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karizard-ao3 · 7 days

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My reactions to the End of Evangelion

First, I know I have some asks about romcom Shinji waiting for me, but I felt I must watch this first because I am a little bit freaked out about what's going to happen and I need to just face it and get it out of the way. Also, I have a feeling I'm going to want to think about cute romcom Shinji afterward to aid my recovery. I have been led to believe it's pretty intense.

I am literally sitting here with the remote, avoiding pressing play.

Okay. I did it. It's starting.

I wonder if this is with the new VAs. Did they redub this as well? I'll find out soon.

The world is flooded, it looks like.

Shinji visiting Asuka and asking for help.

This is the new dub.

Ope, he accidentally made her naked.

Jesus Christ, Shinji.

Confirmed that their intent is to force humanity to evolve. They wanted to use Lilith but instead will have to use Unit 1, its only offspring, since the Spear of Longinus is lost.

Yui chose to stay in the Eva. "The human condition lies in how it struggles for survival".

There's Rei.

She finally broke the glasses.

Shinji's music player ran out of battery. He's just been laying there thinking about what a creep he is.

Misato found the real truth behind the second impact. Should I go back and pause to read the page?

Seele's trying to hack NERV HQ.

So was Unit 0 made from Adam, then?

Wait. So, Seele wants to do the forced evolution, yes? What is Gendo's motive in all this?

They're hiding the kids in their Evas. Rei is missing.

Shinji is hiding. Is he jerking off again?

These guys are going through and very efficiently killing everyone in NERV.

No, Shinji is just feeling depressed and hopeless and probably hating himself.

How does Rei feel about all her destroyed bodies?

They were about to kill Shinji and he was going to let them, but here comes Misato to save the day!

"Help, Asuka. Help me." Suicidal Shinji.

Humanity caused the second impact by trying to revert Adam to an egg state before he could awaken any more angels. Humanity came from Lilith and is the 18th Angel. I was not expecting that.

The other Angels were humanity how it could have been.

Shinji needs to destroy the Evas to prevent the third impact and save mankind.

Okay, so the human instrjmentality project is Gendo ans that's the forced evolution. Third impact is Seele's goal. I think.

Asuka has woken up.

They're bombing outside her capsule.

Does that let her sync?

Did she see her mom because she died? Oh no.

Oh, wait, it was the first thing.

The AT field was her mother protecting her? Is her mom also in the Eva? Are they really just farming people's mothers to make Evas?

Go, girl! Kick ass, Asuka.

She's so happy to realize her mother loves her.

There's the other Evas. Are they also crafted from mothers?

It's nice to see Asuka with her confidence back.

Which one got shot?

Misato.

I thought probably given ep. 25 (was it?)

Shinji does bad things to other people to hurt himself.

That's a good message from Misato.

And then she went and did that. Ugh. Misato, I knew you were going to do some shit like this. And promising him the rest when he gets back. What a weirdo. But I guess she's dead now? That's too bad.

Ritsuko is sabotaging Gendo.

But she failed.

The spear of longinus is back and it got her!

I was wondering if they would stay down. She probably has to destroy the S2 drive.

Do these ones have pilots?

Oh, they're eating her. And she is connected by nerve link.

Ohhhhhh no. Asuka...

He couldn't go to the Eva so the Eva is coming to him.

He saw what happened to Asuka and absolutely lost his shit.

Should I take a break to discuss this half of the movie since it's split into episodes, or should I wait? Umm.... I have until the end of this song to decide, I think. Uh... I think I'll just wait until the very end.

Rei's arm fell off.

Gendo wants to reunite with Yui, which is something I had kind of toyed with as an idea because he talks about her a lot and is very partial to everything that relates to Yui except for Shinji (maybe sees too much of himself in the boy), but I hadn't really spent a lot of time thinking about it because I hate Gendo and he keeps hooking up with other scientists.

He has become one with Adam somehow. He needs to unite Adam and Lilith to commence the human instrumentality project and then go to where Yui is (the quantum plane, perhaps?)

Quite honestly, I'm still not completely clear on what Seele wants versus what Gendo wants.

He stuck his whole hand inside her.

Rei senses Shinji screaming.

Were there two spears of Longinus?

Oh, they made a replica.

They are rerutning man and Evas to their true forms.

Several replicas.

They're going to use Unit 1 and therefore Shinji as a sacrifice.

This is the lead up to the third impact.

There is a huge explosion.

Looks like an eye.

They're returning earth to its true form?

Rei decides not to help Gendo. And she regrew her hands. She's going up to help Shinji by going in Lilith.

And with that, Lilith is fixed, with her legs not weird anymore.

That is Lilith, right? That's what Kaworu said?

A giant incorporeal Rei to the rescue!

Shinji screaming at the sight of Rei.

They're syncing with Rei. Once again, that's a lot of fucking Reis.

Shinji is losing his mind.

kaworu appears, coming out of Rei's body. But there's the spear. It's absorbed the spear. Now he's in the tree of life.

"Rei is in your heart. A perfect reflection of your wishes."

"What do you wish for?"

He's alone at the playground because the other kids went home with their mom and he doesn't have one.

His little Mary Janes.

Built the sand castle, knocked it down in a fit of rage, then started trying to put it back together and crying.

Did this stuff Shinji is seeing actually happen or is it happening in his head as part of human instrumentality?

Now he's choking her.

Seeing all the worst of humanity.

Shinji bouncing back and forth between everyone should die because they don't love me, and I should die because I don't matter to anyone.

Rei just sprouted from the atmosphere.

Everyone is truning to jelly. Primordial soup.

"I'd only hurt Shinji. That's why I left him alone." He's just like Shinji fr.

The Eva series are shoving the spears further in.

Rei is vacuuming something into her palms, it looks like. Is that souls?

The tree of life thing just went into the eye hole/ keyhole/ vag in her head.

Now we've got some actual footage from the real world.

"You made a convenient fantasy to get revenge on reality."

Rei and Shinji are kind of fused together. Everyone is merged into one, which is what Rei said Shinji wished for. But he realizes that's not really what he wanted.

AT fields are what keep us separate and cause our pain, but Shinji realizes that he wants to be with others again more than he wants to run away from the pain.

So now Rei is bringing everyone back, I think?

Yui wanted to make the Eva to be a testament that humanity existed even after the universe dies.

Shinji wakes up next to a red sea abd Asuka. Shinji sees Rei for just a moment, and then she'd gone. There is a red ring around the earth. He's trying to choke her and crying, then she touches his face softly and he stops. He cries. She calls him disgusting and the movie ends.

In Conclusion

Well.

Well, well, well.

First off: I am still confused because it seems like Seele and Gendo were trying for the same thing and I am really not sure of the difference. Maybe it was just a matter of how they wanted to carry it out. I feel like I must be dumb as a rock for not getting it, but also maybe it's just mental priorities. I spent more mental energy trying to figure out other stuff.

This movie leaves me with a lot to think about. I'm already googling things about it, but I'm going to stop for now. I want to let it percolate a bit more, I think. Also, I should watch my DVD extras! Probably not today, though. I need to spend some time with my kid.

It seems that the third impact still affected the planet, but Shinji elected to have everyone be individuals so it was an apocalypse but not one that turned everyone into a single, liquid consiousness.

I don't really think everyone's Eva is infused with their mother, but I'm a little perplexed by Asuka saying her mother is why she has an AT field. Maybe she just meant because of how her mother shaped her identity. Not really sure. I mean, I would understand if Shinji had that revelation but not sure on Asuka.

Yeah, this is another one that's going to have to sit for a while in my head, I think. There's a lot to sort through.

I do love that the connection between mother and child seems to be so important in this series. It's kind of sad because Shinji feels so alone and uncared for, but we can see that his mother is always watching him and protecting him, whether it's as Rei or as Unit 1 or as a metaphysical version of herself. But we also see Asuka dealing with a lack of love from her mother. That poor girl.

Also, can we really love anyone when they are mixed together in a soup with us? Shinji could be merged with everyone in the LCL sea but they were no longer separate people, so he still couldn't really be with them, because there was no longer a them to be with.

I do slightly wish the objectives between Seele and Gendo had been slightly clearer. I get that it's all secondary to the real message but I get hung up on this kind of stuff when it's not clicking.

Yeah, I don't think I've got anything really definitive to say right now. This is definitely another thinker and I need time to let my thoughts form.

I am left wanting more. Not of the story, but just of seeing the characters together. I wish we could get an Evangelion slice of life series and just see their day to day lives as Eva pilots with only a very loose plot to tie the series together. I want to see them all existing and coexisting and I think I could happily watch several seasons of that.

Okay, well, I have a couple people to text now that I've finished the movie and I need to sit and think some more. I want to look up more stuff but I feel like maybe I should wrap up this watching experience with a better conclusion post. I think I will try (only try, no promises-I've got a head full of questions) to hold off on looking anything up while I sort through things and maybe look at my notes and then attempt to gather together my thoughts and post them.

I will also think about those Shinji romcom asks.

This was a very good show. I will definitely be watching again, and quite possibly very soon. I confess that I put in a bid for a boxed set of the Perfect collection, which should have the original dub, so if I win it I'm going to buy it and then watch it with the original dub because I'm curious to see the difference.

#ask me things #my asks #answered asks #neon genesis evangelion #evangelion #first watch #concluded #I finished the series!#shinji ikari #rei ayanami #asuka langley soryu #misato katsuragi #ritsuko akagi #gendo ikari #yui ikari

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wormstacheangel · 3 years

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Day 2 of @spnprideweek and part 2 of sobrenatural fic

Dean ended up coming home a little sooner than he should have, but he didn’t want to lose the shower to Sam. He didn’t want to be sweaty and cochino for his not date with Cas.

Maybe he should have cooled it with the cumbia, making it too obvious that Dean was in a good mood because as soon as he was heading out the door—smelling great, he may add—su Tio called him over to the kitchen.

“¡Oye! ¿A dónde vas tan cambiado?” Tio Bobby was by the stove, smashing the beans for dinner, as he raised his eyebrows at Dean. Sam was standing by the sink peeling tomatillos as he cranes his neck to look over at Dean.

“Dude, what did you do? Break the damn cologne bottle?”

“Es mucho?” Dean lifted his arm to smell himself. “It’s fine!”

“¿Me vas a contestar?” Bobby threw in some whole chiles into the beans and let them simmer away. “¿Quieres que te hable en inglés? Where are you going, niño feo?”

“Estas siego, viejo!” Dean walked over to the small mirror that hung on the wall. You can barely see yourself in it because of the Jesus painting on it, but it still worked. “I’m just going out with some friends.”

“Mmm.” Bobby hummed in reply, going back to turn off the beans once they looked how he wanted it. “Llévate a tu hermano.”

“Tio!” Dean turns around, wide-eyed and heart racing. “I can’t take Sam!”

“I’ll go get my coat!” Sam rinsed off his sticky hands and started to walk out of the kitchen, but Dean grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him in close. Pinning him down against his chest, which was difficult considering the kid is a damn giant.

“You aren’t coming with,” Dean mutters to him before begging Bobby again. “Tio, I’ll take Sammy with me tomorrow! Nomas hoy no.”

“¿Y porque no?”

Dean looks between curious eyes, not knowing how to explain himself. He can’t say he’s going out with a friend cause then there would be no reason why Sam couldn’t tag along. But he didn’t want to come out to his Tio and brother now! Fuck that shit; he’ll just lie.

[continue reading under the tab or on ao3]

“I’m going to meet up with Cassie.” Technically true.

Bobby’s eyes widened, and Sam’s grin grew while he wiggled himself free from Dean’s grip. They both liked Cassie and were mad at Dean for breaking things up between them. However, it wasn’t tough when Cassie rarely gave him any attention, always busy with work and school. She had to know Dean was holding her back, so he broke it off. She was mad at him for a while but ultimately thanked him for doing something she didn’t have the courage to do. Rumors still spread, though, because of course, they do, about Dean cheating, but he didn’t care much about those.

Su Tio, though, cared a lot. Dean has to constantly remind him that Dean didn’t cheat on her, and he just broke it off cause Cassie was too smart for him.

Cas is probably too smart for him too.

“Okay, pues, have fun! Bring her home to say hi.” Bobby practically pushed him out the door with Sam happily towering behind him with the same annoying grin.

Dean wondered how disappointed they would be if they found out he was going out with a guy instead.

Dean drove to Cas’s house, waiting outside a few minutes before seven. He wasn’t sure what he should do. Does he honk the horn, or is that too rude? Should he park and get out of the car to knock? That seemed too much like a date thing. And he still wasn’t sure if this was a date or two not-strangers hanging out.

He stayed in the middle of the street, unsure of what to do until finally, the front door opened, and Cas stepped out with a jacked hanging on his arm. He stood outside and squinted at the car before tilting his body down to check if that was Dean.

Dean’s panic from before melted away while he nervously waved at Cas. He saw Cas’s eyes widen with a slow-growing grin before he practically ran over to Dean.

As soon as Cas opened the door, Dean felt so sure that there was nothing more right than having Cas sitting in his passenger side.

“You ready to go, Angelito?” Dean looked Cas over; he’s dressed in dark jeans and a grey long sleeve. He has never seen Cas in anything but that rumpled old suit. He never minded the suit, but now he wished he could burn it because all that suit did was hide Cas’s muscled body. Dean couldn’t stop the whistle that escaped his lips as he said, “Mira! You look good, Cas.”

The compliment was shocking to them both, for Dean especially. He awkwardly cleared his throat while trying to think of an excuse. Maybe even use the whole English as a second language excuse, but Cas quietly responded with a, “Thanks, Dean. You look pretty good yourself.”

And maybe those words broke him. He knew he was attractive but having Cas say that made his head spin.

“Your car is beautiful, by the way. I wasn’t sure if that was you in here.”

“Did you expect me to come in that bike?” Dean jokes before slowly driving away from the house, Los Angeles Azules playing softly on the radio did not make things any less awkward.

“I don’t know what I expected. I’m just glad you came, Dean.”

Dean stopped at the end of the block and turned towards the guy sitting beside him. Cas was already looking at him with puppy dog eyes and a beautiful, hopeful smile. His breath catches in his throat as his mind gets overwhelmed with wanting to reach out and touch Cas. Just to make sure the beautiful boy in his passenger seat was real and make sure que su corazon isn’t just playing games with him.

Instead, he tightened his hold on the steering wheel, fingers burning in protest, as he melts into Cas’s smile. Wanting to relax and just be with him for tonight, not caring que alguien lo va mirar. Enjoy this non-date that looks like it has the chance to become an actual one.

But is that what Dean actually wanted?

“Dean,” Cas reached over to gently touch his arm as if knowing that Dean’s mind had wandered off. He looked hesitant, as if not sure if he was allowed to. “Do you want to go eat? We can if you want.”

Dean looked down at the hand that was burning him through his clothes, knowing damn well that Cas was giving him the chance to make this into something more. Algo que se sentía que iba a ser cósmico en su vida. Y Dean quería eso en su vida.

“Yeah,” Dean answered both questions. His hand loosened on the wheel before he reached over to take Cas’s hand in his. Hearing Cas’s breath catch in a gasp, but he didn’t look up at him; instead, Dean twined their fingers together before letting them sit in the seat between them. Dean focused back on the road before turning left to his side of town. “I got the perfect place. Te va gustar! You’re not like vegan or anything, right?”

“No.” Dean turned to catch Cas looking at him still and knew they were both feeling the same excited electricity that clouded the car just by the giddiness in his voice. “Where are you taking me on our, oh um…Oh! primero! Primero date, Dean?”

Ahi esta! La confirmación que necesitaba. This is an actual date! Pero, las palabras no le dieron pánico. No. Instead, Dean squeezed Cas’s hand as he laughed, feeling like he would just fly away if he didn’t hold on.

“You passed high school Spanish, Cas?”

“I did, but google translate did most of the work.”

When Dean parked outside the familiar food truck, he squeezed Cas’s hand once before they got out. They walked together, bumping shoulders while their hands stayed buried in their pockets. Cas didn’t question their lack of touch; instead, he smiled up at Dean as he listened to him rave about his friend Victor’s food.

“Not as good as mine, but it’s good,” Dean adds as they make it to the front of the window, where Victor can hear him.

“Cabron!” Victor said with no fire in his tone but a growing grin across his face. He held his hand out for Dean to take for a handshake. “Nice to see you, primo. Where’s Sam?”

“Lo deje en la casa!” When Dean took a step back, he put his arm around Cas’s shoulder to squeeze him close. “Pero, I brought a new customer.”

“Hi.” Cas looked a little shaken up, and Dean just wanted to lean closer to leave a kiss on his cheek, but he restrained. No necesita mas chisme circling around about him. “I’m Cas.”

“Victor.” Victor raised an eyebrow at him but reached over to shake Cas’s hand in response. “What can I get you and the pendejo around you?”

“Oh. Dean isn’t-” Cas frowned over at Dean, but Dean just shook his head, letting him know that it was okay. Cas squinted at him before he gave a small smile, not understanding but accepting. “You order for me?”

“Sure, Angelito. Anything you don’t like?”

“As long as it’s not so spicy, I don’t mind anything.”

Cas stayed stiff under Dean’s arm as they ordered and waited for their food. Eventually, Dean couldn’t help himself; the street light and the neon sign were the only things keeping this place lit, but it was still pretty dark, so he turned his face to press his nose against Cas’s temple.

“¿Qué pasa, Angelito? What’s wrong?”

“Dean.” Cas sounded shocked as he started to move back, but Dean held him a little tighter. “Someone is gonna see you.”

“Que miran. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

Cas sighed but relaxed back into Dean. “I just didn’t like him calling you that. You aren’t stupid, Dean.” Dean chuckled, and Cas turned to look at him, glaring. “I don’t see how this is funny.”

“Ay, mi Angelito, he didn’t say it in a mean way. It’s just the way we talk to each other. He’s my friend.”

Cas blinked at him a few times before he fell back against Dean, his arms crossed over his chest. “Well, I don’t like it.”

“Trust me, Cas, it’s fine. Quedate conmigo long enough, and you’ll be calling me the same thing.”

Cas didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and Dean wondered if he said the wrong thing again, but then Cas clicked his tongue before turning to Dean. “I don’t know what…um, that word you said means. Que..que-?”

“Quedate?” Cas nodded, looking back at Dean, waiting for him to explain. It brought warmth to Dean’s chest, knowing he’ll have to repeat it in English when before it came out as a joke. He swallowed hard as he looked back at those baby blues. The words barely came out in a quiet whisper, “Quedate. Stay. Conmigo. With me. I said, stay with me.”

“Oh.” Cas looked down at Dean’s lips as he talked. “I can-I can do that.”

Dean hummed a response as his eyes traveled down to Cas’s tongue poking out to lick at his lips. His heart was hammering in his chest until it came to a stop when he heard, “Dean! Oye, cabron! I ain’t calling your name again!”

They pulled apart, and Dean jogged over alone to grab their bag of food. Dean decided to get a few of his favorites and drinks.

“Victor,” Dean called his friend over again. “No le digas a nadie que estaba aquí. Okay? Or I’m gonna steal all your customers otra vez.”

Victor’s eyes traveled from Dean to Cas, who was waiting where Dean left him looking angelic under the streetlamp, before falling back to Dean. He wondered what could be going through Victor’s mind right that moment, but then he heard his friend let out a heavy sigh.

“Whatever you say, primo.”

“Thanks. Call me tomorrow, and I’ll work for you this weekend!” Dean starts walking backward, back to Cas.

“Shit! Really? ¡No juegues conmigo, Dean!”

“Llámame mañana!”

Dean makes it back to Cas, who automatically reaches for the drinks to help, and motions for him to walk back to the car.

“Come on. I wanna take you somewhere else.”

Dean drove them somewhere nicer, more private, but still a parking lot.

As soon as Dean parks the car, he opens his door, “Come on; we can sit on the hood. You might wanna put that jacket on.”

Cas looks excited when he opens the car door and walks out into the parking lot that faces the beach. “Dean! Won’t we get a ticket?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just bring the drinks.”

They sat on the hood of the impala, eating and talking, as the sounds of the waves crashing to the shore mixed with la musica norteña coming from inside the car. Dean soon finds out that Cas doesn’t know how to dance, so he puts on one of his favorite mixtapes, and cumbia plays loudly through the speaker.

They danced in front of the headlights, if you can call it dancing. They always ended up bursting into fits of laughter as they fell into each other because Cas did have two left feet. Eventually, Dean just took Cas from around the waist, and they just spun around in circles.

Feeling Cas wrap his arms around Dean’s neck to hold him as their grins were so close together made Dean’s heart leap. Eventually, Cas’s forehead fell against Dean’s, and the dancing slowed to a nice sway even though the beat was only getting quicker.

“Cas?” He answered Dean with a soft hum. “Me estas gustando mas cada segundo.”

“I don’t know-”

“I like you.” Dean’s eyes closed as he leaned in to brush their noses together. “Mi Angelito.”

Dean never thought he would be here in this situation with a guy, but he has never wanted anything more in his life. Feeling strong hands run through his hair as a strong and firm body pressed against him. He loved the intoxicating smell of Cas’s woodsy shampoo that he would have never smelled on a girl. The stubble of beard rubbed against his chin as Cas turned his head until finally, fucking finally, he had those pink lips on his.

He should be scared. Esto no es algo que debería hacer con El pinche Sonidito playing in the background. He shouldn’t have one hand behind Cas’s neck to deepen the kiss, and his toes shouldn’t curl up when he feels Cas’s heavy sigh inside his mouth. He shouldn’t become so quickly addicted to Cas’s hands reaching under Dean’s shirt to press firmly at his back, feeling the familiar slight burn become a damn forest fire in him.

Esto no es algo que debería querer. Cas no es alguien que debería querer pero aqui esta. Queriendo a nadie más pero a Cas. Cas. Cas.

Cas pulled away just enough only to have their noses touching, their breaths still mixing, as he whispered. “I like you too, Dean.”

And yeah. That was it. That was all it took.

Las cadenas del maldito miedo that held him back from even thinking of wanting Cas this way, se rompieron. Dean ya pertenece completamente a Cas.

Cas grinned as he looked back at Dean, his hand reaching to cradle his face gently. His thumb was caressing Dean’s freckles on his cheek before he happily announced. “¡Me gustas mucho!”

Dean laughed, his arms reaching down to wrap around Cas’s waist and spin him around. Both of them laughing as they continued dancing and kissing until it was late enough that they had to go home.

#inspo from a real date of mine!#instead of the beach we went to a lake and we had to leave early cause i thought I was gonna die #being in mexico and around water just makes me think of the llorona and i get scared so sue me #but this is much better #destiel #deancas #fic #destiel fluff #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #latinenatural #sobrenatural #wormstachewrites #my writing #spnprideweek #also yes i know im late for day two but life has been a mess

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eurynome827 · 3 years

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HBC Week of Love for @the-ss-horniest-book-club with Barista!Bucky and Boss Lady in...

First Sleepover

My blogs are 18+ spaces always. This story contains: some angst regarding past injuries, big emotions, soft (and vague, nearly non-existent) smut.

Week of Love - Barista!Bucky Masterlist

It was months before Bucky visited your apartment, and you had still not seen where he lived.

"It's just some walls and some furniture, doll," he would say, with a smile but there was a distant look in his eyes that would appear when topics like this came up. His past service, his injury, where he lived - which you knew was a place the VA helped him find - "You have this beautiful place, in this great neighborhood, with a doorman! I like knowing my best girl is safe."

You didn't press him for details. On anything.

Bucky would come over and he would cook with you in your kitchen, snuggle on the couch watching tv, maybe get a little heated making out like teenagers without the prying eyes of the buddies at Howlie's. But he never went too far, and you didn't push him. It had been a long time for both of you.

He would always go home promptly at 10 PM, whether he was taking you in a cab back to your place from Howlie's or leaving your apartment. "Work at 4:30, babe." He always said it with an apologetic smile, and you always kissed him softly in return.

You started to adjust to his schedule in subtle ways. Instead of staying up after he left, you would get ready for bed and wait until his good night text popped up when he had arrived home. Your body would wake you up right before his good morning text, and you would answer him with a smile. Instead of staying up late catching up on work, you would do it in the morning as the sun came up, trading texts with Bucky until the coffeehouse opened and then it was just a matter of time before you were there too, picking up your coffee.

This routine was becoming so comfortable that when Bucky mentioned he had the weekend off, it almost confused you.

"Really? But, how? Who will work?"

"I'm not the only employee," he laughed, his nose scrunching as you looked on, still puzzled. "I have enough time saved up to take three days in a row. I never really bothered with time off before, because I didn't have a reason to take it."

You looked down at his thumb rubbing your knuckles before you met his eyes with a grin. "Wanna stay over tomorrow?"

That look was in his eyes for a moment, but then you saw him swallow hard, and nod. "Yeah."

"Hey," you made your voice quiet and reassuring. "You don't have to, there's no rush."

"No, I want to," he assured you, "but there's some things you should know. I, uh, don't always sleep very well."

"Okay," you nodded, squeezing his hand in yours, "that's okay. I'll stay up with you."

"You don't have to, doll, we'll figure it out, I just wanted you to know. That's all," he smiled, putting his other hand on top of yours.

"You said 'things', is there something else you want to tell me?"

"Uh..." Bucky lifted his hand and ran it through his hair. "Maybe. I'll tell you, if it comes up."

You took a deep breath, and gave him an encouraging smile. "Of course. I'll be ready to hear it. Whatever it is."

☕

It was a night like any other, except for the bag he had put in your bedroom when he arrived. Even so, it was easy to forget about it as the clock numbers switched over from 9:59 to 10:00, and you straightened up on the couch to accept your good night kiss.

"Doll?" He looked over at you, quizzical grin on his face.

"Oh, right!" You giggled, shaking your head as you settled back under his arm, resting your head on his chest. "I forgot."

"We are creatures of habit now, aren't we," he agreed, speaking softly as he rubbed your back.

You hummed in return, cuddling a little closer. "I usually get ready for bed when you leave, so I may get sleepy soon."

"Well we can go, do that, and lie down, if you want."

His heartbeat was speeding up under your cheek and you weren't sure if he was nervous or excited or maybe both. Feeling a bit of the same, you made sure your face was neutral as you looked up at him. "Only if you're ready. I meant what I said, Bucky. I'll stay up with you, we don't even have to go in the room if you don't want to -"

Bucky cut you off with a kiss, and you melted into him. "Hey. I'm okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Then let's get ready for bed."

Bucky used the bathroom while you pulled pajamas out of your dresser drawer, heart really pounding now. Of course you wanted something to happen, did you ever want something to happen, but his well-being was the most important thing to you. It would be enough to just be here with him and have him here in the morning when you woke up.

His hands on your shoulders interrupted your internal monologue and you turned to smile up at him, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "I'll go get ready, and then we can get tucked in?"

"You bet, doll," his voice sounded calm, his eyes looked clear, and you smiled in return, leaving the room to get ready. When you crawled up next to him on the bed a few minutes later, he was already under the comforter and holding it up for you to scoot under next to him. He arranged the ends of the blanket over you and you sighed happily, the flannel of his pajama pants rubbing against your legs, bare from your shorts. Looking at each other with your heads on separate pillows, you giggled.

"This is nice."

"It is," he agreed, waiting a moment before moving a little closer to kiss you softly. "Good night, babydoll."

Your eyes fluttered open, and seeing him still so close to you in the low light of your bedroom made your breath catch. "Good night," you whispered, taking another shaky breath, before he moved in closer again and you met him halfway, your lips meeting his in a fevered kiss as your hands held him tight. You opened up to him, and his tongue stroked yours softly before he settled more firmly over you with a low growl from his throat that made you ache where you desperately needed him.

"Bucky," you breathed out, pulling on his shoulders and widening you legs to make room for him to get closer - you needed him closer, much closer. The kisses grew more passionate until you rolled your hips against his and he suddenly stopped, pulling back to sit up.

You blinked, trying to clear your head of the fog of lust. "I'm sorry," you blurted out, "I didn't mean to push -"

"No, baby, no," he stopped you, hands moving to rub your legs gently. "I want this, I want you, I just need a minute." Instead of the distance in his eyes this time there was a storm, and you sat up, taking his face in your hands, holding his gaze.

"I'll give you all the time you need. I love you, Bucky."

He drew in a shaky breath. "No one's seen..." His voice trailed off, his eyes glancing almost unconsciously to his left side. Immediately you knew. His injury. You cupped his cheek, your other hand pushing his hair back from his face.

"I love you, Bucky. All of you. No matter what."

His shining eyes searched out yours, and when he leaned forward you let him lead the kiss, your hands running down over his chest and feeling the muscles underneath and him trembling under your touch. You fingered the hem of his t-shirt and let him draw back, waiting for the permission in his eyes before you pulled it up and over his head.

His left shoulder and part of his arm was a tapestry of scarring, a part of his trauma carried forward that he lived with daily. His eyes fell a little as you looked, as you saw him for the first time, but you moved forward to trace the angry lines with your fingers before pressing soft kisses along the meanest looking places. Bucky's breath was coming fast now, his heart pounding under your palm, and the darkness of lust had filled his eyes when you looked up.

"I need you." His hands moved you back gently, making quick work of your pajamas as you watched.

"Yes," you urged him on, watching as his own pants were cast aside. "You're beautiful, Bucky."

He settled in close to you, kissing you again as you drew him in. "I love all of you," he repeated your words back to you, sinking inside slowly as you whimpered.

"I love all of you," you promised.

☕

In the morning, you expected the bed to be empty, since he had warned you about being awake most of the night, but Bucky was there wrapped around you under the blankets. His warm breath tickled your skin, deep and even and peaceful. After a few moments, he woke and pulled you impossibly closer, gifting you with a sleepy chuckle in your ear and a "good morning" - in person instead of by text.

You rolled to face him, brushing his hair back like you loved to do. "Good morning," you smiled but asked the question, "are you okay?"

Bucky kissed you, soft and sweet. "I haven't slept through the night in a long time."

#barista!bucky #coffeehouse au #you're the best part of my day #hbc week of love #bucky barnes x reader #divider by imerdwarf

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diaryofabeautyfiend · 3 years

Text

In Session

This one is a doozy. Warnings: m/f sex, over stimulation, multiple orgasms, voyeurism, male masturbation, cum eating, use of mutant abilities in a sexual situation. 18+ please!

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The three of you have been home for a couple of weeks now and, unfortunately for poor Bucky, the pixie dust has worn off. All Steve has to do is breathe near you and you go off. He has apologized and apologized but you refuse to let it go. Steve tries to be patient with you. He accepts that what he said gutted you. He is trying to make it up to you but you rebuke all of his attempts.

Quite frankly the whole thing gives Bucky anxiety. As soon as he hears “You know what, Steve?” He reaches for the antacids. In two weeks he was leaving for a semi long trip with Sam and Nat. He needed to set you on the path to healing before he left you two alone. That’s why he hijacked you both and brought you to his therapist.

Dr. Coleman is far more gentle than his VA therapist. She specializes in PTSD and has worked with many first responders and members of law enforcement. She also helps couples to reacclimate following traumatic experiences. Bucky thought that, with the amount of trauma the three of you had suffered, she would be perfect to help.

Neither of you were pleased to be there. The doctor spoke ok Bucky’s behalf at the start of the session. “Steve, Y/N. I’m so glad you’re here. This is an important first step on the path to healing. You are here for each other as much as you are here for yourselves. What we know is the three of you love each other very much. I would like you to keep that in the front of your minds as we go through this journey. I do have a few ground rules. First, we will not raise our voices or become physical here or at home. Second, we will not resort to name calling. Third, we will not shut down when confronted. We will speak on our feelings. Can I gain your agreement on those rules?” You all nodded. “Wonderful. I just need the two of you to sign some consent forms and we’ll be on our way.”

You hated therapists of any kind. You never had a good experience. Grant it, your only experiences were forty something years ago. You were sure there were advances. Still, you were wary of this woman. She does seem to help Bucky. If this is what he needed, you’d do it for him. When she asked Steve to speak first you nearly gagged.

“Steve, tell me why you think we’re all here today.”

He sighed loudly and spoke in a monotone voice like he was in trouble in the principal’s office. “We’re here because our bickering is upsetting Buck.”

“Ok. Can you tell me why you and Y/N have been bickering so much lately?”

“Because he’s impossible to live with.” You said not so under your breath. Steve was quick to react but Dr. Coleman stopped him.

“Y/N, you will have your turn to speak. Please give Steve the courtesy of having his time uninterrupted.” Steve smirked at you. You wanted to reach over and slap him in his smug face but Bucky rested his hand over yours.

“We’re bickering because I said a horrible thing to Y/N and she refuses to forgive me.”

“Right. And what did you say?” Fuck it was like pulling teeth.

“I told her in the heat of an argument that I didn’t want a whore for a wife. But I said I didn’t mean it and that I was sorry. She refuses to move on.”

Dr. Coleman listened to both of your sides and gave you some short term and long term goals. She asked you to open the door for better communication. She understood why you were so upset, especially since his admission was premeditated. She tasked Steve with finding a way to come to terms with what you do. Now that he knows why he feels the way he does, it is time to confront those feelings as his own and stop projecting them onto you. She also suggested that, while Bucky was gone, the two of you should do couple things. Your love was not linked exclusively through Bucky.

The three of you left feeling a little lighter. You made promises to each other and you intended to keep them. The couple of weeks leading up to Bucky’s trip were fine. There was something hanging in the air that made Bucky nervous. Like you two were just waiting for him to leave so you could unload on each other. Steve promised he wouldn’t make faces when you left for your appointments. You promised not to snap at him over every little thing. He didn’t believe either of you.

The night before he left, Steve fell asleep on the couch. You were already in bed half asleep yourself. It was rare when you had alone time. When they were in deep Avengers mode, you cherished your privacy. Maybe it was time to start thinking of getting a bigger place.

Bucky came out of the shower still warm and a little damp. He smelled like cedar and fresh rain. He dropped his towel and slipped under the covers. Compared to him your skin felt cool when you pressed your bare ass against him. “You’re so warm, daddy.”

“I needed that hot shower after the training session Steve and I had. I wore him out.”

“Mmmm. I bet you did. Did you fuck in the gym again?”

His laugh rumbled against your back. “Not this time. Should I go wake him?”

“No. We haven’t had a moment alone since he moved in. This is gonna sound disgusting but I kind of like it when you’re sweet with me.” You didn’t have to say anymore. He slid his hands under your arms to palm your breasts and pressed gentle kisses along your neck and spine. With his knee he parted your legs so he could stroke your warmth. You whined in his mouth when he ran your slick over your clit. He took his time pumping his fingers inside of you coaxing tiny whimpers and moans out of your body. “Fuck me, Jamie.”

You had never called him Jamie during sex until you told him you loved him. His name falling from your lips became his favorite sound. You invoked him like you were invoking God praying for peace. Your cunt fluttered and squeezed his cock bringing you both to your end. “I love you, Jamie.”

“Oh my…I love you too, baby. I’m gonna miss you so much.” He stayed inside of you keeping his spend deep inside of your channel and fell asleep. Sam would be there early.

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Your calendar was pretty full the first week Bucky was gone. Most of your appointments were during the day. Steve was back and forth between the apartment and compound. You settled into a pleasant routine like a normal couple with typical careers and predictable schedules. You even got through a meeting when a realtor without a single clenched jaw.

“Do you have time for lunch?” He was so hopeful. You promised Bucky.

“Yeah. I think so.” He took your hand and held it all the way to a cute little spot down the street. “I like this neighborhood. Not far from the subway. Walkable.”

“I like it too. I’ve seen a ton of kids out and about.” That made you want to cringe but you held it in. None of you have had the cliche conversation about your futures. Since you were the only one who could bear children, you figured you should speak up.

“Do you want kids?” You kept your eyes on your salad.

“Yeah. I really do. Have you um, been checked out? Can you have children?” God this was awkward.

“I can. I wonder if Hydra has successfully bred a serum baby. Like, it altered our DNA. I wonder what would happen.” His brow furrowed. He really hadn’t thought about that.

“I will have to look into it. That’s something we need to know I guess. Why do we feel so weird around each other?”

“Right?!” You were so glad he felt it too.

“Are you ever going to forgive me?” He asked so quiet and quickly that you almost didn’t hear.

“Before I answer that question can I ask a question?” He nodded. “Why are you ok with me having your babies but not being your wife? I know in therapy you said it scared you and you didn’t care for my clients. I get all of that. Those are valid things. I can’t help but think you don’t like the optics.” That was the million dollar question. Could Captain America be out as polyamorous? You felt like Steve might be a closet Republican. Most of the republicans that were your clients were the biggest freaks.

“There’s nothing our media team can’t spin. I’m not embarrassed by you and Buck. My reasons for disliking your job are exactly what I said. I feel like being out about our relationship puts a target on your back.”

“But that’s not what you said, Steve. You said ‘I don’t want a whore for a wife’. That implies something completely different. I like what I do. Those rich assholes and politicians put money in my purse. A lot of my clients are like us. Freaks of nature. They can’t have normal relationships. I help them. I don’t judge their abilities or physical mutations. We just fuck and they feel normal for a while. Like the guy I’m seeing tonight. He just wants to feel normal.”

Steve was quiet for the rest of lunch. You gave him a lot to think about. He had no idea you saw yourself as a freak of nature or that you saw him that way. Everyone celebrated what Steve was but essentially threw you away. The people on your client list who he saw as villains have been tossed out by the society he swore to protect. He guessed he jumped the shark a bit by even bringing up marriage. Not like you were there yet.

You and Bucky seemed to have a don’t ask don’t tell policy regarding your situation. That was not Steve. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew without a doubt that you were safe. Tonight he will follow you. If he ever wanted to move passed his own feelings, he had to know.

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Tonight you were seeing Erik Lensherr which meant you had to be prepared for anything. He never beat you like other idiots did. He wasn’t stupid. Why hit you when it doesn’t hurt? He liked to really bring you to the brink of pain with pleasure. Sometimes he edged you for hours. He loved when you were a drooling sobbing mess begging for relief. That’s what turned him on. After sessions with him, you always took the following day off.

You and Steve had dinner together. You were both much more relaxed. He sat in the bathroom while you got ready. You picked a dress and made sure to have lots of mascara on. Mascara tears were Erik’s favorite. While you put on your jewelry, he stood behind you and kissed your shoulders. You missed his touch. You leaned in and let him put his hands on you.

“You look beautiful, honey.” he said against the back of your neck.

“Thank you. Why don’t you take the day off tomorrow? We can stay in bed all day.”

He smiled that beautiful sunshine smile at you that made your insides liquid. “Really? Does that mean you forgive me?”

You giggled, “No. It means I want to get reacquainted. Forgiveness is not so easy for me. Maybe if you ever put a ring on it, I’ll forgive you.”

“I’ll take it. Will you be out late?” He kissed his way down your neck.

“I’m not really sure. If I know I won’t be coming home I’ll text you. I wouldn’t wait up.” You allowed him to really kiss you. My lord Steve Rogers is an amazing kisser. He is confident and strong in his movements. He kisses with his whole body. Hands roam your back and and shoulders while he presses your body into his. His eyes barely close, making his lashes flutter on the tops of his cheeks. And he softly moans which drives you crazy. Well, at least Erik won’t have to warm you up.

“I love you. Be safe. Call me if absolutely anything is off. Promise.”

“Yes, sir. I love you, too.”

He gave you a thirty second head start before he followed you on his bike. You met Erik at a beautiful brownstone. He held the door for you and kissed both of your cheeks. Steve saw him pour you a drink and direct you to the sofa by the small of your back. You looked comfortable enough. It was clear the two of you were friends. Then, he sat next to you. His movements became predatory. He always kept his hands on you.

Soon he was taking your drink and leading you up the stairs. It was the moment of truth. He could walk away satisfied that you were safe or climb the fire escape to watch. The thought of seeing you in flagrante was turning him on way more than he should have been. Option B it was.

He climbed to the second story where he sat stock still in a darkened corner. The window was cracked a bit so he could hear everything.

The two of you kissed passionately. Erik’s hands found your zipper and made quick work of shedding your dress. He pushed you to the bed which was decorated by an ornate metal head and footboard. He raised his hand and part of the bed broke off bending around your wrists to bind you.

“Too tight, Princess?”

“No, sir.” Next he attached a spreader bar to your ankles springing your legs open wide. “Color?”

“Green.” Your voice was steady but your breath was heaving in your chest. Steve wondered if it was nerves or excitement.

Erik knelt beside you and stroked your face. “How many times shall I make my Princess cum tonight hmm? Shall we try for six?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” He produced a string of metal balls from his pocket and popped them one by one into your mouth. His lips were on yours again. His tongue moved the balls around your mouth clacking them on your teeth. When he was satisfied with their saturation he pried your mouth open with his thumb and removed them. He parted your folds and sunk the balls into your dripping hole one by one. His fingers danced swirling the orbs inside of your cunt. Your back arched off the bed. “Does that feel good, Princess?”

“Yes , sir. So good.”

“Excellent. Princess, I want you to count out loud each time you come. I will edge you for one hour if I don’t hear you.”

“Ah! Yes, sir.” The coil in your belly was building. Erik smiled down on your writhing body. You tried to bring your thighs together but the bar was made of steel. Unless you focused you couldn’t break it.

“Look at you. I bet if I touched you even a little you would cum.” He ran his index finger lightly over your clit and you fell apart.

“One! Oh my…one.” You moaned and that beautiful sound went right to Steve’s cock. He stroked himself outside of his pants at first. He wanted to last as long as you. It would be difficult.

“Good girl. That’s my good, Princess. Doing so well.”

He kept the balls swirling while he licked a stripe up your cunt. His lips closed over your clit. Your hips bucked wildly against his face. You threw your head back against the bed and screamed, “Fuck! Two!”

He pressed the pads of his fingers over your clit and rubbed furiously. “Three” you whimpered.

He smacked your pussy hard. “Didn’t hear you, love.”

“Three, sir.”

“You getting tired on me? You have three more. Color, darling.”

“Green, sir.”

“Oooh. She’s being a warrior tonight. Give me one more in my mouth and I’ll take two on my cock.”

“Yes, sir.”

He went back to licking your snatch. You were sonsensitive. His big hands held you still while he licked and nibbled. Steve leaned on the railing panting. He couldn’t take it anymore. He unsheathed his throbbing member and wrapped it tight in his fist.

You got to four and tears started streaking your face. Erik pulled out the balls and tossed them aside. You mewled at the emptiness in your pussy. Erik undressed. When his cock was free he ran the leaking tip around the hole pushing in ever so slightly. The stretch made you cry out.

“So wet for me. You’re leaking and I haven’t even pushed all the way in. Do you want more?” You nodded so he pulled away. “Use your words or you won’t get to cum.”

“More please, sir. I need it.” He slammed into you letting his pelvis hit your clit hard.

“Was that five, my darling?”

“N…no, sir. M’so close.”

“Give it to me.” His hips pumped faster and faster. You screamed and nearly arched yourself in half.

“Fiiiiive. Yellow, sir.”

“Oh you feel so good around my cock. One more and then I’ll paint your belly and tits.”

Steve pumped his fist in time with Erik’s hips. When you came the sixth time, so did he. Hot ropes of cum dribbled onto his hand. He kept stroking while Erik finished.

“Think you can go for seven? It would make me so proud.” You were much too sensitive.

“Red! Red red red.” Erik pulled out immediately and jerked himself all over your belly and breasts. Out of breath he fell over onto the bed next to you. You looked wrecked. With a wave of his hand your wrists were free. He undid the spreader and kissed you deeply.

“Water, Princess?”

“Yes, please.” He brought you a glass and held it to your lips. He tossed you your dress. You didn’t clean yourself up. That was part of the scene. You went home still sticky with his cum. Steve was feral at the thought of licking another man’s seed off of you. He made it down and onto his bike before you got to the door.

You took your payment and kissed Erik goodbye.

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Steve made it into the house moments before you. He changed his clothes and acted like he had been home all night. His heart thumped loud in his ears when he heard your keys in the door.

“Hey, honey. Didn’t expect you so early.” You patted him on the head as you limped into the bathroom.

“Need a shower.”

“Can I join you?” The thought of cumming again nearly made you cry.

“Yes, but only to shower.” He jumped up and followed you. You shook out your hair and went to unzip your dress but his hands were there already.

“You look so pretty right now. All fucked out. You were such a good girl tonight.” Every nerve in your body prickled. He kissed down your neck and the top of your spine.

“Steve, did you follow me?” Your voice was low. Your expression unreadable.

“Are you mad? I just wanted peace of mind. I got a lot more than that. I’m not saying I’ll be ok every time. But, if I’m honest, I’ve been thinking about licking that cum off of you.” Your whole body went warm. A smirk pulled at the corner of your lips as you edged down your dress.

“Did you like what you saw, sweet boy?”

“Mmm. Very much.”

“Did you make yourself cum watching us?”

“I did.” He ground his hard cock into your ass cheek.

“I’m so sticky. Clean me up before we shower.” He knelt in front of you and licked all of the dried cum off of your belly. “Mmm. Good boy.”

“I need to be inside of you so bad. Please can I fuck you?”

“Please fuck me, Steve.”’ He brought you into the shower and soaped you up. After the two of you were clean he kissed you fiercely. He lifted your hips and drove into you. “I can’t wait until Jamie gets home so I can tie you to the chair while he fucks my brains out. Wanna watch Jamie fuck me, sweet boy?” He moaned loudly.

“Yes, ma’am. Wanna watch him pound this pretty pussy.” It wasn’t long before you both lost it.

You got into bed and stretched out on his chest. “Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“I had no idea I would like that.”

You giggled, “We learn something new about ourselves every day.” You both completely passed out.

The next morning Bucky got home early. He was shocked that Steve wasn’t already up. He found the two of you sleeping soundly. He nearly cried at how content you were. Steve opened his eyes and pressed his finger to his lips. Bucky got undressed and crawled in behind you. He pressed a kiss onto your shoulder and laid an arm across your back. He and Steve laced their fingers together.

“Did you make up?” He whispered.

“Something like that. It’s a long story.” You stirred a little.

“Jamie?”

“I’m home, baby doll. Go back to sleep.” He kissed you again and pulled the covers over you.

“K. Steve’s a kinky freak.” You buried your face into Steve to shield you from the sun streaming in from the curtains.

Bucky raised an eyebrow and smiled. Steve kept his eyes closed. “What the fuck happened?”

“Get some sleep. I promise we’ll show you later.” He kissed the back of Bucky’s hand and fell back to sleep. Bucky forced himself to close his eyes. He couldn’t imagine what was going to happen but he couldn’t wait to find out.

#steve rogers fanfic #captain america x reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel #mcu x reader #captain america smut #steve rogers x sex worker reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x sex worker reader #bucky barnes x enhanced reader #magneto #erik lehnsherr

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grey-water-colors · 3 years

Text

After All This Time (Bucky x Fem!Reader) Part 4

It's short, but I cried writing it. I've hit a bit of a writers block, but I think I've got that sorted out. I just needed to take a thinking shower and I got it. This will be my longest series and I'm trying to eek it out a bit, but I'm still new at this, so please have patience.

Summary: The real world is a scary place, even more so when you’re alone. You live alone in a apartment filed with the figurative ghosts of your memories. You’ve both changed since you last met your fiancé, but can love mend the gap after all this time.

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Talk of torture, death, triggers. Mentions of humiliation. Sadness, depression, self-loathing. ANGST. Fluff comes next time I think.

Word Count: 2,066 Shorter than usual, but I think I make up for it in feels.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

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A knock at the door startles Y/N out of her thoughts. She hadn’t really left the apartment for anything other than her job, which was only two days a week. Despite having almost completely shutting down, the house was clean.

Y/N opened the door and gaped at the person on the other side.

“Steve? What are you doing here?”

Steve just smiled. “May I come in?”

She opened the door wider so Steve could walk through, then shut the door gently. She turned around and watched Steve walk to the couch on the opposite wall and take a seat. She opted to perch on the arm of the wingback.

“To what do I owe this visit?”

Steve laughed quietly, amused with her. “I could say I just wanted to visit an old friend,” he smiled.

Y/N smiled but it fell as soon as it came. “But that isn’t the case is it?”

Steve sighed and she could see the same wear and tear in his eyes that every soldier carried around. He looked older, despite looking only in his 30’s. She supposed war does that to people though.

“I’m here to apologize for Bucky. He was out of line. I could hardly believe that he did what he did. I had hoped that if I gave him time, he would come here and do it himself.”

“You don’t need to apologize for him. I get it. I really do, and to a certain degree, he was right. But I have my own reasons for being here.”

Steve just nodded. “Has Sam told you about him?”

She let out a harsh laugh. “He didn’t need to. I was there. I know full well what he went through.”

“I wish I knew-,” he paused. “I wish I knew how to help. To ease his burden.”

“We all have our crosses to carry, some heavier than others. What we, and hundreds of others, went through was a horrific experience that isn’t easily put into words. He seems better though, right?”

Steve nodded, looking for words, “He isn’t the same.”

“None of us are,” she whispered. “That’s not the point of it though. If you’re trying to get the old Bucky back then you’re beating a dead horse. Help him become who he is now. Someone with more baggage than any person should ever carry. Don’t try to change him.”

“I’ll work on that. Speaking of people who have changed, are you ok? Sam says you haven’t been down to the VA in a while. He’s getting worried.”

Y/N shrugged and looked away. She wasn’t ok, but if she told that to Steve, he would do everything in his power to help her and she didn’t want his kind of help.

She put on a small smile. “If we’re going to talk about people changing, I think we should talk about you. What happened to scrawny Steve? You were my height the last I saw you and now you’re a buff giant.”

He laughed. “I’ve a lot to catch you up on.”

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“Steve. Before you leave, I’ve got something that I was hoping you’d give to Jam- Bucky.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Y/N handed him a letter. The writing on the outside just said ‘Bucky’.

“I’ll get this to him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a knock on Bucky’s door, then Steve walked in. Bucky looked at Steve with a look of sadness and self-loathing.

“What’d she say?” he whispered.

“That there was no reason to apologize.”

Bucky huffed. “Bullshit. I yelled at her. I called her weak and pathetic,” he looked away. ��She would say something like that though.”

Steve sighed. “She gave me this to give to you.” He held out the letter.

“What’s in it?”

“No idea. She didn’t say and I didn’t ask.”

Bucky nodded, reluctant to open it.

Steve stood up and walked to the door. “I’ll let you read that in peace. I’ll be in the gym if you need me.”

Steve walked out and Bucky stared at the envelope in his hands. It was thick, and there was something small and lumpy in it.

He looked at, debating whether to open it or to put it in a drawer and leave it there till ate him alive. Curiosity got the best of him.

He opened the seal of the envelope with care, being sure not to rip it. When it was open he turned it over and something fell into his lap. His heart dropped.

There, on his lap, was the ring that been used to propose to her with. The last he had saw it, it had been nestled next her dog tags in the master bedroom. Why was it here?

He pulled out the folded paper and opened it. Smaller papers fell out onto his lap. They were old and had yellowed with time. He picked through some of them. His Social Security card, his birth certificate, and his bank papers. Everything he needed to restart his life outside of the avengers.

He finally started reading the letter.

~~~

Dear James,

Can I even call you James anymore? The only other person who called you that was your mother and maybe your sisters. There are so many things that I wanted to tell you when I saw you. To say to you, but then things, well you were there. I feel like I owe you a bit of an explanation.

As you know, I was to leave a week after you. My orders were to fly to London to work there for three weeks, then get new orders. That’s not important though. What is important is that week that I spent alone was torture.

I wasn’t raised ignorant of the troubles of the world. Just like the rest of our age, I grew up in the Great Depression. My parents lost their job, and we almost lost our house. I grew up with the aftermath of the first World War. According to my mother, my father never recovered. War does that to people. It rips away your soul, takes your very being. I knew that.

When the second World War started, I would lay awake next to you and pray that US wouldn’t get involved. It was my worst nightmare. When the US did join, I knew, somehow that our lives were over. You probably don’t remember that I spent almost every waking moment with you. I was so happy when you proposed, but heartbroken as well. I just knew.

Knew that we weren’t coming back.

I spent the days of that week after you left getting things in order. Papers in the lockbox, hide the lockbox key. Cover the furniture to preserve it. I took care of everything. I left the ring in the lockbox.

I spent my nights awake in your chair, wondering what you were doing. Wondering if you were thinking of me. I’ll never know.

I was in Germany during December of 44. I was traveling with a group of soldiers. Everything happened so fast. Gunshots, yelling, blood. So much blood. That shade of red in the snow will always be etched into my brain. The German soldiers took prisoners, I was one of them. Out of the 25 I was traveling with, I ended up being the only survivor.

I transferred into the hands of Hydra. A replacement for a dead lab rat. My predecessor. They tortured me for so long. Wore me down to nothing. Humiliated me for game.

Every night as I laid in my cell, all I could think of was you. The memories of us in those three years. How perfect they were.

Of course, they weren’t perfect. We had fights, but they were never too bad. The apartment itself wasn’t great either, but it was home. The ceiling leaked in the bathroom, the floors creaked in the hallway, and the water took fifteen minutes to heat up. When you’re being tortured though, I guess that the mind only sees the good. I fixated on the apartment. It became the safe place. The only place in the world where the monsters couldn’t get to me. I held onto this place as long as I could.

But as much as the apartment was my safe place, all my memories of it were with you. So you had melted into that feeling of safety.

After they blocked away those memories, I didn’t even know they were gone. I became their puppet, a lab rat with no past or identity. Until I met you again. I didn’t know you, those memories were tucked away. My heart knew you though. I felt safe around you, which didn’t make sense because you were the Winter Soldier. Oh, but we worked well together. We did a couple missions, and I was living off an emotion I didn’t even know the name to.

Love. I didn’t know what that word even meant anymore, or what it felt like, but my heart reminded me every time you looked at me.

In the end, it was my fault that you ended up with the trauma you carry around pertaining to me. I got emotional when it was time to go, and we both suffered the consequences for it.

That happened in 1997. I went onto ice for the last time with a damaged windpipe, minor brain damage, and no memories to speak of. I was sent to Africa, and was going to be undergoing testing there, but my handlers got killed. I remained on ice for 27 years until Wakandan soldiers found me.

Shuri worked for 6 months to get rid of all the damage done to me with help of the notes that traveled with me. I spent 7 more months drowning in everything. I remembered everything. Every test, every horrid thing they did to me. But the worst part was remembering you. Remembering you and knowing what happened to you broke me.

It turns out I was right all along. We weren’t going back. I had to come to terms with the fact that you weren’t going to come back to me. So I reveled in the memories of you. Of us.

I had so many emotional setbacks, I was stuck reliving memories just from small triggers. A wrong look could send me spiraling into a black hole. But then I’d remember the apartment.

I couldn’t wait to go back. The one thing that had kept me sane, alive, and hopeful. The king paid for a plane ticket and I was back in New York. I wasn’t ready.

I had been so stuck in remembering that I didn’t, couldn’t, process the new. Still I persisted, until I could be in that apartment again. I had convinced myself that it would fix everything.

That it would fix me.

But you probably know that isn’t how life works. Those same memories that propelled me and kept me afloat, are now the anchor that drags me under. I’m drowning in the memories, and they cling to me. I’m trapped in a prison of my own making, unable to leave the ghosts haunting my memories of things that will never be again.

I stay awake at night reliving the days where I was happy, carefree, and in-love. But the truth is that I can’t sleep in the bed we shared because you aren’t in it. I can’t look at pictures of us, because we aren’t them anymore. I can’t wear the ring, because we are strangers.

So I live in a museum of things that shouldn’t exist anymore because I can’t move on. This apartment is killing me inside, but I can’t leave because I’ve convinced myself that this is the only place I’ll be safe.

The truth is, I am safe in this apartment, because the only thing that can hurt me here is myself.

Along with this letter, I’m also returning the ring. It belongs to you. I have also included your bank account numbers, so that you can access your accounts. I’m sure you won’t have as much trouble as I did.

I’d offer you a key, but I don’t think you’d ever want to step foot in here again. Truthfully, if I were you, I wouldn’t either, lest you get stuck here too.

Maybe in another life we could have been together longer, but just not in this one.

Love,

Sincerely,

Y/N

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky fic #mcu #mcu imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel universe #the avengers #x reader #reader insert

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

Sugar and Spice [Max Lord x F!Reader] — Chapter 12

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter: food mention, tooth rotting fluff. Our story comes full circle.

Author’s note: Here it is. The final chapter of Sugar and Spice. The Epilogue should be coming soon. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I did, and I'd like to thank you all for supporting me and my writing. This was my first ever series and the love I got for it was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I love you all so much. (PS— i’m still sick with COVID so I am really really sorry if this is a poor chapter. I tried my hardest. Happy valentines day.)

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER TWELVE - EPILOGUE [coming soon!]

The second Maxwell engulfed himself amongst the soft satin blankets of his bed, he knew he was glad to be home. You climbed in beside him, and his eyes raked your body as he took in the sight of your baby pink slip on silk nightgown that you were wearing. He swallowed, and reached over to grab your waist and pull you on top of him. So there you were, straddling your sugar daddy after not seeing him for over a month. You pressed your palms against his bare chest and looked him in the eyes.

"There's something I need to tell you." Maxwell announced, knowing it had to be now or never. He couldn't keep hiding it. After the month in London and Alistair being brought back into his life, a lot had changed for him. He wasn't the same man he was back in December.

"About Ali?" you asked, tracing circles into his skin.

"Well, yeah. But— something else." Maxwell replied, shuffling around slightly. You sensed it was serious due to his tone of voice and your movements paused as you stared dead into his eyes.

"You don't have another secret child, do you?" you deadpanned.

"No!" Maxwell said defensively and you smiled softly. "It's about us."

You braced yourself. He'd been gone for a month, come back with a kid, and you were certain he was going to break the arrangement off with you. You pulled your hands off him and went to crawl off his lap, but his large hands landed on your thighs to hold you down.

"That night after the annual Black Gold Christmas gala… I saw you with Bruce and I got drunk and— my mom— and… I told you… I told you everything. About my father and having absent parents and. I said— I said— I said I was in love with you," Maxwell gulped and it took him every ounce of strength to not break his eye contact with you. He wanted to remain strong. You remembered the night like it was yesterday; clear as day. Of course, how could you forget the moment he said those words? And he hadn't spoken of it since, until now. Between you being held hostage by Tristan and Maxwell being whisked away to London, there'd hardly been an appropriate time to bring it up. "I swore that once I returned from the UK we would talk about this. So, Y/N, I have to tell you that my feelings haven't changed. It's been months, we've been together and apart. We've argued and fought but we've laughed and made love too. We've had distance— hell, I've been on the other side of the world for the past month but not a second has gone by where I haven't thought about you. About loving you, and kissing you, and even if you don't feel the same way, I hope you can forgive me."

"Forgive you?" You asked after a brief silence. You'd been waiting for what felt like a lifetime to hear these words, and yet you were struggling to comprehend them. It didn't feel real.

"For not doing anything or saying anything sooner. I should've said something sooner. I wish I had. I wish… I wish…" Maxwell rambled but you placed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

"No," you told him sternly. "No wishing. You don't need to make a wish because— everything is fine just the way it is," Maxwell's heart sank at your words and you watched as his chest deflated. "No!" you cried before trying to clarify. You didn't want him to get the wrong idea. "You have a successful business, and a son, and Max, you have me. You'll always have me. Because I love you too. I'm in love with you Maxwell Lord."

Max's chocolate coloured eyes widened at your confession as disbelief bolted through his body. Never in a million years would Maxwell expect that you would truly love him back. How could he expect anyone to love a man like him? Kitty hadn't. His mother hadn't. But you…

"I love you so much Max," you sighed before pressing a kiss into his lips. You caught a tear slip down his cheek and you quickly wiped it away. "Don't ever apologise for being you. Our story has been a whirlwind so far but it's not over. It's not over Max. I love you."

"I love you too." he whispered, wrapping his arms tight around your body when you kissed him again.

By the time Valentines Day rolled around, you swore it was like Maxwell and Alistair had never spent any time apart. The six year old boy was the spitting double of his father— personality and all.

He dived into your bed and jumped up and down.

"I got a card! Look daddy! I got a card!" Alistair beamed. Maxwell groaned and rolled over, holding a pillow over his head. You smiled tiredly and pulled the little boy into your arms.

"Good morning Ali, where did you get that?" you asked.

"It was on the kitchen table! Look mama, it's for me!" He squealed, pointing at the name that was inked in perfect calligraphy. Your perfect calligraphy. Your heart melted slightly at the little name he'd given you. "Mama". You figured it was something Maxwell had pushed, but he swore he hadn't, and that Alistair had decided that you'd be his mama from now on anyway. Kitty was out of the picture for good now, and you were nicer to him in the past two weeks than Kitty had been to him his whole life. That was the sad truth.

"Oh, so it is." you giggled, pressing a kiss into Alistair's forehead. You rolled over slightly and pat the middle of the bed, gesturing for Alistair to come and lay down in between you and his father.

"I only ever get cards like this on my birthday and Christmas. And today is neither of those days." Alistair pondered out loud, tapping his index finger against his chin as he thought. Just like his daddy.

"Do you know what day it is, Ali?" you beckoned.

You realised Maxwell must've finally woken himself up when his hand reached over to hold yours, his thumb circling your skin. You glanced over to him and saw that his big brown eyes were watching his son.

"Ummm…"

"It's the only day of the year where I can do this," Maxwell interrupted, pressing his lips against yours and kissing you. His sudden action was enough to take your breath away and Alistair went to make a noise of disgust. But Maxwell pulled away from your lips and placed a hand over his son's mouth. "And you, mister, can't do that!" he chastised, wiggling his finger with a chuckle.

"But daddy, kissing is yucky!" Alistair frowned, sticking his tongue out in dismay. You rolled your eyes, pulled the little boy on top of you and pressed another kiss into his forehead. Since you had a hold of him, Maxwell took the opportunity to tickle Alistair, erupting a scream of laughter. "Dad-daddy! Aaah daddy please!" Alistair laughed, kicking his legs and flailing his arms around.

"Have you worked out what day it is yet?" you asked the little boy once he'd settled back down. A small blush crept upon his cheeks.

"Va-valentines day?" Alistair asked, his voice timid.

"Are you telling me that my son Alistair has a valentine?" Maxwell gasped jokingly and Alistair's grin only grew wider with excitement.

"Can I open it?" Alistair giggled happily.

"Go on!" you laughed, giving him a small nudge.

You and Max both watched intently as Alistair opened the card. Of course, you had purchased the card and wrote it out. But seeing the excitement on Alistair's face when he read ‘love from your secret admirer’ was undefeatable. It was magical, and it filled your heart with so much love and joy. Alistair was new to your life, just as new as he was to Maxwell's, but if one thing was for sure, it was that you loved him just as much as you'd love your own child. And that wasn't lost on Maxwell.

He honestly expected you might have left him. Or grown distant upon learning that he had a son. But once again, you had proven Maxwell Lord IV wrong. You were unlike any other woman he'd ever met, and now that he had the two most important people in his life, he felt like he could accomplish anything. Nothing else mattered anymore. Just you and Alistair.

"My son, only six years old and already has a secret admirer!" Maxwell chuckled, shaking his head and wrapping his arms around Alistair. "But you'll always be my boy, won't you Ali?"

"Yes daddy." Alistair smiled a toothy grin.

"Us Lord men… we always get the ladies." Maxwell told his son, causing you to belly laugh. Maxwell shot you a joking glare and you tried to stifle any more of your giggles.

"On that note," you rolled your eyes and slid out of bed. "How does pancakes for breakfast sound?"

Both Maxwell and his son cheered with joy at the thought of pancakes. You remembered you even had some strawberries and cream left over from the night before which would go well with it. You pulled your silk robe over you and padded to the kitchen.

"Do you remember the plan?" Maxwell whispered quietly once you'd left the room, cradling his son.

"I do." Alistair beamed snuggling into his father's chest. Maxwell smiled a little.

"Tonight, yeah? After dinner." Maxwell reminded his son.

"Do you love her?" Alistair quizzed further, and Max's smile grew even more.

"I do," Max confessed. "More than anything."

"I think she loves you too." Alistair said softly.

"Yeah?"

"I see the way she looks at you," Alistair mumbled. "Like how Ariel looks at Prince Eric."

"Wh-who?" Max furrowed his eyebrows together and Alistair's jaw dropped slightly.

"Okay daddy. We're all watching The Little Mermaid after dinner." Alistair decided in that moment, his tone of voice leaving no room for question.

Maxwell quirked an eyebrow. "Really? And who put you in charge?"

"I'm a Lord," Alistair said proudly. "Besides, someone has to watch over you two lovebirds. Make sure you don't get yourself in trouble."

Maxwell couldn't believe the six year old boy. Alistair was definitely Maxwell's son, that's for sure.

Just as you were finishing up frying the last pancake, the kitchen phone began to ring. You answered it, surprised to hear the voice of your lawyer— or more accurately, Maxwell's lawyer. You had been using him to defend yourself on the case between you and Tristan. He had told you that Tristan was going to be locked away for a very long time, and that you'd won the case. A wash of relief flooded over you, and finally, things were beginning to look up for you and your little family.

You called down Alistair and Maxwell once breakfast was ready, and you served the heart shaped pancakes at the table. Maxwell came down a few minutes later than Alistair and he was holding on envelope. When he sat down opposite you, he passed you the envelope with a smug grin on his face.

"What's this?" you asked curiously, and Maxwell shrugged his shoulders casually as he sipped on his black coffee. He hadn't stopped smirking though. "Maxie, we agreed on no gifts this year?" you sighed, already feeling bad for not getting him anything.

"Baby, it's not exactly a gift. I mean, it's something for both of us. Something that's important to you and well… just open it, please." he urged.

You hesitated, exchanging a glance between Max and Alistair (who was already neck deep in pancakes), before sighing and opening the envelope. Inside was a letter from a retail agent? As you read the letter, your heart began to slam against your chest. No way.

"Max… you bought my old apartment building? The whole building?" you gasped, slamming your hand over your mouth in disbelief. "You bought it in both of our names?"

"Because I knew how much it meant to you. And how much your neighbours meant to you. They were all mistreated by Tristan, and that isn't okay. I bought the property from the council so we're the rightful owners now. And we won't overcharge rent like Tristan did. We don't need to. We'll refurbish the whole place. We'll give the families who live there a safe place that they can call home, and they won't have to worry about any abuse from Tristan, or their utilities falling apart, or bills… it'll be wonderful."

"Maxwell I- I don't know what to say I…" you were utterly speechless, tears filling your eyes. Obviously this was going to cost him a lot of money and a lot to upkeep, but for the first time, it felt like it wasn't even about money. It was a grand gesture, sure, but it was also the most thoughtful and unexpected thing he'd ever done for you.

"I love you." Max revelled and you smiled.

"I love you too." you replied, leaning over the table and pressing a kiss into his lips. You glanced back down at the letter, admiring the way your surname and Max's surname looked together on the sheet of paper.

At the start of December you didn't even own a car. You couldn't even pay rent. Now you were living in a suburban manor with your perfect little family. Amongst a little bit of sugar and a little bit of spice, you had found love, meaning and purpose. You'd found your soulmate.

Just as you thought your life was good and couldn't get any better, you didn't realise what Maxwell Lord had in store for you this evening. Your whole world was about to change.

---

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x reader #ww84 #pedro pascal smut #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

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moonstruckbucky · 4 years

Text

Say Love [one shot]

Summary: You and Bucky are at a stand-still in your relationship, all because neither of you can say three little words.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: Idiots in love, a smidge of angst, the rest is fluff.

Notes: So this is a fun fic, but it’s also a very real fic. I know I’ve had that should-I-shouldn’t-I when it comes to saying the L word in a relationship, so this is for anyone that’s had that struggle. Enjoy & let me know what you think! x

P.S. - it’s also a birthday present to @captain-kelli aka MY WIFE 💕

It’s palpable, the tension. A smothering, suffocating heavy cloud stretching between the two of you, and you almost wonder how you got here, to this hurdle in your relationship.

It builds like an avalanche - a tiny, harmless snowball that’s picked up speed as it rolls, rolls, rolls, until it’s so big you can’t be in the same room as him without feeling like you’re walking on eggshells.

Even now, on a night meant for the two of you, you feel distanced from him - despite sitting beside each other on the couch. You’re pressed up against his side, It’s a Wonderful Life playing on the screen - a favorite of Bucky’s. It’s supposed to be a bonding time for you, but you’ve never felt so far away from him.

His arm is around you, but it’s stiff, and where his fingers would normally dance across your skin, raise goosebumps in their wake, now they’re still, limp. Careless.

And despite the movie being a favorite, he looks utterly bored when you peek up at him from under your lashes. Eyes vacant, fingers of his vibranium hand holding up his head, teeth chewing on his bottom lip.

You wonder if he feels it too, this mountain that’s suddenly erected between you.

You’ve been dating eight months - is he bored with you already? Disinterested? “Just not feeling it anymore”? Is he too afraid of hurting you, and it’s why he hasn’t said anything yet? Is he waiting for you to get fed up and leave?

Because you won’t, you can’t. Despite this emotional gap between you, you feel a connection to him you haven’t felt before. He’s level-headed where you can be chaotic - being an Avenger is probably to thank for that - and he’s soft spoken despite his large, often gruff exterior.

He’s a perfect counterbalance to who you are - how could you not fall in love with him almost as soon as you met him?

Part of you believes that if Bucky didn’t want to be with you, he wouldn’t. He’s sure of himself, thanks to the hard work he’s done for himself since being officially recruited as an Avenger. He’d told you a little of how difficult it had been - in the 30s and 40s, people didn’t openly talk about their struggles, least of all with a psychologist; they just lived with them.

It only made you fall for him even harder, for the sheer strength he has and the determination to come to grips with what’s happened to him.

But it seems those feelings are one-sided, and the revelation sits like lead in your stomach. With pressure building behind your eyes, you fake a yawn.

“I think I should go,” you mutter, thankful that your voice doesn’t crack. Bucky turns his eyes to you, wide and - is that disappointment?

“Oh, yeah, okay. I’ll call you a cab?”

You stand up with a shake of your head. “Not necessary, I’ll get an Uber on my way down.”

He walks you to the elevator, hands in his pockets and feeling awkward. The kiss you share is quick, chaste, and stiff, much like the rest of your evening tonight. When you turn your back to him to enter the elevator, your chin wobbles.

Bucky stands in the hallway for a while after you’ve gone, his thoughts running away from him. He can’t be the only one between you who felt that distance, could he?

Have you changed your mind about him? Realized the former Winter Soldier isn’t who you want to give your heart to? Perhaps all the atrocities he’s committed are truly too much for you to handle.

He couldn’t blame you if they were and yet... You own his entire being, body and soul. If you were to leave him, a large part of him would go with you, a piece he isn’t sure he’d be able to get back.

He knows you noticed his demeanor tonight, the way he hid behind himself in an effort of self-preservation. He nearly made himself bleed from biting his tongue so hard to keep three words he didn’t think he’d ever say from slipping out. He didn’t want to scare you, to make you run off,

but it seems he managed to do that anyways.

Bucky leans forward, bonks his head on the elevator once, twice, three times before a door opening behind him makes him pause.

“Are you done brooding yet?”

Bucky’s shoulders drop, in no mood for Sam’s ribbing. The man teases out of love and respect - it’s just how their relationship is - but tonight, he can’t bring himself to return the dig. He turns away from the elevator, shoulders up to his ears and hands still in his pockets.

Sam’s face changes when he takes in Bucky’s posture, and he sighs, leaning up against the frame of his door.

“What’s up, Tin Man?” he prods gently.

Bucky’s eyes find a place just over Sam’s shoulder, torn between opening up to Sam about the turn his relationship has taken and remaining silent, attempt to sort through it himself.

A helpless look at Sam, and the dark-skinned man opens the door wider, turning to the side to allow Bucky entrance.

“Talk to me, man. You look like someone kicked your dog.”

Sam offers Bucky a seat on his couch, an expensive, black leather that feels as cushy as a cloud. The man leans back, crosses his arms over his chest. The black metal of his arm catches the low lighting in Sam’s room, turns the gold bronze.

“I think she’s going to break up with me,” he starts, and before he knows it he’s spilling all of his insecurities to Sam. The other man listens patiently, cocking his head curiously at some parts and pursing his lips for others.

Bucky half-expects the man to jab at him - joke about how she finally realized what a mess he is - but to his surprise (and relief; he has enough self-hatred for both of them), Sam nods sagely and looks almost empathetic. It would throw Bucky for a loop, if he and Sam haven’t come to some middle ground.

Steve would be so proud of them.

“Then she’s not worth it, Buck,” comes Sam’s response almost immediately after Bucky’s finished. The brunet’s eyes go wide. “If she can’t handle you as you are, if that’s too much for her, then it isn’t worth it. I like her, man, but I like you a lot better, and you deserve somebody who’s going to take your baggage, embrace it, accept it, and help make you better for it. And you shouldn’t have to settle for anything less.”

Bucky wants to argue, say that you are absolutely worth it, but the words get stuck in his throat. He knows Sam is right, acknowledges that yes, he has more baggage than most, but also that he does deserve someone who’ll accept him regardless of it.

But haven’t you? Eight months in and Bucky had been sure you’d accepted him for who he had been, not just who he is now. But perhaps you’d changed your mind. Perhaps you’d thought long and hard over it and realized a broken soldier wasn’t who you wanted at all.

He couldn’t blame you, but it still hurts to think about.

“I think you need to talk to her,” Sam continues, watching the emotions play out over Bucky’s face - shock, sadness, realization, and finally, utter heartbreak. Sam feels no pleasure whatsoever in telling Bucky this, but he’s never one to beat around the bush. His years as a VA counselor wouldn’t let him.

“Talk to her, and find out where her head’s at. It’s the only way you’re going to know.”

You don’t talk to Bucky for two weeks. After leaving the Avengers compound, you thought it best to distance yourself, prepare your heart for the eventuality that Bucky would break it off. But it’s even worse that he doesn’t contact you at all, and you begin to resent it.

Bitterness ekes into everything you say and do, your very being so clouded by resentment you’re not even sure who you are anymore. You don’t recognize yourself or the cynicism your attitude seems to have adopted.

You hate it.

In a whirlwind of anger, resentment, and self-loathing, you drive to the compound. Flash the card Bucky had given you for access whenever he didn’t come pick you up himself. The gate rolls open, and your heart pounds with the notion that this might be the last time you'll ever see it.

You take the elevator up to Bucky’s floor, hands twisting together as you sort through every thought you’ve had in the past two weeks. Doing so reignites your anger, puts a scowl on your face that could curdle milk.

Bucky’s surprised to see you - even more so to see that look on your face - when he opens his door after you’ve slammed your fist against it.

“What the fuck is going on, Bucky?” you demand, and he winces, steps aside and waves you in so that the two of you don’t draw attention.

His shoulders hunch, hands sliding into his pockets - a clear sign that he’s feeling out of his element and is trying to make himself very, very small. In the space of his bedroom, your anger cools a little, fond memories of time spent in the space taking you over.

“Are we over?” you ask, outright, and Bucky’s head snaps up in alarm. “I mean, did I miss any hints you might’ve been dropping? Am I just making a fool of myself by being here, trying to fix this?”

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, rendered speechless and dumb by your questioning. It isn’t what he’d been expecting, and it’s caught him off guard.

“I- what?” He shakes his head as your eyes turn sad and manages to connect his brain to his mouth. “Where the hell did you get that idea?”

Eyes going steely, you straighten your shoulders. “Well, considering you acted like you’d rather have been anywhere else but with me the last time we saw each other, paired with the fact I haven’t heard from you in two weeks? What am I supposed to think?”

He laughs shortly, incredulous, until your eyes flare up in anger again, and he reins it in, but only just. He just can’t believe what he’s hearing from you, how all this time he thought you were bored of him - or scared. Either way, the relief warming his chest keeps the smile on his face.

Your posture is rigid and you move to take a step back as he closes the distance, but his arms wrap around you and tug you into his chest. The kiss he lays on you is firm but warm, an outpouring of emotion that slowly destroys the wall you’ve erected just to face him.

His hands are warm, even the metal appendage, where he grasps your face to keep you close to him. He sighs when your arms wrap around his waist, hands gliding up to his shoulders to grasp his shirt, and he swallows the little whimper you let loose.

Until he tastes the salt on your lips and he pulls away.

Your eyes are glassy, tears leaking from the corners to slide glistening tracks down your cheeks. His thumbs brush them away as he smiles softly.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry,” he coos. He kisses you again before looking you in the eye. He wants to make sure you know he means every word. “I’m sorry I was a little emotionally constipated. I- I felt it, too, that weird air the last time you were here, and I thought you - I thought you had changed your mind about me, about us, and that you were just too shy to say anything. So I gave you your space even though it nearly killed me to do it. I thought it was what you wanted, but clearly I was wrong.”

Bottom lip trembling, you sniffle and wipe your nose on your sleeve. “No, I... I could have called. I know you felt a little off that night, too. I was just. I didn’t know how much I could push, if you even wanted that conversation at all. I guess I just thought it was your way of saying you were done with me.”

He chuckles, deep and reverberating, and he shakes his head. “Never gonna happen. I love you too much.”

He enjoys the change on your face - the surprise and then the utter elation - and he grins like the cat that ate the canary.

“You what?”

Bucky isn’t sure why he’d been so scared to say it before, not when you’re looking at him like he’s the center of your universe.

“I love you,” he repeats, punctuating it with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “And I should’ve said it sooner, especially if you were having doubts.”

He’s entranced by the way you chew your lip thoughtfully, shrug a shoulder shyly. “I could’ve said it, too. I love you, Bucky.”

The smile that breaks upon his face is blinding, radiant. This man was born to smile like this all the time. And he’s mine, you think. He’s all mine.

You giggle, tuck your face into his neck as you shake your head. Still grinning, he holds you tight, chuckles in kind when you say, “We’re idiots.”

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “But idiots in love.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes angst

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years

Text

Correspondence, Chapter 04

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary: An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: Action-y in that there is offscreen violence and peril, injuries, talk of surgery and symptoms/effects of medical grade narcotics (morphine), more on that big ol’ age difference. Side notes: Agent Anderson of the L.A. field office has no relation to Agent Anderson of Quantico, VA, because Agent Anderson of the BAU is a national treasure. (I’m considering going back and renaming the OC, but as of right now this is the last we hear of him for a while). And I know no one really pays attention to them, but the time stamps on the texts match the time zone of the scene setting. Set in season 6, self beta’d.

Word Count: 8893

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

Chapter 04

Late September 2010

Spencer Reid wakes up to the early grey morning two weeks later, a perpetual haze shrouding his room long before his alarm was supposed to rouse him. He reaches blindly, blearing eyed and checks his phone for what feels like the hundredth time, only to find no messages waiting for him. A terrible, horrid feeling has been clawing at his chest and throat the longer it gets -- the more time that passes -- and he still hasn’t heard from Hotch.

They’ve been messaging each other near constantly for months now, and it only seemed to get more intense after that fateful talk at the beginning of September. Where Hotch finally revealed he’d thought Spencer was much older than him, and not the other way around. Spencer had set him straight, as much as he could, and even that had been nerve-wracking to say the least. The two men were crossing into a territory neither really wanted to put a label on, and Spencer was both afraid of it and excited by it. Of what it could mean, and how long it could last, but he’d thought he’d had time to figure out a solution to his inadvertent secrecy.

Then, Hotch began working a case in Delaware two days ago.

It seemed like a textbook unsub; maybe a little aggressive with anti-establishment overtones, but nothing they couldn’t handle. Nothing the BAU hasn’t seen before. They’d been closing in on the suspect, no location yet but some prospects that needed checking out, and the last Spencer had heard from Hotch…

It had been lunchtime for him, and midafternoon for the older man. The exchange hadn’t been anything of consequence, just their usual, easy correspondence. Hotch was going to check out that lead they’d spoken of, Spencer had a budget meeting as soon as he was done eating in the middle of his office hours, and they had a plan to play chess online that night. Hotch is still terrible at it, but he keeps coming back no matter how thoroughly Spencer wipes the floor with him. Now, sometimes they just forget about the game entirely after the first few minutes. It makes him smile each and every time, soft and fond and lighting a warmth inside him Spencer has… never felt before.

Then Hotch hadn’t messaged him the rest of the night.

Hadn’t shown up online to play chess.

Hadn’t texted him goodnight, or even sent him an update on the case.

Nothing in their conversations warranted such ostracization, and although Spencer has been ‘ghosted’ before (as his doctoral students would say) he knows Hotch would never do that. Not after everything, the history they’ve built the past months -- leaving nothing but the dread to sink in and spread like a stain.

All night, he imagines the worst.

By morning, he all but expects it.

[]9/22, 18:59[] Are you alright? Did something happen with the case?

[]9/22, 19:10[] If you were that scared of losing at chess, I can also beat you at online poker instead.

[]9/22, 19:30[] I’d suggest scrabble but that’s honestly not fair to you.

[]9/22, 21:55[] Hotch?

[]9/22, 22:30[] I’m assuming that lead panned out, and you caught your unsub and are neck deep in interrogation.

[]9/22, 22:36[] I don’t want to imagine anything else, so that’s what I will picture.

[]9/23, 00:06[] Hotch please answer me.

[]9/23, 05:32[] Please be okay.

Spencer arrives at Caltech looking a little more of a mess than usual. More than most are used to seeing him, at least, and it causes a few second glances from students he passes and other faculty -- but he really can’t find it in himself to care, this morning. His unruly curls, getting longer again, falling into his face and over his ears, are frizzy in their unkemptness. Bags under his eyes, normal, but he’s settled for glasses instead of his contacts. He has a spare pair in his desk, he’ll have to change them before class. His glasses somehow always make him look even younger. A mystery that boggles the mind, because once he had grown into his face a few years ago (around 26 or 27, close enough he had worried he would forever be cursed with a ‘baby face’) Spencer had thought he would finally be getting away from that.

And yet, square jaw and ‘grandpa’ glasses and thin frame towering just over six feet did nothing in the slightest to aid him. Certainly not stopping a man outside the campus coffee shop from shouting “Watch where you’re going, kid!” as he near barrels over him on the sidewalk. Not his sweater vest or half suits, attire straight out of a 1940’s noir film (he’d even sported a vintage inspired undercut with his waves combed over for a while there, too. Way too much upkeep, as nice as it looked). Nothing makes him any more grown up in the eyes of the unsuspecting world, than he’d been without his five doctorates and board of director’s seat. No matter what he tried, it seems.

This has been a subliminal thing for years, something Spencer always said didn’t bother him in the slightest. And for a long time he didn’t care one way or the other, he just kept getting more degrees. All his life Spencer has been ‘too young’, always been ‘kid’ or ‘sport’ or ‘tiger’, even when running quantum physics equations in his head. And it didn’t matter. Not with his credentials and accomplishments and everything he now has to his name.

Until Hotch.

Now, Spencer cares.

Notices, even through his haze of worry and sleeplessness, how on the street it’s “Watch it, kid!” and fifteen yards later it’s “Good morning, Dr. Reid” as he steps into the Physics building where everyone knows him on sight. Knows him, and what he’s capable of.

What if when Hotch met him all he saw was… another kid?

If they ever met.

“Whoa, rough night Dr. Reid?”

“Yes, you could say that,” he mumbles out as he signs in and scans his ID card, taking the stack of mail that the desk attendant hands him. But stops before he gets too far from the desk, backtracking. “Hey, have you watched the news this morning? Did anything show up about New England or Delaware?”

“Not that I saw, Dr. Reid,” she says in confusion, looking up from where she had been texting on her phone. “Just a whole lot of coverage on the shitshow at capital hill, as usual. Oh, and more depressing reports about the earthquake clean-up in New Zealand.”

Of course, why would there be a news story about a killer in Delaware here in California. He’d have to look up everything online himself.

“Thanks anyway, Carla.”

“No problem, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer spends way too long online that morning, searching for anything about the case Hotch and his team are working. He usually prefers paper copies of news media, at first barely knowing where to begin, but he falls into a wormhole of news outlets and local Delaware station websites, reading the thousands of webpages faster than he can scroll and click through them. But he can’t find anything pointing to a disturbance related to the case. There's nothing about a raid, or a shooting, or even an arrest -- which could all just be a part of the ongoing media blackout -- but it also does nothing to stop him from panicking. Spencer gives up after an hour, and diverts to other resources. Ones with a direct line to Hotch.

With a drafted email pulled up to Ms. Penelope Garcia, the BAU's personal tech analyst, he ponders how to... even word this without it sounding too personal. Too much like he and Hotch have more than just a working relationship.

Because they do. They have... something.

Something that gives him fluttering sensations in his stomach, makes him check his phone constantly, and react to even the slightest chime similar to his text tone. Makes him smile when he sees Hotch's name on his notifications, in his email inbox, makes him message the man in the middle of the day at the most random thoughts. Just because he wants to make him laugh.

[]8/21, 15:36[] You're going to get me in trouble.

[]8/21, 15:38[] You didn’t laugh in front of your team, did you? The scandal.

[]8/21, 15:42[] I'm at a crime scene. There's a dead body in front of me.

[]8/21, 15:43[] Then why are you checking your phone?

[]8/21, 15:45[] You know why.

But that’s not something that is shared with the rest of the team, he’s sure. So he should be careful how he words his email, lest Ms. Garcia realize that Spencer isn’t asking purely as a colleague.

Surely they know he has friends, though?

Chewing his lip, Spencer types out a brief email asking if Agent Hotchner is feeling well since he missed an appointment the night before and hasn’t been returning his calls. It’s a phrase he’s used often, so it comes naturally to Spencer as he types it out, and he realizes… he hasn’t called. He’s sent a dozen text messages, but not a phone call. Never a phone call. That was against the rules, the unspoken ones that always kept this friendship easy and free-flowing and evolving into something more.

But this feels like the closest to an emergency they’ve ever encountered before.

He looks to his phone beside him on his desk, and tries to fight back the dueling forms of panic clawing at his chest. Listed in bullet points behind his eyes. Panic that Hotch might not answer, panic what that means for the man he’s been… becoming more and more inclined to than any other person he’s met in so long. Panic if he does answer, breaking that barrier of written words to spoken, and the opportunity to hear Hotch’s voice. But he would also hear Spencer’s, and then there would be no hiding just how… how young he really is. He still didn’t have a plan for that, wracking his overworked brain day and night for a way to incorporate the information into a conversation that wouldn’t stop everything in its tracks.

But his phone is in his hand before he can stop himself, Hotch’s contact pulled up and his thumb hovering over the phone number with baited breath.

Was he really going to do this?

He presses the touch screen and can hear the line connecting, the dial tone ring even before he gets the phone up to his ear and waits. It rings, and rings, and rings a fourth time -- before clicking over to voicemail. And Spencer’s hyper-fast thought processes fail him as he realizes far too late that he’s going to hear Hotch’s voice for the first time, anyway. Frozen in a panic, unsure if he wants to or if that had been something he wanted them to do together that the seconds slip by like water through his fingers and suddenly it’s too late.

“You’ve reached the voicemail box of -- (703)-567-8790 -- this caller is not available. Please leave a message after the tone--”

It’s an automated, female voice that rattles off the numbers and generic call back message, and Spencer hangs up before it can begin recording him. Exhaling a shaky breath, relief a flash flood on his nerves that nothing had been ruined between him and Hotch thanks to an ill-timed phone call.

He keeps the momentum going without much thought, and adjusts his email to Ms. Garcia before sending it.

It feels so understated, and yet over dramatic the more he thinks about it. The more he reads it.

Please let me know of his well-being.

God, no wonder Hotch thought he was in his 60’s.

But Spencer has to keep the façade up, for now, not give away anything he doesn’t want to just because the emotional part of his brain is running rampant over the rational one. There are… many explanations as to why Hotch isn’t answering him. His gut feeling aside, he doesn’t need to be panicking like this. The world is still turning, he still has work to do, so Spencer tries to gather himself into some semblance of order and preps to talk to his doctoral students within the hour.

His morning routine progresses as usual, as if nothing at all is wrong with the world. Dr. Reid has his mandatory round up with his doctoral candidates going over thesis and dissertation parameters, class lecture schedules, updates, the works. Like morning announcements, but he requires them all to be there and to listen, and they all show up. Everyone knows of Spencer’s eidetic memory. He will certainly not forget a single date or schedule change, and he expects his students to not forget as well.

But this morning Spencer is fully distracted, his mind elsewhere, somewhere in the state of Delaware with an agent who may or may not be in danger. Because Spencer cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. It almost seems more like a fact than a feeling. The juxtaposition of his daily routine and this unfounded worry throws him entirely off kilter, and all of his students seem to know right away.

Then, his distraction reaches its peak when his email pings, right in the middle of his department announcements. A response from Ms. Garcia of Quantico, VA flashing across his laptop screen. Spencer’s eyes skim the preview sentence in the pop-up box, and his voice trails off as his mind… whirls.

Dr. Reid, I’m sorry to tell you I don’t know when Hotch will be available again. There was an incident, and he’s still in surg-

Surgery.

That vice-like grip of worry that has taken hold of him since last night tightens further, to the point Spencer can’t breathe. Hotch is in surgery, Hotch is hurt, and if he hasn’t been answering his phone since last night -- or even late yesterday afternoon -- it was not a minor thing.

Hotch is hurt.

She doesn’t know when he will be--

If he will be --

“Dr. Reid? Are you okay?”

“I--” he’s still looking at the email pop-up box, and is clicking on it before he can stop himself. Immediately disconnecting his laptop from the projector as his email loads there. It takes him a fraction of a second to read the email. “I’m sorry, an emergency just came up. Kimmy, finish reading off the schedule for me?” He doesn’t even wait until she answers him, just picks up his laptop and retreats to his office as fast as his long legs will carry him.

--surgery and we’re still waiting on word. I know you 2 talk on the reg so I’ll keep you posted.

Fret not, genius professor, our fearless leader has been through much worse than this.

She’s using informal speech patterns, which she has never done before. It bleeds her nervousness, and worries Spencer even more. Teetering on the edge of panic. Ms. Garcia also revealed she knows he and Hotch talk, but surprisingly that doesn’t have the effect he thought it would on his already rattled nerves. Instead, any and all reservations fall away as he types out a response much in the same way he and Hotch had started their friendship all those months ago.

Please, is there anything you are allowed to tell me about the case or his condition? We --

Spencer pauses, bites his lip as he considers crossing this boundary into the uncomfortable unknown, and then thinks about Hotch on a hospital operating table three thousand miles away.

“Screw it,” he mutters and continues to type.

--We’ve become good friends and I’m very worried.

The reply is almost immediate.

That makes 2 of us, boy wonder, but I’m already hacked into the hospital records database and Prentiss is in the waiting room for any immediate actions.

I’m sending you the case files and the incident report from last night. Maybe you can see some shiz we can’t b/c the bossman is tough but he’s been in surgery a long time.

Of course, whatever he can do to help. Spencer’s heavy heart-beat triples in his chest as pulls up the files and immediately prints them out so he can read through them faster. Utilizing anything and everything he can do to aid the BAU team, and whatever Hotch has gotten himself into. But then, his mind sticks on something from the email. Boy Wonder. It stalls his hands mid-movement.

Ms. Garcia knows how young he is.

She must have done a background check on him, that would make sense since he’s been consulting so much lately. But why would Garcia know his age, and not Hotch? Wouldn’t she send the files to him directly? Had Hotch really known, all along?

Or did she do it on her own, and not tell him? Assuming her boss already knew everything about him. It’s too many questions and possibilities and they are interfering with what’s most important right now. Best to get it out of the way, no time to be indirect about it.

Ms. Garcia, did you update my dossier with the bureau after you ran my background check?

If you’re referring to why Hotch seems to think you’re rocking the senior discount at restaurants and not still getting carded for beer, then no I didn’t update it. I’m very anti-gov files having every detail of our lives in them, that’s what I’m for, and I figured there was a reason he didn’t know. Your secret is safe with me, sugar bean.

Spencer hadn’t meant for it to be a secret at all, it just happened that way.

The real reason is Agent Anderson of the LA field office is a dick, with a bully streak he never outgrew after high school, and didn’t bother filling out a full file on him the first time Spencer consulted for the FBI. Then, he couldn’t be bothered to update it when his consultations became more than a one time thing.

But that was all in the past now, and Spencer can’t even be upset about it. Because now he has Hotch.

Thank you, Ms. Garcia. I’ll let you know my findings soon.

He skims the file quickly, pulling information out at lightning speed. It appears a very straight-forward case. As straight-forward as a murderous sociopath can be, anyway. Very anti-establishment, like he and Hotch had discussed the previous day, aiming for specified targets that devolved to anyone in a uniform. Anyone who appears too official, or labels as official.

It’s easy to see, now, why the unsub attacked Hotch instead of running from him. He practically served himself up on a silver platter. But there’s something about the kills that’s bothering Spencer. The knife wounds, bludgeoning, even the gunshots during the first murders when the unsub still hesitated -- it’s all overkill. Rage. Every single target has died from massive internal bleeding, M.E. reports all label the knife wounds and beatings as the cause. But the amount of blood left over, measured during autopsy, doesn’t add up. They bled too much. No wounds indicating intentional bleeding occurred, and the tox screens are all clean.

Except, every victim’s hospital records show elevated potassium rates. Spencer’s hands, skimming down each and every page quick as they can, stop on a dime as his gaze zero in on the information.

“Oh, God,” Spencer whispers, quiet and horrified. “--Hotch.”

There’s no time for email.

He picks up his phone, goes to an older email that has full contact details in the footer, and dials Ms. Garcia’s direct line in Quantico.

“Speak, and behold greatness.”

“Ms. Garcia, it’s Dr. Reid,” Spencer says, and his tone and quickened speech patterns gives way to his panic.

“Dr-- Dr. Reid?”

“Yes, quick there’s no time. Do you have Hotch’s hospital records in front of you still?”

“Yes,” Garcia says, her voice a musical thing even in it’s breathless reaction to his heightened state of haste. “Updated every two minutes.”

“Is his potassium elevated?”

Some quick typing of keys that move faster than even he could ever hope to type. “...Yes.”

God. “Okay, okay I need you to call the hospital right now,” Spencer says in a spiel that all sounds like one word. “Whatever you have to do, he needs Sodium Polystyrene Sulfonate as soon as possible, to counteract the chemical imbalance or he’s going to go into kidney failure and bleed out.”

There’s more typing going on and Ms. Garcia’s breathing has gone a little labored.

“Alright, alright I’m getting patched through. What else can you tell me?”

“I think he’s been dosed with something called an XG Compound, either Eastman or Zhao I have to look up the specific components and chemist. But they are a series of banned, experimental military-grade drugs that suffer effects of thinning the blood, that’s why they can’t stop the bleeding around his stab wounds and old scar tissue.” Hotch’s old wounds from Foyet would only exacerbate the condition, once it reached the kidney failure stage, but up until then the intrusions of hardened tissue is the only reason his abdominal cavity hasn’t been flooded with blood and drowned out his other organs.

“Okay, okay I’m through, I’m keeping you on the line. Stand by-- ” then she clicks over and he’s left with a pulsating silence. Nothing remaining but continuing his work, and hoping he’d called in time. Hoping that Hotch will be alright.

Spencer is digging through his floor to ceiling bookshelves for the biology book on airborne pathogens given to him by a visiting Professor two years ago and he is hating himself for never cracking it in that moment. It’s nearly the last book he gets a hand on, because of course it is, and he makes it a third of the way through the book before Garcia is back on the line. The phone on the floor beside him and just barely within reach.

“You literal genius, I could kiss you,” Garcia tells him in what can only be overstated relief, and Spencer snatches up his phone with a very undignified scramble. “They’ve had to do two transfusions on him and are prepping a third, but you were right he’s been dosed with that XG compound.”

“He’s going to be okay?” Spencer asks, still cross-legged on his office floor surrounded by books and holding his phone to his ear like a lifeline.

“Yes, yes my dear he’s going to be alright. They think. He’s not out of the woods yet and the surgery is still going on, but he -- he would have died within the next hour if you hadn’t found out what was wrong.”

Spencer’s heart is in his throat, her words doing the exact opposite of reassuring him. Hotch had been that close to dying, to being forever out of reach, because Spencer had been too scared to pick up the phone.

“I should have called sooner,” he says, so quiet even someone in the room wouldn’t have heard him correctly. “I knew something was wrong.”

“Oh no, sugar don’t think like that. You just saved his life,” she pauses, like she wants to say something else, but diverts to an adjacent topic. “How did you know?”

“Autopsy reports. There wasn’t enough blood left in the bodies, they bled out too quickly. Then I saw the elevated Potassium,” he murmurs it all, rattled off without really thinking about it.

“And you just… knew all of that, without looking anything up?”

“That’s basically what I do. The only reason anyone calls me,” Spencer laughs but it holds no humor. “I know too much, make connections, and drink too much coffee.”

“You drink and know things, oh God I hope you get that reference because you’re getting a coffee mug.”

Spencer laughs a little, despite the situation, and feels… lighter, somehow, even with the worry still plaguing him. Caught up in his chest like a bad cold.

“I’m reading this textbook on airborne pathogens, I have a hunch, and I’ll send you anything I find that can help with the case,” Spencer continues, his voice not so heavy for a moment. “Just… tell me when he’s out of surgery? Keep me posted?”

“Of course, honey, you’ll be my first message,” Ms. Garcia assures him, but then she pauses again -- and he almost hangs up because it feels too anticipatory. “You should tell him, B.T.Dubs.”

Spencer hesitates more than is probably necessary.

“... I don’t know what good that will do,” he admits, quiet and unsure. “I’m not -- I’m not ready for this to be over.”

“You’re not that young, honey. Does he know you like him?”

“Mmhmm,” Spencer makes a nervous, affirmative sound. “And… he likes me, or who he thinks I am.”

“Don’t write him off just yet, Doc, let him speak for himself when he wakes up,” Ms. Garcia all but scolds him, in as gentle a way as possible and Spencer appreciates that, at least.

“--I’ll think about it.”

Not long after Spencer finds what he’s looking for: military grade poisons that were banned for causing adverse effects, listed and categorized by chemist and agency. It is the Eastman compound, originated during the first invasion of Afghanistan. Their unsub has prolonged exposure, Spencer is sure, and that will narrow down the suspect pool immensely.

After he sends the information to Ms. Garcia, Spencer looks to his phone once more, where there is a block of text all from him himself in his correspondence with Hotch. Begging him to be alright, to answer him, and now that he knows that the man has a fighting chance -- or as much of one as he will be able to have, with where advanced medicine resides in the current conjecture of time -- there really isn’t much he can do now. But hope. And wait. And pray.

Except Spencer doesn’t believe in prayer, or God, or anything that might hear him. The only thing he really believes in is science, and facts, and none of that is very helpful to him right now. Except maybe the coincidental balance of the universe, in a theoretical physics sense, and unexplained phenomenon that have an equal and spatial balance to it. Anything with the descriptor ‘unexplained’ always draws him in like a moth to flame, and he knows he can typically find a semblance of comfort in the way his brain constantly connects dots and far off specks of information that not everyone can see at first glance. Constellations in the sky. But only when he has someone to tell it to, that even pretends to listen for a moment, and for a long while now… Hotch has been that someone. Hotch always listens to him.

Before he knows it, he’s typing into the text box once more --

[]9/23, 11:10[] You’re in surgery still, but Ms. Garcia has confirmed the treatments are working and they are able to actually repair the damage instead of treading water like they have been the past ten hours. I’ve had her personally in contact with the doctors and surgical staff, and all they’ve been able to tell us is to let them work and just pray for you.

[]9/23, 11:13[] Which is such an odd thing; men of science telling people to pray like the outcome of a surgery isn’t in their hands, but some theoretical astronomical entity. I know it’s probably just a ‘bedside-manner’ tactic, but it doesn’t help me in the slightest so it just irks me instead.

[]9/23, 11:15[] I don’t believe in prayer -- a shock, I’m sure -- but I do believe in the phenomenon of universal affirmation. It’s an interesting trend in history and spans cultures where if someone has something awaiting them, to live for, even if they are unaware of it… they will fight harder to cling to life.

[]9/23, 11:18[] But I also know you will fight tooth and nail for Jack, and for your team that you treat like family, and maybe even me. I’d like to hope I’m included in that, and no amount of books or IQ points can make me think of something to contribute to help you keep fighting.

[]9/23, 11:19[] Just please keep fighting. Come back. And if I come up with something to entice you… I’ll let you know.

It eases a lot of the tension in his chest, talking to Hotch like this -- even if he’s just talking at him, in a place where he might never know what Spencer has had to say. But he can hope. Hope that Hotch will wake up and have thirty missed messages and see they are all from Spencer and it will make him smile.

Spencer would give anything to see him smile, and he allows himself to hope that one day... he might get to.

He might as well, while he’s sitting there hopelessly hoping for things beyond his control.

Come back to me.

Spencer almost types it out, can see it in the text window though he hasn’t pressed a single letter, and closes his phone before he can. Pressing it to his mouth and closing his eyes and just…

Hoping.

The hours roll over into the afternoon, and there’s still no word.

Spencer has spent the majority of the day messaging Ms. Garcia, who has had no information beyond trivial updates here and there and Spencer has read more about surgical procedures and practices than he has in his entire life. Even raided the biology department’s library, surrounding himself with the comfort of books and files and filled his head with the soothing monotony of medical terms and safety protocols.

But once noon has come and gone he finds himself staring into the bookshelves across from where he sits on the floor, among stacks of textbooks, with an epiphany trying to make itself known to him. Despite his every attempt to ignore it.

His phone is back in his hand, there’s an email correspondence from Ms. Garcia that only briefly says Still nothing. And that makes up Spencer’s mind.

[]9/23, 12:49[] I’ve thought of something.

What he types next makes it hard to breathe, his heart lodged in his throat, and it all comes flowing out of him much like before. His fingers keep moving, his emotional part of his brain steam-rolls over the rational one, and then he’s done and he’s tacked on six extra messages and Spencer has to put his phone away before he rereads it beyond what is deemed healthy or sane.

Because he’s done what he could, and all he can do is believe that will be enough to… subliminally keep Hotch fighting. The day is only half over, and Spencer feels like he hasn’t slept in a week.

It would be hours before he got the message that would send relief through his spine like a shot of Novocain. Just three words from Ms. Garcia, sent in haste in a text instead of an email.

{}9/23, 14:58{} He’s in recovery.

Hotch wakes up just barely the first time, the room spinning and hit with that familiar smell of anesthesia he can always taste as it fills his senses, before he slips back under.

The second time is to a small pencil light being flashed in his eyes, staccato movements meant to test his pupil reactions, and an older woman in nurse’s scrubs saying his name and calling to him. He hums an affirmative, even though he isn’t fully returned to a working state of mind. Instinct, more than clarity.

“Welcome back, Agent Hotchner.”

“About damn time,” he hears Prentiss say from somewhere across the room. Probably leaning the wall, if that faux drone is anything to go by. The nurse gives her a look but his agent isn’t even fazed by it, as far as Hotch can see. It takes him a moment for his eyes to adjust that far. But he knows the look well enough he doesn’t actually have to see it.

“Where is everyone? Is anyone else hurt?” Hotch can feel the words form on his tongue, droned out in a haze, his mind slowly coming back to him.

“Good to see you, too, boss,” Prentiss says in mild exacerbation, coming up to the side of his bed but not taking a seat. She must have been waiting a long time, her whole stance jittery just like after long flights on cases. “Everyone is fine, you’re the only one that got into a knife fight with an unsub who’s into biological warfare.” Hotch blinks at her, trying to make her words make sense without asking it of her. He remembers going to a warehouse to follow a lead, but not much else after that. It’s coming back too slowly to keep up with her. Prentiss just sighs, and repeats herself. “Everyone is fine.”

She regales him with a play by play, his own memories appearing like raindrops on a windshield to accompany her commentary. Slowly beginning to form a picture of what had happened. He’d been stabbed before, more than he cares to think about, and he’s been dosed with military-grade drugs before as well -- but never both at the same time. No wonder he feels like he’s been hit by a truck.

“You’re lucky to be alive, honestly,” she points out, hip resting against the plastic side panels of his hospital bed.

“Yeah, I’m gathering that.”

“And your phone has been blowing up like crazy.”

Hotch is finally able to sit up enough and see straight without his vision swimming, to find that his agent does indeed have his cell phone in her hands.

“What?”

“Yeah, eight missed calls and three voicemails, and--” she squints at the screen before looking at him in astonished confusion, “eighty-seven missed text messages, from a whole bunch of people. I’m not reading through all of them. I didn’t know you were that popular.”

“I’m the Unit Chief, popularity has nothing to do with it,” Hotch deadpans, more himself. Wanting to reach for his phone but his arms are still dealing with pins and needles sensations, sluggish to lift and his fingers uncooperative. “Who called me eight times?”

“Let’s see,” she unlocks his phone -- somehow, god damn it Prentiss -- and scrolls through his notifications. “Two calls from Jessica, one from me, three from Strauss (Jesus), one from Dr. Reid, and one from Garcia. It doesn’t say who the voicemails are from.”

Hotch suddenly feels much more alert, his heart rate monitor picking up but he does his best not to draw attention to it, instead looking up at Prentiss as carefully guarded as he ever is.

“Dr. Reid called?” he tries to keep his voice even, and unaffected, but the aftereffects of the drugs in his system leave a little more hitch in his voice than he would have liked.

“Yeah, he’s been talking to Garcia,” Prentiss says without much comment, still scrolling through his phone and making Hotch a little more than nervous. “Busted the case wide open, and saved your life while he was at it. We never would have known you were dosed with something if he hadn’t figured it out. Think you owe that old man a fruit basket.”

“Can I have my phone back?”

“Don’t think you’re supposed to have it,” she says without looking up, still scrolling through his notifications. “Lots of junk e-mail…”

“One of those voicemails is probably Jack, I should call and let them know I’m alright,” Hotch tries to reason with her.

“He and Jess are already on their way up, they’ll land in an hour,” Prentiss tells him, but looks over her shoulder for that nurse as she makes to hand Hotch his phone anyway. Still hesitant despite her predilections to breaking every rule she can get away with.

“I still want it back,” Hotch insists, regretting saying it as soon as he does.

It catches Prentiss’ attention a little too sharply. “...why?” But at Hotch’s steady stare and solid silence, unwavering like he hadn’t just been in surgery for hours on end, she finally relents and hands it over, still giving him a suspicious look.

“It’s important,” he finally admits, when she doesn’t stop staring for a good couple of minutes. Those perfectly shaped eyebrows raise near to her hairline, the profiler in her connecting more dots than should be humanly possible.

A small smile teases her lips, though not fully forming there. “Now I wish I’d read them.”

Hotch just gives her a reprimanding look of his own, but it’s short lived.

“Thank you, for staying.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Prentiss assures him, her smile going softer. “I’ll leave you to your mystery woman.” A beat, another raised eyebrow. “Person.” A knowing look, but then she exits and Hotch is able to look at his phone at his own discretion.

Hotch goes through the text messages with a brief glance; there’s so many of them. Other agents and agencies, his team in a group chat Garcia had started, Jessica left fifteen before someone got a hold of her, and Jack’s school sending reminders about soccer and parent teacher conferences.

But 39 are from Spencer, and his heart constricts in his chest at the worry he must have caused the man. Aches next to the scars on his chest and the blood that doesn’t belong to him in his veins. And somewhere in the recesses of his mind, it’s coupled with a torturous feeling of longing. Even subtle jealousy, because even half drugged out of his mind Hotch hadn’t missed the precise word choices Prentiss used. Garcia has been talking to Spencer -- talking.

Garcia got to hear him.

She talked to Spencer, when he still hadn’t, because of some unspoken rule Hotch isn’t even sure when they decided upon. He still knew so little about the man, and Spencer’s voice could tell him so much with just a few words. He could fill volumes with what he would learn from just a single message --

Without much further thought, Hotch pulls up his voice mail. Listens to the automated voices and the three messages there. None are from Spencer, although his heart had beat a little harder in anticipation -- enough his heart monitor beeped audibly next to him. Embarrassing as that was, like a lovestruck teenager. He’d glared at it and centered his breathing until his heart rate slowed back down, not wanting to alert the nurses station. Two of the voicemails are from Jessica’s phone, one of her worried out of her mind, and the other of Jack telling him they are coming to see him and he hopes he feels better soon. Just listening to his son speak more strongly than his aunt had or anyone else should in his situation, telling his daddy he loves him while the sounds of a commercial airline filter through the background, makes Hotch want to smile and sob all at once.

The last voicemail is from Garcia, telling him a similar story to what Prentiss had earlier, but with a bit more detail on her end. How ‘Dr. Reid’ called her out of the blue, because there had been no time for his usual emails, and gave them the information that saved his life. He’d been working the case diligently, ever since, and was checking up on him a lot. More than a lot. ‘Let him know you’re okay, when you wake up and get this. The poor guy is worried sick, and my updates only give him so much comfort.’

Spencer had actually called Garcia, when he hasn’t physically spoken to anyone in Quantico the entire time he’s consulted for them, just to save a few precious seconds to relay what he’d found. He’d even broken their rule, probably before hand, and called Hotch -- just to make sure he was okay. Hadn’t stopped working to help, the moment he found out he wasn’t.

It’s a strange thought, that if not for Spencer -- Hotch would be dead. That Jack would be flying up here for a very different reason.

Hotch switches over to the text messages with a lump in his throat. Not at all prepared, emotionally, but needing to know.

The 39 messages start from the night before, when they were supposed to have had their usual online chess date. They range from playful banter, teasing edged in worry, and escalate to panic as the night wears on. Anxious worry bleeding through the single sentences, building and building until that lump in his throat feels like it might block off all air soon.

Please be okay.

God, that alone starts to set a tone -- and reveals something Hotch hadn’t expected to find. Those three words give way to his speech pathology training, and all indicate that Spencer is… very likely younger than he’d originally thought. Some of Hotch’s assumptions might be close, even the teasing ones he’d only said because he’d been sure they were wrong. The other man is obviously beyond worried about him, as well. Petrified, despite knowing the risks of his job. They had become so close the past few months, were most definitely past the flirting stage and into something so tentative and wonderful Hotch can barely believe it some days. But they had never talked about this, about the possibility that Hotch might walk into a situation one day and not walk back out of it.

Spencer’s messages soon give way to him just… talking at Hotch. Relaying what was happening, philosophical rants meant to ease his own mind and Hotch finds himself smiling softly at the man’s constant stream of thought, lectures at genius levels that he still feels so compelled to share with Hotch. Because they are that close. They really, truly, are -- and it brightens the fluttering feeling in his chest all the more. How Spencer is trying, subliminally, to draw Hotch back to the light. Three thousand miles away.

Please come back.

Hotch hears it loud and clear, the come back to me. Even unwritten. And it makes his heart skip a beat, aching as it does.

Then…

[]9/23, 15:49[] I’ve thought of something.

[]9/23, 15:52[] I’m 29.

Hotch doesn’t understand, at first. But then it hits him.

Years.

29 years.

Spencer is 29 years old. Proven, further, by the following messages sent after that.

[]9/23, 15:56[] I’m a certified child prodigy, on a registry and everything. I graduated high school at just twelve years old, and had my first Ph.D. by 15. Youngest in CalTech history.

29.

Jesus Christ, no wonder he hadn’t wanted to tell Hotch his age. 29 is… far younger than he expected.

When Spencer was born, Hotch was getting his driver’s license. 16 years difference in age…

He keeps reading, despite the numb aftermath of a bomb going off inside his head, trying to process it and also hear the younger man out.

Younger. Spencer is 16 years younger than Hotch, and he finds himself scrubbing at his face to try and wake himself up further as he reads what Spencer sent.

[]9/23, 15:57[] I turn 30 at the end of October, and I was trying to wait until then to tell you.

[]9/23, 16:00[] I’ve noticed a prominent dynamic shift in perception, between listing my age as in my 20’s and ‘almost 30’. It’s a numerical allusion our brains can’t help. You hear 29, you think 21. It happens with decades, too, once someone is outside the familial range of 10 years. +/- either side.

[]9/23, 16:02[] An age gap doesn’t sound as bad when I’m 30. That’s why I wanted to wait, just a little while longer, but if that universal affirmation phenomenon actually works for us -- I don’t mind dealing with the consequences.

[]9/23, 16:03[] Just please come back.

[]9/23, 16:07[] Please be okay.

[]9/23, 16:10[] I miss you.

His heart is about to be ripped to shreds.

Hotch feels terrible, because Spencer is right. 29 sounds so young, and it keeps repeating in his head over and over. But 29 isn’t the same as 21, he isn’t some college student still stumbling around trying to figure out his life. He has five Ph.D.’s, runs three departments at one of the best universities in the country, is consulted by the FBI and Homeland Security and very obviously has a reputation he upholds to the highest regard. Hotch had guessed Spencer was 32 not so long ago, what was the big difference between that and his actual age? From what little Spencer just shared of his life story, he’s never gotten to be a kid, so who was Hotch to consider him one? What gave him the right to be floored by this, did it actually change what he thought of Spencer? How he felt about him only moments prior to reading that?

I miss you. Come back. Please be okay.

I’m 29.

It could be the recent flirtation with death, the anesthesia or the morphine, even the gratitude that Hotch will get to see his son again and not leave him without both his parents -- there’s so many reasons for him to take pause as he considers the messages in front of him.

But it feels a lot like the months of talking, and the countless late nights spent together, that pile up and up in his chest. A rising pressure that reminds Hotch that he and Spencer have something, and it’s not a normal, regular situation for either of them. Something that precedent, and everything Hotch has ever been told to hold to standard, doesn’t seem to fit. He and Spencer don’t seem to fit, when looked at afar or even on paper -- but they do. They really do. It was never supposed to be something that could be this easy, or normal in any capacity.

But what about their lives ever was?

[]9/23, 18:26[] I’m so sorry I worried you.

[]9/23, 18:26[] I miss you, too.

[]9/23, 18:27[] If I stop answering you, the nurse took my phone away. I hate hospitals.

[]9/23, 18:29[] Hotch, you scared me to death.

[]9/23, 18:30[] I know, I’m sorry.

[]9/23, 18:31[] From what I heard, you saved my life.

[]9/23, 18:33[] I don’t even know how to begin thanking you for that.

[]9/23, 18:36[] Just get better.

[]9/23, 18:38[] Which means resting, don’t glare at your nurses too much. They’re there to help you.

There’s a long stretch of a pause in their correspondence, which picks up so smooth and easy it’s as if they had never stopped. Like the last few days hadn’t happened at all. But they had, they were both looking at the messages to prove that. He does take pause, maybe more than he should, and Hotch knows miles away Spencer is just as nervous. Staring at his phone.

Hotch isn’t wrong. Spencer let out such an exclamation of relief at Hotch’s name on his notifications he about sobbed with it. He never cries, hasn’t in years -- but his eyes sting with relief and worry and… an emotion he doesn’t want to name.

[]9/23, 18:44[] What day is your birthday?

[]9/23, 18:45[] October 28th.

[]9/23, 18:45[] Same week as mine. November 2nd.

Hotch pauses, again, considers his next response… and 3,000 miles away Spencer can barely blink as he stares at his phone with mounting dread.

[]9/23, 18:49[] I understand why you didn’t want to tell me. It’s alright.

[]9/23, 18:51[] Am I correct in assuming you’ve never been in a relationship with this much of an age gap?

It takes Hotch a moment to even gather the courage to type that out and send it. Knows it sounds almost too formal, for them, but Hotch also knows that he and Spencer are balanced on the edge of a knife, here, and… no matter what the outcome, everything is about to change between them.

Spencer licks his lips in nervousness, reading the line over and over although he has no need to. It feels like a tipping point, and he’s still… terrified this will be his last conversation with Hotch outside of case work. Ever.

[]9/23, 18:55[] Never.

[]9/23, 18:57[] I haven’t had many relationships at all. My peer groups have always been older than me, and people my own age never understood me enough to be interested. So it’s just something I was used to, going without.

[]9/23, 18:59[] This has been… the closest thing to what I’ve been told is normal that I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never had the chance to have something like this with someone, or connect in this way. I gave up, for a long while there.

[]9/23, 19:01[] I’ve been in a similar situation before, on an intellectual spectrum.

[]9/23, 19:03[] I’ve never--

Hotch pauses, again, putting his thoughts in order. Weighing it all, before taking that final leap. Spencer waiting with baited breath, all the more.

But Hotch doesn’t regret what he sends. Not one bit.

[]9/23, 19:03[] I’ve never dated anyone younger than me like this, before, so we’ll both be on a learning curve.

[]9/23, 19:03[] But we will figure it out. Together.

Spencer’s breath catches, and he can’t seem to release it again. He can’t believe what he’s reading. What Hotch has sent him.

He said ‘dated’.

He thought they were dating. Spencer isn’t quite sure he can trust his own eyes, despite the words being there in stark black and white on his phone screen.

[]9/23, 19:06[] Dating?

Hotch smiles, because he just knows -- from that single word text -- that Spencer has sent it not in admonishment or anything negative of the sort. But in hope. Confident that he recognizes the nuance in Spencer's voice even without ever having heard it, Hotch just knows, and it makes warmth blossom anew in his chest. Sends his heart rate monitor skittering across the machine all over again.

[]9/23, 19:08[] Hate to be the one to tell you, but all of those late nights where we talked for hours instead of playing chess? Those were dates.

Spencer has his hand over his mouth, still in disbelief that he hadn’t… fucked this up beyond repair. That his age hadn’t been the deal breaker he’d feared so vehemently for months now. That everything is still as it was, age difference and life-threatening situation, aside.

They were dating. All this time.

[]9/23, 19:10[] I should have worn nicer clothes.

Hotch laughs at his phone at the same time Spencer laughs at his own, having reread what he’d sent.

3,000 miles away, and their quiet laughter coincides perfectly.

[]9/23, 19:11[] Our next one I’m sure I’ll be in a hospital gown, so I think you’re in the clear.

[]9/23, 19:12[] Sounds like you’re making plans, already.

[]9/23, 19:12[] You still need rest.

[]9/23, 19:14[] Well, I have to thank you somehow. And, I saw something about poker instead of chess? I’m actually not bad at poker.

[]9/23, 19:15[] … you remember I’m from Vegas, right?

[]9/23, 19:16[] We’ll play for fake money.

[]9/23, 19:18[] No such thing.

[]9/23, 19:19[] I do play for favors, though.

[]9/23, 19:19[] Oh?

Hotch feels a wild, youthful thing unfurl in his chest as he types away. Mischievous, almost, in a way he only gets when he and Spencer are hours deep into conversations in the middle of the night. But it’s broad daylight, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too wide. Getting lost in the thrill of it all. In the officiality of it, now, and another curtain unveiled between them.

[]9/23, 19:20[] Did you have something in mind?

Spencer has to be blushing seven shades of red, right about now, and he hides his face from his phone for a moment before he realizes how ridiculous that is -- Hotch can’t see him. He can stop messaging the man any time he wants to.

Except he doesn’t want to.

[]9/23, 19:24[] I’ll get back to you.

Hotch can’t help it as he grins at his phone. A wry, suggestive thing, but he manages to school it before a passing nurse can see him -- how his eyes are alight with possibility. With elation, just from talking to the younger man that had seemed to capture a part of him he thought wasn’t available to anyone any more, and types out one last -- slightly more flirtatious subtext to put a cap on their conversation. To indicate he’s awaiting more, always wanting a little more of Dr. Spencer Reid.

He can blame it on the morphine, later.

[]9/23, 19:25[] Looking forward to it.

(tbc...)

Tagged List: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @merpancake

#I legit added like 1500 words while editing this afternoon so I'm hella worried it's convoluted but HERE IT IS #Getting this show on the ROAD #cross your fingers and pray I have this damn tumblr formatting thing figured out #hope you enjoy everyone I love ALL OF YOU #super duper long chapter #Correspondence #HotchReid #Heid #Updates on Saturdays hit me up if you want in on the tag list #katyswriting

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

Text

Why have I done this?

So, as per a conversation with @little-lightning-lavellan, I was blessed or maybe cursed, with this idea about Fane. As such, I had to write a short story about it that I think will be like four chapters long because...yeah. XD

Anyways, enjoy part one! (Look at what you’ve done. IT’S GLORIOUS!)

***

Anatomical Observations - Chapter 1

It had happened once. Short lived, quick, and barely noticeable as many things were more pressing, the world teetering on a crumbling edge. But it was hard to ignore such small things when voices were all you could hear when one was trying to work.

Solas was highly divested in an article of research. A basic magical theory in concept, minor amplifications of lesser spells, but it still required his mind to bend, to become flexible much like his magic when he had first awoken. As such, he had not heard many people come and go through the rotunda, he had not even heard the doors leading in and out slam shut or creak open, nor a polite greeting or scurrying messenger. That was how deep he was in his bubble of concentration. However, one--no, two voices from directly above were currently making it incredibly, and he meant incredibly, difficult to remain focused.

“I do believe that is my chair you are sitting in, Inquisitor.”, a male voice with a distinct Tevinter accent floated down from above, indignation and slight amusement laced within it.

“I don’t see your name on it, do I?”, another voice, far deeper and like rolling thunder with how it always held a slight growl. It always made Solas involuntarily shiver, and the same remained true now, making his focus splinter further like cracked ice. “Anyhow, it’s Inquisition property. Got a problem, talk to Josephine. I’m off duty.” A sound like a page being harshly flipped made his ears twitch.

A gasp. “And work her harder than she already is? Absolutely not!” Solas could tell the line was meant to be a jab, but it only held the telling of a joke within its haughty vibrato.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to sit your ass on the floor until I’m finished.”, that rumbling timbre came once again, a shifting sound and a loud thud signifying someone’s boots had been slammed down onto something.

“The floor? Me?!”, another indignant squawk, actually making Solas let out a frustrated sigh as he lifted a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. How much longer was this going to go on for? It wasn’t unusual for this type of banter to sound, but right now, he had work to complete.

And this was not helping accomplish that.

“Yes, the floor. Yes, you.”, another harsh flick of a page ruffling through the air. “Now, can you leave me alone? I’m busy.”

“Oh, yes, you’re quite busy stuffing your face with tea cakes!”, the Tevinter accent rose a pitch, as if in disbelief at what it was saying. “The crumbs! Have you no etiquette, Inquisitor?!”

“Nope.”, the gravelly voice responded with a heavy air of indifference, actually sounding a bit muffled as if it were eating something. “If Vivienne and Josephine can’t knock the elf out of me, no one can.”, Solas could just hear the sarcasm and roll of eyes in that statement. It almost made him chuckle, but he was still too miffed to push one through.

“Most elves I’ve met are very well mannered!”

“I’m not like most elves.”

“Well, that much is apparent!”

“Thanks for noticing. I’m so happy.”, the tone voicing that statement dripping with concealed disdain. Solas knew where that bitterness originated from, and hearing it always made his heart heavy. Heavier than it already was, even.

“You are a truly stubborn man! Fine, I’ll sit on the floor! The cold, cold floor!”, a scoff following right after those words as the sound of leather and, most notably a body, plopped down onto the stone.

Solas let out a heavy, heavy sigh as silence finally followed that exchange, letting his head hang down to where his chin nearly touched his chest in defeat. It would seem his attention was severed as much as the world’s magic was. He would not be getting back into his rhythm anytime soon.

“Perhaps I should find a quieter, more secluded place to do my work..”, he mused, lifting a hand to rub at his face slowly. “One of the lower chambers maybe..”

Solas sighed again before letting his hand fall back down to his desk with a light pap, eyes absently roaming over the pages of the tome before him. Maybe if he stilled his mind, found his anchor, he could try to decipher this line of text. The glyphs were a no go, however. Just trying to look at the faded lines was making his vision go blurry. Sadly, the theory he was trying to prove was reliant on those patterns, and they were far more convoluted than he remembered. Perhaps more things had adapted than he originally thought? Or did the older methods have to be reworked, seemingly forgotten like so much else? He, frankly, did not know. He couldn’t focus, but he would have to try.

“A ward..?”, Solas muttered under his breath, brows furrowing as he traced a sigil with his finger. “No..it is more akin to a summoning circle. Or perhaps a rune?”, he continued, slowly feeling how his mind began to bend and think, the lines of the glyphs becoming clearer, more defined. “Ah! The outlining symbols are for--”

His musing was immediately cut off, much like the frayed line of his focus, as a shout had him freezing and quite literally jumping in surprise.

“Fasta vas! What are you doing?!”, a squawk, the curse in Tevene elongated between the two words for more flair.

“Would you calm down?! Dammit, my ears are fucking ringing now! Ugh!”, the rolling thunder voice no longer indifferent as its volume rose to make the very stone quake. Once again, it made a light shiver run down Solas’s spine despite his tensed up form. What was going on now?

“How can I be calm when you...you do that!?”, furious shifting sounded as if someone was flailing limbs about.

“One, I don't know what the hell you’re going on about, Dorian!” The sharp snapping of a book making the ravens up above in the rookery flap in agitation. “Two, you can have your chair back because I’m not getting anything done with your needling!”

“I believe you need a needle, my friend! That looked incredibly painful!”

Solas felt his slowly relaxing body tense up at that, mind awakened, but for a completely different reason than trying to get magical research done. He lifted his gaze from where it was fixated on the pages of his book, looking upwards to search the railing that outlined the library for the source of the voices that had shattered his hour of contemplation. He knew them both, but the exclamation housed by one had him wanting to see the other.

Where..? Solas thought the question, eyes roaming every inch of the circular area before stark white had his gaze halting immediately. Ah. There we are.

He would spot that messy head from anywhere, even in snowy regions like the Emprise. Though, the body that that hair was attached to did a fine job of location as well. Occasionally, he would find his eyes lingering, or searching for less...conventional reasons. However, this wasn’t the time to be thinking of such things, especially as his mind still reeled with what the unaccounted voice had yelled.

Fane was currently along one of the bookshelves, a gloved hand firmly pushing a book back into its place with a typical scowl plastered on his otherwise smooth face, the faded green lines of his vallaslin making an already striking face look more so. Solas felt his body relax as he took in the sight of the man, or rather, the dragon.

His dragon, to be more precise, but not in a way of physical possession. It was more fond, more willing than that. It was not a bond of slavery. It was a vow. A centuries old one, to be exact.

Solas almost called out to the other, a sense of fondness and curiosity as well as mild concern invading his mind, but he clamped his mouth shut when he saw Dorian stride up to the snowy haired man with a look of wide eyed fascination. That was an interesting look, and truthfully, a worrying one. Such looks harbored questions, and he knew Fane did not entertain many inquiries.

And for good reason.

“Wait, what? You can’t be serious?”, Dorian said with an airy laugh. “You do that, and just walk it off?”, his tone rose pitch in disbelief.

Solas caught the glint of ebbing gold as Fane rolled his eyes, turning his larger frame to face the Tevinter mage more directly. His eyes zoned in on how the reluctant Inquisitor was tentatively rubbing at his jaw, working it back and forth slowly as if it were locked up. Dorian had said something about something being painful, hadn’t he? Was that what he meant?

“Again, I didn’t do anything.”, Fane growled out in denial, the hand upon his jaw shifting so he had it pinched between two fingers to where it appeared he was trying to fit it into place. “I was eating, and I bit my tongue because you pissed me off!”

Solas smirked faintly at his dragon’s typical usage of foul language despite the way he watched his odd movements like a hawk. Fane was incredibly eloquent, cryptic, even, but when irritation or just general boredom took hold, the dual being was a sailor. It always fascinated him rather than disgusted him. For a dragon, an ancient dragon, to latch onto common parlance as if it were the most natural thing to their being was intriguing. Then again, Fane had lived in this world for twenty-four years without knowing he was a dragon. That, would perhaps, be a more justifiable reason, but it still piqued Solas’s interest. Everything about the dragon turned elf was a point of interest. Especially now, with the way he was still nursing his sharp jaw and glowering at Dorian as if he was trying to work something out in his head.

“I’m sorry, but that was not you biting your tongue!”, Dorian exclaimed, shaking his head with that same look of disbelief before it morphed into a thoughtful look, hand coming up to absently stroke his mustache. “Though...if what I saw was..well, actually what I saw, then I have questions and curiosities regarding it.”

Fane’s expression went deadpan as he stared at the other, the golden light in his eyes all but extinguished as he turned on his heel to go the other way. Solas blinked a bit, even as his eyes followed the dragon’s retreating form.

He disengaged. Solas thought with certainty and familiarity. Unsurprising, but still worrying. He only resorts to that level of disregard when he is hiding something.

His eyes never left Fane’s stalking form, noticing how his brows were furrowed deeply, but could see one of them twitching with nervous energy. Broad shoulders were raised much like a shield, narrow nostrils flared with attempts at dispelling whatever heat had invaded a snowy disposition, partially gloved hands flexed, tendons underneath leather bindings apparent from how much force was behind its pull.

And golden emerald eyes were now fighting for dominance - dancing and bashing against each other as abilities that had laid dormant for too long began to try and enable themselves in an attempt to mitigate the, no doubt, myriad of emotions coursing through a draconic mind.

Solas felt his concern towards the ancient man mount at all those observations, but also, he felt slightly exasperated. The latter was only because he knew this strategy of deflection that Fane always used as his Queen upon the chessboard of his mental battles. He bounced, side stepped, and outright threw a verbal wall up when he did not wish to cross a specific square. It wasn’t that Fane was lying out of malicious means; he was doing it to protect himself and others. But Solas knew it only caused more harm, more warped perceptions.

It hurt Fane, and he knew all too well how much it hurt to keep the truth hidden, even if it was necessary for the long run.

That is the secondary explanation for this flight. Solas mused silently, eyes never leaving the dragon’s form despite his long strides. Whatever has happened puts his mask in jeopardy.

So lost in his own thoughts and the duel of veridium, Solas didn’t notice how Dorian broke out of his look of repose as he noticed the other striding away with purposeful steps.

“Where are you going?”, Dorian called after the white hair elf, but not making an effort to chase after him with how far the other had already gotten from him.

“To beat the shit out of a dummy before I beat you.”, Solas heard Fane growl out lowly, dangerously, and for a moment, he easily caught the flickering of his eyes as they met with his own. He met that gaze with ease, reading them as no other could. The message they conveyed had him instantly seeking more as the shifting of deep emerald had his eyes narrowing in concern.

“What happened?”, Solas mouthed to Fane as he was unable to communicate precisely how the other did without it being perceived incorrectly. He noticed how the man had slowed to keep their gazes longer. There was such volume in them that Solas nearly wanted to tear his own away, but also delve deeper like he thristed for their color bound words, their fathomless depths amid a thin world.

Fane’s eyes flitted to the door that led to the balcony the Enchanter always occupied, and then down, to signify he was taking the adjacent stairwell from there to bypass the Great Hall before he disappeared from the edge of the railing, the sound of door slamming issuing his complete departure.

Solas let out a quiet sigh before nodding, pushing himself up with his arms to stand straight. Well, it would appear he was most certainly not getting an ounce of work done today, and oddly, he was okay with that since concern was overriding his need for magical answers.

There were other, more pressing, questions that needed attending to.

***

#i'll probably put these up on ao3 eventually #but what did fane dooooo?#what doesn't fane do #also it was fun writing dorian! X3 #and solas as always i like writing him #my writing #solavellan #solas #oc: fane lavellan #dorian pavus #dragon age #this idea has been living rent free in my head because SOMEONE put it there!#*glares with threatening thanks* thank you

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mulderist · 3 years

Text

Wicked Game

Previous chapter || Read on A03 || tagging @today-in-fic

CHAPTER 9

Hegal Place

Alexandria, VA

My footfalls echoed down the hallway as I approached the front door. With a firm push it swung open and I descended the short brick staircase to the sidewalk. I surveyed the familiar rowhomes across the street; small front yards bordered by thin wrought iron fences. A small child was being led by the hand down the steps of one brownstone. I waited for the kid and her mother to walk up the block then I chose the opposite direction. An older model Packard chugged down the otherwise quiet street, coughing an exhaust smoke signal as it passed. That driver should probably see his mechanic sooner rather than later.

As I walked I felt my holster sticking into my right ribs, suppose that’s what I get for hastily slipping it on. It was enough of an annoyance to force me to focus on the task at hand; finding Alex Krycek. The steady afternoon breeze brought in clouds but not enough to predict rain. I still had a few hours before sunset and wished for a drier evening than my previous outing. I sighed and hoped Scully found herself a cab.

A dog bark caught my attention and I saw an excited yellow Labrador happily wagging a tail at an average looking man. As I moved to get a better view I saw the dog connected to a leash being held by a young woman. The average man gave the dog a gentle pat on the head and must have felt my stare because he straightened up and let the woman and her furry companion pass by. I knew it was him by the way he watched the woman walk away. Krycek slipped his hands into his pockets and stood firm on the spot. I ran through a dozen different scenarios of how I would approach him; close-quarters-combat, a strong right hook, or a simple shot to the leg. I honestly didn’t want to draw too much attention. The challenge was having a conversation without sounding like two territorial alleycats. Right as I finished my thought, Krycek took off around the corner.

I swore to myself and tightly gripped the butt of my gun as I followed in pursuit. A footrace was certainly not where I wanted this to go. My lungs burned while my feet pounded against the sidewalk, a stern reminder that I needed to resume my visits to the campus track. There was a flash of a jacket down what I assumed was an alleyway. I slowed my pace and found a proper hold on my gun. I pressed against the brick wall, careful to hide my position until the right moment. Like so many times before I took a deep inhale and with the exhale I glanced around the corner. I ducked back to avoid Krycek’s fist, then I charged forward pushing him farther into the alley. He stumbled and tried a quick jab to my stomach. I tightened up right as he made contact and in return I let my gun give him a kiss on the cheek. Krycek doubled over and spat on the ground. With both hands I grabbed him by the shirt I tossed him against the wall, the tip of my Browning wedged into his abdomen.

“You know as well as I do that a bullet to the gut is a slow way to go,” I said with my left arm braced across his chest, “So you better talk.”

“Well that’s a fine how-do-you-do,” Krycek grumbled with a crimson smile. I quickly frisked him, found his Walther and relieved him of it. I pressed my weapon back into his stomach then said,

“A little birdie told me you were at Washington General earlier today.”

“Is that so?” he mumbled.

“Cut the shit, Krycek,” I responded, applying more pressure to his chest, inching my forearm closer to his throat. He choked out a laugh,

“The redhead! Ah Mulder you sure can pick ‘em.”

“Leave her out of this!” My gun pressed harder into the soft surface of his abdomen. I saw him wince and I twisted my hand hoping I found a nerve,

“Damnit,” he hissed, “I only gave her some friendly advice.”

“Stay away from her,” I growled. He shook his head disapprovingly with a limited range of movement.

“Oh now I get it. You’re sweet on her, aren’t you --ah! -- jesus!” His assumption was cut short thanks in part to my weapon stabbing him in between the ribs. I cocked my gun and felt my jaw clench as he struggled.

“Red got herself involved when she worked on that autopsy,” Krycek sputtered.

I eased up a bit, put the hammer back down but still held my aim.

“What do you mean? Who was the stiff?” I asked, uncertain if I was going to get a truthful answer. He swallowed and licked his lips.

“A nobody by all accounts.”

“Then what’s the big deal?” I shrugged and felt like this was starting to become a waste of my time.

“The body wasn’t disposed of properly. He never should have ended up at the hospital morgue.”

Finally, some clarity. It’s as though the sea of confusion was at low tide, revealing an answer like shells on the shore. I witnessed it myself that night at the Navy Yard. They thought the cabbie would just float downriver and disappear. Now they wanted to cover their tracks as soon as that body washed up near the marina. Scully was just doing her job in the wrong place at the wrong time. Scully. I had to get back to the precinct.

“Are we done, Mulder?” Krycek asked, breaking my concentration. My attention snapped back as he was fixing his shirt.

“Not quite,” I said as I tentatively put my gun back in the holster, “I want to know one other thing; tell me your connection to Spender.”

“Spender?” Krycek’s voice was now hampered with a slur, “God, I am so tired of hearing that name.”

“Talk.”

“It’s like I told you before,” he gestured, “Spender was a hophead. Got a taste of the stuff when he was investigating Vincenti. Do you remember that tip I sold you about four months ago? Turns out your partner wanted to have a private meeting with Vincenti’s second in command. Detective Spender dealt himself right into the drug game on the government’s dime.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Because,” Krycek coughed out, “Carlo Lodi told me.”

My mind worked like playing cards being shuffled, each revelation waterfalled onto another until the deck was stacked.

“You told Lodi to put the hit on Spender,” I said pointedly.

“I’m a snitch,” he stated a little too simply for my taste. “Frankly I had had enough of being the information errand boy, so I sold him out. Your partner thought he could muscle in on Vincenti’s pushers and try to expand the trade routes, so to speak. The elder Spender got wise and to keep things kosher with Vincenti and his boys, he ordered a hit.”

“Wait a minute. Did you say Spender’s father?”

“Who do you think helps keep the peace?” he replied rhetorically. I thought for a moment and chided myself for not seeing far enough up the ladder.

“Whose side are you on, Krycek?”

“My own,” he curtly answered, “I don’t care if the mob kills the whole lot of you.”

“As long as you get box seats to the show,” I said. He chuckled and spit a trail of red once again onto the pavement. There wasn’t much more I could add. No more interrogation to give. I returned his Walther and left the alley.

------

After a less than ideal cab ride, I arrived at the precinct and bypassed the front desk, heading straight for the stairwell. As I descended the steps I tried to think of how I would untangle this web I found myself in. I never fully trusted Krycek, apparently Spender did. The new information was swirling in my head and I needed to pin down the facts before I approached Skinner. But first I needed to talk to Frohike and the boys.

The door to their department was ajar, sending a quick surge of adrenaline to my chest. I pushed the door open further and entered the lab, relieved when I saw Langley flipping through a thick-bound book.

“You guys should really put a lock on that door,” I began, “never know what’ll wander in here.”

He chuckled and quipped that instead I should have a bell around my neck so they’d know when I was coming. I asked if Scully had arrived and he directed me around the corner where I practically bowled over Frohike, who clutched a blanket to his chest. I raised an eyebrow.

“I uh -- this was for our guest,” Frohike said softly. I reached over and he relinquished it, then I gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder. Scully was curled into the threadbare sofa, she looked exhausted. It surprised me to see an actual piece of furniture in the lab, though I’m sure they needed something other than an army cot for those overnight cases. I unfolded the blanket and gently laid it over her sleeping frame. The sudden weight caused Scully to stir, eyelashes fluttered against the makeshift pillow of her hand. I crouched down and heard a hum escape her lips.

“Glad you made it,” she said with eyes still closed.

“True to my word,” I replied. She turned her head away from her hand and slowly blinked open her eyes.

“Did you find him?”

“I did. We had a friendly chat and a smoke.”

“What actually happened?” she asked, voice heavy with sleep.

“He took a swing at me and I shoved him into an alley; he won’t bother you again. As it turns out, my former informant has his finger in just about every dish on the crime buffet.” I tried to adjust the blanket which had slipped down her shoulder but her arm snaked out, fingers pressed tenderly against my forearm.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Rest for a little bit. I’ll be back,” I left her with a kiss on the forehead then went to round up the boys.

Langley passed by and I gestured for him and Frohike to join me, moving towards the exam tables on the opposite side of the lab. Byers suddenly emerged from the front door with a binder in hand and I waved him over as he muttered something about a body coming in for autopsy.

“Mulder you look like something’s on your mind,” Frohike said.

“Krycek was the one who confronted Scully at the hospital,” I relayed, “After twisting some truth out of him, he told me the body she did an autopsy on should never have been found. He can’t be trusted.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Langley, scratching at a blonde temple.

“I need to give a report to Skinner, he needs to know it was Krycek that put the hit out on Spender.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph it was all true,” Byers exclaimed as he folded his arms.

“We still need to find out who killed Lodi and his henchman,” I said, running a hand over my neck, “It had to come from whoever is at the top of the food chain.”

“Do you think Krycek could actually be pulling the strings? I mean he’s basically been lying to you from the start,” Frohike countered, pushing the bridge of his glasses back up his nose. I nearly laughed aloud but thought long and hard at the potential of Krycek being a crime boss. It would be a hell of a curve ball to try and take a swing at. Langley, Byers, and Frohike exchanged looks as I continued to ponder the question.

“No,” I said, “but I appreciate the creativity. He isn’t loyal to either the DCPD or Vincenti’s mafia family. The profile I’ve developed is that he’s a man who would just like to sit back and watch the city burn.”

The shrill sound of a telephone ring interrupted our conversation. It continued until Frohike broke away to answer it. I heard him agree with the party on the other line, then he shot a glance in my direction. He nodded then quickly hung up.

“The Captain must have a sixth sense or have a bug somewhere down here,” Frohike said as he walked back over.

“I certainly hope we’re not bugged,” Byers responded with a quick look up at the ceiling.

“He wants me upstairs?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Double time,” quipped Frohike. I rolled my shoulders and as I turned to leave I heard a new voice say,

“Leaving so soon.”

The boys seemed to scatter, save for Frohike who was glued to the spot when Scully stepped into the main area of the lab. Her stark white nurse uniform fit a little too perfectly amongst the shelves of science and macabre medical arts. She approached me and Frohike got the hint, trying to busy himself with tidying up the counter behind him.

“The boss is requesting my presence,” I told her, “And I’ve got a few things I’d like to say to him as well.”

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, a look of concern in her eyes, “I could give a statement about what happened.”

“Sorry Scully, this invite is for a party of one.”

“Are you coming back?”

“Planned on it, unless they burn me at the stake.”

“So dramatic,” she shook her head and reached for my hand with slender fingers. With a quick squeeze she added, “As much as you hate to hear this, I’m involved now. I don’t want to sit on the sidelines. Let me help where I can.”

I saw Byers timidly approach out of the corner of my eye.

“Excuse me Miss Scully,” he said with a kind wave, “there is a body due to arrive for an autopsy if you’d like to observe.”

“I’m sure we could use her assistance,” Frohike piped up, “that is, if she wouldn’t mind.”

I tried to think of a jab but she silenced me. She gave a pleasant smile in their direction then leaned a little closer, the faint scent of her perfume hit my senses.

“Go. Don’t want to keep the boss waiting.”

I got caught in her blue eyes, only able to manage a simple nod of agreement. My hand slipped from hers and I left the quiet of the forensic lab, bracing myself for the roar of the bullpen and Captain Skinner.

#i wrote this #historical au #xf fanfic #mulder pov #my fic #noir fiction #hey look an update #xfiles

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lumosinlove · 4 years

Text

Sweater Weather

part ix

Remus woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. It sounded much louder than it probably was from how startled he was. His head jerked up from the pillow, and he opened one eye against the light. He reached blindly and answered.

“Hello?” his voice cracked a little. He cleared it. “Sorry, hi?”

“Remus!” his little brother’s voice shouted in his ear. “Mom says we’re coming for Thanksgiving!”

“What—” Remus blinked hard, falling back on his side with the phone to his ear, “I—Hi, Jules, that’s great,” he looked at the clock and laughed a little, rubbing his eyes. It read 6:45 am. “You’re up early.”

“Yeah. Mom said—”

He was cut off, though, and Remus could hear his mom in the background. “Julian Lupin, I told you not to wake your brother up!”

“Tell her it’s okay,” Remus sighed. “That’s really awesome. I can’t wait.”

“Can’t wait for what?” said a sleepy-slow voice in his ear.

Remus’ eyes widened as a warm hand slid around his waist, and a bare chest pressed against his equally naked back. Remus realized that he was stark naked with Sirius Black in his bed and talking to his little brother on the phone.

Sirius began to say something else, in French this time, when Remus spun quickly in Sirius’ arms, feet twisting in the sheets, and pressed a hand over his mouth. Sirius, obviously not yet totally awake, just made a sleepy sound and kissed his palm, but said nothing further.

Julian, thank god, was more focused on yelling something to their mom.

“Sorry,” Julian said, sighing into the speaker. “Mum’s really mad I woke you.”

“Tell her it’s fine, really,” Remus said, heart going fuzzy as Sirius blinked up at him from his pillow and halo of dark hair. “But, um, Jules, do you mind if I call you back a little later?”

“Yeah!” Jules said brightly. “Can we FaceTime? I wanna show you, I learned this new thing in practice.”

“Sure, of course,” Remus said.

Sirius perked up a little and grabbed Remus’ wrist to move his hand away. Jules? he mouthed, and Remus nodded, pressing a single finger to his lips. Sirius kissed that, too.

“Okay. Bye, Re! Oh, can we go to another Lions game do you think soon? Next visit, maybe?”

Sirius gave him a thumbs up and Remus laughed.

“I think we can definitely swing something, yeah.”

That seemed to be the trick to getting him happily off the phone, and Remus made sure he had hung up before throwing it towards the end of the bed with a laugh.

“Jeez, sorry. Bit of a wake up call, and on your day off, too.”

“s’okay,” Sirius’ stretched, full body, back arching, sheet slipping dangerously low on his hips. Remus had none of the dream-like disillusions as the first time he’d woken up beside Sirius. Instead, he pressed his hand to Sirius’ warm chest and leaned over him for a kiss.

“Ca va?” Remus asked with a kiss to the corner of Sirius’ mouth.

Sirius cupped the back of Remus’ head and kissed him harder, tongue slipping into his mouth.

“So good,” he said, and Remus’ chest warmed. “The family’s coming for Thanksgiving, eh?”

“Looks like it,” Remus laughed, then kissed Sirius’ cheek. It still felt like a novel gesture, so overly casual. “I’ll miss you.”

Sirius sighed and let his head fall back on the pillows. “If I don’t return look for my body in my mother’s garden.”

Remus made a sympathetic noise, but he wasn’t sure how much more he could do. He only knew what everyone knew of Sirius’ home life—or thought they knew. He passed his hands through Sirius’ hair, pushing it off his forehead.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If you want to come over and eat my mom’s frankly perfect turkey dinner, you can. My dad will try to speak french with you and it will be horrible.”

Sirius laughed, a full, shaking one. “Want me to meet your parents? You like me that much?”

“Well, it’s like you said,” Remus leaned into him. “It’s been a long time coming on this end.”

“Mm,” Sirius hummed. He let Remus kiss his neck for a moment, then tapped his side. “What is frankly?”

Remus laughed and Sirius pinched him lightly. “Um. Huh,” Sirius played with a curl of Remus’ hair while he thought. “It’s like, obviously. Or, no, like…like hands down. Or fucking. Fucking perfect turkey dinner.”

“Ah, got it,” Sirius’ smile slowly turned down at the corners and he held Remus’ face gently in his hands. “My mother is not an—easy woman. My father’s not…he cares about hockey. That’s about it. I wish it was just something I could do.”

“I’m sorry. Mon chou.”

Sirius wrinkled his nose but laughed. “Cute.”

“It’s only for two days, anyway,” Remus said, pushing Sirius’ hair away from his face. “You’ll be back before you know it.” He pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Let me make you some breakfast, okay? Anything you want in particular?”

Sirius smiled sleepily at him, hands sliding down to the dip of Remus’ lower back. He thumbs moved gently across his skin. “You’re always so good to everyone. Which… Re, last night was…”

Remus felt his chest warm as Sirius shook his head, laughing softly as he pressed his lips to Remus’ temple.

“You’re kind,” Sirius said in a soft voice. “I feel good when I’m with you. You treat me like I’m…just myself.”

Remus placed his palm on Sirius’ chest and let him talk.

“I never thought I’d ever get to be with—anyone I actually wanted to be with.”

Remus watched his own fingers trace a pattern over Sirius’ collarbone. “So, all those girls…” He had a sudden flash of Sirius with his hand on some girl’s waist, chin tilted into their kiss.

Sirius laughed. “Those girls. They’re—fine.” Remus snorted and Sirius squeezed him closer. “I just mean…I know what they’re after, you know? A story to tell their friends, a good time. So, I kiss them, keep up appearances, and let them down gently.”

Remus sat up and stared at him. “You mean you never…”

Sirius scrunched his nose. “I did, in the beginning but…it’s exhausting, being someone you’re not. Especially in a setting like that, you know? Where there’s nowhere to hide.”

Remus nodded slowly, leaning into the knuckles that Sirius traced against his cheek. “I hated when you picked up girls.”

Sirius grinned. “Jealous?”

Remus raised an eyebrow, “Who’s calling who jealous?”

Sirius laughed and leaned forward for a quick kiss before falling back against Remus’ pillows with a groan and long stretch. Remus was still figuring out how to deal with a warm, stretched out Sirius Black in his bed.

“Mon dieu, I’m sore,” Sirius lifted one long, bare thigh up, throwing it across the backs of Remus’ legs. “Stretch me out, like at the rink.”

Sirius was already laughing halfway through the words, and then Remus was too, but he grabbed Sirius’ thigh anyway, pushing his knee back towards his chest.

“Aren’t I off duty?”

Sirius just made a noncommittal response and closed his eyes. Remus relaxed his leg and dug his fingers into the part of Sirius’ hip flexor that he knew tightened up a lot.

“I was joking, Re,” Sirius’ smile was soft, but he let out a breath as Remus’ fingers worked.

“We have a big roadie coming up after the break, and you’re nice and relaxed right now. The perfect time for some extra attention.”

Sirius laughed, staring up at the ceiling and letting Remus smooth his hands over the sensitive strip of skin that Remus had never touched bare before. It was soft and slightly paler than the rest of Sirius’ body, like it never saw sun. Remus liked that idea, that he was touching something that nobody, not even the sun, got to touch.

“Besides,” Remus said, in a quieter voice. “I like touching you.” He glanced up when he felt Sirius’ eyes on him. “It’s pretty surreal, after…you know. All this time.”

Sirius turned his head, but didn’t raise it off the pillows. His dark hair curled, like a halo around his head on the white pillowcase. Sirius reached forward and tangled their fingers together in the air before pulling forward with his hand until Remus had to lay against his chest. Sirius pressed the back of Remus’ palm against his mouth.

“It’s only a few days,” he said, as if he was trying to convince himself.

Remus nodded. “Only a few days.”

Remus had a spray bottle in one hand and a towel in the other, deep-cleaning his apartment when his phone began ringing, interrupting his music.

He answered it with his headphones without looking, assuming it was his mother telling him they had landed.

“Hey mom, okay flight?”

“Would your mother tell you she likes the way you look when you come?”

Remus coughed out a surprised laugh, and he could almost picture Sirius’ smile on the other end of the line.

“No,” Remus said. “No, she certainly wouldn’t. Are you at the airport, too?”

“Yep,” Sirius sighed. “Kill me.”

“Mm,” Remus said, spraying down his kitchen counter. “Life in the airport lounge, waiting for your father’s private jet must be hard.”

Sirius laughed dryly.

“I’m kidding,” Remus said softer. “I wish you were here.”

“I’ve had five bags of pretzels. That’s how stressed I am.”

“Aw, ba—um,” Remus set the spray bottle down hard. “I—sorry. Aw.”

“Did you just almost call me babe?”

“No,” Remus said, pressing his palm over his eyes. Then, after a pause, “No, I almost called you baby.”

Sirius was silent on the other end of the line. Remus listened to the sound of flights being announced in the background and Sirius’ breathing for a moment.

“That’s…” Sirius said finally, clearing his throat a little. “That’s good.”

“Good?” Remus asked carefully.

Sirius laughed, “I’m not exactly used to pet-names, Remus. It’s—it’s not a bad change.”

Remus’ heart pulled a little. “Oh. Well, okay, then.”

“Hey,” Sirius’ voice was soft through the speakers. “You going to keep me company at night while I’m away?”

“Not only will I do that,” Remus said, turning to lean against the counter. “But I will save you the best leftovers you will ever eat.”

“Pre-game meal worthy?”

“You know it, baby.”

Sirius’ laugh was loud and bright in his ear and Remus grinned at having encouraged such a sound.

“I can’t wait. I’ll text you when I land, eh?”

“Don’t forget,” Remus said. “Text me whenever you want.”

“It’ll let you know that I’m still alive. Remember, my body. My mother’s garden.”

Remus tightened his grip on the phone. “You’ll be back on the ice soon.”

Sirius let out a long sigh into the speaker. “I will. I’ll be back with the team. I’ll be back with you.”

Remus smiled and knew it showed in his voice. “Have a safe flight, okay?”

“Okay,” Sirius said wistfully. “Bye, Loops.”

Remus had his own ideas about Sirius’ family, but they did nothing to prepare him for the tight, pure unhappiness littering Sirius’ voice when he called that night. Remus’ parents and Julian had left about a half hour ago, tired from their flight in, and Remus had been sitting on the couch, pretending to watch TV and waiting for Sirius’ call. He answered on the first ring.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face at how eager he sounded.

“Hi,” Sirius’ voice crackled through the phone, the greeting clipped. Remus thought he heard a door shut from Sirius’ end, like Sirius hadn’t even waited to fully get to his room to dial the phone.

“How’d it go?” Remus asked quieter this time.

He was answered with a groan, and a rustling that sounded like Sirius falling back onto a bed. “It’s…the same. It’s nice to have Regulus playing in the NHL. Takes some of the time away from talking about me.” Sirius groaned. “Why did I come a day early. I wish I had come tomorrow, had one family dinner, and then just flew out the next morning as planned.”

Remus pulled his knees up to his chest, tucking himself into one corner of the couch. “Fuck, Pads, I’m sorry.”

“What can I do, eh? It’s fine.”

Remus frowned, unsettled by the hints of that old, cold tone that Sirius used to carry around when they’d first met. Less than five hours with his family, and already he was shutting himself back down, containing all remnants of his usual self.

“Miss you,” Remus said softly. He wanted to comfort Sirius, but he didn’t want to cross any lines either. They were so new, and he wasn’t sure what he was allowed.

“Remus, you have no idea,” another heavy sigh broke up Sirius’ words. “How much I miss you.”

Remus sprawled out on the couch with a sigh of his own, listening to Sirius breathe on the other side of the phone. Never something he’d thought he’d be doing.

“How’s my favorite super fan?” Sirius asked after a few moments.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “I really hope you aren’t calling me that.”

Sirius laughed. “Julian.”

“Oh,” Remus smiled. “Unknowingly dying that you’re asking. He’s good. He loves hockey, but that means he’d rather be on the ice than do any of his school work which is posing a little bit of problem for my parents but…you know. It’s cute. If he loves it, he should work hard.”

Sirius hummed. “Yeah, I think so.”

“I mean, grades, and all that, but…”

“Hockey,” Sirius said wistfully and Remus laughed, agreeing.

Remus could practically feel Sirius rubbing his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and so, after a few moments of silence, he asked again, with one addition that he hoped would break the ice that, Remus was quickly learning, Sirius allowed to freeze over when he was around his parents for too long.

“How’d it go, baby?” Remus said quietly into the phone.

Sirius made a low, wounded noise. “Re.”

“I get it if you feel like you can’t talk about it while you’re there.”

Sirius was quiet again. Remus was learning that that was also something he did. He liked it, how careful Sirius was about collecting his thoughts. Like everything he said mattered. Then again, Remus didn’t know how he felt about what in his life could have led to that. The immense media pressure, probably, and everything he said being constantly taken completely out of context.

“I…” Sirius’ began, then stopped. “I can’t.”

Remus nodded, heart squeezing. “Okay. That’s fine, of course, Sirius.”

“No,” Sirius said, voice almost a whisper. “What about—Would you say…again.”

Remus squinted a little, confused. What had he said? And then, he realized.

“It’s alright,” he said, biting his lip. “It’s alright, baby.”

Sirius laughed and it shook a little. “Is that so stupid?”

“No. God, no,” Remus said all in one breath.

“I want to find something to call you,” Sirius said, and then there was a sound like he was rolling over. The next time he spoke, his voice was muffled slightly by pillows. “Something good.”

Remus smiled. “Something in French.”

“If you want.”

“Honestly, I…I really like Loops.”

“Yeah?”

Remus nodded. “Yeah. It makes me, you know.” Remus cleared his throat. “Feel like I’m part of the team.” When Sirius started to protest Remus held up his hand, as if Sirius could see him. “I know, I know, I am. But still. It’s a nice reminder.”

Sirius hummed. “I still want something that’s…just for me.”

Remus’ entire body went warm.

“You call me…” Sirius began.

“Baby,” Remus said breathlessly.

“You’re the only one,” Sirius’ voice was like heat running down Remus’ spine. “I want to be the only one.”

You are, Remus wanted to say. Sometimes it feels like you always have been.

But that was insane.

“Re,” Sirius questioned.

“Sorry, I’m here.”

“Do you…we can FaceTime?”

Remus was hitting the video call feature before he took his next breath. Sirius’ face appeared on the screen, smiling but a little tight around the eyes. Remus wanted to fix it. He wanted to fix it right now.

“Hi,” Sirius said.

“Hi,” Remus said.

They stared at each other, and then Remus swallowed, working up the nerve.

“I…I was thinking about going into the bedroom.”

One corner of Sirius’ mouth quirked up. “I’m already in bed. Catch up, Fruit-Loop.”

Remus couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, a little too giddily for his liking, as he pushed himself off the couch to pad into his bedroom. He crawled onto his bed and, on next looking down at his phone, Sirius was sprawled against the pillows—sans shirt.

“Fuck me,” Remus mumbled, falling back against his pillows. He could feel the anticipation of it all beginning to harden him in his pants and he reached down to squeeze himself through his sweatpants lightly.

Sirius’ eyes were dark and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Montre moi.”

A shiver ran down Remus’ spine. Show me.

Remus squeezed himself again, and then held his phone back so Sirius could see the shape of his dick beginning to press itself against the seam of his sweatpants. He ran his hand along his shaft through the fabric a few times and cupped his balls, beginning to draw up. Sirius let out a shaky breath at the sight and Remus could hear a rustling like he was beginning to play with himself, too. Remus could picture the way Sirius’ nimble, calloused fingers wrapped around himself, the width of his palms. Perfect for scoring goals. Perfect for this.

“I wish you could touch me,” Remus said without thinking, and then flushed.

“I’ll tell you how I would,” Sirius said.

“Show me you first,” Remus said. “I need to see.”

Sirius held his phone back, too, resting it on one of his strong thighs before unbuckling his belt and the dark jeans he was wearing.

“Pads, your jeans. Where the fuck do you keep those all season?”

Sirius laughed, but Remus was soon too distracted for an answer. Sirius was reaching up for the band of his boxers before hooking them below his balls to reveal his semi. He rolled himself in his hand, big even while soft.

“Huh,” Remus’ breath punched out of him and he felt his dick twitch up against his palm.

“Remus,” Sirius said as he gave himself lazy strokes, filling out rapidly.

“Hm?��

“Take your dick out of your pants and make yourself hard.”

Remus couldn’t help but smile. “Well, that’s a familiar tone of voice. Captain.”

Sirius smiled, too, fingers coming to rest around the base of his dick, almost at full mast. The vein was beginning to trace itself out on the underside, and Remus was determined to get him there. He wished he could feel his heartbeat.

Remus complied, shoving his sweats and underwear down to his thighs and then dragging a palm up the length of himself. He didn’t usually get hard so fast, but he already felt sensitive. His dick bobbed in the air a few times.

“Fuck,” Sirius’ voice came lowly through the speakers. “Yeah, Loops, just like that.”

Remus reached over to his bedside table and retrieved a bottle of lube, propping Sirius up on a pillow to take a little into his hand. His grip turned into a slick glide and he let his head fall back in the pillows. Having both of his hands free let him cup one hand around his balls and he spread his thighs a little at how good it felt with Sirius right there.

“You looks so good, Re, mon dieu. Fuck, you don’t even—I bet no one on the team even knows how strong you are under that fucking team jacket. Do you use the team gym?”

Remus let out a breathless laugh, holding his dick around the base and rolling his head to the side to look at Sirius. “That’s what you’re wondering right now, you hockey nerd.”

A faint blush rose to Sirius’ cheeks. “You look so good. You look…God, come out onto the ice to me when I’m home. Fuck, I know you’re good. I can tell by the way you fucking move.” As he spoke, Sirius’ hand began to stroke his dick again. He was hard now, and the tip of his cock was shiny with precome. It was then that Remus remembered just how much of that precome there would be. The thought made him groan and he was suddenly blindingly turned on at the thought of Sirius, just on the other side of the screen, watching him.

“Do that thing you like, Re,” Sirius panted. “The thing on the top.”

“How do you know that?” Remus said. “You’ve seen my dick once.”

“Watching you,” Sirius said simply, and then made a little punched out sound. “Fuck, I never thought I’d get to…”

Remus answered his sound, hips shoving up into his own fist of his own accord.

“Shit,” Sirius murmured, “Remus, Remus…”

Remus pried his eyes open and looked to Sirius, who was already looking at him. His eyes were fixed on the screen, and the camera blurred his fist around himself, but that didn’t stop Remus from seeing the shine dripping on his fingers.

“Do you know how fucking hot that is? It’s like you just—fuck, you’re not coming but you just…”

“Embarrassing, though,” Sirius smiled a little before his mouth dropped open. “Not good for boners at the wrong time. Leak all over my pants.”

“Jesus,” Remus panted, and rubbed his palm over the crown of his dick.

“There you go,” Sirius sounded out of breath and smug. “I was right.”

Remus could only grunt in response.

“Come on, Loops,” Sirius said. “Tighter, make yourself come. Imagine…” Sirius’ voice broke off, and he sounded almost nervous when he began again. “Imagine I—Imagine I’d let you fuck me.”

Remus’ eyes, fallen closed, snapped open. He felt his dick fatten in his hand, red and drooling.

“Sirius…”

“I want that,” Sirius said softly. “If—if you don’t—”

“Yes,” Remus gasped, hand working himself faster. He reached down again to squeeze his balls, heavy now. “Fuck, baby, yes, yes, yes—“

With those words, Remus watched Sirius fall apart, coming in thick strips against his stomach. Sirius cut his own cry off with gritted teeth, his hips flexing up as he worked himself through it, coming and coming.

The sight was enough. Remus’ orgasm hit him hard, made his head heavy against his pillow as his dick pulsed in his hand. His chest heaved and he was faintly aware of Sirius murmuring gently in French as he came down from his high.

Remus caught his breath and looked down at the dark stains on his sweatshirt, and then at Sirius—who looked dazed and sated.

“Fuck,” Sirius laughed, and it was accompanied by his bright smile, the tightness erased. Remus felt pride swell in his chest.

“Better?” Remus smiled.

“Yeah. Lots.”

“Do you…” Remus licked his lips. “Did you mean that? Do you really want that?”

Sirius flushed, but nodded. “I mean,” he ran a hand through his hair, slightly sweaty now so that parts of it stuck up off of his forehead. “I’d be fine with it both ways, honestly. Like—so fine. I mean, Re, I’ve never even…But I want you.”

Remus bit his lip against his smile. “I wish you were here. I’d…any time you want.”

Sirius’ smile turned a little shy, but he had the very same excited look in his eye that he sometimes had before a game.

After they cleaned themselves up, Remus brought his phone into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Sirius made him laugh and drool toothpaste everywhere, but it was worth it just to get to watch Sirius, butt naked, root around in his suitcase for his pajamas.

“Wait,” Remus said as he flicked the bathroom light off. “Is this your childhood room I’m seeing?”

Sirius had set his phone down for a moment to pull his sweatpants on and he laughed before giving Remus a glance around. Remus frowned.

“That looks…”

Sirius crawled into bed, raising his eyebrows at Remus. “Like a hotel room?”

“Yes…a really expensive one.” Remus followed Sirius, badly wishing he was pulling back the covers for the both of them.

“I can’t believe I have this fucking…” Sirius broke off in a yawn, rubbing his eyes. “Fucking dinner tomorrow. I mean Reg will barely look at me, I just…” he shook his head. “I don’t want to just dump this on you.”

“No, no,” Remus said, folding one hand beneath his pillow so it was almost, almost like they were on their sides facing each other. “Pads. You can talk to me.”

Sirius closed his eyes. “No, this was a good night—”

“The only way this could be a bad night is if you go to sleep upset. I hate seeing you hurting, Sirius.”

Sirius smiled a little, but it soon dropped off his face as he stared, eyes a little unfocused. “I never really talk about it. Not to anyone except, you know, therapy. Where I know it won’t get out.”

“Not even to James?” Remus prompted gently, and Sirius shook his head.

“No. I don’t—It’s not an excuse. Plenty of people go through so much worse than a slap around now and then—”

Sirius cut off shortly at Remus’ harsh intake of breath. His gray eyes flicked downward, then back to Remus’ face.

“I thought you knew. The…the phone call in the lounge…”

“I…” Remus swallowed. “I did, I think. I just—to hear you really say it is… That isn’t an excuse. Pads, you…I mean you’re so strong. Think about that. You found help. On your own. That’s twenty times more than a lot of people can say.”

Sirius nodded, picking at the thread on the mattress. “Heather says I have a bad habit of ‘belittling myself,’” Sirius smiled a little. “Like, my problems. I mean, I get hit in hockey all the time. I know, I know that’s different. But it doesn’t always feel different.”

“And Regulus, does he…”

“No. He doesn’t disobey them. Guess he saw the consequences and got the thought through his head earlier than I did.”

Sirius was quiet for a moment, and then a firm, determined look crossed his face. “I wouldn’t trade places with him though. I wouldn’t give up the Lions for anything.”

“What do you mean give up the Lions? Your parents asked you to give up the Lions?”

“They wanted me to get a trade after my rookie year,” Sirius nodded. “My dad played for the Snakes. His career was ended by Godric, you remember. Leo Godric, number 4. It was an accident, but, you know…one wrong hit and you’re done. That’s what happened to my dad and his back. He’s never forgiven the organization for not kicking Godric out of the league.”

Remus could imagine that. Along with Mr. Black’s harsh face. Godric was a hero in Gryffindor, one of their best.

“My mom,” Sirius said, then took a breath like the words were pouring out of him too fast. “My mom saw it that way, too. They put all this work, all this money into making me a good player—”

“You’re the best player,” Remus broke in. “The best, Sirius.”

A sad sort of smile crossed Sirius’ face. “Not if I’m on the Lions. Then I’m just another trader to them.”

“That’s why,” Remus realized, feeling breathless. “That’s why…in the beginning…”

Remus thought of Sirius’ hunched shoulders, his carefully blank face, his cold looks.

Sirius nodded again. “Why make friends if you’re just going to have to leave them? No matter how incredible they seem? My mom—my mom was calling me everyday, saying—making these threats…Dad’d come down to my house and just…well, you know. It’s easy to play off bruises in a locker room.”

Remus shivered at the thought. All the times he’d worked with Sirius, all the times he’d seen various, ugly dark splotches on his ribs and shoulders.

“But you refused,” Remus said, gripping the phone like, through it, he could hold Sirius close. “You refused the trade.”

“I did.”

“Fuck,” Remus rested his cheek against his pillow, not realizing how tense his shoulders had become. “And no one knows?”

“You do, now.”

“Sirius…god, that’s—the Lions Organization—“

“They know, but only because my mother came and,” Sirius laughed bitterly, rubbing his eyes again. “She came and did what she always does. Coach helped me send her away so, I guess he knows, too. At least a little. He didn’t actually make me talk about it.”

Remus didn’t know what to say, only, “I wish you were here. I’d kiss the hell out of you.”

“I’d probably just…shit, what is the word for when ice cream…”

Remus raised an eyebrow, heart beating a little faster. “I…melt?”

“Yes!” Sirius smiled, looking a little brighter. As if his story had lightened him. “I’d melt. I like to kiss you.”

“That…” Remus could only grin back. “Baby.”

Sirius smiled back at him for a moment before he reached out, as if to touch the screen. “We should get some sleep. What is it, now, three? Big day tomorrow, lots of eating. Lots of family. A good family for you. You have to tell Julian I say hi.”

Remus nodded. He would give anything to just be spending the day with Sirius tomorrow, in their sweatpants and keeping an eye on a roasting turkey.

“Yeah,” Remus whispered. “Goodnight, Pads. See you soon, eh?”

“Yeah,” Sirius whispered back. “Re…” he began, but shook his head, as if he didn’t have the words. But Remus knew. “Goodnight.”

The first Remus heard of it was an email from Lions Management. It had been sent out to all of the training and equipment staff, something vague about not talking to reporters. Remus really got the news from twitter.

#BlackBash was trending. And attached to all of the tweets was a video which thumbnail was, at first he thought of Sirius, but then he recognized Regulus Black’s face. It must have been from before the short Thanksgiving break because he was in Snake green in his locker room. Remus held his breath, hand pressed to his throat, as he hit play.

“Regulus,” a reporter’s voice came through faintly from off frame, “Do you have any comments on the rivalry being set up between you and your brother? Does it get in the way of your personal relationship with Sirius at all, being on the Lions and Snakes?”

Regulus didn’t answer for a moment. He seemed like he was trying to play off his hesitation by wiping his face with a towel. But then his eyes, gray-blue like his brother’s, flicked somewhere off camera. His face regained all the sharpness that it had had on the ice.

“My brother’s got a dirty game, slashing and all of that. And you’ve heard him on the ice. I don’t endorse that sort of hockey.”

“And your personal relationship? How about this Thanksgiving—”

“What personal relationship?” Regulus said, eyes dull and casual. “As far as I’m concerned, he might as well stay away with the rest of his pack of cubs.”

Remus stared at the screen. He watched it again. Then again.

It was just—strange. This type of personal attack, especially to locker room media, where you’d be surrounded by staff and teammates. It caused a horrible feeling to sweep through Remus’ chest. At the end of the video, he could just see Snape there, sitting down in his stall beside Regulus’.

He was laughing.

Sirius wasn’t answering his phone.

He was on the plane, Remus tried to tell himself. But he hadn’t even received a good morning text.

He did the next thing he could think of.

The phone rang once before clicking on.

“I’m not reaching him either,” James’ voice said, sounding tight with worry. “This is—fuck, Loops. This isn’t good for him right now.”

He tried Pascal next.

“Remus,” he answered the phone sounding grave. “Good of you to call.”

“That reporter goaded him on but…fuck. What the fuck?” Remus ran a hand through his hair. “Has Sirius called you?”

“I can’t think I’d be above James—”

“I’ve tried James.”

“—and you,” Pascal finished, and Remus blinked.

“Me?” he said.

He could almost feel Pascal’s dark eyebrows raise. “You are friends, non?”

“I…Yeah,” Remus stuttered, feeling his face heat at how jumpy he sounded. “Yeah, no, we are. Just, let me know, if you…”

“Of course, Remus.”

“Thanks, Dumo.”

Remus tried Sirius again, and then a third time when he knew he couldn’t be on the plane anymore. He couldn’t decide if he was more frantic from not hearing from him, or happy that maybe Sirius was trying to keep away from it all. That had to be the healthiest option, even if it was making Remus feel a little insane. He sat down, then stood up again. He watched the video and then threw his phone on the other end of the couch, only to pick it up again.

He was just thinking about catching a cab out to Sirius’ house, when there was a brisk knock on his door.

(A/N: Happy May xx)

#sweater weather #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #wolfstar #wolfstar au #lumosinlove #harry potter #Harry Potter au #hockey!au

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wormstacheangel · 3 years

Text

El Chacal con la trompeta while everyone chants FUERA! at Dean.

Read the first 3 chapters of my latinenatural Aqui (I know I can't believe it has chapters either)

Dean ran up the stairs to the 4th floor, where Sam said he was waiting. His adrenaline was pumping too hard to even wait by the elevator doors.

He got lost trying to find the room because nomas puede pensar que su hermanito ya sabe su secreto.

“Fuck!” Dean said out loud as he turned into another hallway while his head repeated, “No estoy listo! No estoy listo!”

Finally, Dean stood outside the closed glass door with the nameplate that read ‘C. Novak’ with his job description nicely engraved at the bottom. Dean knew Cas had a great job and knew his family owned a successful business; he just didn’t know that his family cleaned their building.

He stood outside the door for a second longer, letting out a shaky breath, before turning the handle on the door and letting himself in.

He didn’t know what he expected to see when he walked in. He was preparing himself for the yelling and the disappointed looks, but he didn’t get any of that. Instead, when Dean walked in, he was practically ignored.

He stood by the doorway watching Sam sit behind the desk while Cas stood behind him teaching him how to do some paperwork. Sam was smiling from ear to ear as he asked question after question while Cas answered them patiently. He was pointing and explaining as much as he could before Sam interrupted him with another question.

“Ya mamón, dejalo en paz.” Dean walked closer to the desk as both heads lifted to look at him.

Cas gave him a small smile while Sam completely ignored his words, eyes shining with excitement, as he pointed at the screen. “Dean! Mira, Cas is teaching me how to read a contract!”

Dean was close enough to read over his shoulder now and looked at the mess of words on the screen, humming as if he could understand any of it, before looking towards Cas.

“Sorry, my little brother is bothering you.”

Dean winks at him as Cas shakes his head, a blush growing at his cheeks.

“Not at all. Sam just mentioned he was interested in law, and while I don’t do any exciting Law and Order stuff, I thought I could show him some basics.” Cas put a hand on Sam’s shoulder to get his attention. “I’ll ask about our internship program and send some paperwork home with Dean.” Cas then looked towards Dean, looking unsure. “If that’s okay with you?”

Before Dean could answer, Sam spun around in his chair and stood up to shake Cas’s hand with both of his. It looked painful, but Cas chuckled with every tug of the arm.

“Really? Oh my god! Thank you, Cas!” Sam then looked at Dean, still looking like a kid locked in a candy store. “Dean, you have the best boyfriend ever! Si haces algo para arruinar esto, te mato.”

Dean’s eyes turned to meet a wide-eyed Cas who smiled awkwardly. “Oh, actually we aren’t-”

Dean’s body took a step forward without really thinking, but he knew what he was about to say as he took Cas’s hand away from Sam’s grip.

“Callate, menso. Cas, if my boyfriend. Tu piensas que no sé qué he's the best.”

“Boyfriend?” Cas looked like he had stars in his eyes as he turned to look back at Dean, his hand squeezing back before the familiar squint replaced it. “Really?”

Dean shrugs, acting as if it was no big deal while the butterflies in his stomach turned into a wasp nest. “Si quieres. If you want.”

All fear melted away as Cas nodded a few times, a growing grin stretching over his lips as big hands reached to cradle his face. Cas’s thumb was barely grazing his bottom lip, making Dean weak in the knees.

“Sammy.” Dean reached with his free hand to slap the back of Sam’s head. “Vete.”

Sam was sitting down looking at the screen again when he turned his glare on him, but Dean snapped his fingers and pointed at the door. His eyes stayed glued on Cas’s face, following the movement of his boyfriend’s tongue licking his lips.

“What? But we haven’t even talked about-!”

“Talk later.” Dean hissed, turning to give his brother the most ‘Si no te vas ahorita te voy a chingar’ stare he could give him.

“Dean,” Cas started as he dropped his hands and took a step back.

“No. No. No. No.” Dean wrapped his hands around Cas’s waist to hold him close because he knew that tone. “Cariño, por favor.”

He ignored Sam’s dumb snort of a laugh--he’ll kill him for that later--as he snuggled his nose into the side of Cas’s throat. He didn’t even care who saw right now; he wanted to make out with his new boyfriend in celebration.

“You two should just sit down and have a conversation. Anyways,” Cas took Dean’s face between his hands to hold his gaze, watching with his right eyebrow lifted to make sure Dean was listening to his words even though Dean was already swallowing hard at the look. “You’re working. So, how about I stay a little later and then I can drive you home after? Is that okay?”

Dean nodded, turning his head just a little to kiss Cas’s palm. “Lo que quieres.”

Cas excused himself to make copies while also asking Dean for his keys to the rooms to go into his brother Gabriel’s office to grab some of the things he essentially borrowed. Dean watched his novio walk out of the office before once again smacking the back of Sam’s head.

“Ow! Dean, si me pegas otra vez-!”

“Que? ¡A ver dime! Que vas hacer, pinche mamón?”

They ended up wrestling on the floor for a few seconds until they both grew tired and sat down behind Cas’s desk, looking out the window and into the night sky. They didn’t say anything for a while until Sam finally broke the silence.

“So que? Eres gay?”

Dean didn’t respond right away, trying to find the right words, but he knew there was one word that would easily explain it, but he has never said it out loud before. His throat dried up at the mere thought of it escaping his lips, but he knew it was time to finally come out. Sam already made it so easy by announcing how much he liked his boyfriend, su novio--fuck, tiene un novio.

Jamás pensó que iba a tener un novio. Let alone a rich white boy. What Cas sees in him, he will never know, but Dean didn’t want his fear and doubt to stop him from being happy.

“No,” Dean answered before clearing his throat. He wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs as he looked down, trying to make himself say it. It was just a word. Nomas es una pinche palabra pero--fuck. “No soy gay. Soy-soy...ugh, mierda this is hard.”

Dean could hear his voice break. His vision blurred as the word sat at the tip of his tongue, wanting to be set free but also fighting to stay hidden away. He was starting to become frustrated with himself, feeling like he was making a big deal out of nothing, but he felt like the world may explode if this didn’t go well.

Que va ser if Sam no cree en bisexuality? If Sam gets mad at Dean for not choosing one or the other because he thinks everyone is pretty great. Otra vez, Dean tenía miedo de perder a su hermanito.

Dean felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Sam looking at him in understanding. It wasn’t disgust or hatred like Dean feared, but he almost looked...proud?

“It’s okay, Dean. You don’t have to say anything. But just reassure me, are you happy with Cas?”

Dean let his shoulders fall and let out a heavy breath he held before looking down at his shaking fist. When he stretched his hand out, it burned, but he felt a little more relaxed because this, he could say.

He looked back at Sam and tried to smile while failing to hold in tears. “I really like him, Sammy. De verdad, yo pienso que me estoy enamorando de él.”

Sam’s eyes widened at the words, but then tears started to fall.

“Dude,” Dean rolled his eyes at Sam’s tears, trying to ignore his sliding down his cheeks. “¡No llores! You’re making it weird.”

“Sorry.” Sam chuckled as he wiped his tears, and then it was quiet again as they stared out the window.

“Okay, ya terminamos de hablar.” Dean slapped his leg before standing up. Giving Sam his back real quick so he can wipe sneakily wipe his face from any snot or tears. Sam copies him, and they head out of his boyfriend’s --tiene un novio con una officina!--office. “So let’s hurry up and finish so I can go make out with my--Ayi, esta!”

Cas was walking back towards his office with his arms filled with books and a large plant. He looked up when he heard Dean’s voice and sighed with relief.

“Oh, good! You’re still here. Can you help me with this? I still have one more plant to get, but it’s much heavier. I swear if Gabriel steals my shit again, I’m gonna make him into fertilizer.”

Dean’s heart raced as he grinned. He nudged his brother once before whispering, “No le digas nada pero lo quiero mucho.”

Sam only nodded once, his face scrunched up in confusion as if he wasn’t sure if he could tease him before Dean ran over to help Cas carry the big plant back to his office.

He held his cheek out for a kiss as soon as he dropped the plant where Cas wanted it, but instead of receiving a nice kiss, Cas started to push him out of his office.

“Okay, go to work so we can leave already.”

“Ni un besito?”

“No besito.”

“Pero, Angelito,” Dean kicked the door close once he was close enough and spun around to wrap his arms around Cas’s waist. Tugging him close until their noses touch.

Cas chuckled as he stood utterly still, almost challenging Dean with the lift of the eyebrow. “Yes?”

Dean clicked his tongue, pretending to be annoyed, as he dropped his hands.

“Nada. Nada. I’ll go back to work.”Dean reached for the door handle and quickly said, “Okay, bye. Te quiero.”

“Te qui-What?”

Dean opened the office door only for Cas to push it close again. He turned around to see his boyfriend looking at him con ojos azules y brilloso, watching him like he wasn’t sure if he heard it right.

“You um, you said-” Cas eyes watched his face as he nervously tried to read Dean’s face. “You explained that-that means two different things, and I’m just not sure if you mean-”

Dean interrupts Cas’s rambling with a kiss. It was short, but he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I love you. I do.” Dean reached to gently wipe a tear from Cas’s cheek, smiling as he repeats himself. “Te amo, Cas.”

Cas opened his mouth, reaching for Dean, but they both jumped when they heard loud pounding at the door.

“Dean! Bobby’s coming.” Sam hissed through the door, and Dean could hear his name being faintly called along with curses.

“Shit, I left all my things on the floor. El viejo va estar enojado.” Dean kissed Cas’s forehead before opening the door and whispering, “I’ll come get you when I’m done.”

He was out the door when Cas called for him.

“Dean, wait-”

Dean and Cas were now standing face to face with Bobby, who looked between them with a questioning glare—mainly aimed at Dean. Sam was standing behind Bobby, knowing what to do as much as Dean.

“Hello.” Cas stepped forward with his hand stretched out to shake Bobby’s. “Sorry to keep your workers busy. They were helping me move some things in my office.”

Bobby shook Cas’s hand with a grunt. He pointed with a raise of the chin towards the office. “Oh. That office?”

Cas looked and then nodded. “Yes. Sorry. I didn’t introduce myself. Castiel Novak. Nice to meet you and sorry again.”

Dean could read Bobby’s face. Nope. Bobby does not like him.

Hijo de puta.

#latinenatural #sobrenatural #wormstachewrites #destiel #fic #destiel ficlet #destiel fic #destiel fanfiction #the last words are son of a bitch in Spanish but it sounds much harsher #also yes i am working on the next chapter for this cause I'm dumb and can't let this go #if you enjoy it thank you so much!

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calypsoff2 · 3 years

Text

Six.

My daughters are the most stubborn, they are really mine. The elder two anyways, Imani is like her dad she will just be quiet and proceed to whatever is happening, it’s nice to see her being less naughty. She does the naughty act with her father more then anything, it’s Chris though. He is to blame because he spoils her so much, the whole temper tantrum she would have, the whole staying in our bed and being naughty is because of her father. She has calmed down a lot, I am unsure if she understands that her dad is hurt. I am unsure if she has understood the whole speech, but we will get through it, I don’t want the girls to be at the hospital sleeping so dragging them to the apartment was hell, so many questions but Joyce is here, so is my mother. My mother is with me, she will be at the place because I will of course be going back to the hospital, but I had to come with them, I had no choice in that, they wanted to be there, so I came here, tuck them into bed and answer their questions. I really want to be free with my kids, I want them to know that they can ask me anything, that nothing is a stupid question “Imani is asleep girls so please don’t be loud in the bedroom” my little pumpkin was too tired “I am not, I want don’t want to sleep in the middle and Tianna won’t listen” Rylee complained “why don’t you?” I questioned “because you are sleeping in the bed with us?” looking down at Rylee, I had to laugh. She is very amendment that I am, but I am not “girls” I said sighing out, Tianna came up behind Rylee to look at me too “I am going to tuck you both into bed, we can talk but I am going back to the hospital, when dad is awake you can come” oh they don’t like the answer “we can stay awake, that is not fair?” they are cute “of course you can but you both need sleep, Gran Gran Mon is going to be here, I want you both to be good. My mom isn’t shy of whooping your asses” Rylee scoffed walking off “is dad ok mom?” Tianna asked “of course he is, come on now” hard work these two, that is me all over.

Resting my head in my hand just on my knees on the edge of the bed, I won’t go until they fall asleep “does this mean we not going to have Christmas?” Tianna asked “that doesn’t mean it at all, we may need to just appreciate what we have, we didn’t get time to buy things did we really, but I will make it special for you girls” Rylee gasped “we didn’t get dad his present” Rylee looked at her sister “mom we have too” nodding my head “that is fine girls, Gran will take you don’t worry. Daddy will be so happy with the gift. You girls need to not worry because he will be ok, he will be so excited to see you. Lay down” I said to Rylee, these girls are so me and it’s making me laugh “what is funny mom?” Tianna asked because I sound crazy “just you both are me all over, oh god. You both are just how I am, just stubborn and demanding” I chuckled, Tianna grinned at me “but do you have any questions?” I know they will “I love you mom” Rylee said, I cooed poking my lips out “that means a lot, I hope I am the mother you both love. Also Imani but she is young, I love her innocence. I want you girls to take care of her though and be good for mom please. She won’t have silly behaviour” Rylee and Tianna both looked at each other “she whooped me twice” I cringed “you deserved it; she doesn’t put up with bullshit Rylee. And you got cheeky too, so I am not angry she did that either” she was being a little too silly.

My loves are asleep, they are safe and sound in bed, I want them to have their rest so they can be ready for another day. Leaving the door open a little as I made my way to the living area “are they asleep?” my mother asked, nodding my head “yeah, the girls are aware that you are taking care of them. They want no drama” my mother smiled a little “not that, I just didn’t want them to turn around and say mom said she would be here, and she isn’t, Rylee is the leader of that pack and if she starts, the rest will follow. Just like Robyn Fenty” I laughed shaking my head rolling my eyes “whatever mom, I can’t help that I am strong minded, but Tianna does look for Rylee, she checks for her reaction and then she reacts but are you ok with them?” my mother opened her arms “I am of course, my heart hurts to know my son in law is in that hospital bed, you be there for him” hugging my mother close “thank you” I said in a whisper “don’t thank me, just want you to be strong. We are here for you, let me know when you want me to bring the kids” moving back from the hug “I will, the girls. They really want to buy Chris a gift, they may talk you into going so please take them, tell them that mommy gave it from their savings. They want to pay but just do that for me” my mother poked her lips out “bless them, I will. Just take care” now I need to go back, and I hope he is awake by now, he has been asleep for a while, he is tired. He is tired of being hurt, I know how much this shit kind of drains him, I say kind of, but it does literally drain him “I am honestly thankful you came; I didn’t think you would, it is Christmas coming up and you are preparing for that” my mother shook her head “I worry about you then any of my kids, I am here for you. I just want the best for you” I adore my queen so much.

The paparazzi don’t fucking relax, like they are literally living outside. Walking into the hospital “I keep telling you I know him, Rihanna” seeing Herb, clearly they weren’t letting him go “I am so sorry, I heard and came here out of the studio, what happened” he rushed over to me “there is a lot of people already upstairs in the waiting room so honestly, it’s nice you are here but they aren’t going to let anyone go unless family, I don’t know what happened but he was involved in a hit and run, you were there?” I pointed “I was yes, I left to go to the studio, he did say he was going to go soon too, he was going home to LA, so we left, nothing was sinister going off at all. Shit is wild to me” Chris has formed a close bond to Herb, since he wanted to venture into music, Chris created a record label and Herb is the first person and honestly, he is doing well “it’s ok, I will call you. When he wakes up, you will be the first one and you can see him. He is not awake, he is stable and ok, but we just need to give space for a while but thank you” he looks so sad “I got scared seeing that too” G added, smiling at them both “I know, we can just pray for him. I am going to go back up now but thank you” Herb and G saluted me, Frank let me walk ahead of him to go upstairs.

Chris’ nephew is a grown ass man, it’s crazy how long I have been with him and this is why I couldn’t be without him ever, Chris’ dad just makes me happy he is so calm about everything, he is like Chris besides the part where Chris doesn’t shut his mouth though “sometimes I think someone has done something bad on my son, all he knows is pain. Like someone is taking him from me” Joyce took the words right out of my mouth “I was thinking the same thing, it pains me. Like no matter what, I know we have had some downs, we have had more ups then downs but no matter what, he is a good man. And I just feel like, I don’t know. Something was off between the fact Chris didn’t use the SUV, like we use that service to get from one place to another, Uber isn’t bad. I am not putting my nose up at it, but he shouldn’t have been in that Uber, and yes he will having a bodyguard too. Chris likes to think he isn’t famous, but he is” TJ and Mel aren’t here, only family they will allow so that is why they have gone “yes I understand, my son is famous. It’s crazy how much VA know is, I don’t even know them, and they are saying you are Chris dad” Clinton chuckled “but my son is a humble man” he is right, he is a humble man that I adore so much.

I should be in the room with Chris but then the family are in this room, the doctor isn’t letting us all sit in the room, I don’t know why but he says that he wanted Chris to get the rest, he wants to know that he doesn’t wake up confused, he said that he has been confused but I am just here counting the minutes “you know what breaks my heart is that Christmas, it is a time for rejoicing and being happy. It breaks my heart even more to know my grandbabies saw the headline” Joyce said “oh god I know, well this is Chris’ fault. He told them if you want to know where mom is do that, but he has banned them from social media, I let them use the tablet and if he knows he saw that, he will now say why did you give it” Joyce smiled so wide “they are so clever my babies, they really are. I just want to hug them so much, I was saying to Clinton that Imani is Chris all over” I laughed out “she would be so perfect as a boy” Tootie said “oh god, let’s not. Remember when we all thought she would be too” the door opened “Mrs Fenty” looking over at the door “Chris is awake, just now. We would like you to come please” I gasped “really?” I shot up “we just want you right now” Joyce was going to get up “can he his mom not come?” I asked “we just want to test Chris, it’s nothing bad, sorry. Just the doctor is testing this out” looking behind “sweetie, you can go” I feel bad now, I know she wants to see her son too.

Following the nurse “hi, sorry. He has just woke up, and he seems to be a little confused. I want to see his reaction to you. Just because he did ask about you, so when you are ready” he is using me as a test, of course I will do this. I mean I have no doubt in my mind he has forgotten me; he knows what is good for him anyways. Opening the door, there is another nurse with him, he didn’t look happy, the conversation went quiet, and he looked at the door, he looks so adorable. A smile on his face “this would only happen to you” walking into the room “are you going to put the oxygen mask back on now?” the nurse said, Chris can’t stop smiling. My heart right now, I am so happy to see him awake, the smile on his face. As I got closer to him, I can hear the shortness of breath, I know how my man breathes “you back with us eh” holding his hand “am I dead yet?” side eyeing him “because I am in heaven, you’re here” he is so annoying, grabbing the oxygen mask and placed it over his mouth “is that what you wanted?” I said to the nurse “more to shut him up” I laughed looking back over at him “you got me scared there” my voice broke “you know I can’t be without you stupid” he is angers me too, moving my hand away from his as I wiped the tears that fell “you’re here with us, that is all I care about. I am so happy” god now I won’t stop crying, I am upsetting him too now “no don’t you cry now” I said sniffling.

Sitting down on the chair next to Chris’ bed “I shall leave you both alone” the doctor has seen what he needed, he hasn’t said what he found out, but he wasn’t let down with the results, he left us alone “and Chris try and keep the oxygen mask up” he is going to take it off “I don’t like this tube?” he is so wheezy with his speech, my poor poppa “the tube is helping you, we will do a scan tomorrow. We need the lung inflated and back to how it was, you are badly bruised Chris so we are happy for what we got, glad it isn’t then what it could have been” I am glad the doctor said that, it shut him up anyways. The doctor left the room, taking in a deep breath looking at him “here I was waiting for you to come home, god has other plans” Chris nodded his head “I am just so happy to see you, imagine not being able to see your face again. I think that kills me more then anything” rolling my eyes playfully shaking my head “be quiet, I am just glad to see you’re awake and that to me just makes me happy, I thought I lost you Chris. On the flight here I prayed so hard, I really thought I did, and you don’t understand how much you mean to me. You fucking mean the world to me Chris, I can’t be here without you. I understand what happened, the police have said it is a hit and run, the driver died. I have spoken to Deja, she had a few marks on her. The police assumed it was done maliciously, asking if you had anyone that disliked you, I said no but what happened? I don’t want you to answer now because you need to keep that on” Chris shook his head “I want to tell you; I don’t care about this shit. How is the girls? Are you they ok?” he asked “they are ok” I don’t want to tell him that the girls saw what they saw right now “that’s good, as long as they are ok. Do they know?” nodding my head not really going in depth with what they said “I just saw the bright lights, and that was it. I kept waking and knock out again. Like the SUV wasn’t there, Mel was unwell and they were leaving together so I said take it” squinting my eyes “unwell? They went out for a meal or something” Chris puts hus oxygen mask back on “don’t worry about it Chris, just get better. Keep that on poppa” he closed his eyes, he seems unhappy. Chris opened his eyes “I love you” he managed to say without moving his mask back “and I love you” I want hi to just rest his mind, lets not think of what happened.

#Chrianna #Chrianna FF #Fanfic #Chrianna Fanfic #Fanfiction #Chrianna Fanfiction

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lu-undy · 3 years

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Un-alone, Chapter 12

Here it is!

Lucien flicked his cigarette through the window of the taxi and the ashes fell to the grey pavement. The car was stopped a few streets away from where Lucien cast his eyes.

He knew this day marked something quite unprecedented for him and above all, for his son. But there was no way either of them could keep up the way that things were.

Through the weeks of their regular meetings, Lucien had developed new habits. First, his sleep cycles were a bit better. He would still wake up a few times per night, but he managed to fall back asleep. Then, the food. The last time Fred had seen him, he had complimented him for how better he looked. Of course, not only were the black bags under his eyes subsiding, but his eyes shone brighter too, as Lucien slowly let go of the alcohol.

He would still enjoy a glass or a few shots when the guilt and the disappointment at his own self struck harder. But his meals grew back to a more reasonable size and his appetite was better. And as they say in French,

Quand l'appétit va, tout va.

[When the appetite goes, everything goes.]

Lucien had also made a habit of playing on his piano. Every evening, he would spend at least an hour of his time playing with the keys. It would get him tired and hungry. He managed to incorporate other noises than shattered glass, sobs and shouts to his day. It was the radio in the morning, while he was readying himself for the day, a bit of TV in the evenings, while he played, and even after. He learnt to not forget, but distract himself.

Testing his son further was draining him of his energy. Lucien would always come back home and feel the strain of the day weighing on his shoulders and back.

He sighed, but the sound of footsteps broke his train of thought and Lucien blinked a few times, landing back in the taxi he had been waiting.

"You made me wait." Lucien lowered the window further.

"I'm on time!"

Lucien rolled his eyes up.

“Do you have everything you need?” He eyed the bag in Jérémy's hand and the one on his back.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I am.”

The taxi driver went to take Jérémy’s bags.

"Get in, if you please." Lucien put his cigarette between his lips.

“I’m keepin’ this bag with me.” Jérémy sat at the back, next to his father and the driver resumed his seat before driving off. “So where’re you takin’ me?”

“Your new home.” Lucien answered.

“Where’s that? Is that gonna be a hotel room like you?” Jéremy's eyes lit up.

“You are starting your training, of course it will not be a hotel room like mine.”

“Oh… What then?”

The taxi stopped at the CIA headquarters building.

“You will start where you should. Thank you, driver.” Lucien paid what he owed and Jérémy carried his bags to the CIA, following his father. When they reached reception, Jérémy let his father do the talk as always and they waited.

“What are we waitin’ for?”

“Him.”

A man entered the reception area and went straight to Lucien.

“L! Glad to see you! Tom from archives told me you were back in action in the area.”

“Tony, a pleasure.” Both men shook hands. "This is Jérémy."

Tony was one of those who sure did look like they were part of the army. Not only was his khaki tee-shirt and camo trousers a clue, but his silhouette looked like that of a bull in human form. He was an inch or so shorter than Jérémy but packed with muscles.

"Hello."

"Hey."

Hands were shaken.

"I am bringing him to you to see if I can train him to do the sort of things that I do." Lucien explained.

"Alright, I understand. So we go for full tests, right?" Tony was staring at Jérémy, his eyes darting from his face to every bit of his slim body.

"Oui, please."

"Anything I should know about him?"

"He is fast and his ability to jump is equally impressive." Jérémy smiled proudly at the compliment. "Yet I have not found anything else so far." Jérémy's smile vanished and he frowned.

"You callin' me stupid or somethin'?"

“Ah, and I forgot the loud mouth.” Lucien added.

“Oi!”

“I see.” Tony nodded. “His room is ready here.”

“Can you show him in now?” Lucien asked.

“Sure thing. We’ll start training right after.” Tony turned to a younger soldier waiting a few metres away. “Show him in, yeah? I need a word with L first.”

Jérémy looked up at his father and the Frenchman nodded at him. Lucien then followed Tony to a common room. It was fitted with a kitchen, a few fridges and coffee machines.

“Coffee?”

“Please.”

Tony started preparing everything. He looked at the door and shut it before going on.

“I talked to Old Tom downstairs.” Tony started. He put both mugs of coffee on the table with some sugar and milk. “Is Jeremy…?”

“Oui, he is.” Lucien answered and nodded in thanks as he took a spoon and some sugar.

“I could tell.”

“The resemblance, I suppose?”

“Affirmative.” Tony answered.

“Did Tom tell you the entire story?”

“No. But he did tell me that it was far from what he would have hoped for you.”

Lucien smiled, albeit sadly.

“It is nice of him to say so.” He took a sip of his coffee. “May I ask a favour of you, Tony?”

“Of course.”

“Jérémy does not know of…” Lucien failed to find the right word.

“He doesn’t know you’re his father?”

Lucien shook his head.

“It isn’t my place to tell him either.” Tony said with a smile that he wanted to be comforting.

“Thank you.”

“You have nothing to thank me for. You are his superior, and I’m his coach.”

“Indeed.”

Both men drank more of their coffees.

“How long does your program of tests take?”

“A few weeks, three usually.”

“Ah. And at the end, what exactly can I expect? I know that the system here in the United States is very different from back in France.”

“Well, first thing is medical tests. Then, if he’s fit, it’s physical. That takes about a week, ten days tops. We usually end with reflexes and logic tests. In the end, it all allows us to have a first guess as to what branch or what field would suit him best. For example, mechanics are good with logic, but a bit less good physically. Snipers are good with reflexes, less so in stamina, and so on.”

“Ah, I see. Where do spies fall in?”

“Usually, their profile is quite balanced, maybe a bit less good physically. An acute sense of logic. We do have this one test that only spies usually crack.”

“Oh, what is that?”

“I’ll call you and you’ll see it for yourself on Jeremy when we get there. You will of course be behind a half see-through window. You’ll see him but he won’t see you, we won’t tell him you’re there either.”

Lucien nodded slowly.

“This sounds perfect, thank you very much, Tony.”

“My pleasure. These are only the first tests and it’s not uncommon that in the end they don’t mean anything, but it’s a start to get to know the recruits.”

“Indeed.”

They finished their mugs and stood up.

“Thank you very much, Tony.” Hands were shaken. “I trust you to keep me informed if anything happens.”

“Affirmative. Thank you, L.” Tony added his second hand to the handshake and Lucien raised a curious eyebrow. “It’s an honour to test your son.”

“Well, you may tell me this if his results are outstanding.” The father answered with a chuckle.

“I am sure he will do great and he’ll be as remarkable as his dad.”

“We can but hope.”

-- Later that day --

Lucien had left the CIA headquarters and had refused to take a taxi back home. He was walking in the street, strolling really, with his hands in his pockets and a cigarette between his lips.

He was confident that Jérémy was in the best hands. He still wondered though. Would the young man have the patience to go through rigorous training?

The Frenchman let his feet do the walking through the streets until some flashy neon lights stopped him. He raised his eyes and winced, and when his gaze met with the name of the establishment, his jaw dropped and his eyes widened.

“Mon Dieu…”

Cold sweat trickled down his spine and his vision blurred.

“Merde…”

He looked around and saw a bench. Lucien needed to sit down, his knees were giving up. He wobbled awkwardly to the bench and plopped down on it. He pulled his tie off messily and breathed hard and fast.

He slowly raised his sweat covered brow to the nearby restaurant. The name flashed, repeatedly, and it hurt his eyes periodically.

"Marie…" He raised a hand to his jumping heart.

It was the place he had sung in, all those years ago, the place he had met her. God, non…

The fast beating heart started to ache. Lucien cursed in his breath, his teeth started chattering. Non, non, non! He thought he was over all this! Gone back to eat and sleep!

Now he didn't know anymore. What did he feel? Was it heartbreak? But she had played him! Was it regret? He should have checked her before letting her come close to him. Was it disgust?

"Putain… De merde…"

[Bloody… Hell…]

He kept breathing with difficulty. He needed to let out this wave of anxiety and counter it, preferably with violence.

Lucien yanked his gloves away and lowered his head, holding his hair, pulling it as he clenched his teeth. Gosh he wished he could chew something between his jaws. Lucien's eyes darted left and right and the only thing he saw on the bench next to him was his gloves…

Passers-by did look and stare at the man chewing on his gloves, grumbling and pulling his hair out of his scalp. He was shaking and there was no way Lucien's legs could carry him. He was stuck there! With the blinking, sharp neon flash of his worst mistake taunting him relentlessly.

"Pourquoi… Mais pourquoi j'ai fait ça…? Comment j'ai pu laisser passer ça…?"

[Why… But why did I do that…? How could I have ever let that slip…?]

The gloves fell off his dry mouth and he blabbered the words between hitched breaths.

"Ah, merde…"

[Ah, shit…]

Lucien now realised that his fingers were shaking too. He needed to go away. The faster, the better. He didn't care if he had to crawl on the pavement. And as soon as his mind made the decision, he grabbed his gloves and darted off.

He didn't know how but Lucien managed to make it back to his hotel. His hand found the vodka and he went straight to bed, fully clothed.

He drank, and drank, and drank. With his body temperature on a roller coaster, Lucien was sometimes lying with his back against the wall, his shirt open and sweat beading off his brow, or completely burrowed under his blanket.

He impatiently waited for the alcohol to take him off of himself, to pull him away from his suffering, to drown his anxieties and smother them for him, because he couldn't do it on his own. Eventually, he fell asleep…

… Until a phone call pulled him off of Morpheus' arms.

Lucien grumbled, frowned and at first, he did not fully register that it was the telephone on his night table. He eventually groped for the lamp and then, the phone itself.

"Allô…?"

"L? It's Tony."

Lucien's eyes snapped open instantly and his blood froze.

"I'm sorry to call you in the middle of the night, but you have to come here as soon as possible."

"Is Jérémy safe?"

"Affirmative. But we cannot continue this way and need your input."

"Give me the time to call a taxi, I shall be on my way." Lucien answered.

"Perfect, over." Tony hung up and Lucien looked down at himself.

He stood off the bed and arranged the clothes he still had on before chucking an aspirin in a glass of water and downing it. He called the hotel reception and arranged for a taxi. In no time, Lucien found himself back where he had been that morning. Tony was waiting for him at reception.

"L…"

"Tony, tell me. What happened?"

"I think it'd make more sense if you saw it. Follow me, please."

"But of course."

Tony led Lucien through walls and corridors until they were out of the building and crossing some outside areas.

"See that building there?" Tony pointed at a large, half a dozen floors tall building, a hundred metres or so away. "That's where we keep the new recruits. Behind that building, we have a large field where we train them physically."

"But this is not where you are taking me?" Lucien asked, seeing that they passed it.

"Negative. I am taking you to the one beside it."

Tony pushed the door and led Lucien in until they reached a room.

"After you." Tony said and Lucien entered.

The room had nothing but a table, two chairs, and a lamp over them. On one of the chairs, Jérémy was sitting.

"Oh, hey L…" The young man knew he was in trouble. Everything in his body language screamed of guilt.

"I hope that Tony woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me that you were sleeping outstandingly well…"

Jérémy looked up at Tony.

"We put all the recruits to bed and, and given that we sleep not far, and the walls are paper thin, we started hearing some… noises." Tony said and Jérémy lowered his head, ashamed.

"Noises?" Lucien repeated with one eyebrow arched.

"Affirmative. The kind of noises that we do not imagine we could hear here…"

Lucien’s second eyebrow joined the first, high up on his brow. His imagination ran wild for an instant and he wished from the deepest corners of his soul that it was not what he thought the young man could be doing in his bed at night…

“Show him.” Tony asked Jérémy and the young man delicately put the backpack that had been laying on the ground on the table. Lucien recognised the bag that his son had kept on his lap in the taxi. He gently opened the zipper and Lucien’s eyes snapped wide when two fluffy, white ears popped out in the room. The rest of the head followed suit and soon, the entire cat exited the backpack.

And the Frenchman frowned. This now explained why Jérémy had insisted on keeping his backpack with him in the taxi, as opposed to letting the driver put it in the car’s boot, with his other bag.

“We cannot keep pets here. Not only are some people allergic to cats, but this is not a daycare for pets.” Tony said.

“If she goes, I go too!” Jérémy said, stroking the long-haired cat.

Tony looked from the son to the father.

“This is up to you, L. I shall give you ten minutes.”

“Merci.”

Tony exited the room, leaving father and son alone.

“So…?” Jérémy asked.

“So indeed.” Lucien frowned as he took a seat on the chair opposite his son. He opened his jacket’s button fluidly and sat down. “Jérémy, you have to understand that your life now cannot bear to have any ties with any other living entity. You are to follow orders from superiors and your job, if you pass the tests, will require that you have no ties to this Earth whatsoever.”

“I’m not givin’ Pearl up. This job can fuck off - ouch!”

Lucien's tap behind his son's head was as swift in this impossible hour of the night as it was during the day.

"Whatever! You can hit me and shit, I don't care, she doesn't deserve to get abandoned!"

"Jérémy…" Lucien put a couple of fingers on the bridge of his nose. "We are talking about building you a life career and you are making your start in this career difficult because of your pet cat?”

“Look, it’s simple. It’s either both of us or no one. I can go, put my stuff back in my bag and leave!”

“And return to the chaos of being bullied by seven older brothers and no perspective of a decent future?” Lucien asked disdainfully.

“And why d’you care? What difference does it make to you if I get my life together or not?”

Lucien sighed.

“Why are you so attached to your cat?” He asked back.

“Meow.” Pearl went to explore the table and came close to sniff the only thing of interest on it: Lucien’s gloved hand. The Frenchman ignored her.

“She’s… She used to be my Ma's."

Lucien hid his surprise.

"Your mother owned a cat?"

"Yeah, she said that she reminded her of my Da'." Jérémy petted the fluffy feline, who lay on the table as she started to purr.

"Your… father?" Lucien asked.

"Yeah. Ma' used to say that my Da' was like her, a white, precious thing, only his eyes were lighter."

Lucien looked away and took a deep breath before he sighed.

"Why d'you care so much that I get a job at the CIA?" Jérémy asked. "You just saw me gettin' bullied in the park and boom? You just took pity on me? Pfff, I don't need your pity or this job. Pearl, get in the bag."

"Meow." Pearl refused.

"C'mon, we're leavin' this place." Jérémy stood up and went to grab his backpack on the table, but Lucien grabbed his wrist. "What?"

Their eyes met. Confident and deadly grey versus young and rebellious blue.

"You cannot keep her here..." Lucien looked at Pearl.

"Yeah, I know, I got it, that's why I'm leavin'."

"Jérémy…" Lucien resumed his sentence.

"Jeremy, what? Where d'you want me to put her? She's not goin' in a shelter or anywhere like that."

"I can bring her back to your brothers." Lucien said.

"Never!"

"Why not?"

"They hate her! They never think to feed her and they even kick her out of their way or throw her off of the sofa. She's a cat, yeah, but she never deserves that!"

Lucien sighed.

"Do not lose this job over your cat, think!" He answered. "This opportunity will never come again!"

"Then you take her!" Jérémy replied.

"What?!"

The young man picked the fluffy cat up from the table and held her towards Lucien.

"Here, you take her. You live in a fancy hotel, I guess they won’t say anythin’ about her.”

“Jérémy, I will not care for an animal. I have just enough with you.”

“Oi! Pearl’s not any cat! And she’s better than me. She’s not fussy with food and she doesn’t scratch or bite people. Just… Just treat her right.” Jérémy looked down at her. “You behave with fancypants - ouch! C’mon! I didn’t say anythin’ rude!”

“Oui, you did.”

“Listen, it’s either you take care of her and I stay here or you don’t, and both her and I go.” Jérémy slammed the ultimatum at his father with determination.

A long moment of silence followed, with Pearl’s eyes riveted on Lucien and her fluffy body dangling from Jérémy’s hands.

Lucien sighed and grumbled. He put a hand on his face and stood up. He silently pushed his chair back and went to the door. A split second later, Tony entered the room with Lucien.

“He will go back to training.” Lucien said. “Drop her down.” He looked at Jérémy.

“You takin’ her?” Jérémy asked and obeyed. Pearl’s paws landed on the table and she followed the Frenchman as he went back to the door.

“This is the last time you wake me up in the middle of the night.” The Frenchman concluded and left, the fluffy feline on his heels.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #unalone

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justatiredghost · 3 years

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Living for the Moment Ch21 A series of glimpses at Klaus’ life if he’d met Dave in his mid 20s. His life isn’t magically transformed, love can’t fix either of them when they’re both homeless and in a bad place. They’re not even really ready for a relationship yet. But maybe a supportive friendship can set them on a better path, the two of them inspiring each other to take care of themselves. It’s going to be a long and bumpy ride, and the question is, when will they actually admit to themselves that they have feelings for each other? Read More AO3

Klaus was pacing, too much energy and nothing to do with it, all too aware that he hadn’t had a hit in much too long. He wasn’t sure if the nausea or shakes were because of the withdrawal or panic, but it was only going to get worse, especially once the ghosts started showing up. He crossed his arms tightly, feeling like he was going to crawl out of his own skin. He never had been very good at waiting.

And this was the worst place he could think of to have to wait around in. He hated being back at the Academy. It brought up too many memories, making him feel like a kid again, useless and miserable. Then again, not much had changed there. He was proud of how useless he’d remained.

Even though he knew Grace had said no one else was home, he still kept glancing at doors, listening for telltale footsteps, anything to indicate Reginald was on his way. It had always seemed like Dad had a sixth sense dedicated just to knowing when to show up to make his life a living hell.

He should steal something from the old bastard. For old time’s sake.

When the door opened, it startled him out of his thoughts and he half expected Reginald to be standing there. He wasn’t sure if Grace, her usual smile replaced with a look of trepidation, was actually better. It felt like his stomach dropped, like he was falling, and whenever he hit the ground, it would probably be more painful than anything he’d ever experienced.

“Your friend is resting now,” she said, which, so far so good, Klaus supposed. “But we won’t know the extent of the damage until he wakes up. I just want you to understand, he lost a lot of blood.”

Klaus knew there was an unspoken, ‘if,’ there. ‘If he wakes up.’ And his mind was all too helpful in providing plenty of horrible outcomes, from permanent organ damage to a coma. What were they supposed to do then?

‘They.’

The realization that he really, truly, meant that hit him hard. He wouldn’t leave Dave to face this alone, whatever happened. It was stupid, this was exactly what he’d worked all his life to avoid. He was a useless fuckup and this could only end horribly for the both of them. And yet, for some reason, he still wanted to try. Whatever the cost to himself.

It was strange, remembering that only a few hours ago he hadn’t been able to decide if he should meet Dave or not. But this was different. He could live with, for once, putting aside his selfishness so Dave could live a happy life without him fucking it all up. But now? He wouldn’t abandon him like this.

“Why don’t you go see him?” Grace said, reminding him that they didn’t have all the information yet. He didn’t even know if Dave would survive the night. She put a comforting hand on Klaus’ shoulder and smiled encouragingly for whatever it was worth.

“Thanks, Mom.”

He felt shaky and detached as he made his way to the infirmary, like this was just a dream. Until he actually saw Dave, that is. Seeing his too-pale form lying there snapped him back to reality and the weight and terror of it all hit him hard. As he sat beside him, he couldn’t help but watch Dave carefully, counting every rise and fall of his chest as he breathed; proof he was alive.

He shivered as he sat there, feeling completely drained, emotionally and physically. He thought about raiding the liquor cabinet, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Dave’s side. There wasn’t anything he could do, now, but he’d come so close to losing him and right now, all he wanted was to be near him.

“Don’t you die on me,” Klaus said, even though he knew he couldn’t hear him. “Not now.”

The idea of losing Dave, after everything, made him want to laugh in a horrible sort of way that he was afraid might turn into something else. He didn’t want to even think about it. About how much he’d changed because of Dave, despite himself; about the glimpses of what his life could be, things he never thought possible, things he didn’t even believe in that suddenly felt like they could be true.

He was this whirlwind that had come into his life and shaken everything up, making him care about something other than himself for once. Making him want more than the oblivion he had spent his life searching for. It wasn’t fair. Dave was good, actually genuinely good, this couldn’t be how he ended up. Klaus deserved this kind of end, but not him.

He could feel exhaustion weighing on him after the day he’d had, but instead of giving in, he started pacing again. He didn’t know what else to do.

Klaus did fall asleep eventually. He’d slept poorly the previous night, so he’d been running on hardly any sleep even before everything happened, so he wasn’t all that surprised to find himself slumped over in an armchair near Dave’s bed. Grace’s heels clicking across the floor had likely been what roused him, and when he glanced over, he was met with the sight of Dave, awake and alive, and he was pretty sure it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Grace was in the process of taking his blood pressure, so it took a moment before Dave saw he was awake as well, so at least he’d managed to get his facial expressions under control by then. He wasn’t sure what Dave would have seen otherwise.

“Hey,” Dave said with a smile. He still looked pale and weak, and he didn’t seem strong enough to sit up, but it was just so good to hear his voice.

“I turn my back for a second,” Klaus joked, but something like guilt flashed across Dave’s face, although he wasn’t sure why.

“I’ll need to monitor you for a bit. Try to get some rest,” Grace said, reaching over to ruffle Klaus’ hair before leaving.

Klaus had never really felt awkward around Dave. He had no shame anymore, so he rarely felt awkward around anyone. But Dave especially, they just got along too well, he had always felt completely comfortable around him. Right now, though, he felt awkward, mostly because of the revelation of how far he’d go to help Dave, and what that meant. Maybe there was something wrong with him. So he did what he always did and avoided the topic. Besides, there were other things they needed to talk about first.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened, or what?” he asked, scooting his chair over so he could lean on the edge of the narrow bed.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Dave said, bringing a hand up to rub tiredly at his face.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure most people would consider getting stabbed a big deal, but you’re lucky I’m not most people,” Klaus joked, trying to get him to stop looking so upset. “I am pissed that a fight went down and I wasn’t even invited, though.”

“I guess I do owe you an explanation,” Dave sighed. “I just mouthed off to the wrong people, it was bound to happen eventually, I guess.”

“Mr Katz, are you telling me you actually picked a fight?” Klaus said with exaggerated shock, hand over heart. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but then, I never claimed to be smart,” Dave tried to shrug but seemed to think better of it.

“Come on, don’t be stingy with the details,” Klaus prompted.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much more information for you,” Dave admitted. “I don’t even know who they were.”

“Wow,” Klaus said, struggling to think of a time Dave had actually seemed genuinely angry. Especially with strangers, he was usually the type just to ignore assholes and move on. It occurred to him that tbe two other fights he’d gotten into had been because of Klaus. Maybe he was a bad influence on him. “What did they even do to push your buttons that much?

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Dave said, sarcasm tingeing his words. “But I’m not exactly what people think of when they imagine the ideal soldier. I mean, they’re not supposed to be gay, or critical of the military, and they certainly don’t relapse six times in the last month alone.”

“Oh,” was all Klaus could say, because he hadn’t known, how could he? He and Dave had hardly spent any time together. But Dave always did seem so strong and confident, Klaus couldn’t help but assume sobriety was going well for him. Obviously he had his own struggles and Klaus mentally kicked himself for not paying better attention.

“Yeah,” Dave said, staring up at the ceiling. “My uncle is more like what people expect, which, fair enough. I don’t think these assholes were associated with the VA, I think they just happened to be passing by, but who knows. They’re not exactly above prejudice.”

“So, they started spewing bullshit, and you snapped?” Klaus asked skeptically.

“Not exactly,” Dave said. “I wanted to just ignore them, but then they started hassling a kid I’d seen around the VA, and that was when I snapped. Security chases us all off before a fight could break out, but they must have followed me.”

“We have got to get you better at spotting a tail.”

“Yeah, probably,” Dave said with an exhausted chuckle. “I don’t think they meant for this to go so far. One of them pulled out a switchblade he’d clearly never used before, and as soon as they saw blood, they all freaked out and ran away.”

“Not even gonna be professionals about this,” Klaus said, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Well, hopefully they got it out of their system and won’t be doing any more stabbing for a while. Maybe we should—”

“I’m sorry, can we talk about this later?” Dave said, closing his eyes. “I’m really tired.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Klaus said, taken by surprise. It had just been so nice to hear Dave’s voice again, he had to remind himself of the trauma he’d just survived. He shouldn’t be pushing him like this.

“Thanks,” Dave said, eyes still closed. “For everything.”

“Whatever,” Klaus said, waving a hand dismissively as he got up and headed for the door. “You’ve already bailed me out of a few tight spots, so we’ll call it even.”

On the other side of the door, he had to take a moment just to breathe. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. He wasn’t used to going through so many emotions in one night and he still felt shaky. Then again, maybe that was withdrawal. Good thing he still had a stash in his room.

While he was here, Klaus figured he might as well take advantage of the situation. He’d apparently slept through most of the day, and he spent the rest of it enjoying a ridiculously long bath. Then, he went to raid the kitchen. He had his head in the refrigerator with a drumstick in his mouth as he piled more food into his arms. But when he turned to spread his spoils out on the table, he heard the floorboards creak.

He froze guiltily, ready for his dad or Luther to storm in to tell him off, but after a moment, it became clear that no one was heading this way. And, whoever it was, they weren’t all that steady on their feet, walking slowly. Klaus abandoned the drumstick and went to peek around the corner to find Dave, back turned to him, making his way to the front door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Klaus said. “If you pull a stitch, Mom’s gonna be really disappointed in you, and no one wants that.”

Dave actually cursed under his breath at that, leaning heavily against the back of a chair. “You know,” he said, his voice artificially light. “I was trying to make this easier on the both of us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not continually forcing myself back into your life on purpose,” Dave said, turning to look at him. He looked utterly exhausted, barely keeping his feet under him. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at his curls in frustration. “I know you’d rather move on and you’ve already done a lot for me, you don't have to--”

“Whoa, no, no,” Klaus interrupted. “I tried to meet you. I mean, I was there, but then I got arrested.”

“Arrested?” Dave asked skeptically.

“Yeah! That’s why I found you, I’d only just gotten out and was hoping you’d stuck around. Very, very late, I know, but--”

“You don’t have to do this just to be nice.” Dave crossed his arms across his chest, looking more like he was holding himself, and Klaus didn’t think he’d ever looked so small.

“Hey, this is me, remember? When do I ever do anything just to be nice?” He walked over to Dave, placing a hand on his arm, just wanting him to know he was serious. Dave leaned into the touch, still not quite meeting his eyes as he took a deep shuddering breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I can lay it on pretty thick sometimes, and I think barging into your life like I did and punching that guy certainly counts. I was afraid of losing you, but I wasn’t thinking about what you wanted, and that isn’t fair of me.”

Klaus just stared at him for a moment, before he remembered he was supposed to say something. Usually, Klaus was the one being accused of being too much. No one had ever wanted him in their life like this, and no one had ever been so concerned with what he wanted.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” was all he could really think to say.

“And I have a stab wound,” Dave chuckled, but it sounded forced. “Promise you’re not just here because you feel like you have to be? I know I’ve been laying on sob story after sob story lately, I didn’t really want to get into all this, you shouldn’t have to worry about my crap. And I definitely don’t want you to feel like I’m twisting your arm”

“It’s cute you think you could possibly manipulate me, of all people,” Klaus said, patting his cheek. “I’m immune to sob stories.”

“That’s not—” Dave started, but trailed off, clearly frustrated and unsure how to get across what he was trying to say, so Klaus continued.

“Besides,” Klaus continued quickly. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been dealing with my crap for a while now, isn’t that what friends are supposed to do? That’s a genuine question, by the way, I have no idea.”

“I guess,” Dave said with an uncertain shrug.

“Well, don’t worry, this is completely selfish on my part. If I were a better person, I would have let you leave.”

“I’m selfish too because I’m glad you didn’t,” Dave admitted.

“I’m still not really sure how this is supposed to work, but—“ Klaus hesitated, so close to saying how completely he trusted Dave. Instead, he shifted direction. “Hey, maybe we deserve to be a little selfish.”

“If you’re willing to put up with the disaster I’ve made of my life, I think we can figure something out.”

“You’re a disaster? Have you met me?” Klaus said, gesturing to himself.

“I’ve just really been struggling,” Dave admitted, looking so completely hopeless and worn out. “I already told you about relapsing. Everything is just so hard and I’ve let it isolate me. I even let it pull me away from my best friend.” Here he gestured at Klaus, to his surprise. “I can’t live like this anymore. Something has to change.”

“What does that mean?” Klaus asked. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

“No,” Dave said with a heavy sigh. “I just have to figure it out, but right now I just feel helpless.”

Klaus didn't really know how he was supposed to reassure him when he didn’t even believe things were going to work out. He’d learned a long time ago not to hope for the best, so he couldn’t advise him, and he certainly couldn’t comfort him. At least he could help him back to bed before he started bleeding again. It was all he could do at this point.

“Come here,” Klaus said, reaching out to take Dave’s arm so he could help support him back to bed.

Apparently Dave misunderstood, though, because the next thing he knew, Klaus was being pulled into a hug. It took him completely by surprise and he froze up before remembering he was supposed to hug him back. Dave leaned into him slightly, a comfortable weight as Klaus helped support him and he hated how much he liked it. It felt safe and warm, completely surrounded by Dave, overwhelming all of his senses.

“Wait,” Dave said after a moment, and now he was the one freezing up. “You weren’t going in for a hug, were you?”

“No, I was going to help you back to bed, but this works too.”

“Wow,” Dave said, but he didn’t actually release him. “Well, this is awkward.”

“You’re such a dork,” Klaus chuckled. “Come on, give me your arm.”

“I think I’d rather sink into the floor,” Dave said, but he finally let him go, letting himself be led along, his face bright red. Klaus wasn’t sure if he was slouched, ducking his head slightly, from embarrassment or just the pain.

“You can do that later when you’ll actually be able to get back up again. You do that now and you’ll probably be stuck there.”

“That’s fine,�� Dave said. “I think I’ll just live in a hole in the ground. Any chance you’d be willing to never mention this again?”

“Are you kidding? I’m gonna hold this over you every chance I get.”

It was so nice, getting back to their usual banter. He’d missed Dave, of course he had, but being with him was always so much better than he had remembered. He was just so much more fun, so much kinder and softer, more adventurous and so, so strong.

Klaus cleared his throat and forced himself to focus on something else. There he was, getting carried away again. He had no idea what to do with himself. Maybe there was no saving either of them in the end.

#klaus hargreeves #dave katz #klave #klaus x dave #umbrella academy #the umbrella academy #fanfic #living for the moment #my fic

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