#some of it is tolerable but the minute mouth noises come into play i want to commit Atrocities. i wish to rend flesh from bone.

[yardsards]

are you a "loves asmr" autistic or a "violently hates asmr" autistic? (i am the latter)

[leahswife]

parent trap

author's note: while i do enjoy watching football, do not ask me any rules, i'm a newbie and I'll write whatever even if it's a little delulu thanks :) also this is more of an introduction for what i want to do next and i struggled so much with it, not knowing where to start so im sorry. it's also my first fic so pls don't be mean 😭

summary: in which two little girls unexpectedly come into yours and leah's life and decide to turn it all around with some mischief in the way (and maybe with a little help from kyra)

it was a nice sunny day out. mornings were a bit chilly but for london weather, it was surprisingly tolerable. you had come to work today, knowing you were gonna have some visits to do around the farm to some kids, as your surpervisor had given you a heads up the days before. your farm slash retreat slash sanctuary was situated in a calm area, far from the city noises and it was very big on raising awareness to people, often having visits from schools and groups of scouts, etc.

today you were having a nearby school visit. you and your co-workers were going to be separated into groups so you could show the kids all the animals and activities they could do.

luckily, when the group of 5-8 year olds came by, you were assigned with a small group that was relatively quiet but very interested in what you had to show them and very eager to answer some of your 'trivia' questions about the animals. two little girls, who were very obviously twins, clung a little bit more towards you throughout the visit and while one was more shy to ask you questions, the other one was enthusiastic about giving answers. 

by lunchtime, you and your co-workers gathered all of the kids in the canteen for a much needed break.

in the afternoon, you gathered your group on a table outside, so you could explain what the next part was. "okay, so who wants to feed our little goats?" you said, with a smile and enthusiasm for their obvious answers. "i want to feed tigers!" one of the twins, alba, exclaimed. you opened your mouth in fake shock and put your hands on your hips "did you see any tigers around here, miss alba?" she excitedly nodded. "well I'm sorry to burst your little bubble but we've got no tigers here. what you probably saw was 

oscar, our very grumpy orange cat." she pouted but quickly recovered her giddiness when you all walked towards the goats.

about half an hour later, the groups were dispersing a bit and some kids from your group ran to other kids to help them with other activities they were doing. you were trying not to laugh when you saw some of your colleagues trying to control some of the most energetic children when you felt a little tug on your shirt.

you looked down to see one of the twins, aurora, "y/n, is it true the arsenal team plays around here?" she asked quietly, with a shy smile on her face. you crouched down to her height and alba joined in on your little group. you were about to answer when alba quickly whispered "can we go see them??". you chuckled "let me check with my boss and your teachers, yeah? but you gotta keep it a secret from your friends, okay? or else everyone will want to go and right now, that's not possible." they both pretended to zip their mouths and nodded.

after you got the approval from their teachers and your supervisor to take them away for a little while, with a warning to not cause too much trouble, you signaled to the two girls to come after you. you walked out of the farm and they both stood on your sides holding your hands. it was about a 5 minute walk from your little farm to the arsenal training grounds, you knew the girls quite well as they were regular visitors and have done some charity work for the farm so visiting each others' work place to hang out in your free time wasn't uncommon.

"who are you guys excited to meet?" you smiled down at them. "all of them!" they both answered and you were a little surprised at aurora's raise of voice but happy she was feeling more comfortable around you. you had worked with many kids over the years but there were always ones that, for some reason, tugged at your soft heart and these two little girls had done it today. 

as you reached arsenal's training centre, you smiled and greeted the staff as you moved with the girls towards the field you knew the girls were at. 

the first person to caught your eye was obviously your big crush, leah williamson, who was sipping on some water as you approached her. "hey, williamson!" you kicked her butt with your foot since your hands were still holding the twins. that startled her and she turned around with a frown on her face, "hey!" she argued, but her frown quickly dissipated when she saw it was you and pushed you playfully. "asshole." "leah!" you quickly gestured to the girls with your head.

"oh, sh–, sorry!" she grimaced as the little girls looked at each other and giggled. you rolled your eyes at leah and introduced them, "leah, this is aurora," you raised the little blonde's hand on your left "and this is alba" who raised her spare hand immediately with a toothy grin. 

leah leaned down with a smile on her face "hi, i'm leah, nice to meet you" they both blushed, intimidated by being right in front of england's captain but their shyness quickly went away when leah asked if they wanted to meet everybody. they quickly nodded with excitement and the blonde led them to meet the rest of team.

you sat on the benches as you watched them all interact, the twins thrilled to meet some of their favourite players. you knew they were in good hands, so you shifted your gaze to leah, who had the biggest smile on her face as she got to play some football with the children.

"staring, are we?" you jumped a bit as kyra sat down next to you with a smirk on her face. you rolled your eyes "uhh, in case you haven't noticed, kyra cooney-cross, i'm keeping an eye out for those under my care." she rolled her eyes at you using her full name, it was a joke between you two when you wanted to annoy each other, but went back to teasing you "oh, i think your eyes are out for someone else y/f/n." "oh, and i think you're supposed to be training, not here biting my ass." she groaned and leaned on your shoulder, "but it's so much fun to annoy you" you smiled at your best friend and tugged on her hair bun. "go meet some people your age" you headed towards the twins and let out a little laugh as she pushed you. "i can't help annoying someone when they're so annoyingly in lo– ah!" you quickly elbowed her as you saw leah running over to you two.

"are you two fighting again?" leah raised her eyebrow with an amused smile on her face. "no, i'm doing you all a favour and putting her in her place." you said, shoving kyra as she stuck her tongue out at you. "i'm off to meet my fans, excuse you." kyra stands up and runs over to the small blondes playing with alessia and katie but not before winking at you behind leah's back.

"they are absolutely lovely." leah chuckled as she turns back to you. "right?? honestly, some of my favourite kids to come by the farm." "maybe it's because they kind of look like me." leah smirked and you couldn't help but scoff, "oh please, you wish you were that cute." she huffed and put her hands on your knees, leaning towards your face to bite the tip of your nose, a habit she learned from kyra in her many tactics to annoy you. you scrunched your nose and pretended to be annoyed by it, hiding how much you wanted leah to bite you basically everywhere and anywhere. in a way, you wish she knew how she made your heart almost combust with the amount of physical touch she was prone to giving you, maybe she would be kind enough to put you out of your misery. however, you couldn't help but crave these little moments, you would take anything leah would give you, even if it meant keeping your feelings to yourself and being content with being just friends.

that moment didn't last long as you both turned your heads behind leah's back when you heard a little scream and you saw kyra, alessia and katie on the ground checking up on aurora. you and leah quickly ran over to see what happened and saw aurora had scraped her knee. leah asked someone to get the first aid kit to disinfect the wound and turned back to aurora to rub her back and console her. "hey little one, how are you feeling?" you asked softly, but she was quick to put on a brave face and say she was fine. "you sure? we can call your parents to come get you if you want." you said, wanting to make sure the twin felt comfortable and safe. 

"we don't have parents." alba said nonchalantly while holding aurora's hand. that caught you and the girls around you off guard. "what do you mean, alba?" you frowned in confusion. "we live in a foster home!" the little girl exclaimed as alessia came over with the first aid kit and gave it to leah, who started to disinfect aurora's knee. "ohhh… in that case, i can call your carers if you want." "that's okay, it doesn't hurt that bad." aurora gave you a smile that only grew bigger when leah gave her a high five and praised how brave she was.

soon enough it was time to go back to the farm with the girls as the school was about to leave. the team said their goodbyes and the twins thanked them all, still mesmerized by getting to play with them for a bit. as you returned with them to the farm, they both hugged you and thanked you too for taking them to meet the team. you were a bit caught off guard but quickly melted and rubbed their little heads. you felt a weird pang in your heart as you watched them leave but just brushed it off as you being emotional and went on with the rest of your day.

quickly after that encounter though, the twins did not take much long to appear again at the farm. they became regular visitors and your bond grew stronger, often taking them to see arsenal and the team quickly became used to them as well. it was also not a surprise to anybody that when the girls were around, you and leah stepped up as the responsible figures for them, always making sure they were fine and always the ones they came to when they needed something. 

one afternoon, after work, you had taken the girls to the training centre and they were playing with kyra as you were talking to leah. "you know you shouldn't cut your hair right after you have a bad game, right?" you giggled as you flicked the strands of her new fringe. "hey! it is not because we had a bad game. i am a fashion trender. i make things a trend." she took off her head band to fluff her fringe with her hands and posed for you. 

"riiiight, i almost forgot you were 'the powerful, the brilliant, the leah williamson'" she was quick to give you a mocking smile, clearly displeased with the overused quote. "well yes, i am brilliant and powerful but you can't deny i have an amazing fashion sense!" "i don't think impulsively getting a haircut after a bad game falls into that category, though" you couldn't help but giggle at her frown. soon, she took matters into her own hands and grabbed your waist to start tickling you at your sides, something that made you squeal and try to get away from her, screaming for help. "stop screaming, you baby!" she stopped the tickling but pulled you in close to kiss the top of your head.

meanwhile, kyra, alba and aurora had stopped their game and were watching you and leah interact. "are they girlfriends?" aurora asked kyra. kyra looked down at them and shook her head "as much as it pains me to say, no, they aren't." alba quickly looked at aurora with a mischievous smile in her face.

"you're thinking what i'm thinking?"

"i'm thinking what you're thinking."

a/n: also if you want to send in some requests regarding this fic, you're welcome to do so :)

[saintmurd0ck]

if the tide takes california

masterlist

pairing: frank castle + mentions of reader

summary: frank spends time contemplating if he's deserving of your love

warnings: angst, hurt (with comfort), mentions of grief and loss, frank being a little sad

a/n: i wrote this in one cathartic hour, please cry with me. ok love you

song pairing: til forever falls apart (ashe ft finneas)

And that's a wrap! Thank you for tuning in today to 6NEWS Radio, late night edition. The time is currently 9 PM and we hope you have a good night, wherever you are.

"Damn interference," Frank mutters. He grits his teeth, cursing as he bends forwards to twist the volume knob down. He knows he should be minutely grateful for any service at all, considering that he's out in the middle of nowhere, forty miles from the nearest backwater town, but his tolerance still wanes to a sliver.

Sighing, Frank goes to rub his temples, remembering why it is he has the radio on in the first place. It's because he'd rather the distraction than to be alone with his thoughts.

For now.

Pushing the reminder aside, he tightens his grip on the pair of binoculars in his lap, bringing them up to his eyes. He's done a good job choosing this location. From where he is, the van is completely hidden --- concealed in a copse of trees right opposite the compound. It's a cloudless, starry night; beautiful, if it weren't for the assholes across the way. He'd run out of fingers before he'd get halfway through the gang leader's rap sheet.

He's been casing them for a week. And very soon --- Frank glances at the time on his phone --- the lights would turn on, girls and gang members arriving in hordes, and maybe, just maybe, he'd finally get to meet the head of this operation. Then, they'd have a little exchange, man-to-man.

That, of course, involves Frank being the only one of them to get out of the compound alive.

He inhales sharply, licking his lips as he continues to survey the area.

When he measures the situation in his head, taking every decision and every course of action required to execute his plan, it's simple. Easy. It's all he knows, and it makes sense.

So why is it so difficult when it comes to you?

Frank scoffs at himself, as if to say, "No, not again." Not tonight. There's a dangerous edge to his behaviour, one he continues to sharpen with every passing minute he's in this van. He purses his lips, casting aside the hollowness in his chest, the void worming its way into his heart.

The radio crackles, and a small noise sounds from the back of his throat. Thank fuck it's music now playing. He couldn't bear a single second more of that aimless, idiotic talk show.

There's a bitter taste in his mouth as he recalls that anger, the sheer turmoil within, just from listening to those people talk. He digs his boots into the footwell, his knuckles going white as the radio presenter's voice echoes in his head. He narrows his eyes, because how can people be so… carefree? How could they laugh about concert tickets and the best pie in town and harmless pranks when he has to do this?

He could've turned the radio off, and let silence fill the cracks in his environment, but some small part of him wanted to listen. Not just for a desperate glimpse into a "normal" life, but at the sweet, gut-wrenching agony it caused --- knowing he can't be a part of it, and pain is a healthy reminder he's alive.

It's a fair assumption to say that most people would run from his burden, or at least try to bury it with the rest of their closeted skeletons, but Frank can't. And he never will.

Because he can't count on anyone else. If it isn't for him, then the scum of the earth walk free.

Emotions are messy. Futile. At least guns served a purpose, no matter what that asshole in red told him. It was uncomplicated this way --- put one bad guy down, then the next. Put 'em where they belong, and they wouldn't reoffend.

Sometimes, Frank feels almost insulted that no-one sees it this way.

He puts the binoculars down, wringing his hands as he checks the time again. He allows himself to breathe in deeply, to fill his lungs with air, before turning up the volume on the radio. It's crackly, but better than before, and instead of overlapping voices, it's a mindless, endless drone of music.

He's not fussed about what comes on, as long as he can concentrate on the mission. At the end of the day, that's all that matters. Or so he convinces himself.

He rubs his eyes, listening to the words of the next song. He doesn't care for the melody, or that the singer has the kind of voice that'd smooth over the bumps in his soul, but something about the lyrics perks his ears.

…Dreaming in a world that we both know is out of our control

A muscle feathers in his jaw as he contemplates turning the radio off completely, but he stays his hand. He can't tell if it's a matter of internal torture again --- a yearning for something he, as the Punisher, could never have --- or that just this once, it's a song worth listening to.

But if shit hits the fan we're not alone, 'cause you've got me and you know That I've got you and I know

The thought of you hits him like a blow to the stomach, a twisting, red-hot knife in the embers of his fury.

If he's right about emotions, then why does your presence make him feel whole? Why is he thinking about you, three states away, before another life-threatening mission?

Frank grimaces, feeling his face contort into something that'd scare him if he looked in a mirror. He knows what he'll see, and it won't just be the husk of the man he used to be. He doesn't know if he could stand to see himself longing for yet another person who'd be better off without him.

If the tide takes California, I'm so glad I got to hold 'ya And if the sky falls from heaven above, oh, I know I had the best time falling into love

He swallows, blowing out a shaky breath, not knowing what to do next.

But it seems that you do.

'Your voice was the only thing that got me out of bed today.'

Frank looks down at your text, torment lining every heartbeat.

'Please come back to me.'

He keeps staring, frozen in place, unsure if he's worthy of your concern. Of your love.

His shoulders tense at the image of you, staying up late with him on your mind. These are feelings he's associated with danger, with grief and loss, and he's unsure if he'd be willing to go through it again. Frank hasn't allowed himself to feel in years, and for so long, he's been better off being that way.

We've been living on a fault line, and for a while, you were all mine I've spent a lifetime giving you my heart, I swear that I'll be yours forever 'Til forever falls apart

"'Til forever falls apart," Frank murmurs to himself, thinking back to the last time he made that commitment to someone, just before his world imploded before his eyes.

"Stupid fuckin' song," he says, shaking his head, but he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.

He opens your messages, feeling his gaze tentatively soften, and taps on your contact information. He's presented with options to reply, to call you, or to delete your number and move on, just so he can spare one more innocent soul.

His finger hovers over the screen, hesitating, and his eyes glaze over, trancelike from the song.

His instincts scream that it's a mistake to get involved, but maybe, just this once…

You pick up after the first ring, a sudden flood of relief calming your firing nerves.

Frank clears his throat. "Your voice is the only thing gettin' me through today."

[mareastrorum]

WIP Wednesday: TF&TS (Trostenwald)

Here is a scene from an early chapter of a longfic I am working on.

Fanfic Summary: Mollymauk Tealeaf survived the encounter with the Iron Shepherds, but a short time later, a spirit had begun hunting him, claiming that he stole his body. This Campaign 2 AU begins with Episode 26 and continues on from there.

This fanfic will be posted on AO3 starting in July. (AAAAAAAHHHHHH, WE’RE ALMOST THERE.)

Otis desperately wished a mood would come on, but that never happened on demand. It would have made this so much more tolerable.

A cloth mask, hood, and eyepatch were just enough to keep anyone in Trostenwald from looking too closely, but Otis wanted to move on as quickly as possible. Sure, trying the local brews at the Nestled Nook was nostalgic, but there were too many people here that might recognize them, and that would be horrible. They had never returned to this dump for plenty of good reasons. Unfortunately, the Tombtakers had been within a short distance of the town the evening prior, and Tyffial’s insistence on staying somewhere with beds had won out over their discomfort.

As a result, Otis did not mind in the least when they shook hands with Yorda while returning the room keys and an overwhelming icy flood of thoughts and sensation surged up their arm. It let them float away while someone else handled this shit. It was almost like buoying in the Ustaloch near the river mouth, when the current started to shift them along.

So Otis drifted to the Tombtakers’ table and hopped onto the bench, not thinking about anything in particular while they pulled down the mask and ate a breakfast plate that had been waiting for them. The conversation seemed distant, like watching a play from the cheap seats.

“They’re in some sort of forest, very hot and humid,” Cree murmured, the pupils in her yellow eyes blown wide as she stared at the obsidian mirror, set in a gold ring and back, in her hands. “A variety of vibrant green trees and colorful plants everywhere. Many animal noises constantly in the background. Lots of insects. The shadows appear about the same angle as here…”

As Cree described her vision, Tyffial looked at a small, worn map she had pulled from her pack. Otis vaguely thought that it looked like it was in Tyffial’s handwriting, which was odd, since it looked so worn.

Zoran wolfed down his plate and attempted to sneak some bacon from Tyffial’s. A dull butter knife stabbed into the table between his hand and her plate dissuaded him. She hadn’t even looked up from the map. Then he looked at Cree’s untouched meal, though he seemed to think better of it. He sighed and downed his tankard. Otis was glad to be seated on the opposite side of the table, or he’d have stolen from their plate instead.

After several minutes of description, Cree shook her head, her eyes returning to normal. She looked about to check the room, then put the mirror away in her bag.

“Any ideas?” Cree inquired as she looked to Tyffial and took a few bites of her neglected breakfast.

“That could be any number of islands,” Tyffial sighed. “It should be within four days’ distance of Nicodranas, so… most likely the Twinward Isles, Rumblecusp, or Urukayxl. Unless they landed on the mainland and ventured to an inland jungle. Perhaps not Rumblecusp since you didn’t see a volcano, but that might have been hidden by the canopy or simply out of view.”

“We gonna charter a ship to follow?” Zoran asked. “Been a time since I sailed the Lucidian.” Tyffial hummed her agreement, still looking down at her map in disapproval.

“Might need to,” Otis chimed melodically, without a moment of forethought. It was so weird to feel Lucien talking with their body, but it felt fine all the same. Kind of like the Pattern, but calmer and kind of chilly. Relaxing even.

Wow, Otis did not remember the last time they did anything to relax. Did anyone other than elves do that?

“Can you tell the direction, Cree?” Tyffial requested.

Cree hummed-growled as she chewed and pulled a vial of blood from her bag, holding her silver symbol in the same hand. She swirled the liquid within, then looked up and shifted to face another direction, swallowing her food.

“That way. Perhaps four or five hundred miles,” Cree stated with a nod.

Zoran looked down at Tyffial’s compass, then peeked at her map. “That’s south-southwest. In the direction of the gates.”

“They’re either in the Quoraska Jungle or on Urukayxl, then,” Tyffial concluded, showing the map to the group and pointing to the southern tip of the continent and an island further south.

“I’ll be able to tell once we’re closer,” Cree said. “It is difficult to be precise at this distance, even for me.”

“We’re another week out from Nicodranas, so if it’s the island, they might sail even further than that by the time we get a ship,” Tyffial added.

“Or they might return to port. We’ll see once we arrive in Nicodranas, then,” Lucien stated, his voice still layered with Otis’s. “Rather than chase them down, it may be best to wait for their return.”

Zoran snorted, “You wanna wait?”

“I don’t, but trailing after them at sea, outnumbered, with a crew we can’t trust would be worse,” Lucien replied. “Besides, I don’t want to risk my body accidentally sinking in a naval battle.”

“Well, it would probably float,” Tyffial commented with a grin. “But there could be a good chance of cannon damage. You wouldn’t mind losing some weight, would you?”

“If any of you try it, I’m getting you with the next one,” Lucien replied as he pointed with the knife, eliciting some chuckles from the rest. After a moment, he continued, “Before we leave, we’re stopping by the Stockade.”

“Why?” Tyffial asked with a raised brow. “A group like us would attract the wrong sort of attention there.”

“The innkeeper has a good memory,” Lucien drawled as Otis felt a smirk tug on their face instead of their preferred toothy smiles. “The Nein stayed here about two weeks back. Asked about someone named ‘Gustav’ who was a guest of the local lawmaster for some time. A friend of theirs, apparently. They bailed him out and he skipped town, but the lawmaster might have records or memories that could be of use. It won’t take long.”

“If you find any possessions or images of him, it would be easier for me to scry on him as well,” Cree added. “If we are lucky, you might be able to use him as a host.”

“That was the plan,” Lucien grinned. “We’ll see if it pans out. Eat up and let’s move.”

[agaypanic]

The Fella Part 5 (James Maguire X Quinn!Reader)

Main Masterlist

The Fella Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: The Quinn family’s yearly trip out of Derry is near, and this time they’re bringing Michelle, James, and Clare. What will be worse; some stranger hiding in the boot of the Quinn’s car to get away from Derry, or Y/n having to spend hours smushed next to James and trying to make sure no beans are spilled?

A/N: This feels like a filler chapter and I’m sorry but I wanted to include all the episodes in this series lol

***

Dishes clattered as large steps pounded the pavement in unison. Instruments were played loudly (and annoyingly) throughout the streets of Derry.

It was driving everyone up the wall.

“Already?” Mary walked around her kitchen at a brisk pace. “It’s started already?”

“I think it’s just a rehearsal, love.” Her husband Gerry responded as he slathered butter on a piece of toast.

“What do they need to rehearse, Da?” Y/n grumbled as she sat down next to him. The Protestants had woken her up and to say she wasn’t pleased was an understatement. “They’ve been playing the same songs since 1795.”

“Practice makes perfect, Y/n.” Orla responded, seeming to be the only one tolerant of the noise. “You know, that is why they are so cracker.”

There was a pause in the kitchen. Erin was the first to speak up.

“I’m sorry? Did you just call the Orange Order ‘cracker’?” Orla shrugged, as if there was nothing wrong with her statement.

“I’m considering joining.”

“I don’t think they accept Catholics, Orla.”

“Or our right to exist.” Y/n spoke through a mouthful of toast. The young ones continued eating as Mary and Gerry packed a suitcase. Every year when the Orange Order comes, the Quinn family (plus the McCools) leave Derry for a small holiday to get away from the chaos. Something that was common was Mary’s distress while she was still in the house. She wanted to get out of Derry as soon as possible.

After a fight about whether or not to bring a big clock instead of a wee one, Grandpa Joe talking down about Gerry to Mary, and finally putting the suitcase in the boot of the car, something startling happened. When Grandpa Joe opened the front door with the suitcase, Clare ran through him and into the kitchen.

“Listen to it!” She squealed. She started stumbling over her words as Mary tried to calm her down: “I mean, listen to it! I mean, I don’t… I’ve read the same paragraph 47 times because I can’t concentrate because… My God, the noise! This whale is a bad brute, Mrs. Quinn. I have to know if they catch him. Can I come away with you, please?” 

Mary sighed in relief as Clare took a breath.

“If your mother has no objections, I don’t see why not.” The girl exploded with thanks as she went to sit down at the dining table with her friends.

“She’s taking you to a caravan in Portnoo, she’s not giving you her kidney, Clare.” Erin rolled her eyes.

“Let her read her Moby Dick, Erin.” Y/n said as she watched her friend reach for a piece of toast with her eyes fixated on the pages in front of her.

“Listen, Mary, I just did a reading.” Aunt Sarah startled the house as she came into the living room. “The cards say if we go on this wee holiday, we’re placing ourselves in grave danger, which I’m not buzzing about, to be honest.”

“You’re not psychic, Aunt Sarah.” Erin groaned.

“I am psychic, Erin. I did a course. I got a certificate.”

There was more back and forth between Sarah and different members of the house but it was cut off, later than Y/n preferred, by Orla.

“Shh! This is the best bit!” She signaled to the Orange Order’s music and stomping. Everyone got on edge as the house shook with every stomp, until a glass fell over and shattered on the ground. 

“Remain calm, everyone!” Mary yelled, holding her hands out to stop any movement. “I need you all to listen very carefully.”

5 minutes later, all the kids were standing on the dining chairs and Mary was about to go in to clean up the glass shards when the front door opened. 

“For the love of God, don’t come in here!” Mary yelled to the unexpected company.

“Everything all right, Mary?” Y/n froze as she looked up, recognizing the voice as Michelle’s mum. With her mum always came Michelle. And with Michelle always came- “Listen, Mary, I hate to do this to you, but me and Martin are both working nights and I’m nervous about leaving these two on their own.”

James.

“Don’t suppose there’s any chance you could take them with you?”

Y/n hadn’t talked to James much since Jenny’s party a week ago. Sure there was some banter in the group, but she didn’t go out of her way to have a conversation. Katya and James had obviously broken up and although she felt bad about it, Y/n was a wee bit happy when she had heard the news. And with the revelation she had at Jenny’s party, she felt a bit nervous talking to James beyond something casual in fear of letting something slip.

“Ach, well, Deirdre, it’s just-”

“The English thing? Listen, Mary, I understand.” Deidre nodded, slowly looking over at James. “I mean, he’s my nephew, and even I find it hard to get past. If I’m totally honest, there’s times when I look a him and I feel… well, it’s pure hatred.”

Mary laughed nervously.

“No, no, it’s not the English thing.” 

“I hope to God it’s not the gay thing you’re offended by.” 

James looked confused.

“There is no gay thing.”

“Because I’d be disappointed in you, Mary.”

“Of course not. I mean, if anything, the gay thing sort of cancels out the English thing.”

“Again, no gay thing.” Erin noticed that James made a quick glance to Y/n, who was too busy looking off to somewhere else to notice. Michelle nudged James with a snicker.

“You wouldn’t move over there, James? I can’t see past your massive closet.”

Mary laughed again.

“I’m just not sure we’ll have room in the caravan.”

“Us men can camp outside.” Grandpa Joe shrugged, which earned a quiet groan from both Gerry and James. “Just run and ask Jim across the road for the lend of his tent.”

***

The kids had come back with one of Jim’s tents when the cars were all packed up. Grandpa Joe put James in charge of it, despite his begs to not do that. Now the only thing left was to figure out seating arrangements.

“Right, there’s too many of us for one car. So some of you will have to go with me Da.” Mary said, hurriedly getting into the car. Michelle, Orla, and Aunt Sarah decided to go with Joe, because he drives fast and lets the latter smoke. James and Clare after hearing this volunteered to go with Mary and Gerry. That left Erin and Y/n.

“Where do you wanna go?” Y/n asked.

“Well, I bet you wanna be in Da’s car because James is in there.” Erin smirked.

“Shut your hole, he could hear you. More importantly, Michelle could hear you. We’re already on edge enough, I don’t need her up my arse about anything.”

“So do you want me to ride with Da?”

Y/n thought for a moment. She knew that Erin would probably blab her mouth about Y/n’s infatuation with James. The question was who was Y/n willing to let it slip to?

Gerry’s horn honked and Mary stuck her head out the window.

“We don’t have all day girls! And whoever rides with us has to hold Anna, we don’t have room for the car seat in the back.”

Y/n huffed.

“You better not say a word to Michelle or it’s your head, Erin.” Y/n sped to the car and knocked on the back door. James opened it and stepped out, holding the door open for the girl. She got in, buckled up, and sat her baby sister on her lap.

“Nice of you to join us.” James smiled as he got back in the car, slightly squishing Y/n between himself and Clare who was deep in her book.

***

“I hope your father appreciates the fact that I was the one who got us out of that mess.” Gerry fumed to his wife after they finally made it out of Derry. Grandpa Joe wanted to lead them out and had driven them right through a police barricade, subjecting the family to the Orange Order. At one point they tried getting James to get out of the car because they might have respected the fact that he was English.

“He won’t. Nobody back there actually believed you were a Japanese tourist, Gerry. They all thought you were a nutcase. They took pity on you.” Mary began looking around her, quickly going into a panic. “No, no, no, no. Dear God, no!”

“What’s wrong, Ma?” Y/n asked from the back.

“I can’t find my purse.”

“I can see your purse right there.” Gerry pointed to his wife’s lap. She shook her head.

“No, that’s my sterling purse. I can’t find my punt purse, Gerry. Blessed St. Anthony, the Grace of God has made you the patron saint of all things lost and stolen. I turn to you this day with childlike love and-”

“Mary, calm down.”

“Calm down, Gerry? We have no punts! We can’t go to the Free State without punts. We’re puntless! We haven’t a punt between us.” Mary started panicking even more. She tried making Gerry turn back, but he refused. The quick but tense spat ended when Mary paused.

“Oh, actually, do you know what? I think I put it in the suitcase.” 

Gerry sighed, looking up.

“False alarm there, St. Anthony.”

“Sorry for troubling you.” Y/n finished. Gerry pulled over and the adults got out of the car to get the punt purse. Joe pulled over behind them and all of the kids could hear him making fun of Gerry for how he got them all out of Derry. Mary explained that they pulled over to get her punt purse, but when they opened the boot, they all seemed surprised. The kids got out of the cars to see what was going on.

There was a strange man in their boot.

“Did you put him in there, Aunt Mary?” Orla asked.

“No, no, I did not.” Mary responded. “Who are you?” She asked the man.

“Ah, Emmett’s the name. Well, not my real name, like, but it’ll have to do.”

Y/n backed up at that, Anna still in her arms. Why did his real name have to be a secret?

“Mind telling us what you’re doing in there?” She asked. The man looked at her.

“Oh, right. Well, during the last 24 hours, crossing the border has become somewhat of a priority for me, so I did a bit of asking around, just on the off chance someone might be heading down that easy, and your name came up. And there you have it.”

“What the fuck.” Y/n muttered.

“Lovely to meet you.” The man then closed the boot. The adults tried to figure out what to do as the kids went to the other side of the road to talk.

“I’m in shock.” Michelle said.

“It’s insane!” Erin yelped.

“I don’t even think I fancy him.”

“What?” Y/n asked, very confused.

“Well, it’s obviously him. It’s obviously my husband. Like, it’s just too much of a coincidence.”

“Erin, what’s she talking about?”

“Do you remember the whole ‘us being in grave danger’ thing Sarah mentioned.” Erin ignored her sister’s question. “Well, I think this might be it!”

“I thought you said fortune telling was medieval.” Michelle raised a brow.

“Yeah, well, something has made me reassess all that. What was it again? Oh, aye. The fact that there’s an actual Provo in the boot of our car!”

“No!” Clare yelled. “I’ve lost my bookmark! Now I’ve lost my page! My God, this day just goes from bad to worse!”

“Clare, you probably left it in the car but I think we have more pressing matters.” Y/n huffed.

“I could fancy him, I suppose.” Michelle murmured, still thinking about how the strange could be her potential husband.

“Why doesn’t someone just call the police?” James asked.

“Cos that’s not how things work around here, James.” Erin laughed, as if he was new here.

“Well, how do things work here? How do they work? Will one of you please explain it to me, because sometimes I feel like I’ve gone through the fucking looking glass!”

“James, calm down.” Y/n said, looking at Anna to see if the outburst had affected her. Surprisingly, she was fine, just sleepy. “Look everyone, I think it’s safe to say we’re all still on edge. But we’re gonna be fine.”

She pulled James to the side, away from their friends.

“Are you okay?” She asked quietly.

“What do you mean?” James asked. 

“Well, I mean, last week you ended things with Katya. And now you’re blowing up at us.” James sighed, running a hand over his face and through his hair. Y/n tried to not think about how nice the sight was.

“Yeah. We were going really fast, I think, and I’m probably never going to see her again. And there’s a random man in your car, so...”

“Yeah, I get that.” She nodded. It felt nice talking to James.

“Actually, speaking of Katya and the whole thing. You were acting kinda off that night. And then you went off with that David bloke. What was-”

“Shh!” Erin cut James off. Y/n was thankful for that, for she didn’t want to go into detail about that night with him or anyone else. “Can you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Ticking. It’s like a ticking sound! Oh, dear God! Bomb!” Erin ran over to the adults, her friends following urgently after her. “He has a bomb! Listen, Mammy! Listen!”

Y/n grabbed onto the person next to her at the words. Everyone tensed and listened closely for the ticking. After a few seconds, Mary groaned.

“Och, Erin, that’s just the big clock.”

“Jesus, Erin.” Y/n hissed, releasing her hold on whoever she grabbed. It turned out to be James, who rubbed her back at an attempt to calm her down.

“Scared me for a second there.” Emmett laughed. He looked at the people crowded around him until his eyes landed on Y/n and James. “Cute baby. Though you two seem a bit young.”

Y/n turned pink at the statement.

“This is my sister.” She choked out. She didn’t think to tell him that they also weren’t together.

“Ah, my bad. Well, goodbye.” The boot closed again. Erin snickered and her sister shushed her with a nudge.

***

The family had found a diner to eat at and were trying to decide what to do with Emmett.

“It’s aiding and abetting! We’re talking serious jail time here.” Gerry hissed.

“Well, it’s a risk we have to take.” Joe shrugged.

“We don’t have to take any risks, Granda. He’s a complete stranger, and Emmett isn’t even his real name!” Y/n said as she looked at the topic of conversation.

It was safe to say that they wouldn’t be reaching a decision any time soon.

“We have to walk away from this.” Gerry said to everyone.

“What if we can’t walk away, Daddy?” Erin asked. “What if we don’t help him and he kills us all because we know too much?”

“Oh, God. He might.” Y/n gasped at the thought.

“I like him.” Joe said. “I think he’s a character.”

A waitress came by and took their drink order. She seemed annoyed when they were still looking at what to eat and walked off.

“At 2.25 a burger, looking is all we’ll be doing.” Gerry muttered as he looked over the menu.

“Don’t mind me, just grabbing a knife.” Emmett startled the family when he took a knife from their table. They stared at him either nervously or without a care. “Take it you haven’t decided yet?”

“Just leave it with me, son.” Joe smiled.

“No pressure. I’ll be over here if you need me.” He walked back to his table, just a couple feet from the family.

“What the hell does he need a knife for?” Erin asked suspiciously. 

“He’s eating his lunch.” James said.

“I bet he has his own knife, but he’s waiting to use it on us.” Y/n said as she looked nervously at the man.

“Y/n, I think he just didn’t have a knife.”

“God, but he has great teeth, doesn’t he?” Aunt Sarah mentioned. Michelle nodded.

“He really does, but tell the truth.” She turned to Sarah. “The hair, can you see a ginger tinge?”

“Now that you mention it…”

“I think he’s just a brunette, Michelle.” Y/n said before taking a sip of water.

“Christ only knows what’s lurking downstairs.” Michelle smirked. “And that is a concern.”

“Oh, but spending the rest of your life with a fugitive is less of a concern?” Erin asked. Michelle nodded again.

“Absolutely.” She pushed Erin to get up and she left the booth to go sit and talk with Emmett. As she did, Aunt Sarah pulled out her tarot cards.

“You really think this’ll work? That they’ll tell us what to do?” Mary asked her sister. 

“It’s worth a try.” She spread the deck out and had Mary pick out three cards, which she laid out. Sarah stared for a moment.

“Well, what do they say?” Mary asked.

“I can’t be certain, but I think they’re saying you should leave Gerry.” Joe laughed.

“I could have told you that years ago and I’m not psychic.”

“Granda, you tell her that now.” Y/n laughed. “All the time.”

“I’ve yet to hear anybody say anything to convince me that bringing that lad across the border with us is a good idea.” Gerry scoffed.

“Da, he’s coming.” Y/n pointed to Emmett, who was walking up to the table with Michelle. Michelle sat back down and Emmett stood at the end of the table.

“I really didn’t want to have to do this…” Emmett trailed off, sticking his hand in his back pocket.

“Get down! Everybody get down!” Erin yelled as she struggled to get under the table. The yelling accompanied with Emmett’s action made Y/n try to get as far from him as possible. This meant pressing into James’ side, which he accepted by putting an arm around her.

But instead of a weapon, Emmett pulled out a pack a cigarettes and a lighter.

“Is there something wrong with her?” Emmett asked Mary.

“Probably.” Y/n said, getting a chuckle from James and an eye roll from Mary. Erin got back up from the floor and looked at Emmett.

“Sorry, you were saying?”

“I didn’t want to put you in this position, but I can’t stress the seriousness of my situation.”

The waitress popped up next to him, looking at the family.

“Anything else?”

“Oh, d’you know what?” Emmett said to the waitress. “I wouldn’t mind a knickerbocker glory.”

The waitress walked away with an eye roll and Emmett leaned in, resuming their conversation.

“You need to help me out here.”

“We do that and we’re breaking the law.” Gerry sneered.

“Oh, you recognize the legal system of a brutal imperialistic oppressor, do ya?”

“If they can put me in jail for 20 years then yes, Emmett. Yes, I do!”

“Listen, have you killed anyone, son?” Joe asked. Y/n looked at him immediately for the answer.

“No. Well, at least not directly.”

“What the actual fuck.” She leaned into James more to get away from the man.

“There you go. So that settles it.”

“That doesn’t settle anything, Granda. In fact, I have more questions that I’m too scared to ask.”

“Y/n is right, Joe.” Gerry agreed. This started another fight between him and his father in law.

“You know what’s wrong with you, Gerry? You’re an awful wuss.”

“I’m not a wuss!”

“You’re afraid of your own shadow.”

“I’m not!”

“Then grow a set of balls and help a fella out!”

“I have a set of balls, thank you very much!” Erin and Y/n groaned in disgust.

“Ew. Seriously, Da?”

“You’re even afraid of that wee girl.”

“What wee girl?”

“That waitress! You wanted a cup of tea, she brought you a Coke, and you just sat there and said sweet Fanny Adams!”

Michelle snickered.

“Your grandad said fanny.”

“Shut up, Michelle.”

“Her customer service is shocking as well.” Emmett added. “Someone should say something.”

“Aye, Gerry!” Joe pointed to the man. “Gerry should say something!”

“I will! No problem! I’ll say something!” He looked for the waitress. She was standing at the counter doing seemingly nothing. “Excuse me. Excuse me, please.” It seemed the girl was annoyed as she walked over to the table.

“What?” She asked sharply.

“Erm, I just wanted to say that I, erm…” Gerry trailed off, a bit scared from her reaction. But then he saw Joe watching him and put himself together. “I ordered a tea, you brought me a Coke, and that’s not acceptable.”

The waitress looked down at the cup in front of him.

“But you drank the Coke.”

“That’s not the point. And your service has been nothing short of appalling, your attitude is worse. It’s simply not good enough!”

She looked shocked.

“I’ll… I’ll bring you a tea.”

“You do that!” Gerry nodded. The girl started to sniffle and everyone was shocked to see a tear start to slip. She told the table about how she got bad news today and couldn’t focus, but would bring Gerry a tea. She then ran off crying. Everyone slowly looked from the girl to Gerry.

“Well, there was absolutely no need for that.”

“Jesus, Gerry!”

“Da, that poor girl.”

“Aye, I can’t believe you did that, Daddy.”

“I…” Gerry looked at the table angrily. “You asked me to! How could I have known? Will you all just stop looking at me?!” He got up from the booth and walked away to the loo.

“I’ve had it with the lot of ye!” He turned back to look at his family. “And just for the record, back there, I was being an Australian tourist, okay? Australian! And I happen to think that my accent was flawless!” Then he stomped off.

Everyone looked at where he stood before slowly turning back to each other.

“Okay…” Mary said, trying to brush off the awkwardness. “We have to decide what to do here, one way or another. Let’s just vote.”

“Leave him!” Y/n unintentionally shouted.

“I second that.” Erin added firmly.

“I vote we take him for better or worse and all that.” Michelle smirked, making googly eyes at Emmett who was clearly uncomfortable by the actions.

“I’ve decided.” James muttered, looking at Emmett. “But I’m afraid to say what I’ve decided.”

“Why don’t we just toss a coin?” Mary sighed. She pulled out a coin. “So, heads, the wee man comes with us. Tails, we leave him.”

Everyone agreed and she flipped the coin.

“What is that? A fish?”

“A dolphin, is it?”

“It sort of looks like Moby Dick, actually.”

Mary huffed.

“Shite, I used a punt, didn’t I?”

“Whatever you used, it’s tails.” Y/n looked at Emmett with a polite but relieved smile. “Sorry sir, but we’re gonna have to punt you out. Get it, because me Ma used a punt. And the punt said to leave ya.”

Sarah asked if they could do it again but with “real money”. As they looked for a different coin, no one noticed that Emmett had left the table and Gerry took his place.

“It was him!” He shouted suddenly. “The mural on our house, the spray paint, it was Emmett.” He showed the tips of two fingers covered with wet black paint. 

“Sly wee bastard.” Mary hissed. They looked around for the man in question, only to find that he was no longer in the diner.

“There he is.” Someone pointed out the window. Emmett stood in the lot with the tent that Joe’s friend Jim had lent them. Nobody went out to stop him. They all just walked to the big window and watched as he jumped in the boot of an unsuspecting bloke’s car.

Joe swiftly looked at Gerry.

“I told you to look after that tent.”

“No, you didn’t! You told him to look after it!” Gerry pointed at James, who was feeling guilty about what had just happened.

“Ah, blame the wee’un. Big man!” Joe turned back to the window and watched the car drive off. “Jim’s second best tent. How am I going to break it to him?”

Y/n rubbed James’ back like he had done to her when they had first found Emmett. She leaned to whisper in his ear so Joe or Gerry wouldn’t hear.

“At least it wasn’t his best tent.”

~~~

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[rocorambles]

Two Wrongs Equal a Right

Pairing: Bakugo x Reader

Prompt: Eavesdropping

Summary: Eavesdropping isn’t right, but maybe...just maybe sometimes the end justifies the means

A/N: This is for the Anylisum’s SFW collab. Masterlist can be found here. Enjoy!

You giggle, laying your head on Tsu’s shoulder as you catch your breath from the impromptu dance party happening in the dorm room led by no other than Mina. You love the boys, but this is nice, hanging out with just the girls, chatting about fashion and makeup, doing face masks and braiding hair, pretending you’re just normal high school girls and not heroes in training. The boys had sulked, pouting and complaining about why all of you couldn’t hang out together like you always do. But all of you had just smiled and cheekily waved as you locked the dorm room shut behind you.

They’ll be fine. You’re sure they’ll find something to bond over themselves and you laugh at the thought of them doing some impromptu sparring or shouting at each other over a video game.

Yes, they’ll be just fine doing something normal high school boys do. Definitely not quietly crowding around the other side of the dorm door, trying to eavesdrop on what all of you are saying and doing like they’re doing right now.

The boys of class 1-A aren’t nearly as subtle as they think they are accidentally banging foreheads and elbowing each other to try and press their ears against the vertical surface. But luckily for them the combination of the music and your voices drown out their scuffling and they eagerly listen in, curiosity keeping their attention rooted to the commotion on the other side of the barrier.

“That’s not fair. I want to dance too!”

“Shut up, Aoyama! They’re going to hear you.”

The hushed bickering continues as the boys continue to subtly bop their head to the music, trying to make out the snippets of conversation between the rhythmic beat and laughter. But they all freeze, even attempting to quiet down their breathing as the music finally stops.

Is the night over? Do they need to make a run for it before the door opens and they’re caught red handed?

Their questions are answered when after some scuffling and movement the girls resume talking and there’s a palpable sense of relief as the boys relax, leaning in once more to decipher what’s being said.

What girls night would be complete without boy talk? You all knew this topic was bound to come up in this safe all-female haven, but there’s still a tittering of nervous and shy giggles when Ashido brings up the topic with a mischievous grin plastered across her face.

It takes some prodding and some patience, but to no one’s surprise Uraraka is the first to speak up and you all smile knowingly when she begins to ramble on and on about Deku, how much she respects him, how observant he is, how hardworking he is…

“We get it. You like Deku! Seriously it would be shocking if you two didn’t eventually start dating.”

“Think about how cute that would be! A romantic hero couple fighting villains and saving the world together.”

Uraraka’s face is so red you think she might burst, but you hide a smile at the fact that there isn’t even a hint or sound of denial from her as she accepts the good-natured teasing. Unknown to all of you, Deku’s face matches Urarka’s extreme shade of red and the boys smile and nudge him playfully, waggling their eyebrows teasingly.

The light-hearted banter has broken the ice and Momo is the next one to open up, demurely looking at the ground and swiping a stray bang behind her ear as she quietly praises Todoroki for his amazing skills and how rapidly he’s learned and improved during his time at U.A. But what she isn’t expecting is the outpouring of support she herself receives from all the girls about how smart and resourceful she is and how quick on her feet she is. And Todoroki silently nods his head in affirmation of the deserved recognition she receives.

One by one everyone shares their thoughts on their male counterparts, but it’s Ashido who makes everyone burst into laughter once more when she practically screams her approval of Kaminari and Kirishima and how cool and manly they can be, imitating their signature moves as best as she can to everyone’s amusement.

However it doesn’t go unnoticed how Bakugo’s name isn’t brought up and it just seems right to bring him into the conversation if the other two musketeers are being discussed. There’s thoughtful pondering and the girls quiet down as they think of their blonde classmate.

“He’s smart and talented.”

“He’s pretty good looking.”

But there’s an almost unanimous vote that his temper is a little bit...scary. Almost.

The boys try their hardest to stifle their howls of laughter as Bakugo begins to deeply scowl, looking like he’s ready to storm away. But everyone shuts up, eyes going wide when your voice travels through the air.

“I actually think his attitude is kind of cute. He’s like an angry chihuahua. All bark, no bite.”

There’s silence as everyone on both sides of the door processes your words, even Bakugo looks uncharacteristically stunned. And then there’s chaos as the girls begin to loudly question your sanity and the boys hold back a raging Bakugo who’s seconds away from kicking down the door and confronting you.

Needless to say there is no more eavesdropping done that night as it takes the entire male population of 1-A to wrestle Bakugo away and safely back to his dorm room.

Cute? CUTE?

Bakugo can’t remember the last time anyone has called him that damned word, if anyone ever has. Not even his own mother has called him anything remotely as nauseatingly endearing as that recently. There’s nothing about him that’s cute. He’s not cute. He HATES anything cute. Yet as he’s barricaded in his room and forced to mull over your words in solitude, it’s not pure rage and indignation that fills him to his own surprise.

He’s not sure exactly what he’s feeling if he’s honest and that only pisses him off more. Anger is something he knows and holds close. But this...this strange, disgusting, fluttering feeling in his stomach? He doesn’t know what that is and he grumpily forces himself to sleep, to leave all these stupid thoughts and feelings behind him. Tomorrow will be just another day of class and you’ll just be another classmate he’s forced to tolerate as he focuses on becoming a hero.

Except tomorrow does come and you aren’t just another nobody like you were before.

Unlike before where he barely even noticed your presence and walked past you like you were nonexistent, too focused on perfecting his moves, he can’t stop being aware of you. He finds himself watching you without even meaning to, observing your movements, the use of your quirk…

“Kacchan, watch out!”

Turns out even when he’s entranced by you, Deku’s damn annoying voice is enough to drag him out of his funk and he narrowly misses the debris about to rain down on him.

“What’s up, Bakugo? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you distracted-”

“I’m not distracted!”

He is distracted and he can feel his short fuse nearing its limit with every uncharacteristic stumble and sloppy movement as he can’t tear his eyes from you. And when Aizawa-sensei awkwardly tells him to maybe consider sitting out a bit until his head is clear he loses it.

Under all the rage, common sense tells him this isn’t your fault, that he’s wrongly directing his ire at you. But Bakugo clings onto his temper, that fire inside of him that fuels most of his decisions as he storms towards you and shouts at you to spar with him.

He knows he’s being too hard on you, punching and kicking you harder than he even goes against Kirishima and his hardening quirk. And he even feels a pang of guilt when he sees you wince when his fist grazes you as you try to dodge. But you don’t tell him to stop, just looking at him with determined, focused eyes holding a shocking amount of trust that he won’t take it too far and actually harm you despite how his irritation is almost visible.

It’s the same look stupid Deku looks at him with, but he doesn’t feel that familiar buildup of anger rising inside of him. Instead he feels that same strange fluttering feeling deep inside of him and his heart is racing more than it should be for the amount he’s worked out today. It’s all so...confusing and to everyone’s shock, it’s Bakugo who abruptly ends your weird impromptu spar with a scoff, shoving his hands in his pocket as he saunters away, trademark scowl on his face.

That’s only the beginning of Bakugo’s strange behavior and everyone watches anxiously as the angry blonde borderline begins to bully you on a constant basis, practically hovering next to you from the moment you leave your dorm room to the minute you go to sleep at night, growling, shouting, and even just glaring at you. But no one steps in, curious about how things will play out when they see how unbothered you are by your new volatile shadow.

Bakugo doesn’t know what reaction he expected of you. Maybe a slight hint of fear? At least some respect? But he certainly wasn’t expecting how calmly you accept your new fate, how casually you interact with him.

He’s forced to silently blink in shock as his jaw rapidly works to chew the fried egg you’ve stuffed in his mouth when he angrily tells you to sit somewhere else, deciding he wants your seat despite the bounty of empty chairs surrounding the both of you in the cafeteria. (He ends up just grumpily sitting in the available spot next to you when he finally swallows, both of you quietly munching on your breakfast together.)

But although your exchanges start off fairly one-sided with Bakugo usually trying to incite some reaction from you, everyone watches in amusement when you begin to meet him halfway. The blonde is mouthing off at you about something or another during sparring exercises which has become a typical background noise to the class by now, but everyone, including Aizawa-sensei stops in their tracks when your voice interrupts Bakugo’s rant.

“Maybe you’d be able to perfect your new technique if you spent more time practicing and less time barking at me.”

There’s a playful smirk on your face as you utter those fighting words and Aizawa wonders if today is the day he’ll have to prevent Bakugo from committing a truly villainous event. But even his jaw drops when all Bakugo does is scoff at your statement, barking at you to follow him to both your preferred area of the training grounds to resume practicing together.

Both of you look almost...friendly, exchanging punches and kicks, no heat behind Bakugo’s snarky comments, a smile on your face when you give it to him right back verbally. The upperclassmen and the pro-hero faculty watch in amused fondness as overtime Bakugo’s glowering and barking lulls down to a muted calm grumpiness as he continues to trail beside you. He’s not too different than a tamed feral kitten (not that any of them would voice that thought aloud and risk being blasted to pieces).

And as time continues on, everyone gets used to the fact that the two of you seem joined at the hip. You’re just...always together in a strange amicable friendship? Partnership? Relationship? No one knows how to exactly describe it and maybe that’s what finally leads to you overhearing an interesting conversation one morning in the dorms.

You yawn as you make your way to the common room to see who else is up, but you pause before you turn the corner from your hallway when you hear Kirishima mention your name.

“So what’s going on between the two of you. Are you dating?”

You don’t even have to peek around the bend to know who he’s talking to and your face heats up, ears perking up in anxious curiosity as you wait for Bakugo’s response. Realistically, you know you shouldn’t expect much. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less when you wait for Bakugo to shut Kirishima’s well-meaning thought down with a rude “why would I go out with that nobody” or some similar derogatory comment aimed at the idea of dating you or anyone for that matter.

Yet there’s only silence and a secret smile spreads across your face when all Bakugo finally responds with is a quiet scoff and a “it’s none of your business”.

“That’s not a no!”

“Shut up!”

Your heart is pounding as hope blossoms inside of it and you slowly countdown from ten, taking deep breaths to calm yourself down, schooling your face into as neutral an expression as possible. When your excess giddy energy is under some semblance of control, you make your presence known, bidding good morning to both boys and teasingly ruffling Bakugo’s spiky hair in a more affectionate version of a noogie. And Kirishima is left with a gaping jaw as he watches Bakugo merely roll his eyes at your antics and grunt here and there in response to your rambling as the two of you make your way to the cafeteria for breakfast together.

[j3ssisam3ss]

Childhood Friends - Fluff

For @animebookworm16

It got kind of long and I’m not really sure it still counts as fluff, but here’s my piece for @maribat-angst-fluff-april, prompt 25, Childhood Friends.

Damian Al Ghul-Wayne was five years old the first time he met a girl his age. And in typical League of Assassins style, he went for efficiency by meeting ten at once.

“These are your betrothed,” Talia told him. “All but one will be dead by your twelfth birthday. You will marry the sole survivor on your eighteenth birthday and produce an Heir to carry on the great legacy of the League of Assassins.”

Nine of the girls heard the words without so much as a flinch. The last stared in shock at Talia, then broke into tears.

“Quiet, Marinette,” Talia hissed.

“No,” she yelled defiantly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I want my mama!”

Talia backhanded her and she fell to the floor with a yelp.

Damian surveyed the girl – Marinette – with distaste.

“Mother, surely you don’t consider this sniveling coward worthy to compete for my hand?”

“Her mother, Sabine Cheng, was our best assassin for years before she turned traitor. I suppose she’s lost her touch if she raised such a weak daughter.” Talia shrugged elegantly. “No matter, if she turns out to be useless, we’ll ship her mutilated corpse back to Sabine as a reminder of what happens when you cross the League.”

She waved the girls away. “To your training now.”

Damian watched as Marinette sniffled and followed the other girls out the door.

She won’t last a week.

He had no idea how wrong he was.

.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was five years old the first time she won a fight. And in typical Dupain-Cheng fashion, she did so in the most unpredictable way possible.

“You’re going down, pigtails,” shouted a pretty brunette, charging at Marinette with a sword that was as tall as she was.

With a startled shriek, Marinette darted away. She hated how behind she was here. Back home, she was good at everything – reading circle, art class, tussles when the teacher’s back was turned. Here, it felt like she was constantly playing catch-up.

Not to mention, the constant threat of death was not fun.

Skidding around a corner of the labyrinth arena, she tripped over a protruding stone and fell to the ground. The brunette grinned viciously, advancing towards her.

Marinette smiled nervously. “Can’t we talk this out?”

“Not a chance, shortie,” said the brunette.

Marinette glanced around frantically.

I don’t want to die!

She reached for a rock, a stick, anything that could help her fight, but came up with only a handful of sand. With a pleading glance heavenward, she flung it into the brunette’s face and lurched to her feet, grinning when the girl had to stop to get the grit out of her eyes.

Taking off into the labyrinth of passages, she nearly stumbled again, this time over a nearly buried metal object.

She shifted away the dirt surrounding it and smirked. “Finally, a weapon I know how to use.”

Ten minutes later, the watching League members straightened in surprise as the smallest and weakest of Damian’s betrotheds utterly decimated her opponent.

With a frying pan.

.

“What are you doing here?”

The two children spoke in unison, glaring daggers at one another.

“I always come here,” Marinette said. “It’s my drawing spot.”

“The vents are my domain, Dupain-Cheng,” Damian said. “Get out.”

Two years’ worth of resentment and anger simmered beneath Marinette’s skin.

 Drawing is the last thing I have of home. I won’t let him take it from me.

“No.”

Damian looked thunderstruck and Marinette couldn’t keep the smirk off her face.

“I am Heir to the Demon! You will obey me!”

“You may be Heir to the Demon, but right now you’re also a kid skipping classes,” Marinette argued. “And if you make me leave, I’ll tell Talia exactly where you go when you’re not in class.”

Ha, take that, you tyrant!

Damian froze. Marinette watched as emotions overtook his face – anger, resentment, then acceptance.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

Marinette smiled and returned to her sketchbook – which wasn’t really a sketchbook, just some loose papers she’d tucked into her history book.

A few minutes later, Damian peered over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Drawing,” she said, holding out a few of her older sketches, the ones she wouldn’t mind losing if Damian decided to rip them. “There’s your mother fighting, cook making soup, the sunset from this other spot in the vents – actually, that one’s pretty bad because I didn’t have any colors.”

Damian stared at the drawing of his mother.

“I’m keeping this,” he announced.

Well, at least he didn’t tear it up.

The next week, when Marinette arrived at her drawing spot, Damian was already there. With an annoyed grunt, he shoved a sketchbook and colored pencils into her hands.

Marinette looked between him and the supplies in confusion. “What’s this for?”

“Teach me how to draw.”

Marinette bit her lip, looking longingly at the colored pencils. Then, she pushed them back towards Damian.

“I want you to give me weapons training. As often as I teach you drawing.”

I may be naturally talented at combat, but the other girls have been training their entire lives. I need to catch up.

Damian eyed her suspiciously. “That’s against the rules.”

“So? Are you scared?”

“Never.”

“Then it’s a deal?”

“It’s a deal.”

.

Damian lunged, making a displeased noise when his quarry danced out of his reach.

“You’re slow today, Dami,” Marinette teased. “Losing your touch?”

Marinette was no longer the scared little girl she’d been at five, or even at seven. She’d thrown herself into her training with single-minded determination and two years of training with Talia by day and Damian by night had made her a formidable – and snarky – combatant.

“Never,” Damian replied. His next attack nearly threw her off-balance.

With a grunt, Marinette recovered her footing and countered with a flurry of blows that would have left a lesser opponent dizzy.

Damian smirked, parrying each attack easily. “Completely mediocre. Should I tell my mother that her protégé is slipping?”

Although he’d never admit it, Damian was proud of her. She’d gone from being the worst of the League’s trainees to the only one able to keep up with him in a fight.

“Me? Slipping? Not a chance.” Marinette flipped backwards, knocking his weapon away. “Hey, Damian?”

“Yes, Marinette?” He scooped up his katana, readying himself for her next move.

“The floor is lava.”

With a startled intake of air, he leaped onto the nearest table.

“Really?” he asked, half annoyed, half amused.

Marinette giggled, peering down at him from her spot in the ceiling rafters. “I thought we could use an extra challenge.”

Damian glanced up at her. “You just like having the high ground.”

“Technically speaking, it’s the high rafter,” she pointed out.

“Either way, it won’t prevent me from defeating you,” Damian said, pulling himself into the rafters.

At that moment, the door opened and they both immediately went still.

“Damian? Are you here?”

Marinette raised an eyebrow at him. “Skipping again?” she mouthed.

Damian shrugged in response.

Rolling her eyes, Marinette gestured to the vents behind him. “I’ll meet you in the lower training rooms to finish our bout.”

“Marinette!” The teacher startled as she caught a glimpse of the pigtailed girl. “What are you doing up there?”

Effortlessly, the girl swung down from the ceiling, drawing the teacher’s attention away from Damian’s hiding place.

“Just improving my arm strength, Mistress Eva.” As she distracted his teacher with false information about his whereabouts, Damian climbed into the vents.

Marinette makes a surprisingly tolerable ally.

.

It didn’t seem to matter how many people Marinette killed; it never got easier. Surrounded by the bodies of Deathstroke’s traitors, she retched.

She was alone. Somehow, in the midst of the fight, she’d gotten separated from the rest of the League’s loyalists.

I need to get moving. I’m an easy target right now.

With a shuddering breath, she climbed to her feet and made her way out of the compound and into the shadows. It was there, staring at the ruins of the League’s strongest base, that the realization hit her.

“I’m free,” Marinette whispered, tears trickling down her face.

The Head of the Demon was dead, his followers scattered.

“I can finally go home.”

She ignored the voice in her mind that said her home was here, with the League, with Damian. She ignored the tightness in her chest at the thought of never seeing Damian again. She ignored the fear that he might already be dead.

The League kidnapped me. Talia abused me. Even if I managed to be happy here, I owe the Al Ghuls nothing. A vow of loyalty made under duress is no vow at all.

Her hands curled into fists.

And if they come for me again, I’ll be ready.

.

Damian scowled as their plane descended into Gotham.

“This is imbecilic. I should be assisting you in decimating our enemies, not hiding like a frightened child.”

“Damian,” his mother’s voice was cold. “This is not up for negotiation. You will stay here and train with your father.”

“Yes, Mother,” he replied bitterly. A moment passed, then he tilted his head in thought. “But what of my betrothed? If she is to be my equal, should she not train with me?”

Talia studied him carefully. “You use the singular of betrothed,” she noted. “Despite the fact that three remain alive. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me which one you consider your wife-to-be?”

“Tt. Your protégé, the Cheng girl, is the only one that even approaches competent. You know this.”

“I also know that you trained her separately – against my orders,” Talia said.

Damian nearly flinched. “And yet you didn’t stop me.”

“I wonder if that was a mistake,” his mother said. “You feel more for her than you should.”

“She is an effective ally. That is all.”

“Then you won’t mind being separated from her for a while.”

“Not at all, Mother,” Damian lied.

.

“Marinette? Is that you?” Her mother looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

Marinette smiled. “Hello, Mama.”

Sabine reached out a shaking hand to cup her face. “How are you here? We saw you die.”

“Sabine, do you know where – ” Tom dropped the pan of croissants. “Marinette?”

He jumped over the counter and raced to her. Marinette took a step back before her mind caught up with her body.

This is Papa, you idiot. He’s not a threat.

She threw herself into his arms, shoving away her fears.

Twisting to face her mother, she said, “I don’t know how my death was faked, but I never died. The League kidnapped me.”

Tom’s arms tightened around her.

“The League?” Sabine’s face went pale. “What did they want with you?”

“The usual,” Marinette said with a shrug. “Revenge on you for leaving and a capable assassin and potential wife for Damian if I turned out to be any good.”

“Who’s Damian?” Tom asked with a frown.

Marinette grinned. “Oh, Damian’s great! He’s the Heir to the League, but he’s actually pretty okay for an assassin. He helped me get good enough to survive. You know, after I blackmailed and bribed him.”

“What?”

.

Meeting his father did not go the way Damian had imagined.

Talia always spoke of Bruce Wayne’s great intellect, his strength in combat, his determination in all things. She never mentioned his brainless playboy act, his absurd prohibition of killing, or his habit of taking in strays. Damian wasn’t sure which one was most offensive, but he was incredibly disappointed in his father regardless.

He had to reassess after he saw Batman at work. When not purposely acting like a buffoon, Bruce Wayne was everything his mother had described and more, entirely deserving of Damian’s respect.

He set out to prove himself in his father’s eyes. It didn’t go well. Whatever he did, it was the wrong thing. In any fight with the imposter sons, Damian was punished – even if he won. Assisting his father with Wayne Enterprises was met with an eye-roll and a request to stay away from Bruce’s office.

It should have made Damian angry but instead it hurt and Damian did not understand why.

And then his father was gone. Richard Grayson became Batman.

Damian became Robin. Finally.

And yet the triumph felt hollow.

Not to mention, it came with strings attached: ‘Murder is bad.’ ‘Justice, not vengeance.’ ‘Robin doesn’t kill.’ ‘Protect rather than avenge.’

Grayson’s teachings were imbecilic. And yet he had to follow them. His mother had yet to finish with the traitors.

He wondered where Marinette was, if she was undergoing similar training, if she fought the way he did to reign in the bloodlust. Considering how she had to hide her dislike of killing, how she helped heal her competitors, he thought probably not.

Slowly, things got easier. Grayson became tolerable. Damian learned to suppress the instinct, the muscle memory that said ‘kill or be killed.’ He found an adoration for animals and learned to deal with his classmates. He finally began to understand why Grayson and his father valued life so highly. His father came back and he chose to deny the League. Wayne Manor became home.

On days when he struggled, he retreated to his room and the comfort of his sketchbook. And if a certain blue-eyed girl made an appearance every few pages, well, who would know but him?

.

Returning home did not go the way Marinette had imagined.

She knew it wouldn’t be sunshine and roses, of course. But she hadn’t expected the magnitude of the changes in her home, or in herself.

School was laughably easy. Marinette had the equivalent of several college degrees. Finding x and learning how to spell ‘earthquake’ was a waste of her time. Instead, she spent class drawing and coming up with increasingly complex plans for fighting off the League should they try to kidnap her again.

She kept herself closed off from her classmates – she didn’t know how she’d ever called them friends. They were neutral parties at best – not one ever stood up for her against Chloe. Her parents encouraged them to give her classmates a chance, but the League had trained her well. Misplaced trust could kill. And Marinette had fought long enough for survival to know that dropping your guard was a death knell.

She hated hurting her parents though.

Though they tried to hide it, she saw the pain cross their faces when she flinched away from hugs. When she moved like an assassin rather than a child. When she gave away her stuffed animals. When she skipped family game night and spent her time training.

She hated hurting her parents. So she changed.

Marinette locked away her lethal grace, faking clumsiness and turning it into an art form. She hid her weapons, training only when her parents were asleep. She returned to family game nights; she initiated hugs. At school, she became bubbly and friendly again, though she trusted no one.

More than anything, she tried to atone. She sought out those in need and tried to help – whether by providing food, babysitting, or making them warm clothing. She discovered an interest in fashion design, but mostly stuck to making the essentials for those in need. She met a tiny floating bug named Tikki and became a superhero.

On days when she struggled, she retreated to her room and the comfort of her sketchbook. And if green eyes and a cocky smirk featured prominently in the book, well, who would know but her?

.

Damian frowned as he followed his brother into Wayne Enterprises.

"I don't understand why it's so important for me to be here."

"C'mon, Baby Bird!" Dick said. "You said you wanted to be more involved in the company!"

"I meant the business side of things," Damian said. "I have no interest in showing around a gaggle of unruly teenagers."

"You're a teenager too," Dick pointed out. "It'll be fun!"

Damian sniffed. "I'm an adult. And fun, really? Surely you don't truly believe that?"

Dick sighed. "Just give it a chance, okay? They seem like really great kids."

They walked into the lobby and Damian stopped short, eyes catching on long black hair and brilliant blue eyes.

"Marinette?"

.

In truth, Marinette wasn't all that excited about the Wayne Enterprises tour. The architecture was interesting, sure, but her class had a habit of making themselves a target and Bruce Wayne's patronage was not helping.

She gave it three days, at most, before they got in trouble with Gotham's Rouges.

Which meant she was on 'keep the class from dying' duty. Joy.

She kept her eyes and ears peeled, which meant that she heard the faint whisper of her name from an unfamiliar voice.

"Marinette?"

Forest-green eyes filled with far too much emotion had her breath catching in her throat.

"Damian?"

With obvious effort, the League's Heir pulled himself together. "Fancy meeting you here, Dupain-Cheng."

His voice. Oh, kwami, it should be illegal to look AND sound that good. Nope. Nope. Not doing this. He's an assassin, get your act together, Marinette.

"Al-Ghul." She was proud that her voice betrayed nothing. "I have to admit, I'm surprised to see you here. This doesn't seem like your scene."

She reached out for a handshake and was taken off guard when Damian kissed her hand instead. She blushed.

"It's Wayne now," Damian said. "I'm... no longer associated with the Al-Ghuls. Or their business."

He's not an assassin anymore? Yes! I knew you were a good person deep, deep down, Dami!

"Really? I broke ties with them several years ago myself."

See that, Damian? We're both good people. Good people that would be great toget - no! Bad Marinette!

Damian grinned. "In that case, I look forward to reconnecting. Perhaps after the tour?"

Oh, kwami, I'm doomed.

"I'd like that."

.

"What was that?" Dick asked in a low voice. "I've never seen you open up to someone so quickly."

With difficulty, Damian tore his gaze from Marinette.

Stars, she grew up gorgeous.

Damian smirked. "Don't be ridiculous, Grayson. I met Marinette over a decade ago."

I wonder, does she still consider our betrothal valid?

"Wait, so she's an assassin?" Grayson blanched. "Who is she here to kill? Who do I have to protect? Ugh! Why can't you ever have normal friends?"

"Relax," Damian chided. "She's an ex-assassin. Like me."

"That does not make me feel better. Who is she to you?"

Damian hummed in thought, running through years of teasing, fighting, and spending time together. "She was my first friend."

And maybe now something more.

[elftwink]

no thoughts only taakitz superhero/villain coffeeshop au. taako’s power is shapeshifting but he has a cool gun from lup. kravitz’s power is Big Fuckin Scythe With Unspecified Abilities. also there was no time to get into it but fantasy starbucks isn’t a real starbucks it’s a borderline illegal unaffiliated bootleg starbucks that taako and lup own. like dumb starbucks was.

By all rights, it should have been a fairly routine night for the Reaper. Go out, stop some crimes, arrive just in time to prevent whatever scheme the Mongoose had cooked up this week, exchange some one liners, make some threats that essentially amounted to ‘same time next week?’, the works. A regular Tuesday as a superhero in Neverwinter.

But Kravitz is tired, and more than a little distracted, so he’s not doing so hot on the one liners, and the Mongoose’s attacks are a little closer than they would normally be. He doesn’t even have a good excuse, it’s not like he’s injured, or that he has anything pressing to think of.

It was just— this morning his barista (who he may or may not have been harbouring a small crush on) had mentioned offhand that he thought the Reaper was ‘probably hot under the stupid all-black getup’, and Kravitz didn’t really know what the protocol was for someone complimenting your alter-ego was.

“I think if you were gonna go for the strong silent type, you had to start doing it months ago. Now it’s just acting like an asshole. Are you mad at me?” the Mongoose cuts into his thoughts, firing off another few missiles from his stupid umbrella gun (Umbrastaff, he called it, although it was a gun and not a staff so Kravitz had no idea why he insisted on calling it that).

“We are literally fighting as we speak,” says Kravitz, playing up the cockney accent, spinning his scythe to deflect the missiles off the blade, sending them ricocheting around the room. He’d said something like ‘how can you tell’ to Taako— the barista (well, they’d been on a first name basis for a few weeks, so, Taako), and he’d said ‘I can just tell’ which was not at all helpful in getting Kravitz through the conversation without saying or doing something to give himself away.

He’d almost given Taako his number, but how was he going to justify that? Hey, it’s me under the all black getup. Do you want to go out sometime? As if.

“You can have fights without being fuckin’ rude,” says the Mongoose, firing off another few rounds, which Kravitz deflects again, advancing on him.

“You’re right, sorry. I’m a bit scattered. Not exactly my A game.” As if to prove his point, the Mongoose easily dodges his next couple swings with the scythe, not even bothering to leave his range.

“Clearly. I mean, normally you’re at least close enough that I can feel the breeze from your sword.”

“It’s not a sword, and you know that.” Kravitz brings down the scythe in the space where the Mongoose was only seconds before, having already backflipped out of the way and landed a few metres back. Show off. Not that Kravitz had room to complain about that. The Mongoose spins to face him again, at least this time seemingly aware of what a close call that was. He’s tense, and his hair, which Kravitz supposes has thus far been hidden underneath his costume, has come somewhat unravelled, black braid falling to the middle of his back.

It seems... familiar?

He doesn’t have time for that right now. Kravitz draws back the scythe, feeling the hum of energy under his fingers, swinging again, and—

“Wait! Time out!” the Mongoose puts up a hand and Kravitz, for who knows what reason, stops his scythe mid-swing. The familiarity sticks, so it’s not just a trick of the light. It takes him a second to place, but the hairstyle... it looks a lot like a certain barista he’d been spending all night thinking about.

He shakes his head, trying to clear it. It’s because he has Taako on the brain, is all. Besides, he has other things to worry about besides seeing his crush in his enemy. Namely the fight currently happening with said enemy. “What? You can’t call a time out.”

“I just did,” says the Mongoose, fishing through his pockets and pulling out several bobby pins, sticking them in his mouth so he can use both hands to fix his hair. Kravitz blinks, still trying to shake off the sense of deja vu, but it won’t quit nagging him. “It’s a whole safety issue to leave long hair down.”

“It’s still in a braid,” retorts Kravitz.

“Somebody never took Foodsafe.” the Mongoose gives him a lopsided grin that Kravitz fucking knows he’s seen before, and suddenly it’s more than just passing familiarity, and how could he possibly have not noticed before, and— the Mongoose finishes putting up his hair, raising an eyebrow at Kravitz and his private crisis. “Alright. Ready—”

“You work at Fantasy Starbucks,” blurts Kravitz, without even thinking about it. The Mongoose stops dead in his tracks, and Kravitz can see his eyes widen even behind the mask. He splutters for a moment, and then seems to find his footing, already ready with a snarky remark.

“Yeah, well— your accent is fake.”

Shit. He’d forgotten. At the only time so far that having it would have been useful too. Still, he pushes it out of his mind; the Mongoose hadn’t denied it. And, well, he’s already solidly derailed this fight, so he might as well get some real confirmation out of it.

“...Taako? It is you, isn’t it?”

“Just who the fuck are y—” The Mongoose— Taako— levels the Umbrastaff at him, and then stops again. “...Kravitz?”

Well. Shit. Again. Kravitz doesn’t bother to affirm that; his silence is more than enough confirmation. One of them has to say or do something, but the seconds stretch on.

“You’re telling me I said all that shit to your face this morning?” says Taako.

“That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

“Uh, yeah—” Taako is backing up now, and they’ve fought enough times that Kravitz knows when the Mongoose is looking for an escape route; Kravitz’s feet still feel glued to the floor, even when Taako reaches the window, fingers already turning to talons around the Umbrastaff. Taako breaks the glass (because of course he does, even though the windows aren’t even fucking locked), breaking eye contact with Kravitz in order to swing his legs through the window before his form changes too much. “Look, this is like, a lot right now, and I— I’m getting the fuck out of here,” he says, and then drops. Whatever had been keeping Kravitz in place, slack jawed, ends as soon as Taako leaves his sight, and he’s moving before he has time to think about it.

“Wait—!” Kravitz runs for the window, but by the time he gets there, the bird clutching the Umbrastaff is nearly out of sight.

Well. That could have gone better.

***

Kravitz doesn’t go for his coffee the next day. Or the next day, either, although the day after that he’s sick of making his own coffee. And frankly, he misses chatting with Taako. Even if the guy was trying to kill him like once a week. He couldn’t just avoid this forever.

Still, the fact that Taako is working cash when he comes in makes him want to turn tail and run back home. He conjures up the memory of yesterday’s shitty coffee and pushes onward. The shop is mostly empty still, so there’s no line.

“The usual?” says Taako, like nothing abnormal has happened.

“Please,” says Kravitz, and then, before he can chicken out entirely, adds, “Uhm, do you have a few minutes?”

“My shift isn’t over until—”

“I’ll cover you,” comes Lup’s voice from the back room; she pokes her head out and gives Taako a look that is clearly significant, but that Kravitz can’t quite puzzle out. “Take five minutes after you’re done making his coffee.”

Taako scowls at her, and she smiles brightly before heading to the back again.

“Okay. I guess I have five minutes. Talk to you after I make your coffee.”

Kravitz nods, and goes to hover around the pickup counter, pretending to be interested in things on his phone. Taako makes his coffee in a ceramic mug, which at least means he doesn’t want Kravitz to get the fuck out as soon as possible, so that’s... something.

Taako slides the finished coffee across the counter, circling around to join Kravitz on the customer side as Kravitz grabs the mug.

“Lup!” he hollers, and then starts walking towards one of the corner booths without checking to see if his sister is headed to cash or if Kravitz is following. Kravitz does, though, sliding himself into the seat opposite Taako, hands wrapped tightly around the mug.

Taako speaks first. “To be honest, I kinda thought you would rat me out.”

“That would be shitty of me, to just sic authorities on your place of work without so much as a warning.”

“So is this the warning?”

“No,” says Kravitz, taking a sip of his coffee, “I... can’t really make coffee without burning it. And this is the only place for miles with tolerable muffins.”

Taako cracks a grin, like Kravitz knew he would. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” His smile falls, and he crosses his arms and leans back. “So. Reaper. Why didn’t you rat me out?”

Why indeed. Kravitz takes another sip of his coffee and thinks for a second, not even sure himself what his explanation will be once he starts talking.

“It didn’t seem... fair. You’re less of a villain and more of a pain in my ass—” Kravitz ignores Taako’s indignant noise and keeps talking, “—and while we always have cause to fight when on the clock, you’re not doing anything that I feel needs to leave the bounds of those... work hours, I guess.”

Taako is trying to pick him apart with his gaze; it’s something he’s been subjected to several times, although normally in costume, and in retrospect it’s difficult to imagine how he spent so long not noticing the Mongoose in Taako.

Whatever Taako is looking for, he must find it, because he relaxes a bit, and shoots him a lazy grin. “Plus, Mongoose related insurance just got rolling and it would be fuckin’ rude to take me out of commission before anyone got to use theirs.”

Kravitz laughs. “Sure.” He’s silent for a second, before adding, “You aren’t planning on revealing my secret identity, are you? Awfully rude of you to double cross me like that.”

“Wha— You didn’t even give me a chance to respond! Maybe I wasn’t!”

“Were you?”

“I was,” admits Taako, not even pretending to look sheepish. Kravitz raises his eyebrows, and Taako shrugs. “Oh, like you didn’t think about revealing my secret identity? And could you imagine the hype if I unmasked the Reaper? I was tempted.” He sighs. “But I figured then you’d have no reason to keep my identity a secret. No way am I risking a backfire like that.”

It sounds callous, but Kravitz has been talking to Taako almost daily for months; at this point, he can pretty reliably pick up on when Taako isn’t being entirely truthful about something.

“Hmm. Then I suppose it’d be in my best interest not to tell you that I wouldn’t reveal your identity even if you revealed mine?”

Taako narrows his eyes. “Why not?”

Kravitz makes a face. “It’s just in poor taste. I just think we all go through all the trouble to hide who we are and use these powers for good— or whatever it is you do— that it’s always going to be such a low blow to reveal who we are. There might be times where it’s necessary, but petty revenge is not one of them.”

Taako’s expression hasn’t changed; if anything, he’s narrowed his eyes more. “God, you are like— fuckin’ irritatingly nice. Fine. I wasn’t going to reveal your identity. That would be fuckin’ annoying to deal with. Plus I’m having fun.”

“Fun?”

“Oh don’t— don’t fucking lie to me. I know you’re having fun out there too. With your stupid accent and one liners and shit.”

“Alright, alright,” says Kravitz, rolling his eyes. “But I’m not supposed to be having fun, so keep it quiet.”

“See, that’s why I market myself as a villain. No dumb rules.” He puts an elbow on the table and leans on his hand. “Why do you have a fake accent anyway?”

Heat rises to Kravitz’s face, and he’s hoping he looks less embarrassed than he feels. “It’s my— I do it so people don’t recognize my voice.”

Taako laughs. “Well, it doesn’t really do that if you immediately stop using it when you realize you might know someone.”

“I was caught off guard!” defends Kravitz. “It’s not every day you find out your nemesis is your barista.”

“Nemesis, huh?” Taako grins. “Didn’t realize it was that serious to you. You know I have other heroes to fight.”

Kravitz rolls his eyes again. “I don’t see how you have the time, considering how often you’re causing trouble for me.”

Taako laughs, and it’s so contagious and the whole conversation is so surreal Kravitz can’t help but laugh too, before they both lapse into a comfortable, if drawn out, silence.

“So, uh,” says Taako eventually, “what now?”

“Well,” says Kravitz, “I want to keep coming in for coffee in the mornings. And I assume the Mongoose will continue with... whatever chaos it is you currently have planned.”

“It’s not chaos,” insists Taako, “I have plans. But yeah. And I assume the Reaper is gonna show up and throw a wrench in those plans?”

“Yes, probably. So we’ll just be enemies by night...” Kravitz trails off, not entirely sure how to refer to their by day relationship. Friends? Potential love interests? Acquaintances? There’s a few seconds of awkward silence before Kravitz gives up entirely.

Taako pulls and pen and a napkin out of his pocket, jotting something down and pushing it towards Kravitz.

“Here’s, uh, here’s my number. If you give me a heads up five minutes before you get here, we can have your coffee ready by the time you walk in. If you’re nice to me out there.”

���I don’t take bribes,” says Kravitz, grabbing the napkin and pulling out his phone to type in the number.

“That wasn’t a bribe, it was a threat. You don’t even wanna know what I’ll do to your coffee if you fuck me up.”

Kravitz doesn’t bother to point out that neither of them have ever caused any extreme bodily harm to one another and instead says, “So you’re asking me to go easy on you? I thought you were having fun.” He sends Taako a ‘hey it’s kravitz’ text before he has time to second guess himself.

“Could you stop poking holes in my threats? You’re harshing my fuckin’ vibe, Krav.” He sounds irritated, but Kravitz can see the smile tugging at his lips as he texts Kravitz a couple of skull emojis. “I should get back to work before my sister kicks my ass,” he says, standing back up. “I’ll see you tonight, nemesis.” Then he turns on his heels and heads back to the counter, saying something to Lup as he walks by. Kravitz watches him disappear into the back room.

Tonight.

Kravitz had better make sure he had hung his cloak up to dry.

[reids-rendering-reality]

Drunk Dials

Summary: Y/N and Penelope are having a fun night off drinking until Penelope has the idea to drunk text the entire team some promiscuous messages and one of them takes up the offer.

(A/N: inspired by this post, written with permission)

Type: lead up to smut (if you guys enjoy this, I might write a smutty part two)

Warnings: alcohol consumption

Word Count: 1.5K

 I quickly sprayed on a little perfume and hurried to the door when I heard the doorbell ring. I opened the door to find Penelope with her typical bright colours, tonight’s were a bright green and purple.

“Hii,” I giggled while hugging her and let her inside, “I see you’ve come prepared.”

And indeed she had: under her arms were two bottles of red wine and her bag made clinking noises from glass as she set it down on my kitchen counter to reveal two more bottles.

“Who else did you invite? We can’t drink all that by ourselves,” I grinned at her. While we did the occasional drinking with the team, my tolerance was in no way capable of the amount of alcohol she had brought.

“Well, the night is young. Watch and learn, my little butterfly,” she responded and carried the first bottle over to the couch. I followed after her, two glasses in my hands and the wine opener tucked under my arm.

And so the night ensued with a lot of laughter and drinks, some dancing and so much gossiping. Halfway into the second bottle I was navigating the fine line between tipsy and drunk while Penelope appeared to be slightly tipsy. How could her tiny body carry so much alcohol?

“Let’s play truth or dare!” she exclaimed, “but if you don’t want to do it, you drink.”

“Oh god, my body will hate me tomorrow,” I complained, but added, “but right now it seems like a great idea.”

“Your body will forgive you because of the fun we’re having tonight. I’ll start. Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” I responded, pouring more wine into our glasses.

“Who was the last person you slept with?” she grinned and clinked her glass to mine before taking a sip.

“Starting off strong,” I chuckled and then thought about my answer for a moment, “I think it was that police officer a couple of months ago from that case in Denver. I haven’t had sex in way too long.”

“A couple of months is a pretty long time. Was it that one with the cute little butt? He was the embodiment of ‘sweet cheeks’,” she swooned a little.

“Yes, exactly him. It wasn’t that satisfying though. Although he was good-looking, he was pretty egocentric in bed,” I commented and took another drink from my glass.

“Well, it’s time for your luck to change. You are lucky to have me, your personal oracle and booty call finder. We will find you someone to give you as many orgasms as your little heart desires – or can handle if you’re into that,” Penelope says and raises her glass dramatically.

A couple of truths, dares and a lot of drinks later, we were both shit-faced drunk and laughing on my couch. In front of us was the third bottle, which was now almost empty as we tried to catch our breath.

“Alright, your turn again, darling dearest. Truth or dare, choose wisely,” Penelope says still chuckling and readjusting her seating position.

“Dare. Bring it on,” I said, my words slightly slurred already. Leave it to Penelope to get me as drunk as I last was on my 21st birthday.

“I’ve got a good one, get your phone, baby,” she said setting down her glass. When she saw my quizzical look she continued, “you are going to text everyone on the team-“

Before she could continue I interrupted, “no no no, that sounds like a horrible idea. I am in no position to make any choices right now,” I laughed and swayed slightly.

“I am making the choice for you. You are going to get some action in the sheets and I am going to bring it to you. Your phone will be the arrow that my cupid’s bow will use to shoot you into your next naked bliss.”

“Oh my god, what is your plan?” I fake-groaned, actually being completely entertained by the idea.

“You my dear, are going to text everyone from our team, the simple words, ‘hey you wanna fuck?’ and we’ll see who responds,” she said excitedly.

“Even Rossi and Hotch?”

“Even them. Everyone.”

“Alright, just because it’s you, Pen,” I said and grabbed my phone.

She leaned over my shoulder and watched me as I began texting. I copy-pasted the message to Spencer, Derek, JJ, Emily, Rossi and Hotch. I could hear Penelope giggling the entire time. When I was done, I remembered I could’ve just taken a drink to get out of the dare, but it was too late now.

After a couple of minutes I was still dying of embarrassment of what I had just done, but still laughing with Penelope as my phone lit up for the first time.

We both instantly looked over and I grabbed my phone. My heart was racing. I had never done anything like this before.

JJ: I’m married???

When we read the message we both burst out in laughter. JJ knew that Penelope and I were hanging out today and obviously caught on to what we were doing.

“Let me respond!” she said and I handed my phone to her.

Me: Will doesn’t have to know ;)

“Penelope!” I exclaimed in between laughter.

 A while later almost everyone else on the team had responded:

Rossi: Sorry to disappoint you, kid, but you’re not in my age range for wife number four. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to complete the job.

Derek: I thought you’d never ask.

Emily: I’m down anytime.

Hotch: I’m sure this was meant for someone else. If not: I’m your boss??

 Penelope and I continued the night with laughter over the texts and other stupid drunk dares until it was about 4am. Spencer still hadn’t responded. I was slightly disappointed as I had taken a liking towards the doctor since my time at the BAU.

“I can’t believe Spencer didn’t respond. I thought for sure that he’s got a crush on you,” Penelope said while trying to put on her heels at the door.

“I don’t know about that, but drunk me wants him to respond to my booty call.”

“Honey, I’m sure that’s not just drunk you,” she said with a grin.

We hugged each other goodbye and she began swaying down the hallway to her cab waiting outside.

I got ready for bed and drank a glass of water. All the while still no response. Assuming that he’d read the message but just ignored it and went to bed, I did the same. From the beginning of my time at the BAU I had that crush on Spencer, but I guess it wasn’t mutual.

The next morning I woke up with a huge headache as expected. I sighed and checked my phone. Still no response. I made myself a coffee and got dressed to go into work as slowly as possible. After those drunk texts I did not want to see anyone today.

 I was the last to arrive at the bullpen that day. My headache had lifted and I was fit enough to survive a typical paperwork day. But the embarrassment had stayed. What was I thinking, texting everyone to hook up with me? I wasn’t thinking, that’s it.

To my surprise, no one commented on it. They probably all understood that it was just a drunken game because Penelope and I had been talking about our meet up yesterday. To say I was relieved was an understatement. But Spencer was different from his usual behaviour around me. His head was stuck in a book the entire day – he didn’t look at me once.

That changed however, when I was making myself a coffee at lunch. Pouring some into a cup I almost jumped at the sound of Spencer’s voice.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said casually and walked up to me, mug in hand.

“Hi, Spence,” I responded quietly and added some milk. I looked up at him briefly to find his eyes focused intently on pouring the liquid.

Just as I was about to leave for my desk, he spoke up again.

“About your text from last night,” he began to say. I felt my cheeks heat up and turned back around to him.

“Yes?” I forced myself to look at him, just to see him even more blushed than I was.

“Was that for me? I mean, I would very well understand if it was an accident and it was meant for someone else. It surprised me to say the least.”

Deciding to take my chance, I said, “no, it was meant for you.”

“And are you serious about it?” he looked back down at his mug.

I took a step closer to him, “am I serious about fucking you?”

Upon hearing those words, his eyes shot up towards mine and he gulped. He looked almost as though he feared my response as he nodded.

“Yes.”

I saw his mouth open and close, obviously trying to formulate a response but not finding one.

“Um, I don’t really know how to say this, but um- I’d like that.”

[fa1ryofshampoo]

hii! i was wondering if you could do a smut request for heeseung please? where him and the reader are basically always getting cockblocked by the other members leaving both of y’all fed up(especially heeseung). until one day all the boys leave, so heeseung takes out his pent up anger? (i don’t know how describe it lol) on the reader. you can make it as detailed as you want!

thank you and have a great day! <3

hello! here it is! i enjoyed writing this aaA, i hope i did okay here huhu thank you for the request and stay safe! 💟

Thirsty

pairing: lee heeseung x reader

–––––

Today, I have the whole afternoon to myself. Thanks to the strength and power I had I was able to finish the tasks up until noon time. I lie down my bed and scrolled through my phone when my boyfriend's name appeared on my screen, a call incoming.

"Heedeungie." He chuckled at my cute voice.

"Y/N, how are you? Are you busy?"

"I'm good, I'm not busy. I have finished my tasks so I have the rest of the day to spare." I responded.

"Would you like to come over here? I cooked something for the two of us since the boys are all out." I sensed some shyness in his voice on the last sentence. A smile formed on my lips because of my boyfriend's thoughtfulness.

"Okay! I'll text you once I'm near there." We both said our goodbyes and I went to change clothes. Since I'm on the mood to wear something fancier than just jeans and a shirt, I went for a casual dress and a denim jacket matched with my boots. I brushed my hair and gave my pout a touch of my favorite lip tint before I stepped out of my apartment. Dang, it's cold.

While sitting on the bus, I tought of the times me and Heeseung spent on their dorm. Most of the time, the two of us will watch movies or play board games that will eventually end up to us making out in their room. Heeseung, as my first boyfriend, is clingy. He will not hesitate to make the first move and make me feel things I haven't felt before and I love that. One day, when we thought about finally having sex after and when we first tried to do it, Jungwon suddenly knocked on the room saying that the foods they ordered were there already. I remember clearly how hard he was at that time, how I sat on his erection restricted by his boxers and how my school skirt was bunched up to my waist, ready for what was about to happen. But although Heeseung is clingy, he gets pretty flustered easily. That's why when we got interrupted, I know we won't be able to continue anymore. When I came there another time, Heeseung forgot to lock the door so Sunghoon suddenly barged in, thinking the two of us are just chillin' because he heard songs playing inside. But then again, we were almost discarding our clothes. And again, we're interrupted.

Just everytime, every single time we would want to have sex, something has to come up and take away the moment from the both of us. I noticed how Heeseung was flustered and shy the first time it happened and how he was disappointed the last time we got interrupted. I'm wondering if the same thing will happen today even if the boys are out.

I finally saw the familiar sight of their dorm so I went down the bus and texted Heeseung that I'm about to cross the road. Before I could even cross the road, Heeseung was already outside waiting for me. When I reached him he immediately embraced me. He smells so freakin' good, goodness gracious. He wore just plain white shirt and a black baggy sweatpants. His hair now black with an almost mullet making him even more attractive. Can he get even more attractive?

"Someone missed me so much, the stares are melting me." I lightly slapped his arm making him laugh.

When I entered the dorm, Heeseung closed the door and trapped me between his arms, devouring my mouth. I was a bit surprised but immediately responded to the kiss. His hands ran down my hands and I can feel him taking his time. We're not rushing things and we're letting our bodies move accordingly. To my dismay, my stomach grumbled in the middle of our make out sesh. Heeseung opened his eyes, chuckling after he realized my stomach complained. I looked at him apologetically and before I could say anything, Heeseung opened his mouth to speak. "It's okay, Y/N. I know I prepared food and before they get cold and you collapse from hunger let's eat now." No wonder I had a big time crush on him up until now.

After eating the foods he prepared, he took my hand and played some upbeat songs to dance jam with. We continued to dance and converse until we finally felt like sitting already. We sat on the couch and decided to drink some soju.

"Time flies so fast, it's already four in the afternoon. When will the boys come home?" I asked him while he poured me a drink.

"Jungwon, Sunoo and Ni-Ki will be home by nine I guess. They said they'll be having dinner outside. Sunghoon, Jake and Jay won't be home until tomorrow morning due to their personal errands." My mouth formed an 'o'. It's very rare that the boys go out and have time of their own.

"Thank you for spending your spare time with me. I really appreciate it." I raised my glass and took a shot of it. "Oh, shoot. That still hits!" My face grimaced with the taste of alcohol. Heeseung laughed at my expression. He know how low my alcohol tolerance is so he never lets me finish a bottle to myself. After a few more shots, I know that tipsy is enough so I stopped. Heeseung drank the remaining drink. Despite the cold weather, sweat formed on his temples. I took a good look at the sight in front of me. My boyfriend, gulping from the bottle, adam's apple shifting with every gulp, his shirt hanging low down to his chest, eyebrows furrowing from the aftertaste of the alcohol. Heavenly.

"You might drool, sweetheart." To my surprise, Heeseung was already mere centimeters away from my face. He played with the lace of the hem of my dress. "You dolled up for me today with this dress despite the fact we're staying at home and it's freezing cold outside." I can only look at him, too tempted of his actions. "I see you wore the lip tint I gave you. I was right when I thought it would suit you." His gaze went down to my lips. He held my hand and I squeezed it.

No words needed, he gave me wet kisses on my neck. "Do you know how much I waited to finally have time with you alone?" He managed to mumble while still kissing my jaw and everywhere else he could. I can feel he's getting impatient but he still made sure to savor every moment. I can only hum as a response. I turned his head to mine and kissed him. The taste and the flavor of the drink lingered everytime our tongues fought. "Your lips taste so good, Heeseung." He bit my bottom lip and held my hair to deepen the kiss. Fervor grew each and every minute, my denim jacket, his shirt and sweatpants now discarded while he held my thighs and I straddled him. He held onto my ass before standing up and giving it a sharp slap that made me yelp. I can feel the erection growing from his sweatpants. I rolled my hips to make my pooling core meet his member that made him groan. I noticed how his half-lidded eyes are now filled with so much lust.

"Heeseung, please just fuck me now." I continued to roll my hips in his. Growing impatient, he pinned me to the wall and bunched my dress up to my waist. He took his cock out and pushed my panties aside. He held my waist as I slowly sat down on his thick cock. When I was finally halfway, he thrusted up and picked up his pace immediately. His movements show how much he's thirsty to do this all along. Heeseung played and flicked my nipples with his tongue while kneading the other one. I didn't know how to react, all I know was the dorm was filled with our moaning noises. "You know how much I wanted to pound into you like this, hm? I know you wanted me to fuck you too huh don't you?" His brows furrowed while his eyes remained filled with lust. "Want me to fuck you real hard? Use your words baby."

"Yes, Heeseung please!" Tears started forming in my eyes from pleasure. "Yeah, I like that. Always say please, baby." I rolled my hips to meet his movements and moaned directly into his ear. I kissed the spot behind his ear making him moan. Heeseung opened their room and lay me down his bed without breaking our kiss and position. Once I was comfortably laying down, he took one of my legs up and placed it on his shoulders. I ran my hands on his well-built chest and his abs. I took time to admire my heavenly-looking boyfriend hungrily fucking me. "Fuck, Heeseung. You look so hot." I cannot contain it any longer. "You too, Y/N, you look hotter than hell." He pulled my dress up and throwing it somewhere in the room, leaving me with my underwear. He took away my bra and without a warning, he tore my panties not wanting to pull out from me. My mouth opened agape in surprise from him tearing my panty and his thrusts growing even faster, hitting a spot that made me emit a high-pitched moan. "Just like that, baby. Doing so good for me." He held onto my waist in the tightest way possible to hold me in place.

"So fucking tight." His growl made me unconsciously clench around him. He kneaded my breasts while the room was filled with the noise of our skin slapping, his growls and my moans. "Fuck, Y/N, I'm gonna cum." He continued to moan my name each time. I didn't know his thrusts could still grow faster and deeper, a knot forming in my stomach making me hold onto his bicep while moaning his name. He drew circles on my aching clit, enough to overstimulate me. It's so intense my legs were shaking and my toes curling. "Me too, Heeseung. I-I'm cumming." He kissed me and rode my high until his own high came, my name and curses leaving his mouth. He pulled out and came on my stomach.

After catching our breaths from the intensity, Heeseung got up to grab tissues and clean the mess. "Finally, no one interrupted us." I chuckled. "Yeah, finally. I was really looking forward to finally having you to myself, Y/N." He covered my body with blanket before lying down beside me. "It's cold, jagi. Please hug me~" This was his complete opposite minutes ago. I snuggled to his chest, bodies sweaty but none of us cared. He wrapped his arms around my body and hummed me a lull while caressing my hair. What an adorable yet thirsty baby, I thought.

[savorysatori]

— 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍. ✗

paring : ushijima x f!reader x tendou.

usage of ‘she/her’ pronouns.

— synopsis : sex with your boyfriend, ushi, was always the same- sometimes even including kinks that you both were fond of, just the usual. yet, what happens when he develops a certain kink to watch his dearest friend fuck you?

content warning: dumbification, non-con, choking, filming, degradation/praise, mentions of anal, blindfolded, oral, use of pet names, sir kink, breast play, biting, dark content.

“Sluts always fall to their knees at the sight of my fingers, dear, what’s so special about you?”

It was a fantasy. That’s all, nothing else. All he did was imagine you withering underneath the touch of his friend’s grasp. It was nothing more, yet, why did he want to make it a reality?

Every glance and stare you gave him, your eyes lingering over the soiled up band-aid’s around his fingers, your thighs clenching together. Ushijima didn't understand. He only observed, watching you closely and the way you interacted with his dear friend. Watching when you purposely slid closer to him during a conversation, all in front of ushi’s eyes. Almost like you didn’t care if he was there.

Yet, here you were laying on his comforter with thin lace draped over the dewy skin of your thighs; nail marks from his rough hands. Giggles leaving your throat like you weren't just eyeing Tendou from his previous practice. It made him mad. Did you completely forget about your seductive gazes going towards Tendou with no shame?

Or were you playing dumb?

“Toshi! Toshi! That t-tickles, ah!”

His calloused palms stopped from running along the curve of your hip, coming to a pause to stare at you, uneasiness settling inside your stomach.

“Babe?-”

“Let’s play a game.” His tone was short & sharp, leaving you no room to question his sudden change of demeanor. You were used to his mood swings but, something like this didn't make you feel good. “I want to try something new, you don't mind, right?”

You shook your head no, of course, you always let your boyfriend explore new kinks because you knew he was curious. Yet, you wish you could go back and change your mind.

The tightness of the material from the ragged towel dug into the side of your cheek, easing a hiss from you. The way the rigid binds locked your arms tightly together - made a new form of excitement fill you up.

Ushijima’s palm was placed on your cheek, running the pads of his thumb against your cheek. You instantly nuzzled against it, sighing in contentment at his soft touch.

“You’ll be a good girl for me right?”

“Yes, of course.” Disobeying him wasn’t a option, you learned to always be careful what you say, especially around Ushijima.

Your shirt was long forgotten. Discarded on the tile floor, along with your bra. Harsh lips were encircled around your nipple, suckling the sensitive flesh. Grazing his teeth against your erect bud, a small hiss left your lips. He’d pull off of it, glistening salvia dripping from both swollen nipples. You’d squirm as he kneaded your soft breast; squeezing it gently and flicking your nipple occasionally to get a rile out of you.

“Ah, u-ushi..!” your nerves were going haywire, brain fuzzy and hard to understand. He’d plop a sweet kiss on your lips, savoring the taste of your chapstick. As he places both of his hands on your thighs, each finger gripping the supple flesh and spreading your legs apart; gawking in awe at your sweet cunt already drooling onto the satin sheets. Before he could finally soothe away the ache between your thighs, a voice speaks up.

“My Turn.”

The voice was low and breathy, if you leaned closer it would also sound child-like. It didn't take long for you to recognize the voice. You twisted around in the binds, squirming to try and get them off of you.

“At least let me prep her first.” nothing was coming to you, you couldn't decipher what was happening. Nothing was clicking in your brain, ‘what was happening right now?’

“Prep? You've had her for so long, I’m sure she's used to your cock now, if so - she’ll be used to mine as well.”

Tendou.

Ushijima’s hands were dusted off your thighs as he sat back, watching everything unfold.

Tendou inched closer to you, peering down at your obvious confused state, eyes creased together with a frown stretched onto your lips, how cute. He’d squeeze both your cheeks together, leaning down to whisper in a honey-like voice,

“I don’t tolerate bad girls kitten, don’t mess this up for yourself, yeah?” His words were sharp, nothing like you’ve heard before. He papped your left cheek and stood up, pleased to see you nod obediently, becoming completely powerless to him with just setting authority. “She’s a good one Toshi, make sure to keep her because if you don't, I'll just snatch her up!”

Ushi grunted as Tendou smirked, even more, turning his attention back to you and swiping a finger over your lips. “Let’s get started, yeah?”

Whatever clothes were on him were long gone, tossed onto the floor. His fingers digging into your scalp, gripping it tightly as you warm throat hugged his cock. Balls slapping against the under of your chin, spit spluttering everywhere. It was a lewd sight.

“Hey, ushi, you don’t mind if I video her do you?” He’d ask, already pulling out his phone. “Just a lil’ something for later alright sweetheart, hm.”

The way that nickname rolled of his tongue only made you want to please him more, show him how could ease all his problems away with just some oral. Your head moved on its own, your tongue rolling over the thick width of his cock head. His gaze lust-lidded, glossed over with bliss. Gathering all of your loose strands of hair in a ponytail, he’d buck his hips forward and keep the camera trained on your messy face coated in pre-cum.

“F-Fuck- keep going sweetheart, you’re doing so good for a well-trained slut.”

Tendou kept your head in place, catching everything on film as he dumps his thick cum in your mouth, covering your mouth in his semen.

“God damn— little slut knows how to swallow like a pro, aye?”

He pulled out of your mouth, his once hard cock softening to its normal state. Droplets of cum dripped from your mouth as you eagerly swallowed it up, your mouth only watering for more of his cum, for more of his cock. A whine rippled from your lips. You were so hopeless, so desperate, you needed him. Badly.

“Oh? Are ya’ horny for me? Yer’ getting off on your boyfriend’s best friend cock? You’re adorable, baby.” He held the back of your head tight, smearing the rest of his dripping cum onto your swollen lips. “Such a good girl.”

“hngh- Tendou..” your scraped knees dug into the mattress, face pushed against the sheets. You were so pretty, cunt already glistening with shiny arousal and Tendou didn't have to lift one finger, he thought you were so cute.

Ushijima would admit, and he would tell you later — you looked adorable, defenseless under Tendou. Hands restrained with eyes covered, you were weak to his gaze and his hands. Nothing could stop him from doing anything to you, nobody could step in. Not even ushi.

His red hair prickled against your cheek, his hands circling your throat and applying pressure to it slightly. “Yer’ so pretty, sweetheart, all nice and warm f’me back here.” He’d angle your head up to face the camera, the flash of light shining on your messy face. The blindfold came undone around your face and slipped off your eyes, revealing the sparkle of lust gleaming in them.

“T-Tendou, hngh.. please- I want it, so badly.” you were in need for the feeling of his cock inside you, dragging along your silky walls, easing his cock head in and out of you. You wanted it all.

“Sorry sweetheart, I only give cock to good sluts who address me as ‘sir’ anything else, and I see you as nothing but filthy.”

Sir?

The moment you parted your lips, you blurted out the word immediately.

“S-Sir! please, f-fuck—“

A cruel smile sprawled onto Tendou’s face, papping your cheek- he'd push away your thighs to lean closer, pressing asweet kiss to your cunt. His eyes holding a sadistic glint. “Maybe I should fuck this cute hole right here, just to tease ya’ and make you completely melt under me.” He’d coo, his finger pressing against your asshole. You'd twitch and nod your head. You would accept anything from him at this moment, anything to feel the veins of his cock.

You were already wet, nice, and dripping to which he didn't have to prep you. He’d switch you to where you were in a mating position, knees pressed to your chest and face peering up at him, ready to take anything he was going to give. When he sat up, your eyes traveled down to his semi-hard cock, staring in astonishment. The tip is red and bulging, veins pumping through the base — tiny drops of pre-cum leaking from the front.

“Ah, I already know you’ll welcome my cock well, pretty baby.”

Tendou leaned down eye-level, keeping contact with you as he pushed his cock into you, his eyebrows knitting together when your warmth sucked him in nice and tight. You bit your lip, eyes watering up at his size, you wondered how you even took him in.

“W-Wait- too fast.. gentle, please.” Your voice was croaky through whines, eyes twitching with tears when he sunk further into the depths of your cunt.

“Shh, you’ll like it. Just wait, baby.”

With that, he’d thrust into you, forcing his fat head past your tight ring of muscles. You’d yelp as he breached past the barrier, leaving you to babble and sob against the pillow like you did with Ushijima.

“Yer’ squeezing me so tightly, darling.” He leaned down to kiss you sloppily, saliva dripping from your chin the minute he pulled away. He’d runt his hips into you, massaging your thighs while he fucked you stupid, the noises leaving your lips filling him up with pride. “Pretty fuckin’ girl, hugging my cock so w-well, think I might cum right here.”

Shifting his hips, he held your legs up and hit your ‘sweet spot’, pounding into you quickly from then on.

“S-Sir!” Rolled off your tongue delicately, voice breaking down shortly from the immense moaning pouring from your mouth. Skin and skin smacking against each other, Tendou’s cock pulsing in your velvet walls.

“Gonna cum? Go ahead, cum for me pretty one. Show me how much you love my cock, c’mon baby - yer’ pussy is gushing all over me, might as well cum.”

His dirty words going in from one ear and going out the other, letters all jumbled up together leaving your mouth. Phrases and babbles for “Sir!” sputtering out. Your mind was in a frenzy, eyes glossed over in a dumb look. You could barely even see with your vision so blurry, everything like a bubbly blur.

Your walls tightened around him as he intensifies his pace, cock slipping in and out of you with a slum of pre-cum everywhere.

“S-Sir! ‘m gonna.. Ten-” anything coherent diminishing from your mind as soon as you came, your cum coating his cock head fully.

Beads of perception rolling down his face, Tendou slipped out from your pussy. Face all sweaty with eyes glazed over with bliss. He’d pump his cock in his hand, stroking the sensitive flesh — your pretty little pants were enough for him, his hand gripping his cock as he unleashed his cum onto your stomach.

“Pretty girl, you look so cute with my cum on your stomach.” He’d coo. Picking up his phone from behind, he snapped a picture of your body, making sure to save it for later.

“Thanks for letting me fuck your girlfriend, tosh, I'll repay the favor later.” Tendou pulled up his pants and papped your cheek like before, grinning down at you. “I’ll see you later sweet cheeks and your pretty pussy.”

Toshi’s eyes watched Tendou leave the room and your fucked out body on his bed, cum smeared on your stomach with fluids everywhere. He wouldn't lie, it was a pretty sight. At least he knew this wouldn't be the last time he fucked you, Toshi knew Tendou always wanted another turn, always wanted the cycle to continue.

[sillyrabbit81]

The Instructor - Part 4

Summary: Agent Walker continues your training.

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Word Count: approx 3.8k

Warnings: smut, Dom/sub dynamic (m Dom, f sub), dégradation kink, praise kink, slapping, rough sex, orgasm control, I think thats it?

Authors note: Not beta read, only edited by me. There will be errors, my apologies.

Masterlist

Part 3 Part 5

The Instructor Part 4

August took you to the surveillance room. The operation had the whole ninth floor to work from, you didn’t know how the CIA was able to pull off such a requisition, but you knew not to ask questions. Chances were, even August didn’t know how that was done.

Agent Thomas was there with two other Agents and although they were both men, they were so opposite in nature and appearance you wondered how they could possibly work together. One of them seemed to radiate constant joy and good humour, while the other seemed dour and uninterested in anything. You receive a handshake and a welcoming smile from Agent Ortega and got a short nod from Agent Turner. Despite August introducing you by your name, since Agent Thomas had beaten you to them, your name was New Girl.

Apparently, there were two more Agents you would meet when your shift finishes. The number of Agents on this case struck you as odd. Six agents plus August all in the field seemed overkill for any simple surveillance case. Four should be more than enough. Hell, you could probably do it with three.

Ortega was the agent you would spend the next 8 hours with, and you were relieved. You were confident you knew how to do your job, but since this was your first field assignment, you were nervous and Turner made it worse.

So did August, if you were honest with yourself. You found yourself playing with the golden circlet around your neck a lot and chided yourself for bringing attention to it. It was meant to be discreet but if you constantly played with it, eventually someone would notice. You frequently found your concentration lapse and you would focus on August instead of your job. He was becoming an obsession, he invaded your mind constantly. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, anticipating your next visit or, remembering your too few encounters.

During one such daydream, you caught Ortega staring at you, expectantly. You quickly realised it was because he had spoken to you but you hadn’t responded. “Sorry,” you say. “I tend to get really focussed on my work and block out other sounds.” You lie smoothly. Ortega waves away your apology and repeats the question.

You enjoy your time with Ortega, he was friendly and warm without being lecherous. Perhaps his simple wedding band helped to put you at ease. He doesn’t offer information about his partner and you don’t ask. You both eat a lunch of sandwiches made in the kitchen and while the work doesn’t stop, you and Ortega start chatting and you find yourself growing more comfortable with him. Even though he calls you New Girl, he doesn’t treat you like a rookie and you found your confidence increase as the day went on. You even found yourself sharing jokes with him.

However, an hour before your surveillance shift finished, August came back to the room requesting an update. As he comes in the door you were smiling, still getting over a laughing fit with Ortega. Although he shows no obvious reaction, you notice a slight tightening of his jaw. You keep the smile plastered to your face as you look away, but you know there isn’t a hint of a smile in your eyes.

August checks in with Ortega who reports the day’s events. He leans over Ortega’s shoulder resting one hand on the desk while the other held one side of a pair headphones up to his ear as he listens to some audio. You can feel August’s gaze boring holes into you, and you can almost hear him say, “Look at me, Pet.”

Slowly you raise your eyes and look at him. You had to smother a gasp. He wasn’t just staring at you, it felt like he was stripping you bare with his eyes. The fire is his blue orbs was scorching with desire. His gaze holds you captive, and you know if Ortega sees what was taking place, your secret would be out. Scandal at this point in your career would mean you were chained to a desk for the rest of your life, if you didn’t quit in frustration, which was usually what most people did.

But August doesn’t take pity on you, he knows the risks too and doesn’t avert his gaze. He licks his lips, drawing attention to his mouth. With a leering look he mouths, “I’m going to fuck the shit out of you tonight, Pet.”

You make a strangled noise and Ortega looks up at you started. “You ok, New Girl?” he asks.

You reach down and clutch your foot, slipping it out of your shoe. “Yeah,” you say, hiding your face while you rub your foot. “Just a cramp.”

August ignores the situation and keeps listening to the audio. You avoid looking at him and he leaves a few minutes later. Even after he is gone, you still feel your ears and cheeks burn and you doubt you will be able to regain your concentration. Then you receive an email from August that simply reads “8 pm.” The rest of your shift is a write off.

Not long before eight pm you stand nervously outside August’s apartment. With trembling hands, you knock on the door. You feel tipsy, you can’t think straight, you’re giggly with nervousness and your legs are unsteady, ready to betray you at any moment.

“It’s open,” you hear August call from inside.

You take a deep breath in a useless attempt to settle your nerves and open the door. You see him sitting at his dining table reading from his laptop and nursing a tumbler of what looked like gin or vodka. He didn’t get up, just flicks his eyes up as the door opened, saw it was you and flicks his eyes down again.

“Lock the door,” August says and you do as he asks.

He is wearing his suit pants and button up shirt, but he had taken his jacket and tie off. His sleeves are rolled up and a few of the top buttons on his shirt are open and you can see tufts of his dark hair on his chest. His hair is still impeccably groomed, but a five o’clock shadow dusts his jaw. Even without the suit, he exudes authority, from the set of his jaw, to his posture, the only thing casual about him was his laxed attire.

“You’re early again,” August says. You still can’t tell if he thought being early was a good thing or not. Until he said otherwise you would continue to be early because you were sure August wouldn’t tolerate tardiness.

You half shrug in reply, but don’t say anything. You realise you hardly say anything in front of August, he intimidated you more than else did. He made you nervous in a way that was so intoxicating that you found it hard to even think of anything you wanted to say. Unless, he asked you a question, then you can hold nothing back. Perhaps it was because you know there is no one in the world that has more power over you than he does.

“Take your clothes off, pet.” August says, still not looking at you. “All of it this time, except your stockings and heels.”

You try to swallow, your mouth feels dry, but you don’t hesitate to obey, his tuts of disappointment that morning still lingered in your mind. Your hands shake as you undress and fold your clothes neatly. You aren’t sure why you feel like its important to fold your clothes, maybe it was because even when August was relaxing, he always had an air of clean order around him. Like he needed things to be just so. However, you know that’s not completely true, you have seen the chaos dance in his eyes, the thin veneer of civility he wore like a skin suit couldn’t hide all of his primal urges and tendency towards recklessness.

“Come sit next to me,” you hear August say the second you had folded your underwear and placed them on top of your clothes. You didn’t think he had been watching but he must have been, because even now he seemed to still be focussed on the screen in front of him. You feel a little silly that you had undressed like you would have at home, you didn’t even try to make it look good for him.

So, you make an effort this time, to show him you want to please him. You let your hips sway just slightly as you walk, the movements feel natural, yet seductive as you near him. You pull a chair away from the table but August stops you, putting his hand over yours. His fingers are warm on your skin and you feel a shiver run up your spine.

“Not there,” he says.

You walk around to the chair on the other side of him, but August stops you again. “Not there.” He looks at you, then with a small movement of his head and a smirk, he indicates the floor. “On your knees, pet.”

You’re shocked and before you can stop yourself you say, “On my knees?” You look at the rug under the table. It was fairly plush looking and soft so your knees wouldn’t hurt. You wondered if he wanted you to take him in his mouth again, you couldn’t think of another reason he would want you on the ground.

“Yes,” August says, with little patience, but his smirk holds. He must find your bemusement funny. “Now.”

You slowly sink to your knees next to August, you feel a little humiliated, but you are curious to see where this was going. August lets out a content hum as you obey. The sound makes you smile and you look up at him, his smirk now looks more like a smile and he pats your head. “Good girl.” He praises. All thoughts of humiliation left you as those two words warm you. August places his large hand on the back of your head and guides it to his thigh.

Again, you’re confused, until you feel his hand stroke your head. He pats you, soothing himself as he finishes his work. He occasionally lifts his hand to do some typing and you find yourself watching his hand impatiently until it is returned. Occasionally he touches your collar, running his fingers along it, as if reminding himself that you as his. Sometimes his fingers slide up and down your back, with long tender strokes that make you break out in goose bumps and when he makes you shiver you hear him hum with satisfaction.

Eventually you hear August give a big sigh and he stretches his neck before closing the laptop and moving it out of the way. He takes a last swig of his drink before putting it aside as well.

“Pet,” August says. You look up at him and he gives his head a little jerk again and you stand up. He looks you up and down, his eyes seem critical as he inspects you, but you know he likes what he sees because his tongue licks his lips before he bites his bottom lip.

August guides your leg over his and you stand in front of him now, your legs on either side of his and your bottom rests on the table. You feel exposed while he continues to study you, and you want to close your legs as you see his eyes linger on your bare slit. You know he would see the slick wetness of your arousal, you could feel it on the inside of your thighs. You close your eyes, a little embarrassed by your obvious display of desire.

August starts to run his hands over the outside of your thighs, hips and waist and back again, while he leans in and kisses the soft skin of your belly. You involuntarily giggle and your hands reach for his head as his stubble tickles at your sensitive skin. Still smiling he takes your hands in his, pulls them behind your back and holds both of them in his huge paw. He returns his kisses to your tummy, but this time they are bigger, wetter and you can feel his tongue lick at your skin as he does. You try not to wriggle, you try and hold still for August, but his teasing touch is too much and you find yourself squirming as he plays with you.

Between kisses he says, “I think its time I got to know you better, Pet.” You feel the heat rise in your body and you feel your heart beat everywhere. God, he has barely even started and you were so ready for him. “Time I explored you.” His eyes looked up at yours as his tongue slid up your body and over your nipple briefly. He held his face in front of your breast, letting his breath tickling your hard bud. “Time I tested your limits.” He takes you in his mouth, sucking on your nipple, and letting his teeth graze you, your body shuddering with pleasure.

Looking up at you August’s voice is suddenly serious, “If you need me to stop, say Red.”

“Red to stop,” you repeat, letting him know you understand.

Letting go of your hands, August lifts you by your waist and sits you on the table. “Lay down, pet.” He says, pushing against your shoulder. He lifts your legs so that your heeled feet rest on his thighs. You moan, and want to draw your knees together, but you feel his hands on the inside of your thighs pushing them further apart. You are completely on display for him, you can hide nothing as he continues spreading your legs. You shut your eyes, tight. Your mind and body were in conflict. You were on fire, hot with lust and need, but your mind wanted to say no, to stop, you couldn’t stand the embarrassment.

“Spread your lips wide for me, pet. I want to see your cunt dripping wet for me.”

You shake your head, you can’t do that. It was too much. Already so exposed and naked, the thought of holding yourself open to him was too humiliating. “Please August,” you murmur “I can’t.”

The loud smack against your breast takes you by surprise. You hear the noise before you even register the pain. “August,” you cry. Your hands reach up, covering your breasts, and you try to rub the sting away.

“Hold yourself open. I want to see inside you.” August’s voice is low and firm, not angry, just stern. You lift your head to see him, he tilts his head and his whiskered lip curls in a cruel grin, almost like he was daring you to say no again.

Laying your head back on the table and squeezing your eyes shut, you move your shaking fingers down to your slit. You’re so wet and so aroused you struggle to hold your swollen petals apart. You hear August’s breathing start to quicken and his voice is barely above a whisper as he says, “Good girl.” You feel a finger slide teasingly over your exposed core and despite your shame your hips roll in desire. “You have such a pretty wet cunt, Pet.” His finger sweeps up your slit, his rough pad pausing on your clit. You gasp as he does, and a low moan escapes you parted lips.

August chuckles, “You’re very responsive, Pet. I like that.”

His finger moves back to your entrance, and with agonisingly slow movements he pushes his finger into you. You feel yourself clamping down on him already, you’re so desperate to be filled. Your hips start to rock as he curls his finger inside you, searching for your spot.

“Oh fuck,” you cry when he finds it, you unconsciously try to curl up into a ball as every muscle in your body contracts. Your hips move faster now, and you eagerly beg, “Please August.”

“You are an impatient little slut sometimes, pet,” August says as he lays an arm over you, stopping your undulating hips. “I think patience will be your next lesson, but lucky for you, today I want to watch you cum.”

Without warning, August pushes a second finger inside you. You cry out as you feel yourself stretching to accommodate him. You were so close to coming, your whole body felt pulled tight like an elastic, ready to spring apart when the tension got too much. Your fingers start to hurt as you hold yourself open. Even your fingers feel tight, ready for the release of your orgasm.

Your thighs start to tremble and you feel the warm wave start to rise from your toes. “Are you about to come pet?” You barely hear August through the fog bliss you’re feeling as his fingers dance inside you, coaxing you to your peak.

“Yes,” you say through your moans.

“Ask permission,” August says.

You’re so close you can’t make sense of his words. “What?” you ask.

“Ask me if you can cum. This is my cunt pet, I will control when you cum. Or I can stop now.”

You understand that threat, “No, no, please don’t stop.” Panting, and breaking out in sweat you say, “Please August, can I cum?”

“Yes, my needy little slut. Cum for me. Now.”

And you do. You don’t know if it was because he told you to or if it was because you were so close anyway, but when he said now, you felt a wave of warmth flood you. Your body pulsed and your core milks at his fingers and they keep hitting your spot. It feels like your orgasm lasts for an age and even as you come down from your high, you tremble in little after shocks.

You are in such a haze you don’t notice August removing his fingers until you feel both his hands on your knees, pushing them up and out as he stands. Wrapping his arms around your thighs, he gives them a tug. Your ass is barely on the table and in your malleable state, you feel like you’re going to fall off, but he holds you there.

There’s a new sensation at your core, and you groggily sit up, resting on your elbows. You see August, cock in hand lining himself up. You whimper, not yet, you think. Augusts lifts his eyes and you’re caught once again in his piercing blue eyes. His shows you his teeth and grabs your throat as he impales you with his cock.

You would have thought that you would adjust to his size quicker after the euphoria of your orgasm, but you were wrong. You feel yourself reluctantly stretch around him, and despite the pain, as he fills you, tears you apart, it feels good, he feels good.

August pulls you up by your throat, and you wrap your legs around him for stability. You think he’s going to kiss you, but he studies your every facial expression, listens to every little moan as he starts to fuck you. Still feeling weak, every thrust from August throws you, his firm grip on your throat was the only thing stopping you from falling back on the table.

“You look so good, pet,” he grunts at you through his gritted teeth. “You look like a slut, with your pretty mouth moaning for more.” He leans in close to you, and growls into your ear, “But you’re not just a slut, pet. You are my slut.”

You cry out as he says it, his claim of you relights the fire between your legs and you start moving with him, trying to fulfil the growing need inside you. You grasp his shoulders, holding onto him as he keeps whispering in your ear, “You greedy girl, you want to cum again don’t you?”

“Please, August,” you say. He raises his head and sticks two fingers in your mouth, pushing them in deep, almost making you gag. As you build to your peak so does your boldness and this time you find Augusts eyes. You run your tongue around his fingers, before starting to tease them and suck on them.

August snarls as he watches, and increases his pace. You want to cum again, but you don’t want to stop sucking his fingers. But then August breaths a curse, “Fuck.”

You couldn’t hold it off now, you say around his fingers, “Pease August, can I cum?”

“Fuck, yes,” August is as lost as you are and as you fall over the edge, and your pulsing walls grip his cock he thrusts into like he wants to tear you in two. On his last pump he lets out a deep rumbling growl, before his whole body shudders. You had never seen a man who came like him, the way he doesn’t hold back, the way he lets his primal urges over take him, the noises, all of it was so fucking hot.

August leans his sweaty forehead against yours while you both get your breath back. His hand still holds your throat but he moves it under your chin, and with the gentleness that always surprises you, lifts it and kisses you with soft lips and a caressing tongue. You kiss him back, matching his mood, softly licking at his lips.

With a final kiss, August pulls away and helps you to your feet. “Ok?” he asks. You nod and he chuckles briefly, “Who knew you had both a degradation kink and a praise kink?”

You look away from him, embarrassment filling you. August sees it and lifts your face to his again. “I fucking love it,” he says. “Much more to explore.”

You smile, still a little shy about it, but not as embarrassed. “Come,” he says and takes you to his bedroom where you both get in bed and you lay like you had that morning.

You stay awake, pretending to sleep, keeping your breaths long and steady. Eventually August drifts off, and you wait until he falls into a deep sleep.

You slowly get out of bed and creep over to the dining table. You lift August’s laptop from the chair he had left it on. You open it and enter the password you saw him use on the plane. Your hands start sweating as the machine connects to the CIA network. You think you hear a noise and you look behind you, but you can see or hear nothing.

You type August’s CIA log in and enter another password. You are worried about this one, you aren’t sure if you had been able to catch all of it. You release the breath you didn’t realise you were holding when the CIA logo fills the screen.

You feel eyes on you and the hair on the back of your neck starts to rise. Terrified you turn around and come face to face with August and his unforgiving eyes. “What do you think you are doing, Pet?”

Part 5

Tag List:

@henryobsessed @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @posiemax @nostalgicb-txh @moonlacebeam @anitababi @agniavateira @blakerogue @shadesofarrogance @mansaaay @stxlemate

[hawthornewhisperer]

epiphanies

Some DILF!Draco for @ambpersand. Currently 1,500 words and rated T, but I hope to add a second chapter tonight/tomorrow/soon that would be rated M. This will stay tumblr-only until I have that second chapter ready, then I'll put the whole shebang up on Ao3.

Inspired by this incredible fanart by @mignon-chignon and thank you to @bgonemydear for her on-the-spot betaing.

Hermione hadn’t even finished getting dressed when the owl from the Ministry arrived. She scanned the note, swore under her breath, and dashed off a reply. If the Mitford hearing had been moved up, that meant she needed the files and she needed them today.

She had last seen them in Malfoy's briefcase as he went home two days ago, but he'd been out of the office ever since. She hurried up the stairs to her building’s owlery, scribbled a note to Malfoy and returned to her flat, hoping against hope she was wrong.

His return owl arrived when she was halfway through her toast and she groaned under her breath. Mitford files are at my place. I’ll leave them in the Floo Parlor.

That was it, not even his initials as a sign off. “Rude prat,” she grumbled under her breath. Malfoy had been working at the firm with her for the past six months, and while he was no longer the sneering bully she remembered from Hogwarts, he was an exceedingly grumpy arsehole most of the time. Everything he said was clipped and sardonic, and he seemed to have a deathly allergy to saying thank you. She would have hated working with him if he wasn’t so bloody good at his job, which had downgraded her feelings towards him from “loathe completely” to “tolerate grudgingly.”

Hermione always did have a weakness for competence.

She grabbed her blazer and joined the queue in the lobby for the floo, still piling her hair into a bun on the top of her head when she took her turn.

Malfoy’s Floo Parlor was immaculate. It looked like a magazine spread, tastefully decorated and without even a speck of dust. In contrast, her tiny flat looked like a library had exploded in it, largely because one basically had.

But of course Malfoy’s was neat and tidy and...empty. The Mitford files were nowhere to be seen. She let loose a swear that would have made her ex-husband proud and steeled herself to walk into Malfoy’s apartment proper, wishing she had had time for an extra cup of tea if she was going to have to deal with his surly face before nine am.

She pushed open the door to the rest of his flat, ready to snap at him, and froze.

He had his back to her, looking out the expansive window that framed much of London, and the first thing she noticed was he had a very nice back.

A very nice bare back, because he was shirtless. Shirtless and holding a baby.

She knew he had a child, of course. He had one framed photo of the boy on his desk— the only photo of any kind in his entire office, which otherwise resembled a prison cell with a very fancy sofa— but Malfoy did not talk about personal matters at work. All she knew was his name— Scorpius— and that he was approximately Albus Potter’s age.

The little boy shared his father’s blond hair, but there was a soft curl to the ends that must have come from his mother. The Malfoy-Greengrass divorce had been the subject of more than one gossip page article, but Hermione hadn’t read any of them— she didn’t like how exploitative they felt, turning people’s pain into sport for entertainment.

Not that she cared much about Malfoy’s pain, per se, but it was the principle of the thing.

Scorpius’s eyes were red rimmed and his cheeks looked sticky with tears as he eyed her over his father’s shoulder. His father’s exceptionally muscled, well defined, bare shoulder. The boy pawed at his eye with a chubby fist and she watched as Draco pressed a soft kiss to the side of his son’s head, the sort of careless affection she was used to seeing from Harry with his boys but she had never once thought she would see from Malfoy. “It’s okay buddy, I know. It hurts,” she heard him murmur, and she realized she had been staring for entirely too long.

She cleared her throat and he turned with a start. “Fuck, the Mitford files,” he said, the soft look on his face vanishing in an instant.

Hermione felt an odd sort of loss when his familiar cold mask slipped into place, like she had gotten a glimpse of something she would never see again.

Why she wanted to see that look on his face again was a mystery she didn't much feel like solving.

“They’re in my study, hold on,” he added, shifting Scorpius higher on his hip and padding barefoot towards a closed door.

Hermione used his absence to compose herself. She was just thrown by seeing her coworker out of context, that was all.

Out of context and shirtless with an unfairly sculpted chest, plus a pair of joggers slung low across his hips. Did all men have muscles that arrowed down from their hips like that? That was not something she had seen in the flesh before, and it had her flustered.

By the time he returned with the Mitford file, she was thoroughly uncomposed. “You know if you’re going to be off work you really shouldn’t take home client files that can’t be owled,” she snapped.

Anger flashed across his face. “I’ll be sure to have Scorpius schedule his sleep regressions and teething fits with you next time,” he growled.

“It’s nothing to do with him,” she said, doing her best to keep her eyes anywhere but where they wanted to be, which was staring at the play of morning light on the planes of his chest. “These files are supposed to stay at the office for a reason, Malfoy.”

Exhaustion abruptly flooded his features. He pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes and Scorpius nuzzled into his neck. “I know,” he said, broad shoulders slumping. “Look, this week has been hell. I didn’t think I would be out this long. I’m sorry,” he added, and quite frankly, she never thought Draco Malfoy would ever apologize to her for anything.

The shock from hearing those two words was the only explanation for what came out of her mouth next. “When was the last time you showered?”

Something that was almost a smile tugged the corner of his mouth up. “I look that bad, huh?”

Actually he looked like a Greek god carved out of marble but she wasn’t about to tell him that. And he did have rather alarming purple shadows under his eyes, plus stubble that indicated it had been several days since he shaved. “You’ve looked better,” she said, reaching out and plucking Scorpius from his arm. “I don’t have to be in for a bit. Go shower.”

He hesitated, but Scorpius was already interestedly pulling at her hair. “Okay,” Malfoy said, something unreadable in his grey eyes. “It’ll only be a minute.”

Hermione stuck her tongue out at Scorpius, who giggled. “Take your time.”

By the time Malfoy emerged from his bedroom, freshly showered and shaved and in jeans and a white v-neck shirt, Hermione and Scorpius were on the living room floor while he clambered all over her like a muggle jungle gym. Scorpius was fascinated by her hair and was sitting next to her while she laid flat on her back, grabbing chubby fistfuls and yanking on it.

“Careful, he’ll skin you bald if you let him,” Malfoy drawled.

She pushed herself up to sitting, at first grateful Draco had put on a shirt and then disappointed as it meant his chest was now hidden from view. But then he crossed his arms and the muscles in his biceps strained against the sleeve of his shirt, and she circled back to grateful again.

“There’s plenty to go around,” she said, gently prying Scorpius’s hand from her hair and retying it into a bun. Draco's gaze rested on her as she did, and an unaccountable blush started crawling up her neck.

“Sorry about earlier,” he said, sitting down on the couch, lifting Scorpius into his lap and bringing the total number of apologies she had ever heard from his lips to two.

She shrugged. “Honestly? You’ve been worse.”

He huffed, a noise that almost sounded like a laugh. “I have been a prat, haven’t I? Between the divorce and Scorpius, I’ve been an arsehole at the office. I’ll try and do better,” he said.

The utter sincerity of his words drew her up short. “Actually, I was talking about Hogwarts but yes, you have been a prat at the office.”

Draco blinked. “Fuck, I— I never apologized for that, did I?”

“You didn’t, but it’s okay,” she said surprising herself. Apologies were nice, but they didn't mean much if the person didn't actually try to improve. She wasn’t sure when, exactly, but at some point in the last six months she had stopped thinking of who Malfoy used to be and accepted that he had changed for the better.

“It’s not, though,” he said. “Again, with the divorce and everything I’ve been— it’s isolating, is all. I'm sorry.”

“Pity there’s no one else in this room who knows what it’s like to go through a divorce,” she said drily.

His eyebrows shot up. “Are you saying I can come to you for tea and sympathy, Granger?”

“I’m saying you don’t have to do this all alone,” she said gently, and stood. “McAvoy will be waiting on the Mitford brief though. I should get going.”

He stood, Scorpius once again snuggling into his chest. “Thanks, Granger. I owe you one,” he said.

Hermione leaned over to place a kiss on Scorpius’s soft curls without even thinking. She could smell Draco’s skin that close, the soap and shampoo from his shower filling her nostrils. “I’ll hold you to that,” she said, and headed towards the Floo Parlor, Mitford files safely in hand.

She only wished she could say the same for her hormones.

[hawaii5-0gurl]

A Marine and A Seal: Part 1

Paring: Steve McGarrett X Reader (Eventually)

Characters: Major Reader, Capt. Rolland (OC), Secretary of Defense, Capt. Green (OC), Capt. Collins (OC), Capt. Sparks (OC)

Word Count: 2530

Warnings: Angst, Language, Mentions of blood, Violence

A/n: this is part 1 of ?? I haven’t finished writing it just yet. So I don’t have an exact number yet. 

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The military is your entire life. You are what most civilians classified as a military brat. Ever since you were a little kid you moved around so much. You have been to a lot of different places, tried different things. Both of your parents were Marines. As soon as you turned 17, it was a no-brainer for you that you would go in as well.

Your father was excited when you told them that you were going to enlist. He had been preparing you for almost your entire life. You had learned all about gun safety and how to shoot when you were about six years old. He was also training you in hand-to-hand combat, by the time you were fifteen you could almost kick his ass.

Your mother on the other hand, was completely against you going into the military. She wanted you to have a life outside of all of this. She also didn’t want to have to bury her only child if something went wrong. She even tried to talk you out of it many times. In all honesty that only made you want to do it even more, you wanted to prove to her that you could do it and that you would be fine. Mostly you wanted to prove it to yourself.

When you went in, you had something to prove. You did every extra training that you could. No matter what you were being told, you still busted your ass to get through all of it. You spent the first four years of your military career doing these trainings. Over the years you moved up in the ranks.

Now you were in Afghanistan, you are leading a rescue mission to save an abducted Marine. He had gotten separated from his unit in a hostile area, which lead to his abduction. You were brought into a briefing, they showed you a video message that was sent through to your base. Captain Rolland was tied to a chair and was savagely beaten. You absolutely hated this part of your job, but this is something you would do over and over again. Just so that who ever you were rescuing would get back home safe.

You were the one they had called in to be the Team Leader. This mission was one of those that you weren’t “officially” on. So, you had to get in and out as quickly and quietly as possible. You had three men with you, you were able to pick your team but there was a last-minute change. One of the men you had chosen was unavailable. You were given a man you didn’t know but he wasn’t shy about not wanting you to be the leader. You didn’t give a fuck what he wanted. You had been on many missions to Afghanistan and other hostile areas around the world. He on the other hand was a risk, he has been in a non-deployable unit for the last four years, and you didn’t understand why he was even going on this mission.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me! You’re having HER lead this unit!” He looked over to you. “I bet you couldn’t lead a starving dog to its food bowl.”

“Excuse Me?! Who the fuck do you think your talking too?” You had gotten up in his face, well as close as you could. He is approximately 6’3”, and you are only 5’8”.

“A little girl who decided to play dress up in her daddy’s uniform.” He looked you up and down with a cocked eyebrow.

Your next move may have been a little overboard, but you weren’t going to take anybody’s shit, especially when another marines life was on the line. You grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the wall behind the both of you. You kicked his legs out from under him, you were the only thing holding him from dropping on his ass.

“Y/LN!! LET HIM GO NOW!”

“Listen to me, you naïve little boy, you have been seriously misled.” You had the most deadpan look on your face, but your eyes were filled with rage. “I have been doing this a lot longer than you think. I grew up in this shit. I have done and seen things that you could only imagine in your nightmares. Don’t you ever get between me and saving one of our own! Do you understand?” You dropped him before he could say anything. Walking to the door before turning back to him. “Get your facts straight before you even try coming after me. Actually, just don’t fuck with me.” Then you left to get ready for you mission

“What is she talking about?” Green got up and looked at the Secretary of Defense.

“This is Major Y/LN. Show her some respect. She is one of the few highly trained marines we have had. She has more credentials, training and experience than most of the men in this battalion. She’s the one we call when we need things done. I suggest you don’t piss her off again. So, get over yourself, get the fuck out of my office and go get ready for your mission.” Your superior wasn’t going to tolerate an insubordinate marine.

You had to drop from a helicopter, far out enough from Khost that you wouldn’t be seen. You had to make it to Khost on your own. If you were captured you were on your own, the U.S. Government would deny you being out there so you have to be really careful on where you go and what you do.

You were currently outside of a warehouse. You had split your unit in two. You kept Green with you, just to keep an eye on him. Your other two men, Spark and Collins, were close friends of your so you knew you could trust them. You had signaled for them to take west side of the building. You and Green took the east, you looked in one of the windows, you didn’t see anyone in the hallway.

“There’s nobody on the east side, Collins how’s it looking over there?” You relayed to the team, getting all clear from him.

“We’re going to breach, in 3… 2… 1…”

You and your team breached. You worked your way through. There was some noise coming from around one of the corners. You held your fist up signaling to Green to stop, he did and tapped on your shoulder to let you know that he was right behind you. You looked around the corner to see two men with their backs turned to you. One of them went into a room, leaving the one alone.  You turned to Green, signaling that you were going to go in, and he was to stay here.

You flipped your M27 behind your back, pulling your knife from its sheath. You slowly moved around the corner, once you had gotten close enough you slipped the knife back into its sheath. You brought your arm around the mans neck putting him into a choak hold, making him unable to scream, while putting the other hand on his gun so he couldn’t get a shot off.

Once he was out, you slowly lowered him to the ground so that he didn’t make a loud noise. You slowly walked to the end of the hall, looking around the corner to see Collins and Spark coming up. You signaled to Green to come over. You hear noise coming from the room that the previous man had went into. You had Collins and Sparks hold around the corner, you pushed Green back to where when the door opens the two of you would be behind it.

Next thing the door opens, the man started walking towards where your men were hidden behind the corner. Before you could even move to grab the guy, Green moved around you to go for the guy. His footsteps are a lot heavier than yours, they caused him to turn around and raise his gun to fire. You pushed Green out of the way just in time, but that left you in the open. The man was only able to get one shot before you could shoot him in the head. Luckily for you he was a bad shot, the bullet grazed the side of your arm.

“Damn It!” You grabbed your arm, pulling your hand away covered in blood. You glared back at Green.

Collins and Spark came around the corner to see you injured, and Green getting up off the ground.

“I had him Y/LN.” Green yelled in a hushed tone.

“No, you didn’t. He would have shot you in the chest if I wouldn’t have pushed you out of the way. Now, let’s go find Rolland before you get someone killed.”

You looked back to the door, you moved over to it. Getting the guy’s attention, you showed that you were going to breach, and they needed to be right behind you. Once they were in place, you opened the door. You had your gun up, chubby-cheeking it. You slowly moved into the dark room, but there was as single light. It was shining down onto a man sitting in a chair in the center of the room.

You slowly come around to see that it was Rolland. Once again you flip your gun behind you, going up to him you check to see if he had a pulse. As soon as your hand touched his neck, his eyes shot open. You instantly covered his mouth with your other hand.

“Hey Rolland, how about we get you out of here?” He instantly nodded his head. You started cutting the ropes off of him while the others kept watch. You also did a quick once over on him, bandaging the bigger cuts to makes sure he didn’t bleed too much.

After you cleaned him up, you helped him up. He could walk but it was slowly. You had Spark help him as you led them out. You made it out of the building, only having to take out a few men. you almost made it to the extraction site when you got pinned down. There were quite a few men surrounding your team. You needed to make a choice.

“Collins.”

“Yeah?”

“I have a plan, but you’re not going to like it.” You looked over to him.

“Then we aren’t doing it. I’m not going to let you be the bate while we get away.” He knew you too well.

“Well, you don’t have a choice. Rolland isn’t going to last us trying to take them out one by one. We also can’t risk them calling for back-up.”

Spark and Green were listening to you as well. They were still watching their surroundings, as well as shooting anyone who came into their line of sight.

“Here’s what is going to happen. I’m going to go around this ridge to give you cover fire. You need go west about three clicks to the extraction site.” You pulled the Sat Phone off of one of your pockets and put it in his hand. “If I’m not there in under 20 get the Hell out of here.”

“Damn It Y/n. I don’t want to have to explain to your parents why you didn’t make it home. We are not doing it.”

“That’s an Order, this is not up for negotiation! Do I make myself clear?!”

“Yes Ma’am.” He was hesitant in saying it. You know he would at least make it to the site, you just hoped he listens to the rest of the order.

“Okay, I will give you a signal when its clear. Stay safe boys.”

You checked to make sure your rifle and your pistol were fully loaded. You moved around your men to a spot where you had a clear line to the ridge. Before you took off, you looked to them one last time. You saw Green staring at you with a worried look on his face.

“Don’t worry Green, I’ll make sure you get there unharmed.”

“How do you know that?”

“I never miss.” With that you took off running.

You were able to make it to the ridge quickly, while drawing all the attention to you. You ducked behind it for a few second, waiting for the bullets to stop. You closed your eyes, taking in a deep breath, just listening to where they were coming from. Once they stopped, you popped up and started shooting. Taking them out as quickly as you could. They were trying to shoot you, but you kept moving. That was one of the many things you father taught you. “If you’re the target, don’t make it easy for them. Always be moving, don’t even give them a chance to drop you.”

Unfortunately, it didn’t always work. One of the men was able to get a shot off before you could get to him. The lucky part was it hit your shoulder. After shooting the last man you signaled to Collins to move up and out. You waited to move until you knew they weren’t being followed before you stood up to follow them.

As soon as you were on your feet, you were knocked down. You flipped over to see a gun in your face. Quickly you grabbed the end of the barrel and pushed it out, so that if he shot it would go to the ground and not you. You brought both of your legs up and kicked him in the gut causing him to go falling backwards. You still had a hold of the gun, he ended up letting go as he fell. You tossed it to the side, both of you scrambled to your feet. He started throwing punches, you blocked almost all of them. He landed one in your stomach and one in the face. Your nose started bleeding, but it wasn’t broken. You were able to land all of your punches and kicks. You were able to knock him on his ass, before pulling your knife out and ending it. You quickly pulled your knife from him, flipping it into position in your hand before wiping it off and re-sheathing it.

Collins had called for the chopper; it was waiting for them when they arrived. It was getting too close to the 20-minute mark for Collins. He was ready to run back in to find you. Just as he was about to, you came over the hill. He ran over to you, helping to back to the chopper. Once the two of you were in it took off.

“Wow, you look like shit.” Sparks was trying to stop the bleeding coming from your nose.

“Well, I got shot and punched in the face.” You squinted at him carefully. “So, what’s your excuse?”

You all laughed. The rest of the flight out of there was silent. That was too close of a call for your liking. You started thinking about life and what you wanted to do. You loved being a Marine, but you can’t help thinking that it was maybe time for a change.

Ohana (Everything) Tags:

@camillyb​

Series Tags:​

@shipatheart

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@hails-halstead​

[emsemotional]

out of line

Okay so this is a little baby one shot  based on my mental health advocate!mickey headcanon that I posted a little while back. I used to write a lot for various fandoms back in high school, but it’s been a while since I’ve written anything, and even longer since I’ve shared anything I’ve written with anyone other than @lewslew, so please be nice- I definitely have some room to grow with characterization and timing. 

This is taking place post-finale, so I’ve taken some liberties regarding what everyone ends up doing after the series. In my mind, Mickey and Ian buy the Gallagher house themselves, because they’re Southside boys at heart and they need a backyard for their dog (duh). But they’re waiting on their Westside lease to end, so Lip, Tami and Liam are staying in the house while Lip and Debbie fix it up and renovate a little (you can find my whole hc on what everyone’s up to post-series here). I was talking to @iansfreckles a while back about a possible Gallagher/Tamietti family dinner- I’m so interested in how this would go and how the families’ dynamics would interact. SO, this takes place at said Gallagher/Tamietti family cookout, right as Lip and Tami are moving out of the house, and Ian and Mickey are moving in. Cami and Brad’s kids are with Aunt Oopie, I dunno I didn’t want to write them haha. 

Content warning: ignorant/rude comments about individuals with mental illnesses and language akin to that of the show

-

Tami had almost said no when Cory asked to bring her new boyfriend to the Gallagher house. Between the Gallagher and Tamietti families, there were going to be plenty of big personalities under one roof, as is. But Cory had actually asked this time, and she had just babysat Fred during a last minute highlight appointment. Tami had reluctantly agreed and her sister had seemed so happy that she almost forgot her hesitation. 

Looking back, Tami’s decision was questionable. Lip had been able to prepare his family for the rest of the Tamietti’s, explaining the family dynamics and topics to avoid. Chad was a wildcard.

He had burst through the front door laughing loudly beside Brad and Cami, who didn’t seem to think the joke was as funny as Chad did. Cory and Bob followed them in, annoyance clear on Bob’s face. Tami and Lip moved to the door to greet their visitors, Tami depositing Fred in Carl’s lap, where he was sitting on the couch. Carl immediately grabbed the toddler under his arms, grinning at him and lifting him up above his head, making propellor noises on his way down. 

This, this is what Tami had wanted her family to see. The Tamiettis had made it clear that while they tolerated Lip, they thought Tami could do better. They thought he was ill equipped to help raise a family, constantly doubting his ability to provide, and his dedication to his family. Tami had tried to explain Lip’s role in his own family- the patriarch of the Gallagher home, a man who had been taking care of people for his entire life. Perhaps the only way for the other Tamiettis to see the value in the Gallagher side of Fred’s family, was to observe it first hand.

Lip made it to the Tamiettis first, shaking Bob’s hand and taking the handful of bags and jackets that were thrust into his arms. 

“No show Brad!” Tami cheered, hugging her sisters, “You made it!” 

Brad rolled his eyes, lightly clapping Tami on the shoulder, “Yeah, yeah, I’m here.”

Cory turned towards her sister, a wide smile on her face, “Tam, this is Chad, the guy I was telling you about?” 

Tami turned to shake his hand, finally giving him a good look. Truth be told, he looked like every other guy Cory had seriously dated- some tall, brunette, conventionally attractive, straight laced kind of guy. He didn’t seem any different from the other business majors, fraternity boys and bar bouncers that Cory had intruded her to. 

“Tami right? So great to meet you, thanks for inviting me!” 

“Of course, nice to meet you too! Come on in, you guys!” 

The Tamiettis settled into the living room, Cami choosing the seat next to Carl, cooing down to Fred, “There’s my favorite nephew! How are you sweet boy?” 

She ran a gentle hand across Fred’s head before introducing herself to Carl, “I’m Cami, Tami’s sister.” Carl swallowed a smirk at the rhyming names, nodding, “Carl, Lip’s brother.”

“Ah, the one buying the house?” 

“Nah, that’s Ian and Mickey, they’re upstairs somewhere. I’m the cop,” Carl stated proudly.

“Fuck the police!” Mickey’s voice called into the living room in response, as a flash of red and black hair came tumbling down the stairs. All the Tamiettis turned to watch Mickey jog through the living room with Franny on his shoulders, Ian chasing after them. 

“Get him Uncle Mickey!” Franny squealed, “He’s gonna catch us!”

“I’m a little busy running, kid. Hit ‘em or somethin’,” Mickey grunted, scrambling to hand his niece a rubber ball previously balanced on the back of the couch. 

Franny wound up her arm, tossing the ball at Ian’s head with all her six year old might, “Take that, Uncle Ian! You’re dead!”

Ian groaned dramatically, clutching his face and sliding onto the ground. He let out a theatrical sign and closed his eyes, finally defeated. 

Franny cheered as Mickey lifted her off his shoulders, “We did it! We killed him!” Franny dropped down to the ground to check that Ian had accepted his defeat, poking him in the back with the toe of her shoe.

Mickey gave her a crinkly grin, the kind he reserved for Franny and Ian alone- unguarded and childlike. “Sure did! Pretty badass if you ask me.” 

Ian got to his feet, tickling Franny’s stomach as he addressed the room, “Hey, sorry we were in the middle of… a game.” 

“Liquor store robbery!” Franny cheerfully announced. 

 Franny began introducing herself to the unfamiliar faces, sharing that she was in the first grade, enjoyed playing with guns, and wanted to be a welder like her mommy when she grew up. As Liam and Debbie descended the stairs, and the rest of the Gallaghers and Tamiettis introduced themselves, Tami marveled at how smoothly things seemed to be going. No one was yelling, or aggressively drunk, or making a thinly veiled classist comment- yet. 

The two families quickly settled into a comfortable chatter of introductions and the conversation, surprisingly, continued to flow without a hitch. They soon made their way outside, where Debbie and Bob chatted while manning the grill. The other family members scattered across the yard- Liam sat in a lawn chair typing on a laptop, occasionally asking Lip for grammar advice. Ian, in the middle of telling some wild story from his EMT days, was fully emerged in conversation with the rest of the Tamietti family while Mickey and Carl considered how many crimes Carl could theoretically arrest him for, arguing over how many years Mickey would have to serve. 

Everything was great- until Chad decided to open his mouth. They had finished dinner and were crammed into the living room, escaping the Chicago windchill. Chad was sharing one of his own work stories from the construction site he worked on, describing a man who had wandered onto the site and started yelling at Chad and some of his coworkers that week.

“Totally off his rocker,” Chad commented, “He kept telling us about how we were tearing down his house, and that he didn’t give us permission to do this. Just screaming at us, swearing, and he wouldn’t listen when we kept telling him that he trespassing, y’know? Just super crazy- needed a fucking Xanax or something.” 

Ian tensed, fiddling with the ring on his left hand while the other Gallaghers exchanged pointed glances. Tami began to interrupt, clearly in attempt to change the subject, but Chad continued. 

“The next day,” he explained, “the very next day, he came up to us and was asking to bum a smoke, like he didn’t fucking flip his crazy ass on us yesterday, I swear he must’ve been like bipolar or something, acting like we were old pals. Must’ve gotten carted off or killed or something, haven’t seen him since.” 

While the Tamiettis offered a polite chuckle, the Gallaghers remained silent. 

Mickey, who had been sitting on the couch next to Ian, looked up from his folded hands. “So you got something against bipolar people? It’s a fucking mental illness man.” 

Chad smiled, backtracking, “Hey, nah, calm down. He’s just some crazy homeless dude, who cares?” 

“He’s not just some crazy guy, he’s a person with a disease, the fuck’s wrong with you?” Mickey asked. 

Ian placed a hand on his husband’s shoulder shaking his head. “Mick, it’s fine. It doesn’t matter.”

Eyebrows raised comically high, Mickey stood and crossed his arms. “Um, fuck that, it does matter! You’re not a fucking punchline Ian. This is our house, yours and mine, and no one’s going to be talking like that in my house. Obviously no one else is going to say something, and you shouldn’t have to, so I will. I won’t stand for that shit.”

The Tamiettis exchanged horrified looks as the Gallaghers mostly just looked at the floor. Finally Lip spoke up from where he was standing by the TV, “Mental health is uh… a sensitive subject around here. We just… we take it seriously, y’know? First hand experiences and shit.” 

Cory opened her mouth to speak but she quickly stopped when she saw Tami swiftly shake her head in her direction, suggesting she stay out of it. 

Mickey lightly rubbed his eyebrow, “Yo, douchebag, apologize or get the hell out of my house.”

Chad raised his hands in surrender, “I didn’t realize it was such a big deal man, sorry.”

Mickey rolled his eyes with a huff, turning on his heel to walk towards the back of the house. Wordlessly, Ian followed him out the back door, leaving the living room in a heavy silence.

After a moment, Chad breaks the silence, “Look, I really didn’t mean to start something, I was just telling a story. Should I go out and apologize again, try to talk about it?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Liam replied, “You should give Mickey some time to cool off.” 

“Yeah,” Lip agreed, “I wouldn’t follow them out. Mickey… he gets protective? Always has been, of Ian. Our mom was bipolar, and so’s Ian. He’s stable, doing great, but he’s, uh, he’s been through a lot. It’s just not good joke material around here.”

Chad nodded, silence overtaking the room again. Franny looked up from her coloring book, clearly bored with the turn the night had taken.

“I’m gonna go play with Uncle Mickey and cheer him up!” 

Debbie chuckled from her seat across the room, “Yeah, go bring them some beers Franny.” 

“Okay!” Franny chirped, hopping to her feet and skipping into the kitchen. Debbie gave a soft smile as she watched her daughter, on the way to hang out with her favorite uncles. 

-

From his seat on the back stairs, Ian watched Mickey pace through the yard, grumbling about “Fucking Northside yuppies… and their ignorant bigoted asses… what the fuck is wrong with people?” He glanced over at Ian, his expression softening when he noticed the defeated look on Ian’s face. Mickey paused his pacing, coming to sit next to Ian on the steps. 

“I’m sorry, I know I prolly embarrassed you. Was I out of line man? I just got so fucking mad,” Mickey quietly mumbled, looking down at his hands in his lap. 

Ian gently shook his head, “Don’t apologize. You weren’t out of line… I think I’m just disappointed, y’know? That comments like that still get to me? I should be over it by now, every reminder that I’m sick or different shouldn’t still sting like that. And why do I have to be the one that the conflict and the drama revolves around? Why not fucking Carl or Liam or god… anyone else just for once?

Mickey’s expression softened even further. He nudged his knee into Ian’s leg, “What’s that shit you told me when Terry died? Trauma doesn’t always make fucking sense and recovery isn’t… oh shit, what’s the word? Linear! Recovery isn’t linear. Doesn’t make you fucking weak, just means you’ve been through some shit.”

“Yeah. I guess it was easier to tell you that than it is to tell myself.” 

Mickey hummed in agreement and the two sat in silence for a moment before the back door creaked open. A tiny red head shoved her way through the doorway, arms wrapped tightly around two bottles, frosty with condensation. Franny sat down on the steps between them, silently handing her uncles their beers. Ian accepted his with a dry chuckle, thanking her. Mickey ruffled her hair, offering a small smile. The voices from inside had faded and the night was relatively calm, other than the occasional siren or dog barking. 

Franny, not looking particularly concerned, looked up at them to ask, “Uncle Mickey, why’d you get mad at that guy?”

Mickey rubbed at his eyebrow and let out a sigh. He looked towards Ian, a silent request for him to take the lead on this conversation. He was confident in his ability to discuss the stupidity of princesses or the importance of wearing gloves during a legitimate liquor store robbery with his niece. He knew how to play, and joke, and how to be there when she woke up from a bad dream, stumbling down the stairs with bedhead and snotty tears. Mickey had grown into his role as an uncle, but he still doubted his ability to talk about the tough stuff with anyone other than Ian. 

Ian cleared his throat, taking a second before asking, “Franny, do you know what it means to make a joke at someone else’s expense?” 

Franny’s eyebrows scrunched together and she shook her head. 

“It’s when you make a joke to kind of make fun of someone else. Like to tease them. Y’know how we make cop jokes around Uncle Carl because he’s a cop?”

She nodded, and Ian continued, “That guy… Aunt Tami’s sister’s boyfriend, was making a joke and it ended up being at my expense. That’s what made Uncle Mickey mad. He didn’t mean to make fun of me, but he kind of did. That’s all. Uncle Mickey was just sticking up for me.”

Franny sat for a moment, deep in thought. “I didn’t know he was talking about you.”

“No, he wasn’t. Not directly. He was telling a story about someone else. But he made a comment about him being bipolar. D’you remember when we talked about that? That I have bipolar disorder?” 

Franny nodded, “That’s why you take your special medicine.”

Ian continued, “A lot of people don’t really understand what that means, and sometimes they make jokes about it that aren’t really funny. They’re just kind of… mean. So that’s why we got upset.”

Franny considered this for a minute and asked, “Do you want me to go tell mommy? She says I should tell her if someone’s being mean. She can fix it.” 

Ian smiled a little, patting her little back and shaking his head, “Nah, mommy already knows, she heard. And I think Uncle Mickey did a pretty good job telling him that what he said was wrong.” 

Mickey let out a sarcastic laugh, “And I got more to say to that piece of shit if I ever see his Northside yuppy fucking face again.”

“I think he got the point Mick,” Ian sighed, “Don’t waste your time.” 

Franny shrugged “Mommy and Uncle Lip and Aunt Tami were all still talking in there when I left. Mommy told me it was a good idea for me to come out here.” 

Mickey grabbed Ian’s hand, bumping their shoulders together. “Whatcha wanna do, man? We can head back to the apartment, go to the Alibi and get tanked, I don’t care, it’s up to you.”

“Don’t know, I’m tired of running from things. And you were right Mick, it’s our fucking house. Could we just sit out here for a little while?” Mickey ran a thumb across Ian’s hand and mumbles so quietly, in that voice he only uses with Ian- “‘Course we can”

Having completed her task of delivering beers, Franny stood up and put her hands on her hips, “I’m going to go inside, I won’t let anyone be mean to you Uncle Ian.”

Ian looked up to lock eyes with his niece, “I appreciate it Fran, thanks.” 

She stood up and gave Ian a kiss on the top of his head, no doubt a gesture she’d picked up from some other family member, likely Mickey or Fiona. Ian smiled as she turned away to walk back into the kitchen.

After a few minutes Ian jerked his head towards the door, “Y’ready?” 

Mickey hummed in agreement, standing and offering back his hand to help Ian up. They walked over the threshold of the kitchen into a conversation clearly about Mickey’s exchange with Chad. The Tamiettis were all sitting down in the living room, with the Gallaghers mostly standing, leaning against the various remaining surfaces. Lip’s hands were in his hair, a plain indication of his frustration and exhaustion. Tami abruptly stopped talking, in the middle of what seemed like an impassioned rant. She seemed unsure of how to continue now that Ian and Mickey had reentered the house. Debbie, sat on the couch with Franny in her lap, was scowling, while Liam absently stared at the wall, clearly wishing he were anywhere else. Carl quickly walked into the kitchen from where he had been leaning up against the living room door frame, clapping Ian on the shoulder.

“Hey, why don’t you guys go take a walk or something for a sec- I think Lip and Tami have it handled.”

Lip spoke up from the living room, “Yeah, it’s okay.”

Mickey tensed, bracing himself. “No, it’s not fucking okay Phillip-“

Lip grumbled something about that not being what he meant, shaking his head, while Ian quietly interrupted his husband, forcing him to make eye contact. 

“No, it’s not, but I don’t want to just keep going over it, Mick. I’m not in the mood to educate him. I’m not saying it’s okay, but I want to move on. Lip can handle it.”

Carl nodded and repeated himself, “Go take a walk, come back in ten. Lip and Tami got it.” 

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a joint and pressing it into Ian’s palm with a smirk. 

“Rolled this for later, you guys take it.”

Ian raised an eyebrow at Mickey, who let out a sigh with a slouch, “Fine. Be back in ten.”

-

The two of them return to the backyard, Tami’s yelling resumed, her voice carrying all the way outside. 

 “M’sorry, I know I keep talkin’ when you just want it to be over with,” Mickey mumbled, looking down at the dead grass in the vacant lot beside the house.

 Ian grabbed him by the back of his neck, fingers brushing through Mickey’s short hair, “Hey, no. I… I appreciate you sticking up for me- seriously. I’m just tired… tonight’s not supposed to be about me y’know? It’s supposed to be about Lip and Tami, and Fred, not me. I just wanted to be Lip’s brother tonight, not the crazy brother, the sick brother. I just don’t wanna be the one that causes the issues anymore.” 

“You didn’t cause this Ian. You being bipolar didn’t fucking cause this- that asshole, opening his mouth and not knowing when to shut it- that’s what caused it. I get that you just wanna let it go, and I will, but if he say’s something else-“

“If he says something else you can beat the shit out of him.”

Mickey grinned, looking up to meet Ian’s gaze. “Fucking fantastic. You wanna smoke this bitch?” 

He grabbed the joint out of Ian’s hand and pulled a lighter from his flannel’s front pocket.

Ian finally cracked a smile, one that actually reaches his eyes, “Free weed? Fuck yeah.”

Mickey tossed the lighter to Ian, who caught it and lit the joint with a practiced flick. He took a couple hits and closed his eyes, smiling again as he exhaled the smoke. He handed the lit joint over to Mickey, along with his lighter and jerked his head in the direction of the van in the backyard, “Wanna go sit?” 

Mickey nodded and breathed in a sharp inhale, heading in the direction of the passenger seat door. 

Ian climbed up into the drivers seat, letting out a deep sigh, “Feel like I’m in high school again- sneaking around with you, trying to find somewhere to be alone.” Mickey chuckled and passed the joint back over.

 They smoked in silence for a while, Ian nudging Mickey with his elbow as the ember approaches the filter, “You want the last hit?” 

“Nah man, that’s yours,” Mickey shakes his head.

Ian took it, stubbing out the butt on the van’s dashboard and tossing it onto the floor. 

“Still wanna kick his ass?” He asked, lazily turning his head towards Mickey with a grin.

Mickey rolled his eyes, “I think I can contain myself.”

“Yeah?” Ian breathed, inching his face closer to his husband’s. The moon, freshly risen, highlighted Ian’s face, illuminating the dash of freckles across his nose.

Mickey didn’t answer, opting to close the distance between them, pressing a soft kiss to Ian’s lips. Ian’s hand came up to cradle Mickey’s face, thumb gently brushing his cheek.

And if they didn’t make it back inside for a while, so be it. 

[thatkidwholikesthunderbirds]

TAG Mini Bang 2021

Hey fam, This is mine and the amazing @katblu42′s contribution to the @tagminibang. Katblu42 wrote the story, of which I love so much, and i made a couple of doodles to go with it.

We both worked really hard on it, hope you enjoy.

***

Deep Water

The summer is drawing to an end when an almost-twelve-year-old Virgil is lumped with looking after little bro Gordon for the day. When a simple walk in the woods becomes more than they bargained for, the pair must work together to overcome their fears.

Written by @katblu42

***

“Hey, Virgil. Whatcha doin’?” Gordon bounced down the stairs and watched his brother carefully pack his brand-new artist’s set of watercolour pencils, mini easel, and sketchbook into his backpack, using one of his hoodies for padding. “I’m gonna go out on the top track and try out my new pencils. It’s gonna be a really nice day for practicing landscapes. I want to try and capture the way the light filters through the trees and . . .” As Virgil excitedly rambled on about all the things he wanted to draw, Lucy emerged from the kitchen with a lunchbox packed with sandwiches and snacks and two water bottles for Virgil to add to his bag. She ignored the eye-rolling from the younger boy, who obviously didn’t share the enthusiasm for artistic inspiration. Placing a hand on Virgil’s shoulder as she handed him the last of the supplies, Lucy smiled. “Sounds like the two of you are going to see all kinds of wonders today,” she said. Virgil opened his mouth to question, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. “You’re going to take your brother with you.” “But . . .” was all Virgil managed to squeak out, while Gordon sported a look of surprised incredulity. “It will do you both the world of good to spend some time together, just the two of you.”

Lucy knew these two didn’t always get along, mostly due to Gordon’s talent for finding exactly the right buttons to push to try Virgil’s patience. In fact, Gordon did that with everyone, but it somehow affected Virgil the most potently. Lucy, Jeff, and the other boys had little tolerance for Gordon’s annoying antics, but the fact that Virgil usually had an abundance of patience was exactly why Gordon got under his skin so much. With Virgil, Gordon would keep on pushing, keep needling, insistently nagging until that patience wore thin and caused Virgil to react in frustration. As a result, Lucy had noticed Virgil tending to avoid spending too much time with Gordon. But today she needed to pair them up together. Grandma would be by any minute to pick up Scott, as she was helping him log extra flying hours towards his pilot license while Jeff was away for work. John had already left for the library where they had been running a special summer program in the AV centre focussing on early space exploration because today was the last day he’d be able to see it. “Aw, Mom!” Virgil whined. “If he comes, I won’t get any drawing done.” “Yeah, Mom,” Gordon joined in, wrinkling his nose, “can’t I stay with you?” “Nope!” Lucy ruffled Gordon’s unruly blond locks. “I have errands to run today.” Gordon groaned. He hated being dragged all over town when his mom was running errands, mostly because the entire day was usually spent listening to her tell him he couldn’t run off too far or do anything fun – getting up to mischief, she called it. Lucy knew her day would be difficult enough with a toddler in tow without adding a hyperactive six-and-a-half-year-old to the mix. For a moment, she felt for Virgil. In a way, he had a point. He’d have to keep Gordon occupied, which would take his focus away from his artistic endeavours, but she had faith that the two of them would find a way to make it work. She stood between the two boys and, with a hand on a shoulder of each, pulled them into a hug. “You two go out and have fun.” She placed a kiss on first Virgil’s and then Gordon’s forehead. “Be good, look after each other, and don’t get into any trouble!” She ushered them through the door and watched them head out, turning back to wave goodbye to her from the front gate before continuing westward towards the top track. She would always worry about her boys out there on their own, but they all knew the rules and had repeatedly been warned of the various dangers contained within their little patch of wilderness. Virgil was not inclined to be reckless or break the rules, but the lure of an interesting view could distract him at times. Looking after a younger brother would help keep his attention more focused. It was one of Lucy’s secret weapons. Pairing a big brother with a little one always seemed to make the big brother more inclined to obey the rules and watch for dangers.

The two boys made quick progress across the open paddock towards the trees, Virgil striding out confidently, Gordon occasionally having to run for a few steps to catch up. Once they reached the track that wound its way through the trees, the pace began to slow. Virgil’s gaze wandered as he walked, noticing in great detail the colours of the foliage and tree bark, the stark contrasts formed by shafts of sunlight filtering between the trees and highlighting this branch or those leaves. He would hear the cry of a bird and look up, searching the treetops to see if he could catch sight of the culprit. Despite the distractions, however, Virgil didn’t stop walking. He had a destination in mind, and he was keen to get there so he could start drawing. Gordon found distractions of his own along the track. He’d hear skittering noises in the dirt and leaf litter beside the track and stop to see if he could spot the creature that had scuttled away. He found spiderwebs woven between the trees and bushes, and noted with interest whether or not the spider was home and if they’d caught anything. He, too, would search the trees and sky for birds that called out their various songs. Unlike Virgil, Gordon stopped often and would have to run to catch up to his bigger brother, usually after Virgil called out to him to hurry up. After falling behind for the fourth time, Gordon decided to run ahead along the track a bit. That way Virgil would have to catch up to him! He stopped short when he came to the fork in the track. An idea struck him, and he jogged back to his brother. “Hey, Virgil?” He had a glint in his eye that the older boy knew well enough to be worried about. “We should go down to the lake!” “No.” “Oh, come on! Why not?” His voice was verging on whiny and his expression close to a pout. “We’re not supposed to go to the lake on our own, it’s –” “We’re not on our own, we have each other!” Gordon didn’t want to give Virgil a chance to argue or talk about possible dangers. “We’re not gonna do anything dangerous or anything. It’s nice by the lake. Besides, you said your pencils were watercolours. Shouldn’t you draw something with water?” “That’s not . . . Uugghh!” Virgil sighed, rolled his eyes, and rubbed a hand through his hair. He knew steering this particular brother away from water was going to be a hard sell, and if he was honest with himself, his little brother was right about the lake being a good place to draw. It would give him an opportunity to practice drawing reflections, which was something he’d been wanting to experiment with. And the view across the lake was pretty spectacular. But swimming in the lake could be dangerous. If they went to the lake, Virgil knew his entire day would be spent watching Gordon in the water. Gordon studied the expression on his brother’s face for some sign of what he was thinking. He had that look of intense concentration he used when he was figuring out how to fix something. Virgil slowed to a stop and looked down at Gordon. “If we go to the lake –” As Virgil spoke, Gordon’s face broke out in a wide gap-toothed grin as he sensed he had won. “I said if! If we go to the lake, you have to promise me you won’t go for a swim. I came here to draw, not play lifeguard.” “Aww! Virge, it’s summer! It’s a great day for a swim.” His smile was gone, and he now had to trot alongside his brother as Virgil began walking again, setting a brisk pace. He was going to have to fight hard to get his way. “Pleeeeease!” No reaction. “What if I promise not to go in any deeper than up to here?” He indicated his waist. Virgil’s eyebrows drew down into somewhat of a scowl, but he slowed his walking pace again. “You have to stay dry above the knees,” he said. “Yes! Okay, I can do that.” Gordon’s big, infectious grin was back, and he literally bounced with happiness and excitement at his victory. “I promise I won’t go in past my knees, and I’ll be good so you can just do your drawings.” Virgil tried to keep his expression serious, but his little brother’s glee was so irresistible he couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Pretty soon he was grinning too, and they headed down the left fork in the track towards the lake. As they descended the narrow trail, weaving between trees and larger rocks, the hard-packed dirt underfoot gradually giving way to sandy soil, Gordon’s excitement was barely containable. He ran ahead down the track, calling to Virgil to hurry, ran back to his brother urging him to walk quicker, tugging at his hand, gave up, and ran ahead again before he could even see Virgil roll his eyes. The whole process was then repeated. Twice. Soon enough the trees lining the track thinned out, allowing glimpses of dark blue water. The track curved, and suddenly they emerged from the trees onto an expanse of silty sand with the lake spread out before them, rippling and glistening in the sunlight. The dark greens of the trees on the far side of the lake separated dark blue water from pale blue sky on the horizon. Gordon ran straight to the water’s edge, while Virgil took a moment to take in the entire scene. The lake itself didn’t cover a particularly large area, but it was very deep in places. Virgil estimated that it was more than half a mile from side to side, north to south, and possibly as far as three hundred metres to the trees on the other side from where Gordon now stood. The hills to the north funnelled water down into the lake via a network of creeks and streams. The surface of the lake looked relatively calm, but it hid unpredictable undercurrents as the water worked its way to the small stream that trickled away from the natural dam at the lake’s southern tip. There were a few tiny islands dotted throughout the lake, most of them closer to the far side, some large enough to have trees growing on them, others no more than large rocks with their tops protruding from the water. A short walk along the water’s edge northward took Virgil past a small wooden pier with a little dinghy tied to it, gently rocking and bumping with the lazy motion of the water. Beyond that, the flat sand gave way to a series of rocky, sloped banks. Picking his way up over some of the lower rocks, Virgil climbed up onto a large, relatively flat boulder that afforded him a good view and room to set out all his materials. He could see the beach (as Gordon called it) and his brother discarding his shoes and socks so he could explore the shallows and the little boat attached to the pier, with the water stretching away before him. Once he had carefully unpacked his easel and sketchbook and placed his pencils beside him within easy reach, Virgil began to sketch out some rough outlines. It wasn’t long before Gordon popped his head up over the edge of Virgil’s rock platform.

“Is that all you’ve done so far?” he asked with curious disbelief. “You should use more colours.” “Gordon.” Virgil’s tone was a warning. “Okay, okay,” Gordon said, raising his hands, palms outwards. “I just wondered if it’s lunchtime yet. I’m hungry.” Virgil resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he looked at his younger brother, searching for any signs of mischief and finding none. He realised Gordon was probably right, it was time for lunch. Virgil had been too caught up in what he was doing to notice how long it had been since they’d eaten breakfast. “All right, let’s see what Mom packed for us to eat.” He dug the lunchbox and water bottles out of his backpack while Gordon climbed up onto the rock and sat cross-legged beside him. Neither boy was surprised to find their mom had provided each of them with their favourite sandwich toppings, and they ate hungrily. Gordon would have polished off all the snacks too, but Virgil prudently suggested they should save those for later. They washed the sandwiches down with a hearty helping of water, making sure to save some of that too. When their little picnic was done, Gordon started to scamper back down over the rocks. “You can go back to drawing now,” he delivered a parting shot with that cheeky grin, “I’m gonna go see if I can find any fish.” “Stay out of the water,” Virgil warned. “You just ate.” “Ugh! I’m not stupid, Virgil! And besides, I’m only going in up to my knees, remember!” “I remember. I’ve just gotta make sure you do!” Virgil watched as Gordon started to clamber down the rocks. “Stay where I can see you!” he called after him. “And be careful! The rocks can get slippery.” “I’ll be fine!” Gordon yelled back, and added under his breath, “Spoilsport.” “I heard that!” Virgil didn’t see Gordon poke his tongue out before he ran off along the sand to go and get his feet wet again. He stood in the shallow water, running his hands over the slimy reeds looking for little fish. He spent some time digging his toes into the sand to see what little creatures came darting out into the water as it clouded around his feet. Virgil’s focus was split between the landscape that was rapidly developing on the paper and keeping tabs on Gordon. Every little, excited exclamation had Virgil looking along the beach, wondering what his brother had found. But his attention was inevitably pulled back to his watercolour sketch. Coming out of the water for a while, Gordon picked his way along the sand, gathering a pocketful of stones before finding a spot to stand and skip them across the surface of the lake. He was pretty proud of the one he managed to get to skip eight times before it sank. The clicky slap of the first skipped stone had Virgil’s head turning to watch, making sure his brother was still keeping out of trouble. He wondered who had taught Gordon to skip stones and fondly remembered Scott showing him how it was done. Gordon was actually pretty good at it, and he kept at it for quite a while. After that, Gordon wandered closer to the trees looking for beetles and interesting insects. He even took one or two of them over to show Virgil. He did the same with some of the smooth pebbles he’d found, especially the ones that had pretty colours or unusual patterns. Virgil liked those ones, he could tell. And every time he returned to Virgil up on his rock, while he munched on a snack or took a drink of water, he took a peek at what his brother was drawing. There was one main drawing of the view across the lake that was more and more detailed every time Gordon saw it, but there were some other smaller sketches too. Gordon wasn’t sure if they were like little practice drawings for things that Virgil wanted to add to the main one or if they were something else. It looked like some of those extra sketches included him, some were of the treasures he’d brought to show his brother, and some he couldn’t quite decipher yet. The afternoon sun beat down on them, too high in the sky for any shadows long enough to provide decent shade. Virgil barely noticed, but Gordon felt the heat. He had climbed back down from Virgil’s perch and was now sitting on the end of the little boat dock dangling his feet in the water. He kicked his feet, splashing and watching new ripples form. The water was pleasantly cool against his legs, but his head and shoulders yearned for that same refreshing feeling. He looked out across the lake, longing to jump in and immerse himself in liquid heaven. He was regretting his promise. “Gordon,” Virgil called down to him, “stop splashing around so much. I don’t want you falling in.” In response, Gordon just sighed. A gull squawked nearby, and he watched it wing its way to a large rock protruding from the water, joining other gulls and ibises sunning themselves. It was the closest island to where he sat, and it didn’t look too far to swim to. It was so hot. It would just be a quick swim. “Hey, Virgil,” Gordon called out, twisting his body around to look up at his brother, “how far do you think it is to that big rock out there?” Virgil took a moment to stand up and stretch muscles that he hadn’t really moved in nearly two hours. He looked where Gordon pointed and couldn’t help doing a rough calculation in his head to estimate the distance, but he knew where this question was leading. “Too far,” he answered. “You’re not going to swim to it. No deeper than your knees, remember?” “But, Virge . . .” “No, Gordon! It’s dangerous. We don’t swim out that far when Mom and Dad bring us down here, I’m not letting you go out there alone.” “But I’m a good swimmer, and the water’s really flat and calm, and it’s so hot . . .” “I said no!” Virgil was almost shouting now. Why wasn’t Gordon listening to him? Couldn’t he see how bad an idea this was? “It’s gotta be at least eighty metres out to that rock, and you can’t see the currents at work under the surface or the reeds or the cold spots or how deep it is. It’s not like swimming in the pool in town.” “Eighty metres is easy! I already have my two-hundred-meter freestyle achievement certificate. I’ll be out there and back in no time.” As he spoke, Gordon started removing his T-shirt. “Gordon, don’t!” Virgil’s heart was hammering at his rib cage like it was trying to break free, and he started making his way down the rocks towards the boat dock, knowing he wasn’t going to be quick enough. “Bet I’ll do it in the fastest time ever. Time me, Virgil.” And with a flash of a wicked grin, he turned and dived into the water. Virgil ran across the sand and onto the wooden dock, heart still pounding fit to burst as Gordon swam away. All he could do was stand there and watch. As scared as he was, he couldn’t help being a little bit in awe of his little brother. Even though he was little, he was a good swimmer. From his very first swimming lesson two years ago, he had been very much at home in the water. He learned fast and seemed to have the knack of skimming the surface of the water when he swam – unlike Virgil, who always felt like he was fighting the water, trying to stop it from pulling him down. He didn’t mind admitting that Gordon was a better swimmer than he was, but the little fish had no experience with open water – or getting out of trouble on his own. It wasn’t long before Gordon was halfway to the rock island, and everything seemed to be going fine. Virgil even managed to start to relax a bit. It seemed like he was going to make it out there just fine. His pace had slowed a little, but that was to be expected. Then suddenly something wasn’t right. Gordon had slowed right down, almost to a complete stop, his legs no longer breaking the surface with his kicks. He rolled onto his back and made a couple of awkward backstrokes, then he went under. Just for a millisecond. But it was enough to have Virgil scrambling to get into the dinghy. Gordon tried to shout, but the effort seemed to cause his head to bob under again. Virgil rowed as fast as he could, his head twisted to look over his shoulder, not wanting to take his eyes off his little brother, praying each time he went under that he’d see blond hair break the surface again. Swear words repeated over and over like a mantra with every stroke of the oars. Strong, long strokes propelled the little wooden boat through the water. He fought back panic. He would get there in time. He had to get there in time. He had to save his brother. Gordon seemed to be losing the battle to stay afloat, arms flailing, panicking, bobbing and spluttering. He knew Virgil was trying to get to him, and he was desperate to keep his head above water until he got there, but kicking was difficult and painful. His left leg was not obeying. He’d never experienced a cramp like this before. Virgil finally reached the spot where Gordon had just gone under again. Leaning over the side of the boat, mindful of leaning too far and capsizing, he grabbed a flailing arm with one hand and reached the other into the water to grab a handful of blond hair. He ignored the shock of the cold mere inches below the surface and hauled his brother up far enough for him to gasp for air. He adjusted his grip and dragged Gordon into the boat, where he lay coughing and spluttering, shivering and absolutely terrified. Virgil sat, boat rocking beneath them, breathing hard and equally terrified, watching his brother, grateful for the coughing because at least he knew he was still breathing. “You okay?” Virgil panted out once the coughing had died down a little. “Cramp!” Gordon gasped out in reply, indicating his left leg. “Calf muscle? Here?” Virgil was kneeling with Gordon’s left foot resting on his thigh, fingers gently kneading into his calf. Gordon responded with a nod and a little groan of pain. Virgil spent a few minutes massaging the cramped muscle. He wasn’t sure if Gordon’s tears were from the pain in his leg or fear or relief, but he suddenly felt like he’d do anything to stop them. All he could offer were words of reassurance. Words that comforted both of them. “It’s okay, Gords. You’re okay. You’re safe now.” Virgil’s fingers worked methodically, gently, gradually relaxing the muscle, relieving Gordon’s agony, and calming both of them down in the process. Gordon was soon wriggling his leg free of Virgil’s grasp to sit up on the floor of the little rowboat. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs, still shivering. “Hold on, Gordon.” Virgil shifted himself back onto the seat and took up the oars. “Let’s get you back to shore and then we can warm you up.” Rowing back to the wooden dock seemed to take so much longer than it had to row out into the lake. Virgil wasn’t sure if this was because there were currents working against him or if he was just a great deal more tired now. Or maybe it was the lack of terrifying urgency driving his actions on the return trip. Either way, he was grateful to make it safely to the dock and get the boat secured. Gordon was adamant he could get out of the boat on his own, but Virgil’s assistance was accepted readily when he found himself unsteady on his feet. Virgil retrieved the T-shirt Gordon had so hastily tossed aside earlier and draped it over his little brother’s back. It didn’t take much convincing for Gordon to remain sitting on the dock in the same knees-huddled-to-chest position he’d adopted in the boat while Virgil raced up to his rock platform to retrieve all his gear. He also made a quick dash across the sand to find Gordon’s discarded shoes before returning. He didn’t like how quiet and still the normally boisterous boy was. The paleness of his skin and the fact he was still shivering – or perhaps trembling – worried him even more. The now damp T-shirt had been pulled on over his head but offered little in the way of warmth. “Hey, Gordon. Arms up,” Virgil instructed, holding his own hoodie ready to slip over the blond head. Gordon did as he was told without comment or complaint, seeming to Virgil a little like some sort of robotic puppet. The hoodie was way too big, but it was soft and thick and most importantly dry. With head and arms now inserted into their correct holes, Virgil knelt in front of Gordon and pulled the hoodie down over his entire tucked-up body. Not even his feet protruded from beneath the hem. He then wrapped his arms around the whole bundle of little brother and rubbed vigorously to generate some heat. “Virgil?” Glossy brown eyes peeked out from beneath the sweater’s hood. The voice was quiet and had a quality to it that felt somehow small and uncertain. “I’m sorry.” The look in his brother’s eyes, more than the words, stung Virgil somewhere deep inside. “What?” Virgil answered. “What for?” “I didn’t listen. You told me not to and I . . .” “That doesn’t matter now.” Virgil’s arms tightened ever so slightly around him, and Gordon rested his head against his big brother’s shoulder. “All I care about right now is making sure you’re okay.” For a moment, the two boys stayed locked in the embrace, Gordon letting the feeling of safety envelop him, Virgil feeling the rise and fall of Gordon’s chest with every breath. He was relieved to find his brother relaxing into an even, steady pattern of deep breaths. There was no sign of any wheezing, and the coughs and splutters seemed long gone. “Come on. Let’s get you home,” Virgil said softly, giving Gordon’s back one final rub before releasing the hug. He slipped his backpack straps over his shoulders, held his hands out for Gordon to take so he could help him onto his feet, then lifted him up into a reverse piggyback hold. Gordon’s arms looped around his neck, and his legs wrapped around his waist without hesitation or protest, and Virgil set off for home at a slow but steady pace. The gentle but constant incline of the path back to the top track gave Virgil quite a workout with the additional weight he carried, but he took it in his stride. Gordon remained so still and quiet, hooded head resting against his left shoulder, Virgil thought he might have fallen asleep. He tried not to jostle his bundle of brother too much as he picked his way up the hill. When he reached the relative flat ground where the lake path rejoined the top track, Virgil took a moment to catch his breath, and Gordon stirred. “Hey, Virgil?” he said quietly. “When we get home . . . we don’t have to tell anyone what happened, do we?” “Gordon, we have to tell Mom. You nearly drowned!” Gordon caught his brother’s gaze and for the first time saw there was fear in those deep brown eyes. It made something in his insides feel fluttery. “But I’m okay,” he pleaded. “You saved me.” “I pulled you out of the water, but . . .” Virgil wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence and sighed. “If you got any water in your lungs, that would be bad. I’m not sure exactly how it works, but sometimes it can make a person have trouble breathing hours after they’ve been rescued from drowning.” “Oh.” The initial response was almost whispered, then Gordon’s features and tone brightened. “But –” “Did you swallow any water?” Virgil cut him off. “Because the water in the lake could make you sick if you did.” Gordon’s brow creased. “No. I don’t think so. Maybe?” Virgil sighed once more, then began walking again. “I don’t want to scare you, Gords, but what happened out there was a big deal.” “I know,” Gordon whimpered, and held on to Virgil a little tighter. “But I’m not scared now. I’m safe. I was afraid. In the water, when I thought . . . when I couldn’t . . . It was scary, but now I’m not scared because you’re here and you saved me.” Virgil remained silent. “Would it be less scary for you if you stay with me until you know I’m not going to get sick or stop breathing?” Gordon whispered. The rhythm of Virgil’s footfalls faltered for a step or two. “I promise I won’t leave your sight until you’re sure I’m okay. Then we don’t have to tell Mom unless I get sick. Okay?” For a moment, Virgil couldn’t say anything. The lump in his throat was too much of an obstacle. He blinked a few times to clear his swimming vision, huffed out a ragged sigh, and hitched his brother a little higher on his hips. “Okay, Little Fish. You got a deal. I won’t tell Mom, and you and I stick together like glue for tonight.” Not long after their deal was struck Virgil’s steady paces brought them out of the trees and into the paddock, with home in sight. It seemed they had beaten Lucy home, as her car wasn’t parked in its usual spot, but John’s bike was neatly leaned on its stand next to the others, and Virgil suspected Scott was already home too.

He was relieved to finally climb the stairs and deposit Gordon gently on his feet on the front porch. Slipping off his backpack and rolling his shoulders to ease tired muscles, Virgil followed his younger brother through the front door and into the kitchen. He might have known Gordon would gravitate towards food. At least this was a good sign – if Gordon was hungry, then he probably wasn’t feeling any ill effects from swallowing lake water. “Oh, look. It finally happened,” Scott said with a smirk and an elbow to John’s ribs. “One of Virgil’s hoodies grew legs and walked away.” “Ha-ha,” Gordon replied as he grabbed the jug of juice from the fridge. “Seriously, Gordon,” John spoke up from his seat at the kitchen table, where he and Scott had been finishing their afternoon snacks, “what’s with the hoodie? It’s gotta be ninety-six degrees outside.” “He just wanted to prove me wrong,” Virgil chimed in, walking straight to the cupboard and grabbing a couple of glasses. “I told him he would disappear completely inside one of my hoodies.” He noted the suspicious looks but ignored them as he poured juice for himself and Gordon. “How was the space thing at the library?” As John began eagerly explaining in great detail the highlights of the interactive exhibition, Virgil met Scott’s expression of curiosity with his best nothing-to-see-here shrug. He knew the innocent look he tried to project wouldn’t be enough to prevent Scott from seeing straight through the change of subject. Scott’s sapphire-blue eyes had the ability to cut like diamonds, and right at that moment Virgil felt the full weight of their scrutiny. He tried to give a reassuring smile and turn his attention to John’s increasingly fast-paced account of the space exhibit. “Actually, that sounds pretty cool,” Gordon said with an air of surprise and a warm smile at the conclusion of John’s animated description. He drained the dregs of his glass of juice and turned to Virgil. “I’m gonna go upstairs and change clothes.” “I’ll be up in a minute,” Virgil replied. Gordon left the room at a trot and bounded up the stairs. Scott and John were both back to studying Virgil intently. “What?” “Why’s Gordon so attached to you all of a sudden?” Scott asked. “He’s practically asking you for permission to leave the room.” Virgil’s gaze flicked between the blue and the turquoise, and he resisted the urge to squirm. “I don’t know. I guess we just had kind of a good day.” It was the only thing Virgil could think of to say. “You two spent the whole day together and you’re not sick of the sight of each other?” It was John’s turn to question the lack of frustrated bickering that would normally have surfaced between them. Virgil just shrugged, finished his own glass of juice, and picked up his backpack. “I’m gonna go put this stuff away.” He left the room, deliberately not hurrying but desperate to escape from the interrogation he felt was coming. As soon as he reached the top of the stairs, Gordon’s bedroom door opened. He was wearing his clownfish pyjamas, and Virgil couldn’t help but grin. “Virgil?” Gordon packed so much uncertainty into just his name Virgil was a little concerned at what might be coming. “Do you think maybe . . . I mean could we, maybe . . . Do you wanna build a blanket fort with me?” “Actually, I think that’s a pretty great idea.” When Lucy arrived home, wrangling a grizzly Alan who had missed his afternoon nap, and exhausted from a rather frustrating day full of unnecessary delays at every stop, she found Scott and John in the kitchen getting dinner started. Neither had seen the other two boys in a while, so she settled Alan in the living room with his favourite cartoon and headed upstairs to investigate. She found them in Gordon’s and Alan’s room. At least, she found evidence that this was where they had been for some time. Half of the room was obscured by a complex construction created out of pillows, blankets, and assorted bed linen supported by various pieces of furniture and some rather ingeniously rigged clothesline string. “Well, look at you two in here together, thick as thieves!” Lucy said as her head emerged from between two blankets that served as the entrance. “Hi, Mom! We’re building a blanket fort!” Gordon explained excitedly. Virgil rolled his eyes. “She can see that, doofus.” “And it is quite an impressive feat of engineering.” She winked and smiled. “What did you boys get up to on your walk today? Lots of exciting adventures, no doubt.” A look passed between the two. “Nothing,” Gordon blurted out, just as Virgil spoke. “Not much.” Virgil added a shrug and a somewhat apologetic expression. “Just . . . boy stuff.” “Yeah, Mom. Boy stuff,” Gordon repeated emphatically. “We can’t tell you because you’re a girl.” Lucy’s head tilted slightly, an eyebrow raised, and the corners of her mouth and eyes began a slow upward quirk into a smile. She wondered what they were up to, but she was happy the two of them were getting along well. “Hmm. Does this boy stuff include any drawings I’m allowed to see?” If they wouldn’t tell her where they’d been, perhaps she could discern something from Virgil’s sketches. “Can I show you later? Tomorrow maybe?” Virgil squirmed a little under the inquisitive gaze of those soft, honey-coloured eyes. Usually he loved sharing his artworks with Mom. She always praised the bits she thought he’d done well and knew exactly how to suggest little improvements without making it seem like he’d made mistakes. Sometimes it felt like she saw more in his drawings than what he’d put in them. “Okay,” she said, changing tack. “Are you two coming out of there to join the rest of us for dinner?” Another look between the brothers. The plot thickening before her eyes. “Can we come back in here after dinner?” Gordon asked. “Could we, maybe, both sleep in here for tonight?” Virgil followed up quickly. Lucy studied the faces of her two brown-eyed boys. These two were not regular partners in shenanigans. There was something going on here that she was not quite sure she understood just yet, but there didn’t seem to be any harm in what they were asking. “I don’t see why not,” she answered, and was rewarded with two beaming smiles. “Go wash up and you can set the table while I help your brothers finish up in the kitchen.” Dinner for the most part was about as chaotic as usual. Alan was still irritable and played with more of his food than he ate, making a mess of himself and the table in front of him in the process. Scott and John both gave lengthy answers to their mom’s enquiries about how they had spent the day. There were all the usual arguments over who would get the last helpings of this or that as plates and dishes were rapidly emptied, their contents hungrily devoured. Virgil and Gordon managed to talk about the more innocent parts of their day, clinging to descriptions of what plants were flowering, the types of birds they saw, the spiders and beetles and butterflies, rather than any specific mention of the lake. As the scrape of knives and forks on plates finally died down, Lucy began clearing serving dishes off the table. “How about tomorrow we all have a day at the pool?” Standing behind her water-baby as she spoke, she gave his hair a ruffle. John and Scott were both quick to answer with excited affirmatives, Alan enthusiastically exclaimed “Swim!”, but she didn’t see the panicked look that flashed across Gordon’s face as he looked across the table at Virgil. “That sounds great, Mom,” was Virgil’s reply as he kept his eyes firmly on Gordon, trying to relay a sense of calm reassurance that he didn’t really feel. If anyone noticed Gordon’s lack of enthusiasm at the suggestion, no one made mention of it. Perhaps his reaction was lost in the flurry of activity as the table was cleared and Alan was escorted upstairs for his bath. Virgil did notice an odd expression cross Scott’s face as he watched Gordon begin loading dirty cutlery into the dishwasher, but he said nothing before leaving the kitchen. John and Scott had helped cook dinner, so Virgil and Gordon were left to load the dishwasher and tidy the kitchen. “Gordon?” Virgil caught his little brother’s attention with a gentle flick of a tea towel, and a sullen expression was his reply. “Don’t you want to go to the pool tomorrow?” Gordon shrugged. Virgil kept his voice low, not wanting anyone to hear the conversation. “You always get excited about going to the pool. You’ve been begging Mom to take us every day for the entire summer. People will ask questions if you suddenly don’t want to go.” The look in Gordon’s eyes was a complicated mixture of fear, sadness, and uncertainty that had Virgil once again wanting to do anything he could to take away the pain. He was about to say something more when he heard John’s voice carry through from the living room and thought better of it. The discussion wasn’t over, but it would have to wait. The rest of their kitchen duty was completed in awkward silence. Chores done, they headed upstairs, back to their blanket fort. They had barely begun to settle into the pile of pillows and cushions when a small hand, followed by a headful of slightly damp blond hair, poked through from beneath a blanket wall. Bright blue eyes sparkled as a giggle escaped through a cheeky grin. “Peek-a-boo!” Alan exclaimed and wriggled his way into the enclosure. “Alan!?” Lucy parted the fort’s entrance with her arms so the blankets draped like a stage curtain. As her eyes came to rest on her littlest, a wave of relief was reflected in her fond smile.  “Say good night to your brothers and I’ll read you a story.” Liberal good-night cuddles were dished out to both big brothers before Lucy ushered Alan out so she could bundle him into bed. “You two – shower or bath, teeth brushing – go!” she instructed. By the time Virgil and Gordon had washed and brushed and were attired for bed (again in Gordon’s case), Alan was asleep, the bedroom was illuminated only by Alan’s star projecting night light, and their mom was holding her finger up to her lips. “Shh. Try not to wake your little brother,” she whispered. She gave each of them a hug and a kiss on the forehead. “Don’t stay up all night!” Virgil and Gordon were soon alone and comfortably secure in their plush fortress. Their flashlights had been propped between pillows and furniture so they provided a soft glow amid the cosy gloom. “Talk to me, Fish,” Virgil said softly. “You’ve been so quiet since dinner. Are you feeling okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine.” Gordon’s slumped posture added to Virgil’s impression that his brother looked pretty miserable. “It’s just . . .” A huge sigh escaped his tiny frame. “You’re worried about tomorrow?” Virgil finished for him. “Do you think I could tell Mom I have to do some reading for school or something?” Virgil’s eyes widened and his heart dropped into his stomach. His little brother might not be physically sick or injured, but he was not okay. “You know that’s not gonna work, Gordon. You’ve been pestering her all summer to take you to the pool. If you suddenly don’t want to go, she’s going to be super suspicious. And nobody will believe that you would ditch the pool in favour of schoolwork. Especially in summer!” “I know.” Another sigh. A long silence. “It’s just, when Mom said we’d all go to the pool tomorrow I . . . Normally I’d be really excited, but this time I kind of got scared.” “What are you scared of?” Gordon thought Virgil’s question was a pretty stupid one considering what had happened at the lake, and his scowling glare communicated as much. “I mean, what exactly scares you about going to the pool? Are you afraid you might get into trouble like you did in the lake?” Gordon’s expression turned more quizzical as he considered what Virgil was trying to say. “Because the pool is going to be very different from the lake. The water is clear. You can always see the bottom. The temperature is controlled and kept fairly warm. There’s a lifeguard on duty all the time keeping everyone safe, and we’ll all be there with you. You won’t be on your own, far from shore.” “I guess.” “Gordon, you love the water. You always have, even when you were tiny. You’re always happiest when you’re in the water – even if it’s just the bath or splashing in puddles.” “Not anymore.” “You have to get back on the horse,” Virgil said absently, almost to himself. “What? What horse? What does that have to do with the pool?” “It’s a figure of speech. Something Grandpa says. If you fall off the horse, you’ve gotta get right back on. You can’t let one bad experience make you scared forever, and the sooner you get back up on the horse after falling, the easier it is to ride again.” Gordon looked uncertain. “So, you’re saying that I have to go to the pool tomorrow and get back in the water or else I might be scared of swimming forever?” “I’m saying you have to go to the pool tomorrow because swimming makes you happy. You’re good at it, and you can’t let today stop you from doing something that makes you light up like Fourth of July fireworks and grin like the Cheshire Cat.” There was another long silence. Gordon scooted a little closer to his big brother and rested his head against Virgil’s shoulder. “Will you stay with me tomorrow? At the pool?” Virgil wriggled his arm under his brother and tugged him closer. “For as long as you need me to,” he affirmed. “We’ll start off in the shallow end. Mess around for a while, just getting wet, splashing about. Pretty soon you’ll be swimming like a fish and I won’t be able to keep up. But I promise I’ll stay close and watch out for you, okay?” “Okay.” Despite how tired he sounded, there was a brightness to Gordon’s voice that caused a wave of relief to sweep over Virgil. The day’s exploits had exhausted the two boys. Their little nest was cosy and warm, and the close contact between them helped relax them both as they quickly drifted off to sleep. But Virgil’s usually sound sleep was disturbed by unpleasant dreams. Twice he woke suddenly, heart pounding and breathing hard, certain that something terrible had happened and with an unshakable need to check on Gordon, only to find him safely asleep beside him. He lay awake after each nightmare, watching the even rise and fall of his brother’s chest, noticing every little twitch and murmur made as he slept. He had a feeling it would be a while before he could completely shake these nightmares, but it was comforting to think that Gordon had been spared the same kind of disruption through the night.

*** Morning dawned bright and warm, and despite the duvet cover preventing much sunlight penetrating the sanctuary of the fort, Gordon was awake with the dawn chorus. He tried to let his brother sleep, happy to listen to the soft snores and try not to giggle, but he quickly became impatient. Virgil woke to gentle but insistent poking to the ribs and the repeated whispering of his name. When he peeled his eyes open, he was greeted with brown eyes mere inches in front of his own and a beaming smile. “We’re going to the pool today, Virgil,” Gordon whispered with a hint of excitement. “You have to get up.” “Okay, okay,” Virgil managed to somewhat grunt as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. Then he registered the expression on his little brother’s face, the gleam in the eyes and the fact that the smile still hadn’t faltered, and a smile of his own spread from the depths of his heart and across his face. The mixture of nerves and eagerness thrumming through Gordon all morning was enough to give the rest of the family the impression he was full of barely contained excitement fitting for the day of a visit to the pool. He repeatedly asked when they would be leaving and was repeatedly told they would head out after lunch. He offered to pack everyone’s towels and Alan’s floaties into a bag ready for later, and he fidgeted and bounced his way through to lunchtime. After lunch, as promised, Lucy piled all the boys into the family car and drove them to the public pool. She paid their admission, and they all tumbled through the turnstile. As usual, Scott, who had never grown out of wanting to go everywhere at top speed, and Gordon raced away to find them a spot on the grass where bags and towels could be unceremoniously dumped before they hit the water. By the time Virgil and John joined them, T-shirts had already been discarded and comments about the fate of the last person into the water were being bandied about. When Lucy was finally able to set down her load of Alan and the bagful of necessities required for their day out, her four oldest boys were already racing towards the Olympic-sized pool. Scott first, John not far behind, and Gordon practically dragging Virgil by the hand.

Lucy kept an eye on her boys happily splashing about with each other in the shallow end of the pool while she got herself and Alan stripped down to their bathing suits and slid Alan’s floaties on over his head and arms. They had started a game of Chicken Fight by the time she slid herself into the water and lifted Alan down into her arms. John, sitting on Scott’s shoulders and Gordon atop Virgil’s, were locked in grappling combat. Scott and John had the advantage of both height and reach, and it was not long before Gordon toppled into the water. A rematch produced the same result in short order, and Gordon exacted revenge by distracting Scott with an underwater pantsing, causing him to break his hold on John, who overbalanced and slid from Scott’s shoulders into the pool. Lucy and Alan laughed along with the others as Scott protested foul play. Handstand competitions and a game of Freeze Tag followed. Lucy took Alan to the toddler pool where he could splash about more freely, instructing the older boys to behave and try not to bother other pool users too much while she was gone. Virgil was pleased to see that, just as he’d predicted, Gordon was happily swimming rings around them all as they played. He’d stuck close to Virgil at first, but after the Chicken Fights, he was swimming farther and faster in his efforts to escape being tagged and spending longer underwater with every passing minute. It seemed he had slipped right back into his home environment without any lasting dramas. As the afternoon shadows grew long, one by one Lucy’s boys returned to their spot on the grass. She and Alan had grown tired of the water first, and Alan had even had a short sleep amongst the pile of towels as they waited for the others to tire themselves out. Scott was first of the older boys to tire of swimming and return to towel off and dress in dry clothes, with John quick to follow. Lucy was a little surprised at how long Virgil lasted in the water until she spotted him sitting on the edge of the pool with just his feet and lower legs in the water watching Gordon as he shot back and forth across the free-play area, dodging strangers. She gave a shrill two-finger whistle. Virgil, recognising the signal, turned his head to look back at her, and she beckoned with her hand to indicate it was time to go. It seemed to take a while to convince Gordon to get out of the pool, but Lucy was not surprised. The car ride home was a fairly quiet one, the boys having spent a great deal of energy over the course of the afternoon. They brightened at the suggestion of ordering pizza for dinner when they got home, and there was a brief buzz of conversation when she mentioned their father would be home by the weekend. He had only been away for two weeks, but the older boys had never really grown out of getting excited by his return. This latest trip wasn’t as far away as Mars or even the moon, but the prospect of having Dad home again still triggered that same feeling of welcoming someone who had been long absent. He may not visit space for work any longer, and his absences could be measured in days instead of months or years, but it was always great to have him home again. “He already has big plans for this year’s Last Day of Summer,” Lucy mentioned with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “It’s only ten days away now!” While Scott and John speculated on what their dad might have in store for the annual family day at the lake on the last weekend before they went back to school, Virgil felt a small hand slip inside his and squeeze. He looked to his left at Gordon staring silently out the car window and gave a slight hand squeeze of his own in reply. While today had helped, it was obvious his little brother was still harbouring some fear of returning to the lake. There was no chance for Virgil to talk one-on-one with Gordon when they got home from the pool. As was fairly normal in the Tracy household, there always seemed to be someone else around or something that needed doing, and before he knew it, Gordon was already tucked in bed and reading a bedtime story with Mom. Virgil took a little longer than normal in the shower, needing the time alone with his thoughts. If Gordon acted anything less than excited about going to the lake for Last Day of Summer, it wouldn’t be long before their little secret would come to light. He had to find a way to get Gordon’s confidence back, but he was starting to wonder if he could manage on his own. With something like this, he would normally talk things out with Scott. It felt wrong to be hiding something from him and even more wrong to be hiding things from Mom. He was beginning to wonder whether he should just let the cat out of the bag and tell the truth, but he really didn’t want to let his little brother down either. Unable to face revealing how close he’d come to letting his brother drown, Virgil ended up avoiding any chance of conversation for the evening and shut himself away in his room until it was time for bed. John was in and out of the shared bedroom as he began preparing to turn in for the night, but it was not unusual for the two of them to quietly do their own thing without really exchanging words. When Lucy popped her head inside the door to check on her two quietest boys and say good night, Virgil tried his best to act like everything was normal. Her gaze fell heavily on him for a moment, and he had to fight the urge to tell her everything about the day at the lake and ask her advice. “Don’t stay up too late, boys,” she playfully warned them. ��Lights out by 9:30 please, Virgil, and John, no more stargazing after lights out!” “Okay, Mom,” they both answered automatically and in chorus. “Good night.” It took a while for Virgil to fall asleep that night, mind whirling with the thought of his little brother being afraid of something that had always been a source of such joy. There had to be a way to fix it – every problem had a solution, you just had to find it, that’s what Dad would say. As tired as he was, his mind kept trying to focus on finding that solution before drifting away into a sleepy fog. Gordon didn’t know exactly what time it was, but he knew it was very late. The house was quiet. The room wasn’t dark – Alan’s night-light saw to that – but he couldn’t hear any voices, any indication of anyone moving around downstairs or in the bathrooms and bedrooms. Everyone must be asleep. He had startled awake, sitting bolt upright, breathless, heart pounding, eyes prickling with oncoming tears and really wishing he wasn’t so alone. He’d been dreaming about the lake, and now he didn’t want to go back to sleep. Slipping silently from his bed, he tiptoed across the floor, careful not to disturb Alan, and crept out into the hall. He hesitated for a moment. Normally he would head for his parents’ room, but Mom would ask what the dream was about, and he didn’t want to tell her about swimming in the lake. He didn’t want to get in trouble – or get Virgil into trouble. Gordon changed direction and headed for Virgil’s and John’s room. Being very careful to open the door without a sound and close it just as silently behind him, Gordon stood in the pitch-dark bedroom for a moment and let his eyes adjust. He couldn’t understand why his bigger brothers liked it so dark, he found it a bit creepy, but he couldn’t turn on the light and risk waking John. It wasn’t long before he could make out the shape of Virgil’s bed amongst the gloom, and he stealthily padded across the carpet to stand beside his sleeping brother. Now that he was here, he wasn’t really sure how to wake him or whether he should. He stood twisting the fingers of both hands around each other, close to tears again. “Virgil?” he whispered, barely above a breath. No response. “Virge?” This time a little louder, a little more desperate, a little more whiney and accompanied by a sniff. He tried tapping Virgil’s shoulder a few times, but his brother didn’t budge from where he lay curled on his side, facing the wall. In the end, not knowing what else to do, Gordon climbed across the bottom of the bed and squeezed his way past Virgil’s knees, wriggled himself under the covers and Virgil’s arm, and curled himself into the space between his brother and the wall. It was around three a.m. when Virgil woke to find he wasn’t alone in the bed. He didn’t know how or when Gordon had come to be there, but he could hear him softly whimpering and feel him shaking with the occasional sob. “Gordon,” he whispered softly, “are you okay?” He tugged his brother a little tighter to him, feeling him struggle to get the sobbing under control and even out his breathing. “Had a bad dream,” came the ever-so-quiet response. Virgil eased his grip and shuffled over on the bed, allowing Gordon to roll over and face him, but he kept his hand resting against his brother’s back. Neither of them spoke for a moment, and the quiet darkness seemed both comforting and ominous at the same time. Gordon heaved a deep breath in and let it out in a sigh before breaking the silence. He kept his voice low, but once he started, the words tumbled out in a torrent. “I can’t go back to the lake for Last Day of Summer, Virgil. I don’t want to go back in the water and everyone will know that’s not normal and want to know why and I don’t want them to know what I did and –” “Shh,” Virgil soothed, rubbing Gordon’s back as he spoke. “We’ll work something out together. I promise.” “You mean so we don’t have to go?” “No, I mean so you won’t be afraid anymore. We have to go. It’s tradition. And I think we both have to go back to the lake and confront our fears.” “You’re scared too? Wait, what are you scared of?” It was Virgil’s turn to let out a sigh. “Gordon, as annoying as you sometimes are, you are my little brother, and if anything happened to you – anything really bad, I mean – I’d be . . .” Another sigh. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. And I guess I’m scared of what might have happened. I keep having bad dreams where I couldn’t save you.” Gordon was suddenly wrapped around him like an octopus, his skinny little arms squeezing tight around Virgil like he was never going to let go and legs twining their way between bedding and body to latch on too. Despite feeling a little bit trapped within the many-limbed embrace, Virgil felt oddly comforted by it. “You don’t have to hold so tight, little octopus. I’m not going anywhere,” Virgil whispered into blond hair. “I’m not an octopus,” came the muffled reply, buried somewhere in Virgil’s neck, “I’m a squid.” “Okay then, Squid. How about we try and get some sleep and work this out tomorrow?” Gordon’s hold on his brother relaxed enough for them both to get a little more comfortable in the bed, but it was clear he wasn’t letting go. Virgil managed to get one arm disentangled enough to trace his hand back and forth across Gordon’s back, helping to lull him to sleep. Slumber quickly claimed the older brother soon after.

*** Morning crept up on them, dawning overcast and gloomy, despite being summer warm. As a result, Gordon slept later than he normally would and was woken by John’s quiet movements as he rolled out of the bed on the other side of the room and shuffled towards the bathroom. If John noticed the interloper in Virgil’s bed, he didn’t say anything, so Gordon took the opportunity to unceremoniously climb over his brother and hightail it back to his own room. Virgil woke with a start after yet another nightmare. Sitting up and trying to reacquaint himself with reality, he realised Gordon was no longer with him, and his heart rate ratcheted up a few more notches in brief panic. Catching sight of the clock and taking a few slow, deep breaths, Virgil managed to convince himself that everything was fine, Gordon had obviously just woken up earlier and was more than likely perfectly okay. But he needed to check. He tumbled out of bed and, after a brief detour to the bathroom, stumbled his way down the corridor in search of Gordon. Finding the tiny two’s bedroom deserted, he headed downstairs and found his target in the living room. Virgil stood in the doorway watching Gordon playing with Alan for a few minutes. Seeing his goofball brother being his normal, animated self and hearing the shrieks and giggles his antics prompted from Alan were enough to reassure him that yes, Gordon was just fine. Sometime after Virgil had found himself some breakfast and begun to consider himself properly awake, John found him sitting at the piano, absently staring out the window. John didn’t recall hearing Virgil play any practice exercises, and Virgil’s brow was furrowed in deep concentration, so John concluded that he was there more for the familiarity than the urge to play music. He did this sometimes – sat there just thinking, wheels turning, gears shifting, working something out in his head – and John always found it interesting to watch the thought process play out through Virgil’s expressions. But the expression wasn’t changing. “Virgil?” John prompted with some concern. “You okay?” With a jolt, Virgil tore his eyes away from the view he wasn’t really seeing out the window and focussed them on John. “Yeah.” Virgil sighed. “I just have something I need to do, something that needs fixing, and I don’t know how to do it.” “Look it up,” John answered with a shrug. “That’s what I’d do. There’s probably a book about it somewhere or a repair manual or instructional video. If I want to know how something works or how to do something, I start with research.” With that, John walked away, leaving Virgil to ponder how to research fixing a fear of swimming in a lake. And then it hit him. Research was the answer, he just had to look up the right thing – not how to fix the fear, but all the things there were to be afraid of. The more information you know about the thing you’re afraid of, the less scary it becomes. So, all he had to do was look up everything that could cause someone to get into trouble swimming in a lake – and maybe rivers, streams, and oceans too – and learn everything about them. If he knew how to spot the dangers or how to prevent them and how to get out of trouble, then maybe Gordon wouldn’t be afraid anymore. Virgil set off at a run to go and find Gordon. At first, Gordon wasn’t sure about this idea of Virgil’s. Sitting in front of a holoscreen looking up information sounded a lot like homework. But Virgil was insistent that they at least give it a try. After all, it couldn’t hurt to know more about different waterways. “Okay, so where do we start?” Gordon asked as they settled themselves at the big desk in the corner of the living room. “Well, what scares you most when you think about going swimming in the lake?” “Getting another cramp.” Gordon’s reply was quiet, and suddenly Virgil hated himself for making his little brother revisit that moment when everything had gone wrong. He put his hand on Gordon’s shoulder and offered a reassuring squeeze. “Then let’s start there. We can find out what causes cramps when you swim and learn how to prevent them or how to manage them.” Virgil found a great deal of information on muscle cramps related to swimmers, which he quickly became quite absorbed in. He had to remind himself to stick to the sites with simple wording and steer clear of the ones that crossed too far into medical jargon territory. The boys learned the importance of warming up before swimming, being careful not to overexert the muscles, and staying hydrated. They also found that cold water could increase the chance of cramping. Virgil physically shivered at the memory of plunging his arm into deceptively cold water to grab at one of the only parts of his little brother he could still see. They researched swimming in cold water, what caused cold spots in lakes and rivers and whether you could spot them, and ways you could avoid them or deal with them. They learned about different types of currents – ones you could see, and ones you wouldn’t know about until you felt them. Submerged objects, reeds and seaweed, rocks and tree roots . . . “What are you guys doing?” Scott startled them so badly Virgil jumped and Gordon squeaked. “Researching water safety.” Virgil decided honesty was the best way to go . . . to a point. “It’s for Rescue Scouts.” “But we don’t go back to Rescue Scouts until a week after school goes back.” Scott eyed both brothers suspiciously. “We know, but there’s no harm in getting in early, and Gordon really wants his Water Safety badge.” Virgil had to resist the urge to squirm under the scrutiny of his big brother’s gaze as Scott remained silent for what seemed like a whole minute. “Well, it’s time for lunch,” Scott finally said before turning his back on them and heading for the kitchen. Gordon grinned up at Virgil, who huffed out a long exhale in relief. He didn’t think Scott completely believed the Rescue Scout story, but it seemed as though they would be able to continue their research unquestioned. In fact, no one questioned the time these two spent together in snatches of an hour or two here and there over a couple of days, continuing to search out information on the best ways to stay safe in just about any body of water. Gordon had even made a scrapbook of notes and pictures so he could keep track of all the things they’d learned. Excuses aside, when Rescue Scouts resumed after the summer break, Gordon would already be well on his way to earning his Water Safety badge in earnest. As promised, Jeff was back home by the time the boys awoke on Saturday morning, and he began dropping hints about his plans for the best Last Day of Summer yet. It was to be bigger and better than ever before because, for the first time since they began making the end-of-summer vacation a celebration, it coincided with Virgil’s birthday. The first hints encouraged the boys to check their tents and sleeping bags. It wouldn’t just be a day out with a picnic lunch this year, it would be an overnight campout. There was a promise of campfire tales and s’mores and a special surprise that required the night sky as a backdrop. There were hints about guests that prompted a whole day of guessing who might be joining them at the lake. Grandma and Grandpa were the first confirmed additions to the guest list, along with “Uncle” Lee and a mysterious extra guest from England and his daughter, who was apparently around Virgil’s and John’s age. Amidst all the building excitement about the big event at the end of the week, signs of Gordon’s nervousness about returning to the lake were easily missed by the rest of the family. Only Virgil saw the signs – the slight frown at Scott’s mention that they’d all need to remember to bring their swimmers and towels, the look of horror at John wondering if he’d see more stars if he rowed out into the lake after dark. Virgil decided he’d have to take Gordon back to the lake before the weekend. They needed to return to the scene of the crime. Gordon, having come to much the same conclusion in his own way, approached Virgil after breakfast on the Wednesday. The day was clear and bright, much like it had been on the morning of that fateful day little more than a week before. It seemed like a good day to go back and face the monster that the lake had become. “Virgil,” Gordon said quietly, despite there being no one else in the living room at the time, “can we go back to the lake today? Can you take me?” “Today seems like a good day to me,” Virgil answered with a gentle smile. “We’ll have to tell Dad we’re going out for most of the day.” Now that Jeff was back from his trip and working from the home office, Lucy was spending more time at work. The boys were expected to look after each other and only interrupt their father if it was important, but Jeff would check up on them all throughout the day. “Do we have to say where we’re going?” Gordon twined his fingertips around each other, raising his eyes to meet Virgil’s from a head trying to look down at the floor. “We’ll tell him we’re going back to the place we visited last week to finish the drawing,” Virgil suggested. “It’s not exactly a lie. We are going back to the same place.” The knock on Jeff’s office door was tentative but loud enough that he heard it over the voice of the colleague on the other end of the video call. He muted his audio to tell his visitor to wait a moment before unmuting and bringing the phone conversation to a conclusion. “Come in,” he finally called towards the closed door. He was a little surprised by the request for this particular pair to spend a day out together on their own, but he remembered Lucy mentioning something about these two having been out on the top track the week before. He gave them permission to go provided they tell Scott and John where they were going and promise to be back by five. “Take something to eat and plenty of water, Virgil,” he reminded the older boy, “and look after your brother.” “I will, Dad.” Virgil gave a solemn nod, and the two boys slipped back out of the office, closing the door behind them. Bag packed with sandwiches and water bottles, art supplies for the sake of appearances, and towels, the boys were soon striding out across the paddock towards the top track. This time there were no lingering looks at the scenery as they walked – the birds, spiders, and bugs were largely ignored. Unlike the last time they had set out together, Virgil had no desire to hurry, and he let his younger brother set the pace. He noted with a small amount of pride the purposeful strides, the determination in the set of squared shoulders, and the fire in amber eyes as Gordon focused his energy on reaching their destination so he could do what needed to be done. Gordon’s determined march stuttered to a somewhat abrupt halt when they rounded the last curve and stepped onto the silty sand of the lake’s beach. With his eyes fixed on the water, shoulders drooping, it seemed Gordon’s fire had died. Without a word, Virgil placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, the simple gesture having the desired effect – lending the younger boy enough resolve to steel himself once again, lengthen his spine, and straighten his shoulders. Virgil steered them over to a patch of sand where he could spread out a towel for them to sit on. Shoes were shed in preparation for the inevitable trip to the water’s edge, but the boys remained seated. “What do you see out there?” Virgil asked. “It’s the same. Calm. Flat. But it’s different from last time too.” Virgil waited for a moment before trying again, wanting Gordon to see past the feeling of fear. “Remember what we learned about studying the ripples?” he prompted. “Is it really flat and calm?” There was silence as Gordon’s gaze focused intently on the expanse of blue stretching before them. The embers of the fire that had previously lit his eyes seemed to ignite anew as he studied the surface, looking for telltale signs. “There are reeds just under the surface over there,” he said, pointing a little to their left, “and the ripples over here are different to that bit farther out where it looks really smooth.” Virgil could see Gordon’s confidence growing as he gestured to various parts of the lake, telling his big brother what the differences in the rippled and smooth areas were likely to mean in terms of what was going on beneath the surface. Pretty soon they were on their feet and striding into the shallows to test the waters. Gordon entered the water at a slow walk, which Virgil thought was through caution or trepidation at first, but then Gordon gently trailed fingertips through the reeds and beckoned his big brother over. “Virgil, come look,” he called, looking up at him with a grin. “There are fish that feed in the reeds.” The next half hour was spent following Gordon through the shallows exploring the aquatic life found therein. As the younger boy got more caught up in watching the fish, finding different types of reeds, discovering eels, and excitedly pondering all manner of life in the depths of the lake, they wandered deeper into the water. Virgil followed and listened, answering questions as best he could when asked, smiling fondly all the while. The Squid was in his element. “Hey Gordon,” Virgil said as he playfully splashed a well-aimed hand scoop of water into the side of his little brother’s head. “You realise you’re getting your shirt wet, right?” Gordon looked down at the water that was now up to the middle of his chest and back up at his brother with a grin. “Oops.” They briefly returned to the little beach, shed their shirts, and laid them down in the sun to dry. “You know, when we come back this weekend, we’ll mostly be swimming out here where we just were.” Virgil nodded his head back towards the little patch of lake they’d just explored. “We could go a little deeper, actually lift our feet off the bottom and swim for a while. This is the only part of the lake any of us have ever really swum in before.” Gordon’s eyes sparkled with light reflecting off the water as he pondered Virgil’s words for a moment. Mom and Dad had always suggested the boys shouldn’t swim out past where they could touch the bottom and definitely never past the end of the wooden pier. Looking at the pier and the dinghy tied securely to its mooring drew his eye to the rock island beyond, tantalisingly close, yet so terrifyingly far. Virgil watched his squid brother scanning the water, casting his gaze over the safe and familiar. He saw the moment the line was crossed and thoughts turned to the challenge just that little farther afield. Once again, he placed a hand on Gordon’s shoulder, hoping to redirect his thoughts. “Why don’t we just go back in, swim around for a while, have some fun where we know it’s safe?” “Yeah, okay,” Gordon agreed, a little half-heartedly. Virgil took his brother by the hand, and by the time they’d taken two steps, they were running towards the water. He only let go once they were in deep enough that a tug of the hand lifted Gordon’s feet off the bottom and propelled him a short distance through the water. He received a splash to the face for his efforts, but his little brother was smiling and treading water. In no time at all, Gordon was literally swimming rings around his big brother, splashing at him and darting away, taunting him, daring him to swim after him. It was hunger that drove them out of the water and back onto the dry sand sometime later. PB&J sandwiches were retrieved from the backpack and devoured. The late summer sun warmed their shoulders as they sat in content silence, listening to the lapping of the water and the cries of the birds. Virgil would have been happy to remain there soaking it all in, but Gordon soon became restless, his gaze drifting back to where water birds were drying their outstretched wings. “Virgil, I wanna swim to the rock.” The fire was back in Gordon’s eyes. Virgil studied him for a moment, seeing that same determination that had driven the march to the lake. He wasn’t asking for permission, he was making a statement. It was what he’d come here to do – the demon he needed to conquer. Virgil wasn’t feeling anywhere near as courageous as his little brother looked at that moment. “Gordon . . .” “I need to do it, Virgil.” He turned his head, those glowing embers burning straight into his big brother’s wide brown eyes. “But I need you.” “I can’t . . .” “Use the boat. I’ll swim, you row. If I get into trouble, you’ll be right there.” Virgil had to look away. The intensity in those eyes, the body language, the strength of will in his little brother were too much. But it was the faith Gordon was placing in him that was twisting his gut. He caught sight of the rock island, out there beyond the boat docked at the pier. He was suddenly very aware of his own heartbeat thumping just a little too hard and a little too fast. Gordon needed this – needed him to do this with him. He couldn’t let the Squid down. “Okay,” he agreed with a sigh. He had expected a look of triumph, a smile, a victory dance . . . something. Anything but the simple nod and determined knitting of Gordon’s brow that he received in reply. The younger boy then grabbed his water bottle and took a long draught. “Staying hydrated helps stop you getting cramps, right?” Gordon asked. Virgil nodded. “And I should do some warmup stretches before I swim out there.” “Right again.” Virgil was gladdened by the amount of thought and preparation Gordon was putting into the task ahead of him this time. “And you’ll stay close in the boat?” There it was, the uncertainty just below that confident façade. “Right beside you all the way, little brother.” Virgil tried to school his expression into one of reassurance, but he wasn’t sure he managed it. They made their way across the sand and onto the wooden planks of the pier, then stood studying the expanse of water for a moment, watching the ripples and trying to read currents. Looking for dangers. At last Virgil could put it off no longer. Gordon was warmed up and ready to go, they had assessed the risks and had plans in mind for just about any eventuality. It was time to untie the boat and take up the oars. Sitting in the gently rocking dinghy, Virgil had to take a moment to close his eyes and concentrate on a few deep breaths to quell the hammering in his ribcage before looking back up at Gordon and giving a nod. He was as ready as he’d ever be. This time when Gordon dived in, he began his swim with a measured pace rather than a burst of speed that he wouldn’t be able to maintain. Virgil didn’t have to work too hard on the oar strokes to keep up with him. Not far out there was a brief moment of panic when Gordon suddenly stopped his forward momentum and started treading water. An odd expression furrowed his brow, then he ducked his head under the water. Dropping the oars and preparing to make a grab for his brother, Virgil was sure his heart stopped beating altogether for a second before the blond head re-emerged above the surface. Seeing the panic in his big brother’s eyes, Gordon grinned and held up the weed he’d just untangled from his leg. “It’s okay, Virge, no cramps, just waterweed.” And with that, he resumed his swim with a flurry of swift kicks and smooth strokes. By the time Virgil could regather the oars – and his wits – his little brother was ten meters ahead of him. It took only a few strong pulls on the oars to catch up again, but Virgil knew his pulse rate was not going to climb down out of the stratosphere until they were both on dry land. It felt like an eternity, but in reality, it was only a few minutes before Gordon was able to lay his hands on the slippery surface of the rock. Finding a decent hold, he clambered up far enough to sit on a crag, feet still in the water, triumphant grin lighting up his features, water droplets catching the sunlight, causing his hair and skin to glisten as he caught his breath. “I knew I could do it!” he panted as Virgil drew the dinghy close beside him. “I never doubted you, Squiddo,” Virgil agreed, practically beaming with pride at his brother’s achievement. “Now, are you gonna swim back? Or do you want a lift?” Gordon’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t really thought about the return trip. Virgil chuckled. “Um, I think maybe I’ll just come back with you in the boat.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, dragging it back from where it was dripping into his eyes. “No problem, Fish. You’ve proved enough for one day.” With a bit of manoeuvring, jostling, and boat rocking, Gordon was able to climb into the dinghy and settle himself into the seat at the prow. To him, the journey back to the dock seemed to take no time at all. Virgil’s strong, steady strokes with the oars propelled them quickly and smoothly through the water as though it took no effort at all. He jumped out of the boat and onto the pier before Virgil had even finished drawing the oars into the boat, then waited for Virgil to climb out and secure the mooring. “Virgil?” It was all the warning the older boy got as he turned to face his little brother, who closed the space between them at a run and launched himself into what became a squid hug, arms and legs tightly wrapped around Virgil’s torso. It took Virgil a couple of backward steps before he could steady himself under the sudden additional weight. “Thank you. You are the best big brother.” Virgil returned the embrace, allowing a chuckle to escape as he rested his head against damp hair. “You are a pretty amazing little brother, Squid.”

*** The Last Day of Summer celebration, and Virgil’s twelfth birthday turned out to be a fantastic, fun-filled event for all involved. Nothing could hold Gordon back from spending as much time as possible in the water, and so no one knew there had ever been a problem. The nightmares had run their course too. Summer vacation came to an end, and with the start of the school term, life returned to normal. A few weeks later a chance meeting at school pickup resulted in a few puzzle pieces slotting into place for Lucy. Gordon’s class teacher spotted Lucy waiting in the Kiss & Drop zone and made a passing comment about his wonderful piece of creative writing for the obligatory “What I Did Over Summer” assignment. When they got home, with the boys all occupied with snacks or homework and various afterschool activities, Lucy dug out Gordon’s writing workbook and found the story in question titled “My Summer Vacation,” with a large A+ written in red at the top of the page. My Summer Vacation I did lots of things in summer with my big brothers and we had lots of fun but there was one scary day. I went swimming in the lake when I wasn’t supposed to and I nearly drowned but my brother was there and he saved me. After that I was scared to go swimming, but he told me it would make him sad if I didn’t swim anymore because he says swimming makes me happy. We looked up all the ways you can get into trouble swimming in lakes and rivers and oceans. We found out all the ways you can look for dangers and get out of trouble in the water and how to be safe. Now I’m not scared to go swimming anymore. Well, that explained a great deal. Lucy smiled to herself and shook her head a little. She would have words with Virgil about the kind of secrets that needed to be shared with an adult, but she was struck once again by how amazing her boys could be and just how far they would go for one another.

***