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morganski-19 · 4 months

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I Don't Know Which Way's Home

Chapter 6: The Inspection

ao3 link, Part 1, Part 5

tw: descriptions of a minor panic attack

February 1984

Julie watched in horror as her journal was ripped in half by Matthew Anderson. The person who has been torturing her all year, but never stooped to this level. She could deal with the name calling, the pulling on her ponytails and braids, the balls of paper that would be thrown at her in the halls. That was just him being an idiot and picking on the poor kid.

This, this hit differently.

Her journals were her life. Stories written down that were fabricated from her mind or truth she was never able to fully speak. Worlds crafted and characters created. Places she’s always wanted to visit or things she’s always wanted to do. These journals made her days less lonely. Made her life feel fuller.

And now there it lays on the ground ripped into pieces, while Mathew and his friends laugh at her tears. Solemnly, Julie picks up the pieces of her book and runs away, scared that staying there for even a second more would bring on more taunting.

She runs to the back of the school and hides below a staircase, crying over her lost words. Stories jumbles together, pages ripped apart. Everything she’s worked so hard on teared apart in minutes.

“Hey, are you ok?” a boy with a black bowl cut wearing a sweater asks her.

Julie just looks back at the mess in her hands, overwhelmed by it all over again. “They ripped it apart,” she whispers. “Just took it from me an destroyed it.”

“Bullies, they’re just a bunch of mouth breathers,” the boy sits next to her. “It doesn’t look too bad, you could probably tape it back together.”

“Maybe, doesn’t make it the same, though.”

Julie’s mom told her that this journal was sent by her dad. Part of her knew it was a lie, but the innocent part of her really wanted to believe that it was true. This journal was special, it was her yearly gift from her dad. She would write stories in it about happy families, hoping that this magical journal would make her dad show up. That way her mom could be happy again, she could be happy too.

“What was it?” the boy asks.

Julie lines up the pieces of paper into a small, organized stack. “Stories. I like to write sometimes.”

“That cool. My friend likes to draw stories. He says that the best thing about them is how you can create them with your own mind, that way no one can ever really take them from you.”

“I never thought about it that way.” She looks at the piles of stories again and imagines them differently. Instead of ruined castles and homes, she sees rebuilding after a long battle. She sees hope. “Thank you.”

The boy shrugs. “I’m Mike, by the way.”

“Julie.”

. . .

Present Day

Steve hangs up the phone with the owner of Family Video, smiling to himself and can’t help himself from doing a small fist pump. He got the job. Which isn’t a lot, considering he can’t see himself doing it for the rest of his life, but it’s one step closer to passing this inspection.

The inspection has been looming over his head for the past week. After the meeting with the social worker, Steve has been working double to make sure the house was presentable, even if it wasn’t supposed to happen quite yet. Going through each drawer, making sure everything is in its place. Making a small box of all of his upside down related items to find a nice hiding place outside of his house so that they won’t be found.

It was a lot, but it was worth it. There would finally be somebody else living in this house, someone who was family. Another person filling the mass of rooms that stayed empty for his entire life. And by someone who would stay.

Or at least, stay for longer than a week.

This whole placement thing was still weighing over his head. If he was honest with himself, he wanted to one day get permanent custody of Julie, but that wouldn’t be for the best. With all that she’s been through, she deserved someone more stable than him. But he could provide her with a safe place to live where she actually liked, so that was enough.

And maybe when the time came to find a permanent placement, he would be stable enough to get it. If that ever would be a possibility.

But that would involve a better job than retail, his own place and not his parents. No more nightmares and a better explanation for his many scars. A less marked medical history and probably one less NDA than he has signed.

As much as Steve hoped, it didn’t seem feasible. It didn’t seem in reach. The family he’s found would leave again, and he couldn’t stop it. But he wanted to.

Eddie and Robin let themselves in through the front door, promising to help Steve get the house actually ready for the inspection. Since it’s in shambles from his weeklong obsessive searching for every possible thing that could be wrong. There were papers everywhere and things out of place. It needed to be put back together. And Eddie offered to hide out the upside down stuff at his new house, so that was helpful.

“Jesus, dingus,” Robin looks disgusted as she scans the mess, “the hell did you do?”

Eddie does a soft whistle, making his own observations. “Blew up in the living room?”

Steve sighs. “I know it’s bad. Just help, please.”

“Why we’re here.” Robin starts making small piles, organizing the mess.

Eddie grabs a few of the larger items, and brings them to the kitchen, placing them all on the table to be distributed later. Room by room they go through and put everything back to where it was, making sure nothing is out of place. Eventually it ends with Steve and Eddie in his room, gathering up some discarded clothing to be taken to the laundry room.

Steve is mentally checking off a list in his head, adding new things one after another of what he has to do. Clean the kitchen, clean the bathrooms, make sure the guest room beds are made and presentable, make sure there are no visible dangers in the house, check the railings for lose poles. Things he doesn’t even need to do but can’t help but think are necessary.

If this doesn’t go perfectly than what else is he supposed to do. Julie will be stuck in a terrible household until her social worker caves and moves her to another town. He’ll lose the only biological family that’s ever cared about him. All of this will have been for nothing. Julie will be let down and devastated, he’ll be devastated. It’ll all go terribly, and she’ll never talk to him again.

He'll be left alone in this house again. For God knows how long. He can’t move, can’t leave it behind for some reason. It just sits vacant with only him in it. And soon enough the kids will all go away to college, leaving him behind too. Robin will save enough money to go eventually too. Eddie will finally do what he always says and get the hell out of town. Leaving Steve in an empty house with no one around that loves him anymore.

A broken, empty house that has a million things wrong with it. So many things that this will never happen. They’ll see right through to the scared kid he still is but tries to hide. They’ll see the ghost that lives in his backyard. The pain and fear inside of him will come pouring out in the worst way possible. He’ll be deemed as unfit and this will all be for nothing. It’s always for nothing.

“Steve,” Eddie’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “Breathe. In, and out.”

Steve does what he said. Breathing deeply through his nose, not noticing how tight his chest had become. Breathing out through his mouth, hearing how shaky it is. He repeats it again and tries to stop the train on indefinite tracks in his mind, seemingly breaking off from itself and going in a million different ways. Each new branch clouding his thoughts and increasing the panic more.

“That’s good, now again.” Eddie breathes with him, making him hold his breath just slightly to help calm down his heartrate. He guides Steve to sit down on his bed, sitting next to him and taking his hand. Counting him through his breathes until the tightness alleviates, and he can breathe normally again.

“Thank you,” Steve breathes out, slouching a bit.

Eddie rubs his thumb across the back of Steve’s hand, squeezing it just slightly. Warmth radiating through the touch, making Steve want to lean in closer and absorb it.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly.

Steve takes another deep breath through his nose. “What if this doesn’t work? What if I’m doing all of this for nothing?”

“You’re not,” he says pointedly. “Even if this doesn’t work out, it shows that you tried. That you care about her. Trust me, that means so much more than you realize. For both her and for the social worker. The courts might think differently if you want to take this further, but for temporary, you’re good. Ok?”

He meets Eddie’s eyes, immediately feeling the pull in them. “Ok,” he says, feeling himself start to get lost.

It takes a lot for Steve to let himself go around people, to put down his guard. But here in this moment, he would give it every single time just to get Eddie to look at him like this again. Just pure care in his eyes, gazing over Steve’s face to make sure everything’s ok. Wanting nothing more to this moment then to make sure he’s ok.

“What if everyone leaves me?” Steve whispers his fears so silently he hopes Eddie doesn’t hear. “Robin and the kids will head off to school. Julie will eventually too. And you’re never going to stay in this town. I’ll be all alone again.”

Eddie’s eyes meet Steve’s again and he lets out all the breath in his lungs. Just taken away by the simple beauty of Eddie’s face. He reaches up gently slides his hand across Steve’s neck, just barely cupping his chin. Steve leans into the touch, letting the warmth of Eddie’s hand ground him.

“I’m not leaving, not without you. Neither is Robin, and the kids will always come back. All of them will.”

Steve grabs Eddie’s wrist and holds his hand in place, letting himself sit in this moment. How he ever let himself say no to having this sooner, he doesn’t know. Because in this moment, there’s nothing more he wants then to lean in and capture Eddie’s lips with his. Take back everything he’s said and just dive in headfirst.

When Eddie’s eyes flick down to his lips just slightly, it makes it a million times harder for Steve to want to pull away. But he has to. This is the wrong time, there are things to do, he almost just went into a panic attack. Everything wants to stop him, but he can’t seem to listen to it. Slowly, he starts to lean in.

“Yo, dingus one and dingus 2, I can’t clean a house by myself,” Robin yells from behind the door, breaking the moment.

Steve pulls back, clearing his throat. “We’re coming, calm down.”

Before he can pull his hand away from Eddie’s, a small kiss is placed to the back of it. Warmth enveloping his hand before the coldness washes it all away when they let go. Soon, Steve promises. Soon he’ll be ready for this.

. . .

Julie is waiting in line at lunch when Dustin walks up to her. She rolls her eyes, ready to walk away before he can get in another line of questioning.

“Hi,” he states cheerily, with a stupid smile.

“Hi,” she responds crossly, hoping that it will show him that she’s not in the mood.

Dustin seems unaffected, continuing to follow her through the lunch line. “So, about a few days ago-.”

“It’s fine,” she cuts him off. “You were just curious about your friend. It’s fine.” Julie picks the last of her food and heads over to her usual table.

“I wanted to apologize,” Dustin follows. “I acted like a jerk, and I wanted to say that I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

She sets her tray down on the table and looks at him. A sheepish expression paints his face, and an awkward stance almost as if he wants her to ask him to sit.

“I forgive you,” she says, taking a seat.

“Good,” he says, still standing there.

After their last meeting, he can’t think that she would have invited him to sit with her almost immediately after the apology. It took him a few days just to give it to her anyway, it’s not like she’s that hard to find. But then he was close to Steve, so she should at least try to get to know him. If everything is going to work out the way that they hope, Julie will be seeing a lot of him, and the other kids that he looks after.

“Is there anything else?”

“It’s just,” Dustin sits, without an invitation. “I can’t wrap my head around the idea of Steve having a sister.”

Julie stabs at her food. “Well, it’s true. Living proof right here.”

“No, yeah. I get that. I’ve just always known Steve to be an only child, like me. And now he’s not.”

“If it makes you feel better, he still kind of is. Our dad would rather pretend like I don’t exist.”

“So, you share a dad then?”

Julie stares across the table, “Really? You just apologized for the uncomfortable questions.”

Dustin squints his eyes again, before smiling. “I like you. Let’s start over. Dustin Henderson,” he extends his hand across the table. “Pseudo brother of Steve Harrington.”

“Julie Lawson,” she takes his hand warily and shakes it. “Half-sister of Steve Harrington.”

“That is still so weird,” he says, starting to eat his food.

. . .

“Harrington residence,” Steve mutters through the phone, filing through the mail as he does.

“Can you explain to me why your mother got a phone call last week about a job application of yours?” Richard Harrington speaks through the phone.

Steve’s body straightens on instinct with the voice, trained to present himself the best as possible. His mind races back to the resume he gave Keith, a revised one that he had applied with originally. But he forgot to take his mom off of the reference list when he added Hopper and Joyce. Her name was still there front and center.

“I had applied to be a manager at the video store I’m working at now. One is leaving and I thought I could take their spot.”

His father sighs through the phone. “Wishful thinking, Steven. You won’t just get jobs because you think you can take them. You must work hard for them.”

Steve’s mouth dries. “Well, I got the job. So, I must have worked hard enough for it.”

“Like you would know the meaning of hard work,” Richard chastises without missing a beat. “You didn’t even have to have a college degree to get this job. Those careers are never real hard work.”

Thoughts race in his mind but never reach the front for him to actually say them. His father doesn’t know how hard Steve’s works. Doesn’t know how much pain he’s been through. The thought hasn’t even crossed his mind that there are other things important in life other than work. Other than money.

But his dad will never understand. Never understand how much he’s truly failed in life. How much he’s failed Steve. So, Steve’s stays silent, like he always does.

“I thought you wanted me to understand the meaning behind hard work. That is what I am doing?”

“But for how long, Steven. How long are you going to go around and play the charade as if you are not a Harrington. You have a responsibility to me. To the family. Some day you are going to have to wake up and start your life, and we are not going to wait around forever for you to decide when that day is coming.”

Like you were ever here in the first place, Steve wants to say, but the words get stuck in his throat.

“Every time I think you have started to grow up you prove me wrong. You are still a child, Steven, and an immature one at that. Stop pretending that what you do doesn’t mean anything. Apply to schools again and get in this time. Get a real job, one that looks good on the family. We have a legacy that needs protecting, and you’re ruining it.”

Richard hangs up the phone before Steve can get a single word in.

He stands there for a few minutes, the buzzing from the phone line filling his ear. Stuck in the hopeless, fearful stance that happens after every phone call, every conversation. Every thought of his father that he has ever had.

Eventually, he hangs up the line. Eventually, he places his forehead against the wall and closes his eyes, letting them fill with tears. Letting them roll down his cheeks.

It took years for Steve to understand what he was meant to do and what he wanted to do. And even longer to understand that his father will never love him unless he did what he was meant to do. But every time he tried, he failed. Every time he did what he was told, what was planned, it never worked. It was never enough.

When the schools rejected him, he got a part time job. When Nancy and him ended, he went on the scheduled dates. When the world fucking ended and they weren’t here to witness it, he recovered in seclusion so nobody else would know. For his father. Always for his father and his fucking reputation. But it was never enough.

“You were never here,” Steve whispers to the wall. “You are never here.”

He stands straight again, taking a step back. Staring straight at the phone that his father spoke through however long ago.

“You don’t even know me.”

How can a parent know a child they didn’t even raise? How is a child supposed to live knowing their parents don’t love them? Questions with answers Steve’s been forced to answer. Questions that should have never even be asked.

Steve turns around to face the only family picture in the entire house. A professional taken when Steve was a child. His young face, innocent to what is to come, sits on his mother’s lap. All while his father looms in the background, standing behind them both, a hand on his mother’s shoulder.

“You know nothing about me,” Steve yells. “You have never stayed long enough to try. Not even once.”

Tears are streaming down his face, clouding his vision. His breath picks up, stuttering with sobs.

“I’m not ruining anything. You are the one ruining it. I have seen more than you can possibly imagine, and you call me immature. At least I wouldn’t cheat on my wife. At least I wouldn’t have another fucking kid and hide it from the world. Because I own up to my mistakes, I change. Despite you.”

Despite. Steve has become the person he is without his father’s influence. His proudest accomplishment. He has become the exact opposite of the man who he was supposed to be a clone of.

“Despite you,” he continues. “I found people who care about me. I’ve fought monsters, I’ve saved lives. Can you say the same? I’ve learned from my mistakes, I’ve changed. I’ve grown into a person that I actually like instead of hate. Because I hated myself when I was trying to act like you. And if you were actually here to see it, you would hate who’ve I’ve become. Because despite of you, I’ve become a better person that you could have ever hoped for me to be.”

Something heals itself inside of Steve. Something retreats. The little boy who he once was smiles at him, knowing that what he says is true.

Richard Harrington may have never stayed long enough to know his son. But that meant that his son never got to know anything about his father other than fear and disappointment. And through that disappointment, he grew. And there’s no turning back.

. . .

When Julie walks through the front door of Steve’s house, the lights are dark. It shouldn’t be surprising, she’s been there when he’s at work, but there’s mail on the hallway floor. She picks it up, stacking it gently on the hall table and continues through.

“Steve,” she calls out, walking into the living room. He’s sitting there in the dark, his elbows resting on his knees, face buried in his hands. “Shit, sorry. Do you have a migraine, I can leave.”

“No,” he says, lowering his hands, sitting up. “You’re fine.”

Something’s off. Steve’s hair is disheveled and there is slight redness around his eyes. A part of her wants to leave, let him be alone. He clearly was having some sort of moment. But when she thinks of this empty house, how empty it feels, she can’t leave him to it alone.

“Are you ok?” she asks quietly.

Steve scoffs, looking the other direction and shaking his head. “I’ve been better.”

She racks her brain of ways that her mom used to comfort her. The many things that failed, and how even when she tried her hardest, the sadness was still there. Talking about it always helped, though. Just to get the pain out of your system and have another person listen to it. For someone else to know your pain, for someone else to listen that it’s there.

It was never a lot, but it was something.

Julie walks over to the couch and sits on the cushion next to him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Steve takes a moment before he finally says, “I know you probably got a lot of shit for not knowing your dad, and I know you probably wished you did on some level. But God am I jealous of you for never meeting him.”

“Is he really that bad?”

Steve leans back on the couch and crosses his arms, looking at the ceiling. “Yeah. But it’s more of the fact that I’ve never seen him long enough to know if he was any good.”

There was another thing that sometimes helped when she was feeling down. Similarities. People who could relate to her situation. Show that she wasn’t alone in the way she felt.

And while she couldn’t say that she knows exactly how Steve feels, but she can relate in her own way.

“When I was little,” she starts, “like really young, I would always ask when my dad would come home. When he would finally meet me. For a while, my mom would lie and tell me that my dad was in the army oversees, and that’s why he wasn’t around. And on Christmas, there would always be a gift that was from him. That was the most special present every year, because I could bring it in and prove to the other kids, to prove to myself, that I had a dad that loved me.”

She pauses, thinking back to the gifts that little her would line on her dresser. One for each year, each more special than the last. She would sit and stare at them, praying for a day where her dad would give them to her himself. Once she got older, the spell was broken. The lies were unraveled, and her world was shattered.

“Of course, I didn’t know they were really from my mom at the time. When I found out, I took everything that I thought was from him and put it in a box and went straight out to the dumpster. I wanted to throw them out, cry over the child that believed so hard for something that was never there. But I didn’t. After the lies faded, they were still gifts from one of my parents, it just happened to be my mom.”

The box still sat in her room for years later. Gifts that she couldn’t bear to give away, because it just proved how much her mom loved her. She pretended every year that Julie’s father was still around, just to give her daughter a sense of normalcy. Julie never appreciated it at the time, not until it was too late.

“I guess I’m trying to say that there’s sometimes a little good that comes from the bad. My dad was never around, and after a while, I didn’t want him to be. But my mom was. And those presents made me appreciate her more that she was.”

When she looks over at Steve, he’s looking back at her with a thoughtful look on his face. “She sounded great.”

She looks away from Steve for fear of crying. “She was.”

“I’m sorry you lost her, I don’t think I ever said that.”

Julie has become so used to people saying sorry that the words don’t even affect her that much anymore. Not like they did a month ago. Everyone is sorry, but there’s nothing anyone can to do fix it.

“What’s your good?” she looks back at him.

Steve sighs, taking a moment to think. “Younger me would always wonder why he was never around, why he was never the one who raised me. But looking back, I’m sort of glad he didn’t. That way I turned out to be a better person than he was. He couldn’t raise me to be just like him. Even if he still tries.”

“Is that why all the lights are off, because he’s trying to?”

“Yeah, got a phone call from him today. Told me I was a disappointment because I got the manager job at Family Video.”

Julie sits up. “Oh my god. You got it. That’s great.”

“Not for him and his stupid legacy,” Steve grumbles, repeating what she can assume are his father’s own words.

“Forget him,” She insists. “This isn’t about him, it’s about you. You wanted the job, right?”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah. I did.”

“Then be proud of it. You got what you wanted. Not because of him, because of you. You did that. Own it.”

He smiles. “I guess I did do that.”

“Not guess, did.”

“Whatever,” he laughs, the mood in the room shifting. “Thank you.”

She shrugs, “What are no longer estranged siblings for?”

He snorts. “Cheering each other up about their same shitty dad, apparently.”

“Yeah, apparently.”

. . .

“Well, I think I’ve seen all of the house that I need to,” Sarah concludes, crossing something off on the clipboard she’s carrying. “There is just one more interview that we need to do.”

A slight weight lifts off Steve’s chest, just a slight one. The house inspection has been one of the most nerve-racking things in his life. Someone going through every room in his house and asking questions about the most random things. Looking at his life in one of the most personal ways possible.

“Ok,” Steve responds. “We can head to the kitchen if you’d like.”

Sarah nods and follows him to the kitchen, getting herself ready at the table.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Steve offers. She politely declines.

He sits across from her as she pulls out a file. Glancing quickly at the name and seeing his own across the tab. Papers filled with information about him. He doesn’t know how much she can get before he turned eighteen, but there was plenty past then that he hopes she has no access to.

The NDAs he’s had to sign especially. He might be legally required not to talk about them, but the fact that he has them at all could be concerning. But those records would be sealed, right?

“So, Steve, you live in this house alone?”

“For the most part. My parents also live here but haven’t been back in at least a year and a half.”

He remembers that because they showed up for his graduation. Most kids went out to dinner to celebrate the day. Steve had to sit through a lecture on how he was going to fix the fact that he didn’t get into any colleges.

She nods and glances over the papers in front of her again. Each second without a question making his pulse speed up.

“That’s a long time to be away from the house. Do you take care of all the needs while they are away?”

Steve nods. “Yes. I have been given the rights to upkeep the house. So, paying all of the bills on time, making necessary purchases, making sure everything is up to date and replacing anything that isn’t.”

“And how long have you been doing that?”

He has the strong urge to lie but thinks that could be dangerous. But what is worse, saying that he’s only been doing it for two years, or since he was sixteen.

“I started to take over some of these responsibilities when I was sixteen. But that was mostly the financial stuff. Other normal chores I’ve been doing for longer.”

Sarah makes an almost startled look before writing something down in her notes, flipping to the next page before continuing her questions. Asking how long his parents would normally be away. If there was any change they would come home in the near future. How frequent these trips were and when did they start.

“What I am getting here is you know the financials and other necessities of keeping a good house very well, Steve,” she says with a hint of concern. “Even before you became a legal adult.”

If she only knows the things he’s done, the things he’s seen before becoming a legal adult. “Yes, that’s true.”

“Alright, let’s move on to the rest of the basic questions.”

She asks him if there are any weapons in the house. Basic safety questions to ensure that the house is fit. Then moves on to asking about him. When he graduated high school, where he works. What he likes to do in his free time. What his strengths and weaknesses are. General interview questions to get a better assessment of his personal life.

“You’re doing fine, Steve. You can calm down,” she jokes, marking one last thing before moving on to the last question.

He laughs. “Was it that obvious?”

She nods. “It always is. I just have a few more questions for you and I will leave you be.”

“Alright,” he rubs his palms gently against his jeans.

“Why do you think you would be the right placement for Julie?” She asks it with a smile, trying to make him feel safe but her words only making him panic.

He takes a moment to settle himself, try to think of what to say without it being jumbled. All the reasons seem obvious but not enough. To get her out of a house she hates. To give her a home where she feels safe. Be able to help get her through the rest of her schooling and help her go to the college she wants. Support her through the rest of her life, even if it isn’t permanent.

To finally be able to have the family he’s always wanted.

“I want her to be able to have a home that she feels safe coming home to. For her to have somewhere that feels like a home, that feels like a family. When we first met, I didn’t know what was going to come of it. But I knew I wanted to help her.”

He takes a deep breath, trying to figure out the best way to put it.

“My father is a difficult man. He’s done a lot of things in his life that I don’t approve of, or would repeat. And I couldn’t help but think that I had to help her. She was a victim of his mistakes, something I knew how to manage. So, I got to know her. I reached out and waited for her to make the decision if she wanted to get to know me. And she did.”

Steve thinks back to the first few moments of meeting her. The sorrow for him in her eyes that came with the information she’d given him. Not even realizing that she’d given him the one thing he’s begged for since he was little. A sibling. He’d be stupid not to try to get to know her.

“I know I’m not what you normally see when it comes to potential guardians. And I know that there are people that are going to tell you that this is a bad idea. You might even think it yourself, without them telling you. But I care about Julie, and I want to make sure she’s in a house that can provide for her. That loves her. And if I’m not the best fit for it, if there’s someone better, I’m not going to stop it. But she seems to really like it here, she comes over almost every day. And it might just be because she doesn’t like that other house, but I can’t help but think that she likes it here. That she feels comfortable with me.”

Sarah places down her pen and looks at him, fully paying attention to what he is saying. It only makes him feel like he’s saying the right thing.

“All I want is to make sure she’s taken care of. That she’s getting what she needs to survive through this change. I want to be there for her while she grieves her mom. Even though she tries to hide how bad it is. I want to make sure that she can go to the college she wants to. I want to make sure that she’s happy. And even if you tell me this isn’t possibly, that I’m not the right fit for her. I’m still going to be there for her, because I want to be her family. Whatever that means for us.”

All Sarah does is smile and close the file in front of her. “I think that answered the rest of the questions I had for you. You did very well.”

“Thank you,” he sighs in relief. “When will I figure out your decision.”

“Well, I have one last interview to do with Julie, but soon. We’re moving quicker than normal as the state of that house she’s currently placed in is not meeting my standard. They won’t be fostering for us anymore after this,” she adds as if she isn’t supposed to tell him. “You should be hearing from me within the next week or so.”

Only a few more days until he figures out if this was all for nothing.

“Thank you, for even considering this,” he says while walking her out.

“It is always a priority for me to look at family members, especially those who care as much as you do.” She holds out her hand and he shakes it. “It was a pleasure meeting with you again, Steve.”

With that, she walks out the door and the inspection ends. Leaving him with what feels like misplaced hope starting to flutter in his chest. He might have actually pulled this off. Just might.

Tag list(let me know if you want to be added or removed): @homoerotictangerine, @mugloversonly, @thesuninyaface, @imyelenasexual, @anaibis, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @brainsteddielyrotted, @jackiemonroe5512, @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @cinnamon-mushroomabomination, @lolawonsstuff, @writingandmushroomdragons, @stevesbipanic, @sierra-violet, @steddie-as-they-go, @dauntlessdiva, @mousedetective, @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner, @zombiethingy, @connected-dots-st-reblogger, @that-agender-from-pluto, @allyricas, @cheddartreets, @devondespresso, @crypticcorvidinacottage, @queenie-ofthe-void @chronicpainstevetruther, @cheddartreets, @theupsidedownrealestateagent, @acidbubblegummie, @sirsnacksalot, @l0st-strawberry, @helpimstuckposting, @strawberry-starss, @freddykicksasses, @italianwhore1, @i-threw-my-name-out-the-window, @rageagainsttheapathy, @nuggies4life, @ape31, @whimsicalwitchm, @chrissycunninghamfanblog, @michellegilligan, @hippielittlemetalhead, @bridget-malfoy-stilinski-hale, @jaytriesstuff, @confused-stripes, @faeb1tch42069, @marklee-blackmore, @hel-spawn, @genderless-spoon, @mamafaithful, @estrellami-1, @starryeyedpoet17 @i-amthepizzaman, @lilpomelito @melonmochi

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #julie lawson #dustin henderson #lost sibling fic #secret sibling #steve has a sibling #steve has a sister #tw minor panic attack #cw minor panic attack #stranger things fanfic #fanfic

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lu-fic-recommendation-of-the-day · 6 months

Text

Fic Recommendation of the Day!

By DreadSpark

Summary:

After Wild recklessly rushes into a fight and takes a major injury, the others are left wondering just what in Hylia's name this kid is thinking. Time is left wishing for some sort of divine insight... ...but if this is Hylia's idea of a joke, then none of the Chain are laughing. Alt: The Chain get to sit down and experience Wild's Captured Memories from Breath of the Wild. It goes about as well as can be expected. Current plan is just to follow the BotW Captured Memories for now, but may expand into original content if I can come up with anything.

Tags:

Flora/Wild, Link/Zelda

Angst

Past Violence

Wild Angst

Major Character Death is past Wild

Panic Attacks

Word Count: 23,797

Finished: No

#fic recommendation #lu wild #lu twilight #lu hyrule #lu legend #lu sky #lu time #lu warriors #lu wind #lu four #lu flora #wild angst #tw minor character death #tw panic attack

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ms-nesbit · 1 year

Text

Sugar and Spice

a jason todd x reader fanfic

Rating: 18+ (minors dni)

word count: 5.4k

warnings/notes: mention of trauma and abuse, Jason Todd isn't Red Hood, explicit content, smut, panic attack

summary: jason is a baker with cake, and y/n a horticulturist with a chance to sow her wild oats.

AO3

“And would you like that for here or to go?”

The streets of Gotham buzzed with citizens despite the imminent crime, visitors entering and leaving famous Zia’s, a bakery home to Gotham’s finest breads and pastry sweets. Inside the confined space displayed an array of baked goods, its floor littered with customers clutching their tong and red plastic tray.

In a rouge apron dusted with crumbs and splotches of icing and egg, Jason tended to the confectionery inventory, carrying a large metal pan holding marranitos (Mexican cookies baked in the shape of a pig) on one hand, and a smaller metal pan containing sourdough bread on his other. The dark, robust waft of molasses and ginger filled the air, catching the attention of some of Zia’s more loyal patrons.

“That fresh?!” one blurted.

Jason vaguely smiled behind him before attending to replacing the pan on its designated shelf. “Always.”

As much as Zia’s advertised its pastries, certain Gothamites - single ones with more time than they should have been allotted - spread merry news of eye candy in the shop, drawing more attention than Zia’s owner, Aurelio, expected.

One, a man named Ed, passed a whisper to y/n, who worked nearby at the Gotham Nursery as a horticulturist: “You know, y/n, if you’re ever looking for a snack for your sweet tooth, you could just stop by.”

His expression faltered, as if he was holding something back, but y/n disregarded it as she loaded his plants onto the trunk of his 4x4, and sent him on his way with a brief, “I’ll be sure. As always, thank you for coming, Eddie.”

She hadn’t given the recommendation much thought until on her lunch, when she stopped by Zia’s and stepped into the bumbling bluster of business. Then, as Jason emerged from the kitchen of the bakery with hands full of crumbly tricolor polvorones and loaves of rye bread, his bottom lip tucked in between his teeth in concentration and tee shirt sleeves rising up just enough for all to see his toned biceps, y/n understood Ed’s undertones.

“Excuse me.” a voice from behind snapped y/n’s attention, causing her to turn around to a stern, tight-lipped woman blinking at her. “Would you mind moving over so I could go in there?” she pointed to the shelves y/n blocked, her question seeming more of a kind demand rather than an inquiry.

Nodding feverishly as she stepped aside, y/n bumped into a sturdy tall figure, a string of apologies leaving her lips before her eyes met a pair of hazel, a mix of greens and grays swimming in his irises.

“I’m-I’m so, so, sorry.” y/n was captivated, distracted by the baker’s face shape as he stared down at her with an understanding grin.

“It’s okay, it happens all the time.” the man swiped loose sugar granules from his apron, prompting y/n to take her gaze away from his face and onto the mess of cinnamon sugar on the floor.

“Oh, jeez, do you need me to—”

The man waved a hand in y/n’s direction to calm her down. “Again, it happens a lot. Are you new here?” He used his free arm to catch Aurelio’s attention, who passed him a broom and dustpan to begin cleaning the faint piles of sugar.

Y/n shook her head. “Yeah, I’m not used to this kind of foot traffic.” She squatted on the ground and helped collect particles off the ground with her hands.

Brushing her pile into the maroon dustpan, he glanced at her work uniform. “I didn’t know that Gotham had a botanical garden.” He looked at y/n, his thick, pearl strands of hair falling from his hair net. Y/n felt the stare, and had to bow her head to hide the passing blush tickling her skin.

“You should stop by sometime.” Y/n shrugged when she and the man stood on their feet, disregarding the crowd staggering impatiently around them. “I could analyze your soil’s pH, or even recommend some plants depending on your living situation.”

Y/n watched the man’s adam’s apple bob before he spoke. “And what about a five-hundred square feet flat?”

“There are ways to accommodate the situation if you’re willing. It just takes the right pair of hands and mindset.” y/n gave the man a smile, to which he reciprocated, his soft skin forming ripples from it.

She swallowed the warmth she felt in her stomach, an unfamiliar sensation she whisked away as she followed the man to the checkout counter. His back turned to her, y/n was able to take in his other features: his broad shoulders, appearing almost heavy on his torso, and the merlot tee shirt lazily tucked under the waistband of his washed jeans, which were partially ripped along parts of his left knee and right ankle. Y/n blinked away her urge to follow the natural curvature of his legs up to his ass, though she would admit that her id was pleased with the crumbs of image it viewed.

“Do you think you could show me what I could do? Doc has told me that I need to, uh, spruce up my space.” The man rested his hands on the counter, marginally leaning over it to inch closer to y/n in flirtation.

Y/n couldn’t meet his hazel eyes, unwilling to be enchanted by whatever undertones he was trying to communicate; though, to her dismay, he did attract her, even with the hair net clumping his seemingly soft hair in place, and the poorly executed pun. So she obliged, just a bit. “I work today till six, if you’re able.” one of her shoulders bounced, as if she felt apathetic about his advances.

But he, unbeknownst to y/n, was stubborn. “I can manage.” he wrinkled his nose playfully at her, eyes flickering between her blank stare and her suppressed grin. “My name is Jason, by the way.”

Jason. Like the killer. “Nice to meet you. Here’s the address.” y/n slid a business card across the counter in Jason’s direction, back beginning to turn. “I’ll see you there.”

“Wait, I didn’t catch your name.” Jason called out across the store to her, unbothered by the several customers stopping to look for y/n.

With a hand to the door handle, pushing the heavy door open, y/n looked over her shoulder, said flatly, “I guess you’ll have to find out.” and left with a few strides, disappeared from Jason’s sight.

“I’m gonna find out alright.” Jason murmured, a corner of his lips turning into a grin.

—

The Gotham Nursery began winding down in visitors, employees cloaking its temperature-sensitive annuals with thick tarp as they prepared for the chilly night ahead. Y/n checked her watch, then the nursery’s entrance, a habit she built as the day passed. Was I too passive? She thought as she hauled mulch across the store lot. Did he forget about me? She mused as she jotted down plant observations in the greenhouse.

Y/n indulged the information about her encounter with Jason to her coworker, Xoe, who was more than enthused about it. Each passing hour, Xoe would cross paths with y/n, bugging her about whether or not she had seen Jason.

It wasn’t until five minutes until closing when Jason arrived, parking his sleek, rumbling motorcycle in a compact spot. A couple of the employees noticed him, and rolled their eyes in frustration, mistakenly thinking that he was a customer, not y/n’s visitor.

Y/n locked herself in the nursery’s greenhouse with her choi sum mustard leaves, using a dainty stick to lift the heavy leaves of the plant. She wrote down the subtle changes in the plant’s behavior, noting the thickness of the leaves after incorporating iron-rich soil.

“Y/n?” Xoe asked, peeking through the polycarbonate door, evoking y/n to look up from her work. “Someone named Jared is here to see you.” Xoe then gave y/n a wink, intentionally mistaking Jason’s name.

“Sure, he can come in. Thanks, Xoe.”

“No problem.” Xoe said, opening the door fully for Jason to allow entry, before throwing y/n a suggestive look and shutting the door.

Distracted by the array of plants both on the ground and overhead, Jason tread carefully through the path of the greenhouse. He raked his fingers through his hair as he stopped to observe the vine dangling from a hanging planter, avoiding touching it in fear that he would somehow kill the plant. Y/n gawped at his actions, amused by the conscientiousness of his every move in spite of his tall, muscular frame.

Jason, appearing diverted, used his peripherals to glance at y/n, who sat on a wooden chair on the other side of the greenhouse. Her attire was similar to their first encounter, except she rolled up the sleeves of her forest long-sleeved top, and wore patterned leather gardening gloves. He admired the contrast of her head to the overhead vines coming down around her, the hearty heart-shaped leaves forming a convex halo. She was breathtaking in her relaxed state, and it was clear to him that the greenhouse was a sanctuary, a treehouse she escaped to when she sought solace.

“Didn’t think you’d make it, Jason.” y/n held her notebook and pen in her hands as she spoke, still working at her scientific examination notes.

“Uh, yeah,” Jason mumbled, peering at a distant crimson flower in bloom. “I had to clean up after close. This is where you work?” He looked up at the opaque ceiling of the greenhouse, in awe of the varieties of plants with which he surrounded himself.

Y/n nodded. “Most of the time, yeah. It’s my job to basically make sure the plants are at an optimal growing point so that we could use the info to pass on to customers or vendors.”

Jason sensed the formality in her tone, humbling his ego before he returned, “And you like it?”

Y/n crossed her arms at the question, obviously peeved. “Of course. I don’t know why I would be here, or go through all the schooling, if I didn’t.”

Jason pressed his lips together, remorseful of the offense she took at his inquiry. “Sorry, I should have figured.”

“No, I…I get it all the time, honestly. People are so surprised when I tell them I like it, as if it’s some boring thing.” Y/n rambled, full of thought as she flipped through vague memories of conversations she had with others. “I’ve always loved nature, but not aesthetically, if that makes sense. It’s a science to keep these plants alive and thriving after all the damage we’ve done, and I don’t think I have to keep justifying it.” she clicked her tongue at the end of her statement, eyes looking off to the side in vexation.

Jason rubbed the back of his neck in discomfort. “I get the same comments about my baking. I mean, don’t get me wrong - it’s not nearly as lengthy as the schooling you went through - but I find happiness punching the fuck out of air bubbles in the dough.”

The joke emitted a chuckle from y/n, breaking the tension in the space that could have been otherwise excused by the high humidity. Humor was a strength of Jason’s, and he used it to his advantage in times like these when he found his foot in his mouth, or his tongue in a knot. He wanted to start over, rerun his words smoothly through his head so he could properly express himself without offending y/n again.

Instead, he offered baguettes. “I brought something we could both have in here, if we can have it.” he pointed to the backpack strap on his shoulder, and began to maneuver his backpack to his hands so he could unveil the crispy logs of cooked dough. He handed one baguette to y/n, who removed her gloves to accept the gift, before he took a bite out of one himself.

“You make these?” y/n asked, chewing on a piece. Mouth full of bread, Jason simply nodded. “I have to say, as much as I like plants, I think I would gain a lot of weight if I could bake this well.”

The compliment made Jason beam, squirreling chewed bread in his mouth causing his cheeks to round. After he swallowed, he responded, “Yeah, I get that a lot. Though I don’t think you’d look any bit different with more.” his eyes scanned y/n’s body evocatively.

Y/n’s cheeks tinted, covering her mouth respectfully as she spoke. “It’s really fresh for stale bread.” she gestured to an empty seat beside her. “You wanna sit here?”

Jason shook his head, plopping himself down on the seat before he turned his body to face her. “Oh, I made it before I left.” Jason remarked nonchalantly, taking another bite out of the bread.

Y/n stared at Jason as he ate his workmanship, giggling at him. He gave her a doe-eyed expression, confused by her mirth. “What?”

“Nothing, I’ve just never seen someone so passionate about eating bread.” Her eyes gleamed at him, smile radiant as she spoke. Jason’s chest burned when she passed him the look, mesmerized by her appearance. He grew accustomed to the constant comments about his looks from Gothamites - and the unfortunate harassment or assault that would take place by a select few - but he followed his instinct when he felt something different about y/n; whether it was the way she presented herself, or the way her eyes shaped into crescents as she smiled, he was absolutely enamored by her, and wanted to explore all that made her content so he could replicate it for her.

They sat together, knee to knee, gazing at each other. Y/n placed her bread on the table and her hands on her lap, drawing Jason’s attention away from her face. His eyes snapped up, though, unwilling to be perceived as perverted, or his intentions impure. Y/n suppressed her temptation to cave in to him, fingernails digging into the skin of her thighs as she desperately tried to keep them to herself.

But his skin was as firm as his voice, five o’clock shadow scattered across his cheeks and jawline; his skin creased as he grinned, even the slightest, a wrinkle forming along the edges of his mouth. Y/n wondered what his lips tasted like - were they as tender as they appeared? Or were his kisses all-encompassing, conveying what words couldn’t describe?

Y/n wanted to find out, but she hesitated: she didn’t want to hurt again; she didn’t want to wither at her roots like the neglected plants she studied, slumping over in her seat as she felt the remaining cells in her body seize. Had the encounter with Jason been years ago, y/n would have already been all over him, straddling his lap - she was much more daring then, naive of the darkness that could ensue.

Instead, she glued her hands to herself. Jason noticed her stare plummet from joyous to cold, her eyes glossy as she blinked away what dark thoughts laid behind them. He placed a hand over hers, thumb stroking the underside of her palm in an attempt to bring her back to the present.

“Sorry.” her voice sobered up, ignoring the display of affection Jason committed.

Shaking his head once, he responded, “Am I doing something wrong? I’ll scoot my chair back and keep my hand away if you want—”

“No, no.” y/n hastily said, unaware of what she presented with her response. “It’s not you, don’t worry.”

“Is it okay if I kiss you?”

The question caused y/n’s heart to rise, excited by the thought. She nodded and leaned forward, cupping his neck as they closed the gap between them and pressed their lips together softly, y/n’s nose filling with a mixture of the leather of his jacket and clean yeast from the bread. Jason instinctively brought his hands to y/n’s face, holding it as he sharply inhaled into the kiss. He was pleasantly surprised by the action, parting his lips as he wanted to deepen the kiss.

But y/n pulled away, and then turned her body from Jason, attempting to conceal the blush creeping up her neck.

Initially worried about crossing a boundary with y/n, Jason noticed the tint in her skin, and grinned, cupping her chin and turning her head to look at him. “You don’t need to hide from me, hun. I don’t know what you went through, but I won’t hurt you like that.” he assured y/n, tone warm and disarming. His thumb brushed her cheek, eyes distracted by her beauty.

“It’s y/n.” she informed him distractedly. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you.”

“Y/n.” he repeated, captivated by her eyes as she grinned softly at him. “I can make you a pinky promise that I won’t be a threat, but I’m not sure if a ten year-old’s logic resonates with you.”

It did. Y/n held her pinky out in between them. “I need something to ground me.”

Jason linked their pinkies, pulling them to his chest. “Y/n: I swear I won’t hurt you. Pinky promise.” y/n’s eyes searched for his other hand, which laid on his knee. No crossed fingers. Good.

“Can we go back to kissing please?” her brows furrowed, slightly embarrassed by her request. It was Jason’s turn to answer with a kiss, this time heated and impatient. His lips nibbled on hers before dragging a tongue along her bottom lip, evoking a moan from y/n. Jason’s hand held y/n’s as they deepened their kiss, mouths opening in an attempt for Jason to draw another moan from her. He used his free hand to tangle in y/n’s hair, pulling her closer than she already was.

When y/n mimicked his actions, she tugged lightly at his hair, causing him to groan and shiver. She tore her lips from Jason’s, noticing how his were already swollen despite the little contact she had with them. “You like that?” She quirked a brow.

“A little more than I should.” Jason smirked back, biting his bottom lip. He hissed when y/n tugged at his hair again, this time harder and deliberate. “Keep that up, doll, and I’ll have you bent over on this table.”

Y/n chuckled, allowing her id to take over. “Oh really? And what else would I have to do to be blessed with that opportunity?”

“I don’t think you want to know.” Jason pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down hard. His eyes ran over y/n’s body slowly, taking in the view as y/n uncrossed her legs. He wondered if he should just take her here - an image of y/n in pleasure, her brows knitted and mouth agape, clouded Jason’s attention, blood rushing to his dick. It took a moment for him to notice that y/n’s hand was trembling in his hair, and when he did acknowledge it, the corrupt thoughts disappeared completely. “Are you okay?”

Y/n stopped herself, pulling her hand away from his hair and chewing on her lip. “Yeah, sorry. Dunno what got into me.” she laughed humorlessly.

“You know,” Jason started, hand rushing back to her cheek, “we could just go to my place and talk. We don’t need to do anything sexual, if you’re not up to that.”

The proposition nearly brought tears to y/n’s eyes. It was eons since someone considered her that much - she usually had to hold her ground herself. All she could release from her clogged throat was a faltered affirmation, and she rose to her feet, collecting her work and returning them to their designated area.

Extending an elbow for her to take, Jason guided them through the greenhouse and back outside, holding the door open for y/n as she strolled through. His eyes were glued to her, watching her reaction to all of the plant life around them; he was in awe of how much knowledge she had of them, informing him of pieces of trivia about random plants they passed.

When they reached his motorcycle parked in the lot, his shoulders slouched. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you that I ride.” Ride, y/n thought to herself, eyes examining the vehicle. “Do you still want me to take you, or do you want to take your car, or…”

Y/n wriggled her lips in apathy. “I take the bus, so I think this would be the more logical option.”

Without skipping a beat, Jason offered y/n his helmet, lifting a leg over the bike seat to straddle it and waiting for her to secure her helmet before seating behind him. She snaked her arms around his waist, locking her fingers together over his navel, the touch producing heat on Jason’s stomach. He looked back, waiting for a response from y/n; when she gave him a simple thumbs-up, he turned the key to the ignition and shifted into neutral, manually backing out of the parking space with his legs before taking off from the lot with a thunderous roll, the reverberation heard from miles away.

Although it was y/n’s first ride as a passenger on a motorcycle, she was tranquil, snug behind Jason with her fingers barely tracing what she assumed to be muscle lines along his abdomen; although it wasn’t Jason’s first time having a passenger on his bike, he was particularly cautious, downshifting early and even stalling his engine trying to do so.

Once they arrived at y/n’s apartment - with directions from y/n - Jason parked the bike on the street adjacent to the complex. He helped y/n off of her seat, and held her hand as she led them to her space on the second floor.

“And this is it.” y/n announced half-heartedly when she opened the door, entering into the kitchen of the grand apartment. Jason was silent as he inspected the decor, stopping occasionally at framed anatomical prints of plants. As he wandered into the living room, he spotted a wooden tube radio resting on the nightstand beside the couch. He observed its specifications, murmuring incoherently as he studied the device.

“You like it?” Y/n asked, handing Jason a can of sparkling water before she sat down on the leather couch.

Jason nodded. “I haven’t seen one of these in forever. Makes me feel kind of nostalgic, to be honest.”

Y/n tucked her legs under her knees, taking a sip from her can. “That’s why I bought it. M’not much of an audiophile, but I like the crisp sound of these. Plus, usually when guys are over, they think I’m some old lady, and eventually leave me alone.” Her final comment made her chuckle, and Jason grin.

“I guess we’re both old.” he added, winking back at her. Y/n patted the empty space beside her, offering him to sit. “Do you listen to a lot of music on here, or just the AM talk shows?”

Y/n’s smile widened. “A bit of both. If I have the free time, I prefer podcasts or audiobooks, which I can project through there, but y’know.”

“But what?” Seated next to y/n, Jason nudged her playfully.

She shrugged. “I dunno. Kinda gets busy sometimes.” her response was sad, as if she had no control over the time she spent, but Jason understood that it was relatively normal for an adult.

He dropped his grin in response, acclimating to the shift in tone. “I’m like that too. Though I don’t remember a time when I didn’t have a lot to take care of.”

Y/n’s forehead creased in worry. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Jason breathed deeply, contemplating whether or not he should elaborate. “I didn’t really have the parents of the year growing up, and once I was adopted, I still had a bunch of responsibilities. When I think back to it, it feels like I missed out on a lot.”

Y/n nodded in agreement. “I get that. I…something happened, and I basically had to grow up quicker than some other people my age. I can’t really…” her voice trailed off, drowning in emotion. “It’s hard for me to feel normal.”

Hands beginning to tremble, y/n balled them into fists. Jason placed his hands over hers, squeezing them lightly to draw attention away from her thoughts. “Hey, I’m here. It’s okay.” he uttered, lavender softness in his voice. “Is it okay if I held you?” he asked, to which y/n nodded. Jason wrapped his long arms around her, pulling her tight to his chest. There, y/n felt guarded, safe, as if his arms were hardy tree branches that couldn’t be easily torn; she detached his heartbeat, steady but firm. Each of his features soothed her, rocked her back to the present, as he’d hoped.

He kissed her head, watering her otherwise malnourished body; Jason’s face focused on her, a tall, broad sunflower in need of nutrients facing the sun. She replenished him somehow, something neither of them could quite pinpoint, but enjoyed nonetheless.

Fingertips following the veins along Jason’s arm, y/n discerned a wanting similar to what she experienced at the greenhouse. She looked up at Jason, who was already gazing down at her, and gave him a look: please kiss me.

And for all that he could, Jason enthusiastically obliged, dipping his head to crash his lips to y/n’s. They both breathed into the kiss, hands fumbling to secure themselves in their embrace as their kiss rushed, tongues meeting briefly before disappearing again. Jason was the first to moan into the kiss this time, almost a whimper of desolate desire.

Y/n’s fingers spread, palms flat against Jason’s chest as she pushed him down onto the couch, readjusting to straddle his lap without breaking the kiss. His hands slipped underneath y/n’s top, nails grazing against her skin. He pushed the top up to her chest, breaking the kiss to allow her to pull it overhead and toss it aside.

Before returning to the kiss, Jason gawked at y/n’s chest, surprised by her bare breasts. “Holy shit.” he whined, licking his lips. He tilted forward to flick his tongue on her sensitive nub before kneading her breasts with his hands, occasionally leaning in to suck and lick her nipples. Y/n relaxed her shoulders and let out a soft moan and grind her hips against his, causing Jason to buck his up instinctively.

Their movements were restricted by their clothing though, and y/n knew that as she hopped off Jason to shimmy her pants off, panties down with it, and shook Jason’s jeans off as well before returning back to her stance on him. “Condom?” she murmured nervously.

Jason pointed to his jeans. “Here, lemme put em on.” he reached over to his pockets, pulling one out and tearing open the wrapper. Y/n watched, eyes dark with wanton, as he rolled the condom onto his thick, hard erection.

Y/n repositioned herself on his lap, lowering herself on him. She hissed at the contact, unfamiliar with the girth stretching her walls. When her hips were flush with his, y/n remained still, acclimating to the sensation; Jason, however, tremored underneath y/n, using all of his strength to restrain himself from thrusting up into y/n. He craved the noises she emitted, and anything that would drive her to ecstasy, but had to wait. His hands moved to her thighs, grasping at them and awaiting her signal for him to move.

Instead, y/n’s hips rose and fell, rocking slowly. They both moaned at the motion, unsatisfied by the gradualness of her hips. One of Jason’s hands moved to her ass, guiding her hips to angle itself perfectly.

“Oh, god.” Y/n gasped, the different angle granting Jason’s cock to brush against the base of her cervix. Jason’s grip on her thigh and ass tightened, letting out a guttural moan.

“Can I…?” Jason asked between pants, self-control wavering. Y/n nodded feverishly, barely containing herself as she steadied herself on Jason’s chest. He began thrusting up into her in the same angle, both hands gripping her hips as his pace quickened.

“Fuck, you’re so good.” Jason whimpered, eyes laser-focused on y/n. The sounds of skin-on-skin slapping, along with pants and intermittent, pornographic moans, escaped them and into the room. Jason wanted more, more, more as he continued to pistol his hips up, quickly popping a thumb into his mouth to moisten it before rubbing it on y/n’s clit in hasty yet intricate circles.

The motion evoked y/n’s orgasm, her core hot as she let out a silent scream. Her nails dug into the fabric of Jason’s shirt, sharp enough to leave marks on his bare chest, as he guided her through her high. Before she could calm down though, Jason picked up his pace, this time chasing his own high as he relentlessly thrusted up into her pussy. In moments, y/n was thrown into another orgasm, body tingling as she whined loudly into the air.

Her walls, like velvety petals, tightened around Jason’s cock, which was already begging for release. Every moan and word barely leaving her lips was as gospel to him, bringing him closer, higher, until-

“Y/n, I’m gonna come, fuck.” Jason sobbed, neck red and forehead covered in beads of sweat. His hair stuck to his head, stray strands bouncing with his thrusts as they grew sloppy, desperate, frantic for him. “Y/n, y/n,” he repeated as hell broke loose, his vision blurring as he sharply thrusted up into y/n, coming with a loud cry. His hips stuttered, grip on her hips loosening.

Y/n rode the high with him, watching as his brows furrowed, eyes fluttered shut, and swollen pink lips form into an ‘o’ shape. Each profanity that left his lips were a secret he could no longer hold, and she was so happy to indulge in them.

Minutes passed before Jason picked y/n up, laying her on the couch as he stood up. “Do you know where the bathroom is?” he asked innocently, cheeks azalea. After y/n pointed to the nearest ajar door in the hall, Jason disappeared for a moment before returning, towel in hand and condom disposed of.

He kneeled beside the couch, gingerly patting the towel on y/n’s thighs, cleaning up any residual juices that were released. The sight of her wet pussy made his cock twitch again, but he knew better than to entertain the thought, gently wiping away the wetness on the crevices along her ass and thighs. Y/n glanced down at him, heart warm as he finished cleaning up. “Is there anything I can get you, hun?” Jason smiled, eyes glistening. If her legs weren’t tired, y/n would have sat up and smooched him right there.

But she shook her head. “I think I’m okay. Thank you.”

Jason took her hand in his, holding it up to his lips before he placed a tender kiss to her knuckle. “Of course, Princess. You’re a flower, too, y’know.”

The compliment made y/n blush, skin rising with goosebumps. She hadn’t been pampered like this…ever. It was foreign, and the realization triggered a sympathetic nervous response.

Y/n sat up in worry, drawing her hand quickly from Jason. He frowned at her, apprehensive that he caused any offense. “I’m sorry - do you need some space? I can get going, if you need to.”

First waiting for a response, Jason noticed y/n’s eyes darting from side to side, spiraling into the dark trench. He scooted closer, pulling y/n’s head to his, their foreheads pressed together. “Deep breath, doll.” he cooed, “I’ve got you.”

And he did. His hands held y/n’s delicately, thumb brushing her skin as they breathed together in the apartment, his voice shining light onto her focus like a spring sunrise after a seemingly interminable winter.

The words pollinated her soul, bringing her to life in ways she hadn’t felt before. Jason’s skin was calloused, wrinkled, with scarring near the knuckle and palms, but y/n felt comforted by them. And she emerged from the dark trench, opening her eyes to find the sunflower staring back at her with a soft expression and a softer grin to welcome her.

And y/n finally felt like she found home.

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squishablesunbeam · 10 months

Text

Consequence of Action Pt. 13

Finally official chapter! Thanks for playing! I adore you all! Also, the first and last bits are from Prim's perspective. I know that's different but I couldn't help myself!

TW: recovering whumpee, panic attack, flashback, vomiting, mentions of past noncon, executions, death of minor characters

Prim couldn't tear her eyes away from the monstrosity.

She'd been helping her crew clear out the dead when Lopez found another body deep in the lower deck. It wasn't the man with his empty eyes frozen open capturing his last moments of terror or his crushed throat that held her attention.

It was the cage.

She'd heard some of what the prisoners had been saying about what had happened on this ship. The vile obscenities they spewed about Quinn in particular certainly painted a horrific picture that she wished were exaggerations but, deep down, she knew were not. She'd heard enough to make her blood boil before she had them gagged or else she'd skin them alive herself for what they'd done to that man.

They'd also mentioned a cage. This was undoubtedly it. With its rough edges welded together with clear intent to inflict agony upon its occupant. There was dried blood on the teeth of the grating that covered the bottom as well as a fair amount soaked into the floor beneath.

Her eyes trailed back to the body Lopez and Freely were currently preparing to transport to the incinerator.

Quinn had been flogged, recently. He was barely able to stand on his own two feet when she'd come upon him and Collins in the hallway. There was no way he would have had the strength to crush a man's throat in his state.

That meant-

They'd put Collins in that cage. God, how did he even fit.

Her mind morbidly attempted to imagine herself stuffed into that small space and a nauseating wave of claustrophobia washed over her. She immediately shook the thought from her mind.

Collins had been her team leader for just over a decade. They'd seen each other through the worst that human beings could do to one another and they always came out the other end just a little worse for wear. She was even part of the team that had gone in to rescue him after he was held captive by the enemy for three months. Prim had thought she'd seen him at his absolute worst many times over.

So why did seeing him with that collar around his neck fuck with her head so much?

They'd collared him, and put him in a cage. She was pretty sure they'd even-

Prim allowed anger to seethe throughout her body, for only a moment. Righteous or not, anger dangerously clouded her judgment. She knew that well enough. If she had her druthers right in this moment, she'd flog each one of those men in her custody to within an inch of their lives and force them to beg Quinn and Collins for their pitiful lives before tossing them into the incinerator along with the rest of them. They deserved nothing less, and maybe so much more.

The choice wasn't hers to make.

“Ma'am.”

Prim very deliberately let the anger slip through her fingers.

She turned to Freely. “I want this deconstructed immediately. Tear it down to its bolts. I don't want a single piece of this cage left on my ship. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Freely acknowledged assuredly.

She let out a breath and nodded. He'll take care of it.

She turned on her heels and headed back up to the main deck, swallowing the urge to speed up her pace just to get away from all the horrid memories that undoubtedly haunted the corners of that godawful room.

She headed for her new office, dispensing orders as she went. This ship had just begun to fall into disrepair while being under poor leadership and a skeleton crew it seemed. There was a lot to be done.

A few hours later, Prim called for Collins and Quinn to join her. She needed to discuss what to do with the prisoners, their possessions, etc. They also needed to track down any of Quinn's possessions as well, if they hadn't already been destroyed. This all could technically wait, but if she was being honest, she wanted the prisoners dealt with and off the ship as soon as possible.

She fussed at the desk while she waited, stacking piles of papers and log books that must have been the ship's former captain's, practically useless now. Most, if not all, would be burned.

The office was large but impersonal. She'd already taken the time to shift around the placement of furniture to make it more open and inviting. She dimmed the glaring overhead light and made a note to grab some of those warm light bulbs on their next stop at a safe planet. She would have to bring over some of her more personal items from the other ship as well.

A knock pulled her out of her thoughts and she turned, hitting the button that slid open the door.

"Commander," Collins greeted her with a warm smile, Quinn by his side.

She grinned wide, clasping arms with Collins and then Quinn.

"Prim is fine. You know that well enough."

Collins already looked so much better. Much more himself. She couldn't stop herself from casting her eyes briefly to his neck, assuring herself that the collar had actually been cut away and he was free from its weight.

She stepped back to allow them into the room, noting the soft hold Collins had around Quinn's hip.

It looked so incredibly natural for a man who rarely ever displayed even a hint of affection in the many years she'd known him.

A smile quirked up her lips.

She didn't know exactly what was going on between these too but it was clearly something, and it was only growing stronger. As far as Prim was aware, Collins had never had a significant person in his life, at least he'd never spoken of it if he had.

Seeing him so casually tender with Quinn was, well, it was adorable.

Prim gestured them into the office.

“Please, have a seat.”

She stopped short, her eyes flicking to Collins as the blood drained out of Quinn's face.

Oh, shit.

–

He'd already had a brief moment of panic in the hallway once he realized where they were headed but he'd convinced Collins that he was fine. Of course Prim would have taken the Captain's office. She was the highest ranking member of the crew after all. It made perfect sense.

Except right now, nothing made sense.

He was certain he'd be okay, stepping confidently into the room after watching the familiar exchange between Collins and Prim.

But then, Quinn laid eyes on that looming brown desk and his world just slipped right out from under him.

He saw himself, clear as day, curled up on his knees under that damn desk. Naked, his hands bound to his thighs like they always were the first however many times he'd been forced to open his mouth and obey.

It was as if he was watching from a far away corner of the ceiling but also not. He could feel it all. The way the hard floor bit into his knees and the coarse rope constricting his thighs and tearing at his skin.

He shook his head to try and clear the image but it wouldn't jar loose. The taste of the Captain's fingers filled his mouth and he gagged, choking on nothing as the taste turned to something so much worse.

His head felt thick and his world narrowed.

He felt like he might be falling but he couldn't bring himself to care. The room buzzed loudly in his ears and washed itself over him. He could feel all of its edges pressing against his body, forcing him to fit into the tight space under the desk.

Something pressed against his back and there was pain there, but also, it was good. The pain felt good, in a way. It sparked sharply through his mind and cleared some of the fog away. He dropped his head and tried to remember how to breath, clinging to that pain like a lifeline.

His entire body was suddenly shook, just once, and his eyes managed to lock into place, the spinning world around him suddenly centering on one point of focus.

“Collins?”

A hand touched lightly against his own and he looked down at himself, realizing he had pressed his wrists to his thighs. He could feel the ropes keeping him in place but he couldn't see them. He gasped his mouth open and tried to pry them up off his legs. It felt as if he was attempting to merge two worlds that simply weren't meant to coexist. He finally succeeded in detaching his hands from his legs and held them up in front of his face.

They were shaking.

He was shaking.

He still couldn't breathe.

Warm fingers brushed against his face and the here and now flooded his senses, coming back to him far too fast. His body prickled with sweat, his mouth filled with saliva.

“Oh my god,” he pressed a hand against Collins' shoulder and lurched to the side, vomiting onto the floor beside them.

“Oh my god,” he said again, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth before pulling it back and looking at his wrists, fully expecting to see marks from the ropes indented into this skin.

His thighs weren't bare. He was wearing pants and a button up shirt he found in Collins' closet.

Quinn dimly heard himself muttering Collins' name under his breath.

“You're alright. I'm here. Just breathe.”

His eyes numbly tracked Collins' movement as he wrapped his fingers around Quinn's wrist and rubbed his thumb back and forth over the thin skin.

There still weren't any ropes there, holding him in place. He kept his eyes on Collins' hands, each painless pass of his thumb a reminder that he was safe. Collins was here. The Captain was dead.

Quinn gasped out a harsh breath as the image of him shooting the Captain in the head flashed before his eyes.

He looked up, his eyes wide and wet with stinging tears as he searched Collins' face, too many memories battling for his attention at once.

“He hurt you, Collins, he-” Quinn said, his voice strained and panicked.

“Hey,” Collins drew their foreheads together, holding onto the back of Quinn's head. “I'm okay, Quinn. You saved me, remember? You killed him, Quinn. He can't hurt you anymore. He can't hurt either of us anymore. We're okay.”

Quinn drew in a shaky breath, and then another. Collins' hands were like an anchor, holding him to this reality, his shoulders firm and solid and real under his own hands. He breathed, his breath mixing with Collins' as the world slowed down to a manageable rhythm.

He became aware of another presence in the room and his eyes slid to Prim, sitting on the floor with them, just a few steps behind Collins with her arms draped over her knees.

“Holy shit,” Quinn said, pulling back slightly and breathing out a shocked breath, “That's never happened before. Not like that. I could see it. I could feel it.”

He held tight to Collins as Prim sat forward, crossing her legs underneath her, “Ironically, it's because you are actually safe now that this is happening. You're mind is trying to process everything. Collins can teach you some tricks to help you stay grounded, or I can. We've both been through it.”

Collins nodded sympathetically, scratching his fingers over Quinn's leg in a predictable, soothing rhythm.

It was helping.

“Grounded, yeah,” Quinn leaned his head back on the wall behind him, only now realizing that was where the pain was coming from. His sore back was pressed right up against it.

“God, I'm so sorry,” he groaned out, looking down at the mess he'd made next to him and trying to fight back embarrassment from swallowing him whole.

Prim waved her hand absently. “It'll clean just fine. Go rest. We'll talk later, okay?”

He nodded and leaned heavily against Collins as they moved to stand, Prim immediately moving to join them. They were both standing right in front of Quinn, blocking his eye line to the desk. He couldn't quell the need to look, just once more, to assure himself that the other him wasn't still trapped there, under the desk.

Collins moved to help him to the door and he stole a glance over his shoulder, breathing out a breath of relief only once he was assured the phantom was gone.

He didn't know why he felt the need to ask but he stopped himself before heading out the door, “What did you want to talk to us about anyway?”

She started to wave her hand in dismissal but paused, drawing her eyebrows down, seeming to study him carefully. He felt Collins' solid presence at his side.

“I was going to ask if you wanted me to have the prisoners executed. I thought the airlock might be appropriate but I didn't want to make that decision without you both.”

Whatever fear that had just sunk its teeth into him morphed into anger at the mention of the prisoners.

Jackson, Hawkins and Gibson.

It wasn't enough that the Captain was dead. Quinn's every waking memory was corrupted with the thoughts of these men. He could barely eat without the image of Jackson forcing his dick into his mouth through the cage before he gave him any food. Hawkins tore at his flesh and left behind too many scars for him to ever forget. And Gibson- Quinn shuddered, the pain of his care still a bright and sharp memory.

Quinn didn't want to think twice about it. He just wanted them gone.

“Do it,” he said, swallowing down the knowledge that with those two words, he just sentenced three men to their deaths.

“Would you like to be there?” Prim asked.

Quinn looked to Collins who shrugged, squeezing Quinn's hand once. “As long as they're dead, I'm okay with it,” Collins said plainly.

“I think I'm okay too,” Quinn said, looking back to Prim, “Will you do me a favor though?”

“Name it,” she said with a sincerity that put a weak smile on his face.

“Just, maybe, don't tell them what's going to happen. Don't say anything to them at all. Just take them to the airlock and open the door.”

The silence was always the worst part. Being led through the ship, never knowing his own fate before being shoved through an open door.

Quinn thought it fitting.

Prim apparently did too, if the look on her face told him anything.

“I'll make certain of it.”

“Let us know when it's done,” Collins added, him and Prim both sharing an understanding between them as she nodded her assent.

Quinn felt the warmth of Collins' hand at his hip and he let himself lean against him. He focused on carefully matching his breath to Collins' as they wove their way through the hall and back to the quiet and safety of their room.

–

Prim had done exactly as Quinn asked. She informed her crew to bind the men and take them to the airlock without a single word spoken.

It was admittedly gratifying to behold. She watched as Gibson lost it first. He screamed and thrashed against Freely as they were led down the halls, demanding to know what was going on and proclaiming his innocence.

Hawkins was next.

He fed off of Gibson's fear and spewed vile threats at herself and her crew. Mostly though, he cursed Quinn's name and screamed at the top of his lungs the horrific things he was going to do to him.

Except he was never going to have that chance. He was going to die. He was going to be tossed away like trash, without a second thought.

Jackson held out until they were all kneeling in the airlock and the door was being sealed shut between them. He launched himself up at the last minute and sprinted toward the door, hurling himself again and again at the thick glass that kept them safe from the vacuum of space.

Prim stood silently with her crew, all of them expressionless as the prisoners made their pleas and useless threats.

With a signal to Freely, he slammed up the lever and the screams of the three men died with them as they were sucked out into nothingness.

It was the most feared end for those who made their lives out in this vast emptiness. As much as they all craved it, loved it even, the enduring, ever expanding endlessness of space was utterly terrifying. Like the vast oceans back on Earth, space was to be respected and feared in equal measure.

These men respected nothing.

The silence that followed the closing of the outer door had a finality to it that she found both deafening and soothing in the same moment.

It was done.

Freely and Lopez headed back to their respective stations without a second glace and Prim headed to inform Collins and Quinn, hoping that they sleep just a little bit easier now.

“Come in,” Collins called from inside the room. Prim was surprised he didn't meet her at the door as was decorum. Not that she expected it or enforced that kind of nonsense on her crew, it was just Collins' way. Too many years spent in the service and not enough spent living his own life.

She realized why the moment she slid the door open.

Collins was propped up on a few pillows with a book in his hand and Quinn soundlessly asleep with his head on Collins' stomach.

The sight made Prim smile.

“He's good for you,” she whispered, easing quietly into the room.

Quinn flinched a little in his sleep and Collins moved to card his fingers through his hair for probably the hundredth time.

“Too good,” Collins whispered back, taking off his glasses and setting them on top of the open book by his hip.

He looked tired himself, and worried.

“Is he okay?”

“No. He's not," Collins said. He wasn't harsh about his words. He sounded sad.

“Are you okay?”

Collins sighed and finally look up at Prim, “No.”

She pursed her lips and nodded, “If it makes you feel any better, they died terrified.”

Collins frowned deeply as he looked down at the man in his lap, his head rising and falling gently with every one of Collins' breaths.

“I would have had them skinned alive,” Collins said, not looking up from where his fingers were curled into Quinn's hair.

Prim huffed out a laugh, “I had a similar thought. But at least it's done. Maybe there's some peace to be had from that?”

“I hope so,” he said, “He deserves it.”

“So do you, Collins,” Prim said, knowing full well that he didn't believe a word of that. “And for what it's worth,” she gestured between the two men, “whatever you've got going here, it's cute as fuck. You deserve that too.”

Collins actually laughed, a wide grin splitting his handsome face as a blush seeped into his cheeks.

He'd be okay, she thought. They both would be okay, she'd make sure of it. She'd fold them into her little family and give them a change to find their footing again.

She headed back towards the door, “You need anything at all, you let us know, you hear me? And when you're ready for a distraction, I've got plenty of work for you to do.”

“Will do, Commander,” Collins said, the smile on his face coming just a little easier, “And Prim, thank you. For everything.”

“Of course, sir.”

She left them to rest and turned to head back up to the bridge, her mind already on the myriad of tasks on her plate and plotting their next course through the skies.

Taglist: @peachy-panic, @ladygwennn, @whumplr-reader, @hold-him-down, @monochrome-episode, @dogface3000, @skyhawkwolf, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @whumpterful-beeeeee, @maddam-redder, @susiequaz12, @pigeonwhumps, @starlit-darkness

#recovering whumpee #rescued whumpee #mentions of past noncon #panic attack tw #flashback tw #emeto #execution #death of minor characters

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batstorm93672 · 1 year

Text

"You moronic fucking imbecile, only you would find a way to let yourself fall prey to mind control from magic"

Red Hood was fighting Robin. He was under an illusion, solely believing that Robin was someone else. Maybe Joker, Scarecrow, Dent, not like Robin cares who it could be. What matters is ending it.

"I'll kill you!"

"Tt. Try your best"

Red Hood grabbed one of his guns out of the holster, Robin recognizes that one. One of his guns that can and will fatally injure someone. He really is going all out with this.

"What do I have to do to make this end huh? Say some sappy shit? Use words to appeal to your better nature? Talk about how much I care for you or something? Honestly that sounds like something Batman may do, I'm not him and I'm not one for comforting words. There's only so much I can replicate and tolerate from Nightwing's optimistic attitude. Instead I'm doing it my way. Beating you up until you're out"

Robin rolled his eyes as he slid on his knees away from the oncoming bullet. Easy to do, Red Hood isn't even trying at this point.

Robin held his katana, side stepping to easily slice at Hood's arm. No he won't slice his brother's arm off, just a couple cuts and bruises to make him weaker.

Red Hood growled and rolled away, Robin looked down at his feet.

"Son of a b-"

An explosion went off, Robin went tumbling and hit the brick wall. "Cheap tricks Jason"

The battle went on for five more minutes, both having an advantage and disadvantage as every second passed.

Soon Robin was panting, Red Hood had grabbed his katana when he shot Robin's hand. Getting closer, the sharp stab into Robin's shoulder made him cry out. It didn't go all the way through, but it still hurt like hell.

Robin grit his teeth and forced himself up, gripping the katana and pulling it out. There was a lot of blood, but it doesn't matter.

"You know what Jason? You got me all bloody, yet you've yet-" Robin grabbed Red Hood's wrist and pointed the gun to his forehead. "-to shoot me. You've done it before, surely you can do it again. You wanna go back down that path of being a killer? I've done the same, so I have no reason to blame you. So go ahead and shoot me right in the head and I'll be on that ground back in Hell"

Robin pressed his forehead closer, the rim of the gun was most likely making a mark on his head.

Red Hood narrowed his eyes and pressed a bit tighter at the trigger, he was hesitant though...

"Go ahead shoot me right in the face, surely you can"

He held tighter at the trigger, Robin's steeled expression never faltering as he looked directly into Red Hood's eyes. "Shoot me"

The gun was lowered, the click of the safety being back on. Red Hood dropped the gun to the ground.

"Damian..?"

"There you are, good to know you're back. The meta got away while I was preoccupied with you"

Red Hood grabbed Robin by the shoulders, looking down. "Don't tell me you are still afflicted by the powers" "You... why the hell did you point my gun to your forehead" "To snap you out of it"

Red Hood squeezed Robin's shoulders. "And if it didn't work?! I could've killed you!"

"What matters is that it worked"

"Damian you could have died!"

"Not the first time, may not be the last"

"I could've shot you!"

"I know"

"Were you not afraid? Not even a little?"

Robin looked to the side, why was Jason so insistent on this. He did what had to be done, even if it could've gone wrong, he had to save his brother.

"What does it matter? You're back, that's all that matters"

"Damian. Do you know how much it would hurt if I killed you? It would tear me apart and no one would be okay"

Robin frowned "Stop being so pathetic. I saved you, don't give me such crap" Robin moved away and turned from Red Hood.

Alfred bandaged the stab wound on Damian as Batman looked at the two.

"What happened? How did you get hurt?"

"I-"

"The meta got away after he attacked us. That's it"

Jason scowled, Bruce is gonna find out anyways why beat around the bush? "The meta made me see illusions, I was hellbent on attacking Damian. He snapped me out of it when he made me have him at gunpoint to the forehead"

"Jason what the hell!"

"He was gonna find out anyways Damian"

"Damian why didn't you say anything?!"

"He's fine, there's no reason to worry father"

"I'm equally worried about you as well"

"Tt. I'm fine, everything is fine. The only thing not fine is the meta getting away"

Damian gripped the sheets and Alfred rested his hand on Damian's shoulder. Damian lightly shrugged Alfred's hand away and bit his lip. Why do they keep wanting to know about his wellbeing? He's fine. Nothing is scary about the situation. Jason was seeing things and Damian took the appropriate steps to get him back. Could there have been better? Maybe. Does that matter? No.

Jason could have definitely shot him and feeling the gun on his forehead doesn't scare him. So why...

"Are you... crying?"

Damian wiped his tears quickly and got up, moving to the staircase. "Jason is fine, that's all that mattered. So can we just drop it"

Damian's hands trembled as he opened his door and moved to his bed, lying down. Covering his face, his breath quickened as he shut his eyes.

It wasn't the gun.

It wasn't the fact that I could have died.

It's the fact that Jason was holding it.

It's the fact that my brother wasn't himself.

The last time someone wasn't in their right of mind ended up with me killed.

Mother wasn't herself and I don't think she ever will be.

Jason could have shot me, because he wasn't himself.

That... that's what terrifies me.

I could have... again...

I don't want to die again by someone I love who I no longer know because something took them away from me.

#damian wayne #jason todd #bruce wayne #red hood #robin #batman #alfred pennyworth #tw minor panic attack #tw mind control

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swervesbootycall · 1 year

Note

Fort Max anon, not even you are safe from me /j

May I request something very fluffy with Max? SFW, NSFT, doesn't matter. Anything you want to or feel comfortable writing about him I'd love to see. Him baby

(Bonus points if you have PTSD & hurt/comfort be an aspect, we love the representation, but it's understandable if you're uncomfy with any of that✨)

//I SOMEHOW MISSED THE FLUFFY PART UNTIL HALFWAY THROUGH SO. HURT COMFORT IT IS! Cybertronian Reader.// TW: implied Torture, robogore, implied mention of euthanasia, Overlord, Panic attack mention, physical anxiety

"Max. Max wake up, please." You're muttering at his side as quietly as possible. A match is going on somewhere else in the compound- the one safe time to sneak into the torture chamber that Overlord called his office.

Fortress Maximus is there, but unresponsive. A crude windchime made of your commander's plating hangs above what Overlord calls his "desk." Neatly arranged on its surface are Overlord's favorite "toys." Blades, calipers, wrenches. Laser cutters. Things you're not entirely sure of their purpose, but it's not hard to guess their use.

Your name stutters from Max's vocalizer. He knows you're here. Whether or not he can see you, you're uncertain. There's too much energon crusted over his faceplate. You wonder if it's his, or that of your mutual late colleague whose helm is suspended about a foot above Max's. The pain suppressant code you hid away is heavy in your servo, but you manage to find Max's medical interface port. Overlord has kept that section of his frame in good working order: he refuses to let your commander die. When actively called upon, you work under Overlord's leer to put Fortress Maximus back together enough that--

"No." It's barely audible. Practically the creak of hinges. You steady yourself. "I promised not to kill you," you remind him, "this is just a pain-" "NO." It's shockingly forceful and you fumble.

Carbon dioxide clouds rise from below your optics in your system's attempt to battle the physical heat of your emotions. "Sir. Please. He... He's exposed your," your optics flicker to said clockwork and viscera. All in technical working order, but flared and swollen with pain, "please. He might not return until tomorrow, I can't leave you suffering like this."

Max stays silent. Then he begins to screech- horrible earsplitting- You fall off the berth and whack your helm on the edge going down. You aren't a minibot, but you're also not Fort Max size which makes sleeping together slightly hazardous from the drop alone. "Are you okay? Did I throw you again?" Max's optics are wide with concern. Not covered in energon. Not lifeless.

Your frame trembles in relief, and you climb back up to grab on to him. His confusion flickers and fades. "So the dreams got you this time." "Yeah. Yeah... how was your recharge?"

He shrugs, "no worse than usual."

"Oh, so reassuring."

"I was up half the time, but I didn't have a full attack."

You raise your browridge. He pulls you in closer and vents against your helm.

"That's good," you mumble as much as you can squished against his chest, "how were the ideations?" "Mild..." he resets his vocalizer and you can feel his chassis heating up at the same time as his fans kick into high, "actually. My uh, typical. Ideations weren't. Really present much." "Oh that's good!" You find yourself genuinely beaming at him despite your frame's continued spasming.

"Yeah. It is good. Probably. I don't think now is the best time to talk about it."

"Right, we just woke up... I really hate that muster warning." You move to swing off the berth and get ready for the work cycle, but Max holds you in place. "No." The single word brings back your dream and you shudder from helm to pede. Your vents kick up, and you vision swims. Max cradles you like a wounded turbokit. "You need to cycle down first."

"But-" "I'm not letting you be a hypocrite, doc. Ratchet can wait."

Knowing he has about a good third of your height on you, you comply and huddle. Max gingerly sets a giant servo on your helm.

"You're okay," he rumbles as he does not have a low tone setting that doesn't rumble, "I'm okay. We're on a ship lightyears from Elba. Lightyears from Delphi. Wherever your dreams took you, we aren't there. I..." he pauses, vents hitching as he mirrors the affirmations you usually give him, "I've got you. Try to, try to focus on me. I'm real, I promise." "Pinky promise?" This throws him off enough to earn you a small laugh. "I would, but your servos are trapped."

"You could let go." "Do you want me to?" You don't hesitate, you know how important tactile comfort is...to him of course, "no. Thank you Fortress. You mean the world to me."

For some unknown reason, his chasis only grows warmer with the affirmation.

#fortress maximus/reader #torture tw #hurt comfort #no interfacing #panic attack tw #ptsd tw #robogore #g9 content #fluff #minors dni

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citrineleaf · 1 year

Link

@playerappreciationweek Summary:

When one is in a team, they must make certain... sacrifices. And, sometimes, your team leader doesn't approve of those, but damn it if you won't try. -- Alternatively; Player would very much like to stay behind for everyone's safety. Player is a moron, according to Carmen.

(Made for Player Week, Day 5 "For Carmen's Safety, Right?")

#csplayerweek2023 #tw: manipulation #tw: panic attacks #tw: minor violence #tw: imprisonment #tw: kidnapping #tw: self hatred #tw: self esteem issues

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crow-with-a-pencil · 9 months

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Was trying to get inspiration for the thing and ended up rereading your story twisted kelp and yellow eyes. i didnt remember the last part with mel and now my heart hurts.

does mel ever find beetle after that?

Yes, actually! They meet again 9 years later in a much different place, and are currently friends. Both were uhhhhh... anxious after the last encounter, to say the least, but they're still besties in the end.

Also, for those who haven't read, feel free to check out the 11k oc story I wrote a few months back, along with a short reunion epilogue (assuming this link works hhhhh)

Won't spoil anything specific, but your answer lies at the end of the dock.

#crows writing #I just spent like half an hour figuring out how to upload pdfs #hope it pays off #if the link doesn't work just dm me and I'll get the documents to ya #corvid answers #beetle oc #Mel oc #if I ever mention a kraken themed mug. it's from this.#of course credits to intistone for all kelpie inspiration this is just my spinoff #tw for minor violence and character death #oh and panic attack #kelpie stuff

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w0rm-comics · 1 year

Text

I called my [dad] to tell [him] I really need help.

We talked about the weather instead.

♣︎

【 Adulting Is Hard (#0) 】

-> Click for better resolution

#OC: Valentines #Elenor Valentine #WORM COMICS #al does an art thing #tw alcohol #tw minor blood #tw panic attack #tw bright colors

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pigeonwhumps · 2 years

Text

Rescue #2

Cian and Row Masterlist

Rowan's first day with the Sinclairs.

3.4k

CWs: minor whump, past slavery, past character death, panic attack, painful healing, past neglect, and I mean severe neglect, self healing whumpee, healing whumpee, past dehumanisation, caning and burns mentions, muzzle and collar mention, conditioning

Rowan wakes with a gasp. For a minute they don’t know where they are, this thing they’re lying on is too soft, there’s too much light, they don’t understand. Then they remember – Cian’s house. It’s Cian’s house. Cian rescued them, brought them here, and water– water can be warm. Cian wasn’t joking, they know that now.

A jolt of pain shoots through their wrists and neck and they let out a short cry before they can stop it. The painkillers must’ve worn off. They dart a look around the room, scared, they’re not meant to make a sound, and wasn’t Leo there before, surely he’ll be annoyed, but there’s no-one there. Of course. They’re always alone.

More pain courses through their wounds as they heal, and they grit their teeth, clenching their fists, trying not to make a sound. It’ll be over soon. It has to be.

Through their pain they hear footsteps, and no, no, they don’t understand but they know they’re not supposed to be on this, it’s too soft, it can’t be theirs, it doesn’t matter if Leo put them here, their place is on the floor, and they tumble off, yelping as their leg hits the floor at just the wrong angle and they try to go to the corner, get on their knees, but they can’t, they can’t move, their leg won’t move and it hurts, and then it starts to heal and it’s agony, pulsing, pulsing, and they hear screaming as if from a distance, and no, no, that’ll make it worse, whoever it is needs to stop, but it doesn’t happen and the footsteps get closer and their breathing speeds up and they can’t see anymore and it’s all too much and–

And a familiar touch appears, a familiar warmth spreading through their body, dampening the pain, and they’re still screaming but it’s easier, they’re not alone.

It still feels like an eternity before they can see, before they can think, before they realise they’re lying on the floor, panting, aftershocks hitting them in waves. A hand squeezes their shoulder and they grasp it instinctively, clutching it, the same way they have so many times.

“Cian,” they croak, throat hoarse.

“Row.” His voice is shaky, and Rowan pulls themself up slowly, turning their head to face their friend. It’s hard to tell, given that they’ve rarely seen him in the moonlight, but they think he looks paler than usual. “I forgot how much healing affected you.”

“’mmm...” They try to speak, but their tongue’s slow to respond. Cian holds a bottle of water to their lips and they sip it gratefully. “I’m fine.”

“You’re still shaking, Row.”

They are? They look down at their hand. Oh.

“I’m– I’m– can I–”

“Of course you can, you don’t need to ask.” He reaches forward and pulls Rowan into a tight hug. Rowan tries to resist falling into it, knowing it can’t last long, but they’re scared and confused and this. They understand this.

“Why are you on the floor?” asks Cian eventually, and Rowan pulls away reluctantly, taking Teddy from Cian as a substitute. Its fur’s worn but still soft and they hug it tightly.

“It– I– it’s my place. Someone will– they’ll punish me if I’m not.”

Cian cups their face in his hands. “Your place isn’t on the floor, Rowan. Not anymore. You hear me? You’re part of my family now. I don’t know if dad told you you’re staying with us for good?” Rowan shakes their head, painful hope rising in their chest. “Well, you are. You’re never going back to that basement. And you can trust mum and dad, I promise.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

Rowan tries to imagine it. No more forced healings, no more canings or muzzling or being tied up outside for hours while Mr Leach uses them as an ashtray. No more of that basement.

They can’t imagine it. That life is all they’ve known.

“I’m– I– Cian, I don’t know how to do that.”

“That’s okay. Because we’re gonna teach you.”

Cian’s voice is determined, jaw set, the same way he was when he decided to fetch Teddy from the Leaches when it was confiscated, or when he declared that he was going to get Rowan out someday, and Rowan gives him a tentative smile. It feels weird, they haven’t done it much. Cian brightens immensely at the sight of it.

“There you are. Come on, let’s get into bed. Far more comfortable than the floor.”

The bed? Oh. That must be the soft thing they were on. They allow Cian to help them up and onto the bed, curling up under the covers. Cian curls around them, mostly not quite touching, a hand on their shoulder.

“You’re safe, Row. You’re out of there.”

But Rowan remembers what happened the last and only other time someone tried to get them out. They might be out now, which is further than they got then, but it doesn’t mean they’re safe. They’re not safe, Cian’s not safe, nobody’s safe, not while the Leaches are still out there and will be wanting them back. They clutch Cian’s hand tightly.

“Row? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t die,” they whisper, shaking, memories of blood and blank, staring eyes and a gentle, cracking, “it’s not your fault, Rowan,” assaulting them, “please don’t die, Cian.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” he replies, somewhat bemused, and Rowan just nods, knowing that he doesn’t understand but unable to explain further. Cian will be horrified and they can barely hold themself together through that memory as it is. “You should try and get some sleep, Row. I’ll stay.”

Rowan closes their eyes. Their mind whirs and their stomach churns and they’re not sure they can sleep, but they need to, they need to be prepared for tomorrow, and they’re exhausted. Eventually they drift off into a nightmare-ridden sleep.

It’s late morning when Leo hears footsteps on the stairs and the tight feeling in his chest eases somewhat. He’d heard Rowan’s screams last night, and although Cian had asked that they leave him to help them because Rowan wouldn’t trust anyone else, that Rowan would be fine, he still spent the night awake, aching to go to them. Marcia looks up from where she’s doodling a dress design on the back of an envelope, yawning, and gets up to turn the toaster back on.

Both children look a bit of a mess, bags under their eyes, last night’s rumpled pyjamas still on. That’s not unusual though. Cian’s like this whenever he’s off school. Leo takes a close look at Rowan, holding themself even smaller than they are, hand clutched tightly in Cian’s, teddy bear held in the other, sporting a wide-eyed expression that’s a mix of fear and confusion.

Rowan’s the part of this that’s unusual. They haven’t had anyone new to stay for a long time.

“Would either of you like some toast?” asks Marcia.

“Yes please, mum, I’m starving.”

She chuckles, dropping three pieces of bread in the toaster. “Of course you are, you’re a thirteen year old boy. Rowan?”

Rowan jumps. “I, erm, yes please, ma’am.”

“Not ma’am, I’m just Marcia. Ma’am makes me sound like a soldier. Or a politician.” She shudders dramatically.

Cian sits down opposite Leo, motioning for Rowan to join them. “Don’t they use ‘sir’ in the army?”

“Hush, you.” Cian snorts. “Rowan, when did you last eat? And what did you eat? I want to know how much I can feed you.”

“Just before she put the muzzle on, ma’am. And, erm, I’m not sure what it was. Something mashed up. I heard them yelling at each other that they had food that was going off so it was probably that but I don’t know what it was. A bowl full.”

“A dog bowl?” checks Marcia. Rowan nods. “I’ll leave you with one piece of toast for now then. Don’t want you getting sick.”

“Thank you ma– Marcia.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m hardly going to let my kids go hungry.” Rowan stares disbelievingly, and Cian smiles.

“I told you you were part of the family.”

Once the toast’s done Marcia plates it, three slices for Cian and one for Rowan, and places it on the table. “Right. Blackcurrant jam for you I assume Cian, and Rowan, we have blackcurrant and strawberry jam, honey, peanut butter, and just butter. What would you like?”

Rowan just stares.

Leo chuckles. “I think you overwhelmed them, love.”

“Can... can I try strawberry jam please?” asks Rowan quietly after a long pause. Marcia brings both jars over to the table and sits down herself.

Cian starts spreading a thick layer of jam over his toast but Rowan doesn’t, gaze flicking between Cian and his own closed jar. Leo frowns.

“You not hungry, kid?”

Rowan hunches slightly over their plate. “No I am, I just can’t– I mean I’ve never had this before and I don’t know how to use it. But I’ll eat it, don’t take it, please, sir.”

“I won’t. Just let me open this for you, it’s new, probably stiff anyway.”

“They’ve only used spoons before, dad,” says Cian through a mouthful of bread, “sorry, Row, I forgot. Copy me when I do my next slice.”

Rowan nods, hesitantly taking their knife in a death grip and stabbing it into the jam jar.

“What, always?” asks Marcia, horrified. Rowan nods again.

“I told you they were eating out of a dog bowl.”

“I didn’t realise you meant all the time,” says Marcia. “Slow down, Rowan, you’ll be sick.”

“Sorry.” They stop cramming toast into their mouth and set it back down. “I... erm, I’ve not used my hands to eat much either. Cian brought me stuff sometimes but otherwise... am I doing this right?”

“You can’t really eat with your hands wrong, kid.” Rowan nods, picking up the toast again and eating slower this time. Leo tries not to think about how the kid must’ve been eating all these years. Like a dog, probably. He thinks of something better, something he’s eager to know. “Do you like your new room?”

Rowan frowns. “I don’t– I, erm, I haven’t seen it yet, sir.”

Leo exchanges a confused look with Marcia, wishing he understood how this child’s mind works. “You do realise the room you slept in last night is yours, right?”

“I– oh.” Their eyes widen. “I thought– the basement– it’s all mine?”

“That room you’re in is, yes. We’re not putting you in the basement, kid.”

“Oh.” They swallow. “I like the bed covers. They’re very colourful?” The last part comes out tentative, like a question, like they’re not used to giving their opinion, and they glance at Cian for reassurance afterwards. It makes Leo sad, that they’re so scared and inexperienced. They’re eleven, they should be living their life, not be confused by how to eat toast and jam.

“I’m glad,” says Marcia, smiling, “I chose them for you. Cian said you like colourful things.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem. We’ll go shopping at some point this week so you can make the room more yours.” Rowan nods, eyes welling. Then, very clearly, they pinch themself.

“You’re not dreaming, kid. I promise.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“You don’t need to call me sir either. But you’re not in trouble, put your hands down. Finish eating your toast, go on.” At a confirmatory nod from Cian they take a few large bites, finishing it off. “So is there anything you want to do today?”

Rowan bites his lip. “I don’t have wants, sir.”

“It’s okay, you’re allowed to want things.”

Rowan’s eyes flicker around the room, clearly assessing. “Can I please, um, please go outside?”

“Of course you can,” replies Marcia with a smile. “Cian, love, why don’t you find them some clothes first?”

“Will do. Come on, Row, let’s find you something. And then I’ll show you around the garden.” Cian slings an arm around Rowan’s shoulders and continues talking as they head out of the room.

Cian pulls a large cardboard box out from under Rowan’s bed as Rowan watches on, hands behind their back.

“So. These clothes are for you until we can buy you some of your own. They’re from when I was about… eight, I think. Come down here and choose, I don’t want to make you wear something hideous.”

Rowan kneels down opposite him and Cian rummages through the box. He’s not about to give Rowan that yellow and brown tie-dye t-shirt he made, it’ll look horrible on them. Eventually he pulls out a dark blue t-shirt emblazoned with a light blue logo and holds it up.

“Punters Hill Swim Team. Huh. Some of these clothes must be newer than I thought. This might be too big, but the fabric’s nice and thick still. Try it on.”

Rowan switches his pyjama top for it, then frowns. “Punters Hill Swim Team?”

“Yeah. My leg didn’t heal right that time I was kidnapped with you, and my physio suggested I try swimming to help with the pain and stiffness. It turned out I was good at it. I’ve been competing for several years now. That’s the name of the team I competed for when I was about nine or ten.”

“Oh. I’m sorry about your leg.”

“It’s not your fault, Row. You healed it the best you could. It was Mrs Leach who broke it. Anyway, it’s not that bad. I have a really cool cane to use when I need it, I’ll show you later. What do you think of the t-shirt?”

Rowan nods. “It’s nice. I… like it.”

“That’s good.” He’s aware that Rowan would probably just say yes to anything, even with him, but he won’t take away their agency. “Let’s find you some shorts then.”

As Cian searches through the box again, Rowan says hesitantly, “Your parents are nice.”

Cian wants to reply that they only fed him and gave him somewhere to sleep, it’s what any decent person would do, but he knows that with Rowan that’s not a guarantee.

“Yep,” he says instead, “they are. Here you go. Put these on and we can go outside. I’ll introduce you to Boris again. You remember, that black and white cat that used to hang around the park?”

Rowan looks up from where they’re doing up their shorts, eyes wide. “He’s still alive?”

“Yep. A bit grey around the whiskers, but still around. He dribbles a lot now.” Rowan smiles properly for the first time in a long time. “You really remember?”

“You’re one of the only people who’s ever been kind to me, of course I remember meeting you,” replies Rowan softly. Cian squeezes their hand.

“Come on. Let’s go outside.”

Marcia and Leo watch through the kitchen window as Cian picks a daisy and tucks it behind Rowan’s ear. Rowan startles backwards and then smiles when they realise what it is, touching the flower lightly.

“Sweet kid,” says Marcia quietly. “Cian really wasn’t exaggerating the trauma though.”

“Mmm.” Leo takes a sip of his tea. “He might’ve understated it. Yesterday Rowan thought I was going to cut their fingers off for removing their collar. They’re scared of everything, and I’m not sure I blame them.”

Marcia feels a pang in her chest. Rowan doesn’t even reach her shoulders. She’s asked herself hundreds of times since Cian was kidnapped how the Leaches could torture children like that, and she still doesn’t have any answers. How could anyone look at someone so small and decide to hurt them?

“What’s with the way they keep holding their hands out towards us anyway?” she asks. They seem scared whenever they do it but they keep doing it.

“That’s what the Leaches made them do whenever they were going to be punished,” says Cian from the doorway. “Where’s the suncream for Rowan?”

“In the drawer with the sandwich bags,” replies Marcia, stepping aside so her son can get to it. “What do you mean?”

Cian extracts the suncream from the top of the messy drawer and leans against the sink, eyes haunted. “Whenever Rowan did something wrong, he had to stretch out his hands, palms up, towards whichever one of the Leaches was there at the time. Or when they arrived, if they weren’t there at the time of the offence. To show them that they knew they’d done something wrong, and were ready to be corrected. It had nothing to do with what the punishment would be though.”

“That’s barbaric,” growls Leo.

“Mm-hm. Anyway, I’d better get this to Rowan before they turn into a tomato.”

“Tell them we’re ordering Caribbean for tea,” Marcia calls after him. He turns with a smile.

“I doubt they’ll know what that is, but I’ll tell them.”

He disappears out the door and Marcia scowls, anger bubbling inside her. It really is barbaric, the way Rowan’s been treated. If only they could’ve gotten them out of there years ago.

“There really was nothing we could’ve done earlier, was there?” she murmurs. Leo puts an arm around her shoulders and squeezes her tightly, kissing her on the head.

“No. Not if we were going to keep Cian safe. But at least they’re with us now.”

Marcia leans her head on Leo, watching Rowan stroke Boris. Yes. They’re here now. Traumatised but very much alive.

The sun’s warm on Rowan’s skin as they sit against a tree in Cian’s back garden, stroking the cat in their lap. Their clothes are better quality than they’ve ever had before, and their neck feels odd, naked, warmed by sun, not sweaty leather. It’s been so long since it was free, and the same length of time since they last went outside unsupervised (before they were discovered and collared). So long since they were outside without pain.

They pinch their arm. Ow.

“Not a dream, Row.”

They look round as Cian sits down beside them and nod. “I couldn’t dream anything this good.” Couldn’t dream of food so nice, or a bed, or being so clean. A room with a window. Not when they’ve never had any of that before.

Cian holds out a bottle. “Suncream. To protect your skin from burning in the sun. Hold out your arm, I’ll show you.” Rowan does so, and he removes the cap, depressing the top so some white liquid sprays out onto their arm (Boris vanishes with a mew as the spray hits him). Then he rubs it in until it’s disappeared. “Got it?” They nod. “Here, do the rest of your exposed skin.” Rowan does so, marvelling at the fact that people care enough to stop them being hurt. Cian always has of course, but they’ve been caned on fresh sunburn before and although they thought Cian’s family were nicer, they didn’t expect them to be quite like this.

“Apparently I’m a terrible thief.”

Rowan blinks. “What?”

“You know the things I used to bring you? The ones that I said my parents didn’t know I was taking, but that they wouldn’t have punished me for it anyway?” Rowan nods. It’s still unfathomable, that he wouldn’t be punished. “Well, apparently they did know. Which explains, I suppose, why they never questioned the absence of the box of strawberries. They left them out on purpose.”

“What– they– why would they do that?”

“It was the most they could do to take care of you, until it was safe enough to rescue you. They care about you, Row. They always have.”

And Rowan... well, they’re not sure how to process that. They blink back tears.

“Also, we’re ordering Caribbean food for tea. You’ll love it.”

Rowan nods. They don’t understand what Caribbean is but it seems they’re getting fed twice today. “Thank you.” Then they yawn, and stiffen automatically in panic.

“Go on, lean on me and have a nap. You must be exhausted.”

Rowan nods, laying their head on Cian’s arm and closing their eyes. They haven’t done much today, so they’re not sure why they’re so tired, but they are. And they don’t want to fall asleep, if they’re needed they won’t be there and that’s scary, but with Cian here to protect them and a bone-deep tiredness filling them it’s not long before they drift off.

#whump writing #whump #minor whump #recovery whump #whumpee and caretaker #multiple caretakers #so all those asks reminded me that this chapter was only a couple of sentences off finishing #and I figured I may as well post it now #thanks anon!#cian and row #cian sinclair #rowan sinclair #leo sinclair #marcia sinclair #minor whumpee #past character death #who you'll probably never meet tbh #might meet his sister though...#panic attack tw

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