#so i figured i wouldn't need it and now i'm here<3 in pain<3 with only paracetamol<3 until tomorrow<3

[honeyednights]

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[ssahotchnerr]

hey i tried to see if requests are open but can’t see anything, so hungover!reader x hotch? 🙏🙏

remedies

cw; fem bau!reader, drinking mentions, hangover talk and symptoms, fluff <3

There was a brief moment of peace when you stirred. Being pulled from such heavy sleep, a moment of solitude, before you met consciousness with excruciating pain. Regret was the next sensation to sweep through your body, until your awareness vaguely focused elsewhere. You either heard footsteps nearing, or it was the repetitive throb in your head.

Aaron had a key to your place and he had let himself in. You hadn't answered any calls or texts, and he was partially worried (he had known you were going out the night prior, and did return home safely). His concerned look turned to a sweetly pitiful one as he saw you lying there, hazily blinking up at him.

"Hi sweetheart."

"Aaron?" Your head rose, your voice hoarse as it exited your lips, your dry throat to blame. You cursed your hangover for dulling the usual excitement whenever you caught sight of him. "What're you doing here?"

"We had brunch plans."

Your brows scrunched in confusion, as well as your eyes as they attempted to adjust to the light. "What time is it?" You could've answered your own question by peering at the clock besides you, but you didn't dare turn your head. The more you moved, the worse.

Aaron checked his watch, moving his jacket sleeve to view it, "Half past noon."

At his words, your eyes widened. The sudden shock interfered with your head, causing the pounding to only elevate.

"Oh god I'm sorry." You facepalmed by use of your pillow, the momentary darkness enhancing the dizziness behind your eyelids. "I'm awful."

"I wouldn't go that far." Aaron teased lightly as he sat on the bed besides you, his hand finding your back and sliding his palm along it softly. "Crazy night with the girls?"

"Penelope tried- created a new concoction of drinks." A wave of nausea hit you from the memory, your stomach swirling. You scowled in disgust, "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Aaron hummed in response, another pitiful smile tugging on his face as you groaned. He felt bad you felt bad. He's had his fair share of hangovers, sure, but never one at the hands of Penelope.

"I'm never drinking again." With all you had left in you, you forced your head to lift to defeatedly meet his eyes. "I'm sorry. I did have an alarm set. Or... I think? I must've slept through it."

"No it's okay, I figured. Knowing them, we shouldn't have made plans for the following morning." He flashed you an understanding smile, his hand stopping and giving you an affectionate tap.

"Probably a good idea."

"I can take an accurate guess, but how are you feeling?"

"Like the jet ran me over."

"That bad?"

"Penelope called her drink moonlight mojito blitz." Again, you nearly gagged at the thought, Aaron himself made a face. "Or something of the sort. I don't know, it had a complex name one way or another."

"Lucky for you then, I have more simply named reinforcements ." Aaron offered, gesturing to your bedside table. "Gatorade, water, ibuprofen, which I'm judging by the strain on your face, you should take now." He reached for the container, dumping the tablets into his palm. "Down the hatch."

You weakly sat up against your pillow, holding out your own hand. As you did what you were told, he produced the Gatorade.

"Drink up."

You winced at the words, "I'm having flashbacks."

He laughed softly, the sound enough to soothe any hangover, or plainly anything. "Sorry, but I'm serious. You need the electrolytes, I won't allow dehydration if I can help it. You'll need to eat something too, but that can wait at least. Until-"

You finished for him, taking a generous sip. "Until the room stops spinning."

"That's right," Aaron offered you another small, closed lip smile. "Can I get you anything else?"

You peered up at him, playing up the hopefulness in your eyes. The visual was for effect really, you knew he would implement anything you asked, as he always did. "My favorite pillow?"

"Sure honey, where-"

"You." You grabbed his wrist, weakly tugging him towards you and trying your hardest to not let your grasp drop despite the downward, heavy pull. "You're my favorite pillow."

Aaron slid besides you easily, and before he was thoroughly comfortable or settled, were you clinging onto him. Your face buried itself into the skin of his neck, while one of your legs lazily draped over his waist. He molded just as equally into your body too.

Your head was still spinning - part of you feared it would never cease - but Aaron's contact allowed some sense of stillness. Like you weren't going to be picked up and somehow carried away; he would ensure you were close and grounded.

"Is this really all you need?" Due to your close proximity, you could feel his voice vibrating through his chest. "Can't I do anything more? Is the room too warm? Too bright?"

You shook your head, tightening your leg's hold on him. There was a playful tone in your voice, "I may need you to hold my hair back later."

"You say the most romantic things to me." Aaron chuckled, his lips tugging into a smile before pressing his lips atop your head. He quipped back gently, "Looking forward to it."

[hard-core-super-star]

OWN MY MIND [wandanat]

pairing: top!wanda maximoff x bottom!natasha romanoff

summary: wanda's crush on natasha has grown to nearly unbearable levels. instead of pining after her, she decides to do something about it during a party.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! -> porn with plot; wanda has a crush and she's about to make it EVERYONE'S problem; semi-public sex; slightly obsessive wanda go brr; so much teasing; the clothes stay on because i say so; thigh-grinding; fingering [nat receiving]; neck kisses; i got hooked on the idea so there's a lot of expostion; shitty dirty talk; so much bickering

wordcount: 3.8k

a/n: I'M ALIVE! i did not mean to disappear again but life had other plans 😅that being said, I'M OKAY! i survived a very stressful january and my writer's block seems to be easing somewhat. every year i say i'll be more active on here and it doesn't always work very well BUT i'm trying! anyway, i hope you guys are doing well, my askbox is always open for you all. that being said, i hope you enjoy <3

[part two | part three]

* * * * * * *

There wasn't much Wanda was sure of anymore.

At some point, she'd been sure her and her family were going to be safe. She'd been proven wrong the day a Stark Industries missile crashed into her living room, sending all her childish hopes of safety with it.

After that, she'd been sure she'd never leave her brother's side, even agreeing to become an experiment for HYDRA to guarantee their safety. Their powers had helped and even when Ultron appeared, she was sure they'd figure things out together.

That dream had instantly been shot down, along with Pietro and the remnants of her home, after Ultron's attack.

She hated thinking about it. About everything she lost. About the dreams she'd held onto for most of her life that were meaningless now. That didn't serve any purpose other than reminding her she was alone.

Sure, she had the Avengers now but...they didn't understand her. Not the way her brother had.

Clint tried his hardest to be there for her before he left to be with his family, do doubt feeling guilty over something that wasn't his fault. He wasn't to blame for Pietro's sacrifice and they both knew blaming him wouldn't bring the speedster back anyway.

In a weird way, though, the archer was the only one who truly understood her grief so when he left...Wanda did what she had always done. She retreated into herself, ignoring the looks of the rest of the team and Vision's borderline annoying insistence that she talk to someone.

She didn't need to talk about anything. There was nothing to talk about. Nothing that could change the pain she carried every day.

Nothing...except Natasha Romanoff.

Their friendship hadn't come out of nowhere despite how hard the older woman liked to act otherwise. Even without her powers, she knew Clint had been the one to push Natasha in her direction. It was also obvious that the Widow had no idea what to do.

It was weirdly charming.

Despite how hard she tried to act like she cold and heartless, Natasha cared. She cared a lot more than she wanted to. Especially about Wanda.

So, when the older woman started appearing outside her door at ungodly hours of the night, seemingly unaware of the tear that stained the witch's cheeks, and inviting her to train with her...Wanda decided trusting her wouldn't do any harm.

That much was true. No real harm came from getting close to Natasha. If anything, she helped more than anyone at the Tower had even tried. She didn't care that Wanda didn't want to talk about what happened in Sokovia, that her inner demons showed their face every night and left her with nightmares too intense to ignore, that her powers grew stronger every day.

The Widow didn't seem to care about the details. She simply cared enough to be there. Sometimes she showed up earlier, before any nightmares could haunt her dreams, other times she showed up later and with a tea in hand that she quickly offered to her. There were no words exchanged but she knew.

And that meant more to Wanda than she could even put into words.

Those feelings, though, quickly grew out of her control. It happened almost on accident, practically without thinking. All she knew is that one day she felt...drawn to Natasha in a way she hadn't noticed before.

To the curve of her neck, the flex of her biceps, the tension in her jaw when she throws a punch. All the little details came together and left her feeling far too confused for her liking.

Confused and yet far too in control.

And to say Wanda was slowly becoming obsessed with control would be an understatement.

This flurry of thoughts is what leads her to do something too far out of her comfort zone. It's a shitty idea, she knows that, but when Vision off-handedly tells her of the party Tony will be throwing later that day, a plan slowly starts forming in her head.

A plan that involves a certain redhead and the confusing feelings that settle low in her stomach when they're alone together. Of course, she's not a stranger to desire, she knows what her feelings really are, but that doesn't mean she's exactly okay with them. With the suddenness and the intensity of her thoughts. Of the fantasies she longs to make a reality.

She's just as patient as she is stubborn, though, so she waits. Waits until the party is in full swing, until she's all dolled up in her favorite dress, paired with the leather jacket she never gave back to redhead, and then she strikes.

It must look weird. It certainly feels weird, stepping out into the crowd instead of avoiding everyone in her room. She has to step out of her comfort zone if she wants to go after what she wants, though, and she's determined to sink her teeth into Natasha before the end of the night.

Thankfully, she doesn't have to wait long for her opportunity.

As soon as she makes her way into the bustle of the party, she scans the room for the Widow. She finds her by the bar, chatting with Tony and Rhodey with a drink in hand.

Even though she wants to waste no time, she decides to linger. To let the anticipation build and see how long it'll take Natasha to bite. It's both torturous and enticing. A borderline perverted mix of longing that makes her heart threaten to burst out of her chest.

When Natasha's eyes finally meet her gaze, she sends a soft smile her way before pretending to be incredibly interested in her drink. It's a cheap strategy, she knows that, and yet it's one that works in her favor.

She only has to wait a few more minutes before the Widow untangles herself from Tony's drawn-out (although probably annoyingly entertaining) story and makes her way over to her.

"I didn't take you for a beer girl," she says, raising a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at her.

"There is a lot you don't know about me," Wanda replies, her accent coming out strong. It's half on purpose and half on accident. It tends to slip out easier when she's around people she's genuinely comfortable with.

And Natasha is right at the top of that list. Even if she doesn't fully know it.

The Widow lets out a soft huffing sound in response. It's not quite a laugh, but there's an edge of fondness to it that neither of them can fully ignore. It's not every day she allows herself to be so unguarded.

"You're pretty and witchy, what else is there to know?"

The teasing remark only makes the younger woman's smile grow wider. "Does that mean you think I'm pretty?"

Wanda accompanies her question with an alluring tilt of her head, watching in amusement as Natasha takes a long sip of her drink to avoid answering. Even if she doesn't say the words, she's been caught red-handed and the witch couldn't be happier about it. Maybe her sudden desire for the woman isn't as one-sided as she'd allowed herself to believe.

"What are you even doing here?" Natasha asks, her tone far too casual for the intensity in her gaze. "You hate Tony and you hate parties."

The witch in question simply shrugs. "I was tired of sitting on my ass."

This time, the Widow actually laughs. "Clint should have never taught you that phrase."

"I don't know, I think it's quite fitting." She pauses for a moment, letting the air between crackle with a hard to define energy. One just as powerful and unpredictable as her own powers. "You seem to like looking at my ass."

The older woman's eyes widen before quickly darting around them. Sure, they're leaning up against the ridiculously placed bar but no one around them is paying attention. Tony and Rhodey left to find someone else to bore with their competitive stories and everyone else is scattered around the room, too engrossed in their conversations or their drinks to pay them any mind.

Not to mention, Wanda would never allow them to notice them. It's not mind control, not really, which means she feels no guilt at manipulating reality for a few moments.

"Since when are you so bold, Maximoff?"

"Since I decided to start going after what I want." 

This time, she pairs her words with a subtle step forward. It's not enough for their bodies to press together, but the intention is more than clear. It's a hint and a warning all wrapped up in one. One the Widow could easily ignore if she wanted to.

Wanda almost expects her to, considering how shifty her eyes are. How her attention seems to bounce around the room more and more. She's sure she's never seen the older woman so nervous before. It's as cute as it is enticing.

Finally, Natasha relents. She lets out a long sigh, her gaze shifting back to Wanda's. "You couldn't find a more appropriate time for that?"

The younger woman's smile turns into a smirk. Her free hand reaches out, manicured fingers running down the length of the redhead's arm. "We could always...sneak away, just the two of us..."

Natasha lets out a soft chuckle at that, her resistance clearly wavering, even as she tries to hold strong. "I don't think that's a smart idea, princess."

Wanda's pout is almost enough to make her melt. Almost.

"Why not? Aren't we on the same page about this?"

"It's not that simple."

The witch knows she should at least ask why. That she should pretend to care about the hesitations she knows are swimming around in Natasha's head. She doesn't need to read her mind to know what they are, why they matter. But it's hard to think straight when her advances aren't being rejected. When she's so close to getting what she wants.

So, instead of doing any of the rational things the Widow seems to be struggling with, she wordlessly grabs her hand and leads her away from prying eyes. They're a few ways away but still near the hustle and bustle of the party. Far away to fully hear each other but close enough to be caught if someone decided to wander around.

She's not fully thinking about that possibilty, though. All her focus is on Natasha and getting her to admit how much she wants her. How much she needs this too.

Without thinking about the consequences, she pushes the older woman up against the wall, their eyes meeting once more. The bright green flecks of Natasha's eyes seem to sparkle almost dangerously. Unfortunately, Wanda is too far gone to heed the warnings.

"Wanda, we can't." There's no real discomfort in the Widow's voice. No real attempt at getting the younger woman to stop.

So, she doesn't.

Wanda merely lets out a soft hum but makes no attempt to step away or fully listen to the older woman's complaints. Instead, she leans in more insistently, her lips trailing up Natasha's neck and leaving heated kisses on her skin.

The redhead wants to pull away. To tell Wanda to stop and let her walk away before they do something they'll regret. It's impossible to fight against her, though. Especially when her hands join the slow exploration.

"Why can't we?" The witch asks, her hands settling on Natasha's hips. "Why do you want to pretend like you don't want me?"

The sound the redhead makes is somewhere between a huff and a groan. "That's not what I'm doing. I'm just trying to be smart about this." 

"There's nothing smart about this," she replies. "But I want you and you want me. What more do we need?"

Natasha opens her mouth to answer but Wanda doesn't give her a chance. In one swift move, she hooks the redhead's leg around her waist before pressing herself against her, drawing a soft gasp from her parted lips.

"You were saying?"

"You're so annoying, little witch."

The teasing nickname makes Wanda huff. Sure, it also makes her heart skip a beat but mostly, it annoys her. "Then tell me to stop, 'Tasha."

"Just shut up and kiss me already."

There it is. The permission she'd been waiting for. The clear admittance that their feelings were the same. That the sparks of desire she'd been feeling during training weren't one-sided delusions.

The witch wastes no time in connecting their lips once the realization hits her. Despite the intensity of their desires, the kiss is surprisingly soft. 

It's still more than a little desperate and yet there's an edge of affection that makes them melt. That leaves them craving more.

Thankfully, they both have more than enough ideas on how to fix that craving. The youngest of the two takes the leap first, though, not one bit embarrased of showing how desperate she is for more.

 Wanda grinds her hips up against Natasha's, slowly hiking her dress up to reveal the smooth skin underneath the fabric. There's something about both the setting and their outfits that drives them both mad. Something about being so exposed and yet so composed at the same time. Something about the matching black fabric of their dresses that turns them on more.

Her lips leave the Widow's just to trail down her jaw, her hands moving down her body with purpose. She grips her hips hard enough to move the older woman against her as she easily slots one of her thighs between her legs, giving her the perfect surface to grind against.

"You're so quiet, 'Tasha," the witch teases, unable to stop her flourishing dominant side for rearing its head.

Natasha knows she's allowing herself to slip. That she shouldn't be letting her guard down like this. Shouldn't be giving Wanda this much control over her.

It's not like she can help it, though. There's an intensity behind the younger woman's movements that she doesn't want to fight against. She wants to let it consume her until there's nothing left. No trace of her fears or hesitations.

She's not about to admit that any time soon, though. Even as her bucking hips give her away.

"That's because we're in public," she replies, keeping her voice as even as she can. "I can actually control myself unlike some people."

Wanda chuckles, keeping up her slow movements. "That's not what your hips are telling me."

"You're the one moving them," she shoots back.

The witch leans back slightly, a smirk forming on her face and pairing beautifully with her dialated pupils. "Is that so? If I move my hands away, you'll stop trying to hump my leg?"

Without waiting for an answer, she moves her hands away from the redhead's hips, allowing her fingers to trail up her torso toward her chest. She keeps her touch light and teasing, using it to further draw out the other woman's desires.

"That's not fair," Natasha huffs, her cheeks flushing a light shade of pink as the attention piles on. "You're the one that started this, you have to finish it."

"But we haven't even started yet, have we? You still have too many clothes on."

Wanda's fingers linger on the strap of Natasha's dress, sliding it down just enough to allow her lips to connect to the exposed skin. She focuses her attention on that spot just enough to make the older woman's hips buck against her.

"Fuck," she groans. "This is so unfair."

"I think it's more than fair. I can feel how much you want me. You're soaked, aren't you?"

Her question is met with another groan, this one in a sightly higher, more desperate, pitch. The witch is right, of course. She's already drenched and all she's done is lazily grind against her thigh.

It's practically impossible to stop her body from responding to her, though. Even without reading her mind, she knows her cues all too well after spending so much sparring with her.

Then again, she's pretty sure she wouldn't mind allowing her to invade her thoughts. Something about the lack of control makes her gush.

The low chuckle Natasha's thought is met with makes her eyes widen in response, her hands coming up to grip the younger woman’s shoulders. “Are you seriously reading my mind right now?”

Wanda knows the redhead is trying to sound intimidating but she’s far too breathless, far too wet against her thigh, for her to feel anything but satisfaction. “I couldn’t help it, your thoughts are so loud.”

The response is exactly what she had been expecting and all she can do is huff. “Don’t make it a habit.”

Her words only make Wanda bolder. With her words, her touch, her unbearable need to make the other woman fall apart just for her. “I thought you wanted me in your mind, ‘Tasha?”

The Widow knows she's been caught. That even if the witch didn't spend much time in her head, she knows how much she loves this. How much she wants this. This back and forth dance that will no doubt end with her on her knees.

And still, she's far too stubborn to admit it.

"Shut up." It's a weak remark but it's the only one she has. The only two words she can coherently form as her hips roll against the hard muscle pressing so insistently against her heat. "If you wanted to talk so much, you should have taken me on a date."

"If you don't like me talking so much, why are you so wet?"

It's infuriating. For every snarky response she can form, Wanda has two more waiting for her. It's like she knows exactly how to work her up, exactly how to meet her where she's at instead of trying to change her. It's more than infuriating, it's...it's sweet. In its own complicated, slightly fucked up way, the witch is being sweet.

Maybe it's that realization that makes her melt. Or maybe she's just too pent up to care anymore. She knows what the answer is, but she ignores it in favor of gripping Wanda's wrist and guiding it between her legs.

"I'd prefer it if you stopped talking and started doing, princess."

The witch's body tenses for a second, almost like her brain is struggling to catch up to reality, but then her fingers are working their way into Natasha's underwear and they both let out twin moans at the feeling.

Instead of taking a moment to tease her, Wanda dives right in, her patience fading with every buck of the older woman's hips. She sinks two fingers into Natasha's aching cunt, barely reminding herself to take it easy. To draw her pleasure out until she's writhing and groaning.

"Is this better for you, 'Tasha?" She asks, her lips making their way to Natasha's neck once more. She knows better than to leave too many marks behind, but she can't help her urges and she sinks her teeth into the side of the older woman's neck.

Natasha's walls clench around her fingers, nails digging into the witch's jacket as sparks of pleasure shoot up her spine. She arches her back into her touch, her hips bucking a little too wildly for her taste. It's not like she can help her movements. Not when it feels so good.

"Wanda," she moans, her cheeks heating up as she realizes how desperate she sounds. "Fuck, don't stop."

If Wanda was slightly more sadistic she would push her to beg. As enticing as that sounds, she'd much prefer to show her how good she can make her feel instead.

"I won't," she says as her thumb finds its way onto Natasha's swollen clit. "Not until you fall apart for me. Until you admit how good I make you feel."

Her pride seems like a small price to pay for the pleasure that's turning her brain to mush. She opens her mouth to stroke Wanda's ego some more when the younger woman speeds up her movements, her fingers curling just enough to leave her gasping.

She pushes her hips into her fingers with every thrust, looking far more needy than she ever allows herself to be. "Right there, fuck, feels so good."

Natasha's never really been one for talking during sex, far too accustomed to selfish lovers who don't need her approval to feel like they're doing things right. It's different this time, though. Not just because she genuinly feels good, but because it's so clear that Wanda feels good. That this is what she wants. Touching her, pleasing her, driving her to the brink of madness. The witch has never looked more comfortable, more in her element, than she does right now.

"You gonna cum for me already?" The witch teases, pretending she's not doing everything in her power to make the older woman fall apart. "Here? Where anyone could see you? See how desperate you are for my fingers?"

The slight degradation shouldn't turn her on more, but it does. It makes her head fall back as an incoherent string of curses leave her lips. She knows she should at least feel a little emberrased but she can't. Can't think about anything except Wanda's fingers pistoning in and out of her wet pussy.

"Yes," she replies breathlessly. "I need- need to cum."

Wanda doubles her efforts as soon as she hears Natasha admit how close she is. Her thumb presses down on her twitching clit, rubbing fast circles against it until the Widow's walls are spasming around her fingers. 

"That's it, let go for me, 'Tasha. Make a mess on my fingers."

She doesn't have to be told twice.

The coil in Natasha's stomach snaps almost instantly, leaving her clinging to the witch as the pleasure crashes into her all at once.

Wanda watches her with wide eyes, greedily drinking in every twitch of her face, every desperate sound she can't hold back. She's sure she's never seen anything so breathtaking in her life.

All it does, though, is make her realize how much more she wants. How badly she needs Natasha. How her mind has filled up with fantasies she's not sure she can live without.

After losing everything she's ever had, she has to have the older woman.

That will come later, though, right now, she has more important things to focus on. Like making sure Natasha can walk long enough for them to retire to her room for the night.

* * * * * * *

taglist: @boredandneedfanfics

[bardoftheshire]

Goddamn It, House

James Wilson x Reader (truth serum fic)

Summary; House has had a history of drugging Wilson, but what happens if he drugs both Wilson and Y/n with sodium thiopental? Seems like an amazing plan to him.

Notes; I love these things, but I would be horrified if truth serum was a real thing. (Nvm I looked it up, Sodium Thiopental is the closest thing.)

Warnings; Drugging, drugs, "prescription" drugs, foul language, sexual innuendos, mentions of vomit, House in general, and more drugs..

James Wilson Masterlist

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You did NOT want to go into work today.. you were groggy, dressed half assed, and overall looked like shit.

God, I need coffee or an energy drink..

"L/n! Hey, do you- woah. Are you okay, man?" Kutner asks with genuine concern, despite his use of words.

You look at him with your eyes half lidded, there were most definitely dark circles under your eyes.

"Yup, I'm doing fantastic," You say flatly.

"Okay, man. Do you want a hug, or something?" Kutner offers.

You dismiss him, but thank him for the kind offer, and go up to the meeting room with him alongside you, where Thirteen, Foreman, and Taub had already been in, sitting down and talking amongst eachother.

"Holy shit, L/n. You look like death.." Foreman says, definitely out of his character. You knew how bad it was when he commented like that.

"Thanks," You say sarcastically, throwing in a fake smile as you sit down, placing your head onto the table face down, your arms dangling.

You were about to fall asleep despite only had being in the hospital for at the most 10 minutes.

"Is L/n finally dead?" House says, poking your side with his cane.

You let out a groan, too tired to even react to the poke.

House hums, knocking your head with the end of his cane. "Anyways! What do we have today, Thirteen?"

"Ow! What the hell?"

"A 27 year old man began to get pains in his lower leg. He's perfectly healthy but has an unsteady heartbeat, and has had 3 strokes since he got here," Foreman explained.

"That's interesting, I thought I asked Thirteen, but I guess I must be going insane." House says sarcastically, looking at Foreman.

"It could just be atrial fibrillation. That would explain the irregular heartbeat and strokes," You say.

Thirteen shakes her head, "But what about the random pain in his leg?" she argues.

"And the fact that this man has had a healthy diet and lifestyle his entire life. He wouldn't be getting the strokes if he's had this healthy lifestyle the entire time." Kutner adds on.

You think to yourself. "Are his bones brittle? It could be atherosclerosis,"

"Are you okay, or are you just getting dumber?"

"I'm just tired, House.. And I'm being serious about the atherosclerosis."

"Whatever. Go run a bone biopsy or something," House dismisses. "but you, stay." He says, pointing at you.

You sigh, you just wanted to take a nap at the least. Maybe if you beg him, he'll let you sleep in his office on the floor or something. Or maybe Wilson would let you..

"Coffee run. Want some? It was supposed to be for Wilson but I haven't seen him yet. You can have his,"

"Wow, is this the real Gregory House?" You look at him, nearly falling asleep where you stood.

"No, I'm actually an extraterrestrial robot clone of this "House" character you are talking about."

You laugh and walk with him to his office where two to-go cups of coffee sat on his desk. "I think the one on the right is the black coffee, the other has creamer in it." House says, pointing to the cups with his cane.

You figured it would be best to check. You couldn't do dairy, coffee was already not good for you, dairy added to that would make it so much worse. You open one of the lids and see completely dark brown coffee, so you put the lid back on and take it.

"Thanks, House. I appreciate this very rare and odd gesture." You say, raising your cup.

"No probs bro. Now get out of my office and do something for once."

You roll your eyes and leave his office, spotting Wilson just walking into his own.

"Oh, morning L/n. How are you?" Wilson greeted.

He was always the one that never commented about your appearance like how Foreman and House just did moments ago. It was a kind thing to do, but it was also "dangerous" at times, especially if you had something wrong like messy hair, only half of your makeup done when you were wearing any, undone or messily knotted tie, or a wrinkled shirt.

You still appreciated it, though.

"Morning, Wilson. I'm just a bit tired is all, but other than that I think I'll be fine." You smile.

"Ditto," He laughs.

"I'll see you later though, alright?" He finishes

"See ya, Wilson." You say, with both of you parting your ways.

House walks (barges) into Wilson's office as soon as he saw that you were gone, two coffee cups in hand.

"I got you coffee, just the way you like it. Diabetes added into it and everything." House says.

Wilson sighs, already being used to his antics to the point where he isn't affected by them anymore. "Thanks,"

House hands him the one from his left hand.

Wilson remembered what happened when he took the opposite one last time, so he took the one that House presented to him and took a drink.

It wouldn't have mattered which cup he took, because House drugged both.

Manipulative bitch.

"So, you and L/n?" House asked.

Wilson choked on his coffee at House's random comment. "I'm sorry?"

"You and L/n, I see you two are still friends again, right? Cameron told me that you two got into a big argument and had a falling out,"

"That is not in the least bit true but the fact that me and L/n are friends. When did Cameron tell you this?" Wilson asks, clearly baffled that Cameron would say something like that.

"Tuesday. I asked why you two were avoiding each other the whole day, she said you two stopped being friends the day before because of an argument," House replies. Or, more so, lies.

"The both of us were busy that day? She didn't even have time to eat lunch with us, House."

"Oh, well that makes a little more sense," House acted clueless, something he tended to do often.

He knew something that Wilson didn't. He overheard you talking to Thirteen one day, asking her for advice on "how to stop loving someone," or something like that. Stupid, right?

Wilson wasn't too hard to figure out. House could practically read his mind at this point after knowing him for as long as he did.

So, House being House, he decided to come up with a solution, or more so a plan. A opioid cocktail if you will. It's surprising that this didn't kill the two..

House's pager beeps, indicating that the team had either something, or something going on.

"Gotta go! The children need tending to,"

"House-" Wilson starts, but is cut off with House walking away.

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

You enter the room where the patient and team were in. The man was laying down, his bed messy and a tired and dazed look on his face, most likely from another stroke.

"Another stroke, I assume?" You sigh, drinking more of your coffee, which was now already mostly finished.

"We came in and he was already having one, but apparently more aggressive than the last ones according to the nurse, and his leg pain is only getting worse," Thirteen responds.

Then it's atrial fibrillation. You decide before yawning.

"Do you need an energy drink or something? I've got one in my locker," Kutner offers.

"Kutner, she already has coffee. Don't you think that'll give her a heart attack or something," Taub whispers.

Kutner shrugs, "She's in a hospital if worst comes to worst at least," He whispers back.

"Oh my goodness, if you could do that, it would totally be awesome," you praise.

You knew that so much caffeine wouldn't do too well for you, but this is definitely not the most you'd have.

Kutner leaves the room, and you stand with the others.

"It has to be atrial fibrillation, no doubt about it. I mean, that would explain the strokes and off rhythmic beating of his heart," you explain.

"No, he hasn't had a heart attack and said he hasn't had a history of them, ever." Thirteen argues.

Suddenly the vital machine starts quickly beeping, indicating that something was wrong.

The patient starts groaning as he clutches the left side of his chest.

He was having a heart attack.

You were right.

"Stabalize him, he's clotting up, get me some heparin quickly!" You shout anxiously, yet full of excitement that you were right.

Holy shit you're turning into House..

"We don't have any! He didn't clot before so we only have anything to stop the clotting," Foreman says.

The nurse that was in the room with you as this happened suddenly came back with a syringe of heparin, "It's all we had," She says. The syringe wasn't ideal with patients. It's usually preferred through the IV, but it'll work nonetheless.

The patient calms down and pants, "He's stabilized,"

"And I was right." You finish.

"We don't know that yet." Foreman scoffs.

"Yes I do you fuckin' idiot," You roll your eyes.

"What?"

"I called you a fuckin' idiot. Look at the state of this sad sop, why keep him miserable and in pain? He needs the proper medication, and he would have that if you would just fucking listen to me, you idiots, *hic!*" You shout.

You now suddenly realize what you had just said, this was unlike you. "I- oh my gosh I'm so sorry, I- I didn't mean that I promise. I don't know what came over me, just *hic!*, keep doing what you guys are doing right now, youre doing incredible, I'm so sorry," word vomit is what you would explain it to be.

You back out of the door, covering your mouth as to not say anything else stupid.

You bump into someone behind you and turn around to see Kutner standing in front of you with a Nos energy drink in his left hand. "L/n I had- " Kutner tries to say as he hands you the can.

"Thank you so much, I appreciate it tons, I've really got to go, thank you!" You say quickly before rushing off to an unoccupied room and close the door and curtains.

"What the fuck, what the hell just happened why did I say that? Oh my gosh I'm going insane I'm going fucking insane," You pace around the room and take fists of hair in your hands.

You crack open the energy drink and take a big gulp of it, "I'm just tired, I'm just tired is all. *hic!* How am I going to tend to my patients all day? I'm going to say something stupid again, why did I say that?"

Wilson wasn't doing any better. He was going along with his regular tasks as usual, when he realized that as the minutes, minutes, started to go by, he was starting to get more and more.. how should you say, iffy, with certain patients.

Saying things he should never say in his professional place of work, things he would only ever say to certain people, such as House with the "sassy" remarks he's been making.

"Jeez, what's up with you? Telling the patients that you-"

"Shut up, House.." Wilson grumbles before sneezing.

"Okay, whatever. Since when did you have the attitude and temper of a teenage girl?" House teases.

"House, please just- leave me alone," Wilson pauses for a brief moment. This was exactly like the last time not too long ago when he drugged him with that coffee.

"Did you drug me? Again?" Wilson scoffs.

"Probably," House shrugs, picking up a file off of Wilson's desk and examining it. "27 year old female with possible breast cancer. Wow, wonder what you said to her,"

"I- I didn't say anything I haven't gone to this one yet.." Wilson knew that if he went to certain ones, he would definitely get in trouble for them, so he put the ones he knew would cause trouble aside. Aka; the smart thing to do.

"Dr. L/n? You're asked for in Dr. House's office," One of the nurses calls, interrupting your mental breakdown.

You cover your mouth with one hand and give him a thumbs up before he leaves.

You could close the curtains for the main glass window, but you couldn't with the glass door, unfortunately.

The nurse nods and leaves, closing the door on his way out.

You sigh and grab the can Kutner gave you, well, more so that you took from him.

You bit your tounge on the way there and responded only when needed to in nods and shakes of the head. There were some doctors and nurses you pretended to like, just to avoid any conflict and drama, that's what horrified you the most. If you said anything to them, it was over. You're not even sure if Foreman was going to talk to you again.

"What the hell do you want," You sigh, placing the energy drink down on a desk as you enter House's office to see him shaking his magic 8 ball before looking up at you.

"What's got you so snappy today? You're starting to act like Wilson right now,"

"*hic!* What?" You question, your brows furrowed.

"I mean, have you talked to Wilson yet? Because man is he hor-" House begins before being immediately cut off.

"House!"

House looks up and you turn around to see Wilson standing at the door.

"Oh, I'm sorry did you finish verbally harassing those other patients?"

You look back at House with a questioning look, "He's finally the one harassing them now and not you?"

"Did he- did he drug you too?"

"Did he WHAT?" You snap your head back to Wilson.

This back and forth was going to give you whiplash.

"He drugged me with sodium thiopental this morning in my coffee. Along with other opioids I don't even want to know,"

"Goddamn it House! Are you kidding me? Do you know what I just said to Foreman's dumbass?? I can't fucking believe you, how old are you?!" You yell.

That explained it.

"I don't care. Hey, how about we spice this up a little, get some drama?" House says, placing his 8 ball down and getting up from his chair.

You sigh and laugh, "I can't believe you right now! You did this just to stir some drama?"

"Yes and no. Hey, L/n, who were you talking about when you were talking to Thirteen asking about 'how to stop loving someone'? I'm just curious, love the workplace drama if you didn't know," House asks you, getting in your face.

What.

"I-" You quickly place your hand over your mouth.

Wilson.

How did House know? Did Thirteen tell him?

"Who told you that? Was it Thirteen? You *hic!* shouldn't know about that," You blurt.

"Oh just happened to be passing by, but not in time to know who you were talking about. I just want to know, you know?" House shrugged.

"It was-" You slap your hand over your mouth again, this time biting your tounge as well.

"Come on, spit it out already,"

"Wait, what's going on?" Wilson asks.

You shake your head and leave his office with your hand still over your mouth, rushing to another empty room.

"What the hell!" You scream, getting the attention from other doctors on the other side of the glass. Totally not soundproof.

You grab your pager and click on Thirteen's contact, putting a message to quickly come to the room you're in.

"*hic!* This can not be happening right now," You muttered to yourself.

You told Thirteen everything. You knew or at least felt that if you told anyone else what you tell her, they'd blabber it to someone else right away. Just like you were doing against your own will.

The urgency wasn't incredibly needed, but that didn't mean that you weren't anxiously waiting, as each second felt like 5 minutes and your nails were now dug into the skin of your arm.

You paced around before finally settling on just sitting down at the edge of the bed.

"L/n? Are you doing okay? You went a little crazy earlier. I think you hurt Foreman's feelings," Thirteen says with a smile.

You look up and quickly walk up to her, "Oh my gosh, Thirteen, thank god you're here,"

"Are you okay?"

"Uh, well, House is kind of a jackass and laced my coffee with sodium thiopental and god knows what else this morning so now I've just been telling everyone I come across what I think without thinking, so I've just been without a filter since I drank that coffee. I've spent most of my time hiding in rooms until it maybe wears off," You rambled, unable to stop everything that was coming out of your mouth all at once. "He also drugged Wilson." You added

"Wait what?"

"House drugged me and now I won't shut up!" You shout.

Thirteen furrows her eyebrows and crosses her arms, "So he basically gave you a 'truth serum'."

"Yes? Is that what you'd call that? *hic!*"

"And House did this just to be a jackass?" Thirteen questioned. She knew that was most likely the answer.

"*hic!* Probably! I mean, the guy is miserable so he makes others even more miserable for his own entertainment so, *hic!* yeah!" You raised your hands up in the air and shrugged.

The thing about House, was that he never did something for no reason. Everything was always for a reason, like the last time he drugged Wilson...

Wilson.

"You said he drugged Wilson too, right?" Thirteen questioned, knowing exactly where this was going.

You nodded quickly.

Thirteen smiles and walks out of the room.

'What the fuck was that?'

You were going to to crazy! Why did she just leave? Is she coming back?

Then you suddenly realized just what House was planning, and what Thirteen knew would happen.

"*hic!* Oh my god.."

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

Your pager beeps coming from Kutner, if you could guess, it was most likely due to the patient, something that should've been much more important.

"Shit.." You look at it and bite your tounge as to not say what you were thinking out loud about patient's, nurses, doctors, etc. on your way to where the patient's room was.

Only to find that he wasn't there with the rest of the team.

"Where the hell is Kutner? He paged me for no goddamn reason or what?" You shout, clearly frustrated.

"He went to the break room," Cameron responds, focused on putting a new bag of saline.

"*hic!*"

"Goddamn it. I hate this fucking job sometimes," You groan and leave the room without saying anything else, not even bothering to bite your tounge around them as you've already said your worst.

You mumble all sorts of profanities and insults to the people you saw around you as you made your way down into the break room where stood House, and Wilson.

"What is this, some interrogation? Haven't you already had your daily dose of your dumb shit for the day or *hic!* are you going to overdose on that shit, too?"

"Oh, no I'm addicted to it. Maybe more than the Vicodin, though it might come close," House says carelessly.

You ball your fists up, nails digging into your skin.

"I'm going to kill your crippled ass," You say, gritting your teeth.

"That's cool, but first, tell me how you feel about good ol' Wilson here," House says with a coy smile on his face.

"Wait what do you mean?" Wilson asked cluelessly.

"Shut the hell up, what the hell did you give us House!"

"Hard question, next one please,"

You groan and go to the nearest wall to lean against it. Whatever he gave you was DEFINITELY not helping you.

You actually felt sick. You were so tired too, because the coffee that was supposed to be helping you, did the opposite.

"*hic!* god fucking damn it why can't this shit stop!?" You were getting sick and tired of the hiccups, it's all that's been happening to you the whole time you've been here.

"Achoo!"

And apparently Wilson's had been sneezing. Gross..

You slide down the wall and curl up once you meet the carpeted floor.

"House, I need to know, was this really nessasary for you to do.. both me *hic!* and Wilson have jobs here and I can't hide in a room all day.." You ask, rubbing your temples.

"Yes. Yes it was." House gets up and towers over you, "Have fun!"

Unfortunately, the door locked from the outside. The one House now just locked judging by the click you heard after he left.

You run to the door and attempt to turn the door handle, but to no avail, it didn't open. Meaning, you were now stuck in a room with Wilson, and only Wilson.

You take a deep breath in and out, "I'm keeping my mouth shut, don't take it personally.." backing away from the door, you take a seat on the floor next to the foosball table.

Wilson shoots you a thumbs up.

Minutes pass, then an hour, and more minutes. You hadn't even tried to busy yourself, you just sat in the same spot the whole time.

The lock clicks open and your head shoots up along with Wilson. The both of you rush to the door in hopes someone would let you out.

Only for it to be House.

"Have either of you still not said anything?" House scoffs.

You make a zip movement over your mouth, indicating you hadn't, and wouldn't say anything.

He turns to Wilson, giving him the same look and getting a shake of the head from him.

"Fine then. If you won't say it, I will. Alright, how should I go on about this? Wilson?" House hobbles over and taps Wilson with his cane.

Wilson shakes his head once more, though quicker.

"What about you, Dr. L/n? What do you have to say?" House whips his head around.

You slap your hand over your mouth and pinch yourself to stop from saying a single word.

"Okay, if you want it that way. Wilson, L/n, or should I say Y/n, has a total-"

You quickly cut off House, tackling him to the floor with your hand over his mouth. "Shut the hell up, House! I'll murder you I swear!"

"Do it then, coward." House challenged you.

You pause, suddenly unable to form a coherent sentence, let alone a single word.

"L/n totally has the hots for you, Wilson." House says, pushing you off of him with a big grin on his face.

Your jaw practically fell directly onto the floor, a million thoughts going through your mind yet despite the drug cocktail, you still stayed quiet.

The three of you stayed silent. Not one of you making a peep for what felt like hours. You felt like crying, throwing up maybe?

"Well! Have fun with this. I'm going to go bother Foreman." House dismisses himself and leaves, locking the door as you could hear from the other side.

"I- I'm so sorry, Wilson." You apologize, shutting your eyes tightly closed.

"Do you..?" Wilson asks after a couple seconds.

You open your eyes and look up to see Wilson giving you a look of sympathy and confusion.

Giving him a look of confusion yourself, you question, "what?"

"God, this feels like middle school," Wilson lets out a chuckle before continuing, "do you like like me?" He raises an eyebrow.

Furrowing your brows, you respond, "What do you think, James?"

He smiles sheepishly, now suddenly shy. "I wish I would've known sooner."

Wilson was typically a quiet man, kept to himself and usually stuck with House, so seeing him like this wasn't surprising, though that didn't mean you didn't find it a little silly.

A guy with a title such as his? Shy? No way.

"Do you?" You asked the same question, causing him to rub the back of his neck and mumble with a nod.

You smile. Maybe House being a dickhead wasn't too bad of a thing sometimes. Sometimes..

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

Has no clue how to end this. *But* finished it nonetheless!

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 9 part 2

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

I'm glad nicky came up with a cool new tune because according to period movies and shows greensleeves is the only song anyone ever knew

look at that meek little smile, ughhhh. nicky is like two days old and this asshole has already figured out he's the perfect prop for her murder sprees. and these poor women are calling her sister and are willing to help too.

the spell is te accipimus in circulum, we accept you in the circle, and yes that makes me cry a little. we accept you in our community. and the spell is yellow air magic, which sounds like the most empathic kind if Lilia is any indication.

that's interesting, you can't really tell that well from screencaps but go rewatch the scene, this witch is making mushrooms grow with yellow magic instead of green?? is it just a spell (she is holding a book) or have I been getting it all wrong and color has nothing to do with the type of magic one has?

or maybe??? the color depends on the coven you're in?? the salemites all had blue magic for example. and now that I think about it the stone circle is a protection spell but it's not red/orange.

the meaning of this scene is so glaring dear lord. agatha was never going to give these women a chance to prove that yes, there are people out there who could love and help and accept her. she has shut herself up to that possibility a long time ago.

and she stole the soup too. awful.

I've seen all the different theories about nicky needing to feed on witches too, or nicky needing soul sacrifices to survive because he's the son of death etc. we don't have enough evidence to prove anything yet, but personally I headcanon nicky as a totally normal kid, that makes this story even more tragic.

and aww that baby suckling on the little pudgy fist

nicky doesn't look that happy about what he's been asked to do, does he?

we establish that nicky was sickly (maybe he was born with some internal defect that rio temporarily patched up?) we also see him steal the bell agatha will use for her Road scam in the future.

and we meet yet another witch being kind and wanting to help.

agatha: I love this six year old so much I'm gonna make him accessory to murder

dO yOU ShaME YouR MOtHER

and the big fake gasp too. as usual this bitch has conned a whole community

like, she's convinced herself that other witches are bad and are after her WHILE relying on witches's good hearts to con and kill them. what sort of mental gymnastics???

color goes from yellow to purple. nicky waits outside while his mom commits murder, it's not a good look on agatha. completely fucked up, actually.

(I'm terrified that the goat will end up being an agent of mephisto or something idiotic like that, lemme tell you. I hope they're just keeping it for milk and company.)

and here's the million dollar question. nicky has seen his mom kill literally since he was born, and now he's old enough to start realizing what that means.

oooh I know that look, that's agatha when she's put on the spot. she avoids his gaze, she can't be sincere with him.

and of course she's teaching herself spells from a book. nerrrrrrd

nicky, bless his soul, appears to give it a good thought and then offers a practical suggestion. I guess he wouldn't mind to have a roof on his head and some friends too.

GREAT acting from kathryn here. the quick OH SHIT face followed by the super final NO, with her jaw so rigid. in typical agatha fashion, when she's upset she becomes avoidant.

this is evanora's legacy. despite agatha's immense love for nicky, she is passing all that pain down and inflicting it on him.

remember when she called billy a survivor? this is the greatest asset in her opinion, the one she wants to teach her son. the truth is, she is angry at witches because she is scared of them, she's scared of being targeted again. but look at that kid's dark circles, I can't believe she's making him sleep in the woods, sick as he is!

really really fantastic subtlety. agatha wants to sound wise and strong, but she looks scared, uncertain, guilty.

see how nicky looks at agatha while he sings? he's checking to see if she's noticing, because his mom likes music and likes his voice. he's afraid he has upset her and wants to make her smile. he tried to reason with her, and now he tries to soothe her. this is what happens when you have an immature parent, a child will want to help, they will try to fix things. they'll end up parenting their parent, and it should always be the other way round.

agatha takes the bait. she's relieved that the conversation has moved to a safer subject. but oh, this script is so good. this is a mostly innocent, mostly sweet remark, but with a possessive undertone. don't forget that you are mine, she says.

and still, the love is real. even in a fucked up situation like this, these moment of happiness are precious and genuine and will linger on. look at how adoringly nicky looks at his mom, she's literally the sun and center of his small world, and that's how agatha likes it: she created nicky because she needed someone who could be hers without any baggage or consequences. but it turns out that raising a child is not a cheat code for love, it's one of the most difficult, most significant and impactful decisions a human can make.

go to episode 9 part 3

[athanza]

Starlett - Part 3

Cooper Howard/fem!OC (not self-insert)

Tags: Hurt/comfort (sort of?), non-allowed romantic connection, lots of tention, pre and post war drama, some fluff

Warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse (no graphic scenes or descriptions of that nature), angst, canon wasteland violence

This branches out from canon but I thought it was a cute story idea so I had to write it. Enjoy! ♡

Part 1 | Part 2 | Final part

2296

Suddenly Irene looked unsteady and she held a hand to the wound on her side.

"Fancy seein' you here." She chuckled painfully.

"I know, I haven't changed a bit."

She laughed but immediately regretted it, groaning in pain.

"You uh," she said, blood dripping down her leg. "you wouldn't happen to have a stimpak on you would ya? I'm uh...I'm not feelin' too hot."

He looked her over, the gash was deep, she'd need more than one stimpak. "Unfortunately I don't think I do."

Suddenly her legs gave out from underneath her and she collapsed.

"Whoa." He said, catching her before she hit the ground.

Irene woke up hours later, lying on her back in what looked like a small cave, her head resting on a saddle bag.

She didn't look any different than she did before the war, albeit a little dishevelled, Cooper figured that however Moldaver survived must've been how she did.

"Coop." Irene croaked.

He looked up from cleaning his revolver and saw her try to move.

"Easy there Starlett, you're pretty banged up."

She winced in pain again and lay back down. "I thought you were dead." She said, weak from the blood loss.

"I should be. So should you."

"Fate had other plans I guess."

Cooper scoffed quietly. She didn't press it, even though she wanted to know if Janey made it.

"You're gonna need some proper medical attention." He said. "Ain't much out here though."

"Eh, it's just a scratch." She joked, swallowing a mouth-full of blood.

Cooper got up and handed her a flask of water, half empty. She took a few sips and handed it back.

"I'm lookin' for Lee, you know where I can find 'er?

"I've been looking for her myself, I'm afraid I can't help you there, I've found nothing but dead ends. The bitch is hard to find even in a fucking desert."

He smiled a little at the very different tone coming out of her mouth than he remembered; she must've been in the wasteland for a little while, at least.

"I'm glad I found you cowboy. You're about the only fond memory I've got left. I needed that right about now."

"I'm not the man you remember."

"Doesn't matter. You've reminded me of something I haven't seen in years."

"And what's that?"

"Kindness."

2077

The doorbell rang and Cooper opened it to find Irene looking remarkably understated compared to her shows, but she still had that aire of grace that she always carried with her no matter where she was.

"Come on in." He smiled, stepping aside for her.

"I can't thank you enough for letting me stay, I know its a lot of ask of someone you just met."

"It's the least I can do."

He closed the door and took her suitcase for her.

Janey appeared with Roosevelt, having been playing in the backyard and Cooper gestured to her.

"Irene, this is my daughter Janey. Janey this is Irene, the friend from work I was telling you about."

"Irene Taylor!?" She said, her eyes sparkling. "I've seen you on TV! Your voice is sooo beautiful! You definitely should have won the award on last month's show."

Irene and Cooper both laughed.

"Looks like you have a fan."

"That's very kind of you." Irene smiled sweetly.

"Janey, why don't you watch some cartoons while I show Irene to her room?"

"Ok." She beamed and sat down with Roosevelt in front of the TV.

Irene followed Cooper to the back of the house where the guest room was and looked at all the family photos as they walked through. Wedding photos, Janey's baby photos, a puppy photo of Roosevelt. When they finally reached the room she felt even more uncomfortable.

"This is you." He said, placing her suitcase on the bed.

"I'm so sorry to put you in this position Mr. Howard, I do appreciate it very much. I didn't know who else to come to."

"Don't worry about it." He smiled warmly. "I'm just glad you decided to leave."

"So am I. You made me realise the cause wasn't worth the abuse, no matter how much I told myself it was. Lee won't be happy but it'll be worth it in the end."

"I'm sure it will."

She smiled softly at him. "I'll let you get back to your daughter. You'll barely know I'm here."

"Nonsense," he said. "You're joining us for dinner, plus I'm sure Janey would love to spend some time with you."

She got choked up a bit at that. Everything she had done since getting into show business had been for other people, someone doing something like this for her was something special.

"Thank you Mr. Howard."

"Cooper." He replied.

2296

Irene lay sleeping and Cooper sat wondering what to do with her.

He couldn't spare any resources, and he didn't need stimpaks, so he had none. Could he carry her to Filly and get her to a doctor? Sure, but that was in the opposite direction of where he was headed, where they were both headed.

It would be more humane to shoot her now to save her the pain, but he couldn't bring himself to do it and it angered him.

"Fuck." He said, getting to his feet and picking up his gun, walking out of the cave in search of supplies.

[mytardisiscoolerthanyours]

Cold (A Jason Todd Fic)

Ch. 3

Chapter 4: School

Jason was bored.

There wasn't much for him to do at the manor, especially since everyone left for the majority of the day. He felt more alone now than he ever had before.

Tim would leave for school in the mornings and return just before patrol at night— Jason wasn't sure what he did in the hours in between. Bruce went to work in the city for the day, often staying late and using his spare suit to meet Tim on patrol at night. Alfred always kept busy: cleaning, organizing, and shopping, so Jason barely saw him.

At first, Jason spent his time wandering the manor, rediscovering places he had somehow forgotten. He found his favorite window seat, a place he would curl up and read on rainy days. He could get lost in a book for hours, tucked away safely in a corner of the big house. He also went back to his (old?) room.

He had been putting it off. Waking up there was one thing, but revisiting it once he knew what happened was different. It was a shrine, one left by a grieving father.

He hadn't known Bruce for very long. Only a few years. He had adopted him after the tire incident on the Batmobile, and the rest was history. But even though Bruce was not a long-standing figure in his life, he still felt more like a father to him than anyone else — especially his biological father, that asshole.

The room was untouched. Just as it had been when he woke up, everything was exactly in its place. The shelves were dusted, the curtains were open, but the room felt stale. It was a pristine artifact from a time when he was present, there… alive. Like he remembered, everything was the same. His baseball trophies still sat on the dresser across from his bed, and the bookshelf next to his desk was still full of memories. Books and memories. Comic books were stacked neatly on his bedside table, a bookmark still marking where he had last left off in the top edition.

It felt like a frog had lodged itself into Jason's throat. It hurt to swallow, to breathe. He didn't like the stillness, the emptiness of the room. The all too familiar cold started to creep up his spine as he looked in from the doorway, not even able to take a step in. He didn't stay there long.

Instead, Jason decided to test the limits of his mobility and follow Tim to school.

-

"Jason, no. There is no way I'm going to get through the school day with you hovering over my shoulder the whole time," Tim sighed. He was finishing up his bacon and eggs in the kitchen, whispering to Jason under his breath as not to alert Alfred to their unexpected visitor.

"Ok, first of all, I don't hover. I'm not that type of ghost," Jason replied indignantly. "And second, you won't even know I'm there. I just want to see how far I can go. Plus, it's boring here all day."

Tim looked at Jason, his gaze assessing. The boy was smart, Jason had seen that in the few days he'd been back. He was sure that Tim could see the anguish he was trying to hard to hide. The loneliness and confusion that came with reawakening into an unfamiliar life. The painful lack of connection to people around him that remained so close, yet so far.

"Fine," he sighed. "But don't expect me to entertain you if you get bored. I have an English test today and I need to do well or I could fail the class."

Jason gave him a look. He wouldn't have expected Tim to be even close to failing anything. With the dedication he put into Robin and his rigid routines, Jason had thought he was a star student.

"Don't give me that look. I know, okay? I'm doing well in all my other classes, but English just doesn't make sense. What am I actually going to learn from old white men from the 1800s? Nothing!" He huffed, his voice rising. "It's bogus."

Before he could respond, Jason heard Alfred's voice chime in from across the room.

"Is everything quite alright, Master Timothy? You seem to be muttering a lot under your breath. I hope your breakfast is to your liking." Tim straightened, throwing Jason a quick glare before turning to Alfred apologetically.

"Everything is great, Alf, sorry. I have an English test today and I'm getting in my head about it. You know how I feel about this teacher… she's so full of herself." Tim grumbled, shoveling another spoonful of eggs into his mouth.

"Ah, yes. Mrs. McConnally. While I understand, I have to disagree with your assessment of the subject. I quite like literature, and the book you're reading is fascinating. I remember when I used to help Master Jason with his— Um, excuse me. I mean, I'm sure you'll do great, son." Alfred gave him a tight smile before turning and busying himself with the dishes once more.

Tim sighed, looking down at his plate. He pushed the bacon around, but didn't look to have much of an appetite anymore. Jason was staring at Alfred. It was the first time that anyone but Tim had said his name, or even recalled his existence. It was jarring.

"Happens more often than you think," whispered Tim, noticing the pained expression on Jason's face. "You're the favorite, even now when it hurts to talk about it. They can't help themselves sometimes. You should see Bruce when he does it accidentally during patrol — those nights end up being rough."

Jason didn't respond, instead turning his wide-eyed gaze to Tim. They talked about him? He had hoped, but it's been days and he hadn't seen or heard anything yet. He assumed they either forgot or it was too taboo to speak of the dead for anyone to dare.

"Common, we've got to go if we want to make the bus. It takes at least an hour and two transfers to make it before the bell." Tim hopped off the stool, thanking Alfred for the meal, and headed towards the door where he had left his backpack this morning.

Tim didn't often eat at the manor. It was a rare occurrence, only happening when Alfred insisted or on days after long patrols. Alfred's love language was food, and Jason could see clearly how much he cared for the boy. He seemed to be the only one in the family who did.

Jason followed Tim as he left through the double doors, still dazed from the conversation. He wasn't the favorite, that had always been Dick. He was the first. The first child, the first Robin, Bruce's first love. Jason could never compare, but he still knew that Bruce loved him, too.

He watched as Tim made his way down the long driveway. Had he said they were taking the bus?

"Wait up!" He yelled, running to catch up with the younger boy. His footsteps were silent against the gravel under his feet. It still felt unusual to Jason to walk through the world unheard, leaving no marks, making no sound. "Did you say we're taking the bus?"

"Yeah?" Tim questioned, slowing his pace slightly to match Jason. "How else would we get there? It's too far to walk."

"A car? Hasn't Alfred offered to drive you yet? He drove me every day to school, I think he would have fainted if I told him I was taking public transportation."

"No, he hasn't offered…" he replied, his tone shifting. "But that's because he doesn't know I take the bus. I told him my parents hired a driver for me."

Jason paused mid-stride. What?

"Why would you do that?" he asked, incredulously. "Do you like sitting on uncomfortable benches next to smelly people?"

"No," Tim replied flatly. "I didn't want Alfred to think he was obligated to drive me. I can take care of myself. I don't need him to go out of his way every morning and drive into the city. He has much more important things to be working on than that."

Tim's tone was defensive. Jason could tell the boy took a lot of pride in his self-sufficiency. He liked that he was able to function alone, be a "man." But Jason could also see the trauma in it. The need for control. The steel resolve that comes with being forced to find your own way and not rely on anyone else. He saw that look when he was still living on the streets. He probably had that look when Bruce took him in.

"Ok," he replied, his tone carefully calm. "You're right. You can find your own way to school. I'm not questioning you, alright, Bud? All I meant was that Alfred would be happy to do it. He never minded driving me, and I can see how much he cares about you, too."

"Yeah, right," he scoffed.

Jason winced. Ouch. He wanted to respond, wanted to tell Tim that he was wrong. His family cared, just in their own way. But before he could say anything, the bus rounded the corner in front of them.

"Shit," Tim cursed, "lets go before we miss it."

—

They made it to school just before the bell. One of the buses was running ahead, causing them to miss their transfer, instead having to walk the rest of the way from the bus depot to the school. Thankfully, no one bothered them on their walk past Park Row so early in the morning.

"You're a bad luck charm," Tim whispered as he slid into his seat. "I've never missed the bus once in my life, and the second you decide to tag along, I have to walk a mile to school."

"Well, you are technically being haunted, so I guess that's as bad of luck as it gets," Jason teased, ignoring the pang in his chest. Humor was the best medicine, or at least it felt like it. "Bet no one else here gets to hang out with someone as cool as me during school."

"Lucky me," Tim muttered flatly. He pulled out his textbooks, getting ready for the day. He spared a glance towards Jason, sitting on top of the desk of the girl next to him. She was oblivious as she looked right through his transparent form. The sight was unsettling. "Would you go somewhere else? You're being creepy."

The girl looked over at Tim questioningly. She raised an eyebrow at him, silently asking if he was talking to her. He shook his head quickly and turned to the front, the tips of his ears heating in embarrassment. Jason laughed loudly beside him.

"Oh man, today's going to be awesome," he smiled, still giggling slightly. He instead opted to sit at the empty desk on Tim's other side. Tim rolled his eyes.

"My test is first period, so if you could keep your comments to a minimum, me and my grade would greatly appreciate it." He huffed, pulling out his copy of Of Mice and Men to skim through before the bell rang.

"My grade and I," corrected Jason with a grin. "Did I mention that English was my best subject? I basically have that book memorized," he boasted, throwing his legs up onto the desk in front of him. If he could, he would tip the chair back onto two legs, like he used to when he was in school. "Sure, you don't want my help?"

"I'm not cheating," Tim rolled his eyes. "Especially not from a ghost. Now, if you could please shut up so I don't look like the weirdo who talks to himself, that would be great."

Jason laughed, but remained quiet after that. He watched as Mrs. McConnally began class, reminding everyone that this test was worth 20% of their grade. He could see the bead of sweat run down Tim's neck at the reminder. When the papers were passed out, he leaned closer to Tim to check the questions. They were all pretty basic, common sense. He figured Tim would do just fine.

That was until he checked again. Tim had answered almost every question incorrectly. Did he even read the book? Jason huffed, moving to stand next to Tim, rather than sit.

"Number one is A, not C. And number two is obviously D. How could you not know that his name was Lenny? He's the main character, Tim. Really." He pointed at each question as he criticized Tim's answers. At first, Tim went along and changed them based on Jason's suggestions, but by the second page, he had had enough.

"Stop," he whispered, gripping his pencil a little tighter.

"Ok, so for this one, I can see why you think it's B, but I think C makes more sense because-" Jason continued, ignoring Tim's warning.

"Jason, enough." Hissed Tim, voice rising.

"Timmy, common, these are softball questions, I could do this in my sleep. Skip to the back so I can read the essay question, then I can brainstorm while you finish the multiple choice." Jason quipped giddily. He loved reading and literature, and for the first time since he came back, he felt like he was being useful— helpful.

"Shut up!" Tim yelled, snapping his pencil in half. The already quiet room fell silent, all eyes turning to Tim. He was breathing hard, looking down at his paper. Jason's eyes widened, realizing what had happened, what he had done.

Tim was self-sufficient. Painfully so. He prided himself on doing things alone, by himself. And there Jason was, prattling on and on about how he got the answers wrong, telling him what to do. He had wanted to be helpful, needed to be, but at the same time, he had forgotten who he was talking to. Tim didn't need Jason to tell him what to do in order to be helpful; if anything, he needed the opposite.

And now the whole room was staring at the boy who had just yelled in the middle of a test. Fuck.

"Principal's office, Mr. Drake. Now." Called the teacher from the front of the room. Tim rose without a sound, collected his belongings, and exited the room.

The principal ended up sending Tim to the nurse, who ended up sending him home for the day. He managed to make up an excuse about sleep deprivation, and the principal even allowed him to take a makeup test the next day. It was his first offense, and he technically didn't do anything wrong, so it was more of a warning. Tim sighed heavily as he exited the office toward the front doors.

"I'm so sorry, Tim," Jason sighed, following a few steps behind the boy. "I honestly was just trying to help. I got so excited that I could actually do something for you… help you the way you're helping me, that I got ahead of myself. I know you wanted to do it alone, and I didn't respect that. I'm sorry."

Tim didn't speak as they exited the school. He remained facing forward, not acknowledging Jason at all as they walked further and further away from the building. He thought Tim was going to ignore him forever.

"I know what you were trying to do," Tim finally responded, after turning a corner down an empty street. "I'm not mad… well, I'm not mad at you. I shouldn't have reacted like that, so that's on me. But I understand that you're trying to help. I can't say I understand what it feels like to be in your situation, but I can at least imagine it."

Jason sighed. The pain in his chest rose once again. He realized that it never went away. It would rise and fall with his moods, an ever-present reminder of his pain. His grief.

"If you want to help, maybe we can study when we get back. I read the book, but honestly, it's just words on paper to me. You seem to understand it much more than I do. Maybe you can explain some of the key parts to me so I can do better tomorrow?"

"Yeah, yeah, I can totally do that." Jason smiled, looking over at Tim. "But only if you want me to, I really don't want to force you or anything."

Tim nodded, returning Jason's smile. A different feeling swarmed in his chest, not the pain, but something cooler. It reminded him of what it felt like when he first became Robin, when he learned how he could help the people around him. He wasn't saving someone's life here, but he was making a difference. It was the first time since he had woken up in his bed so many nights ago that he actually felt like himself.

"I have one condition, though," added Tim. "You're never coming to school with me again."

"Yeah… yeah, that's probably fair," agreed Jason, still smiling.

--

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to follow along, I'm also posting on ao3 here!

[calicocoffeecafe]

She's My Collar - Ch. 3

Sub!Colin Gray x Goth!Reader

The distance was killing you ~

The week after you had to run out on your beloved was the hardest experience of your entire high school career. Every time you saw him, your heart ached to run to him and tell him everything was ok. You wanted to tell Colin that you loved him, that he did nothing wrong, but you were terrified of his mother finding out and taking him away from you even more.

It was torture having to fully ignore him when he tried to talk to you. He had flooded your phone with texts asking what was wrong, if it was something he did, if he could see you. Fuck, Colin, you're making this even harder than it already is.

He left a flower in your locker with a note that read “I miss you, darling. Please, let's talk and work things out.” You cried the whole car ride home, and sobbed into your pillow for the better part of the afternoon.

Colin was the first guy who really saw you for who you are. He was able to look past your blunt nature and freaky fashion choices to see the sweet, caring girl underneath it all. When you were together, the whole world just made sense. He'd brought a warm glow to the cold crypt that was your heart. You drowned your sorrows in music, blasting the most painful songs you knew just to help process the sorrow you felt.

You were not okay, if that wasn't clear.

You weren't alone, however; Colin was a total mess, himself. He'd spend hours at a time just racking his brain trying to figure out what he had done wrong. In his mind, the only reasonable explanation was that he had fucked up in some way, because he could not fathom that you were in the wrong, hypothetically speaking. He couldn't sleep, he barely ate, and all he did was sit there, on his bed, spacing out while he awaited a text that would not be coming.

He acted without thinking, bolting down the stairs, stepping into his shoes, and grabbing his car keys. His mother hadn't even finished asking him where he was going when he had already made it out of the door. Colin drove to your house possibly a little faster than the law would have permitted, but he didn't care. At that moment, his only concern was you.

Crying session number eight was interrupted by frantic knocks at the door. Wiping your tears and settling yourself enough to be… well, not presentable, but at least you wouldn't be answering the door actively crying. When you saw who was on the other side, you almost started weeping again.

“C-Colin…” You choked out, your voice ragged from the hours you spent unleashing your woes into your bedclothes. “You can't be here.” It hurt so much to say. Surveying around, you watched out for his mother in case she was on his tail.

“Wait, I need you to actually talk to me,” Your name sounded so bittersweet coming from his lips like this. Colin held your door open, keeping you from literally shutting him out, his eyes were full of worry. This was killing you.

“I… I can't,” You argued, barely believing it yourself.

“Why not?” He persisted.

“I just can't, ok?” You repeated firmly, hating every second of this awful encounter.

“Please… just tell me what I did. I'll fix it, anything.” Colin stepped towards you, pleading for a truth you could not tell him. You bit back tears that stung in your eyes, he was so bent out of shape over this.

“You didn't-” A shaky breath, “You didn't do anything wrong… We just… We can't be together. Not now. Not ever.” That was the most difficult sentence you've ever had to croak. It physically hurt to make those words come out of your mouth. Colin's eyes welled up, his lip quivering as the realization that there was no hope hit him.

“Don't say that… Please,” He sounded beyond wounded, as if you had truly just reached into his chest, ripped out his heart, and crushed it right in front of him.

“I'm sorry, Colin…” That was all you could say before shutting the door, the sobs you held at bay bursting out as you ran upstairs, back into the safety of your room. Colin just stood there in front of your house, zoning out as the last three months had come crashing down around him. With idle mind, he got back into his car and drove home, barely blinking the whole time.

His mother was rather angry when he got home, given how he ran out on her, but she lost all rage when she saw how distraught her son looked.

“Colin, honey, what's wrong?” Jill asked, her voice not comforting in the slightest. It had the tendency to be that way.

“She… she broke up with me…” Colin mumbled, his voice hardly audible. Nothing made sense in his head. He was so sure he had found someone who understood him, who appreciated him for everything he was, then she ghosts him and flat-out dumps him for no conceivable reason. All felt unreal, as if this were a twisted nightmare he was waiting to wake up from.

“Hm?” Jill asked, not having been able to hear him the first time.

“...”

“Well?” Her tone grew agitated, not liking when he got all spacey like this.

“She broke up with me.” Colin repeated bluntly, a growing tension in his body. To no surprise of his, Jill seemed rather pleased at that news.

“Oh! I am so sorry, but perhaps it's for the best. I didn't like how that girl brought about the devil with her. Maybe now you can put aside all this nonsense and focus on building a relationship with Go-”

“Are you fucking serious!? That is what you're worried about, right now!?” Colin had never yelled at his mother before. This had completely struck her out of left field.

“W-What?” She couldn't fathom what she had just heard.

“I don't giving a flying fuck about ‘God’ or whatever! I can't believe you still don't understand that. What I care about is her, my girlfriend. I don't even know why I bothered to let her meet you, I knew she'd just get freaked out by your insanity.” His words were full of venom and bile that had built up over years of suppressing the rage he felt towards the woman who'd tried to control everything in his life that she could.

“I'm glad I told her to make herself scarce. Just look at what she's done to you! You never talked back like this before her. Clearly, she's a bad influence.”

“...” Colin didn't speak.

Instead of a response that Jill would have expected, all she heard from her son, after several seconds of silence, was a question that made her realize what she had let slip.

“You ‘told her’ to avoid me?” He had never been so furious. “You are why she just broke up with me?” Jill felt her mouth go dry.

“You don't understand, I'm only looking out for yo-”

"No, YOU don't understand! You do NOT get to decide what I do with my life and who I choose to keep in it. Especially not the people I date. Either get used to it now, or I will leave the first chance I get and will not be coming back. Got it?” Jill was speechless. She hadn't prepared for this, for Colin defending himself so assertively.

“I-” She tried to speak, only for Colin to cut her off.

“Got. It?” He asked again through grit teeth, ready to punch a hole in the wall. Jill nodded, unable to say anything that would sway things in her favor. Colin started up again. “Now I'm going to go get her, and you are going to apologize for being so cruel.” It wasn't a request, it was an order. Jill wasn't given the chance to respond as Colin left the house as he did before, returning to yours.

Curled up in your pillows and blankets, you had cried yourself to sleep, only to have been awakened by the tapping at your window. Startled, you looked around to see a particular poet on the other side of the glass. You opened the window and he stayed on the outside, standing on the roof.

“Hey…” He was gentle, his words soft.

“You shouldn't be here,” You reinforced, starting to shut the window but Colin stopped you.

“I know about my mother telling you to…” Colin was unable to bring himself to say it. You merely stared at him, drained and puffy-eyed from your recent after-school hobby.

“Colin, I-”

“It's ok, I'm not mad at you. I understand why you did what you had to. I… spoke with her and told her that she would just have to learn to deal with it because… because I love you.” Colin held your hand in his, your heart beating out of your chest. This was like a scene straight out of a movie.

“I love you, too.” The words felt so heavy coming out of your mouth. Sure, you'd only been an official couple for a little over a month, but you had been spending so much time together the last few months that you honestly felt like you knew him better than most and vice versa. In the deepest recesses of your heart, you knew it was a true feeling, not just infatuation.

Colin kissed you, leaning his head through the window and making you feel as though you were floating. After a week of keeping away from him, it was exhilarating to have his lips on yours once more. All the stress and worry just steamed away in an instant and the world was right again.

Maybe there was still hope…

•♤♡◇♧•

After that, you both went to Colin's house and he made his mother apologize for putting you through all that turmoil for no reason. You said you'd be able to forgive her soon enough, but the heartache you were subjected to still stung just enough that you couldn't do it right then. Jill was understanding, at least she didn't make a fuss. Colin told her that she had to respect you as long as he did, which he planned on doing for a good long while.

From that interaction onward, things continued to be as wonderful as they were up until that point when they had gone south briefly. Your relationship grew stronger as the weeks went by and your summer was filled with late-night concerts, dates around the town, and so many happy moments that you beamed through.

Colin proved himself to be a very supportive boyfriend, and, despite his more passive nature, quite willing to fight for you, though that often wasn't necessary since you could typically fight both your own battles and his. When the summer came to a close and the time came to go off to college, you two promised to try and make the distance work, even if you had both heard the horror stories.

No matter what the future held, you were ready. Besides, you'd spent too long training that boy to be just right. You couldn't start from scratch again.

~ ° +. ⛤ .+ ° ~

Part 3 of 3

[sevensoulmates]

7x05 Buddie Meta "You Don't Know Me" Part 1 (of 4)

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Welp. I'm back at it again with the four-part metas. I was hoping this one wouldn't take too long but alas there was even more to unpack in this episode than last episode.

Fair warning my meta does contain speculation, and is very much my opinion/interpretation. I will be diving into my personal opinions about Eddie's sexuality and marriage to Shannon here. My headcanon is that Eddie is a repressed gay man, not bisexual, and I believe that while he did love Shannon, he was not in love with her and their marriage was something they were pressured into and was not healthy for either of them. I do my best to look at these topics in a nuanced light, but if you are sensitive to reading opinions that differ from yours I'm warning you of mine now. Let's begin!

Taylor Wong is nothing if not an amazing comedy writer. This call didn't end up being as psychological as I may have hoped but it still acts as an interesting parallel and metaphor. "I'm the Boss of Me!" is the tagline for a self-control conference and Buck and Eddie being the ones hurt here. How they got hurt is interesting too and reflects their exact conflicts in this episode.

Buck is being choked, stopping his ability to breathe but also his ability to talk. In the context of this episode, his inability to bring himself to tell Eddie the truth weighs on him--chokes him with guilt-- until he finally does come clean near the end, and only then is he able to exhale again. For Eddie, his being grabbed by the crotch is funny, but it's also an indicator of his storyline in this episode too. He deals with sexual dysfunction because learning about Marisol being a nun makes him feel so deeply uncomfortable that the idea of being with her sexually disgusts him and stops him from having a functioning sex life. For both of them, the pain and discomfort still linger even after the claw arm guy lets him go, but my hope is that this is indicative that one day both of them will get clarity and be set free too.

"Keeping our options open" is a call back to the last episode where Buck says he's "keeping his options fluid". Whereas the last episode it seemed to be more about sexuality, options open with men and women, this time it seems to be about something else. Maybe it's an indicator of Buck keeping his options open with different people? Which is interesting considering who pops up a second later.

This is part of why I think it's a good idea they're having Buck get used to queerness with another man other than Eddie. I feel like if Buck had discovered his queerness with Eddie, these kinds of issues might've been blown out of proportion on both of their ends and probably caused much MUCH bigger problems. Allowing Buck the chance to work through this with someone safer was a good bet.

Additionally, I find it interesting here that both Buck and Eddie are dealing with external and internal conflicts that mirror each other in this episode. In this instance, it's the fear of being Perceived. For Eddie, being perceived by God. For Buck, being perceived by Heteronormative Society at large.

This would be an adjustment for anyone, so I don't necessarily think Buck is dealing with internalized homophobia that's too detrimental. I think it's more so he needs an adjustment period and needs to figure out why he's uncomfortable. Is it the idea of being perceived as queer by others? Is it the idea of being perceived as queer by Eddie? Is it the fact that you are on a date with a man? Or is it because you're not sure if you're on a date with the right man? More on this when we get to his scene with Maddie.

Now I had a strong feeling that Tommy was going to be someone who only figured out who he was later in life too. And it seems a lot of that was due to his past, possibly how he grew up, and being in the 118 under Gerard who was every "ist" in the book. It goes to show how far Tommy has come and also proves to be interesting if we keep thinking of Tommy as a parallel to Eddie. I also had a feeling that Tommy was going to lean slightly more toward the gay side (though he's purposefully unlabeled which is fair).

To me, the phrase "lying about who I was" seems to align more with someone who is into men and not into women, but that's just my interpretation. Especially because in the next moment, Buck says that he's not lying about how he is, which is more in line with the bisexual experience.

Because Buck isn't lying. He was always/still currently is attracted to women, and is only just now discovering a new aspect of himself with his attraction to men. Whereas Tommy seems to be implying that when he was with women he was lying to himself about his attraction to them. Sound like anyone else we know?

Additionally, we have another call back to 7x04 (plus a myriad of other episodes) where Buck "makes it about him" when Tommy was really just trying to tell Buck more about himself, not imply that Buck was also lying. I'm going to give Buck some grace here because this is all new for him, so I understand his hyper-sensitivity. But it is once again showing another instance of Buck failing to really connect with Tommy about something related just to Tommy. Last episode, every conversation they had always found its way back to Eddie or was about Buck's feelings regarding what was happening. This time, when Tommy tries to be vulnerable and connect with Buck, Buck makes it about him and it feels like a misconnection (like how I predicted with the missed hand grab in 7x03 with Tommy and Buck trying to connect, but something always not quite hitting the intended target).

If down the road we see Tommy's (abridged) story about "lying to himself" come to fruition in a similar light with Eddie's storyline I'm going to be delighted. Here Buck is out on a date with a man who the last episode spent the entire time telling us was extremely similar to Eddie, only to have Tommy align perfectly with a lot of our headcanons about Eddie's sexuality too. I think this is something to stick a pin in to come back to later for sure.

Oh, Buck. OH, baby bi Buck. My heart aches for you and my body cringes. He's obviously on edge, but Eddie showing up just makes it worse. Buck immediately tries to no homo not just himself, but Tommy as well, stating that they're going to go find some "hot chicks" to pick up. Eddie makes a face, obviously picking up on the weirdness of Buck's statement (because "picking up chicks" is wildly out of character for current Buck and has been for years) but he's too distracted with Marisol to dig any deeper into it. He believes it very easily instead of stopping to question why else these two men might be on what looks like an intimate date. Tommy looks hurt, and I feel bad for him, but this was obviously his breaking point, and I can understand why.

I want to briefly touch on Eddie and the way he was speaking about Marisol throughout the entire episode separately from the whole nun thing. I found this piece of dialogue so odd here, because in general this isn't really how Eddie talks, it doesn't feel natural for him, but at the same time, it also harkens back to some of his horrendous dialogue with Ana back in season 5. "This hot chick already found her firefighter" "Spank me with a ruler" "kinda naughty" "Grade me on a curve" "Maybe you need to keep me after class", etc.

I've always wondered why Eddie starts talking like this about or with his girlfriends. I was discussing it with my roommate and she said to her it sounded like an "8th grade boy sitting with his guy friends trying to talk up how he banged some chick when really it's just a ploy to make himself look good to the boys and like he's more sexually active than he actually is for social clout". And you know what? I think that's exactly what it is. Eddie speaking like this feels like overcompensation on so many levels (not to mention Marisol looks lowkey uncomfortable here, that smile is fake af). Trying to make himself seem way more into sex or kinky things (like roleplaying with a teacher or nun) than he actually is. The dialogue is cringey and Ryan overacts it because the audience isn't supposed to feel comfortable with it. It's not supposed to feel natural. It's not supposed to endear us to the couple, it's meant to feel out of place and wrong because Eddie being with Ana and Marisol was and is out of place and wrong. It feels like a performance to us because IT IS A PERFORMANCE.

This is only enhanced by the new jarring information that Eddie has apparently asked Marisol to move in with him (offscreen). Keep in mind that they've been together for (I'm assuming) less than six months, he obviously didn't discuss it with anyone since both Tommy, Buck, and Bobby later are surprised. Christopher is also noticeably absent from this episode which leads me to believe he likely didn't really discuss it with him beforehand. This choice feels simultaneously like an OOC choice AND so very in character.

It's OOC because Eddie has stated that he doesn't like performing, he doesn't want a "ready-made family" and one would think that he would sit and contemplate this seriously given that if something goes wrong, he's providing another example of a failed relationship to his son. Not to mention that living with your parent's girlfriend is a huge thing. I've been through that process before in my own life with my mom and it's really only something you do if you're really committing to a person for the long haul because that's the message that sends to your kids.

But at the same time, this is also so severely in character for Eddie. As is pointed out later, he got married to Shannon because he was guilted into it, he dated Ana because he was pressured into it, and then overcommitted to her far too fast. And now he's doing the same thing with Marisol. This is very much a PATTERN for Eddie. Maybe, as this episode suggests, it's a facet of Catholic guilt that pushes Eddie to move way too fast in his relationships. Or maybe, Eddie finds the idea of being settled with a woman comforting, and he'd be okay sacrificing his happiness and settling with any woman as long as he got to have that comforting facade. All of this points to very obvious compulsory heterosexuality for me. More on this later.

I'm going to talk more about the way the show is choosing to use physical objects, Marisol's things, as a metaphor for who Marisol is, and Eddie's willingness to receive/learn about them as a literary device later. For now, I wanna talk about the exchange of Eddie being the one to bring up "closet space", Tommy being the one to say "Aint't that the truth" and point it towards Buck, who hammers it home with his "bro" line. I find it interesting that they had Eddie say this line, when it very easily could've been Marisol (after all it is her armoire) with Tommy in the middle. Tommy (IMO) is in the center of these two men's queer realization arc. The more subtle one in the earliest stages (Eddie) and the more present one (Buck). The way all of them volleyed this dialogue felt like I was watching a choreographed play, and the lines landed perfectly.

This is also the third line in five episodes specifically poking at Eddie possibly being queer alongside Tommy and Buck. "I've never seen a man turn off a woman with such skill. it's a gift" "you both like to watch half-naked men pummel each other" and now this. "You can never have enough closet space" suggesting that not only was there Tommy in the closet in the past, Buck in the closet recently (and somewhat presently given that Buck just shoved himself and Tommy back into it), and Eddie right now still deep in that closet. Hopefully, there's enough space for all y'all!

I very much liked how this went down. Tommy has a right to break things off if the person he's with clearly exhibits weirdness around being out with you. I don't blame him for his choice here. I like that he's also not making it about the fact that's he inexperienced. Additionally, I think this is another instance of Tommy witnessing something weird between Buck and Eddie, and I'm not sure how much of that he's picking up on, or if he thinks it's generally about being perceived as queer, or just needing to slow things down and process before he actually starts a relationship with a man. All are valid, but I think it's just interesting that a lot of it had to do with Eddie yet again, and I wonder how much of that Tommy is aware of.

From the start of this conversation with Maddie, Buck makes it seem like the thing that's making him uncomfortable most is the fact that he lied to Eddie about the truth of his date with Tommy. Obviously, he's not going to immediately jump into telling Maddie the truth, and he's gotta start the conversation somewhere, but I do find it interesting that rather than seeking her advice on "how to get his date back" he instead is seeking advice on why he lied to Eddie and can't bring himself to tell him the truth.

This could be deflecting because he's not yet ready to tell Maddie. Or it could be the truth that all of this angst may stem from him still trying to get comfortable in his queerness. But the main issue that isn't sitting right with his soul is that he lied to Eddie, that he's hiding a fundamental piece of the truth of who he is from Eddie. Because to Buck it is unthinkable that Eddie doesn't always know the whole truth, all of who Buck is, at all times. At this point in their relationship, they're supposed to know everything about each other, and yet something about sharing this part of himself with Eddie in particular scares him. Could it possibly be that he's aware that sometimes "straight" men get weird around their queer male friends? Could it be that he thinks his relationship with Eddie would be negatively effected if he told Eddie this truth? I will touch more on this later. But for now, Buck makes it clear that his interest isn't wholly in getting Tommy back right now. It's making sure that all is right in his relationship with Eddie.

Once again, this choice by the writers to center Eddie in every step of the way of Buck's queer realization journey is telling. Especially given that he's able to tell Maddie without ~too~ much struggle.

I understand where Buck is coming from. It's again distancing himself from Tommy, trying to get her advice about Eddie. But also, it's an attempt by him to normalize him going on a date with a man, which should be normal, but it's not in Buck's personal historical normal.

Buck wants to believe that because he was an "ally" that that means he'd just be automatically okay with dating a man right away. But I think he's trying to push himself at a speed faster than he's comfortable with (which he again does at the end by inviting Tommy to Madney's wedding) and needs to realize that he can slow down, which is a parallel with Eddie the whole episode. Which is why I think Tommy was right to step back and give him some time. The other part that is interesting is that Buck once again appears confused about the truth of his feelings, similar to the last episode and I just find it interesting in this scene where Buck and Maddie are once again talking about Eddie at her house, it's once again ambiguous if the subject Buck's really hung up on is Tommy....or Eddie. Both are true at the same time.

Go to part 2!

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

[apheliia]

MORAL INJURY — a non-romance genshin impact series. ♫

       act i, chapter iii        "the crow, the mouse, and the doll."

➤ CHAPTER SYNOPSIS :: the mouse bites and gets bitten.

➤ CONTENT WARNINGS :: trauma and recollections of trauma, references to self-harm (briefly mentioned, and not done intentionally—moreso done in the panic of a stressful moment), crying, reader acts like dottore in scaramouche's eyes, choking, burns, bruises, implied broken bones, dissection, general gore/graphic warning, dehumanization/non-sexual objectification (both the reader and scaramouche), reader is fucking MEAN and feels guilty about it later, blood, prescription pills. generally, tread carefully when reading this chapter.

➤ WORD COUNT :: 4.0k.

➤ AUTHOR'S THOUGHTS :: HELLO MORAL INJURY NATION!!! CHAPTER 3 IS FINALLY HERE and it is horrible and terrible. because i love angst <3 a little note, be sure to click around on the words and symbols that are underlined at the top of this post! the word MORAL INJURY will take you to the series masterlist/navigation post, and the music note will take you to the spotify playlist.

➤ TAGLIST :: @zeldadou, @umgatochamadopercyval, @starryshinyskies, @www-songbird, @pookiebearcave, @lesanyanyas, @francisnyx. contact me through messages/asks/etc non-anonymously to be added.

       After speaking to Collei—poor thing, they absently mused to themselves—they made haste in leaving Haeresys and returning to the main lab. Had they lingered even slightly too long, they were certain they’d run into its ruling segment, and they simply did not have the time to entertain his… antics.

       (‘Antics’ meaning anything from standing next to him and listening to him explain the intricacies of his work with ancient Khaenri’ahn technology and entertaining him with the occasional question to being thrown into an active battle with a Ruin Guard. He insisted that it was to keep their skills with their delusion sharp, but they personally thought he just wanted to see them bleed a little bit. Though they always emerged victoriously, they did not always emerge unscathed. They’re certain their suffering brings him some kind of satisfaction.)

       Thankfully, by the time they returned, the Sixth Harbinger was already waiting impatiently.

       "Good afternoon, Lord Sixth."

       "Hurry up," he scoffed, shooting them a wicked glare. Of course, they reacted naught. Being looked at like some kind of lab rat by Dottore was significantly worse than whatever glare Scaramouche sent their way. "I don't have all day."

       "I understand," they reassured, gently setting down their bag on the very same counter that they cleaned of blood a few hours prior. "If you would, please remove your shirt, and describe the issues you are encountering to me."

       His eyes followed their motions precisely. They wondered if it was some kind of trauma response. Nonetheless, he—shockingly—obliged their request, nimble fingers working to shed his upper layers as they snapped a pair of disposable gloves on.

       "...The issues, sir?" they gently reminded, gloved thumbs gingerly pressing into his ribs to check briefly for any wounds or areas of tenderness they'd need to be mindful of. It wouldn't be unexpected for him, a Harbinger, to be injured, so they figured it would be best to check beforehand. "Would you mind telling me—"

       A vague stinging sensation ran vertically across their lips, and they stopped. 

       "Reflexes." He smirked at the way their hand slowly raised to their now-bloodied lip. The pain didn't hit them for a few seconds, but even once it did, their expression remained boringly the same. The only indication they gave of having felt anything at all was a slight twitch of their lip. "My reflexes have been poor lately."

       A surge of rage flowed through their veins. They did their best to suppress it.

       "Lord Sixth, please take this seriously."

       "Are you implying that I'm not?"

       Agitation bubbled in their throat, but they again did their best to swallow it down and ignore it.

       "I am not..." Their jaw clenched slightly as they let out a shallow breath. They had hoped their irritance would leave with it; unfortunately, their emotions did not dissipate even a little bit. If anything, the Balladeer's smug look just made them feel worse. "I am not implying anything, Lord Sixth, but I'm sure we both have better things to be doing rather than bickering like children over your necessary bodily maintenance. Would you rather Lord Dottore do this? If so, I will gladly take my leave for the day. I will tell you this once only—I am immeasurably kinder than he is."

       "Are you threatening me?"

       "I don't know. Do you want it to be a threat?"

       His hands were wrapped around their throat in an instant. Within just those few brief seconds, they could already feel bruises beginning to bloom and burns beginning to boil their skin from his electro alignment.

       They gathered all the strength they could manage in their legs and kicked him off, forcing all of the air—not that he really needed to breathe—out of his lungs. He remained relatively unfazed, but didn't lurch at them again. Their chest heaved as they shot him a dirty look from beneath their Fatui mask, which had been knocked slightly out of position.

       (It wasn't often that they wore it. Honestly, around any of the Harbingers, they would usually just take it off. Both their name and face were well-known by now. Yet, they had diligently put it on before coming to see the Sixth.

       They could not be certain as to why. It was only inconveniencing their work.

       ...Maybe they were trying to hide, as fruitless as that endeavor was and would always be.)

       A deep, tired sigh left their aching throat. They turned away from him and laid their face against the icy wall, the bite of the cold much welcomed against the heat that had built under their skin from both anger and the recent struggle.

       "Hah, what? Are you going to cry?"

       "Do you want me to be honest, Lord Sixth?"

       The monotone exasperation in their voice surprised him a bit. Nonetheless, an amused look settled on his face.

       "Oh? If you so dare, you may speak freely, then."

       "I wasn't asking for your permission," they scoffed, standing up straight again and removing their mask mandated by the Fatui. They turned back to him, meeting his eyes with such immovable nonchalance, such tiredness that only someone who worked with Dottore for years could possibly display. "I was asking whether you wanted to hear the truth or not. You want to? Fine. First of all, you wouldn't be the first to try and strangle me, so don't fucking do it again. Try something else if you really want to kill me. You think I haven't been nearly choked to death by Lord Beta or Lord Delta? Do you honestly believe that? Secondly, you are acting like a goddamn brat. Either let me do your maintenance, or be Lord Second's science experiment again. Your choice. I have not met a single person who would rather be at Lord Dottore's mercy rather than mine, so choose, and do it fast. I don't have all day either."

       Silence. Then, a response came:

       "...Hah. You've got some guts, talking to a Harbinger like that."

       Static tingled along their flesh and danced in the air, waiting for the right moment to strike, waiting for them to say something wrong, waiting for them to cross that invisible thin line from being firm to committing insubordination.

       ...As if they already hadn't. They couldn't be bothered to care. He was acting like a child. How were they supposed to be patient with him when they'd already been spread so thinly? Either way, it was a lose-lose scenario, because surely the Balladeer would accuse them of pitying him or infantilizing him if they did continue to be patient. Being frank was simply the better option.

       Unbothered, they rolled their eyes. "I have no respect for anyone who makes my job more difficult than it already is. You aren't the only one with a hard job. You think I've got it easy? You wouldn't last a day in this position. Make up your mind, Scaramouche. Now."

       "Tch."

       "You want to be a test subject again? Fine by me. Have a good day, Lord Sixth."

       But of course, that was not the end of the Sixth Harbinger's bite. No. It never was, for as they reached for their bag, his sneer reached their ears and made their fingers twitch with rage.

       "What, like you were?"

       The tattoo on their wrist throbbed with the ache of distant, blotted out memories.

       All the nights they spent crying, wailing, hyperventilating, scratching at that foul tattoo on their wrist until their own blood coated their nails and oozed out of their raw flesh to blend with the scorching tears sliding down their cheeks and landing elsewhere...

       All of that for a useless little brat to comment on the situation like it was nothing?

       No. His Harbinger status be damned—no-one would disrespect them like that and get away with it.

       "Don't you ever"—in a swift movement that even the Sixth Harbinger did not expect nor predict, they whirled around and pressed their foot into his chest further and further until they felt something crack under the pressure—"speak of my experiences in such a foul way ever again. It was one time. You have been here, in this very same position, for five hundred years. I was in that position one time. Do not speak in such a manner ever again. I will break you beyond fucking repair."

       The Balladeer's porcelain skin burned. It was now his turn to be at the receiving end of elemental fury.

       "Fuck you," he rasped. They put their foot flat on the floor again, shooting him a harsh glare.

       "Fuck you too. Get back on the table or I'm leaving. How many times to I have to tell you? What are you, five? Are your listening ears off?"

       "...Fine."

       He begrudgingly stood up, hoisting himself up onto the examination table.

       "By the seven," they cursed under their breath. "Finally... You want painkillers or not?" They somehow still found it in them to offer some kind of pain management, though they already knew he would deny it, claiming he 'didn't need it.' "There is no shame in saying yes, Lord Sixth."

       "Don't you dare presume to patronize me. You really believe I'm so weak and—"

       As expected.

       As always.

       "Whatever. I offered, so don't go around telling people I didn't give you options."

       With that, they adjusted their grip on their sterilized scalpel and made the first of many cuts. If he wouldn't tell them what was really wrong, then they would just have to figure it out themselves—it would take longer, and likely be more painful and uncomfortable, but really...

       He did this to himself.

       The Balladeer was always a fascinating being to work on. If they were any less bitter, they would earnestly admit to being honored to have an opportunity to peer inside of him and poke around at his artificial systems, satiating whatever curiosity they might have had about him and how he functioned and—because of his creation being the work of an Archon—how one of the Seven's minds worked. As much as they may have disliked him, disliked his uncooperative nature, he was fascinating in his own right.

       (It was like they viewed him as less of a person, less of a coworker, and more of a subject to be studied. As more of a thing, a creature. Hm.)

       Scaramouche didn't bleed much. He bled, but never enough to inconvenience them. They were always able to simply pat away any blood with a tissue or a cotton pad when it began interfering with their work. He bled, but not like a human. Never like a human.

       He wasn't one, so...

       A soft whimper, a hitch of breath unnoticeable to the untrained ear drew them out of their thoughts. Their gaze briefly flickered to the Balladeer's face, fingers halting all motion. All the muscles in their abdomen tightened with an overwhelming sense of guilt and frustration.

       A stray tear rolled down his cheek. If he noticed, he didn't acknowledge it. They chose to pay it as little mind as possible, if not for anyone's sake but theirs. His eyes were hazy and vacant, as if he were recalling some other event such as this one—as if, above him, he saw someone else.

       They shook that thought off before it could spiral into something worse.

       Whatever he was recalling was not their fault, and certainly not their business. It had nothing to do with them. It was no concern of theirs. It wasn't their fault. It was absolutely not their fault... right?

       Were they being rougher than usual? Surely not, they thought, but upon shifting their eyes back to what they were actively working on... it became clear that they were.

       He was bleeding more than usual. Their incisions were deeper than usual. Either way, they would have to peel him open eventually to get better access to his systems, but... generally, they were very gentle about it. As gentle as one could be about something so grotesque, anyway. Even so, for some reason they couldn't really place, he was bleeding more than usual. Their incisions were deeper than usual.

       Oh.

       As much as they wanted to apologize, the words only stuck to the sides of their dry throat. Their hands trembled a little at the realization of what they had done to him, of how cruel they had been to him the entire time. How could their cruelty outmatch a Harbinger's? How could their cruelty outmatch the Sixth's, of all people's?

       Of course, in a job such as theirs, dissociation was a hell of a skill.

       There was nothing they could do except grit their teeth, continue, and—ideally—wrap it up as soon as possible. 

             — flower of the universe !! 🌸

       "Are you done yet?"

       He sounded so vacant, voice lacking any of the bite, enmity, or sarcasm it should have held towards them. He should've sounded different, not... like this.

       He sounded so broken.

       ...Did they really hurt him that bad? They'd hardly done anything different at all. It was always the same, they swore it was. It was the same as any other maintenance day in the lab.

       Deep down, they knew that wasn't true, that they were only lying to make themselves feel better, but there was nothing to be done about it now. They wordlessly cut the last stitch, patting away the little bit of blood that remained.

       "...I am, sir. If you don't heal properly, please come see me or Lord Dottore."

       He didn't reply.

       They reached up wordlessly, shutting the overhead surgical lighting off, hoping that the motion might snap him out of whatever daze he was trapped in. He hardly flinched.

       Wordlessly, they pulled back from him, snapping their surgical gloves off. They absentmindedly found themselves a bit thankful that there wasn't much to clean up when it came to him.

       "...Um. You can leave." They cleared their throat. "If— if you want to. I don't know when Lord Second will be back, so I would... leave. If I were you. I also need to sterilize the table, so... if you would..?"

       He didn't respond. 

       "Right. Um... I suppose I'll leave it for one of the segments, then... I'm heading out for the day, Lord Sixth."

       Guilt nagged at their conscience, and they wanted to apologize, but somehow the words got stuck in their throat and, no matter how hard they tried, could not be dislodged. So, they nodded in polite acknowledgement before quietly grabbing their things and heading out.

       A weight settled in their gut as they swallowed thickly, stumbling out of the lab and closing the door behind them. A chill immediately settled into their bones; however, they paid it no mind, keeping their head tilted down as they walked down the halls and giving no response other than a hum to any other Fatui agents that nodded their way respectfully.

       In their daze, they did not notice the looming presence they were about to run head-first into.

       Run head-first into him, they certainly did.

       A sharp gasp was inhaled through their nose, and their instinctive response was to snap at whoever it was they bumped into; before they could, however, they caught a glimpse of the person's footwear.

       Il Dottore. One of his older segments, if they had to guess based on shoes alone. They did not get the chance to apologize. In fact, they barely even had the chance to process who they were looking at and how they should go about their apology; should it have been short and to the point accompanied only by a polite nod, or should they have gone as far as to bow at the waist level? The answer would slightly vary depending on what segment it was (there was surprisingly little variance overall, but they did need to express a bit more guilt with some segments for their apology to be accepted without punishment), but they had no time to even think about how to apologize before he began to speak.

       "My, [Surname]"—they could hear the entertained smile in his voice, and in an instant, the gears in their head clicked together in recognition of what segment in particular they had run into—"terribly distracted, aren't you?"

       "I'm..." They did not raise their head. Instead, they simply stepped back, hands fidgeting somewhat with the handle of the bag they held. "I'm sorry, Lord Psi. I wasn't watching where I was going."

       Psi, twenty-third of Il Dottore's twenty-four segments, and—fortunately or unfortunately, depending on who one asked—the one who seemed to like them the most. A polite, straightforward apology without any excessive expressions of fear and respect would do.

       He was no different than any of the other segments in that he was an oddity and an enigma, someone who was not easily understood, but he was more personable than most. Oftentimes, it was him who attended publicity events in the place of the man himself. The original Il Dottore was generally not known for patience or grace. Therefore, the most logical action would be to send someone more… agreeable to such events. Psi was the only candidate for that kind of responsibility. He was no less of a threat than the others—he was simply harder to anger and easier to get along with.

       They supposed it was preferable to run into him instead of someone else.

       "Well, that much, I can certainly see."

       "Ah. Yes..." It was then that they finally straightened up and dared to peer at his face. "I should be going, sir. If you'll excuse me—"

       "Wait just a moment, mouse."

       Mouse. Mouse. He always called them that, if not their first or last name, and it made their stomach twist sickly every single time (they faintly recalled the first time he addressed them in such a way, but with that memory, they also recalled scalpels and cold metal digging into their skin that made their throat close up anxiously). It was demeaning and cruel and belittling. They expected no less from him.

       ...Yet somehow, he also made it sound fond, but not... fond. Fond, as one would speak to a pet—not fond in the way one might speak to a loved one.

       And really, they supposed that to him, they were a pet. They were most certainly not a loved one; they were simply a favored little mouse. Small, docile, and fragile in a way that was endearingly cute—a thing that could be grabbed by the tail and dragged around against its will with nothing to say in opposition for fear of angering its captor. It was disgustingly fitting.

       If they were a mouse—the prey—then they supposed that would make him a crow, the opportunistic predator who may not normally eat mice such as them, but could and undoubtedly would if he was given the chance to.

       A mouse trapped in a cage, constantly circled by crows threatening to finally kill them at any given point without warning…

       …Yes, that was accurate indeed.

       The leather of his gloves brushed against their neck, tilting their chin up to get a better look at their throat. They tried not to swallow too harshly—he'd know if they did, and then he would know that they were nervous. Then again, he would know regardless, since their pulse was ringing loud in their ears and his thumb pressed into their neck dangerously near to where he would be able to feel their heartbeat.

       He knew, and they were sure he was thriving on it.

       "...Sir?"

       "That is quite the nasty wound you've attained," he mused, withdrawing his hands from their neck, much to their relief. "I assume that the doll gave it to you?"

       "Yes. Lord Sixth and I got into an... altercation."

       "An altercation," he echoed, the very same amused tone seeping back into his voice. "I see. In that case, before you go, shall we treat this wound of yours? You would hate to worry your dear parents by returning in such a poor state, I'm sure."

       It was clear that he was not asking. They had no choice but to wordlessly nod and follow him back to the lab. 

       Upon entering, gently shutting the door behind themselves, they were relieved to find that Scaramouche had left. They really weren’t sure if they were relieved for him or themselves. Were they relieved knowing he would not have to face one of the segments in such a vulnerable state of being (though, somehow they were sure that he had done so multiple times in the past), or were they relieved knowing they did not have to face him again? It was truly anyone’s guess.

       Psi turned away from them, shedding his leather gloves and replacing them with disposable ones. They did not need to be told where to go nor what to do.

       They hoisted themselves up onto the cold, metal table (they could not manage to fully ignore the pounding of their heart against their ribcage—being on the one on the table for any reason was exceedingly uncomfortable) effortlessly, though not before leaving their bag by the door to grab on their way out.

       “Are you wounded elsewhere?”

       Their heart leapt somewhat in surprise of the voice cutting through the silence, and they chided themselves for being so tense. “No, sir. Only around my neck.”

       He hummed in a wordless acknowledgement.

       As he turned back towards them, the click of his shoes echoing eerily as he got closer and only ceasing once he stood directly in front of them, they straightened their spine somewhat. When his hands reached out to them, they tilted their chin upwards.

       They were not particularly interested in knowing what exactly he was doing; they only wanted it to be over as soon as possible so that they could leave for the day and return to the one place they dared to feel perfectly safe.

       “I hear that Beta was quite upset upon learning that you’d been to Haeresys today, yet left without seeing him.”

       They did not doubt it. Beta, the second of Il Dottore’s twenty-four segments… no, they did not doubt it whatsoever. He was very easily amused but equally volatile, and they knew he particularly liked the agents that were intelligent enough to understand even a little bit of his research; they were very possibly the first agent that would come to mind when thinking of someone who fit that criterion, unfortunately. They also knew that he was far more prone to anger than some of the others.

       They very much hoped that he was only mildly upset. If he was extremely bothered, however, he might just decide to hold them hostage the next time they visit—it was certainly not above him to do so.

       “Is that so?” they murmured, flinching somewhat upon feeling a gel’s cold bite against their wounded skin. “...I’ll make it up to him. Since I had to perform routine maintenance on the Sixth, I could not have stayed for long. Perhaps I’ll return to Haeresys on one of the lab’s less busy days.”

       “Well, he will most definitely hold you to it. Don’t make promises you cannot keep.”

       Somehow, they just knew that was a threat… a threat on Beta’s behalf, no doubt. They had long assumed that all the segments were connected mentally, though they had no real proof of that claim. They never cared to ask; it was simply always implied, a silent fact that they had been consciously aware of for quite a long time now. Moments such as these made them certain that it was true.

       They did not reply, opting for a simple hum instead.

       Moments passed in silence. Then, Psi spoke up once again after withdrawing from their body a final time:

       “You are dismissed, mouse. Take these”—he placed a small pill bottle at their side—”for the next week. One pill twice a day, in the morning and at night. We cannot afford to let your wounds get infected.’

       “Yes, sir.” They nodded. Only when he turned away from them did they get off of the table, taking the pills with them. Fear, more or less irrational in its nature yet nonetheless deeply ingrained into their instincts, still coursed through their veins. The racing of their heart had yet to settle down, and their hands trembled somewhat.

       It was with quick footsteps that they darted towards the door, snatching up their bag, before making a quick departure.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot! written by aphelion & banner by @www-songbird. do not plagiarize, copy, ai train, or otherwise use my work -☆

[fattummyt]

Doomfist | Akande Ogundimu/Lúcio Correia dos Santos - "I Wanna Get Better" 🌶

Summary: Akande has turned his back on Talon and is now an agent of Overwatch. After returning the Doomfist gauntlet he's begun to experience some phantom pains and nurse Lúcio prescribes him some one-on-one physical therapy, during which Akande's thoughts begin to run wild.

Tags: Lúcio is a kind muffin and Akande wants a piece, Lúcio is a Little Shit, Daydreaming, Humor, Portuguese, Nurse, Amputees, Phantom Pains, Physical Therapy, Trust, Rough Oral Sex, Dirty Thoughts, Inappropriate Erections, Top Akande, Bottom Lúcio

Warnings: Dubious Consent

Author's Notes: Unfortunately this ship isn't super active anymore, but I remember the day when there was an active community on Tumblr! I remember being invited to join a Doomcio Discord server. It was such a nice experience. (❁´◡`❁) I miss it! Any who, I originally uploaded to AO3 under my old username.

Nossa Senhora! - Oh my God! (Portuguese), Title inspired by "I Wanna Get Better" by Bleachers.

Read it on AO3 here!

In skated Lúcio, donning a green tank top and a pair of blue basketball shorts that did nothing to hide his scars and prosthetics, but everything to show off his nicely shaped bum and thighs. Akande almost choked on his own spit-- maybe he'd made a mistake-- maybe he should turn around and head back to his room. Before he could make his decision the pulsing base came to a stop and Lúcio's voice filled the echoed hallway.

To see Doomfist at Watchpoint: Gibraltar was certainly a sight one had to blink twice at. The man whose face haunted Overwatch agents was now seated in a far-too-small chair in the med bay.

Still as threatening as ever, but with a softer demeanor-- which didn't mean much, considering he was still just as brass.

Mercy was patching up some soldiers, working tirelessly as usual to keep everything running smooth. Nobody questioned her or her abilities, instead, they waited patiently to be seen by her, knowing they'd be in good hands. Akande, however, did not like to be kept waiting.

He stood and spoke in a normal tone, yet the deepness boomed through the medbay, catching everyone's attention.

"Little woman," He called out. "I need assistance."

His comment was followed by the rapid beeping of multiple patients' cardiac monitors, Angela took note of that before deciding to respond to him. "Just a moment, Mr. Ogundimu." She called over, checking a nearby patient's clipboard.

"Don't worry, I got ya Angela!"

In walked Lúcio-- or in danced Lúcio, one should say-- leisurely skating through the hall of hospital beds, throwing in a fancy twirl or two. Akande sat down as Lúcio approached, his chair creaking with pain. He didn't prefer sitting but he noticed it made it easier to speak with 'tiny people' that way, it also made half of the room's heart rate decrease.

Akande wasn't quite sure the feelings he had toward the spunky Brazilian, standing a mere 5 foot 3 inches to his giantness, a figure as small as his wouldn't even register on his radar. Hana, who's only inches taller than Lúcio has more than once experienced crushed toes at the hands or feet of Doomfist: The Successor, yet Akande found himself focusing in on Lúcio whenever he entered the room.

It must be all that noise he makes.

Lúcio stopped a few feet in front of him, smiling sweetly before announcing. "Welcome to Watchpoint: Gibraltar's state of the art medbay!"

"I've seen better." Akande replied flatly.

Lúcio wasn't quite sure how to interpret Akande's humor, after all, the man is usually very straightforward, sarcasm doesn't seem like his forte. He clicked his pen a little nervously-- however, nervous was an understatement. Even with one arm, Akande could take down the whole med bay, so he chose his words carefully.

"Can't say I'm surprised by that. I hear Numbani has some pretty rich people, yourself included."

Akande was always happy to hear about his success from others, but side conversations would have to wait. He glanced over Lúcio's name tag, a frog sticker plastered on the front.

"Mr. Correia dos Santos." "--No need for formalities, you can just call me Lúcio." The larger man nodded, only a bit annoyed by the interruption.

"Lúcio. I need your assistance. I'm experiencing pain in my missing limb."

Lúcio wasn't at all surprised by this. He himself still experiences the pain of phantom limbs-- but he's had his prosthetics so long, he hardly notices them anymore.

"Alright, describe to me the pain you're feeling and where."

Akande paused, giving Lúcio a squint that read 'you clearly see I am missing part of my arm, correct?' It wasn't easy to break that stoic scowl that Akande always made, but when he did, his faces were priceless. Lúcio laughed jovially at Akande's silly expression. Had this been another nurse on another day, Akande would've felt his rage flair up, but instead he sat quietly, watching the sway of Lúcio's large locs as he shook with laughter.

Lúcio quickly collected himself, "Listen, I know this might sound weird, but you're gonna have to describe your pain so we can figure out how we can best help you, okay?"

"The pain is currently in my hand, I feel a cramping, twisting ache, but other times it is a sudden jolt of pain. Why is that?" Akande has been without part of his arm for some time now and it was only recently that he returned the Doomfist gauntlet, no doubt his body is noticing the difference. Lúcio wasn't quite sure he knew how to easily explain this to him. He jotted down some notes on his clipboard, mulling over his words.

"Listen, lemme break it down for you, okay?" He slowly reached over, grabbing Akande's muscular upper arm. "So part of your arm is gone. You can see that and you feel that-- and your body can too. You know it's gone, but your nerves don't." Lúcio tapped the side of his head but Akande only offered a confused scowl.

"So look, your body's like a baby-- it's readjusting; figuring out how to walk again." Akande had never heard his body be referred to as a baby, but he let the tiny Brazilian continue. "And meanwhile, you're brain's tryna catch up. It knows something's off, but it can't tell why. Our brain sends us pain signals to tell us something's wrong, so this pain is your brain yelling at you:" He mimed a talking motions with his hand. "'Akande this feels weird, you should check it out!' Ya get me?"

Akande found the silly antics Lúcio made entertaining, but before Lúcio could start again he interrupted. "You cannot help me, can you?" Less of a question, he was more so stating a fact.

Lúcio sighed, skating over to take a seat in the chair beside Akande. "We'll do everything we can to make you feel comfortable, but we can't stop the pain. I'm sorry, man."

Akande didn't respond, thinking over ways to silence this growing ache.

"Hey, listen. We've got physical therapy every morning here. Come to a few of the sessions and I can try to help you out."

Physical therapy? I am in tip top shape. Nothing that tiny Brazilian can do could possibly increase my strength or tolerance to pain.

Akande scoffed, waving the smaller man off. "C'mon. Nobody's too good for physical therapy. Check it--" Lúcio rolled up the leg of his loose scrub trousers, revealing his roller skate prosthetics as well as his lengthy scars. Akande couldn't help but take notice of the smooth, toned flesh of Lúcio's leg. "I still go every week." He chuckled.

Something about the way he spoke, the way his eyes twinkle when he smiles made the chair he sat in feel tiny-- tinier than usual. Much too small for Akande to spend a moment longer in that crowded hall. "I will take your word for it." He replied chastely before standing up and exiting the med bay.

His thoughts finally began to become clearer as he felt the heat subside from his body with every step, distancing himself from the Brazilian. That is, until Lúcio called out to him. "Yo Akande! I'll see you at 6 am sharp, okay man?" Akande didn't stop, if anything, he sped up as he waved him off.

Lúcio smiled at that as Angela approached. "That went well." She remarked.

"Yeah, well, you know I got that special rhythm." He popped and locked and she giggled. "How much you wanna bet that he'll be here 6 am sharp?"

"Oh, I'm not sure I want to." She sang. "No one can say no to the goatee, Dr. Z. See? Not even you."

She laughed. "Alright enough. I hope you are able to make some progress during your little rendezvous tomorrow. I'll be here helping the other physical therapy patients." By other, she meant the ones too scared to see Akande.

"No problem!" He called back to her, skating away to go check on some waiting patients.

Reinhardt, a betting man, was out 20 dollars that morning, because at 5:15 am, right as Lúcio arrived to open the Gibraltar gym, Akande was there waiting for him.

He heard the Brazilian approaching by the deep rhythmic base of his headphones. Akande was already prepared, dressed in a black tank top and a pair of plain gray sweatpants-- he didn't bother wearing shoes, partially out of fear of stepping on someone's toes.

In skated Lúcio, donning a green tank top and a pair of blue basketball shorts that did nothing to hide his scars and prosthetics, but everything to show off his nicely shaped bum and thighs. Akande almost choked on his own spit-- maybe he'd made a mistake-- maybe he should turn around and head back to his room. Before he could make his decision the pulsing base came to a stop and Lúcio's voice filled the echoed hallway.

"Woah, man you're a little early." He joked. Akande was not laughing, however. He simply gave a silent nod, approaching as Lúcio turned to unlock the padlocked door. Akande looked over the chain inquisitively but did not speak, hoping to keep all non therapy related conversations to a minimum.

"You're wondering why we keep a padlock on the gym door? Yeah, I used to wonder myself. Well, until I joined the med team." He dug in his pocket pulling out a ring crowded with jingling keys. "Some of the agents here would rather train than sleep. Can't say I blame them. Lots of people have problems that only seem to show up when they sleep. But, hey, that's what we're there at the med bay for." He flipped through key after key, trying every other one only to get negative results.

Akande mentally blocked everything the tiny Brazilian began rambling on about, instead fixating on the smaller man's frame. He wasn't large, he had an average muscle build at best and besides his skates, bleached locs, and shoulder tattoo, he didn't seem to have any outstanding qualities.

He is in no way a threat to me, so what is it about him that commands my attention then? He couldn't figure it out.

Suddenly, Akande's thoughts were interrupted by a melodic humming coming from Lúcio. Akande glanced over at him, unsure if he was aware of the sounds he was making. Lúcio continued, humming the tune a little louder as he began swaying to the silent beat. Soon enough he was moving his shoulders, popping and locking as he picked through the ring of keys. This was all very amusing and any other morning Akande might've laughed, but today he could only offer a tired sigh.

"Ah-- got it!" Lúcio yelled excitedly, pushing a tiny silver key into the lock and the chain fell to the floor. "Alright, you ready to get pumped, my man?!" Lúcio's volume caught Akande off guard, his ears ringing.

"Must you always be this loud?" Akande fired back, raising his voice only slightly, but sounding in the halls like a loud boom.

"That's the energy you're gonna need!-- Lets go!"

Lúcio gave him a few friendly jabs in the abdomen before pulling open the door and as Akande stepped in the motion sensor lights flickered on to reveal a large athletics gym, the floor a glossy brown wood partially covered in soft wrestling mats.

"Where are the weights?" Akande called out, upon not receiving a response he turned around to see Lúcio had disappeared. "Tiny man. I do not have time for games."

"Sorry man, just pickin' out some tunes!" Akande looked down to see the Brazilian seated on the floor beside him. Akande hadn't even noticed him. He made a note to be more aware of his surroundings.

"Whaddya like? Pop, rock, reggaeton, instrumentals, hip hop, afrobeats, Jùjú, EDM, house?" Akande blinked slowly as Lúcio continued listing off words he'd never heard. He wasn't a fan of music at all, in fact. "The choice is up to you."

Lúcio did a little shimmy in his seat. "Alright! I'm gonna play from the Samba collection, I know you'll like this stuff."

He pressed play on his phone and the Bluetooth speakers in the gym began busting some fast paced Afro-Brazilian beats. Akande did not like it, it was much too chaotic for his liking, but he waited silently as Lúcio stood up to join him.

"Alright man, lets go, shake that sleep out! Feel the music!" Akande gave him a look that read: 'do I look I dance for fun?'

"C'mon man, you got a heartbeat! I know you got a beat in you somewhere!" Akande sighed as Lúcio began to sing with the music, he had a nice voice but he was a little too noisy for his liking. Standing utterly still, he grabbed Lúcio by the arm, stopping his movement and Lúcio felt his heart drop. Akande's fingers curled tightly around his wrist like a blood pressure monitor, his bicep larger than Lúcio's head. Lúcio looked up at him, fear spreading in his belly and a small smile curled up at the ends of Akande's lips. He lifted Lúcio's arm and twirled him around, maybe even a little too rough as the Brazilian quickly spun out of control, landing on his butt.

Akande's laugh boomed through the large gym and accompanying hallways as Lúcio sat in a dazed state, his head still dizzy from the spin, ears burning from what was likely a mixture of adrenaline and embarrassment. Akande looked down at him, a smile on his face, which would be considered a somewhat friendly expression had it not been for the fact that it made Lúcio's heart rattle.

"Did I scare you, little man?" Akande laughed.

"Nah, you just surprised me that's all." Lúcio hopped to his feet. "Can't say I expected a ballroom dancer out of a guy like you." Lúcio chuckled.

"I was not dancing. I spun you, see?"

Just as he did before, he grabbed Lúcio by the arm, but this time Lúcio put a hand to Akande's stomach. "One second buddy-- alright that was fun the first time but we've got hours to do some spinning around. How about some stretches?" Lúcio's arm was motionless, even if he wanted to there was no way he could budge Akande's grip. Still, his hand rested on his stomach, the peaks and valleys of Akande's abs prominent against his fingers. It was only when he inhaled did Lúcio realize this and pull his hand away, his arm still held firm in Akande's grasp.

Akande's eyes examined the tiny Brazilian man's body, tracing the outline of his ass and the shrink of his waist and found himself captivated by his endowed figure. Lúcio twisted his arm a little bit before clearing his throat, his skin beginning to prickle with goosebumps. "You, uh, okay there, bro?" Lúcio managed.

Only then did Akande look him in his face, his eyes a piercing brownish-red. The heat from Lúcio's body poured into his cheeks, his dark complexion a saving grace at this very moment.

"We shall stretch then." He released his forearm, turning around to approach the mat covered floor. In the time being, Lúcio's arm fell to his side, his heart racing to recover from what just took place. "I'll meet ya over there." He called out, a little weakly.

Akande smiled to himself. He wasn't quite sure if Lúcio's behavior was due to fear or embarrassment, but for some reason he enjoyed throwing the tiny dancer off his game. He enjoyed pursuing him and playing with him. Lúcio was enjoying himself too, but in a different way.

The rest of physical therapy went smoothly, 60 second intervals of varying stretches to Samba and every once in a while a little jam session, courtesy of Lúcio. The end, unbeknownst to Lúcio, was gonna focus more on him.

They were preparing to leave the gym, Akande waiting by the doors as Lúcio returned all of their yoga items used to their original places. "Lúcio." Akande called out, the first time he'd spoken his name since they'd been here.

"What's up, man?" Lúcio approached, a green frog decorated water bottle in hand.

"How fast are you?"

Lúcio chuckled. "Pretty fast, if I do say so myself."

"You are a healer, correct? You heal very easily in battle?"

"For sure! That's my specialty."

"You must stay by my side in battle."

Lúcio snorted a little bit, taking a sip from his water bottle before Akande continued. "Your healers are slow and often preoccupied. They are not able to reach me in time." Lúcio scoffed. "You need to worry about healing up before we talk anything about missions, homie--" "--We will discuss this now." Akande interrupted.

"You are small. I will keep you safe, and in return you will stay by my side and heal me in battle." Lúcio felt his skin prickle again. Akande seemed serious--adamant almost-- and it put a skip in his heart. Lúcio began anxiously fiddling with the sports cap on his water bottle, and Akande took notice.

"Listen, I'm glad you trust me, but I don't pick the teams, Akande. We gotta focus on you getting better for right now, okay?" Akande approached him, his large hand coming up to rest on Lúcio's tiny shoulder. "I trust you." He said. The look in his eyes was far different from any look he'd given Lúcio before. It was soft, warm. His touch was gentle, much different than the way he'd grabbed him earlier. Lúcio couldn't help but smile a little at that.

"Thanks man, I trust you too." He replied. Truly, Lúcio felt a warmness in his heart, Akande had come a long way from being an enemy. Hopefully sooner or later his fellow Overwatch agents would begin to feel the same.

Akande frowned. "You don't believe I would hurt you?" Lúcio managed a smirk. "No way! You're one of us. Plus, you seem like a pretty nice guy."

Akande mirrored Lúcio's smirk before grasping the base of his locs, tugging his head to the side and leaning in to whisper. "Even nice people can hurt you." Lúcio could only manage an audible gasp as Akande dragged his tongue up his neck, his water bottle slipping from his hands, toppling to the floor.

Akande's hand moved to squeeze at Lúcio's waist as he kissed across his jaw, he was frozen, yet every nerve in his body was lit all at once.

"N-nossa Senhora." He choked out. That earned an approving laugh from Akande, who was surprisingly familiar with the exclamation. He pulled back, grinning. "Is that what you thought as you touched me earlier, tiny man?"

The rush of endorphins from the past minute had forced the English language right out of Lúcio's brain.

Akande laughed, an evil grin painting his face as he forced Lúcio against the door, turning and lifting the chain from the floor and securing it around the door handles before clicking the padlock in place.

"No one will look inside if they do not know we're here. Now, where did we leave off?" Akande looped his arms under Lúcio's thighs as he lifted him against the wall.

"You are so quiet now. What happened to all that energy you described earlier?"

"Akande no, we can't--" Akande leaned his forehead against his before leaning into a kiss. Lúcio's lips tensed before slowly reciprocating, soft enough to make Akande's chest flutter with glee. Lúcio pulled back, whispering against his lips.

"We can't do this here." "Mmm, you are right." He pressed another kiss to Lúcio's lips leaning his back against the wall setting him down. "Get on your knees."

Lúcio quickly obliged, loosening the drawstring of Akande's sweats before tugging the waistband down his hips. "Commando?" Akande smirked. "Always." Lúcio's chest tightened at hearing that. The reveal was sweet, pulling the sweatpants down his sculpted thighs, his cock rising from the loose fabric to stand stiff in the air. He was veiny, not quite as thick at the tip as he was at the base.

Lúcio's grip was like magic. He closed his fist around Akande's shaft as his other hand stroked over his head a few times. "Can you manage it, tiny man?" He laughed. "Hey, just be glad you're getting your dick sucked, you'd never get service like this over at Talon." He leaned in, trailing his tongue from the base to the tip before taking it into his mouth, his other hand massaging his balls. Akande groaned, what a beautiful sight in front of him.

"For such a modest man, it's obvious you've done this before." Lúcio smiled, pulling his cock from his mouth with a lewd pop before replying. "Never been called that before."

Akande pulled his lip into his teeth before cradling Lúcio's head, holding him in place as he thrust his dick deeper into the Brazilian's mouth. He groaned, the space growing tighter and tighter, so tight, he was surprised that he hadn't heard a cough or a wheeze from the tiny man yet. His lips spread around his cock as he gazed up at the Nigerian, doe eyed and full of lust.

"You want more?" Lúcio's fingers fondled his own erection as he bobbed his head up and down, urging Akande for deeper penetration. Akande groaned, thrusting his hips into Lúcio's mouth, earning strained gulps as his head grazed his uvula. He watched in awe as his cock disappeared farther into Lúcio's mouth. "What a nasty little healer you are." He whispered and Lúcio groaned, slurping as he pulled off his cock. He panted, utterly gasping for breath as saliva fell from his lips, a string catching on his chin. It'd been so long since he'd felt his mouth so full like this, it was intoxicating-- he was in a blurry haze.

Akande was beginning to realize his interest toward this average built, tiny, and seemingly unimpressive healer-- that filthy, unsuspecting innocence.

"I want to cum in your mouth." He slid his cock back in, his one hand stroking his shaft while his head bobbed, taking in as much of his cock as possible and Akande felt the familiar rush of his impending orgasm.

"Swallow it." He tugged hard at Lúcio's hair, voice a stern growl. "All of it." Lúcio groaned something high and breathy and Akande resisted the urge to continue fucking deep into his throat, squeezing his eyes shut as he met his climax, cum spilling into the tiny Brazilian.

--Lúcio's voice snapped Akande awake as he opened his eyes to see the smaller man standing in front of him.

"Akande? You good, man?" He glanced down at the water bottle clutched tight in Lúcio's hand and felt his heart rate begin to rest. "Y-yes." "Good. Can't get lost daydreaming! You still gotta do one more thing before we go.”

He rested his hand on Akande's residual limb and the larger man flinched ever so slightly. “Take a deep breath--” Before he could finish, Akande sighed reluctantly, his chest rising and falling as he huffed out. "Okay, now try taking a deeper breath and repeat after me: I wanna get better.” Akande eyed him hesitantly.

Why does he want me to say that phrase? What does this have to do with my therapy?

Lúcio replied with an encouraging nod. “I... want to get better.” Akande said, feeling just a little bit embarrassed. Lúcio smiled brightly and Akande felt goosebumps begin to rise on his skin, hurriedly pulling away before Lúcio could notice.

“Good. Now, one more time, homie.” “I want to get better.” Akande repeated, much more sure of himself this time.

Lúcio hopped up excitedly, raising his arm in preparation of a high five. “That's what I'm talkin' about! Don't you feel better already?”

Akande actually did notice a lapse in his phantom pain, although he wasn't quite sure if that was due to the stretches or the distraction of his explicit daydream.

He nodded, meeting Lúcio's firm high five before making his way out of the gym. "I will see you tomorrow, Lúcio."

As much as Akande wanted to stay and endure Lúcio's high energy, the hard on growing in his sweats required his immediate attention.

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[the-dixon-effect]

Sticks and Stones

A/N: dear fic writers, consider this a public service announcement. DO NOT schedule a week of fic writing that coincides with a camping trip, it is hell!!!!

era: season 3-4, prison era

summary: Y/N suffers from chronic pain in her feet, but hates to feel vulnerable around others so constantly overworks herself. perhaps a certain archer could be the right kind of medicine... | requested from this ask by @justalexheree :) guys i really did my research for this one so i hope you enjoy ^.^

pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

words: 1.4k

warnings: mentions of chronic foot pain ig?? lil' time jump

It must be late by now, you thought. You were hesitant to look up to check the position of the sun for fear of getting distracted. You were crouched down, working out in the allotment around the front of the prison. The farm was a brilliant idea, you decided, despite the high amount of labour that was necessary to feed the residents of the prison-turned-camp. God knows you needed the food. Perhaps if the members of your community were aware of your condition, you wouldn't be forced to work out here all day, practically sweating your skin off in the Georgia sun. It didn't matter anyway, 'cause you couldn't let that happen.

So here you were, digging up soil and planting seeds 'til the sun disappeared behind the trees. It was somewhat enjoyable, you convinced yourself, of course you had your thoughts and daydreams to entertain yourself, and back in your old life you would have never found yourself spending so much time outdoors. Even so, a mundane office job might have arguably been a little better for your body. You constantly found yourself having to distract yourself from the persistent ache in your feet, maybe some company would do you good, you thought.

"Hey, we're all eatin' inside, ya can prolly finish up now," you heard the familiar voice of the crossbow-wielding man from several metres away. You knew you needed to stop, but there was still work to be done. If only there was enough food in the first place, then maybe you would let yourself resign to the dining area. Save it for those who needed it, you thought.

"Alright, I'll be inside in a second," That was a lie. It's not like the rest of the group would notice your absence, you figured. You better just stay out here a little longer, making sure the crops were tended to until it was dark. Then maybe you'd get some rest. For now, you didn't need to eat. Truthfully, your feet were killing you and it felt like you could keel over at any second. Get over yourself, you said, over and over in your mind, these people need feeding.

You remembered the look the archer gave you when he called you inside, observing how you were the only person left out in the field. You turned to check if he had left and, to your surprise, he was still stood watching, hands buried in his pockets as he looked straight ahead and met your eyes.

"C'mon," he shouted across the distance between the two of you. You couldn't really say no to him, except he left you wondering why he was so eager for you to join him. You put down your equipment and split from whatever idle job you had yourself occupied with. Something you did appreciate about the humble farmer's life was the reasonable tan you had acquired, which was on display in your little denim shorts as you jogged up to meet him. A part of you wished Daryl would notice.

"Ya' alrigh'? Yer limpin'," he asked, meanwhile you were contemplating on the fact that this might be the most words you'd ever heard the archer speak, to your face anyway. Your lack of association with the man didn't stop you from admiring from afar, though.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Been a long day."

"I bet," he replied, walking side-by-side with you up to the building entrance. You thought it was sweet how he paid attention to you and noticed something like that. Maybe one day you'd open up about your condition, when it felt right.

3 MONTHS LATER

You looked around the room, searching for Daryl's eyes. Today, more than ever, you needed to be with him. After months of breaking down his thick walls, it was safe to say that he'd become one of the most important people in your life. Your feet were hurting like hell today, and the only thing that would make you feel better right now was his presence.

He'd been out on a solo run, which you'd begged Rick to let you join him, ultimately to your disappointment. So you spent your day as you always did, out in the pasture, tending to the crops. After a while you headed back inside in hopes of finding Daryl, perched at one of the rusty tables, waiting for you. To your dismay, you couldn't find him anywhere.

You approached Rick with a worried look shaping your features, "Where's Daryl? Is he back yet?" you asked, your voice laced with concern. "Nah, he's not back yet," sensing your anxiety, he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and spoke, "Y/N, he's gonna be fine. Anyway, he's scheduled to be back in... about an hour."

So you waited. And waited. It felt like the longest 60 minutes of your life, busying yourself in your cell by reading a book that Carol recommended, not absorbing a single word. By the time you decided that there was nothing else you could do to distract yourself, you headed downstairs and made idle chatter with one of the prison newcomers, Karen.

"I hear your boyfriend Daryl's coming back from a run today," she said.

"Oh, no, he's not my boyfriend," you said with a slight giggle.

"Oh, right! Gosh, it's just that you two are so close, I just figured- you know what, nevermind, ignore me," she said with a chuckle.

You smiled and looked at the floor, and tried to silence your anxious thoughts about whether something might have happened to him, if he's hurt, or anything. At this, the double-doors swung open and in walked the man you'd been waiting for for the last 48 hours. You approached him, suppressing the relief and excitement you felt just from seeing him walk through those doors. His eyes lit up at your welcoming smile, and maybe, just maybe, he would be inclined to embrace you right here if the prison foyer wasn't so crowded.

For now, he had other things on his mind that he needed to clear with you. Just like you, he spent the last 48 hours worrying more about your safety than he did his own. He regretted not being able to stay with you, or at least bring you along with him. He was the only person who knew about your condition and how badly you were affected by it, which meant he felt an immense responsibility to take care of you and offer you acts of service. Not to mention, you were also the only person who Daryl felt totally comfortable around, comfortable enough to share some of his childhood trauma and emotion with. You liked to think the two of you had a special bond, but despite your healthy friendship, you couldn't help wanting more. Either way, all he wanted right now was to be with you and to not have to deal with anyone else in this damn place.

Maggie shot you a mischievous look from across the room as you tugged on the archer's sleeve. You rolled you eyes at her following Daryl up the steel staircase and entered his cell. You sat down next to him on the mattress and he copied you by rolling his head back against the cool brick wall. You sighed in contentment, still in somewhat pain in your feet.

"So, how'd it go?" you asked, turning to face him.

"Was fine. Are ya' alrigh'?" you noticed how he changed the subject, sensing his concern.

"Yeah, I'm okay. It's just a little relentless, you know," you felt a little guilt for immediately beginning to talk about yourself, even when you knew you needed his comfort. His closeness was good enough for you.

"Mm, I know. Ya' gotta stop overworkin' yerself, ya know," he drawled. His pretty eyes were staring deeply at you now.

"Uh-huh. It's just, it's kind of relentless, you know. Like nothing I do makes it better. There's no distraction that works," it felt undeniably good to talk to someone about it, someone who understands. Someone who doesn't subject you to the same stereotypes or think that you're making it up. He wrapped an arm around you and you instinctively rested your head in the crook of his neck. He smelled delicious, like the outdoors, mixed with the distinct notes of Marlboro cigarettes and stormy weather. This was a pretty good distraction, you thought.

"Hey, I'll always make a run into some pharmacy to get ya yer meds, or anythin' like tha'," he spoke softly with his lips resting on the top of your head, occasionally brushing against your silky hair. "Jus' tell me what ya' need." It was this. You needed this.

“I just need you.”

[rafyki]

Goth! Nico/ Surfer! Percy AU Part 8!

Hi, sorry for the wait!! I was a little in doubt about if making this chapter in Percy's or Nico's POV, tbh, but in the end I decided that we're back to Percy! I always enjoy writing him being all smitten and in love <33

Enjoy~

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

You can also read it on AO3!!

~~~~

Percy had been looking at his phone for what felt like hours, staring at the empty message box and the name written on top, trying to find something, anything, to write that wouldn't sound extremely lame.

He knew his friends were looking at him, probably thinking he was the most ridiculous lovesick fool they had ever seen - which was fair, honestly, because Percy did feel like he was one second away from screaming into the void and starting to roll around on the cafe’s floor. 

So, yes, he was a lovesick fool - but a lovesick fool with his crush's number now safely saved into his phone.

Crush.

It had been two days since his meeting with Nico at the beach, and for the whole time Percy had felt like the word wasn't right, wasn't nearly heavy enough to embrace the way he felt. When he had told Annabeth, she had looked at him and smiled.

“I can see that, Percy, but you do realize you barely know him, don't you?”

It was true, of course it was - yet it didn't matter.

Percy could still feel the warmth of Nico's hand in his like it was engraved on his skin. The need to hold it again was almost overwhelming, Percy could feel himself going crazy for it.

They had held hands, and it had felt like Nico hadn't wanted to let go either, that he had wanted to make the contact last as long as possible just like Percy had.

Percy wanted to text him. But what do you even write to the guy who's been haunting your mind for the past few months and who you aren't exactly friends with but at the same time it feels like you're so much more?

“Hi, it's Percy, how are you?” 

Yeah, no, that was lame. 

“Hey, would you like to go on a date with me?”

Too forward, definitely not.

Percy groaned, frustrated.

“I swear to god, Jackson, if you don't stop staring at that phone right now, I'm gonna kick you out of this place”.

Thalia's voice pulled him violently out of his thoughts.

“This is a public space, Thalia, you can't kick me out”, he replied without even looking at her.

“Oh yeah, watch me”.

Percy only looked up at her when a kick did actually hit his legs under the table.

“Ehi!”

Thalia smirked down at him. “Told ya”, she said. “I can't believe I only come here like two times a year - and when I do, you're too busy to look at your phone to actually talk to me? That's low, Jackson”.

Percy rolled his eyes, but the pull in his guts let him know that he did feel guilty. He sighed and finally put his phone down, straightening himself and going back to sip his coffee. Not that he would apologize to Thalia, but he could admit to himself that she was right; and after all, if he put aside for a moment his current concern, he really was happy to see her. It had been months since the last time they had the chance to hang out together like this.

“Don't mind him, Thalia”, Annabeth jumped in. “He just got his dream boy's number! And now he's trying to figure out what to write to him”.

She said it like it was ridiculous, but Percy remembered how happy she had been for him when he had told her about the events of two days ago, so he didn't take it to heart.

“His what!?”, Thalia almost screamed, accompanying every word with a painful slap on Percy's shoulder. “Why don't I know anything about this! How could you guys not tell me, come on!”

He swatted her hand away. “Ouch, ow, ow, okay, alright!”

“I can't believe this! I can't even remember the last time you had a crush”.

“Yeah, well”, Percy said, and lowered his eyes. “Doesn't really feel like a crush, anymore”. 

“Oh woah, then it must be serious”, she said. “Come on, tell me everything”.

And so he told her - told her about the first time he saw the pretty goth boy working at the beach kiosk, about how long he had spent just looking at him. Trying to leave out the most embarrassing parts was no use because of course Annabeth had to jump in to point out how ridiculous he had been the whole time and how much he had panicked to just go and talk to him to buy something, and obviously she couldn't leave out his plan to impress Nico with his fantastic surfing moves.

“Annabeth, stop making me look like a loser!”

“I'm not making you look like a loser, Seaweed brain, I’m just telling the truth!”.

Percy kept talking, and he kept thinking about Nico, and he knew that he had the most enamored smile painted on his lips as he spoke. He talked and he couldn't stop because, god, he did love to talk about him.

They had only seen each other the previous day and Percy missed him already. He definitely needed to find the courage to text him - perhaps he didn't need to think too much about it, maybe a simple hey how are you would do, after all.

He wondered if Nico was doing the same, looking at his phone and trying to find something to write to him, or maybe waiting and hoping for a text to arrive.

He was so focused on recounting everything that he didn't notice the way Thalia's expression went from curious to surprised, then to confused, and finally to pensive.

“Wait, what did you say this guy's name is?”

Percy stopped in his rambling. “Nico, his name’s Nico”, he said, and finally noticed how Thalia seemed to be deep in thought. “What’s that face?”

It took a moment for her to reply. “Nico as in… Nico Di Angelo?”

Percy stopped and looked at her like she had grown a second head. “What?”

Next to him, he heard Annabeth’s voice echoing the same sentiment.

“What are you talking about?”

“Goth boy, shortie, long hair and lots of piercings, doesn’t seem like he own anything but black clothes, looks like he doesn’t know how to smile-”

“Hey, I’ll let you know that he has the prettiest smile you could ever imagine!”

Thalia waved him off at the same time that Annabeth said “Yes that does sound exactly like him”.

“And he works at the beach kiosk with a blond guy?”

A long moment of silence passed during which Percy kept staring at Thalia as her words kept swarming around in his head, blinking at her trying to process what she had just said. 

It couldn’t be, could it?

“You know him!?”

Percy could feel his heart run around in his chest, pumping blood loudly in his ears.

That felt so much like fate. 

“Huh, kind of?”, Thalia said. “I saw him a couple of times when I went to visit my brother”.

“Your brother?”, Annabeth asked.

Thalia nodded, smiling. “The blond guy working at the kiosk. That’s my brother, Jason”.

Another moment of silence passed before Percy finally came to his senses. “What the hell, why didn’t you tell us!”

This time, it was his turn to swat Thalia’s arm over and over. She hit back with just as much strength.

“Ow, why would I tell you! I didn’t even know you guys went to that beach - see, your fault you don’t tell me anything!”

Percy could feel Annabeth rolling her eyes at their antics.

But he had more pressing things to think about. He couldn’t believe it- really? 

It was so stupid, feeling giddy for something like this, but Percy couldn’t help the smile that rose to his lips. They were connected.

You’re so ridiculous, Percy Jackson, so ridiculous, he told himself, as his heart danced in his chest.

“Nico Di Angelo”, he murmured to himself. 

He knew his friends were looking at him ready to laugh at him. He looked at Annabeth. “See? I told you he must be an angel!”

They did laugh at him at that, and Percy felt so light he joined them. 

“You really are so ridiculous, Seaweed Brain”.

“Hey, can’t a man be a little in love?”

They stopped in their laughter to stare at him, and it took Percy a moment to realize what he had said. He felt himself blush - he hadn’t even admitted it to himself yet, yet the words had felt way too natural on his tongue, leaving his lips without him even thinking about it.

“Percy….”

“I know”, he cut her off, looking away. For some reason, his hand felt warm. “I know, I don’t know him all that well and it’s too soon. But… that’s why I said a little”.

“So you like him for real, huh?”. Thalia asked. The look in her eyes was earnest in a way that Percy wasn’t very used to. He and Thalia had been friends for a long time now, but it wasn’t often that they ended up talking seriously to each other.

Percy nodded. He really didn’t think he had ever liked anyone like he liked Nico before.

“Now, I don’t know him too well”, Thalia said. “But Jason told me once that it took him a pretty long time to get close to him ‘cause Nico isn’t an easy person - so, from what I know and from what you told me, I can say that you are an exception to this rule”.

Percy’s heart was running miles.

He thought about Nico so easily talking to him, smiling at him, thought of him asking about him out of worry, of him taking his hand and getting in the ocean with him despite his fear of it.

“I can ask Jason about him, if you want. But”, Thalia continued, pointing a finger at him. “You better text him - today”.

~~

When he went home that evening, the phone felt heavy in his head.

He would see Nico tomorrow anyway, he didn’t have to text him, he could easily wait until he could talk to him face to face. Or he could simply wait until tomorro’s evening and see if Nico would be at the beach after his shift again. He could.

It didn’t feel like the right thing to do. It felt like the coward way out, the one that wouldn’t lead to anything more.

And so, before he could think too much about it, he pressed send.

Me: Ehi, Nico! You have the afternoon shift tomorrow, right? Let’s hang out at the beach again after it?

[moonlight1110]

Warming up to you ♡

Ghost x Reader; College!au fluff miniseries

Tags: VERY quick reads, far from canon Simon, fluff, strangers to lovers?!!!, college!au

PART: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5

"Hey, why weren't you in class today? Did something happen?"

Sent 2:03pm

"Sorry I couldn't be in class, feeling sick today :/ I'll make up for it though, I promise"

Sent 2:10pm

"That's not the problem you should be worrying about right now. Do you have medicine or food?"

Sent 2:10pm

"Not much, but I'm making do with some water and a sandwich LOL"

Sent 2:16pm

"Hang tight, I'm on my way"

Sent 2:17pm

You furrow your brows at his last text message, not really understanding what he meant. You lived in an apartment building a few blocks away from your college but you didn't remember telling him that detail when you first met...

The assignment was coming to an end, and your early efforts with working on it were paying off since only some minor parts were left, it gave you some time to breathe in-between the work you were also juggling with other classes.

Thoughts of the assignment were quickly brushed away the moment you heard knocking on your door. "Coming..." Your voice was hoarse as you replied, trying your best to reach the door as quickly as possible.

"Jesus, you look rough" Simon scoffs upon seeing your messy hair and a thick blanket wrapped around your body. "You don't have to say it out loud... Come in" you shoot him a glare as you step aside, allowing him to enter your apartment with a small plastic bag in hand.

"How did you even know I live here... I don't think I've ever told you that information..." You squint at him, waiting for his answer. "You didn't tell me but you've certainly told your friends, I listen" his response was quick, almost like he knew you would ask that question.

"Okay... So what do you have in there?" You pointed to the plastic bag he set down on the coffee table, it looked heavy and you couldn't really figure out the silhouette of the items inside.

"I bought you medicine," he starts, pulling out the items one by one.

Cough medicine, pain killers, flu medicine

"And I bought you some real food, can't have you living off of a sandwich when you're sick" he takes the final item out, it was a meal pack, a good looking one at that.

"Oh, wow— you didn't have to do this..." You replied with a stifled cough as you covered your mouth, walking over to him. "Wanted to" he chuckled, looking over to you with concern in his eyes. He didn't need to say it out loud but you could feel he was worried about you.

You smiled, between the pain that was pulsing in your head and the dryness of your throat, you felt warm and tingly all over from Simon's gesture...

"Now let's get you to bed so you can rest up"

You were surprised at how caring he was being... But bits of his personality were really uncovered throughout the course of working on the assignment with him. A full month of working together and it really seemed like Simon was starting to get out of his shell, but only with you though.

He couldn't deny that you were really growing on him and he was starting to develop a soft spot for you.

You walked into your room, plopping down on the bed with a tired groan as you hugged your blanket close to you. Simon followed shortly after with a glass of water and a capsule in hand.

"Drink this before you lay down"

You nod and drink the medicine as he helped you drink the water, bringing the glass to your lips and tipping it slowly so you wouldn't have a hard time.

"Now move over—" he walked to the other end of your bed, starting to climb up on it. "What...?" You ask, a little dumbfounded as the bed creaked and dipped from his weight. "Move over, I'm gonna help you sleep" he replied ever so nonchalantly as he moved closer to you.

You blink at him, almost convinced he was joking, but his position on the bed said otherwise. "Come here, you need t'rest up" he was holding his arms out, a silent invitation for you to cuddle up to him.

You felt your face burn red as you slowly followed his instructions, laying your head down on the muscle of his arm as you faced his chest. "Y-you don't think this is too much, do you?" You look up at him, Simon could see the blush painted on your cheeks and it made his chest swell with a feeling he knew he was developing for you.

"No, do you?" He retorted, his arms slowly snaking around your back and pulling you closer to him, your chest now flush with his stomach and your head pressed against his chest. "Now shut up and sleep, can't have my partner bailing out on me 'cause of a cold" he closes his eyes but continues to rub your back in soothing circles, making you chuckle at the difference between his words and his actions.

"You'll catch my cold though..."

"I don't catch colds, now sleep"

[mianaissante]

FALSE GOD — jujutsu kaisen, g. satoru

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CHAPTER 3

A LOW ERODING grunt escaped from [name]'s lips, her body heaving heavily as beads of sweat began to drip from her forehead. it was frustrating, the fighting had taken longer than she could ever calculate.

" fucking hell, you're harder to exorcise.." she felt herself lose control of her speed, toppling over dozens of columns as she was thrashed by the cursed spirit across the room.

unyielding dust and debris smoked her sight, nervousness began to drip slowly in the back of her mind. she couldn't see anything at all. her hand cupped the lows of her waist, feeling a bruise forming from all the constant dragging and clanging she was experiencing.

her eyes squinted, a withering figure began to emerge, that of long hair and comfortable clothes. suguru? how come he was here? [name] quickly stood in her stance, not knowing whether she'd be able to fight him off.

she knew in herself however, how he's on par with satoru, god that in itself is a death sentence.

she curled her fingers, aiming towards him.

" trying to kill me now [name]?" his irises were empty, it was as if he was drowning in depths of the vast oceans. he was swallowed by murky waters, left nothing but a husk of unguided morals.

[name] swung her feet backward, stabilizing her footing. " if i don't you'd be out there terrorizing other village folks, suguru."

his figure was now visible, he was still tall, taller than she was. his cheeks were hollow, indicating that he had lost weight, and he had eye bags which came with his empty eyes. he looked like he hasn't been able to sleep at all.

" you know you're better than that, [name]. killing off a friend isn't acceptable, is it not?"

'tsk' her tongue clicked, " it isn't suguru, but i'm not letting you get out of this room unscathed."

he snarled at her attempts, only giving him a few scratches on his shoulders. " not bad," he smiled widely before striking her side, slashing her hips in the process.

"ah! fuck.." she gurgled in pain, her hand closing the long slash up to stop the bleeding. [name] felt her head spinning against the gushing, oozing, and spilling red that collided with her sweat. she was reeling in.

her eyes were scanning the room, dazed with the effects of her bleeding wound. " where are you?!" she grunted through her cries.

the smoke disappeared, revealing the limp body of the cursed spirit she was trying to exorcise just a while ago, but alas, no traces of geto suguru.

she sighed deeply, slumping on the concrete with her lips bitten, she grabbed the length of her skirt and tore it off, securing the wound with the clothe.

it was atleast nice of him to help her with that cursed spirit.

the walk to the restroom caused a lot of stares, who wouldn't? [name] walked out the building with bruised arms and a bleeding hip that was tied with a flimsy piece of her skirt, her hair was disheveled and her cheeks were decorated with crimson hues.

she washed her hands thoroughly on the sink, washing her face as well. the girl wiped down the excess water with the tissues from the dispenser beside the sink, a deep heaving sigh floating from her mouth. " i would've been dead if it weren't for him stopping."

her eyes rolled in the back of her head as her hands pressed up against her hips, she was bleeding so furiously, she needed to return.

[name] arrived in the dorms, her limping figure becoming visible by the second. she used her right leg as a stabilizer as her left dragged her across the pavement.

her chest rose up and down rather faster than normal, she was in no good condition to walk in her own room that was in the last door of the second floor. " i hate it when i'm like this." she whimpered close to herself.

she huffed, taking the last few steps towards the closest room in the first floor, satoru's. her body slumped against the nook of its entrance, raising the back of her hand against the brewed lines of the wooden door.

'knock' 'knock'

all it took was seconds until the door swung open, revealing satoru in his pajamas with bed hair and drunken eyes. he was yawning softly when he finally took a good look at [name], it was only then his eyes hardened its gaze.

"who did this to you?" he demanded, a sharp, undeniable tone enveloped his concern. it was as if he was more mad than worried; he was furious.

the girl shook her head, her hips throbbing by the second. satoru clenched his jaw, his tongue poking out from his cheek. " tell me, [name]. who did this to you?!" he repeated, desperate for an answer.

" satoru-please just help me.." [name] fell on his chest, tired from walking and fighting. the ivory haired boy caught her just in time with both his hands entangling with her weak elbows. his gaze softened, he helped her enter his room, a hand on her waist and placed her arms on his shoulders.

he was crouching down to match her height, his mind going else where. with the way he was breathing she knew what he was thinking, she knew what he was planning, and it was scary.

this was one of the only times she saw the way his eyebrows knitted in absolute anger, anguishing in her demise. she felt something forming in the pits of her stomach, as if it was a sign to bite back the urge to open that cage of secrets she kept so dearly.

she sat on the bed, her eyes twitching from the constant pull and back of her legs which made the pain in her hips throb harder. satoru inhaled sharply, he lost his flimsy glasses that she was always met with.

it was always a blur how he expressed himself truly in the times she was gazing at him, in the times she had him on top of her frail body, in the times he'd be next to her, except for now.

she saw through his eyes clearly, they were riled up in undeniable crimson, he was enraged. he was concerned, he was worried, he was nervous, he was every emotion there is present.

[name], even being as weak as she is now, brings her hand on his face, cupping his cheeks with her thumb drawing circles on his soft skin.

" breathe, satoru. i'm alright."

as if it was the magic word satoru needed, he breathed slowly, she placed his empty had on her chest and hers on top of his, inhale...exhale..inhale...and exhale. his eyes were locked in with hers, a gaze as sticky as honey never seeming to pull away.

satoru's hand cupped hers, fingers without hurrying going in between hers, intertwining them together. he had his infinity down.

his lips quivered with the way she looked, " [name], would you mind if i remove your skirt right now?"

the girl in front of him bursted into strings of laughter, " I can't believe you, of all people, just asked for permission to remove my skirt!"

he abruptly stopped brushing his hand on her abdomen, " what? is there anything wrong with asking for consent?!" the reaction nonetheless was unexpected, but it was what he needed, to see her lips tug upwards from ear to ear and to hear her cute giggles.

he smiled.

she was overjoyed with his words, " even so! you don't even ask me when you want a quick fuck!" her eyes creased as he chuckled to himself, a pout forming on his lips.

" it comes with the 'wanna fuck?' invitation name" she just denied him and giggled harder.

[name] paused her laughter when her hip panged with pinches of pain, " yeah, you can satoru."

he huffed, seeming like he was acting hurt with the way she reacted to his gentlemanly behavior. " lay down and raise your hips," he whispered, guiding her body in position.

" this ain't my first rodeo."

" [name]!"

" what?!"

" you can't just joke around at a time like this!" satoru bit his bottom lip from grinning at her comment, he had to admit she was quite hilarious.

he needed to remain his composure.

" uhm, i so can satoru!"

he shook his head in pure amusement and helped her remove the skirt from her body. it felt painful, the way the clothe stuck harder on her hips due to sweat and dried blood clumping together.

" it's deep, too deep even. i have to call shoko for this [name]."

she nodded, his back turning away from her as he walked towards his dresser to grab his phone.

she felt herself blend into his sheets, never did she think she'd be on it not for sex, but for this unfortunate injury. [name] hummed, it was pathetic.

why did he act the way he did earlier? did it really make him mad? even if he did she couldn't believe it, because who was she but this person he'd go to for a casual fuck. was there something more to her than meets the eye? than his eyes?

shoko arrived rather quickly, she sat next to [name] whose mind was elsewhere the whole time. " why did you call me so late satoru? she lost a shit ton of blood."

she hovered her hands on the girl's hips, " it's laced with cursed energy, [name]. just who did you fight tonight?"

it was an awkward conversation. [name] glanced towards satoru then to shoko, gulping in the process. " a special grade" she says confidently but then bringing her hand up to the corner of her mouth to whisper the latter and shoko smiled.

" hey! not fair!" satoru pouted yet again, slumping into his arm chair with his legs spread apart like how suguru would sit.

shoko showed her tongue to tease the ivory haired boy before earning multiple showcases of bad mouthing then flipping her off.

" real classic, satoru."

" yeah fuck you shoko!"

" shut up."

after a few more banters, shoko retracted her hand to reveal she was done healing [name]. " there's nothing i can do to this huge scar, but i already fixed up the damages to your vital parts. i'm sorry [name]."

" it's okay, i don't mind.."

the brown haired girl stood up and opened the door, " by the way, no fucking for a month!" after saying her business shoko flung away from the small room.

[name]'s eyes widened, what?! her gaze shifted towards satoru who had his hands up as if he was guilty. " you told her?!"

he swung her hands around like a maniac, denying her accusation, " no! she just knew!"

" really?!" she didn't believe him, she was so ready to get up and punch his stomach with her fists but stopped when her hip throbbed. " i swear to god satoru, when i recover it's over for you!"

the room filled with satoru's distant cries of denial while [name] used every single object on his desk, even his pillows to throw towards him, and he let it happen.

although the aura of everything felt comedic, [name] was worried of what shoko would think of her after this, what the others would feel if they found out this incredulous arrangement.

her hands stuck on with the final pillow, placing it on top of her lap instead of throwing it towards the abused boy in front of her. satoru knew the shift of her emotions, swiftly sitting on the edge of his bed.

" i promise that i didn't tell shoko, we talked a few weeks ago and she noticed traces of your red lipstick on my body when she was going to heal me." he paused, licking his lips in thought. satoru reached for both of your hands when his weight shifted on the bed. he enveloped them with his, brushing it soothingly.

" she knew it was yours, i'm sorry i made you feel like i told her. it was never my intention, i should've wiped myself better."

[name] sat in silence, was this still the same boy she had known? and for some reason, something was fluttering in her stomach, her heart beating rapidly in quick shortened breaths.

it wasn't the injury, no, it was him.

[keysorsomething]

HIIIIII, i saw the spetnaz as father figures and i was thinking how would they react if they find out that their daughter has a boyfriend and she never told them anything.

Your headcanons are so good btw, I never find anything from the spetnaz :3

Oh, thank you so much! I'm very glad to hear people enjoy my work :)) Request page !!

BALE:

I can only imagine that he would be heartbroken. He's probably very much a "calls his daughter princess" kind of guy. I think finding out would just crush him, not just that his daughter is older now but also the idea that she doesn't trust him enough to tell him. I imagine if he were to find out in a way that wasn't being outright told and was instead like finding them on a date he would get very quiet and leave so he didn't cry in front of anybody, but he definitely would at some point. Tries to have a conversation with you where he gently brings up all of his worries but he definitely cries during that too.

MINOTAUR:

He was probably a fun dad, but he understands why you would keep a secret from him. He was a kid too, once. It would still hurt him a little, but I think he would take it well. This does not mean that there isn't an awkward soft knock on your bedroom door and huff as he sits on your bed conversation, I just think that Minotaur would be a little more focused on that you're being safe and treated well and less focused on what exactly caused you to not tell him.

NIKTO:

He is instantly upset, angry. There's no reason for you to lie or hide something unless your partner caused you to, and this guy must be dangerous or manipulative, and that idea sets him off. He went through all of the pain and struggle in his life so that you wouldn't have to, but you're clearly in danger here. Still, I think he might be the easiest to calm down. He might be angry, but he's spent much of his life keeping a tight leash on his own emotions and actions, especially when he's off the field. He just wants a talk, alone. Really, honestly a talk. It sounds like violence is afoot but it isn't, he just really needs to understand this guy and also, you never know, maybe being dragged to the middle of nowhere by a Russian father will instill the fear of God in him and any bad intentions will melt away, huh?

RODION:

Oddly, the most likely to crash out about this. He's the youngest and therefore the least experienced when it comes to not just emotional regulation but also in handling people younger than him. All he knows is this guy is totally bad news, he comes in and Rodion doesn't even know until later? Obviously, he's thinking the same as Nikto, that this guy is a danger. But also you're mad at him? Trying to get back at him for something, like maybe you didn't like dinner a week ago and so this is some elaborate prank? Maybe he could kill the guy that will fix it? Will you be more mad? Plus, if he's the age he is in-game here, he was a teen parent. He doesn't want you to do that, isn't the point of being a parent to give your kid a better life? Home is definitely awkward for a couple of days while he figures out and scrambles for help from the others.