#just the inability to hear the clear simple words he said out loud in the clearest terms possible just to prove that somehow Martín

[blorbosexterminator]

For all there is negative to say about the spin-off and Berlin I at least have the comfort to know that Pina would never mischaracterize and misrepresent Berlin as the fandom did when everyone just decided to shut their eyes and ears in the Viking Gold scene and instead assumed the exact opposite of what happened. Just completely ignoring what Andrés literally said in the scene so just they would have a "at core Martín and Berlin are actually the opposite uwu and Martin is so much better" when the scenes were literal direct parallels of each other and where Andrés and Martín said the exact same things just about different cultures and different groups of people

[balladingbard]

Hermes and the Importance of Being Yourself

We’ve used a lot of words to describe Hermes.

Depressed. Isolated. Selfish. Hurting. Perhaps even cruel or cold. There’s a lot to say about the Ancient that became the rock thrown that started the Final Days, but amongst the many lessons we can glean from his story, I haven’t seen too much being said on a trait that seemed to be one of his biggest challenges: an inability to accept himself.

We see this trait on display both in game and in the Lodestone side story, “A Question of Life”. Hermes is an overseer who seems closer to his creations than coworkers, a man who even Emet-Selch says, “doesn’t belong here.” He’s a bit of an outcast, seeing the ugly truth of reality, but attempting to fix it by searching the stars.

In the side story, Hermes reaches out to peers while in Elpis to see if anyone else understands what he’s feeling. He’s met with false hopes and sympathy rather than empathy, and by the time he reaches Amaurot to take Fandaniel’s seat, he buries his true self, along with his questions and struggles, just so he can fit in with society and benefit the Star. “Tell them what they want to hear”, he says as his concerns fall on misunderstanding ears.

It’s a burden that weighs him down to the point of despair. “Am I the aberration?” he asks the Warrior of Light. To feel so different…so odd…so alien from everyone else? Hermes longs for change, yes, but deep down, he also just wants to feel…normal. Happy. At peace. And if he can’t find that at home, perhaps it’s in the stars. Perhaps the despair that plagues him on Etheirys will be relieved somewhere else in the Universe.

As we learn in Endwalker, the answer that Hermes was looking for had been in front of him the entire time. But I think the happiness Hermes was searching for could be found in more than just simple joys and finding friends. He also needed to be content with himself - who he was, different from society or no.

In an interview after Endwalker’s release, Yoshi P mentioned how Hermes’ tale would’ve been quite different had he been able to join Azem on their adventures in the Ancient world. But I think it’s more than just seeing the impact of helping others - had Hermes been able to be friends with Azem, he would’ve learned that it was okay to be different. That he wasn’t the only Ancient who saw problems in the world and wanted to fix them. That yes, sometimes being different doesn’t always make you fit in, but it can make you stand out, to be a voice for the voiceless and to show truth to a world living a lie.

Hermes wasn’t the only Ancient who marched to the beat of their own drum. Azem marched loud and clear, usually to the annoyance of others (cough cough looking at you, Lahabread), but also to the thankfulness of the countless lives they impacted for the better. But the difference between Azem and Hermes was that Azem believed in themselves - accepted that they were different and celebrated it. Hermes didn’t. Instead, he bemoaned the state of the world that wouldn’t conform to his ideals, trying to change it through outside forces. And, after arriving in Amaurot, he conformed to their ideals instead, imprinting misery so deeply into his soul that when he was reborn, he became twisted and crueler than his peers ever were.

It’s a tragic end for a man who held so much promise, but like any story, it’s a good lesson for us all. As we head into 2023, I encourage you - love yourself. Be kind to the gentle soul that you are. And even if you feel a little odd or different, just know that you’re not alone. There’s other “Azems” out there who may feel just like you. And who knows? Like Hermes, you may cross paths with that Azem one day and find a kindred spirit.

Just…er…don’t release any sad blue birds bent on destroying the universe to get their attention. ;)

Happy New Year, everyone! May your 2023 be as amazing as you.

[thiefofcrows]

      Perhaps it shouldn't have surprised him to hear that Matt had very little experience in relationships, given what he did know of his past. Kaz was used to being the only person in a room who'd never been with anyone, not really. The intensity with which Matt did touch him, the way he'd kissed him, gave Kaz the impression that he wasn't the only one starved of touch either. The thought had crossed his mind before, as they'd gradually begun to want to touch each other casually; there was an undercurrent of craving, savoring, with every touch Matt ever offered him. To say it was already incredibly addicting would've been an understatement.

      He felt a slight, shameful burst of relief when Matt paused, giving him time to anticipate what he wanted to do, before he continued to press his lips to the back of Kaz's hand. Oh, he thought, the simple feeling of his soft lips against Kaz's skin sending another shiver through him, but — along with it came a swell of emotion so intense, he had to take a few slow and quiet breaths, steadying himself, to prevent it from bubbling over. It was such a simple gesture, barely lasting a moment, but ... it was nearly overwhelming all the same.

      The concept of it being wrong, somehow, to have feelings for the same gender had never even crossed Kaz's mind. Dark brows briefly knit together — what he did notice about the difference in gender when it came to the world they lived in, he supposed he could make some sense of it. It was a ridiculous notion regardless, in his opinion

      Matt's smile nearly made Kaz feel as though he would simply melt down into the floor bellow, as it always seemed to these days. Along with the reassurance, it was comforting, but he couldn't help the hint of worry that Kaz's pace would be too slow, that Matt would quickly grow frustrated with his inability to touch as freely as they both clearly craved, that Kaz would drown one too many times. Of course, he also had the irrational concern that he wouldn't be able to overcome his weakness any further than he'd already managed so far. He worried that this was as far as he would ever be able to go, and ... what then?

      Those were things he supposed they'd worry about when they got to it — if they got to it. For the moment, hearing Matt echo his own words back at him filled his chest with fluttering nerves, an overwhelming warmth ... and his gaze drifted down to Matt's mouth again. Kaz found himself leaning in again, but this time was slower, more careful at first; he let their lips graze, feeling the electricity crackle between them before he sought another kiss. Despite how slow and soft it was, just like the first time, the undercurrent of craving, wanting was loud and clear. He just couldn't help it and the wanting scared Kaz deep into his bones.

      When they parted once more, Kaz let out a wavering breath — he just wanted to keep kissing Matt, the sensation utterly electrifying and addicting. They were, however, having a conversation, he scolded himself. ❝Good,❞ he murmured, a faint teasing smirk tugging at Kaz's lips. ❝Because kissing you is perhaps the most addicting thing I've ever experienced, but — I've also never ... done any of this before either. I'm afraid we might be tripping over each other's feet, in that case.❞ He paused, thinking, before he decided to circle back to what Matt had said about gender. ❝I'm sure you've noticed by now, but — this,❞ Kaz gently squeezed Matt's hand for emphasis. ❝No one cares about what gender you're interested in.❞

 It wasn’t difficult to discern that none of this was easy for Kaz. Yes, Matt had been very aware of how much the other avoided letting others in his personal space, let alone let them touch him—or touch them, for that matter. And he knew it had been bad, but it had never quite dawned on him just how bad it was. Perhaps, he had still always somehow assumed it was just simply a personal preference, rather than a necessity. But now he finally started to realize that there was much, much more to it than he ever could’ve imagined.

 Things would be much more difficult than expected, but… There was no doubt in his mind that it would be more than worth it in the end. No matter how steep the learning curve was, or how difficult the struggle. Whatever it took, Matt was willing to face it.

 When Kaz cupped his cheek, he briefly closed his eyes and let out a content sigh as he leaned into the touch. Despite it being difficult to truly focus on anything right now, Matt still noticed how the other seemed to deliberately seek out his pulse. It had to be deliberate. The angle was too awkward, too odd, to just happen naturally. Did it help with whatever struggle was going on inside of Kaz, perhaps?

 Fortunately, Matt didn’t have to wonder about it for too long. As if Kaz had read his mind, he started speaking and confirming his thoughts. While it answered one of his questions, however, it also brought along with it a whole new host of other questions. Questions he wasn’t too sure he was going to be getting any answers to any time soon. It was obvious that divulging even this much was difficult enough, and pushing it would only be counter-productive. Whatever other questions Matt might have, they could wait. Someday, surely, Kaz would feel comfortable enough to elaborate—he could wait until then.

 Dropping his gaze, he studied their now entwined hands and couldn’t help but think just how perfectly they seemed to fit together. And he also couldn’t help but notice (once again) just how beautiful Kaz’s hands were. “I’m terrified, too, if that makes you feel any better.” Without thinking about it, Matt lifted their entwined hands, then paused for a moment, before placing a quick kiss to the back of Kaz’s hand.

 “The reasons are entirely different, of course. Simpler, I suppose. All of this is new territory, completely unfamiliar. I never had the time or opportunity to get close to anyone, and I’m afraid I’ll be stumbling my way through this for a long time.” Shrugging his shoulders, he looked up to meet the other’s gaze. “It was also ingrained in me that it’s wrong… That it’s wrong liking or loving another man. And I believed it, for a while. But then I started to develop feelings for you and… How could this possibly be wrong?”

 Clearing his throat, Matt sat up a little straighter, smiling now. “Point is… We’ll work this whole thing out somehow. Together. Even if it takes some time. Even if it won’t always be easy. Because I want this, too. I want you, Kaz.”

[ray-ray-writings]

Stream Stresses-SBI Au

This is a Brother!Technoblade, Brother!Wilbur, Brother!Tommyinnit, and Father!Philza x gn!reader in the SBI inc Au. I hope that this is written how the anon that requested it wants it, but I’m not sure. So basically, the SBI is a real family dynamic, the thing is that all of Philza’s children, Y/N, Tommy, Techno, and Wilbur are all well known streamers and everybody’s fans know this and love the family dynamic that you four have, because you’re literally family. So yeah. Here you go, I hope you enjoy. 

Check out my masterlist here!

When Y/N makes fun of their brother, chat jumps to his defense by saying some not so nice things about Y/N. The mean things cause Y/N to shut down their stream with tears in their eyes, worrying their father, Philza.

Y/N’s POV

“Hello chat!” I exclaimed, adjusting my headphones as people slowly began to flood the chat, “How are we today?” A variety of responses flew through my chat before my question was returned to me. “How am I today? I’m doing good! Thank you for asking!” My eyes scanned my notification and I couldn’t help but smile at the subs and donos rolling through. I quickly thank everyone by name before clapping, “Okay chat, today we are going to be playing Minecraft. But we’re not going to play on the SBI server, no we’re going to attempt speedrunning!” I explained. I eagerly watched my chat explode in support, a lot of ‘POGS’ flying by my eyes. “Well let’s get started, shall we?” 

I quickly opened my Minecraft and adjusted my stream so that my viewers could see what I was doing. “What should we name the first world? Yes we’re naming them, what monster does not name their speedrun worlds?” Random names flew through the chat, until one caught my eyes. “Tommy! We’ll name this one Tommy so when it let’s me down it won’t be anything new!” I cheered, typing the name into the world box, giggling to myself. For the most part the chat found it funny, but I did see some people say some mean stuff for making fun of my brother. 

I quickly cleared my throat and shook it off, “Here we go chat!” I exclaimed before loading in the world. I spawn in an acacia biome next to a desert, “So far Tommy’s treating us pretty good huh?” I joked, rushing over to a tree and punching it. I gained a bunch of wood and then began running through the desert in search of a village. I found one rather quickly and began my raid. I got everything from the chests and then found the iron golem and hit it to get it to chase me so I could build up and kill it… Only problem is I wasn’t quick enough.

I let out screech as the iron golem flung me up in the air, dealing a crazy amount of damage to the point where when I landed, I died. I gave a quick huff and pout as I exited out of the world. “Okay… What did I say, should have been expected to be let down by Tommy!” I exclaimed, my eyes scanning the chat. A few people laughed, but a lot of them were calling me horrible. They were saying that I shouldn’t blame my inability to play the game on my brother. It caused a pain to strike in my heart, because that’s not what I was doing at all. Really mean names began flying through my chat causing me to clear my throat and look away. “Um… Let’s try again,” I mumbled, creating a new world. 

“We’re just going to keep going down the list” I announced, trying to bring my energy back up as I typed the name “Wilbur” into the world box before hitting ‘create world’ and loading in. I let my eyes dance back to chat that seemed to go back to normal, but there were still some really mean people in chat. This time I spawned in a plains biome next to a village. I got pretty far this time. I made it all the way to the nether, even found a fortress, but my excitement about it died pretty quickly… because I did too. 

“NOOO!” I shouted at the ‘You Died’ screen. “I didn’t even see that blaze there! Damn it Wilbur!” I exclaimed, exciting out of the world once more. My eyes looked over to chat again, praying that the haters had gotten bored and left… My prayers were not answered. Instead, there were probably the most amount of haters I’d ever seen in my chat before. Every message was filled with hate. Telling me that I wasn’t good enough, that I should just quit, that my brothers were so much better than I was and there was no reason for me to even continue. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help the tears that formed in my eyes and began streaming down my cheeks. 

“Ummm… Thanks for coming. I’m going to end stream now,” I sniffed, closing Minecraft and going to my streaming settings. “Bye,” I whimpered out before ending the stream. I sat there frozen for a minute before breaking down into sob. Why do they hate me?

*POV Switch*

Philza’s POV

A grin crossed my face as my phone lit up with a twitch notification. I quickly shifted my attention to my phone screen to figure out which child it was that was going live. It was Y/N! I quickly set up my phone in such a way that I could ‘watch’ their stream while I made dinner for everyone. “Hello chat!” I heard them exclaim, “How are we today!” 

It really warmed my heart to watch my children stream. All four of them had worked extremely hard to get where they are today. I did everything I could to understand the Twitch community so I could support my children as they achieved their dreams. Sure it was hard at times, me trying to keep up with everything in all their streams but also when they’re all streaming at the same time and just screaming at each other, but we make it work. 

My focus turned to the food that I was making. Footsteps entered the kitchen pulling my attention away from the stream, “Hey Dadza,” Techno’s monotone voice greeted me from behind. “Hello Techno,” I greeted back, throwing him a smile over my shoulder. “Is Y/N streaming?” Techno asked, walking to the refrigerator, pulling it open and grabbing a water bottle. I nodded my head at the question. “Yeah, they’re speed running,” I responded, turning my head back to the veggies I was cutting for dinner. Techno let out a hum before turning his attention to my phone. 

As I cooked, I could hear Techno let out small laughs at what they’re sibling was saying on their stream. Twentyish minutes had gone by before Techno spoke actual words, “What the fuck,” He muttered, getting closer to my phone. “Language… What’s going on?” I asked, still focused on making dinner. “Y/N is crying,” He explained. My head snapped to my phone and sure enough, tears were streaming down their face. “Bye” they croaked out before the stream just ended. Not wasting any more time, I grabbed my phone and I ran out of the kitchen and toward Y/N’s room. 

As I grew closer, I could hear sobs coming from their room causing my heart to sink in my chest. I gave a quick knock on the door before barreling in. Y/N was still sitting in their gaming chair, hunched over into themselves, their hands muffiling the sobs falling from their lips. “Oh honey,” I whispered, closing the door behind me. Y/N’s head shot up and their red rimmed eyes met mine. Another loud sob broke from their mouth causing my heart to hurt even more. I took a few quick steps forward to get to them and offer them comfort. Y/N rose from their gaming chair and fell into my open arms. I quickly wrapped my arms around them in a tight hug. “I’ve got you honey,” I murmured, “I’ve got you.”

At some point, I slowly made my way to their bed and sat down, leaning against the headboard, pulling them to sit across my lap, burying their face in my chest like all those years ago when they were a lot younger. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the afternoons that they and their brothers would go outside to play and ride bikes and they would come back in with scraped and bloodied knees and palms. I would pull them into my lap, dry their tears, and help them calm down. It’s a bittersweet memory. It feels nice to think back, but under these circumstances? Not so much. 

Slowly but surely, Y/N’s sobs died down into simple sniffles before stopping all together. “You okay?” I questioned softly, leaning back ever so slightly so I could meet my child’s eyes. Their puffy ears peered up as they slowly nodded, “Yeah. I’ll be okay,” they muttered out resting their head back on my shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked carefully, not wanting to upset them again. A soft sigh left Y/N’s mouth, “I suppose I should. It’s best not to bottle it up,” they thought aloud causing me to smile just a little bit. A small bit of pride welled up inside me of how grown up they sounded. 

The smile quickly faded from my lips as my child explained what had happened on their stream. How chat had turned on them and the mean things that they said. I could feel my blood begin to boil. I was extremely pissed at not only chat, but at the mods for not stopping it. But I had to remain calm on the outside, for Y/N’s sake. 

“I’m so sorry that happened honey. You don’t deserve that. Nothing they said is true okay? You work so hard and it shows because you’re so good at what you do. Your brothers are good at what they do too. You guys are on equal playing feels and are all exceptional streamers. You deserve all good things honey. And I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to mod. You’re never streaming without me modding again. Do you understand me?” I rambled, staring at my child curled in my lap. A small giggle sounded in the air causing me to relax ever so slightly. “Yeah. I understand you dad… Thank you.” 

Before I could respond, there was a small knock on the door. “Come in,” Y/N called, staring curiously at the door. It swung open and there stood my three other children peering nervously into the room. After standing in the doorway in an awkward silence for a moment, Tommy lets out a loud scoff before pushing his way into the room and crawls up on the best next to us. Tommy then surprises me by wrapping his arms around his sibling and gives them a tight squeeze, “You’re a good streamer Y/N,” I heard him mumble in his sibling's ear. “Chat can be just a little stupid sometimes.” Another giggle passes through their lips as Y/N slides off of my lap and sits in between Tommy and I. “Thanks Tommy,” they whisper back, turning their body to properly hug their brother back. 

The closing of the door pulled my attention away from my youngest two. Wilbur and Techno were now also completely in the room and were heading toward the bed as well. I moved over so that one of them could sit in between Y/N and I and the other could go sit next to Tommy. Wilbur took the place beside me, sending Techno over by Tommy. Not saying anything, Wilbur turned his body and reached over and wrapped his long arms around Y/N and Tommy, trapping them in their own hug. For the first time ever, neither of them complained. Neither told him to get off, simply just accepted the affection from their brother. 

And to my surprise and delight, Techno leaned onto Tommy and wrapped his arms around the two as well, his arms only able to wrap around Y/N. The four didn’t say anything as they laid in the cuddle pile. I couldn’t stop the tears that formed in my eyes. They hadn’t done this in years. Before Wilbur and Techno hit their teen years, the four of them would cuddle in piles like this all the time. When I couldn’t find any of them, I would only have to find one to find all of them. But once the teen years began, the two eldest felt that they were too cool to cuddle with their siblings and the piles came to a stop. It warms my heart to see them do this, even if it’s under really shitty circumstances. 

One by one, their breathing evened out. One by one, they fell asleep. Once I was sure all were asleep, I slowly and carefully got off of the bed and managed to do so without waking any of them. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, made sure the ringer and flash were off, before snapping many photos. I didn’t plan on sharing them with everyone, they were just for me to have and to hold. Maybe I’ll print one and put it in my office. 

I carefully slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind me before heading back to the kitchen. The kitchen was exactly how I left it when I fled to Y/N’s room after seeing them cry. As quietly as I could, I put everything away. I decided I was no longer in a mood to cook. Besides, on days like today, I think Y/N deserves to have their favorite carry out… Don’t you?

I don’t know if I liked how this one turned out, so let me know what you think! Leave a like if you did enjoy it and maybe even reply or reblog or even send me an ask telling me what you thought!!

[my-writings-and-musings]

MTMTE Headcannon Prompt

Enemy forces hack the Lost Light and deactivate the atmospheric controls, leading to a slow loss of oxygen in the hopes the damage to the ship's "pet" will give them an edge. While the rest of the crew struggles to fight off their attackers and restore these critical systems, the bot(s) you've come to love stays by your side as a guard while begging you to remain conscious, growing ever more panicked as you begin to fade... Until you're saved just in time, and then they're left grappling with the fact they nearly lost you.

(A lot more dramatic than my first prompt certainly, and way more involved so I can only do two bots per post... But I'll get to them all!)

Part One: You're Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Rodimus

·You're chilling on the mess of blankets he uses as extra insulation in the berth, debating which movie you'll watch with him when he returns, when the ship gives a rumble. At the lack of emergency signals that follow, you assume something has just bumped against the shields, which happens so frequently you only shrug.

·Elsewhere on the bridge, Rodimus receives a taunting message from the enemy ambush, bragging about how impossibly easy it was to crash key programs on the Lost Light, like the air filtration system... which will make things awfully difficult for his pet as oxygen has started to leak. He goes from aggressive bantering to obvious horror, putting the pieces together just as a loud series of distant rumblings marks the deactivation of the filters providing the oxygen you need to survive.

·For once his commanding officers all know what to expect in unison, allowing them to take over the bridge when he abandons it in a desperate rush to your location, his pounding pedes leaving tire marks in his wake as he stumbles into a frantic transformation to cross the distance as fast possible.

·Unable to reach you on any channel, he loses all focus of his surroundings before skidding to a tumbling halt before your shared quarters, calling out your name and activating his scanner as he registers dangerously low and still dropping oxygen levels across the ship.

·You're unaware of anything amiss as you continue to relax, but that's mostly due to a growing fog of confusion settling over your thoughts and senses. It's so dense that it has already made you incapable of noticing that the air is unusually stale, and your befuddlement only grows when he barges in like the place is burning down, moreso than usual.

·Scooping you into his arms, his relief at seeing you alive and conscious turns to terror when he realizes you've already begun to suffer the effects, as your bleary smile and dizzy demeanor make clear. He doesn't need to be a human doctor to know you're already in a bad way.

·Just as he is halfway through an explanation you barely understand, he receives a communication through restored channels from the other commanding officers warning that the ship has been boarded by enemy forces, at which point he resolutely declares that nothing will reach you so long as his spark has so much as a flicker left. In your inability to grasp the danger his steadfast vigilance is heartwarming.

·A defensive unit is posted outside for your safety, but as the battle rages through the ship and oxygen levels continue to fall, he stops focusing on the invasion. Instead he cradles you and encourages you to be still and quiet while he tries to keep up a one sided conversation to keep you distracted, knowing that what oxygen remains must be rationed.

·For the first time in his life he can't fake a smile no matter how badly he tries, the sight of your increasingly strained breaths and fading eyes drawing tears to his optics and eventually forcing him to his knees as his meandering words turn to soft pleading, his voice cracking as he alternates between begging you to stay with him and apologizing for being unable to save you.

·As you hover over a warm blackness you're far too disoriented to be as afraid as you should be, and instead you offer comfort at the sight of the bot you've come to adore so readily, murmuring your love even as he gently shushes you and tears begin to fall down his face without reservation.

·Though the battle turns in favor of the crew and the room you're in is spared attack, the atmospheric systems remain inoperable for what he knows is too long, and the ticking seconds match the fluttering of your eyes as they try not to shut.

·You know he wants you awake, but you're so incredibly tired and he's so impossibly comfortable, why can't he just let you have a nap? It's not like you won't be able to see each other after, so why does he look so sad? You wish you could tell him not to be sad.

·When you inevitably slip into unconsciousness he's beside himself, panicking but doing everything he can to gently wake you up, tenderly rubbing his thumb over your cheek to encourage you to stir. The crushing grief just beginning to take hold is so great he actually doesn't notice he has a message until it forces itself through.

·He's barely able to recollect the conversation he has with Ratchet, save the order to get you to the medical bay, where they've restored just enough functionality to produce oxygen on a one human scale. The bots who saw him running afterwards said there was little more visible than a fiery blur with you in his arms.

·Cybertronian engineering combined with carefully studied earth medicine provides you with the air you need just in time, dredging you up slowly from deep unconsciousness to the sterile taste of a ventilation mask over your face. Your discomfort mattered precious little when you behold Rodimus at your side, servo cupping your body as his face still shines with tears.

·It takes moments for him to break when you're left alone together, his shoulders shaking as the helplessness continues to haunt him, and his apologies blend together in an endless tangle of self depreciation.

·As you've come to do when he's overwhelmed, you encourage him to come closer, hugging his helm to your smaller body as if he's laying it in your lap. The oxygen mask limits you, but you don't let it stop your quiet shushes as you stroke his crests. ·Without delay you slow his tears, reassuring him that everything is well until exhaustion claims him and he falls asleep at your bedside.

·The experience doesn't leave him for some time. Both in public and in private you catch him paying close attention to you, and you know he's double checking your breathing, still worrying that such a simple thing could steal you away so quickly.

· Finally, you take him aside and pull his hand to your chest, indicating the rythym of your body and how you know it better than anyone. If he can't trust the world, then he should at least trust you, and with that newfound perspective he starts to heal as well. Because he trusts you more than anything.

Magnus/Minimus

·You're in the berthroom the two of you share, distracted by preparations for what you hope will be a simple but relaxing night in. In the well protected room it's impossible to hear much going on outside, especially with you focused so intently on making everything just the way he likes it.

·He's in his office and armor completely focused on some important paperwork when he receives an urgent warning; they're being boarded, and the attackers have already managed to offline several key atmospheric regulators and security systems. The thought initially only spurs him to begin defensive measures, but the moment he sees that oxygen levels are starting to drop, protocol ceases to exist.

·In battle he's always been a foe to be reckoned with, but now he's like a force of nature barreling through the ship, and the single unit of enemies that tries to confront him becomes little more than scattered body parts before they can let off a single shot. His fury is so overwhelming even his allies flinch when he tears past them to reach your shared quarters. He can't contact you by communicator, and he's uncertain if it's due to downed channels, or something he can't bring himself to consider.

·The door stands little hope when he tears it open in rage that's quickly evolving into panic, shouting your name as a flood of terrifying possibilities torture him with all the ways you could already be suffering. He has no idea how much or how little oxygen you need, and for all he knows the deprivation is already killing you, making you suffer...

·It takes all of his incredible self control not to embrace you when you stumble into view, dizzy and weak as well as quite confused, and he realizes things are far from okay when you lean on his offered hand to prevent yourself from falling. You actually laugh thanks to the delirium, finding it adorable to see the big tough bot diving to catch you.

·He can't bring himself to be mad at you not taking this seriously, but he's certainly frustrated at himself for being absolutely helpless to assist you, even if there's nothing he can do in the midst of the chaos with no communication options in working order.

·Ever the tactician, he barricades the two of you as effectively as he can, knowing that you're vulnerable enough now that moving you through combat could be fatal. The entire time he's multitasking on a million fronts; trying to keep you still on the berth to conserve energy, working to reestablish communication with anyone, and internally punishing himself for not having prepared some kind of protocol for this situation.

·Due to his personality you're quite accustomed to seeing him worry, but you're hardly comfortable with it, and on reflex you keep trying to comfort and reassure him despite your weakening state. His insistence you stay resting makes as little sense as his explanations, all you know is he needs help.

·Every minute drags by like an eternity, yet his skill at spotting details makes it impossible for him to miss the toll each one takes in real time. Your breaths are growing more strained, your body is settling down onto the berth with less resistance, and your eyes are meeting his with increasing dullness.

·When you can't even sit up a part of him simply... snaps. All but throwing off his armor, he brings you into his arms in his base form, not admitting but knowing that if he can't save you, he wants this to be the last way you see him.

·In a pleasant haze of fading consciousness, you initially smile at the sight, having always preferred to see him as his true self as often as possible. You'd playfully pointed out how he still towered over you in this form so many times...

·With no traces of battle growing close, or of help arriving before it's too late, he can't help but lose sight of the world around him in its entirety. What does the universe matter if you won't be in it? What good are his abilities if he can't save you from something so apparently benign?

·Never before has he cried in the presence of anyone, so to see tears in those beautiful red optics gives you considerable pause, even as your vision grows dark around you. Something must have been terribly wrong for him to cry, but you care far more about comforting him than finding out what.

·Despite the weight in your limbs, you reach up as he holds you close to weakly cup his face, shushing him with a promise he'll be okay before slipping into darkness.

·It's a stroke of fortune that Ratchet arrives when he does, catching the smaller mech holding your limp form tight as his shoulders shake in silent sobs, as the broken bot would have never allowed your loss to go unpunished. He's bordering on incoherent himself when the medic explains that the attack has been stopped, and that while communications are still down, he was able to isolate a portable supply of oxygen for you.

·It's almost too much for him to believe when the mask is laid over your face and life returns to your peaceful form. The medic confirms you'll survive, and while there will be a road to recovery, you shouldn't suffer any ill effects from the close call. He's torn between relief and still further worry.

·Had you not been saved, he's certain he would have donned his armor and annihilated each attacker personally, with little intention of living to fight another day... But as you recover in the aftermath, he instead throws himself into crafting regulations, trying to come up with a series of safeguards and rules to ensure this can't happen again. He drafts it all at your bedside.

·When you wake up he's effusive in his apologies. How could he not have predicted this? It's such an obvious possibility! He takes your tiny hand in his as he alternates between admonishing his tactical failure and begging forgiveness, forcing you to interrupt and quiet him down before he can say anything else against himself.

·You remind him that it's not his purpose in life to protect you, as he should know better than anyone your size doesn't mean you need constant protection. All you need is for him to be there, just as he is, which is what he's done.

·Only a few tears fall this time, and you're eternally grateful to confirm that they're from blissful relief. He doesn't know how you manage to always remove the weight of the world from his shoulders, but you do, and he'll treasure that more completely from now on.

[shinsouskitten]

Shinsou Hitoshi nsfw alphabet

damn kat back at it again with the thirst i hate myself 

Idk how I haven’t done a nsfw alphabet for my KING yet but I’m disappointed in myself for it

this post was mostly finished before the whole ‘this cold makes me feel like im dying’ thing so i just had to add a few and it was ready for publishing (bonus points if you can tell which ones were added in my cold-induced craziness)

Warnings: you know it, you love it, the thirsting of a lonely writer

---

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Shinsou is a king when it comes to aftercare. Hot baths, massages, cuddles, you name it. You mean the absolute world to him, and he’ll go out of his way to show that, both in and out of the bedroom

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and their partner’s)

Shinsou can be pretty self critical, but if you pushed for an answer he’d probably say his hair, cause he knows how much you like it. For his partner, horny Shinsou would immediately go for your neck (literally too). He loves how a single kiss can turn you into putty in his hands, and he’ll leave marks in places he knows you can’t hide just to prove to the world that you’re his

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Inside you, on you, he doesn’t really mind. Whatever you prefer, he’s happy with. If you want to get messy, he’s more than happy to help, but if not he’ll keep you clean (ish). Although he’s unlikely to admit it, seeing you swallow his cum ignites a fire in Shinsou, and sets up quite a few more rounds so he can give you a reward for being so good

D = Dirty secret (pretty clear, a dirty secret of theirs)

Shinsou’s pretty open with what he wants, but when you first start getting intimate there’ll be a few things he doesn’t really want to say in case he scares you away (he could never, but he still worries). He wants to experiment, but he makes sure he knows your boundaries before he suggests anything too out there. The thing he keeps secret for the longest is the desire to wrap your neck in a beautiful collar emblazoned with his name, simply cause he doesn’t want you to think it’s weird

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He does his research, but hands on experience is pretty limited before you. It’s a learning curve, both of you learning what makes the other tick, what causes you the highest amount of pleasure, and what to steer clear of

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Loves to see you ride him. It gives you the power to control the tempo, but also gives him a beautiful view to tip him over the edge of ecstasy. More needy Shinsou (aka when he’s in hornball mode) likes doggy style, cause it means he can pull your hair or hold you up against him and kiss your neck

G = Goofy (how serious are they in the moment?)

He’s not going to whip out a joke book in the middle of sex, but he’s also not going to act like an uptight secretary who’s only able to follow the rules (well, not unless you ask 👀) 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Keeps himself trimmed, possibly even shaved. It’s no nonsense and means it’s also more enjoyable for you if you’re giving him head

I = Intimacy (how romantic are they in the moment?)

He’s an intimate guy, but he’s also not above teasing (though there’s another letter for that so I’ll keep on intimate for now). Like I mentioned in B, Shinsou can be pretty self critical, and sometimes he can get scared that you’ll leave him if he doesn’t prove how much he loves you, which to him means intimate sex and reassurance (aka, saying ‘I love you’ every two seconds)

J = Jack off (what are their views on masturbation?)

He does it when needed. He’s not insanely horny, so chances are if he is you’re there to deal with him. But if you’re not, and he’s especially needy, he’ll most likely call you up for a little phone session. The thought of you is incredible, but being able to see and hear you is even better

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I think we all know the phrase kitty, right? Well inference leads me to believe that Shinsou would be down for trying out pet play. And yes, as I mentioned before, he would 100% have a collar for you with his name on it. I don’t take criticism for that one

L = Location (favorite places to do the dance with no pants)

More traditional. Sex between the two of you means intimacy, so he’d prefer privacy. You have yet to find a surface in your house he hasn’t tried to fuck you on. That being said, your comfort is of the utmost importance to Shinsou, so if he’s going to fuck you over the kitchen counter, he’s going to make sure you feel comfortable while he does it. So yes, that means he’ll take pillows off the sofa’s just to make you comfy

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going, etc)

You. Simple as. There are certain things that especially turn him on, such as you biting your lip or being extra attentive to him in what would seem like a normal scene to anyone else watching. Put your hand on his thigh when out at dinner and pay the price when you get home. Or maybe that was your plan all along

N = No (turn offs, something they wouldn’t do)

Shinsou never wants you to be in pain (well not unless you want to be in pain). He’ll leave hickies all over you, but that’s about as far as he’ll go with marking you. Maybe a spank here and there, but he won’t scar you or leave any marks that won’t be gone in a few days

O = Oral (do they prefer giving or receiving? how skilled are they?)

Shinsou prefers giving, but he’ll never say no to receiving either. He wants you to feel good, but if you decide to turn the tables he’s not going to deny you. Once you’re finished though, he’s repaying the favor tenfold. And just as a note, pull his hair when he goes down on you. He adores it

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Yes and yes. It all depends on the situation, his mood, the usual things. He’ll do whatever provides you with the most pleasure (while also allowing him to tease you)

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies)

He doesn’t love them, but if they’re the only way to get some gratification then he’s willing (only if you are though). He’s careful about location, he doesn’t want someone walking in and ruining the whole thing, even if the risk of being caught makes everything a little more exciting. Chances are he won’t engage in quickies unless he’s been to the place at least once before (he wants to know which wall you’d look best pinned to). He has to feel slightly comfortable in the environment

R = Risk (how risky are they willing to be?)

He’s down for a little risk, but nothing that would be too mortifying for you. If he’s going to screw you somewhere other than your home, he’s going to vet the place over a lot, and find the best place where you have the comfort of being private but the thrill of being caught if someone were to venture too close to your hideout

S = Stamina (how long do they last? how many rounds?)

Freaking hell where does he get it from? Like, he just doesn’t stop. Not that that’s a bad thing, mind you. Most of the rounds consist of him pleasing you, and he’ll only give in and finally fuck you when your throat is hoarse from begging, or when he feels the smallest amount of pity at the tears rolling down your face (did someone say crying kink)

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them on a partner or themselves?)

Vibrating panties. I said he doesn't physically act on desires when in public, but touching a remote isn’t the same thing as touching you, so he makes an exception. He’s not insanely cruel. For him it’s more about teasing that mortification, so if someone senses something’s wrong, he turns off the remote until they give up. But the moment they’re gone, it’s back stronger than ever

U = Unfair (how much do they tease?)

*roblox oof sound effect*

Once Shinsou gains his confidence with you, he’s not going back. His teasing is often coupled with praise, telling you how good you’re being for him while he denies you pure bliss again and again. He’ll edge you to hell and back if you give him the chance, but don’t worry, it’s worth it in the end

V = Volume (how they sound, how loud they are, etc)

Small moans and louder grunts are the main sounds coming from Shinsou when he’s enjoying himself. He swears a lot, and it’s always easy to tell how close he is to the edge by how creative his swears become. As for his partner, he wants to know how well he’s doing. He wants to hear you whine and beg while he edges you, and the pornstar-like moans that fill the air when he finally gives in and gives you what you really want

W = Wild card (a random headcanon)

You think I forgot about his quirk. Ha, I could never. I said in my hcs that it takes a while for Shinsou to integrate quirk use into sex. As much as you assure him you’re in full trust, he’s anxious about the inability to say no when he has you under his control. The longer you’re together the more willing he is, but even when he does use it it’s usually a way to make edging even more dangerous, with you unable to resist his words when he tells you you’re not allowed to cum just yet

Okay maybe we have 2 wild cards this time cause I also wanna mention his capture weapon. Again, it’ll take a while for it to be available in a less-than-pg manner, but he’s more willing to use his capture weapon than his quirk. Main reason being, you can still use a safeword when tied up. But tying up goes both ways, so even if he prefers to be the one giving the pleasure, he’d never deny your wishes

X = X-ray (let’s have a looksee in those pants)

I’m trying not to be biased cause I love him so much but I feel like Shinsou’s kinda packing. A good 8.5-9 inches (no, I won’t take criticism) and on the skinnier side. But the amount of attention he gives you before his pants are even off means taking him is never difficult

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Not the highest, but when you’re around it increases significantly. He’s not going to fuck you every time he sees you (I mean, he thinks about it) but he also isn’t a nun. It’s a good level, cause most days you can walk, and then on the weekends you’re a little bedridden

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s a bit of an insomniac, so screwing the energy out of him is one of the best ways to get Shinsou tired enough to sleep. He likes to hold you, so once he’s satisfied with the aftercare, he’ll crawl in bed for cuddles until the both of you pass out

[costellos]

author’s note: this wasn’t a request, just something super self-indulgent that I wanted to do! ❤⃛(*ૂ❛ัᴗ❛ั*ૂ) also this ended up taking 2.5 hours to write aldkf;j so much for unwinding at the end of the day. overall, I’m super proud of how this came out — please enjoy!

❥ ┋ ❝ bucci gang realizing that they’re in love!

bruno bucciarati.

Bucciarati realizes he’s in love when he sees you defending civilians.

he is a man made of love. for his people, for his community, for his goals — he firmly believes that everyone and everything can be built on yes, but more importantly, taken care of.

he sees you protecting an elderly couple during a stand battle. in a split second do you throw your stand at the couple, taking a hefty amount of damage in their place. you’re bloody and your arm is definitely broken, but you still turn to them. "you need to leave. now,” you say. although your words are harsh and hoarse, your smile reminds them that yes, everything will be fine, I just need you to trust me.

you didn’t have to protect them. any other gangster would have left them to die. they’re old, no one would miss them.

but you did. you put these two strangers, two no ones at the wrong place at the wrong time, before yourself. even if it meant you’d die.

Bucciarati would visit you shortly after the battle. Giorno had already tended to your wounds, evident by your lack of bandages. his hair is normally neatly placed, but it looks like he had been rustling it, with his clips out of place and the braid atop his head uneven. his concern is apparent; he’s wracked his brain waiting for your recovery. you knew that Bucciarati cared about his team, but when did he care this much? ↳ “I admit, your actions were certainly reckless,” he would say to you, taking a seat beside your bed. “you’re lucky that fight didn’t end worse than it did. nonetheless...” his voice is tired yet soft, comforting. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’m... I’m incredibly glad.”

leone abbacchio.

Abbacchio realizes he’s in love when he sees you upholding true justice.

although he would never admit it, he is haunted by his inability to save his partner during his time as an officer. as such, Abbacchio envies those who back justice in spite of the system Italy lives under.

you’re patrolling one of La Passione’s turfs with him when you see it: two officers harassing a young girl. even though Abbacchio tells you not to get involved, you quickly storm over to the scene. their voices are loud and clear, despite them being several meters away. the girl looks scared.

it turns out she had stolen a handful of painkillers from the corner store. the cops noticed her scurrying out as they were buying a pack of smokes. and now, they were threatening to take her into the station. “I need them for my family!” she explains, but the cops don’t buy it. they huff something about her bringing them to school and selling them to her friends.

“here. I’ll pay for her. just leave her alone.” Abbacchio watches as you flash 30 euros to the cops, more than enough to pay for the medicine. playing them at their own game, he sees. thankfully, they relent, pocketing the money and leaving the scene. and after you talk to the girl, explaining that if she needs more help to come find you, you both leave the scene too.

it’s a brief affair. truthfully, he wouldn’t have gotten himself involved. he wishes you hadn’t either. it would’ve been less of a headache, and now that girl is going to pester you again in the future. but he can’t stop replaying the scene in this head. how you willingly stood up for her, reassured her that everything would be okay. how you smiled and looked so content after the fact. ↳ “ I envy you,” he would say as you walked away from the scene. “doing the right thing is...” he pauses. stupid? naive? “...it’s not easy. you didn’t have to do anything but I admire your valor. just don’t be surprised if that girl comes up at your doorstep begging for more money.” nonetheless, he wants to learn more from you. to be good again, he thinks. maybe then he can be someone that he himself is proud of. and maybe, eventually, he’ll make you proud too.

giorno giovanna.

Giorno realizes he’s in love when he sees your ambition.

he prides himself on his resolve. to him, resolve is committing to something regardless of the difficulties that a person faces. seeing you be so goal-oriented would make him believe that he’s found his match.

it doesn’t have to be a huge goal, like dedicating yourself to a field of practice or learning a new language. it can be as simple as trying to keep your houseplants alive. in fact, those little things come off as more charming to him. it shows that you’re passionate about everything you do, no matter what it is.

seeing you continuously try despite numerous failures would make Giorno’s heart pound. you refuse to give up. even with everything against you, you still roll up your sleeves, take a deep breath, and pick yourself up again. he adores this about you.

he realizes it when you’re rambling about your next move in your goals. your face is so excited, your eyes so wide and bright. your mouth is voicing your steps a million words a minute but all he can focus on is how beautiful you look. the smile on his lips is unmistakable. ↳ “tell me more. I want to know everything. tell me about every detail, every step, what you’ll do when you’re finished... all of it.” he won’t say it — after all, he doesn’t want to come off as too desperate — but he wants to be there every step of the way with you. and when you’ve completed your goal, he wants to be the one next to you, the one to say, “I am so, so proud of you.”

guido mista.

Mista realizes he’s in love when you laugh at one of his jokes.

life should be simple. that’s the mantra he lives by. despite being a gangster, he just wants to have a simple life filled with simple pleasures. one of those ways is through telling stories.

it happens when the group is eating dinner at a local restaurant. Mista is telling some long-winded anecdote, something about how he heroically beat up a landlord for harassing his tenants over money. at the end, it turned out to be the set up for a really brief and really stupid punchline.

everyone is looking at him. “ah? ahhhh?” he muses, but no one responds. the silence in the air is unbearable. hm. wow. is it hot in here or what? finally, Narancia breaks the silence, muttering that he doesn’t get it. Fugo tells him that Mista could have made the joke so much shorter. Bucciarti exhales quickly from his nostrils, a half-assed attempt at laughing. Giorno and Abbacchio don’t say anything.

but then you. oh, you. it takes you a moment to get it, but when you do, your giggling disrupts the awkwardness. it sounds like bells, Mista thinks. sweet bells, ringing like how they used to at the church every Sunday morning in his hometown. it makes him feel warm, welcome, and he can’t help but feel his face flush when he hears your laughing.

Mista stays in place afterwards, pushing his white beans to and fro on his plate. he’s not hungry anymore. he keeps looking up at you, and while he had acknowledged you were attractive before, something about you was now beautiful. you were happy here, with your eyes bright and your smile wide. eventually, he would say: ↳ “hey, thanks for covering me back there. those guys never laugh at anything I say.” he rolls his eyes playfully, adding a slight shrug of his shoulders. “lemme make it up to you. what can I do for you?” he’s trying to be smooth, but he’s so giddy at the prospect at spending more time with you!

narancia ghirga.

Narancia realizes he’s in love when you don’t lose your patience with him.

he doesn’t have much of a formal education. hence, critical thinking skills don’t come easy to him. he tries his best, he really does, but it’s difficult when he’s hardly flexed his brain.

he’s writing a song. nothing fancy, but music has always been a part of Narancia’s life that he wants to give it a go himself. maybe one day he’ll be a famous hip hop artist, touring across Europe and maybe even the U.S. one day! the thought makes him excited. but for now, he needs to establish the lyrics.

rap is easier said than done, though. Fugo is teasing him about his inability to write poetry — what makes Narancia think that he could write a whole song? he grits his teeth and turns back to his paper. 

that’s when you approach him. you sit down with him, asking him what he would like to write about. “oh, uh... growing up in the streets, I guess,” he mumbles. he’s taken aback by your help. plus, talking about it now makes him embarrassed. but you don’t judge him, no; you sit down with him and try to help him nail down the theme. and once you have that, you assist him in finding snappy lyrics and catchy rhymes. 

you don’t criticize him for his ideas. you don’t yell at him for his suggestions. you just listen and add on. the encounter is foreign, to say the least... but not unwelcome. Narancia finds your help incredibly productive (much better than Fugo could ever offer him). and the time goes by so fast! within a few hours, his song is done. yet he’s not happy... no, he starts to feel lonely the moment you stand up, off to assist Bucciarati with whatever he needs. ↳ “wait, hold on, [Name]!” shit. his voice is way too desperate. he softens it as best he can muster: “can... can we write another song sometime? I have a lot more ideas and I can’t do it without you.” fuck. he did it again. but when smile at him and nod, promising that you’ll help him hit the Top 40, Narancia can’t help but smile back.  

panacotta fugo.

Fugo realizes that he’s in love when you put him before yourself.

genius. prodigy. failure. Fugo is defined by how others see him. after his parents abandoned him for leaving an abusive establishment, he finds himself lost in the world. who is he? what is he worth?

he’s escorting you to your mission when his car is attacked by a rival gang. the assault is a blur. he can remember the car flipping over, tumbling off the road and into the Mediterranean Sea. it happens so fast. the salty water surrounding you both. the windshield cracking. the airbag goes off, suffocating him. he can’t see. he can’t breathe. and suddenly, it’s dark.

when he wakes up, he realizes that you’re both on the beach. “where are we?” he musters out. it hurts to talk. you hush him to take it easy, that he had most certainly broken a few ribs. and that’s when he sees it: when he looks down, his wounds are tended to. gashes have been tenderly wrapped in gauze and minor cuts treated with balm. a pain relief patch has been placed on his chest, no doubt where the air bag hit him. but when he looks at you, you’re bleeding through your bandages.

that’s right. there was a first aid kit in the car. based on his injuries, you spent the majority of supplies on him, even though you definitely had it just as bad. “why?” is all he can say.

why? you shake your head. “because you’re my friend,” you answer, adjusting the gauze on his wrist. “I’m taking care of you because you’re worth it.”

your words catch him by surprise. he doesn’t believe it, but... your face is honest enough. his thoughts are jumbled, as mixed as the sand and water at the shore just a few meters away. and when your hand touches his wrist... he shakes his own head.

↳ “you should’ve tended to yourself first.” his tongue tastes of nothing but blood and salt and his words show it. a beat, and gentler this time: “I appreciate your thinking of me. thank you.” that’s all he can say, at least for now. it hurts to much to talk, moreover think. so he places his hand over yours as a gesture of thanks. friends, huh? the idea before sounded laughable, but now... there was something warm about it. the answer to his question — who is he? — had come as quickly as the waves beneath him: a friend.

[hinamoria]

Purple Lilac

Hitsuhina Week 2021 : Day 3- Everyone knows / Flowers

Rating: K

Word Count: 1235 words

Setting: Few months after Karakura fight

Author’s Note: I must have looked at almost 50 flowers and their meanings to make this one-shot. I knew absolutely nothing about it (except maybe the roses), but I found it very interesting to read. I almost want to go buy some now xD

—

Opening the door to his office, Hitsugaya froze and wondered for a moment if he was in the wrong room.

But no, it was his shelves at the back of the room, and his desk staggered abnormally against the left wall. On the other hand, the dozens of flowers on the floor, the multiple vases and the association of shinigami women sitting in the middle of the room had nothing to do here.

“Can I know what's going on?” He asked coldly, desperately trying to keep his cool. But when a familiar red head came out from behind a huge bouquet with a big smile, he felt a vein start to grow on his forehead.

“Captain!” Matsumoto cried, standing up. “I didn't expect to see you again so soon, you are used to training longer! What are you doing here?”

“Matsumoto, are you asking me what I'm doing in my office?” He replied, gritting his teeth. “What are you all doing here? Clear all this mess and give me back my office! Right now!”

“Byak-kun kicked us out of his house!” Yachiru yelled as she swallowed a flower from her bouquet, visibly undisturbed by the captain's threatening tone.

Matsumoto made a little embarrassed pout and tried to save the day.

“The association wanted to organize a bouquet creation group work. It’s a very relaxing and creative activity! The usual place was not available so I offered to come here. You've already done some paperwork this morning. There should no longer be any left-over”

Hitsugaya clenched his jaw further, reaching an upper threshold of frustration. This place was a workplace, not a place to play! And if it was necessary to force everyone out, he was ready to do it.

“My work is done, but I still have all yours to do, because while I'm doing everything here, you are playing with flowers! So, I'm warning you, you have 10 seconds to get out before ...”

“Shiro-chan!” Another familiar voice said, cutting off his threat. “Look at my bouquet!”

“Hinamori?” He said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

The young woman was still recovering in the Fourth Division since the accident in the war against Aizen. She wasn't supposed to leave her room.

“Matsumoto-san asked me to participate in this activity to relax and take my mind off things. She was right, look at the result!”

She presented him with a large bouquet of various flowers only inches from his face, causing him to take a step back in reflex.

The young man knew absolutely nothing about flowers. But the colour combination seemed harmonious, most of them were mauve or purple, with a few white flowers on them.

“It’s…pretty?” He tried, hoping not to upset his friend with his inability to give real compliments.

“Do you like it?” She adds visibly delighted. “This one is for you!”

“For me?” He repeated, taking the bouquet awkwardly.

He looked at it more intently, muttering an embarrassed “thank you”.

“I wanted to do another one for granny, but I thought I heard you wanted us to leave?”

Silence fell in the room for a few seconds. Everyone looked at him with hope. The captain gave in:

"Matsumoto, my office must be perfectly clean tomorrow morning when I get back," he reminded her.

Still with the bouquet in hands, he turned around and decided that a few more hours of training wouldn't hurt.

-------

Arriving at his office the next morning, Rangiku noted the famous bouquet on his captain's desk. The man was already there, immersed in the late paperwork (her, for sure) from the day before.

The lieutenant walked over, reaching out as if to touch a petal, but stopping her gesture at her captain's glare. This bouquet was precious to him and the redhead was known for her clumsiness.

“They are really beautiful captain, aren't they?” She said out loud in a cheerful tone.

Toshiro gave a simple "um" of approval.

“Did you know that every flower has a meaning? The aim of the activity was not only to learn how to create bouquets but also to understand the hidden meaning of each.”

“This one, for example” she began, pointing to a white daffodil, “represents rebirth and new beginnings. Hinamori probably wanted to mark the start of this new period after all this history with Aizen… You know, I was a little worried that she would get depressed in the Fourth Division, but in reality I feel like she quickly climbs up the slope. She's stronger than she looks”.

Hitsugaya could not but approve of his lieutenant's words. Hinamori had never been one to mope about her fate for months.

Rangiku then pointed to small purple flowers:

“In the same idea, the crocus marks joy and gaiety. It is one of the flowers that appear first after winter. A real symbol in this context, like a renewal”.

Then she pointed to a purple hyacinth:

“This one is used as an apology…”

Hitsugaya sighed upon hearing this explanation. Rather, it would be up to him to offer a whole bunch of these flowers given what happened the last time.

Not wishing to stay on a sad note, Rangiku moved on to the next.

"The iris symbolizes respect" she continued. “She must be apologizing for repeatedly calling you Shiro-chan”

Matsumoto chuckled as she saw her captain frown at his nickname.

“And finally: a purple lilac. A quiet beautiful one”

Rangiku took the risk and grabbed the flower, presented in a single copy. To be honest, Toshiro hadn't even noticed it before.

Turning it between her fingers for a moment in thought, she ended up placing it on her captain's desk.

"I'm going to drop off his files at the Third Division," Matsumoto said, grabbing a stack of finished files.

“Matsumoto”, interrupted his captain, taking the lilac in hand. “You didn't tell me what this one meant.”

The young woman smirked, then replied in a wink, "It's a secret," before disappearing.

-------

Captain Hitsugaya looked around for the third time until no one was seeing him and opened a book titled "Flowers and their meanings." It was childish, but he would rather die than be seen reading this. He had to act fast, his reputation depended on it.

At the lilac page level, the following text appeared:

“The purple lilac symbolizes youthful beauty and the first romantic emotions, it is perfect for declaring feelings!"

Toshiro blinked several times as he reread the sentence, then quickly closed the book. He took several breaths in and out to release the discomfort that was clutching his chest, then he gave a snap of annoyance with his tongue:

“Matsumoto wanted to play a joke on me again. It is obvious that Hinamori did not know the meaning of the flowers in the bouquet”

He abruptly put the book down and returned to his practice, his cheeks always red.

--------

A week later, Momo was surprised to find a sublime bouquet of purple lilacs in a vase made of ice on her dresser in the Fourth Division. The recipient was not noted, but the creation bore his signature in itself.

Of all the flowers, he had chosen these, she noted. She gave a small smile:

“Shiro-chan does not know the meaning of flowers. It must be a coincidence”

She gently stroked the petals and vowed to do more bouquets in the coming months, just to send Toshiro further signs.

[suugiithings]

KATSUKI BAKUGOU X YOU

The image isn't mine credits to the owner.

For some reason, I just write angst. 😅

I hope you like it. I really like Bakugou. I am still reading the manga and I am still in the 17th volume but I am loving his character development.

We can't forget that underneath all of that image of a bad/angry boy is still a teenager and geez we all can agree that teenage days are the worst.

Anyway, I am sorry for my writing skills and probably grammar mistakes but as I said in my work of Kirishima I don't usually write in English so I am trying my best and using dictionaries and even Grammarly to make sure everything is on point but sometimes some mistakes can get through it so I am apologizing beforehand and I will keep improving my English vocabulary to make my writing more interesting.

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: It is Bakugou so swearing is obviously here.

You stopped abruptly as you heard a loud and painful hiss. Your whole body completely froze while watching the state of that blonde guy. The rain wetting all his figure, his hair was even more messy than usual, his hands were sparking a little from his frustration.

I knew it. You told yourself as shutting your e/c eyes aggressively because of the huge pain felt as seeing him in such condition. You knew that he was suffering like you were because even if he didn't tell Kirishima what he meant to him we all knew that Kirishima was someone really important to Bakugou. Thankfully you had enough empathy to realize that seeing Kirishima unconscious on a hospital bed was an overwhelming pain for him as well.

Finally, you got the strength and courage to open your dark blue umbrella and took small and slow steps towards him. Fortunately, he didn't notice your presence as he was drowning in his feelings. Feelings. Something and probably the only thing Bakugou was terrible with. Normally he only ignored them and pushed them deep down in his soul letting them there alone getting bigger and bigger every day. And then one day those neglected pieces of human nature just exploded doing a huge mess. You already had witnessed that happening once and it wasn't something pleasant to see. It made your heart shatter in a million pieces because he went in a total auto-destructive mode and you being in love with him made you feel helpless and lost in the middle of your and his pain.

At last, when you were just mere centimetres from him, your umbrella was already above his head and his hood was pushed to cover not just his head but especially his face. His whole body hardened and you took this opportunity to wrap your free hand around his body while laying your head against his wet clothed back.

" I'm sorry for this random affection but I don't know what to do with this pain. I... I...My heart and soul are in suffering now so please just let me be like this for just a couple of minutes." he didn't say anything but you realize how heavy was his breath. A deep breath came from you while you squished him more trying to let your feelings be silently handed on to your lover. You would never be able to express your feelings so you just wanted him feel them.

"I'm sorry." a heavy and sad whisper came from the blonde as his muscles started to smooth under your touch. "It was my fault." your small hand rubbed the side of his body where your hand was calmly but firmly laying. The reality was you didn't know what really happened you just found Kirishima body laying on Bakugou arms in the middle of the battlefield where a group of villains attacked. Bakugou was frozen by his panic and disbelief the whole time since you found out them until arriving in the hospital.

"Shh...It isn't anybody's fault except those fucking villains." His body hardened again and heat rises from him. Shit. You should have just stayed quiet. He tried to let go of your grip and when he did he looked directly at you. And if it was possible your heartbreak to even smaller pieces. His face was consumed by the pain, sadness and especially the well-known rage. His eyes and face were swollen and red not just because of him being crying but also because of the fight they had against those villains. Small cuts here and there in his body. You tried to reach him but he dodged your touch.

" It was my fault. I was weak and he threw himself in front of me stupidly. I was the one who couldn't protect another human being and lost the fight. It is my fault. So just shut the fuck up with your pity I don't need it for anything. Especially when you were fucking late to help Kirishima. It is also your fault. You are useless. " If you didn't know him you would definitely just turn on your heels and leave but it was Katsuki we were talking about. He was shouting those things not really because he meant but because he was using your name instead of his while in reality, it was just a way to talk his feelings out and to curse at himself and not you. " So don't touch me. Don't try to seek relief because you don't deserve it. You need to drown in those feelings."

Your umbrella fell on the road and your hells rose to let your lips touch his. It was unexpected by both of you. You didn't think this through, it was just a reflection of your inability to comfort Katsuki. However, what shock you the most was his strong arms unexpectly wrapped your waist tightly pulling you so closer to him that both bodys almost fused in to each other and then his lips started a rough and intense kiss. All feelings getting involved at this moment. You could taste the bitterness of failure, the sourness of sadness and deep down a really shy sweetness of the untold love.

You both were already gasping for air but none of you wanted to let go. Your lungs were burning, your hearts racing and your legs trembling.

However very abruptly everything stopped including the feeling of his touch on your now wet body from the rain.

" What the fuck was that for?" the blonde screamed very loud when he came into his senses. His eyes were confused and full of anger. You stood in your place unshakable, you were already prepared for this.

" Nothing, Katsuki. It was nothing." you sighed in annoyance." What the hell do you think it is? I am tired of this." You screamed back at him and he was shocked. Yes, you had already had some fights but for silly things especially because you loved to make fun of him and tease him but never for serious topics and never with this look on your face." I think this kiss made pretty clear what's going on between us. I am fucking tired of watching you suffer in silence. I hate that so much. My heart breaks every time you self-isolate yourself. Maybe I am being egotistic but I just want you to be happy, goddammit. " His gaze was burning your skin of how intense it was. For the first time, you didn't know what he was feeling. Yes, because even though he puts his mask of an angry and though guy, he was actually a pretty simple person underneath that. He was just trying his best to improve himself and raise at the top and someone who lack a lot on self love.

" I didn't ask for anything. And there is no us here. I don't love you. Love is just stupid and a waste of time." he muttered finally taking his gaze away from you. "I don't want to love you while I don't love myself."

" Shh... I don't need to be corresponded I just want you to let me help you." You wrapped your arms again around him squishing him so hard as you could. " Just enjoy my company and let me be your walking diary. Allow me to hear your rants and fears."

[nerdyfangirl67]

Through the Night - Criminal Minds Imagine

Pairing: Hotch x reader

Warning: language, intense torture, inflicted pain, violence, anxiety, 

Word count: 2,300

Imagine being taken by an unsub and Hotch finding you and not wanting to leave your side.

You weren’t really sure if you were conscious or not. The lack of sight and sound made you believe not, but the intense pain coursing through your body told you otherwise. Your thoughts were fuzzy, making it hard to think. You tried several times to get up but something was holding you down. And you could easily feel the gag in your mouth, preventing you from making any sound.

Nothing. Nothing happened for a long time. The inability to use most of your senses was preventing you from figuring out anything about where you were. After experiencing intense feelings of anger, fear, and frustration, all you felt now was tired.

You may have fallen asleep because you were jerked out of your sensory deprivation by a sudden light. Pain erupted in your head and you blinked your eyes closed at the searing, white intensity.

A hand hit your face, hard. “Open your damn eyes.” The voice was deep and gravelly.

You forced your eyes open and you took in the man before you. It was definitely the unsub of the case you and the team were working. His brown eyes, unfocused and crazed, were studying you. His black hair was unkempt and he was sporting a beard, albeit one only a few days old. He smiled at you, a wild gleam in his eyes as he removed your gag.

“Tell me about your team.” He demanded forcibly. You remained silent, refusing to share anything about those you considered your family. He slapped you again, causing your head to spin and fog up your thoughts. You clenched your jaw tight and said nothing. You were going to suppress the pain for as long as possible, to keep from giving the unsub the satisfaction of hearing you scream.

“Okay, if that is how you want to play it. I sure have a few tools I have been wanting to try out.” He disappeared out of sight. You used that moment to try and remember what happened and if your team knew where you were. Try as you may, you couldn’t recall much of anything.

The unsub, whose name was John or James or something fairly similar, strolled easily back into the room, carrying a large toolbox with him. You squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to watch as he pulled out the tool that would undoubtedly inflict a lot of pain on you.

“Last chance missy. You could save yourself a lot of pain.” He said sadistically.

You opened your mouth as if to speak, waiting for him to lean in before spitting in his face. His features were quickly marred as signs of intense anger overtook his face.

He grabbed a pair of needle-nose pliers, moving quickly towards your hand. You tightened your hand up in a fist but swiftly relaxed it as he slammed the pliers down on your hand. You closed your eyes and turned your head away. A horrific, burning pain exploded from your fingers. You didn’t have to see what he was doing to know he was violently removing your fingernails. It wasn’t long before you were screaming out in pain.

He didn’t stop there though. He replaced his pliers with a new tool, one you quickly learned was a hammer, and turned his attention to your other hand. He put the time in making sure that each of your fingers was broken before bringing the hammer down hard on the back of your hand.

You passed out from the pain shortly after that, drifting in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he would bring you back with a bucket of cold water thrown in your face and others he would leave you be. Each time he demanded the same thing, “Tell me about your team.” You never said a word, the only vocalization you made were the screams of agony and whimpers of pain.

You couldn’t guess how long you had been there, tied to a chair, but you knew it wouldn’t be much longer. Either the team would find you or you would die, simple as that.

You didn’t have much left in you to fight and the only thing keeping you from giving up was the fact that you never told Aaron how you felt about him. After years of loving him silently, you had been ready to tell him. And you didn’t want to go, not knowing if there had been a future for the two of you.

A commotion sounded upstairs, followed quickly by a gunshot. Fear took hold and you tried desperately to free yourself of the gag in your mouth, the one the unsub replaced every time he finished with you. You were unsuccessful in your attempts to remove it and knew that all you could do was wait.

Heavy black boots appeared on the steps, followed quickly by a pair of jean-clad legs, a muscular torso, and finally a face. You cried out, as best you could, in relief and exhaustion when you saw it was Morgan. He was followed by Reid and Rossi. Morgan continued to clear the room, a basement of some sort, as Reid and Rossi moved straight towards you. You relaxed just knowing it was them.

They quickly removed the gag and restraints; the entire time Reid spoke softly to you. Morgan, who had moved over to you, must have sensed your fatigue and pain because he gently said “Baby girl, I’m gonna pick you up” before slowly sweeping you into his arms. Pain exploded from many different places in your body and you were unable to suppress a cry.

You don’t remember much after that. A short moment in the ambulance of a familiar face leaning towards you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, a brief flash of being surrounded by doctors in a bright room, and then darkness.

The darkness was soothing, gentle, and quiet. You were comfortable staying there for a long time. It was only when a nagging sound and returning feelings in your body overtook the sweet darkness that you realized you were indeed alive. Several times you had been aware of your surroundings, of JJ talking rapidly on the phone, of Reid reading out loud, of Morgan chattering loudly, of Garcia telling you all about her day, but most importantly of Aaron talking, telling you about little, unimportant things and about how sorry he was.

Finally, after what felt like ages, you were able to pull yourself away from the darkness. It was quiet and the only thing you felt was someone holding your hand. You opened your eyes and was greeted with semi-darkness. You turned slightly to the right and noticed Aaron was holding your hand. He was leaning back in one of the hospital chairs, legs sprawled out in front of him and head resting in a very uncomfortable looking position.

“Aaron?” You croaked, unsure if he was asleep or not. Not a second after you had pathetically uttered his name, was he up and leaning towards you.

His face lit up with a smile, seeing you were awake. He grabbed a cup that had been sitting beside the bed and helped you hold the cup as you greedily drank the water.

“How’s your pain?” Aaron asked after you had settled back down into the pillows.

“I’ve definitely felt better, that’s for sure.” You whispered, already tired from the effort it had taken to get a drink.

Aaron immediately pressed the call button and a nurse ran in, checking your IV and administering some pain meds before flitting back out of the room. Soon you were pulled back into your drugged darkness.

Days passed in a similar fashion. Most of the time Aaron was at your side. There were a few times that Morgan or Rossi had been beside you when you had awakened. Eventually, you found out the extent of your injuries, but not from Aaron. He had refused to tell you anything about the unsub that had taken you or what they could piece together about what happened.

You learned that you had some brain swelling, bad enough that it required surgery. One of your hand was so badly broken that it needed reconstructive surgery once the swelling receded, you had a few broken ribs and there were even a few burns littering your body. Aside from these injuries, your body was also covered in bruises and welts.

You had trouble sleeping, which led to Aaron spending many a night in the uncomfortable hospital chair, gripping your hand and talking to you. There were even times when you just laid in the hospital bed, listening to Aaron talk.

It was a month before the hospital felt that you were well enough to leave, but they strongly suggested you stay with someone for another month at least. This bit of information threw you for a loop because you were alone in DC. Both your parents had passed years ago and the only living relative you knew of, an aunt in California, was in a retirement facility.

Each one of the team members jumped at the chance to stay with you. Penelope was thrilled at the idea of having a month-long sleepover, Reid wanted to “educate you” in the ways of Star Trek and classic literature, Rossi wanted to use you a guinea pig for his recipes, and Morgan wanted someone who would jam to his beats, and maybe even play a video game or two with him. Seeing how excited the team was to be there for you made your heart squeeze painfully at the thought of how close you had gotten to losing them.

You couldn’t say no to any of them and was ready to just suggest a rotating schedule when Aaron spoke up. “She is staying with me.” He said it with such finality that no one questioned him. You had looked at him questioningly but hadn’t argued.

It was less than an hour later that you found yourself staring at the front door to Aaron’s apartment.

“Are you sure you want me in your space? I mean, I’m sure Penelope would be fine with staying over.” You really doubted that Aaron would feel comfortable with you in his private space. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He replied, staring deep into your Y/E/C eyes. You felt a blush bloom on your face, and had glanced down at your feet in embarrassment.

A hand tilted your face up again. “Really Y/N. I want you here.” He spoke softly, a thumb gently moving back and forth along your jaw.

The door flew open, and Aaron jerked his hand away from your face. Jack stood in front of you both, beaming up at you.

“Hi Y/N. I’m so excited you are here. Want to come to see my legos?” His brimming excitement pulled a laugh from your chest. You walked with Jack to his room, letting him tell you all about his legos.

The rest of the day passed swiftly after that. Aaron had shown you to his guest room and had helped you put away some of your things. You hadn’t worried about sleep until you had gone to your bedroom for the evening.

Once you were alone, laying on your bed, you felt crushing anxiety grip your chest. You had left the lamp on alongside your bed but was freaked out enough to carry a blanket and pillow away from the bed, which was alongside the window, to the other side of the room. You couldn’t remember much of what happened, for that you were grateful, but being alone since leaving the hospital had become something you dreaded. You knew Aaron would help you if you asked but he had already been with you through so much, giving up much of his time to be with you. You tried to get comfortable and even fell into a fitful sleep. You were awoken a while later to hand on your shoulder, to which you screamed and kicked forward repeatedly.

Aaron’s soothing voice reached your ears. “Hey, hey. It’s just me, Aaron. You’re okay Y/N. You’re okay.” You took a deep breath, your wide eyes finding Aaron’s. A whimper escaped your lips and Aaron was pulling you into a hug. You let go, crying into his shoulder as he whispered into your ear.

After a while you managed to calm down, taking a deep breath and leaning back from Aaron’s chest. “I’m sorry.” You murmured, your gaze now on your lap. Aaron gently guided your face until you were looking at him again.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He whispered. “I came in here because you sounded upset like you were having a nightmare.” “Aaron, I…” You paused trying to find the words, looking deep into his warm brown eyes. “I want to thank you for everything you have done for me.” He started to speak but you placed a soft finger over his lips.

“I don’t remember much about what happened, but I do remember that the only thing that kept me going, when I felt like giving up, was knowing that I needed to come back to you. I needed to tell you… I needed to tell you that I love you.” You had somehow found the courage to tell him the secret you had been keeping for months, years even.

You watched as shock crossed his face, and then happiness take over. He pulled you close again, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I love you too Y/N. I love you too.”

You knew you had a long way to go before you ever felt normal again, but knowing that Aaron would be by your side through it all made you believe you could do it.

[whump-town]

A Cumbersome and Heavy Body

Chapter Seven: Safe To Shore 

You're gone, gone, gone away; I watched you disappear All that's left is a ghost of you Now we're torn, torn, torn apart; there's nothing we can do Just let me go, we'll meet again soon

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn’t going to go down without a fight. It’s just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word Count:  6680

Author’s Note: I am... so sorry

Derek Morgan walks into the hospital with no rushed agency. A simple leisure stroll guiding him through the hospital and the winding halls. He keeps his eyes cast to the book he’s reading as he works his way to the elevator. No need to watch too carefully when he knows where he’s going. These halls are kept clear of spectators and everyone’s got an agenda so there’s rarely the chance to run into someone’s conversation. His right thumb sits wedged into the spine, holding it open as he eats an apple with the left. He’s not sure he could tear himself away from the pages if he wanted to-- this shit is enrapturing. 

His feet carry him on autopilot, making turns he’s memorized without so much as parting his eyes from the words on the page. “How are you holding up, old man?” he doesn’t knock as he steps into Hotch’s room. Not much of a point in it anyways aside from letting Hotch know someone’s coming. The only thing he does worth hiding these days is moving places he shouldn’t be without help. Which, when the fancy strikes, he’s a real fiend for. But he’s in bed, propped up by pillows and half watching Judge Judy and trying to succumb to the drugs pulling him back down for another nap.

Hotch turns his head in the direction of the noise, already knowing from the loud entrance that it’s Morgan. Which eliminates any performative pieces he’d need to throw on to look healthier or to prepare for another round of being poked at and moved about. He lets his eyes slide shut, too tired to engage in conversation and past the point of caring if that looks disrespectful or cold. A shiver escapes him, his skin is broken out in painful goosebumps with his arms bare in the room. Any attempt to curl into himself, turning his shoulder into the bed, is met with sharp pain from the chest-tube. 

A nurse had come in not that long ago and moved him around enough to disturb his blankets, even pulling that dreadful mask back up over his face. She’d tucked the blankets around his hips and upped his medicine enough to subdue him. Leaving him too tired, too fogged to piece together the words and tell anyone that he’s cold and wants another blanket. He’s not really there when they give him all the drugs and he hates his inability to communicate. Even opening his jaw requires so much careful thought that he knows any speech he can produce will be slurred to the point of incomprehension. 

He looks over to Derek, pleading that in some way the other man has acquired the ability to read his mind. It’s overwhelming but all he can manage is a scratchy hum in reply and a sloppy, “ ‘m fine.” It leaves his mouth poorly, tongue hardly able to move to enunciate what he wants to say. But there are some benefits to having known someone as long as Derek has known Hotch. 

Derek noticed the shiver and the pained wince, immediately. Seen the wheels turning over in Hotch’s head and the way he’d sunk deep within himself, disappointed when he was unable to produce it on his own. Derek can’t imagine what it must be like to forfeit so much independence and he knows he’d hate it every bit as much as Hotch must. Only a year ago, Hotch had stood looming over them all giving out orders and the first person they all run to when shit gets bad. JJ’s right hand no matter if she needed him to be her “bad” guy and yell at misogynists or to just be her similar ear when fleshing out theories. Now she’s his defender.

Placing his book and apple down on the visitor’s chair, he moves first to the tangled mess of blankets around Hotch’s legs. Pulling the blankets back and moving them so they sit laid across his body, actually providing him with the comfort and the warmth he wants. Tugging them up until Hotch’s arms are covered with the thick blankets and only his head peaks out. “Better now?” Derek asks, softly. He stays standing, taking Hotch’s hand and watching for Aaron to peel his eyes back open and nod his head. “Good.”

Derek sits back down and, though Hotch has closed his eyes and is just hardly awake, cracks his book open. “You must be on some next level drugs to recommend me this fucking book,” he says. Glancing just in time to see Hotch hide a smirk. “Nah, don’t play with me right now. I’m in an emotionally vulnerable place. You told me it was good and it’s not, it's sad. I’m sad all the time. I’m only sad. Why would you tell me to read this book?”

Hotch smirks, “didn’t think you’d listen… never did before.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “what does that even mean? Of course, I listen to you sometimes.” He just wishes he’d thought a little more about taking on this book. The stupid thing is breaking his heart. He’s getting comfortable again when his phone goes off, ringing and not just another text from Garcia. The one at the door had requested he tell Hotch that she loves him and he would if it was pressing but she’s about ten minutes away and can tell him herself when she gets here. But it’s not Garcia. “Hello?” he stands again, glancing at Hotch and not bothering to excuse himself when he sees Hotch doesn’t even open his eyes to see what it is.

“Is this Derek Morgan?”

Morgan glances back around as he steps out into the hall, feeling off about leaving Hotch alone in that big room. “Yeah,” Derek mumbles. “I mean, yeah, I’m Derek Morgan.”

The person on the other line hums, “I’m calling about Dr. Spencer Reid. I have his medical files here and you’re listed as his power of attorney?”

Derek freezes, “yeah. Yeah, I’m his-- I”m his power of attorney.” It had bounced around between them over the years. Jason and Hotch and now Morgan. Though the point of keeping that amidst the team was so when they went into the hospital it would be easy to get information from the hospital. You can never control what happens in the field.

“I regret to inform you that today Dr. Reid was in an automobile--”

They’re all learning the hard way the field isn’t the only place where they relinquish control.

Derek laughs. Tears sting his eyes and he laughs. For the last month-- no God since fucking January, it’s supposed to be Hotch. He had a suit tailored to fit him because of all the weight he’s lost. Clothes picked out and a tie he and Emily and Garcia fight over at least once a week. Hotch refuses the one Emily likes and Garcia hates it when Emily argues that Hotch will be dead so what does he even care. There’s a Will they’ve been over at least a dozen times and contingency plans for Jack. Derek hasn’t planned and overthought every word he’s said to Hotch in the last year afraid something stupid will be the last for it to be…

“Yeah-- yeah I hear you.”

“Again, I’m very sorry.”

“Yeah,” Derek breathes. “Okay.” He stands there with the phone pressed to his ear long after the line dies. He just stares. Unable to comprehend what just happened. What is happening? It’s just really not their year. Emily never shuts up about how close they are, just over the hill or some bullshit equivalent metaphor. But she’s not the one forcing herself back together knowing that if Hotch suspects Derek’s hiding anything it’ll kill him. He’ll stress himself out trying to figure out what it is and if he does figure it out or even if he doesn’t… it will kill him. He steps back into the room, double-checking that Hotch won’t see that he’s just cried. “Hey--” he stops right there at the door. 

Hotch is sitting up with his eyes vacantly cast to the blank wall in front of him. His shoulders pull up to expand his lungs but he can’t get enough air. “Hotch?” Derek looks around the room, to the monitors picking up speed as his heart rate rockets and his blood pressure drops. “Hotch, you okay?”

Hotch looks over to Morgan and then back at the wall. “I can’t breathe,” he pulls at the gown loosely holding onto his shoulders. “Something--” his face pinches, a hushed cry of pain leaving his lips as he folds into himself. “It won’t-- Somethings-- Somethings wrong.”

Derek moves to step in but he freezes as the room is filled with the sound of very, very angry sounding machines. He stumbles back, watching Hotch fall back onto the bed. Kicking and writhing as he tries to breathe. He’s not even sure what to do. His mind is fogged with the news about-- God, how’s he supposed to tell Hotch? Garcia’s coming, he’ll have to tell her. And Dave and Emily and JJ. They can’t handle this. They won’t make it. 

“Excuse me,” a nurse steps past Derek and he stumbles back. He hits the wall behind him, jumping hard at the sudden jarring hit. Derek looks back at Hotch one more time, watching his legs slide back down to the bed. His frantic wheezing gets softer. And Derek walks away. He runs away. He can’t be there.

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

 Mid-February

Emily looks down at the comforter, playing with the soft material rather than looking at him. He is laying down, stretched out beside her. It’s the first time she’s seen him vulnerable-- the first time she sees the way that he has no control over what his body decides to do anymore. Ice pack over his head, trying to soothe his headache, and a bloodied tissue in the other as he awaits the next nose bleed. They’re close enough to touch despite having a whole bed to layout on. His leg against her side, her arm near his hip. 

“I’m sorry,” he offers nasally. Turning his head to look over at her, she winces at the sight of his bloodied face. “I know it’s a lot to ask.”

She looks down at her lap, scratching at her pants so that she doesn’t have to look at him. It is a lot to ask. It’s a job she’s had before and for a long time. After Foyet he asked her to be his power of attorney because Haley wouldn’t be able to while in protective custody and as they stood she was the only person who could stand to be around him. She’d agreed, so long as he’d be hers that way she could get her mother off the list. They’d done the paperwork together. 

“I don’t want Dave--” he chokes himself up. Holding his hand over his mouth as he averts his eyes away, trying to hide just how upset the idea makes him. “He, ugh, I don’t want to… He had a son, you know? A-- A baby and I don’t mean to say I’m, you know, but I don’t want something to happen and force him to…” 

Dave cares very deeply for all of them but it’s no secret that he has a special little attachment to Aaron and Emily. A bond that is a little more pronounced, he just knows how to deal with them. Something about that reckless nature of theirs that he knows all too well. Emily knows what Hotch means even if he can’t bring himself to say it. Before making Dave his power of attorney was a matter of convenience. Now he has to think, far more than before, about who he knows will make the right decisions. 

“Aaron,” she squeezes his hand. “I’ll do it.” Her heart hurts just to think about the worst-case scenarios. Imagines doctors asking way too many questions and his lifeless body spread out on a stretcher waiting for her to tell them they can pull life-support. Will she find herself in charge of a zombie, hovering between life and death, and all he has is her by his side and her voice to go by. To tell the doctors they can try shocking his stilled heart one more time or if they can stop dumping chemo into his unresponsive veins. What is she getting herself into?

“One condition.” she barters. “You be mine again. Old times sake.”

He’d caved because he knew it was the only way to win. 

In another hospital on a metal tray in the E.R. soaked in blood and screen cracked, Emily Prentiss’ phone sits idle. The decision to make him her medical proxy was a whim but there was an air of urgency in making her his. To him, they were playing with time and he hates waiting for the inevitable. She’d just wanted things to go back to the way that they were before. Coming home because she misses them and maybe working in the BAU or at least within the FBI again. She gets to be his right-hand man again and she and Dave and Hotch get to spend afternoons drinking in Hotch’s office. 

It wasn’t supposed to mean this. 

This was never supposed to happen.

David Rossi picks up the unknown call, agitated to be bothered while he’s driving. “This is he.” He gets onto the high-way and grimaces at the carnage of mangled and warped metal sitting on the side. Waving the man in the fireman’s suit who directs him into an adjacent lane but he’s not spared the sight of the crimson pools of blood baking under the sun. He shakes his head, sighing sadly. 

He nearly causes another wreck. 

“Are-- Are you sure you have the right… I mean, I just it’s hard to believe because--”

“Yes, sir. Ms. Prentiss’ I.D. was found on her person at the scene. We’ll have to have someone come to identify the body but yes--”

The body. 

He just opened the text she sent. Urging him to go to the hospital sooner because she was leaving to go get Reid and didn’t want Hotch sitting there alone any longer than he had to. She’s always thinking about that, covering them in ways they hadn’t thought of. Sending them articles about cancer and never seeming to have to ask Hotch anything just knowing. There were two texts, one that was distinctly her and the other Reid. Too much grammatical rule-following to be Emily who texts by shortening every word she can and miss-spelling the other half. 

If Emily’s dead… where’s Reid?

He has no choice but to keep driving to execute this one thing that’s been asked of him. He’s going to go sit with Aaron until someone else comes and he’ll keep this all under wraps. Just a few years ago Aaron pulled off the opposite, convincing them Emily was dead. Let them bury her and work through their grief assessments all while knowing she was alive. Dave can manage this. 

But Aaron hadn’t fooled Dave. 

And Dave doesn’t fool Aaron for a second.

“Where is she, David?”

David. No one else is there when he arrives and no amount of water he splashes across his face can wash away the deep red agony of the mourning he feels in his bones. To lose a child… He can’t protect any of them. Another painful reminder to hit him like a kick as he steps into Aaron’s hospital room. Watching as the staff around Aaron plunge drugs into his forever thinning body. Even though he knows there’s nothing to be done now, it’s a futile fight.

The weight of his body in that visitor’s chair is unwelcomed, wrong. 

Aaron’s body might fail him every chance it gets but he’s been a profiler his whole life. It’s the only way to survive and now is no exception. No amount of Dave’s soft diversion will distract him from the red swelling around Dave’s eyes. From the wet rings around his sleeves where he didn’t push his sleeves up high enough before splashing water onto his face. And he pieces his own truth together through what Dave won’t tell him. 

Until he knows.

“Don’t lie to me,” he asks softly. They’d tried to intubate him just after Derek left but he’d refused it. Fought between heaving breaths until they left him alone. Gave him the steroids and left him to his own devices. He didn’t care right in that moment or even now as his chest burns from the exertion. No more, he’s decided. He’s tired and in pain. No more cuts and tubes and hospitals. The sort of thing that he’s expecting to scream and fight with Emily about. Only the papers are on their way, waiting to be signed by his trembling hand, and she’s not here. “Please, Dave. Don’t lie to me.” 

David Rossi is a bad man. Not so much a coward as just his morals askew, the things he’s willing to do and the things that he does do… Though for all the bad things he’s done, he knows that Emily and Aaron keep turning back around expecting Dave to be there. Needing him to come into their chaotic as all hell lives as if he has a place at that table. But his place is there, the plate set. Aaron is looking back at him, asking just a simple thing of Dave. It’s right there and the truth will kill him but a lie will shatter all that they have. 

“She’s dead, Aaron.” 

Dave continues on as Aaron chokes, turning his face away from Dave.

“Derek thinks it was the snow. She and Reid… there was just so much snow and when she--”

“No!” he doesn’t want to hear it. “No, please leave me alone.” The panic builds up like the fluid in his lungs. Until he’s choking on both and can hardly breathe. He doesn't want to hear anything. Doesn’t want to know that it happened.

“Aaron?” Dave stands from his chair, trying to reach out to him but Aaron pulls his hand away. 

“Please,” he wheezes, fingers wound into his gown. “Please, Dave, please go.”

A nurse steps into the room and Dave looks back at and then to Aaron and he listens. For once in his life he listens to Aaron’s pained cries and he relents. He steps out of the room, pushing hot tears off his cheeks with his fists. He’s losing them. Lost them. It’s far too late now. What was Aaron holding on to before? The idea of living was only entertaining with the prospect of getting to work with Emily again-- being on the team. Aaron’s been convinced for far too long now that Jack would be better off with Jessica and the past few months, in his mind, have only proven that. The team functions without him, they’ve been sent off on cases without him. Morgan taking charge. It’s not the first time Morgan's taken charge. 

So, what does that leave? 

His mess has been cleaned up. He doesn’t have to pretend to be strong for Reid. Doesn't have to stay for Emily. Derek will take care of the team. Jessica will raise Jack. It’s better this way. Garcia and JJ don’t need him, they never have. Dave’s always saying how he needs friends his own age. This puts them on a new path. A new leg. They’ll be okay.

It’s better this way. It really is.

“Sir?” 

Hotch signs the papers-- all of them. A DNR that Emily had once rolled her eyes at him for even considering. She wouldn’t let it get that bad, she’d promised with a chuckle. He’s not dying on her. Funny how just a little snow changes everything. He signs himself out of the hospital and realizes that he doesn’t have anyone to come get him. A nurse tries to talk to him, to comfort or console but he’s consumed by his grief. Shaking as his silent sobs shake his thin body. She’s nearly afraid he’ll kill himself like this, crying so hard that he can’t breathe.

He takes a taxi home. Forehead leaning against the cool glass and thankful that the man driving doesn’t even bother to pretend to be interested in him. No one’s at the house but she’s everywhere. Her coat on the floor where it had fallen off the rack. A pair of her shoes right in front of the door, he nearly trips over them. A mug she left out on the counter. A book left she’ll never finish on the couch. A sweatshirt thrown over a chair. 

His feet carry him on autopilot, body too tired to fight but he can’t make it back to his room. If she were here-- he’d still be in the hospital-- she’d bully him back onto his feet. Rolling her eyes and keeping him in motion. She always seems to know when to push and when to cave and he doesn’t. He can’t tell the difference between pain that he can push through and pain that’s going to kill him. 

Well… maybe it’s pain that is killing him now. 

The couch is cold but the blankets are kept in a chest too far away. Across the living room just far enough away that he knows he might be able to get to it but he won’t be able to get back to the couch. All he can do is look over at it.  

He already misses her. The way she buzzes about everywhere or how she’d probably force him to sit up and watch some shitty sitcom with her. He’s gotten used to her invading his personal space and demanding his attention. Talking all the time even if he doesn’t respond. 

He’s alone again. 

How did he ever set out thinking he could do this in the first place without her? 

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

He gets worse, quick. 

The pneumonia is what’s hurting him the worst, the cancer spreads slowly but the pneumonia settles deep in his lungs. Breathing is taxing, consumes far too much of his energy. Once, maybe a few weeks ago, he would have assured them that he would be fine. There’s no need to worry. It’s hard to lie about something like that when he needs Derek’s help to stand, when he can’t sit up on his own without being propped up by pillows. 

They argue where he can’t hear them, not that it matters anymore. 

He wants to go to the funerals but it’s still cold out. How are they supposed to make that happen? Derke hates the idea, tells JJ to just abdon whatever plan she’s come up with because he’s not going. He’s still convinced they can force life back into him, go back and fix everything. He’s living in some world where there is no cancer or car accident and Emily’s in London and Reid’s in Las Vegas visiting his mother. 

JJ goes on. She picks out a suit and finds his best jacket. Hunts down a nice blanket and takes the wheelchair the hospital offered them. She smiles and tells Garcia that she’s an angel when she knits him a black hat to pull down over his head, beaming when she produces a matching scarf. “It’s got a little blue in it,” Garcia says, showing her the dark blue accenting the ends. “That’s his favorite color.”

JJ squats down beside the bed, pulling her dress up so her knees can bend, and she can move how she’d like. Gently, afraid touch alone will unravel him, she places her hand on his shoulder. She doesn’t shake him, she just rubs her hand over his arm until his eyes crack open. “You’re still sure you want to do this?” she asks as he slowly places himself. A weary, bone-tired weight settling over his face as he looks back at her processing what she’s asked. 

He glances at his nightstand to the alarm clock sitting to his right. They’ve given him an hour, which is more time than he’d normally need, but they’re not moving at his normal pace. They’re moving at their own pace, how quickly they can work him into clothes. With a nod, he sets them into motion. There used to be a time when he could be picky about these sorts of things-- who saw him naked and who he allowed to help him. Now he can’t go to the bathroom unless someone helps him drag his stiff bones there. Can’t stand unless he’s leaning into someone else’s strength. 

He’s folded into JJ, going where she pulls him into her chest, so that Derek can slide in behind him and help her work his unwilling arms and legs into pants and a shirt. The day isn’t altogether that weary just a little cold. Considering the weight he’s lost, it makes things easier for them to layer his clothes. He lets JJ pull a long-sleeved t-shirt over his head, slowly working his arms into the sleeves while she finds his white button-up and the black sweater Morgan laid out to go underneath it. It takes her no time to attack the buttons on his shirt. He gets no real warning from Derek as the black sweater is tugged down and he hears a soft, pleased huff of a half-laugh that Derek gets out of his surprised grunt. 

JJ frowns at Derek, unamused with him. She squats down by Aaron’s legs, JJ cups his cheek, tilting his head up so she can look into his eyes. Stroking her thumb across his cheek, “you don’t have to come, Hotch. No one will--”

“I do,” he whispers. “I can’t-- I won’t forgive myself if…”

So he goes and she’s glad he’s there because she doesn’t want to be alone. There’s something still grounding about him being there, sitting there beside them. Squeezing their hands to comfort them, offering Garcia a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. It’s like… It’s nearly like he’s himself for a day. Holding JJ to his chest and rubbing her back until she can stand and give the eulogy she’d written. He’s talking softly to Morgan, the two of them taking charge of the day and Derek is just relieved to be told what to do again. To have a plan of action that he doesn’t have to come up with. 

Jack stays glued to him, sitting in his lap or holding tight to Hotch’s sleeve. 

Hotch is Hotch. He stifles his coughs and sits up straight. Pretending is exhausting and by the end of the day, the other’s flooding his dining room with the thick scent of food and soft sniffles as they cry and laugh, he settles into the couch. Listening to Derek tell the story about the time he took Spencer hiking and the kid twisted his ankle half-way to the top, didn’t tell Derek, and he had to carry him all the way back down. It was like listening to a podcast, Spencer telling them all kinds of things about every little thing they passed. At the time he was annoyed but now...

Jack stops at the end of the couch, sniffling as he uses his sweatshirt’s sleeve to wipe his nose. It’s obvious he’s been crying no matter how hard he’s tried to cover it up. His eyes get red and the skin around his eyebrows very pale, he gets that from Haley. Neither of them has ever been able to hide their tears. They’re cryers, Hotch knows, Jessica is too. He finds it terribly endearing and he’s always adored their ability to be so sensitive. He’s glad Jack never lost it… he hopes he never loses it. 

“Don’t wipe your nose on your sleeve,” Hotch says as well as he can. It’s hard to breathe around the fluid in his lungs but he can manage anything for Jack. He’ll do anything for him. “That’s gross.”

Jack giggles because he’s young and boogers on his sleeve are something to laugh about. Hiding his face by looking down at the floor he stumbles over to the couch. Sinking down onto his knees with a little thunk and folding over the cushions until he can press his face into the stack of blankets over his father’s body. He turns his head, looking up at his father, and smiles again. Closing his eyes when Hotch puts his hand over Jack’s cheek, stroking back the overgrown hairs. “Daddy?” Jack doesn’t know the word for the way that he feels but it’s anxiety. He’s terrified and he’s anxious because losing Haley had been quick and he hadn’t even known it was happening. 

Losing his father is… everywhere he looks. 

“What is it, buddy?” Hotch strokes the soft blonde strands back behind Jack’s ear. Lost to the simple soothing motion. 

Jack turns his face into the blankets, relieved to smell something homely. From what feels like so long ago. It doesn’t smell like Jessica’s house or like the hospital. It just smells like his dad and home and like everything that has been happening is one great big old lie. He doesn’t want to cry but no matter how hard he wipes at his tears they keep coming.

“Okay, okay.” Hotch can’t lift Jack but he still manages to catch one of Jack’s furiously rubbing hands. His grip isn’t strong and Jack could pull free but he doesn’t. “Buddy--”

“You’re gonna die, aren’t you?”

He put off this conversation far too long but it still hits like a MACK truck. “Bud--” he swallows thickly, wincing at the stab of pain across his chest. Right, he’s reminded, have to stay still. And Jack sees it. No matter how hard they’ve all tried to protect him he sees Hotch freeze as the pain overwhelms him. Unable to speak, just has to keep forcing air in and out of his failing lungs. It is only a minute but Jack watches frozen in horror as Hotch slowly comes back. “Sorry,” he whispers, unable to make his voice any louder. 

Jack is holding his hand, hiccuping softly. “Mommy probably misses you,” he whispers, tentatively. 

Hotch smiles but doubts that. Tears swell and he can’t even wipe them away. “I’m so sorry Jack.” He’s making an orphan out of his son. He’s just a baby. Someone else will teach him how to shave and someone else will sit with him when he opens his acceptance letters to all kinds of great colleges. Hotch will never get to see him graduate-- not even from elementary school. He’ll never struggle to piece together what to say when Jack gets his first heart-break or to find out if he’s into men or women or likes to wear nail polish or if he’s a coffee fiend like him or hates it like Haley. 

He won’t be there.

“I’ll still talk to you,” Jack offers. “I promise. I’ll tell you anything and everything--” there are tears pouring down his little face. Frantic now and Hotch isn’t sure which of them he’s trying to console. “And-- and--” Jack’s lower lip curls under the other and lets out a choked sob. He tries to hide it but it comes out he sits up, pushing himself as close as he can get to Hotch. “I don’t want you to die. I don’t want you to be with Mommy. I want you. Why can’t you stay with me?”

It’s not the first time Jack felt anger towards his mother but it’s the first of many times he hates both his parents. His mother for not being here and father for being weak because that’s all Jack can understand. That cancer is a battle and his father, the man he thought invincible, is losing. So he must not be fighting hard enough. Why can’t he just fight harder? Why isn’t Jack enough?

Why aren’t any of them?

Garcia knits him thick winter hats but he’ll never make it long enough to see the next snowfall and need them. He takes the hats she brings him and lets her start new ones even though he knows he’ll never see their completion. Jack draws pictures, endless in supply, and they go up all around Hotch. JJ takes the time to pin each one someplace he can see it. 

His awareness goes first. The confusion that sets in… it’s hard to know what to say. They never know what to do.

He asks about work. JJ takes his hand and talks him through old cases. Tries to settle on the good ones and he lets her. Smiling comes easy when there’s winning and she reminds him of the children they did save. Of the goods things.

He tells them that he’s not in any pain but he’ll get confused a few moments later and with tears streaming down the sides of his face ask them why it hurts. Trembling and looking so desperate, choking in pain and shuddering as he fights it. “Why?” he asks. He doesn’t honestly know why it hurts or why they won’t help. “Everything-- Everything hurts--” And sometimes he can’t even speak. Just has this hazy glow to his eyes as he shakes and coughs. And there’s nothing they can do for him.

The worst is that he won’t stop asking for Emily. They come up with so many lies and sometimes they can get little smiles out of him by telling him something clever if it feels right and like something silly she would do. It’s hard to be so positive in the face of that very fresh wound but it’s so much worse when he does remember. When he asks and then hardens and whispers, “no… no, it’s okay. I remember.” He looks so much happier when he doesn’t.

He stops eating two days before he gives up drinking. 

“Just a sip,” Garcia begs, crying and knowing what this means. 

Hotch just looks back at her but he’s not there.

“Leave him alone, baby girl.” And Derek pulls her out of the room as she cries, sobbing and screaming because she can’t stand to lose anymore. Emily and Reid and now he’s going too. It’s too late she knows to tell him the things that she needs to. What if he doesn’t know that she loves him? He might stay if he knew that, right? He wouldn’t leave her. She’d ask Derek to promise he won’t leave but Hotch did that too once. Crotched down in front of her office chair and took her hand and promised that all she needed him he’d be here. 

Well, she still needs him, okay? So… 

Now it’s borrowed time. 

“Let’s go outside, old man.” Derek has to stop, turning his head to the side when Hotch smirks at the way he says ‘old man’. A tear falls down the side of his face and rubs it away, harder than necessary. It’s a practiced maneuver, he lifts Hotch and puts him in the wheelchair. He’s careful, wrapping Hotch in as many blankets as he finds within arm’s reach, propping his sides up with pillows. Suddenly, overcome by just the way Hotch’s bed looks. Two years ago it was empty, only ever occupied by him. Now they sleep here with him every night, trying to make sure that if he goes in his sleep he’s not alone. So that they can have the comfort of knowing they were here and they did do everything they could.

“Jack,” Hotch rasps as they approach the door. 

“Can you hear him?” Derek asks, opening the back door and closing his eyes against the sun he feels on his skin. “Look at him,” Derek says, “ out here running around like a heathen.” Jack doesn’t notice them and neither does Henry. The two loudly going on about their game dodgeball or maybe keep-away it’s hard to tell. There’s just a lot of thrilled shouting. It makes Derek smile, seeing them just be kids. 

He puts Hotch in the shade and waves to Garcia and JJ already standing out there, the two of them dragging out chairs to stand in the sun. The two of them move to soak in a strangely warm day. After all the snow, all of which still hasn’t melted, a random nearly sixty degree day with a bright hot sun feels like spring. “You okay here?” Derek asks, setting the brakes.

Hotch nods, smiling softly as he watches Derek join Dave and the boys in the yard. He watches them play, hears Jack scream with pure joy when Derek throws him up into the air and when JJ fusses with all four of them for even thinking about taking off their jackets. They go on and on and he gets tired just watching them. Resting his head against the wheelchair he does his best to keep his coughs soft, undetectable to the others. He’s cold but he doesn’t want to go inside just yet and though it’s hard to breathe he doesn’t want anything. He just wants to watch a little longer.

Just a little longer. 

Derek isn’t sure what it is, something churning in his stomach, but he looks up. Eyes moving across the lawn-- Garcia knitting under the safety of her large brimmed hat and JJ stretched out on a chair trying to read. Jack has Henry pinned, the two of them going on wrestling with or without Derek now that he’s distracted. 

“Hotch?” Derek steps closer. Derek feels it crawl up his throat, a rabid animal clawing and ripping him to shreds. He wants to rush over, fights the urge to run over and shake him but he already knows. He glances over to Dave, listens to the older man chuckle and shove at Henry who tries to overpower him. Sees JJ smile at something on her page and Garcia frown and undo a piece she’s messed up.

For a moment, he’s the only one that knows and he isn’t sure what to do. How to shield Jack from this or who he’s supposed to call. 

“Uncle Derek!” Henry screams, begging to be released from where Dave has him pinned to the ground mercilessly tickling his sides. 

Derek looks back at Hotch one more time, forcing himself not to cry. This is what he wanted, right? Not in a hospital or hooked up to machines. He was sitting in his yard and listening to what’s left of his family enjoy a warm sunny day. 

“I’m coming buddy,” he finally manages, smiling at Jack when he comes running up. Hoping that for just a few more minutes Derek can preserve something of his youth. Remind him how much fun he had today. That these parts be what he remembers. 

“Uncle Derek?” Jack asks, once Derek pulls him up into his arms. “I think we should go get ice cream. Don’t you? I’ll get strawberry and I’ll even share with daddy. Henry will be good too! Please?” 

Derek nods and smiles, “why don’t you get Uncle Dave to take you, huh?” He nods to Dave, “take these heathens to get some ice cream.” 

And Derek Morgan stands all by himself as he ushers them away, tells them to go on that he and Hotch will be fine. Go, go, and don’t come back without a cone for him. Waits until he can’t see the car anymore and he allows himself to cry. Sucking in choked breathes as he walks back to the yard. Pulling up the breaks. “Come on,” he whispers to Hotch. “One last time, old man.” He’s almost expecting that lazy smile. To hear Hotch grumble his name in that exasperated tone Derek loves so much. Only to be met with silence. 

Nothing. 

They didn’t say goodbye.

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan, @lazyhater

[burning-omen]

Break the Rules part 2

Peter Parker x Male!Mob boss!reader

Summary: The next morning with reader, Peter, a unexpected (and unwanted) guest, and an even less welcome anxiety attack....fun, right?

Warning: a little bit of anxiety and a small anxiety attack. OH AND GUNS! I ALMOST FORGOT! Murder threats and mentions too!

Part 1

Word count: 2879

A/n: Writers block is kicking my a*s so part 3 might take longer. Also, there’s a scene that I f*cking hate so much, like reading makes me want to cringe so hard, there’s nothing wrong with it, I just wish I went somewhere else with this chapter.

Oh, Peter also forgets his pants at some point, just a little heads up.

Last time: You settled down in your own bedroom, hanging your coat and tie up by the door before drifting off to sleep.

Now:

The next morning you woke up, only to hear Peter loudly exclaim “what the hell!” From the other room.

You groaned then sat up, still hearing Peter panicking in the other room. You made your way to him, only to see him sitting on the bed with the most panicked expression you’ve ever seen on a human person.

“Peter...relax yourself..”

His eyes snapped over to you. “Where am I?!”

“Fucking Christ…” you groaned. You’d woken up with a headache that felt far too similar to a hangover for you liking. “...you’re in my house. Yours was swarming with police and I wouldn’t want them to see me or you. Understand?”

He nodded slowly.

“Good, so you're done yelling then?”

He flushed red then nodded with a small chuckle.

“Sorry…”

Groaning again, you said, “it’s fine, just come down stairs when you're ready, okay?”

“O-okay..”

“Great..” with that you walked out of the room.

You honestly had no idea why you were being so nice to Peter. You’ve never shown this kind of hospitality to anyone before. So all of this was very new to you.

Maybe this had something to do with the sudden thought you had last night.

You walked down the stairs and to the kitchen. The entire bottom floor had been completely illuminated by sunlight making cooking yourself and your guest a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and sausage a lot easier. You were a little surprised that there was food in the house. Then you remembered that you’d been paying your neighbors to bring in groceries every few weeks.

You heard light thumping from upstairs then saw Peter emerge from the stairway...with no pants. You could feel your cheeks heat up at the sight...he knows he’s not wearing pants, right?

From the looks of it the answer was no, he came and sat on one of the stools on the outside of the counter then folded his arms and laid on them.

“Sorry for taking so long…” he said through a yawn.

You cleared your throat a little then said, “it’s fine.” With a small voice crack. “It seems you’ve made yourself at home..”

He laughed softly and said, “I hope you don’t mind. Your house is just very relaxing to me.”

“I don’t mind at all..”

The house was silent other than the sounds of you preparing both yours and Peter’s plate. He looked up at you suspiciously.

“What is it?”

“Just...why are you being so nice to me? Like I understand that you want me to work for you but it seems like it’s…”

“It seems like what, Peter?”

He picked up the fork on the counter and twirled it in his hand.

“I don’t know… To me it looks like you want me to do more than just work for you…” he said, getting quieter and quieter, sinking down farther into his seat as he went on.

Well fuck. You see, you’re not the best with emotional confrontation. Or emotional anything for that matter. You could easily put on a simple “I’m Just A Suave Kind Of Person” act but that just makes you look like a fool because this has gone far beyond just being charming.

“Well...” you cleared your throat, trying to find the right words for the moments. “You see, I’ve just bee-“

You were cut off by the very loud sound of your front door being practically thrown off its hinges by no other than Markus Cane, aka one of the lower level(but not bottom tear) players from your more “private” games. He was very clearly enraged. More than likely about his recent losing streak, an unfortunate occurrence that's bringing him closer to being kicked out of the game permanently. Now he's broken into your house while you have an important guest over, which has just brought him a lot closer to death.

But, instead of letting the growing rage inside you show you spoke to the man in the calmest of tones.

“Markus Cane? What brings y-”

You were, once again, interrupted by him.

“You mother fucker!” He shouted, “You’re the reason my life has gone to shit You and your little games!”

You rolled your eyes at the disheveled man, “Is this about you losing the last few games? Because I can assure you that your...inability to play a proper game has nothing to do with me. I only run fair games, it’s your own fault that you lost.”

“Bullshit!” He pulled a pistol out of the waistband of his pants and aimed it straight at you...Sort of.

It was obvious he hadn’t slept in days, he had dark circles under his red bloodshot eyes. His hands shook and his body swayed as a clear sleep deprivation. He was delirious.

“You’re always pulling the strings in those games! Always behind the scenes telling the croupiers what to do! You set me up!”

“Trust me, I had no interest in your downfall..”

He looked at you with confusion, “‘Had’?”

“Yes Markus, had. I don’t know if you noticed but you’ve broken into my house, throw ridiculous accusations at me and now you're threatening my life, all of this done in front of my current guest of honor. At the moment I want you dead.” You said, your tone never changing.

Markus stumbled backward, the weight of what he’d done crashing down on him. He backed himself into a wall, his hands shaking so hard that he dropped the gun. It seemed as though the safety was still on so it collided with the ground without going off.

Peter, who you hadn’t been too focused on at the moment, rushed to grab it before settling back onto the stool, setting it on the table. All done while keeping his eyes on the man, who was now overcome with the realization that he was more than definitely dead.

“L-listen man, I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a joke!” He stuttered.

You walked from around the counter, placing your hand on Peter's shoulder for a moment before moving forward towards the man.

He was frozen, mouth agape watching you.

“Now, I would normally kill a fool like you who decided to interrupt my peaceful morning, but I have a guest and that would be rude. And the clean up would take hours, hours that I don’t want to waste on idiots like you. So i’ll give you ten seconds to get as far away from here as possible..” Your voice shifted, turning to a lower, more threatening tone.

Markus stared at you for a long moment not moving until you said, “You have 5 seconds Markus..”

He was out of your house immediately, slamming the door behind him.

You turned back to Peter, who was staring at the door Markus had run through moments before.

“Peter?” You said, your tone changing from the anger laced one you used earlier to a much softer, calmer voice.

He turned to look at you, his eyes wide and bright as though you hadn’t just threatened to murder someone.

“Yes?”

You sighed, leaning against the counter next to him.

“I think it’s time for us to go.”

He nodded, hopping up from the stool.

“Okay, I’ll go grab my shoes from upstairs.”

“Mhmm, make sure you grab your pants while you're up there..”

He looked at you with confusion clear on his face, “What?”

Without looking back at him (less in a respectful way and more in a ‘I don’t want to start staring’ way) you gesture downward.

He looked down, then blush quickly took over his face.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” He shouted before running up the stairs quickly.

You went up a little after he did, heading to your own room. Quickly getting yourself ready for the day ahead of you, grabbing your tie and putting on your shoes as you exited the room.

By the time you were done and heading back down the stairs Peter was already there (with pants this time) staring down at his lap, blush still covering his face.

“Are you ready to leave?”

He nodded, more than likely too embarrassed to speak at the moment.

“Alright, lets go.” You walked over to the door with Peter right behind you, grabbing the keys from the small table next to it.

The both of you walked out, the sun was beaming down but a cool breeze evened out the temperature.

You unlocked the car doors, watching Peter slide into the passenger side quickly. You got into the driver's seat and started the car. You drove in silence for 20 minutes, every so often Peter would look over at you like he wanted to say something but would always go back to fumbling with his hands in his lap.

You decided to interrupt his anxious cycle, besides you were almost at your place of business and you wouldn’t be able to talk to him until after he was done with whatever work he has to do today or if he was suddenly brave enough to walk all the way up to your office on his own, which you doubted he would.

“Is there something you want to say, Peter?”

He stumbled and tripped over his words nervously, creating an illegible sequence of sounds.

“I can’t understand you, Peter, you need to relax..”

He stopped, taking a long breath before speaking again.

“If I wasn’t there, would you have killed that man?” He asked, barely above a whisper.

He didn’t want to talk about it but he felt like he had to know. Did he really change your decision that much? So much that you went from Yes Murder to No Murder in a matter of seconds.

“Probably. I don’t usually take any kind of disrespect from anyone, ever… But, you were there and I didn’t want to subject you to that, especially this early in the morning.”

There was a long silence after that.

Peter didn’t know how to respond and you had nothing more to say on the subject.

As you drew closer and closer to the large building both of you worked at Peter felt as though he should say something, you offered him a job, taken care of him while he slept and cooked him breakfast so he figured some sort of thanks was necessary. (You also didn’t murder a guy because of him but what ever.) By the time he figured out what he wanted to say to you, you’d already arrived at your destination but that didn’t stop him.

“I-I…” He started, but all the things he planned to say died on his tongue when you looked over at him.

His internal monologue turned to one word in that moment. Fuck, fuck, fuck…

He gulped, feeling a knot coil in his chest and in a very sudden moment his mind was on fire. Not a single coherent thought ran through his head and he felt his throat close up. So he did what he always did in moments of anxiety, he left. He opened the car door and ran into the building, not really realizing that you had to go in there too. But at that moment it didn’t matter, he had to get away. He had to get away from you, being in that car with you was throwing him into a weird anxious panic. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know why. But once he was away from you it got better.

You were less confused than Peter was, you’d watched him long enough to know that speaking was a problem for him. Especially in situations where he felt he needed to speak but he still felt rude and interruptive if he did. But then he was flooded with the many thoughts of how it could go wrong or how the other person, the other person being you this time, would feel, which would panic him and cause him to leave as fast as possible.

You understood, he was having a hard time speaking, he panicked, he left.

It was a bit rude of him to leave your door open but you could excuse it just this once.

You got out of your car, locking the doors then pocketing the keys. Slamming your door shut before walking around to the other side and closing the door that Peter had left open.

As you walked inside and up the stairs you could feel multiple eyes watching you. Before you disappeared up the stairs completely you looked down at the many low level idiots below, and then you spotted Peter. His cheeks were a dark pink and his eyes were teary, he stared down at his feet, tapping the left with the right every few seconds. He looked so upset, not quite sad or angry just…upset.

Seeing him like that hurt. It hurt a lot.

You made him feel that way, not intentionally, no. You would never, Still, he was feeling that way because of you.

You wanted to help him, to comfort him and tell him that everything was okay but you know that you had piles of work you couldn’t get behind on. They were important and then needed to be done. That had to be done, it wasn’t opsional.

And then you remembered something that made you want to grin like a cat.

This is your business. This was your building. These were your workers.

You were in control of everything that happened here, you chose what was important.

And what was important to you right now was that boy downstairs that was looking like a kicked puppy.

So you walked back down the stairs, cut through the large group of associates that flooded the lowest floor and got to Peter.

You gently grabbed his hand, holding it close to your chest and rubbing his palm slowly with your thumb. He didn’t meet your eyes only staring at your hand clasping his.

“Peter?”

He didn’t respond but you could tell he was listening.

“Would you like to go home?” You asked in a low voice.

He quickly shook his head no.

“Okay, okay...where do you want to go? I’m not letting you stay down here, not with how you are right now.?”

He looked up at you for a moment before slowly pointing to the ceiling with his free hand. It took you a moment to figure out what he meant.

“My office?”

He nodded and squeezed your hand tightly.

“Alright, lets go..”

In seconds you were pulling the shaking boy behind you up multiple flights of stairs. In the time it took you to get to your office you’d become winded, while Peter on the other hand looked almost completely fine. His chest rising and falling a bit faster than normal but other than that there was no indication that you’d dragged him up a shit ton of stairs.

Once you caught your breath you gently guided Peter to the chair he’d sat in the previous night. You leaned back against the front of your desk, your hands on either side of you, keeping you balanced.

“So… Are you feeling any better?”

He didn’t respond for a long while, and for a moment you thought he wasn’t going to.

“A little...I-” he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment to regain control of his thoughts, “I thought getting out of the car would help but just...being in there with all those people, I-it only made it worse. For a second I felt like I couldn’t breath, it was sudden an-and unexpected.”

You opened your mouth to say something but stopped yourself.

“Honestly I don’t understand why I was suddenly so nerve wrecked back in the car. I’d been fine the entire ride but at the end I just...wasn’t.” He looked up at you quickly. “I’m not always like this, I swear! I just…”

“You’re having a rough morning, I get it. It happens.”

“I-I know, I guess I should have at least tried to handle it a bit more professionally,” he muttered.

You laughed a little, pushing yourself off of the desk and leaning closer to Peter.

“I’ve seen you in your underpants, it doesn’t get more unprofessional than that..”

His face immediately flushed red, stammering he refused to meet your eyes, “Sorry about that…”

“Don’t worry about it, you were tired, it’s an easy mistake to make..”

“Yeah, at home. Not at the house of a man you don’t even know the name of.”

This made you freeze, had you really not told him your name?

You felt you face heat up, visible or not you brought your hand up to your face, shielding yourself from your own embarrassment.

“O-oh crap..” you muttered to yourself.

You cleared your throat, straightening yourself out in a moment.

“You’ll have to forgive me Peter, I hadn’t realized that I never told you..”

He looked up at you with a soft smile and said, “I-It’s fine, honestly. It was a simple mistake.”

“Well then, let me fix my mistake. I’m Y/n, it’s a pleasure to meet you..”

[monsterywriting]

Thenerius - pt 2

word count: 5,675

male tiefling x female reader

Read Part 1 here

AN: whelp i guess this is getting (hopefully just) a third part... good luck to everyone else who’s going through finals week and don’t procrastinate your final projects/tests like i am! literally have a final today to study for and take after my 8 am and a portfolio due friday i haven’t started on lol

You were getting one last bucket-full of water for a much-needed bath from the pump around the back of the barn, too far to hear when the thundering sound of hooves on the dirt path approach the cottage. You also miss the shout of greeting and the sound of voices entering the cottage.

The sun was finally dipping below the horizon on a long day of playing catch-up around the homestead, and your only plans for the evening were to wash up and make dinner before passing out. So, when you finally reentered through the back door soaked in sweat and worn work clothes only to see your mother sitting at the small wooden table with none other than Thenerius, you were understandably shocked.

He was obviously here to kill you, getting revenge for how you humiliated him and refused his advances when he wanted you to accept them the most. You had been brave in that moment, brushed aside the fact that he was a pirate and more likely than not a killer, and now you would be paying the price.

When the tiefling saw you frozen at the doorway, his already bright demeanor seemed to reach the levels of the surface of the sun, blinding then burning when he stood up to greet you enthusiastically. You almost wish he was here to kill you, that fate infinitely better than whatever he actually had planned instead.

Pointedly ignoring him, you addressed your mother only, asking if she took her medicine yet.

“Your friend from work was keeping me company,” your mother smiled, though it was clear that she was drained from the encounter, “He brought your weekly payment from Aedan.”

Your head snapped over to Thenerius, the tiefling having the nerve to grin and hold up a pouch of coins. You were distracted, however, when your mother let out a soft cough she tried in vain to hold back. She broke out into a coughing fit, starting small and growing until they wracked her body.

Your concern grew, helping her to the bedroom and quickly getting some cough syrup into her. Once she was settled, you went back into the main room to deal with the purple menace.

He was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room once you returned, the pouch sitting on the table. You stalk over and grab the pouch, shoving it into the tiefling’s chest.

“You need to leave,” you hiss, beginning to usher Thenerius towards the door.

“Wait!” The bastard had the nerve to dig his heels in, refusing to move until you give up on forcing him.

“What?” You spat, glaring up at him. Perhaps you would have found it amusing, how he had to duck his head to keep his horns from scraping the ceiling, a grizzled pirate trying to make himself fit inside the cozy cottage. No, you definitely would have found it hilarious, if said pirate wasn’t in your cottage unannounced, the location of which you never divulged during working hours, apparently trying to win your affections after your admittedly callous rejection.

“I-” Thenerius hesitated, any confidence he had that carried him all the way to your home dissipating when you weren’t as responsive to his charms as he’d come to expect from you, “I wanted to apologize. You were right, about the proposal. I shouldn’t have done that.”

You blinked, having assumed you’d be given another unwanted love confession. You’re not sure what to make of the admission, though you’re certain it wasn’t a trick, as he seemed genuinely remorseful.

“What part, that we’ve only known each other for three weeks or that it was because you were so lonely and any girl who wagged her tail at you would have had you falling for her?” You’re internally grimacing as soon as the words are out, unable to believe how cold you sound even to yourself. You didn’t want to goad him to anger if he was just here to apologize.

“If my memory serves correctly, I believe the exact phrase you used was ‘bat their eyelashes’ at me.” The attempt at humor didn’t quite reach Thenerius’ eyes, but you still allowed yourself to deflate at the opportunity of a reprieve, “but that it came too soon. I had done it thinking of all the time that had passed since I met you, the time I spent halfway across the world and all I could think about was returning to you. Your smile alone made the entire six month journey worth it, but you gave me so much more in that time - not your love. I know that, now, but… your time, and affection. Once you said  that - that we’d only been in each other’s presence for three weeks - I realized, perhaps I was rushed in my assessment of who you were. I filled the gaps of who I wanted you to be in my head.”

By the end of his faltering speech, you had shut your eyes, screwing them tightly shut in order to avoid having to look into Thenerius’ eyes, the raw emotion that swelled behind them that threatened to consume you with it. You refused to allow yourself to be caught up in the moment, to let yourself fall any deeper in than you already were entrenched from his flowery words. Just words, you told yourself.

“Is that all you needed to say?” You clear your throat, opening your eyes and looking anywhere but him, your resolve thinning with the mere awareness of his gaze upon you, feeling yourself being worn down.

Perhaps ‘worn down’ wasn’t the right verbiage, though it very much felt like it. Dragging you out into the light? Exposing you to be scrutinized, or to be known? What is the difference, if any? Either way, you felt as though Thenerius could read every passing thought darting around your head at lightening speed, projecting loud and clear your true desires no matter what you could say to the contrary.

“No, I want to know you. My feelings haven’t changed since that night, but I want you to feel the same.”

You let out a deep breath you weren’t aware you were holding. The short sentence is so simple, clear in meaning and intent. It’s… infuriating. A wave of something flowed over you in that moment, a realization like a bucket of ice water dousing you. You were shaking, your realized, but not with cold.

“You want to change my mind?” You whisper, cursing yourself for your inability to do much more in this conversation than to parrot his words, “You come to my home - unprompted, in fact, considering our last conversation, entirely unnecessarily - to what, exactly? Prove that I’m some prize to be won over by you? Come see how sorry my life is, see my sick mother and how I work my ass off at the tavern and here and think I’ll jump into your arms with some words? You must know that I wouldn’t go with you. Nor would I sit here waiting for you to return from the sea, hoping you’ll return for a few weeks every year and grace me with your presence and gold.”

You pause for air, realizing with horror that you were crying of all things. You quickly run your hands over your cheeks, glaring at Thenerius in a silent challenge, waiting for him to turn tail and run, “Now go.”

In yet another turn of seemingly endless events that should no longer have surprised you with how consistently they’ve been happening, Thenerius surprised you yet again.

“Well, this is awkward. I may have sent my men back south with my ship. I’m in need of room and board,” Thenerius said, and for the life of you, no matter how closely you examined his expression, you could not figure out what the hell he was thinking.

“Go to The Deep, then. I happen to be of the inside knowledge that there’s plenty of vacancies this time of year,” you said, brushing past the tiefling on your way back to your forgotten bucket of water, ready to escape this suffocating atmosphere.

“I don’t have enough gold for the length of time I’m planning on staying,” he replied.

“This is sounding more and more like your crew left you here and took the ship for themselves,” you deadpan, hefting the bucket up and carefully carrying it back towards the bathroom.

“My crew wouldn’t do that,” Thenerius’ voice suddenly turned serious, “I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t have come here if they had.”

“Well, unlucky me, then,” you grumble, “You’re still not staying here.”

“You’re very sarcastic,” Thenerius noted, and you prayed for his sake that the comment wasn’t a part of his vow to get to know the real you.

You disappear down the hall and into the bathroom, dumping the bucket into the basin. To your great relief, the water was still steaming.

“Wait, your pay!” Thenerius walked in behind you. You could tell the exact moment he realized where he was, quickly averting his eyes from you.

You roll your eyes. As if you would undress for any reason while he was still in the house.

“Please, you may have lied to my mother, but I’m no fool,” you snort, ignoring the outstretched hand to check the water, “Mr. Thistle would never trust a pirate with money, much less tell you where I live.”

“I’ll- come back later,” he says, turning to get out the room.

“No, you’re leaving,” you follow after him.

“Dear, it’s much to too late for him to ride, he can sleep here.” You and Thenerius both jump at your mother’s sudden appearance, both of you having forgotten that you were arguing right in front of the bedroom.

“But-” your protest is cut short when she only shakes her head, and you hope to Tova that she only caught the tail-end of your conversation with Thenerius.

“If you must, you can ride with him tomorrow to ask Aedan to give him a discount. Tomorrow.”

You run your hands down your face, glancing out the nearest window to confirm it was in fact dark out.

“Fine,” you sigh, pointing at Thenerius, “but you’re gone first thing tomorrow!”

Thenerius at least has the decency to not look too excited under your scrutiny, thanking your mother quietly.

“Go wash up, mom, it’s ready,” you inform her, moving away from the doorway so she can slip past.

You consider telling Thenerius to go last in the bath, but you’re covered in dried mud and animal shit and you weren’t going to have his tavern smell stinking up the sofa.

“You’re next,” you tell him, finally noticing how cramped the hallway was with two people in it. You push past him to to sit at the table again.

Thenerius followed you, keen to the fact that he was on thin ice and remained wisely silent as you waited for your mother to finish in the bathroom.

When she exited, dressed in her nightgown and hair wrapped tightly in a towel, you ushered Thenerius in, barely giving him time to grab his bag on the floor next to the chair he’d been sitting in when you first walked in. You enter close behind, going around him to grab a towel for him to use and quickly leaving him to his privacy, letting out the longest exhale of your life once the door shut behind you. You go back to the table and sit, trying not to think about the naked tiefling in your bathtub as you started the fire under the stove.

As soon as Thenerius stepped out of the bathroom with his bag in hand, you rush in, not making eye contact before you slam the door shut behind yourself.

The water is still somewhat lukewarm, and clear enough besides the murkiness from the soap. You think about literally anything else besides the fact that Thenerius had been in the same water just minutes before you, using the bowl to run water over your hair and quickly lathering the bar soap with a clean washcloth. The sooner you get out the better, you think.

It isn’t until you’re out of the bath and looking at your nightclothes that you realize you’re going to have to wear them in front of him, unless you change into clean day clothes just to change into them in the privacy of your bedroom later.

It’s just tonight, you tell yourself, he’ll be gone tomorrow. And why would you have to modify your routine for him? He’s the one intruding. It won’t be a big deal so lang as you act like it isn’t. It’s not like you’ll be prancing around naked. They’re your winter ones, the material made much thicker than the normal cotton.

Properly talked up,  you walk out, pretending not to notice how Thenerius stops mid-sentence in a conversation with your mother to stare at you like the moon herself descended in front of him.

“I’ll have dinner ready soon.” You mumble, not stopping until you were safely in the kitchen.

You take the last eight eggs and crack them onto the iron skillet sitting on the stove, immediately sizzling before you take a flat spoon to scramble and scrape them into three plates. You then add leftover cuts from a chicken you culled from your flock a week ago to the skillet to cook, already seasoned. Then, you took the stack of unleavened bread your mother made during the day while you worked before putting them on another flat slab of iron on the stove to warm them.

Once you had a sizable enough stack for three people, you wrapped the resulting unleavened bread in cloth and balanced the three plates in your arms and carried everything back into the dining area.

You had heard Thenerius and your mother sharing a hushed conversation through the walls, but weren’t able to make out any specifics. However, when thy both immediate hushed up once you entered, it was clear who the topic of their chat was.

You set down the plates, frowning once you realized you’d have to sit next to Thenerius, as it was only a four-person table and they were already sitting at opposite ends. Once you were seated, however, the dinner conversation was thankfully limited as everyone focused on their plates.

Then it was time for your mother to take her tablets, you watching carefully as she downed them with a cup of water.  She retired to the bedroom shortly after, and though she tried to make it seem as though she was solely doing it to give you and Thenerius some privacy, it was obvious she was drained of all energy as she slowly shuffled down the hall.

You ignore Thenerius and grab the plates, taking them to the kitchen to dump the scraps in the bin and be washed. Thenerius’ plate is practically clean already, but your mother’s is concerningly hardly touched at all.

Dunking the emptied plates plates in the half-full sink, you scrub vigorously. Just as you are about to place the first one on the rack to dry, however, Thenerius takes it from you and dries it with the dishtowel.

You decide to say nothing, simply handing him the next plate once he placed the previous one on the rack.

You bring Thenerius a stack of blankets, dumping them on the cot next to where he sat for him to assemble himself.

Just as you turn to leave, a hand falls on your shoulder and you immediately stiffen. It quickly retracts.

“I don’t need this many,” Thenerius says quietly, looking dejected when you look over your shoulder at him as he tries to hand you a few of the blankets back.

“You do,” you inform him, “we’re at a higher altitude. It’s going to get colder.”

Thenerius places them back on the pile, his mouth opening and then closing. You wait. Finally, he clears his throat, “Thank you, for dinner. And for letting me stay here.”

“Thank my mom,” you reply, “and don’t get used to it. I was serious when I said you’re gone tomorrow.”

After a moment, Thenerius smiles, small but hopeful, “not first thing?”

“You have to pay for the meal and bed,” you huff, turning back around and going into the bedroom, careful to be quiet as you cross the cottage so as to not wake your mother.

You make sure the door is shut securely, and for good measure, you stick a piece of paper in the gap between the top of the door and the frame. You don’t think you’ll be able to sleep with the knowledge of a stranger sleeping in the next room, but almost as soon as your head hits the pillow, you’re waking to the sound of the rooster crowing the next morning.

You sit up abruptly, your mother still asleep next to you. You swing your legs over the edge of the mattress and scurry to the door, the paper still in the same spot you placed it when you take it back down.

You open the door quietly and slip out, glancing around the corner at the end of the hall to the cot. On the side closest to you, the stack of blankets are folded neatly, Thenerius’ pack leaning against one of the cot’s legs.

Your eyebrows furrow, going back to make sure the bathroom was empty before checking the kitchen, seeing neither hide nor hair of Thenerius in the cottage. Before you go search outside for the tiefling, you decide to at least get the stove going to warm up the cottage. As you stand in the kitchen looking for the box of matches, you realize you can hear the familiar, rhythmic thumping of an axe hitting wood.

Glancing out the window, you see Thenerius at an old stump splitting firewood a few yards away, his coat off and hanging from a tree branch. He stops to brush his hair back, careful to avoid his horns, before continuing.

Against your better judgement, you study him from the safety of the indoors. The last time you’d seen him, it had been shaved close. He apparently grew it out since then, dark waves forming curls around the nape of his neck that you’d noticed when he first arrived at the deep and now was sticking to his scalp with sweat.

As the sun broke over the horizon and illuminated the clearing, you could see how Thenerius’ back muscles flexed under the fabric of his shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose his thick forearms. Obviously, as a pirate, he would have to be at least somewhat fit. Hell, you’d felt them whenever he would insist you touch his arm while he flexed or would pull you into his lap.

But none of that quite prepared you for how he would look without the barrier of his coat, how he likely looked working out at sea.

You force your eyes back to the task at hand before they can venture downwards, finally finding the matches and lighting one with shaking hands before lighting the scrap of paper and tossing both into the stove.

Shutting the door and opening the grate, you return to the bedroom to change into your day clothes.

You immediately regret stepping outside as soon as you do, the light of the sun doing little to warm the icy air rushing inside your lungs and burning against your skin. Still, you are determined as you march around the cottage to where Thenerius continues to split the pieces of wood, though the pile of wood that took you months to chop down and cut into sections was now nearly gone and a neat stack of his split pieces had taken its place.

“I noticed you were running low,” Thenerius calls out as you approach, smiling as your eyes met his.

“It’s fine,” you huff, Thenerius’ smile brightening as though you just extended him the best praise of his life.

Annoyance bubbled in your stomach. Did he think he was cute? Acting like a love-struck teen and not a Tova-damned pirate? Or did he think you would be tricked by the illusion he put forth if he played pretend enough?

“Hurry up and finish that. There’s more work to do before breakfast,” you mutter, turning towards the barn as he would no doubt be crestfallen as you continue, “Then we’re going to The Deep.”

You go back to the kitchen briefly to grab the scrap bin before going to the chicken coop, making sure to latch the screen door behind you. You drop the scraps at the center of the enclosure, the chickens running over each other in a clucking mass of feathers and beating wings in their attempt to get at the food first. A few even manage to steal a few morsels before the more dominant ones chase them off.

Once the nesting area was empty, you went over and started collecting eggs in the same bin. Only six today, and you cooked the last of them in storage for dinner the night before. You worry your bottom lip, looking at the flock.

There were five hens and the rooster. You had been planning to let them breed in the spring to bring their numbers up, but that was still a long ways away.

You glanced over at the goats, currently in the pasture with the horses. You had two bucks and eight does. You had sold off the kids of four of the does, leaving you with five kids, three males. There was still the cured meat you got from the storehouse the other day, so you wouldn’t have to do anything drastic for food just yet, but it wouldn’t last soon at your current rate.

You had been planning on buying rabbits to raise for meat and fur, but you hadn’t been able to find the time to finish the winter hutch that was still partially completed in the barn.

Then you thought about everything else you had to do soon - castrate the three kids, patch the barn roof, harvest the second pasture’s grass and dry it for hay… and it seemed like every day you found something that needed repairing or replacing.

But… if Thenerius does plan on staying, you just may be able to keep everything afloat for the time being. With him there to collect the eggs and milk the goats while you worked shifts at the deep, then- appalled that you were planning ahead as though you would allow Thenerius to stay for months on end with you. No, you survived the last winter without any help, you could do the same this year.

Letting out a sigh, you dropped the eggs off in the kitchen before going back to the barn to wrap the horses snugly in blankets and let them out to graze in the pasture connected to the barn.

By that point, Thenerius comes to find you. You were admittedly surprised he’d finished that quickly, soaked with sweat and breathing heavily as he told you he was finished. You had even gone to check, not quite able to believe he’d gone through the entire wood pile that fast, or at least correctly. He looked proud when you peer up at him, but you refuse to praise him, directing him instead to the pasture while you grab two pails from the barn.

After showing him how to milk the does, you quickly fill about two pail's worth of milk between you from the four kidless does.

After taking the milk to the small pasteurizer in the barn, you set about making breakfast.

After taking the milk to the small pasteurizer in the barn, you and Thenerius returned to the cottage, your mother already up and standing by the stove.

You waste no time getting breakfast ready, making the six eggs you collected and take out the smoked meat. You make up two plates, setting them down in front of the two.

“I’ll be back soon,” you tell your mother, gripping her shoulder for a moment, “Don’t forget to take your medicine.”

“I’ve been taking it for three years, I don’t need you reminding all the time, you know,” your mother huffed, but she still pressed a kiss to the top of your head and waving you off.

“You aren’t going to eat?” Thenerius asked, thankfully swallowing his mouthful before speaking.

“I ate a couple boiled eggs while I cooked,” you reply, “clean the dishes after you’re done. We’ll go to The Deep afterwards.”

Grabbing your purse and heading to the barn, you click your tongue at the door leading out to the pasture, grabbing his saddle as your horse neighs loudly and nearly trampling over Thenerius’ horse in his attempt to get to you.

Any attempts on your part to name the capricious animal had been in vain, as he only ever responded to the sound of a clicking tongue, what your mother called him over to eat. It explained why he was fatter than a pregnant mare when you got here, unridden and getting fat on the lush pasture to himself and the treats.

Horse, as you’d taken to referring to him in your head, shoved his face into your hands, sticking your entire hand into his mouth in search of treats. You fish out a peeled hard-boiled egg from your pocket, the treat disappearing from your hand before you can even unfurl your fingers, Horse chewing it down quickly. Thenerius’ horse ventures over once she realizes you have food, and you have to press an open palm against Horse’s face to keep him from snatching the second egg you pull out before she can gently take it from you.

“Are those the eggs you ‘ate’?” You jump as Thenerius suddenly appears next to you, and you glare at him for sneaking up at you.

“I need to bribe him to come over and let me saddle him,” you said, neither confirming or denying the tiefling’s accusation, “he’ll be angry the entire ride otherwise.”

“Why didn’t you eat?” Thenerius presses, his eyes never leaving you as you unpin Horse’s blanket and refold it, throwing it over his back before securing his saddle on top.

“There wasn’t enough,” you shrug, climbing onto Horse’s back and pressing your legs momentarily into his side to get him to start walking.

You’re almost to the main road when you hear Thenerius pull up beside you.

“You should have taken mine,” he says after a moment.

You sigh. Clearly, wanting a nice, quiet stroll into town was too much to ask for, “Our horse is fine. He needs the exercise, anyways.”

“Not the horse, the food,” Thenerius said, actually sounding irate with you, “if there wasn’t enough you should have eaten mine.”

You bite back a laugh. You’ve heard Thenerius actually angry before, yelling at his crew members when one shoved another into a table in the tavern and broke it.

He’d been absolutely furious then, scaring even you with how his red eyes burned like hot coals, his face darkening to what you assumed to be an unhealthy purple-blue color as he nearly came to blows with the offenders. That feared pirate captain now reprimanded you like a child.

“Please, it’s one meal,” you snort, “I had plenty while I was working.”

“You shouldn’t skip meals,” he insisted, drawing close to your side to look down at you sternly, “You’re going to still be working the rest of the day after this, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and snap your reins, Horse speeding up to a canter and leaving Thenerius behind. The journey was familiar to you both, and you don’t even need to provide the horse with direction as he follows the twists and turns of the winding path with a sure foot.

You just want to hurry and reach The Deep, collect your pay, dump Thenerius on them and then go to Alfore to meet with the doctor about your mother.

You reach The Deep before Thenerius, tying Horse to a post outside the stables and making a beeline inside with barely contained excitement.

When you enter the tavern, Lenora is the only one in. Her welcoming smile quickly shrinks into a sheepish one once she sees you, however, turning on one heel to head straight towards the inn portion of the building.

Your eyes narrow, making a detour from Mr. Thistle’s office to go after her. You had an inkling as to what that was all about, and you couldn’t help but need to confirm it.

Your hand falls onto her shoulder and grips it tight, yanking her back just before she can abscond up the steps.

“Where are you going?” You ask, putting on a pleasant smile for the few patrons at the bar as you steer her down the hall to the privacy of the storage room, once an office.

“Please don’t kill me - he tricked me into telling!” Lenora begged for mercy immediate, clasping both hands in front of her.

“I highly doubt that,” you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow and waiting for her to try again.

Lenora had always been something of a romantic, constantly falling for one sweet gesture after another and declaring someone her ‘soulmate’ every few months. If she caught wind of Thenerius’ proposal, of course she’d think it was fine to play matchmaker. But that didn’t mean you weren’t going to make her sweat to teach her a lesson.

“Ok, but my intentions were good!” She pleaded, shaking your arm, “I mean, he obviously loves you, so I thought if he saw how you were living, you could get him to give you enough money for your mom!”

Your eyes widen, anger draining from your face and replaced with hurt, “so you told a stranger where I live, where my mother lives, so I could get him to feel sorry for me and bankroll my expenses? What else would I do, hm? Let him sleep with me for an allowance?”

Lenora realized her mistake too late, unable to backtrack as you spun around and left the room. You walk straight past Mr. Thistle’s office, too distraught to think about what you came here to do.

You untie Horse and quickly mount him, spurring him to go forward.

“Please don’t be angry! I didn’t mean you would do anything like that, I just wanted to help you-” you snap the reins twice to get Horse to a gallop.

“Are you okay?” You think Thenerius calls out, but you pay him no time as you race past, reaching the main road in no time and heading down the straight path to Alfore.

Your breathing is erratic as you try to get a handle on the unfamiliar emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. Perhaps in the past, you would have acted out in anger, lashed out at Lenora for the insult implied.

Now, however, you’re just tired. Worn out from two years of being back in this shithole, struggling to make ends meet, doing whatever you could. And because of that, your own coworker - someone you thought of as a friend, even - believed you to be so unscrupulous in your need for money that you’d take advantage of someone’s emotions for your own ends.

The worst part is, you were tempted. Tempted to step back. Tempted to let someone else take the reins. Tempted to use Thenerius’ misguided feelings for you to your advantage.

Had this what you’d been reduced to, from academic work to flirting shamelessly with customers to line your pockets? Do things your mother never did even when she was doing the same job, running the homestead, and saving money for you to move to the capital for your schooling?

So, at the end of your rapid-fire cycling through the stages of grief, you have no desire to fight Lenora over her true thoughts about you, nor do you wish to turn on Thenerius for the way he’s crashed into your life. You don’t qualify every action you ever did out of necessity or lay bare the fact that you were actually embarrassed by them. You don’t try to separate yourself from your choices by bringing up your past life or hard work. You simply loathe yourself for it.

Without your constant commands, Horse slows to a trot. You allow it, not wanting him to get hurt because of you. However, you soon regret your decision as you hear hooves charging up to you from behind.

You pull over to the side of the road, praying that whoever it was just passed you by. Of course, you had no such luck, the other horse slowing down next to you and Thenerius looking down at you with a concerned expression.

You say nothing and you don’t bother trying to outrun him, resigned to the fact that you wouldn’t be shaking him anytime soon.

“It wasn’t her fault,” he said once it was clear you weren’t speaking, drawing your sulking expression to point directly at him, “I pressured her to tell me where to find you.”

“Why are you still here?” You ask instead, exasperated and unwilling to have a conversation with him of all people about what happened between you and Lenora.

“I told you, my feelings for you haven’t changed,” Thenerius said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Even if I allow you to stay, it would only be to use you,” you argue, “you could work for months and waste your time if I never change my mind. Doesn’t that make you angry?”

“No,” he replied, a warm smile adorning his face as he looked at you, “because you said if.”

You blink dumbly as he spurs his horse forward, leaving you to catch up.

part 3

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [27/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: None

A/N: Wowieeee, it's been a long time since I've written a chapter this long. It feels like the old days. But also, I wrote this without my glasses, so... there will be errors.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

“Do you think we’ll be hanged?” Fandral asked from his cell. It wasn’t intended as a question to the room. From his tone, he certainly wasn’t in the mood for conversation, but in need of anything besides the quiet of the prison area. “I think I’d hate a hanging. There hasn’t been one in centuries. You think it will be public?”

In the parallel cell, Sif paced about. Checking the golden barriers of her cage and then pounding her fists against the barrier couple of times. Each hit barely made a sound, let alone a dent. Adjacent to your own cell, Heimdall struggled to stay upright. He looked won out. In need of a long, long sleep. Normally, seeing him in distress would make you worry, but nothing felt normal with the amulet on.

“I’m not sure I’d prefer banishment either,” Fandral kept speaking.

“At least you’ get to keep your pretty head,” Volstagg chimed in, annoyed. His face was getting redder. It seemed his friend's ruminations were becoming tiresome to listen to. “Which is better than what I’ll do to you if you don’t shut up for a minute!”

“Yggdrasil’s branches!” Sif huffed. “I can’t hear myself think with you all yapping like starved pups!”

Her tone was different from everyone else’s. Sharper. That made them afraid. Talking was a way to keep distracted. With Sif’s outburst, everyone was forced to face that silence they were too afraid to let settle. Well, everyone except Heimdall and Hogun. You, on the other hand, weren’t feeling much of anything. Strange…

“Leave them be, Sif,” Hogun said softly. His face was calm, legs crossed at the ankle as he reclined comfortably on his cot, eyes closed. “Everything will work itself out.”

“You sound so certain,” she seemed surprised. “Why?”

“Because,” Hogun stretched, sitting up on crossed legs. “One way or another, everything always reaches a conclusion.”

 Fandral let out a shaky laugh, “You’re a real comfort.”

 Hogun shrugged, “Could be worse. You could have had Thor for a cellmate. You know how he hates small spaces. Especially if he’s confined in said small places.”

Sif tried to fight her smile, a reminiscent look on her face. All the warriors had it. Even Heimdall. It must have been a shared memory. Before your time.

“That big oaf,” Sif finally let her teeth show through the smile.

As the others began to trade anecdotes from the past, mainly about Thor’s claustrophobia and a previous stint in prison, Heimdall scooted closer to you, his back pressed up against the barrier o his cell, head turned at an angle to meet your eyes.

“Are you alright?” he squinted at the amulet and then focused on your face. He was searching for something, you weren’t quite sure he found. A moment later, he sighed. “Can you even hear me?”

Yes, you said. But he didn’t respond. He didn’t hear.

He wasn’t discouraged by his inability to communicate two ways with you. He soldiered through and found another question to ask, “Does it hurt?”

It doesn’t feel like anything, you said. Again, he didn’t hear.

He was frowning now, asking question after question as if the right one would get you to open your mouth. A task so simple, yet so difficult to do.

Minutes passed—or maybe hours—when guards came to round everyone out of their cells. Everyone except you. There was a commotion. Some unpleasant words exchanged. Someone tried to rile up the Captain from before. She ignored them, acting above reproach. An impenetrable shield, shining with true Asgardian worth. The guards never lowered your cell’s barrier, and after another minute—or hour—you finally registered that you were alone in the prison ward. It didn’t bother you though. Nothing did. Not even the spot of blood that marked the spot where two guards were knocked unconscious by Loki’s hands. Two more stood slack, in a headlock between Thor’s large arms. Frigga was with them too, casting sleep spells on the last few on guard duty.

The barrier to your cell faded in the blink of an eye.  Faster than lightning, Loki rushed to your side, cradling your body against his own. He felt strong, like an anchor in the impossible storm. Smiling seemed the right thing to do, but you weren’t sure if you managed to.

He was trembling, his body hot from exertion. He kept his voice a whisper, his words only for you. “When I saw that the cells were empty, I thought… I don’t know what I thought. But you’re here. I wasn’t too late. I found you again. I have you in my arms again and I promise not to let go. Never to let go.”

Those words should have meant the world. You should have been elated. Relieved. But there was still nothing.

When you didn’t reply or lean into his touch, Loki pulled back to study you. He tugged at the clasp, but the amulet refused to separate. It took a while for Frigga to understand what was happening, to notice the amulet for what it was.

As Loki turned to use his magic against the amulet’s hold, Frigga raised a hand in warning, “No, Loki, wait—”

Loki’s magic was invasive to the amulets, and you felt the ancient device retaliate, slapping his magic away. He was knocked back on his ass before Frigga could finish her sentence.

She knelled next to you, tearing a piece of fabric from her skirts and chanting below a whisper. The fabric began to shimmer, imbued with magical essence.

“The amulet siphon’s magic, drains the wearer and attacks anyone who tries to take it off,” she explained. “You have to trick it into focusing its curse on something else, and then…” She wrapped the fabric around her hand and used it to unclasp the amulet. As it fell, the fabric was turned to nothing in a flash of cold fire. The amulet dropped onto the floor. Loki and Frigga were cautious not to touch it.

You shuddered to life. Everything bright and real. The floor was cold. Your body was every bit as tired as you remembered. And the pull of Loki’s magic returned. Beautiful. Right.

He rushed to hold you again, and this time you reciprocated. Wrapping your arms around his midriff and clinging onto him as if he were the source of all life.

“I love you,” you said abruptly.

The air left his lungs. His chest grew still. Unmoving. You loved how that sounded. His heart racing. Your words. Everything about that imperfect moment suddenly became perfect.

You laughed, euphoric. “I really do. I love you.”

You looked up to him, saw his shock and adoration and a mix of every look he’d ever given you worn under one instant. His lips quivered. He tried to speak. To breath. But he was stunned in silence.

“I regretted not telling you before,” you kissed him. Your body finding solace in the proximity. Your heart beating strong and steady, in a way it never had before. In a way that promised forever. To love forever. To live forever. To be near him forever. You had forgotten what it felt like to be exhilarated. To actually cherish each heartbeat. And, as if a flood had passed over your body, you felt renewed. Loved. You poured all of yourself into the kiss, into him. And he drank gleefully. Greedily.

“Ahem!” Thor cleared his throat, obviously flustered from witnessing you and Loki’s moment. “I’m… Uh—I’ll just… be… over there… keeping watch for patrols.” He stalked over to the staircase and pretended to keep watch. Cheeks turning tomato red.

The kiss finally broke and you both needed more than a few seconds to fill your lungs with air again.

Loki grinned from ear to ear, “To think, I’ve waited countless of your lifetimes to feel this way about anyone, and you only needed the one. I knew I was missing something since I was a little boy. You restored that part of me. Gave me the chance to see that I could be something whole. You’ve healed a broken prince, and I wish I could give you more but… I suppose… this will have to do…” He trailed off, staring intently at your face. “I’ll love you fiercely for every lifetime I spent without you. Half-mortal or not, I’ll love you a thousand year’s worth every moment of every day. For as long as we have.”

“That’s a big promise.”

“No. It’s just what you deserve.”

“Then you deserve the same. It goes both ways, so that makes two thousand year’s worth.”

He arched his brow, some of that self-assuredness he used to carry with him returned. “That’s technically not true.”

A mounted torch holder fell off the wall with a loud clang! Everyone turned to see Thor kicking the polished bronze ornament into a darkened corner. He held up his hands in a silent apology. Loki rolled his eyes.

“My brother with his insightful contribution,” Loki said, tongue-in-cheek. Loud enough for Thor to hear this time, he asked: “Would you like to make a little more noise? I don’t think every guard in the lower levels heard you.”

“I just might,” Thor grumbled, placing his hand close to another torch holder. Daring his brother to say another word.

“I don’t mean to cut this short,” Frigga interjected, helping you up off the floor. “But if we mean to do this, we must get to the others before Odin has had time to pass judgement. After that his will is paramount. Not even the Rite of Conscription will save your companions.”

You wobbled on your feet and Loki instinctively slinked an arm around your waist. You leaned into him.

“What is the Rite of Conscription?” you turned to Loki.

He frowned, “It’s… It’s the best of my bad ideas. Conscription can only be evoked by senior members of the Asgardian royal family. Once enacted, it places a subject in a position of servitude. They become agents of the court and crown. And it also means, they cannot be tried as traitors. Once conscripted, they have full protection under the King, or, in this case, Queen.”

“Sounds simple enough,” you said. Loki’s expression didn’t reassure though. “But… it’s not, is it?”

 “No. Conscription for you, given how little we know about your true lifespan, it could end up being a life sentence.”

“But I have no home to return to. No family besides Heimdall…” you felt a wave of dizziness and had to clutch onto Loki’s jacket to keep steady. His fingers found yours. He twined them together, holding them close to his chest. You looked up at him. “Up until recently, I was ready to accept Asgard as my new home. For good.”

“But it wouldn’t just be you, my dear,” Frigga pointed out. “We’d have to conscript them all to Asgard’s service. Forever. They’d never have the chance to become anything different in the future. Neither would you.”

A life of servitude in exchange for freedom from Odin’s unpredictable wrath. Or was it his illogical fear? If you had to make the choice alone, you wouldn’t hesitate, even if it landed you in a precarious position in the future. But you couldn’t dare play arbiter of fate over everyone else’s lives. That would be selfish. And you’d be no better than Odin.

“I don’t think I can agree to this,” you said solemnly. “If it was only me that had to make the decision, then… maybe. But, I was only just beginning to get to know everyone. I don’t want to be a source of tension. And Heimdall’s the only family I have left. From what he’s told me, of the Great War, of his people, conscription would be a cruel thing to do without even talking to him about it. This whole mess started because of scheming and secrecy. We can’t continue that pattern.”

Frigga’s eyes flitted to your hand interlocked with Loki’s, a new thought percolating to the surface. “Family,” she murmured.

“What?” you asked.

“Handfasting!” she said hastily, her voice the loudest you’d ever heard it.

Loki’s eyes went large, “You can’t mean…”

Frigga nodded, taking one of your hands in each of her own.

“We don’t have a priestess,” Loki spoke too quick, anxious.

“I don’t—” you tried to get a word in, but Frigga talked over you.

“It’s the best alternative. At the very least, it will grant us a year of peace. A year we can use to persuade Odin to forgive whatever transgressions he found so grave that he’d risk imprisoning the protector of the Bi-frost. I know him. If he truly wanted this, he’d have acted without hesitancy. This—” she gestured towards the prison “—this is all to buy time. He’s undecided. So we must decide for him.”

Loki brushed off her explanation, unwilling to listen, “He’s the king. His will is law. If he truly didn’t want this, he wouldn’t have done it.”

Frigga shook her head, a wizened edge hanging on her words, “Only tyrants rule in that manner. And he is not his father.”

“What does Bor have to do with any of this?” Loki said, eyeing his mother suspiciously. She dismissed his prying with a flick of her wrist. She did it with the same flourish that Loki did.

You looked to Thor then back to Frigga, lost. “Is anyone going to tell me what handfasting is, or—”

“It’s a marriage,” Thor blurted out.

Now it was your turn to go silent.  

“Subtle, brother. Thank you for that,” Loki chided. He placed his attentions back on you in an effort to explain things more smoothly, avoiding your gaze. “Handfasting isn’t exactly as binding as marriage. Handfasting is like… a trial period. It was used in arranged marriages to see if the betrothed were… agreeable. It was also a way to end disputes politically. Give the respective sides time to assess and recuperate.”

“I see,” was all you could muster, your voice small.

“In fact, Odin and I were handfasted,” Frigga said. “And if you have any doubts, remember, as Loki said, it isn’t binding. But as a betrothed, your family gains diplomatic immunity. And since Heimdall is Vanir, both of you fall under allies, not subjects.”¨

Finally, you found your voice. “What of Sif and the others?” 

“They’d be protected too,” she assured you. “The handfasting period is a period of peace. If anyone acts out violently, then they disrespect the old ways. And Odin is too traditional. The old ways are his ways. His father’s ways. He will respect the year of peace. I’ll make sure of it.”

You took a sure, deep breath. Steeling yourself. You had dreamed of a future with Loki. Years spent discovering each other, learning of intimacies beyond touch. Sharing desires and thoughts. Spending days in the library, discovering more about your peoples, more about your magic. It may not have included a mysterious boy from Verdenspeil. Or a handfasting ceremony as a last-ditch effort to one-up Odin, but then again, your life on Asgard had been far from ideal. Loki waited for your answer, his eyes holding a darker edge to them; desire. Frigga and Thor waited with bated breath, both their postures too ramrod straight, towering over you. Expecting an answer.

“Then, my answer is yes.” You smiled, both anxious and excited. There was a shared sigh of relief in the room.  

Frigga turned to her son, happy for him. He pressed his forehead to yours and mimicked your actions.

“Yes,” he said with a laugh caught in his throat.

Frigga whispered a spell, and suddenly, a spool of ribbon inked itself between your hand and Loki’s. Twisting into an infinity loop at the wrist. You thought of the snake from the cave, then immediately, you remembered the dream with the snake in the cave. Something in you stirred. Through your conjoined hands, you felt Loki’ magic reciprocate that feeling. A yearning. He looked at you with a devilish smirk, making heat spread in your belly. You almost turned away, face too hot.

Frigga’s chant ended. The lyrical music notes of it lost to your unfamiliar ears. Loki and Thor seemed to recognise some of it. You made it a point to remember to ask one of them about it. Especially since the last line made Loki blush.

“I need something to seal the incantation. Something with magic imbued,” Frigga said, searching the surroundings for anything that could work.

Thor opened his fist and after a few seconds of awkward silence, his hammer came crashing through the walls perpendicular to where he was facing. Rumble rolled to your feet, and Frigga looked at him with the most motherly expression you’d ever seen.

“Will this do?” Thor shrugged and held the hammer above you and Loki’s linked arms.

“Just,” Frigga said as she finished off the incantation. A torrent of light, holding all the colours of the rainbow encircled the spot of union.

Everything was as clear as a summer’s morning. Colour giving life to the room. Magic tingling everywhere.

Frigga cleared her throat, “Marked by magic, and witnessed by a prince of Asgard, do you, Loki, and your betrothed, vow to keep the peace and set aside any grudges and conflicts for one year? Do you vow to share, in confidence, the truth of your thoughts and the full extent of your feelings for one another, whatever they may be, however they might grow?”

“I vow,” he said, openly.

A roucus above the floor alerted you to a group of guards immobilising on your position. Distracted, your head tilted up, as if you could will yourself to see through the stone. Your heart quickened and Frigga nudged you. Thor’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move his hammer an inch.

“Dear, you have to vow,” she brought you back to the present.

“Yes. I vow,” you nodded, trying to stay calm.

Frigga concentrated her magic, her palms coming close. “Then, with these words, I bind you to one another. Bind you in peace. And hope a union will spring from your time together.”

Frigga’s eyebrows drew close together, her hands straining to maintain the magic. A bead of sweat meandered across her temple. And with a grunt, Mjölnir went flying into the wall, a burst of energy exploding out war. Frigga released her grip, panting. “It is done. You are handfasted.”

“Was that supposed to happen?” Thor pointed to the new hole in the wall.

Frigga shook her head, “No. There was…” she regarded you carefully, making sure not to let her face betray whatever she was thinking. “Resistance. It—It’s probably nothing. We’re all tired. We’ve all been through ordeals. It could simply be fatigue.”

You glanced at your tattoo. It had cracks along the artificial ribbon, as if unfinished. The colour of bright emeralds flawed by golden veins. Hints of cerulean in the right lighting. The triquetra, Mjölnir’s symbol, had formed an endless pattern on the ribbon. Easily missed, and of delicate line work. The prick and bristle of the tattoo's magic was bewildering. Sparking with a deeper connection than you could articulate. It wasn’t just the symbol of a bond, but an actual link to both you and Loki.

Loki rushed to his mother’s side, placing a hastened kiss on your forehead beforehand. Thor’s palm called out to Mjölnir and it returned with the sound of thunder rumbling outside. The hoard of guards descending upon you sounded closer. Their voices louder.

“Bit much, don’t you think?” Loki frowned at Thor.

 “Subtlety is lost on me,” Thor said.

“Yes, well… you wouldn’t be my brother if it wasn’t.”

Thor and Loki shared a moment. Their bickering giving way to something deeper. Something neither of them would voice aloud anytime soon. It was trust. A different kind of love. Greater than blood.  

“We should get out of here,” Thor began spinning his hammer and suddenly a gut-punching realisation hit you.

You yanked on Thor’s bulky arm, “Wait! Where’s Baldrick?”

All three of them looked at you, confused.

“Who?” they asked simultaneously.

 ~Odin

The child that had come through the portal with Heimdall and Y/N was strange. Odin had brought him to his study and asked him questions.

The boy—Baldrick as he came to introduce himself—possessed knowledge beyond his years. An aura to him, almost ancient, yet also too young, too powerful. Odin had given him a puzzle to solve, one that required intimate knowledge of magic and science. Baldrick had fiddled with the pentagon-shaped object with a blasé expression. He had solved it faster than Odin had when his father had presented him with the same challenge.

“Astounding,” Odin remarked as the boy set the puzzle down. Baldrick busied himself by staring at the books in Odin’s study. He had made it a point not to speak beyond saying his name.

The boy seemed so familiar. A likeness in his small face.

Odin knew he was biding time by trying to figure out how Baldrick’s mind worked, but he was thankful for the distraction. When Loki had pounded at his door, demanding an audience, Baldrick had studied Odin as if he was the old man and Odin was the boy. It was a peculiar feeling.

When Aisling had been the one to knock on his door, hiding her true thoughts behind pleasantries, he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. A judgement needed to be passed. After all, the Allfather does not lash out on a whim. He’s concise. Calculative. And pragmatic. And he had pushed things too far when he’d sent the Destroyer.

Regret. That’s what had been eating him since Loki fell unconscious. And what had he done once his son awoke? Cowered away. All in the name of protecting his family’s legacy and keeping the truth of his father’s reign buried. It was his curse. His duty. But, at least it hurt less than what he did to Hela. That was a transgression he could never make right, failing as a father.

 He left the boy in his study. Odin feared he may have been more perceptive to emotion. And emotion was the last thing he cared to face.

 Heimdall was held down by the straining arm of a member of the royal guard. His knees kissing stone. Beside him, Sif and her companions held the same posture; necks refusing to stay weighed down, heads facing Odin with arms tied behind their backs, armour stripped for simple clothing.

 “What am I to do with you?” Odin finally spoke. His fingers ghosted over the intricate designs carved into his stave, feeling the schism between each drawn line and folded knot; feeling the obvious divide in his family and peoples. With a sigh, he continued, “Disobedience, theft, evasion and escape. Worst of all, you all knowingly defied the will of your king. One son wasted away in a tower, the other in taverns. And Frigga… My health is barely as it was. What would you have me do? Make an example of you? Show you lenience? Leave you to the mercy of the Destroyer?”

“Do as you wish. I have made my peace with my decisions, and I’d do it all again to ensure my daughter was safe,” Heimdall said.

His voice wasn’t intended to sound defiant, but lately, to Odin’s suspicious ears, everything sounded suspect.

“Safe?” Odin didn’t mean to condescend, but he couldn’t help but laugh. “And can you say the same for everyone in this room? Sif? Volstagg? Hogun? Even you, Fandral? Could you all say that you’d go to the gallows for an outsider? A mortal?”

“Half. Mortal.” Heimdall corrected. A withheld threat somewhere beneath his red-hot glare.

“Now, hold on a minute,” Fandral’s voice fumbled, “that seems an overreaction.”

“Is it not part of our teachings to show benevolence to those that see us as more?” Sif challenged, hurling the guard that held her down over her shoulder. “A mere mortal? You’re the Allfather, the one Midgardians pray to, the one whose story they carve onto mountains. Even if she wasn’t Heimdall’s daughter, it is our duty to protect her, to protect all of them.”

The guard tried to retaliate, but Odin held up his hand, stopping their advances.

“Your notions are young,” Odin said with a sad smile. “I miss seeing the world as simply as you all do, but that is not our reality. And that is why you do not bear the weight of a ruler. I hope none of you do.”

Heimdall watched him closely as he stood to walk closer. Some of that trust they’d built over years of infighting and war was still there, despite them both trying to act otherwise. Bonds of war and patricide were hard to shake.

“Are you still willing to risk everything to keep this fragile peace? This lie?” Heimdall asked. When Odin did not give an answer, Heimdall lamented to himself, “So, this is how it is then.”

“I must pass judgement now. Chaos cannot stand,” Odin quieted the room with a strike of his stave. The room grew very still. Then, Thor’s hammer burst through the door, causing a commotion.

Odin’s breath was stolen away when he saw Frigga stride in a few paces behind their son. And his heart stopped entirely when he saw the tell-tale ribbon tattoo shared between Loki and Y/N.

To his surprise, he was relieved.

“No judgement shall be passed today!” Frigga announced. “No judgement shall be passed until the year is over.” She walked over to pull attention to Loki and Y/N’s matching tattoos. “They are handfasted, and the rules of the old ways are clear. Y/N and her Father, being both of the Vanir, both of my homeworld, cannot be harmed. Nor can they be tried by the king of another realm. Especially since it is your son who is handfasted.”

Odin smiled, and everyone in the room was shocked by his response, “The old ways are sacred, and so, I accept your conditions.” His smile grew wider, “My Queen.”

Frigga walked over to his side easily.

He struck his stave once more and gestured for the guards to stand down. Y/N rushed to Heimdall’s side helping him up, while Sif and Thor and the Warriors Three had their own little reunion.

Yes, he thought to himself. This is a far better outcome.

“Mark today as the start of a passive year. A year of peace,” he decreed.

“Where’s Baldrick?” Y/N demanded, a protective scowl on her face.

Curious, he thought. That they’d form such a bond in such small time. The boy obviously had a way of influencing those around him. Albeit, passively.

Odin was about to answer when the boy shimmered into the room as if summoned, a favourite of Loki’s tricks. Loki stared at the boy, noticing the same thing.

“I am here,” Baldrick said. Y/N took large strides to his side and offered her hand to him. Baldrick walked to the other side, accepting the arm that wasn’t marked by the tattoo instead.

“Well, that was rather unpleasant,” Volstagg stretched, his stomach growling deeply. “How about some good, old fashioned merriment and song tonight?”

“Aye! I have a bone to pick with you all for abandoning me in a tavern to go off on your own adventure,” Thor pouted.

Sif ribbed his arm casually, “You were brooding. You’re utterly useless when you brood.”

“I am not!” he refuted.

“You are too,” Fandral and Loki said simultaneously.

Hogun patted Thor’s back, a teasing smirk on his lips, “Wait until you hear of the snake made of stone.”

Frigga walked over to Loki’s side, whispering something in his ear. He adjusted his collar as if he couldn’t breathe. His gaze fell on Y/N as he strode purposefully to her side. But before he could reach her, Heimdall blocked his path, imposing and large as he looked down at him with a set jaw.

“You and I have much to discuss,” Heimdall glanced at the handfasting tattoo with disapproval. “But,” he sighed, letting his body shrink lower, “it can wait till the morning, I suppose. Your father and I have much to sort through.” He turned to Odin and they both nodded in agreement.

Loki heaved a sigh when Heimdall turned his back. Y/N and Loki shared a secret laugh--the kind Odin had shared with Frigga in youth--before he got on his knee and extended his hand to the small boy.

“I’m Loki,” he said. “I take it, you’re Baldrick?”

Heimdall came to stand close to Odin, arms folded. “Where do we go from here?”

Odin sat back on his throne, his bones aching. “We let them savour their youth.”

“And what happens once the year is done?”

Odin eyes the dispersing crowd, unsure of how to answer that question.

 To be continued...

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·41/45· Intoxicated - Prompt Game -

Title : Intoxicated Pairing : Park Jinyoung x Fem!reader Genre : Angst, Fluff, romance Words : 2060 Summary : Breaking up with Jinyoung was already complicated, yet he came, drunk and desperate, at 4 in the morning. Prompts : N° 41 : “Do you remember our first kiss?” N° 45 : “I don’t want you to stop.”

Prompt Game - Masterlist - 

Intoxicated

Your sofa is not comfortable. You never noticed how hard it feels against your back as you try to find a better position while watching questionable videos at 4 in the morning. 

It doesn’t matter, rest is for people who can turn shut their brain off. You can’t. It’s been a month. A whole thirty-one days of going back to a life made of instant noodles and drooling on your favourite fluffy pillow. 

Today is Friday and after numerous rejections, your friends gave up and stopped forcing you to join them into some fancy bar. It doesn’t feel right to be partying like this, especially when you feel like rolling yourself into your blanket like a burrito. 

Which is already done. 

It’s not like you’re depressed; you’re the one who broke up with your boyfriend because of event you were not sure you could get out of. 

Jinyoung is a man of high standards. He was raised in a wealthy family where everyone has their own role and future traced from the crib. He followed his parents’ choices without rebelling once. 

Except one time, two months ago. 

You had been dating for almost a year when his parents found him a spouse. She was the daughter of a man everyone wanted on their side and his family couldn’t say no when the promise of a profitable alliance appeared in their household. 

Only then you saw how unflappable Jinyoung could be. He would reject day after day, not bothered when his parents used the word disown as a weapon. Jinyoung didn’t even flinch and was ready to pack and move in with you. 

Poor boy would hate spending all his evenings on your sofa.

It became too big for you to handle. There was nothing you could do except break up with him so before he could run away from his luxury you left, lying about not loving him, using the word mistake like it meant nothing. 

Jinyoung had told you though. Trust me, he always said.

There was nothing to trust. Jinyoung would have never been able to find another job if these two companies were to team against him. It is true that he is a simple man, but you couldn’t live with the idea of being what destroyed his life. 

So you walked away, isolating yourself and ruining your health at work. It’s been a month and you feel as empty, the feeling of being the one responsible for your own misery distilling hate into your whole existence. 

There is no turning back now. Jinyoung must get married and become what he is destined to be.

You’re clicking on this documentary about salmon trout and their reproduction cycle when heavy knocking on your door startles you. 

Your neighbours are probably going to complain about non-existent noises because that’s what they do.

You check your pyjamas - shrugging when you notice a stain a ketchup from your precious fries session. 

But it’s not the old neighbour you find behind the door. 

“You opened the door…” Jinyoung’s smug smile makes you take a step back. He is leaning against the doorway, head restless. “I thought you wouldn’t…”

“What are you doing here? Why are you drunk?” You inquire before checking the hall. 

Jinyoung laughs, his head raising in evident distress. “I am not drunk! Come on!” His voice dies when you pull on his arm to force him inside. 

Damn him for showing up completely drunk. 

“Oh so I can come in” Jinyoung mumbles, letting his plastic bag fall on the floor with a loud thud before attempting to untie his shoes. 

“It’s just until you sober up.” You scold, blaming your soft side for giving in so quickly. You didn’t have a choice; your building is filled with people who abuse the police’s phone number daily.

Jinyoung snorts, grabbing his bag again and aiming for your sofa where he lets himself fall. “I brought wine. You love wine.” His voice becomes sad as unwraps the bottle.

You sigh, reaching his side and taking the bottle. “Thank you. Now rest and leave when you feel better. You know where everything is.”

It’s too much work. Dealing with a drunk Jinyoung is usually funny; he becomes a mess of clumsy and cute and oh god he becomes so luscious as soon as music starts.

“I didn’t come all the way here to sleep on a sofa!” He pouts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why did you come then?” You turn around to put the bottle on the dining table before gasping. “Holy shit Jinyoung, this is a Domaine de la Romanée Conti! Take it with you, it’s expensive!”

Jinyoung snickers, his lazy hand brushing your words off. “Do I look like I care about this…” 

“Listen,” You walk back to the sofa, stopping when Jinyoung leans over his knees to bury his head into his hands. “I’ll put the bottle back into the bag. Rest for now and you can leave whenever you want. “

“How is it so easy for you?” His question breaks you out of your monologue. “How is it so easy to speak like this?”

“Jinyoung, I don’t think it’s a good-”

“A good idea?” He asks, raising his head and revealing moist eyes. “All of this was a very bad idea, right? Because it was a mistake?” His head seems clearer suddenly. “Do you even think I believed you for one second?” 

You raise a hand and shake your head. “No Jinyoung. You won’t make me say what you want to hear. You’re drunk, stop this.”

“Of course I am drunk!” He speaks louder, annoyance tainting his vocal cords. “I am wasted because it’s all I can do! Breaking news: not everyone is as heartless as you.”

It stings. No matter how this is what you wanted, hearing his pain can only make you regret. 

“It’s better this way. Look around you! How would you have lived? Jobless? Disowned?” He doesn’t understand. Life is not a soap opera; love is not always the answer to everything.

“I told you to trust me! I told you I would sort this out! You didn’t listen, you freaked out and left, even though I told you to stay with me, no matter how I begged! How cruel is that?” Jinyoung gets up, ignoring his spinning head and contracting stomach. Rage is blurring his vision and the memories haunting.

You don’t know what to answer. As much as you want to think you are right, it is cruel. Jinyoung didn’t go against his parents to get dumped. 

“I don’t know what to say...all I did was for your happiness. You can’t risk everything for me.” You explain, eyes now equally watery. 

Jinyoung nods, eyes closing painfully. He goes to the windows; the place he loves the most in your whole flat. “Do you remember our first kiss?” he asks, not even turning around. “It was right here.”

You smile, that night still printed into your brain. Jinyoung confessed a day after you both met. 

His smile was wide and hopeful that day; nothing seemed to stop him as he explained his attraction to you and how he loved the way you dismissed him when he showed up at your desk and explained he had to see your boss for and important matter. 

He had left his number on his way back with a wink while your boss yelled at you for not letting the son of an important business man see him. 

Stupid, you thought, as you still dialled his number to complain. 

He asked you out and a day later you were kissing, his hands on your hips and yours in his hair. 

Now he looks pitiful, abandoned and disturbed. 

“I remember.”

He finally turns around, his last attempt at making you come back to him hanging on his lips. 

“I made it clear that no one else but you are going to be in my heart.” He raises said hand, a single tear falling on his cheeks and he must be pretty drunk to openly cry like that in front of you. “Did you really think I was going to get married to someone else but you? This is ridiculous, you don’t marry people you don’t love.” he walks away, pacing weirdly and even bumping into your lamp. 

“What have you been telling your parents?” Jinyoung is stubborn, you don’t know why but he cannot let things go. “What are you going to do if they ever-”

“If they can’t understand something as simple as their only son’s well-being, there is nothing I can do.” Jinyoung concludes, looking hurt both because of your rejection and his parents’ inability to let him do what he wants. “I will not stay around people who want me miserable, but I can stick to those who make me feel loved and understood.”

“I’m sure it can’t be that bad to get married to a rich and pretty girl.”

Jinyoung stops walking, looking dumbfounded. “Do you even hear yourself? It can’t be that bad?” 

“I mean, your career is your future. Your family is important, too! What is so special about me that you’re willing to risk everything even after I broke up with you?!” You yell, hating both yourself and him for being in such a situation. 

“I don’t know, you tell me. Why are you wearing stained pyjamas on a Friday night while watching stupid videos? Why aren’t you enjoying your single life as you should?” Jinyoung hits jackpot as easy as he used to. He knows you; you’re not the type of person who watches questionable videos, anyways.

“I was tired.” Is all you say, your drained face giving away your current mind-set.

“Please,” Jinyoung rubs his forehead, completely done with your behaviour. “You’re not happy. You think you made the right decision but you didn’t. You’re fooling yourself and trying to be an altruist by ‘saving my life’ yet you’re stomping on me again and again. So what if I have to work shitty jobs and sleep here? Are you scared that you might not take advantage of my bank account? Is me being poor so bad that you want me out of your life?” 

It triggers you, it triggers you so much that you start crying. “Stop!” You shake your head, your heart clenching. “I’m warning you, never imply, ever again, that I was after your money.” you want to sound threatening but you must look ridiculous. “Do you think it’s easy for me? Do you think I can spit venom and feel nothing? I didn’t want you to suffer because of me, I want you to be happy and live the life you should be living. I’m literally forcing myself to stop loving you, Jinyoung.”

“You don’t understand, I don’t want you to stop.” Jinyoung breathes, his feet aiming for your trembling figure. His tone softens when he sees you crying. He doesn’t think he will ever be able to handle such a view. “What I’m trying to say is that no matter the amount of wealth and the number of connections, you make me happy and you’re the life I should be living. If you take that away from me, I’m done for.”

You sob harder, his words buzzing and more comforting than ever. 

He brushes your arm silently, his head dipping to take a good look at your bloodshot eyes. “Can you please stop trying to take all the decisions and believe me? It’s been a month and now I need you to come back to me.”

He doesn’t give you a choice; but you don’t need to ponder. 

“Are you really not going to regret this?” You try one last time, your eyes searching for his but his drunk face shows no concern, no sign of doubt, no hint of hesitation. 

“All I’m regretting is that I didn’t come sooner.” He concludes, his arms spreading to signal he needs a hug.

You carefully envelop him, his scent hinting he has been drinking a lot of liquor. “Promise me you’ll try to convince your parents some more.”

You hear him chuckle, his arms rubbing your back. “I promise.”

“I actually missed you a lot.”

Jinyoung can only inhale, his arms tightening and head finding shelter in the crook of your neck. 

“Welcome back, baby.”

[sulkybbarnes]

“They laugh until laughing makes them kiss. They kiss until kissing makes them laugh.” — Sarah Ruhl (The Clean House)

Eddie was sat on the floor when Buck walked in, his back resting against the couch and legs stretched in front of him. A worrying look in his eyes. Buck had knocked first, more to announce his arrival than anything else, then waltzed into the Diaz household as if he lived there. Buck reasoned that he was there often enough the place felt like his own. First he deposited the dinner he picked up on his way on the kitchen table, then walked into the living room in search of Eddie. He did not expect to find him sat on the floor with a pained expression on his face.

“Hey,” Buck started jokingly upon seeing Eddie “You know that’s not how you’re meant to use couches right?” 

But then Eddie had looked up at him, troubled expression clearing into something only less pained, and any dredge of humor drained out of Buck’s voice. Eddie didn’t look injured or panicked, so Buck eliminated the possibility of any immediate danger. Eddie wouldn’t be sat with his back to a couch, staring into space, if something was wrong with him or Chris. In fact, Buck knew that Chris was currently sleeping peacefully in his bedroom, because Chris had called him before going to bed and made Buck promise that he’ll stop by earlier tomorrow.

“Real funny, Buck.” Eddie said with an eye roll, making no attempt at moving. “Sorry, I lost track of time. Thought you’d be a bit later.” 

Buck examined the space -the little table pushed to the side to make space in front of the couch, the cushion by Eddie’s side- and decided to tread carefully.

“You alright?” Buck asked as he moved closer, opting to do the logical thing and take his place on the floor to Eddie’s left, back against the couch, shoulder almost brushing Eddie’s. “What’s going on, Eddie?”

“Just making some life altering decisions.” Eddie shrugged. The movement causing his shoulder to momentarily press against Buck’s. Upon closer inspection, the look on his face was more resigned than anything. A little tired.

“Oh. Nothing big then.” Buck smiled, and it had the intended effect of making Eddie look at him and smile back, if only for a few moments before Eddie turned to stare back ahead. “Wanna share with the class?”

Eddie hummed his assent. And then, “It’s why I asked you to come over.”

“Thought you just wanted my pleasant company,” Buck joked, trying not to let worry bleed into his voice. This whole thing was starting to feel really serious all of a sudden. 

“That too,” Eddie smiled again, and this time the expression he gave Buck made something clench in his chest. “I want to talk to you. It’s nothing bad, don’t look worried.” He said, catching Buck’s clouding expression. “Let’s have dinner first.” 

Eddie hauled himself up without waiting for Buck’s response. Offering his hand to Buck to help him off the floor. 

“I’ll get us plates and beer,” Eddie offered, hand still loosely clasped with Buck’s. “You choose something to watch?”

Buck nodded silently, his expression puzzled. Part of him hated that Eddie was drawing this -whatever this was- out, while the other part felt the need to hold onto their comforting routine for a little longer. He could sense something big threatening to crash over them. 

Eddie nodded back and released Buck to head to the kitchen. Buck stood staring after him dumbfounded. His hand tingled where Eddie held it a moment ago.

-----

Dinner was a quiet and unusually tense affair. 

They both made attempts at normal conversation throughout the meal, talking about Chris’s day at school, their shift the night before, Maddie and Chim’s list of baby names, but Buck could see that Eddie was on edge although he hid it well, and that put Buck on edge too. His mind spiraled with worst case scenarios on why Eddie wanted to talk to him. Maybe he needed help with something simple, but because he’s Eddie, he was overthinking it. Which would be the easiest thing to deal with. Buck would help Eddie without a second thought. But Eddie knew that, and so that scenario didn’t explain the look on his face when Buck first walked in. 

Or maybe, Buck’s treacherous brain provided, he started fighting again. Maybe he had decided to take Chris and move back to Texas. Maybe he figured out that Buck is in love with him and wanted to tell him thanks, but no thanks. and gently ask Buck to give him some space. That last possibility hurt almost as much as the idea of Eddie and Chris moving away. Buck let his fork clatter down to his plate.

“Okay, I really can’t take this much longer, Eddie,” Buck said, voice trembling only a little. “We’re done with dinner. What’s going on?”

Eddie tilted his head to the side, expression contemplative, before he put his fork down too and sighed. He gave Buck a look that could only be described as soft, something warm and liquid in his eyes, but still so worried and sad. So unlike Eddie.

“Come on, we’ll talk over washing the dishes. I need something to do with my hands if we’re doing this now. Grab the beers, Buck.” That last command was given as Eddie gathered the plates and walked to the kitchen sink. 

Buck almost groaned with frustration -it was a close thing- but bit it down and followed Eddie. 

Buck offered his help with the dishes but Eddie declined, on account of there being a total of two dishes to wash, so Buck stood with his back to the kitchen counter with a beer clutched in his hand and eyes boring into the side of Eddie’s face, willing him to just start talking. 

“I’ve been thinking a lot about where I’m at right now personally. Where I’ve been. What I want in life?” Eddie glanced sideways at Buck, no doubt noticing his confused expression. Buck still had no idea where this was going. “The whole thing with Anna put a lot of things into perspective.”

Ah, Anna. Chris’s gorgeous English teacher, who Eddie dated for two long excruciating months before they broke it off. Two months of Buck having to grit his teeth through it, fake smiles, and pretend not to be hurt when Eddie chose date night with Anna over going out with the team or over having a drink with Buck. They didn’t get serious enough for Eddie to even “introduce” her to Chris, but she had made Eddie smile at his texts and ask Buck what to wear to a date, and that had been more than enough to break Buck’s heart.

“I thought it was what I wanted, you know?” Eddie continued, unaware of Buck’s spiraling thoughts. “And in a way, it really was for a little while. She is an amazing woman, and she was kind and beautiful but. It didn’t feel right, Buck. Not in the way that I was expecting it to.” Eddie’s smile was self-deprecating, even with half of his face hidden away from Buck’s view as he finished drying the last of the cutlery. “I had to think a lot on why that was. Why I couldn’t let her into my life the way she wanted me to. Why it sometimes felt off. It was good with her, but it never felt enough.”

Eddie paused, reaching for a towel to dry off his hands. Eyes resolutely fixed on what he was doing.

Buck put his beer down and brought both arms up to cross over his chest. There was something burning low in his stomach. Anxiety or anticipation or a mixture of both. A twisted sense of hope poking at his stubborn heart. 

When Eddie looked at him, Buck nodded in encouragement for him to go on. 

“Did you figure out why?”

Eddie smiled at him, the same look on his face from earlier. Warm. Contemplative. Soft.

“Yes, I did.” Eddie sighed, now turning to mirror Buck’s position, so that they stood side to side, shoulders nearly brushing. “I figured out that I had already let someone else into mine and my son’s life. Into my heart. And that there wasn’t space for anyone else in there.”

And God. God! If this meant what Buck thought it meant.. He wasn’t above crying with relief.

“And who’s that, Eddie?” Buck asked, the crack in his voice more pronounced now. He thought that the entire world could probably hear his thundering heartbeat at that moment.

“You’re not dense, Buck,” Eddie sighed, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. He still looked worried but he also looked lighter. 

“I want to hear it.” Buck insisted. He couldn’t take any chances, not with this.

Eddie looked at him with determination in his eyes. His voice was still gentle when he spoke.

“I have feelings for you, Buck.” Eddie started carefully, then shook his head with a small laugh. “Strong feelings.” Eddie announced in a steady voice, and now he was fully looking at Buck, watching his reaction.

Buck felt dizzy with emotion. And Buck, with all of his loud personality and inability to stay still usually, was currently at a loss for words.  He couldn’t think. Could do nothing but blink rapidly at Eddie, feeling the telltale start of a smile slowly pulling at his lips.

“I’m not telling you this because I expect something in return, Buck,” Eddie went on, “I know that you’re my best friend, and I know you love Chris more than anything. So I know that this won’t make you turn away from us,” and here Eddie’s voice betrayed that he wasn’t as confident about this part as he would like Buck to believe. “But I needed you to hear it. You are my best friend, and for the past four months, the only person I’ve wanted to talk to about all of this was you.” Eddie let out a long breath, his hand rubbing at his eyes as if he was all of a sudden very tired. “So. You can take your time thinking about it. Take your space too. And whatever you decide, Buck, I will follow your lead.”

“There’s nothing to decide,” Buck finally found his voice, and it came out tinged with a smile. He turned so that he was facing Eddie, and nudged at his shoulder until Eddie turned to face him. “I made my decision a long time ago. I was just waiting for you to get here, Eddie.”

Buck’s palm found its way to the side of Eddie’s jaw, cradling Eddie’s face as if it were something precious. His other hand came up to rest upon Eddie’s shoulder, his finger trailing from there to the side of Eddie’s neck. The moment felt so fragile around them. The entire world holding its breath while they stared at each other.

“Buck?” Eddie said in a measured voice. Hope was creeping into his warm brown eyes, and he was starting to smile too in something akin to disbelief. Buck knew his expression must have looked the same.

“You’re not dense, Eddie,” Buck grinned, repeating Eddie’s phrase from before, and relishing the exasperated smile it got him. And that smile was what finally snapped Buck into action. It was so achingly familiar, so beautiful and tender and fond, that Buck found himself surging forward without a second thought. His lips finally brushing against Eddie’s. His breath hitching when Eddie brought his hands to Buck’s waist and pushed them closer together, all the while kissing Buck back senseless. 

They kissed for long moments, unaware of anything else around them. Their breaths mingling whenever one stopped to breath and the other peppered kisses along lips and cheeks and jawline.

“Buck,” Eddie breathed out, and Buck thought he could die happy just hearing Eddie say his name like that for the rest of his life. “Are you sure about this?”

Buck has never been more sure about anything in his life, but he knew that Eddie needed the reassurance. Needed to hear it too, because he -just like Buck himself- had known too much loss and pain to take anything for granted.

“I want this. I want to be with you. To be your best friend and your boyfriend, if that’s what you want too” Buck said, eyes boring into Eddie’s and then fluttering shut as Eddie’s thumb brushed gently against the side of his face. “You and Chris mean the world to me, Eddie. You must know that. I’m all in.”

Buck loved them both so much, his heart ached with it, and he knew that that love was written all over his face for Eddie to see. 

“I want that too, Buck.” Eddie rested his forehead against Buck’s temple and laughed with what sounded like pure relief, and Buck found himself laughing along with him. The kisses they traded sloppy and more teeth than lips with how hard they were both smiling. 

“I want you, and I want whatever you’re willing to give me.” Buck murmured, once they had laughed until they started kissing again.

“Everything, Buck,” Eddie answered against Buck’s lips, smiling into the kiss. “I want to give you everything.”

Note: This is my first ever fic in this fandom, and my first fic in general in a very very long time so please be gentle! Comments, reblogs, and tags are so appreciated <3

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