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five-rivers · 3 years ago

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Danger First

Chapter 6

@pocketramblr another :)

Shouta trudged back to the staff break room. His counseling session with Midoriya had lasted a little over an hour, so while there were still teachers in the building, many of them had left. With the exception of semi-retired heroes like Recovery Girl, everyone working here had two full time jobs. Hizashi, despite his carefree air, had even more than that in the form of his radio show. Hizashi had probably left with the students.

But Hizashi wasn't either of the ones he wanted to talk to. Not today.

He opened the door. Three, no, four teachers were there, but Snipe didn't count, seeing as he was completely passed out on one of the couches with his gas mask half off. He must have had an early shift patrol today, poor sucker.

Nemuri was there, too, with most of her hero outfit on. She was applying her hero-grade makeup (water proof, resistant to three common contact poisons, and guaranteed not to react badly with mace).

More importantly, Kan and Yagi were both there, poring over papers on the same desk, no less. Shouta walked up to the table and looked down at sheets and sheets full of incomprehensible numbers.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"We-"

'Don't tell him!" said Kan, urgently. "This is going to be my class's leg up on Aizawa this time around."

"Haha! Good one!" Yagi slapped Kan's back, and apparently even in his skeletal form he could pack a punch, because Kan had the air knocked out of him. Before he could recover, Yagi continued, "I'm making personalized nutrition plans for his class!"

"What?"

"One of my undergraduate degrees was in nutritional and health sciences, after all!"

Wow, there was a lot to unpack there, but Shouta was more than happy to leave it in its box. He had other fish to fry and topics to interrogate. Small talk requirement fulfilled, he moved on.

"How well do you know Midoriya?"

Yagi blinked and put down his pencil. "Moderately so? We met about this time last year and have been meeting regularly since then."

So, so much to unpack.

"Why?"

"Ah, he... impressed me, I suppose? He was involved in the bodysnatcher incident last year."

That was an understatement.

"He had a lot of heroic spirit!" continued Yagi. "But... not so much in the, ah, body category. I thought it would be a shame, a waste, really, if he wasn't able to pursue his dream, and a hero school prep course wasn't really in the cards for him, considering his quirk status and the timing... And I did have this degree..." He waved his hands vaguely at the table. "I just gave him a little help."

"What brought all this on, anyway?" asked Nemuri. "Midoriya is the little green haired kid, right? One of Chibiida's new friends?"

"If you keep calling him that, I won't be held responsible for when he snaps and attempts murder. But, yes, that's Midoriya."

"So...?"

"He told me I was the best teacher he'd ever had."

Nemuri started laughing.

"Oh," said Yagi. "I'm glad the two of you are getting along so well."

"I think he's pulling your leg, Shouta," said Nemuri, coming over to pat him on his shoulder. "Man, I didn't think a friend of Chibiida's would have it in him. Such youth!"

"I cannot even begin to tell you how much he wasn't."

Nemuri's laughter died off.

"Judging from some comments he made today," said Shouta, "not to mention the discrepancies between his record and his observed behavior in the classroom, I'd say he's been the target of severe quirkism in the past, particularly from his teachers. Did he ever mention anything like that to you?"

Yagi's face darkened and the mood in the room grew much more somber. "Not in so many words, no. However... some of his comments about his teachers disturbed me enough to bring it to the attention of the Musutafu Educational Services District, but as an unrelated stranger without concrete proof..."

("You can use the acronym, you know," muttered Vlad.)

"You're telling me they ignored the number one hero."

Yagi made a face. "I didn't go to them as All Might. Can you imagine the media frenzy if I did that? I didn't want to paint that kind of target on young Midoriya's back."

That was fair, actually. If largely-anonymous Shouta had enemies, All Might had ten times as many. Not to mention supposed fans.

"Other avenues of inquiry were also fruitless," said All Might, countenance darkening. "I asked some of my police colleagues, but they don't have full discretion over the direction of their investigations, and, again, if I were to use my weight to move them... It would get out, and people would wonder why I was so concerned with an apparently normal middle school."

"Did you try talking to Nezu about it?"

"No? Why?"

Shouta reminded himself that although Yagi was an alumnus, he was also very new as a teacher, and was as of yet unfamiliar with Nezu's more interesting traits.

"I'm going to," said Shouta, "and you're going to come with me." He turned to Kan. "Have you heard anything from Bakugo about quirk discrimination?"

"All I've heard from him are explosions, threats, and some kind of complex I don't have nearly enough psychiatric training to- They're from the same school," he realized.

"Yeah."

Kan pinched his brow. "So, the sweet shy kid you keep gushing about-" Both Shouta and Yagi attempted to reassure Kan they weren't gushing, "-and the demon brat are from the same school."

"That is what their records say," agreed Shouta. "Did you know, Yagi?"

"Oh, that they knew each other? Yes. Actually, I was rather under the impression they were childhood friends, as Midoriya ran out to help him during the bodysnatcher incident."

Shouta grunted. It was possible. He hadn't seen the two of them interact, at any rate.

"I'm going to Nezu with you," said Kan, standing up. "No matter what else this hell school did, they deserve to suffer for inflicting Bakugo Katsuki on me with those recommendations full of lies."

"Why don't you just expell him if he's that bad?"

"Because he's talented, hardworking, and hasn't actually broken any rules except for the swearing. He's just a pain I wasn't prepared to deal with and will probably contribute more to my hearing loss than Yamada by the end of the year."

"Wait, wait," said Yagi. "What exactly are you expecting Nezu to do in this situation?"

"Well," said Nemuri, who still hadn't left yet, "let's just say there's a reason hid name is 'god' in the staff group chat."

Terrible did not even begin to describe how Izuku felt when he woke up. His skin was static. His mouth was dry in a way that hurt. It felt like a siren was going off in his brain, and also like it was too quiet. He wanted to both run all the way to the school and hide in his closet.

This, of course, left him paralyzed in bed.

He hadn't felt remotely like this since the first time someone had left spider lilies on his desk at school. What was wrong with him?

No, that was the wrong question. All signs pointed to him having Danger Sense. He was in danger. And also immobile in bed.

With a great deal of effort, he turned to his bedside table and grabbed his phone. The clock in the corner read 4:42. Far too early to call anyone. And yet...

With shaky fingers, he navigated to Mr. Yagi's contact information and pressed dial. To Izuku's surprise, it only rang once.

"Young Midoriya? Is something wrong?"

The sound of his voice loosened the terrible knot under Izuku's breastbone. "I- May-maybe? I don't- I don't know, I think so."

There were sounds of movement on the other side of the line. "What happened?"

"I just- just woke up, and I- I think it's Danger Sense. It- Something bad is going to happen."

"I'm on my way. Is your mother with you?"

"N-no. She's at a- at a tech conference in Tokyo. She won't be back until- until tomorrow. Mr. Yagi, I don't- I don't think it's something here. I think it's later... at the school."

There was a pause. "My boy, are you quite sure?"

Izuku's laugh was just a little hysterical. "I mean, I'm- I'm pretty new to this, but..." he'd like to think his flight or fight reflex would have a more constructive response to am immediate threat. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have woken you up, I should have waited-"

"Nonsense! Forewarned is forearmed, and time is one of the most valuable resources a hero can have! I'm still picking you up, I'll just-" Mr. Yagi coughed, "-take the car instead."

"The car? You mean Hercules!?" The excitement was enough to free Izuku from his paralysis and propel him into a sitting position.

"Well, yes, but, my boy, how did you know? I don't think I've ever mentioned the name in my interviews..."

"But you did! In one of your American interviews. It was for a local station and you and Mr. Shield were on together."

"But those were in English."

"I know! When I found out about them, it really motivated me to work on my English! I think I could probably pass the Level Two fluency test..."

"Young Midoriya, have I ever told you how glad I am that you aren't a villain?"

"Hikage, did Danger Sense ever make you feel this bad?" asked Nana as Yoichi fussed in the background.

"Super Anxiety made me feel this bad all the time. Sometimes, it made me feel worse. I got used to it."

Nana let out a sigh of relief. It sucked to Ninth right now, but if it was normal for the quirk...

"That's good, then," said En. "Not for Ninth, obviously, but if that's just how the quirk works, he'll be able to figure it out. What did it usually mean, when you felt like this?"

"Generally, that someone was planning on killing me in the next few hours."

Dead(er than usual) silence.

"Ah," said En.

"You know," said Nana, "sometimes the kinds of lives we led slips my mind, but then the universe is always real happy to turn around and slap it back into me."

Yoichi started screeching.

"Do you feel any worse now that we're here?" asked Mr. Yagi after shutting Hercules down.

"Not really," said Izuku. He slumped down in his seat and looked away. "I'm sorry, I dragged you out of bed and this is probably just a stupid pointless meaningless panic attack..." He felt tears begin to prick at the edges of his eyes. He was so stupid. And selfish. All Might could be out helping people right now. Or taking care of himself (which, according to Recovery Girl's comments during their training sessions, he didn't do nearly enough of).

"Hey, hey, there's no need to cry, it's alright."

"Because you're here?" asked Izuku with a sniffle.

"Well, yes, but also, even if it was 'just' a panic attack, I'd still want to be here for you." He reached across the central console to pat Izuku on the shoulder. Then his face twisted into something rather sheepish. "But on the subject of panic attacks, something did occur to me on the way here."

Izuku looked back down at his knees. "What is it?"

"This is the anniversary of the day we met."

Izuku... had known that, actually. Waking up as he had had driven it from his mind, but the date was marked on his calendar. He'd even gotten All Might a gift, although he hadn't yet talked himself into being brave enough to give it to him, and with what happened today, it would most likely languish in his desk drawer for an indefinite period of time as the idea of giving it became progressively more awkward.

"My boy? I can't quite make out what you're saying. You're mumbling."

Izuku clapped his hands over his mouth. "Sorry."

"It's quite alright. I'm just an old man with hearing problems."

"You're not old! It's... I just- I just don't see how- how that's connected to this." He gestured at himself in all his vaguely-trembling glory.

"Young Midoriya... you almost died three separate times that day. That's traumatic. And sometimes anniversaries are... reminders."

"I only almost died once?"

"The first time with the sludge villain, grabbing on to my leg- and I don't think I ever apologized for telling you to let go, I was just so surprised- and then the sludge villain again."

"But I only almost died the first time..." He trailed off as Mr. Yagi gave him a look. He'd thought his mother was the only one who could give looks like that... "Do you really think this is connected to that?"

"I don't know," said Mr. Yagi. "Do you feel like it might be?"

"I don't know," said Izuku. He bent over and knotted his fingers in his hair.

"Do you think it might help to stay home today?"

"No!" yelped Izuku. "No," he repeated, trying to calm his racing heart.

"Alright, alright. Never fear, my boy." Mr. Yagi gave him another steadying shoulder pat. "In that case, let's go into this with the assumption that this is danger sense, and it is attempting to warn you of a real threat."

"Okay," said Izuku. He rubbed at his eyes. "What do we do first?"

Mr. Yagi tensed and looked up at the top floors of UA. "Well..."

"Hm!" said Nezu. "That is something of a conundrum! The extent of your quirk is unclear, and it is not properly registered, so we cannot go through the official routes we normally would for a warning given through a precognitive or clairvoyant quirk, even given that we are aware of One for All and the probable nature of Danger Sense."

Nezu knowing about One for All had been a bit of a surprise. In retrospect, maybe it shouldn't have been. All Might would have had to tell Nezu something so that Izuku was allowed on campus before he was really a student, and seeing as how All Might was originally teaching here to find a successor... well, it made sense. Izuku just wished he'd been told.

How many other people knew was a question for later, however.

"Your inexperience with the quirk and other circumstances further complicates the matter."

"Sorry," said Izuku.

"Whatever for? It isn't your fault." Nezu did not wait for an answer. "Then there is yesterday's incident to consider... You say you felt something with the reporters?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Hm. Yes. Toshinori, I so believe you have a contact who could clear this up much more efficiently."

"I know," said Mr. Yagi. "He isn't picking up his phone."

"You don't think-?" started Izuku.

"No, no, he just hasn't been speaking to me lately."

"Oh? I was under the impression you had been communicating with him regularly since returning to Musutafu."

"He thought I would change my mind about something I didn't change my mind about, apparently. It doesn't matter. What else can we do?"

"A good number of things, luckily. Midoriya, I am going to make a series of phone calls. I would like you to tell me if the sensation you are experiencing changes at all while I make them."

"Yes, sir."

Nezu began methodically going through Izuku's list of teachers, warning them that something 'like yesterday' might happened and going over lesson plans and safety procedures. Nothing really changed. Until Nezu called Thirteen.

(Oh, gosh, they were going to go to the Unforeseen Simulation Joint on a field trip today? That was so cool!)

But after Nezu talked to Thirteen about checking safety systems, a little bit of the tension he'd been holding onto leaked away.

"Interesting," said Nezu. "Perhaps we should reschedule rescue training until-"

Izuku dove for Nezu's garbage bin.

"-or perhaps not," mused Nezu as Izuku expelled the meager contents of his stomach.

It was a good thing he hadn't eaten breakfast.

"Hikage," said Banjo. "I'm sorry for calling you a dead-eyed emotionally stunted bastard with a warped sense of humor if this is what you had to put up with all the time."

"You called me a dead-eyed emotionally stunted bastard?"

"Not to your face, but yes."

"Well. It isn't as if those things aren't all true..."

"I'm okay," said Izuku. "That just... felt bad."

"No cancelations in that case," said Nezu as Mr. Yagi hovered.

"Y-yeah. Oh gosh, now I know how Uraraka feels..."

"Perhaps you should stay home-"

"No! I can't! That would be..."

Nezu held up his hands- paws? "It was merely a suggestion. Can I offer you some tea?"

"Yes, please," said Izuku, voice catching uncomfortably on his raw throat.

"I do have a few more calls to make. Do you feel up to staying, or would you prefer to head down to Recovery Girl? Or perhaps even the cafeteria? I imagine you haven't eaten breakfast."

"I'd like to stay."

"Very well." Nezu picked up his phone again. Izuku could just make out the click on the other end when it was picked up. "Am I a mouse? A dog? A bear? One thing's for sure! I'm the principal!" There was laughter on the other end of the line. "No, not at all! I am in fact calling for you, Tensei. Or should I say, Ingenium? I'm aware this is last minute, and you were planning on taking the day off- How do I know? It was quite simple, really- but between the break-in yesterday and a tip I received this morning regarding a threat to the school, I would like a few more hands on deck than usual. Why, yes, you can stay with your brother's class. Do try not to tease Shouta too much. He has a reputation to maintain." After a few more pleasantries, Nezu hung up. "Midoriya?"

"I... think that's better? I'm sorry, it's hard to tell what could be the quirk and what's just me feeling bad."

Nezu nodded. "In that case, I do recommend that you head to Recovery Girl's office. My other calls will be similar, and the other heroes will not be with your class."

"Why not?" asked Mr. Yagi.

"Because Midoriya's reaction to the field trip being canceled suggests that the danger may not be limited to himself or his class. Oh! And one more thing. Midoriya, I noticed that you put in some costume alteration requests. Naturally, most of them will not be finished until some time next week, however, some of the support items you mentioned are fairly common. If you have time before the field trip, you should pay a visit to Power Loader."

Izuku hadn't expected it, but he did feel much better after eating, despite his continuing sense of impending doom. It was also about half an hour from the beginning of homeroom, so he had the time to go to the support department and check if they had anything he could take.

He hoped they had grappling hooks. Izuku had always wanted a grappling hook.

Mr. Yagi took him most of the way there, but students had started to arrive at this point, and Izuku convinced him to go prepare for classes (and hide in the staff area so that no one would wonder why he, a skeleton man not recognizable as a hero, was at the school). Before too long, Izuku stood in front of a rather sturdy-looking metal door. He hoped this was the right one.

He raised his hand to knock just as something crashed into him. Ah. This was it for sure. The way he would die. The danger he had foreseen.

No. Wait. Never mind. He was fine, just on the ground.

"Oh! There was a person there! You okay?"

"U-um," said Izuku, sitting up and rubbing his head. "I'm fine, just a little startled."

"What're you doing here, anyway?"

"I- I'm here for... support... gear?" He sort of trailed off as he looked up.

It was the intense pink haired girl from the other day. As he watched, her expression changed from one of mild concern to calculating interest.

"Support gear, you say?"

Shouta answered his phone as he walked down the hall. "Nezu, I've already done every security check I can think of that'll fit-"

"Not quite why I was calling, although I can see why you would think so. One of your students needs to be rescued from the support department."

Shouta changed direction without missing a beat. "It's Midoriya, isn't it?"

"Why, yes."

"Did you send him down there without warning him?"

"Yes, again. You know me so well!"

Shouta hung up.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #danger first au #danger first #fic #fanfic

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whumpinggrounds · 3 years ago

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All Caught Up

woohoo here for day 1 of @whumptober2021 with some superhero/sidekick content :) as i’m sure you’ll figure out, this is for the barbed wire part of the prompt

tagging @whumpy-writings, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed :)

CW: barbed wire, (duh), blood, field medicine, cuts, pain, crying, sidekick whump, environmental whump (kinda??)

The mission is going well, as far as August can tell. He’s been relegated to recon, which is a nice way of saying that he’s spending the night running circles around the action. Beck, ever the diplomatic leader, makes sure to talk up the importance of it, emphasize how August is keeping them safe by watching everyone’s back. August, young and green though he might be, is smart enough to know that it’s a little less dramatic than all that. At least he’s contributing, August tells himself. Mercer, his fellow trainee, is back at the compound with the medic girl, Valerie. Perhaps it’s only because August’s power is more useful, but he’d like to pretend it’s a little deeper than that.

By his fifteenth lap around their perimeter, August has to call his wishful thinking what it is. He’s not any more capable than Mercer, and certainly he’s less useful than Valerie. He’s just convenient for the current mission, which, by the way, he doesn’t even get to know about. After just a few minutes of the task, he has to admit what he’s really doing, which is running pointless circles around a warehouse in the dark, keeping his eyes open for anyone suspicious.

“What kind of suspicious person should I be looking for?” August had asked, overloaded on adrenaline as Beck and Donovan briefed him on the mission. Beck had nodded at the question, but Donovan had looked nothing short of disgusted.

“We’ll be at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city in the middle of the night. Anyone shows up, they’re suspicious. Is that simple enough for you?”

After weeks of training with him, August was well used to Donovan’s digs, but hearing it in front of Beck made him flush like it was the first time. He ducked his head, cringing from the friendly pat Beck tried to land on his shoulder.

“Don’s just stressed,” Beck had explained with an apologetic smile. August had forced a smile. If that was true, Donovan’s spent the past several weeks stressed, every minute of every day.

The memory of the conversation cheers August, just a little. It reminds him that he’s out here, jogging easy laps around the warehouse, instead of inside, within range of Donovan’s caustic comments. At a steady, sustainable lope, August cuts through the clear, slightly cool night air like a knife. He’s dressed in black from head to toe, including a mask pulled down over his face that hides his spiky, strawberry blonde hair. When he first dressed out like this, August had been tempted to ask what would happen if someone thought he looked suspicious, skipping around dressed completely in black. Before he got the words out, though, he imagined Donovan’s withering response, and Beck’s awkward pity. August decided it was better just to keep his mouth shut. Now he focuses on watching the world around him, scanning alleyways and empty roads in widening circles. It’s easy, meditative, the most familiar motion August knows.

Around him, the night is thick and silent. His footsteps echo down quiet streets, only the sound of buzzing streetlights and distant sirens there to keep him company. Of all the sketchy parts of the city, August wouldn’t have picked the warehouse district for a criminal hotspot – most of these places are legitimate shipping contract, complete with a rent-a-cops posted outside their chain link fencing. This building is on the edge, though. August examines it on his closer loops, trying to glean from the outside what must be going on within. He has a lot to learn, and it’ll take him twice as long if Donovan and Beck won’t explain things to him outright.

They’ve been in the area almost an hour when a new noise makes August’s ears prick up. Something rattles in one of the side streets, a way that’s been empty the last three times August checked it. Tightening his circle, August trots toward the sound, not sure whether he should hope for a stray dog, or something a little more exciting.

As he draws closer, August tries to note the ways the alleyway might’ve changed, but he just hasn’t been paying enough attention in all this quiet. There’s a bottle, gleaming empty, in the center of the alley, which may not have been there before. Slowing to a walk, August scans both sides of the way carefully, making sure to check the window sconces above him. He gets to the street on the other side, ready to give up, when he sees him. Across the way, there’s a man watching him – dark clothes, shifty eyes. Their eyes lock, and August feels his heart rate pick up.

Before he can say anything or start to move, the other man is turning and running. Despite himself, a smile spreads across August’s face. Perfect.

Springing into action, August throws himself into the chase. After all the casual jogging, it feels so good to run – muscles firing at top speed, peak efficiency. The world blurs past his face as August’s legs pump beneath him, fine and strong. Fully confident in his abilities, August charges forward, fighting the urge to grin.

Up ahead, the stranger doesn’t look back. Presumably, he can hear August’s footsteps, catching up to him in leaps and bounds. The guy darts into a nearby building, dodging through dilapidated rooms, no doubt as a last-ditch attempt at evasion. Smirking, August tears after him.

The only thing that keeps the man out of August’s reach are the doorways and minor obstacles that block August’s path. He has to slow down to dodge, and the stranger pulls ahead again, fleeing out the back door a few precious yards before August. Growling, August hurls himself forward again, springing off the bottom steps of the house. He takes two massive strides and then –

And then August is on the ground, for seemingly no reason. Heart pumping hard, adrenaline surging through his veins, August tries to bounce back to his feet without even checking what might be wrong. That’s when the pain hits.

It’s stinging, at first, in his legs, and then a strange, metallic rattling sound. August lies still, brain still trying to catch up to what exactly is going on. Slowly, tentatively, he tries to separate one leg from the other, and then sucks in a breath as the tearing pain sharpens. Peering down, he whimpers as the source of his agony is revealed.

A bunch of old, rusty strands of barbed wire are wrapped around his legs. He must’ve run into them, almost full speed. If they were stapled to something before, his momentum must’ve carried him straight through, but it’s just as likely that the coils were just sitting there. Either way, the wire is now wrapped tight around his legs, digging in with every little motion he tries to use to escape.

Okay. Okay. August tries to keep his breathing level, but it’s hard. It’s getting shaky. Okay, he tells himself, just, just sit up-

But sitting up moves the wires, makes them tear at his skin in new and agonizing ways. Hissing through his teeth, August gives up for a second, lies panting on the ground like a landed fish. The weight on his legs makes the barbs dig in all the deeper. Whining, August pushes himself up on his elbows and, fighting pain, reaches back to try to pull the damn thing off. Every single motion makes the barbs dig deeper, rip and tear at August’s skin like they have teeth and independent, vicious will.

Despite his gritted teeth, his clenched fists, his desperate attempts to control himself, tears leak from August’s eyes. Angrily he swipes them away, panting through the waves of stinging pain, trying to think. He needs to…he needs to…he needs to get upright, so he can untangle himself.

The thought of standing, of all the maneuvering he’ll need to do, puts a sob in August’s throat. He just wants it to stop hurting. Adrenaline is draining from his system, leaving him with helpless, useless pain. August wants someone to come help him – but even if Donovan and Beck are out looking for him, he has no way of knowing when they’ll find him. Besides, he’s a full-on adult. He’s supposed to be a superhero. He’s supposed to help on this mission, not hinder. August needs to fix this himself.

Drawing in a long, unsteady breath, August steels himself, eyes closed. He can’t fix anything from his current position, facing the ground and unable to see just how bad the knotting is. Trying to stand is going to dig the barbs even deeper into his thighs and calves. Flipping over on his back will tangle him further in the loose strands of wire. There’s no good option, but he can’t just lie here on his face and let the barbs bury themselves in his skin, hoping someone finds him soon.

Gritting his teeth, August makes his move fast, giving himself no time to chicken out. Throwing his body to the side, he flips himself onto his back, dragging the strands of wire with him.

The pain is blinding. Either the wire is still attached to something, or its own weight resisted August’s move – whatever it is, the wire wrapped around his legs drags hard against August’s flesh. Caught off guard, August screams, a harsh, ragged sound that echoes loud into the night. He screams just once, and then bites down savagely on his cheek, pressing a fist to his mouth to muffle his sobs. Below the waist, his pants grow wet with blood.

Fuck. Fuck. It hurts so bad his body shakes with his tears. It hurts. Inside his head, August is wailing, but on the outside, all he can do is lie on the ground shaking, pressing his fist so hard against his teeth that his knuckles split and bleed.

Fuck. Fuck. Just breathe. He has to breathe. He has to breathe, and then he has to get it together, and then he has to fix this.

After a few minutes of regaining his composure, August sits up gingerly. In the dim glow of flickering streetlights, he looks at the mess wound tight around his legs. Just seeing it makes his stomach drop. He has no tools with him, nothing that could be used to cut spiky steel wire. August will have to sit here and peel each piece away from his skin by hand, even as tugging at one strand pulls another strand tighter.

It's going to be agony. But August doesn’t have another choice. Already, his pants are damp, and it won’t be long before a puddle starts to form. He can’t just sit here and weep until his mentors come to save him.

With one shaking finger, August tries to trace the wire, to figure out where and how to start. Eventually, he abandons that idea – he’s held by at least two, maybe three separate pieces of wire, and they’re all twisted together, a chaotic tangle that engulfs his legs in too many different places. Locking his jaw together and vowing that he won’t scream, August sets out to free himself.

It feels like it takes forever. A few times, August wishes dizzily to pass out from blood loss, or pain, but though the barbs cut deep, he’s not losing a dangerous amount of blood. The pain, rather than knocking him out, seems determined to keep him inescapably, unbearably present, aware of every little agony that razor wire can cause. Every shift, every tug, every careful little motion sends searing pain reverberating through his body.

Driven to distraction by the pain, by gritting his teeth and reducing his screams to grunts, August casts around him, finally landing on an old cardboard box collapsing in on itself nearby. With greedy fingers he hauls it to himself, folds it into a packet as thick as a wallet, and stuffs it in his mouth. Cringing from the taste of earth and mold and damp, August draws in a difficult breath around the mouthful and then attempts a particularly hard yank.

Head falling back, August yowls into his makeshift gag, biting down so hard he chokes on his trapped tongue. Coughing, crying, keening into the cardboard like a wounded animal, August works an especially tight strand away from his calves, not letting himself stop, no matter how painful or loud the going is.

When the loop is finally loose, August lets his teeth creak apart. His jaw aches from the clenching, and his teeth have worn deep, blurred impressions in the old cardboard. His hands are trembling, stained with blood from his legs and from where he’s cut his palms heaving at the wire entrapping him. Swiping a bloody hand across his mouth, August tries to get his breath back, all the while moaning, letting out little repetitive whimpering cries, like an animal caught in a trap and begging for aid. Distantly, he’s surprised at himself – he’s never heard these little pleading whines before and wouldn’t have thought it was something he would do. He’d always thought of himself as a yeller, before, someone who outright bellowed their pain. Tonight, he’s timid and pathetic as a child.

By the time Beck and Donovan find him, August is working on the last round of wire, surrounded by the bloody remnants of his prior successes. He’s too exhausted and pain-sick to focus on anything but freeing himself, so he isn’t alerted to the presence of the other supers until he hears Beck’s murmur. “Oh, fuck.” The leader sounds horrified, sick. “Oh, fuck, August, what happened?”

Too weary to have dignity, August just opens his mouth and lets the cardboard fall out, hands dropping to his sides and away from the barbed wire still stuck in his legs. “Saw som’n watchin’ the warehouse.” It’s been so long since he tried to talk that August isn’t sure why he’s slurring – maybe exhaustion, maybe the pain. Maybe because he’s been biting down so hard on cardboard his jaw feels like it won’t work right ever again. “Trieda chase ‘em. Didn’ see…didn’ see the wire.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Don’ know. Feels like…a long time.”

August looks up at Beck with total, hopeless, bottomless despair. Swallowing hard, Beck drops to his knees beside August, hand slipping down to his toolbelt. In seconds, he has a pair of wire cutters out and ready, and August feels hysterical laughter well within him at the thought of how easy this all would’ve been if only Beck had been around.

From another street floats a familiar, four note whistle. Beck replies in kind through his teeth as he brings the clippers to rest against the wire. August grits his teeth, steeling himself for the snap, the sudden retraction of the coils. Hesitating, Beck peers at him. “This…this could hurt.”

“’ve peeled…plen’y of it off m’self,” August grits out. “Jus’…hurry.” He drags in a shaky breath and wills himself to be brave. “…please.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, August remembers the cardboard too late. Without it, he lets an agonized grunt escape his lips as the wire cutters sever the last loop. Even the minute relaxation of his newly released legs is enough to jerk cruelly on the barbs embedded in his thighs. Fresh tears spring to his eyes beneath his mask, and August wonders wretchedly if Beck can see them.

If Beck does see his youngest trainee crying, he’s good enough not to say anything about it. When August peeks through slitted eyes, he sees his leader bent over the wire, focusing hard, drawing each barb out carefully and trying not to jostle as he does.

It hurts only a little less than August’s work on himself, but it’s over blessedly quick. When Beck finally sits back on his heels, August is left panting and bloody, but finally free. For a long moment he just sits there, leaning back on his elbows, trying to catch his breath. Opening his eyes, he discovers that sometime in the last few minutes, Donovan arrived, and is now staring at him, green eyes unreadable under his mask.

“August was trying to chase down a possible spy and ran into some razor wire.” Beck’s voice is low, distracted. “Maybe night vision goggles next time? Or-”

“Or the trainee learns not to run into shit like fences, walls, and goddamned barbed wire.”

“Don-”

“Can’t teach common fucking sense, Beck.” Donovan snorts. “Or maybe you can, but you shouldn’t waste your time.”

Letting his head drop, August bites his lip hard to avoid dissolving into tears. He’s tried so hard to be brave. When he speaks, his voice comes out as a wavery, exhausted whisper. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a long silence from his two mentors. “Come on, Donovan.” Beck sounds tired. “He’s lost a fair amount of blood.”

Donovan just grunts, and crosses the courtyard, and scoops August up in an effortless bridal carry. He isn’t especially gentle, but he isn’t especially rough either, and he carries August, bloody and teary and exhausted, all the way home.

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maddiewritesstucky · 4 years ago

Text

Whenever You’re Ready

I am equal parts excited and terrified to share this story with you all. This one is very special to me, and it has been an Emotional Experience putting these words to page, so far removed from what I usually write. Huge acknowledgement to @doctorenterprise whose honest critiques vastly improved this story, and @buckyandthejets who validated the hell out of me, thank you both so much 😘

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve/Bucky (Modern AU)

Word count: 5189

Tags: Angst, infidelity (not between Steve/Bucky), heavy on the feels, reference to past internalized homophobia, lost love, reunions, emotional sex, happy ending

*CW: Infidelity - In this story, Bucky has sex with Steve even though he is (unhappily) married to someone else. Please avoid this story if you will find this triggering, or feel free to DM me if you need more details. It all ends well!*

***

“Never changes, does it?”

It goes straight to Steve’s bones, that voice, all the way down to his marrow. He doesn’t turn around at the sound of it, nor at the muted clunk of footsteps on the dock behind him; slowly closing the distance to where Steve’s standing, thinking.

Waiting.

He’s been out here long enough to have watched the sun disappear behind the mountainous horizon, taking with it its warmth and making way for the quiet chill of evening to set in. It’s far enough away here, from the music and revelry and reminiscence, that Steve can almost pretend those words are true; that nothing’s changed, that there’s nothing and no one else in existence but the two of them, and the reflection of the moon rising over the lake.

“Some things do.”

It comes out bitter, even though Steve’s spent years telling himself he’s not; that the pit in his stomach and the hole in his chest have a different name, a different face. It’s a pointless grief, after so many years. Decades, now, as the banners and balloons up at the reunion were boasting.

He knew what he was doing, coming here tonight. Like pushing on a bruise to make sure it still hurts. And it did, it does, because Bucky is right - the camp hasn’t changed a bit, and Steve might be pushing forty now but his heart is still nineteen; still standing at the end of this dock at sundown waiting for those footsteps behind him, for that warm hand slipping into his and that familiar voice saying his name like it’s music, like it means something.

“Steve…”

...There’s no hand, and his name is just a name. It aches in the exact place Steve had thought it would.

“She’s pretty, Buck. You look good together.”

He thinks he hears Bucky’s breath hitch, but it could have been the breeze catching in the trees, or the lick of water at the splintered edge of the dock. It would be easier if it were a lie, might sit sweeter on Steve’s tongue if he were sugar coating something false, something to say for the sake of speaking, but he means it.

That aches, too.

“I married her,” Bucky says, and the way it sounds like an apology sinks like a lead weight in Steve’s gut.

“I heard.”

“Steve, will you please look at me?”

Despair frays the edges of each word, and Steve shakes his head, blows out a ragged breath into the cool night air.

He had looked at Bucky, had watched him walk in tonight looking every bit like the man Steve always knew he’d grow into - strong, kind-eyed, beautiful; age starting to show in the soft flecks of grey at his temples, but missing from where Steve thought it’d make itself known first.

“You don’t have smile lines,” he can hear the frown in his own voice as the thought slips past his lips, “always thought you’d have smile lines, way you were always laughing at everything.”

“Steve...”

It’s a sob, this time; unmistakable, and it rips the ground out from beneath Steve.

There’s a hand on his back, slipping down the column of his spine; a shivering body pressing up close behind him and a forehead dropping against his shoulder. Tears soak wet through the back of Steve’s shirt and two arms circle around his waist, a hold long-forgotten and achingly familiar all at once, and Steve can’t remember how to breathe.

“Bucky,” he begins, though he has no idea where it ends.

His hands come up to cover Bucky’s, threading their fingers together and pulling Bucky’s arms tighter around himself, and it feels nothing like it used to because Steve’s heart wasn’t broken back then.

When Bucky’s lips find the crook of his neck, that doesn’t feel anything like it used to either, but Steve tilts his head for it anyway; offers up the expanse of his throat like he’d once offered up the rest of his life to the man holding him.

All of me, he’d said so long ago, every day of every year I have left. All for you.

Bucky’s hands slip to Steve’s hips, his mouth at the hinge of Steve’s jaw, and it’s so wholly selfish, the way Steve wants this. It’s years of longing and anger and loss made harder by all the ways Bucky wasn’t gone, and the tattered vestiges of Steve’s heart are screaming at him to stop before there’s nothing left of himself to salvage.

“You left me.”

There’s no emotion left in the statement, not anymore. It bled out years ago, muffled into Steve’s pillow and screamed into voids and hurled at the walls of his too-quiet, too-empty house.

It’s hollow, now, but Steve feels how heavy it lands in the way Bucky’s entire body curls in on itself behind him.

“I know,” Bucky whispers, his tear-stained cheek tucked against the side of Steve’s face.

The immensity of pain buried in those two words sinks jagged teeth into the meat of Steve’s heart, and he can’t believe he still bleeds for it after all these years. He knows he should walk away from this, pry himself free of the physical hold Bucky has on him and spend the rest of his days praying those soul-ties unknot themselves too.

But the wound is open now, if it were ever really closed, and he can’t stop himself from tugging on the busted stitches to see just how raw and messy he can make it.

“Tell me why,” he turns in the circle of Bucky’s arms, cups the back of Bucky’s neck and makes him meet the full force of his gaze.

Give me salt for this wound, he’s pleading, and Bucky would have every right to deny him because this conversation has no place here; has no place in any universe where there’s a ring on Bucky’s finger.

But Bucky came to him, Bucky broke the silence and put his hands on Steve like he’s just as hungry to hurt for this again, and maybe they both just need to bleed it out together.

“Because we couldn’t,” Bucky twists his fists tight and frantic into the fabric of Steve’s shirt. “I couldn’t...Jesus, if my family had found out—”

“I loved you,” Steve spits, “it was real, and I loved you, and you loved me too.”

“Fuck, Steve, of course I loved you!” There’s desperation there now, in Bucky’s hands on him; not just clinging but clawing, no space between them for air or reason or good judgement. “You think it didn’t break me, too?”

“I wouldn’t fucking know what it did to you, Bucky,” Steve runs a fingertip across the plain gold band hugging Bucky’s finger, digging his nail in under the ridge of it, “but it seems like you bounced back just fine.”

Bucky sucks in a breath, and Steve doesn’t hear him let it go again. He’s doing nothing to mask the anguish on his face as he stares up at Steve, lips parted and eyes welling over; his brow knotted into lines that form all too easy, like they’re well worn at this point, and it’s so so wrong.

Steve smoothes his thumb over the groove between Bucky’s eyebrows; pushes at it like it’s something he can rub away.

“Aren’t you happy?” he hears himself ask, hurt and exhausted and terrified of the answer.

It’s not until Bucky shakes his head, tears spilling anew from his red-rimmed eyes, that Steve realizes there was any part of himself left that was yet to break.

“Not a day of my life, Steve. Not without you.”

Steve will never be emptier than this, seeing the truth of it all spelled out across Bucky’s face. It had been all the light Steve had left, that small embittered part of himself that’d believed Bucky was better off for the way things had gone.

What was left, now? It had burned Steve down to ash, losing Bucky, but loving him was inextricable, and thinking he was happy out there was the only reason Steve could sleep at night.

“What do I do with that, Buck?”

There are tears in Steve’s eyes now too, a tremble in his voice and the dead weight of regret hanging off his words.

Bucky takes Steve’s face between his hands, too tight to be tender. When he sweeps his thumbs across the tears tracking down Steve’s cheeks, it only spreads them further.

“Kiss me?”

Bucky leaves it in the space between them like it’s the only answer he has left, and Steve wishes it didn’t make sense.

Another place, another time; a different dock and a different sky, and Steve might see the insanity of it, the notion that putting his lips against Bucky’s could be a salve instead of just another scar.

But they’re here, with those same stars and that same rundown boat shed with it’s broken door, and Steve lets himself close the distance between their mouths, because it’s the only answer he has left, too.

He kisses Bucky with every minute of every day of every wasted year sitting there on the tip of his tongue. He holds Bucky too close and breathes him in too deep, leans all too willing into the pass of Bucky’s hands over his body.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Bucky sobs brokenly, slipping his hands up under the hem of Steve’s shirt to splay across his bare skin.

Steve shakes his head because he can’t hear that now, with Bucky’s hands on him. Remorse can’t coexist with the warmth of Bucky’s palms and the slick press of his mouth, not when there isn’t even room for moonlight between them.

“Don’t,” Steve whispers, “don’t tell me that.”

Bucky’s hand finds its way up to the center of Steve’s chest, his fingertips curling into a grip on Steve’s flesh like he can reach in and take hold of what lies beneath. Steve’s not sure there’s anything left in there to grab onto, but he lets Bucky try anyway because if there is, it will only ever belong in his hand.

“Can I tell you I still think of you?” Bucky kisses the words against Steve’s cheek, trails them down the line of his jaw. “Never stopped thinking about you, Steve.”

You should have, is what Steve should say, you’re not mine anymore.

“Someone will see us,” is what Steve does say, even as his fingertips dip beneath the waistband of Bucky’s pants.

Someone is probably looking for Bucky right now, but there’s no room for that truth here, either. Especially when Bucky pulls back and looks toward the long abandoned boat shed, and then back at Steve.

There are so many opportunities for Steve to choose differently, to tell Bucky to stop. When Bucky takes him by the hand with a plea in his gaze; when he pulls Steve down the dock, and into that boat shed...it’s been a lifetime and Steve is a grown man, too old to be this foolish. But he’s tired, too worn down from years of unmet longing to be anything other than reckless when presented with everything he’s lived without for so painfully long.

So he doesn’t say a word.

He lets it happen, and he helps it happen. He raises his arms for Bucky to pull off his shirt, tilts his hips when Bucky works his belt loose and tugs down his pants.

He strips Bucky bare with his own two hands and pulls him against his own naked body, sobbing open and unashamed for the way it makes him feel whole for the first time in twenty years.

He maps the planes of Bucky’s body, no longer rounded and softened by youth, but every bit as warm as the memories Steve has clung to, and it shouldn’t feel right because it isn’t; shouldn’t feel so familiar when there’s been decades of distance between them.

“I miss you.”

It trips off Steve’s tongue before he can stop it, small and breathless. Of all the three-word truths he could have let slip it isn’t the worst, but Bucky’s wounded noise says that it cuts just as deep.

He catches Bucky’s lips against his own before Bucky can do anything stupid like say it back; fisting his hands up through Bucky’s hair and pushing his tongue into Bucky’s mouth.

He wants to do this slow, to sink deep enough into it that every touch and every moment cling to him like a brand. But it’s only ever been a headlong tumble, this journey that begins with Bucky’s bare skin against his own, and Steve can feel himself falling the same way he always did.

Open palms turn to pressing fingertips, lips on skin turn to grazing teeth, and a dusty hammock spread across the floorboards. It’s another twist of the knife, the way Bucky’s body still fits beneath his own just as perfect as it ever did, the way Bucky’s spread thighs still make the perfect cradle for his hips.

Bucky still looks up at him from the flat of his back with the same awe he’d turn upon the night sky, like Steve’s still the only heaven he believes in, and there’s too much gravity in that gaze. There always was, but there was no reason not to get dragged into it back then.

It’s not until Bucky’s fingertips brush softly over his eyelids, tracing the sweep of his lashes, that Steve realizes he’s closed his eyes.

“What are you thinking about?” Bucky whispers.

Steve almost wants to laugh, because if he were thinking at all, he wouldn’t be here.

He’s not laid out naked on top of someone else’s husband because he’s thinking; not about to put his mouth and his fingers and his cock where they don’t belong because he’s in his right mind.

Steve is an exposed nerve, a callous that’s been rubbed raw, and he’ll pretend that’s all he is for as long as it takes to see the man he never stopped loving fall apart beneath him one last time.

He buries his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck and bites down on the softness he finds there, all the answer he intends on giving. There’s no good reason for him to still know the exact spot to sink his teeth into, but he’s not about to waste time pretending he doesn’t remember every last touch point that ever made Bucky lose his mind.

His right earlobe, the notch of his clavicle, the tender space beneath his ribs.

His hip bones, and his wrists, and the soft insides of his thighs, sensitive all the way down to his knees.

Maybe after all this time it’s only nostalgia, only because they both want so badly to be who they once were to each other. But Bucky’s body still sings the exact same tune when Steve plays it, tongue and teeth and fingertips in all the right places.

“Please,” Bucky gasps, giving over to it just as easy as he always did. He’s hiding nothing of himself, not in the sprawl of his body or the longing in his gaze, the breathless sounds dripping off his lips.

He arches into the rub of Steve’s skin against his, splays his thighs wide for Steve’s hips then wider still for Steve’s shoulders, and he looks down the line of his body with all the same rapture when Steve finally takes him into the heat of his mouth.

“Oh...”

It’s so soft, the sound Bucky makes. One tiny word, more breath than anything else, yet it somehow holds all the sentiment of of course, and how have I lived without this, and Steve is ruined for it.

He’s sixteen again, realizing that want begins and ends with Bucky Barnes.

He is seventeen, discovering that the only thing better than getting his hands on Bucky, is getting his mouth on him.

He is eighteen, and nineteen, and twenty; bone-deep certain that for him, there will only ever be Bucky.

“Stevie,” Bucky sighs. He reaches gentle fingertips to brush the hair back off Steve’s forehead; traces the stretch of Steve’s lips around him with all the tender wonder of their youth.

...Steve is thirty-nine, and he will never come back from this.

He holds Bucky’s gaze as he swallows him down, watches the play of pleasure across Bucky’s face like it’s still his to behold.

He sinks all of himself into chasing those awed, quiet sounds that have existed only as echoes for so long, and pretends it’s not the worst kind of cruelty that this act should still feel so sacred; that Bucky should still be that breathless, trembling embodiment of surrender.

Back arched, thighs twitching, face flushed and lips parted…it’s as devastating as Steve remembers, and so much more so for the fact that he has no right to witness it anymore.

“Steve, please...”

Bucky looks down at him imploringly, reaches for him with open hands.

Steve hollows his cheeks as he pulls off him, slow and tight. He crawls back up Bucky’s body until they’re face to face, until he’s covering Bucky’s body with his own.

“I’m here, Buck.”

I’m weak, Buck.

He cups Bucky’s face in his hands, strokes his thumbs across Bucky’s cheekbones and nudges their noses together. He breathes Bucky’s air and kisses his lips, soft and careful until it’s not; until it’s just Steve pouring all his hunger and his longing and his desperation into Bucky’s mouth.

And he is desperate. Every last part of him is breaking for the feel of Bucky’s bare skin, his bare arousal, rubbing up against his own; for the responsibility of holding Bucky’s vulnerability and his nakedness and his pleasure in the palms of his hands.

“God, it’s been so long,” Steve’s voice splinters around the words, around the sobs that want to keep coming, “it’s been so long, Bucky...”

He rolls his hips heavy and deep, slips his hands beneath Bucky’s shoulders to keep them locked tight together. There’s sweat beading between them, spit and precum slicking their skin, and every promise they ever made weighing dense in the air.

Bucky’s fingernails are sunk deep enough into his back that Steve can feel the half-moon imprints forming; Bucky’s legs hitched up around his hips and soft moans passing back and forth between their open mouths.

Steve had always wondered what this must look like from the outside, the way they get lost in one another. The quiet gasps and heavy breaths, the pleasured sounds that catch between their lips. Bodies shaking, hands clinging, eyes open because it’s the closest thing to heaven you’d ever see.

It’s immensity was always buried in the slowness of it all, but it’s as consuming and inevitable as it ever was.

He knows Bucky’s close before Bucky tells him he is; can feel it thrumming through Bucky’s body beneath him. He knows he shouldn’t watch it happen, shouldn’t sharpen that mental picture back into focus when it had taken so long to blur its edges in the first place.

He shouldn’t moan brokenly into Bucky’s mouth and rock harder against him; shouldn’t push up onto his hands and fix his gaze squarely on Bucky’s face.

‘Shouldn’t’ doesn’t mean a goddamn thing anymore.

“Come with me?” Bucky pleads, eyes glassy and body strung taut.

He presses a trembling hand to Steve’s heart and the other to Steve’s neck, holding his racing pulse and his heartbeat in his hands just the same as he had the first time they made love, and Steve comes apart at the seams.

It’s unending, that wash of raw feeling. It’s galaxies inside his rib cage and oceans in his veins, and wildfire curling around the base of his spine. He breathes Bucky’s name, spills all over his stomach, and when Bucky follows him over he ducks down to drink the wonder of it right off Bucky’s lips.

The quiet weighs so much heavier, as they lay pressed together in the aftermath.

Steve looks down at the man beneath him, watches his breathing settle and the flush subside from his cheeks, and the ache of the past suddenly pales in comparison to what lies ahead.

What exists for them beyond this moment, here and now? Bucky’s face is cradled in Steve’s hands and his nakedness is sheltered by Steve’s body, but even this was never Steve’s to offer. It’s time and touch already stolen, and the rhythmic lap of water against the dock outside may as well be the ticking of a clock.

“What happens now, Buck?” he asks, knowing there’s no comfort to be found in the answer.

Bucky shakes his head, touching gentle fingertips to Steve’s cheek and searching Steve’s gaze.

“I don’t know.”

The night air is cold against Steve’s back, all the warmth that had seemed to wrap so close around them dissipating.

He slowly moves off of Bucky and gathers up their clothes, redressing himself with fingers that fumble weak and uncoordinated with the fabric that had been so very easy to take off.

“...If you asked me to leave her, I would.”

Bucky’s voice comes small from behind him, but the words take up every last inch of space in the room.

Steve turns to look at him, and there’s something so painfully close to hope on his face, it makes Steve’s chest ache.

“I can’t do that, Bucky,” he rasps, “it can’t be up to me.”

The regret in it is palpable, the ‘I wish it was’ joining the thousand other things that live, unsaid, on the tip of Steve’s tongue.

I am so much yours that it hurts

I will never stop hoping for you

I will love you for the rest of my life

It’s years too late, for all of it. But those words still throw themselves against the backs of Steve’s teeth, because if not now, then when?

“Bucky, I—”

“James?”

...The soft call comes from outside, carried on the breeze from a little ways off.

There’s nothing in it, no suspicion, no concern. Just someone looking for the person they’ve lost, wondering where they’ve gone to.

Steve’s stomach sinks, and the clock runs out.

Bucky looks at him, eyes wide and lips falling open like he intends to speak. No sound comes out, but Steve understands all the same - Bucky’s gaze always said more than words ever could, anyway.

“You should go back, Buck.”

Steve says it gently, though neither of them deserve that kindness after what they’ve done. He picks up his sweater, and he leaves what’s left of his heart on the floor, because he’s got no use for it without the man he’s about to walk away from.

“If you ever…” Steve starts, and stops himself, shaking his head softly. His gaze sticks to the spot just in front of Bucky’s feet, his body half turned toward the door.

“...You know where I’ll be,” he says instead, and then he gathers up his shoes in his hands and steps back out into the evening, because he’s no more capable of saying ‘goodbye’ to Bucky now than he was back then.

***

It’s a half hour walk home along the edge of the lakeshore, but it takes Steve hours; tears washing a salt-sting down his cheeks and his feet in the too-cold water the entire way.

It doesn’t even scratch the surface of what he deserves, that frigid needling against his skin and the stones underfoot. But the greater punishment will come, he knows.

When he gets home, and has to live the rest of his life knowing not only what he lost, but what he did to try and dull the ache of it.

When he gets home, to that rambling, too-quiet house on the lake edge, where Bucky’s touch is set into the very foundations.

The roof they had helped Steve’s dad patch, the summer Steve turned eighteen; the creaking window ledge that would betray Bucky’s midnight visits to Steve’s bedroom, and that same kitchen table where they’d try not to blush at each other’s gaze.

The porch swing where they’d watch the sun go down; every wall and doorframe they’d kissed up against when Steve’s parents weren’t around to see it; every tree they ever made love or fell asleep beneath...

He may not have seen Bucky in the flesh in almost twenty years, but there hasn’t been a day of Steve’s life since that he hasn’t felt the echo of his presence, and now it will hum under his skin the same way it always has in his house.

The sky is awash with stars he can’t bear to look at by the time he makes it home, feet numb and shivering all over.

He trudges the path from the lakeshore back up to his house, clearing the tree line and stepping into the moonlight spilling full and bright over his yard, over his homestead.

Over the unfamiliar car parked in his dirt-track driveway, and the figure sitting, waiting, on his porch.

“...Bucky?”

His body slows in its tracks, stops halfway across the yard and won’t carry him any further forward.

Bucky makes no move to close the distance between them either, save to stand slowly on unsteady legs and step down onto the silver-lit lawn.

“Hey, Steve.”

His arms are curled around himself, his shoulders rounded and his feet shifting on the grass. Even in the moonlight, Steve can see the swell of too many tears shed around Bucky’s eyes, and he’d look like he was about to run if not for the set of his jaw; the unwavering hold of his gaze on Steve’s.

“Buck, what are you...how long have you—”

“I did it.”

Bucky’s voice cracks - not like a heart breaking, but like a weight falling away, like a world upending, and it hits Steve like a blow to the back of the knees.

“You did what, Bucky?”

He knows what he’s hearing, what Bucky has just laid before him, but he asks anyway because it can’t be that; that terrible, selfish thing that Steve has dreamed of and hoped for and hated himself for wanting all these years.

Bucky can’t be here, standing under the light of the full moon, hours after they made love that was all passion and no integrity, telling Steve that.

Bucky takes a step forward, just one. Not close enough to touch, but close enough for Steve to see that he’s shaking.

“I told her, Steve. I told her what I did tonight...told her the truth about me.”

“The truth...”

Steve’s chest is crushing in on itself, the air between them so thin and fragile he’s afraid to breathe it in.

Bucky wraps himself tighter in the circle of his own arms, shaking his head and dropping his gaze to the ground.

“I was scared, Steve,” he whispers, “back then...We were kids, and I was so scared of what it meant, the way I felt about you. And I thought I could...make myself feel that, again. For someone else. Someone who was...”

He blows out a shuddering breath, kicking at the ground in front of him.

“...Someone that everybody else would accept. But I couldn’t, Steve. I tried, I tried so fucking hard, and I thought that if I got married, then maybe...maybe it’d be better, because I’d have no choice but to love her. But I just...I couldn’t feel that again. I couldn’t, because I never fuckin’ stopped feeling it, for you.”

Steve aches, in every part of his being, all the way down in his soul. He stares at the man he’s loved his whole life, and he aches for the both of them; for the half-lives they’ve been living, tied to one another with string that had stretched when it would have been kinder to snap.

“I got it so wrong, Steve,” Bucky sobs, his eyes screwing shut against free-flowing tears. “I chose so wrong. And I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry…”

Steve’s body moves without thought, reaches and wraps itself around Bucky’s trembling frame; tight like he can save Bucky from this inevitable unraveling.

“Jesus, Bucky,” he shakes his head, heartbreak spilling raw into his voice, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s face is tucked into the crook of his neck and his tears are catching cold against Steve’s skin. But Steve’s own are falling into Bucky’s hair, and his hands are shaking too hard for their strokes up and down Bucky’s back to be any real comfort, and neither of them move to change a thing about it.

“I’ve thought of you every day,” the confession slips quiet from Steve’s lips, and he lets it, “I’ve missed you, every day.”

Bucky gasps a hitching breath into Steve’s shirt, holds tight to the fabric at his back.

“Fuck, I got more to make up for here than I’ve got years left,” he shudders, pulling back to find Steve’s eyes. “I got no right to ask you for anything ever again, and I know I gotta put some things right first, get myself right, but...but would you ever...could we, ever…”

Steve is nodding. Before Bucky’s even gotten the words out, Steve’s nodding.

There are so many questions still to be asked and answered, so many conversations to be had and blows that are yet to land in the aftermath. The road that lies ahead is unpaved and unmapped, and the sunrise will shed light on realities they haven’t even considered.

But none of that changes what Steve knows to be true, here and now.

He knows that the window ledge still creaks; that that tree still bears more fruit than he knows what to do with, and the roof hasn’t once leaked, not during a single storm.

He knows that in any lifetime, any versions of themselves...they could.

“Whenever you’re ready, Bucky,” come home when you’re ready, Bucky, “you know where I’ll be.”

***

It takes time, just like Steve knew it would.

It takes tears, and words that are just as hard to hear as they are to say.

It’s wounds reopened just to be stitched back together better, right this time; stitched to heal instead of just to survive.

Bucky is gone again, for a while, but his absence isn’t the bleak void it once was. It’s time apart for the sake of a life together, for both of them to rebuild what was broken and find a new sense of ‘whole.’

It’s Bucky finding his feet as the person he’s always been, and learning to speak his truth. It’s untangling himself from the life he was never meant to live, and finding forgiveness where it’s needed.

It’s Steve ripping up those floorboards that creak, and it’s letting himself sleep. It’s replacing the wallpaper that was more peel than pattern, and it’s teaching himself to roll with the waves of joy and grief until he can sit just as comfortably with both.

It takes time; eight months and twenty-one days worth of it.

But they heal, and Bucky finds his way home.

And this time, it sticks.

#stucky fanfic #stucky #steve/bucky #stucky au #angst #all the feels #angst with a happy ending

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cassiecasyl · 3 years ago

Text

stay (said the ghost to the living)

I missed writing irondad.

prompts: @whumpay2021 day 1: “I thought you were dead” + day 28: chains relationship: Peter Parker & Tony Stark summary: There’s chains holding him to life, saying it’s not his time yet.

read on ao3!

~~~

There had been a scream, Peter remembered as much. The concrete had been hard under his body as pain faded. A few tears had still burned in his eyes. The cold had come from the chain wrapped around his right ankle, the one he was now holding in his hands, and had spread over his whole body. There had been a scream so loud it rattled through his bones, so loud it could’ve woken the dead.

Now, he was walking in a dream. Colors and shapes blurred together even though there was no wetness on his cheeks. His eyes just wouldn’t focus. Distorted sounds sometimes made it through, but never a word. He was alone.

It must’ve been a while since it happened, whatever it was, because their surroundings had changed from dark and muddy grey to bright and sterile white. There was the light that always blinded Peter when he was in medbay— wait. Medbay. Someone was hurt. Please, no, don’t let it be— He sucked in a breath that wizzed right through his body as he turned around, the chain in his hands rattling anxiously while he looked around.

Peter stood next to a bed, the room abandoned except for two — no, three, there was somebody in the bed, he couldn’t see, can’t see, can’t see, who is it? — figures. Somebody was watching him. They stood close to the door, as if they weren’t sure whether they were intruding. But also, where they could overlook the whole room. Peter narrowed his eyes, focusing on them. A blob of red, a frown framing sharp, scary and knowing eyes. Nat. Peter almost wanted to smile at her, to celebrate his vision finally focusing and because she would know what happened, but then he noticed the tear tracks on her usually stoic face. No. The teenager’s eyes widened in fear.

He took a step back and raised his arms in an attempt to get away from under her scrutinizing gaze. Clattering noise shook his body— he had forgotten the chain in his hands. Nat’s eyes narrowed further. “Mrs Romanoff?” Peter whispered, but no air passed his lips. What had he done? Then, her eyes left him to search the room and Peter could feel himself fading.

The only thing keeping him anchored to reality it seemed was the cold iron touching his fingers, grounding him, linking him to the very ground he was standing on, or maybe to hell. Peter didn’t know. They shuddered with him, shattering against its parts, one by one. This time, the hunched over figure by the bed looked up.

Peter was found in those brown eyes, the very same color as his, just a tad darker, but something was wrong. His face was fallen, devastated, looking out with utter hopelessness and barely contained anger — the bad taste grief left. “Mr. Stark?” he asked, but was drowned out by the man’s breaking voice.

“Stop it, Nat.”

“I’m not doing anything,” the spy answered.

“I don’t care,” Tony mumbled, returning his gaze to the body lying on the bed. Peter ventured closer, chains clanking and fingers itching to give his mentor comfort. “What’s that noise then?” Tony barked, not bothering to hide his frustration.

Peter stopped short as he noticed who was lying there. It wasn’t possible.

“I’m trying to figure that out.”

They were mourning him. But— he was here, alive, wasn’t he? He looked down his body, but his vision was blurring again. Alive. His bones were freezing, bidding him a good night. Alive. Peter reached out to Tony, fingers leaving his burial iron in favor of the Iron Man. How could they not? Instead of stopping at the man’s shoulder though, they continued, invincibly, through his skin and flesh. In horror, he retreated his hand, mustering it under the unforgiving light of the medbay. He looked up at Tony. His mentor never even noticed.

Dead. He was dead. How? The more he tried, the less came up. Where once was a beat, now silence reigned. Peter cried out devoid of tears. Where once was air, now was a void, and Peter knew he’d collapse into it, into himself. Why couldn’t he breathe? There was a black hole in his middle, and the more he struggled, the more it took, but he couldn’t stop. He shuddered and with him that damn, chattering chain.

“What the hell?” Tony asked, more awake now, staring straight through him. His eyes could’ve been lasers, as much as it hurt.

Chattering? Hold on—

Natasha moved through the room, approaching and then walking away again, almost touching as she walked by. Peter already yearned for human touch. He was suffocating in space’s vacuum. Warm comfort was right next to him, yet he could never reach it. He was Tantalus in his pool deep down in Tartarus, never quite reaching the delicious fruit hanging above his head. He was so cold.

They returned, stopping right in his center, somehow avoiding the black hole. It was impossible. He was burning up, his ice fighting the sudden human heat. Who was she? Peter blinked. He was swaying in and out of reality. Mom? No, why would he see his mom, she died when he was four, plane crash, remember? The reason why he never really trusted planes anymore. That, and Coney Island. Yes, he remembered. He was here. No reason his mom would be here, unless he was— oh. He was dead.

“It’s definitely coming from here,” Natasha determined, and Peter grasped her identity. Nat. Mrs. Romanoff. Black Widow. Spider-Mama, as Clint had one time called her, imitating a Russian accent. After the glare Nat had sent him, no one dared to repeat the words. Later, she had teased Clint on his hilariously bad accent work.

She was still standing inside him, and Peter could hardly imagine a more uncomfortable feeling. The shiver working through his body translated into hers and she stepped away, rubbing her arms. Peter breathed in relief only to once again realize that air was indifferent to him. Afterlife sucked, he decided.

“Since when are there cold spots in the compound?” she asked. Mr. Stark frowned.

Chattering, Peter thought again. Chattering. There was something— right, morse code! He almost hit himself on the head because damn his slow undead brain — was it undead? He’d established that he was dead, but how could he be standing here if he was braindead? Why was he still lying in a hospital bed instead of the morgue? Had Mr. Stark not given him up yet? FRIDAY would surely pick up his brain waves. There was nothing science could really tell Peter about this. It would be exciting if it wasn’t so frightening and lonely. Noisy rattling interrupted his thinking.

He moved his chains around until he could clank two of its parts together rather than the whole thing sounding. It should work that way. Peter waited a calming moment before he began to bring them together with a dinging noise. Two short — I. Two long — M. Pause. Four short — H. One short — E. Short, long, short — R. One short again — E. Pause, and repeat. Two short — I. Two long — M. Pause. Four short — H. One short — E…

“That’s morse code,” Nat said suddenly, bringing Peter back from the trance the dinging had brought him in. “‘I’m here.’ It says, ‘I’m here.’”

“‘I’m here’?” Tony repeated. “Who’s ‘I’? Is this some kind of sick joke?” There was fear in his eyes now, masked with anger. Peter almost jumped. He stopped.

“No, Mr. Stark!” he said in desperation, “It’s me! It’s Peter!” Then, remembering his voice, he morsed. Long, short; three long — NO.

“No? What’s that supposed to mean?” Tony stood up now, towering over him in anger, and Peter stumbled back. He remembered a scream rattling his bones in a way his chains could never achieve. He remembered the cold entering his body and nothing stopping it. He remembered how his vision became spotty before the black color filled it all. He remembered waking up. I’m here.

“I’m sorry,” Peter mumbled, closing his eyes and letting a tear fall. It burned his icy skin as it ran down his cheek and along his skin in search of a good jumping point. Finally, it left him. Wait— he’d felt it. He was crying. There was water in his eyes. He blinked them open only to find the two adults in the room staring at him.

Awkwardly, he waved his hand, and the chain rattled along. Tony blinked. “This isn’t real,” he said, falling back into his chair next to Peter’s bed, never leaving the ghost of his kid out of sight. They could see him. Peter grinned. They could see him.

“Oh, you’re a Shaniac. Good to know if this ever happens again,” Peter joked into the tense room. Nat let out a near-manic chuckle, and Tony only stared. Fear had turned to amazement and hope and a tear left his left eye.

It was Peter’s turn to blink at his mentor. “You can hear me?” he asked, uncertainty lacing his tongue. A smile grew on Tony’s face and Peter couldn’t help but grin back.

“Whatever a Shaniac is, it’s good to hear your voice, kid.” He stood up again and opened his arms in invitation. However much Peter would’ve loved to jump right into the hug, he couldn’t. He held him back with his hand, lightly touching Tony’s hand to show him. His illusioned hand went right through Mr. Stark’s solid body, just as expected.

“No touch. Sorry.” As he looked back up at Mr. Stark, there were tears in his eyes. It was like watching his heart break all over again, and Peter choked on air that still refused to enter his lungs — it was as afraid as he was of the void there.

Tony stepped back and Peter looked to the ground. “FRI, Give me footage of this room. Now!” Peter flinched a little at the harshness in Mr. Stark’s voice, but eventually came closer to spy on the footage too. FRIDAY had immediately designed Mr. Stark a holoscreen, only giving a quick verbal confirmation — “Right away, Boss.”

They watched themselves sitting and standing there. It was almost dull and pointless, except for knowing where the cameras were. Instead of Peter, a glowing bulb hung in the air. The boy moved a little, watching how the ball followed his movements. “Cool,” he whispered.

Tony glanced up at him. If he was surprised by Peter’s sudden proximity, he didn’t show it. “Ghost?” he asked.

“Ghost,” Peter confirmed with a nod. It was the only possible explanation.

Tony sighed. “Oh, for fu— goodness’ sakes, why must it be you to prove me wrong here?” he lamented and Peter chuckled.

“Told you you’re a Shaniac.”

“I still don’t know what that means,” the genius admitted, and Peter shared a quick, knowing look with Nat. “Now get the hell over here and back into your body!”

“Tony,” Mrs. Romanoff said while Peter obliged, “are you sure this is gonna work?” Her voice was gentle yet stern, as if trying to soften a blow or stop someone from doing something stupid. It was hard to tell which one.

“It’s worth a try,” Tony replied.

Peter lay down into his body, but there was nothing. He could’ve just as well laid down on the ground. There was no uncomfortable feeling like with Nat, now heat spread from a living body. Nothing. He tried to connect, but there was nothing to connect to, all the links were dead. 404, not found. He could cry.

He sat up again, leaving his body on the sheets, much to everyone’s disappointment. “Do you think you could try again?” Tony asked, the hope in his voice almost unbearable. He was set on this, and there was nothing that could make him veer from this path.

“No,” Peter sighed, “I’m sorry. There’s just… nothing,” he explained.

“I’m going to contact Doctor Strange,” Natasha announced with a new-found determination. She briefly squeezed Mr. Stark’s shoulder before leaving.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said again, only to be intervened by Mr. Stark.

“No. No, kid. It’s okay. We’re gonna find something that works. And if not… Well, then, at least you're still here in this form.” Peter nodded, looking up at the tired and red eyes of his mentor. “And no ‘if this ever happens again.’ Because if this ever happens again, I’m gonna kill you myself. Or worse, I’m gonna call your aunt.”

Peter blinked. “You haven’t called May?”

Tony’s eyes found the side of the bed. “No,” he sighed heavily, “I wanted her to find out from me, but I— I just couldn’t. Not yet, anyway.” Peter could hear the tears in his breaths.

“How long?” he asked.

“A few— a few hours.”

Peter nodded. Then, he drew Mr. Stark’s attention by waving his hand where he stared at. “Well, good news is, you’ve still got me around to annoy you.”

Tony let out a broken laugh, but there was love in it. “God, kid, one day you’re gonna be the death of me.” It was a rupture in the small comfort they’d found. Tony on the ground, bleeding out, his helpless hands stupidly shaking as they tried to stop the flow. It was too late though. The light had already left his eyes. There was no going back. The teen tensed, staring up with big, unseeing, startled eyes; almost dead, or just hanging barely onto life. No. His father, Richard; Ben; not Tony, too. He knew it was meant as a joke, but the image wouldn’t leave his mind. He knew how close death was, how it hit when you least expected it. Hell, he was dead, right at this very moment.

Tony seemed to sense his kid’s distress because he began apologizing. “No, kid, I’m sorry. God, this was stupid, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t meant it, Peter—”

It was a drowning noise in his ears. No, no, no. He had just become real again, he didn’t want to go back to the dream, to the fading realm where he was all alone. Where Tony mourned him. Where he couldn’t protect him, only watch without understanding. “Don’t die, please?” his voice was suddenly that of a scared kid — high-pitched and teary. He swallowed a sob. “Promise me?”

“Well, everybody’s gotta die at some point, nothing’s immortal—,” Tony started with a sigh, but at the sight of his kid’s big, pleading puppy eyes, he stopped. “I promise,” he assured him. Anything for this kid.

tag list: (let me know if you wanna be added/removed!) @starrynightdeancas @spookyscarykittycat @sherlockwhomentalist @lost-lunar-wolf @aixabi @peter-is-a-bean

#irondad #Whumpay2021 #ghost peter parker #tony stark #spidermom #natasha romanoff

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amintyworld · 4 years ago

Text

Candles - Dream SMP Star Wars AU

A/N: Welcome to - Another piece that’s wayyy too long to submit. I spent two days straight writing this between writing the next chapter of Beginnings. I sent this as an ask but then I think Tumblr ate it so anyway here’s a fic based on the concept. This is from @dreamsmp-au-ideas‘s Star Wars AU. I’m a sucker for father/son Wilbur and Fundy, okay? Anyway, hope you enjoy! - Minty

TW: Major Character Death, drinking(?), kidnapping, fighting, cursing. (Tell me if I need to tag anything else!)

Summary: Wilbur still has hope of finding his missing son, and has a special way of remembering him. Fundy gets a renewed sense of hope for finding his own parents and grows closer with Wilbur.

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

“Sir, you need to let us in.”

“The fuck I will!” Wilbur shouted angrily from the other side of the locked door. “We don’t want any part of- We’re not with the Rebellion, we’ve done nothing to you or the Empire. Leave us alone.”

“Sir, you need to open the door.”

“I know you’re taking kids, and I’m not letting you take him. You’ll have to get through me first, and I don’t go down so fucking easily.”

“Sir, please calm down and open the door.”

The house was humid and dim from the hot day, the windows shut and every entrance locked. The only way in was through the front door, which Wilbur trained his blaster at, ready to shoot whoever was stupid enough to enter. Sally sat behind him, her blaster on the ground as she held the small baby in her arms, trying her best to keep him quiet. Wilbur could hear screaming children and sobs from across the silent town, as the stormtroopers marched down the road, children grabbing back for their parents as the parents desperately rushed after their children only to be knocked down with the blunt of the blasters, a few bleeding out, writhing on the ground in agony with their skulls cracked open, a few dead bodies scattering the ground. He noticed a hysterical woman shaking the body of her husband, a bleeding wound in his chest, and a sizable dent in his head that looked like a bruised watermelon. He wasn’t moving. A sizable knot formed in Wilbur’s throat at the sight.

This was sick.

Wilbur’s body shook with anger and adrenaline as he heard the click of the stormtrooper’s gun. A tense moment of silence passed before the door flew open so quickly that it almost fell off its hinges as three stormtroopers rushed in. Wilbur gunned down the first in the chest, Sally managed to blow the second one’s head clean off from her position on the floor, leading the third scrambling for cover, not realizing exactly who he was messing with. “B-backup, I repeat we need backup in Section 10 House 23, two soldiers down, I repeat, two soldiers down!” Looking over to Sally with a nod, they moved deeper into the house for cover as they heard more stormtroopers approaching quickly, flooding into the house. “Shit, they’re Mandalorians!” A commander shouted from outside the house. “Surround the house, send a widespread barrage!”

From the sounds of it and the blasts whizzing by, there were at least twenty stormtroopers around the house, maybe thirty - it was hard to get an accurate count from where they were. Sally cupped his cheek as she gave him a reassuring smile. “You take the left, I’ll take the right?”

“As always.” Wilbur’s face brightened as the two shared a soft kiss. The small baby made grabby hands toward Wilbur as Sally gently put the child in his arms.

“Hm, looks like someone wants his Dad.” Wilbur loved how much Sally was always so confident, so relaxed when it came to times like this. At least, more relaxed than he was. She moved out of cover to begin to shoot back, and Wilbur kissed Fundy’s forehead.

“You’ve gotta be quiet as a mouse, alright? Stay right there for now and stay quiet, Dad’s gonna be right back.” Gently as he could, he placed the baby in a small steel cabinet to keep him safe from any stray fire. Fundy looked up at Wilbur with wide curious eyes, a hand in his mouth. Wilbur’s heart melted at the sight as he securely closed the cabinet, grabbing his second blaster and moving toward the window to aim.

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

“Oh, uh… I didn’t mean to interrupt anything-” Fundy asked awkwardly from the doorway as Wilbur kneeled in front of a table, a single candle sat on it. The glowing flame was the only thing otherwise lighting up the dark room. Wilbur moved around quickly, slightly startled when he saw Fundy, and rushed to put his helmet back on. Though Wilbur couldn’t see Fundy’s face through his own helmet, he could see how the kid awkwardly shifted in the doorway, looking away quickly in embarrassment. “Wait, I’m not supposed to-! I’m so so sorry-!”

“No, no. It’s fine, Fundy.” Wilbur breathed, not exactly expecting any company. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah, uhm… well Eret wanted to go over the plans with you for the attack, and…”

Wilbur sucked in a breath as he nodded. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Tell him I’ll look it all over with him tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow…?”

Fuck, they didn’t know. He was so used to being left alone today that he forgot he wasn’t living on the ship anymore. They didn’t know. Wilbur mentally kicked himself. “Right. Uh… why is this so hard to explain…”

“Is this another Mandalorian thing?”

“Well, uh… not- not exactly.” Wilbur managed. “Kind of. It’s a long story.”

Fundy moved to sit down a bit behind Wilbur on the floor, smiling behind his helmet. “I’m all ears.”

“Heh.” Wilbur smiled behind his mask. “Well, you know how I lost my son to the Empire when he was a baby?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, in Mandalorian culture, we keep the memories alive of those who aren’t with us anymore, but we don’t really have any way to keep the memory alive for something like that. I know that he’s alive and out there somewhere, so any of the normal ceremonies just don’t feel right. I needed to do something to keep his memory alive in me, so I won’t forget him, and I can find him again.” Wilbur said, turning to gently take the candle in his hands, careful of the wax. “So, I light a candle on his birthday every year.”

“Every year?”

“Of course.”

Fundy’s eyebrows furrowed. “How are you so sure he’s still alive?” His eyes flicked down toward the ground in thought. “So much could have happened, I mean, it’s been so long...the Empire’s not exactly merciful.”

Wilbur slowly took Fundy’s hand in his, placing the candle down next to them. “I dunno, it’s like… there’s some kind of feeling in the air, like a connection. No matter how far away he is, I just have this feeling that I can’t ignore when it comes to him. As long as it’s there, I know he’s alive - out there, somewhere, and I’m gonna find him.”

Fundy stared up at him in awe, not finding any words. After this long, after everything that’s happened, Wilbur still had hope. He lit candles and sat and loved and remembered. Despite odds, despite logic, all because of a hunch. It was more than admirable, and Fundy moved to pick up the candle, watching the flame flicker. Something about all of this felt right. “Could I… maybe… light candles too? For my parents.”

Wilbur placed a comforting hand on Fundy’s shoulder and Fundy looked up to see Wilbur’s helmet framed and lit from the flame. “Of course.”

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

“Drop your weapons.”

They were surrounded, several stormtroopers pointed their blasters at them. Even if they shot two of them down now they’d be dead within seconds. Sally looked over to him, her confident smile gone and replaced with worry. Wilbur swallowed the knot in his throat as he slowly raised his hands in surrender, dropping his blaster to the floor.

“I said drop ‘em, missy.” A stormtrooper growled at Sally, who reluctantly tossed her blaster to the ground and slowly raised her hands. The Commander looked around the small house for a moment before angrily pressing his blaster to Wilbur’s forehead. “Where’s the kid?!”

Wilbur took a shaky breath as he kept his calm. Quiet as a mouse, Fundy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Within seconds, Wilbur was hit across his face with the blunt of the blaster as the Commander kicked in him the stomach, leaving Wilbur sputtering for breath. “Does that jog your memory?!”

“Babies go missing, sir. The galaxy’s an imperfect place.” Wilbur huffed from his place on the ground, gaining confidence at the Commander’s growing frustration. More pain suddenly as the Commander’s boot collided with his face, each kick making his vision more blurry as blood dripped to the floor. He struggled to breathe in as he heard Sally yell, pure emotion in her outburst.

“Leave him alone, fuckface!” Tears welled up in her eyes as she began to stand, ready to charge at him and tear him to shreds. Her arms were quickly pulled behind her back, and she struggled against their grip. Wilbur coughed a bit of blood, trying to stand, as the Commander slowly walked over toward Sally. He tilted her head up to face his.

“Such a rebellious spirit...stupid, reckless, pointless rebellion. You do know how the Empire treats rebellion, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Fuck you.” Quickly, Sally was thrown against the wall, pictures and furniture fell to the floor with a loud crash. Scratches and blood littered Sally’s skin as she struggled to move or even speak as the room spun like a top. “Ugh…”

“It’s time you learned to hold your tongue.” The Commander spat as he aimed his blaster at Sally.

“NO!” Wilbur leaped, helplessly, across the room only to be punched down once more. “Leave her alone, I told you the baby’s not even here-!”

Wilbur’s heart dropped as a baby’s cry rang throughout the room. The Commander stared down at him coldly. “Not even here, huh?”

Wilbur’s eyes grew wide. “I-” Another strike across Wilbur’s face and he went down, shaking as he tried to crawl and stop the Commander who was walking toward the cabinet swiftly. No, no no no Fundy-

Suddenly, Sally gripped the Commander’s blaster as tears streamed down her face, fighting for control. The Commander pushed her up against the wall with his blaster with ease, shoving her to the floor. The sound of a shot rang through the air as blood poured down from Sally’s head. Her body dropped to the floor in a heap.

No.

Tears welled up in Wilbur’s eyes as he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her lifeless body. Nothing about this seemed right, nothing seemed real. She was just there, she was just alive and moving and talking, and the next moment she’s just… gone. Wilbur screamed as he rushed over to Sally’s body, tears streaming down his face as he shook her. Words tumbled out of his mouth like a waterfall, so fast he had no idea what he was even saying. His heart felt like it shattered as he held her cold hand in his, a pool of blood beginning to form that stained his clothes, but he didn’t even care. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as blood dripped down from her forehead across her limp body. Wilbur’s shaking hands ran through her hair for the last time.

Fundy’s cries quickly pulled his attention away from Sally toward the Commander, who looked down at the child making grabby hands toward Wilbur, hysterical. “Aw, what a cute kid.” Wilbur stumbled to his feet, pain coursing through his body. Blood seeped down his skin, and his head throbbed uncomfortably. He raised his fists in a sort of fighting stance.

“Get the fuck away from him.”

Another shot rang out as he rang down and saw crimson blood spill down to the floor from his chest. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He fell to the floor, crimson spilling onto the floor as he fought to stay awake. He curled into himself, all he could feel was pain, pain, pain…

Tears blurred his vision as his body shook. The stormtroopers and the Commander looked down at him with almost pity. You’re weak. Weak weak weak weak...

He could practically hear the smile in the Commander’s voice. “The Empire thanks you for your sacrifice.”

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

Fundy’s eyes lit up in wonder as Wilbur handed him the matches, and moved to go grab something. The two candles are old - one shorter than the other, each with varying fruity smells compared to Wilbur’s vanilla one. He leaned over, lighting up the tall yellow candle then the smaller pink one. He turned, blowing out the match then turning to stare at the flames. Warmth spread in his chest as he whispered to himself, head bowed. “I’ll find you, Mom and Dad. I promise.”

“Guess what I found!” Wilbur smiled as he brought over a large corked bottle and two steel cups.

“What’s that?”

“Phil found Tihaar, I haven’t seen this stuff in years!” Wilbur smiled, and Fundy looked toward him confused. “It’s a Mandalorian drink, nothing too heavy, I promise.” Wilbur laughed a bit as he poured out the cups. “You can’t find any of the good stuff anymore anyway.”

Fundy took the cup and sniffed it curiously. “It smells like syrup.”

“Tastes a bit like it too. Much more sweet than alcoholic.” Wilbur said, raising his cup. “Now then - a toast.” Fundy raised his cup as well with a smile. “To all those we’ve lost along the way. We keep you in our thoughts always, and may we reunite again.”

“We will find each other again,” Fundy added, looking to the sky, more hopeful than he’s felt in months.

Wilbur looked over toward him, nodding in agreement. “We will find them again.”

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mizuritamanami · 4 years ago

Text

What Goes Unseen

Linked Universe Time Warriors and Legend angst to sort of fluff?

They all have secrets. That much is a given, and sort of hard to miss, given the way Four clams up when asked about his moods, how often Wild has to just... stop and leave and come back to himself when they pass ruins sometimes, or the way Twilight vanishes without a trace to go off doing Hylia only knew what.

And that wasn't even touching on the walking enigmas Time and Legend could be, so sure. They all have their secrets. Even bubbly Wind and soft spoken Sky. Secrets, secrets everywhere, in plain view or otherwise.

But something about Wild’s Hyrule has been eating away at Warriors for weeks. Enough that Legend has even noticed his change in mood, his disinterest in most of the things he normally jumped at.

Enough that the veteran adventurer surprises him by pulling him aside to talk in the guise of a patrol, enough that he wears Warriors down with enough pointless questions that the knight just explodes to ask him what the hell it is he wants.

"Somethings been on your mind for almost a month. You're starting to scare the old man," Legend says bluntly, "I didn't think you could top that "launch tree into bokoblin camp and rain fire from above" heart attack you gave him, but here we are. What gives?"

For a moment, Warriors just stares at him, because firstly, how dare he insinuate that that plan hadn't worked perfectly outside of the landing, and secondly, since when did you pay that much attention to me?

He huffs.

"I'm fine."

"Uh. No."

Worth a try, anyway, Warriors thinks, turning away from the scrutinizing eyes of the young man across from him.

Legend notes the way his fingers dig into the blue cloth around his neck, and sighs, gesturing to a fallen log.

"Sit," he says, "tell me whats bothering you. If its got you like this, it warrants a serious talk, without pretense."

"Didn't know you knew such fancy words."

"Don't make me take it back and kick you in the shins."

Warriors has to laugh at that at least a little, so he sits, as instructed, and watches Legend plop unceremoniously into the mix of leaflitter, pine nettles, and flower petals on the forest floor.

He's still fidgeting with the scarf, and the words come slowly at first, then frantic and almost angry.

"My mother used to tell me, you know.... that there are stories, in the absences. In what we don't see. And- the more I look around, the more I see you- all of you- in Wild's Hyrule. Goddess, you're all everywhere.... but-.... out of the nine of us, there are only eight call backs. Even Wild's got his own legends already. So I can't help but wonder--..."

"Where you are."

"Where I went! What happened? Did- did I fail, somehow? Did I do something wrong? There's nothing left that says I ever even existed!"

"You existed to us. To Wild, to me, and Time, and Twi and the others. Between all of us, there's no denying that you were here."

Legend realizes belatedly that he's only just barely fended off a fit of sobs from the knight, and counts himself lucky and also gives himself a brownie point or three for the save, just before he recognizes the familiar thwacking and tramping of bronze armor against offending tree branches and leather boots on forest floor somewhere behind him.

He feels the heat come through his voice before he can stop the words from coming out of his mouth.

"Besides, you didn't completely fuck a timeline, then leave another to Ganon for seven whole years, now did you? Too busy cleaning up other people's messes."

Time froze as his foot settled on the line of the clearing they were in, and the pregnant silence in the moment it took him to school his voice into something normal made Warrior's skin crawl it was so uncomfortable.

"..... T-There you boys are.... Twilight was--.... he was getting worried. I'll tell him you just .... stopped for a break."

He turned on his heel in a perfect about face that made Warriors knight-side a little jealous, but the rest of him looked to Legend, who was avoiding the direction Time had gone entirely. Realization dawned a moment after.

"......... that was cruel, Legend..... I didn't want you to make me feel better if you were just going to tear him down. Or tell his secrets."

"...... if I'm honest Wars? That last jab was more for my sake than yours."

"What?"

"Whose timeline do you think his failure ruined?"

The sharp intake of breath on Warriors part told Legend he'd picked up on all the appropriate cues.

".... that's one of my secrets, for spilling his to you, I guess. I don't know if I'm ever gonna be able to forgive him. But hey, since when has Hylia ever cared what we thought? Probably hasn't since Sky...... the point is, you aren't a failure for having to pick up after everyone else, and then not getting thanked for it. You're like that with all of us, too. Constantly doing things hoping someone will at the least notice. I noticed. All of us have. You're a goddamn hero, same as the rest of us, and the only reason your scarf isn't locked up in a chest out here somewhere is probably because you wouldn't part with that thing if it cost you your freaking soul or something. Duh."

Its quiet for a moment, and Warriors takes the time to look down at the blue around his neck a moment before smiling.

"..... you should apologize to Old Father Time.... but you're right. I guess its still all in the things you don't see at first glance- I never would have thought you a confidant. You might find out some interesting things about him if you sat like you did with me."

"Id rather eat one of Wild's disgusting potions made out of butterflies and lizalfos."

"Don't jinx yourself, Vet."

"Shut up."

~~~~~

Legend was going to murder Warriors.

Don't jinx yourself my ass, you set this up, you sorry-- he cut his own thoughts off to hiss under his breath.

Not only was Legend laid up with Time looking out for him as first watch, but he'd had to drain four of those nasty freaking potions.

"I hate. Lightning. So much."

Normally, that would have earned him a chuckle, or at least a sympathetic hum.

But Time just turned his head towards a darker section of the underbrush that Legend knew for sure he absolutely could not see anything in.

Was it the being ignored or the uncertainty and hurt in Time's expression that made his stomach twist?

"I said--"

"I heard you, Legend. I'm sorry, I didn't think you wanted to speak to me."

"...... oh..."

The simple acceptance of Legend's earlier ire pulled all of the heat right out from under him, and he deflated some into his bedroll.

"........ I am sorry.... I know it doesn't mean much to you, but... I am. Even the sword didn't think I was good enough, and judging by your reaction, it was probably right."

Legend winced.

"What kind of bullshit cop-out is that? The sword doesn't make you a damn hero, it just points and grabs like a stupid claw game."

"Success, does, then. And that is a baton I clearly didn't pass to you, that I missed out on passing down peace..... it eats at me, some nights when I can't sleep, that I still managed to grasp at straws and hold so tight to so much good that I got to keep it. And I doomed you. I have everything and you were left wanting."

Legend stared at his back, the way he bent around the biggoron sword leaning into his right shoulder to be drawn if need be by his left hand.

"Im afraid I'm going to lose it all one day because I failed you so badly."

"I'm not that pitiful."

"Legend-"

"Look, I'm fine--"

"What was her name, Legend?"

The air left Legends lungs in a sudden, sharp breath.

"..... That's what I thought..."

"...... you were ten, if that..... yes, it sucks, and time travel is a pain, but you were fucking ten. Hylia sent a ten year old, let his tree mentor die right in front of him, and then continued to traumatize- REPEATEDLY traumatize- a child. Yes, I'm angry. Bitter and jaded, even. But don't you dare get so self important that you start thinking the blame fits on your shoulders. You're an old fucking man, not a god."

"Interesting choice of words...."

"No. No, because you're just gonna start unloading more trauma. If this is about that creepy mask, then no. That doesn't count either!"

"You're awfully concerned about this particular issue.... alright, I'll let it drop--"

"No, you ten year old little brat in a mentally fifty year olds achy jointed body, you're gonna go the fuck to sleep and stop moping. Its my turn to take watch and I'll be damned if I have to sit up watching you get all weepy into your pillow and trying to snitch Wild's slate to call your wife at two in the goddamn morning. Go to bed!"

Time stared at him in surprise, (the ten year old in him in question seriously debating biting the finger wagging in front of his nose) before Legends phrasing hit him.

"Oh, I’m going to absolutely kill Warriors for telling you about how I was when we met."

"Brat! Bed! Bounce to it, bunny hat kid!"

"You are the last person--"

"Bed!"

"Alright! Alright! Fine! You're lucky I don't fit those masks anymore," Time muttered, picking himself up off the stump to go peel off his armor and crawl into his bedroll. He was silent as Legend pulled himself into the space he'd emptied, then sighed and smiled.

"..... thank you, Vet."

"Yeah yeah yeah. Go to sleep before you wake up Twilight. He has ears like a fucking wolfhou---....... oh my goddess you're kidding me."

"Shhh."

"Goddess I hate you sometimes."

Warriors, apparently woken by the hissing through Legends teeth, chuckled to himself.

Its all in the things you don't see, I guess, he thinks.

Secrets secrets, everywhere, but.... together, we're all still here for each other. I can live with that.

"Good night bratty bunny and feral bunny."

Two furious choruses of "HEY!" were the perfect lullaby for Warriors to drop right back off to sleep.

Yeah...

He could definitely live with that.

#linked universe #linked universe time #linked universe legend #linked universe warriors #warriors and legend have a talk about what's missing from wilds hyrule #with a dash of time angst

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thekidultlife · 5 years ago

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#3 Dom/Sub | 30 Nights with Lee Jihoon

30 Nights with Lee Jihoon

Once a week. Almost thrice a month.

Sometimes even more.

It was Lee Jihoon’s idea.

As assassins working on opposing sides, life is always on the edge. Deceit, death and violence are invariably a lifestyle; things that never fail to tail behind you as sowers of chaos. Thus, it is necessary for things to be quick, temporary and detached, in case something unexpected happens. In matters of carnal needs, the same rules apply.

The arrangement was simple and straightforward. When the time and place has been agreed upon months prior via discrete channels, you or Jihoon would sneak into the venue of choice either as guest or staff a few days ahead of schedule. Meanwhile, the other would sneak into the hotel through a different manner and finally meet up in the room you have decided upon. Every rendezvous would be done in a distinct method in order to lose anyone who would attempt to look.

Tonight’s tryst, much like every other, was expertly done.

Posing as a socialite guest for the fundraising gala at the hotel’s expansive function room, it was easy for you to get in and get out. On the other hand, Jihoon had entered the hotel as a businessman on a trip a few days ago and it would be his last night staying at the hotel.

“Hm. This place is way nicer than the last,” you remarked, picking up your bag inside a heavy mahogany cabinet which was deposited there by you a week before.

You could tell it was a presidential suite with its own lobby space filled with minimalist furniture, a larger than life bathroom which had a pool for a bathtub and a luxurious king sized bed which Jihoon was currently sitting on, busy unloading the weapons in his person. It looked like a room straight from an architect magazine.

“Found this place during a mission a long time ago. Thought it’ll be easier to infiltrate with the amount of events they hold here,” he replied, chucking out a final pistol from his coat.

You hummed in acknowledgement as you finished sweeping the whole place of any hidden cameras and listening devices.

“Oh, and the dress stays on, by the way,” he easily remarked, regarding you with cold eyes and a mocking smirk. “It’s my turn tonight.”

Wearing a sleek silken black dress that was loosely hanging on your shoulders by thin straps, it teasingly reveals a bit of cleavage and a peek of your thighs. You calmly agreed as you stood in your place, waiting for his turn to move. Without breaking eye contact, Jihoon slowly moved towards you with hands in his pockets. The game had long started without any preamble.

"Did you miss me, Y/N?" He asked as soon as he was in front of you, his intense eyes meeting yours.

"I missed your dick," you replied bluntly, earning a small chuckle from him.

"Come on now," Jihoon admonished you as he fished out a small pocket knife, admiring the reflective surface of the metal. "I'm trying to be romantic here."

You sighed and rolled your eyes. "This relationship is hardly romantic."

Arching an elegant brow, Jihoon began to circle around you, regarding you from head to toe.

"I'm pretty sure it's easy for us to pretend it is tonight, don't you think?" Placing the blunt side of the knife on your bare back, he slowly dragged it down your skin to where the dress began to flow again.

You flinched at the cold metal as he lightly traces it on your skin in patterns of whatever. Now fully completing his circle, the both of you are once again face to face; a cold fire burning within your evocative gazes. As he carefully caressed your neck with the tip of the blade, Jihoon made a small smile devoid of any warmth.

"As heartless murderers, we often lust for things we can’t have," he says dripping with smugness, tipping your chin up with the knife. “And you and I both understand that unsatisfied lust could prove disastrous in our line of work.”

He meandered the knife down your collarbones, deliberately creating lines as if he was imagining it piercing through your skin. You sucked in a breath, unable to say anything with how hard your heart was pounding against your chest. Despite your silence and seemingly apathetic attitude, you were loving it. The twisted thrill of being at each other's throats sent an unbelievable high through your veins, the same way you chased after the thrill of hunting and to be hunted.

Yet it still wasn’t enough.

"Let's see, what should we do first?" He moved the blade on the strap of the dress, lifting it up as it pulled taut. "Should I cut up this dress to strip you naked?"

No. This wasn’t enough at all.

“I don’t think so.”

You suddenly grabbed his arm, twisting it as the knife hurled towards the floor. Yet Jihoon was fast enough to react and swung his free arm towards you. Forced to dodge, your hold on him weakened and he was able to get himself free. However, that proved to be a fatal mistake as Jihoon retaliated back and seized your wrist. He pulled you forcefully towards him, and using gravity and his own weight, he pushed you back, hitting the wall in a loud, painful thud.

“You…” Jihoon was panting, his jaw rigid with adrenaline and controlled fury. “And here I was wondering why you haven’t made a move yet. What a woman you are.”

All of that happened in just a span of a few seconds. As trained assassins, it was necessary to be quick and exacting. Every action had a purpose and no energy was wasted, as little mistakes could spell a botched mission.

You flicked your head to remove the hair that was covering your face as you smirked at him, your chest heaving from all the action.

“But you love it. You love it when I fight back. You love it when you have to drag me to the bed screaming. You like this kind of thing,” you continued to provoke him. It usually brings out more of that intensity in his eyes, that kind of animalistic behavior from his stoic and aloof disposition.

“And you don’t?” Jihoon chuckled darkly, his little canines showing as he closed in on you. “We’re cut from the same cloth, princess. You love this as much as I do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

He ground his knee to the apex of your thighs, making you inhale sharply. “You like this, don’t you? You like it when I’m rough with you, manhandle you like the little slut you are.”

Hanging on only your bravado, you glared at him. “...fuck you…”

Jihoon simply smirked at your petulance, tightening his grip on your arms while you struggled to break free from his grasps. “Say what you want, darling. Soon enough you’ll be screaming my name as I fuck your cunt until you can no longer cum. You’ll be begging me to take you again and again and cum inside you until it drips down your thighs. You want me to fuck you, hard and rough. You like that don't you, my little slut?"

His voice was low and hushed yet you could feel the anger seep through his words, through the harshness of his tone. You failed to answer as you felt his knee push against your core once again, now harder this time, making you bite a moan.

"...make me…"

You were panting, your arms lay limp on his grasps yet you simply refused to submit. Pride and thrill kept you burning, wanting him to burn along with you; wanting to break that mask he wore. You wanted to see an unadulterated, unrestrained Lee Jihoon; the one who bares his real emotions even if those emotions were anger and lust.

Defiant to the end, you managed to catch his gaze, glaring at him with half lidded eyes and parted lips. Nonetheless, it gave a similar effect as you felt him tense up, almost wanting to devour you. Grinning at you maliciously, his look was feral and dark.

"This is what I like about you, Y/N."

Without warning, Jihoon pushed his lips against yours in an agonizing and bruising kiss. You gasped at how rough he was yet this was what you were looking for, the rush you chase after. Hard and unapologetic, he would bite and suck on your lips as if he was trying hard to draw blood, and you would push back like you always do, ravishing his until they were red and swollen.

I'm so in love with you. I love, I love, I love you.

You both knew you were never good at expressing what emotions were brewing inside of your hearts. So you fought and fought, hoping that the other would finally get it. You both prayed that maybe through every insult, every slap, every stubborn indignation to never declare defeat, the other would finally understand what you meant. It was twisted, toxic and cruel, but that's how it was.

I can never have you.

He let go of your other wrist, opting to rather place his hand on your neck as he applied a slight pressure. He knew you loved it, as you easily allowed him to play with your tongue. Jihoon was loving it as well, dominating you was a great reward, in and of itself.

Brushing your dress aside with his leg, he slipped in until his knee found your gradually dampening panties again and pushed against it. You made a garbled noise while Jihoon enjoyed ravishing your tongue.

You were slowly heading to subspace, you knew that, yet of course, as usual, you wouldn't back down without a fight.

In a moment's impulse, you bit his lip hard enough to bleed. Jihoon immediately pulled away, glaring at you with eyes ready to kill. He wiped away the blood with his thumb and sucked it clean as he hardened his clench on your throat.

With a sarcastic chuckle, Jihoon leaned against you, gazing at you with eyes burning with anger and desire before speaking.

"...you little brat…"

As soon as he was done talking, Jihoon held your arms tightly and dragged you towards the bed. You staggered, unable to walk because of the ache between your thighs, and simply allowed Jihoon to toss you to the mattress haphazardly.

Jaws clenched, Jihoon pinned you to the bed with his legs as he loosened his tie, seizing both your wrists to tie you up nice and good. You tried to struggle yet it was pointless: Jihoon was too strong and you never wanted to escape anyway, you just wanted to provoke him.

"There you go, princess! Isn't this what you wanted, you fucking slut? Doing this on purpose… do you want to be punished that badly?" He finally spoke again, his words filled with sarcasm as he noticed your expression of complete arousal.

As much as he wanted to be composed, Jihoon knew that he was as horny as you were, feeling his pants tighten up as he gazed upon your form tied up and helpless. He was getting antsy, his blood was pumping fast and it was your fault that he had slipped control.

Grabbing the long forgotten knife on the floor, he made a quick work of your dress, cutting it up into pieces as you cried in protest. It's not like he cared if it was Gucci or something. Now, you were left on your black lace lingerie which Jihoon always appreciated on you more than any dress.

"Let's continue, shall we?" He told you, yet his voice lacked the teasing elegance it once had. Now you could feel the deep seated irritation and the punishment you had instigated.

"You seem to like my leg so much," he placed it once again against your wet clothed pussy, making you mewl. "Why don't you grind yourself against it?"

You moaned in protest, sobbing as you felt him push against your now sensitive clit; daring you to relieve yourself in the most embarrassing and humiliating manner. Yet you wanted it, you were tempted to.

"Come on now, darling. Isn't this what you wanted me to do? Or would you like me to punish you instead?" Jihoon exclaimed with a smirk, watching you squirm under his knee.

Unable to hold it anymore, you slowly rubbed yourself against it, moving your hips steadily as you made a face of utter pleasure. You could see him through half-lidded eyes as he tried his best to calm down even though he was absolutely turned on as well.

"Look at you, Y/N," he teased in a sing-song voice as he grinned. "You look like a fucking slut, enjoying my knee like that. You look so fucking desperate. Does it feel that good?"

"...Jihoon…" you mewled, opening your legs even more, as you pleaded for more. You were getting closer as you felt the pleasure build up, your hole clenching for nothing. You wanted him to fill you up more than anything.

Yet he only pushed on your pussy harder, making you scream. "Answer my question. Does it feel good, princess?"

Gritting your teeth, you tried to suppress a shudder, arching your back.

"Y-yes, yes! ….it feels so…good!" You cried in submission, yet you continued to rub yourself on him. Any time now and you'll be coming…just a bit more…more…

Satisfied, Jihoon made a small smile and removed his knee from you as you protested in sweet, sweet sobs from the loss of friction.

"...no, n-no…Jihoon, please…!" You were now desperate, pulling against the tie you were bound with.

With eyes full of contempt yet with a content smile, Jihoon walked away and went to the nightstand beside the bed. Opening one drawer, he returned with something in his hands. You took a breath when you finally realized it was a bright pink dildo.

Without a word, he returned to his place from before, giving you a look that screamed he was planning something. Your heart was beating so loudly that it was the only thing that you could hear. Pushing aside your panties, he rubbed the toy on your slit, coating it with your own slippery juices. Every time it would push against your sensitive bud, you could only moan and cry out Jihoon's name.

He was smiling sweetly at you as if he wasn't torturing you with a dildo. Adoring your writhing figure on the sheets, Jihoon wanted nothing but to pin you down and thrust in you as harshly as he could. But he knew, with eyes glinting of mischief, that greater things come with patience.

Without warning, Jihoon suddenly inserted the dildo inside you in one rough push as you screamed in pleasure, arching your back as you pulled on your restraints. You were overrun by intense spasms as you felt your orgasm wash over you, your chest heaving in full breaths.

"...fuck…Jihoon, J-Jihoon…"

You could only mutter his name as you tremble at the remnants of your climax.

"Oh, did I make you cum?" He asked, pulling and pushing the toy inside of you, enjoying the wet sounds it made while you were crying out how sensitive you were. "You do know well that you can't just cum like that, don't you princess?"

Not waiting for a reply, Jihoon simply smirked as he crawled towards you, taking a hold of your chin as he made you face him.

"Isn't this what you want? For me to punish you for being such a fucking brat? Don't you just love this, darling?" He whispered to you, his lips just a few inches away. "I'm a generous person, so I'll give you more than you asked for."

As he swiped his thumb on your lips, he once again gave you a bruising kiss, his tongue forcing your lips open and entering with such passion. Jihoon grabbed a handful of your hair as he raised your head, drowning away your moans with his deep kisses.

Distracted by his lips, you hardly noticed Jihoon reach out for his pocket and switched the dildo on, vibrating in you as you choked out a cry. Pulling away, he reveled at the pained yet pleasured face you made as pools of tears began to form. You were far too sensitive, yet you knew there was no way you were allowed to cum. Like what Jihoon had said, this is exactly what you had brought upon yourself.

"How about that, princess?" He chuckled, pulling your hair to force you to look at him.

With eyes glazed and lips parted, you had no choice but to gaze at him as your face contorted in pleasure. There was nothing more embarrassing as he watched you with a shit-eating grin on his lips, yet there was nothing you could do as the vibrations intensified.

"Don't you look so pretty, Y/N?" He mockingly cooed at you, his hand wrapped around your neck. "That fucked out face really suits you."

"J-Ji…please, please…nghh—! I...w-want you…" you muttered through moans and pants, yet he only scoffed.

"Come on now, princess. Are you already at your limit?" He moved the hand on your neck and pushed your head up. You couldn't see him but you know he was gloating. "After that show of yours, I'm sure you can handle a bit more."

Not waiting for a reply, Jihoon dipped down your neck and began to leave dark bruises on your skin as much as he could. You knew, after being with this man for such a long time, that he would leave visible marks, not caring if anyone would see. He was possessive that way, and you loved it no other way.

Making his way down, Jihoon easily removed your bra away and tossed it somewhere across the room. You immediately arched your back as you felt his tongue on your nipples, sucking, teasing, biting while you were reduced to a screaming mess. He can easily identify your sweet spots, memorizing it as easily on the first night. He knew you had sensitive breasts and he took no time to fondle and squeeze them.

At this point, you were at the brink of another orgasm, the dildo providing no comfort as it once again vibrated in your cunt. You had long been begging Jihoon, yet he had easily reminded you that this was a punishment by pushing the dildo deeper inside you.

"Do you want my cock instead, princess?" He taunted, pulling and pushing the dildo in and out of you, making a wet sound that echoed across the room. "I could give it to you if you ask nicely."

You could only groan as you felt his fingers brush against your clit, the dildo vibrating violently in you. You wasted no time to whimper pleas.

"P-please...mmnn...J-jihoon...I want it…I w-want it s-so much…"

He smirked. "Want what, darling?"

Taking every single inch of your strength not to cum, you replied with tears in your eyes.

"I w-want your cock…Jihoon…please, p-please! Nghh! I want in me…!"

Humming, Jihoon casually straddled you across your torso, his legs pinning you down as he gave a small smirk. He began to unbuckle his belt, gazing down at you who had more or less an inkling of what he was about to do.

"Since you've been a good girl and all," Jihoon began, slipping the belt off. "I'll give you a special treat before I fuck the shit out of you."

Unzipping his pants, Jihoon freed his now hard cock from its restraints. You could only nervously gulp as he took a fistful of your hair, making you sit up. With a grin, he pressed your face against his crotch, looking down on you.

"You know how to suck dick, right princess? With a low drawl, he asked; his contained lust and irritation obvious once again.

You looked up, nodding tentatively. He looked so immaculate at that angle, his smile almost soft, but you knew better than to let your guard down. Taking all of him in slowly, you accommodated his length in your mouth, careful not to scrape your teeth against it. Jihoon was big and it was difficult for you not to choke on his length without being careful, yet it seemed like Jihoon had other ideas up his sleeve.

With a tight grip on your hair, he easily forced himself down your throat, making you gag in the process. This was nothing new but it took you by surprise every time he did it.

"Your mouth feels so good around me, princess," he groaned out, caressing your filled cheeks as he thrusted in harshly. "Makes me want to come in that pretty little mouth of yours."

You gazed back at him, head bobbing, as you felt his hard cock twitch between your lips. You felt so full with both his dick in your mouth and a dildo still inside your pussy. Feeling your juices coat your thighs sticky, you clenched tightly at the toy as you felt his tip brush your throat. If this was your first time, you would've thrown up at the beginning yet being used to this, you knew how to handle him and how to enjoy yourself. As he met your eyes, arousal shot down your stomach in a flash. You were instantly reminded why you always returned to him, why all of this was so addicting. You loved the look in his deep brown eyes--dilated, feral and aroused.

"Princess…ahh…that's right," Jihoon moaned breathless, tightly gripping your hair as you quickened your pace. "I'm going to come soon…you better take all of it in, okay?"

Humming your agreement, you unintentionally sent vibrations down his shaft, making him growl. In a few strokes, Jihoon came inside your mouth in a loud groan as you struggled to swallow all of it. Much like the first time, he came a lot and some had spilled down your chin.

Loosening his grip on you, Jihoon pulled out, his mind still lightheaded from post-orgasm. As he watched you lick yourself clean of his cum while still being tied up, with a flashy pink toy still in you, a new surge of arousal came to him. This was definitely not over.

Cupping your chin, he bent down to kiss you once again. This time it was deeper and more sensual as if a dam had opened up in him. You easily welcomed his kiss, moving against his lips sloppily. As if something had possessed him, Jihoon hurriedly took off the coat and the dress shirt he was still wearing as he pushed you down the bed once again.

Jihoon, as he opened your legs, took a good look at your ruined panties and your obviously and painfully wet pussy with a huge smirk on his lips.

"What a sight to see," he remarked as he slipped your underwear off. "You've only sucked my dick and you're this wet?"

Finding your voice again, you retorted back. "...like I said…I love your dick--!!"

Without allowing you to finish, Jihoon pushed down your sensitive clit harshly with his thumb, effectively making you shut up and moan.

"Being cheeky now, aren't we princess?" He arched his brow at you. "You're still not allowed to cum, by the way."

Pushing the dildo as deep as he could and then pulling it all out, Jihoon took pride at how he can easily have you mewling and panting. You had protested at the sudden absence of the toy inside of you, pleading Jihoon to just fill you up already. Tutting at your impatience, he simply knelt down and showered kisses to your inner thigh.

"That's what you get for being such a brat, princess. You don't get to cum unless I say so," he whispered to your skin, sucking one love bite on your thigh.

In a beat, Jihoon spread you open, his tongue on your clit instantly. You screamed, your hands gently pulling on his hair. Feeling his tongue licking up your slit, you had to close your eyes from the pleasure you were assaulted with.

"Oh…god…J-Jihoon, Ji...hoon! P-please!"

As if he had heard nothing, he only continued to eat you out like a hungry man; pushing his tongue in and out of you. More than that however, Jihoon spontaneously inserted a finger inside and began to finger your pussy. While you were busy trying to stave off the growing arousal at the pits of your stomach, one finger became two and then three. Jihoon was thoroughly enjoying you; sucking your clit as he pushed his digits inside of you; just curling at the right angle to reach your g-spot. He always loved how much you had become pliable with his tongue.

Washed with oversensitivity, you were already screaming at him that you couldn’t take it anymore. You could feel the tension in you stretch, just waiting for a trigger to snap. With how he worked you with his tongue, there was no way you wouldn't come undone.

"Jihoon…I can't…p-please, please…let m-me come…" you begged in between soft moan and sobs.

Eyes brimming with mischief, Jihoon gazed at you from between your legs. He pulled out his fingers from inside of you and sat up, almost chuckling at how you were becoming so livid at his push and pull actions.

"Don't look at me like that, princess," he cooed at you, pushing his fingers wet with your juices between your lips. "I'll give you your reward now."

Stroking his now hard dick with the fingers he had in your mouth, Jihoon smirked at you. Despite in your hazy and overstimulated mind, you felt your heart race as you paid close attention to him. You loved how his toned body moved, how he looked so sexy topless with only his tight black pants on. You loved how he would always coat himself with your fluids, teasing your clit with the tip of his dick.

Lost and mesmerized, you were caught off guard when he plunged into you, bottoming up in one stroke. You opened your mouth in ecstasy, unable to scream any longer with how hoarse your voice was. Jihoon's pace was always fast and rough, thrusting into you with certainty and brute strength. He had his hands holding your hips as you arched your back, your breasts moving as he pounded into you.

"J-Ji...hoon!" You cried out his name as he scraped against your g-spot, pulling on your restraints with how much you wanted to touch him.

"Ughh…princess…you're so fucking tight…" he grunted, sweat dripping down his muscular chest.

Grabbing your leg, he then placed it over his shoulder to reach you even deeper. Pushing into you who was muttering his name over and over again, Jihoon was in a frenzy. He reveled at your cute little whines, your cunt that was so wet and clenching on him so tightly. This was fucking heaven.

"Do you like my cock, princess?" He asked you as he pressed down your clit, waking you up from your pleasure-filled trance.

Watching yourself take all of his length in, you couldn't help bit squeeze on him tighter, making him growl at you.

"Y-yes, yessss….ngghh, y-your cock's s-so…good, J-Jihoon…" you replied, eyes sultry. "S-so….good, mnnhh…please f-fill me up with your cum…!"

"You want my cum…princess?" Jihoon pounded harder, more erratic. "You want me…nnh…to cum inside you until it drips down your thighs…?"

Jihoon was getting breathy as you felt his dick twitch inside of you. You were in the same situation as well, teetering at the edge of a hard climax.

"Haaa….y-yes! F-fill me up! Fill me up with your cum, Jihoon! I want…I w-want it inside me!"

Jihoon groaned, rubbing your clit relentlessly. "Ughh…fuck…f-fuck, I'm coming! Princess, you better come with me…"

Thrusting in you as deeply as he could, Jihoon immediately sent you spiraling down your climax. Soundless screams ruptured in you as you felt yourself snap, falling into spasms of pleasure. Feeling your climax, Jihoon immediately followed right after with a loud groan, cumming as ropes of warmth filled you.

Breathless, Jihoon bent down to you, lips capturing yours in a heated kiss. His tongue effortlessly molding with yours as he cupped your cheeks, enjoying the way you moaned on his lips.

Still sensitive, you whined when Jihoon pulled out, as globs of cum immediately dripped down your hole. Staring at it for a while, something had clicked inside Jihoon's head. You thought he was about to tap out just like every other night, yet when he turned you around on your hands and knees, you knew it was hardly over.

"W-wait… Jihoon, I'm still--!!"

Not waiting for you to finish at all, he scooped some of his cum that had poured out and immediately thrusted in once again, stretching you out, making you cry out at the suddenness and the sensitivity.

"What…? You think we're done here?" He told you, his hands once again on your hair as he pulled your head back to whisper to your ear.

You wondered how he still had enough energy left, yet all your thoughts had just left you when he continued to pound relentlessly, his cock churning the cum inside of you.

"Ji…hoon…anhhh…I'm already…s-so full…of you…"

Closing your eyes to feel all of him, you could sense another orgasm building up. Jihoon was still so rough and unforgiving in all of his thrusts, and you could do nothing but moan and feel good at every stroke of his cock.

Still marking your back with splotches of deep dark bruises, Jihoon held you down as he took a bite of your shoulder which had you tighten around him like a vice.

"Ah, f-fuck princess…" he grunted, pulling your hips to his roughly.

Only the sound of skin slapping together and your loud mewls and growls could be heard inside the room. Jihoon had every intention from the beginning to mark you up as his inside and out. Even if it meant there would be more rounds than this. He was starting to become more possessive of you, and it was getting more complicated in his books, yet that only made the sex better.

"Jihoon…J-Jihoon, please…I'm g-gonna cum…ughh…please, inside me…cum inside me again…!" you begged, your head now on a pillow, drooling your words out.

Gritting his teeth to control himself, Jihoon pushed himself harder into you, brushing against your g-spot.

"Ah, fuck it, princess…!" He growled, "I'm gonna cum inside you…I'll fill you up so much until you're fucking pregnant…ahhh shit…!"

"Yes! D-do it…! Fill me up...K-knock me up please…J-Jihoon…!"

His rhythm had once again become erratic and his thrusts deep. With a finger rubbing your clit, you clenched and unclenched around his cock as you felt your orgasm just a few strokes away. As he pushed against your sensitive area, you once again felt ecstasy down to your very bones. You were still trembling and spasming with your orgasm when you felt him paint your insides with his cum, now overflowing your hole and spill down the sheets. Another wave of pleasure fell on you as you felt his warmth inside you, loving how full you were.

With a final kiss, Jihoon pulled out of you and untied your wrists. They were of course, red and irritated yet it was something for you to wear in the next few hours. Finally laying down beside you, Jihoon cupped your cheek and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead.

"Let's cleanup later…" was what you heard when you yourself fell as sleep.

The next thing you felt when you woke up was a soreness between your legs and back, and Lee Jihoon, who was still only in his pants, wiping your body clean with a damp towel.

"Morning. Water's over there, if you're thirsty," he casually said, pointing at the bedside table.

Crawling towards it, you took the glass of water for a small sip. This was one of the calmer nights, and you appreciated it when it happens. Most of the time either you or Jihoon would just disappear without telling, and admitting it or not, it had pained you for a bit.

Once again on the bed lying under the covers, you observed him as he cleaned himself up. He noticed your stares however and glanced back at you.

“What?” he asked, now hopping into the bed next to you. That usually indicated a few more rounds until the dawn of morning.

“Nothing, really. I’m just thinking,” you replied, allowing his arm around your waist. You could be a bit lenient with him.

He arched a brow at you. “I have my own thoughts as well,” he remarked, nuzzling on your hair. “The way you begged me to get you pregnant…”

He smirked at this, much to your chagrin (and embarrassment). “It was as if you were planning to tie me down. Which, I believe, isn’t something too farfetched for you to do.”

You smirked, closing your eyes. “Who knows? But I would definitely do anything to bring you down, even if it means going down with you,” replying, you casually held his hand, “Besides, men like you need to be tied up once in a while.”

Jihoon hummed. “Is that something I need to look forward to next time?”

“You have to figure that one out yourself.”

-Hyeri

A/N: It’s truly been a while since I wrote smut. I hope this was ok ;;w;;

198 notes · View notes

wheresmynaya · 4 years ago

Text

Two Ghosts Ch.25 | Brittana

Merry Christmas in July! LOL

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & under the cut!

The last day of practice before school lets out for Winter break has finally arrived and everyone’s relieved. The past week has been exhausting and really, with how heavy it snowed overnight, school should’ve been cancelled. Santana’s sure she wouldn’t be the only one celebrating an extra day off but because the school system kind of sucks, yet here she is pretending she isn’t freezing her ass off while the squad runs their drills. Afterall, it would be a bad look considering she was the one who made them shed their warm-up gear.

“Oh and Coach Sylvester would let you get away with that?” Santana had said with her arms crossed defiantly at the first sound of objection. “I don’t think so. Don’t forget, we were in your place once too. Lose them. If we had to suffer, so do you.”

Everyone grumbled about it until Santana threatened to double their burpees. Suddenly it was nothing but silence and compliance, just how Santana liked it.

She remembers Sue trying to convince everyone that the cold is only a figment of your imagination so quit complaining but the only thing that keeps Santana somewhat distracted is the meeting she has organized with Brittany after practice. She’s a mix of excited and anxious and a little nauseous, but she tries to remind herself that things are going to be fine.

“Cold?” Brittany smirks as she comes to stand next to Santana. She has her fists buried in the pocket of her Cheerios Alumni hoodie and her shoulders hunch a little as if she’s trying to use them to shield her ears. The tip of her nose is a little pink too and if Santana wasn’t so damn cold, she might’ve even cracked a smile at the sight at how adorable Britt looked.

“Honestly, it’s like they have the A.C. on in here. I don’t get it,” Santana grumbles lowly, eyes zoning in on the squad. “We might as well hold practice outside, probably wouldn’t know the difference.”

“It’s scientifically proven that colder temperatures help concentration,” Quinn answers.

“So you did this,” Santana says with a glare in Quinn’s direction.

Quinn just smirks.

Brittany stifles a chuckle, “It’s true though. Remember that one time Sue made us run drills in the snow? It was supposed to build our stamina or something?”

Santana scrunches her nose at the memory and grimaces, “That was excessive and borderline child abuse. I don’t know how she got away with that.”

“Pretty sure I still don’t have feeling in my pinky toe from that day,” Brittany frowns then perks up a little as she bumps her shoulders with Santana, “We did have a pretty awesome snowball fight afterwards though. Remember?”

Santana thinks back but doesn’t recall any snowball fights, only really awesome shower sex because Brittany had said, “I can see steam coming off this water but I can’t feel anything. Do you think I’ve lost all feeling?” Such a question led to Santana testing the theory of what Brittany could or couldn’t actually feel. Several mind-blowing orgasms later, it was safe to say Brittany hadn’t lost feeling in anything except maybe her legs but like…that was after the fact.

She doesn’t realize there’s a light blush covering her cheeks when she catches Brittany’s innocent smile. Her eyes though, they’re what give her away because they glisten with mischief. Santana can’t stop the smirk from growing at the memory.

“Yeah, that was a lot of fun. You just kept coming – with the snowballs, I mean,” Santana replies which instantly earns her a scoff from Quinn’s direction.

“Your subtilty still needs some work,” Quinn teases before she catches one girl step out of sync and calls out, “What was that, Denise? Get it together!”

Santana’s eyes dart to the girl and she watches as Denise apologizes before quickly falling back into line. The girls around her exchange disappointed looks before stepping up their precision.

Quinn eyes Santana questioningly, “Losing your touch, Lopez? Maybe if you weren’t so busy flirting…”

Santana’s surprised she didn’t catch the slip up herself, but her head has been in the clouds all day in anticipation for later. She catches Brittany eyeing her curiously too, but Santana brushes them both off, “Please. I was just making sure you were still paying attention. I can’t be doing all the work.”

Quinn laughs her off and turns back to watching the squad while Brittany’s gaze remains on Santana. It’s like an unspoken question is being asked so Santana gives her a wink in return, hoping to ease any of Brittany’s worry.

When it does, Santana goes back to counting down the minutes until practice is over. Since their impromptu date, there’s this feeling that has burrowed its way into Santana’s chest and has gotten heavier the longer it stays.

Hopefully what she has planned will make it go away.

There’s something familiar about Brittany’s journey that leaves Santana feeling unsettled. At first all Santana could feel was guilt for not being around, for not reaching out sooner, for her Mexican Third Eye failing to foresee that Brittany was suffering.

Although Brittany told her what happened, she hasn’t dived any deeper than the surface and Santana finds herself question why that is. She knows how Britt works, she’s seen her put on this mask before. Brittany use to do it all the time growing up but apparently that hasn’t stopped.

While they were still dating, Santana remembers watching the light in Brittany’s eyes dim the longer she was away. They knew doing long distance was going to be tough while Santana was studying at Louisville, but she didn’t think it was going to be like that.

To say it was hard was an understatement, it was excruciating.

So much of their relationship was built on touch and to suddenly take that away? They didn’t know how to cope. Skype and phone calls weren’t cutting it and as much as Santana loved coming home on the weekends, she began to dread them. It was immense happiness on arrival then immense pain when she’d have to leave and that happened every visit.

The highs and lows had begun to take a toll on their hearts.

They both knew what they were doing wasn’t working, they just didn’t know how to fix it. They figured if they ignored it then maybe it would go away and everything would go back to normal. It would be like last Spring and they’d be happy again, but that was wishful thinking.

Really, she should’ve known: nothing bottled up stays that way for long.

It was during one of Santana’s visits to Lima that she realized Brittany had her mask on again, something she hadn’t used on Santana in so long. Santana tried so hard to pretend she didn’t see how Brittany was hurting, to hang onto that last thread of hope for them, but it wouldn’t be enough.

It wasn’t until Brittany’s mask slipped during that ridiculous club meeting at Breadstix that she told Santana how she really felt.

You don’t get it, you left me behind and it hurt.

Those word haunted her and she’d never forget the look on Brittany’s face as she said them. Yet again, she was the cause of Brittany’s pain and she couldn’t stand it. In an instant, Santana realized she needed to do something about this before something worse were to happen. Before they ended up hating each other, before a messy break up would tear them apart forever.

She was thinking about their future when she did it, at least that’s what she told herself for weeks after it happened. It’s the mature thing to do, she’d tell herself. She needed a reminder that this was a good idea, that her heart was in the right place, but sometimes good intentions just aren’t enough.

She made the decision for them and she’d be lying if she said she hasn’t regretted it ever since.

To see the Pierces do the exact same thing to Brittany years later just makes Santana feel even worse because she started this trend. They excluded Brittany from decisions that would impact her life under the guise of thinking they were doing what was best.

Then they just left her behind – just like Santana – and although Santana wasn’t there, she knows exactly how Brittany would’ve reacted.

Brittany would’ve put on her brave face – her mask – and she’d pretend that she wasn’t hurting inside. Brittany would’ve packed her things in silence, choke back the tears, and bottle up her feelings until she was alone. The Pierces wouldn’t have noticed a thing – they never did – and they’d go about the move like nothing was wrong, like they hadn’t just left Brittany behind.

She’d carry the weight of her pain all the way to MIT where she’d bury her head in her books and her studies with complete tunnel-vison. She’d keep it bottled up and store it away on the shelf next to any feelings that related to Santana because Brittany was stubborn like that sometimes.

As much as Santana couldn’t stand it, she couldn’t blame Brittany for it either. When everyone’s already made their mind up about you, it’s kind of hard to break character. Some would even say it’s pointless, but when it came to shedding that mask and being vulnerable, they were each other’s exceptions.

At least, they were supposed to be.

And maybe that’s something that they have to get reacquainted with? She’d rather have a conversation about it rather than Brittany’s mask slipping again. The thought of wanting a conversation surprises Santana, maybe she really has grown?

More than anything, Santana just wants to assure Brittany that she’ll be whatever Brittany needs her to be. She wants to say all the right things, for Brittany to feel loved and cared for and to never feel abandoned again, but Santana struggles with finding the words.

The furthest she ever gets is picturing the inside of a familiar choir room and it confuses her at first.

It’s the place she and Brittany fell in love and it’s the place where they broke each other’s hearts more times than she can count. The choir room has always been a special place for them, a place where Santana can say things with music when words just aren’t enough.

And maybe that’s exactly what she needs?

It’s that thought that leads her to text Brittany the morning after their date to ask if she’d go with her somewhere after practice. Santana doesn’t actually run it by Mr. Schue first but she doubts he’ll mind. Cheerios practice always ran longer than Glee Club rehearsals anyway so she’s sure the room will be vacant.

If not, she doesn’t mind showing the newbies what a real OG looks like.

“Great job, everyone!” Brittany cheers as the squad gathers in front of the coaches.

“Yeah, it was almost perfect,” Santana adds with a shrug as she inspects her nails. She has totally mastered stifling how proud she actually is of everyone – something she picked up from Sue – In order to push the squad harder to win her approval.

She thinks it’s been working well so far.

“Are we finishing early today?” Maddy asks almost in awe. She looks down at her watch then back up at the coaches before her, “We still have 15 more minutes.”

“Dude,” Alex scoffs, nudging at Maddy’s side with her elbow. “Don’t question it.”

“Consider it an early present,” Quinn clarifies with a smile, “Everyone has worked very hard this year and we appreciate all your effort so thank you. We’re expecting to see that same energy once you all return from break.”

“Agreed. That Regionals trophy isn’t going to win itself,” Santana smirks and the squad erupts in applause and cheers, the girls pumping each other up for the upcoming competition in February but also the prospect of an early finish to practice. Santana finds herself smiling at their excitement until Brittany catches her eye.

She wears a coy smile, like she knows some secret Santana doesn’t and it makes her cock her head to the side. Brittany just chuckles and turns her attention back to the squad.

“Happy holidays to everyone and enjoy your break! We’ll see you in January,” Brittany says as the girls are dismissed to the locker room. The girls exchange holiday greetings with the coaches on their way out until it’s just the three of them left in the gym.

“So what time is good to come over?” Quinn asks as they collect their things. Santana had invited Quinn over for their early Christmas dinner which Maribel had insisted upon since Brittany wouldn’t be in town for the real thing.

Santana thinks about her impending meeting with Brittany, but she doubts that’ll take long. At least, she hopes it doesn’t. She hopes that it all works out perfectly and she’ll get the outcome she’s anticipating.

Santana shakes her head, realizing she’s getting stuck in it, and responds, “I think six is good? It won’t be a late one since Britt’s flight is early tomorrow morning.”

Quinn nods and she’s already got her keys in hand, “Okay, I’ll see you both later then!”

Santana watches Quinn leave then looks to Brittany who lifts the strap of her duffle to her shoulder. She looks back expectantly.

“So, where are we going?” Brittany asks and suddenly Santana’s heart is racing a mile a minute.

It’s all the more real now and she starts wondering if she really wants to do this but she’s quick to shake off the intrusive thoughts.

“I’ll show you,” Santana tells her then leads the way to the choir room.

When they arrive at the choir room door, Santana notices Brittany hesitate. She can feel her stiffen almost and it makes Santana turn to her. There’s this slight crinkle in her brow, worry, as Brittany’s eyes dart from the window to Santana.

“What’s happening?” She asks.

Santana bites her lip at the sound of Brittany’s nervousness, “Trust me, okay?”

Brittany swallows but nods anyway and allows Santana to lead her inside.

Santana reaches for Brittany’s duffle and sets it down to the side with her own before directing Brittany to a chair in the second row. Santana settles into the spot next to her, turning her chair so that she’s completely facing Brittany while a girl from the band enters the room with her guitar.

Brittany’s eyes dart to the newcomer and Santana can see another question bubbling but Santana just reaches for Brittany’s hands.

“You know how I’ve been trying to do things the right way this time?” Santana asks.

Brittany nods, “Yeah?”

“Well, I’ve had this…feeling and I want to address it because I think that’s the right thing to do.”

Brittany looks adorably confused as she tilts her head to the side, “What’s the feeling?”

“That’s just it, I can’t really explain it,” Santana starts with a shaky breath, “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said last night about your time at MIT and your parents and started thinking about what I must’ve been doing while you were going through that then I realized something.”

Just then the girl with the guitar started to strum a slow melody. The sound surprised Brittany, her eyes shifting from the music back to Santana as she began to sing.

I got the good side of things

Left you with both of the rings

My fingers danced and swayed in the breeze

The change in the wind took you down to your knees

As Santana sang the words, she could already feel the prickle of tears at the corners of her eyes. It was like her heart was breaking all over again with every word, yet simultaneously being put back together. She discovered a whole new world in New York while Brittany did the same at MIT but unlike Santana, Brittany grew apart from what made her happy.

Not just Santana, but also her love of dance and music. She had lost herself.

I got the good side of you

Sent it out into the blue

The people danced to the sound of your heart

The world sang along to it falling apart

During her time in New York, she always thought of Brittany but it was more so in the way that she hoped she was making her proud. Brittany was the one to send Santana on her way and she always thought Brittany was wiser than anyone ever gave her credit for, but Santana never considered what that did to Brittany’s heart.

To always be the one to lift the others up and almost never get that in return.

But I sympathize, and I recognize

And baby, I apologize

That I got the good side

The good side of things

Santana watches as Brittany cocks her head to the side and it’s almost identical to the last time they were here. She tries to focus on remembering the lyrics rather than Brittany’s glassy blue eyes. She hopes that Brittany can understand what she’s trying to say, how she’s sorry for not noticing her struggles sooner.

I got the good side of life

Traveled the universe twice

So many thoughts I wanted to share

But I didn't call 'cause it wouldn't be fair

Santana feels her heart beat wildly in her chest as she sings the last line and she can feel the words engrave themselves on her soul. She can remember so many times in the past that she wanted to break the silence just to hear Brittany’s voice. She could never bring herself to do it though and apparently she wasn’t the only one.

The crease in Brittany’s brow deepens but Santana just holds on tighter to her hands, a silent reminder that she isn’t going anywhere.

Then I got the good side of new

Found arms to fall right into

I know how it looked, it wasn't the plan

And some day I hope that you'll understand

I sympathize, and I recognize

And baby, I apologize

That I got the good side

The good side of things

Santana remembers the people she met over the years, how hard she tried to replicate what she and Brittany had but it just never worked. She even remembers her ridiculous scheme with Elaine and how Brittany saw right through it. It’s that thought makes her smile through the rest of the lyrics.

I'm sure we'll meet in the spring

And catch up on everything

I'll say I'm proud of all that you've done

You taught me the ropes, and you taught me to love

Santana remembers Sue’s funeral and how it was beneath a tree full of budding Spring blossoms that she first saw Brittany. She remembers learning how to be around Brittany again after so many years apart. The rocky start and the miscommunications, but they’d get past it eventually and they’d become friends again because when it’s Brittany it just comes naturally.

It doesn’t keep the tears from rolling down her cheek though. She closes her eyes, trying to ground herself, as she continues to sing.

But I sympathize, and I recognize

And baby, I apologize

That I got the good side

The good side of things

The last notes fade and Santana stops to inhale a steadying breath while the girl playing her guitar leaves the room. Brittany’s eyes have turned watery as she presses her lips together like she’s trying to keep from letting a sob escape.

Santana is first to pull her hand from Brittany’s and moves to wipe away the tears running down Brittany’s cheeks with the pad of her thumb.

“Why are you crying?” Santana asks but her voice is barely above a whisper.

Brittany croaks out chuckle and shakes her head.

“Because you have a habit of singing songs to me that make me sad and I don’t want to be sad,” She rubs away the rest of her tears, “Good things never come from it, not in here anyway.”

Santana feels winded by her honesty but she sits up straighter and moves closer to Brittany, “It’s not like that this time.”

“Are you sure?” Brittany asks looking unconvinced, “Because this all feels pretty familiar.”

“I promise, it’s not,” Santana bites her lip again and Brittany looks somewhat relieved. But Santana’s nerves are winning and she looks to her lap, “I just thought I could explain this feeling I’ve been having a little better if I did it through music. Maybe I’m a bit rusty.”

“You sounded beautiful. You always do,” Brittany moves to lift Santana’s chin, “I think I understand but tell me. What are you thinking about, Santana?”

“I guess I’ve been thinking about what I was doing while we were apart,” Santana shrugs with a sigh, “When you were at MIT, I was just starting at the Spotlight Diner. I was trying to make friends with my coworkers because breaking out in song is hard when you don't know anyone. Plus…I wanted to be likeable. No one there knew of my reputation and – just like you – I wanted to do something different. Be someone different.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Brittany nods, waiting for Santana to continue.

“I got so wrapped up in being jealous about you and Sam that I just wanted to prove to you that I could make something of myself. I was capable of finding my community just like you said. I tried to replace the feeling of missing you with other girls,” Santana admits, “But that didn't really work out.”

“I’m sorry,” Brittany replies but Santana just shakes her head.

“You couldn't know that because I never called, but after everything you said last night, I really wish I did. I had made so many assumptions over the years, done my best to fill in the blanks about your life but I never imagined that you would be struggling. Maybe I wouldn't have been able to do much, but at least I could've been someone you could talk to? We could've helped each other. At least we wouldn't have been so alone? It made me realize that I kind of got the good side of all this and I hate it. I hate that you felt left behind and I hate that you were hurting.”

“Honey, that’s way too much guilt to hold on to,” Brittany tells her softly and Santana feels like she’s cracking open all over again, “I know I’m the last person to say anything about it or regret, but when it comes to us…you don’t have to hang on to it anymore. I told you those things about my parents and my time at MIT because I wanted you to know me, the parts you were missing, even if they weren’t my greatest moments. I didn’t tell you those things to guilt trip you.”

“No, I know that,” Santana replies with a sniffle, “And I’m really happy that you felt comfortable enough to tell me. I guess I just felt guilty.”

“Well quit it, I don’t want you carrying that around anymore. There are just somethings we just have to let go of. We’re in different places now and I’m very proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”

“That goes for you as well,” Santana tells her, “I don’t want you to harbor any of those feelings either. Whatever you had to do to get to where you are now, I’m proud of you.”

“Santana…” Brittany sighs her name but it sounds like so much more.

Santana just smiles back lovingly, “I mean it. You don’t have to hide anything from me, Britt. I’m going to be here this time, for whatever you need.”

Brittany nods and they settle into silence until she lets out a long sigh, “You really are my best friend.”

“Yeah, mine too.” Santana chuckles softly then asks, “You ever wonder what would've happened if we just cut the crap and called each other?”

Brittany smiles and moves to hold Santana’s hand again, ��Always. I think we would've been happier a lot sooner, but I think this is good too. We were bound to find our ways back to each other. It was always supposed to be you and me.”

Santana returns the smile and begins to lean in for a kiss until Brittany stops her.

“So just to be sure,” Brittany interrupts, “You weren’t trying to end this through song right?”

Santana’s eyes widen, “No, of course not.”

“Okay just making sure,” Brittany smirks, “Because the last time you-“

“I know,” Santana groans playfully, “If there's anything I've learned in our time apart, it's that there is still no one like you. You're irreplaceable.”

Brittany’s grin grows mischievous, “Are you going to sing me another song?”

Santana lets out a laugh before tugging on Brittany’s hoodie strings, “You’re such a dork. C’mere.”

And Brittany does willingly, closing the distance between them as their lips meet for the first time all day. It’s soft and sweet but holds all the words that are still left to be said. Words that solidify Santana’s feelings and her motives and their future, but for now she just revels in the weight that has been lifted from their shoulders.

Later on, Santana’s at home with Maribel and Quinn awaiting Brittany’s arrival. After their time in the choir room, Santana and Brittany went their separate ways for the moment so they could get ready for tonight.

To Santana’s surprise, Quinn had shown up early.

She was just barely out of the shower when she heard the telltale sound of Quinn’s laughter floating up from downstairs. Regardless, she took her time getting ready. Although it wasn’t actually Christmas yet, Santana could still look the part and dress up. She slid into a dark grey skirt and threw on her comfiest reindeer sweater – which would put Rachel Berry’s whole collection to shame – before applying a little make up and a fresh spritz of perfume.

With one last look in the mirror, Santana fluffed her hair and headed downstairs.

“There she is!” Quinn cheers when Santana finally joined them in the kitchen.

“Oh mija, you look lovely!” Maribel greets as Santana rounded the island counter they were both sitting at. She noticed the open wine bottle and their glasses which barely had a swallow left in them and smirked.

“I see you’ve started without me,” Santana teases as she takes an empty glasses. She doesn’t even say anything before Quinn is filling it with pinot gris. She raises her now full glass to them both with a cheers before taking a sip.

Maribel and Quinn continue to chat about anything and everything, the wine making them a lot more talkative than normal. Santana is only halfway listening to their conversation, too busy puttering around the kitchen, peeking under the lids of pots left simmering on the stove.

It’s not until she hears Brittany’s name mentioned that her interest is piqued. When she turns to them, they’re both looking to her expectantly.

“What?” Santana asks looking a little lost before taking a sip.

“I said, where’s your girlfriend? I’m ready to decorate!” Quinn says and the label falls so easily from her but it doesn’t stop Santana from nearly choking on her wine. Quinn notices it and quirks her brow, “Do you need to be cut off already?”

“No,” Santana eye rolls, “It’s just that…She’s not my girlfriend.”

Maribel deadpans, “¿qué?”

Quinn tilts her head to Maribel and nods, “What she said.”

“Well yeah, we’re not exactly dating,” Santana explains and she immediately feels their judgement, “Okay we are but like…nothing’s official.”

“What are you waiting for?” Quinn and Maribel say in unison.

Hearing their voices at the same time makes Santana take another sip of her wine. She couldn’t handle their meddling individually, let alone when they team up and let alone being sober.

“I said what I said,” Santana clarifies in a huff. She hates this feeling of being under a scope. She knows that no matter how annoying and intrusive they’re being, they do it out of love. She can still hate it though and after everything that happened in the choir room, she really just wants them to butt out.

Of course, they don’t.

“Do you want to date other people?” Quinn asks.

“No.” Santana answers tiredly.

“Does she?” Maribel asks.

“I highly doubt it.” Santana answers again.

“So…” Quinn drawls out, “What’s the issue?”

Santana just sighs, “There isn’t an issue. We’re just – I don’t know. I don’t want to mess this thing up, we’ve worked so hard to get to this point. I’m really trying to do things the right way and I know Britt doesn’t need all of that, but I just – I want to make sure this time. I don’t want to lose her again.”

That answer seems to soften Maribel and Quinn and they exchange apologetic smiles.

“Stop that,” Santana grumbles, “It’s weird.”

Quinn’s smile turns into a smirk, “Who knew you were such a-“

“A what?” Santana growls.

“A hopeless romantic,” Quinn finishes, “Emphasis on the hopeless.”

Santana just lets out a deep sigh, “I’m not. Britt and I just – we have an understanding, okay? You might not get it, but it’s not for you to get. We don’t need to label our relationship to solidify how we feel.”

Quinn smiles proudly and tips her glass to Santana before taking a sip while Maribel just stares with the same adoring smile.

“Mami, you have to stop looking at me like that,” Santana says, trying to push away the nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Maribel just chuckles, “Santana, I love you. You’re my favorite daughter-“

“I’m your only daughter.”

“Maybe so and I’m so proud of how far you’ve come but, mija, you’re a worry sometimes.” Maribel tells her in the most lovingly way possible. She reaches out and pinches Santana’s cheek, “Brittany loves you, just don’t make her wait too long. Okay?”

Those words resonate with Santana, but thankfully she’s saved by the bell…literally.

“I’ll get it. No more talking about this,” Santana says and quickly goes to answer the door. Behind her she can hear the two giggling away like school girls and she shakes her head at the sound although it makes her smile a little.

When Santana opens the door, she’s instantly relieved to see Brittany there.

“Oh thank God you’re here,” Santana greets her with a dramatic sigh.

“Hey San!” Brittany giggles. There’s a fluffy Santa hat atop her head and she’s dressed in her most festive holiday sweater, cheeks a little rosy from the cold. “What’s happening?”

“Quinn and my mom think they’re matchmakers,” Santana grumbles and opens the door a little wider for Brittany to walk past.

“Ooh, who are we setting up?” Brittany asks enthusiastically. She holds a fruit tray in one hand as her eyes sweep Santana’s torso and back up to meet her gaze, “You look really good by the way. I love your sweater.”

“Thanks Britt and you look as beautiful as ever,” Santana grins and offers to take the fruit tray as she leads the way to the kitchen. She can feel Brittany’s eyes on her and her confidence grows because of it. She peeks over her shoulder – just to check – and catches Brittany’s eyes lingering a lot lower than they should before instantly snapping up.

Brittany’s cheeks flush although her smirk grows, “Did you say something?”

Santana just shakes her head as they round the corner.

“Brittany!” Maribel and Quinn cheer in unison which makes Brittany giggle again and look to Santana questioningly.

“They’re half a bottle in already,” Santana supplies and pulls out a glass for Brittany too.

“Hi! Merry early Christmas, Quinn,” Brittany greets just as excitedly as she kisses the top of Quinn’s head and moves to give Maribel a hug before kissing her cheek, “And Merry early Christmas, Maribel. Thanks for inviting me over.”

“Of course, my girl!” Maribel says happily.

Santana watches with a soft smile as she pours Brittany a glass of wine. The way Maribel calls Brittany my girl does something to the steady beat of Santana’s heart. She gets caught up in thinking about how well Brittany fits in with her family that she doesn’t notice the girl coming closer.

“Can’t forget about you,” Brittany cheeses as she slips in next to Santana to press a quick kiss to her cheek too, “Merry early Christmas, Santana.”

Santana melts on the spot and she can totally feel Maribel and Quinn’s eyes on her but instead of looking at them, she just hands Brittany her glass.

“Merry early Christmas, Britt.” She says softly.

Brittany just winks before turning back to Maribel and Quinn, “Let’s get to decorating!”

They find that decorating is so much better when there’s a mix of wine, food and good company. Most of the house has been Christmas-fied, gaudy garland is wrapped around anything that it can, there are red velvet bows in the front windows, the table runner has been swapped out for the one decorated with Christmas ornaments, stockings are hung by the fire place, and there’s this lingering scent of cinnamon and pine.

They’re about halfway through decorating the tree when they decided to pause for dinner. It’s a lot less formal than Thanksgiving as they eat out of bowls and sit around the living room while they catch the last half of Elf.

Santana knows it’s Brittany’s favorite and she smiles at how entranced Brittany is as she sits on the floor by the coffee table and watches like she’s seeing it for the first time. There’s a lot of things Santana loves about the holidays, the decorations and the overall Christmas spirit, but watching Brittany light up like this is probably her favorite.

There’s something so pure about it, how something like Brittany’s favorite Christmas movie has gone unchanged over the years, and she feels herself soften at the thought. She gets to thinking about what next year will be like and the year after that.

She thinks about old wishes she made in the past, wishes that involved decorating their own place and coming up with their own traditions. She gets to thinking about their future and babies that look a little like her but also a little like Brittany and it surprises her but she can’t help but entertain the thought. She thinks about hanging up little stockings by theirs and setting out a plate of cookies and milk for Santa and how she and Britt will have to scarf them down before morning.

Santana doesn’t realize she’s being watched like a hawk until she feels a nudge and looks to the source. It’s Quinn smirking and wagging her brows like an idiot.

Santana just sends her a glare before turning back to the tv as she finishes off her meal.

Once the movie ends, Brittany stands up to stretch and her shoulder pops.

“Getting old there, Britt-Britt?” Santana teases.

“Hey, you’re not too far behind,” Brittany smirks as she pulls off her Santa hat and pushes it down on Santana’s head, “Santana Claus.”

“Britt, my hair!” Santana groans through a smile as she adjusts the hat, “And excuse me, but I’m gonna be forever young.”

“Sure,” Quinn jokes lowly. Santana shoots a scowl in her direction.

“You girls,” Maribel chuckles as she sets off to continue decorating.

Brittany smirks before collecting empty bowls to take to the kitchen.

Santana’s eyes follow after her, the sway of Brittany’s hips as she walks away always hypnotizing.

“You should do it tonight,” Quinn whispers once Brittany’s out of the room.

Santana quirks a brow as she turns the Christmas music back on, “Do what?”

“You know,” Quinn says expectantly, “It.”

“Gross. The last thing I want you meddling in is my sex life,” Santana quips lowly because that’s the last topic she wants her mom to overhear.

Quinn just groans, “I’m not talking about that. You should make it official. You’re already so coupley.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? We don’t need to do that so mind your business, Q,” Santana says tiredly and moves to stand, “I’m going to help Britt clean up.”

“See what I mean? Coupley!” Quinn sing-songs but Santana just shakes her head at her friend’s antics.

It’s not like she hasn’t been thinking about it, making things official has been on her mind for awhile and honestly she knows she’s dragging her feet. She doesn’t need everyone reminding her of that, but it just seems so high school to have to put a label on something.

But she does have to admit that there is something special about being someone’s something and since their talk in the choir room, things have just felt different.

“Hey,” Brittany grins as Santana comes up beside her at the sink.

“Hi,” Santana says as she picks up a towel, “Thought I’d help you dry.”

“Awesome,” Brittany nods.

They stand like that, side by side, just going through the motions in a comfortable silence until the song coming from the living room speakers changes to something more upbeat. Brittany’s the first to start humming and Santana soon follows, their voices melting together into a sultry mashup. Not to brag, but they sound pretty damn good. They always have and sometimes Santana really regrets not getting to sing with her more during their Glee Club days.

Seriously, they would’ve won every competition if it was her and Britt and lead and that’s a fact.

“We sound good together,” Brittany says like she can read Santana’s mind.

It makes Santana smile with pride, “Yeah we do.”

“You never told me who your mom and Quinn were trying to set up earlier,” Brittany says casually.

Santana’s eyes nearly bug out of her head so she’s thankful Brittany’s too occupied with scrubbing to notice. “Uh, they were just being nosy.”

“Bout what?” Brittany asks.

Santana swallows, “Well, us.”

“Ohhh,” Brittany hums then starts to laugh, “Those two are a funny combo.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Santana agrees.

Once they finish up with the dishes, Brittany turns to her as she dries her hands. There’s a contemplative look in her eye as she asks, “You’re still staying over tonight, right?”

Honestly, Santana forgot about that but she hopes it doesn’t show on her face.

“Yeah. Totally,” Santana nods, “I’ll have to grab some things before we go but yeah..”

“Cool. I forgot to check with you earlier but I didn’t think it would be the right time with the whole beautifully heartfelt serenading in progress.” Brittany replies and hey both giggle at the way she says serenading.

“Well, I’m staying with you tonight.” Santana assures her, “If you still want me to.”

“Duh,” Brittany grins dopily and starts to lean in for a kiss.

Santana has been deprived of this since the choir room and she’s quick to roll on to her toes to close the distance when-

“Guys! It’s our song! Hurry!” Quinn calls out so suddenly that it makes the girls jerk away.

There’s a flush blossoming along Brittany’s cheeks and Santana scowls at the interruption, but her annoyance doesn’t last long as she hears the familiar melody coming from the living room.

“It is! Come on!” Brittany beams and drags Santana along behind her to find Quinn already pushing the coffee table out of the way for more space.

“No way you still remember all the steps!” Santana challenges as she and Brittany fall into place flanking Quinn.

Maribel sits off to the side, clapping her hands to the beat while the girls perform their signature routine to The Ronettes’ Sleigh Ride. Surprisingly, they really do remember the steps! There’s a bit of improv as Brittany dips down to pluck up a chain of bells and passes them to Santana as they continue to supply Quinn with their back up vocals.

The girls dance around the living room shaking their bells and swaying their hips in time with the music and it’s the most fun Santana’s had in so long, but what’s most surprising though is the high note Maribel hits out of nowhere.

“Holy shit!” Santana squeaks and Quinn looks equally as stunned.

“Woah,” Brittany’s brows rise as she shoots Santana a look, “So that’s where you get it from.”

Maribel just lifts her shoulder like it was nothing and they all start laughing at how similar Santana really is to her mom before getting back to the song.

At one point, Quinn smoothly takes the bells from Santana’s hand and leads her to Brittany. The two begin to waltz around the room, Brittany leading Santana effortlessly into a graceful twirl. Strong hands settle on Santana’s hips, gliding around to the small of her back as Brittany dips her.

It’s embarrassing how much Santana loves when Brittany takes control when they dance and Santana struggles to keep from biting her lip at the sight. Instead she focuses on the twinkle in Brittany’s eye and Quinn and Maribel’s laughter as they try to dance half as well together.

Once the chorus picks up again, Brittany spins Santana away and suddenly the partners have changed. Brittany’s waltzing with Quinn and Santana’s trying not to step on Maribel’s toes. It’s almost like musical chairs but with dancing and soon the partners change again. Now it’s Brittany and Maribel swaying along to the beat while Santana and Quinn do the same.

It’s a little bit of a power struggle dancing with Quinn because she feels Quinn trying to lead her around the room in a similar fashion as Brittany, but it feels weird letting someone else take control. Then again, that’s basically a summary of her and Quinn’s friendship: constant power struggle. She doesn’t realize there was a purpose for her leading until the song fades out and Brittany’s pointing to them.

“Mistletoe!” Brittany laughs out and she nearly falls over at the expression Santana wears as she looks up.

Sure enough, someone decided to hang mistletoe in that specific spot. The same spot Quinn was so desperately trying to avoid.

“Fuck off,” Santana deadpans and goes to eye everyone, “Who put that there?”

Quinn is equally shocked as she looks to Maribel, “We were supposed to switch again!”

“I thought we had more time!” Maribel answers worriedly.

Santana’s just confused, “What’s going on?”

Brittany’s eyes just dart between the three, an amused grin playing at her lips.

“This isn’t right,” Quinn shakes her head and looks up at the mistletoe like it has offended her, “You had one job!”

“It sure isn’t right,” Santana quips, “Because there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that I’m kissing you.”

“Cute, you’ve adapted your insults for the holidays,” Quinn replies sarcastically.

“Hey, what’s a friendly kiss on the cheek between friends?” Brittany calls out while trying to keep from laughing at the whole situation. Santana can tell she’s just trying to stir the pot now and she quickly shoots her a glare.

“I see you over there,” Santana says but Brittany just winks.

“I mean…” Quinn scrunches her nose as she ponders the thought, “When she puts it that way?”

Santana pushes Quinn away, “Nah, no way.”

“Rude,” Quinn recovers and adjusts her cardigan. She looks to Maribel and through her disappointment she says, “We’ve failed.”

Maribel’s smile grows as she watches Brittany round the couch, “I don’t know...look.”

“Alright,” Brittany chuckles and steps closer to Santana, “I’ll volunteer my services as a stand-in. It’s bad luck for a mistletoe kiss to go unfulfilled.”

“I’ve…never heard of that,” Santana tilts her head to the side.

Brittany just shrugs, “It’s true.”

Quinn’s brows rise as she and Maribel exchange surprised looks, has their plan actually worked? They’re not out of the woods yet though.

“That’s not how that works,” Quinn argues although there’s not much resistance as Brittany nears Santana.

“Sure it is. I’m a certified genius so you have to believe me,” Brittany looks like she’s on a mission and nothing’s going to get in the way of her sweet lady kisses.

“But-“

“Shut it, Fabray,” Santana seems to be on the same page, “If my girlfriend wants to volunteer she can!”

Santana almost doesn’t catch the slip up, but the look on Brittany’s face in addition to the gasps Quinn and Maribel let out have her blushing hard.

“Did you just…” Brittany whispers low enough so only Santana can hear. She’s wearing Santana’s favorite smile and it just about makes her swoon.

She thinks about how hard she was putting her foot down earlier with Quinn and Maribel, how she’s totally gone against everything she had said, but this feeling she gets from saying my girlfriend is too good to pass up.

And it happened so easily, that has to mean something right? Maybe it’s a sign she shouldn’t have been fighting it so hard?

Santana matches her grin, “Is that okay?”

Brittany answers by bringing Santana in, her smile evident in the press of their lips. For a second, time stops and – just like the kiss they shared before a frozen fountain in Cincinnati – they feel like they’re the only ones left in the world. It’s the sweetest kiss yet because it holds so much more than just the luck of a strategically placed mistletoe. It’s the start of a new phase of their lives and Santana can’t wait to see what’s in store.

“Good work!” Maribel smirks as she holds up her hand to Quinn for a high five.

Quinn claps her hand to Maribel’s, “Just needed a little push.”

“You know we can hear you,” Santana calls out and sends a playful glare over Brittany’s shoulder. Maribel and Quinn just giggle away, satisfied that their work here is done.

#Two Ghosts #Brittana #brittana fanfiction #fanfics

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mandochlorian · 5 years ago

Text

white flag (kylo ren x reader)

part I part II part III

summary: sneaking out of the resistance base on Ajan Kloss isn’t the safest idea. but you have to reach out to Ben just once more, in case you never see him again.

song inspiration

general masterlist

star wars masterlist

You try to stop your hands from trembling, watching them as they rest upon the Millenium Falcons controls. The cockpit is silent, harbouring the sound of your breathing alone, you’re nervous. Stars, you’re so terrified of seeing him again. And you’re terrified of making it back to the Resistance base and forgetting all about Ben Solo, or having to forget about him.

The small planet of Pasaana comes into view and you suck in a deep breath, knowing he’s here along with your friends. They have no way of escaping, the Resistance was hesitant to send a scout in fear of losing more numbers, so you left to help your friends; at least that’s what you’ll tell Leia when she scolds you for putting yourself in danger in front of Kylo Ren.

“Alright,” you mumble to yourself nervously, “Let’s do this.”

Bringing the ship into land in a field of sand, you eye the small village before you. It’s filled with a crowd of people. As the Falcon settles on the sand, you can hear the music blasting from just past the small sand dune. Passing the corridor, you head to the boarding ramp, your lightsaber by your side. But as soon as the boarding ramp is halfway down, there are blasters being fired at you. Hitting the button to your side, the doors halt halfway, prompting a stormtrooper to poke his head through the gap. You use this as an opportunity to knock him back with the end of you saber before the ramp continues to open.

The trooper lays on the floor, holding his head. Stretching a hand out to him, you send him into a deep sleep and head towards the sand dune. Standing on top of it, you look out to see absolute heaven. You can’t stop the smile that reaches your face, the people dancing, singing, families crowded around one another, eating, laughing... happy.

This planet is at peace, even with a war raging on. Just as quickly as the feeling of joy had appeared, something tugs at your chest. You know the force enough to know what this feeling is. Walking from the village, you make your way to the middle of the desert. And you wait. You sit, cross-legged, waiting, eye closed as you reach out.

A frown makes it’s way to your face as you try not to let the tears fall. “Ben,” you whisper, feeling Kylo approach you. You open your eyes gently to the sound of a ship ripping through the air. It’s him. He lands. You stand up to meet him, seeing him exit the tie fighter.

Clenching your teeth together, you watch him as he marches towards you. His lightsaber ignites, crackling and hissing at his side as he stops in front of you. “Get out of my way.” His deep voice rings out, barely sounding like himself through the mask.

Your weapon stays on your hilt, comfortably, “Take that helmet off.”

“I won’t take this helmet off ever again.”

His posture is stiff, as though he’s trying to hold the tremble of rage flowing through him. You’re patient and considerate, and you don’t raise your voice at the man before you. “Then consider this the last time anyone will see your face. Your true face.”

Without a single word, Kylo takes it off. He holds it by his side, looking to you expectantly. He speaks. “Well? Have you decided whether you’re going to live or die yet?”

That comment makes you laugh a little and you look to the sky, “You have to decide that yourself. I just want to talk to you.”

“I don’t have time to talk to Rebel scum like you-”

“Then just listen,” you tell him, looking into his eyes solemnly. “How can you choose to be evil when you feel the light? When you know what’s right and what’s wrong?”

“Anger.” He whispers back quietly. His voice is low and deep, holding a lifetime of vengeance. Kylo glances up at his father's ship, “Anger makes it difficult to see what’s in front of me.”

“I’m in front of you.” You tell him, “For the last time ever.”

Kylo’s face then changes. He turns his lightsaber off, puts it back on its hilt. “Y/N,” His voice lowers, seeing the look in your eyes. His own eyes narrow at you, squinting slightly. He can’t sense your intentions, “Why are you here?”

You promised yourself you wouldn’t get emotional. But there’s no way you can’t. Without a word, you hold your hand out for him to take. Kylo stares at you blankly, not even giving your hand a single glance. You don’t want him to see you cry. Not now. Not when you have to be stronger than you’ve ever been. Frowning, you rip your hand away from him and turn around to wipe a tear from under your eye.

You pause before you admit to him, “I love you.”

Kylo pauses, his eyes wide in disbelief mixed with shock, “Still?” He whispers to you, unable to stop the memories of you two. Memories from your childhood, from training, from time spent together on the Resistance Base, “You shouldn’t.”

“I know,” you cry out, looking down at your feet, “And I shouldn’t be telling you... But even if I didn’t tell you, I’d still feel it.”

Kylo sneers at you, trying to ignore the pain he feels at your sorrow, “Why are you making this so hard for me?”

You shake your head, letting out a laugh, “I’m not trying to. Really, I’m not.” You admit to him, placing a hand to your heart as you sniff, “This is hard for me too, understand that...” Swallowing the lump in your throat, you examine his features.

Kylo notices how you admire him and he looks down, sucking the inside of his cheeks gently. Part of him feels this internal struggle to push you away, to force all good things from his life. “Hard for you?” He speaks up, taking the same route he’s been trying for years, “You chose this for yourself! Why did you have to be part of the Resistance? You could’ve lived a quiet life, settled down... you could've had no part in this story. Wouldn’t that have been easier?”

“Maybe,” you blink, knowing it would’ve been a pointless life, “But I didn’t give up on you back then. That’s the choice I made.”

“You’re a fool.”

Your eyes flutter with tears, “Baby-”

“No! You are!” He exclaims, his chest heaving, “You think there‘s hope for me still? You made your decision, let me make mine.”

You shake your head at him, wanting nothing more than you hold him and take him home, “I know this isn’t you, you don’t have to do this. Ben... Ben, you’re breaking my heart.”

“Then let it break!” He shrugs, his eyes wide and wild with anger and confusion, “Let it turn hateful towards me! That’s what everyone else has done. Wouldn’t that be easier?”

“None of this is easy!” You finally shout back at him, pointing to him then to yourself, “You, me, nothing has ever come easy for us! But you started a war, you went down a path that wasn’t made for you, Ben. And I’m afraid that-”

“What?” He mutters, taking a step closer to you, “What are you afraid of?” Kylo asks, half expecting you to say his name.

“If you don’t turn back now...” You mumble, feeling the tears build up in your eyes, “It can only end with one of us dead.”

Kylo tilts his head slightly, his own eyes staring into yours; red, examining, unthreatened. “Have you come to kill me, Y/N? Or to save my soul?”

You ignore his question, settling to answer it with a decision you’ve made, “This is the last time we meet on these terms.” You tell him, watching his expression change.

Kylo bites the inside of his cheek, knowing exactly what you mean. It wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to meet one another, share secret and guilty moments together. If this were more private, and the two of you were on an uninhabited planet, you’re sure his arms would be around you. No one knew about it, of course. Not even Snoke, not even General Leia, not even Rey or Poe. It was your secret to keep. every once in a while, you would talk to one another, you would ignore the fact that your heart would be breaking at his dark clothes and his plagued mind.

Kylo gulps. Kylo pretends that doesn’t affect him. But Kylo also knows that you are the only one who gives him the strength to go on. You locked yourself in your room for two days, bridging yourselves through the force just so you could help him overcome his grief for his father. “So you are giving up on me, then?” He spits, walking past you, almost circling you as he looks up at the Falcon.

“No,” you shake your head, following his movements, “Never.”

“But you won’t see me anymore?” He states matter of factly, snapping around to look at you. His eyes convey something different... fear? “You’ll block me out, even with the force.”

“Yes.” You suck in a deep breath, taking a step closer to Ben. You don’t care if there are people looking for the two of you on this planet. You place a hand on his cheek. Kylo holds himself back, but can’t help but lean against your gentle touch. “I won’t ever stop loving you and I will never lose the hope that you can return home,” You whisper to him, gently dragging your thumb across his cheek. His eyes shut sweetly, and for a moment he looks like he’s in peace, “But this war needs to come to an end.” He opens his eyes, gazing at you as you speak, “The Resistance are fighters. I’m one of them. And I’ll die before I ever give up on ending this war. Don’t expect me to put my hands up and surrender to you, Ben, because it’s not going to happen. We need to accept that we’re on opposites sides of this war, and I will go down with this ship.”

“Will I really never see you again?”

“No,” you tell him, your hand coming to rest on his chest, “Not like this, at least. When we meet, which I’m sure we will, I’ll still love you. And it will still kill me. There isn’t any way I’d ever stop loving you, Ben, even now after all you’ve done, I... I can’t stop needing you. Wanting you.” Feeling more tears surface, you step away from him. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve, sniffing quietly, “And that’s why I’m doing this. If you won’t join me... then I can’t keep letting people die at your hand while I secretly meet you in the night.”

“If I knew this was the last time, I...” He cuts himself off, standing up straighter as though he isn’t tearing up at the loss of the only person who loves him. Kylo sniffs, wiping his eyes and moving away from you, “I love you.” He says casually, frowning as he begins to walk away from you. Kylo turns his head slightly, pain running through his chest as he heads towards his tie fighter, “I’ll see you on the battlefield.”

Suddenly, his hand is out, facing the sand dune. A laser remains mid-air, once fired from Finn's blaster. Your eyes are wide. You watch Rey, Poe, and Finn rush towards the Falcon, chased by stormtroopers. Walking past the beam, Kylo puts his hand down and allows the laser to hit the sand and dissipate.

“Once we get the hell out of here, you need to tell us what the hell is going on,” Poe announces, shooting down some troopers as he rushes past you to get into the Falcon. Seeing Rey and Finn fighting the troopers off, you use the force to knock your enemies on their feet, allowing them to run onboard. They’re confused, you can tell, they’re wondering why Kylo Ren didn’t put up more of a fight. Why did he let them escape with their lives? It’s unlike him to be passive.

Hearing the ship roar to life, you tear your eyes away from Kylo. You make your way on board, heading straight to the cockpit and into the pilot's seat. Punching in co-ordinates for anywhere other than here, you take a breath before the ship takes off, speeding into the air unfollowed.

Goodbye, Ben.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #ben solo x reader #ben solo

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taiblogcomics · 5 years ago

Text

Absolutely Thera-Pissed

Hey there, visas and green cards. It's our ninth blogaversary! Wow, we've been going for quite a long time. Long enough to completely change platforms at least once. Considering we just finished our whole backlog, I think we should try something new in honour of the amazing coincidence of these two events synching up. Before we start on another backlog of terrible comics (trust me, I have something in mind), let's do something we've never done before on this blog. We've only ever really covered comics issue by issue. How would you feel, dear readers, if we instead did an entire storyline all at once?

And oh boy, do I have just the storyline in mind. Here's the cover:

Oh yeah. We're doing this. This story has kind of hung over this blog, mostly due to its connections to Red Hood and the Outlaws. It also prominitely features Harley Quinn, who also appeared in Suicide Squad (which ended before this story took place). And personally, I am a fan of Harley, Booster, and the Titans. And oh boy, does this comic shit all over them, in some of the most truly appalling ways possible. This is Heroes in Crisis. All nine issues. Let's jump right in~

I won’t be going over the covers of the individual issues, or even this one so much, but I do like that quote at the top. It is actually some good superhero artwork! It is an extremely awful story, but the artwork is fine~

So the first issue starts like this: Booster Gold's in one of those tiny middle-American diners. The host's loving it, since she says superheroes never show up and eat here. And oh look, here comes another one! Booster replies that that's no hero, as Harley Quinn walks in. Clearly he hasn't been reading her solo series. Harley orders some pie, and she and Booster eat in terse silence. Until suddenly Harley grabs a knife, and the two begin a real knock-down, drag-out fight. And lemme tell ya something, Harley keeps up with a guy who can fly and project forcefields pretty well. Eventually the pair are exhausted, and Booster says he's gotta bring Harley in, after what he saw her do. Harley protests, because she didn't kill all those people. She saw Booster do it.

All this is intercut with two different scenes. One is sort of a confession-cam style thing, a bunch of heroes (including Harley, Blue Jay, Booster, and Hotspot) all admitting they're here for therapy. And the second is Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman talking with each other as they land in a particular site. This place is called Sanctuary. It is currently full of dead heroes. Among the deceased here are Hotspot, Lagoon Boy, Wally West, and Roy Harper. And this is my first major complaint. Do you know what all these characters have in common? Hey, DC: Stop using the Titans as your cannon fodder. Stop treating them as a joke. Every iteration of the team deserves more respect than this.

So Harley and Booster are going to be our POV characters for this story. I like both of these characters a lot, so this is probably going to be pretty painful seeing them written horribly. Harley goes off to the Penguin for protection, and we actually get to see her in her old costume. It is a breath of fresh air, honestly. Booster, meanwhile, mostly just tries to rationalise his actions with Skeets, his robot buddy. Booster suffered kind of a psychotic break back in the Batman storyline "The Gift", which is why he was in Sanctuary to begin with. This story is basically a follow-up to that one, and has the same sort of tone.

Harley confronts the trinity in Gotham, revealing she set the whole thing up with Penguin just so she could get close to them on her terms. She uses the Lasso of Truth to confess she saw Booster Gold do it, then uses the Kryptonite in Batman's belt to skip town. The next time we see her, she's at the docks, giving a eulogy to Poison Ivy, another victim of Sanctuary. Booster Gold, meanwhile, has rationalised that Batman would solve the crime himself rather than turn himself in, and goes to Barry Allen to check in. Of course, the trinity are the only ones who know about the accident yet, so when Booster tells Barry that Wally's dead, he gets super pissed. Just like the readers are!

Issue 3 is a flashback issue, showing Booster's first day at Sanctuary. Sanctuary works like this: everyone gets their own private quarters, and if they want to visit the common areas, they wear a mask and cloak to preserve anonymity. Here's the first really big problem with Sanctuary: while therapy for superheroes is a good (possibly necessary) concept, Sanctuary is only one kind of therapy. It essentially assumes everyone responds the same to the same sort of therapy. The kind here is that Sanctuary gives you a private room that simulates your traumas (with a holodeck) and has you physically confront them. Lagoon Boy, for example, is shown to be facing the laser that killed him over and over again. Wally sets up superhero battles that still have his kids with him. And while this sort of therapy might help some people, it's definitely not universal.

Booster starts his first session, which ends up just being a hologram of himself, talking to him. Before he can get much further, though, alarms go off and everyone is urged to emergency evacuate. Lagoon Boy is killed--in a deliberate callback to his previous death, no less--and we see a few other victims, including Red Devil, Commander Steel, and Gunfire. Wally clutches Roy's body as he dies in his arms, and Harley smacks Wally in the face with her hammer. She greets Booster cheerfully, and he admits he's having a hell of a first day.

After a brief scene of Aqualad (Garth, in this case) drinking in a bar--and who can blame him for wanting to drink after experiencing this story?--Batman and Barry meet, thus showing they're still unsure who did it. Booster is being interrogated under the Lasso of Truth, and he relays the previous issue to us. In his mind, Harley did it. Harley, meanwhile, has tracked down Batgirl (Barbara Gordon) and surprisingly... they hug. Babs promises to help stick by Harley and prove her innocence. After all, Babs has been through trauma, too. The comic reminds us of this with another confession-cam video, showing Babs display the scars she received from “The Killing Joke".

So, about these confession cams... They've been interspersed between scenes, showing everyone from Batman down to guys like Gunfire or the Protector relaying their problems by confession. Again, this sort of therapy isn't for everyone, but it's the only one Sanctuary's got. Superman tells Batman that Lois has been receiving these videos anonymously. Batman responds that there are no videos. Sanctuary does not keep records, to preserve patient confidentiality. Supes replies that there are videos, he's seen them, and now the media has them. The issue ends with a breaking story about "What is the secret superhero Sanctuary?" exposé airing on television...

Speaking of breaking, Blue Beetle (Ted Kord, who I'm as surprised as anybody to find out is alive again post-Rebirth) breaks Booster out of the Hall of Justice where he's being held. The pair watch the breaking news report on television while they try to come up with a plan. Booster's idea is to confess to Barry again, figuring they won't expect the stupidest possible move, making it actually the smartest possible move. Booster has not really recovered from his insanity, I see. He and Beetle do exactly that, surprising Barry at work, which is apparently all the advantage they need. This is because Barry, as a forensic scientist, has access to the data on the autopsies.

While Superman makes a public statement to the press regarding Sanctuary, Batman passes Skeets into Batgirl's care, and she immediately violates that trust by in turn passing Skeets to Harley. It's implied Harley tortures the information regarding Booster's whereabouts out of Skeets, but it's okay because he's just a robot. Babs and Harley turn up at Booster's place as he's analysing the data he obtained from Barry. Here's where it all starts to fall into place: the data on Wally West says his body is five days older than the rest of them.

Issue 6 is kind of a triple piece, but one that can be summed up fairly quickly. It focuses on three specific characters who were all at Sanctuary. The parts regarding Gnaark the caveman (another Titans alumnus) are ultimately pointless, since the issue ends with his death. The parts with Harley focus on Joker's abuse of her and Posion Ivy's care towards her. This also ends badly. Wally's parts focus on the DC Rebirth story where he essentially willed himself back into the universe. And while that story is really good and it was a joy to see Wally again, it ultimately ended with the knowledge that Wally's family did not reappear with him. His kids are gone, his wife is with someone else and does not remember him, and until he forced his way back into everyone's memories, no one else recalled him either. This would traumatise anybody. But it may have really traumatised Wally.

The next issue starts really well, honestly. Booster and Harley are fighting it out--again--while Babs and Beetle just watch. Like, they aren't even stressed, they're both familiar with their respective charges, and this is really no surprise. In any other comic, this would be a great scene. Shame that it's in this one, and it's not nearly enough to save even a lick of it. Eventually Babs works out that Booster's forcefields are only currently working because of some jury-rigged tech that's powered by Blue Beetle's consciousness. So she knocks him out with one hit. Harley prepares a killing blow, but ultimately cannot go through with it, proving she's a good person. She and Booster just collapse on the floor, and bond over the fact that they both kind of suck as superheroes (from their own perspectives, at least).

With Booster, Beetle, Babs, and Harley (Barley?) all on the same side now, the group decide to get to the bottom of everything together. Meanwhile, the rose Harley dropped off the docks is picked up by Wally. See, while the body they found of Wally is five days older than the rest, this means he time-traveled and is still at present alive. Wally channels his Speed Force into the rose, causing it to grow rapidly--and Poison Ivy blooms from it, restored to life. I don't get it either, but if it means Ivy didn't die in this stupid story, I'll take it. Wally then apologises, since Ivy just returned to life and now she has to see death so soon. Those five days are up, and a second Wally appears, ready to literally kill himself.

So here's what really fucking happened.

Wally had been at Sanctuary three weeks already. He's frustrated because the therapy's not helping as fast as he thought it would. He does a jump into the Speed Force and basically exists everywhere at once. Spread across the time stream, he witnesses everybody's confession cams all at once. He sees "the trauma of a thousand heroes in crisis" (hey, we have a title, ladies and gentlemen). And... it's too much. Realising everybody's personal pain breaks him. He unleashes the burst of pent-up energy he'd stored to do the time jaunt thing and kills everyone at Sanctuary.

Lagoon Boy. Protector. Hotspot. Red Devil. Arsenal. Gnaark. Solstice. Tattooed Man. Gunfire. Blue Jay. Commander Steel. Nemesis. I want you to remember these names. These were all pre-existing characters. Half of them were members of the Titans at one point or another. Wally West, the Flash, killed them in a stupid, stupid storyline that not only assassinates his character, but also literally assassinates all these other characters.

Wally uses his super speed to set up the bodies, rig the crime scenes so it looks like Harley or Booster could be responsible for their deaths. He then travels forward in time to the present moment, where he has just confessed all this to Poison Ivy. He kills that version of himself and travels back in time with it to fake his own death. He then uses the VR tech of Sanctuary to trick Booster and Harley into believing they saw the other commit the deeds. Neither of them even knew they'd never left their respective therapy simulations. This leaves Wally with a five day window to figure out something good he can do to make up for killing everyone.

So the final issue wraps it up like this: Booster time-travels the group back to where Barry is about to kill his own paradox clone. Harley and Ivy reunite, which is nice. So here's the plan: this doesn't have to end with any more death. In the end, what Barry did was all an accident. So Booster travels into the future to make a clone of the paradox-Wally. This gives them a five-day-old body they can leave at the massacre, in order to close the timeloop. The present Wally turns himself in and is arrested, while the five-days-ago paradox Wally merges back into the Speed Force, still running to try and find his family.

And the "good" thing Wally did to make up for killing everyone? He was the one that leaked Sanctuary's existence to the media. In his mind, the idea that heroes are seen as constant paragons was too much pressure. By letting the public know that even superheroes need therapy, even superheroes suffer trauma just like everyone else, he he could let people know that heroes are just that: people. People like everyone else. And that it is okay for anyone to seek help if you need it. This seems like a nice sentiment, until you remember the reason Wally killed everyone is because he was impatient about how his therapy was going. What an awful story.

-----

Like, legitimately, this story is just awful. The basic premise--that heroes could probably do with therapy--is not a bad one. The execution is just really completely mismanaged, though. Start with the beginning. Why are Harley Quinn and Booster Gold chosen as the focus characters? Because they're the ones you could believe would orchestrate a mass murder, right? Except no. You would never believe that. Booster is not that much of a screw-up, and Harley is not that much of a villain. Neither of them have been those things for many years. The readers know that, but it feels like the writer didn't.

And that's the worst part of it all. The superficiality of the story. In the end, why was this story written? To explore the concept of therapy for superheroes? Well, then, it went about it in the worst way possible. Not everyone experiences trauma in the same way. And therefore, not everyone responds to therapy in the same way. The way therapy is depicted in this story is just wrong. Frankly, Sanctuary looks like one of the worst places to get treatment, right alongside Arkham Asylum. Do you think anybody's really going to take away from this story "It's okay to talk about your traumas if you need to"? In or out of universe?

I didn't really talk about the confession cams, but they seemed highly unnecessary. They were always the same, a 3x3 of panels featuring a superhero talking about their traumas. Most of them didn't factor into the story, and at most they felt like a common scene transition. They tried to give them some weight by revealing that the contents of all these possibly got leaked? But then they just kinda dropped that subplot. Which was really kind of serious, because the traumas range from the Protector (a character created for drug PSAs) confessing that he has done drugs to Superman talking about the burden of keeping his identity secret. How much of these did the public actually get? And if it was none, what was even the point of it being a subplot~? Like, leak that Sanctuary existed, sure, but why did Lois Lane get sent all the videos that shouldn't have existed~?

What this story has done to Wally is awful. They have completely tarnished this likeable, amazing hero by having him kill twelve people (thirteen, if you include Poison Ivy), several of them colleagues and friends. All because he's trying to fake his way through therapy when it isn't helping him as fast as he wants. Know what would have been a good story? How about he learns to cope with his trauma? How about he actually gets his family back? It's unrealistic as hell, but it's a fictional story. It's escapism. It's okay to have a happy ending. I ''want'' my stories to end in happy endings, because it's so hard to get them in real life. I want something better than this.

DC Rebirth was a breath of fresh air. Wally's return to the DC universe felt like the clouds were lifitng. The stories following Rebirth felt like a return to form after the darkening of the New 52. It felt like the stories were getting good again, like the comics were getting fun and hopeful again. It couldn't last, though, could it? This story is only three years after the Rebirth initiative. Three years? That's all the hope we get in the universe? I sincerely hope this story ends up an abberation, and not a return to form of the darker, more dour universe we put up with in the New 52. Especially given current events, you can understand why a brighter, optimistic fictional world is appealing. I sincerely hope that when comics resume publication after the pandemic, a more positive outlook continues, and stories like this are left in the garbage where they belong.

This book is fucking awful, and I am done with it. Next week, we'll start reviewing an all-new series for the Taiblog. Let's just say I'm not done ranting about injustices against the Teen Titans~

#comics #reviews #Heroes in Crisis #Taiblog

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avenging-criminal-bones · 5 years ago

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You Got ‘Em

Irondad & Spiderson

Word Count: 1001

Warnings: plane crash, whump, angst

Summary: Sometimes you have to hurt in order to help.

* * * * *

The awful thing was that Peter actually felt it, when his shoulder slipped out of place. Bones sliding uncomfortably against each other in ways that they never ever should.

Peter was barely able to stifle his cries as Toomes had dragged his arm further and further out of its socket.

“I’m trying to save you!” Peter had screamed. And he did. Save him, that is.

But now, standing above Vulture’s unconscious body, Peter wanted it to feel more like a win. He hadn’t realized, it though. Realized that this ‘job’ wasn’t always bike thefts and cool flips.

Sometimes it was ugly. Sometimes it was broken families and fire.

Speaking of fire, Peter had really started to feel the smoke in his lungs.On top of what felt like broken ribs, you could imagine that it wasn’t fun. Satisfied with his webbed handcuffs and sloppily written note, Peter stumbled towards the big billboard to hide from the authorities. He wasn’t sure where his mask had been dropped and he wasn’t about to risk his identity. Not like this. It all just felt so pointless.

Peter wasn’t sure if it was the lack of oxygen or his badly dislocated shoulder, but whatever it was had gotten him good. The boy had barely made it past the fire when he was collapsing in an exhausted heap. Desperately trying to regain his breath, Peter dropped his head into his hands and let his eyes wire shut.

The boy wasn’t sure how much time passed. His mind was racing as he tried to sort out everything that was happening in his non-vigilante life. There is a dance that May is going to ask about. The dance that he was going to have to lie about to May. Liz is going to hate him. Or God. Liz. Her dad! Peter groaned quietly, the pain of the night finally weighing on him.

Peter drifted in and out of consciousness. The whole time just focusing on not giving into the pain of his shoulder. His bruised body was just screaming at him to give it a break. He was so out of it that he didn’t even hear sirens from the police that were there now.

“…eter?! Kid?! Talk to me, c'mon…”

Peter felt his head being lifted by someone. Someone with strong, yet gentle hands. He groaned, his shoulder pulsing miserably.

“Hey, hey, hey, you can’t sleep here Vanwinkle, c'mon.” Fingers tapping harshly against his face to match the tone of voice. Peter jerking away from them.

The injured boy shakes his head slowly, trying to get away from this new attacker. “S-Stop…”. He tried to bring his hands up protectively over his face, but his wrongly-healing shoulder was not having that. He let out a pained cry which got the soft hand’s attention.

“Whoa, whoa…” The voice above Peters head was softer this time. “Lemme see kid, lemme see… Jesus…”

Peter was about to wrench himself away from the probing hands again, but loud footsteps distracted him. Dazed and confused, Peter dug his heels into the sand and shoved himself further into the corner he’d been hiding in.

“What happened?” Different voice. Familiar voice.

“I don’t know, but his shoulders dislocated.”

“Shit.”

“It’s bad, I gotta set it now, he’s already healing wrong.”

Peter tried to process the fast paced conversation, but his brain felt like it was full of marbles. Everything was heavy and confusing. He could barely even figure out who was talking, much less what they were talking about.

He couldn’t think about it anymore though, because now there were hands on him again. One bracing itself on his chest, one gently gripping his bad shoulder. And it hur and it hurt like Hell.

Peter was trying to scramble away, vaguely aware of the stream of weak pleas leaving his mouth.

“Stop it stop it let go of me please–!”

Suddenly the last few hours of the intense battle came rushing back and Peter felt his brain arguing over fight or flight.

“PUT ME DOWN! PUT ME DOWN!” He screeched like a child, fighting back with any strength he had left. It wasn’t enough.

“Shh, shh, kid we’re trying help you, it’s okay, it’s okay… God, just hold still alright? It’ll be over soon I promise, just hold still.” Wait. Tony. That was Tony. “One… two… thr–”

The boy’s vision went white as a sickening crack resonated throughout the small corner. He was aware of a scream, but didn’t realize that it was coming from him. His scream, that slowly devolved into quiet sobs as he pulled his re-broken arm into his chest.

After a moment, Peter was guided forward into gentle, waiting arms.

“M-Mr. Sta-ark…?”

“Yeah. I gotcha, kid. Ambulance is coming, it’s okay…” Tony draped a thick blanket over Peter’s shivering form. “It’s alright, it’s just the shock, it’ll ease up.”

“I’m sorry–” Peter and Tony spoke in unison.

They paused, Peter still burying his face in his mentors shoulder. Tony spoke first, his voice coming out in gruff, emotional fragments. “Kid, I shouldn’t have taken your suit. This is my fault.”

Peter shook his head. “I-I shouldn’t h-have– I was s-stupid…”

Tony huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well… it doesn’t matter.” He paused. “Where else you hurt, huh?”

Peter breathed shakily. “Um– I-I don’t know… everywhere?” He laughed an unamused laugh.

Tony grimaced, rubbing Peter’s back. He sucked in a breath at the sight of the boy’s tattered old suit. Burn marks and tears marring the soft fabric. God, the kid crashed a plane in fucking pajamas.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked.

“Yeah?”

“I got him… right?”

“Yeah. You got him.“ Tony nodded, pulling the battered teenager just a little closer. “You did good, kid. It’s all over now.”

#one shots #iron dad #spiderson #tony stark #iron man #peter parker #spiderman #whump #smut #fluff #angst #drabbles #marvel #avengers

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pernatius · 4 years ago

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Lost in Space Part 3: Ch 2

Ch 1

Summary: Sending the Earth to its doom, an unnamed Space Explorer must now try to prevent the demise of millions of humans by risking her life.

Five chapters, 10k works, and in one week.

Part 1: ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5

Part 2: ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5

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

“You what,” both Mikrovos and Ashley shouted at me. Mikrovos had his arms crossed and Ashley placed her working hand on my shoulder. “Are you insane,” Ashley continued.

“I know it all sounds crazy right now.”

He rolled his eyes before, “Of course it sounds crazy because it is crazy. We just saved you and now you’re out here trying to get yourself killed? Don’t tell me you got your common sense erased too.”

Sure, maybe it’s best that many of my memories have been erased, but they’re my memories. From the good to the downright horrible ones they were mine, but they took them away from me. They just took away a part of me.

Brushing her hand off of me and taking a step towards Mikrovos, “Well, maybe I wouldn’t have to do any of this if you just sucked it up and did your job. Maybe if you were my actual friend you wouldn’t just shout at me every time I did something stupid because what’s shouting going to do? I did it and there’s nothing you can do about it. You sit on your high chair thinking you’re better than others. That you’re better than me because you say you’re trying to protect people. They’re just words, Mikrovos.” I dig my finger into his chest’s fur.

Pushing my finger off of him, “What are you talking about? I’ve risked my life for you countless times.”

“And you couldn’t just do it one more time?”

“Yes, because if I,” he raises his hands to air quote the next three words, “did my job then we wouldn’t have been able to get the fuel. Last time I was here it didn’t end as nicely as it did with you two.”

“I remember that mission.” Syco with his hands behind his back and a now-healthy Saamuki make their way out of the engine room and towards us. Mikrovos and Ashley tense up. Both of them stand in front of me. Mikrovos points both his fists and horns at him. “As I said with your human earlier, I’m not here for conflict. I’m merely here as a messenger. Well, now add me doing some heavy lifting for you as well.“

“Get away from her and out of our ship. Now,” the other Tauvox ordered with a deep growl.

“Of course. This is your ship, but,” he lets out a laugh, “I do find it quite the development you are ordering me. At one point you feared me, but now you’re willing to fight me. I’ll respect your words, but we both know fighting is pointless. If I was really here for the reason you take that offensive stance you would’ve been already dead. All of you would’ve already been dead.”

“I know what you’re trying to do, Syco.”

“Oh?”

“You’re trying to get in our heads like you always do. Like you always did with me.”

“I’m just stating the facts, Mikrovos.” He shrugged.

“I’ll enter that stupid tournament. Just leave her out of this. Leave her out of our business.”

“No,” I shoved myself into their conversation. “You think I’m fragile. You all think I am. Well, I’m not.”

“This isn’t the time,” Ashley pointed out.

“I’m entering that tournament whether you all like it or not.”

“Humans, Mikrovos. Once they already made up their mind there’s no way of stopping them. Besides, I just put it on the table. She’s the one that wanted a slice, to be part of,” the taller Tauvox raises his hands to air quote the following words, “our business.”

Ignoring Syco’s mocking, “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Sure, maybe I don’t, but this is my business. I have to be the one to do this.”

“Well, then I should get going.” As Syco walked past us, Mikrovos turned to me. At first, his eyes showed disappointment but once he looked into my eyes he grew sympathetic. His ears lowered and he was about to say something, but he turned away from me before he could.

Turning towards Syco, “Wait. Where is it going to be? What time?”

“As long as you don’t do anything to tamper that little chip inside you then you don’t need to worry about receiving the official invitation. Now, with that settled, I’ll be heading off to turn your ‘if’ into a ‘when’, which shouldn’t be too long of a job because it’s like your companion over,” his eyes pointed at Mikrovos, “there said. My words get into people’s heads.”

With that, he left us to ourselves. We were silent. The empty atmosphere had my focus look at my hands. My heart raced as I quickly began to realize what I was getting myself into. I could barely lift that crystal. I don’t know how to fight. All I do know is panic and make awful judgments because of it. So, they’re right. I’m going to get myself killed.

Interrupting us of our thoughts is the AI’s voice. “An incoming message is being transmitted from Cabelo.”

“Cabelo? Shoot. Wait. Don’t-”

The AI reconfigured itself to look like Cabelo, or at least I think that’s him considering how stiff Saamuki became once their eyes met. His face is broad and looks like it’s masked in flames. Three eyes looked into her two eyes. “Saamuki, I did not gift you with that ship just so you can fly around and not do your job. Clients have been asking for you for weeks. Where have you been?” Because of her hesitation and especially how her eyes looked past him and pointed at us, he turns away from her and follows them. None of us knew who he was, so we shouldn’t have become as petrified as Saamuki, but we are. “Who are these people? They don’t look like anyone that could afford you, especially with those rags. What happened to that red one’s shoulder?”

“Cabelo, I can explain.”

“Then, explain.”

My hand scooped the purple sand that laid beneath me and squeezed itself between my crevasses. If it was Earth’s sand I would’ve been uncomfortable, but the sand on this planet is much softer. It’s as soft as marshmallows and it’s even sweet as them. That’s not to say I moved my hand close to my lips and licked the cartoonish rock and mineral particles. Its sweet scent is strong. As soon as we stepped onto the beach, it hit my nose and it’s been filling up my nose since.

I slowly watched the sand fall off my hand and back onto the beach. The sight is soothing. It should’ve soothed me, but panic still hits me. I’m so stupid. I got myself into this situation, but whatever is coming I deserve it. I’ve caused so much pain. From all the times Mikrovos, Ashley, and Saamuki have risked their lives for me to how the rest of humanity is taking the fault for my actions I have to be the one to stand before the danger with my chest out and head up. I have to be the one this time.

In the corner of my eye, she takes a seat next to me. “Hey. Are you okay?” Ashley is worried about me. Rightfully so. I haven’t talked to any of them since our conversation with Syco.

Throwing the rest of the sand down, “Yeah. Of course, I am. Have you heard anything from Saamuki yet?”

“No? Kind of? Mikrovos just got back from eavesdropping and he told me Saamuki’s boss is making her choose between us and her job.”

Speaking of which, “I don’t like how he’s talking to her. I don’t like how he’s treating her. He’s shouting at her like she’s a child.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “Saamuki doesn’t like expressing how she really feels. Talking to her like that is only making her distance herself from her emotions even more.”

“And when did you get to know her so well,” I asked.

Looking away from us and scratching the back of his head, “While you were away we just got close.”

Ashley and I look at each other. She gives me a puzzled look before I continue, “This is Saamuki we’re talking about. She’s very resilient even if Cabelo is pushing her buttons and speaking of the devil...”

Cabelo and Saamuki step onto the sand and walk towards us. Because she didn’t look weary, I’m not as stressed as Mikrovos is as he glares at her boss.

Fire and coal pushed against each other to make a humanlike figure. As he walked with her, the chunks of sand he walked on emitted smoke. “You three must be the ones that I saw in her ship not too long ago.”

Mikrovos’ eyebrows etched. His fists clenched at his sides. “And you must be-”

Saamuki places her hand in front of him before he can finish, knowing what he was about to say was going to get the relationship between us and him even more charred. With that, he loosens up, but he’s still making his feelings towards her boss quite obvious.

“Saaamuki, dear, would you be so kind as to tell your friends the wonderful news?”

Eyes looking away, she explains, “I’m sorry, but I have to stay here.”

As shocked and as hurt as the two of us are, it doesn’t come close to the reaction of my horned friend. “What?”

In the reflection in her eyes, I saw his eyes water. He’s about to grab her, touch her, but Cabelo places his arm around her shoulder. “Our sweet Saamuki has been through too much. She lost her sister and is now injured. Her hands are burned and will be in pain for some time. It’s in hers and your best interest that she remains in her home rather than with you three,” his grip on her tightens, “Now get along.”

None of us get the chance to change the decision that was made behind closed doors because a couple of guards grab us and lead us away from them. Each of us tries to call out to Saamuki as they roughly handle us, but she looks away.

We were thrown into Saamuki’s ship. Mikrovos tried running out, but the ship’s door had already closed. Still, he’s determined. He tried banging on the door to open and called forth for the AI.

After it configures itself, “I am dreadfully sorry, but I have received orders to depart from this planet.”

“But Saamuki is still down there. She’s down there with that creep. Who cares about orders? Don’t you care about her,” I asked frantically.

“Cabelo is the owner of this ship. His orders override everyone else’s orders even those that are friends with my captain.” Hearing this, Mikrovos grunts. The AI ignores his frustration, “Where shall I fly you three to?”

“Take us to the nearest habitable planet from here,” Ashley responded.

The AI did so without hesitation. As it does, “What are you doing? We’re getting further away from her,” he commented with even more annoyance.

“Yes, I know, but we can’t be here right now. We have to think things through rather than just jumping into it because not only would it put ourselves at risk but Saamuki as well.” Knowing she’s right, he sits and tries to calm himself down. “Wait a minute,” she turns her attention back to the AI, “does Saamuki have a recurring client?”

“Yes, Captain Saamuki does.”

“Then, take us wherever they are.”

“Understood.”

Ashley made eye contact with me. One by one things piled up in front of us. The look in my eyes told her I know.

Leaning against the windowsill, I watched her try to rest her hand on his shoulder from their reflection. She retracts her hand long before she can. I then remove my focus from them and move it towards the blurring lines, the stars, moving along the black abyss that is outer space. I sigh. I should be worrying about Saamuki, but I’m too worried about the tournament. I just don’t want to hurt her or anyone else again.

#190 #lost in space #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writers #creative writing #spilled ink #wlw #fiction #my writing #space

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atanearerdistance · 7 years ago

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The Distance Between Us - Post 3x07

Summary: After the events of 3x07, Mon-El and Kara share a heartfelt moment. They both learn more than they are prepared to handle.

Click here to read on A03.

The air was crisp that night, and as he stepped outside the DEO he took off at a human's jog to warm himself up in his thin clothing. He had to get away, couldn't think from all the faces staring at him, expecting a person he didn't know how to be, a man he hadn't known in the better part of a decade. He hadn't forgotten her, as if such a thing were possible. When he'd looked down the barrel of the gun and seen her face, it had been exactly as he had always remembered it, soft, exquisite beauty, gentle curls defying gravity and wind as if she were an enchantress, not a superhero. Her eyes were just as delicate as he'd pictured them, always betraying her every emotion, every thought. He'd seen the instant she recognized him, his heart dropping the instant a look of hope had fixed itself upon her face. He ran faster. The buildings and greenery surrounding him was achingly familiar, and it seemed almost like a dream to be back after so many years away. The world he had known as a younger man had been gifted back to him, the world that had taught him the value of kindness, of honor. He remembered the innocence of his time in this century so clearly; he'd treasured it deeply in the form of the chain around his neck. Not for the first time, he wished to himself that he remembered how to be that man. He had seen the expression of hurt on Imra's face as he excused himself from the DEO, but standing in between the only two women he'd ever loved, he felt the air sucked out of him like he'd never been cured of his lead allergy, like his mother had thrown him back in prison. He'd needed desperately to get away. He was moving quickly now, and he vaguely recognized that he need to slow his pace, that he was approaching the speed of Olympic runners and could soon attract too much attention. He slowed down as he entered a park near the bay of National City, turning to run alongside the edge of the water, reflecting the lights of the city through the darkness. He'd traveled merely a few hundred feet along the bay when he saw Supergirl standing alone near the edge of the boardwalk, her head bent over as if in prayer. "Kara," he said hoarsely, the words slipping out before he could stop them. She was facing the water, her leather-covered arms hanging over the railing, and she jumped slightly at his voice, but didn’t turn to face him. "Please go away," she said, her voice breaking. He hadn't seen her since he'd revealed the truth about his relationship with Imra, but even the side of her face revealed that the look of anguish had not left her. He swallowed deeply. "Kara, I'm so sorry..." "I said please go away," she said, and her head snapped toward him. There were tear tracks going down her face, and his heart stopped. He stared at her, and for a moment, there was silence, the sound of flowing water its only companion. "I was flying just a minute ago," she said eventually. "I wanted to clear my head. I used to do it all the time to relax." She turned away from him and he joined her at the railing. "I used to listen to your heartbeat when I was flying, Mon-El. Six million people in this city and I could pick yours out in a millisecond, whether you were with me or all the way across town. After you left I couldn't do it. Couldn't clear my head because I knew something was missing, my personal drum beat keeping me safe in the night. And tonight," her voice caught on the word, "I couldn’t figure out why I was flying faster than I have in months, why the air felt so clear, but it was because your heart was beating right alongside everyone else's, right as if I never sent you off into space and threw your heart and your trust with it." She flipped her head down so he couldn’t see her face, but his superhuman hearing caught the faint hint of tears hitting the boardwalk. "Kara,” he said desperately, “it wasn't your fault. You had to do it to protect Earth. You're still protecting Earth." His attempts to console her were pointless and he knew it, but what was left of the man he had once been urged him to keep trying. He sighed, lifting a hand to run through the hair on the top of his head. "For whatever it's worth, I was a mess for two years after I left." She looked up at him suddenly, eyes rimmed with hopelessness and just a hint of confusion. "My friends in the pod... They sort of adopted me when I crash landed on Earth in the future. In the future, there are more people like us, more powerful refugee aliens taking shelter on Earth as more of the universe gets discovered. We all helped each other become stronger. I never wanted to do anything when I got there, or make any friends. It lasted for a really long time, Kara. There were so many times when I wished I had just died." He took a deep breath. "Finally, enough time passed that getting out of bed in the morning didn't seem so impossible. I let them in and they became my family." "And Imra?" Kara asked softly. "She lost her first love, too. I guess in wallowing in our misery we ended up finding each other." He carefully put a hand over hers on the railing, noting where the metal had bent from her strong grip. "Kara, I didn't go out looking to hurt you. If I had ever thought in a million years I might see you again, I never would have..." "I know," she whispered. She was silent again, stepping back and forth in a nervous pattern and looking between the bay and his face. "You-you're different." He nodded slowly, taking his own pause to glance out at the ocean. "There are things you don't know about the future, it's...it's not what you would expect," he said, choosing his words carefully. "I've seen things I never thought I could see, I've had to do things I never would have thought I could do, to protect others, to take care of the people I..." "Love," she finished gently. She gave him a soft smile. He swallowed nervously, looking her directly in the eyes. "Kara, the man you were or are in love with, I don't even know him anymore." She pursed her lip as if at a loss for words. "I do," she said after a moment. She slipped her hand out from under his, turning her body to face his completely and grabbing his arm.

He stared down at her, and he could hear her heartbeat quicken as she looked back up at him. She took a tentative step toward him as if in a haze, and she was suddenly so close that he could feel her breath against him. She was still in love with him, he realized with a start. The knowledge hit him so suddenly it felt like a punch to the gut. For one painful second, the years faded away and he was a young man again, fresh off his home planet and thrust into a world of heroism at the side of the most powerful and beautiful woman he’d ever known.

Before he knew what he was doing, he’d leaned forward and met her forehead with his own, and time might as well have stopped. For a few heartbeats, the world was still.

Imra, a voice inside his chest murmured finally, a gentle reminder. He backed away from Kara, and she opened her eyes, snapping out of a trance. They were quiet again. "I think my team and I are stuck here, for the time being,” he offered up ultimately, shifting them back into safer territory. She nodded, the mask of Supergirl slowly coming back over her face even as he could see the leftover redness in her eyes. "I'll make sure everyone who passes the DEO security checks gets a social security number and ID, as well as anything else they might need while they are here. You might be stuck sleeping there for a few days, though." "I'm sure they will all be grateful for the hospitality," he answered diplomatically, offering her a half-hearted smile. "Mon-El," she said, the superhero mask lowering once more and hesitation emerging. "I-I don't know if I can be your friend. Not now." He nodded slowly, walking a few paces away from her and bracing himself on the railing. "Kara, I..." "Don't," she answered quickly, mirroring his actions two feet away. She was intentionally looking away from him. "Anything you say will just force me to love you more and that will make it hurt even more than it already does." He frowned, looking at her just as intently as he had before despite the increased distance. He didn't know how to respond, so he didn’t. They stayed there for a while, standing a few paces apart on the edge of the water. Every couple minutes, one of them would turn towards the other, as if to start a new conversation, but the words died in their throats at the sight of the other. There was a distance between them now, one Mon El wasn't sure could be bridged, and yet he was frozen to the spot, suddenly unable to contemplate running away again. Rao, what could I possibly do to fix this?

#karamel #karamel lb #chris wood #melissa benoist #pro karamel #karamel oneshot #karamel headcanon #karamel fic #karamel club soda #space puppies #supergirl #kara danvers #mon-el defense squad #mon-el

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whimsical-writer · 8 years ago

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UMMMMMMMMMMM YES HI HELLO YOU KNOW WHY I'M HERE HEZA SO GET THAT INNOCENT LOOK OFF YOUR FACE. I AM HERE TO ASK PRETTY PLEASE WITH THE FRUIT OF YOUR CHOICE ON TOP FOR A RESCUE FIC FOLLOW-UP FOR FLUFF WEEK TO THE INCREDIBLE 5/1 PIECE ABOUT WHAT WASH WOULD AND WOULDN'T DO FOR HIS TEAM, YES THANK YOU AND GOOD DAY ILY

Hello Salt, look what took me almost a week to write. :’D I hope you and everyone else enjoys it~

Sequel to this

Warnings: Torture, blood, Tuckington, Fluff with a rough beginning

Five things Wash’s team would do for him and the one thing they’d never do

Felix’s knife tasted of metal, both from the blood that coated it and from the blade itself. Wash tried to pull his tongue away but there wasn’t anywhere for it to go as Felix pressed the edge of the knife against it. He wondered if Felix was going to cut swiftly or hack his tongue of slowly. He had a feeling, as the blade began to bite, Felix wasn’t going to make any of this swift.

The door to his cell opened with a slam accompanied with a loud “Felix!”. Felix whipped around, though he was still straddling Wash, pulling his knife out of Wash’s mouth. The blade didn’t cut through but it did cut down the side and a bit of his cheek and lip, surprising Wash into letting out a soft cry of pain and sputter blood down his chin. He opened his eyes to see Locus standing in the doorway. Despite being in full armour, it was clear that Locus was not pleased in the slightest.

“WHAT?!” Felix snarled, glaring harshly at Locus. His chest was rising and falling heavily, as if he had just ran a great distance.

“Get off him and get out here.” Locus’s words were curt, and he sounded a little disgusted with Felix. Wash recalled what he had said before, about not drawing out someone’s death, but it was hard to focus between the pain and ringing in his ears from when Felix kicked him to the floor.

Felix took a heavy breath and looked back down at Wash. His eyes glinted at the sight of Wash’s face covered in blood and he gripped Wash’s jaw again. “I’ll finish this later, Washy. You rest up now.” Despite his now calm tone, the grip on his jaw was nearly cracking and, as he leaned away, the pat he gave Wash’s cheek was closer to a slap.

Wash grunted as Felix roughly got off him, staying on the ground until he heard the cell door close and for a few moments after that, before finally managing to roll over onto his side to spit out a mouthful of blood. His stomach felt nauseous from pain and the amount of blood he had swallowed, but at least the blood was from cuts and a broken nose rather than internal bleeding.

It took him several minutes and twice as many attempts to get up into a sitting position, legs out in front of him, and he scooted back to get his back against the wall. It was cold, given his being shirtless, and Wash shivered. His blood, some of it still wet, was staining the ground in front of him, and he had created a trail to where he had dragged himself. Wash swallowed, unfortunately swallowing a little more blood, trying to keep himself calm. The wound on his side and the line down his chest hurt, especially when he expanded his chest to breathe.

Wash rested his head gingerly against the wall, wincing slightly as he put pressure on where he hit his head on the floor. He had to stay calm and in control. Couldn’t let Felix get any sort of pleasure out of seeing him panicked and scared. And even if Felix was only doing this for himself, there was nothing to say he wouldn’t start prodding for information, however inaccurate a panicked Wash might be. And if Wash kept his head, then there was no way he’d risk the Armies, Carolina, or the Reds and Blues. It was bad enough hearing his team scream at him over the radio before Locus had pried it off, let alone having to live with the knowledge that something he said caused them direct harm.

Wash closed his eyes and tried to ignore the throbbing of his wounds and head.

The next time his cell door opened, it was a medic and an armed guard. The medic roughly patched him up, dressing the wounds and making sure they were clean. The cuts inside his mouth had already scabbed up, but the medic did make a note of “no solids”, under his breath. Wash stayed still and silent the entire time, not wanting to agitate guard nor medic.

It seemed Felix was serious about letting Wash heal, at least once, because the next few times his cell opened it was either to bring him some slop of food and water which had to be fed to him due to his hands being tied, or the medic changing his wounds. Several meals went by, though Wash highly doubted he was being fed three times a day, before Felix and Locus returned.

“Heeeeeey there Washy~” Felix nearly cooed as he stepped into the cell. Like before, he was helmet-less though still in his power armour. He sauntered up to where Wash was currently backed against the wall and grinned down at him. “How you feeling? Got some pep back in you?”

Wash kept his head down, avoiding giving Felix any sort of attention. Felix wanted a reaction, wanted Wash to fight and curse and scream. He knew Felix would hurt him, whatever he did, but it was satisfying watching Felix’s grin strain at the lack of acknowledgement. He did, however, take note of Locus leaning against the, now closed cell, door. Perhaps he was there to make sure Felix didn’t go too far, cut too deep.

Wash hoped that’s why he was there.

A pair of hands roughly grabbed him, one by his upper arm, the other clenching his hair by the roots, and Wash was hauled to his feet, pulled forward and slammed back against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. “I’d pay attention to me when I’m talking to you, Washy.” Felix hissed, hand going from Wash’s arm to squeeze down on Wash’s neck. Not hard enough to choke him, but enough that it was making it difficult for Wash to catch his breath properly. “It’s only going to be so much worse for you if you don’t.”

Wash met Felix’s eyes. They were icy blue, opened wide and manic, and not for the first time Wash found himself wondering just how much of a grip Felix had on his sanity. During his time working with the Feds, he had been warned about Locus’s mental state, his cruel if efficient nature, how he saw himself as a soldier, a weapon, first and a person second. That was only reinforced by the stories from the News, once the two armies were joined together.

As he stared into Felix’s eyes Wash was fairly sure that, of the two, Locus was far the more human.

When Wash still didn’t speak, Felix squeezed down harder, causing Wash to cough. The strain on his mouth caused the wound in his cheek split a little, and he tasted blood.

“Felix…” came Locus’s warning growl. Felix made a show of rolling his eyes in response, glancing back towards Locus briefly, before his grip on Wash’s neck loosened. Wash quickly sucked in a breath as Felix grumbled, “yeah yeah,” before stepping back and throwing Wash back to the floor.

Once again Wash was unable to catch himself, hitting the ground hard. He groaned as his head rattled and the world spun, quickly shutting his eyes to stave off the dizziness and nausea, pushing his head against the cool metal floor. He felt the now familiar weight of Felix settle onto his back, a gauntlet wearing hand pressing down between his shoulder blades. “It’s a good thing Locus is here to keep you safe, isn’t it?” Felix hissed by his ear, almost masking the sound of a knife scraping against its sheath. He grabbed a fist of hair again, pinning Wash’s right side of his head to the ground. “Me, I’d rather leave you in blood heap, barely able to think, but Control wants you mostly coherent and able to speak. Lucky you.”

Something sharp pricked above Wash’s left shoulder blade and dig down, causing Wash to let out a muffled groan against the pain, gritting his teeth hard. “But,” Felix continued, dragging his knife down in a slow line before lifting it and starting again elsewhere on his back, “I think I deserve a little bit of fun don’t you? It’s been all work work work with these guys, and let me tell you, it’s just so good to let loose and enjoy myself. Keeps the mind fresh, as they say.”

He continued to cut into Wash’s back, his hand and weight keeping Wash steady, even as Wash’s instincts told him to squirm, run! The cuts he was making went from the left of Wash’s upper back to the right, Felix falling uncharacteristically silent as he worked. Wash kept his groans of pain muffled, though it was beginning to overwhelm him a little.

“There, perfect.” Felix’s grin was evident in his voice as he he lifted his weight just enough to roll Wash onto his back. “I’ll have to get you a mirror later. Wouldn’t want my handy work to go unappreciated.” He chuckled, sounding surprisingly good natured about it.

Wash found that to be very worrisome.

Felix’s eyes searched Wash’s face, that manic look still there, and he must have found something he was looking for because his grin grew wide as his eyes darkened. “You know, you look really good like this Washy~” he leaned down, bringing his knife up to press the flat side against Wash’s throat. “All bloody and flush under me. Shame about those freckles though.”

Wash did his best not to roll his eyes at the pointless comment. He had long since been insecure about his looks, and if Felix thought that was going to get under his skin-

“I wonder what Tucker would look like if I had him like this?”

Wash went stiff underneath Felix, only for a moment, but Felix definitely noticed as he threw his head back and laughed.

“What did I tell ya Locs’?” He turned to look over his shoulder. “Knew that get a raise out of him.” In a blink, Felix was bearing back down on him, face less than an inch away from his own. “You know, Washington, originally I was thinking of killing you first while I made Tucker watch, before starting on him. But I think it’d be so much better if I had you both strapped down in here, taking turns on each of you, forcing you to hear each other scream. What do you think? Think Tucker will break first or you?” The point of Felix’s knife was digging into his chest again, creating a new line of red pain. “Oh, I bet I could get Tucker to agree to anything if I promised to stop hurting you…”

Wash snapped his eyes to Felix’s again, gritting out a single “fuck you,” his body beginning to shake both from pain and nerves.

“Oh Washy,” Felix’s other hand cupped his face for a moment, “breaking you is almost enough of a reward on it’s own. I wonder if Control will let me have you when they’re done…”

The knife cut a thin line across Wash’s other cheek.

When Locus and Felix finally left, Wash did not move for a long time, other than quivering and sucking in breath after breath.

They don’t have him, he told himself, they don’t have Tucker. If they did, they wouldn’t just taunt you with him, he’d be in here. He clung to those thoughts, mindlessly repeating they don’t have him they don’t have your team you kept them safe until Wash slipped into unconsciousness.

The hands that Wash woke up to were gentle, not rough like the medics or bruising like Felix’s. His eyes cracked open, staring at the colourful blur in front of him. “Who-“ he choked before shutting his mouth out of instinct.

As his senses came to him slowly, Wash became aware of several coloured blurs. Teal, Blue, and Yellow. Sounds were reaching his ears now, and they sounded an awful like-

“Uh, Tucker, Carolina’s saying we like, gotta go. She doesn’t think the Reds can hold out much longer.”

The muffled, clearly indigent voice of Sarge came over someone’s radio, which was cut off with, “yeah yeah okay old man, Tucker come on!”

“Just give me a sec Kai! Wash, Wash are you with me?” Tucker’s voice was coming through clean, rather than filtered through a radio helmet. That would be because, Wash realized, that Tucker was not wearing his helmet.

“Tucker… Why the fuck aren’t you wearing your helmet…?” Wash tried to sound like a good, disciplined CO would, but his voice cracked too much for that. It had been a while since he used it and…

And they had come for him.

Tucker’s face split into a wide grin, though Wash noticed there was distinct fear in his eyes. “Yup, he’s good! Okay Wash, hold still…” The room was basked in a light blue glow as Tucker’s sword buzzed to life and brought down quickly between Wash’s ankles in quick succession. The metal rod keeping his legs apart was in several pieces on the floor, giving Wash mobility he hadn’t had in… Weeks? A month?

Tucker jammed his helmet back on and ducked behind Wash, undoing his hands. The ropes burned his wrists as they slid off, but the feeling of air touching them was grand enough Wash could forgive the sting. “Alright man,” Tucker helped him to his feet, “think you can run with us?”

“I-“ Wash began, uncertain as he stood on shaky legs, before he was cut off by the robotic voice of Freckles saying “TARGET ELIMINATED” three times in a row.

“Uh, Tucker,” Caboose held Freckles up higher, “I think we should be making with the running now? Like… Right now.” Freckles fired again, stating another two targets dead.

“Alright scratch that, looks like we’re carrying you. Caboose, hand Freckles to Sister and pick Wash up.”

“Okay! Freckles, you be good to Sister now okay?” Caboose quickly handed Freckles over to Kaikaina, who took Caboose’s place in the doorway of the cell.

“Alright you little BBgun, let’s do this!” She squared off.

“AFIRMATIVE.”

Wash, who was having a hard time registering the chaos around him, grunted as Caboose picked him up bridal style. “Agent Washington! It’s so good to see you again!” He was clearly beaming at Wash through his helmet, adjusting his grip on Wash so it wasn’t too tight.

“G-good to see you too Buddy…” Wash gritted teeth against pain, not wanting to scare Caboose.

Tucker’s sword was ignited again. “Carolina, we’re making our way back! We’ve got him. Let’s go people!”

His team took off running, with Kaikaina taking point, Caboose and Wash in the middle, and Tucker holding up the rear. As he bounced in Caboose’s arms, slowly starting to zone out from pain, Wash was aware of all the place he sore. His head was sore. His chest was sore. His back was sore. His wrists and ankles were sore.

But, as Caboose carried him to safety, as Kaikaina whooped for every enemy she and Freckles shot down, as Tucker shouted commands and took enemies down with his sword, Wash felt his heart soar.

One

Wash was placed immediately into emergency care once they reached Armonia, and nearly half the army wanted to see him. Dr. Grey was fighting to keep visitors out, though she allowed the Reds and Blues to visit during specified hours only. It meant Wash could recover in peace, without someone fussing over him or ranting about how they were going to rip Felix and Locus a new one or asking if he’d like them to sneak him a chocolate bar.

It meant that Wash was very lonely. No matter what he asked, Dr.Grey wouldn’t allow someone to stay with him after the first couple days. Tucker had protested that loudly, but in the end even he couldn’t force Dr. Grey to do anything she didn’t want to do.

“Dr. Grey, I’m doing fine…” Wash had argued after a few days of this, “they won’t be disturbing me- hell, I think I’d be doing better with some company.” Something to keep his mind off the events that happened, to make the time until he was released go faster.

Dr. Grey had only smiled gently at him as she looked up from her datapad. “It’s not just about you silly! I have many patients in my care, a lot of them dealing with very serious wounds or trauma like yourself. I understand that you would like to see them more often, but I have to think of the needs of everyone. Some people in here would not do well with all the extra noise!”

Wash had stopped arguing after that. She was right, of course, there were others in here, who all had people visiting them during visiting hours. As much as he loved his team… well he knew first hand how chaotic and loud they could be, especially when they got each other going.

Though he understood it, Wash had complained about it once to Tucker, while Carolina was within earshot. He suspected that was why he woke up not only to the soft beeps and lights of medical equipment but to the soft glow of Epsilon “sitting” on the edge of his bed, kicking his little legs back and forth.

“Wha- Epsilon?” Wash startled awake, a hand immediately flying to his implants when he didn’t see Carolina anywhere.

Epsilon was sitting one moment the next he was standing in the air above Wash’s chest, arms folded over each other. “Would you calm down? You’re going to wake someone up, Jesus. I’m not in your fucking implants, I’m going through the electrical equipment alright?”

Wash slowly lowered his hand from his neck, though he was still on edge. “Then- what the hell are you doing here?” He hissed, leaning in close while being careful about his wounds. “Is everything okay, does Carolina need something?” For a moment, Wash feared something was wrong. The only times Carolina sent Epsilon to Wash was when she needed his attention immediately-

Except Epsilon was looking sheepish, arms going from being folded over his chest to awkwardly hugging his shoulders before dropping limply at his side. “Uh, no, Carolina didn’t send me. Not… exactly per say.”

Wash blinked. In all his time engaging with Epsilon, shy was never an emotion he had seen from him. Certainly not around Wash. “Then why exactly?” he asked, almost tempted to give Epsilon a hand to walk onto, as he had seen Carolina do so many times before.

When Epsilon didn’t answer him immediately, instead awkwardly gesturing with his hands and head, it dawned on Wash that it wasn’t just shyness Epsilon was feeling.

It was worry.

“Were you… Were you worried about me?” His jaw fell open, eyes widening slightly.

Wash could have sworn for a moment Epsilon’s avatar flashed pink as he sputtered indignantly, “what- no I wasn’t- no I’m not- Carolina was worried, okay?!” He turned sharply from Wash, shoulders hiked up to his ears. “I’m just keeping an eye on you for her.” He paused for a moment before looking over his shoulder. “And… For like Caboose and Tucker and Sister. They’re pretty worried too. So, Carolina and I figured, if we can’t get anyone with a physical body to keep you comp- to keep an on you, why not send the vastly superior, intelligent, and handsome AI unit instead?” Church looked away again, head tilted up slightly.

Wash stared at his tiny, glowing form for a moment, the corner of his lips twitching into a smile. “Thanks Church,” he said softly, holding back a chuckle as Church became indignant again.

“Oh shut up asshole.”

Things were quiet for a time, and Wash was finally beginning to feel sleep drag him down once more, before Church softly said, “Hey, just so you know- I’d never jump in your implants, okay? Not without permission or something.”

Wash isn’t sure if they’d ever get there, but he felt warm as he fell asleep.

Two

Wash was having nightmares again. They hadn’t been so bad in the infirmary, where the artificial sleep of drugs made him sleep too deeply for dreams. But now that he had been cleared and sleeping back in his own room, they came readily and Wash often found himself waking with a scream in his throat more than once a night, drenched in sweat. He spend his days exhausted, half remembered nightmares circling inside his mind, dreading the time when the sun dipped down and it’d start all over again.

One night he must have been screaming before waking up because he was quietly, violently shaken awake by Caboose, who was whispering, “Agent Washington! Agent Washington wake up!”

Caboose was lucky Wash had stopped sleeping with a pistol under his pillow and that the pain from straining upon sitting up stopped him from lashing out in panic. “C-Caboose,“ he gasped, trying to get his rapidly beating heart under control, “what are you-“

“You were screaming. I woke up first this time so it was my turn to check on you.” Caboose said matter of factly. It took time for Wash’s eyes to adjust, but he saw that Caboose was standing by Wash’s bed in his pyjamas, a large… something bundled up in his arms. “This time though, it sounded very bad, so I decided you needed some help! And I think I was right- I haven’t heard you scream like this since we rescued you from Side-Snow.”

“Sidewinder.” Wash corrected gently, then sighed. “Caboose, you should know not to wake me up like that, not by my head and arms… If you have to, grab my foot. I could hurt you otherwise.” Though Wash wished he hadn’t needed to at all. It was bad enough his nightmares were keeping him up, let alone disrupting anyone else’s sleep.

“Oh, I think I would have been just fine. I am very strong. But here!” And he thrust the bundle towards Wash. “This is my hugging blanket!”

Wash blinked slowly, taking it gingerly from Caboose. The material itself felt very soft and smooth, but there was a weight to the blanket Wash wasn’t expect and he left it fall into his lap. “Your… what sorry?”

“Hugging blanket!” Caboose repeated enthusiastically. “Dr.Grey had it made for me. See, she said that when I get very scared or upset, or if there’s too many things happening, I should wrap myself up in this blanket because it will feel like I am being hugged and she is right it helps me calm down when bad things happen. So I think you should use it.”

“Oh- it’s a weighted blanket?” Wash clarified as he unfolded the blanket to get a better feel for it. He remembered when the idea was first suggested by Grey to help Caboose adjust and stay calm at the base if no one was available to help him calm down. It had been a hit with him and Caboose could sometimes be seen eating in the mess hall with it wrapped around him.

“Hugging blanket.” Caboose corrected with a nod.

Wash smiled and shook his head. “Caboose… That’s very kind of you but I think you need this more.” He began to hand the blanket back to him, smiling at Caboose now. “I wouldn’t want to leave you without this.”

“Don’t be silly Washington, I am not going to be sleeping without it! We are going to be sharing beds tonight after all.”

Wash choked on his next breath of air, sputtering, “Caboose…! I don’t think- you really don’t need to do that. I’m fine really, thank you for checking on me but you should just go back to bed-“

“Washington,” Caboose said very softly and Wash fell silent. After a moment Caboose continued, “when Church went away, you took care of me.You made the bad thoughts go away, and made me feel very safe and warm. Well this time you are the one who is having bad thoughts. And I would like to help them go away please.”

Caboose was staring at him, the warmth of his eyes noticeable to Wash even in the dark of the room. Wash sighed softly and scooted over in his bed and pulled the covers back for Caboose to crawl in.

There were many assumptions Wash had made about Caboose and his sleeping habits and as it turned out they were all wrong. Caboose was not a loud sleeper, nor did he sprawl about the bed. He did squish up a little near Wash, it was a small bed and Caboose was not a small man, but he didn’t pull Wash in for a hug, or really touch Wash much at all, other than a small pat on the arm and a quiet goodnight.

The blanket did had a nice comforting weight as well. He could understand the term hugging blanket a lot better now and why Caboose liked it so much, and he could swear that all of Caboose’s warmth was transferring over to him. One of his thoughts as he nodded off late into the night was perhaps asking Grey if he could get one.

Three

Wash stood in the locker room of the training hall closest to his quarters, pausing as he went to put on his gym shirt. He had just had his bandages removed the other day, meaning all the scars Felix had left him were visible now. Some of they criss crossed across older scars, like the two down his chest or the few across his face, but others had been in entirely new places, like the one on his upper back. Wash hadn’t looked at that one yet. As Felix had been carving that one, there had been something different in his mannerisms than the other wounds he caused. Cold, quiet, rather than manic, rambling. He had taken his time, not just to make Wash suffer, but to precise. That made a portion of Wash nervous to see what Felix had done. Wash had a feeling he wasn’t going to like whatever it was.

Glancing over one shoulder than the other, he could just just see the pink lines beginning and ending the series of cuts Felix had made across his back. He couldn’t see enough to make out what it was, and would probably need a mirror to actually see it. Wash shook his head and sighed, slipping the t-shirt on all the way. No point in worrying about it now…

He had just finished pulling on his shirt when one Kaikaini Grif, already dressed in her gym clothing, walked in, her long wavy hair pulled back in a pony tail. Upon seeing Wash her entire face lite up and she let out an “Ow ow! Hot cop alert! Sup Wash?” She was next to him in an instance, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “You got the training block today too? Wanna help me work out?” she winked, giving him a little shake, “I can always use a spotter with my stretches.”

Wash pulled away, though he did nod as he did so. “Err, sure. I guess I can help out.”

Training with Kai turned out to be not so bad. He didn’t often train one on one with her, mostly just with the rest of the Blues, but this let him really get to know her limits and let him begin his strength training as Dr.Grey had ordered. She kept her conversation mostly clean too, only attempting to get him to “pop a boner” in her words two or three times.

By the time they were finished, both were sweaty, smiling, and overall enjoying themselves. Once again Wash found himself thinking quiet fondly of Kai. She fished her bag out from her locker, winking at him. “Well I’m going to hit the showers. Wanna join me?”

“They’re communal showers Kai.”

“Yeeeaaaah but do you wanna join me?”

“No thank you Kai.” Wash chuckled, a little weak. Dammit did she have to be so pretty, Wash thought as he turned to pull his shirt off.

There was the sound of Kai dropping her bag with a gasp of “That fucker!” and Wash stopped, shirt half pulled over his head. He’d forgotten about the scars.

He pulled his shirt off the rest of the way and slowly turned, balling the shirt in his hand. Kaikaina was standing a few feet away from him, hands clenched into fists and she was practically shaking with anger. “Well,?” he asked, all the humour and joy in his voice gone, “what’s there? I know he did… Something there. I haven’t looked yet, and Dr.Grey never told me what was there other than the fact it’ll scar. So what is it?”

It took Kai several moments to answer, her face scrunching up in what looked to be equal parts frustration, rage, and sympathy. “It’s… his name. That asshole wrote his name.”

Wash took a slow breath in, wringing his shirt in his hands. Logically, he knew it was no different than any other scar, but the idea of Felix acting like he owned him… “Wow. He really is a sick son of a bitch isn’t he?” And Wash threw his shirt against the way with enough force that the fabric hit the wall with a soft ‘thwap’ and fell limply to the ground.

Kaikaina was suddenly beside him, arms around his shoulders, and was attempting to guide him towards one of the benches. “Okay, it’s okay Wash, you just come sit down now,” she said softly.

Wash set his jaw and dug his heels into the ground. “Kaikaina, I’m fine,” he began, rage and frustration bubbling in his stomach as he fought against lashing out at Kai. She was just trying to help, he understood that, she didn’t serve him snapping at her-

Kai snapped her perfectly manicured hand in front of his face three times, cutting him off. “Now you listen to me, Mr Agent Wash Washington!” she scolded, now jabbing a finger into his chest, carefully avoiding a scar. “I am the motherfucking Queen of “I’m fine but I actually mean I’m having a breakdown I’m drowning oh god please help me”, so you are going to sit your ass down on this bench and we are going to have a heart to fucking heart.”

Normally Wash wouldn’t agree with any sort of forced helped, but looking at Kai, her face enraged not at Wash but for Wash, tears in her eyes, softened his heart and he allowed her to sit him down.

Kaikaina went from stern and tough to soft and gentle in a moment, rubbing her hands up and down his arms. The movement and pressure, to Wash’s surprise, worked. He slowly un-tensed, slouching a little on the bench. “Alright Wash,” she spoke gently, squeezing him gentle, “I’ve got no idea how this feels. I mean, I get that it probably fucking sucks. Felix is a sick mother fucker. But…” she hesitated, biting down on her lip, “but those marks don’t mean anything. They’re just dumb new scars.” She suddenly perked and squeezed him closer. “Hey- if they’re really too upsetting, we could get you a cover up tattoo!”

Wash paused mid-deep breath, letting it out quickly as he turned to face her. “Tattoos? I… I guess. I never considered one before. Don’t really have anything important I’d like to have permanently etched onto my skin…” he glanced at her. “Do you have any…?” He’d assume Kai was the type to get a tattoo, but Wash couldn’t spot any on her currently exposed skin.

Kai smiled, lifting up the sleeve of her shirt to reveal a tattoo on her bicep. It was black ink, intricate geometric patterns that formed the shape of waves circling around her arm. “Yeah, I’ve got a few! Figure this one is the safest to share right now.” She winked at him, and Wash felt himself flush wondering where those other tattoos were.

“It’s so simple… I didn’t think you’d be the kind of person to get something so… quiet.”

Kaikaina gave him a look. “You making assumptions about me Washington?” Wash flushed again, causing Kai to laugh. “Aw, I’m just teasing. But yeah, this is a traditionally done tattoo in my culture. All mine are. Grif’s got a couple too, but he’s also got a geeky-tattoo.” She wrinkled her nose. “But I bet we can find something to cover up your back. Maaaaybe…” she grinned at him, patting his shoulder, “Tucker’s full name?”

The fact Wash’s first thoughts were ‘that wouldn’t be so bad’ shocked him into letting out a loud laugh, which caused Kai to laugh with him. It was silly, that something so silly could make him laugh, but warmth was blossoming in his chest as Kai continued to work her magic. She could make anyone smile.

The two of them didn’t move from the locker room, their laughter echoing down the hall.

Four

Wash had been spending more and more time with Tucker as of late. It started off with Tucker eating with him at every meal, sitting next to Wash, their knees almost touching. Then, once Wash was cleared to exercise, Tucker would join him almost every time. He’d make sure Wash got back to his room alright at night and was the first person Wash saw in the morning. Normally, that kind of babysitting would irritate him. But Wash found… he didn’t mind it so much with Tucker. In fact he was rather liking it.

So when Tucker said “night Wash,” and turned to leave Wash’s doorway, Wash didn’t think it was so weird that he reached out and grabbed Tucker’s sleeve, tugging him back. But then Tucker turned, giving him a questioning look, and Wash felt his tired confidence leave him in one breath.

“Err,” Wash dropped Tucker’s sleeve and taking a step back. “Night Tucker.” Except now Tucker was reaching for his hand now and he was holding his hand and he was walking into Wash’s room and closing the door softly behind him and Wash was fairly certain half his brain had shut down as Tucker pulled Wash against his chest. For a moment it was just the two of them, breathing softly, then Wash was backing up again, leading Tucker over to his bed. The two of them sat down, Tucker’s arm wrapped around Wash with a hand on his waist and Wash’s slowly putting his head on Tucker’s shoulder.

Wash realized in that moment how much he fucking needed this.

It was a while before either of them spoke, and it was Tucker who spoke first, breaking Wash’s heart in the process.

“We should have found you faster.” Tucker’s voice was steady, quiet, but his eyes were downcast, his hand gripping down on Wash.

“No, Tucker,” Wash was speaking just as softly, sitting up straight. After a moment’s hesitation, he put his hand on Tucker’s chin and lifted his head up. Tucker looked frustrated and mad, though his face softened upon meeting Wash’s eyes. Wash’s hand moved, slowly, from Tucker’s chin to the back of his head, pressing their foreheads together. “Tucker… You came right on time…”

He felt Tucker stiffen and relax, his eyes closing as he leaned into Wash’s touch. His free hand also came up, hesitantly combing through Wash’s hair, well away from Wash’s implants. Wash relaxed in turn, tingles running down his spine from Tucker touching his hair.

“Shit man…” Tucker muttered, pressing closer against Wash. “When’s the last time someone played with your hair?”

Wash closed his eyes, remembering the feeling Felix wrench and pull him about by his hair. “… Too long.” He answered slowly, as he lowered his head to rest it on Tucker’s chest.

Tucker seemed to grow more confident as he played with Wash’s hair, still keeping his hand away from his neck, his fingers massaging gently into Wash’s scalp. “Well that’s a shame. Cause I think you’re melting in my arms and it’s pretty much the cutest shit I’ve seen. After Junior of course.”

Wash let out a tired chuckle, leaning into Tucker’s hand. “Hey… think you could… just keep doing that?”

Wash must have been more tired than he thought, because he could have sworn he felt Tucker press his lips to his head. His whole head felt warm was he blushing?

“Yeah man. Whatever you need.”

Five

Wash was on the floor of the pelican, a medic leaning over him and bandaging the various cuts and slashes that covered Wash’s entire body. It was possible that several of his ribs were cracked or even broken, and some of the wounds had become infected. Anytime the engine shuddered or chugged, the resulting turbulence would crack Wash’s head against the metal floor, causing his world to spin and threatening to knock him out.

Wash didn’t care about any of that. His gaze was focused on Caboose, Kai, and Tucker, all waiting to be by his side the moment the medic pulled away. He watched Caboose cry big blubbery tears, Kai bite down on her manicured nails, Tucker tug at his dreads, all exhibiting stress and exhaustion now that they were safely on the pelican and on their way to Armonia.

“That was risky…” Wash choked out as the three of them rushed to kneel by him. Kai took a hand, Caboose went to hug him before Tucker pulled him back and he instead taking his other hand, and Tucker kneeled by his head, keeping it still and safe from any further bumps.

“Well fuck yeah that was risky, but did you see us?” Tucker’s voice shook as he attempted to sound brave. “Fucking badasses saving your dumb ass from a bunch of assholes.”

“You could have been hurt-“ “Yeah,” Caboose sniffled loudly, rubbing at his nose and eyes, “but, Wash, you were REALLT hurt. In fact I think- I think you got a lot more hurt than any of us.” And he broke into tears again, sobbing out apologizes for not coming sooner.

Kai wrapped her other arm around him and pulled him in for a hug. “Besides Wash, we couldn’t just like leave you. Not after all you did for us…! You wouldn’t leave any of us behind.”

“I… Didn’t want any of you… If they had gotten you…” Speaking was really hard, Wash was realizing. He shook his head slowly, “I did it to keep everyone safe-“

“Wash,” Tucker said sternly, softly, his hands reaching down to cup Wash’s head and face, “there was no fucking way we were going to leave you to that, okay? We’d never leave you behind. We’ll always come for you, not matter what dumb hero shit you try to pull okay?”

Wash looked around from Kai, to Caboose, to Tucker. Everyone was blurry around him, and Wash wasn’t sure if that was from all the bumps his head had taken or the tears that were falling from his eyes. “I’ve got a good team…” He managed to say, reaching a hand up to clumsily pat at Tucker’s hands. Kai and Caboose’s hands joined him, and all of Blue team were gently holding hands.

“Hell yeah you do,” Tucker smiled at him. “Best fucking team in the whole god damn galaxy.”

Wash gave a tired smile, feeling warm for the first time in a long while.

#RVB Fluff Week #RVB #My Writing #Tuckington #Torture #fluff with rough beginning #littlefists

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