#genuinely like all the fatigue of the past few months hit all at once this morning and when im overly stressed my mental health

[spaciebabie]

[fruitcoops]

Falling for Forever

Two for two on deadlines, baby! Ignore the fact that it’s been 11 months. This fic put me through the absolute wringer and now I get to stand on it and witch-cackle in victory. Almost 11k words of physical, mental, emotional, and...all those other types of healing. Bon appetit, babes! Character credit goes to @lumosinlove, to whom I owe my heart and soul for building this universe.

TW for past injury/ memory loss, working through trauma

Part One: What You Have, What You Hate (the amnesia fic)

Part Two: Sirius Love Yourself and Remus Get Therapy, Electric Boogaloo

It just wasn’t fair.

Sirius was fine. Honestly, genuinely, from the bottom of his heart—he was fine. Sure, some days his head hurt more than others. Sometimes he’d wonder where he put his phone when it was still in his hand, or enter a room and forget why he went there in the first place, but those weren’t new occurrences. He could walk and talk and remember just about everything from his life, with the notable exception of the ten minutes before the hit.

But Remus hadn’t slept properly in days, and Coach wouldn’t let him back out on the ice, and the whole damn thing just reeked of pity he didn’t want. Pity he didn’t need.

Remus’ hands flickered over him, tucking and retucking the sheets until Sirius caught his wrists and pressed a kiss to each pulse point. His broad shoulders sagged. “I’m being a bother again, aren’t I,” Remus muttered. He shook his head without waiting for a response. “Fuck, I am, I’m sorry.”

“You’re not being a bother.”

“No, I totally am—”

“You’re not,” Sirius repeated. The shadows under Remus’ eyes lightened every day, but still lingered. He looked threadbare, his voice thin, like someone had taken an eraser to his edges. He held Sirius tighter at night than he ever had before. The worried crease between his brows smoothed when Sirius pulled him down to sit on the mattress with a small smile. “Lay down, I’m cold.”

Tension had been holding Remus up like a second skeleton for days now, ever since they had been discharged from the hospital and promptly collapsed into bed for ten hours. Sirius had only seen it release him in deep sleep—a fleeting event at best. It was like the hospital had followed them home and seeped into the walls, staining Remus’ vision until they were right back where they started.

Remus turned out the lamp and curled into his usual spot against Sirius’ chest, shuffling around until he was comfortable; Sirius splayed a hand between his shoulder blades and tucked his nose into soft curls. Of all the aftershocks he had prepared himself for, the fatigue had snuck up on them both. “Bonne nuit, mon coeur,” he whispered.

“Night, baby.” Lips brushed the peak of Sirius’ cheek before Remus snuggled up once more.

Kiss me, and I’ll know, Sirius had said into the inch of space between them on a paper-thin hospital pillow. And Remus had, because he was made of everything light and good and kind in the world. It had been six days since they came home; two weeks since the hit. That remained the only time Remus had kissed him on the mouth. Sirius closed his eyes against the ache in his chest and readied himself to try and rest.

--

That first night home had been distilled bliss. They showered together—showered, dear god how Sirius had missed that—and Remus had washed his hair and the spots he couldn’t reach with reverent hands. They were both so, so tired from the endless discharge paperwork and so, so silently afraid to step away from each other for more than a few seconds. Remus was shaky, but happy. Contented. Solid in Sirius’ arms when they finally laid in their own bed after days upon days. They spooned the whole night and into the morning, neither budging an inch.

“We should eat,” Remus had sighed when the sun was finally too high to ignore. His hand moved in slow strokes, tracing from Sirius’ hand to his elbow and back again, just to touch. The intimacy of the movement settled something deep inside them both if his drowsy smile was anything to go by.

They stayed in bed for another hour in comfortable silence before their empty stomachs won out. Even in the kitchen, Sirius had hugged Remus from behind with his chin propped on a well-muscled shoulder to watch him cook. “Mon coeur,” he murmured into the shirt that had once been his. The smell of the hospital was long gone and the fabric was soft. “Mon loup, mon amour.”

He had trailed his mouth along the curve of Remus’ neck and held him close. The frayed edges began to ease.

The routine came easily. Nothing else did, so Sirius had to be a little grateful for it. They left social media to its conspiring and only spoke to family, face-to-face on the doctor’s orders. Leo meal-prepped like a madman; they could hardly keep Dumo out of the house; Lily brought Harry over in an obvious ploy to distract Sirius while their husbands fixed the leaky faucet, though he wasn’t offended by their caution. If it were James on the injured list, he would have swaddled him in bubble wrap at the first opportunity.

“Hey.” A kiss feathered Sirius’ temple and he looked up from his crossword, blinking back the memories. Remus perched on the table with a smile he couldn’t help but mirror, clad in a sweater that brought out the hearth-warm brown in his eyes.

“Bonjour,” he managed, a little breathless.

“Wanna go for a walk?”

“Really?” The doctors’ definition of his permitted ‘minimal exercise’ amounted to literally walking up and down the stairs—even a wander around the block was pushing his luck. Sirius had tried extraordinarily hard not to be jealous when Remus took Hattie out every few hours so she didn’t destroy their couch pillows with excess bursts of energy, but it felt like he was a toddler in time-out. “A real walk?”

“A real walk,” Remus confirmed. He ran his fingers through the hair above Sirius’ ears and Sirius nuzzled into it with a kiss to his palm. That touch had kept him grounded at his lowest point. He knew better than to take it for granted, now.

“What about a run?” he asked, cracking a grin at the eye-roll it earned him.

And Remus laughed. The sound sent butterflies careening through his stomach; it hadn’t been absent since his fall, but it had been…well, a little rare, if he was being honest. More rare than his mostly-reliable memory told him it should be. Remus was joy incarnate, but he had been so tired lately. It was good to see him shine again, even for a moment.

Sirius pulled him in by the sleeve and kissed the corner of his mouth, tasting the last bits of humor that lingered there. Not the lips. Not until Remus was ready. “I love you.”

Remus turned until their foreheads rested together and their noses bumped. He was smiling softly. “Love you, too.”

--

“Baby?”

Sirius made a noise of acknowledgement, but didn’t budge. His hands were warm in his pockets, and the sun was hot on his windburned face. Hattie’s collar jingled; he smiled when her nose pushed into his thigh and Remus’ arm looped through his own. “Hey. Good run?”

“That hydrangea was a real threat to our safety.”

Sirius grinned and opened his eyes to kiss the top of Remus’ head. Fresh air seeped into his blood, replacing the stale sludge he had been dragging around all week. Finally, he felt human. “I’m sure it was.”

“Excuse me?”

They both startled, stepping apart. “Yes?” Remus said, his tone curious but a little tense. “Can we help you?”

A young man shifted from foot to foot, as if he couldn’t quite believe they had acknowledged him. It seemed whatever (certainly invasive) question he was going to ask had become stuck in his throat. Sirius arched a brow and saw him swallow hard. “Are you—are you okay?” the young man finally got out.

There it is. Sirius forced a smile and knew it came out tight by the sudden regret on the other man’s face. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“You’re sure?”

I’d be a lot more sure if you fucked off and let me enjoy my walk. “Very sure,” he promised.

The young man’s dark eyes flickered between them before settling on Sirius’ forehead. His beanie covered the small bandage, but that didn’t seem to dissuade him from staring. “You were in the hospital for, like…a while.”

“Just a few days,” Remus assured him. Sirius felt a light squeeze on his hand and returned it in a silent request; a gust of wind snuck down the back of his coat and raised goosebumps along his arms.

“Will you play at the next game?”

Sirius exhaled slowly through his nose as something bitter crawled up and stained his teeth. “We’re waiting on the go-ahead from the doctors,” Remus said placatingly. “Better safe than sorry. Thanks for your concern, though. Enjoy the weather.”

They were walking before the man could open his mouth again—Remus’ knuckles were white on Hattie’s leash and she had to trot to keep up with them, her fluffy tail bobbing happily. Sirius ground his back teeth so hard they squeaked. “Remus—”

“Don’t,” Remus murmured, clear and clipped. “Don’t go there, baby, it’s not worth it.”

“I need to play.” He did. He needed to play. He needed to not sit at home for another week, two weeks, a month, and pretend he was alright with it. Six days were manageable. Six more would send him over the edge. If he had to spend another beautiful afternoon cooped up in the house...

“You’ll play when you’re ready.”

“I am ready.”

Remus stopped cold, jostling both him and Hattie. He took a fortifying breath, mouth pressed into an unhappy line. “Please don’t do that,” he said quietly. “Sirius, just—don’t. You know I hate being the bad guy with this kind of thing.”

Sirius looked away. He did know that. He had seen how miserable Remus was when he had to bully Sirius into doing his exercises when his ribs were broken, how it had killed him when Sirius couldn’t put his fatal fucking pride aside for two seconds to heal. Guilt made his stomach squirm. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “But I—I need to play.”

“I know.” Remus’ eyes found his own then, gloved hands wrapping around Sirius’ wrists with something like desperation. “Believe me, I get it and I’m sorry and this has got to be the worst feeling. But this is different than your ribs, okay? We can’t afford to backslide. This isn’t some sort of—fucking punishment, I promise.”

God, he hated spoiling perfectly nice days because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. His winter clothes made his skin prickle. “I feel fine, Re.”

“But you’re not.” Remus turned Sirius’ face back with a touch to his jaw and he went willingly, even though he wanted to see anything but the hurt in Remus’ eyes. Since when was he so terrible at listening? “Not yet. We’ll start here and work our way up. I won’t talk to the press about it after games. You don’t owe people like him a thing. Don’t make this harder for yourself by letting them get under your skin.”

Sirius took a deep breath. The steam of his exhale clouded the curls spilling out from under Remus’ hat. He had known this would happen the second someone asked about his health—it was his rookie season all over again, shooting pucks in the basement because he didn’t know what else to do. Remus deserved better than what Sirius had done to himself. “Let’s do another loop around the park.”

--

Remus had cried the third night. The days were easy; they could cuddle and cook and Remus would read to him while he napped, still drained from a week of hospitalization. They could watch one TV episode every evening and got permission to throw their diet plans out the window to enjoy some treats in celebration.

At two o’clock in the morning, Remus had bolted upright in bed and shaken Sirius awake, rattling off an endless stream of questions that Sirius couldn’t respond to. Not because he didn’t know the answers, but because he had been unconscious about four seconds prior and was still technically concussed.

“Non,” he had mumbled, grappling against waking and batting sleepily at the thing holding his shoulders.

A strangled sob had answered and Remus’ touch disappeared like he was touching hot coals. By the time Sirius registered enough of the world to attempt reassurance, all he could do was hold Remus and silently curse himself. Do you know me? Remus had asked. Sirius had given him the one wrong answer. Done the one wrong movement.

It was three o’clock when Remus finally let sleep take him again, slumping into Sirius’ side with tears drying on his face. Sirius laid them down and watched light play over the ceiling from the street. When Remus woke again at nine, he didn’t say a word about the nightmare, just turned into the hollow of Sirius’ neck and let his hand rest above his heart. Though Remus slept fitfully over the following nights, he hadn’t cried again.

They were working on it.

--

“Out.”

“But I—”

“Out,” Leo repeated, making a shooing motion with his spatula. Sirius muttered something under his breath and trekked back into the living room with a last kiss to his husband’s cheek, working up a scowl like he was getting paid for it.

“Impressive,” Remus remarked around a mouthful of chips from his seat on the counter; his gaze lingered on Sirius’ retreating back while Leo poured sauce over the stuffed pasta and popped the whole pan in the oven.

Leo set a timer, wiped his hands on his pants, then cast one more look out the kitchen door to make sure their respective boys were out of sight before turning to Remus with his arms crossed. “What’s up?”

Remus’ chewing slowed. “Just…having chips.”

“Loops.”

“Did you want some?”

Stubborn bastard. Leo pushed himself onto the counter next to Remus and gave him a look his mother would be proud of. “What’s going on? I’m worried about you, man.”

But rather than throwing the chips aside and spilling his heart out—not that Leo was expecting it from Remus ‘Brick Wall’ Lupin, though a guy could dream—Remus closed his eyes and exhaled long and slow. “You are the third person to say that in 24 hours, Knutty. I’m good. If I wasn’t, I would talk to someone about it.”

“See, if you had ever done that even once in your life, I would believe you.”

“I’m doing great,” Remus insisted. Leo wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. “Sirius is home, he’s healing, he’s making progress, we’re fine.”

The distant look in his eyes was gone, but something in his face was still too heavy. Leo hadn’t heard him crack a joke or seen a real smile all day. He chewed the inside of his lip and raised his eyebrows, and watched Remus’ resolve crumble. “I didn’t ask about Sirius, Re,” he said. “I asked about you.”

“I’m not the one who had amnesia.”

“No, you’re the one whose husband had amnesia, and that’s pretty fucking traumatic.” Remus shoved another handful of chips into his mouth with an unhappy crunch; Leo hesitated for a moment, then shuffled closer until their sides touched. Remus tensed. “I’m not trying to push you, but I need you to know that I’m here and I want to talk when you’re ready. I can’t imagine how hard the last couple weeks have been.”

He had tried, the night he went to get Regulus. Every part of him felt full of pure energy—every red light had made him twitchy as the events of the day replayed in his head on constant loop. But picturing himself in Remus’ shoes, and Finn or Logan shoving him away from their bedside with a stay the hell away from me or that fragile, frightened confusion...that had taken the wind right out of his sails. He nearly turned around to go home then and there.

“It sucks.” Remus didn’t look away from the oven timer. “That’s kind of all there is to it, you know? It happened. It sucks. We’re working on it.”

Leo nudged him, just a little. A single crack in Remus’ careful walls was progress. “It does suck,” he agreed. “Have you been alone yet?”

“I mean, yeah, you guys are the first visitors in a couple—”

“Have you been alone yet?” Leo repeated.

Remus was quiet for a few seconds, then swallowed hard. “I fixed the faucet with James, but I can’t…I can’t. I don’t think either of us can right now.”

“Okay.”

Remus’ eyes flickered up to him. “Okay?”

“I’m not a therapist.” Leo shrugged one shoulder and tried for a smile. “I’m your friend. Yes, I’m worried, but I’m not going to force you to do shit right now. I’m going to make dinner for you and a cake and then you’re going to tell me what you need a hand with so you can focus on dealing with this instead of, like, cleaning your windows.”

The kitchen was starting to smell like manicotti, cheesy and warm and full of tomato. Remus set the chips down and tucked his hands under his legs with a shake of his head. Ever so slightly, he leaned into Leo. Success. “I wish this never happened.”

Leo sighed. “Me, too.”

“I wish I had caught him in time.”

“I was closer than you were.” The guilt had been so raw at first, but it was scabbing over. Dwelling on the past wouldn’t fix the present. “Are you mad at me?”

“Fuck, no.”

“There was nothing we could’ve done fast enough, Re.”

Remus scrubbed his hands down his face, then linked them at the back of his neck. “I need to talk to Heather.”

Relief crashed over Leo in a tidal wave; he took Remus by the shoulders and pulled him in for a brief, fierce hug that drew an ‘ope’ of surprise out of him. “I really didn’t want to bring it up but yes, you do, and I will drive you there myself if you want.”

Remus laughed weakly, but didn’t try to pull away. “Is it bad that I want to lay on the floor for at least twelve hours?”

“I might suggest the couch instead, for the sake of your old-man joints.”

“Watch it, Knut.”

“Keep that up and you’re not getting extra sauce.” It was an empty threat and they both knew it, but it was worth it for Remus’ snort of amusement. Leo squeezed him in a quick pulse. “Fuck, dude, I missed you.”

Leo felt some of the iceberg-sized worry slough away at the tentative press of Remus’ hands on his back. In the other room, Logan and Sirius were already laughing. “Will you hide some of the manicotti so I can reheat it later?” Remus mumbled.

“There’s a whole pan in the back of the fridge behind your gross coconut water.”

“The kind Sirius hates?”

“Pre-cisely.”

“You’re a godsend.”

“I get that a lot.”

--

Lily sipped her tea with the same energy as a wolf watching a lame, juicy rabbit from across a riverbank. When Remus said as much, she cracked a smile. “Just thinking.”

“Huh, there’s a first.”

“Fuck you, too.” He felt a light kick to his shin under the table and feigned injury, just to watch her face scrunch in a snort. “Spoke to the hubs.”

“Yours or mine?”

“The less hot one.”

“And how is Pots today?”

“Looking DILF-ier every minute. That man needs another baby. But actually, Re, I think you and Sirius should talk.”

He raised his brows. “Is that so?”

“Sounds like somebody has been squishing all those gross, nasty feelings back into the little box he just got them out of.”

“Oh, Jesus, it is not that bad—”

He jumped when Lily touched the back of his hand. Something knowing had overtaken the laughter on her face. “Remus, you need to talk to someone.”

“I’m seeing Heather on Thursday.”

“Good.” She set her teacup down and took his hand between both of her own, twisting his ring. “I’m worried about you.”

“Take a number.”

“Can you stop for, like, two seconds and let me try to help? I’m bad at this. Have some mercy.”

Something wriggled with discomfort inside him, but he put his cup on the table. “Lils…”

“Calm down, we’re not here to therapize each other. We’re here to have fun and watch bad TV and you’re going to let me paint your nails later. But—” She held her hand up when he made a face. “But first, I’m going to do my job as your best friend and tell you that some people think the patented Remus Lupin Avoidance Tactic isn’t going to work with this extraordinarily terrible event.”

“What people?”

“You know what people.”

Unfortunately, he did. Sirius, Talker, Leo, Lily…the side effect of a supportive family was having all kinds of people up in his business. Even more unfortunately, they were probably right. “Leo talked to me,” he admitted. “It helped. And I really am going to see Heather, and I’m going to try to—I don’t know, let go a little.”

Lily laced their fingers together the way he had done for her the night she found out about Harry. Her next breath came out less steady. “That means you have to let us take care of you, okay? Even if you’re busy taking care of Sirius. He’s got medical experts to do the heavy lifting. You’ve got Remus experts.”

“Lily, I’m not the injured one,” he said quietly.

“This hurt you, too.” The green of her eyes looked a little misty before she glanced away. “Holy shit, Remus, this hurt all of us, but I don’t ever want to watch you hurt like that again. I love Sirius to death but he’s got stuff to work through that you can’t fix. If you’re so worried about helping, then please let us help you.”

“I can’t ask that.”

“That’s why I’m offering.”

An exhale got stuck in his chest and he coughed lightly; Lily tilted her head back with a sniffle. Christ on a crutch, this whole vulnerability thing is harder than it sounds. “Leo made us dinner the other night. Talker and I are going skating on Saturday. I’m trying.”

“I know,” she said. “I know you are. But if it had been James that fell, and I was the one in your spot, what would you do?”

I wouldn’t leave your side. He started to answer, then faltered. Lily’s mouth turned down at the corner. “Oh, shit,” he said thickly. Across the table, Lily nodded. “Oh—I have been awful to you.”

“No, no, no, I’m not mad.” The pressure of her hands on his own increased, like she was trying to push it into him.

“I’m scared.” His voice wobbled and he blew out a sharp breath. In the blur of his vision, their hands were the same vague lump. How could he be so self-absorbed? How could he push them all away without even knowing it? He opened and closed his mouth. I need help. I need help. It was right there, but all that came out was, “Lily.”

She tugged on his sleeve; in the space between breaths, they were hugging. Her breaths hitched under his hands a few times before calming, and Remus shut his eyes tight and held her closer. I hurt you. I’m sorry. He knew she wouldn’t accept an apology. That didn’t mean he couldn’t think it with all his heart. Somehow, she would hear it.

“All you have to do is let us be there,” she rasped, pulling away to hold him at arms’ length with a light shake. “We want to. You’re scared and that’s fine and nobody is angry with you. Just talk to us. Talk to Sirius.”

He nodded mutely. When Lily brought him close again, he didn’t pretend he needed anything else.

--

The isolation was what killed him most. They were given no privacy—fuck the media and fuck the inventor of cell phone cameras, motherfuckers the lot of them—and so Sirius saw it all. Everything he didn’t remember. Everything he had tried to forget. Remus, pale and frightened with Sirius’ blood on his fingers. Remus, unable to let go of his hand when the medics pulled Sirius onto the stretcher until James pried him off. Remus, tucked in on himself in the lobby outside Sirius’ room looking like he had been flayed inside out.

So he understood. He got it. The trauma, the pain. What he didn’t understand was why Remus wouldn’t let him in anymore.

It hurt a little (a lot) to hear Remus rustling around and know he wouldn’t get a kiss even if he asked. And when he did ask, his request would be met with a wan smile and a brush of lips to his cheek, chin, forehead, everywhere but his lips. There was love in those touches—he could feel it radiating—but the reckless abandon was gone.

It was like Remus wanted to melt into the walls. It was like he wanted to melt and leave Sirius behind entirely.

God, it was always him, wasn’t it? Always his fault. Everything that went wrong in Sirius’ life would track right back around in an endless circle to the laundry list of wrong decisions. The ache of knowing Remus didn’t want him anymore was constant and painful like a broken ankle, but the absolute fucking terror of being shut out was a killstroke Sirius had never wanted to imagine.

He didn’t like the person he was before Remus. He didn’t want to know what would happen if the frosted front was permanent. How could he be real and solid when the one thing that reminded him he was alright was…

Was not alright. So deeply not alright in every curve and angle of his body. Sirius wasn’t foolish enough to think Remus would willingly talk about his feelings, especially at a time like this, but some silly, devoted part of him had thought Remus would at least try. He had mentioned something similar (if kinder) to Lily over crepes and hot chocolate, and a funny expression had come over her face. She had touched his wrist and smiled, but a troubled shadow remained through the rest of their lunch.

When Remus came home after their day together and said, “I asked for help” before anything else, he knew that shadow had found its mark.

“You did?”

“I did.” Remus took his time with his winter layers, hanging and folding each one with unusual care. “Lily and I had a good talk.”

“That’s—”

“I haven’t been fair to you, and I’m sorry.”

Sirius blinked. Lily, what did you do? “… for what?”

“I’ve been all over the place.” His words were coming just a touch too fast.  Remus’ hands were cool on his face, but his lips were warm when he left a kiss on each of Sirius’ cheeks, like he had been biting them again. “I was trying to do too much for you, and I should have backed off. We both needed some space to process.”

“Um. D’accord.” He kissed Remus’ forehead and felt him melt. His shoulders relaxed. His hands came to rest on Sirius’ hips. Sirius left another tentative kiss by his temple; he would take every bit of affection he could get. “Is everything okay?”

“I haven’t been fair to you,” Remus repeated.

“I—no, I heard that part.” Sirius rubbed his back carefully. Remus had grown thinner over the month, though from stress or distraction, he wasn’t sure. The notches of his spine ran in a ladder beneath Sirius’ fingertips as he gathered him closer. Perhaps Lily had succeeded where he had failed. “You’ve done more than I could have asked for, loup.” More than I deserved. Yet Remus wasn’t pulling away from him, wasn’t showing the slightest sign of discomfort under his hands. “I picked up some zucchini. And made a cake.”

Remus made a faint noise of interest where his face was pressed close to Sirius’ collarbone.

“It’s chocolate.”

That got him a pleased mumble.

Sirius risked a kiss to the top of his head and got a happy sigh in return. “Come cook with me. We’ll talk. Tell me about Lily.”

Remus blinked slowly when they parted; the nervous buzz of energy had trickled to a hum. “What about Lily?” he asked. “You just had lunch together.”

Did she tell you I moped about you? “Ouais, but you talk about other things.” He left his hand on the small of Remus’ back as they crossed the short distance to the kitchen and found no protest. Perhaps it was time for a bigger question. “You look better, mon coeur. It seems like she helped.”

Tension twitched against his palm before settling down again. Remus stretched his arms out with a groan, then went for the cutting board drawer. “She did,” he admitted after a moment. “I was—yeah, no, she helped a lot. There was a lot happening in my head that I didn’t have words for.”

“I know the feeling,” Sirius half-laughed, passing him a knife. This was good. This was progress. Before the fall, they cooked together every night. His body knew the motions even if his thoughts were a whirlwind. Remus knocked their temples together lightly. Next step. “Like what?”

“What?”

“What didn’t you have words for?”

Remus shrugged one shoulder and began slicing the stems from the zucchini. “Just…stuff. Oh, you found really good ones.”

“I’m glad.” Sirius watched him work in silence for a few seconds, stirring olive oil in a pan with no heat under it. Remus didn’t appear to notice. “Re?”

“Mmm?”

“Were you angry with me?”

“Oh, god, no.” Remus jerked his head up, his brows pitching. Something in Sirius’ expression must have given him away, because his gaze softened. “I was just scared, I think. It’s been a lot.”

“Tell me about it,” he joked.

But Remus didn’t laugh. His cheeks flushed and he turned back to the zucchini with an uncomfortable cough. Fuck. Remus tugged his lower lip between his teeth, worrying at it in a tic Sirius had been trying so hard to break him of. “I couldn’t help you. At the rink, I mean.” The knife accentuated each word with a clack. “But I could help here, and so I was trying too hard. That’s kind of my—um, that’s kind of my default.”

“Je sais,” Sirius said quietly.

“So, I’m sorry for spiraling into you when other people know how to help better.” Remus let out a shaky laugh. “God, this is hard. I’m trying to be brave about it.”

“You were brave for me.” The words were gentler than expected. The chop-chop-chop of the knife slowed, and stopped. “You stayed in a hospital for three days. You were brave for me.”

A wobbly slice of zucchini fell on the cutting board. There was a slight tremor in Remus’ hand, now. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

“You were brave,” Sirius repeated. He reached out and stopped the knife, folding Remus’ fingers into his own. “I can’t imagine what that was like. Thank you.”

His shoulders shuddered. He still didn’t look up. The tremor had spread to his arms, fine and delicate under his sweater. “I would do it all again.”

“I know.” Remus sniffed at that, pressing his sleeve under his nose as if he could hide it from Sirius. A droplet hit the edge of the cutting board, staining the wood. “Mon loup.”

“For you, I would do it all again.”

“Remus,” he murmured, turning him by the shoulders until he could see Remus’ bottom lip quivering despite the turn of his handsome face. A noise caught in Remus’ throat when Sirius cupped his jaw and brushed the pad of his thumb over one damp cheek. “Re, I need you to talk to me.”

“I can’t do it,” he choked out with a slight shake of his head. “Not without you. I wouldn’t want to.”

And, fuck, if that didn’t just carve at something deep in Sirius’ insides. Remus couldn’t even look at him, his gaze somewhere between the cabinet and the floor, hidden under his too-long hair that was just starting to curl.

His next breath was almost a wheeze. “I can’t do this without you.”

“Yes, you can.” Sirius gave his arms a light squeeze. Remus was strong and solid and more grounded than anyone he knew.

The sniffs came faster, his chest hitching over and over until it became a constant shiver; he swayed forward, hands slipping from Sirius’ elbows to grip the back of his shirt like it was the only thing holding Remus on Earth, his face pressed flush to Sirius’ chest as tears began to soak through it. Sirius caught him. Held him. He tucked his face against the side of Remus’ head and let him leave all that heavy burden in his arms for just a moment longer.

“I could,” Remus admitted, so miserable Sirius had to close his eyes. “Fuck, Sirius, I could, but I would hate every second of it.”

It should be impossible to feel heartbreak for something that never happened. And yet.

Sirius shifted to rest his chin on Remus’ head while sobs turned silent in the sleeve of his shirt. He would give anything to take that pain away. His fame, his money, anything in the world—whatever it took to make sure Remus never had to wonder if he would have to keep going alone. Sirius would be dead before he left him. But he supposed that was exactly what Remus feared most.

“You don’t have to.” He whispered the promise into the soft golden hair above Remus’ ear like the greatest truth. “You don’t have to, I swear. I’m not going anywhere. I love you, and I want you, and I care about you, and I’ll never leave you.”

The big talk could come later. He was more than willing to wait.

--

Remus woke in the middle of the night to the blankets shifting and a familiar weight absent from his side. Rather than giving in to immediate panic (a far-too-frequent habit, though he hated to admit it), he reached out with a sleep-slurred question and felt around blindly until Sirius’ hand caught him. “I’m here,” Sirius said with a laugh in his voice and a kiss to his wrist. Remus hummed. Of course he was. Sirius had never left him before. “Re?”

“Mhmm?” he managed, slotting himself into Sirius’ side and throwing a leg over his thigh. He was warm and wonderful.

Sirius was quiet for a bit, idly toying with Remus’ hair. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“Kiss you all the time.”

“On the lips.”

Ah, yes. Exhibit number 204 in the inventory of Remus’ weird hangups in the wake of terrible things. He was endlessly grateful for Leo and Lily—their talks had let him begin to classify the experience as actual trauma rather than dismissing himself more—but it still made him frown into Sirius’ shirt. The truth, while necessary, wouldn’t be pleasant.

“ ’m scared,” he said at last.

The hand in his hair slowed. “You’re scared… of kissing me?”

He finally blinked one eye open and checked the clock. Hours left until dawn, because they had never been able to have serious conversations in daylight. He stretched, bidding the dregs of drowsiness goodbye before he moved his head to the pillow and met Sirius’ troubled expression. Oh, god, I lost him. The words had ripped from him as he knelt on the cold floor of the hospital, disoriented and shattered, his world coming down in pieces. He had never thought it was possible, and that made it hurt even more.

Remus sighed through his nose and kissed the closest bit of Sirius he could reach. “It brought you back to me.” Kiss me, and I’ll know. “I’m still afraid it’ll take you away.”

Sirius stared at him for a long moment. “You know I was flirting with you, ouais? At the hospital. With the kiss thing.”

“I know, baby,” Remus laughed, a little bubble of happiness sliding all the way into his heart. He had missed their talks. “You were very smooth. But…I don’t know, it stuck with me. I know it doesn’t make sense. I want to kiss you all the time, and every time I try, I think about seeing you in that bed.”

Sirius’ palm nearly covered his whole cheek as he cradled Remus’ face, guiding him in to brush their noses together. “How about this bed?” he said, low and just for Remus to hear. “This is a good bed.”

Remus’ heart skipped a beat. Sirius’ lips were so close they were practically touching; he was comfortable and safe, and the hospital was far in the past. He knew what Sirius’ lips would feel like against his own, how his breath would catch after the first press. Kissing Sirius was a part of life and he loved it with his whole heart.

“You don’t have to,” Sirius whispered. Remus could feel the shape of the words on his own mouth and closed his eyes. “Re, you don’t have to, but I love you and I want you to know you’ll never lose me.”

A shuddering breath left him. He was afraid. But he could be brave at the same time.

Sirius’ breath caught when their lips met and Remus squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could, feeling the rough scratch of stubble on his palm when he guided Sirius’ chin down for a better angle. His lips were as chapped and full as he remembered; his smile was just as sweet. Sirius let him roll them over until Remus could hover above him, supported by one elbow because he couldn’t bear to break contact now that it was in his hands again. “Re—”

Remus made a small noise and kissed him harder. No words. Nothing to take them out of this. Sirius curled a hand around his wrist and held it, his thumb rubbing circles over Remus’ pulse. It wasn’t until his lungs began to burn that he leaned back, lips sore and heart racing. “I love you,” he said around the emotion clogging every attempt at speech. A few weeks ago, that kind of kiss would have been nothing but a habit. “Sirius, you don’t even know how much I love you.”

“I know—”

“You don’t.” The memory of bright fluorescent lights bleeding in from the hall pushed at the back of his mind. His whole body tingled. When he licked his lips, he could taste Sirius’ chapstick. “I know you love me because you tell me and we spend time together and you hold me so close, but I don’t know how to tell you so that you understand.”

Sirius’ hands smoothed along his heaving sides. “I know you love me, Re. Have a little faith.”

“I have so much faith in you.” The air didn’t burn with antiseptic; their sheets were washed with plain laundry soap. “I would do anything for you. I love you so much.”

A tumble of soothing French followed and Remus sank into it, letting himself be guided back down and hugged. “This is important, so I need you to listen,” Sirius said with a scattering of kisses to his jaw. Remus forced himself to open his eyes. He would listen. He would do that for Sirius, whose gaze was determined, but not angry. Never angry. “I love you. I always have. I loved you from the second I woke up in that hospital room, even though it scared the shit out of me.”

Sirius had feared him in the hospital, had shoved him back. Get away from me.

“Please look at me.” He found Sirius again in the darkness. His calm eyes, his gentle mouth. “I’ve never doubted your love, Re. I can feel it in everything you do.”

“I try really hard,” he said, far too honestly. Sirius’ hand smoothed down his spine and Remus pressed into him. He wanted—he didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Even being held was overwhelming. Another kiss might make him pass out.

“I know.” Sirius’ voice was heavy. “I’m sorry if I made you think anything else.”

Remus shook his head. He never wanted to leave their bed. “It’s just been a lot.”

“It has. I’m so grateful for you, Re.” Lips touched his forehead. “Mon amour.”

My love. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered. “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

“You can take your time,” Sirius said with another peck to his cheek that made him burn. “With kisses, and with—with everything.”

Hmm, no, please knock me out with your magic lips. “Can I have a goodnight kiss?”

“Ouais, mon vœu.” Sirius didn’t even try to mask the relief in his voice as Remus tilted his head up; his hand was steady under Remus’ chin when it dipped at the delicate kiss. “Fais de beaux rêves.”

He moved to pull away, but Remus chased his mouth and caught him for another. Sirius was right—this was a good bed. The sheets were familiar, the light a soft glow. It was home. They kissed at home.

He left one on the corner of Sirius’ mouth for good measure before settling back down with an arm over his ribs. The bundle of anxiety he had been carrying since they came home felt lighter. “Goodnight,” he sighed, vibrating in every limb. “I love you.”

--

Sirius knew it would feel good to be back on the ice, but he had never imagined it would feel like this. The puck found the flat of his stick just like he knew it would; the carbon fiber flexed, he squared his shoulders, and the whoosh of it sinking into the net brought nothing but joy to his whole body. Remus was right, per usual—hockey was love.

He took a wide, lazy loop while everyone else fucked around, chirping each other or fencing with their sticks or boxing, gloveless and playful. The ice was smooth under his skates; he let it carry him wherever it wanted and watched spirals form in his wake. His pads fit like a second skin, grounding him with their weight. Even his mouthguard settled just right over his teeth.

“Someone’s having a good day,” James teased, smacking the backs of his thighs as he passed. Sirius grinned, deliriously happy, and let James drag him into a hug; they collided with a familiar thump of pads. “Man, is it good to have you back out here.”

“It’s good to be back.” Five weeks was by far the longest Sirius had ever gone without skating. Even in the summers, he would find a rink or head to the basement when he got the itch. Mid-season, that number was down in the hours. His skates were home. He was finally settled in his skin.

“This captain shit is hard,” James laughed when they parted, eyes bright behind his contacts. “I’ve been doing it for a month, and I’m done.”

“Five years,” Sirius reminded him.

“I know, you fuckin’ hockey mutant.”

Sirius stole a puck out from under Finn and snapped it to James, who caught it with ease. All it took was a twitch of his brow and the game was on, keep-away across the ice with rules they both knew by heart. The cold air burned his face when he picked up speed; James’ crossovers were even better than they had been when they last played together, and Sirius smiled. A month of being captain had done him good.

The shrill chirp of Arthur’s whistle stabbed all the way to the base of his skull and nearly sent him flying into James’ back mid-dive. “Fuck—”

“Easy,” James grunted beneath his weight when he caught him. Concern had replaced the excitement on his face. “Hey, you okay?”

“I—yeah, I’m fine.” Sirius blinked and shook his head. Weird. He hadn’t had so much as a headache in two weeks, but already he could feel a faint throbbing behind his eye. He shook his head again and stood up straight, pointedly ignoring the worried looks several teammates were shooting him. He was fine. He was healed.

“I posted the schedule by the bench,” Arthur called, the whistle hanging innocently around his neck once again. “We’re doing fundamentals today, okay? Nailing down the basics is a strength of this team, so I want you to put a hundred percent of your effort into the technicalities. Save any fancy tricks for the scrimmage at the end.”

Sirius smiled to himself. He excelled at fundamentals, and if he knew Coach, those basic exercises would fall right into his wheelhouse. He wasn’t stupid—obviously it was Arthur’s way of saying ‘welcome back’, but Sirius wasn’t about to complain about a chance to show off a little and shake the rust away.

Passing drills? Easy.

Net accuracy? Piece of cake.

Puck handling? Sirius had more than enough trophies sitting at home to do it in his sleep.

He reveled in returning to the routine that had built his entire life. His stick was an extension of his arms and his skates added those few inches of height for the perspective he had been missing, always a bit too short to see things through the right frame until he was back where he belonged. His muscles burned just right; the gloomy fog lurking in the back of his head lifted under the bright lights of his favorite place.

Someone bumped his back just as he was (reluctantly) heading to the bench for a water break, and arms wound around his waist. “Hi,” Sirius laughed as momentum carried them forward.

“Hey.” Remus gave him a squeeze, then ducked under his arm. He was flushed with happiness. Sirius’ heart tripped over itself. “How’re you feeling?”

“So good.” His whole face hurt from smiling and he cast a look around at the perfect chaos. “So, so good.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Got a little wobbly earlier with James. Everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sirius assured him, tilting Remus’ face up for a kiss on his button nose. But it was for fun, now. They had been allowed more than enough time to figure out their issues, both at home with each other and alone with Heather. Impossibly, he felt better around Remus after a month of recovery than he ever had before. “I’ll tell you if I start feeling bad, but this is good. I needed it.”

“I know you did, baby.”

They made their way back to the bench together, hips bumping with each out of sync step until their skates were on solid ground again and Sirius let himself fall into the mess of his friends without hesitation. Shoulders jostled, elbows knocked—he was at peace. “Good to have you back out there, Cap,” Kasey said with a grin and a clap to his upper arm. “Needed someone who could give me a run for my money.”

“Hey!” Logan complained.

A hand caught Sirius by the scruff and he went willingly into Dumo’s side hug, nudging their temples together. “Thought you could take a break and come back just as strong, eh?”

Sirius grinned. “You know it.”

Dumo tsked and shoved him away by the forehead. “Remus! Five weeks, and you haven’t tamed the ego on this one?”

“Not nearly enough time,” Remus countered with a wink that made Sirius’ stomach flip. “I barely managed to keep him in bed, you think I was paying attention to the real elephant in the room?”

“Yeah, I bet you kept him in bed!” Finn wolf-whistled, earning himself a squirt to the face from Remus’ waterbottle. The conversation devolved rapidly into hollering and playful jabs from all sides, and Sirius gave as good as he got.

Then the whistle blew again, and black spots of pain danced in his vision.

He rubbed the corner of his forehead with the heel of his hand for some relief and felt the textured skin of his new scar pull. He frowned.

“Baby?” The guys were still loud as they flooded back onto the ice—he must have missed Arthur’s instructions, he never missed instructions—but Remus’ voice was barely above a murmur. “Sirius, you okay?”

“Ouais.” The spots faded out. The pain had been quick and sharp, like lightning. “It’s—yeah, I’m good. The whistle startled me.”

Remus had his PT face on, though, and Sirius’ heart sank. He wasn’t getting out of this one easily. “Your head’s bugging you?”

Before the fall and everything that came after it, he might have lied. He might have continued to tell Remus he was fine despite obviously not being fine, and Remus would have let him, but he would’ve been upset and it would take them days to work it out. Hell, six weeks ago Sirius would have cut every corner he found to get back into hockey as fast as possible. And because Remus loved him, because Remus was so goddamn committed to making sure he was happy, he would’ve been able to get away with a lot more before someone called him on his bullshit.

That was six weeks ago. That was before the fall.

“It’s hurting a little,” he admitted. “But only when the whistle blows, and only for a moment. We’ll check it out when we get home. I feel really good for the scrimmage, though.”

Remus nodded hesitantly, then leaned up and kissed his cheek. A frown touched his mouth. “Talk to Layla after practice?”

“I will,” Sirius promised.

And that was that. Honesty, an easy promise to keep, and they were good again. They had both learned over the first few stages of recovery that a lack of communication to salvage one good moment wasn’t worth the inevitable Jenga tower of problems later. Sirius didn’t have to be afraid Remus would leave him over an imperfection, and Remus didn’t have to fear Sirius feeling suffocated by him.

It was such a breath of fresh air.

He lined up across from Dumo, bracing for the puck drop as adrenaline dripped through him and focused his vision. He won the face-off in one quick swipe of his stick and passed it to James, who caught it just like the last million times they had done it.

“Open!” he shouted as the opposing defense closed in on James and Finn. The puck was a blur he knew well, easy to catch, easy to carry. He slipped past Olli and dodged Dumo’s attempted poke-check; Sirius couldn’t stop grinning. His body remembered everything it was supposed to.

He snagged a goal in the first period and two assists in the second. It wasn’t until they were well into the third period that he realized he hadn’t taken a single check.

At first, he wrote it off as a scrimmage courtesy—no checks meant a severely reduced risk of injury. But it lingered in his thoughts and dragged his gaze to spots he normally wouldn’t put that much attention in; Logan colliding with everyone but Sirius, Nado and Kuny’s play-fight, Remus’ quick hits that always shocked the puck from the opponent. Not even one of them came close to Sirius.

He called for the puck again and made a break for the net; Logan was on his ass in a second, but he didn’t make a move to try and steal it away. Sirius extended his stick a couple inches. Nothing. He did it again, giving Logan the perfect opportunity to snatch it away if he just bumped Sirius a little.

“Are you going to take it or not?” he snapped as they swerved around Dumo.

Logan immediately looked guilty. “I…”

Sirius ground his teeth and knocked the puck to James, who attempted a shot he didn’t even try and follow. If they weren’t going to play fair, he didn’t want to play at all. “What the fuck are you doing, Logan?”

“Playing defense.”

“I practically handed it to you!”

“Well, fuck you, too!” Logan said waspishly.

The throbbing behind Sirius’ eye had started again. He wanted to break his stick in frustration, but he didn’t know if he could do it. There were angles and force and—and his head was killing him for the first time in weeks. The others were gathering in little huddles around them. He fixed Logan with a glare. “Why didn’t you take it?”

“It’s a scrimmage!”

“So hit me!”

“I’m not going to hit you!”

Sirius almost had him now. “You’ve hit me before! Split my fucking lip, too!”

“I’m not going to hit you!”

“I can take it, Logan!”

“Well, I’m not willing to fucking risk it!”

They were close enough to each other by then that Sirius watched Logan’s anger dissolve into instant regret in excruciating detail. The rink was dead silent. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered. The rest of them had the nerve to look surprised when he turned. Surprised and ashamed. “Is anyone here a doctor?”

Skates shuffled, tentative and awkward.

“Have any of you seen my medical information over the past month? Any treatment plans? Anything?” They huddled together like a pack of kicked puppies. Sirius took a deep breath. He was their friend, but he was their captain, too. He had their respect. He wasn’t about to lose it over one injury. “I don’t need you to worry about me. I need you to trust me. I know it’s my first practice back, but I know my body. I don’t need special treatment and I don’t want it.”

James raised his head; where shame tinted the faces of their friends, it found no home with him. “We’re worried. That’s it. It’s not worth the risk right now.”

“I don’t—” Sirius cut himself off before he could say something he regretted and pressed a hand over his eyes. Deep breaths. “Jesus, Pots, did you tell them to do this?”

“It was me.” His heart sank as Arthur leaned on the boards, unapologetic. “I told them to be gentle. You’re a great player and a good man, and I’m not going to risk your health in the first few practices.”

Sirius looked at him for a long moment. “It was a concussion. One concussion.”

“A concussion that had you in the hospital for close to a week and needed a month of recovery.” Arthur met his gaze and did not flinch. “You’re the captain of my team. I need you in top form, and I’m willing to make a little extra time to get you there. This team will not succeed if you throw yourself back in and get hurt again right away. Understood?”

His mouthguard squeaked between his teeth. Sirius looked down. “Yes, coach.”

Arthur tapped his clipboard against the boards. “Good. Scrimmage is over, boys. Do some cooldowns and then get stretching. Sirius, come talk to me when you’re done.”

Someone caught his elbow when he went to skate to the bench. “I’m not sorry,” Logan said, his jaw set. “I know you’re pissed, but I’m not sorry.”

Sirius sighed through his nose. “Yeah, I know.”

Back to the beginning, then.

--

“I know I’m the prettiest person on this team, but don’t look at me. Look at the light.”

Sirius squinted into Layla’s small flashlight; she passed it in front of his eyes a few more times before clicking it off. “All good?”

“Fine and dandy,” she said. “You said your head was hurting?”

“Just with the whistle.”

“Then, yeah, that sounds like normal stuff to me.” She shrugged one shoulder and offered an encouraging smile. “Your concussion is healing really well. Your focus was good, your pupils look normal, and light sensitivity seemed low. The auditory stuff is just taking a little longer to settle. How long until you’re allowed to play again?”

Sirius held down a grimace. “Three to six more weeks.”

“Sounds about right,” Layla said, apparently unbothered. “It’s good to have that much leeway, Cap. The noise sensitivity should wear off in a week or two, which means you’ll have plenty of time to get back on your feet at a hundred percent and play your best. If it doesn’t, come talk to me and we’ll fix it.”

“Yeah.” Paper pilled under his fingers as he picked at it. Six weeks would put them right on the doorstep of the games-that-must-not-be-named; he wasn’t exactly looking forward to being thrown into high-stakes competition right off the bat.

The exam table crinkled when Layla sat next to him. She was quiet for a moment, then patted his knee. “You’ll be okay. This is the kind of thing that shouldn’t bug you once you rest and recover. In a way, it’s better than your ankle.”

Sirius smiled wryly. He liked Layla—she had the same lovable good humor and unrelenting optimism in the face of injury as her predecessor. “I think most things are better than a broken ankle,” he noted.

“True.” She bumped his shoulder. “No more moping, Cap. You’ll be out there in no time.”

--

“Flashlight to the left. Okay, good. Give me the flat screwdriver.” Something clinked, then clattered, resulting in a satisfied hum. “Black tape. You looked excellent at practice today.”

“Thanks,” Sirius mumbled. He rummaged in the battered canvas bag until something vaguely tape-textured hooked his finger. “Uh, this one is white.”

“The black kind should be in the side pocket next to the box cutter.” Dumo hummed again when he pressed the correct roll into his open palm. “Merci. Your footwork was especially good.”

“My footwork is always good.”

“I know,” he chuckled. Several more bolts (nuts? Sirius still couldn’t remember which were which) fell into the pan by his thigh like silver sprinkles. “Coach seemed impressed.”

Sirius arched a wry brow, even though Dumo couldn’t see him. “Coach was just surprised I didn’t fall on my face.”

“Non, he was very happy to see you—”

“He told everyone to go easy on me.”

“What, like you wouldn’t do the same if it had been Remus? Or Logan? Or me?” Sirius winced at the thought; with a squeak of wheels and a slight groan, Dumo scooted out from under the washing machine and gave him a look. “I know today was frustrating, but you can’t expect us to beat you up this soon.”

“It’s been a month.” He was well-aware of the slight whine in his voice, and judging by Dumo’s amused huff, he wasn’t alone.

“For you, maybe. Felt like years to the rest of us.” The nut-bolt-screws were cold when Sirius rolled them between his fingertips, scowling. Dumo patted his arm with a grease-streaked hand and began sliding back under the machine. “Give it time, mon fils. They just want you back safe and sound.”

“They need me back for the play—”

“Non,” Dumo interrupted.

“They do!”

Dumo muttered something under his breath before looking up at him again. “Sirius. Come on.”

“James said he had a bad time as captain.”

“Oui, because he missed you. He did great. You should be proud of him.” A screwdriver gently poked him on the kneecap. “This is not about hockey. This is about friends.”

Sirius set the pan aside and stretched out on the concrete floor. His legs ached from being crossed for so long. There were cobwebs between the cupboards and the ceiling, even with the cold weather. “It’s hard for me, sometimes.”

Dumo made an understanding noise and turned back to the screws.

“Falling was embarrassing.” It was so much easier to talk about like this. Heather was a godsend, but the words came easier in French and the soft noise of the garage was far more soothing than a blue room with a suede couch. “It’s like—who even does that? I was tired. That’s it. Now everyone is upset.”

“I disagree with the last part, but okay.”

“Remus is upset.”

“Since when do you count Remus with ‘everyone’?”

He saw Dumo grin at the ensuing silence and covered his face with a groan, letting his head fall back on the cold floor. “God, fine, I’m being mean again and nobody is actually mad at me.”

“Atta boy. Hand over the white tape.”

--

It got better. Sirius got better. He had daily visits with Layla—they both had a laugh about old habits die hard, but still they laughed—and his weekly appointments with Heather had finally begun to veer back to their usual conversations. Aren’t you bored of my shitty childhood by now? Sirius had teased when they made it thirty minutes without discussing his head.

Heather had scoffed at him and whacked him lightly with a pillow. As if I’d be sad to see you this happy. Don’t even think about more head wounds, puck boy. We’re getting to the root of that next.

Slowly, he admitted that he had been sick when it happened. (It seemed Kasey hadn’t spilled his secret, after all). He told her about the chattering teeth and the brain fog that set in that morning; about the fatigue that had piled onto him until he couldn’t even make it through the gate and had to let it win. He told her about the overwhelming feeling that it was all his fault and that everyone would hate him for taking a break.

The world hates me when I’m good and hates me when I’m bad.

They’re wrong for that.

That had made him smile. Heather rarely spoke in absolutes. I know, he answered honestly. She hadn’t pushed him on it, and he liked to think she even believed him.

Remus was laughing again, moonlight in darkness. The good snacks began to disappear from the pantry once more—Sirius couldn’t be mad about it, no matter how often he considered billing Talker for their monthly groceries. Every bag of chips he never got to taste meant Remus would come home and kiss him and ramble about the day like the most adorable runaway train in the world. “I love you, I love you, I love you” smushed into his cheeks, forehead, lips.

His boys carried them to the playoffs with ruthless focus. His pads still fit and the whistle was on his side. And when he was ready, so fucking ready it made his veins hot, Remus pulled him into the break room with a wicked grin that made him thank every cosmic moment that gave him pregame rituals. He would take every bit of luck he could get. The crowd roaring for him deserved it all.

It came in the dusk of the evening, when the blustering winds had calmed and Sirius’ mind felt quiet at last. It was the relief of a wound freshly bandaged—there was no burn of newness, and yet no itch of a scab. It was just a wide, soft couch and a chest rising and falling beneath his hand. Remus kissed his forehead and let it linger like a dream. “Oh, I love you.”

Sirius breathed in, and out. A single spritz of cologne. Lavender shampoo. “You said you couldn’t do this without me,” he said, keeping his voice low. Remus hummed his agreement. He lifted his head slightly, into the gentle pressure of Remus’ hand in his hair. An auburn brow arched in a silent question; he traced the shape of it with his thumb. “You think I can do any of this without you, loup?”

Remus’ mouth curved in a half-smile. “You can do a lot without me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“That’s where we always end up, eh?”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

[crash-cinematic-universe]

a beautiful sight

pairing: peter maximoff/reader

summary: peter maximoff is good at getting himself into trouble. you’re good at getting him out of trouble. what happens when you get tired of the same old routine?

warnings: there is angst for a moment and then they just start fucking. language warning and also sexual content warning

notes: this took so long. this took me so long to write. this took me so long to write and i am so sorry about that. this is 4k words long i hope that eases the pain. also i tried to keep the pronouns gender neutral but since they are having sex the reader is written to have “female” genitalia

taglist:  @stranger-names @gooseyhouse @parkersdarling @amourtentiaa @toodles-me-doodles @rottenstyx

            Your hands gripped the leather steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip, your teeth clenching so hard you feared your jaw would snap. Fat raindrops smashed against the windshield before quickly being swept away by the automatic wipers. Street lamps and stop lights sparkle in the rain, making for a beautiful sight; if you were traveling under different circumstances, you’d probably enjoy the drive. Unfortunately, you were currently being crushed by your current situation, anger simmering within your stomach.

            You pulled up in front of the police station, a withering sigh escaping your chest before the car locks popped open. Determined to keep your composure in front of a bunch of cops-- who, admittedly, you were not on the best terms with-- you kept your chin up and expression stoic as you walked through the rain into the main lobby of the station. 

            The police station was exactly like how someone would expect it to be: the floor was covered with dull white, the walls a similar shade of white. An unsuspecting visitor would be immediately greeted by the uncomfortable and unwelcoming lobby, decorated only with a dying fern in the corner. Four grey chairs sat against the wall, a small wooden side table between them. There were magazines on the table, each one more brain dead and empty than the last. One could only compare reading said magazines to eating only empty calories for their entire lives. 

            A shell of a receptionist sat behind a large desk across the room, and you walked directly over. This one is new-- you’d been here three times in the past three months, but you didn’t recognize her. She was typing away at a computer, her eyes tired and sunken in. There was a coffee cup sitting next to her, but it looked as if it remained untouched for hours. Sluggishly, she looked up at you.

            “How can I help you?” Her voice matched her exterior, a deep fatigue dripping off her words, Obviously, she didn’t want to be there, but you couldn’t really blame her. Who would want to work in such a lifeless place?

            “I’m here to pick up my boyfriend,” You sound tired, not as tired as the receptionist, but still tired. She shoots you a sympathetic look.

            “Name?”

            “Peter Maximoff.”

            You catch a glimpse of the receptionist’s name tag, quickly learning that her name is Nicole. She types something into her computer, adjusting her glasses and leaning in slightly.

            “Alright, miss, he’ll be out in a few minutes. You can take a seat over there,” Nicole gestured over to the makeshift waiting room and you nodded. 

            “Thank you,” Like clockwork, you spun on your heel and landed in the uncomfortable chair that had gotten used to your presence. 

            You hated police stations. They had a certain soul-sucking quality to them; whether or not that quality comes from the poor souls that get thrown behind bars or the pieces of shit that put them there is up for individual interpretation. Police stations reeked of stale coffee and sweat, the occasional police siren cutting through the air every hour or so. The sound alone was hair-raising, especially to someone who landed themselves on the “wrong” side of the law uncomfortably often.

            The sound of footsteps approached the double doors to your left, and soon enough Peter walked through them, his hands still bound in handcuffs. The police officer that escorted him out unlocked his cuffs before disappearing back behind the doors, leaving the two of you in the lobby alone. Well, mostly alone. Nicole was still sitting behind the counter, looking as unenthused as ever. Peter rubbed his wrists, his pale skin an angry red where his cuffs constricted them. 

            He had a black eye, his silver hair messy and unkempt. The Nirvana t-shirt he was wearing was ripped, and dozens of small cuts and bruises littered his body. You already knew he got into a fight, you just didn’t realize how banged up he had gotten. A part of you pitied him. Upon seeing his injuries, you almost allowed yourself to let go of the anger that had been festering inside of you. Somehow, you restrained yourself. Silently, you turned and walked out the front doors of the police station.

            “Y/n--” Peter calls after you, an incoming apology hanging on his lips. You got to the car before he could catch up to you, quickly entering the driver’s seat and waiting in silence. Soon enough, Peter clambers in.

            “Y/n, I--”

            “I don’t wanna hear it,” you cut him off, frustration evident in your voice. Wisely, Peter held his tongue. “You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep recklessly running through the city doing whatever the hell you want. I can’t keep bailing you out, I won’t keep bailing you out.” 

            “I’m really sorry, doll,” He sounds like he’s being genuine, but you were going to need a lot more than one measly ‘sorry’. “I just… I saw these guys beating up some teenager in an alley. I couldn’t let that slide, and god knows the cops aren’t going to do anything about it. I did what I thought was right,”

            “I’m not mad at you for that, Peter. I would’ve done the exact same thing if I was in your position, I’m just… worried. I know you think you need to stand up for the little guys, but you can’t keep putting yourself at risk. I hate seeing you all beaten up like this,” You sighed, taking Peter’s hand in yours. His knuckles were bruised, the new purple splotches decorating his skin. The bruises from the last unfortunate encounter weren’t even fully healed you.

            “I swear, this is the last time you’ll have to do this. I promise,” He smiled weakly at you, and somehow, you managed to swallow the fury that had built up inside of you. 

            “It better be.” You ran your thumb over his injured hand, watching as the dark purple patches disappeared. Thankfully, your mutation guarantees that all of the scrapes and scratches will heal quickly. “Now, let’s go home so I can bandage you up.”

            “I’d like that,” Peter smiles softly. His hand remains in yours as he rests his head against the car window, watching other cars whiz by in the rain. The street lights illuminated the sharp angles and delicate curves that made up his face. Even with a busted lip, Peter was still one of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen. 

            The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, the sound of raindrops pattering against the windshield lulling you both. It was late, the sun had long plunged past the horizon and a dusting of stars had appeared in the night sky. You noticed a few constellations as you drove to your apartment, the three signature stars of Orion’s belt catching your eye. A few months prior, Peter had taken you to a large field in the middle of nowhere, the scenery free of the light pollution the cityscape provided. He talked for hours about the stars, going from constellations to the lore behind them to the planets themselves; he even spoke about the star signs. He spoke with such passion, you felt as if you could listen to him talk for hours. 

            You pulled up in front of your apartment, quickly switching off the car. The rain gradually grows harder as you and Peter scurry up the pathway to the apartment lobby. Peter practically dragged you inside; it was obvious that he was struggling to contain his speed. As it turns out, hiding superpowers is much harder than initially expected. With every mutation-suppressing day that passes, Peter grows more antsy and you grow more anxious.

            “You alright, silver?”

            “Yeah, I just wanna get home,” he replies, but it’s too quick. He’s too eager to ward off your concern. He’s hiding something.

            “Peter, don’t lie to me,” Your words are obviously a warning, but they come out much softer than intended. Peter is visibly unwell-- you can’t believe you hadn’t noticed it sooner.

            “Really, I’m fine, it’s no big deal,” It was obvious that he was trying to reassure you and quell your worries, but he was failing miserably. Finally, he surrendered. “Seriously, I’m totally okay. I’m just a little sore and, uh… bleeding,” It’s only then that he lifts up the part of his shirt that hadn’t been torn, revealing a poorly bandaged gash-- you can only assume he got stabbed.  

            “Oh my god,” You gasped, taking a sharp step forward. “Peter, you-- what-- how have-- oh my god,” 

            “It’s okay! Don’t freak out, it’s just--”

            “It is not okay! Not in the slightest!” You pulled him into the nearest empty elevator, immediately slamming your hand on the button for the fourth floor. Peter looked pale and sickly, and upon closer inspection you realized that he was trembling. Still, Peter managed to smile softly.

            “I’m okay, dollface, really,” The elevator dinged, and you practically yanked him out of the small compartment. “Once we get home, you can patch me up, good as new, just like always,” 

            “Peter, why didn’t you tell me?” You fumble with the keys to your apartment, a metallic jingling punctuating your words. After what felt like a billion  years, you finally managed to shove the key into the handle and throw the door open. 

            Like clockwork, you fell into the routine you’d come to know so well. Peter sat on the kitchen counter, taking off his torn and tattered shirt and waiting patiently for you to come to his aid. You took a sharp left into the bathroom, your knees hitting the floor as you dig through the cabinet under the sink. The glimmering white gloss of the first aid kit caught your eye; within seconds you had yanked it out from between the extra toilet paper and the windex. Although you could heal the worst of the cut with your mutation, you still had to bandage it and disinfect the giant gash. 

            “Okay-- just try to hold still. You know the drill,” Peter nodded slightly, sharply inhaling as you pressed your fingertips to his pale skin. He leans back on his hands, his eyebrows furrowing as he hisses. The open wound on his abdomen begins to slowly recombine causing blood to gush out of the cut. You’re quick to wash it away with a wet cloth. As extraordinary as your healing abilities might be, they don’t take away the painfulness of any given laceration. For the next minute or so, your beautiful boyfriend is going to be in near agony. Peter’s head falls back as he tries his best to avoid looking at his injury-- he claims it “always makes it worse”.

            “We’re almost done, Peter. You’re doing very well,” You soothe, trying your best to make the process as quick as possible. Peter whimpers as the cut closes and the blood flow stops. The skin where the cut closed was still very red and tender, and any sudden movement risks reopening the wound. This one was particularly bad, the severity and depth of the injury dangerous enough to warrant the consideration of double bandaging.

            A deep sigh escaped your chest; you were tired of this routine. This awful, never-ending chain reaction that almost always ended with you trying to scrub blood out of your clothes. The police station, the arguments, the cuts and gashes and hushed apologies-- you were just so tired. And you loved Peter, you really did, but he didn’t love himself. He was willing to put his own survival on the backburner at the drop of a hat, and even though he usually came out fine, the thought of him getting hurt was weighing down on you. 

            “Y/n?” Peter chimes up, his voice pained and gravelly. You hum in response, too occupied with disinfecting the now healed cut to answer with a full sentence. Peter winced every time you pressed the washcloth to his skin. “I’m sorry,” he spoke softly, his voice wavering with each brush of the rag. Genuine remorse coated his every word, and beneath the gentle tremors and the sharp breathing, his voice is thick with building tears. 

            Peter sits up, a strangled grunt forcing its way out of his mouth. He moves slowly, trying desperately not to agitate the healing skin on his stomach. His shoulders slumped over and his head hung low, strands of silver hair falling over his eyes. It’s getting long. You’ll have to cut it later. Gently, you run your hand through his hair and pull his head up so your eyes meet. Some of the tears had spilled over, leaving glistening tracks in their wake.

            “I’m so sorry,” He coughed, although it seemed as if he was trying to cover a sob. You pulled him off the counter before wrapping your arms around his waist, minding his injury. His skin is warm and littered with scars. He practically collapses on your, gripping at your shirt like it’s his lifeline. “You do so much for me, and I always end up asking for more. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” 

            “Peter, it’s okay--”

            “No! It isn’t! You drove all the way across town at midnight to pick me up from  the police station, only to immediately find out that I got stabbed and decided to hide it from you,” he stuttered, his grip on you tightening ever-so-slightly. “I’ve been a really shitty boyfriend lately,” 

            “Hey, look at me,” you softly cup his face with your hand, running your thumb over the fading bruises from past altercations with assholes in alleyways. Peter Maximoff is nothing if not a hero at heart. “Yes, lately you’ve been reckless and it freaks me out. Sure, I didn’t exactly think I’d be spending my Friday night sitting in a police station waiting room. And, yeah, I’d prefer if you didn’t hide stab wounds from me, but you are not a shitty boyfriend. You’re a wonderful boyfriend who happens to have an uncontrollable urge to help others, even at your own expense,” You press a kiss to his forehead, brushing the hair out of his eyes once again.

            “I just don’t want you to get tired of me,” Peter’s voice is quiet and vulnerable, hesitancy hiding between the syllables. 

            “Me? Tired of you? Impossible,” you enthused, reveling in the slight smile that cracked on Peter’s porcelain face. “I just hope you don’t get sick of my constant worrying,”

            “You know I could never,” A grin grew on his face, and suddenly the sadness and the tension in the air was replaced with content. Peter looked at you with admiration, and within seconds his lips were on yours. 

            Any remnants of the anger you once felt was snuffed out like a dying candle. Your head felt warm and fuzzy as Peter’s hands found their way to your hips. If someone were to tell you that Peter had a secret secondary mutation that granted him the power to subdue any person just by kissing them, you’d believe them wholeheartedly. There was something about the way he leaned against you, encapsulating you in a tight embrace as every aspect of personal space was thrown out the window. You’d call it intimacy, but it seemed like so much more than that. Sometimes words aren’t heavy enough to describe what you felt for Peter, and what he felt for you. That’s alright, though. You do what you can with the words you have.

            Your silver-haired companion takes a tentative step forwards and you proceed to follow his lead, walking backwards until your back hits the wall. He huffs, pulling away from you for a split second so he can whirl you around; Peter always preferred to be the one against the wall, for lack of a better analogy. It didn’t take a genius or a prognosticator to see where this was heading, and judging by the eagerness behind his movements, Peter could see it too.

            Hesitantly, you push him away from you for just a moment. His chest rises and falls in a brisk rhythm as he rests his forehead against yours. You’re still pressed against his chest, and he’s still clutching you like you’re some sort of flight risk. Almost instinctively, you run your hand through his shimmering silver hair. 

            “Peter, less than ten minutes ago you were lying on my counter with an open wound. Are you sure you’re feeling up for this?” A wide smile grew on Peter’s face, and with each passion second you could see his signature cocky stature returning. You knew it wouldn’t last much longer, but hey, might as well let him enjoy it while it’s there. 

            “You fixed me up pretty well, dollface,” Peter pecks you on the cheek and a momentary chuckle escapes you. “I feel better already,”

            “Alright, if you say so,” You grab him by the collar and pull his lips to yours once again. The kiss was eager and needy-- Peter melted beneath your touches, just like always. You ran your hands over his bare skin, reveling in the shutters and shivers that ran up his spine. He pulled you closer, almost as if he thought you’d disappear if he let go. Gently, you raised your arm and began to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, accidentally tugging on the silver strands. 

            This seemed to set something off in Peter, and in the blink of an eye you found yourself lying on your bed with him hovering over you. His lips were on your neck in an instant, leaving a trail of soft kisses that led all the way down to your collarbone. You could feel Peter’s warm hands snaking under your shirt, tentatively caressing your skin. Although you’ve done this a thousand times, he was still incredibly focused on making sure you were enjoying the interaction as much as he was. 

            You spurred him on in the most obvious way possible; by pulling him back up to your face and flipping him over, swinging your leg over his hips and resting your hands on his bare chest. This position oh-so-conveniently happened to result in your knee pressing directly against Peter’s crotch. You’re quick to replace your knee with your hand, gentle palming him through his impossibly tight jeans. He swallows back a groan, his teeth digging into his bottom lip hard enough to break his skin. You’re quick to reach up and wipe away the blood that formed on his lip, a smirk growing on your face. 

            “Careful, pretty boy. Wouldn’t wanna hurt yourself any more than you already have, now, would you?” The sudden use of his favorite pet name sent shivers down Peter’s spine, his heart rate steadily increasing with every second that passes. You quickly unbutton his jeans before pulling them off, dragging your nails down his thighs as you do so. Before you had the chance to slip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, he managed to use his mutation to flip you onto your back. His hands pinned your wrists to the mattress, a smirk stuck on his face. 

            “Y’know, you really do take great care of me,” Slowly, Peter starts making his way down your body. There’s something about how the light hits his face, casting shadows over his sharp features that make him look like some sort of greek god. He hooks his thumbs in the belt loops along your waistband, his eyes not leaving yours for even a second. “I think it’s about time I take care of you,” With that, Peter fluidly tugs off your jeans, discarding the rest of your clothing before settling between your thighs. He rests your legs on his shoulders, his hot breath fanning over your cunt and sending shivers up your spine. The feeling of light kisses on your thighs catches your attention and frustration spreads throughout your chest. You reach down and tug on Peter’s hair, whining in reaction to his ceaseless teasing. He looks up at you through his eyelashes with a cocky smirk growing on his face. After one last sultry look, Peter lurches forward and buries his face in the apex of your thighs. 

            A low moan escapes you as a soft string of praises falls from your lips. The grip you held on his hair tightened as Peter’s tongue circled your clit, sending white-hot waves of pleasure through your body. He pulls his hand off your thigh and immediately buries two of his fingers inside of you. Your head was scrambled, any semblance of coherency that you once had flying out the window with each jerk of Peter’s hand. 

            “Fuck, Peter,” You moaned just a little too loud. Just when you were regaining some sense of composure, the earth-shattering feeling of rapid vibrations ignites every nerve in your body. The combination of Peter’s vibrating fingers buried inside of you and the feeling of his lips working at your clit was just too much, and within seconds you were spasming around his fingers and calling his name. 

             You can’t bring yourself to form words, instead opting to pull him back up to your lips. All either of you could do was grab at each other, desperately trying to pull the other closer than you already were. Peter practically tore off whatever clothing that got in his way, leaving the both of you completely bare. With one last glance up at your face, he waited for confirmation before pushing his cock inside of you. 

            It was as if everything fell into place, the feeling of fullness and passion sending electricity through your body. You hooked your leg around his side, pulling him deeper inside of you as his thrusts fell into a steady rhythm. His pounding was relentless, his chest heaving with every jerk. Peter’s name fell from your lips like a mantra as he punctuated your words with deep thrusts. 

            “S-So good, Peter,” Your words are slightly slurred as you look up at his face. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration; long, low moans fell from his swollen lips, and for a moment, it felt like music to your ears. “Such a good boy for me,” 

            Peter whimpered and his movements faltered; in one final act of defiance, you used your leverage to flip in around once more. You anchor yourself on his chest before rolling your hips against his, watching Peter’s eyes roll back as you begin bouncing on his cock. A string of senseless noises and incoherent ramblings fall from his lips as he thrusts his hips upwards to meet your movement. His nails dig into your hips so hard that it hurts-- you can’t exactly blame him. 

            “Y-Y/n, please,” Peter begged helplessly, tears building in his eyes. He didn’t know exactly what he was begging for, but he begged regardless. The feeling was so much; it was everything at once, and it was so good he almost couldn’t take it. “P-please, please...” He trailed off. 

            One slight adjustment resulted in Peter slamming into your sweet spot, causing your moans to get damn near screams. Your nails left angry red trails on Peter’s chest, taking their place amongst the countless hickies you left behind before. Then, in a beautiful amalgamation of moans and whimpers and screams, you and Peter came in unison. He snapped his one last time before throwing his head back, emptying himself deep inside of you.

            You watch Peter’s face intently, his eyes fluttering closed and his hair sticking out in every direction. He was practically glowing; completely blissed-out with a golden halo hanging over his head. A soft smile played about his lips as he began to finally catch his breath-- it’s only now that you see the dozens of little marks you left on his body. An odd sense of pride filled your body and for a moment you felt like an expert artist admiring your latest mural. 

            Slowly, you pulled yourself off of him, collapsing to his side and exhaling deeply. He immediately wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you into his chest and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. Peter is practically radiating warmth, a strong sense of comfort settling over you and you gently trace his collarbones.

            “I love you, y’know that?” His voice is quiet and dripping with fatigue; it’s music to your ears. 

            “Oh, really? I couldn’t tell,” You joked. Peter chuckled and rolled his eyes before resting his head on top of your shoulder. “Seriously, though, I love you too. Nerd.” He seemed satisfied with that response, nuzzling his face further into your touch.

            Rain softly drummed against the windows, light from the moon and from the city skyline reflecting off the droplets like a billion multi-colored stars. Peter had drifted off to sleep, the gentle glow from the outside world making him look like an angel that fell out of the sky and into your bedroom. Your eyelids grow heavy, and as you succumbed to the influence of a deep sleep, you kept your eyes trained on Peter’s face. He truly was a beautiful sight. 

[kasienda]

Right Behind You - Chapter 1: Scandal

An Adrino Story - Friends to lovers Maybe the person you need is not the one you’ve had your eye on, but the one who’s been right behind you supporting you the whole time.  Chapter 1: Scandal Nino was awake.

Which was a crime.

His gig the previous evening hadn’t ended until well past four in the morning, and glancing at the glowing clock next to his bed it wasn’t even eight yet. He had managed maybe two hours of sleep.

And he could feel it everywhere in his body. The light peeking through the edges of his blackout curtains felt like an assault on his dry and irritated eyes. His left knee ached from a week-old injury caused by a bad landing during one of Carapace’s patrols. Even his thoughts felt like they were smothered in a thick cold fog.

He hated when the all night events hit on back to back days, but he needed the double pay at least a few times a month to afford his downtown Parisian apartment and without fail the requests for such events tended to land on the same weekend. No doubt, it would be worth it in a few hours. Once he had a cup or three of coffee. 

Or another five hours of sleep.

But his phone clearly had other plans as the blasted digital brick wouldn’t stop buzzing every few minutes. 

Nino left it in the other room every night to avoid this exact scenario, but he must have left it on some plastic container because the vibration was loud. And whoever this was, they were very insistent.

He sat up with a groan, very aware of the dull ache that stretched from one temple to the other. He let his head hang lifelessly to his chest.

The phone went off again. He glared through the open doorway. 

“I’ll make coffee.”

Nino tried to smile at the tiny green floating kwami, but it came out more like a grimace. “Thanks, Wayzz. You’re the best.”

He gave himself five minutes of just sitting with his blankets still wrapped luxuriously around him protecting against the chill of the morning. The phone had mockingly gone silent after almost ten minutes of near constant buzzing. He contemplated letting his head fall back to the pillows. But it was probably too late. Despite his fatigue, Nino was rarely able to go back to sleep.

He reached blindly to the small table beside his bed for his glasses, and then stumbled through his small apartment to the kitchen. Wayzz was already pouring black coffee into a cup.

Nino smiled at the ridiculous sight of the floating green creature handling an object twice its own size. It didn’t even look strange to him anymore. Really, Nino was unsure how he had ever gotten by without the constant support of the ancient kwami. 

He stepped forward to accept custody of the steaming beverage. He added a spoon of sugar and creamer. Before he could take his first sip, the blasted phone went off again.

Alya’s gleaming smile lit up his screen. He frowned at the device and immediately answered, even as he continued mixing his coffee. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“How do you do that?” her synthetic voice demanded from the other end of the line.

“Al, except for my birthday, you haven’t called me in two years,” he stated flatly. Why was she even asking? They texted quite often, and whenever she was back in Paris they usually would have lunch or hang out with their mutual friends. But ever since their break up, she had not called. 

Well, except for his birthday.

“And today is not my birthday. And it’s barely morning! You know that I’m never up before ten at the earliest and twelve is really a better bet. And you’ve been blowing up my phone clearly trying to get my ass out of bed. So I ask again, what is wrong?” he said slowly, emphasizing each word before he licked the spoon he was using to mix his coffee.

“Have you talked to Adrien lately?” 

His stomach dropped. This must be really bad news. Alya didn’t usually beat around the bush. She was more like a bulldozer that went straight through things. And if this was about Adrien… “Like three days ago. Why?”

His phone buzzed against his cheek immediately. He pulled it away to see the headline she sent him. 

Supermodel, Adrien Agreste, batting for the other team?

Keep Reading on Ao3

He already hated it, but that didn’t stop him from tapping on the link. Nino sucked in air at the sight of the picture. Nino has seen a lot of professional shots of Adrien over the years. This picture was gorgeous. Or, it would have been in absolutely any other context. 

The picture captured three quarters of Adrien’s face, but only a bit of his partner. His hair caught the light and gleamed gold, not quite as perfectly in place as it would have been in the morning. Like he had run his hands through it just a few times. His normally peach cheeks were dusted with pink and his eyes were closed. He was pulling away from a kiss with a fair-skinned man wearing glasses. But Nino’s eyes focused on his friend’s mouth. Adrien’s lips were upturned in the slightest little smile - the dopey one he had whenever he was talking about the mystery girl he loved.

And that was the only difference between all the professional shots Nino had seen over the years and the front page tabloid. In this picture, Adrien looked… happy. Genuinely so.

And now, that beautiful private moment was now plastered all over every gossip rag from one side of France to the other. 

Likely without Adrien’s permission. 

How unfair that one little moment of indiscretion outed him to all of Paris. 

Nino’s gut twisted painfully. 

All of Paris included Gabriel. Adrien had never told his father about being bi, and it was no wonder as the uptight bastard was an ice statue of propriety with absolutely no feelings. 

“It wasn’t at an event, Nino,” Alya explained. “It’s around the corner from that pub we used to frequent after lycee, almost in an alley outside a club. But the photo’s too good for some random person to have just seen him walking by at this time of day. The lighting should have been terrible and the photo grainy.”

“So?”

“The photographer knew Adrien was going to be there and that there'd be something worth taking a picture of.”

“Shit,” he cursed, his free hand gripping his own shoulder. “I gotta go.” 

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Thanks, Al, for calling. He never would.”

“I know. I might be terrible at keeping in touch, but maybe we could schedule a catch up?”

In spite of the circumstances, he found himself smiling. “I would like that. When are you back in Paris?”

“I’m here now actually. When else do I read trashy gossip rags?”

He laughed. “Fair. How long are you in town for?” 

“Just the long weekend, but I wasn’t going to tell anyone because I didn’t have a whole lot of time and I’m going to be back for like six months in just a few weeks. Then, I read this, and well…”

“Yeah, thanks for the head’s up.”

“Sorry for waking you up so early.”

“You already know this was worth it to me. Thank you.”

“Of course, Nino. Anytime. Now, go track down a certain unfairly attractive supermodel, and make sure he’s okay. I’ll start researching who this bastard is and see if I can ruin his day.”

Nino laughed. Alya was protective of her friends, and positively vindictive. It was a scary combination. But Nino had always loved that about her.

“Nino?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Tell him I love him, too. He’s not alone.”

He smiled again. “I’ll tell him. Thanks again, Al,” and then he ended the call.

He drained his coffee though it was still too hot. Because he definitely didn’t have time to nurse it, and he definitely was going to need the caffeine rush today. He then immediately called Adrien. 

His friend didn’t answer, so Nino called again because there was no way in hell Adrien wasn’t doom scrolling through feeds obsessing over this story.

And again.

On the fifth try Adrien finally answered.

“Did it ever occur to you that when someone doesn’t answer it might mean they don’t want to talk?”

Nino shook his head, put the call on speaker, and thudded back to his bedroom to find clothes he could wear in public. “Never in your case, dude! Where are you? I’m coming over.”

“You don’t have to,” Adrien objected. “What are you even doing up? Didn’t you have an event last night? I was counting on you sleeping until noon!” 

“It went late. I never went to sleep,” Nino lied. He didn’t want to mention Alya’s call or plan for revenge yet, or admit to a monster headache. If he did, Adrien wouldn’t let him come over. 

“You don’t have to come listen to my sob story,” Adrien insisted. “Get some sleep. This isn’t important. It was my own fault. I was stupid.”

Nino rolled his eyes. “Shut up. Where are you?” He pulled a white t-shirt over his head, and placed the phone back to his ear. 

Adrien remained silent on the other end. 

“Dude, if you don’t tell me where you are, I’ll call Chloé and Kagami for back up in tracking you down.”

There was a sigh over the phone. “I’m at the hotel.”

“Room number?”

“427.”

“Be there in fifteen,” Nino promised. He jumped into a pair of khakis, kissed the brim of his red hat before slipping it over his head, and went straight out the door.

“Fifteen minutes is cutting it a little close, young master,” Wayzz chided from his left shoulder.

Nino had long stopped trying to get Wayzz to drop the title. The creature was as stubborn as he was old.

“Not if we take the superhero express.”

Wayzz’s disapproving frown did nothing to dissuade Nino from his plans.

Adrien needed him.

…

The door whipped open barely a second after Nino’s knuckles had knocked. For a second, neither of them spoke. Nino studied Adrien’s face carefully for signs of upset. His friend’s eyes were bloodshot as if he’d been up all night, but they weren’t puffy, so he probably at least hadn’t been crying. And his lips were curled into a relieved smile.

Nino returned the expression before pulling Adrien into a hug.

“How did you get here so fast?” Adrien mumbled into Nino’s shoulder.

Nino pulled away, and followed Adrien into the small hotel room. “Trade secret,” he deflected, hoping the humor had Adrien rolling his eyes instead of insisting on an explanation.

Maybe Wayzz’s paranoia was somewhat justified. Not that Nino had any regrets. Adrien didn’t push, and instead immediately fell backwards on the pristinely made bed. His friend clearly hadn’t even attempted to get any sleep last night. His green eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.

Nino flopped on the bed next to him, lying perpendicular with their heads side by side. 

“So why the hotel?”

Adrien snorted. “The studio has paparazzi.”

“You could’ve crashed my place.”

“But you weren’t there.”

Nino’s head rolled towards his best friend. “So? You have a key.”

Adrien’s gaze remained glued to the ceiling. ”Maybe I’m just embarrassed and didn’t want to explain anything.”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Nino said. “If you don’t want to talk, fine. But I’m here. And if you do want to talk, I’m here for that, too.”

And then Nino just waited, listening to Adrien’s uneven breathing. He suspected Adrien did want to talk. But it remained silent longer than Nino would have expected under the circumstances. And Nino was blissfully comfortable next to Adrien’s warmth and familiar presence and Nino’s caffeine boost was fading fast. He quickly found himself nodding off. 

“Promise you won’t judge?”

Nino started awake. 

“Nino?” Adrien rolled onto his side toward Nino.

“Yeah?” Nino responded, trying to disguise the crack in his voice. 

“You fell asleep, didn’t you?” Adrien observed dryly.

“No!” Nino denied for all he was worth.

Adrien sighed, returning to his back. “I told you that you didn’t have to come.” 

Nino shook his head. “Come on! Admit it. You wanted me to be here.” 

Adrien sat up on the bed. Nino met his green-eyed gaze easily. “Yeah…” Adrien admitted. “I did.”

Nino gave a slight nod. “So, I’m here.” 

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck. “I just… I hate being high maintenance.” 

“You’re not high maintenance,” Nino said gently for what had to be the millionth time over the last ten years. “Your asshole father just has you brainwashed into believing you have to handle it all yourself. But you don’t. And today, you’re having a bad day, so I’m here.”

“A horrible day!” Adrien agreed. “And it’s only just started.” 

Nino sat up, spun his legs to be at Adrien’s side, and then shoulder bumped his friend. “So, let me make the rest of it better.”

Adrien grinned. “Thank you. Thank you for being here.” 

“You don’t have to thank me for that, mec.”

“I know, but I want to.”

Nino scooted closer. “So, do you want to talk about what happened? Or do you want to be distracted?” 

“How about I tell you what happened, and then you can distract me?” 

“Sounds good, mec.”

“I met him at the university library,” Adrien began, his gaze on the far wall, and not on Nino. But Nino gave him his full attention anyway. “I was doing research for my thesis. And when he saw me fumbling with a stack of textbooks he just offered to help me put my reference books away. And he started talking about physics and when we were done, we just kept talking. We ended up downstairs in the student union just having coffee. It didn’t seem like he recognized me.” Adrien tugged at his blond locks. “I’m such an idiot! Of course, he recognized me. How can anyone not recognize me? My face is on every other billboard!” 

“It makes me feel like you’re always with me,” Nino joked.

Adrien responded with a flick from his middle finger to the brim of Nino’s hat, sending the red keepsake snapping off his head. 

“Hey!” Nino objected. “Anything but the hat.”

“Right. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine, mec,” Nino soothed. If there was one person Nino actually trusted with his older brother’s hat, it was Adrien. “So, what happened over coffee?” 

“Nothing really. Like I said, we just talked. It was nice. Or… I thought it was. We almost split there, but then he whirled back around and asked me out. He seemed genuinely interested, and I had really enjoyed talking to him, I thought maybe it was worth a shot! Especially after…” he trailed off. And yeah, Nino knew Adrien was still pining after this mystery girl he worked with after years of her saying no. “It just felt nice to be wanted.” 

And god, if it wasn’t always the same story.

“We went to dinner at this little cafe. You know, even if he was acting the whole time, he really was a fantastic conversationalist. It was just so easy! And I thought… we had a connection? It was just one kiss. But apparently, the whole thing was a set up. I knew as soon as the flash went off. They had a screen for lighting and everything.”

He must have been good, Nino surmised. Adrien hadn’t been tricked by one of these looking for a moment of fame since they were seventeen.

“But I should have known better. Nathalie always says to never go out the same day they ask.”

“What?! You didn’t give Nathalie time to write a twenty page report on your potential suitor?” Nino asked mockingly.

Adrien barked a laugh. “Twenty? Try forty!” Then his mirth faded. “But I hate it, Nino. I hate being so suspicious and cynical.” 

Nino clamped his hand onto Adrien’s shoulder and squeezed in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. 

“And I hate it more when she’s right,” Adrien added in a whisper. 

At those words, Nino pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry, dude. Wish the world was filled with more genuine people and less opportunists.”

“Yeah…”

It was silent again, and Nino was at a loss for how to fill it. But he definitely didn’t want Adrien spiraling in his thoughts for too long. 

“How’d your father take it?” It wasn’t the question Nino wanted to ask, but it was always best to get the Gabriel rant out of the way.

Adrien’s whole body went rigid in Nino’s arms. “I haven’t actually talked to him yet.”

Nino just hugged him harder. “How many times has Nathalie called?”

Adrien pulled away, and tossed him his phone. Nino unlocked it with practiced ease. Missed calls - three. Spaced exactly thirty minutes apart. Nino shook his head.

“That’s not that bad.”

“Bet she texts or calls you before she makes it to call number five,” Adrien countered.

Nino laughed. “You’re on. She’ll try you at least three more times. Anything in particular you want me to negotiate for?”

���I don’t want to talk to him today. Tomorrow is fine.” 

Nino waved his hand dismissively. “That one’s obvious, dude. I was thinking more like your working conditions in general?” 

“I would love it if we could move my fittings to early morning. Like super early. Five am? I’ve requested it before, but it costs extra to have a team there that early.”

Nino made a distasteful face. “I don’t know why you’d want to get up so blasted early.”

“I just want to get it over with so I have more time to study or hang out with my friends during the rest of the day. Is my company not worth a dawn wake up in your world?”

“This is my dawn! And here I am!”

Adrien’s grin faded. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“None of that!” Nino waved his arms dramatically. “We already established that when you need me, I am here!”

Adrien’s lips curled up into a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“So, are you okay?” Nino finally asked the question he had been wanting to ask since he arrived. Adrien had just been outed publicly.

Adrien shrugged. “Just embarrassed… mostly. You know I am comfortable with my sexuality. I was really only keeping it under wraps for father and the company.”

“Are you really okay?”

Adrien chuckled darkly. “How do you do that?”

Nino shrugged, his body going limp. “It’s my superpower, clearly. So you’re not okay, I take it?”

Adrien sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I was ready to be out with my friends, and the important people already know, but being outed publicly is terrifying. I feel so exposed. Like more than normal.

“And apparently, I do care what people think. But I hate that I care!” Adrien bit out, the bitterness and self-reproach clear in his tone. “I thought I didn’t, but I definitely do,” he added, his voice softer. “I wish I was brave enough not to.”

“Dude!” Nino objected. “You’re being too hard on yourself. It’s normal to not want to be judged. I know I wouldn’t want to be. Not when it wasn’t by choice.” Nino was out only with his closest friends. He had never talked to his parents. They weren’t exactly traditional, but they grew up in a country where homosexuality was met with prison time. Nino didn’t think they would disown him or anything, but he didn’t expect them to be thrilled. And he didn’t want to risk it. Not unless it was necessary.

Noël didn’t know either. Nino didn’t think his little brother would care, but Nino wasn’t confident Noël would remain discreet either. 

“Know that I’m with you every step of the way,” Nino promised. 

“Thanks, dude.” Adrien didn’t say anything more, but his blond eyebrows scrunched together so he was clearly thinking about something. “I definitely fantasized about my public coming out at some charity or something. Some event that could help the LGBTQ cause and community. And now it just feels so… tawdry. Like it’s just another sex scandal. And I feel like that possibility was stolen from me.”

Nino was quiet. “I’m sorry, mec. This wasn’t cool.”

Adrien shrugged. “And I’m maybe a little heartbroken. But I’m used to that.”

Nino’s chest tightened. It wasn’t fair. If anyone on this earth deserved love, it was Adrien.

“Anything I can do?”

“You’re doing it!” Adrien looked up and genuinely smiled, his green eyes impossibly bright. “You always do.” 

Nino smiled. “That’s because I love you, dude. You know that right?” 

“Yeah, man. Of course I do. And I love you, too.”

“What do you want to do for the rest of the day? Do you just want to hang out just the two of us? Or shall I invite the girls over?”

The girls meant Marinette, Kagami, and Chloé. But maybe Nino would include Alya as well since she was in town. 

“They will tear this guy to pieces.”

Nino nodded. “Exactly. He deserves it.”

“Do you think Marinette will actually come?” 

“I mean, I think if anything will bring her out of her cave of isolation to make you feel better, it would be that headline.” 

Adrien hesitated, another hand on his neck. “I don’t know… I don’t know if I want to face them. I’m so embarrassed. Chloé is going to give me hell for not seeing through this guy.”

Nino didn’t agree on that assessment. Chloé would definitely give him a hard time. But she’d do it at some point weeks or months in the future. She wouldn't tease him today. “If she does, remind her of the Antonia disaster!” 

Adrien laughed. Thank all the kwamis that that relationship had only lasted six months. Six long excruciating months. They had all hated Antonia, and not only because the feeling was mutual, but because she had torn Chloé’s sense of self worth into shreds. 

“Seriously mec, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. We’ve all had colossal misjudgements in relationships. Like all of us.” 

“When has Marinette screwed up?” 

Nino’s laugh exploded from his chest. “Mec, you have no idea. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to say.”

“What?! No fair! Why do you get to know, and not me?” 

Nino just shrugged. He probably would have had no trouble gossiping about Marinette to Adrien if so many of her secrets didn’t involve the blond in question. “I don’t make the rules. I just follow them.”

“What about you?” Adrien asked. “When have you screwed up in a relationship?” 

“Does a drunk hook-up count?” Nino asked.

“Depends! Were they cute?” 

“Not as cute as you,” Nino snarked back. 

Adrien actually blushed, and then just threw his arms around Nino again. 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“For?”

“For being here despite my protests, for making me feel better.” 

Nino squeezes Adrien tighter. “Always, mec.”

“You can invite the girls, but can we do it at my place?”

“I thought your place had paparazzi.” 

“Just a van.”

Nino winced. That was almost worse than a crowd. A team on stakeout would be more invasive and they’d stick around for longer. 

They rolled to their feet. Neither had anything in the way of belongings and exited into the hallway.

“Which room is the gorilla staying in?” 

Adrien jerked his thumb towards the adjacent room. 

Nino knocked with a complicated staccato rhythm. The door swung open a few seconds later. 

“Morning, Big G!” Nino greeted enthusiastically offering a fist, which Adrien’s protector reciprocated, though his expression remained devoid of feeling. 

“We’re heading out,” Nino explained. “Back to his place. I’m ordering breakfast on the way. What do you want from Tom and Sabine’s?” 

The stoic man nodded and signed animatedly. 

Nino nodded. “Sounds good! We’ll meet you out front in fifteen.” 

Adrien shook his head as the door closed. “How is it that you know how to talk to him better than I do?”

“Sign language isn’t that hard, man. And I had motivation to learn!” 

It was hard to bribe a man if you didn’t speak his language.

…

Chapter 2

[rhub4rb]

Warmth

Day 6: Meeting the Justice League

@biodad-bruce-month

AO3

-_-_-_-

"You," Marinette said, picking up one of her fries and throwing it at Jason. "are a terrible influence."

"I take honor in that statement," Jason said with a grin, causing Marinette to roll her eyes.

After driving around, doing light vandalism on some abandoned buildings, Jason had taken her to a diner for something to eat. Marinette knew that what they did was less than legal, and she could already hear Tikki scolding her in the back of her mind, but quite honestly, it felt good to do something... not good.

It didn't mean that this was a new hobby for Marinette, she wasn't going to go out every night to vandalize random buildings, but there was something so liberating about doing it with Jason.

Marinette was sure Jason knew this too, that there was a bigger reason as to why he brought her out here, to a random diner in the middle of the night, after having run around doing dumb teenager stuff.

The universe seemed to agree with her as well, as Jason's carefree grin soon became something more serious.

"There's a lot of things that Bruce is trying to keep from you," Jason started, his eyes boring into Marinette's own. "I think it's bullshit and that you can make your own choices, but I also know that not all of it is for me to say and reveal, I just want you to be aware that-"

"I am," Marinette said, cutting Jason off. "I've known for... some time now. But, just like you said, there are some things that just aren't for me to reveal.

"Besides, I know I'm different from you, from Damian and Dick and Tim. I've grown up in a radically different reality from the rest of you, so I've never really expected Bruce to treat me the same way he treated you, not that it made it hurt any less.

"It just- it makes it harder for me to see this as a family, you know?" Marinette said, giving Jason a wry grin. "Not that I don't appreciate this. I haven't felt this free in a while, even before I got taken in by Bruce."

Jason blinked at her, mouth gaping in surprise as he took it all in. He hadn't exactly expected her to already know.

"Still, maybe I should be a bit offended but-"

Marinette was cut off by the sound of shattering glass, the few other occupants running screaming for the door as Two-Face and some of his goons came in through the shattered glass. Jason was quick to take a stance in front of Marinette, protective, but it did little as Two-Face's goons were quick to capture the running civilians.

Inwardly, Marinette cursed herself. She had dazed and fatigued both Bruce and Damian. She doubted either of them would be showing up to help them, at least not without being notified somehow.

Taking a breath, Marinette made sure to check that everyone's attention was on something other than her, as Two-Face made his speech, fate and duality and all that. If it weren't for the tight situation, Marinette didn't doubt that something he'd say would resonate with her.

She knew there was no time for that, however, and as she made it inside the freezer of the diner without getting caught, she called for her transformation.

-

This was not how Jason had planned this little outing to go. H wanted to relieve Marinette of the no doubt suffocating room she had been stuck in, while also having a genuinely serious conversation with her.

Sure, he did end up doing that, but he hadn't accounted for her already knowing about the whole vigilante thing, or for Two-Face to show up either. If Jason had known, he might have been a little more prepared.

"It seems today just isn't your lucky day," Two-Face said, getting a good look at the people in the diner. "So how about we flip a coin? Clean side and I let one of you go," he said, showing off his infamous silver dollar. "Scarred, and one of you gets shot."

Jason's eyes followed the coin in the air, holding his breath, but before Two-Face was able to get his coin back in his hands, a blue fan flew through the air, hitting the coin, before going back, into the hands of a blue-skinned girl.

Dressed in the colors of a peacock, in what Jason could only assume was clothing inspired by Chinese fashion, the girl held two fans in her hands, both resembling the plumes of a peacock.

"See, I've met Lady Luck, and I highly doubt she appreciates what you're doing here tonight."

Two-Face scowled, making quick eye contact with his goons, and so, they started shooting for the girl.

She seemed unfazed by this however, swinging and twisting her fans in a way that shielded her from the bullets, in what could only be described as a graceful dance, before she abruptly shut one of her fans and threw it at one of the goons, hitting him in the throat with the blunt end. She was quick to run to it, grabbing the fan before there was a chance for her to be overpowered by the other goon and Two-Face.

The blue girl threw her open fan at the other goon, hitting his hand and making him drop his gun, catching the fan once again as it flew through the air.

With surprising speed, she got close to Two-Face, flashing both fans in front of his gaze, his eyes locked at the countless eyes of the feathers, leaving him in what Jason could only describe as a daze. Blue used Two-Face's daze against him, circle kicking him in the chest and sending him flying, grunting in pain as he hit the wall.

Without a moment's hesitation, she turned around and threw a now closed fan into the throat of the other goon, just like she had with the first one.

Silence filled the diner as she quietly retrieved her second fan, this time without a hurry.

Jason was tense, looking at the seemingly call girl, before looking behind him to check on Marinette, only to find her gone, his gaze quickly snapping to that of Blue.

No way.

"You guys wouldn't happen to have any rope, would you? I didn't exactly come prepared," the girl said, grinning sheepishly.

Slowly, one by one, the people in the diner started to clap, Blue's eyes widening at the sudden applause.

-

"They may not have a rope, but I do."

Marinette grew tense at the voice and quickly turned around to see none other than Batman standing before her.

That was not good.

He must have heard about what happened then, which was both good and bad. Good, because that obviously meant he was a good vigilante, that didn't take a break, even if his mind demanded it. Bad because he definitely knew she was the one who made his mind demand said break.

"Well then, it seems that I am not needed anymore, I think I'll just-"

"You're coming with me," he cut her off, grabbing her by the shoulder as she tried to get around him.

"Yeah, totally, that was exactly what I was gonna say, one-hundred percent, was not gonna leave."

Marinette could hear the sound of Jason face-palming and by the look on Batman's face, she could tell he wasn't all that impressed either.

After Two-Face and his goons were apprehended and taken away, Marinette, still transformed, was dragged by Batman to some sort of portal thing (Marinette had no idea) and suddenly, she was in space and placed in a holding cell. Hooray.

"Why exactly am I here?" Marinette asked, although she had a pretty good hunch.

"You attack both Robin and I, before going off to fight Two-Face. For all I know, the fight with Two-Face was staged and you work with him."

"Okay..." Marinette said. "That doesn't explain why I am in space, rather than in Gotham. I would also like to remind you that I didn't do anything to you and Robin other than defend myself."

"I need to keep you in a place where you can't use your powers to get out," Batman said simply, ignoring the other half of her statement. "I also need one of our magic users to analyze you."

"Listen, I haven't done anything wrong, there is absolutely no reason for me to be held here."

But Batman didn't reply, simply giving her a glance, before leaving the holding cells.

Great. Just great

-

"So, Batman, mind explaining why there's a kid in the holding cells?" Superman asked, looking at the monitors.

"I need Zatanna's help with figuring out her abilities. I don't think she's any ordinary meta," Batman replied gruffly.

"That still doesn't explain the whole kid in a holding cell thing," Superman said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"She was running around Gotham and did something to Robin and I that hade us unable to continue patrol, and then later fought Two-Face and his goons. I don't trust her."

Silence filled in between the two of them, before Superman let out a sigh.

"I'm gonna go talk to her," Superman said. "For all we know, this could all be a big misunderstanding," Superman tried to reason.

"You're weak against magic, Boyscout," Batman said, stopping Superman before he could leave. "We need to wait for Zatanna."

"She's just a kid Bru-"

The door to the monitor room opened, revealing a stressed looking Zatanna and a worried Wonder Woman. Batman didn't bother looking at either of them as he walked past them, knowing they would follow him without a word, though Diana was protesting vocally during the short trip to the holding cells.

As they got closer to the cell, a beeping sound could be heard, causing Batman and the rest to run to the cell, just in time to see an almost blinding light fill the cell before going away, revealing none other but his daughter.

She looked at them, at him, wide-eyed, shuffling herself closer to a corner.

"I-I can explain-" Marinette started, but was cut off by Diana.

"A miraculous holder," Diana said, stunned, before turning to glare at Bruce. "Why would you put a miraculous holder in a holding cell!" She turned her gaze back to Marinette, her eyes softening slightly, before she went and unlocked the cell. "Someone like her deserves respect, not a cell."

Marinette, however, didn't go to the unlocked door, her eyes instead remaining trained on all of them.

"I- I want to go home," Marinette said quietly. "I was with my brother, I need to make sure he's okay."

Marinette was looking directly at Bruce, he knew that. He had seen Jason at the diner earlier too. He just didn't know the blu-skinned girl was Marinette.

Diana looked between Bruce and Marinette, seeming to pick up on the tension, before nodding at the young girl.

"Of course, I'll help you get back to Gotham-"

"I'll do it," Batman said, voice and shoulders tense.

Superman didn't seem to be on board with the idea.

"I don't think that-"

"It's okay," Marinette reassured the caped Boyscout. "I won't mind."

Marinette quietly walked out of her cell and up to the side of Batman, their contrast quite fascinating to the other League members, as the two shuffled out of the cell holding area, the door closing behind them.

"What the actual fuck," Zatanna said.

-_-_-_-

@all-mights-asscheeks @thatonecroc @mom-geans @skyel0ve @maribat-is-lifeblood @pawsitivelymiraculous @jessigurl-design @smolplantmum

[jamespotterthefirst]

Little Miracle

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1,900 Warning: A few curse words. 

Author’s Note: This is part of the canon scene where Ethan and MC watch over Dolores’s baby, from Ethan’s POV. I was inspired by the line from the book that says they “talked long into the night.”

Catch up here.

The sterile room of the NICU feels stifling that night, the fluorescent lights shining on them both almost blinding. Ethan had been in that room many times before, but never like this. Never with a strain on his mind and heart so painful, he thinks he might burst from it. Now, sitting in the love seat, counting each of the baby's breaths, he feels as though he is in a foreign place—a vastly terrible one where his dearest friend does not exist anymore. 

The knot in his throat returns. 

Dammit. 

It threatens to constrict his breathing in the most debilitating way and he hates it. Urgently, he suppresses the flood of emotion at once, turning instead to glance at Lilac next to him. 

The young doctor is not looking at him. In the silence that stretches between them, she stares at the linoleum floor, her tear-streaked face is pale, her eyes bleary and red. The weight of their previous conversation hangs over them and he is surprised to discover it is not an unpleasant one. Instead, her quiet presence at his side feels oddly… comforting. More so than the many glasses of scotch he was planning on drowning in had he not stayed. 

Sensing his eyes on her, she glances up and offers him a tired smile which Ethan returns without hesitation. The moment lingers and before either of them can say anything, a soft cooing distracts them as the baby stretches.

An inexplicable warmth pierces through Ethan as he very gently offers Dolores' baby his hand. Small fingers close around his, weakly, yet powerful enough to steal his breath away. 

“She named him after you,” she informs him tenderly, as though the words she is offering him are made of the most delicate crystal. 

A small wave of shock courses through him as he looks at the name. 

Ethan Hudson. 

His throat tightens painfully yet again and all he can do is swallow. 

“I...see she did.”

A small silence.

Her soothing, kind voice saves him from his thoughts when she comments, “You must have known Dolores a long time.”

Ethan busies himself with carefully removing his hand from the baby's grasp. Despite the painful ache in his throat, he finds the words. “Over ten years. When I first emailed her I only meant to check in. But she was recently divorced, feeling alone, so she insisted on coffee.” In spite of himself, he smiles at the memory of the lively yet persistent young woman who had been so determined to befriend him. “And then it turned into more emails and meeting once every couple months for Sunday roast.”

“She sounds like a good friend.”

She was, he thinks before his mind catches up with him. When it does, the past tense stabs him like a knife to the side. 

“I didn’t make friends easily when I started here,” he begins, pausing only briefly to keep his voice from breaking. “So I was always grateful to her for that.”

The words finish ringing out in the quiet room and he swallows, suddenly exhausted from fighting back the excruciating pain of Dolores's death. As he falls silent, prickling eyes moving to the baby she fought so fiercely to protect, Ethan allows himself to mourn. The torrent of sorrow hits him is like the opening of a floodgate. 

He is certain he will drown in his grief until a soft, warm hand slides over his, looking small and delicate against his own. 

Ethan remains very still. 

“I’m so sorry this happened,” she murmurs, the sincerity her voice offers something akin to a caress. 

Ethan's eyes remain locked on their joined hands. Something about the sight and the feel of her soft skin against his tears away at his pride until all he wants to do is hold on to her desperately. Instead, he looks up to meet her eyes, unprepared for the quiet compassion in their depths. It hits him so abruptly that he is unable to look away, feeling something foreign stir in the depths of his chest, as consequential as the first blooms of Spring. 

“Me too.” 

As the seconds tick by and he becomes very aware that her hand remains on his, his pulse picks up, clamoring at his ears. With much effort, he forces himself to pull away. 

“I think we need coffee.”

“I can get some,” she says, already rising to her feet, unaware of the scorching trail her touch left behind on his skin. 

Ethan shakes his head. “No, I’ll go.” 

He leaves the room in quick strides, grateful for the brief moment of solitude. Being alone, however, proves to be a small torment since he is unable to suppress thoughts of earnest, kindhearted eyes breaking down every barrier he had stubbornly built that evening. Steaming mugs of coffee in hand, he returns to the NICU with an eager haste he refuses to acknowledge, missing the tendrils of her soft companionship. 

When he enters the room, Ethan finds her lovingly murmuring to the baby. “That’s it little tadpole. In and out.”

Lilac notices his arrival, offering him a sheepish smile at being caught. Cheeks blazing, she accepts the coffee gratefully. “This doesn’t taste like the cafeteria coffee,” she observes approvingly. 

“This is from my private coffee machine. As soon as I got an office, I vowed never to drink that caffeinated dishwater again.” He watches her take this information in with knowing amusement. “Nobody knows I have it so…”

Quite seriously, she vows, “I won’t tell a soul.”

Ethan chuckles, shaking his head, the first true flash of amusement that evening. 

They fall into a comfortable silence after that until the attending overseeing the case during the night shift strolls in to check on the baby. Satisfied with her findings, she quickly jots down the information on his chart. 

“Our little miracle,” she comments quietly, both to the baby and to them, before leaving the room. 

Ethan snuffs the urge to scoff at the word miracle. Lilac, of course, catches this and arches a brow at him. 

“You don't believe in those,” she says, not as a question but as an undeniable observation. 

Ethan hesitates to answer until he glances at her. There is no trace of judgment or derision on her lovely face, just fatigue from already spending several hours keeping watch. 

“There is no scientific basis to account for them,” he allows. “Frankly, I'm a little surprised you believe in them despite choosing to spend your career with facts and empirical evidence.” He is careful to keep all sarcasm out of his tone though he doubts he is successful. Years of being a sardonic little shit are hard to break. 

Lilac doesn't seem to mind, however, because she gives him an indulging sort of smile. “It is because I have studied science and facts that I am hesitant to dismiss their existence,” she explains. “Even with everything we know, there are some things science or reason cannot explain.”

“There are too many variables at play in a single minute, Rookie,” he counters. “When something occurs that we cannot explain away, it means a plethora of those variables aligned to create a perfect outcome.”

Lilac takes a careful sip of coffee, watching him over the rim of her mug. Not for the first time, he can see her mind working, formulating an argument. And like many times before, he longs to know the mystery of her thoughts.

“And getting that outcome despite all the innumerable possibilities,” she begins thoughtfully. “Isn't that a little miraculous?”

“No.”

Lilac laughs at the resolute way in which he shoots her down, though the sound is far from mocking. 

“Are you then crediting what science cannot explain to coincidence and luck, Dr. Ramsey?” 

He briefly pauses at that, thoughts stumbling. The haughty way in which she lifts the mug to her lips, concealing a smug smile, tells him she had intended to stump him. Instead of feeling annoyed, as he should, he feels a thrill of approval and something else entirely. 

“Not at all,” he returns when he recovers. “I am merely pointing out that there is still much we don't know as a species. When something inexplicable takes place, the real cause is most likely attributed to something we haven't learned yet.”

Despite looking utterly exhausted, her eyes glint, as though she had expected that very answer. 

 “'If he is confronted with a miracle as an irrefutable fact he would rather disbelieve his own senses than admit the fact.'”

Ethan blinks. 

“Are you seriously quoting Dostoevsky at me, Rookie?” 

This time, she dissolves into self deprecating laughter. “Sorry,” she says, scrunching her nose in the most endearing of ways. “I studied him as an elective when I was in my undergrad program so it's hard to break out of the habit of being a pretentious ass.”

“A pre-med student with a penchant for world literature,” he observes, allowing himself to relax into the air of amusement her laughter catalyzes. 

“I was downright insufferable.”

“So not much has changed.”

Lilac throws him what is meant to be an unamused glare, but she ruins it by losing the battle against a smile. Ethan grins, unable to help it. 

“What else do you walk around quoting at people who disagree with you?” he asks, genuinely curious. 

“Nothing as severe as Russian literature,” she quips. “I save that for the most stubborn of the people I argue with.” 

Ethan rolls his eyes though he too fails to stifle a smile. He begrudgingly accepts that he enjoys bantering with her, though he would never admit it out loud. 

“Be lucky I didn't quote Harry Potter at you,” Lilac continues sagely. “I am notorious for that, too.”

“There's nothing in the Potter books about miracles,” he points out. 

Lilac shoots him a surprised look. “You've read them?” 

“Yes, I read the few that were out when I was in high school. They had midnight release events at bookstores when a new one was published.”

She stares at him in stunned silence. 

“You went to that? That is so…” 

“Don't say–” 

“Cute.” 

The word sends a jolt through him, made worse by the sound of her tired but giddy laughter. Ethan allows her to enjoy the mirth, even if it's at his expense. If he was being honest, he thoroughly enjoyed it too, feeling his anguish ease with each passing moment. 

“Did you dress up?” she asks, eyes alight with excitement. 

“We are not speaking of this anymore.”

“You did, didn't you?” she manages to say through a wave of fresh laughter. “Who did you dress up as? Harry? Dumbledore? Snape?” 

Ethan makes a disgusted sound. “Don't insult me.”

Her laughter is uncontrollable by now and he can't help but join. “Good answer,” she commends. 

Bodies close on the love seat, they both relax further into their seats, contentment lingering in their fading smiles. Ethan allows himself one good look at her as she becomes momentarily distracted by her phone. The harsh lightning of the NICU washes her out, especially in her sleep-deprived, exhausted state, but somehow she still looks unfairly beautiful. Yet, there is something entirely different about her, though he is far too tired to decipher what. 

Lilac glances up to catch him staring. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.”

Her previous words echo in his mind.

 “There are some things science or reason cannot explain.”

Ethan thinks of Dolores and the unwavering friendship she offered him despite being surly and unapproachable. He thinks of the unconditional love she held for a being she had not even met yet, so profound she gave her life for him. He thinks of Lilac, offering him compassion and companionship despite his every effort to push her away. 

Lilac glances glances his way, beaming at him radiantly. As he returns the smile, his heart feeling ten times lighter than it did an hour ago, he admits to himself that she was right. 

______

Author’s Note: I don’t know what that was but if you made it here, thank you! 

I think I will skip the baseball game scene and go on to the fMRI scene. I might have that be slightly AU and have Ethan ask MC the questions. Let me know what you think <3 

______

Tags:  @openheart12 | @ethandaddyramsey | @noboundariesplease | @silverlitskies | @infinitiestones | @flyawayboo | @paulfwesley | @hatescapsicum | @myusualnerdyself | @thatysn | @choicesyouplayandmore | @chasingrobbie | @trappedinfandoms | @togetherwearerapture | @nooruleman | @caseyvalentineramsey | @axwalker | @parkerattano | @i-bloody-love-drake-walker | @kaavyaethanramsey | @edith-eggs1 | @choices-lurker | @jens-diamondchoices | @tefigranger | @ethanrcmsey | @coffeebeandragon | @senator-adrian-raines-wifey | @aestheticartwriting | @binny1985 | @mvalentine | @sanchita012 | @drethanramslay | @ramseysno1rookie | @takeharryandgo | @aworldoffandoms | @desmaranj | @ josieplayschoices | @magicalshepherdtreeprofessor| @oofchoices | @ethxnrxmsey | @octobereighth | @colossalpainintheass | @kopenheart12 | @lilyvalentine | @honeyandsunfl0wers | @virtualrain202 | @enmchoices | @tyrilstouch | @rookie-ramsey​

@dulceghernandez |  @lion-ess24 | @emotionalswift2 | @the-soot-sprite |

[fic-ify]

Safe Space

One day I’ll write something not a week after I said I would. Today is not that day. So sorry. Anyway! This was inspired by an ask received on @devildomsexting ​ by @devildom-thot ​  about an MC who needs some safe space cuddles from ya snake boi.

Hope you guys enjoy and that I did the idea justice!

Warnings: None, just some fluff

It had been one of those days. Nothing had necessarily gone wrong but nothing had necessarily gone right for them either. You realized you should have known when you woke up twenty minutes late to the sound of Mammon banging and yelling on the bedroom door that it was just a day to throw into the trash. Once finding your D.D.D hadn't been charging and was creeping dangerously low on battery level, you should have just crawled back into bed. But no, that wouldn't fly with Lucifer. So you'd put yourself together the best you could and gone to RAD.

You could feel it in class, the burn out creeping in, the fatigue that didn't quite want to leave you alone after a supposedly good nights sleep. It could be felt every time something was just a little too loud. Or how everything seemed to be just a little too loud, how every conversation was exhausting even if it was from a place of concern and care by the brothers or the angels.

Space, peace and quiet. That was what you needed. By the time you made your way back to the House of Lamentation at the end of the day, it was almost a desperate temptation to slip under the covers of your bed and enjoy some quiet. But by past experience that there was no way the room would go unoccupied for very long. You could already hear some sort of commotion in the kitchen as you were approaching the bedroom door.

The brothers had become like your second family, and you were truly fond of all of them. But they weren't always what was needed on the days where too many loud noises guaranteed some tears. As you shed your RAD uniform in your room an idea came to mind; a safe place to decompress and let the overstimulation of the week wash off of your shoulders. After changing into more comfortable casual clothes, you slipped back down the hall and towards the almost always closed bedroom door.

After a few months of being around, Leviathan had trusted you with an open door policy into his room. If you knocked and he heard he would still ask for a password just to be safe, but on the chance that he had his special noise cancelling headphones on and didn't hear them, you were allowed in. After giving a tentative knock, only to receive no response after a moment, you concluded this was one of those times and stepped in slowly. Leviathan sat in his gaming chair as expected, headphones on with a look of concentration on his face that bordered frustration.

The motion of you entering caught his eye, drawing his attention away for a split second curiously to you. You gave a small wave with an equally small smile that did nothing to hide the tiredness in your eyes before pointing at the beanbag chairs for silent explanation. He nodded with a wave of permission before turning back to his game. Your steps were quiet on the carpeted floor as you made your way over to the plush seating. Already the muted sounds of the aquatic room brought some comfort to your mind. The only bright lights came from the computer screen at the moment, and even those weren't as harsh on your eyes at the moment.

At first you dropped down onto a beanbag with a heavy exhale, letting your body quite literally flop and sprawl across it. The occurrences of the day, the week really, ran through your mind as they were finally allowed to process in the near silence. The ambiance of Levi's room had always been calming to you, even if the demon himself wasn't there, but especially so when he was. The soft blues of his tank and its lights, the ripples given off despite the lack of occupants inside said tank aside from Henry 2.0. The rhythmic tapping of Levi on his keyboard helped coax your mind to silence like a familiar song.

Then there was the demon himself.

Despite his sin and the jealousy often displayed when he got aggravated, Leviathan was your comfort, your safe space. A safe person who never expected too much. Who knew exactly what it felt like to have just too much of the real world overwhelm you. He understood when the touch of someone else felt like sandpaper, or how other voices sounded like nails on a chalkboard. He understood and knew how to give you space even when you couldn't verbalize when you needed it. And he knew what each little step back down to being grounded meant and what it took sometimes, so he never complained about how long it took. Even if you fell asleep in his room after hours of silence between you.

A soft smile grew on your lips as you snuggled into the beanbag, letting your eyes close and your body relax slowly.

-

Once again the offending red lined text of 'Game Over' shouted out at him from his screen, making Levi snarl in annoyance at his computer. He had been struggling with this particular puzzle aspect of the game for who knew how long now. It was so close to the end of the game and he thanked Diavolo there were save points. Or else he quite probably would have broken his monitor screen in frustration.

As he reloaded his last save, the thought occurred to him that he hadn't seen you leave, or really move around, out of his peripherals for a while. Hitting the pause key, he let himself straighten out and stretch before turning to look for you in his room. At first he didn’t see you right away but as he turned to look the other way, a light pressure on his tail drew his attention down. At some point he must have let out his demon form due to his frustration at the game, no surprise really, it happened a lot. But that wasn't what caused him to flush and silence a stammer before it came out.

Between the time you had come in and now you had moved your chosen beanbag over to be beside his chair. Your body was curled just barely away from him, not quite on your side but not quite on your back either. Your face was relaxed with a happy, genuine little smile on your lips. Though your brow was lightly furrowed in your sleep, as if the stress of the waking world didn’t want to let you go just yet. His tail had curled around your shoulders and in your sleep you had cuddled up to the length of it like a teddy bear. As if on reflex the tip reached up to smooth out the furrow in your brow before relaxing back down again.

Levi felt his heart beating in his throat as you murmured and snuggled his tail more, blissfully unaware of his eyes on you. It felt like a mirage, an illusion that would surely vanish if he were to make any sudden moves or noises. Even as he felt your very real warmth around his scaled limb. He could still remember what you'd said when he asked why you liked to sleep beside him, even in his chair.

"You're like cave at sea Levi. Watching over me and keeping me safe from all the noise outside."

It still made his face flush when he thought about it. Not that he wasn't already bright red at the sight of you now.

Tentatively, slowly, like he truly was afraid you would vanish at his touch, he reached down and brushed his fingers lightly through your hair. When you barely stirred, he decided it was probably safe to move you to his tub with him. As carefully as he could once his game was off, he scooped you from the beanbag into his arms and carried you to his bathtub bed.

By the time he had the both of you settled into the cushions, you on his chest and his tail still in your arms, he could feel his heart swelling proudly.  The fact that you trusted him enough to sleep so deeply around him, despite him being a demon, despite him being a yucky otaku with nothing to offer. You still chose him when you needed someone to be safe with. He could feel his grin widening as the giddy warm feeling that he usually got when you smiled at him spread over his body.

"Sweet dreams normie." He whispered into your hair once he'd pulled the blankets around the two of you, knowing he would be ready to be there for you when you woke up. Until then he would be content to hold you in his arms as long as you needed.

[bloodfromthethorn]

Passing Out

When Matty calls you to the War Room, you don't stop to tell her that you're feeling a little rough. Even if you definitely, definitely should.

Part eight of the July of Whump 2021 prompt challenge.

Also on AO3. 

..

If she was telling the truth, Riley hadn’t really been feeling up to a mission when they got called in. She’d woken up with a niggling headache and even two cups of coffee hadn’t been enough to properly offset the drowsiness clinging about her shoulders. Worse, all of her joints were aching quietly, like she’d somehow managed to sleep in the most uncomfortable position known to man and was now paying the price for it, despite the fact that she’d slept solidly through the night undisturbed.

Regardless, when Matty sent a message telling her to get to the War Room, she hauled ass with everyone else and didn’t even think to utter a complaint. It wasn’t until she was boarding the jet and found herself staring up at the overhead luggage rack, wishing her bag could magically lift itself up there, that she suddenly realised this was almost certainly a bad idea.

It was probably just a cold or something, she told herself, perhaps a little fatigue build-up from too many missions in the last month – nothing serious. Nothing worth bothering the others over and certainly not something she should use as an excuse to get out of going to Peru with everyone else. Besides, for the plan to work they needed her. She couldn’t let them down.

“Hey, earth to Ri,” Jack called, dropping a heavy hand on her shoulder and making her jump. He instantly withdrew, holding the hand up in surrender. “Hey, woah, you alright?”

“Uh, yeah,” she said, trying to patch over her flinch with a sheepish smile. “Daydreaming, I guess. Sorry.”

Apparently her act wasn’t convincing enough. Jack squinted at her with one of those intense looks he always got when he knew something was up and he was trying to pinpoint exactly what it was. He was always scarily good at doing it, too.

“You sure you’re alright? You’re looking kinda pale.”

“Wow, thanks,” she muttered sarcastically, snatching at her suitcase as a distraction.

Jack’s hands darted out to take it from her instead, hefting it onto the rack as though it weighed nothing at all, despite the fact there were two back-up rigs in there with enough spare parts between them to build a whole other laptop if she needed. Even though she was vaguely annoyed by his hovering, she couldn’t help but be grateful he’d saved her the task. Her shoulders really were bothering her.

“I don’t mean nothing by it, you know that,” he said dismissively once the bag was settled. “I’m just worried about you. You’d tell me if something was going on, right?”

Sudden, sharp guilt bubbled up in the pit of her stomach as she forced herself to smirk. “Are you always such a worrier?”

“With you and Mac around? Hell yeah! Someone’s got to keep you kids from running into traffic.”

“Oh my god Jack, that was one time,” Mac put in loudly from the other end of the plane. “You’ve got to let it go.”

Jack’s attention was immediately diverted, and Riley had to stop herself from letting out a relieved breath. Trust Mac to come through for her when he didn’t even know he was doing it.

With Jack busy delivering a put-upon rant to a mostly bemused Mac, she was free to settle herself in her usual seat and get her laptop set up in front of her. She couldn’t do a lot to cover it if she really was pale, but at least with her rig she had a solid cover for sitting quietly and minding her own business – it was her usual go-to strategy for getting through long flights. Besides, she’d planned to go over their game plan again anyway.

Of course, she then immediately encountered another issue: what had been a mild headache in the back of her skull pulsed sharply the second she looked at her screen, the light burning her eyes. She squinted, wincing, but it did little to help. The pain was still bearable, but she had an instinctive feeling that if she had to keep looking at the screen for a lot longer, it was going to get worse. It was one thing to go into a mission feeling a little run down, but actively letting herself deteriorate on an infil flight was something else altogether. Putting her laptop away might raise questions, but she wasn’t stupid enough to run the risk of letting the others walk into danger when she might not be ready to back them up.

She shut her laptop with a decisive click.

Behind it, two feet away on the other side of the small table, Bozer was staring at her like she was the mystery at the heart of the universe.

“What?”

He raised an eyebrow, and said nothing.

“What?”

Still, nothing.

“Boze, I swear-”

“You know,” he interrupted like she hadn’t even been speaking, “It’s okay to say you’re not up for this if you’re feeling down.”

If she’d been smart about it, she wouldn’t have reacted; as it was, she couldn’t stop herself from shooting an alarmed look in Jack’s direction to make sure he was still too busy hassling Mac to be listening in. From the knowing look in Boze’s eyes, he’d definitely caught the slip.

“Like I told Jack, I’m perfectly fine,” she hissed, wishing that she actually felt it. The scrutiny only seemed to be making her feel worse – there was a warm blush rising on her skin that she wanted to write off as embarrassment, but likely had more to do with how overly-warm she was starting to get.

“And he didn’t believe you. Neither do I.”

“Boze, it’s going to be a long flight. Just leave me alone?”

He leaned back in his chair, visibly weighing up whether she trying to divert his attention or if she was genuinely frustrated at the pestering. In truth it was a little of both – she knew that she wasn’t in top form and it was a really bad idea to not at least let the others know that, but at the same time, she was sure that she had to do this. Her job in Peru would mostly be sitting around on her laptop and provided her headache didn’t get worse, she was perfectly capable of that. If she told Jack that she wasn’t feeling up to par then she wouldn’t entirely put it past him to get Matty to turn the plane around.

“Look,” she said, keeping her voice low to keep from drawing Jack’s attention, “I’m a bit tired, that’s all. I’m in for this mission one hundred percent. I was just hoping to get some shut eye on the way over there to be in the best shape I can be. Please, please just let this go.”

For once, Bozer’s expression was entirely serious as he took her in. After a long, tense moment he nodded. “Okay. I trust you. Just- let us know if anything gets worse, alright? I know Jack can be- well, Jack, but we’re all on your side here.”

Without waiting for her to formulate some sort of response to that – and god knows what that would even look like – he jumped out of his chair with an energy she wished she had and wandered over to insert himself in Mac and Jack’s conversation. A few minutes later, when she’d closed her eyes and leaned her chair back to try to get the sleep she’d asked for, she heard Jack muttering a quick aside to Bozer:

“Hey, is she doing okay?”

Riley tensed for a heartbeat, but it turned out she should have had more faith in her friend. “Yeah, she’s fine. Just catching up on a bit of sleep before we land. Can we do anything about getting Matty to stop calling us in at six in the morning?”

There was a quiet round of laughter, the comment launching Mac into a series of tales about the ridiculousness of their working hours when they were on rotation. That Jack didn’t join in immediately was telling, but he didn’t contradict what Boze had said and no one came to disturb her so he must have bought it at least a little.

Fortunately, Riley didn’t have long to ponder it. By the time they cleared California airspace, she was already asleep.

..

The mission was mostly a bust, in that their primary target had managed to flee the country before they’d even touched down, but there was still important information to ferret out. Fortunately, with the main head honcho gone, the rest of his men didn’t put up much of a fight and between them, Mac and Jack were able to get what they needed and get out without a single scratch between them. Bozer and Riley, confined to backup and technical support respectively, got to spend most of their time hiding out in a dingy hotel room with absolutely nothing exciting going on.

For perhaps the first time since joining the Phoenix, Riley was endlessly grateful for that. She’d hoped the sleep on the plane would help her get over whatever it was going on with her, but if anything it seemed to have made things worse. Her headache had increased ten-fold, to the point that even thinking about looking at her laptop made her feel distantly nauseous, and a sore throat had crept in to join the stuffy nose and creaking joints. She’d managed to explain away her persistent flush by citing Peru’s summer sunshine, but she knew that wasn’t the truth and from the sideways glances Bozer had been throwing her, he knew it too. Fortunately he’d been smart enough not to mention it on comms, or she might just have hit him.

Exhausted and feeling worse with every passing minute, she didn’t think she’d ever been more relieved when she and Bozer stepped out of their cab onto the airstrip. Mac and Jack were standing around by the steps to the jet, waiting for them.

“There you are,” Jack called when they were within earshot. “What kept you?”

“The hotel was on the other side of the city, Jack,” Bozer reminded him, clapping a hand to Mac’s shoulder in greeting. “Some of us had further to go.”

“Sure, sure. It wasn’t that you were leaving us to do all the work or anything.” Jack jostled his shoulder against Bozer’s, apparently thrilled that their mission had gone so utterly without note.

Beside them, Riley was staring at the stairs of the jet wondering just how exactly she was going to haul herself up them. Her skin felt too hot and the car journey over here had ratcheted up her nausea to the point she was reflexively swallowing every few seconds. Her vision was spinning idly too, which was doing absolutely nothing to help with the dizzy spells she’d been fighting off since they’d left the hotel.

Someone called her name, or perhaps something like it, but it sounded much further away than she’d expected. Had the others gone on without her? She turned her head to look, but as soon as she did, what little vision she was still clinging to whirled away in a cloud of black. She had a heartbeat to ponder that undesirable state of affairs, then the heat surged and her legs turned to water.

She was unconscious before she even started to fall.

..

She woke to find herself stretched out on the jet’s couch, her head pillowed on something soft that she rapidly identified as someone’s lap. A warm, familiar hand was stroking her hair. She remembered, distantly, waking in this exact position a thousand years ago when she was still young and naïve and trusting – and just like then, a tiny piece of her mind wished fiercely that she’d never have to leave it.

“Jack?” She asked quietly, her voice rasping faintly.

“There you are,” he responded, equally softly. He sounded watery with relief, but the hand didn’t stop its gentle path through her curls. “Don’t you worry about a thing. You’re okay. We’re heading home and you’re safe and sound, I promise.”

Inexplicably, she felt a sudden urge to weep. Here she was, cradled and cared for, and she hadn’t even had the decency to tell him that she’d been feeling ill. She didn’t deserve his comfort. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey now, none of that.” A second hand brushed soothingly up and down her arm. “Everything’s okay. You’re going to be just fine. You just rest up – we’ll be home before you know it.”

“Should have told you,” she said miserably, too cowardly to even open her eyes as she said it. She didn’t want to bear his frustration when she already felt so thoroughly awful and worn out.

“It’s okay, darling, don’t you worry about that right now. I’m not mad. You hearing me? I’m not angry or upset, I just want you to be alright. So quit worrying about any of that and get some more rest if you can. There’s a med team waiting for us in LA to look you over, but they think you’ve probably caught the flu. All you’ve gotta do right now is relax, okay?”

“Flu?” That couldn’t be right, could it? She’d been feeling off, sure, but it really hadn’t been that bad. If she’d thought it was anything serious, she would have said something.

“You spiked a fever,” he explained with what could only have been intentional calm. “You’re going to be feeling pretty rough for a few days, but you don’t need to worry about that right now.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling small. She thought she should be relieved at his lack of anger, but somehow it just made her feel worse. Like she knew she hadn’t earned his forgiveness, and he was insisting on giving it anyway. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

“I told you Ri, you don’t need to be. I’m not mad. You just focus on getting better and I’ll be right as rain.”

He sounded genuine and this time she couldn’t help it; a few tears slipped out from under closed eyelids to wet the fabric under her cheek. It did nothing to make her feel less infantile, but her body was aching and her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool and she felt utterly powerless to fix any of those problems. Childishly, she just wanted Jack to make her feel better.

“Hey, shh,” he soothed lowly. “It’s okay. I’m right here. You’re okay.”

The string of comforting platitudes continued, not really saying anything but acting as a constant reminder that she was not alone while she struggled desperately to reassert control over her emotions. It was harder than it should have been, with fatigue and malaise fighting her every step of the way, but she did eventually get the tears under control. The same instant that she did, exhaustion was right there waiting for her.

“That’s it,” Jack murmured, “You get some rest. We’ll be right here if you need us.”

Comforted despite herself and more weary than she could ever remember being, Riley took him at his word. She burrowed herself down a little, relishing the feel of fingers lightly brushing against her scalp and sighed.

This time, when sleep rose to meet her, she was waiting to greet it like an old friend.

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part sixteen) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±5500 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part sixteen: The wranglers return and Jo can’t wait to hear about Y/N’s adventures, until a disturbing call comes in. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Opening scene: ‘River Crossing’ - Carter Burwell. Dean & Ellen scene: ‘She Is The Fire’ - Gareth Dunlop. Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: It’s about damn time, ain’t it? Thank you @kittenofdoomage​, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​​ and @winchest09​​ for helping me. You girls are awesome betas and friends.

Ride With Me Masterlist

     “They’re here!”      With two long ranch ropes hanging from her shoulders, Jo walks up to the fence and hangs the bundles by the loops on a post. All the preparations have been made. Garth and her moved the trail horses to the pastures further to the left, creating space for the youngsters. The hay feeders are stacked, water troughs filled. All that’s left now is to get the horses in the right fields, which sounds easy enough, but has proven to be a struggle many times before. Getting a group of young feril stallions into a certain space is like herding cats.      Both excited and in suspense, she rests her bare forearms on the wooden rail, the sleeves of her plaid shirt rolled up. Jo hopes everything went alright and that everyone, humans and horses, are in good health. The blonde rancher peers at the orange haze up ahead, the wind carrying the veils of dust further east. The sun is slowly setting, catching the clouds rising up from the earth and setting them on fire. 

     She and Garth have one task: take the pack horses out of their hands so they can round up the horses and secure the gates. She looks over her shoulder, whipping her blond braid as she turns her head. Garth joins her, a big smile on his kind face, clearly just as excited. Behind him, in the tall doorway, Bobby and Ellen watch the approaching herd, several guests doing the same from the terrace at the outdoor arena. When she hears Benny’s classic ‘grito’ shout above the intensifying sounds of hoofbeats, she knows it’s time for action.       Macy and Jon come down the trail that carves through the property, both with a pack horse by their side. They only slow down when they turn the last corner. After handing over Cash and Aerosmith, the tourists thank them briefly and spin around, pushing the animals into a canter; their job is far from done. 

     As they speed back to the group again over the trail path outside the fenced pasture, Benny is the first to come through the first gate and from then on, it’s chaos. Most of the juvenile stallions follow him, but two hit the brakes when they notice the bottle neck, demanding quick responses from both Dean and Brad. A few others spread out before Benny has lured them through the second gate. Joplin bolts towards the stragglers once Y/N moves the reins towards her horse’s ears. Like she has been doing so all her life, Y/N cuts of the two youngsters, following the movements of the speedy mare. Dean is with her in a split second, ready to back her up if necessary, but Y/N doesn’t need saving. Jo smiles at the sight, proud of her friend, who is proving herself to be one hell of a ranch hand. She might be State Champion in the arena, but out there, working the fields, she rules the world.

     Shouts and whistles rise above the dust. Horses neigh, the ground trembles. Hooves dig deep into the ground, their beats pounding against the earth. It takes some maneuvering, but within ten minutes, the herd is on the right side of the fence, the animals cantering through the field and clinging together like a flock of birds. Once Macy has pulled the gate shut, the spectators on the terrace cheer, the ranch owners clap as well. Jo lets out an excited ‘woo-hoo!’ as well, Garth joining her in the howl. 

     Y/N turns in the saddle, her attention drawn by the applause coming from the ranch, and she smiles when realizing they have an audience. Ted is waiting for his next cue patiently, catching his breath after the intense ride, while his rider pulls his neckerchief down, using the other end of it to wipe his face. It doesn’t help much, the fabric just smudges the dirt and Y/N chuckles at the sight of the handsome cowboy, covered in dust.      “What?” He rubs his nose with the back of his hand.      “Nothing,” she laughs. “You just need a bath, that’s all.”      “Something about a pot and a kettle.”       He leans over, dragging the pad of his thumb across her cheek, showing her the dark smear on his finger. She laughs in surprise, only now tasting the earth on her lips. Playfully she glances at him from under her lashes, locking onto his green eyes, which stand out even brighter on his dirty face. God, she wouldn’t mind sharing a tub with him. 

     Dean redirects his attention to the group when the other wranglers join them. Content, he allows his eyes to pass the riders and their horses, all worn, covered in sweat and dust. The six of them turned out to be a solid group, because they absolutely nailed it.      “Alright, y’all,” he starts, resting his wrist on the horn of his saddle, absently tracing the dressing of his bandaged hand. “Awesome job, that was some impressive teamwork. I know it wasn’t always easy, but we brought them home.”      “Thanks for having us,” Macy returns, smiling genuine. “We would’ve gone in circles if it wasn’t for you.”      “Hey, now! What about lil’ ol’ me? Y’all would have starved to death if it wasn’t for my phenomenal stew,” Benny recalls, fishing for a compliment.       The riders laugh, Brad patting the Southerner on the back and thanking him for the fine dining. They turn the horses to the trail along the fenced pastures, heading towards the stables.

     Jo watches the company of six approach from under her hat, which shields the setting sun from blinding her. It’s an epic sight, the silhouets of the wranglers and their horses, illuminated with an edge of gold, dust clouds in their wake catching the light. Benny is right up front, accepting the small applause from the other guests with a ‘thank you, you’re too kind’. He looks like he just crawled out of a coal mine, his distinctive blue eyes standing out from the dirt.       She sighs with relief when she notices the three tourists, excitedly sharing conversation with each other about their epic Wild West adventure. They are all unharmed and clearly had a good time, which means they will pay the invoice they will receive once they check out in a couple of days. Maybe they’ll even throw in a tip; God knows the ranch needs it.

     Behind them, the last wranglers follow. Dean and Y/N ride stirrup by stirrup, exchanging a look that has the blonde cowgirl frowning. What’s going on with those two? The moment passes when Macy gets off her horse, Jo’s cue to help her tack down, while Garth assists Jonathan and Brad. She loosens Jimmi’s singe and glances over the horse’s back. Dean has allowed Y/N to pass through the fence first, turning Ted around to close the last gate from his saddle.      Joplin speedwalks onto the square as enthusiastic as the morning she left, not a trace of fatigue with the feisty little horse. As the mare and her rider pass by, Y/N makes eye contact with the ranch owner’s daughter, who follows her with her gaze, confused. The suppressed smile creates dimples in the intern’s cheeks, her lips pulled together in a thin line, as if she’s trying to contain herself. Almost like she has done something bad, something Jo told her not to do. Underneath she’s glowing, her eyes giving the sheer happiness away. Y/N averts her eyes again and steers Joplin to a free spot on the tack up area and only then Dean moves into Jo’s peripheral vision. His expression has similarities to Y/N’s, yet isn’t quite the same. For one, he’s way worse at hiding the sly smirk that reaches from ear to ear, not to mention the mischievous sparkle in his emerald greens. 

     Jo does a double-take, bouncing her eyes from the head wrangler to the intern and back. Then it clicks.      “You despicable dickwad,” she hisses.       Her piercing glare bores into Dean, who has aided Ted to halt next to the horse Jo is tacking down. Playing innocent, he raises his eyebrows at the insult as he dismounts.      “What did I do now?”       Jo narrows her eyes at her cousin. “Oh, you know damn well what you did.”      She lifts the tack from Jimmi’s back, pulling the damp saddle pad from underneath, after which she barges off, muttering to herself. Three days. I left those idiots alone for three days! 

     She enters the tack room, the heavy saddle on her hip. Still shaking her head disapproving, she hoists it over the high beam and hangs the wet blanket on the drying frame. When the door opens behind her, she spins on her heels and faces Y/N, who’s holding Joplin’s saddle, bridle hanging from her shoulder. Guilty, she tips her chin down, looking back at Jo while she bites her lip. The ranch owner’s daughter sighs, deciding to cut her some slack.      “You better hurry up hosing down your horse, ‘cause you have some explainin’ to do,” Jo tells her. “And hose down yourself while you’re at it. You look like you crawled up a chimney.”      Y/N chuckles, putting the tack away. “Oh, how I missed your honest judgement.”      “Missed you too, sis,” Jo returns, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Now get goin’, I need a drink and I need to get you drunk, because I wanna know everything. Meet me at the saloon in thirty.”

     A half an hour later, Y/N has taken a seat at one of the small round tables in the corner of the saloon, tapping her fingertips on the dark varnished wood. She’s freshly showered, her hair still damp, held together in a French braid. It’s nice to feel so clean again, no sticky sweat on her back, no sand in her bra, no dirt up her nose. Jo didn’t lie when she mocked her friend for looking like a chimney sweep; Y/N was shocked when she saw herself in the bathroom mirror. Dust as makeup foundation isn’t really the look she is aspiring for. 

     Funnily enough, Y/N has grown fond of this new version of herself, the one that isn’t so fussy over the details. After her shower, she didn’t even bother with her usual makeup and hair routine, a little bit of mascara was all she put on. Old her would have been self-conscious, especially knowing she’ll most likely meet the man she wants to impress. Old her would have ironed her shirt and polished her boots. Old her would have sighed at her reflection, nervous and disappointed, never pretty enough. But for three days straight, Dean looked at her as if she was the only girl in the world, no matter how dirty, dusty or sweaty she was. He even told her she was beautiful, with or without makeup. 

     The way he said it, the way he meant it, quieted that dreadful voice in her head and beckoned the small suppressed girl to step forward, into the light. That little girl’s voice grows louder when she accomplishes something. When she’s accepted, successful, appreciated… loved. But as it goes in business, one bad review might destroy what all the good accomplished. Her confidence is fragile, made of glass. She’s aware that when it falls, it will shatter. Maybe that’s the exact reason why she seeks confirmation. Glueing all the pieces together has proven to be difficult before. Some pieces go missing, others don’t fit together perfectly anymore. Cracks remain visible. And every time that brittle heart is stepped on, it’s harder to put it back together.

     “So!” Jo sits down opposite of her, roughly pulling her off the train of thought. “You better start talkin’.”      She shoves a large margarita glass towards her friend, keeping her delicate fingers around the neck of her beer bottle.      “I want details. Well, not all the details. He’s my cousin after all, I have no desire to know that much,” she corrects herself, thirstily gulping down her IPA when she pauses, keeping the beer in her mouth for a second before she swallows. “Hmm, so let’s start with… what the hell were you thinking and why didn’t you take my advice?”      “I couldn’t have stopped myself if I wanted to, Jo,” Y/N confesses, taking a sip from her beverage.       The blonde cowgirl sighs. “At least tell me it was a moment of weakness? One isolated incident?”

     Another sip, this one a little slower, hoping her friend can’t detect the blush.      “Oh, come on, Y/N,” Jo utters. “He ain’t a bad guy, but you know how he treats women. Remember Casey? Because I bet Dean doesn’t.”      “I don’t think this is like that,” she ponders, shaking her head. “The way he was with me... it’s different.”      Jo leans back in her seat, taking a swig from her drink, looking at her friend even when she tilts her head back and allows the golden brew to slip down her throat. She’s not judging her friend over her decisions, not really. She just wishes this fling with Dean won’t hurt her feelings, despite years of observation that say otherwise.      “Honey,” she starts empathetic. “I hate to break it to ya, but that’s how he’s been with every girl he had sex with. He makes them feel special and then he--”      “- I didn’t have sex with him,” Y/N corrects.      “Wait, what?” Jo cocks her head back, somewhat confused. “You didn’t?”      Y/N chuckles, shaking her head. “No. We kissed, we got a little handsy, but we didn’t have sex.”      Dumbfounded, her friend blinks, needing to process that information first before she responds. Then she nods impressed.      “I knew you were smarter than that,” she grins.      Y/N smiles, amused about how wrong Jo’s assumptions are. “It wasn’t me.”      “What wasn’t?”      “It wasn’t me who suggested taking it slow.”      “Then who--” the first words have fallen from Jo’s lips already before Y/N’s message sinks in and she realizes what that means. Eyes full of shock stare at her. “What?! Dean?!”

     Y/N laughs now, covering her mouth with her hand to keep the noise down. Oh, this is priceless.      “Dean wants to take it easy?” Jo double checks. “We’re talking about the same Dean, right? Dean Winchester? Cowboy Ken Doll with the cocky attitude?”      The tequila mixed with lime juice almost resurfaces through Y/N’s nose and they both laugh when she spills some.      “The one and only,” she giggles, wiping the spilled drink away with her sleeve, not bothered by the stain.       “Hold up. Let’s take it back,” Jo leans in, making sure no one can listen in. “You’re telling me that he had the opportunity to hit a homerun, but didn’t take it?”      “He had several opportunities, actually,” Y/N admits casually.      Perplexed Jo averts her gaze, focusing on nothing in particular, unable to grasp what is going on.       “Did he say anything?” she carefully checks, her frown marred with worry.      Jo assumed Dean was into the intern, but now that he passed up, she’s starting to doubt it. That is so unlike him. The thought crosses her mind that Y/N will most likely get hurt, just not in the way she was trying to prevent. What if the attraction isn’t mutual, but her dear friend hasn’t picked up on it yet?        “Yeah, he did,” she starts off. “We had a pretty deep conversation last night. Just the two of us.”      Jo raises her eyebrows. Another surprising fact; Dean having deep conversations. Have the stars aligned? Is she in a different universe?      “What’d he say?”

     Y/N becomes a little more guarded, unsure if it’s her place to discuss the matter with Jo. The small bit of information Dean shared with her about his past feels top secret, and she doesn’t want to break his trust when this circles back to him. She decides on keeping it plain.      “We talked about us, how to proceed from there. He said…” she smiles at the memory, remembering the sincerity in his voice and in his eyes. “He said he really cares about me, and that because of that, he doesn’t want to rush into it.”      Jo can’t believe her ears. “He said that?”      Y/N nods. “He also said he wants to be with me, Jo. Like really be with me. He just needs a little more time. I think he wants to make sure this lasts.”      “Well, I’ll be damned,” Jo huffs. “How about that?”

     The double saloon doors behind them are pushed open with a shriek, a few guests coming through. Y/N’s heart skips a beat when Dean enters as well. He looked good on the trail ride, in his long stockman coat, his leather fringed chaps, covered in dust and sweat. But my God, he looks even finer now. Dean also showered and changed his dirty jeans for a pair of clean dark ones, a navy blue button up hugging his strong back, shoulders, and arms. He trimmed the stubble that was transitioning into a beard, the shorter facial hair allowing the sharp line of his jaw to come through. Still standing on the doormat, he takes off his hat while scanning the saloon. Is he looking for her? When the cowboy finally spots her, he instantly smiles, the expression reaching his eyes. He holds her gaze when she smiles back happily, shooting her a wink, before heading for the bar. 

     “Ha...” Jo scoffs, amazed by the exchange she just witnessed. “Maybe there is hope for him after all.”      Y/N chuckles, clinking her glass to Jo’s raised bottle, the sound clear as a bell. Beaming, she steals another glance at the handsome cowboy by the bar, who has trouble keeping focus on the conversation with Bobby and Benny, looking over at her briefly every now and then. Taunting him, she takes the remaining beverage before her in one swig, licking the salt from her lips. When she checks on the head wrangler again, his eyes are glued on her, the sight of her downing her drink in one shot clearly having an effect on him. Jo observes the interaction like she’s watching a tennis match and scoffs.

     “Judging by the look he just gave ya, he’s not gonna be able to ‘take it slow’ much longer, because I’m positive you and your margarita just gave him a boner.” She gets up from her chair. “Want another one?”      Y/N nods, chuckling at her comment; Jo has so much faith in her cousin. She can’t really blame her, though, with Dean’s track record, but Y/N knows that this time it will be different. 

     She’s halfway through her second drink when she starts to feel the influence of the alcohol on her system. The music seems a little louder, the candle-shaped lights on the wagon wheels hanging from the ceiling sway slightly. She tells Jo about her adventure off the grid, about singing songs by the campfire at Willow Creek, about swimming with the horses at Eagle’s Nest, about her night ride with Dean. And of course about her moments with the wrangler. Jo stops her when the intern shares a little too much information about the heated kiss in the water, the ranch owner’s daughter putting her fingers in her ears and singing ‘lalala!’ to overrule the juicy details.

     Dean can’t tell what the girls are talking about, but he has a hunch. He smiles content with a beer in his hand, watching them giggle and clearly having a good time. Y/N taunts him every now and then, and he can’t help but smirk when she sips from her cocktail again. She’s gonna be the death of me, he thinks to himself.

The saloon is pretty busy, guests lingering after the arrival of the herd, having a few drinks to celebrate. He takes a second to absorb the ambiance. Cheerful conversations, laughter, eight-balls colliding on the pool table, country tunes playing. It’s much like the evening right before the new intern arrived. He had no idea how his life was going to change, but it did. His gaze lingers on her again, her wide smile and sparking eyes lighting up the room. God, she’s breathtaking. His chest grows a little tighter, but he has grown accustomed to the sensation. It terrified him at first, but now it feels comforting and warm. Dean knows what it means, he understands it, and although he’s still intimidated by what lays ahead, he is excited. This could be the beginning of a new chapter, hell, a whole damn book.

    “So, you and Y/N, huh?”      Staggered, Dean snaps out of it and turns his head to the person on the other side of the bar. It’s Ellen, who apparently noticed her nephew’s longing looks. She’s restocking the fridge under the counter, a dish towel draped over her shoulder and an amused expression on her face. The arched eyebrow surfaces frown lines, her knowing smile reaching her light brown eyes. For a second Dean considers denial, but stops himself, very much aware she will see right through it. Instead he stays quiet, a blush on his cheeks which his freckles can’t hide.      “Please don’t tell Uncle Bobby,” he pleads, keeping his voice down.      “You don’t have to whisper, he’s deaf as a doorknob.” She sets four bottles of IPA down on the counter, flipping the caps off swiftly. “And I personally think he wouldn’t mind.”      Dean scoffs. “Oh, he would. He told me not to get involved with her.”      “Well, he told me I wasn’t allowed to buy Jo a horse for her sixteenth birthday, and look what happened,” Ellen reminds him, the memory of the surprise gift with four legs still vivid, causing them both to chuckle. Bobby was grumpy at first, but Jo was ecstatic. One glimpse of his happy daughter took the old man’s bitterness away in an instant.      “He won’t make a fuss, honey. Believe me.”

“What makes you think that?” he wonders, nursing his beer.      “Because I’ve never before seen you look at a girl like you look at her,” she returns, hinting at Y/N.      The corner of Dean’s mouth curls up a little as he drops his gaze; she knows. He’s not surprised that Ellen is able to read him like an open book, she always had her way of deciphering what was going on in his head. He exchanges a look with his aunt, before she walks away with a tray of beer, the unspoken understanding saying enough.

     Just like on that evening when Y/N walked into his life, the phone rings. Not Bobby’s cellphone this time, but the landline. Ellen whips her hair over her shoulders while serving out the drinks, her hands still full.      “Can you get that, Dean?”      In response, the wrangler stands up from his stool and circles to the other side of the bar. Before he picks up the phone, he glances at the display, frowning when he notices the area code. 207; isn’t that up North?      “Gold Canyon Ranch.”      “Yes, hello. Is Y/N nearby? I’ve tried to call her cell, but I can’t reach her.”      Dean looks over his shoulder at the intern. She didn’t bring her phone on the trail, she wouldn’t have had reception up in the mountains anyway. The man’s tone on the other end of the line sounds serious.      “Yeah, she’s here,” he returns. “Can I ask who’s calling?”      “Her father.”

     Dean freezes, staring at the liquor stash on the shelves in front of him. Fuck. It’s her father. Her father! The wrangler has exactly 0.2 seconds to collect himself, but several thoughts already chase each other in his mind. Holy shit, and I’m messing with his daughter. And I was worried about Bobby?!       “Uh, I - I’ll get her,” he stammers, leaving the phone next to the machine.      Before Dean turns around, he takes a breath. Why would her father call? Just to check up on her? It seemed urgent, and he tried to reach her before. What if something has happened at home? Dean closes his eyes as he feels his stomach constrict. What if she has to go back?

     The cowboy swallows thickly and makes his way to the table in the far corner. He can see her expression fall when she notices the concern on his face, instantly reading in his body language that something is wrong. When he reaches her and Jo, he leans on the table, his knuckles white on the surface.      “Your father’s on the phone,” he notifies.      “What?” she returns, staggered. “My dad?”      Dean nods. “Yeah, he said he tried to call you.”      She quickly reaches for her back pocket, where she usually carries her Iphone. She got so used to not having the device on her, that she didn’t even miss it.      “Did he say what it’s about?” she asks, confused, as she gets up from her seat.      “He didn’t,” he says, trying to keep his tone unchanged, not wanting to worry her more than necessary. “You can take the phone in the kitchen, you’ll have some more privacy.”

     She nods a little bit dazed, takes a beat and then heads to the kitchen. Jo and Dean walk with her, staying behind the bar, offering her space. Through the round windows in the doors, they can see Y/N pick up the phone, but her voice is shut out, the saloon too noisy.      “I wonder what’s going on,” Jo says out loud.      The head wrangler doesn’t say anything, but grinds his teeth, his jaw set. His heart is beating faster than it should, drumming in his ears. Trying to distract himself, he grabs a beer from the cooler and flips the cap off with an opener, but he can’t stop his head from over-analyzing. Shit, what if this is it? What if her father wants her to come home? They were just beginning to grow closer, he was finally allowing himself to feel something. What if it blows up in his face?

     “Dean.”      Jo calls him back from his spiraling thoughts and he turns to peer through the small window. What he sees might just confirm his fear; Y/N has her hand clasped over her mouth. She’s facing away from them, but whatever her dad told her, it clearly impacts her, the pale fluorescent light harshly illuminating what seems to be a tragic scene. Dean’s hand is on the door handle before he can think twice, but his cousin grabs his arm.      “Give her a moment,” she insists.      Reluctantly, he waits, keeping a close eye on her. After another minute, she hangs up, but remains where she is, still processing the news.      Now Dean does push the door open, stepping into the kitchen, cautiously. “Y/N? You okay?”      The young woman who has him worried turns around, as if for a second she forgot he and Jo were waiting for her. Her eyes are glazed over, emotion evident, but Dean can’t quite guess which. As if she’s unable to believe what she just heard, she scoffs.      “I’m - I’m going to ride at Congress,” she stammers.       Her best friend’s jaw drops, staring at her stunned.      “Congress?” Jo checks. “As in the All American Quarter Horse Congress?! The biggest show of the year?!”      Y/N nods, still not sure if this is real.      “I sent in an application in March after I won the State Championships. I wasn’t sure if I had enough points to qualify, and when I didn’t hear back, I just figured...” she pauses, chuckling. “They sent the invitation to the university campus. Mom and Dad only received it last week.”

     Her eyes meet Dean, who stares back surprised. He has heard of Congress. It’s the most important Western riding event in the country, the event every equestrian owning a Quarter horse dreams to be a part of. It’s the biggest single-breed horse show in the world, the competition where the best face the best. Earning a spot on the starting list is a mission in itself, entering the massive arena is an honor. But right now, he couldn’t care less about statistics. He huffs a laugh, his shoulders relaxing in relief; Y/N isn’t going anywhere. Even better, her wish is about to come true, and witnessing her happiness right now, is all he could wish for himself.      “Holy shit...” he stammers, grinning wide.      “You’re going to Congress!” Jo exclaims.      The blonde cowgirl can’t contain her excitement any longer and jumps into Y/N’s arms. Knowing exactly how much this means to her friend, Jo hugs her tight. Absolutely glowing, she returns the embrace, the kitchen filling with their laughter, while Dean watches with a wide smile on his face.      “Well, if this ain’t a reason to raise our glasses, I don’t know what is,” he comments.      “Yes! I’ll get the tequila!” Jo announces, dashing back to the bar to gather the liquor.      “Wait! I have to train Meadow, I can’t waste another day. Congress is in three weeks!” Y/N protests, when her friend grabs her wrist to drag her out of the kitchen.      Jo snorts. “You had two margaritas, hon. You’re not getting on that poor horse.”      “But I should at least lunge her, and my freestyle needs work…” Y/N protests.

     Before they move through the double doors, she pleadingly glances over her shoulder at Dean, but for once the cowboy agrees with his cousin.      “You can train first thing in the morning, Yankee,” he assures.      “See? Now let’s celebrate!” Jo has already turned the music down, catching the attention of the ranch workers and the guests.      “Y’all! Guess who qualified for the All American Quarter Horse Congress?!” she exclaims, pointing at her friend, proudly.      “Well, slap my head and call me silly,” Benny responds surprised.      Garth grins wide, too. “I knew our Yankee could ride, but dang it! That’s impressive.”            Ellen, who was wiping down a table, leaves the cloth on the counter and dries her hands on her jeans, before opening her arm for Y/N as she closes the distance between them.      “Sweety, that’s amazing. Congratulations,” she says warmly, hugging the intern who is becoming a part of the family.      Bobby comes over to congratulate her as well, same as the other ranch workers, and even the tourists she spent the past couple of days with. In the mix of receiving all the praise, her eyes meet Dean’s, who watches her from behind the bar, a content smile playing on his lips. She mirrors his expression and in that little moment they share, time stops. As if for a second it’s just the two of them in the saloon. They don’t need words, he doesn’t have to wish her best of luck, she doesn’t have to hear him say it. The subtle wink he sends her way, combined with the warmth in his eyes is enough; he’s happy for her.

     “I don’t know about y’all, but I think we should drink to this,” Benny - of course - proposes.      “Free round on me!” Y/N promises, earning a loud cheer.      Chuckling, Dean takes the first pint glass in hand and pulls the lever of the beer tap towards him, letting the golden brew swirl into the shaker. He has a feeling this will not be the last round, and Y/N, for once, is indulging in the fun too. She’s always so focussed, eye on the prize. He appreciates how committed she is to achieving her dreams, how passionate she is, but sometimes she forgets to stop and enjoy how far she’s come. He replaces a full glass for an empty one without wasting beer and starts to hand them out. Today they will drink on recent victories, tomorrow they will work on the ones that will follow.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part seventeen here

[404fmdminjung]

creative claims — blueming

summary: written during the course of promotions for loveforclosure. she finds one sense of home in the fans, writes a song to the people that shower her with love. (basically coming off a high of a well-received comeback). warnings: none wc: 1906 (not including lyrics)

in retrospect, time changes a lot of things.

a year prior, and a flop of a song — the signs all pointing straight towards the shackles of gold star’s dungeon. now, they’ve shined her up. polished the record out for the masses, and the pour of public love in the horizon. no longer a flop, the rough and jagged edges of each comment to tear her apart and strip her semblance piece by piece become softened, blurred at the lines. angry voices poured at the expensive of fingers tapping against the keyboard with the anonymous faces now refreshed and shifted towards positive praise, comments statured with hearts and support.

how do you handle the sudden 180 when your heart also falters, and teeters towards the change of pace?

minjung surely doesn’t know. doesn’t know how to cope, so her hands remain on the edges of her notebook, one hand out pulling the pages apart inside a moving van that takes her to the first schedule of promotions.

blue. she jots that down quickly, let’s the dips in the road add character to each crooked line scrawled on the stage. blue used to be synonymous with dreary melancholy, strapped down to the midnight dreariness of a city that never sleeps. she painted herself blue once, downed by the ridicule of modern day public execution via the comments. now, she blooms.

-

stages after the first two become easier. synonymous with echoes and the small trinkets and packages of gifts given when she hops back into the guise of privacy, into the van. she’s back at stage one, notebook in pocket, phone in hand.

she remembers the first few instances hopping into a kakao chat dedicated to her —  even manages to get kicked off a few times before staying on, and hearing the outpour of cheer and love dedicated. 

when she gets off, says her goodbyes, she realizes one thing’s changed: her heart blooms, softens with each message sent. enough to stir the grin across her cheeks when her smile hangs steady with eyes that gleam over the page written ‘blue’.

it’s an uncanny feeling, feeling filled more to the tips of the brim with each passing day — a feeling novel, something she still can’t handle whole.

what i said what’s up i really meant i miss you.

all along, the missing shade of blue she’s forgotten on the canvas layered and layer, is love around. memories wiped from a missing skeleton of her pass, and she fails to realize — the love settled around, is the one she’s neglected to see for more than face value till now.

in each and every emoji my subtle feelings keep changing, i wonder if you know

she recollects the past five minutes on her phone in the group chat, the small tidbits of surprise now caked onto a revelation. her monotone speech patterns and quick sent texts, subjugated to a more personalized form as the seconds tick on. busyness, fatigue. it’s all an empty excuse when her heart flutters with a tinge upward, thoughts of fans now filling the crevices of her fragmented heart.

insomnia, lack of sleep. she’s running on two hours bustling from one schedule to the next. but seo minjung has never followed the textbook rules of what to feel and at what time. she’s an outsider looking in, going against the force and the nature of tides pushing one way to another. because where fatigue should rest heavy on her shoulders, now — she’s no longer drowning. instead, stepping higher into the clouds like stargirl. girl with a light heart, and now she’s drunk with a scent of resolution.

i’m making roses blossom with my thumb i think i’m getting drunk with the scent it’s in our own secret garden.

-

the high doesn’t wind down as schedules persist. instead, each day she’s met with the feelings of a hurricane. ripped from her roots, heart fleshed open when the smile no longer seizes itself faux, but as a token of genuine ties each time she sits down, resorts back to the words compiling on the page.

this song’s for them. the lyrics, each one in a one-on-one head-first conversation. ideation that perhaps, this becomes a fleeting moment. a transient piece where they’re sitting at top of the climax before it all topples over, downward straight to hell. but she’s not a worrier, doesn’t bother looking back.

(for once, she chooses to relish this moment right here).

i feel bloom, i’m sending you one more flower updating you with my all-nighter work the author of this interesting piece of work, that’s me maybe this is the climax of the relationship

the nip of her pen glides freely against the page, her own welcome to her headspace. no beat, no notes in mind. rather, it’s the diary that opens up the beginnings of what’s right in her heart now.

—

there’s an itch under her skin — one rarely ignored. it comes at a pang to her gut, knocks the sleepless night right into her, prompting her to make a beeline towards the makeshift studio in her apartment.

here and there, she tries to think of a tune. a slow pull of languid minors, layering on the heaviness of desolation in navy’s. she doesn’t want that, least not a ballad coming off the tails of another — she scraps that, saves the file and backlogs it for another day. then comes the juxtaposition of jazzy facts, the strong isolation of saxophones and trombones — a drop in a rough beat, painting the song a vibrant cobalt. it’s one worth dancing to, boppy tunes to wreck havoc on a stage. still, it renders itself useless by the time she shoves that rendition straight to the trash can.

no notes in any sort of transition, instead she finds solace on the guitar she hasn’t touched in a near two months. it hangs, lingers on like a presence in the room — she makes a note, guitar. scribbled at the top of her page before ushering herself back to the confines of her bed.

-

a day off, and the song resurrects itself through the guitar nestled in her arms. she strums herself a chord in a minor, a major — finds the three notes, clamored down to the cacophony of something bright. still, decides it remains a stretch to keep it with too much embellishment. instead, she plucks the notes apart from each other — one by one, f into c. c into e, hitting a baseline at g.

at this point, it drops the seedlings to something promising and light. the shade of periwinkle she’s envisioned all along — it’s light to touch, easy to the ears. breathless in a come-and-dance with me switch. minjung repeats the plucking, one by one, till the solidification of the notes come full circle once the record button presses and her voice hums along to the melody etched in-between.

it starts at an easy lull before she paves way with the full-on start of the chords all at once by the time the chorus hits. two chords, a pause. then the entrance of the next two in repeat — at this point, it’s no longer and algorithm of what makes the numbers on the chart or a fragment of herself embodied into a play. instead, it’s the drive of having fun, enjoying each second put into the process.

(trust the process, nobody ever said it was going to be easy).

it sounds digital by the time she puts the first line of guitar work down. the recordings now becoming repetitive, one after another — a simple base in bare bones, nothing flashy or a change in the tempo. it all charges steadily, following expectations of the song’s natural rhythm.

her mouse clicks around and by now, it’s the addition of the percussion. the simple add-on to where she imagines the first verse tuning in — the deep percussion adds a depth to the periwinkle, the wrinkles of something more saturated, less fluttery. 

the essence of the song’s been fluttery heartbeats. the intangible things unspoken from her to the fans, and for now — she makes her mark by saving the file, setting aside for another day with her arms stretched out, enough for the yawn to escape in broad daylight.

no makeup, sitting inside some rugged sweats and a t-shirt. (this feels like the first in a long time where home’s presented a new look).

-

by the time she resorts back, it’s the end of promotions — free days shifted in between preparations for fuse’s next comeback. her heart’s no where near hands-up, long far with her cold shoulder response becoming synonymous with the lackluster dead-eyed expression for a mind that’s been humming hte melody to the song written in the books.

her own sense of peace, and her piece of privacy. solo work, now trumping and reigning on top of anything else presented to her.

she’s thought about it all day — the backing vocals, the ad-libs. where to start, and where to end. by the time she finds herself situated in front of her screen, her notebook sprawled out and jaded eyes that click around to the record. she starts with the ah-ah-ah’s, the makeshift forced rhymes that fall at the end of each verse. tunes her voice back in for the lulls of simple humming.

yet, by the time she sits down, plays back the puzzle pieces of what’s the marred total composition on her screen, she furrows her brow. bites down on her lip, pen in hand. the end of the pen taps on the surface of her desk, mind still buried inside the missing facet. imagination and creativity doesn’t spur when you want it to — it’s once again the process and the clicks of the mouse transitioning one type, to another.

seo minjung settles on the synth and the slow paced transitioning of warping her voice to an electronic belt. like stereo noise, it thins out where she wants it to be. almost muting it down to a subtle pull, a settled flesh of a song that makes her hear from the next room over. her mouth furls into a grin, a toothy grin saved for instances like these.

because what this song isn’t a piece of her anymore. nor a recollection of heartbreak on repeat.

instead, it’s fruitful, light and airy. like she’s floating on a cloud, far far away with her hands reached far apart, slotted to the love the fans boost her on. whether they’re a mirage of fusions or the few that brand themselves as a heart only filled by hear — she doesn’t care. it’s all an ode to them at this point.

no longer hiding behind her cowardice, wallowing around in the has-beens and the what-ifs of a play by play scenario. this time, this song goes out to a crowd that helped her remain stationed and whole, billowing with the calm sense of comfort.

comfort comes in many ways, home defines itself new each time.

only, this time she doesn’t sway from one new cloud or another pillar of stability. she’s still a nomad, wandering from one welcoming house to the next, filled with the fireplace of warmth and a comfortable meal. whatever food they home, they offer. she accepts — home’s a place where you define it. right now, seo minjung defines home with where the people are, wrapped up in open arms and a belonging.

whether she’s the ballader on stage. the travesty walking on yesterday’s heartbreak or the dancing diva in haphazard movements —they’ve accepted her for what she leaves at face value. the songs weren’t meant to soothe wounds or an album to flesh out the bad — it was an attempt at closure. and what she got in return, is the closure she least expected.

[mymelodyheart]

Starting Over Chapter 1 ~The Birthday Party~

James Fraser peered through his front windshield into the sunlight and wished he was back in his apartment in Edinburgh. If his older sister Jenny hadn't called earlier to drag him out of his blissful, mind-numbing slumber and reminded him of his nephew's birthday, he would have been still in bed. Instead of his usual routine of sleeping until past midday, eating junk food and washing it down with beer, playing Xbox and going back to sleep, he'd found himself putting on some fresh clothes and driving to Lallybroch. His sudden motivation had more to do with his nephew, wee Jamie. He wouldn't miss his birthday for the world, come rain or shine. Unfortunately, sunshine and children's parties seldom bode well for his mood while nursing a massive hangover.

It had been three months since he was last in Lallybroch - three months of avoiding his family and dodging questions about his future. He knew he'd hit his limit for grieving the untimely death of his career and feeling sorry for himself. It was time to face the world of adulting, and it was time for a change.  But what change? A job in the Fraser distillery?  It was his legacy and fallback plan, after all.

But he didn't need the money, and his brother-in-law, Ian Murray, was more than capable of overseeing its running. He considered going away to take an extended sabbatical and figure out what he wanted to do with life.

Not too long ago, he had been the nation's sports phenomenon until his sterling rugby career was prematurely cut short by a neck injury sustained during a Six Nations game against France. Later, it was discovered that he had a triple fracture of the vertebrae. Although he avoided any serious nerve damage and had worked with the best therapist in the country in an attempt to get back on the field, he'd been advised by his doctor and friend, Joe Abernathy to retire.

See it this way - you could have ended up in a wheelchair. Count your blessings, Jamie. You're still young, you have a fat bank account from your time in rugby and sponsorships, and the future is full of possibilities. How about going back to your roots? Like your family's distillery?

Jamie pushed himself out of his black BMW SUV with an annoyed grunt and grabbed the toy bicycle from the back seat of the car. He could hear the loud, shrill screams of children and smell burger meat grilling on the BBQ. Tugging on the collar of his T-shirt, he grimaced at the perspiration running down his back. It was a warm day, and already a headache was starting to grow. From his vantage point, he could see the flowers in the front of the manor house in full bloom and the path leading to the rear garden where the party was being held. Colourful birthday buntings were hung, and balloons decorated posts and hedges. Whether he wanted to be surrounded by people at that moment or not, coming home always hit him with a sense of nostalgia for a time when life was less complicated.

Tamping down the sudden urge to turn around and walk away, he thought of his wee nephew and kept moving. He wondered what kind of reception he would receive now that his identity had been stripped away. He'd always been a rugby player and the game ran in his veins. However, it appeared that the end of his career seemed to have cast a shadow over his every interaction. Ever since he retired, the topic of rugby had been delicately avoided anywhere he went. He thought if someone asked him about the weather or complimented on how good he looks one more time, he was going to implode.

Is this how it's going to be from now on? Pretending as though ten years of his rugby career never happened? What was the point of all the hard work then?

Jamie came to a stop when he reached the back of the house and took in the scene before him. A few adults were clustered around the makeshift buffet, and some congregated around the BBQ. There were probably around twenty children surrounding an entertainer who was dressed as a cartoon character from Paw Patrol.   Conscious of his damp shirt sticking to him, he felt sorry for whoever was in the mascot outfit on this sweltering day. Somehow it made the state of his mood, and the complexity of his life seemed insignificant compared to the person earning a living dressed as a dog. Disgusted with his wallowing and despondency, he pulled himself together and took in a huge fortifying breath and braced himself.

"Uncle Jamie! Uncle Jamie! Ye're here!"

Jamie's gaze landed on the small figure hurtling towards him, hands flapping in the air. Putting the toy bike on the ground, he crouched down and grinned, opening his arms to catch his nephew. His lousy mood and discomfort dissipated all at once. " A chuilein ," he breathed, gripping the boy's small frame and lifting him in the air. He smelled of lollies, vanilla buttercream and baby sweat.

Wee Jamie squealed with delight as he was spun around. "I knew ye'd come, uncle! Ma said ye have lots and lots to do." As soon as he was released, he eyed the shiny red bike and let out a gasp. "Is that my pressie, uncle?"

He laughed. "Aye, that it is. Want to try it?"

"Ma! Look what I got from uncle Jamie!" his namesake shouted at the top of his lungs as he excitedly got on the bike. 

Jamie watched his nephew pedal towards his mother to show off his latest acquisition. 

Jenny turned, smiled and then she was coming towards him.

"Aah, the prodigal son is back home." Her face was flushed with heat, and her expression showed relief. He had been expecting reproof or anything of that sort. But his sister seemed genuinely happy to see him.

Guilt prickled his nerves. "Jenny ...can we talk?"

"Not now lad. We have plenty of time for that later. I'm just glad ye could make it." She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek and stood back to get a better look at him, a platter dangling in one hand. "I need to get more buns in the kitchen. Can ye sort out the lass in the mascot costume for me? My purse is upstairs," she explained, jerking a thumb towards the children's entertainer.

"Aye, of course, I'll do that." There was a squeeze in his chest at the prospect of facing his whole family and explaining his disappearance. He knew it had to be done, and it was only a matter of time.  

..........

What have I gotten myself into? Argh, Geillis you owe me big time! 

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp rolled on her back in the grass, gasping for air as half a dozen five-year-olds piled on top of her. The impact of hyper and sugar-high children nearly dislodged her mask. She wished she was dressed as a clown or some other cartoon character instead, and one that didn't require her to put on such a weighty headgear. Alas, the birthday boy was a Paw Patrol fan.

Under different circumstances, she would have enjoyed the company of children, but she felt like dying from heat and exhaustion. Sweat trickled down the nape of her neck, and the fusty smell of her mascot headgear was making her nauseous. Without looking at the mirror, she knew her hair was an untamed mass of frizz thanks to the humidity.

Surprisingly, she hadn't collapsed from fatigue after her back to back shift at the hospital. She had been up all night when she was called into trauma surgery during an emergency. Despite having very little sleep and her body crying out for a much-needed rest, she couldn't back out on her promise to help her best friend, Geillis. 

Geillis had just started her own business in children's party entertainment. The venture was still at its early stages, and because she was double-booked that day and didn't have enough money yet to hire extra staff, she had pleaded to help her do the Paw Patrol gig in Lallybroch. 

How could she say no? Claire was already guilt-ridden for the many times she had cancelled on their night outs. These days her life revolved around her job at the hospital, planning her wedding and Frank. It was the least she could do for her neglected friend and social life.

"Who's hungry?" a voice shouted from the designated BBQ area. "Burgers, hotdogs and chips are ready!"

Instantly she was relieved from the weight of tiny bodies holding her down. Sitting up, she adjusted her mask as the children abandoned her for food.

"Um, Geillis?" She looked up. It was Jenny Fraser, the mother of the birthday boy. Claire hadn't bothered correcting her and elaborating that she was a stand-in for her friend. After all, this was just one-off and favour for Geillis.

"Yes?"

"Listen, the other children's entertainer is here already, and the bairns are eating. I believe yer two hours are up. D'ye mind collecting yer fees from my brother? He's just arrived and..." Jenny shrugged, looking down at the empty platter she was holding. "...as ye can see my hands are full at the moment."

She stood up, and through the eyeholes of the dog mask, she glanced at the newcomer. 

Aah, bloody hell, it's James Fraser. The Highland's homegrown hero is back.  She wondered how she failed to make the connection. She was in Lallybroch, the childhood home of Scotland's rugby best and finest centre.

"Ah, of course, I don't mind."

Jenny gave her a grateful look and smiled. "And thank ye. I ken it's nae job for the faint-hearted keeping the wee bairns entertained especially on a hot day like this. Ye must be shattered. Not to worry, though, I promise to give a good review online for yer new business."

She bobbed her big doggie head and watched Jenny turn and approach her brother before disappearing into the house. 

After all these years, the sight of James Fraser could still make her heart kick into a gallop and the moisture in her mouth dry right up. What is it about this man that turned her into a lovesick teenager just by looking at him?

Easy now, Beauchamp. You're as good as married. Remember Frank?  The weight of the three-carat diamond engagement ring on her finger served as a reminder.  Think Frank! Frank! Frank! Frank!   But her head refused to obey, and she continued to stare.

The first and only time she exchanged words with James Fraser, he was half-naked in the men's locker room being treated for a hamstring injury during a game. Her friend, Joe Abernathy, was a Tournament Medical Manager for the team, and through him, she had been there to assist for her own selfish reason - to see a live rugby match, up-close. It hadn't been difficult for Joe to get her in since she was an intern from the Royal Infirmary Hospital, and was more than qualified to assist. 

She remembered only too well when she came face to face with the famous rugby player. He had been cocky as sin when she was caught staring awestruck instead of preparing the ice pack for his thigh. How could she not stare? Given his considerable height and athletic frame, he was one fine specimen of a man, gorgeous and bursting with character. 

"Like what ye see, love?" he asked in amusement, flexing his pecs to tease her.

Mortified at being called out, she felt the heat creep up her neck. Not one to be intimidated by the display of cheek, she swallowed her embarrassment and tilted her chin at him. "To be honest, I've seen better. Robbie Henshaw is more my type," she retorted, referring to another rugby player.

A ruddy eyebrow shot up. "A sassenach that fancies an Irish charm! Weel, that's funny. I had a feeling ye like looking at my arse."

Ooh, the arrogance!  "Sorry to give you the wrong impression Mr Fraser but, I thought I was looking at your face." Joe's snort and Jamie's frown sent her backing away to get the ice before he could respond. But by the time she returned, he was already surrounded by his manager and other paramedical crew, her presence and their exchange soon to be forgotten. It didn't come as a surprise since, in the grand scheme of things, she was just one of a myriad of faces he came across daily.

Later on, Joe teased her regarding the chaffing rejoinder she had launched at Jamie. "You should have seen his face after that comeback you did back there?"

"Sorry?"

"Come on, LJ ...stop pretending you don't know what I'm talking about. I saw sparks flying." LJ stood for Lady Jane, a nickname Joe had given her during her first year of internship at the Royal Infirmary Hospital. It all began when their mutual friends made fun of her voice, and posh English accent, jokingly pointing out that she sounded like she just had tea with the queen. The moniker remained ever since.

"Sparks? You must have mistaken it for my short fuse firing off."

Joe boomed with laughter as he walked away. "You definitely like the man ...no use denying it. Your mouth may be saying one thing, but your face tells another story."

"I most certainly do not!" 

"Oh, and LJ?" Joe paused and turned around, ignoring her vehement denial.

"Yeah?"

"Don't believe everything you read in the newspaper about Jamie. Most are just tabloid nonsense."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever."

Yes, it's true she had a crush on James Fraser and had religiously followed his career. But her infatuation was just that and nothing more, even though she was often teased by her colleagues in her early years of internship. She was realistic enough to admit he was way out of her league, especially when he had been photographed and linked to high profile women in the past and fawned over by over-eager fans. After the locker room incident, she crossed path with James Fraser a couple more times, and there was never any hint of recognition on his part. She simply put it down to her baseball cap concealing most of her face and her refusal to engage, in case the embarrassing episode of her ogling at him was brought up.

Over a year and a half ago, she'd watched him score try after try for the national team during the World Cup, along with everyone in the local pub she frequented. There had never been a doubt he was destined to become one of the all-time greats in the rugby world. But no one had seen the injury coming, especially Jamie. Claire could still remember the heartbreak in his eyes when he announced his retirement on live TV at the age of twenty-eight, despite the light-hearted joke about having more time to practice his golf swings. And just like that, he disappeared from the media circuit. 

After a while, rumours started to spread that he had gone off on a self-destructive bender. Joe Abernathy had confirmed the stories were true and he had tried to reach out to him, and so had the local community and his own family. Instead of being coaxed out into the light, James Fraser hid in his apartment, refusing to answer calls and emails. She thought what a waste if he ended up as a drunken slob as she'd never known him to be anything but a fiercely confident man even to a fault. Although she was a nobody to James Fraser, she had urged Joe multiple times to keep trying to reach out. Unfortunately, he didn't want the help and soon, even his staunchest fans began to lose interest. Except, maybe her.

Making her way towards him, she watched with interest as James Fraser smiled at his nephew whizzing about on his new toy bike. Russet coloured hair curled unruly over his brow and brushed the nape of his neck. He looked rather pale, and it was the first time she'd seen him with a beard. The uneven state of it told her the facial hair was a product of self-neglect rather than a style change. Her gaze dipped lower. With his feet braced apart, arms folded across his chest and at least his six-four height, he towered with an impressive bearing. Clad in faded black jeans that hung low on his hips and a white t-shirt that stretched over his muscular build, he looked like a modern Highland warrior.

"Hi there." 

Claire's thought bubble burst, and she quickly reeled in her dwindling focus and pulled it higher until she met his eyes. A pair of pale ice blue with piercing intensity momentarily froze her in place.  Right! What was it again I'm supposed to do? Oh yeah, collect the money, and get the hell out of here. Piece of cake.  "Hi." 

He gave her a forced smile as he fumbled at the back of his jean's pocket. "Ye've come to collect yer money. How much does my sister owe ye?" 

"That'll be seventy quid, please. And um, good to see you out and about, Mr Fraser."

He stopped and squinted at her as if attempting to see through her doggie disguise. "Ah, a sassenach!"

"Yes, I've been reminded often enough."

There was a moment of silence.

Puffing his cheeks, he dragged a hand through his hair and rapidly let out a lungful of air. "Christ, I didn't mean it that way. And please call me Jamie. Everyone else does. And nae need to be so formal!"

She nodded her big head. "Alright ...Jamie, it is then. And don't worry. I didn't take offence. I know you didn't mean anything by it."

He was about to pull a note out of his wallet, but he stopped. As if he was in search of the right words to say. "Ye have a beautiful voice. What's the word ...aye, husky. Kinda like a bedroom voice."

Her heart skipped a beat, and she searched his face. It seemed he was genuinely just attempting small talk. "Thank you."

"Would ye like a drink before ye go? It's a hot day. Ye must be parched."

"Ah, no, I'm quite alright. But thanks."

"Ye have a name?" He drew out a hundred-pound note from his wallet, pinching it between his fingers.

"Call me Chase. I'm one of the Paw Patrols." When he laughed out loud, she was grateful for the mask that hid her unexpected smile. 

"Weel, Chase I think ye sound bonnie." He took a careful step forward to peek through the eyehole. "Ye bonnie under there, Chase?"

Oh no, you don't!  She took two steps back.  This is getting bloody ridiculous.  In as much as Claire was enjoying the harmless blather with the handsome Scot, she knew she was running out of time. She had a couple of hours of nap to take, shower, and meet Frank for a dinner date. For the most part, he was affecting her in ways that no other man had made her feel. Including Frank. "I really need to go," she said hoarsely.

"Right. Just one request before ye go. I'll give ye this ..." He waved the hundred-pound note in front of her. "...and ye can keep the change if ye let me see yer face."

Claire felt a stab of exasperation.  Why does it matter what I look like?  She was exhausted, hot and bothered and all she wanted right there and then was to get out of the stuffy costume. "Why do you need to see my face?"

Suddenly he looked uncomfortable. "What I meant ..."

She didn't let him finish. "What if you don't like what you see? Do I have to give the change back? Don't you have enough girls fawning over you?"

His shame morphed into annoyance and then into smug. "Careful, Sassenach, ye're starting to sound a little jealous to me."

Ooh, he's back to his usual cocky self.  "Wot? Me? Jealous?" she fumed almost sputtering. 

"Aye, jealous." He looked like he enjoyed making her feel uncomfortable as a corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile.

A cloud above her head darkened, lightning threatening to shoot at all sides. She knew it was the heat and exhaustion that was making her cranky and tried to take calming breaths. "You're presumptuous and rude."

"And ye're annoyed because I can see that the idea of girls fawning me irks ye."

That's it, I've had enough of this palaver.

Claire rolled her lips inward to plump them, then reached up and removed her mask. Gratification coursed through her when his jaw went slack, and his blue eyes turned a deeper shade.  That's right matey, I am not at all that bad!  As she took a step forward, he straightened his posture, a groan escaping from his throat. He saw the intention in her eyes and knew what was coming.

"Jealous, you say?" she hissed. Remembering the embarrassment Jamie had caused her during their initial meeting, she shoved him against the wall of the house, not caring if anyone was watching the spectacle she was creating. Surging up on her toes, she brought her face up close to his, their noses almost touching. "That's right, darling, I would rock your world."

Ah, what the heck ...I'm getting married soon, I might as well.  Not giving Jamie a chance to get a word in edgeways, she leaned even closer and merged their mouths together. To her astonishment, his lips parted, and the kiss hit the ground running in no time. One strong hand gripped her chin and pulled it down further, allowing him to slant his head and deepen the kiss more.  Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!  Shock exploded into her brain, and she swayed a little under the onslaught of heat. Jamie pushed his tongue deeper, making a low moaning sound, and she echoed it in kind. Then she felt his hand slide behind her neck as if he couldn't allow her to get away, and that's when she knew she was losing control.  What the hell are you doing Beauchamp? Remember Frank?

Claire pulled away and took a deep breath. With his mouth damp and parted, he too was trying to draw in as much air as he could, his face a mask of stunned disbelief. "Ye look familiar. Who the hell are ye?"

Swallowing the odd lump in her throat, she plucked the hundred-pound note out of his fingers. "I'm gone. I'll have a receipt sent over." She took a few steps, stopped and then turned around to look at him. "Oh, by the way, I sincerely hope you're done feeling bad about your rugby career. Circumstances mess everyone up once in a while. And I guess it's fair to say, you've been messed up really bad. But, please, don't lie down and play the victim. I know you're better than this. Look at this way, you've achieved more than anyone could in a lifetime. You did it, Jamie. You've already achieved what you set to do. And I wish you all the luck in the world." 

Taking advantage of the group of people approaching them, she hurried away.

"Hey ...wait, what's yer name?"

This time she didn't respond nor look back. With as much dignity as one could summon while dressed in a doggie costume, she ran as fast as she could.

[pocket-clown]

Arthur learning that his S/O is pregnant may include;

// original request: Hi, I have a request. Can you do "Arthur learn that you are pregnant" (excuse me if this is NSFW idk) I like your blog by the way ;)

Not NSFW at all, thank you for the request anon!! I know jack about pregnancy so I had to Google things like symptoms and whatnot so I apologize for any inaccuracies :-))

Obvious content warning for pregnancy, symptoms of pregnancy, minor angst.

His face is unreadable, the second he hears the news. 

You’d spent the last month and a half or so battling an array of symptoms; at first, it was nothing more than noticing that your period never came when it was supposed to - something you initially shrugged off because hey, it wasn’t always regular. 

But then you started feeling tired. Not just sleepy, but as if you were perpetually fatigued, regardless of how much sleep you got. Even if you spent the day lounging around the apartment and resting in bed, it was like it took every ounce of energy and drive that you had to get yourself going at times, and you felt that you could’ve slept for hours, had it not been for the responsibilities and obligations that an adult life came with. 

It was then, about four weeks after your missed period that you woke up sometime around 1:20 in the morning with some of the worst nausea that you had ever experienced, just barely making it to the restroom in time. Arthur had been by your side the entire time, and he practically pleaded for you to go to the doctor - it was flu season, after all - but in the back of your mind, something was nagging at you, telling you that something more was going on.

So the next day, on your commute home from work you made a stop at Helm’s Pharmacy. Arthur had a prescription that was ready to be picked up and you figured that it would save him some time for you to just get it yourself, but you also grabbed a few of the best pregnancy tests that your small amount of cash could afford, praying that the pharmacist wouldn’t mention it the next time you came in with Arthur.

Once you had actually tested yourself, the double bars on each of the four tests confirming your suspicions, you felt your heart stop. 

How was Arthur going to react? You two certainly had talked about having children before, and he was receptive to the idea - he even seemed excited about it - but those late night conversations and discussions were always in the future tense, when the two of you were better off financially, and maybe even out of Gotham. 

The fact that you weren't sure how Arthur would react coupled with knowing that you two may not even be able to support a child at the time kept you from telling him for about a week, and once you finally broke the news to him you didn’t even bother trying to beat around the bush. 

“Arthur, I’m pregnant.” You’d said out of the blue while the two of you were cuddled up on the couch during one of Murray’s commercial breaks. His hand, which had been combing through your hair as you rested your head on his shoulder, stopped, and you could feel his breath hitch. When you’d looked up at him, you saw that his dark brows were furrowed ever so slightly, and it seemed like he was almost confused about what you had just said - or like he didn’t understand.

“Are… really?” He asked after a moment, his voice not above a soft whisper. It took him a second, but after a moment he was able to pry his eyes away from the television to turn and look you in your own; searching for anything to indicate if you were just joking around, or if you were actually serious.

“Remember how I started feeling really sick a bit ago? I took a few tests a few days ago, and... they were all positive.” You said, moving your hand to sweep away the tuft of hair that had fallen across his forehead. 

Arthur’s lack of response was nothing short of concerning to you, and for a moment you thought that he was upset, or even angry, with you. His green eyes were flitting all over the room, seemingly unable to focus on anything as his mind tried to fully process what you had just told him.

Unbeknownst to you, though, Arthur wasn’t mad - he wasn’t even upset. What he was, though, was frightened; though yes, the thought of having a child with you filled his heart with the kind of warm love he never in his life thought he’d get to experience, it was also one of the most freighted, daunting ones to ever cross his mind. He often wondered if he’d even make a remotely good father - something you’d always assure him that he would - but he still had his doubts; with all of his struggles - his condition, his mental illnesses, and his own lack of a father figure, to name a few - the last thing Arthur wanted was to end up a poor excuse for a father. His mind was running a million miles a second, and if it wasn’t for the soft touch of your hand brushing against his cheek, he would’ve sat in the same spot for the rest of the night as his mind forced him to go over every single worst case scenario it could possibly come up with.

“Arthur? Are you okay? I’m sorry if I upset you, I meant to tell you sooner but -”

“Upset? Sweetheart, why would I be upset with you about this…?” He asked, and you hadn’t any idea that he had been trembling until his hands came to your face, cupping your cheeks so he could pull you close enough so he could rest his forehead against your own. “Are you sure it’s me you want to have a baby with…?”

You knew that his question was rhetorical; it wasn’t uncommon for Arthur to agonize over his anxieties and fears regarding the relationship, questioning if you really were 100% completely and utterly sure that you wanted to be with him, of all people. He’d worry that he was completely imagining you and your voice and your touch, or that he’d somehow tricked you into being with him, even - but each and every anxiety was hushed with kisses from you. Though you knew that you couldn’t do or say anything to completely rid Arthur of said anxieties and worries, so ingrained within him were they, you did everything you could to be there for him whenever they came to surface and needed dealing with.

“Yes! And I mean it, Arthur - I want this - and I want it with you.” You said, and he hummed in response, his forehead still against yours as his thumbs stroked the backs of your hands as he held them in his own

“I’ll work harder - For us.” He spoke after a minute of silence, and his arms came to wrap around you, pulling you tightly against him. 

It’s then, with you in his arms, that the reality of the situation really hits Arthur and he can’t stop himself from tearing up. He was scared, and so were you; you’d both have to work extra hours (you, for as long as you could, until you were too far along), neither of you have ever had children before, and the weight of knowing that you’d soon be supporting one, as well eventually need a larger residence, the costs, the fact that you’d have another life in your hands - it was all so, so much to deal with that neither of you could stop yourselves from shedding tears. 

But you were together, and the two of you had made it through a lot together, already.

This sweet, attentive man always makes sure you’re as comfortable as possible. 

If you thought that his fretting about you in the past was over the top, get ready because now he rarely ever leaves your side. 

As the months go by and your tummy gets bigger, Arthur loves to rest his hands against it, his fingers sliding underneath the hem of your shirt so he can feel your skin. If you’re subtle about it, late at night during those nights you can’t sleep, sometimes you can catch him talking ever so gently and so sweetly to you and your unborn child, unaware that you’re awake. He goes on about how much he loves you, how you love him, how he loves the baby, how you love the baby, how soon you’ll be a family. He talks about everything he’s going to do with the two of you, what he wants to do, his hopes, his fears - all of it. Whether the soft, shaky tone of his voice is from his tender, sleep deprived state or if he’s quietly crying from the sheer, overwhelming amount of love, fear, excitement, and utter disbelief he feels you don’t know, but what you do know is that his words are genuine.

He goes with you to every single doctor’s appointment that you have; every single check up, every single exam, everything. Even if you’re not far along enough that it’s tough to get around, he still insists that you sit and rest so he can take care of chores around the apartment. He tries his hardest to improve his cooking skills, preferring that you eat as best as you can so that you’re as healthy as possible - he doesn’t want you falling ill. He keeps his smoking away from you, as well; he’ll literally leave the apartment, regardless of what time of day it is, to smoke outside so you aren’t exposed to it. He doesn’t want to put you or the baby at any sort of risk. 

You two will have to console each other very frequently. Arthur, at times, has trouble fully coming to terms with what’s going on; never in his life did he ever expect he’d have a child with someone (nor did he think he’d even have a successful relationship), and the weight of the situation tends to wear down on his already fragile mental state at times. Lots of reassurance that everything will be okay, that he is capable of being a good father, that you’ll be by his side, that there are resources that can help the two of you if you need it, and so on, will be needed. 

Regardless of whether it’s hormones, your own fears and anxieties, tears of excitement, whatever it is, he’s by your side whenever you need him to be. You’re in tears because your craving for that very specific type of donut from a market that’s halfway across Gotham is so strong? He’s putting on his shoes, fully prepared to go out and get it for you, despite it being 11 at night and pouring rain. You’re scared because you’re wondering how capable of a mother you’ll be, and if the child will even love you? Your face is cupped in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears as he tells you that he knows you; he sees how strong and how loving you are in your day to day life, and there’s not a single doubt in his mind regarding how wonderfully you’ll do as a mother. 

There’s absolutely no denying that it’s a tough time for the two of you, but the two of you make it work. 

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[kasienda]

Restorative Justice - Chapter 2 - Preparation

Summary: Chloé has never been a fan of Ms. Bustier’s community building activities. In fact, she detests them. She doesn’t want to learn about the drab boring lives of her peers. And she absolutely can’t stand it when their confessions make her feel things. Feelings that she doesn’t even have names for. But when Adrien unknowingly shares his struggles with his double life, Chloé vows she will do anything to get Ladybug set things right. Even if it means pissing off the heroine. Chloé was already mad at her anyway.

Chapter 1 - Community Circle

Chapter 2 - Preparation

Two weeks had gone by and Chloé had made absolutely zero progress in her self-assigned secret mission, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. She had spent hours on the roof of the hotel with the bee signal trained towards the sky both during, and not during, akuma attacks hoping Ladybug would give her the time of day. Chloé wasn’t sure what she was going to say exactly, but she figured Ladybug needed to know that she was going to lose her partner if she kept echoing the way his father treated him. It hadn’t mattered, because Ladybug never came. When the spotted heroine hadn’t shown up over the course of several days, Chloé staged a loud conversation with Sabrina during class about how she wasn’t even going to ask for the Bee Miraculous (though of course Ladybug would be better off with Chloé on her team). She just needed to give Ladybug some valuable intel. But Ladybug still hadn’t shown. And neither had Chat Noir. Which stung more than a little bit. Adrien had heard the conversation as well. And supposedly, he still considered her a friend. At least, that’s what he said when she asked if he was mad at her for something. He had seemed genuinely confused at the question. But it wasn’t like she could follow up with a “Then why didn’t Chat Noir show up on my hotel roof when I asked him to?” She supposed that neither of the heroes truly believed she had anything valuable to share with them. God! She wanted to tear her hair from her scalp in frustration. They were both so dumb! 

Keep Reading on Ao3

When contacting them as superheros failed, she figured that she would try their civilian personas. Chloé had taken two steps toward Marinette one morning in the courtyard when the girl was there early for once before promptly changing her mind. Marinette was never ever going to hear her out. As Ladybug, the girl had to at least pretend to be neutral toward Chloé. But as Marinette? Absolutely no way! Really, Chloé didn’t need them to talk to her anyway. She just needed them to talk to each other with complete honesty. But as long as they didn’t know who the other was they couldn’t be that honest. What if she just sent them anonymous notes in their lockers or something? It wouldn’t even have to be long! Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir. Ladybug is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Boom! Done! End of story. Chloé had seriously contemplated it. She had the notes written out and everything. She was just waiting for the opportune moment to slip them into said lockers. But then the whole ‘Lila planting evidence in Marinette’s locker’ thing happened. Clearly, lockers were not secure enough. Chloé had shredded the notes. And unfortunately, the blonde was back to trying to talk to Marinette. Chloé had found her alone at a table in the library during a study period. Marinette had five books sprawled out around her as she frantically scribbled on a piece of paper. Chloé stood in front of the table expectantly. Marinette didn’t even look up. Chloé cleared her throat dramatically, which only earned her a sparing glance before Marinette’s attention was back on her reference book. The blonde thought about just asking if they could talk for a minute, like a normal person, but this was Marinette. And well, Chloé had never been reasonable with Marinette. Especially not when Marinette was ignoring her. So instead, Chloé went and collected two volumes of an encyclopedia before returning to Marinette’s table. She then dropped the books unceremoniously from as high as she could comfortably reach. The heavy blue volumes hit the table with an explosion of sound. Marinette jumped twenty centimeters from her seat, her gaze shooting up in indignant frustration. “Chloé!” she shrieked. “What the hell?” “You were ignoring me,” Chloé observed. Marinette sighed, rapidly moving to collect her belongings. “I seriously don’t have time for this today. Can’t you just disappear until tomorrow or something?” “You need to listen to me!” Chloé insisted. Marinette stacked up her reference books into a neat pile. “I don’t need to do anything of the sort,” Marinette told her before stuffing the last of her work back into her backpack, and leaving the blonde alone at the table. In the library. With dusty books. Ugh.   Really, Chloé needed to just lock them in a closet together or something! Surely, Sabrina could come up with some scheme to get them in a room with no windows and a locked door. Surely, the hotel had some storage closet somewhere that they could use. Or maybe something at school would work better.  Sabrina was amazing at getting people to do as she wanted. And God, that had come in handy on occasion. Adrien wouldn’t be hard. He might even listen to Chloé, but she’d need Sabrina for Marinette. Only Sabrina could still trick Marinette. It wouldn’t really work though. Marinette would probably love the forced alone time with Adrien. And they were both so stubborn. They’d never reveal their identities just to get out of a locked room. Her fingernails clicked on the desk in rapid succession like a series of grace notes. They wouldn’t reveal their identities for their own convenience, sure. But if someone else needed Ladybug and Chat Noir? So, Chloé would just have to lock them in a room together and then inspire an akuma. It wouldn’t be that hard, would it? And creating an atmosphere for an akuma shouldn’t be that challenging either, should it? Like, she had done it by accident how many times now? How very heroic. She quickly realized it couldn’t work anyway. For them to know about an akuma, they’d have to have their phones, but if they had their phones, what would stop them from contacting Adrien’s bodyguard or Alya and Nino to get out of the room? She had tried to approach Adrien directly, too. She only had the five or so minutes before he had to be in his limo after their last class, being shipped off to whatever lesson he had going on that day.   “It’s been a long time since we talked, Adri-kins,” she told him. “We should set up a lunch date to catch up.” He smiled at her. “My schedule is really packed this week, Chloé. Maybe have your people call my people to set something up later in the month?” he said lightly, as he brought his fencing bag to his shoulder.   The brush off hurt more than a little bit. But of course he would want to spend every scrap of free time with his close friends. Which was a very short list, and she was clearly no longer on it. Maybe this whole idea wasn’t worth it in the first place. Like, why was she trying so hard to help Adrien when he barely gave her any of his time or attention anymore? “But maybe I have something important and urgent to talk to you about,” she admitted. He tensed, his green eyes giving a cursory glance over her whole form. “Is something wrong?” He reached out a hand to her shoulder. “Has your mother…?” She waved away his physical comfort. “My mother is in New York!” she snapped impatiently. “She hasn’t spoken to me in weeks.” Which meant she couldn’t have said anything hurtful to tear Chloé to pieces. She had no reason to be upset. None at all. But his frown only deepened, and he stepped forward again. And that’s when she realized he probably would make time for her if she asked. The idiot. “It’s nothing about any of that. I’m fine. I’m worried about you,” she insisted emphatically. And with those words he pulled away, and closed himself off immediately. “I’m fine, Chloé,” he told her with that stupid pasted on fake smile. “What could I possibly have to complain about?” he asked her before walking to the door and waving farewell. She had wanted to run after him so she could scream at him. That had been three days ago. She furiously wiped away the tears that were sliding down her cheeks. Why couldn’t she help him? Why wouldn’t he let her? He was growing more withdrawn by the day! Not that anyone other than her seemed to notice. Which she couldn’t understand! It was so obvious! When he had first come to school, he had been an excited puppy anytime anyone included him in a conversation or invited him to some social outing. Chloé had assumed that the novelty of school and peers would eventually wear off, but a solid year later, it hadn’t. He was still an excited puppy with any scrap of affection. Or he had been until recently. Adrien had been far less animated for the past week. He still smiled and said all the right things when people engaged with him, but it wasn’t real. He was going through the motions. Pulling out the politeness and the charm that had been drilled into him as a child that grew up in the spotlight. And normally, Chloé could have dismissed the change in behavior as a sign of fatigue. The akumas recently had been constant and brutal, and Gabriel showed no signs of easing up on Adrien’s commitments or expectations. But it was more than that because he hadn’t transformed gradually over time as his responsibilities built up. No, he had changed from puppy Adrien to polite Adrien in the span of a few minutes. From sunshine-child to creature-of-the-night literally instantaneously. Chloé had been in class sitting next to Sabrina as always, working on their project. Or well, letting Sabrina take notes on their project, but whatever. Ayla and Marinette sat in their usual seats with their heads together with Nino sitting a few feet away occasionally laughing or shaking his head at whatever nonsense they were saying. Then Adrien had arrived late to class from a photoshoot of something. “What are you guys talking about,” he had asked as he took his seat next to Nino. “N-nothing!” Marinette had stammered, her face turning tomato-red. Nino rolled his eyes again. “Don’t worry about it, dude. Girls are crazy.” And Chloé had watched Adrien’s shoulders stiffen. And his eyes go flat. And of course there was that stupid polite smile in place. He was upset. He was upset that they his friends were keeping things from him. And of course the other three keeping secrets from him would drive a wedge into his soul. How could they not know that? Chloé didn’t care that they were doing it to protect whatever was left of Marinette’s dignity. Chloé didn’t care about Marinette’s dignity at all. They were hurting him. Making him think they didn’t trust him either. Just like his father. Just like Ladybug. And since that day, he had stopped initiating conversations. He didn’t talk about his favorite video games, or whatever anime he had binged that past weekend. He didn’t light up like a supernova when Nino asked him to come to a party or the girls invited him out to ice cream. And worse, he wasn’t accepting their invitations. He was making excuses for why he couldn’t even try. Not even real excuses like whatever stupid lessons his father had him taking, but fake ones about being tired or needing to study. As if! Adrien didn’t really need to study. He was one of those obnoxiously intelligent kids who just absorbed academic knowledge through osmosis or whatever. And even if he needed to study, (which Chloé still doubted), he wouldn’t miss out on time with his friends to do it. He would just stay up all night instead. But he was declining invitations and she guessed everyone was just so accustomed to him not being able to come, that they didn’t notice he had stopped trying. And the second his friends’ eyes were off him, he would wilt like a plant without water. And his so-called friends didn’t notice that either! Not even Nino. But Chloé noticed.

And she didn’t like it. And as loathe as Chloé was to admit it, Marinette wasn’t faring any better. She was probably worse actually. The part-time superheroine had bags under eyes, and she was constantly falling asleep in class only to wake up screaming in pure terror. Chloé did not want to know what those nightmares were about. Then, the civilian side of Paris’s savior and super heroine had randomly burst into tears at least twice in the last three days, and refused to explain to anyone - even Alya - what was upsetting her. But that didn’t mean Chloé had to help her. Marinette had made it clear that she didn’t want Chloé’s help, which was just fine because the feeling was completely and thoroughly mutual. Marinette had always acted like she was some great authority on moral goodness. But Chloé knew Marinette was selfish, too. Marinette neglected responsibilities for her own gain, she lied more frequently than anyone realized, and she pushed her way into situations that were none of her business thinking she knew better than everyone, often making everything worse! Marinette always assumed the worst of Chloé even when she legitimately was trying to help. Which is likely why Ladybug had always assumed the worst of Chloé even in the very beginning when Chloé had tried to help her locate Vanisher’s akuma. Why Ladybug had been so insistent on seeing the worst in Queen Bee even right after she had helped Ladybug and Chat Noir rescue that runaway speed train. The heroine hadn’t been wrong in that instance, but that was hardly the point! But then, something had changed when her father had been akumatized the first time. And the spotted heroine Chloé had so admired offered her compassion, a shoulder to cry on, and a second chance. Told her she wasn’t useless and could become a hero if she wanted to be. Had invited her, Chloé, to race across rooftops and serve as her partner against a vicious akuma, when Chat Noir had been mentally transformed into an actual cat. And for the first time in a long time, Chloé had had hope that she could become something… better. Something… worthwhile. No matter what her mother said, or her classmates thought of her - she could be a hero. Someone others trusted without question, someone people respected, looked up to, and emulated. Chloé didn’t know how to be that person, but she knew that she wanted it. And that she was willing to try. But then a few weeks later, Paris’s heroine had taken it all back. Even after Chloé fought against Hawkmoth with her. Even though Chloé hadn’t done anything differently. Even though she had tried to find others ways to build herself up instead of tear others down by making collages of selfies and videos dressed up as Ladybug rather than targeting others. None of it had mattered. Ladybug had just stopped coming to her with the miraculous. And then, right after Chloé had managed to fight off an akuma all on her own, Ladybug had shown up and said she’d never get the miraculous again because people knew who she was? It was a load of bullshit! Because that hadn’t mattered when her father was akumatized, it hadn’t mattered on Heroes Day! Which led Chloé to one inescapable conclusion - Ladybug was just like everyone else. Someone who changed the rules when it suited them, went back on their word without thought, and wasn’t nearly as kind or compassionate as she pretended to be. Really, Chloé should have known better than to ever hope. She shoved her notebook off the table in front of her, sending it flying into the back of Ms. Bustier’s desk with a satisfying bang when the metal furniture snapped back into form. “Chloé?” Chloé started at the voice of concern. Ms. Bustier slipped into the classroom from the door in the back and quickly approached her. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing!” Chloé spit out venomously, whirling away from her teacher towards the front of the room. Ms. Bustier put down her bag at her desk, rolled the chair from her desk in front of Chloé’s table, and took a seat. Chloé shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t want to talk out her feelings. “What were you working on?” her teacher asked, her voice calm and smooth as a still lake. Chloé shook her head rapidly. “Nothing! It was a stupid idea. I’m clearly not cut out for it.” “Maybe you just need some help,” was the gentle suggestion. Chloé sighed glancing up into the warm face of her teacher. “I… was trying to fix something. But I should’ve known better. I’m really good at making a mess of things. The idea of me fixing something is ridiculous.” Utterly ridiculous. Silence permeated the otherwise empty classroom. It was stifling. Chloé stared into her hands, folded under the desk. Her teacher remained silent, sending her emotions spiraling down to new depressing depths. Even Ms. Bustier didn’t know what to say. Clearly, Chloé was a lost cause. And so was her self assigned mission. “Do you want help?” Chloé looked up, searching the compelling green eyes of her teacher. She seemed earnest in her concern, but Chloé has been burned before. Her childhood nanny, Adele, had promised to help her, too. And then the petite woman had gotten herself fired and Chloé had never seen her again. It’s not like Bustier could actually help, anyway. But then, another thought struck through her psyche like lightning. Ms. Bustier totally could make a couple of kids sit alone in a room together. In a fucking circle. But Chloé hated circles. She took a deep breath. This was for Adrien. For Adrien. For Adrien. “Could… could we maybe do one of those circles? Not the community one, but the other one when people are fighting?” Ms. Bustier raised an eyebrow. “You want to do a restorative circle? Did I hear that right?” Want was not the correct word. But Chloé had tried everything she could think of. And at least the circle didn’t require getting someone akumatized. She forced herself to nod. Her teacher leaned forward and put a hand on Chloé’s knee. “Did something happen? Are you and Sabrina not speaking?” Chloé physically recoiled at the very idea. “What?! No! Sabrina is great. No… this would be with...” her indignation evaporated instantly, and she found her gaze glancing over the shoulder of her teacher’s white blazer. “With Marinette and Adrien.” Ms Bustier sat up straighter. “You’re just full of surprises today, Chloé.” Chloé risked another glance up, but her homeroom teacher was smiling. “Okay, and was anyone else affected by this conflict? Anyone else that you think is involved or might have hurt feelings? Or anyone else that hurt you in this same conflict?” Chloé cocked her head to the side, letting herself consider the question. Really, it just needed to be Marinette, Adrien, and Chloé. But… Alya’s presence could prove to be incredibly useful. And if Alya was there, Nino would likely reinforce everything the brunette would say… The only problem was involving more people would piss off Ladybug even more. Chloé grinned at the thought. She had never been above getting a bit of revenge when it was deserved. (And maybe undeserved). All five of them it would be. “Césaire, Lahiffe, and Adri-kins,” Chloé supplied. Bustier went to her desk and retrieved a notebook and quickly wrote down the names. “What happened?” Chloé hesitated. Technically, nothing had happened, though of course she and Marinette had a ton of history, dozens of fights and altercations that she could pull from, and yet… “I tried to tell Marinette something really important. But she won’t listen to me. And I can’t totally fault her for that, but this is really really important. Like fate-of-the-world-important!” she exclaimed, her hand stretching out to indicate the scope of the situation at hand. “What is it that you want to tell her?” “That she’s a blind self righteous know-it-all,” Chloé ranted. “And she needs to knock it off because she’s hurting someone that we both care about.” “Adrien?” Ms Bustier guessed even as she was taking notes. Chloé nodded. “Yes, Adrien, but she doesn’t even know that she’s hurting him because he will just sit there and take it! He’ll never say anything,” she lamented, her lips twisted into an indignant sneer. “But eventually he’s going to break, Ms. Bustier. And I don’t want to see that! I’ve been trying to get her to talk to me so I could give her some context and explain what she was doing, but she ignores me completely, or won’t even let me say hello before she declares she doesn’t have time for me and runs off!” “I can see how that would be frustrating for you, Chloé,” Ms. Bustier empathized. “But I also need you to understand that the purpose of the circle is to heal things between you and Marinette. It is not so you can yell and berate her when she is not allowed to leave. Do you understand?” Chloé sighed, but nodded anyway. “Now, do you have any idea why Marinette might be acting this way? Any reason at all that Marinette might distrust you or be unwilling to hear you out?” Chloé glanced away toward the classroom window, her righteous anger fading. When she turned to the front again, her gaze remained locked on her nails. “Perhaps,” she admitted, her voice carefully flat. “I may have antagonized her unfairly once or twice in the past.” Ms. Bustier’s lips trembled as if she was trying not to laugh. Chloé huffed out a sigh. “Okay fine, I’ve done a lot to her over the years. But that’s not true this time! Listening to me would make her life far less stressful and get her closer to Adrien.” “That’s quite the claim,” Ms. Bustier commented neutrally. “It’s the truth!” she declared hotly. “Okay. I believe you. Now, is there anything specific that happened recently that would cause Marinette to be more irate with you than she usually is?” Chloé glanced down at her nails, but she really didn’t know what to say. Did throwing a fit when Ladybug said she could never have the Bee Miraculous back count? Because the truth was, since Chloé had figured out the heroine’s identity, she had no idea why Ladybug had given her a chance in the first place. And she was just as confused as to how she had managed to lose that chance a few weeks later. Chloé certainly hadn’t treated Marinette any worse than she normally did in the intervening time. She had even teamed up with the girl once so they could keep Kagami away from Adrien! Ms. Bustier sighed, placed her pen down on her notebook, and leaned forward. “Chloé, in order to facilitate a restorative conversation between you and Marinette and the others, I need to prepare. I can only do that if you tell me what happened.” The blonde nodded. What could she tell her that would be useful in Ms. Bustier being prepared? “I…. figured out one of her secrets, something that is really important to her. And then I told her friends.” “They didn’t already know?” Chloé shook her head. “How did the others react?” Chloé pursed her lips in thought. How would the others react? Adrien was going to turn into a puddle of goo. Alya probably wouldn’t be much better, but she would feel guilty as hell for the whole Lila debacle. Nino was a rock, so Chloé had no idea how he would respond. But Marinette? She was going to be out of this world pissed. And for a second, Chloé hesitated. “Chloé?” “You think I took the time to talk to the plebians?” she countered hotly, too late to actually be convincing. Bustier raised an eyebrow. Chloé wilted. “Okay, fine!” she relented. “But I really don’t know. I could guess, but I didn’t stick around to see their reactions directly,” she improvised on the spot. “Why did you tell them?” She glanced down into the palms of her hands. “Because… they needed to know,” she admitted softly. “They can’t help her if they don’t know. And she…” she was drowning and Chloé worried how long it would be before Marinette was the akuma. And then where would Paris be? “Despite what she thinks, she can’t do what she does alone. She needs them. Especially Adrien.” Chloé clutched at her head with both hands. God! What was wrong with her?! Why was she even trying to help Marinette? Marinette would only be livid. She wouldn’t be grateful. She certainly wouldn’t give Chloé another chance with the Bee Miraculous. This was supposed to be for Adrien! Adrien was the one who deserved to be seen and appreciated. Maybe it was for both of them. Maybe Chloé didn’t need anything in return. She looked up to see Ms. Bustier smiling at her. “And what was this secret?” her teacher asked. Chloe balked. She knew it was silly. Ms. Bustier was going to know everything tomorrow anyway. But she was afraid Bustier would back out if she knew the full extent of what this was about. “I’d rather not say.” Her teacher’s green eyes considered her for a moment, and Chloé had to look away again. She sighed again before the educator spoke. “Thank you for telling me this bit. I need to interview the others and understand their side of the story and then we’ll get something scheduled.” Chloé jumped to her feet, shaking her head violently. “No! You absolutely can not talk to them beforehand!” Ms. Bustier was not disturbed by Chloé’s outburst. “And why not?” “Because Marinette will never ever agree to this if she knows what it’s about. Trust me. But she’s wrong. She needs this. Actually, we all do. I promise, everything is my fault. It’s not theirs.” The words fell out of her mouth unfiltered like a runaway train. “Chloé, I have rarely encountered a conflict where one side was wholly at fault. I’m sure the others have contributed.” This track wasn’t working. “I won’t participate if you talk to them beforehand,” Chloé threatened. “That’s not how this works, Chloé.” “Please!” Chloé begged. “You don’t understand. I can’t explain completely, but Marinette will not come if she knows what it’s about. I’ve already tried like four times this week! We have to blindside her.” “What is it about?” “But Ms. Bustier! This secret… it’s really…” Chloé stammered, searching for words that would not come. “It puts Marinette in a really vulnerable position. I’m not willing to tell you on the off chance that you are not able to pull off this circle. But if we do meet and I am able to actually talk to her, I think the benefit will outweigh the drawbacks of you knowing.” Ms. Bustier’s green eyed gaze pierced through her, and Chloé found it difficult not to fidget on the spot. “You’re asking me to put a lot of faith in you, Chloé,” she finally said. “I know!” Chloé conceded, bowing her head down. “And I realize I probably don’t deserve it.” “I didn’t say that,” her teacher interjected. “But I’m trying to be worthy of it. I swear! I’m trying to be better,” her gaze fell to her shoes. Two fingers on her chin gently urged her gaze up. “All you have to be, Chloé, is yourself.” Chloé’s squeezed her eyes shut, trying to suppress the sudden burn behind her eyelids. She shook her head in denial. A warm hand fell onto her shoulder and squeezed reassurance. Chloé shrugged it off. She didn’t want to admit the contact felt good. She shouldn’t need reassurances like that. She couldn’t afford the weakness. “Just to warn you, Marinette is going to be absolutely pissed. You may think you’ve seen her in self righteous must-fix-all-the-injustices-in-the-world Marinette mode, but this will take things to an entirely new level. And you probably should just let her fly off the handle. I don’t need her to be respectful. I probably don’t deserve it anyway.” Ms Bustier offered a gentle smile. “We all deserve respect, Chloé. But we can also create the space for Marinette to air her grievances and for you to be treated with respect.” Chloé appreciated Bustier’s confidence, but she also knew the teacher only knew the tip of the iceberg. “Ms. Bustier?” she asked softly. Ms Bustier looked up from her notes and gave Chloé her attentive gaze. “Yes, Chloé?” Chloé swayed from one foot to the other, her hands fidgeting at her waist. “Can I ask about the “honor privacy” norm?” Ms. Bustier nodded. “What about it?” “Are you included in that? Will you respect Marinette’s and everyone else’s privacy?” “I’m required by law to report certain things like child abuse or suicidal thoughts, but I will honor privacy in all other respects.” Chloé bit her lower lip. Where did having a secret identity that required you to constantly put yourself in harm’s way fall into that? “So like... any time a student is in danger?” she suggested. Her teacher nodded even though she was taking down notes into her notebook. Chloé cringed. Yeah, this was probably definitely something that fell into the category of something a teacher was required to report. “But…” Chloé glanced away again. “What if reporting it increased the danger they were in?” Bustier looked up at her then and frowned. “Are you in danger, Chloé? Is Marinette?” Oh, what the hell?! In for a penny, in for a pound. “I’m in danger all the time,” Chloé explained with a straight face and was pleased to see Ms. Bustier’s face frowning in growing concern. “I’m Queen Bee,” she declared. Ms Bustier’s frown transformed into an amused smile. “If you wanted that to stay private Chloé, you probably shouldn’t have announced it on live television.” “But that’s my point. I’m always in danger because people know my identity. Papillon knows, and he’s already used me to get to Ladybug before.” Her teacher softened. “Are you worried that he’s going to try again?” “No! I…” she threw her hands down in frustration. “I can’t put this into words!” “What does this have to do with Marinette?” “N-nothing.” Chloé wondered one again, why she was stalling. If her plan worked, Bustier was going to know everything by the end of day tomorrow anyway. “I was just trying to give you an example where sharing the knowledge of a student being in danger would put them more in danger.” Ms. Bustier put her hand on Chloé’s shoulder again, and this time Chloé allowed the warmth to remain. “I can appreciate the nuance of such a situation,” her teacher reassured. “I would never put a student in danger if I can help it. You must understand though, sometimes my hands are tied by legal requirements.”

Chloé nodded, figuring that was close enough. Surely, there wasn’t a specific law about teachers being mandated to reveal a superhero’s identity. There had never been enough instances of teenaged superheroes to codify that kind of requirement. Right? Ms. Bustier smiled kindly at her. “Is there anything else you want to tell me, Chloé?” Chloé pursed her lips. “Not really, no,” she concluded. “May I ask you a question?” The blonde nodded her assent. “Why are you doing this now? Trying to make amends with Marinette, I mean?” Chloé fidgeted nervously. She still didn’t really know how she felt about Marinette. Or about Marinette being Ladybug. But that’s not why she was doing this anyway. “I’m doing it for Adrien,” she finally admitted. “He needs Marinette to actually see him. I don’t know what will happen to him if she doesn’t. I’m really scared for him.” “It’s not Marinette’s responsibility to save him, you know?” “Maybe not, but she’ll want to. When she has the full picture she will love him better than anyone in the whole world. And if she doesn’t, I will be there to grind her face into the ground.” “Chloé…” Ms Bustier chastised disapprovingly. Chloé held her hands up in mock surrender, but she wasn’t actually sorry. She meant it. If Marinette didn’t learn to better appreciate her partner, Chloé would definitely make certain she regretted it. … Chloé walked out of Bustier’s classroom after class feeling more optimistic than she had in the last sixteen days. Ms. Bustier had passed out slips to the five of them requesting their presence at the next day’s lunch period for a restorative circle, which meant this was actually going to happen. Maybe by end of day tomorrow she would see Adrien’s megawatt smile again for the first time in weeks. But Chloé still had one loose end to take care of before she was confident that she could push Marinette into being honest. And that loose end involved Alya. And Chloé couldn’t even delegate the task to Sabrina because that would reveal identities to a civilian, and while Chloé was all for pissing Ladybug off, she did understand the danger of too many people knowing. Not to mention, she didn’t want Sabrina in danger more than she had to be. Sabrina was able to tell her Alya’s whole schedule though. So that was helpful. Chloé left her things with Sabrina with directions to deliver her bags to her car, and left “to go to the bathroom” ten minutes before the last class was over to wait outside Césaire’s 6th period. She was lucky that apparently Marinette didn’t share the class. Alya was one of the last to leave. But when she walked out the door, Chloé immediately fell into step beside the Ladyblogger. “I need to talk to you,” Chloé began without preamble. Alya cast her a dark look. “Why would I want to talk to you?” Chloé tried not to growl. She was only half successful. “It’s about Marinette. She needs your help.” “Why should I believe you about anything regarding Marinette?” Alya snapped, readjusting her bag on her shoulder and picking up her speed, not bothering to make eye contact. Chloé matched her pace easily. “You eat up everything Rossi says about her like a child eats up candy! I thought you’d believe anything,” Chloé shot back. “This conversation is over,” Alya declared cooly, whirling away. Chloé scurried after her. “No wait! I’m... I’m sorry.” That got Alya to pause. “You’re what?” “You heard me,” the blonde growled back. Chloé wouldn’t say it again. No friggin’ way. “So, are you going to listen now?” “This has gotta be big if it got the high and mighty Chloé Bourgeois to apologize for something,” Alya reasoned even as she let her bag fall unceremoniously from her shoulder to the ground as she turned to Chloé. “Marinette needs your help. Adrien does too. But they’ll never come clean on their own and certainly not at my suggestion. I need you to come clean first.” Alya’s dark eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “Come clean about what?” “About being the Fox.” Alya stared at her, her auburn eyes as wide as the Seine. “What?!” she hissed, suddenly up in Chloé’s face. Chloé held her ground, but didn’t resist Alya getting in her space. “I can’t explain. Ladybug will kill me. But tomorrow, Ms. Bustier is going to pull the five of us together.” “Five of us?” “You, me, Nino, Adrien, and Marinette. I’m going to introduce myself as the Bee. I need you to introduce yourself as the Fox. Please! It’s for Adrien... and Marinette too.” She tacked on as an afterthought. “Please trust me as one partime hero to another. I swear, I’m trying to help.” Alya shook her head, her eyebrows furrowed together like an angry cat. “I won’t betray Ladybug’s trust.” “You’ll be helping her!” Chloé countered. “And Marinette too.” “No way, Chloé. You can’t trick me.” And with that, the would-be-journalist stomped off. Chloé watched her go. “Well, that could have gone worse.” ...

[wizardcorez]

soothe me daily

*trigger warning: eating disorder. do not read this to trigger yourself*

Keith slips into some bad eating habits but everyone helps him get better. Klance happens towards the end. Also available on ao3 (@idiottwizard)

It had started innocently enough. 

Keith had put on a little weight, maybe he had been eating too much or maybe it had been muscle mass but it still showed up on the scale as 10 more pounds on the monthly check-ins they were made to do, and that gave him a weird sick feeling in his stomach. That sick feeling lasted into the night, skipping dinner with the other paladins entirely.

The next day he trained harder than he usually did, until he could feel his muscles burning. He didn’t stop until he thought he might collapse, knowing that would just cause the team to worry.

Today he showed up to dinner, at least, but when his eyes landed on the food he got that sick feeling again and he wanted to gag. He mostly played with the food, just telling the team he felt sick again, taking at least a few bites to ease their worries. Even if the food stuck in his throat and he struggled to swallow he told himself and the others that he must have just caught the space flu or something similar.

After dinner, he left to train again, fighting the sparring robot until very atom of his bing felt like lead weights. Even then, when he thought he couldn’t push himself any further he did, despite feeling lightheaded from whatever made him sick.

Keith weighed himself on his own the next morning, staring in shock as he was already several pounds down. That couldn’t be healthy, he thought, but he didn’t question it, just happy to be on his way to his normal and healthy weight.

A week passed. The sick feeling didn’t go away.

The other paladins were worried, he was more fatigued during training and they feared that he may slip up in battle. They also noticed how little he was eating, never fully missing a meal but never eating more than three bites and then claiming he was full. They didn’t say anything, not to Keith’s face, at least, but he could hear the hushed whispers as he left the dining hall to train every day.

He didn’t understand why they were so worried, honestly. He could keep it under control.

At the next weigh-in, Keith was underweight by a decent amount. Keith brushed it off. Shiro didn’t let it go. Shiro told Keith he needed to eat. Keith told him he had been, and he had, he wasn’t lying, but the light snacking and few bites at dinner weren’t enough, Keith worked that off within a half-hour of his training and would always train for several hours more after that.

Keith insisted he was fine, but everyone was obviously worried about him. He would yell when he saw them giving him those pitying looks. He was a paladin of Voltron, he didn’t need their empathy.

A few days later Keith was flat on his back in the training room, his breathing ragged. He stood on shaky legs, his vision going black for a solid thirty seconds but he just pretended he could see. Another round with the sparring robot and he was on his back again, coughing into his hand. He tasted blood but kept going.

When he stood after that, he fainted. Hunk and Lance found him, he wasn’t sure if it was minutes or hours after he fainted but he assured them he had just stood up too fast.

They didn’t believe him. Worry was evident on both of their faces but this time he didn’t yell, he just let them carry him to the infirmary. In the back of his mind, he knew he wasn’t okay but he put on a brave face, mostly for the sake of his team. Hunk left to find Shiro and the rest of the team, leaving Keith with lance in a heavy silence.

“You know we care about you, right?’ Lance said softly.

“I know,” Keith hummed, staring at the ceiling as he laid back on the Altean hospital bed.

They sat in silence for another few moments before Lance spoke again.

“Do you know I care about you, Keith?” Lance’s voice was quiet.

“I just said I know you guys care,” Keith rested his hands over his chest as he spoke.

“No, Keith,” Lance sighed “I care about you. Not just as a teammate, not just as a paladin of Voltron.”

Keith just raised an eyebrow at that, not saying anything or taking his eyes off the ceiling.

“I care about you as a person,” Lance said finally, his voice cracking, which made Keith sit straight up, feeling his heart shatter seeing Lance crying.

Keith’s feelings towards Lance were complicated, to say the least. Lance had always pissed him off and annoyed him, sure, but he had an undeniable charm and he brought joy to any room he walked in, even Keith could admit that. Keith could even admit that Lance was handsome, without the shit-eating grin on his face at least. He had thought about Lance when he was alone, eyes slammed shut and breathing heavy, even, but he felt gross about it afterward. At times a brief thought of Lance kissing him crossed his mind but it was always pushed away before he could really think about it.

Keith hadn’t laughed much in the past few months but Lance could usually manage to make him crack a smile for at least a moment, even if he forced into a scowl before anyone could notice. 

So maybe Keith had a soft spot for Lance, despite their rivalry. It hurt Keith to see Lance crying, especially over something like worrying about Keith. He almost wiped away Lance’s tear but caught himself before his hand reached his face, pulling him into a hug instead.

Lance cried harder and Keith squeezed him close, not really caring if he got tears or snot on him.

“I’m okay, Lance, shh,” he whispered, rubbing circles on Lance’s back, fighting back tears himself.

Seeing Lance like this made him realize how much he genuinely was cared about and it hit him like a truck, feeling guilty for yelling when anyone gave him those looks filled with pitty. The team really had just cared about him.

Keith broke, sobbing into Lance’s shoulder and taking fistfuls of his shirt. He isn’t sure how long they stay like that, clinging to each other and crying pathetically, but by the time Shiro and the others came in neither of them were crying anymore, though it had been evident that they were.

What happened next had basically been an intervention. Keith explained what happened, promising that he would try harder to eat more, not arguing when Shiro told him he couldn’t train anymore until he got his weight back up, knowing that Shiro knew what was best for him.

That night Keith ate a little more at dinner, wanting to get better for the sake of his team, and he could tell they were grateful for it.

When Keith was about to go to sleep there was a soft knock at his door, he opened it to reveal Lance, armed with a sheepish smile and some pillows and blankets.

“Can I sleep on your floor?” Lance asked quietly, to which Keith tilted his head.

“Sure, but why?” Keith asked

“It feels safer...I know you’re safe if I’m here.”

Keith didn’t say anything else but he opened the door more for Lance, letting him in and closing him behind him. He made sure Lance had a comfortable space on the floor, piling several layers of blankets so his back wouldn’t hurt before climbing into his own bed, staying close to the edge.

Both of them stared at the ceiling, not speaking even if they were both awake, and when Keith’s hand drooped off the bed Lance slowly intertwined their fingers. It didn’t take them long to fall asleep after that, and when they woke up their hands were still loosely holding each other.

Keith knew he was going to be alright.

It was hard, of course, but Keith got better. He still had his bad days, he still trained too hard sometimes, but everyone supported him through it all.

Lance kept sleeping on Keith’s floor, he kept holding his hand at night. At some point, he stopped sleeping on the floor, he complained just once about his back hurting and Keith started making him sleep on the bed with him, and Lance was okay with that. 

After some time, they started holding hands during the day, under the table when Keith was struggling to get a meal down or when they were walking together and Lance would intertwine their hands.

They started kissing too, Keith made the first move but Lance swore it was the other way around.They made it official not too long after that. None of the paladins were surprised, and they were genuinely happy for the two of them.

Keith was proud of how healthy he was now, physically and mentally, and Lance was proud of him too. And knowing Lance was proud of him? That was the best feeling in the world for Keith.

[tiaragqueen]

Ferae Naturae

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Bakeneko! Sakuya x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,4k+

✂ Trigger Warnings: Death, arson, possessiveness, implied abuse

[Edited]

***

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

A longer version of my old story, Get Even, with a lot few tweaks here and there. And I finally got to use my favorite word here. I present to you my favorite darling, Sakuya! Above is his human form.

“I promise you're safe with me. You're not alone. You're safe with me. Your heart is home. Now and forever, I'll be your shelter.” - Safe With Me [Megan Nicole]

Sakuya never really understood why most humans always stayed or returned to the person who had hurt them, even when the said person had blatantly displayed no sign of repentance. Irrefutable matters such as consanguinity must’ve played a huge factor in their so-called ‘loyalty’, he supposed, but it still didn’t justify their self-destructive actions. The way they behaved as though nothing was wrong and deliberately allowed their pain to fester under a veneer of tolerance was exasperating and absurd at best, even for him who tended to observe from the distance.

Then again, Sakuya wasn’t born in a human family, anyway. There was only so much he could learn from their lives without actually experiencing them.

But he knew enough to know that hitting his owner was an unforgivable sin; one that deserved an equal punishment.

“You never do anything right!”

A sturdy man, whom Sakuya learned his name was Araki, shouted. He had been doing this ever since he came home and found that you hadn’t cooked dinner because you were exhausted from cleaning the house all day. Granted, it was a humble cabin in the middle of a forest, but for someone to clean all the nooks and crannies while doing other tasks proved to be taxing. Sakuya knew it, too, because he’d seen just how tirelessly you worked every day with little rest and appreciation. All you’d gotten was more and more complaints from that bastard of a husband, sometimes elevating to verbal abuse. Sakuya wondered why and how you bore such an attitude for a long time and stuck with him when you could have someone better.

If it were him, he’d surely leave without a second thought. Better yet, kill him.

But, alas, you were too meek. Under the pretense of loyalty, you accepted everything from him – every word, every beating, every overt manipulation – and toiled even harder. However, Sakuya wasn’t a fool. He was fully aware of your insecurities and fears; of being incompetent, of being abandoned, of being lonely. Although you already had him, a cat that had been spending time with you more than your own husband, you remained hopelessly in love with the latter.

And, honestly, Sakuya couldn’t fault you. It wasn’t easy to separate a wife from her husband due to the finality of marriage, and the only way would be death.

Would it be worth the effort, though? It wasn’t as if you were blind to Araki's vices, anyway. Rather, you accepted them wholeheartedly and believed he’d change someday despite the lack of progress. You loved and married him, knowing full well you’d plunge yourself into a turbulent life. Heck, you’d even confessed it to Sakuya! You weren’t naïve and acknowledged that your love story was far from perfect or even good.

You comprehended the result of marrying such a rough man, which meant, you also comprehended his treatment towards you.

However, wrath defenestrated every understanding and sense the moment Araki raised a hand to slap you. Normally, Sakuya wouldn’t bother much with domestic violence because he wasn’t attached to either of them. But you were his owner – no, belonging – and he protected what was his, regardless of the consequences.

Sakuya hissed and leaped to Araki’s face, swiping the delicate skin ferociously. He didn’t even use his real claws, but the current ones were enough to provoke a stream of curses and groans from Araki.

Your eyes swelled, torn between intervening and doing nothing. Should you help him? You didn’t want to get scratched too, but your cat was clearly and purposefully harming him for unknown reasons. Maru usually left whenever an argument arose and returned when Araki had exited the room. It’d become such a pattern until you believed that he’d recognized human quarrel and learned to avoid it to maintain his peace.

Cats weren’t entirely stupid, after all. Although his constant, almost acrid, glare towards Araki was a little strange, to begin with.

Finally, Araki was able to yank Sakuya from his bleeding visage and flung him against the wall. You gasped and rushed to his aid, examining his tiny body for any sign of grievous injuries. Araki was enraged with the way you prioritized him than your husband who clearly displayed raw gashes, and grabbed you by the collar of your kimono.

“Oh, so you care about that dumb cat more than me, huh?” he snarled through ground teeth, his glower intensified when you shook your head frantically. “What? You’re in love with it or something? Well, why don’t you live with it then?”

Araki seized Sakuya by the scruff of his neck and dragged you both to the porch. “This is where disobedient wife sleeps!” he declared, dropping Sakuya on to your lap carelessly. “Hope you enjoy your stay.”

You watched his retreating back helplessly and flinched when he slammed the door shut. Pursing your trembling lips, you looked down and caressed Sakuya’s dark fur as a poor attempt of solace.

“It’s alright, now. You’re safe,” you whispered, trying to ignore the slight quiver within your voice. “He’ll be in a better mood tomorrow, and then we can go back inside. We just have to endure sleeping here for tonight.”

‘He’ll be in a better mood tomorrow’. Did that mean he’d locked you out before? Did that mean he’d slapped you before? Sakuya had only met you around a month ago, but it was enough to show him everything he needed to know regarding your daily life.

And with this new information, came another surge of fury strong enough to shapeshifted him into a human.

You could only gape at the sight of his dainty body burst to reveal a leaner, paler one underneath. His hair remained its raven sheen, but the cat ears were probably the sole thing to pinpoint his genuine form. Had the latter weren’t present, you would’ve thought this was his true appearance instead. His eyes were yellow with black slits, smoldering under the tranquil moonlight. He had a boyish face, but his aura suggested otherworldliness and ancient. You averted your gaze from traveling lower, noticing the lack of… fur to cover his private area.

“Are you… my cat?” Would it be foolish of you to ask that? No. That was just natural, wasn’t it? It wasn’t as though you knew what else to say after witnessing what would be a staggering transformation in your whole life.

“Duh,” he retorted. “I’m human. Can you see?”

Yes, you could recognize it perfectly; every detail, except his ears and irises, that just screamed a human throughout. And you didn’t know how to respond to his quip or react.

Then, you spotted it. A large tail, flicking behind him and left a trail of flame in the air. A cat’s tail. How you didn’t notice it before, especially with its substantial size, was beyond your perception.

“Maru, why are there fire on your tail?” you asked shakily.

“I wonder…” he drawled lazily, much to your chagrin. There was a spark of panic that ignited within you when the tail shot up and flared in the sky. “Oh, the name’s Sakuya, by the way.”

His name breezed past your ears at the same speed of his tail that swept your house. The fire kindled your dilated eyes and parched your throat from screaming or uttering anything. You listened to the frenzied screams of your husband and the constant tugging at the front door. The desperation wrenched your heart, but there was nothing you could do than standing and let the blaze engulfed the cabin you once called ‘home’.

You just realized how powerful Maru, no, Sakuya was. Even his grasp on your arms and flinty stare rendered you immobile throughout the arson.

Once the smoke cleared up and exposed the soot and chars littering the ground, you wilted against his grip. Sakuya instinctively kneeled to free your body from its invisible pressure and hugged you, whispering sweet nothings. You stared blankly at the debris despite his solace to break your composure, the shock hindered you from processing the situation properly. It wasn’t long before you broke down, however, and wailed on his shoulder.

“It’s alright, now. You’re safe.” Sakuya mimicked the words you’d spoken to comfort him earlier. It was excruciating to remember how fast the tables had turned, and how your lovely pet soon became your killer.

Sakuya buried his face on your shoulder and smiled, relishing the proximity now that the bastard was no longer exist to separate you both.

Because that was how it should be the moment he encountered you in that riverside; a diligent yet fatigued woman who kept washing the clothes despite the setting sun.

“… I’m here now, [Name], and I’ll always be.”

Sakuya: 昨夜

Araki: 荒木

Maru: まる

[wordsandwickedthings]

sinking ships part 2

AU: Baz is a mermaid, attending Watford illegally on the condition with his father that wouldn’t reveal his secret, but when a fight with Simon Snow ends with them falling into the moat (and Simon almost getting eaten by an alligator – they have those!) Baz is forced to risk it all when his worst enemy has the power to get him expelled.

warnings: swearing, baz expressing emotions

I have been gone for months! I'm sorry it took so long, life hit me like a truck these past few months.  

part 1

Baz stayed in the water for the rest of the night, laying in the sand in the bottom of the moat hidden from view of the surface. The alligator had clearly gotten the message he was not to be fucked with, so in the absence of the reptile the waters were calm and inviting to the raven-haired boy – the fish accepting him as one of their own.

He had forgotten how peaceful the water was, even in his hatred of his condition the water always made him feel safe like he belonged there. And after the events of the day before he needed something safe, or maybe to see if the nurse had a Prozac stashed somewhere. Judging by the look that was always etched in her face, she probably did.

The mermaid let out a heavy breath, watching as the sky shifted from a deep black to orange, the sun peeking out to reflect over the water. He had to get up, to go back and face whatever shit snow was going to come at him with.

Alastair Crowley, Simon Snow will be the death of him, he swears it.

When he resurfaces everything is calm, the castle still asleep when he uses a drying spell on himself. He felt the familiar tingle of his limbs reappearing; he flopped down on the grass, the fatigue of having a panic attack in a moat all night finally washing over him. He closed his eyes, adjusting his body against the comfy grass – he was just going to close his eyes for a moment, just one moment.

“why are you naked?”

Baz started, sitting up with his hands flying to his crotch to cover himself, “damnit Ebb!” he looked up at the goatherd who looked like she was about to burst out laughing.

She turns to one of her goats, “he’s laying out here naked and has the audacity to scream at me.”

Baz turned back to the castle, it still looked silent and peaceful against the early morning rays, “I was taking a nap.”

Ebb scrunched her nose, “there are better places to test out exhibition, kid.”

“Ebb, you wouldn’t happen to have any clothes, do you?” he asked, trying to ignore his embarrassment.

She watched him for a moment, “why would I have clothes out here? In case the goats got cold?”

He rolled his eyes, looking up at the woman who wasn’t much older than him, “can I borrow your coat then?”

She shrugged off her jacket, flinging at him. It was deep brown, with purple patches that seemed so quintessentially Ebb. He wrapped it around his torso, the opening of the coat revealing more of his upper thigh than he is comfortable with.

“thanks, Ebb.”

She crossed her arms, “tell Simon he should come downs to the fields sometime, he hasn’t been herding in a while.”

Baz sucked in a breath; the idea of seeing Snow didn’t sit easily in the back of his brain. He knew he had to see him inevitably, they were roommates after all – maybe he had forgotten what happened, he was knocked out cold after all.

--

He was lucky that Snow was gone when he got to the room, presumably already in class – the class Baz was already extremely late too. He took his time getting to the class, he had already missed the first quarter of the class but knew that Mr. Angelo waffled at the beginning of every class, about what Baz didn’t know – he had stopped listening four lessons into the class.

Simon’s eyes were on him from the moment he walked through the door, trying to catch Baz’s attention. He didn’t succeed though, Baz kept his eyes towards the back of the class where his best friend was sat. Neil had saved a seat for him in the back of the class – bless him.

“where have you been?” Neil was facing him now.

Baz smirked, “Miss my glorious face Neily?”

“yes, actually. Did you not hear what happened?”

The raven-haired boy frowned, “no? what disastrous creature attacked Watford this time?”

“A mermaid! Well, it didn’t attack per se but apparently, it pulled Snow out of the moat outside the school.” Neil smiled, leaning further into his seat, “can you believe it? A genuine mermaid hiding on campus.”

Baz froze, all the air from his lungs knocked out of him from one sentence. “wha – who told you that?” he tried to compose himself, hoping his guilt wasn’t written on his face.

“snow had to be carted into the emergency room yesterday, apparently golden boy fell into the moat and got attacked by an alligator. Everyone saw him, practically trampled Bunce trying to figure out what happened.”

Baz swallowed, look natural, you fucking idiot… he bit the inside of his cheek, what does being normal look like?

turning more towards his best friend, he said, “what did bunce say?”

Neil just shrugged, “just that there was a patch of dirt that was slippery, and Snow tripped. No one knew there was a fucking alligator in the moat, like, how could the staff not know.”

Baz was trying not to shake. “he just tripped?” Baz forced a laugh from the back of his throat, saying, “what a dumbass.”

the other boy shrugged, turning back to look at the teacher – who had finally started talking about the actual lesson – “if anyone’s a dumbass, it’s the mermaid.”

Baz tuned back to the chalkboard as well, saying as casual as he could, “why do think that?”

“isn’t it obvious? No mermaid is just wandering around in the woods, they are a student here!”

The raven-haired boy opened his mouth, not entirely sure what would come out, but he didn’t have to decide. “something you have to share with the class, Mr. Pitch?”

When Baz looked up Mr. Angelo was staring at him, as was the whole class.

Perfect.

Baz slumped further into his seat, muttering, “no, sir.” Willing away a blush that was spreading across his light brown cheeks.

The teacher tutted, going back to his lesson. Baz dropped his gaze once more, but not before making eye content with Snow.

The blush fought its way to his cheeks.

--

Baz tried to get away from that classroom as fast as he could, feeling Snow's presence behind him every step of the way. He knew this confrontation had to happen, he had just hoped he could delay that inevitability for just a little longer. He made a beeline for the nearest empty hallway, walking up the steps to get far enough away. Baz felt a hand grab at his shoulder.

Damn Simon Snow, Damn him to a hell full of angry geese.

Snow whipped Baz around, pinning him to the wall so he couldn’t move. Baz sucked in a breath, going to pinch his thigh to check if he was dreaming.

There were more footsteps though, and sure enough, when he turned his head, Penelope Bunce was standing away’s away from them but watching them like a hawk. Dream ruined.

Simon was staring at him though, his fingers digging into his jacket. “I thought you were a vampire,” he whispered.

Baz frowned, “yeah well, you’re kind of thick.”

The golden boy’s eyes traveled to under his chin, where gills had sprouted from the day before. Snow brought his finger up to poke the spot, Baz watching the gears turning behind his eyes. “I – uh – I didn’t say thank you, for pulling the crocodile off me.”

“it was an alligator.”

Simon rolled his eyes, “Does it matter?”

He shook his head, right now not much did. He turned to look at bunce, who still was watching them, “you know?”

She nodded, “it wasn’t hard to figure out. Two fell in, only one came out.”

He swallowed, “and you didn’t tell anyone?”

Bunce shook her head, crossing her arms, “magical creatures aren’t allowed at Watford – you’d be expelled.” She paused, “possibly jailed.”

“why didn’t you tell the mage?”

Bunce scoffed, “I was doing you a favor.”

The taller boy gapped, “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“do you want me to go to the mage? What does that accomplish.” Bunce threw her hands up, looking done with the whole situation.

Baz stuck his jaw out, “hasn’t that been your guy's goal the whole time? Getting me expelled.” Bunce opened her mouth, a pained look spreading across her face, and Baz could feel Snow tensing. Baz swallowed, “why didn’t you just do it then?” he looked between the two, “you have what you wanted, you know what I am. Go! Run to the mage!”

Snow’s fingers loosened on his jacket, “Penny, could you leave?”

She just gapped at that, “what? No! I want to know what the hell is up with him.”

The golden boy just shrugged, “just go to our room, I’ll be there in a bit.”

She looked like she wanted to protest - Baz had always gotten the feeling the young mage never took orders well, she was too strong-willed – she left though, as unhappy about it as she was.

When she was gone the two boys just stared off into the empty hallway, silence filling the space where frustration was.

“thank you,” Snow said when the silence felt like suffocation, “for not letting me die.”

Baz just shrugged, “I think everyone would be pretty pissed if I let the chosen one die.”

Snow just slumped his shoulder, trying not to let the corner of his mouth tug into a smile. He shifted so he was leaning against the wall next to Baz, “I have questions, obviously. I think – uh – I think you owe me that.”

The other mage locked his jaw, “I don’t owe you shit, miracle boy.”

Snow groaned, “fine, consider it an act of charity then.” When Baz didn’t reply he said, “I could still go to the mage, you know.”

The raven-hair boy thought about groaning himself. “yeah, I know. What are your fucking questions?”

Snow didn’t say anything for a while, clearly not thinking of the questions ahead of time. “was your mom a mermaid? Or your dad?”

Baz sucked in a breath, of course, it had to be this question. He thought about lying, he lied so much he considered himself an expert at it. That thought felt wrong to him though, he’s been lying for so long – about everything – that the idea of someone knowing the truth was too tempting to pass up.

Simon fucking Snow will be the death of him.

“I don’t think my father is my biological father.”

When he turned to look at the boy next to him, he had a dumbstruck look on his face, Baz didn’t like the feeling in the pit of his stomach that was begging him to kiss the stupid look off his lips.

“oh.” Was all Snow had to say, clearly not knowing how to approach the situation.

“yeah.”

“do you know who is?”

Baz shook his head, “no, I don’t even have any real proof I’m not my father’s biological child. I can’t exactly ask my mom about it.”

Snow nodded his head, pushing some curls out of his eyes, “she died in a car crash, right.” It wasn’t a question, everyone knew the tragedy of Natasha Grimm-Pitch and the devastated Pitch family.

“she uh,” Baz was realizing at this moment he wasn’t good at telling the truth, it demanded too much feeling from him, “she was looking for a cure – to make me only a mage.”

Snow watched Baz slide down the wall, so he was sitting on the floor, knees curled into his chest. The chosen one followed suit, his legs stretched out, crossed at his ankles. A morbid look was on Baz’s face, something raging behind his eyes.

“Baz,” the mermaid looked at the other boy, resting his head against the wall, “tell me what happened.”

He had never told anyone his secrets, he kept it buried in his chest where it belonged. He couldn’t stop himself from asking though, “where do I begin?”

“the beginning,” Snow looked around the empty hallway, “we have time.”