenever you’re together, as though he wants to bury his head in the crook of your neck, or even just brace his shoulder against yours, if only to feel you there, solid, safe, and warm. He almost does it sometimes. He’ll look at you, soft brown eyes wide, searching yours for something…permission, perhaps? And though you would have given it freely on many occasions, he never seemed to find what he was searching for, electing instead to retreat to the cold comfort of his personal bubble—close to, but entirely separate from your own.

·       It’s not that he’s never touched you before—he most certainly has.

·       He’s done so accidently: a quick brush of his shoulder against yours as he darts past you in the shop, scurrying behind the counter under Cuda’s harsh glare—his fingers bumping against yours as you both reach for a book knocked from a desk or a fallen set of house keys—a desperate grasp for your arm as he slips crawling in through your window one night, his fingers digging harshly into your flesh for only a moment as he regains his balance.

·       He’s done so, when you ask, with such innocence it makes your heart ache: pressing gentle kisses against your palms, your temple, your cheekbones, so soft you can barely feel them at all over the buzzing he ignites beneath your skin—returning the squeezes you give his hands when you hold them with a shy smile, his eyes half-hidden beneath his curls—wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close beneath the covers of his bed or yours. His sharp chin digs into your shoulder, and beneath you, his arm begins to fall asleep, but he makes no attempt to move it, and you can’t bring yourself to complain about anything, not when he’s holding you like this.

·       And upon your request, his touch is anything but innocent: at first, he lets you guide him in the darkness, your hands firm atop his own. 'Show me,' he says, 'Show me how to touch you, show me where.' And you do, laying the secrets to your pleasure bare before him, calling 'harder, deeper, faster, more,' until his worry over his perceived shortcomings and inexperience are lost in thoughts of you and you alone—his hands tremble against your thighs, half-nervous, half-reverent. He knows how to make you shake, and yet he hesitates. His lips ghost over the flesh of your neck, his breath cool against the flushed heat of your skin. You lock your arms around his neck, and pull him flush against you, “Get out of your head, Martin.” You stare up into his dark eyes, “Please. Just kiss me.” And he does, falling on you with a passion you have never seen in him before—his long fingers curl against sensitive flesh, drawing ragged sounds from your throat, much to his surprise. His eyes drink in your form, splayed against the sheets, and writhing under his hands. His fingers brush a particularly sensitive spot, and you throw your head back against the arm of the sofa. Seizing this opportunity, he surges forward, sinking his blunt teeth into the meat of your throat.

·       Yes, in the time you’ve come to know him, you can say for certain he is far from opposed to physical touch. But a pattern has emerged nonetheless—he rarely, if ever instigates that touch, or asks it to be reciprocated. But if those subtle indicators are anything to go off of, and you believe that they are, there is an element of longing within him that had long gone unaddressed. So why on earth doesn’t he just ask? Surely, he knows you’re more than willing. Maybe you’re way off base…or maybe he simply doesn’t know how to ask.

·       You cast a sidelong glance at the lanky man beside you. His eyes are half-closed, content, as always, to simply sit and listen, even when you aren’t talking. You suppose there’s no time like the present.

·       Snapping your novel closed, you toss it aside. It lands with a muffled whump on the comforter. “C’mere.”

·       Startled by the sudden flurry of sound and motion, Martin looks at you, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and curiosity. Though he makes no move to follow your directive, you have his full attention.

·       “Uh-uh,” You shake your head, patting your lap where the book had lain just moments before, “I said, ‘C’mere.’”

·       A hesitant moment passes, but he obeys. That same mixture of emotion furrows his brow as he crawls across the mattress and settles into your lap. It takes him a moment to situate himself comfortably—his long legs curling around your hips, his arms braced against the mattress behind him.

·       “There.” You beam up at him. He averts his eyes, but you can see the smile beginning to tug up the corners of his mouth. “I wanna try something, okay?” He looks a touch suspicious, but he nods regardless.

·       You reach a hand up towards his face, and he flinches. His hands shoot forward, nearly unbalancing himself as he grabs for your wrist with both hands, “Woah, Martin. It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise.”

·       It takes him nearly a full minute, but he lets you go, hands dropping into his lap. His eyes, however, remain fixed on your hand, uncertainty knotting in his stomach.

·       “It’s okay,” You croon, keeping your voice calm and your hand steady. It’s almost as though you’re coaxing a stray cat into letting you pet it. “You’re okay, Martin.”

·       His cheek is soft against your palm, his curls tickling the back of your hand. For a moment, his eyes go wide, then they slide closed, his lashes fluttering contentedly. His body sags against yours as he leans into the warmth of your palm, nuzzling against it.

·       A smile spreads across your face. Thought so.

·       “C’mere, baby.” He shivers as you pull him forward, closing the gap between you entirely. He arches into your touch as your fingers trail up and down his back. His face rests in the crook of your neck, and much to your surprise, he begins to press soft kisses into your skin, reveling in the warmth of your flesh under his lips.

·       “Why didn’t you say something, shy-boy?”

·       He pauses for a moment, his breath ghosting over your skin. He does not answer you, rather presses another round of feather-light kisses into your neck.

·       Your hands still against his back, “No, no, baby. I asked you a question.”

·       You can feel his forehead press against your shoulder, a sigh heaving through his chest. There is another pause a few moments long as he mulls the question over in his mind. When he answers, his voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, “I’m not supposed to want things.”

·       For a moment, you are dumbstruck, unable to believe what you’ve just heard, “Who says?”

·       “I do or…my family does. Cuda–”

·       “Oh hush. That grumpy old man doesn’t know anything.” You run your fingers down his back again, relishing in the shuddering breath it draws from him. “Besides, I’m not your family. You’re allowed to want from me.”

·       With a gentle push, you send him sprawling back onto the bed. Hovering above him like this, you can see his pupils are blown wide, the endless black swallowing the brown.

·       “I’m going to put my hands on your throat, Martin, okay?”

·       His eyes widen a touch, the whites flashing in the low light, but he nods, swallowing heavily.

·       Your hand wraps around his throat, gentle but firm. Applying little pressure, you hold him there, immobile. His breathing changed almost instantly when your hand met his skin, deep and slow. His eyes slid closed again, and in that moment, you knew he was putty in your hands. You could do whatever you pleased with him and he would let you—thank you, even. Good. “Who are you?”

·       His eyes remain closed, though his brow knots in confusion, at length, he responds, “M-Martin?”

·       “Good. And what are you allowed?”

·       There’s another beat of hesitation before his answer, though he sounds more sure this time, as though he’s beginning to pick up on what you want from him. “To…to want?”

·       “Good. And who do you belong to.”

·       “You.” The answer comes immediately this time.

·       “Oh, good boy.”

·       Withdrawing your hand, you lean down, pressing a kiss against his exposed throat. He whines and you swear you’ll be hearing that noise echoing in the back of your mind forever.

·       You slot a knee between his legs, pressing gently against him. He jerks against you, and you can feel the length of him straining against his jeans. With a heady rush you realize just how much he wants you.

·       You press your knee against his hard cock, smiling wolfishly down at him, “Is this for me, pretty boy?”

·       Martin throws his hands up over his face, hiding his burning cheeks from your sight.

·       “Aww, there’s no need to be so shy about it.” Your hands slide down his sides, pressing against his hipbones as you grind your knee gently against him. With a whimper, he tries vainly to buck his hips against you, but you hold him in place. “Down, boy. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

·       Reluctantly, he nods, propping himself up on his elbows. Under his watchful gaze, you pop the button of his jeans and drag the zipper down slowly. You smile up at him, repositioning yourself face to face with the obvious bulge pressing through the opening in his pants.

·       You tap gently on his thigh, “Up.” And he complies, raising his hips for you so you can work his jeans down. You don’t take them all the way off, instead opting to leave them mid-way down his thighs. There will be time to take them off later if he wants to continue.

·       For a long moment, there is little else you can do but stare at him—the flush of his cheeks, the heavy rising and falling of his chest, the perfect outline of his cock through his underwear. “So pretty,” you whisper, and he flushes a little deeper, though he doesn’t argue. He likes the praise—it lights a fire somewhere deep within his gut that he can neither ignore nor begin to explain.

·       “Tell me what you want, baby.”

·       Under your hands, you feel his hips shift as he tries and fails to buck up toward your mouth.

·       “Martin,” you chide, “Use your words.”

·       He whines, squirming beneath you. “Your mouth!” The words are ground out as though they required great concentration to form coherently.

·       “Good boy.” You flick out your tongue, dragging a long line up the dark fabric of his underwear. Again, he tries desperately to buck against you, a frustrated whine on his lips.

·       “N-Not like that…”

·       “No?” You run your tongue up the clothed shaft of his cock a second time. “How do you want it then?”

·       He thrashes underneath your tongue, torn between chasing the pleasure and knowing it’s not enough, “Don’t make me say it…"

·       A smirk passes over your features as you circle the wet spot quickly appearing on the fabric near his tip. “But, baby, how will I know what you want if you don’t tell me?” You press the pad of your thumb down, rubbing against the spot with more force. He writhes against you.

·       “I want…I want your mouth on me…on my skin, please…”

·       “Oh, I like hearing that word. Say it again, baby.”

·       “P-please?”

·       “Is it a question?”

·       “No…”

·       “Then beg like you mean it.” Your tongue flicks out over his cock again and the air rushes out of him like he’s been punched in the stomach.

·       “Please.” He’s breathless, but you’re sure you could wring better out of him.

·       “More.”

·       “Please.”

·       “Better. But I’m not convinced yet.”

·       “Please!!”

·       Getting there. You grin, a wicked idea forming in your mind. Through his underclothes, you take the head of his cock into your mouth. The fabric sticks to your tongue unpleasantly, filling your mouth with the taste of cotton, but the sound he makes is nothing short of heavenly.

·       “Oh fuck! Pleasepleaseplease, love, please, I’ll die! I swear I’ll die if you don’t, pleeease!”

·       You pull back, smiling. “Good boy.” You reach up and caress his cheek. The poor thing is trembling, but he nuzzles against your hand nonetheless.  Mumbled pleas still tumble from his mouth as he cranes his neck to kiss the side of your hand.

·       “You’ve been so good for me, Martin.” You gently brush the curls from his eyes and take in his expression. His eyebrows are knit together with tension and there’s a pouty tilt to his mouth, but his eyes are gleaming.

·       “Good boys deserve rewards, don’t they, baby?”

·       He nods emphatically, curls bouncing against his temples. “Please.”

·       Again, you tap his shaking thighs, and he lifts his narrow hips allowing you to slide the dark fabric down his legs.

·       His cock bobs free, laying flushed and leaking against the flat plane of his stomach. Like the rest of him, it’s so pretty. You can’t help but lick your lips at the sight.

·       You stroke his cheek with your thumb gently once, twice, before trailing your hand down to his cock. You ghost your fingertips over the head, and he cries out softly, his whole body shuddering with the pleasure of it.

·       You rest your arms against his thighs, pillowing your head as you size him up. Your breath puffs gently against his cock, warming his skin in the chill of the room.

·       Suddenly, you’re jolted off balance as Martin bolts into a sitting position, his hands fluttering nervously at his sides. “W-Wait! Aren’t I supposed to-”

·       You place a hand against his chest. “Shhh. You’re not supposed to do anything, Martin.” You fix him with a serious look. “Do you still want this?” He nods desperately and you plant a gentle kiss against his collarbone, “Then lay back and let me take care of you.”

·       You push him gently back onto the bed, and before he can stall you a moment longer, you take him into your mouth.

·       His knees are around your ears in an instant, his chin digging into the top of your head as he curls in on himself. His fingers tangle themselves in your hair, pulling hard. It stings, but the pain makes your eyes roll back.

·       You push him further into your mouth, his tip brushing the back of your throat.

·       Much to your surprise, that’s all it takes before he’s shaking apart and cumming down your throat.

·       His hips jerk forward into the wet heat of your mouth, chasing his pleasure. You choke, but if he notices he gives no indication other than a drawn-out groan as your throat constricts around him. Fighting to gain control of your breathing, you place a hand on his hip, stilling him a moment. He whines but complies, doing his best to hold still for you.

·       When you release him, eyes still watering, but no longer in danger of choking, it takes mere moments before he’s lost in the drag of his cock over your tongue once again. You’re so soft inside he can hardly handle it—you feel like nothing else in the world, certainly nothing he’s ever felt before. You flex your tongue against him and his hips stutter, losing what ragged rhythm they had.

·       You swallow around him and he keens, a high noise emanating from the back of his throat. You do it again and he actually sobs. It’s too much too soon and he loves it. “Please!” He doesn’t know if he’s begging you to stop or to keep going forever as he rolls his hips into your mouth again and again and again.

·       At length, his pace slows, and he begins to come down from his high. You pull back, breathing heavily. “Fuck, Martin.” The combination of the cool air against his over sensitive-cock and the wrecked timbre of your voice makes him shudder.

·       He flops back against the pillows, boneless and utterly spent, one arm thrown over his face, the other reaching desperately for you. You take it and he squeezes you so tightly you feel the bones in your fingers creaking.

·       “Martin? Baby? Are you alright?”

·       He nods, once, slowly, as though he’s not entirely sure. Then again as his brain kicks back to life, this time with more certainty.

·       “Good.” You lay down on top of him, curling up against his chest.

·       He reaches out, curling his fingers around your hair. “I didn’t mean to…” He whispers.

·       “Mean to what?”

·       “…F-Finish so quickly.” You glance up at him. He’s not looking at you. Though his eyes are still hidden beneath his arm, you can see his cheeks and the tips of his ears have gone quite pink. He’s embarrassed.

·       “Aww, baby! It’s no big thing! We can play more later…if you want.”

·       He shifts his arm a fraction, peaking at you from beneath it. “…Promise?”

·       You smile pressing a kiss into his shoulder. “Promise.”

[kitkatopinions]

I wish we got a Hazel vs Yang fight tbh... like imagine those two at max power leveling the ground around them with their punches as they brawl. It could have been so cool

Fights I really wish I could've seen / or want to see:

Hazel Vs Yang - The power! You're right, it'd be earthshaking and Yang would have to rely on fluidity and strategy (which she can do, but they aren't her strongest abilities,) whereas Hazel would have to adapt too and figure out how to anticipate her moves. Cinder Vs Qrow - I want Qrow to verse a maiden and still at the very least give an incredible showing that makes Cinder think she might lose. I want him to be transforming and her to be flying and her to be changing her weapon forms to try and match his style. Emerald and Mercury Vs Ruby - No, Haven doesn't count. I want Ruby to not be able to trust her eyes, but use strategy to figure out Emerald's tricks (remember when strategy was Ruby's strong point?) and have to be unpredictable herself and move even quicker since Mercury is incredibly fast. Ironwood Vs Qrow - No, I really don't want evil IW for this, I just want to see a friendly spar where they're teasing each other and showing off for a small audience of RWBYJNOR + Penny, and flirting but not quite realizing they're flirting. Tyrian Vs Sun and Neptune/Blake - We might still see something like this, but Tyrian is fast, fluid, and incredibly strong, and might serve as a great challenge to Sun and Blake's awesome fighting, or a great opportunity to give Neptune a serious fight. Weiss Vs Neo - Weiss is kind of boring when she relies on her summoning glyphs, but she used to seem like the most fluid and technical person on Team RWBY, and to see her in her prime facing Neo in her prime would be awesome. Yang Vs Neo Part II - Yeah, the one hit and void drop we saw in season eight doesn't count. What I really wanted was for Yang to be in a fight with Neo again and for that to be able to be used as a gauge to show 'this character has come far' and 'this character still has a ways to go.' Plus, while Weiss and Neo are both really fluid and technically proficient, Yang's strengths and weaknesses are opposites to Neo's, which is fun to see in a battle. Roman Vs Cinder - Okay, this one is self-indulgence, but redeemed or wildcard breaking away from Cindy Torchwick then coming face to face with Cinder again and holding his own for only a hot minute before starting to get beat down and needing to be saved? Um, yes please. Penny Vs Team RWBY/Members of Team RWBY - Back to a more serious one, in universes where James was allowed to disagree with the protagonists without being turned into a maniacal Disney villain and Penny was allowed to disagree with Team RWBY as well, imagine Penny fighting back Team RWBY while they try to do something, both sides not wanting to hurt the other but still trying to complete their goals. Blake Vs Watts - Boy, I'd have loved to see his smug Atlas elite face smacked into the dirt by Blake in her prime, who would take his attacks and the hurt that he caused to Mantle and specifically her people so seriously, but still not give him her full attention because she'd be focused on a mission... I miss Blake. Mercury Vs Tyrian - Let my boy take down that creepy SOB after a hard fought and grueling battle, thus starting him on the road to redemption as he defects from Salem's side completely. And hey, if he did it for or with someone he could potentially be friends with (or be shipped with) later that Tyrian had been threatening/about to kill... All the better! Whitley Vs Anyone - Friendly sparring between mentors/friends/love interests? Golden. Exasperated and tension filled training from either of his sisters, with an opportunity to explore and work on their relationship? Golden. Untrained or barely trained Whitley being trapped into a real, serious fight with someone way better than him that either beats him easy or is just playing with him and must be taken down by someone else, thus opening up a ton of whump and hurt/comfort opportunities? So golden! Emerald Vs Cinder - Confronting her abuser, dealing with Cinder's lack of care in real time, the fact that it would be so fast and there might be moments where we're scared Emerald is going to lose and be killed and Cinder maybe treating it more

seriously than any of her other fights because she's taking it personal... Incredible concept. Bonus points if either Mercury is fighting alongside Emerald, or this fight is used as an opportunity to actually make Emerald bond with one of the rest of the group organically. May Vs One or more of Salem's group - This would be best if she was facing down some of Salem's enemies with a member of Team RWBYJNOR (or Sun, tbh,) to get more organic connections with the group. But like, the cast might be overblown, but May is cool and I like her more than like, half the main protag group, so I'd still like her being more involved. Glynda Vs Salem - I'm convinced that Glynda might just be powerful enough to put Salem in her place. I don't actually want this to happen because I'm not convinced MKEK wouldn't only put them together in a fight because they're both two women they enjoy sexualizing. But if someone I trusted was in charge of RWBY, I would love to see this.

Sadly, some of these are impossible now, while some of them are likely to never happen, but I do have hope for some of these!

[lonelyboxpet]

put back into place || viking whump

this is just a random first person whump snippet without any context lol, hope you like it. it´s set in the tv show "vikings", doesn´t contain any spoilers, only my best friend and me cuz i love whumping myself uwu

cw: alcohol, belting, manhandling, beating, brief mentions of non-con and r@pe, brief mentions of pregnancy and abortions, some heavy language, knife whump, ragnar being protective and getting his revenge on that dumb drunk dipshit, a shit ton of sarcasm

The light of the fire glistened against the metal cups and the candle holders, gold and matted, weakly illuminating the dark hall. Men were laughing, drinking, drunkenly dancing and sharing stories, as they always were, while eating - and making a huge mess, of course.

I sighed. I was holding a cup, almost untouched, and playing with it anxiously. I didn't really like the ale, unlike my friend, who already downed three drinks and now was very cheerily devouring the fourth one. I scoffed a little and sipped from mine. I had to admit it wasn't bad, the ale was pungent and sweet, but I didn't really like the idea of getting drunk around a bunch of two-meters-tall, buff, scary viking men who mostly knew shit about consent and didn't care about what an age gap is. And the last thing I wanted was getting raped and getting pregnant with a child of some drunk-ass 40-years-old fucker in a world where abortion wasn't invented yet.

,,You look like a lost puppy, dude,” Jáchym laughed softly and nudged me, making me smile weakly. ,,What is it?”

,,I just… I don't really like this, bro,” I replied reluctantly, gesturing with my cup to the whole hall. ,,Ragnar and mostly everyone who we know isn't here and were left in the company of a bunch of dangerous drunk dudes who could crush my skull with one hand. Of course I don't feel good.”

He shook his head. ,,Why would they want to hurt us? Look, don´t worry. If you want to, we can go, get some fresh air or something.”

I looked at my feet and squirmed nervously. ,,Nah. You don't have to leave just because of me. You look like you're enjoying this. It's okay.”

,,Alright,” he shrugged and finished his drink. ,,But if you change your mind, just tell me.”

I nodded and decided to try to fight my anxiety. Fuck this, alright? We're here. How many times will we get an opportunity to feast with fucking vikings? I downed my drink in one go, squinching my eyes at how it stung in my throat. Jáchym quietly cheered and quickly followed my example. I smirked at him and peeled myself off of the wooden pillar I was leaning on, diving into the crowd.

My heart was pounding in my chest so loudly I almost choked on it, but I headed to the table, eyes fixed on the big goblet with more ale. I reached over the shoulder of some man, who was laughing loudly about something, and tried to grab it, but he quickly caught my hand and forced me to topple over at the table, getting more laughs from his friends around.

,,Sorry,” I yelped out, trying to pry myself from his iron grasp, ,,I just- I just wanted to fetch the ale.”

The man's eyes narrowed. He reached for the goblet. ,,You wanted this?” he asked. I slowly nodded, feeling my cheeks burn with embarrassment as more looks landed on me.

,,Yes,” I replied. ,,Ye- yes. I´m sorry.”

He looked me straight in the eyes and strengthened his grip, as he slowly turned the goblet upside down, pouring its content onto the floor. His friends´ laughter rumbled in my ears as he grinned at me, without a trace of humor. I squirmed again.

,,Hey, leave her alone.”

Oh my fuck, bro, I swear to gods, don´t fight this dude, I prayed quickly as Jáchym approached us, opening the man´s hand and forcing him to leave my forearm. I backed off as fast as I could, grasping the bruises he left, watching him and my friend with wide eyes.

The man stood up slowly, hovering over Jáchym as he tried to keep balance. My friend was apparently too dumb to do the logical thing, which was turning around and running for his fucking life, but instead, he striked first.

The man groaned and fell back onto his seat, grabbing his bloodied nose. Now Jáchym backed up, probably finally realizing that fighting a viking wasn't the smartest thing to do, but the man grabbed his shoulder and punched him. Well, he tried, Jáchym dodged it at the last time, and the man´s fist just lightly stroked his cheekbone instead of landing on his chin.

I forgot that I was fucking terrified, my blood raced through my veins. My heart was pounding so fast it hurt. I forgot how to breathe. And, I did the dumbest thing possible. I jumped forward, head-butting the man´s face before he could punch my friend again.

He groaned, I felt his already injured nose to crack, and white stars of pain flew across my skull. He grabbed my throat and threw me to the ground, as one of his friends twisted Jáchym´s arms behind his back to stop him from fighting again, even though he thrashed around and tried to stomp on his feet.

I tried to get up, but a kick forced me to fly back to the ground with a pained gasp. Jáchym managed to strike the face of his opponent with the back of his head, but a punch to the gut forced him to topple over, wheezing for breath. The man over me grinned as he unbuckled his belt.

,,You gonna fuck this little bitch, Hrolf?” one of his friends laughed, watching the whole scene while drinking his ale.

The disgusting piece of shit, apparently named Hrolf, just sneered. ,,I´m not fucking dogs,” he snarled, erupting more laughter from his great pals. ,,I´m just gonna put these two sneaky pieces of shit back to their place.”

His belt landed on my arm, leaving an angry red mark. I yelped and tried to pull away, but to no use. The leather of his belt hit my skin again, and again, and again, no matter how much I squirmed. In the end, I just curled up, covering my head with arms, quietly weeping and hoping that he'll get enough soon.

My hopes apparently came true, since the blows stopped coming. Hrolf scoffed. ,,And now the other one.”

Oh well I think the fuck not, I thought, pulling my bloodied arms from my head. Jáchym growled and fought against the two men who were manhandling him, trying to push him down. Hrolf raised his arm, ready to hit him.

I bounced off the floor and flew forward, kicking him in the groin with all the strength I had. Which wasn't much, but it was enough to force him to screech and topple over, falling back onto his seat hard. Jája pulled himself out of the grasp of the two men, quickly stepping away.

The metal buckle of the belt landed on my face, erupting in a white-hot lash of pain. I fell to the floor, feeling the metal taste of blood in my mouth, but I looked up at Hrolf with a bloody grin when he turned around and left the scene with a scoff, swaying and grabbing his crotch.

Jáchym´s warm hands lifted me up. I wiped the blood from my face, hissing as I touched the open wound and splitted lip.

,,You alright?” he asked, concerned. One of his eyes was already swelling up. I frowned, gently touching it, and he softly tsk-ed, pulling away from my touch.

,,No, bro. Are you alright?” I replied, voice full of worries. And blood. It´s sweetness mixed up with the bitter aftertaste of the ale.

He shook his head. ,,No. Let's get out of here.”

I agreed with all my heart. We supported each other as we stumbled out of the hall, into the cold darkness of the night.

>><<

Rangar´s eyes were piercing me as he softly turned my head with his fingertips, examining the marks.

,,You say he beated you two up for getting a drink?” he asked Jáchym, who stood a few feet away.

My friend nodded with a frown. ,,Yeah. He said something about putting us back in place or something,” he confirmed, his face dark with anger. I shivered softly when I saw his expression. Ragnar turned my attention back to him.

,,Um, I mean, it was kind of my fault,” I admitted quickly, stuttering a little when faced with his blue, stark eyes, who did not blink. ,,I- I shouldn't have sneak up on him like- like that, I´m really sorry-”

,,Stop it,” Ragnar cut my stammering. ,,He hurt you. Floki,” he turned to the boat-builder who was watching the whole scene, leaning against the frame of the door, ,,go find Hrolf. Tell him I want to talk to him, now.”

Floki sneered a little and perked up. ,,Of course, Ragnar,” he grinned, as he always did. ,,I will tell him.”

He disappeared and Ragnar sighed, patting my shoulder. I let out a soft gasp of pain and he immediately stopped, gently grabbing my side instead. ,,I´ll deal with him,” he promised to us. I felt the anger building up inside him and I shivered, clinging to Jáchym instead. ,,Come with me.”

>><<

,,Hello, Hrolf,” Ragnar greeted the man who entered the hall coldly, not even turning around to face him. I sat at the heel of the stairs leading to the chairs dominating the room, trying to hide in the shadow. Jáchym didn´t. He sat at the top and was piercing Hrolf with the deadliest stare he knew, considering the fact that one of his eyes was swollen and almost closed.

,,What is it, Ragnar?” Hrolf asked, the trace of sarcasm too visible in his voice.

,,You know why I wanted to talk to you,” Ragnar said softly, still with his back turned on Hrolf as the man approached. ,,You hurt these two.”

Hrolf scoffed. ,,The girl sneaked up on me. She then disrespected me, and the boy tried to fight. I simply put your slaves back to their place.”

Now Ragnar turned around swiftly, facing the smaller man, their faces only a few inches apart. ,,They´re not slaves,” he corrected him, voice terrifyingly calm and low. ,,We found them while raiding, but they're not slaves, Hrolf. I think of them as high as of my own children.”

Hrolf threw his arms apart. ,,Well, I didn't know that you were so keen on them,” he snarled in irritation. ,,They annoyed me. I fixed that. If they learned their lesson, I have no problem with them. Is that all, Ragnar?”

Ragnar smirked, locking Hrolf´s arms in an iron grip. ,,No.”

He head-butted Hrolf´s face so fiercely that his head flew back, breaking his already kind of damaged nose once again and leaving a bruise around his eye, similar to Jáchym´s from yesterday. Hrolf howled in pain, but Ragnar´s grip forced him to stay on his feet. Ragnar grinned wildly as he flicked a small knife from behind his belt - and then he turned to me. I shrivelled and curled up under his gaze.

,,Come here,” he ordered me, still holding a groaning Hrolf in one hand and the blade in the other.

The last thing I wanted was to get close to a furious Ragnar with a knife in his hands, but his command was just impossible to ignore. I shakily got up and approached him, my eyes flickering from the glistening blade to Hrolf´s fucked up nose to Ragnar's stone-cold face with a soft smile on it.

,,Closer,” he gestured, softly taking my chin to lift it up, examining the place on my cheek where the belt broke my skin. ,,Hmmm.” He turned back to Hrolf and lifted the knife.

I backed up, knowing very well what he was about to do, and I also knew that there was no use in trying to stop him. I just turned away, trying to ignore Hrolf´s pained gasps and panting as Ragnar slowly, too slowly started to carve the same wound into his cheek. Jáchym softly hugged my side when he felt me shivering, frowning, but not turning away.

Finally, Ragnar was done, the bloodied knife fell to the floor and Hrolf was quietly hissing.

,,Now, I think we're good,” Ragnar said, still not letting him go, watching the blood drip from his chin. ,,But to be absolutely clear…” He pulled Hrolf even closer, so close he felt Ragnar´s breath on his ear, ,,You ever lay a hand on them again, and I will cut it off myself. Understood?”

,,Ye- Yes,” he gasped, gulping. ,,I understand.”

,,Good,” Ragnar smiled and let him go. ,,Now, be on your way.”

Hrolf started to back up, wiping the blood from his face, leaving the hall abruptly, shutting the door behind him. Ragnar let out a huge breath and picked up the knife, wiping it against his pants. Then he looked at us.

,,Which one of you broke his nose the first time?” he asked.

,,I think it was me,” said Jája.

Ragnar grinned and reached a hand out to him, helping him to get up. I quickly stood up too, my eyes flinching from Ragnar back to my friend.

,,Good. The next time, punch out his teeth too, boy.”

[words-with-wren]

you’ll be alright, no one can hurt you now

Words: 3,500ish

Fandom: Tangled the Series

Characters: Varian, Eugene, Rapunzel, Ruddiger (also Pascal make an appearance)

Warnings: minor whump (I keep putting Varian through it i’m not sorry), flashbacks, probably bad portrayal of PTSD

___

“So what, exactly, is this amazing new job you have?” Varian asked. He was sitting on a barrel in the armoury, Ruddiger dozing in his lap. The armoury was not Varian’s favourite place in the castle, to say the least, but Eugene had invited him along while he got ready and Varian wasn’t going to say no to a Team Awesome adventure, as small though it was. 

Something heavy hit the ground around the corner where Eugene was getting changed. A muffled curse followed, Eugene muttering something under his breath. There was a moment of silence, in which Varian smiled fondly and stroked Ruddiger’s ears. 

“Uh, yeah, fancy new job - as captain of the guard I have the prestigious honour of standing by and looking fancy while the important boatload of people comes in from Ingvarr.” 

Varian couldn’t help but smile at the way he spoke - he clearly wasn't that keen on the job opportunity. 

“You’ll be great at it, isn’t standing around looking fancy what you do most of the day anyway?” 

“Ha!” Eugene shot back from behind the wall, and Varian grinned again. “I’ll have you know it’s taken a lot of effort to look this fancy.” 

A pair of guards marched passed the door and Varian shifted to watch them, suddenly on edge. He slipped off the barrel, relocating a slightly grumpy Ruddiger to his shoulder and stepped a little closer towards the wall Eugene was behind. 

“So, why exactly, did we need to come down here? Are you not fancy enough already?” he asked, forcing himself to relax. There wasn’t anything to be nervous about - he just didn’t like this part of the castle. 

“Kid I am always fancy enough,” Eugene said, sounding almost offended. Varian rolled his eyes with a grin. “However, as captain of the guard, I have the ability to… dress up a little.” He stepped out into view and Varian froze. 

It wasn’t that he was surprised - he had suspected this was why they had come down here in the first place. It was more the sudden wave of memories and emotions that seeing Eugene in the guard uniform brought back. 

Cold, stone walls. Cruel faces, hard blows, pushes, kicks, hungry days and endless nights. Gold metal, flashing off the dim light that shone through his tiny window. Red fabric, red like the blood he found on his hands sometimes.

He was breathing quickly, frozen, unable to move, unable to properly think. Somehow, it was worse seeing Eugene in their uniform. Eugene was comfort, friendship, home, happiness. The guards were hard, cruel, pain, loneliness. He couldn’t connect the two in his mind and seeing Eugene in the armour made him feel sick. 

And yet Eugene stood before him, the sparkling gold chest plate of the Corona guard shining on his chest. And Varian froze, the achingly familiar expression of hardness and emotionlessness settling on his face instinctively. 

“Kid?” Eugene asked, taking a hesitant step forward. He hadn’t missed the panic that flashed across Varian’s face before being replaced with a carefully schooled expression that betrayed nothing. Ruddiger chattered nervously, gently butting Varian’s cheek. Varian, as though he wasn’t aware of what he was doing, pulled Ruddiger down, hugging him close, watching Eugene with an expression he didn’t like. 

“Do I really look that bad?” Eugene asked, keeping his voice light. He took a step forward but Varian flinched, stepping back quickly and Eugene froze. “Hey, it’s alright kid.” He crouched, trying to make himself seem less threatening, unsure what exactly had Varian so spooked. 

“I -” Varian began, his voice shaky. 

“It’s just Eugene,” he tried to tell himself, but the armour in front of him brought back too many memories, too many long faded bruises and hopeless nights. “Eugene wouldn’t hurt me.” 

But the guards would. And standing in front of him was a guard. 

“Varian, talk to me buddy,” Eugene's voice was even and Varian took a shaky breath, pressing his face into Ruddiger’s fur. 

“It’s just Eugene,” he told himself again. 

“Everything alright, captain?” 

The voice sent a rush of panic through him, nausea rising for a moment. He knew that voice - it had been directed towards him many times. The scornful, mocking, cruel voice of one of the guards who had frequented him while he was in prison. 

(For a moment, he was back, the walls drawing in around him, the helplessness weighing on him again and he couldn’t breathe.) 

“Everything is fine, Rick,” Eugene said, his voice hard. He didn’t stand, looking past Varian’s slightly shaking form. He had butted heads with the man a few times since becoming captain - Rick was one of the vocal guard members who were not a fan of having a former criminal become captain of the guard. 

He had also, from memory, run into him from time to time while running as Flynn Rider. None of the interactions had been pleasant. And from the way Varian was shaking, the boy had a similar experience. 

“Are you sure? Because I can deal with him, if you want me to.” There was an air of smugness about Rick, as though he knew Eugene couldn’t do anything to him. Realistically, he was right - even as captain, there was only so much Eugene could do. Especially with half the guard waiting for him to fail. 

A small whimper escaped from Varian at the words and he took an uncertain step towards Eugene. He was holding Ruddiger so tightly, Eugene wondered briefly if he was hurting the animal, but Ruddiger wasn’t complaining, pressing his face into Varian’s chin in a comforting gesture. 

Eugene stood slowly, not missing the slight flinch the movement drew from Varian. He was beginning to piece the picture together - Corona was infamous for its mistreatment of criminals after Rapunzel had been taken. Eugene himself had experienced abuse at the hands of the Corona guard on the few occasions they had managed to catch him. 

He had just been a petty thief. Varian had been a traitor. Had kidnapped the queen and threatened Corona’s beloved princess. 

A slow flame of anger began burning in Eugene’s chest as the thoughts flashed through his mind in a second. Varian was standing between himself and Rick, shivering slightly, holding Ruddiger tight and Eugene clenched his fists. 

“I think you should leave,” he said, struggling to keep his voice under control. Rick eyed him for a long moment and then smirked. 

“And what are you going to do, Rider. Criminals sticking together, I see.” He spat the last, taking a threatening step forward. 

Varian felt fear clench at his chest and he took a step back, towards the comforting presence of Eugene. But the flash of gold from Eugene’s uniform caught the corner of his eye and he bit his lip, trying to not to show emotion. 

And then a hand was placed on his shoulder and Varian couldn’t handle it anymore. Terror shot through him, the memories of all the beatings and pain and fear and hopelessness overwhelming him. He couldn't breathe for a moment -  he had to move, to get away from the gold armour and the sneers. The memories of that darkness. He had to run. He shoved back against the hand on his shoulder, needing to get away before the beatings began, before the pain returned. 

He barely knew where he was going, just that he had to run, had to get away, had to find somewhere safe. Ruddiger was warm in his arms and he buried his face in the raccoon’s fur, hot tears leaking from his eyes as he ran. 

A part of him hated that he was running. Hated that he was running from Eugene. But the wild, animal fear and panic overtook him and he ran. 

Eugene raised his hand with an internal curse - Varian usually loved touch, loved casual hands on his shoulder or hair ruffles. But clearly this had been too much and Eugene berated himself for not seeing that. 

Rick let out a short laugh as Varian bolted from the room. 

“Looks like you caught him in another crime. What was he doing this time? Sabotaging the water?”

He laughed as though it were funny and Eugene fought down the urge to punch him. He forced his anger back with effort, clenching his fists by his side and quickly leaving the room. 

“We’re going to have a talk later,” he said as he left, his voice sharp. Rick only laughed again, and Eugene tried not to let that get to him. 

Varian had vanished, and Eugene tried not to let worry take over. He took a shaky breath and decided that was probably for the best - however he had spooked Varian to begin with, he probably wasn’t the best person to be tracking down the kid. 

He didn’t even knock as he pushed open the door to Rapunzel’s room. She looked up in surprise as he entered, lowering the brush she was running through her hair. 

“Eugene, what’s wrong?” she asked, instantly sensing his concern. He let out a long breath, pacing the room. 

“I lost the kid,” he muttered. “He spooked, or something and… just ran.” 

“Varian?” Rapunzel asked, and Eugene nodded, stopping in the middle of the room and playing with the glove on one hand. 

“I’m not sure what exactly it was,” he said. “Bad memories… something. Rick didn’t help,” he added darkly. “But I don’t think I’m the best person to be looking for him right now.” 

“I’ll find him,” Rapunzel said, without hesitation. She placed the brush down and stood and Eugene couldn’t help but feel relieved, even though he knew she would help. He reached out to take her hand, moving hair out of her face with his other hand. “If the ambassador arrives before I find him -”

“I’ll cover for you, don’t worry,” he said, holding her hands with his. She smiled, reaching up to kiss him quickly. “Thanks, Sunshine,” he said as she pulled away, Pascal bounding up her dress onto her shoulder. 

“I’ll find him, don’t worry,” Rapunzel said as she left the room. Eugene let out a long breath as she left, running a hand through his hair and forcing himself to breathe. 

Pascal chirped in Rapunzel’s ear as she moved quickly through the halls, trying to guess where Varian might be hiding. She was vaguely aware of the greetings from various guards and maids in the halls as she made her way towards Varian’s lab. Each greeting she returned, but her heart wasn’t in it, concern for her friend growing. 

“Varian?” she called, knocking lightly in the laboratory door. There was no answer, so she pushed it open slowly. 

The room was empty, a complicated pattern of pipes and jars set up on the table, messy notes scribble along the walls. Rapunzel stepped into the room, flicking off the flame that was burning under a vial of some bubbling blue chemical (that really didn’t seem safe) and turning to take in the whole room. 

“Varian?” she called. Pascal crawled down her dress to examine under the table, in case he was hiding there. There was no answer, and Rapunzel frowned, worried. Pascal bounded back to her and she bent to pick him up, lifting her back to her shoulder. “Where could he be?” she muttered. Pascal shrugged. 

Eugene had said something had spooked him, it was likely he would find somewhere to hide. She mentally ran through a checklist of places, rejecting a few (there would be too many people in the kitchen, he couldn’t climb like Pascal, he was much larger than Pascal) and finally began to move through the castle. 

It was the third place she looked that she finally found him. The linen cupboard on the second floor, curled up on the bottom shelf so small she almost missed him when she opened the door. Ruddiger caught her attention, trilling softly. 

She settled on her knees, bending down to see him. He was curled in a tight ball, clutching Ruddigier, his face turned away from her. 

“Varian?” she asked quietly. He took a shaky breath and looked up, a clearly forced smile on his face. 

“Oh, uh, he-hey, princess,” he said, rubbing a hand across his face. “Uh, sorry I was just..” 

Rapunzel resisted the urge to haul him into a hug - he seemed raw, fragile and she wasn’t sure if that would help or make things worse. Instead, she shifted, sitting cross-legged and smiled. 

“It’s okay,” she said. “You want to talk?” 

He hesitated, looking down at Ruddiger and running a hand through the raccoon’s fur. 

“I don’t know,” he said finally, not looking up. 

“How about a hug then?” Rapunzel asked. He looked up finally, a small real smile on his face. 

“Yeah, I could go for that,” he said. Rapunzel didn’t hesitate any longer, reaching into the cupboard and pulling him into her arms. He relaxed into her, Ruddiger pressed in between them. For a long time, she stayed like that, holding him, and slowly, she became aware that he was crying, his shoulders shaking silently. 

“Varian?” she asked, burying a hand in his hair. He pulled back, sitting on the edge of the shelf and looking down. His eyes were wet and he ran a hand through Ruddiger’s fur, not meeting her eyes. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, blinking a few times. Rapunzel leaned forward, laying a hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t be,” she said quietly. 

“I just…” He wrapped a hand around himself, the other still buried in Ruddiger’s fur. “I saw Eugene in that uniform and… eh-heh. It brought back bad memories.” He looked up, meeting her eyes for a second and then dropping his. “Is… I mean… Eugene, he’s…” He trailed off, unable to find the words. 

“Eugene understands,” she said quietly. “And he doesn’t blame you - no one does.” She shifted, standing and holding out a hand. “Want to find somewhere more comfortable to talk about it? Besides,” she added, a slight grin in her voice, “we want to get away before Old Lady Crowley finds us in her linens - she’ll make us wash them all.”  

That got a small smile out of Varian. He hesitated a moment, then took her hand and let her pull him up. Ruddiger bounded onto his shoulder as Rapunzel led him back towards her room, his hand still firmly grasped in hers. 

They were settled on Rapunzel’s bed when there was a soft knock at the door, and Eugene’s face appeared. Relief washed across his face as he caught sight of Varian. 

“You found him,” he said, the relief clear in his voice. “I’ll… leave you to it, then.” He began to close the door but Varian stopped him before he left fully. 

“No!” he called. “No, I… I mean… you don’t have too.” He rubbed Ruddiger’s fur between his fingers, forcing a small smile. Eugene seemed relieved at the invitation, stepping into the room. 

To Varian’s relief, he was no longer wearing the uniform. He crossed the room, settling on the bed a little apart from them, concern clear on his face. But no accusation. No blame, and Varian was grateful for that. 

Unable to take the distance between them anymore, Varian moved across the bed, wrapping his arms around Eugene and hugging him tightly. For a moment, Eugene reacted in surprise, then he returned the embrace, rubbing Varian’s back. 

“Sorry,” Varian whispered. 

“Hey, don’t be kiddo,” Eugene said. Varian pulled back with a smile and Rapunzel shifted closer to them. 

“You want to talk?” Rapunzel asked, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Ruddiger bounded back into his lap and suddenly, nestled between Rapunzel and Eugene, Varian realised he did want to talk. 

He hadn’t spoken to anyone about what that year had been like. Hadn’t shown anyone except Ruddiger how much it had worn away at him, how much it had chipped him down and exhausted him. It had seemed too dark, too hard to revisit. 

But Eugene’s arm around him was strong, Rapunzel’s warm. They were both watching him, unaccusingly, unpitying, just lovingly. Ruddiger purred softly, giving him the strength he needed to talk. 

He talked. He told them about the anger, about the rage he felt towards everyone who had betrayed him. He told them about the cold cell, about the prison food, about the long nights, the loneliness. He told them about the guards, how they accused him, beat him, starved him. (He felt Eugene’s fist clench behind his back, saw Rapunzel’s face harden, knew they were angry, but not at him.) 

He told them about the darkness, about the coldness, about the hopelessness. He told them about way they slowly chipped away at everything that made him who he was, turned him into a shell of anger and hurt and brokenness. 

He told them about Andrew, about the false hope he had grasped at. He told them about how he had clung to the Saporians like a lifeline, how he had internalised every comment, how he had seen no other way out. He told them how he had broken, and for a moment, he broke again in their arms. 

They held him for a long time after he finished. They held him and let him cry, warm and safe in their arms. 

“I’m sorry,” Rapunzel said softly, and there was a weight to her words that told Varian she meant more than just what had happened after he had been arrested. Varian leaned forward and took her hand, leaning into her. He had long ago forgiven her for that night. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said quietly, his voice raw with emotions. 

“It still shouldn’t have happened.” Eugene’s voice was hard when he spoke and there was a dangerous light in his eyes. 

“Maybe it should have,” Varian whispered, half hoping they didn’t hear him. That was his deepest fear, the thought that haunted him at night. That he deserved what had happened after everything he had done. 

“Don’t say that,” Rapunzel said. She gently cupped his face in her hands, lifting his chin so he looked up and her. “Don’t ever say that.” 

“The things I did…” Varian couldn’t meet her eyes. Sometimes, when he was laughing with Eugene or experimenting with Rapunzel, it felt like a distant dream, all that anger and fear and rage. The things he had done, the bonds he had broken, the people he had betrayed. 

Sometimes, it felt like only a few days since it had happened and he was starkly reminded of the monster he had become. 

“Hey,” Eugene said, rubbing a hand along Varian’s back. “Yeah, you did some bad things. But you were scared, and you were alone. I’m sorry we weren’t there for you.” 

“Eugene’s right,” Rapunzel said, and Varian looked up at her. “And whatever the case, no one should have to go through what you did.” Something in her expression hardened. “And I intend to have a long talk with my father about that.” 

Varian leaned back into her embrace, closing his eyes and for a moment, letting himself be loved. 

A soft knock on the door and the queen’s voice interrupted them. 

“Rapunzel, honey - the ambassador is nearly here, you’re needed.” 

Eugene and Rapunzel exchanged a look over Varian’s head, silent communication passing between them. 

“You should go,” Varian said before their silent conversation had finished, before Rapunzel had a chance to insist she stay. Because she would - he could see it in her eyes. She would stay because last time she hadn’t. He pushed himself up, leaving Rapunzel’s embrace a little reluctantly. “Your kingdom needs you. I’ll be alright.” 

“I’ll stay,” Eugene said quietly, laying a hand on Varian’s shoulder, and Varian couldn’t help but be a little relieved. As important as Rapunzel being there for her kingdom was, he didn’t really want to be alone at the moment. 

“Thank you,” Rapunzel said. She slipped off the bed, glancing in the mirror to check she was presentable. “And Varian,” she added as she left the room, Pascal on her shoulder. “If you ever need to talk, or even just a hug-” 

“I know. Thank you,” Varian said, smiling slightly. She returned the smile, slipping out of the room. 

Eugene slung an arm around Varian’s shoulder and the boy leaned into him, Ruddiger warm in his lap. 

“How’re feeling, kiddo?” Eugene asked quietly. 

“Honestly? Tired,” Varian admitted. “But… good. Thank you for listening.” 

“Anytime.” A long, comfortable silence filled the room, and then Eugene spoke up again. “Hey, maybe you can help me redesign the guard uniform.” 

“Huh?” Varian shifted, looking up at him. “You don’t have to-” 

“Neh, uniform’s kinda ugly anyway. Besides, blue is much more my colour.” 

“You can’t just… change the guard uniforms. For me,” Varian said, an almost laugh in his voice. Eugene gently shoved him, grinning. 

“Why not? I’m the captain of the guard now, I can do what I want.” 

“Careful you don’t abuse your power,” Varian said, shouldering him back. Eugene grinned, ruffling his hair. 

“I would never.” 

If, a few days later, a number of guards found themselves out of a job - Rick included - no one would accuse Eugene of abusing his power. 

[madasthesea]

Whump: mind control

(warnings: canon typical violence, blood, mentioned vomiting)

Post-battle pizza was quickly becoming a tradition and, as Peter slouched tiredly away from the smoking design in the middle of street where Thor had just taken the rogue Asgardian back to his realm, he had to say he was really, really looking forward to it. And his customary spot on the insanely soft couch in the Tower living room.

Mr. Stark trailed him as they walked a few blocks away to the hopefully undamaged car. The Asgardian had been crazy strong and erratic, hard to pin down. Not to mention he had magic powers. Peter’s initial enthusiasm and awe had waned as the battle dragged on and now he was just bone-deep tired.

Peter’s pace started lagging even more, letting Tony catch up. He was still in his armor with just the helmet down—one of the shoulder joints was a little messed up, not letting it fully retract. Peter spared a thought to the nanotech prototype sitting on Tony’s workbench, wishing Tony had had that today. It would have been helpful.

Tony’s hand curled around his wrist and Peter looked over at him, humming inquisitively. Tony didn’t answer, just pulled him to a stop on the sidewalk, turning him until he could hold both of Peter’s hands in his own.

Peter frowned behind his mask. This wasn’t Mr. Stark’s normal lecturing stance—he preferred hands on shoulders—and Peter didn’t really think he’d done anything to deserve a lecture, today at least. But he just shrugged internally; Tony got in weird moods sometimes, Peter had learned to just go with the flow.

Tony turned one of Peter’s wrists over, as if checking for an injury, but that was a weird place to be checking. In fact, it was more like he was examining Peter’s webshooters.

“They worked great today,” Peter said. Tony barely glanced up at him. “I think the new web formula—”

He cut off as both of Tony’s gauntleted hands wrapped around the webshooters and squeezed until they broke, sending webbing shooting in all directions in pathetic fountains.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter barked, yanking his wrists back and raising them to look at his now broken tech. “What the—”

Once again, he broke off. But this time it was because of the way Mr. Stark was looking at him.

His eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide. His jaw was set in a hard line, but apart from that, his face looked... blank. Utterly devoid of thought and emotion.

It was such a strange thing to see. Tony had never been indifferent to him before—even when they’d just met Tony listened to Peter’s stammering with intense focus, with undisguised curiosity. Slowly that developed into amusement and interest, then into concern laced with unbridled affection.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter said again, the hair on the back of his neck standing up.

Tony took a step forward, and despite his spider sense telling him to back away, Peter stood his ground.

It’s Tony, he told himself. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

“What’s going on?”

Tony answered by sucker-punching him right in the stomach.

Peter bent double, wheezing. Tony still had the Iron Man suit on, making him faster and stronger. Strong enough to hurt even Spider-Man.

Tony took another step forward and Peter finally gave in, stumbling back and nearly tripping over the curb. He held out the one hand not wrapped around his stomach toward Tony placatingly.

“Woah, ok,” he huffed. “Chill out, Terminator.”

Tony didn’t laugh. Peter bit his lip before trying again.

“Alright, clearly Mr. Stark is taking a little vacation. Who am I talking to, then? Hodr? That you? Sorry if I said your name wrong,” Peter rambled. It made sense—they fight a magical Asgardian warrior and suddenly Tony is attacking Peter? He knew it wasn’t Tony doing that. He knew it.

Tony’s gauntlet creaked as Tony clenched his fist, giving Peter just enough time to dodge the next swing, aimed right for his head.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter gasped out, backpeddling until he hit the brick wall behind him. “Mr. Stark, you still in there somewhere? Can you hear me?”

Tony raised his hand, palm out and gauntlet powering up. Peter instinctively raised his own hand, aiming a web before remembering that his shooters were broken. The second he’d taken cost him—the blast hit his shoulder.

Peter gave a cry of pain, his vision fizzing out for a second. Tony leapt at the opportunity that provided him, darting forward and ramming his armored shoulder into Peter’s solar plexus, completely winding him.

Peter stuck one hand to the wall behind him, levering himself a few feet off the ground. His other hand scrabbled at Tony, half shoving him back and half trying to shake him out of this.

“Mr. Stark, snap out of it.” His hand grasped the back of Tony’s neck, looking him in the eye. Tony stared blankly back, his eyes dark and empty and wrong. “Please, wake up.”

He drove a fist into Peter’s ribs. There was an audible crack. Peter shrank back against the brick as much as he could, using his feet to push Tony away. He yanked his mask off with his free hand, gasping out a whimper as he tasted metallic blood and spat it out. The respite lasted only a second before Tony was diving forward again.

“Tony!” Peter cried before a fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head back and into the brick.

Blinking stars out of his vision, Peter hiccupped a small sob.

“Tony, please, it’s me, it’s Peter.” It had always been almost a magic word between them. Peter’s name had always instantly garnered all of Tony’s attention, all of his focus, all of his care. It meant “this is important, this is serious.”

It didn’t work. Tony stepped back just enough to raise his hand, his gauntlet charging again.

Peter seized his moment—if reasoning wasn’t going to work, he was going to run. He twisted against the wall, jumping up until his toes connected and stuck. His shoulder screamed as he pulled himself up, but he went as fast as he could.

A hand seized his ankle and pulled. Peter’s gloves tore as he was ripped unceremoniously backward.

“No!” Peter shouted, twisting and, purely by instinct, kicking out and down.

Tony yelled as his nose snapped, blood beginning to pour over his lips. He still didn’t let go of Peter’s ankle, tugging him until he was once again on the sidewalk, Tony looming over him.

His face was still blank, masklike. He barely even looked human as he stood with blood dripping off his chin and his eyes completely lifeless. It was like a wax figurine of Tony Stark had been animated and sent to beat Peter to a pulp.

Maybe that was why, he wondered later, he wound his fist back and socked Tony in the jaw.

The man’s head snapped to the side and Peter reached forward again. This time, his hands went to the Iron Man suit, clawing at the little hidden failsafes and latches. He knew this suit better than anyone apart from Tony himself and he wasn’t going to stand here and let whoever was controlling Tony kill him with it.

Tony grabbed his wrist again, quickly and efficiently spraining it, but not before Peter managed to tear half the chest plate off, leaving the left arm hanging awkwardly, hindering him. Tony snarled and ripped it all the way off, tossing it carelessly to the side.

In training, Tony had always told him not to think. just act. They’d drilled maneuvers again and again until Peter could do them by muscle memory alone.

It would save his life someday, Tony said.

When Tony reached for Peter throat, it was instinct that made his hand shoot up, grab Tony by the elbow and twist until his shoulder dislocated. It was muscle memory to use his own weight against him, spinning him until Peter could pin him against the brick wall. There wasn’t time to think, there was just survival mode, pure adrenaline. Fight or die.

Peter wasn’t thinking when he pulled his fist back and drove it into Tony’s cheek.

Tony crumpled, the Iron Man armor awkward and ungainly as he slid to the ground.

Peter stumbled backward, tripped when the curb dropped off, and sat down hard in the street, sending white hot agony through every inch of his body. His broken ribs screamed in pain and his head swam.

He looked at the bloodied body of the man he loved as a father in front of him, then at his rapidly bruising knuckles, and vomited into the gutter.

 He had to carry Tony into an alley. People were starting to leave the safety of their homes now that the battle had ended. He couldn’t let anyone find them like this, especially with his mask still off.

He settled Tony as carefully as he could against one wall, then curled up against the other, his sprained wrist holding his broken ribs still. He could taste blood in his mouth and thought something might have ruptured.

Happy found them like that, twenty minutes after Peter’s hiccupped call. Tony was still unconscious. Peter was crying.

 Dr. Cho almost put them in the same room in the Medbay, but Peter asked to be moved. She’d frowned, but agreed.

Peter got released after a day and a half, once his concussion was fully healed.

Tony had to stay for three more days. Peter didn’t go to see him. Tony had apparently asked about him when he woke up, but after Pepper has assured him that Peter was ok, he hadn’t asked again.

 It was raining, loudly enough Peter couldn’t sleep. He’d gone to the gym to try to work himself into exhaustion, but his ribs were still healing, making anything more than a brisk walk impossible. Which is how he ended up in the library, sitting on the floor and staring out the floor to ceiling windows at the pouring rain, at the way they reflected the city lights.

“Peter?”

Peter jumped, twisting around fast enough that his ribs ached and he reached up automatically to brace them.

It was Tony, standing in the doorway with his arm in a sling and his nose bandaged. His eyes were fixed on Peter’s ribs.

They hadn’t seen each other since before that fight, before that Asgardian. Before they had put each other in the hospital.

“I’m sorry,” Tony stammered. “I didn’t meant to—I’m just... um, I’m going to...,” Tony trailed off, gesturing behind himself, and Peter hated it, because Tony never hesitated, never trailed off. He rambled and sometimes made no sense, but he never second guessed himself before this.

“You don’t have to go,” Peter said, turning again to look out the window, trying to subtly take deep breaths to get his heart rate back to normal. He sniffed and hoped Tony didn’t notice.

Tony sucked in a breath. “Ok. Ok.” Peter heard him linger in the doorway for another moment before moving forward. “I’m just going to sit right behind you, alright? So you know where I am but you don’t... you don’t have to look at me.”

When Peter didn’t protest, Tony cautiously sat, pressing his back up against Peter’s. He was warm and solid and Peter’s throat hurt from keeping the tears back.

“If this is too much, just tell me and I’m gone, ok?”

“It isn’t.”

“Peter,” Tony muttered and Peter closed his eyes, trying to shut out the memory of saying that to Tony, of pleading with him. A magic word except for when they really needed it. “It’s ok if you’re afraid of me.”

Peter tensed and Tony echoed it, the muscles in his back going taut. “I’m not,” he snapped.

“Kid, it’s totally normal—”

“I’m not!” Tony’s jaw closed with an audible click. “I have nothing to be afraid of because that wasn’t you. You would never hurt me. Never. I know that.”

“It was me,” Tony growled. “I have the split knuckles to prove it.” His voice was softer when he spoke again. “And logic doesn’t usually apply to trauma, buddy.”

“I’m not traumatized,” Peter insisted.  

He could feel Tony’s heart beating against his back. It was as steady as Tony’s heartbeat ever was, maybe just a little faster than usual. He sighed and it jostled Peter enough to make his mostly healed ribs twinge.

“Then what are you, Peter?”

Peter opened his mouth then closed it again. “I’m... sorry.” He dropped his head backwards, onto Tony’s good shoulder and felt the surprise ripple up Tony’s spine. “I—I’m so freaking sorry, Tony.”

“What on earth are you sorry for?” Tony asked, incredulous. He twisted as if wanting to turn and look at Peter, but then stilled as if afraid of spooking him. Peter exhaled a sharp breath of furious air, like a bull getting ready to charge.

“What am I sorry for? I’m sorry for your dislocated shoulder, your broken nose, your concussion. Should I keep going?” Peter spat, turning his head enough that he could see Tony’s ear in the gray light, the salt-and-pepper scruff around his jaw that he couldn’t shave because of his injuries.

Tony shook his head. “You were defending yourself. You did the right thing.”

Peter’s voice broke as he murmured, “I hurt you.”

Tony shrugged. “I hurt you.” His voice was low and heavy with failure. Like it was the worst crime imaginable.

“No, you didn’t. Hodr hurt me. He did all of it. But I...” Peter closed his eyes, the fight flashing behind his eyelids. He winced and Tony mimicked it in sympathy. “I fought you,” he whispered. “It wasn’t Hodr I was hurting, it was you, and I did it anyway. I made that decision, Tony. It was your blood on my knuckles. I put you in the hospital.”

“Peter.” Tony’s left hand inched backward until it found Peter’s right. He carefully squeezed his fingers, minding his recovering sprain. “It was instinct. It’s... biology, kid. Fight or flight. I’m glad you did. If I had woken up out of whatever brainwashing, puppet crap and found you—Jeez, kid,” Tony sighed, not finishing the thought.

Peter turned his hand over so he could grasp Tony’s fingers in return, callous catching on callous. A twinge of pain shot up Peter’s arm, but he ignored it.

“Then tell me you would have done the same thing,” he pleaded quietly, laying his head back on Tony’s shoulder and staring at the ceiling, eyes swimming with tears. “Tell me you would have fought back.”

Tony took a slow, deep breath. It whistled in and out of his lungs.

“It’s not the same.”

“How?”

“You said you know I would never hurt you,” Tony said. “How do you know?”

Different questions with the same answer. One they’ve been skirting around for over a year and a half.

Peter could feel the strap of Tony’s sling pressed against his shoulder blade. He leaned further back, slumped against Tony, until it hurt his ribs. Tony was warm and solid and he took on Peter’s extra weight like he had been expecting it. Their hands were almost the same size now, but the way Tony curled his fingers around Peter’s palm made him feel small and fragile and safe.

“Because a good parent would never hurt their child,” Peter whispered.

Tony’s heart skipped a beat against Peter’s back.

“Yeah,” Tony said, his voice trembling. “Peter, I—”

Peter didn’t wait for the apology or the question or whatever unnecessary words Tony was about to say. He spun around, his knees bumping gently against Tony’s hip.

Tony turned, too, slower, more painstakingly. His eyes were soft and sad as they looked at Peter, his lips curving up in a crooked smile as Peter stared back. His nose was still bandaged, both eyes still bruised black in the low light. Peter had done that.

“Are you afraid of me?” Peter asked quietly.

Tony smiled more fully, shook his head. “You’re about as frightening as a newborn puppy, Underoos.”

When he held his good arm out, Peter happily fell into the hug, buried his nose against Tony’s pulse point.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, because he was still so sorry it ached.

“Me, too. But we’re going to be ok, kid,” Tony murmured against Peter’s temple. “Nothing could ever make me stop loving you. I promise.”

[vanne-whump]

WIJ Day Twenty Six: What’s a memorable moment that gave you whumperflies? @whumpmasinjuly

Content Warnings: Institutionalised Slavery, Vampires, Major Character Death, Kidnapping, “Stockholm Syndrome”, Abusive Relationship, Police Mention, Drugs, Alcohol, Suicide Mention, Memory Loss, Death Threats, Dehumanisation, Muzzling, Noncon Touching, Shock Collar, Electric Shock, Suicide Attempt.

> I have so many of these and I’m going to take this as an opportunity to ramble about them endlessly in vaguely chronological order.

> My first memorable moment was a roleplay centring around human whumpees being sold to vampires. At the time, I didn’t know what whump was, but this roleplay definitely qualified. Felicity attends a party with James, meeting another girl who is much worse off than her. The vampire who threw the party takes a liking to Felicity and offers a temporary trade: Felicity for Elle. James, who is trying to uphold his reputation and overturn rumours that he’s ‘gone soft’ agrees to the trade, despite being in love with Felicity. He tells her to keep her head down and promises to come back for her before anything happens. But it’s a promise he can’t uphold and Felicity is badly injured before he returns with a proposal of ‘buying’ Elle and taking Felicity back.

> The next memorable moment is from the same roleplay, a little later on in the story. Word gets out about how James is acting and he becomes a target due to the fact he’s no longer interested in being brutal just for the sake of it. He makes an escape with both Felicity and Elle, none of whom are in any way prepared for any of it. They make it away from town — away from anyone who knows them. They stop at a supermarket to stock up on food, running into someone who recognises James. In the fight that ensues, Elle is injured and James is captured, leaving Felicity in the grasps of a less merciful vampire who kills her, pushing James over the edge.

> The second roleplay centres around an obsession-turns-kidnapping that actually turns out well for everyone involved. I remember being embarrassed at some of my suggestions, thinking they were ‘too much’ or ‘too twisted’ but it turns out they were just whumpy. I reread this roleplay recently and there are so many moments from it that I go back to over and over again.

> During and after a visit from police, Noah locks Paris in the cupboard in a frantic attempt to hide his presence from the officers. It works, but Noah is late for a class and has no time to untie Paris before he leaves — being late or not showing up after the visit would be suspicious. Only, he never wanted to lock Paris up in the first place. He comes home just over an hour later, finding Paris right where he left him, an emotional wreck. He’s rubbed his wrists raw trying to get out of the bindings and has exhausted himself from crying and struggling. But now Noah is there, and everything is okay.

> Paris and Noah get into a physical fight — their first one. Before, it was only angry exchanges of words. Noah completely loses his inhibitions, easily overpowering Paris and leaving him bruised and bleeding on the floor. While Paris is coming to, Noah rightly decides that they shouldn’t be together — that Noah should be getting some help. So he patches Paris up as best as he can and sends him away. Except Noah doesn’t anticipate how self destructive Paris is. Paris falls back into old drug and alcohol habits — ones he only stopped indulging due to the fact Noah was holding him captive. He’s a complete wreck over being ‘unwanted’ and loses almost two months to constant blackouts. Only when Noah turns up, ready to make amends, he sees just how bad things are for Paris. Pills scattered everywhere, a suicide note pushed back behind trash in the kitchen and blotchy memories of what Paris had spent the last month doing. After an emotional reunion, they fall asleep together and Noah realises that Paris is finally peaceful.

> After introducing a third, Aiden, to their relationship, Aiden gets himself into trouble. Aiden is dealing drugs and Paris pushes him to let him help to take some of the strain off of Aiden. After a tip off, police arrive at the house with a search warrant. Aiden previously gave Paris all of his drugs for a deal that fell through the previous night. Instead of allowing Aiden to also get into trouble, Paris pulls an officer aside to confess. Paris is convinced he’s doing the right thing, not realising he’s just being self-destructive.

> He gets a harsh prison sentence, becoming a target while he’s inside. Once he gets out, he’s all too aware of the fact he’s not the same person any more. Any sense of achievement of surviving prison is overshadowed by the constant fear encroaching on his life after his release.

> This next roleplay was the first time I wrote my OC Kay and I’m still absolutely in love with the entire plot.

> Kay and Jerome meet on neutral ground and, despite knowing how dangerous Jerome could be, Kay goes out of his way to antagonise him. When he’s finally shoved up against the wall and Jerome threatens to kill him, Kay brushes it off as flirting and that irritates Jerome to no end.

> Kay and Jerome are exposed for having an affair, which is strictly off limits for where they’re living. With concerns over their relationship and its potential long-term effects, Kay and Jerome are split up. After being completely uncooperative, Kay is arrested and led out in cuffs, while Jerome is left in their house alone. When they’re finally reunited, Jerome automatically assumes the worst and Kay has to talk him down from a panic.

> They move out shortly after and an old friend contacts Jerome and he and Kay only reluctantly get along. After realising that he and Jerome are under threat, Kay agrees to let Jerome’s friend help him train in self-defence, where he only ends up getting himself hurt and learning nothing.

> Finally, when Kay has to pay off a major debt he owes, he is manipulated into killing someone and helping with the cleanup. While he knows he should be distressed and be completely against it, he can’t help but enjoy the rush. Which is fine, until he gets back to his and Jerome’s apartment, covered in blood and having to explain himself.

> Andrew-Kay was my most recent long-term roleplay with @whumpymirages and there were some amazing moments and I’m probably forgetting most of them but here are some!

> Firstly, all of the times combined where Kay scared or worried Sky. Every time he spoke out of turn or lashed out and made her afraid of him, or at least, afraid of his consequences.

> Once Andrew clearly sets out the rules and Kay still doesn’t shut up — Andrew has to use the muzzle for the first time. And when Kay manages to loosen it overnight, earning himself a punishment and scaring Sky once more. And then, to make up for it, when he wears the muzzle voluntarily so Sky can spend a night away from Andrew.

> When he first meets Rory! Specifically, the way Rory is so unwilling to go against Andrew and is still being a terrible person, but the way he still treats Kay with some level of decency is perfect. And then the way he comforts Kay, making sure he doesn’t make himself ill. And the awkwardness of their blindfold session. All of that entire scene is so memorable.

> And then when Kay screws up Rory’s task and Andrew shocks him. And just the way it continues until Rory steps in to try and help, and then the comfort afterwards hurts just as much while he’s trying to clean Kay’s burns and being actually helpful for the first time. Also! The way Rory feels when he leaves, he knows it’s wrong that he’s helping Andrew, but also can’t stop doing it.

> Andrew takes Kay to a piercer and Rory tags along. As fun as the scene itself was to write and the fact it was memorable, the best bit was, again, Rory’s poor attempts at caretaking. The way he followed Kay over to the table, just hoping his presence helped! And then pushing a pissed off Andrew to buy pain relief. And asking for Kay’s real name. All of it was just. Yes.

> When Kay is struggling to eat because of the piercings and Sky involuntarily sacrifices herself to try and help Kay. It backfires and ends up with Sky taking a beating before Kay makes the stupid impulsive decision to try and step in and take the punishment for her. And then fast forward to Rory not being able to stay away and being forced to suddenly make a decision that changes everything.

> And then the movie scene! When Kay and Rory order pizza and just watch a movie — the first time since meeting Andrew where Kay feels normal. Kay feels so safe that he falls asleep on Rory, which is something he really needs at the time. And Rory’s feelings about it too! Both about a poor movie choice and about the fact Kay is touching him voluntarily, leading to them sharing a bed and Kay finally beginning to truly trust that Rory has good intentions.

> Kay manages to get hold of a knife while Rory is elsewhere, attempting to take off the shock collar and failing. When he can’t, he moves on to trying to hurt himself. It doesn’t do much damage and Rory finds him, once again having to put his own discomfort aside and fix Kay up. Just the way Rory is so angry about the fact that it happened and how he wants to do anything in his power to make sure Kay never tries anything similar again, even pretending that their relationship is ‘real’ and ‘normal’. Especially when he goes on later to think about what he’d want from Kay if this was all real.

> Possibly my favourite scene from the entire story though, Kay and Rory are doing their equivalent to a trust exercise and Kay pushes his luck, kissing Rory and leaving him completely overwhelmed and doubting himself, even though it was Kay who made the first move.

> A more general thing, but when Kay and Rory’s dynamic finally shifts when they begin planning the drive to Grand Rapids! The way neither of them are quite sure how to act around one another is great. It’s almost like they’re complete strangers again

> Also, Andrew’s phone call while Kay and Rory are at the hotel! The way it shoved any of Kay’s progress back, and how Rory was suddenly so clearly out of his depth with what was happening — how he was trying his best to make sure that Kay was alright and Kay being almost completely non-responsive to him.

> Basically any interaction between Kay and Rory. They’re my absolute favourites.

[detectivejay-chuckles-halstead]

Jay Halstead x Reader Imagine

Description: Being Jay’s partner was the best thing that happened in your career. Being with Jay was the best thing in your life. But what happens when a case goes sideways?

Words: 8048

Warnings: Violence against Women, Major Whump

Pairings: Jay Halstead x Reader

The day you were brought upstairs from being a beat cop was one of the best days of your life. You’d helped out many times on Intelligence cases, had caught the eye of the key players in the team. Your partner, Kim Burgess, was excited for you, but you knew she wanted that spot when Erin left. 

It was a once in a lifetime opportunity for you, and you wouldn’t turn it down just to try and be nice to Kim’s feelings. Plus, the night Voight had extended the opportunity to you, you and Kim had gone out to Molly’s, Kim had bought you a round, had excessively congratulated you with Adam by her side. He told you how excited he was to have you upstairs now, but he gave you a warning that night. 

“Jay and Erin, they had a good thing going, and he’s taking her leaving pretty hard,” Adam explained. “So, don’t be surprised if you don’t get a warm welcome.” 

“I’m not too worried,” you replied. “He’ll warm up to me pretty fast, considering how charming I can be.” That got a laugh out of the couple, nursing your beer. “Plus, he texted me, saying he was on his way.”

Adam gave you a funny look, but didn’t say anything. You could make the excuse that it was just Jay trying to get to know you, but you knew that was wrong. He’d figure it out soon enough. The three of you laughed about nothing, shared a few more shots, and had an overall great time until Jay showed up. You could tell he was there when a hand came to rest on your back, turning to look at him with a smile.

“Took you long enough, babe,” you said, letting him kiss you before turning back to your friends. Kim had a shit-eating grin, and Adam looked like he was a fish out of water.

It had been Jay’s idea to keep it on the down-low, with everything that happened with Erin. You couldn’t blame him. When Erin announced she’d be leaving, Voight had been the one to talk to Jay about bringing you up. He knew, though, about the rule of no in-house relationships, and had let Voight know what was going on between the two of you. At first, you though Jay was joking when he’d explained it to you, saying that Voight said it was fine as long as it didn’t interfere with your job. Maybe, it had meant that Voight knew you were both good cops, good enough to need to be on his team. 

“I knew it!” Kim announced, turning to Adam with a look of triumph. “I knew it! You’ve just been in a good mood recently, more so than usual and…”

“And Jay and I have been together for almost two years, Kim,” you cut her off, her smile dropping with a look of confusion. 

“How you been keeping this a secret, man?” Adam asked him as you snuck your hand up the hem of Jay’s shirt to rest on the skin of his waist. He gave you a coy smile before answering his friend. 

“It wasn’t hard. You all thought Erin and I had a thing going on the side. You just had the wrong girl. Erin loves, Y/N,” he answered. 

“That is true. And she was the only one outside of our families who knew, not counting Mouse, because he’s part of Jay’s family. Until Voight brought me upstairs,” you continued. “Though, I don’t know why he’s bending the rules for us, though.” Jay hadn’t been able to answer that question either. 

“Again, how have you been keeping this huge secret for two years?” Adam said again, leaning across the table to push against Jay’s chest. He couldn’t help but laugh, stealing a drink from your beer. 

“Its had its days where it’s harder, but we leave work at work, and leave our worries at the door, man,” Jay tried explaining. “Now, I have an idea.” 

——-

It had been two weeks of being in Intelligence with Jay. You hadn’t gotten any good cases, mostly just helping out overall in the district and getting used to things. The two of you would walk in together and leave together, even if it meant one of you would be waiting a bit longer for the other. You would make each other coffee, throwing wadded up paper at each other, generally flirting. And nobody seemed to notice, and if they did, they didn’t say anything. 

One morning in particular, you both had a long night, dueling hangovers. You were wearing his leather jacket and a pair of your own sunglasses. Jay was grumbling about you stealing his jacket, that you never thought to bring your own when it started getting cold out. 

“At least your ears are warm with that beanie,” you reminded him, sitting down at your desk and propping your feet up. He just glared at you, rubbing his arms, trying to heat them up with friction. 

“It’s not like you haven’t hogged the entire coat closet with jackets and coats, Y/N,” he countered, you throwing a pen at him. 

“What, you crashed at his place last night?” Kevin asked, confused. That got a snort out of Adam. “You know something we don’t?” he then asked, turning to the other man. Adam threw his hands up defensively. 

“They’ve been playing us for weeks,” Antonio finally chimed in, you letting your sunglasses fall down the bridge of your nose to look at him. “Talked to Gabby last night. Those two,” he continued, pointing between the two of you, “have started having a thing.” You couldn’t help but look at Jay and laugh, him giving you a smile in return. He leaned back in his chair, hands on his stomach. 

“Close, but not quite, Antonio,” Jay corrected, looking over at Adam, getting a puzzled look from the Antonio.

“Yeah. Y/N is his half-sister,” Adam informed the team. You were so glad he was playing along. 

“A Halstead sister? But her last name isn’t Halstead,” he said, seeming to be even more confused now. Tears were streaming down your face as you laughed, standing up. 

“Definitely siblings,” you agreed, sitting down on Jay’s lap, your arm draped around his shoulders. Kevin looked grossed out when you sat on Jay’s lap, even more so when you kissed him. 

“Jay and I have been dating for two years you guys,” you assured them. “Plus, I don’t think Will could keep up with a sister, let alone someone as insane as me.” 

“We’ve got a case,” Voight interrupted, shooting the two of you dagger eyes. That was enough for you to get off Jay’s lap, making your way back to your own desk. 

——-

“I don’t like this,” Jay told you as you got changed in the locker room, your back to him. You guys needed someone to go undercover in a strip joint, and unfortunately, you were the only woman on the team. 

“I know you don’t, but Jay, these girls deserve justice,” you reminded him before motioning for him to toss you the shirt sitting on the bench. He did so, you pulling it on. “Plus, it’s not like you’re not going to be there,” you added, turning to face him. 

You didn’t like the clothes one bit, the shirt too low cut, the skirt to high up on your thighs, and the heels were killing your feet already. But it was worth it if it meant you caught this son of a bitch. 

“I look ridiculous,” you grumble, trying to pull the skirt down a little bit, but his hands caught your wrists, looking up at him through your eyelashes. You were jealous that he got to get dressed up in a suit, the light blue of the shirt complimenting his eyes. He had the top three buttons undone, getting a glimpse of well chiseled chest.

“You look fine,” he assured you. “Plus, I wouldn’t mind if you brought that outfit home after this.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, letting him kiss you before you began to apply your makeup. 

The case was tough, so far four girls working out of a strip club found dead in the alley behind it just a few nights apart. It had been obvious that they’d been abducted from the club, killed at a secondary location, and then dumped. You hadn’t been able to catch whoever was doing it, not sure how he was getting away with it. It had been Al’s idea to send someone in, and obviously, that meant you.

“In your dreams, Halstead,” you told him, applying the lipstick thick. “Only if Detective Halstead finally shows up to.”

You’d been trying to convince him for months to do some roleplay, but he’d always found an excuse not to. You knew part of it was because of the agreement to leave work at work and all worries at the door, but you kept thinking it would be fun. Maybe this was the incentive to get him to agree, by playing stripper as well. 

“I’ll consider it,” he agreed, biting the inside of his cheek as his eyes landed on your ass. 

“You two ready to go?” Antonio said, popping his head inside the locker room.  “Remember, you still got to follow strip club rules, Halstead. Even if your girl is dancing.” Jay jokingly groaned, but you knew there was some truth in it as the two of you walked with Antonio down to the back entrance. 

 “There’s a mic in the necklace,” Mouse told you, helping you put the necklace on. It was simple, not too flashy, but hung low enough to accent your assets. 

“We’ll be listening in the entire time, Y/L/N,” Voight reminded you. “Jay’s gonna be in there as well, able to listen as well. You remember the code word?” 

You nodded, remembering it well. “Jeweler. Though, don’t know how I’m gonna slip that into conversation. I’ll find a way though.” Voight nodded, looking between you and Jay again.

“You guys are gonna have to keep your heads on straight with this one, okay? No going rogue, playing this by the books. No funny business either, okay?” You and Jay both verbally agreed with what Hank was saying before heading out, the team following you. 

——-

The music in the club was louder than you’d like it to be, not really into the whole club scene. Especially not strip clubs. As you made your way around the place, trying to pick up somebody, you could see Jay eyeing you occasionally. It wasn’t often enough to draw suspicion, but enough to give you some sense of security. 

After your third loop, an attractive gentleman put his hand on your arm to get your attention, a charming smile. He had to be no older than mid-thirties, salt-and-pepper hair, dark green eyes. If you weren’t madly in love with Jay, you would have thought this man would be a good choice. 

“How much for a private dance?” he asked you, voice like gravel. 

“Seventy-five,” you answered, the man not missing a beat as he pulled out a hundred. You took the money, and gave him a smile. You saw Jay’s brow furrow as your eyes met before the man walked with you to the back rooms. 

“How long have you been working here?” he asked, loosening his tie as he sat down. “I haven’t seen you around before.” 

“Just a couple weeks. My name’s Candy. What’s yours?” you asked innocently with a smile, straddling him. 

“Justin. I’m sorry to hear about those girls, the ones they found nearby.” You couldn’t explain it, but you did not have a good feeling about this guy, his hand coming up to play with your necklace. “Where did you get such a beautiful piece?” he then asked as you ground your hips down into his, pretending to enjoy this. 

“I just got it back from-” You couldn’t get the last word out before his hand was around your throat, cutting off any chance of breathing you had. You grabbed his wrist with both hands, trying to get his hand from around your throat. No noise came out though, wanting to call for help. Your nails dug into the skin of his arm. You tried, you really did, but you could see the edges of your vision getting darker and darker until your world went black. 

——

Jay. That was the first name that came to your mind when you finally came to. Your hands were bound above your head, a gag in your mouth. It took a minute to piece together the bits and pieces to remember why you were in this position, how you got there. 

You turned your head to each side, trying to see where you were at. It looked like a warehouse of some kind, but more like a long term storage facility. You weren’t exactly sure. Either way, it wasn’t where you were supposed to be. You were supposed to be closing this case, and going home. With Jay.

You knew as soon as he realized you were gone, he was going to beat himself up over it. He was going to blame himself for not watching you better before directing his anger at Voight or Al since those were the two who thought of this plan. 

It was cold, the metal of the table you were tied to. You could feel zip-ties digging into your skin, digging deeper the more you struggled against them. You tried kicking your legs, but you had rope around your ankles. You didn’t know what else to do, stuck there, waiting for this psycho to make his next move. Unfortunately, you didn’t have to wait long to hear his footsteps approaching. Tears pricked at your eyes, trying to not let them spill over. But you were terrified. You’d seen those girls’ bodies, knew the torture they’d endured in just a few short hours. You could only hope that Jay would find you soon.

———-

You couldn’t take it anymore, praying for death. If dying meant getting out of the pain, out of this torture, it would be worth it. Justin had taken the gag out of your mouth seemingly hours ago, screams tearing at your throat with every punch, every cut, every single time he touched you. 

“Please,” you begged. “Please just kill me.” You didn’t think of the mic that you were still wearing when you begged for him to end it. It didn’t matter either way, because you’d given up hope that they’d find you. 

————

“How can we not know where she is?” Jay yelled, hand raking through his hair as they went over every detail again. The suit jacket had long been discarded, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up mid-forearm. He knew there should have been a GPS tracker as well, just in case. But at the same time, he’d been determined to protect you. It was his job, as both your partner at work and your boyfriend. 

He’d told Mouse to continuously listen to the incoming audio, to let him know if anything changed. It had been hours since you’d disappeared, hours that you could have been dead. He tried to not think of that, tried to hold onto the hope that you would be okay. 

“Jay, you might want to hear this,” Mouse said from his desk. Jay walked over, putting on the headphones as Mouse rewound the recording.

“Please,” you begged, his heart breaking as he heard your strained voice. “Please just kill me.” Mouse had told him what was going on, Jay had heard your screams, feeling helpless. 

“Dammit!” he yelled, slamming the headphones down on the desk, pacing the length of the bullpen as the others worked diligently to figure out where this guy had you hidden. “Dammit,” he muttered, quieter this time, leaning against his desk. It was just that morning that you were sitting in the desk across from his, smiling, laughing. He rubbed his eyes, wiping away the forming tears as Voight called him into his office. 

“This isn’t your fault, Halstead,” Voight tried telling him, but he brushed it off.

“Yes, it is. I shouldn’t have let her go back there, I should’ve followed. I should have realized something was wrong sooner. Y/N is being tortured because I couldn’t protect her!” Jay ranted, hands and voice shaking. “I can’t lose her, Hank.” 

Voight didn’t have many moments that someone could call him soft, but this was one of them, pulling Jay in and letting him cry. “We’re going to get her back,” he assured Jay, the younger detective clinging to his Sergeant. 

“We’ve got something!” Adam announced, Jay letting go with a nod and walking back out. “Justin’s mom rents a warehouse out in Cicero. The thing is, mom’s been dead for fifteen years, since Justin was a kid,” he continued.

“Let’s go!” Voight told the crew, looking at Jay. As everyone rushed down, he held Jay back for a minute. “We’d all understand if this son of a bitch doesn’t walk out of that warehouse tonight.” 

Jay knew what Voight meant, knew that there would be no limits or restrictions on how they could handle this guy, on how Voight would let him handle it. For the first time in Jay’s life, he wanted true, unfiltered revenge. 

———

You couldn’t breathe, every breath making the fire in your chest grow hotter. He’d stopped his actions for the time being, but you were just waiting for imminent death. You heard footsteps approaching you, squeezing your eyes shut as Justin whistled an unidentifiable tune. You could hear chains rattling together, could barely hear the city outside. It was ironic. Born in Chicago. Killed in Chicago.

“Tell me, Nightingale,” he said as he laid the chain across your throat. “You so sure you want to die?” 

“Please,” was the only word you could manage to get out as he started pulling down on the chain, feeling the air get trapped in your lungs, unable to get more in. You tried to cough, tried to scream, but nothing would work. This was it. And the only thing on your mind was Jay, his smile, his laugh, the memories. He was the best thing in your life. You could only hope he could forgive you. 

You couldn’t hear much over the sound of blood rushing in your ears, though, you easily recognized the sound of gun fire. The chain fell, allowing you to suck in a deep breath which caused more pain to your chest. Then, a coughing fit before trying to pull free of the zip ties and rope again, not sure what was going on. 

“Y/N!” you heard someone yell before hands were on you again. 

You couldn’t help but scream at the sudden contact, not sure who it was, eyes squeezing closed, head thrashing back and forth. You felt whoever it was untie the rope around your ankles, getting a good kick in as soon as your foot was free. He groaned before cutting your hands free. 

“Look at me,” he said, voice soft, soothing. You opened your eyes, seeing that it was Jay. As soon as you recognized him, your bottom lip quivered, trying to cover yourself. He didn’t say anything as he slipped his jacket off, draping it over your shoulders. 

“You’re okay,” he assured you. “I’ve got you.” That was enough, with everything that had happened to you. You couldn’t just put on a brave face, tears streaming down your cheeks as he pulled you into his chest. Sobs wracked through your body, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you from going under. Surprisingly, he didn’t stroke through your hair or rubbed you back. Instead, he just pressed his forehead to the top of your head, just holding you. This was as much of an ordeal for him, considering he’d thought he’d lost you. 

“Jay,” Voight said, getting his attention. You didn’t turn to look at the Sergeant, keeping a tight hold on Jay. “How do you want to handle this?”

“Let’s just get her to Med. I’ll meet you at the docks,” he said, his grip tightening a little more on you.  You didn’t know what he meant by that, and you were sure you didn’t want to know. 

“Intelligence to Main. Roll an ambo to our location for a severely assaulted officer,” Kevin said into the radio, getting an affirmative reply. 

“You’re gonna get checked out at Med with Jay, okay?” Voight told you. You just nodded into Jay’s chest, not saying anything. You would have never thought that the feeling of the kevlar vest against you would feel like home, or the smell of the cologne he knew you hated but he loved. Plus, the kevlar gave a barrier. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him, but you were scared, terrified, and it gave you a little more security. 

“You’re safe,” Jay assured you again. You heard the ambulance arrive, could tell the medics were waiting for you to let go of him. Your mind blocked it out, though, surely going into shock. You couldn’t distinguish what Jay was telling them, or telling you. 

They got you on the stretcher, moving you to the ambulance. Jay was right next to you the entire time, holding your hand. However, as soon as the medic touched you to start an IV, you freaked out, throwing punches and screaming. It took Jay and Adam holding you down for them to be able to sedate you. Your own fear was overwhelming, so you didn’t notice the tears in Jay’s eyes as he restrained you. But, his face was the last thing you saw before drifting off. 

———

When you woke up, you were expecting to be back in that warehouse. Instead, you felt blankets on top of you, a pillow behind your head, and the weight of Jay’s arms and head on your lap. He was sleeping, probably very uncomfortably. You could see his vest on the couch across the room, which meant he hadn’t gone back to the station at all. Had he left at all? 

Everything hurt. Every breath still hurt, but not as bad. There was still the fear though. You hadn’t known what had happened to the offender, if he was in jail or dead. Remembering what happened was what tipped Jay off that you were awake. 

You’d always been under the impression that the brain could block off traumatic events, had hoped you’d never remember what happened. Every ache told you otherwise, flashbacks of what he did to you resting under the surface. You were shaking, hyperventilating, heart rate spiking which set off the monitor.

Jay’s head shot up, looking at you with worry. “Hey,” he said softly, not touching you. You looked at him, which made you start crying. “You’re okay, baby. You’re safe.” 

“Jay,” you choked out before dissolving into full fledged sobs. He climbed into the bed with you, holding you. Just like the night before, he didn’t rub a hand along your back and comb through your hair. He just held you. You thought it might have been his way of acknowledging what happened. Or maybe, just maybe, in the back of your mind, you thought it could be because he saw you differently. 

“Breathe, Y/N. Just breathe,” he told you each time you took a breath to continue crying. It was enough for you to take deeper breaths, which helped calm you down. “That’s it. Just breathe.” 

“I’m sorry,” you told him as your sobs died down into sniffles. “I’m so sorry.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry about, you hear me? Nothing. This was not your fault, not by a long shot,” he told you. You didn’t understand why he could be so forgiving, or to look past the position you’d gotten yourself into.

“I want to go home,” you then told him. You didn’t know how long they were going to keep you at Med, hoped it wouldn’t be long. You just wanted to be at home, in your bed, not giving a care in the world. 

“I know. Dr Manning is going to come up and see you. She just wanted you to be awake to check things over. Then, Dr Charles is gonna see you. Then, hopefully you’ll go home today.” He took a breath, seeming to steady himself before he spoke again. “I thought I lost you.” 

You couldn’t say anything to that, and you didn’t. There wasn’t a lot you could say at this point, all of it so fresh in your mind, trying to process what had happened. 

———-

You’d kicked Jay out of the room when Dr Charles had shown up. He looked hurt, but you hoped he’d eventually understand. It just felt like he was breathing down your throat, and with everything that had happened, you’d decided you needed some kind of space even if it was just talking to Dr Charles alone.

“I know everybody has probably been asking you this,” he said, sitting down in the chair Jay had been occupying. “But, how are you feeling?” You rolled your eyes, arms crossing over your chest so that your hands wouldn’t shake.

“I don’t know how to describe it,” you answered. “Everything hurts. I haven’t had the courage to look at the damage he caused. Jay…” You shook your head. “He’s been a little overbearing, breathing down my neck all day. He acts like I’m going to break every time he touches me.”

“And what do you think? Do you feel like you’re going to break if he touches you?” Daniel asked. 

You couldn’t help it as tears welled in your eyes again, quickly brushing them away. It seemed like he noticed, though he didn’t say anything. You were very conflicted with that answer, but you tried to be honest with him. He wasn’t going to judge you, you knew that. Jay was a different story. You didn’t know if you’d ever be able to tell him how you felt about it. 

“I feel…” You took a breath to steady yourself. “I feel like I’m already broken. And that Jay is going to cut himself on those edges.” 

“What you’re telling me, how it’s sounding. It’s all very normal after experiencing a traumatic event like you did. And those emotions are going to take a long time to figure out, it’s not going to be over night. I’m going to sign off on your discharge, but I want you following up with either myself or someone in my office to set up a time to continue this discussion once you settle a little, okay?” You nodded, wiping away more tears. It felt like you just couldn’t stop crying. “Do you want me to send Jay in?”

“No… Yes. I-I don’t.” You just looked up at the ceiling. 

“I’ll go ahead and send him in. The best advice I have for you right now in this moment is to set boundaries with him. Hell, with everyone. At least until you process and figure out the mess that’s in your head.” After you nodded, he left the room. It took a few minutes for Jay to come in, figuring Daniel had probably talked to Jay about something. 

When Jay did come back in, he didn’t say anything as he sat down, seeming to wait for you to start the conversation. Maybe it was something Daniel had said, you weren’t sure. 

“Dr Charles suggested I make boundaries,” you said softly, folding your hands on your lap as you looked over at him. “I love you, Jay, but I...I don’t know.” 

“Whatever it is, I’ll understand, and I’ll respect it. This doesn’t change anything with us.” It was nice to hear it, but you didn’t really believe it. What if he decided it was too much for him? What if the boundaries you set pushed him too far away? But it was worth a shot. 

“When I’m upset, I like that you’ll hold me without me having to say anything. Just hold me,” you told him, looking down at your hands. “I’ll let you know if I don’t want it. But when I’m not. I want to initiate contact for a while. If-If you do, because you forget or...or whatever reason, I’ll let you know if it’s okay.” He nodded along, seeming to be really listening to you. “I don’t know about sleeping, how to go about that. Maybe I’ll sleep in the guest room for a while? But I just...I don’t want to be alone in the apartment.” 

“I’ll move some stuff around when we get home,” he told you. He didn’t seem to sound hurt, seemed very understanding. “I just want to make sure, to clarify. Is it okay if I ask if something is okay? Say, I want to kiss you or hold your hand or whatever it is?” You nodded in agreement, knowing as long as you got some kind of heads up and that it didn’t just come out of the blue. “I’ll do my best, I’ll really try.” 

“Thank you,” you said, reaching your hand out for his. He gave you a sad smile as he obliged with the unspoken request, lacing your fingers together. 

———

Jay had brought you home that afternoon, following a couple steps behind you. You didn’t understand what you’d done to deserve a guy like Jay, who could be so understanding. You knew he had his own demons though, that he probably understood through those. 

It was odd being home. It had only been a couple of days since you’d left for work and hadn’t come back. Oh, how things could change in a couple of days. Jay sat down your bag on the kitchen table. The ride home had been quiet, the both of you keeping your hands to yourself. Usually, you’d ride home with his hand on your knee, or your hands entwined at the center console. A part of you had wanted that normalcy, but it felt wrong.

“I’m going to move some of my clothes to the guest room. It’s not fair to make you move your stuff,” he told you. You just nodded in response, wanting to take a shower. You knew you didn’t want Jay anywhere near you when you saw yourself in the mirror for the first time. 

The two of you went your separate ways, doing your own things. You had grabbed his Army t-shirt and some of your yoga pants before locking yourself in the bathroom. 

You weren’t sure how to go about it, so you stripped down and took a shower. When you were done and dried off, you held onto the sink and looking down. The sink drain had twelve holes, which you counted at least a dozen times, trying to get the courage to look into the mirror. Despite feeling the pain of every bruise and ut, seeing it was different.

The chain he’d started to strangle you with had left a dark bruise along the front of your throat. You could vaguely make out the lighter finger-shaped bruises he’d left from the club. Your lips were busted in three different spots, and one eye looked like it was nearly swollen shut. A deep gash ran through your eyebrow, another had stitches along your temple. Your nose was bruised, surprised it wasn’t broken. Your eyes continued downward, losing count of how many handprints were left on you, how many cuts he’d tallied into your skin. You ignored the worst of it, the part that you were sure was going to leave an everlasting scar. Across your stomach, he’d carved the word ‘whore.’ The cuts were deep and inflamed. You were a detective, a well liked, detective who had gone undercover and had come out with the word ‘whore’ scarred on your body for the world to see. Even if you weren’t, even if you had indeed been a worker at that club, it wasn’t something you — or anybody else — deserved to have happen. 

You didn’t realize you were crying again until Jay knocked on the door, asking if you were alright. You didn’t say anything in response, throwing on the clothes before unlocking the door. Now you knew how much like shit you actually looked after the whole ordeal. 

“Do you want to talk or-” You cut him off, talking being the last thing you wanted to do. 

“I’m going to go lay down,” you said. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.” 

He nodded in response. You knew you had to do what felt right to help you get through this. So, you got closer to him, almost pressed against him again. He kept his hands at his sides, confused as to what you were doing. You cupped his cheeks in your hands, then stood on your tip-toes and brushing your lips against his. It wasn’t a full kiss, barely the ghost of one, but it was enough to show him that this didn’t change anything, just like he’d said. 

———

Voight had told you to take time off, and you were more than happy to if you were being honest. But in this moment, you were frustrated and bored out of your mind. It had been nearly six weeks, all of your bruises healed up, the cuts scarring over for the most part. You avoided the mirror like the plague, though, but it was something you were working on with Dr Charles. 

“It’s not like I’m going to go off the deep end, Jay! If I was going to do that, I would have!” The two of you were sitting on the couch, his arm around you.

You’d lessened on your boundaries with him, letting him know if it was a good day or a bad day. If it was bad, then the boundaries were there in full force. If it was a good day, less so. He’d gotten into the habit of making sure you knew he was next to you before touching you, which made it a little better. You still weren’t sharing a bed full time, but some nights. It was a process, you both knew that. 

“I know, but Voight cares about you. He just wants to make sure you’re one-hundred percent before coming back. That’s all.” You pulled back, glaring at him.

“So, what? I’m not one-hundred percent? You think that Jay, huh?” you asked, angry, getting up off the couch to pace the room. 

“That’s not...You know what I mean, Y/N,” he replied, sitting on the edge of the couch with his elbows on his knees. 

“I know what you said, Jay!” You huffed, crossing your arms and looking at him. “Those first few days, it felt like you thought I was going to break. But now! It’s been six weeks, Jay! I’m not going to just fall apart at the drop of a hat! You still treat me like I’m fragile and I hate it!” You weren’t going to lie, it had been boiling down to this. Dr Charles had told you that you needed to talk to Jay before it reached this point, but you had never found the need to. 

“I respect your boundaries, Y/N. I don’t think you’re going to just break,” he tried explaining, but you were upset and a bit irrational. 

“Really? Jay, I want my boyfriend back! Not the cop who had to rescue me, because sometimes that’s all you seem to act like!” you reminded him. 

“You…” He shook his head. “Yeah, Y/N. Sometimes it’s hard to turn off the cop part of me, to differentiate the different parts of myself. I remember standing in Voight’s office, helpless after hearing you beg for Justin to kill you. I remember crying, not sure if we were going to find you in time and blaming myself. So yeah, sometimes it’s hard for me to act like your boyfriend when the cop side of me couldn’t save you,” he told you, voice steady. That was how you knew he was truly upset. 

With you, you would yell and your voice would shake and it was obvious you were upset. With him, it was different. It was a stoic face, a firm and steady voice. And he didn’t move. He wouldn’t talk with his hands like he did when he was calm and relaxed. 

He’d never really talked about what happened when it came to finding you, and you’d never thought to ask. Now, though, it made more sense. You’d completely forgotten about the mic in the necklace, not realizing that Jay would have been able to hear every second of your torture. 

“Jay, I-” It was his turn to cut you off. 

“I didn’t tell you for a reason. You were blaming yourself for it when we found you. I wasn’t going to add to that. Plus, it wasn’t me we needed to focus on getting better. It was you. So yeah, I didn’t tell you because there wasn’t a reason to. And yeah, it’s affected how I act around you some days. I can still hear your screams in my head, even when you’re standing right there in front of me smiling. I was afraid that if I let my guard down again, it could happen again. And I’ve been trying to work on it, I really have,” he continued. 

You didn’t know what to say, feeling like a complete asshole. So, you pushed him back on the couch to straddle him. Then, you did what he’d been doing for you for the past six weeks. You just held him tight. 

———-

Voight had agreed to let you come back three weeks later. You had a feeling Jay was the mastermind behind it, thanking him on the drive home from work. It was nice to get back to a normal routine, one step back to being yourself.

———

It had been four months since the attack, and you were ready for a lot of things. One of them was having Jay back in your bedroom with you. It had been few and far between that he had slept in the guest room over the last two of those months, but you were ready for that step. Another was getting rid of set boundaries. Still, he told you to let him know if you were having a bad day and that he’d help in any way he could. Even if that meant giving you space. The third...well, the third was something you’d talked to Dr Charles about, and he urged you to try. Even if it didn’t go as far as you were hoping, he wanted you to try. 

“Jay?” you asked as the two of you laid in bed. He was reading an online article — you weren’t sure what for — and you’d been doing a crossword puzzle. He gave you a hmmm in response, not looking at you. It took a deep breath to build some kind of courage, tossing your puzzle book on the bedside table before taking his phone from him. He looked at you confused as you set the device next to your puzzle book. 

“Okay, you have my attention,” he assured you with a smile. 

“I want to try something.” He looked at you puzzled, but didn’t say anything, knowing you were going to answer his questions soon. You took that as the go-ahead, moving to straddle his lap with a smile of your own. His hands rested on your thighs, looking at you. 

“What did you have in mind?” he asked. You didn’t answer with words, instead, it was a rough kiss, your hands running through his hair and holding him close. 

The two of you had shared a number of kisses since the incident, though they were always short and sweet, never lasting long. It was typically you that stopped, that pulled away with apologies. So, what you weren’t expecting was for Jay to pull back. 

“Y/N,” he started to say, licking his bottom lip, but you cut him off with another, softer kiss. 

“I’m sure, Jay. This isn’t a rash thing, or something I haven’t thought over a million times.” He nodded, kissing you again, pulling you flush against him. The two of you continued this dance for a while, pulling back to kiss down along the skin of his neck. 

For you, this wasn’t just about the intimacy. It was to show him that you trusted him. As well as showing yourself that you could trust him. He hadn’t seen the scars, having only seen glimpses when they first found you. It was you baring yourself to him for the first time all over again. 

You pulled back again, pulling off his shirt. He looked at you with desire and love as your hands slid down his chest, feeling the muscles just beneath the surface. When he went to take off your shirt though, your hands grabbed his wrists, stopping him. He looked confused more than anything. 

“I just...He caused a lot of permanent scars,” you warned Jay. He didn’t say anything, just giving you a soft, reassuring smile as he slowly slid your shirt up and over your head, keeping eye contact the entire time. 

“Whatever he did, it doesn’t change who you are. It doesn’t change how I see you,” Jay assured you. You couldn’t help that your bottom lip quivered, not able to look away from him as his eyes left yours and began looking you over. 

One of his hands rested on your thigh, the other traced the scars starting from your collarbone and going down. His touch was light as a feather, but you knew it was there. He didn’t trace the word across your stomach, though. You knew he saw it, saw him look at it, a flash of anger in his eyes. 

“This isn’t true,” he told you firmly. “This is far from the truth. You are beautiful, and amazing, and the best thing that has ever happened to me. You’re smart, funny, honest. The list could go on and on, but this. You’re not this. You’re not what he did to you.” You really didn’t know what you’d done to deserve a guy like Jay Halstead. You knew he could go on, would probably ramble if you let him, so you kissed him again. It was less heated than before, but still firm. 

It took a few more minutes to progress past this point, but when it did, you couldn’t help but be nervous. It had taken you seemingly forever to feel like you weren’t broken anymore, to feel whole again. Jay had helped you get to that point, through a lot of pain and frustration and tears. You’d tried to dip your hand down the waistband of his pants, but he’d stopped you.

“We have plenty of time for that,” he said. “I just want you.” 

You’d decided to change positions. Again, to show yourself you trusted him, you lay on your back, pulling him on top of you. It made you nervous for all of three seconds before he kissed you, those nerves and fears washing away quickly. 

He took his time, assuring you and reassuring you that the two of you had all the time in the world, that there was no reason to rush this. He turned you into a hot mess, practically begging for more. And he delivered, taking his time, making sure you were okay, which usually just got a ‘shut up and kiss me’ as a reply. 

Afterwards, your head rested on his chest, his fingers running softly along your back. You couldn’t help but smile, hearing his heartbeat under you, feeling him breathe. The two of you were slick with sweat, sheets tangled around your ankles and waist. 

“I love you,” you told him, kissing a trail on his chest with no rhyme or reason before kissing him. “No matter what.” 

“I love you too. Let’s go ahead and sleep. We can talk in the morning.” You couldn’t agree more. 

———-

Some days, it felt like it had all happened yesterday, that you had just been getting ready in the locker room with Jay right behind you. Other days, it seemed like a different lifetime. Most of the time, it was the latter. But this day was different. It had been an entire year.

You’d grown as a person and as a detective in that year. You weren’t scared of turning the corner or entering a dark room. You’d been more hesitant at first when it came to being undercover, but Mouse had always made sure to give you something with a GPS tracker, just in case. It made you feel safer. 

You’d requested the day off, as well as Jay, Voight not arguing the issue. You figured he probably understood. You didn’t want to leave the house, wanted to just spend the entire day curled up in bed with Jay with the occasional pizza delivery. And that’s exactly what you did. 

He was pressed against your back, holding you close to him. Your hand grabbed his, moving it to the scars on your stomach. They were your constant reminder, though, you’d learned to block them out for the most part. It was as if he knew what you were asking, unable to say it, his calloused fingers tracing the letters. 

“You’re not what he did to you,” he reminded you, whispering it in your ear. You couldn’t help but smile a little bit, but not saying anything. 

“When I was there. When he was choking me with the chains and I thought I was going to die…” You didn’t know if you should even tell him, but you were already halfway there. It was just finding the right words.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he reminded you. It had been an agreement one of the times he’d come with you to see Dr Charles that he never wanted you to feel obligated to tell him what happened in that warehouse. He could piece enough together to figure it out himself.

“I want to. When I thought I was going to die, it wasn’t my life flashing before my eyes. Or maybe it was, just in a different way. The only thing I could think of, that came to mind, was you, Jay,” you told him. “I was so upset that I wouldn’t be able to be there to tell you it wasn’t your fault, because I knew you’d blame yourself. I saw a future we’d never have. I saw your face and your smile and I heard your laugh. And of all the things I could see in those final moments, I was so happy it was you. But...I know you heard me begging to die. I was in so much pain, and I just couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted to die when I begged, but when it was happening, all I wanted was to live. I wanted to see you again, so badly, for you to tell me it was all going to be okay.” You noticed wetness dripping onto your neck, rolling over to see his eyes rimmed red. 

This day wasn’t just about you. He suffered that day too. It had just taken you a long time to be able to see that. You’d been so focused on your own pain that you ignored his. You cupped his cheek, not saying anything. 

“Mouse had me listen to that audio. He hadn’t let me listen to much else, but that moment…” He sniffled. “I’m just glad you’re okay, and here with me. I love you.” 

You didn’t know what you would have done without him over the past year. He had really been your rock, your guiding light. You loved Jay Halstead more than life itself, it seemed like, and you would make sure to let him know every day for the rest of your life.

[emachinescat]

I've decided to watch MacGyver from the beginning (again), and I'm live tweeting the experience with every tweet tagged with #savemacgyver. I thought it would be fun to share my collected thoughts from the episodes on here as well.

My Thoughts on S1E2, "Metal Saw"

Seriously love the music in this show!

THE FREAKING BELT GRAB. You can tell they've done this kind of thing before.

I always love it when Jack and Mac have heart-to-hearts in the middle of super intense, dangerous situations. Like... it's sweet, but time and place, guys?

"Hi, I'm Jack." Nervous Jack is bebby.

Ew, sweat. Like, I know it's "realism" to have sweat stains on clothes in situations like these, but that's one bit of realism I can always do without. Gross.

Is that a bit of PTSD I'm seeing with Mac there on the couch? That's a kind of realism I can always get behind.

Riley finding Mac and Boze in that compromising position will never not be funny. "But he was on top." I love Riley more every episode.

Riley is a really good liar from day one.

I love the joke about ex-cons benefiting from being in relationships with stable people (i.e., fake boyfriend Bozer), then the immediate cut to Bozer with his whole arm inside the vending machine. Great stuff.

Love the Riley and Bozer bonding... right up until the cringe-tastic "Slide me your digits."

"Soon, I'm gonna woo you the same way Romeo would have wooed Juliet if they had Snapchat back in the Renaissance." Bozer and his surprisingly accurate pickup lines. The Renaissance did in fact start in Italy around the 14th century, when R&J is thought to take place.

I love all this psychoanalyzing of Mac. "Adapting is his survival mechanism." Also I'm living for Jack sticking up for Mac to Patti.

"This place has been searched by everybody and their dog." Is this a Texas thing or an old guy saying? Either way it's great.

Nothing beats the early days of Mac and Jack. Nothing. I wish we had gotten more interactions where Jack has to parent Mac: "Stop touching that. Look at me." ❤️❤️❤️

Jack so concerned about Mac and putting on the kid gloves = everything I could have ever asked for and more.

Jack has such a big heart. Poor guy, the look on his face when he sees that the reporter is actually Sarah...

Paperclip sculptures: When I first started watching the show, I thought they were lame. Now I miss them so much. Does that mean I've gotten lamer or that they were always cool and I was always lame?

"Closest time I ever came to coming home in a box." Oof. This line hits different now, and not in a good way.

I just love how Jack is this big tough ex-Delta who is so open about his emotions, particularly with Mac. And the way Mac reassures him... Their bromance is top-tier.

"Oh, like when they invented fire!" Another zinger.

Mac grabbing that giant cigar right out of that dude's mouth 😂😂😂

Love some good fight-scene Mac whump! 👏👏👏 And bar fights are always a blast!

Riley with the car door - such a boss. "What? You told me to stay in the car, and I did."

I've seen some people say they don't like S1 Mac's hair. I kind of dig it, to be honest. He looks like he's 5, but I love it.

Mac has made a lot of DIY cutting torches in his time, but they never get less impressive.

Jack trusting Mac to save Sarah while he keeps watch is just *chef's kiss*!

These early episodes have so many MacGyverisms. One right after the other. It's awesome.

I've never been a big fan of the dark either, Mac.

The first scene with Mac and Sarah is so beautifully tense and whumpy (he way he scrabbles for purchase, gasps for breath, that hitch in his voice as he tries to squeak out Jack's name) that I had to rewind and watch it again.

The hopeful disbelief in her voice: "Jack Dalton came for me?"

Sarah can kick some serious ass. I can see why Jack likes her. Too bad she's about to lead him on the rest of the episode, while actually having a fiance...

Sarah: *leans out of car, shooting her weapon with deadly, terrifying precision* Riley: I agree, this woman should not have kids. 😂 Everything that comes out of Riley's mouth is gold.

Riley asleep in the back of the car while Mac sits quietly and Jack and Sarah have a sweet moment is like mom and dad with the kids in the backseat. Except mom has a fiance and hasn't told dad yet, even though she's had ample opportunity.

Because seriously, Sarah. It's not that hard to tell him the truth. Giving him those big eyes and flirting with him, thinking he has a chance is just cruel. I have never liked her character, and this is why.

Mac and Jack giggling about Jack's crush on Sarah like middle-school girls is life.

"You're just gonna have to let that go." Man, I love their relationship.

Gosh, the scene where they find Luis always hurts so badly. These early episodes did not play around.

"There isn't always time to beg some suit back home for permission to do what's right." I'm not a fan of Sarah, but I love this line. Also, this is pretty much the synopsis of the whole show.

Riley's hair used to be so LONG! 😍

The loyalty of these three! And I love the OG trio so much.

This sleazy guy in the computer place makes my skin crawl.

Love how Patti's like, "Mac will be back by then." Not Jack, not Riley. Just Mac. Can we say teacher's pet? I actually lowkey love this though.

"Who is this guy?" Much like Doctor Who's "It's bigger on the inside," I never get tired of people being equally amazed and confused at the stuff Mac can do.

I've never been the biggest car chase junkie, but Barrios jumping over the car using that log in the road is pretty dope.

Sarah's rage is chilling. And Jack talking her down breaks me every time.

Again, I love the loyalty of our team. Everyone sticks up for each other, ending with Mac's totally unbelievable but still somehow 100% genuine "It was me. I forced them." TOO good.

First mention of Oversight this early. Just thinking about who it is that doesn't like unsanctioned ops just makes me 😤 I wonder if the writers knew who OS was at this point or if it was a later development.

I do wish we could have gotten more conspiratorial, approving Patti. She's so much better than expressionless, bland Patti.

The way Sarah never told Jack about her fiance Jeff (who is in fact a cinnamon roll but still a discount Jack) pisses me off. "I tried to tell you." Yeah, right. It's not that hard to say, "Yo, I'm in a relationship."

Jack NEVER should have found out about Jeff the way he did. There's no excuse.

It's not okay, Jack. She did you wrong. You didn't deserve that. Stand up for yourself, man. Gosh, he's so broken here, and I hate it.

"At least we have each other... Don't look at me. I know how weird it sounded." THESE TWO I SWEAR 🤣🤣🤣

Poor Mac. I do love how we get his obsessive tendencies so early in the show, and how they keep coming back, even as late as season 5. As someone with clinically diagnosed OCD, this makes me feel seen and I love being able to relate to my favorite character.

Love the found family antics at the end. Riley and Bozer making dinner while Mac and Jack play basketball? Perfection.

Lol, Bozer calling Riley a "caramel goddess" has such Schmidt/Cece vibes from New Girl, and I dig it!

Ew. More sweat. I know some people find sweaty men attractive, but that is NOT my vibe. I prefer my men clean and freshly laundered.

The way Riley glances back over her shoulder at them as she walks away, as if to make sure they're really there, that this is actually real!!!

"That's not even... that's true, actually. That's sad." Jack 🤣 Also, "I'm hungry." Big mood.

As a Grandpa Harry stan from the OG show, I eat up any mention of him in the new one. I just wish we'd gotten more of that wonderful man in the reboot. Still, I'll take what I can get!

I'd honestly forgotten how much I enjoy this episode! So solid, full of bromance, found family, and lots of good-natured bickering. Can't wait to watch the next one, hopefully tomorrow! In the meantime, please keep fighting for our show! Together we can #savemacgyver!

If anyone wants to join me in my re-watching and tweeting adventure, please do! It's my way to take about an hour a day in my busy, busy life to commit to the #savemacgyver movement. (And to enjoy my favorite show yet again!) If you do tweet as you watch, make sure to tag EVERY tweet with ONLY #savemacgyver so we can keep that hashtag trending! :)

Thanks for letting me share my (numerous) thoughts on this episode. This was really fun, and I hope it's something you all enjoy, too. I'd love to know what you all think of the episode in the comments! ❤️