#{ too exhausted from assignments to get to long threads. }

[yuquinzel]

[ 2:18 AM ] — itoshi rin.

joining in on the clingy rin agenda with this :P

rin does not like disruptions to his carefully crafted schedule, specifically— his sleep schedule. he has to be in bed by 11 pm sharp and wake up at the first light of dawn for his morning jog. that's how he's always gone about his day, that's how he prefers everything to be— falling perfectly into a rhythmic routine.

but tonight is different, tonight it's almost past 2 am, long since he found himself cozy in the warmth of his blankets— and yet he lies wide awake, eyes heavy with drowsiness but not enough to close shut because itoshi rin can not sleep unless you're beside him.

he wants to blame his comforter for failing to keep him warm, but in truth he's aware that the cold pooling his sheets is only an extension from the emptiness of your side of the bed.

it looks barren, abandoned even.

it's not like you're not home, it's not like you had an argument that didn't end well and hence refuse to sleep next to him, it's not like some college assignment is keeping you awake late into the night. you're just busy watching reruns of your favourite series because it had your favourite actor and rin is too prideful to admit he's not used to falling asleep without you threading your fingers in his hair.

he told himself he can sleep just fine on an empty bed. and he believed it for about three hours.

now you find him hovering like a ghost by the end of the room, all wrapped in blankets as he's taking long and impatient strides over to where you're slumped on the couch.

“bed. now.” he says, almost a little desperate.

you spare him a glance, then back to your tv screen, “rin? why're you still awake?”

“it's cold. i'm cold. come back to bed.” you know his short and quick answers are just a reflection of how tired he truly is.

“you're cold?” you ask, and rin simply nods.

“just two more episodes rin, promise i'll come after that.” you say, eyes still set on the tv screen and rin eyes the way your eyes glimmer with awe when that actor shows up.

and then suddenly your vision is blocked, the fluorescent light from the tv casting white shadows across rin's large physique as he eclipses your view of the tv, “what's so great about him? you can watch these tomorrow, come back, i can't sleep without you.”

you're about to say what the hell rin step aside before the realisation hits, and his words replay in your mind. the gears in your head turn, an amused smile gracing your lips, “are you jealous of this actor?”

rin huffs, kneeling down so he's eye-to-eye with you, “i never said that. i said i can't sleep without you because your side of the bed is cold so it makes me cold.”

you laugh a little, and rin feels a sort of warmth tingle his skin, “but they won't air these old episodes tomorrow, and its only two more, give me like, half an hour?” you bargain, bringing a hand to cradle the side of his face, rin leaning in your warmth even more.

he ponders your words, grumbling something unintelligible as he gets up. you think he's about to leave, before he plops down next to you. adjusting himself on the couch with you with barely enough space to accommodate the both of you, rin manages to bury his face in your chest while you have to tightly wrap your arms around him to keep you from falling.

“we're gonna fall and it'll be your fault,” you breathe, and rin holds you even tighter at your words.

“no, it'll be your fault. you won't come to bed with me.”

“you're such a baby.” you laugh again, your chuckles reverberating through him with your closely pressed bodies, the comfort of it beginning to lull him to sleep like magic. he's a little grateful to the lack of space on the couch in exchange for the intimacy of this moment.

the last thing echoing in his mind before he dozes off is the sensation of your fingers running through his hair, with a light tug at times that relieves him of all his exhaustion.

sleeping on the couch is perhaps much better than the bed.

© yuquinzel2023 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

[simspaghetti]

As I'm doing a rags-to-riches challenge atm for gen 3 of my Random Legacy, I've been looking into mods that make the off-grid experience in TS3 a bit more realistic

I hope this list will be especially useful as a resource for anyone doing rags-to-riches, runaway teen, midnight sun, zombie apocalypse or any other similar challenge which requires your sim to live off the land - I personally love this gameplay style, and I hope this is useful for others too!

As always, if anyone has any suggestions of mods / CC I should add to this list, let me know and I'll update it - it's definitely not exhaustive by any means :)

Mods:

Moar Interactions by Buzzler on MTS

I recommend this mod regardless of if you're playing off-the-grid because it adds a bunch of great stuff, but the interactions particularly useful for this gameplay style are 'work overtime' at the small businesses around town, allowing your sim to earn a bit of extra cash without being officially employed, and also the ability to 'cancel the carpool / schoolbus' (because a carpool wouldn't agree to pick your sim up from their camp in the middle of the woods)

Nraas Careers via Nraas Industries

This mod allows your teen / child sims to be enrolled in home-schooling, which makes much more sense if they're living as a runaway - tutorial for how to assign them to homeschooling is here - I also reccomend using storyprogression to disable curfew for your teen sims if you're playing them as a runaway (tutorial here)

Nraas GoHere via Nraas Industries

This might be a bit random - but this mod is an abseloute lifesaver if your sim doesn't have a car, you can force them to walk long distances without automatically getting in a taxi (best used when combined with the taxi charge mod - linked below)

One with Nature by Spherefish on MTS

This mod is basically the GOAT for off-grid gameplay - it adds the ability to sleep on the floor, pee on the floor, have sponge baths in the ocean / swimming pool and also to relax / daydream on the ground

Pay for the gym by ani on MTS

Some people won't like this one as it definitely makes runaway / rags-to-riches challenges a lot more challenging, but in combination with the other mods I think it makes sense to charge for hot showers when your sim could just go for a wild swim instead!

No Fridge Shopping via Nraas Industries

No more magically buying ingredients from the fridge - your off-grid sim has to grow the produce themselves or go to the supermarket if they want to cook!

Taxi Charge & Subway Charge on MTS

Challenges such as runaway teen require you to buy a flamingo every time your sim takes a taxi - this removes that requirement as your sim gets automatically charged 6-20 simoleons depending on their age - Subway Charge does the same for your Bridgeport sims

No Stretch Children Can Series by Kapaer on MTS

I always recommend this mod for general gameplay anyway, but it's especially useful if you've got kids in your household for offgrid living, they're no longer completely useless!

Attend University online by TwinSimming on Tumblr

Similar to the homeschooling option from nraas careers (linked above), this allows your sim to attend university entirely from the comfort of their computer - they do still have to pay for the degree though!

Off-Grid Inventing Overhaul by SimState on MTS

Allows your inventor sims to create household objects through the inventing table - so you don't have to save up to buy them if your sim is crafty enough!

Ani's Various Mods

I particularly recommend the 'mountain bike' mod which allows your sims to ride a bike around without roads, as well as the 'ration box' mod & 'consignment'

Sleep on Sofa / Bench by Sammonsim on MTS

Scroll down to post #22 in this thread to get the link to this mod - it basically allows your sims to get a full nights sleep on a sofa / bench without having to queue up 50 'nap' interactions

Functional Wells / Off Grid Plumbing & Functional Washboard

This makes your sim have to collect buckets of water from a well if they want to shower / wash the dishes etc. The functional washboard allows them to wash their clothes in a less mechanical way, I reccomend using Danjaley's functional well cc in addition to the plumbing mod as it adds a few more options for your style of lot

Custom Content:

Pallet bed set on tumblr

BionicZombie's Basement Treasures TS4 conversio

Travel Items by Everlasting Garden

Working Futon on MTS

Hollow bee tree on MTS

Camping time set by Toreno

Around The Sims 3:

Camping Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 Eco Living TS4 Conversion Into The Wild Trashes & Bonfires / Part 2 Stray Life City / Stray Life Woods Beer Keg / Wine Barrel Squat Bedroom

Twinsimming:

Into the wild set TS4 Werewolves conversion

Simzoo:

All-In-One Bush / Toilet bush Rock / Bucket sink Log Bench / Bench 2 / Rock Stool / Wood Box Cushioned Seat Tree Dresser Haystack bed / Log bed Single table-style counter Raft pool lounger Firepit set

TheSimsResource:

Disclaimer: I do not endorse or condone using this website, unfortunately a lot of great CC for TS3 is locked behind it due to the age of the game - so I've linked some of it here, but I recommend using a reliable adblocker (personally I use Ublock Origin for firefox) before visiting it / downloading anything

Hayloft bunk-bed More Mailboxes (These are a lot less space-consuming than the default mailbox, and I like to either attach them to trees or just hide them in bushes on my off-grid lots lol) The homeless pet set Trapper Bedroom All of cyclonesue's stuff for urban environments

[meazalykov]

across the pond

lauren james x black!reader ( requested by my mutual @pinkyqil )

summary: you surprise your girlfriend at the euros final

you’ve never pulled an all-nighter in your life before, not like this anyway. sure, you’ve stayed up late cramming for exams, but this is different. 

the glow of the computer screen in front of you blurs with each passing hour. your eyes feel gritty, and your fingers ache from typing, but you don’t stop. you can’t. there’s too much riding on this.

you lean back in your chair, running your hands through your thick, coiled hair, tugging lightly at the roots in frustration. 

the clock on your laptop reads 3:47 am, and the words on your screen are starting to swim, but you push through. you have to. you can’t afford to let anything slip, not with how close the semester is to finishing. 

not with how much pressure you’re under.

columbia isn’t forgiving when it comes to deadlines, and you knew this when you got accepted. 

you also didn’t anticipate how difficult it would be to balance school and life, especially when your girlfriend is lauren james, playing at the highest level of football with chelsea and the england national team.

you check your phone for what feels like the hundredth time that night, no new messages from lauren. 

the last one is still there, sitting unanswered in your text thread, where the argument escalated and left the both of you simmering in frustration.

“you don’t get it, laur. you don’t know how this feels. you’re a footballer, not a college student.”

you regret saying that the moment it you said it, but you were so tired. so frustrated with the assignments piling up and the guilt you felt for not being able to make it to london to watch lauren play in the euro final against germany. 

and lauren? she had been so excited, so insistent that you come, that you be there to watch her on the biggest stage of her career.

“and you think i don’t get pressure? you think i don’t know how it feels to have people depending on me, waiting for me to perform? come on, y/n. that’s not fair.”

you can still hear her voice, quiet but sharp with disappointment, over the phone. that conversation ended hours ago, but it’s still looping in your mind, like some background track you can’t shut off.

you don’t have time to dwell on it now. you stare at the paper in front of you, force yourself to focus. 

the library is quiet except for the occasional rustle of paper or the sound of someone else’s fingers tapping on a keyboard. you’re one of the few people left at this hour, the kind of student who lives in the library when finals loom.

you shift in your seat, the wooden chair creaking under your weight, and refocus on the words in front of you. you’re so close to finishing. if you can just get through these last couple of pages, you can make it. 

you’ve already mapped it out in your head — finish the work, book a flight to london, and surprise lauren before the final.

it sounds simple, but it’s anything but.

the hours stretch on, but eventually, your fingers slow down, your paper complete. 

relief washes over you, your muscles relaxing for the first time in what feels like days. you save your work, upload your assignments, and lean back in your chair with a long exhale.

you did it.

now comes the real test.

you grab your phone, fingers shaking slightly from exhaustion and adrenaline as you pull up your flight app. 

there’s one that leaves JFK airport in three hours, direct to london, and your thumb hovers over the “book now” button for a second, before pressing it. the confirmation comes through almost immediately, and for the first time all night, a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. 

you’re going to make it.

you quickly gather your things, tossing your laptop into your bag and making a mental note to grab some coffee before heading to the airport. as you make your way out of the library, the cool early morning air hits you, waking you up slightly as you pull your jacket tighter around yourself. 

hopefully the chairs on the plane are comfortable in comfort plus, since you’ll get your overdue sleep on the plane. 

your mind is racing with thoughts of lauren and the final. you’d said some things you shouldn’t have in that argument, but now you have the chance to make it right.

the cab ride to the airport is a blur, and before you know it, you’re boarding the plane, settling into your seat with a sigh. you shoot lauren a quick text — nothing too revealing, just that you’re thinking of her and you’re sorry about how the conversation ended. 

you doubt she’ll reply before the final, but it’s something.

you close your eyes for a moment, trying to rest before the flight takes off. the exhaustion from the all-nighter pulls you into a light sleep, but you’re too anxious to fully relax. your mind keeps going back to the moment lauren told you about england making it to the final, how her eyes had lit up, how excited she was. 

you’ve never seen her so happy, so ready for something. you didn’t want to let her down, and now, at the last minute, you’re determined to show up for her.

by the time the plane lands in london, you’re awake from sleeping on the whole flight. the moment your phone gets signal, you shoot a quick text to leah, who’s always been a good friend to both you and lauren.

“hey, i’m in london. didn’t know if you had a spare ticket? i know it’s late to ask.”

you’re not even sure if she’ll respond, she’s probably completely focused on the final, but a minute later, your phone buzzes.“

“hi!!! i got you. meet me at the stadium.”

your heart leaps, excitement flooding through you. you’re really going to make it.

when you arrive at the stadium, it’s already buzzing with energy. fans in england jerseys are everywhere, and you can feel the excitement in the air. you make your way to the designated section leah mentioned, slipping past security with the ticket she arranged for you.

you’ve never been in the friends and family section for a game this big before, and it feels surreal to be surrounded by people who are all here for their loved ones, just like you are.

the match is electric. england and germany, battling it out on the pitch in front of a roaring crowd. you feel every emotion as the game flows, biting your lip, clenching your fists every time lauren gets the ball. she’s playing brilliantly, and you’re bursting with pride.

then, chloe kelly scores. you jump to your feet, screaming along with the rest of the crowd, your heart pounding as england pulls ahead 2-1. 

you can barely contain your excitement as the final whistle blows, and england are crowned champions. the stadium erupts, and you find yourself screaming again, jumping up and down with the other family members and friends of the players. 

the joy in the air is palpable, infectious.

and then you see her — lauren, holding the trophy, her face a mixture of disbelief and pure happiness. you watch as she celebrates with her teammates, grinning from ear to ear, and your heart swells. this is everything she’s worked for.

as the celebrations wind down, you linger near the edge of the family section, watching as the players start making their way over to their loved ones. 

lauren is laughing with leah and georgia, the trophy still in her hands, when she suddenly pauses.

“is that—”

her eyes widen as she spots you, standing just a few feet away, talking to jess. her jaw drops, and for a second, she looks like she can’t believe what she’s seeing.

you grin, waving slightly as her eyes lock onto yours.

“y/n?” lauren says, her voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

you take a step toward her, closing the gap between you as she breaks into a run, practically throwing herself into your arms.

“you’re here,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion as she pulls back to look at you, her hands cupping your face.

“there was no way i was going to miss this,” you say, grinning as you brush a curl out of her face.

her smile is blinding, and she leans in to kiss you, soft and sweet, her lips lingering on yours as the world around you fades away for a moment.

“i’m so proud of you,” you murmur against her lips, and you feel her smile grow even wider.

“i’m so happy you made it,” lauren whispers, pulling you into another hug, her arms wrapped tightly around you as the noise of the celebrations swirls around you.

and in that moment, standing there in the middle of a stadium full of thousands of people, with lauren holding onto you like you’re the only thing that matters.

you know you made the right choice. there was no way you could’ve missed this. not for anything in the world.

masterlist

thank you for the request pinky I hope you liked it :D

[skybristle]

I’m actually going to bed now but infodump so I can read it in the morning. Go nuts

this is a bit hard to understand since obviously *i* have all of the conext of their cahracter and am just spitballing from the mind so please feel free to ask for elaboration anywhere i love talking about my silly guys

but. i think a lot about how i often potray messenger as very,,, jaded and exhausted. and it's true !! it is!!! they're so fucking exhausted. i mean, i would be pretty damn annoyed and tired too if i was constantly the one handed down things, especially regarding their imposed responsibilties in the republic. but. man. nothing's keeping them here. in fact, their loved ones often urge them to rest and quit, none as much as their father which in a lot of ways they're doing this all for. but they will keep fighting. they cannot lay down as long as thy are needed. stemming from a childhood of having worth assigned to productivity especially as someone disabled [OBVIOUDLY NOT PV DOING THAT. I WANT TO CLARIFY. MESSENGER IS ADOPTED] has had far reaching consequences now that they have something to care for, countless things to lose, feelings of obligation, their position as the connecting thread. literally, as the royal messenger, and one of the founders of the republic [unwillingly as it was].

idk. they started off unlearning. beloved deeply by all the kingdoms, engrossed in their cultures, adopted and held dear by the ancients, a symbol of their unity. and then pure vanilla urges them to go to the white lily grove, which is suddenly innaccessable. they don't connect the dots. and then there's war, fracturing the skies.

they were, what, 15? if that? and here they are. darting across skies weaving under and over magical projectiles with the only moments of rest being when they can entrust their wings to propel them on their own. they're one of the few winged people they have [besides gc, who is obviously more useful as a direct messenger]. their role taught them the continent, these lands, the people in it and their problems. and all of that is turned against them in the worst way possible. they care. they care so fucking much. they believe any fault, any death, can be attributed to a failure of theirs. and it ruins them. when they turn from the airship docks and fly directly into the heat of the storm, where the magic rips them apart down to their structural magic, raising the alarm bell, they *know* it's likely a suicide mission, but its okay. they helped people. they were useful. they made up for all of their wrongs. they have so so much hope and faith and love for the world but believe they are a dismissable cost to seeing it through, and the people around them are forced into a position where they must just watch them tear themself apart because they *need* to, and are brilliantly infalliable, and are so important in such a desprate time they cannot rest.

i think a lot about how, after they manage to survive the fall of the vanilla kingdom, stumbling back to the airship and crashlanding with horrific magical burns, stunted mortality, a few extra eyes,shattered arm, a broken magic gift, and constant chronic pain on top of their mobility aids being badly damaged from the storm + from pure vanilla's 'death' effecting the magic in them, they fucking GET UP. they hear secondhand the issues of the infant republic, how nobody's getting anywhere, and they believe earnestly in good faith that this arrangement *can* be made and helped. this kid doesn't know what they're doing, as they haul themself up and walk off, wings dragging, to the council table. they cannot rest yet. their father is dead. their sister is dead. there's no true vanillian heir, yes, they renounced that long ago, but they know their charm and hope direly they can pull this mess together. and they're right!

they are drowning. there's a reason their goodbye note, when they finally break and drop out a window only to fly off into the endless, blissfully silent night skies, is misinterpreted by many as a suicide note.

and, hell, when they retreat to the silence of the grove, deathly afraid of responsibility coming back to eat them alive and seeking complete isolation where if they're ignorant, they don't have to know what they're needed for now [they still feel guilt], they end up finding out the truth regarding white lily [they've always been startling intellegent, and reading trhough all the experiment logs and old letters *they delivered*, even if they're only getting one side,,, they can connect the dots]. and they can't feel angry. they did this all for pure vanilla- for the ancients- for everything. he lied to them. and yet they can't exactly hate a dead man, can they?

until pure vanilla is alive, and they know it, and everyrhing jumps back to life, including their obligations, and their feelings of betrayal. they pressure pv into fessing up and *they* are in large responsibile for odyssey, like, yeah the goal of discussing the war is obviously there and super important but,,, the reunion, the perfect chance to speak,,, even at the costs. it must go on. the world will be bettered, even if it sucks for a while.

i'll gloss over the gc arc for now since its super new, but i made a post a bit earlier about it and they're Having A Bad Fucking Time already enough.

any then odyssey. obviously, its bad enough watching the republic they had a a direct hand in be so shitty, even before they actually GO there. i think that after clotted spills the truth messenger spent so long hurting over persoanlly and working with their father to tell everyone is when their extreme hurt and exhaustion finally boils over into fucking ANGER. they absolutely chew clotted to shreds in the atrium after everyone else dissolves. and thats kinda their spiral from there.

they go to the republic, and they're a fucking *hero*. the worst parts of their life, all compartmentalized and put on a pedastal as the 'first consul'. they cover their ears as their praises are sung, constantly correcting to jsut, please, for the love of god, call them messenger. this hurts even more than if they weren't recongized at all. everyone regards them with utmost respect,,,,

as they stand on the countless dead and hurting of the lower city, countless injustices and ignorance, the paladins that they can so clearly see are just light magic infestations - all of it, all of the republics countless problems. and that awful feeling begins to fester once more. the republic tries to rob their family of their most sacred artifacts as the vehicle to the better, war-free world messenger so desires and which motivates them through hell and back.

*they. are. responsible.* in some way or another, their actions, more specifically, their abandonment of the infant republic, they feel like it lead to this. which only reinforces their tendancies, when they broke and ran it turned out like this. they fight tooth and nail, using their status in the republic as much as it hurts, for something better here. even when the dragon erupts from the earth, even as hell breaks loose at home, as they split themself between the obligations here and the obligations of the ancients, which they have bound themself to out of their love and compassion rather than unending guilt.

they hurt, man.

i can only imagine how bad the future is for them when war truely sparks up again and their mindset is completely cemented. god. theyre so ruined.

but, also,,, i think a lot about the day they're able to sit on top of the vanilla castle, stars flickering, moon parting the clouds, where they can breathe the cold air and bask in the fact that, even if there is more to be done, they *won*.

i think they deserve a long, long vacation, away from the places they have spent so long flying between without appreciating the world they started off wanting to see- the whole reason they became royal messenger so young. parfaedian snows, their sister in law's cabin up in the frost mountains, the tropical soda islands,,, boundless possibilities. they are free. their wings finally catch the wind of new sails.

they can have peace eventually, but it'll be a hell of a ride.

[tiredassmage]

*looks around* say, what was Tyr's experience with Nathema to have such a violent emotional reaction to it?

Ehehehehe >:D

I inexplicably feel uh. Exhausted today, so let's see if I can. make this coherent enough to follow. Especially because it's one of several Tyr Lore notes that roll around like tumbleweeds in my head, but it's hard for Tyr to talk about, if he ever does, and while it certainly is informed by a boatload of his former experiences, it still... doesn't trickle out a lot into fics - or at least it hasn't yet. But I can sure talk about it for him!

In particular interest this time is the visit to Nathema in relation to Vaylin's conditioning there, though... arguably, neither of his visits are particularly 'Galaxy's 50 hottest vacation destinations' list worthy.

The short answer is that Nathema and its connotations are an emotional trigger point for what I'd call Tyr's genuinely deepest fear: being controlled again, to lose what little grip on his individual purpose he does have to the orders of someone else again. And, unfortunately, Nathema is... another blip in a long history of that kind of control running in Imperial circles. While Nathema is definitively more between Valkorian and Vaylin, Valkorian inextricably had a hand in both empires, and the methods he sees at Nathema are not methods Tyr would ever, ever place beyond the Sith Empire. He's seen - and will continue to see after - that it sure as hell isn't.

Alone, the whole experience is more than enough to make it dig at old wounds. I'd even argue it's a fear Tyr guards rather well. It's a silent undercurrent in everything else that rests on his shoulders - the fear of losing the very few he does call close friends, the weight of leading the Alliance, a Cipher's inability to not see the potential scope in all of these issues.

To sort of backtrack then and develop what that pressure point even looks like, Tyr plays... a very interesting game of galactic Twister deflecting the blame for his experiences under Castellan Restraints off of people he cared for and admired and onto parties he could at least hold a grudge against, if not take on outright; Tyr largely blames the Dark Council and Hunter for the bulk of his trauma. At the end of the day, that's who Tyr sees holding the leash and the person he believes delighted the most in tugging at it just to watch him struggle and nearly buckle entirely under the pressure. And all of that still mixing with the kind of ideals he manages to hold to made his position with the Empire post-Corellia incredibly precarious. Not to get too off-topic, but I imagine part of the reason Tyr in particular is assigned as the field lead for the Makeb expedition is because he's just as much on a 'succeed or you better hope you die trying' mandate from Marr and the Council as the bulk of that team. He's not exactly told up front how much of a suicide mission that might be, but he can't say he's surprised when he finds out the extent to which it is once he's on the ground.

Which is... a long and context-inclusive way of giving the groundwork for why its a persistent fear of his. Particularly operating double agent for Ardun Kothe (and, again, not because he's fearing this from Ardun - or even the SIS at large). In short and to reference a particularly delicious conversation the agent can have with Lokin again, "Of all the things that can go wrong in this job, dying's not so bad. Failure, though..."

Well, he's seen plenty of times over what failure can look like for an operative. For the average Imperial that's more likely to be treated like a pawn in the Sith's games than an ally or even a fellow citizen striving for the same goals.

And, of course, a thread of it is seeing Nathema while Valkorian is still lurking around. It would've been bad enough to let his Cipher's mind run off with imagining the kind of possibilities that can come out of a place like the asylum on Nathema. It's a whole other to get even the barest taste of what lingers in the Force. Now, Tyr's not generally Force sensitive; Valkorian's presence gives him... a really shitty impression of it (both in... quality and his residual feelings after the fact lol), on occasion for the extent that the bastard is up there sharing his very crowded mind with him. It's prone to being overwhelming and unpredictable - often to the point of inducing things like migraines, due to Tyr's blatant lack of training on the subject, which is... only marginally improved by consulting with Sana-Rae and the Force Enclave over the course of the Alliance's lifespan. But I am delighted with the idea that even someone like him, without any training, without any true experience with the matter, was able to feel how wrong Vitiate's presence and interference was on Ziost. And now you put him on Nathema with at least a modicum of development on his understanding for that sense - and the whole place is permeated with the horrors of those walls. If it wasn't for Lana to corroborate some of the sensations, he'd probably be keen to brush it off on an overactive imagination - feeling like you can almost still hear the screaming.

The... familiar and not (something something, imagined it so much it feels like an old friend kind of thing) sense of desperation. The dread of recognition. It is, in short, the stuff of his nightmares. Darkest shadow and almost sickeningly scientific light. More numbers scrawled on notepads and etched into data sheets than names. A tool, a phenomena to be observed more than a person, or even a beast. Fight or flight. Does the choice matter in the end? Does it change the outcome? Or is the narrative already decided? Is he just prolonging the dance?

The nightmares induced by the alterations and fatigue of operating under the Castellan Restraints never entirely left him to begin with, but they'd... come and go in intensity over the years. Very rarely do they ever leave him screaming himself awake; he'd... rather not talk about it, after all - which would be markedly more difficult if more people knew just what it did to his sleep schedule over the years. He's used to startling himself, breath caught in his throat, a few restless hours spent til morning finally creeps in and its reasonable to be operating again. Vector's generally the only other that knows with any certainty exactly what troubles him, for the longest time. With Vector's keen senses, it's harder to hide from him than the rest of the crew and Vector's presence is... almost soothing. He's still someone Tyr can rely on, even when everything has tested his trust so thoroughly.

But Nathema sets everything off like a fireworks grand finale again. And makes it worse. It's all the worse for finding the... closest semblance to freedom he's ever had in his life in the Alliance. To grapple with the possibility of slipping back that far, that he's still susceptible, still just as vulnerable is terrifying. It doesn't swallow quietly like the weight he's carried for years. It's shifted that weight and until he gets a grapple with how that sits now, in the aftermath, it's... a rough couple of weeks, in particular, after the Nathema expedition. A wound that'll be agitated again until Vaylin's defeat, then again when Tenebrae's final fate is questioned once more.

Finally, that weight will resettle the way it did after Imperial Intelligence. He'll be able to swallow it again, wrestle with it quietly in the way he'll pace a room when there's too much on his mind, or the restless way his hands toy when he's idle in a meeting.

In a way, it's not what Nathema did to him, exactly. Though being just sensitive enough on that visit to feel the way death lingers on the planet, to feel that all whisper down his spine almost like a physical feeling and noise certainly doesn't help. It's... the implications of a lot of things that dredge up old wounds he never did and probably... never will completely recover from. It's the uncomfortable similarities.

And Tyr would do just about anything to avoid ever going back to being someone's leashed pawn. That's a lot of desperation. A lot of fear. Failure's not an option. Because it's a weight he knows he can't live with carrying twice.

[hadeslegacyhephgirl]

Solangelo College slow burn angst Chapter one

~*~ Will looked up from his desk to see his new roommate enter. The dark-haired guy with brown eyes and constantly wore black or oversize dark jackets. Will still hadn’t caught his name – he didn’t say much anyway. The guy caught Will looking, nodded, then headed towards his desk. Will sighed, then looked down at his own desk, where only a few scribbled lines of poetry awaited him. He hated poetry – he just didn’t have the natural rhythm for it. And he really was no good at rhyming. He sighed again. The poem was due in two days, and Will had barely made a start on it. What rhymed with sun? He didn’t even care at this point. He shoved the paper of his desk and turned to the other thing on it. It was still a work in progress, but it was coming together at least. It was a winter coat. The weather was always raining here. Will grinned, then picked up his needle and thread. He didn’t care if people thought it was a girl thing to do, he enjoyed it.

~*~ Will heard rustling behind him, and the started as his roommate placed a piece of paper on Wills desk, then head out, probably for his next class. Will looked at it. It was his trash poem but improved and expanded. On the bottom was a small skull drawing and the name ‘Nico’. Wills breath caught. It was a really good poem. Will looked up at the door, where they guy, he now knew as Nico, was just leaving. “Thank you” Will called. Nico just looked back, nodded, then left. Will turned back to his desk and picked up the poem. He would re-write it, then submit it. He felt a pang of guilt at cheating, then decided to ask permission via note. Hey Nico – it’s your roommate, Will. Is it ok if I copy your poem for my English class? He didn’t have to wait long for a reply Sure. But only if you help me with this biology assignment. Will grinned. Something he was good at. At last. He quickly completed the assignment, then left it on his roommate’s desk. He had a poem to copy.

~*~ Nico stumbled through class that day, his mind not on his work. Gods, he was tired. He never got enough sleep anyways. The only highlight of his day was fixing that trash poem. His roommate obviously sucked at poetry. Nico, however, just did it. It was vice versa with biology. Nico entertained the notion that maybe he and his roommate should just swap the classes, then dismissed it, sighing. He was pretty sure there were rules against that kind of thing. Maybe they should just stick to swapping homework.

~*~ Nico hadn’t asked to have a roommate. He had hoped that he could just be alone. But, no, apparently not. When Nico had arrived at his room, he’d been greeted by a happy-go-lucky guy who looked like he’d had too much caffeine. Nico hated it. Hated him. He just wanted peace and quiet, but no. He got sunshine and a caffeinated roommate. He hated it.

~*~ Will woke to the sound of sobbing coming from the other side of the room. “Nico? Is that you?” “Go away. Shut up.” Nico’s voice was really not like he imagined it. It was low and gravelly from crying. Will stood up and walked over, ignoring the ‘go away’. Nico was sprawled on his bed, sobbing into his pillow. Will reached out and ruffled Nico’s hair. Nico slapped him, hard. “Woah, woah. No need to get violent. I’m here to help!” “Shut up. You can’t help. No-one can. Just... leave me alone!” “Fine. But I’m here if you just... wanna talk, ok?” “I don’t care! I didn’t ask for a roommate, and I hate the one I got! Just GO AWAY!” “... okay.” Will walked back to bed, hearing Nico’s sobs turn into muffled shudders. He wondered what was wrong, but, if Nico didn’t want to talk, Will couldn’t make him. Will fell asleep, remembering how soft Nico’s hair had been.

~*~ Nico stumbled out of class that day, exhausted and at the end of his tether. Last night had hurt so bad, remembering his dead sister. And then Will had to come and try and help. Why? Nico was the last person he should be concerned about. He dismissed the thought as he headed into a nearby bar. Tonight, he just wanted to forget.

[imaginationofomi]

Come Together

Two

Nayeli needed to learn to listen to her body. Too often, she tried to be Superwoman, and it left her knackered.

That was the reason her eyes continued to slide shut as she stirred the dirty rice on the stove. Her hectic afternoon at the bakery and evening rounds at the shelters had her ready for half a day's worth of sleep, and she hadn't even had dinner yet. The assigned chapter of With Pleasure would have to wait until another time.

Turning off the pilot light, she checked the steak and roasted vegetables in the oven before she juiced some lemons from her tree for fresh lemonade. It was Jalen's favorite beverage to have with his dinner, and he would be home soon. She looked forward to spending time with him.

For all intents and purposes, he was her other half. Six years in, and they'd been near inseparable for majority of that time. They loved being together but knew when to give each other space and how to communicate their needs. Their relationship was healthy....most of the time.

The older they got, the more their differences became apparent. Disagreements went on for days instead of hours or minutes, feet digging into the sand when they no longer wanted to compromise for the other person's comfort. Love was still there and strong, but there were a few days that Nayeli questioned if what they had was all there was.

"Babe!" Jalen's voice echoed from the front of their home. The old floor creaked underneath his feet as he made his way back to her.

"Hey." Looking up from her task of mixing sugar with the lemon juice and water, her features softened when she gazed at him, "How was your day?" Her question was unnecessary. His face said he'd had yet another day from hell, which made her weary. She frequently received the brunt of Jalen's attitude when his career wasn't going the way he thought it should be.

As a financial manager, he assumed he would be set no matter where he landed after completing his Master's program. Briton Beach was full of potential clientele; old money, new money, people trying find a way to keep up with the joneses. The start-up company he accepted a job offer from looked promising at the time, but as the years went on, Jalen realized that the people above him were in over their heads. It was time to jump ship, and he didn't have a plan.

"Stressful," Jalen sighed and hugged her waist. She leaned her body into his, closing her eyes when he kissed the length of her jaw. Maybe they could still have a good evening.

"I'm sorry. Thomas riding you again?"

"Not just me. Everybody. We're in the red. They're letting people go, and I feel like I'm next on the chopping block. I knew I should've gone to LA."

"Don't count yourself out yet. You have some important meetings this week and next week. It'll all come together." Nayeli tried to be encouraging. Once Jalen felt a way, it was hard to get his mood to shift. On top of an already exhausting day for them both, she didn't want it to end with an argument because she'd said the wrong thing. Twisting around in his arms, she threaded her fingers behind his neck and stood on her toes to kiss him. When he barely returned her affection, she stepped away from him, "Are you still in touch with the recruiter or someone else at the company?"

"I might have a junior partner's number somewhere."

"Make a phone call. If they offered you a job once, I don't see why they wouldn't again unless you were an ass when you turned down their offer."

"LA means being almost two hours away from you, though."

"If you'll be happier with your work situation, I'll live with it," she said carefully. There were other statements on the tip of her tongue, but he could easily flip them around and blame her when she wasn't the issue.

She had no problem admitting that the thought of essentially being a long distance couple didn't sit well with her back then, and it didn't now, but she never wanted him to choose her over his career. He wouldn't have an issue reminding her that he did even though she never asked him to, either.

"What if we split time? Find you a space to lease out there and expand your business."

"It sounds nice in theory, but I'm not ready to open a second location yet. We're just getting to a place that I feel comfortable with. My mom is still recovering from her fall, and she needs help with my grandparents."

"Maxine and Leticia can't help out?" Jalen's annoyance began to rear its ugly head. He wasn't close with his family, unlike the Gallaghers/Windhams that knew the importance of having a village, and remained bothered by how much Nayeli's people took care of each other. It was all she knew. Her family had been close knit her entire life.

"Leticia's moving upstate soon, and Maxine has her hands full with her daycare."

"Your mom shouldn't rely on you for everything, babe."

"She doesn't." But she did rely on Nayeli a lot more than her sisters, probably because it was rare that Nayeli said no. She loved being helpful, so if she could do something, she would. It was that simple.

"Yes, she does. You're the first person she calls for everything. Did she even bother to ask your sisters to handle stuff for your grandparents?"

"I don't know, but I have the time to help. It's not that big of a deal, Jalen."

"Do you think you'll still feel that way another ten years down the line when they've made you a caretaker?"

"Can we not have this conversation again, please? I'm not going to end up being anyone's caretaker." She tried to keep her frustration at bay. It bugged her that he gave her a hard time over something so normal to her. She understood that he was raised differently, but she assumed he'd eventually fall into place among her people. They liked him well enough and were never impolite, yet he limited his time around them. 

"We have to have this conversation. If things don't work out here, and I have to move, are you coming with me? Because I don't want to be without you, but what's the point of being together if you spend more time away from me than you do with me?"

"You don't even know if you're moving yet."

"What if I do, Nayeli?"

"We'll figure it out, but it's not fair to expect me to uproot my life and abandon my family for you. My business is here. My whole life is here."

"Am I not a part of your life?"

"You are, but you aren't my whole life." She didn't realize she said anything wrong until it was too late. Even after he glared at her, she felt justified in her statement. No one person consumed her entire life. She had dreams of her own, goals she was trying to reach, but she pissed him off and felt guilty immediately. Her intention wasn't to upset him, "I love you, Jalen. I do, but I can't just leave everything I've ever known for you."

"I've made sacrifices for you. I don't think wanting you to move with me is asking for a lot. We've been together for six years." Like clockwork. She felt it coming but wanted him to prove her wrong. He was looking for a reason to fight. She wouldn't give him one. Instead of arguing, she said what she knew would shut the whole conversation down.

"And the ring finger of my left hand is still bare."

"We're going there again?"

"Why not? Nothing's off limits since you're pointing out, yet again, that you stayed here for me when I didn't ask you to. I told you to go to LA when you were offered a job the first time. You chose to stay. I'm grateful that you did, but I didn't force you. So please stop throwing that in my face." Her chest burned with disappointment.

"I'm not throwing it in your face. I'm trying to make a point. I chose to stay here because I love you. I didn't need to be married to you to make that choice." He could ask her to move, but mentioning marriage made him roll his eyes. She knew where he stood, and it wasn't with her.

"I respect your decision. I hope you respect me telling you that I'm not moving anywhere with you without being married." Nothing could change her mind.

☼☼☼

She wanted to paint. Standing behind the service counter with a clean rag and a spray bottle filled with non-toxic cleanser, she wiped things down and stared at the lavender interior with distaste.

Nayeli loved the color scheme once upon a time, but she'd grown tired of looking at it. There were better options, and she planned to come up with one soon. The timer on her watch went off, and she silenced it, tucking away the cleaning supplies and securing a hairnet over her bun. Someone entered just as she turned to go into the kitchen.

"Hi, give me one second!" she shouted over her shoulder, stopping at the sink to wash her hands. She covered them with mitts before she pulled several batches of cupcakes out of the oven and set them on the rack to cool so they could be frosted and decorated. Half were the specialty cupcakes of the day, and she was excited to get them into the display case.

"Morning, Nayeli," Grace chirped as she walked in through the side entrance. She was Nayeli's first employee, mid-twenties and a short ball of sunshine that loved the simple things in life. Her naturally round cheeks were slightly rosy and made her look younger than she was. Like Nayeli, she had a large halo of brown curls that she kept pinned and tucked away on the job.

"Good morning, Grace. I have someone waiting in the front. Can you measure out the ingredients for the chocolate chip cookies for me, please?"

"No problem."

"Thanks." Nayeli snatched the hairnet off of her head as she walked back out to the dining area. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the face of the man that saved her from being roadkill. She was even more stunned to see a little girl standing next to him, her high ponytail of juicy twists bouncing as she danced by the display case holding cookies and lemon bars. Sitting at the front of her ponytail was a small crown with traditional and pink diamonds matching the princess dress she had on, "I see I'm in the presence of royalty," Nayeli said, smiling and dipping into a curtsey.

"Princess Tatiana," the little girl replied proudly. She and her father shared the same nose and no other features. Where his eyes turned down at the corners, hers tilted up. Her skin was a couple shades deeper, and her eyebrows were a bit thinner. She was pretty although she looked nothing like him, so her mother had to be a stunner.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Highness. I'm sorry I kept you waiting. I'm Nayeli."

"I like your freckles."

"Thank you. I like them, too." Nayeli's grin widened, and she rested her elbows on the counter, "What are we having today? You look like a strawberry girl."

"Strawberry's my favorite!"

"Well, it just so happens I have a strawberry crunch cupcake that's fresh out of the oven. If you don't mind waiting for it to cool, you can have the first of the day, on the house."

"Yes, please!" Tatiana danced where she stood, and the handsome stranger laughed. Nayeli found herself giggling along with him.

"If it's alright with your dad, of course." It was the absolute least she could do considering his actions. Finally glancing at him for more than a second, she took in his face again. There was another moment of recognition, and she started to ask if they'd met before their tragic encounter.

"We never turn down free cupcakes," he said, breaking their eye contact to playfully tug one of Tatiana's twists. He looked at Nayeli again, and she felt herself blushing, "Good to see you still in one piece."

"I've been avoiding busy streets." And looking anywhere but in front of her while she walked. Nearly dying once was enough to scare her straight, "Has anything caught your eye?" she asked, her blush deepening when he smirked at her.

"I wanted to talk to somebody about catering the desserts for my daughter's birthday party."

"Sure. I normally require an appointment in order to have samples prepared, but I can make an exception for royalty. Have a seat wherever you like. Do you want any coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?" Reaching under the counter, she pulled out the store's iPad and unlocked it, pulling up their social media and handing him the device for him to check out.

"Two hot chocolates, please."

"Coming right up."

Once again, they parted without her asking his name. She scolded herself for disregarding her manners for the second time. Thankfully, if he was planning on having her cater his daughter's birthday party, she would know his name soon enough.

Covering her hair, she pushed her way back into the kitchen and ran straight into Grace. They both gasped, and Nayeli jokingly swatted at her.

"Why are you right behind the door? I could've injured you," she said.

"How are you functioning?" Grace grabbed a hold of her shoulders and shook her a little.

"The same way I do every other day?" Nothing out of the ordinary occurred that morning.

"Do you not know who you have sitting in your bakery?"

"No, I don't."

"That's EJ Jackson. Cruiserweight boxing champion of the world? Undefeated record? Luxury watch designer?"

Nayeli looked at Grace in confusion, slowly shaking her head back and forth, "I'm not much of a boxing fan." But that would explain "EJ's" build. 6'2", maybe taller and strong. He'd plucked her from the ground like she was a dandelion and blew her wits to the wind.

"Ugh, I'm gonna pray for you. I would've folded like a paper plane as soon as he looked at me."

"Well, try not to fold because you're going to make and take him and his daughter their hot chocolates. This is a place of business. Remain professional, please."

"You get to flirt, but I have to remain professional?"

"I did not flirt with that man!"

"Uh huh," Grace teased.

"Shhh. Go." Nayeli shooed her out, cleaning her hands before she began to mix the ingredients for cookies. Once she got the dough scooped onto parchment paper and into the oven, she got to work decorating the strawberry crunch cupcakes. Covering each with whipped cream frosting, she carefully dipped the cupcakes into the crunch crumbles and topped them with half of a strawberry, though she made sure to give the princess a whole one. She gathered a few other goodies for her special customers and walked the plate to their table herself, "Here are some treats for you to try, and your cupcake as promised."

"I love cupcakes. Daddy doesn't like to make them at home because I make a mess," Tatiana said, sticking one of her fingers into the frosting and scooping it into her mouth.

"That's the fun part!"

"It is!"

"But you don't like to clean up after," EJ reminded his daughter.

"I'm only six."

"Almost seven. You're getting old."

"If I'm old, you must be ancient."

Nayeli screamed internally, squeezing her eyes shut to keep herself from laughing obnoxiously. Kids did not care about anything that came out of their mouths, "Oh, you're a quick one," she giggled, taking the napkin container from the table next to them and switching it out with the empty one on theirs.

"What's this?" EJ asked, biting into a cookie so soft it melted in his mouth. The flavor was familiar, and his belly filled with warmth as he swallowed the delicious dessert.

"Chocolate with hazelnuts and a mocha and wafer crumble."

"It tastes like that candy with the hazelnut in the middle. Ferreri Rocket or something-"

Nayeli giggled again at his butchering of the name, "Ferrero Rocher, and thank you. I can't imagine a higher compliment. That's my favorite candy."

"How many of these you got left?"

"I believe seven or eight."

"I'll take the rest of them," he said, devouring the remainder of the cookie while Tatiana licked frosting from her fingertips. Nayeli handed her a napkin to wipe the frosting smeared on her lips.

"I will box them up for you. How was your cupcake Princess?"

"So yummy! Can I have another one, please?"

"What say you, Dad?" She only asked to be respectful. There was no doubt in her mind that the little girl had him wrapped around her finger and would receive whatever she requested.

"You can have one more to take home for after dinner."

"Yes!" Tatiana grinned, bits of pink crumble stuck in her baby teeth. Nayeli could hear chatter growing over the music and turned to check her surroundings. Grace was at one of the registers, taking care of customers as fast as she could, but a line was beginning to form, and soon the lunch rush would arrive.

"I have to get back to work, but I'll come check on you guys in a bit. Enjoy your samples," Nayeli said and smiled at the dynamic duo before popping behind the counter to help Grace until Cynthia and Denzel showed up for their shifts.

She fell into a nice rhythm, handling the prep and delivery while Grace handled transactions. The timer for the chocolate chip cookies sounded, and she rushed between the kitchen and the front, wearing multiple hats and losing track of time.

EJ and Tatiana were still at their table, and it looked like they'd finished the plate of samples she arranged for them. When Cynthia arrived and clocked in, Nayeli excused herself to check on her guests.

"How are we doing?" she asked and picked up the empty plate.

"Are you available for a party in two weeks? Saturday, the 17th."

"Depends on the size of the party." Although she'd be making an exception either way. She just wanted a rough estimate of the amount of work she would have to put in.

"10 to 15 kids, roughly 20 adults, might be more."

"What does the princess want for her spread?"

"Cupcakes and cookies!" Tatiana said excitedly.

"How many?"

"500."

"You breaking into your piggy bank?" EJ questioned, drinking the last of his hot chocolate and pushing the mug away. Nayeli quickly swiped it and set it on top of the plate.

"Nuh uh. You told me I don't pay for anything for my special day."

"I did?"

"Yup."

"When did I say that?"

"Four days ago when we got my party dresses."

"I don't remember that."

"I do, and an elephant never forgets." Tatiana stuck her little nose in the air, and Nayeli collapsed into a fit of giggles. Their relationship was adorable. It reminded her a lot of the one she had with her own father. Maxwell Gallagher liked to pretend he wouldn't give his children the world, too. He always gave in.

"We'll need to know if any of your guests have allergies, are vegan, diabetic, or gluten free so we can provide options for everyone. Do you have an idea of what flavors you want? We can make custom desserts if you're not satisfied with the options listed," Nayeli said.

"It's hard to pick, and going off the stuff you already gave me, whatever you make is excellent. She wants the strawberry crunch cake for her birthday cake."

"Personal cake? Big enough for the whole party?"

"A personal cake. There'll be enough of the other stuff. You bake all this yourself?" EJ looked around the bakery, watching people filter in and line up. How many were regulars? He assumed she had quite a few. If she didn't, a lot of tastebuds were missing out on greatness.

"For the most part. I have some help, but I live and breathe this place." She had to. God blessed her with a wonderful opportunity, and she would do everything in her power to honor that blessing.

"How long have you had it?"

"About five years." The best and most stressful of her life. Being a business owner taught her many lessons, the greatest being how strong she was, "It's going to get busy soon, so I'll leave my business card with your desserts. You can call or email when you've decided everything and have that list I mentioned. We'll talk logistics."

"Sounds good."

"Awesome. Grace will bring your boxes over. It was a delight to have you in my bakery, Princess. You brought me good luck." Nayeli smiled at Tatiana and picked up the mug that she'd practically licked clean.

"Did you hear her, Daddy? I'm a lucky charm."

"You are."

"Thank you, again, for saving my life......sorry. I don't think we ever properly introduced ourselves." They just carried on like they were already familiar. Traumatic experiences did bond people. It was possible they formed one of their own.

"We didn't. I'm Ezra." She expected to hear his sobriquet, surprised that he gave her his true first name. Grace's mini meltdown was unnecessary. The man in front of Nayeli appeared to be humble and down to earth. He did a good deed and expected nothing in return. His daughter obviously adored him. But Nayeli was one of the few people in the world that never understood celebrity idolatry.

"Nice name."

"Nayeli's not too shabby, either."

She loved it, especially the meaning. The line started to curve toward her, and she turned around to make her exit, "Enjoy the rest of your day," she said.

"Thank you, Nayeli!" Tatiana called after her before she looked up at her father, "Daddy, you saved her life?"

"I did. She was almost hit by a car, and I pulled her out of the way." He felt slightly at fault. Her initial collision occurred because she was trying to make room for him on the sidewalk. It wasn't his normal workout time, and the streets were more crowded than he was used to. Early mornings would continue to work best for him.

"You're her hero. How come you didn't tell me?"

"I've been so busy planning your party that it slipped my mind." Ezra tickled his daughter's sides and laughed with her. She was his pride and joy, the reason he retired. She needed a stable parent, and her mother was not. His father didn't raise him to be a deadbeat or a part time father. He stepped up from the moment he knew Savannah was pregnant, and he had no regrets.

"She's nice." Tatiana interrupted his train of thought, swiping through pictures on the tablet without really giving them much though.

"Yes, she is."

"Is that why you keep looking at her?"

"What?" Ezra raised his eyebrows at her.

"You were staring for a long time."

"I'm not allowed to look at somebody now?" he teased.

"There are a lot of other people to look at." Nayeli had it right. Tatiana was a quick one. Smart and observant, she absorbed everything and asked whatever question popped into her brain. Some were inappropriate, but he made sure to correct her gently when she went there.

He redirected her attention to the list of dessert options, and they went back and forth about how many flavors she wanted. The noise in the bakery grew significantly as people sat down for lunch and coffee breaks, enjoying hot sandwiches and salads with friends and coworkers.

Nayeli seemed to be doing well for herself. He was impressed and happy that he saved a blooming business woman. The woman from his dreams. He looked for her behind the counter, hoping catch of glimpse of auburn hair and freckles. When he did, it was only for a second. She was swift on her feet.

"Someone ordered cookies?" The eager employee that brought them hot chocolate earlier returned with the same excited grin on her face. Over the years, he'd gotten used to it, but since his retirement, it happened less and less. He preferred it that way. Being in the public eye was his least favorite part of the job. "And a special cupcake. Here's Nayeli's business card."

"Thank you. How much?" Ezra asked and pulled his money clip out of his pocket.

"Free 99."

"Nah. She's too good. Here." He didn't look too hard at the bills he pulled out and passed them to her, knowing it was more than enough to cover the damage they'd done with the surprise catering request, "Whatever's left, you can put in the tip jar."

"She's going to throw a fit when she finds out. Denying her generosity is a great offense in her book," Grace joked, "I didn't expect you to be so cool. You were a monster in the ring."

"I've never been much of one outside of it," he admitted. Boxing helped him work out a lot of aggression. He loved to compete. He loved to win. He loved outsmarting his opponent. That was where his love for fighting ended.

"He's a marshmallow!" Tatiana said matter of factly.

"This one's the monster."

"HEY!"

"Would it bother you if I asked for a picture?"

"Not at all." She'd been reasonably respectful, didn't say anything outrageous or try to cop a feel. He went through quite a bit with his women fans in the past. Standing from his seat, he leaned next to Grace and smiled into her front camera as she took a few selfies.

"Thanks! Enjoy!" She scurried away from him, and he helped Tatiana hop down from her chair so they could head out. They had a few more errands to run for her party, and he wanted to get them done before it was too late in the day.

Tatiana held tight to his hand, attempting to pull him through the people and to the door. She didn't have much strength, and he was busy trying to steal one last glance at Nayeli. He found her handing two cookies wrapped in paper over the display case and raised his free hand in a wave when she looked at him. She waved back, her attention ripped away soon after. He wasn't worried. They would see each other again.

Grace was nosey and caught every sly look, tucking the information into her back pocket for when he started coming around more and Nayeli tried to deny the attraction between them. She walked over to her boss as the register popped open.

"God smiled down on us today," she said.

"That, He did."

"EJ left this for the desserts." Handing Nayeli the bills, she laughed as the woman's eyes widened at the amount.

"You didn't tell him they were free?" Nayeli scolded her like she knew she would. Grace simply smiled and rolled her eyes.

"I did. He said they were too good not to pay."

"Period."

No one could deny that hard work paid off, but there would never be a moment that Nayeli wasn't grateful to see the fruits of her labor.

[chikoyama]

“climb on my back. i'll carry you.”

Dramatic & Protective Prompts | Accepting

Missions were inevitably an integral part of sorcerer life, so it only made sense that the more perilous ones were reserved for higher-grade sorcerers. That, however, didn’t prevent the less experienced ones from getting mission assignments of their own — as long as they were deemed relatively low-risk, first-year students were often entrusted to handle tasks on their own. Though, with Ijichi-san by her side, Chiyori found that even classification of missions were subject to misjudgment.

Recalling the mission briefing, dealing with an unbridled curse had definitely not been part of the description. So, one could probably imagine the utter shock on the two students’ faces when they had one, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, chasing them hot on their heels. This one was likely a grade above their level. Following this discovery, the pair had agreed to split up. Being the more hardy of the two, Chiyori had volunteered to divert its attention while Ijichi-san would search for a way to call for assistance.

At one point during the battle, when the young girl had begun to tire out, she had misstepped and twisted her foot in an unfortunate angle. Tumbling to the ground, Chiyori had gritted her teeth and forced herself to bite back the pain. Rolling out of the way, she had barely avoided the curse from slamming down on her, and despite having managed to inflict damage to its main body, the curse still wasn’t showing any signs of wear. If anything, it had appeared to be more enraged.

Of course, it was Suguru-senpai who came to her rescue when her cursed energy had been about to be fully depleted. In both relief and exhaustion, Chiyori allowed herself to drop back to the ground as her senpai took care of the curse. Dark hair and uniform were soaked in purple sludge, and her torn-up sleeves bore evidence of earlier use of her cursed technique; tattered fabric still clinging to torn threads by her elbows.

When Suguru-senpai approached her, Chiyori was still in the process of catching her breath, head swaying from sheer exertion. Peering up, she watched as he proceeded to crouch down, sturdy back facing her as he offered to carry her. At that, Chiyori paused, eyes widening slightly as she stared at his frame. "Senpai," she breathed out.

Embarrassed by her roughed up condition, the younger girl’s eyes flitted away from him. A sprinkle of pink tinted her cheeks. Apart from her foot, the injuries that Chiyori had sustained were relatively minor. However, now that the adrenaline had subsided, she could feel the pain in her ankle intensify.

For a moment, Chiyori hesitated. Though, feeling way too beat to argue, she opted to comply eventually. Shyly, she returned her gaze to her senpai before slowly climbing onto his back. Carefully, she looped her arms around his shoulders before joining and locking them together at the front. “Next time, I will be the one carrying you, senpai,” she declared hoarsely. As she rested her chin on his shoulder, Chiyori allowed her eyelids to briefly fall shut.

[the-guilty-writer]

Crave and Courage

Request from anon: If its no pressure ofcc could you do Reid x Daughter!reader who has been struggling with addition (i imagine drvgs but anything works ig) and she is trying to get clean but shes been having a hard day and he finds her in the kitchen at like 2am crying with a bottle of … in front of her??

Spencer Reid x daughter!reader

Summary: Spencer comes home from a case to find you torn between crave and courage.

A/N: Hopefully this is what you were thinking!

CW: reader is addicted to pain medication, talks about addiction, craving, reader has a breakdown

---

Your story sounded like one that had been heard a million times before: someone goes in for a relatively simple surgery, you go home with a bottle of prescription pain medication, and the feeling you got from the pills was too hard to resist.

The reason your story was different was because you had Spencer Reid for a father. He was a profiler, but he’d struggled with addiction as well. It didn’t take long for him to put the pieces together and help you get back on your feet… sort of.

Nothing was truly that simple.

You still struggled with craving relief from the pressures of life, even if that relief was temporary. You were three months clean, but it was still hard. Spencer had explained that it was hard. He’d rattled off facts and statistics and plans to you. But all of that was easier said than done.

Your dad had been out of town for a week now to work a case across the country. It was harder to stay clean while he wasn’t around, but you’d done it. It didn’t feel good, but you were proud of yourself none-the-less. You knew the pride would soon override the want for just one little-

No. You’d almost made it to four months now. You weren’t going to let that fall through now. Hopefully your dad would be home soon. It would be easier once he was home.

But the day was slowly getting worse. Little inconveniences annoyed you in the morning and the problems grew throughout the day. Some kid pushed you over during gym class, a bad grade on an assignment, something in your lunchbox exploded making everything inedible, a pop quiz you were sure you failed, being late to your class after being locked out of your locker, getting after school detention because you were late to class, getting hit with spitballs throughout detention, being late to the metro stop, having to walk the long way home around construction, finding out through social media that your friends had all gone to see your favorite movie without you, finding out through social media that they had also gone to your favorite restaurant without you, teachers sending emails to ask why you’d been a star student before and now you were close to failing, being unable to concentrate on your homework because of all the noise clouding your head.

That’s how you ended up on the kitchen floor, your hands threaded through your hair on the verge of pulling it out. The bottle was on the tile. The pills inside weren’t your normal craving- they were leftover from when your dad got shot in the knee years ago. They were expired for sure, but when you’d gone through the cabinet in a frenzied search for anything to help you escape, that’s all there was that would fit the bill.

But as soon as you’d read your dad’s name you’d crumbled to the floor- torn between having to confess that you’d given into the craving and the need to feel nothing for just a little while. The sound of pills against plastic triggered your tears when the bottle hit the tile. All you could do was cry silent tears and hope that the agitation you were feeling about everything would exhaust you enough that you’d fall asleep before you had the chance to make a decision.

Spencer walked into the apartment, exhausted from the case and thankful for the silence of the late night. Like usual, you left on the dim lamp in the living area, but unusually you had also left on the lights in the kitchen. He walked over to turn them off. That’s when he heard you, softly crying.

He rushed into the kitchen and the sight before him caused him to freeze: you were curled up with your eyes shut tight, hands pulling at your hair, body trembling, and an old pill bottle turned on its side on the floor. The first thing he did was pick up the bottle to read what it was. When he did, his heart sank. How could he have forgotten to get rid of these? He didn’t forget anything.

With the bottle back on the counter, he knelt to the floor and put his hands gently on your wrists, seeing that your nails had dug into your scalp. “Shhhh-” he cooed. “It’s just me. You’re okay. It’s okay.”

“Dad-” As soon as you realized it was him, you threw yourself into his arms. He gripped you in a hug so tight you thought he might cut off your circulation, but you didn’t care. “I didn’t take any, dad. I wanted to so badly, but I didn’t.”

Spencer rocked you back and forth as if you were a child again, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t get rid of those.”

“I’m sorry I almost gave in-” you started sobbing. Your dad rubbed your back. “I almost-”

“But you didn’t.” A tear escaped his eye. “You didn’t and that’s what matters. You’re so strong, (Y/N). So, so strong.”

“I don’t feel strong,” you managed to choke out.

“Most of the strongest people don’t,” Spencer said quietly. “But they are anyway.”

[books-and-catears]

"Could I stay like this?"

You were exhausted today. Having to manage a whole event, assignments and 7 chaotic brothers was no easy feat. It was only lunchtime and you were dizzy with fatigue.

You must have missed your footing and stumbled a couple of times because someone called out to you. "MC! Are you okay?! You don't look too well..."

A pair of arms held you upright but you just wanted to rest. Without another word, you leaned into him, your head right over his rapidly beating heart.

"Could I stay like this? Just for a little bit?"

Lucifer

"Of course, MC."

He gently pats your head as he leans against the wall on his room. Another hand holds you by the waist, keeping you balanced. The door might be unlocked, one of his brothers might slip in and see him like this with you but he didn't care.

You seemed restful in his arms. He didn't want to disturb you. He stared at you with guilt.

"I'm afraid I've given you too many responsibilities. I apologise, MC. You can take it easier from here onwards."

He whispers holding you tighter. He can hold you like this for the rest of the day if you want.

Mammon

"Oi, easy there! Hold on!"

Mammon's arms tightened around you instantly to make sure you didn't fall. His cheeks flushed red at the proximity.

He gently makes you sit down on his couch, holding you with one hand and fanning you with a notebook in the other.

"You'll get a fever from so much work, MC! You're acting all workaholic like Lucifer. And you're supposed to ask me for help! I'm your protector remember?"

He keeps fanning you until he feels you are finally cooled down. Is prepared to tuck you to sleep in his bed if you ask.

Leviathan

"Ah! Careful MC!"

He catches you and loses his balance in suprise. Luckily he does fall back against his cushy gaming chair. He would much rather move you to his bathtub where he assumes you'd be more comfy.

"Give me some warning before you do that next time please, MC! *Sigh* This is why I tell you to stay here with me! Look at how they tiring my brothers are!"

He looks down to see wires from his consoles wrapped around both of your feet, binding you together. He blushes as you mumble something and his arms relax on you.

And to be honest when was he next going to find you so close to him, away from his annoying brothers?

Satan

"By all means, MC."

He chuckles a little seeing how you clumsily fell on him. He still manages to walk you to his bed, almost carrying you. He's already checked your vitals to make sure nothing is seriously wrong.

Propping you up to his chest, he pulls a thin blanket on both of you. He makes you curl into his warmth as he makes sure you're comfortable.

"No more long nighters for you, MC. And you're welcome to come and rest here whenever you like. Shhh...its okay, keep your eyes closed. You can fall asleep."

He strokes your hair like he does with cats. And with another hand he resumes reading a book, glancing at you every now and then. And he smiles, reassured that you're resting well.

Asmodeus

"Oh darling, of course!"

He clucks his tongue and shakes his head in dismay. Clearly you have been ignoring his advice of getting enough rest.

He takes the pillows on his bed and fluffs them up before placing you on them. He wants to get his entire relaxing kit from the bathroom but the way you cling to him has him weak.

"I'll ask Solomon to help at the event this week, so take the all rest you need, MC. Yes, I'll be keeping an eye on you to make sure! Now rest."

He runs his fingers softly around your eyes and then threads his fingers through your hair, pressing them into your scalp. It was the best head massage you'd ever had.

Beelzebub

"MC?! MC what's wrong?! Hold on!"

He promptly picks you up princess style and heads over straight to your room. He needs to make sure you're okay at all costs.

Your arms wrap around his torso and he doesn't have the heart to set you down now.

"Have you been skipping meals again, MC? I'll take you to Hell's kitchen after this. My treat. Make sure you eat a lot okay, MC?"

He smiles at you, gently brushing stray hairs off your face and cupping your cheek. If anyone barges into your room, he covers your ears and shoos them away.

Belphegor

"Make yourself at home, MC."

Luckily for you Belphie was already sitting on the common room couch. He laid down, taking you with him, curling his arms around your waist.

"This is why I keep telling you to get more rest. But you never listen do you? *Sighs* Are you competing with Lucifer to see who overworks themselves to death first? I can't allow you to win that."

He traces circles on your back, feeling you relax further into him. Just like Beel, he death glares at anyone who makes noise around you. Which is frequent since you both are in the common room!

Solomon

"I've got you. It's okay."

Holds you close and drapes his cape around you to keep you comfy. He's eyebrows furrow in worry before he realises it's merely fatigue. He can definitely help you out of it.

You feel the rushing wind in your hair and on your cheeks as he flies you through the air back to his place. He grabs onto you tight even when you're inside.

"Now rest as much as you like. I'll give you some revitalizing potion later. Oh did I move too far away? Can I come closer then? As you wish, MC."

He chuckles as if he didn't desperately want the same thing. He blows softly on your forehead and stroking your cheek with his thumb. Perhaps you should go back to the human world for a while,away from everyone else.

Simeon

"Oh dear! Are you okay?! MC?!"

Readily catches you, pacing himself delicately so as to cause you minimum disturbance. He doesn't know much about normal human biology only that they're much more fragile.

Sits down with you in the back of an abandoned classroom, your cheeks falling soft and warm against his bare shoulder. He blushed at the sensation.

"Are you not feeling well, MC? Does anything hurt? What can I do to make it better? Just stay like this? Of course, for as long as you need!"

He whispers his worries as he drapes one arm around you and gently places his head on yours, drawing circles on your arm. He's determined to have a talk with Lucifer later - clearly you need to be taken care of better.

Diavolo

"Of course. Hold on tight, MC."

He carries you around like a child on his shoulder everywhere he goes. People keep staring but he couldn't care less. He just glares at them and they stay silent.

You stir a little while he's sitting in the council room, signing some papers. You lift your dizzy head up a little but he coaxes it back down on his shoulder.

"No MC, it's no trouble at all. In fact, it will be more worrisome for me to let you walk around on your own in this state. So please keep resting. I'll have Barbatos and Solomon prepare whatever medication you require."

He readjusts you on his lap whenever you seem fidgety and rocks you gently whenever you try to wake yourself up. He's already preparing to make you stay at the castle this week.

Barbatos

"Allow me to give you some more comfort."

He deftly multitasks while holding you close. He prepares a suitable resting spot on the student council lounge sofa.

He smiles when he sees you refuse to let go of his hands. He sits down first and gently lays down your head on his lap.

"Yes it's really fine, MC. I have no immediate duties to be taken care of. Please sleep and rest your brain for a while if you can. I'll make you peppermint tea later."

He runs his fingers through your hair, combing the tangles out of them, massaging your scalp and the back of your neck in the best way possible. He's honestly really grateful to have you here.

[honeycombstrawberry]

#40 with our sweet baby angel Adrian Chase?

these moments

these moments, pt. 1

[read pt. 2 here]

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns)

rating: m

word count: 2,357

prompt from this list: “You’re a blanket hog!” - “Leave me alone and stop being so selfish.”

one-sentence synopsis: you and adrian are on the same shift to sleep on this mission, but you’re both a little too sleep-deprived to think coherently around each other, and so things— escalate.

When you and the rest of the 11th Street Kids were given your sleeping assignments for this overnight stakeout, you’d been secretly thrilled to be given the same off shift as Adrian.

The two of you had monitored everybody who went in and came out of the warehouse you’re supposed to be closely watching. While Adrian described everybody to you, you took notes, the two of you going back and forth for the hours of your patrol shift together.

Eventually, as the two of you become more and more tired, his descriptions get a little loopier, a little more excited, a little more— descriptive, in a way. You have to stifle your laughs to keep yourself quiet, which only makes him laugh in response. At least he has his helmet to keep him muffled.

By the time Chris and Emilia are coming to swap out with you, the two of you are practically delirious.

“Watch out,” Adrian says to Chris as he’s hauling you to your feet. “There’s a guy in there who looks pretty much exactly like if Adam Driver had a baby with Jason Schwartzman, and I do not trust him.”

You remember exactly who he’s talking about, and it sets you off laughing all over again. Emilia and Chris exchange a bewildered look— though Chris seems more frustrated than bewildered— but they aren’t the ones running on two days of no sleep before a long-ass shift of monitoring the most boring warehouse on the continent.

“Please, just— Go sleep,” Emilia instructs you. “We left everything with the camp. Make sure you don’t wake anybody else up.”

“What are we, animals?” Adrian asks. He turns and scoops you up, throwing you over his shoulder. You bite back a scream, bringing your knee up hard into the underside of his helmet, knocking the both of you over backwards into the dirt and leaves with a heavy whump.

“Unbelievable,” Chris says over your head as Adrian wrestles his limbs free of yours. You’re still impossibly tangled up; Emilia steps in to offer you a hand just so you can get your ankles free. “I’m begging you to go.”

“You usually beg on—”

“Go,” Chris cuts Adrian off. You grab him by the wrist and tug, jogging away through the brush and the thick cover of trees back to where you had helped set up the team’s camp for the night. Adrian stumbles along beside you, surprisingly quiet. Though you release his wrist, he catches your hand almost immediately, threading your fingers together.

This is one of so many tiny things that the two of you do that you think means something more, but you still haven’t made that last jump. You don’t know if Adrian feels the same way about you as you do about him. As it is, you’re just enjoying every moment you can get together— and it seems like he’s doing the same.

In moments like these, when he holds his gloved hand in yours and swings your arms between the two of you, you think he might just feel the same way. You feel giddy with him, and not just because you’re exhausted— because you’re with him. He guides you back to camp, and you trip along with him, following the glint of moonlight off his helmet.

Back at camp, your heart’s racing, and you have to fight to be quiet so you won’t wake up John or Leota. Adrian guides you to the abandoned blankets set up under the stars, no tent in sight, that Chris and Emilia have clearly just vacated. They’re tangled suspiciously close together already, and you’re not particularly inclined to separate it all out.

“I’m so tired,” Adrian whispers to you through his helmet. It’s then that he even realizes he still has it on the first place, finally reaching up to take it off. Shaking his hair out, he sighs a little too loudly, and you shush him. “What? I am.”

“So am I,” you hiss back, still unable to stop smiling. “But you’re being noisy.”

“I am always being noisy,” he stage-whispers back, throwing his arms wide, and you bite back another loud laugh.

“Just—” You sigh, exasperated but quiet, and point towards the blankets. “It’s bedtime. Go to sleep.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, I get to tell you what to do,” Adrian argues. He’s fishing his glasses out of one of his pouches, shoving them onto his face. You roll your eyes, but he’s already stepping in closer. “You go to sleep. Somebody should keep watch.”

“What?” you ask, hushed. “That’s literally exactly what Chris and Emilia are doing right now.”

“Yeah, but—” he starts, then stops. “I meant over you— Over— Over here, I meant,” motioning viciously with his hand at nothing in particular. “Someone should be watching out over here.”

You study him incredulously, watching him stumble over his words. When he finally trips to a verbal stop, you just point downwards at the blankets.

“If we don’t both sleep until we’re coherent,” you tell him gravely, “I think I’m going to scream.”

Adrian looks at you with wide eyes. After a moment, he snorts, then starts laughing hard enough that you lurch forward and clap a hand over his mouth to quiet him.

“You are unbelievable,” you hiss at him. He grasps your arm, using the unexpected jerk of his momentum to swing you forward into his arms. For a moment, you’re just caught there; then, he lowers you down to an inch above the ground before he drops you into the blankets with a soft thud of a landing.

“Take your clothes off,” he says. He’s not able to stop smiling long enough to make it a serious request. You kick up at him regardless, catching the boot of your heel in the center of the chest plate on his armor.

“You take your clothes off,” you shoot back unthinkingly. He narrows his eyes at you before making to strip off his suit.

Not one to be outdone, you do the same. It would be far too uncomfortable to sleep in your suit, anyways. On missions like these, where you’re sleeping out overnight like particularly aggressive Boy Scouts, you purposefully wear soft clothes underneath your suit so that you can sleep in them when the time rolls around without much extra hassle.

You tuck your suit back into your bag safely before folding yourself between the blankets. You don’t separate them out before doing so, unthinkingly burrowing into all of them. Above you, you can hear Adrian fighting with his suit before you hear a clunk and he starts dropping pieces to the ground.

When you groggily lift your head again, dopey and exhausted, he’s trying to pull one boot off, struggling enough that he’s nearly tipping over. You stick one arm out from the blankets, beckoning him over.

“C’mere,” you whisper, and he obeys, hopping over to your side. You make quick work loosening his laces before you yank it off yourself, chucking it aside. When you motion for the other side, he does the same, and you yank it off, sending it to join its twin. “Now, lay down and let me sleep.”

Adrian listens to you for only a few moments. The silence lasts just long enough for him to strip off the last of his clothes and tug on a t-shirt from his bag before he’s climbing into the blankets with you.

You’re as grateful for the barriers of your clothes as you are frustrated by them. At least, you reason, you have to share the blankets— both to stay warm enough to not be too cold to sleep through the off shift, and because there are so few blankets between the two of you that it would be unreasonable to divide them.

It takes a moment before Adrian realizes how tightly wrapped you already are in the blankets. He tugs at one edge, trying to pull them off from where they’re tucked around you, but you won’t let them free from your grip.

“Oh, come on,” Adrian laments. “You’re a blanket hog! Let them go—”

“Leave me alone and stop being so selfish,” you mumble into one of the two pillows left behind, burying your face in it to hide how hot it’s burning.

“Selfish?” Adrian repeats incredulously. “I’ll show you selfish. Get over here.”

Before you know it, you’re being manhandled up off of the ground. You yelp before Adrian’s hand comes up and seals over your mouth, just as you had done so recently to him. He fills your vision, suddenly so close that all you can see is him. Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding up into your mouth.

“Quiet,” Adrian murmurs, voice low near the shell of your ear. He untucks the blankets from around you and wriggles into them with you, tucking them around the both of you to stop any of the chillier air from getting into your cocoon.

You do as he tells you, falling silent with his hand still over your mouth. After a beat, you lick his palm with the flat of your hand, tasting the salt of his skin and the faint leftover leather of his glove.

You’re expecting Adrian to withdraw his hand, but instead he just leans in closer, warm breath ghosting over the side of your face when he inhales sharply and makes a quiet, hard noise, inadvertent and instinctive. You shift, twisting to look up at him, and he meets your eyes in the darkness. After a beat, he huffs a laugh, the corners of his mouth turning up.

“Nice try,” Adrian says. “Turning me on won’t stop me from stealing the blankets. Actually, it just makes me want them more.”

You hear him saying ‘makes me want them more,’ but you hear underneath, ‘makes me want you more,’ and your eyes flicker up to his again. Your chest is heaving, excitement making your heart race. You shift without meaning to, blood rushing through your veins, heat pooling low inside you. You can’t help your hips twitching up, barely grazing Adrian’s thigh with the way he’s leaning up over you, stretched out along your side.

The brush of sensation is slight, but it feels so fucking good that you can’t help the tiny, high noise that falls from your mouth into his hand, muffled by his palm. He raises his eyebrows at you, and you reach up, tapping at his wrist. He finally releases you, freeing your mouth so you can bring air rushing into your lungs.

For a moment, the two of you just silently evaluate each other. Then, he whispers to you, “We have to be really quiet,” so softly he’s barely audible, even this close together. It seems like he does know how to be quiet, when he’s properly motivated to try.

You nod jerkily. “Okay,” you whisper back, barely more than a breath.

He looks you over, for a moment, evaluating you. When he apparently gets what he’s looking for, he drops his head down until his forehead meets yours, his bridge of his glasses slipping down when he brushes your noses together. He shifts to tear his glasses off, tossing them aside in the nearby grass so he can tuck in closer to you.

Everywhere is just him— his heat, his body, his scent, his— everything about him, surrounding you. You let your eyes slip shut when he ducks his head down into your throat. You can feel the shuddering inhales and exhales of his breath, choppy against your skin as he softly presses his lips to your skin. You shiver, a rocket of sensation slithering up your spine, feeling exploding in your belly. You jerk up without meaning to, grappling for him.

His forehead dips to press into yours. Though you’re impossibly close, you can just barely make out his eyes, and you meet them.

Into the silence, he whispers, “I think I really like you,” and you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face in response to hearing that.

“I—” you start to respond, before there’s a shuffling, crackling noise to your side.

The both of you go completely still and silent, motionlessly tangled up in each other, on high alert as you listen for the source of the sound. When it comes again, you quickly realize that it’s just John shifting around in his sleep, turning onto his side. You exhale shakily, eyes flickering up to meet Adrian’s again.

“That was close,” he murmurs.

He’s just ducking his head down to try to kiss you again when Leota’s voice rings out, saying, “Yeah, it was. Now, stop being gross, and go the fuck to sleep.”

You’re as frustrated at being interrupted as you are mortified that she heard anything at all. Your eyes flicker to Adrian, finding him already grinning.

“I don’t want to stop being gross,” he says, and Leota groans. You shove Adrian off of you, face burning, but he gathers you back up in his arms, tucking your back against his front. You can feel the hard length of his cock through his underwear, but he doesn’t do anything insistent. He just holds you close, burying his face in your throat.

“We can finish tomorrow,” you promise quietly to him, hoping that Leota can’t hear you from this distance, at this volume. When she doesn’t say anything, you think you’re probably right.

“Awesome,” Adrian breathes in your ear, relief and delight so obvious in his voice that you feel the same emotions course through you. Even if you didn’t actually do much of anything— and even if you still haven’t officially verbally confessed your feelings— it still feels like you’ve both confessed something, here. You’ve made an irrevocable admission, the both of you, and you, personally, have no interest in taking it back.

“So awesome,” you agree. Adrian cheats a little, ducking in to kiss you on the cheek. You fall asleep with your heart still pounding, tucked into his strong arms, your cheek continuously burning where you can still feel his comparatively chaste kiss.

requests are open!

[leviathans-watching]

heyyyooo!! I saw your post about you posting again, and I hope it's ok if I ask for a comfort post with all the obey me characters you write for

can you write an x reader where reader just sits down next to them one day, sighs and expresses how tired they are and explain that they're just barely hanging on by a thread and they're also on the verge of a mental breakdown.

and maybe have the character look at MC in absolute horror because MC always bottles up their emotions and theyve never outwardly told anyone how they actually feel.

( also, I'm so sorry if this doesnt make sense. )

oh um could MC talk really softly about their emotions?

anon asked: Hello! I hope your doing well. May I request OM bros reacting to gn mc who's having a burnout with their studies?(if you have done it do ignore or maybe drop link-?<:') )

the brothers with a burnt-out mc

includes: the brothers x/& gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .9k | rated g | m.list

a/n: combined two asks for this since they were similar!! thank you both for requesting and i hope you feel better soon! my inbox is open to chat, leave feedback, or request so come say hi!!!!

please reblog! ! ! ! !

➳ lucifer feels really bad. how had not noticed? how long had this been going on, and how much work had he assigned to you when the last thing you wanted to do was do it? regret is clear in his eyes as he listens to you slowly and quietly describe your feelings. “i’m really sorry you feel this way,” he says, swallowing. “i’m sorry if i’ve made it any worse, what with the tasks i’ve been having you do.” you go to dispute the point, but he stops you. “i’ll grant you a break from your tasks for the time being. there’s nothing time-sensitive or important happening now anyway, and i, and my brothers, would be more than willing to pick up whatever work you do have. i’m always here for you if you need to talk, so just focus on relaxing and healing, okay?”

➳ mammon pulls you into a swift hug, his arms tightly locking around you. “it sucks to feel that way, doesn’t it?” he asks, and your eyes burn as you nod into his shoulder. “i’m sorry you have to deal with this. i can totally help ya on anything you need, and i’m always here for you, got that?” he rubs small circles into your back, the action more soothing than he could ever know. “let’s just take it easy for a few days. nothing needs to be done immediately, and i know you feel like you constantly have to be the best, but you’re the best when you’re not feeling like this. ya shouldn’t sacrifice your health for somethin’ like this.” your voice had been small when you were talking and he wants to quell any insecurity you may have about telling him.

➳ levi knows the feeling well, but he never could have guessed you were familiar with it. you always seemed so ready for anything, so excited to undertake new tasks and chores. he wonders now how much of it was an act. “i’m sorry you’re feeling like this, mc,” he says, earnestly looking into your eyes. “i’m no stranger to the feeling, and i know how draining it is. if you want to get away form all of that, you’re always welcome here. i’ve got no expectations for you, so if you want to come in here and just be, please do. we don’t even have to talk or anything.” you’ve calmed him down countless times, and he really wants to be able to return the feeling.

➳ satan grimaces. he’s always liked work, loved to bury himself in it, but even he can get exhausted. he supposes it’s no surprise you’re feeling this way- for too long you’d been pushing past your own limits to keep up with them, even though it wasn’t healthy. he’d noticed, of course, but with so many things moving through his head at once the thought was easily forgotten, pushed off to the side for something more immediate. he feels terrible for that now. could he have prevented you from feeling like this? “it truly saddens me you’re dealing with this,” he says softly. “i’d be more than willing to help you with your work and tasks. please, let me help you.”

➳ asmo gasps. you’d always seemed so cheerful and put together, capable of dealing with anything that had come your way! but to hear that for so long things had been building up without his knowledge… it feels terrible. he wishes you had come to him before this, let him help, but he can definitely understand wanting to deal with it alone. “mc, you’ve done so well,” he says, clasping your hands gently. “you definitely deserve a break. let me pamper you, give you the full experience. i think you’ll feel much better.” and even if you don’t want a spa or anything like that, he’s more than willing to come up with other things to help. you should never have to feel overwhelmed and tired like this!

➳ beel is at a loss for words. he hadn’t really considered you hid your emotions from him- you’d always seemed like such an open book. but now, he wondered how much of your true feelings you had hid. shaking his head, he squares his shoulders. now was the time to focus on you, not his own insecurities. “thank you for telling me, i know how hard that must have been.” he’s not the most eloquent, so it takes him a moment to put his thoughts together. “i’m really sorry you’ve been dealing with this and i want to help in any way i can. i think you hold yourself to this really high standard, but mc, it’s okay to ease up on yourself sometimes. i promise everyone here knows how hard you work. you really deserve a break, so please, use this to take one.”

➳ belphie never knew the weight on your shoulders. sure, he knew that you felt the expectations of not only lucifer, but also diavolo and solomon, but he could have never imagined you felt them this keenly. “if you need my help, i can totally give it,” he offers, though he knows how hard it can be for you to accept help from others, “and i know beel would love to assist you as well. you’re probably tired,” he says, referencing the bags under your eyes. “want to take a nap?” that’s what he always does to feel better (or, well, in any situation, but the sentiment still stands). you nod softly and he wastes no time ushering you to his room, where his warm and comforting blankets are waiting.

leviathans-watching's work - please do not repost, copy, or claim as your own

[a-supernatural-writer]

Take a Break

Some self indulgent poly lost boys. It’s the first day back from spring break and I’m already mentally and physically exhausted and I wish I had some physical and emotional affection. (Literally this is how I feel right now. I’m single as hell and my best friend, who is like my cuddle buddy, goes to a school a bunch of states away from me, so my anxiety and stress is crazy right now. Plus, self insecurities to the max.)

Word Count: 1,169

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, stress, comparing self to others, vague hints to self insecurity, fluff, comfort

Poly Lost Boys x Gender Neutral reader

You were exhausted to say the least. It was only the first couple of days of being back from spring break and you were ready to tap out. The pile of papers, your science lab with notes due every single week, and multiple projects that keep you up until the crack of dawn. You were lucky if you even got your full needed eight hours of sleep. But no, it was three or four at the most, and that was almost everyday.

Your boys, your absolute sweet boys took notice of your change. The tired eyes, not fully paying attention, moving slowly while walking with them on the boardwalk or even just leaning on one of them when out on your group date. They could tell that you were just mentally, emotionally and just physically exhausted.

They knew how hard college was for you. They literally all but dragged you into your little nest when spring break started so you could get a full day rest, it helped, but unfortunately it didn’t last very long.

“Take a break.” David rubbed your shoulders from behind you as you leaned over your desk in your room, working on your latest assignment, taking notes.

You blinked slowly, the words on your textbook becoming blurry and almost impossible to read. You knew you needed to stop, but you were a couple days behind already. A part of you knew that your professors wouldn’t exactly kill you for not being completely done, but you wanted to be on top of everything.

“I can’t. I gotta get this done for tomorrow. I did none of my work during break and now I’m even farther behind.” You mumbled, flipping to the next page, squinting at your footnotes and highlighted lines… At that moment, your organized notes in your science textbook made little to no sense. You were really tired.

“Y/n…” David warned, his fingers threading into your hair at the base, messaging it gently.

You whined, closing your eyes, “David.”

“Babe, come on.” Marko spoke softly from the foot of your bed, watching as David tried to tear you away from your work space, “You need to step away. You’ve been working ever since we got here.”

You set your pen down, becoming more and more tempted to step away and listen to them, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, “But I want to finish it.”

“Is it due tomorrow?” Dwayne asked from his spot on your bed, leaning up against the headboard, playing with your little trinkets that you keep on your nightstand.

You sighed, “Well no…”

Dwayne raised a brow, “When is it due?” He knew that you had other assignments on top of the one you were working on, but you had a habit of pushing your due dates a little bit earlier than they actually were.

“Not till the end of the semester technically, but my professors want me to take notes in between our labs and lectures.” You explained. You did it so you could be organized and keep up to date with your materials.

You leaned back into David’s touch, enjoying it, “But I have other assignments to do that are due tomorrow, like actually do tomorrow and I haven’t even started.” God, you hated it when this happened. You knew that the majority of your classmates wouldn’t have the assignments done either, but it still didn’t make you feel any better about getting nothing done.

Your boyfriends knew that as well. You were sometimes a little too hard on yourself and compared yourself to other people's work too often.

“Y/n, baby, you still got time and your professors wouldn’t be upset if you took a personal day off to take care of yourself.” Paul reminded you. He was worried about you, they all were. They were happy that you had professors that would understand taking a mental health day, and you needed one badly.

You whined again, “Fine. But I’m not emailing them. Dwayne?” You asked your boyfriend. Dwayne was good at writing emails, he and David were often ones to help you with your work, though Dwayne somehow had a way with words that you didn’t.

Dwayne took your laptop from your bag and immediately went to work emailing your professors that you had tomorrow, saying you were taking a day to yourself.

David chuckled, “Come here, kitten.” He grabbed a hold of your arms and hooked them around his neck, then lifted you up, one arm under your knees and the other holding your back.

You practically buried your face in his chest and shivered as his cold skin touched your own. He shedded his coats and gloves hours beforehand, revealing his black t-shirt underneath it all. You loved him like this.

He carried you to your bed, laying you down beside Dwayne as he finished up your emails. David himself, laid next to you on your other side, helping you slip under the covers and getting comfortable.

With bright smiles, Marko and Paul crawled over to you as well, making you smile when they made themselves comfortable in what was becoming a cuddle pile. Paul laid his head on your blanket covered thigh while Marko rested his head on your hip.

With a grunt, Dwayne set down your laptop, “Done.” He turned off your lamp on your nightstand which was the only light in the room. The room became pitch black except for the alarm clock which read one a.m.

Dwayne made himself comfortable and hugged you from behind, digging his face into your hair while David did the same with your neck.

The group cuddle made you feel secure, it made you feel loved. A lone tear escaped your eye as you realized just how much you needed this. Your anxiety was getting the best of you, you were stressed beyond belief and it seemed like no amount of short breaks did anything for you.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Dwayne whispered, “Let it out.”

And you did. You let go of the weight you had on your shoulders. You needed a good cry and having your boys made you feel safe to do so. You felt each of them shift closer to you, each rubbing soothing circles on you, comforting you as you cried your stress away.

After a while of letting your tears fall, you really started to lose sense of everything around you, “I love you.” You mumbled out tiredly. You know that those words came out of your mouth, but you were so tired that the boys ‘I love you’ became muffled.

But you still heard it. With a tired smile, you let yourself sink into a deep sleep knowing that your boys would be there with you the entire day and help take care of you.

[nelapanela94]

Look at me! Look at me! Look at me!

Your mind shouts what your mouth would never spit.

Because before you spill it, you'd rather rip out your tongue or sew your lips together with jute twine.

What you hate most is that he's anchored to the dock of your thoughts.

Stupid midget.

Your fingers fall from the glass. Drops of vinegar and water solution blur his figure, and you wipe away the marks your fingertips stamped on the window. By Levi's mandate–and thanks to his ridiculous obsession–every other day the scouts are obliged to dedicate their heart precious time to the general and exhaustive cleanup of the Headquarters.

Before noon, the entire building must be spotless and immaculate so his majesty, Captain Shorty, doesn't spend the rest of the day flaunting his ass face, shooting death glares to anyone who comes his way.

Y/N is too loud and obnoxious, and her trembling hands are so clumsy.

That’s what he blurted out to Hange a few days after you dropped his favorite mug.

The cloth screeches against the crystal.

From the third floor, the corridor overlooking the stables grants you the perfect angle for your eyes to trace the silhouette of his profile. To draw him again and again; to follow his nimble hands as he grooms his horse.

Is it just coincidence or is it fate's schemes to play with you?

Whoever oversees the scheduling assigns you to a place that offers you a front row view.

If you’re in the kitchen, he’s in the orchard.

If you’re in the east corridor of the fourth floor, he is in the training grounds.

If you are in the bathrooms, he is in the main yard.

It must be someone who gets their kicks out of manipulating the threads of fate as they please, because if it were up to Levi, he'd post you at the farthest point.

It was an accident. No. It was his fault for butting in while you were doing your job oblivious to the power his mere presence wields over you. The chaos he unleashes within you.

That afternoon you were in the lab transcribing the results of an experiment, and he, having nothing better to do, decided to spend the afternoon nuzzled in Hange's books. He stomped in without saying anything, put his drink on the table where you were sitting, very close to the edge, and positioned the rolling ladder in front of the history books section.

In fact, you were never a saint of his devotion, and after that fateful accident in which his cup fell victim, he pinned your face behind a bright red cross under the cheery headline ‘Banned’. Not that it would have been so dire to warrant such egregious punishment.

Still perched on the steps of the ladder, he craned his head over his shoulder. “Oi”

Your eyes scoot from the reports to him as your forefinger stabbed the middle of your chest.

“Who else can I be talking to?” He scoffed, rolling the eyes, his grating tone making your eyebrows plummet into a frown.

“What do you want?” you rasped back, summoning ridges between his brows, his lips pursed together into a thin line. His nostrils flaring like a dragon about to spit fire.

And that was the problem, that with Levi you couldn't act normal, you either became a fluster mess or you used your scornful facade to belie the feelings you secretly hoarded for him.

He swallowed the vexation and sucked in a long breath. “Help me with these.” He nudged his chin to the gold-embossed books before him.

And it was there and then, as you got up from the table, that your body betrayed you. Instead of shifting the chair back, you pushed the table forward with enough force to make the whole thing topple over. And in a slow chain of images, you saw how the cup tumbled and shattered into dozens of pieces that ended up trapped in a puddle of tea.

You slapped your hands over your mouth as Levi’s popped out eyes darted from the mess to you, back to his precious mug.

He’s chest was rising and falling, fighting to smother the flames. A deep shape of red crept across his cheeks. His lips twitched uncontrollably.

He jumped off the step and trampled to the door, his fists clenched by his side. “Clean this mess.” He huffed without looking at you and slammed the door close, the entire building rumbled.

You sighed and rubbed down a hand over your face. You had to start over again.

The glass is crystal clear, but before you slip to the next window, an intrusive arm besieges you. They loom their head to you. “A beguiling view, isn’t it?”

“Hange!” You lurch and a teasing smile rises on their lips.

“When will you tell him?” They continue pushing, a leery glint flashing in their eyes.

You clear your throat, scratching an itch on your head. “Tell him what?” Your voice quaver.

“That you like him.”

“Me? Like him?” You frown, hurling their arm off, and cross your arms over your chest. “Yeah, right. I feel my breakfast sloshing back just by looking at him.”

They scan the floor, then look back at you. “You would have emptied your stomach by now because you have been watching him for a good while.”

You nibble on your lower lip, your eyes scooting in every direction. Face glazed with sweat. Your gazes meet again. “I was just arduously cleaning. Besides, I don't intend to go blind.” Your cheeks sizzle with red.

The brunette wheezes out a sigh, smacking a fist on their forehead. “You guys are hopeless.” They mutter audible enough, raising their shoulders, palms facing the ceiling.

“What do you mean? Why are you talking in plural?” You bellow, but they just ignore you and continue their way.

“Short guys are not my type!!!” Your raging voice caroms from wall to wall.

A harrumph catches you out of guard. Your head hangs forward as you rake your fingers through your hair, and spin around, your eyes ensnaring with his.

“What now?” You growl.

He bites his cheek and sweeps away some messy strands of hair from his forehead. You can’t decipher the look on his face. He’s not fuming; he’s not scowling. Truth is, he seems kind of... off. Uneasy. Diffident. You tip your head to the side, lifting one brow.

“Is it true?” He gulps, leather-clad foot scuffing on the floor, cheeks slathering with pink. “What you just said?” He staggers.

And here begins the war without quarter.

You pluck out the pin from the grenade, and without reckoning, you throw it.

“And what do you care who I rather shag?!!”

You stuff your hands in your pockets before your fingers give you away. They can’t stop shaking when he’s around. No matter how many times you pray that you hate him, that you can't stand him, the truth is that you can't get him out of your head. As if he had planted roots. He’s worse than weeds.

Seething, he emerges unscathed from the shockwave.

His eyebrows twitch, hands curled into fists quivering at his sides, a throbbing vein threads to explode on his flushed forehead. All his irritation sink into controlled puffs of air spewing from his lips.

But you’re not yielding. No.

Though he fires before you bring out the rest of the artillery.

“I can’t stand you!” his bullet scratches your cheek. “You are the most annoying person. You can't even imagine how much your crowing voice and pig laugh irritates me!” He shoots you in the shoulder, but you stand.

“I'm glad the feeling is mutual.” You take your aim. “With that shitty attitude and that fisty face, and your ridiculous OCD, you're going to die a virgin!”

"You're so clumsy, I don't know how you haven't ended up like titan food!"

The shot pierces your thigh, but limping you still aim.

"It's your fault, you idiot. Or haven't you noticed?"

"How the fuck is it my fault?"

"You make me nervous." You shoot yourself in the foot. "You...you..."

Levi’s grimace totters, overtaken by a puzzled look. But he immediately reloads the gun.

“The fuck you talking about?” He takes a step closer

“Nevermind.” You set your jaw so tight threatening to crack your teeth. You loom closer too and jab a finger on his chest. “Because of you I now say stupid things.”

“Now everything is my fault!”

“It is, like your shitty mug!”

A resonant grunt roars in his throat. With a menacing fist, he clutches your shirt and tows you to him. His eyes stab daggers in you. “How was it my fault?”

His voice a throaty rasp seeping through gritted teeth. His breath is laced with mint.

"Why didn't you stay in your office shoving your tea up your ass? Uh?” You splay your palms on his chest and try to push him away. “What the hell did you have to do in the lab?"

He doesn’t budge.

“And since when is the information in that burrow confidential?”

"You just insist on nagging me. You always look at me with that face of constipation!"

And your quarrel goes on, and you don’t notice the two heads peering at the edge of the hallway.

“Haven't they kissed yet?” Mike queries in a whisper, his head stuck out above theirs.

Hange shrugs. "I've been modifying the cleaning schedule for a month now. It seems I underestimated their idiocy."

“Do you have a lump of manure for brain?” Your brows knit together. "You drive me crazy. You're a real pain in the ass! You're so annoying that I can't even get you out of my mind!"

"And that's why I watch you all the time, so I don't have to think about you!"

Little by little the turbulent waters calm down. Both red, but not with rage.

“Do you have plans for Saturday afternoon?” You scratch a spot beneath your ear.

“Five bells.” His grip loosens.

“Main entrance.”

“I pick the place.”

“Wear a blue shirt that matches my dress.”

“And you the perfume that smells like jasmine.”

"And don't even think about combing your hair back. I don't want to walk next to someone who looks like they've been licked by a horse."

“Let your hair down and put on red lipstick.”

"I like chocolates."

"I'll bring you flowers."

Without looking him in the eyes, and with red-hot cheeks, you reach out first. “Deal!”

"Good!" He grabs your hand and gives you a firm shake, as if you've closed the deal of the century.

On the battlefield, the chasm between the two closed.

[shurisneakers]

a harmless drabble more on the angsty/hurt and comfort side of things? 🥺

a/n: sigh. welcome to chaos week update #2 :)) last one is out this friday and im exhausted pls keep me in your thoughts or send me doughnuts. either works hey, just a shoutout to the anon who has a presentation today. i hope it all goes well :)

warning: lot of swearing, angst, anxiety, self esteem issues, sick bucky, but it gets lighter at the end dw

word count: 8.4k (we established like seven parts ago that these aren’t drabbles anymore)

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

He probably shouldn’t be even awake right now.

But he was.

With a vengeance.

Over fifty hours of a recon mission paired with the additional stakeout due to people not doing their jobs correctly made sure it was a very long two weeks.

The last stretch had been a bit of an adrenaline rush, a lot of explosions and walking away like a badass even though the combination of heat and leather had him sweating buckets. He hopes that the same high would keep him going for at least another few hours before he crashed for the next three days.

“Buck, you’re gonna be exhausted by the time we reach. Can’t you push it to tomorrow?” Steve tries his level best to reason with him, knowing that Bucky in particular had volunteered for a lot of the mission assignments when others were too tired or occupied to pursue it.

“She’s busy tomorrow. School’s got some dance planning committee happening.” Whatever your inator was, he could punch a hole through it and be done for the day. “It’ll be 20 minutes tops.”

“No point arguing with him, Cap. He’s whipped.” Clint’s kinda delirious. He’s almost fallen over twice already, Bucky’s metal arm being the only thing that stopped it from happening. Maybe Clint’s head deserved to hit the floor a couple of times after that comment.

“Shut up.” He fiddles with the solar system bracelet around his wrist, shoving all the beads to one side before thumbing them back. Not a very convincing argument but the same adrenaline is starting to wear off faster than could conserve. “I’m not.”

“Just go on Tuesday or something. ’s not like you wait for the weekend to see her anymore,” Clint throws in a rebuttal much to his annoyance. “Didn’t you meet her after school that day?”

“She said she was going to hypnotise some birds to go shit on someone.” Fuckin’ Jeff.

“Yeah, but then you walked her home afterwards.”

“It was a part of the negotiation.” A trade off, even.

He wonders if the thread that linked all the beads would ever wear out with how much he played around with it, but so far it showed no signs of giving away.

“Negotiation, date, whatever you wanna call it. The point still stands.”

“It’s your fourth mission this month, bud,” Steve interrupts before Bucky’s glare burns holes into Clint’s face. “You need to relax.”

The quinjet takes a sharp turn and Bucky feels like he’s gonna throw up. Motion sickness was a rarity, only showing up in cases where his body was on the verge of crumbling due to fatigue.

He takes a swig of water, shoving down any signs of distress. “Swear on Barton’s life, I'll take a break after this.”

“Motherfucker, I know you’re lying.” Clint whips around in his seat. “Take it back right now. You’re gonna get me killed.”

“Maybe you deserve it,” Bucky quips back calmly.

“That’s fair.” Clint pauses. “But I’ll take you with me, Jimmy.”

Bucky scowls at the nickname. He absolutely loathes it, which gives this piece of shit all the more reason to use it.

“Can you both shut up?” Nat groans from her seat, doing everyone a favour.

“Whose side are you on, Tasha?” Her blonde and begrudgingly admitted best friend asks.

“Whoever pushes you out of this plane in the next five minutes, Clinton.” She smiles sweetly at him but it drops abruptly. “Steve, just let him go, he’s a big boy now. But you’re finding your own way home, Barnes. I’m not picking you up again.”

She picked him up twice a long time ago and one of them was when you called her over to thank her and return the microchip she got you from the lab.

Back then he knew that the team kept in contact with you occasionally, but not to the point where he had to wait half an hour for Nat to stop telling you about the tech behind her photostatic veils so he could finally go home.

“You guys are great,” Bucky mumbles sarcastically, getting up to go punch in the new coordinates. “Best fuckin’ friends a fella could ask for.”

They still have a long way to go. Bits of conversation takes place, but a two week long mission tends to drain the life out of even enhanced human beings so it’s mostly quiet. The longer he sits idly, the longer the weariness sets in. He could take a walk but he’s not sure he could make an entire lap.

Clint's head droops as he slips in and out of sleep again. Bucky considers letting him hit the cold, hard ground in an act of revenge.

In the end, he sticks his arm out again, pushing him back into his seat.

Steve lowers the jet for him at the street outside your lair, enough for him to jump out and not lie on the ground in pain. Still, it takes him a little longer to stop the dizzying when he lands, before he rolling his shoulders and walks to the door.

The lair’s lit up in shades of yellow and red for a change. Even the pillars with the bubbling liquid were a flaming orange to match whatever theme you had going on.

You were in the smack middle, dressed like a completely authentic firefighter.

“You’re back!” you cheer when he opens the door. You follow it up with a quick clearing of your throat, dropping your voice lower to sound more serious. “You’re back.”

He can’t think of anything to say so he just walks to the middle of the lair, a few feet away from the raised platform. His backpack is still with him, a few grimy and tattered clothes, empty guns inside and other essentials inside. But there’s a separate paper bag that he’s holding in his hand.

“I got you something,” he informs to the best of his ability, holding it up. He wonders if you even heard it, considering how coarse his words had sounded.

“What is it?” You jump down from the platform to meet him midway.

“Open it.” He extends it forward.

He’s a little nervous when you pull out a t-shirt from the bag, ‘I love Philippines’ printed against the plain black, the love represented by a bright red heart.

“You bought me a souvenir.” Your eyes widen when you twist it around to look at the words.

“Yeah.” Could he sit down for a few minutes, maybe? Your chair looks real nice. “There’s some chocolate in there if you want.”

“You’re so cute, oh my God.” You hold it up against you, checking out the fit.

He can feel himself smiling but he isn’t exactly sure if he is.

“Thanks, sarge.” You half consider wearing it right now but you don’t want to ruin it with what you have planned. “I love it.”

Bucky gives you a thumbs up, arm dropping to his side when it takes more energy than it should.

“Did you come here right after a mission?” You notice the beads of perspiration lining his forehead. “Is that why you’re all sweaty?”

He just ‘mhm’s in response. He didn’t even notice how hot he was feeling.

He forces himself to pay attention when your fingers wave in front of his face.

“You okay?” You’re a step closer than he remembers you being a second ago. “You look kinda pale.”

“’m fine.” It feels like gravel scraping against his throat. “What d’ya have planned for today?”

You look entirely unconvinced. “Aren’t you supposed to be hibernating right now?”

“Nah.” Did he land 2 minutes ago or two hours ago? How long has he even been here? “Slept on the jet.”

Accidentally, before snapping awake thirty seconds later when turbulence hit.

“Okay,” you say hesitantly. “If you say so.”

You march back to the platform. He lets the backpack fall to the ground, exhaling in relief at the sudden weight off his shoulder. He walks over to leave it by the wall, well out of the way so that neither of you trip.

You stretch your arms out and declare something about subverting expectations and turning things into water so you could float giant paper boats but he only catches bits and pieces of it. He supposes the subverting expectations had to do with the theme of the lair and your costume.

“Where, uh-” If you had mentioned it and he wasn’t paying attention, this was going to be embarrassing, “-where is this... thing?”

“You’ll have to find it.” You grin. “A little game.”

He blinks rapidly, the words taking some time to register in his brain.

“It’s here somewhere?” He looks around, the bright colours bringing on the early signs of a migraine.

"You will never-" you begin to cackle but pause mid-sentence, "Bucky, are you sure you're fine?"

He nods with a slight wince, beckoning for you to go on. His shoulder pressed against the concrete for support, centring his balance accordingly.

"It’s around here.” You sound more disinterested, instead, eyes trained on him in worry. “But there’s this whole ‘floor is lava’ thing going on, it’s gonna get a little crazy.”

“Ah.” Jesus, had it been over sixty hours since he’d been awake? What fucking day of the week was it?

“Listen, can I get you something? Do you want some water or-”

His legs nearly buckle under him in a flash.

"Can we just take 5?" He slides to the ground along the wall, leaning on his palm to stay upright.

"Shit, Buck." You immediately leap off your platform to get to him. “What’s happening to you?”

“‘m fine,” he groans, trying to push himself up again.

“Clearly you’re not.” You drop to your knees by him to get a picture of what exactly was wrong.

"I have super healing.” He clenches his eyes shut. “I'll be fine, just- just give me a minute."

"You're sick, James.” He can feel your hand press against his forehead, a welcome coolness against the heat. “You're burning up."

Alright. Maybe he isn’t that fine.

“I’m callin’ Hill.” You dig around your firefighter’s outfit for your phone. “This is why we don't see each other until you've gotten some rest, Bucky. We could have just rescheduled.”

His eyes blow open, hand reaching out to grab your wrist. "No, no.”

“What?” you ask, eyebrows furrowing.

He shakes his head. “Don't take me back there. They won't let me go on missions."

"Well, they shouldn't, not if things like this are going to happen," you bite back, finger hovering over the contact.

"Please,” he pleads, "Please. I don’t know how else to make up for it.”

“Make up for what?” Your determination falters.

“Everything.” His eyes close again. “Don’t call them.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” you breathe out. “How do I help you, sweetheart, you gotta tell me.”

You check his temperature again, biting your lip to quell what feels a lot like rising fear because panicking wouldn’t help the situation. His skin burns under yours.

“Just leave your hand there,” he says under his breath. The ground was cold, God, he wanted to lie down. “Feels nice.”

Sleep looks like she’s finally catching up with him, a race that she inevitably always won. She’s a sneaky one.

He doesn’t try to resist this time, letting it consume him.

Something under him is plush, soft. It’s not dissimilar to the seats in the common room.

He can barely rotate his body, every muscle feels like it's on the verge of tearing and fuck, he's barely conscious but he manages to pry his eyes open.

“Easy there, Buck." It's you, even though he's moving in and out of consciousness he can tell it's you.

The room's too bright. The world's too bright. The panic builds in his chest.

"Where am I?" His words come out slurred, eyes squinting painfully.

“My couch," you sound gentle, calming. "You're safe. Go back to sleep."

Okay. He trusts you.

He passes out before his head hits the pillow.

Bucky doesn't dream. He has nightmares, yeah, but those had begun to lessen in frequency after he started working on them a few months ago.

This isn't a nightmare.

It's a dark, navy blue sky, pristine white ground and a mist swirling around with the strong wind. He swears he can feel the cool droplets collecting on every inch of him. He doesn't feel nervous... just strange.

It’s uncharted territory.

There’s not a lot going on otherwise.

He takes a step forward, and another, and another when nothing happens. It’s a slow walk against the low howl of the draft, but it looks like there’s no one around for miles.

He stands still for a second. Lets the world move around him.

He’s alone anyway.

“Bucky.” He jerks awake again, hastily pulled away from the nothingness. “Slow down. Breathe. It’s me.”

“How long have I been out?” he croaks out. It feels like five minutes between since he shut his eyes.

“About two hours.” He hears a clink as you set a tray down on the table beside him. “Sorry for waking you up. Just thought you needed some water.”

He can’t lift his head up. It’s bordering on humiliating. “I can’t-”

“Got you a straw,” you break in gently. “But I’m gonna need you to take these for your fever. You’re still burning up pretty bad.”

Something pokes at the corner of his mouth. He figures you’re holding up the glass for him. The straw’s helpful, and hell, you were right. His throat was absolutely parched and the water sliding down feels like a respite but he can’t get more than a few sips in.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-” he begins in a long series of apologies to come, hoping the throbbing in his head would go away.

“Get some rest, Buck.” You knew that if he started he wouldn’t ever stop. “We’ll talk about this later.”

There’s the sound of a light switch clicking and he’s left in silence for a few seconds.

He should have just gone home. He should have listened.

But he wanted to give you the t-shirt.

He’s been walking for what seemed like hours now.

The inky dark horizon seems endless, the white ground crunches under his feet.

Is this what fever dreams were really like?

Or is this what his normal dreams are like? He can’t really remember the last one he had.

He doesn’t know what he’s headed towards but something in him tells him not to stop. There’s an unspoken destination to get to.

“Where are you going?” A voice asks from around him. No matter how ominous it was, it doesn’t seem to unnerve him.

“‘m not sure,” he admits, his pace not faltering.

It doesn’t ask anything further so he keeps treading.

It’s a minute before something catches his eye. A light appears in the distance. His heart lifts.

Something warm. Inviting.

Fire?

The closer he gets, the clearer it becomes that it is a fireplace. It stands alone out there, several logs of wood accompanying it with an axe leaning against them.

The flame’s dull.

He gets to work.

His forehead feels cool. He thinks that either his dream was had transcended into reality or he’s sweat right through his shirt and condensation was working wonders.

His hand shifts up to wipe at his skin. It comes in contact with cloth instead and it takes him a moment to realise that it was a wet hand towel laid across his forehead.

He hasn’t been like this in years. He sure remembers laying soaked handkerchiefs on Steve a lot when they were boys, nights of flu and stomach bugs keeping Bucky up in palpable fear until his friend’s fever broke in the early hours of the morning. He can’t recall the last time someone had done it for him.

He can hear you tinkering with something in the other room. His senses seemed like they were gradually making a comeback, but along with them came the most excruciating headache.

A small groan escapes him when he tries to flip over, hands flying to his temple to try and relieve some of the pressure. The serum was good most of the time. But for all the epic moments of energy and healing it gave him, the inevitable lows crashed down just as hard.

But a headache was good. If this was the worst he had been feeling all day, then he knew from experience that it was going to be over soon.

“Where does it hurt?” He didn’t even notice that you had stopped building whatever you were, now crouching a few feet away from the couch.

“My fuckin’ head.” He turns over to press his face against the sofa cushion, hoping that the darkness would help in some way.

He can feel your fingers run through his hair, pushing it away from where it stuck to his face. His teeth unclench slightly, just for a second, before another wave hits him.

He begs to go back under.

It’s snow, he realises. The white ground is snow.

“Why don’t you sit down for a while?” it cajoled again. The voice doesn’t have a physical form but he can feel it follow him around like a little friend.

“Can’t.” He’s been hacking away at the wood for too long now, using the bits to keep the flame going, keep it alive before it dies out on him.

“Can’t or won’t?”

He leans against the hilt of the axe, breathing heavily. He’s exhausted.

“Won’t.” His voice is quieter, eyes downcast.

The wind doesn’t give up around him. It hugs him like a blanket, adding to what could easily turn into misery.

“What do you think is going to happen if you keep at this?”

Warmth. Something to break the monotony of the blue around him. Maybe the heat would invite someone to sit with. Redemption.

“I don’t know.” He brings the tool down hard on another block, breaking it into half before he throws it into the fireplace.

“You’re not seeing what you’ve already created,” it points out delicately. “Wait for a second, watch the fire.”

He wipes his brow, taking a step back. His muscles were aching, shortness of breath finally catching up to him.

If it gives up on him, he’d have to work twice as hard.

But the fire continues to crackle, seconds, moments, even minutes later. Just as bright.  

Has it always been?

“Yes, it has.” It reads his mind.

At what point did it stop mattering how much he tried to keep it alive?

“A long time ago.” It didn’t make sense. “So then why are you working so hard towards it when it’s already here?”

Something is kneading on his head. It’s foreign and should definitely set off alarm bells but it's nice. It feels good.

"Hey, B." You’re on a single seat couch adjacent to his, welding gloves on your hand. Do you ever take a break? “You look better.”

"Hi." He reaches up, coming in contact with metal this time. "What's on my head?"

"Synthesised Message Inducer."

A message inducer?

"What messages were you sending me?" Is that why his dream was so fucking weird?

"Well- none," you confess. "I read the label wrong. Turns out it’s a massage inducer. Don't know what evil I can do with that but it’s helpful.”

No wonder.

"You mentioned a headache before you passed out again so I just thought that-" you gesture to it with a flick of your hand. "Is it making you uncomfortable? I wasn't sure-"

"It feels good,” he murmurs, trying his best to straighten up. "Thank you."

“You look less pale.” You smile, although it looks strained. “You hungry?”

“Don’t think so.”

“There’s some Gatorade on the table. Saltines too, if you can stomach it.”

He knows he should eat. His metabolism needs it.

You push yourself off your couch to go sit beside him. He sits up straight, back leaning heavily against the couch when you land next to him.

He takes three out of the bowl of saltines you offer him. Breaking it into little pieces, he pops a few in his mouth, chewing slowly. A quick sip of Gatorade washes it down for momentary satisfaction but he knows it won’t be nearly enough to fill the hunger that will eventually hit him the minute he’s a little healthier. His body’s energy was being entirely spent in fixing him up.

“Steve called, by the way.” Of course, he did. Mother.

“Did you pick up?” He twists the cap back onto the bottle.

“Let it ring all the way through.” You take it from him and leave it on the floor beside the couch, lifting your legs to keep onto the table.

“He’ll call back later.”

“I think it’ll be fun to reject Steve Rogers’ call.”

Oh, it definitely is. Gets him all riled up.

“How you feeling?” You sneak a glance at him.

“Better than this morning.” An hour more and he’d be good to go.

You nod, looking down at your lap. "You scared the shit out of me, you know.”

"I'm sorry." Guilt. It’s guilt that might just eat him alive. “Really.”

“I know what you’re thinking.”  You wave it off. "Don’t. I'm just glad you're okay."

There’s a beat of silence where he’s not quite sure what to say. There’s a certain tension that hangs in the air between you both. He can feel the drowsiness creep on him again.

“But you need to tell the team, James,” you say softly. “You need to talk to someone.”

He doesn’t react too much. He knew it would come up eventually.

Bucky exhales uneasily. “I know.”

“Will you?”

The million-dollar question. He doesn’t want to lie and tell you that he absolutely will because he doesn’t know.

His head cautiously rests on your shoulder. You don’t hesitate for a moment before shifting to make him more comfortable, leaning your cheek on his hair.

“I’m gonna pick up next time Rogers calls.”

“Yeah?”

“Gonna tell him you got held up on our date.” He feels your chest rise and fall with a small laugh. He smiles against your shoulder.

“They’ll get on my ass.”

“You should get bullied, it’s good for character development.”

Some date.

He can’t even stay awake longer than five minutes at a time.

He’s still cutting the wood fervently, throwing blocks upon blocks into the fire to keep it alive, keep him alive.

“You know you don’t have to keep doing this, James,” it’s being a voice of reason but he can’t afford to listen to it. “You’re not gonna find something new that you don’t already have.”

“What do I have?” he asks desperately, planting his feet in the ground, hand gripping the axe tightly.

“You know what.”

He does. “Don’t say it.”

“Accepta-”

“No.”

“That’s going to keep burning.” It’s true. “You’re just going to kill yourself trying to keep it.”

He has to earn it. He has to do something to be worthy of what it was giving him because if it knew the kinds of things he’s done, things he has to make up for- it’d extinguish a long time ago.

“You don’t.”

“I do.” No matter how long he stays still, it shows no sign of flickering.

“The fire’s still alive.” It’s calm despite how frantic he was turning.

“I’m useless here,” he says defeatedly against its insistence. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Maybe you don’t.” It stings. “But maybe you do. Either way, it’s giving it to you, no strings attached.”

He lifts his axe over his shoulder again, ready to bring it down.

“You don’t have to offer a service to have worth.”

He halts, body frozen. His chest constricts almost painfully.

“Sit down for a while,” its command is kind, almost caring. “Let it come to you.”

“Fuck,” it escapes him like a small prayer.

The axe drops to the ground. He shakily takes a seat.

It’s a kitten.

On his chest.

Bucky stares right at it and it unflinchingly stares back.

He’s not really sure if he’s still dreaming or not.

He hesitatingly uses a finger to scratch behind its ear.

“Hello,” he whispers. It leans into his touch, pressing itself against his palm. “Where’d you come from?”

"You're awa- ah, jeez, I'm sorry." You walk into the room, finally changed into an oversized cardigan and out of your lab coat, "She's clingy."

"It's okay." He likes it. “This is your cat?”

“Yeah. Finally, about time you two met.”

He folds his legs to give you space on the couch. You sit next to him, a cup of something warm in your hands. There’s music playing softly through the apartment, tracks definitely from the 80s. He recognises some of them from the playlists Sam had been sending to catch him up.

“You look good as new.” His temperature had gone down a while ago and his headache had subsided after thirty more minutes of sleep and an Aspirin.

“Feel normal.” Praise be to the serum. “Think it’s over.”

“You need some more water?”

“I’m good.” He’s fucking starving, though. “What have you been up to all day?”

“School stuff.” You relax into the seat. “Inators to kick your ass when you’re not unconscious on my couch.”

“Winter Formal prep?” He flinches when the cat digs her claws into his chest but it doesn’t hurt that bad, arching her back before snuggling back.

“Yeah. Turns out I’m chaperoning.” The cynicism in your tone has him believing that maybe it’s not your activity of choice. “Yay.”

“When is it?”

“Pretty soon. The planning committee’s all excited.” You take a sip out of your mug. “I get one day to recuperate.”

Maybe he should leave you alone for the next few weeks. Maybe a month. Possibly forever.

“I’m sorry,” he says for the umpteenth time that day but at least now he’s properly conscious.

“I know you are.” You don’t sound mad at him. “You don’t need to be. What are frenemies for?”

He lingers a little longer on the word, reevaluating what exactly this thing was at this point.

“Plus you brought me a present.” You gesture to yourself and he realises only then that you actually have the shirt on. “That makes it pretty even, I think.”

“You sure?”

You know it’s an unspoken way of asking if you want him to get out and never come back, judging by the way his lip was caged between his teeth.

“Absolutely.” You finish whatever you’re drinking, leaving it on the coffee table. “And you fixed my generator last time you were at the lair so, you know, an eternal debt or something.”

Well, it nearly electrocuted you and him so it’s not like it was a difficult choice to make.

“I think she likes you.” You raise your eyebrows at the cat who had dozed off on his chest a while ago when he wasn’t paying attention. “Traitor.”

“She has good taste.” He didn’t think he was a cat person, having grown up with his neighbour’s dogs and the human equivalent of a spunky Golden Retriever.

“She has terrible taste. Unless she likes me, then she’s basically Gordon Ramsay.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” He retracts his hand back to his side, fully intending not to disturb her. He probably wouldn’t be able to move from that position for the next few hours out of compulsion.

The ease slowly returning to your conversation takes off some of the edge he was feeling.

“Something feels wrong about today.” He stares off to the side, turning his face to the wall.

“Aside from me having to use all my Grey’s Anatomy knowledge on you?” You snicker. “Web MD told me you had Pneumococcal Meningitis.”

“No. I don’t think you’ve said enough bullshit for today.” There’s a certain quota that’s been set.

“I did, you just weren’t awake to hear any of it.” There’s a smile on your face finally and the relief he feels is immeasurable. “Told you all my hopes and dreams.”

“Yeah?” He raises an eyebrow, head inclined ever so slightly to look at you. “What’d that include?”

“To start, I’d like a pony.” You pull your knees up to your chest, circling your arms around it. “Then a private island.”

“You’re startin’ small.” The corner of his lip tugs upwards. “Real humble.”

“You know me, queen of humility and all that.” You brush his comment aside. “But you know what‘s actually wrong?”

He hums in curiosity.

“I haven’t hit on you all day.”

Ah.

“‘M sure it’s hurtin’ pretty bad,” he says in amusement.

“You have no idea.” You sigh loudly. “How else will you know about my undying love for you?”

“Get it out of your system then.” Months ago he wouldn’t have even dreamed of encouraging this behaviour, but here he was.

“Don’t think you can handle it, buddy,” you tease, eyes crinkling.

“Why, because I have a fever?” He smiles playfully. “Just means I’m hotter than usual.”

You press your lips into a straight line to avoid smiling back. “Mr Barnes, are you flirting with yourself?”

“So what if I am?”

“That’s my job, sir.” You huff. “You gonna have me unemployed now?”

Begrudgingly, he thinks you do your job very well, so no, he’s probably not going to.

He shakes his head slowly instead, stopping when he feels the movement send a shot of pain up his neck. Certainly slept the wrong way.

There’s a faint spell of victory on your face. “You hungry? Been a while since you ate anything.”

“Kinda.” His stomach lining was going to digest itself but he’d never tell you that.

You’re about to open your mouth and tell him that he was a wholeass snack and you were starving when the front door’s doorknob jiggles.

The key turns, finally pushing open and accompanied by a voice that can only be described as peeved.

“Y/N, did you forget the fuckin- oh mother of God.” Some guy covers his eyes instantly, retracting back to the doorway. “You coulda warned me you had a guy here. Is he clothed?”

“Unfortunately, he is.”

“Sir, are you clothed?” he asks aloud instead, ignoring your cry of betrayal.

“Uh, yeah.” Bucky clears his throat awkwardly. “I am.”

“You have no faith in me, Jake,” you grumble, not even meeting his gaze in greeting.

“Fuck off, Y/N,” he replies like it’s a habit, peeking through his fingers to look at who was in the living room.

Oh, this was Jake. Roommate Jake that you’ve mentioned to him a few times before, mostly in complaints.

Roommate Jake’s eyes squint in an effort to discern who was on the couch.

“Anyway come meet-”

“I see.” Recognition finally settles on his face, paving way for immediate displeasure.

“This is Sergeant Ba-”

“I know who he is,” he says dryly. “Why is there a superhero in our apartment? Nice to meet you, by the way.”

Bucky simply waves in acknowledgement, feeling pretty helpless. He tries to sit up straight but the cat simply latches onto him, dragging herself further up his chest and settling there.

“We’re having a sleepover.” You nudge Bucky’s knee with your elbow. “We just did each other’s nails. Do you wanna join?”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” he retorts curtly. “I’m gonna go change. Make sure we still have a home by the time I return.”

Oof.

“Left you some pasta in the microwave,” you call out, face scrunched in anticipation.

Jake stops down the hall. “You didn’t do the laundry today, did you?”

“The pasta is really good,” you say alternatively.

“Again, fuck you,” he reiterates before a door opens and closes. “I’m gonna have you evicted.”

There’s a stupidly big grin on your face when you turn back to Bucky. “I was just fuckin’ with him, I did the laundry.”

“He hates me,” Bucky states, pulling you out of your self-induced haze of pettiness.

“Ah ah, correction; he doesn’t hate you,” you emphasise, wagging a finger. “He hates all of you. The entire team.”

Bucky’s nose crinkles.

“Don’t look so confused, I warned you about this a while ago.”

He vaguely remembers you telling him to come find out the reason.

“Why?” If it was an anti-superhero agenda, it wouldn’t be the first time Bucky had encountered one of them.

“He has one of the worst jobs in the city.” You smirk. “He works in insurance.”

Oh.

“Every time aliens destroy New York, he works overtime.”

Oh.

“‘Hi, thank you so much for calling Gold Star Insurance, how may I help you? Oh, Shmulk used your car as a landing pad?’' you mimic, hand pressed to your ear like a phone. “‘Yes, we can set you up with a claim. Lemme just transfer you real quick to-’”

“I don’t sound like that.” Jake’s voice carries over from the kitchen.

“No one said this was you,” you fire back, rolling your eyes. “God, Jake, the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

“It will once I change the locks on all our doors, Y/N.” His voice is muffled as he opens the fridge, burrowing his head inside. “Did you finish my fucking yoghurt?”

It’s like your ears perk up the way you whirl around to the direction he was. “Admit you ate my cereal, bitch.”

“I don’t even like your shitty cereal,” he shouts back, shutting the fridge door. “You ate my damn yoghurt. I’m adding it to your rent for this month.”

“Fuck your yoghurt.” You sound a little too proud for someone who supposedly didn’t have anything to do with it.

There’s silence until he pokes around the corner, phone in his hand.

“Did you eat dinner?” Jake asks normally.

“No. You ordering?” The way your tone shifts almost gives Bucky whiplash.

“Yeah. Pizza?”

“Sounds good. I’ll pay.”

“Nah, I got it. You paid last time.” He punches in the number. “Sergeant Barnes, would you like some pizza?”

“No, I-” He’s well overstayed his welcome. He probably has a few therapist appointments to make, a few missions to cancel from his schedule.

“Yes, he would,” you interrupt. “Order another large please, Jakey.”

“Cool.” He walks away, speaking into the phone.

“Get dessert,” you yell after him.

He shouts a muffled agreement back.

“Hope you like pepperoni.” You return your attention to Bucky. “That’s his default for people he doesn’t know.”

“Uh, yeah.” He doesn’t quite know what to say after all that. “He seems nice.”

“He’s an asshole.” Your eyes shine in excitement. “I love him.”

The cat paws at his chest, demanding the attention Bucky hadn’t been giving her all this while. He scratches her back again before she goes back to sleep.

“Sergeant Barnes, are you injured?” Jake walks back into the room. “Did one of her dumb machines do this?”

“He’s fine.” You shoot a look towards Bucky who nods in confirmation. “And my machines aren’t dumb, they’re stupid.”

"Is he going to die on our couch?" Jake turns to him. "Are you going to die on our couch?"

"No, he isn't," you say, a tick of annoyance in your voice.

“I really am fine,” Bucky adds on, switching between you and him.

"We could get court-martialed, you know."

"We'll just go on the run." Your eyes shine. "You and me, living it up as criminals. We'll even bring Fondant."

He looks at you in disdain. "We're taking the cat with us?"

"You love her, shut up."

“She sheds everywhere.”

"Your cat's name is Fondant?" Bucky dares to speak up in the middle of whatever this was.

"Among others." Jake sighs. "It was Vaseline this morning, Daisy yesterday and probably will be something stupid like Q-Tip tonight."

You let out an ‘ooh’ in excitement. "Q-Tip is a good one, Jake."

"That was an insult, not a suggestion," he shoots back. "You can't even decide on a name."

"You call her Airpod.”

“She’s small and white and I can never find her anywhere.”

“That's the worst name. What if I went around calling you Shit Stain, huh? Because that’s what you are,” you accuse, adoration highlighting your face when you look at her. "We need a good name, something worthy of her."

"Sergeant Barnes, since you're here would you like to weigh in on the situation?"

Not really. But he's starting to take a liking towards the little thing that was fast asleep on his chest. 

“You can just call me Bucky,” he says instead, figuring that since he was crashing on your shared couch, Jake could at least get nickname privileges.

“You know what, you’re right,” you start, ignoring his white flag. “Bucko here should pick a name.”

“Uh-” Bucky didn’t know this was still the topic of discussion, considering how fast the both of you had been bickering back and forth.

“Stop pestering him,” Jake carped.

“Let him speak, bro, holy shit,” you exclaim, throwing your hand up in a ‘what the hell?’.

“Like you’re going to actually use it. Don’t get his hopes up too high.”

“Maybe I will.” You scowl at Jake, giving Bucky a smile. “No pressure sarge, it can’t be worse than Airpod.”

It can if Bucky tries hard enough.

Jake was right, though, it is tiny and white. Snowball was too common, Frostbite was too violent and you had already used Daisy once-

“How about Alpine?” He scratches under its chin. She turns her head up in contentment.

“Alpine,” you test how it feels on your tongue. “Alpine.”

“It can be something else, I don’t know-”

“I like it.” Something about it feels right. “I really do.”

“A normal fucking name. Hallelujah.” Jake crosses his arms across his chest. “If you change it now I’m getting a dog.”

“Nice one, sarge.” You pet her back, grinning when she leans into you.

“Glad to be of service.” Your fingers brush against his for a second and he freezes. He doesn’t even think you notice the mini contact, already busy in firing off a new insult at your roommate.

“Sergeant Barnes, in case you need to kill her at any point, I can tell you her schedule.” Jake glares at you.

“He already has my schedule, so you can eat shit.” You flip him off. “He and I are besties.”

Bucky still has the certificate you mailed him about your promotion from strangers to best friends. It was definitely tacky, but he appreciated the gift card you sent along with it.

An hour later he’s stuffed with so many carbs, his mother would be proud. His diet doesn’t usually consist of copious amounts of pizza but fuck it, he probably needs the energy for the lecture he was going to receive later on.

His lips taste like strawberries from the chapstick you forced him to use, his hair tied back in a little bun because the cat wouldn’t stop playing with it and he’s about halfway through listening to a conversation about why insurance workers had it harder than lawyers while living in a city full of superheroes.

“They get to sit up there in their fancy little air-conditioned rooms but we’re doing all the groundwork,“ Jake rants, eyes still trained on the rerun of an old football match playing on the TV.

“Right,” Bucky acknowledges. It’s not like he has any say in this, he wasn’t the one cleaning up the mess. He had spent his fair share of hours helping cleaners clear up debris and discarded alien rubble from Avengers battlegrounds but he certainly should start investing more time into it. 

“And don’t even get me started on the fuckin’ landlords-”

“Is he still talking?” you interject, rounding the corner from your visit to the kitchen to get some water.

“I’m sorry I’m more interesting than you,” he shoots back without a break. “Anyway, as I was saying-”

You had a glass in one hand Bucky’s phone in the other, a constant stream of buzzing drawing his attention to it. He already knew what it was. 

“Shut up for once in your life, Jake. Bucky, catch.” You toss his phone at him and he catches it with one hand. “Your phone’s been blowing up Mr. Steal Your Girl. Who are you cheating on me with?”

He unlocks it to find his notifications drowned by a series of texts. He ignores the ones from Steve and Sam’s number is still blocked, so that leaves him with only one option.

From Clint

steve’s trying to convince sam to send redwing after you lol

From Clint

i told him he should check in with every morgue in the city

From Clint

ok he spent half an hour doing it lmao where are you

From Clint

if you’re alive can you get me some pringles on the way home

From Clint

sour cream and onion

From Clint

nat told me i shouldn’t have said that. my bad.

From Clint

*when you’re alive can you get me some pringles on the way home

From Bucky

no

From Clint

i’m telling steve you died on a bridge

Bucky locks his phone again, shoving it into his pocket. “I think I should go.”

“Aw, already? You can take Jake’s bedroom if you want,” you offer earnestly. “He can sleep on the asphalt.”

“We have a guest bedroom.” Jake rolls his eyes. “And you can stay over if you need to, Sergeant.”

“Nah, I think Steve might end up here soon if I don’t let him know I’m alright.” The man needed to get laid. It had been too long.

“Well, why don’t you just tell him you’re fine?” Jake is logical, his suggestion reasonable.

Bucky stops to really think about his answer for a moment. 

“It’s funnier.”

Bucky tries to lift Alpine off his lap and onto the couch so she can continue her nap. She opens her eyes briefly before arching her back and jumping off him without so much as a second glance back. Is this what feeling used is like?

“It was nice meeting you.” Your roommate holds out his hand and Bucky takes it firmly, shaking it and responding in kind. “You should visit again. Could use some reinforcements against this crackhead.”

“No one likes you,” you respond, handing Bucky his backpack. “Go add some numbers or cry in a corner or something.”

Jake sends a middle finger and a sarcastic smile your way before disappearing into the kitchen to get the garbage bags.

“Can’t keep America’s Golden Boy waiting.” You hand Bucky his backpack on the way out. 

“He’s anything but America’s Boy.” Bucky scoffs, opening the door and stepping out, “Punk’s broken just about every law under the sun. Not exactly patriotic of him.”

“A rebel with a cause.” A lightbulb goes off in your head. “I know someone who might like that.”

“You’re plannin’ on setting Steve up?” It was probably about damn time. “Good luck.”

“He’s gonna need it, not me.” Your lips upturn in a smirk. “Speaking of your teammates, who’s picking you up?”

“I’ll probably walk.” He inhales deeply, lips pressing inward in a line. “Could use some air.”

“Are you serious?”

He looks at you quizzically. “Yeah.”

“All you superheroes and your lone wolf complexes,” you say under your breath, digging around your cardigan pocket for something.

You ask for his hand. He gives it to you, slightly confused.

“You’re crazy if you think you’re walking home after all that.” You tug his metal arm up slightly to get a better grip on it. 

When your eyes fall on the galaxy bracelet he still has around his wrist, your gaze softens almost immediately. “You kept this?”

Bucky clears his throat, feeling the heat creep into his face. “Steve’s not the only one who needs luck.”

“Sure isn’t,” you agree, moving the bracelet down gently before snapping a new contraption around his hand.

It’s designed to look like a digital watch but he knows exactly what it is.

“Thought you never made two of the same thing.” He stares at the teleportation device that fits snugly around his wrist.

“Yeah, well, your clone getting kidnapped can really change a person,” you murmur. “Made two after the whole thing just in case, but you should have it.”

“Y/N-” he begins, ready to argue.

“I want you to have it,” you interrupt. “Could be helpful on missions. Late night booty calls too, makes the commute less.”

Like he was getting a ton of those on a regular basis.

“I’ll return it next weekend,” he promises, clutching his backpack a little tighter.

“No, you won’t.” You shake your head. “This store doesn’t accept returns.”

He opens his mouth to argue.

“If anything comes out of there that isn’t ‘Y/N you’re the love of my life, please be my girlfriend’, don't even bother,” you warn seriously. 

He shuts his mouth again.

You weren’t going to let him have his way, your stubbornness taking the front seat. It’s slightly infuriating, but he supposes that came with the gig. 

“Thank you,” he says, voice quiet, “for everything.”

“Don’t mention it,” you make a callback to what he said to you months ago. “You glued popsicle sticks together for three hours, ‘tis the least I could do.”

“Still.”

You can tell it’s something he isn’t used to doing, judging by how serious he was. 

“Don’t go all soft on me, Barnes.” You punch his shoulder playfully. “Could even say it’s an evil scheme in itself, making sure your frenemy is fine enough to get their ass handed to them next time.”

“Friends.”

“What?” you ask, not sure if you heard him right.

“We’re friends,” he repeats.

It shouldn’t make your stomach flutter but it does and it’s despicable. 

“Give me two more weeks and we’ll add ‘with benefits’ as a suffix.” Using humour as a way to cope with the sudden surge of your heartbeat maybe isn’t the best way to go about things.

“It’s gonna take a lot longer than that.” He counters, buckling the strap of his backpack across his sternum.

“But you’re not denying that it can happen.” A grin spreads across your face. “It’s just gonna take some time.”

He stops his movements, hand still on the watch as he adjusts the coordinates. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Bucky Barnes, you are playing hard to get.” You laugh and he smiles wide and free.

“You gotta put in the work.” Not much, judging by the way he’s looking at you.

“I will wear you down someday,” you swear. “You will admit that you have feelings for me.”

He purses his lips out in contemplation. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” You snort. “Get home safe. And get some sleep.”

“Bye Y/N.” He takes a moment longer to linger on you before pressing down on the watch, blipping out of your view.

You let out an exhale, eyes dropping to the area he was standing just a minute ago.

What a day.

“He your boyfriend?” Jake asks, handing you a bag as you shut the door behind you.

“What? No,” you mumble to yourself, arms crossed over your chest.

“I know you. You don’t just give your inventions away to just anyone,” he continues even when you push past him, “and you especially don’t make stuff twice for them unless they’re Director Fury.”

“I didn’t make that watch for him.” You couldn’t exactly hand out freeze rays and air bending tools to random people. They’d have to have insight into what you were doing in the first place and the only people from your citizen life were T and Jake.

“You’re a terrible liar.” He scoffs. “I saw the blueprint on the table. You built that shit today.”

“They just happened to be there.” You pick up a pizza box, shoving it into the trash. “I was editing a prototype.”

“Y/N, I love you occasionally but you’re full of shit.”

“Beginning to doubt the first part, J.” You hand him the used glasses to take to the sink.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you’ve never built him anything before this.”

You spin on your heel to face him, staring him straight in the eye.

He waits. Your mouth opens to say something before closing it again.

“Your face is ugly.” You press the bag full of garbage into his hand. “Why do you even care so much?”

“Because I’m one of your only two friends, you loser.”

“I have more than two friends.” You huff. “Alpine.”

“Alpine is a cat.”

“Alpine is my best friend and I love her.”

“She is a cat,” he repeats. “Listen- shut up, that cat doesn’t love you- I don’t want anything to happen to you. Your life is fucking weird as it is, just wanna make sure his heart’s in the right place.”

You had already been kinda kidnapped once, what’s the worst that could happen?

You don’t tell Jake that, though. He’d send out a search group the next time you were late.

“He’s good.” You sigh, hand resting on your hip. “And nothing’s going on between us anyway so you got nothing to worry about.”

“Like you don’t have the biggest crush on him.” He swings the bag over his shoulder. “Just because I just choose to ignore you on purpose doesn’t mean I’m ignorant.”

“Yeah, well, I have a crush on someone new every week so your point is invalid.” You put your hands on your waist. “Stop being so mean to me or else I’ll fall in love with you too.”

“God, no. Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of.” His face twists in disgust as he exits the room. 

“You’re comin’ with me, boy,” you reminded him. “Alpine too.”

“Just for the record,” Jake’s voice resonates through the apartment, “I probably hate him the least out of all of them.”

You let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I figured.”

all proceeds to my ko-fi go towards me trying to get a life or at least some doughnuts <3 (and fix my really fucked up phone)

requests used in this chapter 

Next part

[junoswrites]

Nighthawks

Chapter One

A/N: I took some inspiration from Law and Order type-dramas that I’ve been binging lately so I’m excited to steal some jokes and use it in my fic.

☆彡

The Tokyo National Museum’s familiar halls were darkened as the night creeped on. With it being slightly past eight o’clock, you were absolutely positive that all the tourists that streamed through the exhibits were gone. Despite the empty halls brimming with unseen treasures of the art world, your laboratory was a hive of activity.

Conservators were working intently on the cross stitching of a lavish tapestry on loan from the Tokyo Western Art Museum. As the leading Head Curator of the Museum, You were personally staying back to supervise your coworkers. Luckily, you had the ticket to raising any low morale for this assignment. “Everybody,” You called out to the team with a small smile, “I have a surprise.” Haruhi, a woman with blonde and pink highlights in her dark hairlooked up with widened eyes. Her hands trembled from fiddling with a difficult strand of cotton. One look at the mysterious pink bag dangling from your fingers made her squeal and get up.

“Donuts!” Her cry of joy roused the others from their work, drawing a large crowd of exhausted technicians. A moment passed with the snap of latex as gloves were hurriedly removed. You smiled at the growing smiles on their faces, bring influenced by their infectious high spirits. “Bon Appetite, everybody.” You set the box on the nearby table, before you got swept away by the ensuing bloodbath.

The night stretches on and you and the team are working intensely on your work. Calming bossa nova plays in the background as all of you try to tuck in loose threads, replace stained patches and mend torn ends. You quietly lean over to peer at Junko’s careful attempt at tabby reweaving over a spot where a weft in the tapestry was missing. Reaching out to gently take the needle from her, you prepare to teach her how to efficiently darn another spot. “Junko-chan, great work. Do you reme-“

“Bam!”, the glass door to the laboratory slams open with a crash.

Junko’s hand jerks in alarm, drawing blood from her fingers as crimson blooms on her thumb. Yelping in surprise, you glare at the sudden intrusion before your eyes widen in surprise. The head of exhibitions, your superior Yamato Hideki, was striding into the laboratory in a panic. You had never seen him shed his cool demeanour before. The team stares wide eyed as Yamato doubles over in exhaustion, panting loudly.

He calls out to you, “Doctor Fujiwara, there’s something important I need to discuss with you-“ You hold up a hand to stop him, crossing to a nearby first aid kit and grabbing antiseptic with a bandaid. “Nishimura-san, please administer first aid to Ito-san while I confer with Yamato-san. Everybody please continue on the tapestry and leave by nine thirty.” Haruhi speedily tends to Junko’s finger after hearing your instructions and nods to you as you leave with your boss.

The tall man within the office is impatiently crossing his arms in a plush chair. Wearing a high collared black jacket and tactical gloves,

leaning against the chair were two infamous grenade-like gauntlets. Ash blonde hair graced softer features defined by high cheekbones. Too bad they were warped and twisted into the world’s deepest scowl.

Your polite smile felt frozen on your cheeks.

“Pro-Hero Bakugo-san,” You immediately bow, “It’s an honour to meet you.” All Bakugo does is give you a stormy look, “Yeah, whatever. Let’s cut the crap. Why the hell did you take so long to come here?” You winced at his rough language. Viral YouTube or Twitter videos that circulated the net every once in a while did nothing to prepare you for the onslaught of his rage in person.

Glancing at Yamato who now timidly watched from behind his desk, you frowned. Your lips pressed into a thin line in annoyance before answering calmly, “My team member was injured upon Yamato-san’s arrival. I apologise for our perceived lateness but we had to administer first aid to her. I gladly agree that we should dispense with courtesy since you’ve clearly taken the initiative to do so first.”

The previously agitated blonde’s eyes widened a little at your statement, before he seemed to shrink a little as he slightly calmed down. “Oh. Alright.”

You were stunned at his relative compliance, realising that he truly had mellowed out over the years since he had entered Pro Hero Work. The Twitter articles that Haruhi had sent to you fangirling over Bakugo held some grain of truth. She would probably be screaming at you if she knew who you were in a meeting with right now.

Yamato takes the awkward silence that descends as an invitation to jump in. “Doctor Fujiwara as you already know this is Pro-Hero Bakugo Katsuki. Bakugo-san is here on Pro-Hero business to consult you on an Egyptian artifact found on the crime scene.”

He faces Bakugo, gesturing to you with a small grin, “I’ve decided to refer Doctor Fujiwara to you as the lead consultant on this case. She’s the leading expert in her field.”

Bakugo raises his brows, “Seriously?” You couldn’t believe that he was doubting your credentials. You straighten up in your chair, “I have a doctorate in Art History and Egyptology.” “She’s also majorly skilled in the Fine Arts,” Yamato pipes in, as if to buff up your scrawny image in Bakugo’s eyes. You didn’t need him to know that you absolutely sucked in any practical art medium other than watercolour.

He narrows his eyes, before sighing and digging into his briefcase. “Fine, Doctor Fujiwara.” He fishes out a brown file.

“Hurry up and read this, because I’m not going to explain or repeat myself after this.” You gingerly thumbed through the pages of the crimes scene reports, as Bakugo started on a story of how him and his Sidekicks were at a bank vault on a mission.

Your thumb paused flicking the report, gaze hovering over an image of the bank’s private collection of ancient artifacts. You frowned at the caption. “The United Bank’s ancient Egyptian artifacts were under excellent protection. It was all stolen?”, you couldn’t help but muse out loud.

Bakugo scowls before rolling his eyes, rising from his seat and stabbing the next photograph with his finger. “Half stolen. Half. We managed to recover the rest. Ground Zero Agency is definitely more efficient than United Bank’s shitty security detail.”

You raised your brows as he leaned back and crossed his arms in his seat again. Silently, you resumed reading the report. You flicked through the document quickly, stopping to note the bloody crime scene photos. You winced at the bloodied photographs of a captured villain’s wounded chest. “Looks like you hurt them pretty badly. You guys seem to have it in the bag so far. What is my expertise needed for.”

Bakugo shrugs, jabbing a thumb at Yamato. “This is where he tells me you come in. You’re going to help me identify the ring we managed to take from the villain group’s leader.” He tosses a plastic bag to you and you catch it, noting the weight of its contents.

The bag contained a metallic ring, encrusted with rusty brown flakes. Turning it around in your hands, you did a cursory visual examination. “This needs to be tested for its purity, but I think it might be silver. Engravings and stylistic design are simple, typical Ancient Egyptian make.” You cast a look at Yamato and grin.

“Yamato, come over and look at this. I think it’s actually a genuine signet ring!” Yamato perks up, rushing over and peering at the ring in your hand. “Oh my! This is beautiful, Doctor Fujiwara.” He shakes his head in disbelief, before rushing to his computer to search up any matches to the ring in your palm.

Your grin intensifies, as you bring the plastic bag to your eye and stare at the gemwork on the ring. “The blue paint on the outer ring around the owner’s name. I think these are smaller blue lapis lazuli gemstones embedded beside the ring’s hieroglyphs…” You lock eyes with Yamato’s shining ones and burst into excited laughter, throwing your head back a little. “Eighteenth Century! My favourite!”

Then you are acutely aware that there is a very foreign presence in the room. One that probably did not appreciate your reaction to dating the signet ring’s rough time period which it originated from. You glanced at Bakugo, fighting to keep the smile off your face at your discovery. Instead of the furious expression you anticipated, you find his features are more confusing as ever. You’ve never seen this expression on the news or any post online. His eyes are widened, face curiously open with a raw display of emotion.

You hope it’s nothing bad, immediately schooling your features to remain professional. “I’ll need to get this to the lab tomorrow to be certain of my theories,” you conclude your short analysis as you straighten your posture. Yamato nods, gesturing to his computer, “I’ve found no obvious matches to this signet ring online so far. I’ll have to access our museum’s database tomorrow to cross reference with the bank’s inventory.”

You look down and glare at the rusty flecks encrusted on the ring, examining at it through the flimsy plastic bag. The mysterious dirt was staining the ring, particularly on the inner surfaces of the band, “Why is it so dirty. How did you obtain it again?”

Now it was Bakugo’s turn to laugh. His deep voice echoed around the office as you jerked up to see his features softening in derisive mirth. “Hah, you gotta be kidding me Doc. It’s blood.” You stiffen. You had encountered ancient human remains before but fresh dried blood still gave you a slight ick.

“Blood? That’s blood?”, Yamato squeaks. Bakugo’s sarcastic smile deepens as he looks at Yamato’s shock, “Of course you idiot! Thats what happens when someone’s finger is cut off.”

Your eyes widen but before you even respond, there’s a loud crash as Yamato faints.