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brooklynislandgirl · 8 months ago

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While he sits, she watches surreptitiously to see if there's any ginger motions, any indication that he's hiding aches and pains or other wounds. His suit shows plenty of wear and tear that she can't do anything about without the awkward conversation of him undressing and she's not sure they've quite reached that kind of intimacy. And as form-fitting as it is, she isn't sure he's got proper undergarments beneath it for modesty's sake. Beth's absolutely certain he's right, but she gets the feeling that the man beneath the superhero wouldn't exactly be one of them, or at least that's the sense she gets from his tone, his body language. He sounds almost sad as he speaks of himself from an outside perspective. But he does strike a chord in her when he mentions the loneliness, and the vast sense of helpless when something ~someone~ slips through your fingers despite your best efforts. "For what it's wor'd? I don't really t'ink dat's true. An'please don' take it da wrong way but…we're not built li'dat." She means that in all sincerity. When given the metaphorical keys to the kingdom, instead of becoming self-centred, instead of seeking fame and glory, they both made choices to help those around them. The ones who by-and-large have no voice, no power, no protection. "An' you're not wrong. So many of dem which should tell us about a universal imbalance, yeah?" Her upper lip curls at the thought of certain other so-called heroes. She could name quite a few who are more in it for the kicks and perks than in helping those who need it. She could name a dozen or more who live in terror of being discovered for what they are because of the shifting tides of public opinion and governmental control. She knows if her mana were to be discovered, they'd sooner vivisect her than heap praise on her though that was the least of any desire she could conjure from within herself. She washes the uncharitable thoughts away with a life-giving sip of coffee, and a brow raises in place of a smile when he glances up to her. She understands the need for a shadow-name. Many a mage will cloak their true-name behind one or more identities to protect themselves and their secrets. If she were being honest, the Beth Riley the public knows bears no resemblance to her private self, the kahuna. The witch. "Yeah, dat name I feel like I've heard, but no can put finger on it. I'm sorry." The apology is for interrupting, as he explains the villain of whom he speaks. The description is wholly unflattering in places and gives her a visible shudder contemplating it. Of course, he could also be describing one of her Cousins, particularly the wolves or the Rokea, especially the particularly angry ones, or one of the fallen to Qyrl's machinations. She doesn't say so, those aren't fully her secrets to reveal, even if she trusts him to keep her secrets. He begins to get to the crux of the matter, slowly unspooling what must in a way feel like a personal failure in the face of all that he knows to be true. Has to keep herself from interrupting although she can't quite hide the smile at certain names. Iron Fist gets the softest look with gentle eyes and a hint of pink in the tips of her ears, across her nose. Danny Rand is a very special sort of young man, their families having a long history and the fact that Danny is just a little lax on secret identities just makes her soft on him. A few come as surprise. She hadn't expected one of Charles Xavier's brood amongst his contacts though she shouldn't be surprised. She is surprised when he mentions Steve. Of all those names, new or familiar, she would think that Steve would be the voice of reason, understanding, and not one prone think of death as a solution. A stone of shame sinks in her belly as she continues to hold her tongue.

She watches his inner turmoil play out in the movements of his limbs, the way he looks at her, those white empty eyes surprisingly emotive in conveying his grief, his despair, and his own desires. She peels herself away from the counter she'd been resting against, placing her cup beside his and refilling both. Then she comes around and sits on the stool beside his, before one soft and gentle hand alights onto his forearm. She means to be comforting without impinging on his autonomy. "So…let's rewind some. First, people are always bound to get hurt, an' mostly ones dat don't deserve it at all. Dere's only so much you can do an' your part in da Tapestry is only one t'read. You've chosen t' defend ya city. You've got a code of e'tics dat some might considah weak." She can think of one particular person, who has even done the unthinkable in his belief that he was keeping her hands clean, her soul innocent. "If dere was a monster dat did horrible kine to a child, an' you found me bein' on da side of retribution, would you blame me?" She holds up her other hand and shakes her head. "But again, dis isn't about me. Dis is about you an' I jus' wan you to know dat I see where you're comin' from, what you're sayin'. No shame in choosin' to hold back. No shame in choosin' to keep your hands clean no mattah what da case may be. You do da mos' good dat you can, an' wha' ya do wi' it is t' make peace wi' it. Go home when ya leave here, an' scrub da night off your skin wi' a shower. Put ya head on ya pillow or…web.. Like I dunno exactly where ya go when ya not patrollin' da city, but you get wha' I'm saying." She gives his arm a squeeze, then slides off the stool. She drifts away and prowls her living space, taking a framed photo off the mantle. When she returns to his side, she sets it in front of him. The image is a young man with long blonde hair and a neat blonde goatee. The armour and helm are unmistakable as having been forged in Edoras. Beside him is a small halfling with flowers in her hair. Both are smiling and the halfling is easily picked out as Beth at a much younger age. The man can only therefore be Andy as it is not Thor Odinson. "Sometimes you need t' be Aragorn, or Boromir. Sometimes ya need be T'randuil or Elrond, an' sometimes ya need to be Merry or Pipin." Different situations require different actions. She doesn't remind him that there would be no meaning in life if not for death and what waited beyond. She knows that better than anyone else she could name. "But ya no can make choices f' oddahs, who are demself try for do da same t'ing to da best dat dey can."

@brooklynislandgirl (continued from xx)

For all his well-meaning, for all his kindly affect, and for all his efforts towards justice and peace… Spider-Man does have a curious sense of decorum when it comes to entering buildings. Even he would make a point of acknowledging it. Most other people would simply use the front door, or perhaps even call ahead to alert their friends that they're in the neighborhood and want to drop in. In the curious case of Beth Riley, the portfolio is expanded beyond the simple niceties of companionship and possibly mutual attraction and also includes medical assistance, ranging from first aid to critical care. Given what she has to offer, it would naturally behoove him to maintain goodwill with her in whatever way he might.

And so one would think that he would be courteous enough to reach out to her when he's on his way to her place. Even more so since tonight, there is no emergency, medical or otherwise, that requires her unique skill-set. All he wants is her ear. Her thoughtful counsel. Maybe he wants her to lend voice to his own convictions, which have spent the better part of the night being tested both from within and without. The rips and tears in his outfit likely speak to the trials he faced tonight.

It won't be the last costume he mends. And it's very far removed from the first.

He can hardly blame Beth for taking her time in considering her reply, and she's far more generous to him than he's a right to receive, considering he'd simply shown up in her window. Beth is kind and gracious to a fault, and he thinks the Admiral likely had very little to do with that. He wishes, not for the first time, that he could have met her brother. From what little she's been willing to share about him, he sounds like both an outright terror, and the perfect safeguard for her. Someone who recognized she was too good for this world and did his level best to shield her from the worst of it whenever he could.

He slips onto the bar stool and listens intently while Beth offers her reply. Speaks to her perspective of living in perpetual paradox. Varied and contradictory belief systems clashing against one another full-time, demanding wildly different behaviors of her in any given moment. He bobs his head. It's a familiar place she describes. He has a home there, too.

"I'll bet you could ask a bunch of folks out there, they'd say that being Spider-Man has got to be pretty awesome," he murmurs, as he clasps his hands about the coffee mug she's given him. "All that strength. All that acrobatic skill. He could do anything he wanted to. If I had all that ability, what would I do with it? Pro wrestling, maybe, or Cirque du Soleil. Perform, make tons of money, travel the world. Not be stuck in this dead-end job… not be lonely… not feel helpless."

He gives a listless shrug that probably looks more morose than it's actually meant to convey. "I could be doing all of that. Or none of that, and something else entirely. I don't have to do this. Superpowered people in costumes are a dime a dozen in New York. But then, so are jerks who're always looking to take by force what's not theirs."

He turns his head a little, as though glancing from his cup to Beth. "There's a long story behind it, but maybe you've heard of a guy who calls himself Carnage. He's… well, he's one seriously bad guy. Really messed up in the head. And he has super powers which just make it way easier for him to do what he wants. Which is to kill pretty much everyone. He's like if Charlie Manson was bulletproof and could turn his hands into knives."

He swipes a hand like he's brushing a dust bunny off her immaculate kitchen island. "Anyway, tonight was a big, long fight with him. Bunch of good people got hurt. I had the chance to take him down. Like, for good." He hesitates, tilting his head back contemplatively. "Why do they call it that? Is it good, when you take a life?"

Then he peers at her again. "I couldn't do it. Not even for this guy. I left him to the folks who'll lock him back up, with no guarantee that he won't escape again and start it all up again. And the people who wanted to know why I held back. Cops. Cloak and Dagger. Iron Fist. Wolverine. Ghost Rider -- Beth, I had Captain America telling me nobody would've blamed me if I'd taken him out. Do you know what that's like, having one of your superhero idols telling you, 'You could have sacrificed your principles and I wouldn't have looked at you any differently'?"

He sets his palms on the wood surface of the bar. "What am I supposed to do with that? I've never killed anyone. What would even give me the right? Do the rules change when it's someone bad enough?"

He lets out a sigh, not really expecting an answer from her immediately. For all he knows, she's only catching about half of what he's saying; he knows the mask occludes some of her ability to comprehend him. But it's not like Peter Parker could tell her about any of this while serving soup at the FEAST Center, now, is it?

"I keep thinking about that moment when Frodo says he wishes Bilbo had killed Gollum when he had the chance. And then Gandalf says, 'Many who live deserve death, and some who die deserve life. Can you give it to them?' And I know the answer for myself, anyway. I take a life, I can't ever give it back. That's not one of my superpowers. And life is precious. It's so fleeting and fragile. It's not mine to take away from someone. I already know what…"

He bites his tongue just in time. He already knows what his dearly departed uncle would say. He already knows what his heart tells him is right.

He already knows how it feels to watch in impotence as a life is stolen away.

"… I can respect myself." He says it tightly enough that it's evident he struggles to really believe it. "When I look in the mirror, I see someone who's driven to do the right thing. I just don't think I realized that so many of my peers figured 'right' to be a movable feast, depending on who it's getting served to. And I don't know if I can look at some of them the same way now."

#tangleweave #Ku'uku'u|Spider Man #Webs and Fins|Spidey and Beth #Testaments They Told|Spider Verse au #Brooklyn Stories|New York

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lettheladylead · 4 years ago

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Not Your Aunt

Chapter 8: Webby [ao3 link]

It had officially been one week since Goldie first stepped foot in the manor. And she was still there. This was the longest she’d ever spent in Scrooge’s home since his cabin in the Klondike (excluding times when she was sick or injured, of course).

She was pretty sure, by this point, that Scrooge was avoiding her. He’d been spending a lot of time with his daughter (or whatever) and a lot of time at the Money Bin trying to fix the many issues that cropped up over the past few months with his money managers betraying him, but then even the time he did spend at the manor seemed to always involve other people besides her. The only alone time they’d had was right after he crawled into bed, but every single night their conversations were brief and then he’d fall right to sleep.

So she was a little annoyed. She’d had a few conversations with the kids, sat in on a few dinners, harassed Beakley, been harassed by Sharpie...it’d been quite the couple of days. But it was getting late and she couldn’t wait much longer to talk to him about how she was feeling or how he was feeling or where they might want their relationship to go after all of this…

Ugh. Goldie sighed and wandered around the upstairs hallway. She hated thinking about mushy family stuff, but ever since Florida she’d been feeling an unstoppable pull towards the Ducks and she kind of wanted to relax and see what could happen. But if Scrooge couldn’t make any time for her in the next few days, she was definitely leaving and not coming back for at least a year. Love or not, she did not take well to being ignored.

A door ajar in the distance caught Goldie’s attention and she started walking towards it, curiosity being the best cure for her boredom. She wasn’t sure what that room was - Scrooge didn’t redecorate much, but she couldn’t keep track of everything since he collected so much junk and had 50 regular rooms plus another 10 secret rooms and who could remember all of that?

Goldie tried to peek inside, but it was pretty dark except for a small light in the corner. With a shrug, she forwent her usual sneakiness and just fully opened the door to let the light from the hallway light up the room.

She was met with a surprised chirp and two bright eyes staring directly at her.

Goldie stared back, not sure what to make of what she was seeing.

Webbigail was sitting on a table near the back of the room with a giant book on her lap - surrounded by heaps of other similar-looking books. She looked sweaty and grimy, and the whole room was covered in a thick layer of dust.

“...wh-what are you doing here?!” Webby asked, closing the book that was on her lap.

Goldie raised an eyebrow and decided this situation was interesting enough to explore. “I could ask you the same thing,” she said as she took a few steps towards the girl.

Webby frowned and shook her head for a second before wiping her hand across the cover of the book. “I was, um...well...trying to learn some stuff.”

Goldie leaned against the table Webby was sitting on and craned her neck so she could properly see what she was holding. Oh. “In an ancient photo album?”

“Yeah,” Webby said a little sadly. “Uncle S-, er...my dad has been telling me all about our family...well, just more than usual, I guess...but some things still weren’t quite adding up and I thought maybe I could piece things together on my own.”

Goldie raised an eyebrow and stared at the girl without responding.

She didn’t seem to notice. “I’ve always liked connecting things together...before I was told anything about the McDuck Clan or my dad’s life story, I went through all his different biographies and the photos he has around the house and tried to figure it all out myself. And now he’s telling me things that almost, like...conflict with other things he’s said or other things I’ve read about and it’s just getting confusing.”

“Well,” Goldie said quietly, “he is pretty old, you know. Could be he’s just forgetting some things or mixing up stories.”

“But...but he’s Scrooge McDuck!” Webby said with a frown, opening the photo album again. “It’s one thing to forget a few details from a story, but like…” She pointed to a photo of Scrooge’s parents and a very small baby duckling. “The back of this photo says it’s from 1939, but whose baby is that?! Hortense didn’t have kids until the 1980s and Matilda never had kids so is this just some random baby or-”

“That’s Gideon,” the blonde answered, pointing to the way the baby’s hair stuck out at the top. “Scrooge’s half-brother.”

Webby stared at the photo again, then up at Goldie, her mouth wide open in shock. “Wh...wait, so...does that mean one of my grandparents had a baby with someone else while they were still married?”

“Uhh…” Goldie leaned back and scratched her neck. She knew Scrooge didn’t like to talk about his brother much, but she’d met the man a few times so there was no point ignoring the physical similarities. Though the complications of his conception might be why Scrooge didn’t bring him up. “...something like that. Don’t worry about the details too much.”

“Worrying about the details is exactly why I’m here,” Webby mumbled, flipping through a few more pages. She glanced up at Goldie. “You know my family really well, don’t you?”

“Not by choice, but yeah. If you think Scrooge loves to talk about his family now, you wouldn’t believe how he was back in the day. Very talkative.”

“I know the feeling,” Webby said, chuckling a bit to herself. “Lena said I’ve always been a little too obsessed with the McDuck family and now I’ve gotten even worse.”

Goldie felt an unfamiliar twinge in her chest and plopped a hand down on Webby’s head. “If she’s still sticking around, it doesn’t bother her as much as she says it does. Trust me.”

The preteen seemed to think about that, letting out a low hum while she considered Goldie’s words. “Trusting you doesn’t seem like the smart thing to do, but it sounds like you’re talking from experience.”

Goldie removed her hand from Webby’s head and shoved it back in her pocket. “Despite what your granny says, I’m not always lying.”

Webby turned her whole body towards Goldie. “I don’t think you were lying about Gideon either...so...would it be okay if I asked you about other confusing photos from any of these albums?”

Goldie sighed and lifted herself up to sit on the table, too. “You can. I really think you should just ask Scrooge about all this stuff, though. A few memory lapses here and there doesn’t mean he’s going to withhold entire family members from you.”

“I know, I know,” Webby mumbled and held the album against her chest. “I’m just still getting used to all this. I feel like I should know all these people already, y’know? Like...like Elvira Coot, the mother of Quackmore Duck, isn’t related to Scrooge McDuck at all, but they refer to each other as cousins in a lot of old letters. Is it just them being friendly with each other? Or is my research totally and completely wrong?”

“They’ve just known each other for a very long time,” Goldie said matter-of-factly. “Some people call old friends brother or sister, some people call them cousin. Scrooge usually just generally calls everyone his family, but some people get friendly little titles.”

“That’s very confusing.”

“It is what it is,” Goldie bent one of her legs so she could lean on her knee. “Scrooge has always enjoyed being a little confusing.”

“Is that why he likes you? ‘Cause you’re confusing, too?” Webby asked with an innocent tilt of her head.

Goldie rolled her eyes. “Maybe. I’m sure he’s got a long list of reasons why he does or doesn’t like me.”

Webby huffed out a short laugh as she tapped her hands on the open album page. There were photos of a few familiar members of Scrooge’s family and even a baby picture of Donald and Della.

“...you are really confusing,” Webby said, breaking the awkward silence. She didn’t let Goldie interrupt as she continued. “I don’t think I understand you at all. You’ve been here for a whole week so...are you moving in? Or what’s going on?”

“I’m just here to talk to Scrooge.” Goldie grabbed a photo album that was next to her on the table and flipped it open. “He’s been particularly busy this past week so I’m waiting.”

Webby watched her flip through pages and wondered if there were going to be any more secret relatives she didn’t know about in there. “I didn’t think you liked waiting for things.”

“Not a huge fan, no.”

“But you’re still here,” Webby mused. She watched as Goldie stopped flipping pages and stared down at a photo of Hortense and Quackmore, clearly having a fun time on their wedding day. It was a very sweet picture. “Huey says you and Scrooge are gonna get married, too.”

Goldie rolled her eyes and flipped past the wedding photo. “I’m sure he did.”

“If you did get married...would that make you my mom?”

Goldie closed the album and glared down at the girl next to her, annoyed that these kids were so interested in weddings and marriages. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Webby asked, trying not to seem too confused.

“Why would it?” Goldie said with a hand to her forehead. “At the most, I’d be your stepmother, and that’s only in the very unlikely scenario where I say ‘yes’ to Scrooge’s proposal.”

“But this is a hypothetical scenario, so...if you did get married...would I be allowed to call you mom?”

“Ugh.” She knew there was a line here where her crabbiness would start to offend, but Goldie was not enjoying this line of questioning. “Even in this magical, crazy, hypothetical scenario...I would rather you didn’t. If I’m being completely honest, I’m still uncomfortable hearing you call Scrooge ‘Dad’.”

Webby, rather than be offended like Goldie thought, laughed out loud. “You think you’re uncomfortable with it?! I’ve been saying it over and over in my head all week and it still doesn’t sound right!”

Goldie raised an eyebrow at her and Webby froze, clearly surprised at her own outburst, and settled down. “Sorry. I shouldn’t say that. It’s just a little weird still.”

“Why shouldn’t you talk about how weird it is?” Goldie asked genuinely, leaning back on her hands. “If you don’t want to call him ‘Dad’ then you don’t have to.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Webby mumbled, imitating Goldie’s lean. “If I go back to calling him ‘Uncle Scrooge’ then it’s gonna seem like I’m rejecting him or something. That’s too mean. I can’t be mean like that.”

“It’s not mean.” Goldie sighed and turned towards the younger girl. “It’s your life. Call him whatever feels right to you."

Webby leaned her head back to stare up at the ceiling. "I've never had a dad or a mom before so I think I should keep trying for a little longer. It might just feel weird 'cause it's so unfamiliar."

"Or maybe it feels weird because it is weird," Goldie grumbled. "His DNA was stolen and used to create you, sure. So he's your father, but does that really make him your dad?"

The younger girl glared at the ceiling for a moment before turning towards Goldie again. "I don't understand what you mean."

"Being your biological father is significant, obviously. But family is whatever you want it to be." Goldie sighed and stared down at another photo - one of a much younger looking Scrooge. "You can run away from it. You can accept it without question. Or you can just try to figure it out."

Webby watched Goldie's face - trying to read the woman's expression as she stared at the photo. "I think I get that."

"Your grandmother wouldn't appreciate you listening to me, you know."

She smiled. "I know. But it's kind of interesting to get a more...outside perspective. I mean you're not not part of the family, but you weren't a part of all…" Webby waved her hands around for emphasis. "...this stuff."

"I suppose," Goldie said as she put the photo of Scrooge back down. A part of her really wanted to take it, especially knowing that Scrooge never went into this room so he likely hadn't looked at any of these photos in over fifty years. He wouldn't miss it!

"Do you think...um…" Webby stumbled over her words. "...do you think he'd be mad if I started calling him Uncle Scrooge again?"

"No," Goldie answered sternly. "He wouldn't be mad. Especially given everything that's happened with your family lately, I think an opportunity for some normalcy would be appreciated."

Webby flipped to another page in the photo album while Goldie spoke, and her eyes widened as she saw a familiar face in one of the old photos. She looked back up at Goldie and then back down at the photo. "So...if I call him Uncle Scrooge, then I guess I can call you Aunt Goldie, huh?"

Goldie turned to scold Webby for bringing up that nickname that she always knew would come up around these Duck children...when she came face-to-face with a photograph she didn't even know existed. Webby was holding it up dramatically, smiling smugly as she did so.

It was a slightly out-of-focus snapshot of Scrooge and Goldie in wedding attire, at an altar. Pretty clearly getting married.

Goldie quickly snatched it from the girl's hand and turned it around to check if there was a date or any notes. In Scrooge's handwriting it said "1953. Almost felt real."

She blushed a bit and turned it back around. "...I didn't know there were any pictures from this."

"And to think you made such a big deal out of my hypothetical scenario! But you're already married!" Webby looked more smug than she'd looked in a while, clearly ready to announce this news to the whole family.

Goldie frowned, unable to tear her face away from the image. Both her and Scrooge's faces were visible and, despite being at a bit of a distance, she could see just how happy they were at that moment. "...it was a con. A business decision. Not a real marriage."

"So you got an annulment afterwards?"

She laughed. "You think Scrooge would waste money on something like that? No, we just...moved on. I completely forgot it even happened."

"Well, Aunt Goldie, it doesn't look like he's forgotten."

Goldie sighed and pocketed the photo, wondering if she should show it to Scrooge later and shake out some memories. "Clearly he hasn't been in this room for a long time, so I wouldn't assume that."

Webby's excitement died down just a bit as she noticed Goldie's lack of embarrassment. "Isn't this...I mean, I know you say you don't wanna marry him, but you're still here despite everything plus you're already married! You really are Aunt Goldie and I don't get why you'd try to fight it."

The blonde frowned and exhaled loudly through her nostrils, trying to think of the best way to explain how she felt. "You've spent a long time idolizing Scrooge, right? Wanting to be a part of his family and whatnot."

"...yeah?"

"And from what I could tell, you two were getting close over the past few years. You called him Uncle Scrooge, he remembered your name. Yeah?"

"...uh-huh…" Webby had a feeling she knew where this was going.

"But now that this father-daughter thing was suddenly dumped in your lap in such a...such an awful way, really, you're feeling weird about it. Maybe it feels a little hollow, like this is what you wanted but it's not how you wanted it."

Webby frowned deeply - Goldie was completely right, but hearing the words said so casually didn't make her feel better about it.

"...that's what that wedding was for me," Goldie finished, finally connecting the two thoughts together. "I'd...wanted to be closer to him. I thought we were headed there. And then he suggested that plan and how could I say no? He was splitting the money with me 60/40 and I knew I could steal my missing ten percent whenever I felt like it."

"So you wanted to get married, but then you did but for the wrong reasons?"

Goldie sighed and shrugged. "Basically. It was a long time ago. Things change."

"And some things don't change," Webby added, noticing that Goldie was still staring at the photo in her hand. "You've had decades to talk to him about this, so why haven't you?"

"Eh," Goldie answered and stuffed the photo into her pocket. "Adult relationships are complicated."

Webby shook her head. "Not all of them. Just the ones that don't talk to each other."

Goldie glared down at Webby again, but the girl was already flipping pages in the album once more. She wasn't going to whine to a kid about how she was trying to talk to Scrooge but he was just making it difficult. Maybe if she told him she'd spent some time with his kid, he'd finally sit down and talk to her.

"Who's this?" Webby asked suddenly, pointing to another photo.

This one was older - depicting a young Scrooge (maybe nine years old?) with an even younger child that looked very similar to him. Goldie pouted and put a hand to her chin before grabbing the photo and turning it over to see if anything was written on the back.

"Oh, this is Douglas. One of Scrooge's cousins."

"On whose side?" Webby asked curiously.

Goldie shrugged. "Not sure. I know he lived alone in the Netherlands somewhere until he died, but he and Scrooge weren't very close, from what I could tell."

"Oh." Webby looked down at the photo, not really being able to read either child's expression. She supposed photos from the 1870s were rarely as expressive as ones from modern day. "You really know a lot about my family.”

"It's completely useless information taking up valuable space in my brain," Goldie complained with a smirk. "Maybe I'd be fluent in Mandarin if not for Scrooge."

Webby smiled, happy that she was able to recognize Goldie's words as a joke. "Well it's not useless to me. Thanks, Aunt Goldie."

Goldie frowned and rolled her eyes, but that just made Webby smile. She felt like she was starting to understand this woman...just a little bit.

A realization hit her and Webby suddenly gasped before hopping off the table. Goldie watched her with curious surprise. "I need to update my board!" Webby said as she rushed towards the door.

Goldie raised an eyebrow and hopped off the desk to follow. "I have no idea what that means!"

She followed Webby out the door and down the hall, until the girl was back in her own room. Goldie stuck her head inside just in time to see the unveiling of an insane-looking board filled with photos and string and notes and hearts and…

"...is that a locket with my face in it?" Goldie mumbled as she continued into the room. She stared at the locket as Webby ran around looking for something.

As she reached out to grab the strangely unfamiliar locket, Webby was suddenly on a step stool next to her and reaching for it herself. Goldie watched silently as the girl tugged her away from her little grouping of villains (rude) and moved her oh-so-closer to Scrooge.

Goldie blushed the slightest bit as Webby shortened the string, added some little hearts, and slammed a sticky note between them that said MARRIED-ISH!

"There's no way I'm letting you keep that up."

Webby laughed and wagged her finger in Goldie's face. "I'll just put it back when you leave!"

Goldie crossed her arms over her chest. "Then I'll just have to st...hm."

Webby's eyes were sparkling.

"...visit more often."

The correction didn't dull Webby's sparkle, instead she just smiled brighter. "I think everyone would really like that."

Goldie raised an eyebrow. "Nice try, but I can assure you that your grandmother would sooner attend my funeral than enjoy having me around."

Webby hopped off the step stool. "Then you'll just have to win her over!" she said with a skip as she pushed the stool back to its regular spot.

"Yeah...I don't really see that happening," Goldie mumbled, not objecting when Webby grabbed her hand and tugged her towards the door.

"I think you could be friends! You just have to try!"

Goldie rolled her eyes but still didn't pull her hand out of Webby's grip. "Don't get your hopes up, Pink," she said with a sigh, but there was a little part of her that wondered if getting along with the whole family was even possible. She'd spent so long pushing away from Scrooge and his family and his friends that she'd never really considered what it would be like to actually...try. And she struggled to admit it, but...she wanted to find out.

She squeezed Webby's little hand and stared down at the bouncing bow on her head. Goldie still wasn't anyone's aunt, but...if she had to be, Scrooge's kids would be her first choice.

#ducktales #goldie o'gilt #webby vanderquack #scroldie #not your aunt #fic #fics #this is the final chapter yayayayyayyyy

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fireinmywoods · 4 years ago

Note

Whenever you (gleefully) describe Jim's octopus-like sleeping preferences, we often see Bones complaining about how hard it is to escape when he has to pee. But how often is he getting up to pee in the night? Does he need to get this checked out, or is he really just an old man in body AND spirit?

I actually went back and fact-checked myself on this, wondering what exactly I’ve been communicating about poor Leonard’s urological health! It is indeed established in septenary that Leonard sometimes needs to get up to pee at night and that Jim makes this exceedingly difficult, but the phrasing leaves the frequency of these incidents rather open to interpretation, so allow me to clarify that it was intended to imply that this might happen at most once a night, and not necessarily every night.

In Leonard’s defense (and, frankly, my own), it's not abnormal to sometimes need to get up to pee once during the night, especially if you’re of a certain age and keep yourself well hydrated, and especially if, like Leonard and Jim, you're in the habit of frequently having a drink or two before bed. (Alcohol is a diuretic, meaning it makes you have to pee more, and as a health professional who works on sleep hygiene I feel obligated to advise you that it also disrupts REM sleep and overall negatively impacts your sleep quality and how rested you feel the next day.)

Now, it may not seem like getting up just once per night would be such an onerous task, but consider this:

You drift into a hazy awareness, heavy with lingering sleep, a touch overheated where the back of your neck meets the pillow and in the hundred places your lover's bare skin meets yours. His legs are twined through your own, his leaden arm is belted securely over your middle, his cheek is hot against your shoulder, and all along your side are plastered the slack skin-warm weight of chest and ribs and gently rising belly.

You're comfortable. You shouldn't be, maybe, but this is the least of the paradoxical contradictions you've had cause to reckon with since Jim Kirk came careening into your life, and all things considered you've decided it doesn't especially warrant fretting over. Jim sleeps like a boa constrictor that opted for a mid-meal nap, suffocatingly strong and entirely immovable, and you've never slept better in your life. Chalk it up as yet another mystery of the unfathomable universe.

You do kind of need to empty your bladder, though. It's nothing terribly urgent, but it's there, and you know it'll only grow more pressing by morning, when Jim will be drowsy-sweet and playful, offering and inviting the sort of languorous physical affection you find most difficult to resist. You'll want to laze around with him then, indulging in his idle touches, soaking up the easy intimacy of your bodies wound together, admiring the smoothness of his skin and the arcs of his comet trails as he hums and preens under your hands - and in order to grant your morning self that luxury, your groggy midnight self needs to take the hit and get up to use the head.

It really ought not to be such an ordeal. Unlike some other nights in recent memory, you're not obliged to step away from your campfire into the treacherous dark of a screeching alien jungle, nor to make profoundly awkward conversation with a chatty royal attendant before being admitted into the (God help you) communal relief chamber. Your own private, sanitized bathroom is only steps away, and making use of it will be a matter of less than a minute.

It would be one thing if you could slip unnoticed from the bed, the way you’ve done countless times before with past partners - if you could simply ease Jim down to the mattress and leave him resting peacefully in a heap of pale skin and fluttering eyelashes while you went and took care of business. You might even tuck a pillow into his arms to curl around in your absence, reassure him with a stroke to his lightly furrowed brow that you weren’t going far, and when you returned you'd gather him back against you with a sigh or a snuffle and drop near instantly back into the deep slumber that's still teasing at the edges of your reluctant consciousness.

Yeah, that would be nice. But, of course, nothing where Jim’s involved can ever be that easy.

You begin by levering your numb arm away from Jim's back, wincing at the stinging start of pins and needles, and even as you’re flexing your prickling fingers Jim is already registering his discontent, huddling even more tightly against your side with a low noise of distress, as though you'd thrown off a blanket to expose him to a biting winter chill.

You attempt to shift sideways, hoping against all reason and precedent that you might be able to slide free of Jim's grasp without needing to grapple with him, only to find yourself caged in still more inescapably by Jim's tensing limbs. He makes another sound, complaint and injury, the wounded cry of a man forsaken.

"Jim," you sigh, because at this point it's clear you're not getting away without verbal negotiation. You jiggle your tingling arm and shoulder under him, trying to jostle him into something resembling conscious reasoning. "Wake up."

“Mrmph.” Jim nuzzles your shoulder, obstinate and sweet, frustrating your efforts to muster up some nice productive impatience with him. Lord, how much simpler everyone’s lives would be if this recalcitrant little bastard weren’t so charming in his defiance.

“I gotta take a leak, kid. Loosen up some.”

This does seem to register. Jim grumbles another sulky noise into your shoulder, but his arm retracts slowly and grudgingly back over your belly, and his legs stir against yours in a feeble attempt at disentangling.

You take advantage of his weakened grip and ease yourself out of his clutches, rolling toward the edge of the bed and heaving your legs over to propel yourself into something resembling a seated position, and with your feet now firmly on the cool floor you think to yourself get a move on and now’s your chance and sooner you go sooner you can get back, all too aware that if you hesitate or look back now you’ll be trapped again.

So you get up and go, trudging across the short distance to the head, and when you’ve done your business and shuffled back it’s to find Jim still awake, as he always is, a familiar blurry-edged silhouette in the two percent light. As many times as you play out this scene, your fool heart still pangs a bit at the sight: the faint glint of his eyes seeking you out in the dark, the unspoken plea of his arm outstretched across your side of the bed.

“Budge over,” you say, though there’s plenty of space, because it’s the middle of the goddamn night and that’s no kind of time to allow yourself to feel any type of way about how Jim won’t sleep without you.

Jim draws his arm back some, a perfunctory concession, as much for show as your little pantomime of grievance as you pour your weary bones into bed and find yourself captured once more by the strangling embrace of the man you pray to God never stops reaching for you in the night.

#ask #anon #fireinmywoods fic #mckirk fic #mckirk #otp: bedside manner #mccoy #kirk #star trek #aos #gonna call this #palimpsest verse #while SIEL jim is equally cuddly at night he's passingly established as being a little more chill when leonard has to get up #whereas pverse jim is both obnoxiously clingy and 'always knows when bones is gone'#yes that's right i took this jokey tease of an ask and gave it Feelings #would you expect anything different from me honeslty #q

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tamakissimp · 4 years ago

Text

senario- selfhate comfort

request: @uhhh-i-like-yaoi : Hihiiiii! I loved your last comfort post! Could I have the same bois comforting a female reader who is crying because she doesn’t feel pretty? Tysm!

a/n: ahhh yes. I love writing comfort pieces. I added in some other boys because I ✨felt like it✨

warnings: body issues, insecurity, lack of self confidence

BAKUGOU:

wordcount: 544

The image in the mirror is almost mocking you. The way your own body seems to taunt your mind and pull you into its darkest corners is scary. Scratch that, it's terrifying. You know that the healthy thing to do is to look away. But you can't. Your eyes are fixated on all your flaws. You're so busy with pulling yourself apart from that you don't notice the tears starting to roll down your cheeks.

People often talked about how Bakugou was out of your league. You knew that being with someone as handsome as him you quickly learn that, and most of the times their harmful words don't phase you. But maybe you are a little bit more tired today. Maybe you're feeling a bit more down. You don't know what it is, but those mean words seem to get past your defence and straight into your heart today.

You clasp your hand over your mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound of your crying. Even now, with shaking shoulder and blurry vision, all you can think about is how ugly you like while crying. "Idiot!".

Normally you would whisp your head around at the gruff voice but not today. "Are you there?" Bakugou asks. A set of knocks on your door follows. Normally you would welcome him with open arms but not today. What if he saw you like this? He would think you're weak. Weak. Pathetic. Ugly. Awful. Disgusting.

Another sob wrecks through your body. Bakugou's body stiffens at the sound. His blood runs cold. Without a second thought, he rips the door open. The sight of you, standing in front of the mirror while sobbing makes his heart ache. "Teddybear?". His voice is softer.

You hold your arms open for him. He takes the note and walks over to you before pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. He pets your hair as you sobs seem to get worst. Bakugou mumbles sweet nothings in your ear. All you can do is cling onto him. "What's going on, teddy bear?" he asks.

it takes you a moment before you can reply. Every time you open your mouth to speak another sob wrecks through your body. "I'm ugly," you finally manage to speak. You can feel Bakugou shake his head against your shoulder.

"I-I'm ugly and disgusting and you shouldn't b-be with me," you say. You expect Bakugou to agree with you. You expect him to pull away from you, laugh at you before walking out of your room. But he doesn't.

His arms stay wrapped around you, his grip becoming even tighter as he nuzzles into your neck. "No," he says. You want to disagree but he beats you to speak. "You're pretty. Gorgeous even. And I don't say that to everyone, idiot. You're too good for me.".

"I'll show you," Bakugou says. "I'll show you how pretty you are. I'll teach you how to love yourself....Idiot.". You smile softly. His heart does summersaults as he feels you smile against his shoulder. You nod.

"Okay," you mumble. "Okay. T-teach me how to l-love myself.".

SHOTO:

wordcount: 506

You hate yourself for feeling so down. You hate yourself for not being able to be there for Shouto. You know he needs you. He has more reasons to be self-conscious. Though his face looks like it's sculpted by the gods, the scar that taints his skin is one of his most prominent features.

"Are you alright?" Shouto's calm voice asks. You nod your head. Wrong. You feel bad for lying to him but you don't want to burden him with your problems. Shouto nods. On the outside, he looks fine but he is beating himself up mentally.

He has noticed your distance and he can only fear for the worse. Maybe his biggest fear is becoming reality. That you're planning on breaking up with him, that you're done with dealing with someone as broken as him.

All Shouto does is wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him as you both lay in his bed. You stiffen under his touch. The feeling of his hands running up and down your skin only makes you more self-conscious. Shouto's brows furrow at your action.

"Spit it out," he says. You don't know what it is about his voice, but all of a sudden your eyes fill up with tears. Shouto remains silent until he feels something wet hitting his shirt. He looks down at you only to find you silently crying. He immediately pulls you tighter against him.

"I'm sorry,” you say in between silent sobs. "Fuck, I'm sorry.". Shouto shakes his head as he sits up a bit straighter. He rocks the two of you slightly in an attempt to comfort you.

He's still socially awkward but you're teaching him how to deal with emotions, which includes how to comfort someone. He uses your tips as he searches his mind for anything he did that might upset you. He rubs his hands up and down your back, strokes your hair while sushing you softly.

"Do you...want to break up with me?". His voice cracks at the end of the sentences. He can't imagine a world without but he would rather break up than be in an unhappy relationship. Relief washes through him as you shake your head.

"No, never," you say. You stay silent for a moment. It's best to just rip the bandaid off quickly. "I'm ugly.". The moment the words leave your lips, violent sobs wreck through your body. Shouto stays quiet which you take as he agrees with you.

You pry yourself out of his arms and beeline towards the door. Shouto stops you, though. His hand wraps around your wrist before he spins you around, pulling you into his chest. You fight against him but to no avail.

"Never, ever, say that again," he says. His voice isn't cold like it normally is. "You're beautiful. Inside and out. I know you won't believe me but please do.". All you do is nod against his chest as you run a hand through his two coloured hair. "Please believe me,".

TOKOYAMI:

wordcount: 360

You and Fumikage often talk about your insecurities. Being with someone who's quirk affects their body as much as Fumikage's quirk does, conversations like that start easily. Normally, the two of you will lay on his bed, limbs intertwined while venting out your feelings. So this time is no exception.

Dark shadow lays on the feet end of the bed, his cold fingers running up and down your calves while Fumikage's warm arms encircle your body. Your fingers run over his feathers. You have no clue what he does to them but they always feel like satin between your fingers. "I'm ugly," you blurt out.

The comforting circles Fumikage was once rubbing on your skin now stop. Dark shadows grip on your calves tightens a little. Sure, these sort of thoughts aren't weird to be shared but that didn't make them any easier to hear. "How come?".

You shrug. You push your face even further against his chest prompting him to resume rubbing your skin. "Look at my face. Look at my body. I'm ugly," you say. It hurts Fumikage how easily you say those words.

In his eyes, you're an angel. Everything you do is a gift from the gods. Yet you have no problem with tearing yourself down. Though he can't judge since he has the same habits. "You are not," he says. You take a deep breath while waiting for him to continue.

"You're beautiful," Fumikage says. "While my words might not affect you now, I do hope that you can one day see yourself through my eyes. I hope that you will see how beautiful you are, my love.". A soft smile spreads against your lips.

Dark shadow removes its hands from your calf and nuzzles his cheek against it instead. "You talk like an old man.". Even though your tone is happy, Fumikage can sense the sadness laced through it.

"You love how I talk," he says. You nod. You lean up and press a hast kiss against his beak. Behind his feathers, a blush warms his cheeks.

"Thank you," you say. "I hope one day you see how handsome you are too, birdman.".

KIRISHIMA:

wordcount: 787

Normally, you didn't feel like this. Being in a relationship with Kirishima meant that he became your personal hypeman. He took any opportunity he got to compliment you and boost your confidence. Lately, however, the UA has been dishing out heaps of homework and training got more intense. This left little time for you two to spend together. You didn't mind, of course not. You support Kirishima's dream of becoming a hero and you knew it would be like this eventually. You just haven't gotten used to it.

For the umpteenth time this week, you find yourself standing in front of your mirror. A rational person would walk away from the mirror. You aren't a rational person though. Instead, you try on every piece of clothing you own that is even remotely tight fitting. Seeing how the fabric clings to your body, extenuating every lump, dent and curve.

You sigh as you run your hands over your body. Feeling your thighs, arms, stomach. All disgust you to a degree you didn't know was possible. A voice in the back of your head is screaming all your imperfections at you. Your face isn't symmetrical enough. Your stomach isn't flat enough. Your collarbones aren't prominent enough. Everything is wrong.

Tears well up in your eyes as you keep hyper-focusing on every flaw. You want to stop, god you do. To smash the mirror to pieces and spit on it. But you can't. Instead, you can only think about Kirishima's friends.

They're kind, sweet, helpful, hero's in training. The only thing bad about them is how perfect you are. It's hard to not compare yourself to them when they're all models. Momo has legs for days, Bakugou has muscles that you could never have, Iida is as smart as they come, Mina can make every outfit look good, Denki has enough charisma for ten people.

Sobs slowly wreck trough your body. You clasp a hand over your mouth. You stare at your own face in the mirror. Red eyes, wobbling chin, swollen cheeks. Even your crying has flaws.

"Pebble," you hear a voice behind your call. Your blood runs cold as you wipe around. You were too busy with pulling yourself apart that you didn't notice Kirishima entering your room. His eyes are drooping and his smile slowly falling. he holds a small bag in his hand. You can see the feet of a teddy bear and your favourite snacks sticking out of it. A surprise date, how sweet.

You shake your head as you make grabby hands towards him. Kirishima drops the bag and runs over to you, pulling you tightly against him. Your sobs grow tenfold now that you're in his arms. He pushes you as he softly pats your hair. "Let it all out, baby," he whispers.

His strong arms envelop you like a blanket. His cinnamony scent brings you comfort. You always thought he smelt like chai tea. After you told him that, he started drinking chai more. You smile at the memory. Your smile drops, however, once you feel his hands travelling over your body.

"Please talk to me," he says. "What's going on?". Kirishima's heart is breaking. Seeing you in this state makes him rack through his mind to find anything he could have done wrong.

"I'm ugly," you croak out before another sob wrecks through you. He stiffens. He curses at himself for not noticing your insecurities sooner. Normally, he was there to brighten your mood and build your confidence up. Normally. But he hasn't seen you as much as normally.

You push yourself further into his chest, hoping to disappear. "I'm ugly, and- and I'm gross," you say. "And I don't k-know why you're with me. B-Because you're handsome a-and kind and sweet and I-I'm none of that. You s-should just break-".

"No," he says sternly. He doesn't let you finish that sentence. He doesn't want you to. "No, I won't. Don't ever think I will.". Kirishima pulls you off him slightly so that he can look into your eyes. He cups your cheeks while brushing away your tears with his thumbs.

You sniffle but melt into his touch. "You aren't ugly, okay? Say it for me. Come on, say it," he urges you. You nod.

"I'm not-I'm not ugly," you say softly. He nods before puling your to him again and places a kiss on your crone. "I'm not ugly," you say again before silent sobs shake your shoulders.

"I'm just going to have to show you, yeah, pebble?" Kirishima says. You nod against him. Your hand travels up and laces through his hair. Even now, when you're crying your eyes out, you're still trying to comfort him. "I'll show you.".

TAMAKI:

wordcount: 774

Tamaki is invisible. It's something he learned to do over the years and now he can't stop doing it. Hiding in the shadows, his presence unknown to people. People tend to look over him and that's the way he likes it. Being in the big three, however, makes him seen. It makes him stand out like a sore thumb and his shyness draws ever more attention towards him.

Due to this, your relationship has become quite known around the school. And with that people tend to talk about you, gossip about you. You tuned it out most of the time. But when people gossip about you, it's hard not to listen to it.

"I mean, yeah, Tamaki is a total cutie," you hear some girl say. You don't even bother looking at her. You just try extra hard to focus on the homework your working on.

"Right?" her friend chimes in. "I don't know why he's with Y/n. Probably out of pitty. He's sweet like that.".

No. Don't listen to them. Tamaki loves you, you know that. He tells you that every day. He might not be physically affectionate but-

"I don't know. Y/n is just kind of...ugly?". Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Goddammit. Fucking fuck. "I didn't think they would ever be with someone.".

With that, you stand up. You don't even bother taking your stuff along with you. You doubt that anyone would be interested in stealing your homework or stationary. You can't even look at the gossiping students as you walk past them. Just get to your dorm, that's the plan. If you walk fast you can be there on less than three minutes.

You keep your gaze down as you fight back the tears. You can't cry in the hallways. That weird and ugly. "Bunny?". You lookup. Tamaki is standing at the end of the hallway, next to Mirio. He waves shyly at you. His goofy smile drops as he sees your pained expression. You strud over to him.

Are you breaking up with him? Did he do something wrong? Did you finally realize how much of a useless ball of shyness he is? His thoughts are running wild and worse case scenarios are popping up in his head.

His mind stops when your arms wrap around him. You two never hug in public. It's too scary for Tamaki, too stressful. But now that he feels your shoulders shake and your breath hitch all he can do is pull yours against him. Your hand travels up and plays with his hair while his arms wrap tightly around your middle.

"Am I ugly?" you ask, breaking the silence. Tamaki shakes his head against you, his hair tickling your neck. "’Cuz it feels like it.". His heartbreaks. You're always there to comfort him, to help him when he's on the brink of a panic attack. Now he has to be there for you.

"No, b-bunny," he says softly. His voice soothes you in a way you didn't imagine it would. "You're so p-pretty.". His words are few but you don't care. You know it's already bold that you come to him like this in public. Normally, you would only cling onto him in the comfort of his own dorm.

While he says little, he does comfort you. His touch ground you. The way his strong arms encircle you and warm you up. You press your nose into his neck. His hair feels silky smooth between your fingers. "I'm not," you say.

You feel awful for dropping your feelings onto him like this but you don't know what else to do. Tamaki is the person you go to for comfort, for love. "Who m-made you feel l-like this?" he asks.

You just shake your head as another sob wrecks to you. You muffle the sound by pressing into him. To bystanders, it just looks like a longlasting hug and not like your crying your eyes out.

Tamaki already knows the answer. He would be lying to say that he didn't hear the rumours as well. He hates it. Not just the attention but the bad things being said about you. That you're only with him because he's in the big three. That you aren't pretty enough for him, strong enough for him. He hears them all.

"W-wanna go... to...um..y-your room?" Tamaki asks. You nod. He places a kiss onto your forehead. Your heart warms up at the bold move. You swift so that one of his arms is now swung over your shoulder while the other is holding your hand. You hum softly at the comforting touch. "I-I think that...you're pretty," Tamaki says.

SHINSO:

wordcount: 435

While Shinso tends to be grumpy to others, he never is to you. He treats you with an unknown kindness. He touches you like your made of glass. And you do the same with him. You lean into his touch. You aren't afraid to answer his questions and you never saw him as a villain.

Due to your close bond, you two share your insecurities. It's normal for one of you to barge into the others dorm and just rant out their feelings. Which is how you find yourself here, walking through the halls with pathetic desperation. You don't even bother knocking once you reach Shinso's room. You just rip the door open.

Shinso can immediately tell that you're feeling down. Maybe it's the way your drag your feet more. Maybe it's the way you don't give him a 'hey nice to see you again' kiss. Or maybe it's the fat tears dripping down your cheeks. "I'm gonna talk," you say.

Shinso just nods. He pushes his chair away from his desk. You get the hint and walk over to him, plopping into his lap. His fingers immediately start rubbing circles on your arms.

"I'm ugly," you say. Shinso's heart stops for a second. This was going to be painful for him to hear. "I'm ugly and disgusting. And I-I'm sick of pretending I'm not. Y-You always say I'm p-pretty but I know y-you're lying. I'm not. And-And that's okay.".

You drop your head to let it rest against Shino's shoulder. He just shakes his head. He waits a minute for you to speak again and when you don't he does.

"You aren't ugly, kitty cat," Shinso says. You smile at the pet name. "You're as pretty as they come. Fuck everyone who tells you you're not. Fuck. Them.".

"You're out of my league," you say. Shinso shakes his head. One of his hands moves up to pet your head softly.

"Bullshit. I'm a fucking piece of shit villi-" he says. You lay a finger of his mouth to stop the word from being said. You lift your head and look at him. Even though your crying and your vision is blurry, you cup his face.

You shake your head. "Don't," you say. "Don't so that.". Shinso leans into your touch. It's selfish to treasure your touch in a situation like this but he can't help himself.

"Then you can't say that you're ugly," he says. You close your eyes before leaning your forehead against his. He feels you nod against him. A soft smile spreads over his normally stoic lips.

"Deal," you whisper out.

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gayhotpriests · 4 years ago

Text

been here all along [fic]

Or; there are traces of Buck all over the Diaz household. 1.8 k

Read on ao3

The coffee maker beeps in the kitchen, the sound carrying all the way into the bedroom the second after Eddie turns off his alarm. A cool breeze comes in through the window Eddie left open last night by mistake, and in the couple steps it takes to go from the bed to the door, Eddie has picked up at least six different clothing items, not even all his, from the floor and the chair in the corner that soon gets tossed into the laundry basket. He stops briefly by Christopher’s room to make sure his son is awake (he’s not, and a cranky five more minutes is heard from under the covers) before going into the bathroom to start his own morning routine.

The bright, red firetruck print that greets him has never failed to make him smile, not once ever since one particular Thursday, maybe two years ago now, when Christopher and Buck spent a couple of hours in the mall looking for a birthday present for one of Chris’s friends but bought a very much not needed set of shower curtains instead, along with matching firetruck soap dispenser and cup. They even have little firefighters painted in the tiny plastic windows, and Christopher might be almost twelve now, but the day he gets tired of his Buck’s gift is yet to come.

A month into the school year, the Diaz family’s mornings have looked mostly the same every day, and this fine Monday proves not to be the exception, as Eddie finds out a few minutes later. A certain blond man is still asleep on Eddie’s couch, and instead of doing his workout, Christopher is sprawled on top of him, snoring lightly. Buck’s legs are twisted in an awkward angle to fit in the couch and one of his hands brushes the fluffy carpet beneath the sofa (the one he picked in an attempt to convince Eddie that his house needed personality), the other holding onto Chris, whose face is completely smushed against the other’s shoulder. Bright blue crutches that Chris has started to grow out of lay in a disorganized pile next to them.

(If Eddie’s heart beats a little bit faster- if his hands itch to hold them too and join the sleepy pile, well. They don’t need to know.)

“Alright, sleepy heads, school starts in an hour! Get up!”

Eddie owns a perfectly functional coffee maker, a classic machine with only one button and no special features, that makes his coffee the same way every day, and has done so for almost five years without signs of obsolescence. He’s a simple man with simple tastes, but Eddie’s perfect, simple coffee maker, is currently collecting dust inside a box in the attic.

A steaming cup of coffee, however, is waiting for him on the counter when he steps into the kitchen, complete with milk foam, a shot of caramel, and two sugars: the product of the stupidly expensive machine Buck and Chris had plotted to get him, with all the smart features and Starbucks level settings that Eddie did not need. Using the machine is extremely complicated, too, so once Eddie found out how to input the settings for his drink of choice, he stopped allowing anyone to mess with it. Eddie drinks the sweet concoction religiously every morning, without a fault.

He sips on his sugar bomb slowly as Buck cooks breakfast, eggs, and sausages with toast, fruit salad, and a cup of warm milk for the only kid in the house. The sound of the sizzling pan and the knife hitting the cutting board fills the room along with the smell of homemade breakfast, something that screams of home and family, uninterrupted until Christopher shows up fresh from the shower and in clean clothes, with his restless morning energy and promptly sets to chatting their ears off. Buck keeps the conversation alive and gets the boy to help with mixing the fruit salad while he recounts the last episode of their favorite cartoon they had seen together the previous night. Buck makes surprised sounds at the right times, throwing a few "No way! Tell me more!" for good measure, even though Eddie’s pretty sure he remembers the episode perfectly as he asks the right questions to launch Christopher off in another direction at least three times.

Eddie finishes his coffee, leaves the cup in the sink, and turns to the cupboard to start setting the table.

Three days before school started, Christopher told Eddie that he’s big enough to use big people knives and after a long phone call with his son’s Occupational Therapist, and another with his own therapist, they had gone to the store to get him a cutlery set that could allow him more independence while still on the safer side, and Buck had found the perfect one: the knife has a blunt tip and slightly serrated edge, and a round plastic handle decorated with tiny green and blue dinosaurs.

“Daddy, don’t forget the dinosaurs, please,” Christopher asks politely, just like every day, because he refuses to eat with any other fork or knife. Luckily the set came with six of each, so everyone can use them during breakfast as Christopher prefers.

“Yeah, and don’t forget the big spoon for the fruit salad,” Buck chips in, pointedly looking at Eddie. Clearly, he still hasn’t let go of the last few times he has forgotten the big spoon for the fruit salad. In less than five minutes, they’re seated around the table eating, Christopher’s feet kicking excitedly against Eddie’s when they congratulate him for the A he got in his latest science assignment.

Both his son and best friend clear their plates first, smiles on their faces accompanied by crinkled eyes as they laugh. Eddie has to scold Chris on talking with his mouth full only once- a new record, and Buck only twice, tapping him on the hand with the spoon, reminding him to lead by example and not be a terrible influence on the kid. Buck mumbles a sheepish sorry every time, ducking his head in embarrassment, and Eddie just rolls his eyes and shoots him a fond look. He watches them, joins the laughter when Buck teases him, or when Christopher tells a story from school, warmth filling him up from the inside out.

Soon enough, the time’s up and Christopher goes to brush his teeth and get ready to leave while Eddie and Buck load the dishwasher and wipe the countertops, barely any words exchanged as they move around the kitchen. Eddie checks the calendar by the fridge, next to Christopher’s old artwork and the polaroids held up by fruit magnets. PT at 11 am, Frank’s at 3 pm, reads in the bold block letters of Buck’s handwriting, under Eddie’s own scribble of C’s swimming lessons at 3.30 pm. Eddie makes a face at the overlapping schedule, chews on the inside of his cheek. He’s too late to ask Carla to take Christopher for him, as he gave her the week off a few days ago so she could go to DC for a certification. The last few therapy sessions had been at noon, but PT was pushed up to eleven and so his entire schedule was unexpectedly messed up, and Eddie will have to run from the clinic to Christopher’s school and then take him to the pool, but he’s not cleared to drive yet so he has to account for cab ride expenses and a whole new timeframe now, too. God, he should have gotten this figured out yesterday.

Back in El Paso, when Eddie had worked three jobs, he had once forgotten to pick Christopher up at school because his shift ran longer than usual, his phone died and the teachers were unable to reach him at the construction site. His parents had been called instead, being the second emergency contacts, and they had stared him down later at night while they told him all the reasons he was a bad dad and Christopher should live with them. Don’t drag him down with you, Eddie.

A hand lands on his healthy shoulder, right next to the base of his neck, and Eddie looks away from the calendar to meet a pair of bright blue eyes next to him. Buck watches him for a second before opening his mouth, careful.

“Hey, Eds, I noticed today looks a bit tight and I was thinking I could ask Bobby to let me out for an hour so I can go pick Chris up and drive him to his lessons, or maybe ask Maddie if I’m on a call,” he says, and the knots in his throat slowly start to dissolve, as he stares up to his friend’s calm face. His shoulders slowly start to relax, the injured one pulses with pain. The warmth of Buck's fingers makes the little hairs on his nape stand up as he swipes his thumb twice over the patch of uncovered skin in a comforting gesture.

“Yeah, thanks, man,” Eddie chokes out.

Buck smiles, and it’s all it takes. The fog lifts.

“Sure, I’ll text you in case I can’t make it so you can let the school know Mads is going to get him,” Buck continues, but he’s not touching Eddie anymore. Eddie takes a small step back, fidgets with the dishrag he still had in his hands as Buck starts to make his way to the living room, picking up his jacket, “you get to pick him up after, and already I left you guys some leftover stew for tonight's dinner in the fridge," Eddie keeps his eyes on Buck while he talks, takes a few steps closer to his friend, but not close enough. "I have a sixteen-hour today, so you tell Christopher goodnight for me, alright?”

“Of course,” his voice is too tight, and it must show because Buck bites his lip and reaches out his hand again, but doesn’t touch. At that moment Christopher burst back into the living room and yells out as if Buck isn’t right there to hear him.

“I’m ready, Buck!”

With a last smile, Buck turns to the door, putting on his shoes quickly and pulling his bag out of the hallway closet. Eddie leans down to place a smooch on his son’s cheek, which makes him laugh, and throw his head back with a loud “Bye, dad!” in his ear.

“Alright buddy, let’s go, let’s go!” Buck exclaims and Christopher bolts out the door, followed by his Buck, and Eddie stays at the threshold until he can’t see the Jeep past the corner of the street.

It’s barely eight o’clock and he still has chores to get done before PT, but Eddie just drops facefirst into the heap of blankets on top of the couch, drowning in the smell of his family and he aches for the picture he saw earlier that morning, sleep falling slowly over him like another blanket. A short nap is calling his name from the dream world, and the last thing he sees before going under is his pillbox for the pain meds next to a bottle of water, a pink post-it note stuck on the tag, big bold letters were carefully written on it. I know you forget but please take these before leaving home! xx. Buck.

Eddie falls.

#my fic #hey i wrote a thing #soft domestic buddie #pre relationship #buddipher #buck's love language is gift giving and acts of service #english is not my first language #buddie fic #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley #christopher diaz #buckley diaz family #be kind im nervous #oneshot

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newtonsheffield · 4 years ago

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I know you have a personal life and work and other things going on... But you can't just offer us a glimpse of Lucy and Gregory being angsty and sad and then just stop and not tell us what happens next. Will you maybe write a fic about the evolution of their relationship? I love Lucyyyy.. she is amazing

It's very nice of you to assume I have a personal life. But I sadly don't 😂

Okay so you may have seen that I do have a full length Lucy and Gregory fic! It's called Unexpected and it's on Ao3 !

And they do make up, and they become very very sweet together once Gregory realises he's actually in love with Lucy. Unfortunately for Lucy Abernathy whom I love and adore like she were my own child, She realised she was in love with Gregory ten months before he realised he was in love with her. And that led to a lot of heart break for her.

This is a scene I've wanted to write from Lucy's POV for a really long time, but no one's ever asked and you still haven't but I'm using this moment to grandstand!

I would recommend that you read Unexpected prior to reading this little scene!

As odd as it seemed, Lucy had never been to Kate and Anthony's house before, she'd never had a reason too so she'd been a little surprised when Kate had been making plans for Anthony's birthday party, turned and dropped an invitation on her desk. And really, she shouldn't have been surprised, most of the office was invited, and Lucy had long since considered Kate more a friend than her boss. So she'd gone, she'd gotten dressed and told herself that wanting to spend time with Gregory had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to go.

It had been a little awkward and stilted since last month when she'd cried all the way home and then a little more, barely having gone to sleep when she was woken by Kate's call, her stomach churning as she thought about Gregory, his fist connecting with a man. And she'd swallowed all of her pride, picked up her phone and said Rick, I'm not here to talk about Hermione. I need a favour and she'd done it for Gregory. Even though she knew that her brother and Uncle would expect more of her now, would eventually expect something in return, She'd done it.

"Lucy you came!" Kate said brightly, when she arrived, Anthony's arms wrapped tightly around her waist as they leaned against the wall together, Kate's sister looking impossibly beautiful as she had every time Lucy had seen her. And Lucy's heart ached with the domesticity of it, because maybe, if she'd been just a little different, it could have been her and Gregory. But it wasn't and that was fine. "Of Course I did, some of us don't have an assistant to get us out of our social obligations, you know Kate." She smirked. Edwina gasped dramatically. "I knew all those times Lucy called and told me you were running late it was a lie!" She swatted at Kate who looked scandalised. Lucy couldn't help the laughter that escaped her as Edwina and Kate bickered backwards and forwards and then a familiar voice was low in her ear.

“Lucy, can I talk to you?” Lucy spun towards the sound a little startled by his sudden appearance. And when she saw him like this, his t-shirt printed with what appeared to be The Infinity gauntlet, her hair tousled, his eyes shining at her behind his glasses, it was difficult to deny the real reason she'd come tonight. Just to see him like this for a moment, even from a distance.

“My my Gregory, your mother would be so appalled to see you slighting the hostess in such a way.” Kate teased and Lucy watched as Gregory spun towards her as though he hadn't even noticed. Lucy could see Edwina trying to catch her eye mouthing You and Gregory? Fucking Cute. Lucy ignored the flutter in her stomach.

“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t see you there. Happy birthday Ant!” Anthony rolled his eyes and muttered his thanks. And Lucy couldn't stop staring at him, curiously. Clearly he hadn't been here already. He'd arrived and sought her out? That didn't seem right. The butterflied always seemed to ignite in her stomach beat their wings furiously.

“I’m sure you didn’t.” Kate quipped, sending Edwina a wide eyed look.

“Lucy, Can I talk to you?” He said more firmly, ignoring his (almost) sister in law. Lucy felt her eyes widen at his insistence, nodding before she could think of a reason not to be alone with him. To give him a reason not to unknowingly break her heart for the hundredth tie. Gregory caught her hand and tugged her to the quieter upstairs floor. The music muffled as he led her into a spare bedroom and stupidly Lucy could feel her heart start to race. She cleared her throat.

“What’s this about, Greg?” She asked to create some distance between reality and her imagination, unable to look at him, even as she used the nickname he'd told her the first time they met that his friends used. Because that's what they were. Friends.

“I don’t know where Hermione is and she and Richard are still together.” She forced the words from her chest. To remind herself what he really wanted from her.

“Hermione?” Gregory’s brow furrowed, “I don’t care about her.” He took a step towards her likely completely unaware of how her pulse was thundering in her ears. If he didn't want to talk about Hermione then what did he want to-?

“Then I don’t understand, If it’s a work thing-” She started, hearing her own confusion leak into her voice But Gregory cut her off with a final step towards her. They were chest to chest now, she could count the freckles on the bridge of his nose if she wanted, his hair dipping into his eyes unbearably handsome.

“I don’t want to talk about work right now.” His voice like gravel and then suddenly his lips were on hers, hot and unrelenting. She was still with shock for a split second before she felt herself relax into him, her hand reaching for his hair to pull him closer to her, his own hands tugging at her waist pressing their bodies together as his tongue moved against hers in a way that had her knees a little weak. And somehow, in all the times she'd imagined what it might be like to kiss him, even when she had had that (very filthy) dream about him months ago now, it had never lived up to this. He pulled back after several long moments, his breath laboured as he stared down at her, her heart fluttering with the idea that he'd finally realised that she'd been standing right there in front of hi for years now, practically begging him to love her.

“God, Lucy. I’m half in love with you, sometimes.” He whispered softly, smiling at her. And Lucy felt her heart break all over again. Because he hasn't realised anything at all. He was confused, and hurt by her friend, and she was just there. And while she desperately wanted to not care, to let herself go home with him, or fall back against the mattress in her bosses spare room and have him just for a moment, she had to be stronger than that.

Lucy felt the smile she'd had drop off her face as she stepped back from him, turning her head so he wouldn't.see the tears in her eyes

“Lucy?” He questioned lightly, confused and though she refused to look at him she knew exactly how he'd look. His brow furrowed adorably, like a lost puppy.

“Don’t Greg, please don’t make this any harder.” Her voice shook shamefully, her head still turned away from him as she stepped around him towards the door.

“I don’t under-“ He started, his voice still dripping with confusion, the barest edge of hurt creeping in.

“You’re in love with Hermione, you’re in love with me. Do you even know what you want, Greg?” She barely recognised her own voice as she opened the door, light flooding in from the hallway, Gregory illuminated for a moment, the look on his face making her heart ache to go back and wrap her arms tightly around him again, to let him have her, whatever he wanted. But she had to start loving herself as much as she loved him.

“You can’t be half in love with someone Greg, certainly not with me.” She snapped the door shut on him, her feet racing down the staircase. Her shoulders shaking with sobs as she burst out of Kate's front door, her legs numb refusing to carry her any further as she fell in a heap against Kate's garden wall.

"You're so fucking stupid, Lucy." She heard herself say a voice like her Uncle's echoing in her head You begged him to want you and he still didn't. Shame welling in her chest, "Lucy?" She heard Kate's voice say softly, felt her sit beside her as Lucy swiped at her tears furiously as though it would stop her losing the respect of someone else tonight.

And though the very last thing she wanted was to cry to Kate Sheffield about what a mess she was, she did it anyway. And when Kate gently told her that if Gregory didn't want her, he was the one missing out, She'd wished she could believe it. Because Gregory Bridgerton deserved much better than the girl that fell to pieces in his brother's garden.

#Do I just love to watch lucy suffer or what?#That got a little sadder than even I thought it would #my b #someone request some happy lucy please #she deserves it #bridgerton and sons au #lucy x gregory #gregcy #lucy abernathy #gregory bridgerton #unexpected: a bridgerton and sons fic #molly's asks and answers

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echo-hiraeth · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 12: The Daughter

Part of the “Ilicit Limerence” series

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: Having met Lorraine, the reader is quite startled, will the Texas retreat turn out disastrous?

Warnings: swearing, angst, vomiting, pregnancy symptoms

Masterlist

Previous chapter

Next chapter

Javier cringed a bit noticing the shock in your eyes, one that you managed to play-off very gracefully. “Oh we-we’re not married”, you chuckled, shaking the husband’s hand next.

“Gotcha, alright. Well, let me go put the dessert in the freezer and we can catch up”, she chirped, carrying her freezer bag into the garage.

Chucho picked up on the change of atmosphere and ushered his son-in-law into the living room, giving the two of you some much-needed space. Javier took a deep breath.

“Did you know they were coming?”, you asked quietly, setting a timer for the oven.

He closed the kitchen door, turning around to face you. “Yes, but I didn’t want to stress you out.”

“Javi, you promised me no more surprises”, you chided, covering your face with your hands. “You need to tell me these kind of things! We just talked about this!”

“Querida, please. I wasn’t even sure if she’d still show and I didn’t want to cause you any unnecessary stress”, he reasoned.

“I’m aware, but even then, these are things you just tell me! I don’t care if she’s here or not, but I would’ve liked to know beforehand! It’s kind of awkward having to just suddenly stand in front of your ex-fiancée”, you explained, washing and drying your hands.

“I wanted to tell you but – but I just couldn’t figure out how, or when, it just never seemed like the right time.”

You took some steps towards him, threading your fingers with his. “I’m happy to know you tried, but next time, try to bring it up okay. I-I didn’t mean to go off as much as I did I’m just so fucking stressed.”

“But why, pop adores you! The hardest part is over with”, he tried to soothe you, squeezing your hand in his.

You scoffed a bit, shaking your head. “She’s so beautiful Javier, I can’t believe I’m saying this but I guess I’m jealous.”

He threw you a confused glance, stuttering a bit as he tried to fathom what you had just said. “You’re joking? Corazón, Lorraine and I are ancient history, there’s nothing there. I’m here with you, because I want you to meet my father. Lorraine’s just a family friend, nothing more, I promise you.”

“Shit Javi, sorry I-I didn’t mean to-“

“Hey, it’s okay, I understand”, he comforted you, wrapping his arms around you. “Take a deep breath okay, I love you.”

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt, hugging him a bit tighter. “I love you too, Javi. Thank you for bringing me here.”

He leaned into your touch, tilting your chin up to kiss you. It was a moment for him to convey just how much he adored you and just how sorry he was, lips moving against yours in an easy, soft rhythm. You pulled away with a muted sigh, looking into his eyes as you stepped back.

“You should check up on your dad, I’ll finish up in here”, you suggested, turning your attention back to the side dishes. “We can talk about it later.”

He gave a nod, more a formality than anything else and disappeared behind the wooden door. You drew in a deep breath, bracing yourself on the counter as you tried to comprehend everything that happened within that ten minute window.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on y’all, but I didn’t want to barge in mid conversation”, her voice sounded from behind you.

You jumped a bit, not exactly expecting for your boyfriend’s ex to sneak up on you like that. “I-it’s okay really”, you reassured her, covering the corn in tin foil.

“I can tell he hasn’t changed much”, she started, “He never was much of a talker.”

“He talks to me, it’s just not always as easy for him as it is for us”, you retorted, packing the other bowls in the fridge. “It’s a matter of mutual respect and understanding.”

She rested her hip against the counter, crossing her arms in front of her. “Well, respect is earned.”

You mentally knocked yourself on the head, not wanting to deal with this or spend a whole weekend biting back catty and snarky replies. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean for that to-“

“How far along are you?”, she interrupted, nodding towards your stomach.

You reflexive hand on your bump, feeling a bit uneasy. “Excuse me, w-what?”

“Oh come on, you’re not fooling anyone with the oversized shirt, I have two sisters with kids”, she explained, coming closer.

“W-we really-“, you started once again.

“Oh was it unexpected?”, she questioned, making somewhat of a face.

You set the last dishes in the sink, intent on getting out of this conversation. “Javier asked me to help in there, so, I’ll see you at the table.”

It was a poor excuse, but one that worked nonetheless. You hurried your way out of there, re-joining the three men in the living room, taking a seat on the couch next to Javier. He rested his arm on the cushion behind you, encouraging you to sit closer. He noticed you’d gone somewhat pale but didn’t decide to pursue his train of thought, instead listening to the other two go on about some truck repairs.

Lorraine joined a few minutes later, smiling at the two of you before sitting down next to her husband. “So, how’s Columbia been?”, she asked, not specifically looking at either of you.

“Closing in on Escobar and the cartel, but the situation is stable as of right now. Had some close calls but we mostly manage to come out on top”, Javier answered, looking at you during the second part.

The three of them looked at you now, and you answered the question before any of them could ask it. “I work at the embassy as well, DEA, same division and office.”

“But you’re quitting, right?”, Lorraine pressed, pouring herself a glass of whiskey.

“Depends, but for now I have no intention of resigning.”

That seemed to set the husband off a bit, who leaned forward more, actively engaging in the ongoing conversation. “That’s kind of irresponsible, don’t you think? Exposing yourself and your child to all that corruption, drug use and violence.”

You noticed the way Javier’s jaw tightened, his fingers balled up into a fist. “We’re not just throwing her out there. There’s barely any field work to do now and she’s not putting herself at risk.”

You laid a hand on his thigh, hoping to calm him even just the tiniest bit. “I stick to mainly office jobs now, but if I do go out I have Javier and my other partner right alongside me.”

Chucho shot you a wink, assuring you that you were doing great. “She can handle herself just fine out there, pregnant or not. One of the best damn agents we have out there”, Javier continued, now wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“Does the embassy know about you two then?” You both nodded. “Sounds like one heck of a complicated mess to me”, Lorraine chuckled.

“If anything, I think she’s keeping him sane down there”, Chucho intervened. “They can’t have much of an objection to that, she’s saving them heaps of therapy bills.”

You and Javier both softly laughed at that, lacing your fingers with one another. “It’s nice to have someone down there. If I didn’t have him to come home to every night I wouldn’t know how I’d survive down there”, you confessed.

The hearts in his eyes were nearly visible as he just plainly admired you. He drank in your praising words as he tried his best not to show just how flustered he was. Chucho knew his son better than that, grinning at the two of you as he raised his glass. “Bueno, bienvenida a la familia, mi hija.” (Well, welcome to the family my girl/daughter.)

You blushed a bit at Chucho’s words, staring down at your lap as you tried to keep yourself from grinning like an idiot. Javier pecked your cheek, muttering something about appetizers. You sat next to him at the table as well, right in front of Lorraine as Chucho seated himself at the head of the table. The atmosphere seemed to have finally turned around and there was some light-hearted conversation going on, with an occasional burst of laughter.

The rest of the evening went by just as smoothly, the only hiccup when you and Lorraine were alone in the kitchen, plating the turkey and getting the heated dishes out of the oven or off the stove.

“I’m sorry for being nasty earlier tonight, I just want the best for Javier”, she explained, shrugging off her oven mittens. “He’s a very complicated man, but it seems like you’ve got him figured out.”

“Thank you for apologizing, I’d hate for us to not get along”, you smiled, grabbing a hold of a kitchen towel. “And I’m sorry Javi was such a prick to you back in the day.”

She chuckled. “It’s all good, I’m very happy with my husband, we just haven’t been blessed with kids yet.”

“Well, when you least expect it, it might just happen”, you joked, softly stroking your own bump.

“I can tell he really cares about you, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little jealous.”

You both laughed at that. “How do you think I felt when I saw you walk in? Such a gorgeous Texan woman, tough competition.”

“Now, now, don’t be silly. You’re much more his type! Adventurous, sexy, witty, tough, independent.. you could teach me a lesson or two”, she replied, handing you a pair of mittens yourself.

“Whatever the case, I need some dinner first – I’m starving.”

The table was covered in little plates and bowls, the smell of turkey and gravy lingering in the dining room as you joined the others there. You sat down once again, practically drooling as you looked over the absolute feast in front of you. Chucho started off with a little speech, expressing how grateful he was to have you all there and how happy he was to have a new addition to the family. There wasn’t much talk during dinner, all of you eager to just dig in and have at it. Javier had an amused look on his face as he watched you go for a third serving of that creamy mash, giving you an extra big scoop as you pouted at him. By the end of your main course, your bump had nearly doubled in size, your oversized shirt more regular sized that intended. Javier was right there with you, leant back in his chair with his belt unbuckled.

Lorraine’s husband, David, was already up and carrying dishes into the kitchen and when you go up to do the same, you felt a gentle hand on your arm. Chucho was sweetly smiling at you. “Why don’t you sit down for a bit, you’ve been on your feet for way too long.”

Javier went to stand as well, grabbing a hold of both your plates until his father cleared his throat once more. “Go join your girl, we’ll take care of it.”

You really tried, but protests didn’t get you very far in this house. So you eventually ended up on the couch, curled up in Javier’s side, a soft quilt covering your legs. He slowly but surely started laying down more flat, subtly taking you with him, until eventually you both fell asleep on the couch. He had his arms wrapped around your back, his cheek resting against your head as your nose was nuzzled into the collar of his shirt.

Lorraine and David were headed out for a walk, leaving only Chucho. Upon finding the two of you, he grabbed a second quilt, snatching the camera off the dresser to snap a picture of the both of you. It all felt very surreal to him, his son coming back from Columbia a better version of himself, but as he saw the two of you laid there, a pure depiction of intimacy and care, he sure as hell believed it. His boy was in love and worse than he probably realised himself.

You woke up to the screen door falling shut, successfully jolting you awake. This sudden motion in turn caused Javier to wake up as well, immediately putting his hands on you. You quickly reassured him, giggling a little as he fixed your dishevelled hair. The sun was setting by now, an orange hue filtering in through the drawn curtains.

Dessert was filled with more small-talk, Javier eventually zoning out, not being the overly social type. You put a hand on his thigh under the table, sending an encouraging smile his way, reminding him that it was almost over. But when David suggested some more drinks on the couch, you could tell your boyfriend was getting annoyed. Deciding to be a good girlfriend, you stepped in.

As you went to stand you let out a purposely loud wince and hissed a breath. All eyes were on you, entirely according to plan. Even Javier thought you were serious, immediately holding out a hand to steady you.

“Querida?”, he asked.

“I’m okay Javi – just my back”, you lied, placing a hand there yourself.

Chucho put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Hijo, debes cuidar a tu esposa.” (Son, you should go take care of your wife.)

“Oh no – I don’t want to cut things short”, you continued, bracing your other hand on the table.

Lorraine moved to stand on your other side, grabbing a hold of your arm. “Nonsense, let’s get you to bed. Javier can help you up and I’ll get you a heating pad”, she tutted, guiding you into his arms.

You apologized another couple of times before Chucho ushered you upstairs as well, insisting you needed some rest. Halfway up the stairs, hidden from view, Javier let go of you letting you walk the rest of the way by yourself. Once inside the room, with the door shut, he pulled you flush against him, capturing your lips with yours for a saccharine kiss.

“Thank you”, he muttered, stepping away from you as he heard some steps down the hall.

Lorraine knocked before entering, handing Javier the heating pad. “We’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

As the door shut again, he threw it right at you, sighing as he rested his head against the door. “I made the right decision at that altar. She doesn’t shut up, does she?”

You threw the pad right back, shaking your head as he caught it. “Manners, Peña.”

The next morning you were hit with karma, hard karma. You were just in time, registering the familiar nausea and biting acidic feeling in the back of your throat and flailing the covers off of your body, rushing into the bathroom. You fell to your knees, so hard they’d be bruised, bracing yourself on the porcelain as you emptied out your guts. Your morning sickness was still around, but it wasn’t a daily reoccurrence anymore. But this very morning, it hit your hard, your back arching with the intensity of it all, legs shaking.

With the door wide open, Javier woke as well, hearing you wretch and hurl in the other room. He decided to give you some space, knowing you didn’t enjoy him seeing you like that. But when after ten minutes, it still wasn’t over and you were still heaving every thirty seconds, he decided the head downstairs.

He was greeted by his father, who sat at the kitchen table in a flannel, reading a newspaper. “Hoy te has levantado pronto. Something wrong?” (Well, you’re up early.)

“You have any mint tea or something?”, he asked, frantically flipping through the cabinets, “Usually helps her out.”

“Throwing up?”, Chucho questioned, folding his paper in half. “Go take care of her, I’ll bring something up.”

Javier just nodded, quickly grabbing a glass from the cupboard before sprinting up the steps again. He found you completely out of breath, head leaned on your forearms as your chest heaved up and down. He knelt down beside you, gently helping you into his arms, letting you lean back against him.

“Take a deep breath, I’m right here, corazón”, he shushed, wiping your forehead and mouth with the little hand towel.

You pushed his arms aside, sitting back up as you felt another wave of nausea hit you. He closed his eyes, annoyed there wasn’t more for him to do or help you. He fished a hair tie out of your make-up bag, tying your hair back before stroking up and down your back. It hadn’t been this bad since that day of the raid and he bit his lip as he tried to keep his worries to a minimum.

There was a knock at the door and Javier left your side only to see his father standing there, with a tray of stuff. “Have her drink those and eat that, she should be okay then.”

Without any more words he handed the tray over to his son, patting his shoulder before taking his leave again. Once back in the bathroom he noticed you were sat back against the wall, wiping your mouth down with the towel once again. He handed you one of the glasses and you tipped it back, scrunching up your nose at the sour taste. Javier encouraged you to keep going, handing you to second glass before also handing you the stack of saltines.

Once you managed to get all of that down, you took a deep breath, resting your cheek against the cold tiles on the wall. “This baby better be the cutest one ever.”

“How’re you feeling?”, he asked, kneeling down in front of you.

“I don’t know what was in those horrendous drinks, but it sure did something”, you chuckled, letting him pull you to your feet. Once up you reached for your toothbrush, eager to get the weird mixture of flavours out of your mouth.

He wrapped his arms around you again, sighing into your hair. “You’re shaking, querida. Get back in bed.”

“I’m fine Javi, just let me put on some clothes and we can get some breakfast”, you explained, turning around to face him.

He carefully knocked his forehead against yours. “Okay.. but if you so much as feel dizzy you’re laying the fuck down.”

There was something sweet about how protective Javier got at that times. It had started even before the two of you got in a bed together, within the first weeks of you working with the two of them. Whether it was giving you the newest and best vest or going into raids in front of you, he always made sure he had you covered. It didn’t stop there, that side of Javier started to come up more and more, whether it was defending you from patronizing glances and comments at the office or sex-crazed sicarios at the bar, he was always there. And now, as you were walking down the staircase of his childhood home, nearly three months pregnant, he was there as well. His broad palm engulfed yours as he guided you down the steps, telling you to watch out for the carpet on the last four of them.

Chucho was stood in the kitchen, bent over the stove stirring in a pan. He gave you a smile and a wink as you took a seat at the kitchen table, Javier disappearing into the garage.

“Feeling better?”, he asked with an amused tone.

You crossed your legs, skimming over the headlines on the front page of the newspaper. “Loads. How’d you know what to do?”

He set a plate of breakfast down in front of you and himself, sitting next to you. “My wife.. she had really bad morning sickness when she was pregnant with Javier. Doctor gave us a whole list of home remedies to try. It’s the sour foods you need.”

You listened intently, surprised by his knowledge and experience with pregnancy as a whole. “It worked like a charm, tasted putrid but did the job.”

“Remind me to write it down for you, got something to counter the swelling as well”, he told you, swinging his fork as he spoke.

Before you could thank him Javier walked back in with a bottle of milk. Filling a plate for himself before taking a seat across from you, next to his father. “Fence looks pretty banged up, had a storm recently?”, he asked, shoving a forkful of bacon and eggs in his mouth.

“Earlier this week, meant to fix it before you came but didn’t have time.”

“Oh”, you chimed in, “we could give you a hand, I mean we’re here anyways, might as well help out.”

Chucho put a hand over yours. “Hija, you helped enough with dinner yesterday, take the day off.”

Javier cut you off before you could even so much as begin to protest, talking to his dad himself. “She’s right pop, we’ve fixed it before, no reason we can’t do it again. Weather’s nice enough today.”

It was uncharacteristically warm today, the beaming sun making it feel like a nice late summer day. You were sat up against a tree, comfortably watching from a distance as the two men worked on some replacements for the fence. Being the stubborn woman that you are, you’d insisted that you could at least do something, so Chucho shut you up by giving you some of his work shirts. They all needed some repairs, just simple patchwork and some sewing, nothing you couldn’t handle.

They worked on the fence all day, so you offered to make some dinner, using some of the Thanksgiving leftovers. By the time you were done cooking and heating everything up it was about six and the two men still weren’t back. So you went out again, making your way over to the edge of the fence, by the water. You were greeted by your boyfriend, aviators perched on his nose. His shirt had some sweat stains by now, strands of his dark hair plastered against his glimmering forehead.

“Dinner’s ready, you two can finish up tomorrow”, you suggested, leaning up against the good part of the fence. “I set the outside table, so the floors won’t get too dirty.”

To say Chucho was happy to have you here would’ve been an understatement. It hadn’t even been forty-eight hours, but the man was no fool. It was almost magical, the way you could just conjure up a day filled with smiles and joyful banter, it had been too long since that was the case. He’d been somewhat anxious to hear his son had put himself out there again, fearing another Lorraine might be the case, but seeing the way you took care of one another, the old man recognized a fairy-tale when he saw one.

The next day you managed to sleep in, being woken up by the dipping of the mattress. When you opened your eyes you were met with a sweaty Javier and a tray of food. He muttered something about eating lunch in bed before heading for the shower. You just laid back, slowly waking up more as he rinsed the sweat and dirt off of his golden skin, remerging in a flannel and some boxers.

“Why didn’t you wake me up”, you asked, sitting up against the headboard before glancing over the tray.

He sat down next to you, moving the tray as he did. “You needed the rest and we needed to finish the work on the fence. Didn’t think you’d sleep in past lunch though.”

“Javier Peña are you insinuating that I’m lazy?”, you giggled, grabbing the sandwich off the plate.

“I’m insinuating that you’re working too much”, he started, pushing you back into the pillows, “and that you need to take it easy.”

He grabbed a sandwich himself, laying back next to you, wrapping one of his arms around you. “How’s your dad?”

“Pop’s fine, out for the rest of the day”, he sighed, “Which means that I have all day to spend with you. Wherever and however we want.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, nudging his leg with your foot. “We have time for that tomorrow, when we’re home. Let’s soak up some more of the town before we leave instead.”

The two finished lunch together, got dressed and headed out. It was another warm afternoon, a pleasant breeze hitting the apples of your cheeks as the two of you strolled along the local shops. You looked so much like a couple in that instant, his arm slung across your shoulders, fingers fumbling with the strap of your purse. The two of you were talking and laughing about something work-related, his adorable dimple on full display as he smiled at you. He noticed you squinting, eyes struggling to stay open against the sun, so he grabbed the aviators out of his breast-pocket, gently placing them on the bridge of your nose, along with a kiss.

You were blushing like a teenager. Cheeks rosy with adoration and giddiness as you enjoyed the quality time with your boyfriend. The two of you would spend Christmas down in Bogotá, so you figured some early Christmas shopping was in order. Connie and you had a tradition of giving each other the essentials, good wine, some nice candles and soap and something blingy. Hence why you were stood in front of a jeweller, gazing in the window. Javier stood behind you, looking over your left shoulder with both hands resting on your hips.

“See something you like?”, he asked, lips ghosting over your ear.

You bit your lip, looking over the shiny bracelets and necklaces. “Do you think she’d like one of those engraved name bracelets for Liv?”

“What? I thought you were picking something out for yourself”, he chuckled in confusion.

You spun around, bracing your hands on his chest. “And what exactly would I need?”

“A ring maybe? I-I don’t really know what your taste in jewellery is”, he stuttered, scratching the back of his head.

“Why would I want a ring, I barely wear any – oh OH”, you replied, suddenly realizing what he was getting at. “I – what?”

He immediately started shifting, his confidence seemingly leaving his body. “You know, if we’re gonna raise a kid together and be together, might as well tie the knot. It’ll save us a lot of questions and weird looks.”

Your mouth hung open, eyes staring straight at him through the tinted glasses. “That is just the worst way of doing this. But I really like the gemstone rings”, the last part was more of a whisper, your hand on the doorhandle as you walked into the shop.

He smirked to himself, shaking his head as he followed you. “So not big on diamonds, huh?”

“Putting down thousands of dollars for some broken glass? Now, I thought you knew me better than that, Peña”, you teased, peering over at the displays.

Some sales assistant soon greeted the two of you, flashing you a bright, teeth-baring grin. “Good afternoon, can I help you?”

“Hi, yes”, you replied, smiling as well, “I’m looking for a bracelet to engrave, something cute and simple, adjustable as well.”

And with that the two of you were off, leaving Javier to look at all the shiny displays and windows surrounding him. You never ceased to amaze him, mocking him for his impromptu “proposal”. He chuckled into his hand as he looked over the rings. The two of you would get your little moment, he was sure of it, but some grand, big gesture wasn’t exactly in the cards, though he supposed a nice ring would mean a lot on its own. He spotted a thing band with three stones, a bigger one surrounded by two smaller ones. The middle stone had somewhat of a darker, deep purple/pink to it, a colour he found himself deeply attracted to. It had character yet subtlety, refinement yet something robust. It stood out but not because of the size or design, it stood out because it embodied you.

A second sales assistant was helping him now and he discreetly pointed over at you, asking the employee if they could estimate your ring size from here. There was a bit of laughter, but ultimately Javier walked out with a tiny box, lucky enough to have a suitable size in stock. You’d slipped the employee your actual size while Javi thought he was being slick.

The rest of the afternoon you were on the lookout for something for Steve and Javi. But soon you decided to stop at a little café, needing to be of your aching feet for a while. You sat in a booth alongside Javier, thigh to thigh with his arms around your waist. You shared a slice of cake with him, talking about a shop you’d seen in passing. A few shopping bags sat among you, mainly presents and necessities, seeing how the market for maternity clothing and necessities wasn’t as varied as the one here in Laredo.

By the time the two of you got back to the ranch it was already dark. You walked in through the backdoor, Javier’s jacket wrapped around you as it cooled off a lot more outside. Chucho was sat at the kitchen table, oiling up some of his tools.

“Have a nice day?”, he asked with a half-sided smile.

You plopped down in the seat across from him, letting out a deep breath. “I never knew Laredo was so fun.”

“Well, feel free to visit more often, especially if you need help with that little one”, the old man pointed out, gesturing to your bump.

“Trust me, I’ll drag Javi here myself if need be”, you whispered, raising your eyebrows in the direction of your boyfriend. “Let me write down the address for you as well, just in case.”

Later that night, when Javier was already fast asleep you snuck back downstairs. You were still hungry, the whole “eating for two” thing clearly no understatement. When you were in the living room you noticed the light in the kitchen was still on. You carefully approached the door, relaxing when you saw it was just Javier’s father.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt”, you softly spoke, bracing your hands on the doorframe.

He shut the tiny television off, beckoning for you to have a seat. “You’re not, hija. Why are you still up?”

You swiped a strand of hair behind your ear, stopping a yawn from slipping out. “Was feeling hungry, baby is like a bottomless pit.”

The two of you quietly laughed at that, Chucho gesturing towards the fridge. “By all means.. Unless you want me to make you something?”

“Oh no, no, you’ve done so much already, Sir, some bread will do”, you assured him, grabbing the bread from the cupboard.

“Call me Pop, sweetheart, we’re a family now”, he reminded you, getting up to get you some cheese and ham. “You need the fats, they’ll keep the cravings away for a while.”

You gratefully took his advice, shoving a first bite into your mouth. “I’m sorry Javier’s been so distant, he gets caught up in his own head down there.”

“I’m glad he came, it’s been years”, he put a hand on your cheek, making you look right at him. “Thank you for giving me back my boy.”

Whatever you expected it wasn’t that. You put the sandwich on the counter, wrapping your arms around the man, trying to keep yourself from crying. “Thank you for giving me a family.”

Leaving that Sunday morning was harder than you’d expected. Chucho couldn’t resist as he stocked your bag up with some home goodies, stressing once again that you should call more often. There were no tears, only genuine smiles and warm hugs as he dropped you off at the airport. The flight back was easy and nice, giving the two of you the opportunity to rest some more. Your drive back to the apartment was prolonged by the afternoon traffic, successfully annoying your partner.

“Do you want to come tomorrow night?”, you asked, trying to distract him from the person cutting him off.

“What’s tomorrow?”, the hand on your thigh moved to the stick, putting it in neutral as the car stopped yet again.

“I have my twelve week check-up, for the baby”, you clarified, sprawling a hand over your lower gut.

He grabbed a hold of your hand, gently pressing his lips to your knuckles. “Of course, querida, I’d love to go.”

You’d noticed his eagerness as soon as you set foot off that airplane, his hands seemingly both everywhere and nowhere at once. Sure the two of you weren’t teenagers anymore, but four days without any actions was even starting to get to you. His hand on your knee was enough to send that familiar electricity coursing through your veins. He was right there with you, the shirt you were wearing oversized to a point where the neckline slid down just enough to show off the top of your breasts. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried back in Texas, it was that you’d slapped his wrist away as soon as he did so.

He cursed the Columbian traffic, fingers tapping on the steering wheel as he tried to control the aching need to lose himself within you. Even just the sight of you, comfortably resting your head against the window was enticing. Once of the main road, it went a bit faster, his foot pressing down on the pedal a bit harder on the last street. He parked the car in one motion, not bothering to check if he was in between the lines. You got out of the passenger side, walking back to the trunk to get your bags, but Javier grabbed your hand before you could. The look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know: get to the apartment now.

The door closed as he pushed you up against it, pressing needy open-mouthed kisses to the crook of your neck while his hands worked on the buttons of his shirt. You briefly pushed him off, ripping your own shirt off before unclasping your bra behind your back. He let out a low groan at the sight of it, letting his own shirt drop to the floor as he surged forwards, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. His hands found themselves on your breasts, squeezing the tender flesh as he pressed his groin into your hip.

“I fucking need you, baby”, he growled, literally sweeping you off your feet.

You let out a squeal, immediately wrapping your arms around his neck. “You seriously need to stop doing that! There’s a reason your back always hurts!”

“And I’m sure you’ll take care of it later”, he chuckled, setting you down in front of the bed.

He pushed you onto the mattress, immediately following suit, kissing up every inch of your body, paying special attention to your bump. “Oh don’t tease now”, you whined, sitting up to drag his face over to yours. “Fuck me, Javi.”

“Don’t you blow your back out now.”

Taglist: @pedritomando @peterhollandkait @radiowallet @ophelia-ingenue @phoenixhalliwell @diogodxlot @rosiefridayrogersunday @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @asta-lily @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @missstef23 @jasmincita @dobbyjen @kesskirata

#javier peña x reader #javier pena #javier peña #illicit limerence #pedro pascal #narcos #imagine

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bloodfromthethorn · 4 years ago

Text

Misunderstandings

Their partnership might have gotten off to a bad start, but Mac has a good feeling about Jack Dalton - right up until he messes it all up, that is.

Or, the time Jack learns about Mac's fear of heights and it's still not the most important realisation he has that day.

Also on AO3

Mac had never really been sure quite what he expected from Afghanistan and now, six months in, he still wasn’t particularly confident on exactly what it was he had found. It certainly hadn’t been easy, and he’d already managed to experience the most profound loss he’d felt since the death of his grandpa, but there was still something undeniably… compelling about it all. The way he could fall into an uncomfortable bed at the end of the day exhausted but with the bone-deep knowledge that the work he had done was important, had made a difference. That there were people walking around out there, living their lives, because of the things that he had done.

It wasn’t good, precisely, but it wasn’t all bad either.

Jack was a wrench in the works. They couldn’t have gotten off to a poorer start and for a hairy moment there, Mac had been convinced that the next two months of his life were really going to be hell on earth. Jack was loud-mouthed, crass, opinionated, and had some of the worst taste in both music and film known to man. He had little to no regard for anyone else’s opinion of him and he was more than ready to settle a fight with his fists if he thought the situation called for it.

He was also probably the best soldier Mac had ever met.

It might have taken them some time to get traction but after the first few rocky missions, they’d both managed to settle down just enough to actually get a good look at one another. What Mac had found was nothing like what he’d expected.

For one, Jack was very, very good at his job. A crack shot, backed up with a keenly tactical mind that went far beyond anything Mac had been taught at basic. He’d never asked to see Jack’s file – and given that he was almost certain the man had been an Alphabet at some point, he’d probably get denied even if he tried – but he had a feeling that the record would be long, expansive, and impressive. He knew far too much about soldiering to not have been doing it most of his life and he handled a vast range of weaponry with too much familiarity to have always been saddled with Overwatch duties.

No, somewhere in his past, Jack had been crafted into an immense force to be reckoned with. He might tell jokes, laugh loudly, and act the fool, but buried underneath it all was something dangerous just waiting to be unleashed. It should have been scary – and in a distant, sort-of-intrigued kind of way, it was – but mostly Mac was just impressed. Whatever else he might have done, Jack had decided to use his extensive training to serve the purpose of protecting EOD technicians in a place where there were enemies at every corner.

More than anything, Jack made him feel safe . Safe in a way he hadn’t truly felt since watching Peña die barely twenty feet from him. After so long in the Sandbox, constantly having to watch his back as his hands took apart contraptions designed to kill him, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be out from under that constant cloud of dread. Jack gave him that freedom and Mac couldn’t help but be hopelessly thankful for it.

Of course, increasing familiarity aside, it wasn’t perfect. Two men trapped in very close quarters in a high stress environment were occasionally going to butt heads no matter what, and Mac wasn’t naive enough to think they’d be an exception.

Jack had been waylaid by a messenger as soon as the pair of them arrived back on base, both already worn out from a long, overly hot day in the sun. In an act of mercy, he’d waved Mac off to go on ahead in an attempt to spare him whatever bureaucratic nonsense was likely about to come his way – an assumption that was almost immediately proved accurate when three minutes later Mac saw him stalking off in the direction of the command centre.

He didn’t think much of it; Jack was perpetually being pulled in by the brass for reasons he was never particularly keen to explain. When directly asked, he’d always brushed it off with some sarcastic comment about how people just couldn’t get enough of his charm, but the hardness in his eyes had stopped Mac from trying to press further. If anything, it only added to his growing surety that Jack was a far more important person than he wanted to appear. Nothing Mac was doing was of particular note to anyone beyond what command already learned through his reports, but if someone with extensive training in observation and tactics was given free rein to roam the area under the radar for the sole purpose of watching what was going on – like, say, an Explosive Ordnance Disposal Overwatch – then that opened up a whole new avenue of surveillance.

If he’d had to bet, Mac would have said that according to the letter of Jack’s job description, keeping him safe was a secondary consideration at best. Fortunate, then, that the man himself didn’t seem like the type of person to do anything halfway.

Today, though, something was different. On the way back to base, Jack had been relaxed and easy, content as always to fill in Mac’s silence with a running commentary of his own about what he was most looking forward to when he got back to Texas, but clearly whatever had happened in the command tent had thrown that off. When he finally stomped into the dorm over an hour later, his brow was shadowed and tense, and he didn’t even acknowledge Mac’s presence as he grabbed a clean set of fatigues and headed for the showers.

Sitting cross legged on his bunk with his gear spread out before him, Mac watched him go with troubled eyes. Jack, as anyone in their situation did, occasionally had off days when he was less talkative and clearly wanted to be left alone, but Mac had never seen him turn on a dime quite so quickly.

Truthfully, Mac hadn’t thought him the type. But, he reminded himself forcefully, he still barely knew the man and regardless, it almost certainly wasn’t any of his business. Far better to just keep going through his kit, cataloguing anything he needed to replace or repair, and let Jack work through whatever his problem was on his own; if he wanted to talk to Mac about it, he knew where to find him.

Despite his preoccupation, Mac did end up immersed in his task. Kit checks were dull but important, and he was fastidious enough to make sure he did the job right every single time. As an EOD tech, he was lucky – everyone else had to do mandatory checks before and after any excursions outside of the FOB, no matter how frequent they may be. Officially EOD specialists were supposed to do the same but in deference to their unpredictable schedule and unique loadouts, command typically waived the usual report requirements and let them do their own thing. He was still liable to be disciplined should he get spot checked and fail, but he had a lot more freedom than most people on the base.

He was about halfway through when Jack made his reappearance, freshly washed but looking no happier for it. He dropped his dirty laundry in a heap next to his trunk and flopped down onto his bunk without a word, reaching out a few moments later to fiddle with the ancient radio beside him. He’d told Mac some time ago that he’d inherited it from his dad and it was clear from the reverence with which he spoke about it that it was deeply important to him. Important enough, apparently, that no one else sharing their tent complained when he had it blasting out whatever station he could pick up, even with the god awful crackle that all but drowned out any actual words that might try to come through.

The crackle that was evidently getting worse, going off the horrendous screech the radio let out the moment it was turned on. Mac flinched sharply at the sudden noise, but didn’t protest. Jack, if anything, looked more pissed off at the continued buzzing no matter how he adjusted the dials, rasping and hissing in turns but never letting any clear audio through. After listening to Jack cursing under his breath for a minute or two, Mac figured it was about time he offered a hand.

“That’s not sounding too good,” he pointed out unnecessarily, keeping his voice light. “Want me to take a look?”

“It’s fine,” was the short response, bitten out and frustrated.

Mac rolled his eyes, not catching the warning edge of Jack’s tone. “Look, I know I promised I wouldn’t touch any of your stuff again, but if you let me have a look, I can probably fix it.”

It was an honest offer – the radio was hardly a complicated bit of kit and Mac was pretty sure he already knew exactly what the issue was. If he was right, he could have it fixed inside of five minutes and he wouldn’t even need to cannibalise parts from anything else to do it. Sure the rule might have been that Mac couldn’t touch Jack’s gear again, but they’d been forced to relax that within a week of working together and recently it had felt more like an in-joke than anything.

Apparently, Jack didn’t feel the same.

“Or you’d just break it down for parts like you do with everything else,” he shot back acidly and for the first time, Mac realised the heaviness in Jack’s gaze wasn’t simple fatigue or irritation; he looked pissed . “Yeah, thanks but no thanks. Keep away from my stuff.”

Mac blinked. The words themselves were surprising, but it was the tone that really cut at him; sarcastic and unfriendly and mean . Mocking in a way that Jack often pretended to be when he was trying to lighten the mood, only this time neither of them was laughing. He looked dead serious.

“I-uh,” Mac said haltingly, forcing himself to suddenly adjust his entire perspective on the conversation. He really had just been trying to help. “Right,” he said after an awkward pause. “Sorry.”

He ducked his head and turned back to the gear spread out across his bunk, wishing fiercely he hadn’t bothered to open his mouth in the first place. Cleaning and sorting his kit had suddenly become a much less enthralling task – and it hadn’t exactly been the highlight of his day to begin with – but he kept his eyes down and vehemently forbade his attention from wandering back to his partner.

Less than a minute later, Jack let out a sharp sigh that might have included a curse, and stomped out of the tent. Mac refused to look up.

They didn’t talk about it. The next morning the pair of them loaded into their transport for the day – for once they’d been gifted an MRAP that in any other situation Jack would probably be crowing about – in stony silence that persisted straight through until evening. The only time Jack deigned to talk to him was for mission-critical comms, almost all of which was delivered via radio in a blank monotone that made it abundantly clear how little he actually wanted to be speaking with him. Mac surprised himself by how fiercely he found he missed the usual inane commentary in his ear.

None of it made sense.

Evidently he’d messed up somehow, done something that crossed a line he hadn’t seen, although he had no idea what it could possibly have been. Okay, yes, the radio was obviously important to Jack on some personal level Mac wasn’t allowed access to and maybe he really didn’t want Mac touching it. That was completely fair – Mac wouldn’t have argued against him at all if the man had just said ‘no’ and left it there. Instead his response had been- Well. There were a lot of words Mac could use to describe it and he didn’t really want to confront any of them.

It wouldn’t change the result either way. Mac had a sneaking suspicion that whatever it was he had broken had been something irreparable, especially if Jack wasn’t even going to let him talk it out.

The closest they came to it that day was during their last call-out for the evening, a surprisingly tricky little device some asshole had planted outside of a shop known to serve US soldiers. A bit of petty revenge most likely, but packing enough explosives to level the building and take out anyone unlucky enough to be standing within a twenty metre radius.

“Everyone within half a block of you is gettin’ out of dodge,” Jack reported about half an hour after their arrival. “No sign of whoever put that thing there.”

Mac digested that, doing a quick mental calculation to decide if the evacuation zone was large enough and ultimately deciding that it was. “Good. You set up somewhere?”

“Behind you, thirty metres back.”

There was a tell-tale tickle on the back of his neck that Mac had come to associate with Jack’s scope passing over him. At the start of their partnership it had made him uncomfortable; now, it was distantly reassuring. A part of him wanted to turn around to make sure of Jack’s position himself, but he knew that was sure to piss Jack off even more – he always got jumpy about Mac indicating his position whenever they were out in the field.

“I’m going to be a while,” he said instead of cracking a joke. “This thing’s complicated.”

“Fast as you can.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

There was a telling silence where a sarcastic retort would normally sit, and Mac had to pause for a second to remind himself that the IED in front of him needed his attention far more than his own unimportant tribulations. It wasn’t until another ten minutes had passed that he spoke again. “Okay, I’ve figured out what I’ve got to do, but I’m going to need some of your gum.”

He said it mostly without thinking, too used to being able to just state what he needed and for Jack to freely offer up whatever it was, albeit with some bellyaching about having to give up his stuff. The words were already out of his mouth before he remembered how vehemently Jack had been against Mac being anywhere near his personal possessions just yesterday.

Fortunately, Jack seemed to understand the urgency of the situation, because he simply sighed before saying, “Copy that. On my way to you.”

He didn’t offer any further protest when he appeared at Mac’s back either, handing over the stick of gum without a word, then hunkering down in the alleyway to keep watch with his rifle balanced on his knee. It was strangely normal for all that had come before, except for the silence that still hung over them like a cloud.

Exhausted, and with bigger things to focus on, Mac just went about his job and didn’t say another word.

Jack’s mood continued over the next few days, with little sign of abating. It would have been much easier to bear if Mac had any clue what exactly had triggered it beyond the vague sense that this was all somehow his fault, but it wasn’t like he could just walk up to the man and ask. Any time he’d even thought about striking up conversation or doing anything to try to make peace, Jack’s responses had been sharp and to the point. He didn’t want to talk, that much was clear, and Mac was nothing if not a quick learner.

After the first day of strained silence, he figured it was better to just keep his mouth shut and stay out of Jack’s way.

One thing he hadn’t really counted on was how strange it would feel now to be wandering around base on his own. Since being paired up with Jack, he’d hardly had a minute to himself – the man took his Overwatch duties very seriously even in the relative safety of the FOB – but now he was apparently free to roam as he pleased. Almost as soon as they returned to base each day, Jack took himself off to places unknown with a determined sort of look on his face and usually didn’t reappear again until he fell into bed beside Mac’s at night. Mac very firmly did not think about what that said about Jack’s newly-discovered ambivalence towards his safety. Now, after only a month of that partnership, it felt almost unnatural to be alone again.

At the very least it meant that he was free to go and eat whenever he felt like it, rather than having to bend around Jack’s schedule. It was that line of reasoning that had him heading towards the mess that evening, late enough to miss the main crowd who piled in at 7 but too early to run into the late shift teams who had a second run at things once the night had drawn in. The approach meant that he could count on getting a good table with minimal interference, but it did mean sacrificing any chance of getting decently hot food. The ‘buffet’, such as it was, would be topped up with fresh food at about 10, but for now Mac was stuck with the dried out, cooling remains that no one else had wanted earlier.

He nodded at the woman KP duty, earning an apologetic smile at the state of the food in return, then glanced around the marquee to find somewhere to sit.

A group of camp runners were huddled together in the corner, loudly engaging in a round of ‘I have it worse than you’, but otherwise the place was pretty deserted. With his pick of the tables, Mac settled himself down as far from the runners as he could get, hoping for a little bit of peace, but with no other nearby noise to drown them out, their voices washed over him all the same. They’d taken no notice of his presence beyond a quick check to make sure he wasn’t wearing officer’s stripes and in the absence of any authority, they seemed quite content to air their grievances to anyone close enough to listen.

For the most part he studiously ignored them – he had exactly zero interest in the minutiae of memos being passed around the base – and went about the business of choking down the cold food in front of him quickly enough to avoid its bland flavour.

It wasn’t until he heard a familiar name that he automatically tuned back into the conversation across from him.

“ Please ,” One of the runners was scoffing with an imperial hand wave, “As if Carter is anything to worry about. I’m the one who had to tell Dalton his reassignment request was denied. Thought he was going to take my head off when I said I didn’t know why.”

Mac froze in place, the rest of the discussion fading completely into the background as all the pieces of the puzzle he had been building snapped into place with painful efficiency. So that was why Jack had been so grouchy over the last week, why he’d been so sharp whenever Mac had tried to make conversation: he’d put in a transfer request to get away from him and been shot down. Jack wanted to leave and couldn’t. Of course.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Mac knew how he could come across, had seen how people reacted to all the weird quirks of his personality, and Jack would hardly be the first person in the world to take one look at him and start heading for the hills – hell, he’d barely crack the top hundred. And yet, despite all of that, all of his previous experience warning him that anyone could leave at any time for any reason, Mac still found himself caught wholly off guard.

He'd thought they’d been getting better. Sure, it wasn’t like they were close and half the time they could still barely stand each other, but more and more that had felt like an act they were putting on to avoid revealing they didn’t actually mind each other all that much after all. Clearly he’d been wildly wrong in that assumption. What he’d thought was increasing camaraderie was- what? Nothing but his imagination? Or maybe an attempt on Jack’s part to show the brass that he really had given their partnership an honest shot before trying to bail?

Worse than the simple rejection was how deeply unnecessary it felt. As Mac had so often been reminded, Jack only had twenty-eight days left of his tour before he was headed home for good and none of this would even matter anymore. Was he truly so unhappy with Mac’s partnership that he was going to go through the arduous process of reassignment for the sake of four weeks? He’d just had to stick it out for one more month and he would have been free and clear, and yet somehow that was still too much.

It might have been insulting if it hadn’t been so fucking painful.

But this wasn’t the place for that. None of these were revelations he should be having in the mess hall, in full view of anyone who cared to look in his direction. He shook himself forcefully, surprised to realise that his entire body had gone rigid while his mind raced in all directions, and made himself climb to his feet. There was still some food left on his plate but if it had been unappetising before, now it was positively nausea-inducing. Mac knew he wasn’t getting any of it down his throat without it making a reappearance sooner or later, so he quietly chucked the scraps in the bin, returned his tray, and retreated to the barracks as quickly as he possibly could without drawing attention.

Two of the guys were there, both camped out on their own bunks as they occupied themselves with whatever they got up to in their downtime, but neither did more than nod in acknowledgement as he made his way past them to his own bed. Truthfully, he was glad of the pseudo-privacy. He wasn’t entirely sure what he would have done if Jack had been there – most likely he would have said something regrettable – but in his absence, Mac was free to mull over this new information without interference.

A large, loud part of him demanded that he go and find Dalton right now so they could hash this out, get it all out in the open so that at the very least Mac wouldn’t have to feel so fucking stupid for ever thinking they might have been friends. He’d seen that Jack cultivated a very deliberate amiability with the other guys sharing their bunk, even if they weren’t all on the best terms, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought for even a second that his Overwatch might be turning the same trick on him. He’d been so goddamn stupid .

Another, much quieter and injured part of him kept insisting that he must have gotten something twisted, connected the wrong wires to the wrong ports, and really this was all some big misunderstanding because he couldn’t bear the alternative.

He ignored them both. As much as he might want not want it to be true, he knew what he’d heard and all the pieces fit together too perfectly for him to have somehow misconstrued their meaning. His own feelings did not affect the facts, and he’d do well to remember that. And fighting with Jack wasn’t going to solve anything, it was just going to upset what little balance they managed to actually maintain. Despite his best efforts, Dalton’s transfer request had been denied so he wasn’t going anywhere for another month – Mac could grin and bear the discomfort until then, even if it meant having to sit next to a man he’d thought a friend for every single one of those twenty-eight days.

The humiliation of it all was almost unbearable, and he knew just how easy it would be to let it become rage instead – but he wouldn’t do that. If Jack wanted to leave then he wouldn’t be the first, which meant the fault almost certainly lay with Mac and there was no point trying to punish the wrong man for it. Sure, Jack pretending they were getting along was kind of a low blow, but it was understandable; they were stuck together in extremely close quarters, might as well act like they were comfortable there, right?

Maybe Jack had had the right idea all along. Mac was the one who hadn’t gotten with the programme already.

Besides, he reminded himself firmly as he bit down on the emotions threatening to get away from him, he hadn’t signed up to be sent into an active warzone to defuse explosives to feel safe . It didn’t matter one jot that Jack had managed to give him that for a time – that wasn’t his job and Mac didn’t have any right to mourn its loss. He needed to grow the fuck up and stop looking to others to protect him – he was a soldier in the US army and it was high fucking time he started acting like it.

With a tight sigh, Mac forced his stressed body to relax and flattened himself against his bunk, glaring a hole in the canvas above him.

Just twenty-eight days, and he could be done with this mess. Four weeks. He could do that.

Despite the bedlam going on inside his head, the heat and the shade must have got the best of him because he was jolted out of a doze an hour or so later by Jack Dalton himself smacking at his foot. He twitched the limb out of range with a muffled grunt of disapproval before his brain caught up with him and he remembered everything that had transpired before he fell asleep. The faux-irritated expression he’d pulled on crumbled instantly into blankness.

Jack blinked down at him, a bemused smirk on his face. Cuttingly, it was the friendliest he had looked in days. “What happened to you?”

Mac frowned, tried to do a quick mental assessment of what he probably looked like. “What?”

“You look like someone kicked your puppy. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Did you wake me up for a reason?”

His Overwatch’s smirk faded somewhat, his eyes taking on that calculating look he normally got a few seconds before he said something much smarter and more observant than Mac would ever have credited him with when they first met. It was almost a relief – focused was a much easier expression to react to than a smile. “Seriously. What’s happened?”

“ Nothing ,” Mac stressed, trying and failing to keep a thread of annoyance out of his tone. “Do you need me for something or can I go back to sleep?”

It wasn’t the right answer, evidently. Jack’s face darkened and he thinned his lips against what was very visibly going to be an annoyed outburst, but in the end all he said was, “On your feet. We’re heading out.”

That was- unusual. He cast a quick glance at the clock. “Now? It’s going to be dark in a few hours.”

“Yeah well, tell that to the T-men. C’mon, get up. I wanna roll out in five.” With that he retreated to his own bunk to retrieve his equipment and resolutely ignored Mac.

Still confused and really wishing that he could just roll over and go back to sleep if only to avoid what was obviously going to be another uncomfortable Humvee ride, Mac obligingly scrambled to his feet and started pulling out his own gear. For all the little bits and pieces of equipment they had to keep track of, both of them kept their packs ready to go at a moment’s notice, so it was really only a matter of slipping on his jacket and vest, then stopping by the mess to refill his water bottle and grab a few energy bars before Mac found himself sliding into the passenger seat of the Humvee. Apparently more prepared than he had been, Jack was already waiting for him.

“Got a bit of a situation a few klicks out,” He announced once Mac was settled. “Looks like someone’s trying to sabotage our communications – a scout team thinks they’ve found an IED on one of our radio towers. Shouldn’t be anything too complicated for you, but there’s a lot of visibility and no cover so we need to get this done ASAP, understand? The scouts are patrolling the area and I’ll have your back, but someone might try to get lucky with a sniper, so keep your head down .”

There was a lot there to work through – most importantly just what Jack meant by on the radio tower – but he didn’t bother voicing any of those questions. He’d see the situation soon enough and his priority needed to be elsewhere. “Did the scout team say what type of device we’re dealing with?”

“Negative. Couldn’t get a good look without approaching and they figured that probably wasn’t a good idea.”

They had likely been correct in that assumption, but it didn’t make Mac’s job any easier. Approaching an unidentified device was nothing new to him, but it wasn’t something that gelled well with the speed at which Jack was evidently hoping this was going to go. If he rushed anything for fear of being shot, he ran a much higher risk of blowing the pair of them up and doing the terrorists’ job for them.

As promised, it wasn’t a long trip and within ten minutes they came to a stop in the gathering gloom, about a hundred metres away from the tower in question. The 150-metre-tall tower. God, this was not going to go well.

“When you said the device was on the tower,” He started slowly, his eyes darting around the ground supports he could see and coming up blank, “You actually meant on , huh?”

Jack snickered, either not noticing or not caring about the thread of uncertainty Mac could feel in his voice. “Hope you’re ready for some climbing.” He paused, then relented slightly by adding, “We don’t have to go the whole way. Report said it was about half way up. There’s a platform for maintenance work.”

If he had noticed the apprehension, evidently he was assuming that Mac just didn’t feel like climbing up there with all his gear dragging him down. Technically he wasn’t wrong about that – he’d just missed the why. Mac wilfully held in a shudder.

“Now, normally I’d say you should wait down here while I go up and see what I can see, but given how open this is, neither of us can risk being up there that long,” Jack said, catching him with one of his no nonsense looks. Dalton might act the fool, but he was still a highly trained army sergeant and despite everything, when he gave orders, Mac would listen. “So we’re going to go up together, okay? You’re going to keep your head down and you’re going to get that device handled as quickly as you can. We’ve not got much daylight left to work with and torches are going to be a dead giveaway of our position, so unless you desperately need more light, you keep it off. Understand?”

“Got it.”

This would really be the time to tell Jack that the very thought of going up that tower was enough to make Mac feel physically nauseous – the man was his Overwatch, he needed to know when Mac couldn’t do his job – but he bit his tongue. There was a bomb somewhere up there and he was the only person in a ten klick radius who had any chance of defusing it. His personal discomfort was nothing against the lives that could be lost should their communications chain fail.

With that in mind, he slipped out of the Humvee and shadowed Jack as he strode towards the tower, not letting himself pause to think before putting his foot on the first rung of the ladder and hoisting himself up.

Here goes nothing .

Something was off with Mac. Jack couldn’t quite put his finger on it, exactly, but he was good at reading people and he’d been watching every single move his bomb nerd made for a solid month now so he had a pretty good idea when something wasn’t right. Right now, hunched over a bomb 250 feet in the air, something was very definitely not okay .

The kid had been quiet for days, wrapped up in his own head about something or other judging by the deeply thoughtful face he’d been wearing, but it had meshed well enough with Jack’s own pisspoor mood that he hadn’t bothered to question it. Mac hadn’t seemed anything more than a little subdued, something any soldier downwind was bound to encounter now and again. Their work was hard and the constant threat of danger could weigh anyone down given enough time. Now though? Now it seemed like more.

Admittedly, the whole bomb-250-feet-in-the-air situation might have been a contributing factor, but Mac had faced down hundreds of IEDs in their time together and he’d never once flinched. Whether he was the bravest man Jack had ever met or he just genuinely had no regard for his own wellbeing was something Jack was still trying to figure out, but the point was, he shouldn’t be acting like this. The situation was far from perfect and every second they spent on that tower had Jack’s anxiety levels ratcheting up, but Mac had always kept a level head.

“How’s it coming over there?”

Mac let out a low grumble of sound, his usual stand-in for when he had too many things going on in his head to worry about actual words.

“That well, huh? Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re running out of daylight so if you wanna-”

“Rushing me isn’t helping,” Mac interrupted before Jack had a chance to finish, carefully pulling a now-disconnected wire from the bundle he had been examining.

“Ain’t trying to rush you, just letting you know-”

“Yeah, well, it’s not helping.”

Jack had worked with plenty of EOD techs who would have given him that response and it would have been the most normal thing in the world. With Mac, it was a glaring red flag. Well, that, as well as the fact that Mac hadn’t even bothered to correct Jack’s repeated assertions that they were perched on a radio mast, when he knew good and well it was actually a telecommunications tower. Momentarily lifting his head away from his rifle scope, trusting that the scouts could hold the fort for the next minute or two, Jack turned to stare at his partner. “What’s going on man?”

“I’m concentrating .”

“I’ve seen you concentrating plenty. That’s not what this is. C’mon, you’ve been weird since this afternoon – is this about the other day? ‘Cause I didn’t mean to snap at you and I’m sorry about that, but right now I need to know that you’re good to do this job.”

Mac huffed a sharp breath out of his nose in frustration, his eyes not leaving the place where he was carefully prying apart the panels of the device’s container. It wasn’t until then that Jack finally noticed the way the kid’s shoulders were up around his ears, his whole body rigid where he was hunched over. His hands didn’t shake in the slightest – a necessity in his line of work – but the rest of him was shuddering with fine tremors.

“Mac-” Jack started, alarms blaring to life in his head. He’d known something was wrong , but clearly he had deeply misjudged just how wrong until he’d actually taken the time to look. Goddamn, he was supposed to the kid’s fucking Overwatch! “I need you to talk to me man.”

There was no response so Jack put his eye back to his scope for another quick scan of the surrounding landscape – still as barren and unoccupied as before – before sliding the rifle strap back over his shoulder and turning fully to face his partner. He was far too well versed in working with EOD to ever touch Mac when he had his hands on an IED, but he only had to wait a few seconds before Mac backed up to fiddle with the tools on his knife and he was free to snatch him by the shoulder and forcibly turn him around.

“Jack, what-”

“Something’s going on with you and we are in way too dangerous a position right now for me to not know what it is so start fucking talking to me Mac.” The shoulder under his hand was rock solid with stress and the kid’s face looked bone pale in the fading light. What really grabbed his attention though was the way Mac had shot out his free hand to snatch blindly at the handrail beside him, anchoring himself where Jack had pulled him off balance. Coupling that with the sudden dart of Mac’s eyes to the yawning chasm of the drop beside them, it wasn’t exactly complicated math. “You’re afraid of heights,” he murmured with sudden realisation, his grip on Mac faltering in the face of his own surprise.

Mac’s expression twisted with some combination of resignation and guilt. “I’m doing fine. Just let me get this thing defused and we can all go home, yeah?”

“You’re afraid of heights and you didn’t think this was important information for me to know before now?” If he hadn’t still been sitting half an inch from an active explosive device, Jack would have shaken him.

“ Jack ,” Mac said, apparently also running to the end of his patience, “I’m fine. I’ve almost got this done and I really, really want to get down from here, so can you please just let me do my job while you worry about yours?”

“Looking out for you is my job, dumbass,” Jack snapped back, but he did at least let go of him and return to his post. As much as he might hate everything about this, the fact was that Mac was already here and there was an IED in desperate need of attention right in front of him. Getting that fixed and getting Mac back on the ground pronto had just become priority uno. “Work fast.”

With the dusk drawing in, it made sense to switch out his scope for the thermal one he’d thoughtfully decided to bring with him, though it did mean he’d have to zero the thing before it would be of much use to him. Then again, any shots ran the risk of drawing attention and from so high up, the sound could travel for miles without hitting anything. He held up the loose thermal scope to his eye while he mulled over the problem, making note of the scouts’ positions and checking any obvious spots for potential shooters. Still nothing.

“I’m not rushing you,” he said lowly, “But do you know what kind of timeframe we’re looking at here?”

Mac hummed absently. “Couple more minutes I think. Starting to need light though.”

Which really only meant they needed to get this over with as soon as possible, for Mac’s sake if nothing else. Jack slid the thermal scope back into its slot on his vest and tugged free the square of tarp attached to his pack. Its official use was to give him something to lie on should he need it when settling into a sniper nest, but right now it was of far more use to both of them as a light break.

“This thing isn’t going to go off if I tuck this around you both, is it?” He asked, holding the tarp where Mac could see it.

Even scared out of his mind and all but shaking with it, Mac caught onto the idea in a heartbeat. “No, we’re good. Just make sure you don’t jostle it.”

Jack did as he was bid, carefully constructing a makeshift tent around Mac and the device so he could use a torch without broadcasting his exact location to anyone in a five-mile radius. It wasn’t perfect, certainly, and from the way Mac’s breathing hitched ever so slightly the confinement was doing nothing for his nerves, but it would have to do for now. That taken care of and trusting that Mac could get on with things without further assistance, Jack returned to his rifle and performed another sweeping check of the area.

Still deserted. A quick check-in with the scouts reaffirmed his conclusion.

It was strange that someone had felt the need to climb up here to plant an IED and then hadn’t even bothered to hang around to see the fruit of their labours, but it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. It would hardly be the first time a would-be bomber had seen the US army rolling in and got the hell out of dodge. Regardless, Jack couldn’t help but count the seconds until he was free to get his infuriating EOD technician back into actual, honest-to-god cover.

“How’s that vertigo treating you?” He asked, more to distract his own mind from the sudden, crippling mental image of Mac being taken out by a sniper bullet Jack had no chance of stopping than out of any genuine curiosity. Mac wasn’t going to be happy until he had his feet back on terra firma, that much was clear.

“If you’re trying to help, stop. It’s not working,” was the irate reply.

Despite the gravity of their situation – literally – Jack snickered. “You’re mean as a snake when you’re uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

Mac didn’t bother responding to the dig at all. It could be down to his discomfort at their current predicament, but Jack’s instincts were warning him that there was something more going on here and he’d long since learned to trust his gut when it was trying to tell him something. Another anxious look over his shoulder revealed nothing more than that his tarp tent was mostly doing its job of stopping light spilling out into the growing darkness.

His normal go-to technique for prompting Mac to open up was teasing, but evidently that wasn’t going to get him anywhere this time. Certainly not when they were still so high in the air. Perhaps this was a conversation better saved for when the device was defused and they were back safe in the Humvee on the way back to base; at the very least, Mac couldn’t escape him that way.

Right on cue, the faint glow of Mac’s torch snapped off and his blonde head poked up out of his mini tent. “We’re good.”

“Defused?”

“Yeah. Explosives are still a risk though – we can’t leave them up here.”

Jack eyed the bulky shape still hiding beneath the tarp. “Getting that thing down isn’t going to be easy, kid.”

Mac might have scowled at that, but in the dwindling light it was hard to be sure. “I know that, but no clean-up crew is going to be getting out here until tomorrow morning and a well-placed incendiary round could still set this thing off. I can’t leave it.”

“Okay, okay, I getcha,” Jack soothed. “How’re we doing this then?”

“I can take it apart. Split the weight and the bulk between us. Nothing’s motion or impact sensitive any more so we don’t need to be that careful.”

Jack obligingly slipped off his pack and pushed it in Mac’s direction, trusting him to have a better idea of how they could get everything down safely and instead using the time to dismantle the makeshift rest he’d constructed. Attuned to each other as they were, it was the work of mere moments.

In the interests of getting Mac out of the line of fire – and back on the ground – as fast as possible, Jack ushered him down the ladder ahead of him while he radioed the scouts to fill them in. They returned a chorus of relieved gratitude and promised to maintain their position until Mac and Jack were well on their way out of there, making sure that whoever had set the device in the first place didn’t come back to try again. Already feeling exhausted and knowing he had a debrief waiting for him back on base, aside from whatever the hell was going on with his bomb tech, Jack wrestled down a sigh, and started making his way down the ladder.

He was pleasantly surprised to find Mac waiting for him at the bottom. Jack had long ago implemented a rule that Mac was to stick to his side like glue whenever they were moving in potentially hostile territory, but with whatever was going on with the kid, he hadn’t entirely expected it to hold. That it had was encouraging.

“Alright, let’s- get out of here,” Jack announced on reaching the ground, only just managing to cut himself off from saying ‘blow this joint’ . Mac might normally appreciate the gallows humour, but now was almost certainly not the time.

As if to demonstrate that point, Mac just nodded silently and fell into step just behind his Overwatch without a word.

One of the scouts had been keeping watch over their ride to make sure no one left them any nasty surprises while they were otherwise occupied, though he melted into the shadows of the night as soon as they reappeared. Comforted in the knowledge that he didn’t have to waste any more of his evening waiting for Mac to do a trap check, Jack gratefully folded himself back behind the driving seat and heaved a great sigh of relief. Mac twitched at the sound, but said nothing.

In deference to their shared fatigue, Jack let the silence reign for a solid minute before he broached the subject. “So,” he started slowly, “I get the feeling you and I need to talk.”

Mac’s eyes flicked to him too quickly to be casual, but still he stayed silent. Well, if that was the game he wanted to play, he was damn well going to have to listen, wasn’t he?

“Let’s start by saying that you not telling me about the heights thing was reckless as all hell man, and I mean really, really stupid.” He did what he could to keep the anger out of his voice, but did nothing to soften the seriousness of his tone. For their partnership to work then they needed to be able to trust each other with their flaws and weaknesses; without that, they wouldn’t stand a chance. “You gotta tell me when there’s something going on that’s going to affect your ability to do your thing, no matter what it is. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s something small or unimportant, you have to fill me in. I’m not going to judge you for it if that’s what you’re worried about, but the only way I can do my job is if you’re honest with me. You get what I’m saying to you?”

The blonde was back to his usual sullen trick of staring straight out of the windshield, seemingly seeing nothing, but he did at least incline his head. Even when they’d first been starting out, he hadn’t been this difficult.

“Right. Well. If that’s out of the way, you planning on telling me what’s going on in that head of yours? Something’s been bothering you since this afternoon and clearly it’s important. Fill me in?”

Mac’s forcefully blank expression momentarily fractured into a frown before he got it back under control. “I’m fine Jack. Just tired. I wasn’t expecting to get called out again tonight.”

That was a reasonable excuse, except for the fact he was clearly lying. “Yeah, I’m not buying that. Didn’t I just get done telling you that you needed to let me know when something was going on with you? Whatever this is, I’m pretty sure it qualifies.”

The frown reappeared and didn’t immediately melt away again. Annoyance wasn’t exactly what Jack was aiming for, but at least he was getting a response. “I think I just proved that I’m perfectly capable of doing my job.”

Jack couldn’t help the sharp sigh that escaped him as frustration started to seep into his bones. Clearly he’d miscalculated just how far from alright Mac really was in that moment. Maybe he should have been paying better attention over the last few days after all; well, lesson learned, at least. “I know you are man,” he tried as gently as he was able. “That’s not what I’m getting at. But something’s clearly thrown you off your game and I want to help if I can, okay? This job’s rough enough at the best of times; you don’t need t’be adding to the pile.”

If Mac recognised that for the olive branch it was, he made no sign of it. His only outward reaction was to return his eyes firmly to the windshield and clench his hands together to keep himself from fiddling with a piece of wire he’d been worrying at since they started driving. There was a long, strained pause; Jack desperately wanted to press the matter, but he knew Mac well enough to know that trying would only shut him down further. If Mac didn’t want to share whatever was going on in his head, then he wouldn’t – it was as simple as that.

Fortunately for Jack though, Mac had never seemed all that comfortable with expectant silences. “It’s nothing. I’m just working through something in my head. Don’t worry about it.”

“Mac… Is this about the other day? ‘Cause I meant what I said up there; I’m sorry I lost my temper. It wasn’t ‘cause of anything you did-”

“Look,” Mac said with sudden force, dispensing of his heretofore unconvincing meekness and turning to put Jack directly into his sightline. “I get it. It’s fine. I’m sorry your request got denied but it’s- We’re both stuck here, okay? We’ve got four weeks left and then you can get back home and put all of this behind you. We’ve just gotta get through one more month.”

For the first time in a very, very long time, Jack was stunned into utter silence. Mac apparently took his frozen expression for one of acceptance and turned back to stare straight ahead with a sharp nod, as though they’d come to some sort of arrangement. Jack, for his part, did his best not to crash the Humvee into a ditch as the bottom of his stomach dropped away.

Then he rethought quickly; to have this conversation he definitely needed to be able to keep his eyes on his partner and driving wasn’t exactly conducive to that. He hit the brakes and pulled over. Mac chirped in surprise.

“Okay, woah, hold on,” Jack started, turning bodily to face the man beside him. “Let’s slow it down real quick because I think I’ve missed something here. What are you talking about man?”

Mac blinked at him like he was the one acting weird. “What?”

“What what?”

The blonde scowled faintly, but it wasn’t entirely clear if it was actually directed at Jack. Regardless, he relented with a sigh. “I heard about your transfer request getting shot down. I’m guessing that’s why you were so pissed off? Well, I’m sorry about it. You shouldn’t be stuck with me if you don’t want to be.”

A lot of things suddenly made a lot of sense. Jack could have kicked himself – he would certainly have deserved it. “That’s not- You’ve not heard the whole truth there, man. Shit I’m sorry, it’s-” He bit down hard on his tongue and forced himself to get the words in order. Mac seemed willing to take his stumbling apology as an embarrassed confirmation of the story he’d so readily believed and to be honest, Jack could hardly blame him.

“It isn’t what it sounds like, I promise you,” he said carefully. “I didn’t tell you about the request and that was stupid, but I swear I wasn’t trying to get away from you.”

Mac snorted very softly, a grim smile playing at the corner of his mouth for a moment before he choked it down. In all their time together, Jack had never seen him look so bitter.

“I mean it. I don’t know what you heard, but the request was for both of us.” That got Mac’s head snapping up to stare at him in visible confusion. Jack’s chest clenched painfully with emotion he didn’t want to put a name to. “I heard a rumour we’re being shunted to Paktia to shore up the EOD team in Gardez. They’ve taken some heavy hits lately and want more hands on deck.”

Mac’s brow was furrowed, clearly not entirely trusting what he was hearing but at least willing to listen. Given the circumstances, Jack was surprised he was even allowing that much. “And you didn’t want to go?”

“Hell no,” Jack said instantly. “The Gardez boys might need help but I don’t want to put you within a hundred miles of that place. Ghazni ain’t been kind to you, but at least it hasn’t blown your fool head off; worst we’ve had to deal with here is individual cells trying to make things difficult. Paktia’s crawling with T-men.”

“All the more reason we should be there, helping.”

“Yeah, and what happens in a month when I ship out and you’re stuck there without me to watch your back, huh? I don’t know who your new Overwatch is gonna be and if I can’t be sure they’re gonna have your back, I want to at least try to keep you as safe as I can while I’m here. I put in the request to shift us to Wardak instead. It ain’t safe there either, but it would have given you a cleaner run at things.” He huffed, remembering the raging argument he’d had with the Captain when his request had been denied. Looking back, he’d been lucky to walk away without disciplinary action but he didn’t regret it for a second. “’Course, none of that matters now, since we’re heading to Gardez regardless.”

He forced himself to meet Mac’s eyes and tried not to flinch at the calculating look being shot back at him. Evidently his partner needed a moment to work out whether or not Jack was lying to him to try to save face and that-

-That hurt. It was fair, completely fair , given that Jack had given him exactly no heads up about what was happening before going behind his back to try to rearrange his life without permission, but it was still crushing to realise how badly he’d fucked up. Their start together had been rocky, to say the least, but Mac had a kind of honest goodness about him that made him impossible to dislike after about thirty minutes of knowing him. Put together with his dry humour, endless patience, and his literal, honest-to-god genius, and Jack hadn’t stood a chance of not befriending the kid. It was somewhat convenient that it was Jack’s job to watch Mac’s back, because he had the sense he’d want to spend every second he could trying to protect him.

Then again, that’s what the transfer request had been about and look how that had all turned out. God, he was such a fucking idiot.

“I should have told you all of this before I did anything, I know that. I’m really sorry for it, and I’m even more sorry that you ended up finding out the way you did. That was shitty and you didn’t deserve it for a second. But I promise you, none of it had anything to do with me not wanting to be here.”

There was a pause while Mac’s face did something complicated, then he asked quietly, “You weren’t trying to get away from me?”

“Not for a single second, kid. I would never.”

It was the honest truth and yet Jack knew instinctively that it wasn’t going to sink in in the way he wished it would. Mac hadn’t talked about home all that much in their time together, and what he had let slip had some gaping holes where family should have been; Jack was good enough at hearing what people weren’t saying to understand that at some point, someone had let the kid down badly. Now, apparently, he had to add his own name to that list.

This was all such a goddamn mess .

Whether or not he bought Jack’s attempt at reassurance, Mac did at least appear to accept the truth of his account with a small, thoughtful nod. To be honest, even if he hadn’t believed it, this was something Jack could easily prove once they were back at base by digging out the request file, but it was comforting to know that he hadn’t screwed up so badly Mac couldn’t take him at his word.

“Okay,” Mac said softly, still frowning thoughtfully but no longer twisted up with bitterness and hurt. “Okay. I understand. Sorry for leaping to conclusions, I guess.”

“You ain’t got nothing to be sorry for,” Jack replied instantly. This was not the kid’s burden to bear. “I should have told you. You have every right to be pissed as hell about it, even knowing the truth.”

“That’s not- It’s fine,” Mac said haltingly, not meeting Jack’s eyes. “I appreciate you looking out for me.”

Jack watched him for a long minute as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, taking in all the tiny little signs of distress he should have noticed days ago. It was only now that he was really looking that he could see how fucking exhausted he looked. Like the whole world had come crashing down on him and he was still trying to soldier on under its weight like nothing was wrong.

“Man, I really fucked up, huh?” He murmured quietly. Mac’s gaze twitched to him and away. Louder, he said, “I let you down and I’m sorry for that. I promise, no more secrets.”

There was a pause, then Mac seemed to decide something because he turned to look at him properly again. “That mean you’re going to tell me what you’ve been up to the last couple of days?” At Jack’s blink of surprise, he actually managed the shadow of a smile, despite everything that had happened. “What? You think just because I’m not Overwatch I’m not paying attention?”

Jack couldn’t help but grin at the spark of life returning to his partner’s tone. Of course he’d noticed when Jack had made himself scarce around the FOB. “I watch you and you watch me, huh? Should have known.” He shook his head ruefully. “Well, in that case, if you really want to know, I’ve been hitting up my contacts.”

Mac’s eyebrows rose. Jack rubbed at the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Yeah, yeah, I know I’m just a grunt but I know some people okay? I figured that if I couldn’t get us reassigned from Gardez, at least I could rope in someone I trust to replace me when I’m gone. No one’s as good as me, o’course, but it would be something at least.”

It took Mac a moment to digest that, as if trying to work out what he should react to first. In the end, he settled on, “I don’t think you’re a grunt.”

That was news to him. “No?”

Mac’s smile was a careful thing, like he wasn’t sure this was something he was allowed. “You play a good game, but you know way too much about- well, everything to not have been through something more than bootcamp.”

Jack should have known that he couldn’t get anything by a kid as smart as Mac obviously was, but he was still struck with a quiet swell of pride at how easily his EOD had figured him out.

“Plus, you know you’re by far the highest ranked Overwatch sniper on base? There can’t be many sergeants electing to watch bomb nerds day in and day out.”

There was an obvious question in there, but Mac was still too unsure of the situation to ask him straight up who he’d managed to piss off to get lumped with babysitting duty. And, honestly, that was a whole can of worms that Jack really didn’t want to dig into right now – or ever, really. Instead, he deflected. “Oh? That almost sounded like a compliment. You been checking out my record?”

“No. But if I did, I’d be surprised if most of it wasn’t redacted. Am I wrong?”

He definitely wasn’t. Jack’s smile was sharp as he started up the Humvee again. “You sound like you have some idea already.”

It was a clear invitation and, with only a slight hesitation, Mac took it. “You’re observant in a way that has to be taught. You seem too well travelled for it to not have been international, so I’m guessing CIA. Then there’s the tactical stuff – command wouldn’t ask for your opinion unless you’d been involved in something important. Putting that with that team of yours you sometimes mention without meaning to, I’m guessing you were special forces of some description. That’d explain the rank too.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Still doesn’t explain why you’re stuck watching me though.”

Jack whistled in surprise. Evidently Mac had been paying much more attention than he’d given him credit for. “I’m not stuck doing anything,” he protested lightly. “I like working Overwatch; it’s more relaxing than most gigs.”

Mac shot him a wry smile. “So I’m right then?”

He chuckled easily, letting the strain of their earlier conversation start to bleed out of his shoulders as they settled back into their usual patter. He hadn’t realised until right then just how much he’d missed it and from the way Mac was leaning back in his seat, he was thinking much the same. “About pretty much everything,” he confirmed. “You’re far too smart for your own good, you know that right?”

There was a pause. “You aren’t going to tell me what branch of the special forces you were in, are you?”

“You’re a smart kid,” he said with a broad smile. “You’ll work it out.”

The scene I didn't write is in a few weeks, after Mac's done some thinking and some very careful asking around and he sidles up to Jack one afternoon and very quietly says 'Delta'. Jack smiles, says 'Hooah', and neither of them mention it again.

#MacGyver #angus macgyver #jack dalton #sandbox fic #sandbox #army days #fanfiction #my fanfic #Everyone's OOO but it's for the angst #let me have my angst #Mac and Jack

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liv-laugh-die · 4 years ago

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||Admiring|| 💖Miya Osamu x Gn!reader

trope: strangers meeting in the park (ik its random bear with me😭)

warnings: its not proofread all the way through (im sorry im tired), so theres probably grammatical errors or typos but other than that none

genre: fluff pretty much just sappy stuff

pairing/s: osamu x gn!reader

wc: about 2.5k

a/n: oh my god idk where i came up with this but i think its cute so :p i hope you enjoy!!

You stared at your blank computer screen, hope of finishing your assignment before its due date at midnight slowly vanishing.

The clock on your desk read 11:27pm, the green lines wavering in your vision as your eyes slowly drooped, trying to drag you into the depths of slumber. You wanted to sleep, you really did, but you knew there was no way you could give up writing your essay, even now, knowing you weren’t going to submit it on time, because you would stress too much about it if you didn’t at least try to complete it before the due date.

Pushing yourself away from your desk, your chair squeaking against the floor ever so slightly in your dead silent dorm room, you tried to think of some excuse that your professor might believe. You doubted there was anything you could think of, but hey, your professor was better than what your roommates’ had mentioned theirs being, and you were grateful for that. Maybe you could tell him that you were exhausted from working extra hours at your job since you had had to cover your coworker’s shift and that’s why you couldn’t complete your essay on time? Or, maybe you could get away with a simple “I was lacking interest in the material, and couldn’t understand anything, and I didn’t ask for help because I knew that you are such a busy man trying to do so many things at once. Another hopeless near college drop-out wasn’t something I thought you needed on your hands.”

....Maybe not the latter.

You sighed, running a hand through your tangled hair, practically feeling it screaming at you to wash it. You barely had time in the mornings to take showers anymore, and when you took them at night, you never had the strength to wash your hair, always knowing that putting a hat on overtop or throwing on your hoodie would make it seem fine on the outside, and that was good enough for you. As long as you looked at least decent and somewhat presentable.

Your dorm room was fairly small, like every other one, but the lack of furniture made it seem larger than the rest. Nothing more than you and your roommate’s joint desk, the mini fridge in the corner, and the beds filled the space. You almost tripped over your backpack lying next to the bunk bed pushed up against the wall, falling to what would’ve been inches away from your roommate’s sleeping body.

In an attempt not to disturb them, you tiptoed through the room, stepping over the occasional heap of clothes or homework, until you reached the bathroom. You fumbled over the door knob before almost tumbling into the small space. Glancing in the mirror, you didn’t fail to notice your messy hair, the dark circles tracing beneath your eyes, or the way you looked like you were seconds away from passing out. The sound of running water rang in your ears as you turned on the sink faucet, cupping your hands together and bringing your face down to meet them, rubbing the cold water all over you in an attempt to keep you awake for just a few moments longer.

Your eyes returned back to the mirror as you sighed at your dripping wet face. There was no way possible you were going to finish your assignment on time. You knew it, your roommate knew it before they passed out, and you had noticed your professor’s wary glance this morning in class as a sign that he knew it too.

An idea sprang into your head, part of you dreading the optimism that seemed to seep through your brain slowly. You didn’t feel like being energetic right now.

---an hour later---

You weren’t exactly sure how, when, or why you decided it would be a good idea to take a shower (you did end up washing your hair, thank god), get your things together in your bag, and head to the off-campus coffee shop (since the one on-campus had already closed), but you found yourself with a warm cup of coffee in hand as you exited the shop, the cold midnight air enveloping you in an unwelcome embrace.

You shivered. The only thing your spontaneous brain had forgotten had to have been your jacket, the one thing your normal brain would’ve remembered if it weren’t already past midnight and if you weren’t majorly sleep-deprived.

You most certainly weren’t done with your essay yet, nor was there any possible way for you to finish it on time since it was now approximately thirteen minutes past the due time, but you let yourself breathe for now.

There weren’t many people out at this hour, and it made the usual busy city streets seemed like a ghost town. There were a few restaurants still open as you strolled along the sidewalk, their lights responsible for illuminating more than half the area in front of you. You passed by an onigiri shop your friend had recommended to you, but you just weren’t that hungry. Most nights, you’d kill for a midnight snack, but your single shot of espresso coffee was satisfying your needs for now.

You decided to head to the park after seeing a rabbit hop its way across the vacant street and into the bushes in that direction. The fresh air was nice and cool against your dry and croaky lungs, and your ears needed a different sound than that of you miserably attempting to touch type quickly, your fingers rapping against the keyboard with vigor.

A stream nearby flowed softly, the dripping of the water against the rocks complimenting the noise of the crickets chirping in sync just downstream. Your footsteps cut through the grass slowly, not bothering to follow the stone path. The park was a nice change of scenery. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been here by yourself in peace, it was always you and your rambunctious friends who ran through every now and then just to see the dogs running through the sprinklers, or the occasional poor cat whose owner dragged them out into the daylight for exercise. This was peaceful, though, and you appreciated that.

A few more rabbits crossed your path, giving you that wide-eyed, side glance before darting off into the darkness, outside the reach of the lampposts emitting light. The sound of the stream soon faded out as you continued to walk through the park, sipping your coffee every so often. The warmth from your cup was soon dying out, and you figured you’d have to start walking back to your university sooner or later. Maybe you could crash at your friend’s house who lived just off campus, though you had forgotten your phone back at your dorm and had no alarm, no laptop to complete your work, and no contact with anyone else who might worry where you’d be. You had really no choice but to trek back to your dorm in the darkness, cutting your peaceful visit to the park short.

You let yourself have a few more minutes of stress free relaxing as you sat down on a bench just before the ground let out into a downhill slope overlooking the rest of the city below. The trees around you swayed in the breeze, and for a moment, you thought it was the wind talking, and not an actual human being who had somehow made his way beside you without gathering your attention.

“Didn’t think anyone else would be up at this hour,” the stranger mumbled. You glanced up, almost startled that, indeed, someone else was actually awake and strolling through the park.

The boy couldn’t have been much older than you were, maybe the same age. He had his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, the wind tousled his dark hair ever so slightly, and the moonlight played along, illuminating his face just so you could actually see how gorgeous he was.

You cleared your throat, averting your eyes back to the ground as you shifted over, creating more space on the bench in case he wanted to sit down beside you. “I decided to actually take care of myself for once and give myself some time to breathe before facing the wrath of my professor tomorrow when he finds out I didn’t turn in my essay on time.” You let out a low, breathy chuckle, not exactly sure of what would happen next.

The guy sat down on the bench next to you, though he made sure to give you some personal space, which you were grateful for. He laughed along with you a bit, and you could tell just from his tone just how tired he really was.

You gave him a side glance, raising an eyebrow. “So, what the stressful thing that brought you here in the middle of the night?”

He smiled half-heartedly, eyes trained on the moon. “Work stuff. Jus’ been busy, I guess.” He shrugged.

You waited for him to continue on, but he stayed silent. You didn’t complain, though. Wasn’t your whole reason for coming out here in the dead of the night for some quiet? Plus, it wasn’t awkward either. You were comfortable sitting next to this stranger.

“What do you do for work?” You waited a little longer than necessary to ask, but he didn’t seem to mind the long pause.

“I own a restaurant a few blocks away. I love the job, it’s just tiring havin’ to deal with rude customers like my brother who won’t get the hint and get out sometimes. I got into an argument with him earlier today and he just wouldn’t shut it.” He rolled his eyes and took his hands out of his pockets, making eye contact with you as he went on about his day, and you couldn’t help but smile at his passion. “The guy thinks he can just walk in when I’m working with a new employee and just act like he runs the place! Quite stupid if you ask me. Such a jerk, he is. Thinkin’ about just banning him from the place, really.”

You snorted. “He really bugs you that much, huh?”

The guy smirked at your laugh, admiring it, though you would never had guess that was what flashed across his face in a million years. He nodded. “Yeah, ‘course I love ‘im ‘cause he’s my twin and my best friend, but he really knows how to annoy the hell outta me.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll just get a sign in the window that says “no shirt, no shoes, no service” and cross it out and write my brother’s name instead,” he reasoned, and the pondering look in his eyes made you wonder if he was actually considering the idea.

You smiled. “You’re funny.”

“You say that like ya weren’t expectin’ it.”

A laugh made its way out your lips. “Well, when you’re approached by a stranger in the middle of the night you sort of expect the worst.”

The guy glanced off in the distance, away from you, furrowing his eyebrows. “Sorry, didn’t think of that comin’ off that way.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m funny then, and not some creep, eh?”

You nodded, the smile on your face not fading as he changed topics.

“So, what’s your essay on? Any way I can help ya finish it?”

You shook your head dismissively. “Oh, no. It was due thirty minutes ago.” You quickly explained the topic you were writing about in class before getting side tracked. “My professor had said he would allow it to be turned in the next morning, but I doubt he actually meant it.”

He smiled a wide grin, making butterflies flutter in your stomach. “You go to the university nearby, right?”

You nodded in confirmation, raising an eyebrow. “If I’ve got any luck, there’s a chance you go there too?”

He laughed a little, shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t, sorry. I’ve visited campus a few times because some of my friends go there, but I just usually focus on work.”

His gaze was tilted upwards towards the sky, and you couldn’t help but admire how the exhaustion still shone in his eyes, but somehow that same passion gleamed there too just mentioning what he did for a living. You wished you were that passionate about something that would actually support you financially in the future and make you happy.

When he glanced back at you, you were still taking his essence in, and he made a look of confusion. “What?”

You shook your head, chuckling. “Nothing. I just admire that you can dedicate yourself to something and make it seem so easy.” He looked at you, interested to hear what you had to say, even though you were sure you couldn’t be the first person to tell him this. “I haven’t even known you for more than ten minutes and I can already tell you’re passionate about what you do and if you’re stressed about it, it must mean you’re dedicated to seeing your work through, and that’s more than enough to admire and appreciate, especially when that can be so difficult sometimes.” You finished your short tangent, looking back up at him to see him staring intently at you, seemingly in awe of what you’d just said. You felt a blush creep onto your face as you quickly blurted out, “Sorry- I didn’t mean to be so straightforward and weird like that- I sound like some crazy secret admirer or something...”

The crickets chirped in the silence between the two of you, and it felt like it would never end.

“Y’know, I wouldn’t mind havin’ a secret admirer. I mean, wouldn’t be so secret, but...” You saw the smile creep up onto his face. “It’s nice being appreciated. Nobody really tells me that kind o’ stuff, so... thanks, I guess.”

The heat on your cheeks didn’t go away by any means, but you grew more comfortable with it as you mumbled, “Maybe I wouldn’t mind admiring you.”

Now, it was the boy’s turn to blush, and you smiled at how his cheeks grew redder with every passing second, and how his subtle grin spoke a thousand words he didn’t need to say.

“Miya Osamu.” The boy’s hand came into your view as he extended it for you to shake. “I own Onigiri Miya across from the grocery outlet.”

You smirked, grasping his hand in yours as you said, “L/N Y/N. I own an official license for being a horrible driver and an ID that proves I’m a sleep-deprived college student and that’s about it.”

He laughed, shaking your hand and standing up, letting go too soon for your liking.

Because for some weird reason, his hand felt right in yours.

Osamu said a quick goodbye, mentioning something about how he should get going and how you should get some sleep before he disappeared down the stone path back into the darkness.

You stood up not too long after he’d left, your coffee now entirely cold as you plopped the half full cup into the trash can on your walk back to your dorm, not needing the pathetic warmth anymore. Your heart was beating fast and the feeling of Osamu’s hand resting in yours lingered on your palm, and that kept you warm enough.

Maybe you’d be visiting that onigiri place your friend recommended to you a little sooner than you’d originally planned, and maybe more often than you would’ve expected.

#osamu miya x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #hq #miya osamu #osamu #osamu x reader #oml i actually like this #ahhhh its cute #since when have i been motivated #i hope this doesnt flop *sob*

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honey-coloured-passion · 4 years ago

Text

‘Til Time Do Us Part - KarlNap (DreamSMP)

1.7k words

Summary: Karl meets, and eventually falls for a kind stranger. (This is based on time traveler Karl from Dream SMP canon!)

“Where, where am I?” Karl felt his head spinning as he stumbled out of a familiar library. Glancing around he noted the heaps of books stacked on each other, there were paintings of different faces adorned on the walls, and there was a young man sitting comfortably in an armchair, staring right at him.

“Hi!” The stranger stood up, bunching up the papers he’d been staring at as he moved towards Karl. “You must be new to the library! I’m Sapnap.” the taller man stuck out his hand, Karl carefully took the handshake, noting the warm smile Sapnap was giving him.

“Do you know exactly where we are?” Karl didn’t quite know the question to ask, he barely knew who he was at this point. But Sapnap seemed kind and welcoming, he gestured Karl to follow him into an adjacent room in the library.

Pointing at a row of maps he began, “you’re in Dream SMP, look, this is where we are. Then there’s L’manburg, or what’s left of it, Party Island, the prison, and ooh! I just put the new hotel Tommy’s building here as well. Looks good huh?” Sapnap gestured wildly around the crinkling brown paper with a beaming smile. Karl studied the map hoping to gain some semblance of knowledge about where he was. But this map practically answered every question he had perfectly; little bullet points made note of important recent events describing actions he had apparently made in the past few weeks. It was a real-life summary of everything, all he needed to know, it was perfect.

“You made this?” Karl gawked at the masterpiece in front of him. Sapnap rubbed the back of his neck, “well I had a little help but yeah! It’s uh, nice to know what’s going on. You- I, I can be pretty forgetful you know?” and Karl couldn’t help but agree. Just ask he began to take another look at the map Sapnap cleared his throat, “would you wanna go check out Party Island? I know you’ll love to see what the llamas are doing today!” and Karl couldn’t deny he wanted to spend time with this kind stranger.

Quickly they had raced through the SMP to Party Island, Sapnap had led Karl through all the best parts of the world. They stole potatoes from a child named Purpled, sang songs with a strange naked man, and harassed various British children all before ending on the roller coaster in Party Island. Karl had gone from chasing after Sapnap to roaming the world hand in hand in just a measure of hours. As they rounded the day out Sapnap pulled Karl’s attention from the setting sun to his chocolate brown eyes.

Sapnap looked golden in the warm hues of the setting sun, flames danced in his eyes, and a light reddish color burned on his cheeks. Just staring at the man in front of him Karl felt his own breath hitch. Sapnap glanced down nervously, “I really enjoyed hanging out with ya today Karl, and I was wondering if you’d wanna, maybe, hangout again sometime? And! Also I got this from Puffy!” not leaving Karl a moment to speak he pushed a slightly crunched purple allium flower into Karl’s hands.

Karl felt warmth budding on his cheeks as he stifled a glowing smile at the beautiful flower, it was his favorite kind too. “Of course I wanna hangout more! We literally had the best time ever, you know all the best places and my favorite things it’s like you’ve known me forever Sap!” Karl grinned up at Sapnap who let out a strangled, but excited giggle. Karl shook his head with a grin and pulled Sapnap in for a hug. “Karl n Sapnap forever!” Karl shrieked into Sapnap’s shoulder, trying to contain his ecstatic energy as Sapnap swayed him back and forth in the hug.

“Forever.” Sapnap agreed.

“Hello?”

“Anyone there?” Karl called out as he pushed open the door to a strange and dusty library. A handsome stranger gave him a dashing grin as he stood up, pulling together the papers he was writing in.

“Hey! Welcome to the library!” the man stuck out a hand which Karl took with a warm smile. “Have I seen you before? This is crazy but I swear you were like totally in a dream I just had!” Karl looked up at the stranger with a smile, but the man calmly shook his head, “I get that sometimes, but I don’t think so! Name’s Sapnap.” Karl promptly introduced himself as well.

"Say, do you know where I am? My head's kinda fuzzy." Karl gave the kind stranger a sheepish grin, but Sapnap seemed to grasp his question. "Follow me!" Karl was jolted forwards as Sapnap grabbed his hand, pulling him into an adjacent room with a whole wall covered in maps.

With his bearings set he agreed to help Sapnap look for a new trident in the ocean near a place called "Snowchester" it was the least he could do after Sapnap had been so kind to him, it's not every day a man with little to no memories appears in your library!

They spent the day splashing in the waves and resting on the shore. Karl was swept off his feet- twice by the waves and ultimately by Sapnap himself. The taller warrior captured Karl's heart with every blinding grin, flip of his ocean-damp hair, and kind but undeniably flirtatious words.

Come nightfall the two retreated off the coast to what Karl assumed was Snowchester. Spending the night sitting atop a spruce wood roof staring at the stars, Karl found himself more mesmerized by the shining warmth of Sapnap's eyes than any star in the sky.

Sapnap broke the silence, tilting his head to the left to meet Karl's eyes with his, "so, pretty good day huh?" Karl nodded, swallowing butterflies. "We should do this again!" Karl nodded in agreement again, mustering some confidence of his own, "we make a pretty good team huh? I could get used to you by my side." Sapnap just grinned in agreement, scooting closer to Karl, his arm slipping under Karl's head, letting him just rest in Sap's embrace.

Karl smiled at the moon, "this is definitely something I wanna get used to."

Waking up alone always broke Sapnap's heart. Usually there was some poor excuse or sign that Karl was whirled away from him. With a heavy heart he got used to packing up a days worth of necessities for two and heading to the library Karl had built all those months ago.

Except this time when he entered the library, he realized he wasn't alone.

"Quackity? Do you need something?" Sapnap was shocked to see a familiar face at such a secret location.

"You can't keep doing this Sapnap, it's- I don't even know- it's wrong." Quackity gestured to the library as if Sapnap didn't already know.

"I have to Q, what else would I do? Let him try to make it home to a place he's completely forgotten all alone?" Sapnap paused, taking in a shaky breath, "I'm not gonna let him forget our life together Quackity, I can't"

Quackity raised his voice, "like he doesn't forget every damn time? You're sitting here playing make believe with your fiancé! Don't you get tired? Isn't it fucking tiring having him fall in love with you over, and over again? How are you okay with this!"

Sapnap stalked towards his usual desk, collecting all the papers. "I love him Quackity, I'd do anything for him, and I trust that eventually he'll figure this time travel adventure shit out, I'm not gonna give up on our life together! How can you not see that?"

Quackity just rolled his eyes. "Bullshit. This is wrong, you're interfering with Karl's - I don't know - destiny, future, powers, whatever the hell you're calling it now. Sapnap he's gone. Don't you see every Karl you get is different? That's not your Karl anymore."

Sapnap was seeing red. "Get out. If I fucking wanted you here I'd find you. Don't you have banking business to attend to? Can't you let me have the one good thing in my life? He's Karl, he's my Karl. And that's all I need." Sapnap pointed at the door, his hand clenched around the hilt of his sword.

Quackity shook his head but headed towards the door. "You can't do this forever. Don't you think there'll be a trip where he doesn't come back? Or worse, he comes back unable to love you? Arent you just delaying the inevitable?" Sapnap sprung up from his chair, sword drawn, but Quackity quickly slipped through the doorway. "I'm leaving, I'm leaving. Plus, you don't want to miss those precious first words right? I saw your entires Sap, what's today's plan? Tame cats if I remember right?"

"Fuck you." Sapnap slammed the door, trying to collect himself. Some disgusting voice in the back of his head was reiterating Quackity's words, telling him all was lost and that he was only setting himself up for false hope. But, it only took a glance at the array of pictures scattered between entires in his own diary to see the reason he fought through every first date.

"Hello! Um, do you know where I am?"

Sapnap looked up from a messy stack of first date ideas and dream SMP memory reminders to see the beautiful man before him.

The moment they locked eyes was the moment that nagging voice in Sapnap's head subsided. Every time they locked eyes for the "first time" Sapnap remembered why he'd fight for Karl every day if he needed to. But, there wasn't time for fawning over the brunette an awkward amount.

"Yup! You're in the library! C'mon, there's a map you'll wanna see- I'm Sapnap by the way! And you are?"

"Karl Jacobs! Nice to meet you Sap! Gimme the tour you clearly know what's up! What do I need to know?"

Sapnap gave his unknowing lover a calm smile, "I gotcha! There's not much you need but here's a good map of the lands!" Sapnap took a moment of serenity to appriciate the gorgeous man in front of him before Karl spoke again.

"I actually think I got it! Anything else in this musty old place I should know?"

I wish you knew how much I miss you.

~ Fin ~

A/N: Poor Sapnap. This gives me 50 first dates vibes. Also I wanted to paint Quackity as a voice of reason/doubt because I think his canonical character is that level of serious and caring for both Karl and Sapnap and I imagine their trio may have split over Sapnap’s decision to continually woo memory-loss Karl, or they could’ve never even been a 3 way thing, it’s up to interpretation. Also, I wanted to know your thoughts! Is Sap doing the right thing? Is he really just putting himself up for more hurt later? I dunno. Hope you enjoyed! Comments n stuff in reblog tags make my day :)))

#karlnap #sapnap #karl jacobs #tales of the smp #karlnap fanfic #karl jacobs x sapnap #karlnapity #dream smp fanfiction #dream smp fanfic #sapnap fanfic #karl jacobs fanfic #dream smp lore

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sleepysailorghost · 4 years ago

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Arcade wasn't sure what he expected when the Courier asked him to accompany them. They hadn't given a name, only said they were a Courier. It wasn't much to go on, but the Courier had looked up at him with big eyes. And for some reason, it didn't sound all that crazy to venture beyond the fort with them, a natural stanger.

They had listened so reverently when Julie spoke. They had fulfilled any job asked of them by the Followers. Certainly, if they harbored ill will towards the Followers, they would have gotten to their revenge before now.

He had asked for their name, if only to be polite.

"I don't have one. Courier or Six is fine, if you'd like."

"You don't have a name?"

"I guess I probably did once, but I don't remember any more. I just remember the man in the checkered coat- an 18-carat run of bad luck-and then waking up in Doc Mitchell's house. Maybe that man knows who I was. I don't know."

"That doesn't bother you, not having a past?"

"No, not really." The Courier leaned back. "I'm just me. Sure, I can't look back on the road behind me, but I can look forward."

"Interesting. Are you going to look for the man in the checkered coat?"

"I don't know. I guess I could. I'm supposed to, because he stole something from me and shot me in the head."

"Wait, he shot you in the head?"

"Yeah, that's why I don't remember much. It messed with my head too."

"Well, yeah. Getting shot in the head would do that."

"Oh, wait, I do have one hint to who I might have been." The courier starts to undo the many closures of their armor, like a fire's been lit under them. "What do you make of this?"

The Courier drops their armor clumsily on the floor, and then goofily flexes. He doesn't really know what they're refering to, but then he sees the poorly-done tattoo on their upper arm. It's a ring of roses and thorns that raps under their bicep. Despite being very mediocre, it is legible and in color.

"Huh." Tattoos aren't really unique, but it is something. "Maybe your name is Rose?"

"Maybe. It doesn't sound right."

"Maybe you just need to try it out for a while, wear it in." He's trying to help, but the Courier is a near stranger to him. "Or, if you'd like, I could arrange for you to see Dr. Usa-"

"No thanks. Don't want to take up her time." The refusal was off faster than a bullet from a sixgun. "If you're ready to go, so am I."

"Sure." He agreed. It wasn't really healthy of the Courier to act out against the idea of visiting the clinic, but it wasn't something he could force them into. At least, not as a near stranger.

This turned out to be one of the few times the Courier's former-NCR sniper friend wasn't travelling with them. He probably wouldn't have decided to go with the Courier if he had known they had company. Still, it isn't all that bad, even if he feels a little crowded with the Courier, their robot pet ED-E (he hates that thing), the King's robot-dog, the sniper, and the Remnant medical researcher. One more person, and the Courier will have a small army.

Not that the Courier normally has all of them traveling together at once. It's too noticeable, draws too much attention. It might even sound like a joke: an Enclave eyebot, a police cyber dog, an amnesiac Courier, a grouchy NCR sniper, and a medical researcher walk in to a bar...

It makes the Courier happy to travel with him, so he does it on occasion. Those occassions become a lot more frequent after they return from a place they call the "Big Empty".

That had been months ago. Now, he felt like he knew the Courier. Not that he wasn't surprised by the Courier-he certainly was. But he was familiar with the Courier now.

It was a dangerous sort of thing, that familiarity. He was even starting to think that perhaps it would be a good idea to let them in on his own origins.

And he knew how the Courier felt about him.

Leaning against his side while they sat at a fire, the Courier's hands stripping a defeated foe's weapon, they had muttered something.

"Sorry, say again?" Arcade responded. Most of the time, it was just complaints about bent springs or whatever, more to themselves than to him.

The Courier's hands stopped, laying the weapon on the ground.

"You're my brother, Arcade." The Courier says, and then continues before Arcade could interrupt. "Not by blood. Or hell, maybe you are. It's not like I'd remember. Course you are a heck of a lot taller than I am...maybe the tall gene skipped me."

Arcade doesn't say anything, attempting to process what the Courier was trying to tell him.

"No, we're not related by blood." He agrees, although he has no real way to confirm it without knowing the Courier's identity.

"I know." The Courier put their hand up to their chest. "I just...well, I know you're my brother. I, uhh, care about you."

Arcade didn't know what to say about that. It really did feel like it had come out of nowhere to him. A few weeks later, the Courier had gone running off to a place that might have been their home.

Antietam is walking by his side now, but their gaze is drawn over to an old poster. The pre-war store was filled with advertisements for many different products, from Sugar-Bombs to the newest products from Rob-Co.

Shelves, long ransacked and destroyed, have created something of a maze. The laminate tiling on the floor has become loose after centuries of neglect. Decorations littering the area would mark this location as a raider base at some point.

His friend doesn't seem to notice any of that, moving closer to a central display that might have been made of stacked shoeboxes once. Now, the boxes lay in a crumpled heap.

"Antietam, wait-" He says, and the courier stops.

"Yeah? Do you need something?"

"You need to be more careful! This could be a trap."

"I don't think it is. I'm pretty good at finding traps and I don't see any tripwires or bear traps. I've stepped in enough of those."

"Of course you wouldn't see them! It's a mess in here."

"I'm not going far. I just wanna see if I can find some of those."The Courier pointed at an advertisement. It was of a girl with little wheels on her shoes, looking over her shoulder as she spun away. Under the picture, it read "Roll with the punches with Roller-Ray skates!".

"Do you..need those?"

"Well, no. I just think they would be cool. Just rollin around town."

"I'll go with them." Boone added, if only so he could keep an eye on them.

"Yeah, plus ED-E's sensors haven't picked up on anything. I can handle myself while looking for skates, Arcade."

On that note, the Courier and Boone go to pick through the rubble. When they returned, Antietam raised their arm triumphantly.

"We found them! A little dinged up, but I can fix that. C'mon, lets go outside to try them!" With the hand not holding their skates, Antietam grabbed at Arcade's sleeve.

"Okay, okay." He said, because Antietam's enthusiasm for things was infectious sometimes. They exited the store, entering that had once been a parking lot. Rusted-through cars sat abandoned and the sun hung low in the sky.

Antietam dropped to the floor, strapping on their skates. They were metal and fit awkwardly with their combat boots and spurs. Awkwardly, like a baby radstag on ice, the Courier stood up.

"Okay,so I just." The Courier lifted one leg as if to take a step. Their balance was offset by the movement. Next to him, Arcade saw Boone move to catch the Courier if they fell, but the Courier braced themselves on a car instead.

They took a few more awkward steps.

"Yeah, I think I'm getting the hang of this." Their movements were jerky, but in time, perhaps they'd be alright at it.

Then they hit a skid in the destroyed asphalt and took a spill. Their left side collided hard with a rusted shell.

"Ouch." they groaned, and then collapsed onto the parking lot. "I'm just gonna rest here for a second."

Arcade laughed a little, and then helpfully whined about the sun.

"Alright, alright. Okay, getting up." The Courier pushed up from the asphalt with both hands, rising from their crumpled mass.

"Nothing broken?" Arcade asked, seeing Antietam avoid putting too much weight on their left side.

"No, probably just bruised." They replied, but that was what Arcade had expected. They were still extremely hesitant to be medically examined, even if it meant concealing and ignoring injuries. It stung Arcade-someone who the Courier allegedly loved like a brother-to be held at arms' length. That being said, he couldn't be upset with them either. The Courier had suffered greatly and been stripped of agency by doctors. It was a mark of pride that Antietam trusted him.

Actually, he could still be angry with them for concealing injuries.

The sun was beating down as steadily as it always did in the Mojave. A bead of sweat formed on Arcade's neck.

"Oh shoot." The Courier murmured, looking over their hands. They wore fingerless gloves, and a pip-boy on one arm. Arcade examined the injury. It would be a lot of work if the Courier came down with tetnus. "It's just a scrape, Arcade."

"It's not just a scrape. It's dirty and could get infected."

"Hottest part of the days coming up. We should wait it out in the store." Boone added, helpfully.

"C'mon, listen to your big brother, ok?" Arcade tried with a smile. The Courier looked up at him with their wide brown eyes.

Arcade was not above emotional manipulation.

Half a year ago, if someone told him that he was going to play big brother to a Courier who knew nothing about their past and hated doctors, he'd have likely sent them to see Dr. Usanagi.

The Courier ran their gloved hand through their short white hair. It fluffed up their bangs (despite the pin staying in place) and revealed the twin scars on their forehead and the surgical scar that ran around their skull.

"Okay." The Courier responded, sticking their wrist out to him for treatment.

"Oh, that's a nasty cut." he said, "Let's head inside so we can get this treated.:

In the end, even if the Courier was a hassle sometimes, he was glad to be their brother. He was turning into such a sap.

#arcade gannon #courier antietam #fallout new vegas #fnv #ED-E #craig boone #roller skates

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cablesscutie · 3 years ago

Note

Oh could you do 3 or 17 for the zutara fluff prompt please?☺️

I love both of these- thank you! I'm going to save #17 for a little later, so here's #3: “You’re everything I could’ve wanted and more.”

PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3

Zuko flips down the visor in his car to fuss with his hair one last time. Mai and Ty Lee had insisted that he pull part of it up to keep him from hiding behind his hair like he was wont to do when he got nervous. In this particular situation, Zuko found that it made him extra nervous to know that he didn’t have that security blanket, scar on full display. This was why he didn’t do blind dates. This poor girl was already suffering through the awkwardness of an ex’s wedding, and now she was going to have to do it while pretending to be vaguely attracted to him.

Her text the previous night had included a reminder of the time and address, as well as an apologetic note that, hey I’m sorry to heap more awkward on this, but apparently this ex is friends with another of my ex’s and it ended Badly...and I might’ve implied that you were a little more significant to me than a blind date? Really I’m so so sorry and I can tell them you have food poisoning or something if this is too awkward, but really all you have to do is not mention that we’re strangers. Sorry!! He’d had absolutely zero clue how to appropriately respond to that message. His first impulse had been to think that of course he didn’t want to pretend to be her boyfriend in front of not one, but two of her ex’s. But Mai probably wouldn’t see this as too much for the favor he owed her. Then his brain had flitted unwillingly to the Instagram account Ty Lee had showed him, and before he could stop himself, his fingers were tapping out That’s fine - see you then.

“Okay,” Zuko sighs, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles go white. He closes his eyes and pulls in a deep breath, holds it, and on the exhale unclenches his hands and forces himself out of the car. The temple rises up before him in a series of spires and exterior staircases, terraced gardens overflowing with practical plants rising up around all of it. He follows the trickle of people who seem like they know where they’re going, glancing about idly for a familiar face.

She finds him first, which he probably should’ve expected given that his face stands out pretty clearly. She’s also more petite than he’d expected. If she weren’t wearing heels, the top of her head would probably tuck easily under his chin. Zuko shakes his head quickly to erase the thought before it can take hold properly, which unfortunately comes at the same instant that she asks, “Zuko?” and leaves her blinking at him in utter confusion. “Oh. I, uh.”

“I mean yes!” he rushes to correct, reaching out to grab her elbow as she starts to turn away. “Zuko. Me. I mean.” Fuck, he’s such a moron. He clears his throat and holds out his hand to shake. “Hi, Zuko here.” There’s a familiar and terrible heat in his cheeks and spilling down his neck, and he wishes to Agni not for the first time that he could be anyone but Zuko right now.

Katara laughs at him, as she should, but it is a kind laughter, all dimpled cheeks and sparkling eyes. The pictures hadn’t done her justice. “Hi Zuko,” she says, taking his hand and shaking it. “Katara here.” He can’t help but return her smile, goofy as it probably comes across. “Thank you again so much for coming to this shitshow,” she tells him as she drops his hand. “We should probably head inside - it’s starting soon.”

Zuko offers her his arm to be escorted up the stairs of the temple. It’s an old-fashioned gesture that has always gotten mixed reception, but Uncle has drilled manners into him so relentlessly that he always falls back on them reflexively when in a panic. Luckily, she slips her hand into the crook of his elbow with a smile, and his shoulders settle as he guides them both. Along the way, she catches him focusing on the planters, and asks, “do you like gardening?”

“My mother did,” he says reflexively, and he turns to her in time to catch the very moment she registers the past tense. He wants to kick himself for setting up pity or prying questions, but she just gives his arm a slight squeeze and says,

“So did mine. The flowers blooming every summer was her favorite part of the year.”

Usually, he is precious with his memories, but hearing the echo of his own grief in her wistful tone makes him actually want to share his mother with her. “She came from a family of traditional healers, and wanted to keep up the knowledge, so she grew all kinds of herbs and wildflowers that were used in old cures.”

She hums, and they walk along in silence for another moment before she says, “Did she teach you anything?”

“She started to.” It’s bittersweet, his mother’s unfinished legacy. “I have her books though, so maybe someday I’ll finish studying them.” Katara smiles at him, part sympathy, part understanding. Zuko’s heart pounds. When her eyes meet his, he almost wants to hide because it feels like she can see too much.

“Did you learn any cures for nerves?” Katara asks, the sardonic dip of her voice a gift to lighten the mood. Zuko smiles back, starting to laugh off the heavy conversation, but a flash of something catches his attention.

Katara’s eyes go wide as he lets go of her to crouch down and carefully pick a purple blossom. He does it just the way his mother had shown him, finding the right joint in the stem to make sure it will grow back, and with a gentle bend and twist, it breaks between his fingers. The fragrance follows him as he rises and offers the sprig of lavender to Katara. In trying to indicate that she should smell it, he almost shoves it up her nose when she leans towards it, but she giggles and wrinkles her nose adorably. Her fingers fold around his as she slips the stem out of his grasp.

“Thank you.

“Mom used to put a little vase of lavender in me and my sister’s rooms to help us sleep,” Zuko explained.

“I feel better already.” She sniffs the flower again as she slips her arm through his again to properly enter the ceremony space, her eyes fluttering closed for a fraction of a second that steals his breath away. This is actually going well, he thinks in utter astonishment. I keep tripping over my tongue like a moron, but for some reason she seems to like it. A voice in the back of his head that sounds uncomfortably like his teenage self sneers, Wow, she must be really desperate not to look single. Must be some impressive ex’s. Zuko’s heart stutters and slows back to normal. Right. This is a favor. He needs to focus.

Not least because his distraction causes him to walk right into the man who appears in front of Katara. “Sorry,” he says reflexively, stumbling back. Katara’s grip on his arm has tightened, keeping him from dragging both of them off balance. Despite her small stature, she is rooted firmly, anchoring them both. He realizes why as soon as the guy pretends to dust off his sport coat (which is not particularly neat to begin with) and purrs, “So Kat, this is the new guy?” as though Zuko isn’t even there. So this is the other ex.

“Zuko,” he and Katara say at the same time, in the same steely tone.

The ex looks briefly startled, but recovers enough to shake Zuko’s hand. “The name’s Jet.”

Zuko has never met Jet before, and yet he knows from the curl of his smile that he has made out with several Jets at various parties in college. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Jet squeezes Zuko’s hand a little harder, just to the edge of macho discomfort. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Katara scoffs - almost inaudibly, but it’s there - and Zuko can’t help but look to her and say, “It would be, wouldn’t it?” It’s the kind of snarky remark he and Mai used to share under their breath at their parents’ insufferable dinner parties back in high school. The two women are nothing alike, but there is something similar to the ease he feels with his best friend as he stands beside her. She bites her lip, and her eyes glitter with silent laughter, and Zuko feels a much gentler heat kindling under his skin. Jet manages to look confused and dismissive in one twitch of his ridiculous eyebrows, but returns his attention to Katara undeterred. His eyes linger as they trace obviously over the v of her dress’s neckline and admittedly tempting curves draped in navy satin before he flashes her a pair of puppy dog eyes and asks, “Save me a dance?” When she doesn’t immediately respond, he tilts his head and entreats, “For old times’ sake?”

Zuko is irritated to once again be entirely ignored, and the possessive part of him wants to snap at Jet that all of Katara’s dances are already reserved for him. Hard-earned self control wins out though, and Zuko manages to remind himself that despite his attraction and the ruse he is meant to be perpetuating, he is not actually Katara’s boyfriend. There is no real reason for him to be upset if she chooses to dance with Jet. There are several reasons for the flutter in his chest when her expressive face hardens to stone.

There is no excuse or cutting joke, just one word, a complete sentence: “No.” She gives him nothing to play off of, no buttons to push or entreaties to make, and he backs down quickly.

“Oh. Uh. Okay, I guess I’ll just...see you at the reception?”

“Yeah, you’ll see us there,” Zuko cuts in, mouth stumbling ahead without him. He puts too much significance on the word us, but seems to bother Jet, and Katara leans into his side, so he figures it’s okay. Jet lifts his chin in a parting nod to him. Zuko just meets his eyes evenly as the other man turns away to find his seat. Shaking his head as he watches the guy go, Zuko says, “Pft. If your friend invited that guy, I think you need better friends,” because he has no filter. And then he remembers yet again that he doesn’t know Katara, much less her friends, and he is overstepping all over this situation. His free hand comes up to smack himself in the face. “Shit. Sorry I’m probably screwing this up so bad; I’m the worst blind date in history.”

A small, warm hand closes around his wrist and tugs his hand away. Katara shifts to stand in front of him, blocking the rest of the wedding full of strangers from his view as his attention narrows only to the bounce of her hair and the crescent of her smile.

“You’re everything I could’ve wanted and more.”

Here's the prompt list!

#zutara #zutara fic #my writing #ask game

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blessyourhondahurley · 4 years ago

Text

I'll Be (Your) Home for Christmas

(Read on AO3)

"We should be back in the Bunker by now," Dean spits. The walls of their cheap motel room still vibrate from how hard he'd slammed the door on his way in. "It's Christmas fucking Eve and we shouldn't still be here." His shoulders slump as the rage leaves him in a rush and only dejection remains. "This is not how it was supposed to go, goddammit," he grits out under his breath.

Cas freezes, caught awkward and helpless in the face of Dean's outburst. He aches to fix this situation for his friend. If he could, he would snap his fingers and solve the case. He would eradicate monsters from the face of the earth. If nothing else, he would at least be able to teleport them both back to the Bunker, where Jack and Sam and Eileen and Miracle are waiting for them with presents and food and Christmas cheer. With his grace gone, though, he's powerless, useless. He stays where he is -- on his feet, between the musty beds, arms limp at his sides -- and waits to see what Dean does next.

"I gotta--" The hunter runs a shaky hand through his hair. "I gotta get out of here for a little bit. I saw a strip mall a couple miles down the road, m'gonna go grab us some dinner and a coupla six packs."

Cas takes a step toward the door, intending to join him for the trip, but Dean raises a palm. "You hang here. I'll be back in an hour or so." And then Cas is alone in the room. From the silence that follows his friend's exit, Dean is making the trip on foot, presumably in need of a walk to clear his head.

Cas lets out a heavy breath and sinks down onto one of the beds, his head in his hands. The case had looked so simple a week ago -- a "milk run" as Sam and Dean like to say. But the deeper they look, the more complicated it becomes, and their breezy plans to tie things up quickly and be back in time to celebrate Christmas as a family have been crushed into dust. It's a terrible disappointment to Cas, but it's a heartbreak for Dean, who had thrown himself headlong into plans for their first "real" holiday together in a post-Chuck world.

He thinks about the way Dean's beautiful face had fallen today when the case hit the latest dead end, and the memory is galvanizing. He leaps to his feet, resolute, a plan of action taking shape in his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Dean returns to the room an hour and a half later, the space has been transformed to the best of Cas's meager human abilities. A makeshift chain of (mostly clean) socks tied together drapes more or less gaily over the door frame. The complimentary notepads from the bedside table have been folded into dozens of tiny origami snowflakes, which are stuck to the walls with dabs of toothpaste. Festive lighting is provided by colored t-shirts over the lampshades. He's pushed the beds against opposite walls so that the table can take pride of place, and spread a plaid shirt over it as a tablecloth. Arrayed on the flannel are the spoils of a raid on the motel's vending machines, featuring some of Dean's favorite snacks. The TV casts a cheery glow in the far corner -- a classic Christmas movie is playing with the sound turned low.

It's nothing like the elegant holiday scenes they show in the movies. But given his limited time and resources, Cas thinks he's justified in feeling a bit of pride at how well it all turned out.

Dean certainly seems impressed.

"Holy shit, Cas, what happened in here?" he asks. There's a soft and wondering expression on his face as he looks around the room.

"I wanted to do something for you," Cas replies. "I saw how excited you were for our Christmas celebration, and how upset you are to be missing it. I know being here with me is a poor substitute for the holiday you were planning, but..." he shrugs. "I hope this helps a little."

"Poor substi--" Dean shakes his head and drops the bags he'd been carrying. "Cas, the whole reason I was so excited for Christmas was because I wanted to share it with you. I had so many things I wanted to show you... Here, look what I got!"

He dumps one of the bags onto the bed, pouring out a pile of decorations. "Guess we both had the same idea, huh?" he remarks with a grin. They take turns pulling items from the heap -- garlands, tinsel, ornaments, candy canes, even a handful of chocolate dreidels -- and adding them to the decor of the room.

When they're done, Dean produces two large clamshell containers from another bag and sets them on the table with a flourish. "Dinner for two from our favorite burger joint," he declares. Turning back to the bags, he lays a few more items on the dingy bedspread. "Bottle of cheap red," he narrates, "And pie, obviously. Then after we eat..." He hands Cas a copy of Battleship and a jigsaw puzzle. "Games," he announces.

It's Cas's turn to be impressed. No, more than that: Cas is floored. He sits down on one of the beds and he marvels. "You got all of this for us, for tonight?"

"Yeah, 'course," Dean replies, taking a seat next to him. "I wanted to give you a real Christmas this year. Decorations and food and booze and music and all the trimmings, you know? We got a taste of that with Mrs. Butters, but you missed out, and I hated that. It wasn't a real celebration without you, man." The hunter reaches one more time into the bags behind them, and pulls his hand out with fist clenched around something small. His eyes fix on the small stretch of blankets between them, and a light flush spreads across his cheeks. "I, um... I picked up one more thing while I was out. Not sure if you're familiar with this tradition, but..."

He unfolds his hand and displays a small sprig of mistletoe, a red ribbon tied around the stem. "If-if you don't want... We don't have to--" he stammers.

Cas plucks the plant from his friend's hand and holds it over his own head. "Like this, right?" he murmurs, and licks his lips.

Dean nods, gaze trained on the pink peek of Cas's tongue. He leans in, and Cas meets him halfway.

It starts out chaste and sweet. But after a few heartbeats the kiss deepens, and their hands begin to wander. When they eventually have to come up for air they're laid out together across the bed -- hair mussed, mouths flushed, clothes a tad askew. There's a love-drunk smile stretched across Cas's face, and he feels like it might be permanent. Then something sobering occurs to him. "I'm still sorry you can't be home for Christmas," he whispers.

Dean grins and pecks him on the nose. "Baby, I'm exactly where I wanna be."

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fluff #christmas

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oneletteredwondered · 4 years ago

Text

Insulted

Sum: Virgil works at a coffee shop and Remus is annoying. Annoyingly pretty.

Pair: Virgil/Remus, Dukexiety

Written for @dukexietyweek! Day 4: Coffee (Shop)

Warnings: Lots of swearing, mentions of the word pedophile in reference to Remus’ mustache, insulting remarks towards customers, some awkwardy mild panic feels, mostly stupid interactions.

Roasted is a fairly popular coffee shop. If only for the tourist attraction aspect of it that the employees are allowed to be as mean as they want to you and insult you with every order. They’re snarky and rude, and unless they actually get your order wrong, which they don’t, they don’t apologize for shit. They’re delighted when new-comers enter the shop unaware of the rules.

And whatever deity believed in above help the poor soul who asks for the manager because they are worse than the employees with a wicked wit and sharper tongue.

The rest of the employees would be scared of the manager because of this, but they have seen the man have a panic attack over potentially not having enough straws for the day even after three separate employees offered to go to the store and buy some. They’ve also seen the manager cry because they saw a video of a spider that was too cute for words which renders him pretty unintimidating. Besides, the manager has always been on their side of an argument anyway.

It’s a slow day and Virgil knows Missy hasn’t been sleeping right, or eating right, or feeling like she’s been doing anything right. So he packs her a muffin and a hot chocolate, and tells her to fuck off on home for the day. She doesn’t say thank you but the relief is clear in her shoulders so he knows it was the right thing to do. Besides it’s dead right now and he can handle a few customers for the time being until another employee shows up.

He serves a few people, some very eager to be insulted, some coming in with gaudy outfits for the sole purpose of being insulted, he has fun with those.

“What do you want?” He asks the next person in line, not even looking up from the register.

“I’ll have a large cup of whatever you are.” The person says and Virgil narrows his eyes and looks up. He stares at the stranger for all of three seconds.

“You have a pedo mustache.” Is what he says. The stranger breaks into a wide grin.

“Why thank you!” They sound far too delighted by that. Virgil continues to glare at them while writing the word ‘pedo stache’ on a large cup.

“What do you want?” He asks again more forcefully. The stranger hums in thought and Virgil would snap at them for taking too long but they are the only one in line right now.

“Hello?? Hurry up?” Screw it. He snaps his fingers in their face. Stranger man gives him a wicked smile and Virgil hates the little lurch in his chest because holy fuck and wait stranger is actually kind of pretty. Even with a fucking thin line mustache. Their eyes are bright green and streaks of white are layered in their hair. And Virgil always was a sucker for people with piercings and this dude sure has some to spare.

“Well if you’re not on the menu, I’ll have the raspberry lime tea. Hot as you please,” They say. Virgil writes cold on the cup.

“Anything else you fucking weirdo?” Virgil asks cause seriously it is kind of rude to be flirting with employees while they’re working but in the worst way Virgil kind of likes it cause it means he can say shit like that.

“Oh shit uhm, fuck.” Stranger man says and Virgil glares at them. Both for not being ready and also he kind of likes the way they say fuck which is not what he was expecting to deal with today.

“Jesus Christ dude were you not ready to order like why are you wasting my time?” Virgil demands. A few patrons of the place snicker into their cups and stranger just smirks at him.

“Sorry I don’t have a brain to mouth filter and it gets worse when I see a pretty person,” They wink and Virgil glares harder to will away the attempt at a blush on his cheeks.

“What else do you waaaaant.” He whines at them. Stranger laughs and pulls out a piece of paper. Virgil can already see the long list of items on it and groans.

“Relax it’s all one order,” Stranger says and Virgil scoffs.

“That’s so much worse!” He says. Stranger laughs hard at that.

“Well it’s not mine, princess back at the office is a picky bitch.” Stranger says with comically wide eyes and Virgil hates himself for it but he snorts. He schools his face back to neutrally angry and refuses to give the stranger the satisfaction of seeing him smile just yet.

So stranger man rattles off a long winded order that Virgil groans at with every new direction. He can easily make the drink of course that won’t be hard but he can complain about it so he will. He writes ‘princess’ on this cup.

Stranger man pays and Virgil sets about making the drinks very aware of the other watching him from the waiting counter.

“You just gunna keep staring at me like a stalker or what?” Virgil snips at them, pausing for dramatic effect. Mustache dude grins at him and leans on the counter with his head in his hands.

“I like the view,” He says. Virgil makes a retching sound and keeps making the drinks in question. He does his damn best with them and hands them off.

“Get the fuck out of my establishment,” He says and turns away. Stranger laughs and takes his drinks.

“Thanks for the buzz baby!” He calls out as he exits. Virgil flips him off.

As soon as the dude is out of sight, Virgil collapses on the counter in a heap of nerves and embarrassment. The only reason he was able to keep his cool was because he could hide it behind a massive amount of snark and spite. But stranger man was super pretty and wild and Virgil almost wishes he did something about it.

“You okay?” Parker asks when they show up for their shift.

“Do I fucking look okay?” Virgil asks them desperately. Parker just laughs and that’s good enough of answer for him.

“Hello gorgeous!” Virgil snaps his head up from the counter he’s cleaning.

“Oh hell no,” He says and walks away from the front to the back office, leaving his employees to handle Mr Mustache in his stead. He can’t handle it right now. Not when they’re wearing a fucking leather jacket and wild smile. He just can’t do it. So he hides in the back for as long as he can. Which ends up being about a whole ten minutes.

“Uh boss man?” Virgil groans cause that’s him. He’s boss man. Fuck. He drags his hands down his face and looks over at Todd. Todd shifts from foot to foot.

“There’s uhm. I just. Can you-” They don’t have to finish. Mom friend override has been activated and Virgil is heading to the front no questions asked. It’s not a rush right now thank goodness, but they lady at the counter is giving her all in 'entitled customer'.

“This is an outrage, I want to speak to the manager.”

“The fuck you want bitch?” Virgil says without thinking. The lady gapes at him openly.

“This is the worst shop I have ever been in.” She says as if that’s supposed to hurt. Virgil shrugs at her.

“You’re the worst customer that’s ever been in, did you want coffee or not?” He asks her and she gapes again and walks out.

“Put another ten in the draw for walk outs.” Virgil tells Todd who beams and takes the money from the register to put in a jar near the back. Once it’s full they have a party of some kind.

“That was beautiful,” A voice says and Virgil whips around and comes face to face with Stranger Man over the counter. They’re smiling at him crookedly and Virgil's mouth drops because he was not prepared to see them here still or this close to him or so damn pretty.

“Fuck you,” Is his reflex response.

“When and where darling?” Stranger angles over the counter to leer at him and Virgil squeaks. Full on, flat out, squeaks in embarrassment. The entire room seems to pause and watch. Virgil is frozen in shock and stranger looks like he just saw light for the first time which is absolutely unfair.

Virgil dips, and dips hard. He spins on his heel to lock himself in the office. He makes it there only to realize he can’t handle being in such a small space with his anxiety overriding him. He snatches his jacket off the back wall and catches Todd’s eye before he slips out the back door and into open air.

Once outside he leans against the wall, puts his head in his hands, and lets out a very pitiful whine as he sinks to the ground. That has to be one of the softest things he’s ever done in regards to a customer in his life and it will haunt him for years to come he knows it.

He spends a few minutes running through his breathing exercises which goes directly to shit when he hears footsteps approaching.

“I’m fine Todd go back to work,” He snaps.

“The name’s Remus actually.” Virgil jolts and looks at the stranger standing over him. Stranger, or well, Remus, gives him a small sheepish smile and pulls at a random strand of his hair. Virgil sinks lower in on himself.

“You’re a lot different in and out of shop.” Remus says after a sufficiently awkward silence. Virgil grumbles and hides his face in his arms. His entire body tenses when he feels Remus slide to sit beside him.

“I am uh. Like, legit sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” Remus mutters. Virgil groans.

“I was not ready to deal with your stupid pretty face today.” He whines. Remus laughs at that.

“You think I’m pretty?” He asks and Virgil realizes his mistake in word choice. He glances up to Remus in panic cause now that he's admitted it, Remus looks even more pretty.

“Well I just- you know it’s- I don’t- Whatever!” Virgil word vomits all over the place. Remus continues to smile at him infuriatingly.

“Even with the pedo stache?” Remus continues to tease. Virgil decides he’s had enough and elbows Remus hard as he can. Remus lurches a little but he’s laughing. They lapse into an easier silence.

“Silver tongue ain’t so shiny out of work is it?” Remus asks him then but not meanly. Virgil snorts and covers his mouth with his hand to hide his smile.

“I have to get passed the awkward first,” He says. Remus hums in thought and snatches Virgil’s hand away from his face. Virgil lets out a dignified noise and snaps his jaw shut so hard it clicks when Remus places a kiss on his palm... then licks him.

“Gross what the fuck!” Virgil yanks his hand back and wipes off the slobber and decidedly not looks at Remus’s blinding grin.

“There! Now it’s not so awkward!” Instead of an answer, Virgil stands up and heads back inside the shop, leaving Remus cackling in the back. Virgil leans up against the door to hear him walk away and finds himself smiling at the interaction.

“Welcome to Roasted, or not welcome because we close soon I don’t actually care, what do you want?” Virgil is looking through receipts, making sure the till is all correct for the money they made today.

“I want your number.” Virgil freezes. He blinks dumbly at the papers in his hands and then up to Remus standing casually at the counter. His hands are in his pockets and he looks for the world unbothered but more subdued than Virgil has seen him before.

“Numbers not on the menu,” Virgil says dumbly in attempt to cover his frantic feelings. Remus shrugs and looks around the empty shop.

“Yeah but it’s what I want.” He says it so plainly. Virgil glares at him.

“Order something or get out.” That causes Remus to smirk. He orders a small tea and Virgil makes it silently, adding the receipt to the pile to check on. He pauses before handing the drink over, looking over his shoulder at Remus who is preoccupied with some of the decorative things on the walls. Virgil writes his number on the cup.

“Get your shit and get out,” He says and puts the cup on the counter, going back to his papers and ignoring the way his heart pounds in his chest at what he just did. Remus gives him a sad sort of look and leaves with his drink leaving Virgil wondering if he did the right thing.

Only for his stomach to swoop pleasantly when Remus swoops back into the shop 3 minutes later with a wild smile on his face and refuses to leave until they work out the plans for a dinner date.

“Go away.” Virgil greets.

“Never.” Remus smirks back at him.

#dukexietyweek2020 #virgil sanders #remus sanders #dukexiety #fic #my post

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