#at least if it’s the US store you KNOW you’re going to get charged duty

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

You mean to tell me instead of paying stupid shipping rates and markups to the TS store I could have just purchased my 1989 TV CD and vinyl from Indigo locally???

[dragonmuse]

Ooh! Ooh! Can we have a little fic with Izzy and Lucius bonding over stealing/pickpocketing? Maybe even some kind of competition to see who gets the most or the best thing or something? (Since you said you need to include how Izzy loves to steal lol.)

(YES I DID, this one came to me so immediately I had to write it right away)

Izzy: I have a job for you. 

Lucius: No thanks, I believe in keeping sex and money separate. 

Izzy: why would I start paying you now after two years of getting it for free?

Lucius: Okay, never mind, now I want to start charging cause you’re a dick. 

Izzy: I can’t afford to pay you what you’re worth. 

Lucius: You’re rich as hell. 

Izzy: yes. 

Lucius: Ok. You’re forgiven, that was sweet. What’s the job? 

Izzy: I’ll tell you when you come over. 

Lucius: Tease.  

As soon as Lucius was in the door, Izzy told him and Lucius had to stop himself from letting out an unholy squeal. Then realized he didn’t have to and made the noise anyway which Izzy laughed at. 

“Yeah, I knew you’d like it.” 

“I LOVE it! Thank you. So do I get a cut or is this just to let me have some fun?” 

“Both,” Izzy assured him. “You’re officially a Callahan Investigations contractor on this one. I’ve got paperwork and everything.” 

“I love this so much,” Lucius told him earnestly. “When did you start getting jobs like this?” 

“Read and Jim stress tested a system last year and we just added it to the list on the website SEO and things. Got a few home jobs, word spread, this is the first corporate one.” 

“Amazing. How much do I get to know going in about the system?” 

“How much would you have known as a sticky fingered high schooler?” 

Lucius grimaced, “Probably not enough. I mean I’d look for cameras, pay attention to the sales people, but I was mostly running on adrenaline and hormones. And I got caught as you reminded me once upon a time.” 

“That was bad luck, I read the police report.” 

“You know that’s supposed to be sealed.” 

“Uh huh,” Izzy shrugged. “So that’s what you’ll know. I’m going in hardened professional for bigger stuff, you’re doing the high school five-finger discount stuff.” 

“Don’t underestimate a souped up seventeen year old, I got some decent stuff over the years,” Lucius warned. 

They made eye contact, exchanged grins. 

“If I win, I want you to be my date to the ballet with Stede and you have to be civil to him the whole time.” 

“Oh, pup,” he groaned. 

“High stakes,” Lucius agreed. “What do you want if you win?” 

Izzy considered, then grinned, “Hike.” 

“Ohhh fuck you,” Lucius wrinkled his nose. “How long?” 

“At least two hours. And no complaining.” 

“Oh my god, that is so motivating, I am going to rip the hell off of this place. What happens if we get caught by the way?” 

“The head of security is clued in and on duty. So he can see what his guards do if they do catch us out. She’ll intervene before anything serious happens.” 

“Good to know, but I meant with the bet.” 

“If the other person hasn’t caused it to happen?” Izzy lifted his eyebrows. 

“Hey! I resent that. I’m an honest thief,”Lucius protested. 

“Yeah sure. If the person gets caught cause they slipped up or the new system got them, then they lose by default.” 

“Deal.” 

They had the date and a general window of time. Lucius went in first. He was dressed more simply than usual, just jeans and t-shirt that he’d gotten out of Izzy’s drawers. There was a cashmere knit cardigan in a subtle gray, an old gift from Stede, and a pair of Charlie’s sunglasses, left behind one day. He looked like young money trying to play it cool. 

The store was large, an upscale department store with counters and lots of salespeople scanning the room for potential money.  Lucius smiled at them, acknowledging then slipped by with a, 

“‘Scuse me, just looking,” and a wink. Just obnoxious enough to be plausible, not so annoying as to be memorable. 

Izzy had considered a similar tactic, but he was too memorable these days (sometimes he considered eradicating the face tattoo just for ease, but then he’d just have to look at it and the memory of the moment rushed back to him. How could he part with that?). Instead, he leaned into it, gave himself a mobster look, slicking back his hair and wearing a gold chain that he bought at a pawn shop, along with a flashy watch that he’d taken off a dead man years ago then never worn. 

“You look like a guy who thinks he’s tough,” had been Read’s evaluation. “But would probably cry if someone hit him.” 

“Perfect,” Izzy nodded. “You good out here?” 

“Sure thing,” she laughed, reclining in the passenger seat. “Call me if you need backup.” 

“You are quick,” he hesitated, then shook his head. “I’d never hear the end of it if I cheated. 

“I meant with security,” she giggled. “I’m not aiding in whatever you two have going.” 

Izzy went in, and gave the first salesperson he saw a sharkline grin, “I’m looking for a gift for a lady. Think you could help me out? Needs to be a stunner.” 

“Of course Mister....” 

“Black,” Izzy offered. Mostly because it would amuse Lucius if he overheard it and because it sounded fake as hell. 

“Excellent, Mr. Black,” the salesperson didn’t flinch. “I’m Fiona, happy to help you today.” 

Fiona was a treat. She took him straight to the jewelry counter with its weighted sensors and high tech gadgets. There were cameras everywhere. Izzy’s grin was very very real. What fucking idiots. 

“Can I see that ring?” he asked, pointing to a big diamond. 

“Thinking of asking the big question?” Fiona asked lightly. 

“Is that what that says? Nah, nah, this is a new bird, you know. Want to make her happy from the jump. What would you like from a new guy?” 

“Oh!” Fiona, clearly seeing commission numbers, drifted to a series of tennis bracelets. “Something that said he really cared, you know? What does she like?” 

And it was on. 

An hour later, he strolled out the store with a little bag containing an actual purchase, free and easy. Lucius was already in the backseat of the care, telling Read something with a wide smile. 

“How’d it go?” Izzy slid into the driver’s seat. 

“Can’t wait to show you. Where do we do this?”

“Owner’s office, a block away in an office tower.”

“He doesn’t work in the store?” 

“Nope,” Izzy snorted. 

“That explains a lot. What a dumbass.” 

They rode the elevator up to a very high floor, into the kind of office that Izzy considered to be purely asshole territory. Flint’s was modest compared to this shit. 

“Ah! Mr. Hands!” The owner got up from his desk, smiling his fake smile. It was upsettingly like looking at a CGI’d person. He held out a hand, “How did you find our new little system? Quite extraordinary isn’t it? My chief of staff said you didn’t get away with a thing. Though they didn’t catch you in the act. Give up?” 

Izzy shook it, and then just for fun, did a coup d’etat. 

“Wouldn’t say that,” Izzy had left his lawfully purchased item in the car. So he just started pulling from his pockets. “Read, total it?” 

“On it!” She whipped out her phone. 

Onto the owner’s desk he dropped three diamond tennis bracelets, two engagement rings, four pairs of precious gem earrings, and a heavy necklace that had had a pricetag that made his nose bleed. 

“How?” The man demanded. “Those cases are monitored like hawks!” 

“I’m fast,” Izzy said dryly. “Luc?” 

“Okay, so your floor staff needs better training. Like all of them. Don’t fire them,” Lucius said sternly. “They were really trying, but they clearly didn’t know what to look for,” 

“Of course they’ve been trained.” 

“Yeah, no,” Lucius scoffed. “Because I talked one of them up after I left, met them in the alley, and you know they never got any onboarding and your great head of security told him not to ‘worry his pretty head about it’, so you know. Great work there.” 

“Alvin would never!” the owner’s eyes went wide. 

“Sure,” Lucius shrugged and then he started emptying his pockets. And emptying. Scarves in a dozen shades, leather wallets with gold clasps, a designer clutch, a perfume bottle. Then he took off his sweatshirt and removed the blazer he’d put on under that. Then his t-shirt came off and he had several more shirt on under that. 

“Thin garbage,” he explained. “Really overpriced for the quality, hella easy to hide.” 

“That it?” Izzy asked, looking down at the very impressive pile. 

“Oh, and this,” Lucius flipped a last bit of gold on top. “That’s your head of security’s wedding ring. I’m sure his wife would like that back.” 

“Reminds me,” Izzy dropped the owner’s watch on top of the pile. 

“How!” The man protested, fishing it out and sliding it back on his wrist.

“Maybe take a look back at all your nice footage,” Izzy shrugged. “Wonder if they got our faces?” 

“Doubt it,” Lucius frowned. “I think I spotted most of the cameras. The pinholes kind of glisten?”

“They do not!” The owner banged a hand down on his desk. “Get out of here! You’re a lot of thieves!” 

“Yes,” Izzy said dryly. “That’s what we were hired to do. And we’d better get paid for it.” 

“How do I know you don’t have more on you?” The owner hissed. “MAybe I should have you arrested!” 

“That’ll look great,” Izzy agreed. “Definitely have the cops show when we have a written and singed contract that you asked us to do the job. And I definitely will sue your company within an inch of its life for harassment and violation of contract. None of us want your shiny bullshit. We did the job. Sorry your expensive system sucks. Not here to impress your shareholders. Let’s go.” 

Izzy turned heel and Lucuis and Read followed him out. They were silent leaving, a little tense, in case the owner made good on his threat, but they got out and safely into the care. 

“What a dick,” Lucius declared. 

“Yeah, jokes on him though. I made that contract a bitch. If they try and stiff me, it’s not going to go well,” Izzy snorted. “So what’re our totals?” 

“Depends on how you want to calculate,” Read got out her phone. “Lucius got more individual objects, obviously. You got a few higher priced bits, so you definitely got more.” 

“Check the price on the clutch,” Lucius said, apparently untroubled.

“The purse thing?” She checked. Lucius gave a nod. “Uh...ok....oh. WHAT?! Who pays that much for a bag? That’s insane!” 

“That’d designer, baby,” Lucius said smugly. 

“He beat you,” Read told Izzy. “But like only a hundred dollars, but yeah.” 

“Goddamnit,” Izzy sighed. 

He got his own back a little once they were back at the apartment though. 

“Holy shit that was so fun,” Lucius was still clearly riding a high, tossing the sweatshirt into the hamper. “I almost missed that.” 

“Only almost?” 

“Yeah, the panic that sets in after I could do without. At least this time I knew we weren’t going to get arrested and that they’d call my mom or something.” 

Izzy set the bag on the dresser and Lucius finally zeroed in on it. 

“What’s that?” 

“For you,” he shrugged. 

“You...actually stole something?” He frowned. 

“Nope. Got the receipt and everything. Sometimes it helps to actually buy something. Makes it seem less likely you’d be stealing too.” 

“Yeah, makes sense. But why not get something generic?” 

“Dunno. Liked it.” 

Lucius drew out the box inside and opened it, then barked a laugh. He turned it upside down, a flurry of security tags drifting out. Then a tiny metal ‘tink’. 

“I can’t believe you collected them, you asshole,” Lucius shook his head, then seemed to register the ‘tink’. He searched through the little pile and pulled out a flash of metal. “Is this...oh, wow.” 

It wasn’t really much compared to some of the things he’d lifted. It was a silver tiepin with a glimmer of obsidian running through it. 

“Figured it would look good with your ‘going to the theater’ getup. Since we’re head to the ballet, apparently.” 

“You knew you’d lose?” Lucius clutched the tiepin.

“You had the better position, really. I knew I couldn’t get at the really high end stuff and you’ve got a better eye than I do for clothes and things,” he admitted. “Seemed likely.” 

“I love you,” Lucius told him, very sincerely. “But you are so goddamn spooky sometimes.” 

“You too, pup,” Izzy laughed. “You too.” 

He got kissed anyway and that was really all he was aiming for.

[dragonsareourfuture]

Ways the Death Note Cast Show They Trust You

I lost some inspiration towards the middle there, I’m sorry!!

L

- he will always have Watari make extra servings of food just for you. It’s a bit startling at first. So suddenly there’s just food in front of you that you think is for L, but when you push it towards him, he pushes it right back to you.

“You don’t want it?” He’d ask, leaving you confused until you finally put the pieces together.

“Oh, I…I guess I didn’t realize it was for me. My bad.” You begin eating. “Thank you.”

L simply hums and continues with whatever he was just up to.

- You know that thing cats do where they’re sitting perfectly still, eyes closed, guard slightly down, but still not quite asleep? I can picture L doing something like this during any moment of downtime he gets. Just sitting, scrunched up in his chair or wherever he happens to be, eyes closed but the cogs in his brain are still turning. You notice him doing this when it is only you and him in the room, simply thinking it’s because of the moment of rare solitude. Little do you know, it’s because he trusts that you won’t hurt him or let anything bad happen to him.

- L is a person who prefers to be in charge of his own life. He likes knowing what’s going on around him at all times and when things are out of his hands he can’t help but feel uncomfortable. However, with a person he’s developed a close relationship with and knows he can trust with everything he has, L will feel more comfortable leaving decisions up to them. You’ll have to start small though, like being the one to plan a surprise date. He might feel a bit uncomfy at the beginning, shifting around and possibly even insisting he sit so that he can see the exits clearly, but he eases into it eventually. Soon you both find yourselves joking around in the odd way that you do and gorging on cake and ice cream.

Mello

- being vulnerable is something Mello isn’t too keen on. He already feels vulnerable most of the time and would kick himself if he let that show through his actions. If Mello truly trusts you, he will feel as though he can be vulnerable around you without any judgement on your end. Small acts that show vulnerability such as asking you to help him with something he can’t quite handle on his own — even if it’s something as simple as not being able to reach something off a shelf or being unsure about how to fix something. Eventually, he’ll work his way up to the bigger stuff like being physically wounded in front of you or having a mental block.

- Sharing his clothes with you or letting you pick his outfit for him. Now, it sounds like he’s just being a little diva and that’s only partially true. But his clothes are important to him, they’re a factor that sets him aside from his plain-dressing rival and in his eyes they make him more interesting than him, visually at least. He’s happy to dress you up, and it is true that he has to have a close relationship with you to want to do so, but you should be especially proud if he lets you alter his appearance in any way.

- He likes to believe that he’s had his goals set out from the beginning. Surpass Near, become the next L, and go on from there. What he pushes to the back of his brain are the moments he’s been studying and he’s asked himself ‘What if I went down a different path?’. He quickly pushes these thoughts away, but they keep coming back. What would life be like if this wasn’t an option for him? What if he were a writer? What if he lived in the city with people he loves and went to the movies every Friday? Unwillingly, he has a whole list of possibilities. If he truly trusts you, he’ll share every single one with you. Whether it’s dropping hints or confessing them one by one late at night, he can’t help but feel that they’re safe with you.

Misa

- it seems a bit surface level, but it’s true — Misa will talk down on Light in front of you if she trusts you. But it’s not straight away. She had developed a lot of courage to actually break up with him, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t still doubt her decision to do so. It’s only when she finds out from you how loved ones are supposed to treat each other — with kindness and respect — that she feels her decision to ditch Light was the entirely right one. Slowly, she’ll start to admit to you all the things she hated about Light, starting with some of his mannerisms and building up to something like how he forced her to leave the entertainment business.

- Misa is…dramatic. She likes to go above and beyond for someone she’s infatuated with and make sure they’re the happiest they can be. If she trusts you enough to develop this kind of infatuation and, with some development, less of an obsession and more of a strong, bonding love, you will be doted on to the point where it’s almost ridiculous. You could be at home during one of her work days and you’ll get a delivery of lunch from your favorite takeout place because Misa was ‘thinking of you <3’, as she explains when you text her asking why food randomly showed up at your place. It’s rather sweet.

- Misa’s a pretty talkative person in general, that’s a well known fact. She’ll talk about clothes, a cute birdie she saw on her way home, really anything that comes to mind. But, she’ll do that with about anyone who’ll listen. It’s gradual, so it’s hard to notice, but if Misa grows to trust you she’ll start talking about some of the more serious things that have been on her mind for a while, those things that she thought would scare off anyone she liked because of how personal they are to her. Her family before they died, for example. It’s something that Misa thinks about. So much. But she doesn’t really talk about it. She wants to forget, put the past behind her but because she’s never talked about it with anyone it’s hard to do that. She’ll talk about her family to you, the little things her sister used to do and some things her parents did that she misses.

Matsuda

- Matsuda often begins to idolize those who he thinks are trustworthy and have a good heart. He starts to tell you how much he loves when you do x and that he wishes he could perform as well as you in that area. In a sense, he trusts you with his vulnerability, letting you know that he thinks of himself as less than satisfactory and how he wishes he could do better, only he channels it by pointing out good things about you. If…that makes sense.

- This sounds dire, but he’ll risk his life for the people he completely, without a doubt trusts. He was willing to do so with Chief Yagami, someone he saw as a father figure, and he would certainly be willing to do so with you, someone who he feels he has a deep emotional connection to. Whether you’re in a situation where he would need to or he’s just saying that he would, he means it.

- Matsuda trusts you to not make fun of him when he overshares or talks too much or anything his coworkers brush him off for. He feels that he can talk about things he finds funny and talk about his life without worrying about what you think of him when he does.

Matt

- he would drop everything to help you. Whether that’s dropping his game to help you kill a bug or leaving his duties behind to help you out of a life or death situation. Whichever scenario you happen to find yourself in he’s there no matter what.

- He’ll invite you into his personal life. I know this is kind of a given but Matt had the chance to become the next L. He had the chance to become something “great” and he said “ummm rather not” to it because it wasn’t something he wanted. If he shares this information with you, he trusts you not to leave him for something better when you discover the status he could have had and refused. He trusts you to appreciate him because of him and not the intelligence everyone but him cherishes.

- He leaves you alone around important technology and software he’s hacked. Unfortunately for him, betrayal comes with the business he’s got himself into and, if Matt really trusts you on both a professional and emotional level, he won’t have a problem worrying about whether or not you’ll take advantage of his coffee break to gather information for some other organization or something. He will literally just go “mkay babe I gotta go fuel up on caffeine real quick, you’re good watching the hacked government database right? Cool cya.”

Near

- Near trusts you to take him to public places. Sounds simple, yeah. But Near has never liked crowds, or even just too many strangers in a wide open place. It’s strange to everyone observing how one day he decides he needs a new toy, his old one having broken due to old age, and asks you to take him to the toy store. He’s questioned, people wondering why he wouldn’t rather you just go alone but Near insists. Apparently the toy that broke is special addition and he wants to make sure you get the right one. He stays close to you the whole way, not really saying much, but he’s there and that’s a big step for him.

- He helps you out with puzzles. Basically cheats for you. When he’s eyeing one specific empty slot, coughing lightly to get your attention, just know that he’s not helping you because he thinks you need it. Quite the opposite actually. With anyone else, he believes that they should be able to solve it on their own. He thinks that if they can’t, then that’s their fault. But with you…it’s as if he trusts that you’re intelligent enough without the puzzle being an indicator of that intelligence, so much so that he thinks the puzzle itself is obsolete when it comes to you. He doesn’t need a puzzle to know how smart you are.

- He’ll eat the foods you make him. Near’s picky eater-ness is above that of a child who only eats chicken tenders and pizza. He doesn’t eat that many people’s food because he knows it’s probably not he way he likes it. But with you, he trusts that you respect his eating habits and know him well enough to get it right the first time. Though he does check the food out for a bit, he’ll eat it. Sometimes all of it. Fuckin astonishing to Rester who had attempted many times to heat up microwave dinners for the guy.

[volleychumps]

Can I request a scenario with Kuroo, Bokuto, and Kageyama where their s/o is getting harassed by some creep but when their s/o stands up for herself, they're thinking " oh thank god I don't need to kill anyone". BUT when the creep lays a hand on her, all bets are off and they just punch the dude in the face!Cause there's jealousy and then there's pure protective rage!!!

S/O Who is Getting Harassed w/ Kuroo, Bokuto, and Kageyama 

Warnings: cursing, mild nsfw themes

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

Kuroo

“Kitten, I’m waiting~” 

“Keep it in your pants for a second, will you?” You laugh, your shoulder supporting your cellular device as you hold it up to your ear, shuffling around in your bag to find your wallet with your occupied hands. “I still cannot believe you put me in charge of ice cream duty.” 

“It was to prove that me calling you up in the middle of the night means cuddles and anime!”

“So not a dick appointment?” You joke as your finished getting rung out, the woman behind the counter giving you a strange look as you flinch at the fact that you had actually said that in front of another person as Kuroo’s laughter is heard audibly at the other end of the call. Bowing deeply in apology, you rush out of the convenience store as you breathe in the air of the late-night soothingly to calm your embarrassment. 

“I’m gonna come to meet you halfway, alright kitty?” 

“In your car?” 

“No, in a fucking spaceship. Yes, in my car.” 

You roll your eyes, a smile still on your face as you begin your trek in the desired direction as your sassy boyfriend seemed to be getting impatient. 

“I can just skip and not meet you for this appointment you know-” 

“It’s nOT A-” 

You hum in satisfaction as you end the call, walking along the street in search of Kuroo’s vehicle when an instant feeling of being watched sends a shiver down your back. Your hands straighten your clothes as you glance behind you, unsurprised yet uneasy at the sight of a man seeming to stare you down, eyes raking shamelessly upon your figure. 

Kuroo’s brows furrow as soon as he turns the corner, not having parked far as he sees you looking behind you worriedly, seeming to engage in a uneasy conversation with the stranger before you. 

The greasy grin on said stranger’s face had Kuroo’s feet moving before he could think, but the captain stills when he sees you scoff, crossing your arms heatedly at whatever he had said. Now within a hearing range, Kuroo smirks as he leans against the wall as you tell the creep off, hands finding home in the pockets of his red jacket. 

“Can you maybe go crawl back into whatever dump you and your nasty-ass teeth came from?” 

Kuroo’s grin only widens as you roll your eyes and walk past him seeming to be fearless, even shoving your shoulder against his in the process as Kuroo goes to call out to you to enforce the leave of that creep immediately- 

“You bitch!” 

but red flooded his vision as soon as a hand was lain on your bare shoulder, spinning you around roughly as an audible squeak of fear and surprise slips your lips, reeling his arm back- 

And then Kuroo’s feet were really moving. 

Kuroo shoved the guy off you with a snarl on his features, eyes spinning dangerously as your boyfriend delivers a sharp knee to his stomach, sending your attacker to the ground in less than a minute. The smile that spread on Kuroo’s lips was anything but kind as he lifted the now fearful man up a few inches by the shirt, mock-kindness in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, care to repeat that for me again?” The polite words held such a menacing edge as Kuroo grit his teeth, feeling you place a hand on his back soothingly. 

“Kuroo, let’s go.” 

“No. Someone’s gotta teach this prick what happens when people lay their hands on my girl.” Kuroo lets go of his shirt, grinning when he hits his head on the street before lifting him back up again, ignoring his groan of pain. “And that someone’s gonna be me.” 

“Tetsurou.” 

Kuroo groans at your strict tone as if you had interrupted his playtime, fist unclenching around the stranger’s shirt as he makes a hasty escape, tripping himself over in the process before dashing away. 

“Look at me listening to you, princess.” 

Kuroo’s eyes held a pissed-off edge to them as he takes a strand of your hair, running his fingers through it before kissing the strand with closed eyes. Your mouth goes dry when his cat-like eyes open again, staring at you as if you were his favorite posession before cupping your face, leaning closer with a grin that wasn’t happy. 

“Just how tight do you have me wrapped around your little finger?” 

You clear your throat, shifting in place as the moon seems to illuminate Kuroo’s stare, feeling his eyes bore into you as the strand slips from his fingers, his breath beginning to mix with your own.

“Tight enough, apparently.” 

“Just... come cuddle and watch anime with me?” 

“Yeah, we’ll have our appointment, whatever- but kiss me first.” 

And so he did, anger fading away in the movement of his lips against yours, draining away completely when he feels your smile against his.  

Even if it wasn’t an appointment. 

Bokuto

“Bo, I’ll be fine, I promise!” 

“Do you pinky promise?” 

“I- there’s like a 7% chance something will happen to me in the five minutes you’re gone.” 

“That’s 6.9% too much.” 

“Bo, I’m hungry.” You whine, grinning as you win the argument that was hardly an argument, seeing Bokuto’s eyes widen a little in worry before puffing his cheeks out, spinning on his heel in the direction of your desired food stand. 

“You win this one!” 

“I usually do!” You call back, shaking your head at Bokuto’s protective tendencies. A rare off day the two of your shared had wound the two of you at the mall, a day’s worth of shopping sitting at your feet as your golden-eyed boyfriend bought you lunch from the food court. You hummed, scrolling on your phone as you patiently waited until the sound of someone clearing their throat caused you to lift your head. 

Well, looks like you’re going to need to recalculate that percentage. 

“Someone as pretty as you should never be sitting alone in a place like this, hm?” 

“I’m not alone, though!” You chirp fakely, unknowingly causing the boy to press on, taking the seat that was reserved for your spiker boyfriend as you blanch. 

“Nice excuse, sweetheart- but that won’t work on me.” 

You clench your jaw, praying Bokuto wouldn’t return just yet and throw a fit you knew he was bound to throw as you offer a strained smile at the smirking boy. 

“I’m actually waiting for somebody-” 

“I don’t see them, though?” 

Bokuto stills, hands tightening around the tray holding your food subconciously at the scene before him, scenarios drifting through his head on what approach would make you the least mad at him. Cursing him out? Perhaps spiking the lunch tray at his head? That is, until- 

“Do you not understand what waiting means, or does nothing occupy that space between your ears?” 

“Feisty.” 

“Grow the hell up.” You plaster a smile as you flick him off, crossing one leg over the other for effect, causing your pursuer to rise to his feet in a now ticked-off manner as Bokuto grins, eyebrows raising in surprise. 

The grin fades as the asshole uses his thumb and forefinger to pinch your cheeks together harshly, the uncomfort apparent on your expression as you glare heatedly up at him, a crowd beginning to form. 

“Pretty girl with a dirty mouth, huh? That can be arranged-” 

A tap on the shoulder. 

“Do you know what else can be arranged?” 

“Who the hell-” 

He never gets to finish his sentence as Bokuto grabs him by the shoulder, ripping him off you and reeling his own arm back before delivering a punch so hard to the guy’s jaw you swear you could hear a few cracks. The crowd was definitely beginning to get bigger as Bokuto pays no mind, cracking his knuckles as the guy who put his hands on you looks up into the golden eyes of a pissed-off ace, the grin on Bokuto’s face borderline deadly as gold begins to darken. 

“Who am I?” A humorless chuckle that could have been almost considered kind. Bokuto tilts his head innocently as he ignores the bruising on his knuckles, leaning down to ask an equally innocent question. 

“Take a fucking guess.” 

You gasp at the headbutt delivered next, causing your pursuer to groan and fall backwards, Bokuto unfazed before realizing you were now holding him back before grabbing your hand, collecting your bags and your food in a hurry as he tugs you along, ignoring the flash of the cameras and gasps of the crowd. You have to hold him back from turning around for more in your effort to leave. 

“Just one more punch-” 

“Trust me, that was plenty.” 

It isn’t until you reach the parking lot when Bokuto finally stops, holding your hand so tightly it almost feels icy numb, not knowing what to say as his golden eyes turn to you, as if he was trying to hold his anger back. You hear him drop all the bags he’s holding as you hug him quickly, burying your face in his chest as the ace immediately relaxes. 

“God, stop being so pretty.” He finally mumbles into your hair, and you let out a laugh of relief as he calms down. 

“Right. So maybe not 7%-” 

“Y/N?” 

“Yes, Bo?” 

“Never leave my sight, please?” Your heartstrings tug at the crack in his voice, now determined to prevent his emo mode on your day off. 

“That’s a lot to promise.” You find yourself whispering back, pulling back a little to cup his face gently as Bokuto’s forehead touches yours. “But I’m so thankful you showed up when you did. You know what I can promise, though?” 

You smile at Bokuto’s head tilt, feeling the ace impatiently trace his lips along your neck as you giggle, feeling the atmosphere lighten as Bokuto pouts when you pull back with a question- 

“Car sex?” 

Bokuto’s pout is replaced with an excited grin, for this boy worships your body 10000%. 

“I thought you’d never ask, baby! Get in for the ride of your life!!” 

“Just because I feel bad for your bruised knuckles- I’ll let that pun slide.” 

Bokuto smirks as he kisses your forehead, winking at you through the window after closing the car door for you as the day’s events already begin to fade- 

being replaced with something much more important. 

Kageyama 

“...you sure you’re okay?” 

“Of course I’m okay! Why wouldn’t I be? I’m dandy.” Kageyama snaps, causing Hinata to back off with both arms raised in the air as a sign of meaning no harm. The blue-eyed boy grits his teeth from his spot on the sidelines of the court, pissed that the game was starting and he had no way of defending you from the creep sitting by you in the stands. 

Kageyama relaxes a little when he sees you switch seats with an offering Kenma, thankful for his fellow setter for once as his blue eyes meet your bright ones. 

The tension in his face and body drains at your smile, mouthing an I’m okay, do your best! as Kageyama returns his focus to the match just as it starts. Knowing he can’t lose concentration, especially when you’re watching, is hard- considering you were wearing his jersey number and the shortest skirt he had ever seen on you- a promise for something special you had mentioned if he won today’s match. 

He had a little bit of a clue what that could be. 

The match went smoothly with your genius-setter boyfriend playing at his top-game for a reason no one would ever pinpoint as you can’t help but giggle from the secret behind his determination today. 

What you were wearing was for him, but a certain someone didn’t seem to understand that. 

Kenma cast you a worried glance as he raises from his seat as he looks amongst the filled seats, trying to find one for you to sit in as he has to go start to warm up. 

“Y/N-san, what if you go to the other side?” 

“I’ll be fine, Kenma!” You assure him, ignoring the smirk of the guy who had previously started to talk you up. “I’ll probably go stand at the railing.” 

“Mm. That’s probably best- stay safe.” Kenma nods, sparing a warning glance to the scum next to him as if to enunciate his point before taking his leave as you walk up to the railing that was mostly unoccupied. You cheer for Kageyama as he scores quick after quick, thinking you were now in a safe manner. 

But you weren’t. 

Kageyama tilts his bottle upside down to drink down the liquid as soon as the match’s victors are declared Karasuno, the raven-haired boy wiping his mouth as he scans the crowds for you and your expected cheering form for his win, but what he saw had the setter moving quickly despite the ache in his legs. His teammates look on in worry before realizing the situation from a distance. 

“Please leave me alone, sir, I came for one of the players today-” 

“Why have one of these boys when you can have a real man?” 

Kageyama jogs into hearing distance- stopping at the rare, cold edge your tone took on before starting again. 

“Did you not hear what the hell I said, or are you hard of hearing you old geezer?” You keep your smile on, failing to notice the familiar raven-haired boy beginning to deadass climb the railing. “And real men leave girls alone when they ask.” 

“Come on, play nice~” 

You barely have time to flinch when his hand goes up your skirt, and it’s suddenly gone as soon as it does. 

Kageyama was surprisingly calm as he pins the man to the railing, blue eyes spinning with an emotion you had hardly seen before as he holds both hands behind the guy’s back, using his other hand to bow his head down to the ground. 

“Just where the hell do you think you’re touching?” Kageyama seethes as you smile at his sweaty appearance, seeing the man struggle as the rest of the Karasuno team jogs up to the stands as a commotion begins to break out, Suga asking if you’re okay as Daichi and Asahi both take the pervert from Kageyama before the setter can do something rash- 

“Oh, before you take him-” 

You flinch when Kageyama reels his fist back to clock him right in the nose, gasps filling the stands as Kageyama wipes the blood off his knuckles with the end of his jersey, whistling lowly at the cuts on his fist. 

“Alright. You can take him now.” 

Kageyama ignores the scold of his captain as he grabs you by the forearm, tugging you away as you wave a hasty goodbye to Suga as you follow him all the way into the empty hall, spinning you around so he can hold your wrists together with one hand.

“I’m really, really pissed.” Kageyama whispers, blue eyes hardened as you swallow when your back touches the wall, your eyes darting everywhere but on him. “Do you mind?” 

“D-Do I mind what?” You stutter when the setter’s lips touch your neck, sending chills down your spine when he speaks against it, his own hand sliding up your thigh. 

“Use my anger in the little reward you promised me?” 

You laugh out loud, taking a handful of his raven hair before tugging it back with a smile on your features, kissing him sweetly with other intentions. 

“Get me alone first, dummy. Good job on winning!” 

“And-” Kageyama’s voice drops an octave, uncaring of anyone entering the hall as his other hand slides up under his jersey that was adorning your body. 

“I want to cover anything that bastard might have left on you.” 

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

General works: @takemetovalhalla @savemesteeb @kasandrafaye @dreebbles @yams046

[deannaroxannewrites]

Tropetember Day 12 - Getting together / Love confession / First kiss / Break-up/Make-up / Fix-it

Limp away with me

Pairing: Armitage Hux x GN!Reader

Fandom: Star Wars

Rating: Teen and up

TW: Injuries, implications of rough childhood

AN: Day 12 of @tropetember. So, this is quite rough and holds a lot of potential for fleshing out into a proper story, whether that's just a longer one or a multi-chapter. Is that something anyone would be interested in? Fix-it fic cos they did General Hugs dirty

Allegiant General Pryde has shot General Hux. Lucky you're the Surgeon General really.

Find this story on Ao3 here.

Word Count: 1.6k

“Allegiant General Pryde just shot General Hux.”

Your breath catches and you allow yourself a moment to close your eyes. Next moment, you’ve grabbed your bag and are focused back on task.

“Collect the body,” you direct them, “and bring it to the medbay autopsy lab. Carefully.”

You and Armitage had prepared for this eventuality. One of the advantages of having a partner in the medical core was that the chances of surviving treason were much higher.

Whilst neither of you had entered First Order service willingly (no matter what Hux said, you had both been forced into it), Armitage had quickly excelled and embraced his duties in an effort to outshine his father. To try and prove himself as worthy. You, on the other hand, had enacted the only act of rebellion against your family that you would be able to survive. You had chosen to enrol in the medical core rather than aiming for command. If you had to be a part of this monstrous cause, you would try to save as many as you could.

You’d worked your way quickly up to the rank of Surgeon General and had been stationed on the Supremacy for a number of years. Thankfully, you’d survived the reign of Snoke and, so far, had survived Ren’s reign of terror. It had been a blessing that Hux had been reassigned to the vessel from the Finaliser. You enjoyed each other’s company and it was helpful to be able to train on your self-defence with someone who wasn’t trying to beat the stuffing out of you to make a point. He was a good outlet for a lot of energy in other ways too.

You glance up from checking you have all your equipment when you realise the orderlies haven’t moved. You turn your most piercing stare on them.

“Did I stutter?”

They look at each other until one of them pulls up their big boy panties and says “he was shot for being a spy.”

You laugh. Mostly at the fact that one looks like he wants to cry and the other like he’s about to collapse. They don’t need to know that though.

“Yes, by Allegient General Pryde who is well known for being a thorough and competent leader. Oh wait. No, he’s not. He’s had a grudge against Hux since he reappeared from whatever hell hole he had been hiding in. I said go fetch me the body! Now!”

They scarper out and you take another deep breath to centre yourself before busying yourself again with grabbing supplies and the emergency make-a-break-for-it kit you stored in your office. You then straighten your uniform, brace yourself and head out into the chaos of the medical bay.

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

Armitage is deathly pale when he finally is brought down to you but you swiftly move into action, infusing blood and bacta and checking the depth of the wound. You’d both known that, were he to be discovered, the weapon he was likely to be shot with would pierce the thin body armour he wore beneath his uniform. Unfortunately, it was the maximum thickness he could get away with before it became noticeable but you had both agreed that some bleeding would sell the ruse. You just didn’t like it.

Checking out the wound, you sigh out a quick breath of relief when you realise it is not too deep and hasn’t damaged any of the major blood vessels or organs. Though gruesome to witness, it was mostly superficial.

You lose yourself in your efforts, remaining undisturbed in the autopsy room, until you’re happy that he’s stable for travel. It’s at that point that you revive him, despite the fact he’s going to be in a world of pain.

He slowly blinks into reality with a scowl and a hiss of pain. You try to soothe him as best you can but there isn’t much you can do right now. You need him mobile to get to the shuttle and someone would notice you carrying him.

Gently running your hand through his hair you tell him “come on sweetheart. I know it hurts but we’ve got to move.”

Despite the pain, he seems alert and nods, letting out a grunt of agreement as he allows you to help him sit up and then stand. You gather the spare stormtrooper armour you’d pilfered a few months ago and quickly get him dressed up in it before leading the way swiftly to the small landing bay where Armitage’s private shuttle was stored.

You whisper a thanks to whatever Gods there are that the chaos on board the vessel means that there is noone around and you manage to get the pair of you on board with little drama. In fact, the whole escape into hyperspace is amazingly smooth and once you’re away with your course set, you sag a little in relief.

Or at least, you do until you see Armitage’s slumped frame and quickly grab him and get him moved to the small bedroom to continue his care and knock him back out while he heals.

You’re just about to inject the sedative when he grabs your hand, making you look at him.

“You know you are my world, don’t you?” he asks quietly.

You smile softly and lean forward to press a gentle kiss on his lips. You smile again as you feel him smile against you.

“I do, I wouldn’t have committed treason for anything less.”

He rolls his eyes before pressing another gentle peck to your lips and releasing you to get back your work. You take the opportunity to knock him out for now. It’s how he’ll be most comfortable.

And if you’re grinning so hard your face hurts, noone in deep space can see it. They can’t see you internally debating whether it’s ethical to dope someone up to get soppy confessions from them in the future either.

---------

It wasn’t often that General Dameron of the Resistance found himself in the Outer Rim.

Even 3 years after the end of the war, he was still mostly stuck to the core planets and mid-rim in efforts to support the Senate and help guard the peace which had settled upon the galaxy.

He’d been on a training mission with a few new recruits for Green Squadron when they’d been ambushed and they’d all received some pretty injuries despite eventually winning the battle. Injuries that required attention sooner than they would be able to if they headed back to base.

After a quick argument with Finn via the comms, the squad set course for a local med facility that was gaining a reputation for it’s high quality care.

Poe made sure all his squad were checked out before himself and he was happy that they were all being looked after so well. It was strange. The lead Doctor seemed familiar.

It wasn’t until you met his eyes that he realised.

You calmly continued his consultation, gently palpitating the wounds and collecting dressings, something you appeared to be doing more quickly than he was able to collect his thoughts.

“You!”

You snort. You can’t help it.

“Yes, me General Dameron.” You gently dab some bacta on some of the smaller cuts. “Did that break heal up correctly?”

He nods a bit dumbly. You’d been responsible for his care after Ren and a couple of the Stormtroopers had tortured him. You’d been a welcome relief, if he were honest. In fact, apart from the fact you’d worked for the First Order, he wasn’t aware of any accusations against you.

“I’m glad.” You finish wrapping his wrist and nod. “All done. Your pilots should be ready to go in around 2hrs, just to allow any drowsiness to wear off. I have some spare rooms if you need to stay on planet tonight?”

He thanks you profusely but explains that they are expected back tonight as you head back into the main waiting area. You shake his hand before leaving him and approaching a tall red-head across the room who instantly wraps his arm around your waist and drops a quick kiss on your head. You whisper to him for a few seconds and blue-green eyes suddenly lock with Poe’s before his face breaks out in a smile.

“General Dameron” Armitage says, approaching slowly and holding out a hand to a shell-shocked looking Dameron. “I’m glad you won. You and your squadrons are welcome to drop in here for treatment if you ever require it and are close by. Free of charge”

Poe, for his part, has a LOT of thoughts at this moment. Part of him wants to jump up and arrest him immediately whilst another screams that he was a spy and was seriously harmed because of it. It’s neither of these things that eventually seals his reaction though. It’s the loving glance Armitage throws your way as you offer them both coffee, the expression rendering him almost unrecognisable when juxtaposed against the version he used to know.

“Thank you.” He finally chokes out. “I’m assuming you’re not known by your old names?” Given the whole living in peace and not being turned into the authorities and all that?”

Hux just laughs.

“You would be correct. We’re both going by Y/N’s mother’s maiden name.”

“Oh?”

“Yes” Armitage says, looking far too amused. “We’re Armitage and Y/N Organa.”

Poe’s jaw drops to the flood. How on EARTH was he going to explain any of this?

Turns out, after it became the top recommended med centre by all members of the Resistance, he didn’t have to. He just had to keep pretending he didn’t know Hux had survived and not let Finn anywhere near. Poe was good at keeping his mouth shut.

Strange galaxy you live in really. And you couldn’t be happier

[lettersiarrange]

Covid things I can't believe I'm still saying:

Masks are ONLY effective when everyone is wearing them, everyone is at least 6 feet apart, and no one is exhaling forcefully

If one person isn't wearing a mask, there is a risk

If everyone is wearing a mask but you're only 5 ft apart, there is a risk

If everyone is wearing a mask and you're 6 feet apart but one person is shouting/singing/panting with exertion, there is a risk (your breath travels farther when exhaling forcefully, more distance is required)

Your mask needs to be FULLY on and ready to go before you leave your house/car

Not "I'll put it on when I get inside". Not "there won't be anyone at the park so I don't need it". Not "I'll slip it on in the parking lot." Unless you literally have a forcefield, there is a reasonable chance you will encounter someone before your mask is fully on, unless it is fully on 100% of the time you are in public

Children can still carry and spread covid. No, it is not acceptable for children to run around maskless in any public spaces, outdoor or otherwise

You can still get covid outdoors!!! The risk is somewhat lower but still very present.

You can test negative for covid while actively contagious. Most tests have a solid percentage of false negatives, and even if the test is working perfectly, it's best able to identify you as positive once you've started showing symptoms

It can take up to 14 days for symptoms of covid to appear. You are still contagious before your symptoms appear.

You could catch covid on a Monday, take a test Wednesday (while covid positive and contagious) and test NEGATIVE, then start showing symptoms on Sunday, and by the time you finally test positive the next Wednesday, you've exposed a week and a half's worth of people

This is why it's imperative that if you think you've been exposed to covid, you self-isolate for a full 14 days regardless of symptoms or test results

You can still be contagious even if you NEVER show symptoms of covid

Covid doesn't clock out because you're eating. Covid doesn't clock out because you're at the dentist. Covid doesn't clock out because you have a really, really, really good reason for taking off your mask. If your mask is off, or someone else's mask is off in a space you are occupying, there is a risk

Your best friend can give you covid. Your mom can give you covid. Your partner can give you covid. Your grandma can give you covid. The people in your life are not magically immune to infecting you just because you love and trust them. Unless you know with absolute certainty they have only interacted with people who have only interacted with them, there is a risk

I know it's inconvenient, but you really should not touch your mask, like at all. You shouldn't touch the front of your mask, because it may have effectively stopped covid from touching your face, and now that's all over your fingers, which are then all over your phone... you get the picture. You shouldn't touch the inside of your mask, because if you've touched anything with covid, you're now putting that right next to your nose and mouth. You shouldn't take your mask on and off, because while it's off, the inside may become exposed to covid. If you take your mask off, you really ought to put a new, clean mask back on. You really ought to wash your hands before putting your mask on and before taking it off, and you should only handle the straps. Do not wear a mask someone else has directly touched.

40% of grocery workers have caught covid

You can catch covid from surfaces. The risk is low, but present.

Masks with vents do not filter the air going out of them, making them completely useless at protecting other people from your potentially asymptomatic covid+ self. Masks are primarily worn to protect other people from the wearer, and just have the added benefit of providing a small amount of protection to the wearer, but a vented mask is effectively pointless.

The longer someone stays in one spot, the more saturated the air around them gets with their breath. This is why activities that involve staying in one spot with a bunch of people for a significant period of time are especially dangerous. See: concerts, church, bars, restaurants, spectator events, etc. Things become more risky if people are singing, laughing, talking loudly, screaming, exercising. Again, your breath travels further. A situation where everyone is moving around (calmly) is less risky.

If you have long hair, public health experts reccomend wearing it up while in public to reduce surface area upon which the virus could stick. (Consider how close your hair is to your face, and it's presence at the same height as everyone else's heads/mouths/breath. There is less concern about your jeans getting in your eyes/mouth or being coughed on by someone covid+).

Do not take your mask off to speak. Do not wear your mask below your nose. Do not reuse disposable masks (and ideally invest in a washable and reusable mask that you wash between every single use. Or don't even invest in one-- many places are giving them out for free.)

Just an "america is a capitalist hellscape" protip from someone who got charged $318 for a "free" covid test-- do NOT go to a privately owned healthcare provider for a test, and double check to see if there's a "*with most insurance" attached to that free test

Just because someone tells you a public space is safe to be in, does not mean it is safe. Think to yourself: does this person/organization benefit financially from me being in this space? Restaurants want your money. Airlines want your money. Stores want your money. They will do the absolute bare minimum necessary to follow any laws that might be in place and make their business seem appealing. This does not actually mean they care about your health or are actively protecting it. Ask yourself: do I trust these employees with my life? Do I trust the management of this company with my life? If I were working this job for minimum wage 40 hours a week, would I be taking every single precaution possible, for every single customer, every single time, on top of my regular duties, especially if management didn't require it?

Unfortunately, "people who benefit from you being in a public space but don't necessarily give a shit about your individual health" include politicians and governments. Just because spaces are legally open, does not mean they are safe. Just because the mayor/governor/president/prime minister says it's safe does not mean that it is

I'm not trying to suggest everyone is out to get you and you should be suspicious of everything, I just want everyone to use the factual, scientific information we have about covid to evaluate a situation and determine on their own, using science and logic, if a situation is safe. Because unfortunately, things other people say, even ones in positions of authority, are not always based on science or logic, as we should all know well by now.

Please add your own info or correct me if I've gotten anything wrong

*Bolding is to make the wall of text easier to read and does not correspond with importance

[blxetsi]

Imagine pampering Reiner. I would love to kiss him silly 🙈 is it obvious he’s my favorite character?

id like to kiss him silly too 🤩🤚 tysm for the request !!!

pampering reiner after a long day (modern au)

warnings: taking care of ur man 😁👍 uhh construction worker!reiner (of age, obv), gn!reader, face care n shit idk, cute names like baby and love, mentions of sexual harrasment/assault in a workplace.

living in the city had it ups and downs. well, so did everything in life, but you never really thought about that until you moved into the city. you and reiner both came from a small town, and then went to the same college in a bigger town, before you two decided to move to the big city together. downs happened more often than ups, but anything was an up if you were with reiner. rent was expensive, especially for the shoebox of an apartment you two live in, but youve both made it into your home, a cozy little sanctuary away from the rest of this chaotic world. another down was that the city never sleeps, someone, somewhere was always working, and you too found yourself taking nightshifts at the diner you worked at. it was minimum wage, and middle aged men and women would come in and flirt (more like harass), but your coworkers were nice, and if you made sure to dress up a bit you'd get a fat tip.

you and reiner originally thought that you'd get well paying jobs as soon as you moved into the city, which was a lie. considering the time, effort, and money you both put into getting your degrees, you thought you were more than qualified for certain jobs, but you werent, and that sucked, and now your boyfriend over works himself physically building houses while you let freaks make weirdly sexual comments about you so you can earn more money. it sucks on both ends, but you know that you'd do anything to be with reiner, so you could take a couple of gropes and sleazy jokes.

today you had gotten off work early, your boss closing the store because of a family emergency. you felt bad for the man, he was nice, and offered to switch you to dish duty when he'd seen older people be weird with you, you'd declined knowing that you wouldn't earn as much in the back. he was a family man, and generous, and cared about others, which was a nice change from other employers in the past. you were surprised reiner wasn't home yet, because today was friday, and he usually got off fridays around six, but now it was almost nine, and you were starting to get a bit worried.

just as you started gnawing on your lip, your phone vibrated beside you. grabbing it you saw it was reiner calling you, and quickly paused your episode of shameless to answer. "rei, where are you ?"

"just got off work baby." he sighed.

he sounded exhausted, and you could hear cars honking so you knew he was outside.

"do you need me to come get you ?"

"no, its okay. jack's giving me a ride home."

you let out a breath, at least he didn't have to wait for the bus, getting a ride meant he'd be home faster. "okay my love. you want me to run you a bath for when you come home ?" you knew how sore reiner got from working, and being out in the sun all day. with the weather becoming warmer it would become harder on him, and he'd always forget to wear sunscreen which meant he'd burn.

he let out a soft moan. "that sounds great baby, thank you so much."

you heard talking from his end, assuming it was jack. you tried to keep listening but reiner's voice cut in again. "only ten more minutes and im back to you."

you smiled, getting excited that he'd be here so soon. "okay lovey, i'll get that bath started. i love you."

you could hear his smile on the other end. "i love you too baby, thank you so much."

you quickly said your goodbyes before hanging up, cutting him off. you felt a bit bad but quickly brushed it off as you walked to your bathroom. you got everything together, moving from the bathroom to your bedroom and back again. you set out a clean towel, a pair of sweats and a white tank top for him, as well as a hoodie if he was cold. you filled up the tub, making sure it was hot, before adding a cup of epsom salt and stirring it around with your hand. you got up again, going to the kitchen area of your little home and filling up a cup with a jug of cold water from the fridge. you brought it back to the small bathroom, sitting it on the tank cover of the toilet. he needed to be hydrated.

you were changing the sheets of your shared bed when you heard the from door open, close, then lock. reiner dropped his backpack and toed off his shoes. he hung up his jacket before slowly walking around the apartment, cracking his neck and stretching his arms above his head. "baby ? where are you ?"

"in here rei, just changing the sheets." you called out. you could hear his heavy footsteps make his way down the hall towards you.

he thought you looked beautiful. dressed in just a tee shirt (his tee shirt) and plaid pyjama pants, the lights from the city reflecting all around the room and on your body, a small lamp which casted a soft warm glow around the room, made your eyes shine.

"you don't have to change the sheets baby." he whispered, making his way over to you. he helped you put the comforter over the bed. a simple grey colour, which matched the baby pink sheets and pillow cases.

"i wanted to. you always feel good sleeping in new sheets." you answered, making your way around the bed to him. you wrapped your arms around his torso while he wrapped his around your shoulders, pulling you close and kissing your head. he sighed, and just held you while you rubbed his back.

"your bath is ready, and i left you clothes for you there too." you whispered. he hummed in response before squeezing you tighter.

"i missed you so much." his words were soft, but held a lot of weight, and your heart hurt because you knew he was working himself to the bone.

"it's okay baby, i'm here now."

he nodded before kissing your head again. he smelt your hair, sighing before pulling back to look at your face. "did you shower ?"

"when i got home, yeah."

"okay. i won't be long then."

you shook your head, moving your arms so you could hold his face in your hands. "no rei, take all the time you need. i'll wait for you." you knew that reiner was too tired to fight you on that, so he simply nodded, giving you a soft kiss before stripping down to his underwear and leaving the room.

you put his clothes in the hamper, putting his wallet on his bedside table and plugging his phone in to charge. then you opened up the window so the cool breeze could come in, you knew reiner liked the room to be a bit cooler at night.

slowly you made your way to the bathroom, peaking in to see him in the bath, the water up to his neck as he was almost fully submerged. his eyes were closed and his breathing was slow, you could see his tan lines from working. his muscles that bulged even when relaxed and the crinkles in his eyes from smiling so much, even when he was so young. his stuble which was just a bit darker than his sandy blond hair, and his calloused hands from his labour, wrapped around his torso in a hug. those hands that held you, that protected you, that tickled you, that loved you. you never got to admire reiner often, usually because he'd notice early on and tell you to stop, he'd get all flustered and his face would turn red, getting all blushy that his lover wanted to look at how beautiful he was. and he was, reiner was gorgeous, and its a blessing to call him yours.

his voice was raspy from not speaking for so long. "baby, stop looking at me like that." you could see the apples of his cheeks turn pink while his lips quirked up into a small.

"i can't help it, you're just so pretty." you replied, walking into the small bathroom and closing the door behind you. it took less than two steps to get towards him, and you crouched down beside the tub to look at him closer.

he slowly opened his eyes, like he was in a daze, before peeling an arm away from his body and holding it out for you to take. you grabbed his hand with both of yours, rubbing his palm and fingers while you softly kissed his knuckles. you two never looked away as you did so, relishing in the soft moment together.

he closed his eyes again, and sighed while moving deeper into the tub, making the water go from his neck to his chin, and his long legs stick out of the water at the knees. "you know that face mask you have baby ? the one that peels off and makes your face smooth ?" he asked, his voice echoing throughout the room.

"yeah," you mumbled against his hand. "you wanna use it ? want me to put it on for you ?"

he nodded. you slowly put his hand back into the water before crawling to the cabinet under the sink, reaching for your peel off face mask, you turned around and went back to your love, shifting as close as you could ger before the toilet got in the way, before opening the tube and squeezing some onto your hand. the clear gel felt cool on your finger tips, and you rubbed it along both pointer and middle finger on your two hands, before leaning over the side of the tub and rubbing some on his face. you made sure to keep it away from his facial hair and his eyebrows. after rubbing it in you rinsed your hands off in the bathwater, before moving them to hold reiner's hand again. "if you cant peel some if it off after its dry just rinse with warm water, okay ?" reiner nodded before squeezing your hand. "thank you baby."

you two sat in silence for a couple of minutes, just listening to each others breathing and the slight swish of the water. "i'm gonna make some tea, would you like any ?" you asked.

reiner shook his head. "i'll just steal a sip of yours."

you chuckled before kissing the back of his hand, a smile on your face. "okay my love, i'll wait for you in the bedroom."

he leaned over quickly, grabbing your face with his free hand and giving you a soft kiss, over and over again. his lips were a bit chapped, which caused your own to tickle, but to him it felt great. this was so domestic, so simple, it made him feel safe, it made reiner forget all about his horrible day. all he could think about was you, all he could feel was you.

because of your kiss some of the product from his face mask had transferred onto yours, causing him to giggle before wiping it away with his pruny hand. "i love you so much baby. i'm so happy to be with you." he whispered, his face millimetres from your own.

"thank you rei, i love you too." you responded. you loved him so much, you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. and you're sure you will.

you pecked his lips before kissing his hand one more time, then you got up and left the bathroom, reiner's eyes on you as you went.

you went about tidying up the living room, putting away reiner's dinner on the table (if he didn't scarf it down when he came in, you knew he wouldn't touch it until tomorrow) turning off the tv and folding up the blanket you were snuggled up with on the couch almost an hour ago.

you quickly boiled your water for your tea, getting out your favourite mug and putting the tea bag in. then you went into your bedroom, where you moved through the open window to sit on the fire escape. the breeze of the night brought with it a chill, and you wished you'd brought that blanket with you. the lights and the cars moving down brought comfort to you. after living here for over a year, the noise became berable to you, just second nature.

you could hear faint shuffling inside the bedroom, before reiner's head popped out of the window. "i was looking everywhere for you."

you gave him a sheepish smile. "sorry my love, would you like to join me ?" he nodded and crawled out of the window too, which was a bit hard considering his long limbs. he sat down beside you, his skin looking soft and smooth, his hair wet and all dressed in his hoodie and sweats.

the two of you huddled together, watching people walk by and cars drive around, looking into the windows of other apartments and stores, seeing if you could see the people inside doing weird things. you two passed the mug of tea between each other, before all that was left was the wet tea bag at the bottom of the cup. reiner reached up and set it on the window sill, before pulling you into his side by your shoulders.

"do your muscles hurt still ?" you asked.

reiner shook his head before replying. "not anymore, thank you again for the bath."

you giggled, turning your head to look up at him, he looked down at your own head, resting on his shoulder, and matched the smile that painted your lips. "you don't have to thank me so much silly, i love taking care of you."

he rubbed his nose against your own. "i love taking care of you too. which is why i was thinking of looking for a new job."

your eyes opened again and he watched your reaction closely. "that tech company near downtown, they're looking for a new software developer. i've already set up an interview, i just didn't know when to tell you." he whispered.

your eyes lit up as you smiled again, leaning up and smacking kisses all over his face. he let out a loud laugh before cupping your face with his hand, guiding your head away from his own so he could speak, but you started talking before that could happen. "i'm so happy for you. i hate seeing you come home so tired and in pain."

he nodded. "and i hate seeing you come home with a new story of some creep making moves on the love of my life." he replied, giving you a soft kiss.

you two sat in silence again. reiner felt happy that you weren't upset about his idea for a new job, he had a degree, and a great mind, and he somehow knew he'd get this job.

"y'know," you started. "that new art museum that opened near the science centre, they're hiring too. said on their website they're looking for tour guides."

reiner pulled you closer to him, if that was even possible. "baby you'd be great at that. you know so many art things."

"'art things?'" you laughed. "yeah, maybe i'll call and see if i could get an interview."

reiner nodded. "that sounds great baby. but tomorrow, your tea made me so sleepy and now i just wanna sleep." you shook your head with a chuckle before pecking him on the lips again.

you two made your way inside, closed the window, and got ready for bed. while you put the mug back into the kitchen sink, reiner took off his hoodie and unfolded the comforter from the bed, ready to get under. when you came back inside you shut off the lamp and got in beside him, where reiner immediately pulled you into his chest.

your head rested on his bare pec, and you could hear his heart thumping. he was calm, content, and happy with you in his arms. and you two went to bed that night with dreams about your future together.

not me going overboard with that one 😁👍 anyways love u all stay safe requests r open 😍🙏

[spencers-renaissance]

storm-darkened or starry bright

Summary: Spencer contracts HIV. It all falls apart after that.

Tags: angst, illness, hurt!spencer, hurt/comfort, worried derek, depression, mutual pining, getting together, angst w a happy ending

TW: vomit, implied/referenced sex and addiction, disordered thinking, depression as a result of medical diagnosis

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

(I've tagged my usual moreid taglist in this fic, but I won't be offended at all if this is too heavy for you!)

Title from "Where All My Books Go" - W.B. Yeats.

Originally inspired by J_Ballinger's Swift, Fierce & Obscene which is just a brilliant piece of art.

you said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud — richard siken, litany in which certain things are crossed out

It starts with the flu.

He calls into work sick and he makes himself comfortable in bed, preparing to ride it out. It is the middle of January after all, and their last case saw them in Ann Arbor, shivering their way through each crime scene and a police station with abysmal heating.

His lymph nodes are swollen, and he’s running a moderate fever — 102 the last time he checked — and the cough he’s had for a couple of days is definitely getting nastier, but he uses the time to catch up on the documentaries he’s had stored on his DVR for the past couple of months. He tries to see it as a positive: he never gets time to rest like this. Warm soup, chamomile tea, and some Nyquil should be the end of it.

He makes the most of it. He gets better. He goes back to work, and life goes on.

“It’s not like you to get sick, Reid.”

Emily doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s about as innocuous as a comment can possibly be, but something about it makes his heart stop for a second. Because the thing is, she’s right. The last time he was actually sick was the anthrax poisoning three years ago, which can hardly be blamed on his body itself. He hasn’t been sick with a virus since he was a child — certainly not anything more than a mild winter cold.

His world turns upside down in the middle of a Tuesday, a couple of them gathered around Derek’s desk laughing about nothing in particular, the easy camaraderie of a close-knit team without a time-sensitive case on their minds.

Three and a half weeks ago: a night heady with alcohol in a gay bar in downtown DC, a charged encounter with a man just Spencer’s type, a whispered invitation back to his place, not making it past the bathroom…

He pales, suddenly feeling violently ill at the prospect of what’s happened, how badly he’s fucked up this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” Emily asks, suddenly noticing his appearance. “You look really pale… maybe you’re not ready to be back at work yet.”

Forcing himself out of his stupor, he manages to open his mouth without vomiting. “I don’t feel so good,” he says, and even to him his voice sounds weak and distant. Blood roars in his ears, and all he can think is what that blood could very well be tainted with.

Far away voices discuss something he doesn’t pay attention to before Derek’s placing his hand on his shoulder, drawing him back into the discussion. “I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Emily isn’t standing at the desk anymore, but he doesn’t think to look around for her, just locks eyes with Derek: noticing his brows knit deeply in concern, worry clouding his dark, striking eyes.

He lets himself be led down to the garage. Later, he won’t remember any of the winding car journey home, Derek’s worried sideways glances, his attempts at making conversation, tucking him into bed, his hesitancy to leave and go back to work. He’ll just remember the weight of his realisation, the sinking acknowledgement of what this means.

What it makes him.

⭐️

The next day, he wakes up ravenously hungry. He doesn’t remember anything after the dreaded realisation, but he remembers that he came to it only minutes after eating lunch: meaning he’s gone over eighteen hours without food. Somehow, he manages to pick himself out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He finishes it all and doesn’t taste a single bite.

He texts the group chat Penelope had made for the whole team last year, ignoring the dozens of anxious messages from his team already filling his phone. Won’t be in.

Almost on auto-pilot, he gets dressed, picks up his phone, wallet, and keys, and walks to his nearest metro station. He counts four stops, gets out of the carriage and walks up the stairs onto the street, weaving through exactly three streets until he finds himself staring at the sign for his Urgent Care clinic.

Words — not ashes, as some small part of him anticipates — manage to spill from his lips as he tells the doctor everything from the unprotected sex he vaguely recalls having on the night of Saturday the 12th of March to his brief flu-like symptoms to his sickly realisation yesterday. Vaguely, he thinks there’s some sort of sick humour in being able to recall exactly what day he had sex, but not the details of the sex itself. Alcohol and dilaudid are the only things that have ever been able to interfere with his memory.

He obediently opens his mouth for a saliva swab, lets the nurse prick his finger and collect a drop of his blood. He wonders if she knows what they’re testing him for. He wonders if she thinks he’s as dirty as he feels, if she’ll violently scrub her hands after smiling politely at him, if she’ll roll her eyes when she talks to the other nurses, lamenting his stupidity.

The sounds of the waiting room melt into the background as he waits for the test to be conducted, and judging by the tone of the nurse who gets his attention when it’s time to return to the doctor’s office, it’s not her first attempt.

He mutters a distracted apology as he gets up from his seat, but she just smiles sympathetically. It shouldn’t get his back up in the way it does.

“I’m afraid you have tested positive for the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, Dr Reid,” she tells him, her voice gentle but straight-forward. He’s at least glad she doesn’t try and soften the blow. It’s not a blow that deserves to be softened. “I know this is a shock, but—”

“It’s not a shock.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s not a shock,” he repeats insistently; impatiently. “I knew it was coming. It’s my own fault.”

“Playing blame games isn’t going to help anybody here, Dr Reid,” she says firmly, meeting his eye. “Whether you were expecting it or not, this would knock anyone off-kilter, and I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that.”

She waits for his reluctant nod before continuing. “The good news is that we’ve caught it early enough to contain the infection. Your CD4 levels are very good, and you do not meet AIDS criteria. I’ve referred you to Dr Frederiks at George Washington University Hospital. He’s an expert in Infectious Disease and specialises in HIV/AIDS treatment. He can see you tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

He arrives back at his apartment almost $300 out of pocket, having gained nothing but a positive HIV diagnosis. The FBI has brilliant healthcare insurance but Spencer ticked the ‘no’ box on the insurance form. He can’t risk anybody knowing about this.

He texts Hotch and tells him he has a doctor’s appointment in the morning and will let him know whether he’ll make it in for the afternoon. Then he lays on the sofa, and cries.

⭐️

“HIV is a chronic illness,” the doctor explains at four minutes past ten the next morning, “a latent infection. Not a death sentence. Medications have come leaps and bounds in the last ten years, and the regimes aren’t anywhere near as rigorous as they used to be. With your CD4 levels this good, your life really won’t be much different than it was a few weeks ago.”

Spencer’s never had much interest in medicine — after all, there’s a reason he’s not that kind of doctor — but he knows this much. He doesn’t tell the doctor that he’s wasting his time explaining the basics of the disease, just stares blankly at the point in between his eyes, staring at the small crease in his skin, the way it moves as he speaks.

“It’s likely that you’ll die of something else, Dr Reid, decades in the future. When managed correctly, HIV is rarely deadly.”

This seems irrelevant: it doesn’t matter to Spencer what he dies of. Whether his immune system gives in or he’s shot in the line of duty or drops dead in the street from an aneurysm he doesn’t see coming, he’ll be dead.

He still doesn’t say anything.

“For the first six months of infection, the risk of transmission to sexual partners is high,” he continues, unfazed by Spencer’s lack of response. “Are you in a relationship?”

“No.” It’s the first word he’s spoken since he entered this office. His voice breaks. He can’t have the person he wants: this feels like the nail in the coffin of a relationship dead on arrival.

A look of sympathy crosses Dr Frederik’s face. “In any casual encounters you may engage in, you’ll need to be extra careful. Do you have the contact details of the person you contracted this from?”

His voice is steadier this time. “No.”

“Do you have any suspicion that you were deliberately infected by them?”

“No,” he answers, because he doesn’t, but it occurs to him that he’ll never actually know. He doesn’t remember if they used a condom; if he even wanted to use one. (All he remembers is his muscles and the way he pretended he was Derek, the amused look on the other man’s face when he whispered his name like a prayer.)

“That’s fine,” the doctor smiles encouragingly. It feels patronising. “We’re going to start with a triple combination of medications: tenofovir and emtricitabine combined with dolutegravir. HIV is an adaptable virus and easily becomes resistant, so it’s best to attack it hard and fast as early as possible to give you your best chances at an undetectable viral load in the next year. Which, I might add, Dr Reid, is a completely reasonable goal. At that stage, you will not be all that infectious. You’ll have bloods drawn before you leave to estimate your baseline kidney and liver function as well as overall health. In three months, you’ll have another test, and in six months, we’ll assess how well the drugs are working for you.”

Spencer nods, his eyes not leaving the crease between Dr Frederik’s eyebrows.

“Make those appointments with my secretary on your way out, and contact me if you have any concerns.” He pushes a brown paper envelope across the desk. “Inside you’ll find a copy of your positive test result, your prescriptions, and a number of leaflets on the condition as a whole.”

He squashes the urge to push the envelope back across the desk and nods again.

“Pick up the medication before the end of today and start them either tonight or in the morning,” he advises, before standing up from behind the desk and walking towards the door.

Spencer follows obediently, nodding once more and forcing a grimace onto his face, before walking down the hallway towards the secretary, another stranger he has to share his secret with. Swallowing down the urge to either scream or vomit, he fiddles with the envelope in his hands and bites the bullet.

⭐️

He tells Hotch that he won’t be in that day, and he goes home and forces himself to get it together. He showers first, the hot water washing the grime of the last few days down the drain, but he can’t do anything about the lingering layer of shame clinging to his skin. For the first time since the realisation, he forces himself to look in the mirror. A thin, pallid man with bags under his eyes and the look of someone harbouring a secret looks back at him.

His hair has grown out a little in the last few months, actual curls visible around his face (memories flash across his mind of breathy gasps; a hand buried in his hair, pulling ever-so-gently but they’re gone before they’re even remotely tangible), and he lost a little bit of weight he couldn’t afford to lose during his symptomatic period.

But, as frustrating as it is, it’s not what he sees. Not really. He sees Spencer Reid, possessor of five degrees, soon to become six, expert analyst in the FBI, the man who listens to jazz when he studies and watches documentaries for fun and solves crossword puzzles on the metro.

Something inside him shifts as he’s reminded of his humanity in that moment. It’s the most okay he’s felt in the last forty-eight hours.

He’ll take it.

He goes back to work the next day with little fanfare, getting warm smiles and ‘glad you’re feeling better’s from the team before they’re plunged headfirst into a new case, as it so often goes. They fly to Vermont, and part of him is glad for the distraction: no more talking about his illness, no more self-pity — he’s forced to try and bridge the gap between Dr Spencer Reid, Before and Dr Spencer Reid, HIV Positive as quickly and seamlessly as possible.

He does what he’s good at: offers relevant, detailed facts, profiles the victims and the unsub, cites studies that help them get to the bottom of the case, and for a moment he allows himself to forget about the virus coursing through his blood and the feeling of shame he can’t quite shake no matter how clean he scrubs his skin.

They get to the hotel late that evening and Spencer takes his second dose of medication, individually popping each tablet from it’s sheet into his hand. The pharmacist he spoke to yesterday told him that from his next medication order they can put all three tablets into a blister packet for him, but for now he’s stuck punching through three different plastic packets every night. Derek asks him to join them at the bar for a drink, but Spencer turns him down. He’s barely been able to look him in the eye.

If, in some rare and far flung universe, Derek did want to date Spencer, he wouldn’t want to date HIV positive, ex-addict, reckless and unsafe Spencer.

He wouldn’t want to date a man so heartbroken and lovesick that he got black-out drunk and slept with someone — most likely without a condom — just because he bared a passing resemblance to Derek. Contracting the Human Immunodeficiency Virus in the process.

No.

Spencer spends the evening staring into the mirror instead, desperately trying to find the man he was four days ago under the burden of broken suffering he seems to have picked up along with the diagnosis, the positive test, the sympathetic doctors.

When he hears the others come up past midnight and pile into their hotel rooms, laughing and chattering among themselves, Spencer still hasn’t looked away.

The use of the case as a distraction only works until 11am the next day. He’d had trouble falling asleep, and he’s powering through the day fuelled by black coffee and raw determination alone, but those motivators — as effective as they can be — can’t stop his legs from shaking as he stares at the geo-profile, searching for what they’re missing.

It sucks, but he’s glad for the warning the shaking gives him. He finds a chair and sits down, which is likely the only thing that stops him from collapsing when black dots swim in his vision and he’s suddenly vomiting down his front.

“Reid!” Hotch cries, running from the other end of the police station to where he’s sitting, panic clear on his face. They’re the only two from their unit currently in the station, but Hotch quickly locates an officer and turns to him. “Call an ambulance.”

“No,” Spencer manages to protest, although it only makes him want to be sick again, “‘m fine, promise.”

“What’s going on? I thought the flu had passed? Healthy people don’t spontaneously vomit and almost pass out, Reid.”

Somehow, his addled brain manages to concoct a decent enough lie. “Keep thinking I’m better,” he mumbles, leaning forward to put his head between his legs as Hotch places a hand on his back, “and then I’m not.”

“You’re sure this is just the flu?” Hotch asks, concerned but at least appearing to believe him.

“Certain,” Spencer lies.

Hotch nods once before shaking his head at the officer on standby with a phone to call an ambulance. “Well, you can’t work the case like this,” he sighs. “We need to get you back to the hotel, okay? You can rest there. God, Reid, what did the doctor say?”

“Bad case of the flu. Gave me some strong Tamiflu and told me I’d be fine in a couple days.” He gasps the words out in between intense waves of nausea, clasping his hands together in an iron grip.

He absolutely can’t let Hotch catch on. In the nine years he’s worked at the FBI, he’s managed to conceal his sexuality below layers upon layers of closeting, and he’s not about to be forced out now. It started as a purely protectionist strategy — law enforcement in the early 2000s didn’t exactly have a stellar reputation when it came to tolerance — but then he just felt forced too deep, felt the web of lies spun too tightly around him to even begin to unpick them.

Terror seizes his heart at the idea of his team knowing who he really is: not because he expects homophobia or backlash, but because he’s not sure he’s ready to live that openly yet. He’s never been good with change, and this is no exception.

It doesn’t help that the whole team is all too aware of his past addiction. He dreads the thought of them thinking he’s using again and, worse, so irresponsibly that he managed to contract HIV.

Hotch gets a rookie officer to drive him back to the hotel, and she keeps sending him nervous glances, most likely worried he’ll stink up her immaculately kept squad car with his spontaneous vomiting. Both he and the car make the journey unscathed, although he knows he probably looks as green as he feels as he drags himself up the stairs — could there possibly be a worse time for an out of order elevator? — and somehow manages to make it to the bed before he collapses.

Unfortunately, his restful slumber doesn’t last long. He’s woken up not half an hour later with the intense need to be sick again, and he races to the toilet, where he spends the next two hours: intermittently slumped over it, being sick into it, and lying on the cold tiles next to it.

It feels like a punishment. If Spencer was a religious man he’d be certain God was smiting him for his sins, but instead he’s left instead pondering karma or fate or some other theory he doesn’t really buy into either. Logically, he knows it’s just a combination of guilt and regret — he made a mistake, he’s suffering the consequences; there’s no fate or religion or karma involved — but his delirious, out of sorts mind struggles to hold on to that.

Reason doesn’t make the nausea any less crippling, after all.

Eventually, he must manage to pass out on the bathroom floor, because he’s being shaken awake by a pair of gentle hands, and when he finally opens his eyes, it’s dark outside.

“Spence?”

Shit. Derek.

His eyes fly open and he fights to sit up, to make himself more presentable. The smell of vomit lingers in the air and he remembers that he didn’t even put the toilet seat down, let alone flush it. (At least he thought to change out of his vomit-covered shirt. Thank God for small mercies.) He blushes, and thinks he must look a pretty picture of red and green as he finally meets Derek’s eyes.

“God, Spence, how bad is this flu?” he asks worriedly, smoothing his hair with the palm of his hand. Despite himself, Spencer finds himself pressing back into the touch, relishing any contact he can get.

Then it hits him: he’s dirty. He can’t contaminate Derek like this.

“You should leave,” he asserts hurriedly as he pulls away, hating that desperation is so obvious in his voice. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve cleaned everything up, and I used gloves. I’ve been in contact with you the last couple of days, so if you were going to get me sick you would’ve already. I just want to be here for you.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed so tightly they hurt. He wants nothing more than to fold himself into Derek’s arms, let himself be comforted by the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. But he can’t. There are so many reasons that he can’t.

“No,” he says, not opening his eyes, resenting the tear that slips out and spills down his cheek. “You can’t. I’m… I’m not safe to be around.”

He doesn’t really mean to say it, but it escapes anyway, and he opens his eyes just in time to see the confusion cross Derek’s face. “Not safe to…? Spencer, what—”

“I just… I need to be alone.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek says softly, bringing a hand to his hair again, and he knows that HIV isn’t transmitted through sweat or vomit but he’s dirty, and Derek is so so good, he can’t be responsible for tainting him. Derek doesn’t relent, though, not even when Spencer pulls away from his touch and shrinks in on himself, leaning against the toilet. “You need to allow yourself to be comforted. You need to let me help, Spencer.”

Suddenly, he feels incredibly tired: the energy seeping out of his body, and he’s boneless against the toilet, absent even of the effort to hold himself upright.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He puts his arms around Spencer’s rolled up body and lifts him, holding him close to his chest as he carries him from the bathroom to the bed.

Spencer doesn’t just let him, he curls into his embrace, clinging to the material of his t-shirt like it’s his only grip on reality.

(Later, he’ll blame the fever, but deep down he knows that just once, he wanted to play pretend, and just once, he didn’t have the energy to stop himself.)

⭐️

The side effects take weeks to finally leave, his body having a hard time adjusting to not only a deadly virus in his bloodstream, but some of the strongest drugs on the market inhibiting his natural enzyme production. Eventually, though, he’s back at work properly, selling a story about a simultaneous gastro-intestinal virus making the flu exponentially worse.

He’s not really sure everyone believes him, but nobody questions it out loud, so he avoids everyone’s eyes and takes it as a win.

Nobody gets close enough to try, anyway. He pushes everyone away, holds them at arm's length no matter how much they kick and scream and claw their way closer to him. It surprises him how persistent Derek is, and for a moment he feels a sad flutter of hope in his stomach and he’s forced to stamp it down: Derek sees him as a brother, a friend, a colleague, not a potential romantic partner.

And it would be irrelevant, even if he did. Derek wouldn’t want him as any of those things if he knew what he was hiding. Ever since his lapse in judgement on the case in Vermont, he’s refused to spend any time alone with Derek, and he hates the hurt he sees in his eyes, hates that he can’t scream at him that this is for his own good. But he can’t know. Because Spencer is still ruled by his relentless selfish desires, and he can’t let Derek go, no matter how hard he tries to.

Kept at arm’s length at least means he’s still touching his shoulders.

He muddles through the next few months on his own, returning to his quiet apartment every night and eating a sad, lonely dinner on his sad, lonely sofa before punching his way through a blister pack, taking his tablets, and going to sleep. He turns down drinks invitations, declines phone calls, ignores text messages. He pretends he isn’t home when there are knocks at his door.

He takes showers that are too hot and cries on the metro, scrubs his fingernails and his face, and when he got a shallow knife wound on a case last month, wouldn’t let a single member of the team near him. Whispering his status, shame-faced, to the attending EMT.

This is it, he thinks one night, as he opens the microwave and takes out the mac-and-cheese ready meal he’d bought on the way home that night. He doesn’t even like mac-and-cheese. It was just the only thing left in the store at 8.30pm. This is my life now. Standing in my kitchen at 9.15pm, not being able to remember the last time I was actually happy.

(He does remember, really. It was Sunday the 13th of March, 9.37am: Derek had ruffled his hair and joked with him as they waited alone in the conference room to find out what was so urgent they were being called into work on the weekend for. Spencer could still feel the aftermath of his Saturday night tryst, and pretended for a brief few minutes that that encounter was with Derek, and those jokes were actually flirting. But then the case took over, then the flu symptoms, and then. Well.)

Before he can carry the mac-and-cheese into the living room, though, there’s a knock at the door. Everyone had mostly given up on turning up unannounced, so it catches him off-guard, and something in him, some vain flicker of hope, or maybe a masochistic desire to hurt even more, propels him forward until he’s opening it and coming face to face with Derek Morgan.

“Spencer,” he says urgently, and panic immediately grips Spencer as he wonders what could be so wrong that he’d need to show up out of the blue, but Derek must see it on his face. “Nothing’s happened, don’t worry, I just… I need to speak to you.”

A knot of something that Spencer can’t quite place tightens in his stomach as he stares at the myriad of emotions playing across Derek’s face, but he steps aside to let him in anyway. He closes the door behind them and feels a flash of embarrassment at the state of his apartment. It’s completely clean — his already rigorous attitude towards germ and cleanliness have only intensified in the last few months as paranoia plagued his mind relentlessly — but it’s barren of any joy, and it couldn’t be more obvious.

The furniture is drab and Spencer’s packed away all the photos and trinkets that used to litter the entire place because they just made him too sad to look at. The only life that remains is his books, and the sheet he’d hung to cover them up in a fit of rage a couple of weeks ago still hangs there limply. He hadn’t wanted to see his books: didn’t want the temptation of touching them and tainting them. What if he got a papercut on one of the pages and his virus-ridden blood spilled across the words he treasures so dearly?

He watches as Derek surveys the place with a sad expression on his face, before recollecting himself and turning back to Spencer.

“I know you’ve been pulling away from us, Spence,” he says, almost breathless as he takes a seat on the sofa. Spencer doesn’t know what to do with his body, so he settles on remaining where he is: stock still facing the couch, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. “We’ve watched you become a shell of who you used to be, and we’re all worried about you—”

“I don’t—”

“No, just let me speak. Everyone is worried, and I am too, but… I’m also… I’m hurt, Spencer. You’re pushing me away, turning me down every time I try to get close to you, and it’s painful because you’re my friend. You’re my best friend, and you mean the world to me.”

I wouldn’t if you knew my secret, he thinks miserably, but he doesn’t say anything.

“More than anything, though, it hurts… because I’m in love with you.”

Spencer stares. He’s hallucinating, he has to be.

“And I know — well, I don’t know because we’ve never talked about it — but I know you’re probably straight and even if you were interested in guys, too, who’s to say you’d be in love with me back? But I had to tell you because our relationship is heading south anyway, plummeting straight for the ground, and I figured it couldn’t hurt, I just… say something? Please?”

He doesn’t mean to say it.

“I’m HIV positive.”

It’s Derek’s turn to stare. Spencer can’t meet his eyes, and suddenly feeling like he needs to Get Out, he rushes to the kitchen and picks up his rapidly cooling mac-and-cheese. He gets a fork out and faces the countertop, away from Derek, as he starts to shovel unsatisfying bites into his not-hungry stomach.

It can’t even be a full minute later that he hears footsteps behind him. “You have AIDS?”

He sets the mac-and-cheese back on the counter. “No,” he answers, not turning around. “I tested positive for HIV; I don’t meet AIDS criteria. My CD4 levels are apparently very good, and the medication I’m taking is proving effective in controlling and managing the virus. I don’t have side effects anymore, and I don’t feel any different than I did before I contracted it.”

There’s a beat of silence. “And this is why you’ve been pulling away from us?”

Spencer hesitates before nodding shamefully, his eyes burning a hole in his dinner. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone, and I—” He’s cut off by a heaving sob. It catches him by surprise, but suddenly he’s choking on emotion: everything he’s been through, everything he’s been dealing with alone for so long a burden he no longer knows how to carry.

“Oh, baby,” Derek breathes, rushing forward and turning Spencer until his face is pressed into his neck and their arms are wrapped around one another. The nickname only furthers his emotion, falling apart completely in such a way that makes him unsure he’ll ever be put back together again. “I’m so sorry.”

He lets Spencer cry it out until his sobs recede and his tears slow, and he feels confident enough to pull away and meet Derek’s eye properly again. It feels like a reconnection; a reconciliation of sorts, and his breath catches at the emotion on his face. He’d expected a meddle of sympathy and disgust, but all he finds is compassion and love, tinged by a sadness Spencer supposes probably comes from watching the man you’ve just professed to love fall apart like that.

Oh wait. Derek just told him—

“You love me?” His voice comes out quieter and shyer than he’d hoped, and not nearly as incredulous as he’d intended, but Derek softens anyway.

“Yes,” he says emphatically. “So much. And if you think you telling me this is going to change how I feel even a bit, then you’re dead wrong, Spencer.”

It’s suddenly too much to think that everything he’d feared happening for the last few months was wrong, and he’s gasping for breath again, sinking to the ground to bury his face in his hands.

“Spence?” Derek asks worriedly, following him to the floor. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No… please, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He takes a deep breath, trying to recenter himself, ground himself in the reality that’s unfolding before him, no matter how different it might look than that of his anticipation. “You know, the man. Um, the man I… contracted this from. I slept with him because he looked like you.”

He looks up and meets Derek’s eyes again, searching for anything in them to confirm that he was thinking all the thoughts Spencer feared and coming up empty. “I was so heartsick that I got blind-drunk and slept with a complete stranger because it was the closest to you I ever thought I’d get and then I was just so scared of what everyone would say when I found out. I know logically that HIV doesn’t make someone dangerous or unclean, but I just couldn’t shake this feeling of shame, you know? I was constantly panicked that I’d pass it to one of you. Besides, I’m not even out to the team, and I know the implications of a disease like this: gay or an IV drugs user — I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I was both. I’m clean, and I’ve stayed clean, I just…”

“Hey, I get it,” Derek says gently, reaching out a hand and cupping Spencer’s cheek gently. “I think if I was in the same boat I probably would’ve reacted in exactly the same way. You can’t be blamed for bowing to a social stigma this heavy, Spence. I’m just sorry I didn’t realise what was going on sooner. And even sorrier, for that matter, that I didn’t tell you I was in love with you before this even had a chance to happen.”

Spencer smiles a little at that. “Hey, I didn’t tell you either. I don’t blame you at all. Neither of us were out and confessing something like that is no small feat.”

“I suppose so.”

Spencer shifts a little in his position on the floor, the raging storm of emotion that he’s been drowning under for the past four and a half months quieting for the very first time. He breathes deeply for a few seconds before working up the courage to ask the question he really wants the answer to. “I know you said that this doesn’t change the way you feel—”

“And it doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods, because suddenly he gets that. He isn’t sure what took so long. “But does it make you not want to be in a relationship with me?”

“Spencer, no.” Derek’s voice is urgent as he makes intense eye contact with him, raising a gentle finger to his chin. “It doesn’t change a single. thing. I don’t know much about HIV, I’ll admit, but I do know that these days you can get to a point where it doesn’t transmit to partners. And we can be really safe about it. I’ll do all the research to make you comfortable, but Spencer, even if it did mean that we could never have sex, I’d still want you. I want you so badly, pretty boy.”

He can hardly believe his ears. “Really?”

“Really.” He swipes his thumb across his cheek, catching a falling tear. “I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with you, Spencer. I have been for years. You can ask, Penelope: she’s been putting up with my pining like a saint, but I’m not sure she could’ve taken it much longer.”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, too.” Another tear falls as the prospect of what’s about to happen really sinks in.

“Can I?” Derek murmurs, as he inches closer ever so slowly.

“Please,” Spencer whispers, barely finishing the word before their lips are colliding and a flurry of butterflies break out in his stomach as his chest glows with the warmth of a kiss he’s long been aching for. Derek’s hands find his waist, his jaw, his cheek, his hair, exploring his body ever so softly as he kisses him with the same inquisitive gentleness, managing to take him apart with just his lips and his hands.

“God,” he whispers as he finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to Spencer’s as he struggles to hide his wide grin. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve dreamed of that. I’m gonna be like a teenage girl tonight, running my fingers across my lips as I remember every minute of it.”

Spencer giggles at that. “Well you can rest easy in the knowledge that I’ll be doing the same.” He pulls away slightly and looks down for a second before looking back up into Derek’s earnest gaze. “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“I’ll kiss you like that every day for as long as you’ll have me.” He doesn’t hesitate to lean back in, connecting their lips again as they melt into one another’s touches, and it makes Spencer laugh later that the most intimate and passionate encounter of his life so far happened on the kitchen floor.

They pull apart as soon as it heats up a little bit, and pain flashes across both of their expressions at the thought of why.

“There’s this thing called PrEP,” Spencer says, still a little ashamed of his situation, that Derek has to be protected against him before they can take this any further. “It’s medication that you take before and after sex with a HIV positive person that blocks the virus from entering your bloodstream if you were to somehow contract it. And we can wear condoms. And once I reach an undetectable viral load, it means the virus is untransmittable, and you won’t contract it even if we’re unprotected.”

Derek blinks. “Wow, that’s… that’s better than I thought.”

“Really? You’re still okay with all this?”

He softens. “Pretty boy, I am so okay with all this, and I’m sorry that you spent so long thinking otherwise. We have time to figure all this out, but what matters is that right now, I have you next to me, and we love each other. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and leans forward to kiss Derek chastely. “I do.”

“Now, how about we bin that disgusting mac-and-cheese and order some Chinese?” he suggests, matching Spencer’s smile. “We could eat it in bed and watch one of those documentaries you’re always talking about.”

Spencer laughs fondly. “You want our first date to be eating takeaway and watching a science documentary in bed?”

“Well it sounds perfect to me.”

“Yeah, it sounds pretty perfect to me, too,” Spencer whispers, the happiness in his chest feeling warm and inviting, begging him to bask in the moment for as long as he can.

They’ll work out the specifics later — they’ll get Derek started on PrEP and attend Spencer’s appointments to measure his viral load, they’ll have important and serious conversations about the risks to both of them, they’ll work out what their relationship means for work, how they’ll begin to repair the damage the last few months have done to Spencer’s mental health — but right now, none of that matters.

All that does is: the buffet of Chinese food Derek lays out on a blanket on Spencer’s bed, the documentary about bees playing on the TV, and the thrilled little glances thrown each other’s way, the stolen kisses and casual touches, the love palpable in the air around them. And later, when the food is eaten, and the documentary is playing the credits: Spencer’s tired head resting on Derek’s loving chest, and the syncing of their heartbeats as they fall asleep to the sound of each other.

This shouldn't have to be said but please do not use fanfiction as sex education and PLEASE practice safe sex. As far as I know, all the information included in this fic is correct, but I have no personal experience with HIV/AIDS, and this is very much written from an outsider's perspective - albeit a thoroughly researched one.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @jellejareau @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic-not-stupid (taglist form)

[shesawriter39049]

|UNWRAP ME| M|

Pairing : Jimin X Reader (Ft a lil Tae)

“There’s a bow on my panties because my ass is a present!”

About- Honestly, you were just trying to prep gift bags for your company’s holiday party! But Jimins stressed, and needs a little brain reset sooo….I guess we’re prepping gift bags later!

Or- The company has quite a few deadlines to hit before you guys close for the holiday! Jimin’s in charge of talent and everybody’s fucking up…but in your line of work it’s a domino affect! So if his crew falls behind ultimately everybody’s behind! Hints Jimin’s stress and frustration....

WC: Sneak peek (1k)

WARNINGS: (FULL THING): Teasing, light edging, dirty talk, top/bottom OC, top/power bottom Jimin, hand restraints, unprotected sex, over stimulation, fingering (F receiving), biting/marking kink, VERY light degration kink (he playfully calls her a “little bitch/slut” once) light come play, light spanking

FINAL NOTE: This is a stand alone smut drabble within my OT7 poly universe called “7 DEEP”. Short AU SUMMARY: Your husband Namjoon and yourself run a successful Adult Film Entertainment Company called “Onyx” with your 5 best friends from college who you also happen to be in an open relationship with! P.S. If you’re new here Kookie joins the party a little later….

*Pierced Jimin/Red haired “Dope” Era Jimin meets 2020 Jimin!?

*Also it should go without being said but Jimin, IS Westernized, he’s from LA in this ffs!

*In true Rocki fashion I decided to do holidy prompts late af & did not finish in time for the main Holiday but w/e! Note, there is some backstory here bc this was set to be the 1st of 3 holiday prompts!** ___________________________________________________

Sunday, December 14TH, 4PM 

“Alright, so you wanna hear some bullshit?!”

K, well that’s apparently Jimin, musing around a mouth full of fries! I love how no one even bothers to knock, give notice they just show the fuck up! Whenever...

Cute.

I swear it sounds like your running a damn liquor store because there’s an obnoxious amount of bells and mistletoe hanging above the door almost acting as a doorbell at this point. Just casually Fa-la-laing together, echoing throughout your entire apartment every damn time the door opens! Honestly, your slowly regretting giving Jin and Tae free reign with decorations because that shits annoying as all hell!

Gaze still focused on your original task, not even looking in his direction “Don’t trip over the-“ There's a loud thud, followed by an obscene groan, accompanied by an even louder “Fuckkk!” Which solidified he did in fact trip over the ....

“....Box with Jin’s other Christmas tree in it ...” The words kinda died off your tongue at this point because well, clearly the warning did not fare well! “If anything’s broken I’m totally snitching just so we’re clear” Sassing over a half empty glass of spiked eggnog.

Now that you’ve finally looked at him, you find yourself hiding a smirk behind your cocktail as well! The boy is fine, you’d give him that! Looking like a model off duty, in his low cut white v, neck hidden beneath a distressed leather jacket! Topping off the look with a pair of chunky combats and disrespectfully tight dark wash denim jeans! I swear they damn near looked painted on, aviators resting on the bridge of his nose! Gucci backpack slung over his shoulder, Starbucks in one hand, and some brown bag full of grease in the other! Jimin recently went back red, looking dangerously close to the same 18 year old you met, at UCLA almost years ago now!  Just a boujier version, it’s like this Jimin’s from Calabasas instead of the Bay! Though your down for both options if we’re being real!

Not that Jimin’s not equally as good of company as well, you were honestly just expecting Tae! The two of you were starting to put together the gift bags for next week's holiday party! Hints the hot ass mess all over the floor of your living room, it’s a disgusting pile of shopping bags and boxes! Everything from Amazon to Saks Fifth, at this point you aren’t even sure where the fuck your floor starts or ends! One thing you do know for damn sure is Hobi’s going to have an aneurysm If he sees it! Sooo, hopefully Tae shows up sooner than later...

It’s become a tradition, or at least since the companies been profitable enough to do so! First off, you’re love language has always been a combination of “Gifts” and “Acts of service, so shit like this is essentially second nature!

However, quality time has slowly slipped its way into the mix over the past couple of years as well! Especially considering it’s almost a luxury for the seven of you at this point but you try not to complain! I mean Namjoon and yourself just did an interview last week for Forbes 30 under 30 for fucks sake! But anyway, like I was originally saying this little party is your way of trying to give your staff a combination of all 3 said love languages!

Above everything else you all work your asses off well, aware this is far from a 9-5, yet they give you their best constantly! Yeah, it was built on the backs of you and your boys but it wouldn’t be were it is now without everyone else! So, with that being said the schedule is as follows! 

1.Bust ass and hit all of your year end deadlines by December 22nd. 

2.The holiday party is on the 23rd...

3. Thennnnnn....after that the companies closed until the 2nd of January! 

Well kinda, if we’re being real the 7 of you never fully stop working, but you damn sure plan to try! I guess it’s the beauty and the curse of having damn near everything accessible on your phone! I swear this morning Joon was washing your back whilst you read him the latest profit/loss update from Jin soooo......that’s that!

Everyone else however....off duty with pay!

Which brings us back to the original task at hand before Jimin showed up,prepping the gift bags that get handed out at said holiday party! The invite list is pretty exclusive honestly,outside of your staff, and there plus one, the other guests are typically the immediate crew/ talent used throughout the year on various productions! Oh, there’s also special little packages mailed out to a couple of the company's sponsors as well! So all together were looking at at least 100 gift bags give or take! Of course at this stage you guys go all out but that’s not what it’s about! It’s legitimately the thought that counts!

Little gestures like this just remind people that you care,that they’re on your mind even if they aren’t currently doing you a favor! That’s what sets Onyx apart, all the little things you do without even thinking about it! Coffee, donuts, catering on set for long shoots,or even the little kits Jimin brings with him to set for the models! Fully stocked with soothing cream, heating pads, the full nine! It’s actually sad how much of a rarity it is in your line of work! 

Obviously, it goes without saying that those types of gestures aren’t feasible for everyone....However there’s companies worth more than you that do amples less!

But anyway back to Jimin and Tae! As I mentioned when the door originally opened you were expecting a mop of silver locks as opposed to red! Baby boy ran out to pick up the custom gift bags from this Indie vendor in WeHo. Hint’s why you were expecting Tae instead, now, why Jimins here I have no damn idea! Clearly we’re about to find out and apparently it’s “Some Bullshit!”

Honestly outside of checking his OOTD you didn't truly look at him. Far too busy propped on top of your oversized dining room table sorting through a manusery of  “Thank you” cards!

Eyes flicking to the left ever so slightly as you hear him shuffle closer “I-yeah sure what bullsh-wait are you eating my DoorDash?!”

It’s the way you constantly have to remind yourself that jail will not be like Orange is in the new black! Because I swear you damn near chucked this martini glass at that fire engine red dome of his!

Jimin just shrugs, a little nonchalant and unenthusiastic, almost as if he’s inconvenienced actually...

“Mmm, depends on perspective” He deadass just stuffed two more fires in his mouth! You're literally going to strangle him! It’s borderline painful how hard  your jaw tick, eyes narrowed in his direction!

Brows arched so damn high your gonna end up needing Botox from the permanent crease embedding within your skin. “Perspect-your literally eating-“

Holding a solitary finger in your direction “Tae just text me and said look at your phone and text him back...with like, a million pouty faces. Also, different note, who changed the decorations I placed on the mantle?! “

Jimin’s hand is now resting on his hip, legitimately angry about these damn decorations! I think his neck even did a couple rolls in the process, and I’m willing to bet,before he leaves they will be swapped out again!

A frustrated groan attempts to leave your throat  though it goes unacknowledged as your lacking any ounce or bite! Far too fond of both of your boys to truly be agitated at the moment! Actually that’s a lie, you high key wanna punch Jimin but it’s fine ....

“That, would be Jin, he said they clashed with the table decor” Pointing to all of the gold, and maroon colored decorations donning the marble coffee table “So, if your pissed go curse him out because I could give less than a damn! Now where the fuck is my phoneeee”

Hopping off the table causing your oversized UCLA Alum hoodie to hike over your ass. Said ass is covered or barely covered considering your cheeky, red, ruffle little panties are in fact assless! A cute little bow perched right on top of your tailbone, as if to direct the eye where to go….

Jimin is now choking on stolen fires and yeah there’s a smirk on your face as you grab your phone!

Mmmmhmmmm...and to think, maybe if he wasn’t being such a brat you’d let him unwrap one of his gifts a little early!

“Baby now he’s calling meeee” Anddddd he’s whining, wiggling his phone like it’s on fire! Ya know, moments like these in fact remind you that Tae and Jimin are the youngest!

“Oh for fucks sake!” Huffing in his direction snatching the phone and bag of Five Guys away in the process!

“Yes baby?” It’s actually terrifying how quickly your tone, and entire demeanor just switched! Somewhat reminiscent to how you’d see a mom scold one child then baby talk another all in the same breath! 

Jimin without a doubt noticed too, lip jutting out in a pout and no matter how many times you roll your eyes you still find yourself leaning forward kissing it right off! He moans into it and you Instantly taste the tangy seasoning from your fries, especially once he tries to swipe his tongue past the seam of your lips. The feeling of that tiny piece of metal playing in his mouth almost distracted you, but alas...the notion immediately reminds you why you were irked to begin with! Without even thinking you lean back into nipping at his bottom lip, though...this is Jimin we’re dealing with here! So whatever you thought you’d achieve is now dead, because a needy little whine just rustled in the back of his throat 

Speaking of love languages,there’s another called “Physical Touch” which has the words Jimin Park written all over it. So with that being said you really should’ve already been prepared for whatever’s about to unfold.

It’s subconscious at this point, head dropping down to the crook of your neck, nosing up a vein like a neglected puppy! Squeezing your waist hard enough to damn near engrave his thumb print in against your hip bones! Well, clearly he doesn’t want you going anywhere anytime soon!   

So what do you do instead? Place the bag of food on the bar, hold the phone in one hand and bring the other up to play in his freshly dyed locks! I swear this man is a second away from purring so maybe he’s not a puppy after all. Suddenly his ring clanned fingers trickle down your spine heading south, flexing his palm to squeeze down around the swell of your ass! Shifting you forward so your chest to chest...

So, here you are trying to cater to both of your boys at once...lord help you!

“No, of course I wasn’t ignoring you, I was just busy-yes Tae. You wanna put what in a what,Now?”

~~~~~

Hiii, as I mentioned above this was kinda last minute, I wrote out prompts on the 21st, then adult life kicked in. I actually had my own little office Christmas party to plan (Nothing on this scale obviously because well, we know the way the real world is rn) However because of that I couldn’t truly work on this until the 24th. However it’s been a long time since I wrote/wanted to write so I opted to just post it anyway! Hopefully the full thing will be up by the 28th at the latest.

I have also attached the overall masterlist for this AU!

7 DEEP 

[avengerscompound]

It’s You and Me - Chapter 14

It’s You and Me: A Hawkeye Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Clint Barton x  F!Reader

Word Count:  2591

Rating:  E

Warnings:  smut (FM, light d/s, vaginal sex.  Mentions of things like spitting and choking), mentions of ptsd

Synopsis: You and Clint Barton go way back.  Since you joined the circus as a child, he took it upon himself to keep you away from the people who really wanted to hurt you.  For years the two of you danced a line between dark and light.

When he chooses light the two of you go your separate ways.

Fifteen years later he tracks you down.  Those feelings the two of you shared never went away, but now he is not only an Avengers but a single father.  Can the two of you make it work after all this time when your lives have gone in such different directions?

A series told in flashbacks and current day.

Chapter 14: Then

Clint kept close to you as the two of you crawled through the ventilation shaft.  He was pressing himself so close to you and while he was sure he wasn’t breathing that heavily, every time he inhaled he was sure he was going to set off some kind of alarm.

It was stupid really.  Yeah, he’d always tried to avoid all the underground shit with the circus, but that didn’t mean he’d been able to avoid all of it.  He’d broken into a few houses and once helped them hold up a bank.  It wasn’t something he was particularly proud of, but it was something he was good at.

This job would be the first big hit for the two of you.  Pulling it off meant that you could pay the rent in an actual apartment upfront for about three months and buy new equipment.  It would mean that for a while all the two of you would have to worry about was each other and the show.  And who knew?  Maybe he’d be discovered and never have to do this again.

“You’re sure that they’re bad dudes?”  Clint whispered.  It was a question he’d asked a lot.  You’d been planning this job, but he’d set some rules.  The main one was not hurting innocent people.

You sighed.  It was the kind of sigh that was reserved for people whose patience was being tested.  The ones that wanted to remain calm but were getting a little sick of repeating themselves.  He was used to hearing it - well from everyone really - and he had asked that exact question a lot.  “I promise,” you said.  “They import drugs and… people from what I can tell.  All these stores are just fronts.”  You turned back to look at him.  You looked completely calm considering where you were.  He on the other hand had sweat clinging to his brow that was furrowed with worry.  “Besides, what we’re taking… they probably won’t even notice.”

“I’m worried about that probably,” Clint said.  The absolute last thing he wanted now was to be hunted down by some drug cartel.

“Well, they definitely won’t know it was us,” you added.  “There’s zero connection.  And I’m really good.”

He nodded and you continued through the vents.  When you reached the room you seemed to be looking for, he shifted the grill out of the way so you could peer down.  The room was very dark - the only real light coming in through the cracks in the door and curtain.  “Okay,” you whispered.  “Make sure you’re ready to pull me back up.”

He nodded and helped lower you carefully to the ground.  This wasn’t one of those break-and-enters like you see in the movies.  There was no laser grid for you to somersault through and no pressure pads on the ground.  From the intel you’d gotten, the safe was just the old turn and click type.

Still - watching you move through the room was like watching art.  You were light on your feet and you moved silently through the room.  You went straight to the painting on the wall and after quickly checking it for tripwire you moved it back and began working on the safe.  You held a small device up to it and pressed your ear against it as you turned the dial on the safe.

It clicked open and you began putting wads of cash into your bag and taking wads of paper out of your bag and pushing them up the back.  You’d had the idea to not empty the safe and to try to make it look like nothing had been removed.  The money inside was still waiting to be laundered and who knew when they’d even get to the stuff in the back.  By then, all the security footage of tonight would have been overwritten and they wouldn’t even know to look for someone the vague size and shape as you, let alone you specifically.

When you seemed happy, you closed the safe and relocked it.  You carefully slid the painting back in place and returned to the vent.  Clint reached down and grabbed your arm and you pulled yourself gracefully back up, closing the grate behind you.  “Alright, not totally out of the woods.  Now to get out of here.”

Clint nodded and the two of you carefully but quickly returned from the way you came, first heading through the vents to the elevator shaft, and then out through the service tunnels, avoiding detection from the security guards on duty.

It was surprisingly easy.  Clint had been working at this kind of thing his whole life and you seemed to have a second sense for avoiding people.  When you were finally well away from the building, you both took off your balaclavas and gloves, and shoved them in your pockets before getting on the first bus you could find.  Neither of you said a thing for the whole trip home.  And it was a long one.  Not just because you had decided to hit a business nowhere near your usual haunts, but because the bus you’d gotten on went in the wrong direction, and you’d both needed to get out and double back, this time flagging down a cab and dishing out the seventy bucks it had cost you in cab fare.

Clint was buzzing on adrenalin as the two of you ran upstairs into the room you shared in the hostel and when he finally locked the door behind you the two of you couldn’t contain your excitement anymore.  He turned to see you staring at him and at once the two of you squealed.  “Oh my god!”  You yelped, running at him and wrapping your arms around his neck.  He circled his arms around your waist and pulled you close, kissing you deeply - completely caught up in the excitement of it.

When you pulled back you looked at him with your eyes twinkling.  “Let’s see what we got.”

He nodded and you grabbed your backpack and dumped the contents on the bed.  Along with the rope, lockpicks, and flashlight wads and wads of cash fell out in a pile.  You moved everything that wasn’t cash off the bed as Clint picked up one of the wads and flicked his fingers through it.  “Holy shit,” he said.  “I thought we’d get ten grand.  There has to be at least fifty here.”

You sat down on the bed and began to unbundle it.  “Clint,” you said looking up at him.  “Let’s leave.  We have enough to go to New York.  We can do our show there.”

“You don’t wanna stay here?”  He asked.

You shrugged.  “I don’t mind too much.  Just… in case … you know?”

“Aww, man.  But there’s In and Out Burger here,” Clint whined.

“There’s good pizza in New York,” you said grabbing his belt and tugging him closer to you.

“Hmm…” he mused.  “You do have a point.”

You looked up at him and began to unbuckle his belt.  “You know what I think we should do first?”

“I think I have a slight idea,” he teased.

The two of you still hadn’t had sex.  You were getting closer but you’d often end up shying away when things got too hot and heavy.  Clint didn’t mind being patient though.  He loved sex, but he wasn’t above jacking off in the shower if it meant you weren’t rushing into something you weren’t ready for.   If it took rolling around in a big pile of cash for you to get there, he was down for it.

“We should get food delivered.  Something fresh,” you said.  “Sushi.  And tacos.”

“Sounds good, sugar,” he said as you pushed his pants down.  “Do I need to be pantsless for that?”

“After, silly,” you said, pulling your shirt off and flopping back on the bed.  You grabbed one of the bundles of cash and threw them up into the air, giggling excitedly as the bills floated down around you.

Clint smiled as he watched you and grabbed the waistband of your pants and dragged them down, nearly pulling you off the bed with them.  You squealed and braced your foot on his chest to keep you on the bed and grabbed more of the money to throw above you all.

“You’re having way too much fun there,” Clint teased, pulling off his shirt.

“Get down here will you!”  You said and dragged him down on top of you.

Clint kissed you hungrily, grinding down on you as the two of you rolled around in the bed.  His cock hardened and pressed against you through the fabric of his underwear.  He could feel your wetness seeping through your underwear and onto his cock.

He wanted you but kept his expectations low.  He knew how hard this was for you and he knew if he started to expect anything, it would make you feel like there was something wrong with you.

You wrapped your leg around his waist and pulled him closer to you.  Clint rolled you, so you were pressed down on top of him and broke the kiss.  “You’re in charge,” he whispered.

You looked down at him, startled at first, and slowly you ran your tongue over your lips.  “Yeah?”  You asked.

“Yeah,” Clint said.  “I’m all yours.  You can do whatever you want with me.”

You slowly caressed your hands down his chest as you seemed to consider what that meant and if you liked it.  A smile gradually spread over your face and you pushed his hands up over his head.  “Yeah,” you said and he wrapped his fingers around the head of the bed.  “I’m in charge.”

You began to grind down on his cock as you looked into his eyes.  He didn’t fight you - he just gazed up at you, rolling his hips to add to the friction against your cunt.  Your eyes were darkened with lust and you moved one hand down pushing his pants down enough to free his cock and wrapping your fingers around it.  The other hand you kept pressed on his wrists.  He wasn’t sure if having his hands trapped made you feel more comfortable, or if it was just a turn-on for you to have him helpless for you, but he played along regardless.  If he was being honest with himself, he was really into it.  He loved seeing you take control.  He loved submitting to you.  His cock jumped and began to leak down his shaft and over your knuckles.

“God you look sexy like this,” you hummed as you jerked him off.  “Like you’re mine.”

“I am,” he groaned, bucking up under you.  “All yours.”

You hummed and ran your fingers over his hand, closing them around the frame of the bedhead.  “Keep your hands right there.  Don’t make me tie you up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Clint said quickly, though the idea of you tying him down was a turn-on in itself.  You had the rope to do it right there.

You got off him and pulled his pants all the way off and removed the rest of your clothes before grabbing a condom from the packet he kept in the side table that had thus far not been used.  You placed it on his chest, obviously not quite ready for it, but wanting it nearby.  Clint groaned and hoped that it was a sign that this was working for you in a way that nothing else had done.

Straddling his lap again, you brushed your thumb over his lips and pushed it into his mouth.  He sucked on it, moaning softly as your soaking cunt began to slide up and down his shaft, coating it in your arousal.  As you watched him sucking on your thumb you began to finger your clit, making yourself wetter if it was at all possible.  His cock ached to enter you and pulsed under your hot core.

You pulled your thumb from his mouth and gripped his chin, forcing him to look up into your eyes.  ‘Thank you,’ you mouthed, and let him go, grabbing the condom and tearing it open, before carefully rolling it down his length.  He held his breath as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft once more and painfully slowly you guided him inside you.

Your face was screwed up in concentration, but Clint couldn’t tear his eyes away from his cock and the way it slowly disappeared inside you, your hot walls clamping down around it.  “Fuck,” he groaned.  “Fuck you’re sexy.”

You smiled a little but didn’t say anything.  Clint’s instinct was to reach up and cradle your jaw and make sure you were okay.  He didn’t move though.  He kept his hands on the bed head and he held his body still, waiting for you to decide if you were okay with this or not.

“We can stop,” he assured you.  “You’re in control.”

You took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly.  “You feel so good inside me,” you hummed.  “Fuck, Clint.”

He smiled and arched his back a little, pushing himself deeper into you.  You gasped and let out a long moan before starting to bounce.

You started slowly, just testing out how it felt and what you liked, but it wasn’t long until you were leaning over him and riding him like you were competing in a race.  You returned one hand to his wrists, and the other went to his throat.  He couldn’t help but picture you getting rough with him.  Slapping his face, spitting in his mouth, having your fingers tighten around his throat until he couldn’t pull in air and just when he was starting to worry them relaxing again.  The images only served to turn him on more, and he wondered if you might want to try those things at some point.  He wanted to try it all with you.

He began to buck his hips up under you erratically as he got closer to his release.  You seemed to sense his climax and you shook your head.  “Hold it,” you warned and began to rub your clit fast as you bounced on his cock.

Clint grit his teeth, willing himself to hold back.  Your cunt began to pulse and flutter and you threw your head back, your eyes closed and your lips parted as your orgasm it's poised to hit.  He bucked up under you, making your body slap against his, and with a loud cry you came, your whole body quaking with it.

He groaned and his hips began to stutter as he held himself back.  “Oh god,” he begged.  “Please, sugar.  I’m gonna…”

“Come for me, Clint,” you moan.  “I want to feel it.”

He jerked up hard into you with a grunt, coming as he fully seated himself inside you.  “Fuck,” he groaned.

You let his arms go, and he took it as permission to move them.  He wrapped you in his arms and rolled onto his side as he held you close.  “You okay?”  He asked.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice shaking a little.  “I was starting to think I’d never be okay with that.  Thank you.”

He shook his head and nuzzled at your cheek.  “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

You looked like you were going to argue but instead, you slipped off his cock and nuzzled into him.  “I feel some way about you, Clint,” you whispered.

He chuckled.  “I feel some way about you too,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

// NEXT

[sgtbradfords]

“Is that my shirt?” For a Chenford prompt! Love your writing♥️

Thank you for the prompt anon! I hope this does the prompt justice 😉

Send me a prompt from this list!

When Lucy Chen woke up that morning it wasn’t to the sound of her alarm, no. It was to the sound of a fist banging on her front door before Jackson West barged into the room.

“Chen! Let’s go, we’re going to be late!” She heard as she startled awake, sitting up.

“Shit!” She yelled throwing back the covers as she stumbled out of the bed, her body wavering as her feet hit the floor.

“What happened?” Jackson asked from the doorway as Lucy began to run around her room.

“I don’t know! I think my phone died last night while I was on the phone with-“ she began telling him as she threw on the first articles of acceptable clothing she could find. “Can I borrow your charger in the car?”

“Sure. But hurry we're going to be late.”

“Thanks roomie!” she yelled as he walked out.

Lucy hurriedly finished getting dressed, throwing on a pair of flats to go with her outfit before grabbing her duffle bag, keys and phone before running out of the apartment. She took the stairs down, two at a time, towards the main floor, swinging the metal door that separates the inside from the outside as she sprinted to Jackson’s waiting car.

“This is not how I wanted to start my Friday!” she huffed to her roommate and friend as she shut the door, buckling quickly as they headed out onto the street.

Jackson held out his right hand, a wrapped breakfast bar laid in his palm. “I grabbed you breakfast.”

Lucy took it, unwrapping and taking a bite as she plugged up her phone. “Thank you.” She said between another bite.

“So, who were you talking to so late last night that caused your phone to die?”

Lucy grimaced. “You caught that huh?”

Jackson nodded. “If you’re not ready to talk about it, that’s ok. But at least tell me you ran a background check on him.”

She snorted. “I did and I promise that his intentions are sound.”

“His intentions?” Jackson questioned, looking over his sunglasses to the girl in the passenger seat. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that it’s kind of serious.” She shrugged. “We’ve been on a few dates. He’s been to mine, I’ve been to his. He even FaceTimed my parents once.”

“He’s met your parents? And just how long has this-“

Jackson began to ask as Lucy’s phone charging in the cup holder began chiming. She picked it up, scrolling through her missed messages.

“Huh. That’s weird.”

“What?”

“I got a message from Grey telling me to plain clothes it today. Wonder what that’s all about.”

“Special assignment maybe? We are P2s now.”

Lucy furrowed her brow as she fired off a text message before she began fixing her hair into a bun. “Maybe, I guess we’ll find out during roll call.”

They made idle conversation going down the road as Lucy fixed her light make-up, Jackson steering the car into the parking lot, parking in their normal spot. “Hey, did you finish that report about the robbery from yesterday?”

Lucy grabbed her things, exiting the car. “Yeah, I need to thank Nolan for the backup. If he didn’t show when he did, I would hate to think what could have happened.”

They enter the department, Lucy telling Jackson about the two men who tried to rob the convenience store granny before they went their separate ways to the locker rooms.

Lucy placed her bag into her locker, grabbing her badge, holstering her gun, and double checking her ankle holster before she pocketed her knife.

“Hey, good catch yesterday with the Gardner Twins. They’re regulars, always in and out of jail but I heard that the old woman held her own?” Nyla congratulated as she adjusted the duty belt she just put on.

Lucy laughed, heading for the door. “Yeah, when I pulled up on scene, she had one held at gun point and the other at cane point which would have been nothing if it wasn’t for the blade sticking out of it.”

“Sounds like that is one grandma not to be messed with.”

“Definitely not, she had brass knuckles and pepper spray in her purse too.” Lucy told Nyla as they entered the meeting room, both taking their respective seats with the others at their tables in the back.

Angela Lopez walked in, sitting down beside Lucy. “Morning.”

“Morning.”

Angela turned around to Nyla, asking a question before she turned back around to the front. “Nice shirt.”

“Than-“ Lucy began saying as she looked down, stopping her words in their tracks. ‘Oh no.’ her mind repeated frantically. In her haste to get dressed she didn’t pay attention to the shirt she put on, sure she knew the olive green color, knew it would match her dark washed jeans but ‘I should have looked in the mirror.’ was really a statement she needed stamped on her forehead.

“Morning.” Tim said as he sat down in the chair next to Nyla. “You get a special assignment or something?” he asked, looking at his former rookie.

Lucy was still amidst her internal conflict. ‘Should I go change? How could I have been so stupid, this is what I get for not laying my clothes out last night.’

“Boot!” Tim said sternly, his voice a tone he hasn’t used on her in a while, pulling her out of her stupor.

“I’m sorry, did you ask something?”

“Yeah, what’s with the plain clothes?”

Lucy shrugged. “Grey told me to dress down.”

“And that means wearing your boyfriend’s shirt?” snorted Angela as she took a sip of her coffee.

Lucy panicked. “Oh this? This isn’t my boyfriend’s, it’s Jackson’s.”

“Jackson was in the Army?” Angela smirked, pointing out the green shirt with black lettering.

“No, it’s Sterling’s. He wore it on that military movie he made a few years ago.”

Angela looked at her incredulously before glancing at Nyla and Tim who was watching the interaction with great intent. “Uh-huh.”

“Alright let’s settle down and get to it…” Sergeant Grey said as he took his place behind the podium.

“What’d I miss?” Jackson asked as he quickly sat down in the other chair opposite of Lucy.

“My funeral.” She mumbled.

Jackson turned slightly “What?”

“Nothing.” She said quickly as Grey glared the two down.

Thirty minutes later Sergeant Grey had given Lucy her assignment, assisting the Bureau of Alcohol Tobacco Firearms and Explosives undercover at a local bar that was serving alcohol to minors.

“Hey, wait for me.” Said the voice of her former training officer behind her. She slowed her steps, allowing him to join her. “You want a ride?”

“Sure. You set?”

Tim motioned his head towards the garage bay, “Let’s go.”

Lucy may have been the most under qualified of all the female officers in the department to go undercover, but she had what the ATF was looking for and everyone has to start somewhere. She felt a sense of relief when Sergeant Grey partnered her with Tim for the day, the newly appointed Sergeant providing backup in case things went sideways.

“So, what’s your cover again?” Tim asked. He would be parked nearby, listening in with another ATF field agent as Lucy went on a ‘date’ with one of their agents while two others attempted to get served alcohol.

Lucy read the paper in her hand, the information vague besides the location of the bar and who they would be meeting with outside of the bar.

Tim nodded. “Did you bring another shirt?”

“No, Grey didn’t tell me anything other than to wear plain clothes, which I didn’t see till I had already left my apartment.”

“Isn’t that my shirt?” he asked, smirking.

“Apparently I feel asleep talking to someone on the phone last night and never plugged it up, which caused my phone to die, so my alarm to never went off and Jackson had to wake me up. I was in a bit of a rush this morning getting dressed and thought I was putting on my olive swing top.” She glared.

“I’m not complaining, you look better in it anyways.”

“Yeah, well I’m pretty sure Angela knows it’s yours.”

Tim shrugged “She’s a Detective for a reason. It was cute you know.”

“What was cute?”

“Hearing you snore.”

Lucy opened her mouth “I do not snore!”

“You do.” He laughed. “I can’t believe I never noticed it before last night.”

“I was tired, yesterday was a long day. Besides, it’s probably nothing compared to the logs that you saw at night.”

Tim looked at her before agreeing with what she said. “I’m not going to deny that. But at least my feet don’t feel like blocks of ice.”

“I can’t help that my feet stay cold! I don’t like wearing socks to bed.”

“Lucy, I don’t mind being your personal heater but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to keep an extra blanket or two next to the beds.”

Lucy thought for a moment as she pulled her hair out of its hold, tousling the brown waves. “Fine.”

“Or we could just make it bed, as in singular.” He offered as he parked the shop next to the curb.

“Is that your way of asking me to move in with you?”

“I don’t know, is it? We've been together almost a year, we're both in a good place right now and half of your closet is in my bedroom closet."  He reminded her as he grabbed the handheld radio mounted to the dash.”7-Adam-19 show us out for special assignment.”

“7-Adam-19 10-4.”

“You don’t have to answer now, we can talk about more after shift.” He told her as he stepped out of the car. “You ready?” he asked as Lucy nodded her head, moving towards the small group of people on the sidewalk. “Let’s knock ‘em dead boot. Agent Edwards? Sergeant Tim Bradford this is Officer Lucy Chen, glad we could assist you today.”

[tanyawritesstories]

DNA test, anyone? | Wolfpack x Reader

So I said a while back that I was going to try and write a fic based on a @clonesandmoans post about the Wolfpack getting the reader pregnant after an orgy and not knowing which one was the father. So, I wrote just that! Hope you enjoy! 😉

Warnings: NSFW, smut mentioned, fluff, described orgy in a flashback, pregnancy, protective good bois

•••

You woke with immediate pain in your entire torso. Dull, aching, constant pain. As bad as that may be, it was a reminder of the mind blowing events of last night. You smiled at the thought, images flashing through your head.

~~

Your brain couldn’t comprehend the amount of pleasure your body was feeling. Your skin was covered in sweat, bruises, and several hands. Gripping, massaging, spanking, all over you. You weren’t sure who was where anymore.

You were pretty sure that Wolffe was the owner of the cock that was in your mouth, hilt deep, choking you. His grip on your hair was just hard enough to cause a little bit of pain that easily flowed into pleasure.

Comet was the one with your tits in his hands, massaging them gently and using his mouth to suck harshly on one of your nipples. He hadn’t used his teeth on them, but his thumb and index fingers pinching and rolling was enough for you.

Warthog was in your right hand and Wildfire in your left. Both your hands skillfully working their cocks to climax. You didn’t know how you were managing to keep your body functions working since your brain had pretty much left you. You were on autopilot at this point.

That left Sinker and Boost to both of your other holes. Boost was in front of you thrusting into your soaking cunt with wild abandon. Not content to stop until he filled you to the brim with his cum. Sinker had filled your ass after working you open, it still stung a little when he slid in as he was impatient and rushed prepping you a little. He was now moving easily in and out of you thanks to his precum and how wet you were.

You were literally being fucked out of your mind by the entire Wolfpack and it was everything you had ever wanted.

~~

By the time the night had ended, every one of them had stuffed you full with each of their cum. Your legs felt sticky at just the memory.

You sat up slowly, wincing as the soreness turned to sharp pains in your lower regions. You stood on wobbly legs, finally standing up straight and not losing your balance. After standing for a few seconds you were hit with an intense wave of nausea. Despite the pain, you ran to the fresher and promptly threw up into the toilet. You figured it was a result of the strange drinks the boys had mixed for you the night before. You had watched them add at least ten different alcohols into one concoction with potentially bad after effects.

You leaned against the wall after emptying the contents of your stomach. Still worth it. You proceeded with your daily duties as a civilian mechanic, doing repairs, safety checking equipment, seeing the boys off to yet another mission, all in a day’s work.

Everything pretty much stayed the same for the next week. Except the fact that you would randomly get nauseous and end up in a refresher, or with your head over a trash receptacle, puking your brains out. You had no idea why. The idea of it being the alcohol was a good one, but it wouldn’t be lasting this long. Food poisoning? But you ate the same thing everyday and never had this reaction. Just being sick in general was an option, except everyone was perfectly healthy, unless a sickness just appeared out of thin air.

You went to a medic after getting tired of throwing up everyday for nearly two weeks in a row. You were hoping it was an easy fix, that there was a medication you could take and make it go away so you could get back to work. That wasn’t the case.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Y/N,” the shy medic began. “It can’t be that bad, can it?” You questioned, concern finding its way into your eyes.

“You’re pregnant.”

The information struck you like a mudhorn charging at you full speed. “What? T-that can’t be right,” you stuttered out. “I ran the tests three times, it’s correct,” the medic assured, “somehow you got pregnant.”

Then it dawned on you. The Wolfpack. That night they fucked you senseless must have overwhelmed your birth control and gotten you pregnant. Your head fell into your hands and you groaned. Fuck. Now what? What steps did you take from here? Do you tell them? That in itself presented an issue. All of them had emptied themselves into you, so who was the father? It could be any of them, it’s not like the baby’s looks or DNA could tell either. You knew if they pulled it up they would only find that it was a clone not which clone.

You sulked back to your room and had no choice but to deal with your situation. You weren’t exactly ready to be a mother, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. You had to tell them when they got back, there was nothing else you could do.

It was another few weeks when the boys finally got back. You were nervous as all hell and decided to tell them after they had gotten settled back in and relaxed some. You didn’t need to add to their stress or dampen their happiness. You welcomed them back like you always did and gave each of them a kiss on the cheek, telling them you had a surprise for them later, so that they knew to set time aside.

That time came just before they were all about to bunk down for the night.

“So, Y/N, what’s this surprise you have in store for us?” Sinker asked with a wink.

“Well, it’s nothing like the last one,” you replied. You made sure you had all their attention before continuing. “I have something important to tell you guys,” you said, looking at the floor. You chanced a glance up and saw six pairs of eyes boring into you. You took a deep breath and prayed they didn’t flip out.

“I’m, uh, I’m pregnant,” you said, just loud enough for them to hear.

You got the opposite reaction to what you expected. Complete silence. Looking between them you could see each of them thinking, trying to figure it out. Comet was the first to decipher it.

“So which one of us is the father?”

You looked sheepishly at the floor again. “I-it could be any of you, possibly all of you.”

There was silence again until Sinker spoke up. “We’re that good, huh?” You looked up to see the smirk on his face before Boost elbowed him in the ribs and quietly told him to cut it out. An arm wrapped around your shoulders and you looked up to see Wildfire’s eyes looking back at yours. “Are you going to be alright?”

You closed your eyes, the full force of what you had done finally setting in. You were ashamed, embarrassed, and felt stupid. The creases of your eyes began collecting tears and you squeezed them shut harder, causing the tears to fall down your cheeks. You couldn’t hold back your emotions any longer and you broke down in tears. Wildfire pulled you into him and held you tightly as you sobbed into his shoulder, soaking his blacks. You felt the rest of the boys come to your aid, rubbing your back, running their fingers through your hair, holding your hands, anything they could to provide you some comfort.

You quieted down after a few minutes and slowly pulled away from Wildfire only to be taken into Wolffe’s arms. The Commander placed his hands on your cheeks and tilted your face up to look at him, wiping your tears with his bare thumbs.

“It’ll be alright,Y/N. We’ll help you,” he assured, “We will all be with you every step of the way, anything you need, tell us, ok? This baby is all of ours, so we’re going to treat it and it’s mother like the greatest treasure in the galaxy.” The other men echoed Wolffe’s words with their own words of encouragement and promises to be there for you. You found a smile coming to your face, a feeling of calm washing over you.

“I don’t deserve you amazing boys,” you said.

Wolffe kissed your forehead, “No, cyar’ika, we don’t deserve you, or this amazing gift you’ve given us.” Tears rolled down your face, but this time from happiness. Everything was going to be alright.

~~

The next few months were the most chaotic and stressful months of your life. The boys were so attentive to your needs and always there to help you. They hated leaving you to go on missions but they didn’t have much choice, and you assured them that you would be ok. But when they weren’t on mission, at least one of them was always with you.

They also made sure you were in perfect healthy condition. Walking you throughout the ship for exercise, making sure you stuck to a healthy diet and didn’t consume anything dangerous, and not letting you lift anything heavy, no matter how much you complained about some of those things.

Comet was usually the one to enforce your ‘food laws’ as you had nicknamed them. Refusing you things that would make you gain extra weight, and making sure you stuck to the list of foods you were given. He only let your cravings go so far until he took whatever you were eating away from you once you had too much. Usually that caused you to get mad or upset at him, the hormones only making things worse, but he was a firm man and didn’t budge even when you gave him your best puppy eyes. Though he wasn’t all bad, he always made sure you had food and if you were craving something specific he would run to the mess hall and get it for you.

Warthog kept you from working too much, usually he was already in the hangar when you would try and sneak in to get work done. He would notice you but pay no mind until you started doing something worrying. He would rush to your side and lift things for you or pick tools off the ground, go up on ladders, and occasionally escort you away from your workstation if you had been working too long. You would get upset at him too and worry that the work would go unfinished, but he would make sure it got done, by him or another mechanic.

Sinker was always there during your mood swings. When you would suddenly get angry or sad he would be at your side, comforting you or calming you down. He had a way with words and seemed to know the perfect ones to make you laugh when you were sad or soothe you when you were angry. He often dried your tears with his hands, always removing his gloves so you could feel his skin. You got anxious sometimes too, to the point you would be jittery. Sinker would be there letting you do anything to occupy your mind and get it off the anxious thoughts. Usually it was running your fingers through his hair or tracing his vertebrae with shaky hands.

Wildfire had specifically read up on the physical effects of pregnancy and found himself taking care of your changing body. You would wake up with muscle pains and Wildfire would be right there to massage the tension out of your shoulders or back. He would tell you facts and information he read off the holonet about which positions to sleep in to reduce the stress on your body. He would happily do little things for you, like rub your back or scratch an itch you couldn’t reach. Nothing seemed too big or small a task for him. He held your hair out of the way when your morning sickness kicked in and never complained. He would help you take baths and showers, scrubbing places you no longer had access to. Even going so far as to shave your legs and your vulva when you nearly broke down in tears saying you didn’t feel sexy anymore because of it.

Wolffe also contributed where he could, given it was hard because he was the busiest. He would spend time listening to you rant and rave about things that were bothering you or the events of that day, or the fact that Comet refused you cupcakes again. He was good at listening and hung onto every word you said. He often helped you shower too, since you loved to talk and sing in the shower. You taught him some songs and he would sometimes sing them with you. Oftentimes your mutual showering would lead to more adult activities. Seeing you big and pregnant always turned Wolffe on to some degree. Whenever your hormones would go crazy and make you horny, you always went to Wolffe. After finding out about his breeding kink you exploited it every time you were in need of special attention. It drove Wolffe feral seeing you naked and pregnant. He would give you exactly what you needed even when you didn’t know what that was. Whether that was fucking you rough and urgent or slow and sensual, he always knew what you needed. The other Wolfpack boys knew not to get in the Commander’s way when you would comm him asking to meet up in a less traveled part of the ship.

Boost was the most nervous about the situation that had been thrust upon him and his brothers. He hesitated to pitch in and help, not knowing what he could do but feeling bad he wasn’t as excited as the others. It took your assurance to bring him around, telling him that you were just as scared and nervous as he was. He decided that he would help keep you in shape and healthy. He would walk or jog throughout the ship with you, help you through light workouts that Wildfire told him were beneficial for pregnant women. He wanted to support you and therefore mirrored your workouts, making sure everything you did he did too, just so you weren’t alone. It often encouraged you and it became a challenge for you to get Boost to sweat with every workout you did. He was perfectly athletic and if you could get him to sweat and exert himself a little bit then that meant you were doing a good job. He even took up yoga with you, you were both just as bad being beginners and had many laughs and tumbles from trying strange poses. Sinker made the mistake of teasing Boost for doing yoga, you put an end to his teasing with a karate kick to the ass. Sinker never mentioned it again.

By the time the baby was due, the Wolfpack had transformed a corner of the barracks into a nursery. Complete with everything you could need, a crib, changing table and plenty of clothes for the little one. If anyone asked General Plo how any of those supplies managed to make it aboard he would swear he had no idea. But you all knew better. Despite the Force, the Jedi General was not a good liar. But he was a good babysitter.

You went into labor in the middle of the night, waking the boys up with your shouts of pain. They rushed you to the medbay and tried not to get in the way of the med droid as it delivered the child. They watched, some in horror, some in awe, as you gave birth. It was a perfectly healthy baby boy, who you could already tell looked a lot like his fathers.

You held the little babe on your chest and looked at the men surrounding you, most of which had tears in their eyes. “We did it,” you rasped out, your throat sore from screaming out in pain. “What are we going to name him?” Warthog asked. You looked down at your son, sleeping soundly on your chest. There was a little star shaped strawberry birthmark on his left cheek. “Nova,” you said.

“It’s perfect,” Wolffe agreed. He gently placed his hand on the baby’s head. “Our gift from the stars.”

[nntssy-old]

Time Heals

Written for Writer's Month 2021, Day 12 - Time. 

Fandom: Gintama Characters/ships: Hijikata/Mitsuba, Hijikata/Tae, Hijikata&Gintoki, Kondou&Sachan Word count: 4396 Rating: T? Also on AO3

They say time heals all wounds. If they haven't healed, there hasn't been enough time.

He already left her behind once. But this time was different. There will be no spicy crackers sent to their headquarters every month. There will be no peeking over Sougo's shoulder while he's reading the letter that came with them. There will be no hope that she'll be able to find her happiness one day despite everything. There will be no chance for him to atone for ruining the only chance at happiness she had got.

Every once in a while Hijikata goes to the stash of crackers she had been sending them and takes a pack. The pile is gradually decreasing — he suspects Sougo is eating them too, although he has never seen him do it.

He bites on one of those crackers and thinks about what he could have done differently. About her spending the decade alone in her house, after everyone she knew and cared about left her behind. He could have stayed with her. They could have taken her with them to Edo. They could have found some way to get her a proper medical treatment…

His vision gets blurry, but he blames it on the damn spice. Because he has no right to cry after everything he had or hadn't done.

He finishes the pack by adding some mayonnaise occasionally. Both his eyes and taste buds burn by that time, but he feels a little bit better. For the time being.

*** 

It is the middle of the day, and the chief of the Shinsengumi is nowhere to be seen, but there's some minor thing the vice-chief can't do without him. Knowing Kondou's habits, Hijikata goes straight to the Koudoukan doujo. Next stop would be Snack Smile.

There is always a ladder or something else left near the enclosure wall — usually from the back side of the doujo — that Kondou probably used to get in. This time it's a few crates stacked upon each other. He jumps on them and over the wall easily, and, indeed, here he is — the commander of the Shinsengumi, lying unconscious on the grass, no doubt after being discovered hiding under kotatsu or something. The vice-chief doesn't feel sorry for him one bit — his stalker of a superior had it coming.

After a sigh, Hijikata just grabs at the back of Kondou's jacket and drags him towards the exit.

He has done it a few times before — before Mitsuba's death, that is. But now, for some reason, the situation brings the memories of a more distant past — how he dragged Sougo to the doujo practice back in Bushuu.

Passing by the front side of the doujo, he glances at the porch, and for a moment he sees her — Mitsuba — again. Seeing him away, as she used to back then, and smiling. Startled, he even drops the cigarette out from his mouth.

But as sudden as it appeared, the vision goes away, and it's Otae who is sitting on the porch.

"Good afternoon, Hijikata-san," she says to him with a smile. "Good work, as always." But then her face and tone change to concerned as she adds, "Are you alright? You look pale… like you've seen a ghost."

He might as well has seen it.

Hijikata tries to compose himself again, but all he can muster is a nod in response, not even the usual apology for his superior's behavior. He proceeds with dragging Kondou-san away in silence.

For the next two months, he sends Yamazaki on the dragging-Kondou-back duty.

***

He hasn't been to Mitsuba's grave since the funeral. A good chunk of the Shinsengumi was present then, with Kondo and Sougo doing all the speeches, so he just mixed in with the crowd and didn't stand out much.

He brings her a bunch of her favorite flowers. He didn't do anything like this in her life even once. In retrospect, he probably should have. The flowers are of the wild kind, and while in abundance in the countryside, it's not so easy to find them in a big city. But there aren't many impossible things for Hijikata once he sets his mind on something.

He sets them near the gravestone and looks at her name etched on it. Looks at the dates. Thinks how in between those numbers there is an entirety of human life — her life — even if it was a rather short one. Thinks how one day he too will be reduced to just a name and numbers on a stone — and that's a best-case scenario. Thinks that, if he ever gets a proper burial, he would like for it to be here, next to her.

Hijikata barely suppresses the urge to touch the stone. His throat feels strained.

In a hindsight, he should have probably brought the spicy crackers with him. But there are many things he should have done.

Hijikata leaves without saying a word. But his imagination decides to play tricks on him. Because turning away, he catches a glimpse of Mitsuba in the corner of his eye. She looks saddened.

***

It's late autumn, and they are still a bit shorthanded after the Itou incident, and there's no one brave enough and available to get the chief back, so Hijikata goes himself for once.

He hesitates a little bit before getting over the wall. Like a damn thief. Or worse — stalker.

From here it's the usual routine: locate Kondou-san, grab him, pay respects to the hostess, leave.

Otae is sweeping fallen leaves with a broom near the entrance. He raises his hand in a silent greeting.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Hijikata-san," she says with a smile. But there's something else to it. Hesitance? Concern? Sadness? "I'm sorry… Gin-san told me about what happened… I'm sorry for your loss." She bows her head.

Someone has his tongue a bit too loose.

"There's no need…" he starts, but he's unsure of what to say.

"He also told me that I might have reminded you of her. I'm sorry."

That damn Yorozuya!

It is true that the first time — the very first time — he saw Otae, she reminded him faintly of Mitsuba. But he has given it a thorough thought recently and came to a conclusion that the similarities were rather superficial. Both were in charge of their younger brothers after being orphaned, which made them mature faster. There are also devotion to a proper lady image and a slight similarity in the hairstyles. Also the smile, the kind of which makes your heart skip a beat — although he is pretty sure that with Otae it's because of fear half the time. That's about it. Mitsuba was a delicate and humble woman. Meanwhile, Yorozuya calls the Shimura girl a gorilla woman, and he's… not entirely wrong, as much as Hijikata hates to agree with him.

Kondou lets out some grunting noise breaking a rather awkward silence. Talk about gorillas. He seems to be coming about though, so it is time to leave.

"Apologies for the disturbance," Hijikata says as he turns towards the exit.

"Take care," he hears her voice in response, slightly muted.

***

Next time is less awkward. Or so he thinks at first.

"Hijikata-san, you're dropping the ash all over the place," she reprimands him. 

It startles him a little bit. But luckily, there's no threat in her voice. He's not quite sure what he can do about it though — it's not like there's a—

"Here." She holds out an ashtray towards him. "I keep it for when someone like Otose-san visits."

Hijikata stands there for a moment, holding Kondou by the back of his collar and looking uncertainly at the object, but then taps the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, while Otae is still holding it.

Somehow, the gesture feels way too intimate.

***

There are usually several bottles of sake stored under a certain loose piece of flooring back at his quarters. They are there in case he needs some time alone to unwind after an especially stressful day. Or to drown away his sorrow and guilt — like in today's case.

Recently he has relied on his stash perhaps way too often. The amount that usually lasted him for months he now drinks up in a matter of two or three weeks. He has forgotten to restock, so right now there is only one half-empty bottle. Not enough to calm all the intrusive thoughts. 

But it's too late into the night, and Hijikata isn't in the mood to go anywhere or deal with anyone, so he will need to make do with what he has. He hopes that it at least will dull the anguish inside of him.

He doesn't even bother with getting a cup, just uncorks the bottle and drinks straight from it.

From the corner of his eye, he can almost see Mitsuba again. She looks concerned. With a hint of disapproval. 

***

This time it is tea.

"Oi, Hijikata-san, would you mind joining me for some tea? I prepared too much because I thought Shin-chan and others were coming, but it seems they're running late. We wouldn't want it all go to waste, would we?" Her voice sounds way too innocent. "Please, I insist."

Otae isn't a woman who will take no for an answer, and he isn't feeling very adventurous today, so he props unconscious Kondou's back against the wall of the doujo, and reluctantly joins her at the porch. The ashtray is already waiting at his side as he sits down.

They do some small talk — well, mostly her — about the weather and the sorts of tea — but otherwise sit in silence, sipping on the hot liquid, watching the clouds pass by. 

It's not uncomfortable. Rather soothing actually.

Perhaps having a calm moment like this wouldn't hurt every once in a while.

***

Next time when Kondou is missing from the Shinsengumi compound, it is right on time for the quarterly reports, and Hijikata is drowning in the paperwork. Reading a particularly lengthy account of accomplishments, complaints, and suggestions from the 1st Division — Sougo apparently does it on purpose — he finally snaps and goes looking for his chief who is supposed to do at least part of this. 

But Kondou is nowhere to be seen at the doujo either. Hijikata has done two circles around the building, checked all the pits, but the usual perpetrator is nowhere to be seen. But Otae is clearly at home today, so her devoted stalker is probably somewhere inside as well. He is starting to lose his patience.

Hijikata cautiously knocks at the main door.

"Excuse me," he starts, trying to suppress the irritation in his tone, but the door slides away too quickly for him to finish, and now he is standing face-to-face with Otae. At a rather close distance. Perhaps too close. He even forgets about being annoyed.

She smiles at him in a greeting, without saying a word, and puts a finger to her lips as in saying "be quiet". The smile on her face is a mischievous one. She gestures for him to go towards the west side of the building. It almost feels like they're accomplices of some sort. But he just wants his chief to get back to work — there's nothing wrong about that. 

As Hijikata follows her directions and goes around the building, she slides the door open there and points under the floor. He squats down and looks under it. It's pretty dark out there, and it takes time for his eyes to adapt.

Once they do, he is able to discern two silhouettes lying on the ground facing each other. Now that he listens carefully, he can even hear some muffled sounds and their muted voices. There's also a faint smell of natto and potato chips.

One of the people hiding under the floor is unmistakably Kondou-san. Another seems to be the Glasses Ninja girl who usually follows Yorozuya around. And they're playing Uno of all things. While Hijikata has been buried in paperwork in a stuffy room back at the headquarters. His blood is about to boil.

"Sarutobi-san..." Otae meanwhile has bent over the wooden flooring to peek under it, her body half-suspended upside down.

The two stalker buddies turn right away. Their faces are pale like they've seen a ghost.

"I wondered why we had problems with rats recently," Otae continues, "but perhaps it is because of all the food crumbs the two of you are leaving around." 

"Kondou-san," Hijikata says in turn, trying to sound polite despite the anger, "if you're feeling bored, there's plenty of reports for you to read back at the Shinsengumi compound." He is grabbing at the hilt of his katana. Otae has already jumped to the ground next to him — he doesn't even ponder on when she has managed to get her naginata. 

But the ninja is fast. She grabs Kondou by the collar and swiftly crawls away in a perpendicular direction. By the time he and Otae catch up to them near the other side of the building, the so-called Sarutobi-san is already jumping over the wall carrying the chief of the Shinsengumi with her arms under his knees and back. 

Hijikata lets out a sigh.

"Any idea where they might have headed?"

~~ Intermission 1 - Sachan ~~

She was hoping to find Gin-san at the doujo today, especially after he loudly proclaimed such an intention yesterday.

But it seems there's only Otae-san now, doing the chores in the yard, not even her brother or Kagura-chan are hanging around. And Sachan doesn't even have any work today to busy herself with.

While thinking of what to do, hanging on the ceiling, she hears a rustling sound from somewhere under the floor. Perhaps Otae isn't completely alone after all.

Avoiding being noticed by the hostess, Sachan crawls under the floor, and indeed, Kondo-san is also on duty today — well, not on his proper duty duty — snacking on some potato chips and watching Otae's feet from afar. She decides to sneak up on him. It is so easy to startle him that she has to forcefully cover his mouth so as to not betray their presence.

"Ah, it's you, Assassin girl," he says in a muffled voice.

"You seem to be bored."

"I'm not bored, just taking a break!"

"Do you want to play some Uno?"

They start playing, but the chief of the Shinsengumi seems to be as unlucky in games as he is in love. Which, of course, gets him frustrated. She occasionally forcibly covers his mouth again to prevent him from getting too loud.

Suddenly, while they are still engrossed in another round of the game, her instincts kick in, and Sachan feels some sort of dangerous presence. Perhaps, even a killing intent.

"Sarutobi-san..." she hears a very familiar voice, as if right on cue.

Sachan turns to the voice — Otae's head is upside down as she is looking at their hideout under the floor — menacing aura and all. But she's not alone. There is also the Demonic Vice-Chief of the Shinsengumi right beside her, looking angry and just as his nickname suggests. Each of them alone would look like pretty bad news right now, but together... they are like a match made in Hell.

Sachan doesn't even hear what they have to say, her self-preservation instincts taking over, and all her senses telling her to run. She grabs Kondou-san by the collar of his jacket — in an act of solidarity, or perhaps she has already grown rather fond of him to just leave him behind in the imminent danger — and retreats.

Jumping from roof to roof, with protesting Kondou in her arms, she thinks that her love rival and the vice-chief actually look rather good together. She wonders what is the relationship between the two.

Sachan drops the chief of the Shinsengumi off at his headquarters. Literally. Through the roof.   

~~ Intermission ends ~~

Next time Hijikata is unlucky enough to come just before lunch.

She sees him from the east side of the building even before he's able to find Kondou-san. Out of courtesy, he comes closer to ask her. But his stomach betrays him in a rather loud voice.

"Oh my, Hijikata-san, you must be hungry. We are actually about to have some tamagoyaki. Why don't you join us?"

Oh, shit, the infamous abused eggs. They are slowly becoming a local legend. Of the horror kind.

"No, I'm in a hurry actually…"

"Oh… But you can't work on an empty stomach, can you? Wait here, I will bring you some." And she rushes back inside before he even has a chance to stop her.

Hijikata ponders on how rude it would be to refuse now. And what body part he should protect from the punch. But before he comes to any conclusion, she's already back with a small plate and a radiant smile on her face.

Otae doesn't take no for an answer. But he isn't even capable of saying no to such an enthusiastic face. Perhaps because he just has difficulties saying no to women in general. Yes, that must be it.

It's just burnt eggs, how bad could it be? Not to mention he has his emergency bottle of mayonnaise with him.

~~ Intermission 2 - Gintoki ~~

"Look, he's about to put mayonnaise on it!" Kagura lets out a loud whisper, peeking through a slightly open sliding door. "Ew!"

"Shh, maybe it will cancel out somehow. The more he eats the less we will need to. Until Shinpachi makes some normal food." Gintoki's head is just above hers, as he's peeping in the next room as well. He is expecting Otae to stop Hijikata from desecrating already desecrated eggs any moment now.

But it never comes.

"He's eating it!" Kagura exclaims.

Hijikata is sitting with his back towards them, so they can't see his face. But lately, the vice-chief of the Shinsengumi has been looking… not his best. He has reasons for moping around, but it has already been like half a year since the death of Okita's sister.

Like you're the one to talk when it comes to coping.   

They keep watching as Hijikata finishes his plate, without either choking or puking. He is about to return the plate and doesn't even look like he's in a dire need of a bathroom.  

"Hijikata-san, you need to take better care of yourself. If not for yourself, then for people who care about you," Gintoki hears Otae's quiet voice suddenly.

Says the woman who is about to give him a food poisoning.

"There are fewer and fewer people like that lately," Hijikata responds in a bit of a grave voice after some pause.

As he returns the plate, their hands — Otae's and Hijikata's — touch. The man freezes.

"You're… mistaken," she responds. There's seemingly an eye contact, and the vice-chief looks somewhat surprised.

Gintoki hears Kagura hold her breath and lean in a bit closer. Like she's sometimes doing when watching a romance drama.

Coming to his senses, Hijikata is visibly flustered and suddenly in a rush to leave. So much that he almost drops the plate. But still, it doesn't look like diarrhea is the cause.

"It seems Kondou-san is not here today… So I'll be on my way… Thank you for the meal." The vice-chief bows exaggeratedly and turns away to leave.

"Here goes our hope of salvation," says Gintoki after Hijikata isn't in sight anymore, but the possibility of food poisoning isn't what occupies his mind at the moment.

Otae hasn't moved from her place yet.

Kagura turns away from the door. She seems to be contemplating something. Perhaps processing what she has just seen. Gintoki follows and can't help but plunge into thinking as well.

Meanwhile, Kondou slides from under the kotatsu, looking rather sleepy. 

"Has someone called me?" 

~~ Intermission ends ~~

It is late into the night, and the silence seems too loud again. Hijikata is thinking about opening up his stash — he has restocked recently after all.

He gets one bottle out and is looking at the label, contemplating.

People that care about me, huh?

Kondou's concerned face comes to his mind. Sougo hasn't tried to kill him as much lately either. He remembers Yamazaki and his other subordinates exchanging glances when he was shouting at them while still being hungover. Even Yorozuya hasn't been as cocky when they happen to cross paths lately.

You're… mistaken. 

Eventually, he decides to put the bottle back.

Perhaps a cup of tea might be better.

As he's about to head towards the kitchen, Hijikata catches a glimpse of Mitsuba in the corner of his eye again, but the vision disappears as soon as he turns his head.

He's pretty sure there has been a trace of a smile on her face this time.

***

It's early spring and another drag-Kondou-back-to-work day. 

Hijikata is making a circle around the Koudoukan doujo in search of his superior. He's about to pass by the main entrance, expecting to see the irresistible — as in you have no chance of resistance — owner and her charming smile.

But it's Yorozuya's uncouth mug instead.

"Yo," he says simply.

Hijikata gets startled.

"What are you doing here?"

"Were you expecting to see someone else, eh, Hijikata-kun?" says the silver-haired samurai in his insufferable tone. "Someone prettier maybe? With a ponytail maybe? Am I not enough for you, Hijikata-kun?" He pauses but then adds with an even more shit-eating grin than before, "How were the tamagoyaki last time?"

Hijikata is reminded of accidentally touching Otae's hand instead.

You're… mistaken.

"I… You…" He is considerably flustered — there's no way around that — but for what reason?

"She went out to buy some groceries. Must be back soon," Yorozuya adds simply, picking at his nose, not even looking at him.

Hijikata calms down — more or less — and just goes past the other man, intending to proceed with his search.

"You know… if there's such thing as Heaven" — there's seriousness in Gintoki's voice that makes Hijikata stop in his tracks — "she probably just wants for you to be happy. Just as you did for her."

He remembers Mitsuba's concerned face conjured by his imagination.

"I know," he responds out loud without facing the other. But in actuality, it is a rather fresh thought in his mind. 

"You wouldn't want to disappoint her, would you?"

He didn't think of it like that before. Not explicitly, at least.

"Anyway, the Gorilla should be just around this corner. Otae has knocked him out just before leaving," Yorozuya says in a more casual tone.

Hijikata finds Kondou-san just where he was told. He grabs his superior by the collar and proceeds to the exit, raising a hand in goodbye to Yorozuya, still without facing him. The vice-chief's mind is deep in thought.

As he's turning out of the gate, Hijikata comes face-to-face with Otae. Again.

She's smiling radiantly. While he feels like he's getting flustered for the second time today.

"Good afternoon, Hijikata-san. Are you leaving already?"

He only manages to say something barely intelligible in response. He can almost hear Yorozuya laughing.

"Too bad… Thank you for your hard work anyway."

He nods and proceeds with dragging Kondou-san away past her. There are a lot of things on his mind. 

***

He comes to visit Mitsuba again.

He brings her a bunch of her favorite flowers. He always forgets their name, so there are certain difficulties when talking to the florists, but he is persistent in trying to describe them to the best of his ability. There aren't many impossible things for Hijikata once he sets his mind on something after all.

The grave is well tended to — Sougo must be visiting much more often than he is. And he better be.

He sets the flowers near the gravestone and looks at her name etched on it.

"Long time no see."

That's not exactly true. She has come to him — to his mind — quite often, almost every time he was left alone.

Hijikata sits down in front of the grave and starts talking. 

He starts with little things: the stuff that has happened recently, how is Sougo doing, how are Kondou and the others.

He talks, and talks, and talks. 

He bows his head and apologizes for not visiting sooner, and more often in general. He voices all of his regrets. The things he should have done. Apologizes for both the things he had done and the things he hadn't.

He promises to take good care of Sougo.

He tells her of all the connections they have made since coming to Edo. Yamazaki. Matsudaira and his daughter. Yorozuya. The Shimura siblings. Tells her of the weird rivalry Sougo has with the China Amanto girl. How their days are almost never dull.

He tells her all this so she doesn't have to worry. So she can rest in peace.

In the end, he asks her permission for him to move on. Not to forget — because her image will forever be ingrained in his heart. But he also feels that there is still some place for others too. To move on, for the sake of the people who depend on him. Who — just so happened — care about him, as hard as it is for him to acknowledge this. 

Then Hijikata sits in silence, with his head down, for a long, long time, as if indeed waiting for someone to answer.

When, in the end, he stands up, he feels lighter. Like the cage around his chest has finally broken.

"I will bring the crackers next time," he says with a smile before turning away to leave. After a few paces, he stops and slightly turns back to look at the grave.

He sees Mitsuba in the corner of his eye again. She is holding the flowers and smiling. He intends to keep it that way.    

***

The spring is in full force now, and the trees are blooming.

He doesn't remember when he stopped even thinking of sending someone else to retrieve the chief of the Shinsengumi from the Koudoukan doujo. 

For once, he decides to enter through the front entrance.

It doesn't take long for Otae to notice him. She's already waving at him. And, of course, smiling. And he cannot but smile — just a little bit — back.

They say time heals all wounds. If they haven't healed, there hasn't been enough time. Or the right words haven't been said yet. Or, more importantly, heard.

[annaraebananawriter]

Chaos While Shopping

*Breaks down door* Heya, I’m back. Didja miss me?

Anyways...Happy Valentines Day! Or it will be in about ten minutes my time, but I’m posting this now before I go to bed so I don’t forget. 

In the morning I’ll make another post announcing my return and what I’ve gotten done while I’ve been offline, but enjoy this oneshot in the meantime! I hope you have a laugh at it as i couldn’t stop smiling while writing it.

Fandom: Undertale, but specifically the UTMV

Characters: Ink (Who belongs to Comyet), Dream (who belongs to Joku) and Blue (Who belongs to P0pcornPr1nce)

Pairings: Intended queerplatonic Drinkberry, but it’s kind of ambiguous, so you can read it as that, platonic or romantic, whatever you want!

Warnings: None, but let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 1560

~oOo~

Blue turned from the cart, only to lock eyes with a grinning Ink and the eggplant he was holding up.

"No."

Ink pouted. "I haven't even said anything yet."

"You were going to." Blue shook his head, ignoring the smile twitching at the ends of his mouth. He wasn't going to give Ink the satisfaction of making him smile at a stupid immature joke.

Again.

For the fifth time already.

He gave Ink another look and his squish sighed, a drawn-out Fiiiine. "Thank you." With the threat of the joke out of the way (for now, at least. When they move aisles he was sure there would be another one), Blue glanced at his list. They still needed to get lettuce—but that was right beside him, so he grabbed it now and placed it in the cart, crossing it off. Now all they needed was cheese, milk, apple juice and...that's it.

Great. Then they can all go home, put the groceries away, make Dream drink some water and rest so that he gets sober, maybe even watch a movie before going to bed tonight. That'd be nice. Although, they'd have to find a balance of horror and comedy elements for Ink, romance and sadness for Dream, and adventure for Blue. It'll be tough but—

Hey, wait a second.

Dream was in his thoughts, but a glance around proved that he wasn't in his sights.

Blue froze for a moment. This was like a nightmare becoming reality for him. He should never have let Ink persuade Dream into getting drunk, even if it was funny to watch. If he hadn't, then they wouldn't be out this late getting groceries and one of them wouldn't be wandering off drunk, not thinking rationally and in a very, very vulnerable state—but also.

Ink was supposed to be watching Dream.

...He must've cursed them all when he asked that of him, knowing that his squish didn't have the best memory and was definitely not the best person to put in charge of another living thing.

"Ink."

Ink looked up when Blue called his name. "Yes?"

"Where'd Dream go?"

Ink froze, a deer caught in the headlights vibe coming off of him. "Uh...well...he may have said something about being bored and he may have, perhaps, disappeared out of the aisle?"

Blue stared at Ink.

Ink stared back, sweating.

"So Dream said he was bored and left?"

"Yes."

Blue put his hands together in front of his mouth and inhaled. "Okay, let me rephrase that." His hands fell to point at Ink, palms pressing together harder as his frustration grew. "Dream, who may I remind you is drunk, thanks to somebody, said he was bored, walked away with you knowing he was drunk and that leaving him alone in a store is probably a bad idea...and you let him??"

Ink looked away, rubbing the back of his head. "Well...it sounds bad when you say it like that."

"It's bad no matter how I say it!"

"Okay, fine!" Ink threw his hands in the air. "I'm sorry for letting Dream out of my sight, is that what you want?"

"...it's a start."

"Well, there you go. I'm sorry." Ink crossed his arms, rocking back on his heels. "Don't see how that helps right now. Dream's still missing."

Blue blinked. "Right, yes." He turned to grab the cart and started to walk towards the end of the aisle. "Let's go find him." At the end of the aisle, there was still no sign of Dream. Other people were browsing around, but no yellow-clad skeleton with a crown on his head. And a golden blush. And visibly drunk.

Blue turned to Ink. "Are you sure you didn't see where he went?"

"I'm sure. He left my sight when he rounded the corner."

Blue sighed. "Alright." He looked around a bit more before pointing to a random aisle. "Let's start over there—"

"BLUE!" Dream suddenly shouted, making Blue whirl around, only to be met with a mouthful of fur as something was pressed into his arms. He stumbled under the new weight, but wrapped his arms around it and pulled back, meeting the orange eyes of a cat, one that had a distinctly happy expression on its face.

"Where'd you get a cat, Dream?" He heard Ink ask.

Lifting his head, Blue watched as his other squish giggled, replying "At the Pet Shop, silly." As if it was obvious. Which, well...it kind of was. But...

Blue frowned. "The...the Pet Shop down the street?"

Dream nodded happily, seeing no problem with what he was saying.

Blue just stared back.

Ink picked up his thought process. "You left the store? Dream, you weren't supposed to do that."

Dream blinked, tilting his head. "Why?"

"Because you're drunk."

"Yes. But it was only down the street."

"Maybe, but you still shouldn't be walking around by yourself when you're drunk."

"Wait," Blue said, cutting into the conversation, even though he was grateful that Ink took over his lecturing duties for now. "I agree with Ink about you leaving the store, but how did you get the cat, exactly?" With the cat in one arm, he pointed to himself. "I have the wallet."

"I walked in, found Arson, and left."

Ink blinked. "Arson?"

Dream glanced at him. "Yes. That's his name."

"You're naming a cat Arson?"

"The most beautiful thing in the world is watching fire burn." Dream said seriously, reaching to take Arson back.

Blue let him. "But Dream." He waited until his squish looked at him. "I have the wallet. How were you able to leave with Arson if you never paid for him?"

Dream didn't give him an answer, just looked at him blankly while scratching Arson under his chin.

"HEY!" Blue startled at the shout, again whirling around as a woman with two security guards approached. She had an angry look on her face. When they reached the trio, she pointed at Dream and Arson. "That's the guy that stole one of our cats!"

The guards moved to step forward.

Blue raised his hands, stepping between them and Dream. "Whoa, hold on!"

"Don't hold on!" The woman hissed. She was wearing one of the vests the workers at the Pet Shop wore. "He walked into the store and completely ignored us when we tried to tell him he couldn't just walk out without paying."

"I'm sorry about that, but there seems to be a misunderstanding here." Blue stepped forward again as the guards tried to move past him. "My friend here is drunk, and before you say anything, I know it was a bad idea to let him go off on his own, but I'm sure that he didn't mean to steal one of your cats."

The woman sniffed. "Well, if that's the case, if he gives our cat back, or you pay for it, then I guess I can let you go with just a warning." She glared at Blue. "But if he comes into the store alone again, he will be arrested on the spot."

Blue nodded, letting his arms down as soon as the guards stepped. "Okay." He turned to Dream. "Dream, pass me Arson—"

"No."

Blue paused. "What? Dream, we only came to get groceries. I know you know this. Maybe in a few days, we can go back and get him but for now, he should go back."

"No." Dream shifted, clutching Arson back to his chest defensively. "I'm not giving him back. I already took him out of the shop, so he probably thinks he'll be staying. Giving him back would break his heart."

"Dream—"

"Blue." Dream stared at him, eyes looking watery and big, and was his mouth trembling at the corners—

Oh no...not the puppy-dog eyes.

Blue quickly looked over to Ink in a panic, asking him silently to do something. Ink shifted and scratched at his neck, glancing from Dream to Blue to Arson and back to Blue. "I mean..." He smiled sheepishly. "...I wouldn't mind getting a pet?"

Blue's face fell to a neutral position. "Not. Helping." He glanced back to Dream, whose puppy-dog eyes had doubled. Clenching his teeth, he looked down to Arson, who looked to be reflecting his carrier's eyes. Muttering a curse under his breath, Blue broke.

He turned back to the worker and her security.

~oOo~

That night, when they were all back home and Ink and Dream were in bed already (Dream had fallen asleep in the ride home and Ink crashed the minute he laid down), Blue sat down on the side of the bed. He smiled at his two squishes sleeping and looked over as Arson jumped up and settled in between the two.

Dream shifted, subconsciously reaching up and placing a hand on him.

Arson looked over at blue, a smug look on his face.

Blue glared at him. "Yeah, yeah. Don't look at me like that."

With that, he joined the pile and turned off the lights.

~oOo~

The next morning, Dream was sitting on the couch watching a show with Ink and Blue when Arson jumped up and settled in his lap. He blinked down at the new member of the household.

"Hey, when'd we get a cat?"

He was very confused when Ink started laughing, Blue just sighed, and Arson started purring.

[detroitbydark]

Characters: Hound/OC

Summary: when life (or Thire) gets him traffic duty, Hound makes the most of it.

Warnings: None

A/N: I shouldn’t be starting a new work. I really shouldn’t. I also shouldn’t have decided to write a oneshot, talked to @skdubbs and have four chapters plotted out.

This does take place in the Fox and Mouse verse (around chapter 6 if I remeber correctly).

————

“From Kessel to Kijimi, this is Nuna Skii flying you through the dark hours of the night. I’d like to give a shout to-.”

Hound hunches forward over the handle bars to the GAR issued speeder. Traffic Ops. Kriff.

It would teach him to make a bet with Thire. Then again, how was he to know that the Commander actually had it in him to bag the cute little secretary that took up guard duty outside of his office door.

Obviously not Hound.

The ARF Sargent sighs before turning the radio up. He’d rather be back in his barracks with his massiff at his feet than clocking for speeders and traffic violations. It wasn’t that it was below him it was just… well it was below him. He didn’t go through recon school to be looking for our of date tags.

At least he got to listen to his favorite radio show.

“-and more of that sweet jizz music coming from Dantooine as a special favor to my boys in the 332nd”

Nuna Skii’s show on Independent Republic Radio was a favorite of many a trooper. Overnights were osik but the sweet smoky sound of her voice and the frequent shoutouts - often laced with innuendo - were definitely one way to pass the time. And if her voice was stored in the spank banks of half the troopers in the GAR? Well, that was just an added bonus to her show.

“Just you, me and an empty sky lane tonight, eh Nuna?” He asks the radio.

“How about we take another deep dive into an absolutely delicious track, yeah?”

“You could sell me some ocean front property on Tatooine and I'd pay top dollar. Hit me with it, babygirl.”

He only does a handful of stops and doesn’t write a single ticket for the next six hours.

———

She was so karking tired. Like, tired was an understatement. Half-dead might be more correct. She needed atomic grade caf or a bed to pass out in immediately. Glancing at the near stalled traffic in front of her, Nuna can’t help but think she wasn’t going to get either anytime soon.

The joys of working nights.

She really did love her job. To be a young holoradio jockey and have a spot on any station on Coruscant was pretty damn amazing but to have it on IRR? probably the single coolest station in the core worlds? It was a dream come true. Most of the time.

A yawn escapes her lips and her speeder rattles ominously underneath her.

“Oh- no, no, no.” She mutters looking down at her gauges. Warning lights flash brightly. She’d just gotten the kriffing thing out of the shop last week. They were supposed to have fixed the thrusters. The bike leans to the right and Nuna feels the tell tale swoop in her stomach from a sudden drop in altitude. It wasn’t much more than a few feet but if it was anything like it was the week before she needed a landing platform. And fast.

The early morning light bounces off the transparisteel buildings around her as she tries to find the nearest safe bet. Her speeder bike coughs once and jerks again, jostling her helmeted head. She sucks in a sharp breath as it pulls hard, dragging her from the skylane and into open air. It’s a struggle to keep the thing upright as she tries to guide it in for a landing on the nearest platform. Lights flash in her rear view.

“Really? Really?!” She hisses to herself as her muscles strain to keep the bike on course.

She manages to land the malfunctioning speeder, the ungainly pile of scrap plopping down with all the grace of a pregnant nerf.

The Coruscant Guard bike, all sleek lines, gunmetal grey and cherry red accents lands feet behind her.

Hers makes one last wheeze and cuts off. The good thing is, she’s wide awake now. No caf needed.

“Ma’am?”

Nuna turns to see the visage of snarling maw cocking it’s head in her direction.

“You ok?”

She swallows hard. It was a known fact within her small circle of friends that Nuna Skii - the real Nuna Skii not the sex kitten holojockey- was absolute mush for a guys in uniform and the one stepping closer was definitely one that would make her heart pump harder if it weren’t already for the adrenaline of a near death experience. If there was a name for kink involving men in helmets Nuna had it.

“I- uh- yeah” she takes a deep breath because now was not the place and certainly not the time, “I’m good”

The trooper's head cocks the opposite direction as he points toward her handlebars. “You know you're ok to let those go now, right?”

A nervous laugh escapes her lips. Her hands feel stiff from the exertion of the landing and she wiggles her fingers, forcing the blood back into them as she pulls them back toward her. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“No problem. Can I see your identichip and registration?”

Nuna gives him a blank stare for half a second, eyes moving almost comically from his outstretched hand and back up to his helmet. His free hand rests at his kama, index finger tapping idly. He’s got to be kidding, she nearly died and he was going to-

“You're going to give me a ticket?” She pulls her helmet off with little fanfare and hangs it from the handle bars. “Really? I nearly died and now I’m getting a ticket?!”

The trooper holds both hands up, “Easy there. No one said anything about a ticket. Just because you broke about three different traffic codes and at least two vehicular safety ones...” he lets the implication of what he’s said hang in the air.”

Nuna pulls the requested items out of her bag and hands them to the trooper with more aggression than needed but, damn it all, she was so tired she could cry and now she had to deal with a broke down speeder. Again.

She watches as the trooper looks down at the identichip and then back to her. Once, twice, three times.

“Is there a problem?”

“You’re Nuna Skii- I mean like the real Nuna Skii?” The tone of his voice has changed and he almost seems… excited?

“Uh yeah, guilty as charged. Listen, is this going to-“

“Say, ‘flying you through the night on IRR.’”

“Is this part of your usual traffic stops?” Nuna raises a brow at the trooper. Really? Did it ever get strange enough. She swings a leg over the seat and moves to stand. Her legs shake underneath her and tall, excitable and toothy holds out a gloved hand.

“Here, let me help you.”

She takes it because falling flat on her face really doesn’t seem like something she wanted to add to her laundry list of problems this morning. When she’s standing at her full height, which was substantially shorter than the solid wall of clone trooper in front her, she looks up.

His hand moves to the back of his helmet and rubs gently, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound demanding.” He says almost bashful. “It’s just that if-“

She takes pity on him. “From Corellia to Canto Bight, flying you through the night on Independent Republic Radio”

He stands frozen for a moment. Nuna squirms under the unflinching state of his visor until finally-

“Holy Fett! It’s really you! Listen! I- I mean we- the Guard- we’re like your biggest fans.”

The wind whips up through the levels ruffling the hair on her head, deep lilac colored wisps work their way into her mouth and she spits uselessly before reaching up and using her fingers to remove them. “That’s great really-“

Her hands go to her hips. Was this guy for real?

“Hey, I know a guy that does towing. He’s kind of a di’kut but he owes me a favor. I could get your ride towed where you need it. I mean, if you want?”

“Like, for free?” She clarifies.

The trooper looks down at her as if that was a given, “well, yeah.”

“And you want what in return?” Nuna fidgets. This is where the guy becomes a dirtbag and asks for something. He hands back her identichip and registration before reaching up and popping the seal on his bucket. He gives her a lopsided grin as he slips the helmet up his arm. Kriff. He was cute. His dark hair is cut into a floppy Mohawk. A stray curl of it dips down across his forehead and he offers her a lopsided grin. He is about as intimidating as a puppy.

“Can I get a shout out on your show tonight? I mean, the boys are NEVER going to believe this unless you do.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it” he seems to think for a moment and his smile becomes toothy, “unless you’d like to give me your number too?”

She can feel the hot rush of embarrassment to her cheeks and hopes he mistakes it for wind burn. She ignores his comment about her number because, this fine specimen was so far out of her league it was crazy.

“So What’s to stop me from saying yes and not doing it”

“Aww come on, please? You wouldn’t do one of your biggest fans like that would you?”

“What’s your name?” She can’t handle the soft puppy dog eyes he’s giving her. It should be illegal for any dude with shoulders that broad to look so cute.

“Sargent Hound of the Coruscant Guard at your service.”

She nearly chokes. Well, that explained the puppy dog eyes. “You drive a hard bargain, Sargent.” She says regaining her composure. She looks behind him to the GAR issued speeder. “If you can drop me at my building I’ll call it a deal.”

His smile makes her tummy flutter, “I think that can be arranged.”

——-

“You’re full of it” Rule barks “Osik up to your visor!”

Hound is lounging back on a couch that is not nearly large enough for both him and the massiff sprawled out on it. Grizzer lifts his head, licks his lips lazily and lays back down. Hound scratches around the creature's dorsal spikes and the massiff kicks his back foot happily.

“I told you man. It was her. Identichip verified and everything.

“El-Tee? You hear this?”

Lieutenant Thire looks up from his holopad and the boloball game he was watching, “what?”

Rule is grinning from ear to ear, “Hound here says he helped Nuna Skii out of a bind this morning.”

“I’m not just saying it. I did it.”

Hound explains lazily. He doesn’t tell them about giving her a ride home, pretty sure he broke about half a dozen regs just having her pressed up against his back and her arms around his waist and that was before he dropped her at her building. It was early enough in the day that he doubts anyone really noticed. If they did it was worth it to have her hands clutching at his armor.

Hound had pictured Nuna Skii so many times that the fact that she wasn’t a leggy blonde had come as a shock. What she was wasn’t a bad thing, just different. Short and soft with curves in places he wished he could run his hands all over.

“Prove it!” Ryk laughs as he ambles in, freshly showered and pulling his blacks over his head.

“Should we tell ‘Em Grizz, old man? Or should we just let them eat their buckets when it happens?”

Ryk rolls his eyes as the ARF Trooper chats with his massiff. “You know he’s never going to answer back, right?”

Grizzer looks over his shoulder at Ryk.

“Aww come on man” Hound fusses. One mearty hand moves to scratch under the massiff’s intimidating jaw. Grizzer turns into the touch, nearly purring with contentment. “Just because he can’t speak basic doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand it. Isn’t that right boy. We got our own language, Grizz and I. Smartest mas’ in the whole GAR, aren’t you?”

The creatures leathery tail thumps happily in agreement.

“Don’t know about that but he certainly smells a lot better than the bunch of you.” Thire mutters turning his attention back to boloball and cursing quietly. Ryk lifts an arm smelling.

“Not me! I’m squeaky clean!”

“We’re getting off track here” Rule announces in an attempt to refocus the gathered troopers. “What we need to know is how you're going to prove you met Nuna Skii.”

“Did she sign a ticket?” Thire asks, not looking up. When Hound doesn’t answer Thire looks up.

“She was having a really bad morning-“

“You do know when you work traffic you have to ticket people at least once in a while.”

“Apparently, not the pretty ones.” Ryk cackles.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, vod.”

Ryk rolls his eyes as Hound moves to turn the radio on. Nuna’s show was starting any minute. He hoped she’d come through.

———-

Around and around Nuna spins. The wheels on her roller chair are in desperate need of oil and squeak in protest. Nuna is undeterred as she waits for the next commercial to end. Her producer glances at her through the transparisteel divider and rolls her eyes. Yes, she was a child. No, she would not be apologizing. She grabs a cold protato from a greasy Dex’s bag as she makes another loop. If her fans could see her now. She’s got on an oversized tunic and a pair of dark pants that were probably a little too tight but were way too comfortable for her to care. When she woke her hair wasn’t about to do anything for her so now it sits piled high in a sloppy bun atop her head. She was about as far away from the character she portrayed as she could get.

“On in fifteen Nunz” Tully her producer says. Nuna hurries to swallow her food and takes a big gulp of water.

“And that was the Twi’Three with their latest and I’m Nuna Skii keeping you up all night.” She purrs into the mic. “I think we’re going to go to the comms and take a few calls. Whatcha wanna let the galaxy know?”

“Hi Nuna. Long time listener. I just wanted to say that I love the show but I’m getting really tired of your pandering to clones-“

Nuna mashes the end button with gusto before sighing deeply into the mic.

“Babies and Gentlemen. My lovelies. From 2100 til 0500 five nights a week this is a trooper positive show. If you don’t like it I’d suggest you find something else to listen too. Those yummy boys in white are giving the Republic their all. I don’t see a problem with a few minutes here and there dedicated to them, do you?” She asks sweetly. “It makes me happy making them happy. You know what else makes me happy? New stuff from that Mon Cal band, Ach’tu. Coming at you after this commercial break”

———-

“Maker, I love when she does that.” Ryk groans quietly. “She could put me in my place any day.”

Rule nods, “she could read me the repair manual to my deece and I would die a happy man.”

Thire snorts, “What about you Hound. Got something to say?”

“Yeah man” Ryk lifts his head from where he was resting it against the back of his chair. “What does she look like.”

Hound offers a sly grin, “like a million credits.”

“Long legs? Big tits? You're killing us man” Rule says raising a brow, “unless you don’t really know.”

Hound laughs, “I know vod, but I’m not telling.” His brothers roll their eyes.

“For all my blaster babes and bucket bunnies happily messing with republic property. I salute you.” Nuna’s voice grabs the gathered troopers attention. Thire snorts softly, pretending as if he wasn’t listening. “Along those lines I want to send a special thanks to my new favorite Hound dog out there patrolling the sky lanes of Coruscant. Keep being a good boy and next time we meet I’ll give you a scratch behind the ears.”

The room falls silent except for the low snore of a sleeping massiff. All eyes fall on Hound. His smile says I told you so.

A good boy. Yeah, he could be very happy with that.

[goldenraeofsun]

Symmetria

A 15x18 fix-it, set post-series

Also available on AO3

Dean doesn’t make an immediate trip to the Empty when all’s said and done with Chuck. He takes his time getting used to his new gig as capital D Death. Billie, of course, did not see fit to leave him a training manual. Instead Dean gets a squad of whiny angels (reapers, but still) to manage and a bajillion books to read, so he does his best to channel his inner Cas and get the job done. 

It’s nothing like that day old Death brought him along on Take Your Human to Work Day. For one, Dean's been to Heaven, so he’s not as torn up about reaping kids and good people. He can tell them with complete honesty, You’re gonna be in a better place. Heaven's awesome. No cryptic bullshit when Dean’s holding the scythe. 

For another, he’s also been to Hell, and Rowena herself set him straight on her plans for the place. Sending dead scumbags and murderers down to her is the highlight of his day. 

It’s still exhausting work, and he gets why Billie thought it would be a better punishment than killing him outright. He can never rest, never find peace, since there’s always a job to do. Death and taxes, and all that. 

Not that Dean wanted to kick the bucket before his little brother. But now Sam’s capital G God, so they’ll both be hanging around for a while longer. When Dean reaps him, Dean’ll give one of his lackeys the scythe, and they’ll both party it up in the Empty. 

Oh, and he’ll reap Jack too, since Dean can’t reap God without the Darkness. Balance, as those damn books keep telling him. 

“Hey.” Dean stomps his snowy feet on the welcome mat. He hikes his take out bags higher in his arms. 

Eileen signs hello. “How are things?”

Dean grins as they make their way to Sam and Jack in the kitchen. “Sent a Wall Street embezzler down to Rowena before I got here.” He knocks hard on the table with his knuckles to get Sam and Jack’s attention. 

Jack looks up from the textbook they both had been pour over, beaming. “Dean’s here.”

“Already?” Sam’s gaze darts to the clock above the oven. 

Dean drops the food on the table. “It’s Sunday dinner! I wouldn’t miss it since you’d probably starve without me.” He pulls out a chair and flips the book to his side of the table. He scans it with mild interest. “What’re you working on?”

“History!” Jack says brightly. “I’m learning about ancient Rome.”

Dean turns to Sam. “You know, you could just take him to see Caesar, right? Or I could. Rowena gave us an all-access pass.”

Sam bitchfaces at him. “That’s not the point, Dean.”

“The point is to learn critical thinking and rhetorical skills without supernatural assistance,” Jack says, and obviously those aren’t his words judging by the proud look on Sam’s face.

Eileen shakes her head, signing emphatically, “I don’t know if that counts if God is helping with your homework.”

“I’m just supervising!” Sam protests.

Dean snorts. "Uh huh."

Jack peers at the takeout bags with interest. “What did you bring for dinner, Dean?”

“Russian,” Dean says with a grin as Jack pulls out a container of pierogies. “Borscht, stuffed cabbage, and stroganoff. Plus some vegetable thing. I don’t know - it was all in Russian.”

Sam rolls his eyes since a little thing like a language barrier isn’t really a problem for them anymore. They’re all fluent in ASL from a snap of Sam’s fingers. He had first offered to restore Eileen’s hearing, but she politely declined. Being Deaf is part of her identity, apparently, just like keeping his stupid Jesus hair is Sam’s.

“This looks delicious,” Eileen signs as she gets to her feet to grab plates. Jack hops up too, making a bee-line for the cutlery drawer.

Sam tosses Jack’s homework on the empty seat at the table. “How’re you doing?”

“Fine,” Dean says. He pulls the stroganoff closer for first dibs.

Sam narrows his eyes as he accepts a plate from Eileen. “You sure?”

“What?” Dean makes a face. “It’s true.”

“I think you can aim a little higher than fine,” Sam says exasperatedly. “You’re a universal constant who has Sunday dinner with two cosmic beings. Plus Eileen.”

“I do only come here for Eileen,” Dean acknowledges solemnly.

Eileen winks at him as she sits back down. Jack laughs.

“There’s gotta be something else you want out of this,” Sam says, gesturing around them.

The one thing I want, is something I know I can’t have.

Dean swallows down the lump in his throat and dumps stroganoff on his plate. He deliberately does not look at the empty chair to his right, currently occupied by Jack’s homework. 

“It’s too soon,” he grunts.

“Is it?” Sam asks, eyebrows raised. “You’ve got your reapers under control. I’ve created enough new angels to run Heaven without blackouts. Jack’s got a handle on his Darkness powers and settled in at school. There’s literally been no better time.”

Dean sighs. “What if something happens?” He looks at each of them in turn. “We’ve finally got something good going for us.”

Jack makes a face like he killed yet another plant without meaning to. “But is it really good without Cas?”

* * *

Dean has lost count of the number of times he’s replayed Cas’s final moments on Earth in his head. He has also lost count of his regrets. There were so many times he could have said something, done something. Been the loving man Cas talked about in his goodbye.

But he isn’t.

He can’t love Cas. If Dean did, he would have caught on a hell of a lot sooner. Wouldn’t have waited or held back. Wouldn’t have, for the first time in that moment, questioned whether Cas could feel something as human as that. For him, of all the mud monkeys on planet Earth.

Instead, he just stood there like a jackass and let Cas get taken away by black goo again.

Love is sacrifice. Cas hammered that point home like no demon deal, no trials, no soul bomb ever has.

But Dean’s a Winchester, and if their family is known for anything, it’s throwing sacrifices back in each other’s faces - spitefully, lovingly.

Sam and Eileen hit the books. Jack writes down all he remembers about his time in the Empty.

It takes two weeks to come up with a spell to take out the Empty, or, at least, temporarily cut it off at the knees.

Dean, Sam, and Jack head back to the Bunker. Technically, Dean still lives there, but he’s usually all over the country, carrying out his Deathly duties. He hasn’t spent the night since they took out Chuck. After the adrenaline crash, he just sat back with his brother-turned-God at the war table and wondered if this’ll be the rest of their supernaturally long lives. Neither of them said much.

They prep the spells in the kitchen before heading down to the dungeon - the most secure room in the Bunker. Dean, tense as a coiled spring, tries to keep up with the laughs and jokes, but Sam keeps shooting him knowing looks.

“You good?” Sam asks as they get ready for the last seps. 

Dean, his mouth dry, can only nod.

They prop up the bowl of ingredients on an old filing cabinet, and Jack stands by with Empty bombs (based on Kevin’s demon bombs). Sam bleeds into the bowl and reads out the Enochian.

The whole Bunker rumbles ominously, before the overhead lights pop out, one by one.

Dean almost laughs - or cries. Hard to tell in the dark.

Shadows bubble up from the middle of the floor, blacker than anything else in the room. Dean adjusts his grip on his scythe, waiting with bated breath as the tarry, otherworldly substance takes a humanoid shape.

It settles on a body and a face, and Dean sees red. He stabs it straight in its trenchcoated chest, right where its heart would be.

The Empty stares down at the blade, its expression turning to wry amusement. “I believe the saying is ‘deja vu’?”

“Shut up,” Dean hisses. He yanks his scythe back as, behind him, Sam snaps his fingers. A few of the lights repair themselves. To the Empty, Dean growls, “Wear someone else’s face.”

The Empty bristles like it’s almost offended. “No?”

Sam pulls Dean behind him before Dean can stab it again. “Hi,” he says loudly over Dean’s angry spluttering, “I know we got off on the wrong foot last time, but-”

“Wrong foot?” the Empty interrupts, head tilting.

Dean’s fingers tighten around his scythe. How dare that thing wear Cas’s face, do Cas’s thing, talk like Cas. Only Sam’s arm in front of his chest stops Dean from surging forward and finishing what he started. 

“Yeah,” Sam says with a warning look at Dean. “In Death’s library - well, old Death. Dean uses a hard drive to store all his books of fate now. Look, you’re probably still pissed I woke you up, but all we need is one thing, and then we won’t bother you again.”

“Oh,” the Empty says. Its forehead furrows in a way Dean had seen on Cas too many times. The burning ache of regret flares with a new heat, and Dean glares murderously at the Empty as it says, “That wasn’t me.”

Sam’s mouth opens and closes. “What?”

The Empty clears its throat. “You met the old Empty. Billie and I killed it before she died.”

“The Empty can die?” Dean asks roughly.

It nods, its attention turning to Dean almost hungrily. “It was weakened from Jack’s explosion. Billie didn’t want to help me, naturally. But if the last Empty was still in charge, Billie’s final rest would have been far from peaceful.” It smiles. “I could also guarantee she would never have to see any of us ever again.”

“And who’re you?” Dean demands.

The smile drops off the Empty’s face. “You don’t know? After all this time?”

Dean swallows, a terrible, wonderful hope struggling to breathe in his chest. He tries, his voice almost a whisper. “Cas?” 

The Empty nods, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean turns to Sam for verification because there’s no fucking way Dean trusts himself anymore when it comes to Cas. But Sam’s face reads nothing but mingled relief and joy, so -

Dean lets the scythe drop with a clatter and strides forward on shaky legs. Cas tenses like he’s bracing for impact. “It’s alright,” Dean tells him in a low voice as he squeezes tight. Cas is real, alive (or alive as any of them are at this point), and back in the Bunker where he belongs. “I got you, Cas.”

Cas sighs, an exhale of bone-deep weariness. He buries his face deeper in the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean holds on even though it’s been way too long for a normal hug. But hell, Cas fucking loves him. Cas can deal with a little extra hug time.

Sam coughs pointedly as he steps up for his own hug. “It’s good to have you back, man.”

Cas smiles as he accepts a few manly back slaps from Sam. 

Jack rushes forward for his turn. 

“Jack,” Cas says reverently as he wraps his arms around him. “You’ve done so well.”

“Thank you,” Jack says, his voice cracking. “I missed you, Cas.”

Cas just shakes his head, overcome with emotion. “I’m very happy to see you.” He mutters a few words, too low for any of them to hear, as he disentangles himself from Jack’s arms. He looks around at the three of them. “I’d say you all are doing very well for yourselves.”

Grinning, Dean picks up his scythe and gives it a little spin. “Gee, what gave it away?” He sobers as Cas doesn’t say anything, just stares at him with an unreadable expression on his face. “But you already knew that,” Dean surmises.

“Chuck told me.”

Sam's eyes go wide. “Chuck?” 

“When he died, he was sent to the Empty,” Cas says shortly. “To me.”

Sam grimaces. “Sorry.”

Cas’s lips press together in a thin line. “It took forever for him to shut up. I suppose I should have expected it.” He sighs. “Chuck always did pride himself on being a storyteller.”

“And a dick,” Sam adds. 

 “Chuck told me about how you defeated him - his ‘greatest creations’,” Cas quotes sourly, “and about the cosmic consequences, which included a changing of the guard - God, the Darkness, Death,” he shakes his head, adding, “the Empty.”

“This was his plan?” Dean growls, his voice a mixture of anger and surprise. But his rage dies as Cas slowly shakes his head. 

“Not exactly, but he said he could appreciate the symmetry.”

“Of course he could.” Dean runs a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ, please tell me that’s the end of him.”

“I have complete control over the Empty,” Cas assures, “He isn’t waking up any time soon.”

“Oh,” Dean says awkwardly, “good. That’s good.”

Reluctantly, Cas tears his gaze away from Dean. He straightens, his mouth set determinedly, and asks Sam, “There was something you wanted?”

Sam shakes his head, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Not anymore.”

Cas’s brow furrows. “If you need anything from the Empty, I can give it to you.” He glances at each of them in turn. “As I told you once, I am always happy to bleed for the Winchesters.”

“No,” Dean chokes out before Sam or Jack can get a word in, “No goddamn bleeding - of any kind. Just, no.”

Cas’s frown deepens.

Sam grins. “We were gonna ask the Empty to wake you up. So I guess… we’re good.”

Cas blinks a few times in confusion. “You wanted… me?”

Jack throws him an incredulous look. “You’re a part of us, Cas. Of course we wanted you here.”

* * *

Dean makes burgers for dinner. Even though none of them need to eat, they’re far too used to it to stop. By the stove, he listens with half an ear as Jack peppers Cas with updates on the new world order and high school. Every once in a while, Sam’s voice comes through with a few modifiers and anecdotes.

Jack turns in first, complaining about leftover homework.

Sam takes off next, saying he promised to buy bread and eggs on the way home to Eileen. He leaves Dean and Cas alone in the Bunker’s kitchen.

Neither of them say anything as Sam’s footsteps fade up the stairs to the exit. Dean steadily keeps his eyes trained on the half-empty beer bottle spinning around in his hands. Cas sits next to him at the table, happy as a fucking clam to sit in silence, staring at Dean like he’s a goddamn miracle.

It’s too much.

This is why Dean didn’t jump to bring Cas back to the land of the living. It tore him apart inside, like metaphorical hellhound claws digging into his gut. Sure, Cas deserved to be topside. Cas deserved to have his happy ever after like the rest of Team Free Will 2.0. What Cas didn’t deserve, was a man with his head so far up his own ass he couldn’t muster up three measly words when they mattered most. And Dean had no idea how to tell Cas any of that.

“Dean,” Cas breaks the silence first because for all he said in his big goodbye speech, Dean’s a fucking coward. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again,” he clears his throat, “so I didn’t anticipate the position I would put you in by showing up. I apologize.”

Dean turns to him, alarmed. “No, don’t apologize. It’s my - I should have - you were - son of a bitch.” He presses his lips together so he doesn’t go blurting something stupid like you were so wrong about me; it fucked me up for a while.

“It’s okay,” Cas says gently. “I’ve seen Jack and you and Sam. That’s all I wanted since I left. Truly.”

Dean sucks in a breath, his pulse spiking with fear. “That sounds like another goodbye. I don’t - I don’t think I can take another one of those from you.”

Cas blinks. “You want me to stay?”

Dean’s mouth works furiously before he demands, “You don’t want to?”

“No,” Cas draws out slowly like he’s concerned for Dean’s sanity, “but if my presence-”

“Stop,” Dean holds up a hand, “just ‘cause I don’t know what to say to you -” liar “- doesn’t mean you have to get exiled from the whole planet. You saved the world, the same as us. The very least you get is free rent for eternity.” 

“If you say so,” Cas says doubtfully.

“Jack would be real upset if you fucked back off to the Empty for the rest of time,” Dean adds. “He’s studying the Roman Empire and could use some help from someone who was there.” He takes a sip of beer, and fuck cosmic tolerances. He could drink a whole liquor store and not feel anything. 

The corners of Cas’s mouth twitch. “I was actually stationed in China during that time. I would be a minor help at best.”

“Then make it up,” Dean says with a grin. “It’s not like Jack will know the difference. And if his teachers call him out on it, Sam can wave his magic wand and make it true anyway. All hail President Clinton.”

Cas snorts. “That would be one way to help, I suppose.”

Dean drains his beer, a purely instinctual response, before he starts, “You’ve levelled up. Got a power upgrade as the Empty.” At Cas’s tentative nod, he goes on, “You could’ve said something, dude. Given us some sign. I - we all thought you died. For good.”

“I cannot come to Earth without being summoned,” Cas says heavily.

Dean makes a face. “Rules like that never stopped any of us before.”

“You could have performed the summoning ritual at any time - all the cards were in your hands.” Cas’s gaze drops to the table. “I thought you didn’t want to see me.”

Dean shakes his head vehemently. “That wasn’t the case at all.”

“But you said you don’t know how to talk to me,” Cas points out.

Dean swallows. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want you around. I didn’t know how to talk to you when you were cuckoo for cocoa puffs, when you had fucking amnesia. Hell, it was even weird when you were human. But things are… better with you here. No matter what.”

“Really?” Cas asks, the doubt clear in his voice.

“Of course,” Dean says gruffly. “You gotta know that.”

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean says as he gets up for another drink - old habits, “now you do.”

“Do you still believe this?” Cas presses.

“Never doubted it for a second,” Dean promises as he sits back down.

“Even after you sent me away?” Cas asks quietly.

“Hey,” Dean says sharply, “You made that choice to walk out that door.” But that old anger doesn’t survive long in the wake of the look on Cas’s face. Dean smiles humorlessly as he twists the cap off. It clatters to the table, the sound echoing around the empty kitchen. “But, yeah, that was me being angry over a bunch of shit that was out of our control. Not you. You just happened to be in my line of fire.” Dean takes a long pull from the bottle. “What a guy to fall for, huh? Blames you for everything that goes wrong and makes you think you’re better off gone.”

Cas freezes. “So we’re talking about it?”

Dean raises his eyebrows, half in surprise at himself. “Guess so.”

“Nothing has to change,” Cas assures him. “The only difference is you know about my feelings for you.”

“How long have you had them?” Dean asks with a casual air that’s one-hundred percent, Grade-A bullshit. 

Cas presses his lips together as he thinks. “Since you took me to that brothel.”

Dean chokes on his drink. “Seriously?”

Cas ducks his head, a surprisingly human gesture of embarrassment. “I didn’t know it then,” he says in a low voice, “all I knew was that I wanted to impress you. I had never felt that way about anyone before, except God.”

“Gross, man.”

Cas purses his lips. “Not like that.” He sighs. “But I suppose it happened the year I made that deal with Crowley.” He reaches for his own beer bottle, long emptied sometime in the middle of dinner. He spins it between his fingers contemplatively. “I told myself I made the deal to make the world safer for you, so you could live out your retirement in peace. But it was just a convenient ploy to keep myself busy. You didn’t need me for the first time since Hell.” He presses his lips together. “My love for you made me reckless and blind, as approximately 231,600 love songs could have told me, if I had bothered to listen to any of them.”

Dean chuckles. “It probably would have been better if you just had an emo phase.” At Cas’s frown of confusion, Dean waves it off, “Forget it. It’s water under the bridge anyway.” He sips his beer. “Since the Purgatory deal? That’s a long time.”

“Not for an angel,” Cas counters. “I’m extremely old.”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Touché.”

“You’re not going to ask why I never told you before?”

Dean shakes his head. “You made that pretty clear in your little goodbye speech. ‘The one thing I want, is something I know I can’t have’,” he rattles off the phrase that had been bouncing around his skull for the past month and a half.

Cas bites his lip, a shade of hurt lurking behind his eyes at hearing his words parroted back to him. “I had always known my feelings were fruitless. Telling you was more of an act for myself than for you,” he says to the table, “but I didn’t think I would be around to know what that meant for us.”

“I get that,” Dean says haltingly, “but they’re not.”

“They’re not what?”

Dean forcibly lets go of his empty beer bottle because he’s going to shatter it if he says this next bit with glass between his hands. “Your feelings. They’re not fruitless. They’re, uh, pretty fucking fruity.”

Cas’s mouth opens and closes, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Is that a dated and offensive reference to homosexuality?”

“What?” Dean yelps, “No!”

Cas sits there, nonplussed.

“Your feelings,” Dean says through gritted teeth. “What you want. You can have it.”

Cas makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” Dean mutters. “Even with all of history crammed in your noggin, you don’t get it. Fine.” He shifts in his seat so he can face Cas fully. “Let me clear things up for you. Just… smite me if I cross a line.”

“Dean,” Cas protests, “As the Empty, I can’t smite any-”

Dean cuts him off with a kiss.

As far as first kisses go, it’s passable. Cas clearly has some experience - he doesn’t go straight for the tongue, but he’s frozen for so long, Dean almost pulls away to check if he drastically miscalculated. But Cas exhales, tentative hands wrap around Dean’s forearms, and he pulls Dean in closer. Dean smiles against his mouth, small puffs of laughter escaping as Cas’s nose bumps against his. He cups Cas’s jaw in one hand, and Cas lets out a little sigh, melting the last few layers of Dean’s reservations about this whole business.

It’s the promise in the kiss that makes it awesome. This isn’t their end. For once, the world isn’t on fire, and they’re not playing catch up with an apocalypse.

It’s just them, Death and the Empty.

The Endgame for every human, angel, and demon on Earth.

Suck it, Chuck. That’s fucking symmetry.