#and then i was shaking really bad really freaking out still fucking dry heaving in the back of the store and it was just.

[pinkseas]

my manager is WAY too fucking nice to me im gonna explode

[katiescancerjourney]

Anaphylactic Shock, 6/15/22

When I started back on FOLFOX, they said that you can develop an allergy to the main chemo in the cocktail, oxaliplatin - the one that gives you the shitty side effects like cold sensitivity, etc. So as a part of your pre-med drips, they add a healthy dose of Benadryl. It’s pretty awful as you get a drip of steroids right before and the combo is like being on drugs with none of the good parts. I always try to be one with the Benadryl and sleep through the rest of the drips.

I had noticed that whenever the nurses would start the oxaliplatin I would get an itch in my throat but it always went away and I figured that the Benadryl was doing it’s job and went back to sleep. For some reason, this round, my 6th round, I decided to let the nurses know that I always feel that little itch. They definitely seemed annoyed that I hadn’t mentioned this before, totally fair, and I promised to share if it happened again. 

I don’t know why, but I just knew in my gut that this time was going to be the time it didn’t go away.

Sure enough, a few minutes into the oxali drip, I sat up in my chair with shooting pain up and down my back. I probably looked like I was having a seizure as my body convulsed every second to the pain and I couldn’t keep my head up. The nurses ran in, took out my oxali line, pushed anti-nausea meds and more Benadryl and called for an NP. I started dry heaving and went into rigors. I was shaking and dripping sweat and my throat felt fuzzy and foreign, like it wasn’t a part of my body. However, I could breath in and out of my nose and I knew that if I remained calm and focused on my breathing, the meds would kick in in a few minutes and things would be fine. They had an epipen and push of pain meds ready to rock but I asked them to wait because I felt so fucked up from the Benadryl, I couldn’t imagine putting more medicine in me. Sure enough, a few minutes later, sweet relief. I couldn’t really talk and had no motor functions at that point so the nurses let me sleep if off. They woke me up an hour later and I said I was ready to get the fuck home. They were so freaking sweet, even offered to run across the street to Starbucks so I didn’t fall asleep in the Uber home but I felt confident I could get home fine. I did, and spent the rest of the day in bed, loopy as all get out, trying to take in everything that had just happened to me.

As FOLFOX is still such a good chemo, they want to try again, but this time, give me the drip over 8+ hours so see if only little bits at a time will prevent another allergic reaction. 

It’s funny, at first I was so bummed, like damn, I have to be at the treatment center for over 10 hours to get all my drips now? That sucks! I called my friend Sarah who had also had the same reaction to commiserate and whatnot and started to complain about the longer drip and she said “oh wow, you’re so lucky! I wanted to try the longer drip but my side effects were too bad at that point and they wouldn’t allow it” and then I realized, I’m lucky I get to try this bad ass chemo again. Sarah never fails to show me the bright side, like ever. 

[scuttling]

Animals

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 2,766 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Insecure reader, Crushes, Some very public secret touching, Fingering, Pool sex, Unprotected sex Summary: Based on this prompt from anon: "Reader in a red skimpy bikini at one of rossi’s pool parties trying to get hotch to loosen up….what happens when she gets a little too close when they’re swimming in the pool?" I uh 🥵 Link to A03 or read below! Going to Rossi’s for dinner as a team has to be one of your favorite things in life. There is always good food, good drink, teasing and grinning and laughter; you all get to decompress, destress, enjoy each other’s company as people and not because someone’s life depends on it.

You get to see Hotch as a person, too, and that’s kind of the best part. He’s the one who needs to relax and unwind more than anyone, so when he’s there with you all, casually dressed, softer, and quick to smile, it’s no wonder you… feel things.

You’re not an animal. You can feel things without acting on those feelings; you are more than your instincts. So what if you get butterflies in your stomach when he offers to pour you more wine? So what if your breathing picks up when he’s so close you can feel his breath on your neck? So what if you end these nights at home, alone in your bed, wishing he was beside you, inside you? He’s still off limits.

Your body’s reactions to him are normal, chemical, biological, and pointless, because he could be standing half naked in front of you and you would still be able to control yourself. You are a brain that happens to be in a body, not a body that happens to have a brain.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself when Rossi invites everyone over, not for dinner, but an evening pool party.

A pool party. Fuck.

You are one hundred percent apprehensive, but for two different reasons. One is that you are a little self-conscious, and you prefer jeans and t-shirts over any other clothing; wearing a swimsuit in front of your coworkers seems extremely daunting. The other reason is that seeing Hotch in his swimsuit might actually be more terrifying, because you talk a big game about being able to control yourself, but if presented with his hot body, dripping wet, maybe his hair slicked back, a drop of water on his nose...

You take a deep breath, blow it out slowly. You’re just going to tell them you feel sick and can’t make it. Probably no one will care anyway.

You’re just gathering your things to leave work for the weekend, preparing to smile sadly and tell your lie, when Hotch appears at your side, his bag slung over his shoulder. He’s leaving work on time for once; it’s a freaking miracle.

“You’re coming to Rossi’s, right?” he asks softly, and you get those goddamn butterflies. You smile, not sadly.

“Yeah, definitely. I need to go home and get my swimsuit, though. I think I have one... somewhere.” It’s been a while since you had a vacation; wherever it is, you hope it still fits. He swallows, nods.

“Right, of course. I’ll see you there, then.” He brushes a hand carefully over your shoulder and passes you, heads for the door. You take another deep breath.

You are not an animal.

Right?

You arrive at Rossi’s house last, because you spent so long looking in the mirror, trying to convince yourself to just accept the way the swimsuit fits.

The only one you could find was from college, a little red string bikini, and since your body is obviously different now, it’s a little too small. You’re mostly covered, though, except for your ass, and no one is going to be paying much attention anyway. These people are like your brothers and sisters—or in Rossi’s case, your fun uncle—with the exception of Hotch, but you know he’s not going to be looking.

You walk into the backyard in your coverup, a cute black and white tunic, and everyone is swimming but JJ and Hotch. JJ is standing off to the side, phone at her ear, and Hotch is sitting on a lounge chair, not lounging at all. His spine looks rigid, but you can’t imagine why.

“Beer, my dear?” Rossi calls, holding up his own Corona. “Over by Hotch.” You smile and head toward him, bending to reach into the cooler for a drink; he looks a little more comfortable when he sees you, and says hello. You reply, then lift the bottom of your tunic to try to twist off the bottle cap, to no avail.

“Here, let me,” he says, reaching for your bottle, and he wraps his t-shirt around it, pops it open and hands it back.

“Thanks.” You take a long sip, your head tilted back; after all the self-scrutiny, you feel like you earned this one. “Why aren’t you swimming?”

“I will; didn’t feel like it yet,” he says, looking up at you, and you put a hand on your hip.

“Only you would come to a pool party and not swim, Hotch. Live a little.” You take another long sip, if you can call it that—the bottle is half empty already—and then set it down on the table, pull your tunic over your head. Might as well undress where fewer people are paying attention. “Come on,” you say, reaching out a hand. “I will if you will.”

He looks you over like he thinks you’re crazy or something, staring at you for a long moment, and then nods, lets you pull him up to standing. He tugs his shirt off too, and you do your best not to stare, because he is even hotter than you’d imagined, his chest broad and strong, arms strong too, and there’s a trail of hair disappearing beneath his swim trunks that you would like to explore with your mouth. You take a calming breath, turn to head for the edge of the pool, and he follows behind you; Derek looks up and whistles, and you feel yourself flush hot.

“Okay, Baywatch,” he calls with a grin, “come toward me again, but this time run in slow motion.” You roll your eyes and remind yourself not to try to cover up. If he sees you nervous, it’s just going to get that much worse.

“Shut up. It’s the only one I had,” you reply, and you look back at Hotch, who’s just standing there behind you and not saying anything. It’s like he’s afraid to get too close to the pool, or something; no way a big bad FBI guy is scared of water, right?

You get in the pool, and it feels blissfully good on this 80+ degree day, even though the sun is down; you dunk your head just to get it over with, before someone does it for you, and when you come up, you hum happily and rub your wet hair back out of your face.

You look at Hotch, who is sitting on the edge with his feet in the pool. It’s a total cop out, and you swim over to him and carefully put your hands on his legs beneath the water. He looks down at you seriously and doesn’t move.

“Come on, all the way in. For me.” He wets his lips, and you’re about 80% sure he’s going to ignore you, so you just let go of his legs and back away; he absolutely surprises you by dropping into the water with a splash. He goes under, pops up and shakes his wet hair, droplets clinging to his shoulders. You laugh out loud and give him a shove, glad, again, that you’d chosen to submerge yourself already.

“Are you happy now?” he asks, voice dry, but with a playful smile, and you nod and smile as well. Yes, you’re happy, maybe a little happier than you should be: you can feel that your nipples are hard beneath the thin material of the bikini top. Your stupid body is sending signals, and you’re entering the danger zone, your brain and body fighting for dominance; your stupid body may be winning.

Do not engage, your brain repeats when you look at wet Hotch, a sight to behold, all big and drippy and firm; your body whispers in your ear like the devil on your shoulder, just go for it—he will feel really good—what’s the worst that could happen?

“Yes,” is all you say, moving closer to him even though there’s a warning bell going off in your brain. Do not engage!! “All I wanted was for you to loosen up a little, to relax.” You’re less than a foot from him, and no one is paying either of you any attention, busy playing with an inflatable beach ball or singing along to the radio or drifting around on a lounge float. You two might as well be the only people in the world, or at least that’s how it feels.

“I’m… loose,” he says, his voice low and rough, and something about it makes you feel less inhibited, like maybe it’s not just you who wants this; your hand brushes his waist, and then his hand brushes your hip, and then you lean closer and your leg brushes…

Very loose indeed, if loose equals horny, because that’s definitely not a gun in his trunks and he’s definitely happy to see you.

“Sorry,” you breathe, but you don’t feel sorry. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, and you brush him more purposefully this time: your thigh against his bulging cock.

Do not engage!!

“Don’t be,” he replies eventually, and then it’s your hand moving of its own accord, palming him, big and hard. He closes his eyes, wets his lips. You want to bite his throat, to lick it, to get your hand down his shorts and feel him; you’re about to do that, your fingers slipping past the elastic, his breath hitching, and then the beach ball smacks down in the water right beside the two of you and you jump apart, startled.

“Sorry!” Emily calls, and Hotch bats the ball back over to them, and then you just look at each other. Was that a close call you never mention again, or…?

Now or never, your body says. He was about to let you put your hand in his pants. Try it again.

You are not an animal.

You try it again.

This time, you make it past the waistband, and you wrap your fingers around his dick. It’s thick, and hot, and smooth, and he reaches out a hand to grip your waist hard, his eyes boring into yours. You wet your lips, move your fingers to the head, rub it, and then you stroke him three times just to see what he looks like when you do.

He’s gorgeous, unsurprisingly, his eyes lidded and his chest heaving, and you rub him softly one more time and then withdraw your hand; apparently you’re cool with groping your boss in the same pool as the rest of your coworkers, but an actual orgasm is where you draw the line.

You are also breathing heavy, so turned on you’re almost shaking with need, and then Hotch reaches down and slides his hand inside your swimsuit bottoms, rubs the pads of two fingers along your slit. It takes everything you have not to moan at his touch, especially when he dips lower, prods at your opening where you are already slick. He takes a deep breath, and it looks like he’s fighting for strength too, which makes you feel a little better.

At least you’re both animals, now.

He pulls back only to get his hand on your ass, to squeeze it so hard your body shifts forward. You look up at him, and he looks down at you, and everything that needs to be said is said with your eyes.

You drift apart a little bit, but you still feel the ghost of his touch and maybe always will.

You float around, and talk a little; you get out to finish your beer, to grab you both another, and now that you know he’s into you, you maybe make climbing out look a little sexy. When you ease back in, hand him his bottle, he makes eye contact while he wraps his lips around it and takes a long drink.

Eventually, the others interact with the two of you, and it feels so strange to pretend that you and Hotch didn’t just fucking fondle each other fifteen feet away. It also feels really dirty, and that only serves to make you wetter. The glances he’s shooting you don’t help that situation much, either.

Garcia and Emily are the first to leave, and then Reid, until the only ones left are the two of you, Derek, and JJ. JJ says goodbye, heads out, and then Derek gets ready to leave. Rossi says he’ll walk him out, that he’s going to turn in, but that you and Hotch are welcome to stay as long as you like, and to just please lock the front door when you go.

“Couldn’t get you to get in, now can’t get you to get out,” Derek teases Hotch; you preen a little, because you know you’re the cause of both, and when Derek and Rossi leave, the air becomes thick with tension again. You open your mouth but don’t know what to say.

It’s Hotch who actually speaks first.

“I’ve thought about doing that for a very long time,” he murmurs, and you move closer to him, get your hands on his waist again. “You are so fucking beautiful, all the time, but in that bikini… were you just trying to tempt me?” he asks, a sincere question, and you shake your head.

“It’s really the only one I own. I got it in college, so it’s a little small now,” you explain, and he chuckles, soft and low.

“Well then, I guess I’m glad you don’t swim much, because you’re absolutely breathtaking. I was having a very hard time keeping my hands off of you, so I’m glad that you… initiated.” He puts his hands on your ass, pulls you closer, and you wrap your legs around his hips, your arms around his neck.

“Me too. I’ve wanted you for longer than I can remember, you’re so fucking perfect.” You bring a hand to his wet hair and guide him down for a deep, steamy kiss, rubbing against his hard-on and moaning softly, since you can, now. “I want you, Hotch.”

“I need you,” he says, and that’s so much hotter; you reach between you to push down his shorts, taking him in your hand and stroking him again while he holds you up, and then you ease your bottoms to the side and guide him inside you, moaning and tipping your head back when he presses in. “Oh, fuck,” he pants, and you cling to him, kiss him harder, and move in his arms.

“Oh, god, Hotch,” you breathe against his lips, working your hips against his thrusts. “You feel so good, so big and hard and good.” He groans, buries his face in your neck, and pumps up into you roughly, like he’s getting close already.

God, this is amazing, pure fucking, the outcome of being up to your eyeballs in sexual tension—you’re connecting the dots now, seeing how some things you thought were innocent between the two of you were absolutely not—and when he comes he pounds hard inside you, and you dig your nails into his neck and bounce on him until he groans and slides out, sensitive.

“Oh, wow,” he exhales, and then he turns so you’re up against the wall of the pool and lets you go, holding out his hands so you know to stay there. You stretch your arms out on either side of you, breathing hard, and he leans in, moves your top out of the way and sucks on a nipple, then reaches down and pushes your bottoms aside again, presses his fingers deep and fucks you with them.

“Hotch, oh, fuck.” He looks up at you through dark lashes, nips at your breast, and then lifts his mouth off and begs you to come until you do, practically strangling his fingers as you clench tight around him.

He pulls his hand away after getting you through it, fixes your suit and then his, and then pulls you back into his arms and kisses you for a long time, full of yearning and passion and satisfaction. You sigh against his mouth, touch his face, and offer for him to spend the night at your place.

He does, and you have sex on the kitchen counter, and in your bed, and then on the floor the next morning.

You animals. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce

[hopeless-ro-simptic]

Familiar Cerulean Eyes Pt 10

Sorry for the wait everyone! this last week has been crazy! I am working on the next part and hope to have it up in the next day or so and be back on track. 

For more parts click here! Part 11

Warnings: Talk about harming others, blood. That’s about it. This chapter is more just trying to get Y/N acquainted with the league. 

Word Count: 2.4 k

TAGLIST: @skzero-99 @superblyspeedydragon @jparra4587 @flyingowls @emrysaaryn @imuziawi @sheedaabee @peculiarinsomniac @littlelovebug98 @plutoneu @giftofwonder @kitty-kat-ash @fukyouthink @anarchys-bnha-mess @threbony @orenjineki @toobsessedsstuff @bamf-barnes @x-a-delama-x @inanabsentia @reallyshey @godsblesstheboi​ @operatorsdime @drownedbytears​ @emilymikado​ @fluidfandoms​ @gotagan @mikasackrmann​ @flowersgirl02 @bohica160​ @andrastesbeard​ @riapxq @percabethismyotp14​ @celestiallustre​ @moon-spirit-yue​ @hecatve​ @bakugoshirp @vanillanjinn @toshiuwuu​ @rxinbowrena @therealwalmartjesus​ @callmepopcorn​ @xxdumb-bitchxx​

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Villains are the most compassionate people in the world apparently. Well not all of them were, but this lot was.

No one had said anything when you puked all over the floor. Not one snide comment when you curled up onto the ground dry heaving. Toga had stepped forward almost immediately, quicker than even Dabi, pulling your hair back from your face, taking a hair tie front her wrist and tying it up. Dabi hadn’t even growled at her, instead dropping to your other side rubbing your back cooing softly in your ear that it was okay. That it was over. Twice stayed quiet for once so not to say something wrong, instead taking off to go find cleaning supplies to pick up the mess. Spinner just stood there awkwardly.

Even Shigaraki stayed quiet, choosing to take off down the hallway leaving you with everyone else, Kurogiri following after.

“Come on, let’s go get you something to drink.” Dabi and Toga helped you up to your feet, guiding you down the hallway and through a door to the main bar area, sitting you down on a couch against the wall. You were shaking at this point, your ears ringing.

Toga curled up on the couch with you, petting your hair, while Spinner took a seat on the floor a couple feet away from you. You could vaguely hear Dabi tell her to watch out for staples, and a quick retort from her saying there was none but you didn’t care.  How could you? Someone was dead, and their last moments were in agonizing pain because of you. Because you got upset... because they tried to hurt your alpha. 

Dabi came around the bar kneeling in front of you with two drinks in his hand, water and some kind of alcohol, it smelled like whiskey.

“You’re going to want it. Trust me.”

You nodded taking the whiskey from him shooting it to the best of your ability, trading the glass for the water. Dabi got up briefly coming back again this time with multiple drinks in hand, one for each of you before he settled onto the floor in front of you, rubbing your legs soothingly like he could massage away the last however many minutes from your mind, watching you with guilt in his eyes.

You couldn’t look at him.

Twice came in and joined you, hesitating before taking a seat next to Toga who was currently picking apart your hair strands that had blood in them still, you briefly thought that you really needed to shower again.

“That was badass. You’re such a “ You could see Twice covering his mouth with his hand, struggling to keep whatever he was about to say inside. He looked absolutely tortured with himself, trying to keep things in check. Toga immediately switched from picking at your hair to pulling his head against her shoulder, petting him softly.

“He’s right… Y/N. That was pretty cool of you.” You felt sick to your stomach again and shifted away from the duo further on the couch. Why were they even here right now? To make you feel worse? In your mind you knew you would have to get over this at some point. If you wanted Dabi this would be your new normal, you would have to… hurt people. It didn’t make it any easier.

And he just sat silent, rubbing your legs like that would help. Dabi knew you were in an internal war. He knew what you were feeling right now. He wouldn’t blame you if you decided this was too much for you. That he wasn’t worth it. That you rather be free, or even go back to that fucking house. Dabi downed his drink, refusing to think about that. Knowing that deep down inside he wouldn’t let you go back to that house even if that was what you wanted with everything in your soul. He was selfish. Letting you go was one thing, letting his father have you back was another.

You sat frozen on the couch, nursing your second drink already feeling the effects of the first one. It wasn’t numbing like you had hoped. It just made you want to cry more but you refused. You needed to prove to these villains that you were fine. That you could handle this. That they didn’t have to get rid of you just because you were a cry baby. You knew just because Dabi was your alpha, that didn’t mean they would let you stick around. They had to make sure they could trust you.

“You’re allowed to be upset Y/N…” Twice was looking at you seriously now, curled up in Toga’s grasp. There was no second voice to follow. No snarky remark.

“I’m fine.”

“God, I hope not. We don’t need another crazy person.” Toga lightly smacked his head at his words, a smile pulling at her lips.

“What? I’m serious! The last thing we need right now is another psycho like Overhaul. Remember how well that went?” You looked over at the duo with confusion as Twice defended his words, Toga telling him to hush up but he just looked back to you and continued.

“If you’re fine right now, then you are in shock, and if your fine and not in shock you really should be concerned. I don’t know anyone that didn’t freak out the first time... other than Toga maybe, but she’s special. She’s crazy!” Toga rolled her eyes, covering Twice’s mouth with her hand.

“I’ve been dealing with blood since I was born.” She explained, a ghost of a blush crossing her cheeks like she was embarrassed. “You can’t really freak out about hurting people when you have a quirk like mine. The first time I really hurt someone though, like really hurt them, it was an accident. I ran away so fast no one even knew what to do. The look on everyone else’s faces, especially my friends... They started screaming at me saying I was a vampire. They weren’t very cute anymore.”

“Try killing yourself, that’s really awful.” Twice mumbled against Toga’s hand and visibly shuddered like he was remembering something, Toga immediately going back to stroking his head gently like she could sooth the thoughts. Somehow the little blonde had a calming affect on the other beta, you wondered what their relationship was.

“I don’t understand.”

“We all remember our first time, princess. We all hated it. We all probably threw up just like you did, or drank ourselves stupid, or whatever other coping mechanism we came up with. None of us wanted to do this. It just sorta happened.” Dabi finally spoke, his eyes latched onto his empty glass, like he was remembering something he didn’t want to either.

“We aren’t changing the world so we can hurt people. We are hurting people to change the world.” Spinner was speaking now. His voice surprised you, having not heard it before. You knew that he was a Stain fanatic but you didn’t know much else about him.

Kurogiri had snuck into the room. He was standing behind Dabi just a few feet away, looking almost shameful and you jumped when you noticed him, once again surprised by his sudden appearance. You wondered if mist could blush. You wondered a lot about the Beta in front of you.

“I would like to apologize and offer my condolences, Ms. Y/N. It is my fault that Compress went into that room and any of this happened to begin with. I am gravely sorry that you had to get involved like that.” He bowed low, his hands clasped in front of him.

“It’s okay...” You didn’t really know what to say, especially to that. Everyone was being so kind to you, for once you could actually see them as people, people with more than just pure hatred and murder in their hearts, people that were more than the blood they spilled.

It was a couple minutes of silently drinking before anyone said anything again. 

“You know… maybe I shouldn’t say this cause of the tender moment… but Y/N, you really stink.” Twice leaned away from you like you were going to hit him, or maybe like he was trying not to breathe in your stench, pinching his nose.

“Oh thank god, someone other than me said it.” Toga immediately jumped up from the couch putting distance between the two of you while trying to hide a smile on her face of amusement as she covered her mouth and nose with her palm.

Your eyes shifted over to Dabi’s who looked like he was trying to also hide a laugh, his hands had left your legs as he leaned back using his arms to prop him up and you immediately found yourself missing the warmth and comfort of his touch.

“You do kind of reek…”

You scoffed in mock annoyance. Your own lips twitching up in weak smile. They were trying. These crazy people that barely knew you, were trying their best to make you feel better, and it was almost working.

“I guess I’ll go shower then... I need clothes though. Preferably something that fits.” You looked down at the baggy sweats that were barely hanging onto your hips and the hoodie that looked gross as all hell with everything on it, before looking back up at Dabi pointedly.

“But you look so good in mine.” You could hear the way his voice dropped into a low growl that went straight to your lower stomach. You could feel your cheeks heating up. How was he able to flip that switch in you so easily? He was just telling you that you smelled bad!

“Ew gross. If you guys fuck can I watch?” Twice was back to his antics again, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Please don’t. I sit on that couch. I have some clothes that might fit you Y/N!” Toga ran off out of the room and you weren’t sure if she just wanted to get away from the two of you or if she was actually going to look for clothes.

You stood up, looking down at Dabi, mumbling softly asking where to shower to which he responded by grabbing your hands, hoisting himself off the floor almost pulling you down in the process before dragging you out of the room behind him with barely a goodbye to the others.

“So is that a no?”

You followed Dabi back to his room, noticing the conjoined bathroom once you were inside. The whole building seemed to be set up like an old hotel, the bar being the main room, but it seemed like there was a couple other communal rooms as well. Maybe he would let you explore a little when you were done. Get to know the place that was going to be possibly your new home. It was weird to think about it like that. Would the two of you stay here or go back to his old apartment?

“I’m gonna go find Shigaraki and update him on the Shoto situation while you’re cleaning up. We need to get a plan in place before he shows up and tries to kill us all.” Dabi paused when there was a knock on the door, opening it to let Toga bounce into the room with a stack of clothes. Dabi wrinkled his nose at the scent of them, his lips almost settling into a pout when he realized you would smell like her. “I’ll be back. Please don’t go running around until I get back. We might have to work quickly to get everything set up…” He paused again looking at the clothes his alpha focusing on them. “We can go shopping later too… for your own clothes.”  

You nodded, taking the clothes from the petite blonde, smiling gratefully at her before she turned and flitted out of the room, smirking at Dabi as she passed. He slammed the door behind her much to her annoyance. Stinky little brat. Dabi loved her like a little sister but man was she annoying sometimes, her scent especially.

“Okay.” You shifted from foot to foot watching Dabi as he shifted his intense hooded gaze back to yours. You could feel the energy in the room change, your omega perking back up from her sleep now that the two of you were alone, attention piqued. You thought back to the way his lips had felt against yours no too long ago. He was thinking about it too.

“We might have to lay low for a while, find a different place to hide out just the two of us until things calm down.” Just the two of you? By yourselves? Hiding away? You could smell the excitement coming off of you at just the thoughts in your head.

“Don’t look at me like that,” His voice was low, gravelly, a warning as he held the doorknob loosely to keep himself grounded. To remind himself now was not the time.

“Like what?” Did you not realize what you were doing to him when you looked at him like that? Like you were an innocent little thing waiting to be corrupted. Surely you did. He could smell you from here, across the room. It was like a little slice of heaven. He wanted to make it his.

“Like you want to be fucked.” Dabi was delighted in the way that your cheeks turned red, your lips parting to suck in a breath of air in surprise at his words, at how you didn’t even protest. He wanted to bend you over his bed right now and… no… he wanted to take his time with his little mouse. He wanted to worship you, to show you just exactly how he felt with no distractions from the world outside. Just the two of you.

In order to do that he had to take care of some things first.

“Go shower.” He growled out before retreating from the room, shutting the door with a thud, leaning against it staring up at the florescent lights on the ceiling. He could still smell you out here, though it was very faint, the scent blockers throughout the building doing their jobs.

His alpha was screaming to go back in there and have his way with you, fuck the rest of the world, but his logical side reminded him that you guys didn’t have much time left before a horde of heros showed up to come rescue their damsel in distress. There was no way Endevor was going to let his little show dog’s omega get stolen.

Dabi took one deep inhale of your scent, adjusting himself in his pants before pushing off the door and forcing himself to go find Shigaraki. They needed a plan or else this was going to be a bloodbath.

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[hanibalistic]

#5A6461 | LEE MINHO.

genre | fluff

word count | 1501

warning | smoking, mentions of diseases (from the smoking)

the cigarette smoke filled minho's lungs to the brim.

he held onto the hotness in his mouth even after he pulled the cigarette away from his lips. standing away from the park, just right where the entrance was so the mothers and babysitters wouldn't have a reason to be annoyed that he was smoking in plain daylight, he carefully exhaled the smoke after two kindergarteners ran past him in a fit of laughter.

the warmth escaped his dry, cold throat. he could feel it corrupt his lungs, the components of the nicotine and the ammonia breaking down to stain his insides with black fire. sooner or later, everyone always says, sooner or later he would realize how bad it is and he would regret intaking such toxins.

but no matter how many of these thick, white sticks he lights on fire and inhales past his airway, his body and his senses could never seem to get tired of it. the smoke brought him a moment of solace nothing in the world could ever give him.

the world stopped for him in the single second when he inhales. his ears rang, his chest heaved up slowly, the poison ran down his chest satisfyingly, and there was not a care in the world until he exhaled. his nose flared, his lips parted, his eyes sharpened, and there fulfillment was leaving in front of him in the form of smoke being brought away into the wind.

children's laughter, adult's chatter, the brittle shakes of the tree leaves, and the formidable dance of the blossomed flowers all flown into his ears. human and nature, the real world, they called to his name yet somehow, all he could hear at this defining moment was his name being hollered angrily by a certain individual he met during a class he was assisting in.

"lee minho!"

there you go. the regular visitors of the park probably knew his name by now, you were always screaming his name with complete disregard for his and your own image. every time you see him so much as be near a cigarette, you huff and puff yourself to his side so you could give him a good lecture about the downward hill of smoking.

he acts like he never knew all that you will say so he could hear you nag at him as if it was the first time you've ever done it, and he has the same argument with you every single time.

he could never get tired of it.

"you are smoking again. remember what i said last time about smoking?" you said, putting your hands on your hips into an intimidating stance. it was only hilarious and endearing in minho's eyes.

"that's it's bad, but because these are my lungs, it doesn't really matter to you what i do with them?" he said, putting the cigarette near his mouth and inhaling another puff of smoke.

you gasped in disbelief, your eyes following the trail of smoke before they settled on him as if he was the incarnation of sins and devils. how dare he not care when you care about his potentially declining health! even when you blatantly told him about your genuine concern, he seemed to only know how to brush you off as well! the audacity!

"you are destroying your lungs!"

"exactly, my lungs."

wordlessly, you stared at him for a moment before you took a giant step toward him and tip-toed to reach for his soaring arm where the cigarette sat between his rough fingers. struggling with a groan, you tried to forcefully take the cigarette out of his hand but it was to no avail.

minho wasn't tall, but he was still a head taller than you, and much stronger than you as well. therefore, even if you did manage to reach the cigarette, you couldn't pry it out of his fingers that easily.

"damn–" you cursed under your breath after you backed down, frowning at his amused grin while he took another puff of the cigarette smoke. you shook your head, then you reached your hand out. "fine, give me one."

minho raised a brow curiously. "what?"

"give me one, i want to try and see if it's really worth cancer," you said, moving your hand in a beckoning motion.

he blew air out of his mouth, waiting for the smoke to clear out in the air before he shook his head and said, "no."

"why not?" you asked, crossing your arms.

he laughed then, rolling his eyes at you in faint distaste and mainly in amusement that you thought this stupid trick would work on him. he shook his head, tapping on his cigarette as he let out a soft chuckle.

"i don't care if you smoke or not, okay?" he said, "i'm not giving my last one out to you."

you pursed your lips. that made sense, unfortunately for you. he also saw through your scheme immediately as well, the atrocity. you thought you would have him stuck and solid on this one, but turned out he didn't care enough about you to stop your advances in trying to smoke.

"fine, i'll get one myself."

he watched you leave his side with widened eyes—not the surprised kind, the calculative kind, the kind that said he didn't believe you would go through with your words. therefore, imagine his surprise when you came back to him with a new pack of cigarettes in your hand and a lighter in the other.

he shifted his weight when he saw you aggressively removing the plastic wrapping and flipping open the box. you slipped one out from its slot, causing the row to slant to the side due to your movement, and you shoved the box in your pocket.

alright, so you did buy a pack of cigarettes. but that meant nothing to minho, you were just bluffing. he knew you were.

you struggled with the lighter when you were trying to make it work. it was either there was no fire appearing, or you got too freaked out when it worked that you lost the flame. your thumb was starting to string from the snapping when you finally got yourself a steady flame. bringing the cigarette to the burning fire, with trembling hands you lit your first ever cigarette.

minho furrowed his brows when you successfully did so, and somehow he could feel his heart beat with discomfort when you brought it to your lips and carelessly inhaled a giant breath.

you couldn't even smoke normally, and he would like to keep it that way forever. he knew how quickly one could get addicted, so if he wanted to stop you, his best bet would be to start on the first one.

the smoke went down the wrong pipe and you coughed with distaste, but you didn't think to stop there even in the middle of a coughing fit. bringing the white tip to your mouth again, you were prepared to take another inhale when minho suddenly went ahead and snatched the cigarette away from your hand.

"okay, fine! fucking hell, you're so persistent!" he said as he stomped to the trashcan nearby and pressed it against the ashtray on top.

you wafted your hand before your nose, still trying to take away the uncomfortable smell. but seeing minho bring out his pack from his pocket and throwing it into the trashcan made you smile. you have noticed the awful smell of tobacco on him ever since he walked through the doors of the classroom, and every time you told him about the consequences of smoking he would act all old and wise as if you two were just a mere year apart.

he was always acting like he knew everything, yet the one thing he couldn't see was that not only do you care about him, but he cares an awful lot about you too. you wanted him to be healthy, to eat well, to live long, just as he wanted you.

even though he was cursing and was probably feeling very annoyed right now, you couldn't help but jump over to his side and give him a quick hug anyway. minho was taken back by your sudden action, he couldn't even bring himself to hug you back as your warmth engulfed his body. but when you took a few steps back and grinned up at him, he found himself calming down.

ah. his eyes widened. this is familiar.

the world stopped for him. his ears rang, his chest breathed with hushes, your smile coursed down his vein like fresh wine getting him drunk on a high. there was not a care in the world when you smiled at him, nothing else matter but the sight before him, not even the sky and the wind, or the children running side by side in the playground. it was just you.

he exhaled.

there was no smoke, but he found a new kind of solace.

[ghost-of-winters-past]

lost in outer space

summary: When Odins‘ death opened up the gates to hell, Thor, Loki and you ended up stranded on a strange planet with no way home. With Hela claiming the throne of Asgard and the prophesied Ragnarok, you and your brothers were left to fight for your survival on Sakaar while trying to come up with a plan to save everything you’ve ever known. But when Thor suddenly went missing, you couldn’t take the impending doom anymore and turn to Loki for comfort.

characters: Loki, fem!reader (siblings)

warnings/synopsis: during Thor Ragnarok (spoilers), slight mentions of death/loss and trauma, slight angst, one or two swear words, it gets fluffy though. This is you being comforted by your favourite brother. Requested by the wonderful @superwhoflarrow123 Thank you again for being so understanding why this took a little longer! I really hope you like it! (roughly 1.7k words)

The walls of your room were an ugly bright booger green. A futuristic bed with sort of retro patterned orange sheets was placed next to a floor to ceiling window overlooking the landscape of Sakaar. In the distance, trash was stacked up high enough to touch the clouds, and to your feet container like looking buildings were littering the planets‘ surface like thrown out cardboard boxes. The sky was a hazy storm grey, only a handful of brightly coloured air crafts and weirdly shaped skyscrapers breaking up the murky and metallic smelling air. This definitely was one of the less pretty planets you had ever been on. Granted you weren’t here because Sakaar had been your dream destination – up until your stranding here you had never even heard o fit – but because your secret evil sister took over your home planet. Your father having a secret fourth child probably was the most normal thing that had happened to your family so far though, that he locked her up in hell less so. Now that both of your parents were gone, you didn’t intend to make amends and play happy little family with Hela. She did try to kill you and your brothers after all and you felt like that didn’t really qualify for a second chance.

You didn’t know how long you had been tumbling through space like a plastic bag, only that when you landed face down in a pile of space waste, you were alone. You didn’t know where your brothers were or frankly where you happened to be, but after wandering through the sea of garbage for a while, you learned fast that you weren’t as welcome as you had hoped. You were electro-shocked, thrown into a funky looking aircraft and shipped off into imprisonment. At least that was what you were expecting. Instead, you were met with a weird guy in gold sparkly tunics and piercing eyes and only because he decided to keep you around as leverage, you were given a room and the chance to wash up.

It could have been between a couple of days and a week, you really had no clue, time felt weird here when you were attending one of the Grandmasters‘ lavish parties and news arrived that someone else had arrived. You were equally relieved and frustrated as you watched Loki walking into the room, head held high and about a dozen armed guards trailing behind him. At least he didn’t end up on the other side of the galaxy or even worse, dead and even though you were relieved that you wouldn’t be alone in this freak show anymore you could see it on his face, that he didn’t exactly come to your rescue. You had quickly realized what the Grandmaster did with most prisoners and then had to watch him circle your brother like a hunter its prey, already expecting to have to either fight or plea for Lokis life. But only for him to smirk at Loki and then turn around to the woman next to him saying, “He’s pretty, let’s keep him.”

Thor arrived two weeks later but didn’t seem to have the same luck as Loki and you did. He was put into a cell under the gladiator arena while you two needed to keep up appearances. It was almost impossible to get a chance to speak with him. Not only because you were physically not allowed to even go near his cell, but also because when Loki used his magic to visit him he didn’t seem very cooperative.  And so the two of you had no choice but to leave him to fight his way out – as usual – while you started to forge a plan.

Everything seemed to go well all things considered. Loki weaselled his way into the Grandmasters‘ trusted circle, trying to find out more about how to leave the planet, while you mentally connected with Heimdall back home. Hela was wracking havoc raising an undead army and threatening to kill everyone who got in her way and you knew you were running out of time. Knowing that at least you weren’t alone, that at least for once in many years you and your brother all were in one place was your only solace.

“What do you mean with: he’s gone?” “Lost. Vanished. Vaporized into thin air. Nowhere to be seen.” Mouth slightly agape with shock you couldn’t believe what Loki had just told you. “But we had a plan!” Your brother only shrugged and you could already feel a headache forming. Cursing under your breath you massaged your temples with your pointer fingers, trying to make sense of the situation. “So our dear brother got lost on a planet where all the lost things end up?” you had your eyes closed, fingers still rubbing circles into your skin and trying not to freak out. “It seems as if someone would be able to do that, it’s Thor,” Loki said. Your eyes shot upon and you let your hands fall to your sides. “Are you joking?” you snapped, stunned at how little concerned he seemed. “I worked out a deal with the Grandmaster to find him, but he also put that little Valkyrie on it. We have to find him first or I’m afraid he will end up somewhere far worse than the cells,” he explained. “I can’t believe this.” Shaking your head you let yourself plop down onto the edge of your bed. “It’s not like he’s dead,” Loki tried to console you but it did little to calm your nerves. In fact, it only added to the anger that had been building up ever since you landed on this damn planet. “No, Loki. I’m sure he’s not.” You stood up again and raiseed your head to meet him at eye-level. “But you know what? Him going missing is just the cherry on top of what I needed.” Loki was eyeing you warily, his almost bored gaze suddenly beginning to warm up a little. “Are you okay?” he suddenly asked with a gentle voice that almost brought you to tears. “No! I’m not fucking okay! Our father just died, granted he wasn’t my favourite parent and he could be an asshole at times, but he was our father! And as if that wasn’t enough we find out we have a secret diabolic demon sister who is head bend on getting her revenge on someone who's already dead!” you were screaming out the last part, the absurdity of the whole situation just kicking in. Loki looked like he wanted to say something, but you weren’t finished. “But wait, there’s more! We’re stranded on a planet we’ve never even heard of in over a thousand years of being alive and we neither have a space ship to escape nor our brother apparently, who, if I have to remind you, is the fucking heir to the fucking throne!”

You knew you were being unfair, Thor may have put the blame on Loki, but you knew, that all of you and especially your father were equally to blame. But in the end that wouldn’t help the situation so you didn’t try to start a discussion about whose fault this really was. Your chest was heaving and you felt like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders just getting all of this out, but you started to regret your harsh tone as soon you saw Lokis‘ face fall. “I know,” he said and suddenly wrapped his arms around you. Loki wasn’t a big hugger so this was very new but not unwelcome. “All of this is pure shit and I’m sorry you have to go through all of this. I’ll make it right, I promise, darling,” he said as he carefully rested his chin on top of your head. Great, now you really felt bad. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you mumbled and hid your face in the cold leather spanned over the expanse of his chest. Your voice was slightly muffled as you continued, enclosing your arms behind his back. “It’s not your fault. It’s just too much. Thor has gone off without us, we have no real way out of here and whether it’s Hela or Ragnarok, we’re gonna lose our home. I mean, why even try at this point?” “Don’t say that,” Loki argued, loosened the hug and held you at arm's length to look at your face, fingers slightly digging into the flesh of your upper arms. He could see the tears threatening to spill and put on a firm, but gentle face. “We can’t give up. That’s your home Hela is invading. We can fight her. We can win.” “How can you be so sure?” you croaked out, a salty tear finally rolling down your heated cheek. Loki smiled faintly, thumb brushing away another tear and his blue eyes full of determination. “We always win.” You tried to believe him, you really did but realistically, what were your chances against a whole army? “What would you do, if you were to give up? Stay here?” Loki tried a different approach and looked around the room in disgust. Just the thought alone of staying on this garbage dump made you shiver with revulsion. A small smile tugged at his lips. “We’re gonna find Thor, I promise. And then we’ll make right what has gone wrong and you never have to think about this place or Hela ever again, okay?” You took a deep breath, running the back of your hand over your cheeks to dry the wet skin. “Okay,” you then said, voice a little shaky but you were finally calming down again. Loki always had this effect on you. Even when you were kids, he would always comfort you when you were feeling angry or upset and you were glad that after everything that had happened in the last years, at least that hadn’t changed. “Okay,” he repeated and tugged you against his chest again. Your fingers curled into the leather, just to make sure, he wouldn’t disappear too. “Thank you, Loki,” you mumbled and closed your eyes, breathing in his familiar scent. Lokis hands were splayed out over your back when he leaned back a little and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.   “I love you, my darling sister.” And you knew, everything would be okay again. You would find Thor and then your little family would finally return home. Together.

[emotionalsuppork]

⁂Bokuto⁂    Soulmate AU

Okay so I remember seeing a couple of tumblr posts talking about hair soulmate AUs way back whenever - Specifically the whole ‘when you dye your hair the other persons hair changes’, or ‘when you turn a certain age your hair mixes with theirs’, even a ‘your hair colors switch’ - but I totally forgot about it until I read a Bokuto one-shot about it by oreosmama and couldn’t get this thought out of my head.

I wrote this a little differently and I didn’t really explain how any of the soulmate stuff works, but it’s fine. 

Anyways, THIS IS THEIR IDEA! I DON’T TAKE ANY CREDIT FOR THE CONCEPT! I JUST KINDA WROTE THIS AND THOUGHT IT WAS CUTE AND SOMEONE ON THE INTERNET MIGHT GET A KICK OUT OF IT!

❤ their blog  and  their one-shot❤ 

A girl ran into the empty entrance hall of the gym. She probably figured everyone had left since practice had let out a little while ago and, to be fair, everyone had already left.

Well, almost everyone.

Bokuto had stayed behind. He got caught up talking to the coaches, and he was practicing way before any of the others showed up to practice. Of course, he was going to stay late too. And he worked hard; he rightfully deserved the hot shower. 

He went through this rant when he was in his (hard-earned) hot shower.

It was only when Bo walked back into the locker room that he realized he was alone, and nobody actually cared if he stayed late. 

He got dressed and repacked his gym bag, taking out his phone to text Kuroo and ask what time he wanted to meet for lunch.

While waiting on Kuroo's response, he made his way into the main entrance hallway, strolling towards the vending machine. He dumped his gym bag on the bench sitting in between the vending machine, deciding against a snack, and instead fumbling for his wallet to buy himself a drink. That was when the door was flung open, and he watched the girl run in, her jacket held over her head as a makeshift cover from the rain outside. She walked a few feet into the hallway before collapsing against the wall, sliding down to sit on the ground after a few heaving breaths. She whimpered once, a broken sound, then pulled her knees against herself, burying her head into them and hiding her face from view.

Bokuto didn't know what to do. He only came out here to grab a drink from the vending machine.

She didn't even notice him; he could technically leave.

He sighed quietly to himself. Her jacket was completely soaked. It was slowly slipping off her head. Luckily the rest of her clothes, a thin-looking shirt, and skirt paired with (thankfully) thicker looking leggings, seemed more or less dry. He sighed again, defeated, and slid his phone into his hoodie pocket.

He really didn't want to leave her here alone.

He walked over and finally got a good look at her. Then immediately froze and choked on a breath.

Her hair was just like his!

Well, okay, it was styled a little differently but still! He broke out into a wide beaming grin. His soul mate! He found her! and she was....crying?

Oh shit.

His grin slowly faded, and a deep frown crept into its place. Her shoulders were trembling, and he could see her stuttering, uneven breathing, could hear her choking on little sobs. He slowly inched his way closer, and she seemed to be alerted to his presence by the time he got in front of her. When he stopped in front of her, she glanced at his shoes and curled into a tighter ball.

"Hey, uh, are-are you okay?" she sniffled softly and rapidly nodded her head up and down. He hummed and crouched down to try and see her better, with no luck.

"Are you sure?" he tried again. This time she took a moment, then shook her head side to side and back again. He dropped down to sit cross-legged in front of her.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" She didn't respond, and he started to panic a little, "Or-I mean, you don't have to actually, like, talk. Maybe I could guess or-or something?" He shook his head at his own stupidity. He was making a damn fool of himself. But she let out a quiet huff, and he forgave himself. At least he got her to laugh. Sort of.

He opened his mouth, racking his brain for something funny he could say to lift her spirits, but he snapped it shut when she raised a shaky hand to point at her hair. She dropped her hand back on top of her knees, still hiding her face from view. He physically wilted, feeling unbelievably heavy all of a sudden. I made her cry? What did I do!?

"Your soul mate is the problem?" She slowly nodded her head again. He didn't notice his hand reaching out for her until it was hovering over her head. He promptly snatched it back, instead using it to tug the hood of his sweatshirt over his damp hair and pull strings a little tighter. He cleared his throat. I'm not hiding, I swear.

"What happened? Do you know them?" She shook her head again and took a deep breath.

"N-no, but I-" She took another shuddering breath, "I'm sorry. I'm having a bit of a rough day today." He was stunned. Her voice was so pretty, and melodic, and soft, and...and pretty. He shook his head.

"No, don't be sorry! I mean, I'm sorry! For-cause you're crying and it's-that's not....fun." He groaned quietly and dropped his head into his hands. A damn fool. He was so insanely lucky that Kuroo wasn't here. Oh god, he'd have a field day with this.

He sat there like that a few moments, silently swearing at his own anxiety, only snapping out of it when she started giggling softly. He paused and peeked through fingers. Her face was still tilted down, and he couldn't really see her through the veil her monochrome streaked hair had made. But he could tell she was smiling a little, and his heart squeezed just shy of painful. He made her laugh for real!

"Hey, are you cold?" She stopped crying, but she was still shaking. Bokuto just realized how wet her jacket really was. He scrambled over to where he left his gym bag on the bench next to the vending machines, only tripping twice on the way. Tearing through it, he managed to find his other hoodie. He peeked a glance behind him before discreetly smelling it. It wasn't that bad for being stuck inside his gym bag. Miraculously, it didn't smell gross, just a little like his deodorant. He jogged back over to her and prayed she wouldn't think he was creepy for doing this.

"Uh h-here! Why don't you-I mean, do you feel comfortable taking off your jacket for a sec? It's really wet, and you seem kinda cold?" One shining eye looked up at him, face still hidden. He held up the hoodie in front of him. "I thought this might be more comfortable for you? I-if you want! I mean, I won't make you take it or anything." Please don't think I'm creepy, please don't think I'm creepy. please, oh please don't be scared of me.

"Thank you. That's very kind of you, um" she tilted her head to the side, her hair moving with her. Damn it.

"Oh! Bokuto, I mean, Kotaro. Er, I mean, my name is Bokuto Kotaro, but you can call me Kotaro. Please." She nodded and started to peel off her jacket. He sat back down in front of her. Her shirt was only a little damp, luckily, but it did seem pretty thin. She swiftly tugged the hoodie down over her head, pausing to roll up the sleeves when she tried to rub her eyes but found her hands lost in the fabric.

"Thank you, Kotaro, you're very sweet," He stopped breathing when she said his name, and he swore his heart stopped when she finally pushed her hair away from her face to look up at him. She continued speaking, seemly oblivious to his internal meltdown, "My name is (Y/N)."

"You're..." He trailed off and just sort of stared for a minute before she cleared her throat and tilted her head.

"I'm?" she furrowed her brows and almost pouted in confusion. Gorgeous, adorable, driving me crazy, killing me softly.

"Stunning." Is what he settled on. (Y/N) startled at that. Looking at him with wide eyes. He watched a blush wash over the apples of her cheeks, across the bridge of her nose. He sighed. She was so fucking pretty. Not to mention the fact that she was wearing his hoodie, with my name and number on the front and back in big, bold letters.

"Wait, what?" He fell gracelessly back down to earth and realized he was probably freaking her out.

"I mean-fuck, I'm sorry that was creepy I-" she rapidly shook her head and waved her hands in front of her.

"No, no, it's honestly okay. You just surprised me, that's all. Since my hair changed a few weeks ago, people have been a little, um, impolite, about my looks." She wrung her hands together in her lap and looked away. He furrowed his brows.

"People have been bullying you about your hair?" He felt heated anger and fierce frustration bubble up when she admitted it. His hands curled into tight fists and he took a few deep breaths.

Don't scare her.

"Is that why you were crying?" She tilted her head away from him again. Yes.

"They can be quite volatile..." Was all she said.

"Well, maybe you should dye your-actually no, I shou-your soul mate should dye their hair so you-" (Y/N) giggled softly again at his irate tone. He paused, and she took the moment as an opportunity to gently enclose one of his big hands with both of hers. Her hands are freezing! Bokuto unconsciously brought his other hand up to join in, turned his enclosed palm around to warm her skin.

"Honestly, my hair isn't the problem. It's just-I'm usually a little shy. Having that much attention is stressful, plus its negative attention." Bokuto looked up to watch her, but she just stared at their hands resting on her lap with a tiny smile. When had she lowered her knees? He shook his head to shake away the thoughts and focus on their conversation.

"That still sounds like your hair is the problem." He pointed out. She looked up at him. Fucking hell, she was gorgeous.

"Actually I-well, I kind of...like it." She smiled shyly but held his gaze. He tried not to visibly perk up. Instead, he raised his eyes to her monochrome hair. Black and white streaks a little wet and stringy from the rain outside. Bokuto looked into her eyes again and nodded once, resolute.

"You should. I think it suits you!" He paused and decided to finish his thought, "I think anything would suit you."

Her nearly faded blush washed back over her face, and he beamed at her when she stuttered her thanks. His wild grin softened considerably when she continued smiling at his hands, still cradling her cold fingers. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to prepare himself for his next question. He didn't see her watching him curiously.

"Do you-I mean, If you-er no, are you...?" She just stared at him in amused bewilderment. He closed the one eye he had opened to gauge her reaction and tried again.

"(Y/N), when you meet your soul mate, will you be mad at-" he stopped and bit his tongue at the words that almost escaped his mouth, will you be mad at me?, he soldiered on, "at him-at t-them?"

A moment passed where her gaze wandered, and her lips pursed slightly. Please stop doing that, I can barely think around you as it is.

"No. I don't think I have any reason to be," She said it with such finality. Like that was that, and it would never change.

"Really? But he's the reason why you went through all this. All the attention and the stress, I mean, I just found you crying in a hallway, you can't convince me that this isn't hard for you." Bokuto realizes he's basically giving her permission to hate him, which he can't even think about it hurts so bad. But I made her cry! Sure it was indirectly but still! Shouldn't he be punished or disciplined or something? Should I go run laps? Akaashi made me run fifteen laps around the gym when I accidentally made one of the first years cry.

Her voice broke him from his thoughts.

"I don't think I could ever hate them. No matter what." His heart wrenched, and this time it was painful.

"Are you sure?" She smiled and nodded at him.

"Of course I am. Who am I to judge someone I haven't met yet for having eccentric hair? Maybe they're just an eccentric person." (Y/N) shrugged her shoulders, and Bokuto was desperately fighting the urge to tug her into his lap and kiss her senseless.

Bo gathered his strength. He squeezed her hands tight once, twice, then after a moment a third time.

It still took him another few moments to actually speak.

"(Y/N), I think-I think I'm your soul mate." He had tilted his head up to the ceiling as he spoke, hoping it would help him to not cry if she got mad.

A moment passed quietly before she squeezed his hands once, twice, and a third time. He kept his eyes on the ceiling. Don't get your hopes up. (Y/N) cleared her throat and tried again, he didn't budge. She huffed and took her hands back. He heard her shuffling around. Two warm hands cupped his face and guided his head down so she could see him again. He still wouldn't look at her face.

"Kotaro," She was giggling, "Please look at me."

"Nuh-uh," he murmured. (Y/N) rolled her eyes, almost fondly. Not that he could see it.

"Am I allowed to take off your hood? Please, Kotaro?" He shut his eyes tight but agreed.

Her fingertips lingered on his skin as she pulled her palms away. Nudging under the cinched line of the hood, she gently stretched it out again and let it fall to rest against his back once more. Her hands dropped to his shoulders. For a few heartbeats, It was silent.

"That's why I feel so safe with you." (Y/N) whispered, proceeding to run her fingers through his clean hair. I might have throw out my hair gel and permanently leave it down if she keeps this up. She lightly scratched behind Bo's ears, and he noticeably shuddered. Never again. I will never again put gel in my-

His eyes snapped open, and he stared down at where (Y/N) had shifted onto her knees so she could reach his head.

"D-did you just say that you felt safe? With me?" He didn't make a move to look at her, and she (thankfully) continued brushing through his hair.

"Mhm."

After a sharp intake of breath, Bokuto raised his hands and plucked hers off his head. Running his thumbs over her knuckles, he finally worked up the courage to look at her once more.

He felt like crying. (Y/N) looked so dazzlingly beautiful, kneeling in front of him in his hoodie, wearing my name and number. She was beaming at him, but her happiness quickly turned to panic as she yanked her hands back and flitted between stroking his cheeks and rubbing his shoulders.

"Kotaro! Darling, what happened? What's wrong?" She babbled, sounding alarmed. What?

"What are you talking about?" His voice cracked. Oh shit, I actually started crying.

Bokuto started chuckling, quiet hiccups interrupting him periodically. (Y/N) still just looked panicked, which only made him laugh harder.

"I'm fine, I swear!" He flapped a hand at her to wave off her concerns and then rested it on her hip. "I just-I was so scared." He confessed, and she finally settled on rubbing his shoulders.

"You were scared?" He heard the unspoken 'of what?' and sighed.

"I accidentally made you cry! I didn't know what to do, let alone how to fix it. I was seriously thinking about running laps around the gym as punishment." (Y/N) laughed loudly at that, and Bokuto joined in after admiring her for a second.

"You were going to run laps? Why?" She asked breathless and incredulous.

"I don't know! I panicked and-I don't know!" She was leaning on him heavily at this point, laughing way too hard to hold herself up. Bokuto wrapped his arms around her waist and coaxed her into his lap after she began to tip over. Then he just watched her, brushing her monochrome hair away from her face. She called me darling.

After her giggles faded out, she looked up and watched him right back. She slowly leaned closer, and he followed her lead, letting his eyelids slide shut. He patiently waited for her to lean that last bit closer, trying to respect her boundaries. However, the sentiment flickered out when she changed directions and merely pecked his cheek before attempting to wiggle out of his hold and stand up. He narrowed his eyes at her poorly concealed laughter and held fast. She's fucking with me!

"Oh, so that's how it's gonna be, huh?" Keeping her in place with one strong arm, he used his other hand to tilt her chin towards him, quickly sweeping down to kiss her. At once, she stopped struggling and fell completely pliant, allowing him to further turn her and get a better angle. (Y/N) gasped when he licked at her bottom lip and let out an adorable, soft noise when he nipped the same spot. Bokuto broke the kiss before he got too carried away trying to draw more sweet noises from her lips.

"Do you tease all the boys you kiss this bad?" She stared at him wide-eyed, looking a little dazed, before shaking her head. Bokuto raised an eyebrow.

"No? Why am I getting teased then? Huh darling?" He pouted at her and held her closer. (Y/N) opened her mouth, then closed it. Blushing at the fact he actually caught her pet name she had slipped up with earlier. She pressed her face against his shoulder, mumbling something he couldn't catch.

"Yeah, I got none of that."

"You're the only boy," She trailed off, "My first boy."

Bokuto perked up and crushed her against him so tightly she squealed.

"I'm your first kiss?" She squirmed as she nodded, and he loosened his grip a little. She looked up at him and laughed at the look on his face.

"Why do you look so happy about it?" Bokuto shrugged and tried to look less worked up. He couldn't find it in himself to look the least bit guilty, though.

"I'm sorry for stealing your first kiss. I should've asked. I'll ask next time, promise." (Y/N) looked stunned, then smiled sweetly up at him. It's gonna be so hard to keep my hands off her.

"Don't be sorry. I wanted you to have it. You don't have to ask either," She tilted her head to the floor, "They all belong to you now anyway."

Bokuto guided her lips to his again and stopped when they were a few centimeters apart. (Y/N)'s eyes had fluttered shut as soon as his fingertips pressed against her cheek, but they opened back up when he lightly tapped them against her. One glance into her sparkling irises let him know his advances were definitely welcome. After running his thumb along her soft bottom lip, he decided to make good on his earlier thought of kissing her senseless. She sighed into his mouth as soon as their lips met. Her hands moving from her lap to curl in the fabric around his neck. He pulled her tighter, promised himself to never break these sugared kisses.

Only he did. Suddenly breaking away at the abrupt, loud ringing of his phone. (Y/N) laughed when he groaned and begrudgingly fished it from his hoodie pocket, glancing at the screen. Damn it Kuroo! Leave me alone!

"What?" (Y/N) lightly smacked his shoulder at the rude tone of voice.

"Jeez, sorry for bothering you, your majesty," Bokuto growled into the receiver, "But are you done yet? We were supposed to meet up for lunch thirty minutes ago. Or are we just ignoring my texts now?"

"I'm a little busy right now, Kuroo-" He quickly got cut off.

"Yeah, I can see that. The poor girl's practically getting eaten alive." Bokuto flinched and whipped around to gape at the glass doors of the gym's entrance. Kuroo's smug face stared back at him.

"You son of a-" Kuroo hung up the phone before he could even think of finishing what would most likely be a rather vulgar insult and stepped inside, shaking off his umbrella and wiping off his shoes. Bokuto looked back at (Y/N), but she just looked confused. A little embarrassed once she noticed Kuroo walking towards them. Bokuto scrambled up, carrying (Y/N) with him, and set her down gently on her feet. Kuroo stopped in front of them, and his eyes skimmed over (Y/N)'s hair and Bokuto's hoodie draping over her, nearly covering up her skirt entirely. He spared Bokuto a glance before holding out a hand to (Y/N).

"Kuroo Tetsuro. He's much nicer in person than he is on the phone, hmm?" Bokuto rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue. (Y/N) laughed as she shook Kuroo's (stupid) hand.

"(Y/N). And I wouldn't know, we uhm, just met a little while ago." Kuroo smirked at Bokuto and clicked his tongue.

"Have you no shame, Kotaro?" Bokuto groaned and pulled at his hair. Kuroo (the bastard) just laughed and turned to (Y/N), "Would you like to join us for lunch? If we're even still going." He grumbled the last part in (mostly) pretend annoyance.

(Y/N) lit up and looked to Bokuto for permission. He brightened once more.

"Yeah! Would you?" Kuroo snorted at his eagerness, but he ignored him.

"Sure! I'd love to tag along, if it's okay with you, Kuroo?" Kuroo nodded and reminded Bokuto to grab another umbrella from the storage cupboard in the locker rooms. At the same time, (Y/N) gathered her forgotten jacket, and the bag Bo didn't even notice her carrying.

When he walked back into the hallway with the largest umbrella he could find, they were already waiting outside. Bokuto grabbed his gym bag and dashed out to follow them. He stopped and watched in pure horror as Kuroo wrapped an arm around (Y/N)'s shoulders and pulled her under his open umbrella. They both laughed at the look on his face, and Bokuto made sure to point out Kuroo's 'demonic' guffaw whenever he stomped over to tug (Y/N) underneath his own umbrella. She simply smacked his shoulder again.

[homebody-nobody]

54 and 62 Jiara

hello I got ~carried away~ who is shocked not me 

Rating: T (for language) Word Count: 1653 (oops) 

54) Why is there a pregnancy test in the trash?   62) I warned you. He warned you. Your fucking mom warned you.

Dating Daniel Ryder was a bad idea. Kiara knew that. But he was tall, blond, blue-eyed, and deeply emotionally unavailable, and Kie is, unfortunately, the kind of girl with a type. Pope had already confronted her about the similarities between Danny and a certain friend of theirs, so when she misses her period, she knows she can’t call the boys. 

After the summer of gold, Sarah became somewhat of a permanent fixture in their little crew, and, reluctantly, old grudges were forgiven, and a new, better friendship formed. Kiara wasn’t sure how to approach that relationship, at first. Being friends with girls was so much different than what she had grown up with, gotten so used to over the years. It’s a different kind of bond. All the same, she doesn’t want to go to Walgreens by herself. 

While they wait for the results, sitting on Kiara’s bathroom floor, Sarah knocks her foot against Kiara’s. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” she says, and Kiara just shrugs, too disconnected from reality to really get any thought past the swirling storm of panic that predominates her thoughts. 

Another minute passes, and the timer rings on Sarah’s phone. Kiara lunges toward the counter. 

The test is negative. 

Both girls let out a collective sigh of relief. 

“Oh thank fuck,” Kiara lets out, dropping back to the floor, her back sliding down the wall. Sarah leans over and drops her forehead against her friend’s knee, laughing, because she doesn’t really know what else to do. She wouldn’t have known what to say, if something else had happened. “I’m not telling Danny.” 

Sarah lifts her head, her chin resting on Kiara’s knee instead. “Why not?” she asks. 

Kiara shrugs again. “He’ll freak and run.” She shakes her head. “I should have listened to JJ.” He hadn’t liked Danny from the jump.

Sarah scrunches up her nose and wraps her arms around Kie’s leg. “I mean, he warned you,” she admits, and then; “I also warned you. I mean hell, your fucking mom warned you.” She laughs a little bit, and Kiara picks up the leg she’s leaning on and nudges her in the stomach with her foot. 

“You’re not helping,” she points out. 

Sarah’s head falls to the side, watching her friend’s face, studying the gears turning behind deep, intelligent brown eyes. 

“Are you gonna tell JJ?” she asks. 

Kiara lands squarely back in reality with a jerk. “Why the fuck would I do that?” she asks, and Sarah almost laughs. She knows how JJ feels about Kiara. Everyone does, except for Kiara. 

Sarah shrugs, delighting just the smallest bit in the way the machine in Kie’s head seems to be spitting smoke trying to understand what Sarah has just said. There’s no more argument, though, because the door to Kiara’s room bursts open, announcing the arrival of John B and JJ, who, of course, neglected to text about coming over to pick the both of them up. AFter everything, Kie’s parents have been infinitely kinder to all of the boys, and the Carrera house has started to feel like communal territory, equitable to the Heywards but not quite on par with the Chateau. Although, nowhere will ever feel like home to any of them quite like the Chateau does. 

Sarah scrambles up from the floor, and goes back into Kie’s room to stall. Kiara stands and sweeps the pregnancy test in the trash, washing her hands before following Sarah into the bedroom. 

“What were you both doing in the bathroom?” John B asks, plastered to Sarah’s back, his arms around her shoulders. Kiara looks, wild-eyed, to her friend, and Sarah makes up a lie about makeup. John B looks satisfied, but JJ doesn’t. 

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Kie asks, “I thought it was common practice to call before you start bursting into people’s houses.” 

JJ pokes her in the side with a good-natured grin, and masks his confusion poorly when she swats at his hand. “There was no bursting,” he protests, “your mom let us in.” She still doesn’t smile or laugh, and he relents, eyeing her all the same. She’s still upset and a little shaken, and Kiara has never been very good at covering up her feelings. He wants to ask her wha’ts up, but he knows that won’t yield anything, not with John B and Sarah there, too. Kiara already isn’t good at vulnerability, much less in group settings. It takes one-on-one time and usually a good deal of alcohol before she lets anything remotely private slip. 

John B saves the day. “We came to get you guys,” he explains, “There’s a killer swell at Rixon’s right now.” 

Kiara lights up, delighted by the idea of a long afternoon of surfing to get her mind off the close call and the conversation she’s goind to have to have with Danny, and ducks into her walk-in closet to change. Dimly, she hears JJ say something about needing the bathroom through the door, and her heart climbs up into her throat as she ties the halter of her bikini behind her neck, dizzy and praying to whatever might be up there that he doesn’t look in the trash. 

They aren’t listening. 

They both come back into the room at the same time, JJ drying his hands on his t-shirt (heathen), and Kiara pulling on a loose button-up to serve as a cover-up. JJ, bless him, never does know how or when to keep his mouth shut. 

“Why is there a pregnancy test in the trash?” he asks. 

Kiara freezes, and Sarah takes a deep, sharp inhale. Still holding her, John B goes ghost-white, his entire body going stiff. JJ realizes his mistake almost immediately. 

“Um --” he says, eyes darting between the two girls, and, resigned, Kiara takes the fall, to save the healthy relationship from an entirely unnecessary fight. 

“It’s mine,” she says, and John B relaxes, just slightly. JJ doesn’t. Not until she says; “false alarm.” 

The silence hangs awkward and heavy until Sarah says something about warming up the van (It’s May), and drags John B out of the room. JJ doesn’t say anything, and Kiara doesn’t know why she’s waiting for him to. He stares at the floor, and she twists the hem of her shirt around her index finger. 

When he does speak, she’s surprised at his question. “Why didn’t you call me?” he asks. 

“It’s no big deal,” she reassures him, not sure she believes it, herself. ���It was negative, anyway.” 

“You thought you were pregnant, Kie,” he says, his voice breaking on the word. She flinches. “That’s a pretty big fucking deal.” 

“But I’m not,” she insists, stubbornly determined not to understand why he’s so caught up in this. 

“Did you tell Danny?” he asks, and she wants nothing more than to run far, far away from this conversation. She didn’t expect JJ to care this much, and possible reasons tumblr and crash together in her exhausted, anxiety-hangover of a mind. She shakes her head, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, and his mouth turns into a thin, flat line, his hand curling into a fist and tapping lightly against the bedpost. “Why not?” he asks. 

“Why do you care so much?” she shoots back, and he winces, the words like a blow. She knows why. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “If it was me --” 

“But it’s not you,” she interrupts, shocked to feel tears forming, hard and crystalline, in the bottom of her throat. “So it doesn’t matter.” 

“And whose fault is that?” he responds immediately. The words echo like a whip cracked through the room, and finally, their eyes meet, furious and burning, full of misunderstanding and jealousy and illusions of betrayed trust. “I warned you,” he goes on, the dam finally broken, “I told you he was bad news and you dated him anyway.” 

“You’re acting like you were even an option!” she snaps, and there’s the truth of it. She dated Danny because he was almost JJ, because the one thing she really wanted, the one person she really wanted -- she thought he was out of reach. Her voice is ragged and raw when honesty finally climbs and claws its way out of her throat. “Of course, I wanted you,” she cries. “But I couldn’t have you, so don’t go trying to tell me how to live my life.”

When she looks up again, his face is so open and honest it almost hurts. Her chest heaves from the argument and the fear and all the other stress she’s carried around all day. She can’t handle this, not now, and her entire body screams at her to just run, but she can’t, not when JJ is looking at her like that. 

“Kie…” he sighs, and without words, the truth paints itself around the both of them, colors finally exploding across the blank, undefined space between them. He crosses the room in three quick steps, and he’s kissing her, holding her face, her hands curled on his chest. It’s an explosion of sorts, an ending and a beginning all at once. 

JJ speaks softly when he pulls away. “You could’ve had me,” he says, his thumb brushing away a tear that rolls down her cheek. “You can still have me.” She lifts a fist and lets it thump gently against his chest, letting out a watery laugh. 

“You never said --” she starts, but he smiles, and kisses her again. 

“I didn’t think I had to,” he explains, and she bumps her forehead against his. 

“You’re an idiot,” she says, and he laughs. 

“Your idiot,” he says. And then, softer; “if you want me.” 

She kisses him once more, and there’s still John B and Sarah downstairs, still Danny to deal with, still a thousand other things that might get in their way, but this moment -- this moment is all theirs. 

“Of course I want you.”

[whump-town]

Nation Of Two

(Hotchniss/Hotly, language warning)

(You can also read the full text here)

It’s no secret that Emily Prentiss and Aaron Hotchner make a great team. Nearly in sync in every way possible. To outfits and biology- it’s fairly uncommon to stumble upon two people who seem to share everything in common and yet nothing at all. Mild-mannered to a short fuse, wildly protective, and a force to be reckoned with and yet what had created those similarities could not separate them more.

At the same time, Morgan had never seen two people get under each other’s skin as often as those two. In one breath, they’re moving in tandem the next arguing over a cup of coffee. Communicating through a single glance shared across a busy room and then at each other’s throats.

Dave had just broken up one of their more heated arguments. Given the profanity riddled sarcastic retort Emily had thrown as a final blow, Morgan could make a fairly educated guess that they were arguing about the headache Hotch is attempting and failing to hide.

Arguments over injuries and ailments always procure the worst scenes. They get heated, worse so when Hotch is the injured party in their das reich der zwei. Their Nation of Two- the dream team, in it together till the end of the line. The line, of course, being injuries. They want to protect everyone and when that spotlight finds itself pointing at one of them, it creates a unique kind of challenge. 

A pain in the ass. 

“Reid,” Hotch’s rough baritone breaks through the precinct. “You’re with me,” he announces, his dark eyes purposely flicking to Prentiss. “We’re going to the dock.” 

Reid realizes he’s now been roped into this. Going with Hotch means he’s siding with Hotch and like a fool, he’s only got one option. He sets the marker in his hand down on the table and sends Rossi a panicked look- knowing he’s the only person who can help him at this point. 

The older man offers him a short shake of the head- great, he’s really screwed. 

Prentiss’ jaw clenches as she glares at Hotch, her fist clenched at her side. What point is he proving right now? Look at me, Aaron Hotchner, all buff and big because I’m going to get an ear infection going outside in the snow without any protection for my busted up ears! So manly, so cool.

Fuck him. 

She hopes he gets an ear infection, it would only serve him right. Asshole.

Picking up Reid’s discarded pen, she sets back to her work. At least this way one of them would be getting something done.

__________

“Hotch?”

The snow had started coming down harder once they got in the car. Reid had learned a long time ago that as sensible as his boss was, one of the largest mistakes you could make around him was getting in a car while the man was angry. And as worrisome as the car ride had been- the tall, lanky creature standing on the dock is shaping up to be worse. 

“FBI!”

Reid blinks, just watching in confusion, and fear as Hotch keeps his solid pace up. 

“Identify yourself.” No one’s supposed to be on that dock. Hence the yellow tape wrapped, practically, all the way around it. If he could see the tape through the snow then surely so could the figure.

Hotch comes to a staggering halt, fingers itching to draw his gun. 

“Step closer,” the figure shouts over the snow, “and I’ll slit this little bastards throat.”

A father-son duo… admittedly, Hotch wasn’t expecting this. “Just let him go,” Hotch replies, evenly. His hands raise, slowly, making sure everything stays just as it is. “We can talk- tell me your name?” The kid looks no older than sixteen and terrified. Trembling. 

“I'm not going to jail!” The man shouts, “those girls had it coming! They deserved it!” The father jerks the boy closer, his son’s body covering his. “Now, fuck off!” He pulls them closer to the edge.

Hotch’s heart is thundering in his chest, he’s really not in the mood to watch a father kill his son. “Just- Just-” he falters and that’s all it takes. Hotch shouts in horror as the father throws both himself and the son over the ledge. He’s aware of Reid shouting his name but he tears off for the desk. The whole way losing articles of clothing- his phone, his gun, his jacket-

The water hits like a punch, stealing the air from his lungs. He breaks the surface and his face burns from the freezing water and the wind. He shakes his hair out of his face, searching for blood or hair or- His eyes zero in on a small splash, a hand breaking the surface. 

He dives back under, muscles burning as he forces his way through the water. There’s a mass of murky movement, two bodies in motion. Hotch struggles to tell son from father for a moment- a moment too long. A hand reaches out and grabs his leg, puling him down too and he knows. 

With all the force he can manage he kicks down at the hand, a sickening water muffled snap coming to his ears. Hotch wraps his arms around the smaller figure, his lungs burning and body growing tired. He kicks them up but there are other limbs connecting with the soft tissues of his body. The cold has numbed his body and he doesn’t feel the pain that should be coordinated with those blows.

His head breaks the surface and all he feels is pain. Up his sides, in his lungs, and his face. “Stop-” his head goes back under the water, a wave knocking them back under and over. He has to fight harder to get them to the surface and the body in his arms turns limp- like a ragdoll.

This time Hotch’s head breaks the surface and there’s no pain. Just numb, soft cold. Hotch hooks his arm under the kid’s armpits, resting his head on Hotch’s chest. He lays on his back and starts to kick, starting the exhausting and long trip back to dry land. 

“I see him!” It’s Reid, his voice edged with panic. “Hotch! Keep swimming you’re almost there!”

A wave hits and Hotch is forced back under. His body stops fighting, for a moment his brain screams but his body just sinks. It’s not even a fight. The water stops feeling like water- it’s warm and… well, somethings just can’t be explained. His body is detached, his thoughts slowing. 

Jack-

The water fills his lungs and the blur of the world turns black.

Emily-

Sharp pain in his chest- 

Burning lungs, his eyes shoot open looking and seeing nothing. Water and stomach acid burning the back of his throat and on his back he chokes- the water starting to slip back down into his lungs when he’s seized by his belt and shirt sleeve, heaved up onto his side.

He gags, chest burning as water is forcibly removed from his lungs. He attempts to struggle away but it’s to no avail. His body is not responding. 

There are hands all over him, burning warmth spreading through his veins. Like lava. “Hello Agent,” an unfamiliar face greets. Hotch just stares at the other man as he’s vaguely aware of being laid on his back. A large hand cradling his neck. “Your friend told me dove in that water,” both men’s eyes wander to the dock and the waves crashing into it. “You suicidal or something,” the medic says with a shake of his head, “ or just stupid brave?”

The Emily in his head answers “stupid brave” but Hotch can’t manage anything more than a wheezing breath. It’s taking all he has to manage that. The medic keeps talking, going on about how Hotch is either crazy lucky or an unusually good swimmer. 

“Reid?” He croaks, his head feels heavy, wrong but he can see a familiar blur in a sea of red vehicles. How? How did he get out?

The medic stops his talking and frowns down at his patient. “Is that the scrawny one?” 

Hotch swallows thickly and nods.

The medic nods back, “he’s okay. Looks a bit like a drowned rat but he saved your ass.” He motions with his head to their left, just slightly up the bank. Reid is sitting on the bumper of an ambulance, a shock blanket around his shoulders. “He’s a tough kid, though.”

Hotch keeps his eyes locked on him, assessing the situation. Reid is stronger than he gives him credit for. 

A sudden weight is placed on the center of Hotch’s chest, a foot on his sternum. To his own ears his cry of pain is muffled. Vaguely, he’s aware of the sound of a monitor making frantic noises, the medic’s voice drowning in with it. Someone shouts his name but the black encroaching on his vision is too much. He succumbs to the lava in his veins. 

__________

Morgan knocks at the open door, hoping to draw Reid from his silence. “You okay, kid?” The nurse had said he was fine. They thought he was in shock but his core temperature hadn’t dropped that much thanks to the EMTs fast work at warming him up. That hadn’t spurred him to say anything though. 

He hasn’t said a word since they pulled him from Hotch.

Reid keeps rocking himself, knees tucked to his chest and arms around his shins. He’s still freezing and it’s all his fault. He should have been faster.

“Hotch!” The adrenaline is pumping back through Ried’s body, knees and hands shaking as he watches the waves hit the side of the dock but Hotch’s head doesn't come back up. There are no bubbles coming to the surface, no signs of a fight happening below the surface. “Hotch!”

It’s been a minute but when Hotch dove in he was under for nearly two. 

Seventy-six seconds.

Even if Hotch is a good swimmer-

Reid pulls his jacket off, stripping layers of clothing from his skin. This is such a bad idea. So bad. 911 has been called, back-up is on it’s way but that’s no good if Hotch drowns. 

“I hate this job,” he mumbles, staring into the water. “I hate it. I hate it. I hate it! I hate it!” He tears into it, knowing that this is bigger than his slight aquaphobia and the freezing sting of the water on his skin. “Hotch!” He takes a deep breath and plunges into the water. 

It hurts. Burns. It’s like a thousand hypodermic needles kissing his skin. 

He pushes his hair from his face, scanning the water. Looking back to the dock he estimates he needs to go about five more feet to his right. Using long strokes he cuts through the choppy water, a wave hitting his face. He has to stop and recover, blinking the sting from his eyes. “Hotch!”

And it’s still freaking snowing. 

Reid is begging Hotch to pop up. To hear his deep voice berate Reid for getting wet too.

He hates this job.

Reid dives under the next wave, forcing his eyes to open under the water. He’s afraid to see what he’ll find. His fingertips hit something hard and covered- hair! Reid pushes himself down further, lungs burning but he’s found someone and he can’t come up yet. 

He wraps his arms around the trunk of the other person- his brain supplying Hotch was wearing a white buttoned down shirt and the hurt digging into his skin is blunt like a button. He kicks with all his might but the body- Hotch- doesn’t move. His lungs are under too much pressure and with a silent cry he kicks himself up the surface.

“Argh!” He screams into the air, lungs burning in an entirely new way. He takes two deep breaths, treading water to gather his breath. He can’t give up. He goes back down. His panic is driving his heart rate up, making his oxygen last in even shorter amounts. 

His hands connect and he has to remind himself to save the energy of being happy. ‘Come on’, he pleads. Reid tucks Hotch closer, one armed wrapped around his chest and the other extended above his head. Feeling for where the water breaks to air. 

Every muscle in his body is screaming. Lactic acid building up in his muscles and if he had the air to he’d scream in anguish. 

His fingers sting and with a new burst of energy Reid’s head emmerages from the water. He gasps for water, his cold cramped fingers losing their grip for just a fraction of a second. Hotch slips from his grasp but Reid’s scream is muffled by the waves crashing around them. 

They’re going to die and it’s his fault.

He’s crying, tears streaming down his numb cheeks. He has to stay level headed, he has to fight. 

That’s what Hotch would do.

Right, Hotch.

Reid pulls him closer, flipping him into the rescue position. Head above water, breathing or not- it has to be enough. Hotch won’t forgive him, ever, if Reid saves Hotch to leave behind that boy. A killer or not.

The water is well beyond cold enough to, hypothetically, protect from brain damage. 

Reid has to pray that's enough.

He goes back under. His lungs hurt nearly as soon as his head goes under, the cold water hitting his forehead is strangely… nice. The rest isn’t.

It’s harder. All of it. 

The current twists him, his muscles tired from swimming. If he can’t find this kid soon, they’re all going to drown. 

A wave above crashes hard, it’s force pushing him down. 

He sees nothing. 

It’s all just black and freezing. 

He kicks into something and whirls around, finding flesh and hair. Reid pulls but the kid doesn’t move. For a moment, Reid nearly leaves him. His lungs are burning, his body exhausted, and with a long fight still ahead… The bodies had hesitation marks. Shallow marks where someone young- someone incapable of murder had done as requestied but not whole heartidly.

The kid isn’t a murderer. 

Reid kicks upwards with all his might, his head feeling like it’s going to explode. 

He breaks the surface and could sob with relief at the sight of the shore lit up with emergency lights. “Help!” His voice croaks, breaking. There’s no way they can hear him. Reid pulls the kid so he’s on his back, just as he had Hotch, and begins to tug them both in the direction of Hotch’s freely floating body. “Help!”

He rolls onto his back, taking a wave to the face. He recovers quickly, a new surge of adrenaline working through him. His limbs are shaky but working. “Alright,” he says to himself, floating for a second to gain control. “Let’s do this.” He grabs the back of Hotch’s collar and the kid’s shirt and kicks with everything he’s got. Hoping that the waves hitting his face can push him towards the shore. 

“Kid-”

Reid flinches, his whole body recoiling. He blinks slowly raising his head in confusion. “M-Morgan?” He looks around him, surprised to find hospital tile and not the wet sand he’d left Hotch on. “What-” his mouth is impossibly dry, his body still cold. 

Morgan takes a step closer to him, weary. In nothing but a hospital gown and a pair of hospital socks Morgan can see his friend’s bony body. It’s no surprise he didn’t hold up well in the freezing water- he doesn’t have any fat on his body to keep him warm!

“I brought you some clothes,” Morgan lifts Reid’s bag up. He sets it down on the bed beside Reid, allowing him easy access to the clothes. What he’s not expecting is for Reid to start crying. For a moment he’s just struck, he has no idea what to do. He takes a tentative step closer, putting his hand on Reid’s shoulder. “Hey,” Morgan gathers him up in his arms, holding him close. “Kid, what the hell? What's wrong?”

Reid shakes his head, pushing his face into Morgan’s warmth. He just wants someone alive, someone warm to hold him. “I’m sorry,” he sobs. All he can think about is Hotch. “I tried, I did!” 

Morgan pats his back, “what do you mean? What are you talking about?”

Reid’s chest heaves, his sob taking him by surprise. “Hotch!”

“Oh,” Morgan pauses for a moment, not sure what all he should tell Reid. “Kid, Hotch is…” fine might be an overstatement. A little rough but- “Hotch is sitting down in the ICU with Emily, right now.” He rubs Reid’s back, shushing him gently. “Kid, he’s fine. Hotch is gonna be fine.” 

Reid pulls his head back, “what?”

That can’t be true. Reid saw. 

The EMT pulled the buttons on Hotch’s perfect white shirt open. His chest bare and unmoving, as pale as the snow under his back. CPR wasn’t working. Reid saw. His ribs were bending under each compression but nothing was working. 

He was dead. 

Reid saw. Hotch was dead.

__________

“We caught the pulmonary edema early,” the doctor promises them. His tone is light, hopeful. “He’s on a course of diuretics to clear his lungs and on oxygen until his stats come back up but he’s already doing much better.” He nods his head, clearly happy to give them a good prognosis. “There was some irritation in his right ear so I want to start him on a course of antibiotics for that, to get ahead of the ear infection.”

Emily snorts, both her hands coming up to cover her mouth but her shoulders are still shaking with the force of her laughter. It’s a horrible moment of reacting to news the wrong way but an ear infection? “I’m so sorry,” she manages to force her palm against her lips. Forcing her smile down. “I’m- I really am sorry for that I don’t-” 

The doctor holds his hand up in a clear sign of acknowledging her apology. “It’s perfectly fine,” he reassures her. “Everyone has different reactions to these sorts of things.” His smile is a strange mix of sadness and amusement as he recalls giving grimmer news than this to families and garnering a similar reaction. “I assure you, it’s not the first time someone’s laughed.”

Emily isn’t sure whether to feel reassured or sick. She lowers her hands and wipes at the bottoms of her eyes, beyond the point of caring if she looks like a raccoon or not. “Is he- Can you take me to him?”

The doctor looks at the little group behind her, all looking equally as eager to his patient. “It’s against protocol to let all of you back, yet, but I can let one of you back.” There was a name, someone Agent Hotchner had managed to call out for. “He was asking for a-a…” he can’t remember the name though. “An Emma or-”

“Emily.”

The doctor nods, “yes. He asked for Emily.”

“Well,” Emily looks back at the other’s. Swallowing the lump in her throat she says, “I’m Emily.”

The doctor claps his hands together, “well, then come with me.”

Emily looks back over her shoulder once- to JJ and Rossi being left behind in the waiting room- and offers them a small wave. Smiling sadly when they wave back.

“He was alert when I went in a few minutes ago,” the doctor tells her, coming to a sudden stop. “Try not to get him too worked up-”

She’s partially aware of what he’s saying from then on out but her attention is on the man on the bed. The man intently watching her from under the oxygen mask across the bridge of his nose. The doctor pats her shoulder, offering a smile and she nods and smiles back despite not having a clue what he’s just said.

Stepping into the room, she hesitates for only a moment before taking his hand and sitting on the edge of his bed. “Hey.” He’s cold to the touch and she sets to rubbing his fingers between her own to warm them up. “How do you feel?” With her distraction in place, it’s easier to ignore the obvious pain in her chest. Tight and wrong.

He’s too pale for even him, shivering under the layers of shock blankets and heating pads pressed around his body, but he offers her a warm smile. Reaching up with fingers that are still too cold to work properly, he fails to pull the mask from his face. She pulls it down for him, tucking it under his chin. 

“Hey,” his voice is weak, hoarse from disuse. “I got an ear infection,” he rasps at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

She keeps the mask pulled back for a moment longer, leaning in and kissing him tenderly. She runs the side of her finger along his jaw, clenching her teeth in a failed attempt to hold her tears at bay. Carefully, she places the mask back on his face. Feeling a sick twist in her stomach because she’s glad it drowns out the sound of his labored breathing. “Serves you right.” 

He smirks at her, a goofy lopsided little thing. Oxygen deprived or still cruising on his adrenaline high he says something, intangible between his slurred exhaustion and the hiss of the oxygen over his face. She makes just enough of it out to lift the mask back up and asks, “did you ask me if I’d still love you if you were deaf?”

It’s hardly the time to be having “would you still love me” hypotheticals when he’s hardly awake. Especially when his breathing is still so rough and if it gets any worse it’ll be her fault. Then she’ll have to kiss her visitor’s pass goodbye. Still, she can’t help but love him and his stupid questions.

He nods.

“I think so,” she places the mask back down. She runs her hands through his hair, smiling as he curls himself closer to her. “I mean, you don’t listen to me now, what would change?” She chuckles after she says it and he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling at her. That’s when her chest gets tight, her emotions bubbling up as he frowns up at her with those big old sad eyes. 

She almost lost him. Permanently. This time there would be no Paris for recovery, Afghanistan for penance- just permanent goodbyes where the last things they said to one another were cruel misguided words. Things that didn’t matter because that’s how the world works. 

The credits cut before the movie’s over. 

Romeo and Juliet isn’t a love story.

And he dies on a dock. 

No more Sunday’s spent in his backyard. The two of them tangled in a hammock meant for one person. A book balanced on his chest, his voice a deep rumble and the only sound in the world- “ I had taught myself to covet nothing. It was not a loathing of death that froze me. I had taught myself to think of death as a friend. It was not heartbroken rage-” 

No one could properly replace him. 

She’d never felt this comfortable with another human being. To try on clothing, twirling in place to show him that it not only has pockets but it swishes when she moves. How many men would look up from whatever teen magazine quiz he was reading and raise an eyebrow in approval? Noting she also wouldn’t have to shave above her knee in it either. 

He pushes the mask away, twisting the flimsy plastic from his face. “Come here,” he manages, breathless. “Let me hold you.”

She’s momentarily adamant to get too close. He’s hurt and tired and- pulling her closer. “Fine but only for a minute,” she caves and she always caves when it comes to him. It takes a minute to work around the machines and the wires, then moving so she’s not laying on him. “I mean it, Aaron.” She tucks her head closer to his chest, breathing in the natural scent of him. Just Hotch.

“You scared us,” she whispers against his chest. 

She’s close enough now that he can smell her conditioner. “I scared myself.” It’s not like drowning was something he was looking to do. 

Emily looks up at him, turning her head on his shoulder. “Let’s not do that again then?”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” his voice is rough again, breathing ragged. 

She reaches up and pulls the mask back over his face. Gently raking her nails through the hair at the side of his ears. “Get some sleep, huh?” He’s just a big softie and she knows that playing with his hair is going to put him out like a light. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.” 

“Promise?” he mouths, eyes dropping already.

And how is she gonna say no? “Always,” she whispers. She holds him closer, scratching at his head. 

She’s waiting for his soft snore but now she wraps him up in her arms. Enjoying his proximity. He may be a stupid man but that’s what she signed up for.

[werezmastarbucks]

coming back was a mistake

the reader bonds with kai over their shared dislike of mystic falls

kai parker x fem!reader

word count: 2494

warnings: language, the POV’s are changing

music: poa alpina by biosphere

This damn hole hasn’t changed a bit. The same old story: clean, tongue-licked glowing welcome sign. There we go. Then there will be this turn on the left... oh no, wait, bless, the road has been destroyed. The wooden white bridge connects this part of the highway with the town, and here we go. First houses, Livingstones used to live here, and their son was bullied by literally everyone at school, because he always had stupid haircuts. Word is, he’s dead. Welcome to Mystic Falls, the town where normal people can last up to one year.

Your house was still standing on the 19th November Street, cuddled by dry rose bushes. Apalling. All the other houses on the street have it together. The window sills are freshly painted and the porch is clean, the flowers are watered and cut, and then there’s this fucking outrage of a dwelling where the remains of your family reside.

You had to keep your act together but this town just infuriated you. You couldn’t understand why people would stay here when they could leave right after they’ve turned of age. What kept them? The charming crab-shaped park where everybody stored their dead bodies? The library on the main square where the entitled old lady has been residing for the last 500 years and telling you off for breathing? The blood-red clock tower dinging and donging every damn twenty minutes. No, wait, it must be the staggering fifteen streets. It must be the magic of running into your parents on the Market Street at ten am when you’re supposed to be at school. It’s the neighbors watch, the bored, jaded people’s desire to know everything about everybody. It must be all the supernatural jerks swarming here, killing everybody left and right, acting like their collective age is twenty years old. The fashion in this city has not changed since two thousand and thirteen, either. Nothing did.

The blood-red clock tower was still announcing the midnight hour through the dense hot air, the cars were still disgustingly clean like the citizens had nothing else to do except wash their cars all day long; Damon Salvatore still had the bitch expression on his face, fuming over the next this-just-in ghoul drama, pacing slowly in the living room of his ridiculous, always half-lit mansion with a glass of bourbon in his hand. Stefan was still miserable. Elena’s hair was still golden-black, smooth like a mirror, and you were still mortally tired of all this.

You could feel your negativity fill you up to your throat and eating on you as you drove up to the house and looked at it. The light was on, but nobody came out to meet you.

You were still coming once a year.

You sighed and turned off the engine, then left the car. It’s just a week. Then you can come back home and start pretending you don’t have Mystic Falls past again. The thought of going back home, running back like a rabbit, was what got you through every year.

You walked up the porch. The door wasn’t locked.

He liked this space here. The tenth row, seventeenth seat. He was like a cat, choosing the perfect spot. From here, he could see the clearing between the trees on the other side of the field, where a lady was walking her adorable huskie every evening at eight sharp. The dog was damn smart and the lady wasn’t. Kai had no idea how smart she actually was, she just didn’t look smart. The field below was empty now that it was summer and the eerie hollow feeling gave him a lot of kicks. The place that’s supposed to be full of people, literally made for big gatherings, the seats and all, empty, gave a special vibe. Looking around it, especially at the evening hour, when August was doing its best in the skies, was strangely nice. Nobody saw this side of Kai Parker when he was just sitting quietly, an expression of satisfaction on his face, on his chosen spot, and observed this quiet empty place like a little black king.

He saw somebody and went invisible in a second out of some instinct he couldn’t explain. It’s been some time since his presence caused an outcry of anguish among the party of people... a lot of time, actually. Nowadays, people would just roll their eyes. Don’t care. They’re the losers, living in this boring swamp, fidgeting with their pathetic drama every day. Kai didn’t know how they managed to tolerate themselves. And the hair! Everybody had this inexplicably perfect hair, glistening like they all wore wigs.

Oh my god.

What if they all wear wigs?!

Kai started giggling, thinking about that.

He was now looking at this girl in a crop top that matched the color of her skin. The girls do that, they wear the tops that match their skin which Kai finds very suggestive. Okay, you have all my attention.

Cruising around this unbearable place, he has familiarized with all the faces, and this one was new right away. She started running. You know how people usually jog, without a hurry, with the dumb light-hearted expressions on their faces, and the 90% of them always imagine they’re in some expensive automobile commercial. It helps them jof. This one ran. She did two tours around the field and stopped. Wrong, you’re supposed to walk or else your heart will burst. She stood, her hands on her thighs, her face up, and watched the sky. Kai had no idea why he was hiding from her, but he felt too comfortable now to manifest himself. She was listening to her music in her earphones and looking at the slowly drifting long clouds, and she looked like she was either pissed or very thirsty. Leaning a bit backwards, she just gave him the honors. The ribs were heaving, her stomach breathing for her. Her hand came up to her throat. Kai tried to picture her at the Mystic Grill, or on the main square; whether she looked similar to anybody he’s seen here; he looked at her hands and arms, the way she moved her jaw as if those pretty lilac clouds have done something to her and she was about to get even. She shook her head animalistically, getting rid of some thought. Girl, I know that. You’re trying to shake them all off through your ears, it doesn’t work. He felt for this pretty, collected lady who ran around the track like she was chasing somebody for a murder. Kai liked that kind of interaction the most; when he pretended they had connected. That they had a conversation. When nobody could argue with his illusion they had something in common.

He liked how she had her hair, a bit messy but feminine; the way she looked around dispassionately like she’s had enough of whatever shit she had going on. Like she seemed as if she was a separate entity. Her elbow pointed aside, with some kind of expectation.

Then she gave up. She put on a hoodie she’d thrown onto a first row seat and started walking up slowly. One, two three... four rows... Kai watched her curiously. He never doubted his magic. That’s right, not ever. You know.

But when she passed row nine he tilted his head. She came up to his row and started walking. Now, if she sits right on him, she will feel it. He will, too, and of course he won’t mind, but the girls usually freak out if they try to take a seat somewhere and there’s an invisible dude. Not that Kai had practiced it a lot. He just knew they didn’t like being stalked on. He didn’t really care. He doesn’t know her. If she’s a part of this town, screw her. She’s pretty up close, though, such a nice, frowning face, big eyes. She took the next seat to him and they almost rubbed shoulders. If she took off her earphones she would hear Kai breathe next to her. Instead, he was listening to slow ambient. It went well with the evening sky.

Together, they watched the huskie and the lady run around in the field behind the footbal field. Then she shivered a little in her hoodie. Kai wished he could read her mind when she started crying. When people don’t know they’re being watched, they cry in a very specific fashion. Kai was sure it wasn’t the huskie that upset her; it had something to do with her standing and watching the sky, rubbing her elbows with nervous fingers.

Or maybe she was unhappy with her running time, who gives a fuck.

You were watching this dude. The Grill did not appreciate him the way they should’ve. First of all, he was different breed. People come and go, but the type is always the same. This one was not the type. You had no idea who he was, but he was damn entertaining. Unapologetic singer. Stretching the notes like nobody was watching. Singing for the soul. He enjoyed himself the harder the more confused people looked, throwing awkward glances in his direction. His self esteem was on point as he expressed the ultimate artistic freedom through his bad singing, skipping the words masterfully and changing the melody on a whim. When the song was finally over, nobody clapped, and you felt that truly, he was the underrated artist, the local gem. Where Mystic Falls citizens cared for how others perceive them, he didn’t give a shit about it; while they side eyed their friends judging him silently, he was glowing with self-satisfaction. He was a bad singer, and a bad dancer; he chose an old song nobody knew, and did the finger guns at the DJ as he left the stage. A collective sigh of relief shuddered over the bar; you leaned over the counter, and the bartender nodded at you.

“Pass a cider to that guy. Tell him he saved my evening”.

Jerry was the name of the bartender. He was the new guy, because almost all bar people at the Grill were always human, which meant they died all the time. They all looked exactly the same though, and Jerry was no different from Evan, from seven years ago. Short dark hair, dimples, could star in American Pie. He smirked and nodded again.

The guy has just landed at the counter with a swing. He sighed happily as Jerry put the glass in front of him. You weren’t watching, because you didn’t feel like it; you made the sincere gesture of friendliness, no need to take it further. However, you should’ve known what would happen next. No good deed ever goes unpunished in this world.

You spotted him with the corner of your eye as he approached you, with the cider you ordered for him, and sat next to you.

“Well, that’s not too bad at all...” he started.

You turned to the guy - who looked rather like a boy who got stuck in his post-teenage phase - sharply.

“Please, don’t take it personal. It was not intended that way. It’s just a drink, so, drink it”.

For a second, he just watched you, as if challenging you for more talking. Then he shrugged.

“Somebody’s feeling antisociable today”.

And sipped a little from the glass.

“I usually take cocktails, the sweeter the better, just so you know”.

You sighed. A part of you knew you would regret it. But you still did it. Why? You looked in front of you, meeting your own miserable face in the reflection of the mirror wall behind the bar. The guy kept talking.

“I mean, it’s so nice to start acquiring the fan base, I guess, you can get a lot of things as a rock star. I’ve always wanted to be one”.

“You won’t be a rock star for your singing voice”, you noted.

Drinking alone at the Grill sometimes made you do weird stuff. But it was a tradition.

“Huh? You didn’t like it?”

“I enjoyed how much it confused everybody else”.

The guy expressed an ‘oof’ emotion.

“I’m sensing some xenophobia here. You hate this place, too?”

You didn’t answer. The guy sighed mockingly, as if he was pretending. He sounded like a hyperactive child, and in spite of your very self, you found him relatable.

“I say to myself every day”, he went on, in a slightly more serious voice, “Kai, today you’re leaving Mystic Falls. I’m not in the place where I can tolerate this boredom any more, you know? But this thing... keeps me here. I can’t wait to...”

You blinked and looked at him.

“Kai? Your name is Kai?”

“Uh, yeah”.

He clincked his glass on yours.

“Cheers”.

“What’s it short for?”

He didn’t look too proud saying,

“Malachai”.

You dropped your jaw.

“That is the coolest name I’ve ever heard. Malachai? Seriously?”

He lit up a little bit, straightening his back with praise.

“Yeah”.

“Dude, this is badass. Show me your ID!”

His dark eyes were laughing. You finally took a proper look of him. There was something foreign about him although he spoke very clear American English. It was a different kind of foreign: alien. Given it’s Mystic Falls, stagnating in its own revolving old routine, alien was good even if it was dangerous.

“You wanna see my ID?” he chuckled. He looked down on you with an adoring glint in his eye as though he was admiring something he saw. His reactions were inexplicable.

“Yeah, I wanna see how it’s spelt. Come on, Malachai, it’s so boring here. Show me”.

He sniffed through his nose.

“Okay”.

He had to stand up a little bit to take his ID from the back pocket of his jeans. You looked at it, visualizing his unusual name. Malachai Parker sounded fucking elite. He’s come a long way from Oregon, too. You wondered what he was doing here and was about to ask, but your glance got hooked on the year of birth.

“1972? You were born in...”

Frustration filled you slowly like lake water. Of course, the only interesting, good-looking character who’s fun enough, will be one of the messy freaks, here. You passed the card back to him.

“Are you one of them?”

Malachai didn’t look confused or insecure which further advanced your disappointment.

“What do you mean?” he asked with a grin, playing with you.

“I’m not having this tonight”.

You downed your glass, feeling earthly tired. Like the earth. The Earth, that’s billion of years old, like that.

You stood up to walk away.

“I’m not one of the vampires”, Kai chanted, turning on his seat.

You shrugged.

“Even worse”.

He watched you as you went, his eyes not leaving your back until you were out of the door. Then he realized he still didn’t have your name.

[blackssuunn-mandoandyodito]

Tabaco y Brea part 5

Pairing: Javier Peña x F! Reader

Rating: M?

Words: 5.7k

A/N: Hmm, something finally happens here. I loved writing this one, hope someone enjoys it too.

Warnings: dry humping, swimming, sexual themes, dancing? If I'm missing something please let me know

Summary: The three of you go to Cali and a dance club undercover.

Part one ◇ Part two ◇Part three◇ Part four◇

"So you came here in December then? That's why you didn't go to the party?"

Of all the things you could be wearing, a red swimsuit isn't so bad in the scorching heat that Cali is going through right now. You can't deny how sexy Javi looks lying in one of the white lounge chairs at the border of the swimming pool. His shirt is completely unbuttoned, his torso wet with sweat that you want to lick off his skin. You never thought you'd see Javier Peña wearing shorts, but here you are, wanting to rip them off his thighs. His yellow aviators are hiding his eyes from you, but you can guess he's looking at the sky, avoiding the sight of you in a freaking red swimsuit out of all the possibilities.

You're lying on your own cot next to his, but looking towards him. The sight is so intoxicating that you can't bring your eyes to look away.

"Yes, I wanted to come to the Cali Fair. Back in '79 I couldn't because we went to that Christmas party" your tone portrays annoyance at the memory. Javi snorts, probably because he doesn't remember shit after getting wasted. 

"And was it fun?' He sounds amused, his arms behind his head letting you know how relaxed he really is. You can't wrap your head around the fact that right now, he looks like a wet dream come true.

"You can't even imagine how much," you say, heart warming at the memories from months before. "Celia motherfucking Cruz sang and it was raining but she didn't give a fuck and kept going Javi!"

Your excited tone makes him turn his head towards you, a raised eyebrow showing above his glasses. He regrets this decision immediately.

Color tints his cheeks as he can't help but ogle you from head to toe. Strands of hair are sticking to your forehead, wet with sweat, and bothering the hell out of you. Even though the swimsuit isn't very revealing, he can see the beginning of your breasts showing, and it hugs your body in just the right places for his shorts to become tighter. Your legs are shining from the sunscreen. You’ve applied it at least 4 times and you couldn't have been lying there for more than 2 hours. He has to restrain himself from letting his hands roam all over your body and make you moan and squirm under his.

He gulps."It sounds like a fun time"

You sigh blissfully, unaware of the heated looks he's giving you. "It was", you stop for a moment, thinking. Then, "maybe you could come with me this year"

You sound hesitant and his voice decides that now is a great time to fail him. You raise your arms over your head, stretching and moaning as your back pops. He wishes you made those sounds for him, that he was the one pulling them out of your pretty mouth, not your joints. Blood rushes straight to his dick and he has to bite his lips to silence a groan. 

"M-maybe" he stutters out. That's enough for you, as you relax back into the cot and let out a content sigh.

Steve is up at the hotel room he and Javi are sharing, as you got a room for yourself. You guess he's talking to Connie, letting her know how things are going and reassuring her that no, he has not been ogling pretty caleñas. You chuckle at the thought.

"It's so great Javi, the music is beautiful and the food is delicious. The heat stops bothering you because suddenly you’re sweating out of fun and not out of existence”

The fact that you sound so happy talking about it makes his heart flutter, and he promises to himself that he will definitely come back with you this year.

But he's sure he can make you sweat for a better reason than even dancing.

"Do you know who's coming this year?" He asks, trying to distract himself from his feelings. His dick is throbbing inside his clothes, and he moves his legs to relieve some tension. His heart though, his heart aches from thinking about you happy and dancing, carefree. There's nothing he can move to relieve that.

"Rumor says it'll be Héctor Lavoe!"

Javi knows you love that man, has heard you sing his songs more times than he can count. It starts to get a little annoying after the fifth time you sing 'El Cantante', but he wouldn't trade it for anything.

"Didn't he sing for Pablo on New Year's Eve?"

You nod. "He did. And they treated him like shit afterward. I was still here when that happened, and they were at Medellín"

He hums. "And I was at Bogotá, for the party"

The photos of Héctor at the Hotel Intercontinental came your way days later after the incident. You remember laughing the first time you saw them, unbelieving. Javi had come running with the pictures on his hand and had stumped them at your desk. You had wished to meet that man for years and Pablo Escobar had easily hired him. What a life.

"And how did that party go Peña?"

You're not sure you want to know. He always ends up either wasted or fucking a beautiful woman, and you don't like either.

"Much like last time. Bent over the toilet throwing up. The colonel went hysterical and said I was dying" his answer doesn't really surprise you but you let out a laugh at the idea of a high-rank soldier getting freaked out over Javi throwing up.

"It's not pretty when you're wasted pendejo"

He frowns at you. "And how would you know? You went to sleep when I started the shots last time"

So he doesn't remember. You huff. "Yeah, sure"

He sits up, confused. "Bera?" His voice is cautious and you turn your gaze towards the pool. 

"You didn't let me sleep. I could hear you dry heaving at some point"

You figured it was for the best if he didn't know you had taken care of him.

He laughs, embarrassed. "I don't remember anything after I threw up the first time"

Figures. "It would have been a miracle if you did"

He shrugs as someone approaches you from beside. You look up to see Steve standing between the two of you, hair plastered to his face with sweat and the front of his shirt completely wet. He's wearing jeans and you don't know how he can bear it, your skin burns and you don't have much on.

"Are we supposed to be doing this?"

You roll your eyes. How you managed to get them to relax for the day is beyond you, but at least Javi sat down and made the most of it, Steve has been moping since you arrived.

"Murph, just shut up and sit down"

He frowns down to you and waves his hand. "Where am I supposed to? There is no space"

At that, you stand up and walk to the pool, feeling how a pair of eyes follow your every move. You grin, smug. "You can take my place"

When you jump into the water, it all splashes both men, and Javi feels relieved for a moment when he thinks he's free of the torture that is seeing you and not touching you.

The relief only lasts for a few moments before you raise over the water and now your body is all wet and Javi can feel how his dick starts dripping pre-come like a fucking teenager.

His face goes red and warm as trickles of water run down your neck, your hair slipping through your fingers as you run your hands through it. Your breasts rise at the movement of your arms and Javi takes his hand to his mouth and bites to prevent himself from moaning. He just wants to jump with you into the pool and take you right there, grip your waist and plaster your bodies together, sense how your swimsuit sticks to your body and lets him feel you almost as if you weren't wearing anything.

Steve watches it all with amusement filling his eyes, a knowing smile forming at his lips. "Calm down Peña, she's gonna notice if you don't"

Javi glares at him through his glasses and takes down his hand to adjust his shorts. He's not gonna sport a freaking boner in the middle of a pool and look like a pervert. 

Murphy sits on the lounge chair you were in and turns to Javier, intertwining his hands together. Javi hopes he at least provides a distraction from his current state. "Why do you call her Bera if that's not her name?" Or not.

Javi shakes his head and smiles. "Carrillo called her berraca the first time she went with us on a raid." Steve frowns.

"Isn't that word despective?"

Javi sighs. "I think she should tell you the story, not me."

You swim in the pool without paying them any attention, the muscles on your back moving and keeping you from sinking. He wonders how the night will go for both of you today. Yes, he knows how to dance but he has never danced that kind of music with someone he... cared about, it was always with the girls at the parties. And he knows you're great at it, even if he's never seen you do it. He just hopes he won't make a fool of himself in front of you.

Time passes, you spend all evening doing laps through the pool over and over. The sounds your arms make when you move the water lull him into a state of calm for the rest of the day, Murphy even drifts off next to him and falls asleep. Javi's eyes never leave you.

The fact that it turns from a lust-filled stare to more of a look of adoration is something Javi decides to ignore for the time being.

As the sun starts going down and the place begins to darken, you stop swimming, pushing yourself up and out of the pool, dripping. Javi stands up immediately and runs to bring you a towel, wrapping you with it. You blush and look down. "Thank you, Javi," you say as you grip the edges at your chest, keeping it from falling.

"You're welcome compañera" He answers, softly. For a moment, it's only the two of you in the hotel. He looks at you, warmth spreading through his body as he sees your eyelashes with drops in them, your hair wet and your skin hot from spending all day in the swimming pool. You feel warm to the touch, warmer than usual. And when it ignites a softer instinct in him, something deeper than just wanting to touch you for pleasure, it scares him. 

He leaves your side without another sound and walks to Murphy, slapping the back of his head. You chuckle at how Steve sits up, alarmed. 

"I'm awake! I'm awake!" He shouts, cheeks red from the heat. He moves his head around and frowns when he looks at Javier. "What the fuck man?"

You move to the side as Steve stands up, sensing his intentions. Javi doesn't seem to notice. "Time to get ready"

Steve gets closer to him, slowly. You cover your mouth with your hands, trying to hide your grin but failing to keep a giggle from escaping. Javier frowns at you.

"What?" He says just as Steve tries to push him into the pool, but Javi manages to move away and both fall to the floor, just at the edge and shy of falling. His aviators fly away from his face and come to fall at your feet. You pick them up and put them on.

Fury covers his face when Steve stands up and gets away from him, and both you and Murphy break down laughing. With his hair plastered to his face from the heat, he looks at Steve with a murderous glare and resembles a wet cat. Needless to say, it's hilarious.

Strong steps move him, and Steve runs to the entrance without a second thought. You double up in laughter, resting one hand at your knees and the other one keeping the towel around you. Javi can't help chuckling at your amusement.

"Esto te divierte?" (this funny to you?) he asks, and even if he tries to sound stern you can see right through it.

"Bastante" (very) you say between laughs, and he shakes his head, sprinkling you with his hair. 

Once you calm down, he gets close to you and wraps his arm around your frame, the touch sending electric shots through your skin. You don't say anything and let yourself be led to the hotel, the sounds of water hitting the floor as you walk serving as background noise.

"I'll see you in a few" he mutters, and you nod. He goes to his shared room with Steve as you enter yours, and the sounds of them fighting goes through the wall. You shake your head, laughing, and start to get ready for the night.

-

The circular brown dress makes a wave around your thighs as you twirl to see how it looks in the mirror, with spaghetti straps by the arms and heart shape at your chest. A black leather jacket is laid on the bed and your black stiletto heels are right beside it as if mocking you of what you're about to endure. 

You wonder how Javi is going to dress, but you don't expect something completely different from his usual attire. Maybe a long-sleeved shirt.

You sit down on the edge of the bed and take a deep breath, urging your heart to slow down a little. It went wild the moment you stepped out of the shower and realized what was about to happen, what you were about to go through with Javier fucking Peña of all people.

 You already put your makeup on, golden eyeshadow along with black eyeliner framing and highlighting your eyes. A delicate and thin gold necklace is hanging around your neck, round earrings dangling from your ears. As you slip your shoes on and shrug the jacket into your body, you pray for the night to go as calm and successful as possible.

A knock in your door shakes you out of your thoughts, and you stand up to see who it is through the door grommet. The sight of Javi greets you, and you're pleasantly surprised to see he combed his hair differently than his every day usual. It's fluffier; if only he used it like that every day.

The lock of the door makes a clicking sound as you open it to greet Javi, flushing as you realize that this is the first time he's seen you in a dress. Just as you expected, he's wearing a three-quarter black shirt with the cuffs already folded inside out, accompanied with slightly less tight jeans than his usual attire. He left his top buttons open like always, but something is missing.

His face grows hot too as the sight of you in a freaking dress with heels and your hair let loose reach his eyes, and he suddenly feels too self-conscious, awkwardly standing outside your room like a boy who's picking up his date for prom. He puts his hands in his pockets, looking away.

"Are you ready?" he asks, voice trembling slightly. He clears his throat and straightens, intimidating instance taking its place. 

You shrug, not affected (at least not in the way you should) by it, stretching to take his glasses from the tabletop beside the door. He takes them, nodding as he hangs them from the front of his shirt.

"Yeah, let's go" you answer, and he lets you go outside your room to close the door behind you. Steve looms through the door and smiles at you, knowing glint shining in his eyes. 

"You look beautiful Bera," he says. You wink at him, twirling slowly.

"Thank you, Murph"

Javi stands beside you with his hands on his hips, glaring at Steve. 

"Where are you keeping your gun?" 

His voice is strained, and you roll your eyes. How paranoid.

Your hands hike up your dress to show the hostler on your right leg to show him your Beretta 92, and both agents turn red. You huff.

"Where do you expect me to keep it?" you say, annoyed. Neither of them says anything, limiting to shaking their heads.

Javi's Smith&Wesson is probably tucked at his back, so fuck it.

A bunch of soldiers climb up the stairs at your left and get inside Javi and Steve's room, carrying walkie talkies and some other stuff with them. One of them throws one to Javi and he catches it mid-air, tucking it at his back pocket. You're not sure how he's gonna hide that, the dealers you're going to follow may be stupid but not that stupid.

"Tenemos que irnos ya agente" (We have to leave now agent) one soldier tells Javi, and he nods, grabbing your waist and pushing you to leave. You turn towards Steve and nod at him.

"Be safe, good luck" he says, both for the mission and for what you're about to endure.

"You too"

And you climb down the stairs, gripping the edge of your dress with your fingers and hoping everything goes well.

-

The place is packed, the line to the club rounding the corner with people waiting to be let inside. Javi put on his brown leather jacket on the way here, hiding the walkie talkie inside. You know you probably look like a cute matching couple, him with a black shirt and brown jacket and you with a black jacket and brown dress. And you didn't even plan it.

He walks alongside you with his left arm completely wrapped around your arms, keeping you close to him. His body heat seeps through the clothes, making it harder for you to concentrate on what you're doing. Your heels click as you approach the bouncer, fake lovesick smiles plastered at your faces.

"Ey hermano! Cómo estás? Qué noche eh?" (Hey brother! How are you? What a night uh?) Javi says, charm dripping from his voice. The bouncer gives him a look over, but when he turns at you, you do your best to do all the googly eyes and shy smile at him, turning to hide your face at Javi's neck, giggling. He grins, nodding as he opens the chain to let you in.

"Gracias" (Thank you) you tell him, velvety tone leaving your mouth as you walk inside. He grins and shakes his head.

"De nada señorita" (You're welcome miss)

Once inside, the amount of bodies dancing everywhere feels overwhelming even to you, and judging by how Javier tightens his grip in your shoulder, he's not comfortable in this situation. 

Your eyes scan the place, searching for a spot where you still have the full view but more secluded. Two chairs come into vision in the far corner of the place at the edge of the bar, and you tug Javi to follow you.

Some faces you pass are familiar to you, probably from other clubs you've been in. You don't pay them much attention and keep pushing your way through the crowd, Javier standing right behind you holding your hand with a bruising grip. 

You sit down on one of the chairs and pull Javi's closer to yours, your legs intertwining as he sits down in front of you. He seems anxious, which is not a common sight.

"What's wrong?" you ask, concerned. Your fingers caress his hand, telling yourself that you're just playing the part. 

"This could get out of control real quick" he answers, and it's not like he's wrong. There's too many people, too much noise. His head moves to search for escape routes or hiding places. There's one at the opposite corner, the men's room a few steps farther and the women's room behind you, maybe two or three meters away. If anything escalates, he could throw you over the bar and jump after.

"You need to calm down" you whisper, getting closer to him and stroking his cheek. It sends shivers down his spine, the heat from the place making it difficult to breathe. 

A girl approaches you and asks if you will order anything. Javi opts for tequila and you for whiskey, and he grabs your hand and laces your fingers together. You smile sweetly at him.

"I hope you know we need to go dance at some point," you say through your fake smile, the color draining from his face as he remembers what you have to do. He gulps.

"We don't have many options, do we?" He answers through gritted teeth. You shake your head, agreeing with his statement.

Time passes and your jacket comes off, leaving your shoulders exposed. The place gets more and more crowded and you know it is more likely that Escobar's men are here now. You have the faces etched in your mind, but it's difficult to see from where you're sitting at with so many bodies covering the view. 

Javier lets his hand fall on your leg, direct contact from skin to skin that makes desire spread from the center of your body to all of it. His thumb brushes your skin and you figure that bringing a dress wasn't such a great idea after all. You have to bite your lip and focus on the wall behind him, soft red covering your cheeks,

 The girl brings your drinks. You share a look with him and you down the drinks at once without breaking the eye contact. It burns your throat and gives you the courage you need to take his hand and pull him to the dance floor. The notes of a song you know well help you feel more secure of yourself as you walk.

Sin tu cariño no tengo sol y me falta cielo

Sin tu cariño y sin tu consuelo no sé vivir

Si no estás cerca llega la lluvia

y de tristeza todo se nubla

Y por tu ausencia hasta se me olvida como reír

Ruben Blades' voice acts as an inhibitor to you and does exactly the opposite for Javi. He tenses and grips your hand harder, bodies rubbing against him as you take him to someplace close to the center. He hates being in crowded places when it's a mission, there's a high probability that something might go wrong and many people will get hurt.

You put an easy smile in your face, winking at every person that glances at you. Your hips move from side to side, hypnotizing some of the men that look your way. Javier groans, exasperated.

With a spin, you turn to look at him and raise your right hand to interlace it with his left hand, pulling his other arm to spread his palm at your waist. He freezes, tensing under your fingers as you hold onto his shoulder.

"Calm the fuck down Peña" you bit out through gritted teeth, "we need to appear happy and easy-going"

He glares at you but complies, loosening and smiling with fake mischief. His hand pulls you closer to him, your chests almost pressed together. Your breath gets caught in your throat.

It's just an act, you remind yourself.

With a smooth motion, he shoves you slightly to start dancing in time of the song, clutching your waist and sending shivers down your spine. His movements invite you to follow along, leading your body through the slick floor and the sea of dancing people. He's alert, scanning every face of every single person in the room but completely aware of what is going on with his feet and your shape. He doesn't force a single thing, instead acting as a leading figure to your steps. He knows exactly where to take you.

"Do you see them?" you ask, voice trembling slightly as he gives a complete spin. You've danced with a lot of people in the past few months, feeling their passion and how they completely let themselves go as they moved their hips to the rhythm. And yet, not a single one came close to how dancing with Javier feels.  

"No. You?" he shouts, pulling you closer to him and looking over your shoulder. You shake your head, wanting to close your eyes and let yourself go but knowing it would be a mistake to.

His thumb rubs at your waist and the atmosphere becomes tense, filled with arousal and excitement, uncertain of what the night might bring but ready to find a way to make it work. Your brown dress makes a circle as he spins you with his arm raised, black shirt hugging his body in all the right places that you couldn't appreciate properly back in the hotel. The heels make a clicking sound as you return to his embrace, blue jeans contrasting beautifully with the tone of his other clothes. 

 His entire body feels hot, sweat running down his neck with the amount of resistance he's using to stop himself from grabbing you and kissing your lips right on the spot. Your perfume reaches his nose and he clenches your hand instinctively, smooth skin under his fingers sending shivers down his spine. You bite your lip as he looks at you, cheeks flushed with red. Your feet move in synchrony, moving around the room as if there were just the two of you there, floating. You're breathless as he looks at you with lust-filled eyes, short, ragged breaths leaving his lips with every step he takes. Every dance move gets you a little higher, building your own bubble around. Your bodies nearly touch, getting closer and closer with every note of the song. He can feel your hot breath on his neck, goosebumps spreading all over his skin. He towers over you like a predator, wanting to take you right then and there and scare away all the men that dare to look at you the way only he should be allowed to.  

 His movements with you are soft and delicate but not subtle in the slightest. He makes his intentions known by moving himself and inviting you to follow along, letting you know that you can be sure he knows what he's doing. 

He moves easily around the dancefloor, completely owning every single moment and each note of the song that resonates all over the crowded place.

  You move your hips closer to him, chest now against his. Your smile is seductive, inviting him to be more aggressive, to act bolder. He leads you to the mere center of the dancefloor, overshadowing other couples that may come in his way. You quickly own it, attracting all eyes towards you. Everyone can feel the tension building between you two, how you let yourself be led but still manage to give off the vibe of being the one in charge.   

 Finally, the sight of the narcos come to your eyes as he spins you once more, and you realize then that you're attracting too much attention to yourselves. There's a slight circle formed around you, watching you dance. Some looks are filled with desire, others with jealousy from both men and women.

You squeeze Javi's shoulder subtly as the narcos walk towards the bar, near the table you were sitting at. You get closer to his ear and move your hand to pull him towards you by his neck. 

"I see them," you hiss as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and subtly push him towards them just as the song begins to end. He tenses again but follows your lead.

"Let's go." He wraps his arm around you and pushes you to the table, and you brush one of the narco's back on your way there. He turns to look at you and smiles wantonly, dread forming at the bottom of your stomach. Still, you manage to smile and wink at him.

You sit down again, with Javi's back towards them as he faces you. You put your jacket on, feeling exposed.

Horror covers your features as you see one of them pointing at you and muttering something to the other one. They wave the girl that served you drinks to ask her something, and his eyes harden at the answer he receives. 

"Oye," you manage to hear through the loud music, "ese no es el mexicano de la DEA?" (hey, isn't he the Mexican from the DEA?)

Nausea invades your throat. That's the nickname Javi had gained among the narcos, and apparently, they had recognized him. He frowns at you as he sees the color draining from your face, completely unaware of what you just heard.

Hurriedly, you grab his hand and pull him up, walking fast towards the restroom. You can hear him shouting behind you, but the blood rushing in your ears is louder than anything else at the moment.

You close the door behind you once both of you are inside, rapid breaths leaving your body as your chest rises and falls quickly.

"What the fuck Bera?" he complains, "we had them!"

You push him towards the sinks, covering his mouth. "They recognized you, you fucking idiot!"

Realization downs on his face just as a new song starts blasting through the club. You can hear two heavy footsteps walking around outside the room, and you know they're looking for you.

A heavy hand pounds against the door, startling you out of your stupor. 

"Abran la puerta!" (open the door!) someone outside shouts. Javi turns to look at you, eyes wide open and in a defensive instance. 

Out of nowhere, he grabs you by the arms and pushes you up into one of the sinks, urging you to stay silent with a finger against his lips.

"Salgan de ahí, hijos de puta!" (get out of there, motherfuckers!) a different voice yells. You grab Javier by the shirt and pull him towards you, making him stumble between your legs.

Sé que tú no quieres

Que yo a ti te quiera

Siempre tú me esquivas

De alguna manera

Si te busco por aquí

Me sales por allá

Lo único que yo quiero

No me hagas sufrir más 

The song hits your ears with a blare, despite you being inside the bathroom with Javi. You freeze, waiting for another sound to come from outside.

His breath is hot in your neck, and he wraps his arms tightly around your waist. His hands have a strong grip, almost bruising. It makes your insides clench and your fingers grasp his shoulders with enough force to bring a hiss out of him.

Standing between your legs with his face hidden behind your hair, and you hope the sink is strong enough to hold your weight for a little bit longer.

'Are they gone?' he asks, voice tight.

"I don't think so" you answer.

You sound breathless, excited. You remind yourself this is supposed to be an act, you're on a mission, but with Javi so close to you, so close to your core, your mind easily becomes cloudy.

The light is shitty, doesn't let you see much farther than the wall with graffiti in front of you. There are swear words, lyrics, even drawings. 

You don't comment on the hardness that's digging into your wetness through your clothes. You blame it on the rush of adrenaline that both of you are experiencing because of the situation.

 Wearing a dress was a great idea after all.

He lets out a huff and buries his face deeper into your neck. 

"Moan" he orders.

You do as he says, not entirely faking it but doing it loud enough for it to be heard over the music and through the door. If you stay this way for more than a few minutes, you'll combust. 

His lips are pursed together, you can feel it in your skin. Javi starts grinding against you, his groans sounding completely real. One of your hands grip his back, scraping your fingers across it, whimpering. You know your sounds aren't fake. Your other hand comes down to your gun, getting off the safety, and putting your finger on the trigger.

Another blow hits the door, but this time no one shouts.

Javier's stance changes into something more aggressive, getting ready to fight in any second. His arm starts pushing you slightly as if to throw you to the floor, but nothing happens.

Finally, footsteps can be heard getting far from your hiding place, and you let out a relieved sigh. 

And what now?

A few tense moments pass, neither of you making a move of changing positions. 

Javi's radio makes a creaking sound just then, and he straightens and pulls away from you to answer it, taking it out of his jacket.

"Qué pasó?"(what happened?) he asks, voice tense and angry. 

"Acabamos de ver salir a los narcos saliendo del lugar. Vamos a seguirlos," (we just saw the narcos get out of the place. We're going to follow them) a voice says through the radio signal.

"Bien, vamos para allá." (okay, we're on our way) he presses the button to end the communication and tucks it inside his jacket again.

Without a word, he grabs you and pulls you off the sink, then tucking his gun out of his pants and loading it. He doesn't even so much as glance at you, nodding towards the exit with his hands pointing to the floor, completely enveloped in the DEA agent part.

Hurt nestles in your chest as you see him go, your eyes piercing his back as you grab your own firearm and walk behind him. No one seems to notice the two people walking through the club with guns in his hands, too involved in their dancing and laughing. There are many couples touching each other, heat in their stares as they move through the dancefloor, and roam the other's body with passion controlling their movements.

You wonder briefly if that's how Javier and you looked just a few minutes ago, the thought feeling like a stab right to the heart and filling your eyes with tears that you quickly wipe away.

And as you get out of the place shouting and running to where the narcos supposedly went and ultimately catching them, the usual sense of satisfaction that comes with succeeding in a mission is absent and sadness and pain overwhelms your body, ending the night with a void at the bottom of your stomach.

-----

Taglist: 

@larakasser @storiesofthefandomloversreblogs​ @fioccodineveautunnale​ @thisisthe-way​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @marydjarin​ @ithinkimhardcore​

[grantcontrol]

Swarm Keeper ◈ solo

Timing: Sunday Afternoon (March 28, 2021) Location: The Silver Bullet >>> some cabin in the woods Summary: White Crest’s resident exterminator, Anton Grant of Bug Busters Pest Control Solutions, is having a drink at The Silver Bullet when he gets a call regarding a job at a cabin in the woods. When he gets there, however, he finds out that it's not just a regular pest problem. Fortunately, he has a jar of peanut butter in the van. Don’t ask. Content: Insect references, terrible pop culture references, rambling 

“Freaking children, am I right?” Anton Grant groaned before taking a swig of his drink. It’s only been a couple of weeks since he first arrived in White Crest, taking over his late grandfather’s pest control business and making sure the old man’s affairs were in order, and yet, the exterminator’s already a regular at The Silver Bullet, sharing drinks with fellow hunters both old and new, mostly old. He turned to the older hunter beside him, chuckling, “That’s why I’m never having kids, man. I’ve got a business and my grandpa’s old dog. That’s all I’ll ever need.”

The move was also surprisingly easier than he expected it to be. Of course it helped that Anton didn’t have that many possessions to bring into this new life of his, more out of financial restraints than choice, so he didn’t have that many problems transitioning. Still, even as the familiar tunes of ABBA played throughout the establishment from the jukebox in the corner, he just couldn’t take the time to relish in the peace, choosing instead to make a big deal out of nothing. 

“What I don’t need, though, is the disrespect of this place.” He turned to the wall near the back, lined with the mounted heads of slain supernatural creatures, a host of hunter trophies. “You’ve got all these great catches, yeah, sure, but where did they place my catch, my trophy? Near the toilet! Of all places, man! The audacity!” 

“Well, to be fair, it was just a damn mandible. Not even a full one. Just a piece.” The old hunter laughed, shaking his head, as he downed his own glass. “This is exactly what I’m talking about, Grant. Did you know that the last owner of this fine establishment, we only knew him as Sarge? Some 64-year-old bastard with a peg leg because a giant-ass werewolf mistook it for a drumstick? Just chomped that leg off like it was Thanksgiving.”

As the older man continued to ramble on about Sarge and his werewolf rival, throwing in a few complaints about younger folk being too whiney and less active, Anton couldn’t help but be a little skeptical. It wasn’t just about Sarge being real or not, too. From the sounds of things, that werewolf was too big to be real as well. Then again, what does Anton know? He’s an exterminator, a pest hunter, not a dog catcher.

Fortunately for him, his phone rang just in time, saving him from the old man’s rambling. Not that the old man noticed, as he just continued sharing more stories about the good old days. At that, Anton simply shrugged and took the call, dark brown eyes on the chatty old hunter as the voice on the other line gave him an address. “You’ve got a job, old man. Said they’ll wait at their cabin for you but they’ve already made arrangements for another place to stay while you do your thing. You good for it, right?” Good for it? Of course Anton’s good for it. There was no other choice.

“Hey, listen, I’ve gotta go.” Anton quickly pocketed his cheap phone before grabbing his drink and finishing it in one go. He turned to the old hunter who was still talking, patted him on the shoulder, and then gave the skeptical bartender a nod. “Put it on my tab! You know where I live. You’ve got scary friends. It’ll be fine.” Anton slithered out of his seat without even looking back at the two once he had said his goodbyes, making a beeline for the exit, but not before stubbing his toe on the leg of a chair, iron or maybe even iron plated because screw the fae, right? “Gods damn it, guys.” He groaned, wincing in pain, not really stopping, while the bartender and the old hunter laughed at his bad fortune.

Outside, he skipped towards his white van, still wincing whenever the victimized foot accidentally made contact with the ground, though it didn’t take him long to jump in the driver’s seat, stab the key in its hole, and get the hell out of there. The Silver Bullet was always intentionally hard to find, thanks to the discreteness of the patrons themselves, especially towards the unwelcomed folks, which made Anton’s first visit a hilarious combination of getting lost for hours and almost getting beaten up because he forgot to tell them he was a hunter as well. When he did, though, and proudly mentioning his choice of prey, he was laughed at, welcomed inside, and even treated to a free drink. Hunters can be just as weird, man.

You know what else was weird? The cabin in the woods, his destination. On the surface, it looked just like any other cabin in the woods, everything was made of wood and lumber, but something about it felt strange and eerie to the exterminator. The couple, a lumberjack that looked extremely boring as hell and his much younger, more attractive wife, were waiting for him outside, where the discussion took place faster than that old hunter could get to the point of his story. 

“So, how long has this been going on?” Anton squinted, arms crossed, as he looked at the boring lumberjack and tried his best to keep his dark brown eyes from wandering to his hot wife. “Just a couple of days. Not sure what it is, but we thought you guys might.” He replied in the most boring tone possible. Before Anton could shoo them away so he can begin his work, the wife suddenly added something very important to the conversation at the very last minute. “Hopefully you get this pest out of here within the week. I’d rather not come back to milk spoiling really fast again and my underwear disappearing and reappearing all over the place.” Almost immediately, one word exploded in Anton’s mind: Fuck. 

Once the weird couple was gone, their pick-up truck driving away to some motel where they would spend the next few days, the exterminator went back to his van, stocked with a wide array of pest control weapons and equipment, and opened the rear door to start rummaging through the most appropriate of things to deal with the damned mind-boggling unwanted guests: his favorite spear, with its blade made of iron, and a jar of cheap peanut butter. Heaving a deep sigh, Anton squinted back at the cabin, mocking himself with a dry tone. “Who you gonna call? Bug Busters. Yay.”

[END]

[kbstories]

impression//expression

“It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day, he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone.”

(Or: Being friends with Bakugou Katsuki is anything but a linear experience. Kirishima Eijirou would have it no other way.)

Tags: Kirishima POV, Developing Friendships, Post-Kamino Arc, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff and Recovery, The Boys Discovering Unbreakable Via Questionable Training Methods

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Content warning for nightmares and generally traumatic experiences (both only mentioned). Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.

***

Three days into U.A.’s new dorms, Bakugou hasn’t crossed Kirishima’s path a single time.

Don’t fuss, Kirishima had reminded himself that first night, crimson eyes following Bakugou as he slinks off to the elevators. Hands in his pockets, duffle bag slung over one shoulder, his typical slouch executed to perfection – the same as always yet achingly out of place against the buzzing excitement of the dozen and a half heroes-to-be at his back.

Under his breath, Kirishima muttered, “Give him space”, as he heaved boxes of manga, multiple sets of weights and his punching bag into his room before dedicating all his attention to stuffing a suitcase worth of brightly patterned shirts into the standard issue closet U.A. provided them with. He worked for hours and hours, unpacking and reminiscing and decorating until the room was satisfyingly his and the gel in his hair drooped with how sweaty he got.

It’s fine, he thought, pinning the last poster to the wall he shares with Bakugou. It hadn’t quite sunken in yet that they’re neighbors, now. Bakugou is antisocial on the best of days. He’s fine.

The thought of the white headband he’d lost had been fleeting at most, a lamenting little sting as he wiped his brow and saw his roots were starting to show. It came back full force as he stepped out to join the others in the common room and found an identical one hooked on his knob, the tag still attached.

Right. Kirishima gave the door to his right a soft look, firmly shut as it was. The tag was snapped off with ease and the headband was back where it belonged.

It goes on like that for a while. With the administration accommodating their move and the new term weeks away, Kirishima invests his free time into catching up on his gaming hangouts with Kaminari and the re-watch of Fullmetal Alchemist he started with Sero before everything went haywire. He helps Mina sort through the abundance of gossip flooding in with everyone’s mundane habits and routines suddenly much more apparent, and talks to classmates he hasn’t had the time to get to know all that well over shared breakfasts and class-wide movie marathons.

It’s like he gained a whole new family overnight – a notion that’s healing in and of itself, the rift that disastrous training camp tore into them scarring shut with every moment spent together.

(Still, Kirishima misses his moms and Riot something fierce. Their goodbye had featured a total sum of zero dry eyes between them; Kirishima’s face had been a blotchy red mess for hours afterwards.)

And then there’s Bakugou.

The guy is like a ghost, those first days, his absence felt as much as the odd trace of his presence he leaves behind. A mug drying next to the sink in the mornings; the thrum of guitar riffs and double-base beats muffled to indistinctness by the thick concrete between them; carpet-dulled footsteps down the hallway, that stomp familiar even without an intended audience for its passive-aggressiveness.

Little bits and pieces of evidence Kirishima takes note of and memorizes just for the sake of it. For the moments that’s not enough, he texts.

Best Bakubro 💣💥

baku my man (sent 13:05)

got too many dorayaki by accident, u want some? (sent 13:05)

(from the store) (but still pretty yum) (sent 13:05)

nah (received 13:11)

ok no probs ❤️ (sent 13:11)

One time, he couldn’t come up with a valid enough excuse and spent minutes agonizing over the empty text box only to type a short u good bro? that was answered with an equally short fine a while later.

Kirishima is very, very glad Bakugou has dropped the habit of leaving him on read. This way, his frayed nerves only have to withstand the background stress of what if he’s downplaying it that seems moderate in comparison to–

Yup, not thinking about Kamino again. Moving on.

“Is he like… okay?”, Sero asks him eventually, YUI’s Again playing as they wait for the episode to start. He’s lying belly-down on his bed, his laptop positioned in a way Kirishima can see the screen from his chosen spot in the hammock. “Not gonna lie, it’s a bit freaky how quiet it’s been. When he’s around at all, which isn’t much.”

Not moving on, then.

Kirishima doesn't need any clarification who is meant. Sero isn’t the first (or the last, most likely) to approach him about this; for once, even Midoriya has been beaten to the punch by Todoroki. It doesn't matter who it is, though, the answer is always the same:

“I don’t know.”

A little hushed because it’s the truth and a confession at the same time. The mild surprise on Sero’s face makes Kirishima look down in search for words, his hands wringing the pocket of his threadbare hoodie just to have something to do. Half the intro flickers by in silence.

“Baku isn’t exactly a people person, y’know?” Kirishima scoffs at himself. What an understatement. “He likes to do stuff his way and fight his own battles, lone wolf style. So, it’s been a bit, uh, stressful for him. To have everyone – and I mean everyone, heroes, police, the media, you name it – be in his business and then have all of us around all the time, too.”

That’s pretty much what he can say without outright speculating or infringing upon the things Bakugou told him in confidence. No matter how much Kirishima appreciates Sero as his friend, his lips are sealed unless Bakugou decides otherwise.

About two minutes into the episode, Sero hits the space bar. The screen pauses on a frame of ambiguously European-looking buildings.

“Okay, sorry, it’s just. How is Bakugou the one with the biggest cryptid energy in 1-A right now? Even Tokoyami emerges from the shadows sometimes and being a cryptid is like, his whole deal.”

Wrapped in humor as it is, Sero’s concern brings a smile to Kirishima’s lips. It’s good to know he – and Todoroki, and Midoriya – care, even when Bakugou is being elusive and hard to reach on purpose. It’s what makes all the difference, sometimes.

“Dunno, he’s a pretty complex guy once you give him a chance. Plus, I’m pretty sure he spends 90% of his time either training or studying or thinking about training and studying so it’s not like he’s not doing stuff. It just doesn’t really involve any of us.”

A thumb on his chin, Sero muses: “Not a cryptid but a closet nerd, huh? That… makes a lot of sense actually. I always thought he’s some kinda genius but I guess even geniuses have to work hard to get good.”

“Dude, he’s such a nerd”, Kirishima agrees with an enthusiastic grin. “Like, I’m pretty sure he wakes up with the sun and gets right to it. Being around him is so motivating, I wanna shoot for the stars and achieve my dreams simply because he’s doing it, too.”

“Okay, I get it. Blasty’s the best.”

Kirishima nods so hard the hammock moves with it; Sero snickers and shakes his head. His smile dims, then, more pensive than before.

“Listen, man. I know it’s over and done with and like, getting bent out of shape over what ifs is pointless but – I wish I’d been there.” Sero traces the borders of his laptop, a repetitive and thoughtless motion. “To help him, I mean. Watching him fight for his life on TV was really freaking miserable, I was shaking the whole time. To think you guys were there as well and how much worse it could’ve gone… How bad things are, even now… I don’t know. It’s haunting, honestly.”

It’s entirely silent, for a while. Kirishima’s mouth is dry, his eyes starting to burn with how quiet Sero’s voice got towards the end there.

“I’ve, um. I’ve had nightmares about it, actually.” Admitting it feels right, despite the heaviness that doesn’t belong in a room smelling of fresh paint and new beginnings. “I don’t know how much I’m allowed to say here. It’s all a blur anyways, I was freaking out until we got there and once we had him we just ran. But… We were there, hiding behind this wall with Midoriya doing his mumbling thing to figure out what the fuck to do. All for One was there, too.”

Just the memory makes Kirishima want to hurl. Images flash before his eyes, there and gone and seared into his retinas all the same. He looks at Sero, at eyes gone wide with worry.

“That guy’s presence… It felt like dying. I don’t know how else to describe it, it was like standing on a cliff knowing you’re about to lose balance and go splat and it wasn’t going away. Katsuki talked to him directly, fought villains outnumbered six-to-one with him right there.”

Somewhere in their periphery the laptop’s screen flickers to darkness. Kirishima takes a deep breath, mentally counting down on the exhale.

“I’m worried, too. I’m trying not to fuss because it makes Bakugou uncomfy when I do but it’s hard. He’s answering my texts, at least. And he, uh, didn’t mention all the embarrassing shit I sent him while he was gone. So, that’s something, I guess.”

That makes Sero’s brow perk up from a somber frown to vague curiosity. “Embarrassing shit?”

“Really embarrassing shit.” Kirishima’s face flushes so hard his cheeks practically glow with heat. “Full on you-might-be-dead-and-I-don’t-know-how-to-cope-with-that embarrassing. I was a total mess, dude.”

Sero breathes a sympathetic sort of noise. “Oh, that.” He reaches over to pat his head. “Yeah, you kind of were. It’s okay, though, Kiri. I’m pretty sure you’re allowed to be a mess when your best friend– Well, y’know.”

“Mmh”, Kirishima makes, his hands framing his own face in a bid to cool it down a bit. “I swear if he ever brings it up I’ll perish on the spot. Goodbye sweet world, it was nice knowing ya.”

“Pressing F hard for you, man.” Sero nods along solemnly. “Don’t worry, I’ll let Riot know you loved him.”

“Thanks, bro!”

They share a grin, not as bright as it could be. Given the state of the world, it’s a damn miracle it’s there at all. Kirishima sighs a little and juts his chin at the laptop.

“C’mon. Let’s watch the Elrics do cool alchemy stuff and/or cry about how depressing their life is.”

Sero finger-guns at him, “You got it”, as a line of tape goes for the touch pad and the freeze frame comes unstuck. The rest of the night is lost to the comforting nostalgia of a story they both know by heart.

* 

Best Bakubro 💣💥

u ok? (sent 22:00)

yea (received 22:02)

oh!! ur awake (sent 22:02)

? (received 22:03)

hhhh isn’t it way past ur bedtime? (sent 22:03)

💦💦 (sent 22:03)

🖕 (received 22:11)

GASP (sent 22:11)

did you seriously just type out “gasp” (received 22:11)

uh yea??? this is an important moment (sent 22:12)

i’m so proud of u (sent 22:12)

fucking hell (received 22:12)

 go to sleep already (received 22:14)

aaa ok (sent 22:14)

night nitro!! (sent 22:14)

🔪 (received 22:17)

❤️ (sent 22:17) 

*

The alarm jolts Kirishima out of fitful sleep.

A hand searches the bedframe with clumsy pats, eyes squeezed in a bleary squint as the screen flashes to life in the dark. The notification reads Gym w/ B!!! besides a big, glowing 5:00.

Kirishima groans. It’s a critical hit to his still-recovering sleep deprivation, making his arms bend like limp noodles under his weight. He crashes back into bed and lets the void swallow him.

*

Knocking. Hard, incessant, escalating in volume and frequency until–

“Oi! Shark Teeth! Get up already!”

Kirishima is ripping the door open before he’s even aware he’s on his feet and awake enough to do so. A breathless “Bro!” fills the space the knocking occupied a moment before.

“About fucking time.”

In the shy light of a sun peeking over the horizon, the phantom of the 1-A dorm becomes solid and real in the shape of one grumpy-faced Bakugou Katsuki: a towel over his shoulder, a bottle of water hanging from two fingers by its handle, looking whole and rested and average amounts of ticked off and oh, Kirishima missed Bakugou.

Kirishima’s also staring. Which he realizes because Bakugou shuffles in place, gaze drifting to the side, a hand scratching his neck. “It’s Saturday”, he says a little awkwardly, offering nothing else to follow it up with.

Saturday. Gym day, which Kirishima’s phone remembered and Kirishima did, too, the night before when he’d wondered if that’s still a thing now that they moved together and Bakugou went into stealth mode and everything is constantly shifting under their feet.

Not everything. Most things, apparently not this one, this thing that’s been theirs since the start. Kirishima smiles, bright and relieved. He promises:

“Be right there. Two minutes!”

He runs because what if Bakugou changes his mind? What if he decides to go ahead without him, and Kirishima loses that glimpse only he gets, of Bakugou being in his element and relaxed and happy?

Then he’s back and Bakugou is still there, leaning against the wall and scrolling on his phone while he waits. A glance, lingering on the all-caps SWEATING print on his red tank top over neon aqua shorts – Kirishima flexes to show off his outfit properly. “Pretty rad, right?”

Bakugou blinks, slowly. The verbal jab Kirishima expects never comes. Instead, he gets a low, “You done or what?”

“Yeah, man! Let’s go.”

Maybe Bakugou missed him, too.

*

“Push it!”

Kirishima clenches his jaw, the serrated line of his teeth grinding to the point of pain. He pushes, skin pulling tight and muscles screaming as they bunch up and split apart in harsh ripples. His vision fractures into two, three distinct shards.

The blast engulfs him between one heartbeat and the next. Nitroglycerine-fueled flames lick over every inch of exposed skin, his arms and face and chest registering the heat before the pain, dull and frustratingly there.

It’s over in a flash. Bakugou wipes sweat off his chin with his arm, palms still smoldering. “And?”

“Still feelin’ it”, Kirishima rasps out. His quirk drops, leaves his body softer and aching; breathing is a bit of a challenge, inhales and exhales coming quick and hard. Arms crossed over his head, he lets out a groan, his voice dipping into a growl.

“I can go further! I know I can. It’s right there but I can’t. Quite. Grasp it. Urgh!”

“Fuck”, Bakugou mutters with feeling. Exactly, Kirishima thinks, fuming at himself. Fuck.

They’ve been at it for hours. Gym γ is in ruins, which is fine since Cementoss can fix it up in seconds once they’re done but still. By this point, Kirishima expects more progress than aggressive indoor renovation via explosions.

A hero’s Ultimate Move is supposed to be this grand, show-stopping technique to turn the tides and save the day. Finally, finally, they’re in the clear to develop their own. There’s an idea in Kirishima’s head, a concept he’s worked on for almost as long as his aesthetic as a hero. An extension there-of, in a sense.

It’s badass, it’s manly, it’s invincible–

It’s not this. Kirishima is starting to doubt he’ll ever get there.

“What’s wrong with me, man? Like, I see you coming and my quirk kicks up a notch ‘cause it’ll hurt if I don’t harden enough and then it just. Stops? Before it gets where I want it to be? Are explosions to the face not dangerous enough, or something?”

Bakugou is shaking out his hands and loosening his shoulders, a wince making his nose scrunch a little. “You’ve taken more of ‘em today than you could at the Festival”, he notes in that neutral tone he uses when he counters Kirishima’s whining with facts and logic. “Pretty sure any of the other extras would be dust by now, including that steel fucker.”

Kirishima appreciates the Bakugou-version of a pep talk, he really does, and he’s probably right (he usually is). But it’s not what he wants. He wants his Ultimate, and he wants it now.

And, eyeing Bakugou’s grenade bracers, he might know of one way to get there.

“Use those.”

“Hah?”

Kirishima pats one of the clunky devices, hand hardened just in case. Bakugou bares his teeth at him but doesn’t pull away. “These. Hit me with ‘em? Full blast.”

Bakugou’s expression sobers. Dead serious. “Don’t fuck with me. They’re not made for people.”

(And Midoriya is what, a house plant? Kirishima doesn’t voice that thought out loud. He has some sense of self-preservation, thank you very much.)

Besides, Bakugou didn’t say no. The possibility is there, if heavily guarded – and where there’s a chance, Kirishima will always at least try.

“Look, dude. For better or for worse I’m too used to anything else, and adrenaline alone is clearly not cutting it right now. I’m…” Kirishima laughs, a little embarrassed despite himself. “I remember what that explosion did to Ground β. Not gonna lie, it was pretty wild and I’m a bit, uh, scared. But I’m also ready. I can take it, I know I can.”

Bakugou is looking at him, intense in a different way, searching Kirishima’s face for… something. “You’re scared of me?”

What? Kirishima rewinds what he said in his head and oh no. He waves his hands in front of him, like he can physically wipe away the notion. “No. No, Katsuki, I’m scared of what I saw back then. You, I trust. With my life.”

Which is a sappy thing to say, even Kirishima will admit that, but it’s also true. Asking Bakugou to use the bracers on him is literally placing his life in his (very lethal) hands.

There is a line between sparring and actual combat, and while they’ve come close to it, have toed it and tested its give in pursuit of greater heights, they’ve never taken that leap. They’re back at it now, balancing on that edge, and Kirishima can guide Bakugou there but he won’t push him across because Bakugou is hesitating.

“Once I pull the pin, I can’t stop it”, Bakugou says, locking Kirishima’s eyes with own. “I can redirect the blast but it won’t stop.”

Kirishima nods. “I know.”

“They’re all the way full. It’s gonna be brutal.”

“I know”, he repeats, chest warm despite the tingle of nerves in his gut. “I can take it. I swear.”

Bakugou spits on the ground. “Fine. Fuck it. You better fucking push it this time or you’re literally dead.”

“Oof, did you have to put it that way?”

A cold look is all he gets. Kirishima stands a bit taller on instinct. No time to joke, got it. Bakugou rolls his neck and explosion-jumps a good twenty yards away before turning back towards him. His right bracer is checked over in brisk and efficient moves.

“Get ready. I’ll count down from five. On go, you go. Plus fucking ultra.”

Legs apart, knees locked, back in a straight line. The stance comes to Kirishima as easy as breathing, as does the rigid feeling of his quirk taking hold. He braces his arms, hands up with his fingers sharp and claw-like.

A grim smile. “Plus ultra”, Kirishima confirms.

The safety slides off with an audible click. The pin emerges, Bakugou’s index limp on the trigger. “Five.”

Inhale.

“Four.”

Kirishima knocks his hands together, the rock-like smack reassuringly familiar.

“Three.”

Exhale. His limbs go stiff, his skin having long lost feeling as the keratin in it grows solid. Tough. Bulletproof.

“Two.”

Harder. Harder. Like a mountain. Like granite. Like raw fucking diamonds. Harder than that.

“One.”

Inhale, inhale, inhale. Kirishima’s chest locks into place, his heart pumping away as his innermost remains unchanged and everything else goes rigid. Be strong. Be invincible–

“Go!”

 A hiss, a spark, flames – the explosion roars to life and Kirishima roars back, sees it coming in a wave of light and destruction coming for him and only him. It’s not enough, more, more, but his quirk is buckling as it crashes into that wall inside him he can’t break–

“Push it, Kirishima! Push it, damn you!!”

He’s in Kamino, back to the wall and head full of death. Himself, dead, his classmates, dead, Bakugou, dead dead dead–

Never!

A second before impact and it fractures, splits apart. Time passes in slow motion as his vision bursts into a thousand unique and unknowable shades and–

Everything is so sharp, fragmented and crystalline and bright. The explosion hits, a kaleidoscope of red-yellow-orange that makes sense, somehow. Kirishima watches as it rolls over his hands and wrists and arms; it pushes against his chest like a gust of wind, playful, almost, like it could carry his weight if he leans into it, so he does.

One step. His body is heavy, so heavy, rumbling and grinding against itself at every point of contact – at his joints, between his fingers, along the knife’s edge of his teeth. Another step, again, again, moving through it like it’s the ocean lazily lapping at his legs in molten waves headed to shore.

It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds. Kirishima doesn’t register it’s over until he catches a shouted “Eijirou!” and Bakugou is there, sliding to a stop right in front of him. There’s shock written all across his face.

“Holy shit.”

Maybe Kirishima died, after all? It’s hard to tell with him being head-to-toe numb – he is pretty sure that feeling in his chest is his heart beating like the wings of a caged hummingbird. His lungs are screaming for breath, actually, and Kirishima tries but breathing is not working right now, which is fine. He opens his mouth all the same.

“Did it work?”

His voice is this low rumble that he himself barely recognizes. It’s okay, Bakugou understands him. Bakugou laughs, in fact, a short, incredulous huff of air.

“Did it work?! Did it fucking–”

A gasp, like Bakugou realized in that exact moment it’s Kirishima in front of him. Then he grins, big and toothy and so excited it’s making Kirishima dizzy.

“Holy shit, it worked! You fucking survived! And you’re a dragon! Or something! You have claws and fucking fangs and– That’s so badass, what the fuck!”

“What?!”

“YEAH!”

Kirishima looks down at his hands – his claws, long as daggers and curved inwards. “Oh fuck. Is it cool? Dude, I can’t see myself! Is it cool?!”

“You’re a fucking dragon of course it’s fucking cool”, Bakugou yells at him in one breath. “Shit, wait. Wait, wait, where the fuck is my–”

He takes off his cloves and fumbles for his pockets, like fumbling is something Bakugou does. The world is still weirdly precise and crystal-like and starting to spin, uh oh, that can’t be good. Bakugou’s got his phone out and Kirishima smiles, a Pavlovian response to being in front of a camera, and his jaw creaks with the movement.

Creaking is not a noise a human body should do. Then again, surviving a blast like that is also something that should be impossible.

Holy shit indeed.

“I made it.” Kirishima continues to stare down at himself, at the jagged plains of his chest where he tore through his shirt. It doesn’t feel real but it is. “I’m alive. I got my Ultimate.”

Bakugou is back and closer than before, his face mere inches from Kirishima’s. “Fucking woah, dude. Not a single scratch. This is insane.” The grin is still there, his voice quieter and dripping with pride. “Did ya feel it at all? How’s your mobility? Is there a time limit to this or–”

It’s getting hard to focus, Bakugou’s words running into each other and flying right by without his brain processing any of it. His spiked vision is blotted out in places, increasingly stained in black ink dots.

“I think I’m… I’m about to pass out.”

“Wha– Drop it. Kiri, drop your quirk!”

I’m trying, he wants to tell him but there’s no air left to say it with. Kirishima goes to his knees an instance later, his stiffened body resisting the way he wants to fold forward. Sounds are muffled, the darkness closing in–

By impending unconsciousness or by command, it doesn’t really matter: Kirishima feels his quirk fade and his entire body soften. He’s falling over until he’s not, strong hands catching him around the shoulders. A moment later, a semi-gentle slap to his cheek reminds him that there’s something he should be doing.

Kirishima breathes.

It feels really good, even if it hurts, too. His chest is flexible enough to expand now but clearly not happy about it while his lungs lurch for every bit of oxygen they can get. Breathing is a lot of work, then, but it’s worth it. Kirishima has an Ultimate Move, and he knows how to turn it off. Kind of.

“Why didn’t you tell me you can’t fucking breathe in it?!”

“Ah”, Kirishima mumbles, in-between pathetic pants of air, “That would be… because… I didn’t know… I couldn’t… Wow, I’m so dizzy.”

Bakugou groans. “Yeah, it’s almost like you just nearly suffocated yourself to death. Sit your ass down, idiot.”

A flick to Kirishima’s cheek has him whining. Every inch of himself is prickling with oversensitivity, the polar opposite to how it felt to exist in that explosion.

Because he did that. That happened.

By now he’s aware he’s leaning on Bakugou, his legs wobbling even as he’s held steady until he can plant his butt on the floor. Bakugou doesn’t push him off after he sits right next to him, either; he nudges him aside to take off his bracers and his collar but otherwise, Kirishima is free to stay where he is.

Kirishima takes the invitation for what it is and lets himself rest against his shoulder, thoroughly exhausted. “It felt so cool”, he tells Bakugou once he can inhale without shaking out of his own skin.

“Like. My vision went nuts just before the blast hit, I think that’s when I activated it. Everything was all bright and, like, broken apart? Kind of like shards of glass or something, it sounds weird now but it made sense in that moment. I was standing in the explosion and it barely moved me.”

Bakugou’s eyebrows go all the way up. “Seriously? That shit usually levels a whole building.”

“Yeah! I walked a bit, too, so that’s what I’ll work on next. Breathing would be good as well, I guess. Just have to get used to, well, everything.”

Looking down at his naked arms and the red outline around his right wrist, Bakugou nods, pensive. “Were you scared?”

Kirishima winces. Still thinking about that, huh? He almost regrets mentioning it at all, even if it’s the truth and part of them. Their starting point, all those months ago.

“At first, yeah. And then it was gone. Like, I feel I can face down anything when I’m like that, y’know? I won’t break no matter what. It’s exactly I wanted.”

Kirishima’s laugh comes out wheezy. There’s a headache pounding away at his temples, his throat raw from yelling and everything else. “Unbreakable. That’s what I called it when I thought of it. And it’s reality now.”

“You’re fucking crazy.” A shake of Bakugou’s head. He digs out his phone again, flicking to the most recent entry in his camera roll. “Here. That’s how it looks like.”

What he sees wipes the smile off Kirishima’s face entirely. He gestures to the phone and Bakugou shrugs, dropping it in his hand. Kirishima holds it close to his face, almost cross-eyed with his need to drink in all the details. The red spikes of his hair. His eyes all intense and turned to stone. The teeth, holy hell. Layers and layers of armored skin shifting over each other like tectonic plates.

No wonder he sounded like rocks tumbling down the mountainside in that form.

Bakugou nudges his side. “Okay, spill. What’s the sad face for this time?”

“I don’t know.” Kirishima swallows. “It’s scary, isn’t it? I know why you got dragon from this and it is cool. It feels cool, too. But is it something people would feel safe around?”

“Uh, yeah?” The device is snatched back. “Civilians are morons and fickle as fuck but if this is standing between them and certain death, fuck yeah they’ll feel safe. Besides, you’re like Riot.”

“The dog or the hero?”

“Fucking both but I mean the dog. You’re like, stupid friendly and all”, a vague gesture to his face, “wholesome and shit, whoever doesn’t immediately get ‘hero’ from that is dumb as hell and deserves to die.”

“Okay, okay, I hear ya.” Kirishima chuckles, rubbing the back of his head under the praise. He hurries to say: “Well, minus the wishing-civilians-dead part.”

“Nope. They can definitely die.”

“Dude.”

Bakugou is grinning, though, knocking his phone against Kirishima’s forehead. “Get your head outta your ass already. That Ultimate is badass as fuck. We’re trying my AP shot on it, next time.”

“You mean the one that goes through concrete?”

“Ye-up, that’s the one. Now get off me, you’re all sweaty and gross.”

Kirishima oofs as he’s pushed to the ground. He stays there, for a minute or two. Staring up at the far ceiling and musing how okay things feel right now. Hoping that they’ll stay that way, for a little while at least.

Then Bakugou is standing over him, offering him a hand. “I’m not carrying you back, asshole. Get up.”

Kirishima groans as he’s pulled up. The tingling has firmly settled into soreness and it’s everywhere. Still, when Bakugou makes to let go, he holds on tighter.

“Bro, wait.”

A questioning glance.

“We gotta do the thing!”

The glance turns almost concerned, a silent have-you-finally-lost-your-marbles sort of look. “The… thing?”

“Yeah!” Kirishima imitates an explosion between their hands. “The sparking off thing!”

All confusion disappears. “Ah”, Bakugou says. Then he turns around and marches right out the gym.

“Baku, no! Don’t leave a bro hanging like that!”

(In the end, Kirishima gets his handshake. Bakugou complains about his ‘shitty ass puppy eyes’ being ‘effective as all fuck’ the whole way to the dorm.)

>>Chapter 7.

[ma-lark-ey]

((Remember that brief post I made on Lark(?) getting sick? Yeah here's a whole chapter. But this time its angsty))

CW; for sickness, mentions of vomit, dry-heaving, minor panic attack description, spoilers for Episode 39-40. Theres some Oakson if you squint, I dunno if that counts at a trigger,,, but yeah

Henry couldn't remember the last time Lark was the twin to get sick. He had such an impenetrable immune system he thought he was incapable of the thing. But here he was, fixing Lark a bowl of soup while he laid on the couch under a fuzzy blanket.

"Here, Birdie. Don't eat it too fast, alright?" He brushed Lark's bangs back and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Sure, his boy was nearly fifteen, but no child is too old for a sweet forehead kiss.

That usual fire Lark had boiling in him was dessimated by his case of some virus, and instead of his usual extravagant response to Henry, he just nodded.

"When's Ma gonna be home?" He asked, pushing himself to sit up enough to eat comfortably. His eyes looked like a raccoons, deep dark circles around them, sunk and dull. His skin was pale and lifeless. He could pass as a vampire. And that's his the boys went, either they were perfectly healthy, or they nose dove into being couch bound for a week.

"Somewhere around seven, she's bringing dinner. But, I may have to leave here soon. I have a meeting for something. You think you'll be alright by yourself for a little bit?" Henry hated the thought of leaving his boy when he was so vulnerable. Anything could happen in two hours. Especially with how quickly Lark's health could plummet. Last time one of them got sick, Sparrow was fine Friday morning and by Sunday evening they were taking him to urgent care because he had fluid in his lungs.

"I'll be fine, Dad." Lark set his half eaten bowl of soul on the coffee table, snuggling right back down into his blankets. "Hey, could you go get me the plush on my bed? The- the Pichu one."

"Of course, Lark. I'll be right back." Henry stood, making sure Lark was cozy in his blankets and went to grab the stuffed animal. It was rare the twins had toys un-destroyed as kids, but that Pokemon bear Nick had gotten Lark as a birthday gift when they were six? That thing always stayed perfectly in tact.

He picked the old, well-loved toy up off the bed. He could see the stitching on its ear where Sparrow had accidentally ripped it when they were seven. Lark cried for hours, wouldn't talk to Sparrow for thirty whole minutes over it.

The young granola-crunching dad trotted back downstairs. Lark was laying limp on the couch, breathing short and shallow. He looked horrid. Henry's going to have to cancel his meeting, he knows that. He's not leaving Lark alone when he looks this bad. Henry should recheck his temperature.

He set the Pichu down in the gap between Lark and the back of the couch, placing his palm on his forehead. God,,the kid felt like fire.

Lark gagged suddenly, throwing the blankets off himself and grabbing the pot he kept on the floor next to him. The soup he'd just eaten came right back up, he sat there, hunched over, crying and dryheaving for a good five minutes. Henry rubbed circles in his back and tried to soothe him. But, Lark couldn't even keep water down anymore. Henry knew he was dehydrated, and he didn't know what to do anymore.

Lark let out a sob, leaning into his dad. Henry held his boy against him, not daring to give a gentleman sway like he usually would.

"It hurts... Everything hurts..." He whimpered. He sounded so small, which wasn't a way Lark Oak-Garcia should sound.

"I know, baby. I know." Henry reached for thermometer he'd been keeping on the coffee table. He pulled it out of the protective case.

Lark looked at him, his eyes looked so tired. He opened his mouth and let Henry put the device under his tongue. It took a minute, but the thing beeled and Henry checked.

106.7. Oh hell no. Oh heeeell no.

"Get some shoes on, Lark, we're going to the emergency room." He said quickly, pushing himself to his feet and going to grab his keys, phone, wallet, and own shoes.

"Dad, I'm fine, I-"

"You're temperature is one hundred and SIX! That is not fine! Get some shoes!" Henry felt his hands started to shake. No, not now. He felt that familiar crushing feeling of his chest caring in on itself. Not now. Stupid panic attack disorder.

"Dad, really, itll go down in the hour I'm-"

"Lark Oliver Oak-Garcia, do not argue with me on this please, we are going to the emergency room and thats final. Now put on your shoes!" He knew he snapped, but he was freaking out. He didn't know anything about his stuff. In the Realms, when someone was this sick you'd cast a healing spell and bada-bing bada-boom, hes fine! But this isn't the realms, and there isn't magic! He pressed trembling fingers to his temples, trying to ease himself out of the coming panic attack before he really got consumed in the anxieties. He needed to be Dad right now, not Henry.

He looked around the room, listing off things he could touch or hear or see. Just like Mercedes had taught him.

Deep breath in.... Deep breath out. Its good. Lark's good. Focus on getting him to the doctor.

Henry snatched his keys and phone off the table, grabbing his wallet from the counter in passing and shuffling to get on his Birkenstocks.

Lark was shuffling awkwardly to the door, holding his Pichu plush. He looked nauseous just standing, but both Henry and Lark knew there was nothing left in his system to come back up.

Henry helped him into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt, leaning it back so he wasnt sitting straight up and making himself light-headed. Then, he got himself in the drivers seat and pulled out of the driveway, handing his phone to Lark.

"Call your brother." He said sternly, eyes focused on the road as he moved to the urgent care clinical as fast as possible. Of course Lark listened, and Sparrow came through the Bluetooth of the car.

"Hey, Dad. What's up? How's Lark doing?"

"Hi, Sparrow. Letting you know, Lark's fever is almost 107, so we're going to the emergency room. Don't know when I'll be home, you can stay with one of the boys, or stay at home. I don't care. Mom's gonna be home around seven."

"Uh- oh! Okay. Um... Okay. Thats- okay, Dad. Is he okay? Just a high fever?" Of course Sparrow immediately sounding absolutely terrified.

"Don't panic,,Lark's good. He's just... He's low on fluids, his fevers high. I'll send you plenty of updates, promise. But, I gotta let you go cause we're here and I need to get him in. I love you so much, Sparrow."

"I... I love you too, Dad. And Lark. I- okay. I'll probably stay at Terry's."

"That's fine, call me when you get there, okay?"

"Okay... Bye."

"Bye, Sparrow.

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

Henry paced the waiting room. Its not that they were doing anything major to Lark, just running some standard health checks and getting him settled in a room for the night. But, your pride and joy, your beautiful son whom you love more than life itself being in a hospital room without you? Terrifying. Fucking terrifying.

Darryl had arrived about five minutes ago, and was currently trying to get Henry to stand still.

"Darryl, Darryl, darling, you're wonderful but you really need to shut the fuck up. If I sit, I will stop the adrenalin rush and when I stop the adrenaline rush my thoughts start going-"

"Henry-"

"and that means my brain turns back on and when my brain turns back on, it means I'll probably have a panic attack and I really don't want to have one right now,"

"Henry!"

"at this moment, because for the love of god, Darryl, I need to know when my boy is okay and I can't know when my boy is okay if I have a panic attack because then I won't be able to-" Darryl grabbed hold of Henry's shoulders and stared him right in the eye.

"HENRY!" Thank god he finally got him to stop going down the rabbit hole, it took Henry long enough. He stared the other father in the eyes. His mind stopped for a moment. Just a moment. But it was a long enough moment.

Darryl knew the tears were coming before Henry ever showed signs of beginning to cry. He pulled him into a tight hug and just held him there, in strong arms.

"Its okay, Henry. He's fine. Just a high fever and some dehydration. He'll be fine." Darryl promised him.

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

And, Darryl was right. Lark was fine. Henry freaked out over nothing. Late that night, Lark was discharged again. After his fever went back down and they gave him fluids.

It was now well past midnight, and Henry was exhausted. He got his just as tired son in bed, tucking him in and making sure the pichu was tucked in Lark's arms. He gave yet another forehead kiss, turning off the lamp.

"Goodnight, kiddo. Hope you feel better in the morning."

And, Henry dragged himself back to his bedroom, where Mercedes laid already asleep. He changed into a pair of pajama pants and crawled in next to her. Like her sixth sense, she rolled over to use Henry as some kind of large teddy bear like she did everything night. It was so nice. He took a long, deep, satisfying breath and settled into his pillows. His eyes became heavy, and he fell asleep faster than he had in years.

[hermankopusortizorsumshite]

Chapter 3

TW: angsty Angel

“Where’s Esme?” Asks EZ as he walks in, shivering at Alice’s head on the gun.

“She’s sleeping.” He chuckles, grabbing the head in his hands, examining it. “Do you, do you think I could get my dick in her mouth?” He asks, straighfaced.

“Jesus.” EZ breathes, walking away grumbling something. Coco stands in front of him with a serious face.

“Dude, you need serious help.” He shakes his head, blinking away the thoughts.

“It wouldn’t fit. Too small.” Esmeralda calls from the hallway as she heads into the kitchen. The two younger boys snort and she shrugs as she finds a bottle of water.

“Bully.” He huffs, dropping the head into a bag and putting it by the door. “We’re gonna be gone for a few days, under here,” he grabs her wrist and pulls her over to the cupboard. “There’s a gun, if you want to keep it in your room, feel free. If anyone you don’t know comes through the door, shoot them.” He nods, handing her the weapon.

“That’s it? I’m on my own?” She asks, and for a split second Angel can’t help but see the sixteen year old girl whom he adored. Stepping up to her, his hand warmly holding her upper arm.

“You got this, Chiquita.” He assures, giving her a nod.

“Angel? Thanks.” The corner of her mouth turned up in a crooked grin.

“Yeah.” He heads back to his room to change, finding a button down and sliding on his kutte. “Chiquita? Don’t fuckin’ touch anything.” He nips, his eyes twinkling at her as he leaves. The three days pass on, she only found herself uncomfortable the first night, by the second, she found herself exploring his place. She ventures out into the daytime sun, soaking in the heat and happiness as she buys a few nerf guns and a large package of bullets. She writes a note and leaves it on the counter.

‘Boys!

Somewhere I’m hiding.

Good luck losers.

Esme :P’

She places the nerf guns with the note on the counter as she finds herself some dinner. She picked up a couple plants while she was in town, sitting them on the counter, watering them and smiling. Opening a few windows, she sets out to clean and organize. After spending the rest of the afternoon cleaning, she has the house looking inviting and decides to call it a night. With a shallow shaky breath, she finds herself stumbling for Angel’s room, curling into the blanket on his warm soft bed. He always was so warm and safe, and tonight is no different.

Angel sneaks in, finding the house neat and clean, a small smile donning his lips when he reads the note. He was there a little early, so he assumes she’s still asleep. Creeping down the hall, he opens his door and tears threaten him, burning the back of his throat. She’s curled up in his old chair, his sweatshirt on and his blanket wrapped warmly around her. She looks so content. He swallows hard, his heart panging. Why did he want to always find her there? Why did he always feel this way when she was so close to him? He hated that she could see past his charade, the mask he wore so well. He doesn’t realize he’s still staring at her until Coco pats his shoulder and peeks in to see what’s got Angel standing there. He sees Esme in the chair and he huffs a chuckle.

“Why don’t you just tell her, man?” He mumbles as he walks away. Tell her what? He thinks as he grabs a tee shirt, yanking his dirty one off and pulling on the other.

“Tell her what?” He asks to Coco who finds a plate of casserole.

“What?” He asks.

“You said why don’t I tell her?”

“Oh, you know. That you love her.” He shrugs, mouthful of food. Grabbing Coco’s shirt, he yanks him close.

“Don’t say that shit, man. I don’t love her.” He growls, hearing rustling behind them.

“Is it good?” She asks, nodding to the plate Coco’s hand.

“Si senorita, gracias.” He chuckles, giving her a smile as he looks between her and Coco.

“Chiquita, you were in my room.” His voice sort of warning. His eyes didn’t scare her though, he wasn’t serious.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep. I got freaked being alone. It won’t happen again.” She nods, heading back to her room. As she opens the door, Gilly hits her with a nerf bullet and gives a shriek, running to kitchen for gun and shooting Angel before hiding around the adjacent corner. Leaning out carefully, she shoots for Gilly’s shoulder. Hearing an ‘ow’ from the hall she assumes she hit him and giggles. “Angel! C’mon! Join us!” She calls, giving him a gun and a huge smile. Ducking when she hears a pop from a gun, a bullet hits Angel directly in the chest. Coco peeks out the door to see an unimpressed Angel and calls back, “my bad!”

She throws her head and laughs when Angel gives frown, shaking his head. She waves Gilly and Coco to her and they unload on him. Angel sits on the couch, unphased by the bullets.

“You three are stupid.” He closes his eyes and sighs. “But you all know what you just let loose.” He jogs to the counter for the gun and shoots the three of them. Diving behind Gilly, she tucks herself away and Gilly grabs his chest dramatically falling to the ground. Coco follows suit, and she’s the only one left standing. Angel winks at her, shooting her in the chest three times. Grasping her chest, she falls to the ground and cries out. She landed on a thumb tack and she jumps back up, grabbing her back. It burns but she can’t reach it.

“Angel!” She shouts, grabbing at him.

“You’re bad at playing dead.” He nips playfully, pinching her side, making her wiggle and the stinging sensation in her back much worse.

“Angel! Dammit there’s something in my back.” She whines, turning to face him. His smile disappears at once and plucks the pin from her skin, licking his thumb and wiping the bead of blood from her skin.

“It’s a gaping hole, Chiquita. You’ll probably never be able to wear a swimsuit again.” He mocks, rolling his eyes. With a playful smack to his chest, she rolls her eyes.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than a pinhole, Chico.” She snorts, heading to the kitchen to find the fridge almost bare again. “Do you guys ever stop eating?” She moans, shutting the door with an apple in hand.

“We’re growing boys!” Coco retorts.

“You’re grown men!” She responds, heading to her room with her apple.

She wakes the next morning to her phone ringing.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me. We’re gonna hit the beach today, you wanna join?” EZ asks and she could hear the smile.

“Yeah! I’ll go!” When she exits her room, bikini on, towel in hand, and a sundress covering her, she finds everyone in the living room all ready to go.

“Where you headed Chiquita?” Angel asks nonchalantly.

“To the beach, you?” She states as she grabs a bottled water from the fridge.

“With who?”

“A secret.” She whispers loudly, rolling her eyes.

“Well, we’re heading out, see ya later!” Gilly calls as they barrel out the door. EZ shoots her a text saying he’s there. She walks down to meet him, grinning at him as she climbs on behind him.

“What the fuck?” He barks, looking at his little brother and Esme, both grinning smugly as they head for the beach, Angel following after. Angel smiles to himself as the two barely get off the bike, sprinting to the beach. She pulls off her sundress as EZ yanks his tee shirt off, they toss their clothes in a pile with their towels and shoes. He laughs when EZ grabs her up and tosses her into the water, listening to her shrieking in pure joy as he gets to the sand and sits on his towel, knees bent and elbows resting on them.

Heaving a sigh, he lays back and closes his eyes, soaking in the sun. Suddenly a shadow is cast over him, and opens his eyes just as water starts dripping on him.

“Why?” He asks, squinting up at her. EZ was currently chatting with a girl down the beach. “Your entertainment leave?” He chuckles as he sits up, patting the towel next to him. She sits next to him, shaking her hair out all over him.

“Angel.” She whines, hopping up and grabbing his arm and tugging. “Come on!” She cheers, digging her heels into the sand. His eyes wash over her, water droplets on her bare, tan skin, her teal bikini bright against her caramel skin. Her curvy figure, the fabric hugging in exactly the right places, she’s beautiful. Did he just say that? Standing abruptly, she falls into the sand and he laughs, grabbing her hand and dragging her to her feet and grabbing her waist. She lets out the prettiest squeal as he tosses her over his shoulder, catching EZ’s attention. He pulls out his phone, snapping a picture of them. His brother and his best friend would be so good for each other.

“Chiquita, I—“

“I’m gonna head to Pop’s really quick! Care to take her back to your place?” EZ calls from the shore, quickly sending the picture to Angel.

“I guess!” Angel shouts back with a chuckle.

“It’s fine, Angel. It’s not that far. I can walk.” She assures, heading out of the water. His hand stops her, pulling her back to him, his hands around her waist.

“No, stay. We haven’t really talked.”

“Because everytime we try you get mad.” She frowns. He shrugs, pulling his hands away from her. “Why were you sleeping in my room? I’m just curious. You know what? I have a sweatshirt of yours from high school that I still have wrapped around a small pillow and I sleep with it every night.” She states, looking at him expectantly.

“I can’t tell you. It makes me sound so pathetic and weak, okay? I’m sorry. I can tell you when you left, I cried. I cried like a baby, because I was scared that something bad would happen to you so far away and I wouldn’t be able to do anything.” She stares at him, eyes wide.

“Angel, I’m sorry I left the way that I did. I didn’t want you to feel like it was your fault.” She assures, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“It was my fault. You weren’t supposed to hear that shit in the kitchen that night. I just needed some time alone, and I was wore out. I didn’t mean to say it like that.” He nods, getting out of the water and grabbing the towel he had. She grabs her towel too, drying herself and pulling on her sundress.

“Angel, I needed to hear that.” She assures, her hand on his arm.

“What I said in the kitchen? Querida, you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve that stunt at the clubhouse either. I’m sorry.” He murmurs, hugging her warmly against his body. Drinking in the closeness like sipping wine, she soaks in every second of Angel being so close to her. Heaving a sigh, she hugs close to him a second longer, and he grunts, pushing gently on her shoulder to get her attention. “What’s the matter?” He asks.

“You called me Querida. We supposed to get married now?” She playfully giggles, holding out her left hand to him. With a little smirk, he kisses her knuckles.

“Can we settle on a piggyback ride?” He laughs, looking around involuntarily to make sure no one who knew him sees him.

“Yes!” She cheers, running and jumping on his back, her towel thrown over her shoulders as she wraps her arms around his shoulder. He carries her to his bike, both laughing as she playfully spurs him with her heel. “Man, this is a slow horse!” She laughs, as does Angel. He heart was practically beating out of his chest in joy. For the first time in a very long time, the two are together, having fun and enjoying each other’s company. As if on cue, his phone buzzes in his backpack. Digging around, he finds the small device and answers it.

“Yeah?”

“Hey kid. You almost done at the beach? Sorry to intrude but Galindo wants to talk. Clubhouse in an hour?” Bishop asks, Angel rolling his eyes.

“Yeah. I gotta drop off Esmeralda first. EZ left her with me.” He frowns. She huffs, hating how he always made her sound like a burden.

“Okay, I’ll see you soon. Sorry if I interrupted anything.” He hangs up, looking to her to find her frowning, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“What’s the matter?” He asks, his brows furrowing.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” She laughs, the giggle never meets her eyes and he notices. They get on his bike and she holds strongly to his abdomen, her face pressed against him. He pulls into the driveway, piling off the bike she heads inside without another word to him. He’s quick to go in behind her.

“Esmeralda, you wanna go to Mexico with us?” He blurts, biting his bottom lip the moment it escaped his lips.

“What for?” She calls from her room.

“We got a little business to take care of, but I’ll be sure to get you a tee shirt if you wanna go?” He calls, watching the hall as she appears in jeans, sneakers, and another of his button ups, this one cropped at the bottom showing off her tanned midriff. “You aren’t going to wear your on shirts?” He asks, waving a hand lazily to her newest addition.

“Nope, I accidentally threw away all my shirts. So I took your stash from Pop’s.” She chuckles as she grabs her wallet from her purse.

“You ready already?” He asks, watching as she nods and flops on the couch waiting for him to go change. He disappears for a moment or two, only to reappear in black jeans, a. Red flannel matching hers, and his work boots.

“Wow, you must feel ill.” She coos, dramatically pressing a hand to his forehead.

“Why?” He nips as he clips his chain onto his jeans and heads out the door.

“You’re matching me.” She giggles, pinching the fabric of his shirt.

“Shut up and get on. When we get to the clubhouse, you keep your mouth shut. We’re not going to Mexico, si?” He asks, eyes dark with seriousness.

“Comprende.” She nods as he taps the top of her helmet before they fly towards the clubhouse. Himself and EZ head into the tunnel, EZ being careful of her footing. They trek on until they reach the bronco, all piling in. Herself jammed between EZ and Angel in the front seat. It was late at night and she couldn’t help the yawn that escapes. A couple moments later she’s leaning onto EZ’s shoulder, gently and so lightly snoring. Her head bobs back against his neck and he chuckles, pressing his chin gently against her. His best friend in the whole world, they were road tripping like their senior year, Angel in the passenger seat smoking a cigarette not a care in the world. The radio bumps some pop music down low and EZ glances to Angel for a second.

“Almost like that camping trip in the desert.” They both share a chuckle, Angel shaking his head and looking at her.

*****

“Dude, I bet you won’t crawl into her sleeping bag with her naked.” EZ drunkenly dared his brother. Angel had chuckled, nodded in acceptance. Wobbly making his way to the tent where she slept, Angel drops his clothes at the door, all but his underwear, as he had a little decency. EZ drunkenly followed, video camera recorded every thing.

“Angel?” Her sleep-covered voice asked, blinked up at him as he unzipped her sleeping bag. He crawled in, cuddled her against him. His body was so warm, she held tightly to him as he fell asleep. When he awoke the next morning, he nearly had a panic thinking he slept with her.

“Yo, uh, Chiquita? Did we—you know—do it?” He was so nervous.

“Yeah. You came in, crawled into my sleeping bag naked, and you had your hands all over me-“ She stopped, smugly watched his expression widen in horror. “And then we slept together. All night. You’re warm when your drunk. And I’ll bet your about the same temp now.” She had laughed so hard, held her sides as she doubled over.

“Jesus, fuck me.”

“I’m good.” She laughed. He scowled at her. “Why were you so nervous? Christ, am I that ugly?” She nipped, picked on him.

“No, but, ya know.” He shrugged.

*****

EZ gently nudges her over onto Angel, sighing when he feels his arm start to tingle.

“Yo, what the fuck man?” Angel hisses, quietly as not to wake her, but he glowers at his brother.

“My arm was going numb, jackass. It won’t kill you. Maybe it’ll warm your cold, dead heart.” He bites, looking down at her for a second. “You two would be cute.” He coos, giving his brother big doe eyes.

“Shut up.” He reaches out to swat him but he only manages to catch her hand and pull it into his lap, his hand resting atop hers. Sleep clouds in, covering him in a blanket of warm fuzziness and he starts to doze. Jolting awake when his warm forehead meets the cool of the glass, he rolls down the window to feel the cool breeze. Snapping his fingers at his idea, he leans his seat back as far as it will go, her falling with the back, and he sits back up, leaning forward. His attempt at happiness proves futile as she rolls against him, arm sleepily sliding around his waist and cuddling closer to him, causing him to have to lean back. In seconds, she’s laying on his chest, arm wrapped loosely around him.

“You two would be be so good for each other. Everyone sees that but you two.” He chuckles as he gets to the town as the sun comes up. She groans, yawning and stretching up. Her fist hitting Angel in the chin.

“Fuckin’ ‘aye!” He barks, grabbing his chin and scowling at her.

“Sorry.” She grins, pinching his chin and pulling him down to kiss his chin. He grunts, pushing her face away from him.

“Gross, quit it. Turn here.” He points and EZ takes the corner. They pull up to the street’s edge and get out. Angel turns and points a stern finger at her, his gaze low and serious. “Don’t fuckin’ move, Chiquita. You got me? I don’t care what you hear, you stay right the fuck there.” EZ watches the exchange, trying to hide the smirk on his lips.

“I might.” She shrugs, wiggling to get comfy. Angel leans in the truck, grabbing her chin.

“You better. This is serious shit. Okay? Stay here.” There was a pleading seriousness she’d only seen once before and it hurt her. With all joking aside, she nods.

“Sure, I’ll be right here.” She nods, nerves making her shiver.

“Good.” He mimics her, leaning out of the truck and heading inside. EZ ruffles her curls with a chuckle, nodding in a silent promise that he’d return. She sits in the truck, doodling in her sketchbook and waiting for Angel and EZ. Almost an hour goes by, a shot rings out and she gets scared. Following into the little entrance, a man grabs her and she shrieks.

“Go! Get in the fuckin’ house!” He shoves, sending her tumbling into the house. Angel listens on for a moment. “Lookie what I found!” The guard chortles, dragging her in by her arm. Tears streak down her face as she smiles sheepishly at Angel.

“Christ! Stay in the truck! What the fuck did I say? Huh?” He shouts, shaking against the restraints as they put hers on and sit her across the little balcony from the pair of brothers. Angel’s heart pounding in his ears, he feels the bile rise in his throat as she winces against the pain of the restraints.

“Angel.” EZ warns, eyes flicking to the stout man with curly white hair who currently grins at her with a weird smile.

“Don’t you fuckin’ look at her! Don’t!” He shouts, quaking.

“Oh? I’m sorry, I don’t remember asking you to speak. Did I?” Asks the man, hand running along the apple of her cheek. EZ almost lunges, his heart pounding hard as he remembered the last man that did that to her, humiliated her in front of him, her father.

“I’m warning you. The last guy that disrespected her, I killed him.” Angel seethes, venomous words spilling from his lips.

“I’m keeping the girl. You two bring me ten thousand dollars by tonight, I let her go.” The man shrugs. Angel’s heart drops. Keep her? He couldn’t do that.

“Ten thousand? How about a brick of heroin?” He asks, trying anything to get him away from her. He perks up. Angel’s offer piquing his interest.

“h?”

“Yeah, ninety percent pure. You could sell it for way more than ten g’s. Just let her go with EZ. Keep me.” He hustles, eyes steeling against the creepy man.

“Nope.” He pops, shrugging. “I keep the girl. You two both got real antsy when she came in. You’ll bring that ‘H’ back in quite a hurry.” He chuckles, nodding to the guard. “Let ‘em go.” The man steps forward and cuts the zip ties away from them. Angel stands, his eyes landing on her for just a second, her eyes on the pregnant woman next to her. Huffing, Angel storms for the door. EZ isn’t so quick to leave, he crouches in front of her, grabbing her cheek and kissing her forehead.

“Don’t worry, Chiquita. We’ll be back.” He assures, ruffling her curls in a silent promise once more.

“I’ll be here!” She laughs, getting a small chuckle from EZ.

Angel broods in silence on the ride back. His eyes fixed on the window and fists clenched in his lap. Every once in a while he would light a cigarette to calm his frayed nerves.

“I told her to just stay in the fucking truck.” He grumbles. EZ glances at his brother.

“Hey, she’s gonna be fine.” He assures, watching Angel go rigid once more.

“She couldn’t just stay in the truck. Just stay here.” He repeats, jabbing a hand at the seat where she’d been sitting.

“Angel-“

“Don’t.” He jabs a finger at his brother. “She could get hurt. And once again, it’s my goddamn fault.” He laughs dryly, his head pounding. He couldn’t even look at her when he left. He had to walk away, leave her there. It hurt so bad, he could hardly breathe. It was like letting her get on that train all over again. He couldn’t stop it, only bare witness to his own heart breaking.

“Adelita, I need that brick.” He barks into the phone after he calls her. He meets with her and gets it. Without another word, they’re back on the road and heading back. As they roll up to the stop sign across from a market, he sees a tee shirt that reads ‘estoy con estupido’ and one next to it that read ‘soy estupido’. “Hey, pull over really quick.” He chides, patting EZ’s shoulder and pointing to the t-shirt stand.

“You really wanna buy a tee shirt when Esmeralda is being held hostage?” He deadpans, looking from the tee shirts to his brother.

“Pull over, bro.” EZ begrudgingly pulls the truck off the road and watches in disbelief as his brother gets out and jogs across the street. He haggles the tee shirt vendor and gets the response shirt in hot pink and the statement shirt in black. He watches, a little confused, as he gets the pink shirt gift-wrapped in a pretty bow. Grabbing the two items Angel saunters back, hopping in the truck.

“You serious?” He asks as he gets back on the road to get back to the house she’s being held at.

“She wanted a fuckin’ tee shirt, I got her one.” He shrugs, placing them next to him on the seat.

Once they get back, Angel stalks through the house and out onto the balcony. Fear fills him when he finds the balcony empty. No pregnant woman. No man. No Esmeralda. Stomping back into the house, he grabs the guard by the vest.

“Where the fuck is she?” He growls. The white-haired man appears once more, bloody hands on display.

“Don’t worry, she’s fine.” He assures, grabbing the brick from Angel’s hands. His eyes jolting back to the entry to the hallway every second, hoping she would emerge. When a guard finally does emerge, he’s dragging her down the hallway and shoves her at EZ. His arms wrap around her in a warm embrace. “I’ll accept it, cut her loose. I expect we’ll being doing business in the future?” The man asks as the zip ties snap and EZ grips her tighter as her arms go around his neck.

“Yeah.” Angel grinds through clenched teeth as he stalks to the truck.

“Angel!” She shouts as she jogs to catch up.

“Get in.” He swings the door open and gets her in the truck in the middle.

“Angel, I’m sorry—“

“Don’t. Don’t say a fuckin’ word.” He shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he climbs in and shuts the door. As EZ gets in, they head for home. Buzzing in her pocket, she fishes out her phone and answers.

“Yeah?”

“Hey! It’s Veto! When does your vacation end again?” He asks, her boss from Stockton.

“Uh, not for another two weeks.” She responds, chewing on her nails.

“Okay, wonderful. When you get back I wanna talk about a possible opportunity.” He chides, his happy booming voice filling her ears.

“Really? In Stockton?” She asks, watching Angel from the corner of her eye. He steals a glance in her direction, making her heart flutter.

“No, actually. In Santo Padre.” She grins, fist bumping EZ and smiling at him widely.

“Right! Well when did you want me to come back? I’d be happy to come back anytime if that’s the case. Get the ball rolling!” She cheers.

“Alright, if you’d like to come back maybe next Thursday?”

“Yeah! Next Thursday would be great! See you in Stockton!” She coos hanging up and giving EZ a knowing grin. Angel finds himself practically falling out of the truck as they get back, running for the tunnel.

“I guess he doesn’t know, huh?” She gives her best friend a sweet smile. He pulls her into a hug and shakes his head, letting her into the tunnel’s entrance and following her out the other side. They hear his bike roar to life and squeal out of the parking lot. Confused, they shrug and head to EZ’s camper.

“Beer?” He offers, but politely she refuses.

“So I go back next Thursday to finish up there and move back! EZ I’m officially coming home!” She cries, tears filling her eyes. He smiles, grabbing her off the couch and hugging her, spinning her around.

“I’m so proud of you, Esme. You should probably tell Angel so he calms down though. He’s gonna flip out if he thinks you’re leaving again.” He informs, letting her sit back down on the couch.

A couple hours pass and EZ drives her to Angel’s place. Bidding him good night, she walks in to find Angel sitting in the arm chair, just the lamp next to the chair on. His normally warm, deep brown eyes are glossy and his cheeks rosy.

“You and EZ bang?” He drawls, his drunken slur almost impossible to understand.

“No,” she chuckles as she goes to walk by him. His hand juts out and grabs hers, a need electrifying his touch. Pulling her down to sit on the couch he pats her knee.

“Can I tell you now?” He asks, leaning forward.

“Tell me?” She tips her head to the side, confused by what he meant.

“Yeah, why I slept in your room. I missed you. I didn’t want to. It was your choice to leave. You didn’t want to stay, and I didn’t blame you. The first few nights I tried to be happy about it, act like it didn’t hurt so bad. I protected you for so long, it was like being slapped when you left. I hated it. I hated how you made me feel.” He growls, taking another swig of his beer.

“I’m so sorry, Angel. I didn’t mean to hurt you like that.” She whispers, reaching for him.

“I deserved it. I still deserve it. I think about it all the time. Think about how it felt when I went into the house looking for you. You never did some shit like that. Run away. You always faced me head on, you still do. Chiquita,” he murmurs, grabbing her hands and pulling her into his lap. “Te amo.” He murmurs, falling asleep. She sits in his lap, hugging him wondering if he meant what he said. Carefully, she climbs from his arms, pulling him drunkenly to his feet. Stumbling her way down the hall to his room, she gets him to the bed and he drags her down with her. “Querida, lay with me. Please?” He whispers, his voice like a sober cry. Tears fill her eyes, but she nods in acceptance.

“I will, but Angel, the jeans gotta go.” She chuckles, pulling his jeans off.

“Querida, te amo.” He whispers, hugging her tightly to his wam body. In total shock, she just lays there. He tucks her safely against his warm body, his arms caressing her. Her heart thunders, her eyes filling with tears. This is exactly what she wants. She wants this, but all the time. Angel Reyes is her kryptonite. She feels his lips against her the back of her neck, her hair standing on end. Gently pressing kisses to the back of her neck, she gives a soft moan and rolls her body back against him.

“Angel,” she whimpers, letting him crawl over top of her, taking over. He sloppily presses kisses all over her face and chest, never touching her lips. Sliding her panties down, he unceremoniously slams into her, tears pricking her eyes at the sudden intrusion. She wasn’t quite ready, but she wouldn’t stop him. This is the closest, emotionally, that she’s ever been to him and her heart begins to ache. As Angel sloppily rolls his hips into her, he grunts a few times. His speed increases, thrusts hard and unnrhythmic. She grips tight to him, wishing it wasn’t going to end. Tears roll down her cheeks as he finishes on her bare stomach. Pressing a chaste kiss to her cheeks and nose, he whispers, “You’ll always be that little high schooler afraid of the big bad world.” With that he rolls over and falls back to sleep.

Tears in her eyes as she packs her things, she calls EZ to meet her at Angel’s. She had to leave. She couldn’t face him after that. He wouldn’t know what he did, and she couldn’t tell him. It hurts so bad, the tears rolling down her face she lets out a strangled sob, choking for a second. With a sad smile, she takes in the little house once more. They had a fun time. Hearing the door to the bedroom open, she slips from the house and packs her bike. Kicking her Harley to life, she drives away from casa de Angel Reyes with tears flowing down her cheeks.

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