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eventhorizoninwriting · 3 months

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Walk Through Fire

Word Count: 2137

Tags: Fallout 76 Nuclear Winter, All OC characters. Car accident (mention)/bystander caretaker (sort of)/eyes open, almost there

Warnings: Gunshots, blood, needles (stimpak), death/dying mention. If I missed any, please let me know!

@whumperless-whump-event Prompt 2: Does Your Insurance Cover This?

*Late submission, thought I posted it already and it saved to drafts ;-;

“Don’t you dare die on me.”

Sunny stumbled up the grassy knoll, swaying and sidestepping to avoid the patches that still smoldered in curling ribbons of smoke. Her friend’s limp form slung over her shoulder did naught but unbalance her, but she stubbornly shifted her grip, refusing to drop her despite being wholly unqualified to carry someone like this.

Panting, she reached the crest of the hill. “Look, Sarah. The Responders were here. There’s gotta be something to help. Just hold on–”

Sarah mumbled something incoherent into Sunny’s back. Another rivulet of blood slid down her arm from her friend’s various wounds, and she lunged forward. Sarah was worsening, and there was nothing she’d been able to do about it.

Sunny Ramos and Sarah Gill. The two had been thick as thieves in the vault. The engineer’s daughter and the Overseer’s redhead daughter; where one was causing trouble, the other was never far behind…or far ahead. The last six months in the vault had been the most liberating, yet the most stressful, for the pair. This was when vault security neatly looked the other way on their antics, letting them play all the pranks and cause as much of a ruckus as they’d desired. It had been fun, at first, until they’d realized that they were being allowed to get away with things; and then, of course, all the fun was sapped out. That was until Sarah’s father had passed them a note written in code, asking them specifically to continue causing chaos–because it was making it difficult for ZAX, the vault AI, to cause the problems he’d been causing with his ‘tests’. So, the pair had continued on their tirade of pranks and mischief with a new target in mind, and had dropped firecrackers into toilets until the day their first fellow dweller was found dead, presumably by ZAX’s proverbial hand. Sarah’s father had insisted that they evacuate the vault to escape the AI. A number of other dwellers much preferred ZAX’s plan to find a new Overseer–and president–in a literal trial-by-fire.

Now, here they were on the outskirts of the Morgantown airport, racing to outrun both the latest firestorm, and their bloodthirsty peers. Sunny yelped as a section of brush caught fire. The speeding, hot wind caused the flames to lick several feet over the concrete, tasting her ankles. Only so many materials could catch on fire–but that wasn’t saying much when the wind helped it burn the rest.

“We’re almost there,” Sunny puffed, doing her best to jog towards the airport.

Sarah’s form began to slip off her shoulder again, blood slicking the leather of the vault suit. Skidding to a stop, Sunny shifted her friend, hauling her back up into her arms in a bridal carry.

“Not gonna make it,” Sarah breathed, eyeing the flames of the storm with her glassy gaze.

“You will,” Sunny insisted, blowing a blonde lock out of her eyes.

“Bleedin’ out. Don’t have a stimpak.”

“Look. If this were still pre-war times,” Sunny began, “we’d be waiting for an ambulance. This’d be just like a car wreck. Remember what your dad used to say when we’d get hurt blowing something up? People survived terrible wrecks and horrific things all the time.”

Sarah laughed weakly, her voice fading to a croak. “Gunshots n’ car wrecks are different, Sun.”

“Not when you’re super injured and have to wait for help,” Sunny countered. Her face had gone red from the encroaching heat, which had stayed itself for a moment, and from the strain of her efforts. “C’mon. I bet you would have survived ‘til the ambulance came.”

Carefully lowering Sarah to the ground, she propped her up against the wall beside the airport’s front door and got to work on the lock. The first bobby pin broke, on account of her having looked away for all of five seconds when the windborne flames began to jump the concrete, setting old tents aflame. The second produced a hopeful click, however, and the glass door swung open.

“Thought you were gonna break the door,” Sarah wheezed, grinning wryly.

“I don’t wanna give the storm any more help than it already has.” Once again, Sarah was in her arms, and Sunny sidled through the glass door. She spared just enough time to flip the lock behind her. That wouldn’t stop anyone with the same idea as Sarah, but it would buy time if anyone realized they were inside.

“Where’d those bitches go? I can’t find the trail.”

“I think I see more blood over there.”

“Shit, yeah. Guys, they went this way!”

Sarah and Sunny exchanged wide eyed looks.

“How the fuck did they find us?” Sarah whispered.

“It sounds like they followed the blood.” Sunny held Sarah a little tighter, retreating into the darkened hallways of the airport. “I should’ve been more careful, gone through a river or something.”

“You got me here. Not gonna forget that.”

“You’d better not. You’d better be around to remember it for a damn long time.”

Stairs caught Sunny’s eye, and she quickly ducked down them. Glancing back, she saw that the trail of blood had persisted. At least she hadn’t noticed it near the front door any more than the puddle where Sarah had sat.

The basement was wide and open, with multiple tables that had been repurposed into some sort of lab. The entire place–ceiling, walls, floor–was concrete. Sunny breathed a silent sigh of relief and stumbled to a table. Papers and lab work fluttered and tumbled to the floor as she cleared it with one arm, sliding Sarah onto the table at the same time. They may have been important before, and they might be important to some unknown person in the future, but they didn’t matter in the slightest right now.

“Stimpak, stimpak…” Sunny muttered, sliding open every drawer and opening every cabinet that caught her eye. “Fuck, this is a medical place, you’d think they’d have a goddamn stimpak–”

“Did you try the first aid kit?”

Sure enough, there was a first aid kit near the door, untouched. Sarah chuckled quietly as Sunny vaulted over a table to get to it faster. Ripping it open, she stared inside.

“Dirty water and plastic tubing? Are you fucking kidding me? Who puts that in a first aid kit?”

“Shit,” Sarah laughed. “War never changes, and neither does American healthcare.”

“I’m gonna throw this at you if you make any more bad jokes.”

“And I’m going to throw this at you in about two seconds.”

Both girls jumped, staring towards the door. There stood a boy just a year or two older than them, clad in some bulky armor that didn’t fit him with three rifles strapped to his back. In his hand, he clutched a plasma grenade, thumbing over the pin with an unsettling grin.

“Billy Maddox,” Sunny spat. “Should’ve known you’d get in with the mean crowd.”

“Little old me?” he laughed. “Careful, woman. Remember who’s holding the grenade.”

“Yeah, you,” Sarah retorted. Her voice was all but a whisper now. “After what you did to James’ robot dog last year? I’m surprised he let you run with him.”

“Robot dogs are replaceable,” he shrugged. “So are bitches.”

“You know what they say about guys who feel like they need to posture,” Sarah grumbled. She hissed when Sunny elbowed her in the side.

“Oh? What’s that?” Billy’s thumb grazed the pin with a little more pressure. “Go on, tell me. What do they say?”

Click.

“Really? That’s how you’re gonna play this?”

Sunny stared down the sights of her pistol. “Better than not doing anything.”

“I could yell right now and have the rest of the guys down here in half a second.”

“Then why haven’t you yet?”

The color drained from Billy’s face. “Maybe I want to be merciful.”

“Or maybe they just ditched you.” Sunny elbowed Sarah again for her comment. “What? I’m dyin’ either way.”

“No you’re not!” Sunny hissed. “And I’m not flirting with the reaper like you are, either.”

“Are you ladies done arguing?”

“Maybe. What if we aren’t?”

Billy opened and closed his mouth, lost for words.

“Look.” Sunny shifted the barrel, aiming right between Billy’s eyes. “It’s dog eat dog out here, or however that saying goes. You go your way, and if someone is looking for you, we never saw you.”

“Did you forget that I’m with the guys you’d be saying that to? They’d be looking for me to help me.”

“Did you forget that ZAX wants just one winning candidate?” Sarah spat. “If they find you, they’ll keep you around til your group are the last ones, and then they’ll turn on you.”

His eyes widened as if he hadn’t considered that possibility before, and he stopped tracing the pin button of the grenade. “They…they wouldn’t.”

“Oh, they would.” The barrel of the pistol poised between his eyes didn’t so much as twitch. “They already left you here to clean up the search that they didn’t want to bother with anymore. You’re the disposable one.”

Billy slowly lowered his arm, grip loosening on the grenade. “If I go out there, I’m dead anyway. Storm’s almost surrounded the area.”

“Stay here then,” Sarah managed, coughing as much as her wounds would allow. “Don’t hurt us, we won’t hurt you. We all go our separate ways when the storm’s gone. Easy.”

“But ZAX will know–”

“How will he know?” Sunny countered. “Take your Pip-Boy off, throw it out in the storm, crush it with a bat, something, and how will he know? He’s not a god.”

“It feels like it at times.”

“But he’s not. He’s just some haywire programming. There was even evidence that someone might have been messing with the system and doing those things through him.” Sunny let the pistol drop slightly. “But he’s not out here. We might as well be dead to him. I don’t want to go back to the vault. Sarah doesn’t. Do you?”

“...No.”

“Then being the last one standing still means nothing. Means nothing if you have no vault to oversee, and it means nothing if you never want to go back.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He set the grenade on the nearest table, raising his palms in surrender instead.

“Alright. Stay or go, Maddox. Up to you. But we don’t want to hurt you.”

Overhead, the harsh sound of shattering glass drew their attention as the winds of the firestorm blew in the upstairs windows like a hurricane gale. The loud hum of crackling followed after–the fire spreading to every available flammable surface inside.

“Hey, Maddox, what’s taking so long?”

Billy looked back to Sunny. “They came back–”

“For what, though?” There was no more anger in her voice, softening instead out of pity for him and concern for Sarah, who had become increasingly quiet. “If they think you killed us…”

“I’ll be dead either way,” he finished. “Either they find me up there and finish me off, or they come down here and kill us all.”

“I don’t know if they’ll find the stairs–”

“I did. It wasn’t hard.” Billy was already moving into action, sweeping his dark hair off his forehead as he steeled himself. Reaching into a pocket in his oversized armor, he produced a stimpak, and laid it on the table. “That’s for her. Don’t let her die. I…well, it doesn’t matter now.”

“You–really?” Sunny nearly burst out laughing. “After how you threatened us? You would have killed her yourself.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t have a history, once,” he admitted sheepishly. Drawing one of the rifles from his back, he began to back towards the stairs. “And now I see how I was wrong. Just save her. Please. And when you get out of here…”

A more forceful crash resounded from the room above, and the ceiling shook under the heavy telltale thud-thud-thud of someone walking around in power armor.

“Just take care of each other,” he finished, before bolting towards the stairs. His steps slowed as he neared the top, acting as if he hadn’t just rushed out of the basement like a bat out of hell.

Sunny lunged for the stimpak and jabbed it amongst the gunshots in Sarah’s abdomen before Billy ever reached the top of the stairs. Sarah yelped, tensing, but quickly relaxed as the medicine stabilized her wounds.

“Told you you’d make it,” Sunny promised. Sarah smiled back weakly, barely conscious, but began to doze in her newfound physical safety.

A series of gunshots erupted upstairs, followed by the heavy steps of the power-armor-clad dweller evacuating the airport before the flames burned through his suit. In her heart, Sunny knew Billy was gone, but she and Sarah were safe for now, and that mattered most.

She never would have wished for a nuclear winter like this.

#whumperless whump event day 2 #whumperless whump event #whumperless whump event day 2: does your insurance cover this?#blood cw #needles cw #violence cw #gunshot tw #fallout 76 #nuclear winter #all ocs #not quite waiting for the ambulance #going to the hospital #sort of #late submission

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lumpofwhump · 2 years

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Bad Things Happen Bingo - Victim Blaming

Content Warning: Victim blaming (obviously), whumper POV, implied abusive relationship, bad caretaker/caretaker turned whumper, broken bones, bruising.

Whumper watched as the bloodied Caretaker slowly pushed themself off the ground, wincing only to look up at Whumper with a self-righteous glare.

How annoying.

“I used to be like you, you know,” Whumper said calmly, before delivering a swift kick to Caretaker’s face just as they had made it up onto their hands and knees. Blood spurted from Caretaker’s mouth and nose as Whumpee whined in dismay from behind their self-appointed protector. The useless little turd didn’t have the guts to do anything about it, of course.

Whumper's stubborn opponent, meanwhile, struggled up once again, wiping their face while biting back a scream. “Y-yeah?” Caretaker asked a couple ragged breaths later, their speech muffled by the bubbling blood streaming from their mouth. “You’re g-gonna… have to excuse me — ow — if I find that just a bit hard to believe.”

“Almost word for word what I said, too,” Whumper said with a hint of amusement in their voice. “Let’s say you make it out of here today. Play out your hero fantasies, claim your ‘prize’” - they gestured dismissively at Whumpee - “and ride off into the sunset. I guarantee you, five years from now you’ll be standing where I am, trying to warn off some other dipshit with a savior complex.”

Caretaker visibly bristled at this description but didn’t try to refute it. Whumper smirked.

“They will burn you out, Caretaker, and bring out the worst in you. It’s just the kind of person they are.”

Caretaker looked over to Whumpee, who shrunk in on themself and ducked their head with a hasty, stuttering apology. Playing for sympathy as always.

It worked on Caretaker. Because of course it did.

“Hey, whatever you gotta tell yourself so you can sleep at night,” Caretaker said, finally getting to their feet again. “Now are you done running your mouth, or can we skip to the part where I rearrange your face for talking about my friend like that?”

Whumpee looked just as surprised as Whumper felt at Caretaker’s description of them. Creeping onto their face under all the cuts and bruises was almost a bit of… was that defiance?!

Ugh, that was going to be a pain to deal with once Whumper was done with Caretaker. Mostly for Whumper, though Whumpee was sure to complain endlessly about it.

And if the fight here didn’t end up going Whumper’s way, as it was beginning not to — ow, the injured Caretaker’s blows hurt more than they had any right to at this point…

Well, Caretaker would just have to learn the hard way.

@badthingshappenbingo

#bad things happen bingo #bthb #bthb card #protective caretaker #caretaker turned whumper #whumper pov #whumped caretaker #victim blaming #snarky caretaker #emotional whump #whump drabble

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zerstorerin · 3 years

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Cold Crash (Pt. 1)

Summary: Din cares for a hypothermic reader after crashing on the ice planet.

Warnings: Mentions of spiders, hypothermia, and Din being a slightly spicy flirt.

Word Count: 3.5K

Comments: I hope you're craving caretaker Din as much as I do. It seems all my fics have an injured character trope... Awkwarddd. Do we want a part two??

About a year ago...

"What's your worst fear?" you asked Mando. You'd been in hyperspace for hours now, and though the beskar-clad warrior had mentioned the trip to the Core planets would take upwards of a few days, you hadn't expected to be so... bored.

"I'm not afraid of anything," he replied. He was clearly unamused at your feeble attempt to pass the time.

"Bantha shit!" you cursed, tucking your legs up in your chair. "Everybody's afraid of something. I'm afraid of spiders."

Mando scoffed. "Spiders?"

You reached over and cuffed him across the helmet as you tried to stifle your own giggles. "Hey! It's not funny. It's a completely valid fear."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." Your laughter died out as old trauma surfaced in your mind."I, uh... I got bit by a spider as a kid. Turns out, it was poisonous, and I would've died if my dad hadn't rushed me to the medbay like he did." Mando's figure stilled in the pilot's chair. "I had recurring nightmares for weeks. My- my dad would wake up and rush into my room, helping me check my arms and legs. And then he'd stay with me all night, watching for spiders. He'd be right there the next morning with bags under his eyes."

Mando didn't talk for awhile. Only the beeping and soft hum of the Crest lingered between you two.

He finally spoke up when you'd almost dozed off in your chair. "Droids."

"Hm?"

"I'm afraid of droids." He looked over his shoulder, as if waiting for a response.

But you would never judge him for that, nor did you want to pressure him to tell you why— if there even is a why. Who ever said fears had to be justified? So you waited.

The Mandalorian correctly read your silence as a message of acceptance. He stood up from the pilot's seat and made his way over to you.

And then he knelt and bowed his head, causing you to freeze. "I'm not ready to share my story yet, if that's okay."

You immediately relaxed. "Of course, that's okay—"

"And I'm sorry for laughing." Mando's helmet raised, and you could've sworn he was looking you in the eyes. "I had no right to make a joke of your fear after you were brave and kind enough to share it with me. Ni ceta."

He already had your forgiveness, even if he didn't think himself deserving. And you knew he always would, because even then, you were head over heels in love with the beskar-clad warrior.

Present.

When he woke, Din's first thoughts were of you and the Child. You two were always his priority and would be until his last breath.

His second thought was about how cold it was in the ship. A thick layer of frost coated his beskar, essentially gluing him to the dashboard, and his joints felt stiff.

He looked over his shoulder to the passenger's seat to check on you, but he saw the frog lady unconscious on the floor instead. It took him a moment to remember why, still disoriented from the crash.

You had been cooking for the kid when the New Republic officers had shown up, which meant you were down in the hull when the ship had crashed.

You and the kid were in the hull, where the ship had likely taken the most damage.

Peeling himself from the dashboard, ice and metal snapping apart, he called out your name.

No response.

The frog lady groaned as she woke up, her purple skin a sicker shade of lilac from the freezing temperatures. Din lifted her to her feet, helping her to settle against the wall.

She croaked at him, and he knew that she was worried about her family— just as he was worried about his.

"I'll find your eggs. Don't worry," he assured her. "Gotta get you some blankets,

keep you warm."

Fear flared in his chest. The cockpit had stayed sealed, but it was still cold as ice. If the hull had been penetrated, you would be hypothermic— no. He forced the suffocating feeling from his mind with reasonable thoughts. The little kitchenette Din had recently installed on board wasn't far from

the sleeping compartment, so it was possible you had been able to lock the kid and yourself in. You'll have some bruises from getting banged around, but you'll be okay.

He climbed down the ladder, taking in the sight of snow blowing into the hold through a gaping hole. He cursed under his breath, then yelled for you again. "Riduur!"

Din turned around to the tiny bedroom and tapped the control panel. The door slid open to reveal no sign of either of you.

"Where are you?" he asked, and with each moment that you and the child went unfound, his heart rate increased.

The frog lady said something to him he didn't understand directly but guessed it had something to do with her family.

"Hang on, I'm looking for your eggs!"

His heart sank, knowing his answer was a half truth. He was certainly keeping an eye out for her eggs, but his first priority was to his aliit.

Avoiding sparking wires and fallen boxes, he crossed the hold to a blanket that was moving suspiciously and making swallowing noises. Pulling the blanket back confirmed that his son was indeed snacking on more eggs, but he was safe.

"No! Your mother told you not to do that," Din scolded as a bit of the worry eased from his body. He shouted, "Found them!" up to the frog lady and closed the incubator.

The kid pushed the last egg into his mouth.

"How many did you eat?"

The green little monster only guiltily burped in response.

The frog lady came down the ladder to the cockpit, and Din allowed her to take the incubator into her arms. She croaked, raising one hand and drawing a line back and forth around your height.

"No, I haven't found her yet." He gestured to the kid, who was now playing on the fallen boxes, completely unaware of the dangers they all were in. "Can you keep an eye on him?"

She said something in frog language he understood to be an agreement.

On the outside, Din had managed to appear calm, but on the inside... he was terrified. This hull wasn't that big. He'd already have found you if you were still in the ship. So all that was left was the absolutely horrifying conclusion that you had been thrown from the ship at some point during crash. You were out in that snow somewhere, and his earlier fear was slowly becoming reality.

Din ducked as he stepped out of the hole in the hull, and all at once realized just how deadly the brazen winter really was. He focused on his breathing to keep his body from going into shock, and started to search through the wreckage and other things thrown from the ship. There were several storage boxes, some of his tools, and his old cape—

It was your cape now, though. After he had gifted it to you, you never took it off.

He knelt began to dig, desperately trying to uncover the rest of your form. "I found you, cyar'ika. I'm here." He dug out your shoulder first, then carefully traced it to where your head would be. He kept swiping away layer after layer of snow, now more gently as he neared your face. Your eyelashes appeared first, then your nose and mouth, and then he was pushing his hands under your head to pull you out of the snow and to his chest. "I got you, riduur." But you didn't stir, not even as he lifted you into his arms and carried you back to the ship. He was most worried about the fact that you weren't shivering like you should be.

"Blankets! I need blankets!" Din ordered, every muscle in his body now trembling with the fear of losing his wife.

The kid noticed his momma in his father's arms and his ears drooped to his sides, but he nonetheless scurried as fast as he could to the sleeping compartment to find you a blanket. He put his tiny green fingers on one and pulled, crying out when he realized he wasn't strong enough.

Din laid you down on the floor of the Crest, looking over to see the frog lady helping your son with the blanket. Turning his attention back to you, he ripped his gloves off his hands and brushed the remaining snowflakes from your face. "Riduur, wake up."

Your skin was as cold and pale as the frozen wasteland outside of the Razor Crest, but it could've been worse. Luckily, the snow that covered you had actually acted as an insulator, keeping your body heat trapped around you. The warmth of his bare hands massaging your cheeks roused you from your unconsciousness. Your eyes fluttered as you tried to open them, and your blue lips parted to heave in a full breath. "The kid... is he—"

"He's fine. He's—"

Right on cue, your son laid his head on your chest, cooing in worry. "He's right here." The frog lady passed Din the blanket, which he laid over you and the kid.

Your eyes opened in the kid's direction, taking note of his presence, then closed again. "Din... cold... I'm cold." Consciously or unconsciously, you nuzzled your cheek into his palm.

"I know, riduur. I'm going to take care of you, okay?"

Your lack of response told him your body was again dragging you into sleep. He needed to keep you awake not only because you were hypothermic but as a precaution in case you incurred any head injuries.

"No, no. You can't go back to sleep. I know you're tired and cold," he said gently as he nudged you into a seating position. "But you have to look at me. Open your eyes."

For the first time since he found you in the snow, you looked directly at him, staring into his visor right where you knew his eyes would be. "Hi," you breathed out.

"Hi," he chuckled, brushing a piece of wet hair out of your eyes. He pressed his fingers to your neck to check your pulse. It was slower than he would've liked, but not yet too slow. "I need you to stay awake, mesh'la."

You smiled faintly and put your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up to nuzzle your face in his neck. "Can we go to bed?"

Amnesia and confusion— common side effects of hypothermia.

Din wanted to cry, wanted to take off his helmet and cry so you could wipe away his tears and tell him it was okay. You were so cold and confused and cloudy-eyed, and it physically hurt him inside. "No, we can't go to bed."

"Why not? What's... what's wrong?" You pulled away, eyebrows scrunched and a frown where your beautiful smile was but a moment ago.

"We crashed on an ice planet escaping the New Republic soldiers. You..." Din swallowed, trying to hold back his tears. "I found you in the snow. You're hypothermic, so I need you to stay awake. Can you do that for me?"

Under his helmet, a few tears streaked down Din's face as he watched the realization set in on your face. Unable to watch any longer, he turned his gaze to the kid who was still cuddling his mom with droopy ears. "You can help your buir stay awake, right ad'ika?"

Your little green bean gurgled, an unhappy but confident sound, and climbed onto your lap.

"I'll be back in a few minutes, okay? I'm going check out the Crest and patch up that hole to keep the snow out. Stay awake, mesh'la." Din tilted your chin up with his hand, tapping his thumb twice on your lips— his way of telling you he wanted to kiss you when he couldn't remove his helmet.

"Love you," you told him.

"Love you." He repeated his tap once more.

—

You offered the kid a piece of the dinner Din was forcing you to eat even though you weren't hungry. He said it was to keep your metabolism burning calories which in turn would keep your core temperature higher, so you had agreed to try and eat even if every part of your body felt frozen.

The kid took it graciously, popping it into his mouth before reaching onto the plate and shoving a piece toward your mouth instead. You chuckled and opened your mouth to let him push it in. "Did your buir put you up to this?" you said as you chewed, earning a giggle from him.

That warmed you up a bit, and you could only continue to let him hand feed you with how happy he was to help.

The blanket covering the hole in the Crest rustled. Din entered, and his first glance was to you. "How much has she eaten?"

"I'm right here," you scoffed, feigning offense.

The kid ignored you and chirped some nonsense, but after shoving one more piece of food into your mouth, picked up the plate to show Din that it was empty.

"Good job, ad'ika," Din praised, patting his son on the head. "If you hadn't guessed, we're in a tight spot. The main power drive is not responding and the hull has lost its integrity. I suspect the temperature will drop significantly when night falls. I'll have a better idea of our prospects at that time."

He began to remove his armor, piece by piece, setting it in a near pile near one of the portable heaters. You scooted forward to help remove his leg armor, starting with his shinguards and working up to his cuisses.

"Are you that excited to get me naked, mesh'la?" Din said lowly.

Your face felt hot as you slapped him on the thigh and widened your eyes at him, even if you couldn't stop the smile on your face. "Riduur!" you scolded, jerking your chin to the frog mom and the kid. "You better keep those thoughts to yourself or you can sleep at the other end of the ship."

"Won't be a problem, mesh'la. I had plenty of

practice before we married."

Your eyes narrowed as you internally wondered just how long he'd been keeping those thoughts to himself.

Din left only his helmet on and seated himself beside you. He then patted his thigh, silently letting you know that there was an opening available.

Not only were you hypothermic and in need of more warmth, but you were never one to pass up an opportunity to cuddle with your husband, so you were quick to settle yourself in his lap facing him, one leg on either side of his hips.

You had just laid your head on his chest when the frog mom started to croak urgently.

"I'm sorry lady, I don't understand Frog," Din responded as he covered the pair of you in a blanket. "Whatever it is, it can wait until morning. I recommend you get some sleep."

You watched the stranded mother place her own blanket over her eggs. If you were gonna have to stay awake all night like Din told you—

"You can sleep now," he murmured as if he could sense your thoughts. "I'll have to wake you up if the heaters turn off, but you should get some rest while you can."

"Only if you promise to sleep, too." When he doesn't immediately respond, you lift your head off his chest and stare right into his helmet. "Din, you need to sleep, too."

"I'm not tired—" he started to protest, but you knew better. You'd been taking care of him for over a year now. Just because you were hypothermic doesn't mean you forgot Din neglected both meals and sleep before you came along.

"Do not start with me, riduur," you scolded, glaring up at him through your lashes. The look was a warning, and it was clear that Din understood by the way his helmet fell back against the wall. "The last time you rested for more than five minutes was before we arrived on Tatooine. You cannot take care of everyone else if you don't take care of yourself."

"Okay, okay." He nudged your head back to his chest, brushing his fingers through your hair once, then again. "I'll sleep."

"Thank you," you murmured.

His gloved fingers trailed to your neck this time, where he tapped his thumb twice and then made small strokes back and forth. Din whispered, "Thank you, mesh'la," placing such sweet emphasis on 'you' that your heart ached for him. He had said it like... like he didn't deserve it. "I... didn't realize you paid such close attention."

"Of course I do," you said. "You do such a great job of taking care of me and the kid, so it's my job to make sure you're needs are met, too. You're my riduur. I swore a vow to you." You tightened your arms around him. "And I plan on keeping it."

He squeezed you back. "Speaking of needs—"

You pinched his arm, causing him to flinch. "What did I say about keeping your thoughts to yourself?"

"I was only going to say to let me know if you needed another blanket," he groaned.

"I'll believe that when banthas fly."

—

"Wake up, Mandalorian."

Din pulled his gun out of his holster and rolled you underneath him before he was even consciously aware of what was going on. You clutched tightly to Din's arm as you woke, eyes wide.

"This cannot wait until morning."

You blinked away the sleep fog. The robotic voice was coming from Zero, the droid who had assisted in the attempt of Din's capture on the New Republic prison ship— and almost killed the kid.

"Din—"

"Do not be alarmed," the droid said. "I bypassed the droid's security protocols and accessed its vocabulator."

You sat up to peek around Din's shoulder, and you realized it was the frog lady speaking. She held a microphone wired to the droid.

"What the hell are you doing?" Din holstered his blaster, but he kept his arm firmly placed over your torso. "That droid is a killer."

"These eggs are the last brood of my life cycle," the droid translated. "My husband has risked his life to carve out an existence for us on the only planet that is hospitable to our species. We fought too hard and suffered too much to resign ourselves to the extinction of our family tree. I must demand that you hold true to the deal that you agreed to."

"Look, lady. The deal is off," Din said. "We're lucky if we get off this frozen tomb with our lives."

The Frog Lady croaked into the microphone again. "I thought honoring one's word was a part of the Mandalorian code. I guess those are just stories for children."

Din bolted to his feet, so rigid that his shoulders didn't even move with the labored breaths coming through the modulator. You could only guess how frustrated he was feeling right now— the past week had worn him down to exhaustion. First, it was the business with the beskar hunters, then the krayt dragon, and now this.

You slipped your fingers into Din's clenched fist, giving a soft squeeze.

"This was not part of the deal," he said.

You tugged gently on his hand and stood up. "C'mere."

Din followed you across the hull, his movements softer and less rigid the moment you were in his sight. "Riduur..."

You hushed him. "Just breathe with me."

After taking one deep breath in, you were surprised when Din curled one arm around your shoulders and cradled your head with the other. His grip tightened like you were the only thing keeping his feet on the ground, as if without you, he might drift up into space. He took the next breath with you and then a few more after that.

"Riduur," you murmured, keeping your voice low and soothing. "You're right. None of this was part of the deal, so you don't owe her anything by creed or by code. And I hate to ask you to do more for us than you already have, but what if it was our kid?"

Din cupped your cheek, lifting your chin up to look into his visor.

"What would you do if it was his life on the line?" you said quieter, glancing over his shoulder at your precious green bean. "She's just a parent, riduur. Like we both are. Don't we owe it to her to try and save her eggs?"

Din rested his helmet against your forehead. "You're right, mesh'la," he said. "I love and hate that you're always right."

"Yeah, well," you giggled. "One of us has to be the brains, right?"

Translations (Mando'a - English)

ni ceta - I'm sorry

riduur - spouse

aliit - family

cyar'ika - darling

mesh'la - beautiful

masterlist

#mando x reader #mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian #mando #mando x y/n #mando x you #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian x you #din djarin fic #star wars #pedro pascal

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emeriethevalkyriegirl · 2 years

Text

The 8th Court (Dusk in the Wind)- Prolouge

A/N: I wanted to write this for so long. I hope you guys enjoy it. Read about my oc Ester if you don’t understand.

“Come children. It’s going to be alright.” The caretaker said, holding a crying baby in her arms.

The sky was red with war. The shouts felt like bullets piercing through your heart. The King of Hybern has come to claim what was his. But the courts were all fighting together to make sure he didn’t reach any point of the area. But how was Ester suppose to know?

Ester was only 4 when the war had started. Like all of the children, they were forced into a tent, cramped up together. Ester could barely move without hurting someone. She could here babies crying, kids shouting in anger, trying to figure out where there parents were. Ester couldn’t take it. She had to leave.

But she couldn’t. None of the children were aloud to leave until the war was over. But how were they suppose to know it’s over? She had to find out. She needed to. No one noticed the little child crawling away from the other children as she peeked out of the tent and out into the world.

Ester sighed, grateful to be away from the crowd of children. She saw everyone running around, carrying the injured people into infirmary tents. She even saw a woman with a big belly screaming at the top of her lungs. Ester couldn’t make out the words but she assumed that it had something to do with a baby. Either way, she didn’t care. She needed to focus on her own goal. Finding her father.

She never had a mother to look after her. Her father always told her that she died protecting her but it didn’t make sense to her. She wished she could’ve met her so she could ask her what happened. When the war had begun, her father had shoved her in the hands of the caretaker, pleading to her to take good care of her. Ester thrashed and screamed, begging the woman to let her go. She didn’t.

Now, Ester stood up on her two legs and tried to remember where her father had gone. No one noticed the little girl wondering around trying to find her papa. But no one stopped to help her either. When Ester was finally away from the crowd, she heard a shout coming from afar followed by an explosion. “Daddy!” she cried, trying to head towards the noise. The crowd behind her began to shout louder than before. She didn’t look back.

Ester made it to the top of the hill and what she saw, stopped her in her tracks. The battlefield was in chaos. The soldiers were ripping each other apart, trying to fight for their lives. She recognized her old High Lord Tamlin in the crowd. She use to like him, but after his betrayal to his own people, her people had turned their back on him. He was fighting off 4 of Hybern’s men followed by a man with large bat wings she didn’t recognize. Another shout was heard and Ester turned her head to see where it came from.

She saw him. Her father. He was fighting off 2 Hybern soldiers. “Daddy!” she cried, smiling. He was here. She can be with him. If he was here, then she was okay. If they were together, they’d-

A sword went through her father’s chest. Ester froze in shock, watching the blood spill from her father’s body. Her father stood frozen, dropping his sword. The Hybern soldier pulled the sword out, watching him fall to the ground.

“DADDY!!!!” Ester screamed, running down the hill to her father. She didn’t care about the fight. She didn’t care about the screaming. She just wanted her daddy.

Ester avoided the sharp sword as best as she could, only stopping when she came to her father. He was coughing up blood and his intestines were exposed to the air. Ester shook her father violently. “Wake up! Daddy wake up!” she cried, tears falling down her eyes. Her father didn’t budge. Not a single sound came from him. Ester looked around to see if anyone noticed him. No one even took a glance. Ester grabbed his arm and tried to carry her papa off of the battlefield, but he was too heavy for her 4 year old body. “Daddy, you gotta get up.” she cried, softer this time.

One of the Hybern soldiers brought his sword out and smiled at the little girl. “Poor child. Would you like to join your daddy?” he asked so sinisterly that Ester began to cry. “I want my daddy!” she said rubbing her eyes. The soldier raised his sword. “Don’t worry. You’ll see him real so-” The soldier didn’t finish his sentence. He was cut off because a sword had punctured into his belly. He fell to the ground, dying instantly. Ester saw the whole thing and looked up to see a tall man with large bat wings. Ester realized that it was the same man that was with Tamlin.

Thinking it was another Hybern soldier, Ester backed up. “Please don’t hurt me. I just want my-” The Illryian grabbed Ester and flew out of the battlefield, shocking the poor girl. When she realized how far away she was from her papa, she began to thrash and scream. “Let me go! I want my daddy! I want my daddy!” she said. The Illryian didn’t answer. He only landed on the previous hill from before. He looked at her with sadness and pity. Ester didn’t hold her tears back. “I want...my daddy!” Ester wailed one last time before the Illryian held her tightly in his giant embrace. Ester didn’t remember when she fell asleep, but after she’d woken up, the war was over.

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

Hope you enjoyed it everyone. I got inspired by @daevastanner who is the greatest fanfic writer I’ve seen so far. I only read Trial of the Valkyrie, but after I read it, I got the idea about Ester and her story. I hope you all stick around for the first chapter. Anyways I’m out!

#OC Ester #The 8th Court #Tamlin #War of Hybern #acowar #acotar #Azriel

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sergeantsporks · 3 years

Text

Do You Want the Knife You Left in My Back, or Can I Keep It?

Rating: Teen and up, Gen

An injured Hunter wanders into Hexside. What was Luz supposed to do, just let him bleed out on the floor?

Ch 4/5: Rescue

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3

Ao3

Hunter sat down with a whump at the base of a tree, huffing and shivering. He looked back at the owl house. Maybe he should have told the owl lady what had happened to her apprentice.

No. No, then she would just be angry at him, and would kick him out—or she’d trade him in a heartbeat to get Luz back. He had to get Luz back before Kikimora sent her demands to Eda instead.

Maybe they could have... worked to rescue her together? Maybe Eda wouldn’t have sold him out, maybe she would have helped.

Who was he kidding, who wouldn’t trade him in a heartbeat for Luz? On the one hand, cheerful, friendly human who could do magic! On the other hand, broken, powerless witch with an annoying voice.

Not that it mattered. Luz wouldn’t want him around after this—the best he could do was rescue her, and then hope he could make it back to the coven on his own, and pray that Belos would be angrier at Kikimora than him.

He could—he could do this.

Ugh.

Maybe.

Hunter leaned against the tree, trying to summon the willpower to get up and keep going. But it was quiet, and he was dizzy and cold, and his back was screaming at him to stop, and he just wanted to go back to sleep where it was warm. He twisted his arm around, gritting his teeth as his back protested, and felt under his shirt for the bandages, hissing when the touch made the pain in his back flare up.

His fingers came back red.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Hunter was relatively certain that was very bad. His head thudded back into the tree.

Stupid.

What was he supposed to do?!

“Where is he?” Kikimora’s voice came through the trees, “I really thought that would work!”

Hunter froze. Don’t find me, don’t find me, don’t find me—

Her little footsteps pattered nearby—on the other side of the tree he was on. Hunter shifted slightly, and a branch from the tree pressed right between his shoulder blades, right in the wound. Hunter bit on his hand to keep from screaming as the world blacked out.

But when he woke up again, Kikimora was gone.

This was his chance.

Hunter used the tree to haul himself up, his world still spinning. He stumbled towards where Kikimora had come from to see Luz, still tied up. She gasped when she saw him.

“You came?! You really came?!”

“Yyyyyeah. Lemme just…” Relief conquered his adrenaline high, and he nearly blacked out again, but he managed to untie her. “Kay… I guess… run?”

Luz blinked at him. “You—you really came for her. You’d abandon your mission to help her? Betray the emperor?”

Hunter blinked back spots from his eyes, pressing his arms to his stomach. Wow—okay—this was—that adrenaline had really been—

“Uhhh—yeah—I’ll capture you later—‘s not a big—” he blinked again. “Did youuuuuu just refer… third person?”

She blinked again, but her eyelids blinked sideways instead of up and down.

Hunter managed to haul himself up again, the ground seeming to tilt and sway beneath him. “K—we gotta—we gotta go—”

Luz caught him as he fell, but then she wasn’t Luz anymore, she was some kind of snake creature. She snapped her fingers, and the ropes that had been tying her floated up yanked around him. Hunter arched his back, biting his lip so hard he tasted blood as they pressed against the stab wound. He flew backwards into a tree, and he could just see, through blurry vision, the snake creature slithering towards him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I really am—but this is the only way out for me.”

Xxx

Luz tore through the trees, her heart thudding in her chest. “Hunter!” she called, “Hunter, answer me if you can hear me! Are you okay?!”

She heard a weak cry for help, and raced towards it. “Hunter! Ohmygosh, you scared the living daylights… out… of… me…”

She skidded to a stop as she emerged in a small clearing. Kikimora was waiting, Hunter tied up in a limp, unconscious pile behind her. Next to Kikimora was… also Hunter. But as she watched, he shifted and changed.

A basilisk.

None of that explained why Kikimora had managed to get him out of the house—unless the basilisk had turned into Emperor Belos, she supposed.

“I told you I’d get him,” Kikimora purred.

Luz pulled out a set of glyphs. “Let him go. Now.”

Kikimora snapped her fingers, and Hunter floated up, her magic dumping him in an unceremonious heap on the floor. “Oh, no, human, I hold the cards now. You set down those glyphs, or… well, his death won’t be pleasant.”

Luz bit her lip, looking down at Hunter—if she could keep Kikimora from killing him just long enough for her friends to come back…

“Promise you won’t hurt him if I drop the glyphs?”

Kikimora pulled him up by the hair, pressing the claws of her other hand to his throat. “No, but I promise that I will hurt him if you don’t.”

Hunter was still limp in her grasp, and a wave of worry swept over Luz—he hadn’t reacted at all. “I want proof you haven’t killed him already.”

Kikimora shook him. “Wake up!”

His eyes opened just a crack, and then closed again. Kikimora tossed him back to the ground, putting one foot right over where his stab wound was. “There. He’s still alive. Now. Put the glyphs down before. I. Change. That.” She ground her foot down with each word, and Luz dropped the glyphs as Hunter howled in pain, breaking off into a heartbreaking whimper.

“Okay, okay, just… leave him alone! Please!”

Kikimora removed her foot. “Let’s see… I will take you to Belos. Alive. And you will agree that you were the one to hurt him—this worked out better than I could have hoped. I never thought you’d actually take the brat in! Yes, you will tell the emperor that you attacked him. And if you ever recant your story—well, Hunter has to sleep sometime. He has to eat. There are a thousand ways that someone—perhaps one of your friends—could assassinate him.”

There was a rustle in the trees behind Kikimora, and a feather floated down. Right. Showtime.

Luz glared at Kikimora. “This won’t work. Hunter will just tell everyone what happened, and your lie will fall flat.”

A satisfied little smile played across Kikimora’s lips. “Oh, I don’t think so. All I have to do is threaten the reverse—he agrees with me or you meet an unfortunate end.”

Luz snorted. “That’ll never work—he wouldn’t do that for me.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Luz shrugged. “Eh. I can think of another reason it won’t work.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

Luz grinned. “You won’t even make it back to the keep.”

Eda leapt from the trees with an unholy shriek, tackling Kikimora. The little demon drew a magic circle, but Eda kicked her away before she could finish it.

“Don’t. Threaten. My. Kid.” Eda growled, snatching Kikimora in her talons. “Let’s go for a little flight, shall we?”

Luz ducked past the fighting pair, kneeling next to Hunter. Blood was soaking through his shirt, and her hands fluttered around the wound uselessly. “Okay, okay, okay, this is fine.” She pulled up the shirt and undid the bandages. The stitches had ripped out, and the wound was angry, swollen, red.

And bleeding a lot.

“Hunter why?!” she demanded frantically, wadding up her cloak and pressing it to the wound, “Why would you run off?!”

His eyes opened just a crack, glazed over from pain and fever. “… you’re not a snake,” he murmured, then yelped as she pressed harder on the wound

“Oh, thank you, very helpful, that certainly explains everything.”

He whimpered, giving her big, hurt eyes.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you bleed out! Wait, why am I apologizing for that? Okay, okay—what did the healing professor say, what… Okay, let’s see, take the swelling down—”

Luz slapped an ice glyph on the ground, trying to make an ice block.

The magic didn’t come, and Luz felt her limbs grow weak. She whirled around to see the basilisk, staring at her with wide eyes. “I can’t let you go.”

Luz held her hands up. “I know what you’ve been through,” she said quietly, “I know Emperor Belos has hurt you. Has hurt your kin. Hunted you down. But you don’t have to do this. If you make Hunter go back, if you take me back, we are both dead. Is that really something you want?”

“You have no idea what I went through!” they scream-hissed.

“I do—I really do. I met one of your own, number five. She got away, she’s living away, she’s okay. She’s making her own choices, her own life. You can do the same. Please—please, let me take care of him. Don’t let Belos and Kikimora hurt someone else.”

The basilisk stared at her for a long minute.

Then they turned and slithered away.

Luz breathed a sigh of relief, turning back to Hunter. “Okay, okay, okay, we need to get you somewhere safe.”

She tried to haul him up, but he went completely deadweight on her with a whimper. “Oh—Hey! I know it hurts, but you gotta stick with me, okay, you gotta hold on.”

He shook his head with a whine, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Hunter, please! Work with me, I can’t carry you!”

“Need a lift?”

Puddles touched down next to her, Viney, Gus, and Willow waving from the top. Puddles squawked and nuzzled Hunter. “I can’t get him up,” Luz called, “He’s in really bad shape, Viney!”

Viney slid off of her griffin, opening a pouch strapped to Puddle’s side. She tossed a mini stretcher to the ground, and it grew to full size, with ropes on the ends. “I’ve got you covered.”

Luz laid Hunter down on the stretcher, sitting down next to him. “I am the worst caretaker ever,” she groaned.

“No, he’s just the worst patient!” Gus called down as Puddles grabbed the ends of the ropes and lifted off. They soared over the trees, back towards the owl house. Eda banked up next to them.

“Miss stab-happy is re-thinking her life at the top of a very tall tree. How are we looking?”

Luz squeezed Hunter’s hand. “Not great,” she said softly, “Eda, what if—”

“Luz. He’s going to be okay. Okay?”

Luz took a deep breath. “Okay.” She shook her head at Hunter. “What did she say to you to get you to come out of the house?”

He didn’t respond, and they touched down at the door. Hooty snaked around Puddles. “WHOA! That was WEIRD!”

“Good to have you back, Hooty,” Eda said tiredly, touching down, “Now give us space.” She carried Hunter inside, laying him out on the floor. “Alright, healing girl. Do your thing.”

Viney pulled out the knife that Kikimora had used to stab Hunter. “Okay, I’ve been taking a better look at this thing, asking my teachers questions about it, and I think I can put a better fix on this. Heal most of the internal damage—”

“I thought you already did that!”

“No, I put a patch on them—I stopped the problem from getting worse, sort of froze its ability to tear any further, re-routed any essential functions to undamaged parts of the body so that he could heal. But I think now—I can finish off the healing, find a workaround to the curse on the knife. It’ll fix the nerve pathways, anyway, and seal up some of the holes further in.” She gestured to the bloody mess that was his back. “There’s a tradeoff, though—I’m going to have to shift nerves and cells from another part of his back to fix the damage. Basically, I’m going to shift the damage from his internal organs and spinal cord to his outer muscles and skin, and there I can easily use stitches to fix the tear damage so that he can heal naturally. The wounds won’t be life-threatening anymore. If I can spread the damage far enough, it’ll just be a matter of stitching the initial cut, and the rest will be like naturally torn muscles.”

“Huh?”

“He’ll be really sore and have a nasty cut on his back,” Viney simplified, “But I mean really sore, Luz, like, he won’t be able to move at all for several days.”

“Oh, good,” Eda commented, “maybe that way he won’t run away.”

“I’ve got it,” Luz promised, “I’ll help him with everything he needs. Promise.”

“You’ll need to make sure the cut stays clean, or it’ll get infected. I’ll leave disinfectant behind. Be careful, it stings. As for the fever… well, once I shift the damage, it won’t be fun, but it won’t kill him either.”

“Okay. Okay, do it.

Viney took in a deep breath. “Okay, there goes nothing!” she drew a circle over Hunter’s back, and the stab wound shimmered and glowed. Pulsing, glowing golden lines spread out, and the wound slowly started to heal, at least not deep anymore. Viney grinned. “Yessssss! Alright, Luz, Gus, Willow, scram, you don’t want to watch the stitches.”

Luz let out a shaky breath as Eda steered her towards the kitchen. “We almost lost him,” she said quietly.

“Almost,” Eda emphasized, “But we didn’t. And that’s what matters.” She sighed. “Look. If you… need any help. If you need a break from him, or you’re just too tired to take care of him. I… can step in.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah. Really. I have to admit, he’s starting to grow on me.”

“He was unconscious all day, Eda.”

“Exactly.”

Ch 5

#toh #the owl house #toh hunter #luz noceda #edalyn the owl lady #toh viney #toh fanfiction #my writing

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

Text

The Assassin and the Caretaker

Warnings: blood, wound, cleaning of wound, drugged, broken leg, head injury, restraints

It was all going according to the plan.

Just as Assasin said, "They will be wounded, I promise you, and probably very defenseless. Except for Villain, they are tough, so don't underestimate them. Hero will have be have a banged up head, broken leg and Villain has a nasty wound on their torso."

Sure enough, Hero's head was bloodied and their leg was bent in all sorts of places. Villain was stumbling around with a dark red spot on their shirt as they made it up the steps to Caretaker's house.

"Let them in. Make Villain trust you then drug them with the serum I gave you."

Caretaker had the syringe in their back pocket where no one would be able to see it. All going to the plan.

Villain knocked.

"Don't open right away. Even hurt, Villain may realize that you were waiting for them."

Villain slammed on the door again, so Caretaker went to let them in.

"Act like you don't trust Villain and bring Hero inside. Hide them in a room, bind their hands, gag them, and make sure they don't wake up."

Caretaker smacked Villain's face and yelled, "How could you do this to them?!"

"Just take care of them," Villain replied before turning away. Caretaker had to admire the strength in their voice despite the bleeding wound.

They took Hero inside, threw them in the bathroom, and restrained them as Assassin told them to do.

Hero's eyes fluttered open. The gag was already in place, so any pleads came out as whimpers. Caretaker hesitated for a moment before given them a high dose of painkillers.

"Wait till Villain actually needs help walking. Remember, they are extremely protective of Hero, so don't screw up. I can't have you dead."

Caretaker watched from the window as Villain swayed around. They made it half way down the driveway when they collasped in a bloody heap.

"Now, do as I told you to earlier and make Villain trust you. Then drug them."

Caretaker cautiously went outside and scooped Villain in their arms. Their injured captive glared at them, but allowed their head to rest against Caretaker's chest. Caretaker bit their lip.

"Text me when Villain is inside."

Caretaker took out their phone the moment they set Villain on their couch and texted Assassin: They are in. Come now.

"Make sure the blood stops flowing, then drug them."

Caretaker pressed firmly on Villain's wound as they gasped and clawed at the sofa. Unlike the strong person Assasin guaranteed, but Caretaker took care not to underestimate them.

"Hero," they whimpered when it was all over. "Please be okay. Hero..."

"Shh, shh," Caretaker brushed Villain's hair back as they got the syringe out.

"What's that?" Villain asked, jerking away.

"Antibiotics," Caretaked lied, but Villain didn't relax. They didn't hesitate any longer and plunged the needle into Villain's arm.

"Record them Caretaker, they may spill some valuable information. That drug is a power suppressant, painkiller, and tends to act as a truth serum. Three in one."

Caretaker unlocked their phone and started recording Villain as they slowly sunk deep into the couch, muttering about Hero.

"Villain?" Caretaker asked.

"Where's Hero?" Villain's voice was still sharp even as the serum took its hold. Even their eyes remained lucid. There it was, the strength.

"Safe. Like you will be. Just go to sleep," Caretaker cooed in their most calming voice.

"Wha... wha..." Villain voice dropped very suddenly and they started breathing faster. "What d'ya... do... me?"

"Sleep," Caretaker insisted, brushing back their hair. Please make me seem kind, please...

"No," Villain said and attempted to punch Caretaker in the face. Only they missed and nearly fell off the couch.

"Villain-"

"Hero," Villain interrupted. "Want... Hero."

"Yes I know."

"Please," they whimpered and collasped back down into the sofa. Caretaker could tell by the look in their eyes that they were loosing the fight against the drug.

"Villain," Caretaker took advantage of the situation. "Do you love Hero?"

"No," Villain whimpered.

"What are they to you?"

"M' best... fre..." Villain's voice trailed off as their head lolled to the side.

"Hey stay with me," Caretaker tapped Villain's cheek, half wondering if they gave them too much. Assasin was sure that they could get answers, but how fast the drug was working suggested otherwise.

"Friend," Villain finished their sentence. "Hero... my best friend."

"Wh-where do you live Villain?" Caretaker asked. They were kind of hesitant. Villain would never answer that truthfully. They wouldn't.

"12... 127 N-n... 'th... Av... ave-avenue..." Villain slurred as their eyelids began to droop, much to Caretaker's surprise. They mumbled incoherently before asking again, "Where... Hero? Gotta tell 'em we... we n-not safe."

"You are just fine. Hero is healing."

"Lemme s-see," Villain slurred. They sat up and got to their feet, only to fall on the ground in front of Caretaker mumbling all sorts of nonsense.

Just then, the front door opened and Assasin was in the room. They smiled at Villain lying on the floor.

"Here's your portion of the money," Assasin handed Caretaker a check of twenty thousand dollars. "Teamwork, eh? We would make a fantastic team." Assasin strutted over to Villain and lifted their limp head with their boot.

"Gosh will Supervillain love you. You and Hero both."

#injured villain #injured hero #drugged #caretaker #bad caretaker #wounded #protective villain

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wesimpforxiao · 4 years

Text

Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 3.2

Author’s Note: We gotta add some Bennett to this chapter because he deserves all the love! Totally have a soft spot for him when I rolled him around two months ago.

"Why are we at a winery?" You eyed the standalone building sitting near a body of water. It had been no more than a week since Xiao told you to keep quiet about your 'secrets' even though you weren't sure what they were.

"We'll be getting Diluc's help until Xiao comes back," answered Aether.

Right. Xiao's leaving. You scrunched your nose up in protest but didn't say anything. The yaksha had left the group for a couple days after your 'contract' was made, and the entire time Childe was practically chained to your side. How long would he be gone for, if Aether thought it was necessary to get another person on the team? You didn't want to know the answer.

And Xiao wasn't the only one temporarily leaving, either. Zhongli, the only other person you could supposedly trust, left once Xiao returned a few days ago. Something about trouble at the funeral parlor? Something told you that was a lie.

"Paimon thinks Diluc and Childe on a team would be a disaster," the mascot let out a nervous laugh. "Are you sure it's okay for them to meet each other?"

"Yeah, about that--Childe, can you keep your Fatui side in check?"

"Whatever do you mean, Traveler? I'm sure this Diluc fellow wouldn't be that upset with me. Besides, I don't mind wearing my status on my sleeve."

"Yeah, we know! That's the problem." Paimon crossed her arms and shook her head.

"You'll need to hide it from Diluc." Aether stopped walking and faced the Harbinger. "Can you do that?"

Childe was about to object the idea when you half-muttered under your breath. "I thought hiding things was your specialty?"

His mouth remained open for an extra second, and his eyes narrowed significantly at your comment. He took it as a challenge...or perhaps a type of threat?

Even Xiao was surprised at your sudden confrontation.

"Well?" Aether prompted without having heard you.

"Of course. Anything for a comrade," Childe cleared his throat and flashed his signature smile.

.............................................

"How long will you be gone?"

You somehow managed to catch Xiao alone while everyone was inside the winery. You had thought the two of you had gotten closer since you remembered your past, but it was like he was purposely pushing you away. His replies had only gotten shorter since then.

"I don't know. A few days if I'm lucky."

"Do you have to leave?" Your shoulders dropped in clear disappointment. "What's all the rush even about, anyway? Are you ever going to explain why I have to keep qui--"

"Lower your voice," the yaksha warned. He folded his arms across his chest and glanced around the deserted patio. "I told you, we cannot discuss this. Someone could be listening--"

"But WHO? The least you could do is tell me who!" You stood taller and squared off with the yaksha. He just sighed and turned his back to you.

"I'm leaving."

"Zhongli isn't here either," you continued, spewing the words out more desperately this time in an effort to keep him from leaving. "You said I couldn't trust anyone except you and him. What do you expect me to do if both of you are gone? And how do you expect me do deal with Childe and his stupid jokes? You're scaring me by keeping me in the dark like this."

Xiao hesitated, but walked towards you anyway. He stopped once he was close enough to whisper. "There is a possibility we are both in danger. That is all I can tell you; revealing more would risk losing our advantage to the enemy."

"But...who is the enemy?"

Xiao's gaze didn't reveal an answer, much to your dismay. "Do you remember what I told you back then?"

"Huh?"

"If you're in danger."

"Oh." 'Say my name. Adeptus Xiao. I will be here when you call.' "Yes."

"Good. I'll return soon." He disappeared before your eyes, leaving behind a gentle breeze that caressed your hair much like he did not too long ago.

.............................................

You returned to the group in a somber mood inside the winery. There, you were greeted by a man that couldn't have been more than six years older than you. He didn't appear to be in great spirits either.

"Good. While we're at it, why don't we see about getting the Knights of Favonius to join us?"

"We'll just need Bennett--" Aether defended.

"Relax, I was only joking. I need to check in on Angel's Share anyways. Shall we get going?" The man's eyes landed on you. "So you're the only one without a vision?"

"U-uh, unfortunately," you laughed nervously.

"I've been training her since she joined the team. Her sword skills aren't half bad." Child sauntered over to you and placed a hand on your shoulder. Now that you were without Xiao's protection, you tensed under his grip, feeling that it was somehow more threatening. But this was just his usual display of respect for his teammate.

"As long as we don't run into Fatui, you should be just fine," Diluc assured you once he noticed your uneasiness.

"I don't think we'll have that problem," Childe laughed, much to the annoyance of Paimon. She rolled her eyes and disappeared with a poof.

..............................................

You've never seen someone have so much bad luck in your entire life. From the time of recruiting Bennett on the team to the time the group left Mondstat, he had already found a way to get injured over five times. Your mouth hung agape at this last time, in which you all had walked past some pigeons that suddenly decided to peck at Bennett's head.

"Are you okay?" You swatted the pigeons away before they could peck an eye out.

"Ha, yeah," Bennett shyly rubbed the back of his head. "It's like I said earlier, all I have is bad luck!" Despite this, it didn't stop the boy from smiling ear to ear. "This is nothing, really."

"O-okay. If you say so." You walked along side him, while the rest of the team took the front.

"So you're from Liyue?" Bennett kicked a stone and nearly stumbled. He played it off so that it appeared he meant to walk backwards next to you.

"Yup. I live in Quince Village."

"Nice! I've been there a couple times for commissions. The rice fields are really pretty when the sun sets. The squirrels aren't that friendly, though."

"Does every animal attack you?"

"Not all of them, but I would say a decent chunk of the population has it out for me," he chuckled. "When I'm at the guild, my dads usually scare them off."

"Your dads?"

"Oh! Well, I was found as a baby and brought back to Mondstat. The older men in the guild raised me, so I call them my dads."

"I see." You thought back to your Granny, who was no doubt worrying over the fact that she hadn't heard from you the past couple months. "An old lady, my Granny, took me in when I was a toddler."

"Were you abandoned too?" Bennett asked almost too eagerly, with a hope to finally connect with someone.

"No. I was--well, I can't really talk about it. I shouldn't have said anything."

"O-oh, sorry about prying. I tend to drive people away once they know me, so I was afraid--"

"Don't worry, I'll tell you at some point. I just can't talk about it right now," you gave him a small smile for reassurance. He was practically beaming as he smiled back at you.

That's right, Childe recalled the day he first met you. That old lady was her caretaker. She may know something...

#genshin impact #xiao genshin impact #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader #xiao fanfiction #xiao one shot

174 notes · View notes

darker-soft-starker · 4 years

Photo

Starker High School AU Pt. 7 (1...6)

tw: general Howard Stark warning

----

So, here’s the thing.

Peter meant to ask May about the letter the night he got it back from Tony, He really did. But then everyone was in such a good mood, he couldn’t bring himself to shatter that to satisfy his own curiosity.

So then he meant to ask the next day.

And he tries, he really does.

But the letter feels as heavy as an anvil in his desk drawer and Peter is too nervous to ask about it. Something always comes up or he gets too scared to shatter the image of the good, obedient nephew he is, one who doesn’t go rifling through mail not addressed to him, prying into personal business.

So he flusters and stumbles pretty badly for the first couple attempts. He changes topic quickly, pretending like he was going to ask about something else, asking himself where exactly his business ends and where his curiosity begins.

Once during a gymnastics comp he stopped mid routine to check on a rival who had fallen from the rings and injured themselves. His coach asked when he was going to stop being a goddamn martyr.

He shakes the Magic 8-Ball on Monday morning and asks the universe if it’s an appropriate time to approach May.

Reply hazy, try again.

Well, that’s not what his flagging courage had hoped for. He shakes it again.

Ask again later.

One more time, harder.

Better not tell you now.

“What the hell,” he whispers, placing it haphazardly upon where he took it. “That’s bullshit.”

“What’s with the potty mouth,” May asks suddenly from behind him. He turns as she’s affixing some dangling earrings to her ears. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

“Nothing,” he sighs. “Just - do you have a minute?”

She checks her watch. “I have about forty seconds. Is something wrong - are you okay?”

“No - I mean yes, I’m okay. Are...are you?”

“Top of the world, bubby,” she scoops her keys from the bowl, approaching him with a curious expression. “Why do you ask?”

There’s no easy way to ask without blatantly admitting to going through her things, and the last thing he wants her to think is that she can’t trust him.

“I just mean. If you weren’t. If there was something wrong, you would tell me, right?”

“Of course,” her face falls. “You’re acting strange, Pete.”

“I just worry, that’s all.”

You’re all I have left, is what loops over and over in his mind, but doesn’t say. She seems to hear it anyway, rushing forward and kissing his forehead, her perfume filling his nose.

“Everything is fine, bubs. The second it isn’t, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Okay.”

“I gotta go, but stop worrying okay? That’s my job. You have a good day.”

She hurries to scoop up her handbag and closes the door before he’s broken out of his thoughts long enough to reply. He sighs and shakes the stupid ball again before he leaves as well.

Cannot predict now.

Of course.

Just for once he’d like fate to be firmly on his side.

---

Something smells weird.

It’s sharp, chemical and not entirely unpleasant. Noticeable, however, sharp enough to cut through the usual musty smell of the library. It’s like apple cider, but overpowers the usual library smell of old books and dust and pencil shavings, a scent Peter has long associated with study, solitude, and the easing of his anxious heart from a gallop to a steady stride.

It’s not a bad smell, just misplaced.

And Tony’s been acting strange all study period. Like, weirder than normal - and his resting state of normal is already ineffably frenetic and bewildering, so this was an entirely different carton of eggs.

Peter doesn’t exactly want to bring it up, they’re kind of on a tenuously peaceful truce, a silent lay down of arms, so to speak.

Well, as peaceful as a truce can be while they call each other all sorts of names and rib each other over literally any sign of weakness, but still. They have some sort of an understanding now, and it’s all relatively innocent, good natured banter.

Mostly.

Peter for sure could have done without being called fuck-face-mcgee upon entering the library, but he’s willing to let it pass. He was late, after all.

“Anyway,” Peter says, sitting across the table from Tony, “so I think if we removed the monthly gym membership, we’d have an extra sixty per month that could go towards other stuff.”

“Like what?” Tony’s face pinches.

“I don’t know, like a college fund?”

“Ridiculous idea. I need that membership,” Tony rebukes, shrugging his leather jacket off, hooking it over the back of the chair. “When else am I supposed to get a reprieve from you and the cabbage patch?”

“When do I get a reprieve? I’m the money-maker. When do I get my break from work and childcare?”

“At work. What are you, like an art teacher or something? Your whole day is like a rich, white woman's vacation. Parents don’t get a lunch break.”

“Right. I’m sure watching Dora and burping an infant is as hard as teaching a class of thirty.”

“Wow. So dismissive. I mean, if you were a good spouse, you would give your withered and weary husband a break from screaming babies and shitty diapers.”

“Mhmm. That would mean I’d have to do something nice for you, and that doesn’t sound like me.”

Tony shakes his head. “We’re getting a divorce as soon as Molly is old enough to pick me as the superior parent,” he points to Peter’s papers. “Put that in the notes.”

Peter closes his eyes and sighs, willing himself not to lean over the table and smack the other boy.

“You are not the superior parent. You’re the deadbeat that forgets to pick her up from school and day drinks.”

“And yet, she loves me the most. You’re just the breadwinner who comes home grumpy every evening. I’m the cool dad.”

“Fine, keep your druglord baby. I never wanted kids anyway.”

“Fine. I’m keeping the car.”

“I’m keeping the apartment.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

They snicker quietly in a rare moment of camaraderie before a lightbulb goes off in Peter's head.

“What if we used the membership, but cut costs elsewhere, like, cutting our own hair and stuff. We could save for a yearly holiday, go to the beach or something.”

“Florida! Disney, roadtrip, yes,” Tony clicks his fingers towards Peter, smiling wide. “Look at you getting all savvy. Call the judge, the marriage is back on.”

“You can’t go to Disney for a few hundred dollars, dumbass, that’s barely the price of admission,” Peter scribbles on his pad, making note of their ideas. “You ever been?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Not even once.”

“That’s surprising. Isn’t that where all rich white people take their baby sociopaths to beat up their first mascot?”

“One, I was never a baby, I emerged fully grown, and two, could you imagine Howard Stark within a mile of the happiest place on earth? He’d have a fucking stroke,” his face changes like he’s had an epiphany. “Not a bad idea, actually.”

Peter doesn’t mention that he doesn’t personally know Howard Stark but is willing to take Tony’s assessment at face value. That being said, he can’t imagine Tony, now, voluntarily heading to Disney without coercion or the promise of copious quantities of alcohol. He’d probably smoke and cuss and scare away small children.

He mind lingers on that particular characterisation, and for a moment tries to picture what Tony looked like as a kid, if he was a chubby, toothless little brat, can’t help then imagining him with Mickey Mouse ears, gleefully running through his gigantic home, harried caretakers running after him.

He must have been the worst.

“I’ve never been further than Washington,” Peter offers, “but that was for AcDec, so it wasn’t like we got to see much.”

“You did Academic Decathlon?”

“Yep.”

“Ew, why would you do that to yourself.”

“I still do it. It looks good on college applications and it’s fun,” he shrugs. “I like it. I’m good at it.”

Tony’s hands cover his mouth, but it doesn’t stifle the rising apple of his cheeks or the mirth in his voice.

“I’m feeling so much second-hand embarrassment for you right now.”

“Shut up,” Peter huffs, kicking him under the table, satisfied when the other boy winces. He fails to smother his own wince when he gets a kick in return, right in the kneecap. “Nothing wrong with being an intellectual.”

“You’re a fucking nerd, four-eyes.”

“What about you?” Peter rolls his eyes, keen to change the subject. “Been outside New York?”

Tony shrugs, tapping his pen on the pad, looking anywhere but at him. “When I was younger I’d sometimes go on my dad's business trips to Europe or Japan or whatever. And we have a house in Malibu.”

“That sounds awesome.”

Tony snorts. He shuffles on his seat, sliding their notes over and making further amendments in quick strokes, the cheap pen spurting bright red ink over the paper like arterial spray.

“Oh yeah, it was a real blast.”

Spoiled brat.

“Are you going anywhere for Thanksgiving?”

“With my family?” Tony looks up. “No, I’d rather stick my head up a turkey’s ass. You?”

Without warning, Peter’s hand flies to cover his mouth, unable to but snort at the imagery, He’s not sure if Tony just doesn’t get along with his family or if he’s still stuck in that churlish, ‘too cool to be around my parents’ stage of adolescence. It’s one the idiosyncrasies that would have annoyed Peter before, his ungratefulness of having a family that’s still alive would be just another thing for Peter to hate him for.

Now, he thinks, he’s beginning to parse out when Tony’s being sincere and when he’s hyperbolic, finally recognising the latter as a mechanism to throw someone off a topic that makes Tony uncomfortable. He sees it - the warning lights and stop signs in barbed coding, wrapped up in dry wit and sarcasm.

Peter is like that sometimes, too.

And what the hell would Peter know about having a normal family.

“Yeah, actually, for once,” he says softly. “My aunt - not May - and uncle have a holiday home up north, so we’re staying with them over the long weekend.”

“S’cool. May’s family?”

Peter shakes his head. “Sort of - they’re not actually related, but May and Margaret have been best friends since college, so.”

“Is Margaret a babe, too?”

Peter throw a chewed-up pencil at him that he catches easily.

“Don’t be gross.”

“I’m not,” he throws the pencil back, overshooting and hitting the shelves behind them. “What are we talking, on a scale of haggard to hottie.”

“I don’t know, man. You seem to have questionable taste in the people you are attracted to.”

Tony grins crookedly, eyes shining with something Peter can’t decipher. “Ain't that the truth.”

“What’s the supposed to --” he stops himself, suddenly recognising what the strange scent was that he’d been picking up. “Wait - dude, are you wearing cologne?”

Tony’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he responds. “No,” he denies, just as the bell rings. “Oh, look at that, time to get to class.”

Saved by the bell.

“So, this is it,” Tony nods, shutting the lid of his laptop as the bell signals the end of their free period. “We’re done. The assignment. That’s the last of it, right?”

Dazedly, he watches Tony stuffing his laptop and notes into his backpack, brow creasing as his mind catches up.

“Uh, yeah. I guess.”

“Send me your notes tonight, I’ll stitch them together with mine and send them back.”

“Okay,” he sluggishly collects his own notes, picking up the bag by his feet. “That’s - that’s good.”

“Well, Parker,” Tony slings his backpack on his shoulder, shuffling backwards, “we didn’t kill each other. I mean, not for a lack of wanting on my behalf.”

‘’Yeah, from Wednesday we’re free. We can go back to normal.”

“Yeah,” Tony’s grin fades. They stare at each other for a long moment that could have been seconds or hours, he doesn’t know, until the second bell rings.

“Hey, um --”

“I’ll send you the notes later,” Tony interrupts, sotto voce. “I gotta get to class. See you around.”

Something in his stomach deflates, sadly and slowly, like a balloon with a pinprick, emptying itself until it’s an uncomfortably hard to digest crumpled mass at the base of his stomach. He pastes on a smile and looks out the window, hoping the feeling doesn’t show in his eyes.

That’s when he notices the leather jacket Tony has left behind, still slung over the back of the chair.

“You left your…” he trails off, turning back, but Tony is already long gone, probably already halfway to his next class. Like a bat out of hell, Peter thinks wryly, picking up the jacket, the leather smooth like butter under his touch, still warm around the collar where Tony’s had been leaning against it.

No good leaving it here to get stolen or be tossed into lost property. He decides to take it with him, folding it gently over his arm. He’ll give it back when he sees him again, maybe after school.

“Nice jacket, Parker,” Flash says approvingly when Peter bumps into him out in the hall.

At first he thinks he’s referring to Peter’s ratty hoodie, and it confounds him for a moment because it’s decidedly not nice, but then he realizes he’s referring to the leather in his arms.

“It’s not mine,” he replies a little too late, because Flash is already down the hall, out of earshot.

Peter sighs. It’s beginning to become a depressing theme.

---

The weird feeling in his chest doesn’t subside all afternoon, and into the evening Peter is starting to think maybe he just has indigestion, like acid reflux or something. Must be the chilli surprise from lunch. Maybe he’d missed his meds.

He sends his portion of the final notes to Tony’s email, turns off his computer and switches on Colbert.

---

It’s not until hours later, well after midnight and the infomercials are playing, only then does his phone buzz against his thigh with a response.

Figures that Tony would be a night owl like him.

> soz was distracted > youtube spiral

Peter shifts downwards on the bed, holding the phone over his face. < s’ok < what were you watching > say yes to the dress < lmao really > lol no > anyway, looks good. ur notes > will print off for u to sign tomorrow < is that a compliment or an admission u were wrong about me

> neither. One subject does not a genius make > unlike me, an actual genius

In your dreams, dipshit, he wants to type, but doesn’t, not really keen to provoke a muddy discussion on who is the smartest (it’s definitely Peter).

< u left ur jacket in the library btw, I have it, he texts instead, his pulse jumping when Tony replies with crying emoji’s.

Tony sends him a snap, unexpectedly, a sad face that makes Peter snort. His face seems distressed, the caption reads, thought i lost it for good.

Shifting down further on the bed, he’s feeling suddenly and inexplicably courageous, fire burning up from his belly button to his fingers.

Peter takes a silly photo of himself and sends it back. > didn’t want it to get stolen < aw u care

“I do not,” he whispers to himself. > i do not. come collect it after school tomorrow or im throwing it out. < u wouldn’t do that to me > there’s a lot of things i would do 2 u > .... > um > lol

Peter’s face flames at the implication. He reads over what he just so carelessly typed, stomach positively knotted with embarrassment. Oh god, that is not what he meant. His fingers fly over the screen at record speed as he types out a response. < NOT LIKE THAT < I MEANT IT IN A THREATENING WAY < I’M LITERALLY GAGGING > yikes > ur dirty talk needs work < no it DOESN’T bc we’re not sexting > sure jan > damn. didn’t kno u had it in u bubs < i don’t have it in me > not yet > ;)

Despite the deep blush still heating his face and his heart galloping in his chest, a laugh breaks out of him. The phone in his hand vibrates again. > jk jk, not ever > need to bleach my brain now

Slowly gliding back to earth he types out a response. < ikr me too < ugh.

He puts his phone down on the bed, looking up at the water-stained ceiling, amusement slowly fading. His pulse though, that doesn’t return to normal.

How could it when his mind suddenly runs away from him, evoking short-lived, but nonetheless strikingly vivid images of intertwined legs, planes of pale skin, and lush lips. How can the heat in his stomach escape when his thoughts conjure phantom sensations of a soft mouth sucking on his neck, the punishing grip of hands on his hips and the warmth and weight of another body on top of his own.

A forehead leaning against his, brown eyes that knocked his pulse off kilter.

The taste of nicotine.

Stop it.

That is dangerous territory right there. And a line he doesn’t want to cross.

Shaking his head, Peter swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up, looking anywhere for a distraction; his window, the posters on his wall, his figurines on his shelves, anything to douse the low-burning fire in his gut.

Standing, he heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed, banging their crappy old heater with his fist to get it working again.

He takes a very cold shower.

----

It’s not that Peter doesn’t enjoy sex.

Not that he’s had it.

But he enjoys jerking off, at least. Like a regular amount, whatever that is for a teenage boy. He likes kissing. Likes thinking about one day being in a real relationship and exploring someone's body and he likes exploring what turns him on and what he doesn’t.

It’s just that he doesn’t let himself think of anyone he knows personally that way, no matter how conventionally attractive they are - not Thor, and especially not him.

Typically, his fantasies are people with vague features, sometimes with bodies like those he has seen in porn, all shapes and sizes. And that’s safe for him.

He doesn’t want to have to look anyone he knows in the eye and wonder what their lips would feel like pressed against his own. If they’re any good at kissing. If they’re the type to take control or cede it.

He does wonder, sometimes though. No matter how much he denies what or who he wants.

Because it doesn’t matter if it’s a person or a thing. Want is never superficial in his experience, it doesn’t feel good most of the time. It’s deep and sometimes dark, it sinks itself into him with its hooks and it tugs, and keeps tugging. It yields to craving and yearning.

Back in his bedroom, his eyes land on his wall-mounted mirror. It’s small. Like the Mona Lisa. Small enough that he doesn’t have to see his whole reflection if he doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to crave and yearn for anybody, because he knows it will always be one sided. He’s well aware that he isn’t exactly centrefold material.

Who is gonna look at his weird ears or thin lips, and think, shit, that’s the guy of my dreams. Not with his big glasses or the way his hair twists itself into frizzy, unruly curls once the gel wears off and he starts looking like an unkempt labradoodle.

Who would want to wake up next to him? No one.

So it’s better not to risk imagining anyone real. It’s only in his head that anyone could ever want him back.

His eyes go from the mirror to the jacket folded and placed on his desk. It was intended to be plain sight so he remembers to bring it in - out of sight, out of mind, is what Ben would say. He can still smell the cologne Tony denied wearing earlier.

Once he’s in bed, he turns to face the wall.

Out of sight, out of mind.

---

Maybe Tony subscribes to that mantra as well.

Peter forgets to bring the jacket in all week and Tony doesn’t ask.

---

Danvers wants him fit and ready to be harpooned into the mud by next week; that’s why she looks the other way when Thor and Peter take their informal training in the boundaries of the field, stretching out on the grass as the JV team runs their usual morning drills - drills Peter would have been a part of before his stupid injury and his stupid wrist-brace.

This school is stupid too. Now he has to pay to see a doctor so he can get medically cleared for a sport he doesn’t really care that much about.

Like he didn’t have enough medical bills to deal with.

In any case, he’s not really in a position to complain, because he has the opportunity now to run through his warm-up with Thor, who is taking his direction to spread his legs into a butterfly position so beautifully, even as his knees raise from the ground to make a v-shape, whereas Peter’s lie flat on the grass.

If the last few days had been different, he might have blushed and used the situation at hand as an opening to place his hands on Thor’s knees and applied pressure. But now he just smiles encouragingly and reminds himself that he has no chance - no place - and his hands do not belong anywhere but his own body.

And surprisingly enough, he’s okay about it all.

Thor was a good guy. Peter will never say no to having more friends.

It’s a dreadful, bitter morning. Icy cold, wind biting into his shirt, the grass below them is damp. He has to keep rubbing his hands together so he can restore feeling in his fingers.

To make things worse, Tony is back on the bleachers. White v-neck, jeans and dark sunglasses. Sprawled out over a set of steps, legs askew, arms behind his head, unmoving as if he were napping or sunbathing, appearing like a cocky main out of an eighties movie.

Or a king surveying his kingdom.

Rhodes and Potts slouch on either side of him, swapping phones over his idle figure, taking pictures and laughing amongst themselves.

“It burns,” Thor says lightly, hands on his thighs in an attempt to aim his knees to touch the ground.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, despite the ease in which he can lean in. “It just takes practice, dude. Twenty minutes a day, warm up and don’t over-do it. You’ll be limber in no time.”

“You can do this better than I can,” Thor argues, accent thick as he tries to lie flat like Peter.

“And you can lift a hundred pounds better than I can,” he tries to rebut, even as they switch positions, hip flexors aching with old injuries.

While the stretches are like second nature, he doesn’t miss the pressure of training for competition. The eagerness to get into a flat butterfly or oversplit. There was no argument that he spent nights on crunches back then, and he was somewhat toned - but he was shit at weight training. He hated lifting. Reps were more boring, more tedious and difficult and the diet required to give them any value was frankly not worth giving up a great hotdog or a loaded sub from Delmars. He wouldn’t go back to it now.

None of that old heat is there when he inspects Thor’s form. That quick simmer, the call to be closer. That terrible thing, want. All but gone. awe is still there, as he suspects it always would be with someone as outstanding as Thor, but the butterflies have very much flown away.

As he suspected would be the case. He has someone and they’re happy. With the cat out of the bag Thor had shown Peter pictures of his boyfriend all morning. He’d gotten a puppy, apparently, which just tickled Thor. He was so happy it was almost sickening.

When is it gonna be him that sickens someone with photo’s of his partner?

“Hey, Parker,” Tony yells from the stands, “you suck!”

Looking over, the idiot is raised on his elbows and grinning, like he’s proud of himself for a spectacularly unoriginal insult.

Rolling his eyes, Peter gives him the finger and he gets one in return.

His stomach twists and he has to duck his head to conceal his smile.

“Your husband is somewhat rude,” Thor says, following Peter’s example and switching from a pike to a lunge.

Peter looks back over to the stands. A cigarette now dangles between Tony’s full lips, sunglasses slid to the tip of his nose.

That’s how Peter knows he’s looking at him too.

Even from afar his eyes are round and mirthful, framed with ridiculously long lashes like a cartoon mouse, far too outlandish for any real person to have.

“He’s the absolute worst,” Peter bites his bottom lip, quickly averting his gaze. “It was an arranged marriage, to be fair.”

---

Wednesday comes and goes.

Their assignment gets handed in, Peter signs it off to say he did his fair portion of the work and Miss Ahn beams at the both of them when she is handed the thick binder, looking all too pleased with herself.

They have a presentation of their work next week, after Thanksgiving, each pair expected to give five minutes of their life pretending that they’re passionate about schoolwork in front of their fellow students who don’t care.

After that they are completely unburdened. No study sessions, no car rides, and no fries dipped in milkshakes.

They’re embarrassingly hailed as a prime example of people working through their differences, as if they had come together and were now friends or something.

From the front row Tony sneaks a furtive glance at Peter when she applauds them to the class.

“See, kids,” she says, “it wasn’t so bad working together, was it?”

Their eyes meet briefly.

“Zero out of ten, would not do again,” Tony declares, brash and loud, kicking his combat boots onto his desk in a leisurely display.. “That guy is the human equivalent of watching paint dry. Awful.”

“Oh, come on,” she chides. “Be nice.”

Not one to be outdone, Peter lets his horse out of the gate too.

“Singular worst experience of my life. I once had a root canal without anaesthetic and it was less painful than working with him.”

“Alright, boys, that’s enough out of you,” Miss Ahn sighs deeply, walking to the front of the room. “Mr Lang, how did you find the assignment?”

“Very informative…”

From the front row Tony turns in his seat and winks at him.

----

“Thanksgiving plans?” Natasha asks, leaning beside his locker, smothering a smile as he struggles to get his locker open for the nth time that day with one functional hand.

“Visiting my Aunt and Uncle,” he says, finally prying the damn thing open. “They’ve got a place up at Otisco Lake, so. Probably watching old movies and swimming all weekend.”

“Oof,” his friend winces. “That’s a trip. Think the May-Mobile will make the distance?”

The May-Mobile of course to the ancient, ‘89 Volvo 240 that May has been driving ever since Peter was born. She adores it and refuses to trade in, despite the fact that it rarely gets driven, practically haemorrhages gas, and has cost more in repairs in the last five years than the actual value of the car. But May really loves it. It's sentimental. She says it was the car Ben and her picked out together.

“It better make it,” he dumps his books in, closing the locker. “I don’t want to spend the weekend waiting for AAA in the middle of nowhere. What’s your plans?”

She shrugs, walking with him down the hall.

“Probably go and annoy Yelena. Was supposed to spend it with Bucky and his mom, but that ain't happening.”

He bumps her shoulder sympathetically. “Do you think you two will get back together?”

“Probably. But he’s got a shitload of grovelling to do first.”

“Don’t maim him, please. We need him on the team.”

“No promises.”

“Speak of the devil,” Peter adjusts his glasses, spotting Bucky at the base of the stairs talking to somebody. He gets startled, heart jumping when Natasha grabs him by the waist, pushing him towards the wall and inching them closer to the stairs.

“What are you --”

“ -- Shh, I want to listen. Who is he talking to?”

Craning his head, he finds himself in for another surprise when he sees that the other person he’s talking to is --

“He’s… he’s talking to Stark - what...?”

She shushes him again and Peter listens, curious now too.

“... what do you want, Barnes?” Tony visibly grimaces, taking a cigarette from his pocket and tucking it behind his ear. “Make it quick. I got places to be and your noxious stench gives me headaches.”

An announcement goes off over the loudspeaker over their head, calling for Brendon Bennett, a dick of a senior, to move his car from where he has blocked a teacher from leaving. It would be funny at any other time, but as it goes, he misses a chunk of their conversation.

“...Rogers isn’t the boss of me.”

“Yes, he is, and I’m not getting suspended again because you’re a pussy and he has roid-rage.”

“I just need an ETA. C’mon, pal, I really need this.”

“I’m not your pal and I don’t give a flying fuck what you need.”

Ever the easy going guy, Bucky puts his hands up placatingly as a group of students file down the stairs, causing enough noise that Peter misses whatever is said next. As he strains to hear he tries to draw the line between the dots, but comes up short on exactly how these two are connected.

“That fucker,” Natasha mutters near his ear.

By the time the students clear, Tony’s descended the stairs and begun to walk away

“I have better things to do than to sit around and wait for you,” Bucky calls out, giving him the finger.”

“And yet you will.”

Not in any possible lifetime was Peter going to address that he was weirdly relieved that Tony didn’t flip him off in return, some part of him petulantly thinking that’s our thing, but that’s wrong - Peter and Tony are not friends and they do not have things, even when they do, it’s not like a thing thing.

Nat grips his hand and pulls him along when Bucky leaves as well, swiftly walking away to avoid being caught. His backpack jostles at the speed and he realizes he’s still clutching Tony's jacket from where he had retrieved it from his locker.

“What was that about?” He asks, struggling to keep up with his friend's furious pace as he’s led down the hall. “Tash?”

She drops his hand once they are outside, her disapproval near palpable, voice laden with fire and fury.

“That’s Bucky being a world class idiot, he’s gonna get himself expelled, I swear.”

Peter stops on the spot.

“Expelled?”

Something dark curls unpleasantly in his gut, heavy and not leaving.

“They have a thing,” she explains hotly, mouth turning down. “Bucky and Stark.”

“What?” Peter breathes, uncomfortably thinking back to the party and the way Bucky overtly complimented Tony’s body. “Like a.... like a sex thing? Did he cheat on you?”

“What? No.”

“Then what?”

Red strands whipping in the wind, his friend looks around to see if there is anyone nearby before leaning in to speak low. He leans in too, unabashedly curious.

“Do you remember when Bucky was having issues with his parents when school started?”

He nods, thinking back to the times Bucky slept over in the late days of summer and early weeks of the school year, once or twice a week to get away from the shouting in his own home.

Natasha continues.

“Don’t tell him I told you this, but he got really depressed and fell behind with his work and everything he was handing in was terrible. Danvers pulled him up and said if he didn’t get his grades up, he’d be risking his spot on the team. So Bucky paid Stark to write up a few assignments for him, apparently he was doing it for a few kids, like it was a thing.”

...Okay.

That was not good, and definitely disappointing, but -

“Rogers found out. He gave Bucky a warning, but with Stark he threatened to go to Fury.”

Peter thinks back to the fight between their captain and Stark and their fight not long ago. “That’s why they…”

“I’m told Stark snapped, but I don’t know. I found out about the whole paper thing after that and me and Buck fought about it. I just got so mad - he’s - he’s not stupid, you know?”

“I know.”

She exhales heavily through her nose. “He’s going to get himself kicked out of school and I’m so -- I could kill him. We’re supposed to graduate together and get away from our families and go to college, and then he does this.”

“I’m sorry, Tash, I didn’t know,” he hugs her, her body going stiff before relaxing in his hold. “That’s shitty. For both of you.”

“I’m sorry for thinking you were in on the loop.”

He smiles, self-deprecating.

“Nope, I’m as clueless as ever.”

“No, you’re just too good for that,” she shakes her head. “Look, I gotta go and blow off some steam. Please don’t tell anybody about all this.”

“I won't, I swear - but text me later, alright? Let me know you’re okay.”

She ruffles his hair before stepping back.

“You’re a bleeding heart, PP. Keep an eye on that, will you?”

Hearing a squeal of tyres, he whips his head around to the parking lot, the source of the noise. The Firebird squeals out of the lot and onto the road, the sound as angry, the glimpse Peter gets of Tony’s face, even angrier.

He turns back to Nat, but she’s already walked away. Which means she isn’t there to hear him mutter to himself.

“What are you getting into, Tony?”

----

His thumbs hover over his phone that night, as he writes i saw u with barnes today.

He quickly deletes that, not wanting Tony to think that he was following him or spying on him - or worse, thinking that Peter actually cares about what he does. He doesn’t. They’re not friends.

A dread settles in the spaces between his ribs, like thread trying to squeeze them together too tight, his lungs feeling compressed. Maybe it’s his asthma, or allergies.

It’s not and he knows it. He’s disappointed.

He rubs at his chest on his way home thinking about the scene they just saw and about what Natasha said. How is it that so many people in his orbit had this entire entanglement going on without Peter having any whiff of it? It really makes him wonder if they were they good at hiding it or was he just really fucking stupid. Stupid enough to think Bucky was doing okay, that Rogers wasn’t as sanctimonious as he appeared to be, and that Tony was --

Nevermind.

It’s none of his business and it’s not his place.

He knows better than to ask. It’s not as if he can forget all his own secrets that he clutches tightly to his chest, so tight it feels like he constantly walks through life with his fists clenched.

That and, like May, the real truth is that he can’t claim any entitlement to their trust. He eavesdropped in more ways than one these last two weeks. He tries to brush off that dry, sobering thought; it’s none of his business anyway and he has enough on his plate without getting involved.

When are you going to stop being such a goddamned martyr.

So then he thinks about the sheer fury on Tony’s face, how his - how he used to look at Peter the same way, and how Peter used to think that angry and bitter was Tony's default mood. That was that. The status quo.

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair, was it. It was easier to dislike Tony when he was distant enough that Peter could pigeon-hole him into a stereotype.

Because Tony got into fights, sure, countless and petty, but he was the guy who pet puppies and snuck them food under the table. Not the guy who kicked them.

He looked like the puppy that was kicked, though.

Not angry.

Wounded.

And that’s what confuses Peter. Turns out he doesn’t really know anything about his friends.

Or Tony, it would seem.

----

May closes the drivers-side door and throws a packet of snacks into Peter’s face.

“Pretzels.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he adjusts his glasses where they'd been knocked askew.

“Sorry, I thought your reflexes were better,” she says, and by way of apology, lobs a packet of sour gummies more gracefully on his lap. “Your favorite.”

“Apology accepted.”

From a plastic bag she fishes out two cokes and places them in the centre console, a bag of red licorice and crackers follow, also making their way onto his lap. She always buys too much food.

Then they’re turning back onto the highway that leads them out of where they paused at Monticello, the radio jacked up loud enough to be heard over the tiny droplets of raindrops sporadically hitting the windshield.

They’ve left early enough that it’s still dark.

Fog still hangs low on the roadside, intangible pale wisps that seem to disintegrate upon crossing, the road dotted with other travellers, but not too crowded, enough so they can easily cruise the speed limit and sometimes over. The Bangles play on a cassette tape and, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, May looks so carefree, driving her sentimental car with the noisy engine, singing along to the same cassettes she’s had since she was his age.

Peter can’t bring himself to say what he wants to. About the letters. One in particular. He knows something isn't right but who is he to break the peace?

So, he doesn’t and they keep driving.

The fog lifts and the tunes continue, both of them singing familiar tunes from ABBA to George Michael and Peter let’s go of what he can’t control and loses himself in the buoyancy of nostalgia - neither of them can carry a tune for shit and it’s funny, and when he rolls his window down he sticks his hand out to feel the frigid air, it’s the most free he’s felt in a long time.

Football and his after-school duties and everything else just drifts away with the wind, at least for this moment.

It was like when he was a kid. The route itself is mostly dark and dull, and this time without Ben, but their usual car games of ‘dollar every time you spot a windmill’ and ‘how many minutes until the next town’ are fun and easily pass the time. This will be another memory that he will gloss over with fondness, how even the boring roads will seem like rapture.

When the sky starts to turn from black to grey they stop for early breakfast at a diner just slightly off their trail in Windsor, both of them famished despite the hoard of snacks and in dire need of coffee.

The car is beginning to emit pale plumes of smoke from under the hood as they arrive at Davis Grove, Otisco Lake in the early morning. The sun rises low over the horizon, a slow ascent that turns the sky grey and brushes wriggling streaks of color over the lake.

The house is exactly as Peter remembers it.

Panels painted slate blue, brown-tiled roof. Two-storeys with a wrap-around porch and a private dock only a short distance away from the entrance. A swinging chair on the lawn that comfortably fits three and a half people.

It looks exactly as it did when Peter first came here as a kid, plucked straight out of his memories in perfect form, like it was set in a liminal space that time refused to touch. A piece comes back to his being at this moment, something that he didn’t know was missing.

Aunt Margaret is already standing at the door when the pull up. She doesn’t look a day older than when Peter last saw her years ago.

“Oh, look at you,” she coos, wrapping Peter up in a tight hug, curls brushing his cheek, “my darling little Petey-pie.”

“Hey, Aunt Margaret,” he returns the hug.

“You’re so tall now, let me look at you,” she holds him at arm's length, warm eyes roving over his form. “Oh my goodness, haven’t you grown a handsome young man? Last time we met you only came up to my shoulders and had braces.” She turns her attention to May. “Isn’t he handsome?”

His aunt nods, smiling at them, both women gravitating into a tight embrace. “It’s good to see you, Peggy. Thanks for having us.”

“Our pleasure. You look even more beautiful than the last time.”

“Oh, stop,” May releases her, wiping at her eyes. “Look who’s talking.”

She tilts her head to the porch and takes May’s duffle from where she has dropped it to the ground. “Come on you two, inside. We’ve got the fire going and scrambled eggs on the table.”

Inside it smells like the best parts of his childhood. A burning fire and butterscotch and lingering musky-but-floral scent from the bowl of potpourri high on the mantel. Even the sounds are the same, the same coo of early birds in the burgeoning daylight, someone humming by the stove.

Margaret leads them into the living room, where her husband meets them halfway from the kitchen, oven mitts still on his hands when he spreads his arms wide to welcome them.

“My goodness,” he beams, “look what the cat dragged in.”

He wears a cravat at the same time he wears an apron, looking every bit the formal yet whimsical man Peter remembers him to be and a crushing wave of nostalgia comes over him so suddenly he can’t help but rush forward and embrace him.

“Welcome, Peter. It’s so good to have you here.”

“Thanks for having us, Uncle Ed.”

“What have you taught him,” he points his query to May as he releases Peter to hug her. “You know you can call me Jarvis.”

---

Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter and Edwin Jarvis had been young twenty-somethings when they first met. Both were born in England before moving to the US, but it wasn’t until they met at Margaret’s first college that their paths crossed. They worked in different departments, Peter thinks Ed was an engineer or something and Margaret an analyst, but the universe pulled them together eventually.

Margaret asked Ed out first and then a year later, May was the maid-of-honor at their wedding and Ben was reportedly a teary guest in the squeaky church pews.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

A photo of that day sits framed upon the mantle. May and Margaret have their arms around each other, Uncle Ben and Ed standing awkwardly at the sides of the frame, holding up flutes of champagne.

They look so young. Happy.

Peter observes the photo, smiling. He would have been a baby back then. Before his parents and Ben had -- well.

His mind does these weird calculations sometimes. Like, the May in this photo is only nine or so years older than how old he is now, and this moment, suspended in time, makes them closer than they have ever been, even though in real life they are over twenty years apart.

Looking at this picture, it makes him wonder how many people he knows now will live full lives and die of old age. How many people his age will stay forever young, and who will be in the future looking back at their time now, wistfully staring at pictures of those who only exist suspended in that time.

It’s funny, being a teenager. His peers are too young to die so they assume they won't. Even in their twenties and thirties or forties, death seems like an elusive thing that doesn’t apply to anybody until it does. It’s for the decrepit, the sick.

But in Peter’s case death comes like poorly aimed darts, always landing badly and scoring low. In his pockets, his hands turn in fists. He hopes the three people left alive in this picture get to grow old.

He smells her perfume before he sees her. Margaret approaches, bumping their hips together.

“This was a nice day,” she says softly, wistful. “I wish we’d kept more contact over these last few years.”

“Me too,” he smiles sadly, her expression reflecting his. With a hand on his back she leads him to the couch.

“Come on, munchkin, come sit. Tell me how you have been.”

---

“We weren’t planning on the big dinner,” Uncle Ed says as he finishes peeling a potato, handing it to Peter once he’s done. “But we’re so glad you two joined us. Neither of us have a lot of family here, you know.”

“Us neither,” Peter runs the peeled potato under running water to rid it of dirty residue before chopping it into quarters. “It’s really nice to see you again, it’s been way too long.”

“You really have grown into such a nice young man,” the man smiles. “Ben would be proud. Your parent’s, too.”

“Thank you.”

They haven’t got together like this since Ben died a couple years back. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Shit happened and it got harder to try. May got busier with looking after Peter full time and working more - and Uncle Ed quit his job and opened up a garage and Margaret lost a baby - all at the same time.

It was a lot for everyone. Even college best friends moved apart when fate put up walls at every turn.

It seems everyone in his circle is just does their best to survive. Or maybe that’s just what growing up is.

The remainder of their morning is spent eyeing the oven and skedaddling while Margaret prepares her pecan pie, ejecting them out of the kitchen with a forceful shoo.

“May says you’re playing football,” Ed says, leading him out to the lounge, passing him a can of soda. “How’d that happen? Last I checked you were doing splits over a pommel horse.”

Peter shrugs, tapping his can with his fingernails, idly paying attention to the football on the old TV. “Needed an extra-curricular, there was an opening and for some reason they accepted me.”

“You were so good at gymnastics,” Margaret comments from the kitchen, whisking away at her bowl. “I’m sure you’re exemplary in anything you do. They’re lucky to have you.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, sculling back the rest of his drink, bubbles burning down his throat. “Looks good on college applications in any case.”

“This kid,” May points to him with her beer bottle. “He does it all, I don’t even know how. He’s brilliant.”

I could do more, he thinks. He wonders again in that moment what it is that makes him so deficient that May couldn’t rely on him to accept the truth about their situation, that maybe he was just too naive. But he’s not. He’d drop his after-school activities and get a job in a hot second if he thought it would help. And for just a split-second he’s mad about that, about being kept in the dark.

But then he sees the strain around her eyes, how the bottle in her hands trembles ever so slightly, how much she makes the hard world soft around them. And it’s easy for him to let that feeling go.

“You’re still freelancing?” Peter asks Margaret, momentarily distracted when Ed’s phone lights up with a call.

“Excuse me, terribly sorry,” he says suddenly, picking up the phone and answering it, rising to his feet to converse in the adjacent room.

“Yes,” Margaret says, eyes lingering over where her husband has gone, his voice carrying over the walls in worried, muffled tones. “Well, consulting. I can work from home, which makes it easier to take care of all my non-existent children,” she gestures to the empty room around them.

“You could go work with Jarvis,” May retrieves a new bottle, popping the cap. “Look after the books, help him replace tyres.”

“Tempting,” Margaret says dully, rolling her eyes. “Can’t understand why I haven’t done that yet.”

Jarvis re-enters minutes later, hands held out apologetically; whispering to Margaret first before he addresses the room.

“Um, we have another guest coming up for dinner, if that’s alright,” he winces at their blank faces. “He works for me. Has a difficult family arrangement and needs a bit of respite. You know how it gets over the holidays.”

Peter meets May’s eyes and shrugs. Anyone working under the business and is vouched for by his surrogate uncle is good by him.

“The more the merrier,” May raises her bottle.

After that, the kitchen needs his hands again.

---

The afternoon is spent preparing the sides, checking in on the truly gargantuan turkey and indulging their cat with nibbles and head scratches. May and Margaret spend the time drinking beer and cider, reminiscing their college years. It’s nice to hear the house full of laughter, given how somber the mood was when they were last all together.

“When did you get a cat?” Peter directs his question to Jarvis, accepting a peeler from him to attack the carrots.

The cat in question is completely black and delightfully plump, not overly so, but enough to indicate it’s decently fed but probably also a little lazy. Or maybe he just thinks that now that it lies tall on the peak on its scratching post, tail flicking idly while it watches them work tirelessly in the kitchen from above.

“Oh, about a year ago. Gives Peggy some company while I'm in the garage. She’s a sweetheart, this one.”

“What’s her name?”

“Friday the Thirteenth. Friday for short.”

“That’s, um, unique.”

“Was the day we adopted her,” Jarvis reaches up to scratch her. “And she’s a black cat, so, you know; spooky.”

Peter tilts his head to the side, considering it. “I like it.”

“Not bad, huh.”

“Yep. It’s a better name than Molly,” he mutters, shaking a slimy carrot shaving off his fingers.

Jarvis pauses. “As in Ringwald?”

Peter sighs and continues peeling.

----

“Did I ever tell you about the time May came to class in a bathing suit?”

“I don’t think they need to hear that --”

“So we have this exam,” Peggy says, ignoring May, “Super important. Fifty percent of our overall grade. She comes in late, dripping wet, the biggest hickey on her neck I have ever seen --”

“Peggy.”

“-- Only thing saving her modesty was Ben’s shirt over her shoulders. I had to lend her a pen so she could sit the exam.”

“Did you pass though,” Peter asks curiously, shovelling a large lump of mashed potato into his mouth.

“Top grades,” she winks at him.

“She sat there for two hours, dripping water onto the ground and got flying colors. Meanwhile I’m the idiot who studied for weeks and got marked down twenty points for --”

The end of her sentence gets cut off by the sound of a car approaching the property, headlights flashing through the windows.

Then, a knock at the door.

“Ah, that must be…” Ed trails off, wiping his hand on a napkin before standing. “Excuse me.”

He goes to answer the front door, Margaret continues her story albeit much more quietly until the voices of Ed and their guest filter through, becoming progressively louder.

“Sorry to intrude, I know it’s the holidays --”

Wait. That voice is familiar.

“Nonsense,” Ed interrupts, “you know you’re welcome anytime. You’re practically family, kid. Come in, we’re eating now, you’re just in time.”

Peter’s fork clangs loudly on his plate when he sees their visitor, unable to keep his grip on the utensil as his limbs start to tingle. He forgets how to breathe for a second, entire body going hot.

Ed’s arm is around Tony Stark and they’re approaching through the living room, heading right for them. There’s a fresh cut on his lip and an ugly, wreath of bruising around his jaw and neck, deeply purple, speckled spots of burst capillaries visible from even where he’s sitting.

The worst part isn’t the intrusion. It’s how Tony looks unlike himself; he looks small and skittish, gaze flicking nervously around the room, arms curled around his waist. Something in his chest starts to feel the closer he gets, weird, hot and unwieldy, burning, like a hot poker has been drawn across his sternum.

“You’re the best, Jar...vis,” Tony trails off when he spots the Parkers, eyes zeroing in on Peter.

“Um,” Peter says, sharing a surprised look with May, not knowing what else to say.

But then suddenly Tony is shaking his head, shrugging out of Ed’s embrace and backing up, the skittish look gone and replaced with anger.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. No fucking way.”

Then he turns, and leaves.

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny, @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers@starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen, @chaos-with-a-pen, @notnormallaura, @portiamarie02, @bloodymisanthropist, @ser-no-tonin, @staticwhispersinthedark

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #ironspider #high school au

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morganas-pendragons · 4 years

Text

Light | Wrecker

This is #1 of at least half a dozen or more fics I am gifting my Twitter kids for Christmas! I wanted to give back this year, and so I decided to write some things for characters I haven’t really tried anything for yet. Regardless of that, I hope you enjoy!

I played around with the clones ages for this considering we don’t know how old The Bad Batch is - like with Rex physically looking like he’s in his twenties but not actually being so.

This reader is a mom to the clones and uses she/her pronouns - exactly like the type in my headcanons - and she happens to have a favorite...

***

This was supposed to be a no strings attached type of job. The Kaminoans had recruited you, a simple human, to be a caretaker - of sorts - for the hundreds of babies that occupied their nurseries within the cloning facilities.

“There’s no point in forming attachments, Miss. Soon enough they’ll be handed a gun and told to go play war.”

Yeah. Well. You intend to give these children as much love as you are physically able, and that all starts with the first gaze you set upon one of the clones in the back of the nursery with the mutation.

He’s among 3 others who are specifically mutated for purposes you are not privy to know as a civilian. That doesn't matter. You pass through lines of cradles and approach the four in the back, peering over the side to gaze into the wide and vulnerable eyes of the largest baby.

“Hello, sweet boy.” You murmur, grinning as he coos happily at your voice and lifts his arms upward for you to sweep him upward and into your warm embrace. “You’re stunning. I bet you’re going to be such a big, strong boy!”

The baby’s response - despite only being old enough to hold himself upright in your lap - is only to clap joyfully and pound his tiny hands against your legs.

Big, strong boy. You’re gonna change the world. I just know it.

Wrecker, Age Four

His brothers named him Wrecker. It’s fitting, given how much larger he became then the other clones, but you’re too attached to the boy to leave Tipoca City at the time that the Kaminoans have asked you to.

“Buir!” You’ve been moved to the rooms in which they house the clones who are toddlers, and the first thing you see upon waking from your nap is a child sprinting as fast as he’s able to launch himself into your lap. “You’re awake!”

You beam and press a kiss to his forehead. “Hi ad,” You whisper, peering over his shoulder as he wraps his arms around your neck and buries his face in your shoulder. “Something you need to tell me? I gotta go take care of your brothers.”

“They gave me a name today!” He says, and your eyes widen as you gaze at his three brothers who stand before you.

“Only because he nearly broke Viper’s nose!”

You raise an eyebrow and gently pry Wrecker away from your chest. He’s definitely larger then the other clones despite how young he is, but he’d never use his size and strength for violence. Never. Your son is soft, innocent. He’s good.

“Wrecker, what’s-” Your gaze snaps back to the clone with the darker hair who then replies to your query with Hunter. It’s a fitting name. “Hunter, talking about?”

That’s the same day you learn that the clones who will eventually make up the spec-ops team known as The Bad Batch are fiercely protective of each other. They must have learned it from the person who protected them.

Little to the knowledge of most people, you took these four clones - the special ones, the ones who got the stares, the ones who got picked on and bullied by their brothers - under your wing. You saved them.

And in turn they save each other.

You are so proud to be Wrecker’s mother in that moment as he hastily recants a story of how he almost broke Viper’s nose simply because he was bullying Crosshair.

“Ad,” You ruffle his hair and beam with pride as you wind your arms around his body. “I am so proud of you.”

When Wrecker climbs into bed that night, the words he never hears from his trainers and superiors rings in his mind as he burrows under the thin blanket the Kaminoans have given him and his vode.

“I am so proud of you.”

As he falls into sleep, he dreams of his mother. A home, a family, and a mother standing in the kitchen unit - who gives him real food, real food he likes and he’s allowed to eat that tastes salty and sweet and sour and he’s so excited to have it - who treats her son as if he’s the whole world. The whole galaxy.

Wrecker, Age 10

The day he returns from a training mission with the rest of Clone Force 99 is the same day you have your first real battle with panic. According to what Crosshair and Tech tell you upon return, Wrecker was injured in a way that leaves him partially blind and with significant scarring.

You’re terrified. He and the rest of the Batch have already had a difficult time integrating themselves in with their brothers to the point where they’ve taken to calling the non-mutated clones regs and now only associate with each other. You don’t particularly care much about that anymore. As long as they’re looking out for each other.

When Wrecker is released from the medbay, you search the cloning facility for your son until you find him in the quietest room - the nursery - with his back against the wall and his chin resting on his knees. His face is scarred. His eye is cybernetic.

Maker, you love him.

“Wrecker,” Hunter had warned you about approaching him - claiming he’d become hard of hearing with the explosion that had injured him - and had brought up a fantastic idea with Tech’s help that you were going to initiate as soon as he was ready. “Ad.”

Your son lifts his eyes to meet yours.

“Buir,” He replies softly, always so careful to not disturb the babies who lay in their cradles around him. “Did you need something?”

You tilt your head and sit in front of him, parting your legs and resting your elbows against your knees. Wrecker watches you intently as you do so. He’s always been perceptive - not as much as Hunter, but enough - and with the lack of his sight, he’s having to rely more on his limited senses.

“Do you see this?” You take your fingers, press them all together, and rest them against the bottom of your chin before moving your hand forward. “This is sign language. It means thank you. It’ll be an easier way to talk to your vode when you can’t hear them so well. Is that something you’d be willing to learn?”

He nodded and frowned. “I’m gonna miss blowing stuff up.”

You reach outward, brush what remains of his hair away from his eyes, and repeat the sign for thank you and you’re welcome. He watches your hands mimic the movements before repeating them for you to see. Wrecker does them perfectly.

“Don’t worry.” You murmur. “You’re gonna get to blow stuff up again. I promise.”

Your only response is his smile. It’s more than enough.

Wrecker, Age 12 (Set during S7)

'Сause you are loved You are loved more than you know I hereby pledge all of my days To prove it so

After a while, the Kaminoans have had their uses for you. Your services are no longer required and so you are sent back to the boring home world that you have barely stepped foot on since being sent to Kamino to be the caretaker to infant clones.

Your experience with the formed Grand Army of the Republic is what gets you into the military, has you trained, and eventually what lands you on Anaxes.

Though your heart is far too young to realize The unimaginable light you hold inside

“Ma’am,” Cody’s voice rings out from behind you as you stand in the hangar bay, arms crossed over your chest with your eyes on the horizon as if waiting for the arrival of a ship. “I’ve cleaned your blasters. Just how you like them.”

You turn to acknowledge the Marshal Commander and smile softly at him. While you spent much of your time with The Bad Batch on Kamino, the greater majority of the Commander Batch and the younger clones have considered you one of them for quite some time.

“Thank you Kote.” You murmur. He nods his acknowledgement and before he turns back to Kenobi, lays a hand on your shoulder and says something about the arrival of Clone Force 99 for a mission they’re assigned to do with Rex. “What?”

The less then graceful landing of the ship known as the Havoc Marauder signals their arrival. You don’t dare move. It’s been too long since you’ve seen them, seen him, and you want to value the moment while you can.

I'll give you everything I have I'll teach you everything I know

They had never really known the lengths you went to in order to protect them - to protect him - and give him the life, the childhood, you felt he deserved. The Bad Batch had still had it rough, but your gentle nature upon meeting them had impacted them significantly.

“The Calvary has arrived!”

The first thing you see is the personalized armor. You are not the slightest bit surprised they threw in all their effort into ensuring their armor - out of the entire army - was the most notorious. Not to mention that as someone who watched them all grow up, you can see each of their personalities within the way they’ve painted it.

Then you see him. It’s unmistakeable that it’s Wrecker considering how much taller and broader he is then the rest of The Bad Batch, but it’s not him that notices your presence first.

It’s Tech. Ever the perceptive, constantly absorbing as much information as able, constantly recording everything, who sees you standing in the hangar and nudges his brother in the midst of speaking to Rex and Cody to point you out.

“Mom?” Cody asks skeptically, followed by a gasped “Buir? That’s the buir I never got to meet?!”

Kix is laughing hysterically at the way Jesse guffaws upon realizing that you are the infamous mother to the clones, but only these four and specifically Wrecker, but the way your heart swells when Wrecker notices you standing there far outweighs the reactions of all the other vode around you.

Instead of a greeting, Wrecker does one thing. He sees you, beams like the sun lives deep within him, and very promptly tosses you upward to sit on his shoulders. He looms over all his brothers. That doesn’t stop him.

Oh... oh, that boy has not and will never change.

With every heart beat I have left

I will defend your every breath

Bonus:

“I get to blow it up? The whole stinking thing?” Wrecker asks, to which he then looks to you with wide eyes. “You made a promise!”

You smirk and pat Anakin’s shoulder as you pass him. “Oh, I know I did.” You reply. “Anakin is keeping up on my promise for me.” When Wrecker begins to take the detonator, you turn to the Jedi and meet his gaze. I’ve been promising him this since he was old enough to know how to blow things up.” You coax him into fully handing over the detonator to your son. “Go on. Make his year.”

Admiral Trench’s cruiser explodes in a cloud of sparks behind The Havoc Marauder.

#Wrecker #Wrecker x Reader #Wrecker x Mom!Reader #The Bad Batch #Star Wars imagines #Star Wars oneshots

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icyowl · 3 years

Note

Favorite romance tropes?? ;3

Let it be known that you are SPEAKING MY LANGUAGE!!!

Okay for first of all I’m a big ol’ whump connoisseur, so anything resembling caretaker/whumpee scenarios will speak to me.

Outside whump themed stuff, I’m a sucker for:

- forced proximity trope. A and B are stuck in a small space, maybe in a somewhat suggestive pose, trying to get out while learning about each other at the same time. Bonus points if one is claustrophobic and needs some good old fashioned panic comfort!

- the “we gotta get you warm” is a classic

- then there’s the Beauty and the Beast trope. You know, the ‘I can’t let you get close to me because of physical or emotional problems and I could hurt you’. A total fav. This can also have some overlap with ‘you have a curse or ailment that only I can help with.’

- The Guardian. A is tasked with protecting or guiding B. Along the journey they learn about each other and realize the differences between them aren’t so deep after all. This one just has many possibilities! Maybe A gets injured protecting B, now B must take care of A; perhaps A doesn’t feel worthy enough to protect B; you could even have it so B feels like the burden for needing a protector. Also could overlap with a lot of the other tropes listed.

- soul mates. Yeah, never moved past this one.

- trauma. A learning to trust again, while innocent B has to learn that the world isn’t so idealic.

- werewolf/vampire. I am legitimately sorry.

These are the big ones I can think of right now. There are some other very niche ones that I moreso associate as specific plot lines rather than broad tropes, but yeah, anything else I thought of ended up being an offshoot of something mentioned above. This was super fun, thank you anon!!

#io answers

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jordanstrophe · 4 years

Text

A Change of Heart part 3

CW: Whumper turning caretaker, Injured whumpee, whumpee afraid of caretaker, whumpee being considered merchandise, recovering from a cauterizing, broken ribs, mild stripping, rough caretaker, some medical whump

((Prompt tags! Idk if you still want to be tagged here, as it started as a prompt, so if you no longer want to be tagged here, let me know))

part 1 and 2

Darius sat on the metal rail on the side of the road. He held Felix in his arms, holding him close to his chest, a hand holding a cloth to the wound on his side. Felix laid his head limply against his shoulder, tilting it to the side. He was breathing heavily, face sweating, eyes half closed.

He couldn’t move.

He let out a tiny whimper, almost inaudible. Darius tucked his hair out of his face, dabbing his forehead off with his sleeve. “Just hold on, they're almost here...” Darius whispered. He kept glancing back and forth down the empty road, then down at the phone he was struggling to grasp, wedged in his elbow so he could hold Felix.

Finally, a car pulled up, slamming on the brakes with a screech in front of them.

“It’s about time!” Darius yelled, sliding an arm under his legs to pick him up.

“Ehh, you’re welcome?” A woman hissed, slamming the side door open. Darius laid Felix in the back of the van, he winced in pain as he was set down.

“My goodness Darius, he needs to go to a hospital!” The woman scolded.

“No, we can’t Janis, I shouldn’t even have him. We’ll both get taken, probably killed if we go to a hospital.”

“So what are you going to do, huh? Take him home? Stich him up yourself?” She threw her hands in the air.

“Yep!” He said, cracking open a water bottle, pulling Felix up enough to tilt it to his lips. Felix choked down a couple of gulps before he was out of breath, wrenching his head away. Darius soaked up a cloth in his hands with the remaining water and cleaned up as much blood from his side as he could. Felix let out a whine, his whole body flinching, instinctively grabbing Darius’s wrists to pull him away.

“Sssh, no no, you gotta hang on son, be tough...” Darius tried to soothe, prying his fingers off his wrist and laying his hand back down. Felix twisted his head to the side to hide his face in the seat, eyes squeezed shut, his body visibly cringing with each stroke of the cloth.

Janis shook her head as she climbed into the drivers seat, stepping on the gas. “Janis! Easy! Try and not jostle the car please.” Darius complained. “Yeah yeah.” She waved, easing down on the gas.

“What even happened, Darius? One day you’re calling me up about this nice paying job you got, and you’re soooo happy with, and now you’re running off with this half dead kid and you're drenched in blood. Who is he, what happened?” She snapped.

“I’ll explain later...” He muttered, pulling out a fresh bandage from a first aid kit.

“Jeez, you’re both a mess.” She shook her head. She drove them to a well kept home, mowed lawn, a fresh garden with a swing on the porch.

“Clear?” He asked. “Clear enough.” She shrugged glancing around the road.

“Alright kid, up we go.” Darius grunted, hoisting him up in his arms.

Felix tried to lean out of his grasp, but he was quickly lifted anyway, letting out a small cry. “Please.. Please don’t hurt me...” Felix pleaded with a weak voice, forcefully being held against Darius’s chest.

Darius wanted to assure him he was only trying to help him and promise he wouldn’t hurt him, but he knew the night would still be a painful process. His wound was horrific, burned and infected. He couldn’t answer his question, he only let out a guilty sigh. The silence only made Felix more uncomfortable, as he slightly squirmed around in his arms, regretting it immediately as he cringed, curling in on himself from the pain shooting through his side.

"Easy. Just lie still." Darius instructed.

The inside was just as clean and delightful as it was on the outside. Light colored furniture, plush carpets, the pleasant tick tick tick from a grandfather clock. Darius wasted no time climbing the stairs into the bathroom, using his foot to uncurl a folding chair tucked against a shelf. He gently sat him down, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Stay here for a minute please.” He instructed, turning the bath on full blast, and closing the door behind. The cool air slowly turned warm from the steaming bath behind him. The running water felt loud, ringing in his ears. Felix struggled to look around, trying to find someplace to slip out. The window was much too high, he could try and stand to slip out the door, but walking would be painful.

He stood up anyway, his legs trembling beneath him, his side screaming at him to just stop and rest. He gasped when he fell forwards, slamming onto the door, gripping the handle for support. His wrist instinctively turned the knob, as his weight resting against the door pushed it open, as he hit the ground. He cried out, biting his sleeve in an effort to numb the pain, as pain pulsed through his body. He whimpered into the floor as he blinked his eyes open, his vision swaying like he was strung upside-down, tears started trickling down his face.

Darius climbed the stairs, hands full of medical supplies. His face froze when he saw the bathroom door was open. He dropped everything in his hands that clattered to the floor in a heap, as he sprinted to the door, wrenching it open. It swung open to reveal Felix laying on the floor in the doorway even not moving.

Darius pulled him up into his arm, hoisting him over his shoulder, and bending down to put him back in the seat. He took his face in both his hands, using his thumb to force one eye open to check his pupils. He gently leaned his head back against the chair, he was barely conscious, being silent and still. He collected the pile of supplies back into his arms, slipping into the room, as he used scissors to cut his shirt off. It was shredded and soaked in blood anyway...

He took an arm around his waist, arching his back off the chair enough to wrap a Vaseline soaked cloth winding it tightly around his ribs. He could feel a rib was crooked, most likely broken. Great... What else could possibly be broken in this mess. Felix still didn’t stir, head tilted back against the chair. He didn’t stir when Darius lifted him in his arms, laying him in the warm tub. He kept the water shallow enough it didn’t reach his wound, as he pulled out the detachable showerhead to rinse him off.

He kept the water at a comfortable cool temperature, often spraying it on his own forearm to make sure it wasn't too cold or hot. He kept one hand on Felix’s chin to keep his head straight as he rinsed his hair out of all the dirt and blood, dark bloody water fell around him off to mix into the rest of the bath. Darius wanted a shower himself after spending a night in the hot forest, but he had priorities first.

“Hey.” He heard a voice behind him. “Mmm?” He twisted his head. “How’s he doing?” Janis asked. “Might have some broken ribs.” He sighed. “Sure you can’t take him in?” She asked. “Positive. He’s merchandise... Damaged goods in the eyes of the state. He has to stay here for now, until I figure out what to do with him.” Darius sighed. “What about family? Doesn’t he have a home we can just drop him off at?” She asked. “No. He shouldn’t. People who get shipped there don’t have any family. They're the last of their kin, that way no one looks or fights for em when they get taken away.” He sighed.

“That’s messed up. Why did you work there again?” She shook her head. Darius let out a sigh, popping the drain in the tub with a swishing sound. “I had the skills and the pay was good.” He shrugged. “If they call, say nothing. Say you haven’t heard from me at all in the past three days. Okay?” He asked. “Okay...” Janis sighed. “I’ll make you two something to eat, you must be starved.” She muttered, wandering off. “Thanks.” He nodded, looking back at Felix, who was unconscious now, head tilted to the side.

“We’ve got one big ride ahead of us kid. Closest thing I’ll get to riding a roller coaster.” He chuckled.

((Prompt tags! Idk if you still want to be tagged here, as it started as a prompt, so if you no longer want to be tagged here, let me know))

Tag list: @grizzlie70 @alien-octopus @lave-whump @amethysts-sideblog @pyromilka @thingsthatgowhumpinthenight @yet-another-heathen @princessofonward

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #whumper turned caretaker #rough caretaking #rescued whumpee #whumpee afraid of caretaker #recovering whumpee #creepy caretaker

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super-secret-sick-fics · 4 years

Note

ouu yes ive been so obsessed with them (osasuna) recently and there’s barely any fics for them in this department lol i wanted to see something like suna coming to school sick with the stomach flu or something and osamu taking him home to take care of him (i feel like it’s ooc for suna to go to go school if he’s not feeling well so it’d probably be one of those where it gets progressively worse throughout the day) sorry if this is too long haha

Okay!! Thank you for this request. Sorry it took so long. Honestly, I had a lot of fun with this and it ended up being so long, that I’m gonna post it in 2 parts!!

You can totally read either as a stand alone though. Part 2 should be up soon :)

Suna and I have the same birthday, so I actually kinda put a lot of myself into him in this one since we share a star sign lmao. I hope it’s not too ooc for either of them. It’s my first time writing sunaosa!

Sick at School: a SunaOsa fic

Pair: Sick Suna, Caretaker Osamu

Word Count: 3,024

Warnings: vomit & swearing & soft cuddles

Part 2 Here

_________________________________

Suna was confused.

There was a strange gnawing in his gut that wasn’t there when he woke up this morning. In fact, when he woke up this morning, he felt perfectly fine. Maybe he was a little more tired than usual, but he didn’t sleep all that well, so he brushed it off and got ready for school.

But now, he was sitting in class, his eyes burning as he tried to stay awake. It was only Monday and only the second class of the day, but he felt like he’d been at school for days already. On top of the grumbly feeling in his stomach, his brain was muddled, so paying attention to whatever his teacher was saying was taking every bit of energy he could scrounge up.

It didn’t make sense. He slept his eight hours (even if it wasn’t the best sleep), he ate a good breakfast, he was hydrated, there weren’t any tests or games coming up to make him anxious at all. So the unsteady, uncomfortable, unusual feelings he currently felt simply did not make a single bit of logical, rational sense.

And because they didn’t make sense—because there was no rational reason for him to feel that way—he ignored it.

Ignoring it proved to be more difficult than he anticipated as the fog in his brain solidified into a consistent pounding and the gnawing in his stomach started to feel more like his stomach acid was boiling. The sun shining on him through the window didn’t help any, and he started to feel rather warm. By his fourth class, occasional cramps rolled through his body, forcing him to tense every muscle in his body to keep from wincing.

When the teacher finally released them for lunch, Suna folded his arms on his desk and hid his face in the crook of his elbow, ready to take a nap. Within three seconds, he heard the chair in front of him scrape the ground, grating on his ears, and felt his desk shake as someone sat down. He adjusted his head and peeked over his arm to find Osamu staring down at him, his usual bored look gracing his features.

“Yer sick, Sunarin,” he deadpanned and took a bite of his sandwich. Suna blinked at him several times.

Sick? Was that why he felt so weird? But he wasn’t sick this morning. There was no way he would have come to school if he felt bad.

Still, it would explain why he slept poorly. It must be a fast acting bug.

“I guess so,” he mumbled and buried his face in his elbow again.

“Hmmm,” Osamu mumbled. They were quiet for a minute or two before Osamu spoke again.

“Wanna go to the infirmary?” he asked, his mouth full.

Suna looked up at him again and sighed before sitting up. The world spun around for a brief second and he closed his eyes until the feeling went away. When it righted itself once more, his stomach was hurting worse than before.

“How’d you know anyway?” he asked and rested his chin in his hand.

“You’ve been lookin’ bad all mornin’. Wasn’t hard to tell.” Osamu shrugged. His sandwich was gone and he started making his way through the onigiri he most likely made himself. The fact that Osamu could tell he wasn’t feeling well from across the room made Suna blush. Or maybe he had a fever?

“Plus,” Osamu continued, “Tsumu’s home right now with a pretty nasty stomach bug. Threw up all over his bed last night.” He scrunched up his nose cutely, probably remembering the disastrous scene from the night before. Atsumu was never good at being a sick person. Or an injured person. Or a person at all, really.

“Wouldn’t be all that surprising if ya caught it from him since ya slept over at our place last weekend.”

Suna nodded in agreement.

“What about you?” he asked. Osamu shrugged again.

“I’ll probably be spewin’ my guts out by Thursday. Usually how it goes. One of us catches something then the other is sick within the week. We’ve only been sick at the same time a handful o’ times.”

“Mmmm,” Suna nodded and put his head down once more. It was suddenly very difficult to hold his head up.

“Infirmary?” Osamu asked again. Suna shook his head.

“Can’t move,” he whined before he could stop himself. Osamu looked at him with wide eyes.

“W-well, I’ll help ya out, dumbass,” he stuttered and Suna returned the wide eyed look.

“Uh, sure. But finish your lunch first. I can wait. You should eat. Wake me up when you’re done,” he said and closed his eyes.

“Alright. Lemme know if we need to go sooner though…” Osamu said hesitantly and Suna tried to ignore the implication behind the phrase.

Just because Atsumu had a stomach bug didn’t mean that Suna did too. He wouldn’t throw up at school. The increasing nausea absolutely had to be related to the growing migraine that slammed away at his head. He definitely would not throw up at school.

Before he started overthinking himself into a downward spiral, Osamu placed a hand in his hair. Suna was tense at first, but then Osamu started gently scratching his scalp and he immediately relaxed. He was a little embarrassed, honestly. Not because this was unusual though.

Osamu knew it helped Suna with his frequent headaches, so Suna was sure he somehow knew about the incoming migraine. It was just that this was usually something Osamu did for him in much more private settings. He’d do it on the bus on the way back from away games, or in one of their rooms after school or during a sleepover. To be so affectionate in the middle of their classroom was unheard of and if Suna wasn’t feeling so poorly, he’d probably smack Osamu’s hand away.

“Ya got a slight fever there, Sunarin,” Osamu whispered gently.

“Mmmm.”

“Okay. I’ll let ya know when I’m done eatin’.”

“Mmmm.”

Within a few seconds, Suna felt himself drift off.

When he woke up again, it wasn’t because of Osamu.

A violent cramp rolled through his gut and he shot up in his seat, ignoring the startled looks of his classmates. The cramp passed quickly, but left behind a foreboding feeling of nausea so intense it left him paralyzed and glued to his seat.

A second later, he noticed that Osamu was nowhere to be found and his anxiety increased. The situation was becoming increasingly urgent and there was no way in hell he could move or speak without throwing up all over his desk.

His chest tightened and he swallowed back a gag. He needed help. He needed Osamu.

“Suna-kun?” a girl from his class touched his shoulder and he flinched. She withdrew her hand.

“O-osamu—“ he forced out and she nodded urgently and ran away and out the door. Less than a minute later, she came back, Osamu hot on her heels. She pointed to Suna and Osamu nodded before rushing over and stood in front of him.

“Sunarin?” he tried and Suna shook his head.

“Are ya gonna—“ Suna nodded before Osamu could finish his question. The eyes of all of his classmates burned Suna’s already flushed cheeks and as if to let everyone know what was going on, a gag forced itself through his body painfully and he leaned over his desk. He brought the back of his hand up to his mouth and whimpered.

“Can someone bring me a trash can, maybe?” Osamu snapped at their peers. The girl from before nodded and dashed to the corner of the room and dragged the trash can over to Suna’s desk.

Everyone froze again and stared with scared eyes at the situation unfolding. Suna shook with effort, trying to stop the inevitable. He really really didn’t want everyone to watch him throw up.

Thankfully, Osamu had his back.

“Leave?!” He shouted and everyone ran out of the room.

“I’ll bring the nurse, Osamu-kun,” the same girl said and Osamu nodded, but his eyes were focused only on Suna. They’d have to remember to thank that girl later.

“I’m sorry, Rintaro. I finished my lunch and you were sleepin’ so peaceful I thought I had time to go to the bathroom before I took ya to the infirmary,” Osamu apologized and cupped Suna’s face in his hands. His voice was much softer than a second ago. It was the voice reserved for those quiet nights that they spent chatting before they fell asleep. Or on the team bus early in the morning when everyone else was still too groggy to pay attention to them. And it comforted Suna in ways he couldn’t comprehend.

“I feel sick, S-samu,” Suna forced through gritted teeth. The swirling in his stomach grew more insistent by the second and he knew it was only a matter of time before he was leaning over the trash can.

“I know, Rin. I’m sorry. It’s okay. I’ve got ya,” Osamu smiled softly at him and brushed his hair back. He frowned when Suna unconsciously leaned into his cold hands.

“Fever got higher,” he mumbled. Suna gagged again.

“Alright, c‘mon,” he said and circled around the desk behind Suna. Osamu gently grabbed his trembling shoulders and positioned him over the trash can. People’s leftovers from lunch filled about half the bin and the smell of all the different foods made Suna dizzy.

“Rin, ya gotta relax,” Osamu sighed and forcefully rubbed between Suna’s shoulder blades.

“N-no,” Suna said stubbornly.

“Yer an idiot.”

“Y-yeah.”

“It’s gonna feel worse if ya don’t just let it happen,” Osamu tried. Suna shook his head.

“Alright well, be mad at me later, then,” Osamu muttered. Suna was about to turn and look at him questioningly, but Osamu wrapped a hand around Suna’s front and placed it on his stomach. Even the minimal contact forced a wretch that left Suna reeling.

“D-don’t,” he tried, but the request was punctuated by a painful hiccup.

“I’m sorry. Can’t do that,” Osamu responded before starting to rub up and down on Suna’s stomach quickly. The motion shook the contents nauseatingly and Suna couldn’t stop the watery burp that followed. He shook his head, eyes squeezed shut tightly.

Osamu didn’t relent. He started patting Suna’s back with the other hand, forcing belch after belch. The conflicting motions wreaked havoc on Suna’s already chaotic stomach.

They stayed like that for what felt like forever, before Suna grabbed Osamau’s wrist tightly.

“S-stop—hurrk. P-please, Samu. No m-mor—hic,” Suna begged. All of his limbs felt like they were about a thousand pounds and he shivered, cold despite the sun beating down on his back.

“It’s okay, Rin. I got ya,” Osamu muttered. He pried Suna’s sweaty hand off his wrist and replaced it with his hand. Suna squeezed hard when a wet belch jolted his body. His other hand grabbed the rim of the trash can in a white-knuckled grip. Osamu used his free hand to rub gently between Suna’s shoulder blades again.

Suna squeezed his eyes shut when he wretched. His throat felt tight and he tried to swallow the accumulating saliva in his mouth, only for it to come back up with a noisy gag. He opted to just drop his mouth open and let the spit fall into the trash can disgustingly.

“S-Samu—“ he tried but was interrupted by a guttural, wet, burp that left his head spinning. Two seconds later, he wretched and a weak stream vomit dribbled out of his mouth. It burned his throat and coated his mouth. The disgusting taste left him more nauseous than he thought possible and a belch gurgled in the back of his throat. He heaved, but nothing else came up.

“Ah, Rin, I’m so sorry. Please don’t cry,” Osamu shushed him. Suna didn’t even realize he was crying.

He continued heaving for what must have been an eternity before another painful gag jolted him forward and brought with it a torrent of pale vomit into the trash can. At least he didn’t have to see everyone’s discarded lunch anymore. Not that his new view was much prettier.

“There ya, go Sunarin,” Osamu soothed. Suna sputtered and coughed, trying to catch his breath. His body was relentless though, and before he felt like he had sufficient oxygen, he was lurching forward with more forceful vomit pouring out of his mouth.

Suna’s body didn’t let up. It was stuck in a seemingly endless cycle of gasping breaths abruptly interrupted by a fountain of vomit forcing its way out. Eventually, he was just left heaving over the trash can, his stomach trying but failing to expel whatever might be left. Anxiety crawled up his spine and the room spun. He wanted to breathe, he really did. He just couldn’t.

“Fuck, Rin, breathe. Please,” Osamu demanded and his voice shattered through Suna’s panic. He nodded and closed his eyes to try and collect himself. He inhaled through his nose and exhaled heavily through his mouth. A minute or two of that, and he was able to take in his surroundings again.

At some point, Osamu wrapped an arm around Suna’s chest because apparently, his own arms gave out at some point and hung limply at his sides. He spit the residual nastiness out of his mouth and squinted up at Osamu.

“Can we leave?” he asked plainly. Osamu stared at him owlishly and then chuckled.

“It’s the middle of the day Rin, I can’t just—“

“Please?” he all but begged and grabbed Osamu’s arm. Osamu hesitated for the briefest of seconds before relenting with a heavy breath.

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘course. Want me to call yer mom?” Osamu responded. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped off Suna’s face. Suna shook his head.

“Is it too much to ask if I can stay with you? I don’t want to risk giving this to my little sister and grandma.” His voice was quieter than he wanted, but he was wiped out. He cleared his throat and spit in the trash can. He was fading fast. All he wanted was to curl up in bed and sleep whatever bug this was off.

“Yeah okay. I’ll ask my Ma. Shouldn’t be too much of an issue since Tsumu’s sick too.” Osamu pulled out his phone and massaged Suna’s scalp. It felt so good that he leaned over and buried his face in Osamu’s stomach. If he wasn’t careful, he’d fall asleep here. Hopefully Osamu’s mom would be okay with it and come quickly.

“Ma, can you come pick me and— no I’m not sick— well, if you’d just let me talk ya crazy—Ma I do have a good reason to be call— would ya stop talkin—yer damn right I’m being disrespectfu—Ma!” As Osamu argued with his mother over the phone (it was nothing new) Suna took inventory of his body.

There was no denying he was sick. That much was obvious. His head was pounding and his stomach still rolled and swirled uncomfortably. Shivers danced up and down his body, exacerbated by the sweat that coated his skin. He was sure that he had a fever. All of his limbs weighed him down and he didn’t think he had any sort of energy to move them. It was taking all he had to stay awake right now.

“Osamu-san!” The girl from before returned, the school nurse right behind her.

“Suna Rintaro, you poor boy. Caught that bug going around, I see,” he heard the nurse and pulled his face away from Osamu’s body. Blinking a few times to clear his blurry vision, he sniffed and stared at the old lady in front of him.

She stuck a thermometer in his mouth without saying a word and pulled a water bottle out from her coat pocket. While they were waiting for his temperature, Suna glanced at Osamu, who was now leaning against the desk behind Suna’s. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, his other still holding the phone to his ear as he continued listening to his mother rant.

Without thinking, Suna reached over and grabbed a hold of Samu’s shirt with one hand. Osamu looked down in surprise before his face softened and he put a hand on Suna’s shoulder.

The thermometer beeped and Suna winced.

“38.7,” the nurse read and pursed her lips. She pulled out some medicine from her lab coat and gave some to Suna. He grimaced. Even in his hazy state, he knew putting something in his stomach wouldn’t go over well.

“Suna-kun, you need to get that fever of your’s down. I know it’s not ideal, but please try.” Suna turned his head away. She sighed.

“Okay, but make sure you take something at home. Does someone need to call your mother?” Before Suna could answer, Osamu interrupted.

“I’ll take him ma’am,” he said, apparently off the phone with his mother.

“Osamu-kun, don’t you be thinking you can just skip out on school,” she warned.

“I would never,” Osamu charmed, “I think it’s the smartest move, ya see. Atsumu is at home with the same illness right now and so there’s no way I ain’t carrying the germs for it. Wouldn’t it be safest if I go home too? Before I infect anyone else. And I can take Sunarin with me.”

The nurse gave him a skeptical look, but then glanced over at Suna. She noticed his grip on Osamu’s shirt and the former’s hand firmly on Suna’s back. It must’ve made Suna look pretty pathetic because she relented almost immediately.

“Oh fine, fine. Does someone need to call your mom?”

“No, ma’am. Just got off the phone with her. She’ll be here soon. Said she’s got no problem taking Sunarin in ‘til he’s all better.” He squeezed Suna’s shoulder and Suna relaxed knowing he wasn’t at risk of infecting his little sister or aging grandmother. He sighed and smiled gratefully at Osamu.

It was comforting to know that Osamu was going to be looking after him. Because, if the swirling in his stomach told him anything, he was in for a really long night.

#my fic #haikyuu sickfic #sick suna #caretaker Osamu #tw vomit

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