#but at night when the act of looking at text is already strenuous enough he puts them on. at long last

[virsancte]

the adventures of nanny fischer continue

[andipxndy-writes]

will you be my maybe

fandom: abbott elementary warnings: tw: injury; tw: blood; tw: hospital requested by: anon 1 & anon 2 word count: 2.4k

cross-posted to ao3

chapter summary: “Gregory, there hasn’t been a single year when I haven’t made it,” Janine pointed out, rolling her eyes a little at him. As though he was supposed to know that. “Not even when my car broke down and I had to pay, like, a thousand dollars to get it fixed up on the same day.” She decided to conveniently ignore the look of slight horror he was giving her. “Look, I’ll rest. I’ll get some sleep. But when I wake up, I’m gonna clean that carpet, and then we’re going.” He definitely looked like he wanted to argue, like he wasn’t happy at all with that ultimatum, but then he sighed. He sighed and closed his eyes and gestured for her to lie down. “Fine, but only if I’ve decided you’ve slept enough.”

Janine is finally on her way home from hospital, but Gregory isn't happy with her determination to keep going.

will you be my maybe? chapter 3: recovery

It took a few more hours before the doctors discharged her, and even then, they conducted more tests and made sure she was actually starting to recover and not getting worse. Janine, obviously, was getting a little impatient in this time, but she tried not to let it show.

All she wanted to do was get home and pack and probably convince Gregory that it would still be a good idea to head for that family barbecue this weekend — it wasn’t as though it would involve anything strenuous, and she would be so much better off seeing people she hadn’t seen in ages instead of just… sitting in bed and sleeping or whatever her doctor wanted to do.

And not just that, but she’d already agreed to going. She couldn’t cancel now. Not the night before, and certainly not when her mother and sister were going to be there. Someone had to act as the mediator. Or, at least, someone had to be there that would talk to them both when they were in the same room. And they were expecting two mouths to feed, and people would be calling her non-stop if she didn’t turn up.

She loved her family, but she didn’t want that.

When the nurse finally came by with the discharge papers, Janine was literally ready to jump off the bed and grab them from her, get everything signed so that she could go home. It was only because Gregory was still there that she didn’t, because she got the feeling that he would have plopped her back onto the bed to make sure she stayed there until all the papers were signed.

Or maybe she wanted him to do that.

Anyway, soon enough the discharge papers were signed (by Janine, not Gregory, and she did them efficiently and correctly so that he didn’t have to do them over for her so she could go home faster but anyway) and she was heading out of the hospital with Gregory slightly behind her. She didn’t know why he was walking slightly behind her, and she could imagine that his hand was hovering at the base of her back as they walked out of the hospital.

Only imagined, because his hand wasn’t actually there.

Eventually they reached the exit, and Gregory called her a cab to head back to her apartment.

Well, he called them a cab. (And she texted her mother to say that she wouldn’t be heading to the barbecue tonight.)

She leaned back in the seat when they sat down, closing her eyes briefly. “God, it’s nice to sit somewhere comfortable again. That hospital bed was the most uncomfy thing I’ve ever sat on, and my couch is hard as a rock.” She turned to Gregory with a smile. She wasn’t sure he’d even sat on her couch, or maybe he had and didn’t want to talk about it, but he only gave her a smile in return.

In fact, he was pretty quiet for the whole ride back to her apartment, not saying much of anything. Whenever she looked over at him, he was looking out of the window — or he was quickly turning away from her, as though he’d been looking at her just before she’d turned to look at him. It wasn’t exactly an awkward silence, not really, but Janine sort of wished that they spoke at least a little bit on the ride back to her place.

When the cab arrived, though, Gregory practically leapt out of the car, heading around to open the door for her before she could even get her seatbelt off. Pulling herself out of the car, she realised she shouldn’t have been surprised when Gregory held a hand out to help her out of the vehicle. She took the offered hand and used it to leverage herself out of the car, moving aside as Gregory shut the door behind her. It wasn’t long before he’d paid the driver and the two of them were heading back up to her apartment.

Stepping back in, she didn’t know what to expect. She supposed she shouldn’t have expected the place to look any different from the way it had been when she’d left it the last time, but it still surprised her that everything was in its place.

Well, until she got to her bedroom.

She stopped short at the door when she saw the mess that was her bedroom. Her suitcase on the bed, open with her clothes either folded inside or sitting on the bed. That didn’t surprise her, considering she hadn’t finished packing before everything had happened.

No, what surprised her was the blood that was now soaked into her carpet, and was probably dry by now. Blood that would be near impossible to get out.

She wanted to cry. Her landlord was going to kill her, she was so sure of it.

She didn’t know whether Gregory sensed her horror, or maybe she looked like she was about to cry or something, but he was putting his hands on her shoulders and slowly steering her away from her bedroom door and back towards the couch. She wanted to turn back around and head back to her room, look at the mess and try to start cleaning it because she couldn’t have her landlord finding out about that when he would absolutely charge her extra for not only cleaning it but probably replacing the whole carpet, but Gregory’s hands were firm, and soon enough he was turning her around and sitting her on the couch. She opened her mouth to say something — she wasn’t exactly sure what — but then he picked up her knitted throw and held it up, looking at her expectantly.

She pursed her lips. She knew what he wanted her to do.

“You should get some rest,” he told her, predictably. She didn’t know how she could have thought he’d say anything else, really. “You’ve got a concussion, you’ve had a long day, and your body needs rest to recover. And you can’t do that by standing at your bedroom door and staring at the carpet.”

She huffed out through her nose, even though she knew that he was right. He was very right. She couldn’t just stand there at her bedroom door and stare at the carpet, otherwise she’d just worry and worry and worry… and she needed to rest.

“We’re still going to my family’s barbecue this weekend, right?” Even if she’d planned on those words coming out of her mouth, she wouldn’t have stopped them. She’d planned to go — she’d told her family that she’d be there. She wasn’t going to skip out on it because of a little bump to the head. That was a minor inconvenience. She could get over the concussion in like a day, right?

The look on Gregory’s face told her that he absolutely was not going to give her the answer she wanted.

“You need to recover, Janine.”

“No, what I need to do is go to see my family and show them that I’m okay,” she responded simply, “and eat some killer ribs.”

“They don’t even know you’re injured.”

“But they will when they call asking why I haven’t turned up.” And she knew that they would. They all pried like that. Especially her mother. (And she’d already texted her to say that she wouldn’t be turning up tonight.)

Gregory sighed through his nose. “Then you can just tell them you’re busy. That you can’t make it this year.”

“Gregory, there hasn’t been a single year when I haven’t made it,” Janine pointed out, rolling her eyes a little at him. As though he was supposed to know that. “Not even when my car broke down and I had to pay, like, a thousand dollars to get it fixed up on the same day.” She decided to conveniently ignore the look of slight horror he was giving her. “Look, I’ll rest. I’ll get some sleep. But when I wake up, I’m gonna clean that carpet, and then we’re going.”

He definitely looked like he wanted to argue, like he wasn’t happy at all with that ultimatum, but then he sighed. He sighed and closed his eyes and gestured for her to lie down.

“Fine, but only if I’ve decided you’ve slept enough.”

She scoffed with a smirk as she lay down. “What, are you going to knock me out if I wake up too early?” It was only a tease, words that she didn’t really mean.

But the look on Gregory’s face at the suggestion made her wish that it wasn’t the last thing she saw before closing her eyes to get some rest.

***

As much as Gregory hated the smell of bleach, he knew for a fact that it was necessary. It was clean, yes, but it was strong and it hurt his nose.

The bleach had not been for the carpet.

In fact, the bleach had been for Janine’s sink, and the majority of her kitchen counters, which were far dirtier than he had expected. He’d only come in there for some dish soap and water to clean the blood out of the carpet (which was now gone, thank goodness) but coming back to the filth had made his skin crawl. He’d had to clean it.

And he didn’t blame Janine for being dirty. In fact, he didn’t think she was a dirty or messy person at all. She was just busy, someone who always like to be doing something, and had a lot on her mind. Some things just slipped through the cracks. Maybe she’d planned on cleaning the kitchen later. And if anything, the dirtiest part of the kitchen was on top of the kitchen cupboards, which she couldn’t reach anyway, so he couldn’t really blame her for that. The kitchen window was as open as he could get it, to let some fresh air into the apartment, but it didn’t really do much to get the smell out of his nose. It didn’t do anything at all, really.

Now that the kitchen was clean, though, he was just tidying it up, putting everything back where he found it. He hadn’t known how long it would take to clean the place, but it had taken quite a while longer than he’d anticipated, really. Maybe once he was done putting everything away, he could get some rest—

“Gregory?”

His head turned when he heard Janine’s sleepy voice by the kitchen archway, and he smiled a little at her. She was still wrapped up in the blanket, her eyes bleary and the band-aid still on her head, with her curls all over the place. And she looked absolutely adorable like that.

“Hey,” he greeted softly, turning to put away the last of the mugs and shutting the cupboard door before turning to her fully. He gave her a small smile. “You look rested.”

“I am.” Her voice was croaky and full of sleep, and he was almost tempted to tell her to go back to bed, but then her eyes were wide as she looked around the kitchen like she was suddenly fully awake. “Did you clean in here?”

He scratched the back of his neck, letting out a small laugh. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t as though he was embarrassed about cleaning her kitchen — it wasn’t like it was her bedroom or anything. “Uh, yeah. It was a bit of a mess and I needed something to do whilst keeping an eye on you…”

“And you used bleach?” He couldn’t quite register the tone in her voice as she blanket dropped from her shoulders, and she wandered around the room, looking at everything. “The counters look spotless! Like, cleaner than I could make them!” This time, when she turned to him, her eyes were wide and full of wonder. “Can I hire you? To do this for me? Like, regularly?”

This time he laughed genuinely. “Janine, I already have a job.”

“Extra cash wouldn’t hurt though, right?”

He pretended to think about it. “Yeah, you’ve got a point about that…”

Her laugh was cute. It wasn’t even something that Gregory had to try particularly hard to admit. He just thought it was cute, the way she giggled at his comment. And it led them into a few moments of contentment, just standing there, in her kitchen. Her kitchen that was now a whole lot cleaner than it had been just that morning.

The contentment only lasted until Janine spoke again.

“Anyway, I need to get back to packing—”

“I haven’t decided whether you’ve slept enough, yet.” The call back to their earlier conversation earned him a small scowl from Janine, but he was serious. He didn’t want her going if she couldn’t take care of herself. And he knew that if he refused to go with her, she would just go on her own — and that would be even worse. He took one good look at her face.

She still hadn’t slept enough. He could see it in her eyes, she clearly needed more rest. But he also saw the determination in her eyes that absolutely meant she wasn’t going to be backing down anytime soon. The band-aid on her head clearly needed replacing, and the wound probably needed cleaning as well. She, overall, did not look completely ready to be meeting people, especially her family.

“Gregory, I’ve slept enough,” Janine said, as though her saying it would convince him of what his eyes weren’t seeing. “Trust me, I really have. I feel awake, and refreshed, and ready to go. Just let me go. It’s only for the weekend.”

He let out a sigh through his nose, regretting it when the smell of bleach from the kitchen replaced the breath he’d let out. She had a point, though — it was only for the weekend, and then they’d be coming back and returning to their normal lives. Aside from the very obvious head injury, would it really be so bad to let her go and see her family?

“You can go,” he relented, and then held up a finger when she started cheering, “but I’m driving. The whole way. And the whole way back.” So that she could sleep in the car.

She visibly deflated. “Can I at least pick the music?” she asked quietly.

Driver picks. Driver always picks. Gregory pushed that thought aside. If that was the only way that Janine was going to be cooperative for this whole thing, then so be it. “Fine.”

That got enough of a little cheer from her to make Gregory smile, and he could only watch her as she ran off to start packing again, continuing from where she’d left off.

He could only hope that this time, everything went off without a hitch.

[astaroth1357]

How Often They Worry about MC…

For those who don’t know, I have a little dog named Charlie and she is a large portion of my world. There's no need to be alarmed, my dog is fine, but there are days where I hold her and all I can think about is how much I worry about her health down the line… I suppose we often do that for the people we love, particularly the ones who may not last as long as we will. Take that as inspiration if you'd like.

Lucifer 

Near constantly. 

If you tracked his blood pressure on a grid, you'd see it start to continuously rise about when he decided they were worth having in his life.

Lucifer is the eldest sibling to a whole crew of brothers so he's no stranger to worry. He worried about his brothers when they were young, he worried about them after the Fall, and he still worries about them now (even if he's less open about it).

But a part of him knows that his brothers can handle their own, at least to varying degrees. The MC, though? He's far less sure…

They've proven rather resilient, but also headstrong and reckless. Neither of which are good things to be in a place this dangerous...

If Lucifer isn't careful, he can catch himself staring at a wall or window just wondering where they are and if they're doing alright… If he called them every time he had a passing worry, their inbox would be full by the end each week.

He holds himself back because he doesn't have the time to constantly protect them, but that doesn't stop him from sending a text once or twice a day. They better respond or he'll start (secretly) panicking.

Mammon

He forgets their mortality from time to time, but every time he remembers it hits like a ton of bricks…

Mammon is a pretty "in-the-moment" person. He doesn't spend a lot of time dwelling on the future, but whenever he does the thought of losing MC always comes back to him again and again.

Like. It's gotta happen eventually, right? They're human, humans die, hell they don't even live that long to start with!

The MC can always tell when Mammon's getting worried because he'll get uncharacteristically quiet and pace around or hover by them…

Every little injury or strenuous task will suddenly seem like too much to him as well. 

If they need to carry some boxes, he'll carry them all.

If they have to jog to class, he's carrying them. 

If they so much as get a papercut, he'll have a heart attack.

It's not very hard to get Mammon out of these funks - he really does want them to reassure him that they're okay - but he's never going to get fully over it…

Not until he can steal whatever top secret immortality formula Solomon must have used anyway… He'll get it off that bastard eventually.

Leviathan

Thinks about it so often he has to actively try not to just to get any peace…

He dodges his fears for MC like a protagonist dodges lasting consequences. Every time he feels one creeping up, he's always got a distraction waiting…

"Hey where's MC at? I hope they didn't fall into the riv-OH HEY CHECK OUT THIS NEW GAME!!"

"What are they doing over there…? That looks hard, what if they bre-WAIT DIDN'T MY FAVORITE VOICE ACTOR JUST RELEASE A NEW PODCAST???"

"What if the MC dies tomorrow and they leave me all alo-DEVIL FIGHT 200! YOU CAN'T BEAT DEVIL FIGHT 200, LET’S BREAK MY HIGH SCORE!!"

Cut him some slack, his psyche cannot handle the idea of losing them on top of everything else he grapples with every day.

If, on the rare occasion, he does let himself fall down that rabbit hole he becomes extra clingy and practically begs MC not to leave his room… like ever. He'd bubble wrap them if he could.

Anytime they get really hurt or really sick he refuses to leave their side even if it means he has to awkwardly sit on the floor. He just needs to be able to glance at them every so often to be sure they're alive… Still breathing?? Phew…

Satan

He worries, preps, rationalizes, then worries again…

For Satan, knowledge is power and every scrap of information he can learn about MC is more power he can use to keep them safe and healthy.

Yes, he will want their medical history. Yes, he's going to need a list of prescriptions. Family members too. And no, you do not get a choice.

He'll read up on as many things as he can - pawn medical journals off of witches and get magical alternatives from Solomon.

The cycle usually goes: 

1. He's lying awake at night because he just heard about some terrible bacteria that makes human's skin peel off or something.

2. He does all the research he can on this bacteria, its treatment options, best prevention methods, etc.

3. Gets right about to break out the rubber booties for MC to wear around, then realizes they have a very slim chance of catching said bacteria since it's only native to incredibly remote parts of Indonesia.

4. Feels instant relief that MC will probably not catch flesh-eating bacteria and can finally sleep again…

5. Hears of some other human medical horror from Solomon and starts to worry…

It's a vicious cycle indeed… But at least he's getting a lot of medical training. Soon enough he'll be the Devildom's version of a human vet (which I guess is just a doctor, come to think of it. 🤔)

Asmodeus 

Lives so "here-and-now" that he doesn't remember often, but when he does it's always heartbreaking…

Asmo usually tries to worry about things as little as possible. It’s bad for the skin, you know? But when the MC is involved, all of that goes out the window.

Like how a delicate blossom eventually wilts in the snow, the MC is bound to leave them in time… Usually there's supposed to be something beautiful in that kind of tragedy, but perhaps he's just too close to them to find any romance in it.

The thought of their death gives him breakouts and anytime they get hurt or sick he's the first brother to offer them comfort. Every time.

Because he doesn't feel like he's as physically strong as he brothers, he tries to make up for it by minding their health in other ways. Anything to keep his MC strong and beautiful as always!

If Asmo is in a worrying mood, then he may also compensate by trying to take the MC out to a party or some fun event. Why sit around worrying by himself when he could be making memories with them now, right?

Beelzebub

It comes in waves, mostly at night.

When your thoughts throughout the day are mostly, "I wish I wasn't so hungry," it doesn't afford you a lot of time to think about much else.

In a way, it's a good thing since he experiences a lot less stress. But those worries are still there and they mostly plague his dreams…

Beel doesn’t feel hungry when he's sleeping, so a lot of his fears will make themselves known overnight. An injured or dying MC is often in his rotation of nightmares though, of course, he'd rather it not be…

After having one of these dreams, his first instinct is to always make sure the MC is okay. If they're with him, he'll hug them and check their heartbeat. If they're somewhere else, he'll go to them or shoot a text.

He has woken up without realizing his nightmare was all a dream though, and usually it's up to Belphie or MC themselves to console him while he cries… It's so heartbreaking, sweet boy just puts a lot of pressure on himself to be sure they're safe…

When he worries, it's like they're the most beautiful and expensive China set in a room full of bulls and hammers. If he could tape them to his side, he probably would. He gets scared for them that much…

Belphegor 

More scared about it than anyone else in the House.

Despite his calm demeanor, Belphie is truly afraid of losing his loved ones beneath the surface… He's already lost one of his most dear siblings before, going through that again may just break him.

Unfortunately, he's also felt just how fragile the MC is firsthand... He's not even the strongest of his brothers, yet he was able to snuff them out so easily… Who's to say someone else won't try?

Like Beel, MC's death is a recurring nightmare for him but he can usually shake off his dreams fairly well, if not change them mid-sleep. More scary is when something is actually wrong with them or they're not feeling well.

Belphie always sets his inner laziness aside for the MC when he can. If they get sick, he'll usually be right along with his family to take care of them - even if he has to skip school to do so (not that he cares about class anyway).

When he's worrying about them, he tries to play it off at first, but soon enough they'll notice him acting overly concerned and losing sleep… Best to calm him down before he starts getting cranky.

[jeongvision]

make a wish

synopsis. jaehyun loves you very much; so much that he came over to your place at midnight to wish you a happy birthday. meanwhile, you also love jaehyun very much; so much that you think that he deserves a very special present from you even on your birthday.

pairing. boyfriend! jeong jaehyun ✗ fem! reader

genre. smut, fluff if you squint a little, established relationship au

word count. 2.9k

warnings. cursing, sexual themes (marking, fingering, choking, grinding, dirty talking, degradation, cum play, power play), some religious analogies

author’s note. make a wish english ver. is making me feel some type of way and jaehyun looking expensive in the mv is not helping me so i had to let it out somehow, so enjoy this thirsty work of art lmao

Today is your birthday, and all Jaehyun planned was to come over to your apartment at midnight with cake and sing you a happy birthday. After that, he’s all yours for the day. You’re free to do whatever you want, whenever you want with him for 24 hours. He was thinking maybe all you wanted to do is just stay in and cuddle while binge watching some netflix shows. Maybe order takeout if you’re feeling a little lazy to cook, and perhaps a few makeout sessions together here and there if you were feeling it. He could tell from your voice how exhausted you were from your work schedule based on the past couple phone calls.

What he did not expect however, is for you to be straddling his hips as you mark his neck up with purples and blues right after you blew out the candles.

And neither did you.

But that’s what makes it all fun, right?

You arrived at your apartment earlier close to 11 at night. work was tiring today. You work as a full-time cashier at a huge department store down the street. It was decent pay, enough to pay for your expenses and live life a little. You didn’t mind how demanding it could be sometimes, how customers can go from being exceptionally patient with your work to customers being absurdly rude to you for just breathing.

However, some of your coworkers called out for a week due to ‘personal reasons’, whatever that may be. Because of that, your manager has been scheduling everyone to work more to make up for all the missing shifts, including you.

You honestly didn’t mind it.

The only time you do is when it doesn’t allow you enough time to regenerate your social battery that you’ve been draining every night for the past two weeks. And every night before your shift ends, without fail, you always think to yourself how much you can’t wait to go home, take a nice, warm bath, and drift off to sleep, only for you to repeat the cycle again the next day. Oh, and maybe call up your boyfriend, if he was still awake, and talk about each other’s day for a bit.

But today is a little different— you finally get a day off to yourself.

You did your nightly after-work ritual: dinner, shower, bath, doze off a little, rinse, dry up, all that good stuff. But once you got dressed and finished blow-drying your hair, your doorbell rang exactly at midnight. You weren’t expecting any visitors this late, so it was reasonable that you were suspicious.

Who the hell? You were on high alert when you walked over to your front door, a wooden baseball in hand. When you went to take a look through the peephole, there was nothing but confusion all over your face. Why is Jaehyun here? As you pondered on, you noticed he held a beige box in both of his hands. As you peered closer you caught glimpse of the familiar label on its right side: it was from none other than your favorite bakery shop.

And that’s when it hit you.

It’s midnight.

You boyfriend is standing right outside your door, holding a box from your favorite bakery shop.

It’s your freaking birthday today.

You didn’t expect Jaehyun to be at your doorstep with a box of cake in his hands. In fact, you didn’t expect to see him at all on your birthday. You remembered him mentioning he had to work on your birthday. He felt bad that he couldn’t spend time with you. There’s always another day, love, you said to him.

And here you two are in the present: the candles have already been lit, birthday song have been sang, and the tiny smoke from the candles wafts through the air after you blew them out. Jaehyun told you that he called off work to spend the day with you and you were free to do whatever you wanted to do with him. You initially thought that spending the whole day inside lazing around would be the most perfect idea ever after all those strenuous hours at work.

But you had another idea in mind, an idea that stayed in the back of your mind after he sent you a scandalous text last week, stating all the things he wanted to do with you behind closed doors, away from public’s view. Of course he had to conveniently send it during your work shift and your nosy coworker just happened to peer over your shoulder reading the contents. It was all pure jest, my love, he said to you.

A joke it may be, but there’s no harm in making them come true, right?

Your arms are circled around his neck, legs stationed on either side of his legs with your ass planted firmly on his lap. You’re both sat on your living room couch, bodies pressed against each other with the cake long forgotten on your coffee table behind you. His hands are tucked underneath your shirt, caressing your soft skin.

As you continue to nip all over his neck, marking him up, he maneuvers his hands down to your rear, giving them a light squeeze. You sigh at his touch.

“Baby girl,” he grunts, “just what do you think you’re doing?”

You nip at a particular spot on his neck and he groans out loud. God, just the sound of him is enough for you to wet your panties. After licking down on his skin, you pull away from his neck and look down at your creation— there are blue and purple galaxies all over his throat, his lips are red and had a little swell to them from your sloppy makeout session earlier, and the eyes he looks at you with are filled with nothing but carnal lust for you.

You can’t help but feel pride burst in your chest because you did that. You made him, Jung Jaehyun, your boyfriend, look like that.

You gave him a lopsided grin, and he thinks to himself how he can’t wait to wreck you apart inside and out. “What does it look like I’m doing?” you cooed. You can feel his clothed erection poke at your thigh, pulsating underneath, so you grind on it teasingly, watching as his eyes roll back with his mouth open. “I’m just doing what my boyfriend wished for me to do through our text messages the other day. I wanted to show how appreciative I am that he came over and wished me a happy birthday.”

You face moves closer to his, your lips a breath away from his own. You lower your voice down to a whisper, “Is that wrong for me to do?”

He releases a throaty groan. You can feel him bucking up to gain some friction on his dick but you lifted your hips up a little from his lap. “Fuck,” he grunts.

You giggle softly at his reaction. You were never the one to take charge in bed. Jaehyun was always the one to initiate something and follow through with it. You didn’t mind it. In fact, you loved it. but the power you felt over him now was But you feel drunk on the feeling; you savored it, you felt intoxicated, and you wanted more.

Fuck it, screw those text messages. Let’s change it up a little, shall we? How about you take charge for the night?

But little did you know, that is exactly the opposite of what he was going to give you. It may be your birthday, but there’s no way in hell that you’re going to top tonight. You already mentioned those text messages he forgot about, and there’s no way he’s going to make you turn your words back on it.

Before you could even register anything, his right hand that was planted on your ass moves to your front where he cupped your clothed sex. You gasp, eyes blown out, hands now gripping onto his shoulders.

“O-oh!” you mewl.

And so, the reins have been handed over to him. As it should, he thinks. He smirks a little. His fingers rubs against your core at an agonizingly slow pace just to tease you a bit. He could feel the heat radiating off your body and wanted nothing more than to bask in it.

Just as he was about to move his hand away, you grab his wrist to hold it in place.

“Mm.. more..” you quiver.

He clicks his tongue. “Dirty little whore.”

After feeling how your thin shorts were starting to get drenched, he pulls his hand away from your grasp and shoves them inside your panties. Immediately, he can feel you dripping, his fingers and palm collecting all of your essence. His fingers deftly circle your clit before gliding them back and forth on your soaked folds.

Your mind is in a spiral.

“Holy fuck!” And holy, his fingers are, especially when he inserts two fingers inside your pussy. “O-oh my god, Jaehyun-n!”

He sadistically thrusts in and out of your entrance, his thumb stimulating your nub, your moans getting more fervent. “Acting all spoiled just because I’m letting you do whatever you want with me for your birthday. Just who do you think you are? Should I remind you who’s the one in charge here?” he growls.

You whimper at his words, shamelessly grinding yourself onto his hand as his other wraps snugly around the back of your neck.

He grins, face dangerously close to you now. “Now look at you, all fucked out from only my fingers. This pussy just can’t wait for me to fuck you nice and deep, huh? Is that what you want?”

You didn’t answer him, your mind too preoccupied from the bliss his fingers are giving to you. The sweat forming on your skin created a glistening sheen on your exposed collarbone, and all he wants to do is to just ravage it.

And he just might.

His hand wrapped around your neck tightens a little, sending more pleasure through your body and core.

“Answer me, slut.”

You cry out a little, “Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

You fail to swallow back your moans. “I-I want you to.. fuck me nice and- oh!”

His fingers hit that delicious spot inside you, your body jerking in response.

“Fuck you nice and what?”

Your sighs come out shakily, “Nice a-and.. deep, with your c-cock- oh my god!”

“God can’t save you now, fucking slut.”

He feels you tightening around his fingers, sending him to fasten his pace. Your grip on his shoulder intensifies, enough to painfully indent his skin. After a few more thrusts from his fingers, a coil inside you snaps, stars blurring your vision as a shockwave overtakes you. You did nothing to suppress your screams as your juices flowed out your core. His fingers continue to thrust in and out of you throughout your orgasm but finally stops as he sees you start to calm down.

Your breathing is erratic, trying to catch up after that earth-shattering orgasm you just experienced. After he feels you relax in his embrace, he lets go of your neck and rests it on your waist. He pulls his fingers out of your pussy and you shuddered at the loss of contact. Your cum slowly drips out of you onto your panties and shorts, some of it gliding onto your thighs where he can visibly see it.

God, does he want to have a taste. You’re definitely going to need some new shorts and undies now. With your half-opened eyes in a complete daze and your breathing evened out, he brings his fingers to your lips, staring dauntingly at your orbs.

“Suck.”

And you obliged. He pushes his fingers past your mouth and you suck on his fingers, tasting yourself. Your tongue swirls around his digits, all while maintaining eye contact with him.

He gravely groans at the sight. “So naughty..” He pulls his fingers away and takes hold of your chin, ravenously capturing your lips with his own, tasting a little bit of you in the process. Your tongue glides past his as he dominates your mouth whole. Your arms wrap around his neck once more, pulling him closer to your soul. His lips are always soft, and yet he kisses you as if he wants to devour you up until your knees buckled.

He breaks away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting the two of you, and he maneuvers his way down to your throat.

Now it was his turn to paint your neck pretty.

“So fucking naughty for me,” he moans. As he assaults your neck, you rack your nails through his hair, gently pulling on its ends. You could feel him sigh onto your neck as a result of it. He honestly loves it when you pull onto his hair, almost a little too much.

After he was satisfied with his artwork, he looks back up to you and delicately pecks your lips. The corner of his mouth lifts, his dimples now on full display. “Happy birthday, baby.”

You tiredly giggle at the complete change in his demeanor. You were so in love with this man, and you would do anything to make him happy.

“Thank you, my love.”

He grins at you. And he was so in love with you, he would do anything to keep you happy.

He kisses you once again, this time with much more passion and purpose. He held onto your waist as you held onto his neck, enjoying each other’s presence. Afterr staying in each other’s embrace for some time, foreheads touching, a thought popped in Jaehyun’s head.

“You know, you never told me what you wished for.”

Oh, but what is there to wish for when your present is right in front of you?

You shrug your shoulders, “It’s nothing really.”

He tsks out loud, “Baby, we both know that’s a lie.” He moves away from you and leans forward to the side of your face. And all of the sudden, you feel him nibbling your earlobe, kitten licks in between.

You bite down on your lip, struggling to keep your composure together. Surely, you were still recovering from your last orgasm— the attention he was giving to you got you feeling aroused for him again.

He snickers gravely.

Oh how fucking sinful the sound of that is.

“Come on, baby girl. Just tell me. Maybe I can make your wish come true.”

The moan you just released was lecherous to him.

“Answer me, then you shall receive.”

The devil works hard, but Jaehyun works harder.

You quiver at his command. No matter how many times you were intimate with each other, you could never get used to all the dirty talk. Jaehyun was always clear-cut about his wants and needs, but you never were. Mot until you’re pushed on the spot like now.

You swallow down your embarrassment and meekly respond. “I-I.... suck you..”

He stops his teasing and backs up to look at you. “Hm? What was that?” His smirk returns. “I didn’t quite catch that. Speak up, baby. Use your words.”

You refuse to answer, but he pays no mind. You’ll eventually cave in, you always do.

“Baby, I’m waiting.”

You close your eyes and let out a sigh. “I didn’t wish for anything.”

“And why is that?”

You eyes opened up but you look away from his gaze, humiliation all over. Hou stammer over your words, “B-Because.. you’re my birthday wish.”

He lazily grins, bringing his left hand to cup your cheek. That’s when you decided to look up into his eyes. “And what do you wish to do with me?”

You gulp. “I want to.. suck you.”

“Suck where exactly?”

Fucking hell. He’s enjoying this way more than you are. Just who is getting their birthday present here? You groan out in a frustrated manner. To hell with this.

“Your cock. I want your cock in my mouth. O want your fucking dick in my mouth and I want you to use my mouth and fuck it like your own personal toy.” After realizing that you just said, you gasp and covered your mouth with both of your hands. You’re now embarrassed out of your mind, completely wanting the ground to just swallow you up.

You just said that to him, but Jaehyun found it quite adorable that you were capable of saying such things.

And so, he removes your hand from your face, grips on your wrist, and kisses you, a loud smooch throughout the room. After that, he places one of your hands onto his prominent bulge, painstakingly waiting for you attention this entire time. “Baby, you don’t have to say it twice.”

And you couldn’t have been quicker. You step off of him, assuming position with your knees on the floor. He hastily stands up from your couch and works on unzipping his jeans with your help. After pulling his dick out, your mouth waters. Veins aligned along its sides, red at the tip with precum leaking out.

He chuckles at you. “Aren’t you an eager little whore?”

Your eyes shoot up to his, eyes sinfully taking you in. “Just can’t wait to have my cock in your mouth, huh? Greedy little whore. zi bet all you want is my cum in your mouth.” He clicks his tongue.

With one hand on his member and the other holding onto the back of your head, you look down at his shaft. You feel him guiding your head towards him. With your mouth wide open, tongue splayed out for him, you could hear the grin in his voice.

“Happy birthday, baby girl. Now make a wish and blow.”

[hookingminor]

26 & 35 w josty from the list 1 fluff prompt

35. “Kiss me better.”

already got 26 w another request :(

one / three

-

You ended up joining Tyson in Denver in early August.

He left for his summer training camps or whatever in Toronto about a week after your poolside conversation, and you were surprised to wake up one morning to a text from him only a few days after he touched down in Toronto. He said if you were still interested, he’d be back in Denver after mid-July and that you were always welcome to visit.

After a couple weeks of sporadic texting, mostly Tyson sending you articles on things you needed to see in Denver before you’d even made up your mind, you worked out a time to visit.

Tyson picked you up from the airport, all smiles and sunglasses as he basked in the Denver sunshine. He engulfed you in a friendly hug before taking your bags and throwing it into his back seat.

You expected Tyson to go about the week doing his own thing. You knew he had a strict training regimen and probably had other friends to hang out with, and you didn’t think he’d actually want to do things with you. He had offered his spare bedroom to you and you thought that would be the end of it, but you were sorely mistaken.

The first morning after you woke up in his guest bed, Tyson was waiting for you in his kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee brewing and his best hiking clothes on.

“I thought we could hit up Pike’s Peak today,” he suggested as you poured yourself a cup.

“Oh, you’re coming with me?” You asked, and the smile on Tyson’s face fell.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you backtracked hastily. “I just don’t want to get in the way of your schedule. I’m perfectly capable of getting around by myself if you have other plans.”

“Please, I have nothing else going on,” Tyson replied, a grin tugging at his lips again. “And what kind of host would I be if I didn’t at least show you around?”

And that was that.

The first couple of days were spent doing all the outdoorsy stuff Colorado was known for. You hiked what felt like a million different trails, but you didn’t mind the strenuous work. It was no secret Tyson was in much better shape than you, but he didn’t complain any time you needed to take a break to catch your breath or snap pictures.

Hiking, sightseeing, and hitting up shops were how you spent your days, with and without Tyson. Usually he needed to slip away for a few hours to either go to the arena or do whatever workout he was instructed to, so you spent that time wandering around his neighborhood. You found a nice little cafe with, probably, the best chai latte you’ve ever had.

At night, Tyson took you out to a new restaurant, ranging from expensive sushi to the cheapest, and greasiest, burgers you’ve ever tasted. Though, you did make him dinner one night to thank him for his hospitality. You got the feeling he didn’t do a lot of cooking in his free time if his pristine kitchen was any indication.

Near the end of your trip, Tyson thought it was mandatory for you to have at least one night out on the town. He even corralled a couple of the guys who were in the city to join them and convinced them to bring their significant others so you weren’t drowning in testosterone all night.

When you emerged from your room in an outfit that accentuated all your best features, Tyson had to mentally slap himself before he started drooling. It almost felt inappropriate to check you out and let his stare linger over your figure, so he only allowed himself a once over before forcing his gaze to your face.

“Are you ready?” He managed to cough out, and you nodded.

The Uber you took to the bar didn’t last long, but the place was pretty busy when you stepped into the crowded space. It was a Saturday night after all.

Tyson led you to the corner where a few of his teammates were already seated, and let them make their own introductions while he disappeared to get you a drink. You learned the names of JT and his girlfriend Sydney along with Mikko and his girlfriend Susanna and also Cale. You recognized Cale from earlier in the week when he stopped by to ride with Tyson to the rink.

Tyson came back a few short minutes later with a round of shots for the table and a vodka sprite for you. The first round passed quickly and were soon followed by three more, one on each of the guys.

You and the other girls danced for a bit, talked for a bit, and by the time midnight was rolling around, you were more than feeling the effects of the alcohol on your body. It was nowhere near what you knew your limit was, but it was enough for you to lean a little too far into Tyson’s side and let your mind drift to other thoughts that didn’t revolve around the topic at hand.

It took a lot of convincing on Tyson’s end to get you to call it a night; all you wanted to do was sing another karaoke song with Syd, but JT and Tyson declared they couldn’t take any more terrible singing from either of you. You had nearly passed out on Tyson’s shoulder during the ride home, but he didn’t mind the comforting weight of your slumped body tucked into his side.

The waters you had before leaving and the relaxing ride back helped sober you up, and by the time Tyson unlocked his apartment door, the fatigue was threatening to take over your body at any minute. Tyson’s arm steadied you as you kicked your heels off before you made your way to the kitchen for another glass of water.

“Thank you for this week, Tyson, I had a lot of fun,” you said, both of you standing against the kitchen island and downing water.

“Any time,” Tyson blushed. “It’s been fun having you here.”

A week’s worth of sexual tension sat between you now, sizzling your body from the inside out, and you took a quick glance at Tyson from the corner of your eye. He was already looking at you.

Maybe it was the alcohol in your bloodstream or the years of pining after him finally coming to the surface, but you set your glass down and moved closer to his body. Tyson stayed leaning back against the granite, motionless as you took a step in front of him and nearly pressed your front to his. He set his own glass down but didn’t let his hands touch you, opting to grip the counter instead.

With one final burst of courage, you leaned forward, giving Tyson a brief moment to turn away before capturing his lips in a soft kiss.

It took a second for Tyson to comply, moving his lips against yours gentle as ever, like he was afraid of ruining the moment if he pushed too hard. You had to grab his hand to place it on your hip, and he squeezed it at your act of reassurance.

“Kiss me better, Tyson,” you whispered, pulling back only far enough to get the words out. “You don’t have to be so gentle.” Your hands felt their way up his chest until they reached his shoulders.

“I just don’t want you to regret this,” he said, letting his forehead rest against yours. “You had a lot to drink tonight.”

“I’m not drunk, Tys. Just a little tipsy but definitely sober enough to know what I want,” you replied. “Now kiss me.”

He searched your eyes for any sense of doubt or any indication that you weren’t going to remember this come tomorrow, but he didn’t find any of that, only a pleading look that was begging you to kiss him.

So he did.

He crashed his lips against yours with renewed energy, the force taking you a bit by surprise while his hands brought your body flush against his. You could taste the remnants of beer on his tongue, but you drank it down greedily, bringing a hand to curl around the nape of his neck.

You made out like teenagers there in his kitchen, fulfilling every fantasy sixteen year old you had, and you felt Tyson harden against your stomach. He only pulled away when your hands drifted down to dip your fingers underneath the waistband of his jeans.

“As much as I want to, we can’t tonight,” Tyson said, his expression almost pained. “I want you, but I also want us both sober.”

You could understand that. Even if you were slightly put out that you wouldn’t be able to feel him, you wouldn’t push it. Tyson was too good of a guy to go into something like this without thinking about the consequences first. You nodded your compliance and made an attempt to step back.

Tyson only let you get a few inches of space between you, but kept his hands firm on your hips. “Maybe tomorrow I can take you on a real date, though? See where it goes from there.”

His suggestion had your stomach twisting, and you matched the smile he was adorning. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

[amidstsaltandsmoke]

prompt 142 👀

...anon, I promise I didn't forget about you! Life™ and writers block/doubt had me stuck for a while. Apologies that this was sent something like 5ish weeks ago? I originally had a whole other idea written for this one but didn't like it and scrapped it. Not sure how much I like this one but I hope that you do!! Someday I will learn how to write an actual drabble-sized drabble. Thank you for sending the prompt!💛 P.S. I changed the wording around a little bit, I hope you don't mind :) ________________________ Prompt: “Hold my hand so he gets jealous.” Dany was a master at these types of work events by now, but the past few weeks, especially, had been draining. That was typical for a start-up, when they were trying to garner as much outreach as possible. Traveling between two different states and another country and back in the span of 7 days was a whole other animal, however.

This affair was meant to be a little more informal, but the air was still stuffy with corporate suits slithering about. Her favorite colleague and come-to-be wonderful friend had been working with her to get the head honchos drunk the quickest, that way they would be less inclined to hover and more likely to forget the goings on entirely.

But it wasn’t any of that that had her so on edge. It was that Jon was acting particularly distant ever since they’d all arrived nearly three hours ago now, and he seemed to almost be evading her.

Jon Snow, the young visionary who co-founded the company alongside her, who developed the technology that was rapidly playing a vital role in detecting and detaining human traffickers. That was sexy all on its own, but tonight he was dressed in a crisp, slim black suit, his dark locks half pulled back behind his head, his short beard trimmed just a little more for the gala.

They'd spent many a late evening and early morning in the office and over video conference working out the kinks of their start-up, smoothing wrinkles and always doing their best to stay ahead of their goals, where seeing one another so groomed and freshened up it was almost jarring. Typically - especially by the end of their days when work ran over - they'd been too riddled with exhaustion to bother keeping up physical appearances. There were more important matters that needed tending. And plus, as magnificent as he looked now, when he was a little disheveled with his riotous curly hair strewn about his head, his black thick framed glasses, his button-down loosened at the collar...there was an odd sort of comfort she found with that, and in knowing he was comfortable enough in her presence to relax.

She devoted so much of her young life to this dream and to have found someone just as driven, reliable, and enthusiastic about it was beyond her hopes and dreams.

But it also came with some side effects.

Months of time spent together between just the two of them had, inadvertently, created a wild storm of feelings for him. She found herself thinking about him on her days off and in her time away from the office, of which she spent more there than home these days. Dinner was more frequently than not held in one of their offices, depending on how they were feeling by the end of a strenuous day - his was always cooler with the air conditioning turned so low she oftentimes wondered how he didn't get hypothermia sitting in there.

On the other hand, she cranked up the heat in hers, and she received mirroring grumbles from Jon, how his northern skin would simply melt and she'd be left scooping him up off the floor.

To her advantage, however, that meant loosened layers of clothing, sometimes less of it if she were lucky. The same went to his benefit, too; he thought she didn't notice his wandering eyes, but of course she did. Just as she felt she was smooth enough to get a study on his stacked arms when he would remote even his button-down and left himself in a snug white or black plain t-shirt. That occurrence only happened once; she possibly hadn't been as discreet about her ogling as her mind had told her. Not when the cotton fiber was stretched so perfectly over his broad, muscular chest and fit his biceps like a rubber glove.

Sometimes, in the last hour of the day when they were already working well over their regular time, they would give themselves a break and kick back. They dove into topics ranging from favorite movies to deeper subjects like their most fucked up childhood memory. It turned out they had quite a lot in common, which fed into her ever-growing "things I adore about Jon Snow" bank that she stored away in her mind.

The trouble was, workplace romance was simply not allowed. At least, not within the same departments, and it still required paperwork to be filled out with an assortment of terms and agreements to abide to. Considering they were co founders together, that made things trickier.

Neither of them spoke any of this into the atmosphere, but it was palpable, and it got more torturous as time went on. Jon was the stronger one out of the two of them, and she knew he would never act on anything if it meant she could get let go or demoted. Their CEO could be a little bit of a hardass when it came down to company policies, but Dany was convinced they could find a way to make things work.

That included doing so behind everyone's backs. In all of the time they spent together without other company, Dany could count on one hand how many times there was ever anybody else in the building besides them when they were pulling extra hours. They could easily keep their hands to themselves during the day around their colleagues. At least, she thought so. It would at least make for a very exciting night cap to the day once they were able to be alone.

Missandei and Oberyn were the only two people she could trust to confide in, and to also keep it between just the three of them. Thus far, they did nothing but root for her luck to change, that maybe one of them would just bite the bullet and finally hook up. She was quite tired of skirting around it when she was with Jon, and the tension that thickened between them was going to reach a breaking point.

If she didn’t do something soon, if not just to confirm that he had it as bad as she did, she would wind up doing something impulsive, like pouncing on him one of these days when nobody was around. Or, possibly, when they had an audience.

Dany turned around and scanned the room until she latched onto him, where he was shaking hands and chatting up other people. He was not the tallest man in the world, but his presence was demanding, despite his humbleness. Every now and again, even in conversation, he would look up and around as if seeking something or someone. A little foolishly, she hoped it was her, though even in heels she was below average height compared to most everyone else in the room and would be a little difficult to locate.

"Go get that ass, girl," Oberyn growled into her ear, whacking her bum with the back of his hand, to which she promptly slugged his arm.

"Ouch!" He hissed, rubbing at the offended area. His smugness returned soon after, lips ticking up at the corners. "You'd better save that strength, you will need it later!"

He was darting off into the crowd with a chortle before she could scold him, and it took all of her professional mind to not flip off his retreating back.

“So...how are you going to seduce the elusive Jon Snow?” Missi inquired with a sassy eyebrow raised, her nearly-empty drink clutched in her hand.

Dany sighed, trying to not be too obvious as she observed him flitting from person to person. “I’m starting to think I’d imagined the entire thing,” she muttered with some frustration.

Missi pouted. “I don’t know about that. Not only are there a lot of snitches here that are probably keeping him at arms’ length, but have you not noticed Jon only goes to these things if you’re here?”

Dany frowned, finally tearing her eyes away from Jon to gape at her friend. “What? No, he’s gone to plenty without me, I’m sure of it…”

But was she? In hindsight, now that she really thought about it, there was never a social work event that Jon ever reported to her when she couldn’t make it. She could recall a handful where she went for the both of them, because he would much rather stay lat to play catch-up than mingle with large groups of people, and whenever there was news or gossip, he was the first person she’d save it for.

“You need to make him show you that he wants you just as bad as you want him. I’m sure he has the same fantasies-”

“Missi,” Dany drawled, tilting her head back and scrunching up her face. Yes, she and Missi may have shared almost daily secret huddles in the office, most of which entailed Dany agonizing over Jon Snow haunting her dreams on a regular basis. Rather than his hands rolling up his sleeves because the air was stifling, it was him doing so and crawling over her. Instead of him crouching down near her feet to pick up the pen he’d just dropped, it was him lowering himself to lift up the hem of her skirt and situate his face between her thighs. Sometimes it was sweeter than that: his hands sweeping wisps of hair away from her face when she gave up on it at the end of the day, or he would say “fuck it” to a prticularly agitating project and would gather her up and they would hold eah other on his office couch.

Reality was reflective of the sweetness of her wandering thoughts, just much less physical. They always texted each other when they each got home safely. By now, they’d each memorized their favorite go-to take-out preferences for various restaurants. If someone was having a rougher-than-usual day, one would send the other home and stay longer to cover them (if they were both having an equally terrible day, it came down to a couple rounds of rock-paper-scissors).

All things friends would do for one another, sure, except for the unbearable pull between them that was almost a physical thing.

In recent weeks, they began texting each other regularly, and most of it did not pertain to work, unless they were poking fun at it. A handful of times, Jon snapped photos of something of interest of Dany’s, and his message screamed “this made me think of you” without the actual words. It was the subtext. Usually something along the lines of, “didn’t you mention you were looking for this for about a million years?” in regards to a really cute coffee bar that had been sold out in her favorite color, a lemon yellow, that Jon had managed to find. And reserved for her special so nobody would snatch it up.

Or the multiple times he would share photos of his beautiful snow-white dog, Ghost, in various odd positions, or making strange faces, and adding something like: “a nightcap to your shitty day?”

And Dany loved to return the favor, though it was no competition. She just genuinely adored making him smile. Sometimes it was taking the piss out of him when he was extra grumpy, which immediately put him in a lighter mood. It was also bringing in an obnoxious box of coffee to share between them during the early dawn hours when nobody should be congregating for work-related endeavors at such an ungodly time. Just last week, he had been fidgeting more than usual and was noticeably distracted. When she had inquired what the issue was, he mentioned that Ghost was probably crossing his legs at that point since Jon was running late. As Dany had another errand to run before stopping home, she’d offered to let him out since Jon had a late conference that evening, and he had been all-too-happy in handing her over his keys.

The snort from Missi that invaded Dany’s thoughts had her turning her head toward her friend, who looked doubtful. “Probably every sane person in this room has had a fantasy about you. Jon is at the very top of that list."

Dany grimaced. "Please don't say things like that when I have to look all these people in the eye tonight.”

She weighed Missi’s words, but nothing came to mind right away. Jon appeared too distracted to notice anything she did anyway, and she also didn’t want to come off as desperate, especially if it might raise suspicions amongst others in the ballroom.

Then an idea struck her when she spotted Oberyn once more. Their marketing sleuth, and someone she had grown fond of because of his warm demeanor toward everyone he met. He was the friends-with-everyone type, and he was flagging her down as if he’d read her mind, so she excused herself and weaved through the crowd until she reached him.

Oberyn pecked each of her cheeks, even though he’d just seen her a little while ago, then held her out by her arms and gave her a slow once-over as if he’d only been seeing her for the first time that night. With anyone else, she would have balked, but she knew him well enough to understand it was a platonic gesture. Once his eyes reached hers again, his dark brow lifted to his hairline. “How has the white wolf kept his paws off of you this long?”

Dany scowled, flicking his shoulder. “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself for the past several months.”

“Well, what’s the hold-up?”

Sighing, Dany made a secret peek behind Oberyn where Jon was moving closer. Briefly did their eyes lock, and she turned back to Oberyn. “Hold my hand,” she said, extending her own for his.

“Why? So he gets jealous?” Oberyn drawled, snatching up her hand and taking it a step further by pressing a kiss to the top of it.

“Maybe,” she replied, straightening her spine by her boldness.

They conversed for some time, getting cozy and giggling away and eventually were joined by some of their other colleagues. When someone made a point to question why they were holding hands, Oberyn was quick on his feet in explaining that there were no rules to dating across different departments, only if two people worked in the same one. But it soured her stomach.

After she and Oberyn stayed that way for a short time, chatting about things she could barely bring herself to care much about as Jon edged past them, her shoulders slumped as she twisted about to watch him make a beeline for the bar.

“Daenerys,” Oberyn called to her sympathetically, “go to him. You’re not going to get anywhere if you keep up this silly game,” he explained and wiggled their conjoined hands, gently returning hers to her.

She swallowed and nodded, feeling childish that she even considered making such a move. Most of the guests were out on the dance floor, so it was easier to maneuver around to get to the bar where Jon had just collected his drink. Her nerves were wrecked, and this time it was the uncertainty of what reaction she may get, despite her earlier confidence.

As he was turning around, she observed him downing a quick shot before he realized she was there. He returned the glass to the counter and gave her his full attention. “Hey,” he rasped, his throat likely still burning from the liquor.

The pessimistic thoughts ate at her once more. “Hey. I didn’t think you’d show up tonight.” She tried for casual conversation, though it sounded forced even to her own ears.

Shrugging, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Figured I ought to make an appearance. You look nice, by the way.”

The tight smile he produced felt uncharacteristically forced, almost nervous. She shifted on her heeled feet, her mouth suddenly parched, her words half choked out. “Thanks. So do you,” she drew in a silent breath, and decided she couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you alright?”

“Aye, just...tired,” he landed on, but she wasn’t convinced. Before she could dig a little deeper, his attention fell on something behind her. She followed his gaze and caught Oberyn heading their way. She wasn’t sure what to make of his determined expression, but something about it made her a little queasy.

“I should probably go before your boyfriend gets upset,” Jon murmured just loud enough for her to hear; he didn’t give her a chance to catch him before she realized what he’d said and disappeared on her.

Oberyn stopped just short of Dany. “What was that all about? It looked like you needed rescuing.”

Pressing her eyes closed, Dany silently cursed herself. “I’m an idiot, that’s what happened. I’ll catch you later,” she cut him an apologetic glance and squeezed his arm before trailing in the direction of where Jon slunk off to.

___________________

The damned ballroom and her petite height made it hard to see above anyone, but luckily she was able to locate him by asking around if anyone had seen him. When she was notified he had mentioned he wasn’t feeling well and wanted to take off without any commotion, her heart sank. She was a damn fool, and now she was half running in six-inch heels, the skirt of her dress hiked up so she wouldn’t land herself a concussion, hoping beyond hope he hadn’t reached the parking lot yet.

She almost passed him up when she barged her way outside, frantically searching over the lot, breathless, to spot his car. A movement to her left made her jump, her hand flying to her chest until Jon stepped beneath the dim patio light and let her breathe again.

"Bloody hells," she exhaled, observing him as he put out his cigarette with his shoe and tossed the butt into the trash.

"Sorry," he chuckled, once more sheltering his hands inside his pockets as he turned his shadowed eyes on her.

"I didn't know you smoked," she mused, still trying to calm her heart.

Jon ducked his head, and she thought she caught a smirk on him, but it was too dark to tell. "Only sometimes. What are you doing out here, anyway?"

So much for giving her heart time to settle - now it kickstarted tenfold. There was no way to be honest without the whole truth. She supposed now was as good a time as any, best as they didn't have an audience. "I was hoping to catch you before you'd left," she paused, his gaze lifting and resting hard on her. So intense that she averted hers to her feet while she sounded her admission. "Oberyn isn't my boyfriend."

After a moment of silence, she sought his reaction. He lifted a shoulder "It's not my business, Dany."

"No. It is, because…," she took a half step closer, then squeezed her eyes shut. It sounded so childish to even say it. "I'd asked him to do me a favor so that it might make you jealous."

It came out so quickly she didn't think he understood half the words. But he was frowning when she braved opening her eyes again. "And why would you want to do that, Dany?"

His voice fell an octave lower, practically purring, and it left her momentarily stunned in place even as he began to close in on her. The use of her nickname in such a manner was leaving her in a delirious state. By the time he stopped, just a hair’s breadth short of their toes touching, she was having to tilt her head up to see him. Even despite the added height of her shoes. Somehow, her voice didn't quiver with the hopeful anticipation that was setting her nerves alight.

With whatever scrap of courage she had left, she voiced it into the world. "Because I really, really, really like you, and it's been torture trying to piece together whether the feeling is mutual, or if it's a figment of my imagination."

His frown returned, deeper than before, his eyes darting between each of hers. "How could you ever think it's one-sided?" He asked gruffly, and a knot firmly wrapped around her throat. Maybe that was a good thing, to prevent her from saying anything that would break the spell. “You occupy my mind ninety percent of the time,” he said, “the other ten is me trying to figure out how to stop thinking about you for five bloody minutes so I can get work done without being distracted.”

She huffed out a breath of relief, finally allowing herself to smile. It was good that it was night time so the red sweeping over her cheeks was well hidden. Still, she ducked her head to give herself a moment to dwell on his confession. His finger gently encouraged her to come back to him though, and suddenly the air between them was thin, his breath puffing against her lips.

A raucous shriek just a little way over inside the building made them both jump apart, a group of intoxicated people bowling their way through the double doors and out onto the patio. One of them slurred their apology as they stumbled out into the parking lot, exclaiming about how they couldn’t wait to get their hands on a fat greasy burger and then throw it up later. There couldn’t have possibly been anything much better at ruining the mood than that.

Jon huffed when he looked at her, rubbing at his forehead. No doubt his heart was beating just as violently against his chest as hers was. Without a word, he snatched up Dany’s hand and tugged her into the grassy area, hidden behind the solid wall of the venue. After double checking over his shoulder, he pressed himself against the rough brick wall and pulled her flat against him while she gasped, gently sweeping away small wisps of hair that got in his way.

His hand cradling her jaw, he finally, finally, dipped his head until his lips were brushing over hers. Her eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head, overstimulated by months of need for him, her hand fisting his shirt whilst the other curled around the back of his neck. His hands cuffed her waist and kept her close, the tips of his fingers digging into the fleshy bits of her hips when she nudged open his mouth to slip her tongue into the hot confines of his.

The low groan he elicited forced one of her own from her throat, and then everything was escalating at a dizzying pace; their hands were roaming everywhere they could reach, exchanging nips and licks and everything inbetween until they were forced apart for air. Where she had wedged her thigh between his, she could feel the hard evidence of his arousal, and if it weren’t for the consequences she would have her way with him in the dirt and the grass. Thorn bushes be damned.

“We should probably take this somewhere else,” he whispered, winded, and she was happy that he wasn’t about to suggest they stop altogether.

She nodded before the last word was out. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

Jon considered their surroundings carefully, then grabbed her hand.

_______

Their seatbelts were thrown off so hard, Dany was surprised they hadn’t accidentally shattered Jon’s car windows with the force. They’d snuck off into the parking lot and after a heady makeout session, Jon decided they ought to find somewhere a little more private, settling on a nearby park where the only source of light was several yards away.

The second he cut the engine they crashed together, pawing at one another until he dragged her over onto his lap. His hands molded to her ass, but the material of her dress made him growl with frustration that it didn’t allow him the access he desired, so he slid them beneath and his head smacked back against his headrest when he discovered she’d foregone panties with a groan between his teeth.

Dany moaned as his fingers kneaded her bare flesh, and she took advantage of the new exposure of skin down the column of his neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses and tiny bites where the collar of his dress shirts could mask.

Jon shifted his legs and bumped into the steering wheel with a crack. “Ouch, fuck,” he grumbled, and she realized their current position wasn’t very practical if they wanted things to go any further.

“Are you okay?” Dany asked against his clammy skin, reaching behind her to smooth her hand over the offended kneecap.

“More than,” he replied, curling his fingers around to her inner, upper thighs and making her tremble. He was so close to her cunt that she could feel his heat against it, and her forehead fell against his chest, her hips rocking to seek the friction she so desperately needed. But he never gave her it; in fact, he seemed keen on doing just the opposite, skimming his fingers just at the juncture, trailing them down the length of her thighs, squeezing her ass on the way up each time.

Even when she was left a writhing mess and kissed him savagely, popped open the first couple of buttons so she could get more of him, he still refused to touch her there.

For now.

Jon pulled at her bottom lip, his voice a low, husky whisper. “We’ll have more room in the back seat.”

“What are your intentions, Jon Snow?” She inquired with feigned innocence.

With a light smack to her bum, he chewed on his bottom lip. “Get back there and I’ll show you.”

It took some finagling, but soon enough they were in the more spacious back seats, and she quickly unstrapped her heels. Jon’s shoes were next, and then he was helping her out of her dress, carefully rolling it upward until it was off of her, leaving her completely exposed for his viewing. His arms froze in the air, her dress still clutched in his hands as he took her in. The light didn’t illuminate much, but it was enough to see one another clearly.

Since he was so enlightened by her breasts, she giggled and rose onto her knees, taking her dress and letting it drop to the floor whilst she assisted him in removing his suit jacket. Once that was shed, he instantly filled his palms with her breasts, his thumbs sweeping over her pebbled nipples. He was lucky she had enough strength to not buckle under his touch, her teeth capturing her bottom lip in a hasty endeavor to rid him entirely of his clothing so she could return the favor.

Then she stilled, a thought occurring to her. “Are you sure you want to do this in your car? It might get messy…,” she noted as he briefly ceased his fondling to work on shedding his pants, his dark eyes gleaming in the light.

Once he made quick work of them, his jacket was next in the pile they haphazardly tossed up front. “It’ll give me something to think about on my commute,” he rasped, and it took her a beat to understand what he meant, unable to bite back a grin. By now her cunt ached for him and they’d only just started getting things moving.

Her hands slid over his shoulders, taking his shirt with it, the play of dim light and shadows over his sculpted body making her mouth go dry and her tongue thick and heavy in her mouth. Jon shifted up higher to free his arms, her fingers skimming down his chest and over the ebbs of his abdomen, eyes falling to where his cock was straining and hard in the cotton of his boxer briefs. Without anymore delay, Dany slipped her hand beneath the waistband and curled her fingers around the rigid, hot skin, twisting lightly until he was sucking sharp breaths of air through his teeth.

In a flash, he shucked off his boxer briefs and hooked an arm around her waist, ravaging her mouth. As he pressed tighter against her, his thick length nestled between her thighs, sliding along her cunt and forcing her mouth to pop open with a heady moan.

"You're soaked," Jon whispered harshly, his other hand clutched her ass cheek to keep her stationary, his breaths short puffs over her face as he slowly teased the both of them with long, slow strokes of his cock until he was thoroughly coated with her, their clammy foreheads thumping together.

Dany gripped his lats with her hands, trying to be mindful that she didn't score his skin with her nails, but barely had half a mind to care. She rolled her hips with him, her entire body quivering when he dragged his cock over her clit. The sounds erupting from her seemed to drive him mad as he echoed her.

She chanced a glimpse down between the narrow gap between them each time he pulled away, her peak so near the edge already that the sight of his wet, shiny cock disappearing between her thighs had her nearly coming just there. "I need you, Jon," she whimpered, grateful that he was as desperate as she felt. Any other time she would gladly drag it on, but she'd waited long enough to have this with him, and she was far too impatient to wait a second longer.

Carefully, she was lowered onto her back. They shared a few soft chuckles as they tried to figure out the most comfortable position for the both of them. Finally, she settled one leg off and planted the tips of her toes on the floor, the other tossed over his shoulder, while he knelt one knee on the seat and held himself up with the other on the floor.

He allowed himself some time to take her in all sprawled out for him, dragging the soft pads of his fingers down the length of her body just as she did his earlier. His hands stopped to gently massage her breasts, which were beginning to heave with anticipation, and he traced every curve of her body.

Dany swallowed, cuffing her hands around his biceps as he lowered himself to kiss her softly. Lips locked together, he nudged hers open, drawing in her upper lip and suckling on it, one hand braced near her head whilst the other made her squirm as it explored her hips, her inner thighs, until he have her exactly what she was near begging for. He barely glanced over her juices and she was moaning so loudly she was glad they'd gone somewhere more private.

Jon sucked over the soft skin just below her jaw and circled her clit with the flat of his fingers, her legs about as strong as jelly, head pressing into the seat and back arching into his touch. Jon growled at how reactive she was, his lips and tongue leaving a tinging trail down to her chest, not stopping until he pulled a nipple into his mouth and made her a wiggling mess beneath him.

His fingers added a little more pressure, gathering more of her up and ticking up his pace. Dany's mouth was dry from how harshly her lungs were begging for air, stomach sucked in and muscles going taut with the stimulation.

When he plunged a finger into her heat, she gasped sharply, and he paused all movement. "You alright?" He asked sweetly, pecking the corner of her mouth.

Dany nodded frantically, lifting her hips to get him to move again. "I'm...I'm not gonna last much longer," she practically squeaked.

A devilish smirk took over his face. "I'd better get to work then," he declared, then made her pout as he lifted to his knees and stretched himself between the front seats, searching.

It didn't take long for it to click. "I'm on birth control," she told him, and she snorted at his visible relief.

He resumed his position and his head rolled back. "Thank the gods. Pretty sure they don't equip new cars with condoms and mine are all at the house."

Dany giggled and grabbed for him, wanting him closer. "Wait, this is a new car?" Now that she actually thought about it, it did have that lingering 'new car smell', but she'd been so preoccupied with his distinct scent and getting him naked that she didn't notice at first.

"Aye," he responded, nipping her neck, "everyone says cars are the worst investment, but…,” he laved his tongue over one of her nipples and made her groan, “I beg to differ."

Dany smiled with a hum and smoothed her foot over his leg, too pleased and distracted by his attentions to think of a witty retort. Instead, she responded by canting her hips and grinding over his cock, his forehead dropping between her breasts, his curly head lifting to see her out. He took himself in hand and pumped a few times before lining up, and drove home in one slide, making stars burst between her eyes and a cry out into the night air.

Jon’s face distorted with a muffled grunt, giving them both time to adjust. He blew out a few long breaths, but she was too needy and languidly rolled her hips, stretching her arms as far down as she could and filling each hand with his marble-soft cheeks, gently encouraging him to move. She was out of her mind delirious as he set a pace that had them each panting and sweating, the mechanics of his ass under the grip of her hands and the slight burn of his cock pumping from root to tip and filling her entirely.

His responding, wolfish grunt and groans spurred her on, and she could tell he was trying to be gallant and hold back, but by the way his muscles were tensed and his movements became erratic, plus the twisting of his beautiful face, he was ready to let go and she was ready to fall with him.

Dany tilted her hips so that he was grinding over her clit, which sent her in a restless frenzy below him, whimpering and moaning and squirming with the build. "Fuck," he breathed, eyes fixed on hers, his teeth clenching and jaw muscle flexing. Dany lifted her hand above her head and braced it against the door, the other carding through his hair. She gave a soft tug to his damp locks which he seemed to enjoy, if the way his hips were snapping against her was any indication.

“Jon…,” Dany warned, he throat constricting against any more words she thought to utter, but it was enough for him to understand, the corded lines of muscle prevalent in his arms as he steadied himself and ground into her, and she broke in fragmented gasps and pleas of his name, a second wave overwhelming her already tender body as he leapt right after her.

His head fell against her shoulder with throaty grunts and groans, thrusting and then stilling as he spent inside of her. It was music to her ears. Her arms weakly found him, securing themselves over his back and easing his tired body down onto hers. He went without protest, carrying the brunt of his weight on one knee so he didn’t entirely crush her,

Part of her foggy mind wished they'd waited the extra ten minutes and taken this back to one of their houses so they could sleep right then, but the other parts of it were too thrilled by the idea of just going for it. "How am I to get through the work day without wanting to lock you up in my office?” Dany mumbled against his shoulder, pressing a kiss thereafter.

A groggy huff left him, the warmth of his breath tickling up her neck. After a moment and finally evening his breaths, he lifted his head, several damp strands of springy black curls falling over his face. “I know of a few less populated conference rooms with far less windows that we could sneak off to,” he smirked, her hands lifting to smooth away some of his hair so she could get a better look at him. Then, his expression morphed into one of mock sternness. “To go over our presentations without interruptions, I mean.”

With one brow arched and a sleepy giggle, she asked, “and how long have you been dreaming of using said rooms for these particular “work” activities?”

Jon sucked air through his teeth. “Longer than I’d ever admit,” he confessed.

“Sounds like I ought to report you for indecent thoughts,” Dany muttered, her head rising to kiss him softly.

He sighed against her and thumbed away some hairs at her temple, speaking against her lips when he needed air. “S’pose we ought to get out of here before someone finds us and we get reported for public indecency.”

Dany nodded, a tiny motion, pecking his still-swollen lips. “Okay,” she whispered. He pulled out of her with a wince and when he sat up, she bit her lip, getting a fuller view of him. Or, as much as she could in the slightly cramped backseat of his car. He was too much to resist, and she was quickly snatching his shirt out of his hands before he could pull it on over his head. “Wait,” she said, straddling his lap and easing his frown as his hands slid up her ribs. She braced her hands on his shoulders, smiling devilishly while his pupils grew dark and fat with want. “Let’s do it again.”

[whump-town]

A Cumbersome and Heavy Body

Chapter Four: How to Disappear Completely

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn’t going to go down without a fight. It’s just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word count:  2,670 (not very long but I’m getting back into the swing)

Author’s Note: I know it’s been like freaking two months but this felt nice and I remembered how much I actually enjoy this fic. You can find the first chapter here!

Warning: the subject of this fic is cancer and it’s treatment, cursing, maybe out of character (idk, man. hotch is weird) bonus: I’m 19 and a humanities major so obviously I don’t know anything about medicine so I’m doing my best out here

I'm not here I'm not here This isn't happening I'm not here I'm not here

She’s not allowed to go with him to treatments-- radiation treatments, he never said anything about chemo. You’d think she was the ex-lawyer but really she’s just mastered the art of annoying him. “That’s a straight flush, eat it!” She lays the cards out for him to see, grinning as his face falls and he realizes that he’s lost to her, again. “We totally should have played strip-poker.”

He rubs a hand over his face, digging his fingers into his eye socket. “That’s the last thing I need,” he mumbles, leaning back against his chair. He’s exhausted and freezing his ass off despite the long-sleeved t-shirt he’s wearing under his flannel and the blanket Emily’s tucked around him. There’s no point in bringing it up, no point in talking about it. No one can do anything about it. He’s just cold and he can handle the clump of hair that fell in the sink this morning and the fact that all foods, even foods that he’s considered safe for decades, betray his body. This being cold all the time thing though? It’s pissing him off and it makes him feel even more helpless because he can’t control his emotions.

Nevermind, most of his control over everything is gone. He’s stuck in this chair until the toxic whatever they have hanging above his head enters his body. The whole bag and a two-hour, maybe longer, wait. For comfort, he’s got an endless supply of blankets, all as thick as paper, and a popsicle. He likes popsicles but he’s certain he’ll throw up anything he eats right now. So he sticks to lightly sipping his water. At least he gets to control the water most of the time. Occasionally they even get to veto his decisions there.

“I’ll give you a break,” she offers. She can see he’s having a hard time. He knows he’s lucky to have her as his shadow but that doesn’t do much for the temper he’s struggling to control. “I’m going to go call JJ,” she knocks her hand against his knee and he hums his understanding. He’s moved his body up, sitting up enough to tilt to the left, his head in his palm, and his fingers moved to block her view of a pained grimace. Trying and failing to keep her distracted with his silence.

Knowing that crouching down beside him would create far more attention to his discomfort that is such grave importance to him to hide, she just lowers her voice and quietly asks, “do you want me to get some more water?” He shakes his head, just rocking his forehead into his palm. His attention lost to a sea of pain. “Okay,” she mumbles, feeling utterly helpless. A feeling she’s becoming quite familiar with.  

The worst part is knowing there’s nothing she can do physically for him but there are some people that never fail to draw a smile to his face. So she texts Spencer and Penelope, hoping Reid will numb Hotch out with never-ending conversation and Garcia will lighten his sludge. She hesitates to ask Jessica to bring Jack over. After the night they watched the Chronicles of Narnia he’s been a little outwardly disruptive. Acting out and it’s to be expected, this isn’t easy for anyone and it’s impossible for a child who has already lost his mother. But it will be good for Hotch and Jack so she risks it and Jessica seems to agree.

“You’re back early.” What she does not account for is Derek Morgan beating them back. They walk in and hear a racket, and though their training should have them reaching for guns not strapped to their hips, they both just glare at the direction in which it’s coming from. Derek stands up, eyeing them both over, and motioning to something out of their sight. “Was just fixing the sink.” He’s covered in dirt and sweat, it’s evident he was fixing something though the state of his shirt looks more like he breaking something.

Emily is opening her mouth to inquire but Hotch beats her to it. His tone and his mood are not in a good place and if she’d known Morgan was here ahead of time she would have warned him. Morgan has no warning when Hotch’s already firmly placed scowl turns even crueler and he grumbles, “the sink wasn’t broken.”

She’s stuck standing between them, Hotch walking away and Morgan watching his back and looking hopelessly at her to explain what just happened. She’s not sure if she’s allowed to follow Hotch or if she’s better here explaining his behavior. It’s just like old times, she thinks bitterly. To Foyet and his pain and she can’t say she’s surprised, he really held out. She can’t blame him for being in a bad mood, he’s in pain. It’s his cancer, he’s allowed to be pissed about it.

“He okay?”

She is surprised to find that Morgan isn’t angry. That he looks nearly sad standing there, torn between going after him and being reassured by her. “He’s…” she won’t tell him about the drive back. Hotch silent but in so much pain he’d been restless, incapable of sitting still in the car. Or this morning how he’d needed her help just putting on a shirt. The hair she’s noticed falling out but he’s not commenting on it so she certainly won’t breathe a word. That they’re up all night, the sound of Hotch’s pacing making her too worried to rest or barreling through the house to find him curled around the toilet looking miserable. That he’s losing weight rapidly and she doesn’t struggle to help him up anymore-- but she tells herself it’s because she’s getting stronger because she has to.

“He’s Hotch,” she reasons, foolishly. “Of course, he’s okay.”

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

Garcia would lay her own life down in a heartbeat to protect the team if they’d let her. She owes them all so much for the quality that they have given her life over the past few years. They have built a family around her, from the ground up, and accepted her through all her flaws and misadventures. No one as much as her suit-clad, knight in shining armor boss. Hotch has been there for her since before there was even really a team. When no one else would, he gave her so much more than a chance-- he believed in her. When no one else, when no one had even tried since her parent’s death. Even when time and time again she made mistakes, pushed rules, and on his last nerve. He never tore her down.

He commends her strangeness, even if she suspects he doesn’t fully understand it. Smiles good-naturedly when she brings him holiday-themed ties so they can match and allows her silly days out for conventions beyond his own taste. He’s never grasped a full understanding of her but he’s never given up trying. He commends her abilities to do this job and also reminds her how proud he is of her, to have her on his team, and to call her a friend. So, yeah, if Hotch needs a little pick-me-up, she’s his man.

“Are you two fucking?”

Garcia freezes. The key Hotch gave her half-way in its retreat from the lock and the door only slightly opened. She’s technically coming in unannounced but Hotch had given her this key under the same pretenses as the one that gave her access to his and Haley’s house-- in case she needs him. The situations are flipped now, he needs her, but the sentiment is still the same. She’d prepared for the Hotch’s thousand-word frown upon entrance just not the verbal assault of “are you two fucking”.

She hesitantly makes her way into the room, peeking around the corner of the wall that separates the kitchen from the living room. Emily and Morgan are standing there, both looking equally disgusted and annoyed. She watches Emily fluster, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “What?” she barks out in pure surprise. “He’s-- NO!”

Morgan reciprocates his own franticness, waving at Emily’s clothes, “you’re-- you’re... matching!” He’s grabbing at straws for the most part. His own anxieties and fears coming into play to create this monster of a beast he can’t stop thinking about. To distract himself from the panicked thoughts he has about watching his friend die he’s conjured a reality in which it makes sense that Emily and Hotch would be boning. Really, it’s only bothering him because he has no idea what he would do if the two of them were… doing something. It’s just-- just disgusting. Hotch is Hotch, he doesn’t… do that.

Emily rolls her eyes, “Derek, I see him every day. I live with him.” She makes an exasperated throwing motion with her hands, tossing them upwards. “It’s going to happen occasionally, alright? We own similar articles of clothing.” She motions down to her clothes, “we’re ‘matching’ because we look a lot alike and he knows green is his color just like I know it’s mine!”

Of course, that’s what she says now but this morning when she was working the tiny ass buttons of his shirt together she’d given him endless shit about managing to pick out the one shirt the two of them both own. He couldn’t change-- that day’s appointments needed full access to his chest and the easiest way to do that is to wear easily opened and shut clothing. She could change but simply refused-- it was far more entertaining to tell him they looked like those preschoolers whose parents dressed them to match.

He wasn’t amused.

“Besides,” she adds just to a rise out of him, “he’s not supposed to be doing anything strenuous until the rash on his chest clears back up.” She tucks a strand behind her ear, nonchalant. “Even then I would have to be on top.” She smiles as he sputters, satisfied with her own work.

Morgan frowns, “No!” He momentarily covers his ears, shaking his head. “Why do you even-- How do you know that?”

Emily shrugs, “Oh… well, his doctor thought we were… you know.”

Garcia isn’t sure where her allegiance should be. If Hotch and Emily are… she’d prefer not to know the details. Well, she’s interested because it’s Emily but it’s also Hotch. She makes a face, the thought… it-- Hotch needs to lighten up. He needs someone back in his life that can bring some fun but Emily is, well she’s Emily! It f-

“Is she done tormenting Morgan, yet?”

Garcia reels around, caught off guard by a sudden deep but unimpressed voice behind her. When she turns, she finds Hotch. He’s dressed down, out of the attire Morgan and Emily had been talking about. Now, in a simple Hanes t-shirt and black sweatpants. Comfortable-- she likes the way he looks. It may not be his usual attire but it makes him look more… dad-like. More himself.

Garcia looks back over her shoulder and finds herself grinning. Her boss may seem like a boring, hardass but he can have his fun too. No doubt, he either gave Emily the idea to go torment Morgan (never direct but planted the seedling idea) or, at the very least, gave her permission. “I don’t think so,” she answers honestly. “She’s not going to let it go if she knows it bothers him that much.” Which is completely true.

Hotch smiles, softly. A dimple making a guest appearance as he shakes his head. Only Emily Prentiss. He looks Garcia down, lifting a brow at the sight of all the things in her arms. “Can I help you with that?” he offers, motioning to the filled Tupperware clutched to her chest so that they don’t topple over.

She remembers, suddenly, the armful of goodies she has. “Oh yes, sir!” She lets him take a few off the top, telling him what they are as he acquires them. “Those are macadamia nut cookies! This really nice woman--” she follows him as he takes the containers and directs her to the kitchen. “She moved in across the hall from me. She loves to bake and so she’s been giving me all these little recipes.”

He moves right past Emily and Derek, smiling to himself at the panicked raise in Derek’s tone as they catch sight of one another. He directs his attention back to Garcia, making sure she knows he’s listening. Though he doubts his own abilities to dig into the delicacies Garcia has brought, he knows that Jack and Emily will rip them to shreds. Which is the honorable way Garcia’s cooking should go, straight into very gracious mouths.

“I really hadn’t been able to test them out,” she continues. “So, I thought why not try them all right now and bring them to you!” She smiles cheerfully up at him, their height difference more apparent when he looks down realizes she’s not wearing her signature heels. She’s wearing pink converse, perfectly complimenting her pink sweater and pink glasses and jewelry. He thinks she looks positively amazing but knows any compliments will have him smothered in kisses and, well, he’s already been accused of sleeping with one coworker...

Mind still wandering off on the subject of his height and when the last time he saw Garcia in shoes other than heels, he settles a soft smile on her. She keeps talking, showing him each container's contents. It’s the exhaustion that leads him down the path beaten path of dissociation, his mind simply slipping out from beneath him. Someplace warm and fuzzy where his body doesn’t ache.

“Aaron--” He blinks, startling at the sudden touch to his shoulder. He looks down to find Emily and an anxious-looking Garcia. He’s sure Emily and Derek’s conversation about their relationship is now going to seem more damning as her hand slips into his. She squeezes his fingers, “you okay?” Her eyes flick between his, searching for an answer that’s going to be far more honest than the one he produces on his own.

He clears his throat, forcing himself not to blush. “Yeah,” he croaks. “I don’t… I don’t know what that was.” He bashfully averts his eyes to the kitchen floor, very aware of their attention on him now. Too much attention. It’s impossible to hide the way he shivers, the paling, near purpling of his arms. He knows it’s inevitable that they’ll notice but… he’d like to think himself some mastermind. Impervious to the tests of cancer and his treatments. That they don’t affect him. He can hide the central line under layers of clothes. Wear hats to hide the hair. Fake a smile and force his way through the day.

But he’s failing miserably. They see it. The radiation rash now sitting at the base of his neck, red and angry. Peaking out through his shirts. The bulge of the central line under his normal shirts. The nose bleeds that never stops, he’s scarred Reid and Morgan for life with those. The tinnitus that’s recently come back with a vengeance. He’s affected, good and proper, and he hates it. Hates that he has to be so blatantly mortal in front of everyone. Never gets a say in if today is good or bad. If he’ll be too weak to get out of bed or too sick to eat. He hates it.

Garcia is the first person to properly break the tension. She playfully knocks Hotch in the shoulder, more of a tap than anything. It’s careful and his throat tightens with the realization of how weak he must look to make Garcia afraid she could hurt him with a simple tap.  “It’s all good, sir.” She settles a small smile on him, “but you can make it up to me by eating?”

Eating. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, swallowing thickly around the sick twist of his stomach. “Okay,” he answers softly, forcing a smile to match hers when she beams. Thinking she’s won against his unruly stomach. 

Emily glances at him but ignores it. 

He just wants to be normal again. 

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan, @lazyhater (Just lmk if you don’t want to be tagged anymore)

[miraculousbelladonna]

The Edict, Part 3

Part 1, Part 2 - AO3

Wang Fu hadn’t realized, hadn’t stopped to think for even a moment about the power of the miraculous. The power behind it. The power of destruction. A cataclysm. What it could do to a person, to their soul.

*****

Marinette sits at her desk with the miracle box next to her. If her parents come in, it’ll look to them like she’s just working on another design project, because to everyone’s eyes but her own, the miracle box looks like a sewing machine. It’s ingenious, and Tikki promised to explain more about the magic behind it once they’ve gotten her more settled as the guardian.

First, the old tongue.

She grabs one of her many empty notebooks, ready to take notes, as one does when learning a new language, but Tikki tells her she doesn’t need it.

She’s confused at first, but then soon finds that when Tikki speaks in the old tongue, she can understand it. She knows what Tikki is saying, and is able to respond in kind if she focuses.

The old tongue feels like a rumble going through her with a tinge of magic and something timeless, something unknowable, and as she speaks it she realizes that it sounds and feels unlike any language she’s ever heard or spoken in her entire life.

Tikki smiles at Marinette’s excitement after she realizes she is able to respond in kind (and it’s so telling of what kind of person Marinette is that her first instinct was to respond back in the old tongue. Her first instinct was to try to respond to Tikki in kind, in Tikki’s native language, and she succeeded on her first try. The knowledge is intrinsic, yes, but it has taken many guardians at least 3 tries to get it right, to focus completely. It brings tears to her eyes if she thinks of it too long) and explains. “The old tongue is known by all the Kwami, and it is passed onto the guardian so they are able to communicate and connect with us. It’s intrinsic, the knowledge just appears, and disappears once guardianship is passed.”

“That’s amazing! It’s so cool that I could understand you, does it work with other languages? You guys probably know all of them already, but would I be able to know them too? Is there a way for me to have that knowledge? It would be so great to be able to talk with everyone in their native language as Ladybug, I think that’s something that’s really important to make people feel more comfortable and safe.”

Tikki sits on the desk silently as Marinette continues. The girl is rambling now, scribbling in her notebook all the languages she’s heard spoken around Paris, which ones are more common, and in what parts of the city, etc.

And the thing is, Tikki knows how good Marinette is. She created her soul. But having the evidence here in front of her is almost too much.

Here is Marinette, a physically small 15 year old girl, fresh out of the hospital after dying no less than 5 times in one night, and her first thought is of how she can help others. How she can do better. Be better. She is always striving for greatness, and she’s never satisfied, which grates on her because the world is so cruel and she is so kind.

She wouldn’t have had to be if Chat had been a true destruction soul. It would have never devolved into this. The chaos of destruction would have tempered the chaos of creation and all of this would never have happened.

The imbalance has taken a toll on Marinette’s body, in ways she never even realized or thought to disclose because she’s so used to handling everything herself, of holding the weight of the world on her shoulders, which was only exacerbated by Chat not being a true soul of destruction.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever get over this. She won’t forget that Wayzz didn’t know. That even Plagg didn’t know. That he couldn’t tell, which means that Fu had done something to either Adrien or the miraculous in order for Plagg not to be able to tell that Adrien was not a true destruction soul.

The edict has been passed and Marinette is alive and well, and it should be enough but Tikki is as old as time and life itself and she is still angry. She is still angry. She has lived thousands of years. One day is not enough time for her anger to dissipate. It may not for hundreds of years. The last time she was even close to being this furious, the humans called it the Dark Ages.

Marinette wouldn’t want her to be this angry on her behalf.

But no one else is. No one else is at Marinette’s back. Not the old master. Not her old partner. Not her parents, not her friends at school, because they can’t know. She is, effectively, alone.

She is under no delusions that interaction with Kwami can substitute for human contact. Tikki is too small to brush her hair, her arms are not big enough to envelop Marinette in a hug when she desperately needs it. She tries her best, and Marinette knows it and would never, ever, fault her for it, but sometimes it isn’t enough.

So the least she can do is be angry for her. To remind her that it’s ok to not be ok. It’s ok to be upset, angry even, about how she’s been treated. It’s ok to have negative feelings, it doesn’t make her less than. The only thing it does is makes her human.

Hawkmoth is a sick, cruel man.

*****

She doesn’t go to school for the next week, the doctors were adamant about her being on bedrest, nothing strenuous, nothing stressful, and her parents agreed immediately.

She huffs a sigh as her dad puts her down on her bed. “Papa. How many times do I have to tell you. It’s been 3 days! I can walk up the stairs by myself!”

He ruffles her hair with one huge hand and grins. “I know, I know. It’s just been so long since I got to carry you like this! Let your old papa reminisce a little, won't you?”

She rolls her eyes, trying hard to at least keep looking annoyed in the face of her father’s sunshiney grin, but he smiles wider at her, and she loses. She can’t help but smile back at him.

“Fine. Fine! But only for this week! I have two perfectly functioning legs and I plan on using them as soon as possible!”

“Of course, of course.” He kisses her on the forehead, and calls out an “I love you!” as he walks back down the stairs.

“I love you too!” She hollers back as his footsteps fade away.

Tikki flies up into her line of sight and winces, “I’m sorry Marinette. I guess I healed you too well too fast, huh.”

“It’s not your fault Tikki, it’s just a little frustrating being cooped up like this. I know everyone’s worried about me, but I’m fine! I feel fine.”

Tikki nods in agreement. “I know. But it’s ok if you aren’t. I wish you had more time, I wish I could give you more time, but a new Chat Noir has to be chosen as soon as possible. The imbalance has already taken a toll on your body, the human body can only handle so much.” Her face hardens as she remembers all the headaches and bruises Marinette brushed off. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. There’s no excuse.”

Marinette opens her mouth to respond but a rapid knocking on her door interrupts her, and Tikki rushes to hide herself before it opens abruptly, and Alya all but stumbles in.

“Mari! Girl! Oh man. Oh my god we’ve been so worried. You weren’t in school and they obviously couldn’t tell us what happened, and your parents wouldn’t tell us much because they didn’t want us to worry so as soon as they said you might be up for visitors I ran up here! Are you? Up for visitors? Because if not I can leave. I can leave like. Right now. Just say the word.”

She can’t help but grin at Alya’s word vomit. It’s something she would do, and it’s endearing to see that she’s rubbed off on Alya as much as Alya has rubbed off on her.

“Of course you don’t have to leave, Alya. I’m fine! The doctors put me on bed rest for the week, which is a little overkill if you ask me, but I’m fine.”

Alya’s face crumples, and it looks like she’s trying not to cry. She comes up and sits next to Marinette on her bed. She grabs a hold of both of her hands and looks right into her eyes. “Mari. Your parents told me - they told me what happened. You don’t have to pretend to be ok to make me feel better, to make us feel better. You’re allowed to feel however you feel and you don’t need to pretend to not be feeling it for our sake.”

Marinette blinks at her in shock. “Alya, I - I’m not … I really am fine. Nothing hurts that much anymore, and I’m only on bedrest to make sure I’m forced to give my heart a rest. I am frustrated, being cooped up like this when I feel perfectly fine, but that’s it, really. I’m not lying or faking or pretending or anything. I swear. I don’t even remember most of it. Any of it, really. I just remember I had a bad cough that didn’t go away, and then I woke up in the hospital. But I’m fine.”

Marinette squeezes Alya’s hands in hers and says, “You’re such a great friend. The best. I love you, girl.” Alya huffs out a laugh at the familiar term of endearment, and let’s go of Marinette’s hands to wipe the tears off her face.

“No girl, I love you.”

“No no no! I love you the most! You have to let me win this one, Alya!” She throws herself back onto her bed and raises her hand to her forehead dramatically. “I’ve been injured! I’m on bedrest, Alya! You must let me win!”

Alya rolls her eyes and sits cross legged on the bed across from Marinette. “Fine. Just this once! And only because you’re on bed rest!”

Marinette smiles smugly at her as she sits up, and Alya immediately shoves her back into her pillow.

“Alya! I’m injured!”

“Oh, whatever. Now sit up so we can do each other’s nails and talk about what’s been going on this week. You’ll never believe how Adrien has been acting.”

Marinette goes cold, and she uses the excuse of going to get the nail supplies to take the time to collect herself.

Tikki phases into the bag of nail supplies when Alya looks away, probably busy texting the class that Marinette is fine.

“Marinette. He can’t get you here. He doesn’t know who you are. He made his bed and now he’s lying in it, and it is not your fault. If you want to blame anyone, blame me. If he wants to blame anyone, he can blame me.” Her face is solemn as she looks into Marinette’s eyes and uses the old tongue, to remind her who she’s speaking to, to remind her what Tikki is. “It was my decision.”

Marinette nods shakily, and she closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. “I know. I know. Thank you. You’re right. It’s just - still a bit of a shock. Ok, a big shock. Knowing that Chat is … was him. It’s just. It makes me kind of sick, to be honest. Now I know what kind of person he really is. I’ve seen his true face. The person he is when his actions don’t have consequences. I hate it. I hate it.”

“Marinette! Do you need help grabbing the stuff? You’re still technically on bed rest! Girl! Let me grab those!” Alya is suddenly next to her, all but snatching the bag of supplies out of her hands, and notices that Marinette’s complexion is kind of pale, her eyes a little distant.

“Mari? Do you need to sit down? Do you need me to get your parents?”

She blinks back at her, and smiles sheepishly. “No, but you’re right, the bag was a little much for me to be carrying at this point, even though I thought I felt fine. I think I just need to sit down for a little bit. Thank you.”

They spend the rest of the night doing each other’s nails and makeup and gossiping, and Alya notices Marinette’s attempts at steering the conversation away from Adrien, and takes the hint. Maybe the life and death experience has made her realize something she’s not ready to share, and she needs to move on. She’s not pushing it. Not this soon, maybe not ever unless Marinette is truly willing to talk about it.

All she can do is be here to support Marinette, to be there for her.

*****

Wang Fu has made countless mistakes in his life. The most recent of which, which is also the last mistake he’ll ever make, was pissing off the Kwami of Creation. He will die soon, but Tikki made sure to give him enough time to dwell on his mistakes, which is exactly what he’s doing.

Now that he’s forced to think about it, he has to admit, at least to himself, that he doesn’t really know what he was thinking. He can’t recall why he made the decisions he did. What prompted him. What drove him.

He knew Adrien wasn’t a true destruction soul. He knew. He even performed a spell on Adrien that he found in the grimoire before he gave him the miraculous.

It was a spell to unleash the spirit of destruction from whomever it was cast upon. It was used on true destruction souls to help solidify their bond with Plagg, to help them come into their full potential sooner in times of dire need.

He hadn’t known it was only to be used on true destruction souls. He didn’t know what it would do to a soul that wasn’t one of true destruction. He hadn’t realized, hadn’t stopped to think for even a moment about the power of the miraculous. The power behind it. The power of destruction. A cataclysm. What it could do to a person, to their soul.

He didn’t realize it until now, lying on the floor of his shop, body bruised and broken at the hands of the boy he once trusted with the power of destruction. He saw the look in Adrien’s eyes. He knew something wasn’t right.

He didn’t realize it until it was too late. Too late for him, at least.

Before he passes out from the pain he has one fleeting thought. He’s grateful. He’s grateful that Tikki saw what was happening, saw what he couldn’t, what he wouldn’t. Tikki took the actions needed. He will die, but Marinette is alive. She will be a good guardian. The greatest.

He has to die for her to live, to thrive. He has made too many mistakes, and although he won’t make any more, he would never have acknowledged them if it weren’t for this. He was too selfish, too stubborn, and Tikki knew that. This is the only way.

He’s just sorry it took this long.

*****

tags (there are some names that it wouldn’t let me tag, I don’t know why but I did my best to get everyone so sorry if you’re one of the ones that didn’t get tagged!): @smolplantmum @vixen-uchiha @lavenderchaitea @tired-butterfly @marinettepotterandplagg @interobanginyourmom @saphiraazure2708 @starwindmaden @valeks-princess @scribblinggraveyard @justanothersepticeyefan @gray-of-the-fallen @alissasmith21 @corabeth11 @northernbluetongue @cravethosecrazysquares @elmokingkong @emeraldpuffguide @hauntedwintersweets @legendaryneckjudgestudent @nanakeid @akalovelymaybe @the-potato-beeper @trainflavor @seraphichana @gwennex @jinxthe1 @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @demigodgirl20031 @silvergold-swirl @random-posts-and-stuff @literalfantrash @miss-chaos-2710 @elliecake5 @themamaravenclaw @echpr @risingmoonyue @jeminiikrystal @athena452 @reyna-avila-ramirez-alreanaldo @hufflejournals @ladybug-182 @im-a-useless-and-shitty-blob @silviastudentmoon @marinahrasauce @adrianarfox @dorianelle @maya-custodios-dionach @sarcastic-jenny @purefandomsalt

[reyesstrand]

Hi!! I’m absolutely obsessed with your writings! You are absolutely amazing. If you’re still taking prompts would love to see 11. “How could you ask me that?” and 36. “You’ve shown me what love can feel like.” Thank you so much. 💕💕

thank you so much! i’m sorry for the wait on this one but i hope you enjoy!! 

feel free to send me a number from this list if you’d like. also available on ao3! 

“It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve gotten you alone.”

There’s no bite to Michelle’s words as she speaks, but Carlos immediately picks up on the insinuation that she’s lying down: that Carlos is a little too caught up in the whirlwind that is TK Strand for him to make time for their weekly tradition of drinks and street tacos at their favourite place downtown. He’s missed the last three or four chances they had to hang out, due to picking up shifts or getting wrapped up in his — what, friend? boyfriend? guy-that-he’s-exclusively-seeing-but-has-no-label-for is too wordy, but it’s really the only thing that makes sense when trying to describe what he has with TK.

“Sorry,” Carlos says, because he is. Michelle’s been there for him through thick and thin ever since he was barely out of high school and he started hanging out with her as much as he hung out with Iris. But she waves him off immediately.

“No need to apologize, I know that boy of yours, you should feel no shame for getting as much time in with him as you can,” Michelle offers him a wink, but when he just sort of sighs and sinks down into his chair, she cocks her head to the side. “Is everything okay with you two?”

Carlos could offer her the same response he’s been giving his sister, who’s wanted to meet his so-called mystery guy for almost a month, now. She’d noticed his change of tone whenever he spoke about his and TK’s relationships, and Carlos had quickly chalked it up to him being tired after a long day. Which was true — but he could just sense that something was up with TK, and it wasn’t something he was ready to get into with his sister. But Michelle’s different; she might actually know if something’s up with the 126 that could be attributed to TK’s slow but steady act of pulling away from him.

“Actually, uh, he’s been kind of distant, lately,” Carlos says, trying to keep it casual, but Michelle’s eyebrows furrow almost immediately.

“For how long?” Michelle asks, bringing her beer to her lips and taking a sip.

Carlos sighs. “Two weeks. I thought maybe something was going on at work?”

Michelle presses her lips together, but the corners of her mouth still turn down in a frown as she shakes her head. “I mean, he seems normal at the station. The whole team does.”

They’re quiet for a few moments, as Michelle taps her fingers against the neck of her bottle.

“How is he being distant?” Michelle finally asks, and Carlos shrugs, squinting as he looks off into the distance, the setting sun just low enough to be in his line of vision.

“We still go on dates and stuff, but he doesn’t really talk to me like he did before. He always seems like he’s lying when I ask him if he’s okay,” Carlos shrugs, taking a breath before speaking the words out loud, finally voicing the fear that’s been brewing in his chest. “I think he might want to break up with me.”

“Are you serious?” Michelle looks at him with wide eyes, and Carlos slowly nods.

“I mean, what else could it be? We gave us a shot for real two months ago, maybe he doesn’t like how it’s turning out,” Carlos rubs at the back of his neck.

“I’ll talk to him,” Michelle says, eyes suddenly a little darker as her protective side starts coming out. Carlos quickly reaches across the table and takes her hands in his.

“God, no way, Michelle, I don’t want you to scare him off,” Carlos insists, rubbing a thumb along the inside of her wrist to calm her, a little. “I think I should just ask him tomorrow. Be straight up about everything.”

He makes the decision without really thinking it through. Maybe he’s the one that’s freaking out too much — TK could just be exhausted, or dealing with his dad’s chemo appointments on top of having a strenuous job. But he knows what his ma would say, that he probably should’ve already talked with TK about this when he first started worrying. And the way it seems to settle Michelle’s willingness to go after TK herself is also a bonus.

“How’s your mom?” he asks, to shove the focus off of his issues for a little while. And it seems to work, Michelle only giving him one last wary glance before she talks about their plan to bring Iris a care package, Carlos quietly stewing in his own mind over what to do next.

* * * 

Carlos knows that work isn’t the best place to do this. But he also knows just how distracted he’s been all day just thinking about all the possibilities of what TK’s struggling with, and if he doesn’t get his emotions off his chest he’s going to crash and burn. Besides, they’ve been called to an accident at a state fair — a malfunctioning ferris wheel, that hadn’t moved for half an hour with people stuck on the ride — and once the 126 rescued the ten stranded people, they were all milling around, waiting for the all-clear, and Carlos has been watching TK just chat with Marjan for the last ten minutes and he figures this is as good a time as any.

Marjan catches his eye before TK sees him, and she says something quickly to him as TK begins to turn around. He offers Carlos a small smile as he approaches and Marjan clears her throat.

“I’m just...not going to be here right now. Nice to see you, Carlos,” Marjan says as she slips away from them, going over to where Mateo’s checking on equipment. Carlos nods at her as she leaves, and TK steps a little closer.

“How’s your night going?” TK asks, and Carlos frowns a little at the way that TK has yet to really look him in the eye.

“This is going to sound stupid,” Carlos says, instead of actually answering the other man. “But are you trying to break up with me?”

After ten seconds of silence, TK barks out a laugh. But when he takes in Carlos’ worried look and his tense jaw, his eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Sorry, I’m just being an idiot, I—”

“Wait, Carlos,” TK says, curling his fingers around Carlos’ wrist. “Talk to me?”

“It’s just...you’ve been distant, over the past couple of weeks. And at first I thought you were just tired, or maybe wrapped up in your head, which I totally get. But I want to be there for you no matter what, and I feel like you couldn’t wait for me to get out of your hair on our past few dates.” Carlos explains, watching as TK runs a hand down his face. “So, do you want to break up with me? I just can’t keep doing this, Ty.”

“How could you ask me that?” TK’s brought his voice down to a whisper, and Carlos shakes his head.

“I’m just wondering where we stand, Ty,” Carlos says. “I really like you, but I don’t want you to feel forced into this relationship if you—”

“I don’t,” TK quickly interjects, stepping even more into Carlos’ space. “I don't feel forced into anything. You have to believe me, okay? I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you. And it still blows my mind that I get to have you in my life. Carlos— you’ve shown me what love can feel like. After all I’ve been through and all that I’ve put you through, you’ve stood by me, and I can’t even express to you how important you are to me.”

Carlos feels warmth spread through him, but he still doesn’t get the distance. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, TK presses on.

“I’ve been distant because I wanted,” TK stops for a second, inhaling shakily as he glances around, his eyes illuminated under the twinkling lights of the various rides and the signs advertising games and food. He meets Carlos’ gaze again and finally continues. “I wanted to ask you to be my boyfriend. Officially. But I didn’t know how to do it because you mean so much to me and I wanted to do this right, and I’ve been kind of stressing out about making things perfect and—”

“Hey, hey, TK,” Carlos says, bringing his hands up to frame TK’s face, practically feeling the other man’s mind going thousand miles a minute. “I think boyfriend has a nice ring to it.”

TK’s mouth quirks up in a lopsided smile. “Yeah?”

Carlos hums in agreement. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry for making you worry,” TK says, “that’s the last thing I wanted to do.”

“Well, this is much better than all the other scenarios I was imagining,” Carlos jokes, but when he sees the flash of worry clouding up TK’s eyes, he presses a quick kiss to his boyfriend’s temple. “It’s okay, Ty. I swear.”

TK opens his mouth to speak, only for Judd’s voice to pipe up.

“Hey, loverboys! I won’t hesitate to use this hose on y’all,” Judd teases, as the others smirk all around them. “Come on, TK, we gotta go save some chickens from a barn fire.”

“Texas manages to surprise me every day,” TK mutters, meeting Carlos’ eyes one last time. “What are you doing later? I have to make things up to my boyfriend.”

TK waggles his eyebrows and Carlos snorts, leaning in quick to kiss him. “Come to my place when you’re done, I’m making you dinner.”

“You’re seriously the best,” TK says, as he turns to head toward the rig, where Marjan’s holding the door open for him.

“Be safe!” Carlos shouts out after him, and TK gives him one last smile and wave before he’s disappeared into the truck. As he retreats to his squad car, he shoots Michelle a quick text — things are all good, won’t need you threatening my boyfriend any time soon — before he heads off to the next call, unable to stop himself from smiling to himself over that label, one he hopes will stick for as long as humanly possible.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 58

Warnings: profanity, graphic descriptions of blood, violence

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @ocfairygodmother​

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Koen grumbles,   as he sits at the table in front of the balcony door, tightly lacing his combat boots. They’re old and scuffed but still do the trick; well worn and trustworthy, having seen him through his last two tours while in active service.

“Well no one asked you what you think, so…” Tyler’s voice trails off as he shrugs into a black utility vest. Slipping it over a tight fitting white tank that will protect his skin from the vest’s harsh material, tightly securing the straps on both shoulders and across either side of his rib cage.

It’s nowhere near as comfortable as the one he’d owned prior; army green, years on the job leaving it riddle with indents left by bullets, knife slices in the fabric, and torn and fraying edges. There’d been something almost comforting about the ‘wounds’ it sported; testaments to all of the injuries -some in places that would have no doubt been fatal- he’d avoided and all the times he’d managed to walk away. He misses the familiarity of it; the weight of the kevlar between the layers, the smell that had clung to it, the various stains that had discolored the cloth. This one is still stiff against his body and still smells new despite the numerous times he’d worn it while working out in the gym. The extra weight adding an edge, a challenge, to even the most strenuous of workout, yet the rivers of sweat he’d shed had done little to leave his scent behind. This vest hasn’t earned its keep yet; hasn’t been put to the test and earned his trust and respect.

In less than an hour it will. It will be ‘do or die’ time. Either keeping him safe or failing miserably.

“You know I’m only on your ass ‘cause I care about ya,” Koen says. “‘Cause I give a rat’s ass about whether you live or die.”

“And I appreciate that, mate. I do. But I’ve been doing this for years. It’s what I do. Who I am.  I think I know what I’m doing.”

“You think so, do you? When have you ever been in a situation like this?”

“I’m always in situations like this. What do you think mercenaries do? We run into fucked up places and go against fucked up people and we face fucked up odds. And most of the time, we live to tell about it.”  He snags an olive green shirt from the army rucksack; two sizes bigger than normal, but adequately hiding the bulk provided by the vest.

“You know what I mean. A situation like THIS. Where there’s a bounty on your damn head the size of Texas.  Where it’s your own family that’s being threatened. This Mahajan isn’t playing any games. He’s got the best of the best working for him, and when shit goes down and he figures out you’re behind all of this, the shit’s really going to hit the fan.”

“You act like I don’t already know all of that. Who’s the one that’s new to all this? And who’s the one that’s been doing it for years?”

“You know, for someone that HAS been doing it for as long as you have, you sure are fucking stupid. Sure are making rookie decisions.”

“I work better alone,” Tyler says. “But you wouldn’t know that because you don’t know ‘job me’. You’ve never been around him. Guess you’re going to find out pretty quick exactly who I really am, aren’t you.”

“It ain’t who you are,”  Koen argues. “It’s part of who you are. So fuck off with that shit. And I get you’ve been doing this a long time. I get it. I respect it. But I still think it’s a mistake that you’re going into this alone when you’re the one Mahajan wants dead. If you ask me…”

“I’m NOT asking you,” Tyler irritably interjects. “No one is asking you. Now get off my ass. This is how I do things. Alone. I don’t need your approval or your permission.”

“I just think…”

“I love you, mate, and I get you’re worried about me, but fuck off. I don’t need a babysitter. No matter what my wife thinks.”

“She’s worried about your stubborn ass too. You wanna go home to her and your kids? ‘Cause you’re going about it the wrong way.”

“You want to still have all your teeth? ‘Cause you’re going to lose a few if you bring up my family again.”

“You call home this morning?”

Tyler frowns. “What did I just say?”

Koen holds his hands up in surrender. “Just asking if you called home.”

“I called last night. Said the things I needed to say. That I should have said a long time ago. Flight left at seven their time; won’t be hearing from them until after they land.”

“And everything’s good? With Esme and the littles?”

“As good as it can be, I guess.”  He slips his arms into the sleeves of a baggy hoodie; black and bearing no company or brand logos. Something cheap and simple that won’t show blood and he won’t mind throwing out if he can’t get it clean. He’s not much of a talker before a mission; finding mindless conversations and the sound of other peoples’ voices both needless AND annoying. He prefers to be quiet in that last hour; getting himself into ‘the zone’. Throwing himself into the deep end of his own mind space and psyching himself up;  mentally replaying his plans over and over again, each step helping fire up his adrenaline.

“You should at least call and leave a message,” Koen says. “Or a text or something. You know, just in case.”

Tyler ignores him; attaching his holster -gun already secured inside- onto the waistband of his cargo pants. On his right hip, hoodie easily covering it and not leaving a noticeable outline or bulge. SAT phone in one side pocket, personal cell in the other; knife and its holder resting at the small of his back. He’d sharpened it the night before; deadly enough to slice through paper and guaranteeing if the wound is in the right spot, death will be near instantaneous.  He would have preferred a slower and more calculated and cold method of killing, but with very limited minutes  and space, he needs to be fast and efficient and worry about torture and watching them suffer when he has more time on his hands. That will come; a chance to truly make them pay. And he’s looking forward to it.

“Are you listening to me at all?” Koen inquires. “I said you should…”

“I heard what you said. And I already told you that I called home last night. I talked to Esme, I told her I love her and said all the things I should have said to her a long time ago. I don’t need to call and leave a message, I don’t need to text her. We talked. We said what we needed to say to each other and that’s it. Leave it alone. She’s my wife, not yours. Stop with this fucked up obsession with her.”

“Obsession with her?” Koen scowls. “What the hell you going on about? What…?”

“Look, it was cute at first. I was flattered you thought my wife was hot. I laughed about all the little comments you’d make about what she looks like and what her ass is like and how you don’t understand why she’s with me and how if she wanted a real man, she’d get with you. I was fine with it. The way you flirt with her, the way you look at her.”

“I’m joking around. Poking fun. Yeah, she’s a beautiful woman. And I do think you’re lucky as fuck that you landed someone like her. But no way in hell would she leave a guy like you for me. And as far as looking at her a certain way, what…?”

“Just stop with her. I could take it at first. At first it seemed harmless. But that’s my wife. The mother of my kids. And I don’t fucking like it. How close you’re always trying to get to her. So I’d appreciate it if you’d back off.”

“I think you’re losing it,” Koen laughs. “I think you’re going mental. No one is trying to steal your wife, mate. Especially not me. I’d never do that to you, you should know that. I’d never do you like that.”

“I’d just rather you not do the things you do. Not talk about her the way you do. It bugs the shit out of me. I’ve already had one person try and fuck things up between us. I won’t let anyone else try it.”

“I think you need your head read.  Professional help of some kind. Because I have no idea where all that came from or what you’re so fucking insecure about. She ain’t ever gonna be with the likes of me when she’s got someone like you with your pretty blue eyes and your muscles out to next week. It’s obvious as fuck that she ain’t ever gonna leave you. That she loves your dumb, stupid ass for some reason. Must be just as mental as you.”

“You’re going to drive me mental is what you’re going to do,” Tyler retorts, then moves to the door when a pounding -likely from the toe of a shoe or a boot- threatens to shake it off its hinges. Snapping open the deadbolt and removing the chain lock after a quick check through the peephole determines there’s no threat waiting out in the hall.

“How you feeling?” Yaz inquires, as he and Ovi step into the room. “You good? Got your head in the game?”

“My head’s exactly where it needs to be. Not like Koen’s, which is shoved up so far up my ass…”

“He’s in a mood,” Koen interjects. “Being a little bitch.”

“He doesn’t like to talk before he goes out,” Yaz explains. “Too much talk and chatter and noise fucks with his head space; keeps him out of the zone. We realized a long time ago not to say shit to him until it’s absolutely necessary. You’ll learn. We did.”

Ovi nods in agreement.

“Bring me what I need?” Tyler asks.

“Would I be here if I didn’t?” This…” Yaz reaches into the pocket of his black jeans, pulling a flat, silver disk no larger than a dime. “...is how we hear you. Just gotta tap your finger against it to activate it. It’s all charged and ready to go.” He slips a hand through the open zipper on Tyler’s hoodie, attaching the disk -via a small yet powerful magnet on the back[ to the neck of Tyler’s t-shirt. “...and this…” from his second pocket, he removes a listening device; small and kidney bean shaped, moulded out of clear silicone. “...is how you hear me. Just slip this right in your ear. Got it?”

Tyler nods, then plucks the device from Yaz’ palm and slips it into his left ear.  A creature of habit; using the same routines and following the same rituals he’d discovered he was most comfortable with during his early days in the game. Each merc has their ‘thing’; lucky underwear or socks, certain meals they’ll consume before heading out, the same song they’ll listen to on repeat to fire themselves up. His ‘thing’ has always revolved around his gear. Putting pieces on in a certain order, cleaning all his weapons TWICE, not engaging in conversation in the last hour leading up. It’s all mind over matter, but it never fails to feel as if it’s giving him an edge. Even a sense of comfort and security.

“Ovi will drop you off at the shipping and receiving door,” Yaz says. “Our inside guy will be waiting. Knock twice so he knows it’s you. He’ll have a key to the freight elevator; take that to the twelfth floor, leave the key on the window ledge. I know you already know all of this, but it calms my nerves to go through it again.”

Tyler smirks. “You’re an odd duck, Yaz.”

“This coming from a guy who puts three shots of espresso in his coffee right before a gig.”

“Could be doing a lot worse. Remember that guy who used to short two lines of coke right before he went out?”

“Lorenzo. Fuck, I forgot about him. Whatever happened to him?”

“Got into a bar fight in Chicago and got fucked up. Last I heard he was running with some rogue crew that works out of New Mexico.”

“That guy was a whackadoo. Makes you look sane and that’s saying something. Now remember, you only have three minutes. That’s it. Wait by the freight elevator until I tell you that I’ve killed the security cameras. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“When you’re done, haul ass. Ovi will be waiting two blocks west. In front of a dry cleaners. You won’t be able to  miss him.”

“You better fucking be there,” Tyler warns Ovi. “‘Cause if you leave me hanging, I’ll gut you like a fish next.”

Ovi’s eyes widen, and both Tyler and Yaz burst into laughter at his surprised -and terrified- expression.

“I’m kidding, kid. I’d never do that. I’d beat you ass, But I wouldn’t do THAT.”

“Good to go?” Yaz asks.  “Got everything you need?”

Tyler scowls.

“Right...right...I know. I ask the same stupid shit before every job.  Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I still think letting him go alone is fucked up,” Koen remarks, still sitting by the balcony door.

Yaz sighs. “You’ve got to be shitting me. Twenty minutes until go time and you’re bringing me this? Now is NOT the time for this. One and two. Gotta take ‘em out. That’s what he’s going to do. Enough of this shit?”

“What if something goes wrong?” Koen asks.

“Something’s going to go wrong in a second when I toss your ass off the balcony,” Tyler snarls. “What is your major malfunction? Do you know how many of these I’ve done? How many jobs I’ve been on? I can fucking take care of myself, mate. You’re only gonna get in the way if you tag along. Let me take care of my shit, you take care of yours.”

“I said I’d keep an eye on ya. This isn’t keeping an eye on ya. Letting you go off on your own.”

“We gotta go,” Yaz says, and yanks a thumb over his shoulder towards the door. “Time’s a wastin. We’re going to miss these guys if you don’t leave now.”

“I’m fine,” Tyler assures his friend. “I’ve done this hundreds of times. I’ve been in way more dangerous situations than this and I always came out of them alive.  I ain’t breaking that streak now.”

“You fuck up and something happens to you, I’ll bring you back to life just to kill you again. Hear me?”

“I hear ya,” Tyler says, and then gives a small, almost uncomfortable chuckle when Koen embraces him in front of the others. His tone and face both softening when he tousles what little hair his friend has left on his head. “I’ll be careful, mate. I got this. You and Rata be careful out there. These guys? Mahajan and his people? They don’t fuck around. Watch each other’s backs.”

“Who’s gonna watch yours?” Koen inquires, and Tyler gives him a quick, one armed hug before heading for the door.

“I watch my own.”

***

“Change of plans,” Tyler says, when Ovi pulls the rented SUV into the alley behind the Grand Hyatt.

The younger man’s eyes widen. “Change of plans? No change of plans! Why a change of plans?”

“Did you not fucking notice the police station half a block away from the dry cleaners? There’s no way your old man doesn’t have law enforcement in on this. Remember Asif? Dhaka? Look what he was able to do. And your old man has a lot more power than Asif ever had.”

“We can’t just go and change things,” Ovi protests. “We can’t…”

“I’m the boss. I can do whatever the hell I want. You park and wait for me there, they’ll see me coming. And you can’t tell me that spineless fuck doesn’t have my picture plastered all over the goddamn place. Go two blocks EAST. Not west. Then text me and let me know where you are.”

“This is a bad idea,” Ovi laments. “We should just stick to the plan. We should…”

Scowling, Tyler angrily snatches him by the front of the shirt. “Fucking listen to me! I call the shots and I am telling you to go east. Not west. Just do as I fucking say and then wait for me. Understand?”

Ovi swallows noisily and nods frantically.

“I go anywhere near that police station, I’m fucked. I’ve got a knife and a Glock on me. I don’t stand a goddamn chance if they all start shooting. So do what I say and I at least live long enough to call my kids tonight and read them a bedtime story. Now fucking listen to me and don’t get me killed!”

He doesn’t give Ovi a chance to respond, instead throwing open the passenger door and climbing out; hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, head down as he heads for the loading docks and the shipping and receiving doors. It’s better to be safe than sorry; not taking the chance that there’s any outside cameras that can capture a decent picture of him entering the building. His strides are long and purposeful, yet calm and confident; stones, dirt, and other debris crunching and shifting under the soles of his combat boots.

It’s just as easy as Yaz said it would be; knocks being promptly answered, no eye contact made or words exchanged as a single gold plated key is pressed into the palm of his hand as he passes by. And he’s not sure if it’s plain lucky or the ‘inside man’ had arranged to keep other employees out of the area, but it’s oddly quiet and he doesn’t encounter another living soul during his short walk through the bowels of the hotel and to the service elevator.

He’s been on the job long enough that nerves are no longer an issue. Learning long ago that the more relaxed you are and the more you’re able to ‘silence’ your brain, the smoother and easier things will go. Focusing on something other than the task at hand keeps you from dwelling on your game plan, which in turn prevents you from second guessing yourself and switching things up at the last second. That only leads to disaster. He’s seen many a good merc seriously injured and even killed because they thought too much; letting the game fuck to much with their heads and getting an advantage on them instead of the other way around.  So instead of thinking of the task mere minutes away, he lets his mind go blank; eyes riveted on the illuminated numbers above the elevator door as it makes it slow, rumbling ascent. Hands still shoved in his pockets as he slowly rocks back and forth on his heels. It’s a habit that ‘new Tyler’ has fallen into an ‘old Tyler’ can’t seem to break; that slight motion of his body that’s comforted many a crying or colicky baby and has gotten them to sleep when all other methods seemed futile.  And it works for his nerves as well; taking off the edge yet never stripping away the one emotion he does allow himself to feel. Rage.

“You in?” Yaz’ voice pipes in through the ear piece, and Tyler reaches into his hoodie to tap a finger against the disk attached to the front of his shirt.

“I’m in. On the ninth floor now.”

“Twelfth is clear. You’ll see a cleaning person; that’s one of ours. Got one on each floor preventing other people from leaving their rooms. Let me know when you get off the service elevator and I’ll kill the security cameras. Remember, you’ve only got three minutes.”

“What if they don’t get on the elevator?”

“Do what you have to do. Rooms 903 and 905. Take them out whatever way you have to. Got it?”

“Yeah. I got it.”

The elevator comes to a shuddering, rumbling stop; doors shuddering as they slowly slide open. He leaves the lone key on the window sill as instructed, then mumbles a low, drawn out “Fuck” and  quickly turns on his heel to face outside when he hears voices -female- approaching from around the corner.  He can see their reflections in the glass; young, nearly twenties, their glossy  dark hair pulled back into ponytails and their tall, willowy bodies clad in the burgundy and gold uniforms sported by all hotel staff. And they never pause in their loud, animated conversation or even glance in his direction as they wait for the elevator. Seconds seem like minutes; his annoyance growing with each passing moment, an audible sigh of relief leaving his lips when the elevator finally arrives and the women step aboard, doors slowly sliding closed.

“Do your thing,” he says. “I’m good to go.”

“I’m on it,” Yaz responds. “Cameras going down in five...four...three...two...one.   You’ve got three minutes. Go.”

Tyler swiftly turns on his heel; feet going from gleaming tile to plush carpet. And he exchanges a quick nod with Yaz’ ‘man’; one hand still shoved in the pocket of his sweater as the other reaches out to hit the button to call the elevator.

“One and two are leaving their rooms now,” Yaz says. “Elevator is two floors above you. No one on it. You’re in the clear.”

“They armed?”

“Can’t tell. Let’s just go ahead and assume they are. Stay on your toes.”

“You doubting my knowledge of this shit, Yaz? You telling  me how to do things?”

“I’m nervous. Fuck off, Rake.” It’s always last name only when Yaz gets riled up; his nerves and stress are always on high alert, even when he’s not the one actually out there doing the dirty work.  “Two minutes and thirty seconds,”  he says, when the elevator finally arrives and Tyler steps on. “Think you can handle this, old man?”

Smirking, Tyler directs a middle finger at the camera he knows is mounted just above the control panels. And he settles himself as that rear of the lift, casually leaning back against the mirrored wall, both hands out of his pockets and arms now crossed over his chest.

“I’d say good luck but I know you won’t need it,” Yaz says. “We’re going silent for the rest of the trip. Talk in a few. Have fun.”

He gives a nod and a tight lipped smile. The adrenaline is at its peak now. Even after all these years it’s a rush; the possibility of the situation turning dangerous, the quick and efficient pace he’ll have to work at. But it’s not the adrenaline that has his heart thundering in his chest or the rush of blood thundering in his ears or his jaw clenching. It’s rage. The knowledge that he’s about to come face to face with pure and utter evil. People that would have done horrible and vile things to his family. His CHILDREN. It’s the desire...the want...the NEED...to take another life.

He recognizes them when they step onto the elevator; faces familiar from the pictures he’s been studying since Anil gave him ‘the list’. And neither pause in their conversation -a mixture of both Hindi and English- but both give him polite smiles and nods, one even offering a friendly “good morning” that he’s hesitant to return but bites the bullet and does anyway.  And he briefly looks over his shoulder; quickly studying himself to make sure the rage isn’t as visibly obvious as it feels.  Both men have their backs to him; shoulders pressed together, their words and their laughter hanging heavily in the air. And while his eyes study them from head to toe and attempt to ascertain any possible threat or if they are armed, his right hand reaches under his hoodie,  thumb sliding through the loop that sits on the top of the knife; fingers curling around the hilt.

“Excuse me for a second, would ya mate?” He asks, then using his own shoulder to push his way between them, successfully creating a gap; fingers reaching for one of the floor numbers before he slams his palm against the stop button.  

The elevator gives a sudden, violent lurch and Tyler uses it to his advantage. Throwing his entire body weight into the man on the right, the collision  sending both of them  into the side wall.. And Tyler slams his elbow into the sternum with enough force to break  it; the audible crack and the man’s startled and pained yelp echoing in the small, cramped area.  A noise that only becomes shrill and terrified when he effortlessly jams the tip of the knife into the already injured man’s navel, and with a ruthless and vicious upwards yank -one fluid, easy motion- he sends the sharp, glistening blade up to the hollow of the man’s throat. His first  victim drops into a heap on the floor; still gurgling and flailing helplessly as he clings to the last shred of life as his own blood and some of his internal organs begin to pool around him.

The fist that’s thrown his way is easy to avoid; his instincts and reflexes are quick and uncompromising. And he’s able to hook an arm around the other man’s bicep  and throw him to his stomach; forehead and chest  slamming off the blood soaked floor. And he’s attempting to scramble to his feet when Tyler places  a knee in the middle of his back; every pound and inch of his much broader, taller, strong frame shoved into every shred of pressure he applies.

“Look at me,” Tyler orders, and when the man below him refuses, snatches a fistful of hair and yanks his head back. “I said fucking look at me!”

The eyes that look up at him are terrified, yet still bear a remaining glitter of deviance.

“You recognize me now don’t you,” Tyler snarls. “Well this is what you get for fucking with my family.”  

He slams the knife home just under the left ear. And he can hear the  tear of skin, muscle and tissue and the crack of cartilage as the tip pierces straight through. Pausing briefly; allowing the full reality set into the other man’s brain before he quickly draws the knife across his throat. Jamming it in  far enough to hit bone when he reaches the other ear; hand still tightly gripping silky, thick hair, gaze never wavering and his rage never subsiding as he watches all life and hope drain from the other man’s face and eyes.

There’s a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he stands; hands steady as he swipes the blade of the knife across one of his thighs, cleaning the blood off of it before slipping it back under his hoodie and into its holder. He’s barely broken a sweat, and he’s eerily calm as he steps through the growing puddle of blood and over the lifeless carcasses; releasing the stop button and then pressing the one for the next available floor.

Tyler checks his watch. There's still a minute and a half remaining.

It feels good to be back.

****

“A minute and a half,” Yaz says in way of greeting, when Tyler strolls into the conference room twenty minutes later; already shrugging out of his blood and sweat soaked hoodie. “Not too bad for an old fuck! Didn’t misplace  a hip, did you old timer?”

“Hope I don’t misplace my foot when I put it up your ass,” he playfully retorts, unable to contain the grin that spreads across his face.

It’s one of immense satisfaction. Pride, even.  Feeling relief that he hasn’t lost his edge or any of his abilities and he’s only become stronger and faster. Smarter. His skills and his instincts seem sharper than before.  And it feels good; the physical act of killing. It’s the first time he’s ever encountered that; enjoying  taking a life and watching someone in the thralls of death. But it’s personal this time around. Mahajan never should have threatened him or his wife and his children. Because now he’s going to enjoy every second of sending that message loud and clear: you’ve fucked with the wrong man’s family.

“I will never...EVER...again doubt you, oh wise one,” Yaz chuckles, and then dramatically bows to him. “Made a fuck of a mess of the elevator though. Couldn’t have been more graceful about things?”

“Messier it is, the bigger and louder the message it sends. And thanks, by the way. You almost dumped my ass right by a police station.”

“Yeah,  Ovi called me. Told me about the change in plans. Sorry about that, Ooops.”

“Oops? I could have gotten my ass shot on the first day and that’s all you can say? Ooops? How the fuck did you miss that, anyway? You’re usually on the ball when it comes to this recon shit. What the fuck, mate?”

“You know, sometimes I DO screw up.”

“Well don’t screw up when it’s my ass on the line, yeah?”  Tyler removes both the earpiece and the transmitter and drops them onto the conference table. “Those little things are a hell of a lot better than those wired pieces of shit we used to have.  I’m not fucking choking myself trying to use an ear piece attached to a fucking radio. How’s things? Anyone else check in?”

“Koen and Rata are chasing their guys down. They've given them the slip twice already.”

Tyler smirks, then slips the t-shirt over his head and drops it and the hoodie into a nearby chair. “Rookies.”

“Anil and Nathan are doing some surveillance on the other side of town. Gonna be pissed and jealous as shit when I tell them you’re already done and back.  Other than that, there’s not much to tell you.”

He tears the velcro strips open on the one side of the vest; left shoulder and rib cage finally free. Grunting and grimacing at the pain in his right arm when he slips the vest over his head.  Then peels  off the sweaty tank and uses it to  wipe sweat and blood from his face, brow, and neck. Unable to contain the smirk that plays on his lips when he catches sight of the young female tech across the room intently watching him.

“Hey!” Yaz snaps at her. “Focus! That ain’t your prize you’re looking at. He’s married!”

Tyler chuckles, then reaches for a bottle of water from the case sitting in the middle of the table.  “Kinda harsh, mate. She’s harmless. She can look.”

“What is it with you and all the thirsty women? They don’t even care about that ring on your finger.”

“I care about it and that’s all that matters. They can be as thirsty as they want. I’m not entertaining it, so…”

“Still disrespectful as fuck. To you, your wife. I mean, you’re married. You’ve got kids, for fuck sake. Means they should back the fuck off. And speaking of married, you hear from Esme?”

“She left me a message before they left. Said she’d call as soon as they got in. It’s a long flight; they won’t be here until at least six.”  He both groans and grimaces when he drops into one of the chairs, and then reaches down to untie his boots and toe them off. “I did make a fucking mess, didn’t I,” he observes, as he picks up one boot, then the other, surveying the splatters of blood on the fabric and the already drying mess on each sole.

“Felt good though, didn’t it.  To get shit done. To kill the fuckers that we’re going to kill your family. Bet it felt damn good.”

“Even better than I thought it would,” he admits.

“You going to the airport?” Yaz asks.

“Didn’t know it was an option. Thought I was supposed to to stay away. Until I was given the all clear.”

“That’s for when they’re at the house. What harm could come from you showing up at the airport? No one even knows you’re in Mumbai yet. We’d hear chatter if Mahajan was suspicious. If you wanna go…”

“I don’t wanna fuck things up. If someone IS following me…”

“You’d know that by now. Fuck, you’d probably be DEAD right now. And we’ve got eyes and ears on you. I can send  a couple of people to tail you, just in case. You’ve got nothing else going on for the rest of that day. You’ve earned your keep. And then some.”

“I could go out and help Rata and Koen chase their guys down. Or do my own surveillance. Take Ovi with me. Teach him something that won’t lead to me getting shot in the head.”

“It’s the first day,” Yaz says. “Relax. You’ve done enough. Take the down time while you can.”

“I could use a shower and a  change of clothes. Something to eat. Maybe some sleep.”

“Go to the airport,” Yaz insists. “I’ll have people follow you. I know it’s killing you; being away from your family. It’ll do you a world of good to see them. Even if it is just for a few minutes.”

“Yeah,” Tyler agrees. “It would. Wouldn’t mind hugging and kissing my wife and seeing my kids.”

“Your job’s done for the day. Shit is only going to get harder and more intense from here on out. Who knows when you’ll get to see them next. Go clean yourself up. Get some food in you. Some sleep. And then go and see your family. You’re one of the lucky ones, man. You’ve GOT a family that you can see. Don’t take that for granted.”

“That’s something I DEFINITELY have to stop doing.”

“I know they’re probably dying to see you too. Can’t tell me those kids don’t miss their daddy. They’re pretty nuts about ya.”

He grins. “Yeah, I’m pretty nuts about them too. You sure you guys will be okay without me?”

“We’ll manage. If I need you THAT bad, I know how to get a hold of you. Seriously, go and see your family, Tyler.  I know you want to. I know you NEED to.”

He nods in agreement, then sighs heavily as he stands up; hand on the small of his back, wince on his face.

“Maybe you did throw out your hip,” Yaz chides.

“It’s my back, you fucking drongo. You know it’s been shit since I had to go and save Gaspar’s sorry ass.”

“You took  a bullet an inch from your fucking spine,” Yaz reminds him. “You’re lucky to even be walking. Want me to get you a cane? A wheelchair? Want me to carry you? Need me to help fill out the papers for your old age security?”

“I’m hurting, but I can still beat your ass into the middle of the next week.”

“Judging by the show you put on the elevator, I know that’s fact. That was amazing by the way. Good job. Damn good job.”

“Only gets better from here, yeah? Each one will get a little nastier and bloodier.”

“You sound like you’re actually going to enjoy that,” Yaz observes.

He’s smirking as he picks up his dirty clothes and boots, then heads for the door. “I am.”

[willow-salix]

Urghhh, boys...

Day 72 of Isolation on Tracy Island.

After yesterday’s posh day we were all feeling the need to be sloppy and just slob around the house but unfortunately Jeff had other ideas.

“You kids are not going to spend another day laying around the house in your pyjamas, I refuse to allow it. I know that the chance of us getting a call out is remote, but we have to be professional, we can’t let our standards slip...are you listening to me?”

Alan was snoring on my shoulder, Gordon was playing a game on his phone, Virgil was lounging on Scott and John hadn't even looked up from his book. None of us were dressed. The three older boys were wearing nothing but pyjama bottoms, only Alan was wearing a T-shirt with his.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Jeff muttered, giving up and walking away, no doubt to call one of his buddies and complain about us. Again.

I reached out a foot and nudged Gordon who was only wearing a pair of swim shorts. “Oi, Squidward, he wants us all to get dressed.” I couldn't talk, I was one of the people still in PJ bottoms (stolen) and a vest top and I had planned on staying that way all day too.

None of them made a move to get up, in fact Virgil stretched out further, draping his legs over his brother’s.

“Come on, guys, let's not annoy him too much today." I nudged Gordon again, I wasn't picking on him specifically, he was just the only one I could reach sandwiched between John and Alan as I was, I'd have to over stretch to reach the other two.

"Stop kicking me! Fine, I'll get dressed, but I'm not making any effort with it," Gordon huffed. "In fact, I'm going to find the oldest, scruffiest things I own and I'm going to wear them all day."

"That's actually a funny idea," Scott laughed, "he'd hate that, but you'd be doing exactly what he asked."

"Wanna do it too?" he asked.

"Maybe. Virg?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I suppose we could join in," Virgil agreed slowly.

"Excellent! John, you in?" Gordon asked.

"John?" Scott called when John, as usual, tuned Gordon out quite effectively.

"Yeah?" John didn't look up. I always admire his ability to just be completely in the zone and ignore everything else.

"Are you in?" Gordon asked him.

"In where? When was I out?"

"These numpties seem to think that the best response to your dad wanting us to get dressed is to wear the oldest, grungiest things they own. They want to know if you want to play too," I explained.

"Oh," he scratched his chin as he paused to think about it. "I guess so."

"What about Alan?" Virgil asked.

I nudged him gently. "Allie?" He didn't stir.

"Alan?" I jiggled my shoulder. Didn't work.

John reached over and flicked his forehead.

"Huh? Wah?" he jerked awake, a thin string of drool stretching from my shoulder to his mouth. He scrubbed at his cheek with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other looking so disoriented I couldn't help but smile even though I did have a soggy shoulder. John passed us kleenex from under the coffee table.

“Eww, sorry,” Alan groaned, horrified.

“It’s fine, boo,” I assured him as I wiped off my shoulder. I’d had worse and probably not for the last time. “Sorry to wake you after you had such a strenuous night killing zombies, but you need to get dressed.”

“We’re gonna wear the worst clothes we own,” Gordon told him.

“OK,” Alan agreed, not even bothering to ask why they were doing such a thing. That was one thing that always made me laugh about him, he just went along with anything without needing an explanation.

“I guess we’re going to look awful today,” I sighed, following them out the door.

I didn't have a lot to choose from since my staying at the Island had been a gradual thing and I still had my own place, so most of the clothes I had shoehorned into an already pretty full wardrobe consisted of things I’d worn while there for one reason or another, a few bits that I’d obviously packed at some point and left there and things I’d left behind because I’d stolen something of someone elses to wear to go home. There were a few things I’d picked up on shopping trips with Grandma but all my truly hideous old stuff was at home.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” I complained to John who had his head buried inside his wardrobe and was digging around at the back.

“You always say that and it’s always a lie,” he answered.

“I mean it this time, this isn't just that there's nothing that I want to wear, I truly don’t have anything to wear, I only had the dress I wore last night because I wore it to Penny’s party and didn't go home. I’ve only got stuff here that I actually like, nothing hideous or old.”

“I beg to differ, that T-shirt you wear to bed is both old and hideous.”

“How dare you attack my muppets shirt, he of the disgusting dressing gown! That shirt happens to be my favorite and it’s vintage.”

He didn’t say anything in defense of his silk monstrosity, continuing to rummage for another minute before he backed out, dragging a box with him.

“What have you found?” I asked, genuinely interested. John wasn't one to keep a lot of things that were no longer useful to him, he had the same sentimental streak as the others but he was more practical with it and everyday items didn't seem to warrant the same loyalty as they did to me. I’m the type that won't throw out a broken pencil because I once wrote a shopping list with it. I’m a just in case type of person, it might be useful one day. If it's not useful straight away, John doesn't want it. Serve a purpose or get out.

“My college things,” he flipped open the lid and I got down on the floor to nose through with him. There were sweatshirts, T-shirts, sweatpants, athletic shorts, tank tops and a few T-shirts with witty slogans on them including “I was taught to think before I act, so if I smack you, rest assured I’ve thought about it and I am confident in my decision”, “I wasn't listening, so I’m going to smile and hope for the best” and “I’m not superman, but I am a communications engineer, so close enough.”

“These are absolute gold!” I laughed, dragging them out. “Why don’t you wear these?”

“They were all gifts,” he shrugged. He selected one at random ( “I may be wrong...but it’s highly unlikely”) and a pair of Harvard sweatpants and pulled them on.

“I’ve still got nothing to wear,” I groused. “Help me!”

He gave me a look that said he’d done all he could already and now I was on my own, there was just no helping some people.

“Why don’t you just ask everyone to donate one item and see what you end up with?” he suggested.

“No, that’s ridic-” I paused. “Actually not a bad idea,” I finished and started drafting a text.

***

Jeff walked into the lounge an hour later and stopped dead in the doorway, his eyes tracking from one to the other and then back again, as if he couldn't quite take it all in to start with.

Scott was wearing an old Air Force hoodie and a pair of sweatpants so old that they were skin tight on him and only reached to just below his knees and the T-shirt he wore underneath was so faded it was almost see through.

Alan had emerged in a very short and tight Batman playsuit he apparently had when he was eight to go to a birthday party.

Gordon had donned an old shirt that said “I kiss dolphins on porpoise” with a very faded, too short and too tight shirt that looked like it might have once had waves and a surfboard on it but now I couldn't be sure, and he’d finished it off with a pair of olympic speedos. It was a look, I’d give him that.

Virgil just looked a mess, a grungy, disgusting mess, not helped by the fact that his standard look this week had been homeless lumberjack. His jeans, which I ‘think’ were once blue, had so many grease stains and paint splatters on them it was hard to tell, they were so stiffly encrusted with grot, especially on the thighs were he had a habit of wiping his hands, they looked like they could stand up on their own. His T-shirt was in a similar state as Scott’s, it had been white but had worn so thin you could see through it and it too was covered in paint splotches and had grease stain hand prints on it. What did that boy do to his damned clothes?

I looked the worst of the bunch. They had come through for me in spectacular fashion. I was wearing a T-shirt of Alan’s that had some computer game logo on it and was ripped half way up one seam, a pair of Hawaiian board shorts from Gordon, an old flannel shirt of Virgil’s (yep, it was dirty too and had little holes in it where he’d been grinding something and sparks had flown everywhere) and for some reason Scott had presented me with a very strangely patterned bandanna he’s picked up in Egypt, which was tied around my head.

“Hey, Dad, we got dressed!” Gordon called out cherrily, waving from his spot on the couch.

“Don’t bother to tell me what is going on, I don’t even want to know,” he sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. Without another word he turned around and walked straight back out again.

Poor Jeff, when he told us to be professionals he should have realised that he was asking the impossible.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Mutilated Mannequin (Part 12)

TyLee doesn’t speak with her at all during first hour. Based upon the stern and grouchy look on Mai’s face--Azula recognizes it as the very same one she wears before she calls things off with Zuko--she has a strong feeling that TyLee has already confided in her. 

And in confiding with Mai, has already been advised to ignore Azula, lest she suffer more insults and hurt feelings.

Azula swallows, feeling uncomfortable fluttering pangs in her stomach and heart. She keeps her gaze away from the two of them and decides to put more focus on the election speech that she will be giving at the end of the day. 

Still she can’t help but dread lunch. She doesn’t want to sit at the infamous corner table. The one reserved for the loners, losers, and new kids. The one that is consistently surrounded by crumpled papers and dotted appalling with tiny wads of spitballs and anything else that the student body fancies throwing at the unfortunate souls seated there. 

Heaven knows Zuko has shared horror stories of his time there. 

For the first time that she can recall, she completely zones out of the lesson and leaves the classroom with blank notes. 

She is slipping. 

Lunch is tense.

She sets her tray down and finds a seat in her usual spot. TyLee and Mai sit on the opposite side of the table. Chan sits as far from her as he can. Jet and Yue sit where Mai and TyLee usually do, but they don’t converse with her.

They are all talking about homecoming--the good parts--so she doesn’t have much to say anyhow.

“You should have seen her face!” Jet declares. 

“You still have it on your phone.” Yue points out. “Show them.” 

Jet whips out his phone and sets it on the table. “I think that she cried.” 

They deliberately keep the phone out of Azula’s view but she can put two and two together. He had set Katara up, and then recorded the moment when he’d revealed that he did. 

“Show them her awful dancing.” Yue requested. 

“Get ready for some secondhand embarrassment.” Jet announces. 

Azula spares a look at Katara’s usual lunch table. Today it is occupied by only Suki and Toph. Evidently, Azula thinks that she should have just stayed home too, not that her father would have permitted it. 

She tries to bring herself into the conversation by peering at the phone and muttering, “who dances like that?”

The video comes to an end and Chan says, “at least she tried?”

Yue bursts out laughing. “Some people really shouldn’t try.” 

Azula lets another ten or so minutes go by before trying a new approach. She offers one of her cookies to TyLee, sugar cookies are her favorite. Still, she doesn’t even look at them. For the rest of the hour Azula stares at Kyoshi’s assigned reading, not really seeing it at all. 

She refuses to be the first to leave the table when the bell rings. She waits until Mai and TyLee leave before going herself. The rest of the day drags on in a haze. She goes through her class election speech on auto-pilot. She doesn’t remember if anyone had clapped for her. 

She supposes that this state of emotional numbness will do her favors in the operating room.

.oOo.

It is instinct to call TyLee, as she sits in the waiting room. Father has another meeting so she is once again all alone. And this will be one of the biggest surgeries yet. Dr. Guhira instructs her to sit and he tediously marks the places that will be cut into. 

She should know the drill by now, she should be used to it. Yet she is still plagued with anxiety. She knows that, for her suffering, she will soon be better off. 

“Are you alright?” Dr. Guhira asks. 

Azula nods. 

“Are you sure?”

She nods again, “why?” 

“You’re especially quiet today.” He replies. “Can I ask you something, now that your father isn’t around.” 

Her nerves reach a new level of anxiety. 

“Do you really want all of these operations?” 

Perhaps two surgeries ago and a homecoming dance, she would have hesitated. Her answer is rather immediate. “Yes, I do.” She almost reiterates that she needs them, that they are crucial to her finding any sort of acceptance in the halls of Agni High.

Dr. Guhira gives one firm nod, “I just wanted to make sure.”  Something in his eyes tells her that he doesn’t quite believe her. Still, the consent forms have all been signed, it isn’t his place to refuse her. Especially not when her father has all of the operations prepaid. 

“Do you want me to tell you how this operation will work?” 

“Not this time.” She answers, becoming fully aware of how alone she is. The last thing she needs is to be convinced to back out. 

He slips the mask onto her face, “breathe deeply.”

And she does. She breathes deeply until her world goes dizzy and then until it is covered in a thick curtain of black.

She wakes up to more bandages on her face and to her father sitting across the room. Dr. Guhira smiles down at her. “Some good news and bad news.”

Azula tenses up. She brings shaky hands to her face and hovers them over her chin. Quickly but carefully, Dr. Guhira takes her wrists and guide them back to her sides. “Avoid touching your chin if you can.”

She swallows, “what’s the...the news?”

“The good news is that your third operation was a success. The bad news, or maybe it is good, depending on how much you like school, is that you will have to take at least a week off to rest.” 

Azula lets out a relieved sigh. Prior to homecoming, the news would have been devastating. The prospect of not having to endure another awkward and papably tense lunch takes a weight off of her. “I don’t mind.” 

“Now, don’t get lazy on me just because you have the week off.” Ozai cuts in. “I’ve emailed your principal and teachers. Zuko will be bringing your assignments home for you. And if he doesn’t…” 

“That’s fine, father. It’ll give me something to do.” She pauses. “I don’t care for make up work anyways.” She almost smiles, knowing that she won’t be falling behind, knowing that she can still stay on top of her academic work. 

“Alright, let’s make sure that the recovery period goes smoothly, shall we?” Dr. Guhira says with a matter-of-factly hand clap. “There are a couple of things that you will need to do and not do. Like you did with your rhinoplasty, you will have to avoid hard exercise and strenuous work for the next two weeks. I recommend sleeping with a few pillows under your head. And, for your safety and comfort stick to a soft and liquid based diet.”

“Sounds doable.” Azula replies. 

“Wonderful.” Says Dr. Guhira. He moves his rolling chair to a small counter and picks up a bottle of hydrogen peroxide mouthwash. “Use this at least twice daily to prevent infection.” 

Azula takes the mouthwash. 

“As usual, some swelling and bruising is normal.” He pauses. “But we will be doing something different this time around.” 

Azula nods for him to continue. 

“Because you are one of our younger patients and this is a larger surgery, we will be keeping you overnight just to make sure that everything continues to go as planned. I’d like to be able to catch any complications quickly should they arise.” 

“Did you bring me a book?” Azula asks Ozai. 

“I didn’t realize that you’d be spending the night.” Her father answers. “You can last one night without them. Text your friends or something.” 

The lump in her throat grows. 

He doesn’t know yet. 

He doesn’t know how distracted she has been during class and during elections.

He doesn’t know that homecoming went terribly.

He doesn’t know a lot of things. 

She waits for the doctor to leave the room before asking, “father are you proud of me?”

The man strokes his beard. “You’ve been handling the operations well.”

That isn’t the answer she is looking for. 

It isn’t an answer at all. 

It only makes her feel twice as isolated. When he leaves she pulls out her phone and sends TyLee a text; an inquiry about her gymnastics team and her fashion design club. One hour bleeds into two. And then another half hour and Azula knows that she won’t be getting an answer. So she tries Mai. And then Chan. And then Yue and Jet. 

At her wits end, she texts Zuko a simple hello. 

Her phone buzzes some five minutes later. Her heart leaps and she hopes that it is TyLee. She reads the message, ‘hey.’ She sighs, at least one person is willing to answer her. She asks him what he is doing.

‘Usual.’ 

She rolls her eyes and wonders if he gives one-word responses to all of his contacts. She puts her phone on the table next to her and tries to sleep. 

.oOo.

Her face feels bloated, grotesquely so. The brunt of the swelling is central to her cheeks and chin. They are so puffy that she can’t move her face. She grips her cheeks with shaky fingers, they come away slick with blood and pus. She cries out. 

A hallway full of students and none of them hear her. 

Soon the halls are empty and it is just she and the pulsing of her face. 

“Get to class, Ms. Kasai.” Zhao grumbles. 

She tries to go about her day as though her face isn’t swollen and oozing. Fluids in various sickly colors drip and spatter on her desk. Long-Feng shouts at her to pay attention and to take notes. But she can’t, not when her paper is a mess of foul liquid.

The bell rings and she wanders back into the halls, feeling light-headed. She finds TyLee and taps her shoulder, “help me?”

The girl looks right through her.

Azula takes a step back and hustles to the bathroom. No one stops. No one asks her if she needs to go to the hospital.

They don’t seem to notice. 

How can they act like nothing is amiss?

How can they when her face feels as though it will burst?

By the time she makes it to the bathroom, her vision blurs considerably. Her cheeks now swollen enough to force her eyes into a squint. Her chin is much worse. The ooze thickly coats her neck and chest. 

She sees, in the mirror, the faces of her peers. They notice her now. They notice and they sneer or laugh. Her chin ruptures...

.oOo.

She wakes up shivering violently. With trembling hands she reaches for the cup of water on the hospital nightstand. She cautiously brings it to her lips. She knows that she isn’t supposed to be touching her face, but she has to make sure…

To her solace, her cheeks are no puffier than usual. 

She lays back down and stares at the ceiling until her heartbeat slows. When at least some sense of calm returns, she checks her phone. On a normal day she’d have dozens of messages asking her why she hadn’t shown up to astronomy and a heap more asking her why she isn’t in class. 

Today, her inbox is empty.

She is so, so alone and she feels it in her core. 

Maybe if they don’t hear from her for a few more days, they will begin to ask if she’s alright. 

She frets that her inbox will remain empty. 

She expects as much.

[mythicamagic]

Overcast Auras and Silver Sandwiches ~ Zutara Week 2018 fanfic: (Tea)

Summery: Zuko goes speed dating at the Jasmine Dragon and gets...mixed results.

Zutara: Romance, Humour, Modern Day AU - No Bending

Rated T Oneshot

Read it on Ao3 and Fanfiction.net

@zutaraweek

Probably my only submission for Zutara week but I wanted to contribute something for one of my fav ships x This is about 5,000 words so grab a cup of your favourite beverage. (Preferably tea)

Overcast Auras and Silver Sandwiches

"I can't believe I'm paying money to humiliate myself," Zuko stuffs his hands into his pockets, trudging down the street. An array of street lights lit the path onward, winding around various stores and houses, to where he could vaguely make out the shape of their destination in the distance. The Jasmine Dragon.

"Come on Zuko, what are you scared for? You've got the number one player on the block; Sokka-man, right by your side. Want some lady wooing tips?" An elbow jabs Zuko's side, making his lips peel back to reveal gritted teeth. He shoots his grinning friend a glare, keeping quiet.

"Sokka, I could use some of your knowledge," an amiable voice pipes up.

Sokka smirks, turning to Aang. "You're wise to seek me out as your sifu, young one." He nods gravely, causing Zuko to snort. The three make their way past the closed stores and towards the faint smell of incense. He dimly wonders why Toph was hosting such an event so late at night, as the 'ambience' of the starry sky wasn't really something she cared about. Not that he had anything to do except study tonight. His heart thuds in his chest as he stares at the familiar cafe, looming closer. Something twists in his gut and warms his hands, but he stubbornly presses forward.

Another thought occurs to Zuko as he hears Sokka prattling on. "Haven't you been single for two ye-"

"The third lesson of wooing is this; Be aloof, but not too much that you look uninterested- like Mr. Gloomy here." Sokka pokes Zuko's head.

"Its a little late to start with the pro-tips, we're almost there," the dark haired boy grunts, batting him off.

"You could use all the help you can get Mr. Gloomy," Toph speaks up next to them, causing all three boys to do a double take. She holds her hand up just as they open their mouths. "I joined you at that last street corner, don't freak out. You guys are so self involved though, not noticing a blind girl. I dunno how you're gonna manage to score tonight," she sighs with dismay, padding across the square with them.

Aang tilts his head, watching as she bites into an apple. "Why are you here if you're in charge of tonight?"

"I left the tea loving uncle at the helm. It is his cafe after all. I needed a break," she mutters, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Zuko rubs his temples, fighting the urge to pull his hood up as they approach the entrance. That twisting in his gut from before irritated him. Bad enough that he was taking part in this dumb event for Toph, but his uncle would be there to watch. Perfect.

Toph pads ahead to the tea house, which was filled with rich gold and green colours. Dark wood lined the doorways and the smells of different teas and pleasant incense wafted into the air, greeting them as they lingered in the foyer. Other boys their age, around 18-20 year olds, were waiting around, standing awkwardly in loose groups.

Punching Sokka affectionately in the arm, Toph mutters 'break a leg' as she disappears behind the double doors, where presumably girls were waiting. Sokka rubs his already bruising arm absentmindedly. "At least I get a signed autograph out of participating tonight, if nothing else."

"That's what Toph bribed you with?" Zuko snorts, souring slightly. He hadn't even been bribed, maybe he was getting soft. Toph had told him that her parents wanted her to take a more active role in hosting for their restaurant. Though nothing too strenuous for their darling daughter, of course. Toph had said she wanted to prove to them that she could manage.

"I was told this was for charity," Aang said, quieting when both Sokka and Zuko look at him. "Aaand now I'm guessing it's...not?"

Zuko sighs, awkwardly reaching to pat his shoulder before thinking better of it and retracting his hand, still not very good with the whole 'friend' thing. "Looks like she fooled all of us in some way, wouldn't worry about it." He mutters gruffly, while Aang brightens a touch.

"Wait, so I'm NOT getting the Boulders autograph?!" Sokka exclaims, just as the doors spread open fully.

As the group around him shifts their attention to Toph and his uncle in the tea-shop, Zuko glances further in at the rows of tables all assembled in a line. Girls were sitting behind them on one side, chatting or texting on their phones. He immediately regrets his decision when he sees his ex, Mai, among them. Shooting Toph a glare which she can't see, (yet seems to smirk at anyway) Zuko growls under his breath.

Toph blows on a whistle. "Alright you sad excuses for boys. I assume some pretty ladies are waiting in there, so go sit your asses down opposite them. You've got three minutes to chat each of them up before I blow the whistle and you move on. My lovely assistant is handing out clipboards-" she mutters, just as Zuko is handed one by his Uncle, along with a pen. "For you to tick the names of any girls you like. Let's go, go, go!" She yells, channelling a drill sergeant.

The boys scramble around each other to the chairs, causing a ripple of giggles among the girls clutching their own clipboards. Zuko, Sokka and Aang glance at each other, used to Toph's antics, though no less intimidated. It quickly became clear why she was hosting this event, and it was not for charity, her parents or anything like that; it was for shits and giggles.

Zuko looks behind him at the door, which Toph was already pulling shut, glancing in his general direction with sightless eyes. She then turns the lock with a sharp snap. Sweat pricks the back of his neck and Zuko quickly follows his friends, shooting his Uncle a glare, who waved happily.

Sitting down stiffly in his seat, he watches as Sokka joins him on his right, Aang sitting on the chair next to Sokka. Breathing out, Zuko doesn't even notice who was seated opposite him until the whistle blows again and he's jolting his head up- staring straight at Ty Lee.

Her warm eyes glitter as she grins, "hey there Zuko! It's great to see you again." Her perky voice washes over him, and Zuko stiffens. He hadn't just sat down in-front of his ex's best friend, nope. Mai wasn't sitting immediately on Ty-lee's left...next in line...and already glaring daggers at him.

A hand waved in front of his face, and Zuko blinks. "Hellloo in there? Your aura is all red and cloudy," Ty Lee's brows draw together, just as Zuko pushes her wrist aside.

"You still believe in that stuff, huh? Some things never change," he mutters in a gravelly voice, trying not to get hostile. It was difficult though, Ty-lee was automatically associated as a part of his sisters friend group. Anything said to her was usually passed on.

"Well of course, silly. It's easier to believe in stuff if you can see it, but I think I'd like aura's even if I couldn't, you know? They've always appealed to me, and they help people stand out from one another~" she chirps.

He supposed that made sense, seeing as how she had six identical sisters. Zuko grunts, before making an effort to be polite. "Uh...so you said mine was red?"

"Yeah! But it's so...yeesh." She looks around the outline of his form, wincing and making a face that immediately had Zuko's back up.

"What? What's wrong with my aura?" He demands. He was not ready to believe in them, but he'd be damned if someone was going to look down on his red glowy essence.

Her hands waved around in the air, "oh it's just too much. It fluctuates all the time! Sometimes it's light red, like when I saw you at the door with your friends. Just a minute ago it was murky and dark, but now it's positively sparking! So blotchy. You definitely need a blue aura to balance you out. My pink one would be overwhelmed." She nods knowingly, eyes already straying away.

Zuko blinks slowly. He didn't know how or why, but it felt like he'd just been rejected based entirely on his aura.

Irritation boiled under his skin. He hadn't even done anything! At this rate, the whole evening was looking hopeless. He glances to his right- hearing Sokka laughing with a pale haired girl. Zuko grits his teeth, hands curling into fists on his knees. His scar gave a phantom pulse, as it did sometimes when he was aware of it. He'd been trying to ignore the stares, but a few girls down the rows of tables had been glancing at the scar. It was something he was used to, but now the feeling was gradually escalating.

Just as his fists began to tremble, something enters his line of sight. Zuko looks at the steaming rim of a cup in-front of him, glancing up at wizened old eyes. "Have a drink, my nephew."

"Thank you, uncle." Zuko rasps, taking the tea into his pale hands. He felt a comforting pat on his back, before the nostalgic warmth at his side drew away.

The whistle blew sharply, and Zuko quickly rose. Ty-lee waves him off, and he grunts a goodbye, reluctantly sitting down in the next chair.

Mai folds her arms, looking at him levelly. "Hello Zuko," she greets dispassionately.

"Hey, uh...you look well," he winces, sipping his tea. It burned his tongue, but he didn't care, it was something else to focus on aside from how awkward this was.

"Nothing of note has changed about my appearance since we last saw each other," she stifles a yawn, inspecting her nails. But Zuko knew Mai. This was just how she acted when she was being guarded. That was fine, he didn't want to talk either.

"Right..." he nods, staring fixedly at the steaming cup. Contrary to what he'd initially thought, three minutes was starting to look like a very long stretch of time.

Hearing a sigh, Zuko looks up to see Mai glancing in Toph's direction. "Hey, organiser. If the person in front of you is an ex, can we skip them?" She asks tonelessly.

Toph lifts a shoulder, leaning against the wall. "If you want, figure it out among yourselves," she waves them off, showing her amazing organisation skills.

Mai looks at Zuko pointedly, who narrows his eyes, but bites back a retort. The memory of an ugly breakup rears it's head, and he's quickly rising, stepping back and awkwardly making a bee-line for Iroh, who was pouring tea for a girl.

"This is dumb," he hisses quietly, ignoring the table his uncle was serving. "I'm out of here, there's no point in staying."

A dusty chuckle escapes Iroh, "try telling that to miss Beifong, I don't think she'd be too pleased." Zuko opens his mouth, but his Uncle claps him on the shoulder. "Stay a little longer. You never know what destiny has in store in the most unexpected places."

The whistle blows again before Zuko can reply, but exasperation drops his shoulders. Stupid proverb thing. Just as he turns, Zuko glances at the girl Iroh had been serving, and stills. Blue eyes were already on him, before they widened and flew back to her 'date.'

Stunned, Zuko quickly pads away, sitting down in his seat and saying a quick apology to the girl in front of him as he grabs Sokka's arm. "You didn't tell me your sister was here," he whispers in a rush, eyes slightly wide.

Sokka blinks at him, "huh, really? She didn't say anything about coming when I mentioned it. If she's here though, I wonder if Suki joined her," he gives a lopsided grin, completely unaware of Zuko's dilemma.

Zuko drops his arm and sighs with dismay, conflicted emotions returning to him. "Great..." he trails off, remembering high school. Seemed like his past was haunting him today. He tries to push the thought of magnetic blue eyes to the back of his mind.

He finally looks at the girl before him, "sorry- your name was?"

"Ah, don't worry about it. I'm Meng, it's nice to meet you- hey, you're friends with Aang, right?" The girl burst out in a blur of words. Zuko was sent reeling, but reluctantly nods. The girl with dark hair sighs dreamily, "Meng sounds just like Aang, doesn't it? It's like we're meant to be."

Zuko stares at her, slowly glancing towards Aang and wondering if they should switch seats. Unlike when Zuko had been talking to her however, Ty Lee was now happily engaged in conversation, animatedly waving her hands as Aang laughs and nods.

"How do you know Aang, again?" Zuko resigns himself to asking.

Meng grins and clasps her hands, "we go to the same coffee shop. He orders hot chocolate with marshmallows every time, and takes a medium size- but will sometimes order a large if he feels like splurging. Did you know our favourite colour is yellow? How crazy is that! Also, our birthdays are only two months apart!"

Zuko was sent into orbit again, his mind going blank. He clears his throat, not knowing how much time had passed- only to jump when the whistle blows again. Meng slides a piece of paper over the table to him and smiles.

"Can you hand this over? I'm too shy to give my number to him outright, thanks!"

Zuko dimly nods, picking up the folded paper and stuffing it into his pocket. He then rises, noticing Sokka giving him the thumbs up, winking with both eyes. Exhaling, Zuko trudges to the next seat, expecting the next girl to have a fixation with Sokka or something.

This girl had brunette hair in a long braid, her appearance overall sweet and polite. "Hello, I'm Song," she inclines her head.

He warily nods, "Zuko. You uh...been to one of these before?"

"Oh no, it's my first time. It's a little awkward isn't it?" She smiles, making Zuko feel slightly more at ease.

"No kidding. At least the tea isn't so bad here."

She nods happily, "I agree! It's wonderful, such a nice cafe too." Taking a moment to glance around, she gives a slight sigh. "It's a little nostalgic though, my family used to own a cafe just like this one, but it got shut down."

Zuko blinks, pausing mid sip and setting his tea down. "Really? How?"

Her hand comes up to her chin thoughtfully. "Oh I forget- something to do with the Agni Corporation, as usual. They always ruin small businesses, I'm sure that's no surprise." She gives a weak laugh, shrugging it off to minimise what must have been a large amount of distress at the time.

Zuko had stiffened the moment she'd mentioned that name. His eyes became downcast, fixated on his calloused hand around the cooling cup. His family had ruined hers. And like she said, that was no surprise. Agni Corp were infamous for dominating most of of the city businesses, and were almost impossible to escape from.

"...Right," he mumbles at length, guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders.

"Anyway, we're in the medical field now. So how long have you-" but Zuko was barely paying attention anymore. He gave weak responses, his mind swirling. This was why he hadn't dated much. Almost everyone in the city had come into contact in some way with his family. The empire they'd amassed was vast and dominated the business world. Almost every store down the city streets was owned by them, or in some kind of deal. How could he expect to date someone when they'd reject him sooner or later, once they found out where he was from?

The whistle blew, and Zuko rose, still holding his tea like it was a passenger. He nods soberly to Song, who smiles politely, unsure what she'd said to make him so quiet.

The girls from then on passed in a blur. Zuko tried his best to keep up with them, but in the back of his mind, the niggling doubt that had opened up since speaking with Song was prevalent.

One girl commented on his eyes, and apparently the likelihood of them having a brown eyed child was 75%.

Another had stroked his hand and suggested they 'find somewhere quiet' after this.

And a particularly blunt one asked him outright how he'd gotten his scar.

"That's none of your business!" He snarls, hackles rising.

He gratefully stands the moment the whistle blew, storming away from the table and sitting down at the next in an exhausted huff. He runs a hand through his hair, looking at his long since cold tea. He just wanted to go home.

"You've done something different with your hair," a voice points out. Amber eyes snap up to meet blue, and Zuko swallows.

"Katara," he greets in a gravelly voice, glancing away. "Uh...yeah. Aang said it changes a lot, haven't really noticed though."

Katara looks him over, taking in the ridged set of his shoulders and tense appearance. She leans in slightly, "you know, that girl has been saying stuff like that all night. She asked this one guy, Haru, why he had a caterpillar on his lip." Her fingers come up to gesture to her upper lip, making Zuko's cheeks heat even as he hums.

"I mean...it does kind of look like one," he mumbles, blinking as she lets out a noise, her hand hiding her mouth as she quickly stifles it and collects herself.

Dancing blue eyes slowly sharpen, and Zuko looks at her levelly, having expected her wrath. All she said though was; "you were a jerk in high school."

He readily nods, lips thinning. She continues, brushing some of her brunette hair aside that fell in waves down her back. "I still remember when you burned my hair in science class with that Bunsen burner-"

"That was an accident! And you should have tied your hair up better!" He growls, even as guilt gnaws at him.

"It was in a braid! You weren't watching where you were holding the flame!"

Katara's cheeks colour and she waves her hands erratically in the air. "Well how about that time you thought it would be a great idea to slip an ice cube down the back of my shirt! I ended up throwing my drink in Mr. Pakku's face and getting detention for a week!"

Zuko quiets and lifts a shoulder, "I mean he kind of deserved it."

"Yeah he kind of did," Katara gave him that, muttering something about a 'sexist old goatfish' under her breath. She took a breath and glares at him, pointing a lithe finger in his direction and causing him to swallow. "Alright then. How about the name calling? Peasant, really? And undermining me in your class, just because I'd skipped a grade. It was hard enough to be there without a pompous brat ridiculing me. And your sister used to badly bully Aang- which, by the way, you're on very thin ice for."

The room was drowned out as Zuko remembers it. How he'd turned a blind eye to it once, willingly- just to try and score brownie points with Azula, in order to be seen by his father.

They both sit back after a moment, realising they'd leaned in close over the table.

Zuko resists the urge to fold his arms, instead resting his clenched hand on the edge of the table. "Look, I can't change the past but...for what it's worth, I'm sorry, for how I treated you. How I treated everyone. It was wrong."

She blinks, looking as though she hadn't expected that. Her gaze falls away from his earnest expression, resting on their friends. "I know you've been living with Sokka and Aang for a little while now."

"Yeah," he mumbles, expecting another tongue lashing.

"I also heard it's because you left your Father's company. I'm...really glad."

Zuko lifts his head with surprise. No one had really said it that way before, and for some reason, his heart thuds quicker. He tries to gauge her expression. "Thanks?"

"You're welcome. But don't think this means I'm not still mad at you," she frowns.

"I kind of figured, seeing as how you've never visited Sokka's apartment since I had to room with them."

"Surprised they took you in, honestly. But Aang's always been the forgiving type," she mutters, and Zuko wonders if that was exempting herself. She smirks after a moment, "he mentioned they didn't make it easy though," blue eyes shine with mirth.

"We don't talk about that," Zuko mumbles, shuddering with the memory of his 'initiation' into the group. Katara giggles, her shoulders shaking. Zuko's cheeks heat, eyes narrowing as he opens his mouth-

A sharp sound rings out, and disappointment washes over him like a tidal wave. He didn't know why, but he suddenly hated that whistle with an intensity that startled even him. Katara straightens, sobering instantly. Neither move as the other men rise from their seats, and Zuko had the ridiculous urge not to budge. Realising how childish that was though, he grasps the edge of the table and shifts to stand.

"Toph, can't siblings fall under the 'skip' rule? I mean no offence but I don't want to date my brother," Katara raises her voice, causing Zuko to pause. Sokka made the appropriate gagging noises as Toph tsks.

"Sure, sure. Skip gross brothers."

"Hey!" Sokka sniffs with offence, passing around Zuko and taking what would have been his seat. Suki smiles at him, and a goofy grin lights up his face.

Zuko lingers where he is, uncertain, until Katara gestures for him to sit. He retakes his seat, not commenting on anything for fear it would draw attention to the slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"So uh...what have you been up to? Still doing Tai chi?" He asks quietly.

At that, she smiles and confidently nods, leaning forward on her elbows. "Of course, and I'm studying for my medical degree."

He gives a small answering smile, her obvious enthusiasm contagious. "Yeah? How's that going?"

And Zuko couldn't really explain how or why, but as she launched into an impassioned rant about the new techniques she'd learned in Tai chi and the medical field, her eyes blazing as the words rolled off her tongue, Zuko remained in a state of...pride? Why was he even proud of this girl? He'd known her in high-school as the annoyance that would astutely call out the answers in class, and who bested him in martial arts. The peasant girl who never yielded to every harsh word he sent her way, when he'd used to lash out at the world.

She seemed more certain in her abilities now, a fuller person, and he realised that the girl he'd used to argue with in class had transformed into someone else, though parts of her still remained.

Namely the hair loopies.

He then wished they hadn't met in high school, when pain and humiliation had scarred his face. If they could have met this night, without all that other crap, would she have looked at him differently?

A terrifying desire was unearthed as he watches her, and Zuko realises that he wanted her to. He wanted to be seen differently. By her.

Katara reeled herself in and took a breath, having the grace to look apologetic. "Sorry, I'm rambling all about myself. You go, I want to know what you've been up to since you left the Agni Corporation...and maybe why you decided to leave." She trails off, in a more subdued voice.

Zuko steeles himself, looking down at his calloused hands. He takes a breath, lifting his head, and she blinks, attention fixed on him with a quiet intentness. "I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't keep living a lie, pretending that what we were doing there wasn't hurting people. I've spent so long wanting my father's approval, but even when I felt like I had it...I didn't like the person I'd become getting it."

He gives a rueful smile, chuckling. "It's like I can't be content with what I have, right?"

Zuko starts when her hand shifts across the table, her fingers resting lightly on his knuckles.

The whistle blows again. He barely notices it, tethered to the slight sensation on his hand. He hears the others standing again and that stubbornness from earlier returns. He wanted to keep talking to her.

Turning slightly in his seat, he looks at Aang as he approaches. "Hey uh...you two dated, right? Shouldn't the skip rule apply?"

Both Aang and Katara blink, slightly thrown, before Toph snorts and raises her brows. "Seriously?"

Aang chuckles and grins at Katara, "yeah that's right, I think Katara was my first girlfriend. How old were we again?”

"I think you were 12," she mumbles, shrinking slightly in her seat as Toph bursts into a laugh. "You dated a 12 year old when you were 14? Wow, brave move at school."

Aang laughs amiably and pats Zuko's shoulder as he passes, taking a seat in front of Suki.

Katara rubs her temples, cheeks heated, "how did you know about that anyway?" She mumbles, turning her suddenly curious gaze to his.

"H-huh? It was just something I happened to notice!" He burst, trying to downplay his emotions and failing miserably. He was treated to another soft giggle from her, and his heart did a funny thing in his chest.

The speed dating event eventually drew to a close, with conversations dying down around them. Iroh ushered the stragglers out, bidding them a good night. Toph would be sending the matches their contact numbers, though a few patrons had already swapped them. Aang had left, and Sokka wasn't far behind, lingering in the entrance with Suki and laughing with her at his own joke.

Zuko and Katara were still chatting at the table, and his eyes broke away for a moment to glance over his shoulder, blinking. "Wait...where did everyone go?"

"I think the event must be over? Ah- rude! Suki just left with Sokka," Katara squeaks, pointing at the now vacant doorway. She deflates in her seat, "she was supposed to walk back with me."

"I could walk you," Zuko immediately offers, before the tip of his right ear burned with heat and he looks away. "N-not in a weird date way or anything, obviously," he awkwardly amends.

"Obviously?" She raises a brow, crossing her arms while glaring daggers. "What am I not good enough for you or something?"

Zuko quickly back-peddled, his mind plunged into deep waters of confusion, "wha-no! I just didn't think you'd want...that." He trailed off lamely, his good cheek burning now.

Katara sniffs, "well maybe I should decide what I want," she stands, offering a mischievous smile as she ruffles his thick dark hair. "Relax, Mr. Floofy."

"Okay no-" Zuko growls, standing and visibly blanching. "I'm already traumatised by Azula's nicknames, 'Sifu Hot-man,' and Mr. Gloomy. No more, ever."

Her laughter reaches him, and his shoulders drop, a little defeated by the happy sound. They pad to the door together, passing his Uncle, who covertly offers him a thumbs up when Katara isn't looking. Zuko stiffens and slowly shakes his head, continuing out with her. She'd never think of him that way, Katara had just been teasing. That's all.

By the time they stepped foot outside it was ridiculously late. The sky had darkened into pitch black, stretching over their heads and only interrupted by a bright full moon. The air was crisp and clear, what with the incense having burned out long before. Zuko continued chatting with Katara, noticing she'd lightly swat his arm when he said something impudent, or how her hand had brushed his accidentally as they walked.

He couldn't help but feel like there was more he wanted to say and speak with her about, rather than just small talk. Safe conversation...

But he wasn't a part of her friend group, and he wasn't sure she'd ever want him to be. As for as she was concerned, this was probably just a way of tying up loose ends. She'd said her piece to her childhood 'oppressor' and could wipe her hands of him.

"So, do you want to go to the movies next Saturday?" Katara suggests, causing his head to snap to the side so fast he got whip-lash.

"W-what?" He asks, voice squeaking like it'd forgotten he'd undergone puberty already. He quickly clears his throat.

"I mean with everyone else, obviously," she corrects with a cheeky grin, elbowing him. "And I get to choose. Ohh there's this one out called The Puppetmaster."

Zuko waves his hand in the air, stopping with her once they reached the door of an apartment complex which he assumed to be hers. "No- that's fine," he rasps weakly, straightening and looking her in the eye. "But...are you sure you want to spend more time with me?"

"I'm spending time with you now, aren't I?" She arches her brow, and he was once again left at sea, a poor marooned man on an island called 'Katara.' He just didn't understand.

He rubs his scarred brow, frowning deeply. "Why though?"

Katara sighs, glancing away and pursing her lips. "You're being dumb," she mutters, causing his hackles to rise. Before he could growl out a response, he feels fingers wrap around his own. He looks at the dark skin and registers it as hers as she pulls his hand away from his brow slowly. Reaching up on her tip toes then- his eyes widen as her face comes closer.

He feels something vague against the scarred side of his face, like the brush of something gentle. He hears her lips make a soft noise, before it's over and she's pulling away.

Zuko's hand reaches up again to touch his scar, and he curses not being able to feel it properly. "What was that?"

"Would've thought a guy that looks like you would know what a kiss is." Katara snorts, her brows drawing together as his expression shutters. "Hey, stop that. I didn't mean it that way. You're pretty...uhh...you know...pretty!" She exclaims, cheeks heating.

He blinks, arching his good brow. "Pretty?"

"Urgh, fine. You're as sensitive to feminine sounding compliments as Sokka, you've been hanging out with him too much." She mumbles, fiddling with her keys as she takes them out of her bag, focusing on the metal in her hand and not on his intent gaze. "H-handsome then," she quietly amends.

When no trace of arrogance lights his expression, and Zuko instead looks even more perplexed, Katara sets her hands on her hips. "Look, I know you and Mai have this on and off again thing, but if you ever want to get with a girl that isn't her, you've got to have more confidence in yourself."

Zuko feels something warm his insides. How did she know what his situation with Mai was? "You're right. I didn't even want to come tonight. But how can I expect someone to be with me when I'm not...complete yet? I'm still trying to find my feet outside of my identity of Agni Corps heir. I can't ask someone to go out with me as I am, it's unrealistic."

He falls silent then. Huh, how easy it was to be honest around her and not fear any backlash.

Katara brushes her hair back from her face and fluffs it slightly, glancing at him. "Well, maybe you start by asking. Let them decide if it's unrealistic." She turns, opening the door and glancing at him over her shoulder. "And...I'm not complete either. No one is. We're all still learning, so don't beat yourself up so much. I can...see that you're really trying. We all have to start somewhere, right?"

He stares at her, remembering that his uncle had said something similar to him, after he'd told him his decision to leave Agni Corp.

'I don't have all the answers, my Nephew. I'm still learning myself, even at my age. We are all just life's humble students, and Experience is our teacher.'

Zuko nodded along with his, looking at the clouds as they drifted by. "We just have to take a bite out of the silver sandwich..."

Iroh had blinked, and then smiled broadly, "oh yeah. That works too.'

Despite how much her words resonated with him however, Zuko could only blurt: "So...you don't think my aura is red and blotchy?"

He then definitely wanted to open his mouth and insert his foot, but Katara only grins and rolls her eyes. "Ty-lee got to you too, huh? She said mine was all blue and 'too bold' for most people."

Zuko nods slowly, "I can see that," he mutters, watching her eyes flash. He shoots her a small smile, "but I bet it's a good blue. Bold is...just another word for strong."

Katara hesitates, giving him an answering smile that gentled her eyes.

After saying their goodbyes, Zuko starts back home, burying his hands in his pockets. As his hand brushes something, he stops and takes it out. It was the list of girl's names that he was supposed to put ticks against and hand back to Toph. If the chosen girls had also ticked his name, then the organiser would pass along their numbers.

Zuko stares down at it, but really, he didn't need to hesitate. He puts a tick next to Katara's name and soon places it in the blind girls hands.

"I can't read, genius." She snips, handing it to Iroh, who just chuckles knowingly.

A few days later, when Zuko was laying on his bed one lazy morning, he hears his phone make a noise. Sitting up, his eye's widen slightly at the screen.

His thumb brushes the keypad, slowly typing: "So, do you want to go out sometime?...Just us?"

She chimes back a few minutes later, with a reply that tugs his lips up into a smile.

"Obviously."

[rickybowensfever]

Halloween - Josh & Kelsey

Josh and kelsey - halloween

Word count:  1,578

As they walked through Target gathering the rest of the items for their Halloween costumes, a lifeguard whistle for Kelsey and black, squared eyeglasses for Josh, Josh felt sudden fatigue and chills going through his hoodie. They walked to the self-checkout and Kelsey was boasting about their couple’s costume for the party they would be attending the next day.

“Ahhh! Yes! Wendy and Squints are complete! I’m so excited for everyone to see it” she squealed as she rung up her red, lifeguard whistle. They were being Wendy Peffercorn and Squints from the movie, The Sandlot.

Josh smiled at her mid-yawn. “Did you get enough sleep?” she asked, stern but concerned. “Uh, I thought so. I just got hit with tiredness. Can we just go back to my place and watch a movie or something?” he asked.

“Sure!” she said as she paid and grabbed the plastic Target bags holding their items.

As Josh got out his keys, he felt a headache coming on. He groaned and opened the door to his apartment, Kelsey behind him with their bags. He put his keys on the kitchen counter, took off his shoes and immediately took a blanket to the couch in his living room and covered his shivering body with the blanket.

Kelsey was suspicious since they were in the self-checkout line. Josh was so stubborn about getting sick and she knew something was up. He’d been silent and yawning on the way back to his place. But, she’s been with him for long enough to know to leave him be until he said something. 

Kelsey took a seat next to Josh and queued up Netflix on the TV in front of them. As she waited for Netflix to load, she examined her boyfriend. He was covered in a blue fleece blanket and shivering. He let out another yawn, much like he did in Target. She felt so bad that he wasn’t feeling well, but she had already told herself to leave him be. So, she acted like everything was fine. 

“Babe? Do you want to watch where we left off on Friends?” she asked him.

“Sure” he mumbled.

“Okay!” she replied and hit the next episode of Friends, “The One With All The Haste” played.

Not even ten minutes into the episode, Josh was out cold, curled up in his blanket and snoring, leaving Kelsey to watch the rest of the dramatic episode herself as Rachel, Monica fought Joey and Chandler for their apartment back and Ross proposed to Emily.

Drew entered the apartment and noticed Kelsey and Josh on the couch. “Hey, Kels! How are ya?” he yelled. “Good. Ssh! He’s sleeping” she whispered, pointing to Josh next to her on the couch. “Sorry” he whispered and quietly walked to his room.

She tried to let Josh rest and keeps her laughing to a whisper. Yet, she took her eyes off the screen when she heard small coughs coming from him in between his snores but he didn’t wake. Kelsey could only imagine what will come when he wakes up.

Kelsey was nearing the end of season four of Friends when Josh woke up, miserable and groaning. “Hey, sleepyhead,” she says with a smile, brushing her hand over his knee. Josh looks up at her and she automatically can sense a difference in his mood. His eyes are glassy and he looks really groggy.  “Are you okay?” she asks. “No” he croaks, almost like his throat was hurting. “What’s wrong?” she asks. “Throat really hurts” he whispered. She frowned, leaned over and felt his forehead with her palm, “You feel warm. Do you have a headache?” she asked, trying not to push him. He nodded. “Do you want to take something?” she asked. “No” he said, stubbornly. Kelsey sighed. “Okay..do you want tea?” she asked. He shrugged. “Alright, I’ll make some and you can drink it if you want,” she told him, knowing he’d come around eventually.

As Kelsey was boiling water on the stove, Josh grabbed his blanket and headed to his bedroom. He grabbed her attention and pointed in the direction of his room. She nodded and he went to lie in his bed and fell asleep, again.

When he woke up thirty minutes later, there was a mug with tea and some ibuprofen tablets on his nightstand. But, no Kelsey in sight. Panicked, he got out of bed and went to search the house for his girlfriend. She wasn’t there but Drew was. “Hey man, what’s up?” Drew asked his roommate as he was clearly searching for something. “Where’s Kels?” he croaked. Drew winced, “Damn you sound really bad. Uh, she went to the store. You good?” he asked. “Yeah” Josh replied, looking around the room and went back to his bedroom.        

As Josh slept, Kelsey went to the store and got some more honey for tea, soup and strep-throat related medicines since Josh’s apartment wasn’t stocked up. As she got into her car, her phone vibrated and it was a text from Josh.

are you back yet? feel like shit

aw yeah i’m leaving right now, how’s your throat?

hurts real bad

ok i’ll be there in about ten minutes

When Kelsey got back to Josh’s apartment, she set her plastic white CVS bags on the counter, grabbed some throat lozenges and Gatorade and entered her boyfriend's room. He was sipping the tea she left for him and wincing in the process. “Babe, you’re really pale,” she told him as she sat on his bed. “Freezing” he croaked. She frowned and felt his warm forehead with the back of her hand. She set the box of throat lozenges on his nightstand and replaced them with the thermometer that laid there, placing it her boyfriend's ear. “Oof. Hundred and one, babe. You got sick so fast” she said with a frown, brushing her hairs through his hair.  

Her phone vibrated again with a text, this time from Jenn.

J: Ahhh! Saw your Insta story and your costume is going to be awesome! Chris is making us be Stanley Cup and NHL player…again. I wish I had a fun boyfriend!! Haha. Can’t wait to see you guys!!

She totally forgot about the party in the last few hours and decided to ignore the message until she could work up the courage to let her friend know they wouldn’t make it.

Her boyfriend’s shivers took her out of her thoughts, she rubbed his back. “Cuddle?” he whispered. “Aw, babe. I’m sorry but if you have strep,  you’re really contagious. Maybe when you’ve had more medicine, okay?“ she told him, feeling horrible. He groaned at her. She apologized again and said, “Get some more rest and I’ll cuddle later”. He felt so angry and the pain wasn’t helping. “What about the party?” he asked as she was heading to the door. She felt even worse. “We’ll see how you feel tomorrow. Okay?” she said, kissed his forehead and left the room.

Kelsey spent the night sleeping on the couch of Josh’s apartment. At 3 AM, she woke to her boyfriend hovering over her, shivering and tears running down his face. “Babe..I’m in so much pain,” he told her through sobs and his voice, raw. She jumped up and hugged him. “Go back to bed and I’ll be right there,” she told him, concerned and feeling like the worst girlfriend in the world.

When Kelsey got to Josh’s room, his sheets were soaked. She felt his forehead which was still warm. “Ah. I thought you’d sweat your fever out. Maybe it just came back” she said aloud. Josh kept wincing, his pain was getting so bad. “Babe, I know it’s a Saturday but you’re going to have to go to Urgent Care and get antibiotics. It’ll help the pain, I can’t do much else” she told him, apologetically. “But, for now, I have to monitor your fever,” she told him as she placed the thermometer into her boyfriend’s ear.  “Hundred and one, still” she read to him, hoping the number would be lower and handed him another throat lozenge. “Take this and it should ease some of the pain so you can get back to sleep,” she told him and kissed his warm forehead, leaving the room.    

By 10 AM, Josh was still sleeping. That made Kelsey very happy since he scared her to death during the night. She decided to text back Jenn and tell her the bad news….

K: Hey. Sorry for the late response, Josh has been sick since yesterday afternoon and I’m pretty positive he has strep. So, you can only imagine what I’ve been through in the last 24 hours, haha. This also means we won’t make it to the party, he’s way too sick and probably highly contagious :((

J: Oh no! But, YES TOO RELATABLE.  At least your boyfriend isn’t as stubborn as mine, you’ve met him when he’s being stubborn because he’s sick but won’t tell me, haha. Tell him to get better and there will be other parties!

K: Of course! Thank you :) Send me pics tho!

After a strenuous trip to Urgent Care, Josh was given antibiotics to help with this throat pain which was indeed strep throat. They spent the rest of the day cuddled up in Josh’s bed watching The Sandlot from the TV hung up on his wall while pictures of Jenn and Chris as the Stanley Cup and Patrick Kane flooded Kelsey’s phone.      

[rhina988]

The Heart Wants What It Wants - Chapter 22

Start from the beginning

Chapter 21

Nicole’s POV

“Hey... are you okay?” Maya asked me after I’ve been staring at my phone for almost two minutes.

“Uuuum... yes... I just ... I’m fine,” I lied, feeling my heart shattering into pieces. “I just... I have to go,” I tried putting on a brave face, but I was going through so many emotions that I couldn’t keep the tears from falling. The minute I felt my eyes watering, I got off the table and ran out of the restaurant.

“But we haven’t...” was the last thing I heard Maya saying, after I had stormed out of the restaurant. I hailed the cab and went home. I was still staying at Rachel’s, but now I knew I needed to find a place of my own, because I couldn’t possibly let her go through all of this with me. I needed some space from everyone. A clear head to deal with everything that’s been on my back for so long.

This was an entirely new situation for me. Never have I ever been involved with someone who had so many unclear issues, and with someone who’d make my life extremely complicated. All of this information was overwhelming, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I was out of control. I wasn’t able to keep my thoughts together, everything was so jumbled in my head and I felt like I was literally going to fall into pieces. I knew exactly how I felt about Jared, but I was starting to doubt if he was worth all the pain, torture and all this drama. Maybe the picture was just an innocent moment between a fan girl and a rock star. Maybe it wasn’t. I didn’t know what to believe, but I knew one thing ‒ if he did have some flirty bimbo he’s been seeing when he was in Russia, he wouldn’t let paparazzi catch them. So, no matter the headlines I decided not to think about it too much.

I was home, and I just needed a relaxing shower to clear my thoughts. I undressed, tossing all of my clothes on the floor and I went for a long hot wash. Shower was always a safe place where I managed to face all my problems, so I knew I was going to feel much better after. Letting the warm water fall over my body, I played all of the moments Jared and I shared in my head. That serendipitous moment at the beach in Mexico, the night of passion we couldn’t avoid, all the lustful flashes swarmed my mind and suddenly it seemed as if desire, lust and passion was all that we shared. But what about love? Are we really in love with each other? At one point, I was willing to abandon everything I believed I had always wanted, and now I’m completely lost. Suddenly, I realized that this was the worst time for Jared to be gone. I needed him by my side so desperately that I even wanted to fly to Russia in a second.

While I was drying myself off, I heard my phone ringing. Rushing to the bed, I hovered over the phone and saw Jared’s photo on display. My heart started racing and I couldn’t wait to hear his voice. I slid my finger over the display, and brought the phone to my ear but no words were leaving my lips.

“Hello? Nicole, are you there?” I heard Jared speaking and I immediately teared up. The feeling of utter joy washed over me, and I just needed to hug him so bad. The last thing I wanted was for Jared to think that I cried, so I gave my best, trying to calm down and talk already.

Clearing out my throat, I breathed out, “Hi... I’m here,” I answered wiping the tears off my face.

“Baby, it’s so great to hear your voice,” Jared said, and I could hear him smiling, “I just needed to call you and...”

“...check if I saw you with that girl?” I cut him off.

“Look, she’s just a girl who asked for a photo. I...”

“I know. You don’t have to explain anything.” I said, suddenly feeling calmer.

“Really? I don’t?” Jared was surprised at my reaction.

“No. You sound convincing, and I really can’t handle more drama at this point,” I answered with a sigh as I was lying on my back.

“Thank you for believing me, baby. I would never lie to you. I miss you so much, and I can’t wait to be back and hold you in my arms,” Jared said causing a tidal wave of emotions fluttering in my heart.

“Please come back soon. I’ve never needed you as much as I do right now,” I said lying down in my bed and curling up in a fetal position. I took my blanket and hugged it as I listened to Jared’s sultry voice helping me relax.

“I’ll see you the day after tomorrow. I’ll come by your place straight from the airport,” Jared said making my heart race and fill with an immense warmth.

“Sounds perfect,” I said with a smile.

“Okay, I gotta go now. Can’t wait to see you, babe,” Jared sighed and I knew he meant it with all of his heart.

“Okay. I’ll see you in 2 days. Bye,” I said hanging up the phone.

After finishing the conversation with Jared I heard my phone buzzing again, and it was a text from Maya. She was apparently worried about me, so she just wanted to check if I was okay. I replied that she has nothing to be concerned about, and that I’ll be fine as I’ve always been. I’ve learnt to pull myself together after every hardship, and I wasn’t planning on giving up on this one either. They say that what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger, and by now I felt like a super woman. Even after everything, I had no intention of looking back, but merely walk with my head up high and straight into the bright future.

The afternoon passed quite well, as I was browsing through the real estate ads. Looking for the new apartment was anything but easy, and after a few hours of thorough search, I gave up, feeling desperate. My salary wasn’t enough to let me rent anything that I envisioned for myself, and I knew that staying at Rachel’s wasn’t going to be an option for much longer. Soon, I started to wonder if maybe I needed an extra job, because working in a company with Lucas didn’t seem as a manageable idea at this point.

The next day seemed as the longest one ever. Jared was supposed to come back the day after and it appeared as if the time stood still. I did everything in my power to distract myself, but this Sunday was never going to end. Fortunately, I was in the mood to jog so I went to the beach, had a strenuous workout, spent some time sitting near the ocean and just clearing my thoughts. When I woke up the day after, everything looked different. Suddenly, I felt as light as a feather knowing that I’ll hold Jared in my arms in only a few hours.

After finishing my breakfast, I decided to text Jared and check when he’ll be coming, before I head off to work, only to have my phone buzz at the moment I thought about typing the message.

It was Jared, sending me a photo of himself.

See you soon, babe.

Before I managed to reply to the message, I heard the doorbell ring. Rachel and Shawn were still asleep, so I rushed to open the door because I didn’t want them to be disturbed. Hopping to the front door, I opened and almost fainted when I saw Jared standing there.

“Surprise!” he said excitedly as I was dumbstruck. I was literally paralyzed from the shock, and I could feel my heart thumping in my ears. “Won’t I at least get a hug?” Jared asked nervously.

After realizing I wasn’t dreaming, I screamed so loud I was sure the neighbors would call the police. Throwing myself into Jared’s arms, I hugged him so tight, that I thought I was going to smother him. Feeling his arms wrap around my waist was all I needed all these days that we were apart. Just breathing in his sweet scent and having his body finally close to me, felt like the most wonderful bliss I could ever imagine.

“Oh my God... you’re really here,” I breathed out gripping him tightly, as I was trying to catch my breath from all the euphoria I was going through.

“I’m here babe,” Jared said through a giggle, “It’s so good to have you in my arms again,” he continued as I could feel his arms roam across my back, trying to settle me down.

I pulled away, taking his hands into mine I just stood there looking at him looking at me. My face lit with joy, I smiled and jumped right back to Jared’s arms, covering his entire face with my kisses, only to hug him again. Jared started to giggle as he didin’t expect me to act like such a big child, but I simply couldn’t help myself.  

“We should probably go inside,” I said becoming aware of the fact that we were standing at the door for almost 10 minutes.

“How are you already here?” I asked as we were approaching the sofa. Jared sat down, and pulled me down to his lap.

“We managed to take an earlier flight, and I wanted to surprise you nicely, for once,” he said brushing the back of hand over my cheek. Completely melting under his touch, I took his hand and kissed his palm.

“God, I missed you so much,” I said and hugged him again, settling calmly inside his embrace. My head was resting on his shoulder as his arms held me firmly like someone was about to steal me. I sighed, nuzzling my head into the crook of his neck. Looking up at him, I saw him already looking at me. Lifting my head up I was still all smiles, and that instantly made Jared smile as well. He cupped my face and brushed his lips over mine, making me melt into a puddle of happiness.

This safety was all I needed. At that moment, nothing mattered anymore. Not Francesca not the fan girls, not the popularity ‒ nothing. All that mattered was that Jared and I were finally together again, and at that moment I knew it ‒ I did love him with all my heart. All the insecurities, all the anxiety, all the restlessness and doubts were gone once I could feel his warm embrace. I was calm, warm and above all, I felt safe and protected. I just hoped he loved me just as much.

The moment of bliss was suddenly interrupted by the clamor coming from upstairs. The lovebirds were obviously having a rough morning. Rachel was bickering about Shawn’s job, he tried to put some sense into her, but she was a strong-minded Gemini and there was no way in hell you could calm her down when she wanted to argue with you. They were headed to the dining room, when Shawn glanced towards the living room and saw Jared and me. He just took Rachel by her shoulders and swiftly turned her towards us. Jared and I smiled and waved at them, before I stood up from Jared’s lap.

“Morning,” I said as I took Jared’s hand waiting for him to stand up.

“Morning...” Rachel said in surprise when she saw Jared next to me, “what is he...” she seemed highly agitated, but tried to control herself from bursting out to him after everything, “... doing here?” Clearing her throat, she finished the sentence and smiled forcefully.

“He’s back from Russia, and he wanted to see me. You know we needed to talk,” I said with a calm voice, not wanting her to argue with Jared.

“I don’t think this is the right place for you to do that,” Rachel said matter-of-factly, stating that she doesn’t want him in her home.

“Okay we’ll go, don’t worry,” I said and my phone started ringing off the hook. I realized I was terribly late for work, and completely forgot I was supposed to meet with a new client. I went to another room to take a call, unfortunately leaving Rachel alone with Jared, because Shawn managed to sneak out to work, before things heated up to a boiling point.

Jared’s POV

Nicole was in the kitchen talking with her assistant, while I was left with Rachel, whose eyes seemed as if they were going to stab me right in the heart. I swallowed hard, trying to say something that would make her feel less angry with me, but she started her monologue.

“Okay, here’s the thing, mister Bigshot,” she started and I was immediately thrown away by her move, “this is the last time you stepped inside this house. If Nicole can’t see who you really are, I can, and I’ll do my best to try and explain what kind of a bastard you are.”

“Hold on...” I protested but she wouldn’t let me speak.

“No, no, no, I’m not done,” Rachel said pointing her finger at me. “You broke her heart, you made her question her entire future and throw it all away because of you, only to find out you were nothing but a rock star who needs some entertainment from time to time. You’re here now, and you can talk, but I never want to see your face in my home again. Are we clear?”

“May I speak now?” I asked as she rolled her eyes at me, gesturing with arms that I can talk.

“Look, Rachel, I never meant to hurt Nicole. What happened with Francesca was nothing but a pitiful try of a desperate girl to get some security, attention, and money. Sadly for her, I knew what I had and hadn’t done back in the day, so she had no chance in getting what she wanted. I always take responsibility for my actions, so I have no intention of putting Nicole through any hardship. I’m not a bad guy, and I never wanted to be one. I love Nicole, and all I want to do is make her happy and feel safe around me. I really need you to believe me.” I finished and watched Rachel unstiffen from her stern posture.

“You love her?” she asked me with surprise sparkling in her eyes.

“You love me?” then suddenly Nicole appeared looking at me with teary eyes.

Chapter 23 

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WYIB Chp. One - A Little Like Heartbreak | 3,383k

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Stiles is all alone, and that, that isn’t something he knows how to handle. It doesn't help that he’s trying his best, trying desperately to be enough for people who don’t care about him, who don’t even want him. He’s - he’s done. 

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Warning: Mention of Rape

The saddest part, in his own opinion, is that he doesn’t notice right away. He and Scott had already begun drifting apart, spending less and less time together until they were no longer ScottandStiles and hardly even best friends. Then there was the Gerard incident where his ‘best friend’ didn’t think to ask about his black eye or bruised ribs or split lip. Scott never once noticed how much pain Stiles was in even though he now had the ability to smell it. Smell the still open cuts and the blood that sluggishly made its way through Stiles’ half-ass bandaging job.

And not one person questioned him about where he had been during the Kanima incident. Instead Jackson had joked about it, joked that Stiles had just gotten scared and run off after all the lights went out.

But Stiles has never been afraid of the dark. Though, he is afraid of monsters who hide behind human faces. He is scared of damaged teens and hunters and old men. It wasn’t Peter in his Alpha form who tied him up, beat him and then did worse just because ‘your screaming is so pretty’. It wasn’t Jackson but the Kanima’s master who made the decision to kill the mechanic and the police officers, to spread death wherever it pleased

Stiles is scared of humans. They’re always the ones behind the monster's mask, anyway.

The point is, he’s not sure he can call Scott his friend any longer. It’s late September of their Junior year and there’s the Alpha pack and someone killing people and Stiles is trying to be okay with the fact that Scott ignored him for most of the summer. The pack had been trying to find Boyd and Erica, and Stiles, being mostly human, couldn’t just sniff them out.

He had tried using his Spark to help, but that didn’t really work. He still hadn’t been powerful enough to do much other than simple levitation and the manipulation of mountain ash - despite his constant efforts to better himself. It was a slow and strenuous process that often left Stiles rung out and dry heaving into his toilet. It was neither fun nor all that productive, but working himself to the point where he passed out on the cool tile floor of his bathroom made him feel like he was doing something.

It doesn’t seem to matter how hard he was trying, since he hadn’t even seen Scott since the night he was kidnapped and his entire life changed. He hardly saw Scott over the summer, the other boy suddenly having other and more important properties. The pack was busy and Stiles understood that, understood their was only so much he could do in his humanity, something the others were not held back by. He was holding out hope that Scott would fix everything, that it would all go back to normal.

He’d always been particularly naive when it came to the things he put hope into.

School started back up and suddenly Scott sat with the pack everyday, with all of them. Stiles quickly found that the pack table no longer held a spot for him, as though he were forgotten. It didn’t seem to matter that he’d been training his Spark, practicing to become their Emissary. It’s not as though h’s working himself to the point of exhaustion nearly each day this summer so that he could be faster, and stronger, and better. Not as though he hadn’t even the chance to prove himself.

Apparently, they didn’t care.

So he walked away. He walked away and tried to ignore how alone he felt. It - it could have been worse, given that he could truly have no one. He had his dad again - something he would forever be thankful for. Finding the man passed out drunk after school had been so horribly reminiscent of the period of grief and longing from after his mother died that for a horrible moment he was terrified. He had done all he could do at the time, helped the man up to bed and poured out the rest of the liquor.

The next morning, he broke. He told the man everything he could, everything he had needed to, for so long. He couldn't risk losing the man over something as simple as the truth, so Stiles told him everything. He started with the Hale fire, laying out all the information he could in hopes that his solid knowledge on the act would convince his father that what he was saying was the truth.

That night he curled up in his father's bed, breathing in his dad, gun oil and old spice and safety and curling up to the man, sleeping in the same bed for the first time since he had been ten and his mother had first gotten sick.

Once his dad knew, their relationship very quickly reverted to what it had so long ago been - dependable and strong. For so long they had been close, just the two of them against the world. Especially after his dad had dug himself out of the pit of alcoholism and they had been closer than ever, holding tight after nearly losing one another. The space between them had only began building when Scott got bit, when Stiles had to lock away an entire part of his life for his father's safety, and it had clearly weighed on them.

Now, now Stiles felt light.

He once again spent long afternoons in the station, curling up on the couch his father kept in his office, or wandering the halls, checking in with the Deputies who were still alive. The station was still a place of comfort, still felt like home whenever he walked in - the bitter smell of burnt coffee once again a constant in his life. This station had once kept him alive - the year after his mother died Stiles had once been taken care of by these people, when his father was still too broken to do so.

So it had felt good to be back, right. For the first month of school he spent near all his free time researching. Derek had said they didn’t know anything about the ‘Alpha Pack’ so Stiles made it a point to find out all that he could. If he couldn’t help with sniffing out Erica and Boyd, he would sure as hell make sure that he was doing something. He wouldn’t let them call him useless again, wouldn’t let them discredit him as ‘only human’.

So he looked into everything he could - he called packs in the area, made a map of places the Alpha pack had traveled to and put together a timeline of basic information. He talked to Peter and Chris (he’s not Gerard, he’s not Gerard, he is not Gerard), and only ever met either man in highly populated, public places. He wasn’t paranoid, but he would never set foot in the Argents home again.

Stiles still had nightmares. Even now, four months later he woke screaming and thrashing and needing help that he never got. On the nights his dad was home, the man would hold him tight against his chest as he cried. It - it helped. His father smelt like safety and the shape of his arms around him was familiar enough that it kept the memories at bay from where the darkness allowed them to creep in and take hold.

He still didn’t sleep near enough, but it was far better than those first few weeks when he would wake sobbing, nails digging into his skin as he clawed away the man's touch - fought with himself to push down the bile that always rose in his throat.

It was better now, with his dad, and some nights he were able to fall back asleep. The nights he weren’t, he continued his research. It was soon enough easy, learning to navigate the supernatural world came surprising ease after a little practice. First, he had mapped out everywhere the Pack had been seen for the last few years. They moved around often, visiting different territories seemingly at random. Sometimes they stayed and made ‘peaceful’ treaties, other times they wiped out entire packs.

Soon enough he knew who each member was, where they came from, and what they’d been through. He ranked how deadly they were, the way they fought and how to best them. In three weeks he obtained so much research on the pack he felt as though he personally knew them. It was something he could take to Derek and say, ‘I did this, I hold value, let me into your fucking pack’.

He was trying. If he couldn’t find his missing pack mates then he could sure as hell still be useful, still show that his humanity did not make him worth less.

He was probably killing himself, letting his body waste away and working it to the point of insanity. He didn’t care. Didn’t care that sometimes he got dizzy when standing, or sometimes his vision would turn blurry. He was helping. In his way.

That’s what he had thought anyway, until a Tuesday night near the end of September. He had just visited his mother's grave, alone. It was something he had never done before, always readily accompanied by Scott. The first few years Scott had to set the flowers into the vase himself, Stiles’ hand shaking too harshly for him to do so. The first time he was able to, Scott held him as he sobbed into the boy's shirt.

Scott had always been by his side and the other boy had been there when Stiles needed him. And he did, need Scott that is. Even if they were now hardly friends, let alone anything resembling brothers. Even if it was only Melissa he received a text from, the other boy seemingly having forgotten. Stiles still needed Scott, perhaps always would - at least one day of the year.

But Scott wasn't there, so instead of going home to an empty house and old memories and suffocating silence, he grabbed his folder full of three weeks of research and headed to Derek’s loft.

Stiles took a deep, calming breath. The stairs had been a little too much and he was gasping for air, chest burning and stomach empty. He wanted to throw up from the exertion, his body physically rebelling moving further for a few moments. He knew it had been long since he had ate, maybe even longer since he had slept, but he hadn’t quite realized just how long until this moment.

When he was able to walk, he knocked on the large metal door of the loft before pulling it open. He called out Derek’s name as he stepped through the entryway, stopping abruptly when he looked up. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, really.

None of Derek’s previous hideouts had been anything even remotely habitable, but this place wasn’t awful. What made him stop was not the three couches or the kitchen, but the pack. The entire pack was there, sitting inside what had to be the ‘living room’. Derek was in an arm chair on his own, Scott, Allison and Isaac curled up together on a couch, Lydia and Jackson on a loveseat and Peter - alone, head down - on the stairs.

Stiles was absolutely taken aback.

Not only did Scott forget what fucking day it was, but he was here. He was with his pack and clearly this pack was more important than his brother, or else Scott would have been with Stiles when he laid fresh flowers on his mother's grave. Stiles had known they had all gotten closer, had not been ignorant to their growing friendship, but Stiles hadn’t realized it was this.

He hadn’t realized it were movies nights, or cuddling close on the couch. Sharing spaces outside of class, choosing to spend time together. He hadn’t realized it were more than finding their missing pack mates, more than the urge or survival taking over to group them together, gather their strength and keep it close.

Stiles tried to swallow down the bile that was rising in his throat, tried to choke back the angry sob he wanted to let it. Instead he squared his shoulders and cleared his throat, throwing the most murderous glare he could muster at Scott before turning back to Derek, “I have some pretty useful information.”

“Is it about Erica and Boyd?” Derek asked, words clipped and short.

“No, but you should look-.”

“I don’t need you wasting my time, Stiles.” Derek said. He sounded put upon, as though dealing with Stiles were the most exhausting thing one could do in a day.

“Look, you should seriously read thi-”

“Dude why are you even here?” Jackson said from his spot beside Lydia, sneering at Stiles.

“I’ve been doing a lot of research, and I really fou-”

“Well can you leave?” Jackson snapped, tone all too familiar. The boy had bullied Stiles for years, and it apparently never stopped.

“Derek, ca-.”

“This is a pack meeting.” Isaac cut in, looking about as revolted with Stiles’ presence as Jackson had, “You need to leave.”

What hurts the most is that no one argues. Not Allison, whom he had been nothing but nice to. Not Derek, whose life he had saved - held him afloat in a swimming pool for hours - when it would have been easier to leave. Not Lydia, who he had seen before anyone else, recognize her for the value she truly held. Not Isaac, the boy who Stiles had been offering his help to for years because no one else saw the bruises or the twitching of his fingers - no not Isaac, as he was the one telling him to leave.

And not, not Scott. His brother, his best friend for so long. Had been the one person Stiles always knew he would have, right after his dad. Scott had been so much to him, had meant so much to him that Stiles often hadn’t known how to articulate it. And Stiles had always thought their bond went both ways. Though now, now he’s never felt more wrong.

It makes something bright and hot flare in his chest. He’s not sure if he wants to cry or yell in his indignation, but he’s furious. He’s furious because he gave himself to this pack, far more intimately that he ever would have liked. He was taken by Gerard because of this pack. Taken and tied up and, and - and more than Stiles is willing to think about. These people took so much from him, much more than he was ever willing to give for them.

And he knows better. He knows that he doesn’t deserve this, that he deserves far more. He doesn’t deserve to be looked down on, to be treated as though he is lesser. Insignificant. He had done too much for them, from the beginning had done more than he ever should have. He had killed Peter for them, took a life for most of the people in this room, and he is still thrown aside.

And then he had kept giving, gave his relationship with his father, his energy, his time. He had given all that he was, let them use him when needed. Then he had learned magic, pushed his body to the point of breaking only to toy with the edge, nearly falling over. And he had gotten nothing in return.

It’s feels a little like heartbreak.

But he won’t show them weakness. Not when they’re no longer on his side. He holds it in, squares his shoulders and stamps down hard on his magic where it is soaring high in his chest, bright and wonderful, his control so much better than it once was. He’s a flurry of betrayal, and anger and hurt and abandonment, and his magic wants to strike out in response.

But he doesn’t let it show, can’t. He marches to Peter, the only person looking at least a little annoyed at the treatment Stiles is being given. In fact he looks quite murderous and Stiles is silently thankful. Thankful that he has someone. He doesn’t even mind that it’s Peter of all people, hell Stiles secretly likes the man.

It helps that he finds Peter almost completely justified for what he did. Sometimes - sometimes you run out of options. Sometimes things are no longer black and white, and the world often exists in brilliant shades of grey. He can, he can understand where the man came from, to have his entire family ripped away from him so violently. If someone killed his father he would burn the world down in his fury.

So he walks towards the man, as calmly as he can even with his blood boiling and his magic raging, and hands the man the thick folder he brought with him.

“This is the Alpha Pack. Who they are, what they do, how they fight and what they want from us. It’s everything on them.” Stiles says, voice low and weak but Peter still hears. Sure the rest of the pack do too, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“You are quite the wonder, little spark.” Peter says and maybe Stiles shouldn’t be as flattered as he is by the compliment, but a flush settles across his cheeks. He knows Peter doesn’t waste words or throw around empty compliments, knows that means the man's words are genuine. He doesn’t even question how the man may know about his magic. For all Stiles could know, the man could have smelled it.

“Is your father going to be home this evening?”

“Uh no?” Stiles says, voice tilting at the end in question.

“You shouldn’t be alone with your grief, especially after what happened with them.” Peter’s voice is low, giving Stiles the illusion of privacy even though he knows it’s false. Stiles does however snort when Peter spits out the last word like it tastes bad.

“I’ll be okay.” Stiles says with a small smile, having to bite his lip to stop himself from beaming. He frankly has no idea how Peter knows what today is, but it means more than he can express though he tries anyway.

“Thank you.” And maybe Peter understands what he means, because the man offers him a small smile and a nod, looking down to the folder in his hands and already beginning to look through it.

Then, like everyone seems to want, he leaves.

He doesn’t do more than take shallow breathes until after he’s driven away. He’s still too raw, his emotions running their course. Thunder rumbles overhead, lighting flashing and striking beside his jeep, bright white and he slams his brakes, skidding to a stop. He breathes deep, watching in fascination as lightning strikes again, his headlights shining bright onto the now burned patch of grass in front of him.

And then, and then Stiles screams. He lets out his fury, his hurt. He yells until his throat his raw, chest heaving with the air he's pulling in. Thunder rumbles once again, louder and longer than he’s ever heard before. The rain slows, slowly tapering until it's nothing more than a light shower, the gently tap tap helping to calm his heartbeat.

He breathes deep again, looking at his phone when it pings. He opens it to a text from Peter, and the words make his gut twist in pleasure, the praise of the words making him feel high. ‘You are miraculous.’ stares back at him, and it feels warm, the same way his father's arms do when he’s held close, how his mother's praise used to feel. He smiles, infinitely thankful that he seems to have this man on his side.

Stiles turns his keys, fingers still shaking around his steering wheel as the familiar drain that comes with using magic slowly begins to settle. He’s thankful the loft is close, still having to focus hard on the drive home. When he does arrive, he collapses onto his bed near immediately, thankful his father appears to home and asleep - the bottle of Whisky still more than half full where it had sat in the kitchen.

Stiles head hits the pillow, and thankful sleep takes him.