#wheezing and crying from stress simultaneously

[lovethatlaiduslow]

Me vs finals week (7 straight days of psychotic studying, hysterical breakdowns, and panic attacks)

[ophiuchus-interactive]

Can you do the same prompt with Rosie, please, ma'am? 👉👈

(The Ophelia snippet prompt)

Warning: Arguments, coarse language, crying

It was Rosalie's tears that kept you awake, alive. You stumbled through the darkened miasma of your semi-conscious mind, your only movements being carried out by Rosalie as she supports you, her arm gripping your sides with all her might. Strange, you thought idly, vaguely, wondering how it could be that struggled with your weight when you felt so...light.

"Please," She whispers, and you weren't sure as to who that cry was supposed to be toward- some god that forsook you long ago, or to you, specifically. Maybe Rosalie was asking for the impossible. She always was, from you.

You liked her. Loved her, even. You stopped the stab wound from the enemy's blade penetrating her chest, taking it in your own rib cage instead- that's why you stumbled drunkenly between the realms of life and death. You loved her so much you'd die for her.

And yet-

There was that something.

----

You woke up three days later. A fever you developed scrambled your mind. Your thoughts were both yours and simultaneously not yours. Your tongue was dry and coarse, your lips were bloodied and splintered. And you hated. You hated her.

"I don't want to die, fuck-" You wheezed, gripping onto the bed with all the strength you have left, "-Thane, Thane, I can't die,"

"You're not going to," Thane near snaps, the stress of your state causing what little of his bedside manners to wane and wash like the tide upon the shore, "You're gonna be better the minute you break your fever. You'll live."

"I fucking-" You ramble, squeezing your eyes shut as your body trembled from your illness, "-I can't do this. Why- Why couldn't she get the fuck out of the way? I wouldn't-" you catch your breath, "-I wouldn't have to deal with this shit if she did what she was told!"

"She was trying to protect you," Thane defends, "Give Rosalie that much."

That much?

That much, huh?

As if you weren't constantly battling death so you could see her again, as if you weren't constantly worried, constantly stressed, always checking to make sure she was alive after the fighting was over. She ate. She slept. You made sure of it.

You cared. You gave a damn. And that was a helluva lot more than what you gave to anybody else.

Yourself included.

And this was the thanks you got?

"Fuck 'er," you said through chattering teeth, your body both boiling hot and burning cold, "she did this- this to me. Fuck 'er."

"...Sabrina?"

You didn't have the forethought to think about what was flying out of your mouth, you rarely ever do. Upon hearing that godforsaken voice say your name you almost bit your tongue until it bled,

"'Fuck do you want?"

You couldn't see her from your position on the bed, but Rosalie's eyes widened, and she took a step back from her place. Thane opened his mouth in protest, but closed it on second thought- he threw his hands into the air and walked away, an action which only fueled your growing frustration. Fuck him too, then.

"I- I wanted to see if you were okay-"

"Do I fucking look okay to you?" You accuse, opening your eyes to look her direction, "Well?"

"You don't," Rosalie responds, "and you're not thinkin' right, and that's okay-"

"My thinking is just fine, it's you who has the problem!" You retort, "Do you have a death wish? Do you want to die? Do you- do you know how many times I've stuck my neck out for you?"

Rosalie's face pales, and this time it's her turn to look a little sick, "I- I know, Sabrina, and I've-"

"-Not even a screw," You continue, "I get nothing from you worth my goddamn time!"

"But I-" Rosalie pauses, and you hear the telltale sign of her stifling a sob, "-I, I love you, I don't- I don't know-"

"And that's not enough!" You throw back, "You think- you think your feelings are gonna save me from this? From the shitshow that I'm dealing with now? Ha! Think again," Your voice is scratchy, heavy, your breath out of time and irregular, but you don't care, "You know what the best part about it is, Rosie? I've lost my goddamn mind enough to do it again for you! I'll stick my neck out over- and over- and over- for your stupid, incompetent, inexcusably idiotic self because I-"

love?

you?

Rosalie didn't stick around long enough for you to recover from your coughing as your breathlessness began to catch up with you. Your body shook from the heat, the cold, the pain that grew in your chest like rot on bad meat. Your anger faded into anxiety, and thus began the horrid cycle of restlessness all over again. It was the only thing that had any sting left to it.

Thane yells at you to get some sleep before shutting the medbay doors behind him. You ignored the echo of the metal door nearly coming off its hinges.

It wasn't enough, you thought, ridiculing your own behavior, you weren't enough. And look where that got you.

A dead end.

And not unlike the footsteps of Rosalie running away from you, replaying over and over in your head, you found yourself lost in that miasma of life and death, until sleep finally claimed you.

[ineffablewordsatnight]

A Treat For The Wicked

Pairing: Hoseok x Female!reader x Yoongi (main pairing), OT7 x Female!reader, Namjoon x Female!reader x Jin

Word Count: 8692

Warnings: smut, 18+, BDSM elements, Pet Play, Puppy Play, Dom/Sub, Master-Kink, Oppa-Kink, degradation, praising, edging, overstimulation, punishment, spanking, paddling, masochism/sadism, subspace, puppyspace, threesome(s), excessive cuddlings in the end (remember your aftercare!)

Summary: Hoseok and Yoongi are away, shooting their M/V for their upcoming collaboration. The rest of your boyfriends decide to give them a little treat to help them relax after they come back. This included dressing you up in your favorite puppy gear and leaving you to the mercy of your Master and Oppa.

“How long will Yoongi and Hoseok be gone, anyway?” Jimin was grabbing a bag of chips, plopping down next to Taehyung and Jungkook who were already lazing on the couch, playing video games. “I don’t know.” Tae reached out with his hand, demanding a treat as well which Jimin offered him happily. “I guess it depends on how long it will take to finish shooting their M/V. They have been working for weeks on it.” Jimin hummed in agreement and sank back deeper into the couch.

“Oi, we finished baking cookies.” Jin’s voice reached them before the tall man himself rounded the corner, a plate of freshly baked chocolate cookies in his hands. You trailed behind him also holding onto some cookies. “We used three different kinds of chocolate to make them super sweet.” You announced proudly and grinned. “Want some?”

The bag of chips was left behind - forgotten, just like the game and the younger ones surrounded the new treat. “These are delicious.” Jungkook mumbled while munching on his second cookie. “I can’t believe you allowed Namjoon to help and they still turned out fine.” Jimin giggled. “Hey!” Namjoon’s head shot out from the kitchen and he pouted towards the others. “Oh, don’t worry.” You smiled innocently. “We only let him stand in a corner and read the recipe to us.” Now all of you were giggling. “Hey!” Namjoon’s voice was suddenly way closer and he snaked his arms around your smaller frame to snatch some cookies for himself.

“Aish, there won’t be any left for Yoongi and Hoseok. What about their treat?” Jin scolded the others. “Oh, I have a better idea for a treat for our hyungs.” Taehyung’s mischievous eyes trailed up and down your form and you instinctively took a step back, trying to hide behind Namjoon. The others looked at Taehyung expectantly. “Well, I remember that our dear rappers like to play with a certain cute puppy.” He smirked in your direction, your head poking out from behind Namjoon. “After all, they will be quite stressed out and a little treat would be appropriate.”

All eyes were suddenly on you. You couldn’t help but make yourself smaller, trying to disappear in yourself. You couldn’t deny that the idea sounded appealing to you but the combined attention from your five boyfriends was still intense and made you feel small and fragile.

“Baby.” Namjoon suddenly spun around and tilted your head up to meet his eyes. Your heart fluttered in your chest at his gentle gestures. “Don’t you want to help our loves to relax after a long day?” He smoothed his warm palms up and down your arms and a trail of goose bumps followed his touch. You gulped audibly, your gaze trailing over the expectant expressions of your boyfriends. You knew you could decline the offer but you wanted to make them feel good and so you looked back to Namjoon and nodded. A wide smile appeared on his face, showing off his dimples. “That’s our good girl”, he cooed with adoration in his eyes.

Slowly, he pried the now empty plate from your hands and placed it down onto the nearest surface. “Well, let’s go and get you ready, okay?” You nodded again and stepped closer to him, following the tall rapper out of the room. “I’ll help you,” Jin handed his own plate to Jungkook and trailed after the two of you.

The others were still munching on the remaining cookies. “Poor baby. Our hyungs have been really stressed out, so they are going to go pretty hard on her.” Jungkook stared off in the distance. “Hey!” Taehyung chimed in. “Why don’t we prepare a blanket fort for cuddles and movies after they are done?” He jumped up and down in excitement. “Yeah…yeah let’s do that.” Jimin grinned.

 ---

Meanwhile, Jin had dragged you to Namjoon’s room while said male had left to fetch some essentials and toys from their shared playroom. “Come on, love. Let’s get you prepared.” Jin gently laid you down onto the bed and climbed over you. He started kissing you and the touch of his soft, pillow-like lips on yours calmed down your nerves. You relaxed and pulled him closer, he was now laying on top of you with all his weight and your kisses deepened. He nipped on your lower lip and a low moan escaped your throat.

“Already getting started, hm?” Namjoon had reappeared in the door frame, holding onto several items. He discarded them on the small table next to his bed but before you could get a good look at them, he had already joined you and Jin, effectively obscuring your view. “Now, now baby. Don’t spoil the fun.” He grinned down at you and you mewled, which only made his grin wider.

He helped you sit up and removed your T-shirt, both men groaning as your breasts sprang free. Namjoon promptly attached his lips to your right nipple while his fingers plucked and pinched at your left one. A shriek left your mouth, but it was soon muted by Jin’s lips which started kissing you feverishly again. You were slowly getting dizzy with all the attention you were receiving. Little moans and mewls were constantly escaping your lips but they were eaten up by Jin as soon as they left you. The two tall frames of your boyfriends caged you in between them and sparks of pleasure trailed from you aching breasts straight down to your centre.

With heaving breaths, Jin separated himself from you, looking down at your flushed form with adoration in his eyes. He grinned and then grabbed Namjoon by his hair, pulling him off your nipples and in for a kiss. Joon groaned and kissed Jin back just as hard. The sight of them making out above you had you squirming in your place, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together. The two boys separated, panting and with red cheeks, and grinned down at you with darkened eyes.

“What’s the matter baby? Something bothering you?” Namjoon was chuckling at your troubled expression. While you were captivated by Namjoon’s voice, you didn’t notice Jin’s hands trailing down your stomach and down to the seam of your shorts. “Do you need us, sweetie?” Jin’s voice brought your attention from Namjoon to him. “Do you need us right here?” He cupped your centre over the layers of your clothing, but as you tried to ground against him to relieve some pressure, he suddenly pulled away.

“Sorry, honey. But we are only warming you up. You know that.” Jin’s tone was mocking and filled with fake sadness. Still, he was yanking down your shorts and panties in one go, making you lay bare in front of their dark eyes.

“There you go. Nice and wet.” Namjoon’s voice came from above you and you craned your neck to look at him. He was standing next to the bed, staring intently at your dripping centre. So intently that you tried to close your legs. “Nuh uh, baby.” He quickly climbed between your legs, causing Jin to retreat to the top of the bed, playing with your hair. “Keep them open and just let me work.” He grinned up at you and proceeded to dip down to lick a long stripe along your centre.

You threw your head back towards Jin and groaned lowly in your throat. Namjoon mimicked your groan but he didn’t continue his ministrations. “Just a taste.” You heard him mumble to himself. You lifted your head in confusion and looked at him. “You know I would love to eat you out until you are a crying mess but this isn’t what we planned so roll over on your knees so I can properly prepare you.” He scooted back a little, giving you the room to assume the position he demanded.

With you on your knees, you were face to face with the bulge in Jin’s sweatpants and you couldn’t help yourself but mouthed on his clothed erection, nuzzling into the fabric. At your actions he wheezed and tightly grabbed your hair which made you moan loudly.

“Fuck, (Y/N)…don’t…fuck.” He groaned but you wouldn’t let up. “Fuck. Fine, I’ll let you blow me…just…” He lowered his pants, so you were face to face with his beautiful erected cock. Admiring it for just a second, you wasted no time to suck him into your mouth, nibbling and trailing your tongue all over his shaft.

Namjoon chuckled behind you. “That’s right baby. You take good care of Jin and I will take goooood care of you.”

You mewled around Jin’s length and wiggled your butt at Joon. The latter just smirked, and you could hear the sound of a bottle opening before cold liquid squirted on your butthole. You shrieked but Namjoon only laughed and rubbed soothing circles into your hips with his fingers. “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

You tried to lose your muscles and simultaneously took Jin deeper into your mouth. This caused him to curse and to grab your hair tighter, using his grip to guide you up and down in slow, steady motions.

Meanwhile, Namjoon rubbed his forefinger around your hole, slowly loosening up the muscles and occasionally dipping in. “Take a deep breath, baby girl.” You did as he asked, and he inserted one finger into you. You took another shuddering breath and tried to further relax your muscles. The feeling wasn’t quite foreign as you all did anal before, but it still felt weird in the first few moments. Namjoon slowly thrusted his finger in and out, moving it in every direction to lose you up until he could add a second one. At the new intrusion you moaned, causing Jin to shudder at the vibrations against his length.

Namjoon was slowly fucking you with his fingers, scissoring them occasionally to open you up. “There you go, baby. You take my fingers so well.”

You mewled and slobbered all over Jin’s cock. The older one was having a hard time to not just trust up into your waiting wet cavern, but he held himself back for your sake. They had a job to do after all.

“Namjoon, hurry the fuck up.” Jin groaned and pulled you up so you were only able to suckle on his tip. The other grinned. “Fine, fine. Baby, do you think I can fuck your ass? I know I said we would only prepare you, but you are too cute to resist. So, won’t you let me fuck you while you suck hyung off?”

You were whimpering and nodding. Even if they weren’t going to let you cum, you still wouldn’t miss the chance to please them.

“Good girl.” You preened at Namjoon’s praise and then gasped at the feeling of being so full so suddenly as Joon shed himself inside of your tight hole in one go. “Fuck, you’re so…ugh…you’re so tight, baby.” He groaned, stilling himself for a moment to let you adjust to his size.

After taking some deep breaths, you gave Namjoon the signal to continue and he slowly began to fuck you. You on the other hand returned to your task of making an absolute mess out of Jin and licked a long stripe from his balls to the tip of his dick. You proceeded to suckle on his tip, drawing out salty drops of precum and then taking him as deep down your throat as possible.

“Ugh…(Y/N)…do that again.” Jin cursed and grabbed onto your head again to fuck you deep onto him. Namjoon on the other hand had sped up and was now pounding into you, making it increasingly difficult to properly suck off Jin.

“Here, let me help you baby.” Jin grinned, grabbed your head to hold it still and fucked up into you. You chocked and gargled, your spit dripping all over his cock and down his balls. Not being able to do anything on your own, you could only concentrate on the amazing feeling of being stuffed from both ends. You were so full, revelling in the attention you were receiving.

“Fuck…” Namjoon’s pace increased, he was now merciless hammering into you. “I’m so close.”

“Me too.” Jin echoed his groans.

Both men effortlessly fucked into you, desperate to reach their ends. Jin was the first one to give up and you made sure to swallow all of his cum after he groaned and released into your mouth. “There you go. Such a good girl.” He crooned and petted your hair.

You were drowsily smiling up at him, not being able to concentrate on anything else as Namjoon was still merciless pounding into your ass.

“Ugh…fuck.” With a deep groan Namjoon came, shooting his load deep inside of you. “Good…good fucking girl. You did so well.” He massaged your ass but didn’t pull out right away. “Hey Jin, could you hand me the plug?” The other male already held a silver butt plug towards Namjoon, attached to it was a soft, curled, black and white tail. He thanked him and slowly pulled out of you, making sure not to spill any cum. Namjoon carefully trailed the plug around your hole and slipped it in. It fit snugly and you could feel the soft fur tickle the back of your thigh.

“There you go. Nice and pretty. All plugged up.” Namjoon grinned at you and helped you sit up. The plug shifted inside you and you mewled.

“Thanks for that, puppy.” Jin smirked down at you and you could feel a shudder running down your form at the pet name. “Now let’s get you all geared up, yes?”

You could only stare up at them as Namjoon grabbed some white piece of clothing, holding it up to show it to you. It was a white lacy bra and a matching pair of panties, both were decorated with straps around your torso, waist and arms and see-trough patches at certain parts. He grinned mischievously and helped you to put in on. Jin was standing next to Namjoon holding a baby pink leather collar and matching cuffs for your wrists and ankles.

After he put everything on your body, they stepped back and admired your form. “Wait, something is missing.” Namjoon fiddled with something behind his back and presented a pair of black and white Huskey ears which he attached to your head. “There you go, a perfect little puppy.” He smiled and pointed to his feet, a silent command for you to kneel, which you instantly complied to. You dropped to the floor and looked up at your boyfriends, tilting your head.

You could already feel yourself slipping into your puppy space, your mood getting giddier and more playful, excitement was running through your veins.

Jin stepped closer to you, kneeling down and attaching a leash to your collar.

“Come on, puppy. Let’s get you to the playroom.”

He handed the leash over to Namjoon and quickly cleaned up the mess that you left behind. Namjoon waited for his partner to follow up, then he gently pulled your leash causing you to start crawling next to him.

The three of you made it to the playroom that was shared by the eight of you. Namjoon opened the door and led you through right to the middle of the room.

“Sit.” Namjoon pulled the leash tighter and you instantly sat down onto your heels. “Good puppy. Now stay. There’s a good girl.” He patted your head. “Now be good and stay here until Master and Oppa are coming home, okay?” You whined and nuzzled into his hand not wanting them to leave you alone. Jin came up behind you and unhooked the leash from your collar. “They will be so happy if they find their surprise.” He petted you as well and then pulled Namjoon off the floor.

“I’ve got one last toy, love.” Jin pulled a bone-shaped gag out of his front pocket. He stooped down to your level and pushed the silicone bone into your mouth. “There, all tied up and pretty. Now stay.” He repeated the command one more time, making sure that you would obey. You once more whined low in your throat, but you could only watch as the two of them left the room.

Namjoon and Jin returned to the others in the living room, finding a comfortable looking pillow fort ready to use. “That looks quite nice.” Jin smiled at the younger boys and carefully crawled to their resting forms. They were already laying comfortable in their built pillow fort. Namjoon joined them as well and they formed a happy cuddle pile.

 ---

After some time, they heard keys jiggling and then the front door opened. “Welcome back!” Jimin chirped and smiled at the two older men but he made no effort to stand up, too comfortable in the embrace of his other boyfriends. “What’s this? A cuddle pile? And where is (Y/N)?” Hoseok looked over at them, pulling a grumpy looking Yoongi with him.

“Ahhhh, this is for later.” Jungkook grinned and snuggled closer to Taehyung who was petting his hair. “How was your shoot?” Jin stretched his hand towards Yoongi, grabbed it as the male came closer, and rubbed soothing circles into his palm. “We’re done.” A happy smile was etched onto Yoongi’s face. “Really? That’s great.” Taehyung chimed in, smiling brightly at his older partner. “Yes…yes, it is. We are finally finished, and everything is perfect.” The gummy smile was still present on Yoongi’s face as he turned around to Hoseok. “Right, Hobi?” The other male nodded. “Yeah, we are just really tired right now.”

“Sounds like you need some sort of stress reliever. How convenient for you. There is a surprise in the playroom just waiting so serve your needs.” Namjoon smiled lazily up at Hoseok who was leaning down towards him to steal a soft kiss.

“Oh?” Now Yoongi’s interest seemed peaked. “Well then, let’s see what it is. Shall we, Hobi.”

Sauntering away, the two made their way over to said room and went inside.

 ---

You have been waiting for what felt like an eternity. It has hardly been more than twenty minutes, but your puppy-side wanted attention and a partner (or partners) to play. Still, you were patiently waiting in your kneeling position, your hands kneading the soft carpet beneath you. You slightly shimmied your butt around, trying to get some feeling back into your legs from resting your weight on them for so long. Just as you wiggled your toes and slightly stretched your feet, the door handle moved and Yoongi and Hoseok appeared in the door. They were both clad in comfortable looking outfits, both spotting sweatpants and shirts.

You yipped happily and quickly scrambled to your feet, crawling towards them while wagging your tail. You nuzzled into them, scratching at their pant-clad legs and trying to nibble at their fingers, unsuccessfully of course, you were still wearing a gag after all. In your playful mindset you didn’t notice their domming and dark mood, but you quickly realized which route this evening would take as Hoseok spoke up.

“This whole welcoming act is cute, mutt, but I don’t remember allowing you to try and bite my fingers off.” He loomed over you and you instantly stopped what you were doing and shrunk back, making yourself as small as possible down by his feet. Your eyes briefly flickered towards Yoongi, but he too was wearing a stern expression and you whimpered trying to show your submission.

“Eyes on me, bitch.” Hoseok’s hard voice brought your eyes back to him and you caught his sadistic glare. Judging from the way he didn’t call you pup or puppy, you supposed you had to earn their forgiveness the hard way.

Before you could react or plan your further actions, Hoseok roughly pushed you over causing you to lay sprawled out by their feet. From your new position you were able to have a good look at Yoongi again, who was standing by your head, maliciously smiling down at you.

“You know the rules baby.” Yoongi crooned. “You obey us without questioning. No cumming without permission. And no speaking. One bark for yes. Two barks for no. Five barks is your safe word. You got that, pup?” You slightly waggled your butt and barked once, the gag in your mouth distorting the sound.

Their figures were still towering over you, now completely ignoring you and seemingly having a silent conversation.

“Up.” Hoseok commanded suddenly and you scrambled to your feet, sitting back on your heels and looking up at him. “Were you a good girl while we were away?” You barked once and slightly wiggled your tail. “Oh yeah?” He encouraged and the wiggling of your butt increased. “Well, we will be the judge of that, won’t we?” He spat. You whimpered and looked up at him with sad eyes. “Don’t look like that, bitch.” He slapped you across the face, causing you to stumble back against Yoongi’s legs. “You will have plenty of time to show us how good you are.” Yoongi knelt down behind you, making sure to secure your body against his. He started to scratch you behind the ears that rested you’re your head, slightly calming you down. “You have to excuse us, we might be a little…stressed out…from the shoot, so this will be rough for you.” He shoved you forwards on all fours again. “On the other hand…you’ll probably enjoy that even more, being the little masochist you are.”

He chuckled darkly and you couldn’t suppress the whimper that escaped your mouth. Your thighs were unconsciously rubbing together, their dark promises arousing you to no end. Hoseok noticed this of course and immediately kicked your thighs apart.

He shook his head in disappointment. “And here I thought you were behaving, but it seems like you are just a good for nothing dog after all. Well, this is nothing a simple punishment can’t fix, don’t you think so mutt?” You instantly stilled at his words and your lower lip trembled at his animosity. He didn’t even deem you worthy of another glance as he turned around and strolled over to the cabinets on one of the walls.

“Don’t look so sad. You know he is right, and you deserve punishment, don’t you think so?” Yoongi patted you on the head with a condescending tone. Your eyes flickered over to him and you followed his movement with your eyes as he trailed a hand from the collar around your throat down your arms and to your hands.

“You know, it’s quite convenient that you are wearing these.” Yoongi was tapping against the cuffs around your wrists. “We have to thank the others for this cute addition. Makes it easier to string you up and use you.” He grinned. Meanwhile Hoseok was rummaging through the drawers and came back with rope, a blindfold and nipple clamps.

“Stand.” He commanded and you quickly rose to your feet, slightly wobbling. “Hands.” Without looking at him you reached out to present them to him. He threaded the rope trough the linking parts of your cuffs, bound them together and attached them to a hook on the ceiling. Then he pulled at the rope until you were standing on your tiptoes. You couldn’t contain a whimper as your arms strained above your head and you had to balance carefully to not put any more weight on them.  Hoseok chuckled darkly. “Is this uncomfortable, mutt?” You barked once trying to look as pitiful as possible to make him have mercy on you but to no avail. “Good, let’s make this even worse then.” Using scissors that suddenly appeared in his hands, he cut off the bra straps and teared through the front, causing the beautiful lace to flutter useless to the ground. He grinned like a Cheshire cat and let the metal claps he previously palmed in his hands wander across your skin. You shuddered at the cold material that scraped across your body, nipples pebbling to attention. With a dark glimmer in his eyes, he attached the nipple clamps to your sensitive breasts. You emitted a pained shriek and the two men openly laughed at you. The pain quickly turned into pleasure and you gasped as the tingling raced from your nipples to centre in your pussy.

“Don’t look so pained.” Hoseok was stepping close to you, leaning down and staring deep into your eyes. He rested his hands around your neck, slowly applying pressure and making you gasp and splutter. Your constricted airflow only added to the pleasure that was coursing through you, slowly black dots were dancing in your vision and you mewled pathetically. Hoseok huffed. “Don’t act like the pain doesn’t excite you.” He suddenly yanked hardly at the string that connected the clamps sending waves of pain-pleasure through your body. “I know it does.” He chuckled again and grabbed something that was securely stored away in his back pocket.

A black cloth fluttered across your vision and the last thing you saw before Hoseok blindfolded you was Yoongi who had taken a seat in a chair in the corner of the room.

The darkness enveloped you and suddenly everything felt more intense. The tight leather around your neck, the strain on your arms as they reach up to the ceiling, the teeth made out of metal as they bit into your sensitive nipples and of course the arousal that was steadily increasing, ruining your panties and surely making them translucent by now.

You tried to listen to any movement, any sound that might give you a clue to what was going to happen next, but you couldn’t make out a single sign.

All of a sudden, you felt leather caressing your skin. Hoseok must have grabbed a riding crop and was now trailing it down your back, tapping your ass and rubbing it between your thighs, collecting some of the sticky liquid that gathered there.

“You’re such a messy dog. Leaking from both ends. Getting aroused by us pushing you around.” He scoffed and you heard him taking a few steps back. “Yoongi hyung.” He said in a singsongy voice. “Don’t you want to have a taste?”

You heard a grunt and then a slurping noise. You whimpered and squirmed in your place. Yoongi must have cleaned the crop from your juices. You would do anything to see that. “Quiet. You don’t get to complain over there.” Yoongi’s voice was rough and breathy, accompanied by Hoseok’s laugh and you instantly froze in your place.

With no warning, the crop was back on your body again, now slightly wet from Yoongi’s spit. It was trailing down the front of your body, flicking against the nipple clamps continuing down your stomach to your thighs. Then the touch vanished. Before you could anticipate Hoseok’s next step, the sting of a hit thrummed through your body.

You cried out as Hoseok repeatably stroke your ass, your thighs, your back and even your tits. Your whole body was burning, every single nerve ending at flame, sending pleasure through your whole being. The strikes were unpredictable, without any pattern and it slowly was driving you mad. You loved the biting pain of the crop that littered your body with red marks, each and every hit only making the ecstasy that thrummed through you veins worse. You already felt like combusting, the darkness surrounding you only adding to the overwhelming pleasure.

The strikes abruptly stopped and you accepted the moment to breath, only to be surprised as he yanked down your panties with a harsh motion, the sodden material clinging to your wet folds, a string of arousal connecting the material to your core as he managed to pry them away.

“Would you look at that. You are absolutely wet and messy down here.” He snickered darkly. “You truly are a little pain-slut, aren’t you mutt?”

You barked twice, trying to deny his harsh claims to preserve any amount of dignity but who were you kidding?

“Oh, you don’t agree? Don’t lie to me, bitch!” His angry voice was paired with a precise spank on your clit and to your horror you felt sparks flying through you as an orgasm took you over. It was weak and unfulfilling because there was no further stimulation but an orgasm non the less.

“Did you just…cum?” Hoseok sneered in disbelieve.

The blindfold was ripped away from your face and you had to squeeze your eyes together to accustom yourself to the new lightning. But as soon as you opened them again, you were faced with the angry scowl on his handsome features. He must have lost his shirt a while ago because his naked chest was pressing hard into yours, torturing your clamped nipples and making you appear small against his large frame.

“You did, didn’t you. You are such a slut.” Yoongi chimed in, standing up and coming to a halt behind you. He too must have undressed while you were blindfolded because his own bare skin was lined up with yours. His breath was hot on your neck and he lazily kissed you behind your ear making his way down until he reached your sweet spot where he sucked and bit down to leave a red and purple mark.

“You’re in for it now, mutt.” Hoseok’s voice was filled with malice and you instantly dropped your gaze down to your feet to escape his fury.

While doing so, you didn’t catch the glance Hoseok and Yoongi shared above your head. A look full of proudness and excitement. They couldn’t believe they made you cum from just that.

Levelling their expressions to neutral ones again, Hoseok reached up to uncuff your wrists from the hook while Yoongi was stabilizing your body with his own. They both dragged you to the bed and shoved you onto your knees.

“Stay still, bitch.” Hoseok commanded and you didn’t dare to move a muscle even though the nipple clamps rubbed uncomfortably against the sheets, dragging your sensitive nipples around and inflicting sparks of pain on you. There were rough hands shoving and pulling at your body and you heard clicks and then you couldn’t get up. They had attached the cuffs on your wrists to the ones on your ankles and now you were left with your ass high up in the air and your head burrowed in the silk sheets.

“That’s not fair, Hobi.” Yoongi whined as he looked at the position the other one had locked you in. “How is she supposed to help me out now?” He pointed down to the tent in his pants. Hoseok rolled his eyes. “You’re so annoying…fine, I’ll change it.” He unlinked the cuffs and you were able to support your weight with your hands again, now on all fours.

“You better keep your ass up and head down, bitch.” You felt a sudden pressure on your lower back and out of instinct you arched your back to present your ass and sopping centre to the two men in the room. The only praise you got for your action was a quick slap on your butt.

Yoongi, being satisfied by the position you were in now, was climbing up to you on the bed and leaned against the headboard. He reached out to your face, caressing your cheek and then moving to the back of your head to remove the gag that still caused you to drool and slobber all over yourself. You preened at his gentle touches and soaked in the comfort as he removed the offending object from your mouth.

“There, now you’ll be able to get punished and earn our praise again.” He grinned wickedly. Meanwhile, Hoseok was rummaging through the drawers again and proceeded to produce a wooden paddle from the depths of your toy collection.

At the woosh-sound of the paddle striking through the air as Hoseok tested the feeling in his hand, your head quickly turned around to watch closely as he stepped up behind you. He smirked down at you and showcased the cut-outs on the paddle. Your eyes widened and a new wave of excitement throbbed through you. If he used it on you, it would print the word ‘slut’ all over your skin.

“This is new, isn’t it?” The sadistic glee in his eyes was worrying you. “I’ll bet that this is going to hurt. Very. Bad.” He grinned again. “Perfect.” Yoongi answered, mimicking the look on Hoseok’s face.

“But we are going to make your punishment fair, won’t we? I’ll give you fifteen strikes while you blow Yoongi…you keep it up and do good, you’ll get a reward. How does that sound? Good?”

You didn’t do anything for a moment, trying to find the catch to his offer, this couldn’t be the whole punishment could it? He was way to lenient with you. But even if there was going to be a catch, you simply couldn’t refuse your Master.

So, you barked once, sealing your fate and giving yourself up again to the capable hands of your lovers. The smile that overtook Hoseok’s face was increasing your worry, but it was too late now.

“Yoongi, you’ll keep count.”

Your eyes widened and your gaze flickered to the other male who was already staring at your fidgeting form. “Of course.” The corner of his lips twitched, and he hardly managed to suppress a smile at your troubled expression.

“Don’t worry, puppy. I’ll make sure you get what you deserve.” You gulped. This was bad. Very bad.

“Let’s start then, shall we? Oh….and you better not come from this too, bitch, or I will ruin your pretty ass for real.” The threat in Hoseok’s voice made you whimper but you didn’t flee from your position, choosing to instead worship Yoongi’s cock with small kitten licks. With you occupied, Hoseok took a swing and the paddle landed on your butt with a loud thud. You cried out, tears already escaping your eyes from just this one hit. It hurt so much but at the same time it sent pleasure through you as your body absorbed the pain and translated it into pleasure.

“One.” Yoongi’s voice was slightly rougher but he still held his composure otherwise.

Hoseok was trailing his hand down your butt, tracing the letters that had already appeared on your tender skin and trying to soothe the stinging ache. You struggled to concentrate on his soft touches instead of the pain but before you could calm down completely, Hoseok hit you again.

“Two…fuck Hobi do that again, she takes me so deep when you do that.”

Yoongi’s statement caused Hoseok to strike you rapidly for multiple times and you felt hot tears streaming down your cheeks. Hoseok’s treatment had caused you to took Yoongi’s cock as deep as you could, choking yourself on him to try and distract yourself from the white blazing pain from your ass. Yoongi was panting heavily and not counting at all. You whined low in your throat, causing him to look down at you.

“What? Oh…I don’t know…four?”

Hoseok snickered behind you. “Four it is, if you say so.”

You whined again in protest, but both just ignored you.

This went on for a while, you were trying your best to please Yoongi, licking up and down his shaft, tracing the vein on the underside and taking him as deep as you could. While you were doing this, Hoseok was abusing your ass, hitting you over and over again.

Due to Yoongi not really paying attention the number of hits you received was far above the agreed number, you didn’t really count yourself, but it must be close to thirty now. Your ass was bright red, everything hurt, and you were openly sobbing now. This was one of the worst punishments you had ever received, your ass was on fire, but you were sure that you could handle it. You calmed yourself down further at the thought that you could always tap out and use your safe word if they went too far. But the session was far too good to stop it now.

Hoseok had stopped punishing you to give you a moment to breath and you focused all your energy on making Yoongi come. The older grabbed your hair tightly as you bobbed up and down. Yoongi was twitching, holding you tighter and thrusting up into you feverishly. Just as he was about to come, Hoseok delivered one last blow to your already abused ass, which caused you to fall forward, taking Yoongi deep down your throat.

The rapper moaned and with a full body shudder he came in your mouth.

“There you go puppy…you’re such a good girl. Swallow all of it, you got it?”

You hummed around him and yipped once to show your consent. After you swallowed, you pulled back and opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out to show him that it was all gone.

“Good girl.” Yoongi scratched your ears and you wiggled your tail in contentment. You were still in incredible pain but in your current headspace the praise nullified it all.

You heard a thud behind you and suddenly Hoseok was next to you, smoothing out your hair and cupping your cheeks in his big hands.

“Shhhh puppy, it’s going to be okay. Don’t cry.” Hoseok called you puppy again, so you must have done something right, a warm feeling spread through your heart. “Hey, hey look at me. What’s your colour cutie?” You were staring at him for a second, confused until his words registered in your head. You were still feeling fuzzy and ready to slip back into your other headspace, but you could concentrate enough to answer him. “Green, Master.”

He smiled brightly. “Good girl. Now on to your reward.”

They carefully repositioned you on the bed, so you were lying on your back with your head hanging off it. You winced as your butt made contact with the silk sheets, but you worked yourself through the pain and relaxed. They had reversed their positions while moving you and now Hoseok towered over your head while Yoongi had made himself home between your legs.

“We’ll give you a treat, just as promised puppy. Yoongi is going to eat you out, but don’t you dare to cum without permission, got it?” You barked once in understanding. “Good.” Hoseok grinned. “Now open up.”

He pulled down his pants and underwear and proceeded to burry himself deep down your throat. Due to your position he was able to reach deep and he groaned as he saw the outline of his cock through your throat.

You were concentrating so hard on not gagging and pleasing Hoseok that you didn’t notice Yoongi’s breath getting closer to your centre. The first lick of his infamous tongue caught you by surprise and you nearly jumped out of the bed but Yoongi grabbed you by your hips and grounded you to devour your pussy.

He raised his head and looked you dead in the eye.

“Do. Not. Come. I’m serious puppy.” The threat had you gulping, still you nodded which made him go back to his task.

Hoseoks dick bobbing next to your head caught your attention and you immediately opened your mouth again to take him back into your wet cavern. “Good girl. You’re such a good girl, puppy.” His praise only spurred you on and you started to suck him off with more vigour. While you were doing your best to please him, Hoseok reached down to your clamped nipples and played with the chain that connected them. During your punishment you had almost forgotten the offending attachments, but now that he was playing with them again, the sensations came back and hit you like a train. At on particularly hard thrust down your throat, he ripped them off.

The sensation had you screaming, white hot pleasure nearly overwhelming you and you had to concentrate hard on not cumming as the blood rushed back into your abused nipples.

“There you go. Such a good puppy. You did so good.” He groaned, his pupils dilated to the max, only leaving a ring of colour. You looked so cute, sprawled out beneath them and absolutely ruined. Well, not absolutely, but you were nearly there.

Yoongi continued to eat you out with passion, licking long stripes down your whole pussy and sucking at your clit while humming to intensify the pleasure. You felt so good, you thought you were coming apart at the seams. He seemed to notice your growing pleasure as well, but every time you came close to the brink of an orgasm, he stopped all his movements. Hoseok picked up on his game as well and stopped fucking your throat every time Yoongi stopped his ministrations.

They continued edging you and you felt like you were going to combust. You were constantly whining, trapped between the velvety feeling of Yoongi’s rolling tongue, which merciless teased your clit, and the harsh, punishing strokes of Hoseok’s cock as he buried himself again and again down your throat.

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t think. The only thing you were capable of at the moment was concentrating hard on not cumming and disappointing your master and oppa. They must have felt that you were close to your breaking point because Yoongi was slowly easing up on teasing you and instead just rubbed your bud in slow steady circles.

“You are such a good girl, puppy. You are so good for us. So good.”

Hoseok mirrored Yoongi’s praises but only in an abbreviated and growled version. His thrusts were getting sloppy and with a long groan he came inside of your mouth. You whined as his salty taste flooded your taste buds and you swallowed, sticking out your tongue again to show him that it was all gone.

“Good girl. You did so well, pup. Fuck.”

Hoseok moaned, his dick still hard, ready to go again and you sniffled, looking up at him with a pleading gaze.

During Hoseok’s orgasm, Yoongi didn’t stop his movements and you were crying softly as your orgasm was ripped from you again. Your boyfriends still paid you no mind and just cooed down at your messy form. You looked so broken and ready to be put back together.

“Okay, okay, baby. No more teasing, I promise.” Yoongi petted your outer thigh and stood up.

“Come here, puppy.” Hoseok held out his hand and you shakily hosted yourself up and into his arms. Your muscles didn’t quite work yet, they felt like jelly, and you had to lean on your lover to stabilize yourself. Yoongi pressed himself to your back and you were now sandwiched between their two bodies.

“You did so good. Are you ready to get fucked now, puppy? Are you ready for your real reward?” You nuzzled your head into Hoseok’s neck and nodded to answer Yoongi’s question.

“Good.”

Yoongi knelt down behind you and gently removed the butt plug from your hole while Hoseok distracted you with sweet kisses. You happily returned the kisses, feeling elevated at the soft caresses of Hoseok. The other man groaned deeply as he saw your hole clench and then a small trickle of Namjoon’s cum escaping you.

“Fuck, baby.” He circled your puckered entrance, capturing some of the white liquid and slowly started to fingerfuck you.

“Hurry up, Yoongi!” Hoseok whined. The other just chuckled lowly, retreating his hand and dipping the other into your messy centre to gather some wetness to lube up his dick.

“You ready, princess?”

“Yes, oppa.” You shakily answered, leaning a little bit more on Hoseok to grant Yoongi easier access. He circled your hole before pushing in, sheading himself inside of you with a deep and rasping moan. You echoed his sound and instinctively clenched tightly around him.

“Fuck…you are so tight even after already getting fucked. You’re doing so good. Such a good girl.” He started kissing up and down your neck, nibbling and biting, leaving dark splotches behind.

Hoseok couldn’t wait any longer as well, he hoisted you up so your weight was against Yoongi, draping your legs over his forearms and slowly pushed into your wet pussy. “Fuck. Yoongi. I can feel you. So good. Ugh.” He panted against your damp skin and just enjoyed the feeling of your warm walls around him.

You whimpered, feeling so full, gravity pulling you down onto them and making the whole experience that more intense. After letting yourself adjust for a few moments, you started to wiggle, squirming in their hold to signal that they should start to move. Instantly they both complied. Skipping any form of foreplay due to the pent-up frustration the three of you felt, they immediately started to fuck you hard and fast.

One pushed in while the other pulled out, creating a rhythm that had your sensitive walls trembling and that had you, thanks to Yoongi’s restless teasing earlier, close to orgasm in no time.

“O…O…Oppa. M…m…master. May I…ngh…may I please cum?” You had a hard time forming any words, but they took pity on you.

“You can cum puppy. You can come as often as you want.” Hoseok rasped into your ear, his pace slightly picking up.

“You’ve been such a good little slut, go ahead. Cum for us.” Yoongi reached around your waist and his nimble fingers found your clit, where he started to deftly play with the sensitive bud.

The added pleasure was the last straw and with their permission you came hard on their cocks. For a moment you felt nothing, but the peak of ecstasy and you felt suspended in time, then everything came crushing down on you and waves of pleasure drowned you. It seemed like you were dissolving into nothing, melting to a puddle on the floor, but their hands, kisses and thrusts kept you grounded, chaining you down and allowing you no escape.

You slowly came back to earth, but even after the intense orgasm, they didn’t slow down and trembles of small aftershocks raced through your body. Yoongi hadn’t let up on the touches of your clit and you whined in overstimulation, just now realizing their praises and gentle touches.

“Good girl. Such a good puppy.”

“You are doing so well. We love you. We love you so much”

“You break so pretty. But don’t worry, doll. We’ve got you.”

You whined again, leaning forward to burry your head, which was resting on Yoongi’s shoulder, in Hoseok’s neck, nibbling and biting there to distract yourself.

“There you go. Welcome back, baby. You think you can handle more?” Hoseok kissed your neck and shared a glance with Yoongi as you weakly nodded. They both started to pick up their pace again, now hammering hard inside you.

Your whines, sobs and moans increased in frequency and were also getting louder. The slapping of skin on skin echoing through the whole room. The two rappers were moaning and groaning, lost in the pleasure and the feeling of your velvety walls wrapped around their cocks. They were getting close; you could tell from them loosing their rhythm from time to time and you were not far behind.

“Gonna…gonna cum, puppy.”

“We’ll fill you up so good. You’re going to be dripping from our seed.”

You moaned at their words and clenched hard around them.

They both groaned and Yoongi emptied himself in your tight ass. He stayed still, shaking with aftershocks and watched Hoseok fucking you with a dazed smile on his face.

“Come on, (Y/N). Be a good girl and come with me.” Hoseok had pushed you back against Yoongi again and was leaning down to bite and suck on your puffy nipples. The added stimulation combined with Yoongi’s touch on your clit was enough for you and you let out a loud wail as you came again, causing Hoseok to cum as well.

The three of you stayed still for a few seconds, panting harshly and trying to get down from your climaxes. Yoongi was the first to move and he carefully pulled out of you, still holding you up so you won’t fall. Hoseok turned you around and laid you gently on the bed, pulling out as well. You whined at the empty feeling, feeling drained of all of your energy.

They just stared at you, laying there, an absolute mess, the ears on your head had slipped up a little bit, cum leaking from both of your holes. You looked absolute divine in their eyes. A small whimper coming from you caught their attention.

“Don’t worry love, we got you.” Yoongi sat down next to you as Hoseok grabbed his discarded shirt and quickly wiped himself down.

“What do you think about a nice bath, yeah?” You and Yoongi nodded in affirmation and Hoseok picked you up bridal style to carry you to the attached bathroom. Arriving there, he sat you down on the edge of the huge bath tube and started removing the collar, cuffs and ears. Yoongi was preparing a bath, adding a sweet-smelling bath bomb and grabbing some fluffy towels.

“There you go. Now, your butt is going to sting a bit, but just work through it. We can apply lotion later, okay?” Hoseok’s voice seemed far away, you weren’t quite there yet after such an intense session, but you found yourself nodding along his words.

The hot water of the bath made you hiss, especially as it reached your tender behind, but you worked yourself through it, the heat relaxing your sore muscles. Yoongi and Hoseok climbed in with you, sandwiching you between them. You leaned into their touch as both of them grabbed a washcloth and started to clean you. As Yoongi reached to clean you between your legs, you flinched away slightly and mewled in pain.

“Don’t worry, love. I’ll be gentle, okay?” Yoongi reached out again and you allowed him to clean you, opening your thighs to grand him access.

You let yourself soak in the water and their warm embraces. Your mind still not quite catching up, so you just concentrate on the feeling of the gentle touches from your lovers. They noticed your still absent mind and softly coaxed you out of the water after they finished cleaning. After drying you off, they applied some lotion to your sore butt to soothe the sting. You sighted and happily wiggled your buttocks towards them. They smiled at your cute antics, finding it adorable that you were still in your pet headspace even after everything they did to you.

The two rappers threw on some clothes and dressed you in some boxers, a long comfy shirt and some fuzzy socks.

“Do you need something baby? Water, a snack, cuddles?” Yoongi smiled at your small form. You only nodded and the two of them chuckled. “Okay, let’s go to the others and see what we can do.” Hoseok hoisted you up again and carried you to the living room.

The others were still cramped in there build blanket fort; the only difference were the pizzas laying around.

“Hey guys.” Hoseok took you to the others and placed you and himself in the middle of the bunch. They all cooed at your adorable little form, you instantly snuggled closer to them and they enveloped you in their warmth.

“So, how was your treat?” Jin grinned as Yoongi came back, a bottle of water and a chocolate bar in his hands. “It was good.” He chuckled and handed you the water and sweets. You quickly grabbed onto the items and chugged down some water, unwrapping the bar.

“Just good?” Taehyung raised an eyebrow at Yoongi, who plopped down, joining the cuddle pile. “It was great, thank you.” Hoseok smirked at the others.

“What did you do? Is she still gone?” Namjoon looked over at your still out of it form and then up at Hobi. “Yeah, we did go pretty hard.” He sheepishly smiled. “But she enjoyed it so it’s all gucci.” Yoongi grinned. “We just need some cuddles, pizza and a movie.”

“Well, we can help with that.”

[krabmeat]

𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜: Wilbur Soot

𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚜: he/him

𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: physical pain descriptions, paranoia, overdose, hospitalization, alarms, descriptions of hallucinations

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎:

this is the 2nd part to my 7 part series of making all of the songs from YCGMA into short stories! this one is for saline solution, hope ya like it! :]

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One, two, three and four

The seconds tick by on the clock in my workroom. The sound sensitive LED border of the clock lights up whenever I cough. I find it hard to breathe, the wheezes between breaths are loud, so I take a puff of my inhaler sitting on my desk next to my pc. It’s been difficult to walk lately, I’ve made a steady recovery but my legs sometimes feel like the pores are being replaced with lead- heavy and cold. Despite this though, I make my way over to my bedroom. My roommate isn’t home yet, despite how late it is. The walls of the hallway echo my footsteps, the pain I’m in not reflecting with the sounds. ‘I need to take my meds…’ My room, surprisingly not as messy as I thought. Clothes here and there, an undone bed, but overall everything is where it should be. My legs shuffle into the bathroom connected to my room, locating my paracetamol and prozac.  Click, click!

I think this time I'm dying

I open the paracetamol with ease, it hypnotizes me. Quickly opening the prozac, my breath becomes jagged- confused. Water flows after the pills, hindering the struggle it would have been, but I feel the same. Panicked and afraid. What's wrong with me? Do I need more? Is there something else? I'm scared, pissed off and lonely- ‘I'm overthinking this.’  But am I? Nonetheless, nothings happening. My legs still feel like hell, and the cold invisible hand is pinching the skin behind my neck, but when I claw at it nothings there. My eyes distantly shift to the pill bottles on the counter. I can feel myself trying to look elsewhere, but my general focus is on the pills. I need more.

I'm not melodramatic

Just 1 more of each should do. Just to be safe. I'm just being safe! 

I'm just pragmatic beyond any reasoning 

Better safe than sorry, right? I take another drink of water and wait for the relief to set in, but it never does. My legs are aching even more and the fact that there's no effects is just making me panic more. What's wrong with me? Why isn't it setting in fast enough-?!

For thinking I've got f*cking rabies or something.

More. I need more. Maybe that's the problem, I'm just not taking a high enough dosage! I look down at each of the bottles, reading the label for the prescription. “Take 2 per day when symptoms arise. Contact your psychiatrist if a higher dosage is needed” ‘I know what I'm doing.’  There's something wrong with me, I can't bother contacting anyone. I need relief now. Out of impulse, I down both of the bottles and drink more water to allow the pills to travel with ease. Then, I just wait. 

I think this time I'm dying

Pain shoots up from my stomach and sprouts to my head like a sapling. The room morphs and shifts and scrunches up like clay. Am I in a dream? I look down at my hands to pinch myself, shaking, blurry and full of vibrant colors.   

I think this time I'm dying.

F*ck. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I think I've lost my mind. 

The world morphs and moves without my eyes permission. My stomach hurts more than my legs do. The reflection in the mirror, a pale, sad and confused blur. The pain isn't going away, it's growing worse and worse. Pins and needles pricking and scraping along the inside of my abdomen, there's millions of them. Every deep breath I take is a dulled stab into my chest. Was the original concern as big as I've made it now?

Blurring the fact and the fictions

Everything is so unreal. Why did I do this again? Where am I? My memory becomes a flickering bulb, dying out from being strained of its power. My concept of time and object permanence is foggy, but that's how I know something is wrong. But what? Am I blowing things out of proportion or is this bigger than a prescription?

While simultaneously fixing myself up with a girl named panadol.

I looked down at the empty paracetamol bottle, I did the right thing- right? My intentions feel like they've been beaten and whipped with a fork, scrambled and confused with each other. But I did what I did, it still hurts though. A pang of regret stabs at my throat for a second, but the desire for relief overrides it.

Bite the tablet, elixir

The elixir! My hands swiftly open the cabinet again, desperate for elixir. I quickly find, it- half a bottle of elixir should do. As quickly as I found the bottle, I downed half of it and quickly drank more freezing cold water from the sink.

Disintegrate, mouths a mixer

That's 3 different types of pills. 3 different remedies! I'll be alright now, right? I should be, but I can't stand steadily anymore. My arms are violently shaking and my legs are about to drop. The sight is horrifying, everything is flickering from absolute darkness to furniture and walls melting like an ice cube. Am I blinking? I can't tell.

I think I've lost my mind

I can't handle this. Am I in mild pain or are things dire? I want the pain I had before, less overwhelming. I have no control anymore. The front door opening and closing shut was barely audible for my ears. “Wil? Sorry I came home so late, I had a client come further into the day.”  My legs give in, and a loud THUMP rumbles through the house as I fall onto the tiled floor of the bathroom. I feel the satisfaction of my eyes rolling into my head as my eyelids stay confused on whether or not to close or to stick open to stay alert. “Wil?! Wilbur are you alright?!”  Her footsteps rush to my room and into the bathroom to see my frail and hurt body on the ground with the pill bottles strewn on the counter.

I think I've lost my mind.

“WILBUR!!”  She rushes to my side and drops to her knees. Her shout was so loud, it made me snap back into the present. After checking my pulse and checking if I'm still breathing, she frantically digs through her coat pocket and dials 999. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If I could just break one more night

I can hear my roommate crying distantly after hanging up and putting away her phone. I don't understand...why do I need an ambulance? I was helping myself, wasn't I? 

Maybe I could wake up and feel alright.

I could have gotten past on my own if she hadn't found me. I would have been just fine. I'm tired, just in general. 

I optimistically set my alarm clock time

I had something to do today? I forgot. I can hear my alarm clock from my bedside table blaring at me, screaming at me to get up. There was a subtle jolt of excitement that shot up my neck, or was it anxiety? Fear? Adrenaline? Denial?

Serves only to mock me with flashing lights.

The sound seems to go on for longer, despite my roommate rushing to turn it off. Its turned off, but I can still hear the sound of it echoing through the room, bouncing into my ears. My hands raise to cover my ears, but the sound just gets louder and louder. I haven't gotten up yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I think I've made my choice

Everything is jumping around slightly, the paramedics in the ambulance looming over me, reaching for tubes and clear pouches. I feel something warm on my right hand, my roommate is sitting there with my hand in hers while trying to keep herself together.  “Don’t worry Wil, they're gonna fix you up and you'll be just fine...!”  She says it like she’s trying to reassure herself more than me- she's more worried about me then I am for myself. One of the paramedics sitting next to her speak up with a clipboard in hand. “You said he overdosed?” “Yes, I came home from work and there was a loud thud from his bathroom. I ran over and he was barely conscious on the floor with pill bottles all around…”

I’m a deceased playing victim

I...I overdosed?  How did I not notice? No no, there was something wrong with me, that's why I took so many! But...was I wrong? I was just scared! I didn’t know that this would happen, its not my fault!

Slip the face, slip the victory.

I can't run away from myself, I’m my own shadow. I was scared. I am scared. This is all my fault. I took the pills, no one forced me to. It was me who did this. But, I’m not too angry with myself. Despite my impulsive actions, I don't hate the situation I've thrown myself into. 

I think I’ve made my choice

If I don't make it out of this, I won't be disappointed. If I do, then that's alright too. I dug myself into this, so don't I deserve to suffer the consequences?

Sit secluded in hatred

I’m such a bother to her, this is the second time she's had to deal with me like this. The hospital probably hates me, but I won't bother to apologize. I meant what I did both this and the last time I was sent there, they shouldn't be helping me. But I’m not suicidal, I insist.

Void the plans friends are making.

I shouldn't have set my alarm. I would have stayed asleep, made things less stressful. Why did I even set my alarm? Nothing special was happening today, I don't have plans with anyone and the only thing I was supposed to do today is work, and that's later in the day. Most of my friends don't even like me that much, they don't invite me to places or acknowledge me so can I even consider them friends? The only person who even tries to pay attention to me is…is…

I think I've found my voice

“I...I’m..-” My roommate quickly looks down at me when she hears me speak. Her eyes show it all, shocked and relieved. Her skin is still puffy and red around her eyes, but she doesn't bother to hide it. “Thank the lord your alright...what were you thinking?!”  She speaks in a hushed tone, intending to not startle or overwhelm me more than I already am. She doesn't deserve this, my paranoia and issues aren't hers. “I’m...I’m sorry..” I hear my voice for the first time in a while, it's gravely and dry. She looks down at me and her features seem to have softened.  “We're almost at the hospital, you're gonna be alright.”

I'm a leech sucking blood bags

I've been living off of her this entire time. My hardships were always nonexistent, weren't they? All of my tolls were never mine to begin with, her generosity is what she replaced it with. And this is what I'm giving her, more and more to deal with. But she doesn't have to, right? It's her choice, it's her fault. I'm not guilty.

Taste defeat, it's a sandbag

As soon as the vehicle stopped, I was urgently rolled out the back and rushed into a hospital room. I can hear the doctors and nurses arguing back and forth rapidly, one after the other.

Saline solution

I hear from the wad of voices.  Hm, so they're desperate as well it seems… My mind decides not to bother with their procedures, instead I just leave it all to them. It won't be on my hands if they fail after all, right? 

Saline solutions to all your

A set of doctors rush into my hospital room while a nurse rolls in a cart filled with who knows what for me. IV tubes are hooked up to a hanging pouch and attached to my arms.

Saline solution to all your

My eyes are squinted from the obnoxiously bright lights scattered in the hospital, the white walls making me develop more of a headache. My head flops to the left, seeing my roommate outside the window in the hallway. She's pacing around frantically with her phone up to her ear. I then turn my head to the right to see a slightly foggy pouch of saline hanging above me, the IV tubes connecting the liquid to my internal damage.

Saline solution to all your…

One of the doctors helps me drink a small amount of the saline solution and then hands me a small trash can. My stomach is crying and screaming in pain and mercy. Tears prick the corners of my eyes from the guttural pain, but it'll be out of my system soon.

Problems. 

[shesclearlya3]

i loved you first p.4

pairing: Xavier Plympton x Reader

word count: 2,332

warnings: violence, language, fluff, oops

part 1 | part 2 |  part 3 | part 4 | epilogue

4.

Your life seemed to flash before your eyes.

Chloe Smith was in tears; her red hair matted while her makeup from the night before smeared under her eyes. You had never seen her look like this. She was always fabulous. You'd admit it now, even knowing she was crazy.

"Chloe..." Xavier said softly, his hands slowly rising as she continued to cry with her eyes on you. Your eyes fell to the gun hanging by her side, her finger fiddling with the gun. She was going to cock it eventually. 

"Sit down!" she shot at you, and you didn't hesitate to take the spot next to Xavier. You realized you should have stayed away from him, but Chloe didn't comment, only raising the gun at the both of you.

"You don't have to do this," Xavier said, his voice hesitant. You knew he was trying not to cry, and you were right there with him. "This isn't worth it."

"You're worth it!" she yelled, pointing her gun directly at him now. "You're worth it, Xavier." she cried, her voice wobbly. You had never heard anything like this in your life. This all had to be a really fucked up dream.

You knew it was probably best to keep your mouth shut. Chloe hated you; you didn't want to push her any farther and risk putting Xavier in any more danger than he already was. 

Your thoughts were overshadowed when Chloe turned her attention back to you, her voice venomous when she asked, "What do you have that I don't?"

I'm not psychotic, clearly.

 You instinctively snickered at that, which was a huge mistake. You watched as Chloe's eyes went dark before moving the gun just inches from your face and fired. 

You and Xavier both yelled; he grabbed you and pulled you down as the bullet whizzed right by, almost hitting your ear. Your heart was now in overdrive as Xavier took this opportunity to rush forward and tackle her to the ground. You screamed as they wrestled, desperately looking for a phone to dial 9-1-1. 

You hoped that a neighbor would call the police. You weren't particularly close with them, but you were friendly enough to keep an eye on one another. You started to cry when you realized your phone was dead, and you didn't know where Xavier's was. 

There was no way you could sit back and watch this unfold. Chloe was screaming, cursing your name as Xavier wrestled the gun away from her. You looked around for something heavy, figuring this could be your Paul Sheldon moment.

You spotted an ugly vase that Xavier's mother had gifted you when you moved in together. It always sat underneath the accent table, collecting dust. You snatched it, looking to see that Xavier was somewhat able to pin down Chloe. But the struggle for the gun was still ensuing. Your ears rang as another shot went off, striking the lamp your grandmother bought you.

The last thing you wanted was to hurt him accidentally. You lunged for the pair, catching Xavier's eye last minute as he fell off her, falling to the ground. You smashed the vase against Chloe's head. A cry escaped your lips when a jagged piece broke the skin of your palm. Chloe shrieked, before falling unconscious. 

You gasped, falling to your knees as Xavier wheezed on the ground. You glanced down at the now bloody head of Chloe, who was still breathing. 

"That fucking bitch!" Xavier snapped, sitting up. You watched as he grabbed the gun, switching on the safety. "We need to call the police."

"I-I couldn't find your phone," you said shakily, stumbling to your feet, your eyes still on her unconscious body. 

Xavier had to dig underneath the cushions, but he found it. There was just enough battery to report the incident, and he stayed on the line as you both moved far away from her, almost sitting on top of each other in the corner. 

Your chest felt like it was on fire. The tears wouldn't stop as you hung onto Xavier, who gently shushed you while he spoke to the operator. You wanted Montana, you wanted Brooke. 

You were so shaken up that the panicked knocking on the door caused you to shriek. The operator on the phone was worried, as Xavier got up to investigate, before letting out a "fuck!"

"XAVIER! Y/N! IT'S ME, IT'S CHET AND MONTANA! OPEN UP!"

Xavier wrenched open the door, explaining to the operator that you were still waiting on the police.

"We already called the police, they're not here yet!?" Montana yelled, rushing past the boys to where you were cowering in the corner. "Chet was outside when he saw Chloe arrive and called them."

She brought you into a hug as you hid your face in her neck, wishing for all of this to stop. You heard Xavier ask why Chet was outside, in which he replied, "Because I'm not dumb, I knew the bitch would be back."

You always adored that Chet was so protective of your friends. You had to smile, feeling your heart lift slightly as Montana held you tightly, shielding your face from Chloe.

It seemed like an eternity when the police and ambulance finally arrived. Ray ended up showing up sometime later while you were outside, claiming that Brooke was stuck at work and wished she could be here. 

You watched with your friends as Chloe was wheeled out on a stretcher; her hands cuffed as they loaded her into the ambulance. Your debacle caused some attention, as concerned neighbors and strangers gathered around. You slowly started to feel better, but the fear of almost being killed kept creeping on you. The paramedics cleaned up your wound and bandaged it.

Because your apartment was now an active crime scene, you and Xavier were forced to room with Montana and Brooke at their residence. You had gathered your things before riding over with Xavier in the back seat; his grip on you was still tight. 

You were pleased when Ray and Chet came over later that night with packed bags. They insisted on the group being together for support. You had hugged your friends more in the past few hours than you have all year. You knew they were as equally scared as you were, while simultaneously trying to ease your stress. 

That night after everyone settled into bed, you were restless. It was well past three in the morning, your boss already notified about what transpired and you needed some time off. Xavier was in the bathroom, almost begging his boss to give him some time, too. 

You waited until he finally came out, visibly lighter as he crawled down next to you, peeking to see if you were awake. The unexpected action caused you to snort, and he smiled at your laugh. 

"I'm sorry if I scared you," he whispered, settling down beside you. "My boss finally cut me some slack for once in his life."

"I think you should just quit, they don't deserve you," you whispered.

"Trust me, I've been telling myself that the day I started," he joked, and you felt hopeful that things could be normal again. "y/n, I just wanted to let you know that you saved our lives today."

You frowned, shaking your head, "You had her pinned to the ground. If anything, you're the hero."

Xavier shook his head, scoffing, "Don't be ridiculous, you knocked the crack-whore out."

You cackled at that, hiding your face in the blankets as Xavier's blue eyes widened, playfully shushing you as Ray snorted in his sleep a few feet away. "Keep it down!"

"Then don't make me laugh!" you seethed, yet your tone was playful. "You should know by now that you make me laugh without trying."

Xavier beamed at that, settling down to lay beside you. He was delighted to hear that, now smiling like an idiot at your compliment. You moved closer, putting your head on his chest as he wrapped an arm around you.

"I don't mean to make light of the situation," Xavier said softly, starting to run his hands through your hair. You closed your eyes in peace. "But I'm glad we were with each other today. I could never live with myself if something happened to you because of me."

"I need you to stop blaming yourself," you scolded. Xavier's face flushed, and he was staring at the ceiling with a hurt expression you couldn't see. "I told this to the others, and I'll say it to you. You didn't know. Montana..." you smiled, "She has a suspicious nature, and she's right ninety percent of the time. Montana had an equal hand in this."

"I should have known, though," Xavier said, frowning. "I was her boyfriend. I was going to move in with her!"

You smirked, "They say you don't really know a person until you live with them. Or something like that."

Xavier finally smiled at you, "Something like that?"

"Yes. That's what my mom said when I told her we were living together."

"Huh," Xavier said, his hands still running through your hair. "Your mom is a wise woman."

"Of course she is, why do you think I'm the way I am, hmm?" you joked.

"I guess that would explain a lot," he said softly. You laid there, your head still on his chest as you listened to the sound of his beating heart. 

In mere seconds he could have been taken away from you. 

You didn't realize your nails dug into his chest until he winced, "Ouch, y/n?"

You gasped, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Xavier." you said, rubbing the spot on his chest where you hurt him. 

"It's alright," he said, before placing his hand over yours. "I'll be here when you wake-up."

You tried to fall asleep then, but images of Chloe holding a gun in your face was a plague. Xavier was still awake, staring at the ceiling as he stroked your hair. He could feel your wildly beating heart, and he wished there was something he could do. 

Xavier was always the strong one of the group. You could always lean on him whenever you needed, even if he was struggling with something himself. But he wanted to save everybody, even though he knew it was impossible. His own past haunted him, and this was just the newest addition. 

The clock slowly ticked towards five in the morning, and you were still unable to find peace. You eventually sat up, Xavier's arm falling to the side as you sighed, rubbing your eyes.

"y/n?" he asked, sitting up beside you. You gave him a weak smile, which he frowned. "Do you need me to call someone?"

You shook your head, "I just think sleep is off the table for us tonight." 

He laughed quietly, looking around the dark room to see Montana hanging partially off the couch. Brooke was right on the floor beneath her, her legs over Ray's stomach, snoring.

"I feel safe with everyone here," you admitted, glancing at Chet, who was curled up with a pillow. "I always felt safe with you guys."

"Me too," he admitted, taking your hand. "I know I've made a lot of bad decisions in my life. I always felt like I wasn't supposed to be here, you know?" Your heart hurt hearing that. "I got myself in so much bad shit, and I guess I still do that. But I'd always find my way back... I had my friends. I have you."

You wiped at your eyes, knowing Xavier hated to see you cry. "You've always had me." you laughed weakly.

"I wish I would have stopped being so stupid-."

"Are you kidding?" you laughed now, a little too loudly, you may add. "You just told me last night you were always flirting with me! You're the clueless one? Please."

Xavier gave you a smirk, and you reached up to pat down his messy hair. His blue eyes were bright in the night, and you knew you'd always be able to get lost in them. 

"Do you think it would be inappropriate if I kissed you?" Xavier asked, tilting his head at you playfully. You blushed deeply, thinking of all the times you dreamed of this happening. 

"I don't want you to feel like you have to rush into anything with me..." you admitted, smiling shyly at him. 

Xavier nodded understandingly, "I normally would say that too. But today was an example that we're not promised anything, y/n. I don't want to waste any more time with you than I've already had."

You couldn't believe this was happening. After a silent agreement, Xavier leaned in, pressing a deep kiss to your lips. It was better than you ever imagined, your hands gently twisting in his hair as his arm slid around your waist, pulling you in tight. Xavier kissed you until you couldn't breathe, pulling away with a satisfied smirk. 

"That was amazing." he grinned, keeping his arm around you as you smiled back. 

"I know, thank you." you joked before you were startled out of your wits when you heard Montana mumble into her pillow, "Oh, thank God they finally kissed."

Your mouth fell open when Brooke tiredly said, "About time!"

"You guys heard them kiss? Gross!" Ray slurred.

"Were you guys listening this entire time!?" Xavier yelled, your shock finally wearing off as you laughed loudly, hiding your head under your blanket.

"Only the last few minutes," Montana said, turning over. "Thank fuck, you guys were driving us all crazy, not dating each other."

"You guys are the worst!" you cried out as Xavier laid beside you, a broad grin on his face. 

"But you love us, y/n," Brooke giggled softly, "Goodnight."

You and Xavier finally fell asleep minutes after your friends fell back asleep. Chet stirred, peeking at you guys from his thick pillow. He smiled before laying back down to sleep.

taglist: some tags still aren’t working :( 

@the-walking-daryl @trichy-knitts @shydragonrider​ @thefandomzoneisdangerous @lemonwhiskers @jetblackpayne @langdonsvcrd @okoktrinity22 @uwonman @stefanmikaleson1864 @sevenwonderwitch @rubbrninja @iamnotjesha @leatherduncan @imshakingandcryingrn @bratzblitz @goblackcat69 @brookethompsonownsme @bookoffracturedescapes @zodiyack @bitchchatter @guiltyfiend @psychobitchtess  @aangrana  @thexmancometh @wtfcas @pleasforhelp @capshoney @agentnightshade44 @frenchlangdon @morganelizabeth-paige-blog @fathoe69333 @infagnito @felicityofbakerstreet @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @arthurismybby @fandoms-allovertheplace @welcometothelioncage @mysteryartisticwriter

[rosieshipper]

Taking care of you

Summary: Rose is always putting others before herself. She does so much for the team and for others too. But when Rose comes home from patrol already exhausted but keeps trying to work, she overworks herself and ends up stressing herself out. Steve, Tony, and Bucky all pitch in to help her relax

Rose staggered into the compound tiredly. She had been on patrol all throughout town for the majority of the day. She was extremely exhausted and just wanted to lay down for a while to get off her aching feet. But that was only wishful thinking in her eyes. The moment she walked into the common room, she ran into Natasha. “Oh Rose, you’re back.” Nat grinned at her. “You think you’re up for a sparring match?” She asked her.

Rose was quiet for a little bit. She was god awfully tired but she didn’t want to turn Nat down. Shaking her head, Rose out on an excited expression. “Sure! I can totally spar with you, Nat.” She grinned at her to which Natasha nodded and headed for the gym. Rose shook her head a little more to wake herself up before following Nat to the gym.

After nearly an hour and a half of sparring, Rose finally left the gym, even more exhausted than before. Her whole body was now aching considering she wasn’t exactly on top of her game and couldn’t really fight against Nat’s quick moves. All Rose wanted to do at this point was go to her room and crawl into bed.

But as Rose was passing by the kitchen, she noticed a bunch of dirty dishes in the sink. At first, she was thinking about just walking by and not giving it a second thought. But she thought that she would be doing something nice by doing the dishes for everyone. Sighing quietly to herself, Rose rolled up her sleeves and walked over to the sink, starting on the large pile of dishes.

A few minutes into her cleaning the dishes, Bucky and Steve came walking into the kitchen. The both of them stopped when they saw Rose at the sink. “Rose? What are you up to?” Steve called as he walked over to her. Rose jumped when she heard his voice and looked back at him. “Oh, it’s you Steve. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. I’m just cleaning up these dishes. I saw that they were piled up in her so I figured that I would do something nice for everyone.” Rose explained tiredly as she set some plates up on a nearby drying rack.

Steve noticed how exhausted Rose sounded and was a little concerned. He then remembered how she was on patrol for a majority of the day. Of course she would be exhausted after all that. “Rose, are you ok?” He asked her, a bit of concern in his voice. “You can take a break and me and Steve can take care of the rest of the dishes for you.” Bucky said as he walked up on her other side. Rose merely shook her head at them. “It’s fine, guys. I’m fine. You two just go along, I can take care of this.” She told them, slapping on the best fake grin she could muster.

Steve and Bucky looked at each other with matching frowns before deciding to listen to her and walking off. Once they were out of Rose’s earshot, they both talked about how exhausted Rose looked and both agreed to bring it up with her father, Tony. After nearly a half an hour later, Rose was finally done with the dishes. As she dried her hands off with a towel, she looked up at a nearby clock. 6:00. Dinner time. Yet another thought crossed over Rose’s mind. She could do a nice thing and cook dinner for everyone. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal and Rose could totally handle it despite how weak she felt. Huffing, Rose grabbed a pan and got started on dinner.

About an hour later, Rose called everyone for dinner and they all soon began filing in and sitting at the large table. Rose went around and served everyone their food. As she did this, Steve, Bucky, and Tony all watched her. They knew full well that she had been overworking herself and should have been resting. Tony also learned that Rose had done an hour and a half of sparring with Nat which wasn’t helping Rose’s case.

As she finished up serving the others, Rose realized that there wasn’t enough to feed herself. She sighed and shrugged it off before going to clean up the dishes she used for cleaning. After everyone was done eating, she offered to clean everyone’s dishes for them, that was when Tony finally stepped in. He told her that he would take over washing dishes for the night and no matter how much Rose protested, he wouldn’t budge.

Giving in, Rose decided it was finally time to head to her room to collapse for the night. But when she got into her room and laid down in her bed, it was almost impossible for her to fall asleep. No matter how much Rose tossed and turned, she just couldn’t fall asleep. This was her breaking point. Sitting up straight, Rose grabbed her pillow and screamed into it, trying to let out all of her frustration. When that didn’t work, she merely chucked it across the room before pulling her knees to her chest and burying her face in her folded arms, quiet tears rolling down her cheeks.

A few moments later, there was a knock at the door. “Rosie? Can we come in?” Rose recognized the voice as Bucky’s considering the nickname. Rose looked up at the door and frantically tried to wipe away her tears before calling for them to come in. Bucky, Steve, and Tony all came into her room and walked over to her. “Hey, kiddo. How are you feeling?” Steve asked softly as he placed a comforting hand on her back. “I’m fine, Steve. Why do you ask?” Rose lied, trying to act like she hadn’t just been crying. But the three men could easily see through the teenager’s lie.

“We know that’s not true, Rose.” Tony told her simply. “We know that you’ve been overworking yourself today. First with the long patrol, then sparring with Nat, then cleaning the dishes and cooking dinner. You should have rested up after you got back home.” Her father explained to her. At this point, tears started filling Rose’s eyes again. She tried to hide them but it had become all too obvious to them.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t cry. Come here.” Bucky said softly before opening his arms to her. Rose didn’t resist climbing into his arms and let him hug her tightly. “I have no time for myself. I feel like if I don’t do nice things for the team, I’ll just be a let down.” Rose explained through her crying. “Munchkin, that is in no way true. You deserve to take a break just as much as everyone else. You’re allowed to say no or let other people do the work when you’re exhausted.” Tony told her gently, reaching out and holding one of her hands.

“It was clear from the moment you came home from patrol that you needed rest, Rose. We get that you wanted to do some nice things for us but it could have waited until you took care of yourself first.” Steve said to her. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to feel like I’m doing some good for others.” Rose whimpered quietly. Bucky reached up and wiped away her tears with his metal hand. “Rosie, you’re a kid. You should be allowed to be a kid and not have to push yourself so hard.” Bucky told her gently.

“But I’m a hero now. I signed up for this. I can’t just stop doing work when there’s work needing to be done.” Rose protested, looking up at the three of them. “That’s when you let others step in and handle it themselves. No one is expecting you to help every problem in the world. You’re allowed to step away and take time for yourself.” Steve explained to her. Rose sniffed quietly and rubbed one of her eyes with a clenched fist. “I guess you’re right.” She muttered quietly.

“That’s it. Now then, enough with all the mopiness. You wanna pull off a miracle and give us a smile to show us that you’re ok?” Tony hummed as he looked at her. Rose tried her best to smile but she couldn’t seem to do it. “Welp fellas, we might need to pull out the big guns for this. Hey Steve, why can’t a nose be 12 inches long?” Tony asked with a smug grin. “Oh no.” Rose said quietly. Dad jokes were always Tony’s go to to try and get Rose laughing. “I don’t know, Tony. Why?” Steve responded. “Because then it would be a foot.” Tony snorted at his own joke.

Rose and Bucky almost simultaneously groaned at the corniness of that joke. “Hold on, I got another one.” Tony snickered before clearing his throat. “How do you make a tissue dance? You put a little boogie into it!” Tony said before wheezing hard at the awful joke. “Dad, you are the only one here who likes these jokes.” Rose deadpanned as she looked at him. Tony gasped in fake offense as he looked back at her. “Alright missy, you wanna go there, then I got another joke for you.” Tony said with a mischievous and playful look in his eyes, making Rose almost regret her words.

“How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh?” He asked her. Rose almost immediately knew where this was going and immediately tried squirming out of Bucky’s lap. But unfortunately, he and Steve seemed to have gotten the memo on where Tony was going with this, so Bucky held her in place. “Ten tickles!” Tony exclaimed before immediately reaching over and tickling Rose’s sides and stomach. Immediately, Rose burst out into happy laughter, a wide grin spreading across her face as she squirmed around in Bucky’s embrace.

“Dad! Stop!” She giggled out as she tried to push his hands away. “Are you gonna apologize for insulting my dad jokes?” Tony asked playfully as he kept on tickling her. “Yes! I’m sorry!” Rose laughed out before eventually calming down when Tony finally stopped. “Well, at least that got you smiling.” Tony hummed with a content grin. “It’s good to see you happy again, kiddo.” Steve smiled warmly, reaching over and ruffling Rose’s hair, making her giggle quietly.

“Thanks guys.” Rose hummed before yawning quietly as tiredness slowly took over her. The three men noticed this and slowly helped her into bed. Tony gently tucked her in and pressed a fatherly kiss to her temple. “Night, munchkin.” He whispered before following Steve and Bucky out of the room, shutting the door behind them. Rose sighed softly in content, a small smile tugging on her lips as she slowly drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

Tags: @astralshipper @aricka-and-her-fictional-others @kittyselfships @nougatships

[thecolorpomegranate]

someday (i’ll make it out of here) [book i, part i]

A/N: This is a fic I have posted on AO3 about Peter Parker. It’s a whumpy fic about Peter getting kidnapped and Tony having to build a weapon to save him while trapped in his lab. 

Warnings: violence, angst, torture, kidnapping, captivity, drugging

Tony Stark is a survivor of horrors. Countless horrors. He’s survived a cold childhood, the simultaneous loss of both of his parents, kidnapping by terrorists, torture, open heart surgery without anesthetic, betrayal by his most trusted business partner, chemical poisoning, post-traumatic stress disorder, Pepper’s kidnapping, the alien attack on New York, his AI’s sadistic rebellion, the near-destruction of the nation of Sokovia, the betrayal of Steve Rogers, a battle with the Winter Soldier, the subsequent collapse of the Avengers… He’s suffered much more than the average person.

 Before now, Tony thought he had intimate knowledge of the dark intricacies of horror.

 But on April 7th, 2018, nearly a year after the Avengers broke up, Tony found out how painfully wrong he was.

  APRIL 6 — 2:11 PM

 “We can’t have ice cream now, honey,” Maggie Paxton reminds her daughter, just as seven-year-old Cassie pouts, sprawling her arms out on the table in protest. “You’ll spoil your dinner for later! We’re eating early tonight.” Ice cream at any time of day is always Scott’s way of lighting up Cassie’s life, but Maggie is firm this time. Cassie will see Scott next weekend; she can eat ice cream nonstop then.

 Jim Paxton taps his stepdaughter’s nose. “C’mon, Cassie, we’re having ramen tonight! You know how much you love ramen!”

 Cassie giggles and tries to catch his hand before it leaves her face. “I love ramen!” she squeals, throwing her hands into the air. “Ramen, ramen, ramen…” She lapses into a sing-song rendition of the word “ramen,” over and over again, spinning around on her stool. “Ramen, ramen, ramen!”

 Jim and Maggie share an amused glance. “I know, honey,” laughs Maggie, “we had it last week, too.”

 “You know what we can do, though?” suggests Jim. He took Friday off to spend with his family, and it has honestly been the best decision he’s made in a while. Spending time with Cassie makes his heart swell; he knows she’s Scott Lang’s daughter, not his, and he knows he’ll never be her true father, but Cassie sees him as this glowing person in her life, and at least he has that. To him, Cassie is every bit his daughter. “Take a trip to the zoo!”

 Cassie spins around again to look at Jim, her eyes wide with anticipation. “Really?”

 “Really, really,” replies Maggie, grinning. “You wanna go?”

 Cassie beams. Both Maggie and Jim know that Cassie loves the zoo more than anything. Seeing the animals always sends her screaming around the place.

 At the sound of the doorbell ringing, Jim gets up from the table to answer the door, and Cassie clambers into Maggie’s lap, throwing her arms around her mother’s neck. “Thank you, thank you!” Maggie can hear Jim speaking to someone at the door; vaguely, she wonders who it is. The mailman, probably. “You think we can see the belugas this time? I wanna see the belugas!”

 Maggie kisses her daughter’s forehead. “Of course we can, honey. What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t let you see the belugas?” She wasn’t sure what belugas were, to be honest; some kind of dolphin? As a thirty-seven year old woman, she should probably know this by know. “Those are like dolphins, right?”

 Cassie looks scandalized. “Mommy, they’re whales!” she exclaims. “They’re white, with big heads, and they can dive up to two thousand feet below the water, that’s what Miss Smith told me!” She continues with all the facts she has about belugas, her new favorite animal.

 At the door, Jim’s voice is loud now, echoing down the hall to the kitchen. “—telling you, we didn’t order a package. You’ve got the wrong—” His voice comes to a strange halt, followed by a massive thump, so startling that even Cassie looks up from her rant about beluga whales.

 “Jim?” Maggie calls out, concerned now; Cassie hops down from her lap. “Are you okay? Do you—”

 As she turns the corner, she sees them: Jim on the floor, red dripping down the side of his face, and two men and a woman crowded around him, each wearing a UPS uniform and wielding a gun.

 Like a rough slap across the face, Maggie’s terror strikes her hard and fast. She shoves Cassie behind her—

 “—there’s the kid! Grab her, quick—”

 —and screams for her to run; her mind screeches, get Cassie out, get her out of here, and she grabs the first thing she sees: Cassie’s tennis racket, and blazing pain tears up her arm, and the handle slips from her fingers. Shot. She’s been shot. She grabs the next item, an expensive, ceramic bowl, from the shelf beside her; as a hand wraps around her wrist, she spins and smashes it against her attacker’s head with an animalistic scream. She scrambles to her feet again, something hot spilling down her forearm, and leaps into the kitchen, heart pounding, searching for her next weapon, anything, leaping for the rack of kitchen knives—

 “Hey!” A heavy blow to her side, and she is on the ground again, coughing and wheezing and praying that Cassie escaped. An arm around her neck, locking her in a stronghold, and then there’s metal against her temple. “Get the fuck up, get up!” Maggie struggles against the person behind her, grabbing a handful of red hair and yanking hard, scraping at skin with her fingernails. “Ow! You fucking bitch!” Hard metal slams against her temple, and Maggie’s brain slips away.

 Blood roars in her ears. Cassie, Cassie, not my little girl! Muffled screaming: “Get the fuck out here, Cassie, or I’ll kill your precious mommy! You want that? You want your mom dead on the floor? I’ll kill this bitch! I’ll kill her, I will! Cassie! Cassie!”

 Maggie clings to the one bit of lucidity she has and cries out, “No, Cassie, don’t—”

 And pain crashes over the side of her head, a torment of black waves, and then nothing.

    APRIL 6 — 4:33 PM

 Another fist slams into Scott’s mouth, and pain blossoms across his jaw. He spits on the ground, a splatter of red, and glares at the man in front of him. “Fuck you,” he says, and he’s surprised by his own profanity. He gave up swearing once he found one-year-old Cassie shouting “Shit!” every time she wanted one of her stuffed toys. But now, after four hours of this angry motherfucker and his brass knuckles, he’s about to snap. He’s trying to stay positive, but the fact that no one even knows he’s gone is really grating on his mind right now. He doesn’t even have a plan to escape; currently, his only plan is to annoy this guy until he breaks.

 The man snarls and launches another fist at him, furious. “You think this is helping anyone, Lang?” he growls. “You wanna be ripped to pieces?”

 Scott can’t remember what this guy’s name is. Max? Mark? “Well, it wasn’t on my schedule, Martin, but I mean, if you’ve got nothing else to do—”

 Another fist, this time to his knee, and Scott gasps with the sudden pain of it. That was more than a punch. He heard something snap. “You and your fucking jokes,” says Probably-Martin. “I’m sick of them. How about I take out your fucking tongue this time, huh? How’d you like that?”

 Scott shrugs, as nonchalantly as one could while tied to a chair and aching from hours of torture. “It’s the twenty-first century, buddy; I’d just get myself one of those Stephen Hawking things, maybe learn some sign langua—ah!”

 Pain surges through his foot, so horrible that he can barely breathe, and Scott screams, his cocky smile dropping from his face. When he finally gathers himself, taking shaky gasps of air, the man smirks, victorious. “Next time I hear another one of your jokes,” snaps Probably-Martin, “I’ll smash your hand instead.”

 Scott bites the inside of his cheek, just to keep himself from crying out again. He doesn’t want to look down at the damage that has been just done to his right foot, but he has to. He takes one glance...and immediately regrets it. The pain of his new injury seems to grow the longer he stares; Probably-Martin stepped on his foot so hard that it looks broken and smashed and wrong; Scott’s hands tighten around the arms of the chair. Stay strong, he reminds himself. Someone will come save you. Hank or Hope or the police or even the Avengers. And then you’ll be okay.

 There’s another man in the room now, one with a brown beard and wild eyes. Bearded-Psycho, Scott dubs him, proud of himself. He smiles weakly, lifting his head to watch Bearded-Psycho and Probably-Martin argue. “I told you not to touch his hands, Mason!” Ah, thinks Scott. Mason. That was the man’s name. “It’s not like we can do this for him! We need those fucking hands!”

 “I didn’t touch his hands!” Mason protests.

 As they argue, Scott lets out a shaky breath. He liked to think of himself as one of those happy-go-lucky, jokester superheroes, like Iron Man or even that Spiderguy from Queens, but right now all he doesn’t feel like a superhero. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he is terrified. He shoves the fear to the back of his head with every ounce of composure he has—if he loses his sense of humor, he’ll lose his mind. Somehow, cracking jokes at his abuser makes it seem less grave in his mind, like he can break free of his bonds at any moment. Humor keeps his hope alive and burning in his chest.

 “And his head!” Bearded-Psycho snarls, and Scott flinches in his bonds. “We need his head!” Shit, he thinks, embarrassed at his involuntary display of fear. The only way to fight back against these guys is to laugh in the face of fear, but here he is, jumping like a little kid watching a horror movie. “Why the fuck would you think it’s a good idea to smash his head around? He’s practically bleeding out of his ears!”

 “Charlie,” Mason attempts, “I didn’t—”

 Bearded-Psycho (or Charlie or whatever his name is) is huge compared to Mason, so when he suddenly grabs the other man and slams his head against the wall—“Shit! Charlie, wait!”—until there’s blood running down his face, he makes it look easy, like beating up a kid.

 Scott doesn’t feel the victory of watching his torturer bleed against the wall; all he feels is the electrifying anticipation of pain spiking through his body. This man, this Bearded-Psycho… He could crush Scott if he wanted to. Scott tries to make himself as small as possible. Any movement he makes will surely turn Charlie’s violent rage onto him. But even as Scott wills his body to stone, Charlie still turns around, wipes his hands on his jeans, and trains his eyes on Scott.

 Fuck. Ready for another blow, probably ten times more painful than Mason’s, Scott winces, tensing his whole body and squeezing his eyes shut. Where will he hit him: his stomach, his legs, his feet?

 A low chuckle greets him instead. “Look, Lang,” says Charlie calmly, as Scott opens his eyes with caution, “we’ve given you chance after chance to agree to our terms.”

 Scott coughs. Yeah, he remembers the terms. It was the first thing that Mason said to him. “Sorry,” says Scott, laughing nervously. “Felonies aren’t on my to-do list, Chuck. No thanks.”

 Charlie’s smile is nerve-wrecking, like Scott’s submission is inevitable, and Scott squirms, uncomfortable. Pain swirls in his foot, and he grits his teeth. Sweat trickles down his back. “If you say so, Lang.” His voice is calm. Too calm. Standing up abruptly, he shouts at Mason, who’s currently on the floor, moaning about his head. “Keep going, Mason. Don’t stop until I come back. And for fuck’s sake, leave his hands and his head.”

 Mason pushes himself into a sitting position and groans a reluctant “fine.” He’s angrier now, fueled by pain as well as frustration, and Scott swallows hard. When Charlie finally leaves the room, Mason growls, “Fuck you, Lang. You see what you did to me?”

 Dread drenching his thoughts, Scott grits his teeth. “I’m pretty sure American Psycho’s the one who busted your head open, ‘cause he’s not the one tied to a chai—”

 Another debilitating punch smashes into his body, this time cracking a rib and splattering across his chest. As Mason rubs his knuckles, Scott struggles for air and prays that someone will save him soon. He doesn’t know how long he can stand this.

  APRIL 6 — 5:01 PM

 As the ringing stops and goes to voicemail, Julia Keene sighs and puts her phone down on the table. It’s the third time that night she’s tried to call Charlie, and still nothing. Although she’s a police officer and he went off the rails years ago, she still loves him more than anything. He always spared time for her, at least for a text or a phone call, every couple of days.

 But Julia hasn’t spoken to Charlie in a month. It’s been too long since she’d talked to him, and she’s worried. Sure, Julia is a thirty-three, twice-married, working mother of two living in Queens, and Charlie is a twenty-eight year old drug addict living on the streets with a couple of prison notches on his belt, but Julia needs to know he is safe. He is her brother. Her baby brother. It was always Julia and Charlie against the world, and even though they split off years ago… She rubs her temples and tries not to think about it too much.

 “You called him again?” says someone behind her. It’s her husband of ten years, Cristian. His dark hair falls over his eyes as he slides into the chair beside her, sliding his hand over her back and rubbing gently.

 Julia falls into his touch, taking his other hand in hers. The kids are at school; Leila, the fourteen-year-old, is at musical rehearsal while Jaime, their eight-year-old, is at baseball practice. Leila is her daughter from her first marriage: she married her high school sweetheart, Damien, straight out of high school and had Leila a year later before discovering that he was a deadbeat drunk with a long history of violence. She met Cristian a couple years after divorcing Damien, and had Jaime two years after that. Now that she has the apple pie, picture-perfect life she’s always wanted (loving husband, healthy children, excellent career), it’s more than painful to lose Charlie.

 Cristian keeps rubbing her back in slow circles. “It’s been weeks,” she sighs. “Weeks, Cristian. And I… I know something bad happened to him. He’s never gone this long without talking to me.”

 Cristian shifts in his chair. “Look at me, mi vida,” he says, voice gentle. “I don’t know too much about your brother, but I do know that he’s a mess. He lives his life from one fix to another.” He squeezes her hand. “I know he loves you, but he’s a slave to his life of drugs and...crime. And it’s not your job to check in on him all the time. He’s an adult, Julia, and he can make his own decisions. And he’s always fine. He’ll be fine.”

 Julia nods into Cristian’s shoulder. “I know, I know, he’ll be fine.”

 Cristian smiles and gives her a quick kiss on the lips. “You okay?”

 She nods again, this time meeting his eyes. She’s still unsure, but at least she feels better about the whole situation. She loves Charlie, but Cristian’s right. He can make his own decisions.

  APRIL 6 — 6:37 PM

 Peter Parker has spent most of the past month in Tony’s lab , working on what they like to call “Project Kevlar,” after the substance that made bulletproof vests. Peter himself came up with the project, recognizing that many of the lower-income families of New York who experienced danger on a daily basis felt helpless to the violence they experienced and couldn’t call the police for help. Police officers often left the most vulnerable of the city’s community—poor, gang-ridden, and homeless citizens—exposed to harm.

 “It’s like what they use on college campuses,” Peter had explained, pride lighting up across his face. “The blue light system, you know?”

 Tony had chuckled lightly. “What do you know about college, kid? You’re only—”

 “I’m sixteen now, Mr. Stark,” Peter had reminded him, “and I’ve been on, like, three college visits! I know what it’s like!”

 The mayor of New York gave Stark Industries explicit permission to implement the system in the city; it was simple but brilliant, really. They would place tiny alert buttons all over the city in public areas, each fitted to survive any weather conditions, and people could press the alert buttons to call for help.

 Currently, they’re working together on a vital part of the system: the GSS, or the gunfire sensory system that could would automatically alarm them if a gun was used within the immediate vicinity of the alarm button. Tony is sprawled out on the couch, typing furiously on his laptop, as Peter bends over the worktable, a soldering iron in one hand and a circuit board in the other. To the left of Peter, a record player screeches ‘Killer Queen’ as the dark-haired boy nods his head to the beat.

 Glancing away from his screen, Tony frowns, temporarily halting his humming. “Peter!”

 The dark-haired boy’s hands jerks at the sudden noise. “Geez, Mr. Stark, a little warning next time!” A huff of frustration escapes him. “Now, I gotta solder that all over again.”

 Tony throws a pair of goggles at him in response.

 “Hey!” Peter protests, catching them only inches from his face.

 “You know what I said, kiddo,” Tony announces. “Rule Number One: No Soldering Without Goggles.”

 “I thought Rule Number One was No One Touches My Records,” Peter shoots back, chucking a pen at the older man. “And, by the way, if I hear another Queen song come on, I’m literally gonna throw that thing out the window.”

 Tony sits up straight, mouth open in mock surprise. “How dare you! Queen is the best! Queen is… It’s the greatest band to ever walk the planet!”

 Peter rolls his eyes. “You know, Mr. Stark, sometimes I forget how old you are! Listen to some AJR or something, come on!” But nonetheless, Peter slides the goggles on his face.

 Before he can grab the soldering iron again, however, Pepper pokes her head into the lab, knocking gently on the glass. “Tony? We’ve gotta get going soon, we—” Her eyes land on the teenager perched at her fiancé’s worktable. “Oh, Peter! I didn’t know you were here.”

 “Yeah, sorry,” Peter stammers. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your night, Ms. Potts.”

 Pepper laughs, sitting down on the couch next to Tony. “That’s totally fine, Peter. You know you’re welcome here anytime.” Closing Tony’s laptop with one manicured hand (he protests with an irritated “hey!”), she turns back to the teenager. “You do know it’s a Friday night, don’t you? Shouldn’t you be out with your friends?”

 Peter scratches the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “Yeah… It’s just I had this new idea for Project Kevlar, and I asked Mr. Stark, and he said it was okay, and…” He glances nervously at Tony. “Sorry. I’ll be gone in a few minutes, Ms. Potts.”

 Pepper smiles gently at him. “You know you can call me Pepper; I’m not that old.”

 Peter shrugs awkwardly. “The only adult I call by their first name is May! She’d kill me if I ever called Mr. Stark” —he cringed— “Tony.”

 Tony chuckles, throwing his arm across the back of the couch. “Well, we’ll work on that one, kiddo.”

 Pepper clicks her tongue. “As much as I’d love to watch you waste your childhood in Tony’s lab,” she tells Peter, giving him a playful look, “Tony and I have somewhere we need to be.”

 “Where?” chorus Peter and Tony.

 Pepper gives Tony the stern I-told-you-this-months-ago look that she always uses. “The charity gala? It’s for the Yemeni Women’s Union.”

 “Ah, right… the charity thing.” He pouts. “Do we have to go?”

 “Yes!”

 Pepper tosses his tie in his lap as Peter scrambles to stuff his supplies back into his backpack. “Sorry again, Ms. Potts! Have fun at the gala, Mr. Stark!”

 “It’s Tony, kid!” he declares, just as the spider-kid jumps to the door.

 Peter gives him a mischievous smile, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “Bye, Mr. Stark.”

 Pepper’s still laughing to herself when the door closes behind the kid.

  APRIL 6 — 7:09 PM

 Sometimes, Charlie’s guilt aches like an old gunshot wound, sending painful spikes of regret spilling down his throat. Sometimes, his plan feels like shame, not pride, so he has to force himself to continue, one foot in front of the other. It’s in those moments when he needs his fix the most: angel dust, most days, sometimes with a spike of something else.

 He pops a couple pills in his mouth and swallows hard. His sister once told him that taking drugs like this means he loses control over his body, that he relinquishes his throne to the drug instead of his brain, but what the hell does she know? Charlie is more in control than he’d ever been.

 Charlie feels a warm buzz crackle through his bones, a familiar sensation, as the pill he’d just taken finally starts to work. Charlie lets out a relieved sigh, laughing a little. Everything seems to come back into focus: the plan, the future, the people… He knows. He knows.

 Renee, his wife, will be back in a few minutes with the one thing they need to force that asshole Scott Lang to do what they wanted. And once they have Scott under their control, everything will fall into place, like dominoes.

 From the other side of their base, he hears the door creak open, followed by the sound of a child crying and a woman yelling. “Charlie? Charlie!”

 When he stands up, he staggers a little, but he quickly recovers, moving to meet Renee and the rest of them at the entrance to the base.

 Renee has the girl by her waist as she squirms, crying through her gag and wiggling her bound wrists. “Sorry I’m late,” she says. “Traffic was terrible.”

 Charlie grins. Finally. “You got her!”

 “Yep,” she says. “Those motherfucking parents were a pain in my ass, but I still got her. Any luck with Lang?”

 He shakes his head as the little girl lets out a pained wail. “He just cracks jokes and refuses to help us.”

 Renee smirks and shoves the girl to her feet. “Walk, kid. Walk.”

 Now that Charlie has a good look at the kid, she looks a lot like Lang. Scott Lang’s Asian features are prevalent in the kid’s hair and face, and that defiant look in her eyes had to come from him. Her dark hair hangs scraggly around her head, and her face is red and swollen with tears. It hits Charlie, all at once, how young she is: probably six or seven years old. Her face is so full, her eyes so big, her body so tiny… He shakes his head. It doesn’t matter how young she is. They need to get Scott Lang on board, and Cassie Paxton, or Lang or whatever the hell her name is, is their ticket.

 He leads Renee to what they’re starting to call the Room, the place where the whole show’s gonna happen. It’s a small space: ten feet wide and ten feet long, with a metal chair bolted into the center. On one side is a sink and a toilet, and the other has a folding table of various weapons and other materials.

 Currently, Scott Lang is strapped to the chair in the center, his head hung low, murmuring to himself. Mason is taking another swing for Scott’s knee when Renee yells, “Hey, we’ve got her!”

 The back of the chair is facing them, so when Scott lifts his head to the sound of voices, he can’t see Charlie, Renee, or Cassie. But Mason can. His shoulders slump in relief as Renee shoves the kid into the Room. “Finally!”

 Lang’s looking terrible: his bruised face has swollen and darkened, his legs are damaged beyond repair, and it looks like at one point he pissed himself. Yet still he manages to conjure a shaky, Tony Stark-worthy grin and croak, “What’s next, fellas? The Iron Maiden?” in Charlie’s general direction.

 “No,” snaps Renee, and yanks the kid before Lang’s eyes. “She’s next.”

 It’s mesmerizing how quickly Lang’s grin melts; he goes pale, glancing from Cassie’s terrified face to Charlie’s victorious one. “No,” he manages, “no, no, no, no…”

 “Take her,” Charlie says, nodding to Renee and Mason. Lang’s still gasping “no,” over and over again, like a broken record, as though the fact that his seven-year-old daughter is actually in front of him has just struck him. Just as Cassie leaps for her dad, Mason grabs her by the back of her hoodie, pulling her back before she can touch him. “I’ll stay with Lang.”

 Scott Lang’s shaking his head now, frantic, his arms fighting maniacally against his bonds. “No, no! Please, no, she’s just a kid, leave her alone, please—please, you can’t, please, you wouldn’t—”

 Charlie hits him across the face so hard that his hand stings after the blow; a buzzing feeling goes through him, something like electric triumph, upon seeing Lang like this. Scott Lang is broken now, begging for mercy, after hours of torture, and all it took was one scared scream from the kid.

 “—p-please, I’m begging you, I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt her—”

 “Shut up!” Charlie picks up Mason’s hammer as a warning. “One more word out of you, and this is going straight through your skull, understand?” Now, he understands why Mason is so frustrated. Lang talks too much.

 Lang trembles and tries not to make another sound. An odd, sickly silence follows, in which Lang shifts in his chair. Soaked in blood and urine, his pants squelch against the wood as he cranes his neck to try to see Cassie. His breathing transforms from pained groans to fearful, shallow panting, his fingers white-knuckled against the arms of the chair.

 Then it comes: a little girl’s blood-curdling scream, wet and painful and horrible, so Lang goes berserk, thrashing in his chair like a madman, words spilling from his mouth: “No, no—I’ll do whatever you want me to, please, oh, God, please, leave her be—Cassie! Cassie! Oh, fucking God, fuck, please, no, leave her, take me instead, I’ll do it, I'll do anything, anything, just leave her alone—Cassie, Cassie, Cassie!”

 Charlie watches it continue for ten seconds, thirty seconds, a minute, until finally, the screaming dies down and Lang, reduced to a sobbing mess, cries, “I’ll do it. I p-promise you, I’ll d-do it!”

 Charlie’s shoulders relax a little. “Good,” he says calmly. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  APRIL 6 — 7:42 PM

 “On the way back,” May Parker announces, “you’re driving, you little liar!” She’s driving with one hand on the wheel, the other dabbing on lipstick. At a sudden bump in the road, the tube misses her mouth, smearing pink on her chin, and she swears loudly.

 “I didn’t lie!” Peter whines back, stretching his legs out. “I am tired!”

 May wipes at her chin with the back of her hand, trying to make the pink go away. “You haven’t gone on patrol today, Peter!” Realizing she missed their turn, she makes a screeching U-turn before facing her nephew again. “How are you tired?”

 Okay, so maybe he’s squeezing the truth a little. Sure, he only hung out at Tony’s after school instead of patrolling like he said, but he hates driving. It sets his teeth on edge. When he drives a car, everything is a possible danger, and whenever he’s nervous like that, his Spidey Sense (or, as May likes to call it, his Peter tingle) goes insane. “School,” he claims, picking at his cuticles. “I had a calc test today; it sucked the life right out of my body!”

 May rolls her eyes as she pulls up to a stoplight. “Sure it did, kiddo. But you’re still driving on the way back. I’m gonna have some wine tonight, and no scaredy-cat teenage boy’s gonna tell me that I have to drive him home. You’re the designated driver tonight, Petey.”

 He slaps her arm. “May! Don’t call me that.”

 “What? You let Tony call you that—hey! Don’t change the music! That was a good song!”

 “It was Bruce Springsteen!”

 “Exactly!”

 Peter groans in protest. “No, please, don’t make me go back! I can’t survive another Springsteen song!”

 May gives him a devilish grin and changes the radio station back to its original song.

 “No! You skipped Say Something!”

 “My car, my rules, Peter—what’d I say? Don’t touch the radio—”

 “But it’s Justin Timberlake’s best song!”

 “I don’t care! Driver picks the music—”

 Fire races up Peter’s neck, flooding his system: danger. He jerks his head to the left, blinding white headlights— “May, look out!”

 He throws his arm out to protect her, because there’s no fucking way she can react fast enough to move the car out of the way, and then everything is—

 —chaos and spinning and jolting, pain splitting up his left arm, jerking around, his skull smashing against cold glass, screeching and whining, until finally—

 —tentative stillness, the car’s unbalanced rocking, and warmth trickling down (up?) his arm; his head whirs, dotted with pain, and it takes him a moment to realize that the unnatural heaviness of his head and the pull on his joints means he is upside down. The car is flipped upside down.

 Peter opens his eyes and fumbles for his seatbelt, his heart pattering in his chest. He turns—Aunt May. She hangs in her seatbelt like a broken arm in a sling: there is red everywhere. He chokes on his shock (one, two, three, get up, get out, you have to do something) and then calls her name: “May? May! May!”

 A click on his right side; the door swings open, and he nearly sobs in relief. “Help her,” he gasps. “Get her, she’s bleeding, help, ple—”

 Someone yanks him roughly from the car, and as he hits the ground he realizes: something is wrong. His Spidey-senses are a whirlwind of panic, and he glances up at the figure above him to realize that this is not a rescue attempt. Just as the man’s arm swings down, something thin clenched in his fist, he recognizes—this is an attack, and rolls hard to the right, away from the car. But he’s not fast enough—his head still rings from the impact and his left arm hangs limply at his side, so Peter’s not at his prime right now. So the object plunges into his arm instead of his chest, which he automatically thinks is a win...until he knocks it away and realizes it wasn’t a knife. It was a syringe. What the fuck? His body feels a little heavy, like he’s covered in wet cloth, but he still manages to shake off the strange feeling and keep going.

 Get up, Spiderman! he thinks, and then he’s on his feet again, dodging and punching and twisting and hitting until finally there’s four masked figures on the ground, unconscious or wishing they were. He doesn’t have time to quip or crack a smile; he barely has time to check himself for injuries as he rushes to Aunt May’s side of the car, flinging the door open. She’s still unconscious, upside down, her hair lolling back and forth with the rocking of the car. As he reaches for her, checking her pulse, his mind spins as the strangeness in his limbs worsens; his fingers press against May’s neck, and the faint flutter of a heartbeat he feels there sends hope scattering through his chest. Who are these people? They’re dressed like fucking villains: matching black, armored suits and facemasks. Matching weapons, even—massive guns and black-handled knives that they tried to use on Peter. Not including the syringe, and God knows why—

 Something pricks in his back, and Peter whirls back around to see another masked man holding an empty syringe. Numbness creeps up his feet, oddly cold, and Peter trips over himself as he swings his fists at the man; his body feels wrong, heavy, yet still he keeps fighting. This isn’t just a mugging in an alley—this is Aunt May’s life in his hands. Minute pain tickles his arm, and then ice creeps over his arms, spreading over his skin. Where the hell did that come from? There must be another one—he counted only five of them. Fuck. He knows the feeling by now—sickly sweet, numbing sensations ripple through his muscles. Peter turns around—his head is cotton candy, yanked apart piece by piece, and he tries to punch his new attacker, but he keeps missing. How? Spiderman doesn’t miss, he thinks vaguely, as the icy cold reaches into his brain and squeezes. Spiderman doesn’t…

 He’s on the ground now, his face pressed against grass, and his limbs flop uselessly at his sides. “Why the fuck did it take so many doses?” snaps an angry voice, just as the paralysis climbs up Peter’s jaw.

 “I… I don’t know,” admits the second. “Let’s just get this over with, okay?”

 “We gotta take care of her first, Dave.” Peter’s breath halts, slanting in his throat. Her could only mean one person: May. “We can’t afford to get caught.”

 A beat. “Take care...of her? I’m no killer, you ass. I may be helping you, but I’m not killing her. She didn’t do anything.”

 An irritated groan. “She wasn’t supposed to be here. It was just supposed to be the Spider guy—”

 “Just leave her, Jack. She’s gonna die before anyone finds her, anyway. Just look at her.”

 A horrible silence, as Peter awaits their decision. To them, it’s a matter of getting caught, but to Peter, they’re threatening his entire world. May is all he has left—frantic desperation rips up his spine, and he uses all the will he has left to try to move again, but nothing happens. Come on, Spiderman! Come on! Peter couldn’t save Uncle Ben, but he has to save May, he has to— “Fuck, fuck, fucking fine, let’s go. Grab him.”

 There’s a moment of strained relief followed by shuffling as Peter tries to move his arms, jerking his heavy arms in the voices’ direction. “Fuck! He’s still awake!”

 A sharp pain in his neck, a bloody fist, and then blissful darkness.

  APRIL 6 — 8:02 PM

 Maggie’s eyes are sticky, like she’s been asleep for a dozen years. Cold, stiff sheets. Aching pain. A voice calling her name.

 She squints up at a green-clothed man in front of her; he’s the one saying her name. “Blink if you can hear me, Mrs. Paxton.”

 She blinks, confused. “What… What happened?”

 He frowns. “You sustained several severe blows to the head. What’s the last thing you remember?”

 “I…” She takes a moment. She remembers going out to breakfast with Jim in the morning, picking up Cassie from kindergarten—

 Cassie. She scrabbles at the blankets; her right arm is useless, bound in thick bandages, so she pushes herself up with her other hand. “Cassie!” It all rushes back to her: Jim unconscious on the floor, the attack, the gunshot, the wild realization that they wanted Cassie— “Oh, God—where is she?”

 The nurse gulps and clasps his hands together tightly. “I’m not authorized to—”

 She’s never felt terror like this before—it’s horrible and electrifying, whipping up a frenzy of needles inside of her chest. She swings her good arm forward and grabs him by the collar; he winces. “Tell where my daughter is, asshole!” Pain ripples over her torso.

 He looks like an ant beneath a microscope, squirming beneath the intense heat of her eyes. “They took her, ma’am,” he confesses, and her grip on his scrubs loosens. “The police went after them, but it’d been too long. They were already gone by the time the neighbors called 911.”

 They took her. They took her. They took her. Maggie’s brain won’t function. “But how—” She chokes on her words. “No, no, no…” She grabs at her hair, and pained dread pangs in her neck, leaking down into her heart. “No, God, no…” Nightmarish thoughts peel at her head and spear behind her eyes, and anguished nausea swirls in her stomach. She wraps her arms around her belly, clawing at the bandages there.

 “Mrs. Paxton, the police are doing everything they can. They’ve already sent out an Amber Alert, and they’ve alerted all the nearby hospitals to any children matching your daughter’s description.” He looks uncomfortable, even guilty, and he backs away from her hospital bed. “I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Paxton. So, so sorry.”

 Maggie can barely hear him leave; her daughter, her baby, her Cassie… Horror wracks her mind, darkness pries at her mind—her seven-year-old, her baby girl, scared and hurt and crying for her—and she presses a shaking hand to her distressed mouth, trying to keep all her horrified thoughts pinned inside of her.

 There’s nothing worse than this, the absence of Cassie at her side, knowing that gruesome, unspeakable things could be happening to her at any moment; Maggie cries into her hands, sobbing. Cassie…

 The doctor comes about an hour later to trade places with the nurse; she’s antsy, constantly shifting from foot to foot as she speaks, like the elephant in the room of Cassie’s kidnapping can just be ignored. After several choked-out apologies, she explains most of the medical implications of the attack in an apologetic stammer, telling her has several broken ribs, a gunshot wound to the forearm—“Just a graze, ma’am, you got lucky,” she says—and a minor concussion. “We stitched up that cut in your forehead,” the doctor says carefully. “But you have take it easy for now.” Maggie wraps her arms around herself. “We’ll keep you overnight for observation, but after that we’ll give you medicine to take home…”

 Everything after that is blurry, shadowed by the knowledge that Cassie has been kidnapped. She visits Jim’s hospital room; he wakes up a couple hours after her, but he doesn’t remember anything before the night prior. “What’s wrong?” Jim asks. He’s still got that hopeful look in his eyes. “Why do you look so…”

 Maggie knows the word he is trying not to say. Devastated. Like her entire world has been ripped away from her fingertips. “She’s gone,” she croaks. “They took Cassie.”

  APRIL 6 — 8:29 PM

 The doorbell rings for a second time, and finally Julia, sprawled across the couch next to Cristian, lets out annoyed groan.

 “Not it,” her husband chirps.

 “Honey, you can’t do ‘not it’ with two people! It doesn’t work!”

 He shrugs and snuggles deeper into the couch. “Nose goes,” he says, tapping his nose.

 “Same rules, Cristian!”

 He only laughs, so finally Julia relents. “Lazy ass,” she complains, swatting his thigh as she gets up. “You’re getting up next time.”

 She heads to the door; the occasional ringing has now evolved into frantic banging. “I’m coming, I’m coming!” she calls out, mildly irritated. It’s probably one of their neighbors asking about a lost pet. That kid next door can never keep track of his toy poodle. She peers through the peephole first.

 Instead of a mailman or a neighbor, she finds a tall, black teen, probably eighteen or nineteen. She knows him well—as a police officer, she has frequent run-ins with this one: Ty. He isn’t dangerous, just a drug addict like her brother. He looks odd—not sober, just odd—like he’s about to vomit all over her front porch. She cracks the door open. “If you’re gonna puke,” she warns him, “do it in the grass.”

 He shakes his head. “No—I gotta—I’m not sick—I gotta tell you somethin’, miss, somethin’ important—real important, miss—” He rubs his already messy dreads into a chaotic pile. “Can I—can I come in?”

 Briefly, Julia thinks of her children. Ty isn’t dangerous, she reminds herself, and she’ll be with him the whole time. After they instruct the kids to stay in the basement while they talk, they sit Ty down at the kitchen table—Cristian and Julia on one side, Ty on the other. He’s nervous, but assures then repeatedly that he’s unarmed. “I don’t wanna hurt nobody,” he says, “promise, miss.”

 She wants to say something to him, something like “I know” or “It’s okay” to calm his anxious nerves, but she can’t do it. He is too young, too unstable, too terrified, and it puts her on edge, like someone’s father will come sprawling in at any moment drenched in drunken rage.

 “They’re gone,” he says finally, after a century of painful silence. “Charlie, RJ, everybody.”

 Julia and Cristian share a concerned glance. “What?”

 He explains what happened in shaky sentences; Charlie, Julia’s brother, had been Ty’s dealer for the past few months. “None of the hard shit,” he promises her. Charlie and Ty met once or twice a week, and Ty often hung around Charlie’s crew—a group of drug addicts who were so far gone that Ty’d never once met them lucid, let alone sober. They were always on something, whether it was coke, dope, speed, or dust. “An’ I know they didn’ always do good, but they was good, promise. They kept talkin’ about how they was gonna change the world, make it a better place…” He trails off. He tells Julia that a couple of weeks ago, Charlie had missed their weekly meetup without any warning. Originally, he dismissed it as Charlie being too high to deal that day, but when he tried to get into contact with some of Charlie’s guys to see if they would deal to him, they were gone, too. He checked with everyone in Charlie’s tight circle of drug addicts; they’d all vanished. “Last time I saw them, their place was some abandoned, creepy-ass dungeon or some shit, fuckin’ snakes on the walls…” But when he tried to find them, he explains, the place was empty. They were gone.

 Finally, Ty sighs. “I didn’ know where to go, miss. I can’t trust none of those cops but you. Anybody else woulda put me in jail, and I can’t go back there. I’m just scared ‘cause these are my people, you know? And they ain’t done nothing wrong, but I think somethin’ happened to ‘em.” He stares emptily at Julia. “Somethin’ bad.”

  APRIL 6 — 9:05 PM

 Cassie is cold. So, so cold. She’s never been hurt like this before. Not when she tripped in soccer and sprained her ankle, not when Jim accidentally hit her in the face with a softball, and not even when her grandma died a year ago. At least then, she had Daddy or Mommy or Jim with her.

 Now, it’s just Cassie. Cassie, the toilet, and the weird scratches in the walls. It’s a tiny room with gray walls, gray floor, and a gray ceiling. There’s a toilet and a sink in the corner, but nothing else. No bed, no chair, no table. The door is gray, too, reinforced with metal bolts, and only a slit, almost a rectangular hole, in the center of the door signifies that there’s any outside at all. She’s all alone, in this tiny room, and there’s blood all over her arm and she’s scared. She doesn’t want to remember that the Red-Hair Lady grabbed Mommy and smashed her head against the wall. She doesn’t want to remember that Red-Hair Lady took her knife and cut her arms open. She doesn’t want to remember any of this.

 But when it’s just Cassie, all alone, all she has is her thoughts, and she can’t help but remember how much it hurt.

 She whimpers and draws her knees to her chest, pulling at the sticky, bloodstained sleeves of her hoodie. She doesn’t like this. She wants Mommy and Daddy and Jim… She wants Jim to hug her and cook her some ramen. She wants Mommy to rock her and read her a bedtime story. She wants Daddy to sing her favorite song…

 Daddy. She remembers seeing his face before Red-Hair Lady took her away, before the hurt— She squeezes her eyes shut. She remembers that he was tied to a chair, that he was scared and he looked like he was hurting a lot. And when he saw Cassie, it was like his whole world had fallen apart. She’s never seen him like that before, and now she’s more scared than ever before. She starts to cry, sobbing into her knees; she wants Daddy, she wants Daddy, she wants Daddy!

 Red-Hair Lady and Big-Man locked her in here. When she cried and begged for them to let her go, Red-Hair Lady grabbed her by the throat and threatened to cut her tongue out unless she shut up. Cassie reaches into her mouth and touches her tongue, just to reassure herself that it’s still there. She can still remember Red-Hair Lady and the terrifying fury of her words.

 She knows Daddy will come for her. He has to. He always promised that he’d keep her safe, no matter what happened. She believes in him. Maybe he can turn into Ant-Man and slip free! Then he can come save her. She nods to herself. Yes, Daddy will come save her. He is brave and strong, and whenever she’s in trouble, he is there—

 A loud beep and then the locked door before her clicks open. Cassie perks up, her sob caught in her throat. “Daddy?”

 A snort of laughter is her reply. “Don’t you wish, cutie.”

 Cassie shakes in her fear. It’s the Red-Hair Lady and Big-Man, and they look mad. “No, n-n-no! I d-do-don’t wanna go, p-please!” She is crying again, so hard that she can’t control it. “I wanna go home!”

 Red-Hair Lady leans down to meet her face-to-face. “You’re not going home for a long time, cutie. So get used to it.”

 Cassie cries harder—“I wanna go ho-home!”—and Red-Hair Lady slaps her.

 She’s never been slapped before, and it’s startling, a violation of everything she’s ever known. She can still feel Red-Hair Lady’s hand on her cheek, a ghost of the blow. “Shut up,” snaps the woman. “Don’t be a fucking baby.” As Big-Man grabs her by the waist and slings her under his arm, kicking and wailing, Red-Hair Lady storms out of the room. “Charlie!” she shouts. “Lang’s taking too fucking long!”

 Cassie can hear broken protests from the far end of the hallway. Once, she thinks she can hear her name among the desperate words.

 The tall, bearded man is now talking feverishly to Red-Hair Lady. “He says he’s going as fast as he can, Renee. Mason, put the kid down.”

 Big-Man shifts nervously, glancing at Red-Hair Lady. “As fast as he can?” Red-Hair Lady scowls. “Bullshit! At this rate, it’ll be days before he’s done. We need this, and we need it now. Lang just needs a little motivation, that’s all. Something to get those fucking fingers moving.”

 The other man hesitates. “Fine,” he says. “As long as Lang does his job.”

 Renee smirks. “I’ll make sure he does.”

 Cassie’s not stupid; she knows that they’re talking about Daddy. “I want Daddy!” she wails. She knows he’s here, somewhere, and the combination of the cuts on her arms, the swelling in her face, and the Red-Hair Lady’s presence has made her frantic and desperate. “Please, please, I’ll be—”

 When Red-Hair Lady whirls around this time, Cassie stops abruptly, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to squirm away from the oncoming blow. But she’s still not prepared enough. Red-Hair Lady’s palm hits her in the face, and pain sparks behind her eyes. “What’d I tell you?” She yanks Cassie from Big-Man’s arms, sending her sprawling on the ground. “Hey! Look at me!”

 Cassie doesn’t want to look at her, she doesn’t want to look, she doesn’t want to—

 Another slap, this time on the other side of her face. “Look at me!”

 Cassie pries her terrified eyes open, every bone in her body vibrating in alarm.

 “You don’t talk unless I say so, got it?” Her red hair swishes as she talks. “Got it?” Her voice is dangerous now, like quicksand, and Cassie nods furiously. “Good.”

 She drags Cassie to the bad room, the bad room—not the bad room, no, no—and straps her to the table—the bad table, the bad table, not the bad table, she doesn’t want to hurt again—

 There’s fingers at her arm, yanking up her sleeve, wiping the crease of her inner arm with something cold. Cassie is cold, so cold, and she shuts her eyes, crying silently and hiccuping. “Don’t move,” instructs Red-Hair Lady, and then there’s a prick in her arm.

 “Ow!” Suddenly, there’s what feels like fire spreading over her skin, lighting her up and tearing her apart.

 Cassie can hear something, something high-pitched and horrible and bad—she wants the bad to stop, it hurts so much, but it’s all she can feel and it’s swallowing her up—

 Her throat is raw—she’s screaming, screaming, screaming for anyone, anything to help her.

 But no one comes.

  APRIL 6 — 10:11 PM

 “Holy shit, Chlo, pull over!”

 Chloe Tanner jerks his head to the right, where her boyfriend, John, is pointing. “What?” Then she sees it: a car upside down, a mess of crumpled metal and red-spattered earth. “Oh, shit!” She yanks her car to the right, parking abruptly a few hundred feet away from the crash. There’s no police cars near it, or any people standing beside the car. What the hell happened here? Someone has to do something. What if there’s someone in there? John and Chloe rush out of the car. Shattered glass crunches beneath Chloe’s sneakers as she and John approach the vehicle. “Hello?” John announces, and Chloe runs to the front door.

 There’s a dark-haired woman inside, blood spreading across the front of her lavender blouse, hung upside down by her seatbelt. Her face is startlingly flushed, probably from all the blood settling in her head, and her head dangles limply as Chloe opens the car door. “Shit, shit! John, call 911!”

 John slams his fingers into his phone, almost frantic. “Um—he-hello? There’s a car crash here—a lady’s i-in the front…” He steps over the scattered glass to stare at the woman.

 As he talks to the 911 operator, Chloe presses her fingers to the woman’s neck. A faint, fluttering pulse meets her fingers, but that’s all she needs. “She’s still alive!” she shouts. “What do we do?”

 John puts the phone on speaker and describes the physical state of the woman, stuttering out that she is upside down and he doesn’t know if they should move her. “Don’t move her,” instructs the operator. “Find the source of the bleeding, if you can, and put pressure on it until we can get to you. It should only be a few minutes. Keep checking her breathing and her heart rate, okay? If it stops, I’ll need you to perform CPR on her. Do you know how?”

 Already pressing her scarf to the woman’s slashed thigh, Chloe stammers, “Ye-yeah, I know how.”

 Those few minutes seem like hours as Chloe keeps pressure on the gashes and John checks her heartbeat. Finally, the ambulance arrives and four paramedics in matching uniform pour out, walking firmly towards them with a stretcher and medical supplies. “We’ll take it from here,” says one, just as they reach the woman.

 Chloe reaches for John’s hand and grips it tightly, backing away from her. They ride with her to the hospital, where the police interrogate them about what happened, but neither of them know enough to further the investigation. “We didn’t see anything,” Chloe assures the first officer, a woman with a blonde ponytail named Officer Bone. “Just found her, that’s all. I think it’d already been here a while by the time we got here.”

 Officer Bone nods, scribbling something down. “Well, we’re really grateful you found her. If you hadn’t, she could just as easily be dead.”

 Chloe gulps. If she hadn’t pulled over the car… If they hadn’t done anything… If John had been asleep… This horrible realization washes over her: this woman could have died. “Is she… Is she gonna be okay?”

 Bone glances wearily behind her. “Her head looked pretty banged up, so I can’t tell you for sure…” She removes her hat. “But I have your contact information. I’ll keep you updated on her condition.” She sighs. “Are you sure you couldn’t find anything about her identity?”

 Both John and Chloe answer with a simple “no.” The paramedics gave all the woman’s belongings to the police, and they didn’t find a wallet or a phone on her; there were no frantic police calls on missing middle-aged women, either.

 Bone clears her throat. “Well, until we find something, she’s a Jane Doe until she wakes up or someone comes for her.”

 As Officer Bone leaves to talk to the other policemen, Chloe slumps into one of the waiting room chairs. She hopes that this woman, whoever she is, will be okay.

  APRIL 6 — 11:21 PM

 They spent the past few hours chatting with semi-drunk socialites and businessmen; Tony dazzled them with half-hearted tales of Iron Man’s adventures while Pepper approached the hosts with financial propositions.

 Pepper looks sleek tonight, her strawberry-blonde hair pulled back into an elegant bun, and her cocktail dress is a rich, deep purple that matches the color of Tony’s suit. Tony, to say the least, matches his elegant partner, a silk tie loose around his neck. Pepper has always been the more formal one, rarely able to tell a story about herself to someone she didn’t know well. From where he currently stands, Tony can hear her laugh as she chats about Tony and his bad habit of showing up late to everything. “I’ve started marking everything in his calendar an hour before they actually start, just so he’ll be on time!”

 Tony grazes his hand along her waist, alerting her to his presence just as he appears beside her. He can hear the exhaustion in her voice. “Sorry, ladies,” he says, nodding to the other three women, “but I’ll just be borrowing Ms. Potts for a moment.”

 As soon as they are out of hearing range of the other guests, Pepper sighs. “Thank God,” she says. “I don’t think I could’ve done that for much longer.” She kisses his cheek.

 “What, are they boring you?”

 She wrinkles her nose. “No, I’m just tired of socializing, at least for today.” That, at the very least, Tony can understand. Pepper had spent almost the entire day in meetings and making calls to various companies. Her eyes light up with something mischievous. “Come on, let’s get out of here!”

 Tony stares at her in mock shock, taking on the richest accent he can muster. “Leave the gala? Oh, the scandal, my dear!”

 Pepper stifles a giggle. “God, Tony, your British accent is the worst.”

 He pouts as she hooks her arm around his and leads them towards the exit. “I thought it was awesome!”

 “Awesomely terrible,” she reminds him. “Any British person within a ten-mile radius would be offended, I’m sure. And stop saying 'awesome.' You've been spending way too much time with Peter.”

 Tony grins. “Pepper, my love, you wound me.”

 She rolls her eyes, opening the door for him. “Come on, Shakespeare, let’s go find some pizza.”

 This time, it’s Tony’s turn to break into a smile. “Pizza!”

  APRIL 6 — 11:33 PM

 When Ty finally leaves, Julia goes upstairs with Cristian. The kids are already fast asleep, but they kiss each of them good night before heading back to their room. After Julia changes into some pajamas and gets into bed, Cristian climbs in beside her. “Piensas que nos dijo la verdad?” he asked softly. Do you think he told us the truth?

 Julia nods. She’s lying on her side, facing him. “Ty may be an addict,” she replies, “but he’s not a bad kid. He wouldn’t lie about something like this, and, I mean, just look at him. He could barely talk, he was so…” She doesn’t know how to explain it, but she knows that look in his eyes well. Terrified. Distressed. Helpless. “...scared. You can’t fake that.”

 Cristian pulls her closer to him, and he presses his face into her hair. “What are you gonna do, Julia?”

 “It’s gonna be hard,” she confesses, “but I’ve gotta report it. I’ll leave him out of it—I don’t want him going back to prison—but there’s no way I can’t report this.” The people Ty cares for so much are drug addicts and ex-cons; the New York Police Department cares little for them. She’ll have to use her strong reputation as a high-ranking officer to advocate for Ty and his missing friends. And her missing brother. Charlie, she thinks immediately, and now she feels desperation clench around her heart. “I have to—I have to find my brother.” She tries not to think of all the horrible things that could have happened to him, but her mind barrels forward. “He’s my baby brother, I can’t—” Her voice cracks.

 Cristian slides his arm around her waist and shushes her. “I know, I know. You’ll find him, I know you will.”

 Julia prays to God that she will, too.

  APRIL 6 — 11:46 PM

 Happy drives them to Pepper’s favorite pizza place, one that sells Chicago-style deep dish. It’s hard to forget that Pepper was a Chicagoan (honestly, she still is), for Chicago always seems to seep into her daily life, whether it be her odd taste in pizza, her obsession with the Chicago Cubs, or her uncanny ability to survive any cold weather without blinking.

 And because Pepper craves deep dish pizza on a weekly basis, they’ve become intimately familiar with one pizza place in particular, one called Lou Malnati’s, but they are not familiar with the teenage girl at the register, who gapes unashamedly at them as they enter the building.

 “Hey, order for pickup?” announces Pepper, smiling expectantly, “For Potts?”

 The girl doesn’t move, simply staring, starstruck, at them. “Uh…”

 Tony sighs. He doesn’t need another fangirl right now, not at eleven at night when all he wants is a dumb pizza. “Look, kid, can we just get the pizza?”

 The employee next to her, one who has seen them countless times before and has grown used to their presence, announces, “Of course, Mr. Stark, right away, sir!” The employee slips into the back as the other girl stands with her mouth open.

 But as he watches the girl’s face break into a blushing smile, he realizes she isn’t even looking at him. She's looking at Pepper. “M-Ms. Potts,” she stammers, her voice so high it’s almost a squeal, “I-I’m a huge fan of yours; I’ve loved you since I was little when I read that article about how you…” The girl is full-on rambling, spilling every fact she knows about Pepper, and Tony watches his fiancée’s smile grow wider with every word. Iron Man fans are like pebbles, commonplace, but Pepper Potts fans are something else entirely. “...and as the only female CEO in—and, I mean, of the most powerful company in New York? You’re amazing! An inspiration! I can’t believe you’re standing here, wow—” The girl adjusts her hijab anxiously, tugging at the edges. Her nametag reads AYOMI. “It's such a pleasure to—um—to see you—um, um—could I—do you think I could—um, maybe—”

 Pepper, being the wonderfully empathetic woman that she is, reaches across the counter and places a calming hand on Ayomi’s starstruck shoulder. “A picture? Of course!”

 Tony thinks the girl is going to faint, right then and there. Instead, however, Ayomi’s eyes brighten and she nearly trips over herself getting to the other side of the counter, just as the other employee returns with their pizza. “Thank you, thank you!” she gasps.

 Tony almost bursts out laughing at the expression on Pepper’s face. Pepper Potts can stare down a roomful of angry reporters, counter death threats, and command all of Stark Industries, but in the end, she is just as nervous as the fan herself. The negative attention she receives as CEO of Stark Industries is miles away from this glowing praise she is receiving from the young woman standing in front of her.

 Ayomi clears her throat. “Um, Mr. Stark, do you think you could…” She holds her phone out to him, already in the camera app.

 Tony is, in a word, bewildered. He hasn’t been asked to take someone else’s picture since...well, ever. But nonetheless, he takes the phone and snaps a dozen photos of Pepper and Ayomi. He knows Pepper is beyond ecstatic to have this kind of attention, and that over-the-moon feeling is washing over him, now, too.

 God, he loves this woman.

 After finally getting the pizza and giving about four goodbye hugs to Ayomi, they head back to Stark Tower. By that time, they are starving, so they devour the pizza in the car.

 “Watch the seats, watch the seats!” complains Happy. “I just got those cleaned.”

 Pepper and Tony share a knowing look with each other, glancing down guiltily at the pizza sauce smeared on the seat between them. “Oh, yeah, definitely!” Pepper declares, as Tony tries to clean up the mess they’d made. “Seats are fine, Happy; you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

 Happy gives a Scroogelike grunt, muttering under his breath. “Yeah, yeah.”

 By the time they are back inside, kicking their shoes off, it’s midnight, and they slump in the bed together, Pepper literally groaning with delight. “I wanna go to sleep,” she mumbles into the pillow, “and never wake up again.”

 Tony laughs. “Come here, baby, I’ll take your hair down. You don’t want to go to sleep like that.”

 He gets a muffled moan in response.

 Tony scoots up the bed on his knees. “Come on, Sleepy, turn over.” She flops onto her back, groaning in protest. He lifts her head into his lap so he can remove the bobby pins, one by one. “Wanna watch a movie?”

 “Yeah,” she mumbles. “Something without people.”

 “What, a nature documentary?” He plucks another pin out and tosses it on the nightstand.

 Her eyes are still closed. “No… A cartoon. Something with little animals…”

 Tony smirks. “A Disney movie? I’ve got just the thing.”

 Before long, Finding Nemo is playing on the screen, and they’ve stripped out of their restricting gala outfits and into T-shirts, curled beneath the covers.

 The best thing about their relationship is that it’s entirely beyond the physical, nothing like Tony’s previous relationships. Before Pepper, his dating pool had been entirely based on physical beauty and social status, even attainability, but not mutual compatibility. Obviously he’s attracted to Pepper, but it goes so far beyond that. With Pepper, he’s more himself then he’s ever been. He can watch dumb Disney movies with her, he can eat pizza at midnight with her, he can cry in front of her… He doesn’t need to impress her, and she doesn’t need to impress him. They know each other too well.

 “He’s kinda like you,” Pepper mutters, yawning.

 Tony snaps back to the present. “What? Who?”

 Pepper looks so beautiful now, the ends of her mouth twitching into an amused smile. “The dad fish… What’s his name again? Merlin? Marlin?” She yawns again. “He loves his damn kid so much…”

 Tony combs his fingers through her hair. “Pep, we don’t have a kid. That doesn’t—”

 “Peter,” she interrupts, “is Nemo. Does something dumb, the world implodes on him, and eventually you’re there to save him.”

 “Well, I don’t think—”

 “Last month,” she continues, her eyes still closed, “you took him to see Hamilton with us.”

 Tony snorts. “He’d been listening to the soundtrack nonstop! What was I supposed to do?”

 “In March,” she says, ignoring him, “when he got shot in that robbery, you made him stay in the Medbay for the whole day, and you didn’t let him patrol for a week, even though it’d fully healed by the second day.”

 “His body was still recovering!” Tony protests. “And—”

 “Once a month, you take him to your favorite sandwich place.” She is sitting up now, blinking groggily at him.

 “What’s so bad about that?”

 Pepper rubs her eyes. “You only ever take me there, dumbass. Or Rhodey. You’ve never even mentioned it to Happy or anyone else.”

 Tony’s face flushes pink. “Well, I mean, it’s personal, knowing that, and, uh—”

 And still Pepper rattles on. “You let him pick the music in the car, you brought his lunch to school when he forgot it, you left an important meeting so you could go to his decathlon meet, you went out for ice cream with him when he had a fight with his friend, you always ask how he is, you’re always checking with his AI to make sure he’s okay, you—”

 “Okay, okay!” Tony huffs. “You’re right, fine. It’s just like… If I had a kid, I’d want him to be like Pete, you know?” He sinks his face with the nearest pillow, groaning.

 Pepper laughs beside him; what a privilege, he thinks suddenly, it is to hear Pepper Potts laugh. “Baby, Peter’s already your kid. You’re just too thick headed to see it. He’s here at least twice a week, Tony.”

 Tony mumbles a fragmented response into the pillow. Pepper snakes an arm around his side, “C’mere,” she says, pulling him closer. “I’m cold.”

 Tony welcomes her presence at his side; she snuggles into him, pressing her cold toes against his bare calf— “God, fuck, Pepper, your feet are like ice! Keep those things to yourself, Elsa!”

 Drowsy, she giggles a little, clasping onto him tighter. He follows her freckled arm around his torso to hold her hand, and he turns onto his side so that her chest is pressed against his back. This is how they usually cuddle: Tony, the little spoon, and Pepper, the big spoon.

 Pepper falls asleep first, snoring lightly against his chest. Their legs are intertwined, and Tony’s sure he’ll wake up with his feet asleep if he stays like this, so he gently shifts, untangling their limbs. In the background, Finding Nemo plays, and he mutes it with a quiet order to FRIDAY. As he watches, Marlin tries to convince the leader of a school of moonfish to tell him how to get to his son.

 If I lost Peter, Tony thinks, I’d be a lot better at finding him than this dumb fish. Satisfied, he turns the television off and burrows beneath the covers, watching Pepper’s chest rise and fall in a deep sleep. What did he do to deserve a woman as amazing as her? He smiles to himself, closing his eyes. What did he do to deserve a kid as great as Peter?

 Before long, he is snoring, too, slipping into the peaceful realm of sleep with his fiancée at his side.

    APRIL 7 — 2:09 AM

 Scott’s wrists spike with pain, and he pauses to rub them, the action made awkward by the handcuffs locked around them. He’s not in the Chair anymore—he’s in a hard chair before a metal table, set with a laptop and other computer supplies. He’s got more freedom now, at least; his arms and legs are cuffed, but they aren’t attached to the chair so that he has enough freedom to work. It’s odd to him that the crushing pain of his mutilated legs has faded with the mission before him, fueled by his mind, the computer, and his throbbing hands. Well, they gave him a little painkiller a few hours ago, too, solely because he was too delirious with pain to work, so that helps. And they added some adrenaline to the mix, so Scott is wide awake. Charlie or American Psycho or whoever was right: the only thing Scott needs is his head and his hands.

 Three times since he first arrived here, he has heard his little girl scream. It’s not anything like the false screeches in horror movies or Cassie’s usual happy squeals. It’s the sound of pain, horrific agony coursing through the air, and it’s so violent and terrible and sickening that when Scott hears it he can barely breathe.

 The worst part about it is that he can’t see her, but he knows that’s her voice. He knows better than almost anyone on the planet what Cassie sounds like, even if it’s just a whimper or a sob. That’s his daughter. He can’t touch her, can’t hold her, can’t tell her a joke, can’t sing her a lullaby… It’s agonizing. Forget his legs—it’s like an entire chunk of his heart has been torn from his chest.

 Scott knows there’s only one way to get Cassie out of here: doing what he’s told. Even if it means breaking dozens of laws and putting others in danger, he’ll do anything if it means that they’ll stop hurting Cassie. He never used to understand the blind, ultra-sacrificial love that parents held for their children when he was younger, but after he learned that Maggie was pregnant, he knew. He knew that he would do anything to protect his child.

 Just knowing that Cassie is in pain now is putting his heart through a meat grinder; he types faster, clicking and hacking and typing until his fingers are a blur at the keyboard.

 At the sound of the door at the end of the hallway, Scott jumps; he can’t help it. Last time that door opened, that sick fuck, Renee, came through with his little girl. This time, he listens hard, typing faster than ever. If he shows any sign of slacking, they’ll make Cassie scream again. And he’ll do anything in the world to not hear that sound ever again.

 It’s not Renee, Charlie, or Mason—his three main captors are busy getting high on the other side of the place—warehouse? Base? Building? Lair? He realizes quite suddenly that he has no idea where he is. He could be in a cave, for all he knows. There’s no windows, not that he can see, and the cold air seeping through the vents does nothing but tell him that they’ve got air conditioning.

 There’s an almost eerie silence following the opening of the door, and then a thump, the all-too-familiar sound of a body hitting the ground, and fear prickles down Scott’s back. What if they caught another one of his loved ones: Maggie, Hope, Hank, or even Jim? The fear that overcomes him in that moment drains him of his energy. He’s barely clinging on to his composure as it is, but this… Then, vaguely, he remembers the first thing he was asked to do: hack into Tony Stark’s computer system and locate what Stark designated as “SKM7.” Scott discovered several hours ago that SKM7 was a moving target, which he found to be strange, but he figured it was a vehicle or Stark-created piece of technology. There’d been nothing in the files he’d hacked about SKM7 stating that it could be a person.

 As the door to the room swings open and two of Charlie’s black-clothed guys drag a limp form between them, Scott understands with violent precision: SKM7 is a person. By the look of him, a young person. “No, no, no,” Scott croaks, panic splitting him. “No, no…”

 Then there’s Charlie, leaning on the doorframe like he’s just won the Olympics, and high as a fucking kite. He grins at Scott, and poorly masked aggression pours over his body. “Put him in the chair,” Charlie announced, his words a little slurred. “Now.”

 As they lock him into the Chair, the one he was in only hours earlier, Scott’s horror augments. SKM7 is a pale teen with brown hair; his head is completely slack, as the men strap him in, and his eyes are closed. One of the men pushes his head back and checks his eyes for any sign of consciousness. Nothing. It’s unnerving how limp he is, like a rag doll. He’s a wiry kid, a little muscle on bones, and he’s got a wide face peppered with bruises. He’s wearing a Star Wars hoodie, a bright blue one with “Trust me, I’m a Jedi” printed across the front, but the sleeves, as well as his hands, are spattered with blood. Probably fourteen or fifteen, this kid… His youth is obvious in everything about him: his neon green shoes, his sweatshirt, his oddly colored jeans, his hair… He’s even got a math formula scribbled across the back of his hand. And the fact that he’s unconscious, bloodied, and locked to the Chair by his wrists, ankles, and torso makes everything worse. “He’s…” Scott gasps, and Charlie’s smile only widens. “He’s just a kid. You made me track down a… a… teenager? So you could kidnap him, too?”

 Charlie shrugs. As he stalks towards Scott, every step threatening, Scott feels every hair on his body stand on end; his body screams, Danger! Danger! Get out! “Thanks, Lang,” Charlie says, ignoring the fact that there’s an unconscious fifteen-year-old behind them. “You did great.” He raises his hand—no, no, fuck, no, he can’t take any more, he’ll break—and claps Scott heartily on the shoulder. “I should give you a raise.” He chuckles to himself.

 Scott’s blood boils, and he tries to swallow the fury rising in his throat, but he can’t— “So kidnapping a seven-year-old wasn’t good enough for you? You had to get a fifteen-year-old, too? What the hell?”

 “He’s sixteen,” Charlie snaps; his expression before was tight, like he trapped all his anger inside of his mouth, but now it’s exploded all over his face. “And this was all necessary, you dumb fuck. I don’t go around kidnapping kids for fun.”

 “Could’ve fooled me,” Scott growls, and Charlie hits him so hard that he sees stars.

 “Don’t forget” —Charlie’s face glistens with sweat, and his eyes narrow— “that’s your pretty little seven-year-old I’ve got here. Next time you talk to me like that, I’ll take off one of her fingers, how’d you like that?”

 Scott’s eyes widen, and his mouth bubbles up with blood and frantic pleas; Charlie backs away from him, muttering in disgust. “P-please, d-d-don’t—”

 “You’ve got a new job, Lang,” interrupts Charlie, moving to stand beside Renee. He curls an arm around her shoulders, and she smirks. “If you do it right, your brat will be just fine.” Charlie smiles with his teeth this time, and Scott can see the drugged high leak into his too-wide grin. “With your help, we’re gonna change the world.”

  APRIL 7 — 2:46 AM

 The door opens with a bang that seems to shake the room, and Tony jumps to his feet. Instinctually, he grabs his watch, slamming his fingers to the activation button that transforms it from a wristwatch to an Iron Man Gauntlet, raising his arm to—

 “Peter?” says Pepper. She’s standing, too, but her hands are held out in comfort instead of aggression, her eyes trained on the figure who has now entered the room.

 It’s Peter, there’s no denying. He’s drenched from head to toe; his brown hair is plastered against his forehead and his red hoodie is now a wet shade of scarlet. His jeans cling to his skinny legs. There’s a blend of blood and water on his forehead, and he’s shaking, trembling like a wet leaf, his chest heaving.

 Immediately, Tony transforms his gauntlet back into a watch and approaches the kid carefully. He’s never seen Peter like this before—terrified, panicking, anxious—and it chills him to the bone. He’s shivering now, breathing hard, but the air whistles through his throat in a dry whine. “Kid?” he calls out, taking a careful step forward. Peter’s hands are on his head now, fisting tightly in his dark hair as though he’s about to tear it from the roots. His eyes are blown with panic, darting around, and he won’t focus on Tony. “Kid, look at me.” Tony locks eyes with Pepper; her expression betrays the concern and fear that he feels. “Peter.” Nothing. He tries again. “Pete, kiddo, it’s me. What happened?”

 Pepper moves forward, reaching out towards the kid, and alarm bells crash through Tony’s head. “Don’t,” Tony snaps, startling even himself with his bluntness, and Pepper immediately stops. Tony knows better than anyone what being mentally absent means for someone with superpowers; he doesn’t need another Bucky Barnes on his hands.

 After Peter’s arms finally drop, and his gaze lifts to Tony’s, the whole world seems to stop. “M-Mr. Stark?”

 Tony’s shoulders slump in relief, and he takes another step towards Peter, still cautious. “Yeah, it’s me. You okay, kiddo?”

 Peter presses his palm against his forehead, looking a little shocked when it comes back bloody. “Yeah, I just…”

 Tony has never felt this worried before; anxiety cuts through him, hot and sharp. What happened to his kid? “Are you okay?” A million questions collide in his mind. Who did this to you? What could scare you like this?

 But he chokes them all down as Peter stammers, staring at the newfound blood stemming from his head. “I’m bleeding…”

 Fuck, this can’t be good. Something is wrong, gut-wrenchingly so, and Tony knows it. Peter can barely recognize the pain he is in, let alone the fact that he is bleeding, soaking wet, and standing in the middle of Tony’s kitchen. “Let’s sit down, okay, kiddo?” By the time Peter blinks in confused recognition, Tony has moved all the way to the kid, scanning him for further injury and guiding him to the kitchen table by placing a hand on his back—

 Peter jerks away from him so violently that even Pepper startles, and the kid transforms from mentally absent to a terrified mess, his body vibrating in fear. But instead of attacking with his webshooters or hyper-reflexes like Tony expected, he curls in on himself, squeezing his eyes shut. What the hell? This is not the result of combat trauma or too much time in the field. This… This is something deeper, darker, sourced in something more sinister than Tony originally thought. “Okay, okay,” says Tony, thinking fuck, fuck, what the hell is happening— “You’re okay, Pete, you’re just fine; no touching, okay? I got it, I won’t touch you, you’re safe...”

 He continues talking, coaxing Peter into at least a sliver of safety, until finally Peter opens his eyes again, gasping, “So-sorry, Mr. Stark, I’m sorry…” He looks pale, too pale, and it’s now that Tony realizes his lips are blue. Fucking blue.

 Tony’s heart twists violently. “You’re okay, kid, there’s nothing for you to be sorry for.” Tony’s left arm is throbbing now, that dull ache that always resounds when his anxiety spikes, and he tries to control the flutter of panic in his chest. “J-just come over here, okay? We’ll sit by the fire, you can warm up a little—you’re looking a little cold, Pete.”

 Peter wraps his arm around himself as if suddenly noticing the fact that his teeth are chattering; glancing nervously at Tony, he nods slowly, following the man to the fireplace at the other end of the room. “FRIDAY,” says Tony, trying to stay calm for the sake of the kid, “turn up the heat, please.”

 Thankfully, FRIDAY remains silent in her obedience, avoiding possibly startling the kid. Tony turns around to share a worried look with Pepper, then faces the kid again. Peter’s relaxing a little in the warmth of the fire, and before he knows it, Pepper’s beside him, holding out a blanket and a fresh change of clothes: Tony’s sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants Peter had left with them weeks ago. “Peter, honey?” she says, her voice gentle. “I brought you some dry clothes, do you want to—”

 “No,” Peter croaks, suddenly tense again. “No.”

 Peter’s clothes are dripping wet, and Tony knows how hypothermia works. He has to get him out of those wet clothes. “Kid?” he says, worry lacing his features. “You wanna take off your hoodie, at least, change into somethi—”

 “No!” This time, Peter’s response is frantic, almost wild, and Tony immediately regrets his suggestion. “No, p-please—”

 Horror flashes through Tony’s head; everything comes to a screeching halt. Please. It’s just one word, but it’s enough for Tony to know that something bad happened to his kid, something that brought Peter to such a point of suffering that he begged for it to stop. Tony wants to help him, to hug him, to hold him and tell him everything’s gonna be okay, but he can’t. Peter won’t let him touch him, and Tony’s not planning on violating his kid’s personal space when he’s scared. Tony’s not Howard; he won’t do that to Peter. Only one question flashes through his mind, burning hot: who hurt Peter? This whole situation is fucking terrifying Tony, and dark thoughts needle at the back of his mind, poking sharply—don’t be stupid, Tony, you know the symptoms, you know what happened to him, why else would he be so scared of taking off his clothes—and Tony’s hands clench into horrified, tense fists. No. Not Peter. No. He refuses to believe that. It’s too horrible to think about.

 The kid shivers, his teeth clacking like typewriter keys.

 Tony doesn’t want to force the kid to do anything, not in this fragile state, but he’s becoming seriously anxious about Peter’s physical health. He has to focus on something he can fix, and right now, Tony can help Peter stay healthy. “FRIDAY,” he orders, as Peter takes the blanket and wraps it around himself with trembling hands, “Peter’s vitals, please.”

 “Peter is currently experiencing a body temperature of 96 degrees, sir,” she responds carefully, “and rising. His heart rate is elevated. Otherwise, vitals are normal. He is in no immediate danger, but his brain waves signal significant distress.”

 Peter doesn’t even look up at the sound of the familiar AI. He just stands by the fire, shivering. Tony feels like there are two spools of thread tightening around his lungs, one tugging him towards Peter to comfort him, the other yanking him away, reminding him of the expression of absolute fear on Peter’s face when Tony touched him earlier. Tony gulps and presses the palm of his hand against his quickening heart. He has to help him. Although FRIDAY told him that Peter’s life isn’t in danger, he can’t keep himself from panicking. Significant distress, he echoes. Significant fucking distress. He’s never been in a situation like this before; Tony knows how to handle aliens, terrorists, and Stark Industries, but not the distraught, trembling, terrified mess of a kid in front of him. His kid, no less.

 At the sound of a muffled whimper, Tony’s head snaps up to find Peter Parker sobbing, snot and tears and all, into his hands, his shoulders quaking. Peter Parker, this fucking invincible kid that he loves so much, crumples like a tin can without warning, collapsing to his knees.

 And Tony can’t do anything about it. He can’t even touch Peter. Instead, he kneels beside the kid, whispering comforting phrases to him, things he would want to hear if he was having a breakdown. “Hey, kiddo, you’re okay, you’ll be okay… You’re safe with me, just breathe, Pete, you’re gonna be fine...”

 If this was a Lifetime movie, Peter would be hugging Tony now, embracing him like a son would do to a father, and he would tell him everything. Then he and Peter would ride off into the sunset, vowing to chase down the bad guy and lock him up for life.

 But this isn’t a movie. This is reality. So instead, Tony watches in anxious helplessness as his kid sobs, curling himself into a tight, lonely ball of shame before him. There is no sarcastic bravado or odd humor left in the boy: only Peter, his soul laid vulnerable before Tony’s eyes—

 —and Tony is gasping, straining for breath, and there’s a hand on his back, rubbing soothingly. “Bad dream, baby?”

 Tony is still grappling with the fact that his heart is racing at a million miles an hour, and it takes him a moment to realize that Pepper is sitting up with him, trying to comfort him.

 And the thing is, it wasn’t a nightmare. That moment had been all too real. Peter had arrived without any warning on a cold, rainy day in March, dangerously quiet and unable to be touched without a violent reaction. Tony’s anxiety had never taken such a drastic turn. In the end, Pepper and Tony discovered, through broken sentences and lost whispers, that a man who Peter had known as a child, was back on the streets of Queens. His name is Skip, Peter had said, his voice deadly quiet, and I never… I didn’t think I’d ever have to see him again. They weren’t able to get anything else out of him, and after that he’d come back the next week like nothing had happened, laughing like he hadn’t been sobbing on the floor of Tony’s kitchen only seven days prior.

 That was, by far, the worst moment of Tony’s parenthood, if he could call it that. Watching his kid suffer like that… Being completely unable to help him was like being set on fire.

 Tony is calmer now, and Pepper’s hand is over his chest, making sure that his heartbeat slows down to normal. “You okay?” she asks, watching his expression carefully.

 Tony’s left arm aches, and he grabs it subconsciously, rubbing his throbbing wrist. He doesn’t bother lying to Pepper; she knows him too well. “I dreamed about Peter,” he explains. If he wasn’t still reeling from the vivid dream, he would have cracked a joke about Finding Nemo and Pepper’s persistent fatherhood quips, but he’s too drained at the moment to do any of that.

 “About what happened in March?” she suggests, giving him a knowing look.

 Tony nods, dabbing at the sweat on his forehead.

 “Do you want to… Do you want to talk about it?”

 “No…” He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m just gonna go to the lab, get my mind off of things.” He picks up the clock: 2:57 AM. “Oh, shit, Pepper, I’m sorry for waking you up, I know you have to go at like five, I didn’t mean—”

 “Hey,” she says with a smile, tapping a finger against his chin, “you know what I always say. You can’t be sorry for things you can’t control, Tony. And you can’t control having a bad dream, right?”

 That tightness in his chest loosens at her words, and he takes her hand, bringing it to his lips. He mumbles a “right” against her knuckles.

 After Pepper crawls back into bed, Tony pulls on a sweatshirt, some plaid pants, and a pair of flip-flops before heading downstairs. Since his mansion was destroyed in 2012, he moved into Stark Tower; it became the height of his technological prowess and intellectual ability, but after it was compromised several times (and after returning them only reminded him of the broken pieces of the former Avengers team), he sold the Tower and moved into the new Avengers facility. They’ve constructed it and reconstructed it dozens of times, but finally Tony can call it his home, not just his company property. It’s located in upstate New York, in a stretch of lush land surrounded by trees and water, and there are separate spaces for every use, all connected by winding brick walkways. There’s a massive warehouse for storing equipment (connected to a lab for him to work in), a main building where he and Pepper can do official business, an apartment complex for the Avengers (if, for some reason, they ever got back together), a separate house for him and Pepper, and several other facilities. They’d decided long ago that it was healthier for them to divide Tony’s home life and his work life. He used to spend days in his lab, surviving off of coffee and protein bars to finish projects, but now he almost always sleeps in bed with Pepper unless one of them is gone on a work trip. It’s new, specifically for Tony, to have a home that doesn’t belong to Stark Industries, and it’s life-changing. He spends time with his family now, just watching movies with Rhodey and cooking with Pepper and playing dumb video games that Peter shows him, just because he can.

 Now, he walks from his house to his lab; the grass is damp, tickling the sides of his feet. The moist air is refreshing, and his head is almost cleared in the five-minute walk to the workshop.

 Inside is his refuge: tables upon tables of machine parts, chemical compounds, and computers. He can stay in here for hours at a time, simply tinkering. Tony settles down at one of the worktables, immediately picking up one of his in-progress works: the gunfire sensory system that he and Peter had been creating the night before. He fiddles around with it for a while; giving himself something technological to do usually helps him out of a funk. But even editing the code on Project Kevlar can’t distract him. Not when he’s thinking about Peter.

 He contemplates calling Peter, just to make sure he’s okay, but it’s still three in the morning. Besides, Peter barely sleeps as it is without early morning phone calls from his mentor.

 So instead, he pops an earpiece into his left ear and orders FRIDAY to call Rhodey.

 It takes five calls to reach him. “Tony, it’s three fifteen.” His voice is a low, tired growl.

 Tony relaxes in his chair. “I do have a clock,” he quips, but his voice is shaky. “Just couldn’t sleep, Rhodey.”

 A series of shuffles. “Are you okay?”

 His head throbs. “Just peachy, Mom. Tell me a joke.” Pepper would’ve made him talk about it, to his therapist or to her, but Rhodey always tries to cheer him up instead. It’s the best thing about him; Rhodey knows that Tony’s a fucked up guy, but when they’re together, Tony feels normal.

 Rhodey, detecting that familiar, anxious quiver in his voice, doesn’t question Tony’s request. He starts telling a funny story about a cadet and a dog, and Tony loses himself in it, wanting to think of anything else. Rhodey talks until Tony’s mind is numb, disconnected from his nightmare. “...don’t you think, Tony?”

 Tony laughs weakly. “You know, your jokes really don’t get better with age.”

 “Think so? Bet you couldn’t tell one better.”

 “Rhodey, at least when I tell a story, people don’t start snoring after the first—”

 A wild screech shakes his eardrums, so violent and fucking loud that his whole body goes taut like a bowstring, going painfully rigid in a failed attempt to escape the sound—

 —pain hammers his head, but it’s only a vague afterthought compared to the horrible fucking sound quaking his brain like a speaker on steroids, like an MMA fighter shaking a rag doll—

 —colors flashing above him, pale blue and strawberry blonde; his brain is melting, exploding in sound, he can’t breathe, he can’t think, he can’t—

 —it dies to a dull roar, and Tony’s whole body uncoils as he comes back to his senses. His cheek against cold floor, thin fingers prying his hands away from his ears, two overlapping voices calling his name—

 He can still feel the sound there, like his head’s been filled with a thousand rubber hammers, and somehow he manages to uncoil himself and focus on the woman in front of him. Pepper. “Tony! Tony, look at me!” He blinks; a high-pitched whine oscillates in his eardrums, and he sways with the noise as he tries to right himself.

 There’s a sound in his left ear, another voice. “Tony? What’s going on? Can you hear me? Tony!”

 He swallows, for the first time since the noise began, and the action itself feels painful. He blinks (once, twice, three times), and finally he can see Pepper in front of him, trying to meet his wandering gaze. “Fuck” is the first thing he says, through gritted teeth. “My head…” He shifts, trying to sit up.

 “Don’t get up, Tony,” she warns, pushing him back down. “Just take a second.”

 He reaches up and touches his left ear, where the earpiece is still lodged. “Tony?” Rhodey prompts.

 “Yeah…” Tony winces. He can barely hear his own voice. “I’m fine, I’ll call you back.” He clicks the end button on the earpiece and pulls it out, still stunned.

 As he comes back to his senses, Pepper starts to explain, saying that FRIDAY had been compromised and set off a blaring alarm once her systems recognized an intruder. “That thing in your ear,” she says, picking it up, “played the sound a little too loud.”

 Tony nearly laughs out loud. Here he thought that he was going crazy, that he was suffering for all those weapons he’d fired, but it had just been FRIDAY’s odd alarm system. He groans, the ringing in his head now a dull whine. “FRIDAY, what happened? Compromised?”

 His lovely AI responds only with unnerving silence. Pepper helps Tony into a sitting position, examining his ear. “Yeah, Tony,” she states, “FRIDAY hasn’t been responding. Not since the alarm went off.”

 “Then how’d you turn it off?” he asks, confused.

 Pepper shrugs. “You’re the artificial intelligence guru; she just turned off, and she hasn’t said anything since.”

 Usually, Tony would be annoyed that FRIDAY had simply shut down like this, but it’s a well-received distraction from the Peter-heavy thoughts buzzing in his head. “Well, I guess I’ve got a job to do, then.”

 Once Pepper ensures that Tony is okay, save a little hearing loss, she heads out for her next meeting, one with a Chinese computer company in Boston. “I should be back by this evening, okay?” She kisses his forehead. “Take care of yourself,” she reminds him. “I know FRIDAY’s a little messed up, but that doesn’t mean you can just forget to eat, okay? I’ll send Happy to check on you around lunch. And get Cho to check out that ear. Don’t do anything stupid.”

 Tony, back in his spinning lab chair, turns to look at her. “Stupid? Me? Baby, I would never.”

 Pepper smirks at him, but it’s playful, and Tony finds himself still picturing her face even once she’s left the workshop. Despite the fact that it’s almost four in the morning, and there’s a little trickle of blood coming from his ear, he still feels a little safer, just because Pepper is here with him.

  APRIL 7 — 4:19 AM

 Peter’s mouth is a bitter handful of acidic soap, leaking down his throat and churning in his stomach. There’s a horrible pain in his lower abdomen, spreading wide inside of him, and every inch of his skin buzzes with paralysis. His limbs are heavy; his bones must be made of steel now—he can’t move them, he can’t move at all.

 He forces his eyes open, but his eyelids are heavy, too heavy, and he only recognizes flashes of bland color before they shut again. There’s a voice bouncing around him, one he recognizes, male and tired and scared.

 Pain dances through his skull—iron dancers with sharpened heels—and a sound escapes him, something low and guttural. He’s so far from reality that he’s floating, but now he’s sinking back down to Earth. He can feel something cold and bad inside him, and he fights it, shifting and stirring and shaking. He tries to talk, to plead for help, to cry out, but his words tumble out of his mouth like loose marbles, and then the background ramblings of the familiar voice stop, overlapped by newer, sharper voices.

 “He’s…”

 Peter’s hair tugged to pull his head back. Hands on his face.

 “Watch…”

 Exhaustion washing over him. Cold fingers prying at his eyes, open, open, open.

 “…but already…would…dangerous…”

 Someone fumbling at his sleeve, ripping. A foreign voice in his ear.

 “Doesn’t matter…give…more…”

 A pinch inside of his elbow. The world tilting before his half-closed eyes. A rush of cold, and then everything is blurry.

 “…going…”

 Peter’s eyes roll into the back of his head, and jagged darkness swallows him.

[nicostolemybones]

Hufflepuff House Sunshine

To say Will Solace was having a terrible day was an understatement. He’d had a sleepless night, thanks to a suspected case of the plague- and by suspected case of the plague, Will means a common cold from his sister Kayla. Except he was completely convinced that he absolutely did not have a cold, he most certainly had man flu. He couldn’t breathe through his nose at all, his sinuses heavy and his head sore. Madam Pomfrey had told him, with no room for arguments, that he was not allowed to help out in the infirmary whilst he was sick. Will was halfway through a boring transfigurations class when his transfigurations partner, Nico di Angelo, started giggling uncontrollably. McGonagall raised her eyebrow, but Nico only started to laugh more.”What now,” Will asked quietly, and Nico pointed at his project.

Said project was supposed to be a tortoise being transfigured into a top hat. However, Nico had created “Voldetort!” Nico was hysterically laughing by now at Voldetort, and Will couldn’t help but join in- the giggles were infectious.

“Nico! That’s not funny,” Will protested, but one more look at Voldetort had him moved to tears of hysterical laughter.

“Voldetort,” Nico wheezed breathlessly, which seemed to be the final straw for McGonagall, who strode over to the desk, looking over there shoulders.

“Care to share the joke with the class, di Angelo, Solace?”

“Voldetort,” Nico repeated, pointing at the creation.

McGonagall gave an amused hum, and Will lost the ability to control his giggles. “Five points from Slytherin and Hufflepuff,” she declared, returning to the front desk, “oh, and please attempt to control your giggles, boys, and focus on the project you’ve been given, or I shall have to send you out of the class.”

“Cool, see you later,” Nico shrugged, walking straight out of class.

“I uh- he has a doctor’s note, so do I,” Will said quickly, jogging after Nico. “You can’t just- walk out of class,” Will gasped, and Nico gave him a pointed look.

“Then what are you doing?”

“Uh… well you need somebody to make sure you stay out of trouble! Plus in the aftermath of Voldemort-”

“Voldetort!”

“Very mature(!) Anyway, even with voldemort gone we aren’t necessarily safe, so,, we should walk around in pairs, you know, use the buddy system?”

“You’re such a dork,” Nico snorted.

“Says the boy who made a card game out of the chocolate frog cards,” Will protested.

“Yeah, so? I sell the cards in packs to people at tuck, and I make one hundred galleons a day!”

“That’s against the rules, Nico!”

“Technically, the rule is you can’t sell sweets or chocolate on school premises, it says nothing about selling playing cards. Check and mate!”

“That’s… actually genius,” Will smiled, “so, where are we going?”

“That...is a really good question,” Nico replied, “Slytherin common room?”

“No thanks,” Will replied, “the Giant Squid freaks me out every time he swims past…”

“Oh, you mean Steve?”

“Who the fuck named him Steve?”

“Percy did,” Nico replied, and Will shrugged- that was just regular weirdness at Hogwarts.

“We could go sneak into the kitchens?” Will suggested, “there’s a secret passage by the Hufflepuff common room that somebody dug so we could stress eat during exam season and obsessively bake cookies.”

“Oh my gods it’s like a care bear possessed your entire house,” Nico laughed, “how about we break into the Ravenclaw common room?”

“Only Ravenclaws can get in there.”

“You, my friend, need more Slytherin in you! Where’s your ambition? I bet you ten chocolate frogs-”

“Deal!”

“You didn’t even hear my-”

“I said deal, di Angelo, I don’t fuck around with cholocate.”

“You just sold your soul to me, Solace,” Nico joked, and Will shrugged.

“You already stole my heart, you can take my soul any day.”

“Shut up, sap,” Nico blushed, trying to hide his face behind his hair as they reached the Ravenclaw common room door. Nico knocked, waiting for a riddle.

“What has two eyes but cannot see, what appears red in one light and blue in another-”

“A blind police dog next to a cop car with the flashing lights on, now let us in.”

“The answer’s-” Will gasped when the door opened anyway, and Nico smirked triumphantly. “The answer was Iridescent, Nico,” Will protested.

“Are you sure you’re not a secret Ravenclaw, Solace?”

“Are you sure you aren’t a Hufflepuff, di Angelo?” Nico gasped dramatically, clutching his chest.

Will reached out, softly pressing his finger to the tip of Nico’s nose, making him go cross-eyed. “Boop!”

“Fuck off,” Nico scowled, although Will merely laughed musically- there was no malice in his tone. “That was a sneaky move, you snake, are you sure you weren’t supposed to be a slytherin?”

“Well, the hat did try to put me in Slytherin,” Will mused, “because I’m ambitious and all, but I value loyalty and friendship and kindness and helpfulness far more than anything else, and I offered the sorting hat my mom’s cookies if it put me in Hufflepuff.”

“Bribery, huh...that… that is simultaneously the most Slytherin and the most Hufflepuff thing I have ever heard. You never cease to surprise me,” Nico huffed.

“Why did we break in here anyway?”

“Because I’m chaotic evil and I’m going to draw a weiner in all the books.”

“Nico,” Will gasped, “you can’t just-”

“There’s nothing in the rules about writing in books or drawing anatomical drawings, therefore, I’m not breaking the rules.”

“Good gods you’re lawful evil,” Will gasped.

“You take that back,” Nico gasped in mock offence (or at least, what Will hoped was mock offence). “Actually,” Will grinned, tilting his head to the side, “you’re a whole-ass lawful good!”

“No!” Nico gasped.

“Yes you are!” Will grinned, “I saw you give your homework to Lou-Ellen in Potions!”

“I did no such thing,” Nico gasped, and Will laughed.

“You’re basically a human corn snake, you eat, get warm, and go to sleep.”

“You just described a cat.”

“Danger noodles are forbidden kitties!” Will reasoned, and Nico shook his head in disbelief.

“Yeah well- you’re a forbidden kitty!” Nico retorted.

“Did you just call me a furry?”

“You know what- yes. Yes I did.”

“I should buy a fursuit.”

“Will no,” Nico protested.

“Will yes!” Will grinned, “You know who else is a furry?”

“Frank, Grover, and Alex?”

“Well- yes, but I was gonna say the house mascots! School sanctioned fursonas.”

“That mental image is cursed. Thank you for giving me inspiration for the howler I’m going to send to Jason today,” Nico smiled.

“You’re very welcome,” Will grinned, “you should get him to dress as the Gryffindor lion before you send the howler.”

“Superb, you funky little badger,” Nico grinned, and Will giggled.

“Anyway,” Nico mused, “I thought you said you had the plague.”

“This may sound like I was being a dramatic dumbass, but I accidentally ate a sweet from the Stolls and it may have been responsible for my sneezing fit.”

“You ate something the Stolls gave you? You know they probably got it from the Weasley’s shop?”

“Nico, you don’t understand. It was food shaped. I ate an eraser once because it looked like sushi.”

“Oh my gods you’re a walking hazard, Solace,” Nico sighed in exasperation, “the black and yellow house colours are secretly hazard tape.”

“Warning, may bake you cookies and give you hugs.”

“Please tell me you haven’t.”

“Maybe,” Will beamed, holding a paper bag to his chest before holding them out to Nico, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Holy shit, you’re a literal ray of fucking sunshine,” Nico grinned, taking the bag and peering inside.

“They’re cantuccini almond and honey biscotti,” Will announced, “I asked your dad who gave me your mother’s recipe! You mentioned how she used to bake you cookies when you had a nightmare, and how you’d never had any since your mom died because your dad can’t cook anything other than burned ready meals and your step mom puts pomegranate in everything and your step gran just feeds you cereal, so I thought you’d appreciate… are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” Nico protested, “I’m having an allergic reaction, too much human emotions.”

“Aww, that’s adorable!” Will grinned, squeezing Nico in a strong hug.

“I can’t breathe, Will,” Nico protested, and Will laughed gently.

“I’ll let go when you smile,” Will replied stubbornly.

“I’m never going to smile,” Nico grumbled.

“Then you’re eternally trapped in a bear hug!”

“That’s my plan,” Nico replied, hugging back, “my evil, cunning Slytherin plan to get you to cuddle me.”

“I think my Hufflepuff side is rubbing off on you,” Will laughed.

“I was gonna be sorted into Hufflepuff but I blackmailed the sorting hat and I was put in Slytherin.”

“You dramatic gay.”

“You’re gay,” Nico retorted, and Will hummed happily.

“It’s your fault,” Will stated matter of factly.

“Oh sure, blame your rainbow on me, you big homo,” Nico laughed.

“You’re a big homo,” Will replied.

“It’s your fault! You’re freaking adorable, you’re like- the Hufflepuff House Sunshine or something,” Nico huffed.

“Hufflepuff House Sunshine. Huh… that’s my title now,” Will replied with a grin. Perhaps today wouldn’t be such a bad day after all.

@solangeloweek day 4- AU

[thatawesomenerdygirl]

mom’s insecurities || Batboys

Requested on Wattpad.

Warning(s): insecurities, (bad) insults, and changing point of views that can make you confused.

Also, Jason is cursing, just a bit.

Bruce knows his wife is a strong woman, she rarely breaks no matter how hard the obstacle in front of her. His boys know that too, their mother is the most caring person in the world.

But these days, she acted a little off.

They weren't sure why they weren't sure how. The thing that they only sure of was; she started acting weird since she came back from her high school reunion. She was happy when her friends invited her to go on a dinner with them, her eyes lit up, sparkling with joy.

The young Waynes heard her sobbing in her shared room, Bruce wasn't home. Alfred was busy with his own work. The manor was quiet for the first time in forever, no arguing, no things crushing and shattering on the floor, no screaming, no loud laughing, no one of the boys ratting out the other.

Nothing but the muffled hiccups, and deep breathing.

Silence.

More importantly, no their mother scolding them with their bad behaviors.

Sure, they are grown up. Yet that doesn't seem to apply when they are around her. Even though the first time they met her things weren't smooth, they didn't like her and were suspicious around her. Like they said, people change.

The boys were about to knock but a shuffling inside the bedroom stopped them, and they scattered away from the door to hide before the aforementioned woman emerged from the room. Her eyes were red and puffy, her hair was a mess, her shirt was crumpled.

She sniffed, "man, I acted like a teenager." She chuckled to herself, taking a deep breath as she stretched. Completely oblivious to her kids' presence, who could blame her? They're Batman's children after all, hiding is their number one ability.

Dick caught the younger boys' gaze. He could tell that they silently told him to cheer her up. The former first Robin then pointed to himself, mouthing a 'me?' to the rest.

Tim rolled his eyes, "yes, you." He urged in a whisper, shoving the bigger male forward to her so they could talk while Tim himself motioned for Jason, and Damian to follow him.

"Hey, ma." Dick tried to act like he hadn't spied on his mother with his brothers, sauntering over to her.

She rapidly rubbed her eyes, cursing herself that she should have washed her face before going out of the bedroom. Come on, gather yourself! She gave herself a pep talk, "hey baby, what's up?"

"I was looking for you," this time he tried his acting skills, letting a false confusion to show on his face. Luckily, she didn't notice it. Taking it as a good sign, he continued. "What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?" She played innocent.

"Oh come on, do you really think I don't notice your messy appearance?"

A heavy sigh ripped her lips as she leaned against the door frame. She somehow didn't dare to look into her oldest son's eyes, they were staring right into her soul. Just like Bruce's.

While Alfred's... His eyes could see everything that's going on with her just by looking at her.

Sensing the uncomfortableness between them, Dick cleared his throat. "What about some movies, and snacks?" He suggested, taking her hand before dragging her to the kitchen so they could get their snacks.

Hoping she would tell everything to him.

**

"What are we doing here, Drake?"

The rest of the boys gathered in the batcave, Tim had his fingers professionally typing on the keyboard while Jason, Damian looked at him questioningly. Oblivious to the genius' plan.

"We're going to find out who hurt her."

Tim hijacked the restaurant's cameras she was at last night, his fingers didn't stop clicking until Jason pointed at the screen where a woman was approaching a group of people her age. They were waving at her while she waved back.

"Isn't that her?" Jason asked, more to himself as he leaned his front against the chair Tim was sitting on.

Her (h/c) locks were styled, she was wearing a dress Bruce bought her on their first date, a light make-up making her look younger than her actual age completing her look.

"That's her," Damian confirmed.

They watched the video for more than an hour, not noticing Bruce walking in, his eyebrow quirked.

"I thought I've told you not to use the bat-computer unless it's important." Bruce reminded.

They paused the video, simultaneously turning around to reveal their weirdly serious faces that could make his wife wheezes and laughs.

"This is important," Jason gestured to the paused screen where their mother was talking to a guy they didn't know about.

Meanwhile, Bruce frowned, he recognized the guy. His wife once cried when she told him a story about her previous love life when they were still dating. She had told him that her ex was the worst every woman could ask for, he wasn't abusive but he would spat every insult he could think of when she did something wrong or not dressing up like what he wanted.

He remembered how she would bury her face into his chest while she cried in his strong embrace, letting out whatever she got built up within her heart. Her voice was barely above a whisper, stuttering every word she could muster.

"You know him don't you?" Damian crossed his arms over his chest.

Bruce only answered with a nod, he walked closer to the computer before telling Tim to play the video back again. Tim gladly complied, happy that Bruce finally joining so he could finish his task faster.

"Where is she now?"

**

On the other hand, Dick had got her to tell him everything. She seemed sad when she did, her eyes were fixated on her lap as she told him what happened.

"I didn't know he was there." She laughed it off, her voice cracking obviously trying not to cry.

Dick never knew that someone who had been so strong raising him, which include; seeing him fighting with Bruce, him running away and her having to persuade him to come back--- trying her hardest not to break down in front of him, no matter how much he insisted her to tell him everything that bothers her.

"He told me that I'm still as lame as I was, wearing a knee-length dress with my chest all covered up not showing any cleavage." She shrugged, "nobody wants me because of my look, and I have to go to a party my old friend going to hold in three days which means he also going to be there."

Dick listened to her with interest, he never heard about that before. His silence gave her a false signal that she was giving him a boring story, her insecurities was blinding her mind.

"Sorry Dickie-bird, I didn't mean to bore you." She apologized, starting to stand up before she pointed to the mess they made on the glass coffee table. "I'm going to clean these up."

He saw her picking up the empty bowl and crumpled wrappers before he could say anything to assure her that she didn't bore him she already walked towards the kitchen.

Sighing, Dick stood up. Deciding that it was time to do something about it.

**

You washed the dishes with your hands instead of the dishwasher in an attempt to get your mind off the jerk you once dated when you were younger.

When you thought your week couldn't get worse, the plate slipped out of your hand. It fell to the floor, a loud shattering noise was elicited, immediately you crouched to get the shards from the floor so nobody gets hurt as you secretly hoping nobody heard it.

A gasp pried your lips apart, your hand stung because the sharp shard cut your palm. You were thankful that it was the last one. You then stood up to get the blood off your skin but it was too late.

A familiar large hand caught your wrist, you could feel his gaze on your bleeding palm. You tilted up your head as soon as you heard his voice calling your name.

"What happened?" He worriedly asked, lifting your hand up so he could examine it.

"Life." You giggled at his disgruntled expression, "I accidentally dropped a plate." Your husband quickly swept you off of your feet, earning a squeak of surprise from you, before sitting you on the counter.

He reached his hands up, opening the cabinet to get the first aid kit. He treated the cut carefully since it was pretty deep.

"Damian told me about you crying." Bruce was always the type of person who gets to the point, it didn't startle you but the fact that your kids had spied on you.

Tell the kids to mind their own business, noted.

You sighed, there was no way you could lie to him so you nodded instead.

"Is it him?"

"Yeah, Bruce," the dark-haired man was done treating your cut, you couldn't help but rolled your eyes when you finally noticed the bandage around your palm. "I have to face him in the next three days."

"You don't have to come."

"Then he will think that he was right, I need to show him that I've changed."

"Can you?" Bruce asked without hesitation, he was always blunt when it came to things like this. Especially when it comes to you.

Your answer was the opposite of his question, it was delayed since you were reluctant to tell him out loud. "I---  I'm not sure..." Bruce took your hands in his, lacing them together gently. His gesture calmed you down, you continued. "I'm scared Bruce, I'm not good enough."

"I thought we are through this."

"I'm sorry, I---"

Bruce cut you off by kissing your lips, immediately shutting you up. You untangled your hand from his before trailing it up his muscular torso to rest on his face. You always liked it when he acted all softie around you, his cuddles accompanied with the sweet nothings he always whispered in your ear were the cure to your stress.

If people know that Batman is actually a huge Teddy bear inside, you would bet that his enemies would make fun of him instead of making it his weakness.

"I'll come with you." He suddenly said after breaking the passionate kiss.

You were still relishing the feeling of his chapped lips against yours, you could only respond with a weak 'what' that came out like a squeak.

"Me, and the boys will come with you to the party."

And they did, they come along. But of course, there had to be a ruckus. You were bringing Bruce Wayne for heaven's sake!

You could feel the guests (some of them were your former classmates) staring right at you, judging you as they whisper something to one another.

"I never thought you're Bruce Wayne's little Mistress."

There it was, the voice you wanted to avoid the most. Your heart swells with insecurities, you subconsciously reached for the hem of your blouse to fiddle with it.

"What do you want?" You cursed yourself for sounding weak, though the other part of yourself wanted you to hide inside the women's room forever.

"Enjoying the view."

"By insulting someone?" It was the first time you heard Tim spoke like that, his voice had an edge in it. He probably used to talk like that in missions which explained why you never heard him did so.

"What? She's nothing right?"

You could feel one of your sons, or maybe all of them rolled his eyes irritatedly before Jason snapped.

The younger yet bigger man gripped his collar, pulling him up so they were face to face.

"Listen here you dick," you couldn't help but glance at your oldest son, smiling slightly when you saw him looking uncomfortable when he heard his nickname was used as a bad word. "You're going to stop insulting my ma or I'll break your jaw and make sure they can't be fixed."

Your husband who was silent the whole time wrapping his arm around your waist while Damian reached for your hand, Dick stood behind you as they watched Jason confronted your ex until the guy storming off, out of the restaurant.

Bruce charmed his way out of the trouble when the manager came out angrily (also a little too late) to stop the fighting.

It made your night to see them going all protective like that. You always knew they had your back.

The night soon came to an end, you and your family walked out from the restaurant, exchanging your favorite parts about the night in your own ways then stopped when Dick cleared his throat, telling you he had something important to tell you.

"We know it's not a mother day or anything," him being the oldest of the boys spoke to represent the others as he pulled out a small, tidily wrapped box before handing it to you. "But we just want to show you how much you mean to us."

You looked at the little box, your kids then back to the box after they gave you a nod. Your fingers working to get the wrapping paper open before opening the white colored box, revealing a clove shaped ring.

The leafs were decorated with the boys' birthstone.

A smile broke onto your face, your eyes tearing up with joy as you engulfed them in a group hug. You didn't know how you did it but you could care less.

"It was my idea." Damian's voice was muffled by your stomach.

"It was my money." Bruce butted in, ruining the mood.

You groan and slapped your husband's arm.

"Shut up, you still have a lot of it to make more bat-toys."

[grahkingston]

Pet Nutrition Kingston - Instructions to Stop Your Cat Begging for Food

We've all known about 'pup canine eyes', yet it very well may be similarly difficult to oppose the aching looks of a feline desiring a scrumptious tit-bit. Our felines can be vocal when they're eager as well. You may see their small, engaging whimpers develop stronger and keep going for quite a while.

At Grah Kingston, we are providing quality guidelines about Dog & Cat Nutrition. We are providing the best pet nutrition service in Kingston 7 days a week.

Regardless of whether they're craving after what's on your plate, anxiously revolving around your legs while you dish up their supper, or taking from another pet's bowl, our catlike companions just aren't modest with regards to food.

Sound natural? We as a whole love our pets, however, it's normal to feel baffled or diverted by asking conduct. Or on the other hand, maybe you're concerned that their yearning alludes to a fundamental medical problem. Canagan, the sans grain pet food specialists, layout why a feline asks, how to bring an end to the propensity and how to realize you're taking care of them enough so their stomachs are glad the entire day, consistently.

Why is my cat always hungry?

Felines are animals of propensity, so will anticipate that their food should be served simultaneously consistently. They may cry and gaze at you until their food bowl is filled, at that point wolf it down. Try not to stress – they're eager, not starving. Much the same as us, a feline's unfilled stomach imparts signs to its cerebrum when food is required, ordinarily at around the hours of the day that they are accustomed to being taken care of. In case you're the individual that takes care of them, they'll look to you to satisfy this need.

Critically, be that as it may, felines aren't inspired by food similarly canines are, along these lines, asking or crying for food between feedings could show a clinical issue. In case you're concerned, address your vet about their conduct. The accompanying reasons might be assuming a job:

·         Lack of nutrients – Just like people, no two felines are very; an eating routine that suits one feline won't work for another. Along these lines, your cat may carry on of character if their eating routine isn't filling them with the supplements they need. Signs to pay special mind to incorporate; laziness, low disposition, inordinate prepping, and growing in the gums. In case you're concerned, visit your vet to examine what you're presently taking care of your feline and, critically, affirm their dietary necessities so you can roll out any improvements.

·         Seeking consideration – Any caring proprietor will give their feline love. Consequently, your pet may stick close and brush against you. Nonetheless, on the off chance that they're feeling somewhat dismissed – maybe you're having a bustling day – their dietary patterns may get influenced.

·         Abnormal taking care of practices – If you notice your feline is getting twisted up, or even forceful, when you open a tin of feline food, it could be an indication of something other than a good craving.

Exploration shows that cats with an excessively inordinate hunger, including pets who eat non-food things, and who are inclined to food-related hostility could be experiencing a condition called 'psychogenic irregular taking care of conduct'. Psychogenic is the term given to a sickness that is accepted to have emerged from enthusiastic pressure, such as eating.

To determine this, play is critical. Honestly, it tends to be hard to track down an ideal opportunity to engage your feline around a bustling way of life. Along these lines, opening it into your timetable – even 15 to 20 minutes of connection can endlessly improve your pet's conduct. Likewise, compensating for positive conduct and disregarding negative conduct can help change your feline's mentality.

Prodded by their food bowl

Your feline connects their bowl with pet food. They may hence continually wait close to it, gaze upward hopefully, ask or act forcefully. In this way, take their brain off food.

If your feline is continually anticipating food, eliminate their bowl once supper time is finished – out of the picture and therefore irrelevant. Concealing the item, they partner with food can help get out from under unfortunate propensities. In this way, when they see the bowl, they'll realize a delicious dinner is on its way – and at no other time. To strengthen this, make an effort not to eat your dinners before your cat.

Worms

Worms in felines and little cats are normal and should be dealt with regularly for the duration of their lives. They don't will in general have genuine results and are anything but difficult to treat should your pet get them. Worms can be shrunk by eating contaminated prey, having insects, and gulping them while preparing or getting worms from defecation while outside. In instances of lungworm, contact with slugs and snails are at fault. Little cats would then be able to acquire the disease from their mom and ingest hatchlings in her milk.

Indications incorporate; ailment, loose bowels, weight reduction, shortcoming, and helpless coat quality. Hacking, wheezing, and windedness are normal in lungworm.

Where does the 'asking' come in? Worms take all the nourishment from food after your feline eats, leaving your catlike feeling continually ravenous. You'll discover this craving isn't effectively satisfied – it's an endless loop. Grown-up felines should hence be wormed at regular intervals, as they don't generally show side effects of worms. In case you're concerned, check their base and excrement. While it might seem like an undesirable errand, it's urgent to your pet's prosperity and solace. The most well-known structure is 'tapeworm' which looks like level grains of rice, while 'roundworms' are long and white.

Hyperthyroidism

Hyperthyroidism normally influences more established felines. It's brought about by the expanded creation of thyroid chemicals from the thyroid organs, which are arranged in the neck. Thyroid chemicals are answerable for directing many-body measures. When an excess of chemical is created, felines can turn out to be truly sick.

Thyroid chemicals additionally help control the body's metabolic rate, so felines with hyperthyroidism will in general consume energy too quickly and shed pounds notwithstanding having an expanded hunger and eating more. Different signs incorporate; voracious thirst, anxiety, touchiness, and an unkempt fur garment. A few felines may encounter gentle heaving or potentially loose bowels, show bigotry to warmth, and gasp when they are focused.

In case you're concerned, look for veterinary help. An inadequately feline will require a blood test to quantify the degrees of thyroid chemicals in the blood. Luckily, effectively treated felines as a rule see a total inversion of all indications of hyperthyroidism.

Am I feeding my cat enough during the day?

The amount you should take care of your feline relies upon their variety, way of life, body condition, and age. Keep in mind – each feline is extraordinary.

We as a whole need our pets to be solid and lean. A functioning grown-up feline needs around 240 calories every day. Measure their dinner partitions cautiously to maintain a strategic distance from weight gain and backing their eating regimen with work out. Allow them to go around the nursery and up trees. They may chase prey outside, expanding their calorie consumption, so each one makes a difference.

If you own an indoor feline, discover elective approaches to make them move. A scratching post or feline tree offers them a chance to climb, extend, and hone their hooks. Locate an open, raised space away from your home so they can hop up.

Numerous felines pick windowsills so they can watch the world pass by as well! Pursuing a pleasant toy like a ball or a plume on a stick engages cats, however goes about as an incredible type of activity.

Instructions to break the begging habit

Notwithstanding recess and deliberately eliminating their food bowl, here are our prescribed tips to help check your feline's asking propensity:

·         Keep them quiet – It can be baffling when your feline comes running and howling into the kitchen without fail, they hear the stir of a food pack or a tin opening. At the point when this occurs, delicately get them and bring them into another region of your house that is peaceful and quiet. Then again, occupy them with a toy for instance so you can break on in the kitchen.

·         Commendation them at supper time – When your feline's supper time swings around, give them loads of uplifting feedback. Calling them to supper, making a function of laying their bowl down and complaining them for completing their food; this will give them away from of when it's an ideal opportunity to eat and of the segment size they will get. The point is that they'll quit asking for the day and disassociate your dinnertime from their own. Felines do react to preparing, so fire up an everyday practice.

·         Stand firm and disregard the asking – If your feline is crying or asking, do whatever it takes not to humor them – essentially overlook them or leave. In the end, they'll concentrate somewhere else. It might appear to be hard, however, persistence is vital. It's truly imperative to show them heaps of adoration some other season of day to secure their emotional well-being, yet its merits being focused where food is concerned.

·         Present a food puzzle bowl – The dynamic quest for food is instinctual for felines. Acquainting a food puzzle with their supper time claims to their craving for physical and mental incitement during taking care of. The 'puzzle' component additionally eases back their eating; this diminishes the opportunity of acid reflux and lets their mind 'get up to speed' with their stomach, leaving them feeling more full and less slanted to ask.

·         Counsel a vet – If your feline's asking propensity is persevering, think about addressing a vet at vet clinic Kingston. They'll search for the base of the issue and suggest an answer. It can require some investment for felines to change undesirable practices and learn new ones, yet executing a specialist's tips in a recognizable, agreeable, and calm climate like the home can have a genuine effect.

It's all around very simple to take care of your feline treats from the table or choose to disregard when they brazenly take from another pet's bowl, without giving the additional calories or repercussions on their conduct a hesitation. While this may satisfy them at the time, the drawn-out impacts shouldn't be belittled. As opposed to asking, it's about your feline knowing great conduct and understanding eating times in the home so they and you can unwind for the day.

If you have more questions about your pet nutrition service please be sure to contact us. We are here to help. Pet owners are welcome to visit our Animal Hospital Kingston. We have teams of veterinarians with years of experience in Pet Nutrition Service incredibly.

[keagskins]

In Which Morgan Proposes

(( Ft. Male! Morgan and Mika. Wrote ages ago aroud 1am and never edited ))

Everything had to go smoothly-

It just had to. There was no way around it. He’d taken a lot of time and put a lot of thought into this whole fiasco and he’d be damned if it went haywire.

Preparations had been taken. The night prior, a mass email had been sent out saying that there was a mandatory meeting in the Lobby at precisely 10:05 AM. What was so unusual about this email, was that there was no humor. No pranks or hidden files or messages left. It was just an email, written with formal grammar and proper punctuation, and simply signed as “Morgan Yu.” And that alone was unusual for a number of reasons. Reasons like the simple fact that Morgan never signed his last name in emails- he thought it redundant because it very clearly said “Sent by: Morgan Yu” at the top of every one of his emails, like it or not. He also never signed his whole first name, usually it was left as “M.” He said it made him seem mysterious, if you ignored the fact that his name was displayed at the top of every single email.

The oddity of the email did its job and caught everyone’s attention. As planned, everyone was left standing around in the lobby, all cluttered as close to the frontal window as they could get. Gossip floated over their heads- what was going on? Was Morgan okay? Was this even Morgan? Maybe it was an elaborate prank? But soon enough their murmurs hushed as Alex stepped off of the elevator, looking just as bewildered as the rest of the staff. A couple tried to ask him- see if he knew what his sibling was up to, but they were only met with the same answer everyone else had. They didn’t know. No one knew, and Morgan wasn’t here yet.

And then he appeared. Quietly he jogged down the stairs that lead from the first floor of the lobby to his office- very acutely aware of the eyes locked on his form. “Morgan?” “Mr. Yu?” “Dr. Yu?” “What the hell, Morgan.” The crowd of staff started- a cacophony of voices. Morgan simply pursed his lips, and pulled his TranScribe from his pocket. He checked the time, then looked to the crowd. “You’ll know in two minutes.” And that was all the insight he gave. His sibling tried- persistently- to get the information out of him. But Morgan brushed him off.

Something was defiantly off with him.

He perched himself near the railing that kept people from getting too close to the glass, and impulsively checked the time several more times. He seemed simultaneously more anxious and less jittery than usual- which was weird.

And then it happened. At exactly 10:05 AM, The elevator descended into view once again. This time with only one passenger- who looked exponentially more confused than the rest of the staff. She stepped off of the elevator- eyebrows furrowed and lips drawn tight. She tried to ask- people simply raised their eyebrows; “Didn’t you get Morgan’s email?” Which, for the record, only served to confuse her more. She hadn’t gotten any email, and certainly not one from Morgan.

She spotted him- feet instantly deciding to lead her over. “Morgan? Morgan what’s going on?” He picked himself up- having been supporting his weight with the aid of the railing and his right arm- and shrugs. “Beats me.” “Morgan don’t do that. I’ve heard you sent out an email?” He purses his lips, giving a slight nod. “Oh. That. Yeah i know what that is-” Everyone’s eyes were on him. It was 10:08 AM and he still hadn’t done whatever it was he was going to do.

Behind him, visible splashes of the Milky Way were coming into view. The stars seemed more vibrant- glowing, radiating with the same energy that flowed between the buzzing scientists and engineers that lived aboard the station. There was the briefest pause- the loudest beat of silence- as Morgan reached into his pocket once more. This time, his hand exited the pocket with a small, glittering ring in his fingers.

And suddenly it was quiet for a whole different reason- jaws fell open and people looked between each other. Mikhalia looked somewhere between horrified and shocked-

And Morgan Yu, a god among men, fell to one knee.

Mikhalia’s hands flew to her mouth- eyes wide and suddenly wet and glistening in the warm light of Talos’ red and gold interior and the cold light of the stars behind her.

She says yes, sobbing as she takes the ring gingerly- for there wasn’t really a way to wear it with her gloves on.

Well, That what he wants to happen anyways.

“Morgan,” She tries again, more firm as she stares at him.

Morgan Yu feels like he’s going to pass out. Sweat drips down his temple and his fingers are numb. Oh god-- Okay, Okay, this is fine, he just needs to do what he did in his day dream- it was going to be fine.

Except it’s not, because the moment he lifts his arm from the railing, he stumbles- wheezing as he’s suddenly too lightheaded to even hold himself up. Mika catches him- “Morgan- are you alright?” He wheezes pitifully- mouth too dry and throat too tight. Oh god-- he’s an idiot-- he should have known he’d be too anxious to pull this off in front of three thousand people. He nods- movements too jerky to ever be played off as cool. He holds onto her forearms and closes his eyes- He’s so very aware of the eyes on him-- of Alex moving closer, worried.

When he opens his eyes, he sees Mika. Her brows are furrowed- teeth just barely visible past her teeth. He sees the genuine concern in her dark chocolate eyes- the creases in her face. He sees the way parts of her hair curl more than others- the way one particular, thin curl, wraps around her earlobe and just barely touches her cheek. He wanted this- and goddamn it he’s going to go through with it if it kills him.

With new found confidence- He raises to his full, but not very intimidating height- and pulls back his shoulders. He hopes he looks cool- but he knows that’s not happening. He’s sure he’s pale as a sheet and sweaty because he can feel strands of hair getting stuck to his forehead. “Mikhalia,” He mumbles, voice not nearly as confident as he wants it to be but. But it’s fine. Really it is because he feels his heart throb- overflowing with pure love and admiration for the woman standing beside him- He sees the stars in her eyes- quite literally- and knows that if he wants this to go even slightly like his dream did, he needs to act now. While the stars are at his back and the center of his universe is in his reach-

He squeezes her arms- a crooked smile stretching on his lips as he shakes his head- a shaken chuckle leaving him. He doesn’t need to look cool for her. She loves his anxiousness the same way she loves the rest of him.

He pulls back, hands sliding down her forearms and pausing to squeeze her hands before he lets go and his hand slips into his pocket. The ring is revealed, and held close to his chest. He looks at it, sees the diamond he’d picked- the design he’d created. This was the ring he’d made for the love of his life- and it was beautiful. He really wants to see it on her hand. Somewhere, he’s aware that she’s frozen. Everyone is. But he’s not looking at them.

Sluggishly, he forces his tightly-wound muscles to flex and relax in a way that makes him sink to one knee.

This was where he first met Mikhalia. And this is where he wants her to become his fiance. He runs his fingers over the ring, faintly feeling the edges of the stone through his thick gloves. His tongue drags over his lips and he prays to whatever god that’s listening that his voice sounds more confident this time around.

Looking up from the ring, he lands on Mika. She has her hands clasped over her mouth, just like in his fantasy, and her eyes shimmer with tears that haven’t yet fallen. His crooked, slightly nervous smile, slides back onto his face and he shyly offers the ring. “Mikhalia.. I know people say a lot of stuff about me. That i sleep around and can’t take anything seriously- that i’m a joke. And i can’t say it’s not true. It is. But you make me think i’m okay- and i’d give you the world. I want.. I want you to stay with me. For as long as you’ll tolerate me.” Somewhere, he knows that that isn’t the speech he had prepared. It’s.. Not the best either. You aren’t supposed to beat yourself up when you’re proposing. But.. She laughed. He catches sight of a tear slipping past her lashes- and it’s like watching the first snow fall or seeing a falling star. His Star.. “Mikhalia Ilyushin, Will you marry me?”

She nods- it’s frantic and she’s laughing. Her face is red- the blush having started at the tip of her nose and ears then spread outwards to her cheeks. She sniffs- offering her hand. She can’t put the ring on now, but Morgan makes a big deal out of gently setting it in her palm. She closes her fist and holds it to her heart- a soft, breathless “Yes” falling from her lips.

Morgan grins. His muscles snap like a stretched spring- and he’s back to his feet in nanoseconds- hands reaching for her- But she slaps them away with her free hand and suddenly there's an anger in her eyes that makes his grin stretch- “You almost fainted-- you just had to do it in front of everyone?” He laughs- distinctly aware that he’s crying more than she is- and his hands come to rest on her. One palm falling over her neck, fingers digging into the hairs at the nape of her neck, as the other squeezes her bicep and draws her close. Their noses bump- and he’s laughing whilst sobbing. The stress that had been building since three days ago spilling out of him in the form of tears and broken laughs.

It’s not three minutes later when he feels a hard slap on his shoulder- he spins to see Alex, who’s crying and angry “You didn’t even tell me you were going to propose and then you do it like this?”

[landing-amongst-the-planets]

Oh, Pidge definitely does that xD She’s not obvious, cuz she likes to play the long game. She casually mentions getting a few new modelling offers over fall break, without actually mentioning what offers they are. She leaves the card of a well-known lingerie designer on her desk when her friends and Matt are all in the room (she borrowed the card from one of her modelling friends cuz no one’s asked her to model lingerie yet since she’s still a teenager and her parents are in direct contact with her manager). She leaves around some lingerie magazines and when her friends and Matt ask her why, flustered, she says that they’re for reference. Her parents know that she neither got nor accepted any offer to model lingerie, since all her modelling offers go through them, but they still let her continue with her prank, amused (Sam says she gets it from Colleen, and Colleen is proud :3).

Her friends and Matt put together the imaginary pieces, which is why they’ve been looking so agitated lately. Finally, after the magazine incident, Matt and her friends ask her wtf kind of reference would she need from lingerie magazines. Pidge smirks and says that she accepted an offer to model lingerie. Everything simultaneously goes to hell. Matt and Lance just screech for 1 minute straight, though Pidge thinks she can hear some coherent words in there. Poor Hunk is beside himself with worry, saying he doesn’t want his best friend modelling for creeps. Keith turns bright red, with a mixture of embarrassment and anger, saying that no creep should be offering lingerie modelling offers to 16-year-olds and omg those mental images whyyyy the swimwear thing was torturous enough. Shiro, Allura, and Acxa are in similar states, while Lotor just stays still in shock, before calmly asking Narti (Zethrid is threatening to rip the designer’s head off, with Keith opting to follow her lead, while Ezor has caught on that this is a prank and just remains silent, snickering the background) to grab the designer’s card for him, which she does silently in all the ruckus, so that he can sue the guy. This is when Pidge, who had desperately been suppressing her laughter, bursts out laughing before swiping the card from Lotor and telling them that it’s all a prank. They all sag in relief, and Matt actually starts crying from the stress on his heart. Then they all berate her for messing with them and exploiting their overprotective tendencies (“Tendencies is an understatement!” Pidge says in between wheezing from laughing so much). Sam and Colleen can hear everything from downstairs and have a good laugh themselves. Then, after Pidge promises not to do it again (“at least for a little while”), they all relax a bit and watch a movie.

A Voltron AU inspired by the work of @besh-drawing-stuff where Pidge is a model.

Pidge is pretty popular but she keeps it a secret at school, wearing glasses to hide who she is which seems to work. Some times people suspect it but then Pidge does something nerdy or something not so cute which changes their minds.

She’s still friends with the Voltron gang. This AU works for everyone because whoever you ship Pidge with, you can have them talking about how much they like the model Pidge. Thoughts? Headcanons? Ideas?