#It's easy to recall bad memories because they are led more by feeling than by visuals... but the good ones? Damn.

[neckromancy]

First time he appears in a dream at all (and even then very limited, never actually saw his face) and of course it was provoked by my gameplay with a friend yesterday where we ascended him for mechanical reasons (we play on a higher difficulty) so naturally I dreamed that we were both vampires and we were feeding off a body together.

But it was basically just a visual from the backside. I'll take any dream as limited as it gets at this point though. 👀

[doki-doki-lesbians-club]

hello! please rant about the comphet subtext in ddlc. i wanna hear it so bad please please please please please

Hi! I think I've written on this before, but I can't recall when or where, so I'll try and recall as many points as I can!

This'll be a long one, so under the cut!

For starters, let's talk base game. Obviously, all four girls fall for the MC and that's that. However, watching the ways that the other club members interact, it's pretty clear to many players that they have feelings beyond just friendship.

Namely, I sight Natsuki's poems. First off, the poem "Amy Likes Spiders" can be read as Yuri's love of horror (which is how I initially read it when I first played). However, it's also pretty easy to read this as either Natsuki's experience being trans, or being gay. Either way, that makes the entire narrative of the poem make sense, and also explains lines like "I tried not to let her touch me. She likes spiders, so her hands are probably gross." as well as "It doesn't matter if she has other hobbies. It doesn't matter if she keeps it private. It doesn't matter if it doesn't hurt anyone.

It's gross. She's gross. The world is better off without spider lovers."

Seems pretty clear, right? These lines may feel intense and out of place with other readings, but when you imagine Natsuki being outed to her shit friends as gay, or trans, it all starts to make sense.

Have you ever read the poem "I'll Be Your Beach"? Because it's gay as all hell!

We're led to assume that the romantic poems Natsuki and Yuri write are about the MC, but that would be odd to imagine when reading this poem. Natsuki writes about "your heavy thoughts", "your insecurities", and "your memories" and ends by saying "You'll learn to love yourself again." When, exactly, did the MC express any of these sentiments? Let alone to Natsuki?? But I think it would be pretty easy to connect all of these points to another girl: Yuri.

It's easy to see some strong subtext here for gay Natsuki (and maybe trans too, if you wanna see that). But when we break into the Side Stories, this is where it gets real interesting...

MC is not there. The Side Stories are purely scenes to read through to watch the Literature Club form for the first time as all the girls meet each other and get to know one another. Because of this, we get to see more of them and their feelings toward each other than we could have ever dreamed of in the base game!

Without giving too many spoilers for some of the best scenes in the entire game: the Side Stories are pretty gay. It's nearly impossible to ignore. These girls are clearly imagining each other as more than just friends, are going through some feelings. Each pairing even gets their own spotlight, and we see how each and every one of them has some interest in each other, which is a stark difference from the base game.

The main difference? MC is not there.

The base game has a lot of themes surrounding control, reality, and choices (or the lack thereof). Not only are all the girls destined (or "programmed") to fall in love with MC, it can't be avoided, even by Monika, who wasn't meant to have a route at all. They were already playing with the ideas of fate, and programming, and free will, but what happens when you remove the object that decided their fate?

Well, when we removed MC from the scenario altogether, we see the girls happier, getting along better, and showing interest in one another that we only got in subtext in the base game. To me, this leads to another theme of choice and control: compulsive heterosexuality. If part of the "generic dating sim" frame of their reality is forcing them to express interest in the male protagonist, even if they couldn't care less and really are interested in each other, that's the same themes but on a whole new level.

Left to their own devices, the girls are happy and expressing interest in one another. In the "game" they are forced to play roles in, we see their problems exacerbate, their situation spiraling, as they all desperately cling to the MC as the object of their affection. Seems pretty comphet to me.

Thank you sooo much for this ask! It's been a while since I wrote a long post like this! :D Speaking outside of my own trans/gay perspective, it seems pretty hard to imagine any other future for these girls in light of the Side Stories. And to that extent, I think the Side Stories gives us a window into a happier world; one where they are all free to grow and thrive as who they are, regardless of what that means for each of them! I think that's only further fueled this wonderful fandom: seeing them happy.

and gay.

Thanks again for the ask~!

[unitedstatesallnews]

Cheryl Burke Opens Up About Matthew Lawrence Divorce, Childhood Sexual Abuse, & Sobriety -Latest news

Cheryl Burke is getting candid about all the trauma she’s faced over the years. The Dancing with the Stars pro appeared on the latest episode of Red Table Talk on Wednesday, where she opened up about how years of sexual abuse, physical abuse, and toxic relationships she experienced eventually led to her addiction to alcohol. Joining Jada Pinkett Smith and Adrienne Banfield-Norris, as well as trauma psychologist Dr. Alfiee Breland-Noble, Cheryl first shared that she has been sober for four years now — but has had a tough time with it since her divorce from Matthew Lawrence earlier this year: “It’s not easy right now, especially during this divorce. waving at me. I didn’t want this. My parents got divorced and I would’ve loved to not have. That wasn’t the plan going in. I’m not proud of it, for sure. But then there’s also a point where I need to put myself first and my sobriety first.” She continued: “And I’m choosing to not date. Date myself, right? Easier said than done because, you know, there’s a difference of being alone versus lonely. And I am just trying to adjust and take the time because I owe it to myself. But one day at a time, one minute at a time.” The 38-year-old television personality went on to talk about the trauma and pattern of abuse she dealt with over the years, recalling how it all started when her parents got divorced when she was only 2. She said: “My first memory as a kid was seeing my father with another woman.” That’s rough — but unfortunately it gets worse. Her mom began dating a man who later became her stepfather. When they got married, her stepdad needed someone to watch her at times and hired a “retired mailman in his late 60s” to babysit her. Cheryl says he started to molest her when she was only 5 years old: “It was more of a grooming experience. Because it wasn’t intercourse. It was other — you know, stuff that happened, sexual acts — but I never physically felt hurt. Like, there was moments — and I’m gonna say it now, it didn’t feel bad. It was actually intimate. He was grooming me, and he was my definition of love. This is what love equaled, right? Seeing my father’s infidelity, being abused by this old retired mailman, and I didn’t really know what a ‘healthy’ relationship is or was. There wasn’t a stable father figure in my life. It’s like brainwashing at those moments in your childhood when it really matters.” That’s what makes grooming so insidious. Heartbreaking… The television host said the abuse continued for “many years and no one said anything” before her older sister’s friend “did the right thing, ran home to her parents, and told them, and then they contacted my family.” Cheryl ended up testifying against the man when she was nine — and he was sentenced to 24 years in prison. Eventually, Cheryl became involved with ballroom dancing — something she said “saved my life”: “Ballroom was something that was fun, but you had to grow up fast. Here I am wearing tiny little skimpy dance costumes, eyelashes, fake tan and I’m 11. It was amazing. I mean, thank god for dancing, it saved my life.” While Cheryl is thankful for dancing, she didn’t realize until later in life that it wasn’t always a safe environment: “But within this industry of the competitive ballroom world, it is so much a man’s world. The man leads the woman follows — off the dance floor and on the dance floor. And with that comes abusive partners and abusive coaches. Were there acts of sexual abuse and mental abuse? 100%. And am I just coming to realize that? Yeah, for sure, as I continue to do the work.” Then Burke looked back on her high school experience and alleged she had two boyfriends “that were physically and emotionally abusive to a whole other level.” She explained: “For me, love equaled abuse. Love equaled infidelity. Love equaled manipulating, narcissistic behaviors.” That’s when she recounted the incident when she was horrifically whipped with a belt in front of her ex-boyfriend’s parents, who sat there and did nothing. Despite the terrible moment, Cheryl remembered being in denial about what happened at the time: “It wasn’t like he was hitting me. He was whipping me. But I would see these welts and even that, I was like, ‘Oh, that’s not really there.’ I think I was in shock, and fight, flight or freeze. Got in my car, he jumped in his car, kept banging up the back of my car so that I’d pull over, and I wasn’t allowed to have friends, let alone dance. I wasn’t allowed to stay at after school programs or even, God forbid, look at somebody.” She added: “Because of this person who was very controlling. It didn’t stop my relationship with him because I loved the, ‘Oh, everything’s gonna be OK.’ I was addicted to that. This is what I’m trying to reprogram in my brain, is that constant adrenaline rush that I’m so addicted to. It’s not sustainable.” This is what eventually led her to drink in order to “numb” everything going on in her life: “I was just in survival mode. I used alcohol to numb. And I’m an addict and I was a functioning addict. It was when I wasn’t drinking people were like, ‘What’s wrong with you?’” Cheryl then said she figured out she was “only attracted to chauvinistic men” and “mommy daddy figures” – to the point where she was “disgusted” by her first dance partner because he was too “sweet.” Later on, she touched on her divorce from Matthew and revealed that she only got married to him in 2019 to see if she was “good enough”: “I mean, we dated when I first got into this business in 2006, and then took a break for a decade, dated again. An ex for a reason, right, but also, I think, for me — and it has nothing to do with my ex whatsoever — I wanted to see if I could get married, ’cause there was a lot of this internal ‘Am I good enough?’ Then there’s also a point where I need to put myself first … I owe it to myself. The trauma bond, though, is real.” We have a ton of appreciation for Cheryl being so open and honest with her story. You can watch the entire Red Table Talk episode (below): Source link Read the full article

[postalenha]

on and off % jake

pairing: playboybf!jake x reader genre: angst, fluff, lovers to exes, exes to lovers idek word count: 1.89k words requested: yes / prompt 14, “we called it off again last night.” / 18, “it’s been you all along.” / 19, “for the first time, i had something to lose.” synopsis: immaturity isn't needed in a relationship, but that seems to be jake's and your's specialty. warnings: curse words, mentions of drinking, throwing up, su!cide, toxic relationship, making out

"i thought you're going with jake today?" sunghoon asked as you hop into his car.

you rolled your eyes at the thought of riding in the same vehicle as the boy, "no, we called it off again last night."

"again?!" the boy exclaimed, "y/n, that's probably the nth time you guys called it off." he sighed in disbelief, "that's not how relationships work." he commented.

judgingly looking at his way, "yeah? like you know any better?"

"shut up." he started the engine, "this isn't about my love life."

"whatever." you blurt out, "i guess being bad at handling relationship runs in our blood." you jokingly said, as your cousin laugh.

he tilt his head smiling, "damn, of all things that can be passed down, that's what we got."

"well, at least we got good looks. that works as a payoff." he added. you agreed at him with a nod, "anyway." you changed the subject.

"i'm planning on ending it with jake." you stated. he looked at you, "no shit, you sure?" he assured, "to be honest, whatever makes you happy." he added, looking like he wanted to say something but he decided not to.

"don't apologize." you led before he could even say sorry for insisting that you should date his best friend, sim jaeyun.

"i'm not- okay whatever." he almost want to deny the urge but he saw you looking at him with a teasing face, "i just feel a little responsible for all the stress this relationship have caused you." he scratch the back of his head, as you slap his arm.

"shut up, dating him was my decision. you don't have to blame yourself for all the bad decisions i made for myself. i'm an adult now." you told him.

parking his car he nod his head, "okay. just remember i'm here if things are bad, okay?"

"okay." you said, before going out of his car. walking at the corridor of your building, trying to see if jake arrived earlier than you today.

and he certainly did. there he is on his designated seat beside the window, silently watching as the wilted leaves fall down from the tree.

the clock ticks time faster than you expected and your professor came in, not able to call out for jake's name to even talk to him.

sitting down to a chair, you told yourself that you'll talk to him later. and here you are, in front of jake sim at the rooftop of your university's main building.

it might be your lucky day for no one else is here but the two of you. this place is usually cramped with so many people and miraculously today isn't one of those days.

this may be one of the many signs sent from above that this relationship should end as it wasn't right from the beginning.

your blood boils as your cousin sunghoon pushes you into the table of his friend group, "come on! you wouldn't lose anything! he just want to talk to you." he shouts.

"then tell him i don't want to!" you shout back a little annoyed. the last thing you want to do tonight is talk to the famous serial dater, jake sim. "for i know, he just wants the best out of me!"

"come on! jake's not like that!" he defended his friend. to be honest, sunghoon is the last person you should be ranting to. for he is just like his friend, they play with girl's hearts for fun.

you rolled your eyes as you reach the table of ego. the decision of naming that wasn't yours, but the other students. they called this the table of ego because everyone in here got some solid ego. heeseung, jay, sunghoon, jake. all of them.

"y/n! you actually came!" heeseung cheered as soon as he saw you, he scooted a little bit on his right to leave some space between him and jake, "come sit!"

sitting beside him was probably one of the decisions you will forever regret in your life. the memory of that night was a blur. you barely recall anything that happened then.

the only thing that you remember was when jake was reaching for a kiss, you accidentally threw up on him before passing out.

the next day, he told you to be his girlfriend to compensate with the mess you gave his brand new shirt. you said yes just so he could shut up, telling yourself you'll break up with him after a day or two.

two months then passed and you are just breaking everything now. well, it's better late than never. you just didn't expect that he would actually be a good boyfriend.

he's mostly good, not until everything gets complicated even with nothing. you fight over the smallest thing like, not being able to respond to each other's text to someone getting jealous.

it wasn't the best relationship you've been in but it was a good experience. you learned so much and now, it's time to move on.

"what is it that you wanted to say?" jake impatiently snapped you back into reality. you swallowed a good amount of saliva before saying, "let's break up."

it was better to say it forward than beating around the bush. with this, more time and energy will be saved. because even if you give him an explanation he probably won't listen.

he slowly blinked and sighed, looking away he said "okay. if that's what you want." see. he wouldn't even bother asking you why.

well, if you get things easy. they would also go easily, "okay. it was fun meeting you." you head out, leaving him there.

he most probably would not be so upset that he might think of jumping off the building, but you still prayed that he wont.

and he didn't. you can guarantee that as you see that three weeks later jake sim is with a woman walking the same isle as you are. the chances of you seeing him here at this huge mall was small, but never impossible.

you grabbed your friend's hand trying to hide from the sight of the man, "what are you doing-"

"shut up, jake is here." you told here looking at their way, walking into a clothing store. you hurriedly go and sit at a restaurant far from them and ordered food when your friend speak up.

"y/n, what's the point of hiding now when you guys already broke up?" she patheticly looked at you who's trying to hide from a menu list.

putting the menu list down on the table, you crossed your arms, "i am not hiding from him. i simply don't want to involve myself with anything that has to do with him."

"yeah, like seeing him in a shopping mall involves you with him." she said with full sarcasm. "you have no idea how pathetic that sounded."

not listening to anything she said, you started eating your pasta. almost choking when you saw a familliar figure walk in the restaurant.

trying your best to lean down and not get noticed you hear your friend call, "jake!" you kick her feet under the table as you see jake wave back and walks closer.

"what the fuck did you just do?" you whispered at her, she just smiles like an idiot as jake reach your table.

"hello, jia." he greeted your friend, "hi, y'n."

flashing a fake smile, you said "hi." satisfied with how annoyed you are, jia announced "you guys can join us! we got two extra seats here."

"we don't want to intrude-" you cut him off, "yes, there are a lot of vacant tables. they sure can find their own, right?"

serving a glass of wine, a waiter says "oh, we're fully booked, ma'am. so if you want to eat here, you have to wait for another hour or so." he said pouring some on your glass. "if you'll excuse me."

"it would be rude if we don't invite you right? so join!" your friend cheered as the girl jake's with sit next to you.

taking a sip of your wine whenever jake helps the girl cut her steak, you became unaware of how drunk you are. "so, when did you meet jake?" you asked the girl.

to be frank, she was quiet the whole time. just sitting there, not saying a thing but a "thanks." whenever jake helps her with anything.

"you can't answer that? well can you tell me if you are able to use your hands to their purpose? like cutting off a steak or puring your own glass of wine?"

"y/n-" your friend tried to stop you. but you didn't listen. you just continued to blabber nonsense until jake grabbed your wrist to the bathroom.

shaking your hand off his grip you screamed at him asking, "why did you bring me here?!"

"y/n why are you being so rude?" he calmly asked you.

you sarcastically laughed, "i'm being rude? who's more rude when you're out here eating at the same table as your ex-girlfriend and your current girlfriend?"

"current girlfriend- y/n that's my cousin!" he tried to calm himself by breathing slowly, pushing the side of his mouth using his tounge "do you really think i could replace you that fast?"

the sudden question made you feel like someone cut off your tounge. because you mostly have answer for everything but this. his question caught you off guard.

"when you broke up with me, i never asked why. i knew you were tired and i don't want to exhaust you more." you hear his voice shake as he speak. "i was also tired and we both needed a break."

you looked straight at his eyes that are sparkling from moist done by the tears that he have been trying so hard to hold back, "but as time pass by, i felt more and more empty. there is a big mark of you in my heart that ever since you left, no one has ever filled."

"nobody could ever fit in, but you." cupping your face he also wipe your tears away. "i never felt that way before. it's like, for the first time, i had something to lose."

"jake, i-" it was as if you forgot how to compose a word. you never knew he felt the same way you did when you broke up with him.

maybe sunghoon was more of your cousin than he is jake's friend. because if jake only knew how many times you told sunghoon that you miss him, he would've came back faster than this.

he smiled pulling you into a hug, "it's fine if you don't feel the same way anymore. i understand that. but i just want you to know that i am not the douchebag you think i am."

pulling away from the hug, you see his eyes were bloodshot "sorry, the last thing i want to do is make you cry-" you pulled him into a kiss not letting another word out of his mouth.

running out of breath, you seperated his lips from yours. you widely smiled at him, "it’s been you all along."

kissing outside a three star restaurant's restroom isn't as ideal as other comeback stories, but you wouldn't ask for anything else. as long as you have jake in your arms, your heart is content.

[fictional-men-ruin-lives]

Come back (Crosshair x Jedi!Reader)

Part 1

Happening somewhen after the debt was paid back to Cid. Reader is a former Jedi who has worked with the Bad Batch during the Clone Wars and joined them again after Order 66.

Warnings: a bit of angst? other than that nothing but some swearing

Word count: 1.3k

Be ready for a lengthy story as I’m not known to make any of my one shots short

____________________________________________________________

“You know what? Fuck you, Hunter.” You spat out, unable to hold in your anger any longer. All this time you’ve been patient, understood, that there were more pressing matters like removing their inhibitor chips and then escaping the chase, getting Omega back from the bounty hunters. Hell, even being in debt.

You absolutely got that.

However, when all the Bad Batch has been focusing on lately had been to get other bounty missions done, get more money in the pocket while the elephant in the room remained unaddressed, the annoyance and disbelief kept building up in you. Snapping at one point was inevitable. It wasn’t like you haven’t touched on the topic multiple times already, several of them ending up in arguing with Hunter. All you’ve ever gotten were cheap excuses or a more pressing matters to address interrupting you.

Not this time.

“Listen, we’re not prepared for a rescue mission like this.” Sergeant tried to deflect it yet again while rubbing the bridge of his nose, earning a scoff from you. As if you haven’t heard that excuse before.

“Like we were ready for any of the rescue missions involving anybody else before. Echo. Omega. But you don’t even try to pretend like you care about Crosshair. We left him. Multiple times!”

Hunter stepped closer, towering over you and you could tell you stroke a cord right there. His eyes were full of anger, but you couldn’t care less. You were alone with him on the Marauder as Wrecker went with Omega to get some snacks after mission and Echo accompanied Tech to get new parts to repair the equipment. It was just you and Hunter.

“Don’t you dare say I don’t care.” His voice deepened as he was trying to control his emotions, his eyes boring into yours from underneath his furrowed eyebrows. If there was one thing Hunter hated, it was being deemed careless about his own team.

“Oh, but I think I just did.” You said mockingly.” And you know what? I’m fucking done. I’m just done. You changed. You’d never leave anyone behind but now…” you exhaled, resigned, as your voice lowered a bit, a smile appearing on your face as you shot a glance to the side quickly” Now I don’t think I know you anymore.” calming down, you just turned around to get to the sleeping area and collect your things. Arguing with him was going to be a waste of time as always, you’d much rather spend it on figuring out how to get to Crosshair and get him back in one piece. Kneeling, you were putting the spare clothes and your own tools in a backpack.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hunter went after you, his armored body blocking the exit as he stood in the doorframe. “I know you and he were close, but we can’t do anything. He’s gone and surrounded by countless troopers and I’m not going to risk Omega. He’s way too dangerous.” At that the new wave of fury rushed over you as you stood up from the ground and turned to him, your voice way too intense, full of cold spite.

“Do you have any idea why we’re all still alive?” You took one step towards Hunter.” Because his shots miss. And Crosshair never misses.” One more step and you were right in front of him, in his face again. This time, however, he wasn’t towering over you as you stood confidently, challengingly spitting words in a low voice, speaking faster with every sentence.” I don’t care what it takes. I really don’t. Cross is there and he needs us, more than ever and do or think whatever you want to calm your conscience, but I can’t let it go on like this.” With a swift motion of your hand, you moved him away with the Force and proceeded to the exit from the Marauder.

“Enjoy your bounty hunting.” You threw over your shoulder and raised your hand in a goodbye as your steps led you to the city. You raised the comm to your face, calling for Tech to meet you at Cid’s as soon as possible. If you were to find Cross, the fastest way was through him.

“You sounded quite serious over the comm, what do you need my help with?” Tech’s voice brought you back from the deep thoughts that have taken over you as you were waiting for him. Fortunately, you managed to cool off while waiting for him and just felt… numb now. You smiled at the clone as he sat beside you by the bar, his eyes full of anticipation.

“I need you to tap into the Imperial communication channels, especially ones with orders and assignments for the troopers.” He glanced at your feet where your backpack lay, then quickly at your face before taking the holopad from you and focusing on it.

“Crosshair, I assume.” Tech stated as he was tinkering with the device. Your silence was the only confirmation he needed. “Hunter won’t risk Omega in this, the situation is too unpredictable to go in without…”

“I know, Tech.” you interrupted him, not wanting to have to listen another one of the Batch saying the same thing.

“… a proper and detailed plan. However, it’s not impossible if Crosshair is going to be able to fight the inhibitor chip as he’s done so far.” You looked up surprised as Tech finished the interrupted sentence, and your eyes met his briefly. He shrugged. “What? His accuracy rate is at 98.4 percent when he has time to prepare, 92 percent if he’s on the move. I’d assume it would be the safest for you out of all of us, considering the type of your… relationship.” Your heart skipped a beat, unwillingly recalling all the now painful, seemingly far away memories. The playful bickering with Crosshair, how he’d put his hand on your shoulder as he leaned over to grab something, the quick stolen glances when you were still a Jedi, his warm breath on your neck as he… You missed him. You missed him so much.

Hell, you even missed finding toothpicks in all the most impossible places.

Was he alright? The last you’ve seen him; he was chasing after the Marauder once you escaped Bracca. He had been so close to the engine firing up, it pained you to even think about what it could have done to him. Unconsciously, you hugged your arms to find some warmth and comfort. Just how much did Crosshair have to go through till now? What things was he forced to do? He was completely alone, too.

“… and I’m going to talk with Hunter later on.” You caught only the end of what Tech has been saying this whole time. You focused on him again, brushing off the feelings as well as you could and smiled at him weakly. Fortunately, he was too busy with tinkering with the device to really notice your distraction.

“Thank you, Tech. Really. If you don’t mind, I need to go talk to Cid.” He nodded and you stood up, heading to the back of the cantina where you knew the Trandoshan would be.

Getting a small ship was easy enough, considering you had two lightsabers and the black-market demand for them was quite high considering the fall of the Jedi order. Trading one for a functioning Mankvim-814 with some supplies and Cid allowing you to get a small debt for the supplies didn’t take a long time. Fortunately for you, someone has just placed an order for the weapon and getting rid of one of them had its advantages- it was well-known that the Jedi would never willingly part with their lightsabers and having yours circulating around created a possibility of you being considered dead.

After all, your lightsabers were your life.

_____________________________________

Next part

Taglist: @allamarisss​

[inquisitor-of-hearts]

Not Even Close

Sam Drake/Reader

Sam is away on a job and you miss him. Naturally, he never forgets to call, and one thing leads to another. No spoilers.

Rating: Explicit (Dirty Talk, NSFW)

Word Count:  2,429

On Ao3

“You’re terrible.” A broken off sound of surprise is heard before Sam chuckles. “That’s how you want to greet me?” “You made me wait on purpose!” you announce, having waited for his call for more than a few minutes, and it just so happened to put you on the edge. “I didn’t” “You’re a liar” “We’ve established that already.” “Fair... Fair.” you admit at last, laughing. Hearing his voice finally just felt too good. “What have you been up to?” he asks after you spend a second in silence, in which both of you simply enjoy the presence of each other. “Thinking about you.” you answer and he chuckles softly. “Good girl.” “What about you?” “Wait, you’re not telling me what else you’ve been up to? Where are my steamy shower stories?” “I never signed up for that” you remind him playfully. “That’s exactly what you signed up for when you decided to stay with me” he reminds you equally, and you laugh it off. “What else have I been up to... I took a walk outside.” You look out of the window and see the sun shining brightly, though a few clouds threaten to conceal it. As your gaze comes back into the room, you see one of Sam’s books on the coffee table, the one that he had left there. “I read a little - that book you put out for me.” “Oh, did you like it?” he asks, genuinely curious. “I liked the parts of it that reminded me of you. It’s like I could taste you through it” You draw your bare feet up onto the couch as the intensity of remembering his touch becomes too much to bear. He seems to notice the change.

“Did you... play with yourself when you thought of me?” “Sam!” you gasp in shock and laugh. “You did.” “Just because you do that when you think of me doesn’t mean the opposite is true!” “You're saying that like it’s a bad thing.” “... It’s not.” you correct yourself with a suggestive undertone. “... Off to a promising start.” he responds, playing it cool.

“So what have you been doing over there?” you ask in a lightened manner. “Besides thinking of you?” “And masturbating while thinking of me, yes” you confirm. “Not much” he confesses after a weary sigh, “Meeting a few contacts, getting a certain collector’s item.” “Huh. Contacts. Any hot women?” “They don’t even get close to you in terms of hotness” he replies without hesitance. “So there are hot women around.” you conclude sharply. “Not according to my standards now, no.” he explains chuckling, managing just barely to convince you the bar had been raised dramatically since he met you. “Anyway give me, I don’t know, two more days I think, and I’m out of here.” “Off to the next spot? Where you’ll meet me?” you ask grinning, but you notice his answer does not come as fast as usual. “We’ve talked about this.” he says, and it sounds almost accusing, though you knew it was not his usual tone. It was just when he genuinely cared, and he did not want to argue because he cared. “I know” you answer gently, thinking a long time before you decide to speak up again. “I just wish--” “It’s just one week, baby. I’ll be back before you even finish that book.” he assures you. “Who says I was planning on finishing it?” you remark. “You just want to be a tease now, don’t you?” Your hand runs along one of your legs as you think about what he was implying, feeling the sensation of the sun on your skin and remembering the other sensation, namely his touch, of so many past times. “Maybe” “Sounds like you need to be put in your place.” His low tone ignites a fire in your core, and yet it is not a demand, but an open invitation clearly. “Definitely” you answer, knowing that although he was polite and caring, in the end he wanted you to obey. “Are you alone?” “I am.” he chuckles as if he knows what you are implying. “All alone in my hotel room. You?” “All alone at home” you reply, your own hand grazing over your thigh, only stopping at the fabric of the shorts you wear. “Squeeze your breasts for me, will you?” he asks with what sounds like a sigh of remembrance. You do as he says and while one hand holds the phone even closer to your ear, your other runs up, squeezing one of your breasts through the fabric of your T-shirt, a hum making it past your lips in reaction. “Hmm, that feels good” “You really miss me, don’t you?” You moan quietly at his seductive low voice and nod to yourself. “I do” “Give your ass a nice squeeze from me too” he demands, but as your hand already moves over the fabric, he hastens, “Wait -- slowly. Enjoy the ride down.” You stop instantly, but then follow up, running your hand down over your stomach and hips, then towards your side, shifting at once for better access. “There” He sounds accomplished as he hears you change positions. “Take your time.” A sigh announces that you have fulfilled his wish. The light squeeze feels much better than expected, the instruction creating the illusion of your hand being led by another. “Does it feel good?” He finally grows impatient as you forget communicating your feelings. “So good” you answer. “Please, I want more” “So eager” he remarks and you can tell from the sound of his voice that he wants nothing more than to have you beg for it. “Sam” you say still eagerly, giving yourself to him fully, intimately, “I miss your hands so much. I want to feel your strong hands” “You’re gonna have to be patient and wait for it, babygirl” he reminds you softly, but follows up right away when he hears your restless sigh, “Is your hand between your legs?” “No” you answer honestly, though now your hand runs from the side of your hips over to the front. “I’ll--” “Easy there. Go slow.” he reminds you in his firm and sensual voice, picking up on your intention. “Are you wet?” “I think so” you answer not entirely sure, your hand resting upon the fabric. “What are you wearing? Take it off.” he insists. “Just... a pair of shorts. And a T-shirt” You comply with the demand, struggling to undo the button with one hand for a moment, then unzip the short pair of pants, resettling and letting them drop to the floor, feet pushing it off before retreating to rest on the seat. It seems like Sam knows that you have complied once he hears the sounds of you pushing your shirt up just enough to see yourself.

“Let your hand run along those beautiful legs” he breaks in, but again stops you from touching yourself too fast, “I want you to go real slow.” You swallow, your own hand stroking the outside of your thigh up, then down on the inner side, building the tension that is released in a sigh when you touch yourself through your underwear. “I’m wet” you answer, noticing the shiver in your own voice. Sam breathes deeply and you can hear the clasp of his belt being undone over the phone, then the hint of a zipper becoming unfastened. “Yes, touch yourself for me, too” you request. “Already at it, baby” he sighs, “You’re in my head now” “What are you thinking of?” “Of how weak you become and how you moan when I stretch you with my cock” “Oh Sam” you moan immediately, caught off-guard with your core instantly tightening. “Run those fingers along your clit” His voice becomes softer when he calls your name right after, revealing to you that he himself was struggling with his arousal. “Hmm, yes” you hum, your thighs loosely pressed together as you run your hand past the thin fabric along your clit and entrance. “You’re going to take me when you come back home?” “First thing I’ll do when I get home” he answers breathlessly and you can hear the rustle of fabric in the background, leading you to imagine how he was stroking himself. You keep caressing yourself softly, but lazily and he seems to become aware of the difference in pace.

“Do you remember that present I got you?” he suddenly breaks in. In your memory you recall the little gift for lonely hours he handed you before he left, as well as your own surprised face upon undoing the ribbon around the little box and opening it - and his mischievous grin when you looked up to meet his gaze. “Yes... I-- I tired myself out on it the other day, to be honest” you admit with a light blush upon your cheeks, making him chuckle. “That’s how much you miss me?” he asks amusedly. “You wanna get it and use it for me?” You agree soft-spokenly, although there is no lack of embarrassment that comes with it.

With the long, slightly curved silver wand taken out of your lingerie drawer, you come back to your seat on the couch. “Use it. Tell me how it feels inside you” he guides, and though you are somewhat shy about it, it excites you so much that you feel your skin prickling at the idea - and your whole body tenses, then becomes hot when you push the thicker end - as opposed to the narrow one - of the metallic wand inside you, your underwear hastily shoved aside. “How does it feel, baby?” he asks again when he hears only the held-back sounds of pleasure you make. “It’s so good, my-- It’s big” “It’s smaller than me” he chuckles. “I haven’t had you in 3 days!” you remind him, then moan quietly as the wand seemingly slides inside on its own, your own body longing to be filled. The smooth metal feels cold at first, creating an unusual sensation, but warms up right away. “Sam” you whimper. “Yes?” he sighs in anticipation. “I need you to fuck me” “Imagine it’s my cock, baby. Imagine me on top of you” “Oh God” The thought drives you crazy, and as you close your eyes you can really sense him on top of you, leaned over, grasping onto the backrest while burying himself deep inside of you. You see his muscular chest and arms, his abs, the way his body moves against yours. “Yes, that’s it... let me inside you all the way” he encourages, speaking in such a low, aroused tone that you feel your wetness along your own fingertips as you carefully push the toy further inside. “Oh God” you say once more, withered and tainted by the lust you feel in your core. You remember the build of the curved toy from when you tried it the other day, and it hits the same sensitive spot again, making you squirm, your feet autonomously setting up on the very edge of your seat, legs wide apart.

“Fuck yourself for me” he demands, breathing heavily along with you and you sense he must be stroking himself too. You again do as he says and are unable to hold back your moaning when you push the toy in and out of you. “Your voice is so fucking sexy” he curses and you hear the faint metallic sound of his belt against the button of his pants, your imagination of what he was doing to himself running wild. “Tell me how it feels for you, too” you demand helplessly. “I’m so hard for you, I can’t take it.” he answers in between heavy breathing. “Fuck yourself harder, like I do when I make you come” You whimper as you feel your stomach in a knot at his words, but comply nevertheless. He must be able to guess you are pleasuring yourself harder just from the sounds of it. “God” he breaks in weakly, “I can hear it -- I can hear your wet cunt taking it” A deep blush settles on your cheeks as you take note of the wet sounds created by the toy being shoved in and out of you. “Don’t stop” he says when he notices you hesitating, breath hitching from his own handwork. “I want you to go hard just like that” “Oh God, Sam” you whimper, fucking yourself in the same hard pace again, legs growing weak when you feel yourself getting closer and closer. “That’s it, baby... Touch your clit” “I can’t-- I’m gonna come if I do” “I’m gonna come too” he warns, his voice so weak, like he was all yours, “I want to hear you first” You hesitate for a moment but then position your hand in a way that the lower end of your palm casually brushes your clit while you keep pleasuring yourself with the toy. Involuntarily you thrust the wand in faster, harder, and with the gentle tapping of your hand against your clit feel the release arising. “Ah, Sam-- I’m coming” “Good girl, stretch that tight little cunt-- ” He breaks off in his own groaning, reluctant sighs of lust releasing along with your name. “Fuck-- I’m-- fuck” You moan hard when you realize he is coming at the thought of you, your stomach twisting until the sparks are released and your conscience vanishes for a split second. The heavy breathing calms down slowly and the two of you share the last few strokes together quietly.

“That was hot” Sam comments, and after a short break you hear him shifting in his seat. You slowly slide the toy out of you and let your legs drop weakly, lying down on your side, sighing in peace. “You’re hot, doing yourself like that” he adds. “Says the man who makes it a point to seduce me every damn time” you counter, making both of you laugh in amusement. “I have to, right? Can’t have you run off somewhere.” he comments. “Be a good girl until I come home, alright?” “I am not making any promises.” you answer. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “You’ll have to call and check up on me. That’s what it means.” you state the obvious. “Check up on you” he repeats, chuckling. “Got a taste for it now?” “Never said I didn’t like it.” you reveal. “Although nothing beats the taste of your kisses.” “You’ll get so many that you’ll grow tired of them when I get back.” “I wonder if I ever will.” you say and smile happily.

[fridayfirefly]

Virtual Sleepover

Read Virtual Sleepover on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 4 - Internet Friends

Quarantine had been rough at Wayne Manor, but for Tim Drake, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a bright light through it all. Tim was getting ahead of himself, though. The story of Marinette Dupain-Cheng started on March 20th, 2020. Panic over coronavirus was sweeping the nation. Bruce had gathered all of the members of the Wayne family into the dining room to explain the new rules of the house. No one was to go in or out. Groceries would be delivered to the house. There would be no superhero outings for at least two weeks. Tim didn't think his family would be able to survive, trapped in a house together.

So to preserve his sanity, Tim turned to the internet. There were hundreds of cold cases that he had put on the backburner and hundreds of forums and websites dedicated to solving cold cases. Tim turned to the most popular website and started dumping information, hoping for someone to show up and work through it with him. That's how Tim met Marinette. @MarinetteDC showed up on his page with a friend request, a wide range of technical knowledge about textiles and designs, and about seven different theories on a murder case Tim considered all but unsolvable. Her sleep schedule was just as chaotic as Tim's and she also drank a near-inhuman amount of coffee. Marinette Dupain-Cheng enthralled Tim. And when the chaos of his house threatened to make Tim lose his mind, Marinette became his lifeline.

"Can you hear me?"

Tim nodded. "Yep!"

"Nice!" cheered Marinette. Tim relished the opportunity to see her face, even if it was through a zoom call. "So what do we want to do first? I don't have class until Monday, so we have the whole weekend ahead of us."

"I think we should start with the iconic sleepover classic: truth or dare," suggested Tim.

"Alright. Truth or dare, Tim?"

"Dare." Tim was confident in his abilities to pull off any stunt she might come up with. However, his confidence started to fade as he watched a devious look grow on her face.

"I dare you to bake a batch of cookies - any kind of cookies you want - without using a recipe."

Tim blinked, trying to recall the last time he had baked. Besides a few times helping Alfred out in the kitchen, Tim wasn't certain that he had ever used the Wayne Manor kitchen for anything other than brewing coffee and heating frozen pizzas. "Could I have a new dare?"

Marinette shook her head, the grin on her face demonstrating exactly how much fun she was having, watching the panic in Tim's eyes. "I'll give you one hint on how to make them, but only one, so use it wisely."

Tim groaned, unplugging his laptop from its charger so he could move it to the kitchen. "I'm not actually certain I know all of the ingredients in cookies. Or how long you bake them for. I feel like an hour is probably too long, but I feel like half an hour might not be enough time."

On the other side of the screen, Marinette tried to stifle her giggles but was unable to keep them all in. "No offense Tim, but this is going to be a disaster. I can't wait."

Tim let out another groan. "Must you torture me?"

"How about you keep the laptop camera pointed towards the oven, that way I can tell you once something starts to burn?" Marinette joked.

Tim knew that she was teasing, but honestly, he knew he could use all the help he could get. Still, he wanted to preserve at least a little of his dignity. "Very funny," Tim said sarcastically, setting the laptop down on the kitchen counter.

"Start with ingredients," Marinette advised.

"What all goes into a chocolate chip cookie..?" mused Tim. He got out the flour, white and brown sugar, eggs, butter, vanilla extract, and three different types of chocolate chips that Alfred kept stocked.

Marinette raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

Tim cast a wary gaze upon his ingredients. It didn't seem like enough, but at the same time he couldn't figure out what he was missing. Tim sighed. "I'm ready to use my hint. Tell me what I forgot."

"You forgot to get out the salt, and more importantly, the baking soda," advised Marinette.

"Can I have a second hint?" asked Tim as he gathered his two missing ingredients.

"That depends on what you're asking," teased Marinette.

"I'm going to start listing measurements, and you tell me if it's too much or not enough."

Marinette pretended to think it over before replying, "I'll do it, but only because I want the cookies to come out edible, not because we're friends or anything like that. There are no friends in the Dupain-Cheng kitchen," said Marinette, her voice filled with faux seriousness.

"Lucky for me, these cookies are being made in the Wayne kitchen, and we're all very nice here, and we don't let Tim burn his cookies."

Marinette giggled. "You have a point there," she acquiesced. "Start listing your measurements."

Tim grabbed the measuring cup and starting approximating. "Two cups flour?"

"That will make about five dozen cookies."

"One cup of each type of sugar?"

Marinette shook her head. "You'll want a 3/4 cup of each."

The rest of the measuring process proceeded smoothly, with Tim guessing measurements of fluctuating accuracy (he correctly guessed that he would need two eggs, but his guess of a half-cup of baking soda led to Marinette questioning whether he had ever been in a kitchen before).  Once Tim got the cookie dough mixed, spooned out onto a tray, and put in the oven, they resumed their game of truth-or-dare.

"Your turn, Marinette. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

Tim tried to think of a good question to ask. "Since you've now seen how abysmal I am in the kitchen, I want to know one thing that you're terrible at."

Marinette scrunched up her brow. "It's nowhere near as bad as you're inability to crack an egg-"

Tim winced a little, remembering the painstaking process of digging out fragments of eggshell after he completely shattered it in his attempts to crack it.

"-But I have really bad depth perception. I trip over every little crack in the sidewalk. I'm probably the clumsiest person you'll ever meet."

Tim chuckled. "And here I thought you were perfect."

Marinette grinned. "Almost perfect. Truth or dare?"

"I'll pick truth this time, and hopefully avoid being humiliated again."

"I'll go easy on you this round. When was the last time you lied, and what was it about?"

Tim combed back through his memory of the past week, trying to pick out the last time he lied. "I think it was yesterday morning. Dick asked me if the coffee I was drinking was my first coffee of the day. I said yes, but really I hadn't slept that night so I just decided to arbitrarily count my start of the day at the time I would have woken up had I actually gone to sleep."

"So how many coffee's had you had yesterday?"

Tim shrugged. "Since midnight? Probably three or four. I've gotten away with a lot more coffee since I modified the Keurig in my room to stop making so much noise."

"I'm lucky," said Marinette. "My parents sleep so far away from me that they can't hear my Keurig."

"Truth or dare?" asked Tim, continuing the game.

"Truth."

"What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done because you had a crush on someone?"

Marinette flushed red, and Tim immediately knew that this was going to be a good story. "Once I accidentally sent a text to my crush so I stolehisphoneanddeletedthetext." Marinette rushed the last few words, so fast that Tim couldn't quite make them out.

"What was that?"

"I stole his phone and deleted the text before he could read it. In my defense, I made a lot of questionable decisions at that age."

Tim burst out laughing. "How old were you?"

"I was thirteen," admitted Marinette.

Tim couldn't stop laughing at the absurdity of her claims. "You couldn't have asked him to borrow his phone and deleted it then?"

"I was in panic mode. It was between steal his phone or destroy his phone."

"Those were your two options?!" exclaimed Tim.

Marinette blushed even more furiously. "It's your turn. Don't expect me to go easy on you this round. Truth or dare?"

Tim kept up the trend. "Truth."

"What was the worst thing you did at thirteen?"

Tim thought back to his days as Robin, and the many, many stories he could tell. In the end, he settled on one that Jason still brought up when he needed leverage over Tim. "It's not as bad as phone thievery, but it's still a pretty funny story, looking back on it. You know how I have two older brothers, right?"

"Dick and Jason," Marinette confirmed.

"Well, one night I managed to convince Dick to let me drive Bruce's favorite car. Now, keep in mind, I had never actually driven a car before. Surprisingly, I wasn't that bad at driving. I made it home without incident - that is, until I tried to park the car back in the garage and accidentally crashed into Jason's motorcycle. For years after that, Jason used the threat of telling Bruce about my little car crash to keep me in line."

Marinette snorted. "You think that borrowing a phone to delete a text message is worse than borrowing and crashing a car?"

Tim shrugged. "It's a matter of opinion. Truth or dare?"

With a roll of her eyes, Marinette said, "Truth."

"What's one thing you would never tell me?" It was the sort of question that could only be asked during a game of truth or dare. In Tim's opinion, it was this sort of question that made the game worth playing.

Marinette pouted. "I don't like that question."

"Too bad. The rules of truth or dare state that you have to answer it."

"Fine." Marinette looked up at the ceiling, deep in thought. Just as she turned back to face her laptop, her face lit up. It was evident that she had an answer. "Usually I let people learn from their mistakes in the kitchen. However, I will now tell you - because I have to - that your cookies have been in the oven for too long. They're going to start burning if you don't take them out soon."

Tim jumped up to get his cookies out of the oven. They looked a little burnt, brown rather than the golden-brown that Alfred would make, but they still looked edible. "I'll accept your answer, but only because you saved my cookies."

"Now that your cookies are done, do you want to finish up our game of truth or dare?"

"One last question," decided Tim. "And I'll pick truth, to make it easy for you."

"What's the biggest secret that you've currently keeping from your family?"

After Tim's last question, he had expected Marinette to follow it up with an invasive question. Luckily, her question had a very simple answer.

"Easy question - my friendship with you."

Marinette looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Most of my friendships begin through the connections they have to my family. Because of that, I've never really had serious friendships that my family wasn't actively involved in."

"It's not because you're ashamed of me, right?" Marinette sounded unsure of herself. Insecurity was a side of her that Tim had never seen before.

"Of course not," Tim assured her. "You're the best friend I could have ever asked for, Marinette."

"Good, because you're not getting rid of me that easy. I still have a lot to teach you about baking. I think we might try cupcakes at our next sleepover."

Tim laughed. "We'll see about that." He had no doubts that there would be sleepovers to come, and shenanigans involving baked goods to go along with them.

@maribatmarch-2k21

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Be With Me Instead

Sequel to Treat You Better

Warnings: non/dubcon sex, oral.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes and dark!Peter Parker explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader deals with the end of her relationship and the dissemblance of her life.

Note: I wrote a sequel to a one shot. Surprise, surprise. I hope y’all enjoy!

Let me know what you think!

To say your head hurt was an understatement. Your skull felt as if it would split in two. Your stomach was sour and your muscles ached. You smelled of sweat and something more definitive. A scent so carnal and strong it could not be mistaken.

You groaned and tenderly touched your temple as you laid on your side. There was heat behind you. It radiated beneath the covers and embraced you. You rubbed your head shakily as your dreams fizzled to nonsensical snapshots.

You hadn't been so hungover since your first year of uni. It kept you from more than two drinks on a night out since. Until last night. The memories a haze in your mind, blurred with your nocturnal fantasies.

You remembered Bucky, the bar, the first drink, the second, and the third, the shot of tequila. Then it all went static. You rolled flat onto your back and your arm rubbed against the source of warmth beside you. You looked over and gasped.

Bucky's bare chest rose and fell in the dim light. The morning sun was blotted out by the thick blinds. His metal arm was bent over the sheet and his dark hair was a mess of waves across the pillow. He was naked and so were you.

You sat up and struggled to untangle yourself from the covers. You fell onto the floor, your ass tender as it met the carpet. You remembered it then. All of it. The elevator, his arm around you, his lips on yours, calling his name as he--

The springs of the bed shifted and you looked up as he rolled over and leaned on his elbow to gaze down at you. He smirked, his eyes tired but sparkling. You stared back at him, mortified.

"What are you doing all the way down there?" He purred.

You shook your head and glanced around. You ignored him as you stood and groggily collected your clothes from the floor. Your legs were weak and your flesh buzzed. You could feel him still as visions of him fucking you replayed in your head.

"Hey, going so soon?" You looked over at him as you searched for your panties. Giving up, you pulled on your jeans and hooked your bra.

"B--Last night was...bad." You croaked and pulled your shirt over your head. "It shouldn't have happened." 

You grabbed your jacket and purse. You paused and touched your stomach as it threatened to flip. He was unfazed as he pushed the blankets aside and stretched with a yawn.

You tucked your socks into your purse and forced your feet into your boots. You stumbled and he caught you as you struggled to stand straight.

"That's not what you said last night." He chided. "Sounded to me like you enjoyed yourself."

"I was drunk," You pulled away from him. "And Peter--" Your heart dropped as you recalled Bucky holding his phone over you. Looking into the dark lens as he gloated. "Tell me you didn't send it."

He smirked and you clasped your hand over your mouth. You were gonna spew. You fought to keep your stomach calm and backed away.

"How could you do this?" You gasped.

"You guys are over. What does it matter? So you had a little fun." He reached out to you and you evaded him.

"You tricked me." You sputtered. "I was drunk, upset, and you-you--"

"Don't act so innocent. You came to the bar with me, you had three drinks--"

"You said you'd drive me home and you just dragged me back here and...and--”

A knock, then more pounding, came at the door. You froze and your eyes widened. 

"Open the fucking door!" Peter shouted from the other side. "You fucking asshole."

You stared at Bucky, silently pleading. Just wait for him to go, please. Bucky chuckled and brushed past you. You turned and grabbed his arm but he was too strong. You remembered the night before, how easily he had used your body. His metal hand around your throat.

"Please, don't. Bucky, I can't." You kept your voice low. "Just let him go."

He shrugged you off and you watched him stride to the door. He swung it open and Peter lunged at him in an instant. Bucky sidestepped and grabbed him by his scruff and tossed him to the floor. 

Still naked, he stood calmly as Peter leapt back to his feet and spun around. He raised his fist but never struck as his eyes strayed to you. He dropped his hand and stepped back as if he had been hit. You winced and clutched your bag as your head swirled.

"I'm...sorry." You rasped and dashed past Bucky to the door.

You didn't look back as you fled down the hall. You crashed through the next door and down the stairs as the world rushed past you. You ran from your mistake frantically until you were on the street.

You swept past the pedestrians intent on their own destinations and to the grimy waste bin by the curb. You hugged the rim and retched into the depths as your entire body rebelled. You could rid yourself of the bile but you could not rid yourself of your guilt.

❤

You spent your Sunday in bed, hungover and heartbroken. What had you done? You were so naive. So stupid. 

What else could Bucky have ever wanted from you but sex? You wondered however if it was more about Peter; about the odd vendetta Bucky seemed to have forged towards him in the last few weeks. To think Peter had the video, that he saw what you'd done was worse than the crime itself. 

You cried, and slept, and tried to forget. 

Monday came and your classes kept you busy but couldn't erase the blot on your soul. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. The days were barely discernible. Your mind and body functioned off of sheer routine, not a thought was spared beyond your self-pity.

You ignored your phone. Peter texted until you muted his notifications. A private number kept calling but you could guess who it was. You had no reason to ever go near the compound again and less to associate with its residents.

On Friday, you only had one class at noon. You were done just after two and eager to go back to your dorm and order pizza. Stew in your new solitary mourning; for your relationship, for your dignity, for all you had drunk away in one night.

Campus was chilly. Winter greeted the students with a blanket of snow and the approach of the holidays was darkened by the imminence of finals. 

You walked along the winding path that led around the quad. The bushes were barren and prickly, the statues shrouded in hills of powder. You stopped to look up at the postmodern shapes arranged to seem as if they were floating. You tucked your hands in your pockets and shivered.

The snow crumpled behind you. As you waited for your fellow student to pass you were surprised when the footsteps stopped next to you. You frowned, confused, and glanced over.

Bucky's dark hair poked out from beneath the black beanie, he wore a thick jacket with fleece lining, and leather gloves. His eyes peered up at the statue as if he didn't even know you were there.

"What are you doing here?" You hissed.

"Well, you won't answer my calls," He spoke without looking over at you. "You do know I'm trained to find people. You can't just run away."

"Can't you take a hint?" You scowled.

"Can't you?" He countered. "Come on, we both enjoyed ourselves, didn't we?"

You looked down and dragged your foot through the snow. You felt a swirl in your stomach. The same you felt whenever you thought of that night. He was right but you weren't going to admit it.

"It doesn't matter." You insisted. "Look, I have exams. I have a degree to focus on. Let's just leave whatever that was as it is. Just sex. Regrettable sex."

He scoffed and nodded. You turned to watch him purse his lips as he thought. 

"I don't wanna leave it." He said. "And I won't."

"Just leave me alone," You grumbled and spun back down the path.

You weren't surprised when he followed. You knew it wouldn't be that easy. He had come all the way here, incessantly called you for days, not to mention the scheme that created this mess.

"That's not how this works." He kept stride with you. "You don't just walk away from me."

"Please, just stop," You begged as you walked faster. "I can't do this."

"Do what? You were happy enough to hang around when Peter was standing you up. And now you're just ditching me because spider-boy still won't grow up." He grabbed your arm and almost pulled you off your feet as he made you stop. "I told you things I never told anyone else. This isn't just sex to me."

"You're insane. I was so fucking drunk, you could have been Peter and I wouldn't have known." You tried to wriggle free of his grasp.

"You knew it was me. You wanted it. You wanted me. You still want me," He squeezed your arm and leaned in. "I'm everything Peter isn't and that's exactly what you need."

"Let me go," You breathed. "Please. Just let me go."

"Never." He sneered.

"I'll scream." You looked around. Students shuffled by on their way to and from class. "I will."

He grinned and shook his head. He let go and stood straight. His blue eyes narrowed and he looked down at you. Knowing, confident, dangerous.

"Fine." He squared his shoulders. "Next time, you can scream all you want."

Your eyes rounded and your lips parted in shock. What did that mean? You knew it wasn't good. 

He gave a two finger salute, "see ya around," he intoned as he stepped past you. 

You turned and watched him stroll off down the path, seemingly invisible amidst the groups of overtired students and self-involved professors. You glanced around and felt your own insignificance. Your vulnerability. 

Even if you had screamed, would anyone care?

❤

You shivered as you reached your dorm. You weren’t so sure it was the cold as your run-in with Bucky replayed over and over in your head. 

When you entered the dorm, the three girls you shared it with were all closed up in their rooms. It was unusual not to find them giggling in the common room together. They were likely holed up prepping for finals.

You kicked your boots off and left them on the mat. Your bedroom was unlocked. You must’ve forgotten to lock it before class. Oh well, you were too distracted to care. 

You set your bag on your desk as the door closed behind you and turned with a yelp as a small figure greeted you from the corner.

“Jesus, Peter, how did...what are you doing here?” You touched your chest and pushed yourself against the desk. 

He glared at you as he leaned against the wall with arms crossed. “I’ve been texting you.”

“Why? What is there left for us to talk about?” You flinched as he pushed himself away from the wall.

“There’s a lot to talk about,” He sneered as he got closer. “Like you fucking him the same night we broke up. That’d be a start.”

“What can I say, Peter? It happened.” You retorted. 

“And you just had to let him record it?” His lips slanted in detest. “What? Is that what I did wrong? I didn’t treat you like a slut?”

“Don’t,” You warned him. “I didn’t know...I was drunk. Very drunk.”

“And that’s an excuse?”

“We’re over. What does it matter?” You snapped. 

“Yeah, but usually when a relationship ends, you don’t just jump on the next guy you see.” He spat. “And then you ignore me? For a whole week? Two years. Did it mean nothing to you?”

“It meant everything to me, Peter,” You countered. “But we were never going to last and it has nothing to do with Bucky.”

“So…” He was so close you could feel his breath. “You fucking him now?”

“No, I...it’s not your concern anymore,” You swallowed as he backed you up to the wall. “You should go.”

“I saw you talking to him,” He said evenly. “Out on campus. You looked pretty cozy.”

“Just go--”

“Not as cozy…” He reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He swiped over his screen and smiled as he held it up. “As this.”

Your veins turned to ice as you watched the video. Bucky behind you, his hand at your throat, your flesh clapped as you called his name. Your voice was wild, it barely sounded like you. But it was you.

“So is that what you want? To hurt me?” You blinked away the tears. “Because you did that long before now.”

“What I want is for you to get on the bed.” He spoke quietly but his words cut through you.

“Go, Peter. We’re over.” You tried to push him away and he caught your arm and twisted. You whined as your wrist threatened to snap.

“If I have to tell you again, I can hit send. We’ll see what everyone else thinks of your short film. Hell, maybe you’d do better in a film degree.” He taunted and waved his phone in his other hand. “It’s a big campus but these things travel fast.”

You lowered your brow. The air was knocked out of you. You’d always known him as the sweet, compassionate boy you’d met that first day on campus. You knew he had changed, that’s why you’d broke it off, but you didn’t know he was like this.

“Please don’t do this,” You pleaded. “Peter, I’m sorry.”

“Get on the fucking bed now,” He drew the words out and closed his eyes as he inhaled. “Naked.” He let go of your wrist. “We’ll see who the little boy is.”

His eyes opened and you winced at their intensity. You gulped and nodded. You tried to speak but your voice was caught in your tight throat. You carefully stepped past him. You peeked over at the door. You stopped then bolted to the door. 

Before you could grab the handle, it was covered it corded webs that sealed it to the frame. Peter sighed. “Don’t make me use them on you, too. Bed. Now.”

You turned and gave him one last look. Of disgust and desperation. He didn’t waver. 

“And if I scream?”

“I can shut you up,” His fingers bent slightly as he lifted his hand. “Do I need to?”

You looked to your feet and unzipped your jacket. Your hands were shaking. You dropped your jacket on the floor and then your sweater. Your loose tee and jeans crumpled a top the pile with your socks trapped in the denim. 

You stood in your panties and bra and peeked over at Peter. He shrugged and you knew he wasn’t going to stop.

You undid your bra and added it to the mess on the floor. You rolled your panties down and stepped up to your single bed. You climbed up and drew our knees to your chest to cover yourself. You couldn’t look at Peter again. You stared at the polka dot comforter beneath you and waited.

You listened to his footsteps, him fiddling with something unseen, the rustle of his clothing. You sensed him as he neared the bed. 

“Come here.” He pointed to the mattress in front of him. 

You turned and shoved your legs over the edge as you sat there. You ignored his naked figure and kept your eyes down. He grabbed the back of your head and pressed his cock to your lips. 

You closed your eyes and parted your lips. He slipped inside and you gagged as he forced himself down your throat. Your eyes watered and you struggled to breath around him. He didn’t wait for you. He thrust in and out of your mouth. Each was hard, decisive, as if he meant to hurt you. 

Again. His hand moved and his other came up to hold your head in a vice. He fucked your face as you slapped his thigh helplessly. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, didn’t even seem to notice as you fought him.

Finally he pulled out. Spit coated your lips as he let you go and you fell back, out of breath and coughing. You were dizzy from the sudden and rough assault. Stunned by Peter’s behaviour. Senseless.

“Turn over.” He barked and you looked down at him. You just stared at him. 

He grabbed your arm and pulled you up. He spun you around and pushed you against the bed until you lifted your knees up on the mattress. He grabbed your neck and shoved you down until your head was on the mattress. He slapped your ass and you exclaimed.

“Shut up,” He snarled and you bit your lip.

His cock prodded you as he felt around for your entrance. He pushed into you slowly at first and then slammed into you all at once. You whimpered and he thrust again, harder. He bent over you and grabbed your arms. He bent them behind you and jerked his hips again. Each time he rocked into you, it was sharp and jolted your entire body.

He hissed as he was driven by his own ferocity. Everytime you made a sound, he sped up. Your body shook as he rutted into you over and over. You were embarrassed as your unexpected arousal eased the glide of his cock. 

You shuddered and held your breath but you couldn’t resist it. The burning in your core, the flare that sparked and broke the surface. You gritted your teeth as you turned your face down muffled your orgasm in the duvet.

He growled. Not groaned, growled. You’d never heard him like this. Sure, your relationship had been anything but abstinent but something in him had come unhinged. He wasn’t holding anything back. Every ounce of hunger, anger, frustration, everything, was spoken through his touch.

He slowed suddenly. He kept his strokes long and even. He was pacing himself. He sped up again only to falter. Every time he came close to finishing, he pulled the reins back. 

He released your arms and pushed you down until your legs slipped over the edge of the bed and your hips were flat to the mattress. He impaled you with decisive thrusts, his hands on the small of your back as he pinned you down. His breaths were deep and eager as he bucked against you.

When he came, he didn’t let up. He grunted and spilled inside of you but didn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. His cum seeped out as he buried his cock in your over and over. He crashed into one last time, sending a pang up your spine as he did, and stayed there. 

He squeezed your ass and pushed it apart. He wiggled his hips and let out a long breath.

“Is that what you wanted?” He smacked your ass and your body tensed. “A man.” He snarled. “Huh?”

“P-Peter,” You whispered as you turned your head.

“I guess falling in love with you just wasn’t enough,” He pulled out and pinched you so hard you cried out. You were too weak to move. “Have fun with Bucky but don’t come crawling back to me when he’s done with you. I don’t like leftovers.”

You rolled over as he turned away and started to dress, bending to grab each piece of clothing from the floor. Your lip trembled as he pulled on his jacket and tucked away his phone. 

He didn’t even look at you as he left. The door slammed behind him and the tears began to flow. You had been ready for the break-up, but never for this.

❤

Finals came and went. You were numb. In a haze. For once you weren’t nervous for your exams but only because you could barely focus on them. After each, you emerged barely able to remember what you’d written. You couldn’t think about anything but Peter’s harsh goodbye and Bucky’s ominous promise.

The holiday break arrived and campus was mostly abandoned. You planned to stay on campus that year with Peter but instead you'd be alone. Your parents decided to finally take that Christmas trip to the Bahamas like they'd always dreamed of. It was too late to go home.

Christmas Eve. You ventured out to grab a few groceries for your solitary christmas dinner. Nothing special. Pasta and pinot. Last minute shoppers bustled in the small shop and you wove between them as the early winter dusk started to descend. 

You stepped out onto the street as the grey sky turned a deep blue. You looked up at the sliver of moon and frowned. This wasn't how you'd imagined your Christmas. Never overly festive but you had looked forward to a cozy holiday with Peter. Well, that was a long gone hope.

You started down the street and were startled as a car honked at you and pulled up to the curve. You recognized it and walked faster. The engine died and the door opened and closed. The footsteps neared and you tried to elude them.

"Hey," Bucky caught your arm and forced you to slow down. You almost dropped the large paper bag.

"Leave me alone." You didn't look at him.

"Hey, I was just gonna help you out," He grabbed the top of the bag and you stopped before he could tear it. "That looks heavy."

“Please.” You hugged the bag and backed away from him. “I told you before--”

“You’re all alone.” He said bluntly. “On Christmas.”

“And so are you,” You countered.

“It doesn’t have to be like this.” He warned and reached for the bag again. “I could help you. Take care of you.” You wrestled with him but he easily took the groceries. He looked inside and tutted. “That’s a lot of wine for one person.”

“Fuck off.” You turned on your heel and stormed away. He could keep it all. You just wanted this all to end. The dread, the dreams, the terrible guilt that never quite left you. He followed.

“Just let me give you a ride. We can talk.” He caught up with you. “What is it? A five minute ride to campus? Just five minutes, please?”

You stopped again. You looked up at him sharply. You were tired. You just wanted to get back to your dorm and hide. 

“Five minutes and you leave me alone for good.” You declared.

“Five minutes. That’s all.” He agreed and his lips curved just slightly. 

You shrugged and gestured past him. He led you back to his car. He placed the bag behind his seat as you got in and he took the driver’s seat. 

You crossed your arms and stared out the window as he turned the engine. You were reminded of that night he’d driven you home. You’d bought his sweet little act hook, line, and sinker. How stupid.

“I...wasn’t trying to trick you. I just wanted to be close to you.” He pulled out. “I hope you know that.”

“You recorded it,” You spat. “How was that not malicious?”

“That wasn’t about you, it was about him,” Bucky said. “I wanted him to see what he’d taken for granted. What he’d lost.”

“Are you stupid? Did you really think that was right?” You looked at him. “You could’ve been normal. You could’ve waited instead of getting me drunk. You could’ve just told me you were interested.”

“Do you think that would’ve worked?” He wondered as he steered. “I’m a lot older than you. I don’t know how things work these days.”

“You don’t just feed someone drinks and call that a relationship,” You shook your head. “You don’t send a video to her ex. You don’t--You don’t know what he did.”

“What do you mean?” He stopped at the intersection.

“Nothing. I just...me and Peter could’ve ended this as friends and you took that from me. And now, you know what, you’re right, I am alone. I--” You squinted as he turned away from campus and your words tumbled to murmurs. “Bucky, what are you doing? Where--”

You felt a prick in your neck and clapped your hand against it as you looked over at him. He held a syringe as your eyes felt loose in your head and a warmth spread along your neck and through your limbs.

“B-Bucky…” You fell back against the seat. 

“I won’t let you go.” He said as your eyes closed. “I can’t. I love you.”

His voice floated around you and faded into the black as you slumped against the door. You sank into the void, entirely and blissfully numb.

❤

The shroud slowly lifted from you. Your eyes fluttered open and you groaned as the ceiling was painted in flickering light. The crackle and smell of fire tickled your senses and you looked around the unfamiliar room. You rolled onto your side and tenderly cradled your head. It felt like a pebble was bouncing around your skull.

A dark figure knelt before the artificial fireplace, the poker in hand as he stoked it. Slowly Bucky turned his head and his face came clear through the haze. He wore a pair of flannel pants and a grey tee.

You pushed yourself up and hung your legs over the side of the bed. He stood and set aside the iron poker. He neared and sat beside you, his hand on yours.

“Take it easy.” He cooed. “You’re okay.” He lifted your hand and kissed the back of it. 

“Wh-where…” Your mouth was dry and you couldn’t find the word. 

“Home.” He smiled and brought his hand up to cradle your face. He kissed your forehead as his thumb rubbed your cheek. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

You grimaced, confused. He reluctantly let go and stood. He walked around as you tried to clear your head. 

There were two doors, the windows were blacked out, but otherwise it seemed like a normal room. It could’ve been any apartment nestled in the midst of the overpopulated city.

“It’s already noon. You should dress.” He placed a dress in your lap. “Then we can open our gifts.”

Your mind threatened to crack. What the fuck was going on?

“My ma never let us sleep past six, even on Christmas, but I figured you needed the rest,” He continued. “You looked so peaceful.” He smiled and you unfolded the red velvet. “You can get cleaned up just in there.” He pointed to the door on your right. “I’ll be here.”

He sat in the armchair by the fire and leaned his chin in his hand as he watched you expectantly. You stood as you tried to hide your discomfort. A man who stuck a needle in your neck was bound to do a lot worse.

You hesitated as you neared the door. It would be a place to hide for a while at least. You said nothing as you kept your eyes on him and backed through the door. You closed it, slowly. He never stopped watching and you found the lock on the door didn’t work.

You turned and held up the velvet dress. The straps were thin and the burgundy skirt was trimmed with matching fur. You hated it.

You look down at your own clothing. He’d taken your jacket and boots off. Your sweatshirt was rumpled from your induced slumber and your jeans were stained with salt along the ankles. 

If you refused to be his doll, what would he do? You weren’t stupid enough to think you could keep him out, especially with a door handle that didn’t even click into place. 

Even if you fought him, he probably had another needle at the ready. Besides he was much too strong for that. You knew that already. There were no windows in the bathroom. No way out it seemed as those in the other room were sealed. 

You only had one choice. Well, not really a choice at all.

You quaked as you undressed. You avoided looking in the mirror as you folded your clothes on the counter. You kept your bra and panties on, even though they felt grimy from your sweat. You pulled on the dress. It was too tight and too short.

You wrung your hands as you looked around the bathroom. It was nice despite being a prison. Your nerves whirled around you and threatened to choke you. You flinched as knuckles tapped softly on the door.

“You okay?” Bucky asked.

You blinked and marched to the door. You opened it, slowly, and stared back at him. He looked you up and down and grabbed your hand. He had a dreamy light in his eyes as he drew you out of the bathroom into the soft glow of the other room. 

The tree in the corner had been lit up with pale string lights and you blinked away the specs they left in your eyes. He stopped you and tisked.

“No,” He pulled the strap of your bra down your shoulder. “Take this off.”

You tucked your lip under your teeth and reached back to unhook the bra. You wrestled it out from beneath the dress and he took it from you. He flung it beside the bed and turned back to you.

His hands startled you as he brushed up your skirt and along your thighs. He grabbed your panties and tugged them down. You winced at his force and the cotton dropped to your ankles. He nudged you forward and you stepped out of them before he kicked them away.

“There, perfect,” He took your hand again and drew you over to the tree. “Time for presents.” 

He let go of you and sat on the floor like a child. He took a box from the pile beneath the fir and reached up to pull on your wrist.

“Come on. Sit.” He held up the wrapped gift. “Open your presents.”

You obeyed stiffly, careful to keep the skirt from showing too much. Your hand shook as you accepted the first box from him. You ripped away the paper and crumpled it up in your fist. You set it down and stared at the box lid.

“Bucky…” You glanced up at him. “It’s not too late. You can let me go. I won’t say a word. I’ll--”

“Open it.” 

He shoved the box closer and it almost slipped from your grasp. His smile fell as his metal finger rubbed against his thumb nervously. 

You let the box settle on your lap and you slid the lid off. Inside was a golden chain with your and Bucky’s initials hanging from it. You lifted it and he was swift to take it from you. 

“Here,” He spun his finger. “I’ll help.”

You turned, rigid as he got to his knees and neared you. His fingers tickled your throat as he wrapped the gold around it and clasped it at the back of your neck. He played with the dangling links and sent a shiver through you.

You drew away and resumed your seat on the rug. He handed you another box, this one bigger. He waited, expectantly. After a moment, he nodded and raised a brow. You opened the second gift and revealed a set of sheer lingerie. You quickly covered it up and cleared your throat.

“You don’t like it?” He asked. His tone was dangerous.

“I do. Thank you. I just wasn’t expecting it.” You lied. 

His metal fist balled and unballed. You kept looking back to it as he seemed to sway between delight and anger. You shuddered and he handed you the next gift.

“Good, good,” He said. “I picked them all just for you. I really hope you love them.”

You bit your tongue anxiously and opened the next gift. A dress similar to the one you wore but made of glossy silver silk. Then there was a toiletry set and some make-up and final a small box drawn from just beside the trunk of the tree.

Bucky’s jaw twitched as he bit down and turned the velvet box in his fingers. He cleared his throat and got up on his knees. You glanced around, your heart seemed to stop as you realised what he was doing. He was most assuredly out of his mind.

“Sweetheart,” He gripped it as he brought one knee up, “Will you…” He popped it open and revealed a diamond cut into a teardrop. “Marry me?”

You were light-headed. You pushed the empty box from your lap and stood. You could barely do that as you tried to wave him away. 

“Bucky….” You gulped. “Bucky…” You spun and raced for the door. “You can’t do this! Let me go!”

You wrenched the door handle but it wouldn’t turn. You tried to rip the door out of its frame but it didn’t even shake, You beat on it and hollered.

“Help!”

You sensed movement behind you and before you could turn to see, Bucky’s arm came up around your waist and he dragged you back. You struggled with him but it was all too easy for him to bend you to his will.

He shoved you to the bed and you caught yourself on the mattress with a yelp. He followed quickly and turned you onto your back as he straddled you on the edge. Your legs dangled over the side and you slapped at him.

“Please, please, why are you doing this?”

He caught your hand and stilled it with his vibranium grip. He bent all your fingers but one and forced the ring onto it. You swiped at him with your other hand and he swiftly caught it.

“Don’t be ungrateful,” He snarled. “I got you all these nice things and you go and spit in my face.”

“No, no, Bucky, please,” You begged.

“Quiet,” He barked. “It’s my turn now. Time for me to open my present.”

He released your hands and grabbed the straps of your dress. You flailed out at him and he snapped the velvet easily. You wriggled weakly and wheezed. You couldn’t breath. Your chest felt like it would collapse.

“Please,” You said. “Bucky… you’re scaring me.”

“You love me,” He sneered. “I know it. I knew it that night. The way you sounded when I touched you. The way you said my name,”

“I was drunk,” You grasped his wrists as his fingers hooked around your shoulders. “Bucky, I can’t even remember that night.”

“Shut up!” He shouted and shook you. “Stop lying!”

You bit your tongue and tasted blood. Your head spun as you felt his weight shift and the velvet tickle your thigh. He tore your skirt up to your waist as he hovered over you on his knees. 

“Bucky,” Your voice cracked as you pressed your hand over his. “I still love Peter.”

“No,” He pushed himself off of you. “You don’t” He gripped his head. “You love me!”

“Bucky--”

“I already told you to shut up,” He growled. “So shut up before I make you.”

He gruffly ripped his shirt over his head. His thumbs hooked under the elastic of his pants and he pushed his shoulders back. His blue eyes were dark and sinister as he watched you sit up.

“Keep the dress on,” He shoved his pants down. 

You stood as he quickly untangled himself from the flannel. He caught you by your throat and forced you back down to the bed. You grabbed his thick forearm as he knelt over you, his fingers threatening to crush your throat.

“Say it. Say you love me.” His hissed.

“You’re hurting me.” You clung to his arm.

“Hurting you!? I’ve only ever been good to you and you--” He stuttered in rage and forced his leg between yours.

He kept his hand on your throat and lifted your other leg as he placed himself entirely between your legs. He bent your leg around him as he bent over you, almost crushing your neck with his hand.

“I never wanted to hurt you, but you insist on hurting me,” He squeezed as his hand crawled up your leg. “Say it!”

You squeaked as you slapped at his hand. His fingers crept over your thigh and down your pelvis. He pushed his fingers roughly between your legs and felt along your folds. His touch hurt as he forced two fingers inside of you, dry.

He poked in and out harshly and your eyes rolled back as your vision began to spot. He loosened his grip but kept his hold on you. He rescinded his fingers and pressed the head of his cock against you.

You hugged him with your legs, trying to force him away. He slid his tip inside of you and you let out a stifled moan. You hit his thick bicep as he inched into you. You whimpered and scratched at the vibranium.

“Ple-ease,” You rasped.

“Say it.” He thrust sharply and impaled you entirely. 

“Buck--”

He thurst again and your voice fizzled with a sob.

“Say you love me,” He pressed his lips to your cheek. “Say it.”

He jolted his hips, each time your whined and felt even weaker beneath him. Your head swam and as your walls clenched around him.

“B--” You could barely breath.

“Say it.” His spit trailed across your cheek as he nuzzled your neck.

He sped up, the bed trembled beneath you. You were crushed beneath his relentless pounding. Each thrust sent a reverberation up your spin and ripples along your thighs. You snaked your arm around his neck and pushed your head back into the mattress.

“Say.” He jerked roughly. “It.”

“I--I--” His hand slipped away as he nibbled at your throat and he cradled your head. “I…  love--- you!”

You exclaimed as you came suddenly. You were appalled and stunned by your bodies response to him. He was inflamed by it and rutted into you even harder.

His thick grunts stormed in your ears as his fingers stretched across the back of your head. The velvet was rough between your bodies as he moved against you. He snarled as he spasmed. Your body went limp as he emptied into you.

He stilled and rested his weight over you. You closed your eyes, your face wet from tears and sweat. His hand fell away from your head and he laced his fingers through yours and placed with the diamond there.

“I love you, too,” He cooed and kissed your neck.

[spencers-renaissance]

storm-darkened or starry bright

Summary: Spencer contracts HIV. It all falls apart after that.

Tags: angst, illness, hurt!spencer, hurt/comfort, worried derek, depression, mutual pining, getting together, angst w a happy ending

TW: vomit, implied/referenced sex and addiction, disordered thinking, depression as a result of medical diagnosis

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

(I've tagged my usual moreid taglist in this fic, but I won't be offended at all if this is too heavy for you!)

Title from "Where All My Books Go" - W.B. Yeats.

Originally inspired by J_Ballinger's Swift, Fierce & Obscene which is just a brilliant piece of art.

you said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud — richard siken, litany in which certain things are crossed out

It starts with the flu.

He calls into work sick and he makes himself comfortable in bed, preparing to ride it out. It is the middle of January after all, and their last case saw them in Ann Arbor, shivering their way through each crime scene and a police station with abysmal heating.

His lymph nodes are swollen, and he’s running a moderate fever — 102 the last time he checked — and the cough he’s had for a couple of days is definitely getting nastier, but he uses the time to catch up on the documentaries he’s had stored on his DVR for the past couple of months. He tries to see it as a positive: he never gets time to rest like this. Warm soup, chamomile tea, and some Nyquil should be the end of it.

He makes the most of it. He gets better. He goes back to work, and life goes on.

“It’s not like you to get sick, Reid.”

Emily doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s about as innocuous as a comment can possibly be, but something about it makes his heart stop for a second. Because the thing is, she’s right. The last time he was actually sick was the anthrax poisoning three years ago, which can hardly be blamed on his body itself. He hasn’t been sick with a virus since he was a child — certainly not anything more than a mild winter cold.

His world turns upside down in the middle of a Tuesday, a couple of them gathered around Derek’s desk laughing about nothing in particular, the easy camaraderie of a close-knit team without a time-sensitive case on their minds.

Three and a half weeks ago: a night heady with alcohol in a gay bar in downtown DC, a charged encounter with a man just Spencer’s type, a whispered invitation back to his place, not making it past the bathroom…

He pales, suddenly feeling violently ill at the prospect of what’s happened, how badly he’s fucked up this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” Emily asks, suddenly noticing his appearance. “You look really pale… maybe you’re not ready to be back at work yet.”

Forcing himself out of his stupor, he manages to open his mouth without vomiting. “I don’t feel so good,” he says, and even to him his voice sounds weak and distant. Blood roars in his ears, and all he can think is what that blood could very well be tainted with.

Far away voices discuss something he doesn’t pay attention to before Derek’s placing his hand on his shoulder, drawing him back into the discussion. “I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Emily isn’t standing at the desk anymore, but he doesn’t think to look around for her, just locks eyes with Derek: noticing his brows knit deeply in concern, worry clouding his dark, striking eyes.

He lets himself be led down to the garage. Later, he won’t remember any of the winding car journey home, Derek’s worried sideways glances, his attempts at making conversation, tucking him into bed, his hesitancy to leave and go back to work. He’ll just remember the weight of his realisation, the sinking acknowledgement of what this means.

What it makes him.

⭐️

The next day, he wakes up ravenously hungry. He doesn’t remember anything after the dreaded realisation, but he remembers that he came to it only minutes after eating lunch: meaning he’s gone over eighteen hours without food. Somehow, he manages to pick himself out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He finishes it all and doesn’t taste a single bite.

He texts the group chat Penelope had made for the whole team last year, ignoring the dozens of anxious messages from his team already filling his phone. Won’t be in.

Almost on auto-pilot, he gets dressed, picks up his phone, wallet, and keys, and walks to his nearest metro station. He counts four stops, gets out of the carriage and walks up the stairs onto the street, weaving through exactly three streets until he finds himself staring at the sign for his Urgent Care clinic.

Words — not ashes, as some small part of him anticipates — manage to spill from his lips as he tells the doctor everything from the unprotected sex he vaguely recalls having on the night of Saturday the 12th of March to his brief flu-like symptoms to his sickly realisation yesterday. Vaguely, he thinks there’s some sort of sick humour in being able to recall exactly what day he had sex, but not the details of the sex itself. Alcohol and dilaudid are the only things that have ever been able to interfere with his memory.

He obediently opens his mouth for a saliva swab, lets the nurse prick his finger and collect a drop of his blood. He wonders if she knows what they’re testing him for. He wonders if she thinks he’s as dirty as he feels, if she’ll violently scrub her hands after smiling politely at him, if she’ll roll her eyes when she talks to the other nurses, lamenting his stupidity.

The sounds of the waiting room melt into the background as he waits for the test to be conducted, and judging by the tone of the nurse who gets his attention when it’s time to return to the doctor’s office, it’s not her first attempt.

He mutters a distracted apology as he gets up from his seat, but she just smiles sympathetically. It shouldn’t get his back up in the way it does.

“I’m afraid you have tested positive for the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, Dr Reid,” she tells him, her voice gentle but straight-forward. He’s at least glad she doesn’t try and soften the blow. It’s not a blow that deserves to be softened. “I know this is a shock, but—”

“It’s not a shock.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s not a shock,” he repeats insistently; impatiently. “I knew it was coming. It’s my own fault.”

“Playing blame games isn’t going to help anybody here, Dr Reid,” she says firmly, meeting his eye. “Whether you were expecting it or not, this would knock anyone off-kilter, and I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that.”

She waits for his reluctant nod before continuing. “The good news is that we’ve caught it early enough to contain the infection. Your CD4 levels are very good, and you do not meet AIDS criteria. I’ve referred you to Dr Frederiks at George Washington University Hospital. He’s an expert in Infectious Disease and specialises in HIV/AIDS treatment. He can see you tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

He arrives back at his apartment almost $300 out of pocket, having gained nothing but a positive HIV diagnosis. The FBI has brilliant healthcare insurance but Spencer ticked the ‘no’ box on the insurance form. He can’t risk anybody knowing about this.

He texts Hotch and tells him he has a doctor’s appointment in the morning and will let him know whether he’ll make it in for the afternoon. Then he lays on the sofa, and cries.

⭐️

“HIV is a chronic illness,” the doctor explains at four minutes past ten the next morning, “a latent infection. Not a death sentence. Medications have come leaps and bounds in the last ten years, and the regimes aren’t anywhere near as rigorous as they used to be. With your CD4 levels this good, your life really won’t be much different than it was a few weeks ago.”

Spencer’s never had much interest in medicine — after all, there’s a reason he’s not that kind of doctor — but he knows this much. He doesn’t tell the doctor that he’s wasting his time explaining the basics of the disease, just stares blankly at the point in between his eyes, staring at the small crease in his skin, the way it moves as he speaks.

“It’s likely that you’ll die of something else, Dr Reid, decades in the future. When managed correctly, HIV is rarely deadly.”

This seems irrelevant: it doesn’t matter to Spencer what he dies of. Whether his immune system gives in or he’s shot in the line of duty or drops dead in the street from an aneurysm he doesn’t see coming, he’ll be dead.

He still doesn’t say anything.

“For the first six months of infection, the risk of transmission to sexual partners is high,” he continues, unfazed by Spencer’s lack of response. “Are you in a relationship?”

“No.” It’s the first word he’s spoken since he entered this office. His voice breaks. He can’t have the person he wants: this feels like the nail in the coffin of a relationship dead on arrival.

A look of sympathy crosses Dr Frederik’s face. “In any casual encounters you may engage in, you’ll need to be extra careful. Do you have the contact details of the person you contracted this from?”

His voice is steadier this time. “No.”

“Do you have any suspicion that you were deliberately infected by them?”

“No,” he answers, because he doesn’t, but it occurs to him that he’ll never actually know. He doesn’t remember if they used a condom; if he even wanted to use one. (All he remembers is his muscles and the way he pretended he was Derek, the amused look on the other man’s face when he whispered his name like a prayer.)

“That’s fine,” the doctor smiles encouragingly. It feels patronising. “We’re going to start with a triple combination of medications: tenofovir and emtricitabine combined with dolutegravir. HIV is an adaptable virus and easily becomes resistant, so it’s best to attack it hard and fast as early as possible to give you your best chances at an undetectable viral load in the next year. Which, I might add, Dr Reid, is a completely reasonable goal. At that stage, you will not be all that infectious. You’ll have bloods drawn before you leave to estimate your baseline kidney and liver function as well as overall health. In three months, you’ll have another test, and in six months, we’ll assess how well the drugs are working for you.”

Spencer nods, his eyes not leaving the crease between Dr Frederik’s eyebrows.

“Make those appointments with my secretary on your way out, and contact me if you have any concerns.” He pushes a brown paper envelope across the desk. “Inside you’ll find a copy of your positive test result, your prescriptions, and a number of leaflets on the condition as a whole.”

He squashes the urge to push the envelope back across the desk and nods again.

“Pick up the medication before the end of today and start them either tonight or in the morning,” he advises, before standing up from behind the desk and walking towards the door.

Spencer follows obediently, nodding once more and forcing a grimace onto his face, before walking down the hallway towards the secretary, another stranger he has to share his secret with. Swallowing down the urge to either scream or vomit, he fiddles with the envelope in his hands and bites the bullet.

⭐️

He tells Hotch that he won’t be in that day, and he goes home and forces himself to get it together. He showers first, the hot water washing the grime of the last few days down the drain, but he can’t do anything about the lingering layer of shame clinging to his skin. For the first time since the realisation, he forces himself to look in the mirror. A thin, pallid man with bags under his eyes and the look of someone harbouring a secret looks back at him.

His hair has grown out a little in the last few months, actual curls visible around his face (memories flash across his mind of breathy gasps; a hand buried in his hair, pulling ever-so-gently but they’re gone before they’re even remotely tangible), and he lost a little bit of weight he couldn’t afford to lose during his symptomatic period.

But, as frustrating as it is, it’s not what he sees. Not really. He sees Spencer Reid, possessor of five degrees, soon to become six, expert analyst in the FBI, the man who listens to jazz when he studies and watches documentaries for fun and solves crossword puzzles on the metro.

Something inside him shifts as he’s reminded of his humanity in that moment. It’s the most okay he’s felt in the last forty-eight hours.

He’ll take it.

He goes back to work the next day with little fanfare, getting warm smiles and ‘glad you’re feeling better’s from the team before they’re plunged headfirst into a new case, as it so often goes. They fly to Vermont, and part of him is glad for the distraction: no more talking about his illness, no more self-pity — he’s forced to try and bridge the gap between Dr Spencer Reid, Before and Dr Spencer Reid, HIV Positive as quickly and seamlessly as possible.

He does what he’s good at: offers relevant, detailed facts, profiles the victims and the unsub, cites studies that help them get to the bottom of the case, and for a moment he allows himself to forget about the virus coursing through his blood and the feeling of shame he can’t quite shake no matter how clean he scrubs his skin.

They get to the hotel late that evening and Spencer takes his second dose of medication, individually popping each tablet from it’s sheet into his hand. The pharmacist he spoke to yesterday told him that from his next medication order they can put all three tablets into a blister packet for him, but for now he’s stuck punching through three different plastic packets every night. Derek asks him to join them at the bar for a drink, but Spencer turns him down. He’s barely been able to look him in the eye.

If, in some rare and far flung universe, Derek did want to date Spencer, he wouldn’t want to date HIV positive, ex-addict, reckless and unsafe Spencer.

He wouldn’t want to date a man so heartbroken and lovesick that he got black-out drunk and slept with someone — most likely without a condom — just because he bared a passing resemblance to Derek. Contracting the Human Immunodeficiency Virus in the process.

No.

Spencer spends the evening staring into the mirror instead, desperately trying to find the man he was four days ago under the burden of broken suffering he seems to have picked up along with the diagnosis, the positive test, the sympathetic doctors.

When he hears the others come up past midnight and pile into their hotel rooms, laughing and chattering among themselves, Spencer still hasn’t looked away.

The use of the case as a distraction only works until 11am the next day. He’d had trouble falling asleep, and he’s powering through the day fuelled by black coffee and raw determination alone, but those motivators — as effective as they can be — can’t stop his legs from shaking as he stares at the geo-profile, searching for what they’re missing.

It sucks, but he’s glad for the warning the shaking gives him. He finds a chair and sits down, which is likely the only thing that stops him from collapsing when black dots swim in his vision and he’s suddenly vomiting down his front.

“Reid!” Hotch cries, running from the other end of the police station to where he’s sitting, panic clear on his face. They’re the only two from their unit currently in the station, but Hotch quickly locates an officer and turns to him. “Call an ambulance.”

“No,” Spencer manages to protest, although it only makes him want to be sick again, “‘m fine, promise.”

“What’s going on? I thought the flu had passed? Healthy people don’t spontaneously vomit and almost pass out, Reid.”

Somehow, his addled brain manages to concoct a decent enough lie. “Keep thinking I’m better,” he mumbles, leaning forward to put his head between his legs as Hotch places a hand on his back, “and then I’m not.”

“You’re sure this is just the flu?” Hotch asks, concerned but at least appearing to believe him.

“Certain,” Spencer lies.

Hotch nods once before shaking his head at the officer on standby with a phone to call an ambulance. “Well, you can’t work the case like this,” he sighs. “We need to get you back to the hotel, okay? You can rest there. God, Reid, what did the doctor say?”

“Bad case of the flu. Gave me some strong Tamiflu and told me I’d be fine in a couple days.” He gasps the words out in between intense waves of nausea, clasping his hands together in an iron grip.

He absolutely can’t let Hotch catch on. In the nine years he’s worked at the FBI, he’s managed to conceal his sexuality below layers upon layers of closeting, and he’s not about to be forced out now. It started as a purely protectionist strategy — law enforcement in the early 2000s didn’t exactly have a stellar reputation when it came to tolerance — but then he just felt forced too deep, felt the web of lies spun too tightly around him to even begin to unpick them.

Terror seizes his heart at the idea of his team knowing who he really is: not because he expects homophobia or backlash, but because he’s not sure he’s ready to live that openly yet. He’s never been good with change, and this is no exception.

It doesn’t help that the whole team is all too aware of his past addiction. He dreads the thought of them thinking he’s using again and, worse, so irresponsibly that he managed to contract HIV.

Hotch gets a rookie officer to drive him back to the hotel, and she keeps sending him nervous glances, most likely worried he’ll stink up her immaculately kept squad car with his spontaneous vomiting. Both he and the car make the journey unscathed, although he knows he probably looks as green as he feels as he drags himself up the stairs — could there possibly be a worse time for an out of order elevator? — and somehow manages to make it to the bed before he collapses.

Unfortunately, his restful slumber doesn’t last long. He’s woken up not half an hour later with the intense need to be sick again, and he races to the toilet, where he spends the next two hours: intermittently slumped over it, being sick into it, and lying on the cold tiles next to it.

It feels like a punishment. If Spencer was a religious man he’d be certain God was smiting him for his sins, but instead he’s left instead pondering karma or fate or some other theory he doesn’t really buy into either. Logically, he knows it’s just a combination of guilt and regret — he made a mistake, he’s suffering the consequences; there’s no fate or religion or karma involved — but his delirious, out of sorts mind struggles to hold on to that.

Reason doesn’t make the nausea any less crippling, after all.

Eventually, he must manage to pass out on the bathroom floor, because he’s being shaken awake by a pair of gentle hands, and when he finally opens his eyes, it’s dark outside.

“Spence?”

Shit. Derek.

His eyes fly open and he fights to sit up, to make himself more presentable. The smell of vomit lingers in the air and he remembers that he didn’t even put the toilet seat down, let alone flush it. (At least he thought to change out of his vomit-covered shirt. Thank God for small mercies.) He blushes, and thinks he must look a pretty picture of red and green as he finally meets Derek’s eyes.

“God, Spence, how bad is this flu?” he asks worriedly, smoothing his hair with the palm of his hand. Despite himself, Spencer finds himself pressing back into the touch, relishing any contact he can get.

Then it hits him: he’s dirty. He can’t contaminate Derek like this.

“You should leave,” he asserts hurriedly as he pulls away, hating that desperation is so obvious in his voice. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve cleaned everything up, and I used gloves. I’ve been in contact with you the last couple of days, so if you were going to get me sick you would’ve already. I just want to be here for you.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed so tightly they hurt. He wants nothing more than to fold himself into Derek’s arms, let himself be comforted by the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. But he can’t. There are so many reasons that he can’t.

“No,” he says, not opening his eyes, resenting the tear that slips out and spills down his cheek. “You can’t. I’m… I’m not safe to be around.”

He doesn’t really mean to say it, but it escapes anyway, and he opens his eyes just in time to see the confusion cross Derek’s face. “Not safe to…? Spencer, what—”

“I just… I need to be alone.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek says softly, bringing a hand to his hair again, and he knows that HIV isn’t transmitted through sweat or vomit but he’s dirty, and Derek is so so good, he can’t be responsible for tainting him. Derek doesn’t relent, though, not even when Spencer pulls away from his touch and shrinks in on himself, leaning against the toilet. “You need to allow yourself to be comforted. You need to let me help, Spencer.”

Suddenly, he feels incredibly tired: the energy seeping out of his body, and he’s boneless against the toilet, absent even of the effort to hold himself upright.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He puts his arms around Spencer’s rolled up body and lifts him, holding him close to his chest as he carries him from the bathroom to the bed.

Spencer doesn’t just let him, he curls into his embrace, clinging to the material of his t-shirt like it’s his only grip on reality.

(Later, he’ll blame the fever, but deep down he knows that just once, he wanted to play pretend, and just once, he didn’t have the energy to stop himself.)

⭐️

The side effects take weeks to finally leave, his body having a hard time adjusting to not only a deadly virus in his bloodstream, but some of the strongest drugs on the market inhibiting his natural enzyme production. Eventually, though, he’s back at work properly, selling a story about a simultaneous gastro-intestinal virus making the flu exponentially worse.

He’s not really sure everyone believes him, but nobody questions it out loud, so he avoids everyone’s eyes and takes it as a win.

Nobody gets close enough to try, anyway. He pushes everyone away, holds them at arm's length no matter how much they kick and scream and claw their way closer to him. It surprises him how persistent Derek is, and for a moment he feels a sad flutter of hope in his stomach and he’s forced to stamp it down: Derek sees him as a brother, a friend, a colleague, not a potential romantic partner.

And it would be irrelevant, even if he did. Derek wouldn’t want him as any of those things if he knew what he was hiding. Ever since his lapse in judgement on the case in Vermont, he’s refused to spend any time alone with Derek, and he hates the hurt he sees in his eyes, hates that he can’t scream at him that this is for his own good. But he can’t know. Because Spencer is still ruled by his relentless selfish desires, and he can’t let Derek go, no matter how hard he tries to.

Kept at arm’s length at least means he’s still touching his shoulders.

He muddles through the next few months on his own, returning to his quiet apartment every night and eating a sad, lonely dinner on his sad, lonely sofa before punching his way through a blister pack, taking his tablets, and going to sleep. He turns down drinks invitations, declines phone calls, ignores text messages. He pretends he isn’t home when there are knocks at his door.

He takes showers that are too hot and cries on the metro, scrubs his fingernails and his face, and when he got a shallow knife wound on a case last month, wouldn’t let a single member of the team near him. Whispering his status, shame-faced, to the attending EMT.

This is it, he thinks one night, as he opens the microwave and takes out the mac-and-cheese ready meal he’d bought on the way home that night. He doesn’t even like mac-and-cheese. It was just the only thing left in the store at 8.30pm. This is my life now. Standing in my kitchen at 9.15pm, not being able to remember the last time I was actually happy.

(He does remember, really. It was Sunday the 13th of March, 9.37am: Derek had ruffled his hair and joked with him as they waited alone in the conference room to find out what was so urgent they were being called into work on the weekend for. Spencer could still feel the aftermath of his Saturday night tryst, and pretended for a brief few minutes that that encounter was with Derek, and those jokes were actually flirting. But then the case took over, then the flu symptoms, and then. Well.)

Before he can carry the mac-and-cheese into the living room, though, there’s a knock at the door. Everyone had mostly given up on turning up unannounced, so it catches him off-guard, and something in him, some vain flicker of hope, or maybe a masochistic desire to hurt even more, propels him forward until he’s opening it and coming face to face with Derek Morgan.

“Spencer,” he says urgently, and panic immediately grips Spencer as he wonders what could be so wrong that he’d need to show up out of the blue, but Derek must see it on his face. “Nothing’s happened, don’t worry, I just… I need to speak to you.”

A knot of something that Spencer can’t quite place tightens in his stomach as he stares at the myriad of emotions playing across Derek’s face, but he steps aside to let him in anyway. He closes the door behind them and feels a flash of embarrassment at the state of his apartment. It’s completely clean — his already rigorous attitude towards germ and cleanliness have only intensified in the last few months as paranoia plagued his mind relentlessly — but it’s barren of any joy, and it couldn’t be more obvious.

The furniture is drab and Spencer’s packed away all the photos and trinkets that used to litter the entire place because they just made him too sad to look at. The only life that remains is his books, and the sheet he’d hung to cover them up in a fit of rage a couple of weeks ago still hangs there limply. He hadn’t wanted to see his books: didn’t want the temptation of touching them and tainting them. What if he got a papercut on one of the pages and his virus-ridden blood spilled across the words he treasures so dearly?

He watches as Derek surveys the place with a sad expression on his face, before recollecting himself and turning back to Spencer.

“I know you’ve been pulling away from us, Spence,” he says, almost breathless as he takes a seat on the sofa. Spencer doesn’t know what to do with his body, so he settles on remaining where he is: stock still facing the couch, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. “We’ve watched you become a shell of who you used to be, and we’re all worried about you—”

“I don’t—”

“No, just let me speak. Everyone is worried, and I am too, but… I’m also… I’m hurt, Spencer. You’re pushing me away, turning me down every time I try to get close to you, and it’s painful because you’re my friend. You’re my best friend, and you mean the world to me.”

I wouldn’t if you knew my secret, he thinks miserably, but he doesn’t say anything.

“More than anything, though, it hurts… because I’m in love with you.”

Spencer stares. He’s hallucinating, he has to be.

“And I know — well, I don’t know because we’ve never talked about it — but I know you’re probably straight and even if you were interested in guys, too, who’s to say you’d be in love with me back? But I had to tell you because our relationship is heading south anyway, plummeting straight for the ground, and I figured it couldn’t hurt, I just… say something? Please?”

He doesn’t mean to say it.

“I’m HIV positive.”

It’s Derek’s turn to stare. Spencer can’t meet his eyes, and suddenly feeling like he needs to Get Out, he rushes to the kitchen and picks up his rapidly cooling mac-and-cheese. He gets a fork out and faces the countertop, away from Derek, as he starts to shovel unsatisfying bites into his not-hungry stomach.

It can’t even be a full minute later that he hears footsteps behind him. “You have AIDS?”

He sets the mac-and-cheese back on the counter. “No,” he answers, not turning around. “I tested positive for HIV; I don’t meet AIDS criteria. My CD4 levels are apparently very good, and the medication I’m taking is proving effective in controlling and managing the virus. I don’t have side effects anymore, and I don’t feel any different than I did before I contracted it.”

There’s a beat of silence. “And this is why you’ve been pulling away from us?”

Spencer hesitates before nodding shamefully, his eyes burning a hole in his dinner. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone, and I—” He’s cut off by a heaving sob. It catches him by surprise, but suddenly he’s choking on emotion: everything he’s been through, everything he’s been dealing with alone for so long a burden he no longer knows how to carry.

“Oh, baby,” Derek breathes, rushing forward and turning Spencer until his face is pressed into his neck and their arms are wrapped around one another. The nickname only furthers his emotion, falling apart completely in such a way that makes him unsure he’ll ever be put back together again. “I’m so sorry.”

He lets Spencer cry it out until his sobs recede and his tears slow, and he feels confident enough to pull away and meet Derek’s eye properly again. It feels like a reconnection; a reconciliation of sorts, and his breath catches at the emotion on his face. He’d expected a meddle of sympathy and disgust, but all he finds is compassion and love, tinged by a sadness Spencer supposes probably comes from watching the man you’ve just professed to love fall apart like that.

Oh wait. Derek just told him—

“You love me?” His voice comes out quieter and shyer than he’d hoped, and not nearly as incredulous as he’d intended, but Derek softens anyway.

“Yes,” he says emphatically. “So much. And if you think you telling me this is going to change how I feel even a bit, then you’re dead wrong, Spencer.”

It’s suddenly too much to think that everything he’d feared happening for the last few months was wrong, and he’s gasping for breath again, sinking to the ground to bury his face in his hands.

“Spence?” Derek asks worriedly, following him to the floor. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No… please, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He takes a deep breath, trying to recenter himself, ground himself in the reality that’s unfolding before him, no matter how different it might look than that of his anticipation. “You know, the man. Um, the man I… contracted this from. I slept with him because he looked like you.”

He looks up and meets Derek’s eyes again, searching for anything in them to confirm that he was thinking all the thoughts Spencer feared and coming up empty. “I was so heartsick that I got blind-drunk and slept with a complete stranger because it was the closest to you I ever thought I’d get and then I was just so scared of what everyone would say when I found out. I know logically that HIV doesn’t make someone dangerous or unclean, but I just couldn’t shake this feeling of shame, you know? I was constantly panicked that I’d pass it to one of you. Besides, I’m not even out to the team, and I know the implications of a disease like this: gay or an IV drugs user — I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I was both. I’m clean, and I’ve stayed clean, I just…”

“Hey, I get it,” Derek says gently, reaching out a hand and cupping Spencer’s cheek gently. “I think if I was in the same boat I probably would’ve reacted in exactly the same way. You can’t be blamed for bowing to a social stigma this heavy, Spence. I’m just sorry I didn’t realise what was going on sooner. And even sorrier, for that matter, that I didn’t tell you I was in love with you before this even had a chance to happen.”

Spencer smiles a little at that. “Hey, I didn’t tell you either. I don’t blame you at all. Neither of us were out and confessing something like that is no small feat.”

“I suppose so.”

Spencer shifts a little in his position on the floor, the raging storm of emotion that he’s been drowning under for the past four and a half months quieting for the very first time. He breathes deeply for a few seconds before working up the courage to ask the question he really wants the answer to. “I know you said that this doesn’t change the way you feel—”

“And it doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods, because suddenly he gets that. He isn’t sure what took so long. “But does it make you not want to be in a relationship with me?”

“Spencer, no.” Derek’s voice is urgent as he makes intense eye contact with him, raising a gentle finger to his chin. “It doesn’t change a single. thing. I don’t know much about HIV, I’ll admit, but I do know that these days you can get to a point where it doesn’t transmit to partners. And we can be really safe about it. I’ll do all the research to make you comfortable, but Spencer, even if it did mean that we could never have sex, I’d still want you. I want you so badly, pretty boy.”

He can hardly believe his ears. “Really?”

“Really.” He swipes his thumb across his cheek, catching a falling tear. “I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with you, Spencer. I have been for years. You can ask, Penelope: she’s been putting up with my pining like a saint, but I’m not sure she could’ve taken it much longer.”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, too.” Another tear falls as the prospect of what’s about to happen really sinks in.

“Can I?” Derek murmurs, as he inches closer ever so slowly.

“Please,” Spencer whispers, barely finishing the word before their lips are colliding and a flurry of butterflies break out in his stomach as his chest glows with the warmth of a kiss he’s long been aching for. Derek’s hands find his waist, his jaw, his cheek, his hair, exploring his body ever so softly as he kisses him with the same inquisitive gentleness, managing to take him apart with just his lips and his hands.

“God,” he whispers as he finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to Spencer’s as he struggles to hide his wide grin. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve dreamed of that. I’m gonna be like a teenage girl tonight, running my fingers across my lips as I remember every minute of it.”

Spencer giggles at that. “Well you can rest easy in the knowledge that I’ll be doing the same.” He pulls away slightly and looks down for a second before looking back up into Derek’s earnest gaze. “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“I’ll kiss you like that every day for as long as you’ll have me.” He doesn’t hesitate to lean back in, connecting their lips again as they melt into one another’s touches, and it makes Spencer laugh later that the most intimate and passionate encounter of his life so far happened on the kitchen floor.

They pull apart as soon as it heats up a little bit, and pain flashes across both of their expressions at the thought of why.

“There’s this thing called PrEP,” Spencer says, still a little ashamed of his situation, that Derek has to be protected against him before they can take this any further. “It’s medication that you take before and after sex with a HIV positive person that blocks the virus from entering your bloodstream if you were to somehow contract it. And we can wear condoms. And once I reach an undetectable viral load, it means the virus is untransmittable, and you won’t contract it even if we’re unprotected.”

Derek blinks. “Wow, that’s… that’s better than I thought.”

“Really? You’re still okay with all this?”

He softens. “Pretty boy, I am so okay with all this, and I’m sorry that you spent so long thinking otherwise. We have time to figure all this out, but what matters is that right now, I have you next to me, and we love each other. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and leans forward to kiss Derek chastely. “I do.”

“Now, how about we bin that disgusting mac-and-cheese and order some Chinese?” he suggests, matching Spencer’s smile. “We could eat it in bed and watch one of those documentaries you’re always talking about.”

Spencer laughs fondly. “You want our first date to be eating takeaway and watching a science documentary in bed?”

“Well it sounds perfect to me.”

“Yeah, it sounds pretty perfect to me, too,” Spencer whispers, the happiness in his chest feeling warm and inviting, begging him to bask in the moment for as long as he can.

They’ll work out the specifics later — they’ll get Derek started on PrEP and attend Spencer’s appointments to measure his viral load, they’ll have important and serious conversations about the risks to both of them, they’ll work out what their relationship means for work, how they’ll begin to repair the damage the last few months have done to Spencer’s mental health — but right now, none of that matters.

All that does is: the buffet of Chinese food Derek lays out on a blanket on Spencer’s bed, the documentary about bees playing on the TV, and the thrilled little glances thrown each other’s way, the stolen kisses and casual touches, the love palpable in the air around them. And later, when the food is eaten, and the documentary is playing the credits: Spencer’s tired head resting on Derek’s loving chest, and the syncing of their heartbeats as they fall asleep to the sound of each other.

This shouldn't have to be said but please do not use fanfiction as sex education and PLEASE practice safe sex. As far as I know, all the information included in this fic is correct, but I have no personal experience with HIV/AIDS, and this is very much written from an outsider's perspective - albeit a thoroughly researched one.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @jellejareau @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic-not-stupid (taglist form)

[kharonion]

I've been brainstorming Rom and Oswald's relationship growth all day today, and this scene just... came out during some stream of consciousness writing. Not sure if I'm going to keep this as exactly how it happens... but I gotta say, it's hitting me right in the damn feels.

This takes place shortly after Rom gets mangled by a Gatorclaw while out searching for traces of Rachel (he's still in Operators at this time). So, yes, there are spoilers for that--be warned! And though he and Oswald aren't A Thing just yet... goddamn, do they have the chemistry.

(This is my first time writing Oswald, so apologies if it isn't perfectly in-character. I have to get a feel for it.)

“I should’ve known—they’re raiders, for God’s sake—I should’ve known they’d abandon you...” A deep breath, slow and pained. A sigh that's quickly a sob lodged, unable to escape.

Gradually, feeling is returning to his body. Wiggles of his toes, twitches of his fingers. Muscles full of lead, a spectral anvil crushing him, keeping him stationary. Every second, his nerves spark on fire all over again.

The rattling from a string of coughs escaping his dry throat is agony. A sharp yelp startles both him and his caretaker... and only a moment later does he realize that was from him.

Compared to everything else, the prick of a needle is a cakewalk. Slowly, he feels the pain lessen just a little.

"Dominic? Can you hear me?"

The name orients him immediately because only one person calls him that anymore.

"Oz..."

"Ssh, now, easy does it," Oswald mutters—partly under his breath. He offers a gentle touch to a shoulder. Not just a reassurance, but a way to keep him in place. "You're-You're in a bad state. Don't strain yourself."

Just what the hell happened? Rom only vaguely recalls.

He'd found Rachel. Buried her. Started back here. A Gatorclaw crossed his path.

From there, the choppy memories become minced.

He'd tried sneaking past—didn't work. Then chucked grenades at its feet—didn't work. Then, pain. The stab of its claws, the crush of its grip, the power of its throw as it tossed him away.

Fuck, the right side of his body hurts.

"Oz," he croaks, "how did you find me?"

"Myra led me to you."

"Lady Victory herself? Flattering."

Oswald chuckles, and that serves as more a remedy than the Med-X slugging through his veins. Though he's taken aback that it's... muffled. Odd enough that he's brought to ask, "Oz... just how bad is it?"

The silence isn't boding well.

It's then that Rom forces his eyes open, just a crack. The soft lights of the dressing room blanket him, warm him... but half of the expanse of his vision is a haze. Clouded. Useless.

Oswald's anxiety is palpable.

"When I found you— It-It's bad, Dominic. You were so mangled, I didn't know if..." If you were dead.

Must be, considering he can't hear or see for shit; a concern which he's apparently made known aloud without noticing.

"What...?"

"My right... all of it." Weakly, Rom gestures—or attempts to—resulting in a hiss pulling from him. "It's fucked. Can't see, only hear this damn ringing."

"Shit..." It takes a lot to bring Oswald to the point of such candor. He sighs, adjusts the blanket covering Rom, his tender touch soothing. "I-I was hoping I stimmed you in time, laid you down upstairs, but..."

Guilt; it seeps from Oswald like the radiation from his glowing form. Rom grips his hand almost immediately.

"Oz. Don't start that shit. You saved my life."

The magician is a broken man. Has been for a long time. But, something about laying here, pulled from the brink of death, and only seeing sadness in his eyes... it hits Rom as hard as the ground had.

Rachel. She weighs heavy between them. Her fate known only to one of the two. The note is nestled in one of Rom's belt pouches. He deserves to know.

A wave of pain crashes into him, jerking his limbs and dizzying him so great that he damn near hurls all over himself. Oswald's hand returns the death grip he has around it.

"Please, Dominic, you should rest."

Rom isn't going to have much choice in the matter; unconsciousness creeps up on him steadily. He won't let it, not before he tells him.

"There's... a note for you. Back pouch of my belt. Please... be here..."

Be here when I wake up.

[ajeepgirl]

Dr. Love Drug

Summary:  Kara solar flares but then gets very very sick. In her very sick state, she takes a bunch of cough medicine and maybe gets a teeny tiny bit high from it, and then goes to the pharmacy for medicine. Once there, Kara meets the most beautiful woman she has ever seen. And well, in her current state, chaos ensues.

Read On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33649807

Kara was doing it herself. Alone. Solo. If only to prove to Alex, Maggie, Winn, Lucy, and James that she could. Sure, maybe she had never done it before, because she never needed to do it before. But here she was, doing it. She could do it.

That’s what she kept telling herself, anyway, as she walked down the street, to the pharmacy near her apartment.

Her pounding head and double vision be damned.

She really hates it when she solar flares… Even more so when she winds up sick because of it. This time though, she isn’t just sick, no, she somehow got a massive sinus affection, pink eye, and the flu, all at the same time. All her friends were steering clear of her. Even Alex didn’t want to go near her.

Kara stumbles as she walks into the pharmacy, catching herself on a shelf, she blinks a few times to try to clear her vision and her head. It doesn’t help. Neither did the bottle of cough syrup she chugged that morning, apparently, as she coughs a few times. Nothing seems to help. She has no idea how humans stand being sick. Or how they haven’t figured out how to eradicate bacteria and viruses that lead to this level of suffering. She attempts to breathe through her nose, before remembering how stuffed it is, and resorts back to her awkward mouth breathing as she makes her way to the back of the store to the pharmacy (“You need real medicine!” Alex insisted, as she filled out some pad with scribbles on it).

It’s what led to Kara coming here. Alex was filling it out, saying she would run to the pharmacy for her, when she got a call from the DEO, from J’onn. It was an emergency. Kara insisted she could get the medicine herself. She knew without Supergirl, that the DEO needed her sister. Alex hesitated, she didn’t want Kara wandering around the city alone, in her current state. But when Kara pointed out that Alex had no idea how long her emergency would take, she caved and handed over the white slip of paper, setting it on the counter, giving Kara plenty of space, not wanting to catch whatever plague she had.

Alex thought she was funny. Kara did not.

As Kara approached the pharmacy, she waited for the person in front of her to finish, and she noticed how her head felt like it was flying… or more accurately, floating, several feet above her body. Was this another symptom? Maybe she did overdo it with the cough syrup after Alex left. She had no idea how much to take. The numbers on the bottle were too small to read in her current condition. Oh well. Too late now.

“Next?” Kara hears the female voice through her muffled ears.

Kara smiles widely as she hands over the folded pieces of paper. The pharmacist, a woman with long dark hair and piercing green eyes, takes the paper and opens it, and then looks back at Kara, her eyebrow raised curiously.

“Miss, this isn’t your prescription. It’s just a sticky note with your name and number.”

Now, if Kara had been in her right state of mind, she would have realized her error. She would have realized that she had grabbed the wrote piece of paper off her counter at the apartment. She had written this down before, when she was prepping for a meeting with a contact for a new article. She wanted to have it ready to go, to hand off to the person. But then a fight happened, and the solar flare happened, and she got sick… and well, the paper ended up back on her counter.

Apparently, right next to where Alex sat the prescription.

Kara, however, was not in her right state of mind. Oh no, in fact, the moment she looked at the woman behind the counter, all she could focus on was how strikingly beautiful she was. Her jawline could cut glass. Her hair was long but pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her eyes, though, are what Kara couldn’t stop going back to.

As the woman spoke to Kara, she simply stared back for a moment, the fog in her mind seeming to block out her ability to function.

“Miss?” The woman said again.

This time, Kara looks at the pharmacist, the wide grin back on her face, her nose red, as her brain decides to work a little bit more as she says, “I guess I just need your love drug.”

The pharmacist simply stares back, silent.

But Kara, she didn’t stop there, oh no. She then leans in, and whispers. “Can I tell you something?”

The woman is now smirking, intrigued by the clearly very sick and apparently high, person before her. The woman bends forward ever so slightly. “I’m listening.”

Kara looks around, dramatically, to the very empty area around her. “I’m Supergirl.”

And then… Kara gives her a wink… and does finger guns.

It’s surreal, as the woman stands there, staring at her, taking her in fully for the first time, really sizing her up. As she does, Kara reaches up to take her glasses off. And that’s when she realizes… she was never wearing them.

Her eyes go wide as she looks back at the woman before her, as a second of sanity creeps its way into the fog of Kara’s mind as she also realizes that in her sick state, she has also left her hair hang down. “Oh Rao. I just did that.”

And the woman laughs.

“It is not funny,” Kara says as she leans back down again, this time at her name tag, “Dr. Kieran.”

The woman looks backward to the clock on the wall. “It’s time for my break, let’s take a walk, shall we?”

Kara’s eyes widen and then narrow. “Why?”

This time, the woman, Dr. Kieran, leans in. Kara naturally also tilts in to listen. “Because we shouldn’t talk about secret identities in public.”

Kara nods seriously as Dr. Kieran disappears for a moment in the back of the pharmacy and then reappear as she exits the pharmacy from a door a few feet from Kara. She waves Kara over to her as she walks towards the exit.

“Do you live near here?” she asks Kara as they make their way outside.

Kara nods and heads in that direction, with Dr. Kieran a half step behind her. Halfway there though, Kara starts to get woozy, the energy needed to be up and moving around this much apparently taking more out of her than she realizes. She turns to her new friend, eyes a little panicked looking. “Um… I think… I might…”

“Oh, fuck me. Don’t you dare-” Dr. Kieran says it as she turns to Kara, arms out, ready to catch her.

And that’s all Kara hears before she feels herself start to fall and the world goes black.

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

Kara feels warm, like she is wrapped by the sun when she starts to awaken. It takes her a moment to realize she is wrapped in several blankets. As she opens her eyes, she realizes she is most definitely not in her own apartment. She starts to sit up, a quick gasp coming out of her mouth.

“Woah, easy there,” comes the melodious voice from earlier that day. A hand lands on her shoulder. Kara turns slightly to see the familiar green eyes. “Easy, Kara, you might pass out again.”

Kara hesitates, feeling the woman’s hand on her shoulder and recalling the events from earlier. “How long was I out?” she asks.

Dr. Kieran glances at the clock on the wall. “About two hours.”

Kara looks around for her phone but doesn’t see it anywhere. “Do you know where my phone is?”

Dr. Kieran’s head tilts in confusion. “You didn’t have a phone on you, Kara. Just some cash and that sticky note you… mistook for a prescription.”

Kara feels her cheeks go red. “Right…”

Dr. Kieran sits down next to her on the coffee table. “Hey, I need to check your temperature, ok? See if your fever has broken.”

Kara nods, giving permission to Dr. Kieran, who then feels her forehead. “Oh good, I think it has finally broken. Now, do you want to tell me exactly how much cough syrup you took? I was afraid to give you any medicine because I wasn’t sure exactly how high you were.”

Kara feels her cheeks turn a brighter shade of red. “I… um… well… I wasn’t sure how much was enough… and I just… wouldn’t stop coughing…”

Dr. Kieran hums. “Don’t get sick often do we, Supergirl?”

Kara’s eyes widen. “What? Um… I’m not… who told you that?”

“You did.” She says, matter-of-factly.

The reminder sends the memory flashing through Kara’s mind. “Oh Rao. I… I said that… in public. Alex is going to kill me.”

“Who is Alex?” Dr. Kieran asks, interrupting Kara’s thoughts of panic.

“Oh, my… my sister. She is very protective of me.”

Dr. Kieran nods understandingly. “Well, my security specialist Querl has already made the security tape from the pharmacy disappear.”

“I’m… wait, you did what now?” Kara says confused.

The woman smiles at Kara mischievously. “I said, your sister doesn’t need to worry, I was the only one there when you said it, and any proof of you saying it, has been taken care of.”

“Wow… um… thank you,” Kara stammers out as she feels her face heating up again.

Dr. Kieran half smiles. “Now that we have all that settled. How about I get you some soup from my kitchen, and we get you all better, ok?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Kara says. “I… I can go home… I can manage…”

“Kara, please don’t take this the wrong way, but you clearly have no idea what to do when you are sick. And it appears, based on the fact that you showed up at the pharmacy, that you could use someone’s assistance in this matter. So please, let me help you.”

“Why? I mean… why would you help me? Why not out me? You literally have my full name and number.”

The pharmacist gives Kara a sad smile. “I know you don’t know me, personally, Kara. But you spend your time, when you are being Supergirl, protecting people. I assume that means you think there are people worth protecting, yes?”

Kara nods slowly.

“Well, even superheroes need protecting, sometimes too. Whether that is from some big bad evil person, or from a teeny tiny flu virus. So please, let me help you this one time.” She gives Kara a small smile as she gets up and walks off toward the kitchen, though not before giving her a small squeeze on the shoulder.

Kara lays back down, her mind swirling. This woman, Dr. Kieran, might just be the most brilliant, kindhearted, beautiful soul she has ever met.

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

Kara falls asleep shortly after she finishes the soup. When she awakes again, she finds Dr. Kieran in the chair next to her, reading a book.

“Ah, how is our patient?” she asks, seeing Kara stirring as she sits up.

Kara takes stock of her symptoms, noticing that she can breathe a little easier now. “I think I am on the mend, doc,” she says with a smile.

“Lena,” she says in return. “You can call me Lena.”

Kara smiles. “Thank you for your hospitality. I should probably get going though. My sister is probably freaking out.”

“Oh… about that,” Lena says as she pulls out a familiar phone. “With your name and number, I was able to find your address. I sent Querl over to retrieve your phone. Good thing I did too, you left your door unlocked.”

Kara blushes as she takes the phone from Lena. “Thank you…”

She sees five missed calls from her sister. “Oh no… Um… excuse me?”

Lena nods with a small smile. “Of course, I will make myself scarce so you can talk to your sister.”

The conversation doesn’t go completely awful. Though Kara might have skipped over the part where she told the pharmacist that she was Supergirl and only told her sister the part about how she passed out and the pharmacist she met is taking care of her for now.

“My sister would like for me to text her your address. Otherwise, she might be forced to use her government job to find you,” Kara says, using air quotes for the second part of her statement, as Lena reenters the room a few minutes later.

Lena laughs. “Good luck with that.”

Kara’s head tilts in confusion.

Lena only shrugs. “Long story. Look, I can drive you back to your place, whenever you want. No need for big sis to storm the castle.”

“Thank you,” Kara says with a gracious smile.

“I didn’t know Supergirl had a sister,” Lena says as she sits back down in her chair.

“Oh… she is human. My… adopted sister, from my Earth family. Very wonderful people. But very protective.”

“Ah, I see, adoption is… always complicated,” Lena says solemnly.

“You were adopted too?” Kara asks.

Lena nods. “When I was four. But we should really be focusing on you, Kara and getting you better.”

“You are doing a great job so far,” Kara says with a toothy smile.

“Oh, is my love drug working?” Lena says back with a smirk.

Kara’s face turns bright red. “Um…”

Lena chuckles. “How about I get you some fluids, maybe some water and Gatorade?”

She stands up and walks off, leaving Kara to stammer to herself for a moment. By the time Lena comes back with the drinks for her, Kara has seemingly recovered enough to speak again.

Lena hands her the water first. “Thank you. And can I just say, for the record, you are an amazingly gorgeous, attractive person.”

Lena smiles, a slight blush creeping up her neck.

“And I would love to have met you under circumstances where I wasn’t…”

“High on cough syrup?”

“Sick, I was going to say, sick,” Kara counters. “Anyway… I wanted to also thank you for taking care of me… and apologize for ruining your day.”

Lena sits down on the coffee table in front of Kara as she speaks, an odd, unreadable expression on her face. “You… don’t need to apologize for anything, Kara. I am just glad that it seems like after a few more hours of sleep, that you are nearly recovered. I assume that perhaps your powers are starting to return?”

Kara gives a small nod. “I think my cells are slowly reactivating, yes. I can tell that my sickness is nearly gone.”

“That’s wonderful. You will be out there saving people again in no time.”

“Wait, how did you know my powers were returning?” Kara asks, her mind finally starting to work a bit clearer again.

Lena has a thin small smile. “I suppose I couldn’t convince you that I just looked it up on the internet, could I?”

Kara’s head tilts sideways as she gives a soft, pouting look.

Lena lets out a low sigh. “I have a sibling too.”

“Oh?” Kara asks, unsure of how this connects at all to what they were just talking about. She is even more confused than before.

“You have probably heard of him since your cousin has worked closely with him,” Lena says as she stares down at the floor.

“Wh… what are you saying, Lena?” Kara asks as she sits up fully now.

Lena looks up, green eyes meeting blue as she searches in Kara, hoping that Kara won’t judge her for what she is about to say.

“My brother is Lex… Lex Luthor.”

The room falls silent.

Kara stares at Lena.

Seconds tick by.

Lena, unable to take it any longer, stands and says, “I understand… I can drive you home… or pay a service to take you home… whichever you prefer.”

Kara’s hand reaches out, and grabs Lena’s, holding her in place. “No, wait, I’m sorry. I’m just… still processing.”

Lena looks down, seeing Kara’s hand still wrapped around her own. She looks back at Kara, who uses her free hand to pat the couch, inviting Lena to sit next to her. “Please, sit down? I would like to hear your story… if you want to share it.”

Lena lets out a shaky breath as she smiles and says, “Ok.”

She sits next to Kara and tells her all about her life, though she focuses mostly on the past couple of years. She tells her how she went into hiding after Lex’s attack. She knows it is only a matter of time before he finds a way out of prison. So, she went into hiding under the name Kieran. She moved across the country to National City and got a job as a pharmacist. She has a private security team that she trusts with her life, and she has a small science lab in her home where she continues to tinker and build inventions. And she hopes to eventually launch a new science and technology company under a new name. But for now, she is steering clear of the limelight and of Lex’s prying eyes.

Kara is quiet as she listens intently to Lena’s story. She remembers her own thoughts from earlier that day and is glad she was right - brilliant, kindhearted, beautiful.

“Lena, wow, I’m glad you are safe.”

“You… you believe me?” Lena asks, surprised.

Kara nudges her with her shoulder. “Of course, I believe you. You literally took care of me all day today. You rescued me. I mean, I was wondering around the city, completely discombobulated, out of my mind, and then I passed out. You are my knight in a white lab coat!”

This draws a laugh out of them both.

“I’m glad I could help, Kara, seriously. I know I don’t have to… but a part of me feels like I should be trying to make up for all the evil things my brother has done.”

Kara nods, knowingly. “I understand. In a lot of ways, I feel like I am trying to make up for the sins of my people… I… I have to save this world because my parents couldn’t save my world.”

“Wow… yeah, Kara… that’s… that’s a heavy burden to carry. Can I ask, why you and not your cousin?”

Kara lets out a long sigh before she explains. “He was an infant… he has no memory of our planet. But me, I was a teenager. And it was my parents who played a huge role in the destruction of the planet by ignoring my Aunt Astra’s warnings. So… in a way… I have to make sure that I do not repeat the sins of my family’s past… my people’s past. My cousin, Superman, Kal El, he has no memories of these things… so they do not weight on him… or haunt him… like they do me.”

“Kara…” Lena says, trailing off. “I… I don’t know what to say… I cannot image being the last of your people… to have lost so much… and yet still feel such a strong desire to help and to protect… I think I would drown in my sorrow if I was in your position.”

Kara’s eyes glimmer with the hint of tears as she shrugs slightly. “Sometimes I do.”

Lena wraps an arm around Kara. “And that’s ok. I lose it all the time because of what happened with my brother.”

This makes Kara chuckle a little as she lets herself sink into Lena. “Just wait until you see Alex blow up at me for being gone for so long. She is going to lose her mind.”

That makes them both laugh even more.

They stay like that for some time, chatting about siblings and family and life before and after being adopted. They can both sense a shared connection, something beyond the fact that Kara is a Super and that Lena is a Luthor. There is something underneath the hero/villain storyline personified by their family ties. There is a story of heartbreak and tragedy and loss that both share. There is the openness and hope that Kara still carries strongly with her, which Lena cannot help but admire. There is the unwavering kindness and brilliance that Lena has despite the way she has been treated by those who claimed to love her throughout her life, which Kara cannot help but be in awe of.

When there is a pounding on Lena’s door later that evening, the two finally pull apart.

“That would be Alex,” Kara says, standing up.

Lena chuckles. “I know. I had Querl wait by your apartment to give her my address.”

Kara laughs, knowing Alex will be so angry she couldn’t figure it out herself. Lena makes her way to the door as Kara follows closely behind.

“Hello, Agent Danvers,” Lena says as she opens the door.

Kara pokes her head from behind Lena. “Hey sis! Give me one minute, ok! I’ll be out in one minute, I promise!”

Alex’s eyes go furious with murder as she grits her teeth. “Fine. One minute.” She eyes Lena closely as Lena smiles widely and closes the door again.

She turns to face Kara, a curious look on her face.

“Well, doc, I don’t have your number. You know, in case I need it for… a follow up.”

Lena’s lips purse together as she tries to hide the smile that wants to launch across her face. She holds her hand out for Kara’s phone, which Kara excitedly hands over. When Lena hands it back, Kara can’t help but giggle when she sees what Lena puts in for her name.

Dr. Love Drug

Kara immediately opens her camera, looks her arm around Lena, and pulls her in for a selfie. Lena’s only half smiling in the picture, caught between a look of confusion and attempting to smile for the picture. Kara sends the picture to Lena as soon as she takes it.

“You know, in case you wanted a token to remember the day,” Kara says with a grin as Lena hears her phone go off from the other room.

Lena shakes her head side to side. “What have I gotten myself into?” she says out loud.

“Oh, just you wait, all the cute dog videos are coming your way,” Kara responds as she opens the door.

Lena smiles fondly. “Goodbye, Kara.”

Kara looks back at Lena one final time, smiling brightly. “Thanks again, Lena.”

[whumpcollector]

Lucas Pt.8: The gladiator and the Captain

Hey everyone. Here I am, back at it again with Lucas. There’s a bit of character introduction and set up coming so hopefully ya’ll don’t mind the slower pace. Hope you all enjoy.

CW: Mentions of vomiting

Lucas knelt over a bucket, dry heaving and choking as his stomach churned. Sweat poured down his forehead, his body shaking as another wave of nausea washed over him.

“I am so sorry Lucas,” Jawad said, kneeling beside the boy and patting his back. “I didn’t think you would take to the tincture this poorly...”

Lucas tried to respond, but any attempt at speaking was shut down as another dry heave hit him. Nothing came up, what little food Lucas had in his stomach had long since been expelled. All he could do now was wait for things to pass. 

Jawad signed, walking over to his desk and picking up his journal. He scribbled in the pages, shaking his head slightly. He turned back to Lucas. “Do you at least feel like your magic has returned?”

Lucas took his head out of the bucket, holding up a shaky hand and trying to bring forth a flame. Nothing manifested and Lucas had to abandon his attempt as another wave hit him.

“I suppose that's a no then.”

It had been a couple of days since Lucas had first awoken. He had not left Jawad’s tent, the doctor insisting that Lucas remain so he could monitor his recovery. There had been no issues, by all accounts he was healing like any normal person would. Lucas didn’t know how he felt about that. It was good that nothing bad was happening, but it was also...strange. He was used to any injuries he had healing in a few hours at most. The need for bandages, the bleeding, the soreness that came from healing muscle, it all felt unnatural. 

He didn’t care to think about whether or not he would need to get used to it.

At last the nausea faded and Lucas was able to pull himself to his feet. He was still shaky, having to brace himself against the table to avoid falling over. Jawad gently grabbed onto his arm, guiding him over to the bed and letting him sit down. He handed Lucas a bowl of water, letting him rinse out his mouth. 

“Thank you.” Lucas said, bowing his head slightly. Jawad had so far not been partial to the more overt displays of submission that Captain Edwin had drilled into Lucas. Anything more than an appreciative thanks was dismissed as being ‘unnecessary’. Lucas was grateful that so far these mistakes had gone unpunished.

“No thanks needed Lucas, least of all because I just poisoned you…” Jawad trailed, flipping through his journal some more. “Hmmm, perhaps another potion might work...if only I had something more reliable than my old mentor’s theories.” He turned to Lucas. “Are you certain there is nothing you might know that could lead us in the right direction?”

Lucas thought for a moment, racking his brain before a memory stuck out. “When I was with my old masters I was given a sort of potion once. It, um, it sort of helped my magic after I had used it a lot.”

Jawad’s eyes lit up and he walked over to Lucas, sitting down next to him and focusing on him intently. “What do you remember about it? Taste, texture, smell.” 

Lucas tried to recall what he could. Everything before his time with Captain Edwin felt fuzzy, like he was trying to look at it through thick fog. “Um, it was thick...I think? Yes it was a thick liquid and…” Lucas trailed off, trying to remember anything else. “I think...it burned when I drank it.”

Jawad nodded, writing in his journal before responding. “Do you know what it was called? Or where your...old master,” he frowned at the word, “purchased it?” 

Lucas shook his head. “No.”

“Any specific taste, any...side effects of the potion?”

“N-no.”

“Do you remember what color it was?”

“It...no.”

“Did it have a particular smell?”

“It...it smelled...sweet?”

Jawad hummed to himself, flipping through the pages of his journal rapidly. After a seemingly unsuccessful search he stood up and walked over to his table, sifting through several thick tomes and other journals. Lucas watched apprehensively, shrinking back as the doctor became more and more frustrated with his search. After what must have been at least half an hour Jawad slammed the book he was holding onto the table, causing Lucas to flinch.

“Well, there are at least a dozen theoretical,” he spat the word out like it tasted of ash, “concoctions and tinctures that help restore the use of magic and share some similarities with what you described, but without any more details I can’t determine which, if any, of the ones in my records match the one you were given.” He pinched his forehead. “Much less if any of them work.”

Lucas bowed his head. “I-I’m sorry for not being of any help, a-and for wasting your time.”

Jawad sighed, walking back over to Lucas, patting the boy on his shoulder. “It's not your fault.” He turned away, crossing his arms and placing a hand on his chin. “Perhaps it's time you introduce yourself to the others in camp. From what I can tell your recovery is coming along fine, and I imagine you’d want to get out of this tent by now.”

Lucas swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry. He had been dreading this, being forced to serve the others in the camp. Jawad had been easy to satisfy so far, and he was just getting used to how to address and act around him. Now he would have to learn all over again, with people likely far less forgiving than Jawad was. 

Still, it wasn’t up to him who he did and did not serve.

Jawad must have taken Lucas’s silence as agreement, which it was in a way, and beckoned Lucas to follow him out of the tent. Lucas complied, walking out from under the tent flaps and into the camp itself. He squinted at the sun, the bright light hurting his eyes after so long in relatively dim conditions. 

“Ah, Lucas. I see you are on your feet now. That is good news.”

Lucas turned to see Mehrzad approaching him, saber slung over his shoulder and helmet held at his side. He was the only person Lucas had really seen over the past few days, often bringing Jawad food or supplies he requested. He didn’t really talk to Lucas, usually only staying around long enough to drop off what he needed to and say a few parting words to his husband. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, looking Lucas up and down.”You seem a bit pale.”

“I am afraid that would be my fault.” Jawad said. “The solution I made had some...unfortunate side effects.”

Mehrzad let out a hearty laugh. “Ah, I see you’ve been on the receiving end of my dear husband’s ‘experiments’. I remember one time when he tried to brew something for stomach pain. I wa-”

“I’M certain Lucas doesn’t wish to hear the, well, gory details of that...” Jawad trailed off with a chuckle. “Why don’t you show Lucas around the camp? I need to convince Jon to let me acquire another batch of ingredients. I’m not sure what they are yet, but I don’t imagine they will be cheap.”

Jawad walked off, healing towards a large tent towards the center of camp. Lucas guessed that was where Captain Jonathon was. Lucas hoped he wouldn’t get too mad at Jawad’s request. Jawad shouldn’t have to get in trouble for his sake.

And Lucas didn’t want the doctor to have any reason to vent his frustrations. 

Mehrzad clapped Lucas on the back, causing the boy to flinch slightly.“Well, looks like you are stuck with me for a while. Come, give you the tour.”

Lucas followed dutifully behind Mehrzad as he was led through the camp, head bowed and trailing by a couple of feet. The camp was large, with close to two dozen tents standing and numerous people milling around.

“Most of the people here are temporary hires, we call them ‘temps’. They usually only stick around for a few contracts or long enough to make it to a major city before leaving. You don’t need to worry too much about getting to know them, they’ll be replaced before you can get to remembering their names.”

Lucas grimaced at that. So many different people to get used to serving properly and he’d just have to relearn everything again later. Avoiding mistakes would be impossible. He looked around at some of the passing people. All of them looked imposing. Well built, big (or at least bigger than him), and...violent. A beating from any one of them wouldn’t be fun.

He decided not to think about what it would be like if they chose to gang up.

Lucas was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t realize Mehrzad had stopped walking. The two bumped into each other and Lucas sprung back, shying away and waiting for the reprimand. Mehrzad simply stared at him, confusion on his face. After a few moments of awkward silence, Mehrzad finally spoke.

“Are you alright Lucas?”

Lucas looked up meekly, scanning Merhzad’s face for any sign of displeasure. “Um...yes I am sir. S-sorry sir.”

“Apology accepted?” He cocked his head, studying Lucas before humming to himself. “Perhaps we should rest for a moment, come sit with me.”

Mehrzad sat on a nearby fallen log, gesturing for Lucas to join him. Lucas obeyed and took a seat on the log, just close enough that he wasn’t being disrespectful but not too close for his own comfort. Mehrzad had seemed merciful thus far and Lucas felt like the man would be willing to give this one liberty. The lack of any reprimand confirmed his guess and Lucas let himself relax just a tad.

“So, Lucas, how are you feeling? You seem to be in much better shape, my husband’s experiments aside.”

“Oh. I’m feeling alright. Jawad says that my healing is going normally.” 

“That is good news.” Mehrzad reached into one of his greaves and pulled out a small dagger. Lucas tensed, eyeing the weapon warily, but the man simply began to use the tip to clean beneath his fingernails. “If you don’t mind my asking, what were you traveling with that caravan for? From what I can tell you weren’t exactly there of your own desire.” He turned to Lucas, a playful smile on his face. “Am I in the presence of some dangerous killer?”

Lucas looked down at his hands, memories of the attack flooding mind. Scenes of bloody fields and butchered corpses. He felt his throat tighten and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. The bloodstained face of Harold flashed in his eyes and Lucas shook his head harshly, banishing the image before he had the chance to think about it. 

“You don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to.” Mehrzad said softly. 

Lucas’ head snapped up at Mehrzad’s words. The man had a concerned look on his face, eyebrows narrowed and lips formed into a small frown. Lucas swallowed thickly. “I was a performer for, for two of the men at the caravan.”

“A performer eh?” Mehrzad raised an eyebrow at the answer. “It's a difficult job, pleasing a crowd, isn’t it? You run yourself ragged putting on a show, put everything you have into it only for the slightest mistake to turn everyone against you.”

Lucas looked at the man taken somewhat aback. “Y-yes. It was difficult. My master Harold always made me do better after each performance.”

“Ah, yes. Always have to make it bigger, flashier, more impressive. First you’re fighting a single man, then you’re shoved into a pit filled with a dozen hyenas and given nothing more than a broken spear.” He shook his head, almost as if reminiscing. “I was a gladiator back in my homeland, a rather good one if I may say. Sometimes I can still hear the roar of the crowd in my ears.”

Lucas didn’t know if he should say anything. The two lapsed into an awkward silence as Lucas contemplated possible responses. Mehrzad coughed, fiddling with his dagger before placing it back into his greave. 

“What's it like, using magic?” 

Lucas started slightly, looking at Mehrzad and frowning. How would he describe it? 

“It...hurts.” Merhzad raised an eyebrow but didn’t commnet. “It hurts when I try to use it, like, like I'm lighting a fire inside of my body that burns me. The more I try to do, the hotter it is and if I do too much it...it hurts a lot more.” He paused, looking down at his hands and running his fingers along the leylines. “But, it also feels natural, like it's something I’m supposed to do. Without I...I feel wrong. Like, like I can’t blink or, or move my fingers.” 

Lucas sniffled. “I don’t like it.”

Lucas was crying. He hadn’t realized he was until a tear landed on the back of his hand. A shaky breath left him and he wiped at his eyes, trying to regain his composure as best he could. An arm wrapped around his shoulders and he turned to see Mehrzad looking at him sympathetically.

“I can’t imagine what that feels like, losing something so...integral to who you are.” He handed Lucas a small piece of cloth and let home clean off his face. “But don’t worry. You will get your magic back. Jawad, for all of his eccentricities, is brilliant. Whatever the solution is to your problem, he will find it. I assure you.”

Lucas nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The pair sat together as Lucas gathered himself. Close to an hour passed and Mehrzad stood up, stretching his back and gathering his gear.

“I must go, Lucas. I have a contract soon and I am to meet the others for a briefing. You take care of yourself alright?”

With that Mehrzad left, and Lucas was left alone. A sense of unease filled him. What should he do? He wasn’t given any orders or instructions. Was he just supposed to...wander around until someone told him to do something? 

Lucas stood in place for a few moments before deciding to do just that. He looked around and decided to walk towards the center of the camp. As he moved he took in his surroundings trying to notice any major landmarks he might be told to go to. As he searched he noticed a woman working at what looked like a giant cauldron. She was busy skinning what looked like a deer. A cook perhaps. 

Lucas decided to ask if she was in need of help. Kitchen work was easy and he was decent at it. He probably wouldn’t do anything that warranted punishment. 

Not that she would need a reason if she wanted to hurt him. 

He started walking towards the woman when he heard someone call out to him.

“HEY! Who the hell are you?”

Lucas turned to see a lean man walking towards him. He stood straight, bowing his head as the man approached. “Haven’t seen you around before. You a new hire?”

Lucas nodded. “Yes sir, my name is Lucas. I am here to serve at your command.”

The man released an eyebrow. “What, really?” He fiddled with the scabbard on his hip before producing a dirtied sword. “You uh, you gonna clean this then?”

Lucas deflated, so much for kitchen work. Still, an order was an order. “Of course sir, if that is what you desire.”

“Shit, well, have at it then.” He dropped the sword into Lucas’s arms. 

Lucas grasped the sword carefully, making sure to avoid the blade. He noticed the man walking away and called out after him. “Um, sir, do you know where I could find a rag?”

“Fuck if I know kid, you figure it out.”

Oh. Lucas looked down at the sword, and then at his surroundings. He didn’t see anywhere that might have something to clean with. Maybe he could ask someone. He noticed a woman walking by and tried to talk to her.

“Excuse me ma’am cou-”

“Piss off asshole, I'm not in the mood for chatter.”

She didn’t even look at him as she walked away. Lucas deflated further, looking down at the sword. He needed to get it cleaned soon. If he took too long the owner might get angry. Moving to a nearby fallen log to sit on Lucas began to rub at the sword with his shirt.

The work was slow, with most of the grime coating the blade taking considerable effort to work out. His shirt quickly became stained, with black and brown splotches dotting the area he used to wipe the blade. Just as he was about to finish a group of three other people walked up to him, dirty equipment in hand.

“Hey you, you the kid whose cleaning kit?”

Lucas looked up and nodded meekly. “Yes sir, I am here to serve at your command.”

“Damn, well here, clean this would ya?”

All three of them dumped their equipment at Lucas’ feet before walking off, leaving Lucas with a much larger workload. He sighed, his shoulder slumping at the sight of the pile. Dejectedly he placed the sword against the log he was sitting on and got to work cleaning off a breastplate.

News about his services spread throughout the camp, and before long Lucas had a barrack’s worth of arms and armor waiting for him to clean. After a few pieces Lucas just decided to strip his shirt off, using as much of the fabric as he could. It was long and exhausting work, with the last pieces being cleaned close to sundown. His arms ached from the rubbing and sweat poured down his face. As he hunched over the particularly filthy spear a shadow loomed over him. He sighed internally, something else to clean.

“Um, Lucas. What are you doing?”

Lucas looked up to see Captain Jonathon standing in front of him, eyebrows raised in confusion.

“I am cleaning this equipment, Captain Jonathan.”

“Uh-huh. Why exactly?”

“Because I was told to, Captain Jonathan.”

“Did you...want to clean all this equipment?”

“I am more than happy to serve, Captain Jonathan.”

“Uh-huuuhhh. And you are using your shirt to clean because…?

“I could not find a rag, Captain Jonathon.”

The captain looked down at him like he had sprouted a second head. Lucas squirmed under his gaze, unsure if he had done something to upset the man. 

“How...how long have you been cleaning this stuff kid?”

“Um...since midday I believe Captain Jonathon.”

The captain exhaled, placing a hand on his face and shaking his head. “Ok. For the record, don’t go around cleaning everyone's kit alright? Don’t need any of these bastards getting lazier.”

Lucas nodded, quickly dropping the weapon and starting to pull his shirt back on.

“Don’t put that thing on!” Lucas’ eyes shot up to see Jonathon staring at him like he had just stuck his hand into a fire. “It’s covered in dirt and grease, what th- Cathrai above, what's wrong with you?”

Lucas inhaled sharply, dropping the shirt and then falling to his knees, head bowed. “Im-I’m sorry Captain Jonathan. I-I did not mean to upset you.”

Lucas waited, trembling as he heard the man approach. He screwed his eyes shut, bracing himself for a blow to land. Instead he felt a hand lay gently on his shoulder, and looked up to see the captain kneeling down to look at him.

“Hey kid, it's alright. Didn’t mean to snap at you. It's been a long day for both of us. Why don’t you go get cleaned up?” He pointed towards a nearby river. “Go take a bath. I’ll get you some new clothes and make sure Annya saves you some stew.”

Lucas paused for a moment before nodding eagerly. “Yes, Captain Jonathon. Th-thank you for your kindness.”

 “No problem kid.” Jonathan stood up, taking the shirt with him and walking away. After a few steps he turned. “Oh and uh, don’t call me ‘Captain Jonathon’, all the time. I imagine it gets a bit tiring .”

“Yes Ca-, yes sir. Sorry sir.”

Jonathan nodded and walked away. Lucas watched him for a few moments before making his way towards the river. It was a fair way away from any of the tents, far enough to give some privacy. Lucas undressed himself and walked into the water. It was cold, but once he was able to wash away the muck and grime that had built up on his skin he felt much better. 

After he finished cleaning himself Lucas sank down into the water slightly, letting himself relax. When was the last time he had been allowed to bathe in private? Or without a time limit? He honestly couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter, he was allowed to now. He sank lower, resting his chin just above the waterline. He shouldn’t stay too long. He didn’t want Jonathon to think he was lazy or taking advantage of the man’s generosity. He let himself languish for another minute before pulling himself from the water. The air was cold against his wet skin but he didn’t mind. He hadn't felt this clean in...years probably.

Jonathon was sitting on a tree stump a short distance from the river. His back was to the water, a gesture that Lucas appreciated greatly. The man was carving at a piece of wood with a small knife, whistling a tune that Lucas didn’t recognize. He stopped when he heard Lucas’ footsteps, turning around and picking up a shirt he had laid across his lap. 

“You look better kid, here, new shirt for you.”

Lucas took the shirt and pulled it on. It was big, the fabric hung loosely off of his body, but it was clean and warm. “Thank you, sir.”

“No problem kid. I’ll see about getting you some nicer pants too, those things look a little thin.” 

“Thank you, sir.”

Jonathan nodded and gestured for Lucas to follow him. The two walked back to the camp, heading towards the center. Several small groups of mercenaries were sitting around a large bonfire, talking and laughing over bowls of food. Lucas saw the lady from earlier, Annya he figured, doling out stew from the cauldron, a small line forming in front of her. 

“Take a seat Lucas, I’ll go get us dinner.”

Lucas nodded and sat down on a box placed towards the fringes of the bonfire. Jonathan walked towards the lady, nodding to a few of the mercenaries he passed. Some nodded back, others offered salutes, one asked for the captain to join him and his friends at a game of dice. Jonathon declined and walked up to the cauldron, taking his place in line behind the others. 

Lucas watched him, trying to get a read on the man. He seemed well liked by most of the people in the camp. That was a good sign, well liked people don’t tend to dish out beatings for no reason. He fiddled with the collar of his shirt. It was well made, probably the nicest piece of clothing Lucas had ever worn. He was surprised it was wasted on him.  

The captain returned with two large bowls of stew, sitting next to Lucas and handing him one of them. “I had Annya give us the big bowls. Perks of being captain.” He pulled a spoon from one of his pockets and handed it to Lucas. “Eat up, you did a lot of work today. More than your share.”

Lucas took the spoon and dug into the meal. It was as good as always. He had been fortunate enough to be allowed meals every day so far, probably to help along his recovery. He hoped that things wouldn’t change too soon, though he had a sinking feeling that they would once he finished healing. 

“Annyas a blessing. Before we picked her up we didn’t have anyone who could cook. We ate what preserved crap we could carry and whatever we managed to hunt or forage.” Jonathan shook his head. “Once when we were low on supplies all we had to eat was raw grain and mushrooms for days. I don’t think I've come closer to being killed by my own men.”

The captain tilted his head back, draining the last of the broth from his bowl and placing it on the ground. He turned to Lucas, a serious expression on his face. Lucas paused, placing the bowl in his lap and waiting for the captain to speak.

Jonathan pulled out a small metal medallion shaped like a crown. “You see this? This is the emblem of the Crownsmen - that's the name of our company if you didn’t guess. Everyone who works for me has one, and it serves as a symbol of our unity and camaraderie, of our code. One very important tenant of that code is fairness, everyone pulls their fair share, no more no less.” He pocketed the medallion. “Now you aren’t a crownsman, but you are a guest in our camp, which means that applies to you too.”

Lucas gulped and bowed his head. “O-of course sir. I am more than willing to do whatever you order.”

Jonathan shook his head. “No, no. Probably could have phrased that better...” He muttered to himself quietly before turning his attention back to Lucas. “Anyways that's not what I meant. It's been less than a week since we pulled you half dead from the site of a massacre and today you spent the better part of 10 hours cleaning a barrack’s worth of kit. That is far and away beyond what I consider a fair share of work. You’re on your feet now so I’ll probably have you help around the camp a bit but any work you do comes from me. Anyone else tries to order you around you tell them to fuck off alright?”

Lucas nodded, it made sense that the captain of the camp would be the only one allowed to give him orders. At least that meant he would only need to learn how to please one person now.

“Good, now get some sleep. It’s late and you must be exhausted.” Jonathan stood up and began to walk away before turning around. “Oh, and if anyone tries to give you too much shit you let me know. I don’t tolerate infighting.”

“Yes sir, of course.”

Jonathan nodded and left. Lucas watched him for a moment before picking his bowl back up. Fatigue was starting to hit him hard and he could barely muster the energy to finish his food and walk back to Jawad's tent. It was empty, the doctor was likely taking care of something. Lucas was too tired to wonder what. He crawled into the cot he had been using and let himself drift away. 

So far, this place didn’t seem too bad.

Tags: @haro-whumps @ladygwennn @dramaticcollapse @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @brutal-nemesis @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @inpainandsuffering

[sola-whumping]

Umbran: The New Master

CW: pet whump, dehumanization, treating a whumpee as a nonperson, nonhuman whumpee, fae whump, heavily conditioned whumpee, nonsexual nudity (taking care of wounds)

Word count: 3,306

Nox woke slowly, his senses returning one by one. The first thing he was aware of was the soft surrounding him and the gentle hand running through his hair. The second thing he was aware of was the soft feminine humming, it was gentle and soothing like a summer breeze. He listened to the melody for a while, getting lost in the sound. He didn’t want to wake quite yet and fought the awareness that threatened to come for him. There would be pain waiting for him when he woke, he was sure of it. The last thing he was aware of was the tightness of the bandages around his chest and throat and the pain they caused him. He gave a small whine of discomfort. His bandages were not so tight that he couldn’t breathe, but not so loose that they were useless. Eventually, he was dragged to consciousness. 

“Good morning, Umbran, are you awake?” The humming had stopped in favor of speaking. Nox opened his eyes, remembering what had happened the day before. He had been sold again. 

“’M ‘wake.” He felt heavy, as if he’d been drugged. He vaguely remembered being bitten and recalled that this was the vampire, Evangeline. Gabrial had warned him about her. He tried to sit up, only to be eased back onto the bed. 

“You are hurt. You will answer my questions and rest. Once I am satisfied, you may have a bath and a meal.” The way she said it sounded a lot like mercy, though he knew there would be a catch. For the bath he expected ice water and to be held under. That’s what a bath had meant to Gabrial. The meal would surely be laced, if not outright poisoned. He was never fed that easily. Immediately suspicious but unable to do anything about it, he agreed. 

“What are your name and pronouns? I want to make sure I received the right creature.” Nox figured it was likely that she knew umbrans didn’t have any gender binary. Instead, they were physically non-binary, and while some leaned towards male or female (he leaned male), it was much more common that they were androgynous or didn’t fit the human stereotype at all. It was generally polite to ask an Umbrans pronouns or call them ‘they’ or ‘it’ instead of guessing. He also figured that Gabrial had promised her something better than him. 

“N-ox,” he croaked. His throat was dry and burned when he spoke. As soon as he made noise, the vampire lifted him and placed him in a sitting-up position. She put a cup of sweetened water to his lips, gently urging him to drink. 

He was grateful for the water. He hadn’t had any since before he was shipped. She turned cruel as soon as he tried to drink, only giving him a small bit of water at a time and then keeping the rest out of reach. Eventually, slowly, he drank the whole cup. He wanted more water. He was so dehydrated that he felt like he couldn’t get enough. He tried to ask for more, to plead if he had to, but his throat felt like fire, and when he made noise, he coughed weakly. 

His struggles were soon rewarded with another cup, filled with the same sugar water as the last. The only difference was that this one was a bit cooler and he was a bit less desperate. He still swallowed it down as quickly as he was allowed. 

The vampire gently reminded him of the question after the glass was stolen away once more. “Nox, m-ale pronouns,” he rasped. His throat felt a little better. He felt a little better. 

“Are you hungry, Nox?” He faintly realized he was desperate enough to not care if any food given to him was laced. Gabrial, his seller, had only ever fed him after he passed out and woke up again or in the days before shipping. He was more than hungry: he was starved. He gave a weak whine. He knew if she was asking that then she either intended to taunt and starve him or feed him, and he preferred the latter. 

She seemed to take the whine as his response, and in the next moment, there was a spoonful of something that smelled heavenly in his face. It was potato soup. He used to love potato soup. He was grateful to be allowed to eat something warm when he hadn’t done anything to earn it yet.. Something that wasn’t moldy bread was a treat in itself. 

He tried to rush and comply before she had a chance to change her mind about feeding him, trying to make it easier and maybe even feed himself. He failed. He was still heavy and weak and exhausted. All he managed to do was lean forward and open his mouth. His attempt was pathetic. 

“Good boy, that’s it. Easy, darling.”  She praised and cooed at him while he struggled for each bite. When the bowl was almost empty, she helped him drink bit more water before letting him finish the bowl. “Very good!” She ran her fingers through his hair and scratched his scalp. He was too weak to lean into the touch, but he felt a happy warmth in his chest. 

He hadn’t been called “good” or praised often, if at all, with Gabrial. It was no secret that the umbran hated him. He was often used as a plaything to beat around and hurt, rather than treated like the pets that were trained and sold. They got to find a forever home while he was rented for a party or a beating for a night or to someone who wasn’t sure if they wanted a Pet or not. He shivered at the memories and tried to focus on what was happening in the present. 

“Alright, sweetheart, it’s bath time. We need to clean those wounds and get you washed up.” Evangeline spoke to him as if he was a child. “Liam, darling, if you could.”

Suddenly, someone big and tall left the wall where they had been leaning and approached the bed Nox had been laying on. He hadn’t noticed them until they had moved and that worried him, he must be more out of it than he thought. He panicked slightly and keened in distress when he felt an arm slip under his knees and another tighten across his shoulders. He was lifted effortlessly- like he was weightless. Once he was picked up and stabilized, he could identify the figure as a tall human male- at least... he thought it was a male. Humans were supposed to have physical features that showed their preferred gender, but he could never tell. Gender was a human construct anyway. It was much better to learn the person rather than assuming. 

They spoke softly to him and he could feel their deep voice rumbling in their chest. “Hello, little birdy. My name is Liam.” Their arms felt strong around him and Nox almost felt… safe, being carried like this.

Nox gave a shy “Hello.” He liked Liam’s voice. They sounded calming and friendly even though their strength scared him. 

Nox was carried to another room. This one was painted a light blue. There was a big bathtub and shower. It was large enough that his wings wouldn’t be squished- if he still had them. He didn’t get to see the other half of the room until he was undressed and lowered into the already filled tub. There was a white foam on the top of the water that he considered beautiful. The water felt lovely. It was so warm that the heat immediately seeped into his bones. 

When he glanced up, something squeaked in his face, startling him badly and making him chirp in surprise. “Awww, Noxie, it’s just a rubber duck,” his master cooed at him, handing him a bright yellow toy. It was plastic and didn’t look at all like a duck. He squeezed it and startled himself again when it made a squeak sound.. He looked up to see her amused. 

He noticed some of the bubbles had clung to his arm when he moved. Curious, he licked it. It did not taste good at all despite how appealing it looked. His tongue stayed poked out as he recoiled. He heard his master laugh, and suddenly there was a dry towel wiping away the bubbles. 

“There, there, little darling, nothing to be distressed over.” She soothed. “Now we know that we can’t eat bubbles.” She sounded amused so Nox chirped at her, happy to have attention. 

He surveyed the water. If he was held under and waterboarded, it would be better than the cold water, right? Or would the bubbles compensate and make it worse. He couldn’t decide, so he figured he would have to wait and see. 

His master must have seen his expression because she spoke in a calm, soothing voice. “That’s Birdy bubble bath, made specifically not to hurt your feathers.” That hadn’t been what he had been worrying over- in fact, he hadn’t considered that the soap could hurt him at all-- but it was good to know. In response, he carefully lowered himself into the warm water, assuming that’s what she wanted him to do.  

Evangeline shielded his eyes and filled a cup with water before pouring it over him carefully to wet his hair. Then he felt something cold in the center of his hair. When he chirped a question, his master was kind enough to answer. 

“Just some shampoo, darling. I know I’m not supposed to use things like this on your hair, but I have to get the blood out somehow.” Her hands were gentle, not pulling or yanking even a little. He was fully expecting to be forced under, but- it hadn’t happened yet. The anticipation of waiting was almost as bad as the drowning itself. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He stayed still and quiet as the thing in his hair turned into more bubbles. They started white like the ones around him but soon turned a light pink. He was ordered to tip his head back, and upon complying, another cup of water was poured in his hair. 

This is it, this is where I get pushed under. He was in the perfect position; she could hold him under almost effortlessly like this. Not that he would fight at all. He was a good pet, and if she wanted to drown him, he’d stay under just like she wanted. 

“Sit up for me, treasure. I have to use conditioner, and then we will use the scrub brush and dry you up.” She led him up as he followed her guidance. As she had said, she put conditioner in his hair, carding her fingers through it as she went. 

Nox had to fight to stay still and not lean into the slight scratch of his scalp. He did adore being pet- not that he got the chance often. After she carded through his hair a bit, it became silky and smooth, though he knew it would be soft and fluffy once dried. 

She had him lean back again, shushing his little whimper as water got in his ears. He didn’t want to be drowned and this would be her best chance to do it. After this, she wouldn’t have to convince him back down into the water. He held his breath, but she only washed the conditioner gently from his hair. 

When he was let up again, he almost gasped out of shock. “Good job, little Birdy, you did very well for me. Now, I need you to stay still so I can clean your wounds. We don’t want them getting infected, now do we?” She hummed. 

Nox flinched. Cleaning wounds usually meant alcohol and painful healing and bandages wrapped so tight he couldn’t breathe. Getting an infection was usually kinder than the prevention methods. 

He flinched again when something gentle touched his back. His master placed a hand on his chest to stop him from moving away as she gently washed away the blood, cooing and soothing his whimpers when he started to get nervous. 

He was waiting for it to hurt, waiting for the salt and vinegar and alcohol to be poured. He wasn’t used to the gentle cloth wiping away his blood- not when he was still scared that the gentle touch would turn rough and rub his back raw. 

Nox took a breath to steady himself. Fear wouldn’t change the outcome. Whatever his master wanted to happen would happen and nothing he can do would change that. He took comfort in the helplessness. Nothing he could do would change anything, He repeated the words to himself, taking another deep breath and letting himself relax. Whatever will happen will happen. He focused on the hand on his chest and the cloth on his back, slowly cleaning the blood away. He took comfort in the helplessness. 

The water was a light pink now and some of his wounds had started bleeding again. His master pressed a cloth against the freshly reopened wounds to stem the bleeding and held it there until it had mostly stopped. 

When all the blood was gone, he was washed with something that smelled sweet and then taken out of the tub, only to be swiftly wrapped up in a warm towel. It was a dark color so the blood didn’t stain and could be washed out later. The towel was also strangely warm. His master had placed it on an odd sideways stand that radiated heat while he had been in the bath, presumably for that purpose. Regardless, he was grateful..

Nox was dried up and his hair was brushed before he even knew what was happening. He was a bit shocked going from the warm water to the cold air so quickly. He started to tremble from the cold. “Shh, we’ll get you warmed up, just hold on,” his master cooed, connecting an odd-looking piece of plastic to the wall. 

She turned it on, causing warm air to blow from it as if it was magic, creating wind effortlessly. He flinched when the warm air was suddenly on his face, then in his hair, then on the feathers trailing down the back of his neck. The magic wind felt lovely. It was nice and warm, chasing away the cold. After a few minutes he stopped trembling, his hair no longer wet. 

His master brushed it out and ran a hand through the now fluffy black mixed with brown. Now that he was clean, they could see the colors in his hair blended and mixed, like a molted feather pattern rather than anything human. His master hummed at him, thinking he looked adorable with his head tilted curiously at the blow dryer. 

“Can you walk, or should Liam carry you again?” She asked as she gently coaxed him into putting on a fluffy hoodie and some sweatpants. She would worry about decorum later, right now, her pet was in need of comfort. She had some rather strong words for his seller. She had ordered a pet, not a slave, and had expected him to have been treated with kindness rather than shoved in a box and strangled. She shook her head. It was practically animal cruelty, and the creature was so sweet that she didn’t think he could have done anything to deserve it. 

Nox had gone from gazing at the magic wind creator to backing in the warm blanket and the feeling of being clean, only to be snapped out of it with the question. “I-I can try, master.” He sounded terrified, but he did his best to suppress it. He hadn’t been hurt yet, and he didn’t think he’d be cleaned and dressed only to get all bloody again. Surely they wanted him for something else first- at least, he hoped. He tried not to be scared; vampires could smell fear, and being scared always made hurt time worse. They liked when he was afraid. Sometimes Gabrial said that the only good things about him were his pretty tears and his pleading. 

She almost cooed at him, the poor dear was so skittish. He sounded terrified of picking wrong. “That’s alright, darling, you just focus on resting. I’ll give you your rules tomorrow and I’ll write an email to that trainer of yours. They’ve been far too cruel to you.” 

Nox immediately tensed up when he heard email. That meant he was getting sent back. He didn’t even hear the rest of the sentence, too caught up in what he did wrong to warrant being sent back. Why would they clean him if they didn’t want him? Unless- unless he had answered wrong. Maybe they wanted him to be cute and helpless and need help with walking. Surely he was hurt before arriving for a reason. “I- I meant only if I was allowed, master- I didn’t want to assume- I’ve been so arrogant-“ he kept cutting himself off, too anxious to finish his sentence. “I’m s-sorry, plea-please don’t send me back” he pleaded. If nothing else, he begged well and cried beautifully for his masters. He hoped desperately that somehow he would be allowed to stay. He felt hot tears slip down his cheeks, sparkling with pastel colors. He truly was a pretty crier. 

The shine of light caught Evangeline’s eye. “Oh, sweetheart, what happened? What’s wrong, darling?” She tipped his head up by his chin and wiped away his tears, hushing the distressed umbran. “What’s got you so upset?” 

“You- you’re going to send me back,” he cried, distressed. He had been told if he was sent back before the first week, he’d be whipped again- it hadn’t even been a day. He couldn’t take it again so soon. He wouldn’t be able to stand it and the pain was unbearable. He was terrified of what would happen, less scared of Gabrial but rather the consequences that came with it. 

Evangeline was startled by his terror. “Oh darling, sweet treasure, you’re not being sent back, love.” She took his face in her hands and wiped away his tears. “Now that you’re mine, I wouldn’t let you go so easily.” It sounded like a comfort, but it wasn’t worded like one. Nox didn’t know how to feel until he felt a hand making its way  through his soft hair. Slowly, he let himself calm down. 

“Maybe a choice this soon is too much for you. Would you like me to pick for you?” She sounded like she was talking to an upset three year old- and Nox responded like one, nodding slightly and giving a small “mhm” as he was pet. 

“That’s alright, darling.” She cooed, turning to Liam. “Could you carry him? The poor thing is distressed.” Liam obeyed, moving to pick Nox up effortlessly. 

He carried Nox to his room. Liam set Nox down on his side in a little nest made of blankets rather than on his back. Then he stepped back so Evangeline could see Nox. she sat in a chair by his bed and spoke softly to calm him.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, you’re safe. No one will hurt you here. I’m sure you’re very tired, so I’ll make this quick, alright, darling?” She grabbed a great big blanket and draped it over him. 

Nox had started to relax with the soft voice. He felt safer under the blanket. It was cozy and warm and made him feel secure. When he looked up at his new master, he was greeted with a kind smile and a kiss on the forehead. She trailed a hand gently down his face so he would close his eyes. 

“Night night, Noxie.” And just like that, he was out.

✨Masterlist✨

Taglist: @haro-whumps @poisoned-by-royalty @sunset-avenuer @wide-awake-but-comatose @whumpsy-daisies @misspelledwitch @string-of-broken-hearts @captainseconds @lave-whump @whumping-out-of-time

[twilightprince101]

Packmates

So I've been needing to do some Flash Fiction stuff for my writing class recently and I've had this original idea in my head for a long while at this point. It was HEAVILY inspired by Lera Lynn's "Wolf Like Me" (thanks again Delta for showing me this album) and it's one of the few things I feel REAL proud putting out! So woe! Gay and depressed werewolves be upon ye!

“The Blood Moon draws near.”

“I’m ready.”

“You have said so often this night.”

“I’m aware.”

“Why do you repeat those words so?”

“Is ‘because you asked’ not the right choice?”

“There is a lack of conviction in your voice.”

“I’m tired, you know that by now.”

“But what is it you refer to?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Is it the exhaustion that comes from a great hunt, one that seeps through your limbs and gives you aches that spare your quarter?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Or is it the dreariness of fog that clouds your mind, seeps your vitality drop by drop until naught an ounce of bloodlust remains?”

“That too, I suppose.”

“...Your conviction wavers.”

“Can it not be both?”

“Exhaustion, though inconvenient, is a natural calling deep within oneself. It is a hunter’s blessing in disguise, as one cannot pursue their prey if not at full strength.  Dreariness is the fatigue of the soul, an infestation of hopelessness. Neither are permanent, though the latter plagues those inflicted with insidious thoughts.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“...no, I did not.”

“...”

“...Do you wish to rest before the hour comes?”

“Wouldn’t that be pointless? Considering ‘the gift’ and all that I’m going to get?”

“Perhaps, but have you not gone to great lengths to let me join in pointless activities with you over these long years?”

“.....well, can’t argue with that I guess.”

“Take reprieve in my fur, the wind bares its frost-bitten teeth this deep in the woods.”

“Oh yeah, I guess this’ll be the last chance we really get to do it like this huh?”

“Should you join us there shall be many chances. But yes, if you wish, this will be the last.”

“Yeah, thanks Katey.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...Do you remember what it’s like?”

“Hm?”

“Without fur, I mean. Do you remember what it feels like?”

“What thought led to this question?”

“I dunno, just…”

“...Echoes of memories come and pass, sensations of touch that are not there.”

“Do you miss it at all?”

“My memories have not faded, Jakie. Though they ebb and flow from my mind, they remain. I still remember it all.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that many times.”

“...I do remember that time long ago, when I did not bear this fur or wear these claws. I remember the cold that stung our skin, the scrapes and cuts that adorned our hairless hands.”

“Do you only remember the bad things? Or have those ebbed from your mind as well?”

“I recall them as well, Jackie. The feeling of grass pricking against our bare feet as we ran through these woods as one. The currents brushing against us as we fought the tides of the sea. I especially remember that day you had fallen into a gardener’s crop and had me accompany you in that mess you created.”

“Pfft, really now? That’s one of the things you still remember?”

“Though my mind has changed, my memories have not.”

“.....and?”

“While a part of me does reminisce of those days back home, this change of mine has given me new blessings. My claws assure me in the face of danger, my fur assures me in the face of nature. In my life, this is one of the few times I feel secure in myself.”

“Do you… feel better though? Happier? Will I feel...?”

“.........I cannot say.”

“...”

“...” “...”

“......my apologies. I have… ruined the mood, as I believe you phrase it.”

“No, no it’s okay… actually, now that I think about it, when did you first start getting so poetic?”

“Pardon me?”

“This whole... thing where you talk really fancy and in metaphors. I recognized you starting a while ago, but did you have to read through a dictionary? Or does transforming include suddenly becoming shakespearean?”

“I don’t believe that’s the right term, but yes, to my knowledge this happened gradually since I was given this gift.”

“So then, do you think when I transform tonight the same thing will happen to me? Like you bite me then I have all of medieval theater beamed into my head? Will I be The Shakespeare of Wolves?”

“It is likely, though I will not deny, it would be a shock. I have grown quite fond of the way you speak, compared to my packmates. It is akin to, say, witnessing a fish leap from a flowing stream.”

“You did that one on purpose, didn’t you?!”

“Perhaps I did, perhaps not~"

“Oooh you better watch out, when I join the pack I’m going to destroy you in the weekly poetry slams!”

“Heh, we do not have ‘slams of poetry’ where I will go. Most of our focus is turned to the hunt, though perhaps you could make a fine diplomat between packs.”

“Well, maybe I could bring poetry slams to the pack. We both could! You didn’t go to many but you still know what they’re like, what’s stopping us?”

“That would be… the moon. I do not believe recreation would become much of a priority to you once you shift tonight. Especially for you, considering the ritual.”

“Oh. Yeah, right.”

“...”

“.......”

“...........”

“...you can still leave Jakie.”

“You know I can’t.”

“And why is that?”

“You know why.”

“What of August, who had assisted us in Maplecrest? Or your bloodmate, here in Bloomfield?”

“It’s not me needing somewhere to go Kate. I know that they’d both welcome me back.”

“Then why do you persi-”

“I thought you said your memories were all still there.”

“...I have not forgotten our promise, Jakie.”

“Then you have your answer. I didn’t leave you back then, I’m not leaving you here.”

“...Jakie.”

“Don’t.”

“I am grateful for your assistance all these years, for your companionship. You have offered me comfort, companionship and assistance without question.”

“I said stop, Katie.”

“I shall always be grateful, however you must ask yourself whether or not you should continue to uphold these vows. If the Katie you loved--”

“What’s your problem?! I thought the whole thing with you is that you want to bite people, change people!”

“We do not offer this gift to all those we encounter. Only those who we find--”

“‘A spark of devotion,’ yeah I get it you’ve said that thousands of times already! So then why is it only with me you try to talk someone out of it?!”

“Beca-”

“And don’t say lack of conviction. I said I’ve wanted this for months now, that’s the whole reason we’re here!”

“...............”

“Well?!”

“I… ponder if you would believe me.”

“Spit it out.”

“...because I have always seen you as my packmate.”

“..............”

“...since my mind has changed, I have gained new desires. Whatever old ties I had have long been cut. Yet despite my change you’ve been by my side. My fur warms my body--you have warmed my soul, and that sensation shall never fade.”

“...you didn’t answer me.”

“......Should you accept my gift tonight you shall change eternally. Your conviction here lies with me, but should you accept our gift your soul will be tied to the hunt. I do not wish for you to change with your mind lingering on regrets of what could have been. I respect you as a packmate, Jakie. I wish for your choice to be true.”

“Don’t you get it? What I want is to be with you! You’re my friend, I’ve helped you all this time, I love you!”

“But through these years, have you been happy?”

“..........”

“You say this is your duty, it may be what you desire. But protecting me, has it made you happy? Can you look upon the fields of missed opportunities that have passed without a hint of longing?”

“............”

“I have never needed protection, you know as well as I. These past years of devotion, it has helped you survive. But what I yearn for is for you to live. Abandoning your own self… Do you believe you will be happy then?”

“...........”

“...........”

“.......god damn it. You never made things easy, did you?”

“I am who I am now, Jakie. I cannot give you more than that.”

“........I don’t want to leave you. I don’t even know if I can. I’ve spent so long helping you I don’t know if I… know anything else. What would I even do?”

“I… do not know. But I have seen your conviction these past years--you have several paths ahead of you. Whatever you may choose, I have faith in you. You shall always be my packmate.”

“.......yeah. Yeah…. Yeah.”

“..........”

“...............”

“...the Blood Moon has nearly reached its peak.”

“.......could we just sit together, just for a bit longer?”

“Of course.”

“....thank you.”

“.........”

“.........”

“.........”

“.........I love you, Katie.”

“I love you too, Jakie.”

[anaami-the-witch]

The Café

( @qbanalras this is why I shouldn’t have writing privileges XD) 

The café was quaint upon stepping foot inside. Aidan’s ruby deep eyes flickered around curiously, sensing a double presence that was the café itself. The owner, cautious but friendly, flashed an easy smile as they approached him. 

“Welcome!” 

They paused for a moment, “eyes” widening in realization as they stared at him. The easy smile returned almost instantly. “Can I offer you a more comfortable setting?” In speaking, their tone lowered, not wanting to draw any attention from the humans sitting at their table. 

The demon considered this, pierced lips pursed momentarily before he nodded. “Please.” 

They smiled again, amused as the café around them seemed to warp, transform, from an adorable witchy-themed café and shop to something close to otherworldly. Aidan tilted his head, noting the supernatural patrons sipping their drinks and chatting quietly amongst one another. 

There was a different vibe to this café now; one that felt more at home than anything he could have recalled before. Perhaps that was what drove him to approach this place, having sensed the small wisps of magic oozing from the doors and windows. 

The walls adorned with the kind of protection one would expect for a magical café, with wooden chairs vines together tightly and soft cushioned booths against the walls; the tables looked damn near fragile with the crystalized way they glowed, but he knew there was more to it than that.  

“Would you like a booth or a stool?” 

“Stool please.” 

With a curt nod of the head, the small creature led him to the booth, waving their hand for him to take a seat in any of the empty spaces. “I’ll be right with you.” 

“Thank you.” He flashed a fang as he smiled, chuckling as their cheeks flushed violet. ‘What a peculiar cyclops,’ he mentally noted. The mask they wore over their face caught him off guard momentarily, but he knew a cyclops when he smelled one. 

The moment they brought him into the other realm, the façade of their face faded away from heterochromia of two purple eyes to one big mystical eye. To be frank, the one eye fit them better than their mask, and it certainly didn’t do them justice to cover up such a beautiful face as theirs. 

Aidan stopped gawking, not wanting to be rude as he slid into his favored seat, and glanced at the menu’s selections above. His black hair tumbled down his shoulders, stopping just below his neck as he scanned the choices offered. He was frankly surprised that this café had yet to catch his eye before today. 

Was it because of the energy the café gave off, or perhaps it was because of the familiar dark blue mop of hair that lay upon the cyclops’ head that day? 

Aidan still couldn’t quite figure out how he managed to take cover in that massive storm; his attire was drenched, the mess on his head he called hair drooping and almost covering his face as the water poured from the sky. 

They paid him little mind, which was fine - he wasn’t looking his best that day anyway or feeling his best for that matter. He swore, pushing his sopping sleeves up and hating the sudden turn of the weather when he glanced over at his silent companion again, fingers messing with the collar of his shirt. 

Gods, what a mess he was. 

They glanced over at him and he smirked, flashing his fang and barely withholding a chuckle as their face lit up in purple, glancing away in fluster. What a cutie.

The smile that passed his face as he thought about that memory was almost childish. Aidan hadn’t expected to cross paths with them again, though odds were they didn’t remember him from back then. That was fine. Quite some time had passed since then. 

“See something you fancy?” 

Aidan’s gaze flickered down to the cyclops standing in front of him. “El” was the nametag they wore; a simple name, yet it fit them wonderfully, he thought. “Black tea, a little bit of O blood,” he replied, slipping his hand into his pants for his wallet. Unlike that rainy day, his choice in attire was a dark blue long-sleeved shirt and black jeans. More casual in his opinion. 

“Positive or negative?” 

“Surprise me,” he teased, smiling wide when they gave him a deadpan expression. “Alright, how about the negative type?” 

“Sure thing,” El replied, shaking their head but unable to help the smile that crossed their lips. What a cutie. Aidan turned his attention away to momentarily look around, his body taut as he glanced at the other patrons. While he didn’t suspect anyone per se, he was alone and didn’t need to have his guard down. 

It just wasn’t worth it to pretend like he was safe anymore. 

El came back with his drink sooner than he realized, placing a saucer holding a white teacup with a black witch hat on it before him. “Here you go.” 

“Thank you.” He picked up the cup and sipped at it, inhaling the strong scent deeply before opening his eyes in surprise. “Honey?” 

“Just a bit, to counter the bitterness,” they explained, thanking another patron when they set their owed fees onto the countertop.

“Smart,” he replied coolly, sipping on the steaming tea slowly. Just what he needed and then some. The warm liquid gave him a small reprieve, relaxing his shoulders and unclenching his jaw. He took a deep breath he didn’t need, enjoying the thick aroma mingling with the sweet-scented surroundings.

A home away from home, almost. 

The blood in his system gave him energy while the black tea, aside from being a good source of caffeine, simply tasted good to him over green tea. It was just what he needed. His phone then vibrated and he groaned, pulling it out and exhaling when the caller’s name blared from his phone. 

Great

Alaric pulled out his card, waving it between his middle and first finger. 

El approached him, wiping their hands down on their apron. “Leaving so soon?” 

“Duty calls,” he replied, handing the card to them. Their purple eye studied him momentarily as if trying to get a read on him before they retreated to ring him up. By duty, he meant that was his cue to leave before he caused attention. All he wanted was a moment’s space to breathe, and perhaps he got that. 

It wasn’t enough, but if he stayed longer, it would bring attention to El and this quaint little café. He didn’t know the cyclops from Adam’s ass, but he knew they didn’t deserve the heat the place would get if he stayed. 

“Come again,” they said cheerfully, handing him his card back. He took it and paused, staring at his card with a distant expression. If he were smart, he wouldn’t come back. If he were wise, he’d find somewhere else to be. But there was something serene about this café, something nice and calming about it that he could rarely find anywhere else at this point. 

There was nowhere safe, nowhere relaxing...except for here. Even then, he couldn’t fucking enjoy it, not for a second. 

If Aidan had any sense, he’d never step foot in this fucking café again. But...he wanted to. Seeing El work wasn’t that bad either, though he supposed that made him a bit of a creep. What was new, he inwardly mused, putting the card up and finishing his cup. 

“I’ll try to,” he replied, flashing a grin in their direction. They blushed again, slightly this time but with the same hue, he’d seen before. Absolutely adorable. Aidan chuckled and stood up, patting his pants down before sparing the cute cyclops one more glance. 

They went back to work, the blush still evident on their face. He could get used to that...maybe. If he played it safe enough, maybe he could come back. Maybe he could finally have a place to relax and be himself. 

There was no way to tell...for now. A soft smile lifted his features as he finally turned and left the café, hoping that he didn’t leave too late. They were following him, always following him, and he’d be damned if anyone else got hurt for him. 

Least of all the adorable cyclops manager.

[forsakenoathkeeper]

I Am Alive (chapter 10/?)

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Please support me on AO3 & thanks for reading ♥

The following morning, you were called into the police station to finalize the documents from yesterday's investigation. All they needed was a pen and ink signature.

Connor had been in conversation with another detective when you walked in; so, you decided not to bother him.

On your way out, you spotted Connor seated across from Hank. At first, you thought he was lost in his computer screen; however, he spun around to greet you as you approached, rising to his feet with a smile.

"Do you have eyes in the back of your head?" you teased.

"I do not. I saw the documents register to the case and knew you were finished," he answered, a little robotically. His tone didn't quite match the soft look on his face.

You stepped in a little closer, looking up at him with expecting eyes.

"I-" Connor cleared his throat. "-was unsure if you were alright with public displays of a-"

You reached for his tie, slid your fingers around the smooth velvet right above the clip, and gave a light tug. It forced Connor to bend down, just a little bit, and brought his mouth within range for yours.

You closed your eyes and leaned into the kiss with a smile, silencing him. He reciprocated, gently, closing his own eyes. It lasted barely a second and was hardly anything compared to what you had done last night; but, it left your tummy swarming with butterflies.

People could see.

Connor's coworkers could see.

Good.

"Ah, geez," Hank grimaced, rising to his feet. "Get a room."

You parted from Connor with a little giggle. When you released Connor's tie, he fixed it promptly, though it had hardly moved at all. It was impossible to miss the adorable, dorky smile he was trying not to wear.

"Damn kids," Hank grumbled as he walked away, coffee cup in hand.

"Are you heading back to work?" Connor asked softly, still standing close.

"Yeah, I better get back there before they have a kitten..." you trailed off when Connor's gaze shifted away from you and looked over your shoulder. The soft look in his eyes vanished, replaced with something cold.

"It's nice to see you again, detective."

You rotated around, following Connor's gaze.

This man's face had once been plastered over every magazine cover for business, wealth, and technology. Anyone who knew even a little bit about androids knew who he was: piercing blue eyes, a strong jawline, dressed impeccably.

Elijah Kamski, the inventor of androids. Two men were standing nearby, dressed as sharply as he was: lawyers, most likely.

"What are you doing here?" Connor asked. His cold tone didn't go unnoticed. It actually startled you a little.

Elijah was Connor's creator, even if he hadn't been working at Cyberlife at the time of Connor's inception. Some hostility was to be expected; but, somehow you doubted it was that simple. It sounded like Connor had history with Elijah.

"I've been asked to answer questions about Charles Reaves," he answered, seemingly uninterested in the whole thing. "I'm not entirely surprised to see you here - comfort zones, and all."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I enjoy being a detective," Connor replied, not bothering to mask his irritation. When Connor spoke was when you realized how close he was standing beside you. You could practically feel his voice modulator rumbling against you.

Something about Elijah really bothered him.

"Of course," Elijah replied. His eyes landed on you. "-and who might you be?"

You gave your name, followed with, "I'm an artificial biomechanical engineer."

"A fancy way of saying you work on androids. Wonderful. I haven't gotten to spend time with someone of a similar profession in a long time," Elijah replied, sounding oddly sincere. You doubted that your professions were anything similar.

You extended your hand, offering it to Elijah out of common courtesy. However, when Elijah reached for you, another hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

Connor's hand.

Your eyes shot up to the android, surprised by his actions. His LED was a strong yellow and his eyes were sharp, almost glaring at the man across from him. Elijah didn't seem at all bothered. In fact, he let out an amused laugh and started to smile.

He pulled his hand back and Connor let go.

"I thought you told me what you wanted wasn't important?" he stated, more so than asked, voice low, ensuring that others in the crowded room wouldn't be able to hear. It was clear that he was challenging Connor.

Your eyes moved back to Elijah, confusion heavy in your glance. His icy blue eyes shifted back to you for a second and then back up to Connor's fierce brown orbs. The implication made you nervous.

"You've changed," Elijah stated, sounding pleased by the discovery.

There was a retort ready to leave Connor's throat. He was interrupted, however.

"If you're done dicking off, Connor, there's work to be done," Fowler called out to him from the steps right outside his office.

Connor looked over his shoulder and gave his superior a curt nod.

"I better go," he said, rotating back around to look down at you.

When your eyes caught Connor's, it was suddenly easy to ignore Elijah, who was still standing there.

"Go catch some baddies," you replied, encouragingly.

Something danced behind Connor's eyes and his LED eased back to blue. You thought he was going to swoop down and steal a kiss; but, he didn't, turning away and walking past Elijah. He glanced at him briefly, a warning as he passed by, before disappearing into the precinct.

"Mr. Kamski we must-" one of Elijah's lawyers tried catching his attention.

Elijah lifted his hand, harmless, but arrogant, and the lawyer immediately stopped talking.

"I was hoping I could talk to you, actually?" he asked you, voice polite, sincere.

"I appreciate the interest, Mr. Kamski. But, I promise I'm not interesting," you replied stoically.

"I disagree," he replied with a quiet laugh. "You are an item with an android. I find that very interesting." It was kind of scary, really, how charming Elijah sounded. He sounded like he really meant it. "Please, humor me for a bit. If there's anything I can do for you in return...?"

You blurted the first thing that came to mind, doubting Elijah would ever consider it. "With the protests - lots of androids are afraid to look for help and supplies are limited as it is with Cyberlife's shutdown."

The corner of Elijah's lip curled slightly. "You want to help them?"

"Yes," you replied firmly. "I want parts for repairs - thirium pump regulators, memory units - things that are hard to get."

"That can be arranged."

"How do I know you're good for it?" you dared to ask.

Elijah laughed quietly, briefly. "I suppose you'll just have to trust me."

You briefly pondered exactly what the hell this man was planning on asking you. He was a millionaire, a super genius who created artificial intelligence and fully operational android skeletons.

You just repaired them. What could he possibly want to talk to you about?

Your thoughts wandered to Markus and Simon, and the many androids that were potentially going without repairs. Even if they couldn't feel pain, they didn't deserve to be broken, to be unable to speak, or hear, or see, or walk.

"Okay," you replied lowly. "I'll humor you."

Elijah nodded with a smile. "It wasn't too cold today. May we?"

He gestured to the hallway that led to the main entrance. You led the way, walking past him and heading for the grounds.

Elijah was right. The weather outside wasn't too bad. The air was crisp and chilly, but not unbearable. You were doing just fine in your jacket. Clouds were looming in the distance; but, they weren't going to make it before you were done.

The courtyard outside the station wasn't particularly impressive, but it was empty, and you and Elijah fit just fine on one of the benches.

For a moment, Elijah's focus was elsewhere. He seemed to be thinking, trying to decide where he wanted to begin. You felt small seated next to him.

Without taking a break or skipping a beat, Elijah asked, "are your desires because of what he is or in spite of it?"

"You want to talk to me about my relationship with Connor?" you blurted, surprised. You met Elijah's gaze uneasily.

He didn't budge. His expression suggested that he didn't see it as strange in the slightest. It wasn't what you were expecting. Then again, Elijah Kamski was one of the leaders of android inception. He was their creator, almost exclusively.

You were sitting with the man who made Connor's life possible.

That thought struck you like a hand across the face.

"I do," Elijah answered.

"I-..." you stuttered.

The obvious answer was on the tip of your tongue. But, was it the truth? You loved the android parts of him: the way his LED shimmered with emotion, the quirks of an android learning to adapt to human society, the unique way he talked, how powerful he was, the beautiful construction of his body, inside and out.

But, you also loved the parts of him that were not dictated by what he was: his kindness, his passion, his curiosity.

"Android or human isn't the point. I'm with Connor because I want to be - because I like who he is, regardless of the what."

"I see," Elijah replied softly. Something in the way he said that suggested he didn't quite believe you.

You frowned at him, but decided against arguing with him. It wouldn't have been entirely in good faith. You knew that your feelings for Connor were physical, too: both the android aspects and the parts that imitated a human.

"Why did you choose to be an engineer - specifically for androids?" Elijah asked. "It's a fairly new profession, for obvious reasons, and you're very young."

Elijah couldn't have been more than 40 years old, if you recalled correctly from the countless essays you had to write in college. He wasn't that much older than you. Yet, somehow, he managed to make you feel like a child.

You doubted the inventor of androids would be alarmed by your answer.

"Because I don't like people," you answered plainly.

If anything, he liked that answer. Through a smile, Elijah replied, "are they not people?"

Once upon a time, you weren't so sure. But, then, you saw their suffering, had been suffocated by the fear in their eyes. You saw them plead and beg for help. You had seen androids, designed with very clear instructions, offer unnecessary kindness that most humans never did.

"They're better," you spat back.

"Logic and reason above feelings?" he asked.

"They do feel," you challenged.

"How can you know for certain?" Elijah tilted is head a little, suspicion in his tone more so than doubt. It sounded like he was trying to plant a seed of distrust. "How do you know that androids are capable of real emotions and not just imitating what they've seen?"

"Humans are capable of the same fucking thing," you snarled. "Pretending to give a shit when they don't. When an android does it, it's programming. When a human does it, it's just fucking normal, right? What difference does it make?"

Elijah's eyes burned brightly, admiring the passion in your voice.

"What are you getting at, anyway?" you added on sharply.

"I made androids to make our lives better: they care for our children, our elderly, grow our food, do dangerous jobs, protect us... and fuck us."

You had read lots of articles about Elijah Kamski, saw many news outlets cover him. He had proclaimed many times that he designed androids to make everyone's lives better. He promised they were not capable of thought beyond their instructions.

"Many debate their intentions. If they can choose beyond their programming," Elijah continued, as if he had read your mind. Or, maybe, you just knew where he was going with this.

"Deviancy," you observed.

You looked away from Elijah, losing the tolerance for the ways his eyes burned into yours.

"Androids are perfect: beautiful, strong, compa-"

"Are you wanting me to tell you that I have a robot kink?"

Elijah huffed out laughter, brief and quiet.

"I won't pretend that Connor's not so beautiful that it fucking hurts," you whispered harshly, feeling ashamed. You dragged a heavy hand through your hair. "But that's not all. He's kind. He wants to protect people: androids and humans. He doesn't see it as their side and our side. He-... He's different. The way he sees the world, I want to see it, too."

"Maybe, then, you see why I'm fascinated by you," Elijah stated, standing up. Your eyes followed him, and you realized he was just casually stretching.

"Why do you find this so strange? Two people who want to be together - what's so weird about that?"

Elijah turned around, hands buried in his coat pockets.

"One was born twenty-something years ago. One was made in a factory a little over a year ago," Elijah answered casually.

"You don't think I've thought about that?" you asked him sharply. "That I haven't fought myself over whether or not this is right?"

Elijah didn't seem bothered by your moral dilemma.

"I'm sure you're well aware that all androids process at a faster rate than humans. They awake capable of comprehending things the average adult can... and then some. Your moral dilemma is pointless. I know they will bring humanity to places we couldn't even imagine..."

"-but you're fascinated with whether or not they can love," you deadpanned.

"I'm fascinated with love between an android and a human," he answered.

There was something unspoken in that observation. You wanted to ask him if he loved his creations, if he cared about their well-being. Elijah had been pretty careful to make no statements during the revolution, oddly enough.

"This couldn't possibly be worth your time, or money, Mr. Kamski," you uttered, suddenly sounding quite tired.

He chuckled sincerely. "Just look at it as... humoring someone who gained everything and... lost everything."

Another statement with something unspoken beneath. Did he mean Cyberlife? Elijah had departed from the company of his volition, if the news was to be believed. Maybe he experienced a moral dilemma. Or, maybe, if Charles Reaves was anything to go by, a difference in opinions.

"Before..." you began, deciding to take a gamble. "-when I first went to school for androids. I just thought they were interesting. Like spending company with humans without all the bullshit. I didn't think... they actually... felt anything."

You paused and let out a heavy sigh. It brought shame to you, admitting this. You thought about Connor, about Markus, about the many androids that came in and out of the clinic on a daily basis.

"My first job, I repaired manufacturing androids. These guys came in with their arms hacked to bits, covered in dents, legs falling off, torsos torn in two, singed and burnt to a crisp. Any job that risked injury, that's what they did."

You dragged a heavy hand through your hair. "Some of them were really afraid they were going to die."

You paused when you failed to suppress a sniffle and hastily wiped your tears on your sleeve. "I realized... I was wrong. I wasn't an engineer; I was a nurse... But, no one else saw them that way. Until-... The deviant uprising and I - I wanted to do something I was proud of for a change."

Elijah turned back around to face you, his expression unreadable. He was quiet, taking in the sight of you, seemingly touched by your empathy.

You wiped your tears away hastily and added on gruffly, "-and then I met Connor and now you're here asking me these fucking questions."

Elijah smiled again, his lip twisted like he didn't want to laugh.

"You're a liar, by the way," you accused, changing the subject.

Elijah didn't look offended, but intrigued.

"You said they can't develop consciousness or desires," you explained, remembering his speech quite well because you had to write about it.

You expected Elijah to say something about your accusation. You doubted he would defend himself, maybe dance around the subject, since that seemed to be his preferred method.

"You would know all about that," he stated, amused.

Before you could reply, Elijah continued. "I know this all seems pointless to you; but, I'm glad I met you. You put me at ease."

You frowned at Elijah's statement. "I don't see how: we did all this talking and nothing came of it."

His expression changed. He looked understanding, maybe even sympathetic.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'm not always direct... The world's more interesting when there's questions needing answers. I wanted to see what became of the RK800; but, I didn't expect you."

You had a feeling you were blushing, being spoken about in this manner.

"His purpose is unique: an android designed to hunt deviants. If his blueprints had never been destroyed, maybe they could have made one incapable of deviancy: would have been the perfect soldier."

You stiffened when you heard Elijah's claim.

Connor was designed to-... what?

You didn't want Elijah to think this was news to you.

"His blueprints?" you uttered.

"Yes. Connor is-" Elijah answered lowly. "-the last of his series."

Talking about Connor like this stirred up unpleasant feelings in your gut.

"He is different from any other android," Elijah explained. When you looked up at him, you could see something akin to sadness in his eyes. "How isolating the world must be when you were made to hunt your own kind."

Connor wasn't alone. He had Hank. He had you-

But, this wasn't about you, or humans for that matter. This was about Connor. You had never seen him spend time with other androids, or with anyone besides Hank. He always drowned himself in his job. Maybe, Connor was lonely, and you had been too busy keeping him to yourself to notice.

"Fuck-" You wiped your eyes again and swallowed a whimper.

"I'm sorry for bringing you to tears," Elijah apologized. He sounded like he meant it. "Making you upset wasn't my intention."

Elijah was quiet for a moment, giving you a chance to calm yourself down.

"I'm afraid I've avoided at least ten phone calls during our conversation..." Elijah pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and eyed it grossly. "If we never meet again, I want you know that I valued this conversation dearly."

"Mr. Kamski," you blurted, before he could turn away. "Before you go, did-... Did you program them afraid to die?"

"No," he answered quietly, not even hesitating. "The will to live... It was an unexpected outcome."

...

...

...

Back at the apartment, Connor came in just after you had finished eating dinner. He greeted you with a kiss and turned away. Part of you didn't want to worry him, especially when he had an android homicide that was likely linked to Charles Reaves. That was another issue entirely; but, you promised yourself that you would be honest with him.

"I have to tell you something," you beckoned to him, grabbing his sleeve to stop him from retreating.

Connor turned back around to face you, eyes focused on yours, concerned.

"I spoke with Kamski after you left. He told me what you were made for."

Something akin to panic danced behind Connor's eyes. It was subtle; but, it was definitely there.

"I'm sorry, Connor. You should have gotten the chance to tell me yourself. I shouldn't have found out that way."

Connor struggled to maintain eye contact with you. His LED was yellow, spinning against his temple. He seemed to be searching his thoughts for what he wanted to say. "I don't know if I would have told you, honestly," he uttered lowly, turning away from you. "It's something I really... really regret."

"We all regrets things, Connor - bad choices we made, mistakes. It's norm-"

When he turned back to you, shame and anger were written over his face. You were a little frightened by that face - a face you hadn't seen Connor make before.

"I called androids 'its'. I - I treated them like machines - like things - my own kind. I destro- murdered - androids for being deviant."

"You were under control, Connor," you argued fiercely. "What choice did you have? You didn't have a choice! You did what you thought you had to do. That wasn't you, Connor."

"It's what I was made to do," he challenged. "It's what I knew how to do. I was good at it. How is that any better?" His tone was as calm as it usually was, but had some bite and venom to it. He was gesturing to himself with his hands, fingers pointed at his own chest.

"I was proud," he continued, volume rising slightly. "Good job, Connor. You stopped the deviants like a good machine!" He was taunting himself now. It hurt you to listen to him mock himself. "You did EXACTLY what you were told to do, without question."

You sniffled, trying to bite back tears.

Connor raked his fingers roughly through his hair before dropping them down to his sides. "I would say... 'I'm a machine designed to accomplish a task' - and I was proud of it. 'You can't kill me - I'm not alive'." Connor had a peculiar way of quoting himself, like he was talking about someone he didn't know.

"I was going to find the source of the deviants and stop them!" he added on, frustration and volume rising. "I held a gun to Markus' face! I contemplated letting Hank DIE for my mission. That's all that mattered - the fucking mission. It's not just regret! I'm a mach-"

"You didn't have a choice!" you practically screamed, silencing him. You felt it, the first tear fall.

Connor's eyes watched that teardrop slide down your cheek and the fire in his eyes extinguished. Realization struck him like he had just been slapped across the face. He was letting everything out on you, letting his regrets pour out and drown you.

"I could never understand what that feels like-" you paused, trying to hold back a sob. "What it was like to be p-put through that, Connor. To not see yourself as a living being - to think that you weren't alive - that your life didn't fucking matt-guh-!"

You choked back a sob, making a guttural noise. Your head lowered into your hands.

You could feel the android looming over you, close, protective, worried; but, when you looked up at him through tear-stained eyes, he seemed almost afraid to touch you, like he wasn't allowed to. Regret was written across his face again; but, this time, it was a different reason.

He had yelled at you when you hadn't done anything wrong-

He was taking it all out on you-

You took that initiative and reached for his hand. As soon as your skin touched, Connor laced your fingers like you were his only lifeline saving him from drowning in the ocean. He looked like he was drowning, like he was lost.

"You were a prisoner in your mind, Connor," you whimpered. "I'm glad that you're deviant," you whispered, trying to stop the tears. "I'm so proud to be yours..."

Connor surrendered, leaning in to let his temple touch yours. His eyes fluttered shut.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled," he rasped.

"I'm not crying because you were yelling," you whispered, leaning into his touch. "The thought of you not caring about yourself - thinking you weren't alive: that hurt me. Connor, I-..."

You wretched your hand free on his so you could wrap your arms around his back and pull him into an embrace. Connor's face slipped from your temple and sunk into your neck. His hands grabbed fistfuls of the back of your shirt and clung to you for dear life.

You pressed your cheek into his hairline and leaned against him. As always, Connor was solid, unrelenting against your force, holding up your weight with ease.

"I am alive," he uttered against your skin, like he was reminding himself of something important. "I am alive," he said again, his voice cracking.

You felt wetness on your skin and knew that he was crying. You squeezed him tighter and tighter, until it started to hurt. You pressed a wet kiss to his temple before resting your cheek against the soft skin there.

No one could tell you this wasn't real.

Flesh and plastic.

Blood and thirium.

Bones and metal.

It didn't change the hurt in his voice or the adoration in his eyes. It didn't change the way he couldn't hold back a smile when he was praised. It didn't change the way his hands held you when you were afraid. It didn't change his inquisitive nature or the care he held for others.

It didn't change-

-that you were madly in love with him.