#like an explosion or his body was just shredded so badly

[st-hedge]

What was that really beautiful wording used to describe characters I like— ah that’s it, sad sacks of issues. That’s this guy right here

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s ficrec Fraturday

Hi everyone, how we holding up? I'm coping (ish) with a Ghost Whisperer watch through and an abundance of wonderful fic. Back with another fortnight of fic that I've read and loved recently, and wow there's been some amazing stories! As always you can find previous rec lists here.

14 December 2024

at this fork in the road (I want the path that leads me to you) by @polkadotk804 was recommended to me by an anon (thank you!), and has firmly cemented polkadot as a must read author! A sliding doors split narrative fic, in which in one strand Eddie asks Buck to come with him to El Paso, and in another strand he stays silent. Moving, emotional, full of small and large steps to reconciliation with Chris, Eddie as a brilliant Dad actually thank you very much, and the Diaz parents interfering, this is such a great read.

love letters written by someone else's hand by @moonsharky is so much fun!! After the 118's cameo on hotshots' midseason finale, buck finds himself hooked on the show and binge watches the entire series, quickly immersing himself in the fandom life. He's deep diving on reddit and stumbles across RPF of him and Eddie (aka Nurse 1 & 2) and curiosity strikes. Joyful, and brilliantly done.

beating the horse by @doitbuckley in which Eddie is moving to Texas, and looking back at his various 1.0 2.0 upgrades, Buck finally figures out what he wants. But of course first he has to spiral hard, whilst trying not to let on that that's just what he's doing. Oh this hurt so much, but was so good. Buck just absolutely ripping himself to shreds whilst Eddie quietly self combusts in the background. So so satisfying, and I loved the open endedness of it all. Wonderful work!

the sweetest possible lie by @wildehacked Chris’s fifteenth birthday falls on a Tuesday, and it couldn’t be more different from last year. Eddie and Buck take him to dinner to celebrate, and an assumption from the waitstaff leads Chris in a bout of teenage grandiosity to ask why Buck still denies being his father figure when people suggest it. This is short but packs a punch, and has such a clever and sympathetic eye on youthful wilfulness, as well as the balancing act that Buck and Eddie are on.

Somethings Said (to turn you inside out) by taegyungie absolutely KILLED ME with the sexual tension, my goodness, I kept having to pause to catch my breath. During the end scene in 8x08, Buck catches Eddie on Grindr, gets confirmation he's started sleeping with men...and now Buck can't stop thinking about it. Absolutely unable to stop his curiosity, he finds himself drawn to Eddie's profile, and soon casual chatting leads to more. Absolutely sizzling hot, and the voice and characterisation of their teasing friendship developing was so gorgeous.

bad luck to talk and the strangers by jaekyu both incredible! In BLTT, we get thee most miscommunicating dummies fic - in which buddie start having casual sex in the midst of season 8 but do not talk about it, just add it to the mix of their friendship. Eddie is convinced this means they are dating, Buck thinks it must be a case of fwb as Eddie can't love him. They both reexamine with the benefit of hindsight. It's hot, compelling, and full of aching romantic tension. In The Strangers, we have them coping with Eddie moving to El Paso by hooking up, and then Eddie running, with Buck later visiting, and the cycle repeating. It's so much connection and hope and pain, and beautiful, with some A+ Eddie thesis statements.

and i fell (like a dead body falls) by fearofgod oh my god this one near broke me 😭 Buck and Eddie are on their first date, when the ground literally drops out from beneath their feet in an explosion at the restaurant. Both badly injured, they rely on each other to help those they're trapped with, whilst life slowly drifts ever further away. I realised as I was reading that I hadn’t checked for a MCD tag and was genuinely like oh god what if they actually die? (Don't worry, there's a hope!) I really adored the characterisation of them both being already all in on their relationship, and the weight of their friendship and working partnership history coming to the fore in the crisis, and yet that they were still figuring things out and on the cusp of feelings actualisation. Literally an edge of your seat, heart in your mouth read and some absolutely stellar hurt/comfort fic.

I have had enough of crime by @lamardeuse will I ever get enough of Josh and Eddie gay yoda worsties? Not likely! The author sums this up brilliantly as 'Josh's view of Eddie's journey in 8A and beyond through the gay Olympic sport of competitive brunching.' Delightfully bitchy but also forging a solid foundation of quiet friendship and support, I loved this so much.

I should be pushing daisies by @exhuastedpigeon ooooh this was so healing. With Eddie leaving for Texas, Buck is still in LA and at the 118, and pining. He leans on the people around him, Bobby, Maddie and long calls with Eddie over facetime. All he needs now is a Christmas miracle. The perfect warm hug of a holiday fic.

That's all for now, see you soon for Christmas recs!

[weebalu483]

So I’m currently watching the new episode of black butler and I just noticed Undertaler’s scar. Do you think he either had an accident or maybe he experimented on himself for his bizzare doll thing that’s he’s obsessed with?

(A really good question! I keep ping-ponging a lot of different theories on why Undertaker has his scars. Some say it might have to do with the disaster he caused 60 years ago that Othello talk to Grell about, if I'm remembering correctly, he completely tore down an entire reaper HC so it's possible his scars came from some kind of explosion or disaster he experimented with!

Some also HC that it might have to do with how he died, like maybe he ended his life by cutting his body to shreds. I don't personally believe this one so much because if we were supposed to know that, we would've seen it during the explanation of a reaper's origins.

I can't say he experimented on himself because Undertaker may be reckless in his studios of the dead but he seems more the type to experiment on other lesser people than himself. He's still super arrogant so he doesn't strike me as the type to injure himself for an experiment. Lol

I've also seen some theories suggest his scars came about when he was "preoccupied" with something when the Phantomhive's were attacked. Since we all can agree something supernatural killed the Phantomhive's by the fact that the twins were undisturbed, it's possible Undertaker was fighting this supernatural create and got badly injured.

Those are pretty much the ones I think are pretty solid, but I feel like the one about him getting these scars in the destruction of the reaper HQ when he went solo seems the most accurate to me!)

[skinnymeanfaggot]

im gonna talk about warriorfied vangarde. i need to think of clan names for the corporations but there are 3 of them and some small rogue groups and his clan was blueclan. lambkits parents were kittypets who wanted their kid to be a big strong warrior so he was brought to the clan and raised there. but he sucked at everything he did and was the antithesis of a warrior, essentially and everyone treated him like shit.

so lambpaw was miserable and weak and shy but trained really hard and tried as best as he could to become a warrior, and then was named lambheart. which is kinda insulting. but nothing got better for him at all even when he grew stronger he was still pushed around and hurt and so he started spending his time wandering twolegplace. and everyone thinks hes going to become a kittypet again but instead he tigerstar style finds a pack of dogs and lets them loose, using himself as the bait to lead them directly into camp. and there are a ton of fucking dogs and half the clan gets wiped out and uhh lambheart gets ripped to shreds and thrown into a river where hes found barely alive by one of the small rogue groups in the area.

and the rogues are like hey dude what you did was awesome and we wanna destroy the clans do you wanna help and lambheart was like fuck yes. and he becomes deputy and leader because he knows how to get shit done and fuck shit up and his group just becomes a huge menace to the clans. he also renames himself ramstar which pisses everyone off because you cant just go and claim a leaders name without getting 9 lives or anything. but he does it

and then several years later jude name pending is born into blueclan which has mostly rebuilt by this point. and he does a fuckup so hes sent on an impossible mission to infiltrate ramstars group and destroy it and so he comes in and hes like hi im definitely not a clan cat. and ramstars like awesome! youre hot. and jude eventually becomes deputy and they start being silly and then jude leads all 3 clans to attack and slaughter the rogue group but begs to keep ramstar alive as a prisoner. and hes tasked with guarding him and then they eventually both run away and like become kittypets

i have like 4 aus with vangarde and each handles his disabilities differently in a way of like, how many body parts can someone lose before they fucking die. and in twic they have Future medicine but in deviltown and botw i had to tone down his injuries because for example getting all four limbs ripped off by werewolves and being left to bleed out all night would definitely kill someone. so basically in this au he gets one leg totally torn off and his others are really badly mangled so he has braces made from sticks and long grass that help him walk. he cant really hunt or fight or do anything though and has bad chronic pain.

in twic hes completely deaf with Future hearing aids to remedy it because the explosions burst his eardrums. but in this his ears are torn up but also the fucking. screams of his clanmates being ripped apart.and the barking of the dogs. damaged his eardrums so hes very hard of hearing. and also he got his eye bit out. and hes really old. but hes so effective at running his group he has all 3 clans conspiring to take him down which is very funny because hes just an old man

[bakakatsuki69]

CONSIDERING HOW MUCH 💕 THE OTHER BAKUGO ONE GOT HERE HAVE THIS ONE!!!

If you like dom and bondage here we go.

Don’t forget who the hell I am

Reader x Katsuki

Bakugo’s revenge

You could hear the chains as you moved. Your heart was racing. You could hear a snicker coming from your right. You bit your lip in anticipation. You couldn’t see what was going on because of the black cloth over your eyes but you could smell his familiar scent. You could hear his low laughter.

You tried to call out his name but stopped as you felt him getting close. You wondered what his face was like seeing you so powerless. His fingers softly touched your skin as he trailed down your exposed belly. He reached up and caressed your face gently.

“Katsuki,” you whispered. “Wa-”

He kisses you rough and hard before you can say another word. Your tongues dance around each other until you're almost breathless. He lets you go but not before biting your bottom lip. He sucks the bit of blood he drew from his bite off before licking your lip.

“Hehe” he says in a low voice. “Seems like you enjoyed the kiss. Your face is flushed.”

You remain silent but soon feel his hand around your neck as he pulls you to his face. His warm breath blows on your face as he breathes. You can tell he’s really stimulated from how his breathing is.

“You gonna answer me?” He asked coldly before taking a small bite on your neck.

He always goes for your most sensitive spots first so this didn’t surprise you. What did surprise you was the fact that he didn’t suck on your neck to mark you. It was unlike him to not mark what was his. In the three years you were dating since college he always left dark marks on your collarbone and neck that you had to find ways to conceal. Why not this time?

You felt something being wrapped around your neck. He tightened it so that it was snug. You wanted to reach to see what it was but remembered he had your bound to the table.

“Oh curious what it is I put on you?” He laughs. You feel him tug at the leather band he put on your neck.

“It’s a collar,” he said. “With a little dog tag that says this is the property of Katsuki Bakugo”.

Then in a split second he shredded off your top and bottoms. He didn’t take them off...no he ripped them off you. You could hear as the fabric was being torn and felt a small draft as your skin was suddenly exposed to the fresh air. You felt a slight tingle from his aggressive behavior as he tore your clothes off.

“Hmm” he says in a low growl. “You look tantalizing babe and I so badly want to just take you right here on our dining table but” he paused. “I remember something. I remember how not that long ago you decided to try to make me your bottom”

He was referring to the night he got too drunk and you thought it would be the perfect opportunity to get him to let you top him. He actually did let you in his rather drunken state and even though the drunken Kacchan loved the feeling the more sober Katsuki feigned amnesia too embarrassed to admit he loved being pegged by you.

You gave a sort of laugh. “Try to?”you whispered but Katsuki heard you.

“Shut up idiot” he said in a slightly flustered voice.

You felt a small sting on your chest. “Ah” you said not in pain but surprise.

You heard the small crackling sounds and knew instantly it was Katsuki's quirk. He was making small explosions. Very minuscule ones against your exposed skin.

“Don’t worry babe” he says “I won’t hurt you. I can never do that”

You feel him tug your collar again “but I do have to teach you a lesson.”

You feel your legs tremble a bit. Then a small line of drool slips down the side of your left chin. Your body is stimulated not just from the tiny explosions he was doing across your body but from the tone of his voice.

“Ah,I see this has you slightly excited.” He says. You can tell from how his voice sounds that there’s a wicked smile on his face.

He leans into your ear. “You want me to ravish you don’t you?”

You nod.

“Haha” he laughs. “Sorry babe. I want to take you too. I want to feel my long girthy cock deep inside your sweet wet cunt...but I also wanna make you regret what you did last time.”

You heard him grabbing something close by. Followed by the sound of a switch being turned on. Then finally a soft humming sound. You could guess what it was before he bought it towards you. He gently rubbed the soft silicone vibrating toy over your now perky nipples through your sheer bra. You shuddered from the sensation.

“No this time I won’t just take you like I always do.” Katsuki says in a low voice. You hear a smacking sound against the floor and your body freezes.

“This time I’ll make you beg for me to fuck you...” he says.

Suddenly you feel a soft smack from a whip on your arm. It was light enough to not sting but it did spark your excitement. You realized that tonight would be a lot different from the other nights. Tonight Katsuki wasn’t going to just ravish you. He was going to take his time...slowly driving you insane until you begged him for his cock.

“First I’ll start with that naughty hole of yours. Just like you did with me.” He growls in frustration at the memory.

He lifted your legs up, making your ass be exposed. You felt his finger touching your little rosebud and trembled from the anticipation. You heard as he wet his fingers. Then a coolness on your rosebud as he gently rubbed it.

“No, please.” you said softly. It wasn’t like you didn’t like it but the sensation would really drive you crazy. It was one of your weaknesses.

“Do you think you’re in a position to tell me no?” He said with a sarcastic laugh.

Before you could answer he had already slipped a lubed up finger in your hole. You jerked involuntarily at the sudden sensation. You wished you could see his face as he gently prodded your back hole. After you felt yourself loosening up another finger slipped in. He was gently stretching you.

“You know I could fuck this little rosebud right now...not even touch your cunt but it’ll be too easy.”

You let out a small whimper as he said these words. Your body was aroused and your pussy was beginning to drip. He noticed your love nectar dripping down your left leg. Soon you felt his tongue barely touch your pearl. After a few seconds of him just hovering over your now wet pussy, he suddenly licks your clit. You buck from the sensation of his tongue and breath down there.

He lets out a laugh, probably marveling in the state you are in. He continues to tease your back hole with his two fingers as he teases your clit with his tongue. Sucking roughly. You begin to moan as his tongue teases you more and more. You’re almost at your limit and could feel it building up. Almost as if he could also tell he stops abruptly leaving you unsatisfied and desperate.

“No way babe. You will not get to cum from this.” He says.

You could tell there’s a smirk on his smug face as he speaks. You suck your teeth but soon realize how wrong that action was. In an instant he has gripped your legs, pushing them above and then you feel a large slipper wet rubbery shaft go in your back hole. Your whole body jerks from the sudden penetration.

“Ahhhh” you groan.

You feel him move towards you and soon feel the sting of his small explosions on your bare chest. Your body reacts even more violently to this. The sting on your sensitive nipples was too much.

“No please Katsuki” you say breathlessly.

Another small explosion on your right nipple was sparked. The feeling of the vibrating toy in your forbidden spot was making you more weak. Your legs were now trembling.

“Hmm” he says. Giving you another spark. “Please? I think I said the same thing but you didn’t listen...”

He sent another small spark to your chest.

“Shit” he said “seeing you like this got me really hard.”

You suddenly feel him put something on your face.The familiar scent arouses you even more. You begin to lick your lips.

“Open your mouth” he orders. “Like the obedient little slut you are”

You roll your eyes but he grabs you by your head. Forcing your jaw open with his fingers. He then slips his tip into your wet mouth. You twirl your tongue around him before he pushes more inches into your mouth. Slowly inch by inch before he fills your mouth and throat. He starts gently moving but after a few minutes moves more roughly. His girthy hard cock keeps thrusting into your mouth and throat. He keeps pushing your head making you bob up and down. You find it hard to breathe as his big hard cock is down your throat and all you smell is the manly scent. After a few minutes he begins to throb and twitch. You feel his warm milk pour into your mouth and down your throat as he pulls his still erect dick out your mouth.

“Don’t you dare swallow,” he says. “If you do..,I’ll make you regret it” his voice is deep and firm so you know he means it.

You hold his milk in your mouth careful not to swallow.

“Also you can’t let it out either. If you spill even a drop I’ll make you...”

He lets the sentence trail off making you wonder what he’ll do. You feel his fingers rubbing your clit. Then he moves the toy inside your backside deeper. You jerk at his action which makes him laugh. He slips two fingers in your now twitching pussy.

“You feel rather wet babe. Do you want me to tease your wet cunt with my tasty cock that you just sucked?” He says menacingly.

You nod with pleading eyes as he stirs you up.

“Haha I almost forgot you can’t speak.” He says smacking your ass. He takes his fingers out of your stretched pussy.

You feel his tip teasing your entrance. You moan wanting to feel him so much.

“Since you can’t talk....purr for me. Show me how much you want me to fuck this wet pussy of yours.” He says smacking his cock against your pussy.

You moan and purr as he keeps smacking your pussy with his hard cock. You want him so bad that every action is making your body tremble. You need him to fill up your insides. Your purrs get louder, you even begin to mew softly.

“Haha yes just like that!” Katsuki says laughing as he slips his tip into you. He smacks your ass again making the toy move a bit.

Biting your lip to keep yourself from opening your mouth you grip the chains wanting to be free to grip him so you can push him into you. He moves one more inch. The feeling of your pussy squeezing his cock made you want to feel him deeper but you couldn’t speak. So you mew and whimper. He laughs again as he slips another inch in. Then another and another. Soon he has your insides stuffed with his girthy cock. You can feel him pressing against the vibrating toy that’s still in your back hole. You whimper louder a bit as his seed drips down your chin. Your moans get louder as he begins to thrust into you. As he slams harder and harder you find it more difficult to keep your mouth closed.

You want so badly to scream as you feel his big hard cock stretching you out. You feel him deep inside you. His grips get tighter by your thighs. You groan as he begins to go faster and deeper. He groans with you as your pussy tightens around him. His grip tightens on your thighs which makes you yelp a bit. Some of his milk dribbles out of your mouth.

“You want to scream don’t you?” He says still thrusting into you. Your body has gotten weak from the pounding.

You nod. You know he’s smirking now even if you can’t see.

“You can swallow now.” He says. You can tell he also wants to hear your voice.

You swallow his milk. A seductive smile on your face. You lick your lips savoring the flavor.

“Kachannnnn pleaseee” you say as he slams harder. “Please let me hold you.”

He laughs. “No,” he says, stopping his thrusting. “But I will release you.”

You soon feel the chain loosen up. Your wrists are now free but he doesn’t let you grab him or take off the blindfold. Instead he flips you onto your stomach flat. Pressing your legs together he slides back into you but with your legs squeezed together this action is a bit too much. After a few minutes in this position you cry out. You feel him twitching and know he’s gonna fill you up with his milk. You can also feel your own love juices filling up. Just as you’re about to cum though, Katsukiu stops.

“No way,” he says, pulling out. You feel his warm liquid fall onto your ass and back. “It’s not a punishment if you get to cum so quickly”

Before you can say anything he's removed the toy from your naughty spot. You feel his tip against your wet rosebud as he slowly inserts his cock inside. You growl as inch by inch slides in.

“I’m going to make you remember who the hell I am” he says, grabbing you by your hair, making you arch your back and pushing your ass up. He fills your ass up with his girth. Stretching your rosebud.

“Ah fuck” he says. “It’s so tight” he sounds surprised but it was no wonder after how long the toy was in you.

“Ah” you scream as he slams into you. Smacking your ass which only makes you tighten more.

“How do you like it?” He says with a low tone. “Getting fucked by my cock. Getting fucked in your ass. Huh”

You can’t respond as he grabs you by your neck. Your only response is your little yelps as he continues to thrust deep inside. You grip the edge of the table to keep yourself stable.

“Ka-kachan please I’m gonna break”

This makes him laugh. “Yes. I’m going to break you with my cock.” He says laughing. He leans in close so he can whisper in your ear “who am I?”

“M-my master” you moan. You feel his milk filling your insides.

“Please fuck my pussy master.” You say breathlessly.

Katsuki flips you over to your back. Then the blindfold is suddenly removed and you can see him. See his desperate expression and you know he wants to make you cum. His panting breaths make you realize how bad he was holding back. You know he wants to see you shake from his dick. So he slides into your twitching throbbing pussy. As he fills your pussy up with his hard cock once again you grip him. Dragging your nails across his back which makes him growl in your ear. You wrap your legs around his waist as he thrusts. Deeper. Faster. Your nails are now gripping his back so hard. He bites down on your neck.

You jerk and shake. The sensation of having him so deep and being denied before makes this climax so much more. Your toes curl as he continues to slam into you. He sucks hard on your neck. Before long you feel it. All the built up love nectar cums gushing out. You squirt violently on the table and Katsukis cock. Soon after you feel his milk shoot into you.

“Wow babe” he says with a smile. “Feeling you squirt that way made me unable to hold it back”. He kisses you before lifting you up.

“I’m sorry I was so rough with you but I had to remind you.” He says holding you up. “I am your master, not the other way around.”

He walks you to the bathroom where he cleans you up and himself. Then he dries you off and changes you into your comfy pjs. He changes into a matching set he reluctantly bought after your constant begging. Once in bed he hugs you.

“Come closer” he says in a sleepy voice. “Cuddles” he then kisses your forehead as you lay on his chest.

“I love you babe” he whispers before closing his beautiful deep red eyes.

“I love you too, Kachan” you say but shake your head “no I mean master”

He smirks in his sleep as he grabs you tightly. You touch the collar that you forgot to take off and smile knowing that it was him stating you were his. You soon drift off to sleep too with thoughts of how to get him back for tonight. Even though it was technically his revenge you felt like it was too much so you would definitely get him back. The demon couldn’t get away with this.

[masterwords]

running toward nothing (part ten)

Summary: Hotch is injured in an explosion while on overseas assignment, putting Derek in a difficult position both with the team and with Spencer who has spent the last few months inadvertently falling in love with him. (Set around 07x01 - It Takes a Village but canon divergent by a lot.)

Warnings: car accident, swearing, drug addiction/use (Jack is in the car accident...everyone lives, no one is too badly hurt)

Words: 1.6k

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan established

Notes: This is for @tobias-hankel’ s Spencer Whump Challenge. My assigned prompts to do my evil with were Derek Morgan & Betrayal. Well fuck, you guys. That took me a year and a half to achieve...it's not great, but it's getting us there. One more to go but...WE HAVE WHUMP! SPENCER WHUMP! Not THE whump, but A whump. So...I'm sorry, I'll have the last chapter soon...slowly my ability to write is returning (slowly, and this really isn't great but it's the best I can do right now) and I have so many things in store for you guys. For now...accept this as my humble apology.

CHAPTER LIST

Read on AO3: Running Toward Nothing

**

It was hailing. Weird, because the forecast hadn't called for hail, in fact it was supposed to be a perfectly sunny day but here it was, pelting the windshield and then his face. He really needed to roll up his window.

No.

That couldn't be right. He could see the sunshine through the windshield but the sky was...wrong, twisted and tilted on its axis, and where was the...oh.

Fuck.

That's glass, he thought suddenly, the fog lifting only for a moment. Long enough to hear Jack's terrified shrieks from somewhere behind him, far away but way too damn close. Far away could mean he'd dropped him off and Jack was seeing him...this close and Spencer, in some foggy nightmare world, realized that Jack was behind him and still in the car. “SPENCER! SPENCER! SPENCER!” Inside the car that was now on its side sputtering steam and the sweet smell of the transmission and radiator spilling their guts all over the road. He blinked the blood from his lashes and tried to move his hands, to wipe his face, but couldn't. He was pinned in place.

“Jack?” he croaked in a voice that sounded raw and like it had been filtered through something in a Hollywood special effects lab. “Jack answer me...”

Jack was crying. It had gone from screams to crying, and the screams had been bad but this made Spencer vibrate with a desperation he'd never known. He fumbled with shaking fingers against what he knew were broken bones and torn ligaments, trying to get his seatbelt unbuckled but it was jammed tight in the crunched door. He was pinned.

And even if he could free himself, some part of him knew he had no business touching Jack. Covered in blood, broken and useless and high as fuck...he stopped and tried to crane his neck, just to see. Jack's uncontrollable sobs were shaking his entire body but he was still strapped in tight, his chest clip in place, his seat solid. He was bleeding but he looked fine. A hell of a lot better than Spencer knew he was, that was certain. And good, maybe Hotch would be less inclined to kill him if Jack was okay. He doubted he'd see any mercy but he did find some shred of himself hoping for it. The cries from the back seat had gone from fearfully calling for Spencer, right into the song of a child who just wants his dad.

Except he wasn't crying for his dad, Spencer realized. He was calling out but he wasn't saying dad, he was saying Derek. The kid was beside himself and Spencer thrust one hand toward the backseat, trembling fingers making contact with Jack's cheek and grappling for something to hold.

“Jack, Jack, it's okay...we're going to be okay...do you hear the sirens?”

“DEREK!” Jack screamed at the top of his lungs, and Spencer knew Jack was beside himself, in total shock. He couldn't appeal to him with logic, so he grappled some more until he found Jack's hand and squeezed the best he could with whatever paltry strength he possessed.

“Derek will come,” Spencer said softly, he believed it too. Maybe they were both calling out for a hero. Derek always came, he always saved the day. “Did you know...” he licked his dry, blood caked lips and sucked down a gulp of air. “that he's really good at kicking down doors?”

“Could he...” Jack gasped, his eyes huge and wild. “Could he break this door?”

“Absolutely,” was Spencer's reply and he almost thought he could see the movie in Jack's scared eyes. Derek coming and with one swift motion, like a superhero, tearing the door from its hinges and freeing the both of them. Scooping Jack into his arms and holding him tight, taking him to his father. They listened to the song of the approaching sirens get louder and louder, and Jack stared out the window expecting any minute to see Derek framed there in crumpled metal.

Spencer's head lolled to the side, his hand still on Jacks while his eyes fluttered closed. Back into the warm embrace of the last tendrils of his fog, forgetting the hail storm. They'd wait it out. Can't drive in hail like this.

The next time his eyes opened the sky was above him again, neatly situated in its proper place, and that crackling, popping dripping glass sound wasn't ringing in his ears anymore. He tried to turn his head, to look for something important...there was something so important that he needed to see...the fog in his head was thick like soup.

“Hang in there buddy, we'll be at the hospital in just a minute...” It was a voice that felt disconnected from everything, from the world, some omniscient being.

“Jack?” he rasped, like his mouth knew what his brain did not. Speaking the word was like a terrible spell, a sudden crushing feeling in his chest gave way to a choked sob and the EMT leaned over him and told him to relax. “Can't...can't relax...Jack...”

“That the kid you were with?”

He just blinked. Maybe, maybe not, questions didn't have answers just...Jack. The word became something to hold, thick and poisonous. It wasn't anything more than a word but it was a really really important word. Like a spell.

“Well, buddy, if that's the kid, he's in the ambulance right ahead of us...he seemed okay...do you know a Derek? He was calling for Derek...”

Derek. A new word to focus on.

(x)

The lights were too bright. Too damn bright and his eyes felt like they were peeling and blistering. He screamed but no one seemed to notice or care and it only hurt inside of his head...maybe he wasn't screaming at all. Maybe it was just a scream beating at his chest. Tearing him apart and chewing him up, he would be nothing but liquid soon if it had its way.

“Your emergency contact isn't answering his phone,” a nurse said softly, standing over him while they poked him full of holes and hooked him up to monitors. “We'll keep trying.”

“Hotch. Call...call Hotch...”

At least he thought he said that. Things were becoming clear again, slowly. She smiled and it read as pity more than kindness. Was he babbling? Saying real words or nonsense? She seemed to be parsing his words against language she knew. “I don't know who that is but we'll do our best.”

Blood in vials. Needles. Just a pinch. He blinked slowly and he knew, he knew what he did the clearer everything became. He knew by the way that behind every doctor and nurse was a police officer with his badge and his weapons, watching. Four hydros (why had he decided to take the others?) and he decided going for it on a yellow sounded great except that yellow had actually been red and he just...floated right through, huh? That how it went? He just...

He just what? He was blitzed out of his mind and he could taste colors, was that what he planned to tell the waiting officers when they came for his statement with their print out of his tox screen and their handcuffs? Yes, officer, see the thing is I couldn't seem to make my foot reach the brake...see, officer, my hands were numb and my fingers were dancing a jig like that little cartoon frog, you know that guy? The colors of the traffic light tasted just like laffy taffy. That was what he thought when the van came barreling into them, clipping them, knocking them on their side. Jack. Fuck. Hotch.

“Do you know how this happened?” There he was, that ominous policeman, faceless beneath the bright light. Just a halo and navy blue and a badge, a melting Dali painting of a person. He swallowed thick and thought of Hannibal making someone swallow their tongue. Wished someone could come through for him like that right now. He could do with a little relief.

“I uh...” he stammered, his lips like swollen sausages and the taste of blood was making him sick. The only good thing was that he was in enough shock that the pain barely registered. “I don't....” He did though. Jack said something about hearing Derek talk about marrying his dad, talking to his mom on the phone and Spencer's vision grayed out briefly. He'd swerved and gulped, then he reached into his pocket and downed those two extra pills...and then he'd asked Jack if he wanted to get a milkshake before school. A treat. Marriage...Derek was talking about marriage? So he drove right past the school and...

“Have you been drinking?”

“No, I...” he sighed and his lungs deflated to the point he thought they may never fill with air again. “I don't drink. But I...”

“You're FBI?” He was examining Spencer's credentials, writing a few things down on his trusty little pad of paper that made Spencer angry. Barely listening, he already knew what he needed, this was just an irritating formality. His fingers twitched at his side.

Too many questions. His head hurt. Everything hurt. They weren't giving him anything for the pain, and he thought he knew why. The same reason the officer didn't much care about his answers.

“Yes. I'm with the Behavioral Analysis Unit...” The officer hummed and stepped back when the nurses announced they had to get him into surgery, they had some work to do. He was glad, they'd put him under and then it wouldn't hurt anymore and he wouldn't see Jack's face bloody or hear his screaming. He wouldn't think about Hotch.

Or Derek. Or marriage.

[moral-turpitudes]

I’ll Follow You Into The Dark:

Masterlist | Rules | Peaky Prompts

Trigger Warnings: ANGST, Explosions, Mentions of Blood, Gore etc, and some Fluff.

*Based on Fluff Prompt #1 from my Peaky Prompts list.*

Word Count: 1,695

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Requested: Yes

Requested by: Anon, you can find it here.

Summary: When Thomas and the rest of the blinders head towards a trap, Y/N has to decide if they’ll stay behind or go with them. Knowing that they vowed to be with him until death.

“If heaven and hell decide That they both are satisfied Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs If there's no one beside you When your soul embarks Then I'll follow you into the dark”

- Death Cab for Cutie

The sound of explosions rang faintly in the distance as you held your hands over your ears, the impact dulling your hearing as a sharp ringing filled them.

“Tom!” You yelled into the void, hoping to hear him through the chaos.

Silence.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you crawled through the sharp debris, looking for the bomb that was set off nearby, hoping to find the remnants of the man who taunted your family and made the fatal mistake of stepping in his own trap. His evil smirk etching it’s way into your memory as he walked in the lavish room ever-so carefully. Thinking he’d be able to avoid the perilous wires near his foot as you spotted them before he did, your warning causing him to take his final step. Your hands soon scraping through the chunks of drywall and broken glass as the dust and smoke burned your eyes and lungs, your mind racing with finding the man whom you’d followed that day into the trenches, so-to-speak. 

Every Peaky Blinders mission for Thomas was like a battle, his mind always set on planning attacks to escape the scraping sound of the shovels against the hot, dark tunnels. But as always, no matter how many times he tried to stay one step ahead of his rivals, someone always got in the way. 

It started out as an ordinary day, Thomas calling a meeting and giving orders to head to the latest location on his mental hit-list. The name making your heart sink as you realized he was walking into a trap. The infamous, cunning gang leader you’d came to share a bed with was going to waltz right into what he swore he never would.

“Any questions?” He asked, his eyes lingering on yours as he blew out a puff of smoke.

Everyone nodded along except you, knowing the people they were going after were just as dangerous. That week, the rival gang had crossed the line, threatening and taunting the Shelby family with letters and fake explosives just to remind them of “who really ran the town.” One of them said in a tense phone call to Thomas, setting off the chain of events leading up to now.

The decision to leave your clerical duties was a rash one. Nervously following your husbands car to their destination. Once there, you parked a ways back, behind a slew of trees. Your steps light against the cobblestones as you got closer to them, knowing in your heart you had to warn him, even if it was the last thing you’d say to the man you loved.

“Tommy! Wait!” You said loudly, your heart racing from the effort it took to catch up to him and his brothers.

“Y/N...you need to go back to the shop, it’s not safe. Go.” He said lowly, not wanting to call attention to you all.

“I came here to warn you Tom. Remember when you sent me to sit in on their meeting at the pub? They mentioned a trap. I-I didn’t think much of it then, but after the threats...Tom I know it’s a trap. If you go in there now you won’t make it out.” You said as tears formed in your eyes, your nerves getting to you as you struggled to speak. 

“I have to, love. Now go.” He said, kissing you quickly. 

“No. I’m going with you.” You said defiantly, pulling out the handgun he gave you, checking to make sure it was fully loaded.

He had a pained look on his face as he nodded, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to change your mind. You’d been a good shot in the past, but that didn’t exactly mean much when explosives were concerned.

You all had barely made it through the first floor of the large manor before the first one went off. Thomas shoving you to the ground, shielding you from the small debris falling through the air. As the haze cleared, you sat up, feeling Thomas pull you to the nearest wall, yelling orders at his brothers before checking his bullets.

“Keep your eyes peeled for the wires yeah? Stay behind me.” He said, opening the door as the dust covered space cleared. You walked closely behind, quietly looking at the ground for any signs of the deadly wires as you heard yelling upstairs. Arthur was shouting amongst gunfire, and John sounded like he was scrapping with one of the men they were after.

Thomas roughly took your hand, leading you up the stairs in a sideways motion, backs towards the wall, checking around the corner with a quick glance before a bullet whizzed past your head. A scream caught in your throat as you realized how close you were to the darkness of death itself. Thomas soon returned fire, the screams of the man he hit echoing through the stone hallway that led to his brothers.

Upon arrival, you flanked your husband, pointing your gun at the man holding John down as Thomas shot the other.

“Get off of him!” You yelled, catching the mans attention enough to where John could get a punch in. The man hurling himself angrily at you soon enough until you shakily shot him. The man falling limp to the ground within seconds. Your hands shook as you took in the sight, trying to distract yourself from the blood by looking at the ground for more wires.

Almost as soon as you’d said that though, the man who’d sent you all the taunting letters came in with a menacing smirk, stepping in a weird way so as not to disturb the floor. But your eyes saw the colored wires poking out ever so slightly, your brain wondering how in the hell you all avoided it earlier.

“Everybody down!” You yelled, causing the man to misstep, setting it off. The wind soon knocked out of you as the blast hurled everyone to the ground. The ceiling caving in in various places as well as part of the floor below you.

You felt yourself relax as you breathed in the smoke, feeling as though you were going to pass out from the ordeal. The sharp pain of the glass shards stuck in your now shredded coat the only thing keeping you clinging to consciousness. As you closed your eyes, you pictured what life would be like if he’d never had the family business thrust upon him after the war. How he’d have probably married you sooner and how you’d probably be chasing little kids around by now in a big house on the outskirts of town. But now, reality set in as Arthur’s shouts came through the muddled noise, Johns following not too far behind as they ran towards you, grabbing you up in the knick of time. The once lavish building crumbling before your eyes as you knew the one you loved was most likely gone.

“Tom!” You called out, hands still scraping through the rubble of the first floor as Arthur and John dug through the rest of the larger stuff. Tears visibly splattering on the dust covered floor, the tiles smashed beyond repair.

Your heart ached knowing you’d never find him as you scraped through the debris, your hearing slowly coming back and eyes watering as you continued on, stopping once a hand reached out from one of the corners.

“Y/N.....” Thomas said weakly, his arm badly cut and his face busted up as he spat up blood, most likely from his busted lip or the jagged stone poking him in the chest. It most definitely broke a few ribs, causing him too much pain to move as he thought about what to do, even though he couldn’t do much of anything at the moment.

It seemed like he waited longer now, than he did for the calvary in France, for his brothers to make it to where he was. Helping him up despite his loud groans of pain.

You watched in horror as they drove him to the hospital, his face paling as you followed behind their car, hoping that neither heaven nor hell would take him, even though he belonged to the latter. Hoping that he would stay here, for you. For his family.

Hours had slowly passed until you’d gotten word he was going to make it, the doctors saying he was damn well close to dying by the time they’d got him in surgery.

“There you are love.” He said weakly, the meds doing his head in as he saw you walk in carrying his beloved cigarettes and his bloodstained coat. Your own body covered in various bandages as you sat next to his bed.

“I thought you were dead.” You said, tears rolling down your cheeks as he cupped your face with his hand. A small, pained laugh escaping his lips.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Y/N.” He said. Knowing he might as well have nine lives with as close he’s been to death over the years.

“I know...” you said shortly, holding his bruised hand in yours that were bandaged up.

“But...please promise me...that next time you’ll listen to me. At least when I know it’s a trap alright?” You asked, concern lacing your every feature as you felt him pull your hand to his lips, kissing the top of it gently.

“I will, but promise me something as well.” He said.

“What?” You asked.

“Promise me you won’t follow me next time. You shouldn’t have to risk your life for me.” He said, a serious look in his tired, blood-shot eyes.

“I can’t promise that Tommy. I’ll follow you into the dark not matter what. I fucking vowed to you know.” You said, pointing at the diamond on your ring finger.

“Aye, but you’re my partner. Can’t have you dying too.” He said.

“That is true, but what is love without sacrifice?” You said, giving him a light kiss as he pulled you close despite his injuries. Wanting to feel you beside him, to know that he wasn’t stuck in the rubble anymore, to know that he had you, and you had him.

Thomas Shelby Tag List:

@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby,  @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma, @psychkunox, @peakyxtommy, @captivatedbycillianmurphy,@dreamwastakenx,

@lovemissyhoneybee @thomashelbyswhore​, @xxbeckybeexx-blog

If you’d like to be added/removed just send me an ask or message! :)

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #19: Paperback Romance: Eijirou Kirishima & Katsuki Bakugou

You, Kirishima, and Bakugou have some things to figure out. Luckily, you’ve got somewhere quiet to do it. 

Characters: Eijirou Kirishima/Katsuki Bakugou/f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!), aged up characters, fingering, awkward threesome, the softest bullshit you’ve ever seen

Notes: I... am not sure how I feel about this one. But we’ll see. I think I should change Kinktober to Mushtober, because as it turns out, I have a squishy heart. Today’s prompt was “Threesome,” and I had every intention of making this one filthy, I really did. But then this came out. There’s also, like, not a whole lot of talking in this one. Idk. It’s different.

Whoops. 

Kinktober Masterlist

The breeze is salted velvet on your cheeks as you race along the oceanside highway.

Bakugou’s been driving for the last hour and a half. You’re in the passenger’s seat and Kirishima’s stretched out in the back with the windows open. The ocean stretches brilliant and navy out the driver’s side. The distant cry of gulls backs the slow thump of the breeze past your window.

If this were any other road trip, you’d be blasting tunes. You and Kirishima would be singing your hearts out. Bakugou would probably still be driving, but he’d look a whole lot grumpier than he does right now.

For the last eighty miles, you’ve all been… quiet. It’s like the reality of this trip is finally starting to sink in.

Kirishima and Bakugou have been your best friends since high school. You crammed together, partied together, graduated together. You were the first one that they told when they’d decided to become more to each other.

You remembered that day above any other. The way your stomach dropped out. You’d known, you’d always known, but they’d never made it real before. For as long as you’d known each other it had been the three of you. But from that point on, it was them and you.

You’d never been able to pinpoint why that bothered you so much. Why your heart crunched just a little smaller, whenever they had to be a couple around you.

But on the night that it fell into place, it fell fast. You’d been in love with them, both of them, for as long as you had known them. It wasn’t enough that they had one another. You wanted to have them, too. Those feelings that had been bottled up for so long came spilling out one night, among tears and wine and bitter words that you’d wished you could take back.

But buried among all that bitterness and jealousy was the truth. They felt for you. The way you did for them. They’d only ever wanted it to be the three of you. But that gap felt unbridgeable.

Even now, just a few days later, it’s growing wider between you in the silence of the car.

You’d decided to take off for the weekend, drive somewhere remote where you could remove yourself from the prying eyes of the public and just figure everything out. That somewhere turned out to be a beach house well out of the city. You’d been on the road for hours.

The afternoon’s waning into evening by the time you pull up to it. It’s just as cute as the booking site promised- all whitewashed boards and sage green shutters- with a little path winding its way from the back porch to the ocean.

Kirishima- who, by this point, is just waking up from his backseat nap- speaks first.

“Wow, it’s cute!”

You and Bakugou both give a little sigh. He kills the engine, and you both step out and slam the doors shut at the same time. You’re both taking in the sight of the little cottage, and then you both peek over the roof of the car to glance at one another.

You skirt your gaze past him to the ocean beyond. It’s killing you that things have become so awkward between you. But that’s what this weekend is for- knocking down all those walls, all at once. Kirishima and Bakugou tell you that as soon as they had broken down their barriers, everything came naturally.

You’re just hoping it works the same way for you.

Bakugou cooks you dinner that night, and he’s still far more stoic than usual. Though his explosive temper has calmed down since your teenage days, he’s never been very good at expressing himself through words. You taste it in his cooking, though. When the three of you cluster together around one end of the dining table, things start to feel normal again.

Until all three of you volunteer eagerly to pitch in with the cleanup.

Finally, the kitchen is sparkling, the sun has set, and there’s nothing else to think about but the bedroom upstairs and the single king bed that the three of you have promised to share.

“Hey,” you speak up. Bakugou looks up from the paperback he’s been thumbing through. Kirishima peers inquisitively over the top of his phone at you. They both look so honestly interested in you it makes your heart break.

“Listen.” You can’t take the silence anymore. Silence isn’t you. Any of you. You’ve been able to talk to them about anything, for as long as you’ve ever known them.

But this is different.

“I just wanna know.” You scrape your fingers through your hair. Your cheeks are hot. You’re clamming up, something you’ve been doing far too often around them lately.

“Are either of you half as fucking nervous about this as I am?”

For a breath, there’s silence.

Then laughter.

You don’t know who started it but you’re finishing it, peals of relieved mirth bubbling from your chest. Kirishima crosses the room in an instant, climbing into the recliner, smothering you with a tight hug.

“We couldn’t sleep a wink last night,” he chuckles into your shoulder. Bakugou bristles across the room, but he doesn’t disagree.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he mumbles. “Let me take you upstairs.”

“Us,” gruffs Bakugou from across the room. Slowly, he shuts his book and rises from the couch. “Let us take you upstairs.”

You sit on the edge of the gigantic bed. The windows upstairs are all open with gauzy curtains fluttering inward, crisp cotton sheets damped down by the humid sea air.

Kirishima kisses you first. It’s not the first time it’s happened, but you’re far from used to it. His lips cover yours so gently it makes you ache. Especially when Bakugou grabs you by the jaw and pulls you to him, and his kiss is insistent and rousing and you feel yourself easing into it already.

They know each other’s bodies well. Seeing them together is like paging the worn paper of a well-loved book; spine creased, corners folded.

You’d like to know how this story ends.

You tumble into the sheets in a messy tangle of limbs. You’re not sure what to do with your hands as Bakugou licks into your teeth and Kirishima’s trailing kisses down your chest. His forehead bumps Bakugou’s thigh as he works to push your clothes away. You have to stop three times to untwist yourselves before you’re all stripped down to your underwear.

But they want this with you. They want to be all of you again.

You climb boldly between Bakugou’s thighs, cupping and stroking his thick cock where it stands out through his undershorts. Kirishima’s behind you, kissing his way down your back and peeling away the last shreds of your modesty.

“I haven’t been with a girl in a while,” he mumbles, kissing the swell of your hip. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

He slides a finger into you from behind, pumping slowly. Below you, Bakugou’s grabbed your hips and holds you fast against him, letting you rock your pleasure into his firm muscles. Kiri’s fingers move earnestly, dipping into your tight heat while his other hand finds the swell of your clit and begins to rub.

“Ah-“ Your voice breaks as your chin falls forward. Bakugou holds you tighter.

“That’s it, sweetness,” he gruffs in your ear. “Let him make you feel it.”

“Kiri,” you whine, “I’m not gonna- I can’t,”

“Go on,” Kirishima whispers against your skin. “You’re so beautiful like this. Y’know that? Let me see you break for me, baby.”

You come hard, as if on command. Your body quakes with pleasure as it races up your spine like a gunshot, tightening your thighs and making you bury your head in the crook of Bakugou’s shoulder as you scream.

They’re looking at one another over your shoulder- you can feel it. And when you stir to life again, Kirishima collapses beside you and Bakugou rolls you into the middle.

It’s complicated and awkward and messy, but the three of you find your pleasure that night. And you fall asleep in the same sweaty tangle of limbs with your boys on either side of you.

As apprehensive as you’ve been, as badly as this scared you for so many years, now that you’ve got it, it feels peaceful as the dawn. This, you, the three of you, is how it always should have been.

And you know nothing will tear your boys from you. Not anymore.

[voltron-for-ever]

So many good tropes on your card, it’s hard to choose! But I think I’ll go with Left for Dead, with Keith as whumpee of course and maybe Shiro as the main caretaker. Could be that Keith loses a battle against a Galra or two during a mission, and they leave him for the Paladins to find…or for some extra angst, the Paladins have to leave Keith behind on a mission and believe him to be dead.

~ Left for dead ~

The paladins where on planet Naxzela. Their mission is simple enough get in, find the information they need and get out. If only the mission was going as smoothly as it should be, the paladins where out numbered the second their feet touched the planets surface. The galra where ready for them, as if they knew the paladins where coming. After what felt like hours of fighting against the Galran soldiers the battle was lost and the paladins where captured and placed in a small cell. Now all the paladins knew not to panic but of course when one of your own is badly injured the panic settles itself in the pit of your stomach before you even notice the feeling. Keith was clutched close to Shiro’s chest while he attempted to calm him. Shiro’s attempts where doing very little to distract Keith from the pain seeping throughout his whole body.

The longer the paladins stayed in the cell the weaker Keith got and the more distressed he became. Suddenly there was a loud explosion coming from the other side of cell block. From the smoke of the explosion three rebel fighters emerge telling the paladins to follow them. Unfortunately however the guards came quickly and began shooting at the rebels and the paladins. The Galran guards blocked the only way of getting back to where Keith was, there was no way to get to him.

Rebel 1 - Paladins there is no time, we must leave...

Shiro - No ! We can’t leave without Keith. There has to be a way to get to him, he’s injured we can’t leave him he has no way to defend himself not in his current state.

Pidge - Shiro the galra are blocking the only way to get to Keith ! We need to move, NOW !

Rebel 1 - The green paladin is right, there is no other way to get to the red paladin. We must leave without him ... I am sorry but we must go !

Shiro - B... but , we ....

Lance - We will come back for him Shiro , but first we need to get out of here and back to our lions then we can come back and save Keith!

Shiro - Fine ! As long as we come back for him !! He’s my brother I’m not letting him die here !

Keith used all the strength he had left in an attempt to beg the others for help but his voice was far to quiet to grab their attention and was lost amongst the sounds of blasters firing and shouting. All he could do now was lay helpless on the ground of the cell and hope the paladins came back for him. He realised he had yet to check over his injuries himself to out of it at the time, now was a good a time as any. Keith slowly sat himself up leaning against the cell wall for support and looked himself over. He was in worse shape than he thought, his armour was cracked and covered in blood, his under suit was completely shredded and he had huge gashes in his side and on his legs. His body ached, he was far to weak to move and his eyes have began to droop closed slowly over time. He has no idea how long he’s been out but it must have been quite a while since he’s no longer in the cell he was before, now he’s in a small room with nothing but a toilet, sink and a bed. He’ll admit it’s more than he’s seen in other galra prison cells so at least there’s that.

The paladins reached the lions and just in time as four large Galran cruisers entered the planets atmosphere. The paladins got so caught up in the battle that they hadn’t been able to get to Keith for quite some time. Now however the galra fleets where gone and the paladins raced back to the cell they left Keith in. They looked around the empty cell with wide eyes nothing but Keith’s blood that had stained the floor was in the room. Keith was gone ... he was probably dead, the injuries he had sustained where bad and the rate he was losing blood was not a good sign.

Sometime after the mission on Naxzela the paladins where searching a Galran cruisers cells for pidge’s dad and brother. That’s when they saw Keith and their faces fell .... why hadn’t they looked for him ? They had assumed he was dead and not even bothered to look at the possibility he was alive. Though he was alive he was in bad condition by the look of his pale sweating skin his wounds where infected, they needed to get him back to the castle and into a healing pod.

Once Keith was ready to exit the pod Shiro was there ready to catch Keith as the pod released him. Shiro’s mind wander while he waited, the guilt of not looking for his brother, the one person who never for a second be-lived he was dead was starting to settle back in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t have long to dwell on it though as Keith fell into his waiting arms and looked up at him sadly.

Shiro - Let’s lay you down Keith, you need to rest.

Keith - O..ok Shiro ....

Shiro slowly helped Keith over to the nearest bed in the med bay and laid him down gent. Shiro laid beside Keith soothingly running his human hand through Keith’s messy hair while his Galran hand ran his thumb over Keith’s knuckles. The actions must of comforted the younger paladin because Keith slowly fell into a deep, restful sleep nestling his head on Shiro’s shoulder.

{Word Count - 951}

Im a sucker for whump with a somewhat happy ending so here is the first square of my bad things happen bingo ! Hope you like it @actress4him 💖

————

@badthingshappenbingo

[arts-and-drafts]

Legacy (Part 2)

(Continuation of my first FWT fankid AU fic, in which Dream faces his consequences and Fundy goes after his reckless son before it's too late to save him. Enjoy!)

(Tagging @midnightmagi @rose-icosahedron @amazonprimebox @colorfulsiren @strawberrylemonz)

-

Dream shifted, the first real movement Theo had seen from him. "...I don't have a son." He spoke, his tone low with an unreadable emotion. Theo flattened his ears.

"Actually, you fucking do." Theo snarled, his anger overriding his caution. "But you wouldn't know, since Dad was too afraid of you to say anything."

Dream went still, his mask tilting up to seemingly search Theo's face. "'Dad'...do you--Fundy?" Dream asked, a shred of desperation present in his question.

"Yeah." Theo spat. "Fundy is my dad. He ran away because you cheated on him, and you were gonna start another fucking war."

Dream flinched, only barely, but Theo caught it with a fierce satisfaction. He found the nerve.

"I thought--I thought Fundy was dead--" Dream muttered. "And you...you're mine?"

Dream raised his hand towards Theo, but snatched it back when Theo raised the trident to his throat. "I'm not fucking yours. I'm here to hurt you the way you hurt my dad. Don't get fucking chummy."

Dream paused, again. Theo wished he could rip that mask off to see what he was really thinking.

"What's your name?" Dream asked, slowly and carefully. Theo's lip curled.

"You don't deserve to know."

Dream gently pushed the trident aside, putting his hands up as Theo jerked it right back to his vulnerable chest. "Kid--" Dream started, but Theo cut him off.

"Do you have any fucking idea what you did?! He loved you, and you just threw him into the dirt!! I'm ashamed to share your fucking blood." Theo exploded, spitting all the venom he could muster.

"Listen--" Dream tried to interrupt, his body language tensing the more Theo ripped into him. Theo silenced him by jabbing the trident points against his godly father's chest. "No! YOU fucking listen!!" Theo snapped.

Dream's energy suddenly violently shifted, making the fur on the back of Theo's neck stand on end. Dream grasped the neck of the trident with an iron grip and easily twisted it out of the fox's paws as if he was snatching a toy from a child.

Theo stepped back with wide eyes as Dream advanced, throwing the trident aside carelessly while keeping his undivided attention on his son.

Theo's back hit the strong stalks of bamboo, halting his frantic reversal to escape Dream. He bit down a yell as his other father grabbed his arm and pulled him close, his grip tight and unyeilding.

"Where is Fundy." Dream said. It was not a request, it was an order. Theo bared his fangs. "Fuck you."

"Tell me where he is!!" Dream yelled, yanking Theo closer as he tried to pull away. Theo clenched his free fist and felt it charge with green magic.

"Get off me!!" Theo snarled, his glowing fist being Dream's only warning before it swung dead center into his smiling mask.

Dream flew backwards, Theo crying out in pain as the god pulled the fox's arm hard enough that he heard a small pop in his shoulder before Dream's grip finally broke. Theo's vision blurred with white stars of pain as Dream landed in the pond below, thrown a significant distance from the force of Theo's blow.

Theo gasped and clutched at his arm, a throbbing ache from his shoulder forcefully taking his breath from his lungs. He staggered over to the discarded trident and picked it up with his left paw, holding it close to his chest as his right arm lay useless at his side.

Theo's eyes slowly widened in fear as Dream rose from the pond, crackling bolts of a familiar green energy encasing his entire body. Theo could feel his fury from 50 blocks away.

Theo tightened his grip on the trident, his ears flat to his head as his father started to float menacingly towards him. He was lightheaded with pain and one arm short, but refused to admit defeat. Theo stood his ground and bared his teeth as Dream closed in.

-

Fundy paced the length of Logstedshire's walls, his mind addled with worry. Theo hadn't been seen since he awoke, something that wasn't abnormal. His son liked the early morning. What worried Fundy was the fact that there was no note telling where he ran off to like there usually was, and he was not in his regular places of comfort outside the walls. He just simply disappeared.

"Could've forgot." Tommy wondered aloud to Fundy from his spot next to the Prime Log. His uncle had been looking for guidance from the vessel all morning, but was met with silence from his deity.

"No." Fundy instantly shot him down, turning in place to pace down the south wall again. "I rammed it into that kid's head to always tell me where he was. He wouldn't have forgotten."

A gust of chill from behind halted Fundy's nervous movement. He sighed and flattened his ears.

"What do you want, Wilbur."

"Hello, Fundy!" Ghostbur greeted cheerfully, unperturbed by his son's cold acknowledgement. "Is little Theo back yet?"

Fundy turned to face him. "You saw him leave?"

"Yes!" Ghostbur said. "He said he needed to take care of something and told me not to tell you--...oh." Ghostbur's face flickered. "Frick."

Fundy moved to grab Ghostbur's arm, his paw passing right through his father's transparent form. "Wil, tell me where he went." Fundy demanded, his voice rigid with fear. Ghostbur's face twisted in guilt.

"He said not to say anything," the spirit said hesitantly. Fundy flattened his ears tight to his head.

"Wilbur. My son is in trouble." Fundy said, driving every spot of desperation he felt into his words. "He's gonna fuck himself over and he's gonna get himself killed if you don't tell me where he went. For once in your fucking existance, Wil, be a good dad."

Fundy exhaled and looked at the ground, blinking tears from his eyes. "If not for me, then--at least for Theo."

Ghostbur had gone very transparent, his eyes far away. For a tense second, Fundy feared his dead father would disappear until he forgot again.

"He went to Technoblade." Ghostbur murmured dazedly, blinking. "He said he needed a weapon."

Fundy ran his paw over his head, his core filling with dread. "Shit. Shit." He tried so long to keep Theo hidden, to protect him, to keep him safe, and it was all falling apart.

Fundy cursed himself. He never should have told his son the truth. This was all his fault.

Fundy looked back up to Ghostbur, desperately searching his eyes. "Is he still there?"

Ghostbur shrugged, and Fundy wanted to tear his fur out.

"He...asked about Dream? I don't know why. He seemed very interested in your marriage." Ghostbur commented. Fundy squeezed his eyes shut, old scars flaring up at his father's words.

"He's going to the SMP." Fundy breathed. He snapped his head to Tommy, who mirrored his look of fear. "Tommy, we have to find him--oh shit, shit, he's going to get himself killed--"

Tommy's hands grabbed Fundy's arms, though the fox didn't notice him rise from the Prime log.

"Fundy--I-I can't go there. Dream will kill me." Tommy said, his voice only imperceptibly trembling. Fundy's shoulders began to shake. "He'll die if we don't, I--"

"Fundy, I can't go with you." Tommy reiterated in a pleading voice. "But you're not exiled like I am."

Fundy blinked. "So--I'm--I'm on my own." He realized. Tommy didn't respond, only pressed his mouth in a thin line.

"I'm--I can't. I can't die." He said, and Fundy could see regret and shame and fear behind his uncle's eyes.

Fundy stilled. "I...understand."

"You won't be alone!" Ghostbur piped up from behind them, his voice already back to its raspy happiness. Fundy set his jaw.

"Ghostbur. You need to stay with Tommy. You'll just fuck it up." Fundy stated, disdain dripping from his words. He turned away from his uncle and the ghost of his father, steeling himself for leaving Logstedshire for the first time.

"Fundy." Tommy said, and the fox paused. "Take whatever you need." His uncle said. Fundy turned to see Tommy gesturing to the storage house.

Tommy was a hoarder. After the visits from Dream, the boy had squirreled away everything he could get his hands on, hidden from the explosive fate that all the rest of his belongings had suffered. Tommy was possessive and greedy, but here he was, opening his entire supply of preperations to his nephew.

Fundy swallowed, a task that had suddenly become difficult. "Thank you, Tommy." He struggled, never one to know how to express his gratitude in his words. His father was the poet, after all. Not him.

Tommy nodded regardless, and Fundy got the feeling that he knew what his nephew was trying to convey.

Fundy made quick work of packing. Food, armor, axe. A golden apple just in case. He stopped, and then grabbed a second.

There was no such thing as too careful against Dream.

Before he sealed his pack, Fundy took a deep breath. Time was a medicine, and had helped Fundy heal from his former husband shattering him into pieces.

Going right back to the man who hurt him so badly could only end as such, and Fundy would never attempt it on his own.

But the greatest gift that came from Dream was Theo, and he meant more to Fundy than anything else in the realms. He was not about to abandon him to the fate of his divine father, no matter how bad it would hurt to go back.

Fundy clipped the top of his pack together and slung it over his shoulder.

For Theo, he would do anything. If that meant facing his hell to save his son, then so be it.

Ghostbur was gone when Fundy returned, and he didn't care. Good riddance. In the past, he would have felt a small twinge of guilt, but that was a long time ago.

Tommy saw him off, waving solemnly from the walls of Logstedshire. Fundy knew Tommy had done all he could, but the fox couldn't help but feel a very small twist of abandonment. Fundy was more than willing to risk his life for Theo, and a part of him wished Tommy was too.

Fundy shook his head. That was unfair to think. He focused on the horizon, his breath fogging in the morning air, and sent a silent wish to whatever god would listen that his son would be okay when he found him.

[no-whump-on-main]

Apartment 307-10 (Tears of Fear)

TWs: Like the last, this is a very heavy chapter. Overall TW for gore and graphic descriptions of the breaking and dislocation of bones. You are welcome to DM me for a chapter summary if this one isn’t your thing!

Elora wasn’t somewhere familiar when she awoke.

She didn’t open her eyes to yellowing tile and fluorescent light, but to a messy bedroom, with an unmade bed and beer cans scattered across the floor. Chains didn’t hold her to the faucet of a bathtub, rather, ropes bound her securely to an office chair. Each of her wrists were tied to the arms of the chair, though the right was much looser than the left. Mercy. Her hand was throbbing horribly enough on its own-she didn’t need the additional pressure of tight ropes. She wouldn’t dare move it even if it weren’t secured, too afraid she’d injure it further. Her chest was bound to the back of the chair and her right leg was tied to a bottom leg, but the left one was free. Why did he leave it free? She wriggled to test the ropes, but there was no hope of slipping out of them.

She tried to be as quiet as she could; if he didn’t know she was awake, he wouldn’t come in and hurt her. In the first few days, she’d always wake up screaming and thrashing, demanding her freedom-but now, she just wanted him to stay away. She was in so much pain between the throbbing of her hand, which was starting to swell and turn purple, and the aching of her head, she didn’t know if she could handle anything more without crumbling entirely. And this seemed awfully sinister; nothing good was going to come from her being tied up in an unfamiliar room.

As much as she tried to silence herself, she couldn’t help but let a few groans escape her lips when sudden waves of pain or nausea hit her. She never knew when they’d come, but when they did, it was awful; her hand would suddenly start feeling like it’d implode, and her stomach twisted in knots, all at random intervals. The man must have heard one of her pained cries, because a few moments later, he waltzed into the room, a menacing look in his eyes and the familiar mallet looking heavy in his hands.

Her expression fell immediately as she began to shake her head rapidly. Her heart was hammering inside her chest; out of everything he’d done, all of the pain he’d caused her, she’d take anything over the agony of her bones being smashed to pieces by the heavy tool. She didn’t know if she could take any more hits on her hand- it looked sickening enough as it was-but what else could he want from her?

Her leg. Her free leg. He didn’t make a mistake. It was untied for a reason. He broke her fingers for stealing, he’d-for running-he would-

Tears began to well in her eyes as she realized what was going to happen and how helpless she was to it all. She was terrified, her vision blurring with tears of pure fear as he started walking towards her.

“I’m sorry,” she told him. He didn’t stop advancing. “I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, I learned, you don’t have to-“

She felt a rough-skinned finger at her lips and let out a weak, broken sob, tears falling down her face and dripping on his hand.

“How could you possibly have learned? I didn’t punish you for running. Only for stealing.” The man’s voice was matter-of-fact, showing little sympathy for her plight. Fear so potent it made her chest feel tight ran through Elora as she continued to shake her head, breathing unevenly. Her hand hurt so badly. So, so badly already. But her ankle? That was bigger-that would be-he’d have to do more-hit it harder-

She began to cry even more, wailing, not holding on to even a shred of dignity in her terror. “Please. Please, it hurts. I can’t-I learned-I can’t do-again-“ her words were choppy as she inhaled and sobbed between each one, desperately pleading for her safety. “I’m scared,” she whispered, her shoulders shaking as she cried.

The man paused for a moment, like he was thinking. She started to let relief seep into her, but then he uttered one word that made her go stone cold.

“Good.”

He spun the chair around, so she was facing the wall and an old wooden desk. Elora began to scream, but he ignored her as if he couldn’t hear her, going scarily calm like he did when he broke her fingers. He ducked beneath the chair and pulled the lever to lift it up high, until her hips were almost level with the desk. At that point, he reached for her free leg. She kicked it wildly, trying to escape his grasp, even managing to nail him in the chin at one point. The terrifying glare and intimidating don’t that came after stopped her in clear her tracks, long enough for him to grab her leg with a tight grip.

“You don’t have to,” she pleaded as he set her left foot on the desk. “I learned. I know-I won’t try it again. Ever. I promise.” She was lying through her teeth, but god, she’d do anything to save herself.

“I don’t give a shit,” he replied coolly, standing at her side and lining up the mallet with her ankle. He lifted it up above his head and Elora squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for a world of pain.

But nothing could have prepared her. Not any deep breaths, not any shut eyes, not even knowing the agony from her hand. The pain was explosive even from the first strike as the man brought the mallet down with as much force as it seemed was humanly possible. And her ankle, of course, was much less fragile than her fingers-it would take much more force to shatter it, more hits, more pain-none of which she was equipped to handle.

She screamed even with the first hit, dissolving into hiccuping sobs. “You d-don’t have to,” she pleaded, making the man stop for just a moment, staring intently at her. His gaze felt like fire and she wanted nothing more than to dissolve into the floor and never come back..

“Yes, I do,” he chided firmly. “Shut up.”

Her words must have had the opposite effect of what she wanted, because the second strike felt even more violent, as did the third and fourth as he picked up the pace, with little care for her ear-piercing screams and fervent thrashing. At first, the bones merely fractured, but with each strike they splintered and cracked further until sharp shards of bone poked dangerously close to the surface of her skin. And like the last time, the man seemed barely cognizant of what he was doing-he just kept going, with absolutely no awareness of her reactions.

Her vision was beginning to blur and darken as time went on and the pain continued to skyrocket with every hit, her mind spinning as the brutality of it all was just too much for her to handle. Just when she thought she might pass out, a loud crack resounded through the room. At first, she feared the worst, thinking it had been the sound of one of her own bones breaking. But when she blinked the floaters out of her vision and grounded herself, looking ahead, she saw that the desk had begun to split and splinter from the mere force of the mallet coming down on it. It was thick-it looked sturdy, but even the wood couldn’t withstand the force of the missed strikes of the mallet. The man, of course, paid no attention, continuing to strike at her mangled ankle.

He hit her again and again, missing her ankle half of the time in his daze until the desk finally gave out, the wooden surface simply splitting in half and caving in with an even louder crack. Her leg fell in an instant and her butchered ankle hit the floor with so much force from the sudden drop that the shattered bones slipped out of the joint, leaving it now both badly broken and dislocated.

Elora couldn’t even scream as the horrific pain exploded all up and down her leg. The noise that came from her throat sounded like inhuman-she let out a strangled, animalistic gasp as all the air pushed out of her lungs with the force. Her vision instantly blackened to the point of total darkness with the intense pain, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as her body went limp and lax against the ropes binding her to the chair. The man must have realized the gravity of the situation-his mistake- at that point, because in an instant, she heard the mallet hit the floor and felt rough hands against her face, grabbing and stabilizing her head from either side.

“Hey now,” she heard his voice call. “Alright, all done. Wake up.”

But she didn't. Her hearing, too, slipped, as she let her eyelids shut, not unconscious but not quite awake, either. She was swimming in blackness, the pain so immense it was too much to bear. She was relieved to finally just rest, but moments later, she felt cold water splash across her face and run down her chest, soaking her shirt. She shivered and her eyes opened, seeing the man standing in front of the broken desk, staring down at her like some kind of giant.

“Welcome back,” he grumbled. “Come on, now, we’re done. It’s over.”

Elora looked up at him, making eye contact for all but a moment before her chin dropped down and she brokenly sobbed. She trembled, shutting her eyes tightly as bitter terror ran through her veins.

The man sighed heavily and she felt the ropes around her chest loosen. They fell to the floor and she slumped forward, but he was there in an instant to catch her, supporting her with his shoulder as he turned to the side to untie the ropes around her wrists. She wanted to move away from him, a faint feeling of disgust clouding her mind as her body rested against his, but she was too exhausted, too drunk on pain and fear to do anything about it.

“Almost done,” he muttered, crouching down to untie her left leg. She bitterly thought that she should kick him again, but she didn’t have the energy to even move her leg. She didn’t protest as he lifted her out of the chair, lifting her over a shoulder before carrying her to the bed. He set her down with a surprising amount of caution, careful to support her head and not jostle her hand or her ankle on the way down. Elora was only dimly aware of what was going on, lost to the pain as he tucked the blankets around her and slipped a pillow underneath her head.

She wanted to be comforted by the bed-she hadn’t slept anywhere comfortable in a week, it should have felt like sweet relief-but she couldn’t. Something felt so viscerally wrong-the bed smelled like cigarettes and old sweat, the sheets were scratchy, and she could feel his gaze on her. It didn’t feel right. And something about the fact that it wasn’t just a bed, but his, sparked a fear so potent she was afraid to even sleep.

But he didn’t join her, rather settling down on the floor beside her with his back against the wall.

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” he said. “I really do. But you never learn. That’s the problem with you, Elora. I keep trying to reach you better, but you never learn.”

She felt a lump form in her throat. There were so many things she wanted to say, so much anger, so much hate, but she knew stepping out of line was the last thing she should do.

“I know,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t really sorry.

“If you just did what I asked, it wouldn’t be this way.”

She thought about that for a moment, but in the end, she knew he was lying. This wasn’t about her. It never had been. It was always about him. She stayed silent.

“If you can’t learn not to steal, not to run yourself, I just have to take away the option. That’s how it is.”

Elora turned on her side and curled up into a tight ball, facing away from him. “Stop,” she mumbled. Her voice and her eyes were teary.

“It’s been a hard day, hasn't it?” the man asked, getting up from the ground to sit beside her on the bed. She cringed as his hands began to comb through her hair, painfully catching on knots several times before he sighed and gave up on the endeavor.

“You should clean yourself up soon. Brush through your hair, get some fresh clothes. Maybe we could do that tomorrow, if you’re good.”

She shook her head. She didn’t want any of that. She just wanted to sleep.

“It’s hard now, but think about it. In a few weeks, months, you’ll be so well-behaved. We won’t have to do anything like this ever again. Look at you now. You’re already breaking and we’ve hardly done a thing. Just imagine it.”

The mere thought made Elora press her face into the pillow and bawl.

The man sighed and stood. “Alright, alright. I’ll give you some space. Get some rest.”

He left for the door and Elora heard it shut behind him as he walked off. It didn’t take long before she’d cried herself to sleep.

Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas @all-whumped-out

[anthropwashere]

deadfic: where our design has failed

Yet more deadfic for @goodintentionswipfest! What if 3.2k of horrible Briggs-time bodyswap AU :)

Title comes from Dessa’s “Poor Atlas.”

=

Everything fills in hazy, unhurried and out of focus. It takes a minute to realize he’s not at the bottom of the mineshaft anymore, instead laying in some other abandoned building. Near him are dim shapes, metal probably from how the light plays off the edges. There are people a bit beyond that, talking indistinctly by a fire. He must have passed out. Idiot, for passing out after losing so much blood. That’s a good way to die.

So where is he now? Who saved him? No one was there but Kimblee’s men. Maybe Major Miles and his snipers got down to him, were able to get him to a medic in time? He tries to move but nothing happens. Is he that weak? He can’t feel anything, so he’s either that out of it or he’s been drugged. That’d be new. He looks over at the people huddled in a circle on the ground a few feet in front of him, about to ask what’s going on. He gasps. He recognizes them all, but they shouldn’t be—they can’t be—

“Wait, what?” His voice sounds strange to his ears, tinny and echoing. Hearing damage maybe? That was a pretty damn big explosion Kimblee set off right under his feet.

They all twist to look at him, Winry close enough to see the relief light up her face. She looks okay. Shit, he hopes he didn’t make her cry again. That bar through his gut—he hadn’t dreamed that, had he? Or maybe it hadn’t been as bad as it looked, like a head wound. Head wounds bleed like crazy but he’s never had a stitch for all the times he’s busted his forehead open. 

“Al!” WInry exclaims, rushing to him, the Xingese girl a step behind. Winry falls to her knees, and they’re face-to-face like he’s sitting up. Weird, he probably shouldn’t be sitting up so soon. 

“Alphonse!” The Xingese girl cries. Oh good, he thinks. Al must be nearby. Mei’s her name, isn’t it?

“Thank goodness you’re okay!” Winry says. “I was so scared you might not wake up, I didn’t know what to do!”

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Where are we? How’d you find me?”

Winry frowns. “Don’t you remember? We dug you out of the snow ages ago.”

“Dug me out?” That doesn’t sound right at all. The skies had been clear, as far as he can remember. He would have frozen or bled out if there’d been another snowstorm before anyone found him.

Behind them he can glimpse Scar, Dr. Marcoh, the first two chimeras, and that Yoki guy all staring at him. 

“You passed out on us,” Scar says, glaring at him from by the fire. “You were too big to carry in one piece, so we split your body up.”

“My what? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Are you okay?” Winry asks. “You sound… strange.”

“I don’t—” He breaks off, the lumps in his peripheral he’d dismissed earlier clarifying to recognizable bits of metal. Two empty arms and a familiar horned helmet. “Alphonse? Hey, why’s Al in pieces?”

“Mister Alphonse?” Mei asks worriedly, but Al doesn’t answer.

“What’s wrong with him?” Yoki asks, leaning around Doctor Marcoh to stare curiously.

“Alphonse?” He calls out again, panic humming through him. Damn it, why can’t he move? “Al?”

“His voice,” Scar rumbles. “Is that…?”

“Al, wake up, this isn’t funny! Al? Al!”

Winry leans closer to him, eyes wide. “...Ed?”

“Winry, what’s go—?”

“Is that really you?”

His breath catches—

No.

No, his breath doesn’t catch. He only makes the sound of it. He’s not—

He isn’t breathing. He hasn’t been breathing. 

He tries to move again, to lean away from Winry, to sit up, to put his hands on Winry’s and demand to know why she came back for him, but nothing happens. He looks away—or no, his vision waivers and dips and he expects—hopes—to see his body, to see arms and legs and a mile’s worth of bandages, he doesn’t even need two arms and legs, he’d be happy to see a couple of empty ports so long as he sees himself—

But his body isn’t there. There’s only a concave stretch of metal, curved enough to stand upright on a packed dirt floor. A curtain of chainmail distorts the helmet sat before him, where his legs should be. He stares at the frizzed end of Al’s chopped-off hair.

“Winry,” he says. He can hear the metallic echo to his voice now, feels the absence of all the feeling that should come with talking—breath in his lungs, vibrations in his throat, muscles and bone and tendon working in tandem to articulate noise into meaningful syllables. That’s all gone. There’s just his voice, ringing out of the curved edge of a piece of steel. “What happened?”

“Is that Edward?” Mei asks. “But how is that possible? Where’s Alphonse?”

Winry covers her mouth with one hand, not quite stifling the shock that slips from her. The other reaches out to him, her gloved fingers too close to his eyes—no. Not his eyes. He doesn’t have eyes. Her fingers hover over the seal he’d drawn with his own blood four years ago to save Alphonse. “I don’t understand,” she says, her voice shaking. “How are you in Al’s armor?”

“I don’t—I don’t know.”

He thinks. How could he have ended up like this? He’d been at the bottom of a mineshaft, miraculously uncrushed by tons of rubble. But there’d been that damn rebar jutting out of his gut. He hadn’t gotten a good look at it, just felt the weight of it pressed against his spine, an agonizing strain on his abdominal muscles, heat flushing down his skin, the heavy spill of blood from his mouth. That much blood meant his stomach must have gotten torn up. Probably his intestines too. That’s a lot of damage, to go along with that much blood. He’d definitely blacked out. Lost time. But before it went dark, he’d felt….

Maybe he’d imagined it, but it… it had felt a lot like before. Like forcing his way out of Gluttony, and being eaten by Gluttony before that, and before that too, when he and Al had tried to bring Mom back.

But he couldn’t remember. If he’d passed through the Gate, he can’t remember what might have happened. Why would he even have passed through it in the first place? He sure as hell hadn’t been thinking clearly enough to open the Gate. 

“Ed?”

He looks up at Winry. She’d moved back at some point, while he’d been thinking. Mei’s come closer, knelt neatly and staring at him with her head tilted curiously. “Why’d you take Al apart?” He demands. 

“He’d collapsed,” Scar repeats.

“Collapsed? Why?”

Winry hesitates. “He said his body was pulling his soul back.”

He breathes sharply—no, no, he doesn’t. He just makes the sound, and it rings out of the blood seal noisily. “You’re sure that’s what he said? He saw his body?”

“I don’t know, he didn’t have time before—” She takes a shaky breath, her hands tangling in her lap. “Edward, I don’t know what’s going on. Where’s Alphonse? How are you here?”

If Al collapsed the moment he’d been impaled…. “One more question. How… how long has it been since Al collapsed?”

“Two hours ago, at least,” Doctor Marcoh rasps. “Why?”

His body couldn’t have lasted ten minutes in the shape he’d left it in, let alone two hours. 

“Ed?”

“I—” He stops. He has to stop. There’s too much. This is too much. His voice sounds so strange now, and now it’s all he has left. “Put—can you put me together? Please? This is—” Terrifying. He can’t feel anything, not the cold or the ground or the faint breeze playing with Winry and Mei’s hair. He can’t smell the fire. He can’t breathe. He doesn’t need to breathe. 

“—weird,” he finishes lamely.

She wants answers. He can see it in the knitting of her brow, the tense set of her shoulders. Mei too, she looks scared, and the men still by the fire. “Please,” he says again.

Winry relents. “Okay.”

=

(This is where Mei realized she had to take the research notes apart, but would that still happen with Ed there instead? Prrrrobably, and then Ed’d have to be the one to suggest flipping it all around. Blur past this so it’s not a word-for-word recreation, maybe have Winry stay beside Ed and keep putting him together, and she’ll come to the conclusion he got hurt. She’ll remember his theory about his and Al’s bonded souls.)

=

The breastplate disorients him badly, his vision remaining in the dark inside for a couple awful seconds before jerking up on its own, and then he’s peering out of the neckguard between the slats. The helmet isn’t as bad a jump, but the height still throws him. He’s sitting properly now, the rest of Al’s armor reassembled, and he’s eye-to-eye with Winry.

He didn’t try moving while they buckled Al’s armor back together, said little when Winry gently tried to pry answers from him. He’s trying not to think about his body, sprawled in a pool of blood that’s probably frozen over by now. He’s trying not to think of the implications, of knowing for sure there’s no going back to his body, when they’d hung onto hope for Alphonse’s and finally got the first real shred of proof that it was feasible to restore him.

He’s trying not to think about what this means for Alphonse, and failing pretty hard at that.

“That’s the last of it,” Doctor Marcoh says, patting—some part of Al’s armor. He wasn’t looking to see where, but he hears the metal ring out. “How’s it feel?”

Like nothing. Not like the pins and needles of numbness or the phantom sensations he gets in his automail sometimes. Just… nothing. He is aware. He hears and he sees, and that’s all he has.

He tries a hand first, and it moves easily into his peripheral, huge leather fingers squeezing into a fist at the barest brush of thought. He’d expected resistance. Reluctance, at least. But Al had only ever struggled to adjust to the size of the armor. There’d been a lot of dents knocked into the walls and doorframes of the Rockbell house before Al had gotten used to it.

“Are you okay?” Mei asks with surprising gentleness. Ed looks at her, bundled up and still shivering, and he can’t feel anything at all.

He did this to Al, four years ago. He’d thought he’d understood just what it meant, to be a smear of blood in a suit of armor. He’d been such a fool.

“I will be,” he says softly, and sets his arm down. He watches it, like he’d had to watch his right arm and left leg constantly, when he’d still been adjusting to them too. He’s got to be careful. He doesn’t have anything else to gauge his reach or his strength with now.

“Ed,” Winry starts again, but hesitates when he looks at her. Her jaw is set, her mouth a pale slash in her face. Beside her, the others are quiet and attentive. Waiting to understand.

Ed makes a sound like sighing that hums all wrong in his empty chest. “I… I really messed up this time.”

“What happened?” Scar asks.

Maybe because it’s Scar who asks it’s easy to let it spill out. Someone he doesn’t like, someone he truly hates; it cancels out all the panic threatening to drag him under and leave him a babbling wreck. He just ends up numb, and the words are easy. “Kimblee knew it was a setup from the start. Him and his other two chimera got the jump on me—” He glares at the two chimera, who only shrug. “I took care of them easy enough. I thought I got the better of Kimblee too, but it turned out he had more than one philosopher’s stone.”

Doctor Marcoh inhales sharply. Ed drops his gaze, looks at the leather gauntlets in Al’s—in his—lap. The spikes along his forearm scrape against his thigh as he shifts, out of habit rather than out of any discomfort. He watches a small gloved hand touch his wrist, Winry crouching to look up at him. Her eyes are shiny, like she’s holding back tears. His fault again.

“Ed, please. What happened?”

“That bastard blew up the mineshaft,” he whispers. He tugs his arm free of Winry’s, pressing the glove to his side, where he’s pretty sure the rebar had pierced. The sound of a leather glove patting against leather straps. He feels nothing. “I survived the fall okay, but…”

“...But?” Winry prods in a quivering whisper. Edward makes the sound of a sigh again, unable to meet her eyes. There's no way she won’t cry about this. He can’t blame her at all.

“There… I was hurt. Really hurt this time. And there weren't any soldiers nearby who might have seen me fall. So I… I don't think I survived.”

=

It’s been a few days since the mineshaft, though Al can’t be sure how many. At least two, but less than five? Probably less than five. He hopes it’s been less than five days. 

It’s very disorienting, to lose time like this. To have slept, even if it’s been the hazy in-and-out sleep of unconsciousness and strong pain medication. He hasn’t slept in four years, after all.

However long it’s been, this is the most alert he’s been yet. Hand-in-hand with that, this is the most aware he’s been of how wrong everything feels. He has cold Northern air filling his respiratory system, oxygenating the blood his heart is pumping through his vascular system, a digestive system growling for more than the thin broth the doctors allow despite the recent holes punched and patched through his stomach. His muscles are sore. His wounds throb. His stumps ache despite the Northern automail. His skin itches, wanting for a shower. He has to pee.

All his, because he’s inhabiting this body. But it isn’t his. He has no right to be in this body at all, is horrified at this—this trespass he’s committed. This is his brother’s body, perhaps only still alive because of his use of Kimblee’s philosopher’s stone—and though he can justify it all he likes, can insist that this body would have died if he hadn’t used it, he knows with absolute certainty that his brother will be furious with him when he finds out.

Wherever Ed’s soul has ended up, anyway.

He keeps hoping this is a dream, even though it was impossible for him to dream in the armor. This can’t be real. This can’t really be happening.

“So that’s that,” he says.

He’s finally finished explaining things—to the best of his ability—to the two chimera that had saved his soul and Ed’s body. It’s taken a while, both because of the sheer amount he had to tell them as well as adjusting to the sheer amount of effort it takes to make a badly injured body keep talking. Impalement aside, he’s just not used to how much goes into talking. There’s a mouth and tongue and teeth, figuring out where to breathe between words, vibrations in his vocal chords, the weariness of his healing body tugging him to sleep without realizing it until he wakes up again, the soreness that comes with talking at length when you’re in no position to. He’s exhausted again, struggling to keep his eyes open. Judging from the dubious expressions the chimera are both giving him, it’s clear the conversation isn’t over yet.

“You sure you didn’t land on your head when you fell down the mineshaft?” Heinkel asks skeptically. 

“Well no,” Al says. “It wasn’t me that fell down it, after all. I just woke up with the beam through Brother’s stomach.” Literally. He swears he can still taste blood, though he’s rinsed his mouth out every time he’s been awake enough to ask for water.

Heinkel and Darius grimace. 

“Look, Elric,” Darius begins uncertainly. Al can appreciate the neutral use of their last name. Whether they believe him or not, it’s better than them calling him Fullmetal. That was annoying enough when he was in the armor. “We’re not alchemists. We were just soldiers before we got dragged into a lab and made into what we are now. This is… this is a lot to swallow.”

“I doubt most alchemists would readily believe it either,” Al says, giving them a weak smile. That just makes them look more uncomfortable.

“Well you sure are talking differently than when we were fighting.” Heinkel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

====

NOTES

Ed injured in the mineshaft

Al pulled into the Gate, facing his body which smiles and points behind him. He sees Ed’s Gate and Ed’s truth sitting before it with Ed’s withered limbs, and It grins at him as both Gates open. He expects the hands to pull him through his own Gate but instead it’s the hands from Ed’s that swallow him. He manages to twist in time to see the hands from his own curling around an empty stretch of air, and wonders—but the darkness swallows him

Al wakes up in a riot of agony, confused and overwhelmed because feeling and also agony. He’s briefly overwhelmed by the sensations and realizes that hey, shit hell damn fuck, this is Ed’s body he’s somehow ended up in and it is dying very quickly. The automail throws him too, reacting not half as fluidly as it seemed to for Ed, but he manages to sever the rebar and kind of wriggles around trying to place where he’s at. Spots the philosopher’s stone but it’s definitely out of reach, and his vision’s starting to spot. Hears the chimeras over his ragged breathing, frees them, begs them to help save his brother. They assume Ed’s just gone out of it with blood loss but help readily enough. Darius gives him the stone, asks if he even knows the first thing about bio-alchemy. Al says he picked up some here and there, but really the stone ought to be enough. He apologizes, but he has to justify using a stone to save his brother’s body. Heinkel yanks the rest of the rebar out and Alphonse heals what he can. The stone helps but frankly he really only has a haphazard knowledge of human anatomy, and he hasn’t had a body in four years, so hey, he definitely still passes the fuck out.

Meanwhile Ed comes to the conclusion that his body died and his soul—somehow—got booted into Al’s armor at the expense of booting Al back into his body. He wouldn’t hesitate to trade another limb to get Al’s soul back because he doesn’t deserve to rot in that place with Truth laughing at him, but all he’s got left is his soul and that’s an equivalency he can’t afford. He has no idea what will happen if the armor rejects him or he tries human transmutation, and he has to be selfish for now. Al would understand, right?

Al will have a scene at the doctors’, having explained what the hell to Darius and Heinkel and likewise being filled in as best as they understand it. They’re shaken at the thought of what’s happened to the Elrics but believe it readily enough, considering they’re impossible creatures. He’ll struggle with the automail, surprised that he’s having more difficulty with the steel than the flesh. 

[dirt-cup-draco]

Fred x Reader- Love You More Today

@random-thoughts-003

Fred Weasley request where she saves him from dying via wall but injures herself badly, maybe goes blind? And a lot of comfort and fluff at the end where Fred thanks her for saving his life and asks her to marry him. Then maybe a time skip to a few years later and they are married and Fred + George surprise her with a little potion they made to fix her blindness and when it works she surprises him with a pregnancy test? And she’s a muggle-born? Sorry if this is too much. I LOVE YOUR WORKKKKKKKK!

A/N: AH! THANK YOU! I tweaked it but it is the same in essence! xoxo

Warnings: loss of sight, injury, like a vague two second mention of sex- nothing explicit. 

Your eyes were sharp as you took in your surroundings, wand at the ready. You coughed, the dust gritty in your lungs and making your throat dry. There was too much going on. 

It all seemed to clear up though when your eyes landed on your boyfriend, fighting for his life and completely unaware that he was in more danger than he knew. Your legs kicked into overdrive as you called his name, a muted scream as the sounds of your friends and enemies dying cushioned your voice. He didn’t seem to realize. 

“Freddie!” you called out again. Closer now, he heard you and his head whipped around, eyebrows drawn tight together from confusion. Were you hurt? He wondered. Fred couldn’t even ask before you were lunging at him, hands at his back and shoving him forward as the air around you grew still for a second before it cracked with a boom, an explosion rippling agains the outside wall of the room of requirement. With a low groan, the wall came apart and the stone was raining down. 

Your body was thrown forward from the force that you had shoved Fred with. He made it just outside of the danger zone but you were not so lucky. A heavy slab trapped your ankle, the bone and muscle shattered and shredded underneath. Your scream of agony was cut short by a wayward chunk of stone finding its way to the back of your head. 

All sound vanished. You stared with bleary, pained eyes, making sure Fred was safe. And then, you were gone, darkness taking over your sight. 

You woke to the sound of low whispers and you groaned, fingers trying to flex but you found they were intertwined with a familiar hand. “Fred?” You called, voice rough and dry. You rolled your neck back and forth, trying to ease the ache that had settled there. Your leg was throbbing with a dull ache. “What happened?” 

You opened your eyes. 

Or you thought you had. 

You opened them again. 

Or had you? You let out a frustrated huff. You could feel your eyelids squeezing shut, tight against the tops of your cheeks. Why wasn’t anything happening? You wanted to see Fred, his smile, his freckles. You wanted to see him alive and okay, uninjured. 

Open! You demanded of your eyelids but no matter the effort you seemed to put into it, your world remained dark. 

“Darling, I’m here,” Fred sighed in relief, his hands warm on your cheeks but you were too focused to respond. With another shake of your head, Fred’s hands fell away, your name falling from his lips in a question. What’s wrong?

“I-I can’t open my eyes! I mean they’re open o-or they should be but I can’t see,” You whined, chest constricting as fear took over. “Fred, why can’t I see?” You choked out. “Why can’t I see!” You demanded.

“Love,” Fred cooed, but his voice caught in his throat. His hands returned to your cheeks, stroking the skin softly, mindful of the cuts across your nose and under your chin from when you’d hit the ground. “You’ve been unconscious for three days and w-when you fell, you got hit a-and it did more damage than we thought...” 

“Please tell me...” You begged, feeling tears stinging your eyes. You wanted them to wash away the inky black that had cloaked your world. 

“You’re blind, Y/N... We don’t know if it’s permanent. Madam Pomfrey said it was a brain injury and there might be something to help but even that could be ineffective. I’m so sorry..” Fred sniffled, lips quivering against your forehead, a tear dripping from his cheek and landing on your hands that were clenched in your lap. 

“I can’t be-” blind. You wanted to say but the word was concrete in your stomach and you couldn’t force it out of your throat. “What am I supposed to do?” You cried.

“I’m here,” Fred promised, hands smoothing at your hair and his side warm against your legs from where he sat on your hospital bed. “I’m not going anywhere and we will get through this together, yeah?” 

“B-but I’m broken,” You argued, a bitter taste in your mouth. 

“You are not,” Fred growled. “There is nothing wrong with you. This is just something we are going to have to learn about and navigate. Your muggle uncle, he’s blind isn’t he? You aren’t alone and if he can live his entire life happily than so can you, yeah?” Fred encouraged and you sighed, nodding but you couldn’t help but still feel scared and unsure. 

“I’m not him,” You argued. “He’s never known the world in the way I have... He is prepared, I’m nothing close to it... This can’t be happening,” 

“I know love,” Fred sighed, shifting so he could lay beside you. Your leg ached but Madam Pomfrey had mended the bones, at least your body wasn’t completely giving up on you. 

Suddenly a thought came to your mind and you shuddered. “I can’t ask you to be my babysitter all my life, I don’t want to be a burden,” 

“Don’t you dare” Fred whispered vehemently. “This won’t be forever, you’ll learn how to live with this and until then I am more than happy to stay by your side. You can lean on me... I want to- I want to be there for you, forever,” Fred added, some embarrassment coloring his voice. “Maybe as your husband?” 

“You mean-?” You froze, chest swirling with something other than the doubt and fear that had been constant since you’d woken. “You want to-?”

“Marry you, have you marry me, marry each other, yeah,” Fred laughed, thoughts running away with him as he rambled. “I wanted to ask after we won and nothing has changed, god knows I only love you more now than I did yesterday and I know I’ll love you more tomorrow than I do today.” 

“But-” You stalled, mind going a million miles a second. “You still want me?” 

“Nothing has changed,” Fred repeated, pressing feather light kisses across your knuckles. “I want you as my wife.” 

“Yes!” You finally breathed out, hands fumbling to find Fred’s cheeks, letting out a frustrated sigh when you needed him to guide your hands himself. “Lips?” You asked, not wanting to accidentally put out his eye with your nose. 

Fred laughed softly but it cut off in fear he might upset you. Instead he surged forward, lips caressing yours with a joy you hadn’t ever felt from him. You relaxed against him, eyes fluttering closed peacefully. Whatever happened next you would have Fred and that was what mattered. 

The wedding was beautiful, Molly promising that everything was perfect and that you were in the dress you’d been dreaming of since before you even started dating Fred. Ginny took pictures. You could feel Fred smiling against the crook of your neck as you danced to the band playing your song. You couldn’t help but cry, pulling Fred closer as you swayed. 

“What’s on your mind, Mrs. Weasley?” He asked cheekily but his teasing tone drooped as you began to cry harder, your hands shaking as they gripped the back of his neck.

“I-I love you so much and I love today,” You hiccuped. “But I thought when we got married I’d be able to see how handsome you were, and the flowers we ordered. J-just stupid stuff,” You sniffled, feeling embarrassed. You were grateful to have him with you here but you couldn’t help but miss seeing him. 

“It isn’t stupid,” He promised, rubbing your back. “We’ll get there Y/N, Georgie and I are working on something and the healers are doing their best too... This won’t be forever, and when the day comes that you can see, I’ll marry you all over again,” 

You let out a watery chuckle. hands following the lines of his shoulders and jawline so they could rest on his cheeks and you could guide him to your lips. “I love you, husband,” 

“I love you too, wife,” Fred mumbled against your lips. 

--

Fred was warm against your back, hands and lips wandering aimlessly in the dark as he held you near, his voice low and gravelly against your ear. You shivered as his breath fanned over his neck. 

“Trust me?” He asked, hand dipping below the waistband of your pajamas as you writhed against the sheets of your bed. 

“Always,” You panted, pressing against him and pleading for more. 

“Good girl,” He praised as you lost yourselves in the comforting dark of your bedroom. There was only you and Fred, bodies and hearts intertwined with no room for doubts or insecuritied. 

--

“Is he gone?” You asked, back pressed hard against the back of the tub. “George?” You called out again when your husband’s twin didn’t answer immediately. 

“Yeah!” George called from the hallway after a door at the front of the house closed. “He just left, told him to go get you something for your stomach and some dinner since we’re all rubbish at cooking,” 

“Perfect,” You sighed, foot tapping insistently against the cool tile. “Did he ask-?” 

“No, no,” George interrupted. “I told him you ate something bad for breakfast,” 

You wrinkled your nose in disgust. “Ew, Georgie. You couldn’t have thought of something better?” 

George snorted and you heard his clothes rustle as he sat beside you, the bathroom door closed. “So, what now?” George asked nervously and you sighed leaning against him.

 “I just have to look,” You winced, thinking of the test you had waiting on the counter. “Well, you have to look,” 

George found your hand and squeezed it. “Hey, whatever it is it’ll be alright, but can I ask something?”

“Why didn’t I ask Fred to do this?” You asked for him.

A moment passed by and you rose your eyebrow, looking roughly to where George was. “Oh sorry-” 

“You nodded didn’t you?” You laughed and George chuckled along with you. 

“Maybe...” 

“I didn’t ask him because-” You thought about it for a moment. “Well... I’m nervous. I feel like my life is passing me by and things are happening I can’t control and all the while I can’t see any of it and it freaks me out. If this test is positive, imagine the chaos,” 

“But imagine the good,” George encouraged. “Fred- he’d be so happy! Hell, I’d be an uncle! And you’d be an amazing mother- your sight has nothing to do with how amazing you’d be. You have the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met, and I’m proud to be your brother in law. If you have kids, they’d be proud to have you as a mom,” 

You pretended to grimace but you couldn’t shield the tears welling up at George’s kind words. “A kid with my genes and his? Chaos,” 

“Perfect” George promised. 

You let yourself smile. It would be pretty perfect. “I’m ready,” 

George grinned and kissed your cheek, hopping up. “Wicked. And how am I supposed to tell again?” 

“Two lines,” You instructed.

“And you peed on these?” George asked. “I held your hand!” 

“Oh shove off,” You laughed. “I washed my hands you git. What does it say?” 

George was dead silent, you couldn’t even pick out the sound of his breathing. “Georgie, come on,” You begged. 

“Two lines,” He whispered, voice squeaking. “Y/N! Two lines! One is sorta faint but that doesn’t matter does it? You’re pregnant!” 

You squealed, making your way to your feet as George placed his hands on your shoulders as you two jumped up and down. “I’m gonna have a baby!” You giggled. 

“I’m gonna be an uncle!” George sang. “You think it’s going to be twins?” 

“What’s going on in here?” Came a soft voice, the bathroom door creaking gently on its hinges. Fred was standing their, pale and eyes dancing over you and George, eyes finding the test. 

“Surprise?” You croaked as George, placed you in front of your husband. 

“We are-?” Fred gulped. “You mean that- parents? Us?” 

“Yeah,” You sniffled as tears welled up again, an excitement you hadn’t felt until Fred arrived. 

You didn’t even need to see to know that Fred was shell shocked, the bag of medicine and food in his hand falling to the floor with a resounding flunk. A second later you were being tugged into familiar arms, being spun around as your husband hollered and whooped, George just as celebratory behind you. 

--

“I’ve got a surprise,” Fred whispered in your ear one morning, hand warm against your growing stomach. 

“Mmm,” You groaned into your pillow. “‘M not hungry love, maybe later yeah? I didn’t get much sleep last night...” 

Fred chuckled, lips warm against the nape of your neck. “I didn’t make breakfast, trust me, you are going to want to get up for this,” 

Knowing he wouldn’t leave until you agreed you rolled out of bed, huffing through your nose as you landed on swollen ankles, your leg aching from your injury form long ago. You navigated your room from memory, pulling on your room. Fred wrapped an arm around your waist, kissing your cheek. 

“Why do I feel like you’re up to something?” You asked wearily. 

“I’m always up to something,” Fred chuckled low in your ear and your heart leapt in adoration. “Hopefully this is a good something though,” 

“There she is,” George welcomed as you lowered yourself onto your couch. 

“Whose all here?” You asked, hand seeking Fred’s but you found he wasn’t at your side.

“Just the twins and myself dear,” Came Madam Pomfrey’s stern but melodic voice. 

“Are you here for a checkup?” You rested your hands lightly over your bump. She was here not a week ago... Was something wrong?

“It’s about your sight,” She clarified and it felt like your oxygen had been stolen from your lungs. “These boys, despite all their tomfoolery, are quite knowledgeable. They’ve been helping me work on how to fix your blindness...” 

“A-and?” You waited at the edge of your seat, fingers shaking as you gripped the fabric. 

“Well,” Fred cut in, “Drink up,” 

A crystal cup was placed into your hand, heavy and cool. “Frederic Weasley, you better not be joking,” You begged, voice catching. 

“It won’t be perfect,” Madam Pomfrey said as you traced the rim of the cup. “But, as far as tests have gone, you should be able to gain at least half of your sight back and with glasses, it should be as if you’d never lost sight at all. There is going to be an adjustment period, it’s gradual, but in three weeks time you should be able to see as clear as me or your husband,” 

“Will it hurt the baby?” You had to ask. 

��What do you take me for?” Madam Pomfrey huffed but you could hear the persistent warmth in her voice. 

“C’mon love!” Fred encouraged, energy matching that of a kid in Honeydukes. “The sooner you do, the sooner you can see,” 

Without another thought, the glass was brought to your lips with shaking hands and you downed it in one go. It was pleasant and smooth, not unlike pumpkin juice. 

“And if it doesn’t work?” You had to ask. 

“It will,” George insisted. 

Fred settled beside you, kissing you until you were breathless, which unfortunately came quicker nowadays. “It will, but even if you never got your sight back I love you more today-” He started.

“-than you did yesterday, and tomorrow you’ll love me more than you did today,” You finished, smiling. 

“Good girl,” Fred grinned, pulling you into his lap. “Imagine it, in a few weeks time you’ll get to see our home for the first time, and George’s stupid mustache-”

“Hey!” The other brother argued.

“I just want to see you,” You admitted, hugging Fred as his hands worked at the knots in your back. 

“Gag,” George interrupted. 

“Shut it Weasley,” You grumbled but your face was lit up with a grand smile no one had seen since you’d realized you were pregnant. 

“What she said,” Fred mimicked, “Now give me some time with my wife,” 

George pretended he was feeling left out, but after kissing your head in congratulations the front door was falling closed behind him. 

“I’ll bet they look like you,” Fred commented, hand warm on your bump as your baby kicked in response.

“We’ll just have to see,” You grinned, feeling hopeful. 

[antiloquist]

With Passion and Fervor

Lord help me, I’m back on my bullshit.

Hildibrand/female Viera Warrior of Light. Rated E. CW for heat cycles.

Summary: The Warrior of Light gets hit with an unexpected heat at what might be the worst time possible. The only person there to help her? Agent of Inquiry Extraordinaire, Hildibrand Manderville! It would probably be far less embarrassing if she didn't have a huge crush on him.

(Spice under the cut!)

You really shouldn’t have ignored the warning signs. The slight vertigo, the sudden full-body sensitivity, the hot flashes… they were all signs that your heat was bearing down on you. Foolishly, you’d simply figured you were coming down with something and decided to take it easy in Kugane for a few days to recover. But no… it couldn’t be this early, could it? You’d just had your last one a few months ago, which you’d managed to tamp down with the usual suppressants as you knew it was coming. But this time, you’d had nothing to curb it with and once it was in full swing, it was too late anyway. Maybe it was the stress of everything you’d been through over the past few months, running back and forth between Ala Mhigo and Doma for this and that. When things finally slowed down, when you finally had a chance to catch up with your friends that you had outside your circle as the Warrior of Light… boom. It had also picked the worst possible time to hit you. That time just happened to be in the middle of the day, right near the busy streets of Kugane, while you were walking with (of all people) your good friend Hildibrand. The two of you were investigating the possible merits of the recently captured Kugane Wolf Burglar when suddenly everything got far too intense for your liking. That was, it was suddenly too warm, too loud, too… smelly. Not to mention that deep inside you you had an ache you couldn’t deny. No, you were far past denial. You were in the middle of a raging heat in public. Twelve take you. You hit the ground before you even realized you were falling, sounds and sights a blur around you. For a moment, you laid on the pavement, spinning and aching. You were burning up, burning to a crisp. Hells, you’d take fighting Ifrit again over this. It was too hot and you were wearing too much and- Faintly you were aware of someone calling your name. You cracked open one eye to see a very concerned Hildibrand, crouched right above you. (Looming, powerful, ready to take-) “My friend!” he exclaimed when he saw that you were finally looking at him. “Are you alright? You suddenly collapsed!” Before you could respond, Hildibrand had whipped off one of his gloves and was pressing a bare hand to your forehead. The contact felt as if Ramuh himself had come down upon you with a Shock Strike, and you moaned softly. “Oh dear, this is not good at all! You’re burning up!” “H-Hildy…” you replied weakly, trying to sit up. When the act of moving made you dizzy all over again, you gave up, flopping back down and hoping the pavement would swallow you whole. This had gone far beyond embarrassing; this was downright mortifying. It was fortunate, at least, that you’d chosen a relatively quiet side street to collapse upon. The last thing you needed was a crowd of onlookers surrounding you. You turned to the side, curling up in a ball and shuddering as the feel of concrete against your skin was multiplied by your condition. “We must get you assistance immediately!” You nodded hazily. Yes, assistance. Assistance in the form of a strong mate to take you and take care of you was what you needed. Wait. No. You were in public, you couldn’t lose yourself here. “I-I need…” Thoughts were hard to come by, your mind swimming. You took a deep breath in through your mouth, careful not to breathe in the scent of everyone around you. “I just need to rest, Hildy. Give me a moment and I can get up and get back to the inn.” Hildibrand shook his head. “Nonsense! I shall carry you there myself!” “Wait, n-“ Any potential response was cut off by Hildibrand scooping you up into his arms bridal style. The shock of it combined by the disorientation of being moved so suddenly caused you to inhale in a gasp. The most prominent scent near you was, of course, Hildibrand. He gave off a powerful musk that was normally undetectable. During your heat, however, it was all you could perceive. Up until your collapse, it had been distracting but manageable. Now it was overwhelming. You groaned as Hildibrand cradled you against his chest. He felt so solid, so strong- “Yes, I know, you are capable of caring for yourself. You have told me this many times! However, I cannot in good conscience leave you to battle this illness alone on the streets of Kugane! What kind of gentleman would leave his comrade in such a state?” It seemed he’d mistaken your vocalization of lust for one of frustration. That… was probably for the better, as the last thing you wanted right now is for him to know in what manner he was currently occupying your thoughts. Hildibrand started off towards the inn at a brisk pace, taking care not to jostle you as he did. You buried your head in his chest so that the motion blur of people around you wouldn’t make you sick. Of course, this just made your scent problem worse. Lesser of two evils, you supposed.

By the time he’d gotten you up to your room door, you barely had the brainpower to undo the lock. Instead, you were consumed by thoughts of what it would be like for the man currently carrying you to pin you to the mattress and- “On the bed?” Yes, on the bed, over the table, against the wall- Wait. That wasn’t what he meant. “Yes, please,” you gasped. Hildibrand deposited you (somewhat unceremoniously) on the bed, and the soft surface was a welcome feel against your sensitive, overheated skin. He then stood over you, contemplating his next steps. (Again with the looming-) “Hildy…” Gods, he was so tall, and he looked so powerful standing above you like this. It would be so easy for him to just move forward and pin you down and- “Is there aught I can do for you, my friend?” You clamped your mouth shut before you could reply ‘breed me’. Instead, you took another deep breath through your mouth before you started talking. “I think all I need is some rest and-“ “Ah, I know! I shall procure you some soup! Mother dearest always did the same for me during my boyhood illnesses, and now I shall do so for you!” He gave you his signature flex and grin, and the heart flutter it usually incited in you was amplified to a full on shiver of desire. Hildibrand, of course, misinterpreted this. “My word, why didn’t you say you were cold!?” Before you could protest, he had shed his jacket and placed it gently on top of you. “There, that should help! Now where was I? Ah yes, soup! I shall procure you the heartiest of broths at once!” And just like that, he was off. Classic Hildibrand. You looked down at the jacket he had given you. It was only a few days old, his last one having been shredded in pursuit of the Kugane Wolf Burglar. Nonetheless, it had had plenty of time to accrue his scent, and he’d left it here with you... Oh gods, you couldn’t. That would be so weird! But you were aching so badly… In a flash, you’d stripped off your clothing. The feel of the soft sheets against you was like a gentle caress, and you moaned. You pressed your nose to the collar of Hildibrand’s jacket and inhaled, your head falling back with near delirium at the strong musk that lingered on the article of clothing. You’d always liked him. How could you not? He was such a kind and valiant man, giving his all to help others and expecting nothing in return. He was selfless and determined and everything you aspired to be. Despite the world seeming at odds with him on a daily basis, he faced every challenge with a flex and a smile. He treated everyone equally, even you who had felled gods and liberated nations. You were never the ‘Warrior of Light’ to dear Hildibrand, you were just… you. He was merely happy to have you along for the ride as a friend and confidant. Never once did he think of you as simply an asset or a weapon. And you loved that, you missed it when he wasn’t there. And that was just his personality. It didn’t hurt that he was also a very handsome man. It was easy for some to overlook, given his penchant for making silly expressions, but you never forgot it for a second. Tall, well-dressed, well-groomed (save for the odd explosion or other mishap)... gods, what a catch. With one hand pressing the fabric of Hildibrand’s jacket firmly to your nose, you slowly snaked the other down your body, each brush of your fingertips leaving a flame trail of sensation in its wake. Would that it could be his hand instead of yours. He’d always had such nice, big hands. Without hesitation, you slid two fingers inside yourself, meeting absolutely zero resistance. You were sure you were already making a mess of your sheets but that was something you would worry about later. Right now you needed to relieve this ache before it drove you mad. As you tended to yourself, you imagined Hildibrand standing above you, his russet eyes wide with lust and interest as he watched. What would he do? Would he lay his hands upon you at your request? Or would he be too bashful to do so? You could see it going either way. You’d seen him in (innocent) action, though, and gods, he was so strong… It would be so easy for him to move you this way and that as he took his pleasure and took care of yours. You envisioned him above you, pinning your wrists to the mattress as he roughly took you, heated kisses swallowing your cries of pleasure. But that really wasn’t his style, was it? Hildibrand was a lover, not a fighter. He frequently talked about how he eschewed roughness and violence and you figured that would likely extend to the bedroom as well. Would he take his time with you, then? Would he savor each caress, each curve of your body? As you inserted a third finger, you could almost feel the touch of his hands as they traced your form with reverence. Yes, he would be a gentleman throughout, wouldn’t he? You let a moan of his name slip from between your lips as you imagined his own slowly traveling down your body, planting heated kisses all over. He could still manhandle you as much as he wanted, of course. You wanted him to put that godlike strength of his to good use. In your mind’s eye, you could see the muscles in his arms flexing as he picked you up to carry you gods-know-where for a round whose number you’d long lost track of. “Hildy… Hildy,  please…” Finger number four made its entrance as you sped up your pace, pumping in and out and wishing all the while it was his thick cock instead. Your thumb worked at your clit as salacious wet sounds filled the room. Oh yes, you were close. This wouldn’t sate you, of course, but it would allow you a few scant moments of rest before your biology riled you up once more. You took in another deep breath of his scent as you imagined him flipping you onto your stomach and taking you from behind. The force would be enough to make the bedframe knock against the wall, and there wouldn’t be a soul in this inn that didn’t know what you were up to. “Hildy… I need you, Hildy… please, take me…” You imagined him finishing inside you, filling you to the brim with seed that was sure to take and grow and provide you with what your body so desperately craved. (Never mind that you were still under the effects of a long-term contraception spell you had refreshed every so often) Not only was he a strong mate, he would be a caring one too. You knew he’d pamper you through every step of what was inevitably to come of your coupling. Maybe that’s what attracted you to him, the promise of being treated well. As you neared your peak, your cries became louder and higher in pitch. You were being noisy but at this point you were far from caring, the only thing on your mind being the promise of temporary relief. “Hildyhildyhildyhildy please-“ And then there was a crash. The crash was both you toppling over your peak as well as an actual physical crash complete with a sound and all. Orgasm completed but ruined, you yanked your fingers out of yourself as you jerked back out of surprise. You removed Hildibrand’s jacket from your face and pulled yourself up into a sitting position to see no other than the man himself, standing among the ruins of what looked to be a soup tray with a hand clapped firmly over his eyes. Well, you were fucked, and not in the way you wanted to be. There was no way you were going to convince him this wasn’t what it looked like. In your temporary post-orgasm clarity, the mortification over what you had done finally began to set in. How loud had you been? He must have heard you, there was no way he didn’t. “Hildib-“ “My deepest, sincerest apologies!” he exclaimed, catching you off guard. Wait, what? He’d caught you using his jacket for untoward things and yet he was the one apologizing? You blinked at him for a moment. “Uh…” “If I had known you were taking some personal time, I would never have entered! I knocked but I thought you said..." He shook his head. "Do forgive me for such a horrid intrusion upon your privacy! I shall take my leave at once!” Hand still covering his eyes, he turned and fumbled for the door handle. If you let him go now then things would be awkward between you two for the rest of forever, if he could even look you in the eye ever again. “Wait! Hildy. Please… wait. I need to explain something to you.” To your surprise, he stopped. “I… I am listening, my dear lady.” He swallowed heavily, lump in his throat bobbing as he did so. You cursed yourself over how transfixed you were on it. You pulled the bedsheet so that it was at least over your lap and slipped the jacket on to cover your chest. His scent was now cloyingly close but you were able to push it to the back of your mind for the time being. “You can open your eyes.” He did so but only spared you a glance before averting his eyes again with a hearty blush. At least he kept them uncovered this time. He noticed a chair nearby and went to sit in it. You noticed he spread his legs wider than usual upon doing so and decided to stray your eyes away from the area lest your clarity of mind become short-lived. He sighed deeply, and you wondered what was going through that mind of his. “H-how familiar are you with Viera biology, Hildibrand?” “Not at all, I’ll admit. You are the first one I have ever met. Apologies once more for my faux pas upon our first meeting!” You chuckled softly as you remember how he’d complimented you on the craftsmanship of your ears on the way back through the Sagolii after returning him to his senses. The look of shock on his face when you informed him that they were your actual ears was priceless. “Water under the bridge.” You thought for a moment. “Okay... Are you familiar with Miqo’te biology, then?” This was more likely to have an affirmative answer, considering his best friend and most astute assistant was one. She must have told him a thing or two here or there. The two were far from the same, of course, but the principle you were applying was similar enough that comparisons could be drawn. There was a beat of silence, and you could practically hear the proverbial cogs in his brain whirring. “There were a few paragraphs in one of the textbooks I read in my childhood schooling. I must admit.. though my powers of deduction are strong indeed, I haven’t the foggiest what this would have to do with your sudden illne-“ “I’m in heat, Hildy!” you exclaimed, cutting to the chase. His eyes widened with understanding, and you breathed a sigh of relief upon realizing that he at least had been told about the birds and the bees at some point. (With Hildy, there was always that possibility that he hadn’t.) “Ah.” He coughed awkwardly. “So then… you would be feeling an intense desire to-“ "Yes.” The heat on your face was more from embarrassment than any lingering lust at this point. You wondered how much time you had left before another wave hit you. Hildibrand frowned, standing from his chair and beginning to pace. “Naturally occurring, I assume?” You nodded. “Very well, I do believe that solves the mystery of your mysterious ailment! There is one thing, however, that escapes me.” “What’s that?” “How did you know I was standing outside your door with soup? I heard you calling to me.” You blinked, unsure if he was joking or not. Surely he realized that you were- Well, this was Hildibrand after all. He was brilliant in some places and completely stupid in others. “Uh, I didn’t. I was, uh… I was actually…” Oh gods, were you going to have to spell out to this dense man that you were getting yourself off to the thought of him? (Probably) “You were…” “Thinking about you, Hildy! I was thinking about you, while I was…” Thankfully he didn’t need any elaboration from there judging by the way his practically non-existent eyebrows shot up to his hairline and his jaw dropped. You hung your head in shame. He probably thought you were a degenerate or something, and the thought of having earned the disdain of a man who thought so highly of most everyone was- He cleared his throat. “Well! I must certainly say I am surprised!” he finally said. “And somewhat flattered.” “Y-you aren’t angry” “Angry? Nonsense!” he replied with a shake of his head. “In fact, I apologize if I have caused you undue suffering due to my proximity!” You weren’t sure you followed. “Suffering…" “Why, yes! Considering you’ve spent the past few days with me and almost no one else, er, compatible, it stands to reason that you would pick me to, to, er…” It seems he was just as embarrassed about this as you were. Maybe this was something you could laugh about later. “And I must admit I myself have been feeling rather distracted as of late, and thinking more often than usual about-“ He stopped himself. “Er, that bit isn’t important!” Oh, he must have picked up on the mating pheromones you’d been unconsciously secreting. The purpose of those was to attract a suitable mate and therefore they adjusted to what was needed to bring a specific one in. And that meant that your biology had indeed latched onto the idea of copulating with the man who stood right in front of you, pacing. You felt a prickle of heat travel down your spine. Uh-oh. It looked like another wave was approaching. You had to get him out of here before you embarrassed yourself further. “Is there a… a treatment?” he asked, blushing further. “Er! I mean a-a potion, perhaps, that I could acquire for you at the market?” He clarified that last bit a touch too quickly for your liking, and you frowned at the implication that he was repulsed by all of this. The mortification mixed with the creeping heat threatened to overwhelm you once more, but you managed to keep it back for now. “Not once it’s started, no. Before, yes, there are things to suppress it, but it’s… too late now. I’ve got no choice but to, uh, endure it.” You were about to say ‘ride it out’, but that conjured up mental images of you riding something else entirely, something attached to a certain inspector. Hildibrand, true to form, was pondering away about how to help you despite his personal bashfulness. He continued to be as sweet and selfless as could be despite the touchy subject matter. (It wasn’t helping curb your desire for him. In fact, it was making it worse.) “Alright then, is there any way to make it less… unbearable? Clearly, you are in agony!” Oh. He’d asked the question you’d been dreading. There was indeed one way to alleviate the discomfort, but that would involve… “Uh. One way. But you probably won’t like it.” “I am open to suggestions! I could not in good conscience leave you like this.” You shook your head. “One of the ways to help a heat is to… fulfill it. And it’s best done by… the person chosen by the heat-bearer.” He blinked, turning redder than a Tomato Knight. “Ah. I see. Indeed.” He paced faster. “So in your case, that would be…” “You, yes.” You wanted to pull the sheets up over your head and hide for a good hundred years. “See, I told you you wouldn’t like it.” “That is most certainly untrue! I would find such a prospect to be most enti-“ It seems he’s realized what he’s said, and he clamps a hand over his mouth. So there was a chance. That was all you parsed out of what he’d just said. The desire trickling back into your core turned into a roiling boil at this point. “Y-you would?” “Er, that is, I meant to say… I could never!” Oh. And suddenly there was a layer of ice cold water poured on top of that roaring fire. “N-no?” Hiding in the sheets sounded better and better by the second. “O-of course not! You clearly are not in your right mind, your decisions clouded by your condition! I could never take advantage of you like that!” Oh? That was his problem? Did he seriously not realize that for the past few years, you had been- “I’ve always liked you, Hildy!” you blurted out. It was now or never, and there would never be a better opportunity to confess your feelings. It was his turn to blink in confusion. “Truly?” You nodded, hands each taking a fistful of sheet in front of you and balling up to give you the courage to push through your mortification. “Yes, since the day we met pretty much. H-how could I not? You’re so sweet and selfless and you never let anything get you down!” You buried your face in the balled sheet and tried not to wallow in how hopeless this was. Hildibrand just stood there for a moment, contemplating. “I never knew you felt that way about me.” “I thought I made it pretty obvious,” you said, peeking up at him. This was indeed true; you flirted with him very frequently and always made it a point to be touchy-feely and affectionate. It, of course, all went right over his head. “I was told frequently from a young age to never read too much into a woman’s kindness. My mother was insistent I learn that to prevent any social mishaps. I know that simply because a lady is kind does not necessarily mean she’s interested.” You nodded, conceding that that was indeed a fair point. “And your mother is a smart woman, I know. She’s right. Most times people are nice to be nice, or because they have to be because of something or another.” You pulled the sheet back down to look at him fully. “But me, I… I’m definitely interested!”

It was Hildibrand’s turn to look bashful. “I… I have always thought you were rather lovely…” Your heart skipped a beat. “Y-you’ve never said anything.” “Of course not! After what you did to that one Brass Blade when we were in Costa del Sol, I figured it quite prudent to keep my opinions quiet!” Oh yeah, you remembered that. After the man in question had grabbed your arse, you’d delivered him an ass-kicking so potent he’d needed to see a healer. “He shoulda watched his hands…” you muttered. “I quite agree, though as you know I eschew violence…” He coughed awkwardly again. “Anyway! What I am trying to say is that I know better than to make unsolicited advances on someone!” You sighed. This man was so dense. “T-this wouldn’t be unsolicited, Hildy…” “I-I suppose not, no…” “I want you. I need you.” You let the waves of heat you’d been holding back wash over you once more, and you bit your lip as you let your eyes wash over his form. Without his jacket, you could easily see the muscular forearms he possessed, left bare by the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt. As always, his undestroyed clothing was impeccably pressed, from the center of his bowtie down to the creases in his slacks. (Slacks that were, you now realized, looking unusually tight around the groin area) You licked your lips as you took him in, and you could see his face grow redder by the second. “F-far be it from me to deny you the relief you so desperately need,” he said. “You can say no, I promise. If you’re not comfortable with it, I don’t want to make you.” He shook his head. “I… I do apologize for my brazenness but I very much want to! I simply… never imagined it happening this way.” You tilted your head at him. “What did you imagine, Hildy?” “A lengthy, proper courtship! With dates and conversation and the wooing you so verily deserve!” “Hildy…” you said, breaking out into a fit of giggles. “Life’s too short for that sort of thing.” Well, too short for him. As a Viera, you still had many years to go, but he didn’t need to know that. He wrung his hands. “I must warn you… I don’t have much in the form of experience… well, that is to say, hands-on experience! I’ve read about this plenty from… novels.” Ah, so he had a guilty pleasure after all. “That’s okay. I can show you what to do if you’d like?” You were about two seconds away from throwing the sheet off your lap, you were overheating so much. He nodded, taking a step towards you. Your breath hitched in your throat as he fully turned his attention to you for the first time since he entered the room. “May I… may I gaze upon you, my lady?” he asked, clearing his throat. He tugged at his bowtie with one hand to loosen it while he took off his monocle with the other. His monocle as well as his gloves found their way on top of the chest of drawers behind him. He did not undress further than that. “Yes, of course!” You wanted to expedite this, so you tossed aside the sheet you’d been using for modesty’s sake, leaving his jacket as the only cover that sat between your bare form and Hildibrand’s russet eyes. His eyes immediately shot to your legs before quickly looking away. He then looked back when he remembered you’d given him permission to do so. “You’re stunning…” he murmured, taking another step forward. “You’re quite the looker yourself,” you shot back, using all your willpower to stop yourself from just jumping him. He swallowed thickly, taking yet another step that put him at the foot of your bed. You reflexively spread your legs for him. “Ah, first let me, er…” he made a conflicted face. “I would very much like to at least kiss you first!” You snickered, lifting a hand and crooking a finger at him in a ‘come hither’ motion. “Then do it, oh brave and valiant inspector.” As if under a spell, he did so, kicking off his shoes as he crawled onto the bed. You reached for him and your lips met in a heated kiss. He wasn’t as bad a kisser as you had feared. Maybe he’d had some practice somewhere. You pushed that thought to the back of your mind to prevent jealousy from springing forth, opting instead to deepen the kiss. It was everything you had wanted and more. With this, the floodgates burst open and all the passion you’d held for him came bursting forth. You nibbled his lip and slipped in a bit of tongue as your hands wandered down to explore his muscled chest. He groaned softly as you did so, the first noise of pleasure he’d given this whole time. The reciprocation spurred you onward and you grabbed at his shirt and pulled. Hildibrand gasped as suddenly buttons flew here and there, some clattering against the hardwood floor. He moved back just a little to assess the damage. It seemed you’d torn every button off his shirt in a fit of passionate strength. You covered your mouth with your hand, utterly embarrassed. “Oh Twelve, I am so sorry, Hildy!” Instead of being upset, however, he merely chuckled and shook his head. “Not to worry, my dear! I have many replacements.” With all the times you’d seen his clothing get ripped and torn and dirtied, this tracked. You couldn’t help but laugh along too. At the beginning, you’d been worried this would be awkward and stiff, but being with Hildibrand just felt so right. Your heart fluttered as you pulled him in for another kiss. When you next broke for air, you moved to shrug off his jacket and were a little surprised when he stopped you. “Ah, I was wondering if perhaps I could make a request?” He was incredibly bashful already, as if he were expecting you to refuse without even hearing him out. Instead of refusing, however, you tilted your head at him. “I’m all ears,” you joked, gesturing to your long ones. He laughed, feeling a little more at ease. “Ah, well! I was wondering if perhaps…” He flushed deeper. “Perhaps you could keep that on while we, ah… while we…” Oh, he was feeling a little possessive. You couldn’t help but moan softly as another wave of heat and lust rolled through you. The noise brought out one of his own, and you saw his blush travel from his face down his neck and settle in his chest. You followed it down, carding through the light dusting of brown hair he possessed. “Gladly,” you purred. He let you explore as you pleased, leaning back a little to give you better access. Under your fingertips, you could feel his racing heart, and you were sure yours was beating in time. “Is that what you want, Hildy?” you teased. When he looked at you quizzically you merely smirked. “Do you want to claim me as yours using your jacket? Mmm, that’s a little forward, don’t you think?” Hildibrand looked conflicted. “I-I would never purport to own you, my dear! You are your own person who-“ You placed a finger to his lips to silence his nervous rambling. “Relax, I’m just teasing you a little. I’m more than happy to wear this for you. In fact…” You bit your lip, wondering if you should confess this so readily. “It’s something I’ve definitely fantasized about before…” It was now your turn to be flustered. Hildibrand, however, was determined to outdo you, it seemed. “Ah, I see! That is…  that’s rather… I must say that is rather flattering!” You could probably reach out and physically shut Hildibrand’s jaw, he seemed so surprised. “Don’t act so shocked, Hildy,” you said with a giggle. “I’m sure you have more fans than you realize.” You leaned closer. “And besides… you can claim me any which way you want.” You nibbled his earlobe. This seemed to spur a reaction in him, as he turned and kissed you deeply. Yes, there was the power you knew he could display. His hands came to rest on your hips, politely awaiting instruction. “How would… how did you want to...” he tried to ask when you broke for air. Grinning, you turned so that your back was facing him, your rear up in the air. Doubtless he could see how soaked and desperate you were for him. “Take me, Hildy.” You wiggled at him for emphasis. (To your relief he did not ask you where you wanted him to take you.) “Ah, yes, let me just…” You could hear him fumbling with the fasteners on his slacks. When he audibly breathed a sigh of relief, you looked back to see he’d undone them enough to pull out- Well. That would be more than satisfying. And gods, he was thicker than you’d imagined. You wiggled even harder in anticipation of being filled. When he didn’t enter you immediately, you glanced back to make sure he was alright. “Hildy?” You weren’t sure you could take much more of this. “Are you certain about this, my dear? I know from my, er, research that consent is the most important part of any intimate encounter and-“ “Stop talking and fuck me before I go mad!” He did as he was told. With his large hands taking hold of your hips, he thrust forward with a surprising amount of force, burying himself to the hilt in you in one singular stroke. You practically screamed with relief as you felt him stretch you. Yes, this was exactly what you craved, what you needed. Relief and salvation were here and they had come in the form of the eccentric inspector you adored so much. “A-are you alright?” he called from behind you. Doubtless that had gone faster than he had intended and now he was concerned he’d hurt you. “Yes, I’m great, I’m wonderful, please move!” you urged, balling the sheets up in your hands once more. He did as he was told, slow and cautious. His hands on your hips tightened slightly, but not to bruising level. He was gentle, he was patient and utterly sweet. Ordinarily, this would be something you loved. But right now you needed more. “Hildy…” you whined. He paused, breath hitching in his throat. Clearly your cries affected him in some way. “Hildy, please, I need more…” You were this close to begging, but your pride wouldn’t let you break down just yet. You could practically feel the conflicting feelings of lust and hesitation dripping off of Hildibrand. “Are you su-" Growling, you slammed yourself back onto him, causing him to let out a low, pleasured groan. “Yes, I’m very sure. Now, are you going to fuck me into the mattress or am I going to have to do it myself?” This threw Hildibrand for a loop, causing him to sputter. The way you could feel him throb within you, however, told you he wasn’t averse to hearing it. “A-as you wish!” And so this time, he did. You were surprised at the sheer amount of force he put out with each thrust, but then again Hildibrand was never a man who did anything by half. With each thrust you blurted out something about how he was doing great, how wonderful it felt, how amazing he felt. Hildibrand seemed to thrive on praise, so you gave him all the praise he deserved, which was a lot.

The room soon filled with the lewd sounds of skin against skin. At your instruction (and about a dozen reassurances that no, he was not hurting you), you had Hildibrand pin you down to the mattress and take you roughly from above. He learned quickly how to use his weight to his advantage, dropping straight down to the hilt but catching himself before he could fully put his bulk on you. He was by far the largest you had taken in many years, and you knew you were most likely going to be very sore by the time this heat was over with. Was it worth it? Absolutely. You’d not felt bliss like this in ages. Previous heats were usually fulfilled with partners of convenience, those you’d had agreements with beforehand but had no true attachment to. But to be with someone you truly cared for? Nothing could compare. There was one more thing he could do for you, however… “H-Hildy… gods, I adore you, Hildy… Hildy, aah, please…” He slowed down just a touch, likely to gather enough brainpower to talk. “Y-yes?” You let go of the headboard with one hand and reached up to smooth your ears down so they were easier to reach. “P-pull my… my ears… gently…” It was an important part of a Viera mating ritual and something you were loath to disclose outside of intimate circles. A Viera’s ears were highly sensitive to touch, and oftentimes only mating pairs were allowed to touch one another’s ears.

(You had delivered many ass-kickings to numerous folks in Eorzea and surrounding areas who had thought it was okay to just reach up and cop a feel without asking.) This time he was willing to do so without confirming twenty times. He took one hand off the surface of the mattress where he was supporting himself and grabbed hold of your long ears with the other and pulled. The effect was instantaneous. If you hadn’t been close before, you were now. “Like this?” he asked, sounding close himself. He refused to squeeze them, but rather began stroking them softly as he tugged. Like he had been before with his thrusts, he was very gentle in this as well.

(This, you were perfectly okay with, as you weren't very keen on having your ears permanently stretched by any sudden feats of strength) “Y-yes, just like that!” He hit a very sensitive spot deep inside you that caused you to gasp. “H-Hildy, I’m going to…” You clenched hard around him in an attempt to savor the sensation. A deep groan was your only response as you felt him shudder above you. In that moment you knew you were being filled just how you wanted and that was enough to send you toppling over the edge, screaming his name. Your legs gave out and you collapsed, boneless, to the mattress below. Hildibrand followed suit, but at least had the good sense to roll slightly to the side. You whimpered at the loss of fullness as he pulled out of you to lay by your side. For a moment, there was nothing but you two and the afterglow. You laid there with him to catch your breath, your mind blissfully clear for the first time in a few days. It wouldn’t last, of course, but at least now you had someone to ride it out with. (Or on.) You were the first one to break the silence. “Are you doing alright, Hildy?” you asked, half expecting him to have fallen asleep by now. Instead of being asleep, however, he responded by reaching out an arm and pulling you close to him. His heart was still racing, but in a way that showed he was slowly calming. “I… I have never had an experience like that before in my life,” he admits. “How exhilarating!” You giggled. “I suppose that’s a good thing?” He nodded vigorously. “But more importantly! How are you feeling?” he shot back. You stretched out on the large bed, feeling the first ghosts of aches to come settling into your bones. “Amazing. More clear-headed than I’ve been since this mess started. Thank you, Hildy.” You kissed him on the cheek. “Happy to serve, my lady!” He gave you a twinkling grin which just made you giggle even more as you buried your face in his muscular chest, basking in his warmth. For a while, you laid there with him, drawing shapeless patterns on his bare skin. The heat would be back, but with Hildibrand’s efforts, it would be a few bells rather than a few moments before it became a problem again. As you were just starting to drift off, Hildibrand sat up suddenly, jerking you back to full awareness. “I almost forgot!” he exclaimed. “We must needs begin planning!” You blinked in confusion. “Huh? For the investigation?” He genuinely had you confused here. “For the wedding!” Okay, somewhere along the line you two must have had some sort of miscommunication. “W-wedding? What wedding?” Hildibrand looked at you incredulously. “Why, ours of course! If you are to be with child, we must be wed immediately!” You looked at him for a solid ten seconds before you burst out into laughter. This only confused the poor man more. “I fail to see the joke here. I am a man of commitment, my dear!” “Hildy…” you said after composing yourself. “You are sweet, so very sweet.” You took his hands in yours. “But there’s no marriage needed.” He didn’t quite seem to follow, and his confused expression just made you burst out into more giggles. “I have a spell done on me every few moons by a healer. It prevents… accidental conception but sadly doesn’t stop heats.” Hildibrand nods. “So this was more of a, uh…”

“Psychological heat, yes. Hurts just as bad even if it isn’t going to result in anything.” You made a face but the expression quickly softened. “I should have probably told you that first off. Sorry about that.” “I see. That is… a relief, actually! I don’t know the first thing about planning a wedding! And my mother would kill me!” You grinned, pressing your forehead into his. “She probably would.” “Nonetheless, I am very heartened to see that I was valiantly able to cure your condition!” Oh. He thought you were done. Oh-no…

“Actually… that was just one wave. A true fulfilled heat takes about… half a dozen waves to subside.”

“Because that increases the chances of…” He seemed to be getting it now. You nodded. “Exactly! So, even though that bit isn’t a factor, I would still need your, uh, help.” You smiled bashfully at him. “If you want to, of course!” “Of course I do! It would be horrid to leave you to suffer if I am the only one with the cure!” He blushed. “And besides… I… I very much enjoyed that!” “I enjoyed it too, Hildy,” you said, laughing as you pulled him in for another kiss. “Get some rest. It won’t come for a few hours yet.” You laid down and shut off the aetherial lamp. It was still daytime, but with the blinds shut it was dim enough for sleep. Hildibrand, however, was still sitting up, seemingly contemplating something. “Hildy?” you asked, cracking one eye open. “I suppose this is why Nashu told me she likely wouldn’t see me until tomorrow at the earliest…” Fuck. Of course she would know.

[luninosity]

Time for @whumptober2020 Prompt 4!

Number 4: Running Out Of Time - specific prompt: collapsed building

Er...sorry about this. Um, if it helps: Seb’s probably not hurt quite as badly as Chris’s panicked brain thinks - Chris isn’t the most reliable narrator - and he’ll be okay. Probably. With some emergency medical attention.

Warnings: serious injury? Chris being afraid Seb’s dying? in my head-canon aftermath sequel, he’ll be okay, I promise!

#

“Seb?” Chris hears his own voice crack. Shatter. Break right down the middle. “Sebastian?”

 Sebastian doesn’t answer. No sound at all.

 No. That’s not true. Groans and creaks of metal and wood. Beams and bars. The broken building’s twisted and dying all around them.

 “Sebastian!” Louder this time. Hiding fear with volume. Sebastian had been beside him, a step above him, both of them on the old building’s staircase. They’d been meant to run down the steps, to be caught on camera, to escape the explosion. The special effects team had rigged it all up.

 He can’t think. His ears’re ringing. If Sebastian’s answered—

 “Seb? Say something!”

 Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing.

 Chris coughs. Tries to inhale, breathes dust, coughs again. Dry as bone.

 He himself has landed in an oddly empty space, under a couple of beams that’ve landed at just the right angles for shelter. He’s hurting everywhere because he’d hit the ground hard, but he’s pretty sure nothing’s even broken, though his left hip’s screaming at him about landing on it and he’ll be limping for a while.

 On his knees, he shouts Sebastian’s name again, or tries to. Coughs some more.

 They’d had everything set up, he recalls—they’d been ready to run out of the building, himself and Seb being Steve and Bucky—

 The earth had jumped. Shuddered. Shaken angrily.

 A short quake. Barely anything. Laughable, really.

 Except it hadn’t been, except the explosives had gone off early and the whole fucking building had—

 And Sebastian’s not answering—

 “Seb,” Chris begs. “Say something, talk to me—answer me, if you can, something, anything, fuck—come on, Seb—”

 The not-quite silence swings back in and dooms the world. Chris shoves himself to his knees.

 Some other noises happen, distant. On the other side of the collapse. Outside this agonizing bubble of himself and a cave of rubble and a missing Sebastian Stan, which means the missing other half of Chris’s heart, because—

 Because Sebastian’s always been the other half of his heart. Hell, he’s known that for years. Sebastian Stan, sweet and mischievous and shy on first meeting but wickedly playful and adorably weird once comfortable around people, and oh Chris has thrilled to the idea of being one of those people Seb’s comfortable with over the years, knowing Seb’s grown to trust him, knowing how Sebastian loves coffee and Scottish Fold kittens and astronomy and pizza—

 He’d let it become routine. Himself, wanting Seb. Seb smiling and hardworking and gulping down caffeine and diving into a character and lighting up a room. Seb maybe laughing at Chris’s jokes, sometimes; Seb maybe responding with a soft surprised smile, sometimes, when Chris touches him or says his name or hugs him at an opening night afterparty.

 He’d thought they’d have time. He’d thought they’d have more years. Slow and easy, gentle and unhurried, no rush. They’d get there together, he’d hoped, and it’d been simpler just to let it all be what it was, going along.

 They’re together now. Under a collapsed building and anguished metal. And Sebastian’s silent. Sebastian’s not answering. Sebastian might be—

 No. Chris says it aloud, shaking, in pain. “No.”

 On his knees, he fights to see through haze. More muffled noises happen; rescue efforts, probably. He tries shouting back but he’s pretty sure they can’t hear.

 He crawls closer to the nearest heap of rubble. Nothing recognizable. Only broken bits of building.

 He whispers, “Sebastian…”

 Nothing moves or stirs, but a shape resolves itself: not Seb, but the edge of the staircase, a fractured bottom step, a shard of bannister. Chris throws himself that way. Seb had been above him on the steps—

 Closer, he can see a shred of black. Bucky’s wardrobe? A boot? An ankle? A shadow? He flings himself down beside wood and marble and debris. He can’t see.

 He pleads with the universe, “Sebastian—!”

 Something does move, then. Fingertips. And Sebastian’s voice, weak, too weak: “…Chris?”

 “I’m here! I’m here, I’m here—oh thank god, Seb, fuck, thank god, thank you—talk to me, keep talking—” A slab of building’s blocking his view of Sebastian. No, two slabs: one leaning perilously over Seb’s body, one lying on his shoulder and not letting Chris see his face.

 Chris gets a hand into Sebastian’s fingers. They’re cold. This isn’t the arm with Bucky’s metal sleeve. “Seb? Talk to me, come on, you said my name, what’s up, what else, ask me anything.”

 “Chris,” Sebastian says again, vaguely. “You feel warm.”

 You don’t, Chris thinks. “Yeah, it’s just ’cause your hand’s kinda cold, but hey, you get cold a lot, right? You told me that once. Why you like jackets and sweaters and scarves and stuff. Um, I think I can move this one, there’s not a lot in the way, I’m gonna try, okay?”

 “Okay.” Sebastian still doesn’t sound very coherent. Chris’s chest tightens.

 He sizes up the chunk of apocalypse on Seb’s shoulder. Nothing’s leaning on it, so if he can shove it over that way and off the edge of the step right there—

 He can. He has to take his hand out of Seb’s to use both arms, but he can.

 He spins back to Sebastian, panting and triumphant. All the words in the universe die away. He can feel the impact, the numbness, the draining of blood from his face.

 And blood is too appropriate, too horrible, because there’s red, there’s too much red, it’s under the back of Sebastian’s head and trickling across the sharp edge of a step, and Sebastian’s eyes’re open but his face is white, white against scarlet…

 “Chris?” Sebastian coughs. Breathes, shallow and shaky. His other arm seems to be okay, oddly: lying across his stomach. The rest of the rubble blocks his hips, his legs, with voiceless compassion. Chris doesn’t know what’s hiding under there.

 He whispers around clogging chunks of icy grief, “I’m here.” He puts his hand back in Sebastian’s. Kneeling beside the stairs.

 “Are you…” Sebastian stops to breathe. “Okay?”

 “Me? Fine. I’m fine. Not hurt. You—you don’t have to worry about me, okay? Don’t worry about anything.” He puts his other hand atop Seb’s, in his. “Just stay with me.”

 “I’m here,” Sebastian murmurs. His eyes aren’t quite focused, though they try: finding Chris. “Nothing even hurts much…just sort of strange…tired…and cold…”

 “Oh god,” Chris says, and has to lift a hand, to press it over his mouth. “Seb, I—I…”

 “I can’t move much,” Sebastian says. “I think my leg’s stuck. My toes move, though…so that’s good.”

 “Yeah…yeah, that’s…good…”

 “Did everyone…” Seb’s eyebrows tug together. “The effects people…setting up…did they get out?”

 “I don’t know.” He doesn’t. He can’t think. “But we’re all gonna get out, okay? They’re coming for us, they’ll find us, you can hear them, right? Those sounds? That’s people coming to rescue us, okay?”

 “I can hear it…I think.” Sebastian shuts his eyes, or lets them shut. “Maybe.”

 “Seb. Please. Please stay awake. Please talk to me.” He squeezes Sebastian’s limp fingers. Sebastian doesn’t react at first, but then squeezes back a fraction.

 That’s a good sign. Has to be. Maybe it’s not as bad as Chris thinks. Head wounds bleed a lot, don’t they? Even minor ones? And Seb’s awake, talking, moving toes…

 Is Seb awake?

 “Sebastian?”

 No.

 “Seb!”

 Sebastian’s eyes don’t open. Long eyelashes still over pale skin. More red spills vicious over cracked stair-marble.

 “Seb. Sebastian. Stay with me. Stay with me, stay here—please don’t, please don’t go, please—”

 The world’s a blur. Rock-dust and tears.

 Chris cradles that lax hand in his. Lifts it. Kisses Seb’s fingers, frantic, tasting smudges and salt. That’s his own: water over Seb’s skin. “Please,” he says. “Please, Seb, I love you—please don’t leave me, I love you, I should’ve said—I should’ve told you—every time I thought it I should’ve told you, a fucking million times, over and over—so fucking stupid, I should’ve just tried, should’ve said—please let me say it. Please wake up and let me say it.”

 He says, “Please let me try again. Please. Seb, come on, please, I’m a fucking mess here, you know you want to wake up and laugh at me for getting all fucking melodramatic here, and I totally am, you’re right, I know, so come on, just say so, just wake up and say so.”

 He says, “Please, Seb, please, god, someone, please, I love you, Sebastian, I love you.”

 He says, “Please just—just know I love you, I always have, I love you and I’m here, Seb, I’m right here.”

 An incongruous streak of sunlight turns dust-motes to gilt, painfully gold and hovering through cracks. It brushes Sebastian’s hand on its way to the side of the room.

 More sounds, more shouting, happen outside. Excited. A breakthrough.

 Chris gazes at Sebastian’s face. At Sebastian’s lips, parted.

 Sebastian’s lips are still a little pink, not colorless. Sebastian’s head’s turned slightly his way, beautiful even now. Sebastian’s…

 …breathing.

 Sebastian’s breathing. Chris can see it. Faint, not deep, but there: chest moving, up and down.

 Chris’s own chest lurches. Heaves with relief. Tries to throw its own heart in there and beat alongside Seb’s, shoring up weak thumps, offering support.

 He whispers, “Sebastian…”

 He’s still holding Seb’s hand against his mouth. Seb’s eyelashes flutter. Then lift.

 “Seb,” Chris says, mind and thoughts empty of everything but that. White and blank and overwhelmed.

 “Chris?” Sebastian sounds even weaker, and confused, but alive. “I thought…you were talking…I’m sorry, I couldn’t…I can’t think…did you say…something…”

 “Said a lot of things,” Chris says, lightheaded with reprieve. “It’s okay, you’re kinda tired, I’ll forgive you for not, y’know, listening…”

 “But I want to.” Seb blinks at him. “Always liked that…listening to you…’m yours, you know. Anything…if you ever want me…’s always been you. For me. Just…right…sorry, I know ’m not making sense…”

 “You,” Chris manages. “You are—you said—you want me, you said—it’s right—”

 “Yeah.” Seb closes his eyes, making Chris’s heart teeter on a cliff’s-edge, but then opens them again. “You don’t have to…”

 “I fucking love you!”

 “You—” Sebastian’s eyes actually open more. “You…wait…”

 “I’m fucking in love with you,” Chris announces, Chris tells him, Chris proclaims to the world and the dust motes and the slabs of debris. “I love you, Seb. And you’re not gonna fucking die, and we’re gonna—figure this out, we’ll talk about this, we’ll—I don’t know—but you’re not fucking dying and I love you and neither of us is going anywhere, got it?”

 Sebastian blinks again. “…I’ll…try? Chris?”

 “Yeah?” Holding on, holding Seb’s hand, hoping hard. “Yeah, go on, anything, ask me.”

 “I’m scared,” Seb whispers, “it doesn’t hurt…I think maybe it should…the way you look…but I’ll try. I feel…it’s so…but I want…I want to stay.”

 “Good.” Chris kisses his hand one more time, a desperate magic spell. “Then that’s that, okay? You’re here and I’m here and you’re gonna be fine.”

 “Chris?”

 “Yeah?”

 “You said it…I didn’t…meant to…”

 “What?” Someone’s shouting. Calling his name. More light streams in. Space opening up. Rescue arriving. People with medical training, equipment, ways to fight back against wounds and crimson streaks over stone. “Seb? Come on, Seb, what?”

 Sebastian whispers, “I love you,” and keeps holding his hand, and maybe, maybe, Chris thinks. Maybe today they get a miracle. A second chance. A last-minute million-to-one reprieve. Maybe someone somewhere believes in love.

 It’s not a certainty, not yet. Sebastian’s badly hurt. Chris knows he is.

 But Seb’s alive and breathing and holding onto him. That’s also true: the truest piece of the world, right now.

 So Chris is breathing too. Chris is alive too. And they’re together. That’s enough for the next few seconds, and the next, and the next after that, and maybe a future.

 He holds onto Sebastian as help floods in. Seb loves him, and he loves Seb. And he has hope.

[masterwords]

Rise & Fall

Summary: Coda to 04x01 - Mayhem. Morgan takes the ambulance rigged to blow up the hospital and blows it up where it won't hurt anyone. The only thing he wants to do after playing the hero is get back to Hotch.

Warnings: none

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 4k

Notes: A gift for the AO3 Bulletproof exchange using the freeform tags: Touch Starved - Lots of Gentle Touch and/or Cuddling/Snuggling and The Intimacy of Brushing/Braiding/Washing Another Person's Hair

Read on AO3:

**

“Get off of me,” Morgan groaned, throwing his elbow out to the side like a child amid a tantrum. He was filled with immediate regret at the pull of his shoulder muscles and JJ pressed her hand there to calm him.

“Let them do their job,” she whispered, leaning close to his ear. “The sooner they finish, the sooner we can get out of here.” It was true, they were sitting in the middle of a swirling scene surrounded by police officers, bomb techs and camera people hoping for a story to put on the evening news. They could both think of a million places they'd rather be.

“I don't need all the fuss.”

“Morgan, you jumped out of an ambulance as it exploded. Humor me. Unless...” she drug the word out a little longer than necessary in that dramatic way she had about her. “...you want to hear what Hotch has to say about it in the morning?”

She had a point. Not one he wanted to hear, but a point nonetheless. He coughed hard, lungs tight and painful and she waved her hand, had the EMT put the oxygen mask over his face again. The glare he shot her made her smile and shrug a little, but he let her hold it there while they looked him over...it made her feel better and would keep his antics off of Hotch's radar. It was a small price to pay.

He was still coughing, even an hour later. The EMTs had ceased following him around after he was more than a little short with one about the idea of getting into the ambulance and riding to the hospital. “Fuck that,” he'd muttered, shaking his head incredulously. They were standing a safe distance away from the wreckage of the last ambulance, the one he'd blown up; shrapnel littered the ground they walked on. His vest was ripped to shreds but his skin was not, a small miracle. He thought of Hotch, the only thing between he and the SUV that blew up in his face being a few layers of expensive suit and suddenly all he wanted was to see him, to look him over again. The longer they were apart, the worse Hotch seemed in his mind...he'd been upright, he'd discharged himself from the hospital, but it wasn't so simple. His sense of duty far outweighed his sense of self-preservation.

“Morgan,” JJ said, touching his elbow to get his attention. He was lost in a daze, miles away while he stood there. “SSA Joyner died. I just got a call from Rossi, he said she never made it out of surgery. He's taking Hotch back to the hotel...” she let the last word hang between them for a second, dripping with implications he didn't want to consider. The grief of his partner, the job offer that was now a lot firmer than it had been hours before, the night they'd had...hell, the week they'd had. Nothing about this case had been easy on them, it was driving them to their breaking points. She patted his arm and let him to go deal with a few more camera crews that had shown up, promising they'd be leaving soon. He milled around, watching the bomb squad pick apart the wreckage for scraps, anything that could help them recreate the explosive to study. He thought about helping but he was beat, didn't want to admit to JJ how badly he just wanted a shower and a bed. Nothing about the day had been good and the night had been worse, he was nearing his limit for total body exhaustion.

“The jet leaves at 10am,” she said, as if reading his thoughts once they were out on the road and he groaned. That wasn't far enough away, not for his taste. He had no idea what time it was but it felt late, too late to consider 10am a viable option. “But...” and she paused, like she was edging a little too close to a line she hadn't crossed before. Everyone knew about Morgan and Hotch, but they didn't talk freely about it, not at work. Still, she couldn't avoid this one. “Agent Davis from the New York Field Office is scheduled to drive Hotch back to Quantico, he can't fly with his ear injury. You could always...”

“Don't you dare,” he muttered, resting his head against the cool window and closing his eyes. The swirl of the streetlights as they blinked blood red was making him sick, the cityscape looking like his own version of hell. The worst of it was that all he could smell was smoke; acrid, gasoline and grass, molten plastic and metal. His skin was coated in it.

“I just thought it might get you a little more sleep...and maybe you guys could talk...”

“Dammit JJ.”

She smiled to herself, knowing it had worked, even if he hadn't admitted it yet. “You know I could just tell Strauss that you're driving him...”

“Fine. FINE.”

“Okay, good, because I kind of already did...we both know he'd bully Agent Davis into letting him drive. He's...Rossi said it's pretty bad. He really shouldn't drive, so when she asked me if I had any other suggestions...well, we both agreed that he can't bully you. Somehow, you're immune to it.”

“JJ, I don't appreciate your meddling.” He was smiling, though. It made her laugh.

“Just practicing for motherhood.”

They walked side by side through the hotel in silence. Most of the team was on one floor, the only stragglers had been Hotch and Rossi who got rooms one floor beneath everyone else. Inside the elevator, he settled his hips against the rail and waited for her to punch in their floor number, she'd scurried in front of him, and he wasn't going to turn down her offers of help. With a frown, he watched as she punched in another floor too, and a moment later the elevator was stopping on Hotch's floor, her smile knowing and more than a little evil. He groaned as he stepped out, shaking his head. She was on his list.

“Be nice,” she called after him and he raised his hand in the air, flipping her off with his back turned.

He stopped by the vending machine first for some bottles of water and pretzels, easy snacks to hopefully placate Hotch with. He fully intended to order room service for himself, he was starving, and pretzels were definitely not going to cut it but he knew Hotch would put up a fight like usual. Still, he had pain killers to take and those needed food, they said so right on the bottles and he damn well knew it...Morgan was sure that meant he could easily swerve his way into having the upper hand. Hotch may have been the undisputed (or, rarely disputed) leader in the field but here, in their bedroom, things ran a little different.

The first surprise came when Hotch actually answered the door. He'd expected to have to go up to his room, rifle through his pile of clothes from the day before until he found the other room key and hope that Hotch hadn't latched the bar when Rossi dropped him off. Hotch did open the door, one hand pressed to his forehead, the other gripping the handle a little too tight, like he was using it to hold himself upright. Morgan instinctively reached out, grabbing his arm as he wavered where he stood, and from somewhere behind the door he heard a noise and suddenly Rossi was there with his hands against Hotch's back. The two of them guided him toward the bed where he settled slow and stiff, his back ramrod straight and the movement looked like it had knocked the wind out of him. Rossi shot Morgan a confused look, a helplessness in his eyes that sent a shiver up Morgan's spine.

“I suppose you can take it from here?” Rossi asked, almost sarcastically and Morgan sighed. He hadn't thought he'd be intruding on anything, really just figured he'd find Hotch hunched over a stack of files or a laptop, unable to turn his mind off in the face of pain and grief. Not sure why he didn't think Rossi would have stuck around, wouldn't have let Hotch out of his sight...an err in his own judgment, he supposed.

“You can stay,” Morgan replied, unable to tear his eyes from Hotch who sat on the bed with his hands on his thighs, knuckles white, a pinched look on his face. “I'll go back up to my room.”

In one quick, fluid motion Rossi grabbed his jacked from the back of a chair and pulled Morgan aside, out of earshot though both of them knew it didn't make much difference...Hotch couldn't hear them anyway, they could tell. Even if he could hear them, he wasn't in any shape to be listening, he was working through something on his own. “If you're going to get him all riled up, it would be better if you left...cooled off...” Rossi's face was too serious. “The two of you have been at each other's throats the last few days, and I'm not passing judgment Derek...I am simply saying that now is not the time to hash things out.”

“I'm not gonna start a fight, man,” Morgan replied, more than a little offended at Rossi's snap judgment. “Nothing to hash out, we're good...” It wasn't really a lie, there had been a silent understanding between them. It wasn't pretty or comfortable, but it would smooth itself out in time, no amount of talking would help it get there any faster.

“Then I'll leave you two alone. There's a bottle of scotch with my name on it down the hall and I intend to salvage what I can of this night. I hope you two can do the same.”

“I'm sorry about Kate,” Morgan whispered, crouching beside Hotch once Rossi had departed. He looked up, tried to catch Hotch's attention but he was lost somewhere else, he had the same faraway quality in his eyes that Morgan had had just a few hours earlier. Dazed, floating in the ether. There was a bottle of painkillers on the nightstand still taped shut, still frustratingly full and he groaned easing himself upright again. His back cried out in agony, and he froze, muscles tight, he was barely in better shape, but he had to try. The bottle was easy enough to open, pull out the recommended dosage. Two ghostly white pills, small things that would momentarily cause big waves as he imagined himself forcing Hotch down on the bed and poking them down his throat. Muscle memory, he'd been here before. In a show of good faith, he extended the pills to Hotch in his open palm aside a bottle of water. “Did you hear me?”

“You're going to have to speak up,” Hotch mumbled, dumping the pills onto his tongue and pouring water in on top. It was the sort of movement someone who takes a lot of pills does, efficient, nothing to it. A magic trick, now you see it, now you don't. He handed Hotch the pretzels expectantly, a bold move but he intended to capitalize on this brief period of compliance.

“You're supposed to eat with those.” Morgan's voice was quiet, almost fatherly in quality and gave Hotch very little to argue against. Under normal circumstances he may have bristled but there was something here that gave him pause, made him consider Morgan's motive and eventually cave. Slowly, he tore at the bag with shaking hands, making a show of being capable instead of admitting he could barely manage it. The bag ripped at an odd angle, and he frowned in dismay before tugging at it, opening the top wide as if he'd intended it that way all along. He offered the bag to Morgan first, a sign of gratitude and another moment to try and settle his rumbling stomach that screamed its unwillingness to accept food without trouble. He wouldn't have a choice soon.

“You first,” Morgan said softly. “I bought them for you.” He settled in close enough that he could smell the antiseptic beneath the bandages, smell the metallic tang of blood still in his hair, on his skin, dried and cracking at his jawline in places nurses had tried to wipe clean. There was a small wad of cotton stuffed into one ear, dried blood just barely peeking around the edges, and it turned his stomach to think of Hotch being in pain, something out of their control. Hotch reached his fingers in, pulled out one pretzel and popped it into his mouth, tried to pretend it was a natural motion. The moment it was near, he felt his mouth warm with saliva, a warning sign but he pressed forward...he really did need to eat something, or those pills would make him sick, he knew it, but he didn't want it. There was an internal struggle taking place just below the surface while he focused intently on once again offering the bag to Morgan. This time, he accepted, pulling out a few with a smile, and they proceeded to empty the bag. In the end. Morgan ate twice as many as Hotch, but he spread it out in a way that maybe, he hoped, Morgan wouldn't notice.

The steam from the shower was shocking, and Hotch realized he'd been sitting and chewing the same pretzel for too long now. He'd been lost in a trance, broken free by the sudden humidity that made his lungs feel tight and swollen in his chest. “Derek?”

“Bathroom...” he said, wiping at his wrist. He'd checked the water's heat, made sure it was a decent temperature, gotten his shirt wet in the process. “Did you hear me?”

“No, sorry,” Hotch muttered. “You're going to take a shower?”

“We're going to take a shower,” Morgan corrected, extending his hand to Hotch, palm up and expectant. “You smell like blood and hospitals, and I smell like smoke...”

Hotch frowned for a moment, his mind worrying itself into knots over why Morgan would smell like anything other than Morgan. He knew what he'd done, he'd seen it on the news, heard it from Garcia, and the knowledge was settled in there neatly packaged in a place that he promised he'd be angry over later, but right now he had trouble accessing anything that remotely mattered. His ears were ringing, it was tinny and ricocheted through his skull like a pinball machine in an arcade. There wasn't room for anger. “Right,” he muttered, extending his hand and allowing Morgan to pull him to his feet. He was wholly unprepared for the pain that would cause, and he sucked in a deep breath, held it in expanded lungs a moment while his muscles wailed like banshees. Morgan slipped in close, held him upright, was tender when he was certain he didn't deserve that treatment. Not after the way he'd been behaving the last few days, certainly not from Morgan. He deserved to be alone, to sit without peace, without comfort and here Morgan was touching him so gently, so tenderly it made him ache. “I'm okay,” he whispered. “I'm okay.”

“Sure you are.” Morgan smirked, but he didn't argue. There wasn't any point, Hotch would dig in, and then they'd both lose. It was easier just to move on, to pull him toward the bathroom and begin carefully undressing him in a way that said I want to do this, not that I think you need me to do this (but you clearly do...), he was more or less an expert at this point. Not that he wanted to be, he hoped eventually Hotch would come around, be somewhat normal, accept his help without trickery, but so far, no luck.

“I can do it,” Hotch began, raising his arms that felt a little too heavy in an attempt to fumble at the buttons on his shirt. Morgan brushed his hands away and continued his efforts, freeing Hotch of his shirt and then his pants with far less effort than it would have taken Hotch to accomplish the same task. “Thank you.” The pills were kicking in, loosening up stiff muscles and aching joints, and his mind followed suit. He couldn't seem to focus on any one thing long enough to feel indignant, to put in any real effort, to form a complete sentence. Just before stepping into the shower, Morgan's phone buzzed on the counter and he sighed...of all times, now Garcia calls him back. He'd tried her no less than four times since the ambulance and she'd ignored every call, he wasn't sure how long he was not supposed to talk to her, how long she'd keep up this radio silence, but he desperately needed her voice. Now, though, was not the time.

“Hey mama,” he said, lifting the phone to his ear while Hotch stepped into the shower, his eyes wide and bright. He was in a daze, seemed solid enough, stable enough to manage a moment on his own but Morgan knew he needed to hurry before those pills really kicked in. Neither of them believed that small handful of pretzels would actually suffice and the last thing they needed was another trip to the hospital. “I'm a little busy right now.”

“You called me four times and now I'm ready to talk and you say you're busy? What could be more important than me?”

“I got something I gotta take care of, I promise I'll call you back when I'm done.”

“That something had better be someone, Derek Morgan. Do you hear me?” She knew. She had no question, and it was the one thing she was willing to allow him to blow her off for.

“Loud and clear.”

There was something about hotel room showers that Morgan could never get over. At home everything was in exactly the right spot, he could go in with his eyes closed and work his way through his routine effortlessly. He would try to arrange his items just right on the road, to try and emulate the ease in order to achieve relaxation but always came up short, frustrated, knocking shampoo bottles to the ground with a deafening thud. Hotch, though...he simply wanted the water. Morgan stood just beyond the glass door watching his opulent shadow, grateful for a shower that was just a spacious, glistening tile stall and not a bathtub. He stood directly beneath the oversized shower head as it dumped on him, washing away all traces of the day. Not at all concerned with washing, with any sort of to-do list, it was the water that he wanted and only that.

Morgan had other plans, as he usually did. Naked and bruised, they stood before one another, their bodies a brutal map of their day. Deep maroons and purples and blacks and blues, bright red and mottled browns, an artist's hand mixed palette. It wasn't unusual, not in their line of work, but there was a palpable feeling of fear, of restlessness, of anger charging the air around them. “We good?” Morgan asked, reaching one hand out and placing it on Hotch's hip, pulling him near. Hotch didn't respond immediately; he was slow to put together the words lost in the heat and the hiss of the shower. Morgan moved closer, until his mouth was nearly on Hotch's, and repeated the question. Their lips brushed, breath mingled, hearts skipped a beat. There was a response this time, a slight nod of Hotch's head and that was it, that was the talk.

“I can't hear.” Hotch's voice was ghostly, he sounded ashamed and sad, and while it wasn't completely true, he could hear some in small bursts, grainy audio cutting in and out on frayed wires...he was impaired enough he thought it best to just simplify things. Morgan nodded, pulling Hotch closer to him, until there was no space between them. Water pooled in the crevices, arms circling Hotch's waist protectively, foreheads pressed together. The pain was fuzzy, crackled like electricity and then fizzled out leaving only scorched earth in its wake; a process repeated with no limits, and the pills seemed only to make him care less about it all.

Hotch's shampoo sat in a small nook alongside his other toiletries, lined up in order of use, faced and ready to go. He knew exactly what the shampoo would smell like before opening the bottle, he couldn't be certain, but he thought Hotch might never have used a different shampoo in his entire life. It was the only distinct smell he had, and the minute it was in his hands, his senses were overwhelmed by lavender, ylang ylang, petitgrain...the heady bouquet was enticing and as he slicked it through Hotch's thick hair, he breathed it in deep. It filled his lungs, and he closed his eyes, dragging his fingertips over Hotch's scalp. He tried to be gentle as he rounded Hotch's ears, his temples, small circular motions and large sweeping passes. He pulled it up into tiny spikes, twisted bits around his fingers and breathed it in again. Hotch's eyes were closed, his face a portrait of momentary serenity and Morgan continued long after it was necessary to keep going.

“I love you; you know?” Hotch whispered as Morgan tipped his head back, started pushing the shampoo out beneath the water. It ran in thick, foamy rivers down his spine, collected briefly in the curve at the small of his back and coursed down his legs. He didn't know how to verbalize everything fluttering around in his head, all of the explanations, the NYC job and Kate and the bomb...there was so much in there, but the simplest thing he could say was also, he figured, the most important. His voice rattled around in his chest, sharp and raw in the hot shower and he hoped it was loud enough for Morgan to hear. “I love you.”

“I know.”

With a lopsided grin entirely encouraged by the pain killers, Hotch positioned Morgan beneath the running water and, with the same shampoo, proceeded to make a mockery of the hair washing experience. Coarse stubble scraped his palms, rough and thick but gentle like fine sandpaper and he scrubbed the dirt and ash from Morgan's scalp. Suds coursed in rivulets down Morgan's face, caught in his eyebrows and he sputtered the soap out of his mouth. “You suck at this,” Morgan muttered while Hotch clumsily thumbed soap from his eyes, from his mouth. “Don't quit your day job.” He knew Hotch wouldn't hear him, there was some allure in that. He could, at least for tonight, say anything he wanted and suffer few consequences in the morning.

“Woahhhhh...” Morgan reached out, steadied Hotch against him as his foot slipped out from beneath him. They'd tested the limits of his body and the medication; it was time to succumb. “Let's get in bed, huh?” He had one thing on his mind: room service.

Out of the shower was easy, the towels were an exercise in futility because the room was so humid and hot from their extended shower that the moment it swiped across their skin, they were damp again. There were worse things, they'd both decided as they gave up and in a naked heap they fell into bed, limbs tangled together.

“You hungry?” Morgan asked, exaggerating the way his mouth moved around each syllable in the hopes that Hotch could read his lips from so close. Hesitation, followed by a nod. “Good. I'm gonna order us a pile of waffles so damn big we explode...and then we're gonna sleep in and check out late and maybe we won't go back to Quantico right away...maybe we extend the trip by a day or two, drive around, find the world's biggest ball of twine or some stupid shit...” He knew Hotch had no idea what he was saying, it didn't matter. He could feel the vibrations in Morgan's chest as he spoke and something about it soothed him. His eyes drifted shut, lashes fluttering like butterfly wings against flushed cheeks. He would sleep until Morgan told him not to, naked and tangled up in the sheets and, briefly, content.