#and that one time i posted a leverage fic blew me away

[thetragicallynerdy]

[ID: tumblr tags that read # yes yes yes # i hate the pressure to post the moment something drops # and i hate feeling like i have to 'compete' against my mutuals and fellow creators to get notes or engagement # please reblog gifsets edits fanfic etc. please. # or people are just going to stop creating because what's the point # important # text. End ID.]

Not people saying “Fandom has always been like this” in that vent post I made. No. It hasn’t always been like this. Fandom has NEVER been like this until recently and if you were in fandom pre-tumblr purge, pre-twitter, pre-netflix boom, pre-tiktok….then you would fucking know it was nothing like this.

We still had the drive to create. We still sold prints and charms and made zines…but it was never like this.

The introduction of streaming, binge shows that drop all at once, tiktok and vine RIP i still love u vine but you were the beginning of a particularly ugly era) creating this bite sized, quick paced ‘content’ era of creation and it bled out into fucking everything else.

Fandoms didn’t die down when the show ended or the season was over. You didn’t mass unfollow artist, writers or moots just because they changed fandoms. There wasn’t this need to please the algorithm in order for your posts to get seen by people and enjoyed.

Fandoms used to last YEARS. Star Trek is literally the oldest running fandom out there and you got people in there that could care less about the new stuff and still have been happily prancing through their fucking fifty year old fandom today. Hell, even SPN after all it’s fuckups and shitshows has a dedicated fanbase STILL creating tons of art and fic.

There is no patience anymore. No calm feeling of taking in fandom and friends at a pace that which doesn’t make you stressed and is still fun.

Do I blame fandom for this? Of course not, but people are complacent with it and start changing their vocab to accommodate and end up making the situation so deep it cant be fixed.

We call Art & Fic Content now, completely stripping the value of what it is to a level of consumerism instead of personal entertainment & community bonding.

[nickandcharlieareticklish]

A More Enjoyable Assignment (tickle fic)

Fandom: Heartstopper

Summary: Nick loves to tickle Charlie, but he never lets Charlie tickle him back. Charlie would never admit it to anyone, but all he wanted to do was hear his boyfriend squirm and giggle and it was starting to drive him up the wall.

Forget homework - this Nick-related assignment was way more fun.

My first ever tickle fic! Quite nervous about posting this, so all (kind) feedback very much appreciated.

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

Nick loved to tickle Charlie. This was common knowledge at this point. Charlie could barely make it through an hour in Nick's company before he was pounced on and his high-pitched babbling and squeals filled the air. Charlie would put up a dramatic fuss every time but honestly, he really didn't mind. And he could see from Nick's shit-eating grin just how much joy it brought him.

However, the main issue was that whenever Charlie reached out a retaliating hand to tickle Nick's side, or grabbed his knee to squeeze it, Nick would immediately employ Strong Rugby Arms and intercept his movements, never giving him the chance to properly get his revenge. He'd never admit it to anyone, but all Charlie wanted to do was hear his boyfriend squirm and giggle and it was starting to drive him up the wall.

One Sunday afternoon, they were studying on Nick's bedroom floor, music playing softly in the background. They lay on their stomachs alongside each other, hips and shoulders touching. Charlie had sunk so deep into quadratic equations that he was barely aware of his surroundings, until he felt the familiar sensation of fingers digging expertly, but gently, into his armpit. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up and then he gasped and squirmed away.

“Nick!” he all but squawked. “You're such a menace.”

When he turned to look at him, Nick was scribbling on his own Geography paper, his face schooled into an unconvincing expression of concentration. Charlie scoffed.

“You're fooling literally no one at this point,” he said, rolling his eyes affectionately and tapping Nick gently on the forehead with his pen.

A smile spread slowly across Nick's face, and he suddenly grabbed for Charlie's hips with both hands and squeezed. This was one of his worst spots – which Nick knew, the arsehole – and Charlie immediately crumbled, attempting to curl into the foetal position on the floor while high-pitched squeals poured out of him.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” he cried, trying to wriggle away. Nick just chuckled and ignored him, spidering his fingers up his sides. “Ah fu – fuck, Nick, that tickles so m-much – please...” His arms were flailing wildly, trying to grab Nick's hands and slow his movements.

Nick grinned but paused for a second, clearly winding down so as not to completely overwhelm him, and Charlie saw his chance. He lunged for Nick's thigh but before he could get any leverage, Nick casually plonked his entire body across Charlie's on the floor, leaving him unable to move.

“Nah, I don't think so,” Nick said calmly.

“Oh, for god sake.”

They lay there for a few moments, Charlie catching his breath after the attack. Nick's pinning was clever in stopping him being able to move much, whilst carefully avoiding actually hurting him. Eventually, Nick lifted his weight off Charlie and they rolled onto their sides to face each other.

“You good?” Nick asked, giving him his trademark lopsided smile.

“Yeah,” Charlie said, returning the grin with ease. They just drank each other in for a few seconds. “But you always -” He started, but then faltered, embarrassed.

“Hmm?” Nick was suddenly frowning slightly, always able to read him like a bloody book. He reached for Charlie's hand, linking their fingers together.

“You don't -” Charlie blew out a breath, frustrated at his inability to form words. “You never let me tickle you back.”

“Oh!” Nick's face softened with understanding, and then he grinned. “I know.”

“But why?”

“It's just funny,” Nick shrugged. “And because you're cute when you're annoyed. And in general.”

Charlie would never get used to Nick's unabashed compliments. He felt his face heat up as a rush of warmth spread through his body. “Shut up.”

“And when you're flustered.” The lopsided smile of pure sunshine was back.

“Nick, stop it! It's not fair when I don't get to fluster you back.” Nick's grin just grew wider. “Are you even ticklish?” Charlie asked, his eyes roaming around the parts of Nick's body that he knew were his own worst spots. He leaned in to poke his stomach but as usual Nick was too quick for him, grabbing his wrist.

“Ah now, that would be telling,” Nick replied in a gentle tone.

Charlie groaned, and Nick laughed brightly. “Do you giggle? I bet you're a giggler.”

“Absolutely not.”

A thought occurred to Charlie, and he had a sudden flash of anxiety. “If you really hate being tickled then it's fine, I won't tickle you. I just thought -”

“Charlie,” Nick interrupted softly, running his thumb over Charlie's knuckles. “It's okay. I don't hate it. I just happen to be very very good at stopping you.”

“Well, I think it's mean of you to use Muscle 1 and Muscle 2 against me,” Charlie said sternly, poking each of them in turn with a finger.

Nick snorted. “Ah, but we both know that you like the arms.”

“Not in this context! Anyway, forget homework because this is my new assignment.”

Nick said nothing, just looked at him affectionately for a moment and then leaned across to kiss him. Charlie sank into it, but pulled back after a few moments to appraise him. “You scared?”

Nick pretended to mull it over. “Hmm... nope. But you should be.”

Charlie rolled his eyes, but then burst into surprised laughter a moment later as Nick dived for his knees.

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

Charlie took this assignment very seriously – it was in his geeky nature, after all – and work began the very next day. He figured that the best tactic was to catch Nick off guard when he might not be able to react quickly enough to stop him. It was hardly the most well-thought-out plan but he didn't really have many other options.

His first attempt was first thing on Monday morning, in form room. Mr Lange was about to take the register and Nick was hastily completing his Geography homework that was (of course) due first thing.

“If only you'd finished this yesterday like a good student, instead of distracting us both with those magic fingers of yours,” Charlie whispered.

Nick just turned to him, raising an eyebrow at his inadvertent choice of words.

“Tickling fingers, I mean,” Charlie added, hastily and unnecessarily.

“I know,” Nick replied, entirely too innocently. “What else would you mean?”

Charlie gave him a look, but couldn't stop the grin that took over his face a moment later. Nick was winding him up, and it was on. When Nick turned back to his work, Charlie bit his lip in concentration, looking him up and down. The problem was that he didn't know where Nick's weak spots were, but the idea of finding out was more exciting than he'd care to admit.

Knees were normally a weak spot, right? And they were hidden under the desk where no one else could see what was going on. Probably a good place to start.

Charlie shuffled a bit closer to Nick on his chair – not unusual, so Nick didn't bat an eyelid, just continued writing. He reached out his left hand as surreptitiously as he could, shifting it under the desk towards Nick's right leg. Before he could overthink it and chicken out, Charlie reached for the fleshy part just above Nick's knee and squeezed.

He heard Nick's sharp intake of breath and felt his hand instantly shoot out and close around Charlie's hand.

“Excuse me!” Nick muttered, chuckling in surprise. “What do you think you're doing?”

“My new homework assignment,” Charlie answered, unable to keep the grin off his face. “Finding Nick's giggle.”

“Oh, I see how it is. Well, I'm pretty certain there was no giggle there, so good luck with that.”

“Well, that was just phase one. Plenty more to come.”

Nick just smirked. “Has anyone ever told you that you're weird?”

Charlie ignored him. “So, knees, seemingly ticklish – noted.”

Nick's expression changed then, to something that Charlie didn't like the look of. “Do you know who else has ticklish knees? My very weird boyfriend.” Before Charlie could blink, Nick's hand shot out to his knee and squeezed back, getting more leverage than Charlie had managed. The sudden and intense ticklish sensation shooting up Charlie's thigh produced a startled giggle in the mostly silent classroom that he couldn't stifle in time. He clapped a hand over his mouth, blushing.

“Charlie, Nick! Quiet down, please,” called Mr Lange.

When they caught each other's eye a second later, they both leant over their desks in silent laughter.

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

The next day, they were studying in a quiet corner of the library during a free period, with their backs against the shelves and textbooks spread around them. Charlie had already finished his work but he was always happy to keep Nick company.

And if the opportunity arose, perhaps continue with his separate Nick-related assignment.

Twenty minutes in, Nick was on the final page of his history essay, with Charlie mostly watching him work, and chipping in with helpful information when he could. He started absent-mindedly trailing his finger along Nick's forearm, stroking back and forth. After a few minutes, Nick paused.

“You're being quite distracting, you know,” he smiled.

Charlie immediately withdrew, sheepishly. “Oh um, sorry.”

“No no, it's okay, it's, um – it's a nice type of distraction,” Nick said, flushing slightly. “You don't need to stop.”

Charlie looked at his feet, smiling shyly, and continued the soothing motions on Nick's arm. He felt Nick's relaxed exhale a moment later.

After a couple more minutes, Charlie was getting a little restless, and a slightly dangerous thought entered his mind. He looked down at Nick's side, perfectly exposed as his arms were raised to write in his book which was balanced on his bent knees.

He couldn't, could he?

Charlie took a look around – there was no one within sight, but the library wasn't empty. It was as quiet as you'd expect from such an environment. He slowly shifted his hand that was caressing Nick's arm, and casually moved it down to trail his fingers lightly over Nick's side instead. Nick immediately jerked away in surprise, but still no giggle – dammit.

Nick turned to look at him. “Don't you dare,” he said warningly, but Charlie could easily spot the amused glint in his eye.

“Don't what?” Charlie asked innocently. “Finish your homework.”

And surprisingly, Nick did. Bless his trusting soul. However, it was as he was writing the very last paragraph that Charlie just couldn't resist a second attempt. This time, he was determined to produce some sort of audible reaction from him. He knew he'd have to be quick because Nick would surely be expecting it at this point, and the rugby player had lightning-quick reactions. So Charlie waited until Nick was deep in concentration, scribbling away, before he reached for his side again and dug his fingers into the flesh more firmly. Nick didn't manage to move away quite as quickly this time and Charlie got a few good squeezes in - Nick's gasp and slight yelp were music to his ears.

“Oh I'm sorry, what was that?” Charlie asked, far too pleased with himself.

“You're ridiculous,” Nick retorted, but he was grinning widely. He'd only shifted to the left slightly, hadn't blocked Charlie's hand as he usually would, so Charlie decided to try his luck and moved up a little higher, feathering fingers over his ribs through his shirt. Nick's nose scrunched up adorably and a second later he was actually laughing – admittedly quietly, and it wasn't quite the uncontrollable giggle he was aiming for, but Charlie's heart still clenched at the adorableness of it as he watched Nick's eyes clench shut and felt him squirm against the sensations. He also noted that Nick could easily get away if he really wanted to, but he hadn't moved. Definitely not torture, then.

A few moments later, just as Charlie became bolder and travelled towards his armpit, Nick's hand finally came down to block him. “Ch – Charlie,” he managed around a soft gasp. “Stop.”

“Sorry, I didn't quite catch that?”

Nick rolled his eyes, breathing slightly heavily. “God, that was intense – I had to stop you before I really started cackling. We're in a library, you maniac.”

Charlie pouted dramatically. “But I wanted to hear you giggle.”

“Tough,” Nick replied, smiling. “Also, why do you keep doing this in places where we need to be quiet?”

“It's more fun that way.”

“I'm not sure if I like this new, rebellious Charlie.” The lingering kiss Nick gave him a second later was a pretty strong argument to the contrary.

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

After his recent success, Charlie abandoned his mission for a few days. The plan was to lull Nick into a false sense of security, but based on the way he put up almost no resistance in the library, Charlie probably didn't have much to worry about. The memory gave him a little thrill whenever he thought about it. However, he still hadn't fully scratched that itch and he was nothing if not determined.

On Friday night, Nick was round at Charlie's house and they were sitting on the edge of his bed, mostly making out and occasionally playing Mario Kart. Charlie won every time, of course. After his third loss, Nick was so worked up that he thwacked Charlie in the face with a pillow and Charlie couldn't stop cackling.

“I'm really never gonna let you win, you know,” Charlie said firmly, after he'd calmed down.

Nick sighed. “Yeah, I know.” He flopped backwards onto the bed dramatically. “Maybe we need to find a game I'm good at.”

“Sorry, not sorry.” He looked at Nick out of the corner of his eye. “I feel like you need some stress relief.”

Nick raised his head from his lying position. “Are you going to give me a massage?” he asked, all hopeful puppy dog eyes.

Charlie giggled, shaking his head. “Maybe later. I've got a better idea.” He deftly climbed onto the bed and sat himself on Nick's calves, facing him. “A cliche once told me that laughter is the best medicine, so I think we should test that theory.”

Nick just frowned as he watched him. “Charlie...”

“Are you seeing where I'm going with this?” Charlie asked, smirking at Nick's adorably confused expression.

“I'm not sure, but it definitely doesn't seem like I'm about to get a massage.”

A thought struck Charlie. “Okay, fine, I'll give you a massage. How about a... foot massage?”

Nick's eyes widened. “Um, no, I'm – I'm good actually.”

Bingo. “Oh really? Why's that, then?”

“Um...” Nick sat up slightly and tried to move his legs, but they barely budged with Charlie's full body weight on top of them. His fate seemed to fully dawn on him then and he flopped backwards, hands covering his face and a nervous laugh bubbling out of him. “Shit.”

“So first thing's first – socks. You won't be needing those.” Charlie reached behind him and, with some skill considering he couldn't see what he was doing, slowly peeled off Nick's socks one at a time. Even just these simple movements caused Nick's feet to twitch slightly, and Charlie bit back a smile. He'd surely hit the jackpot here.

“Would you mind telling me what you're doing?” Nick asked, clearly attempting to give him the stink eye through the gaps in the hands covering his face.

Charlie thought about it. “Homework,” he said simply, before reaching back to run a single finger gently along the arch of Nick's bare foot. The reaction was immediate and delicious – the scrunching of the toes, the panicked gasp of “Charlie!”. Charlie chuckled and brought his hand back in front of him.

“This is so unfair,” Nick whined, trying again to shift his feet but with absolutely no success.

“Consider it payback for the many times you've reduced me to a squealing mess.” He leaned closer, to whisper in Nick's ear. “You're about to get wrecked, Nelson.”

“I – no – come on, please -”

“Begging already, are we?”

“Will it make you stop?”

“Definitely not. We have to find that giggle.” He paused, struck with a sudden thought. “Oh and by the way, your safeword is bubblegum.”

“I – okay – but Charlie -” Nick screwed his eyes shut. The anticipatory giggles were already starting to sneak their way out of him, and Charlie's heart melted at the sound. He leaned forward again to press a kiss to the tip of Nick's nose.

“You're so fucking cute – I haven't even started yet,” Charlie smiled.

“Yeah, but -” Nick ran his fingers through his hair anxiously. “My feet are so ticklish, I might actually die.”

“Well, the ticklish truth is finally coming out. Also, you definitely won't die. Now stop distracting me.” He reached behind him again with his right hand, hovering close to Nick's foot for a few moments for dramatic effect. Nick groaned loudly as the seconds passed.

“Such a tease...” he muttered.

When Charlie could hold back no longer, he went straight for Nick's arch with purpose, scribbling his fingers vigorously over the soft skin. To his delight, Nick fell to pieces instantly, emitting a high-pitched squeal that Charlie had definitely never heard him make before. It was immediately followed by chuckles which quickly turned into desperate, breathy giggles as Charlie moved up to scratch at the back of his toes.

“No no no no no, Charlie ple - hease -” Nick spat out through giggles, his face scrunched up in a beautiful combination of euphoria and torture. His hands gripped the pillow behind his head. Charlie didn't let up, focusing in on the base of his big toe that was evidently incredibly ticklish based on the strangled cry he let out, and in a moment of pure evil, Charlie reached behind him with his other hand and attacked both big toes at once, producing a new bout of uncontrollable laughter. He didn't turn around as he didn't want to miss a second of Nick's helpless reactions.

“Yep, this is how I d-die,” Nick managed to get out, writhing from side to side in ticklish desperation.

“How does it feel, Nick? Do you promise never to tickle me again?” Charlie knew he didn't actually want this, but he also knew Nick would never agree to it either.

“I can never p-promise that – oh god, stohohop -” Charlie had moved back down to the arches of his feet in just the right spot, and Nick's hips bucked as the giggles poured out in a constant stream. Charlie wished he could bottle the sound. He focused on the killer spots of Nick's feet for a solid few minutes, often giggling along with him as he worked his magic, but listening carefully for any utterances of the safe word. It was only when Nick's laughter turned completely silent that he let up. He pulled his hands back to his front but stayed perched on Nick's legs, watching him recover fondly.

“I hate you,” Nick said weakly, a few moments later. “I also love you, but I hate you. Just so you know.”

Charlie just grinned and leaned forward to lie gently on top of him, resting his chin on Nick's chest. “I love you too,” he said, suddenly feeling bashful and overwhelmed with affection. “I can't really deal with how cute you are.”

Nick just rolled his eyes and smiled at him. “Do you know who else is cute? My very ticklish boyfriend.” And Charlie should have predicted what would happen next as Nick's hands reached greedily for his sides.

He wasn't really complaining.

[usaonetwothree]

First of all thank you thank you thank you so much for the johnny whump!!!

Also wondering if there's any chance you will be writing any johnny whump featuring more johnny/Carmen? Maybe an extension of that part of The Agreement where she's examining his injuries? The thought just gives me total whumperflies!

Thank you so much for the message, Anon!! And you're most welcome! The show is just teeing it up so nicely. I'm really just continuing what they started :)

I hadn't thought about an interlude to The Agreement, but now my plot bunnies are going. Give me a few weeks to see what I come up with! I'll post it here for sure, and if it's long enough, I'll copy it over to ao3 as a second chapter.

In the interim, I have the start of a whumpy two-chapter fic that I don't know if I'm going to finish. Working summary is "Johnny doesn't have time to get sick. Besides, it's just food poisoning... right?" I'll post the completed first chapter below, and the plan for chapter two would be from Carmen's point-of-view from the ambulance ride through surgery and Johnny finally waking up. I wrote a lot of the ideas I had for her part into Conflict, which is why I think I'm stalled on it here in coming up with something different. I don't know how long it'll take me to figure that out (if ever) but at least you'll have the first chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Thank you again for the kind message!

Pain exploded in his side, worse than he’d ever felt before. He had reference for this: he’d torn, strained, bruised, strained, dislocated and broken many things in the past. This pain blew them all away. It was he’d been stabbed with a hot knife up to the hilt, and someone was twisting it around in his guts.

His hand went to the area, came away warm, but he wasn’t bleeding. Felt like it. Felt oozing and wet and raw.

Somehow, above the nausea, above the stabbing ache in his head, he knew this was serious. And he needed help.

He couldn’t remember where his phone was. Didn’t have time to stop and think.

With every inch of his skin on fire, he leveraged himself off the couch and almost screamed as utter agony raced up his side. His knees buckled but he didn’t let himself fall. If he did, he knew he wouldn’t get back up.

Partially hunched over, he stumbled forward, careful not to jar his torso. He caught the door before the handle, barely cracking it open before he almost fell through. He jabbed his right elbow into the stucco wall, used that as a guide.

Elbow on the wall, left hand on his abdomen, trying to hold whatever was wrong in. One foot in front of the other.

It was the only thing going through his head.

Left.

Right.

Left.

A chill tore up his spine. His brain went fuzzy for a second and his elbow came away from the wall.

He almost went down again, caught himself at the last second. Leaned so far right he almost bashed his head into the stucco.

But he was vertical again.

He kept going until he hit another door.

The door that could help him.

Everything hurt now. He was sweating, burning up. His eyes felt like they were bulging out of his head, and his limbs were trembling.

He tried to knock, lost his balance. Went down in a heap of limbs.

His side crashed into the ground and fire tore through his abdomen, pain so sharp and intense he couldn’t speak—couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think.

He thought he smelled something familiar. Heard something close. Felt something against his forehead.

But it was lost in a wave of blackness.

A * A

Twelve hours earlier…

Daniel LaRusso walked into Miyagi-Fang to hear a sound he was uncomfortably familiar with. As his own stomach churned in sympathy, he stepped closer to the small wood door leading to the bathroom and rapped on it.

“Everything okay?” he asked, scrunching up his nose as the stench filtered out into the dojo.

“Fine,” a thin voice gasped.

“Johnny?” Daniel rapped harder on the door. “Let me in.”

“‘m fine.”

Daniel then heard the toilet flush and someone heave themself upright, before the faucet was turned on.

“Johnny, what’s wrong?” The worst-case scenarios were flashing through Daniel’s head: Johnny had gone after Kreese and gotten his ass kicked, he was drunk and trying to sober up before class…

But when the door slid open and a pale-faced and miserable Johnny stepped out, Daniel knew both were wrong.

“Are you sick?”

Johnny shook his head, then winced. “Don’t think so,” he said as he shuffled to the inlaid bench and sat down, propping his head against his hands with his elbows braced against his knees. “Bologna might have turned."

“I told you you should stop buying that stuff,” Daniel said as he fetched a water bottle from the small fridge and sat down beside Johnny, sliding it between his side and forearms.

“Then what am I going to have for breakfast?” he groaned, ignoring the bottle of water.

Daniel lightly wiggled it so it tapped Johnny’s arm and side. Groaning, the other man straightened up so his head was leaning against the paneling and took the water. “Cereal.”

Johnny took a small sip of the water and grimaced. “Milk goes bad,” he said faster but in a much steadier tone.

“Drink it faster. Or have eggs and bacon.”

Johnny groaned and clenched his jaw as his chest heaved painfully. “No more… food talk,” he ground out.

“Duly noted.” Daniel stood again and grabbed a towel, wetting it in the sink and laying it over Johnny’s forehead as he sat back down.

At first, Johnny pulled back in surprise, the towel slipping, but then he caught it and visibly relaxed.

“Thanks,” he muttered, closing his eyes and resituating the towel.

“How are you going to teach like this?”

“It’ll pass.”

“Uh huh.”

“Weren’t supposed to... be here this early,” Johnny mumbled as he shifted in his seat. He winced again then slowly lowered himself so he was lying on the bench, bringing his socked feet to rest on the wood as well. Daniel, who had originally been in the way, just shifted so Johnny could lie down unimpeded.

“That’s not making me feel a whole lot better.”

“’ll be fine by four,” Johnny replied. “Got like... an hour right?”

“Thirty minutes at best, and you know Miguel is always early.”

“’ll be fine by then,” Johnny repeated, somehow sounding so sure that Daniel found himself believing him.

He stood, then lowered the singular shade over the window. “I’ll come get you before class starts.”

Johnny just shook his head, though Daniel had yet to see his posture actually relax.

And yet, twenty minutes later, Johnny was standing in the backyard, dressed in his gi, looking… surprisingly normal. He was still a little paler than usual, but had clearly tried to push some color back into his face, judging by a few fading streaks on his cheeks.

“How?” was all Daniel could ask. The last time he’d had food poisoning, it had taken him four days and a trip to urgent care before he could leave his bedroom without puking.

“Mind over matter,” Johnny mumbled, straightening up as the kids began to stream in through the door.

That was… bullshit? Unbelievable? Incredible? But at the core of it, so very Johnny.

The kids were so caught up in the latest non-karate drama at the high school that none of them shot Johnny another glance. He did look at Daniel, grinning genuinely, and mouthed, “Thanks.”

Daniel just nodded, then set out doing the last bit of preparations for class.

A * A

If Johnny was being honest with himself, he should have known something else was wrong. His stomach had been hurting all day, even though he’d barely eaten anything since dinner yesterday: fried bologna, ketchup and some leftover rice Carmen had brought a few days ago.

But there was too much going on for him to be sick. There was getting the kids ready for the All-Valley, so they could once and for all remove Kreese from Cobra Kai—not that Johnny would be reinstating that name anytime soon anyway; his budding relationship with Carmen—which Miguel still did not know about; and the knowledge that Robby and a handful of his other students were doing who-knew-what under Kreese’s command.

There wasn’t any time for his problems.

So he’d taken a Tums last night, not really understanding how that had shown up in his medicine cabinet, and tried to sleep it off.

He’d shot awake somewhere around two, tangled in a thin sheet, sweating so badly it felt like he’d just come in from a run. But something else was wrong. His face felt too hot, the skin too tight, and his stomach continued to flip lazily, despite him begging it to stay where it was.

He’d cranked up the fan, and sipped some water, which was a mistake.

His stomach had rolled and he was puking up his meager dinner not long after. He sat there for a long time, head leaning against the cool seat, until he’d fallen asleep. He’d woken again when his forehead slid off the toilet and thudded into the vanity.

He was cool this time, freezing, and shit, that was signs of a fever. That much he knew.

He did not have time for this.

Still on his knees, he managed to reach the shower dial and turn it on. Then he crawled into the tub, clothes still on, and sat there, letting the cool water beat on him while he shivered uncontrollably.

He could not get sick. This had to be a twenty-four hour thing. The kids all came in with their runny noses, who knew what they got into at school. Maybe it was time he caved to LaRusso wanting hand sanitizer stations on the way out for those germ-minded kids.

Eventually the freezing water had become unbearable and he barely managed to reach back high enough to turn it off. Then came the more difficult task of stripping off his wet clothes, which he ended up doing still sitting in the tub, because the act of fighting with his clothes while standing seemed rather exhausting.

But then, he did have to get up, and it took everything he had to stay that way. His head swam and his stomach lurched.

That was when he felt a stabbing pain in his stomach around his navel.

No way this was some sort of flu.

He was reminded of Miguel pulling the package of bologna out of the fridge and frowning at the date. “This is over a week old, Sensei.”

“It’s fine,” Johnny had said.

Miguel had looked a split second away from pitching it, but had put it back in the fridge and chosen the bag of pretzels on the counter instead.

So this was food poisoning. It had to be.

He’d be in for a rough night, but it should be over by tomorrow, when he needed to be at the dojo, when he needed to be on.

The knowledge didn’t make his illness any easier, but it had made it manageable. He’d thrown up a few more times; felt his stomach cramp so severely, it doubled him over; and had eventually fallen asleep on the bathroom floor, ankles bracing the toilet, head leaning back against the far wall.

He didn’t feel better, per say, when he woke, but good enough to haul himself out of the bathroom, change into a loose shirt and sweats, and into the kitchen where he sipped at some OJ, literally the only thing in his entire kitchen that didn’t send his stomach rolling again.

At some point, he’d passed out on the couch watching TV and had jarred awake two hours before class.

He had to be there.

So he’d dry swallowed some aspirin and chewed another Tums, begged whoever was up there to keep them down, and headed out with the OJ tucked under his arm.

He’d barely made it to the dojo when his stomach began to cramp again, induced by the shifting horizons while he was driving. LaRusso found him and his once-nemesis had been surprisingly gentle. When he was better, Johnny owed him more than just a quick thanks for being decent about it, instead of leaving him to suffer on his own.

He’d had to pull over on the way home to puke again. Though he didn’t know what he was bringing up at this point. It was all acid and gunk from what he could see.

He was less than a mile from his apartment complex and he sure as hell wasn’t walking, so he slid back into the car, focused with all his remaining energy and went approximately ten miles an hour in the righthand lane the remaining way.

His fever was kicking up again as he parked, and his stomach began to ache with new intensity. He barely made it to the couch before he was retching again into the bowl he’d so left there earlier for just that purpose.

His head was pounding, his ears ringing, and the pain in his stomach had shifted so it was on his lower right side. He’d bruised a kidney before and it’d hurt in its own way, but it had been nothing like this. He hadn’t even fought anyone since Kreese. Couldn’t risk injuring himself and getting benched. Not with everything that was at stake.

It felt like he was getting the massage from hell, but inside, down in his guts. They were churning, dancing, twisting, oblivious to the pain they were causing. His actual organs hurt, however that was possible.

He sipped at the water, and immediately retched it back up.

Somewhere deep down he knew that was bad. Knew he needed to stay hydrated. Knew he hadn’t drunk enough the past eighteen hours. Knew he could replenish some of it from the shower, but it was so far away.

He just leaned his head against the arm rest, shifting until he found an angle that didn’t make him violently nauseous, and must have passed out.

It was only when he woke up that he knew something was seriously wrong, and that he had to get some help, and ended up passing out again in front of Carmen’s door.

Only it hadn’t been Carmen who answered.

“Sensei!” Miguel shouted, trying and failing to catch the older man. “Mama! Yaya!” he shouted as he dropped to his knees beside his Sensei, whose face was red and flushed but otherwise seemed uninjured.

“Sensei, please.” Miguel begged, tapping Sensei’s face and feeling the heat radiating off it. “MAMA!” he yelled again as he jabbed his fingers into Sensei’s neck, finding a thin pulse.

Then arms were on his shoulders, pulling him away, as his mom replaced him.

“¡Llame una ambulancia!”

Yaya was telling him to back up, was shoving her phone into his hands.

He didn’t remember making the call, but he must have. His mom was trying to rouse Sensei, had unbuttoned his shirt, and was swearing.

“Qué pasa?” Miguel demanded, but she didn’t answer.

“Ice, Miguel,” his mom was ordering, still bent over Sensei. “Quick!”

His feet were moving, grabbing whatever frozen vegetables they had in the freezer and handing them to his mom, who was placing them around Sensei’s neck, under his arms, around his groin.

Sensei groaned, flinched, but didn’t rouse.

“What’s wrong?” Miguel heard himself ask, but his mom was telling Yaya to take him in the apartment instead of responding.

“No!” he shouted, planting his feet. “I'm not leaving.”

His mom turned to look at him, a bit of panic in her eyes before she could hide it. “Go inside, Miggy. Please,” she said very carefully.

As much as Miguel didn’t want to, he did. Until he heard the sirens. Then he was outside the door again, watching as the paramedics swarmed Sensei.

They were asking his mom a bunch of questions and she was rattling off the answers. Then Sensei was on a gurney and they were rolling away and his mother was climbing into the ambulance with him, and then they were gone.

Miguel felt Yaya’s arm wrap around his upper back, not tall enough to reach his shoulders, and he turned and buried her head into her shoulder, letting the tears fall.

[august-anon]

We Like It

Y’all voted Geraskier for today so here is some Geraskier lol

This was prompted by an ask from like a YEAR ago, now, and I finally finished the fic a month or two ago, and I’ve finally remembered to post it. I hope it’s worth the wait lol, and also I am Unbelievably sorry for making you wait so long to see this come to fruition lol. Thank you for your patience, I hope you’re still hanging around my blog to see this, anon!

pt1 of this series 

pt2 of this series

[ao3 link to this series]

----

Fandom: The Witcher

Ship(s): Geraskier

Characters (lee/ler): Ler!Geralt/Lee!Jaskier

Word Count: 1973 words

Summary: Geralt wants to test out a few things that Jaskier showed him the other day, and it just so happens that he's decided to make Jaskier his test subject.

[ao3 link]

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

They were staying with Yennefer for a few days as Geralt handled a particularly tricky contract, which of course meant living in the lap of luxury. Steaming baths that never cooled, rich and hearty meals, soundproofed rooms, fluffy beds that you just melted into, it was everything Jaskier was missing; and while Geralt pretended he couldn’t care less, Jaskier knew he was enjoying the brief stint of luxury as well.

The contract for the curse finally handled, they had one more night in their wonderfully soft bed before Geralt wanted to head out on the road again, so they took advantage of it while they could. 

They took one of those steaming baths, smelling sweet and fresh, and returned to their bed, smooth, fresh sheets awaiting them, changed on the daily. They stripped down to only their smallclothes to head to bed. Yennefer’s wards meant they would be kept safe enough that they needn’t worry about monsters or ambushes, so they could experience the full cuddling experience, all that warm skin soothing the touch-starved itch they both carried.

But even as Jaskier climbed into bed, prepared to hold his witcher close and relax, Geralt did not follow. Instead, he stared at their packs in the corner, humming thoughtfully.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whined. “I’m cold, come here.”

Geralt hummed again, walking over to their packs and rummaging through them briefly as Jaskier continued to whine and moan about the lack of cuddles currently happening. He immediately brightened when Geralt finally made his way toward the bed, sliding onto it and pulling Jaskier close.

“What did you need that could possibly be more important than me?” Jaskier teased, burrowing into Geralt’s side.

“A weapon.”

Jaskier sat up, bewildered. “A weapon? You’ve brought a weapon into our bed? Geralt, why could you possibly need--”

Jaskier cut himself off with a yelp as Geralt rolled over and on top of him, straddling his hips. His hands were quickly gathered up in one of Geralt’s and pinned above his head. In the moments it took Jaskier’s brain to process this, Geralt pulled his “weapon” out from behind his back and brandished it at Jaskier.

Jaskier’s own feather quill.

Jaskier sucked in a breath, already feeling his cheeks beginning to burn. “Now, Geralt,” he tried, squirming under him, “let’s talk about this.”

“You taught me some valuable information the other day,” Geralt said. “I’m just trying to see it in practice.”

Jaskier started giggling prematurely as the feather started looming ever-closer, butterflies swarming in his stomach. “You saw it in practice when I used it on you!”

“And now I’m going to see it in practice on you.”

Geralt started easy, thankfully, touching the feather down on one of Jaskier’s exposed shoulders and slowly brushing it towards his neck. Jaskier was able to keep his composure until the feather started trailing up the side of his neck, and his face crumpled and scrunched up trying to hold his laughter at bay.

He’d never been very good at that.

All it took was a particularly deliberate wiggle of the tip of the feather behind his ear and Jaskier cracked, tumbling into bubbly giggles. He didn’t bother trying to defend himself by scrunching up or trapping the feather, Geralt always found a way around his meager defenses, so he simply squirmed around on the bed to satisfy the urge to do so.

Geralt twisted the feather in his ear, much like Jaskier had done to him barely a week ago, and he went from cracked to shattered. That tickled more than Jaskier ever in his life imagined it could, and he wouldn’t even call his neck and ears bad spots! Jaskier shrieked at the soft tickling and jerked away, finally trying to escape for real.

“Geralt,” he cried through his giggles, becoming ever more high-pitched. “Geralt. No!”

Geralt simply hummed above him and moved to give his neck and ears the same treatment on the other side. It was pure torture in the best of ways, Jaskier both loving it and wanting it to stop immediately. Geralt was unfairly good at this for someone who tickled someone for the first time ever barely a month ago.

“I love your laugh,” Geralt said quietly, probably hoping Jaskier wouldn’t hear him over his squeaks and wild giggles.

“I love yours more!” Jaskier squealed as he jerked away from a brush of the feather against the shell of his ear.

“Well,” Geralt said, voice light and teasing, “I never said you had good taste.”

Jaskier let out an affronted noise that turned into an odd keening-giggle as Geralt began dragging the feather down the delicate skin of his upper arm, aiming for his armpit. He foolishly tugged at his arm, but Jaskier should’ve known better. He was no match for a witcher’s strength.

“Geralt, come on!”

“Why?” And oh, Jaskier loved to hate that wicked grin. “You like this.”

And by this point, it was no longer a question. It was a simple statement. Jaskier wasn’t sure which was worse, but he definitely felt his cheeks flush under Geralt’s gaze. They flushed even further -- though this time with laughter -- as the feather touched down in Jaskier’s armpit.

“Seeing this in practice is truly quite interesting.”

“Shut up--shit!”

Jaskier tossed his head back in loud laughter as Geralt dropped the feather and dug his fingers into Jaskier’s highest rib. Using that distraction, Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s wrists from where he had them trapped and pulled them down, pinning them under his knees. Jaskier’s stomach filled with butterflies as he realized Geralt now had two hands free to torment him with.

“You enjoy testing things on me, I should return the favor. Tell me, bard: which is worse?”

And then Geralt picked up the feather with one hand and readied his fingers on the other, sending both careening for his stomach. Jaskier tried to suck his stomach in, as if that would save him, but the second Geralt touched down, it was a lost cause as he started laughing again.

Geralt scratched to the side of his belly button with his free hand, his blunt fingernail making Jaskier’s nerves light up an unfair amount. On the other side of Jaskier’s belly button, he fluttered the feather in the mirrored spot, making Jaskier wish he had more room to thrash for his freedom. Each sensation was completely maddening and unbearable in it’s own way, and Jaskier didn’t know if he wanted to escape or let it go on forever.

“Well?”

“The feather!” Jaskier cried after a few more moments. “The feather!”

Geralt hummed thoughtfully and Jaskier squealed as the feather took a brief trip inside Jaskier’s belly button before Geralt found his next target: Jaskier’s hipbones. He scooted down to sit on Jaskier’s thighs to reach them, but his legs were unfortunately still long enough to keep Jaskier’s hands pinned easily. On one side, fingertips vibrated deeply into the skin and muscle, making Jaskier near-howl. On the other, the feather danced across the sharp bone with its maddeningly-light touch. 

Jaskier was thankful that Yennefer had the foresight to soundproof her rooms. Tomorrow would be quite the embarrassing morning, otherwise.

“And here?” Geralt asked, emphasizing his question by intensifying the tickling on both sides.

“Fingers!” Jaskier shrieked.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately?) that made Geralt drop the feather and start vibrating his now-freed fingers into the other hip. Then Jaskier was really howling, trying to buck his hips but being unable to get the leverage needed to do so. He could try and sit up to curl in on himself for protection, but Jaskier had the feeling that his ab muscles weren’t really looking to cooperate with how hard he was currently laughing.

After some minutes of that playful torture, Geralt picked up the feather quill once more. He danced and fluttered it along Jaskier’s pantline, making his eyes bulge out of his skull at the gentle touch. He choked out a mix of a squeal and a giggle, making Geralt let out a rumbling chuckle above him.

Then, as Geralt was searching for his next spot, the impossible happened: Jaskier finally managed to wiggle his hands free. They launched out from under Geralt’s knees, shooting directly for Geralt’s hands. Geralt tried to fight them off, but Jaskier managed to capture Geralt’s hands and interlace their fingers, the feather fluttering uselessly to the bed next to them.

“What now, tough guy?” Jaskier teased, though the effect was likely diminished by the fact that he was panting for breath.

Geralt furrowed his brow in thought and Jaskier’s heart fluttered. He sent an appraising look to Jaskier’s stomach before starting to lean down, and Jaskier started squealing before he even got close.

“Wait--wait, wait, no! Geralt, please, anything but that!”

Geralt chuckled. “I thought you liked fruit,” he said.

And then Jaskier was lost to wheezing cackles as Geralt took a deep breath, lowered his mouth to Jaskier’s stomach (right on his sensitive belly button) and blew. It tickled like all hell. In fact, it tickled worse than any raspberry had any right to, thanks to Geralt’s stubble.

“You need to shave!” Jaskier shouted through his laughter.

Geralt let out a little “oh” of realization before diving back in for another raspberry, but this time shaking his head as he blew. The result was a screaming Jaskier, tears of mirth being squeezing from his eyes, as his stomach vibrated with ticklish sensations, got scraped by stubble, and even got tickled by feather-light brushes of hair that had fallen from Geralt’s half-hearted styling.

After a few more of those wonderfully hellish raspberries, Geralt pulled back.

“I want to try something,” he said.

Jaskier let out an incredulous laugh, having nothing to do with his residual giggles. “Let me catch my breath first, darling. Shit.”

“Did I go too far?”

Jaskier shook his head. “No, no. You were wonderful, dear heart, I just need a moment. Not sure how much I have left in me, either.”

Geralt hummed.

After a few moments, his breath having returned, Jaskier nodded. “What is it you wanted to try?”

Geralt climbed off Jaskier’s legs, lifting one up into the air. Jaskier furrowed his brow, but his eyes then went wide as Geralt brushed a hand over his inner thigh before leaning in slightly and looking to Jaskier for permission.

“Oh fuck,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Alright, but stop when I tell you.”

Geralt nodded, and then his lips were swiftly attached to Jaskier’s inner thigh as he blew a raspberry. Jaskier’s laughter went silent almost immediately, the sensations so overwhelming that he couldn’t even make a sound. He howled and screamed, but no sound left his lips to indicate his tortured state. After a few small raspberries dotted across his thigh, Geralt shifted himself for a better angle and gave a repeat performance on his untouched leg.

Jaskier was able to stand it until Geralt began digging tickling fingers into whatever thigh wasn’t currently being targeted by his lips. As much fun as it all was, it was too much for him to take. He slapped his hand against the bed a few times, and Geralt immediately stopped. Jaskier panted desperately for breath as Geralt firmly rubbed away the remaining tingles from his mouth and fingers.

“Alright?”

Jaskier laughed. “Alright?” He asked. “Alright?! I’m fucking incredible, dear. Now, come down here and cuddle me. I’m going to fall asleep at any moment now.”

Geralt did as he was told, shuffling back up the bed and laying next to Jaskier, pulling the furs and bedsheets over the top of them. They exchanged a few chaste goodnight kisses until Jaskier was too drowsy to even move his lips in response anymore, and settled down against the expensive pillows to finally rest.

Jaskier’s revenge could easily wait until the morning.

[javier-djarin]

Como Me Duele: Chapter 10

Ship: Javi x Reader

Rating: M

Word Count:  5,490 words

Warnings: Language, Mild Violence

Masterlist

Summary: Someone has taken Javi’s hermosa, and now he’s coming to get her. And he’s bringing hell with him.

A/N: Three more posts left. Which makes me so sad, because I loved writing this fic. Thank you again for all the love and support! Please, please, PLEASE let me know what you think. Please let me know if you want to be on my tag list! Chapter 11 coming soon! Also, there is a lot of Spanish in this one. Most of it is from the show. I apologize in advance. The translations are at the bottom.

His POV

He sat in a crumpled mess on the sidewalk looking at the suitcase that had been busted open. The blood that pooled around the suitcase had to have been her’s. He felt pain, misery, panic, and rage all at once. He wanted to scream and cry. She was gone, and the last image she had of him was Gabby’s arms around him as she kissed him. He balled his fists in his hair, hating himself even more for hurting her the same way Michael did; the same way Javi promised he’d never do. He had no one. Steve was gone tracking Escobar’s family to God knows where. He had absolutely not one person he could call for help. He gathered her things, gently folding her clothing before carrying the broken suitcase up to their apartment.

Javi set it on the dining table before taking a seat next to it. He could call Berna, unless that’s who took her. He knew Los Pepes were getting nervous the last time, since he was not as forthcoming with information like he was before. He could notify the Embassy, but they’d release it to the press, and then the kidnappers could get spooked and do something unimaginable to her. He banged his fists on the table in rage. The best thing he could do right now was use whatever resources he could find, and bring her home. He would burn Colombia to the ground if he had to, just to make sure she was safe, and he was prepared to do exactly that.

He jumped out of his seat and ran to his Jeep. He was losing precious time, so he sped to the Embassy. His tires squealed as he skid into a parking spot. “Javi,” one of the secretaries said as he blew by them. “Javi, you have a message!”

He stopped. “From who?” He spun to face her, his rage causing him to shake and tremble.

“I think you should go talk to the Ambassador,” she said softly.

Without missing a beat, he turned on his heel, bursting into the Ambassador’s office where Messina was already waiting. “Agent Peña,” Crosby said, “please, have a seat.”

“With all due respect, Ambassador, I need this to be as brief as possible.”

Messina looked at her agent and sighed. “We received a call about 20 minutes ago from Escobar.”

His face turned ghost white. “What did he want?”

“He threatened us. He wants us to pull strings to get his family into Germany. Agent Murphy is there now trying to prevent that.”

Already knowing the answer to his next question, he decided to ask anyway, “What-uh-what leverage does he have? Or did he just call and ask nicely?”

“It seems that he has a Ms. Y/N Y/L/N in his ‘protective custody’ saying when his family is safe, he will return her to us. Apparently she is an American Nurse who was down here volunteering-”

“I know who she is,” he said all too fast. “She’s,” his voice cracked, “she’s my…” the fastest way to get her back was if she was DEA. They protect their own. She may not want anything to do with him once he got her back, but right now her safety was all he cared about. “She’s my wife.”

“Agent Peña, I thought you weren’t married.”

“Recently married, Messina.” He cleared his throat and tried to calm down.

Crosby sat back in his chair and watched Peña. “Well, there’s only one problem. His family is already on a charter back to Colombia. They booked their flight late last night and will be landing here tonight.”

Javi felt his heart race. Escobar was going to kill her, and he knew it. They went after Pablo’s family, so naturally he retaliated. This was exactly why he wanted her in the states, instead of here. “Not to be crass, but how the fuck am I going to get her back?” he said through his teeth.

“We are working with Colonel Martinez to find her,” Crosby said.

“And we’re going to need you to stay here, Agent Peña,” Messina added.

His eyes immediately darted to hers. “No. Court Marshal me, send me home, but do all of that after I break that direct order. I’m going out there to find her.”

“You’re too close to this.”

“Damn right I’m too close to this, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to bring her back to me!” he exclaimed, “And if that motherfucker calls here again, I want to talk to him.”

Messina looked at Crosby for a cue. He was sitting silently, with no expression on his face as he waited for Javi to be done with his tirade. “Look, we don’t negotiate with terrorists. However, we aren’t going to abandon one of our own. Your wife is DEA. We are going to do everything in our power -”

“Please, Ambassador, cut the shit. I know this spiel. We give it to anyone who loses someone. I’m sure they gave this same talk to Mika Camarena when Kiki went missing. I’m going to go out there and find her, either on my own or with help. I’m not waiting for clearance or authorization. Her hours, no minutes are numbered.”

Messina stood up and approached Javi. “When Agent Murphy lands, we will send him in for backup. Whatever you need, let me know. You’ll have it.”

Your POV 

You took a deep breath as you stood outside your apartment complex, nervous about seeing Javi and telling him the news: you were pregnant. You ran various scenarios through your head from best to worst case. You reached out for the doorknob and pushed the door open and slowly climbed the flight of stairs that led to your apartment. You were halfway up the second flight when you saw it. Javi was kissing someone. Her arms were draped over his shoulders and she held onto him like she knew him intimately. It felt like a hot knife was ripping through your body. Memories of Michael's betrayal hit you. It was happening again and this time, you didn't know if you'd survive it. The pain was almost too unbearable. You let out a loud gasp as tears welled in your eyes. He pushed her away. "Shit," he said, eyes wide, "Y/N."

You turned and bolted down the stairs. Maybe if you ran fast enough you'd catch a taxi before he got to you. Tears were blurring your vision by the time you made it outside. You thought of your child, realizing now they would never know the happiness their parents felt; he or she would be raised in a broken home. You heard tires squeal in front of you and two men run at you. You tried backing away, but your legs were already weak from grief. You dropped your suitcase and it burst open. The last thing you remembered was intense pain on the side of your head as you hit the ground.

***

You woke up a few times with a bag over your head. You were groggy and couldn’t really understand what they were saying as you drifted in and out of consciousness. Your head throbbed, obviously from the butt of a gun or something blunt that struck you. “El está loco,” You heard one of them say. “Primero esa bomba, ¿y ahora la novia de un agente de la DEA?”

“Era amigo de Carrillo.  Ese hijo de puta vendrá por ella y traerá el infierno con él,” the other said. 

The first one laughed. “No mierda  Acabamos de firmar nuestras propias órdenes de muerte, Blackie.”

That brought you out of your grogginess. If Blackie was in the car, then the other one had to be La Quica. Or at the very least one of Pablo’s men. Your heart sank. They were going to use you as a bargaining chip. Little did they know, Javi wouldn’t come for her. Michael was right. He only sent her away so he could hook up with local… no, you thought to yourself, there has to be a reason she was there. There was no way he would do that to me. He is going to come for me. Months of living together and love making told you that he loved you too much to betray you. He would find you, even if it killed him. 

His POV

He walked into the usual seedy bar to meet Berna, but this time he didn’t feel dirty about it. He didn’t care if this move cost him his career; he was going to get her back. He pulled his chair out and lit a cigarette. “No tengo ninguna información para ti, pero necesito tu ayuda,” he said. 

Berna sat back and grinned. “¿Que vas a hacer por mi?”

Javi tried to hide his emotions, but his fear and anger were all over his face. “Te pagaré.”

“$50,000,” he replied.

“Trato.”

Berna shook his hand. “Escuché que Blackie y La Quica se la llevaron. Ella está en algún lugar de Bogotá.”

His heart raced. “¿Dónde?”

“Estoy...investigando.”

Javi growled and slammed the table. “En el segundo en que encuentres algo, llámame. Quiero estar ahí.”

He put out his cigarette and left the restaurant. Just as he stepped onto the sidewalk, the phone rang. “Javi,” Steve’s voice rang from the other end. “I just landed. Messina filled me in.”

“I’m on my way,” he said, hanging up the phone. Javi sat in his Jeep for a second, frustrated beyond belief. He spent the entire day looking for leads, clues, anything, but he was coming up short. No one was talking. She was sitting, God knows where, waiting. He couldn’t get the look on her face out of his head. It was pure shock and hurt when she saw Gabby kissing him. He felt a tear roll down his cheek as he started the car. “I’m on my way,” he whispered to himself. 

***

Steve hopped in the Jeep and turned to Javi. “What the fuck, man?” he said, “I’ve only been gone for a day!”

Javi couldn’t turn to look at Steve. He knew if he did, he’d lose it. “I’ve got to find her,” his voice cracked.

“We will,” Steve reassured.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and sped down the street. “Where are we going?”

Javi didn’t answer, because he didn’t know. He just felt like if he was driving, he was doing something.

“Javi,” Steve sternly said, “Javi, pull over.”

He pulled off to the side and slammed the gear shift into park. “What!” Javi exclaimed.

Steve held his hands up in surrender. “Let’s go back to the apartment, and we will start there.”

“I already tried that,” he said, still looking at the steering wheel.

“Let’s try again. You had to have missed someone,” Steve said, “someone who was in the area.”

Javi froze. He did miss someone. Gabriela. Deep down, he knew she was part of it. She had to have been. Who else would be able to give her his address? “Fuck!” he screamed. 

“What is it?”

He finally turned and looked at his partner...friend. Tears ready to spill over at the edge of his eyelids. “Gabriela,” he croaked. Steve waited patiently for Javi to explain to him who she was. “She’s a prostitute.”

“Jesus, Javi,” he said, running his hand down his face. “What did you do?”

Javi recounted how Gabriela was the one who told him about Martiza, how she’s the reason Carrillo was set up, and how she showed up at his apartment door early this morning. His voice broke so many times when he tried to tell Steve about the last time he saw Y/N’s face, just before she bolted down the stairs. “She has to hate me,” he said, “which is why I have to get her back. I have to save her if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Well, let’s start with this Gabriela. Do you know where to find her?”

He put the car in drive. “I do.”

***

They pulled in and parked on the opposite side of the street from the brothel. Javi’s phone rang before they got out of the car. “Peña,” he answered.

“Javi! I just got your message,” Connie said at the other end.

“You called my wife?” Steve said.

“I had no one else to talk to!” Javi defended, “Steve’s back. We think we’ve found a lead. I can call you back after.”

“Wait, Javi,” she said, “hand the phone to Steve.”

He did so and left the Jeep. He needed some fresh air before heading to interrogate Gabriela. He ran his hand through his hair and leaned against the vehicle, about ready to lose the rest of his mind. Every second he did nothing weighed on him. She had limited time left.

“Steve,” Connie said over the phone, crying. “You have to find her, and soon.”

“I know, Connie. What do you think we’re doing?” he sighed.

“No, you don’t understand. Steve, you can’t tell Javi. Especially now.”

“Tell him what?”

Connie took a deep breath. “Y/N is pregnant.”

“She’s what!” he exclaimed.

“Look, we were all surprised, but that’s why she went back. She came down there to tell Javi. She wanted to do it in person and to surprise him.”

“Oh, Jesus. Fuck! I can’t keep that from him,” he said.

“You have to, Steve. What good is this information going to do him now? Nothing, except drive him more insane. You get my pregnant best friend back. Be careful. I love you.” She hung up the phone, and Steve slammed his head lightly against the headrest. He climbed out of the Jeep and walked around to where Javi was standing. He stared at him with nothing but sorrow in his eyes, knowing what Javi should know.

“What?” Javi said. “What did she say?”

“How about I handle this interrogation?” Steve suggested. 

His hands trembled as he wiped his face. “Okay.” 

They walked into the whorehouse, instantly surrounded by girls promising a good time. Javi cornered one he knew, Vanessa. “¿Gabriela está aquí?”

“Sí, Javi. Ella esta arriba.”

“Gracias,” he added. 

Steve followed Javi through the hallways and up the stairs to Gabriela’s room. He knocked first, but when there wasn’t an answer, he burst in. Steve held back for a minute. She was in the middle of a job. “¡Vete, cabrone!”

The man grabbed his clothes and ran out of the room. Gabriela smiled and made her way over to Javi. “I knew you wouldn’t stay away for long,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He grabbed her wrists, a little too hard. “Cut the shit, Gabby.”

“Javi…”

Steve stepped out of the shadows and grabbed her arm, forcing her to sit in the chair in her room. “Who gave you Javi’s address? No one knew he’d moved apartments.”

“I don’t…”

Javi stormed over to her, pressing her into the seat. “Who, Gabby!”

She started crying. “Lo siento, Javi. Lo siento mucho. Ellos iban a matarme.”

He felt a weight lift. He found his lead. His breathing began to shake as he sat down. “Where did they take her?” Steve asked, pressing the barrel of his gun to her chest.

“I-I don’t know.”

He cocked the gun. “You’re going to have to do better than that. They were going to kill you, but I will.”

“Please, I can find out.”

Javi’s head jerked up and looked at her. “Call them. Now.”

“I can’t just do that.” She started crying harder. “They’re watching you.”

Both Javi and Steve froze. “They have been since Pablo escaped prison. That’s how they knew where to hit you where it hurt.”

“Call them.” Steve pressed harder with the gun. “Now.”

She reached for the phone on the side table next to her. 

Your POV

You woke again, this time with duct tape and rope around your arms and legs. You were blindfolded and strapped to a chair with a terrible headache. You head feet shuffling as they neared you. “Ella tiene una herida en la cabeza desagradable,” the man’s voice said. 

“Limpiarla. Pablo quiere que enviemos un video a la embajada.,” La Quica’s voice said from across the room.

“Nosotros estamos jugando con fuego,” the voice said as he dabbed at her wound with a cloth.

You tried to move away, but he held your head in place. “Estas bien, señorita,” he said, trying to calm you.

You didn’t say anything, but instead let out a small sob. You felt another pair of hands on your face, lifting your chin up to expose your neck. “Tal vez podríamos divertirnos un poco con este después del video.”

“Por favor, no,” you begged.

“Sí. Quiero ver qué te hace tan especial para la DEA.”

“No, por favor. Estoy embarazada.”

La Quica laughed. “Limpiarla.”

His POV

Blackie. She was able to give them Blackie. She told them about Blackie’s girlfriend in Medellín. Javi and Steve walked into the Search Bloc offices to begin mapping out a plan of attack. Steve’s phone rang. “Murphy.”

“It’s Messina,” she said, “keep Peña away from the TV.”

“What happened?”

“She’s on the TV.”

Steve saw Trujillo and Peña talking, as they both rapidly walked into Martinez’s office. “You called about thirty seconds too late.”

Javi stood in shock as he watched the tape that was released this morning by the news. La Quica was laughing in the video, showing them her wounds she sustained. She cried the entire time, pleading for them to let her go. Her beautiful eyes swollen and red. One was bruised. In one final display of dominance, La Quica backhanded her to silence her. Blood dripped from her split cheek and swollen lips. Pablo’s usual reporter, Valeria Velez, was the one on TV with a screencap of his beautiful hermosa in the upper left corner. “Escobar tiene un mensaje para los responsables de mantener a su familia en peligro: Mientras mi familia esté en peligro, la tuya también. Mantener a mi familia seguro, o te enviaré su cabeza en una caja.”

Enraged, Javi grabbed the whiskey glass in front of him and threw it at the TV, shattering the glass and screen completely. Martinez and Trujillo stood back, fearing they would be the next targets. Steve came in and grabbed Javi before he destroyed anything else. “I’m going to kill those motherfuckers,” he said, “every last one of them.”

“I know,” Steve said, “starting with Blackie. Let’s catch this asshole.”

***

They walked out of Blackie’s Girlfriend’s apartment complex, defeated. They were dead. Everyone inside. Javi was almost sure that Blackie fled. He wouldn’t be coming back here, and their lead was a dead end. He punched the side of his Jeep out of frustration. He was growing restless and angry. It’d been three days since she’d been taken, and he hadn’t slept at all. How could he? She was out there, somewhere being tortured. He couldn’t afford to sleep. Steve approached him. “It looks like the work of Los Pepes.”

Javi cursed. Of course. He hadn’t given them that information, which means someone else was. “We have to find Blackie. Get him to talk.” He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll drive,” Steve said, taking the keys from him. “Sleep, at least while I drive us back.”

“I can’t sleep. Not until she’s safe.”

Your POV

“Patrón, Los Pepes se están expandiendo. Los Galones están trabajando con ellos ahora. No podemos enfrentarnos a un enemigo tan grande,” you heard La Quica say into the phone. “Sí, sí. Ella está viva. ¿Dónde? Medellín. Sí, Patrón. Gracias. Hasta luego.”

Based on the one-sided conversation you heard, you put together that you were being moved to Medellín. You felt your heart drop. You wanted to scream and cry for Javi, but you knew that would result in Quica beating you. You had no idea how long you’d been trapped here, but you were grateful they hadn’t done anything to you to hurt your child. The worst La Quica did was slap you.

You were no longer worried about yourself, but instead your baby and Javi. You knew this had to be killing Javi. He sent you away for this reason. Tears ran down your cheeks as you silently cried. You should have just called him, but instead you were selfish and wanted to celebrate with him in person. Now, he was out there somewhere looking for you, risking his life to bring you home. 

His POV

They pulled into the Embassy lot as were instantly met by Messina. “We overheard some chatter,” she said.

Javi felt his heart race. “Who?”

“Quica and Escobar. They’re moving ‘precious cargo’ to Medellín tonight. We are stationing teams at the airfields. And setting up blockades at various intersections,” she added, “she won’t leave the city.”

“Messina, a word?” Steve asked.

She nodded and walked away with Steve so they were out of Javi’s earshot. “She’s pregnant.”

Messina crossed her arms. “I’ll communicate that with team leaders to make sure she walks away unharmed and stays out of the crossfire.”

Javi had already walked inside, only to be approached by Stechner, who hopped on the elevator with him. “You’re the last person I want to talk to right now,” he said, “can’t you take the stairs?”

“Remember my warning, Peña? You’re starting to make our new friends nervous. Why didn’t you tell them about Blackie?”

He turned to look at him, annoyed. “They found his family, didn’t they?”

“No thanks to you.”

Javi could feel his muscles tense up. He was already on edge and in desperate need to take his frustrations out on something. Instead, he tried to calm himself. “They go in after her, guns blazing, she could get hurt. Or worse.”

“This is bigger than your girlfriend problems.”

He grabbed him by the shirt collar and slammed him into the elevator wall. “Not for me. I will burn this fucking place to the ground to find her, and if you try to stop me, I’ll take you down with me.”

The elevator door opened and he released him. He walked to his desk. He held the picture of her he kept there, running his fingers over the glass. “Javi,” Steve said behind him, out of breath, “we got him. We fucking got him.”

He set the picture down and turned to him. “Who? Where is he?”

“Blackie.”

***

Javi and Steve were granted access to the interrogation room where they had Blackie. He was sitting there, scared. His hands were tied around his back as he sat in a metal chair looking between the two of them with wide eyes. “Ustedes no me pueden hacer una mierda,” Blackie said, ”De Greiff nos ofreció amnistía.”

“Cierto,” Javi said, leaning back on the table, “Pero tienes que hablar para conseguirlo.”

Blackie smiled. “¿Quieres negociar, gringo? Te voy a dar algo. Algo pequeño.”

Javi leaned forward, bringing his face closer to Blackie’s. “Encontraron residuos explosivos en tus manos. En tu chaqueta, en todas partes. Te culparán por esa bomba.”

His eyes grew wider, realizing he had no bargaining chips left. “No tuve nada que ver con eso.”

Javi rested his gun on his leg. “Lo sabemos. Sabemos que no fue idea tuya. Sabemos que no eres el jefe. No dejes que te culpen por esto. No dejes que te vean como el que mató a todos esos niños inocentes.” 

Steve folded his arms and said, “Ayúdanos y te ayudaremos. Danos a Pablo.”

Blackie shook his head. “No puedo darte Pablo.”

Javi fired a round into Blackie’s leg, and he screamed out in pain. “¡El siguiente es para tu cabeza! ¿Dónde la están reteniendo? ¡Habla, cabrone!”

Crying through the pain, he exclaimed, “¡Yo hablaré! ¡Yo hablaré!” He pushed his gun onto Blackie’s forehead, hard, leaving an imprint in his skin. “La Quica la tiene en una casa segura en Medellín. Sabían que estabas escuchando sus conversaciones, así que la trasladaron anoche.”

Javi grabbed him by the shirt collar and shook him. “¿Dónde in Medellín?”

“Pablo está declarando la guerra a Judy Moncada. Quiere que La Quica junte tanto dinero como pueda. Probablemente esté en movimiento con él.”

Javi looked at Steve. “We need to get to Medellín. Now.” He turned back to Blackie and cocked his gun. 

“Eso es todo lo que sé. Lo prometo.”

Javi put his gun back on safety and returned it to his back, tucking it safely into his belt. He looked down at the floor and saw blood pooling around Blackie’s leg. He felt nothing for the man. “¿La llevaste?”

Blackie breathed through the pain and looked up at Javier. “No tuve elección.”

He used his elbow to send a blow to Blackie’s head, knocking him out cold. Javi stormed out of the room. “Peña,” Steve said, running after him.

Javi didn’t stop.

“Dammit, Javi, wait!”

“I don’t have time to wait. Catch up,” he said over his shoulder.

Steve jogged through the corridor and caught up to him. “We gotta tell Messina. They’re sending their resources to the wrong area.”

“Fine. Go tell her. I’m heading to Medellín now.” 

He let out a loud sigh and followed his partner. “I’ll call her from the road.”

***

Javi and Steve walked into the Medellín office and headed straight for Martinez. “I just got off the phone with Messina,” he said, “I’m letting you take the lead on this, Agent Peña. What do you need?”

He looked around the room at the  map of Medellín on the table. “We are setting up blockades. That fucker isn’t getting out of this city. I want reinforcements here,” he pointed at 10th street, “and here,” he pointed at 32nd street. “Intel suggests these are where his largest stashes are held. If La Quica is gathering money, he’ll go to these.”

Martinez motioned to the map. “We will block intersections so he can only go certain routes out of there. He’ll drive right into our trap.”

His heart was beating so fast, he was sure that the whole room could hear him. “Do not shoot at the car,” he said, “she might,” Javi’s voice cracked, “she might be with him in the car.”

Martinez looked at him. “I cannot make promises, Peña. If he starts firing at my men, they’ve been instructed to take him out.”

“Well, instruct them to take the fight away from the car,” Javi growled, “she’s not going to die in the crossfire.”

Steve slapped Javi on the back. “We’ll get her out of there. She’s going home in one piece.”

Javi sighed. He tried to look at the bright side: they were closer to her than they had been over the last few days. However, he had this sinking feeling in his stomach that his fight to get her home was far from over.

Your POV

You’d been moved so many times over the last several hours that your sense of direction was completely thrown off, not to mention they’d blindfolded you again. This time, though, you’d been thrown into the trunk of the car, and you could hear muffled arguing coming from the cab. You felt the car jerk forward as you tried to wiggle your hands free of the zip ties they used to tie your hands together behind your back. You knew that if you could punch through the tail light, you’d be able to signal for help. You couldn’t even get your feet loose, as they were duct taped together. You did your best to remain calm as you struggled against your restraints, but you suddenly stopped when you heard the car go silent as their phone rang. “Aló. Meirda. ¿Quién es la mierda?” You heard Quica say, “Hijo de puta. ¿Quien es este?”

Your heart raced. Please be Javi, you thought to yourself. You wanted to scream so whoever was on the phone could hear you, but you feared for your life. You knew if you drew any attention to yourself, he’d kill you for certain. 

Quica slammed on the brakes, and you heard them get out. There was gunfire, and so you panicked. You started tugging on your restraints more, only causing your wrists to become raw. You felt the car move as he piled back into the car and hit the gas. You slid forward, narrowly missing another head injury. You heard the phone ring again, and Quica yell something. He took a sharp right turn, and you slid into the side of the trunk, hard. Suddenly everything went black.

His POV

Javi leaned against Trujillo’s Jeep with a phone in his hand. “Now?” Steve nodded. “They’re ready.” He dialed the number he had for La Quica. It rang twice before there was an answer. “Aló.”

“Quica,” Javi said, containing his rage.

 “Aló. Meirda. ¿Quién es la mierda?” He could hear his voice begin to panic.

“Hola, Quica ¿Cómo te va, amigo?” he calmly replied.

“Hijo de puta. ¿Quien es este?” Quica yelled into the receiver.

Javi took a breath before saying, “Cálmate, Quica. No te pongas nervioso. ¿Que pasa, Quica?”

“¿Quién la mierda crees que eres, perra?” Quica replied as he hung up the phone.

Javi looked over to Trujillo. “It wasn’t long enough. Call him again.” They were trying to track his cell signal to find his car from the sky.

He took a deep breath and redialed the number. “Aló,” Quica said into the phone, clearly agitated.

“Quica,” Javi said, “¿Que pasa, Quica?” Quica didn’t answer him. Javi could hear his breathing pick up. “Quica, Quica, Quica,” he added, drawing out Quica’s name to keep him on the phone longer. “¿Qué hora es, Quica? ¿Qué estás haciendo, Quica?”

There was still no answer. “Quica…”

“Bastardo,” Quica said before hanging up.

Javi glanced at Trujillo. “We got him,” he said.

Without missing a beat, Javi and Steve hopped in their Jeep. “Go right,” Javi said. Steve jerked the wheel right. “Perez, cerca de toda la 4ta calle,” he ordered over the radio. “Go straight.”

Steve obediently followed Javi’s directions. “We need to go this way to cut him off.”

A car flew by in front of them. “There! Follow him!” Steve turned right again and gassed the car. Javi could feel his heart racing. He couldn’t see anyone in the backseat of this car, but if they could get La Quica, he was one step closer to bringing her home. “Follow him!” he exclaimed again.

Trujillo came over the radio, “Todas las unidades, prepárate para la obra.”

Javi felt a few tears well in his eyes. He needed to keep a clear head, in case she wasn’t there. He was so close to finding her, and he couldn’t hold in the apprehension any more. “To the right!”

Search Bloc’s team cut off Quica, who slammed on the brakes. He took off running down the street. Javi and Steve did the same and chased after him, guns drawn. Javi fired a few times in the air, causing La Quica to hunker down and stumble a bit, but he kept running. Javi then aimed and hit him in the leg, causing him to go down and drag himself to the end of a ravine, where Search Bloc was waiting for him. Steve beat Javi to La Quica, and punched him several times. Javi pulled him off before landing a few himself. “Peña!” Trujillo exclaimed over the radio, “you better get your ass back up here.”

His heart raced to the point he thought it was going to burst out of his chest. He looked at Steve. “Don’t get your hopes up, Javi,” he said, trying to keep him level headed.

Javi knew he was right. She might not even be up there, but he ran like she was anyway. He ran as fast as he could, ready to scoop her into his arms and never let her go. He ran uphill to the cars that were blocking traffic, and immediately his heart dropped when he saw a group of Search Bloc gathered around the opened trunk. “Trujillo,” he roared.

Trujillo moved everyone out of the way as Javi ran up to the sight. His legs collapsed from under him when he saw her tied, blindfolded, and bleeding in the back of the car. She wasn’t moving, and if she was breathing, it was so faint, he couldn’t see it. He rested his head on the bumper and let out a small whimper. Steve calmly walked up behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at his partner before standing. Javi placed his hands under her shoulders and legs, lifting her out of the trunk, and into his lap as he sat on the curb, holding her against him. Finally, he was able to breath again.

Translations

El está loco. Primero esa bomba, ¿y ahora la novia de un agente de la DEA? - He’s crazy. First the bomb, and now a DEA agent’s girl?

Era amigo de Carrillo.  Ese hijo de puta vendrá por ella y traerá el infierno con él.  - He was friends with Carrillo. That motherfucker is going to come for her and bring hell with him.

No mierda  Acabamos de firmar nuestras propias órdenes de muerte, Blackie. - No shit. We just signed our own death warrants, Blackie.

No tengo ninguna información para ti, pero necesito tu ayuda. - I don’t have information, but I need your help.

¿Que vas a hacer por mi? - What are you going to do for me?

Te pagaré. - I’ll pay you.

Trato. - Deal.

Escuché que Blackie y La Quica se la llevaron. Ella está en algún lugar de Bogotá. - I heard that Blackie and La Quica took her. She is somewhere in Bogota.

¿Dónde? - Where?

Estoy...investigando. - I am investigating.

En el segundo en que encuentres algo, llámame. Quiero estar ahí. - The second you find something, call me. I want to be there.

¿Gabriela está aquí? - Is Gabriela here?

Sí, Javi. Ella esta arriba. - Yes, Javi. She’s upstairs.

Gracias. - Thank you.

¡Vete, cabrone! - Get out asshole!

Lo siento, Javi. Lo siento mucho. Ellos iban a matarme. - I’m sorry, Javi. I’m so sorry. They were going to kill me.

Ella tiene una herida en la cabeza desagradable. - She has a terrible head injury.

Limpiarla. Pablo quiere que enviemos un video a la embajada. - Clean her up. Pablo wants us to send a video to the embassy.

Nosotros estamos jugando con fuego. - We are playing with fire.

Estas bien, señorita. - Everything’s fine, ma’am.

Tal vez podríamos divertirnos un poco con este después del video. - Perhaps we could have a little fun with this one after the video.

Sí. Quiero ver qué te hace tan especial para la DEA. - Yes. I want to see what makes you so special to the DEA.

Estoy embarazada. - I’m pregnant.

Escobar tiene un mensaje para los responsables de mantener a su familia en peligro: Mientras mi familia esté en peligro, la tuya también. Mantener a mi familia seguro, o te enviaré su cabeza en una caja. - Escobar has a message for those responsible for keeping his family in danger: While my family is in danger, so is yours. Keep my family safe, or I will send you her head in a box.

Patrón, Los Pepes se están expandiendo. Los Galones están trabajando con ellos ahora. No podemos enfrentarnos a un enemigo tan grande. Sí, sí. Ella está viva. ¿Dónde? Medellín. Sí, Patrón. Gracias. Hasta luego. - Los Pepes are expanding. The Gallons are working with them now. We cannot take on an enemy this large. Yes, yes she is alive. Where? Medellín. Yes, boss. Thanks. See you later.

Ustedes no me pueden hacer una mierda. De Greiff nos ofreció amnistía. - You guys can't do shit to me. De Greiff offered us amnesty.

Cierto. Pero tienes que hablar para conseguirlo. - That's right. But you have to talk to get it.

¿Quieres negociar, gringo? Te voy a dar algo. Algo pequeño. - You want to negotiate, gringo? I’ll give you something. Something small.

Encontraron residuos explosivos en tus manos. En tu chaqueta, en todas partes. Te culparán por esa bomba. - They found explosive residue on your hands. On your jacket, everywhere. They're going to blame you for that bomb.

No tuve nada que ver con eso. - I had nothing to do with that.

Lo sabemos. Sabemos que no fue idea tuya. Sabemos que no eres el jefe. No dejes que te culpen por esto. No dejes que te vean como el que mató a todos esos niños inocentes. - We know that. We know it wasn't your idea. We know you're not the boss. Don't let them blame you for this. Don't let them see you as the one who killed all those innocent children.

Ayúdanos y te ayudaremos. Danos a Pablo. - Help us help you. Give us Pablo.

No puedo darte Pablo. - I can’t give you Pablo.

¡El siguiente es para tu cabeza! ¿Dónde la están reteniendo? ¡Habla, cabrone! - The next one is for your head. Where are they keeping her? Talk, Cabrone!

“¡Yo hablaré! ¡Yo hablaré! La Quica la tiene en una casa segura en Medellín. Sabían que estabas escuchando sus conversaciones, así que la trasladaron anoche. - I'll talk. I'll talk. La Quica has her in a safe house in Medellín. They knew you were listening to their conversations, so they moved her last night.

¿Dónde in Medellín? - Where in Medellín?

Pablo está declarando la guerra a Judy Moncada. Quiere que La Quica junte tanto dinero como pueda. Probablemente esté en movimiento con él. - Pablo is declaring war on Judy Moncada. He wants La Quica to gather as much money as he can. She's probably on the move with him.

Eso es todo lo que sé. Lo prometo. - That’s all I know. I swear!

¿La llevaste? - Did you take her?

No tuve elección. - I had no choice.

Aló. Meirda. ¿Quién es la mierda? - Hello? Shit. Who the fuck is this?

Hola, Quica ¿Cómo te va, amigo? - Hello, Quica. How’s it going, friend?

Hijo de puta. ¿Quien es este? - Motherfucker. Who is this?

Cálmate, Quica. No te pongas nervioso. ¿Que pasa, Quica? - Calm down, Quica. You don’t need to be nervous. What’s up, Quica?

¿Quién la mierda crees que eres, perra? - Who the fuck do you think you are, bitch?

¿Que pasa, Quica? ¿Qué hora es, Quica? ¿Qué estás haciendo, Quica? - What’s up, Quica? What time is it, Quica? What are you doing, Quica?

Bastardo. - Bastard

Tag List

@magneticbucky​ @larakasser​ @pedropascalownsmyheart​ @wander-lustbabe​ @frietiemeloen​

[impala-dreams-and-bunker-scenes]

Unexpected

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Dean x Reader (Lisa & Ben, John, mentioned)

Word Count: 1107

Warnings: Swearing (right out the gate), pregnancy, mention of unprotected sex (obviously, but seriously, wrap it up) alcohol consumption, angst (I think that’s it.)

Summary: Reader finds out she’s pregnant and is unsure how Dean will react. 

A/N: EEEKK! This is the first time I’ve ever posted something of my own on here. It’s a short one but it is something I’ve been working on for a while. I’ve been super nervous to post it. Beta’d by my lovely sister who was the one to introduce me to SPN. All mistakes are my own. I really hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please let me know what you think and if you have any tips for me I’d be appreciative of any advice. 

(I do not own any rights to characters mentioned in this fic. Photo credit to original owners.)

Fuck. You looked down at the pregnancy test on the counter of the motel room sink. The stick showed two pink lines. You were definitely pregnant. You knew better than to ignore the signs. You had started feeling more tired and were starting to get sick in the mornings. And you were late. It had been about almost three weeks since you and Dean had slept together. The only thing you could remember about that night is that you’d both been drinking a lot. It was just after a rough witch hunt and you had drunk the night off at a local bar. 

You worried your lip between your teeth as you wondered how Dean was going to react? It’s not like you two were actually together. You were just two friends blowing off some steam when no one caught your eye at the bar or at least that’s what you tried to tell yourself. In truth, you’d stopped sleeping with anyone else since you and Dean started sleeping together on occasion. Somehow it just didn’t feel right after that first time with Dean. He’d completely ruined you for any other man. 

Remembering seeing a coffee shop on the way into town you decided you needed to get some air and clear your head. And think about how you were going to tell Dean. Before you left, you scrawled out a note on the motel notepad. Gone to get coffee. Be back soon. Y/N

You’d been walking around town for about an hour and decided to stop by a local bakery and grab a slice of pie. The closer you got back to the motel the more you felt the urge to run. Dean wouldn’t want the baby and he certainly wouldn’t want you now, you told yourself. It would just be best for everyone if you turned tail and ran. 

Your hand met the cool metal of the doorknob and you took a deep breath. “No turning back now,” you muttered to yourself. Walking back into the motel room you find Dean sitting on the edge of the bed watching T.V. 

“Where have you been?” Dean asked gruffly, without even turning to look at you. 

“I went to go get coffee and breakfast.” You said tentatively, wary of Dean’s tone. You held up the paper bag from the bakery. 

Dean cast you a sideways glance. “Mmmhmm.”

“Dean, is everything okay?”

“I don’t know Y/N, you tell me.” 

You set the coffee down on the table still clutching the bag in your hand.

“When were you gonna tell me?’ When you didn’t respond, he thrust his hand out holding the pregnancy test you’d taken earlier that morning.

Your stomach instantly rolled and you dashed into the bathroom. After throwing up and rinsing your mouth out, you splashed cold water on your face. Okay, so this wasn’t exactly how you wanted him to find out but now he knows, all you have to do is go out there and talk. You tried to return your breathing to normal but found it difficult. It felt like a two-ton weight had settled on your chest. 

Coming out of the bathroom you couldn’t bring your eyes to meet Dean’s. “How- wh-where’d you find that?” you stuttered out.

“In the garbage can, where you hid it. Dropped my razor,” he said gruffly. “Are you?” He asked the question but his tone told you he didn’t doubt that you were pregnant. 

You nodded your head yes. You could’ve lied to him but it really wouldn’t have done you any good.

“Whose is it? Is it...mine?” He sucked in a breath while waiting for your answer. Bracing himself for something he might not want to hear. 

“Of course Dean. You know I haven’t been with anyone since you and I started, you know.”

He didn’t say anything. He just stared at you. 

“Right. I need a drink.” 

“Dean.” You didn’t know what else to say as you raked a hand through your hair as Dean stood and started pacing the room. 

You watched him grab the already almost empty bottle of alcohol off of the dresser, throw the cap down and take a long drink before he turned back around to face you. 

“Y/N, I swore I would never bring a child into this life. Not after what happened to Lisa and Ben. You knew that!” his voice raising to yell. 

You winced at hearing their names, knowing he still wasn’t completely over them. “It took two of us to make this happen! It’s not like I could control it. You’re the one that’s supposed to use fucking protection!” 

“Yeah well, you’re the one who’s supposed to know when the timing is safe.” He shot back.

“Are you fucking serious?” You blew out a deep breath and ran a hand through your hair. “Ok, so both of us are to blame here. We were both plastered beyond belief. But like it or not it happened.” 

He just stared at you. “When did this even happen?” 

“That night after the witch hunt in Montana. The Blue Room Bar, I believe it was.”

He tilted his head as he recalled that night. He groaned and took a long swig. 

 “Dean if you don’t want me... us around, I’ll leave. You’ll never hear from me again. I’ll walk away and you can forget about us.” “I won’t be like my father was Y/N.”

“That’s a coward's excuse, Dean. You’d be a better father than John was and you know that. But I won’t force you to try.” You choked out, trying not to let loose that dam that was threatening to break. 

“ I refuse. I can’t have that kind of leverage for someone to use against me like that again. I just can’t.”  

His answer was simple enough. He didn’t want you or the baby around. You tried to ignore the pain that was his truth and rejection of you and your unborn child. You felt as though your chest was caving in and it was becoming harder to breathe again.

“Okay.” your voice barely above a whisper. You turned and picked up your bag off the bed, not bothering to grab your things out of the bathroom, not even caring what you left behind. “Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean expected more of a fight, expected you to yell more, and tell him how stupid he was being. But when you didn’t fight him, his will shattered. You’d never know it but the soft click of the door shutting as you walked out of his life, shattered Dean’s heart into a million pieces.

[mego42]

fake fic titles: 1. the company of wolves 2. there will come soft rains 3. all summer in a day 4. the robber bride (skip any that spark nothing, i just used titles from other stories that i liked and couldn't pick between 'em!!)

WHOOPS this one got long so putting it under the cut (maybe???) for the sake of your dashes

send me a fake title and i’ll tell you the fic i’d write for it and def not steal it for a title for real

the company of wolves - post s3 Rio POV 5+1 type deal. Five times Rio brought Beth into a den of wolves if you will and one time Beth came to him. It starts off with Rio bringing Beth to sketchy business meetings because he figures the best way to get her to stop making trouble is to show her how in over her head she is and he’s not all that concerned about the danger because she won’t stop trying to kill him so fuck her anyway (bc this is your title, I will commit to the Rio knows about the hitman theory).

But, because the universe exists to thwart him where Beth is concerned, she keeps proving herself in the situations and it transitions over the course of the five times to Beth becoming his secret weapon in the meetings and them softening towards each other (just a bit) as they go. Obvs, the more bad ass Beth is and the more responsibility Rio gives her and the more she wins, they start sparking again and the sixth time is Beth leveraging [something] to get herself back into a full partner position and then seducing him (on top of a desk).

there will come soft rains - okay so, indulge me in a brief detour here, there is this scene in btvs where spike comes over to buffy’s house all gung ho to kill her once and for all (this is pre-them being a thing though spike’s developing feelings at this point and mad as hell about it) and finds her out on the back porch utterly emotionally wrecked because she just found out her mom is dying and not only can he not bring himself to do it, but he ends up sitting next to her and awkwardly trying to comfort her by not saying anything, just tentatively patting her on the back and it’s this really soft, angsty, heavy scene that’s also got this undercurrent of stillness and peace to it that i’ve always really, really loved.

THE POINT IS, I would absolutely love to capture the vibe of that scene in a post s3 one shot where things are bad as ever between beth and rio (assume the hitman stuff has come to a head? beth has fucked him over? idk, scenario tbd but something blew up with the spa business too and there’s no longer an on paper reason for them to continue their arrangement and an entire novels worth of reasons why they shouldn’t BUT they’ve been working together long enough at this point that their jagged pieces aren’t so jagged anymore and there’s an extra undercurrent of exhausted betrayal to it that after all this time, this is still happening).

Rio comes over to put an end to it once and for all only to find beth out on the back patio absolutely wrecked because she and dean are splitting for good (he found out about the spa thing and rio and finally up and left for real) and he’s taken the kids again and is going to sue for custody and she is just so openly broken and miserable in a way he’s never seen before and it stops him up short. they end up sitting together and in this extremely rare, totally unexpected quiet moment find themselves able to be just the tiniest bit vulnerable with each other and admit that they’re both So Extremely Tired Of This and want to find a way to make it work. the one shot ends without anything actually resolved but maybe, just maybe, they could be in the future.

all summer in a day - pure domestic fluff, beth and rio try to take their kids to a water park or something (rio obvs lost a bet or beth is bribing him with one hell of a sexual favor because water parks are hell on earth). it’s a total disaster but the kids love it and at the end of the say, on the way back home with all of the kids sunburnt, damp, and passed tf out in the van (that reeks of chlorine now), they have a quiet moment together where they appreciate each other and their family unit and then rio starts listing the extremely numerous ways beth’s going to make this up to him because did he not explicitly say water parks are hell on earth.

the robber bride - tbh i can’t mentally escape the source material for this one and would loooove to do a three part multi-pov conversational character study type deal where beth, ruby and annie have encounters with amber, krystal and nancy respectively that they all walk away from with a new understanding and appreciation for each other.

[theprodigypenguin]

👀

So this is a section of the first chapter of an attempted Jeddy focus fic that I had no title for but the placeholder title was basically “That One Where Everyone Comes Back To Life” and, yup, you guessed it, it was supposed to be about people from the first and second wars being brought back, and I was hella into it, but I couldn’t seem to write more than a tiny bit. SO here’s the beginning of it, for your enjoyment:

The last thing Tonks remembered before blacking out was the adrenaline that had her drunk as she shot hexes and curses from her wand, running from one room to the next, where she’d last seen Remus with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Filius Flitwick. With the bit of light that shone through the windows from the waxing quarter of the moon, as well as the eerie glowing colors from the spells that were shooting above their heads, she had a clear enough view of her husband when he fell to the ground, stone still and pale.

She remembered the sound of her own scream, the anger and devastation as she ran towards him. Then she remembered the wave of black clothes and unruly black hair from the corner of her eyes, taking them away from Remus long enough to recognize her aunt before her form was blinded by a flash of green light. Then nothing. Darkness, cold, the scent of rain, and her eyes were blinking open to watch the sky and the moon.

It had to be a habit now, obsessively staring up at it until she’d managed to deduce it was a few days passed the full moon. Her brow drew together in confusion. The moon had only been a quarter full last time she saw it, and now it was slowly waning past the full moon. How long had she been unconscious?

Her head and body ached as she rolled her head to the side, groaning and shifting around, using her shoulder to get leverage enough to lift herself up, staring down and noting the dew heavy grass and the crushed flowers she’d been lying on. It took her a moment longer to actually look up, a short gasp on her lips when she found Remus just beside her and lurching towards him to grab handfuls of his shirt at his shoulders.

“Remus!” She gasped, noting the healthy color to his cheeks and the way he reacted to her voice, grunting like he normally did in the mornings when she tried to wake him up.

“Minute,” he mumbled roughly. “Five more. Too tired.”

“Remus, get up!” Tonks sighed in exasperation, and Remus groaned.

“I’ll get Teddy next time, it’s your turn to feed him.”

“Well what if he’s not hungry and he just wants his dad?” Tonks argued, quickly remembering the situation and shaking her head. “No, Remus, this isn’t about that, we’re outside! Don’t you remember what happened, where we were? We’re in a war, we have to get up!”

Remus’ eyes snapped open in surprise, stark realization and panic, jerking to a sitting position and throwing an arm out in front of Tonks, holding his right hand up to brandish a wand that wasn’t there. He stared blankly at his empty hand before unfurling his fingers, looking around slowly.

“What is this? Where are we? This isn’t Hogwarts.”

“You remember that too?” Tonks asked, sitting with her legs sprawled and her hands on the ground behind her to keep her propped up, gaping at Remus. “We were inside, I know it. One of the open corridors between the towers, right?”

“Yes.” Remus lifted a hand to his head, shutting his eyes tightly. “Merlin my head.”

“Mine as well, it feels like I’ve run a mile or held my breath under water too long.” Tonks blew out a heavy breath, shaking her head. “I don’t understand. The last thing I remember is Bellatrix shooting a curse at me. I could have sworn it was a killing curse, but did she actually just teleport us?”

Remus shook his head, eyes still shut. “I assumed the same thing happened. I saw the green light, it was unmistakable.”

“A new teleportation spell then, it has to be.” Tonks chewed on her bottom lip. “What do you think happened? We have to get back as soon as possible.”

“Yes,” Remus agreed, and they both rose to their feet, swaying from the same wave of dizziness and clinging to each other.

Tonks was the one to notice first, looking back and forth and blinking with an expression of uneasiness. “Remus… we’re in a cemetery.”

“That’s not unsettling at all,” Remus hummed, eyeing the moon suspiciously before looking at the headstones. “Do you recognize it?”

“Not really.”

“That tree is familiar.”

“It’s a tree Remus, they all look the same.”

Remus rolled his eyes as Tonks giggled a little at her own joke. They were holding each other’s arms, facing each other as they looked around the area slowly, deciding they were entirely alone. Just ahead of them they could see the silhouette of a cast iron fence that surrounded the cemetery, and beyond that was a road with lamp posts shining dull yellow light onto the sidewalk.

It certainly gave Remus an eerie feeling of deja vu, as if he’d been there before, but what broke that concern was how they’d gotten there, and how long they’d been unconscious. Were there any others from the battle there? Teleported from Hogwarts, likely through dark magic in order to keep them from interfering. Merlin, Remus hoped everyone was alright. Harry, the others in the Order, all those kids getting drawn into a war.

He hoped Teddy and Andromeda were alright.

Remus swallowed around the lump in his throat, trying not to remember the moments before he’d left the safe house with Kingsley, insisting Tonks stay put with Teddy, who was wiggling in her arms with brilliant gold eyes and a tuft of blue and brown hair. Those eyes had fluttered to Remus before little lips pulled up and Teddy made a noise like a laugh, waving tiny fists in delight.

Innocent, precious, the only thing that mattered.

When he left that house it felt like half of his heart had been torn from his chest, and seeing Tonks running towards him at Hogwarts before the battle just brought him more pain. He was grateful she was there, because he was terrified while he’d never admit it, and didn’t want to be alone. At the same time he was horrified she was there. If he lost her, he wouldn’t know what to do. If she’d died, or he’d died, if they’d both died; but they were alive.

The night air smelt of fresh rain, but there was something potent on the wind that itched his nose. Something unnatural, like a badly made potion.

He turned his head to follow the gust of wind that blew at him, eyes dropping to the ground at his feet and staring at the flowers set up there. Little clay vases filled with fresh and dead bouquets, ribbons weathered by the sun and undone, petals scattered over the earth in front of a low head stone. Using the light from the moon, Remus read over the names etched in the pale stone, and he felt his throat close up.

Tonks was speaking, muttering theories of how they’d been teleported or moved there from Hogwarts, saying it was likely not much time had passed at all, they may even still be in Scotland, they had to get back to the school as soon as possible so they could ensure everything was alright before getting home.

“We’ve been gone too long as it is, probably days, poor Teddy is probably missing us.”

“Tonks…”

“We’ll make it up to him, we’ve plenty of time too. I’m not even worried, I know things went well, I can just feel it. It was Harry, I know it, brilliant boy.”

“Look, Tonks…”

“I hope that woman is at least in Azkaban, if she comes near my son-”

“Dora.” Remus lifted his hands to her shoulders, squeezing them, and she gaped up at him.

“What? What is it? Did you remember something?”

“Dora look,” Remus’ voice trembled as he looked back down at the headstone. “I… I’m afraid those green flashes were precisely what we thought.”

Tonks just stared at the gravestone, slowly lowering down to her knees to see closer and reaching out to feel over the cool stone, shaking her head.

“That doesn't… make sense.”

There were names, two of them, printed simply in the stone and almost painfully obvious.

Remus John Lupin

March 10, 1960 - May 2, 1998

Son, Husband, Father, Friend

OoM

~*~

Nymphadora Tonks Lupin

July 15, 1973 - May 2, 1998

Daughter, Wife, Mother, Friend

Auror

Tonks slid her fingertips along the death date, opening her mouth and looking up at Remus with wide eyes. Her hair was growing pale, white in shock, which hadn’t happened in a long time. She tended to try and control her emotions enough to keep her hair a single color, even if that color was fluorescent pink, but the shock of the situation they were in was too much.

She whispered the question. “We're… dead?”

Remus had no answer, because he didn’t feel dead. The headstone couldn’t have been faked though, this wasn’t a prank. He thought hard, and yes, he remembered the flash of green light. More than that, he remembered hearing Antonin Dolohov’s snarling voice as he spat the curse.

The killing curse.

“We’re not dead,” Remus decided, looking at his hands, the ring still on his left, the scars and gnarled knuckles. He was definitely not dead.

“Then what’s this here for? This is the date of the battle, Remus.” Tonks moved her hand to trace the letters OoM under Remus’ name, head tilting from the sensation of curiosity that peaked between the anxiety and uncertainty.

“Because,” Remus hesitated, dropping his hands and shaking his head, “because I think we were dead.”

Tonks stood up slowly, both of them staring down at the grave with shared looks of confused panic.

“People don’t come back from the dead, Remus.”

“I know.”

“So what’s going on?”

Remus just reached over to take his wife’s hand, squeezing her fingers. “We’re going to find out.”

[annelesbonny]

I was tagged by @official-mermaid for a thing that I forgot the name of lol

Name: MB, annelesbonny on ao3

Fandoms: The Magicians, potentially working on something for The Untamed because I am obsessing a little rn lol

Where you post: ao3, post links to there on here

Most popular one-shot: ah that would be sorry about the blood in your mouth, one of the first fics I posted on ao3, right after the winter soldier came out and I was losing my mind over stevebucky. I feel like my writing has gotten so much better since then but that one still gets hits and comments and shit even now.

Most popular multi-chapter story: my post season 4 ep 10 magicians fic you had your soul with you definitely. The comments on this one fucking blew me away. And they keep coming??

Favorite story you wrote: I think that has to be I’ll be coming for you anyway, which I wrote in a furious, depression-fueled haze after the finale that shall not be named. I think what I love the most about it is how I could weave together these three threads coming from three characters (Eliot, Julia, and Alice) that deserved so much better than what they got in canon. Also, the catharsis, man. That sweet, sweet catharsis.

How you choose your titles: bruh, it’s song lyrics and poetry almost exclusively. Sometimes I have a lyric or line in mind before I even start writing the story. Coming up with titles is like weirdly one of my favorite things to do

Do you outline: actually yeah. I only really started doing it when I realized I was going to be writing some multi-chapter shit that required me to know what the fuck was going on. I really, really like consistency and foreshadowing and little callbacks and references so outlining is very much my friend.

Complete: 12 on ao3

Coming soon/not yet started: oh gosh. There’s a prompt from approx 7 years ago that I’m working on, an almost sort of kind of one shot following I’ll be coming for you anyways, my ridiculous Leverage au, my MHHE fic, and I have one idea sort of the back burner right now for some kind of weird mythology/dream world/mirror realm nonsense that will likely turn into another multi-chapter ordeal at some point

Do you accept prompts: yes as long as you accept the fact that the wait time can be, uh, kinda long sometimes

Upcoming story you are most excited about: leverage au probably and MHHE

[scriveyner]

Unfinished and Incomplete, Week 1: VLD AU

Good evening, and welcome to “Unfinished and Incomplete Fic Saturday!” Every Saturday for the foreseeable future I’ll post an unfinished, incomplete, and likely never to be done fic so that it stops languishing on my hard drive and haunting me forever.

Tonight’s entree: nearly 2000 words of a Voltron AU that was spun off from Shining Like the Stars that I started, fiddled around with and never actually completed or posted anything for. This series and AU originated in mid-2017, and the background needed is that: Shiro’s a clone, we all know he’s a clone, but what if there are other clones of Shiro roaming about?

[There is a tie-in in slts, where a cage is opened while everyone’s fucking around in that extra-long battle about 2/3rds of the way through - and that cage held a Shiro clone. This one, in fact.]

Anyway this Shiro clone was kept in the gladiator ring after eventual paladin!Shiro escaped, no one knows they’re clones yet, and he escaped on his own and is trying to find the Holts before attempting to get back to Earth. He stumbles across a cargo pilot who decides to help him, and they cavort across the galaxy nearly running into but never quite being in the same place as Voltron until the Paladins faces start showing up on wanted posters.

An important note: this AU was conceived of, and written, before Shiro was officially confirmed as mlm. Given the nature of this fandom, if you don’t want to see Shiro interacting with a female character in a friendly and flirtatious manner, this probably isn’t the fic snippit for you.

Background now established, have some scenes from this unfinished, untitled Voltron AU:

"Nothing ever happens on Listea," Kit repeated dutifully, crouched behind the shallow cover that the metal fence gave her. There was the distinct stink of ozone in the air, the aftereffect of blaster discharge, and she had pulled the bandanna around her neck up over her nose to help counteract it. "It'll just be a quick stop, Kit, nothing to get all excited about." Kit rose up and set her blaster in the grooves of the fence, firing at a cluster of Galra soldiers who were chasing several of the inhabitants native to the planet in their direction.

"I didn't say it like that," Shiro said, sitting with his back to the same fence and slapping a chargepack into the soldier-issue rifle he had grabbed off a Galra sentry during their hasty exit from the dive bar. "You don't have to exaggerate."

She had squeezed off a handful of shots before Shiro finally got the rifle together and rose up on one knee. Like Kit he rested the barrel on the fence-line, unlike Kit he actually aimed through the scope. "What's the count?"

"Seven-four," Kit said. "Any more charge packs?"

"Seven-five," Shiro said, as another of the Galra sentries crumpled, a smoking hole where its head used to be. "And how do I know you aren't fixing those numbers? I've seen you play cards."

Kit's response was lost to the roar of wind as one of the Galra starfighters blew by overhead, flying far too low to the ground. Its passage blasted snow flurries into the air, and before they could recover a second ship followed it with enough speed that the sonic boom nearly flattened them.

She spat snow and pushed herself to her feet. "Great plan," Kit said dryly. "Let's just waltz into Galra-occupied space when your face is plastered on every wanted poster from here to the Outer Quadrants."

"I'm pretty sure that this isn't about me," Shiro said. He had reached out a hand as if he was intending to help her up but had paused, realizing that the hand extended was his right hand. Instead, he pointed up, toward the second craft. "I'm pretty sure it's about them."

The craft that had been pursuing the Galra fighter certainly didn't look like any of the fighter craft she had ever seen before. It was large and red and feline-shaped; it had the wing of the Galra ship in its jaws like a toy. All that remained of the doomed starfighter was a curlicue of black smoke on the distant horizon; the lion circled and dropped the wing, tail lashing as it turned to face the next flight of sentry craft.

"What the heck is that," Kit said, and then dropped back below the fenceline as a spray of blaster fire reminded her that they were in the middle of a live firefight. The ground around them shook again as the lion-shaped craft shot through the air and was gone, a pinprick in the sky just that quickly. "That is the weirdest cat-looking—"

"Voltron," one of the aliens who had taken cover behind the metal fence said reverently, staring at the sky. "That's Voltron, they've come to save us!" Kit glanced over to it, and then back to the once-cloudless blue sky; now streaked with trails of exhaust and thick black plumes of smoke where the sentry fighters had detonated in atmosphere.

"See?" Shiro said, and when Kit looked back to him he was staring back through the scope of his rifle. "Told you they weren't here for me." The passage of another Galra ship flying too low blew more snow into the air, whipping their loose hair about in the wind, but he didn't move from position, firing several precise shots through the flurries and disabling the remainder of the Galra sentries before they could shoot any further civilians. "Seven-nine, by the way."

"Bullshit," Kit said, but she had watched the descent of the Galra craft. That hadn't been a starfighter that went down, it was too big. "Hey, I think a shuttle went down." She braced her blaster on the fence and used it as leverage as she stood up, her other hand grabbing at her belt, looking for her macrobinoculars and coming up empty.

"Not a starfight?" Shiro looked over at her and blew some of his escaping bangs out of his eyes. "You're sure?"

"Positive it's not a starfighter, at least," she said. Shiro glanced back at the milling natives, clearly torn — and Kit rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm. "Come on," she said. "Voltron will save them, right? The whole reason you wanted to come to this stupid backwater planet was to try to snag intel from a barely-guarded Galra outpost. Let's go get, you know, recent intel from a downed freaking Galra shuttle."

Shiro nodded. "Yeah, you're right," he said, and got to his feet smoothly.

"Ha, I'm gonna want that in writing," Kit said as they ran from their cover.

The downed shuttle had hit the ground at a hard angle, somehow missing most of the village's outlying buildings and leaving a large scar across the landscape. Natives had fled from the area, although no Galra had straggled their way outside the ship. Thick black smoke poured from the rear of the craft. "Think it's gonna blow?" Kit asked Shiro as they stared at it from a safe distance, back against one of the low-cut buildings.

"We don't have much time," Shiro said, holding his rifle over his chest as he ran out from beside the building. Kit rolled her eyes and followed, keeping a weather eye on their six as Shiro put his right hand on the hull of the shuttle. The surface would still be white-hot, having come through an atmosphere burn, but the sensor plate read the biometrics in Shiro's prosthetic hand and were at least functional enough to acknowledge him and cut the shuttle door open.

***

Shiro sat in the small, cramped bridge of the ship, his right arm braced on his leg. He'd removed the plate from the inside of his wrist and connected the wires to the ship's main computer, studying the output on an old screen. “You're gonna wreck your eyes squinting at that from like, two inches away,” Kit said as she climbed up the ladder from the hold. “Can you read Galra? Is that a stupid question?”

“I can read Galra,” Shiro said without turning from the screen.

“Is that another of the funky brain things they did to you? Because, I still can't read Galra for shit. I know like fifteen languages and the language of our supreme overlords is not one of them.” Shiro still didn't move or respond, and she flopped into the pilot's seat in the forward part of the cockpit. The ship had its navigation locked in currently, there was no need to steer or otherwise interfere with it until they popped out of faster-than-light travel. “You're chatty.”

“Hm.” Shiro wasn't actually paying any attention to her. Kit shrugged and hiked one leg up, dropping her boot on the console and managing to avoid hitting every important switch and toggle with the motion. They were headed for some of the inner planets, a much riskier proposition than their jaunt around some of the quiet parts of the Outer Regions. Galra rule was sparser there – present, but not with sentries at every spaceport scrutinizing every passenger. Things were bound to get more interesting.

“There's nothing in here about me,” Shiro said, sounding a touch disappointed. “Or the Holts.” He sat back from the screen and rubbed his left hand over his face, brushing his hair back as he did so. “Listea was a bust after all.”

“Eh, not entirely,” Kit said, leaning back enough in her seat so that she was looking at Shiro somewhat upside-down. “I got to see what Voltron looked like. A giant fuckin' cat. Who decided that was a fearsome weapon, anyway?”

Shiro made an amused noise as he disconnected his arm from the computer. “I'm glad you're satisfied with our stopover, then. Are we still on course for the inner planets?”

“Two days out at speed.” Kit hit the console with the heel of her boot, targeting the toggle that threw a map up over the forward cockpit display. “Headed for another ice planet. Why can't you take me anywhere subtropical, Shiro?”

“Last I checked I wasn't the pilot of this ship,” Shiro leaned over Kit's seat and looked at the map, and she wrinkled her nose.

“Oh god, you smell like an old sock.” She sat up as Shiro straightened, and grabbed he the front of his shirt to sniff it. “You didn't even get doused in that gross purple goo, I probably stink worse than you, why didn't you say something?”

Shiro furrowed his brow. “I didn't notice,” he said. “Do I smell like a sock? I can't tell.”

“I'm taking a shower,” Kit said. “Watch the sensors and make sure those spot repairs I did on the line don't send us through a star or a planet's gravitational mass or something, okay? I don't want to die in the shower.”

“Wait, that's what you were repairing?” Shiro looked alarmed as Kit hopped up and headed for the rear of the small ship.

"The coolant line, not the navcomputer, Shiro," Kit said. "If the coolant blows we skip out of lightspeed, and if we're in the gravitational shadow of a planet, well." She made a noise that sounded like a garbage disposal coughing up potato peelings.

"Are you sure we're safe at lightspeed?"

"Just for that, I'm using all the hot water," Kit called, and Shiro blinked, turning all the way around as Kit climbed the later to the cramped quarters.

***

"You know, you can just drop me on Yahsa," Shiro said when Kit emerged from the head. "You don't have to keep ferrying me around the universe." He was seated at the table that took up 90% of the galley, both hands wrapped around a cup that was steaming and staring thoughtfully at a screen.

"That's very sweet of you," Kit said, and yawned. "But then I'd feel guilty when you trusted the wrong person and got your ass handed right back to those Galra scientists." There wasn't a whole lot of room to squeeze past Shiro on that side of the table so she didn't even bother, going the long way around to where the sink was. "Did you make coffee? Do you even realize how little of that I have left?"

Shiro made a noncommittal noise and she sighed, pulling a cup from the secured cabinet and pouring herself some, since he'd gone ahead and made it. "So what's on Yahsa?" Kit asked, turning around and leaning against the counter instead of sitting at the table. "More outposts?"

"A research facility," Shiro said, and took a sip from his cup. "It's actually on the ground, too, not on a ship in orbit."

"Shit, that's gonna mean hella security." She watched Shiro scroll through data on the display. He wasn't really listening to her, he tended to tune out everything when he got focused on the research data in front of him. A man on a mission, even if she wasn't entirely sure what that mission was. "You got a plan yet?"

"Outside of just giving myself up? No."

"What!?" Kit almost sprayed coffee. "Shiro, do not just go hand yourself over to the Galra, what the hell—"

"It's not exactly an ideal plan." Shiro looked up finally. He looked more tired than Kit realized, his damp hair forming a bit of a curtain when loose like that. "But with the security measures they have in place, any sort of infiltrating is likely going to result in capture anyway."

[smallerinfinities]

Honeymoon

a/n: In which Shawn and Reader are on their honeymoon. 

I wrote this in celebration of 500 followers! I can’t believe it! I LOVE YOU GUYS! The inspiration for this fic came from this post reblogged by the lovely @brittanyzelazno ❤️

|| MASTERLIST ||

warnings: 1.5k of soft, slow, intense, vanilla smut 

The warm ocean air blew into the bedroom from the balcony. It kissed your naked skin, still drying fresh from the shower. You were laying on the enormous, king-size bed with your hair wrapped in a towel reading a beaten copy of Jane Eyre, totally consumed in the sweeping gothic romance. You must have read the novel fifty times, but it never ceased to take your breath away. Jane had just abandoned Rochester when you felt the bed dip behind you.

You smiled coyly at your book, not giving any hint that you felt his gaze. He laid his large hand on your back and drew soft circles with his calloused fingertips. Your skin broke out immediately in goosebumps as you shivered beneath him. He leaned down, bringing his lips to your skin, kissing you between your shoulder blades.

You rolled your eyes and tossed the book aside, giving up all pretense of trying to focus on the words rather than his mouth. He smiled against your skin, continuing to draw designs on your back. The nerves crackled with energy, hoping, praying they would be next.

“Shawn,” you breathed, “what are you doing?” You turned your head to find his eyes and found them hungry, ready to devour you. He was already undressed, having left his wetsuit on the balcony to dry.

“I’m admiring my fucking beautiful wife,” he said, matter-of-factly, returning to his exploration of your skin. He had just come in from enjoying the early surf while you slept in. In the few days that you’d been in this paradise, his face and torso had tanned, making him look more Portuguese than ever. His thick, chocolate curls were rapidly drying into soft ringlets, some of them falling into his face. In the soft light of the morning, he looked like a Pre-Raphaelite painting. He was breathtaking.

This honeymoon often felt like a dream. There were no photographers, no screaming crowds, no team to tell you what to do or what to wear. It was just the two of you, like a normal couple. It gave you time to figure each other out as a married couple away from all of that exterior pressure. Four days ago, when you said “I do,” you couldn’t be sure how all of the fame and the tours and the recording schedule would affect your relationship, but here, at the end of the world it seemed, you had time to learn each other—the people you were together without all the noise.

You had discovered that you loved him even more fiercely than you thought possible. His soft snores that tickled your ear in the morning, pressed against his chest. His fidgeting when he didn’t have a guitar in his hand, errantly picking at the air in front of him when he had an idea. His rosy cheeks that bloomed every time you whispered his name. It was the quiet moments between you like this that assured you that as long as you had each other, none of the rest of it mattered.

“Baby, turn over for me,” he said, as he reached up to free your wet hair. It fell in damp waves around your shoulders and fanned out across the comforter when you followed his instructions. He raked his eyes down your naked figure and let out a soft curse.

“Shawn, touch me,” you pleaded, reaching out and tracing the swallow tattooed on his hand with your fingers. He placed a tentative hand on your lower abdomen and dragged a single finger upward toward the valley between your breasts.

“Like this?” he teased, bringing his finger up to his mouth and wetting the tip of it. He traced the outline of one nipple and then the other, leaving rings of moisture around both. Lowering his head, almost resting his chin on your chest, he softly blew cold air across your breasts. Your back arched up and off the bed as you felt your nipples harden into sensitive diamonds, begging for contact, causing you to moan low and deep.

His mouth was on you in an instant, draping himself over you and straddling your thigh. Sucking your hardened peak between his lips, he swirled his tongue and lapped at your breast, kneading the other in his massive hand, before switching. Your fingers knitted themselves deep in his curls, holding him to your chest. You could feel his hips grind against your leg, his hard cock involuntarily in search of delicious friction. He was totally lost in your pleasure and all of the sensation was starting to overwhelm you.

“Shawn! Babe, stop!” you keened. He stopped immediately, pulling his face from your chest and seeking out your eyes in alarm, “Are you okay? Was I hurting you?”

“No, no, I’m fine, I just,” you blushed scarlet, “I need you inside me. I love your mouth on me, but I don’t want to come without feeling all of you.”

“You want to feel all of me, honey?” You nodded your head vigorously as he maneuvered the two of you, turning you to your side as he crawled behind you. His rigid cock rested against your back as he pulled you backward against his hard, defined chest. He ran his hand down your side, over your hip, and grabbed your thigh, opening your dripping heat to him and resting your leg atop his.

Surprising you, he reached around and dipped his fingers between your lower lips, collecting your wetness, causing you to cry out. He used his slick fingers to coat his cock with your essence, an action so erotic that your eyes rolled back into your head. You bit your lower lip to keep from letting out a choked sob.

“Are you ready for me?” he asked. You breathed your assent as he pumped himself a few times before finally moving toward your center. Lining himself up, he slowly pushed inside you, inch by inch, until he bottomed out with a deep exhale, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades.

“Fuck, Shawn,” you whispered, the phrase sounding more like a prayer than a curse. He stilled inside and you reached back to grab his hip, keeping him deep. You savored the sensation, feeling closer to him at this angle than you did face-to-face. He was pressing against that spot and you had to take labored breaths to keep from coming right then.

After what seemed like decades, he inched out of you in a measured pace before gradually returning, brushing against your most sensitive place every time as he kept a deliberate tempo. It had you seeing stars with every return. He held your hips in a bruising grip, giving him leverage for his controlled thrusts. Eventually, you began seeking more, jutting your hips back and hearing your skin softly slap against his. Both of you were sweating, his hair dripping with the evidence of his labor. He batted on to your shoulder and began to suck a mark there, claiming you as his—as his wife—forever. You reached back and ran your fingers through his wet curls, grabbing a handful of them as you pushed back with your hips, meeting him thrust for thrust.

The mounting intensity was beginning to make your legs shake. No longer possessing the strength to keep them open, Shawn threaded his hand around your inner thigh and made room for his movements. His thrusts were beginning to falter.

“Babe, fuck...are you...almost...there?” he asked unevenly. “Oh, God! It’s so intense,” you shouted in response, barely able to nod. He hooked your thigh onto his knee and held you open for him, allowing him to reach around and brush your clit with his rough fingertips. Just a couple of circles around your bundle of nerves had you screaming out.

“Shawn, I’m...oh, fuck…please….come with me,” you begged, needing him to hold your hand over the cliff—unable to fall alone.

The force of your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave. He continued to pump in and out of you slowly, still pulsing against your g-spot and feeling you contract around him, until he roared his own climax, spilling into you. He fucked you erratically through both your orgasms, your body taking in every bit of his come.

He held you in his arms, your body still trembling, as he gently slipped out of you. You whimpered from the loss as he placed a single, wet kiss on the mark he’d left on your shoulder. You hissed at the sensation, turning your body to face his. Grabbing him by the nape of the neck, you found the strength to pull his head to yours, sealing the perfect morning with a quick but blistering kiss. He rested his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath.

“Mr. Mendes,” you said, in a fake reporter voice, beaming up at him, “how does it feel to be married?”

“Well, Mrs. Mendes,” he replied, the humor evident in his voice, “it’s only been four days and I’m completely exhausted,” his face breaking open into the brightest, widest grin you’d ever seen, “but I wouldn’t give it up for the world.”

[carbynn]

RoyEd Gift Exchange 2017

@automailsucker I hope this is fluffy, hurt/comforty, and recovery/sickficy enough! Happy Holidays to you and yours :)

(Please forgive any editing errors, I did my best but I’ve been staring at this for days so I’m sure I missed some glaring ones)

In My Head

Rating: M

Tags: Post 03′/CoS-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Fic, Graphic Nightmares, Explicit Content, Ed-Typical Cursing, Fluff

Summary:

The bastard’s remaining eye finally cracked open a fraction and a low, pained hiss escaped his lips, mirroring Ed’s relieved exhale of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Fullmetal.” His voice was low and rough and Ed had to crouch down just to hear him. “Get out.”

Story under the cut!

The mission had been an absolute hell (lately, all of his missions had been hell,) and Ed wanted nothing more than to collapse into his narrow bunk in the military barracks and sleep for an eternity. He’d collected a couple of new cuts that were sure to evolve into more fucking scars, and more than a couple of bruises in some very uncomfortable spots and each halting step up to the check-in point at the entrance of Central Command pulled on every single one of them.

“Good evening, Sir. May I please see your identification?” The bushy-tailed private in the security booth was eyeing him a little warily and Ed was sure he deserved it. He’d ditched the uniform before he’d hopped on the train(he’d grudgingly started wearing it when it became clear to him that some of the behaviors he’d skated by with as a kid weren’t nearly so endearing as an adult,) and was dressed in a rather unimpressive collection of well-worn travel clothes, a few darkening bruises peeking out from under the collar of his shirt with purple smudges under his eyes to match. 

He rifled through the pocket of his overcoat and yanked out his watch, dangling it out for the private to inspect. “This good enough? Otherwise I’m gonna have to dig through this suitcase and we could be here awhile.”

The private’s eyes widened as he took in the glint of the watch and the glint of Ed’s metal hand. “Oh! Major Elric, I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you out of uniform!” He shot Ed a frantic salute.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Ed said, waving his flesh hand as he stuffed the watch back in his pocket. “Did the mission go well, Sir?” 

Great, a talker. Usually, Ed didn’t mind engaging the new recruits in friendly conversation but he was dead on his feet and hanging on to his fragile sanity by a very, very thin thread. “Went okay,” he grunted. “I gotta be up bright and early to give the Brigadier General my report, actually, and I don’t mean to be rude but…”

“Oh, no, of course! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you, Sir. Although, if I may say, Sir, Brigadier General Mustang hasn’t left yet. You may be able to catch him before he goes.”

That gave Ed a bit of pause. It’d definitely be easier to drag his ass up to Mustang’s office, give him an incredibly brief verbal report, and sleep in and he was actually pretty grateful to the private for cluing him into that possibility. Still, it was almost midnight and he’d never known the lazy bastard to stay any later than absolutely necessary. Even Hawkeye and the business end of her pistol never kept him past ten. 

“That’s a good idea, thanks uh…” Ed squinted through the low light to catch a glimpse of the man’s nametag. “Levy. Take care, okay?”

“You too, Sir, thank you.”

Ed gave him a quick nod and started off for the front doors.

Mustang’s office was dark when Ed pushed his way in and the desk was unoccupied. A lump draped over the sofa caught his attention and a quick inspection revealed the lump to be Mustang himself. He rolled his eyes, the little bubble of concern that had settled in his stomach dissipating when he realized what must’ve happened. 

“Hey asshole, wake up,” Ed said loudly, stomping over to the sofa. “You slept past quitting time, you lazy shit.”

He expected a groan or a curse or at least some kind of movement, but Mustang didn’t even shift. 

“Hey, Mustang!” Ed called again, nudging at the sofa cushion with the toe of his boot. “C’mon, time to go.”

Again, Ed’s interference sparked no reaction and Mustang remained stone-still on the sofa, and in the dark of the room, Ed couldn’t even see the rise and fall of his chest. Something almost like terror spiked through him and his exhaustion all but disappeared, a sharp alertness replacing it as he dropped his suitcase and scrambled to seize one of Mustang’s shoulders and give it a vicious shake.

“Mustang. Mustang! Roy!” 

At that, the bastard’s remaining eye finally cracked open a fraction and a low, pained hiss escaped his lips, mirroring Ed’s relieved exhale of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Fullmetal.” His voice was low and rough and Ed had to crouch down just to hear him. “Get out.”

“Not a chance. What’s your problem?”

“Just go.” Mustang’s voice had somehow gotten even quieter and rougher.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong, you stupid asshole,” Ed snapped. “You obviously need some kind of help. Are you hurt? Did someone attack you? D’you need me to get someone from the medical corps?”

Mustang, much to Ed’s eternal shock, let out a quiet whimper. “Nothing like that.” Every word sounded like agony and Ed winced in sympathy. “Just a migraine. I get them, sometimes, since…” he trailed off in favor of another miserable groan, but Ed could fill in the rest on his own. Fucking Archer and that fucking headshot. Wasn’t it bad enough the vain bastard’d lost an eye? 

Ed blew out a long breath and stood up with a wince as the movement bore uncomfortably on a few of his fresher injuries. “Okay, well, you’re not gonna like this, but you need to get home.”

“What I need—“

“We’ll go slow,” Ed promised, and leveraged an arm under Mustang’s shoulders and hoisted him up, ignoring his weak protests as he continued to manhandle him until he was up on his feet. “You’ll be better off in bed than on this lumpy fuckin’ sofa.” He looped his flesh arm around Mustang’s waist and took most of his weight with a grunt as he leaned heavily against him. 

Mustang didn’t say anything else as Ed struggled with him out of the office and down the hall. His body was on fire and protested every single step. It felt like an eternity before they emerged outside. The cobblestones in the yard, nicked and uneven, proved a difficult challenge without the benefit of light and with the added burden of Mustang, who groaned quietly at every little misstep until they finally, finally made it to the motor pool which, mercifully, still appeared to be in service with at least one car to spare. 

“Hey, hi,” he said, approaching the woman who seemed to be in charge of the remaining cars. “The Brigadier General isn’t feeling well. Any chance we can get a car to take him home?”

The woman coordinating the pool gave them an unimpressed once-over and made it clear that she both thought he was lying and didn’t care to hear anymore about it all at the same time. Without a word, she waved over the nearest driver and shoved a clipboard into Ed’s face. He scrawled a signature on the line and she yanked it back, looking over it and, presumably, was satisfied enough with Ed’s chicken-scratch to go stash the form in a overloaded book at the other end of her booth. 

Ed hefted Mustang over to the car and yanked the door open, unloading him into the back seat as carefully as he could manage. He slid in after him and closed the door just a little bit too hard, which pulled another groan from Mustang, and exhaled heavily as he sank against the seat and letting his eyes fall shut.

“Where to, Sir?” The driver’s question snapped Ed’s eyes back open.

“Oh, uh…” Shit. He didn’t actually know where Mustang lived. He nudged him gently in the ribs. “Hey, bastard, what’s your address?” Mustang rattled off a series of numbers and a street name without even raising his head. “Did you get that?”

The driver look scandalized by Ed’s disrespectful address of a senior officer but he nodded and quickly put the car in gear. 

Ed might have nodded off during the drive but the gentle motion of the car coming to a halt jerked him back into awareness. He scrabbled for the door handle and wrenched it open before attempting to maneuver Mustang, who had pretty much devolved into dead weight by that point, out of the car. 

“C’mon asshole, work with me here,” he muttered, looping one of Mustang’s arms over his shoulder and curling his own arm around Mustang’s waist and wrenching him out of the car as gently as he could manage.

“Do you need help with that, Sir?” the driver asked, just as Ed got Mustang back on his feet.

“Think we got it from here, thanks,” he grunted. “You’re good to go.” He pushed the car door closed softly, recalling Mustang’s pained reaction to the earlier slam, and started off up the walk as the car pulled away.

Mustang’s house wasn’t quite what Ed had expected. He’d imagined it’d be something over-large and flashy with perfectly manicured hedges and maybe some a marble sculpture or two thrown in for a bit of flair. Instead, Mustang lived in a cozy little red-brick townhouse with a few sloppy bushes and a tiny lawn that looked like it could’ve used a good mow. 

He managed to get his palms together and alchemized the lock, careful not to let the door slam behind them as he hauled Mustang into his dark entryway. Ed was infinitely curious about the rest of the house, but there’d be time to snoop later.

“Bedroom?”

“Upstairs,” Mustang mumbled into his shoulder and Ed muffled his groaning response to the prospect of lugging him up the stairs but started off towards them anyway.

Ed had climbed mountains more forgiving than Mustang’s fucking stairs but he managed, thanks mostly to the iron grip of his metal hand on the railing (he’d alchemize the dents out of it later,) and to Mustang’s own attempts at careening them forward between miserable little whimpers and outright-moans that he unsuccessfully tried to muffle in the bend of Ed’s neck (and he had not fucking shivered, it was just his ungrateful nerves reacting to the strain, thank you very much,) to haul Mustang up them and into his bedroom which was, thankfully, just across from the top of the staircase. 

He dragged his armful over to the bed and steadied Mustang on his feet with one hand while he stripped off his jacket and waist cape with the other before very, very carefully helping him ease down into the mattress. His back and the automail port on his shoulder were screaming by the time he let him go and he straightened with a grimace. 

“Be right back,” he said after catching his breath through the wave of pain, and worked his way back downstairs and into the kitchen they’d passed on their way up. 

A few minutes of rifling through cabinets produced a glass that he filled from the sink before setting off back upstairs. He tried a few doors before he found the bathroom and a bit more rifling rewarded him with a bottle of painkillers. He distributed a dose for himself and swallowed them dry before tapping out a few more for Mustang, and headed back into the bedroom. 

“I have water and painkillers,” he said, setting the glass and the pills on the nightstand. “C’mon, sit up for a sec.”

“They won’t work,” came Mustang’s quiet response through the density of the pillow his face was currently buried in. “I don’t want them.”

“Like I give a fuck. Come on, they’ll at least help a little.” He steeled himself for another round of violent protestation from his back and reached down, pushing his arm under Mustang’s shoulders and pulling him up. “I may have carried your sorry ass up here but I’m not gonna shove these pills in your mouth and hold it closed like you’re one of Al’s fuckin’ cats so just take the damn things.” He pushed the glass into Mustang’s hand.

Reluctantly, and more slowly than it seemed possible, Mustang groped for the pills on the nightstand and threw them back with a sip of the water before collapsing back into the pillows with another groan.

“Was that so hard?” Ed set the water back on the nightstand and looked over Mustang’s prone form, finally allowing a bit of the worry he’d been suppressing to seep into him now that his work was done. He’d never seen Mustang so helpless, so fragile and miserable and ill. He’d always been something like a pillar in Ed’s life, an unshakable, stoic pillar and, yeah, he was a fucking nerd and wasn’t anything like half the masks he put on for different people, but he'd never seen this.

He pulled the blanket up over Mustang and tucked it around his shoulders, letting his flesh fingers linger for a moment on the dip of his throat to reassure himself that the pulse there was regular and strong.

“Get some rest, bastard,” he murmured, drawing away. “I’ll stick around until you’re a little less useless.” 

Mustang’s only response was a muffled whine.  

Everything was burning. There was heat on Roy’s face, ash in his mouth, and a pounding, hot orange-red that curled around his limbs and tore through his body and then he was screaming. At first, the only screams he could hear were his own but a chorus of screaming soon overwhelmed him, and with the screaming came the familiar smell of burnt flesh. 

He scrabbled to escape the burning, boots kicking and sliding in the grainy sand beneath his feet, and then there were hands attached to screaming bodies drawing him back into the fire. He fought them, struggling against the pull as the flames began to lick at his heels again, but the fingers were razor-sharp and they dug into him where they grabbed and he couldn’t escape them. 

He was pressed into the ground, then, half-buried in sand that was blurring his eyes and clogging his throat and only then did the screaming stop.

There was only silence, then, punctuated here and then by the crackling of flame and the howling whip of wind kicking the sand up around him, at first pale brown and then gray. Everything was gray, and the sand had turned to ash, cut with shards of the black, ragged bone that the heat of the fires hadn’t been able to burn away from the hands that had been holding him down. He tried to cry out but his throat was still plugged with sand and he could barely even breathe through it.

Don’t you like it, Flame?  It was Maes, his voice higher and more mocking than Roy had ever heard it before, cruelty cutting through every word. 

He was standing, then, facing down Maes and the barrel of a gun.

You should have had the decency to die in the North.

Pain exploded out from his left eye when the bullet struck it. A thick stream of blood cut down his face, caressing his cheek and smoothing over his throat before staining the collar of his shirt. Another stream followed, and then another, and then suddenly there were hands on his face, one flesh, one metal, stroking soothing lines down his cheek.

Maes was gone. The wind had died down, the ash had disappeared, and all Roy could see was gold. At first, it was the gold of desert sand stretched out for miles and miles around him, the gold haze of fire burning hot in the distance clogging up the blue of the sky, but the sand soon turned liquid and melted away to form the molten gold of Edward’s eyes, the gold of his hair, the warm, golden glow of his skin. 

The sand in his throat was gone and he could breathe again. The air was cool like the metal hand against his face and tinted with the taste and scent of machine oil. He was buried again, but this time instead of sand, he was covered by his own comforter in his own bed. 

He blinked to clear his eye and turned towards the warmth at his side only to find Ed propped against his headboard balancing one of Roy’s books in his hands, framed by a halo of pale golden light coming from the lamp on the nightstand that had been covered with a sheet to cut the brightness. Though the sharp, stabbing pains in Roy’s head and calmed considerably, dulled to a miserable throb, he was still in agony and he appreciated the gesture.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Ed said sheepishly. “Sorry for, uh, being here. You were… you kept, um, I think you were having nightmares and I didn’t want to go too far.”

Roy wondered just how much of those hands on him had been a dream. “That’s quite all right, Fullmetal,” he said, and his throat was raw as if it had actually been stuffed with sand, as if he’d actually been screaming. The thought made him grimace, and Ed must have interpreted that as his marching orders. He was shifting over to the side of the bed, preparing to slip out of it while he mumbled another apology. Roy’s hand moved of its own accord, reaching out and just managing to grab Ed’s metal wrist. “It’s all right,” he said again. “Stay.”

Ed stared down at him for long enough that Roy was sure he would refuse, but after a moment he relented and settled back against the headboard once more, stretching out his legs flush against Roy’s side.

It had been a long time since Roy had lain so close to someone else, and that was surely the explanation for the way his chest tightened in response to the warm press of Ed’s side against his own. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ed said, still a little uncertain. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Not completely recovered, but better. My head is still—“ He reached up to press his fingers lightly to his left eye but found only flesh where the patch, likely lost in his fitful sleep, should have been. Panic, cold and clear sank into him and he immediately moved to cover the left side of his face with his hand. Mortification and nausea warred for dominance, both eventually giving way to abject misery and a trembling that he couldn’t quite stop. He had spent years carefully rebuilding himself around his injury, recultivating his image, hiding his failures behind the patch and, as long as no one saw, as long as no one had an inkling of the wasteland that lay beneath it, then Roy was safe. Safe from judgment and safe from himself. 

He wrenched himself away from Ed’s side and turned his back to him, grinding his teeth through the new sparks of cutting pain that tore through his head at the movement. He very nearly whimpered again from the force of it, but then there was a careful, hesitant hand on his back pressing lightly between his shoulder blades.

“Hey,” Ed said softly. “It’s all right, you know. It’s not that bad.”

“It’s a reminder of everything I have ever done wrong,” Roy whispered. He was too tired and too miserable for this, in far too much pain for this. His defenses were shredded enough already. That he was so exposed was almost too much to bear. 

“Yeah, I get that, believe me.” Ed’s hand, warm and solid, still hadn’t strayed from his back and it served as a grounding point for Roy, something that saddled him in reality as images began to bloom behind his eyelids. “I figure everybody loses something eventually, no matter what the goal is. Sometimes it’s body parts, sometimes it’s something you can’t see, but after it’s all said and done, you’re still you.”

“I’m not. I’m not the same.”

“Just because you’re not the same doesn’t mean you’re not you,” Ed pointed out. “Everyone dies once. Some of us die a whole lot more than that. What survives isn’t always nice or neat or soft, but it’s you.”

Who knew that better than Ed? The logic was there, and it should have spoken to him, would have spoken to him if he’d been just a little bit more in control of himself and the wave of self-loathing he usually kept tight behind a floodwall. “I should have died in the North,” Roy whispered. They were words he’d never said out loud. He didn’t delude himself into thinking that no one knew his motives for his self-imposed exile, but saying it gave it power. Made it true. “I wanted to. It would have been fitting, in a way, for the Flame Alchemist to freeze to death. I hoped the cold and the isolation would do what Archer’s bullet didn’t do. I was too much of a coward to do it myself.”

Ed’s hand slipped over his back and curled around his shoulder and yanked. He found himself quite suddenly on his back again, staring up into Ed’s amber eyes through a hazy wave of the pain that shot through him. “People woulda missed you, idiot. I woulda missed you. I didn’t know if you’d lived or died when I got pulled through the Gate and I spent two years wondering if you pulled through ‘cause even though I wasn’t here, I couldn’t imagine this world without you in it. I know we had our differences or whatever but you stuck your neck out a hell of a lot for me n’ Al when we were kids and… I mean, we owe you a lot, y’know? And you had shit to do. You still have shit to do. Good shit. You’re s’posed to change the world, or at least this stupid fuckin’ country. You’re important. And I know me saying that probably doesn’t mean shit to you, but I’m not the only one who thinks so.” 

The spike of pain his rather sudden movement pulled forward had caused most of Ed’s words to be swallowed up in it but he understood enough. He couldn’t deny that seeing Ed again after his absence, older and sharper and wilder, had pushed him to abandon his post in the North and retake his rank and position in Central, that his absence had been a blight on Roy and just another thing he’d managed to get wrong, that he spent nights half afraid that he was, as the military presumed, actually dead even if he couldn’t quite make himself believe it. Ed was a constant weight on his mind, but he hadn’t expected to even register as a blip on his radar in those years he’d been away, wherever it was that he’d gone, and he certainly never expected an open acknowledgment of the hand he’d extended to Ed when he was a child. There was something in his eyes, sometimes, and something in his tone that spoke to his understanding of their history and that had been more than enough for Roy. It was enough to know that Alphonse was whole, body and memory restored, and that he and Ed were safe and well. 

A hand on his forehead startled him out of his thoughts. “You all right?” Ed brushed the sweat-sticky hair that had fallen into Roy’s eye. “I figured I had a few more hours at least ‘till you were with it enough to regret spillin’ your guts like that. Not that I’m gonna use it against you or anything, but I know how much you like to act like nothing bothers you.”

Edward had grown far too perceptive by half. “Forgive me for being so macabre. You’re right in saying that I’m not quite myself. I’m tired, and I’m in pain, and I shouldn’t burden you this way.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ed’s fingers brushed his forehead again and Roy thought he could feel the hesitation there just before he pushed them into his hair and began carding through it. “Don’t even know why you’re awake at all, you stupid bastard. You should be resting.”

It was difficult to argue when Ed’s hand, surprisingly gentle, was brushing through his hair and soothing him down through the hurt and into a relaxed and quiet calm that soon faded into sleep and, for once, there were no terrors waiting for him on the other side of it.  

Ed waited until Mustang was deep asleep, and then waited just a little bit longer after that just to be sure no more nightmares would follow, before slipping out of the bed and padding down to Mustang’s kitchen, his shoulder and the new bruises twinging as he moved. He didn’t think he’d sleep as long as he had the first time, and if all he was gonna do was sit around and wait for him to wake then he might as well do something helpful.

He poked around for a few minutes and came up with a pitcher which he then filled with water and set aside in favor of scrounging up something to take back upstairs for Mustang to eat when he woke up again. He’d been out for most of the night and a good portion of the morning so he was sure to be half-starved when he finally came to.It was nice to feel useful again. The missions were fine and provided Ed with at least a temporary goal to focus on, but he’d never quite managed to find purpose in the years since his return from the other side of the Gate. He’d spent most of his life chasing lofty goals; bringing mom back, getting Al’s body back, getting home. Now, he wasn’t pushing for anything. Al was completely recovered and had taken up a research grant in Xing, strong and capable and finally living the life they’d fought so hard to win back for him, but Ed had stayed behind. The military, at least, gave him purpose, even if only for a little while. Even if the missions got worse and worse every time because he was an adult and he was capable, and Mustang couldn’t shield him from the worst anymore. There was always another asshole piecing together chimeras. There was always another asshole trying to alchemize an army. There was always another asshole cutting up kids or blowing up passenger trains or murdering families, and he would always be there to take them down, because he couldn’t do anything else. He didn’t know how to do anything but fight.

Coming home was always a different kind of fight. He was useless again from the moment he stepped on the train. The days, sometimes the weeks, in between assignments stretched out into an uninterrupted haze of endless repetition interposed now and then with a beacon in the form of a letter from Al or a call from Winry. At least now, helping Mustang served as a worthy distraction from the inevitable downward slide. 

Ed managed to find a can of chicken soup buried deep in the back of Roy’s pantry and retrieved it somewhat triumphantly. The subsequent struggle between his metal fingers and the slippery fucking knob on the can opener resulted in the thing being pitched across the room and the can being alchemized open somewhat more furiously than necessary.

He dumped the soup into a bowl and swiped a piece of chalk off of the little chalk board that hung next to the door (and filed away the information that Roy Mustang made grocery lists on chalkboards in his kitchen, honestly,) and sketched out a heating array on the wooden tray he’d found tucked away in a cabinet. The bowl of soup went on the array and the pitcher of water went on the opposite corner of the tray for balance and Ed crept upstairs with it as quietly as he could manage. 

Mustang was still sleeping peacefully when Ed edged into the bedroom. He set the tray down carefully on the nightstand and, for a moment, just stood and watched. It wasn’t fair that the bastard managed to be fucking attractive even with sick-sweaty, messy hair plastered to his face and those deep, dark circles under his eyes. It had taken Ed a long time after his trip back through the Gate to reconcile the fact that he found Roy Fucking Mustang attractive. On those rare occasions he was completely honest with himself, he had found the bastard attractive a long time before that and maybe his fixation on him during his years on Earth had been less about concern and more about actual pining. Not that it mattered. Not that he ever intended to act on what was probably just a hang-over from a stupid teenage crush. Mustang was still his CO, still a fucking bastard, and even if laying next to him and feeling the warmth of his skin radiating through his clothes did weird shit to his chest, even if his heart had nearly leapt out of his throat when Mustang’s fingers locked around his metal wrist and he’d asked him to stay, it didn’t matter.

He retrieved the book he’d been reading from the opposite side of the bed and settled back in, resting his flesh leg against Mustang’s side as he propped himself back up against the headboard and willed away yet another wave of the exhaustion he’d been fighting since he’d gotten off the train. 

Mustang stirred again a few hours later. Ed set the book aside just as he was cracking his eye open and peering up at him. “You’re still here.”

As if he’d be anywhere else. “Yeah, well, had to make sure you weren’t gonna kick off. Takes too long to break in a new CO and I just don’t have the time. How’re you feeling?”

Mustang took a moment and seemed to assess himself before nodding once. “Much better. I think the worst of it has passed. How long was I asleep?”

“Not counting the little intermission, you’ve been out for about sixteen hours.” Ed gestured to the steaming soup on the nightstand. “I figured you’d be hungry when you woke up.”

Mustang was still a little shaky as he hauled himself up into a sitting position. “Thank you,” he said earnestly. “For the soup, and for bringing me back here.”

“’S no problem.” Ed’s shrug sent a ripple through his body and, in turn, through Mustang’s. “I figure you’d’ve done the same for me. Besides, I’ve slept on that sofa before. It’s not the best place to recuperate.”

“Is that an admission of dereliction of duty, Fullmetal?”

Ed rolled his eyes. “Jeez, even half-dead you can still find time to hound me. They ought to promote you.”

“Can I have that in writing?” 

“Why, so you can bitch about my handwriting?”

“So that I can take great exception to your handwriting with the magisterial grace befitting my rank, thank you. ”

Ed rolled his eyes again. “You’re such a fuckin’ nerd. You must be feeling better if you’re throwing around that kind of vocabulary.”

“I am,” Roy agreed, reaching for the tray and carefully balancing it on his lap. He scooted the bowl aside and took a moment to study the array before speaking again. “The rest did me quite a bit of good. It looks to me like you could benefit from a bit of rest yourself, Fullmetal. When was the last time you slept?”

“’M fine.” Ed had stayed up longer for worse causes. “Got a few hours before I finished up my assignment and then hopped on the first train back.”

Mustang looked like he was doing some serious mental math as he tried to figure out exactly how long Ed had gone without sleeping and the answer seemed to horrify him. “Why don’t you go home? You’ve done more than enough for me. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re okay. I had to carry you up here, do you remember that? You’re not just magically fine after bein’ so sick you gotta be carried up a flight of steps.” The idea of going back to the barracks, even for the sleep he so desperately needed, was furiously off-putting. He’d be alone again, purposeless again, and he had to see for himself that Mustang was better. “I can do more good here than I can do in the dorms, at least until you’re back at one hundred percent.”

“I assure you, I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.” He swallowed down a few spoonfuls of soup as if to make his point.

“Is that why you were gonna ride out your migraine on the sofa in your office?” Ed snorted inelegantly. “Yeah, seems like you’re real capable.”

“You look like you’re going to collapse.”

“You look like you’re gonna end up with a face full of soup if you don’t stop tryin’ to argue me back to my bunk.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Why not? You need a shower anyway after all that fevered sweating you’ve been doing. Y’know, because you’re fuckin’ sick?” 

Mustang stared at him for a hard second before finishing off the last of the soup and setting the tray and the empty bowl back on the night stand. “I’m not sick anymore, and now you’ve got nothing to throw.”

Bastard. “Yeah, well, you still need a shower,” Ed huffed.

“If I can manage a shower on my own, will you concede that I am recovered enough to be left alone and get some rest?”

Mustang just wasn’t going to leave this alone, was he? 

“I’ll think about it.”Mustang heaved a sigh and began to work himself out of bed. He was very obviously unsteady on his feet and Ed almost snapped himself up to help steady him, but he managed to regain his composure and walked easily to the dresser and then into the adjoining bathroom, casting Ed one final hard look before shutting the door firmly.

Ed scowled at it and reached for the book again.

Most of Roy’s unsteadiness had come from laying down for so long, and he managed the shower without much trouble. He dallied in the bathroom for a little bit longer than was strictly necessary in the hopes that when he emerged, Ed would have fallen asleep.

Of course, Ed was still very much awake when Roy emerged from the bathroom. He’d thrown the sheet off of the lamp and the curtains were open, and in the new light Roy could see just how run down he looked. His hair was loose and flying everywhere, either fallen from the braid or freed from it by Ed’s own hand, and there were dark purple smears under each of his eyes, so severe that for a moment, Roy wondered if he was actually just nursing two black eyes in the aftermath of his assignment. He looked pale and drawn, and Roy thought he could detect a slight tremor in his flesh hand when he moved to turn the page of the book he was still reading. By his calculations, Ed had been awake for a little over two days. By all rights, he should’ve succumbed to the pull of sleep by now and that he hadn’t was troubling.

It was troubling, too, that despite his haggard appearance, Edward was still the most beautiful thing Roy had ever seen. It wasn’t news to him that the years had been kind to Ed; he still had one good, working eye after all, and a very vivid imagination. That imagination had plagued his sleep, mercifully free of nightmares the second time, with unending flashes of gold and silver and the echoes of soft caresses against his face that he was certain he hadn’t dreamed up the first time around. He’d seen those flashes in his dreams in the north, too, except in those dreams Edward had been dying over and over again and Roy could only scream and reach out for him as he fell.

“Are you satisfied that I’m no longer in danger of kicking off?”

Ed’s head jerked up from the book as if he had only just then realized that Roy was there. He gave him an appraising once-over and shrugged. “I dunno, I’m not a fucking doctor.”

“And thank heavens for that. Your bedside manner could use quite a bit of work.” Roy moved the tray from its precarious perch on the nightstand to the dresser before settling on the edge of the bed, angling himself towards Ed. “You need to get some rest, Edward.”

Ed let his head fall back against the headboard with an audible thud, sending a cascade of gold over his shoulders. “Fuckin’ told you, I’m fine and I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re gonna be okay.”

“Then rest here, I don’t care, just as long as you do. You look terrible. You can’t keep burning the candle at both ends just because you’re worried for me. I’m much better now, you don’t need to keep vigil.”

“You seem fine now but what happens if the migraine comes back?”

“Then I will deal with it the way that I always deal with it. This is hardly a new hell for me. I’ve been dealing with these headaches for years. The doctors assure me they are harmless, that they’re just an unfortunate side-effect of being shot in the head.” His eye caught the strap of the eye patch poking through a tangle of sheets and he reached out for it. “One of the side-effects, anyway. I appreciate your concern, and I am eternally grateful for everything you’ve done to help me, but I’m not in any danger and wouldn’t be even if the headache were to recur.” He went to slip the patch back over his head but Ed leaned over and his hand shot out lightning fast, faster than he had any business being after being awake for so long, and stopped him.

“You don’t have to do that. This is your house, for fuck’s sake. You shouldn’t have to wear that thing here. Is it even comfortable?” He reached with his free hand, the automail, and plucked the patch out of Roy’s fingers. “Besides, it’s not like you’re not fuckin’ gorgeous, even without the damn thing.”Ed’s mouth snapped shut and his face flushed a deep and fetching shade of red as soon as he realized what he’d said. “I… I mean—“

“Edward,” Roy murmured through the shock, twisting his wrist under Ed’s hand and catching it to lace their fingers together. “If either of us is worthy of the word, it would certainly be you.”

Roy wasn’t sure which of them moved first, but suddenly they were kissing, Ed’s mouth hot against his own. The angle was terrible, with Roy’s hips twisted sideways and Ed stretched halfway across the mattress, but it was transcendent. 

Roy reached out and caught Ed around the waist, hauling him closer and finally, finally maneuvering him into a position that allowed him to curl a hand around the back of Ed’s head, fingers buried in soft gold, and tilt him down to fit their mouths together more completely. Ed hummed in approval and scraped his teeth across Roy’s bottom lip and soothed it with his tongue, and Roy was lost. He nipped at Ed’s lip in return and licked his way into his mouth, tasting and learning every little dip and the curve of his teeth and the shape of his jaw. It was perfect, bombastic, electric, everything that he’d never dared to dream of or think of wanting in fear of what denial would cost him. 

He let go of Ed’s hand and drew him even closer until Ed was nearly on his lap. Just the weight of him, heavier than he looked because of the automail but warm and solid and Ed, was enough to work Roy into a frenzy. He trailed his hand down the curve of Ed’s spine and brushed the pads of his fingers lightly against the skin of his lower back just under the hem of his shirt. Ed gasped and broke out of the kiss, panting, and Roy took the opportunity to trail kisses down the length of his throat, tasting his skin.

“Fuck,” Ed hissed, letting his head fall back as Roy laved his tongue over the place where Ed’s neck and shoulder met. “Shit. I knew you’d be like this. Knew you would.”

“Like what?” Roy murmured, ghosting warm breath over the damp spots he’d left on Ed’s throat. 

“Good. Intense.”

“You’ve been thinking about this.” Roy scraped his teeth lightly over Ed’s pulse and soothed it with his tongue before he straightened to meet Ed’s golden eyes.

“Yeah,” Ed breathed, flushing red again. “For… for a long time.”

“So have I,” Roy confessed. He leaned in and kissed him softly, still hardly daring to believe he would be allowed.

“You never said anything, you bastard,” Ed complained against his lips.

Roy trailed kisses up Ed’s cheek before pressing his lips lightly to each of the dark circles under Ed’s eyes in turn. “You’re my subordinate. You’re young. You’re whole.” That drew an inelegant snort from Ed but Roy barreled on. “I never had any right to ask this of you.”

Ed’s fingers curled in his shirt and hauled him down until Ed was flat on his back and Roy was pressing down on top of him. “Ask me now. Anything you want.”

Roy seized his chance, slotting his legs on either side of Ed’s hips and rocking against the hardness he found there. He swallowed down Ed’s gasp with another warm kiss. “I want you, Edward.”

“Fuckin’ have me, then.”

Roy didn’t need further invitation. He captured Ed’s lips again, kissing him deeply as he allowed his hands to roam over the expanse of Ed’s chest and sides. His fingers quickly found the hem of Ed’s shirt and, without bothering with the buttons, he broke the kiss to lift it off over his head. Ed’s tan chest was marked with a combination of old scars and nicks, and fresh cuts and bruises, no doubt from his latest assignment, and the automail port was ringed with thick, jagged tissue but he was nothing but beautiful in Roy’s eyes. He inhaled sharply and bent to press kisses against the place where Ed’s automail joined his arm, memorizing the topography of the scars under his lips. 

Ed’s resulting mewl almost sent Roy over the edge then and there and it took everything he had to regain his composure. “Ed,” he breathed, mouthing gently over a new bruise. “You are radiance personified. After all I have ever done in my miserable life, I’ve never done anything nearly good enough to deserve this.”

“Shut the fuck up, you sap,” Ed said, curling his flesh fingers in Roy’s hair and tugging on it gently. “Take your shirt off.”

Roy laughed at Ed’s forwardness but, honestly, expected nothing less. He kissed Ed’s chest again before rising up off of him to quickly shrug off his shirt. He leaned back down, hissing quietly when flesh made contact with flesh. The edge of the automail was cold where it touched him, but it was nothing compared to the heated flush of his skin. 

He trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses over the curve of Ed’s throat as he began to work at the fly of his trousers, sucking gently over his pulse as he flicked the button open and began pushing the offending garment and the underwear beneath them out of his way. Ed whimpered and shifted his hips beneath Roy’s hands, complicating the removal of his trousers and nearly landing a kick with the automail foot against the side of Roy’s head in the process.

“Mustang, Roy, shit,” Ed hissed when Roy’s fingers finally made contact with his heated erection. He could feel him trembling under his hand and, if he was even half as keyed up as Roy was, this was sure to be brief. 

Roy quickly shed the rest of his own clothing and didn’t bother muffling his moans when he pressed his cock against Ed’s and wrapped his fingers around them both. “Is this all right?” It was messy and inelegant and Roy could do so much better but he was cognizant of both Ed’s state of exhaustion and his own state of urgent need and he couldn’t begin to entertain the idea of anything more involved. 

He allowed himself, for just a brief moment, to entertain the idea that he would be allowed to do this again, and properly.

Ed’s only answer was a furious roll of his hips that sent both of them crying out in incoherency, and Roy took that as a resounding ‘yes.’ He leaned up to catch Ed’s lips again, swallowing down all of Ed’s soft little whimpers and cries as they settled into a breathless rhythm. 

The heated slide of Ed’s flesh against his own was better than he’d ever allowed himself to dream of, and it didn’t take long at all for him to reach his peak. Ed seemed to be in a similar state, if his desperate gasps and the way his head thrashed back and forth on the sheets, sending splays of golden strands shifting over the linen, was anything to go by. 

With his free hand, Roy grabbed Ed’s chin and stilled him. “Edward,” he gasped. “Ed, look at me.”

Ed seemed to struggle with the request but finally managed to pry his eyes open. They were blown wide, black pupils just barely ringed by gold. His face was red, his hair in complete disarray, and he looked completely and utterly debauched. 

Roy tipped over the edge with a cry, the cadence of his hips losing their rhythm, and vaguely he heard Ed’s muffled swear as he followed close behind. He collapsed just off to Ed’s side, breathing hard, and as soon as the white cleared from his vision he looked over to Ed, who was a vision on his own. His flesh arm was thrown over his eyes, lengthening and tightening his body into a collection of fine and elegant lines, and just a hint of the flush on his cheeks was visible from the cover his arm provided. He was breathing hard, little breaths catching in his throat as he struggled to regain the air. He was absolutely beautiful, and Roy couldn’t resist leaning over to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

Ed shifted his arm and cracked an eye open. “Fuck,” he said emphatically.

“Quite,” Roy agreed, smiling. He brushed another kiss to the corner of Ed’s mouth before willing his watery muscles into submission and rolling to retrieve his shirt where it had been tossed on the bed. He cleaned Ed’s stomach gently before turning his attention to himself, and then threw the shirt in the vague direction of the laundry hamper. 

“Thanks,” Ed murmured, letting his arm fall off of his face and turning to regard Roy with something like uncertainty. “So, um, d’you still want me to… go?”

Roy reached out and curled his arms around Ed, dragging him close and burying his face in his mussed hair. “I didn’t want you to go. I wanted you to sleep.”

Ed pressed his face into the curve of Roy’s neck and he swore he could feel his heart stopping. “”Mh gonna sleep, don’t worry. Just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Edward,” Roy murmured, stroking a light hand down Ed’s spine. “How could I be anything but, with you in my arms?”

“F’kin sap,” Ed mumbled, nuzzling closer. “Makes me sick.”

“If you’re sick, then I suppose it’s my turn to take care of you.”

“Mmh, you can try, bastard.” 

Roy smiled into Ed’s hair, tightening his arms around him and pulling him impossibly closer. “Go to sleep, Ed. If I need you, you’ll be right here.”

“You always need me.” Ed nosed at Roy’s neck and blew out a long breath, and, god, if it wasn’t absolutely true. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure.”

Ed muttered a vague response and Roy drew the blanket up over them. Within a few minutes, Ed was out like a light, breathing evenly against Roy’s shoulder. 

It was, he supposed, the best migraine he’d ever had in his life.