#not sure if I should tag the whole team but damn they really all grew up

[rageagainstmymachine]

Kinktober 2023 | Edward Richtofen/ F! Reader | Fic 8

Self Pleasure

Words: 3,454

Tags: Masturbation, assisted masturbation, cum drinking

The fight was rough today. Being in the freezing alps of Austria did nothing to help your skills, and the food situation was keeping you on edge. You've been surviving on some deer meat Dempsey was able to kill, but the meat was running low, and so rations have been smaller and more spread out for a few days now. You were hungry.

The thought of what would y'all do if worse comes to worst has crossed your mind, you won't lie, you've thought about who would be tastiest to eat. It was a fleeting thought, you promise, and you really haven't given it much thought...

but it would probably be Nikolai. Big man means more meat. Tender meat too, if it’s grilled like a brisket. But, he would be harder to kill, he would give you a good fight. They all would, they're soldiers... except Edward. He's not a soldier. Not as much meat there but Dempsey and Nikolai could overpower him... Now would he be tasty?

"Dempsey, if you had to eat someone-"

"Probably you." The marine answered before you could get the entire question out.

You crossed your arms, giving him a baffled look. "Me? Why me?"

"You're weak as hell compared to the rest of us. Easy kill." Dempsey said, smirking at your annoyed face.

You huffed and readjusted your crossed arms, looking away from him. "I'm not that weak." You're not mad that he's thought about it, because you have too. You're just annoyed that he has the audacity to not lie to your face.

"You wouldn't get as much meat from me than you would from Nikolai." You argued, trying to save yourself in this scenario. "Wouldn't the fight be worth it if it meant more meat?"

"Yeah but I could take you down in a heartbeat. I wouldn't want to risk getting tired out."

"I'm not THAT weak!"

"Whatever you say, sweetheart."

"What if we team up and eat Edward?" You say, looking over at your lover, who is currently looking through the window of the castle, staring off into the distance. "I'm sure he would forgive me."

Dempsey didn't even have to think before he furiously shook his head, a grimace finding his face. "Hell no! His meat is probably cursed or something. With all the voodoo that follows him I wouldn't be surprised." He said, before giving a look over to the scientist, eyebrows still furrowed. "I'm afraid if I even consume a bite of him I would turn into him."

"That's ridiculous." You laughed. "He's not contagious."

"We don't know that!" He pointed at you, narrowing his eyes.

"Fine. We're eating Nikolai then."

Just as you finalized it, the main doors slammed open, getting your attention. Speak of the devil. The Russian had been gone for a few hours, and you had wondered what he had been up to, but now it seemed that he was back, and was carrying something.

"We shall feast!" He yelled, happily. He was holding a large deer carcass across both shoulders, as well as two rabbits and a whole chicken tied to his belt. It only made sense that the man who grew up in these conditions would have a better time finding food in the snowy mountains than the rest of you, and with Nikolai's skills, the amount of food that the deer and the rabbits would provide should keep you fed for a good while.

Dempsey turned to you, a pointed glare on his face. "This is why we are eating you and not Nikolai. He's actually useful." Dempsey got up and walked with Nikolai outside, no doubt to help skin the animals. You happily jumped up to get the cooking supplies ready.

You were whistling a tune as you got the firepit ready, going outside to get firewood wasn't pleasant with the nipping cold but at this point you couldn't care less. You were going to get a filling hot meal! You shuffled in, carrying a few pieces of firewood, chastising yourself that you couldn't carry more at a time. Damn, maybe you were as weak as Dempsey said...

"Here let me take these." Edward offered, taking the pile from your arms and walking them to the firepit. He waved at you to stay there while he went outside to get more wood, able to carry much more than you. In the meantime you got the pot and filled it with snow, intending to boil it down to sterilized water to make the stew with. You only had a few cans left of vegetables, but this was better than nothing, and the meat would be the real star of this show.

As you waited for the water to boil, Edward came back in with another armful of firewood, stacking them into a pile by the pit. "I think that's enough, yes?" He asked, hands on his hips as he looked at the wood.

"Looks like it." You smile, watching as the small flames devoured more and more wood under the pot. "I'm really glad Nikolai was able to come in clutch like this. I was getting so delirious from hunger I was contemplating how you would taste."

Edward gave a light chuckle, shaking his head in amusement. "I would be offended if I didn't have the same thought about you."

You looked at him, feigning hurt. "So everyone's first cannibalistic choice is me? Unbelievable..." You mutter, hiding your smile by becoming too interested in the slowly melting snow. "I now know to keep an eye on you and Dempsey if we start running out of food again."

"Mein liebe, it was only a fleeting thought, truly the better meal would be Nikolai." Edward reasoned, smiling as you shook your head. He then cocked his eye at you, thinking more of what you just said. "Dempsey thought about eating you?"

"I mean, he wasn't foaming at the mouth about it, but I did ask who he would eat if it came to it... tried to get him on my side to agree we eat you but, no dice." You explained, chuckling at the end.

"oh ja? I assumed he would jump at the chance to kill me. Why am I not the first choice?"

"He's scared that your meat is cursed and he'll turn into you." You say, laughing.

Edward rolls his eyes, a smirk on his face. "Gut, let him think that if it keeps me safe from his grubby little fingers." He grimaced. Edward grabbed one can from the table and grabbed his pocket knife, using the can opener on it. "How come Dempsey und Takeo are safe from being eaten? You didn't mention eating either of them."

"Dempsey because one bite of him would probably clog all of my arteries and Takeo because I'm afraid the emperor himself will show up and... I don't know, make me atone for my sins or something." You say idly, stirring the half melted snow to hurry along the process. "Also I am not going to fuck around and find out with a samurai." You added, making a gesture with your free hand, as if swinging a sword. 

"Well lucky our gut und gracious Nikolai has fetched us some food. So we should not have to worry about it, ja?" Edward says. "Also I cannot stand to see Takeo silently starve another day. I respect him, aber... there is truly something wrong with that man. I have not heard him complain once. Es ist unnerving."

Edward was really one to talk, he would definitely be crowed man with most wrong with him if there was a vote. But, you couldn't deny the point he was making, the Japanese man had yet to show any sign of distress from the lack of food. You have seen him take the smallest portions without a word, and eat them silently, no sign of any emotion. Still, it was funny to hear Richtofen call someone else unnerving.

Soon enough, Nikolai and Dempsey were back with a pile of skinned and cleaned meat, as well as some organs that were also edible. Nikolai was visibly happy that some of the innards could be cooked and eaten too. With all the meat and organs, the stew would be plentiful.

The meat, innards and giblets were soon in the pot, and later on the vegetables. You used the last of the seasoning you have been hoarding on this meal, determined to truly feast like Nikolai exclaimed. It was unfortunate that you didn't have fresh coffee grounds, though. After much debating, Dempsey settling on using the already used grounds once more because it was better than nothing. It made weak coffee, but at least you could faintly tell you were drinking coffee.

It wasn't long after when the food was finished, and the group was gathered around the fire, each having a bowl in their hands and a spoon in the other. None of you had any manners as you wolfed down the warm, delicious meat, savoring every bite. You had never tasted anything so amazing in your life, it was truly heavenly. Even Takeo ate with less decorum than normal, the delicious meat must have taken over his senses.

After you were done eating, the bowls were left to the side as the group lounged by the fire, stomachs full and bodies warmed by the flames. You were laying against Edward's shoulder, the German's arm resting over yours, and his hand playing with the hem of your sleeve. One by one, the group started to retire to the rooms and nooks they've claimed, leaving you alone to clean up. You didn't mind, it gave you time to relax alone. Edward had tried to coax you to bed, but you told him to go ahead without you.

You felt tired and accomplished once everything was cleaned, and all the food was put away. You had placed the remaining meat outside so it would be preserved and kept. Dempsey would probably make jerky out of most of it tomorrow. You were humming a tune, looking at the stars as you made your way back inside, the warmth of the castle welcoming you as you closed the door.

You walked through the hallways, looking up at the paintings and artifacts that were on display. It was a shame that most of it was damaged, Richtofen had told you a lot of this castle and how he had been there before when he was a less important scientist. Now the paintings were ripped, the furniture was ruined and the entire place cold and barren, a stark difference from what he had described.

You made your way to the room Richtofen had claimed, a room he had mentioned belonged to Samantha many years ago. He had wished to be in the room he once stayed in, but with the damage the walls have suffered and the zero privacy, he had deemed the room unfit to sleep in. He had worked on fixing makeshift doors in the open doorways, and at this moment you were grateful for his craving for privacy. You felt the same way.

You opened the door as quietly as you could, hoping not to disturb your lover. The room was dark, the only light coming from a burning candle on the desk opposite from the bed. Edward was laying already - you could barely make him out, but it was him. He was on his back; small, curious noises escaped him as something rhythmically moved under the cover of darkness. You couldn't help but smirk, closing the door behind you, the click of the handle making the German jump slightly. He quickly snapped his eyes over to you, pulling the blanket over his lap. It was obvious he was doing exactly what you thought he was doing.

"And you didn't even wait for me?" You ask, crossing your arms. The alarm was still painted on his face, morphing into embarrassment.

"Scheiße..." Richtofen muttered, turning his head away from you. " I didn't know how long you were going to take."

Edward's face was flushed, you could tell even in the low light. His grip on the blanket tightened, as if he wanted to pull it off of himself but was fighting the urge, while his other hand was under the blanket, and you were willing to bet a lot that it was wrapped around his cock. He was breathing hard, and he looked so pretty in this light. He seemed to squirm in your silence, finding the need to fill it himself.

"I've been so stressed lately, so... tense. Haven't had any... release in days because of the food situation. Didn't want to use more energy than necessary..." He admitted, the grip on the blanket relaxing.

You hummed, taking a step forward, a smile forming on your face. "You must be really pent up then. What were you thinking about?"

Richtofen licked his lips, turning his head back to you, his eyes meeting yours. "Du. Always you." He said, his voice almost sounding needy.

You found you way over to the bed, crawling onto the soft mattress next to him, placing a hand on his clothed chest. "Is that so?"

Edward nodded, his hand still under the covers, unmoving.

You leaned down and placed a kiss to his lips, his body instinctively moving closer to you. You could feel the tension in his shoulders as you trailed a hand over them, your hand going to the back of his neck, keeping him in place as you deepened the kiss, his tongue finding yours. You pulled back and he followed, a whine leaving him.

"Why don't you give me a little show?" You whispered, your breath tickling his ear.

Edward groaned at the suggestion. A suggestion in which you knew drove him wild. Little bits and pieces of his desires would come to light each time you made love to him, you had figured he had some exhibitionist traits, but this is what confirmed it. He wanted to be watched, and you would indulge him.

He slowly lifted the covers off of himself, revealing his erection. His pants were shoved down just to his mid thighs, His button up twisted to the side as evidence of his hurried actions. He was gripping his cock, the tip flushed red, precum glistening from the candle light. You bit your lip, looking back up to meet his eyes, his expression lustful. You could see it much better now that your eyes have adjusted to the low light.

Edward slowly moved his hand up his shaft, his fingers squeezing lightly, a quiet gasp escaping him. He was slow, dragging out the motions, his hips bucking every now and then, wanting more. His eyes stayed on you, not once breaking contact.

You placed a hand on his thigh, running it up his leg, your hand wrapping around his, guiding it along his cock. You squeezed tighter, adjusting his grip. Edward was biting his lip, small moans escaping him with every stroke. He let you control his actions, his hand all but limp as you basically used it as a toy to stroke him with. He was beautiful like this, and he was yours.

You stroked him a few more times like this, teasing him with his own hand. His calloused fingers weren’t the same as your smooth ones, but you controlling him was almost as good. Almost.

"Show me how you like to be touched." You whisper, letting your hand fall away. "How do you please yourself when I'm not around?"

Richtofen swallowed a groan, his hips rocking as his hand worked his cock. He twisted his wrist each time he got to the head, his thumb pressing against his slit. His breathing was ragged, and his body was writhing, his legs trembling. His free hand fisted the sheets, gripping them tight.

"You fuck yourself so well, herr doctor" You cooed, kissing the side of his neck, biting his collarbone, the skin not hidden by his collar. He was making such lovely sounds, and the noises he was making were making you ache between your legs. "Now tell me what you fantasize about." You demand, wanting to know and see every little detail.

"Ich..." He breathed, his voice shaky and low. He was getting close, and you couldn't have that.

"Stop." You demanded, taking his wrist and pulling his hand off of his cock. Edward made a pitiful whine, his hips bucking in search of any friction, but finding none. You could see his eyes were glassy and half lidded, his pupils blown wide, a pleading look on his face. "Use your other hand." You instructed, letting go of the limb.

He looked at his left hand timidly, he was unpracticed with that hand, his right being his go-to. "But..." He started, his fingers flexing as if he were thinking about what he could possibly do.

"It's either that hand, or no hands at all." You warned. "I won't repeat myself again, Richtofen."

Edward nodded, moving his left hand to his cock, his fingers curling around the base, slowly dragging it up. It felt wrong, uncoordinated. He let his fingers tease the tip, a shiver running through his body, his legs twitching. He could only imagine how awkward he looked. It's like he couldn't get a good grip. It was infuriating- exactly what you wanted.

"You look frustrated." You commented, watching as his movements were jerky and unsure. He could hear the teasing tone in your voice.

"Scheiße, it feels wrong." He admitted, his cock twitching against his fingers, his hips bucking.

"You poor thing. Fine. I'll help." Your hand once again wrap around his, helping him pump his shaft. With your help it was much more pleasurable, the rhythm was set, his hips rolling with it. He was letting out a moan each time the head of his cock was rubbed.

"Does that feel good?" You whisper in his ear, moving your hand from his to solely focus on the tip. Your thumb stroked fast, tight circles against his frenulum, the action making him cry out and his back arch. You loved hearing the noises he was making. He was so desperate. The only words he could get out were strings of German curses and your name. He was close, you could tell.

"Are you going to cum? Are you going to spill over my hand, make a mess of yourself?" You ask, feeling the throb of his cock.

Edward couldn't speak, he was panting, his voice too strained, his mind hazy. He was too fucked out. He could only nod, his legs shaking as he thrust his hips up, wanting more. His left hand worked the base of his shaft, with messier strokes than you've seen thus far. He was a complete wreck, and he looked absolutely gorgeous.

"Then cum for me." You say, moving down his body, "Let me eat you right up." You wrapped your mouth around the tip of his cock, sucking on it, your tongue teasing the slit, flicking over the sensitive flesh.

That was all it took. With a strangled cry, Edward's body went rigid, his hips bucking upwards into the warmth of your mouth, the muscles in his legs spasming as he came, his cum spilling over your tongue. You moaned, taking everything he gave you. His hips were bucking as his orgasm ran its course, the hand on his cock pumping himself through his release. He filled your mouth, and you swallowed every drop, not spilling a single thing.

Edward's body went slack against the mattress, his breathing hard and shallow, his eyes fluttering closed. He was completely exhausted, and you could tell. He was covered in sweat, his hair disheveled and stuck to his forehead. The German was a sight for sore eyes, and you couldn't help but kiss him. He kissed back, his arms weakly wrapping around you, his lips lazily moving against yours. It was slow, and full of passion.

You pulled back, looking down at him, his eyes slowly opening, a lazy smile on his face.

"I'm so glad I got to feast today." You tell him, the double meaning hanging in the air.

“I couldn’t let my frauchen go hungry.” He murmured. His breathing was slow and even, any and all stress leaving his body. He weakly pulled you to his chest, kissing the top of your head. "Lieb' dich." He mumbled, already falling asleep.

"I love you too." You whispered back, knowing he probably didn't hear you. The candle burned out, the room was now bathed in darkness, the only sound was the howling wind outside.

You were happy.

[nicomundthered]

Dead Of Night- A Bodyguard AU

chapter one: Incomplete and Insecure

summary: Din gets hired to be your bodyguard and you absolutely hate it. Until you don’t.

paring: Din Djarin x fem!reader

tags/warnings: alternate universe, not so loving family, no space-we on earth, sucky home life.

word count: 5k | ao3

a/n: figured I’d give this a try. I’ll be happy to continue if people seem into the idea.

masterlist

“I don’t want a bodyguard.”

The mere thought of it was ridiculous. You were an adult and you didn’t need some random man following you around. The concept was, you can’t stress this enough- ridiculous.

“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not like he’ll be watching you sleep.”

“But mother…”

“Really, you get this from your father,” her tone was flat.

“What? What do I get from dad?” You were getting annoyed, she was deflecting.

“This- this whole woe is me attitude. You live in a mansion. You have the car of your dreams,” she applied her lipstick in the mirror. “Any clothes or jewelry,” she smacked her lips, “and still you find something to complain about.”

“Oh here we go again,” you rolled your eyes. “Why do you hold all of this above my head? It’s like every nice thing you do for me is written on some checklist, and everytime we fight you use it to throw your ‘kindness’ back in my face.” You took a calming breath and stopped yourself before you said something you couldn’t take back. “You do this every time you know…”

“Do tell me again what a bad mother I am. Tell me how difficult your life is. Please, I implore you to tell me how horrible I am for caring about your safety,” she stood from her makeup chair and walked over to her jewelry closet. “Senator Taylor’s family was threatened, and you know Senator McCarthy’s pool house was broken into — something is going on. I can feel it in my bones and I’ll be damned if something sinister happens to mydaughter.”

“All of that was probably coincidental. I mean people trying to rob the rich isn't exactly a new concept,” you attempted to argue but she had moved on.

She placed an elegant necklace around her neck, “Fasten it dear.”

You walked over to her, fastened the necklace, and then made eye contact with her through the mirror.

She sighed and then said your name, “I know it seems like some big ordeal, but it’s not. You see the way my security team interacts with me, I hardly even notice them. And really I should have assigned you your own before you went to college…times were different then I suppose,” she smiled at you wistfully. “Really, he will just—”

“I have enough people following me around as it is! Between the news and the paparazzi, I just- I feel like I don’t ever just…get to exist. If I pick my nose it will be all over the internet...It’s- it’s claustrophobic.”

She cringed in slight disgust, but then her eyes grew kinder. Eyes that were so charismatic and engaging- they made you feel like the center of her world. You were convinced that that's how she's won every election she's run in.

“Just for a few months, ok? For our peace of mind. And then when all of this blows over, we will discuss the subject again.”

You turned around and put some distance between the two of you. You didn’t like it, you knew she was lying, but you’ve never won an argument with your mother in your entire life. “Only if you promise me, just a few months.”

“You have my word,” she captured your hand, placed it between both of hers, and softly shook up and down. When she dropped it, only her expensive creams remained.

She slid on her high heels, stood quickly, and walked to the door purposefully, “Tell you father he has two hours before he has to meet me for brunch.” She turned back suddenly, “And make sure he doesn’t wear red. It makes him look like he has high blood pressure.”

And with that she was gone. The hurried clicking of her heels echoed throughout the house.

You made your way to your dad’s studio. Which happened to be on the opposite end of the house from your mother’s dressing room. For a long time you assumed that she had planned it that way, but the more you’ve thought about it, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was by your dad’s design.

In fact you’d almost bet on it.

The nostalgic smell of paint wafted out onto the halls. It made you think of a simpler time before both of your parents found their respective successes. In a much smaller home in the suburbs. When you had a dog, and could play on the playground without being stalked and questioned.

“Dad?” you knocked loudly.

The last time you had forgotten to, you walked in, and he was standing on a stool completely naked. Thankfully with his back turned to you. He was working on a prospective piece and claimed that he needed to see his penis from a different angle. Thankfully you couldn’t see the mirror that was beneath him.

He apologized after, saying that he smoked too much and the piece wouldn’t work anyhow. He would need a model to capture what he was going for and that your mother would never allow that kind of scandal.

Which was a perfect example of why they married. Your mother’s feet were so far in the ground they burned, and your dad’s head was so high in the clouds you often wondered if he could see the ground at all.

At one time they were the perfect balance. They helped each other find that happy medium. It helped her become a respected Senator, and it helped him become a world renowned painter.

“Come in sunshine.”

You opened the door and the sounds of smooth jazz caressed you pleasantly. There was always a moment of relief when you heard peaceful music. If he was listening to anything experimental or avant- garde…you never quite knew what you were walking into.

You walked over to his balcony where he was painting something that looked like a pile of mud on the canvas. You knew that it would turn into something beautiful or endearingly wacko, but either way brilliant and captivating.

“She said you are meeting her for brunch in two hours.”

He looked over at you, “Oh…I completely forgot about that.” He scraped some paint off of the canvas and then slapped it back on. He stepped back and decided that he liked what he had done. “I would have tried to get some sleep last night if I had known—”

You laughed, “You are such a liar.”

He chuckled in return then he looked up at you, “Sunshine, why do you look so troubled?” He put his paintbrush down and in three long strides was standing in front of you. He lovingly grabbed your shoulders and brought you into a hug.

He smelled a little strong but that was to be expected. When inspiration hit him he’d sometimes spend days locked away. It had only been two, but you could definitely tell.

“The bodyguard…”

“What bodyguard?” He stepped back in a moment of confusion. It always took him some time to turn off his creative mind and get back to reality.

“The one mom hired for me.”

“Oh! Oh yes, that bodyguard, of course.”

You laughed, “Is there another?”

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled. “Sometimes it takes me a second to get my head on straight.”

“It’s ok. It’s probably the lack of sleep and all of these fumes.” You waved your hand through the air dramatically.

“Ha ha ha, very funny,” he said sarcastically. “You get used to it though,” he winced, “not that you should.”

He turned off his music and sat at his desk. There were papers stacked high and all sorts of small sculptures scattered across. He moved the vine of an overgrown plant out of his way. When he sat a small cloud of dust poofed out from his seat. It was obvious he didn’t sit there frequently.

“So tell me, how is he?”

“The bodyguard?”

He shook his head yes.

“He’s not here yet.”

“Oh? I just thought—” he nervously sat back.

“It’s fine, no I just don’t want one,” you sat in one of the chairs facing his desk – from back when he used to have buyers come over. Now he sells out entire galleries in New York, Toronto, Paris, Madrid, you name it.

“Well I am sorry, but you aren't going to care for my response,” he said with a look of regret.

“Maybe I should just move out. It's way past time and I've been thinking about it lately.”

“I know you've stayed for your mother and I. Sometimes I think you're scared of what would happen to us when you left. That's not a fair thing to ask of your child.”

“You- you, That’s not, I don't know what—”

“You don't have to admit it. I know you,” he smiled and leaned forward onto his messy desk. “I was like you once, believe it or not. I put everything on hold for your mother, which at the time was probably the right thing to do. After all, I made zero dollars a month and she was an up and coming politician. It was the right thing to do and I have no regrets. I listened to my heart and my heart was her, but Sunshine, life is passing you by.”

He was right but he was also wrong. True, you did help keep your parents from killing each other, but the real reason you haven't left yet was you weren't exactly sure who you were. Like literally, everyone (your mother) dictated every facet of your life – your degree, who you dated, how you dressed, even things like which concerts you could attend, and the clothes you wore. And so you were left with something that felt like an empty shell sometimes.

Too passive, too submissive, too ready to please everyone. You just cared too much about people who didn't care what it was doing to you in return. As long as they were happy, your feelings didn't matter. Which scared you because without all of this who even were you. What did you want with your life? You had no clue.

“Dad,” you sniffled.

“No listen. I know I'm not a very serious person and you've caught me doing some…interesting things, but take me seriously just for a moment please.”

You nodded.

“I appreciate everything you've done for us. All of the arguments, all of the angry hateful things that we've said to each other – you were there for most of them. You somehow always managed to help us get through them.”

His shoulders tensed and his voice slightly shook, “We should have been better for you, you deserved better. But- but things are changing. In a week I’m starting my European tour with my exhibit. And your mother is about to begin her campaign. We won't be here very much and it's a shame that you will be.”

He got up and moved to the front of his desk. He moved something that slightly resembles a whale out of the way, and half leaned- half sat in front of you, “I know you sneak out sometimes. I wish it wasn't necessary but if your mother caught you – I understand. It's just- you're plenty old enough to do whatever you want. You shouldn't feel like you have to hide and sneak around, it's not healthy.”

“I don't do anything crazy, I just don’t want to hear her go on and on about it,” you interjected defensively.

You went to some parties, and occasionally though not often, you went to a few nightclubs. You always went at night and wore your hair and makeup completely different, it was amazing the cameras hadn't captured pictures of you yet. But you were as cautious as you could be- never drank too much, never went home with random guys.

“I know- I know I trust you,” he smiled, “But I’m rambling and I want to say two things to you. First of all I want you to live your life and stop worrying about us.” You opened your mouth to finally tell him how you felt, but he raised his hand, stopping you, and continued, “Freedom is an important thing, however, what happened to the Tucker’s and the Montgomery’s…”

“Taylor’s and McCarthy’s.”

“That’s who I said. Regardless, it's serious stuff.” His eyes always shimmered with mischief, they did not currently. “I can't believe I’m going to say this, but I couldn't agree with your mother more. Even if you moved out — if they wanted a senator's daughter it would be easy to get you. I am not ok with that.”

“Well what if the bodyguard is the bad guy? That happens in lots of movies.” He didn't move a muscle and you felt your fight leave you, if your dad was worried it was serious.

He sighed, “The head of your mother’s security team recommended him. He has some kind of really extensive training…background or something like that, or at least I think that's right.”

“That's all you know about him? Or think you know about him.” you scoffed. That was all he knew about the man now in charge of your life.

“Look- despite our differences, I trust your mother. And if she trusts her team, then so do I.”

He picked up an old paintbrush from his desk, oh there you are, he said to himself. And then walked back over to his painting, done with the conversation, done with you.

His art would always come first. As he looked back at his painting the worry lines left his face, and you could almost see his head float high above his shoulders.

You stood huffing loudly, whipping your body around and walked to the door. Just as you had your hand on the handle, the music resumed.

“Oh and hey,” he looked at you almost in a daze, “she said to wear that red shirt you love.” And with that, you smiled, feeling quite satisfied with yourself, and went to talk to Frank.

Frank was the head of your mother’s security team, you weren’t even positive your dad knew his name if you were being honest.

He was in his early fifties, attractive, with gray hair and a trimmed beard. He was tall, though not as tall as your dad, which for some reason amused you, and very fit. He worked out twice a day and ate an extremely clean diet. If your mother wasn't so worried about her image you knew that she would flirt with him- but you had never seen any evidence of that.

You didn't really know much about him admittedly, just that he was a good man, and a father. True you had never had your own personal security, but Frank had taken you to school more than a few times when you were younger – your parents often forgot or were too busy.

He had also gotten you out of some tricky situations.

Once, when you were eleven, you were at the beach with your mother and a couple of her politician friends and their kids. Basically, for you, it was a playdate with extraordinarily boring kids. You dared them to swim in the ocean, and they said crap like their mother forbade them, and whined about the water being shark infested.

So for some reason unbeknownst to you at the time, you took it as a challenge and dove into the oncoming waves. Your mother called out to you quicker than you'd like, but out of sheer spite you swam out deeper and deeper.

As it turns out, sharks weren't the reason for the adults' strict rules- riptides were.

And just when you were certain of your impending doom, Frank came swimming to the rescue. You trusted him implicitly after that.

The only other time you care to mention was when you were at your best friend's seventeenth birthday party. You got too drunk and didn't know what to do. So you called Frank. He took care of you and didn’t even care that you vomited in his personal car. And maybe most importantly he kept it a secret.

He had a daughter a couple of years younger than you. And you always got her a gift for her birthday. You tried a couple of times to buy him something nice, but he rejected it like it insulted him. So instead, you buy her things.

So yeah you knew Frank. In some ways he was more of a parent to you than either of biological parents.

“Frank?”

He said your name with delight as he turned to you with a steaming cup of black coffee in his hand. “It's been awhile since you've visited the dungeon.” That was what you had named the 'observation room’. The room was in the basement, with a desk that faced loads of screens, a mini fridge, a coffee maker, and a long silver couch. There were no lights but the computer screens softly lit the room. When you were younger you were frightened to go inside. You had said that it looked like a dungeon and the name had stuck.

And yes you didn't visit the dungeon frequently, but you often hid from everyone in the empty bedroom next door. It was your favorite place to read and take naps.

“I have a question for you.”

“I wonder…what it could possibly be about,” he smirked and sipped on his coffee.

“Funny. Real funny.”

He laughed into his mug, spilling a little on his crisp black shirt. You winced but he didn't even flinch as the hot liquid touched his chest.

“No but seriously, who is this random dude you have hired to protect me?”

“Random dude,” he muttered and shook his head. “If you knew how many people I’ve looked into and interviewed, you wouldn’t ask me that.”

“Frank…it’s not that I don’t trust you. I know nothing about him, and if I have to have him following me around- I’d just like it to not be a complete stranger if that makes sense.”

“Of course it makes sense.” He looked back to the monitors and when he was satisfied that nothing was amiss he sat his mug down and faced you. “What do you want to know?”

“Oh gee I don’t know, his credentials, what was his last job, why did he start doing this, just- everything…”

“I won’t tell you his life story if that’s what you're asking of me. That’s his to tell and I don't know very much.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed the spill on his shirt. “And I’ll be honest with you, he will be around you constantly, but he's not doing this to make friends with you. Your mother only speaks to me when there's an update to her schedule or she needs me to do something.”

“Right I know that, and I- I wasn’t asking for anything that personal—”

“I will give you a little something that might ease your mind, maybe make you not so scared of him.”

“I’m not scared of him!” you raised your voice a little too loud. You grimaced, “Sorry, I just- its weird to have someone following me around is all, no offense.”

“None taken. But I promise, you lucked out- he's a Mandalorian.”

“Ok? And that's good because..what is that exactly?”

He chuckled, “It means he's an absolute badass.” You looked at him with a look that said aaand?

“He was a student of the Mandalor.” You raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“I sometimes forget that you're not into all this stuff. It's old, ancient even. He was one of the last ones if not the last.”

“Last?”

“Well he was, until he took off his mask and began all of his work with the special forces.”

“Mask? You really aren't making much sense right now.”

“I’m sorry but you won’t trick me into saying much else about him, but…” You swore that his eyes lit up. “If I had to compare it to something it's kinda like a martial art. I'm not even sure if that does it justice. I’ll just say If you think shaolin monks are extreme…I don’t even know much if I’m being honest with you. I’m hoping he’ll talk to me about it eventually.”

He looked excited talking about it, almost nerdy, “But honor is their main part of their creed. They don’t take it lightly and—”

“I’m not trying to be rude, but all because this ex-Mandalorian once followed a creed that focused on honor - we just trust him?”

“It’s much more- extreme than that. You should look into it or if you really insist, you could ask him yourself.” He looked at his watch, “He should be here in an hour.”

“Wait, what? I didn’t think he was coming today.”

“He was wanting to get to work as soon as I hired him.”

“Wow, ok – a warning might have been nice.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m serious, you won’t even know he’s there unless you want to.”

What a strange thing for him to say. You smiled and quickly excused yourself. The last thing you needed to do was fuss at Frank.

Though, you did need to get out of the house. You were sweating and suddenly felt very anxious. Just like with anything in life, you thought that you had more time to somehow weasel your way out of this. But now you felt that your time was precious. What do you do with your last moments as a free woman?

You decided that you’d just go for a long walk. Boring, you know but not much made you feel as free as a walk did. And it would be your last one without a Michael Myers trailing behind you.

Din was excited for this job.

He had been out of work for six months now recovering from his injuries.

After fifteen years in the special forces, his last bout of injuries forced him to retire. No Purple Heart or medal of honor, the work he did was silent, only top government officials even knew of it. Though Din never did anything for the accolades, so they could keep their medals it didn't bother him in the slightest.

His life was full of training. That's all he's really ever known, and once his body had recovered he was for the first time in his life bored. He didn't have much- very few possessions, an old car, a shitty apartment, he suddenly felt like he had nothing.

Nothing until this job.

Apparently it's a common thing for ex-military personnel, veterans, to find work in private security. Or at least that's what his minimal research told him. So that's what he quickly decided on.

Because most of his file ‘resume’, if not all of it was classified- instead of looking bare it looked impressive to the right eyes. Large black lines covered page after page after page. If he were trying to get a job at a bank, no way would he be hired, but depending on the person reading it- he appeared quite the hero.

He applied to twenty different positions and all twenty got back immediately wanting to hire him.

Choosing the right fit for him was admittedly easy. He didn't want to guard any elderly. He feared that that would be just as boring as doing nothing, and that condensed the list to just six. Then he realized that kids were probably also a nightmare but for the opposite reasons, and so that left two.

Then for the final decision, he did something very unprofessional – he flipped a coin.

He pulled his old silver corolla into the gates of a stunning residence. Bright flowers were blooming and he had never seen such a well manicured lawn.

He drove past the fountain on the circular driveway to the motor court. Or at least to what he assumed was the motor court. And since there were cars parked there, he felt fairly confident.

Din didn’t really get nervous. Since he was a boy he’d been put in extremely stressful situations and as an adult he was one of the few that didn’t sweat under pressure. But this had him…out of his element.

His car was a piece of junk, he wouldn’t lie. He had to tinker with it every other weekend. The air conditioning hadn’t worked in over a year. In his defense, this is the longest time he’s ever been stationary. And in the past he didn’t often even need his car. But as he passed all of the luxury vehicles with their fresh coat of wax, it made him a little self conscious.

A man in a black suit directed him to his parking spot, which was conveniently behind the garage where no one could see it. He honestly didn’t even blame them.

He was led to the front of the home and all of the sculptures and columns seemed somehow even more massive up close.

When he entered the home Din felt a trickle of sweat roll down his back as he looked around. There were chandeliers of crystal, floors of marble, and two grand staircases. It was impressive.

He had been in mansions before. His assignments had him go to many different locations but it was his first time standing in one without an urgent objective. He could just look around and admire his surroundings.

“Ah there he is.” Frank came in and offered his hand, “Frank Stevenson.”

“Din Djarin,” Din shook his hand firmly.

“It’s impressive isn’t it?” He looked around the grand foyer.

“Yes it is.”

“Don’t worry, a detailed floor plan is in your room.”

“My room?” Din questioned.

“Yes, surely I mention it?”

“Um, no sir you didn’t.” He stayed calm as usual, but he didn’t like being misled. He hadn’t planned on living here. He hadn’t even brought a change of clothes.

“Well if a pay raise is in order I’m sure the senator won’t mind—”

“That won’t be necessary. I just wasn’t expecting to live here.”

“Just while her parents are away. You see we work for the senator, we go where she goes and soon she’ll be hitting the campaign trail. You are the only one in charge of her daughter so it’s non negotiable. You have to stay here when we are gone. I hope that’s not a dealbreaker for you. It would be an honor to have you.”

“Her father?”

“He’ll be in Europe with his art.”

Din looked around, considering for a moment, “I suppose there are worse places to have to live.”

Frank laughed, “Very true. I’m glad to have you on. Follow me.”

He showed him around and made comfortable small talk, then said, “We will need a code name for you.”

“Mando is the code name I normally go by.”

“Mando it is. Highly impressive.”

“Thanks.” Din turned his head away, not interested in talking about his past, and continued walking.

When they finally made it to Din’s room he opened the door and showed him in.

The room felt larger than his whole apartment. Strangely enough the first thing he noticed was how tall the ceiling was, and that he loved how it was lit. Then his eyes slowly scanned downward and looked at the rest of the room.

Almost everything was a shade of gray except for three orange pillows on the bed. Speaking of, the bed was probably a king but he couldn’t tell the difference, with two bedside tables on either side. Both had a couple of books on them, one he noticed had been bookmarked. There was a large mirror on the wall facing the bed. It also had a private bathroom and massive walk-in closet.

“Sorry, no window. But you are next door to the dungeon so that'll be convenient.”

“Dungeon?” His eyes slightly widened as he looked at Frank.

“Oh-” he almost bent over laughing, he said your name “when she was younger that’s what she called it. It’s the observation room.”

“I see,” Din almost smirked.

You got back from your walk later than anticipated. You were sweaty because your anxiety made your pace quicker than normal- at a few points it may or may not have turned into a full on sprint.

You were still tense and pissed but it was much more manageable.

Looking at the time you realized he’d be here any minute. You moved quickly, turning the corner without looking, and ran straight into a brick wall.

It took you far too long to regain your composure, you knew you looked like a deer in the headlights. You looked him up and down. Your eyes roamed without your consent. You were just taken by surprise, he was very handsome. “Oh excuse me.”

He said your name in question and quickly glanced at your sweat covered body.

“Yes?” You were getting pretty embarrassed now. You wished he’d give you at least thirty minutes to shower, put on flattering clothes, and maybe apply some mascara and then give this a redo.

“I’m your bodyguard,” he smiled.

“Oh shit, no.”

----------

[darksideofthemamon]

Thoughts on YJ:Outsiders Ep.23 “Terminus” (one word to humanity: LUCK.)

Some thoughts on the latest episode. Contains spoilers so be warned if you haven’t seen it yet 

Things I liked: 

1. Good Lord, how can Nightwing’s fever dream sequence make my heart swell and break at the same time?? 

Whenever I re-watch old clips of season 1, I get overwhelmed by nostalgia and a feeling of lost childhood innocence, especially when I compare the Team to how they are now. They were so happy back then... and this sequence nailed that sentiment in with its use of old gags and a fun fighting game-like battle

2. Superboy and Brion’s character development

I absolutely love how Superboy went from being the most hot-headed and troubled in the team to being so mature and reasonable. I love how level-headed and wise he is when he mentors Brion, and I love how Brion himself changed from an angry exiled prince to a budding leader throughout the season. 

3. SuperMartian’s relationship problems (and M’gann’s morality) 

Ho boy I love how they brought up Conner and M’gann’s past relationship issues. I like how even though they’re okay now, they still brought up that once upon a time, M’gann tried to use her powers for immoral reasons (even against those she loved), and is continuing to make morally questionable decisions (albeit for what is arguably the greater good). I really like how they had Conner say that even though he forgave her for what she tried to do to him, he hasn’t yet forgotten that she was once willing to mess with her boyfriend’s mind. 

4. FRY THEIR BRAINS!

DANG did Kaldur really just ask M’gann to mindcrush everyone??? I’m living for it! I love the call-backs to the previous season, especially in how they bring up the consequences of lying to your teammates. It’s a real moral struggle within the team and I am living for it. 

And once more, I love Conner as a morality chain. Everyone’s talking about how the mindcrushing affects people, but only Conner brings up how it affects M’gann's soul. 

Things I didn’t really like:

1. I feel they wasted an opportunity to show us more of Jeff and Virgil’s relationship :( 

At the start of the season, Jeff kinda quits as Virgil’s mentor (”I’m sorry Virgil... maybe you can find a new mentor. Someone less.. damaged.”), and now they show Virgil keeping his former mentor company. Virgil buys him a hotdog, they fistbump, and that’s all we see. I mean, it’s a nice touch that they showed Virgil comforting his mentor, but I just feel like if they can show Barbara and Bruce discussing the situation, can’t we also see that from Jeff and Virgil? 

Jeff went through a lot this season, it’s true, but I guess now that I think about it, I also realize Virgil got dropped by his traumatized mentor, got duped along with the rest of the Outsiders, and now his mentor finds out that he was manipulated by Batman Inc AND his lover. There just seems to be a lot to talk about. It was a great opportunity to expound not just on their relationship, but, well, also on Virgil as a character this season. How’s he coping with all this? What’s he thinking? How does he feel about both himself and his mentor getting duped? Does he even know? What did Jeff tell him? I’d like to know. 

Well, here’s to hoping we get to see it in a later episode! 

Neutral:

1. Thirteen being missing from the Team. 

I don’t know, it just felt a bit off to me. Like, what’s she doing in the Tower with Zatanna? What are they training for? Is it going to be addressed? ‘Cus like, I feel we barely got to see Traci this season so it feels kinda weird that they’d justify her absence now. Will it be mentioned in a later episode (or possibly in the tie-in comics if ever)? 

2. Is the Judas Contract storyline over? 

I’m just wondering if Terra is still gonna pull a big betrayal, or if her being the mole for The Light (to ensure that the Team doesn’t lose to Apokolips) is the most treacherous it gets. 

Anyway, that’s all! 

One word to humanity: LUCK. 

Shit’s going down with a chunk of the League and the Team under the control of Granny Goodness, and everyone’s gonna need it (especially the non-metas)! 

Overall, I’d still say I enjoyed this episode! Really, my only gripe is on Jeff and Virgil. I mean, you could always say that they don’t need words to communicate, and Virgil spending some quiet time with his mentor is all the interaction they need but, I don’t know.. still feels like a wasted opportunity to me. (and again, it’d be real neat if we could see more of them in the episodes to come). What do you guys think?  

[moonlight-frittata]

I Don’t Need a Mechanic

Overwatch: Dva and Brigitte (a few others make appearances)

Word count: ~5500 

My take on when Dva meets Brigitte and the first month or so of them getting to know each other on base.

---

Six months Hana Song had been a part of Overwatch, and during that time she set a very strict precedent that no one, not even Winston or Athena the AI was allowed to touch her mech, Tokki. So seeing the back of someone inside the cockpit as she entered the Watchpoint Gibraltar hangar made her blood boil. 

“Excuse me!! What the hell are you doing??” 

The person’s body jerked, their head banging against the low roof of the cockpit ceiling they wedged their torso inside. Hana heard a short mumble of something incomprehensible and a long, thick ponytail of red hair retreated from the mech in a hurry. A very tall, buff young woman around Hana’s age emerged blushing with a sheepish grin.

“Ah! I’m so sorry, I couldn't help myself. I’ve always wondered what these Korean models looked like up close. But in hindsight I really should have asked first.”

Her accent was European, but it was hard for Hana to place with any real certainty. Could have been Scandinavian, remembering some of the players from Finland she competed against back in her pro days. 

“Yeah, you should have fucking asked.” 

The crimson hue on the tall, possibly Finnish trespasser’s cheeks faded and she held her ground, not scared off yet by D.va’s harsh tone.

“Right. Won’t happen again, I promise,” she said. 

Dva scoffed a bit and pushed past the buff intruder to look inside the mech to inspect if anything was out of place. A moment of stuffy silence passed between the two and Hana hoped the other girl would get the message and leave.

“I’m Brigitte Lindholm by the way.”

Hana let out an audible huff as a familiar freckled face appeared looking through the glass on the other side of her heads up display.

“Oh. Yeah, Fareeha warned me a new girl was joining,” Hana replied from inside the cockpit while she busied herself checking Tokki’s systems. 

“And you’re Hana Song, right?” Brigitte continued lightly, clearly unperturbed. “Or do you prefer to go by D.va?”

Hana paused at the mention of her gamer tag turned call sign. 

“It’s Lieutenant Song, actually.”

Brigitte raised an eyebrow at the curt reply, her smile fading to a neutral expression. It only dipped for a moment though as she extended her hand. 

It was an awkward gesture to shake hands from inside the mech, even though the front of the cockpit was partially open near the joysticks. Hana looked at Brigitte’s outstretched hand and gentle smile on the other side of the glass. Was this a joke? She pursed her lips and sized Brigitte up for a few tense seconds before reaching out. The grip was firm and Hana’s hand practically disappeared in Brigitte’s large palm.

“Lieutenant Song. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Hana sighed and rolled her eyes, a little of the bluster going out of her at the sincerity in Brigitte’s tone. Satisfied that no harm had come to the mech, she backed out of the cockpit.

“Just call me Hana. That rank doesn’t really mean anything here anyway. Lena will probably make fun of me if she hears you calling me Lieutenant.”

Brigitte walked back around Tokki to join her, a lingering hand tracing over the pink exoskeleton as she moved. “I’m surprised she doesn’t make you call her Captain.”

“Oh, she’s tried.”

Brigitte laughed. 

“Sounds about right.”

D.Va chuckled for a moment, briefly disarmed by the new stranger, before she remembered how this person was rudely poking around her stuff only moments before, and snapped back into her gruff demeanor. 

“Lindholm, you said? Like Torbjörn Lindholm?”

Brigitte sighed, clearly used to this connection.

“Yes. Genius engineer of Overwatch 1.0, founder of Ironclad Industries, husband to Ingrid, and father of way too many children, including yours truly.”

“So, you grew up in an Overwatch family?” Hana asked as her full attention focused on Brigitte for the first time in their conversation.

“You could say that,” Brigitte said. She picked up a silver ratchet resting on a nearby worktable, spinning the head around between her fingers and levering the handle back and forth, testing the weight distribution of the tool in her hand. 

Hana could tell there was more to the story than her new teammate seemed willing to let on. She found it interesting that Brigitte, who had been all candid smiles a moment ago when she was caught somewhere she shouldn’t be and oversharing to someone she just met, was now hand waving around the subject.  

Overwatch kids are pretty up their own asses about 1.0 normally. Wonder what her deal is...

This was what Hana was known for back in her pro days. Seeing a flaw in an opponent’s defense and breaking it wide open. But she needed to remember she only just met this girl, who would soon be her teammate. Maybe save that for another day. 

“Well, Lindholm. As long as you stay clear of my mech, I don’t see a reason we should have problems working together. What’s your specialty?”

Brigitte perked up at the change of subject.

“Support. Both base level engineering support and in the field. I've got my bachelor’s degree in mechanical engineering, and I’ve been working on Reinhardt’s gear for over a year now. Angela - I mean, Dr. Ziegler, is training me to be certified as a field medic.” 

“Tough job. Think you can handle the gore?”

A wry smile pulled at Brigitte’s lips, her head shaking back and forth in a small, bemused gesture as she placed her hands on her hips. 

“You don’t pull any punches do you, Lieutenant Song?”

D.Va crossed her arms, holding eye contact with Brigitte who matched her gaze with amusement. 

“The best shot caller in the world is just a loud piece of shit if her team isn’t up to the same standard. So yeah, I like to know who has my back and if she can handle herself.”

Brigitte regarded D.Va for a moment, her jaw working back and forth as if chewing on the approach she wanted to take in response.

“I’ve been patching up Reinhardt for a while now. If I’m honest though, I’m scared it’s not going to be enough one day. But that’s not what I need to focus on, and instead I’ll do the best I can to support the people here.”

The plain way Brigitte shared her apprehensions left Hana uncomfortable. She couldn’t imagine telling someone out loud she was afraid, especially on her first day. Though in truth, she herself felt scared shitless half the time while doing this work.

Brigitte’s smile was back. Did it ever leave that pretty face? It did suit her though, framed by the freckles and warm brown eyes. If this girl wasn’t built like a literal tank of 6 foot something muscle, Hana might have more apprehension about sending her out to fight Omnics and Talon. 

“Well Lieutenant Song, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time with my intrusion. Fareeha and Winston will be missing me very shortly for the rest of their planned orientation schedule,” Brigitte said as she carefully placed the ratchet she previously picked up back on the workstation, breaking the spell of awkward silence.

D.Va smirked, feeling tension leave her shoulders to match Brigitte’s playful demeanor. 

“Mmm, well now I understand why you were hiding down here.”

“Yes they are indeed quite enthusiastic and thorough with their material.”

She gave a wink and started to walk away, turning briefly to call over her shoulder.

“I noticed there was a small coolant leak under the left fusion cannon. Might get a bit sticky on the left hand.”

“Bye Brigitte, enjoy your 300 page orientation manual quiz.”

Brigitte waved once more and turned around, already so sure and familiar with the layout of the hangar and the base.

She’s just another Overwatch kid, and just another nosey engineer trying to get in my mech.

Hana lingered by her workstation, picking up the ratchet Brigitte had been fiddling with and thinking over their brief encounter again. 

Would this girl be a liability on the battlefield? Brigitte looked strong on the exterior, but then, so did Tokki. If you took away the mecha armor, inside was just a squishy human target bullets and fire could cut through like paper the second she was exposed and vulnerable.

Hana took a deep breath.

She walked around to the left fusion cannon and did indeed see the signs that a coolant leak was backing up inside the casing. Pretty subtle to spot with minimal visible damage to the exterior. 

Not bad, Lindholm.

D.Va pulled her headphones on, turning to her latest loop of pop songs to blast while she went to work removing the panels on the cannon to replace the broken coolant line. The task felt good, and helped her mind drift to thoughts other than her conversation in the hangar.

---

Hana didn’t see much of Brigitte the next few weeks. The new recruit was busy with training and learning mission protocols expected of field agents in addition to shifts with Mercy in the clinic to  fulfill the certifications Brigitte was required to complete. Hana would see her sometimes at dinner, often in a spirited conversation with Reinhardt or Lena. It seemed to take Brigitte no time at all to fit in amongst the old guard, but it seemed that’s what being the favorite niece of pretty much every person here would get you. 

Hana would half listen to their stories, always feeling awkward and out of place amongst their banter. Overwatch was like a family, but she was more like the stranger invited as someone’s plus one. Everyone seemed to have an ingrained familiarity with each other. A single word could trigger a whole series of anecdotes every person around had some personal insight to add on to. 

Remember this! 

Oh how is so and so?  

Damn, that was 5 years ago already? 

Even on her squad in Korea, she never had what they people here seemed to have. Dae-hyun was a close childhood friend and followed her into the MEKA squad, but the other pilots were a different story. There was always a bit of friction and distance with the rest of her teammates because of their history as pro-gamer competitors forced into an arrangement as teammates. It never really gelled beyond cordial coworker relationships. Hana’s celebrity status didn’t help either, only adding another barrier between herself and the others. The fame of D.Va closed her off in access to most people unless they were on the other side of a screen, and then they only saw a polished up version of herself. 

Not exactly the best way to get close to people.

Sometimes she was curious to learn more when she heard the Overwatch stories, but she always stopped herself before saying anything. It was easier to pull out her phone and queue up a game. Easy to pull back and ignore them, and usually they left her alone to do it.

She was okay with that. She was okay with keeping Hana and D.Va separate. She was okay with only polite greetings and trite platitudes. She didn’t need to know about the times from before, or what her Overwatch teammates did on the weekends. She just needed them to listen to her in the field and leave her room to make her plays. Like every time she started a new game, she didn’t have to focus on the past, or what others thought, she just had to focus on the objective in front of her. It’s what got the job done and what kept her alive.

---

Brigitte kept her word to stay out of Hana’s mech. She set up her own work station on the other side of the hangar where she worked on Reinhardt’s gear as well as her own. Hana would sometimes see the blue flash of a shield out of the corner of her eye over the hum of diagnostic scans or smell the burn of sparks from welding. 

One day curiosity got the best of her when she heard the loud, repetitive pounding of a hammer on metal and she wandered across the hangar. 

“You’re doing that by hand?”

Brigitte stopped working when she heard the voice behind her, the deafening echo silenced on the metal shoulder guard she was beating against.

“On this armor I do. Reinhardt’s gear is special from the time it was made. It has to be maintained with some older techniques.”

“Why?”

Brigitte looked at her surprised for a moment then laughed, loud and warm. 

“You know, I wondered the same at first. It’s a bit of the way this armor is made, modern techniques can be too harsh on it, interestingly enough. Too precise and it becomes too fragile.”

“That doesn’t sound true,” D.va said.

“Oh, questioning my methods huh? Well, maybe the truth is more I didn’t originally have the right gear out in the field, and Reinhardt didn’t have much modern tech either, so the only way to do it was by hand. But it’s nice actually to keep doing it this way, I like getting my hands dirty with it. Helps me relax.”

“See that I believe.”

“Well, I’m glad I have your approval, Lieutenant Song.”

D.Va rolled her eyes, but smiled a little.

“I told you before, you can just call me Hana. Although, I do like the respect of authority.”

“Lieutenant suits you.”

Hana smirked a little at the complement, turning to pick something up on a nearby table. She picked up one of Brigitte’s gauntlets, slipping it on her hand. Her arm sagged under the weight, the glove coming up well above her elbow.

“Is it exhausting wearing all this armor? How do you run around with it on? I can barely lift this thing.”

“There’s movement assist when the unit is turned on. But I mean, I think I can handle it.” 

Brigitte smirked as she made a show of flexing her well defined arms, and Hana couldn’t help but gawk a bit before she turned back to fiddling with the glove. 

“Um, yeah I uh, noticed you seem to be in good shape.”

“Oh yeah?” Brigitte was smirking, clearly enjoying the slight fluster she was causing in her new teammate. Hana put the glove back on the table and gave Brigitte a light shove on the arm.

“Oh give me a break, you know you’re buff. Do you even own a shirt with sleeves?”

“I’m very familiar with OW 2.0’s handbook, and the dress code is quite lax about on-base personal attire. But, mostly I just like hearing you complement me.”

Hana rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m glad you’re strong enough to move your ass around in this armor so you can protect my blindspots while I’m doing all the real heavy lifting.”

Brigitte laughed again. Hana couldn’t help but smile too at the warm sound. Brigitte’s whole face lit up, and her eyes crinkled around the edges. No wonder she was the favorite niece.

“Fair. I’ve seen your battle footage and some news clips when you were back in Korea. You’re so strong, I doubt you even need me.”

“Ah, another fan of D.Va. Well, who can blame you,” Hana said with a flick of her hair. She continued to walk around Brigitte’s workstation, picking up random pieces of armor. Brigitte didn’t seem to mind.

“Actually Reinhardt was the real die hard D.Va fan. We used to always have a stash of the instant noodles with your face on them in our rig. Great shelf life. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked you for an autograph yet.”

“Well he’s one to talk! Did you know, when I was a kid there was a Reinhardt special edition line of noodles? I remember I tried them once and they had such a weird flavor. It was like ketchup and curry powder or something. He had a pretty big fanbase in Korea actually.”

“Hah! I didn’t know that, but I’d believe it. There’s been so much Overwatch merchandise over the years, I’ve lost track. They were such celebrities back in the day.”

“Yeah.”

Hana knew a thing or two about having her image used for propaganda. She wondered for a moment what it was like for Brigitte, growing up amongst the same environment, but removed from the center of it. An image of her laughing in the cafeteria with the old guard flashed through her mind. She decided it must have not been too bad, and refrained from asking the question.

“Okay well, I’ll leave you to your meditative, hammer time. I need to get back to my mech anyway, I’ve got a mission tomorrow morning,” Hana said, turning to leave. Brigitte let out a long sigh, slumping into a chair. 

“Oh, it must be nice to leave the base.”

Hana stopped in her tracks, curious again, hearing such an outburst from Brigitte. She turned around and poked one of Brigitte’s large muscles near her shoulder.

“Oh come on, don’t be dramatic. You’ll be done with your training block soon. Fareeha is just, really particular before she lets anyone out on a mission. It took almost two months, and me breaking every score in the simulators for her to let me out in the field.”

“I know, I know. It just sucks sometimes feeling like everyone is being overprotective of me. I can handle myself, I’m not a little kid.”

Hana couldn’t help but give a little hmphf sound, her lips pulling down at the corners. 

“Yeah, I get that feeling. You can’t speed up time though, you just have to grind it out.”

Hana wasn’t normally one for listening to whining, but she thought Brigitte looked quite cute while she pouted, her arms crossed tight against her torso and her lip jutted out. It was hard not to laugh at the sight a bit, but Hana held her tongue. She really did know how it felt to want to prove yourself.

“Hey come on, there’s plenty of work you’re doing here that’s valuable. And when you’re ready, you’ll get called up and out there with the rest of us.”

Brigitte took a deep breath, seeming to blow out the negative feelings in one dramatic sigh. When she straightened up in her chair she seemed to be in better spirits, smiling at Hana again.

“You probably know better than anyone how to do that. Thanks Lieutenant, I’ll try. Let me know if my hammering gets too distracting. I can always go find something else to do.”

“It’s fine. I hardly noticed.”

“Well in that case, I’ll just be over here until dinner time.”

---

A few days later Hana almost threw her computer across the hangar. 

“Why is this piece of shit so useless!”

The MEKA diagnostic program she used to keep Tokki up to date was crashing every five minutes when she tried to run a scan of the system. It had slowly been degrading the last few weeks and after the latest mission it apparently decided it had enough. She tried every trick she knew, both from working on the mech for years and everything she could think of on her personal gaming rig, but she only had rudimentary coding skills and was vastly out of her depth.

“Everything okay?”

Brigitte’s gentle voice called out from a few feet away as she had stopped her own work to come see D.Va’s meltdown.

“Everything’s fine. Except I’m going to have to go throw this piece of crap, and then myself, in the ocean.”

“Sounds like a costly solution. What’s going on?”

“It’s fine. I’m fine, I don’t need anyone’s help.”

She could feel Brigitte’s sympathetic look burning into her cheek and hated it.

“Okay no problem. I’m around though, just let me know if you want an extra set of eyes.”

Hana stared at the email she had sent to Dae-Hyun the day before that still had no response. She knew her mech’s hardware inside and out, but he was the one who really handled all the intense computer program internals. She was out of her depth here and needed him to call her so she could get this thing working again, but he wasn’t answering. Maybe he was deployed somewhere or too busy with a social life now that she was gone. 

She had decided to come here for Overwatch. So maybe she should trust Overwatch.

“Brigitte, wait a minute.”

The other girl paused and turned, only having walked a few feet away from D.Va’s workstation.

“I could probably use some help here, if you’re still offering?”

Brigitte smiled, but it was more muted than her usual mega watt grin. Hana appreciated that she wasn’t making a big deal about it. 

God, why is this girl so nice.

“Definitely.”

Brigitte walked around the workbench where Hana set up her computer station and listened to the general description of the problems. As Hana started clicking through screens to show the protocol she usual ran, Brigitte held up a hand to make her stop.

“I understand what you’re saying, but looking at the text, I can’t read Korean. Does it have a translation setting?” “I doubt it. This thing was only meant to be used by the Korean MEKA squad.” Hana felt her stomach drop at how quick her hopes of getting this programming running were already dashed.

“Well lucky for us, Overwatch has some very robust translation tech we can utilize.” “Really? It’s not the AI is it? I’ve been so resistant to letting her in my computer.”

“That would be one possibility, but there are some more localized options we have. I’ve had to do this once or twice on one of my papa’s projects.”

“How long will it take?” “Don’t know! Could take a while, I’m not going to lie to you, especially with your program already acting buggy. But don’t worry Lieutenant, we’ll sort you out.”

Hana groaned, already having major doubts about letting Brigitte mess with her tech. But she didn’t have a lot of options, and this was probably the least embarrassing choice on the table at the moment. 

Brigitte moved back and forth between D.Va’s workstation and her own across the hangar, gathering cables and a laptop she would use to debug the system. Hana watched over Brigitte’s shoulder for a while, monitoring her work to get the translation program working on the MEKA diagnostic software. 

“Where’d you learn to do this type of thing?”

“Back in college. I had to learn a certain amount of coding for my major, but I helped out Winston some in his lab on campus and he taught me a lot of tricks too.”

“Jesus, is there literally anyone on this fucking base you don’t have some personal connection with?” 

Hana stepped away from the computer and dropped down into an empty chair with a huff, spinning the chair on its axis in erratic circles.

Brigitte stopped typing and watched Hana’s tantrum. “It bothers you that I’ve got a close connection to Overwatch?”

Hana did not reply, but crossed her arms and let out a frustrated sigh. Brigitte’s gaze held her for a moment but eventually shifted back to the computer screen as she seemed to weigh her thoughts on how to respond.

“Why did you leave the MEKA squad to join Overwatch?” she asked finally. “It doesn’t have the best history as an organization, you know.”

Hana stopped spinning to look at the side of Brigitte’s face, who’s eyes were still trained on the laptop screen. “Well it’s better to actually be in a fight than on the sidelines.”

Brigitte stopped what she was doing and turned to face D.va. “You’re the best pilot in the MEKA program. Why would you be sidelined?”

Hana let out a bitter laugh. “Best pilot? I was more than that. I was the face of the fucking Korean army! Which eventually meant I was too valuable to be an actual soldier.” Hana stood up walking to the end of the workbench, reaching out to touch one of her mecha’s guns. She couldn’t see Brigitte, but she could feel the other girl watching her.

“I got real banged up in a fight with the Gwishin. Like, probably should have died kind of banged up. I was out of action for months. After that, the army realized they couldn’t let the poster girl for their success stories die in an actual fight. So they moved me off the Busan base and deployed me to lead baby fights happening inland, but whose sole purpose was really just a photo op.”

Hana balled her fist in anger at her side, remembering how awful it hurt seeing images of herself on television in all those epic battle sequences, reporters singing praises of heroism, only to know the real truth that it was all a fabricated lie. She couldn’t stand it.

“So when Winston and Lena came to my apartment and asked me to join the new Overwatch, it was a no brainer. My piloting skills are too valuable to just be sidelined in a studio with a green screen.”

The MEKA squad team was fairly understanding when she told them. The same couldn’t be said for her commanding officers, but as D.Va, the amount of influence and money at her disposal proved sufficient for a smooth enough transition.

“I believed this was my shot to get back in the fight. So even if there’s some bad history there, this is a new chance for me, and I am ready to deal with any fallout.” 

Text whizzed by in the background of the computer screen as the console spat out a continuous stream of logs from the program Brigitte fired off as she listened in silence. 

“I never liked Overwatch. I still don’t,” Brigitte finally said.

Hana turned to face her, very confused. 

“Really? But, you’re like, one of the legacy kids.”

“All that means is I know more of the gritty details and seen firsthand the way people I love were chewed up by this place.”

Hana’s brow furrowed in thought, crossing her arms as she focused on Brigitte. Hana had been so taken in by all the happy scenes in the mess hall and around the base, she hadn’t even thought about the implications and complications that must have been a part of Brigitte’s life. She was so good at always putting on a bright face, how could she have known? 

Brigitte took a deep breath, looking weary as she took a moment to gather her thoughts. 

“When I was a kid, it was like I was one of those audience members you talked about. I was told all the best stories about heroes and villains, and it so happened that my family were literally starring as those heroes. But when I was a little older, I started learning more about history, and the other side of things. The PETRAS act. In fighting and war crimes. Blackwatch. Angela’s medical tech weaponized against her wishes, by my own father it turns out. Winston and Tracer buried under so much red tape, I’m honestly surprised they were ever allowed to leave a military base of their own free will. And Reinhardt... He’s a lot like you, I think. Brave, loyal, too stubborn to be just the face of a movement without putting his own skin on the line. Not when there’s something bigger than himself he believes in.”

A deep sigh, and an almost painful expression crossed her face.

“So no, I don’t like Overwatch. But I also can’t sit on the sidelines while they risk their lives, knowing I can help them. They’re my family. So here I am. Family can be complicated, ya know?” 

Before Hana could come up with something to say, the computer dinged behind them. Brigitte tapped on the keys, reading quickly when a smile crossed her lips. 

“Look at that, perfectly legible Swedish.”

“It’s fixed?” Hana hurried over to look at the computer screen.

“Well, the translation program is running. Now I need to actually debug your diagnostics program.”

“Ughhhh, I’m never going to leave this place.”

Brigitte chuckled. “Don’t worry, we’ll get it done. Feel free to go get some dinner if you want. This will take a while.”

“No way I’m going to leave you here all alone!”

“I promise I won’t touch Tokki.”

“It’s not...it’s not that, Brigitte. I just don’t feel right strolling off to dinner while you’re stuck here fixing my shit.”

Brigitte smiled.

“Okay. I definitely don’t mind the company.”

---

Hana tried to keep up with what Brigitte was talking about as she debugged the code. And she could follow along, for a while. Eventually she was way too lost to feel useful, and didn’t want to distract Brigitte while she was fixing the issues, so she retreated to a nearby futon against a wall. It was well past midnight, and Hana’s eyes were starting to droop. Brigitte drank one of the Dva branded nano cola energy drinks a while ago and seemed to be completely in the zone. 

The next thing Hana knew there was a strip of bright light in her eyes as the sun started to stream in through a window in the hangar. Hana stretched to pull out the discomfort her back protested with from not being in her bed, but it was really not that unfamiliar, considering some of the positions she’d fallen asleep at her gaming computer before. A blanket was draped across her body she didn’t remember picking up when laid down on the futon. She was all alone in the hangar and her watch told her it was just after 5am. 

“Brigitte?”

No one answered.

She sat up, noticing an unopened water bottle and energy bar laid out on the ground beside her futon with a little sticky note.

“Give it a go, Lt - Brig”

Hana scooped up the rations and dropped in front of the dark screen of her laptop. When she started up the terminal screen, her diagnostic programming kicked off like it normally did. All in Korean. 

The screen showed exactly where an electric circuit was tripping in the defense matrix grid of the mech, which had been glitching in the field the last few days. Hana noticed the parts and tools needed to complete the fix laid out on the workbench neatly, but when she poked her head in the mech, it remained untouched.

She smiled to herself.

“Kept her word to stay out of Tokki. These Overwatch kids are too much sometimes.”

D.Va pulled the panel off her mech and got to work.

----

At dinner that night, Hana spotted Brigitte in the mess hall with Reinhardt, Tracer and Winston. Brigitte gave her a wink when she noticed her. Hana got her meal and sat beside her, leaving her phone in her pocket for once.

“Thanks for the help with Tokki, Brigitte. Works like a charm now.”

“It was my pleasure, Lieutenant Song.” Brigitte’s smile was kind, her expression gentle and warm. Hana noticed this close up Brigitte’s eyes were lighter around the edges, and she had a few more freckles on her left cheek than the right.

“Did I just ‘ear you call ‘ana Lieutenant?” Lena cut in. “She’s ‘Lieutenant’, but I can’ get none of you to call me Captain? Double standards round ‘ere, I tell ya what.”.

“Well, Hana was a more recent officer in her respective position, while you have been discharged from the RAF for several years now.”

“Who’s side you on Win!? Those ranks don’t expire!”

Brigitte chuckled, whipping her head around to look at Tracer’s shaking her hand dramatically in the air, eyes downcast in an over acted, scandalized look. Hana also let out a small giggle.

“Your rank on the flight simulator scoreboard sure did,” Hana said, poking her tongue out with a playful smirk at Tracer. Brigitte, Reinhardt and Winston all laughed.

“She’s got you there, Lena,” Brigitte said.

“The youth of today. Ruthless.” Tracer grabbed a fist over her heart as if shot in the chest by a bullet.

“You know, back in my days of Overwatch…”

Reinhardt started in on one of his specially tailored stories for whatever situation was at hand, this case a very detailed recount of the first time he granted a field promotion in the Crusaders. Brigitte sighed, correcting inaccuracies she heard along the way, giving a wink to Hana when Brigitte’s presence in the story was pulled into the story much later on.

Lena took up the torch after that, remembering a time she accidentally flew into restricted airspace and managed to sweet talk her way out of being shot down. They all took turns sharing more elaborate one ups from their time before Overwatch. Hana even volunteered a story, sharing the time she convinced Dae-hyun to set Tokki up to stream a battle with the omnics. She broke her single day subscriber count in under one hour.

They all laughed well into the night, and for the first time Hana really started to feel like part of the team.

---

Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed!

[fandom-monium]

For the Holidays - Part 2

Summary: In which Spencer doesn’t want to go to his high school reunion, but you tagging along changes things. “It’ll be nice... having a friend there.”

WC: 1.8k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fake-dating trope, pining (so much pining), insecure and in-denial Spencer, light cursing, (tbh with all the shit that happens in CM they should be cussing way more)

Spencer doesn’t text you. But he’s tried.

First thing he got home, he tossed his bag aside and ripped off his blazer before he threw himself on the couch, digging through his pockets for his phone. Screw reading, taxes, dinner. There are more important things at stake here.

But he’s been sitting there for an hour, glaring at the empty text box with disdain, willing for words to appear.

No such luck.

Spencer writes essays and academic journals in an hour but formulating a simple text? He curses the universe for only making him academically gifted.

He runs a hand through his hair. Maybe he should call? No, you said text. And he doesn’t trust himself enough to have a verbal conversation with you. He will get tongue-tied.

Shit, what does he even say?

It’s not entirely his fault, alright? He’s never been put in a position like this before, except when he goes undercover. And even then everything is planned for him with little contribution on his part⎼he makes small edits to better fit the profiles but that’s about it. All he has to do is scan the file once and in seconds he has his fake identity, his fake backstory, and whatever fake details make up his fake life.

But this. This is different. He has to be brave because it’s you, and he has to chill out because this is supposed to be fake, he reminds himself. Both are tasks within themselves. And yeah, he’s a genius but as Albert Einstein once said, knowledge has its limits.

Shit, his thoughts are so jumbled he can’t even quote properly. This is all your fault.

You.

He still has to text you.

Spencer groans and flops on the couch, the phone clattering to the floor. He doesn’t bother, laying there until there’s an imprint of his butt in the cushions. He stares at the ceiling.

He remembers that you were the one to say yes. He hadn’t directly asked you but you agreed anyway, which means you are willing to spend time with him. Which means you like him (enough). Which means you are friends, and friends help friends out when they are in trouble.

Like needing a fake date.

He rolls onto his stomach, lips pursed as he stares over the edge of the couch. His phone glints in the lamp light.

Just friends helping each other out. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Spencer takes a deep breath and picks up the phone.

He can do this.

⎼

He can’t do this.

“I’m so excited,” Next to Spencer, you nestle into the seat and adjust the fuzzy blanket over your lap, eyes gleaming. “It’ll be nice to see where you grew up.”

Spencer only offers you a tight smile. His eyes dart about as the other passengers settle in, switching seats and fiddling luggage into the overhead compartments. Some of them already requesting for airplane food. Who in their right mind actually wants airplane food?

Spencer really wants to be as excited as you, and he is; he finally gets to spend some time with you outside of work, without the rest of the team hovering (waiting for one of you to make a damn move). It’s almost nice.

If only he can enjoy himself.

His knee bounces nonstop. Against the armrest his fingers tap a rhythm matching the thrum of his heart. And his hair is even more wild having run his hands through it repeatedly before meeting up with you.

He isn’t used to this, being alone with you. Sure, you partner up at work, in cases⎼hell, you've even accompanied each other to a few events. But those were as friends.

Technically, you’re his date. His romantic partner.

Spencer’s never let himself delve deep into his fantasies; he’s imagined (more times than he’d like to admit) taking you on dates to your favorite places, you in his arms, him in your arms⎼you know, minus the imminent danger. All the sweet things that couples do. But they always seemed out of reach. So he’d cut them off, squash the ideas before they went any further. False hope only hurts if you give in.

But now you’re on a plane, rocking in your seat as you hum to yourself, genuinely thrilled at the prospect of seeing his hometown.

This is more than he’s ever imagined. He feels like his heart’s about to burst.

Someone needs to call the bomb squad, real quick.

“Reid.”

"Hm?"

"Are you alright?" You're looking at him, voice drenched in so much concern his stomach twists. He made you worry. He feels guilty.

“Yeah-uh-” He clears his throat, attempting a smile. It’s a sad parody of the real thing. ”I'm fine.“

You raise an eyebrow and scoff, "Okay, I think I know why you're being weird. At least, weirder than usual."

Spencer’s heart drops. He leans back as you lean across your shared armrest, catching the sympathy in your eyes. He stiffens, bracing himself for the rejection. He should have known sooner or later you’d notice his not-so-friendly affections towards you. Of course you did, he isn’t exactly subtle; all the lunches, the museum tours, the stars in his eyes when you wrestle down unsubs⎼

"You’re nervous about seeing your old classmates again."

⎼Or, he’s much better at hiding it than he thought.

Spencer can only watch in awe as you continue, “And it’s totally natural. I mean, I haven’t been to a reunion, but I’d feel weird too if I got to see my classmates after all these years. But have no fear, (Your Name) is here.” You cringe, suddenly abashed. “Unless I’m completely off the mark and now you regret bringing me along. Oh no, that’s it, isn’t? You’re uncomfortable with the whole couples act.”

Spencer shakes his head, and for the first time since take off, he chuckles, “What? No, I’m happy that you’re here. And I couldn't think of anyone better to play my partner.” A relieved smile from you and he shrugs, feigning nonchalance. He fiddles with his sleeve. “But yeah, you got me. I am nervous.”

Which isn’t exactly a lie. You're here, next to him. That's more than enough reason to be.

If he had to be honest, between you and organizing the trip, he almost forgot about the reunion. Then again, he never liked reflecting on his high school years. For obvious reasons.

But your perception is a bucket of ice water over his head. Now he’s wide awake.

You’re doing this because you’re friends. You just want to help.

Friendship never hurt so much.

“I didn’t mention it before, but I’m sure you’re aware I wasn’t exactly the most popular kid in school, being 6 years younger and all,” Spencer swallows the ache. You nod in understanding.

Bright, brown eyes meet yours. He bites his lip. “So, I appreciate you coming with me. It’ll be nice... having a friend there.”

A split second.

Spencer glances away as he says 'friend'. The word leaves such a bittersweet taste he has to hold back a grimace, look anywhere else but you. The word just doesn’t sit right with him.

If he hadn’t looked away, he would have caught the way your smile dropped.

You nearly forgot, though you’re on holiday, this is a mission of sorts. This isn’t about you or how you feel. This is about Spencer. You berate yourself, remembering you're not a teenager anymore; you're a fucking adult and mature adults don't squee at their coworkers.

No matter how cute and adorable they are.

“Of course,” You plaster on a smile and finger the edge of your blanket, unintentionally mirroring him. "Your welcome."

Spencer gives you that white-person smile you love so much. You have to bite back a laugh.

To distract yourself, you pull out your phone and open the Chess app, holding it out to him. "Now, how about that rematch?"

Spencer's face lights up like a Christmas tree.

And as you immerse yourselves into another close match, you feel your confidence grow with every move, chuckling as Reid grumbles about you cheating (you’re not, he’s just a sore loser). You’re an FBI agent, for fuck’s sake. You played spouse and romantic partners for weeks, months. A weekend is nothing.

You can manage playing pretend with a coworker. Just operate like this is any other undercover assignment.

You can pretend you’re in love with Spencer Reid. You can handle it.

You can handle it.

⎼

You can’t handle it.

As one would expect, it’s hard to not fall in love with Spencer Reid. Just as it’s hard not to show it.

It feels like only yesterday the lanky man quite literally stumbled his way into your world and you decided, ‘Him. I will protect him with my life.’ And while you’d totally do that for anyone on the team, with Reid, it hits different.

After you landed in Las Vegas, you had a couple hours to kill before the reunion started, and as the good friend and partner you are, you suggested he show you all the places he frequented when he was little. For research, of course. After all, you’re playing his partner, so the more you know the better.

It’s definitely not because you’re invested in his life. Because that would be unprofessional.

(The way he beamed at you was totally worth it though.)

Then one step in the direction of his favorite eatery and he slipped on a patch of ice. You caught him in time, but the way he looked at you, brown eyes wide and filled with awe, made you feel things you shouldn't feel for a coworker.

It only snowballed from there. Everything about him is just so… endearing.

But you’re at your limit.

Love and affection threatens to spill out of you. Your hands flex in your coat pockets, itching to grab Spencer’s pretty face. Even your chest aches from your heart having swollen twice its size. You feel like you’re about to explode.

This might be the most difficult mission you’ve ever worked.

But this is it, you realize as you stand in front of the closed auditorium doors. This is the final lap. Where everything you’ve practiced really matters. You just have to keep up the charade for a few hours, then you won’t have to struggle to fight back the hearts in your eyes.

Although, your clothes fit tighter than you remember and you’re trembling. Why the fuck are you trembling?

Next to you Spencer eyes the double doors, almost like he’s daunted by them.

Multi-colored lights filter into the dark hallway, silhouettes flickering and shifting from the crack under the door as cheery holiday music faintly streams from behind them, accompanied by shouts and laughter. From his old classmates. Who are most likely making jokes at his expense.

Spencer already wants to go home.

“Ready, Doc?” As if sensing his hesitation, you offer a smile and an arm to him. Your eyes gleam with resolve. It’s more than enough for the both of you.

You can do this.

A deep breath, he slips his arm into yours. “Yep.”

He can do this.

Together, you open the doors.

AN: 2/4?? 

note: don’t expect part 3 to come out as quick. it’ll contain panic/anxiety descriptions and id like to take my time to write it best :))) i hope you enjoyed the last bit of happiness for a while :))))

also i apologize that i havent gotten to all the requests!! the ones posted on my masterlist are the ones currently being dealt with, but i’ll get through them eventually thx for the patience :D

i remember seeing a post ab Hotch x Prentiss and I didn’t get it but watching CM over again 

i get it i so get it. when theyve both gone to each other’s homes? *tears up*

and my hate for seaver has been reinforced :)))))

[canonicallysoulmates]

Just saw your post about the post phase 1 Marvel movies and the meme you used for CA:CW. So I'm here to ask and get you cancelled. What did you think about the movie? Are you Team Stark or Team Rogers?

........................................................I knew this day would come......okay, let's get me cancelled!

I hate this movie, I hate this movie with every fiber of my being. Watching it was torture, it as the longest 20hrs of my life. It was like living out one of those very confusing math problems I started this movie at 10am somehow 6pm rolls around and there are still 2hrs left! Coño cómo?! I watched this with my mom, and when we checked how much time was left we were left looking at each other like 'que carajo what twilight zone bullshit is this?' It's one of those Marvel movies that I am so glad I did not waste my money on, I wish I could get a refund for my time but I made my choice and I shall now have to deal with it.

I hate this movie for many reasons but I'm not gonna make y'all wait any longer for what you're really here for because I know what y'all really want to know is whether I am Team Iron Man or Team Captain America. When it comes to the political aspects ie. the Accords, I am Team Neither.

Now, I cannot get into a comprehensive debate about the Accords because the writers did a shitty ass job, in a 2 and a 1/2 hour movie that felt like a lifetime, at explaining what exactly the Accords are in the movie universe. Emphasis on the movie universe, because I have seen debates go on in this motherfucking fandom where some people will bring up aspects from the comics Registration Acts but we're not talking about the comics okay, we're talking about the movies! And they're two fucking different things! And the movie did a shitty ass job at explaining what the Accords are, and that's one of the reasons I hate this movie: that it's so badly written.

But back to the point, which is where I stand on the teams when it comes to the politics, I am Team Neither because ultimately they were both idiots on how they handled this, and I think they both have good points like yes the Avengers and other superheroes should 100% be held accountable if they fuck up, the fact that they are superheroes and the "good guys" doesn't mean that their actions shouldn't have consequences but at the same time Steve's mistrust of the government and concerns that the team and others could be weaponized are also valid so I think they both have good points when it comes down to it and the smart thing to do - and in my opinion what would have made a much better film- would have been to come together and make like a counterproposal, decide on amendments, try to ensure they can get a representative so they have a voice on the table.

So, there you go when it comes to the Accords I am Team Neither however when it comes to the characters and their actions I am 1,000% Team Tony. At the end of the day he wanted to do what was best for both people and for his team, he wanted to keep the team together because he knew they were stronger together, and he was thinking long term not short term.

And then there's Steve who is an asshole in this film and completely lacks self awareness, cause there's a scene in the film after they've found out about the Accords where Steve goes "that's because he already made up his mind" about Tony and I'm just like bitch so did you, pot meet kettle, Rogers you knew from the get go that you weren't going to sign those papers don't go acting different and then like- here's the thing Steve has some very good points when it comes to the Accords but one of his points is that the UN is filled with people with agendas and agendas change which true but also motherfucker you yourself have an agenda! The whole Sokovia mess is an example that they cannot be trusted to hold themselves or each other accountable because inevitably the time will come where they'll want to protect their team mate like we see in this movie Steve do with Bucky, or how he wanted to protect Wanda because he looks at her as if she were a child not an adult. Steve, you lot are not exempt from having your own agendas and biases.

And through pretty much the entire movie, he has this whole my way or the highway attitude like this man does not know the meaning of compromise in this film, and he has such tunnel vision for Bucky- and listen! listen, listeeeeeen, I get it, I don't judge Steve for making his bestie a priority; I understand that Bucky is incredibly important to Steve, that he's the one person who's gonna look at him as just Steve and not as the Steve Rogers, I get that he carries a guilt over what happened to his friend, I understand he misses him, I understand all of that and respect the ride or die game but goddamn he was so focused on being a good friend to Bucky that he forgot about everyone and everything else and was a shit friend to Tony.

Actually a lot of people in this film were shit to Tony for no goddamn reason but Steve was such a shitty friend not telling Tony about his parents, that was a shitty ass thing to do and listen! I know what some of y'all are thinking you're thinking some version of 'he wanted to protect Tony' shut the fuck up. No, no, that's an excuse and it's a cheap one, you know damn well that was a shitty thing for Steve to do and y'all know damn well you would have reacted the same way Tony did if someone who you thought was your goddamn friend knew about something horrible that happened to people that were important to you and they never told you; that kind of shit hurts, and finding out someone you thought of as a friend doesn't care about you as much as you care about them hurts.

And y'all know goddamn well how emotions work, you know emotions aren't gonna wait for the rational brain to kick in don't some of y'all go playing dumb as if you didn't know this shit. Same way deep down all of y'all know Tony was holding his punches, that man gave Thanos a fight and got some blood if he had wanted to kill Bucky he would have. Don't none of y'all motherfuckers try to play games and act like you don't know this info.

Steve was a shit friend to Tony. Period. The least he could have done is have some empathy or compassion towards Tony when he saw his parent's being killed- and I swear to motherfucking god to the person who is getting close to their keyboard thinking of saying he showed compassion by not killing him back the fuck away from your motherfucking keyboard what did I tell you about playing stupid, this is properly tagged, stay in your fucking lane. Some of y'all be acting as if it were still 2016 and we're gonna be talking about that too, anon wanted my opinion on this film so now I'm going off.

Back to what I was saying, in some ways Steve wasn't a perfect friend to Bucky either cause he kept looking at Bucky and thinking of the guy he used to know but Bucky's not that person anymore, he's been through a lot of shit and it feels at times like Steve didn't fully realize that.

I hate Steve in this movie, I wanna punch him in the throat; he's an ass, he thinks he's above the rules, he's unaware of his own flaws, he might be a good friend to Bucky but that's it. I don't blame Steve though I blame the writers cause they're the ones who wrote him this way; moving on from Steve, I wanna talk about Wanda real quick, I don't hate the character of Wanda but I do hate the way she was written in this film, I hate that the writers expect us as an audience to look at this adult and think of her as a defenseless child who should be exempt from consequences, I hate that instead of actually doing something with her and exploring some interesting dynamics they just give her an AI boyfriend and a pinterest quote which sounds nice but falls flat especially considering she says said quote as she uses her powers (which is what people are afraid of) to send her love interest down several floors of a building. They could have done so many cool and interesting things with her, shame they didn't.

Another thing I hate about this film is what it did to the fandom, and how it was promoted because it was very much promoted as a pick your fighter, pick a side type of movie and after this movie came out I feel like the divide between Tony fans and Steve fans grew toxically and the effects are still seen to this day like some people really do be acting as if it were still 2016 and attacking others for what side they went with or for who their fav between the two is, and I'll be very honest a lot of the hate I have seen has been directed towards Tony and Tony fans. I hate that, I hate when TPTB deliberately pits fans against each other cause it just encourages a toxic environment.

Let me think was there anything that I liked about this film- wait, oh my god talking about all these other things I hate almost made me forget the thing I hate the most about this movie: it's pointless. Its existence is unnecessary; the biggest aspect of this film isn't the politics of the Accords, it's Steve and Bucky and how far Steve is willing to go for Bucky and have him by his side...but Endgame exists. The end of Endgame turns this film pointless, because the only true point of this movie is the relationship between Steve and Bucky that's the biggest takeaway from the whole thing, but then you have the end of Endgame where Steve just leaves Bucky.

I hated this film before I saw Endgame but after.....I never plan to watch Civil War again but if I did I'm pretty sure I'd self combust cause I'd be so angry I'd scream every time Steve appeared cause that son of a bitch ends up leaving; tears the whole team apart only to end up leaving his friend behind in the end.

I hate this film, I hate everything about it, well that's not true I love the Tony and Peter stuff, but aside from a couple of things I hate this movie, someone give me time stone I'm eliminating it from the timeline.

So, there you go those are my thoughts on CA: CW.

In conclusion, I am Team Neither on the Accords, Team Tony on everything else, Steve I still like you but this movie demoted you in my eyes and makes me wanna punch you in the throat.

[prof-peach]

How did you meet Minerva and when did she evolve?

Minerva was found in an airport. Some seedy stop that was between johto and sinnoh, I bought a real cheap ticket and wanted to travel. Normal teenage thing. So while waiting to catch my next flight, I had like a four hour wait, obviously you go and snoop around while you got time to kill, and I happened across a guy selling Pokemon, rare and some shiny. You could tell it wasn’t a caring vendor, but he boasted breeding them all personally, vouching for their ease to raise because of his input (turns out he was just real aggressive and the Pokemon were scared of him). Most looked, well, nervous but healthy I suppose, but one did not. Stacked away from full view I found what would come to be Minerva. She had the shiny gene but her fur was ridden with some kind of mange, and the usual pinkness of her fluff was dull, very subtle, dusty coloured. She did nothing but cry the whole time I tried to talk to her, and huddled away in the corner to avoid any contact or attention. A very sad case, which I asked the guy about out of anger, more than anything else. He blamed the parent Pokemon, as they had abandoned her early, giving her little care and attention. I suppose you could say she was the runt of the litter. Instead of him doing his damn job, he left her to see if she would survive it, and she did. A fighter from the very start, even if she didn’t know it herself, that little Buneary defied the odds and made it to the airport, to be sold. Her fellow shiny Buneary (he said he had about 15, she was the last one) had all been chosen, paid for and taken away. So I asked her price, which was more than the money I had at the time, and had to haggle him down a bit due to her condition, leaving me with no savings, no money for my trip, no way to get food, no way to afford a hotel, and no way to get home. I had planned to buy the return ticket when I had seen the new location enough, and was ready to return, that was now not an option.

So I started the trip broke, with a sick Pokemon, this was pre-professor studies so I had to learn a lot on the job then and there, and I didn’t have anyone to send me money. We spent the whole trip nursing her, training her, she didn’t battle at all, but we had to to make money. I had Valka and Booker already, so we did manage to get enough to eat on that first night, and we could buy some medicine, and a cheap tent from a junk store, it had some holes but we made do. That first night in a tent we were all in a pile going to sleep, I had an umbrella plugging one hole above us, where rain kept dripping in, and we were all looking through a magazine I stole from the waiting room at the pharmacy, going through interviews and images and stories, the Buneary saw beautiful Pokemon, people, precious items, it was some fashion mag, so she got her first real look into that world, and she fell in love. I’m pretty sure she stayed up all night reading it, by morning she had found a sharp-ish key from my pocket, and had crudely cut out items of clothing, jewellery, and one word. A random name, from a tiny footnote, credit to a photographer, Minerva was the woman’s last name, and the little Buneary had carefully cut it out and put it on her chest like a name tag. It was the first decision she had ever been allowed to make for herself, and a huge deal, so the name stuck.

Spent 8 months in sinnoh in total, and in that time Minerva learned how to come out of her shell. She had been malnourished, and was really touch starved, having been rejected from just about everything she ever knew, plus basically fleas. We worked on her feelings a lot, you’d not know it looking at her now, but the shyness was really an issue, she didn’t have confidence to fight, so we trained her without actual battle, worked it into games, and about 4 months in she partook in her first fight, winning by a landslide. It took all that time of confidence building, and play fighting, and working with her, along side the others, and only one battle got her to evolve. It was a shock to everyone, she changed to Lopunny, her pink returned as her weight did, the fleas she once had were treated, her energy levels went up, fear went down, and with lots of grooming she really did repair in amazing time. Her love of fashion and design grew and grew, what money we had spare during our trip went to the team, and usually that included a new item of clothing for her. She learnt to be loved, and now she’s a sassy sweet wonderful Pokemon, who keeps me on my toes by starting rebellions, breaking into the weapons lockers, and generally encouraging Pokemon to be their most authentic selves....which usually is her manipulating them to do what she wants and cause trouble. If she’s with me she’s pretty chill, if someone else has to handle her...I pity them. You can keep her happy and less difficult if you give her spa items and activities to do. She will spend days on self-care and pampering, and will even do so with others should they be likeminded.

Minerva is now one of my strongest partners, she’s a near permanent member of the team, save for the days where she’s having some her-time, which we alwasy allow for. Her confidence talks for shiny Pokemon who are either handed to us, or brought by trainers for help, have improved the lives of many. Some will camp out on the island and let their Pokemon go and be semi-wild again, giving them a holiday, time to interact with their own kind, and often learn how to utilise their skills, abilities, and to learn tips and tricks from their own about how to better care for their bodies and minds.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Indruck 22 for the meet uglies?

Here you go! I went SFW on this one

you’re on a date with this awful, awful person who keeps getting under my skin because my friend and I have been eavesdropping all night and your date says something that makes me snap … I thought it was a first date, not a three year relationship

“...such a waste of money. I mean, why spend all that to get something tacky on your skin?”

Indrid rolls his eyes at Barclay from across the counter of the Amnesty Lodge coffee shop, the cooks arms and hands sporting a plethora of tattoos rivaled only by Indrid’s collection.

“I dunno, l like the one I got.” The other man--who seems to be on the worst first date of his life--shrugs.

“You honestly think you and Juno couldn’t have spent that money on something else in college?”

“I mean maybe but, uh, we were earnin our own cash, figured we got to decide what to spend it on.”

“Hmmmm” the first guy sips his coffee, “sounds like a typical excuse for someone who doesn’t want to admit a mistake.”

“C’mon, that ain’t fair-”

“Ugh, stop saying ain’t! I can’t take someone who talks like that to meet my family.” Before the target of his disdain can respond, he snaps his fingers, “hey, buddy, can I get a refill or what?”

“The station for black coffee refills is right there, sir.” Barclay indicates the very obvious corner of dispensers, his voice the kind of calm that Indrid knows means he’s memorizing this guys face to warn other staff about.

They earn a brief reprieve while The Asshole leaves the table. When he returns, he’s shaking his head.

“God, have you looked at the photos they’ve got up? Who the fuck wants to look at bones?”

Indrid quickly glances at his friend to be sure he’s permitted to start a fight. Barclay nods.

“Quite a lot of people.” Indrid spins on his stool. “I’ve sold a number of them just from the display here. So perhaps you could keep your rude, unclultured, close-minded, obnoxious mouth shut.”

The man balks, looks to his companion for help. He offers none, mouth trying to form words and only coming out with halves of ones (except for the “fucks” which are plentiful).

“Oh my fucking god, you agree with him! That’s it, I’m out.” The Asshole pushes back from the table and storms out. The remaining man leaps up, panicked.

“Fuck.”

“It’s okay man, shitty first dates happen to all of us.” Barclay offers from beside the bakery case.

“I mean yeah, they do, but that wasn’t one of ‘em. That was my boyfriend of three fuckin years.” He dashes out of the shop, sparing a final glare at Indrid as he does.

Indrid trades a sheepish look with his friend, “Oops.”

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

“I’m glad you finally get to meet Duck!” Aubrey grins over her shoulder as she and Indrid wind down the hall at the office Kepler magazine.

Founded by childhood friends, Kepler worked a combination of print and video content that saw its subscribers and revenue climb while other publications struggled to stay afloat. Aubrey was head of the video team, though she contributed content to the magazine in the form of interviews about environmental activists of color and sustainable gift guides.

Kepler has three sections: travel, science, and environmental writing. Indrid now has the honor of being one of their primary photographers. He started two weeks ago and is thoroughly enjoying his work and the company of the other staff. The only person he’s yet to meet is Duck Newton, one of the founders and main reporters, as he was off on an assignment.

Aubrey knocks, gets a friendly “come in” and ushers Indrid into the office.

Looking at him from behind the desk is The Asshole’s Boyfriend, whose face goes from open and friendly to confused, then to perturbed.

“You okay?”

“I, uh, fuck, n-ye.” Duck sighs, “remember how I told you Alex and I split after a shitty date in a coffee shop?” He points at Indrid, “this was the fella who, uh, expedited the process.”

“Ohhhh.” Aubrey frowns, then shrugs with a smile, “whelp, he’s our new photographer. We’ll see you around.” She hurries them outside once more, shutting the doors. As they head back the way they came, she whispers, “his ex was a huge fucking dick, so if word gets out everyone is gonna think you’re a fucking hero.”

“He didn’t seem to see it that way.”

“It was only a few weeks ago, so it’s still pretty fresh. He’ll heal from it okay, Duck’s a tough cookie. And I’m sure you guys’ll get along eventually.”

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

“Juno, please, you gotta come with me.”

“I would bud, except it’s April and I’s fifth wedding anniversary that weekend. And no, we already have plans, so we can’t just take over this assignment as part of the celebration.”

“Fuck” Duck leans back in his chair.

“...You really asked everyone?”

“Ye-no, fuck-”

“Duck.”

“I ain’t asked Indrid yet.”

“There it is.” Juno smirks, “you gotta ask; besides, we were gonna have him do illustrations for the feature, but photos would be even better. And we both know it ain’t his fault y’all broke up.”

Duck nods, promises to ask Indrid after lunch. He finds the photographer flipping through his files from his shoot for next issues cover. His silver hair is pulled back, red glasses sitting on the desk beside him so he can gauge color correctly.

Duck kind of wants to pull the silver locks just to see what happens. It’s not his fault Indrid looks like his Sophomore roommate who he had a raging crush on, only with more tattoos and a much more captivating face. Pity he helped fuck up Duck’s last chance at a stable relationship.

“Hey, Indrid, you got a minute?”

The photographer cocks his head.

“I, uh, so we got a feature on this whole chunk of places touting themselves as ‘sustainable romantic getaways. I booked a bunch of places, but a lot of ‘em will turn me away if I turn up solo. And the person I was supposed to go with ain’t an option any more. Neither is anyone else. You get my drift?”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “you realize this is a terrible idea, yes?”

“Hey, we been workin together just fine. Ain’t we? Wait, fuck, I ain’t been treatin you bad even when I’m tryin to be professional, am I?”

“No, you’ve been perfectly polite. But there’s a world of difference between being cordial in an office and going on what’s functionally a vacation together.”

Duck crosses his arms, “I ain’t about to lose eight hundred bucks in deposits.”

Indrid blinks, then chuckles, “Fair. What day do we leave?”

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

The temperature rises and the air dries as they speed south on Five. Indrid fiddles with games on his phone as cover for the list of “will this be a disaster or not” he’s mentally constructing. So far the signs are positive; Duck isn’t very chatty, but neither is Indrid. They have similar tastes in music, which makes much more sense when Duck explains he was a burn-out in high school. He also isn’t agitated by Indrid stimming, which makes it easier for the photographer to relax and enjoy the drive.

But they haven’t spoken about the elephant in the car, and Indrid resolves not to be the first to do so. No point in poking the sore spot if he doesn’t have to.

They stop at a Sinclair for gas. Duck reaches into his glovebox for something as Indrid climbs out, comes away with a photo instead. It’s one of those ones from a photobooth, faded but unmistakably him and his ex. His face falls for a second and Indrid scurries into the Dairy Queen attached to the convenience store.

As he waits in line, he turns one fact over in his mind like a picture he’s trying to make sense of; it would be easier to let their awkward first meeting go if he did not genuinely like the other man. He’s charming, in a quiet way, and very friendly. He’s built like the guys Indrid always got useless crushes on in college, usually third tier frat boys or--if he was lucky--a bear a few years older than him who liked his men on the odd side.

He doesn’t like seeing Duck sad. The sadness isn’t something he can fix. The stalemate between these two facts annoy the living hell out of him.

He’s next in line, glances up to confirm what he wants, and gets an idea. Last week, he overheard Duck talking with Aubrey about roadtrip snacks of their youth.

“One chocolate dipped cone, on me.” He holds the treat out to the other man.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. These are my favorite from when I was a kid.” Duck’s smile returns.

“I remembered. Or, ah, that is, I remembered you saying that.”

The smile changes, “you didn’t need to.”

“I wanted to. Shall we?”

“Yep. Uh, you gonna be able to drive and eat that at the same time?”

“Do not doubt my ability to consume ice cream under difficult circumstances, Duck Newton.”

They make it to their first stop unscathed. It’s what Duck refers to as, “eco-bespoke,” a fancy spa and hotel built in a former school, the kind that was made in an era of beautiful instead of grim educational architecture.

“Goats!” Indrid claps his hands, delighted, at the two animals stabled near the main building. One of it’s supposed sustainable elements is the small farm that helps feed the on-site restaurant. Duck smirks and Indrid suddenly feels the gulf in their upbringings, “Ah, I suppose they’re not exciting to someone who grew up in a rural town.”

“Nah, but they’re damn cute.” Duck checks the tag on their room keys, “okay, we’re in the green building, room 2B.”

Indrid snaps some photos as they cross the grounds, more to remind himself of things he wants to come back to later than anything else. He’s busy studying a strange mark on the wall by their door when Duck says, “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Why--oh” he stares at the single bed, “in retrospect, we should have seen this coming.”

“Yeah.” Duck drops his bag near the closet, slides the door to look for spare linens. Indrid summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so bolsters it with nonchalance.

“It’s a king, we could easily share.”

“You’d, uh, you’d be okay with that?”

“It is only narrow definitions of masculinity that mean something like sharing a bed is inherently sexual.”

He’s not entirely sure that made sense, but Duck nods, “You want the right side or left?”

“Right, please.”

“Great. And, uh, Indrid? Thanks for rollin with all this. I, uh, I know it’s fuckin weird but this is a huge feature for the magazine and we woulda been fucked if we had to pull it.”

Indrid gingerly sits on his side of the bed, “You’re welcome. And I don;t know about you, but” he smiles, catches Duck watching him intently in the mirror, “I’m enjoying myself so far.”

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

“Why has an activity that renders one incapable of using their thighs been deemed ‘romantic?” Indrid mumbles, face-down on the bed to offer his burning legs relief.

“Fuck if I know.” Duck groans as he sits next to him, “Kinda fun, but if I was doin this to get you in bed, I’d be fucked.”

“I am in bed” Indrid teases.

“And if I tried to put the moves of you you’d toss me outta it. Assumin I could even move myself that close.” Duck nudges him, then clears his throat, “uh, I mean, not like we’d be doin that-”

“Nono, point taken.” Indrid rolls over. The horseback ride was one of the “couples exclusives;” a trot out to a beautiful oasis for a gourmet picnic. Indrid got some excellent shots, including one of Duck with honeycomb dripping down his chin, which he will not be offering up to editors but may keep for himself. For it’s beautiful composition, of course.

Mercifully, their next stop is the pool. Indrid settles himself in the hot tub while Duck types some notes on his phone. Then his friend doffs his bathrobe and Indrid may as well be in a dream. In the steaming, echoing paradise of multi-colored tile and ecstatic shouts, Duck stands like one of the angelic fountains at its heart has come to life.

“You okay there, ‘Drid?”

“Yes.” He hopes his lack of glasses means Duck will mistake his blatant staring for trying to get his vision in focus.

“Then scoot your cu--uh, your butt over so I can sit down.”

Indrid gladly moves aside, finds he’s so comfortable with Duck pressed against him that he begins nodding off in the warm lull of the water. When the other man nudges him, saying it’s time to go, he finds a strong arm draped over his shoulder and Duck’s smile the most relaxed it’s been all trip.

Their last task at this location is to locate the speakeasy somewhere on the premises and order the “lovers delight” (only available to couples). To do so, they follow clues purple light bulbs, doors that lead to tiny, art-filled rooms, secret staircases, and a false supply closet to a dark wooded, dimly lit, incredibly pleasant bar looking out over the property. The drink turns out to be a massive goblet (more a bowl that someone stuck on a stem) of ginger syrup, prickly pear juice, and silver tequila.

It also turns out to be incredibly strong. So much so that when they get back to the room, Indrid loses his balance getting his shoes off, which makes Duck laugh, which results in both of them flopping onto the bed.

“S’fun. You’re, you’re real good at the clues. Should, should go to an escape room when we get home.”

“Wasn’t, hic, that hard. They, they want, hic, want you to find it.”

“Take the compliment, goofus” Duck pushes his shoulder.

“You’re, hic, the goofus.”

“Nuh uh.” Duck sticks his tongue out. Indrid does the same, then licks his cheek just to hear him laugh.

Duck rolls onto his back, giggles dying down to a contemplative sigh, “He woulda hated this.”

“Your ex?” Indrid crawls to stay close to him.

“Yeah. Everythin I like, or, or thought was fun, he thought it was a waste of time or just plain worthless. He, he wasn’t like that at the start. Dunno what changed. Probably me. Probably got borin. Got worse.”

Indrid is not so drunk that he believes he can fix this. But he’s just drunk enough to stroke Duck’s cheek and murmur, “No. Nono, hic, you’re th’best.”

He doesn’t remember falling asleep after that, but he must have, because his phone is beeping at them to get up and face the day. They do so with to-go coffees in one hand and their bags in the other, neither speaking of the night before until Indrid has turned the car into deeper desert.

“Sorry for gettin on a thing about Alex last night.”

“It was a three year relationship; goodness knows you’re allowed to have feelings about it.”

“Even relief?”

Indrid glances at him, “Of course.”

His friend leans back in his seat, sipping from his travel mug, “That’s half the reason I been in such a funk. I feel like I oughta be sad, then I feel guilty for the fact I’m relieved instead. But if I really was that unhappy in it, why did I hang around so long? Maybe that was the best I deserved, y’know?”

“I know the feeling, yes, but I can’t say I agree with your statement. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are and adores it, not someone who loved what you once were and became bitter when you grew.”

Duck looks at the console between them, at Indrid’s chipped black nails and the hand he hopes isn’t shaking. He squeezes it a moment longer than necessary, “Thanks, ‘Drid. It’s nice to hear that from someone who’s still gettin to know me. Juno and them, they’re my friends, I know they’re in my corner but, uh, sometimes I worry that anyone new is gonna find me dull or somethin like that.”

“I’m sure some people would, just as some take one look at me and decide I’m a weirdo who they don’t want to deal with. But I can say with certainty that I don’t find you that way.”

Duck grins all the way to their destination. It’s a quirky trailer park full of amenities and built mostly from salvaged materials, doing it’s best to run off the grid. It also gives each trailer a theme, and Indrid flaps his hands when he sees they’ve been booked in the “The Cramps” themed one.

“Hell yeah.” Duck mirrors his excitement as they open the door. Their haven from the desert sun is full of kitschy horror artifacts and a much smaller bed than the previous spot. There’s no debate this time; Indrid settles on the right, Duck on the left, and they settle in for a nap before venturing out to work.

They take in the bar, the arcade, the mini-golf course, and the “couples supply room” (“damn, didn’t know they made eggnog scented massage oil” “ooh, I like how that smells”), but Duck turns out to be most excited to rent a stargazing kit and guide Indrid out into the dark desert. They’re on their backs, shoulder to shoulder and munching chocolate covered fruit, when he discovers the source of his glee.

“There!” Duck points to a crackling streak of silver.

“A meteor” Indrid wiggles happily as a second one speeds through his view.

“It’s the Perseids, and this is a damn good place to watch ‘em. Look, there’s another one.” He’s breathless each time and Indrid’s heart threatens to beat hard enough to crack the earth at the sound.

“Did you ever wish on stars when you were little?”

“Yep. Never asked for much worth notin, though I’m pretty sure I wished once to just wake up and be a boy. Or, uh, guess for everyone to see me as one. What about you?”

“I wished...I wished for someone to do things like this with, some who’d kiss me and tell me that they didn’t need to wish because what they wanted was right here.. I love the world, I want to see so much of it, that’s half the reason I chose my profession.. But when I was young I thought I’d be with someone when I did. I thought it was easy to find that kind of love. To be worthy of it.”

“Hey now” Duck rolls onto his side. He’s backlit by the moon, meteors zipping behind him as if they, just like Indrid, are pulled to him, “what happened to all the stuff you said in the car about deservin someone who adores you?”

“It’s easy to apply such things to you, harder to believe them about myself.”

“How come?”

“Because you are everything a sensible person could want in a man and I am not.”

“That’s where you’re wrong” He sets a hand next to Indrid’s shoulder, “Can think of at least one sensible fella who wants to get to know you a whole hell of a lot.”

“He’ll get to know me plenty, we’re co-workers.”

“There are different kinds of gettin to know someone.” Duck dips down, brushes their noses together, “for instance, the last few days I’ve gotten to know you’re a damn good travel companion and that Ned was smart to hire you. But I’ve also gotten to know there’s some things about you I really wanna know.”

“Such as?” Indrid’s fingers find Duck’s sides.

“Such as whether you wanna go on a date with me when we get back. No assignment, just the two of us gettin some time together.”

“I want nothing more.” He leans up to kiss him, feels him shudder happily when their lips meet. Indrid wonders how long it’s been since someone kissed Duck like they meant it, and resolves to make up any deficits with an enthusiasm that would put horny eighteen year olds to shame.

Indrid nips Ducks ear, “you know, were it not for the threat of mosquitos and scorpions, I’d suggest we make good use of the non-food items in that basket.”

Ducks grin lights Indrid up like a comet, “Then howsabout we go test just how conducive our trailer is to romance?”

Indrid kisses him adoringly, “Lead on, sweetheart; I’ll follow you anywhere.”

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Nightwing 83 Review

guess who isn't weeks late this time. my opinion of the series is going up a little bit. it's still not great, but i'm not actively put off by it anymore the way i was after 81. not going to tag as spoilers, but be warned that they are under the cut

i’m sure you all are well aware of this but now, but dear god i love bruno redondo’s art. like, an unhealthy amount. the pink and blue is getting to be a theme with either him or just this run, but i am definitely enjoying it. the movement in this cover is clearly obvious, but well done. you recoznize right off the bat that the cover was drawn to drag your eyes down the page until you get to the bottom, but you enjoy the whole ride there. 

also, redondo’s way of drawing a character in stages of action so we can see just how much they’re doing in a split second of movement is quickly becoming something i like to see drawn with dick, and any other character that has that sort of ease of movement and body sense, like cass or sin or maybe a super. 

and he’s in action the entire time! there’s shot drawn just to show off a shirtless comic book character, the way nightwing is so often subjected to. he’s shirtless because he’s changing his clothes, and that’s all we see, no more and no less. very practical, very well done. i like it.

he looks so cute right here oh my god. the little squint, the hair curls. it’s adorable.

but also like. unless melinda has specifically outfitted the door spyhole so that the person on the other side can’t see dick looking through it (and in all honesty she might have) then everyone on the other side can see dick looking through that door. 

bringing your attention back to the “i can’t see melinda’s fbi file oh no!! it’s redacted!! whatever can we do!!” stupidity. redacted files are child’s play for oracle, and definitely doable for both dick and bruce. so that’s bullshit.

now, melinda apparently grew up with the maroni family, then took down part of the family from the inside. the maroni family is a large and notable presence in gotham, one that bruce pays a respectable amount of attention to. he definitely would have grown suspicious when two members of the maroni family were taken down, and with some investigation, he would have discovered melinda’s plan. and it should go without saying that the majority of things you see batman doing? dick can do it too.

it’s not so much that i don’t like how clever the villains/antiheroes are getting. i don’t like how dc heroes are increasingly written as less intelligent. they seem to be relying on pure fighting skills or luck, which may be the case for a couple heroes, but has never been the case for most of dc’s big name heroes, the bat family included. it’s irritating to me to see this sort of stuff pop up as a major plot point when i know that, if dick or bruce had been written with the amount of skill and power that they canonically possess, this entire mess would have been sorted out years ago.

unrelated but dick and melinda have the same hair

this may just be me, but i was always under the impression that dick doesn’t really have a “double life???”

yes, he’s talented enough to create enough differences between robin/nightwing and dick grayson’s mannerisms, way of movement, voices, and speech patterns so that it’s very difficult to put the two together.

but nightwing has never been separate from dick grayson, not the way bruce and batman is. he’s always leaned more towards clark in that aspect: his hero persona is an exaggerated, stately, larger-than-life version of who he really is. there’s no second persona, no real “dick grayson identity” and “nightwing identity.” they’re the same person with the same goals, ideas, and skills. one just pretends to abide by the law, and one gives up pretense of that.

oh good thank god. if he’d trusted her right off the bat (hehe. bat.) i would have slapped him upside the head. at least he’s still got instincts.

gosh the colouring on this is cool. the red has enough purple and pink tones to it that it doesn’t abruptly ruin the tone of the artwork. but it’s definitely glaring enough to take the reader outside of this personal moment they had slipped into between dick and melinda, to put them back in the present where they’re reminded that oh yea there are people hunting dick down. 

the next panel keeps this up too, in a less severe way. melinda’s bodyguard shows up (i forgot her name sorry :[ ) and subtly places us in the middle of an action scene rather than a private, personal scene.

laughing so fucking hard have our little vigilantes grown so accustomed to breaking into places that it doesn’t even register as a crime anymore??? tim coming in through the fire escape to pick bernard up for their date and being very much confused as to why bernard is freaking out.

i really like melinda’s shirt and now despite all the work i have to do and the fucking conference i have to host on monday i want to spend hours scrolling through clothing shops online trying to find this shirt. the mock neck/neckline is so cool i want it

so roland just assumes that a very dangerous vigilante who is highly talented in combat and a very dangerous bodyguard who is also highly talented in combat had a fight that ended with this very dangerous bodyguard being tied up and she looks completely fine? roland just assumes that her having no visible wounds or bruises means that they got into a fight and she lost that easily? uh. aight then

dick what are you doing. legitimately what the fuck are you doing. why are you posing oh my god. you are injured and tired and in absolutely no position to go hand to hand with one of main enemies. jesus christ run away or head to lower ground or something. don’t just stand around letting the floodlights show exactly where you are.

i don’t understand what he’s trying to do here??? blockbuster fully bought the story that dick fought them both, won, tried to get info out of them and failed, then hightailed it out of there. he didn’t have to draw roland out for a fight.

but it does look cool. the way the light just highlights his silhouette and the blue parts of his costume does look badass. he does get style points in my book for this.

w h a t  d i d  i  f u c k i n g  t e l l  y o u ,  d i c k ?

very classic superhero line and it does sound like something dick would say in a fit of righteous rage but also it makes me laugh so hard because all vigilantes think they’re so powerful that the law doesn’t apply to them. dick vigilantism is illegal. you’re acting above the law and pretending it doesn’t apply to you. hypocritical much?

it happens so often in superhero movies, tv shows, comics, whatever and it makes me giggle every damn time.

pretty decent comeback but before i start seeing people writing blockbuster as a thug i’m going to remind you that he made a deal with a demon for genius level intellect. if this turns into another bane situation i’m going to be a little miffed. he’s a smart man, which makes him a dangerous and infinitely more interesting enemy for nightwing.

this is so horribly in character i want to scream. (or. at least. it lines up with one of the versions of nightwing i have in my head.) he’s running right towards the bullets, miraculously doesn’t get shot, while making a sort-of pun. i hate this so much. i love him.

this is cool. this art is really really cool.

he leaped from a building right towards a helicopter that’s actively shooting at him, but none of the bullets are touching him. none of the corruption of the city can touch him no matter how hard it tries, because he’s too good to be corrupted. Comic Book Logic Can Be Good Sometimes Actually.

batman’s belt what??? swiss army knife who?? sorry, i only know nightwing’s bright blue escrima.

this is one of my favourite things about heroes with exceptional abilities, even more so if the hero is human. the things they can do are so far beyond the realm of normal human abilities that it’s equal parts terrifying and awe-inspiring every time they act.

he just used modified grappling wires to hook to the door of a moving helicopter, swung around the helicopter safely without hitting the blades, gained exactly the right momentum to swing upward again right through the opening of helicopter, then fought and tied up the men before they had any idea what was happening. that’s near impossible to do.

it’s stuff like this where i just sort of sigh in contentment. no matter how many times they leave out dick’s detective skills or conveniently forget that he’s actually a master planner and team leader and make him out to be this forgetful dude who makes everything up on the fly because of his “circus roots,” at least they won’t ever take away dick’s sheer physical ability honed to perfection. 

the art, too! in a few panels, dick’s drawn a little lightened or blurred. he’s moving so quickly and fighting so efficiently that he can barely be seen by the enemy. he’s got perfect form all the way through.

and THIS!

there was a helicopter that had five men shooting at him with what looks like machine guns. most people would be dead. some would run away, and be nimble enough to survive without fatal hits. there are very few people, even in fucking comic books, who can look at that hopeless situation and turn it around so quickly and thoroughly that he benefits from it instead.

i just. love nightwing.

it was funny the first time as a comic reader aware of the meme. it’s really not anymore. why the hell would you, in universe, be wearing a shirt that has a picture of your boyfriend being hit in the face by his father. 

okay that was funny. 

look at lil bitewing, so concerned for her human!!! love her sm. 

also a question as to the timeline of things. is nightwing happening before or after urban legends? 

i was so distracted by dick wearing a robe and briefs and nothing else that i didn’t register the second part until later. he slept for two days?? babs, baby, he recently had a very traumatic brain injury. why do you sound so nonchalant?

@TIM X COFFEE SHIPPERS GET FUCCCCKKKKEEDDDDD

ngl i totally forgot about that dude oops

this comic is giving so many reaction pictures. you know how you always use the worst possible picture of your friend for your friend’s contact picture? i’m just getting so many of these.

leslie!!! the titans!!! lucius!!! dick going to go see old friends!!!! the titans!!! this part made me so irrationally happy it really did. gar being the one to just. offer dick solutions with open arms. this was the best

i wish i could just copy and paste this entire scene, but that would take up way too much space, so i’m just going to talk about it instead. 

you gave me my name, nightwing, and you gave me some of the best advice i’ve received in my life: beautiful little throwback to nightwing’s origin. you’d be surprised at the amount of people who don’t know where the name came from, or who don’t know how much clark means to dick. and the fact that dick still looks up to clark as a hero, recognizes that clark isn’t always perfect and yet continues to hold him in such high esteem, and still looks back on advice that clark gave him fondly just warmed my heart so much.

for a man who has fearlessly stood up to darkseid, bruce will do a lot to avoid a conversation: “grrr. i’m the BATMAN. i’m so DARK and MYSTERIOUS. nobody knows the true me. no one ever will. i will be LONELY for the rest of my CURSED LIFE. such is the price of a hero. ignore my farmer himbo husband in the background”

but i don’t think there’s anything heroic about being a billionaire: another nod to how much dick follows clark’s example rather than bruce. yes, this was a very poignant and important criticism, and i think it’s wonderful that this was published in a pretty popular comic book. but the thing is, there is a way to be a heroic billionaire, but only in fictional universes. the way bruce, ollie, t’challa only ever use their wealth to help people. they donate massive amounts of money to charities that they themselves create so they know exactly how the money is being used. they hire people who aren’t likely to get jobs anywhere else and pay them much more than what a base living wage is. they use their power to help push progressive laws and social change. they are helping. 

dick doesn’t fully see it that way. he spent more than half his childhood the son of a billionaire, but still believes that one could be more heroic when one doesn’t have obscene amounts of wealth. whose example do you think he followed to come to that conclusion?

superman looked up to alfred pennyworth?: i mean yea alfred may have been a wildly irresponsible guardian and one hell of an enabler but goddamn if he didn’t love his kid.

you don’t need my input. you’ve thought it all through: ooooooh this line made me grin. for so long, dick’s treated clark as a mentor and a guiding figure. he’s still seen as a kid, an up and coming, snot-nosed titan with dreams of a better world. clark still thinks of him as a kid, despite watching him grow up. but this little line was something i think dick needed sorely to hear. he doesn’t need anyone’s guiding hand on his shoulder, he doesn’t need to ask for permission. he doesn’t need clark to support him the way he did when he was a teenager. he’s all grown up now, and he doesn’t need clark’s help. i imagine it was a bit of a surprise for dick to hear that. 

honestly, i couldn’t think of a better role model: ohhh but it doesn’t stop there. clark just straight up turns the tables on dick. imagine you’re dick, and you’ve looked up to this one hero your entire life, and then one day he turns to you and says that he thinks you’re so kind and smart and worthy of a person that he wants you to mentor his son!? goes to show just how much clark trusts dick.

i swear to god dick probably cries every time he hears clark compliment him because bruce is so rare and sparing with his praise that clark giving him the slightest hint of approval is just a dopamine rush.

also, now deathstroke and superman have both asked nightwing to mentor their kids. the juxtaposition is fuckin hysterical. imagine either of their reactions when they realize what kind of company they’re with

lets talk colours for a second, because i absolutely adore how classic colour tropes have been subverted in this comic, and in this general run really.

warm tones have usually (usually, not always) been associated with light and comfort and friendship and,,,,,well,,,warmth. whereas cool tones are usually used to unsettle, or make a scene seem colder and put the reader on edge. this varies if a comic only uses cool tones, or only uses warm tones, but if a comic uses both, this is generally well-used.

that isn’t the case in this run.

dark red, orange, and other warm tones have been used to symbolize danger, action, attacks. hot pink isn’t usually included in this colour group, but it’s definitely part of it in this case. in contrast, scenes that have cool colours give us the impression of slipping into a comfortable, calm scene with babs, tim, the titans, and other allies. even the beginning scene with superman has this blue, but then it transitions into something more golden coloured. dawn broke over dick, as his new idea came to light, and that was reflected in the art (and the sunrise setting.)

have there ever been times when dick’s longed for the comfort of his mask because he didn’t feel confident as dick grayson? i can’t think of any. i may be wrong, but this struck me as pretty ooc.

am i just??? gay and reading this all wrong??

cause i was under the impression that when someone says they are grateful for your friendship you don’t immediately kiss them. 

or is this like. normal straight mating rituals.

i mean he’s smiling afterward but still babs aren’t you supposed to at least make sure it’s okay first? you guys broke up a while back after you said something along the lines of “i want to be coworkers with you and nothing more because i don’t trust you or feel comfortable around you as a civilian anymore.” like lmao after you say something like that to someone i would assume that you don’t have the permission to just kiss them whenever you want.

show of hands who else got real sad when they realized dick was talking about himself in this.

sure, he could be referencing the things he’s seen blockbuster pull, and the children on the streets. but “i’ve seen money used for enforcement,” sounds a little too close to dick’s entire life being destroyed by one man threatening the circus to pay protection money for me to completely ignore. and “i’ve seen the poorest and most vulnerable blamed and punished rather than assisted” becomes a lot worse when you remember dick was thrown in juvie for a couple months until bruce was able to obtain legal guardianship, and in there, not a authority figure believed him when he told them his parents were murdered.

he’s lived this before.

a. mother. fucking. typo.

fucking why

i mean i’ve stated my distaste for the batfamily groupchat before but like. this is reaching new levels of ridiculousness. jason sounds like he was written by a fanfic writer. tim sounds like he was written by a fanfic writer. steph sounds like she was written by someone who doesn’t know the first thing about steph and wanted to include her for “family points!!!!!” damian’s supposed to be completely off the grid, and everyone’s searching for him. i do love the way cass texts tho.

well god fuck now i’m crying

dick got a phone call, a sorry, and a thank you out of bruce. i feel so much secondhand happiness for him, if that’s a thing. we’ll just ignore the way bruce looks ugly af and focus on the good parts okay?

and again with the colour symbolism here!

i’m either going to love this or hate this. who knows, we’ll see.

something something hearts something something pink is an evil colour something something. i need to know more about this guy but there’s definitely symbolism there. 

is it just me or does this dude look like the backstabbing traitorous absolutely motherfucking piece of shit villain that killed tadashi hamada in big hero 6?

~~

taggggg list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan  @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @bikoncon @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption​ @capricorn-stark​ @batshit-birds​ @comics-observer @buticaaba​ 

[odetogyus]

wait

↳pairing/s: idol boyfriend!yugyeom x fem!reader

↳genre: angst (w/ a happy ending lol), idol!au

↳warnings: profanity, mentions of alcohol consumption, trust issues

↳song: wait by maroon 5

✎author's note: idk what I was going through when I wrote this but this was from my 2018 archive and I think this baby needs to see the light of day,, so here it is!

—

"The concert should be done now," you thought to yourself while staring at your phone.

Since your brother's wedding was in 2 days, you didn't have time to fly to Toronto to see your boyfriend and his group perform. You've been on a few tours with them– sometimes working as a stylist for Yugyeom and the whole team. JYP himself even sends you an extra ticket to every single country the boys go to just in case you wanted to come with, but this time however, you had to stay home to help out with your brother's wedding.

It's been almost 3 years since you started dating Yugyeom. What started out as a very unexpected interaction at a dance showcase, later bloomed into something so beautiful. Your relationship wasn't always pretty. In fact, it's true what they say about the first year; it definitely is the hardest.

You've seen them grow, not just as artists but as people, too. You've built such tight relationships with each and every one of them, even the staff members. GOT7 was a family and you were over the moon to be a part of it.

After a few hours of waiting, you decided to take a hot shower before taking a nap. It was a tiring day for you and your family. The wedding was in 2 days and there were a lot of things left to do. You also knew very well that the boys come out exhausted after every show, and so you fought back the slightest feeling of worry in your head and fell into a deep sleep.

–

You woke up to the sound of your phone going off.

BREAKING NEWS

MEMBERS OF THE KPOP GROUP– GOT7, WERE SEEN AT A CLUB IN TORONTO AFTER THEIR CONCERT. MEMBERS MARK TUAN, JACKSON WANG & KIM YUGYEOM WERE SPOTTED HEAVILY INTOXICATED WITH 3 UNKNOWN WOMEN JOINING THEM AT THEIR TABLE. NO OFFICIAL STATEMENTS REGARDING THE INCIDENT HAS BEEN RELEASED BY JYP ENTERTAINMENT.

People you knew and didn't know were tagging you everywhere. Every photograph, every article, they all had their eyes on Yugyeom, and they all had their eyes on you, too.

Your brother's fiancée barged into your room shortly after the news broke out. She was always there for you, and the relationship you shared was a very special one. You trusted her, and you never hid anything from her after the first time she saw you cry.

"Y/N," your almost sister-in-law cooed. You both knew that it was very unlikely of Yugyeom to act that way, but then again, the people surrounding them aren’t always angels. No one really is.

Just then, the name you've been waiting to see finally popped up on your screen, but this time, you weren't sure if you had the guts to answer him.

"Should I answer?" You asked, sounding miserable as ever. Tears escaped your eyes, glistening like broken glass when the sunlight hits the surface.

"You need to hear it from him, Y/N. I'll be in the kitchen, let me know if you need anything."

Accepting the call, you swallowed hard enough and prepared yourself for what could either be the most painful truth you had to hear, or the biggest lie ever you had to believe.

"Y/N.. hey, please let me explain," Yugyeom's voice was incredibly raspy and shaky, and you knew damn well that he was in tears. It's only been a few hours since the incident, so it was safe to say that he was still quite hungover. You knew they were well taken care of, but what happened cannot be rewritten again. What's done is done.

"Go ahead," you answered. Holding back your tears is always the hardest when you know that you have no choice but to endure the pain.

"We had a few drinks, and we had fun. We had so much fun. The boys and I, the staff. Me and Jackson hyung tried the hose thingy, it was so– cool– but, but I'm sorry babe, I'm so sorry–"

"Do you just.. wanna talk when you’re not like.. this, Yugyeom? Because if you're gonna keep doing this, I might as well just hang up and talk to my fucking wall–"

Oh, the theatrics of a brokenhearted beast.

"No.. stop, listen to me, I'm trying to explain!"

"Okay, then do it," you said angrily. The tears from your eyes were flowing down uncontrollably. It was so painful that you couldn't even hear anything else but the sound of his lies breaking you continuously.

"Mark hyung joined us, and we got so drunk, and next thing you know, these random girls sat with us at the table. I don't remember a lot but– I think one even bit my neck– it hurts, and she– I think she sat on my lap but I think I tried to push her off but I passed out. I don't really remember anything else–"

"You know, Gyeom? Sometimes, I wish you knew what it's like to be the one that patiently waits for you to come home, hoping that the worries in your head just disappear. How could you be so irresponsible? Man.. how could you do this to me? To us?"

"Y/N, you know I love you more than anything else but for fuck's sake, will you please believe me? My head hurts so much and you're acting up! Jesus!"

Yugyeom knew not to push your buttons, but in that state of his, he pushed it all, not missing one.

"Well, if that’s the case then I’m sorry. I’m sorry for caring too much, and for being all up in your business all the fucking time. Have fun remembering how you got that stupid hickey of yours, I’m done–"

"No, you are not hanging up on me, Y/N. It was a mistake, okay? God, my head is killing me and I just.. need you to believe me. I drank too much, and I know it’s bad, but I swear to fucking God, I didn’t do anything to hurt you. I would never hurt you. But you need.. to stop being difficult.. you’re making things worse here–"

The tension grew even more. You were both screaming your lungs out at each other, thousands of miles away from the other.

"Really now?" You spat bitterly. That was it for you. The last straw. "Well then, I know my brother invited you to the wedding, but don't bother showing up. I don't want to see you."

Your harsh words must've hurt Yugyeom so much, that his screams of anger just managed to slip out of his already worn out body.

"You're really throwing this all away– huh? Almost 3 years worth of memories? Just because I made a mistake, just because I don't remember everything that happened to me while I was intoxicated? You think I wanted those girls to come close to us? You're so– Y/N, you really think I wanted to hurt you, don't you? So now.. you do this? You're really breaking up with me? On the phone? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Trust, Yugyeom. Trust. You broke the most important thing we built. Do you know how hard it is to do this? To date someone like you? People send me death threats, Yugyeom. Just because I decided to be with you. Do you even know how I feel? Do you know how Mark's girlfriend feels? How Jackson's girlfriend feels? Because I do. We all fucking get it!"

"Okay, trust. But let me ask you Y/N, if things were so difficult, why are you still here? Why date me when you could've left? That's what you wanna do anyway, right? You wanna leave, you wanna be free, right?"

But it’s not freedom if it’s not with you.

The bitter taste of surprise was too much for you. It was never meant to hurt that much, but it did.

"Wanna know why I'm still here, Yugyeom?"

"Why," he spat coldly.

"Because I thought that– loving you, oh god, I thought that that was more than enough to believe that we'd make it. But at this point, maybe we're both just better off alone. Separate ways, Gyeom."

Yugyeom let out a faint laugh. The most painful laugh one could ever laugh. A laugh of defeat.

"You're really doing this, huh? This is what you want? You're really doing this to us–"

"You don't need to show up at the wedding.. I'll just, tell them about us after. We'll meet when we're both ready to talk. Be safe."

"Fuck this, Y/N. Fuck–"

And with that, you hung up.

Your heart was broken once again, not by the same person, but because of the same reason you kept your heart safe and hidden in the first place.

Trust.

Yugyeom was your true love. The man you believed to be was your person. The person you entrusted your fragile self to. The person you needed.

But maybe he doesn't need you.

Putting your phone on silent, you cried yourself to sleep, wishing you'd never wake up.

—

wedding day.

Your eyes were still tired and gloomy, but you were better. You haven't heard from him since the fight and although it hurt you too much to be that person to hang up and end things, you knew better than to mope all day and question your existence.

"You look so beautiful in that dress! I'm so happy you chose that style! It's just perfect," your brother's soon-to-be wife exclaimed. She was the one who held you tight when your heart broke for the wrong guy, and she was also the one who held you when Yugyeom couldn't. It's safe to say she's the sister you never had.

"Thanks, I'm happy to be here. I'm so excited for you and my brother. I don't know what you see in him but I'm thankful you stuck around."

The bride smiled with tears welling up in her eyes. "You stick around for the one you love, Y/N. Even when the storm hits and everything falls apart, wait it out, then love again."

The wedding venue was everything you imagined it to be. A beautiful pathway to the garden, red and white roses everywhere, and photographs of your brother and his soon-to-be wife hung from the stringed lights wrapped around the tall trees to create the most beautiful ambiance.

Your quick peek of the venue ended since it was almost time for the actual ceremony. You were one of the bridesmaids, and you had to be wherever the bride was.

From afar, a tall figure walked towards the venue in a red suit. His dark hair complemented his outfit, and his handsome face was the cherry on top of it all.

Yugyeom showed up to the wedding a few minutes before it actually started. He took his time exchanging words of happiness and support to your brother. Yugyeom's relationship with your brother started out like any other brother – boyfriend relationship, but the two ended up being very close friends. A few moments before announcing the beginning of the ceremony, Yugyeom found his way to his seat. He sat close to the front, but in the corner.

The ceremony began, and every second felt longer than it should have. Closing your eyes, you took slow, but steady, steps to the podium where your brother was. You both agreed to welcome the bride with your whole family present next to him.

dirty looks from your mother

never seen you in a dress that color, no

it's a special occasion

not invited but I'm glad I made it

He looked at you like it's the first time he's ever laid eyes on you. His heart thumped like crazy, seeing how your hair fell perfectly down the length of your spine, in a red dress that exposed most of your back. Yugyeom couldn't resist every urge to kiss you. Every thought of you possibly breaking up with him completely made the poor boy pale. He was madly in love with you, in every possible way, that losing you meant losing everything to him.

The moment you stood next to your brother, your eyes met his. The eyes you hated to look into, but missed the most. Yugyeom stared at you for a long time, before you both snapped out of the trance only you two were in. You saw him mouth a "wow" before facing the bride and giving her a hug.

Walking to your designated seat, your mind went crazy just imagining how hard it would be to keep your composure when Yugyeom would literally be inches away from you.

"Beautiful," Yugyeom said in awe as you sat next to him. "You're beautiful, Y/N."

Without looking at him, you extended your gratitude. "Thank you, Yugyeom," was all you could say.

You both tried so hard to focus on the wedding. For the most part, it felt like no one else was there. You were in the moment, and so was he.

The exchange of vows was definitely something. Every word your brother and his wife exchanged was pure love. And deep down, you prayed that the love you needed was Yugyeom's.

oh, let me apologize

i'll make up, make up, make up, make up for all those times

your love, I don't wanna lose

i'm begging, begging, begging, begging, I'm begging you

As if on cue, Yugyeom held your hand without looking at you. His hand was shaky, and so was yours, but you didn't pull away. You held onto him, too. You held onto him like your life depended on it, and you held onto the person that longs for you the most.

"I do," your brother speaks into the microphone, looking at his woman. Yugyeom holds your hand even tighter, saying the same words your brother said, loud enough for you to hear it. Only you.

I do.

The bride reciprocates, and tears immediately stream down your face as the rush of emotions take over you.

Not wanting to lose the love of your life ever again, you follow suit, and said the same words the bride said. Only for you and Yugyeom, it meant something else. Only something the two of you could understand.

I do.

You both stood firmly, not letting go of each other, when the officiator finally said the words everyone wanted to hear.

You may now kiss the bride.

Not wasting a precious second, Yugyeom pulled you into a tight embrace, holding your head against his chest. His lips planted kisses at the top of your head, and suddenly everything was right in the world.

The scent of his perfume was home to you, and it made you feel so much better.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so stupid, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry," Yugyeom whispered, still keeping you in his arms.

"I'm sorry, too, Gyeom," you answered, trying hard not to let the tears roll down your cheek and ruin your makeup.

Yugyeom finally kissed you.

He kissed you without stealing the spotlight from the newly weds. He kissed you softly, but it was clear that he longed for it. For you. He kissed you just the way you needed to be kissed, reminding you that he is yours in full surrender.

"I love you, Gyeom."

You finally meet his gaze. The prettiest eyes you've ever seen, and he really was the best thing that's ever happened to you.

"I love you, Y/N. I love you."

Wait it out, then love again.

[electricbluebutterflies]

30 + Garcy

Usual let’s-ignore-finale’verse, pre-relationship, PG-ish (Lucy is miserable but somehow swears LESS than I usually write her), and also on ao3.

cuddling out of necessity

This has got to be a level of hell.

January 29, 1881, somewhere in… honestly Lucy does not knowwhat state they are in, or where they parked, or why exactly she needed to tagalong on this little excursion to several days before one of the worst weatherevents in US history. She has never seen this much snow in her life, and on topof everything else the group has gotten separated as per usual and that meansshe is, also as usual, stuck with the only person on the team who apparently hateswinter more than she does.

When she figured this out, a few months ago, it was kindafunny. Her own cold-weather aversion can be blamed on her physical buildcombined with the fact that she grew up in California – fluffy white bullshithas always been a novelty for her at best, and she’s had no baseline for howthat’s changed since the whole time-travel complication led to her being forcedthrough all the weather-related hangups a person could ever have. Flynn,on the other hand is… well, Lucy is trying not to think about his body morethan she has to, but she’s got eyes and he is A Lot. Sufficient to say, wayless likely to get frostbite in some awkward place. And he’s lived a far moreadventurous life than she has, and-

“Get over here,” he growls, snapping her back to the physicalsurroundings of her anxiety spiral. Yep. She’s trying not to think about any ofthat more than she has to.

The entire upper Midwest may be covered in several feet offrozen misery, and the entire fate of Western civilization may or may not rideon whether Wyatt can successfully fake a Norwegian accent this time (Lucy istrying not to think about that either), but at least they have managed to getthe equivalent of a hotel room. This is why she gets stuck with Flynn, becauseout of all the possible combinations they are least likely to kill each otherwhile pretending to be married. She trusts him enough to know he won’t doanything more than hold her hand to make their disguise convincing, and hetrusts her enough to know she probably won’t stab him in his sleep. The bar isset so low.

But more than that, this pattern is becoming a comfort toher. Even if it is a best-case-scenario of a lie, she can see how he’d be adecent husband to… someone. Not her, her brain makes very clear, she does notthink about that man in that way, she does not-

“You’re going to freeze.”

A bit ago, whenever they’d gotten up here – Lucy’s sense oftime has been a little off on this mission, the lack of normal outside visualcues is throwing her off – she’d decided she’s sleeping on the floor this time.Normally he does, gentlemanly instincts distracting from the fact that thefurther back in time they are the less likely a hotel bed is going to becomfortable for all six-foot-whatever of him, but they are in a time and placewhere furniture is designed for nice Scandinavian farm boys and that’s adifferent situation than usual and-

“I’m fine.”

“You look… not fine,” he says too slowly, like he is tryingto be tactful and clearly having a time of it.

“I don’t-“

“Lucy.” He says her name different than anyone else everdoes, like it’s both blessing and curse, and she’d hate him for it if it wasn’talso somehow really hot. (Yeah. She is avoiding a lot right now.) “Do youtrust me?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m voluntarily alone with you. Is thatenough?”

That part is maybe the most normal thing going on here, shehas to admit. Back home – in the space that is not fully home yet, the newsafehouse that will eventually stand within daytrip distance of wherever thehell they are right now – she hangs out in his room more than she’d happilyadmit if anyone asked. It’s quiet. Other people leave her alone when she’s upthere. He somehow found an overstuffed armchair and she’s spent a few nightscurled up in it, always woken up with a quilt draped over her and coffeewaiting. It’s enough to make a lesser woman develop a bit of a crush.

“Then get up here.” Not quite a command but damn close. “Youknow how important body heat is.”

Yes, and she’s done everything in her power to avoid thatsituation with him, but here they are. Might as well.

When she was planning to sleep on the floor, sleeping in allher clothes had sounded like a good idea, but it’ll be a different situation ona questionable mattress with a body twice her size curled up around hers. She undoesher outer dress with about as much gracefulness as she can manage, then hercorset, except it’s stuck, this is what she gets for thinking she can do this onher own, she-

She’s unsurprised he’s behind her, undoing the knot in thelaces before she even had the chance to ask.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, turning to face him now that thedifficult garment is off her body. Chemise and several petticoats will keep herwarm enough, even if the former is a little see-through in current light, and-

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says, motioning to the bed. “I’llfit where you don’t.”

Lucy is half tempted to point out that given the sizedifference this really should be done the other way around, but on the otherhand he’s being legitimately sweet and that’s both too normal and uncommonenough to make her feel weird and-

Yep. Questionable is not enough of a word for this mattress.It is at least above the ground and may have been soft at some point in itsexistence, and there is a blanket pile waiting, and-

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” which is a phrasehe absolutely should not say with his lips that close to her ear but she’s notin the mood to call him out. “Say something if-“

“You’re fine.” She lets him wrap around her from behind,lets his arms encircle her waist. Almost sweet, really. Nothing for her to bescared of.

And honestly, she hasn’t been this close to another humanbeing since her bad-life-choice spiral of about a year ago now, and it is veryeasy to let herself want. To be small and to be held, and to know that she willbe safe. Flynn does not run as warm as one might expect from looking at him,but his size more than makes up for it, and the blankets carefully draped formore coverage on her side will protect the rest. This is, for their circumstances,as good as it’ll get.

She lets herself have this. Warmth without too much skin onskin, awareness of what lines they are not ready to cross. She’s not sure ifthe heartbeat kiss on the side of her head is even real, but the sound of hisvoice on her neck is harder to ignore.

“You can rest,” he murmurs. “It’s alright.”

She closes her eyes and tries to believe.

[myhockeyworld87]

Favorite Season

Ok so I’m making a couple stories that didn’t show up in the tags all new posts again. I apologize if you already read this. 

Word Count: 8,690

POV: Jon’s

Notes: So this is me in my sad bitch hours, so let me apologize in advance to everyone. This story just sort of popped into my head when I listened to Mariah Carey’s Miss You Most at Christmas Time and so I decided to put it down on paper so to speak. Sorry I haven’t been on much lately, but hopefully that will change with the new year. Guess I needed a little cleanse, but I’ll post more on that later. Happy Reading and Happy New Year! I hope you are spending it with friends or family or both. May 2021 bring you peace, joy, health and happiness!

Sidenote: This is not my gif

Second Sidenote: Wishing Jon the best and hoping that he is able to be back on the ice soon!

People always assumed when you talked about what season you loved the most, that you meant hockey, for obvious reasons of course; it was your profession, but once you’d met (Y/N), the word season took on a whole new meaning. You’d kindly respond and tell them no, that wasn’t the season you were talking about. They then assumed that you’d meant spring, for that’s when (Y/N) walked into your life. Well, ran into was more like it. She’d been rushing to the United Center for an interview for a summer internship program, while you were on your way out. Neither one of you had been paying attention, which is how you’d ended up holding her in your arms that first time. You knew from that first moment that you never wanted to let her go.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” (Y/N) said as she tried to regain her footing.

“No, it’s my fault. I should’ve been watching where I was going.” She stepped out of your arms to pick up the strewn contents of her bag and being the gentlemen that you were, you knelt down to help her. “Here let me help you.” You picked up a small paperback book and glanced at the title. “Alors tu apprends le Francais?”

“Oh geez, this is so embarrassing,” she admitted, a blush staining her cheeks. “I just bought this book a week ago, in hopes to learn French but I’m afraid I don’t know a word of what you said…well, other than French.” She laughed softly to cover up her embarrassment, but the sound was like a melody that you wanted to play over and over again.

“I just asked if you were learning French.” You handed the book back to her with a smile, as you both stood up off the ground.

“Well, don’t I feel stupid.” She placed the book back in the bag, then placed it on her shoulder. “But yes, I’m trying to learn French. I’m hoping to go to Paris after graduation. Which gives me approximately one year to learn the language, you so eloquently speak.”

“Thank you, but I grew up speaking it, so it comes naturally.”

“Ah, well, you’re lucky.” She took a step away. “I’ve got to run. Again, so sorry for bumping into you.”

“It really wasn’t your fault.”

“We’ll call it a draw,” she said with a lift of her shoulder as she turned and walked away. It was then you noticed a small snowflake charm on the ground.

“Wait, you forgot this.” She turned back around, meeting you halfway.

“Oh, this must have fallen off my keychain again. Thank you, I would’ve been devasted had I lost this. I owe you one.”

You weren’t sure if they were just words spoken or if she truly meant them, but you decided to take a gamble. “How about dinner?”

Her beautiful eyes got even larger, at your poor attempt to ask her out, and you thought you’d just made an idiot of yourself. “Um…sure.” She dug into her bag pulled out a pen, then tore a page of her learn to speak French book out. She scribbled down her name and number, then handed it over to you. “Call me.” Then she turned and took off again. “Sorry, I’m really late.” She was halfway down the hall as you stood there glancing between her name and her. “Hey what’s your name?” she called out.

“It’s Jon.”

“Make sure you bring my page to dinner. I expect you to teach me how to say whatever’s on that.” The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she disappeared down the hall. You called her later that night, and then the following day and every day after that. By the end of spring her French had improved, but not to the point where the two of you could have full conversations without her questioning words here and there. Yes, that spring had been magical and if someone would’ve asked you as summer started, you probably would’ve said that it was your favorite season. But then summer did start, and well that meant you got to see (Y/N) lounging by the lake in a bikini. Your twenty-year-old self thought there was no better season than this. Again though, that wasn’t the season that would stand out in your mind. Nor would it be fall, when just after six months of dating her you told her you loved her.

It hadn’t been some grand gesture like you see in the movie. Rather it was really quite simple. You’d just lost the season opener to the Nashville Predators. It was your first season as captain of the team and you’d really felt the pressure; more from yourself than anyone else. You were the last to come out of the locker room, and you were feeling pretty defeated, but there stood (Y/N) leaning against the wall, holding a piece of paper which read, ‘Tu Les Auras La Prochaine fois.’ But it wasn’t the sign saying that you’ll get them next time that made your heart skip a beat, it was seeing her smiling face holding it that did it for you. “Je t'aime.” The words were out of your mouth before you could think about it, and you didn’t want to take them back. She looked a bit startled and unsure of what to say. “It means I love you, silly. Man, I really thought your French was getting better.”

“I…I know what you said. I just want to make sure, you meant it.”

“Je t'aime, Te Quiero, Ti Amo, they all mean the same, (Y/N). I love you. I probably should’ve said it the day I met you, but…” She still didn’t say anything and suddenly you were starting to wonder if maybe today was too soon. “You don’t have to say it back.”

“No…I mean…Yes…” She closed her eyes then, gathering her thoughts. “Damn, I said that all wrong. I love you too, Jon. Je t'aime.” Her lips were on yours then, the kiss was like so many you shared these last few months, only there was more heat, more passion as you poured all your love for her into it. “Let’s go home,” she softly whispered when you broke apart, a glint in her eye that told you she wanted to show you how much she really loved you.

Your lips quirked up into a smile. “Anything you want, mon amour.”

Yes, fall definitely was one of your favorite times, but it was Christmas that always held a special meaning.

That first Christmas would always hold a special place in your heart. You could remember it like it was yesterday.

You’d just come home from a quick road trip to Detriot. You dropped your bags off at your place and then headed over to (Y/N)’s apartment. When you got there, caricatures of her and her two roommates were drawn on the door, all three dressed for Christmas and around a cartoon tree. You had a hard time knowing where to knock for all the decorations on the door. (Y/N) came scurrying to the door. “You’re back,” she said jumping into your arms and kissing you soundly. Your lips never left hers as you stepped into the apartment.

“Mmm, I see someone missed me.”

“I always miss you, but I’m glad you’re back. You’re just in time to help me hang the rest of these decorations. I could use your height.”

“Oh, so now you only want me because I’m tall.” She released you then swatted you on the arm.

“No, but it doesn’t hurt. Here can you help me string these lights up?”

You took the strand and hung them up per her instructions. “Boy, you really go all out for Christmas.”

“But of course, don’t you?”

“Not really. I don’t even have a tree.”

“Wait, what? You don’t have a tree?” She repeated your exact words as if the thought was impossible.

“It’s not really a huge deal in my family, besides I’m usually never home because of hockey,” you told her as you finished hanging the lights. (Y/N) walked over to the closet, grabbed her shoes, and put on her coat, as soon as you were done. “Uh, babe, where are you going?”

“To go get you some Christmas decorations.” She opened the door, then looked back when you didn’t follow. “Are you coming?” You had no choice but to follow her.

The rest of the afternoon was spent picking out lights, ornaments, a tree, and more decorations than you could fit in your shopping cart, but you didn’t mind being dragged from store to store as (Y/N)’s face lit up in every one of them. “Ok, star or angel?” she asked you holding up two tree toppers, but before you could answer she kept going. “I mean part of me thinks that we should go with the star. It’s pretty traditional and well they always sing about hanging the star on top of the tree, but I like the symbolism of the angel.”

You looked both of them over when she finally decided to take a breath. “Angel, definitely.” She turned the figurine towards her looking it over, while you walked behind her, letting your hands slide around her waist so you could pull her close. When she turned back to look at you, questioning your choice, you simply said, “You’re my angel and she reminds me of you.” She kissed you then, right there in aisle C8, amidst the Christmas decorations.

“Angel it is then.” She set the tree topper in the cart and the two of you headed to the checkout. On the way there, you spotted a sprig of mistletoe and tossed it in the cart unbeknownst to (Y/N). It wasn’t until the tree was up that night, that she found it. “I don’t remember putting this in the cart.”

“You didn’t. I did.” You took the mistletoe out of her hand and went to hang it up in the archway. “If we’re going for full-on Christmas, we can’t forget the best part.” Grabbing her hand, you lead her over to where you’d just hung the little green sprig.

“You really think you need this, to get me to make out with you?” Your hands encircled her waist as she spoke the words, and you drew her in close to you.

“Well, no. This is just an excuse.” You pecked her lips quickly. “Besides, this is my first time decorating for this holiday, I might as well go all out.”

She returned the kiss, only it was more heated as you slid your tongue inside her. She moaned into your mouth before pulling back. “In that case, let’s make it a little more memorable.” She stepped out of your embrace, her fingers trailing down to the button on your pants. It slipped out of the buttonhole easily, before she slid the zipper down. You sucked in a breath, as her hands snuck inside the waistband of your boxers and she slid them and your pants all the way to the ground. (Y/N) fell to her knees, her hands skating up your thighs as you felt her warm breath fan across your cock. It twitched before you felt her lips place a kiss right on the head. Her lips trailed all the way up and down the length of your shaft, teasing you.

“Babe, you’re killing me.” A wicked glint in her eye was her answer back, as she placed her puckered lips on the head one last time before she finally took you inside her mouth. Your hands threaded through her hair as she sunk down to take most of you in. She took her free hand and wrapped it around the length that didn’t fit inside and gave it a gentle squeeze, then her mouth started to work its own little bit of Christmas magic as she hollowed out her cheeks and sucked on your cock. “Damn, baby that feels so good,” you hissed out, your hips rocking a bit into her mouth. If this was (Y/N)’s idea of Christmas traditions you were all for it, and mistletoe was definitely going to be a staple to your decorating every year.

(Y/N)’s free hand slipped down to your balls where she cupped them and you felt yourself close to bursting. Your body tingled as she hummed around your cock. With her mouth and hands on you it felt like there was enough electricity coursing through your body that you could light up a million strand of Christmas lights at the moment. “(Y/N), I’m going to…” she didn’t stop though just took your cock deeper until you swore you hit the back of her throat. It was that move, that pushed you over as you spilled your seed in her mouth. She swallowed as much as she could, though some dribbled out and you thought it was hot as hell.

That night would forever live in your mind, as you returned the favor by making her cum not once but twice under that same mistletoe. Even though, it was one of your favorite memories from that first Christmas. It wasn’t that, that made Christmas your favorite season. It was the way that (Y/N) embraced the joy of the season in everything she did. Even the simplest things were a little brighter with her around. She made everyone around sparkle and shine just like tinsel on a Christmas tree. Not that she wasn’t always that way, but there was just something special about (Y/N) and Christmas and thus it became your favorite time of year.

There had been no Christmas break that year in the NHL, meaning you had no time to head back home, so (Y/N) had invited you to her house to be with her family. They had welcomed you with open arms and you had found out, why she’d loved Christmas so much. Her family went all out, decorations were everywhere and presents were piled high. They’d included you in all their traditions, from frosting to cookies to playing Christmas charades. They even had you cut a piece of wheat for Baby Jesus’s manager, as was their annual custom to do before opening presents Christmas morning. That first Christmas had set the tone for all those to follow after it.

As Christmas drew to a close that year, you knew one thing for sure. That you never wanted to spend another one without her. It was an easy decision to ask her to move in with you, once she graduated college, and right before that Christmas that year, the two of you bought your first place together. To commemorate the event, (Y/N) had a special ornament made in the shape of a key.

Hockey took precedence the following year, as you won the Stanley Cup and it seemed like the summer and fall flew by. One thing was for sure though, and that was that (Y/N) was with you every step of the way. You knew you had to make that Christmas extra special. It was the first time your family flew in for the holiday. (Y/N)’s family all came to your place as well that year. The house was filled with love and laughter and was about to get a little more exciting.

All the presents had been unwrapped and everyone was lounging in the great room. “I think there’s one more present here,” you pointed to a box you had hidden off in the corner. “Looks like it has your name on it, babe.”

(Y/N) took the gift and looked at the tag. “It doesn’t say who it’s from.”

“Well, that happens from time to time. You know Santa’s elves are really busy this time of year,” her mom chimed in, giving you a little wink. “Go ahead and open it.”

She tore through the layer of paper to the box, then lifted the lid, which happened to reveal a smaller box. “Oh my god,” she exclaimed, laughing as she took that wrapped package out and removed the paper again. Lifting the lid, she found yet another box. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Did you do this?” She was staring straight at you because she knew this was totally out of your character.  All you could do was simply shrug. The unwrapping went on for another six layers until she finally revealed a small black velvet box. All your family gasped as she went to open it. Her eyes were fixated on the container, as she slowly pulled back the lid. The look of excitement on her face was almost too much for you, and then her face fell, exactly like you thought it would. “There’s nothing in it.” She whispered, her voice small as she lifted her eyes to you. You could feel her family and yours glaring at you for pulling a stunt like this. You decided now would be a good time to put everyone out of their misery.

Dropping down to one knee in front of her, you reached into your pocket and pulled out the extravagant ring that you’d had made for her. The gasp from everyone this time was probably heard down the street as they took in their first glimpse of the engagement ring. (Y/N) covered her mouth with her hands and you saw one lone tear slip down her cheek; a happy one, you hoped. “(Y/N), I was going to leave this in the last box, but then I couldn’t. For your real present isn’t this ring. It’s me. That is if you’ll have me.” She was already shaking her head yes before you even had a chance to ask her the question. “I guess what I’m asking is if you’ll spend every Christmas from now until the end of time with me?” Another tear slid down her cheek and this time you knew for sure it was a joyful one. “(Y/FN), will you be my wife?”

“Yes, Jon, yes!” She was down on the ground in your arms kissing you before you could blink. She almost tackled you to the carpet, but your hand reached out and steadied you both on the end table beside you. That’s when you realized the ring popped out of your hand and had fallen somewhere amongst the pile of wrapping paper.

You broke from the kiss immediately. “Shit, I dropped the ring.”

“I don’t care. You’re my present and apparently my future as well.” She locked her lips with yours again. The two of you were so caught up in each other, you forgot about the rest of your family in the room; who had now gone on a search for the engagement ring.

“Found it,” your mom said breathing a sigh of relief. You took it and slipped it on (Y/N)’s finger making it official. That Christmas was definitely one of the most memorable.

The following summer you married. Most people expected the two of you to have this big grand wedding, which would’ve taken another year or more to plan, but neither you nor (Y/N) wanted that. Instead, it was a quiet ceremony with just family and close friends, exactly what you wanted, as you couldn’t wait for her to be your wife. That Christmas was your first as husband and wife, and there was more than one Mr. and Mrs. Toews ornament hanging off the tree.

Payback came your second Christmas as a married couple. There you were opening box after box. “Really babe? I would’ve expected this last year.”

“Gotta keep you on your toes, Mr. Toews.”

You unwrapped yet another box. “So is the Rolex we looked at a couple weeks ago in here?” She mimicked your shrug from two years ago. It had to be the watch, for the shrug was always (Y/N)’s go to move when she didn’t want to tell you that you were right. Sure enough, as you peeled back the paper on the last package, there was the signature green box of the famous company. “Nice try babe, but I guess I outsmarted you this time.” The hinge creaked as you opened the box, but you were shocked when there wasn’t a watch inside, but a positive pregnancy test. “Are you…?”

Your eyes locked with hers and she was nodding her head. “Yes, yes we are.” Your lips were on hers in an instant, as this time you were the one with tears in your eyes.

“I don’t get the big deal over a watch.” You heard your brother say in French in the background.

“They’re having a baby you idiot,” your dad told him, cuffing him upside the head.

Levi Abram Toews was born on July twenty-fifth of the following year, giving you a little bit of Christmas midway through the following year. His first Christmas was probably one of your favorites. At six months old, he was sitting up and just starting to crawl. (Y/N) had to move all the floor decorations up, because he started to chew on all the snowmen that he could grab. Levi’s little eyes sparkled as he was mesmerized by all the twinkling lights and bulbs. You thought you couldn’t love Christmas anymore, but seeing it through your son’s eyes made the holiday even more joyous.

When 2013 Christmas rolled around it had you hanging another Stanley cup ornament on the tree as the Hawks had won yet another one. It seemed as though the moment (Y/N) stepped into your life all the pieces just fell into place. She truly was the angel on top of the tree.

You didn’t think anything remarkable happened the Christmas of 2014 but by Valentine’s day it became clear that your wife was pregnant again, and your new little one had to have been conceived on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning. It too would always hold special meaning whenever you looked at your baby girl. Elizabeth or Lizzie as you liked to call her, joined your little family on September 25th, 2015. Making her the cherry on the cake to winning your third Stanley cup. Lizzie was daddy’s girl and everyone knew it, even your wife. Of course, there were a few ornaments on the Christmas tree that year. One with Lizzie’s picture in the cup, along with her first Christmas ornament, all got hung alongside the three Stanley Cup ornaments and Levi’s bulb. Your tree was getting quite full.

As were your wife’s hands apparently, as you could see (Y/N) getting more and more tired as Christmas 2016 rolled around. Oh, she was still her fun-loving and joyful self, but she also looked completely exhausted most days. She would dust off any concerns and tell you that was the price she paid for having two kids under the age of four. “Babe, why don’t you come and sit down,” you told her having just gotten back from your last road trip before Christmas, which was only three days away.

“I can’t. I still need to finish wrapping the gifts, then I’ve got cookies to bake, and get the food prepped for Christmas Eve dinner.”

“What can I do to help?” You asked rubbing her shoulders as she worked in the dining room wrapping the presents since the kids were finally in bad.

“You could…” She spun around to talk to you and that’s when your heart fell out of your chest as she collapsed right into your arms. Your blood ran cold as you saw color draining from her face. Gently as you could, you laid her down on the floor, calling out her name. “(Y/N)…baby…(Y/N) please wake up.” You ran and grabbed your bag knowing that you had smelling salts in there that the team used every now and then. Breaking it open, you wafted the scent over her nose, praying the whole time for her to wake back up. It took a bit, but eventually, she did rouse. “Oh thank god.”

“What happened?”

“I was going to ask you. You just fainted in my arms.” She made a move to get up but you could see that another bout of something had hit her again. “No just stay there. I’m calling the team doctor.”

“Jon, don’t. I’m sure I’m just tired. I’ll be fine.”

It was too late for her to try to change your mind as you already had the doctor dialed up. He asked a few questions, basically checking to see if she could be pregnant, but that wasn’t an option as she’d just finished her period two days ago. He recommended that you head to the hospital and get (Y/N) checked out. It was a fight to get her there, especially so close to Christmas, but eventually, she gave in and once her parents came to watch the kids, the two of you were on your way.

You rushed into the emergency room, where (Y/N) went through a series of tests. You hadn’t realized until that moment, when (Y/N) was laying in the hospital bed, that she’d lost some weight and seemed very fatigued. Your wife was always this strong and unmovable force, yet right then she looked so frail. Mentally, you kicked yourself for not noticing these things earlier.  After hours of testing, the emergency room doctor came in to speak to you both. He told you that there was definitely something off in her blood work and that he wanted to admit her for further testing. (Y/N) put up a fight, not wanting to be in the hospital another minute. She insisted she had way too many things to do than just laying around waiting for them to tell her she would be fine.

“You’re staying and that’s final.” She argued with you, but in the end, you won out again.

Thankfully, she was out of the hospital by Christmas Eve and when she came home, her parents and yours had most everything done so that it was a perfect Christmas for your children. It was two days after Christmas that you received the worst news of your life. (Y/N) had been diagnosed with stomach cancer. The doctor wasn’t sure what stage it was in but wanted her for more testing before they would try and figure out treatment. It couldn’t have come at a worse time, as you were just gearing up for a ten-day road trip.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Damnit Jon, you are going. You’re the captain of the team and they need you,” she shouted back to you. The two of you had been arguing since you put the kids in bed. Your parents were still there, they had decided to stay a little longer with (Y/N) being sick to help out with the kids and her parents were only minutes away, but none of that mattered.

“I’m also the captain of THIS team,” you said pointing back and forth between the two of you. “And right now, that’s more important.”

“It’s just some testing at this point. If there’s anything more serious, you can be on the next plane back here.” Her voice was quieter now, and you couldn’t tell if she was just weak from cancer or tired of fighting, but you could see the determination in her eyes not to lose this battle. You needed her to keep that same look for whatever was to come and it was for that reason alone that you found yourself agreeing to go on the trip.

She was right, you were only a phone call away, and she could facetime you in on all her appointments, which she did. It was not the way you wanted to find out that her biopsy showed her having stage two stomach cancer and that her chance of survival was thirty-five percent.

You could see her crumbling on the screen, her mom and dad beside her for support, but it wasn’t enough. You should’ve been there damnit. Why in the hell had you listened to her? You wanted to scream through the phone but couldn’t; you needed to stay calm and be there for her. “Baby, look at me,” you said in a gentle yet reassuring voice, and her tearstained eyes locked with yours. “We’re going to beat this.” She sniffled loudly, then straightened her back, that steely determination taking over.

“Of course, we will.” What you didn’t know, was that she cried the entire ride home in the backseat of her parents’ car, or how she made her dad ride around the block several times before going inside to see your children. All the while, you were on the phone with the team doctor finding out everything you could to help your wife. The two of you found the best specialist in North America and had her records sent there. A week later, you were by (Y/N)’s side at UPMC Medical Center in Pittsburgh determining the best course of treatment.

She would do several rounds of pinpointed radiation to shrink the tumor before they would go in and remove it. It would all be followed up with some intense chemotherapy. The doctor told her she would more than likely lose her hair, and that it would make her extremely weak. They could set everything up to happen in Chicago so that she wouldn’t have to leave your home.

The surgery, which took place in February and caused you to miss a few games, went very well. The two of you stayed in Pittsburgh five days before flying back on a private plane home to your children. Who didn’t seem to understand why mommy couldn’t pick them up and carry them around anymore. Your parents and (Y/N)’s were godsends, as (Y/N) insisted you go back to hockey. You hated being away from her, though with every day that past you could see her strength building up. That was until the chemotherapy started.

There were to be six to eight rounds of chemotherapy that (Y/N) was going to have to take. They would fall in four-week intervals. You were there the day she got her first one. It took over eight hours for her to receive the treatment through her port that the surgeon had put in. She seemed to take it really well or so you thought until you found her hunched over the toilet a couple days later throwing up. She tried to shake it off, act like it was nothing new, telling you it was just like being pregnant again, but you knew better. You could hear the tremble in her voice, see the tears she fought so hard to hold back, while you held back your own. You’d give anything to take this pain away from her, but you couldn’t.

It wasn’t until round three that her hair started falling out in clumps. She was sitting at the breakfast table, the kids at her parents when she brushed it back to pull it out of her face. Strands of hair covered her fingers, a look of horror covering her face. “It’s ok baby, we knew this would happen.”

She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. “I just thought that I made it this far with it, that maybe they were wrong.” You were at her side in a minute, holding her as she started to shake from head to toe.

“Let it out (Y/N). It’s ok to be sad or mad or anything. I’m right here.” It was the first time that she’d cried about it, at least in front of you.

“It’s not fair Jon,” she sobbed into your chest. “I want to be there to watch my kids grow up.”

“And you will, mon amour. We’re going to fight this every step of the way.” She cried for a solid hour, as you held back tears of your own, telling her in a calming voice that she was going to beat this. All the while being scared as hell that she might not.

Later that day, you helped her shave every strand of hair from her head. It was the hardest thing you’d had to do in your life. You’d rather take a ninety mile an hour puck to your face then to see your wife this broken and defeated. In the end, she took a deep breath as she looked herself in the mirror, eyes still glassy from tears. “You will not beat me,” she told her reflection, then looked at your reflection. “I will fight this with every breath I have.” Your lip trembled as you fought back the river of tears that threatened to spill over at her strength. Your wife was a fighter, and you knew she would conquer this disease and you’d be beside her every step of the way.

That summer you spent every available second with (Y/N) and the kids. Treatments became a normal part of your routine. The problem was with everyone, you saw your wife getting weaker and weaker. She was practically skin and bones, even though she would force herself to eat. When she took her final round of chemotherapy in October, you breathed a sigh of relief. The doctors said they wouldn’t know if the chemo had worked for a few weeks and so you waited. Praying every night that her cancer was gone once and for all, and your wife would no longer have to suffer.

A month later, you were back in Pittsburgh, sitting in front of the doctor who held your entire fate in his hands. “I’m afraid it’s not good news,” he started to say, and your face drained, while (Y/N) gripped your hand tightly. “The chemotherapy hasn’t responded as we’d like.” Everything he said after that was a garbled mess. Your mind clouded over and there was a loud ringing in your ears. You wanted to grab this man by the throat and tell him to make your wife better. That was his job, wasn’t it? He was supposed to heal people, and damn it he should’ve done that for (Y/N). “I’m not giving up hope yet.” It was those words that finally drug you out of the blinding rage that was coursing through your veins. He proceeded to say that there was an experimental drug and that they had no way of knowing if it would work, but it might be something the two of you would be interested in trying. He handed you a bunch of paperwork to go home and read before making any decisions.

“I think you should take it,” you told her the minute you got in the car.

“Maybe we should read what he gave us first.”

“It doesn’t matter what that says (Y/N) if it means that you get to stay here with me and the kids; I think we should do it.”

“It’s not a 'we’ Jon. It’s me who has to do this. What if it has some long-term effects or…” she started to list scenarios, that meant nothing to you.

“The only long-term thing here is that you’re dead. Do you want that? Because I don’t.” You were yelling at her, and you didn’t want to, but couldn’t she see that this drug was your only option. “I need you (Y/N). The kids need you.” This time you couldn’t hold back the tears as they started to fall hard and fast down your cheeks. “Damn it, I love you and I’m not willing to lose you. Do you understand me?”

You could barely see her swallow hard as tears flooded your vision, and while you knew you needed to be strong for her; you were finally breaking. “Ok,” she whispered softly, and you grabbed her holding her to your body as close as you could with the console in the middle of the car. “I’ll do it.”

“You will?” you mumbled into the crook of her neck. You could feel the dampness of her shirt from your tears but all that mattered was that she agreed to take the treatment.

“Yes,” she answered pulling you back so she could look in your eyes. “I’d do anything for you, my love.” You kissed her then pouring every ounce of love you had for her into it.

The following day, after reading through all the paperwork, (Y/N) called the doctor and got set up to take the new drug. Once you were back in Chicago, she started treatments right away. The drug was aggressive, even more so than her first round of chemotherapy and within two weeks she wound up in the hospital, her immune system so compromised that you had to suit up in a gown and mask every time you went to see her. The kids weren’t allowed in, which killed her, but you had them facetime her every day.

As Christmas grew near your spirits were low. (Y/N) insisted that you put up all the decorations just as you had every year. She ordered the kids’ gifts online so that they wouldn’t miss out on a single thing. Her only term for taking the new treatment was that you continue to play hockey. Her parents stepped up and watched the kids while you were away. You were just returning home from a road trip, about a week before Christmas when you stopped in at the hospital to see (Y/N) before heading home. When you walked into her room, you barely recognized her. Her frail form looked almost lifeless as she lay in the hospital bed, so much so that you had to check the rise and fall of her chest to make sure she was still breathing. Thankfully she was.

“Salut mon amour,” you said in a soft gentle voice, wanting her to know that you were there but at the same time not wanting to wake her if she was asleep. She turned her head to the side to see you, a weak smile gracing her chapped lips.

A scratchy “hi,” was all she was able to muster back. You took your gloved hand and held hers in it. God, what you wouldn’t give to just touch her skin and feel her once again. But since you couldn’t, you stroked your thumb back and forth over her palm, hoping that she could somehow draw from your strength.

“How are you feeling today?”

The smile dropped, and so did your heart. “I don’t think this is working Jon.” It was too soon to tell. Even the doctors had said that. She just needed to hang on, give the drug more time to work. “I think we need to start preparing for the worst.” Her hand squeezed yours, whether it was for support or to support you, you weren’t sure.

“No, baby, I’m not ready for you to give up yet.”

“I know Jon, and I’m fighting I really am. But it’s just so hard…Hard to breathe…Hard to move. I don’t feel like me anymore.” A tear slipped out and though you had a glove on your hand, you reached up and wiped it away.

“You’ve just gotta fight (Y/N). You’ve got to do it for Levi, and Lizzie, and god baby please do it for me.” You were begging now, both her and god. You couldn’t lose her, you weren’t ready to live your life without her yet.

“I will my love…..but Jon, there may come a day when I can’t fight anymore and I need you to support me on that.” You knew what she was talking about, that if the doctors wanted to put her on a ventilator, she didn’t want that. Though if it could save her…you weren’t sure you could follow her wishes.

You nodded your head not willing to put in words something you couldn’t promise just yet. You stayed there with her for a while; until she basically kicked you and told you to go home and get some sleep. The moment you walked in the door of your house, you screamed in anger. There were all the decorations that (Y/N) made you hang with the kids and you hated every one of them. They were torturous reminders that your wife wasn’t there this Christmas, that she couldn’t be with you and the kids. You grabbed the strand of garland that hung on the archway into the living room and ripped it down, throwing the ball of mistletoe across the room. It felt good, and so you tore down some more, just letting all your anger and frustrations out. It was a side of you that hardly ever came out even on the ice. Oh, you’d definitely dropped the gloves a time or two but only when someone really deserved it. Only now there was no one to fight. It was a disease and you couldn’t throw it up against the boards or punch it in the jaw. So instead, you took it out on the decorations. Every wreath that hung on the wall you ripped it apart with your bare hands. Every Santa figurine that sat on the table, you smashed against the floor. You were just about the tear the stockings off the fireplace when you stopped. It was seeing your wife’s name knitted into the fabric that got you and instead you carefully took it off the hook and brought it to your face as if it were her and you could simply hold her that close once again.

“Please (Y/N), please don’t leave me,” you called out to the void that was your house, as you dropped to your knees, tears freely flowing down your face. It was all too much. You’d finally reached that breaking point and just laid on the flooring sobbing and praying to God to save your wife. It was the only Christmas wish you had. Sure, you’d prayed when you were younger asking god to make you a better hockey player and then that you would be drafted in the NHL, but never in your life had you wanted anything like you wanted this, for your wife to be fine, for her to live a happy healthy life with you and your children. You’d trade everything you had if you could.

At some point, you picked yourself up and looked at the disaster that you’d made in what was once a storybook Christmas home. (Y/N) would be so disappointed in what you had done, not to the house, but to the mess that your kids would walk into when they would come home. You cleaned up the broken shards of glass, restrung the garland, and tried to salvage what you could of the other decorations you’d destroyed yet somehow the house still seemed to be missing something. There were tons of extra decorations in the closet, as your wife seemed to always buy more and more every year, well you couldn’t really blame (Y/N) as you tended to help as well. So, you dragged yourself upstairs to see what else might try and make the place a bit more festive.

It was in rummaging through the closet that you stumbled upon it. It was a simple container, not very big with the word “Love,” written in script on the top. You peered inside and were stunned to find dozens of envelopes, each marked with either yours or your children’s name on them. It was then that you realized they were goodbye letters from your wife, as some were addressed to Levi and Lizzie on their eighteenth birthdays or their graduations. There was even one for each of them on their wedding day. A gasp left your mouth at the realization that she didn’t plan on being around for any of these occasions. You weren’t sure what hurt more, the fact that she was giving up or that you’d be facing a life without her.

All that anger and hurt from moments ago came surfacing back and you had the urge to punch your fist through the wall this time, though you fought it for the sake of your kids. Flipping through the envelopes you saw different ones with your name on them. You picked up the one that was on top of the pile marked 'To Jon on Christmas Eve.’ It was heavier than what you thought and you realized that it wasn’t a letter but a video. Taking the box, you headed downstairs to see what your wife had to say.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t be watching this, as you hit the play button on the remote control, yet you couldn’t stop yourself. Maybe there would be something on here that could help you convince her to fight harder. It took a second for (Y/N) to come on the screen. She looked weak, yet still as beautiful as ever as she sat in the chair up in your bedroom. Her wig was on, probably in hopes that you’d remember her like she once was and not the sickly cancer patient she feared everyone saw.

“Bonjour, mon amour.” God, you loved how she spoke French to you. She’d been so earnest in her studies those early days and now was rather good at it. “I’m not sure where to start with this. I want you to know that this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I hope that you’re watching this after the kids’ are in bed and you’ve put all the presents under the tree. God, how I’ll miss doing that with you, but I know that you will make this Christmas and every one after special for our two little angels. They are so lucky to have a dad like you, just like I was so lucky to have you as my husband.” Tears were streaming down (Y/N)’s face as she spoke to you on the screen, just as they were flooding your eyes.

“I love you so much,” she swallowed hard, the movement visible as her body was frail. “Even more than I love Christmas.” It was a small attempt at humor on her part, and you wish that you could smile at it, but at the moment all you had were tears of sadness. “Remember that first Christmas when we bought the tree topper together. You told me then that I was your angel. Well, now I truly am. I hope that when you place her on top of the tree, you’ll know that I’m smiling down at you and our babies.” Your eyes automatically went to the angel on the tree. Her soft smiling eyes shining right into yours. A sob broke from you then, as you realized how much the angel looked like your wife. She had the same eyes, the same hair, and the same soft easy smile that melted your heart.

“I’m going to miss this time of year with you; the laughter, the joy, the mistletoe. It was always my favorite season with you, though you made everyday special.” You knew how she felt, for you had a feeling you’d miss her most at Christmas time. “Jon, I’d give anything to be with you right now. Just know that if I had to do it all again, I would. I’d go through every treatment, every needle, every single bit of it, if it meant one more Christmas with you…hell, even if it was one more day with you.” She wiped away the tears then, visibly collecting herself to continue on with what she had to say.

“But I want you to be happy, Jon. I want you to love again. I want you to find joy in not only Christmas but every day, even if I’m not there. And I can see you sitting there, shaking your head and telling me it’s not going to happen, and maybe it won’t tomorrow or the next day, but I hope it does someday. I love you too much to not want you to love again. Be happy, you deserve it.” You weren’t sure how she could ask this of you, there was no way that it would ever happen if she wasn’t in your life.

“Bumping into you was the best thing that ever happened to me. You were the best thing to happen to me, Jonathan Toews and for that I thank you. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend, husband, or father. You will always be the love of my life…and what a life we had.” There was still more of it to be had, you just knew there had to be. “I love you, Jon. Merry Christmas, my love.” It took another second and then the screen went blank.

“I love you, (Y/N),” you whispered up the angel smiling down at you. Tears clouded your vision until all the lights just seemed to melt into one giant one. This was not how things were meant to end. You laid your head back against the sofa and closed your eyes and just prayed. Even though you’d just done that hours ago, you asked God to do the impossible, to give you a Christmas miracle.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep, for you woke up sometime later to a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Jon, sweetie, wake up, my love.” You could swear that was your wife’s voice. It took your eyes a minute to regain focus, but it was your wife standing over you, in Christmas pajamas, her hair tied back in a ponytail. Her hair, you thought vaguely, not some wig because she’d lost all hers, and she looked healthy, strong in fact.

“You’re here? You’re ok,” you said jumping up and running your hands down her arms.

Her smile told you then that it hadn’t been a dream like you thought, and you looked over to the screen on the tv, to see the Christmas message she’d sent you back up on the screen. “You were watching it again, weren’t you?” she asked.

You had to shake yourself to get the cobwebs out of your brain. It was six years ago that you found the video, though you’ve replayed it every year since. That first time watching it you’d wanted to run to the hospital and shake some sense into your wife, but something stopped you. Maybe deep down you knew she had never truly given up, for she had called you Christmas Eve saying that she was feeling much better. The kids had gotten to see her on Christmas day, though there were still precautions taken. It was a week later that she was home and with you as her strength continually improved. She grew stronger every day after that as well. It was months later that her cancer was declared gone by the doctors, the new treatment having saved her life and yours in the process. She was a survivor and you thanked God every day for giving you that miracle you’d asked for so long ago. “I still don’t know how you found them,” she said to you. “Or why you continue to watch that video every year.”

“I watch it because it reminds me of how close I was to losing you.” Your arms encircled her waist now, drawing her closer to you. “And how magical the Christmas season is as it brought you back to me.” You gazed into her loving eyes, yours shining with that same love you saw in hers. “And to hold you a little tighter each day.” You did exactly as you said, squeezing her so that no space was between either of you, before dropping a kiss to her lips.

“I’m not sure it was the Christmas season that helped me find the strength to fight. I’m pretty sure it was you, Mr. Toews.” Her lips found yours in a soul-stealing kiss, as she poured all her love for you into it.

You maneuvered the two of you under the archway where the sprig of mistletoe always hung. “Well, Mrs. Toews, Christmas will always be my favorite time of year, though I treasure every day with you. Joyeux Noel, mon amour.”

“Merry Christmas, Jon.”  

[wackybuddiemewbs]

Random Buddie Fic Snippets - no title, just (bad) vibes

Here’s to another snippet of things that ghost through my Word files. This one’s particularly headache-inducing for me personally. For one, trigger warnings galore. And then I have *checks file* 41k (!!!) words worth of non-fic noted down, but it’s really just unassembled bits and pieces of mostly dialog. Grrrrrrr. 😖

Since such a fic would take a lot more planning... which is basically the antithesis of me for all intents and purposes... I pester you with snippets like they are pestering me. Said it before and can only reiterate: I make you suffer with me. *cackles*

Basically, the story plays on the idea that Eddie and Buck grew up together due to plot convenient purposes and meet again at the fire station after years apart. Anyway, here’s to more madness mingled with angst! Cheers!

Buck slings his duffel bag over his shoulder when his phone vibrates. Sighing, he shifts his weight to take it out of his pocket and take the call. A smile creeps up his lips when he sees the picture flare up on his screen.

“Hey, what’s up, Mads?”

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know that you were right about that little bakery downtown. It’s so worth the twenty minute trip,” she nearly groans. And Buck can relate. When he found that authentic Mexican bakery on a long run through the city, he may or may not have shed a few tears of happiness. And he may or may not have bought pastry worth a hundred bucks.

Totally worth it to run all those extra miles for the carbs, though.

“How many conchas did you have?” Buck asks, chuckling softly.

“I’m pleading the fifth.”

“Did you drive back to get more?” he questions, though Buck is fairly sure what the answer is already, which comes promptly, “Which is why I might be late for work.”

Buck laughs, leaning back against his car. “They are in the top 5 of conchas I ever had, which is saying something. So yeah, I get the feeling.”

And he should really know, he’s had the best in the world and no. 2 and 3 also. Though those are not up for sale.

“So, I need a bit of distraction to keep myself from digging through the remains of the bag before I make it to the car,” she tells him.

“Sure, what do you want to hear?”

“Howie told me that you’re getting someone new on the team today. Are you excited?”

“… Oh, ugh, sure.” Buck can feel his jaw cramping at that.

“You know you just sounded more excited about me being on a sugar high thanks to Mexican pastry than you are about your new teammate arriving.”

He’d hoped to avoid that conversation before he got over with it. Because that’s how he normally rolls with it. He gets over with it.

Works with band-aids and most situations that give you discomfort.

But Maddie has maybe not the sixth but seventh sense apparently big sisters seem to inherit by birth, so it appears that not even the most amazing conchas up for sale in all of Los Angeles will spare him having that conversation now. Which is the equivalent of tearing duct tape off, but slowly.

“I’m a huge concha fan, what can I say? And sure, it’s cool. It’d be nice to have a partner on the team, like, permanently, like Chim and Hen, more like.”

Buck rolls his eyes back as far as they will into his skull. It’s a small wonder that Maddie doesn’t buy his bullshit. He was fine just dodging the topic until now, it’s what normally works best for him. But yeah, Maddie just knows how to coax it out of him, and he loves and hates her for it.

“Talk to me, Buck.”

Buck looks up to the sky. “… I guess I’m just a bit nervous.”

“You are nervous? Don’t you think it’s up to the new teammate to be a bundle of nerves?”

“That’s kind of my thing, though,” Buck argues.

He has been ever since Bobby announced that they’d get a newbie, not a probie, but someone to be on the team with them. Dutifully, Buck laughed at the comments about how Bobby seemingly hired him a babysitter to make sure he doesn’t do reckless stuff all the time.

The nervous energy settled in when he got home that day and his leg wouldn’t stop bobbing well into lying in bed, trying to sleep. He only fell asleep halfway through reading the Wikipedia list of minor planets named after people.

“Then why do you feel nervous?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You know you can tell me,” she says softly.

Buck closes his eyes. He understood by now that yes, he can. But that doesn’t mean he wants to. Most of the time, Buck wished he didn’t have to tell anyone anything ever again and simply exist in the here and now. Because the here and now is sunny and tastes of pretty damn awesome conchas.

“I know it’s stupid, but…” His voice trails off.

And maybe she can read his mind, Buck wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be the case, because Maddie goes on to say, “You know he’s not taking your place, right?”

“What? Yeah, I mean…” Buck chews on his bottom lip. Whenever Maddie starts to talk like that, he feels like he’s sitting with a therapist. And suddenly, what he wants to believe are just his antics sounds like food for the shrinks.

“This is supposed to be your partner. Someone to have your back, not stab you in the back,” Maddie points out.

“Rationally, I know all that. It’s just…” He stretches out his legs.

“It’s just what?” she asks in a gentle tone of voice.

“What if he’s better than me?”

What if they realize that he’s expendable after all? What if someone comes along who can do things better than Buck without the attitude? What if he can’t prove his worth anymore because that guy can do it just as well, maybe even better?

“Then I will be glad because that means someone capable is watching out for my baby brother,” Maddie answers, pulling Buck back to the current conversation, not the fictional ones inside his head.

“What if we end up hating each other’s guts?” Buck continues. He had to restrain himself from actually typing a list of all those questions on his phone when his mind went spiraling upon receiving the news. Because that’s what’s been going on ever since Bobby announced. And Buck knows how stupid it is, but his brain didn’t get the memo. There are so many what ifs that it’s making him dizzy thinking about them.

“Then you talk about it like actual adults. And anyway, no one can hate you to your guts. You’re amazing.”

Buck has to fight hard not to blush. “Thanks, but you’re biased because you’re my sister.”

His heart still beats a little faster every time he says those words out loud. Something that comes so light and casual these days, though it isn’t. It is closer to what it should be. Because it should be casual, natural, given.

But apparently, the world didn’t get that memo yet. Seemingly a pattern.

“And as your sister, I’m also always right.”

“Are not.”

“Are too.”

He laughs. She chuckles back.

“Listen,” Maddie continues. “Just be yourself. You’re going to figure it out. This is exciting, Buck. More people to add to your family, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks,” he croaks.

“I’ll call you during lunch time, unless you’re out on a call. And then I want all the details on the newbie.”

“Alright. Pro tip: Put the bag of pastries in the trunk of your car. Only way to keep your paws off of them while driving.”

“I may actually crawl back, but yeah, it’d require a lot more effort.”

He smiles. “Drive save.”

“Will do.”

“Alright, I’m heading in,” Buck says, pushing away from his car. “Or else I will be running late, too.”

“Love you, little brother.”

“Love you, too. Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Buck hangs up and stuffs his phone back into his pocket.

Maddie is right. There is nothing to be nervous about. He has a team now. No one is leaving. New people are arriving. That’s how it works. That’s normal. And he gets to pester the newbie. So he should really be excited, as Maddie said. Buck knows he should focus on that. On how great this could turn out to be. On having a partner. Someone to have his back. All the time.

He sucks in a deep breath as he comes to stand in front of the door leading inside the fire station.

“The door is not closed,” he mutters with closed eyes, grabbing the handle. Buck pushes inside. He is greeted by the familiar hum of the fire station coming to life. People are talking over coffee, some are still fastening the buttons on their shirts as they make up the stairs.

And there’s no place he’d rather be. Buck knew that the moment he first walked into the station for the first time, and that assessment hasn’t changed since.

Buck makes for the locker rooms to change, not wanting to run late like Maddie. Once changed into his uniform, Buck finds himself a little more at ease. Athena once pointed out that they wear those uniforms as a way of protecting themselves. You take them off after work and leave all the bad behind that you’ve witnessed on a call. For Buck, the other way is just as true, though.

When he puts on that uniform on, he can leave his anxious, knee-bobbing self behind and do something meaningful. Because that’s what he found here, beside the team that means so much to him. He found a purpose. A way of answering a calling that lies far back in a past he can’t and won’t remember. To save lives.

Buck looks at his reflection in the mirror, straightens out the collar, makes sure his hair sits perfectly. His glance lingers on the name tag a moment longer, brushes his fingers over the metal plate, the one thing he can’t fix or straighten out.

But that won’t make me flinch. Ever.

“Buckaroo! Time for coffee and talk! I need new material on that show Denny and you are watching and that you need to update me on, so I don’t have to watch it!”

Buck smiles as he closes the locker to see Hen standing there with two cups of coffee.

“Coming.”

But that fixes a whole lot already.

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

Hen sips her coffee in silence as Bobby goes on about who is doing what for the day. She is glad that she isn’t assigned truck cleaning duty. That’s one of the best things about newbies and probies coming in. They get to do the dirty work for a bit. She had to jump those hoops, too, like everyone did, so it only seems fair.

Chim nudges her in the side, pulling her out of her musings. “Have you seen the newbie yet?”

She nudges him back a bit harder to tell him wordlessly that he is supposed to stop doing that. “If I had, don’t you think I would’ve told you by now?”

“Just saying, being late on the first day is not a good sign.”

“Can I help you with something, Han, Wilson?” Bobby calls out. “Care to share with the rest of the team?”

Buck laughs beside them, earning himself a nudge from Hen. That kid is going places sometimes, but Hen learned to love him fiercely after he stopped being a punk.

Fine, he’s still a punk sometimes, but we got to see there’s a heart of gold underneath all the punk and muscle and hair gel.

He grew on her the way he managed to grow on anyone, even the Captain who doesn’t like to admit that more than anyone around the station. He fired the boy first week in, and it was well-deserved, but he proved capable and kind.

Hen knew she was done for this humanoid golden retriever when she fussed over not having a babysitter for Denny and Buck jumped in after he’d just done a double-shift. She and Karen were still working things out and he just made the room, even though the boy deserved bed more than anyone else. Still, he took Denny to the park, finished homework with him, and got him to go to bed even though the kid is not so much a negotiator as he is a small dictator when it comes to bedtime. Karen and she found Buck passed out, snoring like a lawnmower, a book still in his lap while sitting next to Denny’s bed.

“Nothing, Cap,” Chimney answers. “Just sharing excitement about the newbie.”

“You’ll meet him shortly. He had to pick up his gear first and talk to the higher-ups another time. Once he arrives, you can pester him with questions as I know you will.”

“On it, Cap.”

Bobby rolls his eyes, but then his mind goes back to the clipboard and the rest of the chores yet to be divided among the firefighters on shift. The rest of the morning routine goes without further incident, so the three are soon walking down the stairs to their designated task of checking their stocks on medical equipment.

“Okay. That is a beautiful man,” Chimney says, suddenly stopping in his tracks.

Hen trains her eyes on the dark-haired Latino, putting on a shirt. That should be the newbie, then.

“Where’s the lie? And I like girls.”

“Eddie…,” Buck breathes beside her.

Hen whips her head around at the sound.

“Wait, you know this guy?” Chim asks, but Buck doesn’t say anything. Instead, he starts to walk towards the new guy, or almost staggers, she should rather say. The newbie only takes notice of him when his head pops out from the shirt.

“Buck?”

To Hen, it feels like the two just go in slow motion while the rest of the fire station is crazy and busy as always. As though the whole world disappeared around them.

She can’t make out whatever words may be exchanged between them before the new guy covers the last few steps between them and pulls Buck against him in a tight hug. Shock is written all over his face, but also huge relief. Though Hen honestly wished they stood the other way around, because she would like to know just what expression is flitting across her little golden retriever’s face.

“What on earth is going on here?” Chimney mutters.

“I ain’t got no clue.”

The newbie pulls away, smiling over both ears, both hands deftly resting on Buck’s arms. Even though Hen still can’t see Buck’s face, it seems that the guy is doing all the talking for a change. Then he is hugging him all over again.

“I repeat, what on earth is going on here?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Before they can overcome their paralysis, Buck starts to move, gesturing behind himself. The new guy nods with the brightest of smiles, not once letting go of Buck’s arm as they start to walk towards them.

Her confusion is multiplied by the way Buck carries himself, eyes downcast, looking nothing but nervous.

Did someone exchange the 118’s golden retriever this morning, or what’s going on here?

“... can’t believe we meet again in this place of all places,” she can hear the new guy say as they approach.

“S, same.”

Buck is stuttering. To repeat the repeat: What on earth is going on here?

“We have so much catching up to do.”

“Yeah.”

“Buckaroo?” Hen calls out, or maybe demands. She no longer cares for the details here. She needs to get down to the bottom of this. Fast.

“Oh, sorry, I just… this is Eddie.”

“Hi.”

“Hi Eddie, it is a pleasure meeting you. We will greet you good and proper in only just a moment. Hold the line,” Hen says, before turning her attention back to Buck. “Now to you, Buckaroo. Spill the beans.”

“Yeah,” Chim agrees.

But Buck is not forthcoming. Boy looks like a fish out of the water, his mouth opening and closing without any sounds coming out. This makes the sirens ring inside Hen’s head, not the ones at the station. Because their Buckaroo never stops talking, even when he should sometimes, and even when he wants to stop talking, he will keep talking. So him not finding anything to say may or may not force Mother Hen to have to look after her punk chick here.

“We grew up together,” Eddie says after a pause, still all soft smiles and maybe even softer curls, by the looks of it. Hen will worry about that later, too. “I honestly had no clue he was working at this station, let alone that he was in L.A. Color me surprised. Abuela will not believe this.”

“Abuela?”

“My grandmother. She’s the one who fostered him before…,” Eddie continues, but then stops himself when he notices the look of sheer panic on Buck’s face. “They do not know this.”

Buck shakes his head.

“Dios.”

“Wait, you were in foster care?” Chimney almost cries out.

“In Texas?” Hen adds, her mind still short-circuiting thanks to that input.

“Yeah. I was adopted by the Moores after that.”

Chimney gapes at him. “You were adopted?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait, they don’t know about that either?” Eddie asks, now almost as frantic as they are.

Welcome to the club, hon.

“Now they do,” Buck mutters.

“But Maddie isn’t adopted. I should know.” Chimney lifts his index finger.

“Right,” Hen agrees.

Eddie makes a face. “Who’s Maddie?”

“My girlfriend, Buck’s sister.”

“You have a sister?” Eddie slaps his hand against Buck’s arm, shock taking the place of confusion.

“Wait, you grew up with him and don’t know his sister?”

“It’s a long story,” Buck sighs.

“Like how you’re Texan?” Hen scoffs.

Buck holds up his hands. “Okay, guys, can we stop spiraling for a second?”

Hen opens her mouth to give him a piece of mind, but she’s abruptly cut off by their captain standing at the top of the stairs. “Buck! I could use a hand up here!”

“On my way, Cap!” Buck yells back, the amount of relief to opt out of the conversation more than imminent. “Sorry, duty calls!”

“Hey no,” Chim hisses, but Buck isn’t having it. He pats Eddie on the shoulder. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay.”

With that, he starts to jog, or rather run, up the stairs. All watch him go, before their eyes fall back on the people standing right in front of them.

Well, if that’s not awkward.

“So, ugh. Hi again,” the new guy says, smiling sheepishly. “Eddie Diaz, your newbie.”

“Hi. Hen Wilson.”

“Howard Han, but you can call me Chimney or Chim. And why I’m called that is between me and God.”

“Okay. That may be only the second most confusing thing to happen on my first day.”

“We don’t normally act like this,” Hen tries to reassure him.

Chim makes a face. “We don’t?”

Hen nudges him in the side hard enough to make Chim gasp.

“Wilson, Han, you’re supposed to get on with the stocks!” someone calls out.

“You’re not our boss!” Chim shouts back at what turns out to be that jackass Lambert from B-roll no one likes because his attitude stinks about as much as his aftershave.

“But Cap is and he told me to tell you to move it!”

“I hate that guy,” Chim grumbles.

“I think I’ll like it here,” Eddie chuckles.

“They are so young and innocent when they join,” Chim snorts.

“Welcome to the 118,” Hen says, giving the younger man’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I suppose you should go up there as well and talk to the captain.”

“Alright, I’ll see you around.”

“Most certainly.”

“That was only mildly threatening,” Chim laughs, rolling his eyes well before Hen jabs him another time.

“Good to have you here,” he adds.

“Indeed.”

“Good to be here. See you later.”

“Later,” both say in unison.

Eddie smiles at them before climbing up the stairs.

“You try to get a hold of your boo, I’ll see what info I can squeeze out of Cap or Buck, whoever I get my hands on first.”

“Aren’t we supposed to get on with…”

Hen glowers at him.

“I said nothing.”

“Less talking to me, more talking to your girlfriend.”

Chimney makes a mock salute, before walking away while fiddling with his phone. Hen let’s her gaze wander up to the gallery with a grimace. Something is not right, but she is going to figure it out. Because Hen Wilson keeps all her little chicks on track, even more so now that they got a new one to take care of.

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

Eddie tosses the sponge into the water bucket. Getting some of the crappier chores for the day is something he fully expected to happen. What he didn't expect, not in a million years, was running into Buck. Eddie’s head is still reeling because of it. And for what it seems, the same is true for Buck.

Buck.

To say that he seemed shocked is an understatement. Eddie knows the way Buck expresses panic. He’s grown up making sure the kid breathed instead of keeling over when it hit him, so Eddie knows that this was not just surprise, this was fight-or-flight level panic. Eddie knows by now he was so panicked because his colleagues didn’t know about the fostering or adoption – and he could still kick himself for bringing it up unawares.

He jumped to the conclusion because Buck used to talk about it freely to anyone who asked, especially after he was adopted by the Moores. Because it was his way of signifying to the rest of the world that he’d made it from being abandoned to finding friends and family. So Eddie assumed that Buck wouldn’t act any different around his colleagues.

Far from it!

“Eddie, my friend.”

Eddie nearly jumps when Hen and Chimney materialize next to him.

Speaking of…

“Hi,” he greets them.

“How’re you liking it thus far?”

“The detergents smell not as bad as some others do,” Eddie snorts. “But I’m pretty sure that’s not what you came here to ask me about.”

“Just so that you know, you can tell us anything,” Hen says in that mild tone of voice, though Eddie is pretty sure she only says it this way not to scare him away.

“You are looking for bribing material on Buck, I take?”

“We always appreciate it, but we are more like… trying to get up to speed. Until you came to the station, we didn’t even know he’d been fostered,” Hen answers.

“Or adopted,” Chimney adds.

“In Texas.”

Eddie chews on the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, about that. So he actually found his sister?”

If seeing Buck nearly floored him, hearing about his sister was definitely not adding to Eddie’s calm.

“Yes, she’s my girlfriend. You’ll get to know her soon enough.”

There is a part in Eddie that’s very much relieved to hear that Buck found at least part of his family, but another part of him hurts at the news just as much. Because that means Buck likely learned some very uncomfortable truths about his past that won’t have added to the man’s confidence.

“Back in Texas, we knew nothing about where he came from, including whether he had siblings or not. There was an assumption, but no one could be sure.”

“How old were you by the time your grandmother fostered him?”

“I was eight years old.”

“Eight years old… Buck made it sound like he and Maddie were out of touch like, only by the time she got to know Doug.”

Eddie frowns. “Who’s Doug?”

“No one you want to know.” Chimney shakes his head.

Eddie shakes his head. All of this starts to make less and less sense. Why didn’t Buck tell them about any of this? Why didn’t he when he apparently found his sister? Why are they about as clueless as he is, even though they’ve been working side-by-side with him for how long now?

“We lost sight of each other when the Moores moved away from Texas. So they aren’t around anymore?”

Hen shrugs at that. “Let’s say we’ve never met them, never talked about them, or seen any pictures.”

“Kid arrived here with a travel bag and the will to become a firefighter,” Chimney adds.

Eddie can’t help but smile at that. “That sounds like him.”

“You sound pretty clueless actually, and not gonna lie, that is strangely reassuring,” Chimney snorts.

“I prepared for meeting many new people today. Not my best friend back from childhood.”

“Aw.” Hen clutches her hands in front of her chest.

“I just hope he’s not mad at me.” Eddie grimaces. There is something tugging at his heart, just thinking about it. A memory that goes way back in time. When he thought he’d messed it up with Buck forever and always, but he forgave quicker than Eddie could forgive himself.

“I don’t remember our Buckaroo being capable of keeping grudges for long.”

“Then that hasn’t changed at least,” Eddie sighs.

“I think you two should definitely get something to drink after work, reminiscence about the good old times. Catch up. Report back to us in the morning,” she says, her voice trailing off.

“You are aware that they are childhood friends.”

“But I can be far more intimidating.”

“I think getting something to drink and catch up is actually a good idea,” Eddie ponders. “So thanks.”

“You, I like.”

Eddie grins.

“You still missed a spot, though.”

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head. Buck made some good friends here, for what it seems. And he is more than glad for it. They can surely figure this all out.

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

Waking up this morning, Buck thought his biggest worry would be to sort himself out with regards to the newbie and his standing on the team as a result. While that remains true, he just didn't imagine for one hot second it may be Eddie of all people in the entire universe.

Eddie.

When Buck saw him at the station, he didn’t know how to breathe. Even though he hadn’t seen him in years, he knew instantly, only to know that he suddenly knew nothing anymore. Buck used to think he made his peace never seeing Eddie again after they moved away, but then Eddie was hugging him and all those things Buck made sure to bury deep in the ground started to crawl up through the dirt, scratching at a way too thin surface.

And now he is sitting at a bar, nursing his alcohol free beer – because he doesn’t drink when driving, he has to get people out of cars thanks to that behavior way too often, thank you very much. He is at a bar. With Eddie. His Eddie. Because Eddie invited him to get a beer after the shift, and Buck didn’t know how to say no.

Story of my life, isn’t it?

“… I don’t even know where to begin,” Buck admits after a while of awkward silence spreading between them, wherein both men just started peeling the label off of their bottles of beer.

“Same. I mean, you got a sister.”

“Yeah, ugh, I would have told you that, but Chim is still over the moon with her, so of course he mentioned her before I could. They are cute together, but at the disgusting kind of stage,” Buck ponders.

“I’m just so happy for you that you found your family, Buck.”

He manages a feeble smile. Because Buck knows that Eddie means it, understands it perhaps better than most. Because he had to deal with it growing up, had to deal with Buck dealing it growing up.

“I didn’t really find Maddie. We just… happened to meet again. Like us two did today.”

Eddie blinks at him. “Really?”

Buck nods his head. The universe always had the strangest kind of humor when it came to him.

“She’s a dispatcher now. We talked over dispatch for a while, not knowing who we are to each other. We decided to hang out. As friends. She didn’t know people in the city after she moved there only recently, so we also went to a pub and… we started to talk.”

Déjà-vu much, huh?

“Over time, I told her some stuff about my past and, well, Maddie realized that the timing seemed oddly familiar to the brother she thought had died,” Buck continues. “DNA test confirmed it.”

“I was wondering about that,” Eddie sighs, still trying to process that input for what it seems. “I mean, I really put my foot in it, just blurting out with this.”

Buck holds up his hands. “Eddie, no. You had any reason to believe I had told them. I suppose I’ve been blowing this up out of proportions anyway, so this is really just on me.”

“It’s your choice what you want to share with people about yourself, Buck.”

Buck blinks. Sometimes, he forgets how wise Eddie used to be already at a young age. He was also a dumbass a lot of times, but when it came to talking about Buck’s feelings instead of his own, the guy always knew how to make sense of the chaos and make Buck feel like his feelings weren’t just a tedious affair best ripped off like band-aids.

Eddie always understood Buck, even when he couldn’t understand himself. And Buck wants to think that the same was true the other way around, for as long as it lasted.

“Thanks.”

Eddie smiles at him, sipping from his beer.

“Speaking of, thanks to Maddie I now know my official name,” Buck continues, doing his best to sound jovial. “Evan Buckley.”

“Buck-ley. Well, that explains how you got the name,” Eddie ponders, before tilting his head to the side with a cocked eyebrow. “So do I call you Evan from now on?”

“If you want me to call you Edmundo?”

Eddie narrows his eyes at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Buck sniggers. “You should know better than to tempt me.”

“Evan.”

“Edmundo.”

“This sounds all kinds of wrong,” Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “For me, you can only ever be Buck.”

“Which is convenient, because I can only be Buck.”

There was a brief moment in time when Buck considered changing his name, taking on that identity, the one intended. In the end, he dropped the idea for what he hopes to be for good. He doesn’t know who this Evan Buckley was or what he’d be now. He knows what Buck was like growing up. He knows what the guy is up to these days. And while they have their qualms, he’s mostly at peace with Buck.

Even a name tag doesn't change a thing about it.

Because he’s Buck. And thankfully, Eddie sees it the same way. So maybe he’s not entirely crazy for holding on to that, however schizophrenic it may be in the end.

“Anyway, part of the reason why I managed not to let anyone in on this is that Maddie agreed to run with not mentioning it. We just stuck to the part where we lost sight of each other and found one another again when anyone asked. And until now, no one really questioned the timeline.”

“And no one ever made the connection between Buckley and Buck?” Eddie asks.

Buck shakes his head. “Maddie’s married name is Kendall. She considered changing it back to Buckley after she broke up with her scumbag husband. But when she found out what kind of scumbags our parents are, it was out the window. So no one had reason to question the difference in names and just assumed that Maddie’s birth name was Moore, too.”

“I take that there is no good explanation as to how you ended up in Texas, then,” Eddie sighs. Buck can tell that he’s trying to sound casual, soft, but the white-knuckled grip on the beer bottle is an entirely different story.

“No, not really. As far as we understand it, our parents moved across state borders under the pretense to get treatment for me. Then they just dropped me at a fire station and drove back. They told Maddie I died.”

“Why would they do that? Why would anyone’s parents…?” Eddie shakes his head, disbelief settling in. Buck knows the feeling oh too well. When he found out, it didn’t make sense to him at all. But as more details were added, the clearer the bigger picture became, though it turned none the brighter.

Buck looks around, just to be sure none of the 118 was sent here to spy on them. Once he is sure there is really just them, Buck hunches forward in his seat.

“Well, I was a big, fat disappointment, I guess. They had me to save their oldest son, Daniel. He had juvenile leukemia. I was… I was a savior baby. Just that… ugh, I didn’t save him. My guessing is that they never wanted me, so they gave me away after Daniel died. I was just there for spare parts anyway.”

Buck suddenly feels something cold in his neck, only to realize it’s Eddie’s hand gently squeezing it. Buck tenses for a moment, then eases to the familiarity of the touch, suppressing the urge to lean into it like he used to.

“I’m so sorry. I would’ve hoped for something else to come out of this.”

Buck manages a feeble smile. “It’s fine. I got a sister now I never expected to find. That’s great. Over the moon kinda great. And now I also ran back into you, too. So I’m one lucky bastard after all.”

Eddie’s hand lingers for a while, no words spoken and yet all is said between them. And how much Buck missed that. Not having to say things for them to be understood.

Eventually, Eddie’s hand falls on his shoulder, giving it a light pat before returning to his beer. “So we’re still friends after I spilled to your colleagues?”

“I didn’t stop being your friend after you got so mad for me saying that you couldn’t bake for shit, so you covered a balloon stuck to a cardboard box in frosting and told me you’d baked a cake and I cut the thing only for it to explode in my face.”

“To this day one of my proudest achievements when it comes to pranks,” Eddie snorts, breaking out laughing at the memory.

Buck can’t help but laugh along. Many of those memories got stuffed away alongside the ones he’d buried in the ground. He had no reason to unearth them because he chose not to tell anyone. But with Eddie, those things come back to light and they shimmer like gold, even after all those years of packing on dust.

“Laugh it up all you want, I got back at you eventually.”

“Don’t remind me,” Eddie groans. “I got grounded for a month because you led my parents to believe I’d be stupid enough to have a folder for porn on the family’s computer and made a message pop up every time that the folder was overloaded and created a system error.”

“Yeah. That was a masterpiece,” Buck sniggers. “But anyway. If that didn’t cancel our friendship, I think we’re fairly good with all this here.”

“Then I’m glad. When you fled the scene, I got kind of worried.”

Buck shrugs. “You know me. I’m a whirlwind of emotions, so I thought it’d be best if I took the time to cool down.”

“That was definitely not how you went about it before,” Eddie argues.

And Buck can’t argue with that. Back in the day, Buck just let the storms rage, never minding the consequences. On the job, that’s still how he rolls, but it was also how he talked, how he presented himself. After he got to meet the Diaz family, he stopped hiding a lot of things. He screamed when he felt like screaming and he cried when he was sad. He laughed when he was happy. And sometimes he even cried because he was that happy, but he learned that this was okay. Abuela always told him this and he took it to heart.

At least for as long as I could.

“Which is why I’m working on it. But anyway! Enough of me. Tell me about you. How long have you been in L.A.? What got you here?” Buck asks. Judging by the look on Eddie’s face, his transition of topics is not nearly as smooth as he’d want it to be, but Eddie rolls with it anyway.

“I moved here only shortly, for the job,” he says. “Before that, I was working some odd jobs. Before that, Afghanistan.”

Buck winces. “Shit.”

“Yeah, that’s one way of describing it. After I came back home injured, I couldn’t do this anymore. I had to set priorities differently, and somehow… I ended up in L.A.”

“Fresh start.” Buck nods his head. There is still so much to unravel in just those few sentences. Afghanistan. Injury. Priorities. Eddie tends to hide a lot more in his words, even more so when they are scarce. But for what it seems, he will now get the time to dig deeper. Because that is what Buck knows someone has to do in order to understand someone like Eddie Diaz.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“I get that feeling,” Buck says. “Los Angeles is great for that, worked out for Maddie and me, too.”

“We’ll have to drink a lot of beers to catch up on all those years we didn’t hear from each other to wind up having a fresh start in the same city.”

“Then it’s a date.”

Eddie wants to say something, but then his phone vibrates. “Sorry about that.”

Buck holds up his hands. “It’s fine.”

Eddie takes out his phone and checks his messages. Buck can see the instant shift in the other man’s demeanor. He knows that change like the back of his hand, even with years between where they parted ways and now crossed them again. Eddie’s shutting down.

“Hey, uhm, sorry, I gotta head out. It’s urgent,” he says, grabbing his wallet, clearly embarrassed and beat-up for having to leave so suddenly.

Some things don’t change, do they?

“Hey, it’s fine, man. We, ugh, we are stuck together now anyway, right? We’ll find enough time to catch up. It’s a date, after all,” Buck assures him. “Also, you’re not paying for the beer, unless you wanna pick a fight with me. Just go.”

Eddie smiles at him wryly. “Thanks. I’ll pay next round?”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Now off you go.”

“Sorry another time. I really gotta…”

“See you at work!”

“See ya!”

Buck manages to keep up the smile until the door shuts behind Eddie. His shoulders drop and he sucks in a deep breath. He pays for the beers and nearly flies out the door.

He makes for his car and climbs in. Buck realizes only now how badly his hands are shaking. Struggling for breath, he takes out his wallet again and fishes out that one crumpled piece of the past he carries with him whenever he’s not on the job, so to be sure it doesn’t get further damage.

Buck unfolds the faded photograph with shaky hands and presses it against his mouth, breathing hard against it. The tears keep coming, no matter how hard he tries to stop them. They are happy and sad. Desperate and relieved. Everything and nothing. And all that at the same time.

Eddie is back.

Eddie is back in his life, just like that, after the years it took him to accept he’d never see him again. That he’d moved on as he should have.

How do you rip off the band-aid or duct tape for that?

Or maybe that’s just the universe telling him that some things really can’t be fixed.

Because apparently, the universe is still mocking him.

[lala-ladybug]

Healing Hands: Chapter 6

Boss level, here we go!

Jasonette Sword Art Online AU

Read here on AO3

Tag list: @iloontjeboontje

First | Previous | Next

Chapter 6: Stranger danger!

It was a good thing Jason hadn’t taken his weapons or armor out of his inventory last night. He opened his inventory and donned a crimson cloak. Approaching the midtown news stand, he paid for a paper advertising the location of the first level dungeon and continued on his way.

Skimming the headline, it sounded like he had to go to the northeast mountains to find the entrance. The team hadn’t been able to justify buying horses yet, so he’d have to go on foot. Fine by him, more time to walk off his bad mood. And work out a plan.

He’d be in and out, just to see what type of a threat they were dealing with. He wasn’t stupid, but he wasn’t about to just wait around for Dick if he wasn’t going to make a move until they knew exactly what they were facing.

Jason put the paper away and pulled his hood over his head, the red fabric concealing his face. He had reached the road leading north out of town. He took a swig of water from his canteen, which he noted was half-full, and set out.

The walk was almost pleasant, if not for the number of travellers-- both players and NPCs alike-- that he ran into. He couldn’t be sure of their intentions, especially towards a lone player, so he’d duck into the nearest ditch or bush for cover until they’d passed.

The sun warmed his dark cloak, but not uncomfortably so. It felt like springtime here in the game, with tulips and wild daffodils blooming in small clusters by the road. Jason knew he should be back before dark, but that was a long ways away. He kept checking his compass to make sure he was heading the right way, but the path was very easy.

In the distance, he began to see mountains. Pulling out the paper he’d gotten from that morning, he checked that the dungeon entrance was along the slope of one of the mountains. When he reached a crossroads, he adjusted his course accordingly.

By then, his anger had all but faded. He still didn’t agree with Dick and he definitely still thought he was an ass, but he didn’t want to rip his head off over it. Literally. God, what a mess.

He stopped to buy some fresh bread from a family farm of NPCs a few miles before the base of the mountains. What a thorough game it was to have given the three children dimples. He wondered how much information their programming gave them. Did they know the players were forcefully kept here? Did they live the same, simple day-to-day lives? Or did they simply stop moving when players weren’t looking, like cheap animatronics.

Jason shook his head. Too much time alone with his thoughts was never a good idea. He almost missed the company of the others. He’d even settle for Garfield, that obnoxious green punk.

He sighed and continued on his way. It wasn’t even halfway, but there was no way in hell he’d turn around now. Every step he took was a step closer to getting out of this... admittedly pleasant hellscape.

A flock of birds lifted off from a field on his right. They swirled about in the sky, fluid as fabric. Each one moved on its own path and yet fit in as part of the whole. He stopped, watching the ebb and flow as they journeyed to find the next field to settle on.

That would never be him, a cog in the machine, no matter how beautiful. He had put his faith in people before and quite literally gotten burned for it. He scowled at the memory, a crowbar and a grin flashing through his mind. No, he was better off fending for himself. Always had been.

He decided to count his steps instead of face his thoughts for the remainder of the trip.

732 steps to the base of the mountain. He picked the leftmost path.

1056 steps until he needed to grapple around a rockslide.

409 steps before the mouth of a cave. The cave.

Jason confirmed one more time that this was the suspected entrance to the dungeon. He put away the paper, took a deep breath, and plunged into the darkness.

It was cold and damp. He didn’t want to risk a light, so he put a hand to the freezing walls as he walked. He tested every step with his toe, trying to avoid potential falls into the darkness in front of him.

Silence drew in around him, heavy and expectant. It dared him to light a torch and rush forward to face the boss himself. He knew it was a bad idea, but it called to the energy humming in his blood.

He breathed and pictured colors.

In and out, he would be in and out, just like his breaths.

It was hard to think of the cave as anything other than the grave he’d once been confined to, but stretching out both arms helped.

In and out.

He pictured blue.

The ceiling seemed to press down on him, nausea rising in his throat.

Blue skies and blue waters. He wasn’t trapped in here, he was free. Free as the birds in the fields.

Just when he thought he couldn’t stand it anymore, he glimpsed a faint light ahead. It flickered around a bend in the cave, and illuminated the stalactites that were over twenty feet above his head.

The cold sweat that coated his back started to dry, the tightness in his throat loosening. Taking in a deep breath of stale air, he surged towards that light.

He rounded the corner, crossbow drawn and ready. The light came from a burning torch, barely a stub left. The sound of metal clashing on metal caught his trained ears and his head whipped up.

An enormous doorway stood in front of him, huge doors left ajar. He saw a flash of movement beyond them. The noises were also clearer now, shouting punctured by roars that shook the walls. Pulling the hood of his cloak further over his face, he silently advanced.

Peering through the gap between the doors, he made quick work of taking it all in. The room was a long hallway, lined with tall columns and lit by torches. There were some rocks scattered about, which would provide good cover from the massive beast before him.

The monster was about fourteen feet tall of ugly with a large, red belly. It wore armored greaves and wielded a huge axe and a round shield. Its face had a dog-like snout framed by a form-fitting helmet. Red eyes glowed from within the helmet, and slobber dribbled from pointed teeth.

So basically a medieval Killer Croc. This was doable.

Jason was about to leave and report back when he heard a shout. “Kitty, ‘Gami, cover me!”

Before he could unpack that hell of a battle cry, a figure in black armor darted out from behind a column. They blew a raspberry at the boss, then somersaulted and wove just out of reach from its enraged blows. At the same time, someone with red and gold armor drew a rapier and began slicing at the boss’s feet.

A slight person with red armor stood from where they’d been crouched behind a rock on the far side of the room. They fired a longbow with devastating accuracy, and Jason watched in profile as the arrow pierced the monster’s eye. They disappeared just as fast.

The boss roared and started swinging wildly. The red and gold fighter danced out of the way, but tripped over a piece of rubble. Jason’s eyes widened as the monster gleefully brought its axe down upon the felled player.

It never met its target. The black armored person dove over their friend and raised a shield. The blow sent the two flying back to the columns, where they quickly limped for cover.

From Jason’s vantage point, he could see a figure in blue armor dart over to the two injured fighters. They shook their head, then whistled a series of notes. Answering whistles came from the last place he’d seen the red archer, and the three people stayed put.

“Queenie, Maneuver 18!” The archer, a girl he now realized, yelled. A fifth person, this one in golden armor, leapt onto the monster’s head from the top of a column near the ceiling. They took a flail out of their inventory and bashed the boss’s good eye, then flipped down to find cover opposite of the archer. All the while, the archer ran along the length of the hall, firing shots into the monster’s gut.

She slid neatly behind the rocks in front of Jason and glanced at the boss behind them. It was blinded now, bellowing furiously. The girl’s chest heaved with the effort of running.

With three of their fighters out of commission, he didn’t like their odds. Well, so much for in and out. Dick was going to kill him for this.

Jason waved until the girl in front of him noticed the movement. Her mouth, the only part of her face that wasn’t covered by her helmet, parted in surprise.

He somersaulted to join her spot of cover and said quietly, “I can help.” The monster had quieted down now and seemed to be listening intently.

She nodded, then pointed at him and then to his right. Pointed to herself, then to the left. She looked at him to verify he’d understood and he gave a thumbs up. 

She picked up a handful of pebbles and tossed them in front of the rocks they hid behind. The monster pricked up its ears and began advancing towards their hiding spot. She held up a fist to have them wait. The boss grew closer and still she held. Jason could feel its hot breath through his cloak before she finally whispered, “Now!” and launched herself to the left. Jason dove aside just in time. He fired his crossbow at the monster’s chest and could see the girl doing the same on its other side. It had left itself open in burying its axe in the rocks they’d been at mere moments before.

Damn this girl was good.

He watched her exchange her bow for a pair of daggers. The beast’s arms still busied trying to get its axe unstuck, she flipped onto them and ran up its back. Jason fired more bolts into it, keeping its attention while she--

Oh damn. This girl was really good.

She flipped her daggers around and dragged them through its skin behind her as she slid down its back. Then she danced away behind a column, switching back to a longbow and firing arrows into its exposed arms.

Jason grinned, letting the thrill in his blood take over for a moment. He exchanged his own ranged weapon for a shortsword, and started hacking away at the monster’s legs. Where the red archer went high, he went low. They accommodated each other perfectly. He glanced up to see the boss’s HP depleting to nearly zero.

While he swung his sword and dodged out of the monster’s reach, he noticed how much more focused he felt, despite having freed the roaring in his veins. It seemed that the Pit didn’t have as much of a hold on him while he was in the game. A small victory, but staying in control was more than useful here.

The beast turned around just as Jason swung his sword, and it broke against the monster’s shield. A rush of movement beside him was the golden fighter, sinking their flail into the beast’s back. They wrenched it free only to whirl around and use the momentum to plant it in the monster’s stomach.

That blow did it in. It staggered backwards, wounds glowing bright red, and shattered into fragmented pixels. A menu screen popped up in front of him displaying his share of the loot, which looked to be proportional to how many blows he had landed.

Jason looked at the other two. The golden one had already rushed back to where their injured companions were, but the red one remained.

“Thank you,” she held out her hand to him with a smile. He took it and shook once. “It was my pleasure,” he rasped, still catching his breath. He raised his broken sword and asked, “You don’t happen to know a blacksmith, do you?”

She held up one finger, then ran off back into the rubble, searching for something. When she returned, she held the other pieces of his sword. “I can mend it, if you’d like,” she offered, almost shyly.

He nodded and handed his piece to her, hilt first. She assembled all the fragments on the ground, then placed both hands over it and inhaled deeply. As she breathed in, the pieces were pulled inward to their original positions as if magnetized to each other. She breathed out just as deeply, and the cracks between the pieces glowed blue.

The glow faded when she picked it up and handed it back to him. He twirled it around a few times just to be sure, but it felt as good as new. Maybe even better. “That was... amazing. Thank you,” he said, sincerely grateful.

She smiled and replied, “It’s the least I could do. It’s a type of magic I learned called Restorative Alchemy, if you’re interested!” That was definitely something worth looking into. “I also put a little bit of magic in it, so when it’s hit like that again, it--”

“Lady!” A girlish, high-pitched shout came from the player in golden armor. She ran back over to the two of them and tugged the girl away. “Stranger danger!” she muttered pointedly.

The red archer tried to respond, “Well we wouldn’t have won without hi--” But the other girl cut her off, “Shush, we don’t even know who he is!” The archer gave a long-suffering sigh.

Jason took the opportunity to leave while their backs were turned. He’d intruded enough, and he didn’t really care to learn their names.

As he disappeared back into the cave, he thought he heard someone say, “Oh! He’s gone....”

* * *

Marinette watched the doors in the boss dungeon, wondering why that strange man had left so soon. She blinked and turned her attention back to her injured friends. Adrien had taken that hit for Kagami, and even though it was to his shield, he’d need a lot of rest before his arm was in working condition again.

The fight was costly. Luka had run out of healing potions, putting more than half of the team out of commission. It had just been her and Chloe left fighting. She wasn’t sure if they would’ve made it, let alone won without that stranger showing up....

“How’s it looking, boss?” Adrien’s hiss of pain pulled her from her thoughts. She crouched down beside him while Luka treated the arm with what simple herbs he had on hand.

Luka finished tying a sling and stood. “You’re going to be fine. Keep it still for a few days. We’ll get you some health potions when we get back to the house. Kagami, can you stand?”

The girl in question used to column to get up on her feet, but kept her weight off her left. That must have been the one she’d tripped on. “I can stand, but I’ll need help to walk,” she said through gritted teeth.

A costly fight indeed. Marinette moved to slide her arm under Kagami’s and supported her. “We just need to make it back to the horses,” she murmured to her friend.

God, her friend. Her friends had gotten hurt because her plan failed. They had no idea what they were walking into, and she had almost gotten them all killed because of it.

They just needed more time. More training.

The five of them started to limp back to the cave where the light from their torch had almost died out, when a bright light flooded the chamber. It came from behind them, and as they turned to look they saw an open door.

“That must be to the next level....” Adrien said softly.

Marinette looked at her Order, broken as they were, and made a decision. “Another time,” she said. “We’ve done enough for today.”

They still had to make it back and spread the word to the other players. A small smile fell on her face. They could give them this news, give them this hope.

* * *

“You did WHAT?” Dick’s voice cut across the room. Jason had returned to their base after dark, but he didn’t have much choice in the matter. He was tired from walking the entire trip and even more tired from the battle, so his pace on the return trip was a little lacking. But that didn’t mean Dick had to yell about it.

“I helped some people beat the first boss,” Jason shrugged. “I don’t see what the big fuckin’ deal is.” He put his pack down and grabbed some food from the counter.

Dick looked him over and, finding no major injuries, rubbed his hand over his mouth. “What part of ‘wait for recruits’ did you not understand?”

Ah yes, this again. He decided to tactfully dodge that shit. “I only meant to get a look at the boss. You know, do some reconnaissance and then report back? But a group was already there and fighting, and they needed help.”

“So you jumped in to help them?” Tim asked incredulously. “You? Mister Lone Wolf?”

“For fuck’s sake, they could have died,” Jason was getting annoyed now.

Dick gripped his shoulders. “So could you.” He glared as Jason pushed off the touch. “Look Jay, I know we don’t always get along, but I don’t want to... I can’t....” Dick hung his head. “Not again,” he said softly.

“Look,” Jason raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not looking to die anytime soon. Repeat performances were never really my thing,” he gave a crooked smile. “But I was fine. The monster couldn’t hold a candle against us.”

Dick didn’t look convinced. “Can you just... tell us the next time you go off on your own?”

Jason barked a laugh. “Not a chance.”

“You’ll give me gray hairs by the time I’m thirty...” Dick rubbed his temples.

“Then we’ll match,” Jason winked and ran a hand through his streak of white hair. Tim snickered and rolled his eyes. Bastard.

[hotchscotchh]

Reimagined; Chapter 4 - Benjamin Cyrus

I don’t think anyone is reading this any more so I’m tagging a few moots who I think might like it? If that’s not ok with y’all just let me know so I don’t do it again <3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid

Warnings: NSFW >:)

Word count: 2.4k oops

Summary: They take the next step.

Read on AO3

Chapter 3 ---- Chapter 5

Based on 4x3, Minimal Loss

Spencer couldn’t make himself feel anything but self-loathing in this moment. He knew that Emily didn’t blame him, she had made sure he knew that. He knew it wasn’t his fault. It was her decision to tell Cyrus that she was the FBI agent. That didn’t stop him from thinking “it should’ve been me. Why didn’t I step up first? I’m nothing but a goddamn coward-”

“Reid,” someone said, puling Spencer from his thoughts. He looked up to find Hotch suddenly in the seat across from him. He hadn’t noticed the ears streaking down his face until that moment. He hastily reached up to wipe them roughly from his warm, red cheeks. “Oh, Spence,” Hotch consoled, his eyes softening, stoic mask slipping away. “It’s okay. You’re here, you made it out.”

Aaron was obviously oblivious to the guilt that was rolling off of Spencer in big, crashing waves, which was unusual. Aaron was pretty damned good at profiling Spencer. Spencer looked away from him, more tears flooding in, trying to wipe them away before they fell.

“Oh,” Aaron realized, “that’s not it, is it? You know you can’t feel guilty; it wasn’t your fault-”

“Yes, Hotch, it was. And I can feel guilty. I could’ve, no, I should’ve stepped up first,” Spencer interrupted, his voice week, hands tracing anxious patterns on his thighs.

Aaron reached across the space between them and took Spencer’s hand in his. “Reid, you know there’s nothing you can do now. Look, Emily is fine. Maybe a little beaten up, but nothing she can’t handle. She’s alive, and that’s what matters. The only better outcome we could’ve had was you not getting held hostage at all. Nothing you could have done would have stopped it.”

Spencer just pouted and looked away again, appearing much like a petulant child, but Hotch wasn’t going to tell him that. Aaron let out a small laugh that he tried (not very effectively) to disguise as a cough. He took at deep breath and started speaking again. “It’s still Friday.”

Spencer looked at his watch and then back up at Aaron, the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “It is. I’d like to stop at a meeting first if you don’t mind.” Aaron nodded and pulled his hand away from Spencer’s, leaning back in his seat and looking out the window.

----

Spencer was exhausted when he came out of the little church his NA meetings were held in. When he got into Aaron’s car, the first thing he said was, “I’m not feeling up to a restaurant tonight. Can we just go back to my place?”

Aaron smiled. “I was thinking the exact same thing. I ordered a pizza.”

As he drove home, Aaron began thinking about the implications of tonight. Sure it was their first date, but they’ve known each other for five years now. There’s not much to learn about someone you’ve already spent so much time with. And, they’ve had a fairly intimate friendship for almost two years now. Was Spencer going to expect sex? He wouldn’t be opposed. He had also done some… research (which was mostly just watching porn) this past week. He thoroughly enjoyed that research, and was excited to put his newly found knowledge to use.

But he was also extremely nervous. This was Spencer. Spencer who was kind and caring and beautiful and everything he could ever ask for. Spencer who kissed him into oblivion on his couch a week ago. Where had the man learned to kiss so well? He’d never seen Spencer as virginal like the rest of the team tends to, but he had to have more experience than Hotch imagined to be able to kiss like that. That made him nervous too.

He shook the thoughts from his head as they pulled into Spencer’s apartment complex. Spencer was already holding the pizza, so he grabbed their go bags from the back seat and let Spencer lead the way. They’ve never done it this way before; Spencer usually comes to Aaron’s place.

When they got inside, Aaron had to try his absolute hardest to not profile the place. It was everything he had expected Spencer’s apartment to look like. The walls were an olive green, not much decoration on them except for his doctorate certificates, a few randomly placed pictures of his mother, and bookshelves, of course. In the living room was a couch, a lazy boy (that was definitely big enough for two, Aaron thought), a coffee table, another small table with folding chairs around it and a chess set on top, and on the wall opposite the couch set sat a short but long bookshelf with a small TV and an expansive DVD collection on top. It also had a bay window. He could see Spencer folded up in the small space, getting lost in book after book after book.

Aaron was snapped back to reality when Spencer said, “you, ah, you can sit if you want.” Instead of sitting, he moved over to stand in front of Spencer, closer than would be considered socially acceptable. “Hi,” Spencer whispered.

“Hello,” Aaron whispered back, bringing his hand up to cup Spencer’s cheek and trace a thumb over his bottom lip before leaning in and trapping that lip in a soft and languid kiss. Spencer gasped, but quickly reciprocated. They kissed for several minutes, forgetting anything they had planned. By the time they pulled away, Aaron had placed his other hand on Spencer’s hip and Spencer had wrapped his arms around Aaron’s neck. “The pizza’s going to get cold,” Aaron said quietly.

Spencer nodded and took that statement to mean that Aaron needed a few minutes before they went any further. “Should I put a movie on?” he asked before sitting down.

“Sure,” Aaron replied, leaning back into the couch with a lazy smile and a piece of pizza in his hands.

They ate in silence, neither one really paying attention to what was happening on the screen in front of them. Spencer eventually gave up even looking at the TV, choosing to fix his gaze on Aaron instead. Aaron quickly felt the eyes on him, turning his head and looking right back. There wasn’t a lot of space between them, so Aaron leaned over and took Spencer’s mouth in a searing kiss. They stayed in that position for a while before Spencer pushed Aaron back into the couch and swung a leg over Aaron’s lap, straddling him.

He ground their groins together, earning the most delicious sound he thinks he’s ever heard from Aaron. “Aaron,” Spencer panted, “let’s go to the bedroom.”

Aaron nodded and watched as Spencer rolled off of him and held his hand out to help him up. Aaron took it and stood, but squeezed it when Spencer started to walk away. “Spence, wait,” he called out. Spencer turned around, confused, quirking an eyebrow at him. “I just want you to know that I’ve never done this before. Not with a man.”

Spencer’s eyes grew darker with lust. “That’s fine, Aaron. I’ve got enough for the both of us,” he replied with a wink. Spencer was giving off an air of confidence, but he was kind of nervous. He was experienced, so the whole sex part was fine. But he has a small cock. Now, he’s not ashamed of it, but he knows that it can be a turn off. He kind of just hoped Aaron didn’t care.

They made it to the bedroom, eventually, walking between the places that Aaron pressed him into the wall to start kissing him again. When they did finally get there, Spencer took his turn in pressing Aaron against the wall, sliding his hand up Aaron’s shirt and tweaking a nipple. Aaron let out a surprised gasp before moaning into Spencer’s mouth and leaning into the pleasure.

“Off. This needs to come off,” Spencer panted, fiddling with the buttons on Aaron’s shirt but not making much progress. Aaron made quick work of the buttons, not removing his mouth from Spencer’s. After he got his shirt off, he quickly moved onto Spencer’s.

Aaron pushed them off the wall and started walking them towards the bed until the backs of Spencer’s knees hit it. Spencer broke their kiss and scooted up the bed a little before laying back, his ass lined up with the end of it. Aaron crawled up the bed and settled over Spencer, pressing his face into Spencer’s neck and slotting their clothed erections together. Aaron ran a hand down Spencer’s chest, stopping only to play with his nipples briefly, earning him plenty of breathy moans. His hand kept working its way down his torso until it reached the small patch of hair just below Spencer’s belly button.

He placed the hand over the button of Spencer’s khakis, removing his mouth from its spot on Spencer’s neck, and looking at him waiting for an answer to the silent question. Spencer gave a small nod and Aaron went to work on opening the fly. It didn’t take long, and when he was done, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of Spencer’s boxers, looking up again for confirmation. Spencer nodded again and lifted his hips to allow Aaron to pull both layers off.

“Your turn,” Spencer whispered. Aaron got off the bed, quickly stripping off the restricting clothing and getting back on the bed. “In the drawer,” Spencer started again, pointing to the bedside table. “Lube and condoms.”

Aaron nodded and reached over, pulling open the drawer and locating the items quickly, depositing them on the bed next to Spencer. “Aaron,” Spencer whined. “If we don’t get started soon, I’m going to have to kick you out.”

Aaron gave him a shy smile and nodded. Spencer picked up the lube and asked, “do you want to prep me, or should I do it?”

Aaron thought for a moment. “Will you tell me what to do?”

Spencer smiled and nodded. “Of course. First thing to know, there’s no such thing as too much lube. Get some on your index finger.”

Aaron slid down to kneel on the floor, nodded and did as he was told. Spencer continued his instructions. “One finger at a time. I’ll tell you when I’m ready for more. And start slow; it’s been a while.”

Aaron again did what he was told. He circled a finger around Spencer’s hole (like he had seen in the porn he watched) before pressing just the tip of his finger in, causing Spencer to cry out in pleasure. He wiggled the fingertip for a few moments, waiting for the tight muscle to relax before slowly pressing his finger the rest of the way in, earning him a cry of “oh my god, Aaron,” to which he replied, with a smirk, “we’re often confused.”

Spencer made an attempt to glare at him, but it quickly dissolved when Aaron crooked his finger and found the younger man’s prostate. “Ready for more?” Aaron asked, his cock throbbing, excited to get inside this man. Spencer nodded eagerly and Aaron pulled his finger out (making Spencer whine) and adding a generous amount of lube to his index and middle fingers.

He pressed the index finger back in and thrust for a moment before adding the second. Spencer cried out again, loving the feeling of Aaron’s fingers. He wasn’t able to think coherent thoughts anymore, just that he wanted Aaron inside him. Aaron started scissoring his fingers and Spencer called out, “Aaron! More, please!” He was writhing in pleasure.

Aaron smirked and added lube to his ring finger without removing the others from Spencer’s ass, slowly sliding it in next to the others. He only thrust them a few times before Spencer was telling him, “Aaron, ah! I’m r-ready for you!”

Aaron was excited. He pulled the fingers out slowly and wiped the lube that was left on them on the bedspread. He grabbed the condom he had gotten out earlier and ripped it open with his teeth, slowly rolling it onto his ridiculously hard cock, adding lube to it as well.

He stood up from his place on the floor, bringing one knee up by Spencer’s hip and leaving the other foot on the floor. He pressed his mouth to Spencer’s lips again before lining up the tip of his cock with Spencer’s waiting entrance. He pressed in slowly, relishing in Spencer’s gasps and moans. When he was fully sheathed, he took a moment to breathe, knowing that if he moved now, he wasn’t going to last very long.

“Aaron, if you don’t start moving now, we’re going to have some issues,” Spencer commanded, breathily.

Aaron let out a low chuckle before starting some slow and shallow thrusts. “So perfect, Spence. So beautiful, just for me,” he spoke, not really realizing he was vocalizing it before attaching his mouth to Spencer’s neck again.

“Aaron! Faster, harder, please!” Aaron sat up then, propping himself up on his arm so he could get better leverage. He didn’t last long after that, his orgasm approached quickly, and he collapsed with a cry of “Spencer!” almost immediately after.

He recovered fast though, realizing that Spencer hadn’t come yet. He kept thrusting, ignoring his own overstimulation, and snaked an arm between them, tugging on Spencer’s cock. He had expected Spencer to get louder as he got closer to orgasm, but it seemed he had lost the energy to be vocal and started gasping, his breath almost stopping as his back arched off the bed and he came in thick, hot stripes across his torso.

“You’re amazing, Spencer,” Aaron admitted as he slowly pulled out. He made sure he hadn’t hurt Spencer before heading into what the younger man had identified as the bathroom to get something to clean them up with.

When he returned from throwing the washcloth into the hamper, Spencer had tossed the bedspread off to the side, retrieved a blanket from somewhere, and settled into his bed. “Are you staying,” Spencer asked softly.

Aaron just nodded before slipping under the blanket behind him, pulling the lithe man into his chest.

The next morning, Spencer woke up to a hickey being sucked onto his neck. They had a nice round of slow and sweet morning sex. Spencer told Aaron they were going to have to talk about whatever this was. What would change, what this relationship was going to be, but they decided the conversation could wait. When he walked into the BAU he was greeted with wolf whistles and calls of “Pretty Boy got some!”

Taglist form

Tagging: @ssa-sarahsunshine @sparklinspence @goobzoop @more-heid-pls @multixfandomwriter

[criminalminds4days]

Family Matters | Chapter 10: Believer

Hello everyone!

I apologize for my lack of posting. I have barely survived midterms and I have found myself with a writers block once more. I am hopefully going to be able to give myself a little break between the end of the semester and after finals and the beginning of my summer courses. Thankfully I only have 2 summer classes so hopefully that will make it easier to post. 

I have some announcements coming up soon and I will hopefully finish writing the missing chapters for this story and only have to post and edit. So far, I have not been able to edit anymore so I apologize for any grammatical error. 

I really hope you are enjoying reading the story because I had a really great time writing it. Hope you have a great weekend!

I apologize for constant flashbacks but they are important to the plot, I promise!

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references, violence and murder references, public embarrassment, and very bad jokes!

Word Count: 4k

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tag list: @mcntsee @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @evelyncade @haylaansmi @paulaern @myfandomlife-blog​

*************************************************

(This gif is not mine)

Chapter 10: Believer

"Very well, this seems like a good start." She said as she finished reading his confession. She moved towards the camera and turned it off, signaling that she would be taking the paper and would adhere to her part of the deal.

"What is she doing?" Spencer whispered to Emily. "Without a video confession, the written one can be considered coerced. We would be back at square one."

"There is the surveillance camera, genius."

"Of course she has a backup plan." He looked at the black camera, smiling at the knowledge.

"Now tell me, who left you, was it, mom or dad?"

"My dad." She readjusted in her seat. "How many victims did you kill total. We've found five, but it seems to me that is a low number for someone as angry as you."

"Fifteen, some of them are lost in the desert, some are by the arches, they should be found fairly soon." He shrugged and continued to look at her. "Why did he leave?"

"My mother got pregnant when she was young. It was a mistake, they didn't love each other. They married because of me, so it was only a matter of time before they broke, and break they did." She fought the urge to look back, hoping that nobody aside from Hotch would review the security tape. "Did you kill your father?"

"First one. He's in the arches, his favorite place in the world."

"Did your mom not accept his apology?"

"Well, he didn't really apologize until I had a gun to his head, but my mother was always kind, so she forgave him."

"Why did you kill him then?"

"I didn't forgive him." He winked at her. "Did you look for him?"

"I did."

"And?"

"That's your fourth question."

"I don't care, I want to know."

"He is dead. As dead as can be." She said out loud for the first time. "I hired a private investigator and found he crashed his car two years after he left us."

"Karma is a bitch."

"Why keep killing if you got rid of him?"

"For the same reason, you joined the FBI." He smiled at her, "to show my dad that he wasn't gonna dictate my life. That I was not going to let him be my end goal."

"It seems to me he is. You tracked him down, killed him. For some that might be enough. But you never got closure so you decided to pray on people who made mistakes. Where did you find them?"

"I worked at a counselors office."

"Well, that is rather obvious now. Maybe you should have gotten some help yourself." She stood, ready to leave the room, "hope you enjoy prison." She turned to exit the room.

"My final question, if you had found him, what would you have said?"

"I don't know." She responded.

"Bullshit."

"Well, I couldn't  ask him why  he left because I already know that, so I don't really know what I would have said." She turned to him, "what did you tell him?"

"I told him trousers weren't his thing." He stood, the handcuffs falling from his hands as his smile grew wider. "You should really be more careful with what you leave laying here, doctor."She reached for her gun but everything happened so fast she had no time to fire it. He seemed to run into the wall, only this one was not as hard as it seemed and a giant chunk collapsed as he made his way through, and just like that he had exited the station. Prentiss and Reid rushed in and through the now giant hole in the station but the man was nowhere to be found. Lucas Heavensbee had just vanished on her watch.

"Fuck!" She yelled and made her way to the office, the team was now making their way to the interrogation room but stopped in their tracks as they saw her approach. "I need access to the security cameras, now." She moved towards the security office and asked for the feed of the last couple of weeks to be played, there she found there were about three days missing. "He planned this, and someone helped him. He knew exactly what he was doing. That bastard played us!" She rushed out and into an SUV, driving directly to his house that was now under surveillance. She looked around, looking for anything that would indicate he had been there. It was fast to spot it, he had managed to slide through the police cars and left a note for her.

I just wanted to make sure you knew this had nothing to do with you doctor, but I simply can't let my father win. I am sure we will hear from each other, and then we can converse from one orphan to another. Until then.

She was ready to show the note to them, as Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid made their way through the house. The note was still crumpled in her hand, but as the local police entered she decided against it. The two agents were the best people she had ever met, she knew it since the moment she joined the FBI, and she knew they were trying to make her feel better about the whole situation, but there were some things she couldn't get past. This man had killed fifteen people and kidnapped so many more and he had slipped right through her fingers. He had made a fool of her, and she would be damned if she didn't catch him. Telling Emily and Spencer would worry them, and they would be on her case about it becoming an obsession, just like she had done after their first case.

One year ago (I think?)

Her leg bounced as she drove with the social worker and two of her co-workers. This was her first big assignment, and she wasn't sure she would measure up. It was also important to note that while Emily and she tended to get along well, Spencer and she hadn't spoken almost at all since the sweater incident.

"Should I introduce you as FBI agents?"

"No, I think it's best if we come as social workers, there is less hostility." Prentiss' said as she gave both Reid and her their fake badges. She placed her FBI ID inside her bag and took a deep breath, it was a simple mission, they would be in and out.

Never, and I mean never, say something will be easy, as this almost assures you that is not the case. The social worker, whose name was Daisy, had been shot and was now dead. They had become trapped in the middle of a war between the cult leaders and the local police. It's as if the universe wished to remind her just how much bad luck she could have.

She heard them talking to the FBI, and food had been delivered so she assumed they had implanted microphones. Now they had to find a way to communicate with them and let them know what they had concluded.

"Which one of you is it?" The man said as he pointed a gun at them.

"Are we playing tag?" She asked stupidly, earning a glare from her partners.

"Do you think this is a joke? Which one of you is the FBI agent?" She turned to look at the woman and man, trying her hardest not to freak out.

"What are you talking about?" Spencer asked, clearly nervous.

"I will ask you one more time, and if none of you tell me I will not hesitate to shoot all three of you. Which one is the FBI agent?"

She saw Emily stir and knew she had to act fast if she wanted to save her. "I am." She said before either of them could stop her. "I'm the FBI agent. Though I'm fairly new so I don't really have that many secrets to tell. I was barely cleared to be on the field. If you really think about it, I'm not very helpful, so I think maybe if you let it slide I could-" she felt a fist connect with her right cheekbone, silencing her.

"Take her to the back." He instructed one of the men. She gave one last reassuring glance to her teammates, hoping this wouldn't be the last time she saw them.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, the door to the room she was in opened and Ben came in. You would think that having a name like Benjamin wouldn't exactly command respect, but she wasn't one to judge cults.

"Why are you here?"

"Because you told your men to lock me here." He slapped her across the face.

"Who sent you?"

"My boss?" Her response was received with another slap.

"Do you think this is a joke?"

"I think that you need to feel powerful because a part of you knows you're not enough." She spoke hoping her team could hear part of their discovery, even if she was receiving punches from the man as she continued. "You think you can get away with stuff because you prayed on the week, but deep down you know that there are people here who could stand up to you, and if they did you would be done for." She felt a warm liquid fall from her lips as he continued to beat her. "I know you pray on young girls. You're nothing more than a pedophile that uses the bible as a way to manipulate women to give their children to you." As she fell he started kicking her and she tried to avoid making noise, but the pain was too much. "This is nothing, I've dealt with worse." She spoke, hoping they would understand. "I've dealt with much worse, this is nothing."

"Who do you think you are?!" The man said, enraged at her defiance.

"Nobody, just the one person that knows you better than you know yourself." That earned her the hardest hit, and she knew she wouldn't be conscious for much longer, she had to let them know. "Your suicide won't work, there are people that are skeptical and you know it. This isn't about God, or even your preferences, this is about you Ben, and how you are so terrified to go back to prison you are willing to kill your followers to avoid it, because you know they would see right through your act, you are nothing but a coward." The last kick took place and the man left the room. "Don't change the plan, I'm okay." She whispered, hoping they could hear her, wishing that even if she died right then and there, they could save the people trapped in this church.

When she woke, a woman was there tending her wounds. "Be careful, I think you might have some broken ribs."

"Don't tell Ben, he might come and finish me off" she joked, but the woman gave her a pointed look as if letting her know that was a possibility. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"I don't know, maybe a couple of hours. They will come and get you for the ceremony, use you as an example."

"That's okay, I've always wanted to be one of those."

"This is not a joke girl, he's dangerous."

"I know. The trick is to have nothing to lose."

"Well, I have a daughter."

"Ben's wife, right?" The woman flinched at the mention. "You're not okay with that, are you?" And then, the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "You made the call, didn't you?" Before the woman could confirm her suspicion, a man entered and pulled her up, not worrying if her body ached, and took her to the church. She used the door frame to help her stabilize herself and took in the sight before her. It was still light, but with the time she lost she couldn't be sure how much time they actually had left. Emily and her locked eyes and she approached, her eyes full of worry, but her facial expression was one of pure anger and hatred. "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you hate me?"

"How could you lie to us?" She asked, and as the men made their way to the front, her tone didn't change, but her questions did. "Are you crazy? Why would you do such a stupid thing? They could have killed you."

"I know, but it was either me or all three of us. Besides, I'm fine. We need you and Reid on the inside."

"This is reckless behavior."

"I know, but you were about to do the same."

"I have experience."

"Exactly, I can be a scapegoat."

"You are the most stubborn person I have ever met."

"I know, it's a gift. Now listen, I think there are mics, in the food, and if I'm right, I think I have been able to feed some information to the team, but we need to figure out when this massive suicide will take place."

Emily nodded and gave her an apologetic look before shoving her harshly. She fought the urge not to wince but it was almost impossible with her broken ribs. "You are a disgrace to this country, and I hope whoever you work for knows that they will not get away with it."

Ben looked over and stared at her, and despite her pain and the fear of another beating, she stared him down, letting him know that he would not get the best of her. She was gonna save as many people as possible and he could suck it. He was just another man who thought they were invisible because they weren't afraid to beat you up.

Spencer observed the interaction and the defiance she had amazed him. Despite the bruises and the swelling of her eye, not once did she lower her gaze or show any sign of weakness. Never in his life had he felt so attracted to someone as he did right then and there, but now was not the time to daydream of your coworkers, especially when they could be on the verge of dying.

As the day progressed, she continued to look for ways to tell the team, finally resorting to using the window to write a message. When she was younger she used to huff into a window to create fog and used it to write, so she did the same, letting the team know she could possibly convince some people to exit and they could come in after.

"What are you doing?" The woman from earlier spoke as she entered the room.

"If I'm gonna die, I might as well go doing something I like. Fog drawings." She said and covered her work. "Listen, don't ask me how I know this, but the FBI might strike tonight and if they do, he's not gonna cooperate, we need to get as many people as possible out."

"No, I can't do that."

"Please, I know you're scared, I'm terrified right now. I might have peed my pants earlier today, but that's not the point. The point is we need to save as many people as possible. Please help me get them out." Through the window she saw a figure, holding three fingers up. She nodded and turned back to the woman.

"Three a.m.?"

"You saw him too?"

"Yeah, one would think the FBI would be a little more discrete."

"We have our moments. Now please, make sure to get everyone out before then." The woman sighed and nodded, agreeing to the plan. "And one more thing, the people I came with, how are they?"

"Are they also agents?"

"No, of course not. I just dragged them into this and feel responsible for them. They are good people."

"The man seems to be fascinated by Ben, and vice versa. The woman keeps pacing around as if hoping for enlightenment. She has talked to some people though."

"Okay good. Please make sure to get them out too." After she left and closed the door, the woman sat down, her injuries making it hard to breathe. "I don't know where I am, or how to get out, but that will not change the plans okay? I need to make sure all these people are safe."

She wished she could hear someone ensuring her that would be the case, but there was no answer. She felt herself get dizzy and knew there was definitely internal damage that would take time to heal. Turns out her mother was wrong, money couldn't get you out of everything. It felt like an eternity, but she knew the time was approaching. She saw and more and more dark figures gathered around the church. She even caught a glimpse of Derek, who seemed to be looking around, as if hoping he could find her. She huffed one last time and wrote a message to him.

The door opened and nobody came in. She knew what it meant, so she gathered her remaining strength and walked out. Everything was dark and she could hear Spencer's voice coming from the main room. She followed it and stopped as she noticed him trying to talk a man down from placing explosives. She cursed under her breath. She stepped forward only to be pulled back by someone.

"Don't even think about it." The man said.

"Derek, we need to help him."

"I know, I'll go, join the rest. Everyone is already out."

"But-"

"Go!" She began walking out before it all happened. Reid ran towards them and Derek pulled the both of them to the nearest and hopefully safest area before a sharp pain on her head made her vision blurry and soon after she lost consciousness.

"I think she will appreciate it if you showered." She heard someone say, once she finally regained consciousness.

"Well, then she can tell me that herself." Another voice responded.

"Emily, you and Spencer have been here for a week. You need to go to the hotel and rest. At least the kid has been using the shower."

"I am not leaving until she wakes up. That includes leaving to bathe."

"Neither am I." A third voice added to the mix. "Though I can't say the same thing about avoiding water."

"How am I supposed to leave if I can't trust the two of you to take care of yourselves?"

"Easy, your flight leaves in less than an hour and you are still here. Unless you want to be paying fees you will get out of here."

There was a sigh of resignation before the voice spoke once more. "Reid, you're in charge until she wakes up. Then she's in charge."

"You're gonna put the one of us that was hit in the head 'in charge'? What does that even mean?" The female voice complained.

"I have made my decision. Maybe if you showered, things would be different." The voice faded, and the steps of the person became less clear, so she assumed the person was leaving.

"I think Morgan is right, you should take a shower."

"Don't make me hurt you, Reid."

"It was just a suggestion."

She didn't want to interrupt their banter, but her urge to sneeze was bigger, so she let her body do its thing. Though it is important to let you know that sneezing with broken ribs is horrible.

"She's awake!" Emily screamed and launched herself onto the bed. She started crying from pain after the action. "You're so happy you're crying!"

"Prentiss, that might be because you just jumped on her ribs." The man clarified as he stood, placing his hand on hers. The feeling was foreign, but she could let it slide once.

"I am so sorry! But I am so happy you're awake."

"What happened?"

"After the explosion, you hit your head, and because you already had injuries your body gave out, exhausted. Thankfully the ambulance was already there and we could rush you to the hospital. You've been sleeping for a good week." He explained.

"Well, then I don't get a lazy day for another three months." She joked and the two joined her. "How are the believers?"

"They're all safe and accounted for. Sadly we lost Ben's wife."

"Does her mom know?"

"Yes, but she wanted me to tell you she doesn't blame you and hopes you do get better." There was a moment of silence, as she processed the message, as well as her guilt.

"And I want you to know I ate your Jell-O." This caused her to laugh again. No matter how painful it felt, she was glad to be alive.

"Remind me to never get stuck in a hospital under the care of Spencer Reid. He'll eat my Jell-O."

"Let's make it a no trip to the hospital policy."

"Do I need to remind you where we work?" The woman shook her head, and both of them looked at her with a heartwarming smile. "I hate to break this moment, but please go shower, Prentiss."

"Ugh, fine." She placed a kiss on her forehead and moved out. "Reid, if anything happens, call me. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Got it."

She walked out and the two remained silent for a couple of minutes. Their hands were still together and she squeezed it to get his attention. "How are you doing? I wasn't the only one that got caught in the blast."

"I'm good. Morgan and I barely had a scratch, they cleared us that same day."

"That's good. What about the rest of the team?"

"They are all good. They wanted to stay but they had another case, Hotch said your family was out of reach so Emily and I refused to leave. Morgan also stayed behind but they called him up today, without three agents they needed all the help they could get."

"You guys didn't need to stay." She assured him. His grip on her hand tightened, enough to let her know he wasn't letting go, but not enough to hurt her.

"You could've died. Because of me."

"That's not true and you know it."

"I should've said I was the agent."

"We both know the reason he didn't kill me was that I'm a woman. You wouldn't have been so lucky."

"Still."

"Reid, listen to me. This is not your fault, and this is not Emily's fault either. I knew what I was getting into, and I would do it again in a heartbeat."

"You are one stubborn woman."

"I know." She smiled at him, "now please go find me some Jell-O."

He laughed, but nodded, letting go of her hand. Just before he exited the room he turned and gave her the most endearing look she had ever seen, "thank you, for saving our lives. I'll never forget that."

"Good, that way I can ask for favors at any time." They both chuckled and he left the room hunting for the dessert.

The reality in her brain, however, was not as calm as she portrayed. For months she had obsessed over what she had done wrong, and she had spent sleepless nights thanks to her recurring nightmare, in which Ben didn't hesitate to pull the trigger, and as she watched Spencer and Emily's bodies lie in a pool of blood. This alone was enough to make her train and perfect her skills, to the point of complete exhaustion. She wasn't going to fail, not again.

That was until Lucas Heavensbee had brought her right back to her dark hole.