#feeling alright for a few weeks before collapsing for months again

[nature-played-a-trick-on-me]

.

[lila-lou]

✨Rough around the edges - Pt. 1✨

Summary: Jack's day couldn’t have gotten any worse. Exhausted from a grueling shift under the scorching sun, he just wanted to crash at home with some wings and a football game. But his plans for a quiet night were shattered when the racket from his new neighbor echoed through the walls.

Pairing: Jack x Reader

Warnings: Language, age gap

Word Count: 4385

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

"Fucking shit!", Jack grumbled as he yanked the heavy piece of wood back into place, his muscles straining from the sudden weight. His colleague had almost dropped it from his side, barely catching it in time. Jack's patience was wearing thin after hours of working under the hot sun. They were up on the fifth floor of a building still under construction, the framework barely holding together as they handed over beam after beam to meet the firm’s relentless deadline.

"Watch it, man", Jack muttered, glaring at his coworker, and best friend, who shrugged it off with a nervous chuckle. He wasn’t in the mood for apologies or excuses. He adjusted his grip, steadying the beam as they maneuvered it into place, his hands rough and worn from the constant grind. The city skyline stretched out in the distance, a reminder of how much work still lay ahead.

They were only halfway through the shift, and Jack could already feel the familiar ache settling into his shoulders. It wasn’t like he hated the job — he was good at it, and it paid the bills — but days like these made him wonder how long he could keep it up.

One misstep up here and things could go bad real quick.

A few hours later, as Jack made his way toward his car, the heat of the day still clung to him, though the sweat on his body had started to dry. His shirt stuck to his back, and every step felt like a reminder of the long, grueling hours spent on the site. His muscles ached, and all he could think about was getting home.

Just as he unlocked his car, he heard footsteps pounding behind him. Anthony, his best friend, jogged up with that usual grin plastered on his face. “Hey, man! You wanna grab a beer in town? Some of the guys are heading over to O’Malley’s”.

Jack groaned inwardly, barely holding back an eye roll. The last thing he wanted right now was to be surrounded by loud voices and more chaos. He glanced at Anthony and waved him off. "Dude, even my fucking balls are sweating. I'm beat to hell after this week".

Anthony laughed, clapping him on the shoulder, but Jack wasn’t in the mood.

“Nah, man. I’m heading home. All I wanna do is watch the football game, grab a bucket of wings, crack open a six-pack, and call it a night”. He paused and smirked, half-joking. “Might jerk off if I can stay awake long enough”.

Anthony let out a loud, obnoxious laugh. “Sounds like a hell of a night. Alright, man, catch you next time”.

Jack nodded, climbing into his car and slamming the door shut. As soon as the engine roared to life, he felt the weight of exhaustion settle over him. His mind was already on the couch waiting for him. Nothing fancy. Just a little peace, a little food, and maybe, if he wasn’t too worn out, a moment to himself before crashing into bed.

Half an hour later, Jack trudged up the stairs to his apartment, the bucket of wings tucked under his arm like a lifeline. His body ached with every step. Man, he was tired. All he wanted was to collapse on the couch.

As he reached the top of the stairs, nearing his door, a loud bang jolted him out of his thoughts. He froze, listening, and sure enough, there were more sounds—soft curses, followed by another series of thuds—coming from the apartment across the hall. The one that had been empty for months since the old lady who lived there had moved to a retirement home.

Jack paused, glancing over his shoulder at the door. Whoever it was clearly wasn’t having the smoothest move-in. He heard something fall again, accompanied by a muffled groan of frustration.

Jack groaned in annoyance, rubbing a hand across his face. Just great. As if the week hadn’t been exhausting enough, now he had to imagine his weekend being a noisy mess thanks to whoever was moving in. All he wanted was some peace and quiet. Instead, it seemed like his weekend would be filled with endless bangs and thuds coming from across the hall.

Another loud thud echoed through the hallway, followed by a soft “Ouchy” that made him roll his eyes. He could already picture some clueless person fumbling around with boxes, knocking stuff over, and generally making a racket. The kind of person who probably had no idea how to move without turning it into a circus.

Jack shifted the bucket of wings under his arm, debating whether or not to knock on the door. Part of him wanted to just ignore it, retreat into his apartment, and hope for the best. But the other part, the more frustrated part, was tempted to knock and tell them to keep it down. He’d had a long week, and he deserved a break, damn it.

Finally, he took a deep breath and approached the door, raising his fist to knock.

Just then, the door swung open unexpectedly, and there you were, looking frazzled and clearly unprepared for company. You were wearing nothing more than a pair of shorts and a tank top, your skin glistening slightly from the heat. Your hair, a messy bun on top of your head, looked like it had been thrown together in a hurry, and you had no makeup on, not that you needed it.

Jack blinked, momentarily caught off guard, staring at the younger woman standing in front of him.

You, on the other hand, were equally surprised to see the man standing in front of you. He had to be at least double your age, but damn, he was handsome—broad-shouldered, his shirt sticking to his body in places from what looked like a long day of work, and those tired, slightly irritated eyes that made him seem like someone who didn’t put up with much nonsense.

“Uh… hi”, you blurted, your voice a little breathless from all the moving. You glanced down at the two boxes sitting in front of your door, which you had come out to grab. “Sorry about the noise. I swear, I’m almost done”.

Jack let out a deep breath. “Yeah, I was kind of wondering if you were trying to tear the place down before you even moved in”.

You laughed, a soft, self-conscious sound, running a hand over your face. “Feels like it. I’m not exactly an expert at this moving thing. Been here all day, and I’m pretty sure I’ve destroyed more stuff than I’ve unpacked”.

Jack’s eyes flicked over you, taking in the sight of your casual shorts and tank top, the slight sheen of sweat on your skin. His gaze wasn’t lewd, but it was unmistakably assessing, like he was trying to figure you out. The tiredness in his eyes gave way to something more skeptical, maybe even judgmental. He crossed his arms, one eyebrow raising slightly as if he couldn’t believe someone as young as you could afford a place like this without some help from your parents—or worse, without a party lifestyle attached.

“You’re not planning on partying every day, though, right?”, Jack said, his voice carrying an edge of suspicion. His eyes lingered just a moment too long before meeting yours again. It was clear he wasn’t thrilled at the idea of noisy neighbors—especially younger ones.

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the implication. Seriously? He didn’t even know you, and already he was sizing you up like you were going to turn the building into a constant rave scene. You clenched your jaw, irritation bubbling up despite the exhaustion from moving.

“Uh, no”, you mumbled, crossing your arms defensively. “I actually have to work. So no, I’m not throwing parties 24/7”.

His eyebrow quirked slightly at that, as if reassessing you now. He didn’t say anything, just gave a small grunt in response. It was hard to tell whether he believed you or not, but he didn’t press the issue.

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling judged by this man who you had just met. He was rude, but still frustratingly handsome, even if you hated to admit it. “Anyway”, you added, trying to keep the edge out of your voice, “I just moved in today, so I’m probably more exhausted than you are right now”.

Jack glanced at the boxes again, the annoyance in his posture easing just slightly. He seemed to realize that you weren’t what he’d assumed at first glance. “Fair enough”, he said after a moment. “I’m not trying to be a dick. It’s just been a long week, and I wasn’t expecting… all this noise”.

“Yeah, well, me neither”, you said, rolling your eyes and grabbing one of the boxes. “Last thing I wanted today was to turn my move into a construction site soundtrack”.

There was a beat of silence between the two of you before Jack let out a small sigh, as if he were finally letting go of the tension. “Alright”, he said, softer now.

With that, Jack simply turned around, seemingly content to let the conversation end there. His broad shoulders shifted as he took a few steps toward his door, the tension finally draining from the air between you. You stood there for a moment, watching him, still feeling a bit stung by the way he had sized you up but relieved that the exchange hadn’t escalated into anything worse.

“I’m Y/N, by the way”, you called after him, hoping to salvage at least a shred of neighborly civility. Maybe if you introduced yourself, it would take the edge off his attitude.

But he didn’t stop. He was already at his door, turning the knob without so much as glancing back. The heavy sound of the door slamming shut echoed in the hallway, leaving you standing there, feeling awkward and a little insulted. Clearly, Jack wasn’t the friendly type—or maybe he was just having a bad day.

You exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the box a little tighter as you shuffled it into your apartment. Shutting your own door behind you, you leaned against it for a second, shaking your head. Great, you thought, this is going to be an interesting neighbor dynamic.

Moving boxes and unpacking was hard enough, but now you had to deal with the grumpy guy across the hall. You couldn't help but wonder if he’d always be this much of a grump or if this was just his post-work exhaustion talking. Either way, you figured you wouldn’t be getting on his good side any time soon.

Meanwhile, Jack made his way into his apartment, the door closing behind him with a thud. He set the bucket of wings down on the counter, exhaling as he ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. He couldn’t shake the image of you—frazzled, yet oddly composed—out of his mind. It annoyed him, mostly because he knew he’d been unnecessarily rude.

Shaking it off, he emptied the bucket of wings into his air fryer and set the timer. He had earned this meal after the week he’d had, and he wasn’t about to let anything ruin that. As the air fryer whirred to life, Jack peeled off his work shirt, which clung to his skin, then kicked off his boots as he headed toward the bathroom.

The mirror caught a glimpse of his reflection as he stripped down, his body still sore from the grind of lifting and hauling all day. He sighed, stepping into the shower, letting the hot water wash over him. It was like the heat and frustration of the day started to melt away the moment the water hit his skin.

Jack leaned his head against the tile, letting the water cascade down his back, rinsing away the grime.

Around two hours later, Jack sat slumped on his couch, the room dimly lit by the glow of the TV. The low sounds of a porn scene played in the background, but his mind was barely focused on the screen. His head rested back against the couch, his eyes half-lidded as he worked his hand around himself, having slipped out of his sweatpants. This was his way of letting off steam after a week like the one he’d just had.

It was routine by now—something easy, quick, and without the complications of dealing with a woman who might end up being clingy or demanding more than he was willing to give. This was uncomplicated, his way of zoning out and shutting off the outside world. No messy emotions, no obligations—just a quiet moment for himself.

Jack exhaled heavily, his hand moving in rhythm as the sounds from the TV filled the otherwise silent apartment. His muscles were still tired, but there was a certain release in this moment. The frustrations of the day, including the brief encounter with you, seemed distant now. This was about turning off everything for a little while—no thoughts, no stress, just the physical release he needed.

And after? He’d down the rest of his six-pack and knock out on the couch, forgetting the world entirely, at least for a few hours.

But Jack had planned it all without accounting for you. Just as he was about to finish, his stomach tightening with that familiar tension, the loud, jarring sound of a hammer hitting nails into the wall echoed through the apartment, shaking the thin wall behind his TV.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”, Jack muttered, his mood immediately broken as the banging continued, louder now. He clenched his jaw, frustration boiling up again. He had been so close to just letting go of the entire day’s stress, and now this. The relentless thud of hammering kept going, pulling him completely out of the moment.

His hand stilled, and he slammed his fist against the side of the couch in frustration. Of course, he thought, it had to be the new neighbor. You were likely trying to settle in, oblivious to the fact that you were ruining what little escape he had. Jack exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face as he sat up, the mood thoroughly killed.

The hammering continued, and Jack could feel the tension in his body shifting from desire to pure annoyance. He thought about just letting it go, but every time the hammer hit, it felt like another push against his patience. Grumbling under his breath, he yanked his sweatpants back up and stood, glaring at the wall as if that would somehow stop the noise.

For a second, he considered banging on the wall in retaliation. But he knew that wasn’t going to help. Instead, he grabbed a T-shirt from the floor, pulling it over his head as he stormed toward the door.

Time to have a little chat about the noise.

Jack was beyond fucked up. His head was pounding with the frustration of being yanked out of the one bit of peace he’d managed to carve out for himself. The incessant hammering felt like a personal attack. His mind was still half-focused on the release he had been chasing, now replaced by a surge of raw anger coursing through him.

He stomped to the door, yanking it open with more force than necessary. He didn’t care anymore if he looked like a pissed-off wreck. This was supposed to be his time to unwind, to shut the world out, and here you were, ruining it without even knowing. His thoughts raced, blending his frustration with the earlier judgment he’d passed on you. Young, new neighbor—probably clueless about the noise, or just didn’t give a damn.

He crossed the hallway with long strides, already regretting not saying something earlier when you’d first made a racket. Without bothering to calm down, Jack raised his fist and banged on your door with the same intensity as the hammering that had interrupted his night.

The hammering stopped suddenly, and Jack stood there, his jaw clenched, waiting. His breathing was still heavy, fueled by the adrenaline from both the frustration and the situation he had been pulled out of. He heard footsteps approach the door, and it opened to reveal you, looking slightly surprised and flushed, probably from all the effort of settling in. You still had that slightly frazzled look, your hair in a messy bun, and a hammer in hand.

“Hey, I—”, you started, but Jack cut you off before you could finish.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”. His voice was sharp, almost a growl. “I’ve had the longest fucking week, and all I wanted was to relax for once, but instead, I’ve got you hammering away like it’s a fucking championship".

You blinked, clearly caught off guard by the aggression in his tone. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”.

“Yeah, well, now you do”, Jack snapped. “Some of us don’t want to listen to that shit at this hour”.

You stood there for a second, staring at him. Then, with a deep breath, you said, “Look, I didn’t mean to bother anyone. I just moved in, and I’m trying to get this done before it gets too late. But I didn’t think it would be this loud. I can stop”.

Just then, a heavy crash echoed from inside your apartment, cutting the tense moment between you and Jack short. Both of your heads snapped toward the source of the noise—your bedroom. Your face paled as realization hit you.

“Oh no”, you whined under your breath, eyes wide in horror.

Jack leaned slightly to the side, peeking over your shoulder, and sure enough, he saw straight into your bedroom. The massive bookshelf you’d just tried to hang with nails was now lying crookedly on your bed, surrounded by scattered books and what looked like pieces of drywall that had fallen from the wall.

He stood there for a moment, staring, trying to process what he was seeing. Then, almost involuntarily, a muttered, “Are you serious?”, escaped his lips. The disbelief was clear in his tone, but there was also a flicker of amusement breaking through the anger. His lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smirk.

“You really tried hanging that… with nails?”, Jack asked, incredulous, but there was something different in his voice now—a touch of dry humor.

You flushed, your embarrassment reaching new heights as you buried your face in your hands for a moment, groaning. “I thought it would hold! I didn’t realize it was that heavy!”.

Jack huffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “That thing’s massive. Nails? Really? You need anchors or brackets for something like that. Not nails”.

You glanced up at him, your embarrassment deepening, but his tone had shifted enough that you felt less defensive. He wasn’t ripping into you anymore, at least. “I didn’t think it through, clearly”, you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “I just… I wanted to get it done, you know?”.

Jack exhaled, still standing in your doorway, but some of the anger and tension from earlier had melted away, replaced by the undeniable ridiculousness of the situation. He crossed his arms, shaking his head with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

He sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced from you to the chaotic scene in your bedroom. He seemed torn between frustration and reluctant amusement, clearly trying to figure out how he got roped into this situation. After a moment, he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, “If I put that stupid bookshelf on the wall… are you actually gonna go to fucking sleep after?”.

You blinked, surprised by the unexpected offer, and despite the roughness in his tone, there was a hint of something almost… helpful? You couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or just resigned to the situation. Either way, you couldn’t believe he was volunteering to help after everything.

You nodded quickly, still flustered. “Yeah, absolutely. I’ll be out of your hair for the rest of the night”.

Jack rolled his eyes but stepped back into the hallway. “Fine. Let me grab my tools. I’m not doing this again tomorrow”. He shot you a look as if to say, You owe me for this, and turned back toward his apartment.

As he disappeared into his place, you stood in the doorway for a second, a mix of relief and embarrassment washing over you. This wasn’t how you expected your night to go, but at least you weren’t completely on your own with the bookshelf disaster now.

A few minutes later, Jack returned with a drill, a level, and some heavy-duty wall anchors, looking every bit like the reluctant handyman he had somehow become tonight. “Alright”, he grumbled as he walked past you into your bedroom, “Let’s do this before I regret offering”.

You followed him into the room, standing awkwardly off to the side as he inspected the damage. He shook his head, muttering under his breath again. “Shit, the whole thing could’ve taken the wall down with it”.

You couldn’t help but let out a small, nervous laugh. “Yeah… definitely didn’t think it through”.

Jack just gave you a look before getting to work, drilling into the wall with quick efficiency. You watched in silence, half-grateful and half-embarrassed that this grumpy, tired stranger was now saving you from your own DIY disaster.

Within ten minutes, the bookshelf was back up, this time secured with proper brackets and anchors. Jack stepped back, giving it a firm tug to test its stability. “There. That’s not coming down unless you drive a truck through the wall”.

You grinned, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “Thank you. Seriously”.

Jack gave a half-shrug, packing up his tools. “Just keep it quiet, alright? I wasn’t kidding about the long week”.

You nodded, grateful. “I promise. No more hammering”.

“Next time, get your damn boyfriend to do that shit before you and your furniture end up breaking through my wall”, Jack muttered, nodding toward the picture frame sitting on top of a moving box. In the photo, you were smiling alongside a tall, athletic-looking guy with his arm wrapped around you. Jack’s comment was laced with a hint of irritation, but also that same dry humor you’d been getting used to.

Your smile faltered for a moment as your eyes followed his to the photo. Little did he know, that guy in the picture wasn’t in your life anymore—and that was the whole reason you had moved into this place. The sting of your breakup surfaced briefly, the memory of catching him cheating on you still raw. You swallowed hard, quickly deciding not to let Jack in on that painful detail. It wasn’t like he needed to know, and the last thing you wanted was pity from a man who had barely tolerated your existence for the last few hours.

“I’m Jack”, he grumbled, finally acknowledging your earlier introduction. It was a reluctant gesture, his voice still rough with exhaustion, as though even saying his name was a chore. He barely looked at you as he muttered it, his eyes already shifting toward his door like he couldn’t wait to escape the interaction.

Before you could respond or even offer a polite “nice to meet you”, he was already halfway back to his apartment. The door closed with a soft click behind him, leaving you standing there in the quiet hallway, feeling the weight of everything settle on your shoulders again. His abruptness wasn’t surprising, but it still stung a little after the tense back-and-forth of the evening.

You let out a sigh, glancing back at the photo on the box. Jack, you thought, rolling his name over in your mind. He was clearly rough around the edges, quick to frustration, but at least he hadn’t been completely heartless. He’d helped with the bookshelf, after all—something he absolutely didn’t have to do.

You stood there for a moment longer, gathering your thoughts. The apartment felt quiet now, too quiet, after the chaos of the last few hours. The silence brought your mind back to why you’d moved in the first place, and without meaning to, you found yourself thinking of your ex again—how easily he'd broken your trust, how it had shattered everything you'd built together.

You shook your head, pushing the memories away. This was a new start, and you weren’t going to let thoughts of him ruin it. No more looking back.

Turning back to the room, you tidied up the last of the scattered books and straightened out the bedding. As you moved around, Jack’s gruff demeanor kept replaying in your mind—his judgmental comments, his unexpected offer of help, and the brief glimpse of amusement when the bookshelf came crashing down. You couldn’t quite pin him down, and that intrigued you in a way you weren’t expecting.

By the time you were ready to settle into bed, you found yourself glancing at the wall you shared with Jack’s apartment, half-expecting to hear some noise, but it was completely silent. You lay down, pulling the covers over you, and for the first time in a while, you felt a strange sense of calm. Despite the chaos of the night, the disaster with the bookshelf, and the awkward introduction to your grumpy neighbor, things didn’t feel quite as overwhelming as they had earlier.

Maybe this place would turn out to be a fresh start after all.

———————————

A/N: I had way too much fun writing this. This story will definitely be a multi-part one.

I guess there will be also more from Jack in the future.

Please let me know what you think.🥰

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Part 2

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Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @cheynovak @ookidoki @deans-spinster-witch @n-o-p-e-never @riah1606 @stoneyggirl2 @saintnourah

[luveline]

Hey, love your work. Sooo, I was thinking, if it's ok, more actress reader and rockstar Sirius. Please, please, please. I'm obsess.

ty for ur request!! rockstar!sirius x actress!reader

You're listening to Sirius' new song —it's all you listen to, at this point— and don't hear the knock at your trailer door. 

There's nothing to do but wait until you're needed again at costuming for more measurements, so you've sequestered yourself away to miss your boyfriend in private. Nails in front of you, you're humming the right words to the wrong verse, pushing your cuticles back with your thumb nail and wishing Sirius were here to tell you off.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?" he asks over your shoulder, the smell of his perfume sudden and heavy in your nose. He sounds pleased despite his scolding. "You'll be in so much trouble with makeup." 

You bolt to your feet. One moment you're looking at him, the next you're throwing your arms around his shoulders, the silly foldout chair you'd been lounging in collapsing to the trailer floor with a thump. 

"When did you get here?" you ask, practically shouting in his ear, your enthusiasm jolting him one side to another. 

"You know I'm around," he says, which means, I came straight here. 

"I missed you so much," you say, still happy, but with that desperate loneliness that pervades whenever he's gone. 

You pull away to check he's real, and he is, and he's handsome, skin tanned by the eastern European sunshine, a golden nose ring glinting in the light. Stubble scratches your hands as you stroke his cheeks, your top lip as you lean up for a loving peck.

"You're really here," you say, stroking his hair behind his ears. 

Sirius laughs and pulls your hands off of him, holding them tight in his, "Alright, don't smother me," he says, not without love. "You have very cold hands." 

"You're meant to be holding them," you croon. 

Sirius takes you in. You preen like a bird having combed all her feathers, knowing the genre of what he might say before he so much as parts his pretty lips. "You look beautiful, my love." 

Cheesy from any other mouth, you flush at his praise and pull him closer to you, your stomachs touching, your chests angled apart. 

He's been touring and you've been working; it's been a good long while since you got to hold his hand. He tries to come home to you as often as he can while you fly out city to city chasing him whenever you aren't contracted, but nothing feels as good as this —he's home. At least for a few months.

"I missed you," he says gently. "I know you already know that, but I really missed you." Sirius steals his hands away to wrap arms around your shoulders, face pressed to the top of your head. "I missed you. Missed you so much." 

Your face fits nicely under his. Sirius might not believe in fate —it wasn't luck that sent you what must have amounted to thousands upon thousands of flowers, a bouquet every day for weeks, nor was it luck that had your thank you notes turning to love letters, the best of which he keeps in his jacket pocket— but you do, you have to, because you fit together perfectly. 

"I missed you, too," you murmur. 

"Can we run away, yet?" he asks. 

"Maybe after reshoots, handsome." 

Sirius takes your face into his hand and lays a heavy kiss on your lips. You squeeze your eyes closed, giggling as his kiss grows heated, insistent at the seam of your lips. You let him deepen the kiss but lean back in the circle of his arms at the pressure, pushed by his enthusiasm into the vanity behind you. 

Bottles and brushes and things collapse. You laugh and break away from his kissing, peering over your shoulder at the mess you've made. 

"It always looks like after an earthquake when you come to see me," you say, so in love that it sounds like a good thing. 

Sirius kisses under your jaw firmly, the pendant hanging from his neck ghosting against your chest with his movement. "Won't matter if I make some more mess then, will it?" he asks between soft kisses. 

"Just don't give me any bruises," you say as he mouths downward, weaving your fingers into his hair. 

"Your makeup girls can cover it." 

"But it's embarrassing," you laugh, tickled by his hand as it slides up the inside of your thigh. He squeezes the softness there greedily. 

Sirius peels away, looking down at you like you've just spun silver in your bare hands. He wrote about it once, a song they never made, how the sound of you laughing from two rooms over made him feel homesick. How having you in arms reach was the only thing he really needed. 

He looks reverential. You relent. "They can probably cover it," you say softly. 

Sirius grins as he dives for your neck, another round of giddy laughter dying on your lips as he promises to show you how much he missed you.

[majeoeje]

Not a second with you is ever a waste

Teru Minamoto x reader

I would gladly face any conseqences just to have your lips on mine a little longer

"I would say you're that you’re not much better seeing your eyebags right now"

He pointed, ironically being the one laying in the school's infirmary

"Ugh,look at yours!"

You shoved him your pocket mirror close enough so that he can take a good look at his face, it took him a few seconds to realize what you meant.

Staying up late was akin to the one and only Teru Minamoto, being a trained exorcist and all. But these past few weeks had been swarming him with task of bothersome spirits, you wondered how he hasn't collapsed yet.

Well...

Until he did

You saw how he slumped while holding documents for the student council, immedietly helping him, thinking nothing of it. Though, too occupied with your few exchange jokes you didn't notice how unstable the steps that he continued to take before you heard a loud thud alongside with papers and documents scattered to the floor

●●●

"You were heavy."

You rolled your eye at him. Teru know you could never be mad at him though in that moment he really can't help but look away, defeated filled with guilt.

"Sorry.. i didn't mean to burden you like that" at first it would sound like an excessive apology for such a simple thing that you were clearly just joking about, but you knew what he meant as he stared intently at your eyebags that mirrors his.

“Don’t mention it.” You said

As you layed your upper body on thighs, avoiding his gaze, perhaps a part of you was embarassed. If it weren’t for his condition right now, he would be elated.

"You've been a great help to me these past months, i shouldn't had dropped my assignment last minute to you like that" he confessed, playing with the strands of your hair.

The anxious Teru, the clingy Teru, the cold Teru, the touchy Teru. You were always surprised with every layer of personality that he shows you, a side that would made you grew jealous if he were to show to anybody else. Yet you can't help to miss every part of him when you are seperated

And to think that you once thought of him as one dimensional.

"I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, and i'll make sure it won't happen again"

Oh he was really serious now? You couldn't help but smile, a mischevious grin laces your lips. How could you turn down such an offer?

"Oh really?" he knows you're messing with him but hey, is it really a bad thing wanting to see you happy even for the sake of his inconvinience

"Yes!" He said eagerly holding your hand

"How about...." you started to think about how could you possibly use this opportunity to the fullest. "You cover me whenever i skip school this whole month? Yeah that sounds good"

The fact that you're asking the student council president for this is crazy really, the horors he would face if people were to find out surely wasn’t something he’s looking forward to

"That's a bit.." he stopped, a facade of his princely attitude seems to glimmer through before he shook his head

He sighed away his discomfort and looked you in the eyes “alright, but just know i’m not joining you anytime soon”

You giggled, an awfully lovely sound that could shift Teru’s moral compass anytime. Sometimes it feels like he’d do anything for the sound of it.

"I was just joking teru" you weren't. " but need i remind you that you did skipped class once you knoww..." you poked his cheek playfully

He was reminded to a fateful day before summer break where he gave into his impulsive thoughts and decided to follow a dumbass to their shenanigans up the rooftop.

"H-hey- i thought we agreed to not bring up that ever again" he grab a hold of your wrist pulling you ever so closely, he couldn't contain his reddening cheeks as he smiled remembering that day.

"The school prince skipped school to make out with someone!?? Gahhh! Such scandal!" Such a scandal it would make indeed if people were to find out his secret heated make out session.

News flash : It was you

"Like you weren’t the one practically BEGGING for me to kiss you” he said, eyeing your lips with a glare that could sent blood rushing to your face anytime of the day

“I don’t recall such blasphemous memories, princess" you crossed your hands, failing to look to away to hide the growing smile on your lips

"You wanna kiss me so bad it’s messing with your head"

"Your majesty, your lowly servant greatly thinks it's the other way around"

you grinned seeing how he eyed your lips with no shame whatsoever this time.

"Hmm..." he seems to think for a second "maybe" before you felt him inching closer, wasting no time.

All you could feel was a pair of lips on your own, a pair of rough hands cupping your face, messing with your hair. The cheap white sheets of the infirmary ruffled to a mess and the smell of sanitizer became amiss as you kissed him back tasting a faint sweet vanilla on his lips.

"Hm.. you used the lip balm i got for you? How sweet" you squished his cheeks with your thumb and index finger making him duck his lips slightly, eyeing the glistened on his lips that you failed to notice until it collided to yours.

"Me or the lip balm?"

He chuckled, he smiled. a smile that never fails to make you grow weak in the knees as he stayed there not shying away from your touch

"Good question...maybe i need to check one more time"

Real smooth

You kissed him first this time, your hands dangled from his shoulder, pulling him close. You could feel how his lips curled into a smile when you did so.

During moments like this you wondered how the heartthrob of kamome gakuen that acted so heartlessly(ironically) to you when you first met came to be this way in your arms.

Moments passed as if it were mere when seconds kissing you. He was greedy. Everytime you gasped and breathed for air he wished to kiss you twice as long.

The disappointment in his eyes was evident when you finally pulled away

Though he stopped as the thoughts that swirled his head from moments before seem to not linger back.

"Is it really alright though...you know...the homework?" he rest his forehead on yours lazily

"Darling, you did mine that one time too remember? I'm just repaying your kindness" you sighed, you don’t understand how he could become so self conscious in every favor you offered.

"But it's different.." he said, disappointedly

"You know you shouldn't feel this way… You mean a lot to me. I hope there comes a day where you can realize that you can fully rely on me without feeling guilty"

The pause that linger in the air seem to grow heavy in each moment, a moment that made you realize how fragile he was.

"I..."

He doesn't know how to respond to that, at least...not yet

"How about you take me on a date to make it up for me"

Hearing that he perked up, giving a gentle smile, a smile one like when you first met him. It covered a lot of secrets

They say human's greatest fear are of the unknown. This smile represent just that. The swirling feeling of uneasiness knowing he has secrets he need to hide from you. yet it continues to enchant you nonetheless

"I'll pick you up at 6"

"Sounds good to me"

(Idk what has gotten into me but my teru phase is coming back fr. Also just short fluff, everyday scenarios🫡🫡)

[xiaosonlybeloved]

Regret, Guilt and Anguish- Zhongli

Sequel to 'Of Flowers and Death'

featuring:- Zhongli, sister!Ei, reader [name] warnings:- angst, hurt no comfort, a few slaps from Ei to Zhongli a/n:- This was a request from an anon, so nonnie, I hope you like it!

masterlist

“Chirp, chirp, chirp!” Birds flaw about happily as Zhongli walked down a familiar path, heart clenching as he looked at one of the houses. The guilt and grief he felt was immeasurable, to the point he hadn’t even protested when the Traveler set off to Sumeru, merely wishing for her safety and success. Why? Why did you have to die? He had barely recovered from Guizhong’s death with your help, before you too left him, shattering him into pieces all over again. And who would help him to rise from this night again?

His attention was drawn to a bird chirping angrily at the footstep of a house that was starting to look old . That bird was an exotic bird, imbued with electro, carrying a roll of paper with it. He walked over to it and bent down to take the paper, seeing that the recipient of those letters would not open the door ever again. His eyes widened as he went through the contents of the letter sent by Ei.

“Dear [name],

Did you safely reach Liyue? Why have you not been responding lately? Are you that busy? [Name], I’m getting worried. Please, send me a letter soon, even if it has just a few words. I won’t mind. Just let me know that you’re alright, and I’ll leave you in peace for a while. I am anxiously waiting for your letter, so please don’t forget.

With love,

Raiden Ei."

Zhongli’s breath hitched as he dropped the paper. He’d been so absorbed in himself that he completely forgot about your sister. How… how would he tell Ei that her dear sister would never reply to one of her letters again? It would be most rude and cold to merely inform Ei about your passing through a letter. Perhaps he should go to Inazuma himself to tell her, now that the Sakoku Decree had been lifted a few months ago.

***********

“What…” The violet-eyed female in front of him whispered, staring at him like he had grown two heads. She shook her head. “This is a joke, right? You’re just joking. Last I’d seen her a few weeks ago, and she was well and healthy. There’s no way she could be- be-” Her voice cracked at the end, unable to see it. Zhongli, or Morax, didn’t respond, he merely stared at the floor in regret. Anything he said now would trigger Ei, send her off the edge. She didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve this. 

“Morax?” She murmured in a voice less than a whisper. “Is… is it really true?” Zhongli had told Ei all the details about your end, omitting a few things at the end though. Now he responded only with a nod, unable to talk due to the choking feel in his throat. (dw he wont get hanahaki he has to live to suffer). A multitude of emotions could be seen swirling in Ei’s eyes- grief, sorrow, anger, rage, disbelief, fear; it was all there. Staring at him with wide, shell-shocked eyes, she slowly collapsed to her knees, staring blankly forward, ears ringing in the silence. First Kitsune Saiguu, then Makoto, and now [name] too? You had been so full of life the last time Ei saw you. But now… She was all alone. How did she not even know about your hanahaki? Why did you hide it from her, making her believe everything was great?  What was the point of her pursuing eternity, if she couldn’t even protect the ones she loved?

A loud sound echoed throughout the room. ‘Slap!’ Ei had unsteadily gotten to her feet, and landed a harsh blow across Morax’s face. ‘Slap!’ Another. She didn’t care that he was older and more powerful than her. What she cared about was that he was the reason you were dead. Another slap echoed throughout the room, and another. Ei didn’t stop. He was the reason her sister was dead, and Ei was releasing all of her fury and grief on Morax, and he… He silently stood there with his head bowed, silently accepting all the sharp blows that made his jaw ache. Because her anger towards him was completely justified- it was all his fault.

He had to go back to Liyue with a heavy heart. And he knew, he knew that he would never recover from this.

I'm sorry, this was really short but the idea has been living in my head since the time you sent in the ask, i hope you liked it!

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXI. “belonging”

parts: previous / next

plot: somehow, you always find your way back home. Batman gets an intriguing lead on John Doe.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, dead body, cancer, confrontation, depression

words: 3.2k

Tears studded your cheeks as you vented to Mar about the morning's happenings. She'd never liked Dr. Vry, and at some point the conversation had exploded into a rant about the subpar character of the woman. "Remember when she accidentally input my A as a C and told me 'fate' must have guided her grade input? Then didn't fucking change it because of fucking, written in the stars bullshit? Fucking tanked my GPA."

"I just don't get it. The email said nothing about him, she said nothing about reporting on him besides being excited he would be there." You collapsed flat on your back in a starfish pose. "It was like she expected me to be starstruck by him or something. Like that was the only course of action." Like everyone else seems to be. The world caters to flashy, superficial things.

"Fuck her! You don't need her!"

You stared at her blankly for a moment. "Except for my housing, my food, my plane tickets back home?"

"How much an hour is it? Like $15?"

"$43."

"Oh fuck, in this economy you should've said you'd suck his dick, too."

Maybe you were spending a little too much time with her. "I feel like alluding to me doing anything with that man should be a crime." You flopped back on your bed and checked the time--it was barely past noon. You hadn't even managed to be at the job until the afternoon... shame threatened to cocoon you faced with such obvious failure. At this point you remembered the check Dr. Vry had sent would arrive today, and a few minutes later you sat inputting the code you'd been mailed to your digital check.

You spent the next twenty minutes listening to Mar continue to rant while you ordered some groceries. By that point she'd gotten a text from one of her friends for their Friday night bar hangout and had dismissed herself, leaving you tethered to your house as you waited to stock your fridge. You watched out the window as she got into an Uber, and after she was gone for sure, and just as the check deposited, you called your mom. Moreso even than the likely imminent firing, the stress of her health threatened to spiral you off the deep end. She picked up on the third ring. She sounded tired.

"Hey, hun." She cleared her throat, then yawned. You heard a small buzzing sound in the background, then heard a small meow. Another night he spent purring and cuddling her. Thanks, Walter. God, you were so glad she had him. "Everything alright? The photos you sent of your apartment were really good, I showed them to Debbie and she couldn't believe it! 'In GOTHAM?' is what she told me!"

To tell or not to tell about the troubles this week held? She yawned again. Not the time. "You sound tired." Your grip tightened around the phone.

She sighed. "My doctors moved my appointment to six thirty in the morning, can you believe that?" She tsk-d.

"How'd the appointment go?"

"Oh just fine. I had to sign a bunch of paperwork and talk to practically everyone in the place." She sounded bored and vaguely annoyed, which she hadn't been before. Irritability a potential side effect?

"Did the shot hurt?" Small talk, but what else was there to discuss? Your likely firing?

"Nope." She began cooing to Walter, who became exponentially louder with his purr.

"How's your arm? Any side effects yet?" God, why did things feel so dry today? Did Gotham really create so much distance already between you and your family? Were you just anxious and overthinking? Was she annoyed?

"My my, they must have you busy with interviewing skills."

You opened your mouth to respond, but she questioned you instead. "When are you coming back hon?"

This question confused you. "Uh, whenever you need me to, but I thought starting next month? For the injections?" You twirled with a frayed end on your blanket. Can I still return this? It's been like a week and it's already tearing apart... she snapped you out of your wandering with her next sentence.

"Sure, your dad and I are going on a cruise this week."

A cruise? Right after her first dose of an experimental cancer drug? With unknown side effects? "Mom, your treatment,"

"Oh we'll only be gone a week. Won't interfere with my next appointment." Walter meowed again. Who would be taking care of him?

"I mean, okay. I just think with not knowing the side effects of your first dose,"

"The way I see it dear is this might be the best I ever get to feel."

That sentence hit like a ton of bricks atop bruised ribs. "Couldn't you wait a week, just see the side effects?"

"The cruise leaves the port tomorrow."

"Mom,"

"We still can't believe that donor. Whoever they are, they really opened our finances up. Your father's been saving for years to try and make that initial bulk payment,"

You recalled the argument they'd had when your mother's cancer was initially found. Your mom wanted to start a payment plan immediately, but your dad thought if he put it into deferment for a few years and made payments to a high yield savings account every month their money would 'go exponentially further'. You hadn't cared much at the time, mostly because money stressed you the hell out, and at the time you were trying to avoid thinking about your mother's prognosis. Before you could decide what to say next, your dad had walked into the room and starting shouting loud enough for you to hear on the phone.

"Hey sweets, how are you and that Wayne guy doing?"

"I don't know how else to tell you guys I don't like him. We don't talk." This conversation was going nowhere, and you could smell an impending argument if you stayed on even another minute. You needed to check on one last thing before hanging up. "Who's looking after Walter?"

"Oh don't worry about that,"

"I am worried. Do you need me to come back to watch him?"

"Debbie will be stopping in throughout the week to check on him."

Walter was never very fond of Debbie; whenever she came over, in fact, he ran and hid. If you knew Debbie any less you might think Walter was placing judgment on her character, but no: she was just very loud, her laugh sounding a bit like a stampede. Walter was never very skittish, but after enough startles, he'd come to hide whenever he heard her come around. His discomfort was all you needed. "Tell her not to come, I'm coming home for the week."

"Hon," your mom began to chastise you, but you refused to let her finish. "No, no, I'm coming home tomorrow and I will stay with him. Case closed." After saying goodbye and lying about having already bought a nonrefundable ticket, you hung up and bought the earliest flight for tomorrow: 11am. You did your best to avoid thoughts of how the thousand Dr. Vry had sent was already disappearing, and filled the rest of your evening (sans figuring out what to do with fresh bags of perishable groceries) packing to head back the next day.

The bat signal hadn't lit since Thursday night. Bruce had been left reeling, kicking himself for not following up with Gordon on the owl debacle. He went out every night, and every few hours would move to the usual meeting place with Gordon to find an empty sky. It was Wednesday night before the signal lit again, and by that point Bruce had nearly gaslit himself into thinking the owls hadn't been there in the first place.

Gordon looked morose, but resolved. "We have the autopsy back for our John Doe." He held up a graphic photo of the man, gray and laid out on stainless steel. His chest and abdominal cavities were peeled open and pinned to keep tension, revealing a normal—yet punctured—chest and abdomen. Gordon confirmed its complete lack of novelty. "Nothing. Couldn't even trace back a name. No one posting about a missing husband, child, brother, nephew, friend." He paused to clear his throat. "However, we did find something unusual in one of his fillings."

"Unusual? How?"

"The coroner said he almost didn't catch it, but he runs the deceased through an MRI machine after especially gruesome cases. Normally fillings don't show up on magnets, but these ones did." He held out his other hand, revealing a few small pieces of chipped silvery metal. The metal was extremely slick and had a mirror finish to its shine. "It's a metallic alloy of sorts. I'll send it to the lab for processing."

He nearly asked to take it back to his own lab, but that would pressure the boundaries. Gordon was in a tight spot being seen with Batman. He couldn't push it. "How long until it's processed?"

Gordon shrugged, his nose scrunched like he was still smelling formaldehyde's stench. Bruce thought he might've caught a whiff off his jacket. "Not more than a coupla days. I'll signal for you." If the city was in a better place, if Gordon was in a better mood, he might have winked.

The pause gave Bruce just enough time to speak. He said it casually, without much fuss, as if it were a rolling breeze. "Did you see what was on the knives' handles?"

Gordon sighed. A good one? A bad one? Bruce's eyes trained on him like a hawk. The cowl felt tight. "Chicken scratch, most of 'em."

"Most?" Say more.

"No traceable logo."

Frustration bled into his tone. "Looked like an owl."

Gordon's eyes focused on no particular point on the back wall, his eyes narrowing. What? He saw it too, right? pounded against his ribs to be heard. After what felt like hours Gordon shook his head. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" Was this an elaborate scheme? Did Gordon not see it? Was his, was his mind failing him? It glinted off the light perfectly, the etching was transparent in its shape, the beak, the feathers, the claws...

"You alright?" The Bat was lost in thought, breathing thick and heavy. Bruce nodded. To push, or not to push? Silence hung like smog between them. It was crucial to push it, imperative to reality check his mental faculties. "It didn't resemble an owl to you?"

Gordon shrugged. It gave no information to Bruce, who was close to running out of the room and laying face-down in his pillow the rest of the night while he actively avoided looking further into the death of his great-grandfather. Was his time coming sooner than his had? Was it due to his lack of sociability? Had he been concussed one too many times? His neuronal pathways seized up, the myelin sheaths disintegrated?

"Do you know anything about owls?"

Did Gordon know? Was this a trick question? Wait, he wasn't Bruce. He considered saying he'd seen them in peculiar position throughout town, but moreso than Gordon's rocky relationship with the police force, the man had no idea who Batman was; Bruce had to keep exclusively to formidable behavior due to the weakness of the knot tying them together. A kooky moment, or a Freudian slip could force Gordon to take out some scissors and sever their relationship. Bruce shook his head, and left.

Uber. TSA. Flight. Baggage. Uber. Key. Door. Lock. Walter. Eat. Sleep. Walter. Eat. Sleep. Walter. Eat. Sleep. Walter. The past few days had passed in such inconsequential monotony you resisted the conclusion you weren't alive at all. The only moments of reprieve you gathered were when Walter walked up and jumped into bed beside you, tucking his fluffy back against your stomach. He was the only reason you were able to sleep with the anxiety of your job being in limbo, and your mom having fled the town after her first shot. Your mom had left a note saying that the connection would be spotty on the cruise, but they would be back no later than 5pm the following Friday. Now it was Wednesday, and the food your parents had left was starting to dwindle. Your muscles ached to be moved further than the walk from your bed to the bathroom, your bed to the kitchen, or your bed to the living room couch. You put another ice cube into Walter's bowl, grabbed your helmet that was thankfully still in the hallway closet, and took off for a ride to the grocery store on your mom's old bike.

The air was warm, and the sun threatened to burn every centimeter of exposed skin. You'd forgotten just long enough that the stinging sensation was of hot sun piercing onto skin to where you decided against going back for SPF. You didn't have to worry about such basic, human things in Gotham; the sun barely came out, and when it did it was covered by such dense clouds and thick smog you couldn't begin to feel heat against your skin whatsoever. The buildings were hard and cold, the dense metal keeping you chilled no matter the season. Now the sun accosted you, the wheels of the bike running over fresh leaves and the occasional string of hay. You swerved past clumps of clay dirt that lay in the middle of the road, shut your eyes for a few seconds as you coasted, not having to look out for a pedestrian or car every five feet. This was living, this was where you wanted to be. Tears prickled your eyes as you coasted into the dusty parking lot of WinCo, a local grocery store chain to the PNW. You forgot a bike lock, but the city was small and trusted enough that you never heard about bikes getting stolen, anyway. The initial panic was immediately eased, as well as the tight knot in your chest. Maybe you belonged... here?

You walked into the grocery and went straight for the fruit aisle. As you placed apples and oranges and pears in your basket, you absentmindedly flipped through the past. When you were growing up here, it was too boring. You'd wanted nothing more than to leave. You wanted to see skyscrapers, and big cities, and always have something happening around you. Now that you had experienced the worst of what a city could give, this town with its penetrating sun and lofty trees felt like paradise. A paradise that was quickly interrupted, when you accidentally knocked baskets with Lara. "Oh shit,"

"Y/N?" She pulled her basket in and glanced to her left, at someone who you presumed was her exchange boyfriend. She stared at your shoes, you noticed her cheeks going pink. Tension yanked on your shoulders and your stomach flipped. "Hi. I'm watching Walter while my parents are on a cruise."

"No longer in Gotham?" Her boyfriend turned around when she mentioned The Most Feared City, and walked over. "Gotham? That shitshow? I don't know how anyone can live there."

Fucking prick. A strange defensiveness overtook you. "It's not as bad as people make it out to be." Yes it was. "I'm just visiting home, I have a journalism job back there."

"How's Bruce Wayne?" Her tone was mocking, quite unlike Lara, and you figured it had to be Rose and Gabbi's bitter influence in the time you'd been gone that brought this upon her. Mystery Man's eyes lit up, one of the buttons on his shirt threatened to pop like the bulgy vein in his forehead. "You know Bruce Wayne? The Bruce Wayne?"

"She knows him, alright." She side-eyed the guy and giggled. He laughed, which was startling, and shame bolted through your body like a sticky, sharp rod. He leaned into her ear and said, still loud enough for you to hear and likely purposely so, "Her?"

Before shame could fully envelope you, you righted the wrong; in part because the idea of someone believing Bruce had been inside you made you want to sink into the floor, in another wanting to assuage yourself of guilt. "We haven't fucked. Sorry. I was just trying to get back at losers I thought were my friends."

Lara gasped. "I can't believe you!" It rung hollow in your ear just as Dr. Vry had. If someone put their hand over your head they'd feel steam. "You didn't used to be like this, it's fucking disappointing." You spun around and ignored what she was saying behind you, shoving your feet against the ground, making your calves burn with each grief-consumed footstep. It doesn't matter what they think. It doesn't matter what she's saying. Soon enough you made it across the store to the pantry aisle, pretending to inspect some cavatappi noodles in your quivering hands. The cardboard soaked up your bulleted tears, and you tossed it in your basket after catching a glimpse of your reflection in the boxes' plastic window. You fell to your knees and covered it up pretending to inspect the marinara, not trusting your thighs or knees to keep you steady. Everything hit you all at once, panic rising in your chest and narrowing your esophagus. You grabbed a random sauce and ran to the self checkout, ringing up your two items, grabbing a bag, and taking off for home.

The ride home wasn't as quaint as the one there. The sun wasn't at your backside, now it seared into your bleary eyes as it set, making you unable to see a rock in the road, sending you flying overtop the handlebars. When you touched your knees and elbows, they stung and stained your fingertips red. The last ten minutes of the walk was utter misery, as blood dribbled slowly down your knees and down to your wrists. Walter meowed when you came back, but you couldn't pet him. You turned the water as cold as you could manage to wash away the cakey blood and dirt. Your hands hesitated before lathering the shampoo, and when they scrubbed the back of your head you began to cry again. Your face was hot and your body ice cold. You sat on the floor, pulled your knees up, and wrapped your hands around your chest as sobs shrieked out of you. The water ran pink, then pastel, then clear. Being alive hurt. The thought pounded at the back of your corneas, chafed blisters between your thighs, and spiked the ridges in your throat, that you might never, ever, feel "home". Walter meowed at the door, you turned off the shower, and toweled off to open another can of Friskies.

[iwritesickfic]

Surprise

part 1! - partially in response to a few prompts, partially its own thing. enjoy!

Seamus is almost vibrating with excitement. He hasn’t seen Theo in a month, and tonight is finally going to be the night. He’s been touring, and though Seamus would love to travel with him, he has all his own shit to do in Ireland. Lots of shit. Unfortunately.

But he finally had the time to fly the 7 and a half hours to New York to see Theo perform this week. And Theo has no idea. He's taken every precaution to make sure of that.

The show is just about over, and Seamus is standing in one of the cinderblock and concrete access hallways below the stadium, fidgeting like he’s waiting for his prom date.

Then Theo’s there, swarmed by crew members and production people, gorgeous as ever. He’s still a ways away down the hall, and it doesn’t seem like he’s seen Seamus yet. He gives it a few moments before calling out.

“Theo!” A few heads turn, and Theo looks around, totally confused, so Seamus calls again. “Theo!” His voice echoes in the cavernous space, and finally Theo’s eyes find his. Then he’s sprinting down the hallway toward him, nearly knocking Seamus over as they embrace.

The first thing Seamus notices above all else is how hard he’s trembling. It’s more like shaking. Seamus holds him tight, pulling him flush against him, and feels Theo start to cry, his face buried in Seamus’s neck. He's sobbing, gasping for breath. He’s slick with sweat, his hair stuck to his temples and forehead.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Seamus says gently, and kisses his cheek. “Are you happy to see me?” He asks teasingly, and Theo pulls back, looking half overjoyed and half exhausted. He presses a kiss to Seamus’s lips, then rests his forehead on his, eyes closed. He's out of breath - from the crying or the sprint or the kiss Seamus isn't sure.

“You have no fucking idea,” Theo whispers. His voice sounds totally shot, and he’s still shaking. He’s flushed and warm too, but that can probably be chalked up to the fact he just did a two hour set under stage lights. “Please tell me you’re staying the night. Please, fuck.”

His arms are looped around Seamus's neck.

“As long as you want,” Seamus says, and presses another kiss to his cheek. God, he’s warm. He runs his hand through Theo’s sweat damp hair, pushing some off his face and forehead. “You wanna sit down?” Theo nods, and Seamus guides him to a folding chair. He stumbles, and Seamus catches him by the elbow.

He’s getting more and more concerned with each passing moment. He’s seen Theo after shows before, and it’s never this bad. He almost seems drunk.

Theo practically collapses into the chair, then folds forward, elbows on knees, head in his hands. His greasy strands of auburn hair hang down around his face. Seamus lays a hand on his back and squats down.

"Are you ok?" he asks, hushed, and Theo nods, but doesn't say anything. "Are you sure?" He swallows thickly and looks up.

"I'm so happy you're here Shay, I'm just having a terrible fucking day and I-" he stops abruptly as he sees something over Seamus's shoulder and forces a smile.

"Amazing show tonight!" a female voice says, and Seamus looks back to see Emma, the tour manager. Immediately Seamus feels his shoulders tense. He and Emma always seem to be getting into screaming matches. He never intends it to be that way, but that's how it always ends up.

"Thanks," Theo says, voice still hoarse. She keeps walking, and as soon as she's gone, his smile drops again. He lowers his voice and looks back to Seamus. "Can we just go? Please, can we go home?" He sounds on the verge of tears, like he's unsure of what the response will be. Seamus tucks some of his hair behind his ear.

"Teddy, of course." He's beyond worried now. Theo stands, and Seamus is about to make a joke when Theo's eyes roll back. Then he's falling. Seamus is frozen for a second before he makes a desperate grab for his arm. It doesn't help. He's limp, and though Seamus manages to break his fall somewhat, he's on the ground. "Theo!"

A crowd starts to gather almost immediately, and Seamus's heart feels like it's going to burst out of his throat.

Theo's eyes are already fluttering open again, but in contrast to how flushed he was a minute ago, he's gray-pale now. A soft noise escapes his chapped lips.

There's a medic kneeling beside them now, and Seamus lays his hand on Theo's chest. Theo's hand clumsily finds his, fingers still trembling. Seamus's hand is shaking too.

"You with us, Theodore?" the medic asks, and Theo nods, starting to push himself up. Both Seamus and the medic simultaneously ease him back down. "Whoa, take it slow. Just relax for a minute. I'm gonna take your blood pressure, alright?"

Theo nods again, his eyes falling closed.

The crowd is murmuring, and another medic arrives. They exchange a few words before he goes to work too. Taking his temperature, his blood oxygen, his pulse. The whole time, Seamus is sick to his stomach. He just tries to focus on the feeling of Theo's chest rising and falling beneath his palm.

Finally, they sit him up and he opens his eyes and the first thing he does is lean his forehead down onto Seamus's shoulder. He's still holding his hand, and Seamus squeezes it tight. He's also still extremely warm, and Seamus really wants to ask the medic what his temperature was.

"Dehydrated?" he asks instead, and the medic tilts his head as if to say "sort of." He stands and starts to talk to Emma, who looks more stressed out than concerned. Seamus tries to make out what they're saying, but he can't quite. He knows it's more than dehydration. Something is wrong, and Emma knows. The medic knows. Everyone knows but him. And it's making his blood boil.

"Shay, please, I wanna go home," Theo whispers, his lips hot and dry against Seamus's throat. His face is tucked in the crook of Seamus’s neck. His pleading, soft voice brings Seamus back down, and he's able to shift his focus.

"I know," he whispers back. He rubs his back, and Theo hums. "When did you start feeling sick?"

"I'm fine. Please just get me the fuck out of here." He's obviously not fine, but now isn't the time to argue the obvious. The second medic returns with a bottle of Pedialyte and a straw, which Seamus hands to Theo.

"What's - Do you know…?" he asks, and he doesn't miss the way the medic's eyes dart over to Emma before he answers. It relights the fire in his stomach.

"Low blood pressure from dehydration. Once he drinks that he should be good to go," he says, and leaves before Seamus can ask anything else.

"Maybe we could get you an IV?" Seamus asks, and Theo shakes his head.

"Seamus, please just get me home. Please."

"Ok."

He texts the driver to pull around and a flags down a PA to grab them a golf cart. He has to practically hold Theo up as they get into the cart, and as soon as they sit down, he presses his too warm body against Seamus's.

It's the same story for the car, and as soon as the door shuts and they're on their way, Theo lets out a heavy sigh.

"What's going on?" Seamus finally asks, and Theo tucks his head back against his shoulder.

“Tough show,” he mumbles, and when Seamus's silence indicates he isn't satisfied with that explanation, he sighs "I feel like shit.”

"I can tell." He presses his lips to Theo's temple, and is sure beyond a shadow of a doubt he has a fever. "How long?"

"Long time," Theo says. Seamus has so many questions he can't even get one out.

"You've been sick?" He finally asks. Theo nods. "How… What is it?"

"My throat,” he murmurs, and Seamus brings his hand to Theo’s throat, feeling under his jaw. Sure enough, his glands are swollen, and when he brushes his fingertips over them Theo stiffens.

“Baby,” Seamus breathes out, and Theo shakes his head weakly.

“It's not that bad.” Again, Seamus doesn't need to say anything for Theo to get the message. “Ok, well it's better. It's getting better.”

Finally, Seamus asks the question that's been bothering him the most.

“Why didn't you say anything?”

Theo takes a breath like he's about to speak, but the sound of his phone ringing cuts him off. Seamus is about to tell him to leave it, but Theo is already pulling it up to his ear.

“Hey,” his weak voice says, and though Seamus can hear someone speaking on the other end, he can't make out who. Eventually, he just hands the phone over to Seamus.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Seamus. You guys are headed back to Brooklyn?” It's Zeke, Theo's manager.

“Yeah, we’re on the bridge.” He pauses, staring out the window.

“Ok, that's fine, we were all just wondering where you guys went. Especially since he passed out, we wouldn't - well… It's just good you're getting him home.”

“Tell me what's been going on,” Seamus says, and Theo makes a small sound of protest beside him.

“Seamus,” he whispers, as if pleading with him to drop it.

“Realistically, we can’t cancel every time-” Zeke starts.

“Zeke!” Seamus snaps, incredulous.

“I care about him just as much as you, but what has to be done has to be done.” Even he doesn’t sound fully convinced.

“Spare me,” Seamus spits back.

“Shay, please,” Theo murmurs, and Seamus takes a deep breath.

“Just tell me everything.”

–

He didn’t have to carry Theo in from the car, but he certainly had to carry him upstairs. He’s exhausted, not even to mention the fever he's running. Someone in perfect health would be exhausted after the tour schedule Theo has.

He’s had some kind of throat infection for at least the last month, and he's been doped up on painkillers and antibiotics nonstop for the last two weeks. In the interest of keeping him on stage they've had a doctor shooting him up with Prednisone before each show. If it wasn't for the steroid shots he likely wouldn't be able to talk, let alone sing.

Seamus always knew deep down the label would do anything to keep their tour rolling. But he never imagined it would come to this. Performing with a throat injury is playing with fire, it’ll be a miracle if his voice doesn’t need serious rehab. For now though, Seamus is just focused on trying to make the best of the situation at hand.

Theo is sitting on the edge of their bed, flushed and shivering, while Seamus slowly helps him out of his sweat damp clothes. As he goes, he presses kisses to Theo’s overheated skin, slowly and reverently. Theo melts under him, pushing himself as close as he can get.

The way he’s pressing closer, the sounds he’s making - it all says he wants things to go further, but Seamus knows that would be ill advised at best, disastrous at worst, so when Theo’s fully undressed he pulls away.

Still, he leaves one hand on Theo’s head, the other on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna go make some tea, alright?” Seamus says, and Theo gives him such a miserable look Seamus almost wants to forget it and just lie down with him right now. He runs his thumb over Theo’s temple. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

He kisses his forehead before heading back downstairs to the kitchen. He can’t decide whether he’s more livid or worried out of his mind.

A month. He’s been sick for a month, and he didn’t tell Seamus. Seamus imagines him in fancy hotel rooms trying to sleep with a soaring fever. All by himself. Shivering, aching after a two and a half hour show. It’s enough to make Seamus want to punch a hole in the wall.

While he’s making the tea, he schedules an appointment with Theo’s doctor and his ENT for tomorrow morning. He’ll need to dig through Theo’s bag to find his antibiotics, not that they seem to be doing any good.

The last call he makes is to Emma. While the line rings, his jaw is clenched so hard it hurts.

“Hey there, Seamus,” she says when she picks up.

“Hey there, Emma,” he says, barely holding himself back. “I was just calling to let you know we’ll need to be rescheduling the next week of shows. So that’s…” He squints at his notebook. “The next two nights in Edison, then Boston, Philly, and Pittsburgh.”

There’s a long silence. So long he almost thinks she hung up.

“Ok, Seamus. I understand you’re concerned for him. We’re all concerned for him. We all want what’s best for his health.”

“Emma,” he starts, just barely contained.

“We’ve discussed this in the past, and I’ve explained to you time and time again that he is an adult. He does not need you coming to his rescue, especially when you don’t have the full story. He’s perfectly capable of telling us himself if he’s too unwell to perform. Frankly, I think your behavior -”

“That is such fucking bullshit, and you know it.”

“Please,” she sounds bored more than anything, and that’s only making him angrier. “Can I explain?”

“How he lost 15 pounds in a month? Why he can’t stand up without blacking out? Why I wasn’t told about any of this?”

“You’re his boyfriend. Not his mother, not his husband - his boyfriend. And maybe the question you should be asking is why he didn’t tell you.”

Seamus’s fists are clenched so hard he feels his fingernails digging into his palms. He forces himself to relax. He takes a deep breath before continuing, fighting to keep his voice even.

“The bottom line is he’s not showing up for the next week. So do whatever you need to do, this isn’t a discussion.”

“Maybe you should discuss this with Theo before you break his contracts for him,” she says, her tone more grave. Of course now that her money is on the line it’s suddenly very serious.

“Goodbye, Emma.”

He wants to throw his phone. But the tea is done and Theo is upstairs waiting for him, so he takes another deep breath and heads back up.

When he walks in the doorway to their bedroom his heart nearly breaks in half. Theo's curled under the comforter shivering, breathing like he's trying not to cry.

Seamus doesn't hesitate in getting closer - they've been apart too long. He pulls Theo into his lap and strokes his hair, trying to not let how overheated he feels overwhelm him.

He's on fire with a fever, and it doesn't help that what little Pedialyte he drank has probably burned off already.

“Seamus,” he murmurs, like it's the only word he knows.

“I made you some tea,” Seamus says softly, and Theo makes a soft sound. “I'm gonna grab the thermometer and some ibuprofen and I'll be right back, ok?” He feels Theo nod, so he maneuvers his way out from under him and into their ensuite.

In addition to the thermometer and medication, he soaks a washcloth in some lukewarm water. When he gets back, Theo's half sitting up, taking hesitant sips of the tea, eyebrows furrowed.

Seamus climbs onto the bed next to him and presses the damp cloth to Theo’s forehead.

“I love you so much,” Theo whispers, and his voice sounds even worse than it did an hour ago. Seamus just kisses his cheek. He brings the thermometer up, and doesn't need to say a word for Theo to open his mouth obediently.

They sit there in silence as they wait for the reading, Seamus combing his sweaty hair out with his fingers. He’s terrified to see what his temperature actually is, and tries not to panic when he reads “102.8”

“Why didn't you tell me?” He finally asks.

Theo presses his chapped lips into a line and sighs. Seamus draws the damp washcloth down the side of his throat, then down his sternum.

“You know I would've dropped everything. I would've been on the first flight,” Seamus says, and Theo’s trembling fingers wrap around his wrist. They're so unnaturally warm.

“That's exactly why I didn't tell you, Shay.”

[jsmelodies]

Here's part one of my contribution for day 3 of @cassianappreciationweek! I hope you enjoy reading it.

More chapters focusing on Nessian's growing family will be coming out over the course of Cassian week as well. Stay tuned!

Cassian was tired. 

He’d just spend almost two weeks in the Northernmost parts of Illyria, helping to distribute supplies and look after the training of the younger warriors. It hadn’t been a bad visit necessarily, but he hated sleeping in a bed that wasn’t his, and waking up at odd hours of the morning to oversee training. It was draining. Especially since the mating bond had been quieter than he was expecting.

His feet touched down on the balcony of the House of Wind and he made quick work of crossing its halls to get to his room.

At over five hundred, he was getting too old for this. The aching cold had settled into his bones, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with Nesta, who was likely already asleep. 

She wasn’t asleep. Instead, she was propped up against the headboard, pillows supporting her back, reading what he imagined to be one of her novels. Except she wasn't reading, he realized upon closer inspection. Her eyes were on the page, but it looked like she was reading the same line over and over.

Nesta jolted upright when she noticed his attention on her. “You’re back. I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow.”

He offered a tired smile. “I decided to fly through the night. I couldn’t wait to come back home to you.”

Nesta didn’t say anything. Instead, she merely shrunk in on herself, silence lingering for way longer than it should.

Confusion furrowing his brows, Cassian took a step closer. “Is everything alright, sweetheart? You seem-”

The lingering scent of iron registered in his brain before he could finish his sentence. 

“You’re bleeding?” he asked, wings flaring. 

“I was.” 

He knew he was overreacting. Being a typical territorial fae male. But he couldn’t help scanning her entirely, looking for any sign of hurt and evidence of who caused it. If someone had hurt her–

“I got my cycle when you were away.”

Everything in his body relaxed. That is, until he noticed the pained expression she still wore.

Nesta looked ready to collapse, like one poorly placed word might break her. 

Cassian was confused. Yes, he could admit when he was an ignorant male. If her cycle was already over, which by the scent of her it was, he couldn’t for the life of him understand why she was still upset. 

“You should have sent for me, Nes. I would’ve come back to be with you.” Nothing ever would have been able to keep him away, if he’d known. He had wondered why their bond felt a little more closed off than normal. Now it made sense, he supposed.

Her shoulders moved up in a shrug. “I didn’t want to bother you. You had more important things to worry about.”

Bullshit. That was complete and utter bullshit. The last time Nesta had gotten her cycle, he’d been in bed with her for days. She’d gripped his shoulders tight and made him keep his warm hand on her stomach the whole time, the contact seeming to be the only thing that brought her any semblance of relief. 

“No, I really didn’t,” he said. “You’re feeling ok now, though?” he asked. Apprehension laced his tone. Something was off, but he didn’t quite know what it was. 

“It ended yesterday.” She wasn’t looking at him again. “It’s been a while since my last one.”

His mind quickly did the math. “It was almost eight months ago.”

“Yeah.”

Why would that matter? Yes, they’d been trying for nearly a year, but surely she knew how long it might take?

Unless. Unless she didn’t.

“You thought you might have been…”

Once again, Nesta remained silent. Then, a few seconds later, her head dipped in a single nod.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He moved the final few steps to the bed and sat down next to his mate, reaching out his hands to pull her against him.

Her eyes widened, and she moved back an inch. “What are you doing?”

Cassian stopped instantly. “I was going to hold you.” His arms dropped a little. “But I should have asked first. I just thought…”

His words trailed off. Nesta was watching him with an expression he’d never quite seen before, a mixture of confusion and apprehension.

“I didn’t think you would want to,” she said.

His hands fell, running over the soft blankets of their bed. “And why would you think that?” he asked.

“Because I failed.” 

His heart sank in his chest. “What are you talking about?”

“I got my cycle. I…failed.”

“You did not fail,” he almost snarled, holding himself back for her sake. “Do you hear me? You didn’t.”

“But I did. I will. Madja said it might never happen. That because my cycles are as inconsistent as they are, I may never be able to bear a child.” 

He shook his head. “Madja said that might happen. That we might have problems with infertility. It wasn’t a guarantee,” he reminded her. “And plus, fae children take longer to conceive than human ones. Feyre and Rhys were the exception, not the rule.”

“And if it never happens?” she asked. When she looked at him again, her eyes were rimmed with tears. Fuck. “It’s a real possibility. I don’t want you to…regret choosing me.”

“I would never,” he swore.

“You say that now. You’d already be gone, if it was a human marriage,” she said. “Even still, you have an acceptable reason to leave me. No one would question it. All I ask is that if you do, please don’t drag it out. I don’t think I could take that.”

If that didn’t break his heart, Cassian didn’t know what would. 

“Nesta. I’m going to say this as many times as you need to hear it. I do not love you for your ability to give me children.” 

He squeezed her hand in his, and made sure he was looking into her eyes when he continued. “I love you because you’re my brave Valkyrie. Because you are fierce, and strong, and so incredibly kind, even when you try to hide it. And I am proud to call you mine.”

Nesta relaxed a little, and he kept talking. “I want nothing more than to have children with you. You have no idea,” he said. “But for now, maybe the two of us should take a step back.”

He saw the moment his stupidly-phrased words hit their mark, instantly knowing how she had interpreted them. “If that’s what you want,” she whispered. Something like betrayal flickered in her eyes for just a moment, before those bricks rose too quickly, blocking him out. Then she shifted in an attempt to get off the bed. Away from him.

“Fuck. No, Nes, that wasn’t what I meant,” he said, not letting her go too far, stopping her with a hand around her wrist. “I didn’t mean take a step back from you. I just meant, maybe for now, we should stop trying.”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

He took a deep breath. “I hate seeing you like this,” he said. “I hate that you feel like you’ve failed me. That couldn’t be any further from the truth.”

“But I–” Nesta paused, and shook her head. “I don’t get it. I might never be able to have your children, Cassian. I know how much you want them.”

“I do, Nes,” he said. “But I know how much you want them, too. And I made you a vow. I promised you that we would always face these things together. Always. I don’t ever plan to break that promise.”

Her eyes closed in a long blink as she exhaled. Cassian wiped a tear away with his thumb, stopping it before it ran down her face.

“You promise?” she asked quietly.

“I promise,” he repeated.

This time, when he went to hold her in his arms, Nesta didn’t stop him. He hugged her tight, not daring to let go. He didn’t ever want to let go.

“How do you feel about talking to Evelyn again?” he asked, when he felt that she had calmed down.

Evelyn was a couples’ therapist with a practice down in Velaris. They initially enlisted her services after the ordeal with Bryce–he’d seen the distrust and sadness on her face and promptly decided he never wanted to be the cause of it again. Being with each other was something they both wanted to choose, every day.

It had been rough, and messy, and at times, painful. But they got through it. They learned a lot about each other.

He learned that his mate forgave easily, but words lingered longer in her mind than most. Pathetic. Useless. Unworthy. Those were the ones that popped up the most often. So he made a point to replace them whenever he could. Every night before they went to sleep, Cassian placed a kiss on her brow and told her that he loved her. That he valued her. And every night, she looked closer and closer to believing him.

She learned that his jokes and his smiles hid a lot. More than he would like to admit. And when he’d started revealing those insecurities, it was enough to make Nesta tear up in Evelyn’s office.

But this…he had a feeling that they would need to dig deeper for this. That this wasn’t the type of problem that could be fixed with one conversation.

“You think we need to?”

“I think that I want to know where those thoughts are coming from,” he countered. “I think I already know what it is, but I’m not an expert in these things. I just want to make sure we’re doing this for the right reasons.”

The room once again fell into silence while Nesta considered his words. “Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll book an appointment.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

He continued to hold her, his hand stroking gently down her back. The worst of it was over, he knew. For tonight, anyway. But a hollowness still echoed in the room.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t better news,” he said quietly.

She sighed. “I really thought this might have been it. Eight months is a long time, especially to someone like me.”

Someone who used to be human. Someone who used to have a one month cycle.

He understood perfectly. There were some aspects of fae life that he knew she still struggled to adapt to. Scents was one of them. She had trouble picking up on the subtleties of emotion that a person carried, and they usually tended to overwhelm her, especially if she was in a crowded room.

 ”I know it is.”

He broke them apart just enough so he could see her face. “How about this, sweetheart,” he said, once he had her settled against him again. “Let’s enjoy life with just the two of us for a little while longer, while we still can. I’ll take you dancing somewhere new every week–I know you like that. Let me spoil just you for now.”

“You’re saying I have to put up with your company?” Nesta asked the question with a newfound sparkle in her eyes, one that hadn’t been there when he got home.

He rolled his eyes, flicking her nose with her fingers. “Smartass.”

“You love it,” she said, resting her head on his chest.

“That I do,” he agreed. “Now, let me go change out of my leathers and I’ll join you in bed, alright?”

They reluctantly parted. Cassian made quick work of stripping himself of the leathers and changing into a sleep shirt, then he slid back into bed.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind being spoiled by you for a little bit longer,” she said when he returned, settling into his arms. “But I think I also want to negotiate two bakery visits a week.”

“Two, hmm?”

“You know I like my cake.”

“I do know that,” he conceded. “Fine. Dancing once a week, and a bakery trip three times a week. Final offer.”

Nesta snorted, and a grin broke out on her face. “We have a deal.”

He offered her a small smile of his own, and hers softened to a look of pure contentment.

Cassian leaned in. “Can I kiss my beautiful wife?”

She loved it when he called her that. His wife. A person that he had chosen for himself, not some Cauldron or other authority.

Her eyebrow raised. “Just kiss?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, pressing a light kiss in the space between her jaw and her earlobe, and said, “I want her to know just how much I love her.”

His wife was beautiful when she was flustered. When he pulled away, he found that she was exactly that: eyes blown wide and her lips slightly parted.

Her hands running through his hair was a feeling he would never tire of, and he groaned as she pulled him into a slow kiss. Bodies flush against each other, Cassian traced his fingers down the curve of her body, landing on her hip.

Before he could be tempted to do anything else, Cassian pulled away, noticing the red that had appeared on Nesta’s cheeks.

“Sleep,” he said. “I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.”

He draped a wing over her body and pulled her against him so she was protected. Her head rested along his arm, using it as a pillow, and exhaustion seemed to finally win out in her head as her eyes fluttered shut.

“I’m glad you’re home,” she said, the sound muffling against his chest. “I missed you.”

Cassian held her tighter. “I missed you too, love.”

[injestedsoap]

Dirty, dirty, NSFW fic where you welcome home your favorite sergeant with tongues and fingers

for @femalefemur, please never stop sending me porn links, babe.

It had been a long deployment and Soap knew it was going to be a short break. Price had told him he'd have a month, Soap was skeptical it would be more than two weeks. But none of that mattered right now. Not his exhaustion, not his buzzing brain, not the new scars he came home with, not even the fact that his ears were still ringing from the battlefield. None of that mattered because you were tongue deep in him while your hand tugged on his weeping cock.

"Ah," Soap moaned, pressing his face into the mattress and his ass back against your tongue, "Ah, hen what you bloody do to me,"

You pull back with a loud slurping noise, giggling at Soap's moan as you spit in your hand and go back to working his cock. "What do I do to you, hm?" you tease, dancing your finger over his slit, "What does my pretty mouth do to your slutty hole?"

Soap whimpered and looked back over his shoulder, his eyes sleepy and hooded as he spread his thighs further, "You drive me out my damn dead is what you do."

You beam, kissing his softly furred ass sweetly before reeling back and spanking him hard, well, as hard as you could. Instead of a squeak like you were hoping for you get a long low groan which is a pretty good consolation prize. You get a hand full of his dark curls and tug and that gets a whine and a weak swat, "Careful back there," Soap complains, like his hole isn't fluttering from the sensations of light pain, "I'm not looking to get plucked my first night home."

You snicker but lean in and kiss his ass again anyway.

Home.

Probably too sappy a thing to be thinking about when you're eating out your military boyfriend. You spread his cheeks and spit a fat wad of saliva on his twitching hole, relishing the half moan, half giggle you get in response.

"Gross," Soap whispers into the sheets.

"Mmh," You hum, leaning in and kissing his wet pucker before going back to work, tonguing deep into him and wiggling your tongue. Soap whimpers and pants above you, his balls drawing up tight as you massage them. You work your hand down, tugging his cock a few idle times before reaching to gently squeeze his stomach. He was getting older, he wasn't as easily able to keep the softness off his midsection, 20 year old Soap's cut abs gently morphing into 27 year old Johnny's tummy. Oh he had abs, but he didn't feel the need to dehydrate and cut carbs any more. He was just as much a badass after his morning muffin and too sweet coffee.

"Love," He whined as you ran your fingers over his treasure trail, "Cock, please,"

You pulled back from his hole just enough to laugh breathlessly, "Needy now that you're back," you tease, the very tip of your nail tracing the vein of his cock.

He looked back, one big blue eye peeking over his massive bicep, exaggeratedly batting his lashes, "I am always needy when it comes to your whore mouth on my respectable hole,"

You let out a screech of a laugh and gave him another spank, relishing the 'ow' let out in the middle of his own laughs. "Alright," You say, spitting in your hand and dragging the dribbles of precum up his shaft as you push him down onto the mattress. "Alright," the hand that isn't working his shaft slides up his thigh, giving his ass a soft pat before sliding two fingers into his already loose ring of muscle, going right for the little bundle of nerves. "Alright," You repeat, your voice softer as Soap presses his moans and whimpers into the mattress, his cock leaking profusely. You lean in, pushing your tongue in along side your fingers. It's not easy or comfortable and it's not coordinated but it must be enough because before Soap lets out a broken little noise and cums all over the towel you'd laid down before you pounced.

The orgasm must have been load bearing because with that Soap collapses, barely avoiding the puddle and barely giving you time to adjust yourself so you didn't get yanked down tongue first. As it stands the two fingers in his ass are connected to the arm that is holding you up and the angle isn't comfortable for either of you.

"Hold on," You grunt, finding a spit to put down your other hand and gently extracting your fingers from him. Grinning when he let out a noise of contentment, nuzzling down into the pillows. He'll worry about getting you off tomorrow (and the next day and the next day and the next day...) but for now you let him lay, bundling up the towel and washing your hands and face before coming back with a warm washcloth to gently clean him up.

"Thank you," Soap sighs.

"For cleaning you up or the rim job?" you tease.

He answers by grabbing you by the ass and tugging you down until you're situated so he can get his soft cock between your soft thighs, already prepping for your wake up call. He looks at you through his lashes and you roll your eyes, kissing him anyway and sucking on his tongue the way he likes. You let your hand drift down to scratch lightly at his round bottom, feeling the coarse hair and taught muscle under your fingers as you suck on the warm wet muscle between your lips, tasting cinnamon toothpaste and need. You pull away for just long enough for you both to breathe, laughing tiredly as Soap whines and chases your lips, even if he is panting too, and then go back in, twisting your fingers into his mohawk and pressing him closer still. You both stay like that, wrapped up in each other, lungs full of each other's air, until you finally drift to sleep, please to be back together no matter how short that time may be.

[autisticlancemcclain]

prev chapter

———

One thing about fights that are fought in their lions, at least, is that they always feel safer. They’re still life-threatening, of course. And in fact they lost Shiro for months in a lion-fight. But there’s still something innately more comforting about being surrounded by an armoured war machine, and said war machine offering a comforting mental presence in the back of your head, compared to fighting face-to-face with people three times your size who have a penchant for blood. 

There’s the added bonus of difference, too, that’s helping Keith calm down. He’s still pretty high-strung, and he still keeps a carefully eye on Lance and Red, but there’s enough of a visible difference between today’s mission and the mission in his nightmare that he feels slightly less like he’s going to throw up. 

“Head in the game, Mullet!” Lance crows, startling the hell out of him. “I’m beating you 32-20! What, are you shooting with your eyes closed?”

“That would be a pretty good score, in that case,” Keith says, and for the first time in hours and hours a smile tugs on his cheeks. Figures, that Lance is the one who can put it back on his face. 

“Oh, yeah right. Pay attention, dork. Or don’t. If I smoke you again then I’m the winner this week, and you are beholden to me.”

There’s a scoff over the comms. “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll be so sad about that.”

“Can it, Pidge,” Keith snaps, scowling. God, nothing like an annoying sibling to take your mind off everything. 

Lance laughs, though, and it wipes the grouch right off Keith’s face. “Mhm, he is kind of obsessed with me, huh? Loves to give me special treatment. I’m simply that irresistible, aren’t I, Samurai?”

“The only part of me that is irresistibly attracted to you is my fist to your face.”

“Okay, dearest. Whatever you say.”

Keith rolls his eyes, face still flushed, and refocuses on shooting ships out of the sky. He manages to shoot one seconds before Lance’s laser hits it, filling his comms with angry Spanish cussing. 

“What’s wrong, Sharpshooter?” Keith taunts. “Not fast enough?”

“Eat my bullets, you doo-doo head!”

“Doo-doo head? Are you seven?”

“Seven seconds away from astral projecting into your lion and smacking the shit out of you –”

“Alright, Luke and Lorelei,” Hunk says drily, “I’d love it if we could maybe focus on killing space Nazis and not on whatever the hell you two are doing.”

Keith can hear the pout in Lance’s voice. “Mean. You ruin all my fun, Hunky.”

“Yeah, yeah. Focus.”

They do cut the banter, though. Slowly but surely, they reduce the swarm, picking off the fleet ship by ship, driving them away from this planet for the first time in what’s probably been centuries. Keith really starts to feel light, finally. The nightmare is already fading to the vestiges of his mind, Lance is fine, and they’re wrapping things up. Maybe tonight he and Allura can spar. There’s nothing like getting his ass beat concave to get his mind off any possible stress.

The worst part about it is that no one knows exactly when it happened. There’s space for banter on missions like these, of course there is. They’re not sitting in miserable and stressed silence unless it’s real bad. But they’re also focused on their own shit. Shooting lasers really isn’t as easy as it looks. One second they’re clearing the last few dozen ships. Then Hunk is calling out a warning for a Zaiforge cannon. Then they hear it fire. 

It’s – Keith doesn’t look. He’s spent the whole fucking mission with a half-eye on Lance, terrified, but the Zaiforge cannon fires and he doesn’t look? He doesn’t fucking look? 

“Fuckin’ – finally,” Shiro mutters. “God, they do not give up. Everyone good?”

“Ugh,” Hunk groans. 

“I’m going to sleep for nineteen hours,” Pidge agrees.

“It wasn’t too horrible,” Allura tries.

“No, it sucked,” Keith says, finally allowing himself to collapse back into his seat. He waits for Lance’s inevitable teasing, his agreement with Allura – he always agrees with her, especially when she disagrees with Keith, because he thinks he’s funny – but it…doesn’t come. 

Keith sits ramrod straight. “Lance?” he shouts, and there’s no masking the desperate fear in his voice. “Lance, come in!”

He hears a choked noise come over the comm. A wave of déjà vù is so intense it’s like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. 

He ducks his head, bowed, chin trembling.

He’s never prayed before. Not once in his life.

“Please.” A chill ripples down his spine. “Please,” he begs, choking on a sob. “Please, please, please.”

When he finds the strength to look up, into the space in front of him, littered in debris from their fight, he sees Red.

Parts of her. In pieces. Her leg, a claw, her jawbone. 

There’s not even a body for them to recover.

———

next chapter

[evenmorecrows]

(Nice Dream) - 1.1k ( Aug 4th: Dreams )

In a car, body, world that is not his, Johnny dreams.

Written for @silverv-week! Would you believe I wrote this months and months ago, when the prompts were first released, and I still haven't finished the main fic the V in this belongs to? Whoops!

Anyway, this is supposed to take place after the Temperance ending, and before the fic that I'm still working on, so it's at least not missing too much context. I cannot say the same for what I wrote for the August 10th prompt, haha.

Fic title from Radiohead's song (Nice Dream), of course.

The world feels fuzzy- warm. He's in Night City, but it's empty. No irritating buzz of chatter on the sidewalks, no ads blaring from screens almost as big as the building they were slapped onto. The LED lights aren't searingly bright like they usually are, all of them emitting a soft, fading halo. He's walking, and it feels like moving through waist-high mud, but for whatever reason, he can't find it in himself to care. He stops outside of a megabuilding, which one was this again? Something pulls him inside, past the unmanned ramen cart, into the elevator, some red string of fate. Something compels him to press a particular floor, and something compels him to wait there till the doors ding open. The scenery blurs in his head- and then he's in front of an apartment door. H10. He stands there, his hand hovers, like he's reaching for a knob. He knows it's empty, it has to be empty. After all, he's wearing it's last tenant's corpse like a fucking coat. But with the door closed, he thinks, what if? V could still be alive, behind this door, for as long as it stayed closed. Johnny could be the specter he was always meant to be, should've been, haunting this hallway until there's no hallway to haunt anymore.

His hesitation, however, doesn't stop the door from automatically sliding open. It doesn't occur to him that it should've slid open the second he stepped in front- not when a shock of blue-purple hair catches his eye on the other side of the room. For a moment he is destabilized, stands there in the doorway like a gonk. It doesn't make sense, but does it matter? Nothing fucking makes sense in Night City- that's how he ended up as a parasitic little chip in the first place, in the neck of one of the best people Night City's ever shat out. V's standing there, looking out the window beside his bed- Johnny remembers their first night, smashing his head against it- nausea rips through him at the memory- before he looks over his shoulder, having heard the hiss of the door. He turns to lean against the window sill, and he smiles warm and brighter than the sun itself, it takes Johnny's breath away. "Hey Johnny. Didn't think you'd be back so soon." Back? He takes a few tentative steps forward, eyes always on V- if he looks away, the other might vanish into thin air, his brain tells him. "What-" His voice is gravelly, hoarse. It warbles and distorts off the walls. He clears his throat, "What're you doin' here, V? You're... You should be..." He can't bring himself to voice it, his tongue sits leaden in his mouth even thinking about it. He hovers now, in front of V, too scared to touch him in case he's made of smoke and ash, another person Johnny's burned down. "I live here, duh. You feelin' alright?" His face pinches, and he comes closer, reaches out a hand to Johnny's forehead, and Johnny squeezes his eyes shut, scared, so fucking scared, that the second V makes contact, he'll just collapse into dust, disappear back into cyberspace, leave him alone again with what it cost to still be alive-

But the feeling of the back of a hand graces his head, and he opens his eyes, and V's still there, looking even more worried. "You feel fine, but... Maybe you should lay down. Actin' a bit weird." So close, so tangible, and Johnny's never yearned for anyone's touch more, so it's no surprise when he crushes him into a hug instead, V letting out an 'oof' with the force of it, but quickly wrapping his arms tight around him, one traveling up his back, cradling the back of his head. The rage, the unease, that awful fucking pit of depression- none of it exists, not in his arms. He wants to say, 'I missed you', and 'Don't leave me', and 'You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, will ever happen to me.', but his throat constricts around the words. That mushy shit just isn’t how Johnny Silverhand rolls. "Hey, hey. It's alright. We got all the time in the world." He says, rubbing soothing circles into his back. "You're doin' good, real good. But listen, alright? You can't keep boggin' yourself down like this, can't keep usin' me to deny yourself a life. You know why I gave mine to you." I love you, he means. They shared a brain, after all. Not much either could hide, only things they didn't acknowledge. "V-" He croaks. Somethings not right, his surroundings shift and twist, less of a place and more of a concept. He tries to cling to V, impossibly tighter, like if he holds on hard enough he won't fade away. It doesn't work. V melts right through his fingers. His eyes open to the roof of V's his car, his eyes streaming. Of course it was a fucking dream. That's the only place V can exist now, he should have known. He sits up in the backseat, scrubs at his eyes, caught between wishing he could've slept forever and never sleeping again. He shouldn't fucking be here, it should be V, in his body, living his life goddammit! It's not. Fucking. Fair. And there's jack shit he can do about it.

In his frustration, he lashes out, smashing his fist into the passenger seat headrest, which startles Nibbles, who was apparently sleeping up front. "... Shit." He takes a breath- better yet, he gets out, has a cigarette. Calms his nerves. He's currently in the middle of nowhere, Nevada, which means the light pollution isn't god awful, and the air smells clean. He can actually see the stars. It's a nice backdrop, all things considered. Tomorrow, he keeps driving, or tonight maybe, depending on how he feels when he gets back in the car. He doesn't have a real destination in mind; all his old contacts are still in Night City. He just knows he has to keep moving, like a shark pushing water through its gills. If he stopped, he figures he'd do one of three things; drink himself to death, fuck himself to death, or waste away in a bed till death was his only option forward. And as much as the guilt ate him alive, burned him from the inside out, he wants to at least make an effort to live, for what V gave him. It'd feel like spitting in his face to throw it all away because he was, what, too sad? Fuck that. One foot in front of the other. He gives a weary sigh, puts out his cigarette, and gets back in the car.

[punkpoemprose]

Virtual Chemistry Pt 10

Universe: Modern AU/ College AU/ Cam Boy AU

Rating:  E (Explicit, this is filth)

Length: 2116 Words

A/N: Forgive me for any inconsistency, it's been a hot second.

Anna awoke to the familiar sound of her phone’s alarm and rose with uncharacteristic quickness. It was just the first of the three alarms that she set for herself each morning during the semester, and she couldn’t recall having ever risen with the first one, let alone now when she didn’t need to be up for anything.

Falling asleep with your phone on your face certainly has the benefit of startling you awake.

She made a mental note to avoid the position in the future, and quickly unlocked the device with her fingerprint, just to confirm that last night’s texting had not, in fact, been a dream.

The blue and grey text bubbles that greeted her had her heart fluttering as she looked at the screen and replayed the conversation. He’d been so easy to talk to, and she’d found that having to wait a bit longer for his replies than she was used to when texting Elsa had made each message just that bit more precious. It felt silly to count the extra few seconds as “worth the wait” but it had been.

She flushed when she scrolled down past the last message she remembered sending and receiving, to find another.

Huhgtgcfrgyu

She really had fallen asleep with her phone on her face, and somehow, as it the universe didn’t think she’d had quite enough mortification, the message had sent.

Huh?

She scrolled past his response and found another ten minutes later:

I’m guessing you fell asleep? That’s alright, it’s late.

Then a few minutes after that, a series of texts sent a minute or less apart:

It’s been a long and exhausting semester honestly. I wouldn’t blame you for sleeping all week, I feel like that’s what I’m about to do.

I’m glad you were part of it. Even with everything.

Maybe we can talk about that? The everything?

When we both wake up from our hibernation of course.

Sorry, I’m rambling again.

Sleep well Anna.

She didn’t feel quite so embarrassed by the time she got to the end of his messages back to her. There was something about his messages, short as they were, that mirrored the gentleness with which he treated her in person. There was a nagging part of her that was imagining one more message after what he’d sent. She just couldn’t put out of her mind that he was the sort of man who would end his messages with “I love you”.

She tried to push the thought aside but she only succeeded in hearing his last message in her head, complete with her silly addition, in his voice.

Sleep well Anna, I love you.

It was unfair how her brain could forget the answers to exams after several hours of studying, but how she could perfectly mentally replicate the tone of his voice saying something that she’d never even heard him utter before. She could even imagine how it would sound, breathy in her ear, with her back pressed to his chest and his arms wrapped around her.

She collapsed back on the bed, knowing full well that she wouldn’t be able to put herself back to sleep, but feeling unwilling to face the day until she managed to stop blushing and thinking about how good it would feel to just be in Kristoff’s arms.

***

Kristoff allowed himself a moment to breathe, Sven not the least exhausted at his side, was looking at his owner in rapt anticipation of the next leg of their jog around town.

He’d barely slept, unable to keep himself from listening for his cellphone to chime with another message from Anna all night long, even hours after he’d sent her a goodnight. He’d just stayed up and let his imagination run wild with both the ways he wished and feared his relationship with Anna would evolve in the coming days, weeks, and months. The worst fear was that it wouldn’t go anywhere at all. He already knew her too well to let himself worry about the worst case scenario effecting his work, despite the fact that they still had plenty to talk about there, he knew that Anna was not going to tell anyone about his extracurricular activities.

It had really been his hopes keeping him awake all night. He’d forced himself into a cold morning run at 8 am because of those hopes, because of those fantasies. He’d imagined holding her in his arms and kissing her gently and slow. He’d imagined lifting her from the floor, pressing her back into a wall and swallowing her gasps and whimpers as he kissed her. He’d even thought about what it would feel like to have her small hands explore his body.

Then he’d envisioned carrying her to his bed and giving himself to her in all the ways she wanted him. His fantasy was that she’d share her fantasies with him, carefully curated from hours of watching him, and rife for exploration together.

He flushed now, and not from running, at recalling the ways he’d imagined that he would tuck her into bed at his side, pressing gentle soothing kisses into her hair to help her fall asleep. He wanted everything with Anna, and his active imagination wouldn’t allow him to come up with any situation in which he didn’t take care of Anna in every way. He wanted her for more than sex, he wanted her for life.

The frosty run was helping, but he was still thinking about running toward the park next and launching himself into the partially frozen pond to cool his head. Sven, always excellently observant for a dog, tilted his head at him with curiosity.

“Look buddy,” Kristoff said, huffing from the particularly hard run he’d just subjected them to, “I know you like her a whole lot, and that’s making this even harder because I know you deserve a mom, but we have to give her some space, okay? I kind of did this whole thing wrong I think, and we’re going to have to wait for her. She might not even want to see me again.”

He didn’t have it in him to say that she wouldn’t want to see them both again, because he was extremely aware that he was the one who had screwed up in this situation, and that his dog was, frankly, irresistible, and impossible to stay mad at.

Sven, fully knowing this about himself, huffed through his nose and lowered his head before giving Kristoff a meaningful look.

He knew what the dog was communicating.

Don’t count yourself out yet.

In his pocket, his phone chimed. 

The dog wagged his tail in response and Kristoff couldn’t help but chuckle to himself.

“If this is her, I owe you double treats when we get back.”

***

Anna typed and deleted at least five texts as she poked at her oatmeal. Elsa was taking a call in the next room over, and Anna could overhear all the details of the business transaction taking place. It was hard to think about what she wanted to say when she was listening to her sister talking shop. It was a good thing that it was a family business, or her breakfast would constitute corporate espionage.

She finally settled on setting her phone down and actually putting some food into her actual mouth. Normally the quantity of brown sugar and maple syrup she put on top of the oats would have been enjoyable, but she’d spent too long ignoring it and nearly gagged at the cool sticky gruel she’d managed to shovel into her mouth.

She couldn’t stop herself from opening her mouth and letting the mush fall back into the bowl with a very unladylike and unceremonious plop. It wasn’t the oatmeal’s fault that it had turned into a disgusting gluey abomination, but Anna still stared at it with narrowed eyes as if it were the enemy.

It’s too early for this. Or anything.

She sighed and picked up her phone again before standing up deciding that if she was awake, and if her home was currently being used as a corporate office, she may as well go out and get a halfway decent breakfast. Visions of cinnamon rolls danced in her head as she trudged toward her bedroom to don some clothes that were at least halfway appropriate for public consumption.

She decided to tear the proverbial band aid off before tossing the phone on her bed.

Good morning

Two words, zero punctuation, no room to read into anything at all, putting the ball firmly in his court so she didn’t have to text any of the things she wanted to say because they were undoubtedly too much to say now.

She slipped off her pajama yoga pants and made the difficult decision to choose her jeans over her daytime yoga pants after consulting the overly complicated smart home device that Elsa had purchased for her as a birthday gift and being informed that it was too damn cold for thin breathable fabric. Comfort, sometimes, unfortunately had a temperature component.

When her phone buzzed from its place on her unmade bed, she made herself take two whole breaths before descending on it like a woman starved.

Good morning

She grimaced. She’d never been good at tennis but she could see, very clearly, that it had been an easy serve to hit and that the proverbial ball was, once again, in her court.

“Shit.”

She took another two whole breaths before buttoning and zipping her pants and thinking long and hard about both the t-shirt she would choose to wear (whichever was on top) and whether she could text him any of the eighty things she wanted to say.

“Hi Kristoff, just wanted to say that I absolutely didn’t have a dream about you and I making out on a lab table last night because that would be super weird, haha.”

She rolled her eyes at herself and instead typed out what she knew she should say.

Sorry I fell asleep on you last night.

She couldn’t help but to wish that she had fallen asleep on him in the literal sense. She could only imagine how good that might feel. She just hoped that she didn’t mess this up badly enough that she would never get the chance to find out.

It’s okay Anna, I’m glad you got some rest.

She’d tugged her top off while she had been waiting for his response, and she forced herself to choose a shirt to put on while she thought about an answer to send back. It was easy enough to manage the first requirement, tugging on a green sweater when she remembered exactly hot cold the weather was meant to be. The second was, as the rest of the conversation had been on her side, more complicated.

What are you up to this morning?

She played it safe, because the last time she hadn’t, she’d been crushed. She knew Kristoff enough to know that he wouldn’t ever hurt her intentionally, but she’d grown up since her last assumption of a man’s feelings toward her, something that being home brought back to her mind.

She was dressed and out the front door by the time she got his answer.

Just went for a run with Sven. We’re about to get breakfast. Have you ever been to Oaken’s?

 Anna nearly snorted out loud, but the cold biting her face kept her from dawdling long enough to manage it. She didn’t run to her car sitting in the driveway, worried about any ice that wasn’t making itself evident, but she did walk briskly.

I used to think they had the biggest cinnamon rolls in the city.

She texted him quickly when she sat in the car and pulled the door shut and then, once she’d managed to click on the seat heater with chilly fingers, she sent a follow up.

You proved me wrong at that diner by campus, but they’re still my emotional support baked good.

She’d been planning on going to a closer, less delicious breakfast place, but there was really no harm in going the extra few minutes towards the city center to join him if that was where he was heading. She did find him much easier to talk to in person after all.

Did you grow up here?

Immediately after, faster than she thought that he could type, her phone buzzed again.

I think I just put two and two together with your last name. I feel like an idiot.

She tried not to laugh, but it was impossible. She suddenly felt much less embarrassed about sending him a sleep gibberish text.

[climbthemountain2020]

Love You Like Oxygen - Chapter 3

Part 3/8 | Ao3

I remember tears streaming down your face When I said I'll never let you go When all those shadows almost killed your light I remember you said don't leave me here alone But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight

Helion flew through the air on Meallan, ready to go back to Day Court after some of the worst few months of his life. The war with Hybern’s armies raged, and as they pushed in on Autumn, enforcements from Day were beginning to require his presence more and more. He was proud his father trusted him with their armies, but he was exhausted after months on the front lines, and he simply wanted to spend a few weeks in his home, tucked into his warm bed or standing in the sun. He was tired of being covered in mud and blood, tired of the endless screams of war. He knew he was privileged, knew so many would never return home, but right now he just wanted to hold his mother, eat a hot meal, and collapse.

Suddenly, a violent tug in his chest caused him to grip the reins so hard that Meallan nearly ripped him from the air.

“What in the Cauldron–” But the yanking tore at him again, pulling him rapidly east. “Alright, alright.” As he flew, a panic that wasn’t his own blew through him. Overwhelming, sickening realization ran through his veins like a fire through a dry forest. It was then, he knew, that Alanna was in trouble. He bore down on the reins, digging into Meallan’s sides. As always, he read his intentions and took off through the air like a bolt of lightning.

Steadily, his chest felt like a great, long-closed chasm yawning open. It opened wider and wider, the fear and anguish overwhelming, the bond fully open as it hadn’t been for years; It had been a century since he’d felt it this unlatched and vulnerable. Though words never fully came through it, he could feel the intent in each, like he always had, down that lightly humming tether between them.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

It was a goodbye.

Helion rode harder, pushing Meallan to the brink of his abilities, his pegasus sensing the desperation in Helion’s fervor. Then, there, on a rocky outcropping, he saw a bright flash of red in the distance. It was Alanna’s hair, whipping in the wind as she swung a great branch at the pack of Hybern’s hounds closing in on her. He could see the bright blooms of blood on her sage dress, the torn fabric and her frenzied eyes telling him all he needed to know. He saw red as he jumped off, not even pausing as he tore the hounds apart one by one with his bare hands, ripping through jaws and ribs and flesh like wetted paper in his hands.

When the bloodbath was over and the shrieking of the dying hounds had stopped, Helion stood, covered in dirt and blood and panting wildly. His eyes met hers, overcome with fear and awe and reverence, and before he could say anything she’d clambered up from the ground and thrown herself into his arms, sobbing.

It had been so long since he’d felt her, smelled her. That early morning dawn and dew from their last goodbye still as sharp in his memory as the day she left. She was terrified now, bawling and shaking like a leaf, but she was here in his arms, that charming smell of woodsmoke and chestnuts embracing him like a warm blanket on a cold night. Before he had a chance to talk himself out of it, he was leading her to Meallan, holding her firmly but gently to his chest, and resolving to take her back to Day with him.

She didn’t question him, just held him close as they flew off into the sky. Her sobs gently faded into heavy breaths, her eyes closing, but she never lessened the grip she held on his shirt. When they landed in Day at the palace stables, he simply scooped her up again and moved with intention to his personal chambers. She’d fallen asleep by the time they arrived, the shock and adrenaline wearing off and leaving her entirely exhausted, but he laid her softly onto his bed and checked her injuries to make sure nothing was serious. He mended what he could, taking the time to run a bowl of warm water and taking the softest cloth he could find to remove the traces of blood from her body and hair and face. He refused to change her clothes until she woke–gods knew she’d spent enough of the last hundred years having that choice taken from her.

When she was as clean as she could be, Helion sat at her side as day bled into twilight and then night, and Alanna slept. He looked at her beautiful face, so peaceful in sleep. She looked different than he remembered, but still just as heart-stoppingly beautiful as the night they’d met. She looked older, more mature, and he guessed she was a mother now. He heard things, of course, through the gossip of the courts. She’d been kept busy, four kids in the last hundred years. Eris, her oldest, conceived almost immediately after her marriage to that monster. A bit later, another youngling along, Tanwen. Then, she’d had twins–almost unheard of in the realm, and usually considered a blessing. He didn’t know their names; he’d stopped inquiring after a while. Knowing that Beron was with her, receiving the life Helion would have burned Prythian to the ground for was hard enough. The truth was, outside the female he knew, she was a different person now away from him. She had lived an entire life since the last time they parted, and she wasn’t the familiar young female who hid in alcoves to eat cake and send enchanted animals to harass high lords anymore.

Towards dawn, her eyes began to flutter and she started to stir. He sat up to lean forward, making sure she wouldn’t wake in fear. But the second her eyes met his, they began to water.

“You’re here. Am I dead? Am I free?” The words nearly cracked his heart in two. What was she enduring in Autumn?

“You’re in Day. In my room. I took you here when I found you.” Her chin wobbled, her eyes shutting tightly.

“The hounds…they….my sisters.” The tears began to fall in earnest now.

“I’m so sorry, Alanna. If I had gotten there sooner, I–”

“No. No. They were already gone. They told me to run…they bought me time.” But the sobs were wracking her slim body now, and she was reaching out blindly to Helion with her hands before her mind could catch up. Of course, he was already there on the side of the bed, his arms moving to hold her without his permission. He’d had tonics for the pain and for sleep ready for when she woke, and he handed them both to her silently. She took both then met his eyes.

“Lay with me? Please?” He didn’t need to be told twice. He held her loosely as they lay back on the pillows, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest as she cried and told him what had happened. Beron had sent her to hide with her sisters while Autumn fought Hybern’s armies, spreading his children out to preserve the bloodline and sending her away to be elsewhere. Eris was brought to fight at the front with Beron, despite still being fairly young by fae standards. Tanwen was sent to the east with family on the edges of the fighting–Beron had insisted he get battle experience. Gareth and Killian–he made a note of the twins’ names–had been sent to various members of the family, still only children.

She was wracked with guilt. First, for allowing her children to be sent off–not that she had even the smallest amount of say in it. Then, for her sisters, who had seen Hybern’s men and the hounds coming and made the joint decision to send their youngest sister to run–who had pleaded with her to take this fighting chance and live. They’d held each other for a too-brief moment and she’d taken off into the woods, the wind whipping at her face and the tears burning her eyes as she’d heard the horrid screams behind her fade to nothing.

“They wouldn’t have wanted you to blame yourself.”

“What worth does my life have over their own?”

“Your life, Alanna, is worth everything. They loved you.”

As I do.

The words were right there, and yet he did not say them. “You’ll stay here tonight while you heal, then I can bring you back.”

Her head shot up, panicked eyes finding his even in the near-darkness.

“Don’t bring me back yet, Helion. Please.”

“You…you want to stay?”

“For a while? Beron is at war. No one would have to know. We can tell them I was hiding in the woods afraid of the hounds that came, unsure of who to trust.” Her voice was nearly a whisper, the words barely making it to his ears, but they were some of the most important words he’d ever heard her say.

“Of course, Little Spark. Stay as long as you want.”

Stay forever.

But she was already fading back into sleep, the tonics taking her under. He smoothed her hair softly out of her face, but his heart was beating through his chest. She was here. She was here, with him, and she didn’t want to leave. He knew she couldn’t stay forever, but this time? It was more than he had ever imagined they would get again. The early light of dawn was peaking over the horizon, so he flicked his hand and the curtains pulled closed, choosing instead to wrap his arms around her as he’d yearned to do so many times since he’d first met her.

The following day, he’d run her a bath in the pool in his personal chambers, procuring her gowns while she did so. He’d almost gone back to Autumn to raze it himself as he saw the scars dotting her skin. One day, he’d see to it that Beron was killed, hopefully in a way that befitted a male who hit females. He wanted to tell her that she deserved better, wanted to wrap her in his arms and kiss each bruise and scar until all that was left were thoughts of him and not of the demons that haunted her. But when she looked over her bare, wet shoulder at him, he didn’t do any of that. He just held her eyes as she turned in the water, rising up as the drops cascaded off her, catching the sun like diamonds as they fell. And as she stepped out, his feet moved without his bidding. Like a puppet on a string, his hands rose and his fingers caressed skin as she closed her eyes at the touch. She smiled up at him with a hint of the female she’d been before, and Helion was lost.

For an entire month, he hid her from his mother, choosing to stay at the palace and spend every moment possible with her. At times, he was sure his mother knew, but she never said otherwise past a knowing glance in his direction when he’d make his excuses for why he had to leave. Alanna and Helion spent every possible moment buried in each other, pretending that they could have that life that they were meant to, the tether between them strong and beautiful and glowing the way it was always intended to. She talked about herself, more than she said she’d been able to in decades.

She told him how she’d never stopped loving him, had never stopped missing him. She told him how she loved being a mother, but hated Beron so violently that it scared her sometimes. She told him how she felt like her magic was dying in her veins. Beron didn’t let her use it, and at first, it had begged to be let out, but more and more now, it had gone quiet within her. She told him that she wanted to be the strong female that he fell in love with, but she was so scared that that female died sometime in the past century, bent over a bed, a fist in her mouth to stop her screams.

He held her while he held back the rage that he felt could tear down entire courts. He wished, both privately and aloud, that he could keep her with him forever. And they’d smile and touch and kiss and dance around it, but her imminent departure weighed on them like the heavy clouds of a summer storm. He made sure that he changed the wards to his rooms, marking them to always allow her in if she ever needed a safe space. He keyed them so she could winnow straight in if she was ever in danger. Though the thought alone filled him with wrath unlike anything he’d ever experienced, he felt somewhat better knowing she had the option, even if she never used it.

They moved the day that they’d decided she would return once, twice, three times, then finally they dragged themselves with nothing but sheer force of will to say goodbye. They spent the whole night before lost in each other, not sleeping a wink, and in the morning Helion felt like he was committing a crime by erasing his scent from her. He held her gently, told her how much he loved her, how much he always would, and felt like he was severing a limb.

As she winnowed off, back to Autumn, her jeweled prison, Helion thought he could be content with this. He told himself that this time was precious, and it was. He told himself repeatedly that he would take anything she gave, and it would be enough.

But it wasn’t enough, and as he lay on his bed in the dark alone, he knew it deep within himself.

It would never be enough until the day she was back in his arms for good.

Taglist: @cauldronblssd @dreaming-for-an-escape @clockwork-ashes @tele86 @julesofvolterra

[jebewonmorelike]

If You Love Me, You'll Give Me Your Robux

wc: 587 pronouns: she/her (he/him and they/them versions below original! <3 love u fellow alphabet mafia) warnings: none; fluffy fluff :) summary: jay just won't stop playing roblox (and he never will) ~bp masterlist~  ♡ ~kofi (no pressure at all)~ hi so... starting this little adventure. i was a fanfiction writer way back in the day. like a decade ago i wrote various one direction, 5sos, and youtuber fanfics when i was 13. i'm sure some kids watching boys planet are 13 now and that is terrifying to me. anyway, i decided to try my hand at some drabbles again after a long hiatus. please send requests or asks and we can talk about boys planet and whatnot. be my friend pls. :) and also enjoy.

"Jay, can we please just go out to dinner or something already? You've been staring at that screen for hours."

You hated nagging Jay, but at this point it seemed more than necessary. Sure, he was enjoying his time off from filming Boys Planet and you were more than happy to have him home in your arms for a couple weeks before he had to leave for the second mission. But when all he wanted to do for the last 48 hours was play Roblox, you were admittedly getting bored... and a tad bit annoyed (... and the teensiest bit jealous).

Jay doesn't respond and you sigh dramatically from where you are laying on his bed, scrolling hopelessly through Instagram as you wait for your boyfriend to pay attention to you.

"Jay!" You call out to him again, but still he doesn't reply. "Jay, I swear to--."

"Who do you swear to, huh?" He says finally, turning to face you with an expectant smirk. "God is not gonna help you pry me away from Roblox. No one is capable of that."

"Could you hear me the whole time?" You ask, already knowing the answer.

He nods, sucking his teeth in contemplation. "I could. Including when you called me a--."

"Alright, alright," you cut him off with a groan. "Sorry for that. But I'm bored! You haven't seen your beautiful, perfect girlfriend in almost a month and here she is, sitting so pretty on your bed of all places and all you can do is play Roblox."

Jay just looks more amused. "You're really hyping yourself up there."

You collapse back onto his bed, completely defeated by your smartass boyfriend's annoying wit. You lie there, staring at the ceiling for a few moments before you hear Jay giggle. You feel something hit your arm and search for the culprit next to you, finally picking up what appears to be a crumpled up sticky note. 

You open it, reading what's written messily inside:

you do look perfect XD 

You turn it over to read the back:

even from this really unflattering angle you've provided me <3

"Thanks," you say reluctantly, sighing as you sit back up to look at him.

He's grinning, but your heart breaks a bit at how tired he looks. "Is it okay if I just play for the rest of today? I'm sorry it feels like I'm ignoring you. I'm just exhausted and I feel kind of sick from the time change. I'll literally be all yours tomorrow."

"Of course, Jay. I understand," you agree with a smile, making a mental note to check that he sleeps well tonight. "But aren't you always all mine?"

Jay nods at you cheekily. "Always, gorgeous."

Your boyfriend turns back to his computer, pulling his headphones back over his ears. You look at him for a few moments, admiring the view.

"Stop staring," he says abruptly with a laugh and you turn away, grabbing your laptop from your bag and flipping it open. 

A few minutes later, Jay's laugh sounds through his bedroom. You steal a glimpse to see him shaking his head and rubbing his hands across his face. "You are relentless!"

You bite your lip to keep from grinning, typing something into the Roblox chat: 

you can't escape me

i don't want to

GIVE ME ALL YOUR ROBUX

wait what no are you robbing me? babe wtf 

i love u :(

if you love me, you'll give me all your robux... 

i want the violet valkyrie ( •̀ᴗ•́ )و ̑̑

for sweet he/him-using boys :)

"Jay, can we please just go out to dinner or something already? You've been staring at that screen for hours."

You hated nagging Jay, but at this point it seemed more than necessary. Sure, he was enjoying his time off from filming Boys Planet and you were more than happy to have him home in your arms for a couple weeks before he had to leave for the second mission. But when all he wanted to do for the last 48 hours was play Roblox, you were admittedly getting bored... and a tad bit annoyed (... and the teensiest bit jealous).

Jay doesn't respond and you sigh dramatically from where you are laying on his bed, scrolling hopelessly through Instagram as you wait for your boyfriend to pay attention to you.

"Jay!" You call out to him again, but still he doesn't reply. "Jay, I swear to--."

"Who do you swear to, huh?" He says finally, turning to face you with an expectant smirk. "God is not gonna help you pry me away from Roblox. No one is capable of that."

"Could you hear me the whole time?" You ask, already knowing the answer.

He nods, sucking his teeth in contemplation. "I could. Including when you called me a--."

"Alright, alright," you cut him off with a groan. "Sorry for that. But I'm bored! You haven't seen your handsome, perfect boyfriend in almost a month and here he is, sitting so magnificently on your bed of all places and all you can do is play Roblox."

Jay just looks more amused. "You're really hyping yourself up there."

You collapse back onto his bed, completely defeated by your smartass boyfriend's annoying wit. You lie there, staring at the ceiling for a few moments before you hear Jay giggle. You feel something hit your arm and search for the culprit next to you, finally picking up what appears to be a crumpled up sticky note. 

You open it, reading what's written messily inside:

you do look perfect XD 

You turn it over to read the back:

even from this really unflattering angle you've provided me <3

"Thanks," you say reluctantly, sighing as you sit back up to look at him.

He's grinning, but your heart breaks a bit at how tired he looks. "Is it okay if I just play for the rest of today? I'm sorry it feels like I'm ignoring you. I'm just exhausted and I feel kind of sick from the time change. I'll literally be all yours tomorrow."

"Of course, Jay. I understand," you agree with a smile, making a mental note to check that he sleeps well tonight. "But aren't you always all mine?"

Jay nods at you cheekily. "Always, gorgeous."

Your boyfriend turns back to his computer, pulling his headphones back over his ears. You look at him for a few moments, admiring the view.

"Stop staring," he says abruptly with a laugh and you turn away, grabbing your laptop from your bag and flipping it open. 

A few minutes later, Jay's laugh sounds through his bedroom. You steal a glimpse to see him shaking his head and rubbing his hands across his face. "You are relentless!"

You bite your lip to keep from grinning, typing something into the Roblox chat: 

you can't escape me

i don't want to

GIVE ME ALL YOUR ROBUX

wait what no are you robbing me? babe wtf 

i love u :(

if you love me, you'll give me your robux...

i want the violet valkyrie ( •̀ᴗ•́ )و ̑̑

for nonbinary folx that use they/them pronouns :)

"Jay, can we please just go out to dinner or something already? You've been staring at that screen for hours."

You hated nagging Jay, but at this point it seemed more than necessary. Sure, he was enjoying his time off from filming Boys Planet and you were more than happy to have him home in your arms for a couple weeks before he had to leave for the second mission. But when all he wanted to do for the last 48 hours was play Roblox, you were admittedly getting bored... and a tad bit annoyed (... and the teensiest bit jealous).

Jay doesn't respond and you sigh dramatically from where you are laying on his bed, scrolling hopelessly through Instagram as you wait for your boyfriend to pay attention to you.

"Jay!" You call out to him again, but still he doesn't reply. "Jay, I swear to--."

"Who do you swear to, huh?" He says finally, turning to face you with an expectant smirk. "God is not gonna help you pry me away from Roblox. No one is capable of that."

"Could you hear me the whole time?" You ask, already knowing the answer.

He nods, sucking his teeth in contemplation. "I could. Including when you called me a--."

"Alright, alright," you cut him off with a groan. "Sorry for that. But I'm bored! You haven't seen your gorgeous, perfect partner in almost a month and here they are, sitting so stunningly on your bed of all places and all you can do is play Roblox."

Jay just looks more amused. "You're really hyping yourself up there."

You collapse back onto his bed, completely defeated by your smartass boyfriend's annoying wit. You lie there, staring at the ceiling for a few moments before you hear Jay giggle. You feel something hit your arm and search for the culprit next to you, finally picking up what appears to be a crumpled up sticky note. 

You open it, reading what's written messily inside:

you do look perfect XD 

You turn it over to read the back:

even from this really unflattering angle you've provided me <3

"Thanks," you say reluctantly, sighing as you sit back up to look at him.

He's grinning, but your heart breaks a bit at how tired he looks. "Is it okay if I just play for the rest of today? I'm sorry it feels like I'm ignoring you. I'm just exhausted and I feel kind of sick from the time change. I'll literally be all yours tomorrow."

"Of course, Jay. I understand," you agree with a smile, making a mental note to check that he sleeps well tonight. "But aren't you always all mine?"

Jay nods at you cheekily. "Always, gorgeous."

Your boyfriend turns back to his computer, pulling his headphones back over his ears. You look at him for a few moments, admiring the view.

"Stop staring," he says abruptly with a laugh and you turn away, grabbing your laptop from your bag and flipping it open. 

A few minutes later, Jay's laugh sounds through his bedroom. You steal a glimpse to see him shaking his head and rubbing his hands across his face. "You are relentless!"

You bite your lip to keep from grinning, typing something into the Roblox chat: 

you can't escape me

i don't want to

GIVE ME ALL YOUR ROBUX

wait what no are you robbing me? babe wtf 

i love u :(

if you love me, you'll give me your roblux...

i want the violet valkyrie ( •̀ᴗ•́ )و ̑̑

[what-if-i-just-did]

So, the subject of 9/11 has been coming up in my life lately for some reason, and like everything I think about, it quickly got infused with my spn obsession.

Now I'm not American, and I wasn't even alive at the time, but Sam and Dean are and were. And it's the type of thing, where you remember exactly what you were doing when it happened, right? So, what where Sam and Dean doing?

It's 2001. This is the year that Sammy left for Stanford. Not only is it the year Sammy left for Stanford, but it's very, very soon after. The school year starts late august or early september. The Twin Towers crashed on the eleventh of september, so... not exactly early september, but not quite mid, either. Let's say Sammy's been gone about two/three weeks. Now, I figure John kept Dean around for one more case before he sent him away- couldn't look at him, only saw Mary, probably blamed the boy for Sammy leaving. Dean's walking around with this pit in his stomach, thinking he wasn't good enough to keep his family together and some mild panic about not being able to take care of Sam and some exsistential dread about who is he if he's not taking care of Sam. He's probably flirting too hard with all the girls in his cases, choosing the whiskey over the beer just a little too many times. Fingers hovering over the call button at any given time. This is the general state of Dean during this time.

Sam? He's just gotten out of the life. He's just promised himself he's never gonna hunt again, he misses his brother but he's more angry at him, for now. He hasn't made any friends yet, and it's starting to get to that time where his body feels he's been in one place for so long now that his dad is gonna come pick him up soon. He's antsy, but again, angry. Stubborn, smart. It's gonna take a long time for him to feel normal while staying in one place for more than three months at most. He's barely started adjusting to civillian life.

Now John. There's a journal entry for september eleventh. It says he suspects Supernatural interference with this, and he's been on the phone with other hunters all day. He's gonna head down to New York to take a look at things, and he's meeting up with people over there. No reference to Dean or Sam at all, nothing about being worried. The most emotional thing in the entry is the first sentence, "Shaken." .Honestly, it's more than I expected from him. The man has worse emotional regulation than Dean does, and that's saying something. He's still dealing with shoving down whatever form of hate or regret or pride come bubbling up when he thinks about Sam taking off, so he's not thinking about it.

I think he called Dean. I think it was a short conversation, full of "Yes, sir."'s from Dean's side and orders that looked like questions from John's. He says he called to get Dean's opinion of the Supernatural element of the crash, but Dean'll only say what John wants him to and somewhere, he knows it. He does not realise the reason he called Dean is to make sure Dean's alright, and he tries to distract himself from thoughts of Sam by keeping busy.

It's random Tuesday, and Sam probably signed up for some 8 o'clock class, so that would be what he was doing when the planes crashed. Of course, soon, the news got out, and classes got cancelled. Sam's head becomes chaotic, because of course this happens during his first few weeks, that's just his luck, and he's worried, about his dad but mostly about Dean. He calls Bobby, who's fine and tells him his dad's fine too, and Sam thanks him and hangs up, because he doesn't wanna waste the man's time. He and a bunch of other students are huddled around a tv, terrified. Ten AM, the first Tower collapses, and he has no idea what to do. He wants to help, but... what can he do? He wants to call Dean. He doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know what's going to happen. He's terrified. He spends the majority of the Eleventh huddled around that tv, with a bunch of other students he doesn't know as well as he could. It takes one, maybe two days for Sam to decide to get to New York, probably with some other students, so he can help. It's only about two hours away, and the impromptu medical skills he's gotten from patching up his dad and brother may not have helpedn anyone, but he can damn well help clean up.

Dean wakes up between five and six AM, has a beer, cleans his guns. He knows what's happening fairly early for someone who isn't in New York, because he checks the news, wether he's looking for a case or out of boredom or out of habit, and he kinda panics. He thinks, I don't know where dad is and I don't know if Sammy's safe I can't protect him and shit are we under attack what's gonna happen next and he kinda panicks. If he's already on a case, he kinda forgets about it. He stays in his motel room all day, following the news and thinking up worst case scenarios. His dad calls him, shortly, and he manages not to sound scared. His dad suspects demons did this or something, but he doesn't really care. At least he knows his dad's safe, and if he's feeling something about the fact that dad didn't ask him where he was or if he's okay, then he shoves it down and pretends it's not there. Eventually his worry wins out over whatever was stopping him from calling Sam, and he has to cough when Sam picks up because otherwise he might do something else. He can tell by Sammy's tone of voice that Sam's scared, and doesn't once bitch about Dean calling him. Just says he's safe and worried and still at Stanford, and that's good enough for Dean. Dean subcounsiously avoids New York and area for the next year or so, worried about something or other. No one he knows is dead, he should be happy.

Okay, wow. That got longer than I expected it to.

[ejzah]

The Other Shoe, Part 11

***

A week from the day Deeks accepted Sam’s offer, he, Kensi, and Sam all sat in Dr. Nehme’s office to complete the initial part of the donor process. Later today, they’d meet with Deeks’ entire transplant team to discuss the next steps.

“Mr. Hanna, since being a living donor comes with not insignificant risks and possible lifelong changes, there’s some things we need to go over,” Dr. Nehme told Sam.

“It’s Sam. And I already know the risks and I’m not having any second thoughts,” Sam replied calmly. While Kensi and Deeks were both obviously nervous, he seemed perfectly at ease. “Deeks has saved my life more times than I can count, gave me four more years than I would have had with my wife, and is one of the people I trust most. He’s my brother.”

Deeks squeezed Kensi’s hand, touched and overwhelmed by Sam’s words.

“I understand why you want to help him,” Nehme said gently. “It’s a courageous and selfless thing you’re doing. However, I find especially when it comes to friends and family, that sometimes the outcome and risks can be unexpected. I want to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

“Believe me, I’ve done my research. But go ahead; I know you have a protocol to follow.” Sam lifted his hand for the doctor to continue, and Nehme blinked a couple times in bemusement at having his meeting hijacked.

Deeks had a feeling Dr. Nehme was in for a trying time as he met more of the team. He’d have to warm him before he encountered Eric and Nell with their ever mounting pile of nephrology research.

“Ok then. I like to start by discussing the short term risks immediately following surgery. Obviously, there’ll be pain—”

Kensi snorted, pressing her lips together when all three men turned to look at her in sunrise. “Sorry,” she apologized. “Once you get into his medical history, I think you’ll understand.”

“I’ve had a few…incidents with work,” Sam explained vaguely.

“Yes, I noticed,” Nehme commented dryly. “Very impressive. Alright, moving on. There are also risks for infection, pneumonia, blood clotting issues, collapsed lung, issues with the urinary tract, and of course, death. Now, some of these are mitigated by your excellent health, prior injuries aside.”

“Do you have percentages for these risks?” Deeks asked.

“Not at the moment, but I can provide them if you’d like.”

“Relax, Deeks,” Sam said. “I’m not concerned.”

Deeks ignored him. “Thank you, doctor. I’d appreciate that. What about the long term risks. I read that some donors develop high blood pressure afterwards.”

“Yes, that and other chronic conditions are a possibility,” Nehme agreed.

“My family hasn’t had high blood pressure, cholesterol, or diabetes going back four generations,” Sam spoke up again. “And even if that happens, I can handle it better than you can with kidney disease. So hush up, and let the doctor finish.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hanna,” Nehme said wryly. “There are some other details you can look over before we meet with the entire team, but I did want to emphasize that this will likely impact your livelihood. I understand you hold a law enforcement position, and living donors are often restricted from that type of career.”

“I’m aware. I’ve made my peace with that possibility.” Sam glanced back at Deeks as he said it, as though he wanted to make sure Deeks hear and understood him. “I didn’t make this decision lightly or impulsively.”

“Well, then I think that’s everything for now. I’ll see you back with the entire team in an hour.”

***

“So, how’s it feel?” Sam asked as they walked out of the medical complex. After four hours, and multiple meetings, they had a plan to go forward. “In a little less than a month, you’ll have a new kidney. Well, slightly used, but in perfect condition.

Deeks smiled around a yawn; after everything today, he felt completely exhausted. Which wasn’t that usual these days.

“A little surreal,” Deeks admitted. Having resigned himself to being on the donor waiting list, it now felt strange that everything was now moving ahead so quickly.

Beside him, Kensi threaded her fingers through his, leaning into his side.

“I know I already said this, but, uh, thank you, Sam. This is such an incredible sacrifice. A gift.”

“Yes,” Kensi murmured, gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you, Sam.”

“Hey, I can’t have you going on without your shaggier half.” Smirking, he squeezed each other their shoulders, his sobering slightly. “I meant what I said,” he continued, speaking directly to Deeks. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.

“Man, you can’t keep saying things like that,” Deeks muttered, clearing his throat roughly. “The medication has me crying at Folgers commercials.”

“Now, don’t get yourself too worked up, cause I’d do it for anyone on the team,” Sam said teasingly.

“Kilbride?”

Sam grimaced at Deeks suggestion. “Eh, I’d have to consider.”

“What about Rogers?” Kensi asked.

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.” Releasing them with a final squeeze, Sam nodded towards the parking lot. “C’mon, let’s get some food. You’re looking too damn scrawny, Deeks.”

***

A/N: After a very long break, I’m back with this story. I hope you still enjoy it. As always, I try to make the medical elements somewhat realistic, but there will be mistakes or irregularities.