#i am aware this doesn’t fix nearly half the things wrong with the last two seasons but i can’t stop thinking about this

[impulsivesuperrobin]

i finished my merlin rewatch like a week ago but i propose a rambling unrefined idea that totally doesn’t stem from me feeling robbed by the year of round table shenanigans that was time skipped and also my love for alexander vlahos

they should’ve brought Mordred back earlier, like series 4 instead of series 5. we would’ve gotten to know him a lot more especially considering he’s mostly in the background of any episodes he was in in series 5 unless an episode was explicitly about merlin not trusting him. it would give his betrayal of arthur a bigger impact and maybe give him more consistent writing. he could’ve also helped merlin with magic stuff and it would’ve led to more moral conflict on merlin’s part. just: this bright eyed, relatively newer knight who’s been so staunchly standing with arthur and camelot but has also been kept at arms length from the one person in the kingdom he can really connect to for instead of what i think is a few months in-universe is now years in this hypothetical alternate timeline.

also don’t kill lancelot off straight away in series 4. he’s a big part of the mythos despite having been put into the legend later in the timeline, it was such a waste to not have him in the show more. just have them push a horse or smth through the veil instead.

if they did this they could still have done the really big plots in the final two seasons. like you could still have the whole lancelot/gwen affair but just have it be that morgana enchanted both of them. maybe mordred is the one who discovers this and tells arthur bc of his loyalty so you have some kinda connection to the legends. if you still want him to die at some point, you could have him dying after the affair is found out like how the shade does in the original episode. OR he dies at the hands of ghost uther bc he stands for a lot of what uther hates (a commoner who became a knight, loves gwen, supports magic) maybe he dies protecting merlin after uther finds out about his magic or smth.

you could also have arthur lift the ban on magic but if for some reason you still want merlin to keep his magic a secret you can have it be like during the gwen/lancelot thing so this way merlin can’t bring himself to tell arthur that he’s been hiding smth bc he thinks it’ll be read as another betrayal. and you could still have the kara thing leading to mordred’s betrayal bc kara’s crime wasn’t using magic, it was attempted regicide.

and this doesn’t really break anything bc at this point, morgana’s motivations are less about reinstating magic and more about getting the throne. and just because arthur lifts the ban on magic doesn’t mean every magic user will be on his side. why would they be? he doesn’t have magic, he doesn’t know what it’s like, he could very well reinstate the ban whenever he pleases. morgana is magic, a high priestess at that, why wouldn’t she still have supporters?

“but what about arthur’s bane?” i hear you ask. well, hypothetical reader of this long ass post, to that i say: mordred is sent out with a group to find gwaine, percival, and the other missing knights. most of his squadron gets captured by morgana’s men and he decides “maybe i can talk to her” so he decides to go undercover about it. the episode continues as normal with some dialogue tweaks.

also!!! if lancelot and mordred are in camelot as knights at the same time you could have an interaction where merlin is like “this druid kid turned knight is destined to kill arthur, should i kill him/let him die?” and lancelot looks at mordred and is like “are you sure? also no! that is a baby. you can’t kill a baby, merlin.”

boom fixed your show /hj

[i-am-robie]

 Thanks to @coffeeshib​ for letting me steal the amnesia + wife prompt... I couldn’t help myself. This is not what I thought would come out (content warning for canon typical violence and injuries), mostly this is just Kara being a whole entire idiot and Alex facepalming and Lena just being glad Kara is there for her, as her fake wife while she recovers from another quarterly attempt on her life:

“Supergirl! You have to go!” Alex is yelling at her as they roll Lena into the emergency room at National City General, but Kara is rooted to the spot - she can’t look away. Lena is pale, too pale, and there’s blood all over her dress, cuts and scrapes and bruises already blooming on every piece of exposed skin. She isn’t moving, isn’t breathing on her own right now; the only air making its way into her body is through the ambu bag being operated by a nurse, as women and men in scrubs crowd around the moving gurney, shouting orders. And all of that is terrifying enough, but it isn’t the thing that’s paralyzing Kara.

The reason Kara can’t move, the reason that she is barely breathing, is that she can’t hear Lena’s heart.

“Kara.” Alex is closer now, she steps gently in front of her sister, dropping her voice so that no one else can hear her. “Kara, you have to go, they’re getting away.”

“Alex - “ Kara takes a step forward, as if to walk around her sister, to head towards the doors that Lena and the medical team are disappearing behind.

“I know, Kara, I know,” Alex says, gentle and quiet. The doors shut, and Kara’s eyes snap away from it to her sister's face. Alex looks as terrified as Kara feels; she’s wearing an expression Kara has only seen on her before when it’s Kara who’s hurt. “You can’t do anything for her right now. But you can get the guys who did this.” She reaches for Kara’s arm, squeezes - the pressure is grounding. “You need to go. You need to go right now.”

So Kara goes.

__________________

She returns seven hours later, after dropping the men who carried out the attack on Lena at the DEO and declining to help in the interrogation. She nearly killed them, doesn’t think she has the stomach to listen to them talk. She’d still been in the field when the hospital reached out to let her know that they’d been able to stabilize Lena, restarting her heart, but that she hasn’t woken up yet. Alex had relayed the message to her, but now Alex only shakes her head when Kara asks if there are any updates.

Her sister pulls her aside when Kara says that she’s going to hospital to talk to the doctors, telling Kara quietly that she needs to go home and clean off her suit. When Kara looks down, she sees that Alex is right. She’s covered in blood - some of Lena’s, some of it the men she’s apprehended, none of it hers. It makes her want to sob.

But when she gets out of the bathroom after showering, pulling on soft joggers and a hoodie, Kara finds that she can’t settle. Every time she closes her eyes, every time she blinks, she sees Lena’s lifeless body in the rubble that had been her office, can feel Lena in her arms the moment her heart stopped, and the fact that Lena is supposedly stable doesn’t help at all because she hasn’t woken up.

What if she never wakes up?

Suddenly, Kara can’t breathe. Her chest is tight, the walls of her apartment seeming to flex and close in on her. Her heart rate speeds up and she’s taking choked half-breaths, clenching her fists and blinking away tears.

She can’t lose Lena like this, not after she worked so hard to get her back. Kara looks at the clock. It’s just after midnight. This is definitely not visiting-hours at the hospital, and Lena’s not awake anyway - but Kara needs to see her. Needs to know she’s alive.

Needs to hear her heartbeat again.

It’s all of this - the panic, the desperation, the single-minded focus on getting to Lena - that Kara will blame later when she’s trying to explain what happens next in the weeks to come.

The hospital is deserted except for the staff when Kara walks in through the main entrance and goes up to the ICU where she knows Lena will be. She heads straight for the desk at the front of the unit when she arrives, and introduces herself to a nurse before asking if she can see Lena.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Danvers,” the nurse says, and she does sound sorry in the face of Kara’s distress, ��visiting hours aren’t until ten a.m.”

A man in a basketball sweatshirt and jeans walks past them, he scans a small badge that says ‘VISITOR’ in capital letters on a machine at the end of the desk, and nods at the nurse before he disappears down the hallway.

“He’s visiting,’ Kara tries, her voice bordering on frantic, “he’s visiting and I need to see her, you don’t understand, I’m not going to be okay if I don’t see her. Please, just let me...”

“I’m so sorry, honey, it’s immediate family only after hours.”

“I’m her wife,” Kara blurts out. “Please. I’m her wife.”

“You’re her…that’s not in the notes…” The nurse trails off, looking down at the computer in front of her.

“I’m her emergency contact, I’m her wife, please.”

““Oh, yes,” the nurse starts nodding, “I do see that marked here, they called you when she came in. Hmmm...Someone clicked the wrong box under ‘relationship to patient.’” She moves her mouse and clicks on something, then looks back up at Kara. “I’ve fixed that for you, Mrs. Danvers. Let me print you out a visitor badge so you can just scan it in next time.

Kara can feel her panic recede a little. She’s going to see Lena. The nurse takes a blank badge and feeds it into an electronic printer. She hands the finished product to Kara, then gets up and gestures for Kara to follow.

“Now,” the nurse starts as she walks Kara down the dark hallway, the lights on half since it’s night, “she looks a little rough, but I assure you, she’s receiving the very best care there is. Normally you would have been called for consent before we initiated the hypothermia protocol, but since she had an advanced directive on file already, the team went ahead and started it.”

Kara’s barely listening to her, has started to strain her ears for the only sound she’s wanted to hear all day. She nearly collapses in relief when she finds it, below the beeping and the whirring and the buzzing of the machines, unlike any other beat in the building. Lena’s heart is steady, slower than usual, slower than Kara’s ever heard it, but it’s there, rhythmically thumping away.

The nurse brings her to a halt in front of a patient room, Lena’s name on the board outside with a bunch of notations that mean nothing to Kara. She’ll ask Alex to translate.

“She’ll be cold to your touch, that’s alright,” the nurse continues. “The key right now is to try to stop or slow any of the damage she’s suffered as a result of going into cardiac arrest. She lost a lot of blood, and her left femur is broken, along with her right ulna, but there are a lot of reasons to be hopeful. We’ll know more in the forty-eight to seventy-two hours once the protocol is complete.”

Kara refuses to think about most of this. Lena is alive. She’s alive and she’s right on the other side of this door. She clears her throat. “How long...how long can I stay?”

“As long as you like, dear. We’ll round on her in the morning and if you’re still here you can talk to the attending. Also, we’ll be in to check on her, but most of the monitoring is electronic since she’s in a medically induced coma for at least the next two days. There’s a chair that reclines by the bedside, I can grab you a blanket?”

“Please,” Kara says. She stops with her hand on the door, turns back to the nurse. “Thank you.” It comes out wobbly.

“Of course.” The nurse smiles at her. “Go on in, I’ll be right back.”

_____________________

Kara’s woken up by the medical team the next morning during rounds, just as the night shift nurse had promised. She blinks awake and rubs at her eyes, stretching and going to stand up when the team enters.

“Hi Mrs. Danvers, we saw you’d arrived,” a tall woman in a white lab coat says, walking over to Kara on the far side of the room and sticking out her hand to shake. “I’m Dr. Sheldon. We’ll do our best to bring you up to speed now, I’m so glad you were able to make it last night.” She gives Kara a warm smile. “Believe it or not, it really does make a difference when patients are supported, even when they aren’t aware of it.”

The team walks her through their care plan for Lena, how long she’ll have to remain like this before they start the re-warming process, what they’re concerned about and what they’ll be looking for. Her arm and femur have been set and immobilized, but it’s likely that the femur will need to be rebroken and repaired surgically if and when Lena does wake up. Given the invasiveness of the procedure, the delicacy of her present condition, and the unknowns about her cognition, that decision will keep.

When they leave, Kara texts Alex. If the doctors think that it will make a difference for Lena’s recovery to have her here, then she’s going to stay. She’s owed time off anyway. This is the best use of it she can think of.

Two hours later, the door opens, and Kara looks up from the bed, relieved to see Alex standing there, holding a backpack with the food and change of clothing Kara asked her to bring.

“Oh gosh, am I glad to see you,” she says, letting go of Lena’s hand and standing up. She walks around the bed to where Alex has stopped.

“Yeah, yeah,” Alex says, and she’s frowning at Kara. “You have some fucking explaining to do.”

“What?” Kara stops abruptly.

“What?” Alex parrots. She narrows her eyes. “Are you being serious…?” At Kara’s confused expression, Alex rolls her eyes and reaches behind her to shut the door. She walks over to Kara, pulling some take out from the bag and handing it to her, before pulling up one of the swivel chairs a doctor had been using.

Kara takes the food and goes back to her seat.

“So?” Alex prompts.

Kara looks up from the styrofoam container, already having broken apart her chopsticks. “So what?”

“What do you mean...Kara!” Kara freezes, chopsticks frozen in midair clutching a piece of kung pao chicken. There is real frustration and confusion in Alex’s voice. “Imagine my surprise when I sign in at the front desk and the nurse says that my sister-in-law is stable right now. Wanna tell me why the fuck you’re playing house to visit your best friend in the hospital?”

Kara sets the chicken down. “Alex…”

“Kara, you have ten seconds to explain why the entire staff thinks you and Lena are married and the answer had better not actually involve marriage or I swear to god I’ll…”

“They wouldn’t let me in to see her!” Kara bursts out. “I got here last night and I needed to see her, Alex, I needed to. And apparently it’s immediate family only and I panicked, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Alex says, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes. “I know Lena is important to you, but Kara, you could have waited ten hours and seen her.”

“I couldn’t.” Kara looks down at her food, not hungry anymore. “Alex, I couldn’t. I almost had a panic attack after you sent me home last night. I couldn’t wait.”

“Oh kiddo.” Kara looks up at that, all the frustration is gone from Alex’s tone. Her sister lets out a sigh. “Lena’s going to get through this and she’s going to get better. And when she does, you have got to tell her how you feel.”

“She’s my best friend.” Kara’s mouth twists. This is not a new conversation, but the stakes seem higher with Lena in the bed beside her, unconscious and battered.

“She is,” Alex agrees. “But she could be more.”

And oh, Kara wants more with every fiber of her being. But more than that, she wants Lena in her life, wants the easy love and affection they’ve finally gotten back to. And she’s been worried about rocking the boat.

“And by the way,” Alex says, pulling her back to the present, “lying to medical professionals is not a good look.” Kara grimaces and ducks her head.

“I know,” she says, glancing at Lena, the ventilator moving her chest up and down slowly. “But they said it’s good for Lena to have someone here, talking to her, holding her hand, even if she doesn’t know. And you know Lillian isn’t going to do that. And Lex is the one who put her here...just let me do this, okay?”

Alex hums. “You’re so lucky I didn’t blow your secret.”

Kara looks over at her sister. “Thank you.”

“Some of us are actually good at lying under pressure. I’m surprised you didn’t tell them she was married to Supergirl.”

“Well I wasn’t dressed as Supergirl.”

“Thank god for small mercies.”

______________________

Lena doesn’t wake up for the next three days.

In the interim, all of their friends visit, but Alex has already warned them about Kara’s new relationship status and other than Nia’s constant giggles, no one comments. Kara doesn’t leave the hospital. She keeps vigil in the chair, occasionally leaving for short periods of time to go down to the cafeteria, or to stretch her legs.

On day four, Alex convinces her to at least go to the DEO to shower and check in with J’onn about  the duties he and M’gann are covering for her.

She’s just getting ready to head back to the hospital when her phone rings.

“Mrs. Danvers?”

“Yes?”

“This is Dr. Sheldon. Your wife has woken up and she’s being evaluated now by neuro, but we wanted you to know first thing.”

Kara has to sit down in the middle of the DEO, the concrete hard and probably cold underneath her, but it’s better than the alternative, which was just going to be letting her knees give out. She closes her eyes tightly. “I’ll be right there.”

She flies back to the hospital, landing in a nearby alley and running into the building with just a touch of superspeed. She makes it onto the unit just in time to see Lena’s care team leaving her room and turning down the hall to the next patient, and as much as Kara wants to get an update from them, the urge to see Lena herself is too much. She walks through the open door and nearly runs into a nurse, who’s moving some of the equipment out, now that Lena is conscious. It’s a nurse Kara is familiar with, her name is Bernadette, she’s been on shift the last two days. Her eyes light up when she sees Kara.

“Your wife is here,” Bernadette says, over her shoulder before Kara can stop her. She smiles warmly as she turns back to Kara. “I’ll leave you two alone.” She slips past Kara and into the hallway.

“My…” Lena’s eyes go wide as she sees Kara standing helpless in front of the now closed door.  Her voice is still scratchy from the extubation. Her hair is greasy and all over the pillow, her right arm and left leg are completely immobilized, there are wires running through the top of her hospital gown, her whole body a tapestry of garish purples and greens and stitches. But she’s awake. Kara has never felt more relieved in her entire life, but it turns to ice in her veins as Lena struggles to speak, clearly confused. “My - my - oh god.” Her eyes start to fill with tears and Kara panics.

“No, Lena, no, it’s not - “ she starts saying, taking quick steps towards the bed.

“Oh god, oh god, Kara,” Lena chokes out, twisting a little in bed and flinching, “they said I only lost a week, they said my memory seemed okay, that there’s no - ”

“We’re not married!” Kara yells out trying to stop the clear spiral Lena is on. Lena’s eyes go wide, but she does stop looking like she’s about to start sobbing. “We’re not married,” Kara repeats, in a normal voice this time.

“Then why…”

Kara winces. “I might have told the hospital staff that we are. Married, that is.”

Lena looks wary, small and weak and confused in the bed, and she’s frowning a little at Kara now. It doesn’t even matter, though, because the feeling of seeing Lena awake is returning with every word she speaks, and Kara feels something in her chest open up. She has to resist walking over and climbing into bed with her and holding her, knows she needs to explain first.

In every single way Kara played out this moment all week in her head, not once is this how it went - she wants Lena to be smiling, to be okay, or at least as okay as one can be after coming out of a medically induced coma, with a number of near catastrophic injuries still to be dealt with. She certainly didn’t imagine she’d be contributing to the disorientation and isolation Lena’s projecting right now.

Lena’s eyes dart around Kara’s face. Kara takes a deep breath.

“The first night you were here, I had to see you.” She starts twisting her hands together, takes another step towards the bed. “And it was late, and even though I’m your emergency contact, they said no after hours visitors except for family and I panicked.”

“You panicked.” Lena sounds like she’s unsure how panic would lead someone to pretend to be married, and honestly, now that Kara is having to explain the decision, she’s not really sure either. The only thing she knows is that she doesn’t regret it. Would do it again, in fact.

“I knew if they thought I was your wife, they’d let me in to see you. And Lena, I had to see you. I had to. You were - “ Kara cuts herself off, can feel the tightness in her chest, closing around her heart like a vice. “Your heart stopped before I could get you to the hospital. The last time I saw you, I didn’t know if - “ A small sob works it’s way up her throat, and Kara’s eyes are burning. She feels a tear break free from her lashes. “I needed to hear your heartbeat.”

An unreadable expression crosses Lena’s face as Kara takes the seat by her bed that she’s occupied for the last week. To Kara’s great relief, Lena reaches out her left hand, lays it on the edge of the bed, palm up. Kara grabs for it with both of her own.

And Rao, the feeling of Lena’s hand, still cold, but undeniably warmer, squeezing back when Kara grips tightly - she doesn’t know how to describe this feeling. It starts a fresh wave of sobs in her, of relief this time, rather than terror.

“Hey,” Lena says, punctuating it with another flex of her fingers around the back of Kara’s hand. “Hey, I’m okay. I’m here. You saved me. I’m okay, see?”

And really, that just makes Kara cry harder.

“I’m supposed to be comforting you,” she chokes out.

“You are,” Lena says, disengaging their hands and bringing her fingers up to Kara’s face, wiping at the tears. “You are, god, I was just thrown. I thought...I thought, it doesn't matter what I thought.” She tries to laugh and ends up flinching.

“Oh no, are you okay, should I call the doctor?” Kara immediately reaches forward, lays a hand on Lena’s hip above the sheets and wipes furiously at her face with the other.

“It’s the broken ribs,” Lena grits out, jaw flexing as she drops her hand away from Kara’s face and back onto the bed. “Fuck that hurts.”

“I’m just so glad you’re awake,” Kara says, leaning forward again and brushing some of the hair out of Lena’s face, trying to tuck it behind her ear.

That’s how Bernadette finds them when she returns, Kara gently touching Lena’s forehead, and rubbing her hip, the two of them so close that Kara might as well climb in next to her.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says, smiling at the two of them. “The attending would like to pop in with the head of ortho to talk about surgical options for your femur. Should I tell her to come back later?”

Kara moves to stand up, she doesn’t want to delay anything about Lena’s care, but Lena reaches for her hand again, and Kara’s powerless to do anything but lace their fingers together and sit back down.

Lena takes a shallow breath, “Can my wife stay?”

My wife. Hearing it come out of Lena’s mouth does something to Kara that feels a little dangerous, makes the room spin a bit. Her heart feels as if it’s expanding and being squeezed at the same time. My wife. My wife. My wife.

“Of course, she’s more than welcome to stay,” Bernadette says. “It’s probably a good idea, actually, now that there are care decisions to make.”

_____________________

“Let me get this straight,” Alex says, her head in her hands. Kelly reaches out to rub her back. “You’re still pretending to be married, and Lena is playing along with it?”

Kara nods. They’re sitting down in the cafeteria while Lena gets a sponge bath, something that Kara is trying very hard not to think about. It’s been nearly three weeks, one major operation, and thankfully no more complications.

And Kara has been here through it all. She’s started leaving for blocks of time during the day (it turns out she didn’t have a month worth of vacation saved up and Alex had nearly had an aneurysm when Kara asked if she was allowed to use family medical leave act time), but she’s spent nearly every night in the hospital with Lena since. The medical team loves them, has started talking to them about how devoted Kara is. Maybe Kara’s playing into it a little, bringing flowers, and Lena’s favorite foods, and always, always touching her in some way when she’s in the room.

“You know they’re going to build her discharge plan around you, right?” Alex squints at her. “Have you considered that?”

Kara flushes. “Actually,” she brings a hand up to rub at the back of her neck, adjusts her glasses for good measure, “we’ve agreed that I’ll just move in with Lena for a little while. She can hire someone during the day, but I’ll be around at night and I can help with the rehab. So, um, it’s fine.”

“You’re both fucking idiots.”

_________________

“I’ve been home for an hour and I’m already regretting every choice in my life that’s lead to this point. This is humiliating.”

“Oh my gosh,” Kara laughs, “no it isn’t.”

“Kara, you’re washing my hair in the kitchen sink because I can’t even wash myself right now with this fucking cast and brace on.”

Kara grins, squirting shampoo onto her hand and setting the bottle down on the marble countertop. Lena is sitting in the wheelchair, left leg propped up on the supports. She’s leaning back with her head over the edge of the sink, rolled up towels supporting her neck and her eyes are closed. She’s frowning, but it’s the frown she wears when she’s trying too hard not to smile. It makes Kara want to kiss it right off her face. She takes a deep breath, instead.

Kara is just so grateful that she gets to see Lena like this, hair stringy from the hospital, oversize sweatshirt with one sleeve bunched up over the top of the lime green cast on her right arm. The post-surgical femoral fracture brace looks uncomfortable, but Lena hasn’t complained about it at all. So, fine, maybe this nearly debilitating urge to kiss her best friend, to ask her if the last few weeks could be real, instead of fake (not the marriage part, not now, anyway, but the relationship part sure), is getting more and more intrusive. That doesn’t mean Kara can’t continue to ignore it until Lena’s better.

She finishes washing Lena’s hair and if she takes extra time massaging in the conditioner and making sure the water temperature is absolutely perfect, well, that’s just being a good caretaker. She sets Lena up in her bedroom, then goes back to the kitchen to clean up 

“Ok, Lena,” Kara says, walking back into the bedroom. “You officially have zero edible things in your apartment. I’m going to make a list and head to the grocery store for supplies, ok? Your next meds can’t be taken on an empty stomach.”

“You’re underestimating my iron constitution.” Lena frowns unhappily in bed. “We can just order some, you don’t have to go.”

“I’ll be back in a jiffy, okay?” Kara smiles at Lena.

Sure, they could order groceries, but she wants to go get them, to pick them out herself, and bring them back. It makes her feel so good to be able to do things like this: wash her hair, go get groceries, make her something to eat. The best part of this whole terrible ordeal is that she’s gotten to take care of Lena, to show her, not just tell her, how important she is to Kara. It warms her up from the inside out.

“You sure I’m allowed to be by myself?” Lena teases, breaking Kara out of her thoughts. “I haven’t been left to my own devices in weeks now. Just imagine all the trouble I could get into.” She raises an eyebrow.

Kara laughs and shakes her head, drawn closer to Lena like a magnet. Lena’s tucked into bed, leg propped up on pillows to keep the brace comfortable, two books on the nightstand beside her, a glass of water within easy reach, and the next round of medications in a small porcelain bowl that Kara repurposed from the kitchen. Her hair is still wet from being washed, and although there are dark circles around her eyes, and her cheekbones are too sharp from the weight she lost in the hospital, Kara doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything more beautiful than Lena right at this exact moment.

She walks over to the bed and sits down next to Lena, reaching over to move the glass of water back from the edge of the nightstand and onto a coaster. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll bet you a whole order of potstickers that you’re asleep when I get back.” She reaches across Lena, adjusts the towel covering up her pillow to keep it from getting wet.

When she pulls back slightly, she’s startled by how close Lena’s face is to hers. Lena is looking at her with such unadulterated fondness, that Kara can’t help reaching up and tucking a wet tendril of hair back behind Lena’s ear. “I’ll be back so soon you won’t even know I was gone.”

“I always know when you’re gone,” Lena says, the corners of her mouth lifting up, her eyes crinkling lightly. Kara’s hand has drifted from Lena’s ear to the back of her head, her thumb brushing gently at the soft skin just below Lena’s jaw.

When she retells the story of what happens next later, Alex will roll her eyes and mutter under hear breath, but Kara will swear this is the truth: without even thinking about it, she leans forward and kisses Lena on the lips, quick and soft, then stands and turns to go, pulling her phone out of her pocket so she can start making a grocery list.

“You can drop the act now,” Lena says, a little stiffly.

“Huh?” Kara whips around, more at Lena’s tone than at her words, and looks at her in confusion. Lena’s face is bright red.

“Kara, we’re - I’m home, there’s no hospital staff to convince anymore.” She sounds a little upset and Kara, feels her forehead crinkle as she replays the last several seconds in her head: she moved Lena’s water, adjusted the towel behind her head, smoothed Lena’s hair, and…

“Oh Rao, oh gosh.” She takes a step forward, then back abruptly, as she realizes that she’s just kissed Lena on the mouth. She puts one hand on her forehead and the other on her hip, spins in a small circle. “Lena, I’m so sorry. I didn’t - ”

“It’s fine,” Lena says, her voice sounding calm and even now that Kara is having a meltdown, but her heart is doing some sort of high speed gallop in her chest and it’s giving Kara the impression that this is not actually fine.

Oh no, oh gosh… “Lena, I’m sorry, - ”

“I get it.” Lena cuts her off, holding up a hand to stop her. “The whole act, it’s a hard habit to break.” She drops her hand to the bed and laughs lightly, picking at the blanket. “Honestly I’m surprised we made it this long without accidentally doing that.”

“Accidently. Yes.” Kara’s nodding so hard, she feels like her head might come off. “It was an accident.” That might be a convenient way of putting it, but it doesn’t change the fact that Kara’s been wanting to kiss Lena, wants it to be as un-accidental as possible. And aren’t accidents things like tripping on the carpet, or spilling a drink at dinner? She may not have been thinking when she did it, but Kara knows there’s nothing accidental about that kiss.

But Lena’s giving her an out, and Kara can’t bring herself not to take it.

“I’m just going to - ” Kara gestures over her shoulder and then she flees.

“Alex, I kissed her.” Kara’s made it outside the apartment, but her heart hasn’t slowed down. She didn’t even bother making a list after walking out of Lena’s bedroom, just went straight to the elevator, dialing Alex before she’d even hit the lobby. Her stomach is squirmy, she feels like she might throw up.

“Finally,” Alex says, letting out what might be a relieved sigh.

“What do you mean finally?” Kara feels hysterical.

“I mean finally, idiot. Watching the two of you for the past three weeks has been the most painful experience of my life, I’m glad you finally did it.”

“She thinks it was because of the act!” Kara nearly yells. A man walking by looks at her, narrowing his eyes and giving her a wide berth. “She thinks it’s because of the act, Alex!”

There’s silence on the other end of the line for a moment.

“Kara Danvers, are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“No,” Kara wails. “I didn’t even mean to do it! Or, well. I meant to do it, but I didn’t know I was doing it. I was making sure she had everything she needed and then I was leaving to go to the grocery story and somewhere in the middle I kissed her! And she got kinda upset even though she said she wasn’t and she says it’s fine because it was an accident. And it was an accident, at least in the sense that I wasn’t thinking when I did it and god I didn’t even ask if she wanted to kiss me, but I meant it, Alex, I meant it.”

Kara can picture Alex right now: that tight, unhappy expression on her face, fingers pinching her nose between her eyes.

“Okay, I swore to Kelly I wasn’t going to do this, but that was before you lost your damn mind and kissed her.” Kara can hear Alex take a deep breath. “You need to go back upstairs right now and confess, Kara.”

“What?” Kara practically screeches. She spins in a circle. “No, this isn’t the right time. I’m supposed to be helping her, I’m supposed to be taking care of her, I can’t put this on her right now. What if she doesn’t feel the same, what if this ruins everything, what if - “

Thankfully Alex cuts her off. “That argument worked before you kissed her and decided to let her believe you didn’t mean to do it. And before you argue with me, you might not have known you were doing it, but you absolutely meant to do it, Kara.”

Kara is now facing Lena’s apartment and gently knocking her forehead against it.

“Kara, I heard that crack, stop headbutting the building.” Kara stops, keeps her forehead pressed to the cool limestone. Alex pauses, and her voice is gentle when she continues. “You gotta tell her, kiddo. You’ve been down the whole lying path with her before and while I don’t think this is the kind of lie that would cause her to try removing our free-will again, I do think that you guys decided on honesty as your way forward. You either own that, or you don’t.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right.” Kara squeezes her eyes shut. “If we can get through that, we can get through this.”

“That’s the spirit. And hey, if for some reason things don’t go well and you feel like you can’t stay with her? Kelly or I would be happy to swap out for you tonight. Just in case you need some space.”

“Thanks, Alex.”

“But Kara, I think you’re gonna be just fine.”

Kara doesn’t feel much better when she hangs up with Alex, but she knows her sister is right. She’s got to tell Lena.

And to be honest, Kara can’t imagine a world in which Lena would be upset with her for having feelings, regardless of whether they’re reciprocated. They’ll be able to work through this, even if it hurts for a while. She’s had friends fall in love with her before, and she’s always been able to keep them as friends afterwards. God, maybe Winn has some advice for me, she thinks.

So Kara takes a deep breath and goes back inside. Groceries can wait.

She’s trembling when she lets herself back into Lena’s apartment. It’s nerves, anticipation more than anything. She’s about to confess something that she can’t, won’t take back and it will change things between them, even if only for a while.

Lena looks up from her book when Kara makes her way back into the bedroom. She sets it down beside her hip on the bed and cocks her head.

“Well that was fast. Did Supergirl get my groceries?” She gives Kara a smile.

“I’m in love with you.” Well that’s one way to start this conversation. “And I didn’t kiss you accidentally.”

Lena’s smile drops, her eyes widening in surprise. Everything about her seems to freeze.

“Before you say anything, I need to get this out. I’m not telling you because I’m expecting anything. I don’t want anything to change, I mean, I do, clearly, but I don’t if that’s not what you want.” Kara squeezes her eyes shut and looks at the ceiling. She really should have thought this through. “I’ve known for a while, actually, I was just worried about what it might mean, if you didn’t feel the same way.” She drops her gaze back to Lena. “But then you almost died. And I pretended to be your wife. And I was planning on telling you once you’re totally recovered. Except then I kissed you without even thinking about it and I can’t lie about this, Lena. It isn’t good for either of us. So. Yeah. Just. Tell me what you need.”

Lena’s looking at her with an expression Kara can’t read, but she doesn’t look unhappy, or afraid, or upset...

“Kara, do you remember when that nurse told me my wife had shown up?”

“Yes,” Kara says, frowning, because she doesn't understand where Lena is going with this. “Of course I do, you were panicked that you’d experienced severe brain damage.”

Lena shakes her head, pats the space on the bed next to her.

Kara feels a weight lift from her shoulders: no matter how this goes, if Lena is asking her to come closer, then they’re going to be okay. She walks across the carpet.

“You’re right,” Lena says as Kara comes closer, “I was worried, but that wasn’t the only thing that made me panic.”

“What else was it?” Kara sits down and looks at her lap, bringing her hands together to fidget. She can feel Lena’s body heat next to her, but she doesn’t want to reach out unless Lena does it first. “Was it the idea of being married to me?” She laughs. She can laugh about this.

“No, darling,” Lena says. She reaches for Kara’s hands, smoothing her fingers across them to still them. Darling, that’s a good sign, right? “Kara, as terrified as I was that there was more damage, my first thought was that somehow I’d lost memories of us: of you falling in love with me, of dating and first kisses and someone proposing and a wedding.” Lena pauses and Kara stares at their joined hands. She hears more than sees Lena take a deep breath and let it out. “I’ve been in love with you for so long it broke my heart to think that those things had happened and I couldn’t remember them.”

Kara whips her head around to look at Lena. Her best friend is smiling, and her eyes are a little wet like maybe she’s overwhelmed and might cry and oh gosh, does Kara understand that feeling right now.

“You love me,” she says, feeling her own eyes start to fill with tears.

Lena nods.

“You’re in love with me,” Kara can’t help clarifying. This is something out of a dream.

Lena nods again.

“Can I…” Kara reaches for Lena’s face, trails her knuckles down Lena’s cheek and watches in awe as Lena leans into the touch.  “Can I kiss you now?”

“Yes,” Lena breaths out, smiling, and it’s blinding. “But only if it’s not an accident.”

[skelanonymous]

First - Killermare

Words - 3.1k

I decided I needed more happy Killermare, even though I’ve literally written a ton of it. I should write literally anybody else next…>_>

-

Killer entered into the kitchen with a tense back, casually perusing the fridge with a wince. He’d taken a hard hit on the side during the last fight with the Stars. Probably cracked something, but nothing was falling off so he didn’t bother too much with it. His determination would hold him together.

He grabbed the carton of milk and took a swig straight from the container.

“Other people use that you know.” 

“Too bad for them.” Killer turned around to grin at Nightmare. He’d recently gotten into his Boss’s VERY good graces and no broken bones were going to keep him out of it. “Well if it isn’t small, dark, and Lovecraftian.” That got a chuckle, a rare thing to hear from Nightmare. It made his target soul ache something awful, hearing that cute sound and not being able to do anything with it, not nearly close enough to Nightmare to capitalize on the opportunity. 

“As good with words as with a knife, hmmm?” Nightmare stood in his space, touching along his arm unconsciously. Killer tried to keep his mouth in check.

“I’m also pretty good with my hands.” God damn idiot brain, hitting on his fucking god level boss. There’s fucking with people and there’s shooting out of your league. He just smiled through it. “Whatcha need Boss?”

“I’m moving a wing of the library and needed an extra pair of hands.” 

“And you knew how talented mine were, so you came right to me?” Killer slid the milk back into the refrigerator. He leaned back on his left side to keep from agitating the right, elbows on the counter, a picture of relaxation. 

“Something like that.” Nightmare laughed again. Killer held in the pleased sigh, standing up, crossing his arms behind his head very delicately.

“I’m all yours Boss. Lead the way.”

They wandered down the hall directly towards the library, Killer keeping step just behind Nightmare, letting him stare all he wanted without being caught. Those strong thick tentacles swayed around his back, framing his ass for Killer to appreciate along the lengthy hallways. He rarely went over this way unless Night summoned him here.

Nightmare already cleared small sections away, stacks of meticulously organized books littering the floor. He gestured to a pile.

“Start here and work clockwise. I’ve laid it out to make it easy enough for you to do without me babysitting your progress.” 

So began replacing them on the shelves. Killer hid the winces of pain from stooping and bending fairly well, silently moving until he hit a tiny snag. He reached up to place one on a tall shelf when he flinched into the wall.

His body hit the shelves and dislodged an avalanche onto his head. He almost moved away before one smashed into his cracked ribs.

"Son of a fucking bitch!

"Killer!" Nightmare raced over to unbury him. The tentacles made quick work of them, stacking haphazardly off of Killer’s winded form. His hands were on Killer’s forehead in an instant, checking for cracks, diligently looking over him after hearing the cry of pain. Killer groaned angrily when he was cleared off.

“Fucking Blue and his fucking blue attacks. Ugh.” Killer couldn’t sit up, pain still blossoming fresh in his chest. Night paused in looking him over.

“Were you wounded on the last mission?” His single eye penetrated his two, pinning him under it until he relented, grimacing with a gesture to his ribs he’d been carefully avoiding.

“Yeah. Stars got a good hit in on me. Was fine until the book hit it though.”

“Clearly not, considering you lost your usually impeccable balance!” Nightmare’s tentacles wrapped Killer up to get him standing without making him bend the wounded area. “Come with me. Healing magic is easiest when accompanied by intent, wrapping it will make it easier.” He grumbled and took off towards his room, Killer hobbling after to keep up. 

Walking into Night’s room changed the mood. He suddenly felt out of place, surrounded by luxurious purples tones and dark wooden furniture. Night had gestured to the bed before wandering into his private bathroom.

His bed was comfortable. Killer’s nerves ruined any enjoyment of getting into Nightmare’s room, jittery from the moment he was directed to sit on the plush comforters. Nightmare returned with a roll of bandages and an unimpressed look.

“I thought you were smart enough to know how to care for yourself.” He moved in front of him. “Take off your jacket and t-shirt.”

Thankfully Night was too focused on unraveling the bandages and gathering antiseptic to see Killer’s face go red, suddenly very aware that he was in his boss’s room, said boss’s hands about to be on him after a request to undress. He pulled them off smooth and casual, but his grin practically cracked at the edges. 

“What the hell?”

Night’s hands hovered over the cracked ribs, flinching back at the small break that Killer had dislodged from its setting.

“Yeah, it’s not great.”

“Killer!” Night growled at him. “Why didn’t you seek treatment before THIS?!” He gestured to the crumbled ends of the break from grinding against each other. “This is entirely fucking curable! It’s ridiculous you didn’t, at the very least, wrap this!” The growl travelled up his body, baring his teeth at him, tentacles cracking like whips at his back. Killer didn’t move, but his voice took on a nervous edge.

“I’m a dead man walking boss. I’ll just keep going forward until I can’t anymore.” Healing magic was taxing. All of them were terrible at it besides Nightmare, who never offered, only taking over when he was clearly needed. They never want to bother him to ask for it.

“I could’ve fixed this sooner.” Nightmare pinched the bone into place with a click. Killer gasped in pain. He wrapped it tightly, uncaring about Killer’s harsh pants while doing so.

“We only take it when you offer. None of us wanna annoy you.” Fuck, he was so falling out of Night’s good graces for this. After he worked so hard, some dumb break was gunna take him back to zero. He fisted the plush comforter. “Your time is important.”

“To whom, when you dust from accumulating injuries that I can’t see?” 

“The multiverse I guess.”

“The multiverse doesn’t give a shit about me or my time. This is all I have.” Nightmare pinched his nasal crest after finishing. “You serve me, but I cannot do this alone. Your lives are valuable to me. I thought you, especially, would know this Killer."

"Why do ya say that?"

"Because of how important you are to me." Nightmare's hands grew warm with gathering magic, mending now that everything would heal correctly. "All of you are valuable, like the supporting beams holding the castle aloft, but you are more integral. You are the center pillar. As my right hand, as long as you stand, I have faith in my ability to recover. I believed you to be my most valuable asset, but if you’re going to just let yourself turn to dust, then I’ll-”

“No!” Killer’s soul snapped into a heart shape, eyelights flickering in time to meet Night’s inquisitive gaze. “I’m not dusting on you just like that.” He grabbed Night’s warm hands away, taking them up in front of his startled cyan face.

“K-Killer?” He brought them up and kissed the phalanges as one would do to their king.

“If you’ll continue as long as I am by your side, then I’ll remain with you until I die.” Killer’s sockets went half-lidded, struck by the emotion his inverted soul let in, his silly crush amplified ten-fold by Nightmare’s faith in him. He’d never seen his boss look so confused, eye wide and frantically searching Killer’s. “What’s wrong boss?” 

“You-I’m...what’s-why all-”Killer’s hands had long since gained a mind of their own. He slid wordlessy off the bed into Night’s space, silencing him with a casual touch on the cheek, fondly caressing the bright greenish glow. 

“Shouldn’t have told me I meant so much to ya cuz I’m gunna take that to heart.” Then he swooped down to kiss him.

Killer pressed their teeth together firmly, tilting their heads to line up for deepening the kiss. He relaxed into it, holding Nightmare close while getting a taste, slowly touching and teasing Night's tongue with playful flicks. He could feel the very hesitant kiss back before they parted for air.

"Feeling shy Nightmare? Don't worry. I'm bold enough for the both of us." 

Killer laughed into the next one, leaning into it to force Night's response, groaning at the feel of the shy tongue in his own mouth. He could feel his small partner shaking in his arms when they broke apart.

"Killer…" It must've been awhile since Nightmare got with anyone to sound so needy. 

"I'm here. Wanna have some fun Nightmare?" He whispered it into Night's ear, smiling at the trembling he could still feel against his ribs, lost in the heady feeling. Night devolved to breathy pants, which Killer dove into before he felt tentacles lay solidly against his chest to push him back.

"Killer, wait, I can't-I'm not prepared for this." Night's flushed face told a different story, but he didn't fancy being killed.

"I've got lots of patience. I'll just make you feel good until you are." Killer's mouth slid down to Night’s neck, sucking on the bone to the high pitched whines, sending all his thoughts south, ecto eager to form at the slightest provocation. His haze broke under the Night's firm push out of his space. 

"Killer, stop." 

His back connected with the bed, wincing from his still (though much less so) wounded bones. The rejection stung worse.

"Sorry boss." That HURT, knowing he'd fucked up pretty royally. God, he'd forced himself on Nightmare right after he'd been given a shred of attention. He was such a fucking idiot. "I'll keep my hands to myself." His eyelights poofed decisively. He almost couldn't bear to look at him, but he needed to see Nightmare's face at least once.

Night hadn't stopped shaking. His tentacles attempted to hide him from view, face fully blushing, head still tilted away from the fresh mark Killer had left, noises leaking unfiltered from his trembling body. 

"S-s-sorry. I-I c-can't handle it-t. Too much." Killer grabbed his shirt and hoodie from where it lay beside him.

"I'll leave you be. Maybe annoy Horror or something, I don't know." Anything to not be here. Playing it off would make it easier to take, even if it meant no second chances with Night. He slid his clothes back on. "Come find me when you got the next mission lined up."

A tentacle wrapped around his ankle before he took the first step.

"Why are you leaving?" His voice was airy, light, breathless.

"I'm a dick, but not that much of one. I went too far, I'll give ya some space for a day." He shrugged, a drop of hate splashing on the floor. He'd describe his emotions as 'in shambles.'

"I don't want space. I just need a minute."

"I don't know Boss. Shouldn't rush that kind of thing." He could stomach taking advantage of people outside of this castle, but betraying the ones inside it, those who guarded his back and knew where he slept (and cared about but he'd never tell them that), it turned his mood sour. It ate at the pit of his stomach and it’d eat through him entirely if he didn’t get the fuck outta dodge.

"What thing?"

"Being assaulted, harassed, whatever you wanna call it. And being the person who forced themselves upon ya, don't think I should be here." He tugged at his ankle again, but Night hadn't relented.

"Killer, I didn't stop you because I didn't want it." He avoided Killer's eye roll.

"Uh-huh." Killer really didn't want to resort to cutting off the tentacle. It wouldn't hurt him, but it'd suck and prove he was an asshole, so he pulled harder. "Say I believed you. Then why?"

"Killer, I…" Nightmare looked like he wanted the carpet to swallow him. "I've never kissed anyone."

"...What?" He stopped struggling against his restraint. "There's no way. You're telling me, five hundred years of existing, and you hadn’t had your first kiss?"

"Yes." And Killer commited a cardinal sin without thinking.

"But Dream definit-" Is fucking Ink or Blue or Cross or all of them, he wanted to say, but Night was quicker.

"I am aware." Nightmare's glare was potent, but Killer's confusion was denser. "But he is lovable, unlike me."

"You're lovable." It slipped out in-between all the mental gymnastics. He wasn't sure he wasn't being fucked with still. "So you haven't…" How to phrase this delicately, he wondered. "...slept with anyone?"

"Killer, I haven't kissed anyone. Why the fuck would I have slept with someone?"

"You gotta know how unbelievable this is." Talking wouldn't reassure him, so Killer leaned down into Night's space again, stopping just shy of his teeth. "You're telling me that someone as fuckable as you's been ignored all this time?" Nightmare's single eye widened with the flush. Killer smoothed out his tone, dropping it low to hold him at the edge of his words. "Nice juicy peach you are, no one's tried to pluck you up? I can barely look without salivatin'." He lapped at his teeth, careful to keep his hands in safe places. He wanted to see how inexperienced Night really was without ruining his chances forever.

Nightmare's tentacles laid limp behind him, all the tremors coming from his real form, whose hands had raised to snatch at the shoulders of his hoodie, gripping tightly when he caved under the languid licks at his mouth by letting Killer in.

Patience led this one, Killer carefully taking over every inch of Night's mouth. The slower pace served to work up his partner faster. Nightmare's calmness abated, tentacles waking up to come and clutch at Killer's form, Night crawling onto him, transforming the kiss into a frenzy of desire that Killer surrendered to, as long as Night was leading the way. The tentacles touched plenty of hot spots, but he kept his own hands on innocent ground. Night's confidence could crumble under too much of a good thing.

"Take a breath, Nightlight." Night shivered against him after breaking apart, so much sensation his body was unaccustomed to. "I gotcha." Killer rubbed soothing circles into his back.

"I can see how that could escalate." Nightmare finally got out. It made him laugh. 

"Yeah. It's pretty easy to get carried away." He kissed the top of his skull before laughing again. "You give handsy a whole new meaning though."

"Sorry." The sweet little monster in his arms barely resembled his boss, hiding his face by burrowing into Killer's chest. 

"Don't be. It's pretty hot." His lewd grin made Night blush again.

"I would've thought my corruption would be the ugliest and most disgusting part of me." He punctuated it with said appendages undulating behind him.

"Boss, I just kissed the fuck outta you and I've never known you without it. Trust me, not a deterrent." Killer stroked down one to make Night's spine curl. "If you learn how to use ‘em right, they're pretty useful in the bedroom."

"Don't call me Boss when we're like this." Night whispered softly. His face caught between a glare and something soft, he was starting to come back to his senses.

"That might be too much power Nightlight." He grinned at the tiny glare. "How was your first kiss then?"

"Nice." Nightmare sighed as he sat up, unfurling all the aching limbs. The usual persona rebuilt itself. But now, Killer knew how easy the composure was to break. "I'd like to repeat it sometime."

"I'm all yours." He'd never get sick of that face if Night was willing to let him see it. They rose together from the floor, Night reestablishing the space between them.

"I'll have to talk to the others about not bringing injuries to me. Time spent on them is not time wasted." He straightened his sweater, presentable before opening the door. Killer choked the urge down to mess it up again. “The idea that you would’ve rather lost a rib than speak to me is absurd.”

"Yeah." They better not take his catch. Fuck them.

"I'm not going to kiss them Killer. The sour look is atrocious on you." Night's brow raised. Caught red handed. Killer laughed.

"Can you blame me? I know the kind of filthy degenerates who live here; I'm one of them. I don't want 'em to take a bite outta you." Subconsciously, he shook his sleeves to feel the weight of his multiple blades.

"You act as though there are many vying for my affection. People used to throw rocks at me for walking by their homes, and now they try to kill me. I'm not surrounded by suitors." He said this while walking down the hall towards the still upturned library. His strides were confident, power inherent is his manner, carried with a royal grace that Killer could only ape with minimal success. The only reason he wasn't swamped with competition was everyone had been too chickenshit to make a move. 

"Ya also thought I wasn't interested and nothing has ever been less fucking true." He pushed his luck a little further, stepping in front of Nightmare to kiss him quickly. The chaste thing was almost too much considering the shakes. "I'll just keep doing it if ya don't say anything."

“We need to reassemble the library.” He huffed through, walking by with weak knees, Killer trailing just behind. “This wasn’t an invitation to touch me at all times.”

“Only some of the time then?” 

“Shut up.” He humored the request once inside Night’s treasured library. 

Back to quietly organizing, clockwise, his talented hands flipped them onto shelves with ease now that he wasn’t hindered by aches. It was quick and effortless like it should have been the first time. He’d begun humming by the time he placed the last one, not expecting the hand on his shoulder but welcoming it as he had earlier the same day. Night silently pressed something into his palm.

“I trust I don’t need to explain.” Killer’s fingers closed over the silver key, smiling and spinning it on his pointer while leaving the now neat library. Guess his league was a lot wider than he thought. It wasn’t an invitation to his bed, but the invitation to his heart was just as good.

“Gotcha loud and clear boss. See ya soon.” 

-

They CUTE.

[willwriteforhugs]

in vino veritas- song mingi (part two)

bestfriend! mingi x reader- part two of two !

~childhood friends to lovers au~

word count: 2.1k

genre: angst, fluff

synopsis: after your lifelong best-friend confesses his love for you, the two of you have to deal with the emotional (and very embarrassing) repercussions.

warnings: drunkenness, a minor hangover

if you haven’t read part one, please do so! find it here :)

a/n: HUGE apologies about how long this conclusion took! i took a *long* break from writing right after i said i’d write this... *face palm* but i still had a couple of people who really wanted to see this, and i’m hoping they still do! (or did they give up on me...?) anyways, thank you so much for the continued support, even while i was absent. happy reading, and i hope your heart doesn’t break in two<3

- allison

- - -

“please. please love me again.”

the words are like a smack to the face. they sting, the same way a slap does- and for a moment you can’t breathe. in that moment, you wish he had just hit you, because it would feel nearly the same. but you know mingi more than you know yourself, and he hasn’t hit you since you were children. he never would. 

mingi looks down at you, his face contorted in what you assume is a sort of drunken sadness. finally, you form a coherent thought.

no, no, no. you just can’t do this.

your hands are trembling, you notice. you slowly take your hand from him, backtracking a few steps until your back is against the wall. he doesn’t fight it, and he doesn’t break eye contact once.

“love me again...”

you never thought you’d hear those words come out of his mouth. no. how could he do this? reject you as a lovestruck high schooler without a second thought, but then pull this four years later? it’s sick. it’s sick because you were heartbroken. because you still are.

it’s sick because despite every ounce of your body wanting to reject him, to push him away- there is a small part of you that wants to say yes. to say yes, yes, yes, i will love you again, and it will be so easy, because i never stopped. 

“y/n-ah.” 

mingi’s voice sounds husky- the way it sounds right after he wakes up, or when he eats something particularly bitter.

it’s also how his voice sounds when he’s terribly, terribly sad, and you wish you didn’t know these things about him. 

“y/n, listen to me.” his eyes bore into yours, and he begins to stutter again. “i was an idiot, saying the things i did. i know- i know i felt that way at the time, but- but dear god, if i’d known what i was going to lose? i just..”

“mingi.” to your own surprise, your voice is a stark contrast to his- it’s clear and sharp. decisive. “i need you to stop.”

your counterpart cringes.

“listen,” you plow on. “you. are. drunk. you do not understand what you are saying, but understand this- you’ve upset me.”

finally, your voice breaks a little. “you broke my heart, mingi, and i haven’t forgotten. but i don’t want to remember. so here’s what we are going to do- i am going to go to bed, in my room, and i am going to be alone. somehow i still have an obligation to help you, so you will sleep right here, on this couch. tomorrow morning you will take an advil, call a car, and leave my home. understood?”

you see mingi’s eyes begin to water, and the crack in your chest seems to expand. 

“don’t.” you whisper. “don’t do this to me.”

mingi looks down at the floor for a moment, and finally, having decided to remain quiet, sinks onto the sofa. you turn to leave the room, but as you leave, he calls out again;

“i’m sorry, y/n.”

you just manage to get your bedroom door shut before the sobs start. 

- - - 

you wish you could stay in the dark forever.

the light streaming through your windows is just so invasive...

but maybe the real reason you don’t wish to get up is the man currently sprawled across your living room couch.

god, what even happened last night? will he even remember the things he said?

a part of you- well, most of you- hopes he doesn’t. that would surely simplify things. but even so, you also kind of hope he does remember.

you want to know if he meant it. 

- - -

finally, you sit up in bed, stretching your arms out. when you manage to stand up as well, you beeline for the bathroom.

a quick glance in the mirror confirms your previous suspicions- your face is puffy, from all of the crying. 

good god, the crying...

you know he could hear you, and you are humiliated. not that you think of crying as a bad thing, not inherently- but you have almost never cried in front of mingi, and to think you did last night. and that it was because of him...

you shove your insecurities aside and wash your face. you throw on a simple outfit, and finally you come to stare at your door.

sighing, you open it as quietly as you can. maybe he’ll still be asleep, and you can slip out unnoticed? 

but no such luck. mingi is sitting on the couch, his feet propped up. he doesn’t hold a phone, and the tv isn’t on. not a book in sight- he’s just staring up at the ceiling. 

you close your eyes as they begin to sting.

you can’t believe the effect he’s had on you all these years- and that you’d managed to ignore it for so long. but you can’t ignore it anymore, not with it being the main cause of your pain the past day.

biting your tongue, you step into view. mingi immediately notices you, and shoots into a more presentable position.

“y/n-ah.”

you pause to meet his eyes. “i thought i’d told you to leave.”

mingi frowns slightly. “and i thought i’d elect to ignore that part of our conversation.”

so he does remember.

shit.

“are you hungover?” you ask.

“only a bit.” he responds stiffly.

you heave a sigh, and the two of you look at each other for a moment, the air stuffy and thick with tension.

you break the silence with a strained whisper. “are we gonna do this?”

mingi doesn’t hesitate to respond, though his voice is no louder than yours was.  “i think we have to.”

you frown, knowing he’s right.

but it hurts, and you wish more than anything it was an ache you could ignore. but your heart has been slowly dying for years now- a fact that you are now painfully aware of.

is it too late to fix it?

before you can say anything more, mingi continues to talk.

“first of all, y/n- i just. i’m so sorry. for coming here last night. i was drunk and i was sad and i didn’t know where else to go.”

“why didn’t you just go home?” you can’t help but sound slightly bitter.

“do you believe me when i say i didn't even think to? all i knew is that i wanted to see you.”

you inhale sharply, and years of sadness burn the back of your eyes. “mingi, i don’t care that you came here in the first place. but i care about the havoc you wreaked when you did.” you stumble over your words. “you- you said you loved me.”

his face is filled with some sort of resignment, but he keeps his eyes on you. “i know i did.”

“why?”

“because i do.”

heat claws its way up your neck, and you feel the first of the tears begin to flow. “no. you can’t- please, mingi, you can’t just come in here and say that. not after- not after what you did to me.”

mingi bites his lip hard, now looking at the floor. his eyes are wet. “i know that.” his voice sounds pained. “i know that, y/n. that’s why i never intended on telling you... apparently the beer had other plans.”

“what do you mean, ‘never intended’?” you snap. “you mean to say you’ve been in love with me for- for what, a time- even after you told me it would never happen?”

“i was young, y/n! i still am young, but god- i was 16! i didn’t even know what love was! and if you had ever asked me in these recent years-” his voice cracks, and his face displays years of cleverly disguised pain. “if you’d asked me what my biggest regret was, i would have said you. i would have said turning down the love of my life because i was a pubescent idiot.”

even through the tears, you manage to snort at this. 

after a moment, mingi manages a half-hearted smile. “so, uh- are you still trying to kick me out?”

“not really.” you mumble. “but that doesn’t mean i’m happy with you.”

when he doesn’t say anything, you force yourself to continue, even through the tears. “i’m just surprised. you know- do you remember what you told me? you told me that it was just a crush, so you were letting me down easy. but- mingi-ah, it was never just a crush... i loved you, i really did.”

mingi lets a small sigh escape his mouth, and moves to stand in front of you. he gently brushes your hand with his- an invitation. and against your better will, you reach out and take it.

“do you think,” he whispers. “do you think you still could?”

another fat teardrop rolls down your cheek. “that sounds a lot like what you said last night, and you were really drunk.” you whisper back.

“i’m not drunk.” mingi murmurs. “drunk in love, maybe.”

“you’re an idiot.”

“obviously.”

“and i hate you.”

“mmhmm.”

“please kiss me.”

and he does.

his lips crash against yours, and you actually give a small yelp of surprise. but the surprise is overwhelmed by the instant rush of emotion you feel- mingi kisses you with an intensity you’ve never experienced. like at any moment he might lose you, like there really is no tomorrow.

he parts his lips along with yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth. you actually feel your knees weaken a bit- but the moment passes, and he moves away from your mouth. he leans downwards and places slow, deliberate kisses along your neck. your hands are tangled in his hair, and his are on your hips. and then it hits you- you are kissing song mingi- the boy whom you vowed to never touch, the boy you always knew you wanted. 

the kiss is a kiss of passion- of regret, of betrayal, of bitterness and of love. it is unlike anything you’ve known. it’s fully fueled by the destroyed hearts of two people who love each other too much.

you never want it to end.

the kiss is everything and nothing, beautiful and painful. it’s all that mingi has ever been.

suddenly, mingi pulls away from you, ending the kiss abruptly. you jerk back in surprise, face burning. had you done something wrong? what the hell were you thinking? you two should be at each other’s throats-

mingi interrupts your thoughts as he grasps your hand in his, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. “are you alright?” he murmurs.

you glance up, having nearly forgotten that you were in literal tears only minutes before. “yeah, i’m- i’m okay. are you?” on the inside, you wonder. why did he stop? what are we doing? is this okay?

“honestly? i don’t know.”

your brief high falters.

“y/n.” his voice is serious again. “please, y/n. is this really what you want?”

he’s worried that i’m just doing this to fix things.

“mingi.” you force him to meet your eyes. the room is dead silent, and your voice is a little raspy, but it needs to be said. you need to say it, you just do.  “i love you.”

the moment washes over the room like a cool breeze. mingi’s eyes soften to a look of love and concern, and a small smile quirks at his lips. “what? you mean it?”

a moment ago, you were actually scared that you wouldn’t- but now that it was said...

“yes. stars, yes. i love you- i’ve loved you as long as i’ve known you, but i think i was so scared of that love- and of yours- that i shoved it away. but i do, and i’m sure i always will.”

“i love you too.” he manages. “and maybe i didn’t mean to get drunk and say all the things i did, but- but i don’t think i regret it. because i love you, and want to take back everything i said all those years ago. cause i loved you then, too, i just didn’t know it. i hurt you, and that almost ruined this for us. so will you help me make it up to you?”

“how?” you murmur, a feeling of nervous anticipation washing over you.

“let me kiss you a little longer.”

you smile, knowing that even though things aren’t totally fixed yet- and the two of you have a long way to go- you still have gotten him back. mingi. your best friend. your love. your life.

“gladly.”

[thetaoofzoe]

Fic: Ethan Hunt Must Die 1/1

Pairing: August Walker x YOU

Word Count: 10,420

Summary: You are a medic and a member of what’s left of  The Apostles. And it’s not rumour anymore. August Walker is definitely not dead. All you want to do is help him with his cause, kill those responsible for his grave injuries (and foiling his manifesto) and make Ethan Hunt pay. Falling in love with August Walker is just a given ;)

Rating: Mature to Explicit some Violence, sex and fluff and yearning and impetuous kisses, explosions and delicious August Walker.  And, this story is not as serious as it may appear, so have fun reading.

Note: If you have been around you’ve seen the original iteration of this story, but maybe not in its entirety. It was originally broken up into 10 parts as A Month of August Walker Challenge. Now, in all of its revamped glory is the complete story all in one place.  

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

Your contact was a pleasant woman. She’d collected you from the tiny airport in Kashmir and on the way to your destination, she’d offered to buy snack food for you from a nearby shop.

‘The cabin is fully stocked,’ she reasoned pointing to the squat building by the side of the road, ‘but in case you want a Coke or something.’

You did want a Coke in fact and you took her up on the offer. Along with a few cans of cola you grabbed other items – chocolate bars, fishing tackle, and feminine hygiene products. You didn’t know how long you were going to be out there in the middle of nowhere, and you didn’t want to use up the precious bog roll when your cycle eventually came.

The woman was leaning against the side of the battered truck and smoking a cigarette when you stepped out of the shop. Eyeing your purchases, she nodded with approval.

‘Good idea,’ she said, making a vague gesture towards you with her cigarette. ‘We didn’t think about a woman’s needs during such a long excursion. Next time. There are all sorts of painkillers in the stocks though… just so you are aware.’

She put a gloved hand on her lower belly and laughed a little.

‘I know how it can get.’

You smiled, grateful to be sharing this moment with her, woman to woman, and thanked her before getting back into the truck.

‘Is there gonna be a next time?’ you asked, sweeping the seatbelt across your chest and clicking it into place.

She didn’t look at you as she started the truck and set off down the road.

‘I hope this is the last, ‘ she said finally and as it seemed like such a struggle for her to come up with an answer that she seemed satisfied with, you didn’t continue to press the matter.

Settling into the seat, you unwrapped a chocolate bar, and with three large bites, had it stuffed into your mouth. The salty chocolate and nougat were glorious and you moulded the sweet wad into the roof of your mouth so that you could savour it with slow licks.  You folded the plastic-coated wrapper into a small square and tucked it in your jacket pocket.

The woman drove along the rough frosty mountain roads as if you two were being chased. She didn’t seem at all phased with how the truck bounced and jumped dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, as if one wrong turn of the wheel wouldn’t send the two of you plunging down into the river below.

That imagery triggered sudden rage in you.

Goddamn you, Ethan Hunt, you thought.

You wanted just two minutes alone with Hunt to make him regret having ever laid eyes on August Walker. Hunt deserved nothing but a long slow torturous death.

Ever since the incident, The Apostles had been split on what to do regarding  August Walker. Should he be left out there and forgotten? Or should his remains be recovered and given a proper burial?

The thought that there was nothing left to recover prevailed until reports that August had survived the fall started trickling in. With this new knowledge, it was impossible to prevent the uprising that voted to scour the mountains to find him. This time, your only mission was to man the cabin in the event one of the search teams found him.

‘Not far to the cabin. Ayami is apart of the search team. You know her, yes?’ asked the woman.

‘Yes. I know her.’

‘Good, Ayami planned all of this, coordinated us, and was able to pinpoint a location not far from this cabin.’

Not enough planning for a menstrual cycle, you thought, petulantly.

‘It will work out,’ she continued and nodded. ‘He will be found.’

‘This is the third time someone has,’ you made inverted commas in the air with your fingers, ‘pinpointed his location, only to run into IMF lies. We are wasting precious time. August is alive and we need to find him.’

The woman drove on in silence for a moment.

‘I agree with you, yes. I agree. But what do you suggest that we do? If not this.’

You relented and sighed. You had no idea what to do other than this.

‘If I could snap my fingers…’

You clicked your fingers and she chuckled, clicking hers as well.

‘He would be safe with us,’ she finished for you.

A half hour later, she slowed and finally stopped the truck and pointed through the windscreen at what looked like a stack of fallen trees.

‘Unfortunately, my friend,’ she said. ‘There is a way to drive up to the cabin. However, it is many, many kilometres that way and petrol for me is hard to come by right. It’s easier to drop you here and you take the trail. It’s only a few hours hike.’

You grabbed your rucksack from the foot well, reached over and one-arm hugged the woman and then got out. She did a wide circle turn around and pulled the truck up to where you stood.

‘Good luck, my friend. And take care.’

‘Take care,’ you said. ‘See you soon.’

She gave you a two-fingered salute and drove away.

**

It was cold that far up in the mountains and the beginning of the trail looked desolate. Securing your rucksack on your back, you began your long trek, and the cabin was a welcome sight after hours of navigating the rocky hard terrain.  Inside was small and utilitarian, but it was more than enough for you. You didn’t bother to take off your boots before falling onto the cot and into a deep exhausted sleep.

In the morning, you took stock of your surroundings. The cabin was pretty well-appointed with a wood stove, a table with two chairs, an amazingly comfortable cot and stacks and stacks of supplies. The gold-painted metal ammo closet in the back was comforting to see and you were going to familarise yourself with its contents later. But first, breakfast.

You got up to make coffee and noticed a medium-sized cardboard box sitting on the small dining table by the stove. There was a note.

‘Your name was given to me at the last moment. Here are some things you may need.’

And it was signed, ‘Ayami’.

You slit open the box with your pocket knife and laughed when you saw the contents. Ayami had packaged not only tampons and pads but several different styles of menstrual cups for you and you felt guilty for earlier, being such a brat about the supplies you needed.

‘You planned everything, Ayami,’ you said aloud to the empty room. ‘Thank you.’

You lit the fire in the stove and put a pot on to boil some water. A noise outside pricked your ears. It sounded like the heavy motor of an ATV and out of the noise you picked out the sounds of other engines drawing closer.

Shit! you thought, rushing to the ammo closet at the back of the cabin.

Flinging open the doors, you dragged out a single barrel shotgun, loaded it, and scrambled back to the front cabin door. Peering out through the narrow window you watched as several four-wheelers and one battered Land Rover raced towards the cabin. In a cloud of kicked up dirt and dust, the Rover drove straight up to the door and to your absolute surprise, the passenger door popped open and Ayami jumped out.

You opened the cabin door and came out.

‘Good!’ she shouted over the noise of the engines. ‘You’re here. Get the first aid boxes ready, now!’

You were a medic and understood the urgency in her tone. You ran back to the cabin and were piling bandages, antiseptics, and other items on the table when three men carried in a limp body between them. Ayami strode across the room and captured you in a hug.

‘I am happy to see you,’ she gasped breathlessly and grabbed your hands. ‘We found him!’

With heart crashing against your ribs, you looked to the man being stretched on the cot as Ayami continued.

Oh God… they found him.

‘Somehow some wanderers discovered him months ago and took him in.’

She trailed off and shook her head. She still seemed to be in shock.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ you told her and squeezed her hands. ‘We’re looking after him now. Radio in for helicopter transport. It may take a few days to get someone out here.’

You cleaned your hands and went to assess the situation. August was alive and badly burned, but gladly not beyond your repair. Ayami came back into the cabin after making the call and joined you at the bed.

‘You planned all of this, Ayami,’ you said. ‘You made this happen. What’re our next step?’

Ayami put her hand on your shoulder and smiled viciously.

‘To make Ethan Hunt pay.’

**

You were wrong.

It didn’t take a few days for the helicopter to arrive. It took two weeks. Although the cabin was well stocked and had nearly everything you needed to tend to August’s wounds, it wasn’t enough.

Ayami wanted to leave and take August the long way through the mountains. They had the power to transport him over land and it was fucking stupid to leave him at the cabin to succumb to something that could be fixed. His body was fighting a raging infection and frankly, he was losing. You explained to her your reasons for why it would be tough on August to try to drive with him through such hard terrain.  He was in a fragile state and jostling him all around in an unstable car could exacerbate any internal injuries. A chopper ride would be better.

Ayami understood that, however…

‘We’ve got plenty of antibiotics,’ she said reasonably. ‘Why can’t we give him some?’

‘Because we don’t know what he has. He could have a bacterial or viral infection and just picking something to give him might do more harm than good. I don’t want to take that risk.’

It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to pump him full of all of the pills you had, just to scattershot the infection, but incorrectly dosing him, in his weakened state,   might kill him. August Walker was alive and you were going to keep him that way.

So you did your best. With Ayami’s help, you kept him clean and dry and in order to manage his temperature, iced. August, however, foiled your attempts to tend to him effectively. He was delirious and unaware of  what was happening to him. More than once you had to extract yourself from his vice-like grip as he held onto you and growled guttural threats of violence to your person. All you could do was try to soothe him and mop his brow and use the aspirin to dull his obvious pain.

**

During the wait for air transport, you stayed up some nights with August. Sometimes you just sat at his bedside and read by the light of your headlamp. Sometimes you just watched him, held his hand and stroked his hair when nightmares haunted his sleep.

He would heal pretty well, you observed, and, without too much lasting damage to his face. He was fortunate that the hot oil missed his eye, although it ruined his ear. But you knew that too could be reconstructed.

‘We’re gonna get you back on your feet, August,’ you murmured on those nights when he was at his most fitful. ‘And we’re gonna get those people who did this to you.’

Even though you weren’t sure he could even hear you speaking, you continued to encourage and comfort him.  It was the least you could do.

**

‘You met John Lark before?’ Ayami asked over breakfast one morning, using August’s real name for the first time.

‘When he was going by John Lark?’ you asked for clarification and she nodded. ‘No. Not then. He had already assumed the new identity and was in the CIA when I turned up.’

‘He was not always like this,’ she said a bit cryptically.

‘How was he?’

Interest sparked in you.

She shook her head.

‘Just different. Maybe he’ll tell you someday.’

Ayami smiled at you and you turned, alerted by the soft groan coming from the bed.

‘Oh God, he’s waking up again,’ she chuckled and then asked you, ‘Top or bottom.’

You laughed inspite of yourself and gave the choice a moment’s thought. ‘Top’ meant that you got to administer medication, clean up his face and check his bandages, while ‘bottom’ meant that you would have to wrestle with his strong flailing arms and risk getting punched in the face. Ayami looked at you expectantly and you grimaced.

‘I had top last time, so…’

She smiled and got up, patting your arm in passing. ‘Then you get top this time.’

‘Ayami, c’mon,’ you protested rising from the chair. ‘I don’t want to be unfair.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ she said lifting her arms and flexing her biceps. ‘But, I need my workout.’

**

Ayami needed to stay in Kashmir to tie up some loose ends. So, you said your farewells and parted company when the chopper transport finally arrived.

You, on the other hand, were headed to New Delhi where another contact would meet and relieve you of your August-sitting duties.

Exhausted and battered, it was just after midnight when you finally arrived at the airport.  Out through the cloudy bubble heli-window, you saw the second contact rush to the settling helicopter. You unlatched an dragged open the side door.

‘Hello!’ he shouted over the roar of the blades overhead. ‘It’s Janus. You can come with me!’

‘Where am I going?’ you shouted back, not moving from where you were sitting next to August’s prone body.

He was still blissfully unconscious and sleeping quietly.

‘There is a safehouse here. You can rest. We will transport Walker to the small plane over there and continue on to London.’

You shook your head and were able to speak normally when the blades finally shuddered to a stop.

‘I’ll go on,’ you told Janus. ‘I’ll go on, it’s ok. I’ll stay with him.’

Janus looked puzzled.

‘No, you are to go to the safe house. I am to continue on.’

You had come this far. You weren’t going to leave August, so you again declined the offer of a trade.

‘Now. Come on. I’m not going to quibble with you,’ you said, kicking open the other door so that the two men accompanying Janus could wrangle the stretcher out of the chopper.

You watched them carry August off and jumping out of the heli, you turned to Janus.

‘Be well, my friend. But I’ve got it.’

Janus shrugged a little and nodded, seeing that you weren’t going to be swayed.

‘Is it really him?’ he asked and you could hear relief seeping into his voice.

You put your arms around him in a farewell hug.

‘It is,’ you said. ‘You have Ayami to thank for that. Make sure that you do.’

You ran after the two men carrying the stretcher. The men secured the stretcher inside and turned to help you into the back of the plane. You pulled closed the small plane’s door and made sure that August was securely strapped in. It was going to be another long ride to the final safe house.

**

It was raining in London, and as the small plane approached, the cool precipitation rinsed away grey foggy clouds to reveal the golden city. Through your headset, you listened to the pilot talk to air traffic control and learned that you were headed to Blackbushe Airport.

‘How far is the safe house from the airport?’ you asked the pilot.

‘Not far. Maybe 20 kilometers. Not far.’  

You were so ready to put your feet on land that you closed your eyes and envisioned a soft bed, a hot meal, and an even hotter bath. Glancing down at the still sleeping man on the stretcher at your feet, you felt a rise of tender feelings in your heart. Not only had your team recovered August Walker, alive, but you had a personal hand in his convalescence.  Reaching down, you touched his face. He felt hot, but not as feverish as before and you were relieved. Elevated fevers for sustained periods of time were dangerous and although he wasn’t out of the woods yet, he was better. You brushed a curl of brown hair off of his forehead and smoothed the edge of your thumb across his eyebrow. Yes, he was going to heal well and regain his strength to be able to fight another day.

Blackbushe Airport was small but efficient and there was a black, solid paneled van waiting for you. You helped the men with the stretcher and once August had been secured, you pulled yourself into the offered front passenger seat.  The driver nodded to acknowledge your presence and you put on your seatbelt as the van drove off.

Someone tapping on the window jarred you from the nap you didn’t realise you had fallen into. With a wet grunt, you sat up, reflexively swiped the back of your hand across your mouth, and dried the drool which had pooled in the corner. Hand still to your mouth, you shifted to look through the window. It was the driver and he made a gesture for you to get out.

You nodded to show that you understood and he moved off. Behind you in the cargo part of the van, you could hear men talking and then sounds of strain when they lifted the stretcher. Even unconscious, August wasn’t for the weak or fainthearted. You chuckled at your own analogy, unclipped the seatbelt and opened the door. Your legs wobbled when your feet hit the ground and you pressed back against the closed door until you felt that you could walk without collapsing. It took a while for your legs to finally firm and when they did you followed the men into the medium sized country manor house.

Inside smelt of cedar and pine. Your footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor as you walked into the charming front room and looked up at all of the old portraits and paintings and decorative weapons. Twin staircases, one on each side of the front room,  dog-legged up to the next level.  You approached a tall round table with a large vase of fresh flowers and walked around it. You peeked into dark rooms and soon found yourself in an equally as charming country kitchen. There was a man in there wearing a black jumper and blue jeans, drinking from a white mug.

‘Ah!’ he said when he saw you. ‘Come in, come in. Coffee?’

Aware that you looked particularly filthy and bedraggled, compared to his crispness, you cleaned your hands on your cargo trousers and stepped into the room.

‘Yes, please.’

The man obliged, saying, ‘It’s only instant, I’m afraid.’

Instant was fine and you didn’t protest when he handed you a cup.

‘And it’s terrible,’ he added with a laugh. ‘I’ve only just arrived and haven’t had a chance to flush out all of the pipes. Everything happened so fast.’

You nodded and drank the metallic tasting coffee without complaint.

‘Ayami, then. Right?’

You knew what he was asking. Ayami was the conductor of this orchestra and she deserved all of the credit.

‘Yes.’

‘Fuck… she’s a legend.’

Finishing the cup without much tasting it, you handed it back to him.

‘I’d like to clean up and make sure that he’s… that August is ok for the night.’

He took the cup and was nodding as he put both yours and his into the sink.

‘Sure, sure. I can do that. There is a room ready for the both of you. Come on, I’ll show you.’

You followed him up the stairs and down a quiet, thickly carpeted hallway which was also lined with gaily painted portraits. Upon reaching the room at the end, he stepped aside to let you go in first.

There was a trio of men in there, that you recognised as the medical team and the room had been set up like a well-stocked hospital room. The lemon yellow wallpaper with its sunflower print was a pleasant contrast to the medical equipment and other paraphernalia. The men greeted you and they all shared a happy look. You knew why and yes, you shared it too. You said nothing as you watched them undress and bathe August, glad that he could finally receive more focused treatment.

‘And my room?’ you asked.

August didn’t need you now and you had to look after yourself. Mr instant coffee led you back down the hall and showed you your bedroom and amenities. When he left you, you threw your rucksack on the floor by the bed, stripped out of your filthy clothes, and immediately ran a bath. When you finally emerged, refreshed, and clean down to your toes, you found a sandwich and cola waiting on the table next to the bed. You devoured it in a few bites but drank the cola slowly as you unpacked your rucksack. All the way at the bottom,  and rolled around a pair of thick socks was a clean shirt and sweatpants which you quickly pulled on. You sat on the edge of the bed and finished the cola.

Flopping onto your side and closing your eyes, you intended to rest for only a moment. However, sleep had other ideas.

**

Sunlight streamed in through the windows behind you and you woke suddenly then rolled over. On the wall at the head of the bed, a pleasant-looking woman smiled down at you from a pastoral painting and you were groggy enough to smile back. Rubbing your face you sat up, yawned, and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, staying there a moment to contemplate the night before. You hadn’t slept that well in a very long time and you were grateful to have finally got some rest. That old bed was a godsend.

After washing and dressing in clean clothes, you stood in the corridor outside your room door and looked down the hallway to where August slept.  His door was closed. The scent of coffee wafting up the stairs alerted you that someone else was awake and you wondered if it was Mr Instant coffee down there still flushing out the pipes and drinking metallic tasting coffee. You decided to leave him to it and you walked to August’s room.

You tapped on the door but there was no answer, so you turned the doorknob and let yourself in.  August was still asleep. The IV drip bag was half empty and the bandages on his face were bright and clean. He looked much better in the warm morning light and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. You smoothed down the patch of  IV tape on the back of his hand and August startled a yelp out of you when he moved.

His eyes were open and you found yourself under the clear scrutiny of the infamous August Walker. Before your inglorious meeting at the cabin, you had never been this close to him. The two of you never spoke nor had you even been in the same room.

His eyes moved all over your face as if hunting for something and you stood still letting him complete his inspection. When recognition finally bloomed in his eyes, he relaxed.

You ventured to put your hand over his.

‘Do you remember me?’ you asked.

‘I remember,’ he answered, voice raspy from disuse.

August fell silent and it seemed to take effort for him to speak.

‘I… remember you read to me.’

Your heart skipped with elation.

‘Yes.’

Breathing out a breath, August closed his eyes.

‘Thank you.’

‘We’ll make him pay, August,’ you said when he was quiet. ‘All of them.’

It didn’t matter that he had succumbed to sleep again and probably didn’t hear you. Ethan Hunt was going to pay.

**

It was fortunate Mr. Instant Coffee, as you dubbed him, was around to cook and clean because you weren’t about to look after Walker and do the domestic duties as well.

As the weeks drifted by and August grew stronger, you turned your interest away from him and to revenge.

Retribution, you liked to say to yourself. It was a much better word and to pull it off, you needed a team.

Ayami, of course, was on board. She was always up for some violence and you loved her for it. She knew exactly who you needed and how to contact them. And, if you were going to go through with it, all the way, you needed a solid plan. Every piece had to be in place for the whole machine to move forward. No stone could remain unturned.

You spent a lot of time in that country kitchen with plans and schematics and blueprints spread out in front of you on the table. The first order of business was to find the persons responsible; Benji, Ilsa, Luther and Hunt.

Find them, and observe.

‘That’s it,’ you’d told Ayami. ‘Find them and observe. Record their patterns, their travel, their habits, their pubs, markets, clothing stores, everything.’

You made sure to have rotating team members on each target so that said target would not recognise any reoccurring faces and become suspicious. IMF was a clever, skittish bunch and the way to lure them into the trap was to be patient and deliberate.

Early one morning, about three months into your stay at the safe house, a heavy thumping down the stairs distracted you from your research.

You got up, refilled your coffee and then poured a second fresh cup. Returning to the table you put the second cup in the space across from where you had been sitting. For two weeks now, August had been testing his newly found strength and had insisted on getting up and moving around own his own. He’d recently been cut out of his arm cast and was able to navigate his way on crutches. And on mornings after breakfast when he could get himself out of bed, he usually banged down the stairs and hobbled into the kitchen.

After a few days of this, you started preparing a cup of coffee for him. Whether he was looking for coffee or not, you always put out a second cup when you heard him coming down. And August was actually polite and thankful for the gesture. It surprised you. You expected him to be this gruff and grumpy take charge team leader who didn’t have time for underlings. When, in fact, August Walker was a very pleasant man.

‘Morning,’ you heard him say from the kitchen’s doorway.

‘Morning,’ you replied, nodding to the coffee cup.

He took up his regular place across from you, and leaned the crutches against the bench seat.

You looked at him finally. The bandages were all off of his face now (except for the one remaining to protect his damaged ear) and the swelling had gone down.

What was at first considered full-thickness burns were actually only partial-thickness and he could heal without skin grafts.

He looked, you decided, pretty normal. Handsome, in fact and you wanted to reach out to touch him.

He saw you examining him and he made an aborted attempt to touch his face.

‘No, it ahh… it’s good. You look much better. Really,’ you said quickly.

He picked up the coffee and drank slowly.

‘Does it still hurt?’

‘No,’ he said into the cup and changed the subject. ‘What have we got?’

Right back to business, you thought. Of course. None of this ‘feelings’ stuff for him.

‘The only one we got consistent eyes on is Luther. I guess they’re not using him these days, so he’s staying put. He’s in the States and looks to have a vacation home in Florida. If he has a third place, we don’t know about it yet.’

August listened and nodded and you swore you could see a little smile starting to play across his mouth. Not wanting it to disappear, you showed him photos of Ilsa.

‘I think, she thinks she’s clever. At first she was darting around, doing the whole ‘spy’ thing. It was cute. Now, not so much. I’d like to take her… if you agree.’

August looked up at you and that little smile was still there. In fact he looked particularly pleased with you.

‘Don’t worry. Hunt’s for last. We’re saving him for you.’

August held your gaze and you felt a thrill race through you.

‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘I want you to do whatever you want to do. I trust you.’

You brightened considerably and resisted the urge to clap your hands with delight. Having August Walker’s trust had made the day golden.

**

A few days later, the thumping down the stairs distracted you from your work. Smiling a little, you got up and poured a fresh cup of coffee and sat it on the table across from you. Then as an afterthought, you got up again and plated a few chocolate Hobnobs that Mr. Instant Coffee had bought with the weekly grocery. You had barely put the plate down before August appeared in the kitchen doorway.

Seeing the mid-morning snacks waiting for him, he smiled a little and now down to one crutch from two, he hobbled into the kitchen and sat down in his usual spot across from you.

‘Look at you, speedster,’ you teased.

August’s brows rose with pleasure, but he smothered his growing smile by lifting his cup and drinking the coffee.

‘I prefer your coffee to the other one,’ said August, raising his eyes to meet yours.

You hesitated to meet his gaze, and when you did, the praise in his face melted you.

August quickly looked away and down at the plans on the table between the two of you.

‘So, tell me.’

He gestured with the cup to the papers.

You grinned, feeling pleased with your progress.

‘Ilsa. I finally got a bead on her. And I will be travelling to her location today.’

‘Today?’ he asked, sounding surprised and your brows drew together a little.

‘Too soon? I mean.. do you want to come?’

August shook his head and suddenly looked concerned.

‘I don’t want you rushing into something.’

Ah, was that it?

You reached out to tap the back of his hand with your index finger.

‘Whilst I thoroughly enjoy your concern, there’s no need for it. Do you umm, want a trophy? An eyeball? A finger?’

August was clearly surprised, and your offer startled a laugh out of him.

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘No, I don’t want any of that. But ah… I appreciate your vigour.’

You smiled at him.

‘You sure?’

He laughed a little, again, and asked, ‘And your flight?’

‘Coupla hours,’ you replied checking your wristwatch.

‘And your plan?’

‘Delicious,’ you promised.

And it was.

**

Los Angeles was hot and sweltering and you were not prepared for the weather. But you didn’t let that deter you, for you had a mission to accomplish.

You found the target sitting at a table beneath a colourful umbrella at a crowded outdoor cafe.

Carrying several bags emblazoned with names of high-end shops you stopped by her table, made a show of looking into the cafe and then down at the chair across from her.

She looked up at you and you tried a smile.

‘Hi, I am sooo sorry, but do you mind if I just sit here. I am dying in this heat!’

As you were actually dying in the western heat, you knew that you came across sincerely. She took a moment to consider you. Judging you harmless, she nodded to the chair and you collapsed onto it gratefully.

‘Oh, thank you, honey. That’s so good of you. I thought I was going to get all of my shopping over and done with before noon, but you know how it is. Just one more shop, one more try on…. maybe they got those shoes in the back in your size, right? Am I right?

You giggled easily and she nodded, then glanced into the cafe.

‘I gotta wear these gloves to that my hands don’t tan,’ you said watching her. ‘There’s nothing worse than having your arms one colour and your hands 5 shades darker.’

Ignoring you, she raised her hand hoping to alert the waiter standing inside.

He eased up to the table.

‘Yes ma’am.’

‘I ordered my…’

‘Yes, I know ma’am. We are working on it right now, please give us some time. The broiler is currently holding on by a thread. May I offer you a cold drink? On the house?’

You looked at her and she sighed.

‘Sure, go on. You want one?’

Her attention was on you.

You shrugged.

‘Sure! I’ll have what she’s having.’

The two of you chatted amiably for a little while and the waiter returned with your drinks. You immediately sipped at the fizzy fruit drink and put your glass down next to hers.

Several minutes later someone inside shouted, ‘Janie Fellows?’

The woman across from you stirred and then stood up.

‘Finally,’ she said and went inside to pick up her order.

You watched her go and quickly, unobtrusively, dumped the contents of your travel perfume bottle into her glass.

Ilsa returned with a plate brimming with meat and salad and set it on her placemat.

‘Looks good,’ you said admiring the dish. ‘I might get one, but I do need to get on, I think.’

‘You can stay as long as you like,’ she assured you and began her meal.

You sat and chatted whilst she ate and finished her drink.

You were in the middle of a long drawn out story about your imaginary husband when she stopped devouring the rare steak.

Ilsa dropped her fork and you turned towards her.

‘Something wrong?’ you asked, faux concern in your voice as you let your natural accent slip. ‘You’ve gone quite pale… Janie.’

Ilsa’s wide eyes shot up to your face and she spat out her chewed mouthful.

‘I probably overdosed you,’ you said quietly. ‘I mean, you were ten pounds heavier the last time I checked. But you and your hot yoga classes have done wonders. I might take it up myself.’

Eyes bulging as the poison squeezed closed her throat, Ilsa gurgled and staggered upright. The chair screeched on the concrete, fell away and you got up.

‘August Walker says, hello,’ you snarled at her. Then changing your attitude to something more helpless you shouted, ‘Oh My God! I think she’s having a seizure, help, help!’

A crowd began to form allowing you to slip away, but not before giving the thumbs up to Mr. Instant Coffee who had posed as your waiter who had perfectly distracted the mark enough for you to poison her drink.

**

‘Went well, I take it?’ August asked when you bustled into the kitchen the next morning.

There was coffee waiting for you at your usual spot.

You threw your arms round his neck and gave him a hearty kiss in greeting.

‘Better than you could ever imagine!’ you crowed and left him in stunned silence.

**

Distracted by the noise coming from the upper floor, you looked up from the laptop. The thumping down the stairs had been sounding a little less clumsy lately, now that August had finally regained control over his healing limbs. You were glad for it, because it meant that the infamous August Walker was out of the woods and on the mend.

You got up, poured a fresh cup of coffee, and was just setting it down when August came into the kitchen.

‘Morning!’ you called brightly, like the little homemaker you fancied yourself to be.

Well, you fancied yourself to be the kind of homemaker who didn’t keep house, but made coffee and assassination plans. You turned the cup so that the handle faced August when he straddled the bench and sat down across from you.

‘Thank you,’ he said picking up the cup and drinking deeply.

Smiling fondly, you considered him a moment and looked at the fresh bandage on his ear.

‘It’s ear day soon, isn’t it?’

Ear day, as you called it, was literally when August got his new outer ear to replace the one that had been damaged.  Contacts in one of the world’s leading biotech labs had been cultivating new skin and cartilage from his own cells and were ready for transplantation.  August had been putting off the surgery, ever since the fire of killing off the IMF team had been lit. He wanted a clear conscience before proceeding with any additional cosmetic surgery.

August lifted his gaze, but not directly to you. He looked at a spot on the table which was still littered with papers and blueprints and your laptops and a muscle bunched in his jaw, alerting you that he was uncomfortable with this line of discussion. You were never one to back down from a subject you wanted to pursue, so you pressed him gently.

‘I think… well, I think it’s gonna be fine. The surgery will be fine. You’ll have a brand spanking new appendage and everything’s gonna be fine.’

You watched his eyes sweep the length of the table, in an obvious attempt to avoid looking at you.

‘You suffered no hearing loss, on that side, the skin is mending itself nicely and the doctors even said that there was no follicle damage. Those curls will be coming back in no time.’

He scoffed.

‘I don’t care about that.’

‘Yes you do,’ you said with a tiny grin. ‘Yes you do, you care. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t look like this.’

You waved an appraising hand in his direction.

‘August Walker, meet August Walker. He cares about his looks.’

‘I’m not vain,’ August scowled, putting the cup down and finally looking you in the face

You softened your teasing just a little.

‘I didn’t say you were vain. There’s nothing wrong with a man who looks after his appearance. It’s… sexy.’

That stopped him and a spark of pleasure brightened his face.

You continued to lay it on thick.

‘Come now, a good looking guy like you? And you don’t know it? I find that hard to believe.’

He snorted quietly.

‘Do you ever think something that you don’t say?’ he asked, lifting a dark brow.

You leaned in on your elbows.

‘There are loads of things that I think, that I don’t say. That doesn’t mean that I won’t say them eventually.’

August’s lips lengthened into an inquisitive smile.

‘Like?’

‘Like?’ you repeated and decided to come clean. ‘I just said that you were sexy.’

You made an airy, dismissive gesture.

‘That’s not a new thought.’

You felt a chill manifest as a soft, insistent tingling that skittered all along your skin. Everything you’d hidden about your feelings for him was almost all the way out and you couldn’t stop yourself.

‘It’s not new that I’d do anything for the manifesto to be realised,’ you continued.

When August put down the cup, you reached out and clasped both hands over his.

‘That I’d do anything for you, August.’

The passion in your own voice stunned you. Surely, you had once again overstepped his boundaries.

First, it was kissing him without asking,  and now this, though August didn’t seem bothered by your audacity. He turned his hands up to enclose yours.

‘And I reward loyalty,’ he answered, voice low and full of promise.  

You drew in a long breath through loosely pursed lips, which August seemed to appreciate for his eyes lowered to your wet mouth. His own lips parted in response and you wondered if you climbed across that table and onto his lap, would it have been considered outlandish.

You didn’t think about any of that, as you stood up onto the wooden bench. With his handsome face brimming with delight, August held onto your hands and steadied you as you scrabbled across the table and landed astride his muscular thighs with a satisfied ‘ooof!’

He grimaced from the sudden pressure slamming down on his still tender leg and you were immediately contrite.

‘I’m sorry,’ you murmured, sliding your arms around his neck and curling your fingers into his shaggy curls. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll not play so rough next time.’

‘I like it rough,’ said August, running his hands over your hips to grip you close.

And then you kissed him, softly, fully, feeling his lips come apart beneath yours. Breathing him in, your thoughts ran wild.

I could get used to this. I could indulge in this all day. I could–

Then, ever a man of ill timing, Mr. Instant Coffee bustled into the kitchen, and it took him a moment to realise what he was interrupting.

‘Oh, shite, ok… uhh so that’s happening. Ok, great, but ah, you two… we need to get a move on. The car leaves in ten.’

And then he was gone, leaving you staring at the recently vacated kitchen doorway with your arms dangling over August’s shoulders. Reluctantly, you backed off of August’s lap and smiling, you cupped his cheek, pressed your thumb against the dimple in his chin and walked off to grab your travel bag.

It was back to the States again, the keys of Florida where Luther Stickell was vacationing on a secluded houseboat.

**

Stickell was not hard to find. His boat was moored in one of the farthest berths and was lit up like Christmas. He was having a party.

So much for keeping a low profile, you thought as you stepped off of the elegant cabin cruiser that had been rented for your mission. Your craft was berthed far enough away from his that no one in Stickell’s party could see August in his scuba gear, stepping off the low deck and into the dark water.

Standing on a nearby wooden piling, a pair of seagulls watched you suspiciously, the way birds do, and you lifted a finger to your lips, shushing them.

Holding a pair of strappy heels in your hand, you walked down the slatted dock between yachts and other smaller boats.  You purposefully wore a skimpy sequined dress, in the hopes of talking your way into the party. There were casually dressed men standing on the dock and smoking and they stopped talking as you approached. They didn’t look like bodyguards, but just like regular blokes. Easy to manipulate.

‘Hullo!’ you called happily, flapping your hand at them in greeting, affecting tipsiness. ‘I couldn’t help coming over. I just came from another get-together, but I’m not done partying yet. Ya’ll mind if I… ’

You made a walking motion with your index and middle fingers towards the boat. One of the men smiled and swaggered towards you. He held out a hand which you took and he led you to the edge of the boat, then helped you down the stairs.

Too easy.

There were people milling about on the port deck and some people playing cards inside, but not a lot was going on. It appeared to be at the tail end of the party, where people were trying to drink the last of the booze and eat the last of the food before they were forced to go home. You spotted Luther at the card table. He was laughing around a huge cigar clamped between his front teeth and then he threw the cards down on the table with a triumphant cry. The men sitting there erupted in jeers and hoots as he raked in the pile of money from the centre of the table.

Scanning the area you then went down the stairs to the toilet and stood in the dark narrow corridor thinking about August swimming around beneath your feet as he planted bomb charges against the boat’s hull.

The thought of him down there was strangely arousing.

August was stronger now, strong enough to cause mayhem with his own hands, and it was all you wanted for him. You crouched by the toilet and dug about in your handbag, pulling out one of Ayami’s personal creations – something she’d called her ‘cherry bang bang’. You drew out a black device that was flat on the bottom and round on the top. It looked harmless enough, almost like a little cake, but you knew the massive power packed into that sweetly named bomb. She had given you and August a personal demonstration of the destructive power of her little sweets. You placed a kiss on its glossy surface and adhered it to the underside of the toilet bowl.

‘You are a gem, Ayami,’ you chuckled and pushed upright.

You made your way back to the upper level and moving about unnoticed you planted more cherry bang bangs, even adhering one to each of the fishing chairs bolted to the port side deck.  

A chill settled over the harbour. The guests soon drifted inside and eventually left the party altogether.

You walked back to the rented cabin cruiser to find August waiting for you. His hair was curly and damp and there were pressure marks from the dive mask across his brow. You went up on tiptoes to kiss him. August caught you about the waist and wrapped you up in his arms, lifting you to deepen the kiss. Trapped like that against his big, hot body,  your heart throbbed excitedly. If he could elicit such wonders from your body with just a kiss and an embrace, you couldn’t imagine what other magic he could work.

‘Ready?’ he asked, bending to put you back on your feet.

You nodded and tossing your shoes aside, went to sprawl on one of the long creme coloured couches. August started the engine and guided the cruiser out of the berth. When you were a safe distance away, he reached for your hand and helped you up to the top deck.

You could see the lights of Stickell’s boat twinkling in the distance.  And after about twenty more minutes, once everyone was finally gone, Luther shut off the boat lights.  You and August got up from your deck chairs. You held up the binoculars and adjusted them until the houseboat came into sharp focus. All you could see now was the red glow of Luther’s cigar as the man sat out in one of the fishing chairs and enjoyed the rest of his evening.

August put one arm about your waist, big hand splaying across your stomach, and held up the detonator with the other.

‘Two down,’ you said and he depressed the button.

The explosion was brilliant.

Through the binoculars, you watched the boat burn and sink, but August was more interested in kissing the back of your neck and exposed shoulders to pay attention.

‘Mmmm,’ you purred slyly, leaning your head back against his shoulder. ‘Did you like that? Was it good for you?’

‘So good,’ he answered giving you one last kiss before releasing you.

You opened your mouth to say something but the distant sounds of sirens broke the silence.

Time to go, you thought and the both of you disappeared into the night.

**

You didn’t want to go back to the safehouse right away. As nice as the country house was, being cooped up between those four floral walls drove you crazy. August paid for a few nights at the Shangri-la hotel in London so that you could shower in temperatures above lukewarm, and sleep in a broad bed beneath washing detergent scented sheets.

And when August made love to you on those soft sheets,  your earlier conjecture regarding his sexual prowess, did not prepare you for the bliss you experienced with him buried deep inside you.

It was nearly nine in the morning, a few days after your expedition to the Keys, and propped up with a pillow under your armpit, you lay on your side across the hotel bed, a bowl of spag bol, and your open laptop on the white duvet in front of you. You were half under the thick covers and half out of it because the room was warm, but not uncomfortably so. August emerged from the adjoining bathroom, wearing one of the luxurious bathrobes and towelling dry his hair.

He tossed the towel across the footrest by the chair and stretched out on the bed behind you, looking over your shoulder to read the Miami Herald’s bold headline. He slid his hand beneath your tee-shirt and caressed the skin between your shoulder blades. How he figured out that you liked that, still remained a quandary, but you were glad that you didn’t have to ask for it.

‘Oh, dear,’ you said feigning distress. ‘Did you hear about the accident that happened in Florida? Tsk… such a shame.’

‘Is he dead?’ asked August, as he nuzzled your shoulder.

‘Yes, sir,’ you teased, reaching back to playfully push him off. ‘You are not paying attention.’

‘I am. I’m paying attention to what’s important.’

The implication of his statement drifted right over your head as you were too focused on proving him wrong.

He kissed your neck again and grunted when you jabbed him with an elbow.

‘Well, if you were paying attention to what was important, you’d know that…’

‘That Dunn is here in London,’ August finished for you and continued to lazily caress your back.

That shut you right up. How did he know?

‘Of course, you knew,’ you chuckled.

‘I suggest,’ said August, changing the subject and lifting his head to take your earlobe between his lips. ‘We take one more day here and then find him.’

As he spoke, August slid his hands beneath you, turned you away from the laptop and pulled you atop him. You wriggled with delight, and grasping the robe’s belt, you pulled the knot free and let it fall open.

‘Just one day?’ you asked, sliding down the length of his body to ease his cock into your mouth.

‘Anything!’ he gasped, the heat of your mouth robbing him of coherent through. ‘Whatever you want.’

You wanted at least two extra weeks after the mission.

**

When you woke hours later, August was gone. There was a note left for you on the nightstand and in his neat print he’d written, ‘Supply Run.’

You stretched under the duvet and tapped the stiff cardstock against your lower lip.

Supply Run either mean food, or guns and knowing August, it was probably the latter. You were just raiding the over-stocked minibar refrigerator when he returned to the hotel room, carrying a long black duffel which he dropped onto the chaise at the end of the bed.

‘Guns,’ you said aloud, looking up from the chilled box of chocolate.

‘What?’ he asked, shrugging out of his jacket.

You smiled and shook your head and switched on BBC World Service.

Unzipping the duffel, August asked, ‘what do you know about Sage Software?’

‘Nothing,’ you answered truthfully. ‘Who are they?’

‘They supply small business software. Dunn is working with them and hacking them.’

Taking the chocolates to the bed, you opened your laptop and searched the business. With a laugh, you rolled over onto your back and looked up at August with interest. He was smiling slightly back at you.

‘Well, what do you know?’ you said with amusement. ‘Sage is located in the Shard, which is… ’

August nodded to you and his grin widened.

‘Right downstairs,’ he finished.

‘Did you plan this? Getting a room here because he was downstairs?’ you giggled, when he leaned over to kiss you.

‘Of course. Leave nothing to chance, Princess.’

Well, that nickname was new, you thought, delighted.

‘What’s the plan, then?’

August stretched out on his back next to you and folded his hands on his belly.

‘He’s got an office on the 13th and is there most nights.’

‘Most nights,’ you repeated and waited for him to finish his thought.

‘Tonight.’

**

Dunn was surprisingly easy to pick off. You had expected for him to have cameras and monitors and other high tech stuff to alert him to the presence of anyone who came unannounced to his office. And, you were surprised that /he/ was surprised when August quietly opened the thin office door and let himself in.

You stayed in the corridor and watched the scene unfold through the narrow decorative glass panel next to the door.

Dunn obviously recognised and remembered August,  because he bolted out of his swivel chair and threw himself against the wall behind him.

‘I thought you were dead!’ you heard him shout before the silenced round splattered him across the frog poster that announced ‘work hard, play hard, live hard’.

You clapped lightly as August exited the office.

‘Well done, baby,’ you praised him. ‘But come on. I heard the lift bell. It would be stupid of us to get caught.’

All the little piggies had gone to slaughter. All except one.

**

Ethan Hunt was not a stupid man.

In fact, he was quite the opposite. He was cunning and clever and suspicious which were characteristics that helped him to remain one of the top Mi6 agents.

He also had a golden streak of very good luck and August Walker was just about to ruin that man’s whole career.

‘He went squirrely, ’ said Ayami who was pawing through a tin of broken Danish butter cookies from where she sat perched on the kitchen counter-top.

Two weeks after you returned from the Dunn business,  Ayami just turned up at the country safe-house. Much to your delight, you’d found her one morning sitting at the kitchen table having a bagel and cream tea. And you knew why she was there. Things were winding up to the big payoff and the team needed to be as consolidated as possible.

‘What does that mean?’ you asked her but it was Mr. Instant Coffee who answered.

‘Means that he knew what’s good for him and went underground.’

‘Because all of his peeps were getting murdered,’ Ayami finished cheerfully and you half expected her and Instant Coffee to slap hands in a celebratory high-five.

August sat silently in his usual place, thoughtfully turning the small white coffee cup in a circle on the table.

‘Last time he was seen?’ he asked finally.

‘Park hotel, Berlin,’ Instant Coffee read from the reports supplied by the ‘boots on the ground’ team. ‘Been there for about a week, but he hasn’t really stayed one place for more than that. We should have moved earlier.’

‘No,’ said August, not looking at him, but at the cup. ‘No, we want to give him enough rope to hang himself. Let him get complacent.’

‘Do we have time to let him get complacent?’ Instant Coffee said. ‘I mean, the longer we wait, the more time he’ll have to burrow in like a fucking tick.’

You looked at Instant Coffee for a moment. He did have a point.

‘Okay,’ August replied easily. ‘You’re right.’

At that moment, your respect for August Walker increased ten-fold. That he was able to take in the opinion of the other members of his team was unbearably sexy. He may have earned a little leg over for later that night.

‘I’m going alone,’ August announced finally, drawing the sharp attention of everyone in the room.

You reined your own reaction because an emotional response in that instant would have been inappropriate. You knew exactly why August wanted to hunt down Ethan alone. Hunt had not only gravely wounded August’s body but also his pride. His revenge was personal.

‘That’s probably not a good idea,’ said Instant Coffee, obviously feeling confident that he had scored a few brownie points a few moments earlier.

August scowled and looked to you. Meeting his gaze,  you nodded once.

‘August should face Hunt alone,’ you said to the room and then to him, added, ‘but I don’t think you should go alone.’

There was so much gratefulness in his eyes that you felt embarrassed and looked away. You didn’t want August to see the answering distress in your eyes. If the fight on the cliff side had been fair, and luck hadn’t been on Hunt’s side, August wouldn’t have lost. Tossing August over the edge was poor sportsmanship. You were afraid that Hunt would employ other clever tricks and defeat August for the second time. And now that August wanted to take on the IMF leader alone ensured that he would be left vulnerable to losing the upper hand.

You didn’t want to lose him again, but you remained silent. This was ultimately August’s decision and he had made his choice.

**

The two of you didn’t speak much on the trip to Berlin. There wasn’t much to say. You didn’t dare express to him your fears, because that would only serve to distract him with your possibly misplaced doubt. And distraction was the last thing August needed.

When he pulled up to a local hotel to drop you off, you stayed in the car, sitting quietly for a moment, unsure what to do or say. Sighing, you turned to him and reached to cup his cheek.

‘See you soon,’ you encouraged him. ‘Bring me a trophy.’

August nodded and you got out of the car.

Come back to me, you thought watching the car disappear in the afternoon traffic.

Your room faced the Berliner Fernsehturm and you could hear music from the festival going on in the square below. You took a long hot shower and stretched on the surprisingly comfortable bed. It wasn’t the Shangri-la, but it was charming and it wasn’t long before you fell asleep.

The room door thunking shut as if a heavy weight collapsed against it awoke you hours later. With a gasp, you shot upright and reached for your weapon. You couldn’t remember where the light switch was, so when you scrambled up from the bed, you backed up to the table under the window and jerked open the curtains to let in the artificial outdoor light.

The scent of sulphur and petrol filled the room and as your eyes slowly adjusted to the differences in the light you could just make out the bulky form sitting on the floor against the door. You knew that form as the impression of it was etched on your own flesh.

You put your weapon aside and padded barefoot across the hardwood floor, grabbing a towel and wetting it as you passed the small bathroom alcove. You crouched before the shadowed figure and put your hand beneath his chin. You lifted his face to the light and it was clear that Hunt had given August a run for his money.

You gently cleaned the dried blood from his mouth and chin, carefully working it out of his moustache and scruff.

You wanted to say something reassuring, something positive, but you were too overwhelmed with relief.

‘Well,’ you murmured, stroking his face. ‘I hate to see the other guy.’

August was silent and you hoped you hadn’t over stepped the line.

He then held up a small package wrapped neatly in butcher’s paper and tied with white twine. You took it from him, pulled the string and the paper unfolded  to reveal your trophy. Holding it up to the light, it took a moment for you to recognise the carefully extracted evidence of Hunt’s death and you smiled.

‘Come on, you big brute,’ you said fondly, attempting to pull him up from the floor.

When August didn’t budge, you stopped straining against his weight and gasped with exertion.

‘You’re gonna have to help me here, babe!’

Groaning miserably, August managed to get his feet beneath him using the door and you to heave himself from the floor. You struggled to get him out of his clothes  and under the soft yellow light above the sink you examined him. Big swollen bruises bloomed across his chest and back accompanied by several shallow scrapes and slashes. You wasted no time washing him up, patching his wounds, and getting him into bed.

Lying on his belly, August was still asleep when you woke the next morning. You went to the minibar refrigerator, withdrew your trophy and admired it in the morning sunlight. Your mobile beeped.

It was a message from Ayami.

‘Tell your boyfriend to be a little less conspicuous next time, ok?’ she’d written.

Curious, and glancing at August’s sleeping form, you rang her.

‘What’s that mean?’ you asked when she answered.

‘I mean that August didn’t need to leave that fucker’s burning corpse in the warehouse. He damn near burned down the place.’

‘He was obviously sending them a message,’ you answered, smiling gleefully, proud of your little murder puppy.

‘I can understand that,’ she shot back sounding uncharacteristically irritable. ‘But that also earned us more attention than we wanted.’

You sobered.

‘Is this something that needs to be taken care of?’

‘It’s already handled,’ she answered and some of her good humour crept back into her voice.

You sighed and relaxed, wrapping an arm about your midsection.

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ you said after a moment with no conviction in your voice and she laughed incredulously.

‘When are you coming back?’ she asked, changing the subject.

‘I dunno. Depends on what August wants.’

‘Ok, you two lovebirds hash it out and I’ll see you… whenever.’

‘Thanks, Ayami. I love you!’

‘Get something from the Wall museum for me, ok?’

You disconnected the call and tossed aside the mobile.

Feeling a warm sense of well-being, you re-wrapped your trophy and stored it in the refrigerator again. Climbing into bed next to August, you lifted his arm, crawled beneath it, and curled your body against him.

August had exacted his revenge and you felt satisfied for him. But you weren’t sure what was going to happen now. The mission that had consumed so much of your year was over. You felt un-moored and a little panicked, but when August tightened his arm round you, your hamster wheel of thoughts scattered.

There was time to worry later, now in the heat of August’s embrace was peace and with a small smile still on your lips, you put your head against him and slept.

-end

[whump-town]

The Blood That Haunts Me

post-scratch fic

no pairings

Hotch has a bad heart

word count 6k

In Savannah Hayes’ experience, Saturday’s are typically for parents with screaming toddlers looking for emergency medicine to soothe their fears about whatever toy their child has shoved up their nose or to ask an aged nurse what to do with this croup that just won’t go away. It’s scrapes and bruises from a fender bender with kids just learning to drive and roughly two to three broken arms from seven-year-olds learning to ride a bike without training wheels. With any luck, there will be only one underage kid in a banana bag and the college kids will be in and out for stitches and gone as quickly as they come. There’s always the regulars - older men and women that buzz with the opportunity to be out of their houses even if it’s to withstand the pain of stitches and staples on their thin skin.

Rarely has Savannah faced a Saturday where she knew someone being pulled into her emergency room. Virginia isn’t the biggest place but her friends are young and healthy and Saturdays are for squirmy children and stupid teenagers. When she sees him with his ankles stretched out over the end of the stretcher and a large hand weakly fighting with the paramedic to hold the oxygen mask over her face she’s certain of his identity. She’s good with faces and his is unmistakable.

“You shouldn’t be on break yet, baby.” Derek picks up on the first ring, the sound of Hank babbling loudly in the background making him chuckle deeply as he moves. The phone pinched between his shoulder and cheek, she can hear him pick up their son. Talking back to the baby.

Savannah is sitting in the emergency room, camped out behind the desk as she catalogs patient information. Despite it being a Saturday, the hospital is startlingly pretty timid (knock on wood). When there is a new patient the clatter is noticed. So when Hotch came in, supine but weakly fighting against the oxygen mask pulled down over his mouth, Savannah noticed. Even drugged and combative, he’s distinctly himself.

And as Savannah tells Derek, describes the man she’s quite fond of, he doesn’t believe her. Hotch doesn’t go to the hospital and no one’s heard from him in forever, he’s probably not even in Virginia. Garcia said Jack started high school last fall and if they were home and situated again with no contact then… Well, what are they supposed to do? “Derek--” Savannah can hear the pitch change in his voice. Derek goes from dismissive to genuinely worried and now pulling at strings because no one has talked to Hotch in months (nearly two years) and the idea of seeing him now is terrifying. “I am positive that it’s Hotch.” She leans around the monitor, frowning as she watches some nurses she knows buzz around him. Throwing out words she can’t make out entirely but she can see what they’re doing and it makes her heart jump a little to hear medications that they put orders out for.

Hotch makes a noise - it has to be loud for her to hear it from the distance she’s at. “Baby,” she stands and it makes her heart do a weird clenching thing when she catches a glimpse at his face. Sees that he’s crying and clearly upset. “Derek, he’s getting all kinds of agitated. I’m gonna call you back in a second, okay?” She doesn’t wait for an answer and tosses her phone down on her chair before calling out for one of the nurses she recognizes with a wave.

The nurse smiles when she sees Savannah - she’s got a particular gift with patients like Hotch.

“I know this one,” Savannah says, approaching the bed. “What have you got?”

Savannah doesn’t have all the details on the accident that occurred in 2009 with George Foyet. It’s not Derek’s story to tell and it’s not exactly the easiest one to bring into conversation. She’s aware of vague things like his collapse a few years later from scar tissue that caused him to bleed internally and that Hotch's ex-wife was killed by a serial killer. Mostly, she knows that Hotch is dependable and secure and that when he went into witness protection nearly two years ago his absence had crushed them all. Even if the likes of Emily Prentiss and her just as stubborn as hell husband would never admit it.

“Mild tachycardia and respiratory depression -” The nurse tells her about Hotch’s underactive thyroid, something he’s supposed to take medication for ever since the stabbing damaged the organs function. How it’s throwing his heart into tachycardia and it’s getting worse, not responding to medicine yet.

Savannah may not know what happened with George Foyet but she knows Derek regards Hotch as this infallible wall of a man. One she’s come to understand he thinks can’t ever fall down and one that, despite how fondly he’ll speak about him, annoys the hell out of him. Personally, Savannah thinks Aaron Hotchner is just a sweet man. She likes him and his little quirks. He’s quite the odd pairing when he gets together with Emily and Dave but they’re a funny crowd.

What she isn’t expecting is the mess of scars littering his chest. Experience allows her to date some of them by sight - their distinct shape and coloration clustering them into the same time frame and she can’t imagine how someone gets over half a dozen wounds like that at once. They don’t end there. On his right side, there’s a nearly faded out of existence scar from a chest tube. A puncture wound- something blunt she’d assumed by way of its roundness. Even a few rougher-looking, jagged scars that she assumes are shrapnel because Derek has nearly identical ones.

Savannah is a few moments too late to prevent Hotch from being pulled down by a sedative but he’s fighting it, blinking slowly to try and remain awake. “Hey,” she greets softly, turning his wrist over so she can see IV sight in his elbow. It’s secure and there’s nothing special to note but it’s going to bruise. “Long time no see Agent Hotchner.” She squeezes his fingers, smiling at the recognition behind his eyes even if his lips only form a silent mouthed version of her name.

With a smile - remembering the first time they met and how gently he’d taken her hand before shaking his head and admonishing “everyone calls me Hotch” - she reaches down and fixes his hair. He’s let it grow out since he left the BAU. Derek had been livid when he got word that Hotch wasn’t coming back despite the fact that he too left the unit. “How are you feeling, Hotch? Can I call someone?”

His eyes slide shut and for a moment she thinks he’s given in, sunk down low where his pain and his ailments can’t get him. He taps a finger against her palm and she understands he’s still here. “Morgan?” he rasps.

She nods, “Derek already knows you’re here. I imagine he’ll have the whole crew here in no time.” He grimaces, cracking an eye open to give her a look she understands entirely. She’s only ever faced their smothering worry once when Hank was born but she knows it’s a lot. It’s hard to imagine they’re going to somehow be less present and attuned with him than they with her. He’s not looking forward to that and it’s understandable. “Don’t worry,” she promises, “I’ll have your back when they get here.”

He nods, dull eyes sinking back under his eyelids. She holds his hand until she’s certain he’s fallen asleep.

“So,” the nurse asks softly. She moves and tubes and wires around so that they’re not laying against his bare skin. Folding the blankets over Hotch’s hips and leaving his chest bare. He’s still tachycardic, breathing laboriously through inflamed lungs. “How do you know this guy?”

Savannah sits down on the edge of the bed, taking Hotch’s hand into her own. Working her thumb in gentle, hypnotic motions between his knuckles and smiling sadly at the relieved rasping sigh that leaves his parted pale lips. “Family,” she answers because she’s not sure what the answer really is but in some way… yeah, family.

The nurse nods, going about what needs to be done while Savannah stays on the edge of the bed. She does what she can until she clears her throat. “Hey,” the nurse smiles, sympathetic to the soft faraway look in Savannah’s eyes. “Doctor Hamilton admitted him so I need to take him up to the--”

Savannah stands immediately, nodding. “Yeah,” she lays his hand back down on his chest. Stepping away from the bed, “sorry.” She shakes her head, stepping back as the brakes come up and he’s set into motion. “Second floor?” Savannah assumes.

The nurse nods, “he’ll be in room one seventeen. I’ll let the desk know he’s one of yours.”

Savannah watches him disappear down the hall, met at the mouth of the hall by other nurses and staff nodding as they take him to the right floor. She’d been there long enough to see his heart monitor and to identify the ventricular tachycardia plaguing him. He’ll likely need a pacemaker and she’s already racing to a solution. He’ll need to be monitored after surgery but can go home. Hank’s a little too small still but they have the guest room. If Derek cleans up the mess he lets Hank make in there--

Savannah’s heart sinks to the floor and she turns around. Hit with the sudden memory of the last event she saw Hotch at and remembers slowly that Hotch has a son and someone needs to find him.

All morning something had been off, Hotch didn’t have to say it for Jack to know. The oatmeal was made oddly, Hotch’s hands trembling so much he’d gotten the measurements wrong. Too much brown sugar but Jack hadn’t seemed to mind it being too sweet. He’d been distracted by his oatmeal and unalarmed by signs he hasn’t learned to be aware of. If Hotch had gotten up late or made breakfast and then laid down on the couch then Jack would have noticed. Bad days come frequently and like most storms look and sound distinct.

High anxiety days are an early rise, the sound of lights being turned on and off as Hotch fails to get comfortable in any room. Coming out of his room and finding his father curled up on the couch. His knees drawn up and a pillow pressed into his chest, a heated blanket wrapped around him like a cocoon. It’s lightly tiptoeing around the house so Hotch stays asleep and avoids him once he does move and allows his aching back to stretch out. Jack knows to keep his music down and to call Jessica if Hotch locks himself away.

Though time has dampened it’s severity it’s not impossible to find his father trying to work through untreated PTSD or ride out an intense wave of depression. Leaving him immobile or desperate for a distraction. Jack knows those things. He understands them and, like the blasting siren that screams out before a tornado, Jack knows when to duck for cover and ride out the storm.

But Jack had no idea what a heart attack would look like. What to expect or even if a heart attack had been what he’d seen.

Hands over his ears, Jack Hotchner sinks into the emotionless walls surrounding him. Trying to find the place past his body where everything ceases to exist. Insistently, against his will, he’s pulled back to a decade ago. To the sound of gunshots tearing through the only home he’d ever known. To Emily wiping his tears away with the palm of her hand, their backs to the carnage his father created in the fall. To a hospital not unlike this one where his father was patched up - open wounds covered and drugs numbing his rough edges - until Jack had finally been able to see him. The feeling of his father’s chest, broad and forever, solid as he’d curled his legs into his lap. His father cried softly as he explained what happened, what he’d done.

“Mommy isn’t coming home, buddy.”

Pinching his eyes shut, Jack rocks himself back and forth. He can’t go there. Not alone. He can’t go back to Foyet. He’s too old for those silly games. Too old for nightmares and monsters hiding under his bed. Unaware of the ones still crawling out of his father’s closet, wrapping their cold fingers around his ankle and threatening to pull him into the darkness with them.

You’re never too old for monsters.

Spencer had found the time to confide in Jack about being raised by a mentally ill single mother. His intent was to demonstrate to Jack that not only did he understand the pre-teens intense fury with his father but that the emotions would abate and Jack would have only a few moments to decide what to do next. How Spencer had turned eighteen and had to have his mother committed to an institution. A decision that haunted him but that he ultimately understood it was simply the only option. One day, Spencer clarified, Jack would understand the way his father worked.

Until that moment, Jack had been more or less paying attention. When it came to all things Uncle Spence, Jack typically has a longer attention span and all the patience in the world but the moment Jack realizes this was a one-on-one sort of deal he was done. He wanted out. But Reid stuttered. That one day, and the words had come out so quickly if he’d had a chance Reid would have stopped them, Jack would realize just what that meant. He’d look at his father and all the magic of his childish love would fall away and Jack would be left with his father’s bare bones. And it would be terrifying but, often, that’s all love is: all the bits bleached down to their true forms.

He gets it now, okay? The nutty academic parent with bouts of deep depression, an obsession with their jobs, and no idea how to say I love you like everyone else. He gets the comparison now. Can he be done? He wants to go home. He’s done learning this stupid lesson about love or whatever bullshit this is supposed to represent. When does it end? It’s going to end, right?

Derek Morgan falters in the doorway, stalled like an engine as he stands at the edge of the messy room. Hank hums in Derek’s left ear, bouncing his foot against Derek’s hip as he stands stationary and trying to wrap his head around everything happening. It’s overwhelming. Derek hasn’t seen Hotch in two years and if the sight of him alone - laid out right here - doesn’t bring its own intense wave of anger and longing then the sight of his uncovered chest is it’s own thing as well.

Hotch is on the bed, curled slightly to his right with the blankets leaving his pale chilled skin open. Even with his face turned into the pillow behind his head, he looks deathly pale in comparison to the white bedspread. Entirely too limp, too still as he lays there pulling in breaths audible over the hiss of the canal running under his nose. Nearly drowned out, consumed by the natural hums of the hospital and constant motion of the monitors to his left and the dissatisfied beep of the blood-pressure cuff around his right arm.

Savannah warned him of what he’d find once he got inside in case she got called away to a patient when he got there. She told him the buzz around the staff, what Hotch’s cardiologist thought and it stung to hear her warn him ahead of time what Hotch looked like, worse, she imagined, than what Derek was imaging. Weaker, she’d said as if the word was some sort of betrayal. He’s weak and Derek can’t push him and he’d wanted to advocate for himself but he couldn’t.

With tears in his eyes, he’d promised to be on his best behavior and Derek realized just how awful he and Hotch could be towards one another. How everyone sees it. He’d wondered if… Well, if Hotch hated him for it. They’d been close once. Partners. Haley used to joke she half expected he’d steal Aaron away from her. That old joke used to make Jason laugh so hard, the two of them together were the cause of all his worry and stress. Now…

Well, now Derek is standing in a room that can’t be more than a 120-foot space with far too much equipment in it feeling like he’s never been so far away from Hotch. So disconnected.

Hotch makes a soft sound from the bed, twitching his nose and flexing his fingers. There are more drugs than blood in him, keeping him weak and tired and unable to pick apart his surroundings. Hazy eyes blink open, peeled apart like they each weigh twenty pounds, and the simple act of keeping them open burns. He can’t make out the world around him very well but he sees the empty chairs on his left and the expanse of white all around. The hospital, he knows, and no one showed up.

Maybe they finally got wise and are leaving him to his own devices. Leaving him to rot where he won’t be missed. Sinking into the fibers of the bed and disappearing. They’ll stop pumping him so full of drugs and just let him wilt away. He wants it, craves the nothing he knows he’ll find. No masks or deception or this anger he feels burning and rearing its ugly head. Just nothing.

Derek steps into the room, sniffling to draw in some noise before he steps into Hotch’s line of sight. Hoping not to startle him, as he clears his throat, meeting Hotch’s gaze for only a moment looking down at his shoes. “Just me and Hank,” he offers. He tucks his hands into his pockets. He can feel Hotch still looking at him, hearing those painstakingly slow, labored breaths. He wishes he hadn’t come. To escape all this restless vulnerability.

Hotch’s eyes sink back shut, pale lips parting to mumbling, “Derek,” under his breath. Savannah told him Hotch wouldn’t even likely know he was there. The drugs are affecting his mental facilities, sedating him to keep him calm while they run tests. When he can remember what’s happening he’s scared and when he can’t… he has a baseline memory that hardly differentiates friend from foe. It’s the latter of which Savannah needs him to be aware of because Hotch’s heart can’t handle the stress. His mind is too clouded and his body too weak, he just needs someone to hold his hand. Someone to distract him.

Derek’s expecting a conversation. For Hotch to say something. To apologize for running off or to pay Hank some sort of mind. There’s not even a stiff silence, Hotch looks so weak, so pliant Derek isn’t sure he can even speak. He realizes that despite all the hefty warnings, despite everything that he was told he still walked into this room expecting Aaron Hotchner. He wanted, he needed the man in the suit, with that stern scowl, and gravelly voice. He’d needed the mask and instead he got the man. The man without the armor, just blood.

And it scares him.

It scares Derek that Hotch can’t put up his shields, that he can’t hide and play their cat and mouse game of anger and misunderstanding. They only have blind defeat.

Derek sits down in the visitor’s chair, shushing Hank when he squirms with agitation. Hank immediately starts touching everything in sight. Reaching and leaning dangerously out of Morgan’s lap, to touch the bed and smack his hand against the rail. A sound that makes Hotch’s eyes peel open to slivers before they shut again, unbothered. “Don’t touch that,” Derek pulls Hank into his lap, redirecting his attention.

He knows, from the low whine Hank lets out, that this isn’t going to work for very long. Mercifully, there’s a knock at the door and Savannah peeks her head in. Waving at Hank who fights his limbs out of Derek’s hold to be placed on the floor so he can propel his body in the direction of his mother.

“Hello baby,” Savannah scoops him right up. Grinning at that way he toddles, that quick toddler pace because he doesn’t know how to pump the brakes. How to set himself into motion that isn’t just guided by leaning forward and running.

Derek stands from his chair, clearing his throat and glancing down at Hotch before looking back to his wife and son.

Savannah can see his hesitation, his worry. “Why don’t we go to the cafeteria and get a snack? Hmm?” She jogs Hank up in her arms and he brightens at the offering - knowing pudding or a cookie is coming his way. “Derek?” She offers out her hand to him, “come on. I’ll explain everything to you downstairs.”

“Ugh--” all he can see is Hotch shivering. His skin slick with sweat from the strain on his body but the way he’s curled into the side. Trying to produce warmth where it isn’t. “Just give me a second.” Derek knows he can’t just throw the blanket over Hotch and he works himself up, gets upset just thinking about the mass of awful scars keeping his friend held together. All the old scars are bare for anyone and everyone to see. If Hotch had the presence of mind for it, he’d be upset.

With a gentleness born with great amounts of stress, Derek gently works the lower half of the blanket over Hotch’s leg. He folds the lower half over and hesitates, stares at Hotch, and wonders just how much he’s allowed. Hotch is cold and Derek knows that means his arms too but that crosses their line. They’re never spoken out loud, only shot through glances about trust and touch but Hotch is asleep or maybe lost to his haze of drugs (and Derek’s not really sure if there’s a difference between those two things). So, he picks up Hotch’s hand, swallowing against the uncomfortable swell of his throat when he feels just how cold the other man’s skin is. He tucks Hotch’s hand carefully against his chest.

Hotch’s face twitches, a grimace that makes him jerk his head but he doesn’t move his hand so Derek leaves it. Carefully, still watching and waiting for some explosive reaction but none come. Derek turns the heated blanket up to the highest setting, making sure even Hotch’s shoulders are covered. Tucking the blanket just under his chin.

Hotch groans from the back of his throat, a startling noise that comes with blinding panic. His eyes fly open, darting around the room and to Derek but not seeing. Derek can’t tell if it’s pain or fear but the machine over his shoulder picks up pace, reflecting Hotch’s distress. Hotch swallows thickly, mouth opening and eyes flicking around the room. Twisting, fighting his body in a futile battle where he loses no matter the outcome. Kicking out and dislodging blankets as he’s blinded by his pain.

“Step back Derek.” Derek just stands there, frozen. Savannah grabs him by the arm and pulls him back, allowing other people to come into the room. “He’s okay,” she mumbles, eyes glued to Hotch. He’s fighting blindly, anything and everything. His heart can’t take it, her eyes flick from his bare skin to the monitors. To the staff also taking note. “Derek, we can’t be in here.”

They pull the crash cart close, preparing vials of medicine before their eyes.

“What’re they--” Derek can’t move. He stands there watching them move blankets out of the way. Listening as they pull open a drawer and settle a machine on top and he knows what it is. Doesn’t need to be told what’s happening next. “Savannah.” He stumbles back, shaking his head. The machine wines, a high-pitched squeal that makes Derek’s heart pick up.

He doesn’t see, doesn’t watch.

He’s standing in the hall when the machine fires off. Can close his eyes but can’t unhear the sound of Hotch’s low groan, a punched-out sound but he’s alive. Still pulling in breaths.

“Morgan?”

He was still a baby the last time Morgan saw him. Quickly trying to climb to his father’s height but every bit as graceful as a colt, and angry. Angry with his father for falling into this same repeated history and questioning what he knew. How much of his father’s strength is something else? What does he really know about the man who raised him? Because he got himself a chunk of history, started to understand the man he’d always blindly turned to. His hero. Instead, he got glimpses, stories about the boy his mother knew and he could no longer recognize him.

But standing here now is a whole teenager. Blonde hair grown out and even taller, built unmistakably like his father with all height in his legs and pale.

“Jack.” Morgan stumbles back when Jack collides into him, long arms wrapping around him. “Oh my God,” he whispers. “When the hell did you get so big?” He’s standing there, a whole armful of the kid he used to give piggyback rides to.

Jack pulls away and wipes his eyes, furiously wipes his eyes so that Morgan can unsee the tears streaming down his face. “My-- My dad,” he asks. “Did you see him?” Jack looks at the room, alerted by the sounds coming from within, but Morgan steps in the way. “Morgan is he-- is he in there?” Jack worms his way out of Morgan’s arms, a whole tangle of long limbs.

Hotch would be proud to know Jack is exactly like him, real scrappy. A lot of fight for such a lanky person.

“Jack,” Morgan pulls him away from the door. Despite how much he wants to go to Hotch too, that’s not where Jack should be. That’s not what Jack should see. “Come on, kid. We can’t go in there. Come on.” The fight leaves him easily enough, he’s really just a kid standing there looking for someone to tell him what to do. Anyone to point him where he’s supposed to be.

Jack still wants to turn, as if pulled by strings.

“I called Rossi,” Morgan offers. Something to distract him, something good. “Everyone else? Reid and Garcia and Emily? They’re on their way, okay?” And even with loaded promises Jack can’t find the nerve to respond. Their names used to be a solace. Someone to call when he needs help with his math homework. To show up with books on whatever cool thing he’s into this week. His family.

People he hasn’t seen in forever.

They do come.

Hank’s ambling about, babbling to Morgan as he pulls his father around the waiting room. It’s his excited squeal that alerts them to the other’s arrival. To Reid holding the door open so the others can pass. The pile-up that happens, shocked inhales and silence as they stand there and look at the carnage. At Jack’s tear-stained face and Morgan going where Hank pulls but empty, fearful.

“Uncle Dave?” Jack stands up, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

Dave smiles, “hey kiddo.” He doesn’t argue against the armful of Jack he gets, just closes him up. “Christ,” Dave whispers. “You’re a giant.”

“What is he feeding you?” Jack turns around and finds Emily and all she can do is laugh as he hugs her too. Finds herself all wrapped up in his long arms. “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind,” she whispers, “letting you get so big.” She squeezes him tight, cups the back of his head.

There’s not much more time for reunions, never much time for anything.

“Aaron Hotchner?”

Never get used to this part either. The sitting. The waiting. The calling.

Savannah was right about the tachycardia.

“With your permission - ” and it’s important that detail be added. That Hotch can’t make this decision for himself anymore and it’s resting entirely on the shoulders of Jessica or Dave and Emily alternatively. That doesn’t mean it’s not like a kick to the gut. A cruel taunt. “We would like to prepare him for the surgery now while he’s stable.” Stable? Is that what he is? Laying back there with defibrillator pads on his chest and sedated to the point that Morgan wasn’t sure Hotch could even recognize him.

Jack sniffles, ducking his head and whispering to Emily. Attached to her hip, clinging to her. She shakes her head and brushes his hair back, “it doesn’t work like that, Jack.” Jack’s lower lip trembles and it breaks Emily’s heart so she interrupts the doctors. Despite the voice at the back of her head telling her this isn’t a good idea. Despite the sour twist in her stomach. The way she knows Hotch wouldn’t want this. “I know there are strict rules,” and that alone should be enough to know they’re likely to be shot down. “Is there any chance he can go back before the surgery? This is his son, he’s fifteen. He’ll be sixteen soon. You’re hardly breaking the rules at all.”

Soon is a bit of a stretch. Jack’s an October baby.

The doctor looks at Jack and sighs like this is really putting him off but nods. “Yeah, quickly. Five minutes, do you understand? You can’t be back there long,”

And Jack thinks he’s won something grand. That he’ll be faced with the same mirage Morgan was expecting. His dad will be sitting back there tall and strong, probably just tired like he’s sick. But he takes one step into the room and wishes he hadn’t come. Hadn’t asked.

They haven’t removed the defibrillator pads on his chest just pulled a blanket over his stomach but that only minimally covers the damage. There are still visibly warped bullet wounds and jagged surgical scars to be seen. But Dave has seen all that. He’d been there to watch the blood spray out when the scar on Hotch’s shoulder took place. Shouted as the gunshot sprayed out and Hotch grunted, being sent back into the wall behind him. But that was… God, that was a lifetime ago when Hotch was just a kid.

Dave turns behind him and sees Jack frozen in the doorway, eyes wide. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Jack nods but he can hardly move, can’t force himself to move further into the room. He’s seen his father shirtless, not enough times to really gather anything but he’s seen the damage of years of this job has caused. But this is different. Jack isn’t six, isn’t watching him shave. He’s standing there watching him pull in laborious breaths, struggling to keep living.

“You know,” Rossi sits down in the visitor’s chair. “When you were born he cried so hard that Gideon had to call me.” He looks back at Jack, watching his face for some inclination that he’s going to either come into the room or run away. “Haley was exhausted but… She was beautiful, always was. No matter if she was showing up at the office to haul your father home by the ear in her pajamas or crying her make-up off in the waiting room waiting for your knucklehead father to get out of surgery.”

But he’s missed the point.

He chances a glance to Hotch, watching his pale face twist in discomfort. “You were born at eleven at night and by that point I was already in bed and done for the night by ten kind of guy.” He can still remember sighing and almost ignoring his phone when it had gone off. “I got to the hospital and your dad was sitting on the floor just outside the room, sobbing so hard I thought he’d pass out.” It’s still pretty surprising he didn’t pass out. “Didn’t think he could do it. You were so small, small, and pink and screaming your little head off.”

Jack huffs, smiling as he kicks at the ground. Looking everywhere but his father or Dave.

“But I picked him up,” grabbed him by his shirt and forced him to his feet. Managing the tough love Gideon couldn’t bring himself to enforce. “I don’t think he stopped crying until he fell asleep. Just sitting there with you in his arms crying.” Rossi sighs shakes his head. “Honestly, you were tiny. Had a-- Had a thing with your heart and…” Rossi had held Jack after Hotch and Haley finally managed to catch some sleep. A nurse had figured he or Gideon one had to be a grandfather, why else would they be there? They’d sat there with Jack for about an hour just gushing over how small and cute he was. Trying to keep the baby content so Haley could get some sleep.

Drowsily his voice cuts through the silence, nothing but a ghost of a whisper. “An atrial septal defect.” It’s all he can manage but it’s enough to get their attention. Jack had been born with an atrial septal defect and they knew about it in advance just after Haley’s pregnancy got tricky. It was just a tiny little hole in his atrium, closed before he was a whole year old. That doesn’t mean it didn’t scare the hell out of them first. Leave them to check his bassinet every few hours. To make sure he was okay, still breathing.

“The doctor said I shouldn’t play soccer because of it.” Jack manages a few steps and comes to the very end of the bed. His fingers just barely touching the bed frame. “But you let me play anyways.”

Hotch clears his throat, shakes his head. “I didn’t. Jessica did.” He grimaces, shifting uselessly to find a position that doesn’t hurt. “Said-- She said if you were anything like me you’d find a way.” He’s talked himself breathless, gasping and fighting to breathe. “Might as well-- Might as well make it easy on myself. Just let you do it.” So he had. He signed Jack up for soccer despite his own fears and went to every match he could. Every practice. Until he was the only parent paying attention.

He coughs softly, setting off a weight and ache in his lungs. “Jessica--” he cuts himself off, coughing until he holds his breath and fists the sheets in his hand to keep from still.

Jack looks away, fixes his eyes on the floor.

Dave calls it. Hotch won’t admit he’s not okay and Dave would venture Jack has that same stubborn-streak, doesn’t want to think that Hotch isn’t okay.

“Come on,” Dave motions for Jack to follow him. “Times up, better get out of here before they kick us out.” Five or so minutes, that’s all they had and that’s passed. “You’ll be fine,” Dave promises.

He struggles to get his breath, to say something coherent. “Wait,” he grabs Dave’s shirt. Hospitals are so cold, they’re scary and miserable and he doesn’t want to be here. He wants to go home. “I’m sorry,” he manages. “I’m sorry.”

Dave pulls Jack on, can’t leave him behind, and can’t stay any longer.

“What did he mean?” Jack asks. He keeps looking back, looking over his shoulder to the room. “Why’d he say that?” He has to run to keep up with Dave’s pace. “Dave, please. Why’d he say he was sorry?”

Dave stops and just stands for a moment, looking at the hall before them. “He’s scared,” Dave answers, finally. “He’s just scared, that’s all.”

He doesn't think he’s going to make it. That’s the horrible ugly truth. That’s why he apologized. Just in case.

“Come on,” Dave holds out his arm. Smiles a smile that doesn't even try to make it to his eyes and wraps an arm around Jack. “It’s going to be okay. You know that?”

Jack looks back over his shoulder once more, to the room. He doesn’t buy it for a second but he nods anyway. “Course,” he answers.

“Good. That’s good.”

[krappykawa]

ಌ i mildly like you more than like (p.5)

— in which an incessant fan girl, a kiss, and a little bit of denial makes oikawa tooru realize he might mildly like you more than like

description. you’ve been in love with oikawa tooru for longer than you can remember. having known him for the better part of nearly 11 years, you’ve come to accept that you’ll never be more than a best friend to him. but with the help of a few irritatingly persistent fangirls and a kiss that was only meant to drive them away, a tale of unrequited love might just prove to be something more.

warnings. language

word count. 4.6k

oikawa tooru x f!reader, childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, some angst

parts. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

author’s note. second to last part 😼😼 idk if you could call this angst but whatever it is will end next chap bc next chap will probably be teeth-rotting 😄

previously ...

“ You can feel Hanamaki stand straighter and you’re sure that he has the stupidest triumphant grin on his face. “No. Not until you stop crying over captain pretty face.”

“Y/N-chan’s crying over who now?”

You feel Makki freeze in the middle of his marching. Awkwardly, you turn to see Oikawa’s figure at the door from your position thrown over Hanamaki’s shoulder. You forgot that he was the only one that doesn’t knock.

Something in Oikawa’s expression is odd.

“Makki, fix this or I cut off your dick,” you whisper into his ear. He gulps.

“Oh, hey Shittykawa. We’re just helping Y/N with her captain pretty face problems,” Hanamaki says. You already don’t like the way that this is heading.  

“Who … exactly is .. captain pretty face?” Oikawa’s eyes are on you. The irony of the nickname is not lost on you. You can only hope that the words that come out of Hanamaki’s mouth next are not the words you’re dreading.

“Don’t worry. You’re not captain pretty face. Kaoru is!” The world does not seem to be on your side.

Oikawa’s smile drops and suddenly you have the urge to cut Makki’s dick off anyways, because he just made this a lot, lot worse. “

“Ah, so I’ve been replaced by another captain pretty face? Y/N-chan I’m wounded!” Oikawa closes the door behind him as he laughs, but the sound is hollowed and not at all what a genuine laugh of his sounds like. You shoot a look to Iwaizumi, but find that he’s scrutinizing Oikawa in the same way that you were just moments ago. 

With a light punch to his back from you, Makki slowly sets you back down onto your feet. You lift a hand to tidy your hair. 

“Makki’s lying. He’s just being a pain in the ass,” you reply. In saying that, you’re well aware of the fact that you’re potentially diving into dangerous territory. It would be too easy for Oikawa to decide that he wants to know more and possibly ask you the questions that you’re so dreading, but there’s something wrong about having him believe that you actually like Kaoru that you find more dreadful than potentially having to tell him about your year-long love for him. 

Oikawa sets his bag down next to a bin full of his things that he’d left over the years before turning back to look at you. The expression he meets you with is almost off-putting. The corners of his mouth are flicked upwards in what might be disapproval, but his eyes reflect something else - something akin to regret. “Is he really? I mean you have been spending quite a bit of time with Kaoru-kun as of late, haven’t you?”

His voice sounds like it’s dripping with lies, though you can’t quite understand why that’s so because he technically wasn’t lying. You decide that maybe you've just gotten so used to the realness of Oikawa that you forget that his natural tongue is fluent in lying. The only people that have ever been able to see right through his tone are all standing in this room. 

Inevitably, you find your eyes flicking to Makki’s. Oikawa notices. You see the facade drop the mildest bit. 

“I don’t. You know that you would be the first to know if I did,” you say. It’s true. Growing up, he’s always been the first to know about your crushes, no matter how small. He’s known about all crushes, except for one. Him himself. 

Something changes in his expression then. It’s a miniscule change - the slight upward tip to his lips that makes the almost imperceptible indent of a dimple peak out - but you’re so attuned to him that you know that means that his smile is genuine. “I’ll hold you to that Y/N-chan. Don’t you go around replacing me.”

The air in the room seems to sigh in relief. You turn your eyes away from him when you feel yourself start to smile. You don’t want to give Makki, Mattsun, or Iwaizumi anything to make fun of you for later on. 

“Cut the dramatics in front of them. It’s like you’re asking to get made fun of,” you say instead. 

Oikawa just shrugs. “According to Iwa-chan, just having this face is already asking to get made fun of, so there’s really no big difference.”

Iwaizumi snorts from his position on the couch. “I said that your face when you look dumb is asking to get made fun of, but it’s good that you’re self aware.”

Oikawa sticks a tongue out at him.

“As mature as always captain,” Mattsun says. 

Oikawa flicks his gaze to Matsukawa before he says, “Hm, that reminds me. Y/N-chan please accompany me to the kitchen.” He’s already walking to the kitchen without waiting for a response. 

You exchange looks with Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki. Hanamaki has the decency to look apologetic. You make hand motions at him that elicits a chuckle from Matsukawa.

When you enter the kitchen, Oikawa has a cup of ice and a handkerchief sitting on the counter. He’s carefully dropping a few ice cubes into the middle of the handkerchief.

“What’s that for?”

He’s quiet as he finishes and wraps the handkerchief around the ice. “Close your eyes,” he says softly as he walks towards you and presses the cold ice against your eyes. “You were crying before I got here.”

You stay quiet. Of course he noticed. 

“What happened? Are you sure Makki was lying? You can tell me you know, if something happened with Kaoru.”

You let out a breath and allow the cold of the ice against your eyes ease you into a lie. “I wasn’t crying over Kaoru. They just found out that he walked me home today and decided to roll with it. I’m really just exhausted from classes.”

The hand that Oikawa was using to dab at your eyes suddenly stops. “Kaoru … walked you home? From the bakery?”

Slowly, you let your eyes flutter open, your puffing eyes already missing the cold of the ice against your eyelids. Oikawa’s eyes are trained on you, and you get that odd feeling that he’s searching you for answers. You’ve found that he’s been doing that a lot as of late - this whole reading instinct he uses for people he’s just met. You still aren’t used to him using it on you. 

You flick your eyes away from his and break the eye contact. Instead, you look at his hand and reach up to take the ice pack from him. He hands it to you gently and takes a step back. You watch him as he clears his throat and moves to disappear behind the fridge door. 

“Yeah, he did walk me home,” you pause, debating with yourself about telling him. “I think he came to ask me on a date, actually.”

You think you imagine Oikawa’s body stopping mid-movement. “Did you say yes?”

“No. He asked if I was free today. I told him that I already made plans with you four.”

“Oh,” Oikawa says as he pulls out a cup of mint chocolate chip. 

“Yeah.”

As he makes himself busy with finding a spoon, you lean against the counter and continue to press the ice against your eyes. Oikawa sneaks a glance at you. “If he asked again, and you didn’t have plans. Would you say yes?”

His voice is unnaturally quiet. You aren’t sure what to do with that knowledge. 

“Probably not. I broke up with him for a reason.”

A noise of agreement comes from Oikawa. “You said that you two didn’t click.”

“We don’t.”

A comfortable silence engulfs you two as Oikawa leans against the counter next to you. You try not to watch him as he takes a bite of ice cream and unintentionally smiles, his eyes looking serene for the first time in a while. Instead, you make yourself busy with alternating the ice pack between your eyes, though now you were mostly just doing it so that you had something to do other than get the urge to stare at him. 

After a moment, Oikawa speaks again. “I still don’t believe for one second that you were only crying because of school.”

You let the hand holding the ice pack finally fall to your side. “Well you better believe it then because it’s the truth.”

“Maybe. But I get the feeling that it’s a half truth.”

“Half truths aren’t all bad.”

“So I’m right.”

You make yourself busy with throwing the ice into the sink as you scramble your head for a decent lie. “Bad day at the bakery. I fucked up the honey buns.”

Oikawa hums. “So now it’s a two-thirds truth.”

The other third is that I’m in love with your dumbass and you’ll never know.

“That’s it. Promise.”

Oikawa switches tactics. “Y/N-channn. You’re lying to me.”

“Tooruuuu. I’m not lying to you,” you say as you roll your eyes. 

“Yes you are. You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“Tapping your right middle finger on your thigh.”

“I do that?” You look down and find that you were indeed tapping your finger against your thigh. You start to wonder how many other times he could detect your lies, but for the sake of your sanity, you decide not to dwell on it.

He reaches down and stops your tapping finger with his own hand. The moment lasts too long -- feels too personal. You pull your hand away and take a step back so that you’re leaning against the opposite counter. 

“Whatever. I’m telling the truth.”

“Sure you are.”

“I am!”

“Mhm. Lies, lies , lies,” Oikawa says playfully. “Sorry for not being here earlier. I got caught up in playing this new game Takeru bought. You should’ve called me over. I would’ve come in a heartbeat if I knew that you were having a hard time.”

You make a waving motion with your hand. “It’s fine really. I just got overwhelmed by stuff. No big deal.”

Oikawa frowns. The sight doesn’t look natural on his usually smiling face. “Stop putting yourself down like that. I don’t care how small you think your problem is. If it makes you cry, then it’s worth talking about.”

“Don’t get all team captain ‘Kawa on me. I appreciate it, I really do. But this time it really wasn’t a big deal.”

He scoffs in disbelief. “I walked in and your eyes looked redder than Mattsun’s ass after I accidentally hit him with a serve.”

“How the fuck would you know that?”

“Don’t question what goes on in the locker room.”

A laugh bubbles up from your lips and you have to tip your head back so that Oikawa doesn’t make fun of the way your face contorts as you laugh. When your laughter finally dies down, you look back to see that Oikawa’s staring at you again. He’s looking at you like you’re an opponent he can’t quite get a read on. 

“You alright?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine,” he pauses. “Do you think I should invite Hishoko next time? You know … to be a .. good boyfriend.”

Suddenly it hits you again. It hits you that you can’t just live in this perfect little bubble where you and Oikawa are making jokes at each other in your kitchen forever. It hits you that this Oikawa - the Oikawa that’s so very real and rough around the edges but makes you laugh louder than anyone - isn’t yours. It hits you that while he might look at you one way, he might look at Hishoko in a completely different way that you have never been privy to. 

It rips you back to reality, and suddenly you’re aware of the voices in the living room and how Makki and Iwa seem to be fighting over whatever movie’s better. 

“Oh yeah. I don’t mind.” You smile up at him with the most convincing smile you can. Suddenly, the thought of spending one more minute in this kitchen with him and getting lost in this perfect little bubble makes you want to cry all over again. “We should head back. I think hell’s going down over there,” you say lightly. 

Before he can even get a word out, you’re already making a beeline for the living room. You try to slow your steps to a normal pace when you start towards where Iwaizumi is now sitting on the floor. You make sure to make him move over so that you can sit on the side where the couch ends so that Oikawa can’t sit next to you. 

“Fucking finally. Don’t ever leave me in a room with Makki and Iwaizumi ever again,” Matsukawa says. You laugh a little when you notice that he’s saying that while being sprawled across Makki’s lap. 

“It’s not my fault that Hanamaki can’t appreciate a cinematic masterpiece.”

“Hate to break it to you Iwa, but Godzilla vs. The Cosmic Monster isn’t anyone’s favorite movie.”

Oikawa’s voice joins in as you hear steps from the kitchen. “Makki, that movie’s a fucking masterpiece. Please shut your mouth.”

You try not to listen to the way Oikawa’s steady steps back into the living room come to a halt when he notices your choice of seat. 

He looks up at the stars twinkling against the blackened blue of the contrasting night sky with a heavy sigh. Oikawa always felt a sense of stability and tranquility when looking up at the sky, as if it was a reminder that his life was just a minuscule dot in the cloth of the universe. That maybe, his worries were something so small that he needn’t have to worry about them. 

He remembers the way that the night sky was his company when his father had left so early on in his life, or when his sister had come home crying because she had a human growing inside of her and the man she was supposed to marry left her in the same fashion that their own father had, or when he thought that maybe his love for volleyball would have to be ripped from him after his injury in his first year. 

He hopes to look up at the dark indigo of the sky and feel that same tranquility. For just a moment. It does. 

But even now, as his chest rises softly, he can still feel the unease weighing on him. 

The night went by unnaturally fast for a night with you, Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa. After a few fights between the guys, all five of you finally sat down and got around to watching the movie (which, to Oikawa’s distaste, was some old film from the 60s that Matsukawa had picked because he was drawn to the odd looking cover). 

The movie came and went with more than a few complaints from him. It was the type of movie that he especially hated - the kind with a plot that made absolutely zero sense and had an ending that made Oikawa want to rewind the last two hours because he just couldn’t believe he spent 2 hours of his life trying to figure out what the hell was going on just for it to not have a satisfactory ending. 

He wouldn’t put the bad movie down as the reason for his irritable mood, but if anyone asked, it would be the answer that they’d get. 

Nobody else seemed to be particularly fond of the horrendous movie either (except for Matsukawa, who insisted that they just simply did not have to brain to appreciate the masterpiece. Makki just insisted that the movie was a pile of shit, which Oikawa found himself agreeing with). 

Soon after, the five of you found yourselves cramped into your tiny kitchen, which really should never happen again, if the glass that broke after getting knocked over was any indication. It only really happened because Matsukawa swore that he could create the best soup they’d ever put anywhere near their mouths, but that plan went up in flames. Literally.

The incident of Makki almost setting off the fire alarm seemed to sober everyone up, as if whatever energy had previous possessed the five of you had suddenly run out. Oikawa didn’t mind too much, considering the rest of the night was spent watching reruns of one of your favorite shows that he was particularly fond of. 

What he did mind however, was the way that you seemed to decide to avoid him for the entire night. He was sure that Iwa, Mattsun, and Makki must’ve noticed, but by some odd agreement, nobody dared speak a word about it.

He tried not to think about anything whenever he felt his eyes drift down to where you were huddled against Iwaizumi’s side, a position that had been his and yours for as long as he could remember. He tried not to think about it then because he was sure that if he did, he’d end up saying something he didn’t mean to say. 

He knew that he’d have to think about this in the silence of his own thoughts where there’s nothing but his own annoying emotions chiming in. 

So now he’s here, sitting on a bench in your backyard and staring up at the sky like it’ll give him the answer to whatever question he wanted answered. 

He hadn’t meant to bring up Hishoko, he really hadn’t. He just remembered the way his stomach fluttered once more at the sound of your laugh and the way it made him panic, because for the love of everything he wasn’t supposed to feel like that. 

“Oikawa?”

Oikawa tears his gaze from the sky and turns to meet Iwaizumi’s head as he slips through the door. He must not have heard the door open. “Hey Iwa-chan. I couldn’t sleep.”

Iwaizumi lets out a low chuckle as he walks to where Oikawa’s seated in the middle of your rock garden. He takes a seat next to Oikawa on the bench. “Leave it to you to be the only one that stays up when everyone else crashed two hours ago.”

“Mhm. Why are you awake? Last I checked you were as passed out as the rest of them,” Oikawa says with his gaze still flickering over the stars. 

Iwaizumi shrugs. “Had to use the bathroom and then realized that you weren’t anywhere to be found.”

Oikawa seizes the moment to don his cheeky smile, turning his head from the stars and to Iwaizumi’s sleep-ridden face. “Awe you worried about me Iwa-chan?”

The reaction he gets from Iwaizumi is an eyeroll, but Oikawa doesn’t expect any less. “After you spent the night looking like you were one second away from an existential crisis? Yeah I did.”

Oikawa doesn’t respond to that. He wonders if you noticed too. 

“Spit it out.”

He ponders with himself for a moment, wondering if it’s a good idea to finally just talk about it with someone. He decides that if there’s anyone he’d talk about this with, he’s glad it’s with Iwaizumi. “It’s about Y/N and Hishoko.”

Iwa doesn’t miss a beat, as if he was expecting that. “Mm. What about them?”

“I think I made a mistake.”

“You make a lot of those, ‘Kawa.”

“No, I mean, I shouldn’t have accepted Hishoko’s confession when the only reason I did it was because I didn’t know how I was feeling. It’s not fair to her that the only reason I’m with her is because I’m too cowardly to decide how I felt after I ...” Oikawa trails off, unsure if you’d be okay with Iwaizumi knowing. 

It seems he doesn’t have to worry because Iwaizumi finishes his sentence for him. “Kissed Y/N?”

Oikawa’s head turns to Iwaizumi. “You know about that?”

“She told me, yeah.”

“Why … why would she tell you that?”

“You’re not fucking dense, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says with a side glance at his best friend. “I think you know the answer to that.”

For a moment Oikawa considers the possibility that you did feel the same way (a fantasy he’s entertained more times than he’s willing to admit), but he knows that he has to get this out now, has to figure it out and solidify what he feels for you now, because he won’t be able to stand it if he has to keep tiptoeing around you because he’s a fool that can’t admit his own feelings to himself.  

The question that comes out of his mouth next isn’t exactly what he meant to ask, but now that it’s out in the open, Oikawa guesses that maybe that’s the question that’s been holding him back this whole time. “What if I mess up?”

“Mess up how?”

He sighs. “I don’t exactly have a great track record when it comes to relationships.” So far, out of the six relationships he’s had, only two of them will even look at him without disdain, and one of those is his current girlfriend. 

“No shit,” Iwaizumi snorts. 

Oikawa fakes a pout before crossing his arms. “You could’ve at least pretended to disagree.”

“When you’re out here moping because of it? No I won’t.”

A silence falls over the two of them. Oikawa can feel his own breathing synced up with Iwaizumi and finds that it clears his head a little bit. He gets the feeling that Iwaizumi isn’t going to talk again until he does. 

“Hishoko’s great, really she is,” Oikawa starts again. “But I just-“ He lets out a frustrated sigh, slumping further down against the bench. 

Iwaizumi hums. “Don’t like her like that? Because there’s someone else?”

Oikawa blinks, still slumped down like a limp noodle. “When you put it that way it sounds so uncomplicated.”

“Because it is.”

Oikawa ponders that. Maybe it is that simple, but for how confident he is about everything else in life, he’s never had a firm grip on romance or how to deal with it. He always seemed to do the exact opposite of what anyone with a good instinct would do. 

He’s read enough shoujo manga with you to know that love isn’t as easy as “kiss and live happily ever after”, especially if that love is with your best friend. A shoujo manga he especially remembered liking in first year was of a story of best friends that fell in love, but as fate had it, they fell in love with the right person at the wrong time. 

That manga really shouldn’t be something he compares his own love life to, but he can’t help but worry, especially given his past relationships. Oikawa doesn’t usually feel such anxiety about jumping into relationships (mainly because the relationships he did get into were never relationships he really took as seriously as he should), but now he feels that shadow of insecurity come lurking back like a piece of gum stuck to his shoe. It seems he can never escape his own fear of never being enough.

“But Y/N’s different,” he finally says after a hefty silence. “Most of my exes hate me now because of how badly I keep messing up. I don’t know what I’ll do if I mess up with her.”

Iwaizumi crosses his arms tighter. “Y/N’s been through tons of your bullshit. She won’t give up on you that easily, as long as you don’t colossally fuck up.”

Oikawa nods, but there’s already another question bugging him. “How can I be sure that I love her like that? I mean, I remember thinking that I loved Yua, but now that I look back, I wonder if that was only because she was the only relationship I had that kept me around for so long.”

He doesn’t even want to think about the possibility that he might mess up that badly - that he’ll take back his feelings for you within a few days like he’s been known for in past relationships. Oikawa thinks that that would most definitely count as a colossal fuck up. 

“I’m not trying to label your feelings or anything, but I think you’ve been in love with her for a long time now,” Iwaizumi says in the softest voice Oikawa’s ever heard it be in the years he’d known him.  “I just think you’re only starting to realize it because well, you said you kissed right?”

“We did.”

“Then yeah, that probably woke your brain up a little.”

“She’s not just a case of raging hormones,” Oikawa replies. 

“I know she’s not,” Iwaizumi says mildly. “I’m just saying that sometimes you don’t realize that you feel like that for someone until something happens that forces you to think about it. For you, it was probably that kiss.”

Oikawa knows that Iwaizumi is probably remembering his own experience with Hanamaki. The look of heartbreak on his best friend’s face when they found Matsukawa and Hanamaki with their lips locked against the side of the school building was not one he would easily forget. He wonders if Iwaizumi knew the extent of his feelings before that moment or if he went through something similar to what Oikawa’s going through.

The remembrance of Iwaizumi’s past feelings also makes Oikawa wonder if he’s felt like this toward you even before all this, just like he knew of Iwaizumi’s feelings for Hanamaki before Iwaizumi himself did. 

“I think I would’ve noticed if I felt things towards her before all this. Maybe not a lot, but I would’ve noticed to some extent.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “No you wouldn’t. You’ve got the mind of a genius when it comes to volleyball, but when it comes to any aspect of your life that isn’t volleyball, then your brain is like a pile of horseshit.”

“Iwa-chan, so mean!”

“I’m right and you know it.”

“No you aren’t,” Oikawa says, though he’s not so sure he believes himself. 

“You’ve centered your whole life on volleyball ‘Kawa. You’ve neglected shit about yourself because of volleyball. I’ve seen it, Y/N’s seen it. Volleyball is the center of your mind and everything kinda revolves around it like a solar system. But once you get used to something being a small little planet in that tiny brain of yours, you just accept it as a natural part of your thinking because the big old volleyball is still vying for your attention.”

“Please, Iwa-chan. It’s two in the morning. Please speak in a language I can understand.”

“You loved her when we were kids, right?” Iwaizumi pauses and Oikawa just nods. “Then your love and feelings for her were put into this nice bubble labeled ‘positive feelings’ and you never realized when you might’ve started looking at her differently because being in love with her is still a positive feeling.”

“And I’ve been so focused on volleyball and practice that I didn’t even notice?”

Iwaizumi raises a brow at Oikawa. “Are you trying to say that you haven’t neglected parts of your life before for volleyball?”

“Okay, good point.”

Iwaizumi’s explanation does make sense to him, now that Oikawa has something to latch his thought process on. He always liked having you around, and you had become one of the anchors that kept him from breaking over the years. He’s always known that being around you gave him ounces of joy, but he never really looked further into it because well .. Iwaizumi was right. 

It was in the way where he unknowingly looked for your figure in the stands when he won the Best Setter award back in junior high. He hadn’t really noticed because he thought he’d always done that.

It was in the way that he would sometimes head to your place after a particularly grueling practice just to make rice cakes for the both of you because he was so exhausted that the only thing he wanted to do is see your smile as you compliment his cooking. He hadn’t really noticed that he got giddy at that prospect because he felt as if he’d always felt like that.

It was in the way that he would sometimes lay his head on your shoulder and only focus on your breathing because it calmed him down in ways that nothing else can. He hadn’t really noticed that he was doing so because he’s always done that.

You had become a positive constant in his life and loving you one way or another became the default. He just hadn’t been paying close enough attention to when it was that the hugs, the support, the little glances, and the nights spent falling asleep on each other might have become something more than the childish blind love he held for you as children. And then that kiss came along and hit him like a volleyball to the face. 

With that, he finally lets himself admit it to himself, with no qualms or worries about how he might find a way to mess up. He lets himself admit that he might be a tiny bit in love with you.

It almost hits him like a truck then because huh, he’s in love with you. And yet, he doesn’t feel so different, he just feels lighter. 

“Huh.”

“You finally figured it out then?”

Oikawa smiles to himself. “Yeah, I think I did.” 

A smile finds its way onto Iwaizumi’s lips. “Happy to see it, asshole. Just don’t keep her waiting on you for another three years.”

“I won’t. I don’t plan on wasting any more time now that I finally figured it out.”

“How do you plan on telling her then?”

“That I love her?”

“You love her?” A voice that’s not Iwaizumi’s nearly jolts him from his seat. He’d know that voice anywhere. 

He turns to find you standing not far from where he and Iwaizumi are seated and feels the color drain from his face. 

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next chapter is the final chapter :D if you wanna be added to the taglist for the last chap then just send an ask!

[moldisgoodforyou]

without you by my side

i thought i posted this already APOLOGIES !!! 

wordcount: 2.4k

_____

Sophie had barely talked to Rafe in the first two weeks she was in Spain, suddenly being consumed with a week-long orientation and then going straight into her internship, juggling her Spanish lessons and trying to just get by in an unfamiliar city. She’d texted him a few updates here and there, and had FaceTimed him briefly in her first week, but most of her spare time was spent getting to know her roommates and checking off random errands.

The time difference made things extra tricky, but Rafe made it a priority to talk with her, no matter where he was. When they finally got a chance to talk, she called him, grinning when the call connected. “Hi!”

He grinned to himself too, feeling warm just from the sound of her voice. “Hi, you. It’s good to hear from you.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I’d be so busy.” She worried her lip between her teeth and he shook his head quickly, although she couldn’t see him. “It’s alright, I knew you had things to do. Don’t stress about it. I want to hear about Barcelona, tell me what you’ve done!”

Sophie beamed and launched into an excited description of everything - her students in her classes, her new coworkers, how she got assigned to a cool project and how she got drunk on a two dollar bottle of wine that was ‘the best she’d ever had.’ Once she told him everything, she paused, letting silence fill the air.

“That sounds awesome, Soph.” He smiled, then frowned hearing her pause. “All good?”

“Yeah, just. I wish you were here. Um, I wear one of the shirts you let me take to bed, and I just realized it doesn’t really smell like you anymore. Washed it too soon, I think.”

Rafe let out a small sigh and clutched his phone a little tighter. “I can send you another one.” His voice had a teasing lilt to it, but he was dead serious.

“No, I’m sorry, it’s stupid.” She spoke quickly and he could distantly hear a few sniffles, then when she brought her phone back to her ear, voice nearly cracking. “I’m okay.”

“Wait, are you crying? Sophie...” He trailed off and she could hear the frown in his voice. He closed his office door so he could talk to her more freely, without having to keep his voice so quiet.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m fine. I just miss you a lot more than I thought I would.”

He immediately pressed the button to facetime her, smiling when she picked up, then instantly dropping it once he saw her teary cheeks. “I can change my flight and come visit sooner. I’ll do it, angel, you know I will.”

She smiled a little at the pet name, swiping her sleeve over her cheeks. “I know, but it’s fine. Once I get into a routine I’ll be okay, everything’s just a little jarring.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. “I thought I knew Spanish and turns out all I can really manage is where’s the bathroom and hello. Everyone speaks so quickly, I feel like an idiot.”

He grinned. “You’re not an idiot, baby, you’ve been practicing for this for months. Just don’t go around telling anyone else te amo.”

She sniffled a little as she laughed. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Hey, how’s home? Have you gone surfing or something yet? Any big parties?”

He shrugged. “It’s alright. I think there’s a party this weekend, but.”

“But what?”

“I don’t know. Feels kind of strange without you by my side.”

“Aw, Rafe, you miss me.” She teased, fully aware she was in no position to poke fun, as she’d just cried over missing him two seconds ago.

He paused and glanced away for a second, not wanting to guilt trip her in the slightest. He just wanted to be sure she enjoyed her trip without having to worry about him. “You know I do.”

“I miss you too.” Her face dropped a little and she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to stop herself from crying again.

“I want you to have fun though, okay? I’m only a call away, and I’ll see you soon enough. Three months will fly by. Easy.” He told her, almost trying to convince himself. Just the last two weeks alone had dragged by for him, especially with how quickly he’d had to leave all his friends in Columbus once the frat house closed for the summer.

“Two months and two weeks,” she corrected. “We’ve made it half a month already.”

He laughed and flipped the camera briefly to show his calendar pinned up behind his desk, little numbers scribbled onto each square. “I know, I’ve been counting down the days.”

“That’s sweet.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and he frowned, narrowing his eyes. “Hey, where’s your ring?”

Sophie instantly blushed and grabbed her backpack, fumbling through it until she found the ring box lying haphazardly at the bottom (and brushed off a few crumbs before showing him). “Here! It’s right here, I have it, promise.” She quickly flipped open the box and slid it on her finger to show him.

“Do you not like it? I should have asked you before, I -”

“No! I love it, no, it’s not that.” She reassured him quickly. “I’m just really worried I’m going to lose it, like on the metro or walking to work, and I can’t have that happen. So I carry the box with me.”

“Oh.” Rafe sat back in his chair, thinking. “How about I get you a chain?”

“A chain?”

“Yeah. You can wear the ring on the chain, like a necklace, when you’re not wearing it on your finger. And when I come visit, we can take it in to Cartier and get it resized, if you need to.”

“No, it fits perfectly, I’m just nervous.” She smiled. “A chain sounds like a good solution.”

He nodded and wrote himself a reminder to order one and have it shipped to her apartment in Spain the second they were off the call. “You got it.” At a knocking on his door, he hesitated before glancing over for the source. “Hold on one second, okay?”

“Okay.”

Rafe stood and opened the door, letting his dad in. Ward strode in and dropped a stack of papers on Rafe’s desk, regarding him with annoyance. “You need to go to the printing company right now and get these flyers fixed. Half of them have the ink fucked up and the phone number’s wrong on all of them.”

“You said I got a half hour lunch break.” Rafe replied evenly, not glancing at the papers - that were the secretary’s responsibility, not his.

“You can get a lunch break when you pay closer attention to the details.” Ward fished his card out of his wallet and slapped it on top of the stack. “Grab me lunch while you’re out. Don’t be long.” He turned to leave, but paused upon seeing Sophie waiting on the facetime call, Rafe’s phone on the desk. “Who is that?”

She froze, hair hiding her face a little, and wasn’t sure if she should hang up or not. Rafe made the first move and flipped the screen over so his phone was facedown on the desk. “I was talking to Sophie. Remember, I told you she’s in Spain, so the time difference -”

“I don’t care.” Ward interrupted. “Don’t let some girl distract you from work.” (Rafe swore he hadn’t acknowledged that Sophie was his girlfriend once.) He left abruptly and kicked out the door stopper as he went, letting the door slam shut behind him.

Rafe winced and took a breath before flipping the phone back over. He looked defeated, “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“S’alright.” Sophie gave him a small smile but her heart was racing, embarrassed about how easily Ward was able to dismiss her. “Call me later, if you want? I’m staying in tonight.”

He glanced at the door again and cocked his head a little to catch the sounds out on the hallway, just giving her a nod and a forced smile before ending the call.

___

Rafe only had a week back in Columbus before he had to pack up and head back to the Outer Banks for one last summer. He had resigned himself to the fact he’d be going home, but was mainly fine with it until he learned Sophie wouldn’t be coming home too. Ever since then, he’d been dreading it - the beach days, country club and even his friends at home weren’t worth the amount of time he’d have to spend with his dad at work.

His dad had been preparing him over the last few years to take a high position in the company, and Rafe had never protested it, just figuring he wasn’t meant for anything else. It wasn’t until Sophie sent him a few links for internships in downtown Columbus that he began to consider that maybe, just maybe, he was capable of more. He ended up applying to five internships in whole, not sure if he could handle too many rejections. Other kids in his major already had at least one, sometimes two internships under their belt, and Rafe’s resume with work at his dad’s company and a couple leadership positions in his frat didn’t exactly measure up.

He was rejected almost immediately from a couple internships, but interviewed for the three others based on a few strong recommendations from his professors. No matter what, he had to return to the Outer Banks and get some extra clothes and furniture to haul back with him for his senior house, so he settled on going back for a little while he waited to hear back from the other companies.

Later that night, he called her back after getting berated by his dad at work and taking the blame for two other interns’ mistakes. It was late, nearly one am for her on a Tuesday, but she picked up anyways, anticipating the call. “H’lo?” Sophie mumbled into the phone, half-asleep. 

“I can’t deal with this anymore. I’m sick of it.” He confessed immediately and she sat up in bed, concerned. “What? What’s wrong, baby?” 

“It’s my dad, I swear to fucking god. I have to get this internship, Soph, it’s the one excuse he’ll take for me not working for him.” Rafe huffed, trying his best to calm himself down, shaky fingers pressing the Facetime button. 

She picked up right away, the lag in wifi barely interrupting their call. “Breathe, Rafe.” 

He nodded quickly, taking a few shallow breaths, then frowned as he saw the pillow marks pressed into her cheek. “Fuck, did I wake you up? This fucking time zone shit -” He cut himself off, knowing he was just angry with his dad, not her. 

Sophie shook her head. “No, um, was just scrolling through social media and laying down.” 

It was a blatant lie, but Rafe accepted it anyways. “You need to sleep earlier.” 

She shrugged, not wanting to share that she couldn’t sleep that well without him sometimes. “I’m fine. Tell me what’s going on.” 

“It’s just.” He paused and propped the phone up, then pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “He puts so much pressure on me, all the time. I’m supposed to take over this company and I don’t even know if that’s what I want to do, I’m a business major just because he told me that’d be a good idea, it’s just -” Rafe took a breath, trying not to get himself more worked up. “It’s a lot.” 

Sophie frowned, catching herself reaching toward the screen for a moment in an attempt to comfort him. “You’ll get the internship in Columbus, I know you will.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I do know that. You need to think more highly of yourself, Rafe.” 

He sighed, chewing on his bottom lip. “Kinda hard when no one else is thinking highly of me.” 

“Rafe.” She caught his attention with a stern tone, frowning. “That’s not true, not in the slightest.” 

“A little bit.” 

“You’re a loyal friend, you’re generous, you’re smart. I know I can always count on you. You just need to be nicer to yourself.” Sophie encouraged, smiling when he gave her the tiniest hint of a shy smile. 

“You don’t need to say all that.” He countered, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I know. But I mean all of it.” She got up from her bed, taking the phone with her. “Hey, go look outside.” 

“Why?” 

“Just go look outside.” 

He furrowed his brow but followed along, bringing his phone to his bedroom window and walking out to his balcony. “What am I supposed to be seeing?” 

“You see the moon?” 

“Yeah.” 

She flipped her camera briefly, showing the glow of the moon in the sky over the city. “It’s the same moon, okay? We’re seeing the exact same thing.” 

“Okay...” He trailed off, confused. 

“It’s almost like I’m there with you.” She paused. “Kind of. We’re not that far apart.” 

“Four thousand miles.” He argued, getting more miserable. “God, I miss you.” 

Sophie nodded with a frown, biting the inside of her cheek. “I know. I miss you too, baby. I’m sorry your dad is being so shitty.” 

“He’ll hear you.” Rafe half-teased, glancing around just to make sure he wasn’t down below on the deck or nearby. 

Her jaw set, stubborn. “Good. When do you hear back about the internship?” 

“In a couple days, probably. I had the final interview yesterday and they’ll give me a few weeks’ notice before I need to move back.” He opened his mouth, about to add another self-deprecating comment, but stopped himself. “It went okay.” 

“I’m sure you were fantastic. Model candidate.” She grinned and he just ached for her even more. “It’s late for you, isn’t it.” 

“Um...a little. But I can keep talking if you want. Any time.” She promised, hiding a yawn behind her hand. 

He shook his head, smiling. “Go back to bed, angel. I’m sorry I woke you up.” 

“Don’t be, I’m glad I got to talk with you again.” Sophie paused. “It’ll be okay, Rafe. I know it.” 

“Yeah.” He agreed just to appease her. The last thing he wanted her to be doing when she was in Barcelona was worrying about him. “Love you. Sweet dreams, Soph.” 

“Love you too.” 

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[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (16) || atz

The three of you are walking along in town.

Unsurprisingly, after the crazy celebration the night before, majority of the crew had woken up with massive hangovers, most retching over the side of the ship or trying to nurse pounding headaches. To be honest, the only ones who weren’t drunk were you, Seonghwa and Mingi.

Technically, Yeosang hadn’t been drunk either, but he had left for town earlier in the morning to go search for Wooyoung, who still hadn’t returned to the ship. When you had started to worry, Yeosang had simply reassured you that this was normal Wooyoung behavior, and he’d have their head gunner back on board before the ship set sail.

The biggest problem was, however, the fact that the ship’s resident healer was also suffering from a hangover.

“You’re such a lightweight, master.” You had chided him this morning as he groaned in his bed, half buried in a mountain of stuffed plushies. “Everybody needs you to cure their hangovers, you know?”

“You can do it, apprentice.” San mumbled weakly from beneath a pig stuffed toy. “You have a good master.”

“Red ginseng, lemon and ginger tea and prickly pear cactus.” You recalled diligently from your studies, glancing at the lump that was your master. “Am I right?”

The only answer you got was a snore in response.

So, that explains why you, Seonghwa and Mingi are together, walking along the town’s marketplace, searching for a hangover cure for your poor crew mates. Seonghwa had offered his services to help you carry the groceries back, while Mingi simply didn’t want to get in the way of his crewmates’ projectile vomiting.

You don’t blame him. The stench was absolutely awful.

“So, what are you looking for?” Seonghwa asks as you make your way through the crowd. There’s a soft buzz in the air, a little subdued, but you chalk it up to being early in the morning and that nobody is quite awake yet.

“Opuntia, or prickly pear cactus.” You tell him as you weave through the throng of people selling their wares at every corner of the long street. “Its fruit helps to ease hangovers, so that’s what I’m looking for.”

“Anything else?” Mingi asks, checking through his coin pouch. As the quartermaster and also the treasurer, all funds go through him before being spent.

“Lemon, honey and ginger.” Bending over to check out some of the fruits, you study a lemon carefully for any defects and put them in your basket. “I’m also looking for red ginseng to reduce hangover severity, but it’s an eastern root herb, so it may be a little difficult to find here.”

“We are in the Caribbean, after all.” Seonghwa remarks, using his superior height to his advantage as his eyes scan the multitude of stalls selling every sort of exotic plant, fruit, and even animal. “I do recall seeing a shop selling eastern herbs the last time I was here, though.”

“Ah, Master did tell me to make sure we stock up on eastern herbs if I found any!” You chatter excitedly, turning to Seonghwa. “Did you see any worm grass (cordyceps) or fish bladders (fish maw)?”

Seonghwa nods, a smile blossoming on his face. “Yes! I can’t believe I even found some dried black mountain ants there!”

Mingi stares at the two of you with a weirded out look on his face. “I’m not even going to ask any questions. None at all.”

“There, I see it!” Seonghwa points over the heads of the crowd at a stall tucked all the way at the end of the street, his grin widening. “We did it, Chin Hae!”

The two of you exchange high fives and dash for the stall faster than Mingi can blink. He simply sighs, following the pair of you at a more sedately pace, shaking his head dryly. “Are all cooks like this…?”

When he finally does catch up with the two of you, you’re gushing over the different herbs and spices with Seonghwa, picking up a piece of black root that looks suspiciously like a thin, black stick. You hold it to Mingi’s nose.

“Hey, Mingi-hyung, look what I found!” Mingi frowns as he stares down his nose at it, going a little crossed eyed. It’s black, thin and looks rather boring. Mingi doesn’t understand why you’re so excited over it at all.

“A stick?” He answers, a little befuddled to what it could be to get you so excited about it. Seonghwa clucks his tongue disapprovingly, reaching to take the stick from you and waving it in front of Mingi’s face.

“No, Mingi.” The cook shakes his head dramatically, brandishing the stick as if it is the cure to all the world’s troubles. “This wonderful, powerful herb is the cordycep!”

Silence.

“It looks like a stick to me.” Mingi grumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets. Honestly, he’s never been one for herbs and medicines like San is, but that’s why they have San and Seonghwa and now you, right?

“Yes, but you don’t get it!” You cry in horror, waving the black stick at him. “The cordycep is a worm-”

The quartermaster freezes, his eyes widening as he takes in the black thing so close to his face.

Then he screams like a ten year old girl and dives behind a stack of barrels, as if you’ve just pulled a musket at him.

“Uhh, Seonghwa-hyung?” You turn to the cook, who’s simply shaking his head in amusement.

“He’s afraid of insects and the like.” Seonghwa nods at the too tall shape that is Mingi crouching behind a cask of alcohol, his eyes peering over at the worm in your hand like a cat staring down a bath of water.

You can’t help but laugh at the sight as you turn to the shopkeeper and order a tael of cordyceps, red ginseng and ginger. Honestly, you would have never thought that the silent, strong quartermaster was afraid of insects.

The shopkeeper smiles at you. “Know your herbs, do you, dear?” She packages the dried herbs into paper and ties each up with a red string, before passing them to you. Each package is worth its weight in silver or more. “A gold coin and three silvers.”

Mingi carefully counts out the money before diving back into the relative safety of his barrel fort.

“Honestly, Mingi-hyung.” You say, going over to him. He doesn’t look at you, eyes fixated on the paper package that he knows has the cordyceps inside of it. “These are dead worms. The cordyceps are actually just fungi that grow on the worms.”

“Dead, alive, stuffed with mushrooms, worth a thousand golds, I don’t care.” Mingi hisses, eyes still trained on the bag like he’s ready to fight them. “I hate insects.”

You and Seonghwa burst out laughing at his hostile tone.

“Alright, alright.” Seonghwa steps towards the quartermaster. “Let’s get back to the ship and brew up a nice lemon honey ginger tea for the rest, shall we-”

Suddenly, a small boy shoves into you, knocking you to the side abruptly before dashing off. To your horror, you feel the package of herbs being torn from your fingers, the force leaving rope marks on your skin as you stumble to the ground, hands barely saving you from a nasty fall.

“Hey!” Mingi shouts, but the boy is already fleeing. He glances at Seonghwa. “Hyung, you and Chin Hae take the other way from the square, I’ll cut him off.” Then he pauses for a moment, staring at the cook, his gaze softening in worry. “Will you be alright, hyung?”

That seems like a strange question to ask, but Seonghwa must understand what he’s talking about because he nods, already pulling you in the opposite direction towards the town square. “Don’t worry about me!”

The two of you dash through the street, where people are filing out of their houses. It’s rather easy to move, considering that everyone is moving towards the town square, the same direction the two of you are. You simply move with the flow, following the crowd to the main square.

“There must be quite some commotion happening.” Your crewmate huffs for breath as the two of you tear along the town, bumping into several other people and apologising furiously. You’re sure one of them even curses you rather creatively in his native tongue.

“There are a lot of people today.” You pant, glancing around you as the pair of you finally emerge in the square. There weren’t this many people the last time you and Jongho had come to town, so you’re a little puzzled. “Why-”

Suddenly, the ringing of the town bells fills the air.

You’re instantly jerked back by the hand on your wrist and you nearly stumble to the ground. You turn back to stare at him urgently. “Seonghwa-hyung, we need to hurry!”

But Seonghwa merely stands still, face bloodless, lips moving without sound. You’ve never seen him like this, so afraid, so petrified with fear.

He looks so emotionally raw, bloody, haunted by the ghosts of his past.

You turn to look at Seonghwa in worry. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. “Hyung? We should be going.” But he doesn’t seem to hear you. His eyes are wide and unfocused, dark pupils dilated with fear, his breathing erratic and irregular. You tug at his hand once more, only to jerk back in shock, it’s slick with cold sweat. Your blood turns to ice inside you as you take Seonghwa’s face, cradling his cheeks with your hands. Your voice is gentle, afraid of pushing him over the edge into whatever abyss he’s dangling over.

You’re terrified.

“Hyung

? What’s wrong?”

His breath comes out in shallow pants, chest heaving. He doesn’t look at you. His eyes are fixed on something behind you, and you turn to see what could have possibly caused him to react in such a manner.

“-and I hereby declare the sentence will be carried out now.”

There’s the sound of a lever being turned, the squeak as the trap doors swing open.

And the noose jerks taut.

A soft whimper leaves Seonghwa’s mouth, and suddenly he squats on the ground like a small child, hands over his ears, shaking his head desperately as he whispers the same words again and again under his breath.

“Hyung!” You cry out in horror and panic, kneeling next to him to wrap your arms around him. What do you do? What’s happening to Seonghwa-hyung? He barely seems to be aware of your presence anymore.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers between soft, quiet sobs, raw and hoarse, from somewhere deep in his chest. You’re completely confused to why he’s apologising to you for a moment, until he begins to mumble names you’ve never heard under your breath. “I’m so sorry, mother, father, Hyunjung, Ha Rin.”

The last word is a wail, a cry of utter torment, so desperate that it yanks at your heartstrings, demanding you to do something, anything! But you don’t know what to do besides embracing him, watching him rock back and forth on his haunches like a deranged man.

There are tears winding down his face and you raise your hands to wipe them away as fast as you can. The sleeve of your shirt soaks with warm wetness, and suddenly, that same, tight agony wells up in you as well.

A single tear spills down your cheek.

“Seonghwa-hyung-” You manage to croak, your throat thick from unshed tears, but the older man merely stands as if in a daze, hands still over his ears as if that can stop him from hearing the sounds of the man at the noose slowly fading from this world.

Then he runs, tearing away from you without looking back.

[sithmyass]

Virgin - Obi Wan Kenobi

Requested- Yes, in a way? By the beautiful @sarcastic-bubble ❤️

Warnings: Smut (18+), this is basically pwp.. Some cloak kink.. dom obi..

—

“Y/N, this is absolutely childish.” Obi wan says, avoiding the question completely. “You picked truth, you’ve gotta be honest with me!” You tease, loving how uncomfortable Obi looks. “C’mon! It’s for science!” He cocks his brow at your words. “Science, huh? Do you mind telling me which experiment you’re doing that requires me to tell you whether or not i’m a virgin?” You burst out laughing at his words, clutching your chest. “It’s called the ‘i’m curious’ experiment.” You manage through your unstoppable chuckles.

“No, I am not.” He answers, and your face lights up in shock. “Master Kenobi!” You tease, “I find that quite hard to believe.” He crosses his arms defensively over his chest. “And why’s that?” Your face immediately turns red from the lack of air. “No offense, General.. but you’re exactly that! A General and a Jedi! There’s a strict code for you to follow, and excuse me for being so blunt, but you’re just so...” You ramble, all while giving Obi Wan the motivation to prove you wrong. He moves closer to you, placing his hand gently on your thigh.

“So what, Princess?” He asks, just above a whisper, making all your confidence fly out the window. “Uh..y-you.. you’re..” You stutter, hyper aware of the circles he was now tracing into the flesh of your thigh. “Mhm?” He hums, letting his fingers trail higher up your leg. “Vanilla.” You manage, swallowing hard as he lets his fingers ghost over your hips. “That’s the impression i’ve made on you?” He says slyly, letting out a deep chuckle. “I’m gonna have to fix that, yeah?”

He moves away, back into his seat across from you, leaving you longing for his touch. “Truth or Dare, Princess?” He asks nonchalantly, keeping intense eye contact. “Uh.. truth?” You reply, more like a question. “Alright.. tell me what’s on your mind right now.” You cough slightly, your mind still reeling from his touch. “Nothing but the truth, Princess.” He teases, leaning forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his thighs. You let out a deep breath, knowing exactly what you were about to get yourself into if you spoke what was truly on your mind.

“You.” You say just above a whisper. “Elaborate for me, Princess.” “Your touch, how it sent shivers down my spine..” You begin confidently, watching as his lips press into a smirk. “A-and how your words went straight to my core..” You confess, looking down at your hands. He chuckles darkly, moving to kneel before you. “What kind of man would I be if I were to leave you in such a position?” He asks gently, but the words were more sinister than his voice allowed. “Stand up for me, and go sit on your bed.” He commands, helping you up from your spot in the living area of your quarters.

He ushers you towards your bed, having you sit gently on the edge. He stands before you, his hands on his hips. “What do you want, Princess?” He asks, looking down at you. When he gets no answer, he grabs your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him. “Tell me.” He whispers against your ear, biting the lobe gently. “I-I want you.” He moves so that his face is right in front of yours, a sweet, toothy smile gracing his face. “All you had to do was ask, Darling.” He pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear before pulling your lips to his, devouring and dominating your lips.

He leans you back against the bed gently, his hand at the small of your back to lead you. You break this kiss quick, looking into his eyes for a moment. “Are you sure you-“ He cuts you off with a more passionate kiss, before standing up off the bed. “I’m sure.” He reinforces, before letting his cloak fall to the ground, leaving him in just his robes. You swear you could have came right then and there at the sight, but instead you just let a small moan escape you. “You like the cloak?” He teases, before moving to hover over you. “I’ll remember that.” He smirks, before enveloping your lips in another passionate kiss.

He fumbles around with your robes blindly, refusing to break your kiss. Eventually he gets frustrated, and breaks it anyways to look in your eyes. “Do you trust me, Princess?” He asks, to which you nod quickly. “Hold incredibly still, Darling.” He takes his saber from his side, using it to carefully slice through your robes. If you weren’t wet before, you sure as Maker were now. As he hooks his saber back at his side, he uses his strong grip to tear the rest of the fabric from your body, leaving you in just your bra and panties.

He moves to pull his top off, leaving him shirtless for your viewing pleasure. He leans forward gently, pressing soft kisses to your neck, before nibbling softly on the sensitive skin of your collar. “Obi..” You whine, before he rips your bra from your chest. He sucks a few bruises into the supple flesh of your breasts, before kissing his way down your body. He wastes no time removing your panties from your body, and lets out a low snicker. “You’re so wet, Princess..” He comments, running his fingers through your slit, gathering some of your juices. He sucks his fingers into his mouth, making you shudder.

“Sweetest thing I’ve tasted..” He looks at your core as if it’s his last meal, and doesn’t hesitate to lean down and devour you. The feeling of his tongue circling your clit and his beard rubbing against your skin sent you straight to heaven. “Fuck..” You moan, arching you back up off the mattress. You tangle your fingers in his sandy hair, tugging him impossibly closer to your core. He chuckle against you, sending vibrations through your whole body. You begin to wonder how he got so good at this, before he slips his tongue into your entrance. You grind yourself against his face, moaning his name wildly.

As you begin to near the edge, your legs begin to shake uncontrollably. Suddenly, you were unable to move them, so you looked down at Obi wan, and he was already looking up at you. He licks a long strip up your slit before biting his lip. “It’s the force, Princess, relax.” He says calmingly before slipping two fingers immediately into your greedy hole. He gets immense pleasure from watching your face contort with his actions. He sucks harshly on your clit as he moves his fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion, making you babble incoherently above him.

Soon enough you were seeing white, as he tongue fucked you through your orgasm gently. He notices how visibly sensitive you get to his touch once he’s licked you clean, and he smirks up at you. “I’m not finished with you, Princess.” He teases before slipping his fingers back inside, earning a mewl from your lips. He thrusts his fingers quickly, once in a while sucking on your sensitive nub, wanting to get one more orgasm out of you before he even considered fucking you. “C’mon darling, you’re almost there..” He praises sweetly, a complete contrast to the rough pace he’s set with his fingers. “So close..” He muses, feeling you tighten around his fingers again before releasing on them.

He collects your slick on his fingers again, before shoving them into his mouth, not letting a drop go to waste. He licks and sucks a trail from your core back up to your lips, biting on your bottom lip teasingly. You moan at the taste of yourself, pulling his face closer to you by his cheeks. He pulls away from you again, much to your dismay. He stands at the end of the bed, pulling off his pants and undergarments before leaning down to pick the cloak up. You cock your eyebrow at him in confusion.

“You liked the cloak.” He shrugs before crawling back over your body, moving his face dangerously close to yours. “I believe this whole situation started because you said I was ‘Vanilla,’ correct?” He asks, running his knuckles down your jawbone. You smirk at him and nod. “I’m sticking to it.” He tsks at you before murmuring against your skin. “Hm?” You ask, watching him move off of you again. “Hands and knees, Princess.” He orders, watching your face turn a deep red before complying with his command.

He gets on his knees behind you, before running his hand from the top of your spine, down to the curve of your ass before landing a harsh smack against your skin. You bite your lip and let out a high pitched moan, which pleases Obi wan. “So responsive..” He muses, before lining himself up with your core and pushing in gently. You hiss at the stretch, he was surely the largest man you’ve ever been with. “Ready, Princess?” He asks sweetly, beginning to thrust in and out slowly once you nod.

He wraps one hand around your hip, giving himself leverage as he begins to quicken his pace. “You look ravishing like this, Princess.” He compliments, giving you the confidence to push back, meeting his thrusts half way. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, along with Obi wans quick breaths and your moans. He leans forward to trail kisses up your spine, allowing you to fuck yourself on his cock at your own pace. He straightens out, taking the liberty to watch your hips slap back against his.

After a moment he grabs your hips again, and quickens his pace. “Fuck.. Obi!” You nearly scream, allowing your face to fall against the mattress. Still sensitive from the two previous orgasms, you could feel the knot in your stomach tighten for the third time tonight. “Obi.. I..” You moan, and he acknowledges you by speeding up more, his tip brushing against that glorious spot inside you. “Cum on my cock, Princess.” He whispers, coaxing you through your release. He pulls out once you finish, flipping you onto your back.

He comes to straddle your chest, tapping the tip of his cock against your lips. You open your mouth happily, allowing him to slide his way down your throat. His eyes nearly roll into the back of his head as you take him, allowing your soft hands to wrap around what your mouth couldn’t fit. He pulls your hair back into a makeshift pony as you bob your head, his hips stuttering with each passing moment. “Princess.. I..” He moans, allowing himself to release his seed into your mouth. You swallow it all, licking your lips as to let none go to waste. He collapses down on the bed next to you, pulling your head to lay against his chest.

“How was that, Y/N?” He asks, still breathing heavily as he looks down at you, running his fingers through your hair. “It was okay, for a virgin.” You tease, looking up at him slyly. “Princess, we literally just finished having sex. There’s no way i’m a virgin after that.” He chuckles, placing a soft kiss against your forehead.

[wackybuddiemewbs]

Random Buddie Fic Snippets - Shadow

AKA, it's me, back on my regular bullshit. This is part of a fic that continues to ghost through my Word files, mocking me relentlessly. And now I pass the mocking on. Bon appétit. Basic idea is that Buck disappeared after the lawsuit without a trace. For mysterious reasons.

Eddie breaks into a run the moment he parks the car. He still can’t believe it that some asshole tried to blow himself up on a plaza in bright daylight, the same plaza Chris and his friend from school went to on exactly that day. His ears had been glued to the radio throughout the drive as he got announcement after announcement, one more horrifying than the other.

“The man has a bomb belt.”

“He has taken a hostage.”

“A young woman.”

“Special forces have been blocked due to traffic.”

“A man stepped in.”

“They struggle. There is a knife.”

“There is blood.”

“Both men are going down.”

Eddie shakes those thoughts off, pushes them as far back as he possibly can as he runs through the masses of people gathered around the plaza. Because apparently, even a guy with a bomb strapped to his chest will get peoples’ attention more than it will get their survival instincts to run the hell away from a bomb.

He runs into Deborah, the mom of Christopher’s friend, nearly misses her, then halts. His ears are whooshing, his heart is pounding so hard he can feel it in his throat. She keeps rambling on about stuff he doesn’t care about. And if he wasn’t a first responder who knows better, Eddie would want to shake her right now to just say it straight: Where is Christopher? Is he okay? Because that’s the info he needs to know how to get his feet to work again.

If this were Buck, I’d have all info in the first three seconds of…

Eddie stops himself. Buck is no longer with them. He left, which is why his son is at the plaza with Deborah and her two kids rambling on.

At last, at last, between the many sorrys, Deborah can finally bring herself to say that Christopher is fine, which makes even less sense to Eddie. Because if he was fine, then why wasn’t he with her? Isn’t she supposed to be watching him?

“He’s by the ambulances. He wouldn’t leave.”

Eddie isn’t sure he says something in reply to Deborah before he starts running again, though he reckons she won’t hold it against him. Even if she does, he doesn’t bother to care. Eddie needs to get to his son. Maybe Christopher was hoping to see some familiar faces. Maybe he’s waiting for his dad to jump out of one of the trucks.

Eddie can finally slip through the onlookers to the ambulances. Just as he takes off running again, he can hear Christopher shouting shrilly. While his son screaming is not exactly calming, it makes Eddie breathe a little easier. He is alive. He can hear him. Everything else, he can fix.

Eventually, Eddie finds his son sitting on top of a gurney halfway rolled into the back of one of the ambulance cars. Next to him stands a very frustrated paramedic, trying to reason with Christopher to climb off the gurney and let go of the someone actually lying on the gurney. Though Christopher holds on as if his life depended on it.

What is going on here?

“Christopher!” he shouts as he approaches.

The paramedic turns around as he sees him come near. “Hey, you are from the 118, right?”

“Yes, Eddie Diaz,” he confirms. “That’s my son. Is he okay?”

“He is fine, he just won’t let me load up the guy I’m supposed to take to the hospital,” the paramedic laments, pointing at his son holding on to the person’s lower leg like a little monkey to a tree branch.

“Christopher! I”

“Dad!”

“I told you that you can’t be in the way of paramedics working! They got to help people who are hurt,” Eddie says. While he doesn’t want to upset his son, he knows that there is due order, and Christopher is disrupting it.

Eddie motions past the opened door of the ambulance car.

“I am not letting go of Buck!”

Buck?

Eddie blinks, tears his gaze up, forgets how to breathe all over again.

“Hi, Eddie.”

“Buck.”

Buck is on the gurney, shirt cut open, his side bandaged, seeping some blood. The guy who went in after the bomber took the hostage – Evan Buckley. His former colleague, former best friend, the guy who’d told him instantly if Christopher was okay, who never would have left him out of sight – until he did. The man who disappeared after the lawsuit. The man he hasn’t seen in over a year.

He can tell that this is actually Buck. Just that it isn’t. He looks nothing like the always cheery, smiling guy who lit up any room he entered. Sure, the face is still the same, Eddie would know that birthmark anywhere. And yet… there is no spark to his blue eyes. His hair is cut as short as it will go. Eddie can tell that he has even more muscle to him than he used to, even before the firetruck exploded and he was in top shape. But what makes it so much worse is to see the distance, the way he can’t seem to hold on to Christopher but tries to gently keep him away. Because nothing in this world would prevent him from letting that kid close to him.

At least we all thought. But that man is full of surprises, we learned. Even more so now.

This is Even Buckley, but he looks like a strange version of himself dropped off in the wrong universe.

Like a ghost.

Like the ghost Chimney said he saw in that burning building the other day.

Could it be…?

“Could you please talk to your son?” the paramedic interjects, pulling Eddie out of his thoughts abruptly. “I get he’s scared for your friend, but we can finally get moving again after the traffic was re-navigated and he needs to go the hospital.”

“I already told you that the guy didn’t hit anything vital, Jack,” Buck scoffs. Normally, Eddie would say that this is Buck as he knows him, but there is that edge in his voice all of a sudden that puts him on that same edge. The words come out just the same way, the voice is the same, but they ring hollow, they never make it to his eyes.

“He knifed you, dude.”

“I used to like you until a hot second ago, man.”

“Buck?” Eddie asks simply. The younger man’s eyes instantly flicker back to him, and Eddie can see his sudden discomfort as he bows his head.

“For the love of God, either you take your son, or you take him inside so we can drive!” Jack shouts.

“We’re going with you, Buck!” Christopher screams, holding on even tighter.

Eddie decides right at that moment. Okay, he doesn’t really. His body does as he grabs Christopher and gets him off Buck’s leg under much protest. Jack loads Buck inside – and then Eddie climbs in with Christopher in his arms right after. He ignores the protests coming from buck all the same.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Jack groans, setting everything up.

“Language,” Buck scolds. “There’s a kid here. Also, you just turned out to be my least favorite paramedic, Jack. Just so that you know.”

“I’m not here to make friends,” Jack says as he slams the door shut.

“With that attitude, you are sure as hell ain’t getting any,” Buck shouts after him.

“We are ready to roll!” Jack calls out, tapping his hand on the side of the car as he makes his way to the front.

“You know you’re just making a fool of yourself, dragging a guy to hospital, even though all you’d have to do is disinfect and stitch, yeah?” Buck tries to reason, but Jack isn’t having it, “Not taking any chances.”

“Coward.”

“Buck,” Eddie tries again. It seems to be a little magic trick, as Buck’s attention instantly return to him. Though it’s a piss-poor magic trick, really. Because Buck won’t even look at him. Can’t, for some reason. Instead, he keeps his head fixed on some of the equipment on the other side of the ambulance.

“Trust me, I didn’t plan on this,” he says feebly, some of the tough masquerade momentarily slipping.

“How are you in LA?” Eddie wants to know. He can see the shift in Buck instantly as he rounds his shoulders. “Plane.”

“Will you at least look at me?”

Buck turns his head. Eddie tries to read the emotions, but it’s like he gets the door shut in his face before he can take a look inside. And that even though they used to know each other so well.

How did we come to this?

“Buck, we haven’t see you or heard from you for over a year,” Eddie tries to reason. “Some more information than having come here by plane would be appreciated.”

“As I said, didn’t plan on this. Though of course I’m always happy to see Chris…,” Buck says, managing the smallest of smiles at Chris still snuck in his father’s arms. “Though I would have hoped for… different circumstances.”

“So you wanted to come see us?” Eddie asks.

Buck doesn’t answer, which is answer enough for Eddie.

“What were you thinking, going after that guy anyway?” Eddie can’t help but ask.

Buck shrugs at him. “Just had to. Will say though, that he brought a knife to a bomb fight came as a surprise. Thankfully, he was just as surprised to me bringing fists to a knife fight.”

“Why are you being that reckless, huh?” Eddie can’t help but scold. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

“Yeah, or I could’ve watched as anything within a periphery of half a mile would’ve blown up,” Buck retorts. “Easy equation to my mind, really.”

It shouldn’t be that easy, though, Eddie thinks to himself bitterly, but he doesn’t say it. He has a million questions, but they won’t come. Because he knows Buck won’t give those answers. There is a wall between them that wasn’t there before, not even when Eddie was overcome with so much anger over Buck’s behavior about the lawsuit.

So he just sits back, makes sure that Christopher stays secure in his arms.

Once they arrive at the hospital, things set back into motion fast. Buck has a small moment of victory when he’s getting wheeled inside, arguing that Eddie won’t get the doctors to let him pester him like Jack did.

Joke’s on Buck in the end when Eddie talks to the receptionist because he forgot to update his emergency contact list, in which Eddie is very much included.

“See you in a bit, Buck!” is all he says as Buck is wheeled away.

And Buck shows him the finger as he is taken away, well aware that Christopher can’t see as he is resting against Eddie’s chest.

After that, Eddie makes himself not at all comfortable in the plastic chairs he loathes with a burning passion. He gets out his phone, hoping that he can get through to Maddie at least. Maybe she will have more luck trying to give Buck a piece of mind, but as he checks his phone, there is no signal. No calls, no internet. Looking around, he can see that the same issue applies to many people waiting – and the staff as well.

While Eddie still doesn’t believe in all-powerful universes, he will have to say: Well played, universe.

An hour later, Eddie is none the wiser and Christopher asleep next to him in the small room they were brought to, as this will be where Buck is supposed to come back to after his tests and examinations are finally over.

Christopher could provide at least some context to how they ended up like this. The kid is too smart for his own good at times, it turns out. He caught sight of Buck when he took on the bomber and saw that he got hurt. And since hurt people go to ambulances where people like his dad save them and make them better, this is to where he went. And he would threaten Deborah with his crutches, which Eddie will have to lecture about later. Once he found Buck, he just crawled up the gurney and didn’t take no for an answer.

Another fifteen minutes later, Buck is wheeled into the room, looking tired and pissed and just a bit more like the guy he remembers, the man who hates being in hospitals with every fiber of his being.

For a time, they just sit in silence. It is Buck who can’t take it anymore in the end, and snaps, “You can stop staring. I already have a puncture wound, don’t need to get stabbed by the evil eye now, too.”

Eddie shakes his head. “How are you still joking about this?”

“Because I still find myself utterly hilarious.”

“We didn’t know where you were for over a year. No message. No nothing,” Eddie accuses.

You disappeared. You left. You left the 118 behind. You left your family behind. Maddie. Christopher… me…

“And that you know I’m in LA right now was not part of the plan, I told you.”

“Why wasn’t it?” Eddie wants to know.

Buck shrugs, his voice non-committal. “I made the cut. I’m the bad guy. I know. Rules of the game.”

“I’m just trying to understand, Buck.”

“There’s nothing to understand,” Buck argues. “I had no intention to run into you guys. I went away. I didn’t want to cause further upset by coming back. I didn’t choose to be here. It was because of the job.”

Speaking of…

“What job is that anyway?”

“Water slide tester,” Buck replies, his face perfectly blank.

Eddie snorts, shaking his head. “Piss off.”

“I slide around the world.”

“Would you take this seriously for one second?” Eddie demands. He can’t believe this guy sometimes, many times. Can’t he see the damage done? Can’t he see how out of line it is to joke about it?

“I think I’ll pass,” is all Buck delivers. And it pisses Eddie off to no end.

“So that’s all I get? After all that’s been?”

Buck licks his lips, folds his arms over his chest, winces at the strain against his aching stomach. “Yup.”

Eddie can’t even say he is angry. Okay, he is angry, but one good look at Buck’s face and he can see how the mask is slipping. He sees pain there, thinly veiled by his quipping. He notices the longing in Buck’s eyes whenever he allows himself to look at Christopher dozing peacefully, only to pull away as though he got electrocuted for letting that emotion happen.

Just what is it with the man he used to know so well? How could they become strangers in the course of a year?

Eddie doesn't get to finish the thought as a doctor motions inside. Buck’s attention instantly bounces over to the dark-haired man.

“Hello Mr. Buckley.”

“What’s the news, Doc?” he asks.

“Good news for you, actually,” the doctor says. “You are free to go.”

Eddie shakes his head, as though he was trying to get water out of his ears. “Wait, what? What of the test results? Is there tissue damage? Is it ruled out that there is no internal bleeding? Won’t you keep him overnight? Did you even look at his medical history? He’s on blood thinners…”

“Haven’t been for almost half a year,” Buck argues.

Eddie blinks at him. “What?”

“… Surprise?” Buck holds up his hands, pulling a face.

“Still!” Eddie shouts, turning back to the man in scrubs.

“It’s really more of a nick,” the doctor tries to assure him.

Eddie has seen the bloody bandages. He knows that this is bullshit. Just what is this doctor doing?

“Told you. AndJack,” Buck chimes. “Joke’s on both of you.”

“He got stabbed. With a knife,” Eddie argues, still not quite believing it that he has to point that out to a medical professional.

“I saw. And we treated it. Just needed stitches and a shit ton of antibiotics.” He hands Buck a clipboard to sign some things.

“A shit ton. Could you be any more precise?” Eddie asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Chill. Doc will know what he’s doing,” Buck argues, though Eddie pays him no mind. His eyes are now set on that pathetic excuse of a medical professional and Eddie is ready to throw a fit, if he has to.

“We need to keep the beds clear for emergencies,” the doctor adds, as though that was in any shape or form reason to release a man who just got stabbed. With a knife. After he was on blood-thinners – apparently – half a year ago.

“It’s workday, I know you aren’t…,” Eddie tries, but Buck interjects, “Doctor’s orders. Gotta listen to the experts, c’mon.”

He looks back at the doctor standing beside the bed, handing the clipboard back. “Okay, all signed. Thanks, Doc.”

The doctor studies it for a long moment, then nods his head.

“You are seriously just going to go?” Eddie asks, not quite believing what’s happening.

“The doctor said I could.”

“Look, if it puts you at ease, I will get my colleague in here to speak to you to get a second opinion while I take Mr. Buckley here to get his medication. Then you can rest assured that all is as it should be,” the doctor tries, his tone now mild.

Nothing is as it should be. Absolutely nothing.

This whole situation is abnormal. Buck shouldn’t be in hospital. He shouldn’t act like this. He should be spooning Christopher on the bed, cuddle him and kiss his head. He should have asked for Maddie by now. The 118 should be on the way here. Buck should still be working with them, with him. They should have movie nights on Fridays and Buck should babysit Christopher at least once a week. They should watch games together and doze off on the couch. Buck should ask for juice and burritos. Eddie should be making arrangements so that Buck can spend the night over at their place, so that he isn’t alone after such an event. There should be a spark in Buck’s eyes. He shouldn’t feel like a ghost. None of this should be. And yet, it is.

“Show the way, Doc,” Buck says, cutting through the silence. Eddie looks up.

“I’ll just get you a wheelchair, hold on.”

Buck sits up. Eddie doesn’t miss how the air leaves him for a moment, but he still pushes on. Eddie rounds the bed, extending his arms to steady Buck, but the younger man just holds up his hands, gritting his teeth.

“Don’t.”

It’s no demand. It’s not aggressive. It’s a plea. And a desperate one.

Eddie holds up his hands to give Buck space as he folds his legs out of bed, ignoring every instinct inside himself to hold on anyway, if only to calm the tremor in Buck’s body the way he used to do it when he saw him this upset.

“I’m sorry for all this,” Buck mutters, not looking at him. “I’m glad Christopher is safe.”

“You know, just because you didn’t plan on seeing us, you still can.”

“No, I really can’t. Thanks, though.”

“Ah, you’re already up, Mr. Buckley. See? He’s doing great. Will be as good as new in a matter of days,” the doctor chimes as he comes back inside with the wheelchair. He helps Buck settle in, though Buck is basically doing it entirely on his own.

“We’ll be right back.”

Eddie watches as the doctor wheels Buck out of the room, out into the busy hallway. He tries his phone again, still no luck. Though he could really use some support here. Because none of it makes sense to Eddie anymore.

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

“Coast’s clear,” Neil says, peering around the corner.

Buck hits the other man in the arm, hard.

“Hey! What’s that for?” the other man whines, pulling back into the storage room he maneuvered him into at Buck’s behest written on the clipboard.

“You didn’t have to put on an act as a doctor, you jackass,” Buck grumbles as he pulls the hoodie over his head, ignoring the pain flaring up in his side.

Just a nick my ass.

“I watched enough Grey’s Anatomy to know my way around,” Neil snorts. “I totally pass as a McSexy.”

“He’s an ex-Army medic and first responder, dude,” Buck argues. “Also, you are not McSexy, you’re McSaggy.”

“Ah, so it’s the ex-ex!”

Buck hits him again.

“You slut!” Neil laughs. “I guessed you had a thing for Latinas.”

Buck hits him again for emphasis, though he knows it’s all lost on a guy like Neil. He also knows he shouldn’t be surprised by the guy anymore. But the moment he rolled in with the white coat and the toothpaste smile, Buck will have to admit he was shocked. Though that was basically his modus operandi throughout the day. First the bomber, then Christopher, God, Christopher, and then Eddie.

“Okay. I checked, you can use the stairway…,” Neil tries to say, but Buck cuts him off. He’s tired and not up for faux tactic talk. “Dude, I know that hospital better than I’d like to. Just tell me where to in the parking lot.”

“Towards the back. Black sedan.” He tosses him the keys. “And you won’t be driving.”

Buck rolls his eyes as he stuffs the keys into the pocket of the hoodie. “No shit.”

“Wanna bid adieu to lover boy?” Neil asks, though not really.

Neil always says one thing, means the other, then says what he means, then he doesn’t. On most days, Buck enjoys Neil’s company. He’s at least fun to talk to, when he isn’t being a little bitch about it. The guy keeps a calm head in any situation without a stick up his ass. But right now, everything in Buck hates him. Though even that, Buck knows, is just projection.

It’s myself I hate.

“I did over a year ago,” Buck answers, whether to assure Neil or to remind himself, he isn’t quite sure. “Let’s just get moving.”

“Hoo-yah.”

Buck looks back out the hallway to see Eddie still standing in the doorway, fuming. He hates to see him like this, to leave him like this, but it’s just another thing to add, in the end. To all the hatred Eddie and the others are entitled to feel. Because yes, Buck is the bad guy in this. He knows it’s true.

It’s what he left behind, 413 days ago.

It’s what he won’t ever go back to, no matter the amount of days passed.

“Coast still clear?” Buck asks.

Neil checks, nods. Buck takes his cue and ducks out of the storage room, swiftly making his way to the staircase.

He leaves the comforting thought behind that maybe, someday, Eddie will forgive him this, all of this, and remember only the times Buck wasn’t there to wreak havoc in his life.

Buck finds the car with ease and he climbs in with not as much ease. Because his side is burning and he needs to sleep. He rather sleeps through nightmares than live through them.

Neil emerges a few minutes later, laughing to himself as he gets into the driver’s seat.

“Nice of you to make me call him a taxi,” Neil points out. “The lines are still dead, as could be expected, but I could get through with the super fancy, not at all fancy-looking phone we got.”

Buck noted that down on the clipboard as well, of course. It’s the damn well least.

“He left his car at the plaza,” Buck almost whispers.

Neil starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot, eyes fixed on the road. “You okay?”

“I was stabbed, so I’m bloody terrific.”

“Good, then you’ll be delighted that we’ll be staying a while longer,” Neil informs him.

Buck leans his head back. “You’re fucking me, right?”

They had a plan. Just two weeks. Just this case. They had the network down. They should have been done with this guy thanks to whom he took a knife to the stomach today. That should have been it. He should have a flight booked out of here, away from the eyes haunting him in his dreams, the questions that burned on Eddie’s lips, though he wouldn’t say them. Because he never does.

“For as long as you don’t turn out to be a hot redhead with no appendages between the legs, no, I’m not fucking you.”

“How long?” Buck sighs. It’s not like he has any illusions about it: He will have to tay for as long as it’s demanded of him.

Rules of the game.

“At least another two weeks,” Neil lets him know. “The big boss man agreed with your assessment about how the network operates. And apparently, there’s been additional intel that just came our way. Get this: The pack leader is supposedly in town right now.”

“Fuck,” Buck curses. He hoped that that person’s appearance would be as far away from L.A. as is humanly possible. His prediction was that with the evidence gathered here, they could narrow down the pack leader and then move before the network spread any further. But the pack leader is here for a show, and it will blow.

“Big boss man also said you get the rest of the week off to heal up, coz you actually belonged in hospital”

“No shit,” Buck snorts, trying to find a comfortable position he knows he isn’t going to get.

“But so long you take it easy, you should be fine.”

“I appreciate the care,” Buck snorts.

“Oh please, I don’t care a rat’s ass about you. You’re just damn good at the job, is all…,” Neil says jovially, but then adds in a smaller voice, “Couldn’t help but notice, though.”

“Notice what?”

“You didn’t kill the guy.”

“Damn, you’re observant,” Buck scoffs.

“We are trained to shoot first, ask questions later.”

“I thought I could talk him out of it. And I did, after he stabbed me, fine. But no one turned to human confetti.”

“Precisely. You had a gun on you, of course you did,” Neil argues. “You could’ve just taken the shot.”

“Risk would’ve been higher for him to release the trigger, had I taken the shot. I had to get close anyway. Like that, I had a chance to wrestle the switch from him,” Buck replies. “Also, that means we have two witnesses now we can squeeze out for information regarding the pack leader. Normally, we only get to pick up their pieces.”

Neil shrugs. “Just saying, don’t slip into old habits. You’re no longer a firefighter. You see a bad guy? You kill a bad guy.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t hear you,” Neil huffs.

“Don’t be a bitch and drive, damn it.”

“I mean it, Buckley,” Neil adds, grinding his teeth. “I have no intention to get dragged into your problems. You can’t turn the switch? You gotta go.”

Oh, and how much Buck would love to. But even if Neil may hate his guts, Buck is where he belongs, where he belonged long before he could fool himself into believing that his place was in a firehouse with red furniture and a house wherein the most adorable kid lives and plays video games.

Even if I wanted to, if you wanted me to, there’s someone who wants me to say. And he calls the shots. Rules of the game.

“I made a call based on the evidence and my experience,” Buck reasons, because it’s still true. He took a risk based on what he knows himself capable of.

“Good, just checking.”

“There’s no need.”

“There better not be. We have a mission to fulfill.”

“Hoo-yah.”

[riotwritesthings]

Ode to Yoga Pants

OR the continued terrible mating dance of Bucky and Tony

AKA when betting on your friends stops being fun

Title: Ode to Yoga Pants Collaborator Name: Riot Bucky Barnes Bingo Square Filled: K5, Team Dynamics StarkBucks Bingo Square Filled: O5, “I’d like it if you stayed.” Ship/Main Pairing: WinterIron Rating: M Major Tags & Triggers: Mutually pining morons, humor Summary: OR the continued terrible mating dance of Bucky and Tony, AKA when betting on your friends stops being fun Word Count: 2,282

Here on AO3!

-

Tony is heading to the gym for Steve’s newly mandated team training time and yeah, he’s late, but he does have coffee. So at least he’s on brand.

It looks like everyone else has beat him here, which isn’t really surprising, and Tony tosses out a grin and wave in response to the unimpressed look Steve shoots him.

Then his eyes land on Bucky. Who is doing one armed pushups. Completely vertically, pointed toes up in the air and strands of hair falling loose around his face where it’s come loose from the hair tie. And he is in yoga pants.

They hug his calves, his ass, his thighs, tight black spandex with gray piping up sides and Tony is weak.

Forget team bonding, Tony needs to get out of here right now, before he makes a fool of himself. Except he spins too quickly, hot coffee sloshing over the rim of his mug and onto his fingers, and he’s so busy hissing over the sharp burst of pain that he walks straight into the door as it swings shut.

“Ack, fuck,” Tony gasps, more hot coffee splashing out across his hand, rubbing at his forehead and apparently he’s a little dizzy because he goes to take a step back and tilts to the side instead, bouncing off the wall.

He’s almost caught his balance, and then he trips over Sam’s stupid jump rope, and then his thighs hit the weight bench and he tumbles backwards over it, the last dregs of his coffee somehow ending up entirely on his chest.

“Damnit Wilson,” Tony grumbles, “I knew you were out to get me!”

There’s a soft chuckle from somewhere above him, and Tony pries his eyes open. He’s half expecting to see Sam, ready to defend himself and deny that he’s trying to kill Tony with workout equipment even though he very clearly is.

Instead it’s Bucky, leaning over him all shirtless and sweaty and concerned.

“You okay, doll?”

When Tony tries to speak all that comes out is a strangled gurgling sound, and Bucky’s concerned look gets deeper.

-

“Gross, they’re doing it again,” Sam complains, pausing mid situp to shoot a glare across the gym.

When Steve glances away from sparring with Natasha she takes the opportunity to pop him in the throat.

“This isn’t even funny anymore,” Natasha says while Steve coughs and hacks and gives her a dirty look.

“It stopped being funny weeks ago,” Rhodey says as he leans against the ropes of the boxing ring and shakes his head in disappointment.

“You’re just saying that because that’s when you were officially out of the betting pool,” Clint says with a snort.

“I really didn’t think it would take them this long,” he says with a morose sigh, “I’m ashamed.”

Steve makes a sound that might be agreement.

“New bet, how much worse can it possibly get?” Sam tries to joke, but he has a terrible feeling that it’s not a joke at all.

“I think we’re all the losers in that bet,” Natasha says as they all watch Bucky help a still clearly-swooning Tony out of the gym.

The poor pining morons don’t even notice they have an audience. Just like Bucky somehow doesn’t notice that Tony is literal putty in his hands, and Tony mysteriously doesn’t notice Bucky giving him the sappiest heart eyes ever.

It’s shameful, is what it is.

-

Tony lets Bucky drag him into the kitchen, sinks onto one of the stools when gently pushed in that direction, and he’s becoming uncomfortably aware that his shirt is still splattered with cooling coffee and probably clinging to his chest.

He should probably go change, and then maybe go hide out somewhere until he figures out how to deal with Bucky in yoga pants.

But before Tony can figure out how to convince his legs to actually move, Bucky is done digging around in the freezer and by his side again.

“Ow,” Tony says with an exaggerated wince as Bucky presses a bag of ice to the back of his head, and then nearly melts out of his seat when Bucky shushes him with a wide palm running down the back of his neck.

He’s not actually as rattled as Bucky seems to think he is, but Tony certainly isn’t going to correct him. It’s a much safer excuse than admitting his brain went to mush the second he saw Bucky’s thighs, all wrapped up and accentuated in tight black spandex, and it still hasn’t quite come back online.

From here, with Bucky standing beside him and gently holding his head still while Tony stares studiously at the floor, all Tony can see of Bucky is his foot. The tight black fabric ends just above the delicate bones of his ankle, his bare toes wiggling against the tile floor as he pulls the ice away and inspects Tony’s head.

Forget getting his brain working again, Tony is just trying to keep his stupid heart from crawling its way up his throat over ankles. Like some kind of repressed Puritan, Jesus.

Which means he can’t at all stop himself from nervously stuttering out “Those-those are uh, nice... you like yoga pants huh?”

There’s a vague sense of motion beside him, like Bucky is shrugging, as he says “They’re comfortable.”

“Uh huh, they-“ Tony starts to say, and then nearly swallows his tongue when Bucky steps around in front of him again.

His eyes automatically drag upwards, and it takes everything Tony has not to let himself linger, not to get caught staring at the frankly mouthwatering bulge of Bucky’s cock that his skin tight leggings are not doing a very good job of hiding.

He jerks his gaze up higher and it doesn’t help because oh god there’s Bucky’s chest, still bare and so close and by the time he finally manages to make himself look up at Bucky’s face he can’t breathe.

“They- uh, s-sure look it,” Tony stutters out, and furious blushing is totally a symptom of a concussion, right?!

Bucky’s smile stays warm and friendly, so he’s probably alright.

And all Bucky says is “You should try them! I can send you the site I got ‘em from, Nat recommended it to me.”

“Okay,” Tony squeaks and damnit he’s actually going to have to buy some yoga pants now. There’s no other way to play off his sudden fascination with them.

-

A week later, everyone has lost the bet.

They find the two morons asleep together on the couch, legs tangled and blankets wrapped around them both.

The entire team agrees it’s the most disgusting thing they’ve ever seen.

-

Steve is taking his frustrations out on a punching bag when Bucky suddenly ducks behind the bag, grabbing it and holding it still so he can hide behind it.

“What is this, why are you doing this?” Steve demands, rhythm thrown and half-debating just punching the bag anyways in the hopes that it’ll shake Bucky loose.

“Steve,” Bucky hisses, like he somehow hasn’t noticed that he already has Steve’s full attention, “Steve, I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“What are you talking about?”

Bucky’s head pops out from around the punching bag, eyes fixed on something across the gym as he hisses “Tony bought yoga pants.”

Steve turns and sure enough, Tony and Natasha are standing near the sparring mats in matching black and gray patterned spandex.

“Does Nat get money every time she talks someone into buying those?” Steve has to wonder, because she has been relentlessly texting him the link too.

“Steve,” Bucky hisses again, “Steven. I can’t- how do I even- Steve-“

“What?!” Steve demands impatiently, because he really wants to go back to punching things, and not thinking about the awkward mating dance of his best friends.

“Look at his ass!”

Steve huffs and resists the urge to gag at the open reverence in Bucky’s tone. He does turn though, just in time to watch Tony bend over in a low stretch.

“Perfect little bubble, I just wanna bury my face in it and live there,” Bucky sighs.

“Huh,” Steve says, tilting his head a little to get a better view because damn, Bucky is not exactly wrong- “Ow!” He squawks when Bucky swings the punching bag into him, “you’re the one who told me to look!”

“Not like that!” Bucky snaps back. It looks like he’s considering hitting Steve with the punching bag again, and Steve holds up a single finger in warning.

“Do not,” he says sternly.

Bucky settles for just hugging the bag instead, gaze already drifting across the gym again. Steve has a terrible feeling he’s not going to get back to his workout.

“Please just ask him out,” Steve says plaintively, “pretend to act like a functional person.”

“How am I supposed to function when faced with The Most Amazing Ass Ever™️?!” Bucky demands, and then makes a weird whimpering sound as Tony no doubt does something. Like existing.

Steve refuses to look over, instead just sighing out “Get off my punching bag, you’re making this so weird.”

“I’m filin’ a complaint,” Bucky says, clearly not listening to him anymore and still staring with rapt attention at where Tony is apparently doing something fascinating. “These pants are supposed to be ‘super stretchy’ but they clearly did not count on boners cuz my dick is strangled.”

“Excuse me,” Steve says, already walking away, “I need to go vomit.”

Hell, next week he might skip mandatory team training.

-

Tony is laying on his stomach on the common room floor, propped up on his elbows as he pokes at his phone and kicks his feet lazily in the air.

He’s wearing bright red yoga pants today, and even Clint is not immune.

He catches himself after a couple seconds of staring at the swell and bounce of Tony’s ass, and gives himself a vigorous shake. That’s a good way to earn the Winter Soldier Death Glare.

Even if said Winter Soldier is too much of a disaster to actually do anything about his super obvious crush.

“So are yoga pants just the new thing?” Clint asks, climbing over the back of the couch and keeping his eyes safely on Tony’s face, because he does not want to be assassined to death today. “You’re just gonna wear them all the time?”

“They’re comfortable,” Tony says with an absent shrug, then grins up at Clint and wiggles his eyebrows as he adds “Plus, they make my ass look great.”

And Clint can’t exactly argue that, so instead he just flatly says “You’re going to give Barnes a heart attack.”

Tony looks confused for a split second, and then smiles widely.

“Because I pull them off so much better than he does?” he asks, striking a pose, and Clint seriously considers running away to join the circus. Again.

He’s not even sure if things will actually be better if they eventually get together at this point.

He should make that the new bet.

-

“I’m just saying,” Tony insists, and then raises his voice when Steve put his head down on the table and starts humming under his breath, “If I thought Bucky was actually interested, I would 100% be here for him. With open arms-“

“Well that’s actually kind of-“

“And open legs-“

“Tony-“

“And an open mouth,” Tony finishes, grinning and winking when Steve looks up at him with a glare.

“Tony, please, I don’t want to hear this,” Steve says, hands over his ears and he does actually look a little green.

“This is nothing,” Tony says with a scoff, giving Steve an unimpressed look, because he is weak. “You should hear the shit I say to Rhodey.”

“I would like to hear those things,” says a voice directly behind him.

Tony freezes, his entire body going cold, because he knows that low, warm, rumbling voice. He hears it in his dreams, and oh no oh no oh no, now Bucky knows.

So much for his plausible deniability.

His brain kind of goes staticy with panic for a second, and he’s only dimly aware of Steve rolling his eyes.

“Yeah my part in this conversation is done,” Steve says, and promptly bails.

When Tony’s brain finally reboots he finds that Bucky has taken Steve’s seat across the kitchen table.

Bucky is also just grinning at him, like he doesn’t find Tony’s borderline-obsessive crush at all creepy.

All Tony can think to say is “What.”

And then he realizes he doesn’t actually want an answer, doesn’t want to find out if Bucky is going to make fun of him, or if he thinks it’s all a joke. He can’t decide if that would actually be better or worse than being turned down gently, and he doesn’t intend to stay and find out.

“I’m just...” Tony sputters, face burning as he flails his way out of his chair, “Gonna- gonna go. Run away. Yep.”

“Wait,” Bucky says, eyes wide and halfway out of his own chair.

Tony freezes, because Bucky looks a lot like he feels. Thrown, surprised, confused and so hopeful that it’s terrifying.

“I-I’d like it if you stayed,” Bucky says slowly, then smiles crooked and nervous as he adds “Not that I don’t like watchin’ you walk away.”

It startles a laugh out of Tony, face flushing as he sinks back into his chair. “Okay,” he says, heart racing and smile almost painfully wide, “um, what?”

Bucky laughs, soft and low and warm, and finally finishes reaching across the table to take Tony’s hand in his own.

-

Clint wins the bet on how much worse their lives get once the love-struck morons start making out all over the place.

[septic-skele]

UF - Out of Reach

Summary: Classic and Blue have it good with their brothers. They make displays of love and affection look so easy. Red can’t help but feel bitter about it. He stands no chance of ever having anything like that with his boss.

Well, not with that attitude about it, Blue says.

Red couldn’t understand it. Logically he figured it was because Classic and Blue came from drastically different backgrounds. They weren’t living with eye sockets in the back of their heads or half-formed, sharpened bones under their pillows like he and Boss did. They were probably just as baffled about him and his behavior, but there was something Blue had said once that wouldn’t leave his mind.

Red had walked in on a private moment and for reasons beyond him, he hadn’t taken a hasty shortcut back out. He stopped and stared and couldn’t help being taken aback when he saw Blue cradling his Papyrus’ skull against his shoulder, murmuring comforts to him. Red had never seen that casual, laidback Papyrus so drunk, weak and vulnerable, much less Blue so solemn.

“I love you, Papy,” he soothed. “I’d love you no matter the ‘reset’, whatever that may be—no matter the world, no matter the universe. A good, proper Sans would never give up on his brother, and I am just that.”

Good, proper. Red had no illusions of propriety but the idea of it nagged and frustrated him. Any time he had tried to console Papyrus in recent memory, it had ended with all the wrong things being said and door hinges buckling under the strain of being slammed.

Red already knew what Blue would say if he heard of this. “You can always try again! I believe in you, pal! You simply need to persevere! You’ll get through to him, I know it!” Disgusting.

The worst part of it, however, was that even Classic did it better than he could. Classic—depressed, cynical, apathetic, a liar to Papyrus’ face more often than not—still loved his brother better.

Somehow the six of them had survived a night in together, though the argument over the TV remote had almost come to blows and the throw pillows may have sacrificed some of their stuffing. Now that they were all retiring, Red wandered down the hall to hear strains of Classic’s voice from one of the nearby bedrooms. He didn’t sound anything like the blasé character Red usually knew; he was lighter, actually putting effort into this.

“…Peekaboo had become a game of hide-and-seek! Where could her friends have gone? Fluffy Bunny wondered, bounding across the green, green field to look for them. She searched high! She searched low!”

“She searched near and far,” Papyrus chimed in.

“You bet she did. She searched east and west, under rocks and up in trees. But Fluffy Bunny couldn’t find her friends anywhere! Wherever could they be?”

Maybe they ditched her for wantin’ to play such stupid games, Red mused with a snort, although as Classic continued he was distracted by an old, old memory fluttering forth.

He had spent hours poring over the dump, fishing out as many old, damaged books as he could find. Drained and shivering, he’d lugged them back to the nook where he’d left Papyrus, safely out of sight. Before he could find sleep, Papyrus had thrown himself over Red’s back and pitched a fit about learning how to read.

“Show me, brother! I want to do it like you do, I want to try! It doesn’t have to be the long one! Just show me how, please! Please, please, please, plea-a-a-ase!”

Red had capitulated only because he didn’t want the tantrum to draw unwanted attention, but that wasn’t the part that stuck with him. Papyrus had curled up against him, half-tucked under his coat, watching him trace letters with intent focus. As he haltingly sounded out the words, every small success made him light up like a star, clutching eagerly at Red’s ribs for his approval.

“Did you see that, Sans?! Did you hear me?! I did it!”

“Yeah, yeah. Pipe down, kid, I saw. Nice one.”

Red’s opinion and praise had still meant something to Papyrus back then. Stars, he was still willing to cuddle with him, despite the filth and the damp clinging to his clothes from the river.

Had Boss ever really been that hopeful, clingy little baby bones or was Red trying to convince himself that was how it had happened? It was so long ago. Pap could have just fished those books out and taught himself while Sans was away, trying to find work. That sounded far more likely.

“G’night, bro,” Classic concluded, sliding the book onto the nightstand and giving his Papyrus an affectionate squeeze of the hand.

Balking, Red ducked back toward the stairs before he could be found snooping, all too well aware of what Boss might do if he ever dared reach out that way. He’d probably end up losing a few fingers.

It wasn’t fair, something small and spiteful in the back of his mind huffed. The idea nearly made him miss one of the steps, torn between shock and scornful amusement. Since when had fairness ever been part of the equation? If things were fair…

If things were fair, they would probably look a lot like the scene he had just left, as well as the scene he was walking into now. Blue perched prim and proper on the end of the couch, surfing idly through channels. His brother was stretched across the rest of the cushions, head propped against Blue’s lap, swaddled up in blankets, the whole nine yards.

Jerks. They were intent on showing off now; they knew exactly how good they had it. Sparks of irrational anger crackled along Red's jaw and spine. If he had something immediately on hand to hurl at them, he would have, but he had already shucked off his boots and summoning a bone would be a waste of magic.

“Edgy me?” Blue called in a faux whisper, making him tense. “I would have thought you’d be asleep already.”

“Yeah, well, it’s kinda hard to rest easy with Classic jabbering on about fluffy bunnies through the wall!” Red snarked, louder and sharper than necessary. He took little satisfaction in the way Blue winced, resting a hand on Papy’s skull as if to muffle the noise.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” So genteel, so polite, he still offered an inviting smile. “If you’d care to come and join us, any of the chairs from the dinner table are free! Mweheh, I honestly have no idea how Papy sleeps like this; the side I sit on is the only one without mangled, broken springs. It’s probably all of his tossing and turning that’s done it. I’ve been meaning to get them repaired, but he hardly ever leaves the couch to let me at it! He really ought to—”

“Shut up already, would’ja? I don’t care! Besides—Tch, wouldn’t want to interrupt your cute little ‘brother bonding’ time.”

“Oh, no, y-you’re not interrupting anything! Did I imply that somehow? I’m sorry! If you want part of the couch, I can wake him and ask him to scoot over—”

“How d’you make it look so easy?” It broke free before Red could fully comprehend how irrational it would be to ask. Jaw clenching so tightly that his teeth squeaked, he drew back from his own brash demand. Blue tilted his head.

“I’m sorry?” That counted three times in this conversation that he’d apologized for nothing. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He should have retreated. He should have spat, “Never mind!” and transported to his room to seethe in privacy. Instead his foolish, fat mouth blundered on. “How d’you get him to do that?” He threw an irritated gesture at the sleeping lump on his lap. “How d’you make him…relax, with you there? It’s as if he likes having you around!”

Even that was saying too much and yet just enough. Realization dawned in Blue’s eyes, followed by—oh, stars, there was pity.

“Well, I…I’m not really sure. If there are no other comfortable surfaces around for him while he sleeps, I’m happy to help! The last thing he needs is a cramp in his neck. Heh, I’m not tall enough to fix that for him so why not try to prevent it entirely? We’ve huddled up ever since we were baby bones; it’s always been this way.”

Of course. Cheekbones flaming, Red ducked his head. They never had raging fights that lasted until dawn (or until they started losing their voices, whichever came first.) Blue and Stretch had it all sorted out from birth, cozy and coddled.

“…Papy always caught cold too easily. I’d make up some rather impressive beds for him with grass and water sausages so he wouldn’t have to sleep on the rock, but the dew would leave him shivering all night! I couldn’t let that stand! Those chattering teeth of his kept me awake too so I made the noble sacrifice and slept on the damp side while he nestled up to me.” Blue chuckled, an uncharacteristic note of something laced through it. “With our two shirts tucked together, we could almost imagine a full hoodie like he has now!”

“Wh—You? That’s rich.” That was decidedly not what Red had been picturing as a life that could spit out someone as sickeningly sweet as Blue. “You’re not tellin’ me you two were homeless.”

“I preferred to think of us as explorers!” Blue corrected. “I told Papy that we were on an adventure to find the perfect place for a new start. We experienced all that the Underground had to offer a couple of wandering baby bones: scavenging, hide-and-seek, games of chase with older monsters, who were rather poor sports when they couldn’t catch us. I grew strong and magnificent thanks to all of that exercise and my brother…well, he tried very hard!”

Red shuffled uncomfortably in place. Funny, how familiar all of those experiences sounded—but from someone else’s mouth?

“Then Papy fell terribly ill. He was poisoned, in fact. It was the first time I really wondered if I’d lose him.” Ignoring how Red startled, Blue glanced pensively down at his snoring brother, smoothing his fingers more gently over his skull. “It may have been an accident, but I was responsible for his safety; I should have been paying closer attention. In part it was my fault.”

“And he…forgave you for that?” An accident like that, caused by a slip in Sans’ attention, could probably get him disowned.

“On the contrary, he blamed himself! He blames himself for a great many things and he thinks most of them can’t be helped. I try, I always try to help. What’s infuriating is that he acts as if he doesn’t deserve it. Despite what you may think, there are plenty of times he doesn’t want me around. He shuts down, he pushes me away, he tells me I’m wasting my time.”

Red’s eyelights flicked off.

“Shut up, Sans. I don’t want to discuss it.”

“You idiot! Get away from me!”

“Useless. What a waste of time.”

“I think he’s scared of what might happen if he lets his guard down…Perhaps he thinks I’m not strong enough to face whatever is underneath,” Blue continued. “Perhaps he thinks that if he lets me too close, it will be the thing to drive me away for good. Nevertheless! With time and patience, I know I’ll convince him.”

“But how?! How am I supposed to—I mean, how do you keep trying when it never does any good?”

“It does do some good, I’m sure of it! I keep pushing to help him so he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that I won’t be driven away so easily. Maybe Papy just isn’t ready to show me the good it’s done yet. He has to learn to trust himself before he can trust me, but he can never say that I don’t care about him. I’ll show love to every part of him, even the bad, and it will be an influence for the better. I will break down those barriers!” Blue concluded with a fiercer grin.

A good Sans would never give up on his brother.

“Doesn’t it…suck?” Red ground out, hoping it wouldn’t be interpreted as an admission of weakness. Doesn’t it hurt? “When he shuts you out all the time?”

“Of course. I never said it was an easy task but it’s not within me to accept defeat!” Blue stopped up short then, holding his breath as Papyrus shifted against him. Neither Red nor Blue had been particularly careful about their volume.

After a few moments of adjustment, Stretch settled deeper into his blankets with a sleepy hum of contentment. Blue softened, eyelights aglow with such fondness that Red could almost feel a ripple of it in the air between them. It made his soul turn.

“He’s my only brother. We only have each other in the end. Isn’t that worth the effort?”

_____________________________________

If Red hadn’t been passing his boss’s room at precisely the right moment, he never would have heard it: a string of low, ragged gasps, followed by a rumble that could have been a groan or a growl. Sans grimaced at the sound, already aware of what was happening. Boss never made noise in his sleep unless he was injured, pain slipping through the cracks of his subconscious, or he was fighting a nightmare. Seeing as the last few days had been highly uneventful, it would be the latter.

Welp, that’s his problem. I’m not about to get impaled ’cause he mistakes me for his sleep paralysis demon.

That was habit speaking. Better reasoning caught him a few steps later, slowing him to a halt.

It would be easy to swan off, mind his own business and let Papyrus suffer on his own. It would have been easy to do it years ago too, when Pap was nothing but a scrawny baby bones who couldn’t have done anything about it.

If he hadn’t then, why should he now? It was Boss’s shouts in the morning that often woke him from dark dreams…He could return the favor and feel less indebted to him for it.

It was only fair.

Cursing his newly planted seed of a conscience, Sans pivoted with great difficulty and kicked a foot at the door with a small thump. No answer. He kicked again. The gruff breaths from within quickened.

“…Boss?” he ventured, clearing his throat roughly. “Hey. Boss.” Belatedly he realized that he had no proper excuse ready if Papyrus awoke and asked what he wanted. That might not go over well, but the circumstances were making it hard to focus. Those strangled groans were slowly but surely chipping away his first instinct of self-preservation.

He was definitely going to get impaled. One shot, -9999 damage and his life would be over, all for an attempt to be considerate, but he could hear it now in Papyrus’ voice. There was a scared little brat trapped inside the intimidating commander and that brat clearly still needed a big brother to drag him out of trouble.

Steeled for his impending doom, Sans jostled open the door. “Boss,” he began again as he poked his head in. “You’re makin’ noise, alright? You gotta—Whoa, whoa, whoa, that’s not good—”

Papyrus was a writhing, tangled mess in his blankets, some already torn where his claws had caught. Sweat and magic bled down his face, eye sockets sputtering and smoking in a flurry of colors as he choked for traction to cry out.

“Ngnnh—No, no—stop!”

“Boss?!” Sans stammered, surging forward. Of their own volition his hands got busy, dragging at the blankets to rend them free of Papyrus’ kicking legs. “Bro, hey! It’s okay, it’s just a dream!”

From there it must have only been a few seconds but to Sans it felt like an eternity before Papyrus lurched upright, already scrambling. He didn’t lunge to attack as Sans had expected but recoiled; it was only when he smacked his skull against the wall behind him that he came to a lurching stop.

“I-It’s just me, Pap,” Sans stated cautiously. He wouldn’t have dared use the old nickname under any other circumstances, but it seemed to clear some of the wild haze in his brother’s eyes. It took a beat for him to formulate an appropriate response.

“Get out,” he rasped. It didn’t hold a candle to its usual bite. He was still panting, disoriented. “What are you doing here?”

Which d’you want, an answer or me getting out? “I heard you…Well, I didn’t know if somethin’ was up. Maybe someone…broke in or somethin’, trying to get to you.”

“Oh?” Shoulders shuddering in what could barely be masked as a laugh, Papyrus shook his head minutely. “And what could you do to save me? L-Look at you. You’re not even armed.”

“And look who didn’t even wake up when I barged in here! The big, bad boss could’ve gotten killed in his sleep because he was too busy cryin’ like a—” By the greatest restraint he cut himself off, foreseeing how that would be received, but he’d said enough already.

“Get. Out,” Papyrus snarled, rediscovering vitriol enough for Sans to cringe.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Get out, you fool, this instant, or I’ll—!”

“I’m sorry, okay? I was worried!” That word felt taboo aloud. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright and you weren’t so I stayed to help.”

“There’s nothing you can do here, Sans; as always, you—you prove to be utterly inadequate! Your best course of action will be to close the door behind you.” Judging by the way his chin jutted out, he was clearly expecting that to be the last word.

“…No.” Tossing the blanket’s edge back to the floor, Sans squared up. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” The incredulity that flashed in Pap’s eyes should have cowed him but he had resigned himself to that already at the door. “I’m not just gonna leave you here, all jittery and crunched up against the wall. I can’t leave you like this. You’re not fine and I know if I try to say somethin’ to make it better, I’ll screw it up. Like you said, I always do. So let’s just skip that part where I do it wrong and get to the bit where you tell me what you need. What d’you need to feel better and get back to sleep okay?”

The following silence caught him off guard. Papyrus was never at a loss for further scathing remarks so why was he just staring at him? Moreover, where had his anger gone? He looked smaller without it, less like the Great and Terrible Papyrus and more like…

Papyrus. Red’s only brother. Hunched down, hands fisted into the mattress, micro-tremors trailing down his ribs as he breathed, he looked exhausted.

A minute passed. Maybe it was two.

Sans fidgeted, his nerve failing. “Boss, listen, I—”

“Tea,” he muttered, hooded eyes darting away. “If you really want to make yourself useful.” Sans hadn’t expected his soul to fill his throat at that response; something must have shown in his face, as Papyrus’ next grumble was even quieter. “You’re acting uncharacteristically generous with your work ethic. Why would I pass up this opportunity to make you work in the kitchen for once?”

Sans felt oddly light at the words as he nodded, turning for the door. “Gotcha.” He had never thought this day would come. For once in his life, he saw doing more work as a victory.

If it did some small modicum of good, if it made one miniscule chip in those walls between them, it would be worth the effort.

[littleladymab]

yesterday @thesugarcookieday​ distracted me from being glum by making us both sad over 7yg ldr nrmts+trucy headcanons so i decided to return the favor in between working on things that I should Actually be working on 

i love this fambily, ur honor

----

Trucy is still mostly asleep when they disembark from the plane. Phoenix is used to this, of course — having more than his fair share of handling all of their things one-armed as he carried her in the other. The stewardess is nice enough to help him with their things, even if he tells her he’s fine. (But it’s hard to say no when the older woman seemed to be extremely fond of Trucy, so he lets her help.) 

The line through customs moves smoothly, thankfully, and Trucy remains mostly asleep through the entire process. The one time they did this when she was awake, Phoenix had to keep making sure she didn’t wander off to investigate something or show someone a card trick, and then he’d lose sight of her for a few minutes and it was a whole process. Half asleep, he knows exactly where she is, can present their passports single-handedly, and has perfected the art of stacking their backpacks and single suitcase. 

Not that they’ve made this trip often, but the frequent weekend trips to visit ‘Aunt’ Maya in Kurain have helped hone the skill. 

Phoenix’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he juggles Trucy carefully as he pulls it free. 

Have you successfully convinced customs that you’re safe to allow into the country? 

“Hah hah,” Phoenix mutters, and Trucy mumbles the laugh back into his shoulder. 

“What’s funny, Daddy?” she asks, becoming a little more awake as they jostle their way through the airport. “Oh. We made it through the long line already?” 

“You slept right through it. Do you want down?” He thumbs out a reply, careful to keep an eye on where he’s walking as he does so. Despite your wishes, I have infiltrated your country once more.

Trucy hums in thought, then nods. “I want to pull the suitcase!” 

“You sure? It’s almost taller than you.” 

She pouts. “I can do it!” 

Phoenix laughs and puts her down, ruffling her hair as she attempts to fix her skirts. 

“Daddy! Stop!!” Trucy’s pout only deepens, though the seriousness of it is greatly diminished by the creases on her cheeks from her travel pillow. “Is Uncle Miles here already?” 

“Should be.” While the text didn’t say as much, Phoenix knows how to interpret most of Miles’ humor. But to be sure, he also sends, Truce and I will be down shortly. 

The reply is almost immediate. See you soon. 

Phoenix can’t help the smile before returning his phone to his pocket. “Alright. Do you need to use the bathroom?” 

“No!” 

“Are you sure? You remember how long the drive was back to Miles’ place, don’t you?” 

She thinks about this, tapping her finger to her chin. “Okay, you’re right, hold on.” Trucy gives his hand a pat, as if telling a dog to wait, then skips off in the direction of the nearest restroom. 

Phoenix takes the time to stretch, pulling off his beanie to ruffle his own hair — knowing that there’s no possibility of making it look even the slightest bit presentable. How Miles manages to step off of a sixteen hour flight looking as immaculate as always, Phoenix has yet to learn. 

Perhaps it’s one of the perks of First Class, though he’s more certain it just has to do with Miles’ inability to look ruffled in front of other people. 

Trucy emerges from the restroom, looking more awake and refreshed than when he put her down. Well, at least one of them will look presentable. 

She rejoins him, pulling her backpack free from the tower he made. “Okay! Let’s go!” 

“Are you sure you want to carry the luggage?” Phoenix asks as he takes his own backpack. 

“I am sure!” she says, and expertly nudges the suitcase with her foot to tip it down in her direction. “I helped Daddy and Uncle Valant move equipment all the time! This is nothing.” 

He laughs and reaches out to pinch one of her biceps, and she puffs out her cheeks in response. “Oh, good, you’ll be able to take care of me in my old age.” 

Trucy flexes her free arm as she starts walking. “Don’t worry, Daddy! Soon, I will carry you when you get too tired!” 

“I’m going to get you to make that promise in writing!” He’s not even thirty, but with his luck, who knows how soon that would be. 

She takes his hand in hers, and proceeds to take the lead in navigating the airport. Even though this is only her third time visiting, and she can’t read German (as far as he’s aware), she has a keen sense for where to go and who to follow. 

They descend into the area near the luggage carousels, and Trucy bounces up on the balls of her feet with every other step.

“You’re going to trip if you keep that up,” Phoenix says, steadying the suitcase after one particularily wild leap sends it skidding to the side and nearly colliding with someone passing them. 

“Can you see him, Daddy?” she asks, ignoring his caution. “I’m not tall enough.” 

“You wanted to be put down.” 

She sticks her tongue out at him and does another bounce to try and see. “Why is everyone so tall?” 

Phoenix scans the crowd as well, trying not to wonder if he is simply looking in the wrong place or if he’s glancing over Miles or— 

The phone in his hand buzzes with an incoming call and Phoenix answers it without even looking at the caller ID. “Do you always look so lost when in a crowd, Wright?” 

He frowns out of habit, and has to tug Trucy back to his side before she can go wandering off in search of the man currently on the phone. “You can see me?” 

“Yes, I can.” 

Phoenix scans the crowd again, frown starting to deepen as he ignores the twinge of panic, but then their eyes meet as a group of tourists parts and his heart jumps as he watches the smile form over Miles’ face. 

Miles’ lips move seconds before his voice floats through the phone. “Ah, you found me.” 

“Of course I did,” Phoenix says at the same time Trucy tugs on his hand and says, “Oh! I spotted Uncle Miles!” 

He lets her tug him a few steps before she simply abandons him and the suitcase to fling herself headlong through the rush of people. 

“Trucy!” he calls, hanging up and scrambling after her. 

Another flood of tourists surges past, and he scoots through the thick of them to come out the other side — just in time to see Trucy being caught up in Miles’ arms and her delighted laughter ringing out. 

“You’ve grown considerably, Trucy Wright,” Miles says with a groan. “What has your father been feeding you?” 

“Haven’t you heard?” Phoenix asks as he gets within earshot. “She’s been working out. Show him your muscles, Trucy.” 

This time, she has both arms free to flex, and Miles gives an appreciative whistle. “I see,” he muses. “It all makes sense now.” 

Phoenix tucks his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt, resisting the urge to reach automatically for Miles — always afraid of the distance at first, uncertain what might have changed between visits. “She’s volunteered to carry me in my old age.” 

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t be able to manage. I wear myself out with paperwork.” Miles sets Trucy back down and moves to close the distance between them. 

The pull is automatic and magnetic, and Phoenix frees his hands just in time to wrap his arms around Miles. “I’ve missed you,” he says, the sentiment buried into Miles’ shoulder as he tries to tug himself closer. 

“And I, you,” Miles returns, his nose pressed to the side of Phoenix’s head. 

There is a beat before Phoenix can feel Trucy’s arm around his hip, and he looks down to see her clinging onto both of them with a large grin on her face. 

“I want a hug, too!” she says, rocking up on the balls of her feet and giving her most winning smile.

“Dads only hug, sorry,” he teases, and ruffles her hair. 

She pouts, arms crossed over her chest, but the expression doesn’t last that long before Phoenix gives a sigh and scoops her back up into his arms. From this height, she gives Miles another hug, and snags Phoenix’s beanie for herself. 

“Hey!” he says, having to free one hand to try and snag it back. “I’m the one with bad hair, not you!” 

“You keep ruffling mine!” she says matter of factly and tugs the beanie on, even though it’s too big and slips down low over her brow. Doesn’t diminish the large, teasing grin she wears though. 

Miles laughs, and combs his fingers back through Phoenix’s hair (so maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all). “Come on, then. Let’s get you home so you can relax.” 

Phoenix swoops in for a quick kiss, hearing Trucy gasp as Miles doesn’t let him immediately pull back. When he looks, he sees that she’s pulled the beanie down over her eyes. “Are you going to pull the suitcase again, or are you going to make me carry you?” 

“I’m tired, Daddy, carry me,” she says, and drapes her arms around his neck to settle her cheek against the top of his head. The beanie is still pulled down over her eyes, so he reaches up to pluck it free. 

“I’ll get your suitcase,” Miles offers, and ignores Phoenix’s protests — and also effectively ends them by taking Phoenix’s free hand in his own. “There. You have Trucy, I have your suitcase. Seems fair.” He gives Phoenix’s hand a fond squeeze. 

“Alright, you win this round.”

Miles leans in to give him another kiss, then leads them out of the airport towards where his car is waiting for them. 

—— 

The drive back to Miles’ apartment takes a bit as it is a few cities over, though they also stop for lunch on the way in. 

Trucy has to fight to stay awake in the back seat, as Phoenix has to remind her to stay awake until it’s bedtime here in Germany instead of responding to her body demanding California time. He gives her his phone to play games on during the long ride — content to sit with his hand in Miles’, the two of them talking softly as they drive. 

The apartment is as clean as always and Trucy gives a delighted whoop as she bounces onto the sofa that will be pulled out for her bed later. She pulls out her deck of cards and barely gives Miles the chance to sit down before she’s already demonstrating her latest tricks for him. 

They spend the rest of the afternoon like that, making plans for the two weeks of vacation. They order take out for dinner, and Trucy picks a movie that they all curl up onto the couch to watch. 

When Trucy’s bedtime finally arrives, Phoenix helps Miles set up the pull-out sofa for her. She’s already back to being mostly asleep, so he has to usher her into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face before carrying her back into the living room. 

The room is dark, illuminated only by a nightlight in the corner, and the light spilling out of Miles’ open door. 

Phoenix tucks Trucy into bed, running his hand through her hair as she gives a huge yawn. “You’ll be okay?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be okay!” 

“You know where to find me if you need anything.” 

She nods, then throws her arms around his neck for a hug. “Goodnight, Daddy.” 

“Goodnight, baby.” He gives her a kiss on her forehead before picking his way carefully across to Miles’ room. 

Miles looks up from his phone when he hears the door click shut. He doesn’t have to say anything — he just sets aside his phone and barely manages to pull off his glasses before Phoenix collides with him. 

He feels like he can finally breathe again the moment Miles’ arms close around him. “Christ, I’ve missed you,” he sighs. 

“Are you alright?” Miles asks, fingers carding back through Phoenix’s hair.

“I am now.” 

“Phoenix—” 

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” It must not sound that convincing because Miles cups Phoenix’s face between his hands and pulls him back far enough to make eye contact. “You do the Disappointed Dad face a lot better than I do. Trucy would listen to me more if I could pull that off.” 

Miles gives a snort of amusement before leaning in to kiss him. “I’m not disappointed. I’m just worried.” 

“Nothing I haven’t already told you.” 

“They’re all valid things to be worried about, and it’s okay to not be fine.” 

Phoenix shifts up so he can sit on the edge of the bed next to Miles. “I know. I just… Everything feels easier here.” 

Miles lifts an eyebrow. “In Germany?” 

He rocks to the side and nudges Miles with his shoulder. “Next to you.”

There’s a breath of silence between them as Miles takes his hand, lifting it to his lips and placing a tender kiss on their joined fingers. “I’m sorry I had to cancel my trip out over Christmas.” 

Phoenix takes a breath, but Miles cuts him off with a kiss — and a second and a third when the first wasn’t enough. “You don’t have to apologize,” Phoenix says instead of it’s fine, because each time he tries Miles doesn’t let him get the words out. “You know you don’t have to apologize for that.” 

“I get so few chances to see you,” Miles murmurs against his lips, and Phoenix turns it into another kiss. 

He kisses across Miles’ jaw, then down his neck — nuzzling the soft skin there to earn a throaty laugh. “Then make up for lost time,” he says, and gives a sharp, delighted grin as he is tugged into Miles’ lap. 

[cockasinthebird]

419 please?

I hope 26 is grown up enough for you!❤️

419. “Spend the night with me?”

Thank you so so much for requesting a mystery prompt, and celebrating my 500 followers with me!!! I am so happy that people are wanting to participate in this! And I hope that this is to your liking 💕

It got long, as in, 5.8k long, which was not at all my intention, but when inspiration strikes, go with the flow, right?? So here we are! Enjoy~

--

They had kept in touch over the years. Or at least tried, although it did become near impossible to find time to chat after graduation.

Billy went off to college and afterward started his own quite successful workshop, where he with a charming smile and abundance of personality has wormed his way into high society, and old women’s lust for young and rowdy guys covered in oil and tats as they fix their expensive porches - shirts not included.

And Steve moved to Chicago to begin his “training” as an heir to the Harrington Construction empire, where his current title as COO is simply a pretty facade, as his role is nothing more than to put up appearances and give orders originally from his father’s lip.

  Today’s headache comes from a stack of papers towering like a city on top of Steve’s desk. He flips through page after page after page of permits and legal shit, trying to understand what any of it means; if he’s to ever take over as president of this company, he must know what a “nonconforming structure” is, and learn to read a site map.

Thankfully he gets interrupted when the intercom dings, and his secretary speaks; “Mr Harrington, there’s someone on line two for you. Says he’s an old friend.”

It’s kind of weird how he just immediately knows who it is, and it brings forth a deep and exasperated sigh. He rubs his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose as he gathers up energy, before reaching for the button that allows him to say, “Thank you Claire, you can go home for the night.”

Out the window he has a gorgeous view of the cityscape, drenched in black and dotted with night lights, proving to him that it is far later than he anticipated.

He then brings up the handset and, in a company approved tone, says, “Harrington Construction, this is Steve Harrington.”

“You’re a hard man to get to, Stevie,” a voice that sets his soul aflame drawls out every single syllable.

Steve’s heart beats a bit faster, a bit wrong, at the thick tone of his high school “sweetheart”. The “one that got away,” and all that painful jazz they make movies out of.

“Hey Billy,” he sighs and thuds his head against the back of his expensive leather chair.

“Don’t sound so excited now, princess,” the grin on Billy’s face all too apparent in his tone.

To think, 8 years has passed since he called Steve “princess” for the first time, and even at the ripe age of 26 he keeps up the same old front. Yet it still makes Steve blush all the same, a curse or a blessing, that depends entirely on who you ask. Some things never change.

“What do you want?” he grumbles, sounding just like his father, and that realization makes him sick enough to call a doctor, or a therapist, either one is good for him.

“Woah, bad timing?” 

“No…” Another of a thousand sighs escapes. “No, just… work, you know how it is.”

“Actually I do!” and Billy sounds all too chipper for Steve’s taste in energy levels right now. “I’m in Chicago this week for a fancy car show downtown; going to schmooze with some rich folks to get sponsors for my shop in Cincinnati.”

“Oh yeah, you mentioned that some time ago, I completely forgot.” Steve peers at the haunting sight of papers stacked nearly as tall as himself. He’s been too busy lately and forgets all too much. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, I’m sure your work is way more stressful than mine.” Billy has become more forgiving with age, and it is something to get used to. “You busy now?”

Steve takes a second to respond, stares at the papers on his desk in hopes they’ll catch fire, but settles for a more realistic solution, and spins around in his chair for as long as the wire of the phone allows, till he can’t see his obligations any more.

“Nope, I’m free, what’s up?”

 -

He should have expected this. 

Sure Billy spends his days flexing in front of the rich ladies whose Wall Street husbands give all their attention to their secretaries and assistants, where he no doubt has grown accustomed to champagne, scotch, and what else these lonely housewives might bring him as a “thank you”, but he still manages to choose one of the seedier bars in all of Chicago, Illinois. Some things never change.

Low ceiling, even for a basement, half-circle booths in dark leather, a bar that can maybe fit 7 people, and walls decorated in probably stolen road signs. It reeks of sweat and cheap beer, successfully assaulting Steve’s senses.

He definitely doesn’t fit in, sticks out like a sore thumb immediately in his custom tailored suit and tie that draws everyone’s attention to him, staring like he just insulted their mothers. 

“Hey! Harrington!” Billy calls out, barely audible over the old school rock music, and all Steve sees is his hand waving in the air near the back where the lights can’t quite reach.

Being raised proper like he was, by the hand of babysitters and maids, Steve apologizes the entire trip from the front door to the last booth, as he pushes his way through the more sleazy and possibly dangerous looking crowd. He wouldn’t stand a chance if even one drop was spilled on any of these men’s shirts.

When he sees Billy his heart does the same dance as it did last they saw each other, years ago at the kid’s graduation, where they got drunk and reminisced about “the way things used to be”, about the way they used to be, and being reminded of that now makes it a bit hotter under his white collar.

Billy’s slumped against the seat, arms full of tattoos and spread across the back of the booth, legs as wide apart as the skinny jeans will allow. Some things never change. But he has. He’s gotten thicker, more muscular, which is awfully apparent in the way his white tee hugs his torso. His hair is longer, curlier too somehow, but still it’s good to see he kept the mullet. Oh but that wicked grin carries the same charm that led Steve into the lion’s den way back when.

“Good to see you could find the place,” Billy says and gives Steve a very obvious once over, taking in how sharply dressed he is, smoothly shaved, hair short and slicked back.

He doesn’t move further in to allow for any room, hogging all the space except for a bit at the end where Steve won’t be able to sit without them being inappropriately close in such a public setting.

“My driver knows his way around, thankfully.”

Steve unbuttons his jacket and takes a chance; sits down and hopes that Billy will move once he sees that Steve isn’t afraid to push boundaries anymore, isn’t afraid to challenge the retired Keg King.

But he doesn’t move - stays firm in his placement on the seat, planted even, biting his tongue as their thighs press together.

“Still living on daddy’s dime, huh?” 

“Kinda hard not to since I work for him,” Steve laughs.

Even through the fog of alcohol and cigarettes, he can smell Billy’s strong cologne, and it triggers something in him he hasn’t felt in damn near two years. Some things never change.

“Ah yes, good ol’ nepotism,” Billy chuckles, low and gravely, eyes staring too long at Steve’s lips before going up to meet his gaze.

“It’s a family business, a dynasty if you were to ask my father, so it is only to be expected,” Steve says with a smile, exhausted in a sense that is all too clear despite the low lighting.

“Mhm, sure, listen,” Billy mumbles out with disinterest, then leans in closer - not that there was much space between them to begin with. “I didn’t ask you here to talk about work or your father, if I cared for that I’d have simply called.”

Billy hadn’t called in close to half a year before today.

Steve hasn’t called in over half a year.

Neither had bothered finding time to “hang out” in two years, both had tried to move on from their past, yet they’re here now, together, and maybe Billy is tired of trying to forget, and maybe Steve is willing to remember.

“Then why did you ask for us to meet here?” Steve whispers, certain that Billy can hear him, and the way his eyes go dark beneath heavy lids proves he’s right.

And Billy licks his lips before pulling the lower one in to bite at it suggestively. “I think you know exactly why.”

His hand brushes against Steve’s neck, sending a ripple of goosebumps across his skin, his entire body perking up at such a simple and gentle touch. Steve can’t look away from those deep pools of desire, won’t even try, honestly.

He takes a stuttering breath before saying, “Not getting enough from your aged clients?”

Billy huffs a laugh and smiles rather than grins at that. “Come on, Stevie, you know me better than that, don’t you?”

“Do I?” the response quick through a teasing smirk.

“You should. I don’t sleep around with married people - their sons and daughters, however…” he trails off, well aware that Steve understands, but Billy isn’t exactly subtle, ever.

“Is that all I am to you?” Steve coos and pushes his knee against Billy’s. “Some rich married man’s son?”

“Is that all you want to be to me?” Billy moves in to ghost his breath across Steve’s lips.

“Billy…” Steve whispers cautiously.

“Don’t worry, pretty boy, it’s a gay bar, no one here will mind…”

And perhaps that’s why people stared at him like that when he came in… or at least some of them.

Steve’s hand rushes up to feel the slight stubble of Billy’s jaw as he kisses him with such eagerness that only grows from missing another person this much, a touch that Steve didn’t know he had been craving so bad till he walked into the room.

Billy’s tongue dives in as he pushes to deepen their kiss, a hand on the back of Steve’s head to pull him closer, proving just how needy Billy is as well for this, as if there’s nothing else he could want for in the world but the taste of Steve’s mouth.

And it makes him breathless, lungs wanting air but lips wanting to touch. When Billy pulls away Steve tries to move along, to stay connected like that, but Billy dodges every attempt, to groan out,

“Spend the night with me?”

Steve can’t help but laugh, gaining him a rather inquisitive look from Billy. “Why didn’t you just ask me to your hotel room right away?”

“Well I thought you’d be more likely to agree to go to a bar with me than my room!” Billy can’t help but laugh, too. 

“You’re not even gonna buy me a drink first then?” 

“Oh baby,” Billy purrs and nuzzles his nose against Steve’s neck, kissing him softly and dearly. “You can order all the room service you want at my hotel - wine, champagne, scotch, vodka, if that’s what you want.”

“Mmh,” Steve hums and tips his head aside to allow Billy better access. “Are you sure you can afford my expensive tastes?”

Billy reaches forth to loosen Steve’s tie and frees the first button of his shirt. “I’ll write it off as a business expense, anything for my princess.”

“Fuck,” Steve lets out a breathy moan as those words shoot straight through him; jolting his heart and waking his dick. Some things never change. “Then what are we waiting for?”

 -

Maybe it’s because he grew up with old money, a house full of expensive and dark furniture, ornate and vintage, but the hotel is not what he expected.

It’s so… modern, with white furniture, large windows, and polished metal. It all looks impeccably clean.

The couch faces a large fireplace, a TV mounted in the wall above, glass tables on either side of the armrests, and behind the seating is a set of glass doors that open into the bedroom that holds a king sized bed with no doubt real silk sheets, and an en suite bathroom. It’s a small and generally scarcely decorated hotel room, a plant over in the corner to bring some color, a pretentious painting with only a streak of red, but it’s upscale and no doubt rather expensive.

And the trust fund kid in Steve wonders how the hell Billy can afford all of this and room service, but he’s not going to ask nor complain. Pretend he’s on an all paid trip where he can do whatever he wants, far far away from his father and his duties. Even if it is just for one night, he can relax and enjoy himself; leave his baggage at the door.

“It’s paid for by one of my ‘sponsors’,” Billy says while taking Steve’s jacket off.

“What?” 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you looking around thinking ‘How the hell can Billy Hargrove afford all of this?’” Thankfully Billy doesn’t sound offended by the notion that he’s still just a poor man.

“And who is your sponsor that allows you to live so lavishly?” Steve turns to Billy with a smile, who offers a smirk rather wide.

“Mrs. Howard.”

“Ah,” Steve huffs as if it was what to be expected.

“Yeah, ah,” Billy mocks him and brings his hands to the Armani belt, unbuckling it and smoothly slips it through the loops of Steve’s dress pants. 

Steve toes his way out of his shiny oxford shoes as Billy expertly unbuttons his shirt, only to find a tee beneath, and he expresses his irritation with a clear groan.

“Why do all you suit monkeys always wear a shirt beneath your shirt?” he complains lightly yet shoves rather hard for the button up to fall past Steve’s shoulders.

“I don’t know if you know, but white fabric is often rather sheer, and I’m not a fan of my subordinates seeing, well, more than they should,” Steve explains rather matter-of-fact, but doubts that Billy actually cares for the reason of it.

Instead he throws off his own tee before pulling at Steve’s, caring for something far more carnal as is evident in the way he goes to kiss and bite up and down Steve’s now fully exposed neck.

“Didn’t you- ah- didn’t you promise me something like room service?” Steve asks as he pulls Billy away by the luscious mullet, earning him a snarl and exposed teeth that want nothing more than to taste his flesh.

“Can’t it wait?” Billy growls lowly. 

And Steve wants to say no, wants to tease and make the other wait for it, if not perhaps beg a little, but when Billy grabs his ass for leverage as he grinds them together, all Steve can say is, 

"Fuck," as his brain short circuits.

Billy grins like he knows what he does to poor old Steve, like he remembers the kind of power he has over him. Some things never change. 

He licks a hot stripe up Steve's neck, and nibbles at his ear. "Come on, pretty boy, let's get you into something more… Comfortable." 

Hand in hand, Billy leads them both through the glass doors to the bedroom, and before Steve can even think of anything to say, he’s shoved onto the silk sheets where he lands with a loud poomf.

As he lies there flat on his back, he gets a good and proper look at Billy, and finds time to appreciate just how much he’s changed, how out of place he is here, inked skin in stark contrast to the white and dull background the suite offers.

His arms have been decorated with more skulls, which is no real surprise. A crown wrapped in thorns on top of one skull, another seemingly choking on rose petals. On his left bicep sits a gorgeous, topless mermaid on a rock, looking out over the horizon, surrounded by an ornate frame as if she were a painting.

Billy stares all the same down at Steve, who’s gotten a bit softer with age, his very legit excuse being that practicing sports in high school was what kept him fit then, and now he’s barely ever got time to hit the gym. But Billy looks at him like he doesn’t care, like he enjoys it, like he did back then.

Steve is incapable of looking away as Billy’s strong hands unbuckle his own belt and zips down his jeans, and…

“Are… are you not wearing any underwear?” He gawks and stares at the full, veiny cock jumping to attention as those jeans fall to the floor.

“Thought it was unnecessary,” Billy says with a grin all too alluring and knowing.

Steve wants to say something; feign protesting that Billy shouldn’t “assume I’m that easy,” but isn’t he? About an hour ago he was in his office, flaccid like a eunuch, accepting of his status as celibate what with his luck in the dating pool. Now he’s so fucking hard words fail him.

Billy wants Steve.

Steve needs Billy.

Some things never change.

Fingers calloused from hard work drift down Steve��s chest and stomach something so reverently and grateful, and as they hitch themselves in the waistband of both trousers and trunks, Steve lifts up his ass to allow for Billy to strip him clean.

“Mmmmm,” Billy, pleased with the sight of Steve’s lengthy erection and flushed skin, hums like he’s just been served his favorite meal on a silver platter.

And he drops to his knees by the end of the bed, kissing his way up the inside of one thigh, hands on the outside of either, guiding Steve’s thighs over Billy’s broad shoulders, around his head, feet locking together on his back.

Steve props himself up on his elbows for a better view, as Billy’s warm, soft, wet lips get closer and closer to his throbbing cock that hasn’t been touched proper for months, and even that one time at the office Christmas party wasn’t all that fulfilling.

The further up Billy goes, the more he sucks on the skin, drawing forth purple marks to leave as a reminder for Steve - not that this is something that will be forgotten anytime soon. And when he finally reaches the end of his short journey, he wraps his fingers around Steve’s dick, firm and confident in the grasp as he moves his hand up and down at a tantalizingly slow pace.

“Fuck,” Steve sighs with appreciation, well aware to the fact that it’s because it’s Billy, specifically, that makes this all the more enjoyable - all the more formidable.

Because Billy knows what he’s doing with Steve in his hands, and he makes use of old tricks as he lets out his tongue to tease at Steve’s taint, licks his tongue flat over his balls, to the base of his shaft, making the entirety of Steve’s body twitch and writhe as waves of euphoria rush through his muscles.

“Shit, Billy!” Steve moans and is quick to entangle his fingers in golden locks, as Billy starts a slow climb up his aching dick.

He can’t resist the way his back arches, abs flex, hips stutter, as he involuntarily thrust into the hand aided by a wide and sensational tongue, that eagerly laps up the pre cum that dribbles down.

And when Billy closes his mouth around the head of Steve’s cock, the poor brunette chokes on his own sounds and presses his head hard into the mattress, eyes screwed shut tight, as Billy immediately goes as deep as he can before Steve hits the back of his mouth, prodding at his uvula as he gags and swallows the best he can, making Steve practically cry and tremble with self restraint as to not just shove his lengthy prick all the way into that gorgeous heat.

Not that Billy isn’t trying his best to do just that, gagging and drooling all over Steve’s cock and his own hand working at the start of hard flesh, all of it a wet mess as he starts bobbing his head, looking up through his lashes to see how those erotic gasps and curses drip from Steve’s open lips. He keeps a calm and trained rhythm, tongue out where his lips can’t reach, throat contracting around the leaking head, hand moving along with every bow.

It’s driving Steve mad; the sweet wetness of Billy’s mouth, cheeks hollowing, the ecstatic humming and moaning sending vibrations down his pulsating cock, it’s everything he’s been craving for years.

“Billy… Billy, stop,” he tries to warn him, “Or I’ll- ah-”

But it only makes Billy more eager, somehow - keeps his lips locked around the head, tongue twirling at that weak spot beneath, as he jerks Steve off fervently, effectively pulling him undone.

“Shit, ah- fuck, Billy, I’m- I’m-”

The heat in his gut reaches a fever point, and he’s powerless as he cums into Billy’s mouth, dick kicking as he empties out, voice so loud the neighbors must be hearing it, but he can’t be bothered to care about that, as satisfaction soothes across him, like sinking into a Jacuzzi and letting yourself drift away on the soft bubbles.

Gingerly, and with what could be misconstrued as honest affection, Billy licks Steve’s softening cock clean of what he might not have initially swallowed, then leaves a trail of affable kisses up his torso as Billy climbs onto the bed, situating himself comfortably between Steve’s shaky legs.

“Hmmm good?” Billy whispers with a well deserved, self-satisfied grin. He continues kissing the soft and pale skin, along the jaw, the moles on Steve’s cheek, the corners of his lips as he smiles and nods.

“Yeah,” Steve chuckles warmly and with a full heart, “Good.”

“Don’t think we’re done just yet, pretty boy.” And the grin grows wider, grows more salacious; rousing in the way he licks across his teeth.

“I’d hope not,” Steve just barely manages to mumble out before pushing their lips together, quick and brief before Billy pulls away from the needy embrace.

He takes long and hurried steps from the bed to his open suitcase, where his hand dives straight for a bottle of lube and a condom, and the sight of it jolts Steve right awake, because oh god oh yes does he want nothing more than Billy’s steely cock inside him.

The bed dips beneath Billy’s weight as he kneels between spread legs. “Think you’re ready for more?” his breath a ghost on Steve’s desirous lips, who leans in for a kiss, but Billy pulls away with a shitty little smirk.

“Please,” Steve whines and brings a hand to the back of Billy’s head. “I need you to fuck me, Billy; haven’t had a good dick in years.” He nuzzles their noses together and carefully kisses Billy’s astonished expression.

“Jesus Christ, princess,” is all he can groan out in response, sounding like he’s never been more turned on, which might just be the case. “Such filthy words from such a pretty mouth.”

And the electricity in the air courses through Steve as Billy kisses him again, deep and sensuous, lets out his tongue to feel how Steve’s own writhes around the vivid little sounds he makes.

While Steve tangles his fingers in that mane, Billy pops open the bottle and slicks up three digits before swiftly bringing his hand down between them. Their lips break apart as he teases the tip in a circle around the rim, because Billy wants to witness the way Steve’s face shifts, and with gazes locked tight and assuredly, he pushes in, slow, courteous. 

Steve bites hard at his lip when Billy smoothly dives past the first knuckle, then the second, and a slight “Fuck,” escapes as he fights to keep his eyes open, keep himself raised and near where Billy watches him with fondness that can only come from absence. Or maybe that’s just what Steve wants that look to mean. He moves his hips down to swallow up what’s left of Billy’s middle finger, keeps eye contact with intensity that begs for more.

When the finger curls together inside it knocks out a little “Ah,” that interrupts his steady, heated breathing. He licks his lips before leaning in to meet Billy again.

He was never one for a quick fuck, something hard and rowdy and crude, which took some confidence to tell Billy way back when. No, Steve wants it nice and soft and gentle and loving. Wants to hold hands, kiss and lick at salty skin, wants to be kissed, bodies flush and sticky with sweat as they rock together, held dearly. Some things never change.

“You think you can take another?” Billy asks, kind and considerate, pulling Steve back from where his mind was drifting off to.

“Yeah, please,” Steve coos and refocuses on those gorgeous baby blues.

Billy chuckles like thunder on a warm summer day, and he smiles just as charming. “You don’t have to say please or beg for it, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Steve hopes to find a glint of a lie in his eyes, because the truth will only make saying goodbye all that much worse, and when there’s nothing but honesty there, his voice cracks dangerously as he whispers, “Billy…”

As Billy presses in a second finger, Steve lets his head fall backwards with a pliant moan, arms wrapped around Billy’s broad shoulders to keep him up and close. Close enough for Billy to kiss and nibble and bite playfully up and down his neck, feeling the vibration of his voice and rhythm of his pulse as Billy pumps his fingers in and out.

It doesn’t take long for it to not be enough, making Steve whisper out, voice going hoarse, “More, ah-”

And Billy raises up his head to try and read Steve’s expression. “Already? You sure?”

The tenderness to his tone makes everything better, makes everything worse. Makes Steve want to beg him not to go, please.

“Yes, fuck-” Steve wets his lips and meets the inquisitive gaze. “Billy it’s been so long, I just need to feel you inside me so bad.”

There is no resisting the magnetic pull between them, as Billy eagerly kisses Steve, to taste how sweet those words are, how needy they are. With their lips locked he adds a third digit and swallows every sound Steve makes like he’s starving for his attention.

“God, you make me so fucking hard, baby,” Billy growls out and moves his hand faster, going as deep as he can with every thrust, making Steve whine. “Can’t wait to feel how tight and warm you are again.”

To even his own wonder and amazement, Steve’s cock is starting to fill out again already with only a few minutes break from his last orgasm. Two years since he last felt this good, felt Billy’s thick fingers open him up, felt Billy’s veiny dick brush against his thigh, eager and wet with pre.

The stretching burns faintly, but the pure pleasure of it all is making him impatient for more, and he kisses Billy with breathless enthusiasm. “Billy, I swear to God, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m gonna go insane.”

Billy chuckles, awestruck and joyful in a way that makes his eyes crinkle, lips stretch wide, Steve’s heart ache for the good old days. So he leans away, retreats his fingers and reaches for the condom he dropped on the bed before, but pauses with it in hand, staring down.

“What?” Steve asks, his stomach turning in some way at how those eyes adore him like he’s a marbled statue behind velvet rope.

“You’re so gorgeous.” Billy reaches up with his dry hand to push away brown locks from Steve’s face. “You’ve grown so handsome over the last few years.”

And Steve should have known- he should have known that that was what that look meant, should have recognized it from the way they’d watch each other in secret back then. He wants nothing more than for this moment to grow into eternity. Moving on was painful and he should have said no to meeting, because now he’s facing another half year just yearning and pining and wishing.

He returns to reality as the condom wrapper gets torn open, and watches how Billy slips it on with a perfected roll of his hand, how he strokes himself with the excess lube, how he lines up with Steve’s fluttering hole.

Billy grabs the underside of Steve’s knees, spreading him out and folding him in half to properly expose everything, allowing Billy a splendid view as he slowly pushes the head of his steely cock in.

Steve’s arms give up beneath him and he falls onto the sheets; a long drawn out “Fuuuuuck,” escapes with a moan as Billy fills him out, satiating his hunger, stretching the muscle till he’s panting for air with a stutter.

“Oh Billy,” he gasps and sends his hand in search for another, blindly skipping across silk till he’s found.

Fingers lace together and Billy leans down to kiss each of Steve’s digits. He settles in between wide spread thighs and sits still there for a moment, appreciating how well his cock fits, how Steve is clenching around him.

His lips travel down Steve’s arm, up his bicep and past his shoulder as he moves down and closer to whisper in a blushing ear, “You feel so amazing, princess. Warm and tight and perfect, like you were made for this- made for me.”

Words that could make him cum untouched, if Steve were to be honest about it. He had love once. They had love once. But life pulled them apart, and it was always a struggle to find their way together again, only for brief moments, a day or two, before they’d have to abandon that warmth and feel the pain of separation again.

And Steve wonders if Billy feels the same way as he does.

With their bodies drawn together, chests flush and warm and sweaty, Billy starts moving gently, pulling almost all the way out just to bottom out in a slow motion, and Steve adores how the head of his cock drags against each muscle, massaging every inch in reach.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” Steve moans softly and relaxes fully underneath the heavy weight of Billy’s sweaty, tan, inked up body.

“Ahh, me too, mmh-” Billy whispers back, voice thick and luscious in Steve’s ear before finding his way to his mouth.

Fingers entangled, hips thrusting tenderly, tongues dancing a well practiced waltz, it just proves that-

“Some things never change.”

Steve had gotten lost in the euphoria of their tryst, and barely even heard Billy’s words, wouldn’t have believed he had spoken at all, if when he opened his eyes he wasn’t met with such a caring look from heaven's own gaze. He can’t help but smile at Billy’s talent for knowing exactly what’s on his mind.

They both smile into the kiss, but falls into bawdy ‘o’s as Billy sets a faster, more shallow pace, encouraged completely by the way Steve moans more and louder, and when his prostate is found he arches his back.

“There- ah! Billy!”

“I got you, princess,” Billy grunts out, going for soft but sounding too fucked out.

He kisses as far down Steve’s chest as he can, running a hand over his twitching stomach to reach for the leaking prick-

“N-no! Don’t!” Steve utters through whimpering lips. “I-I can cum without- wanna cum without.”

Billy’s quick to remove his hand again. “You sure?”

“Y-yeah, I’m- mmh- I’m close-” With his free hand, Steve reaches up to push off of the headboard and deeper onto Billy’s cock sliding in and out.

The devil’s grin smooths across Billy’s face, and he licks his lips. “Already?” his tone low and desirous, “You really needed this, huh? Needed me.”

“Ah- shit- yes, you! Only you, Billy,” Steve calls out loud and turns his head to press kisses against Billy’s wrist.

“God, that’s so fucking sexy, Stevie,” Billy groans roughly, like tires on wet gravel. He grabs Steve by the hip; angling him up so that he can thrust deeper, grind harder. “Wanna feel you cum, baby, strangling my dick with your tight little hole.”

Every movement lights sparks inside of Steve, the fuse to the fireworks burning faster and faster every time Billy’s incredible, fat cock pounds into his prostate, every touch scorching and phenomenal, overstimulating to a point where he won’t last much longer.

And it truly takes no more than a kiss to his collarbone, Billy’s hand squeezing at his hip, before he’s cumming again, body tensing up, emptying his lungs towards the ceiling as Billy fucks him fast through his orgasm that sends fireworks loose behind his lids.

“Fuck, yes that’s so fucking good, arrh, Steve-” Billy spills into the condom, hips stuttering involuntarily with a few too hard and crude thrusts as he buries his face in the crook of Steve’s neck.

They freeze like that once all energy has drained, sweaty and heaving for air, pressed together in a mindless haze of unadulterated pleasure. Steve almost forgot how good he can feel, how satisfaction feels, to be completely and fully blissed out, happy.

He’s the first to move in a while, as he wraps his legs around Billy and snakes one arm across his back and up to hitch on the opposite shoulder, keeping him as near and close as physically possible, hoping to lock them together forever.

Billy kisses him gently, tasting the salt that runs down Steve’s neck, humming content and ending with a happy sigh.

“You know…” he breathes out, voice so faint it’s as if he’s barely there at all. “I’m staying in town for the week.”

“Mmmh, yeah,” Steve coos, sleepy and exhausted. “For the car show, you’ve mentioned.”

“Yeah, but also…” Billy raises himself up on his elbows.

He runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, removing the locks that’s plastered to his forehead. It takes him a moment to continue, thoughts clearly processing something, as is evident in how concentrated his brow furrows.

“I’m… considering relocating my shop, keep the old one running but make headquarters in a bigger city.”

And Steve’s no fool, he catches on immediately, knows exactly what Billy is barely insinuating, and his heart is going rampant, close to exploding maybe as it jumps around his chest, making him truly speechless.

“Was hoping you’d, I dunno, help me look around? Find a shop for sale or something. Some place here in Chicago.”

“Billy…” Steve whispers, hoping that his tone conveys every single thing he’s feeling right now, and perhaps the way Billy smiles at it proves that he hears it all. “Yes, I’d love to help you out.”

Billy leans down to kiss him, lips portraying something new and hopeful.

Maybe… maybe some things are about to change.

[whump-town]

Snippets From My Drafts That Have Been Collecting Dust 

(but I don’t know what to do with them and they’re going to waste so..,)

Head propped up on a thin throw pillow, Hotch is laying out on the cheap carpet of the motel floor. One of his elbows rests leaning against the couch beside him. This arm holds the majority of the weight of the book he’s reading. Which he holds up over his head. The hand not holding the book, rest leisurely along its side. This hand loosely leafs a single page free from the other’s behind it, waiting for him to turn it over when he finishes it.

The end of the cigarette bobbing loosely between his lips lights a dark orange as he inhales its fumes. Embers. Reid can hear it sizzle, crack. Before Hotch’s face lips part once more and the smoke comes out his nose. It’s a slowly released force, a patient exhale. Relief.

Without a word, he shifts the weight of the book and reaches down to take the cigarette from between his teeth to pinch it between his fingers. Emily, who lays with her head propped up on his stomach, glances when she senses the movement. Without so much as a word, she takes the cigarette from him. Placing it in her own mouth she hands him the wine she’s eloquently made easy to drink via a tasteful neon pink straw.

He takes this without comment, sipping at it. He grimaces as soon as it hits his tongue, making a distinctly unsatisfied “ech” sound. “I thought you were making a screwdriver,” he mumbles, still grimacing but taking another sip.

Emily looks up and over at him. She shakes her head and her reply comes in a puff of smoke. “I was,” she mumbles, voice thickening with the smoke coating her throat. “Dave said we had to finish this before he was letting me near the vodka.” She returns to her own book, thicker than Hotch’s. With a cover, that’s effortlessly recognizable: Dr. No. James Bond. “I know you don’t like white wine. I wouldn’t have even poured it if Dave had let me pick.”

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

(for “100” Season five episode nine)

Jack hands JJ a Captain America doll. “For daddy,” he instructs with a nod of his little head. His mother and father’s blood has mixed into his cotton blend baby blue t-shirt. An intangible stain on his most prized possession. His Captain American shirt.

JJ cups the figure in her hands, tears swelling in her eyes. His traditionally blonde hair has been crudely drawn over by a sharpie. Making it black.. “I’ll give it to him.” she promises. Lightly, she touches the tiny details of the figure. The belt and features that have worn down with use. With Jack’s love.

“Miss JJ?” Jack’s sucked his thumb into his mouth. A habit she remembers Hotch having a hell of a time getting the boy to kick only a few short months ago. A time that feels so far from now. Another lifetime. Today has been enough already, this isn’t a fight worth having.

JJ’s jogs him up in her arms, holding him a little tighter to her chest. His head having found her shoulder he swings his little legs as he looks up at her. “Yes, Jack?”

He yawns and rubs at his eyes with his fist. “How much longer tell I can see Daddy too?”

Hotch had been taken away in the ambulance. Nearly drunk with confusion he’d gone where directed with no complaint. Raspily asking Dave questions as the EMTs had strapped him to the stretcher, he hadn’t even been aware of the tear streaming down his face.

“In a while,” JJ whispers. She hopes.

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

(I might have used this one in a fic already but I don’t know and can’t find it if so…)

Jack is a baby when Emily Prentiss dies.

Independent, for a five-year-old, Jack still has no formal grasp on what it means to die. He knows Mommy is dead. She’s sleeping in the cemetery and sometimes he and Daddy dress up and go put pretty flowers on stone that says her name. Aunt Jessica tells him Mommy isn’t with the stone anymore but Daddy still talks to it.

Jack doesn’t understand death but he doesn’t have to.

Aunt Pen holds him for a moment too long. His chest feels wrong, his little heart pounding because people hold him like that when something’s wrong.

Uncle Derek’s hand rest on his shoulder, his eyes wet.

JJ presses a kiss to his forehead and sends him to play with Henry. Jack loves Henry but he gets the feeling today isn’t a playing kind of day.

Eventually, Daddy comes and gets him. They sit on the floor-- despite the fact that Jack remembers his father playfully grumbling that he’s getting a little too old to play on the floor anymore. That was only just last week but Jack as the faintest memory of visiting his father in a hospital. Meaning, he understands how things can change very quickly.

And Jack knows. He knew the minute he had to put on the itchy shirt with the collar even though Daddy said they were only going to Uncle Dave’s.

“Buddy--” Jack crawls into his father’s lap and Hotch’s breath is knocked from his lungs. Emily used to fuss with him, constantly reminding him that children are smarter than they’re given credit for. Hotch knows now, as Jack curls his tiny body around his own, that in some small way Jack already knows. “Emmy... Uhm, Emmy’s gone.”

He remembers Daddy was gone once too.

He and Mommy went on vacation. The mean man found them. Then Mommy was gone and Daddy wasn’t.

He’s not so sure that’s what his father’s trying to say.

It’s all he says though because they’re talk it interrupted by Uncle Dave.

“Come here, bub.” Rossi picks Jack up, balancing him on his hip. “Let’s give your ol’ dad a minute, huh?”

Until then Jack hadn’t noticed the tears streaming down his father’s face.

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

Every time Hotch asks someone to come to his office there’s a split second- no matter who is it- where they just sit dumbstruck and anxiety riddled because all they can think is “Am I about to be fired?” Then logic kicks in.

Hotch hasn’t fired anyone. Never. Not even when they deserved it.

Tell that to the seven coffee machines Reid and Prentiss have broken.

The time Morgan took his shirt off and did a hand-stand in the middle of the bullpen- of course, he thought Hotch wouldn’t look but that mother hen sees all.

Garcia’s, very much so, against regulation outfits and sexual innuendos that not only has he been on the receiver end of but also Strauss and the Director.

And he’s Hotch. Those perfectly manicured suits can only do so much to hide away his soft heart and goofy laugh.

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

His fuse is running low. A candle drowning in it’s own wax.

Jack’s sick on the one day off he’s had in two weeks and so the one night he had procured for sleep has just been swept out from underneath his feet. Another cruel joke the world seems to love playing on him. Not that he can be mad at a toddler for being sick.

The team notices the next day. The bags under their eyes have dulled to light bruises, nothing a cup of coffee or two can’t fix. Hotch is late. Not actually late but late for his standards. For the decade or better that Derek Morgan has known Hotch, he gets to the office at 7:30, makes a pot of coffee, and hides in his office until 9:30. Today, he’s nowhere to be found.

When he comes trudging in at 10, two black eyes half-lidded and his suitcase nearly brushing the ground as he makes his way to his office. It’s the kind of sight that makes the busy bullpen sputter to a stop.

He sighs as soon as he notices the attention has shifted to him. He knows today is about to get 10x worse before it gets any better.