#and i’m more or less alright with them like there’s a few irregular ones that i tend to doubt myself on but

[hollyslangblr]

i don’t normally notice what i learn from foreign language music or shows or social media posts but today two girls from my spanish class and i did a study session and several of the things we looked at i was like oh my god i picked that up from stuff i saw on twitter or ooh i learnt that from an argentinian band i found on tiktok. basically i highly recommend💀

[extasiswings]

“I felt it shelter to speak to you.” for Buddie

This was...not supposed to be this long but all the recent promo content has been...inspiring. Anyway...on ao3 here.

The first attack happens on a Saturday afternoon.

There’s nothing special about the day, nothing strange. Christopher is at a friend’s birthday party, Buck is off somewhere with Taylor, and Eddie is grocery shopping before he’s meant to meet Ana for an early dinner.

His shoulder aches a little—that’s what he notices first—but that’s not too unusual. It happens sometimes. Even as physical therapy has helped him regain strength and mobility in his arm and shoulder, a high caliber sniper round ripping through his upper chest is no minor injury. Plus, while he’s hardly ancient, he’s not even as young as he was when he was shot the first time, and those bullets left behind their own patches of scar tissue and occasional twinges.

So. His shoulder aches. It’s fine. He ignores it and moves on. Goes through the store, checks out, put his bags in the backseat—

There’s a glare off a window in the apartment building across the street.

Eddie reaches for the handle of his door.

Suddenly, his fingers start tingling, uncomfortable pricks of icy numbness traveling up his hands like they’ve fallen asleep, but shaking them out doesn’t help. And then, without warning, pain lances through his chest, sharp and acute, and he can’t breathe properly, as if his torso has been trapped in a vise that’s slowly tightening more and more.

His vision swims. He sways on his feet, grasping at the door handle with clumsy, numb fingers to keep himself upright.

He feels like—he feels—

He feels like he’s dying. It strikes him with sudden clarity. He’s dying. Dying in a random parking lot—he always assumed he was too young to have a heart attack but the symptoms fit and he’s just—

He can’t. He can’t die. Not when he’s survived everything else. This can’t be—

“Sir?” There’s a woman with a station wagon parked in the space next to his truck and she’s looking at him with no small amount of concern. “Are you okay?”

Eddie’s mouth is so dry and his breathing so irregular that it takes him a moment to respond.

“I—I think I need to go to the hospital,” he grits out as another wave of dizziness threatens to send him to his knees.

She calls 911. Eddie spares a moment to be grateful that the paramedics who show up a few minutes later aren’t from the 118.

As it turns out, he’s not dying. And he didn’t have a heart attack.

“A panic attack?” Eddie’s voice is distant to his own ears as he stares at the ER doctor in disbelief, his stomach flipping with a new kind of dread. “Are you sure?”

“Your symptoms resolved on their own and your EKG is normal, Mr. Diaz,” she replies as she flicks through the screens of his chart on her tablet. “And nothing in your prior history or other recent tests indicates that there’s anything physically wrong with you—you were healthy before you were shot and your recovery has progressed smoothly up to this point.”

She pauses and looks back at him. “Have you...spoken to a therapist? I noticed that your treating physician made a referral for counseling when you were originally discharged, but…”

Eddie clears his throat roughly. “Yeah, no, I, uh...with the PT schedule and everything else going on, I never followed up with that. But I’ve been fine. It never seemed necessary.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Diaz,” the doctor says, “you’re in the emergency room because of an acute stress response in which your brain tricked your body into believing you were in danger to such an extent that you thought you were dying. I’m not sure you’re as fine as you think.”

There’s probably some truth to that. Eddie can admit that much. But that doesn’t mean he needs—he’s been shot before. He’s been in a warzone. He didn’t need therapy to move forward from it then and he shouldn’t now. He can—he can handle this. He can make himself get over it.

He’s already spent months leaning heavily on everyone around him. The thought of not being okay, of asking for more help when he’s finally easing back into working, when things are finally getting back to normal, when they all have their own issues to focus on—

God, it makes him want to throw up.

So...no. He’s okay. Because not being okay isn’t an option.

He’s fine. The panic attack was...a fluke.

“I appreciate the advice,” Eddie says finally. “I’ll think about it.”

He can tell the doctor doesn’t believe him when her lips thin.

“You know, more likely than not, the panic attacks will keep happening if you do nothing,” she points out. “Ignoring this won’t make it go away.”

“I understand,” Eddie replies. “If that’s all, does that mean I can get out of here?”

The doctor sighs. “Sure.”

Eddie’s phone rings while he’s in an Uber on the way back to his truck. It’s Ana.

He swears under his breath as he sees the time—he hadn’t called anyone, hadn’t wanted the hospital to call anyone either, but that means he’s now late for a date that he doesn’t really want to keep after everything and further doesn’t leave him with any good excuses for his absence except the truth which...he doesn’t really want to admit.

Before the shooting, Carla told him to make sure he was following his heart. And he’s been too exhausted and focused on his recovery to really think too hard about that. But now—

For a moment, Eddie considers it. Telling Ana the truth. Showing her some of the dark, messy, ugly pieces of himself. Being vulnerable.

The very idea makes him recoil. Not because he thinks she would run away necessarily, but because he just...can’t.

He can’t. Not with her.

And if he’s that uncomfortable with the idea of letting in someone he’s been dating for over half a year, if he can’t imagine himself ever actually being comfortable with that...then what the hell is he doing?

He calls her back when he gets to his truck.

“Hey—I’m so sorry, I had a little emergency—yeah, everything’s fine now, but I’m not sure I’m up for going out. Can I meet you at your place? ...okay, great. See you soon.”

He may know even less about ending a relationship than he does about dating in general, but he figures he at least owes it to her to end things in person.

*

Eddie goes to work on Monday feeling fine. Great, even. He sleeps well the night before, he gets Christopher off to school on time, traffic is light enough that he gets to the station early—

Everything is fine. By all accounts it should be a good day.

At least, that’s what he thinks right up until all of them get different emergency alerts sent to their phones and they find out the city’s systems have been hacked. From that point forward, everything is chaos. Damage control. Twenty-car pile-ups because stoplights are being messed with, an outbreak of animals from the zoo when the electric locks on their enclosures released—

Eddie’s fine though. He’s fine. It’s nothing he can’t handle—in fact, he’s usually great with chaos. He’s focused and sure and capable. Nothing else matters but the work, certainly not himself. When he’s busy, he has no time to think about anything else.

The gradually worsening tension in his shoulders can be ignored. The way he has to clench his hands into fists to keep them from shaking in a way he hasn’t had to do since his earliest days in Afghanistan can be brushed off. He doesn’t have time to think about anything but the jobs in front of him, which means he doesn’t have time to think about his own state.

Brush it off, pick yourself up, keep moving forward. That’s what he knows, that’s what he can do.

Except, then they end up at the hospital and—

A medevac helicopter falls off the roof. Bobby nearly joins it. Buck and Eddie barely manage to get him back.

A cold sweat breaks out on Eddie’s brow as Bobby leans heavily against the wall next to the roof access door to catch his breath. His stomach roils. He doesn’t feel fully connected to his own body, caught somehow between present and past, a rooftop in Los Angeles and a desert in Afghanistan.

He breathes in. He tamps down on the rising panic.

Bobby is fine. The helicopter pilots and their patient are fine.

He’s fine. He’s fine.

“Are you okay?”

Eddie jumps at the question, his head whipping around to find the source. Buck’s brow furrows as he holds up his hands.

“Sorry,” Buck says quietly. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head. “You’re fine, don’t worry about it.”

He glances toward the door. “You know, I think I’m going to head back down,” he says, hoping Buck won’t notice the fact that he hasn’t answered the original question. “I want to make sure the pilots are holding up alright.”

“I can come—” Buck starts to offer, only for Eddie to cut him off.

“Someone should stay with Bobby,” he replies. He forces a smile as Buck’s eyes search his face. “I’ll be fine.”

Buck glances at Bobby, then back to Eddie before he finally nods.

“Okay,” he says. “But here, take the radio. If anything happens—”

“I’ll let you know.”

Eddie makes it down one flight of stairs before he decides to take the elevator the rest of the way down. The numbers on the top of the doors tick down, down, down—

And then, abruptly, the elevator lurches to a halt, throwing Eddie off balance and into the wall as the lights go out, plunging him into total darkness.

His ears ring from the impact.

He’s trapped. Trapped in a metal box in the dark. A box that could easily become a coffin if the emergency stop failed and sent it careening down to crash at the bottom of the elevator shaft.

Eddie’s breathing speeds up against his will. His chest starts to hurt.

Not again, he thinks vaguely. Not here, not now, not again.

But. He can’t move. He can’t breathe. Some distant part of his mind recognizes that what he’s feeling isn’t real, that he just needs to calm down, but he can’t—

He’s going to die. He’s going to—

The radio crackles in his belt.

“Eddie? Eddie! Can you hear me?”

Eddie’s mind latches onto the sound of Buck’s voice like a lifeline in an ocean of distress. It takes him a moment to make his trembling hands work through their numbness, to remind his fingers how to work the buttons, but eventually, he lifts the radio to his mouth.

“I’m here,” he says. His voice shakes. “I’m in the elevator. It’s—I don’t know which floor. Or if I’m between floors. I don’t—”

He shudders. His eyes close, not that it really matters given how dark the space is already.

“It’s okay,” Buck replies. “It’s okay, Eddie, we’ll find you. We’ll get you out, don’t worry.”

“I don’t want to die here.” It slips out of him before he can pull it back. Buck takes a sharp breath on the other end of the line.

“That’s not going to happen,” Buck says firmly, although his own voice seems less steady than usual. “I would never let that happen. I’ve got your back, remember? Always.”

A shudder rips down Eddie’s spine and he slides against the wall to sit on the floor. The walls still feel too restricting, like they’re closing in on him more each moment that he looks away.

The radio crackles again.

“Eddie. What can I do? What do you need?” Buck asks.

I don’t know. I don’t—I can’t—

“Eddie.” The fear and desperation in Buck’s voice cuts through the fog in Eddie’s mind.

He never wants Buck to sound like that.

“Keep talking?” Eddie replies. “I—just keep talking to me. Please?”

Don’t go, is what he really means. Stay with me.

He’s never allowed himself to say those things though. Not during the early days of the pandemic when they were sharing a bed in Buck’s loft. Not after he moved back home with Christopher and the other side of his bed felt too empty for sleep to come easily. And certainly not after he started dating Ana.

During his recovery, he never had to ask Buck for anything really. Buck was always just...there. Even though he was with Taylor, he was still there with Eddie and with Christopher whenever Eddie needed him. Like he knew somehow. Or maybe as if he needed to be there as much as Eddie needed him there.

Eddie hasn’t looked too closely at any of that. He’s not ready to. It’s too much, too complicated, too—too—

Dangerous.

“What do you want to talk about?”

Eddie swallows hard as his head rests against the wall. As he allows the sound of Buck’s voice to wrap around him like armor. Like home. Insulating him against the panic and isolation.

“Anything,” he says quietly. “Just keep talking.”

And Buck does. He talks about everything and nothing, random facts and stories from his past that Eddie hasn’t heard before, he talks and talks and talks until his voice grows hoarse in Eddie’s ear and the pressure on Eddie’s lungs eases.

Eddie exhales shakily and takes a few deep breaths as he continues to listen, as his body shifts from hyper-awareness and panic to wrung out exhaustion. When Buck finally cuts off, it’s because there’s an ugly screech of metal as the elevator doors are pried open, as light filters back in.

Eddie’s legs are unsteady as he gets to his feet. He trips on the edge of the elevator door when he exits—

Buck catches him before he can fall. Because of course he does.

“Thank you,” Eddie breathes into Buck’s shoulder as he finds his balance.

Buck shakes his head. “I promised we’d get you out, didn’t I? Besides, I—I shouldn’t have let you go alone.”

“I decided—”

“I shouldn’t have let you,” Buck repeats, low but insistent. His eyes meet Eddie’s and Eddie swallows hard.

“You weren’t okay. Were you?” Buck asks. And Eddie—

He wants to lie. Part of him does at least.

But he can’t lie to Buck.

Not to Buck.

“No,” he confesses. It’s half a whisper. “No, I wasn’t.”

Buck bites his lip and nods once.

“Okay,” he says. “We’ll figure it out.”

And somehow, Eddie believes him.

[imaslutforremusandsirius]

Can you please do a mean Dom Harry smut

His sanity

Guess who's back

Warning: 18+

---

The door to your shared home slammed shut with a deafening thud, followed by heavy footsteps. You jerked with momentary fear of the intrusion until you saw Harry standing in the doorstep of your living room.

You put your book upside down on the couch and get up to greet Harry properly. When you were close enough to see your boyfriend‘s emotionless expression, your smile went from happy to timid, until it disappeared completely. Harry seemed to be looking right through you, his whole body trembling with an effort to keep his magic inside. His aura was overwhelming, so intense that you stayed a few steps away from him so as not to be completely surrounded by it.

Harry seemed to notice your mistrust and carefully put his wand on the side, his green eyes now fixed on yours. Not that that would make a big difference, he could crush you without the stupid stick if he wanted to, but it was a sign to you. A sign that he was still in control, even if only scantily.

It was deathly quiet for a passing moment and a trembling breath escaped your drying lips. You hadn't even noticed to what extent Harry's magic was crushing you until he closed his eyes and seconds later the air seemed more bearable again.

You knew that this night could end dangerously, that Harry's sanity was hanging on a millimeter thin strand, but no matter how hard your brain tried to stop you, your feet had already made their decision. Only when you felt his warm breath on your lips did you realize that you had moved. Harry was motionless, hands still shaking, clenched in firm fists.

There was a gleam in his eyes, something that resembled a warning. You couldn't hold yourself and in the second in which you hugged your warm body against his trembling one, Harry's disciplined posture shattered into a million pieces. He buried his trembling hands in your hair and pressed you closer to him, his mouth dominated yours with so much strength, as if he was trying to drown in the taste of your lips.

Harry pulled and tore at your clothes until you stood completely naked in his arms. His hands were everywhere and nowhere at the same time, never long enough in the places that ached for his touches. Taking quick strides he forced you to walk backwards, pushing you into a seating position on the couch. You stared up at him compliantly, making him smirk at you with obvious delight. Your book long forgotten on the cold floor.

He was silent when he opened the buttons of his shirt, his bright eyes followed your hands and he watched you as you undid his belt. He lifted his brow as your hands left his body to rest submissively on your thighs.

„Did I tell you to stop?“ He whispered softly, teeth gritted together.

You shook your head and blinked up at him, mulling over your next sentence.

„You didn‘t tell me what you want...“ You said softly, not wanting to awaken his anger, which was simmering very close to the surface. You saw it glinting impatiently behind his irises, waiting for the perfect moment to sink its teeth into your soft flesh.

„Want me to spell it out for you? Get on your fucking knees and suck my cock.“ He hissed, eyes flashing with irritation.

You immediately fell on your knees, barely feeling the pain and pulled on his clothes until they rested by his ankles. His cock hit your face and you looked up at your boyfriend, tongue outstretched to lick the underside. Harry's control burned through and he pulled your head back until your neck protested with the pain. His other hand smeared his cock on your lips and cheeks, spreading his cum on your skin and smiled as the lower half of your face shone with him. Oh exactly this view he wanted to burn into his brain forever, you on your knees like his personal whore, nothing else but the thought of his cock in your stupid head.

His hand on your jaw opened your mouth wide to insert his cock, deep needy moans escaping him when you ran your tongue along the underside of the tip. Without paying attention to your well-being he started to fuck your mouth, eyes narrowed and lips parted, his groans were so desperate, he sounded like your mouth couldn't satisfy the hunger in him. Harry wanted to be inside of you, to he ached to hear your pretty whimpers and pleads.

„Your mouth isn‘t enough. Tell me what else can you offer me?“ Harry snarked, giving you a challenging grin.

You tried to pull away but he kept your head in place, pouting when you didn‘t answer.

„What is it, can‘t talk?“ Harry chuckled, eyes flashing with evil amusement when you struggled to breathe with his cock stuffing your mouth full.

„How rude of you. I should teach you a less-“ Harry‘s voice broke off with a surprised gasp and his hips bucked forward. He gave you a glare and you only sucked him harder for it, knowing that you were pushing his buttons just right.

„You wanna play? Hm? Is that it?“ Harry grunted, already forcing your head to lean on the seat of the couch, one knee resting beside your head. „Alright, take it then.“

Nothing could have prepared you for the punishing thrust of his hips. He almost crushed you against the couch, his balls pressed against your chin. You were forced to stare up in this position, your vision obscured by the tears rolling down your temples, but it was worth it, Harry was irresistible in this position. Fuck, the way his head was leaned back, mouth wide open and he sounded the room with his rough voice, your name on his lips like a prayer. Jaw sharp and veins visible in his neck, upper body tense and hands buried in your hair.

Black dots danced in front of your eyes, your nails left long, angry scratch marks on his arms and legs. The pain only made him more aggressive and he pulled himself out of your mouth.

„Stop crying, you wanted to fuck me, remember?“ Harry kissed you hard again, teeth and lips met painfully but you didn't care.

„I want you to let yourself go. Show me what you want.“ He whispered hotly, groaning into your mouth when your hand wrapped around his cock again.

„Want you to fuck me, Harry please.“ You pleaded, pressing desperate kisses all over his throat, nipping at some places to leave your marks. Harry loved being covered in your bruises.

„What? Can‘t hear you, sweetheart.“

He was doing it on purpose at this point, wanting you to beg for him to take you.

„Please“ you whined, tightening your hand around him painfully, but Harry wouldn’t be Harry if he didn‘t enjoy pain.

„Please fuck me, take me-“ Your voice cut off with a sharp cry when two fingers pounded into you with such speed you came seconds later, vision exploding with a blazing white light.

„Yes, cum!“ Harry commanded, drunk on your screams of pleasure, craving to feel your cunt tighten around his cock and not his fingers.

"More" you gasped at the overstimulation but still pressed your cunt against his fingers, "Cock, want cock."

Harry proudly boasted that he reduced you into a mindless cock slut with just his fingers. He sat on the couch and gestured on his lap, arms spread out on the armrest in a dominant manner. There was that cool, dangerous shine in his green eyes again and his expression was illegible. Harry was unreachable and you wanted to see him fall.

Your breathing was irregular as you crawled up to him, your hands sliding gently over his legs. Harry let you do it and admired your naked body, his eyes fixed on the lips you are biting on.

"You wanted my cock so come on and fuck yourself with it" Harry commanded and you whined submissively, seating yourself on top of him. His cock brushed against your sensitive inner thighs, leaving a hot trail of his cum and your spit on your skin. Sinking down your eyes rolled back, lips parting into a silent o and you sat there for a few seconds, getting lost in the feeling of him so deep inside of you.

Harry's hands clung to your hips and he moved in circular motions, watching you intently as you moaned and squealed whenever your clit rubbed against his flesh or the tip of his cock hit your g-spot.

"I'm barely doing anything and you're already shaking." Harry forced out, thighs clenching under yours when you gave him a look so full of pleasure and submission that it overwhelmed him. He could do anything to you right now and you would go with it. Harry was drunk on that power, thumb pushing past your spit glistening lips to make you suck on it.

"Everyone always thinks you're so fuck do that again so fucking smart and proper, but ah look at you now..." His voice was trembling with bliss, your quick thrusts and sharp movements making him weak.

You keened, clinging on this shoulders when Harry lifted his hips to literally drill into you, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you against his sweat soaked chest.

"Should show them how dumb you are" He hissed, biting at the skin of your jaw, "Show them how much of a fucking slut you can be."

The only sounds you could make were high-pitched moans, his dirty words only made you hungrier for him.

"Only here to make me cum" Harry moaned at last, letting his deep voice flow freely in the room, "Only here to take my cum, hm?"

You cried out, going faster when you felt the familiar ache in your stomach, the tension building up rapidly.

"Yes!" you sobbed, "Give me cum pleaseplease!"

Holding you down on his cock by your shoulders Harry pounded up into your pussy, once, twice and on the third push you came with a shout, biting into the thumb he pushed inside of your mouth again. Harry let out a broken groan at the sight of your release and came only seconds later, going momentarily silent with the amount of pleasure flodding his blood. He didn't let you go, holding you down until you were dripping with his essance, uncomfortably full with him.

"There you have it" Harry mocked, breathlessly, "Full of my cum, just the way you like it."

You whimpered when he pulled out, clenching around nothing to keep in as much of him as you could. Harry pulled you on your knees and pushed you forward, craning his neck to watch his cum drip out of you.

"You're making a mess, sweetheart" His fingers pushed his cum back inside, pinching your thighs when you scrambled to get away. "Stay still, I want it to stay inside."

"Sensitive" you whispered, legs trembling to keep yourself upright on his lap.

He finally took his fingers out when he was satisfied, pushing his fingers past your lips and watch you suck them clean.

"Satisfied" He raised a brow, ready to fuck you again if you were to say no. He is a gentleman after all.

"Yes, thank you." You mumbled around his fingers, content to just lean against him and dose off with his fingers gently pushing in and out of your mouth.

Harry leaned back as well, the tension from before falling away. He let himself dose off, enjoying the calmness of his mind while it lasted.

[beauvibaby]

tough decisions — j.oleksiak

a/n: finally another pcos fic, this is based around my symptoms with it, hopefully it’s relatable to most of you!!

warnings: pcos, anxiety, surgery and mentions of covid

“Hey, babe, I should be there in ten.” Jamie answered cheerfully, assuming you were calling to see how far out he was. “I’m sorry, J.” You mumbled, hiding back a groan at the pain tightening in your lower stomach. “I just don’t feel good tonight, could we reschedule?” You asked, letting out a small wince as you leaned against the counter. “Of course, are you ok? You sound hurt.” The concern in his voice only made you feel worse, you managed to hum in response, “oh.” He mumbled into the phone, clearly picking up your message.

You two had been dating for a little over six months, and now that he thought of it, he couldn’t recall a single time when you were on your period and miserable like this. “Did you want me to come over? I can bring you dinner?” He offered, waiting hopefully for your response, “actually that would be great.” You sighed, wanting nothing more than to take a hot shower and hope the cramps got better once you ate. “I’ll unlock the door for you, I’m going to take a shower.” You told him, adding a soft goodbye and an I love you, he repeated the sentiment, a frown etched onto his face as he stopped to get dinner.

You had just slipped on some loose fitting clothes when you heard Jamie walk in the front door of your apartment, “Y/N?” He called out, smiling when you rounded the corner in a shirt of his that you had stolen “accidentally”. He held a bouquet of flowers in front of him along with a takeout bag from your favorite restaurant, “hi pretty girl.” He murmured when you pouted at him, “I love you.” You sighed, burying your face in his chest, “I love you too.” He chuckled lightly, kissing the top of your head. “Wanna eat something? It’ll make you feel better.” He offered, getting a huff in response, he took it as a yes and walked with you wrapped up in his arms to the table. “It hurts.” You explained with a hiss as you sat down in the chair, reaching for your food, he knew it took a lot for you to admit you were in pain, “is it always this bad?” He asked with furrowed brows, taking a bite of his food as you nibbled on yours, suddenly feeling nauseous and worried eating would make it worse. “When I get it, yeah.” You told him, going on to explain the issues you struggled with, the missed cycles, heavy cycles, cramps, all of it. If you could tell him you love him, you can tell him this.

He nodded as you spoke, absorbing the information you spit out, “m’sorry baby.” He sighed, not liking having to watch you like this. You shrugged, finally forcing some of your food down, some relief coming over you as you had something in your stomach. He didn’t push you any further as he saw the look in your eyes, the way you got quiet, he cleaned up the table, leaving you with your plate as you continued to take bites here and there. “I’m going to go change.” He kissed the top of your head before walking down the hall to your room where he knew he had a pair of sweatpants stashed away.

Well he was in there, he quickly googled what you had told him, pcos was on repeat in his mind so he wouldn’t forget it as he typed it into his phone, he read as much as he could, being sure not to be gone suspiciously long.

He got the gist of it, irregularities, heavier cramps, bleeding, mood swings, particularly sad ones.

Infertility. He pushed that one to the back of his mind, he wanted kids with you and while it was early to say that, he knew you two would figure it out when the time came.

When Jamie came out you were nearly half asleep at the kitchen table, your eyes were heavy and when you looked at him he could see the blankness in them. “You can go home, Jamie, I’m probably just going to go lay down.” You sighed, standing up and clearing your spot. “No, I wanna stay with you.” He answered instantly, giving you a soft smile as spun to face him. “Really?” You couldn’t help but grin, catching him off guard, “of course.” He rolled his eyes with a smile, out stretching his arms for you. “Good, sometimes I’m scared to be alone when it hurts so much.” You whispered up to him, pecking his lips when he leaned down to you. “You know you can call me whenever, even if I’m on a roadie. I’d call you back as soon as I saw it.” He explained to you as you pulled him along towards your bedroom, you nodded as a cramp started up.

��Come here.” He demanded gently, flopping down on the bed and pulling you with him, he adjusted you so you were laying on top of him. He lightly began massaging your lower back, feeling you relax into him. “That feels good.” You hummed, blindly running a hand through his hair, knowing he loved when you did that. He smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“J?” You asked after a while, he’d stopped rubbing your back once you didn’t feel the pain anymore, “yeah?” He shifted slightly, careful not to move you too much. He turned his head to meet your eyes where you were resting on his shoulder. “I left out one thing about it.” You sighed, shuffling yourself to be sitting up more, your boyfriend nodded, although he already knew what you were going to say, he wanted to let you say it. He rested his hand in your lap for you to play with. “Go ahead baby.” He assured you, when you met his soft caring eyes you couldn’t help but get emotional. “It’s super common for pcos to cause infertility and I know we’re not there yet but you deserve to know now, and if–“ you stopped to breathe and the tears started flowing. He rushed to sit up with you, “there’s no ifs, I’m here for the long haul, ok?” He assured you, cupping your face to keep you looking at him. “I already knew that baby, I looked it up while you were eating.” He added, frowning when you cried harder. “You looked it up?” You sniffled, “that’s so sweet!” You groaned, hugging him tightly. He sighed into your hair, “I think you need some sleep.” He laughed, feeling you nod against him.

“Goodnight baby.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead as he laid down with you, relishing in the small smile on your lips as you finally felt at ease for the night.

***

Time had passed, and you both fell into a routine, eventually moving in together once you hit the one year mark. And that was already some time ago.

But over the last few months you both had noticed a change in your symptoms and decided to schedule an appointment with your doctor.

***

Jamie got out of his truck the second he got your text that said you were coming out, due to covid protocols put in place, he was unable to come in with you for your appointment, which made you even more on edge than you thought it would. You figured you’d done it plenty of times before, but knowing that he couldn’t come inside was terrifying.

He watched the doors of the medical center with concern as he rubbed the back of his neck, when he saw you walk out, eyes darting to find him as you shoved your mask into your purse, tears already pricking the corner of your eyes. He stepped forward, taking his weight off the side of his truck as you spotted him, “hey, hey, Y/N.” Jamie mumbled as you wrapped your arms around him in a shaky hug. He felt his heart clench as you cried into his shirt, “baby, talk to me.” He spoke gently, pushing you back enough to meet your eyes. “Surgery.” You squeaked out, you both knew it was a possible outcome, having done the watch and wait method for over a year. He listened intently as you recited nearly everything word for word that the doctor had said.

***

That was three months ago, a simple surgery that plenty of people have and it goes smoothly, turned into a three month process, between the pre op, and the scheduling, and the ultrasounds.

But now, now it was finally time for you to go in, and you were terrified and calm all at once. You weren’t scared for the anesthesia, or for the actual removal of the cysts, you were worried that something would go wrong and they’d have to remove your entire ovary, granted that would still leave you with one, but that didn’t make it any less disheartening.

The doctors had come and made their rounds, each one going over everything with you, over the statistics and the possible complications, only furthering your anxiety. When your gynecologist came in, dressed in her scrubs and ready to have you wheeled off to the operating room, she could see the way you were panicking and squeezing Jamie’s hand tightly. “I know she’s going to be put to sleep, but is there something she can have to take the edge off?” Jamie asked as you looked over with a pleading face. “Yes, of course.” She came over and rested a hand on your shoulder, “you’re going to do great.” She assured you, giving Jamie a reassuring smile as well. The second she left the room you burst into tears, “no baby.” He gave you a soft smile, pulling his mask down to kiss your forehead, “it’s going to be ok, no matter what happens. You’re so tough.” He wiped under your eyes, looking over as the anesthesiologist came in, along with a nurse, “I’m going to give you something to take the edge off, you should feel it pretty quickly alright?” He explained, waiting until you agreed to connect it to your IV.

Jamie watched as you took a couple of deep breaths before looking at him with a much calmer face, he held in a chuckle, “you feeling it baby?” He asked you, giving you one last hand squeeze, you nodded lazily. “Yeah.” You answered, already feeling sleepy, he couldn’t help but smile at how girlish it was making you act, “alright, I love you.” He reminded you with one more kiss to the forehead as they popped the brakes off the bed, “I love you.” You repeated as you stared up at the ceiling, he could tell you had a kind of blank face under your mask. He was just glad to see you not freaking out, as he felt the anxiety transfer to him as they rolled you away, leaving him in the empty room to wait for you.

It felt like an eternity to him, as he knew the surgery was only supposed to take thirty or so minutes, but he also knew they wouldn’t tell him anything until you were already waking up in recovery.

That was nearly three hours later, and he literally jumped to his feet when the doctor came in. She assured him everything went as good as she expected, it was just more difficult to get too, nothing went wrong and you were coming out any moment. He thanked her repeatedly as he felt his heart rate settle, after staring at a wall for so long, he turned to Google and that only worsened his anxiety on why it was taking so long.

When they finally brought you in, you still hadn’t seen the doctor because you had been so out of it, so you instantly looked at him with wide eyes, more awake now. “You did good, baby, don’t worry.” He assured you, standing beside the bed once they locked it in place, the nurse smiled as she charted everything on the computer beside you. “Are you Jamie?” She asked with a giggle, making your face heat up under your mask, “yes.” He answered, not tearing his eyes off you as he could see the puffiness in them from your breakdown earlier. He laced his hand with yours, rubbing it reassuringly as you sighed in relief. “She was asking for you before she could even keep her eyes open.” The nurse told him, earning a soft chuckle from his mouth. “Sounds like her.” He hummed in agreement, tuning into the nurses words as she started telling you what you needed to do before they would let you go, both of them surprised when you did them instantly, the doctor signing off on your release as you seemed more than fit to go home in the care of Jamie.

He was more than attentive to your every need, almost to the point where you got annoyed, but you knew he meant well so you let him do whatever he thought you needed.

You were extremely grateful to have him here with you, knowing that just because you’d gotten it fixed this one time, doesn’t mean it won’t come back. He didn’t let you think like that for long as he brought you back to the present with a gentle kiss to your temple as you leaned on his chest. “S’proud of you.” He mumbled, even though you didn’t do anything, he knew it took a lot for you to make the decision to do this. You didn’t have to answer as you curled further into him, a silent thank you for everything.

taglist: @boqvistsbabe @tortito @2manytabsopen @heybarzy @barzysreputation @yzas-stuff @iwantahockeyhimbo

[firewoodfigs]

for the only one bed prompts......... "and only one pillow so a used b's chest or stomach" 🥺

EMMA, MY LOVE. FOR YOU I WOULD GIVE THE WORLD AND MORE <3 I hope you enjoy, friend!!! <3

also on ao3 - i like it when you sleep (for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it)

                                      ++++++

She falls asleep on the car ride back.

It’s unusual, such behaviour. Ordinarily, she’d be keeping watch or the one driving, but throwing herself at wolves and flirting with married men (and tolerating her commanding officer’s unwarranted jealousy) is indescribably wearying. It’s even worse than military training, having to put up all these fake niceties and pretenses. She wonders how Roy does this every day. Maybe that’s why he’s so tired all the time, Riza thinks. Now she knows why.

She startles awake briefly when the car jerks. Riza mutters, unintelligibly, something about safety and watching the road. She dimly registers the sound of a murmured apology from the driver’s seat.

Riza nods, and drifts back uneasily to sleep.

(In her sleep, Riza dreams of a dimly-lit courtroom and of Lady Justice, so white and pure and glorious even in the shadows. It is a recurring dream of hers, but it still leaves her palms clammy and her heart racing, like she’s just pulled the trigger on someone for the very first time.)

—

“We’re here,” Roy announces.

Riza groans as she rouses from her nap. There’s an ache that’s starting to crawl into her head, and she wonders if she’s just had too much to drink earlier (she thinks she’s done a pretty good job of turning down the offers of free, expensive wine though). She rubs at her temples wearily, blinking hard in an attempt to dispel some of the lingering fatigue.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant?”

“Yes,” she answers, without hesitation. Riza straightens in her seat, smoothing out the creases in her outfit. It’s a fitting, champagne-coloured number that is as meddlesome as it is pretty. (Riza hasn’t worn something like this in a while, simply because there hadn’t been any occasion to. She thinks she’ll probably have a hard time getting out of it later.) She opens the door and stretches her legs out. “Let’s go, sir.”

“Alright.”

The motel is just like any other motel, Riza thinks. It’s old and musty and right in the middle of nowhere, managed by a receptionist who’s clearly half-asleep at their workstation. They check in under the guise of a civilian, childless couple, as usual. Elizabeth and Andrew Ditlev, yes, a room for two. We won’t be needing anything else, thank you. There’s the sound of keys jangling and paper notes rustling, and then she’s dragging her feet up the creaking stairs towards their room on the second floor, Roy’s hand hovering uncertainly over her back.

Riza nudges it away and reassures him that she’s just fine. (He continues fretting, anyway.)

—

It’s only after she’s taken a shower that Riza notes the irregularity in their room.

“Sorry,” Roy says. There’s a sheepish edge to his voice, but the way he’s grinning tells her that he’s not altogether unhappy about their current predicament. “I tried asking for another pillow, but reception said they’ve none left.”

Riza frowns. She moves to sit on the edge of the queen-sized bed, drying her hair with a thin towel. It’s not uncommon for them to share a bed; going on these undercover operations as a loving, married couple meant that it was only logical for them to do so. It’s not like she has anything against it, either, but she’s always maintained a distance from him, even while on the same bed. They usually sleep with their backs turned (although Roy has a peculiar habit of snaking his arm around her waist just before daybreak).

“Sorry,” Roy repeats, stifling a yawn. He’s already taken the liberty of going shirtless, while she was bathing. “You can take the pillow, if you’d like. I can go without.”

Riza shakes her head and gestures towards the shower.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”

He yawns again, dragging himself to the shower.

“Really, Lieutenant. It’s no hassle at all.”

Water starts running again, from the shower. Riza shifts towards the nightstand and picks up the phone. There’s a little note beside — press ‘0’ for reception and/or room service.

She does exactly that.

“What?”

“Hello,” Riza greets in response. “I’m calling from Room 204. We were wondering if you happened to have a spare pillow —”

“I already told you we have no more pillows,” the receptionist interrupts, groggily. Riza picks up on the poorly-concealed hint of annoyance and, somewhat annoyed herself, apologises insincerely for the apparent inconvenience caused. “Goodnight.”

The phone line goes dead.

Riza huffs. She puts the phone down and mutters something to herself about cheap motels and their stinginess. Resignedly, she fluffs the lone pillow and moves to lie down once her hair’s dry. (She thinks she’ll continue to keep her hair in a manageable bob like this, just for convenience’s sake — even if Roy prefers it otherwise.)

“Lieutenant,” he calls, sounding scandalised. Riza cracks an eyelid open and stares at him, as if to say, what? (She still has no idea how men do this so quickly, even after all these years in the military. It barely takes more than a minute for them to finish their ablutions, even though their bodies are nearly twice the size of hers. Thrice, if she’s including people like Major Armstrong in the count.) “What are you doing?”

“Sleeping. Or trying to.”

Roy makes a sound of disapproval as he dries himself (Riza turns away respectfully at this) and puts on his pajamas. She feels his weight on the mattress once he’s done, and when she refuses to budge from a spot he starts poking her from behind, like a needy child badgering their parents for an impossible gift (she doesn’t even remember behaving like this as a young girl).

Riza groans and rolls her shoulders. “What?”

“I told you to take the pillow, Lieutenant.”

“I told you it was fine.”

He clucks his tongue. Roy rolls her around to face him, and she bites her lips to stifle another groan.

“Stubborn as always, aren’t you?”

“Pot, kettle,” Riza murmurs wearily. She can barely keep her eyes open at this point, much less keep up with his nonsensical, baseless arguments. “Go to sleep, sir.”

Roy tries, vainly, to slip the pillow under her head a few minutes later, but Riza elbows him in the ribs and pulls the blanket over them, effectively ceasing the argument. He huffs petulantly and closes his eyes.

—

“Trouble sleeping?”

“No,” Riza mumbles, but it’s a lie. She knows that he knows it’s one. (It’s no secret that both of them have had trouble sleeping since the war.)

“You’re lying,” he says, though not accusingly.

Riza ignores him and clutches a handful of the motel’s standard-issue white blanket. She covers her eyes with them and tries to sleep, again, but she fails spectacularly at this otherwise simple task. There’s just something about motels and their pastel walls and background music that tends to set her on edge. Maybe it’s because it’s so unlike what she’s used to. (She’s fallen asleep to the sound of gunshots and explosions, more times than she has to Debussy.) Or maybe it’s the fact that she’s no longer sleeping on a single-sized bed, by herself.

“Are you sure you don’t want the pillow?”

“No.”

“Stubborn as ever,” he mutters. She thinks he’s given up on fighting a losing battle, when she feels his arms pulling her close.

“With all due respect —”

“Nothing inappropriate, Lieutenant. I promise you.” She struggles to free herself from his grip, but clearly, all the work he’s been putting at the gym lately has paid off. Riza glares at him, murderously. He simply grins. “Since they ran out of pillows, we’ll simply have to make one.”

“What, with alchemy?”

“Actually, that doesn’t sound entirely implausible.” Riza is about to push herself off his chest, when he tightens his grip around her. “But it’s late, and I’m tired, and besides, we’re supposed to be an ordinary couple, nothing else.”

The word rolls off his tongue infuriatingly. Riza gets the peculiar feeling that he’s enjoying this far more than he should be. She frowns, glancing at him from beneath her lashes.

“I do tend to move around a lot in my sleep, sir.”

“I know.” He shrugs against her, positioning her head so that it’s resting comfortably on his chest. Then Roy wraps his arms around her again, almost gleefully, uncaringly, as if there’s nothing inappropriate about their shared embrace. Riza huffs. “But it’s fine. Anything to help my favourite subordinate sleep.”

“How very kind of you, sir,” Riza mutters drily. She attempts, somewhat furtively, to tickle him - she knows all his weak spots by now - but Roy dodges it with surprising agility, like he would a bullet.

“Of course. Please make sure to give me a good performance review when the time comes,” he says, smirking in a way she can only describe as insufferable.

“Only if you stop drooling all over your desk.”

“For the record, I do not,” he says, with an injured sniff.

Riza rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t protest further. She won’t admit it aloud, but it’s nice, being held like this. Roy is unusually sweet in a way that he isn’t anywhere else. He hasn’t been this way since they were kids.

“Yes, you do,” Riza retorts softly, ignoring the lump in her throat.

(This scene is achingly familiar, like a vignetted memory, like an excerpt of a film she already knows the ending to. The ending is always the same in her dreams.)

Laughter rumbles from his chest. It is a lovely sound to hear, after a long day of work, but it rubs against her cheek ingratiatingly, and Riza makes a mental note to write a letter to the hotel when they’re back in the city — a not-too-gentle reminder to stock up on pillows and other necessities.

“We can save this argument for another time, Lieutenant. It’s two in the morning.”

Riza relents, because it is two in the morning. She thinks sleep should claim her now, rather than later; she’s been trying to cut down on her caffeine intake lately. But Roy starts stroking her hair, and then her back, like he’s trying to lull a child to sleep, and Riza has to swallow the satisfied hum lurking in her throat (she refuses to give him any satisfaction of knowing that she is, in fact, enjoying this, far more than she has any right to).

Riza clears her throat. She pushes his arm away.

“I’m not a cat, you know.”

Laughter, again. The caressing stops. She feels him pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and then he’s hugging her again, one arm resting languidly on her side like she’s some sort of a replacement bolster.

“I know. Goodnight, Riza,” he says, softly.

She doesn’t have the heart to remind him that they’re still on a mission.

“Goodnight,” Riza whispers. There’s a part of her that aches, yearns for this moment to be something more than a(nother) fleeting, stippled memory, but her bliss is abruptly broken by the commotion coming from upstairs — something about an adulterous affair and impecuniosity.

Riza shifts uneasily and tries to drown it all out by focusing on his heartbeat instead. It’s audible beneath her cheek — not quite like a lullaby, but close enough — just a gentle hum of life, enough to quell her frazzled nerves and lull her back into peace.

When she falls asleep at last, Riza dreams of something different, something that stems from her deepest desires.

(In her dreams, she’s in a white dress, and Roy is radiantly alive in a sunlit attic.)

[sugar-quilled]

when stars align

a/n: this is fluff wrapped in unnecessary plot. my bad.

summary: star gazing date

genre: fluff

word count: 1.8k

pronouns: she/her

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

Spring came very suddenly this year. Many students had feared that there wouldn't be sunny weather to look forward to after exams ended, but the clouds parted on the last day, and there was a great hurrying to the castle grounds and enjoy a well deserved break. Quite a few students had taken to soaring around the Quidditch pitch, throwing around a Quaffle and chatting about summer plans. As you made your way out to the courtyard, absolutely determined to forget about the entirety of your Astrology exam, a very handsome owl came swooping down from a tree nearby to land on your shoulder. You quickly accepted the very small square of parchment clamped in its beak, and recognized it as Draco's eagle owl. You smiled at the bird, gave it a quick pet on the head, and turned the parchment piece around. In very tidy writing, it read:

Meet me at the courtyard? 8 pm. Send an answer back - Draco

"Date night?" a voice behind you said. You swung around to see Daphne Evergreen's eyes peering over your unoccupied shoulder and grinned.

"Seems like you know the answer to that question already, Daph."

"Sure do. Will you let me do your hair? I saw a Ravenclaw with a really beautiful half up half down kind of look and it'll really be gorgeous on you. Pity I could never pull it off."

"Don't lie to yourself," you said, swinging your bag off your shoulder, "bangs do grow out you know. And yes, absolutely." The owl readjusted its footing and tugged on your hair, as if telling you that it didn't have all day to listen to two girls talk. You walked quickly off the path, said goodbye to Daphne with the promise of meeting her in the dormitory in a few minutes, and dug around your school bag for a quill and ink. Unscrewing the bottle, you sat down on the grass and wrote back,

Answer is yes, pretty boy.

Draco's owl immediately snatched the parchment out of your hand, and took off towards the owlery.

time skip to 7:50

"Daphne you're brushing too hard," you muttered as she tugged forcefully on your hair. You two had been planning your outfit for about 4 hours now, taking a 30 minute break at 5 to shovel down perhaps the fastest dinner you had ever eaten and running right back up to the dormitory.

"I've never ever seen your hair with this many knots. Have you been crawling around some underbrush? There's a twig in here. How could you have possibly gotten a twig in your hair?"

"I don't know? Maybe it was Draco's ow- OW! Daphne, please, my head's attached to the other end of those strands! Couldn't you just use some Sleekeazy's? There should be a bottle in my drawer."

"NO! It'll ruin your natural waves!" she cried, frantic. "It's 7:52 already! You're due in 8 minutes! And we've still got earrings to choose and you didn't say which shoes yet!"

"I'll do without earrings! And I thought I said the oxfords were fine!" you answered, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes as Daphne tugged harder still.

"Hang on, just give me one second, I'm nearly there, you've just got this big lump that I've been trying to get through this past half hour."

With the hardest tug yet, Daphne undid the knot, pulling out quite a few hairs in the process, and let out a very tired cheer. You stood up straight and turned back at her.

"Okay, well you've got your top," she said, dropping the brush and moving forward to tuck the black scoop neck into your jeans, "jeans, necklace looks fine, hair looks gorgeous, and do you want to borrow my purse? It'll fit th-"

"Daphne I'm just going to the courtyard! What do I need a bloody purse for?" You half-yelled, massaging a very sore spot on the back of your head.

"You're right, you're right," Daphne said as you stepped into your oxfords, "well then off you go! It's 7:56, you've got plenty of time. Tell me all about it when you get back!"

"Yes, of course. Bye, Daphne!" You shouted, already half-way out the door.

The trip out to the courtyard seemingly took less than a minute, but in your hurried state, there was no way you counted the seconds properly. It was almost completely empty, with only two or three pairs of students still playing gobstones. You spotted Draco, and immediately felt a rosy color creep over your cheeks.

Draco was wearing a white button down and some neatly pressed black pants, an attire that looked suspiciously like his school uniform without a cloak. No complaints were had though, as he looked impossibly handsome.

A large, grayish green picnic blanket had been set down on the floor. Several puffy pillows had been layered down on top of it, alongside a very big, very fluffy blanket.

He turned around, a very expensive looking bouquet of flowers in hand, and gave you a quick smile before striding towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

You blushed and placed a kiss below his jawline before entwining your hand in his. He gestured towards the blanket—"after you, dear"—and the two of you sat down.

"This set up looks lovely, Draco" you said, readjusting to face him.

"I'm glad you're impressed by my effort" he replied, handing you the bouquet. It was a darling little thing of daisies, baby's breath, and lavender. Pixie dust sparkled on each flower. "I'm sure you want to know what I have planned for today?"

You leaned closer to him, and answered mockingly, "What is it dear Draco? Do tell me!"

"Star gazing."

You leaned back and and noticed a small telescope placed beside a pillow to your right. Knowing his absolute disdain for Astrology, you smiled. "Why the sudden change in interest?"

He rolled his eyes. "It's supposed to be romantic. And anyways, stars are pretty when they aren't for analyzing. Come here, the sun's about to set." He pulled you fully onto his lap, facing away from him, and wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

The sky was indeed dimming, brilliant strokes of orange turned pink, then purple, and finally gave way to an inky night sky. You had settled very comfortably, head against his chest, as his chin rested on the top of your head. The big blanket covered you both, and as you sat up, reaching towards the telescope to get a closer look at what seemed to be Scorpius, a very sharp "Malfoy!" startled the both of you. Professor McGonagall was storming towards you.

"What do you two think you're doing? It's nearly a quarter past ten and I feel the need to remind you that that is past your curfew. 5 points from Slytherin, and you best both be hurrying back to your dormitories."

Completely abandoning the picnic things and apologizing briefly to McGonagall, you two ran back towards the Slytherin common room, slowing only when you reached a familiar stone wall.

"Serpentine," you muttered to the wall, which then rumbled and shifted so that a corridor that lead to the common room appeared. As you walked down the passage, you thanked Draco for the flowers and date.

"It did get cut short, but it was very enjoyable. Thank you for planning it." You gave him a smile, a peck on the cheek, and made to turn for the girls' dormitories, but Draco grabbed your hand and was dragging you towards the boys'.

"Dray, what are you doing?" You hissed, "Goyle, Crabbe, Theo, and Blaise are probably sleeping by now."

Draco looked back at you with a signature smirk and continued to drag you up the stairs, leaving you with no choice but to follow.

He opened the door to his dormitory to show it completely empty.

"They've got detention today. Convenient."

"Draco! You gave them detention?"

"Well, I didn't really give them detention, I just gave them the opportunity to be given det-"

"Alright, alright," you muttered, coming to the conclusion that one nights' worth of detention for the boys couldn't be that bad. You drew open the curtains next to Draco's bed, revealing a tall, arched window and the starry night sky, framed like a painting behind the glass.

"This view is incredible," you breathed, snuggling into Draco's bed, which smelt like cologne and mint, resting your head against the headboard, and watching Draco rest himself beside you and lay his head on your chest. He turned so that you both were facing the window, and then wrapped his arms securely around you. One hand tangled in his hair, the other resting on his lower back, you turned to look at the stars with him.

Each was dotted with precision into the inky background, looking nothing like a nature of the universe and everything like a craftsman's work of art. You'd heard so many people marvel at those that shone brighter, more captivating to the eye, but to you, it was the small little specks that were worth more. They filled the gaps that the larger ones couldn't, and made the skies irregular and breathtakingly beautiful. Stars move, so that no night sky is ever the same as the previous, and maybe it was that Draco was by your side, but no combination of stars had ever presented such a beautiful picture before.

"Draco, you see those four stars? How they're in a line?"

Draco looked up sleepily at the window, muttering "pretty" before slumping down again.

"Prettier than me?" You laughed, pushing a few strands of hair off his forehead.

"Nothing's prettier than you, baby, you know that." He muttered drowsily, rolling onto his back so that he could look straight up at you.

You leaned over and brushed the tip of your nose against his. He hummed softly in response and wrapped two arms around your neck, bringing you into a kiss.

"I love you," you whispered after breaking away, shifting yourself out from under Draco so that you two were now eye to eye.

He pulled you onto his chest. "I love you too baby. And I'll get you another bouquet tomorrow since todays' is probably wilting as we speak."

You giggled softly, and with the promise of, you both promptly fell asleep.

pov switch

When Goyle, Crabbe, Theo, and Blaise entered their dormitory after two hours worth of scrubbing the floor, they found Draco entwined with a certain girl, her hand in his hair, his wrapping her close and snug against his chest. The curtains next to Draco's bed were still drawn open, so that the uncountable stars winked down at the couple. The boys knew better than to wake them up, so Goyle drew the drapes around the four poster closed, and they headed off to bed.

[naralanis]

little bumps in the road (pt. 15)

Previously, on LBitR

Kara says no.

Lena is not surprised. They may have grown apart, yes, and she may have claimed otherwise when she was hurt and heartbroken, but the truth of the matter is, she knows Kara—stubborn, hard-headed, resolute, and so optimistically brave. Of course Kara thinks they can do this.

But Lena also knows herself. She is also stubborn, hard-headed, and resolute. It’s partially what made them—her and Kara—so volatile to one another when everything came crashing down.

Lena also likes to think she has even a modicum of Kara’s bravery, when the occasion calls for it. She’d like to think that what she’s about to do counts as that, instead of complete stupidity.

“Listen to me,” she says, mind still reeling after their explosive argument at the side of the road, about fifty miles back. The last time they had shouted so much at each other had been back at the Fortress, and when that memory returns—fuzzy, faded—Lena resolutely tamps it down like she would an oozing wound. “Kara, listen—"

“No.”

Kara’s gritting her teeth so hard Lena almost thinks she can hear them grinding. She figures Kara needs to let some of her strength go somewhere other than the steering wheel already marked with the deep imprints of her fingers.

“Kara.”

“No.”

“Kara. It’s the only way.”

For the second time that day, Kara guides the vehicle to a stop at the shoulder of the road. Her shoulders sag with the heaviness of the sigh she releases, and Lena can see the fading sunlight in the glimmer of the tear tracks on her cheeks. “There has to be another way. I refuse to accept this.”

Lena reaches her good hand over, pats Kara’s arm, which is rigid and tense like the rest of her, coiled so tight it practically trembles. “Whether you accept it or not, we’re out of options.”

“Don’t think—” Kara chokes on her own words, and her whole body clenches even tighter. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing—what you’re planning on doing, Lena. It’s suicide.”

“It’s the only way,” Lena says demurely. She’s thought about this for the past hour—she’s been running all possibilities in her head, speed running through them like a competitive chess game.

Lena suddenly remembers playing with Lex, as a young girl. She remembers his gloating whenever he won, disguised as brotherly advice, and she remembers beating him—how he’d stiffly and coldly congratulate her, hiding a silent fury in his eyes. The way Lex won any game—chess or otherwise, high-stakes or no—was by rattling his opponent, with an aggressive opening that left them scrambling from the get-go, second-guessing their every move.

He’s got them scrambling alright, has had them scrambling since the beginning, Lena realizes, perhaps a little belatedly. He’s gotten into their heads—he’s certainly gotten into Lena’s head—and that’s gotten them on the backfoot all along.

They have limited moves; they’re cornered in the board, and the only way out is through drastic action. Lena cannot second-guess herself in this.

“If he’s got Alex, then this is the only way.” Her voice brokers no argument—the kind of tone she used to employ against moody board-members once upon a lifetime ago—yet she knows Kara will argue. Kara will not back down on this, and Lena wouldn’t expect anything less.

“We’re not sure he’s got her,” Kara interjects, though she doesn’t seem to believe herself. “You don’t have to—you don’t have to, Lena.”

Lena wishes it were true. She wishes they had more moves, more pieces to make another play, any other play except the one she has to make. “I do, Kara.”

It takes another two hours of talking—and talking is putting it mildly. There’s talking, and then there’s more shouting, and then there’s crying. Mostly from Kara’s part, her despair mounting as she comes to the inevitable realization that her hands are tied, that they are out of options, and that Lena is right. Lena refuses to shed a single tear, though her heart breaks over and over at every sob Kara fails to stifle.

But in the end, Lena breaks her—she breaks down every defense, every argument Kara has, until she’s basically cornered Kara into a checkmate she never signed up for. It hurts, to do it like this—to be as impassive and unyielding, as cold as she is. But the strategy pays off, and Kara acquiesces when she’s got no tears left to try.

They part ways in the early morning light, somewhere up in the mountains of Virginia. They’re both exhausted, with red-rimmed eyes and hoarse voices, and there’s so much… resentment in the air it practically sizzles, almost like it was when they were at her worst.

Kara does as well at being pushed into a corner as Lena.

She shoots off into the cover of the trees with a barely-concealed sniffle and a terse goodbye, and Lena feels like her heart flies away with her. She wants to shout for Kara to come back to her, she wants to apologise over and over and over again, for everything. But the play is in motion.

Lena climbs back into the RV with a tired sigh and a wince—the painkillers have long worn off, and her broken hand hurts considerably. She tries to focus on the pain radiating through her bones as opposed to the increased shallowness of her breaths, or her irregular heartbeat.

She can do this, she has to do this.

Lena takes a few minutes to try and calm herself as best as she can, with minimal success, but it is enough—enough to stomach through the pain in her hand, the gaping void she feels in her chest now that Kara is not next to her, the painful flashes of half-memories that still crowd her brain… enough to turn the RV around, broken hand be damned, and floor it down the road heading west. To National City—to Lex.

It doesn’t take long for Lex—or rather, whatever goons he hired for the job— to find her, though admittedly it’s longer than Lena had anticipated. She did make it relatively easy for them, taking a major cross-country highway right off the bat and driving almost twelve straight hours uninterrupted to a rather large, crowded, and definitely CCTV-surveilled rest stop. She takes her sweet time, too—it’s almost like she’s saying I’m here, come get me.

Which they do. Eventually.

Lena has been at the rest-stop for almost two hours, effectively a sitting duck, when she finally feels the prick of a needle at the back of her neck as she exits the restroom. It’s weird, all things considered, that the sensation feels familiar. She’s barely conscious when someone catches her before she falls face-first on the cheap linoleum, has just enough focus to see the dark van, but when darkness overtakes her vision and she can’t feel her limbs anymore, she almost welcomes the respite.

Finally, some rest.

When she wakes, it is to a blessedly darkened room and a pounding headache. It really says something about the life she’s lead, the fact that Lena is familiar with the process of regaining consciousness from a drug-induced slumber.

She takes stock of her body, first—blinks her eyes to gain focus, runs her tongue over her lips. Then she takes a slow, deep breath, fully expanding her lungs, pleased that there are no twinges of pain at her ribs or her back. She stretches, feeling softness underneath her, and realizes she’s on a bed.

Lena feels clean, oddly, like she’s taken a shower recently. Her hair still feels a little damp, and by extension do does her pillow.  She’s not fully covered, but the sheets up to her waist are very soft, and her clothes are comfortable, almost like pajamas.

She could so easily convince herself it was all a dream. Lena almost wants to, wishes to hold onto that little nugget of comfortable lunacy for as long as possible.

But she feels the cast on her broken hand, and hears shuffling by the foot of the bed. Lex sounds thoroughly amused when she opens her eyes and finally meets his gaze.

“Hello, Lena.”

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[teawaffles]

The Fugitives from the Fire: Chapter 2

As the driver urged the horses on, Lestrade got straight to the point.

“You know about the attack on the department store the other day?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Yeah, it was all over the papers. It seems you were quite involved in this one?”

He’d said that with a slightly teasing tone, and Lestrade smiled wryly.

“You’re probably referring to the time I caught the men rushing out of the store, though strictly speaking, I can’t take credit for that……. Anyway, that’s not the issue here.”

“I bet, since the papers continued like this: ‘Bobbies make big blunder! The criminals they caught suddenly escape!’”

“…………”

Sherlock had said that in a rather grandiose way, and Lestrade’s expression turned grave.

“It’s exactly as you said…… Back then, various events led to half the criminals suffering burns. While they were being transported via carriage, one of the men began to show signs of distress, and the officer in the same carriage tried to render first aid. But the moment he did so, the criminal used that chance to flee.”

As he listened to the inspector’s story, a slight smile rose to Sherlock’s lips.

“What a kind public servant. But the papers said “criminals” with an ‘s’. It seems more than one person escaped, huh.”

Hearing that, Lestrade remained in a frown as he continued his explanation.

“……When that man fled the carriage, the other carriages behind it had to stop. Amid the chaos, another man also managed to escape. We did everything we could to track them down, but we ran out of time before we could find them. In the end, our ineptitude allowed two of the criminals to get away.”

Lestrade had said that last line with a pained look. To that, Sherlock narrowed his eyes, and simply hummed in acknowledgement. Due to an act of carelessness, two of the criminals they’d worked so hard to arrest had escaped: certainly, this was a pressing situation. But the parties involved were clearly doing some soul-searching, so there was no need for an outside party to reproach them any more than necessary.

Therefore, anticipating how the events from here on would play out, Sherlock expressed his own view on the situation.

“However, after an arduous search, the Yard managed to pinpoint the fugitives’ location. But before you could arrest them, something happened, and you all had no choice but to request my help…… Something like that?”

The detective’s powers of deduction left Lestrade completely astounded.

“I don’t know if I should be amazed, or whether I should’ve expected this…… Anyway, you’re right — but the search didn’t lead us to their location. This morning, we suddenly got an anonymous tip-off on where they were hiding. Officers have already been sent to the scene.”

“A tip-off? ……Hmm.”

Sherlock seemed to have taken a slight interest in that word, but he promptly urged the inspector to continue.

“The tip-off said that the two fugitives seemed to be working together; when the officers arrived at the specified location, it appears they quickly found and apprehended one of the men. But they couldn’t find the other fugitive, so right now, they’re interrogating the man they arrested about the location of his accomplice.”

Lestrade’s tone had been solemn. After nodding a few times, Sherlock shot him a question.

“You kept saying things like ‘seemed’ and ‘appears’; so, you haven’t been to the scene yet?”

“At the time, I was at headquarters. After receiving all kinds of reports, I sent my subordinate officers down to the scene first, and paid a visit to 221B to seek your help.”

Sherlock nodded firmly.

“Both fugitives were in the same place, but one was immediately discovered, while the other remains at large. Could it be that he just wasn’t there when the officers raided the place?”

“That’s one possibility, but we also don’t know his exact appearance. As I said earlier, the first man to escape had burn injuries up to his face, so he was wrapped in bandages to avoid exposing his wounds to the air. As such, we don’t even have a rough idea of his features. Nonetheless, the man who escaped afterward didn’t have any obvious injuries, so it appears we’ve found him in the area we were searching this time.”

“In other words, the one who got arrested was the one who took advantage of the chaos to escape……. But from what you said, he’s still being questioned at the place where he was caught, isn’t he? Why didn’t they take him to the station right away?”

“A valid point, but the place the fugitives chose to hide is a little troublesome.”

Lestrade grimaced as he’d said that, and Sherlock gazed at the townscape that sped past the carriage window. From those clues, he could tell where their carriage was heading.

“I see. The East End?”

As he’d predicted, Lestrade nodded gravely.

“It’s a dreadful place, located further into the slums.”

“A right bother, that is. Though, after the Jack the Ripper case, I thought you’d both managed to reach a compromise.”

A cynical smile rose to Sherlock’s face.

The case of the phantom serial killer that rocked Britain had, in the end, been resolved after both Scotland Yard and the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee joined forces. In reality, that had been an outcome orchestrated from behind the scenes by the Lord of Crime — though Sherlock was still keeping that fact to himself.

At the detective’s words, Lestrade shook his head in regret.

“About that: we’ve continued to cooperate with one another, but there’s still a sense of mutual hostility. Of course, there are those who have resolved to trust us, but the overall wariness towards the officers who patrol the borough just can’t be eliminated.”

The police, who worked to maintain public order, and the residents of the slums, which were a hotbed of crime: it was inevitable that friction would ensue between them. There would be some within the rookery who were abetting the criminals, and perhaps an innkeeper who was harbouring them in exchange for money.

In such a place, there was a good chance that while one of the criminals was taken to the police station, the other would end up getting away. Hence, it was necessary to elicit the other fugitive’s location from his accomplice right at the scene.

From that, Sherlock could understand why they didn’t even have the leeway to wait for John to return. In all likelihood, the officers at the scene were presently awaiting their arrival; on top of that, there would be a hostile crowd surrounding the policemen, making it dangerous to keep them waiting. As such, it was imperative to solve the case and leave as soon as they could, before any unnecessary trouble was stirred up.

Once he’d understood the predicament the Yard was in, Sherlock spoke up with a smile.

“I’m well aware this is an emergency. So you want me to be present at the interrogation, and use the information obtained to find the other fugitive as fast as possible.”

“Exactly. Thank you for catching my meaning so quickly……. Though, it is a little different from the mysteries you love.”

Lestrade looked a little pained as he said that, and Sherlock cocked his head slightly, as if he was in thought.

“Certainly, it doesn’t sound like the kind of case I’d go out of my way to pursue…… But from my experience, the simpler a case looks, the less easily it gets resolved. I might just find an interesting ‘riddle’ here, so for now, I’ll just go along with you.”

As the conversation reached a pause, the carriage stopped in a street within the slums, and the two men promptly got off. Since the path up ahead was both narrow and complicated, it seemed they would travel the rest of the way on foot.

At present, it was just past noon. But in this warren-like district, it was dark enough that it seemed as though dusk had already fallen. Glancing left and right, they could see vagrants sitting listlessly by the roadside, as well as children clothed in dirty garments. Occasionally, a horrid smell would assault the very depths of their nostrils, and something bitter would rise up from the pits of their stomachs.

This place was almost hopelessly uninhabitable. As that hollow thought surfaced in Lestrade’s mind, in complete contrast, Sherlock’s expression remained unchanged as he continued walking.

“It’s always a labyrinth here, huh. I know some guys who’re familiar with this place — why don’t we get them to show us the way? Though, we might get ripped off for a fair bit of money.”

As Sherlock made that proposal, the intelligent grins of the Baker Street Irregulars came to mind — but Lestrade promptly turned it down.

“It’s alright: I know the way. It should be just a little further up——”

Breaking off mid-sentence, Lestrade stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes fixed forward. Puzzled, Sherlock followed the inspector’s gaze — and he, too, froze where he stood.

“……Is it, that?”

Lestrade did not answer.

Before their eyes, behind a row of derelict buildings, a plume of black smoke billowed. At the same time, they noticed a faint smell of soot permeating the air.

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

All the colour had drained from Lestrade’s face, and the moment he mumbled that, he broke into a sprint. Sherlock too felt an uneasy premonition; gnashing his teeth, he rushed to chase after him.

The two men arrived at their destination in less than a minute, but it seemed they were still too late.

As Lestrade stood stock-still, before his eyes, the building they were supposed to conduct the interrogation in had been engulfed in flames.

[thenamesseven]

Pairing: Jongho x reader

Genre: Romance, angst, jail au!

Warnings: Mentions of blood, not too descriptive but yeah, there’s some home made surgery in this chapter 🤣

Word count: 5.9k, this one is loooong

A/N: Another new chapter that brings us closer to the end! Hope you guys enjoy it!

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Standing in front of the stove, you couldn’t help but smile, staring down at the perfect yet fluffy pancakes you had been cooking for a few minutes now. Your tongue was poking out of your lips, a sign of concentration while teeth bit down on it gently right before one of your hands moved, slowly flipping an almost cooked pancake, leaving it on the pan for a little longer. 

You should have heard the ruffling of the bed sheets, the quiet steps around the room as he searched for something to wear, at least a shirt, since he didn’t like to walk around in just his underwear. You should have heard the door creak when he opened it or the way he usually yawned when he woke up, so loud, that instead of a husband it felt like you had a lion in your house. You just were so focused on the food you were preparing that none of those sounds told you he was awake.

In fact, it wasn’t until he walked in the kitchen and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind that you knew he was out of dreamland and back into the perfect reality the two of you had.  You welcomed the feeling of his warmth surrounding you, his natural scent drowning your senses and the feeling of a subtle bear brush against your neck when he went to nuzzle it. 

“(Y/N)” Jongho’s voice called your name but instead of a smile, the sound only brought a frown to your face. There was something in his tone that didn't make it as pleasant as always, he sounded scared…Urgent "(Y/N)!" He repeated, volume getting slightly louder, however, when you were about to turn around and face him to see what was wrong, his grip tightened, not allowing you to look at him "(Y/N)!" Jongho actually shouted. You started panicking, there was something obviously wrong in this situation but since he wouldn’t let you move, there was nothing you could do either. “(Y/N)!” Jongho’s voice turned slightly distorted, a sound that you’ve only heard in nightmares, the more you listened to his voice, the less it sounded like him. 

“(Y/N)!” You closed your eyes when he slightly shook you, your mouth opening to say anything that would get him to stop, that would get his attention but no words came out. “(Y/N)! (Y/N)! (Y/N)” You took in a deep breath, getting ready to try your best and shout, hoping that would work while he kept calling your name.

"(Y/N)!"

Right as you had been ready to scream your lungs out, you were brought back to consciousness when your name was called once again. Instead of shouting, your body desperately gasped for air loudly, as if you had been drowning. Wooyoung's persistent tries had ripped you away from your dream successfully, he had pulled you out of that nightmare.

Incredibly confused and still feeling too weak to mutter a word, you only glanced around, observing your new surroundings and trying to see where you were at the moment. Your vision was not completely clear but you could guess you were inside of a car, probably a vehicle that was carrying more people than the law allowed but that was probably the least of the guys’ worries after everything that had happened. 

"Oh thank God she's awake!" Wooyoung exclaimed with triumph when he looked down into your open eyes, keeping your head on his shoulder, holding you tightly against his body. Whoever was driving was doing it recklessly and he didn't want to take the risk of letting you fall down with that bullet still inside of you.

"(Y/N)! How are you holding up?" It was San's voice the one that asked the question but when you slightly lifted your head to look at his direction, you did not only see him but Mingi as well. 

A weak frown appeared between your eyebrows, too tired to freak out or make all the questions you wanted to ask "Apparently not too well, I'm seeing Mingi right there" You mumbled, your voice weak but clear enough for all of them to hear you. 

Someone laughed from the front seats, it took you a couple of minutes to figure out it had been Hongjoong "That's because he is sitting right there!" Yunho exclaimed amused. 

Mingi, as if sensing your extreme confusion, tilted his head so he could meet your eyes without San's head getting in the way. There was a small apologetic smile on his lips when you looked at him again with a bigger frown, one of his hands moving up to wave at you "Hi (Y/N), we have a lot to catch up on" 

You were about to open your mouth and reply to his statement, not even knowing what you could say in this kind of situation but the pain in your side was quick to shut your mouth just as quickly as you had opened it, only allowing you to groan in pain. Wooyoung tightened his hold around you, noticing how you tensed up in his arms while he reached out to brush his fingers through your hair, getting some of the strands away from your sweaty forehead. 

"(Y/N)" Hongjoong looked at you briefly through the rearview mirror, hands gripping the steering wheel as he tried to multitask, keeping half of his attention on you and half on the road ahead of him "Remember what happened back there?"

You nodded softly, trying to move as little as possible "Someone shot us, Wooyoung is also injured" You muttered glancing up at him, Wooyoung only shook his head, silently letting you know he was not in such a bad state.

"You want the bad news or the really bad news first?" Hongjoong asked with a small smile, trying to brush off some of the tension that was slowly filling up the car, making everyone’s chests heavy with pressure and fear. 

"No good news?" You asked frowning, either San or Mingi had the audacity to chuckle at your question. 

"Unfortunately no" Hongjoong replied seriously not even wasting a second to think about the possibility of sugar coating the entire situation for you "We suspect the bullet went straight through Wooyoung and landed in you" He said, deciding to deliver the news anyways, there was no point in delaying it more "We have to get it out of you" 

"Excuse me, what?" You asked, alarmed and tensing up again, which made another groan escape your lips. 

“We all have zero medical knowledge, you’ll have to stay conscious and help us get that bullet out of your body” Hongjoong explained again, not even talking slower since your brain would end up processing the words he was saying sooner or later.

“Don’t you have like, a secret doctor or someone that could help us out?” You asked as the entire car seemed to be spinning around, making your head hurt since you kept trying to focus your vision “Who cured Mingi’s stabbing?” 

“I did” San said “And I was hoping the entire time what I was doing was working because I had little to no idea of how to treat stab wounds that were so deep” He confessed, reaching up to scratch the back part of his neck as if he was an embarrassed child.

“It’s basically a miracle that I’m alive” Mingi joked, earning a slap on his chest from his friend that would have made everyone laugh if you and Wooyoung weren’t about to lose consciousness because of all the blood you were losing.

“You guys need a doctor…” You attempted to say but the words started coming out slurred, vision turning even more blurry. You were seconds away from passing out and by the way Wooyoung’s grip on you was turning slightly weaker, he was at his very limit as well.

“You watch too many gangster movies (Y/N)” Yunho joked from his seat.

You wanted to laugh at that, the comment had been kind of funny but only a smile brushed past your lips before your eyes closed and everything turned black for the second time.

By the look on Seonghwa’s face, Jaehyun could tell something in their plan had gone absolutely wrong. Sitting in one of those comfortable little leather seats he had in the corner of his office, nearby the shelves full of books he probably never read, the inmate watched his business' partner carefully, reading his body language. 

An amateur would have gone with the first impression and said Seongwha still had everything under control by the way he kept his feet crossed on top of the table, his body slouched back against the seat but someone as experienced as Jaehyun focused on the small details, the things someone would easily miss and he knew everything had taken an unexpected turn.

And not for the good.

It was the way his fingers tapped the desk in front of him at an unknown yet irregular beat, the way his breath seemed to slow down whenever the other person on the line talked, how he kept his eyes down while his mind was trying to calculate all the mistakes he would have to fix. This could be the first time Jaehyun would probably watch him lose his cool, he had thought that was totally impossible but you and your little games were managing to do that.

“Alright” He said, voice flat and lacking any kind of emotion “Call me if you find anything new, something that could tell us where they’re hiding” Jaehyun’s head popped up at the sound of that, finally confirming you and Wooyoung had managed to survive their trap somehow, which was incredibly surprising if he was completely honest.

Keeping his eyes on him, Jaehyun watched as Seonghwa hung up on the call, stayed quiet as he looked down at his phone for a few seconds and then placed it back down on the table. The inmate thought he would throw it against the wall but to his surprise, he controlled himself and didn’t break it.

“Two corpses, both males and none of them is Wooyoung” He said, keeping his eyes down on his hands as he kept them on his lap, nervously fidgeting with the clothes he was wearing, straining his mind for any kind of solutions “We’re fucked up”

“What are they? Cockroaches? How could they survive that?” Jaehyun scoffed, standing up from his seat since he didn’t feel that comfortable anymore. Even when he knew what the phone call was about, hearing Seonghwa actually say it out loud made it even more nerve-wracking. “Any places they could be hiding in?” 

“They vanished, gone, like they never existed” Seongwha pinched the bridge of his nose, not knowing if the situation was frustrating him or it was Jaehyun’s abundant questions what was making him get in such a bad mood.

“Then we’ll just have to make them come out” Jaehyun said, as he plopped back down on his seat, crossing one leg over the other comfortably. The solution had been there in front of them the entire time but the stress and tension weren’t letting them think properly.

“Well done Sherlock” Seonghwa scoffed, not one bit of amusement present in his sarcasm “How do we do that?” 

“You have the thing they want the most” Jaehyun replied smiling, staring straight into his friends eyes “It’s been here with us all this time and you’ll be able to get rid of all of them as soon as they come for it, as soon as they try to rescue their friend”

“Jongho” Seongwha whispered, as if it had been the biggest secret in the entire universe.

Little did they knew that no matter how low they talked, they could have never defeated the experienced ears listening from the outside. Yoongi had only been walking by on his way to his cell right after dinner, the guard accompanying him had been easily distracted, too quick to give his trust to him since after all, he wasn’t an inmate that usually caused trouble around. 

A sigh escaped his lips before he kept walking, not wanting to tempt his luck and get caught in the middle of something he wouldn’t be able to explain. Yoongi was definitely not one that got into other businesses, he just wanted to redeem himself and get out of this hell hole as quick as he could but, helping his cellmate wouldn’t hurt, right?

Someone needed to warn Jongho and that someone would have to be him.

It was the extremely bright light what brought you back to consciousness once again. At first, you had thought you were seeing the light at the end of the tunnel every book and movie talked about when it came to death although you were forced to open your eyes when you realized you couldn’t move away or closer to it. The first thing you saw was someone extremely tall, towering over you, holding the source of the bright light, making you flinch and close your eyes once again, too uncomfortable with so much brightness. 

“Mingi you’re going to burn their eyes with that!” Someone exclaimed, making the male flinch and move the light away from you without turning it off. It got better but it was still a bit too overwhelming for you.

“Well, that’s why they’re sleeping during surgeries! What the hell am I supposed to do!?” He replied, sounding frustrated.

“Turn that off! We have enough with the normal light” San said from somewhere, your vision was still too blurry to try and locate the guys.

“Mingi” Wooyoung groaned, his voice came from beside you, in fact, you only had to slightly stretch out your arm to be able to touch him. The male was surprised for a second, not having expected you to be so close and yet, when he turned his head and saw you were still conscious, he couldn’t help but slightly smile in relief. This was not over the both of you were still alive “Turn that off”

“Sorry, sorry”

As soon as the blinding light was turned off, the both of you could sigh in absolute relief, feeling slightly better as you waited for your eyes to adjust to the new illumination which was way lower but still bright, you felt way better if you kept your eyes closed.

“(Y/N)” Recognizing Yunho’s voice, you could only hum in response, letting him know you were listening to him. A cold, wet piece of clothing landed on your forehead, soothing some of the burning sensation running through your veins and cleaning the drops of sweat that had started to appear on your skin “Ready?” They were not wasting any time, which told you the situation wasn’t as good as you hoped it would be. 

“We need instructions” Hongjoong said serious, voice sounding like business. You couldn’t see his face right now but you would bet all your money on him being incredibly serious.

“Wooyoung first” You muttered, hearing him complaining beside you, probably saying something about how they should take care of your wounds first but he had saved your life or at least, risked his own to save yours so you weren’t going to put yourself before him “You guys need lots of towels, sterilized needles, thread and...Bandages….Yeah, bandages….” You whispered, voice quiet and low as you tried to keep yourself conscious and focused on the task. Although it was harder that it seemed to be, specially with the strong pain you kept feeling in your side.

“So we just sew the wound and that’s it for him?” San asked, walking around the table to approach him, Yunho moved the towel on your forehead, flipping it so the colder side would land on your heating face.

“Did the bullet go through him or did it just scratch him badly?” You asked back, head hurting, breathing turning heavier than it should be.

You heard some movement by your side and a painful groan escaping Wooyoung’s lips, you didn’t need to turn your head to guess San had probably tried to turn him around in order to check the wounds and damages the bullet had made.

“Scratch” He replied dryly, eyes still scanning his back and stomach to make sure, not seeing anything that could hint the bullet had actually gone through him “It’s not too big”

“Good, that means you won’t have to search for the remaining bullet pieces inside of him” You explained, quietly groaning when a wave of pain surprised you.

“Dammit Wooyoung, I wanted to play doctor and patient with you” San joked, scoffing as the ruffling that echoed in the room signified he was already starting to work on your instructions “Always wanted to be a surgeon but you know, had to be too smart and study way more than I wanted to, thank you for letting my dreams come true”

Wooyoung laughed at your side or at least tried to but ended up coughing and whining in pain, resulting in San moving faster so he could help him sooner “Fuck off San, we all know you’ve always wanted to kill a cop” Wooyoung joked in return, the guys chuckled around you, you tried to smile.

“That too but then Jongho and Miss Choi would kick my ass and that’s a fate worse than death” He replied, pausing for a moment before he spoke again “(Y/N), we don’t have time to boil water and sterilize the needles, is there anything else we can do to avoid infection?” 

“Pour whatever kind of alcohol you have around on the needles, the stronger, the better” You said quietly right before San ran away.

“Right, while San is helping Wooyoung out, tell us how we can help you” Hongjoong instructed once again, noticing you were already struggling with keeping yourself conscious and knowing that if you didn’t help them out during this, they would surely lose right there on their dining table “Yunho, get some more cold water”

“On it” You whined when the cloth left your face but understood Yunho had to move in order to bring it back refreshed and colder for you.

“I’m going to be a little trickier than Wooyoung” You warned with a small smile

“Girls are always more complicated, we all knew that already (Y/N)” Wooyoung replied from beside you, making the guys smile, it was amazing how they tried to keep themselves so cool and calm when they had two bullet wounded people laying on their dining table, one of them closer to death than life.

“I could sew his mouth as well, what do you think (Y/N)?” San asked, the smile on your face was enough of a reply, he knew you shouldn’t waste energy on jokes and save them to guide the rest of the group through this homemade surgery.

“Did someone see my wounds?” You asked quietly, looking at the two guys in front of you, assuming the taller one was Mingi and the one besides him, the one that looked smaller, Hongjoong.

“The bullet came through the side of your stomach, there is no wound on your back which probably means the bullet is still inside” Hongjoong replied, serious since he understood how complicated the situation was. If the bullet had hit anything important, there was nothing nobody could do, you were doomed. Yunho returned soon, placing the wet cloth on your forehead once again, keeping your eyes uncovered in case you wanted to open them “We tried to move you as less as possible, the blood loss slowed down a while ago but you’ve still lost a bunch of it” 

“Alright” You took in a deep breath, knowing what was coming, this was going to be a nightmare to go through but you would get out of it alive, you had to “You guys will need a knife, one that can cut meat well, something as similar as possible to a scalpel...Some tweezers, towels, needles and thread”

“I do not like how this sounds” Yunho muttered, making you smile a little.

“Do you think I do? It’s time to put our big kids’ pants on, it’s either this or letting me die” You explained quietly, noticing Mingi and Hongjoong were gone, probably getting everything ready..

“You’re not going to die” Yunho whispered as Hongjoong came back, carrying everything on his hands “We got this” 

“We got this” You whispered, taking in a deep breath and getting ready to narrate all the things they would have to do to get the bullet out.

Once dinner was finished, both inmates, Yoongi and Jongho were brought back to their cells, inevitably getting locked up again between the four walls they’ve been sharing for more than a couple of years now. 

Jongho knew something was wrong. 

Yoongi seemed fidgety and specially avoided eye contact with him, normally the male wouldn’t have this kind of behaviour since he was not one to be easily intimidated or since he barely got himself involved in anyone’s business. Although, anyone that wouldn’t know Yoongi would just assume he was awkward, one of those weirdo introverts that only kept to themselves but Jongho knew him better than that and he knew he had some information that could be severely important for him.

“Spit it already Yoongi” Jongho said with a small smile, not wanting to come off as rude or impatient to him, the older male looked tense enough, pressure was surely not welcome “You’re giving me the creeps man, what’s wrong? Do you need help with anything? Is Jaehyun bothering you?” 

If there was something that Yoongi admired of Jongho was how he always cared about the people around him no matter what his current situation was, for him, it was absolutely unbelievable how, despite everything he was going through right now, he wasted the time of his day observing and noticing there was something wrong with him.

“Jaehyun” Yoongi said his name quietly, praying nobody would listen to him if he didn’t want to be the next punching bag they’ve turned Jongho into “He’s planning to-”

“Jongho!” Jaehyun’s loud voice startled both males, making Yoongi shut up immediately, fear making him back track on his actions. He wanted to help Jongho, the poor guy didn’t deserve to go through all of this, even more now that he believed in those rumours that claimed he was completely innocent, that the charges he had been locked for were all a lie “Come out, we have to talk” 

Jongho stayed sitting on his bed, eyes moving from Yoongi to Jaehyun and Yeosang awaiting for him outside of the cell, the door slightly opened for him to get out “I don’t think we have anything to discuss” He said seriously, without any hints of movement from his part.

“Unfortunately, we do have stuff to discuss” Yeosang walked into the cell, taking his gun out and pointing it at Jongho “So stand up and do what we say, you really don’t want to get on our nerves tonight Jongho” The inmate looked at Yoongi, his cellmate for any hint, anything that could make him guess what he was going to say before Jaehyun arrived. But Yoongi only glanced down, avoiding eye contact between them once again, hearing how the guard gently pushed the younger male out of the cell against his will.

“Good boy” Jaehyun mocked as Jongho walked past him with Yeosang behind him. 

Before walking away though, Jaehyun turned around to look at Yoongi, closing the cell door to keep him locked in and avoiding any more surprises than the ones they’ve already had tonight. Yoongi met eyes with him, hands fidgeting with the thin blanket he had, his eyes carefully watching as Jaehyun lifted his hand, moving it closer to his lips and motioned as if he was closing an imaginary zipper that he had on his mouth. 

Yoongi felt a shiver run down his spine as the three of them walked away, steps echoing down the deathly hall.

The possibilities of Jongho never coming back were high enough for Yoongi to believe he was never seeing his cellmate ever again and he couldn’t do anything to avoid it.

“Bite harder” Yunho adviced and you simply did as you were told, muffling the sound of your painful screams as Hongjoong used the knife on your wound to make the gap wider in order to fit the tweezers and get the bullet out of your body. Your throat hurt from how much you were screaming, your body begged to be free as Mingi held your legs and Yunho your arms down, you knew you had to let them do this but it was involuntarily to want to make the pain stop, there was nothing you could do about it. Biting into the towel, you screamed once again as Hongjoong caressed your skin with the knife hard enough to make the wound bigger, sweat rolling down your neck in waves at this point.

“Almost there (Y/N), now I just have to look for the bullet” 

Hongjoong himself was starting to feel as if the entire world was spinning around him, despite being in a gang, he and the guys had never gotten themselves so badly injured and this was his first time operating somebody. Maybe you were right after all and they needed to invest some money in looking for a doctor that would take care of these situations. 

“There” San said, looking over his leader’s shoulder, seeing something silver and black in the middle of so much blood and things that looked like they belonged into the decorations of a horror movie. He couldn’t believe he was seeing the inside of your body, it was like he was definitely dreaming. “Isn’t that it?” 

“It is” Mingi said, looking as well before he looked away seconds after. He was not too strong when it came to this situations and he was sure he would end up passing out if he kept looking.

“Alright (Y/N), I’m going to take it out” Hongjoong instructed, you could only nod, feeling the energy in your body vanishing with each second that passed, consciousness and unconsciousness fighting to see which one kept you.

“Hurry” You whispered, alarming them.

“Uh, guys? I'm no doctor but I think she is losing too much blood” Yunho said alarmed, voice hurried as his eyes kept scanning your body full of red stains and wounds that would take so much time to heal.

“(Y/N)” Wooyoung, who had been quietly holding your hand this entire time, still too weak to move from beside you, called out your name, willing to catch your attention “(Y/N), open your eyes baby, look at me” 

Not knowing what else to do to keep yourself awake, you turned your head and looked at him, opening your eyes. Your vision wasn’t clear yet but you could obviously see how he was trying his best to hide his worry from your eyes, concern evident and fear shining in his expression.

“You need to stay awake, alright?” He asked, you simply nodded, too tired to argue with him at this point “For us, for Jongho” The mention of his name brought tears to your eyes, what if you died in here tonight? What if you were never able to see him again? 

“You need to tell him that-”

“You’re telling him yourself” He insisted, not letting you finish your sentence, knowing you would simply give up and try to get some rest if you passed the words full of love that you wanted to tell your now fiancee “I’m not telling him anything, not after he stole you away” His tone was playful,  Wooyoung wasn’t mad but he wasn’t lying either. You knew his feelings for you, he had always made sure you knew about how much he appreciated you but your heart had been long stolen by Jongho, even after he was locked in prison for a crime you committed ”By the way, now that we’re on topic, what did you see in that mess of a guy? Because man, other than the cool car he had back in high school I think I’ve been way better than him” 

You smiled at his words, knowing exactly what he was doing but wanting to play along for you, for them and for Jongho “He did have a cool car, I loved it” You said quietly, seeing his blurry smile, not noticing the tears that had started falling down your cheeks as you spoke “To be completely honest with you Wooyoung” You winced when you felt the cold tweezers brushing against your wound, the stinging alcohol making you hiss through your words “I don’t know how or when it happened, I don’t even know what it was exactly” You replied softly, holding onto Wooyoung’s hand tight, closing your eyes when the pain made you groan and tense up again. Yunho let go of one of your hands to clean the sweat on your face, soothingly running his fingers through your tangled hair “Our love just appeared out of nowhere, it was not surprising, it was not something I ever worried about like you see in those romance movies” You said quietly “We are a living bad boy-good girl cliche” A chuckle escaped his lips, his thumb tracing circles in your hand, the sounds around you becoming a little confusing, not clear “But I knew he would always have my back, we knew we were together without saying it outloud” The boys were saying something but you couldn’t hear it, your eyes were starting to close “It’s something there are not words to describe….I would just say he turned into the home I never had….He described himself as broken...As damaged….But Wooyoung….I can tell you without any doubt that he is the most caring and sweet human being I have ever met”

“(Y/N)?” Wooyoung’s voice echoed in the room when your eyes closed, a pain of wave surfing through his entire body when he tried to move “Guys?” 

“Sew her wound, come on” Mingi hurried Hongjoong, eyes glancing worriedly at your face.

“And I love him…” You whispered, not even realizing you were passing out on them “I love him more than life itself….More than anybody could imagine”

With a smile on your lips your body relaxed and too tired to keep fighting you just gave in, letting unconsciousness take away all the pain and dread you were feeling.

No one knew if you would wake up again.

Hours later, right when the sun was starting to come up, Wooyoung walked into the room where Mingi had been watching you over for most of the night. Sure had dozed off a couple of times but he had been paying attention to every single movement or thing you had done during the entire night. You still hadn’t woken up yet, your eyes had been closed since they had successfully taken the bullet out of your body but you were still breathing and mumbling some incoherent stuff during your sleep.

You were still alive and that’s what counts.

“Feeling better?” Mingi asked Wooyoung, eyes on you as the other male dragged a chair close to your bed, sitting down with the two of you, hiding the small hint of pain that gave away he was still not completely recovered .

“I’m alive, that’s what counts” Wooyoung replied with a smile, reaching out to gently brush some strands of your hair out of your face.

“I guess we’re even now” Mingi said with a quiet chuckle glancing at him “I still hadn’t had the chance to thank you properly for what you did that day” The taller male mumbled quietly, you could even say he was feeling kind of shy about it “You risked everything to get a stranger out of jail, not everybody would have done that”

“Not completely a stranger, I’ve known Hongjoong since Jongho got in jail” Wooyoung confessed, actually surprising Mingi since he didn’t know this piece of information “Nobody knew this, Hongjoong said the least people knew about this, the smaller the possibility of information getting leaked was so we kept it that way” Wooyoung explained looking at him “Even though Jongho and I didn’t get along too well in high school, he always took care of somebody really special for me, he even went to jail for her and I just had to help him somehow….It’s ridiculous but I felt like I owed him something for saving her that night when I couldn’t” Flashes of what happened the night your father was shot popped in his mind as he spoke with Mingi, the male clearing his throat to snap himself out of whatever trance he had put himself into. “I just saw the opportunity when it showed up, you could have died but if I hadn’t helped you get out of there, I think we both know you would have been dead by now” 

“Probably” Mingi said quietly “To be honest I consider a miracle that Jongho is still breathing, Jaehyun is really determined to follow Seongwha’s orders no matter the cost” 

“You guys will get him out of there soon, Hongjoong just have to make some calls to get ready and if God is on our side….Tomorrow morning we will all be safe and sound, away from this hell hole” Wooyoung said with a small smile

“Are you scared?” Mingi asked him, not to make fun of him but because he felt kind of scared as well.

“Of course I am” Wooyoung said gently, without hesitation, fingers playing with strands of your hair “But if we don’t do it, (Y/N) will get him out of there herself and I prefer taking all the risks than letting her do it” 

Mingi smiled softly, looking down at you before glancing at Wooyoung “You really love her, don’t you?” 

“Haven’t I been clear enough?” Wooyoung replied with a scoff, a small smile on his lips as he looked at the male “I would go through hell and back to keep her safe….Damn, I took a bullet for her” 

“You tried” Mingi said laughing, making Wooyoung laugh too. “To be honest, I think she loves you back, it’s just not the same crazy love she feels for Jongho….You’re actually quite important for her as well Wooyoung”

“I know” The male replied with a small smile, looking down at you as the back of his hand caressed your cheek “That’s why being in her life is enough, there’s nothing else I could ask for” 

“Mingi?” San poked his head into the room, interrupting their conversation “We gotta get moving, there are still a couple of things we need to do before tonight” 

Without hesitation Mingi stood up, patting Wooyoung’s shoulder on his way to the door “Tell her to forgive me for vanishing again when she wakes up” He said to Wooyoung, not knowing if this would be the last time they would see each other.

But Wooyoung shook his head as he looked down at his knees, not accepting the male’s proposition “You tell her yourself later tonight, you know I’m not one to pass on messages” 

Mingi could only smile and roll his eyes, nodding even though he knew there was a possibility of things going wrong and them not seeing each other again. His eyes looked at you one last time and he walked out of the room knowing hell was about to break loose and not even God himself would be able to get them out of the mess they were going to make.

Taglist: @guess--monster @cometoceantrenches @miatsubaki23 @lovelyvitamin @heroesfan101 @daintysan @t-tbinnie @shyshybabyy @little-precious-baby​ @bebetiny @mirror-juliet @btrombley13 @yukine-smx @wavetease @naphthalene-ball​

[toraodwaterlaw]

Heart to Heart

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4

This is the final part of a four part AU fic set just after Marineford. Law is the latest Corazon, but Rosinante is still alive.

1681 words (6638 total for all four parts), angst with a happy(ish) ending

-

Whenever he returned from a mission, Law would appear like clockwork as soon as night fell. Normally. This homecoming was anything but normal. Rosinante didn’t think much of it that first night. Law had looked worn to the bone. Rosinante had hoped he was getting rest. When Law didn’t turn up the next night, Rosinante started to worry. He checked carefully with Viola and found out Law hadn’t left his quarters once, even to eat.

That settled it. As soon as he was sure there was no one around to interrupt, he slipped into Law’s room and closed off the outside world with a snap.

Law was at his desk, medical charts and texts spread before him. Rosinante assumed Law was reading until he got close enough to see those golden eyes were fixed on the window. He was staring beyond the edges of Dressrosa toward the distant horizon. A single black feather was clutched loosely in his hand.

“Hey, kid.”

Law’s fingers twitched. For him, it was about as good as jumping in surprise. “He still hasn’t put the strings in your lips back.” This didn’t seem to be addressed to Rosinante. It certainly wasn’t directed toward him, as Law continued looking out the window. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I noticed.”

Every word continued to be a struggle for Rosinante but he would talk until he could no more if it got some reaction out of Law. As it was, there was an emptiness in Law’s eyes that was far too close to the look he’d had those first meetings on Spider Miles.

“Would you look at me?”

“You shouldn’t talk so much. You still need time to heal.” Law reached across his desk to place the feather on the windowsill. He replaced it with a quill and scrawled something out on a scrap of paper. “Here’s a list of teas and other natural remedies to help your throat.” 

Rosinante took the note as it was passed back to him. “I appreciate it but—”

“I’m working on a salve for your lips.” Law rooted through bottles on his desk and on shelves to the side. He pulled open drawers on a cabinet and picked out different packets of fragrant herbs. They were all arranged carefully across the desk. “Some of the ingredients need time to cure before they’re ready, so you’ll have to wait a bit longer. I’ll write out instructions so that you know just what to do.”

Rosinante hugged his arms to himself to keep himself from grabbing Law to put a stop to all the anxious movement. The boy already had his movements controlled enough as it was. And it wasn’t what Rosinante really wanted.

“Law. Look at me. Please.”

Law sighed and turned slowly in his seat. His eyes immediately flicked to Rosinante’s chest. Rosinante had pulled on a light sweater for the meeting. The telltale hole in his chest couldn’t be visible but he knew it was all Law saw anyway. Law reached a hand toward it before quickly pulling it back to himself.

They were facing each other, which was a start, but Law didn’t seem any more inclined to talk to him. Rosinante frowned and then immediately winced at the pain it brought. At least now, with Law looking at him, he was free to us his hands to sign.

Are you okay?

Law scowled. “Me? I’m— you’re the one with a—” His frown deepened further and looked away again. He clutched at his own chest. For a while it seemed like he wasn’t going to say another word. In the end, voice low, he added, “I took your heart.”

His voice sounded as raw and pained as Rosinante’s.

Rosinante placed a gentle hand on Law’s face. He turned it so that he could get a better look at the bruising. He wished he knew what else Law was hiding because he was certain that there were other injuries. Law was no more one for covering up than Doffy was, so his crisp, black shirt doubtless covered injuries to his torso. Rosinante wished he knew what else was being hidden from him. He knew by now, though, that Law would simply brush off any such inquiries, so he’d try another approach. 

What happened?

Law waved him off. “I was stupid. Straw Hat had a nightmare about his brother and I was too close when he woke up. Seems he wasn’t too thrilled about the idea of me trying to hold him in his bed so he wouldn’t reopen his injuries. I’m fine.”

Rosinante must have looked dubious because Law’s frown deepened.

“I am,” Law insisted. “I did a scan to check for serious injuries to be sure. I’ve had much worse. I’d be healed up by now if I had a chance to actually get some rest.”

Then why don’t you rest?

Law crossed his arms. He’d grown so much. He was a man now but there were often times Rosinante couldn’t help but see him as a child. Shrink him down a number of feet and he could have been ten again with as stubbornly sullen as he looked. Not that Law hadn’t had plenty of cause to be sullen, but Rosinante did sometimes wish he’d make more of an effort to smile from time to time. The boy’s face was really going to stick like that someday.

“I had two patients with life threatening injuries and then I had to work overtime to get here as soon as possible. I haven’t exactly had time, you know,” Law said with a tone he usually reserved for Trebol. It was a voice that said he thought he was speaking to someone who was being exceptionally dull.

Rosinante frowned at him in turn, disregarding the pain it caused to do so. You’re back now. He resisted the urge to add a request for Law not to take that tone with him. One of them would be an adult here.

Law’s eyes flicked over to his bed a few times. His hands absently fingered at his bangs in a sure sign that he was unconsciously hoping for his hat. It was a habit he’d never managed to grow out of, even though he usually didn’t wear it these days. Not having his hat to hide beneath, he turned around once more.

“I tried to sleep, alright? It didn’t stick,” he said.

Rosinante waited for an explanation that didn’t come. Law had to be absolutely exhausted if he hadn’t gotten a single good night’s sleep in weeks. It was amazing he didn’t just keel over on the spot. Law did excel at existing on spite alone but this was pushing it, even for him.

Rosinante placed a hand on Law’s back and found it was trembling. He rubbed soothing circles and waited. He wanted to demand Law tell him what was wrong. The urge would always be there, to search out all of Law’s ills and try to cure them through stubbornness alone if he had to. However, there were times to talk, to push, and then there were times to wait. Getting Law to open up about anything was so often a game of patience. If it was up to him, he’d bottle up his emotions until that bottle burst and destroyed him. Rosinante wasn’t especially inclined to let that happen.

Law became so still that Rosinante might have suspected he’d nodded off if not for the irregularity of his breathing. Rosinante stilled, also, and waited.

“Every time I try to sleep,” Law said, “I see you. I see Doflamingo with your heart and all the things he might do to you because of me.”

“Not because of you.”

Law looked up at him. “Your voice—”

“My voice be damned,” Rosinante all but growled. “And Doffy be damned. This is on him.”

Law’s face fell. “I didn’t have to give in. I could have resisted more. I should have. And I didn’t have to act on some stupid fucking impulse at Marineford. I’ve been so careful. I threw out over a decade of work and for what? Some kid who thought he could take on the entire World Government and a rival Warlord. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking you could help,” Rosinante said. “You saved their lives.”

“Their lives aren’t as important as yours.”

Rosinante didn’t try to dispute that. He knew it wouldn’t do any good. And besides, he knew the feeling. He’d burn the world down if it meant keeping Law safe.

Instead of arguing, he knelt down and pulled Law into a tight embrace. Law’s breath hitched. All the emotion he’d stubbornly shoved down finally broke through and he started to cry in earnest. Even someone as bullheaded as Law had his limits. Rosinante was only glad to be there to hold Law together so he didn’t break apart.

“I’m proud of you,” Rosinante murmured.

There had rarely been truer words. He’d been scared for Law’s sake, of course, but he’d been so proud when Law first called him to say what he’d done. There were times, despite all his faith in Law, where he worried this life would be too much. It would be easy for Law to let this all change him. Perhaps it would even be better for him if he did. Less painful, certainly. But when he had a chance to show who he really was on the inside, he’d done something amazing. Something neither he nor Doflamingo nor even Rosinante himself had expected.

Not that Law would hear any of that. “You shouldn’t be,” he muttered.

Rosinante rested his cheek on top of unruly black hair. “Well, I am.”

“Well, you’re an idiot.”

Rosinante laughed and pulled Law closer. “Maybe. But I can be an idiot and rightfully proud of you, kid. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

Law let out a strangled sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t been so drowned in tears. Then, in a voice so quiet Rosinante had to strain to hear, he said, “Then I’ll try not to let you down. Idiot.”

[darkacademicfrom2021]

The Dark Team (part 9)

<<Previous part Masterlist   Next part>>

Join the taglist in here (Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87, @the-departed-potato, @jesuswasnotawhiteman)

Warnings: trauma struggles.

Disclaimer: I have no idea who this pic is from, I found it around. If you know whose it is, please tag them!

It’s normal to have nightmares the night after you go through something like that.

It’s also normal to have dreamt with the one that saved you. That took you out of the hands of Death and embraced you with soft-spoken words, reassuring you it’d be fine, leaving no room for you to even think you wouldn’t come out of that.

It’s normal your brain had created fictional scenarios, but, what was your subconscious trying to tell you? So ambiguous, so… out of every context you could’ve possibly provided from your real life experiences. What was that place? Who was that bearded man who shouted incessantly at Loki?

You couldn’t figure out where you were, but in the dream you seemed to know exactly where to be and where not to. People dressed like the Norse Gods you already knew had you cuffed with chains too strong for you to even fight it. And, from a corner of that huge place full of gold and marble details you couldn’t stop to appreciate, you observed cautiously the discussion.

It didn’t seem so much like an argument, for Loki wasn’t allowed to talk back. He still said all the words he couldn’t speak through his magnificent talent of face expressions. The bearded man mentioned a dungeon and Loki resisted being taken away. He fought, but got even more restrained. The bearded man’s gaze finally laid on you, ordering someone to execute you.

Screams, you weren’t sure if yours or someone else’s. Maybe Loki’s.

“You have a choice”, echoed in your head. Whose voice was it? You don’t know. What did you choose? You were now somewhere else. A tinier place, not less bright than the previous one.

You reached for a hand and the hand wrapped around your eyes, blinding you from something. Or protecting you. Or…

“Don’t leave me”, it was your voice, this time. “I’m begging you, don’t leave me”, you cried. But there was nothing there. Only darkness, an empty room, and the reminiscence of an apology. “If you do this now, I’ll never forgive you”.

“How would you know”, said the darkness. Was it the darkness? Why did the shadows have a voice?

“Execute them”, the bearded man’s voice resonated in your head once again. The balcony, heights. Yelling. Yours. Loki’s. You were falling again, and Loki wasn’t there to catch you. The bearded man laughed obnoxiously at you while you cried. Debilitating you. Making your heart beat fast enough to wake you in a cold sweat, shivering, trembling.

You stabilized yourself, looking around to ground you. Blankets covering your fully dressed body; how uncomfortable to sleep in your suit, but how necessary. By one of your sides, Loki slept soundly in his bed. Bucky, sitting on the floor, tried to figure out something about his smartphone to pass time faster.

“You good?”.

“Yes”, you lied with a hoarse voice. “I’m good”.

“Nightmare?”. You shrugged your shoulders and he sat on the feet of the bed. “You know, this phone doesn’t make me feel very smart”. You chuckled, still incapable of taking those images out of your head. Now fogged, you could only remember the traces of intense emotions they drew all over your chest. Your breathing was still irregular, difficult to align. “Wanna talk about it?”.

“Too strange to even explain it”, you breathed out. “Felt so real, as if I could’ve reached the marble patterns of the walls and remember the sensation in the tips of my fingers”.

“Where were you?”.

“I don’t know, I’ve never been there”.

“Are you sure?”.

“Yes, I would remember. It was too much”.

You knew Bucky wanted to say what he always said; trauma deletes memories. But that implied such context… you wouldn’t be able to forget it all. Hell, there was Loki, and you just met the man. Bucky swallowed his words, knowing they would only get denial from you. This had happened so many times, he knew exactly what to say and what not to say. It wasn’t the first time either you had intense nightmares, so real and so surreal at the same time. They were impossible. But so imaginative, so creative for your mind to have created that alone. It defied the limits of your own imagination.

“I don’t want to go back to sleep”, you said to Bucky as your eyes closed and your sleepy head wanted to drift off to another land, another dream, another nightmare. “I don’t want to go back there”, you repeated, and Bucky patted your shoulder, saying things you weren’t capable of comprehending anymore.

Your head heard you, and the next few hours your dreams were nothing you could fear from. You didn’t even remember it once you awoke again. The curtains were half opened, but no lights from the outside bathed the room. Only the moonlight. It wasn’t silent. The soft rain picked in the balcony, and the door was half open. The tall silhouette of Loki held a phone to his ear, and Bucky slept on the other bed. They must’ve changed positions while you slept. Still half asleep, you eavesdropped his conversation.

“Gør þú svá vel”, he pleaded. You understood his words, or so you thought. Please, he had asked. He heard the long words on the other side of the line, and he insisted “gørvel, Þórr”; please, Thor.

You pretended to be still asleep, but it had caught your attention too much to ignore it. Was that your sleep-deprived brain making up a translation? You were certain you didn’t speak Old Norse. And what was Loki begging Thor about? This all was so onyric, you almost laughed to yourself.

Even though you were sure you were still either dreaming, or so sleepy you made up the meanings of those foreing words so softly spoken by the God; you couldn’t put your focus away. Thor seemed to be explaining carefully something Loki had predicted, and didn’t look like he would put on much more of a fight to get it done.

You managed to distinct Thor’s words from the very light sound the phone allowed you to, and he apologized with a “fyrirgef mik” and a trace of regretfulness.

“Allt er gott”, it’s alright, he accepted, sighing. Thor, on the other side of the line, excused himself for whatever reason he couldn’t do what Loki had asked him to. “Góða nótt, bróðir. Sof þú vel”, he ended the call. Good night, brother. Sleep well.

[master-sass-blast]

This Life is Infinite: Chapter One.

OH YEAH. IT'S TIME, BITCHES!!!

Summary: The Infinity War Fic aka I do whatever the fuck I want with the Russo's canon.

Get ready for the most ambitious crossover in CHC history.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, Alexandra Rasputin x Nikolai Rasputin, and Kitty Pryde x Illyana Rasputin.

Rating: M for canon typical violence and death threats.

Word Count: 10k... oops.

Set after "Children of the Gods: Part Three."

Author's Note: Tentatively, I’m back from my hiatus. Things are nowhere near settled with my mental health, but I’m feeling well enough to post again.

I think it mostly goes without saying that updates for this series might be a little irregular going forward; not only do I need to take care of myself, but I also need to find a better balance with posting fanfiction and the rest of my life. As always, I will do my best to be clear with you all about what to expect in terms of updates and wait times.

Thank you again for your compassion and understanding.

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @leo-writer, @emma-frxst, @sadstone-s

It’s not every day that mysterious, leather-clad men appear –quite literally, considering they teleported in—in your kitchen unannounced.

(Okay, perhaps they don’t qualify as “mysterious” when one of them is your dad, one of them is your brother, and the third is your uncle, but there’s a fourth man with them that you don’t recognize, so you like to think that the principle of the expression remains intact.)

You glance between Nate, Wade, your uncle, and the aforementioned unrecognized fourth man, then lift the box of cereal you’d been pouring into a bowl by way of greeting. “Breakfast?”

***

(The fourth man, as it turns out, goes by the code name “Kronos” –which, in terms of super cool code names, ranks at about an eight.)

“There’s a war coming,” Nate explains while the four of you stand around your kitchen counter. “Apocalypse is stirring. He’ll be sending his allies to Earth to initiate the first stage of the war, so that he’ll encounter less resistance when he comes to rule.”

“‘s called ‘The Decimation,’” Wade interjects as he shovels spoonfuls of Lucky Charms into his mouth. He points at his bowl, then jerks his head at the fridge. “D’ y’all have chocolate syrup?”

“Yeah, second shelf on the door.” You take another bite of your cereal, swallow, then ask Nathan, “What… what happens with ‘The Decimation?’”

“One of Apocalypse’s allies, Thanos, will arrive with his armies and generals. He’ll use his own forces to annihilate the heroes of Earth, then he’ll finish assembling the Infinity Stones and gauntlet and use them to wipe out half of all life across the cosmos.”

You purse your lips together and eye your dad warily. “If… if this was anyone other than you saying this, I’d say this all sounds like a hackneyed comic book and-or movie plot.”

“His information checks out,” Kronos says, voice low and gravelly. “Our cross-temporal intel confirms communications between Apocalypse and Thanos. We might have a few weeks to prepare for Thanos’s arrival –and that’s if we’re lucky.”

Wade snorts and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “handwavey bullshit” under his breath.

You look to your uncle. “And you’re here because…”

“Need to talk to Xavier,” your uncle answers, “and then alert the Avengers and anyone else that can help us face Thanos.”

“Right,” you say slowly. “And you stopped here first because…”

“I was hungry,” Wade blurts as he drizzles more chocolate syrup on top of his cereal.

“You have credibility,” Nathan says while shooting Wade an equally annoyed and endeared look. “Xavier and Piotr listen to you, and the rest of the X-Men listen to them. We can’t afford to deal with a bunch of hesitating and infighting right now. We need to get our shit together and defeat Thanos, or the world as we know it is fucked.”

“Question.” Wade lifts his spoon. “Does Donald Trump die in this decimation bullshit?”

“We’ll deal with him later,” your uncle stage-whispers to Wade.

“If you’re all sure…” You wait for all four of them to nod, then sigh and shrug. “Alright. I think most of the X-Men are training right now. Let’s go talk to them.”

***

“This all sounds fucking insane.”

Wade gasps. The eyes on his mask widen as he lifts a gloved hand to where his mouth is under his mask. “James Doohan used a no-no word! My goodness gracious golly!”

Scott Summers scowls, but otherwise ignores Wade. He turns to the Professor, expression incredulous. “Do you believe… any of this?”

Xavier grimaces. “Our sources through Kronos” –he gestures to your uncle’s colleague—“have been confirming the intentions of Apocalypse for several years now. The difficulty was always in determining when Apocalypse would act, and in which timeline –though, now that we have Cable’s intel, we’ve been able to figure those two details out.”

“If Thanos is as powerful as you’re saying,” Ororo pipes up, looking at Nathan, “then how are we supposed to defeat him?”

“Any way we can,” Nathan fires back, expression grim.

“Our intel says that Thanos only has three of the six Infinity Stones, along with the gauntlet,” Kronos adds. “If we can keep the last three stones out of his hands and defeat his armies here on Earth, we’ll have better odds of facing Apocalypse down the road.”

“Right,” Jean says. “And where are the last three stones?”

“The Mind Stone is in the possession of Vision, an android created by Ultron, who now works with the Avengers,” Kronos explains. “The Time Stone is in the possession of Doctor Stephen Strange, who leads an order of sorcerers and magic users in New York. The Soul Stone… has yet to be located.”

“And we’re sure that Thanos is coming here?” Ororo asks, brows raised in skepticism.

“One of the unifying features across the pertinent timelines is a battle that takes place on Earth, specifically in the country of Wakanda,” Kronos answers. “Regardless of the other features in the timeline, there is always a major confrontation between Thanos and the forces of earth there.”

“Great,” Rogue deadpans, expression flat. “Now we just have to convince them to let us in. ‘Excuse me, your Majesty T’Challa, but there’s an evil spaceman that is collecting all powerful rhinestones and he’s going to come here to try and wipe out half of all life on Earth, so we need you to let us into your country with strict visitation policies to we can help you fight him.’ Yeah, that’ll go over real well.”

“We don’t have time to waste on sarcastic bullshit,” Nathan grits out, cybernetic eye flaring as he glares at Rogue. “We’ll handle getting the Avengers and Wakanda on board,” he says, turning to the Professor. “I take it we can trust you to get your team and Magneto collected?”

“I’ll contact Erik,” Xavier promises before looking over at your husband. “Piotr, would you mind calling your family? I believe, given the severity of the coming conflict, having as many hands as possible would be in our best interests.”

Piotr nods. “Konechno –of course.” He looks up at you from where he’s sitting, confusion clear in his sky blue eyes—

“You good to come with us?” Nathan asks, tapping your shoulder lightly to get your attention. “We’ll need help talking to Stark.”

“Huh? Uh –yeah. Sure.” You look back at Piotr; the request to ask for five minutes, just five minutes, to talk to your husband is on the tip of your tongue—

Nate tugs you –gently—a couple inches closer, then says, “Bodyslide by five.”

The room blurs, then disappears from view.

***

You’ve only bodyslid with Nathan a handful of times –and each time you do, you’re always caught off guard by how fucking weird it feels.

Your stomach lurches like you’ve just gone down the steepest drop on a rollercoaster, even though the ground remains steady beneath your feet. In a flash, there’s a brand new room in front of you –sleek, monochromatic cabinets, white marble countertops, stainless steel appliances and fixtures, the works. The space oozes sophistication, function, style –and money. So much money.

Given everything you’ve heard about Tony Stark, it makes sense.

“Deep breaths,” Nathan says. He places a steadying hand on your shoulder while you blink rapidly. “In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

You do your best to comply –though it’s a bit difficult, given that your brain is shrieking ‘sensory overload’ while trying to adjust to the new lighting, the new sounds, the sensation of having moved without really having moved at all, at least in the sense of walking or riding in a car—

And then alarms start blaring. Red lights flash, klaxons go off, the works.

Wade swears and claps his hands over his ears. “Christ! For a guy who has literal robots that can wipe his ass with dollar bills, you think he’d invest in something a little easier on the ears!”

“Wilson!” The klaxons and red lights cut out, replaced by various whirring noises and the sound of hurried, angry footsteps. “I swear to God, if you’ve hijacked one of my jets again, I’m gonna –who the fuck are all of you?”

Tony Stark looks… nothing like what you see in the papers. Granted, his face and hair look largely the same, but he’s not wearing the crisp, stylish suits that all the magazines, articles, papers, and interviews feature him wearing. He’s got on a worn, holey Metallica shirt, ripped, grease stained jeans, and a pair of scuffed sneakers that look like they might’ve been purchased ten years ago, for all that they’re barely holding together.

The army of security bots hovering and whirring around him, however, do fit his press image.

“Jon Snow!” Wade chirps, waggling his fingers at the harried “genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist.” “Long time, no talk. How’s Daenerys doing?”

“Summers, would you do me a favor and put your psychopath on a leash?” Tony asks, tone less than polite or pleasant as he focuses on Nate. “Preferably a nice short one that’s far away from me?”

“We’re here to talk,” Nathan says –though he does stop Wade from trying to play with the knives in the block on the kitchen counter. “It’s a matter of life and death. The well-being of the entire universe is at stake.”

“Yeah, been there, done that,” Tony says, looking none too impressed.

“One of your colleagues may have mentioned his name,” Kronos interjects, taking a step forward. “Does the word ‘Thanos’ ring any bells?”

Tony’s expression sobers for an instant, but he hides it quickly enough. “This is private property, and you’re all—”

A red being with a green suit and a yellow gem in the center of his forehead emerges from the floor. He places himself between Tony and the rest of you. “Would you like me to escort them out, Mr. Stark?”

“Ah, Casper the Friendly Android with No Concept of Personal Boundaries Despite the Infinite Knowledge!” Wade fires back, waving cheerfully. “How you doing, twenty-twenty?”

Vision sighs, longsuffering. “You have been expressly forbidden from these premises, Mr. Wilson.”

“Unless he’s here under my direct supervision,” Nathan fires back. “Stark, we need to talk about this—”

“Tony?” A tall, elegant woman with red hair wearing a tailored, navy blue dress walks up behind the man in question. She flashes you all a polite smile, but there’s no missing the way her gaze cautiously assesses each one of you. “I’m guessing these aren’t –oh. Wade’s here.”

Wade waves in response. “Hi, Miss Potts! How’s being a CEO?”

“It’s going very well, thank you,” Pepper replies politely –though, this time, she’s scanning the room for missing objects and-or visible damage. When nothing turns up, she looks back at Tony. “Are we escorting them out?”

“They claim to have information about the end of the world,” Tony says, tone flippant –though the grave expression on his face belies his snark. “About Thanos.”

Recognition flashes over Pepper’s face, though her polite mask never fully slips. She nods, then says, “Are we going to listen to them?”

“Probably should,” Tony replies in the same lackadaisical tone. “I’m not turning off the security drones while Wilson’s here, though.”

“Just for that, I’m pissing in your Ficus before I leave,” Wade huffs.

“That seems like it’s for the best,” Pepper tells Tony, smiling going tight at the edges while she stares at Wade. She takes a breath, steeling herself, then steps past Tony and nods at the rest of you in greeting. “Sorry for the confusion. Would you mind coming with us, so we can talk somewhere more comfortable?”

***

“I started connecting the dots after Thor left,” Tony explains, twirling a pencil between his fingers as he paces back and forth. “He mentioned Thanos briefly –but with the destruction and repurposing of Loki’s staff, the straggling records of Dormammu’s attack and the use of the Time Stone by Strange, the roles that the Tesseract and Loki’s staff played in the attack on New York by the Chitauri…” He sighs, pausing to stare out at the window at some unseen object before grimacing and shrugging. “It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

You’re all gathered in a conference room –which, as with the kitchen, carries the same modern, sleek style. Floor to ceiling windows show off the training grounds and the forest that conceals the base from the rest of the world. A massive plasma TV takes up one of the far walls, while the other walls are taken up by various dormant, holographic and electronic displays (made by Stark himself, no doubt). A black, oblong table sits in the center of the room, with leather, silver studded swivel chairs positioned around it.

“How many are there?” Tony asks, looking first at Kronos, then at Nathan. “How much time do we have?”

“There are six Infinity Stones in total,” Kronos says. “Thanos already has three –the Space stone, which was contained by the Tesseract, the Reality stone and the Power stone. Your colleague, Vision—” he gestures to the android “—is in possession of the Mind Stone already, and Stephen Strange has the Time Stone. Our agents have been unable to confirm the whereabouts of the Soul Stone, but we’re certain that Thanos doesn’t have it.”

“Yet,” Tony adds, tone pessimistic.

“As far as time goes, we have a few days at most,” Nathan says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe a week, if we’re lucky.”

Tony grimaces. “That doesn’t bode well for rebuilding international relations on a dime. Or team morale for that matter.”

“Sort it out,” Nathan gravels out. “We’ve got bigger issues.”

“We won’t have time for issues if we can’t even pull a team together,” Tony snaps.

“If it helps…” Kronos withdraws a flash drive from his jacket pocket and holds it out to Tony. “The evidence of Thanos’s collection of the stones and his plans to come here.”

Tony accepts the flash drive. He turns it over in his fingers a couple times –no doubt mentally comparing the drive to the technology he’s created—then pockets it. “And Xavier’s on board with all this?”

You blink when you realize everyone’s staring at you. “Uh –yes. He’s contacting Erik Lensherr for some additional support, and the rest of the X-Men are ready to take on Thanos as well.”

“Great.” Tony stares down at the table for a moment, expression slightly melancholy but otherwise inscrutable, but then he snaps back to his usual self. “Good meeting. I’ll text you with the details.”

“Ooh, does that mean we’re trading numbers?” Wade gasps, pressing his hands on either side of his face. “I’ll put you on my favorites list.”

“I’ll contact Xavier,” Tony amends, shooting Wade a slightly harried look.

“We’ll be ready,” you assure him, at a loss for what else to say as you hook your arm around Wade’s to keep him from messing with the holographic display system.

“Vision will escort you out,” Pepper says with a polite smile and nod.

“I’ll make you a friendship bracelet, Tony the Tiger!” Wade calls as you and Nathan gently usher him towards the door. “Wait –stop shoving me! I need to get his wrist size!”

“Later, gorgeous,” Nate says with a barely suppressed smile.

Under any other circumstances, you’d laugh, but the stony foreboding weighing down your gut makes it too hard to even muster up a chuckle –especially when you catch Tony slumping down into one of the conference room chairs with a despairing expression on his face. You force yourself to focus on getting Wade out of the Avenger’s headquarters without stealing anything –though that does little to calm your swirling thoughts. How in the hell are we gonna pull this off?

***

“Are you okay?”

You sigh, instinctively wriggling back against Piotr’s chest as he lays down behind you. “Define ‘okay.’”

It’s nearly midnight now. Between contacting other allies for help –Nathan had you all bodysliding around New York for the better part of the day to reach out to the Hell’s Kitchen figures—and learning up about Thanos’s army and what could be expected in a confrontation against him, you didn’t get home until well after dinner.

You’re in bed now, too tired for anything else. You stare out the windows that overlook the balcony, purposefully trying to keep your mind blank so you don’t grow overwhelmed by the chaos buzzing in your brain.

Because this is insane. This is beyond mutant trafficking or petty grievances between groups of mutant rivals or even being gunned down by the mafia. This is beyond abusive parents, groups of hateful bigots, or anti-mutant legislators.

It’s –quite literally—the fate of the entire world. The entire galaxy. Based on Nathan’s reports of the future, half of all life is wiped out. People, animals, plants –all gone, dissolved into piles of ash… and for what? So some egomaniac can have his moment of glory?

Your stomach curdles when you even try to contemplate a life without Piotr.

“Hey.” Piotr draws you in close when you start crying. “Tische, myshka. Everything is okay.”

“But it’s not.” You sniff, wiping at your eyes with your sleeve. “Nothing about this is fucking okay, Piotr. Someone’s gonna wipe out half of the damn universe because he wants to jerk off to it later.”

“He has to go through us, first,” Piotr reminds you as he presses soft, sweet kisses against your cheek.

“We don’t have the numbers,” you point out bleakly. “We don’t have the ammunition. We don’t have the time to make a solid plan, or to prepare any extra defenses, or—”

Piotr hugs you tight. He kisses the top of your head. His hand strokes up and down your arm in an attempt to soothe you.

You grip his other hand, holding him close to you. You focus on how warm and solid he is. How wonderful he is and how lovely your life is with him. “I love you, Piotr.”

“And I love you, Y/N.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and cry some more.

***

The call comes in at five thirty in the morning.

“Stark’s brought around the other Avengers and Wakanda,” Nathan says, sounding far more alert than you ever will at this godforsaken hour. “We’re lifting off at seven.”

“Roger that,” you manage while Piotr turns on the bedside lamp and blinks the sleep out of his eyes. “We’ll be ready.” You set down your phone when the call ends, then groan and drop your head into your pillow. Why can’t the end of the world ever happen in the afternoon?

***

The Blackbird jets are loaded to maximum capacity. Aside from carrying the X-Men and the X-Force exclusive members, you’re also ferrying the Hell’s Kitchen vigilantes, Piotr’s family and Allison, your uncle and his team, and the younger children and their parents to Wakanda for safe-keeping (your uncle’s reasoning was that an enemy of the institute might notice the sudden lack of protection and decide to attack the younger, more vulnerable students and their families for vengeance, so it was better to be safe than sorry).

You keep close to Piotr or to the cockpit, but there’s still no avoiding the tense, cramped feeling.

You’re not the only “birds” in the sky, either. It’s practically a whole convoy, flying out to Wakanda in what might’ve been a formation if Wade didn’t occasionally grab the control and try to do a “barrel roll.” Magneto and his forces are flying in their own airship, while the Avengers are leading their pack in Tony’s custom, “cutting edge of technology” jets.

You watch the small fleet of jets that belong to the Avengers, lips pursed into a tight line. Your gaze darts over to the navigation board every few seconds, tracking your miniscule progress across the Atlantic Ocean towards Wakanda.

There’s a heavy sigh behind you, and then an even heavier pair of arms settle around your shoulders. “Myshka. You should rest.”

You “hmm” softly to let Piotr know you heard him, but you don’t step away from the cockpit door.

He kisses the top of head and starts gently rubbing your neck with his thumbs. “Will be several hours before arrival, dorogoy. There is nothing you can do until then.”

“It feels like wasting time,” you murmur back –because, naturally, Piotr’s seen to the heart of the issue already. “We’ve got so much to do.”

“And we can do nothing until we arrive in Wakanda.” Piotr kisses your temple, then gently nudges you away from the cockpit. “Come sit with me, lyublyu. You will need full energy when we land.”

And that, above all else, is the only reason you let Piotr usher you over to the nearest seat.

You crawl into his lap once he sits, curling up in his arms. You lay your head on his shoulder and let his warmth combined with the gentle thrum of the jet’s sonic engines lull you to sleep.

***

Wakanda is simultaneously everything and nothing like what you expected.

There’s a force shield that surrounds the inner part of the country that gives way as the convoy of ships pass through it. It almost seems to shimmer out of view before revealing an elegant, shining palace and curved, glimmering towers that comprise the larger part of the city. Lush jungle and towering, ice-capped mountains border the city, split by a winding river and rushing waterfalls.

It almost looks too beautiful to be real.

The awe-inducing visuals and technology don’t stop as the convoy flies out to a glittering, black glass structure that, on the navigation board, is labeled as the lab of Princess Shuri. The convoy swoops around to a massive hangar at the base of the building, landing just inside on the polished stone and metal floor.

Waiting for all of you in the hangar is King T’Challa Udaku; he’s wearing a black robe embroidered with silver thread and a vibrant kente scarf, and generally looks every bit as poised and unflappable as he did in the UN interviews. He’s flanked by his Dora Milaje soldiers –who are undeniably badass with their armor and spears, and you catch Ellie, Yukio, and Kitty all staring at the women in awe—and his partner, Nakia, and his sister, Princess Shuri.

Tony and Professor Xavier handle the introductions with the King, which lets you stretch and take in the hangar and throngs of superheroes. You recognize a few of them –Captain America aka Steve Rogers, Ant-Man aka Scott Lang and his entourage --including a man with dark hair styled like Elvis that you recall seeing in some sort of news interview a while back and a young woman with curly brown hair and warm eyes that’s holding his hand-- and War Hero ,aka James Rhodes, aka Tony’s best friend and “work wife”—but some of the entourage members are new to you.

You take a moment to stretch out your back –sleeping in Piotr’s lap isn’t the worst quality rest you’ve ever had, but given the configurations of the jet seats it was a little cramped—and admire the glimmering, inlaid lights on the hangar ceiling. Swanky.

“We have space prepared for the upcoming preparations and hosting all of you,” T’Challa says, voice cutting through the din of the crowd with ease. “If you would all follow Princess Shuri, please.”

Shuri smiles, then motions for everyone to follow her out of the hangar.

Half of the Dora Milaje break away from the formation, keeping a protective line between the princess and everyone else.

You fall into stride alongside your husband, well-practiced by now at matching your steps to his long stride.

***

The “prepared space” winds up being three massive rooms, each with smaller rooms sectioned around the main spaces, a kitchen-slash-rec area that joins the three massive rooms in the center, and three large, communal style bathrooms with multiple stalls for toilets and showers. The main rooms have several long, workstation style tables at them, with some beds stationed at the fringes, and the smaller rooms function only as bedrooms, mostly for the families with kids and the handful of couples present.

“This interface,” Princess Shuri says as she taps on a small disk embedded into the wall, “will let you contact security and staff if you have questions or need to speak with someone. There’s one in each room, for easy access. It will begin glowing and beeping if someone’s trying to send a call to you; you answer by pressing the base,” she explains, demonstrating on the disk.

“We’re expecting another group of people,” Tony pipes up. “Strange is collecting some of our allies from the South Eastern Quadrant. They should be here in the next sixteen hours, give or take.”

Shuri nods. “We’ll contact you when they arrive.” She offers the group a magnanimous nod and smile, then strides out the hall you all entered through, flanked by the Dora Milaje soldiers.

For a moment, no one moves. You all stand around, hesitating as you all try to take in the new scenery and space.

Alex moves first. She sighs, then grabs her duffel and strides towards the nearest workroom. “No point in waiting.”

Her initiative seems to jolt everyone else out of their daze. Everyone sections off, largely sticking with the groups of their original affiliation.

You amble alongside Piotr, peering around the workroom as you try to decide where to set your pack. Here goes nothing.

***

We’re staring down the apocalypse, you muse as you watch everyone set up shop, and it’s all coming down to sewing machines.

It’d come as a shock when Alexandra had lugged the sleek, white machine out of its carrying case. She’d set it on one of the tables, then lifted bolts of thick, rugged Kevlar out of one of her duffels next. Thread, scissors, measuring tape, and gridded cutting boards follow the Kevlar—

And then the sewing machine jammed as soon as Alex turned it on.

“Ty meshok der'ma,” Alex mutters under her breath as she fiddles with the internal mechanisms of the sewing machine. She glares at the gears, grumbling and swearing while she prods at them with a pair of tweezers. “Kakogo khrena tvoya problema?”

The situation seems mundane in its inanity.

The end of the damn world, and we’re being thwarted by twenty pounds of plastic and metal.

“Day mne poprobovat'.” Nikolai crouches down next to his wife. He adjusts the reading glasses perched on his nose, then aims a small flashlight at the interior of the machine. He murmurs and tuts in Russian while prodding at the machine –and then he makes a soft noise of exclamation. “Broken needle. Pryamo tam.”

“Sukin syn.” Alex uses her telekinesis to draw out the metal shard, then lets out an exasperated sigh and spreads her arms when the machine finally makes the proper start up noises. “Thank you.”

“Be nice,” Nikolai chides her with a teasing grin. “Is uncomfortable, having metal stuck in organs. You would not want to work either.”

“I’ve had metal in my organs,” Alex grumbles as she gets her sewing machine configured. “I still managed.” She smirks when Nikolai laughs, then kisses her husband’s cheek before motioning for you to approach. “Come here, ptitsa. I want to reinforce your suit; I need your measurements.”

You round the table, shucking off your sweatshirt so Alex can measure your torso. “Is there anything I need to do?”

“Just hold still, malenkiy,” Alex murmurs as she runs her tape measure around your waist.

“I make no promises,” you joke.

Alex snorts, then moves her measuring tape up to your ribcage.

***

The waiting is, somehow, worse now.

At least on the plan there was a promise of a destination. A sense of the temporary, that you’d be up and moving and doing again within a few hours.

Unfortunately, reality is so often different from how you envision it, just as it is now. Because the reality of the situation is that there are only a limited number of people capable of helping. Nate and Tony are working with the Princess to configure weapons to fight Thanos’s forces, Hank and the healers are preparing a makeshift medical bay, Frank, Wade, Mikhail, and Neena are cleaning and checking guns, Alex, Piotr and Nikolai are taking turns working on fabricating armor for those who need it—

Leaving you with nothing to do. Aside from keeping those who are working well fed and hydrated and managing the kids, all you can do is sit and watch while everyone else prepares.

It’s agony. Your chest aches from stress, and your stomach’s churning so much you can barely choke food down at mealtimes. I need to help more. I need to do something, dammit.

It’s like being in line for random execution and having no idea whether you’re going to be shot or not.

You stay close to Piotr. You run food and snacks and drinks for anyone who needs it. You help manage the kids when the need arises –but since most of their parents are here, the incidents are far and few between.

You sit. And you wait.

It’s all you can do.

***

“Absolutely not.”

“You need to be reasonable.”

“I am. It’s perfectly reasonable to keep a fourteen-year-old off a fucking battlefield!”

Alex sighs. She leans back in her seat and raises an eyebrow at her eldest daughter. “Normally I would agree, but I don’t think you’ll have much say in the matter. Your ability to control her is notably lacking.”

Artemis huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “You try reining in a teenager who’s realized there’s no consequences to her actions.”

“I’m not judging, merely observing,” Alex assures her daughter. “But, at any rate, it’s not unreasonable to predict that she’ll join the fray at some point. Body armor is a necessity.”

“It’s an invitation! She’ll take it as permission!”

“Artemis?” Allison sticks her head into the room, then strides over to her mentor-slash-surrogate mother. “Is everything okay? Who’s getting permission to do what?”

“No one is,” Artemis grumbles, even as she holds her arm out so the teen can lean against her side. “Especially not you.”

Allison lets out a disgusted sigh and rolls her eyes. “I already told you—”

“You’re not fighting.”

“I can handle myself!” Allison snaps. She jerks away from Tatianna, scowling. “You’re treating me like a baby!”

“Compared to me, you are a baby,” the older woman points out drily.

“It’s not your burden to bear,” Alex interjects, fixing the testy teen with an even –though not harsh—stare. “Teenagers shouldn’t have to fight for the future of the world. That’s for adults to handle.”

“No one gets to decide,” Allison grits out, “what my burdens are. And this isn’t about ‘should’ or ‘shouldn’t.’”

The corner of Alex’s mouth twitches. She looks up at Artemis, brows raised.

Artemis sighs. She tips her head back, staring up at the ceiling, then looks down at Allison. “You need body armor to keep you safe. That does not mean, however, that you’ll be joining us in the fight against Thanos.”

Allison sweeps her tongue along the inside of her cheek. She crosses her arms and cocks her head to the side. “Pretty sure you don’t get to decide that.”

“Pretty sure you should listen to me,” Artemis fires back, “since I have more experience and am telling you that it’s too much for you to handle.” She lets out an exasperated breath when Allison rolls her eyes, then waves her hand dismissively as if to say ‘I tried.’ “Get her set up.”

Alex nods, then waves Allison over. “Alright, malenkiy. Let’s get you sorted.”

***

“Are you asleep?”

“Nyet.” Piotr rolls over, drapes an arm over you, and kisses your forehead. “I would ask you the same, but…”

You manage a small chuckle. “Pretty obvious answer, yeah.”

The two of you are in one of the private rooms –if only because (aside from your status as married) it has a bed big enough to accommodate Piotr. There’s a small window that overlooks a cavern beneath the lab. Dim, blue light seeps through the glass pane, but it’s not enough to properly illuminate the room.

Piotr’s fingers skim over your upper arm. “Why are you not sleeping, myshka?”

“Can’t,” you admit, voice wavering. You take a deep breath through your nose and try to calm yourself. “I just… I can’t handle not doing anything. It gives me too much time to think about what might happen.”

Piotr croons gently, drawing you in closer so he can tuck you against his chest. He cradles your head with one massive head. “Dorogoy. You know such things are not good for you.”

“Yeah, I know,” you grumble, eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Doesn’t mean that knowledge stops my brain any.”

“Ya znayu,” Piotr murmurs as he kisses your temple. “But everything is going to be alright, myshka.”

“Except it really might not be,” you argue, voice shaking. You grip the material of his shirt, as though he might be wrenched away from you at any moment and whisked away into the wind. “It really might not, Piotr.”

Your husband doesn’t say anything in response to that. He merely holds you closer still and strokes his fingers through your hair.

You press your forehead against his chest and start weeping quietly.

***

The second day is much like the first –a slow, agonizing crawl punctuated by overwhelming anxiety and exhaustion.

You linger at the table where Nate, Tony, and Ellie are modifying guns, handing the three various tools and materials when they ask for it. You watch their progress numbly, brain devoid of anything other than wordless worry.

At least, you watch until Nate texts Piotr to come get you.

“Davay, myshka,” your husband coaxes as he lifts you off your stool. He grunts slightly as he shifts you into a bridal-style hold, then carries you away from the table and out of the room. “Let’s have lunch.”

“But—”

“Is important to stay fed and hydrated.”

“—I was helping.” You peer past Piotr’s arm –then sigh when Nathan gives you a sympathetic, concerned smile and waves you along. “Baby—”

“Just for little bit.” Piotr sets you down when you ask, but he keeps a hand on your shoulder, just in case. “Is not good to sit and stew in anxiety.”

You drop your gaze to the floor. “You can’t prove anything.”

Piotr lifts his hand from your shoulder and cradles your cheek. He strokes his thumb against your skin, waiting until you look up at him before speaking again. “Come have lunch with me, moya lyubov’,” he says with an adoring smile (which you’re certain is a deliberate, tactical move on his part to make sure you don’t try and argue, and dammit if it isn’t working). “I would enjoy your company.”

You scuff the toe of your sneaker against the floor, but ultimately acquiesce. “Alright. I guess I should take a break.”

***

The snooping starts after lunch, while Alex is chewing Frank out for spray-painting his bullet proof vest.

“What, are you looking to ruin perfectly good Kevlar?” Alex gripes as she tosses Frank’s “Punisher” vest aside. “You want to break down the material? Get shot out like some schmuck because you decided to be an artist?”

“It’s strategic,” Frank argues with a good-natured, crooked grin. “Keeps my enemies’ line of sight trained on where I have the most protection.”

Alex nods and makes a sarcastic noise of assent. “‘Strategic.’ Is that what it is? Ya ne mogu v eto poverit'. V moye vremya my nazyvali strategiyu pobedoy, a ne stavili svoyu grebanuyu vizitnuyu kartochku na kazhdoye sovershennoye nami proklyatoye ubiystvo. Get your ass over here, drama boy.” She scoffs and starts measuring Frank’s chest and shoulders. “‘Strategiya,’” she scoffs. “What a load of horse shit.”

“Akh akh,” Nikolai tuts as he walks into the room with a plate of food and glass of water. “What is happening here?”

“I’m pretty sure I upset the apple cart, sir,” Frank says, unabashed.

Nikolai chuckles while Alexandra brings up to speed, ranting in irritated Russian. He sets the plate and glass on the table next to his wife, kisses her head, then ambles back out to the kitchen—

And that’s when you notice it. Or, rather, her.

Natasha Romanoff, aka the Black Widow. Renowned spy, assassin, weapons and espionage expert, and former member of the Avengers if the debacle surrounding the Sokovia Accords is to be believed.

She’s sitting at the kitchen counter on barstool, tapping away at her phone –which isn’t inherently suspicious, but her line of sight lets her look directly into the room you’re all situated in and—

She’s watching Alex.

At first you think she might be watching Frank (which, fair enough, having a mass murderer, somewhat unstable vigilante around is a reasonable cause for caution). But when Frank gets up and walks out (probably to go find Karen), Natasha doesn’t even move. Her gaze –when she’s not looking at her phone—stays fixed on Alexandra while she works at her sewing machine.

For once, you’re grateful Piotr is as large as he is; he makes a great hiding spot to do countersurveillance from.

Natasha approaches slowly, but deliberately. She talks to someone on her phone –whether she’s faking or not doesn’t matter to you, because she still uses it to get off the barstool and amble around while she’s talking. Then, she has a conversation with Captain Rogers, which she uses to get a few feet closer to the doorway.

At some point, you’re not certain if she realizes you’re watching her, only because she gives up the pretense of trying to hide her snooping entirely. She leans against the doorframe, watching Alex intently while she marks, pins, and cuts out fabric.

It’s Illyana who has enough of the whole thing first. Three minutes into Natasha standing in the door way, the blonde sighs, sets her phone down on the work table, and glares up at the red head. “Kakogo khrena ty khochesh?”

Natasha purses her lips slightly. She acknowledges Illyana with a brief glance, then turns her focus back to Alex. “Alexandra.”

“Natalia,” Alex says by way of greeting, not even bothering to look up from her work. “Are you here to help, or are you here to waste my time?”

She grimaces, but recovers and smiles politely. “It’s been a long time.”

“So, you’re here to waste my time,” Alex surmises as she pins a pattern to a piece of heavy black Kevlar.

Natasha swallows reflexively, then turns on her heel and walks away.

***

Half an hour later, it’s Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes’s turn.

The two supersoldiers are far less covert than Agent Romanoff. They stand in the middle of the rec room, a few feet away from the door, and don’t make any attempt to hide their conversation or the fact that they’re watching Alex (and, to some extent, her children and Nikolai as well).

Illyana says something to her mother a few times, but Alex waves her off –and, in general, seems unbothered. “U nas yest' rabota, snezhinka. U nas yest' rabota.”

“Did you know him?” you ask, later, when the Rasputin kids are out of the room. “The Winter Soldier?”

You’ve heard enough through the grapevine to know about the basics of the man’s story –captured by Hydra, experimentation, brainwashing, being coerced into murdering.

(It all sounds chillingly familiar.)

“We crossed paths,” Alex admits with a shrug. She slides a piece of ceramic armor plating inside a Kevlar pouch, then starts sewing the pouch shut. “Overlap was common back in the day.”

“Do you think he remembers you?” you murmur, glancing out at the kitchen (fortunately, Rogers and Barnes are gone for now).

Alex pauses. She purses her lips, then shrugs and resumes working. “I don’t know. He went through a lot with the forced mind wipes. There’s really no way of knowing.”

“Are you going to be in trouble if he does remember you?”

Alex huffs and favors you with a gentle smile. “I’ve gotten out of worse, ptitsa. Don’t worry so much.”

You say that like it’s easy, you think while the knot in your stomach coils tighter.

***

There’s a brief reprieve around dinner. You even manage to relax a little, smiling and chuckling as Piotr and Mikhail bicker and generally irritate each other as much as humanly possible.

Work starts up once more as soon as everyone’s done eating. You nestle yourself against Piotr’s side, relaxed via the virtue of being too tired to be stressed—

And then Tony Stark walks in.

Or perhaps “walk” isn’t the right term. He moves with an air of grandeur and utter self-assurance –which, even with your limited exposure to Tony Stark, you can tell is a “brand standard” for him. He tosses an apple up and down in one hand as he breezes along, expression blasé to the point of looking disinterested as he strides up to the table where Alexandra works.

If it weren’t for Natasha, Captain Rogers, and Sergeant Barnes scoping out the Rasputin matriarch earlier, you would’ve pegged Stark’s visit as entirely coincidental.

“What’s your deal?” Tony asks, leaning against the table next to where Alex is stationed at her sewing machine.

No pretense. No niceties. No attempt at subtlety.

Alex’s lips quirk into an annoyed grimace. She looks up and over the top of her machine for a moment, staring at Nikolai (likely trying to find any scrap of his infinite patience for herself), then lowers her gaze once more and says, “Usually, it’s not answering vague, pointless questions asked by nosey individuals.”

“You’ve got half my team twisted up just by being here,” Tony continues, unruffled. “I’ve seen Romanoff stare down the Hulk on a rampage without flinching. What about you is so special that you make her nervous?”

“Interesting,” Alex comments, almost to herself. “And here I thought, after the Berlin incident, your ‘team’ was largely disbanded. Something about ‘not agreeing with your leadership.’”

Tony’s face twitches, mouth briefly stretching into a pained grimace before he smooths it back out. “You don’t exist.”

“Everyone’s concept of self is different,” Alex mutters as she rips out a crooked seam on an armor pouch.

“There’s no record of your birth. Or your parents, for that matter. Your marriage license has no given maiden name. No history of education, doctor’s visits, driver’s license –nothing until you turned twenty-four.” He takes a bite of his apple, swallows, then says, “People don’t just ‘poof’ into existence as full grown adults. It doesn’t happen.”

“Perhaps,” Alex retorts as she resews the faulty seam, “you are just not very good at finding things.”

“I can find anything.”

“Except, it would seem, a way to keep from trying my patience.”

Tony watches her for a moment longer –then, when she doesn’t say anything, he turns and starts striding out of the room. “I’m going to figure out what’s up with you. There aren’t any secrets that can hide from my A.I.”

Alex doesn’t dignify his departure with a response –but her eyelid twitches as she continues her sewing.

You look up at Piotr, only to find he’s watching Nikolai. You look over at the Rasputin patriarch, and your heart sinks when you see the worried expression on his face.

Nick sighs, then stands and rounds the table. He ambles up behind his wife, drapes his arms around her shoulders, and kisses the top of her head before he starts murmuring to her in quiet, loving Russian.

You lean against Piotr’s side, giving him a reassuring squeeze even though the only thing you feel is disquieted. You force yourself to take a deep breath and relax your jaw as fear starts crawling up your spine once more. One thing at a time. One thing at a time, that’s all you can do.

Except, it seems, when everything decides to happen at once.

***

Meeting the Norse god of thunder is… intense.

Though, that may have to do with the entourage of people he brings with him.

Around three in the morning, Dr. Strange shows up with the remaining allies –Thor, god of thunder, and his brother Loki, god of magic, Bruce Banner aka the Hulk, a woman by the name of Carol, and a group that calls themselves the “Guardians of the Galaxy” (which happens to include a talking raccoon and a sentient tree).

“Just when you thought, like, it couldn’t get weirder,” Kitty mutters to you as she stares at the newest arrivals.

You nod. Granted, your usual metric for all things weird is Wade, who has basically explored every avenue of zany, bizarre, and disturbing—

But yeah, this is pretty fucking weird.

“Where do we stand in preparations for the arrival of Thanos?” Thor asks Tony.

“We’ve got most of the busywork done,” Tony says, outlining the weapons upgrades and the armor work that’s been done. “We waited for major planning until we had everyone here and better intel.”

Thor nods, then gestures to two women standing with the “Guardians of the Galaxy,” one with green skin and dark hair and the other with blue skin and cybernetic enhancements. “This is Gamora and Nebula, daughters of Thanos. They’ll be able to provide information on the strength and size of his forces.”

“Good,” Steve pipes up from where he’s standing with Sam Wilson and Sergeant Barnes. “The sooner we have a plan, the better.”

“It can wait until we’ve slept,” Alex decides, voice crisp. “We won’t come up with anything good while we’re fried.”

Tony blinks, then scowls. “Thanos could be here as soon as this coming morning.”

“Then we’ll be doubly fucked if we’ve stayed up all night trying to scrape together a plan,” Alex replies, unmoved. She crosses her arms when Tony glares at her. “The younger and less experienced of us need rest if this is going to work.”

“I’m with the lady,” Quill pipes up, brushing past Tony. He gives Stark a smile that, if you had to wager, is supposed to be charming but just comes off as arrogant. “I think you’ll find that we… don’t really roll with plans. It’s not our style.”

Alex stares at Quill for a moment, expression vastly unimpressed. She sighs, blinks slowly, shakes her head, then turns on her heel and strides back to the room she’s been sharing with Nick. “Absolutely not. I’m going back to bed.”

As if waiting for a cue, everyone else disperses, muttering about being tired and “needing an IV drip of espresso.”

You shuffle off with Piotr, hand in hand, shivering slightly from nerves. Please just let this go well.

***

“Both the Chitauri and the Klyntaar forces number into the tens of thousands. The Chitauri have sentient airships capable of carrying infantry forces while wreaking their own havoc, in addition to chariots that can carry up to five marksmen at a time. He also has tanks the size of this building that can demolish anything in their path.”

Everyone is gathered in one of the main work rooms. A majority of the people present hang back at the fringes, content to watch while Tony, Captain Rogers, King T’Challa, Alexandra, your uncle, Thor, Quill, and Natasha hash out a strategy.

“He’s trying to overwhelm us with sheer numbers,” Steve says in response to Gamora’s information.

“It might work,” Natasha murmurs, gaze focused on the worktable in front of her. “We don’t have near enough firepower to chip away at that many grunts.”

“Not if we play our cards right,” Alex says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“There’s also our siblings,” Gamora adds with a pained grimace.

Off to the side, Nebula scoffs. “They’re hardly family.”

“Thanos collected beings throughout the galaxy to serve him,” Gamora explains. “To act as his eyes and ears and eliminate his foes. Aside from Nebula and I, he has four other ‘children.’ They’ll be acting as his generals and commanders in the fight –and helping him track down and capture the final infinity stones.”

Tension ripples through the room.

“What do we know about these Infinity Stones?” Alex asks after a moment of fraught silence.

“The stones were originally created by the Celestials,” Loki pipes up from where he’s leaning against a wall. “Their magical properties are tied to aspects of the universe –time, space, reality, and so on. Only beings of immense power can wield them without severe consequences.”

“Thanos has the gauntlet that accompanies the stones,” Thor adds. “With it, once he assembles all six stones, he’ll be able to use them simultaneously.”

“He wants to wipe out half of all life on Earth,” Gamora says, voice wavering slightly. “That’s been his single goal ever since I’ve known him.”

“All men want to be gods,” your uncle jokes half-heartedly.

“Can the stones be broken?” Alex asks.

Loki chuckles, incredulous. “These are magical tools created by the most powerful beings ever known to the galaxy… and you want to break them?”

She shrugs. “Best not to overlook the simplest solution.”

“I’m taking that as a ‘no,’” Steve interjects. “So, if we can’t destroy them, how do we fight them?”

“The only thing powerful enough to combat the effects of the Infinity Stones are the Infinity Stones,” Loki answers.

“And we only have two,” Natasha surmises, expression drawn and grim.

“Three.”

Everyone looks up and turns when Illyana speaks.

She smirks, tilting her chin up when Natasha meets her gaze. “We have three Infinity Stones.”

“Vision has the mind stone, and Dr. Strange has the time stone,” Kronos argues, shaking his head. “The soul stone is still missing.”

Illyana’s smirk broadens. She lifts her hand, curling it as if she was holding something.

A sword materializes in her hand –and in the center of the sword, small but unmistakable, is a glowing orange gem.

Your uncle’s eyes widen. “Holy shit.”

“Three,” Illyana repeats, looking supremely confident and self-satisfied. “Unless there is elusive seventh stone?”

Loki smiles ruefully, shaking his head. “The Goddess of Limbo pulls through. Well done.”

“Okay, but Vision’s stone is in his head and Strange has his stone in a necklace around his neck,” Tony interjects, gesturing to each person in turn.

“Amulet,” Dr. Strange mutters under his breath.

“Your stone disappears if you’re not holding it,” Tony continues, pointing to the sword as Illyana dematerializes it once more. “What’s stopping Thanos from finding it and taking it?”

“I am only person who can use Soul Sword,” Illyana says, arching her eyebrows. “It is bound to me until the next in my line is ready to take my place.”

“My family has been bound to Limbo’s magicks for generations,” Nikolai clarifies when Tony starts sputtering. “Illyana is the keeper of the sword, which means only she can call upon it. Thanos would need our blood to have access to it.”

Tony grimaces. “Still risky.”

“Better than nothing,” your uncle fires back.

“We have a shot of taking down Thanos with the other three Infinity Stones in our camp,” Steve says, planting his hands against the worktable's surface. “Without them, we’re as good as sunk.”

“Well then,” Alex says, smirking. “Let’s make sure we don’t waste our opportunity.”

***

“For the love of god, stop talking.”

“I’m just saying,” Quill starts, spreading his hands in a defensive gesture.

“You’re not saying shit!” Alex snaps, lifting her head from her hands to glare at him. “You’re just wasting our time!”

Once the planning started, a large portion of the crowd dispersed to help wrap up the last of the weapons modification. The leaders from each faction stayed behind –Tony, T’Challa, Steve, Natasha, Thor, Peter Quill, Xavier, your uncle, Alexandra, and Erik—to plan, along with Gamora, Nebula, and Loki so they could offer up information on Thanos, his forces, and the Infinity Stones.

You’d also hung back, since you didn’t have the skills necessary to do the weapons modification. If all I can do is sit around like a nervous lump, may as well do it where I won’t be in the way.

“This plan just isn’t our style,” Quill argues, either immune or completely ignorant to the exasperated sighs and death glares the others are giving him. “We like to take things looser, add a little pizazz.”

“How many times did your parents drop you as a baby?” your uncle asks, staring Quill down. “No, I’m serious,” he adds when Quill glares back at him and opens his mouth to argue. “I’m genuinely at a loss for how you can be this fucking dense.”

“We’re up against overwhelming numbers and powers no one here has ever seen, let alone fought against,” Natasha adds. “We need to allocate our resources carefully if we want even a chance at victory. The three wave strategy is our best chance.”

“Okay,” Quill says, pressing his hands together. “I think we just all need to relax—”

“You’ll be pretty fucking relaxed when I gut you,” Alex grumbles as she pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Look, the way I see it, Thanos can’t take us all at once!” Quill reasons. “If we hit him with everything we have—”

“We have to survive his armies, too,” Tony adds, words clipped. “Or there won’t be any of us for Thanos to be hit by.”

“No.” Alex glares at Quill when he keeps trying to argue, startling him into silence. “Look at them.” She points at Gamora and Nebula. “These are your friends, da? Your teammates and companions, da? This is their abuser we’re facing. If we lose, what do you think happens to them? Do you think someone that wants to destroy half of all life will have mercy for them? Hm? If you care about them, you pick the plan that has the best shot of ensuring their safety. Got it?”

Quill swallows reflexively. He stares down at the holographic display of the future battlefield, jaw working. He exhales through his nose, slow and stuttered, then nods. “Alright. We… we do the three wave strategy.”

“So glad we can agree,” Alex says, turning her attention back to the battlefield schematic. “Now, we were discussing where to put our snipers…”

***

“—I need both their arms. Trust me, it’s the only way this is gonna work.”

“Look, I’m normally all for a little dismemberment, but I don’t think forming our own amputee league is gonna net us a win here.”

You shake your head as Wade banters back and forth with the talking racoon –whose name is Rocket, apparently—then look over at Nathan. “How long have they been at this?”

“Going on three hours now,” Nate replies. A soft, endeared smile flits across his face when he looks at Wade, but his expression sobers when he resumes his soldering job. “How’s the final plan looking?”

“Everyone but Quill was leaning towards a three-wave tactic.”

Nathan grunts. “Yeah, he seems like a jackass.”

“Alex threatened to gut him.”

“Hey!” Wade shouts, sounding genuinely wounded. “No disemboweling without me!”

“Quill wanted to do an ‘all for one’ attack directly on Thanos.” You sit down next to your dad, studying his face while he works. “You’ve actually fought against these people before. Do… do you think dividing our forces up will actually work?”

“The issue is the land and air forces,” Nathan says, shaking his head. He attaches a power unit to the base of a rifle, then starts welding the compartment shut. “This time doesn’t have the necessary shielding to repel the Chitauri and Klyntaar forces for that long. We’ll have to fight the grunts; holding some of our people back to make sure we have someone to take on Thanos is our best bet.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean we’ll win, though,” you point out.

He offers you a melancholy half-smile. “That’s war, kid.”

Your heart sinks further. “Do we even have a chance?”

“Statistics says we do,” Nathan says he strips a piece of wire before threading it into the gun.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Nathan sighs. He looks at you for a long moment, then says, “I think we have the best shot possible with what we have right here, right now.”

You gulp, then nod. It’s still not technically an answer to your question –let alone a positive one—but…

You’ve learned that, sometimes, it better not to dig at these sorts of questions at all.

***

“We’re dividing our forces into thirds.”

You’re all crammed into the rec room post dinner. In the center of the room, by the counter, Tony, Steve, Natasha, and Alex are addressing the crowd in turns.

“The first wave will consist of high stamina fighters and snipers,” Steve says. “There’s a shield system that extends several hundred kilometers around the lab’s perimeter. Wakandan soldiers will join the line of snipers who will pick off any of Thanos’s forces that make it through the shields.”

“We’ll also have any fighters with enhanced stamina on standby, in case there’s a larger breach,” Alex adds. “Their job will be to protect the sniper line from being overrun by the enemy forces.”

“The second wave will be air support,” Tony continues. “Myself, Rhodey, Wilson, and any flying mutants will head out when the Chitauri airships come in. Princess Shuri has a fleet of attack drones at the ready, which can be manned from headquarters in the lab. HQ will have a complete look at the battlefield; all intel will be coming from them during the fight.”

“Third wave is everyone else, save for Illyana, Dr. Strange, and Vision,” Natasha says. “We’ll join the fray when the second wave of Thanos’s forces arrive. The final three” –she nods to Illyana, Dr. Strange, and Vision in turn—“will wait in central headquarters until Thanos arrives, to prevent early capture of the remaining Infinity Stones.”

“In the meantime,” Tony says, “we’re going overtime on modifying rifles to be sonic weapons. They’re more effective against the Klyntar forces than regular firearms. All hands on deck. If you can’t solder, you can run supplies back and forth and help perform diagnostic tests at the firing range. Clear?”

Everyone nods, then breaks off to start working on constructing and testing more “awesome guns.”

You slid your fingers between Piotr’s. Your heart’s in your throat, racing a mile a minute. Your mouth feels dry.

If you were the religious type, you’d start praying. As it is, you make a plea with the universe on the off chance it decides to listen to you –for once.

Please. Please just let this work.

***

“So… about the three-wave plan—”

Tony slams down the compartment piece he’d been working on against the table. He glares at Quill, face strained with barely constrained rage and impatience. “What the fuck is your deal?”

“It’s just not sitting well with me,” Quill continues, leaning against the table. “I’m more of a ‘solo moment’ style person. More of a lone wolf.”

You gape at him. “You… you work with a team of five!”

“I just think that there needs to be a more focused confrontation with Thanos. Y’know, for someone to challenge him, man to man—”

“Some get this idiot out of my face,” Tony snaps, looking around for anyone that might be willing to assist –or, at the very least, drag Quill out of the room by his jacket collar.

“You’re not listening to me!”

“You’re wasting my time!”

“Why does every problem come back to you?” Alex stalks into the work room, eyes glowing a dull shade of copper as irritation takes hold in her. She strides over to Quill, looking like a menace in black leather and Kevlar. “How much more of a nuisance can you possibly make yourself?”

“I’m just pointing out some flaws in the strategy!” Quill argues, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture. “I’m being the devil’s advocate!”

“You’re pointing out dick,” Agent Barton, alias Hawkeye, points out from the side (where he’s modifying some of his arrows to release sonic pulses).

“Look,” Quill presses on, ignoring Clint’s comment. “We need to make sure this thing is airtight—”

“We don’t have time for ‘airtight,’” Nathan growls, cybernetic eye flaring. “The goal is to survive, not to create perfection.”

“I really just think—”

Alex scowls –and then her hand snaps out and closes around Quill’s neck. She slams him against the edge of the table, sneering down at him while he coughs and claws –futilely—against her iron grip. “You’re past the point of being a nuisance. You’re a fucking liability.”

Quill wheezes, face slowly turning red.

“If I was paid every time a man like you told me how to do my job…” Her voice trails off, and she lets out a sardonic chuckle. “Let me make something clear to you, Peter Quill.” Her hand tightens around his neck, which makes some ominous creaking noises as she presses against layers of tissue, cartilage, and bone. “I am not about to have an asshole like you risk the lives of my children, the people who are putting their own lives on the line to protect the world, or the future of the damn universe. If you’re going to keep being a jackass about this…” She smirks. “I’ll kill you. I’ll do it right here, right now. I am not going to have a hazard like you on my team or on that battlefield.” She grins nastily, leaning in closer as Quill’s eyes bug out. “Best thing is, no one really knows you’re here. No tracks to cover, no family to pay off, no authorities to worry about. You’d be an unfortunate casualty in war. No one would fucking miss you.”

A chill runs down your spine. You gulp, stomach twisting as you look from Alex, to Quill, to Alex again. Is anyone going to stop her...

“I really don’t know how to make this any fucking clearer, but since you’ve proven to be thick-headed, I’ll summarize: you stray from the plan in any way, and you’re dead. Got it?”

Quill nods hastily. He gasps when Alex releases him, collapsing to the floor. He hacks and coughs, one hand rubbing at his throat while his skin slowly fades away from an angry magenta color.

“So glad we understand one another.” Alex smirks, then turns on her heel and strides out of the work room like nothing even happened.

You purse your lips, trembling while everyone goes back to work like nothing even happened. You try to focus on sorting pieces into containers for the fabricators to grab from, but with your shaking hands it’s near impossible. You duck your head, gritting your teeth together as your stomach churns angrily. I just want this all to be over.

***

The call comes in a couple hours later.

“We’ve got temporal disturbances outside the shield perimeter,” Kronos shouts while alarms blare overhead. “Thanos’s forces have arrived and are attempting to break through to our location.”

Your stomach drops as everyone starts scrambling. You grab your flight jacket and goggles, throwing them on haphazardly. You start running towards the hangar –then stop and switch directions. “Piotr!”

He pauses when he hears your voice, turning and catching you as you leap into his arms. He kisses you briefly –desperately—then pulls back and cups your face in his hands. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You give him a quick hug, then pull away and start sprinting towards the hanger where the rest of the air support is gathering. Tears sting your eyes, but you wipe them away and force down your fear and preemptive grief. Focus. You have to focus.

It’s time.

[mar-iiposa]

"You're What?"

prompt: How would the Bayverse boys react to their s/o finding out that she is pregnant, and she is afraid/scared to tell them? The pregnancy was not planned. Hope you're having a great day/night <3

a/n: this was requested by an anonymous user as a bit of a long story, meant for all four turtles, but I'm deciding on separating it so it looks better on my masterlist later on. hope that enjoy, and make sure to read the tags I have included down below, just in case !

warnings: slight mention of abortion but that's it, mention of needles drawing blood (not too graphic of course), unplanned pregnancy, mentions of unprotected sex.

word count: 2.6k

"Y/N, are you okay?"

Your roommate, April's, voice rang out when she saw you hurry towards the bathroom in such a rush, for the third time today, and it was just barely 2 pm. She was concerned that you weren't doing so good, never having seen you in a peculiar state like this before. As late of this past week, you've started to show signs of illness and restlessness, constantly moody, which we knew was odd for you at times. "Do you need anything?" She gently knocked on the bathroom door, hearing the faucet run on the other side before it was turned off. "I'm good, thanks," You murmur, loud enough for her to at least comprehend what you're saying. Outside of the restroom, April looked down for a moment, hesitant on whether to truly believe you or not. However, she didn't bother to really question it. "I'll be out, text if you need me."

After getting up a little too fast, you feel a small, sharp pain in your breasts, causing you to wince and cup them lightly out of instinct. Over the last few days, you've been noticing some changes. Weird ones too. For starters, you missed your period, it was supposed to roll around about, what, three/four days ago. You kept it tracked monthly on your phone, and by now, it would seem to probably come later than usually expected. Never did you have an irregular menstrual cycle, sometimes periods tend to come a little bit late but this was still odd enough. Not to forget, you had been vomiting like crazy at times, especially in the mornings and early afternoons of the day, sometimes at night if you're "lucky" enough. Topping those off, you felt fatigued, you were bloated, strangely moody, and you really needed to pee way more. A lot more, actually.

You had turned off the faucet in the bathroom, hunching over the sink, still with little droplets of water sliding down and into the drain. You look into the mirror, bags under your eyes have started to form from lack of sleep after literally vomiting your guts out in the middle of the night, having to hold your own hair back yourself if April would be completely knocked out from work. It wasn't a rare occurrence for her to be passed out on her bed or the couch, after a long day of working. You were employed, too, it was just that you took a day off to find out what the hell these symptoms were. Who knows, maybe you were falling sick?

You do your hair and style it just a little, unbothered by if you looked like crap or not, you could care less. You were throwing up and felt almost sick, why wouldn't you look unappealing at the very least? Grabbing your keys and things, you make your way towards the subway almost downtown, avoiding eye contact with almost anyone and everyone, not feeling at your best. It felt like your self-esteem had taken a downwards decline in the last couple of days prior. Not that you never got irritated or anything, but it was peculiar to you that all of a sudden, you had mood swings that changed from one mood to another like a bolt of lightning. Hell, even your boyfriend, Leo, noticed fairly quickly, but he decided not to press on you too much about it.

Getting off of the subway train, you head to your physician's office, opening the door of the building, the cooled atmosphere of the room hitting you within seconds of your entrance of the room.

"Hello, Ms. L/N, are you here for your appointment today?" The female receptionist gazed up at you from her glasses, frames pink, wearing a light shawl over her arms and shoulders. "I am," You give her a nod, her gaze traveling back to the computer screen as she typed away, the sound of her dark red acrylics hitting the smooth black keys. "Sure does get cold in here," She chuckled, a small short in the middle of her laugh, "take a seat, miss."

Doing so, you sit near the TV of the waiting room, the magazines on the table ahead stared back at you, the words 'VOGUE' written on the modernistic cover. The television was of bland taste, just going over the weather expected for today and the rest of the week and into the weekend. You cradle yourself slightly, your e/c eyes flickering down to your fingers and nails. About fifteen minutes or so later, the door to the back of the office opened, a nurse appearing in her scrub, "Y/N L/N?" Perking up at the mention of your name, you both make eye contact and she steps aside for you to walk in, giving a nod before directing you to a nearby room. Taking a seat, you wait until the doctor comes into view, greeting you with a friendly smile. "Ms. L/N, hi," She shook your hand, holding a clipboard under her left arm as she entered, "how are you? Is there a reason as to why you made an appointment for today?" Seconds after listing off your symptoms, she eyed you a bit suspiciously, writing down with her pen. "I'll send one of the nurses in for a blood test, I'm sure you'll be free to go then," The doctor pursed her lips in a tight smile, looking as though she had something on her mind as to what you could've had.

You sit there, for what feels like hours upon hours of silence, and you don't even notice the nurse coming in through the door at some point. "Alright, just relax for me." A pinching at your skin came from the needle, and the nurse draws some blood from your arm. Closing your eyes and glancing away from the view, the needle is drawn away from your arm after a while, patching the spot up with a band-aid. "You should get your answers shortly," 'Angela Bardot' (the nurse) states with a small, friendly smile as you give her a nod for a reply in return.

The receptionist sends you a wave goodbye as you approach the door on the way out, nodding your head and giving a wave back. Traveling home among the streets of New York, your mind is constantly filling up to the absolute brim of what the results would be. What if you were terrible sick? Had an illness that was incurable or deadly? How would you tell the ones you loved? Always tending to think of negative outcomes was a habit of yours, for as long as you can remember. You're so deep into your thoughts as you don't realize your boyfriend had called you a couple of times already. You unlock your phone after typing in the digits of your password, tapping onto his contact. "Hey," His voice rings from the other side, "I was trying to call you, is everything alright?" You can hear the worried tone through his end.

You run a hand through your hair as you neared the corner, coming closer to your New York apartment. "Yeah," you breathe out into the air of the apartment building, taking the provided elevator, "yeah, I'm okay." You could almost see the look of relief in those blue sapphire eyes of his, he responds, "Sorry, I almost panicked when you didn't pick up." You chuckle a little at that, knowing you almost always picked up on phone calls, holding onto your keys as you pushed your front entrance door open, "Nah, you know I can handle myself, Leo." You grin hearing his voice, chuckling at that. "I know, I know." 

"I'll see you tonight?" He asks on his end, you immediately smile. "I give you my word." You can feel him smiling from 'ear to-ear' at your response, "Okay, I'll see you later then. Love you, princess." Your smile growing warm, heart fluttering at the words coming from your boyfriend, you speak back into the phone, "Love you too."

He was the first to hang up on the cell phone call, before you fall back onto your grey couch with a heavy sigh, soon leaning forward with your head in your hands, elbows firmly sitting on top of your knees. The TV is turned on from the remote in your hand, head leaning back into the couch, but only enough to still keep your eyes on the screen. Your phone rings again, and you assume it might be Leo again, calling to tell you something he might have forgotten or who knows what. Turning the phone over from it's front facing the cushions, and you recognize the contact number. "Hello?" You pick up, a recognizable voice rang through. "Hi, this is Dr. Rullston, I'm calling you to discuss your blood test results, yes?" Sitting straight up quickly, you feel yourself nod almost frantically, "Yes, it's not anything, right?" A long pause resonates between the two of you, and you can slightly hear the intake of a breath from her.

"Ms. L/N, you're pregnant."

Your heart completely drops as soon as you heard that, standing up from your seat within milliseconds. "What? I- I can't belie- !" She continues, "About almost two weeks pregnant is what I'm seeing. Congratulations miss." No, no, I didn't want a baby! I didn't know this would happen! 

You look down at the floor as your breathing is nearly stressed, "Tha- Thank you, Dr. Rullston." Quick to hang up first, you almost drop your phone onto the apartment's hard wooden floor. How was this possible? Well, you knew how pregnancy and sex worked, but this was something completely shocking, at least to you! You think you at least had intercourse with a condom on! You and Leonar- Oh God, Leo! How would he react to this? He would be disappointed, he could leave you! Who would want to raise a child with you? Who would even want a knocked up lady if he did leave the relationship you had been building for practically a year?! You could get an abortion, that's it! No, no, no, you couldn't see yourself going through with that. Seeing others get abortions was something you were supportive of, but you had no absolute idea what in the hell to do! Do you want to keep it? That was something you didn't know the answer to. 

Two hours roll by until you're dressed a little more properly now, on your path to the turtles' lair in the sewers. As of now, you're (somewhat) rocking some jeans, with an old t-shirt, your commonly-worn shoes, and your hair combed through. Sticking your head through the lair, Mikey spots you straightaway, quickly riding on his skateboard towards you, guarding your own stomach, afraid for impact. Luckily for you (and maybe your fetus), there is no impact. "Yo, Y/N!" He gave you his regular fist pump, "how's it hangin'?" He notices you guarding your stomach, emitting a laugh as he points at you, "What's with the stomach guarding?" You realize your arms protecting your stomach, pulling them away fairly quickly. "Just, uh- Just hungry is all!" Michelangelo eyed you for a second or two before shrugging, picking up his board with a swift kick at its tail, "M'kay! Leo's in his room by the way. Catch you later!" He rode off again, presumably to bother either Raph or Donnie with his "dazzling personality."

Nearing Leonardo's room, you were undecided on the option of telling him about the growing baby inside of you or not. You didn't know. You didn't know what he'd think, what he'd say, how he would react, or if his perspective of you would shift entirely. Every fiber of your being grew anxious, scared to share the news with him. Or not. Leaning against the doorway of his room, he looked up from his katana, a smile gracing his features. "Hey," He stood up from his spot on the bed as you approach him, "Hi." Leonardo glanced down at your shorter human self, grabbing your hands to hold into his abnormally larger ones. "Took you a while to get here." Yeah, it did because you couldn't stop vomiting into the toilet until you got the strength to eventually walk all the way down here. "Sorry, busy," You threw an excuse at him, the leader of the clan nods. "Uh-huh," He takes your hand and leads you to his bed, "you're not overwhelming yourself, are you?" Knowing how concerned he can tend to be, you shakily exhale a little, giving a closed-mouth smile. "No, not really."

"You know ho-" You bit your lower lip, feeling the need to interrupt, "Leo, there's-- there's something I need to tell you." He paused for a little, knowing there was something up, a feeling in his gut. "Well what is it?" You can feel that pit of anxiety start to blossom within you once again, your palms nearly growing sweaty as you try to gather your words. Carefully wanting to break it to him was something you wanted to do, and correctly too. "Y/N?" He sends you a fervent glance, "is something wro-?" 

"I'm pregnant."

He's taken aback by the sentence you had just formed, staring at you, with almost little to no emotion being expressed. He's speechless. Out of words, completely. "You're what?! With- With my ba-?" Giving the leader a small, slow nod, it finally makes sense to him. "That's why you missed my call? Y/N, you sh-" You feel tears swell up in your e/c eyes, a hot droplet starting to slide down your left cheek, "I know it's all my fault. I should have asked for an abortion before I left that doctor's office. And you don't want a kid, I can see perfectly see that, and just know that I'm sor-" A warm green hand cups the side of your face, endearing blue eyes look at you and hold your stare as a thumb comes to wipe your new, built-up tears. Tender lips come to kiss your forehead. "I want this. Y/N, please listen to me when I say it'll be alright. I won't let you and the baby down, okay?" Leo's words are kind, softly spoken as he offers you a pursed smile while holding your face in his hand, "You'll be fine."

Your breathing is starting to calm down as you meet his eyes, your hand coming touch his on your cheek. "How far? How far are you, I mean?" Feeling at ease, your eyes are still watery with tears, a smile growing on your lips, "Two weeks." He grows soft at your reply, eyes flickering down towards your stomach. The stomach that held his kid inside of it. "How big are they?" You hold your hand up and leave a little gap between your index finger and your thumb, "Like a little seed." A smile of joy lights up his face before he carefully runs the bottom of your t-shirt up to expose your stomach to him. He pursed his lips together once more, fighting off tears as he gives a breathy laugh. "I love them already." You grin to your significant other, kissing his cheek.

"And we love you too."

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Storms

ShinoMitsu Week 2021 Day Two: (Storms, Stars, Flowers)

A/N: Okay, so there are no manga spoilers here, but it's the next part of day one. This is also where the modern AU starts. You could read this one and not get manga spoilers but it might be a bit confusing idk. Like I said before, days four through seven are just gonna be out of order events that are purely AU without mention of events in KNY proper so, yeah. Probably your safest bet. Sorry if I’m not making any sense. Hope y’all like it though. Word Count: 4,080

“God damn it,” Shinobu sighed under her breath as she checked fruitlessly through her school bag for an umbrella she already knew wasn’t there. “Slightly overcast my ass.”

Currently, it was pouring buckets while the sky was rumbling and intermittently flashing with distant lightning. Shinobu had stayed late studying in the library, unaware of the storm that had been forming just outside. What had first started as a trickle, had become a full blown downpour and now she was stuck, deciding whether or not to call Kanae to drive her back or brave the eight block sprint and look like a drowned rat.

She took out her phone and finally registered the time, her shoulders slumped. Kanae would still be at work for another hour or so. Shinobu briefly thought of Kanao, but she wasn’t going to make her younger sister walk all the way over here, umbrella or no.

Shinobu shook her head and secured her phone in her bag, then tightened her shoulder strap. It was only a little over a kilometer and a half to her home. She ran laps all the time and calculated with the added weight of her bag and of course, the weather, it would probably take her about ten minutes to get home. Definitely not her fastest, but she couldn’t risk hurting herself before the meet on Friday.

She took a deep breath in through her nose, set her feet to push off the library stoop and—

“Hey, Shinobu-san!”

Shinobu’s hand shot out for the railing, stopping herself mid push off. She voiced her annoyance in a huff of air, before looking up at the sidewalk before her. Standing in the pouring rain was upperclassman Kanroji Mitsuri with a large, bright green umbrella that stung Shinobu’s eyes as well as it mocked her.

“Hello, Kanroji-senpai.” Shinobu greeted just loud enough to be heard over the pounding rain.

Mitsuri grinned brightly and Shinobu groaned inwardly as her senior skipped over in bright pink rain boots. It wasn’t that Shinobu disliked her, Kanroji was just emotional, a bit of an airhead. She acted sweet and familiar with everyone and it got on Shinobu’s nerves. Shinobu just couldn’t picture herself spending any extended period of time with the older girl, but that didn’t stop Kanroji from approaching her more often than not with frivolous chatter.

Mitsuri stopped just in front of her, asking the obvious, “Did you forget your umbrella, Shinobu-san?”

“I would hardly say ‘forgot’ is the right word, Senpai. I watched the weather report this morning. It wasn’t supposed to even sprinkle much less have this torrential downpour occur.” Shinobu bitterly replied. Mitsuri merely giggled at her Kouhai’s brusqueness before motioning her forward with her free hand.

“Come under my umbrella, Shinobu-san. I’ll walk you home, okay?” Mitsuri offered cheerfully.

“That won’t be necessary. I’ve already decided to run for it. Good day, Kanroji-senpai.” Shinobu stubbornly declined. She moved left, attempting to go off on her way, but Kanroji blocked her path, pouting.

“Come on, Shinobu-san. Let me walk you home. You’ll get sick if you run in the rain. How will I be able to cheer for you on Friday if you’re bedridden?” Mitsuri asked, coaxing Shinobu underneath her umbrella again.

“I’ll manage. I live a ways off from here.” Shinobu denied Mitsuri again, her patience running thin. She moved to the right and Mitsuri mirrored her once more.

“That’s alright, I was just out enjoying the weather. I’ve got no other plans and besides, what kind of Senpai would I be if I didn’t help out one of my cute little Kouhai!”

And Shinobu took that personally.

Yes, she was on the short side and wasn’t even a hundred pounds soaking wet, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t kick ass and take names when she wanted to. And she was not cute!

“I don’t need your help.” Shinobu said sharply, making Mitsuri flinch. The younger girl broke left once more and leapt over the stoop to land firmly on the sidewalk, soaking her feet in the large puddle. Shinobu paid it no mind and began jogging home as rain pelted her, quickly wetting her hair and clothes.

She thought that would be the end of it, but then the rain stopped hitting her and light panting could faintly be heard behind her. Shinobu glanced above her, and instead of grey skies, she saw neon green.

“Senpai, what are you doing?”

“Taking you home!” Mitsuri spoke resolutely.

Shinobu turned her head back in the direction she was going, shaking it side to side. Couldn’t Kanroji see she didn’t want her help? Shinobu was well past her threshold for politeness and respect for her senior so she scoffed and picked up her pace.

“You want to take me home then you’ve got to keep up.” She called over her shoulder before kicking up her pace a notch.

“Shinobu-san! Wait up!” Mitsuri whined, jogging after Shinobu with her umbrella arm outstretched, trying to keep up with her junior to keep them both relatively dry.

Shinobu did not wait up, gradually picking up pace, she began leaving Mitsuri behind. But Mitsuri did not give up, evident by the irregular breaths Shinobu heard behind her between rolls of thunder.

They carried on like this for nearly a full kilometer and Shinobu was glad they were the only two crazy enough to be out in this storm because she was sure they must be a sight. She leapt over a pothole in the sidewalk that she usually walked past everyday and was gearing up to run even faster when she heard a big splash and a pained sharp cry that forced her to stop in her tracks.

Turning abruptly, she felt a sharp sting of guilt pull at her chest as she took in Mitsuri laid out on the concrete, completely soaked. The poor girl must not have noticed the damaged sidewalk.

Damn it, why didn’t Shinobu just let the girl walk her home? She shouldn’t have let something so insignificant damage her pride so easily. All Mitsuri ever did was be nice to her, and now look at her.

Shinobu quickly snapped up the umbrella before it could be blown away and crouched over Mitsuri, shielding her from the downpour.

Slowly, Mitsuri made it into a sitting position and Shinobu felt exponentially worse seeing how drenched Mitsuri was and her torn tights and bloodied knees. She could tell her senior was tearing up too, this was a totally avoidable disaster.

“I’m so sorry Kanroji-senpai, do you think you can stand up?” Shinobu asked.

“I, I think so,” Mitsuri sniffled, shakily pulling a leg in front of herself.

Shinobu reached out, taking Mitsuri by the bicep in an attempt to help her stand. As soon as she touched her, visions flashed through her mind too fast to discern. She pulled back, looking at her slightly shaking hand.

Whatever had happened, Mitsuri seemed to have had a similar experience, gingerly cupping the spot on her arm Shinobu had touched, an awed expression on her face. They stared at each other for a minute, but Shinobu eventually shook her head and and helped Mitsuri up. Whatever had just happened must have been a fluke, a product of being out in this wild storm, because it didn’t happen again.

“Come on, we’re almost there. Let���s get you cleaned up.” Shinobu softly commanded, guiding Mitsuri forward.

Mitsuri aimed a small, thankful smile at Shinobu that made the younger girl’s ears burn. She shouldn’t be looking at her like that, this had all been her fault after all. Shinobu kept her attention on the street, tightening her hold on the basically useless umbrella as they walked the rest of the way to her home together.

***

Shinobu unlocked the front door and pushed it open with a sigh, “I’m home and I’ve brought company!” She called out before turning her attention back to Mitsuri. “You can hang your jacket there. Leave your boots there and follow me.”

“You have a lovely home Shinobu-san.” Mitsuri complimented, shaking off her jacket. “Are your parents home?”

“Uh no, they’re a usually off on pharmacy business so it’s mostly just my sisters and I.” Shinobu answered, tugging off her soaked socks.

“Oh! I remember your big sister, she was so nice! I haven’t seen her since she graduated. Is she here now?”

“She’s working.” Shinobu answered curtly, focusing on the list in her head of how to best tackle the state of mess they were in.

“Welcome home Nee-san... and guest.” Kanao called softly from further down the hall, observing her sister’s disheveled form curiously.

“Hi, Kanao.” Shinobu greeted, stepping into the main portion of the home with Mitsuri trailing behind her.

“Aw, is this your little sister?” Mitsuri cooed, waving excitedly, “it’s nice to meet you! I’ve seen you at some of Shinobu-san’s cross country and track events in the past. I didn’t realize you two were related!”

Kanao, not purposefully, ignored her, still focusing on Shinobu. “Nee-san, you’re wet.” She stated matterofactly.

“Yes, I know. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready to help you start dinner, alright?”

Kanao nodded and walked away, disappearing around the corner while Shinobu lead Mitsuri in another direction. The older girl squealed.

“Your little sister is so cute, Shinobu-san. I already have five younger siblings but one more wouldn’t hurt if it was Kanao-chan!”

Shinobu merely rolled her eyes and pulled Mitsuri into the bathroom. “Wait here a minute,” Shinobu said before leaving the room.

When she came back, she had a pair of Kanae’s shorts and one of her own oversized track hoodies for Mitsuri to change into, placing them on a clear edge of the sink.

“You can change into these after you shower, use whatever you want, I don’t care... maybe not the white bottle of conditioner, Kanae’s weird about that for some reason.”

“That’s very generous of you, thank you Shinobu-san!” Mitsuri beamed.

Mitsuri was elated. What started out as a failed attempt to chivalrously walk Shinobu home in the rain, had allowed her to be present in the home of one of the people she admired most. After months of trying and trying to get closer to Shinobu, she finally had an opportunity to grow their relationship!

Shinobu nodded in acknowledgment before leaving Mitsuri in the bathroom. Then Mitsuri warmed up the shower and took off her damp uniform, pouting a bit at the sight of her ripped tights and skinned knees.

As Mitsuri immersed herself in the warmth of the water she ran her fingers over where Shinobu had touched her arm and wondered what had happened. There was a connection between her and Shinobu, of that much she was certain. She could tell that her Kouhai had shared the experience as well. She decided that they would definitely have to talk about it soon.

Mitsuri peered over the mixed array of shampoos, conditioners and body wash and picked three. Being mindful to leave the white bottle of conditioner as Shinobu had suggested. She popped the cap of the shampoo and squirted some in her hand and lathered it into her hair. The smell of ginger and lemon grass enveloped her and Mitsuri teetered giddily on her feet as she rubbed the familiar scent into her hair.

Mitsuri finished washing up and dried off, slipping into the clothing Shinobu had provided for her. As she bent down to pick up her wet clothes, she caught a faint whiff of a wisteria scented perfume. She pulled at the front of the giant sweatshirt Shinobu had given her and took a testing smell.

She felt transported to another time as images flashed through her mind once again. She blinked pack to attention as a knock sounded against the bathroom door.

“Kanroji-senpai, are you almost done? I can put your clothes in the wash for you if you slip them out the door.” Shinobu’s muffled voice called.

“Ah! I’m done, I’ll be out in just a second!” Mitsuri called back, hastily grabbing up her clothes before yanking the door open quickly and startling the younger girl.

“No kidding.” Shinobu blinked. “Well then, I’ll put those in the wash for you and you can hang out in the kitchen with Kanao while I get cleaned up. Don’t expect her to be much of a conversationalist though.”

“Okay, thank you again for all of this, Shinobu-san. You’ve been very kind.” Mitsuri smiled.

“Don’t thank me for doing the bare minimum here, okay?” Shinobu sighed, “just go sit down.” Shinobu turned swiftly on her heel and went to the laundry room with rosy cheeks.

Mitsuri hugged the sweatshirt, pulling it closer to her skin to send another little burst of wisteria to her nose, humming pleasantly to herself as she made her way to the kitchen. The delicious smells that guided her made her stomach growl and she realized just how hungry she was.

She took a seat at the kitchen island, shooting Kanao another little wave. The middle schooler hardly looked up, focusing more intently of the vegetables she was cutting. Mitsuri tapped her fingers rhythmically against the table and watched Kanao work. Then, the best idea popped into her head. She had just been presented with an opportunity to learn more about Shinobu through one of her sisters! In an attempt to look casual, Mitsuri leaned over the counter.

“So Kanao-chan, what’s it like having Shinobu-san as a sister?” She asked.

“Good.” Kanao replied simply.

“Ah, good.” Mitsuri deflated a little. She was hoping for a little more, but it was a start.

“Any examples? What makes Shinobu-san good?”

Kanao put her vegetables in a pan lightly drizzled with oil and mixed them as the sizzled.

“Nee-san is clean and orderly. She is good at explaining things and helping people and makes me feel safe.”

It was almost enough to make Mitsuri squee with delight. Kanao made Shinobu sound so princely and put together.

“That’s nice, you must really look up to her then. I hope I can grow to be as close to your sister as you are.”

Kanao nodded slightly, watching the vegetables closely and stirring them up on occasion.

“I’m home! It smells great in here!” A voice called from the front entrance. “Oh? Either Shinobu developed a more colorful fashion sense or we have a guest.”

A few moments later, Kanae emerged from the hall and smiled kindly at Mitsuri, “Hello there, a friend of Shinobu’s perhaps? You look familiar.”

“Hi, yes, I’m Kanroji Mitsuri. I’m a year older than Shinobu, I was a first year when you were a third year.”

“Ah, I remember now! It’s good to see you Kanroji-san. I’d tell you to make yourself at home, but it appears Shinobu has become a better hostess in my absence.” Kanae said, motioning to Mitsuri’s state of dress.

“Oh yes, this! I was walking Shinobu-san home and had a little mishap and got wet.” Mitsuri vaguely explained.

Kanae laughed as she maneuvered around the counter to stand behind Kanao and patted her head, making the younger girl smile just a tiny bit.

“Yes, it’s raining quite terribly out there isn’t it? I could hardly see driving home. You’ll be staying the night won’t you? It’s much too dangerous to be out and about.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose!” Mitsuri shook her head.

“You wouldn’t be, I promise. I insist you stay the night. Do you need to borrow a phone to call your parents?”

“That’s alright, I can text them. Thank you.”

“No problem!”

After a quick back and forth with her mom, she was all set. She only hoped Shinobu wouldn’t mind her staying over. The girl definitely seemed the type to cherish her personal space.

Mitsuri turned her attention back to the two sisters, watching them cook together. She offered up her own hand and joined in on the work easily meshing personalities with Kanae and conversing as they made the food.

It’s nice to see Shinobu bring a friend home.” Kanae smiled. “She usually likes to compartmentalize school, sports, and her home life and doesn’t tolerate much mixing.”

“It was kind of my fault.” Mitsuri said sheepishly. “I didn’t give her much choice in the matter. I wanted to get to know her better but instead I face planted in the sidewalk. I think she would have liked to be left alone.”

“Trust me, if Shinobu thought you deserved to be left out there she wouldn’t have even turned around as bad as that may sound. Shinobu is strict and grumpy, but can also be very kind and gentle. She knows how to push people to be better but also knows when they are struggling and need a softer touch. She’s a pretty good judge of character too so she must think highly of you. Don’t worry about it too much, okay?” Kanae explained.

Mitsuri smiled and nodded, looking into her cup of water as her head spun with the eldest Kochou’s words. Shinobu thought she was good!

“Welcome home, Nee-san.” Shinobu appeared from the hallway and made Mitsuri jump in her seat.

“Shinobu, I love your friend! You should invite Mitsuri-chan over more often!” Kanae said, setting out the food.

Shinobu ruffled her hair with the towel she had draped over her shoulders and made a noncommittal noise that made her sister giggle. Mitsuri barely registered what was going on around her, too busy admiring the disarray of Shinobu’s usually perfectly made hair and how Mitsuri could see the toned shape of Shinobu’s legs through her leggings and how cute she looked in that oversized cross country hoodie that seemed to swallow her up. It was all a stark contrast to how she presented herself at school and Mitsuri wanted to burn the image into her mind forever.

The four girls sat together and ate dinner. Kanae and Mitsuri held up most of the conversation but it was light and comfortable. Mitsuri nearly swooned when Shinobu filled her plate with second and third helpings for her, cutting off her internal dilemma before it really started.

Then they cleaned everything up and as the thunder crashed especially loud and the rain tapped furiously on the windows, the girls sat around the living room and worked on their homework. Shinobu had already finished hers while she was at the library so she paged through some enrichment texts about botany and medicine. Occasionally helping Kanao with her homework before diving right back into her book.

Mitsuri was beyond impressed with Shinobu’s academic mind. She knew the girl was smart, but reading such heavy texts for fun? Mitsuri was amazed! She was a good student herself, often surprising her more shallow peers with her knowledge and skill, but Shinobu was definitely on another level. It made Mitsuri a bit envious of Kanao, being able to check in with Shinobu whenever she had a question. Mitsuri looked back down at her biology homework before flicking her eyes back to Shinobu lounging on the couch with her book. Maybe...

“Shinobu-san?” Mitsuri tentatively asked. “Do you think you could check my work on this?”

“We’re in different years, Kanroji-senpai. I don’t know what you’re learning.” Shinobu said, not unkindly.

“I’m sure you already understand it. You seem to love the sciences Shinobu-san. Take a look, please?” Mitsuri tilted her head and batted her eyes.

Shinobu seemed to mull it over and then marked her page. Mitsuri golf clapped and bounced in her seat as the Kouhai walked over and sat next to her at the table, peering at her work. A small, pleased smile worked its way on Shinobu’s face as she realized that she new the material and it made Mitsuri smile in turn.

Shinobu looked through Mitsuri’s work and helped correct a few minor mistakes, but otherwise her work was spot on. Which Mitsuri found a tad unfortunate since Shinobu would get closer and bump arms with her and the wisteria scent would swirl through her head whenever she noticed an error.

Before long, all homework was completed and they watched a little tv before deciding they needed to turn in for the night and get ready for school the next day.

“Shinobu, you should help Mitsuri-chan make sure her knees didn’t get any debris stuck in them from that nasty tumble I heard about. I’ll set up the extra futon in your room while you do that.” Kanae said, already walking off before her sister could interject.

“Fine.” Shinobu muttered anyway, leading Mitsuri back to the bathroom and motioning her to sit up on the sink so she could better see the grazed knees.

The shower had already cleaned them off well enough, but a bit of antibacterial spray wouldn’t hurt. Shinobu took the spray from the cupboard and showed it to Mitsuri.

“You’re knees look clean, but if you want me to give them a spray of this, I can.”

Mitsuri was a bit wary. The spray was sure to sting, but being cared for by Shinobu like this made her heart flutter pleasantly.

“I wouldn’t mind a spray, thank you.”

“Sure.” Shinobu shrugged, popping the cap and spraying both of Mitsuri’s knees without a second thought.

“Ow!” Mitsuri whined. The spray really did sting.

“Sorry, I probably should have warned you.” Shinobu said, looking genuinely contrite. “Here, let me just—“ Shinobu cut herself off, blowing a gentle breeze over Mitsuri’s knees, cooling the stinging sensation.

Mitsuri was suddenly brought back to another memory that felt like it was not quite all her own. Her hand cupped in another’s as a gentle wind blew over scraped knuckles, the scent of wisteria growing stronger for a moment before she blinked and was back in Shinobu’s bathroom again.

After a moment Shinobu cleared her throat and returned to her full height, capping the spray and putting it back in its place.

“Well, better get to bed now I guess.” She said, hardly waiting for Mitsuri to follow her to her room. They said goodnight to Kanae and Kanao before shutting themselves in.

Mitsuri watched Shinobu climb into her futon, mouth slightly agape. She could hardly believe the girl wanted to go to sleep right now with all the weird visions they were experiencing. She simply had to voice this now.

“Shinobu-san, don’t you think we should talk about these weird visions we’ve been having? I can tell, you see them too, don’t you?”

“I don’t think it’s anything significant. Just hope they aren’t hallucinations brought on by being out in the rain too long. I’d hate to be sick.” Shinobu said, curling up in her futon.

“But— it’s so specific! It’s got to be more than that, right?” Mitsuri said in return.

“I don’t believe so.”

Mitsuri couldn’t believe Shinobu was ready to dismiss this all so quickly, she looked down at the hoodie she was wearing and got an idea.

“These shorts aren’t yours, but this is your sweatshirt though, isn’t it Shinobu-san?”

“Yeah.” Shinobu answered, peering up at Mitsuri inquisitively.

“You know how I can tell?”

“Because it says track and field across the front?” Shinobu asked with a bit of sass.

“No!” Mitsuri crossed her arms, “It’s because it has this wisteria scent to it when I smelled it, I had another one of those visions! I think we have a real connection Shinobu-san!”

“Hm.” Was all Shinobu could bring herself to say on the matter which made Mitsuri frown cutely.

“Shinobu-san, don’t you want to try to figure this out?”

“Not particularly. I honestly don’t think there is anything to figure out,” Shinobu flipped over, snuggling further into her covers, “I’d like to go to sleep now, I’ve got early morning practice tomorrow. Good night, Kanroji-senpai.”

“You should call me Mitsuri now. Your sisters picked it up so easily! I won’t go to bed until I hear you say it!” Mitsuri huffed, expecting Shinobu to try to hold out all night but was very surprised.

“Go to bed, Mitsuri.” Shinobu’s muffled voice called from under the covers, making Mitsuri squee with unrestrained joy.

“This is great! Hey, can I call you Shinobu-chan now maybe? Hm?”

“I don’t care.”

“Okay Shinobu-chan, prepare yourself because starting tomorrow, I’m going to figure out what this connection we have between us is!”

Mitsuri didn’t get another reply, but she didn’t mind. She snuggled into her futon and closed her eyes, thanking the quieting storm for giving her this opportunity.

[misslilli]

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13 (idk, there's kissing, touching and a half-naked man in there, so proceed with caution 😁). | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 49 - There's Nothing Like Doing Nothing With You

[ DS ]

During the night, I’m wide awake, staring at the ceiling and listening to his ragged breathing. In part, I’m awake because he might need something or in case his fever gets worse, listening closely to his irregular breaths.

What really keeps me up, however, is the hand that has been resting innocently over my pajama top for the past hours but has not-so-innocently snuck its way up my shirt in the cover of darkness. A hand which is now splayed out across my side and the thumb that traces the skin right under my ribs is the only thing my sleep-deprived mind can focus on.

It’s been quite a while since I’ve been touched by a man and it was never that gentle or sweet. The goosebumps that spread out from under his thumb catch me completely by surprise, but it's not a bad surprise, at all.

The current of emotions that run through me at this simple touch is diverse but one stands out in particular: comfortable and safe. That’s how he makes me feel with just his presence and it’s a feeling I didn’t know felt so good until now, with his warm hand resting on my waist lightly and his face turned upwards to press his nose into my neck.

In the wee hours of the morning, the fever reaches its peak and he's so hot - and I mean literally, not descriptively as usual - I think I'll die of a heatstroke from the body heat he's radiating and I'm sure he's not entirely comfortable himself, still wearing his shirt and jeans.

Shaking his shoulder gently, I wake him up to tell him it's probably best not to sleep with his shirt and jeans still on, that he might be more comfortable with them off.

"Why, this is an interesting turn of events…," he grins up at me sleepily, his voice still hoarse from sleep and his cold. "If you wanted to see my fancy alien-head boxers, you could've just…" His cheeky remark is interrupted by more coughs. "asked."

Giving his shoulder a little nudge to make him sit up and do as he's told, I can't keep my own grin off my face. "I promise to give those the proper appreciation someday, when the time is right and when you're not on the brink of death."

"Someday… alright, I can live with that. Now close your eyes, contrary to popular belief, I'm very shy about undressing in front of girls I really like."

I cover my eyes obediently but I do sneak a peek at aforementioned boxers from between them, there really are alien heads printed all over the fabric and they're so silly, it takes all my self-control not to giggle. Or stare at his exposed chest for an indecently long time. Maybe just another peek. Hee.

Exhausted from getting up, he falls back down onto the bed belly-first and before I'm even finished pulling the sheets up to cover him, he's off to dreamland. I kind of miss his body-warmth now but I'm pretty sure I would get even less sleep with the temptation of running my hands over the now-exposed skin on his back and shoulders. That experience will have to wait, but the fact that I'm not ready to take that step doesn't mean I can't dream about it in vivid colors once I've passed out from exhaustion as well.

I wake again a few hours later, blinking sleepily as I take in my surroundings and the suspiciously empty bed. Where did he disappear to?

My question is answered when he appears in the doorway wearing only his alien-head boxers and a sheepish expression on his face. "Uhm… hi?" I prop myself up on my elbows and give him a puzzled look.

“What are you doing up? You should be in bed!” He looks down at his bare feet before looking back up, the sheepish expression even deeper than before.

“I felt better this morning so I went downstairs to make some tea…” My puzzled face morphs into one of mild shock.

“You went downstairs. Dressed like that?”

His answer is a quiet, dragged out “Yeees…”

“The girls are downstairs!” My horrified whisper elicits an embarrassed chuckle as he runs his hand through his hair.

“Yeah… I figured that one out when I stepped into the kitchen and was greeted with three blank stares, two open mouths and one cat-call.” Holly. The cat-call must have been Holly.

“Oh Jesus… so where’s the tea?” He holds up his empty hands and gestures to his get-up.

“What do you think? I high-tailed it out of there and back upstairs, I wasn’t going to give them a show of making tea half-naked in their own kitchen. I’m sorry, this wasn’t exactly how I planned on properly meeting your friends…” At the absurdity of it all, I snicker into the hand that's still covering my mouth.

“It’s okay, you’ll pay for it with merciless teasing for the next few weeks! Did they have breakfast? I’m starving!”

“Pancakes, I think, I didn't exactly have time to look around before bolting. Can I use your shower, please? I think I need to wash off the feeling of shame.”

———————

[ FM ]

After the shower, smelling of Scully’s body wash and shampoo and wrapped in one of her fluffy towels, the embarrassment has finally faded to the back of my mind. Briefly, I considered inviting her into the shower with me, but I don’t think my fever-weakened heart could’ve taken it, aside from the fact that it would mean fast forwarding the natural progression of our relationship.

Instead, I enjoy her pampering a little more, pretending to be too weak to lift my arms, so she towel-dries my hair with another towel than the one wrapped around my waist, kneeling behind me on the bed. During the night, she must’ve snuck to the basement to put my sweat-soaked clothes into the washer and dryer, because she presents me with a clean and fresh-out-of-the-dryer-smelling pair of pants and t-shirt with a flirty smile.

“Good thing I washed them, I don’t think wearing my robe after the boxers incident would go without comment from the girls.” I can't resist kissing this flirty smile once, twice, before we head downstairs to get some breakfast.

————

[ Sarah ]

Once Mr. Mulder’s half-naked form has disappeared so fast I’m surprised he didn’t leave skid marks, we all burst out giggling.

“Oh my God, did you see his face when he realized we were sitting here?” Holly cackles into her coffee cup.

“I know, that was hilarious! Poor him, meeting us “for the first time” half-sick and half-naked, I kind of feel bad for him!”“Me too, but that won’t stop me from giving them a hard time, I have some inappropriate innuendos all ready to fire at them once they dare to come back downstairs!” Alex gives Holly a look and shakes her head.

“Don’t, Holly, please. We don’t have to make it harder on them with making stupid jokes at their expense.” Holly pouts, disappointed.

“But they were really good stupid jokes!”

“Save them for a later date and behave for today, okay?”

“Fine…,” Holly grumbles her reply and I have to grin at the clearly defined roles in our friendship. Holly is always the jokester and has absolutely no filter, Alex is the voice of reason but on the rare occasion she does crack a joke, she always hits the nail right on the head. I’m somewhere in the middle of these two, I think, and Dana is the sarcastically funny one and, being the youngest of the group, our little baby duck to take care of sometimes.

The little baby duck and her now fully dressed I’m-not-sure-what-they-are-right-now join us for breakfast and we actually do behave, opening up our little circle to the newest member. He actually blends in quite nicely, he’s quiet most of the time, only throwing in a comment here and there. When I glance at the clock on the wall, I’m surprised that D has decided to skip church this Sunday in favor of a late breakfast but I guess taking care of the sick and wounded will make God turn a blind eye this time.

————

[ DS ]

"I can't believe you don't have a TV in here, what is this, the Middle Ages?," Mulder complains the lack of an entertainment system in my bedroom for the third time, he can't seem to get over the fact that we have to spend our Sunday Netflix-ing on the measly 13 inches of my laptop placed between us on the bed.

"You're complaining mighty loudly over there, for someone who has just been pulled from death's grasp. Scullaaay I'm dying!" My only slightly exaggerated imitation of him makes him laugh, but he still grumbles, claiming he did not sound that whiny.

We watch an episode of Our Planet, dozing off halfway with the help of David Attenborough's droning deep voice and I wake again a few hours later, to the tapping of a pen on paper and Mulder's lost in thought mumble of "42 across. Blue fish in Finding Nemo, 4 letters… I should know this…"

"Dory," I mumble back sleepily, I bet Felix has made him watch this movie even more times than I have.

"Oh hey, you're up. Thanks. You have the cutest little snore, did you know that?"

"I do not!" Horrified, I can only stare up at him open-mouthed until he cracks, tapping my nose with his pen.

"Alright fine, no you don't. But you still look cute when you're asleep. Can you complete this, Waiting for____ . No clue, I could be waiting for a lot of things… trains, busses, hour-long PTA meetings that are a cover to exchange gossip to be over…" I scoot over to peer onto the crossword, chewing my bottom lip trying to think of the answer.

'This is kind of nice.', I catch myself thinking, doing absolutely nothing at all, no fancy date, no fancy dress, no pomp and circumstance, nowhere to get to or to be but simply existing in each other's spaces.

I rack my brain, the answer is in there somewhere, I just know it.

"Godot."

"Who?" Tapping the crossword on 21 down, I grin at him victoriously.

"It's "Waiting for Godot"."

"That's only four letters…"

"It's French, the T is silent, Mulder."

"Oooh, those French and their random, stray letters… look at that, I'm done, almost all by myself!" He sounds so proud of himself, I hold off on telling him that contrary to popular belief, the Sunday puzzle is actually the easiest. I also hold off on patting his head, like I would when my school children get something right but the thought makes me grin.

"Good job, Mulder. Pass the Foreign Politics section?"

—————

[ FM ]

I feel like I’ve been fast-forwarded several years into the future, spending Sundays in bed watching TV, taking naps during the day that I haven’t taken ever since Felix got too big for naps, eating Pizza trying hard not to get grease all over the sheets from our dripping fingers, reading the newspaper side by side, reading-glasses perched low on our noses … it's quite the nice happy ending, if you ask me.

For now though, we're just at the beginning and there's still a big stretch of middle before we'll be the boring, old, married couple in the end.

My hang-up on the word married my brain has casually wedged in there, between the words, is interrupted by my phone ringing loudly into the rustling of the New York Times.

"Hey, Felix! What's up?" In-between his rambling about his weekend and him telling me he's going to be on his way home soon, I sneeze several times and stare dumbly at the white handkerchief Scully places into my hand quietly. I hold it up giving her a quizzical side-tilt of my head. It's a handkerchief, like those old ladies stuff up their sleeves, cotton and embroidered with daisies. She just shrugs in return and shows me the empty kleenex box from her nightstand.

"Okay, I'll see you in a bit. Yes. No, I'm not too sick for movie night, don't worry. Yes, I will whine the whole time if you make me watch Frozen II for the thousandth time. Pick something else! Pick… ugh alright fine. Bye now." With an exasperated sigh, I hang up and with no better alternative, use the handkerchief in my hand.

"Have fun with Anna and Elsa tonight!," Scully grins at me over her reading glasses and I hang my head in defeat. "Let it gooo, let it go," she adds in a sing-song voice and with a mean giggle that transforms into a full-on laugh when my / her pillow hits her in the face before I swing my legs out of bed.

"You're not up to date, Scully, it's Into the Unknown now, and I really wish that movie would've stayed in my Unknown!"

The retaliating pillow misses my head by a few inches as I pull on my sweater and gather up my stuff, including the handkerchief I plan on returning freshly laundered.

Scully's still on the bed, wheezing, cracking herself up with her Olaf impersonation.

"Aaaanna? Elsa? Sven? … Samantha? Ahaha I don't even know a Samantha!"

I look over at her with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, I know who I'll call to watch Disney movies with Felix from now on!

————

[ Felix ]

When I get home from mom's on Sunday night, Dad's in a pretty suspiciously good mood for someone who has been sick all weekend, usually he's pretending to die just so I'd make him a cup of tea or fetch him his newspaper. He even watches Frozen II with me without complaining through the whole thing.

I've seen this movie so often by now, I can sing and speak along flawlessly and I can even do the character's voices perfectly.

"Aaaanna? Elsa? Sven? … Samantha? Ahaha I don't even know a Samantha!" I'm cracking up at Olaf the Snowman, he's the funniest of them all! And it's even funnier because my aunt's name is actually Samantha!

My dad laughs at my interpretation of the scene as well, and he never laughs when he has to suffer through Disney movies with me, so that's kind of weird.

What has gotten into him lately?

————

[ FM ]

Monday after school, Felix crawls into the car shivering and all I can see in the rearview mirror is the bobbling pompom on top of his hat. He’s uncharacteristically quiet for a while and I wonder why there’s no Felix Show on today.

“So, tell me what happened at school today? Did you have fun at recess?”

“No,” he replies sulkily and I can hear the frown on his face in his voice.

“Why’s that? Did you get into a fight with Suzie?”

“No. Miss Scully has been out sick for the day.”

Oopsie.

[laurensprentiss]

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 5:

Warnings: Mentions of guns, lil’ bitta tension, lotta angst. Mentions of Haley. 

Word Count: 2,262

------

“I don’t know what’s worse: to not know what you are and be happy, or to become what you’ve always wanted to be, and feel alone.” - Daniel Keyes

------

“Aaron would you just listen to me?!” The frustration seeps out of her pores, her hands running through her blonde hair. 

They’ve been going around in circles for months now, ever since he took on your case, the irregular hours and time away taking its toll. It seems like a never ending cycle, she argues, he goes to work anyway, brings her back some flowers or gifts, they make up. Rinse and repeat. And she’s at the end of her tether. 

He holds his hands up in defeat, setting his phone against the kitchen counter. “Haley! What would you have me do? I have a job, this is my career.” He says, almost condescendingly.

She slams the cupboard as her voice goes up a few octaves. “What is that supposed to mean? Don’t do that. Don’t you dare try to make me out to be the bad guy! Don’t you dare, Aaron.” Her eyes narrow and she’s seething, her face red and tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “You asked me to move in with you because you wanted to be with me. You wanted a future with me.” 

“-I do.”

“Don’t interrupt me.” She hisses. “We moved from Seattle to DC so you could chase your dreams. I left my parents, my family, my friends to be with you. Because I believed you when you said you wanted a future with me.” Her tears spill over as she wipes at them frantically. 

“Haley.” 

“No. Aaron. I can’t. I understand you want to follow your dreams, I know this is your job, that this is who you are. But you need to seriously reconsider what’s important to you, because I can’t keep doing this.” Her voice cracks.

The sentence hits him like a freight train as he swallows the lump in his throat. “Keep doing what?” He asks hesitantly. He’s not sure if he even wants to know the answer. She’s all he knows. 

“Going to bed alone.” She whispers. “I can’t keep living like this, I can’t keep being the only person all in for this relationship.” 

His heart sinks. He crosses the small kitchen to hold her hands in his, a split second taking him back to when he held yours in the car that day. He shakes the thought from his head and seeks out her eyes. He doesn’t really know what to say, can’t quite find the words. 

“I’m sorry.” He says defeatedly. He cups his hand around her cheeks and wipes the tears from her eyes as she leans into his touch, bringing her forehead to his. 

It hurts him to know that she feels like this, but it devastates him even more to know that he can’t promise her he’ll do better. He wants to. More than almost anything, to give her what she wants, but his commitment to his job is almost hardwired into him, his need to uphold his oath. And the strange pull he feels towards you makes him feel like there’s too many parts of him being pulled this way and that, being spread too thin. 

He feels torn. 

She leans into his touch, both of them sharing a quiet moment after their blow up, their eyes closed, a glimmer of hope emerging in her chest. 

But then his phone rings. He can almost see the disappointment rise in Haley’s shoulders as his eyes tear open at the sound, but Haley squeezes her eyes shut even more, knowing the answer. She already knows the outcome. 

She knows who wins in this situation. 

“Just go.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. 

Panic rises in Hotch’s chest, the magnetic pull of his phone and his job tearing him away from his childhood sweetheart. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. Can we talk tonight?” He pleads.

She doesn’t respond, just keeps her eyes shut as he places a chaste kiss against her lips. 

“I’m sorry.” And with that he leaves. 

———-

“Oh, so big bad Hotch’s gonna teach me how to shoot, huh?” You huff out a laugh as you hand him your bag to load into the trunk. 

“Yep.” 

You squint at him, puzzled by his sudden change in demeanour, a knot forming in your stomach. You step into the SUV, securing your seatbelt, your anxiety taking over, suddenly. 

You’ve noticed he’s been tense the past couple of days, but today especially. His eyebrows are pulled into a frown, he seems distant and unfocused and his jaw is set into a hard line, which ordinarily would get you into trouble with yourself, but today, it’s a sign for concern. 

He checks his phone for the fifth time in almost as many minutes, rubbing a hand over his beard, inhaling sharply. His jaw ticks as he rolls open the window before putting the car into drive. 

The car ride is literally and figuratively chilly, the spring air permeating the awkward atmosphere. Hotch doesn’t attempt to make any conversation with you, doesn’t even look at you, his nostrils flared and his mind elsewhere. 

You feel awkward, uncomfortable and there’s a creeping sensation up your neck, a sharp contrast to a couple days ago when he had held your hand in his, reassured you that he’d do whatever he could to catch this guy. Now, the butterflies are an unwelcome sensation. 

You continue on your wordless journey, pulling up to the shooting range. You take a beat and wait for Hotch as he unbuckles his belt and steps out of the car without even so much as acknowledging you. You swallow thickly, feeling an almost misplaced guilt towards his actions. 

Was it you? Did you do something wrong?

———

“Okay, you’re gonna start with this one here.” Hotch explains, holding the Glock 42 flat in his palm, weighing it in his hands. “You’re gonna start with the smallest, get used to the trigger and the weight before we can move up.” His voice is monotone, unwavering. No hint of levity. You move up to the shelf, taking the gun from his hands. 

Damn. What is with this guy today?

You clear your head.

Okay. Check the magazine, load, safety. 

Done.

Stance, aim, push, pull and squeeze. 

The smoke from the round wafts into your nose as you open your eyes to check the paper target in front of you, completely untouched. 

Shit. 

Hotch pinches his nose, the vein in his temple throbbing. “No, c’mon! How many times-“ 

He winces and stops abruptly. Stops before he says something he doesn’t mean, before he does something he knows he’ll regret. This isn’t him. And it isn’t your fault. He knows this, but he can’t help but feel that the misplaced frustration he has towards you is because of his guilty conscience, it’s compensation for the way he feels so torn. Still he pushes it down further. 

He clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I-. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-“ 

You just follow his movements, watch him collect himself. He takes a breath and huffs out a dry laugh. “Alright. C’mere.” 

You shoot him a puzzled look, the swift change in his mood taking you aback. Part of you wants to rip him a new one for treating you like this, but it wouldn’t do any good. Strange attraction aside, he was fast becoming your friend, one of the only people you could rely on, and knowing he wasn’t in the right headspace but not having the answer for him was frustrating. 

He chuckles. “Come on. Come here.” He beckons you toward him. You plant yourself in front of him, as he moves in close, his body solid behind you. He grips your wrists from behind as your hands wrap around the glock, taking stance, his breath on your neck. 

His voice is low in your ear. “Remember to follow through, okay?” You don't dare turn your head, he’s so close. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye to find him watching you, his eyes flirting to your lips for a brief second and you feel that familiar heat creep up your neck. 

He moves back only slightly, giving him enough room to grip your hips, positioning your right foot back, angling your body at a slight diagonal. His hands are solid on your body, moving you with ease. You try your best to concentrate on the target in front of you and to hold the glock level, but Hotch’s presence so close is less than ideal when you need to focus. 

He positions your arms once again, touch feather light this time, brushing your shoulders as he does. He nods for you to try again. 

You keep your eyes on the target this time, trained on the marker body in front of you after you shoot and you can’t quite believe you hit it. You squeal with excitement and turn to face Hotch who looks proud but drops down quickly, seeing the Glock still in your hands. 

“Yeah, lesson number 2. Never-“ He nods at you to punctuate his point, taking the gun from you. “-Never. Point a gun at someone without aiming.” 

———

It’s dark when Hotch pulls up outside your building, the mood decidedly lighter than before but the unspoken heaviness still lingers in the air, carries all the way up to your apartment. You key the door open, switching on a lamp on your way in, Hotch making quick work of a window sweep.

“Two MPD officers are posted right outside, and there are two unmarked cars outside, too. Just in case.”  

You nod as you walk into your kitchen, a sudden surge of bravery taking over. “Hey, Hotch?” 

He doesn’t look up from his phone when he answers. “Yeah?” 

“Hotch.”

He looks up this time, sheepish expression on his face when he realises you’re staring at his phone, too, cursing himself for not minding his manners. 

“Sorry. What is it?” 

“Are you okay?” You ask, earnestly. 

He pretends to be oblivious, as you walk out of your kitchen and plant yourself on your couch, water in hand. He sits on the ottoman you use as a footrest opposite your couch, but says nothing. Just watches you, but you wait for him. 

He runs his hands through his hair. It’s endearing, you think. 

“That obvious?” He says with a dry chuckle. 

You wait for him to go on. 

“I know I’ve been ‘off’ the last couple of days. I’m sorry. It’s just- I don’t know. Stuff in my personal life, I guess - I let it affect my job. Won’t happen again.” 

“That’s not what I mean. Screw the job. I mean are you actually okay?” You feel a strange pull in your chest, the vulnerability is written on his face. But you don’t want to push him. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“It’s- just this job, y’know. My girlfriend-“

“-Haley.” You’re thinking out loud but he looks surprised as to how you could know her name. “I think I heard you talking to her a couple times.” You shake it off. 

“Yeah. Well. She’s struggling to cope with all of this, I guess. The job. It’s not like it’s a regular 9-5, and I don’t suppose it’s much fun going to sleep in an empty house most nights.” 

I go to bed alone. 

She goes to bed alone. 

He curses himself for his lack of tact. “I mean I know where she’s coming from, I wish I could be around more but it’s hard trying to get the right balance y’know? And I don’t know, I have the feeling she might not want to stick around much longer - and I wouldn’t blame her.” 

He whispers the last part, like he doesn’t trust his voice to betray him. He’s surprised he’s even opened up to you this much, this quickly and he realises his mouth has already betrayed him before his brain had even had a chance to catch up. He feels lighter though, maybe even optimistic. 

But you feel your heart sinking. The naive little girl in you had thought maybe Hotch could have felt attracted to you, maybe even had some feelings for you. The realisation that he has a foundation, a home, a long-term relationship - even if it was on the rocks - makes your chest heavy. Makes it hard to breathe.

You don’t want to give him advice. Don’t even want to really think about him and Haley at all. But the sadness in his eyes and the worry in his voice speaks louder than the little voice in your head. 

“You love her?”

He takes a beat, but nods.

“Then you know what you have to do, Hotch. Give her what she wants. Give her what she needs to stay.” You feel a misplaced, profound kind of sadness deep within you, and you can’t tell whether it’s because you feel utterly alone and like nobody would ever want to fight for you - or whether it’s because you know that person wouldn’t be the man sitting in front of you. 

Still, you inhale deeply and stand. “Well, listen - I don’t wanna keep you.” You walk him to your door. “I hope it all works out.” You tell him as you watch him leave. And you only half mean it. 

———

“Haley?” Hotch shouts through the door. He shrugs off his blazer and loosens his tie as he turns on the lights in their dark home, blinking as his eyes adjust. There’s no answer. 

“Haley?” 

Nothing.

He searches the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, a sinking feeling taking over. Still, he calls out her name, to no avail. He turns on the light in their bedroom, the wardrobes open and hangers laying on a neat pile in the corner. He sighs defeatedly. 

His eyes fall to a piece of folded yellow paper on the centre of their perfectly made bed. He picks it up and lets his body fall onto the mattress, unfolding the note.

Haley’s elegant, slanted writing reads: 

‘I’m sorry too. - HB’ 

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