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#he's gonna be a wither in my fic though so *shrugs*
starlitangels · 4 months
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That’s Mine
Another Guy/Honey ficlet for the girl who can’t seem to write a full fic for these two to save her life
I glanced up from my laptop upon hearing the apartment door open. “I’m home!” Guy called at the same time I heard the thumping of him literally kicking his shoes off at the door.
“Welcome back,” I said flatly, going back to my report.
I could hear him groan with the several popping noises that came with him cracking his back. “I’m gonna shower,” he announced as the front door shut.
“Careful. Kayla left a makeup bomb in the bathroom,” I warned.
“How does she even do that? Like we should not be finding powdered foundation in the bathtub of all places. A little falling off the palette or brush into the sink is one thing but like the bathtub?” He appeared in the doorway of my room and leaned against the frame on one shoulder. “I don’t get it. I’ve worn some makeup in my day but I’ve never been that messy with it.”
I grunted and shrugged.
Guy sighed dramatically. “Not in the mood to talk, honey?”
I shot him a withering glare. “Go get in the shower before I punt your ass into the bathroom and bar the door. I’m trying to work.”
He smirked lasciviously. “If you bar a door that locks from the inside and swings inward, you’d have to be in the bathroom with me.”
I raised a brow. “I’d figure it out. Go away.”
He winked with a click of his cheek and pushed off the doorframe, vanishing down the hall.
I went back to my paper.
Apparently I got really sucked into it because I didn’t even process that I heard the shower start and stop a few minutes later. Hell, I barely even processed Guy singing showtunes while he was in it.
I vaguely heard the bathroom door creak open on that ungodly loud hinge I still needed to oil (the landlords had promised to do it months ago and never had and I was getting sick of it), while Guy continued his one-man-show of Phantom of the Opera. But I ignored all of it. Guy’s singing was a constant in the apartment and I’d just learned to tune it out.
When the essay was done, I submitted it and finally stood up, wincing as my knees popped.
With a heavy sigh, I left my room.
Guy spun around in the kitchen almost instantly. In his favorite hot pink “Kiss the Cook” apron that had been a gag gift from his siblings that he’d actually loved. “There’s my favorite person!”
I grunted. Then froze. “Hang on a second here,” I said, folding my arms. “Hm. Black T-shirt way too long and wide in the arms, logo for a band you don’t listen to poking out from under the top of the apron. Coincidentally matching the one that went missing from my things after a load of laundry a few weeks ago…” As I spoke, I undid the neck loop of the apron and let the top fall away from his torso.
He chuckled nervously, ears and neck turning blotchy and red. “Heh-heh… uh…”
“Guy Erikson, that’s my shirt,” I snapped.
“Whaaat? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Obviously this is mine. See how it just fits me perfectly—ow, ow! Okay okay you don’t have to pinch I get it I get it—damn!” He pouted as I let go of his shoulder. “Can’t I just borrow it for the rest of tonight though? It’s so soft. It’s not my fault that you have the comfiest shirts on the planet!”
“Give it back. Now.”
He sighed dramatically and stripped it off, hurling it at me with all the grace and power of a newly-hatched bird. “Fiiine. You loveless, joyless buzzkill.”
“Thieving parasite,” I retorted, taking the shirt back to my room and chucking it into my hamper.
“Just for that, I’m not including you in my dinner plans.” He whipped the apron back up over his torso and started fixing the neck loop.
“I never asked you to. And I’m going out tonight anyway.”
His head snapped up to look at me. “What?! With who?”
I raised a brow. “Does it matter?”
Guy spluttered. “Oh. Well. I, uh—no, obviously. It’s just—you know what? Never mind.” He turned back to the stove and went back to preparing his pasta.
I snorted. “It’s my stupid reading group for my upper level class. There’s gonna be like five people there. It’s not a date. Don’t wait up for me, honey,” I said sarcastically before ducking back into my bedroom and slamming the door.
I picked the band shirt out of the hamper and held it up to my nose. Curious.
It definitely smelled like Guy.
A small grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. I folded the shirt and set it on my desk. “You know what? I’ll wash it later,” I muttered to myself.
Tag list: @pinksparkl @darlin-collins
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Oh By Gosh By Golly
A Christmas fic? On the 27th of December? *shrugs* It's still December!
Garvez WC: 2935 Ao3 *Exists after S15, but if he never asked her out and she never left the BAU*
“Hey Garcia, you mentioned something about a place with a bunch of lights earlier?” Matt said, by way of greeting, entering the kitchenette. 
His approach, Penelope could tell, while phrased like a statement, was really a question. 
“Yes sir, Candycane Lane. Ohh! You should take the kiddies!” she released her tea, hands flying up, fingers spread, “They’d love it, it’s so fun! There’s little hot chocolate stands and this one house sells churros fresh from their kitchen on a line drawn zeppelin! Another house has a ferris wheel they fill with stuffed animals. And all the lights…It’s just magical!” Matt watched in amusement as Penelope’s eyes gleamed with excitement at the visions surely dancing in her head.
“And it’s pretty local?” he chuckled. “You bet your pretty biceps it is! Most people drive through it, but walking is really the only way to get the full experience.” She said, resuming her tea dressing, “Are you thinking about going? Please tell me you’re going. They’d have a blast!” Scooping up her mug and linking an arm with his, she walked herself to her cave, “You know, Derek, Hank, and I are going. It’s a tradition we started before he met Savannah. She very graciously has allowed us to keep it up and now we take my beautiful godbaby. Really though I think she enjoys the treat of a quiet house around now.”   “Kristy would love that.” He agreed, smiling. Reaching her office door, he slipped his arm from hers. “Ok, Garcia, you’ve convinced me. We might even see you there tonight.” he said, turning to go. Penelope beamed at the prospect of the Simmons clan buzzing joyfully from lawn to lawn, hot chocolate in gloved hands. Just a few more hours of work, then she was off to a winter wonderland with her two favorite boys. And if she was lucky she might even spot a familiar face or six. 
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“Derek, come on! Just find a spot, let’s gooo!” The ex-agent gave her a not-so-withering look, grinning, “Woman, you’re gonna regret having pestered me into parking so far away by the end of the night.” “I’m gonna regret letting you come with Hank and me if we get there so late everyone’s lights are out and the hot chocolate’s cold!” She shot back, wrapping her scarf around her neck and tucking it into her coat, then turning to do the same for Hank while making sure his beanie was pulled over his ears.  Morgan finished eeking them into a spot and killed the ignition. “Fine, but I don’t wanna hear a word later.” Penelope smirked, already hopping out, “Oh, you’ll hear more than one, and you’ll like it.”
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As they approached the first block, Hank’s eyes doubled in size, his tiny fists squeezing even tighter to the two adult hands he was gripping, body vibrating with excitement. There were houses glowing bright blue and frost white, ones that radiated red and gold, there were life-sized animatronics of a kissing Mr. and Mrs. Claus and large wooden hand painted cut-outs of Santa painting toys, and the Peanuts gang singing around the piano lining yards, all lit up with floodlights seasonally serving as spotlights left on the ground. Some were lavishly coated in bulbs, and some were sleek and modern, a neon green strip of “Merry Christmas” hanging from the porch, each house bringing its own special flair, a small representation of what symbolized Christmas for each neighbor. Apart from the displays, the thing Penelope really enjoyed was the people, the feel of togetherness it brought. Neighbors parking chairs in driveways sharing barbecue and stews, a group of ukulele carolers singing their hearts out for the throngs of passers by. A feeling of love and caring and unity and joy. And there was hot chocolate.  
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The trio had made it about three streets in before Penelope finally succumbed to the cold. “Ok, next drink stand we come across, I’m buying. It is freezing!” She said, emphasizing the complaint by squeezing Hank’s hand and playing up a fake shiver.
Hank giggled looking up at her, “Yeah! Burrrr” he mimicked, playing along. Penelope smirked looking from the little Morgan, to Derek, “Hey Hank, tell your daddy I need some hot chocolate.” Derek’s mouth dropped open, eyebrows raising in faux surprise, ready to say something when a voice called from behind them, “Penelope Garcia, that wouldn’t be you I hear, feeding children inappropriate lines would it?”  Derek and Penelope stopped, turning to see who was behind them. Penelope, more than familiar with the voice, was positive she already knew exactly who she was going to find on the other side of her shoulder.  But Morgan was quicker, “Alvez, what are you doing here?” he grinned broadly at the man and extended a hand, tugging him in for a hug. “I’m spending time with my beautiful nieces and nephews, well, Matt’s kids.” he smiled releasing the hug, “Morgan, I didn’t know you were in town.”
The chance meeting took Luke by surprise who thought he’d be helping out a friend, hanging with Matt to keep an extra set of eyes on the brood for a while, he didn’t expect to run across Penelope while out tonight. Penelope who had obviously changed from her work clothes to this more casual and weather appropriate one of flair jeans and black snowflake sweater, peppermint scarf carefully knotted and topped off with a sweeping baby blue wool coat to keep out the chill.     Derek stepped back, one arm wrapping around his baby and the other pulling in Penelope “Here with my Babygirl for our yearly date.” Derek, having his suspicions and hearing the gossip, but never the opportunity to see firsthand, observed every microexpression that flitted over the other man at his actions. The cast of his eyebrows, the tightening of his eyes, and then the downturn of his mouth all arranging for a fraction of a second before sweeping back into his perpetually sunny self. “Savannah's present from me,” Penelope chirped, “I’m here with these two handsome men so she can have a relaxing night of peace and quiet.” A teasing smile spread across her face, jostling Derek with a bump of her hip. 
Luke visibly perked at her voice, shoulders squaring, face lighting up, eyes widening and glossing seemingly sparkling in the light as his pupils dilated. Yep, all the confirmation he needed. “Hey, Morgan! What a nice surprise crossing paths!” Matt wandered up behind Luke, Lily on his shoulders, Rose Mary on his chest, and reached out a hand to shake. “Thanks again for the tip, Garcia, the kids are loving it.” he said looking around, as if by merely mentioning them the missing three should materialize. Penelope wondered if that’s how it worked for Simmons, as with only a slight delay, three miniature animated people came popping out of nowhere. “Hey man, how’s it going? No Kristy tonight?” Derek asked, slapping a hand out to shake. “Not tonight, no, Garcia gave me an excellent idea earlier though,” Matt bent, letting Lily slip off his shoulders to rejoin her siblings, all dancing and shrieking through an impromptu or continued game of tag, Hank joining in. “So I roped Luke here into helping out.” He gave a squeeze to Luke’s shoulder, but winked to Morgan, smiling easily. “How about we all…walk together?”       
Derek, unable to turn it off where his loved ones were concerned, couldn’t help but profile. Yeah, he had his answer within the first 5 seconds of interaction, but he couldn’t help noticing over the hour they’d all been together the way Luke looked at her when she spoke, how he found little ways to touch or brush her, that his focus, though divided, never strayed entirely from Penelope, and he almost never resisted an opportunity to tease and play with her. Something Simmons had obviously noticed too, setting up this little chance outing. 
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With Penelope giddily leading the parade, the group of nine merrily made their way to the house she knew to have sweet pastries delivered by air. Children clamoring busily to spot the contraption, they fell into the end of the line rapidly threatening to wrap around the corner. The four adults talked and caught up while keeping a loose eye on the little ones. There were “ooohs!” and “aaahhs!” as the silver blimp flew, but Derek was more focused on how Luke mindlessly played with Penelope’s scarf and how his cheeks flushed red making eye contact when Derek smirked at him, crossing his arms, thinking,‘Yeah, you bet I know.’       
“INCOMING!” was bellowed down from an open window glowing softly at the top of the hill. Penelope squealed and clapped with joy as the zeppelin sailed down the zipline, their order of piping hot churros dangling from a basket below. Sweet, cinnamony confections distributed, and Penelope’s coat saved from certain ruin by Luke who expertly brushed it clean of crumbs, they pushed on with their adventure taking in the various decorations and entertainment. Watching the way Luke was with her and her being so unaware was painful, to see them interact and play off one another was killing him. Why Penelope didn’t see it (or didn’t want to) he wasn’t sure, but he was going to let her know at least one person did. Waiting until they’d gotten back into a flow, wandering from house to house, Derek fell back holding Penelope with him, friends and children wandering ahead just out of earshot, the ukulele group singing about mommy kissing Santa Claus disrupting anything that might be overheard. Risking an eyebrowed glance to where Luke stood, his breath stilted, still feeling dubious about the whole thing, about her willful ignorance. “Babygirl, you’re tellin’ me you have not given this man one ounce of sugar?” Wrapping her arms around him she pushed up on her tiptoes, beaming with pride, “Not one lovin’ spoonful” No, she would not fall into that trap. Though, truthfully, it was getting harder, he was so sincere and so persistent.   “Mama, why on god’s green earth not?! He is clearly head over heels for you!” It was a genuine question, the night leaving no doubt in his mind, if Luke Alvez was not in love with his girl, he really did retire in time. There was no way Penelope couldn’t see it too,  if it was fear holding her back, he hoped his vote of confidence would help ease that. Jason Battle was a one-off psycho, what he meant when he told her to listen to her gut, was just that, she had told him it felt off, and she turned out to be right. This though he knew was not off, could see it, hell he could feel the electricity between them, she had to as well.   What the heck? “N-no he’s not! Oh my god, we are not talking about this right now!” Penelope, thrown at the suggestion and what seemed to be Morgan’s active enthusiasm for the very not happening situation between her and Luke, became flustered, letting go and bolting for their friends where she stood behind them shoving her hands into her pockets with a scowl on her face. Derek, feeling guilty at having upset her, let her go, giving her space. Maybe he’d overstepped… he only wanted her to be happy, he could see Luke making her happy. He just needed her to see it too. He hoped this would get her thinking about it. When it was so clear to everyone else, he hoped she wouldn’t continue to block out something that could be good for her.  
Penelope reappearing caught Luke’s attention and seeing her frustration, he looked between her and Morgan, hand instinctively coming to her back. She twisted from his touch, but didn’t move away. His hand dropped automatically, but his pinky continued contact, brushing soothing strokes against hers in her coat.
One and a half songs later Derek rejoined them, an apology for getting out of line mumbled in her hair. All forgiven, Penelope fell easily back into his embrace and returned it tenfold, most of the party none the wiser. 
—-------------  Crossing the street, the boys lined up, stern, menacing, and friendly faces ensuring traffic stop at their stop signs. Penelope, chain of children in one hand, cocoa in the other leading the dash giggling behind their own personal guard of bollards. 
It was during one of these dashes, post musical concert, that Luke was caught for the hundredth time staring after her in wonder. Matt, feeling enough games had been played between actual children that night, nudged his shoulder and nodded in her direction, “Go.” Pausing for a beat, Luke looked between his friend and Morgan, whose expressive eyebrows were now most of the way up his forehead in a similar manner. Seeing no way around something so obvious, and hoping to avoid the embarrassment of more encouragement and/or blessings, he flickered a ‘thank you’ smile before trailing close behind her. 
With a shwoop, the small hand was smoothly replaced with a large one, Luke’s warm palm effortlessly slipping into Penelope’s. Her pulse catapulted, Derek’s words fresh in her mind. Feeling the shift in texture and size, his thumb coming to brush the outside of hers, her steps came to a standstill facing him. She looked back for Derek, for Chloe whose hand had been in her own, only to spot the group of children bookended by the imposing figures of current and former FBI agents not so covertly directing the group’s attention to a house with their backs to her. Profilers? Pfft. More like planners.   Luke checked his shoulder as well, a small smile appearing before moving closer, twined arm wrapping high on twined arm, shoulder kissing shoulder, and tugged forward, some redirection of his own. “Mind being my escort?” he asked with his usual sunny lilt.   
Penelope looked back to him, head tilting in question to see Luke nod ahead of them. The way they were facing, they were bound for an icicle archway, rhythmically blinking blue and white drips interspersed between swaths of fir garland calling to them. Her steps started then stopped, faltering with her thoughts,body following through with an automatic ‘yes’ while earlier dilemmas were subconsciously processed for her, then thinking brain not in the know shouting a panicked ‘NO’ giving her pause. Her head swiveled from Morgan to Luke, unsure.  Luke stopped just as quickly, curious eyes scanning her face for clues. “It’s just a tunnel, Penelope, just a sidewalk with some poles.”  Her expression changed to exasperated disbelief, head bobbling as she shot at him sarcastically, “Nice. Romantic. I can’t imagine why you’ve only had the one girlfriend this whole time.” “Hey!” he defended at the dig, but his smile only got bigger, face completely incongruent to someone who’d just been insulted. Romantic? Did that mean she was on the same page? That this, them, they, were something she was open to? With a last look to the group, Penelope rolled her eyes, internal battle seemingly forgotten, and jerked him forward towards the arch, “Oh come on, let’s go.”            Luke ducked under the “Let it snow” sign entering the archway, the pair walking hand in hand wordlessly through the bright tunnel, but as she went to exit, she was tugged back, clasped hands stretching and jerking, Luke frozen in place just at the end, Penelope ricocheting into his solid body where he caught her.
Before she could ask, his head tilted and a finger pointed up, Luke innocently explaining as he looked back down, “Mistletoe, I can’t move until you kiss me, bad luck.”
Penelope wiggled in his hold regaining balance, trying to regain space. Despite his tactile nature this was all very new, as in less than five minutes new, as in she could start freaking out at any minute- new. “And if I refuse?” she asked, trying to infuse some levity and calm her twisting stomach.
Luke frowned, brow furrowing and arms tightening around her. “Guess we’re stuck here.” 
Penelope gawked, the flat of her palm working its way between them to smack his chest “What happened to it’s just a sidewalk?!”
Luke made a show of flinching under the hit, but again, was too busy grinning at her to play it off fully “What happened to being romantic?” 
Sighing, her arms looped around his neck, pulling herself up to face level “Alvez, we’ve really gotta work on your definition of romance.” There was a second where she looked at him, and then fingers laced and lips slowly melded, her eyes slipping closed. She felt the strong beat of his heart on her, his warm, firm lips against hers, and the rough scrape of stubble as the kiss became more forceful. She smelled the smokey burn of wood from chimneys and fire pits in the cold air mixing with the earthy leather of his coat. From the east Mele Kalikimaka rang out clashing with Walking in a Winter Wonderland to the west, a Bing Crosby battle between neighbors that was soon drowned out entirely by whoops and hollers. The pair broke apart to see Matt and Derek loudly applauding and whistling, the kids caught up in their parents joy, joining in the celebration, Penelope and Luke each turning beet red attempting to hide in the other. 
Hank, tugging on Derek’s hand, asked, “Daddy, why’s aunty Penelope kissing that guy?”
Derek laughed, stooping down to answer, “Don’t worry about it baby, but tell you what, you can be the first to tell mamma about it when we call her tonight.”
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ryqoshay · 1 year
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Unstable World: Pretty Bomberheads
Primary Pairing Trio: KanaMariDia Rating: G Words: 581 Fandom: Love Live Sunshine Parent Fic: Unstable World Time Frame: Sometime before the main story AU: A dimension other than ours Event: Promptober 2022 Event Source: Idol Fanfic Heaven channel on Discord Prompt: Jacket
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Author’s Note: Primary entry for Oct 7th
Summary: Kanan and Dia have a gift for Mari
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“Aaaa! <Pretty Bomber Jacket!>” Mari cried excitedly, pulling the garment out of the box and holding it up to admire.
Dia sighed. Kanan laughed.
“Mari… that language died before you were born.” Dia decided to say.
“And yet we all still know it.” Kanan pointed out.
“That’s not the point.” Dia shook her head. “And it’s not even true; most have to rely on translator devices. You and I know it because we’re in the military. And Mari… ” Dia shot a withering look at the offending girlfriend “is annoying.”
Kanan shrugged. “No comment on the pun?”
“I was trying to ignore it.” Dia admitted.
“What pun?” Mari asked, already sliding an arm into the jacket.
“Check the back.” Kanan said.
As Mari dutifully removed the jacket, Dia allowed herself a small smile at the realization that Mari had been so excited about a gift from her girlfriends that she didn’t even care if it looked horrible, she just wanted to wear it immediately. Not that Dia or Kanan would intentionally give her such a garment in the first place, but still, the sentiment was not lost on Dia. Even if, she also realized, it may very well be lost on Mari herself.
“Pretty Bomberheads.” Mari read the name of her newly formed mercenary group. “Oh, what’s this?” She pointed to the large picture under the lettering.
“We had You and Ruby design a possible logo for your guild.” Dia explained.
“We hope you like it.” Kanan added.
“Like it?” Mari sniffled before surging forward to wrap an arm around each of her girlfriends. “I love it.” She sounded on the verge of tears. “I love it so much. Thank you. I love you two, Dia, Kanan.” She tightened her embrace.
“I love you too.” Dia and Kana said, nearly in unison. “Congratulations.”
“Are you sure I can’t convince you two to join?” Mari asked, pulling away.
“You know I can’t leave Ruby to face enlisting in the Army alone.” Dia said.
“Get some subs in your guild and I’ll think about it.” Kanan grinned.
“But the Pretty Bomberheads are mainly gonna be an airfleet.” Mari reminded. “How else can we rise above the Paragon and bomb their heads?”
“Depth charges are bombs.” Kanan pointed out. “And they’re dropped from above the enemy.”
Mari blinked as though she had just made the realization. “Can I wear a bomber jacket on a submarine?”
Kanan laughed. “You’re the guild leader, you can do whatever you want!”
“Well then what I want is to give my Kanan and Dia discounts on my services, as thanks for this vintage jacket.”
“It literally can’t be vintage; it’s not forty years old.” Dia stated. “Kanan and I had it custom made for you, so it’s only about a week old.”
“Well, I’m gonna say it’s vintage.” Mari insisted.
“But…”
“Oh, just let her have her fun.” Kanan laughed.
“Anyway, it wouldn’t be us paying you.” Dia reminded. “It would be Emperor Tsushima. But I’m sure he would happily accept anyway.”
“Then can I at least give you a ride on the <Shiny>?”
“You… didn’t actually name your airship that, did you?”
“<It’s joke.>” Mari stuck out her tongue.
“Well, you know I usually prefer to be under the water rather than high above it, but sure, I’ll accept.” Kanan said.
“I’m coming to.” Dia said, a bit quicker than was likely necessary.
“Then let’s go!” Mari grabbed both her girlfriends’ hands and began to lead the way.
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Author’s Note Continued: I forget sometimes how much I love writing Mari. And Dia having to deal with her. And Kanan getting to witness it. And it makes me want to write more, which means more for my ever-growing queue...
That said, I am definitely having fun building backstory for this AU and look forward to getting to an arc I’ve been wanting to write for a while now.
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kit-williams · 3 months
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I guess I should do a Soap focused cope fic huh
Gonna be honest he's probably going to be pretty ooc but that's not really the point of these cope fics it's just to help me heal from the trauma of almost losing my best friend/husband
But uh slightly obsessive Johnny (You all know who you are who introduced me to that concept) Also breeding kink Johnny (just warning ya'll when it gets mentioned)
But once I finish coping with it if you all actually want me to fix it up so that Goblin is more of an OC/reader insert and maybe put more thought into the vague plot let me know
Also as much as I love reading other people write Johnny speaking Scottish I am not going to try for this. I will probably come back and edit it when I'm done just writing cope fics
"Nikito scares me." I confess to Soap who looks at me concerned.
"What he do?" He says almost accusatory and I just look down as my lips still feel funny.
"Its his eyes. They're very intense."
"And yet you tell Ghost he has lovely eyes." He teases and I just elbow him. As I look back down at the switch in my hands and the little animal people there. My entire online persona belonged to my half here and as much as I wanted to steal back my accounts I couldn't do that to me. "Is it because of something you know?"
I shrug. I was normally a lorehound for fandoms I was apart of but I was so out of my comfort zone. I am pretty sure there would be other people to kill for this chance and yet here is my ADHD ass here with the brick shithouses known as 141 and Kortac. "Maybe... I don't really have ya'll Wikipedia pages memorized like I did with Halo ones. Just I know he's a scary man. Though I think that describes most of ya'll."
Soap just chuckled as his arm was just wrapped around me. That was something I noticed so far with Ghost and Soap and I suppose König is that they all felt comfortable to holding me or keeping me within arms reach. I guess I wasn't doing so well recently what with the holidays coming up and... I'd be missing his first Christmas.
"Bonnie... you're running into the ocean." Johnny said beside me and I just blinked focusing on what was in front of me and I just shut it off. My palms pressed into my eyes as I wasn't okay... oh God I wasn't okay. I could feel his arms wrap around me tightly. "Do you need me to get Ghost?"
"No. I want to go home." I say with a hiccup in my voice. Oh how pathetic I felt around all these military folks just barely being okay... slowly withering away.
"I know... I know." He whispers to me stopping me from crying. He distracts me by having me move my hand over the shaved part of his head just letting me zone out as I feel the relief of the stimulation. He looked at me with those pretty blue eyes a little darker than my husbands. Dark hair like his... looking at Johnny hurt. Just as long as I never saw him in a kilt I think I could manage. I smile softly. "There's that bonnie smile."
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He was grateful for knowing how he would die and how to avoid it. She tried her best to keep him from looking too hard... she tried really hard to keep the reality where she was from separate. I mean it was a tad odd to see a person with his face not be in the military. The way people gushed about him and the others... and oh she really did try to keep them away from the shipping. Ghoap... he couldn't look at LT for a day.
They broke the rules they had been laid out... they were really simple rules... just stay off of a few websites but no it took them only a few days before they subjected themselves to the content. Gaz was naturally flattered, Price was concerned, Soap found it hilarious, but Ghost was disturbed... couldn't look at Goblin for a few days after finding out what she was into. Soap did his best to keep her away from her "favorite" Kortac operator but it seems he managed to worm his way to her.
But what stuck with Johnny were the pictures on her phone of her, her lad, and the bairn. The way Goblin's eyes sparkled as she held the large baby against her, her lad was a big lad like him cept a bit more round. The videos they would send of the bairn and he could hear it in Goblin's voice of how much she loved them. Of course, her pain was why he and Ghost kept her close. But... she made the cutest little bairn and he could tell it was killing her to lose her lad and her bairn yet seeing them through pictures and messages and feeling so displaced... she couldn't just walk into her old life and take it back she was stuck here and brought up the fact that if she could go back would there just be 2 of her wandering around?
Johnny had to bite his tongue as he wanted to ease that pain... Ghost had been holding him back from scaring Goblin but he could give her a happy little bairn! And it didn't have to just be him he was happy to share with Simon! She even said how she wasn't the best stay at home mom but she was practicing before she had the bairn, Johnny was eager to help get Goblin comfortable and help with whatever little ticks and tricks she needed to be able to be a good mama.
For now Johnny had to be content in comforting their weird little Goblin. He placed small kisses on the top of her head as she leaned on him just calming down.
Maybe Johnny wasn't so disappointed that she might be stuck here.
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resonating-kitty · 3 years
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Wither!Blade has the ability to shoot bits of dark energy from his hand - aka Wither Bolts. The Wither Bolts, when they hit a target, causes the target to become withered. Which, is a very painful effect that renders nearly all those who get afflicted unable to fight. They legit end up writhing on the ground in pain, gasping for breath because the wither effect is that powerful.
And, the closer they are to the Wither, the more potent it is but if they manage to get distant from him then the effect lessens.
It's basically not only a ranged attack but also has a range of effectiveness. (For Balance!)
Techno also has the ability to negate/stop the Withered status on an opponent/ally he accidentally may hit.
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bokutoslittlebird · 3 years
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一徹
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Oikawa x reader x Iwaizumi
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Author’s Note : 一徹 means “dauntless” and “obstinate,” which is what you get by combining Hajime and Tōru. ; this is supposed to be a fic but it’s more like a drabble honestly ; this is the spreader bar I used as reference
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Warnings : noncon, somnophilia, sex toys [spreader bar, cuffs, mentions of a collar], mentions of pregnancy, breeding, drugs/drugging, yandere themes, implied cum eating, dacryphilia, choking, asphyxiation
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Your unconscious body happens to be heavier than Oikawa expected, yet still manageable as he places you on the mattress. It’s below his house, in the cold basement, but it’s the only place you can go without suspicions arising. Most of the basement floor was empty, save for the mattress and the spreader bar that would keep you nice and spread. Leaning back and admiring you had his adrenaline levels lowering, the thrill of dragging you here slowly seeping from him.
Watching you, Oikawa focused on the rise and fall of your chest, the steady rhythm calming himself down. It was an effort to get you unguarded, your instincts telling to avoid him. Ever since his eyes locked with yours the first day of his high school days, something told him things would be different. When you became the manager of the volleyball club, you got to learn about the real side of him, never acting like his other fangirls. This made his heart twitch, his longing for you fester into something dark and sinister the day you rejected his advances.
Yet, his less than innocent desire for you was joined by a dear friend of his. Iwaizumi also had a small crush on you, but he could never confess to you. How could he? When you turn away Oikawa, it put a damper on Iwaizumi’s own longing for you. Oikawa knew his best friend better than anyone and Iwaizumi knew Oikawa better than anyone else. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with; their goal was obstinate, nothing could come and stop the gears from the motion they’ve begun.
A groan from your form had Oikawa almost jumping out of his skin, too lost in his own memories and thoughts. The memory of his talk with Iwaizumi is fresh in his mind, the thought of finally fulfilling his dark desire and getting something even more out of it having his restraint withering away. Iwaizumi wouldn’t be able to join you two for quite some time, his own university classes already have begun. Oikawa would take the semester off, focusing on honing his volleyball skills until his trip to Argentina was due.
With you unconscious, Oikawa took it upon himself to strip you out of your clothes. He wasn’t a fiend, he wouldn’t leave you bare in the shivering cold basement. No, he has a recently bought dress, baby blue and silky, specifically tailored to your size. The dress is a halter top, easy to slide on you and it gives easy access to your chest and the goods between your legs. Having the dress situated on your body, he gets to work with putting your wrists and ankles in the spreader bar. He thought about getting a collar for you, but he decided he’d have another way of claiming ownership over you.
Looking at you, completely knocked out thanks to the drug and vulnerable, your puffy cunt exposed to his darkened eyes, it finally shred the last bit of his restraint. He’s sure Iwaizumi wouldn’t be too mean, he should be able to understand the overwhelming desire that Oikawa holds for you. Moving himself between your legs, he notices how dry you are. Despite taking advantage of you and drugging you without consent, he isn’t as mean as to stick it in dry. He wants your cunt absolutely drooling over his cock by the time he sinks into you.
Putting two fingers into his mouth, he coats them in his saliva before pushing them past your folds. You’re so tight around him, even in your sleep, he momentarily wonders if you’ll take him in. Soft moans come from your lips, whines following them as he continues to pump two fingers into you. Once he finds your juices coating his fingers, he pushes in a third one. The stretch is almost too much, his fingers spreading and pumping into you as you fight the effects of the drug. He’s not stupid, he’s well aware that you’ll probably be waking up soon. He doesn’t plan on having some bullshit excuse, he will be completely honest with you.
Removing his fingers from your heat, he laps at the juices coating them. It’s not as much as he was expecting to get from you, but he just shrugs it off. That’s not the focus, it’s just to help ease the pain. His eyes watch your face, the scrunch of your nose as your eyes flutter open, most likely blurry and hazy as he frees his cock from his pants. The exercise pants don’t hold his erection back very well, it is quite obvious. Watching confusion run across your face and then horror and fear replace it as your eyes land on him... he finds himself enjoying it much more than he should.
“Oikawa, what’re you-”
“You should get used to calling me Tōru, dear,” he cuts you off, a sickening grin stretching across his face. “After tonight, we’ll be much closer than before,”
“No, stop!”
“You don’t get to decide that. I’ve waited three long years for this, I’m not going to stop now. I’ve listened and respected your boundaries, but now,” he rubs his cock against your folds, a shivering going up his spine once he does, “you’re all mine. You’ll be all mine, forever. Iwa-chan will be joining us soon, so let’s have some fun together, hm?”
Pushing into you is easier said than done. Even with the added slick that his fingers created, you’re squeezing him so tightly. A whispered ‘fuck’ escapes him, groans following as he rocks his hips into you. Your screams echo off the walls of the basement, but they do little to stop him. It’s painful for now, but he knows you’ll find pleasure in it soon enough. He stops halfway in, letting your walls spread to accompany the rest of him as he runs his hands over the skin of your thighs. Tears stream down your face, whimpers telling him to stop, but he just finds you even more beautiful than before. His momentary stillness has you relaxing a bit, possibly because you think he’s listening to you. Another sinister smile and he shoves the rest of him into you, eyes rolling back as he bottoms out.
More screams come out, tears steady as a stream sliding down your face, but the momentary pleasure and adrenaline from hearing and seeing them has passed. A small growl comes from his throat as his hand latches onto your throat. The sudden movement has you gasping, the pressure too much as you find your oxygen limited. “Shut up, why don’t you? Nobody’s gonna save your ass.” He gets more tears in return, but he doesn’t care.
Rocking his hips, he finds your walls easing up around his cock until your juices have coated it. Another grin paints across his handsome face as he rears his hips back and slams them into you, you gasping from the force and intensity of the thrust. It’s only the beginning, however, as he continues to move his hips back and forth and slam his hips into yours. The skin slapping sounds join in with his grunts and your moans, gargled as well as your screams from his hand. More pressure is put on your throat as he picks up his pace.
The rocking and rolling of his hips against you has your toes curling, your body losing itself in the pleasure. His grunts fill your ears and mind, only focusing on those two things as he chases his own end. The scruff of shoes against the concrete floor doesn’t even register, your eyes rolling as Oikawa comes to his end with a moan. A small whine comes from his throat, a warm liquid filling your insides and a haze filling your mind. The afterglow only lasts a moment, your senses returning to earth once the sound of clapping echoes around the room.
“A great show, Oikawa, but I could do better,” Iwaizumi says, his signature frown in place. His words quickly shatter the hope you had of him helping you, finding that your old friends are darker than you ever thought possible.
“Well, then show me, Iwa-chan,” his voice pitches in tone, almost mocking like, as he uses Iwaizumi’s nickname. A quick flick of his head has Oikawa removing himself from you, a soft whine as he leaves you. His seed oozes out, plopping onto the mattress below. Iwaizumi takes his place, but he keeps his eyes on yours as he does. Sticking his tongue out, he slides it along his thumb and fingers, keeping his gaze locked with yours, making it more sensual than it should.
“You should focus on the pleasure of her, not yourself,” he says to Oikawa, even though his focus is still on you. You find yourself unable to break the trance, only able to do so as your eyes roll back. The orgasm that was never gotten starts again, the buildup as Iwaizumi’s fingers thrust into you. Oikawa’s sopping mess of his cum makes it easy to slip three fingers in, his thumb pressing into your clit and rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves. A scream is ripped from your throat, but it’s not one of fear nor pain — it’s of pleasure. It’s not long until you’re gushing around Iwaizumi’s fingers, Oikawa’s seed gushing out as you do. His gasp sounds so far away, your high of release finally letting your walls relax. Iwaizumi smiles at that, fingers rubbing against your walls.
“See, look at that. She’s more at ease now because of the orgasm. You should take this as a learning experience, Oikawa,”
“Oh, Iwa-chan. For a virgin, you do know a lot about sex,” Oikawa giggles, hand over his mouth as Iwaizumi’s face blares red. He pushes down the embarrassment, turning back to you laid out before him.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t want my first time to suck,” his murmur is so low, you barely hear it over the pounding heartbeat in your ears. The sensation of something once more nudging your entrance has your toes curling, knowing it’s Iwaizumi’s cock this time. Pushing his head in, the flared mushroom tip stretches you farther than Oikawa’s did. The pain has you screaming once more, tears screwed shut as tears slip out. “Watch closely,”
“Yes, sir!” Oikawa practically bounces over to the two of you, leaning over to watch Iwaizumi sinking into you. Oikawa’s cum gushes around Iwaizumi’s cock, the girth of the appendage being too much for you. But he doesn’t solely focus on that, instead he pushes his thumb against your clit once more, rubbing it in circles and flicking it. The rattling of metal fills both their senses, Oikawa’s hands moving up to stop you from accidentally hurting one of them.
It’s almost a miracle, watching your eyes roll back and tongue loll out with a brief roll of Iwaizumi’s hips against you. You’re so sensitive now, Iwaizumi shows Oikawa, before he begins to thrust into you. While Oikawa holds onto the bar and your leg, Iwaizumi’s free hand moves to your other leg. The position has him able to freely see your face while also being able to see your body. Each jolt of pleasure has you shivering, your breasts and body bouncing with each thrust. Although he can’t pin you down and drill himself into you, he finds himself picking up the pace as grunts and groans slip from his mouth.
The way Oikawa practically humps your leg has you wondering if he’s unable to have patience for his turn or if he wishes he was you. Unable to think properly for long, your mind soon focuses on how well Iwaizumi fills you up and the feeling of his heavy balls slapping against your ass, slick with cum and your own fluid. A much more ferocious growl from Iwaizumi has you mewling, legs tensing and a shiver running through you as you squeeze around him, another orgasm ripped from you. The feeling of being full fills your walls once again, Iwaizumi’s groan accompanying it as his seed fills you up. It’s just as heavy and hot as Oikawa’s, sputtering out around the sides of his cock and out of your hole.
A groan, softer this time, comes from him as he pulls out. His limp cock is still as impressive as it was when it was hard, thick and long. Oikawa smiles at him, his own milky fluid splattering across your leg and stomach seconds later as he finishes with a moan. Heavy breathing fills the room, the only thing in the room, until Iwaizumi breaks it.
“Eat it out of her. Then, you can try again,”
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someonestolemyshoes · 3 years
Text
Come to Me
This is my submission for @levihan-drabbles Trope Tuesday - I jumped firmly on the bandwagon and went with prompt #4: Injured/hurt Levi & caring Hange. Juuuust eeked inside the max word count, but I’ll take it! 
Warnings: This fic does contain some depictions of injury, nothing too graphic, but be aware if this is something that bothers you! 
**
“Who was it this time?”
Hange expected no answer. As such, they were unsurprised at receiving nothing but a grunt and a hiss as they pressed an alcohol-soaked swab to the apple of Levi’s cheek, where the flesh, feverishly red and swollen now, had split like a burst seam.
Only rarely did Levi disclose the particulars of his adventures, and never when prompted. Hange knew better than to press. It wasn’t their role to ask questions, but the silence quickly grew oppressive when left unattended, and Hange would much rather listen to the sound of their own voice than the stifling quiet.
“Do they at least look worse off than you do?” They asked, tilting Levi’s bruised jaw to angle him better beneath the hanging bulb. Levi gave another noncommittal grunt, this one accompanied by a shrug of his shoulder and a grimace that tugged at his bust lip. The forming scab cracked open, and a thin trail of blood dripped towards his chin.
He was quiet, tonight. Moreso than usual. It wasn't in Levi’s nature to divulge too much of anything, but he could be vocal, in his own way. Hange’s poking and prodding was most often met with a grumbled ‘mind your damn business’ or ‘keep your nose out of my shit’ and occasionally, when Hange was in a particularly obnoxious mood, ‘quit jamming your finger into my ribcage’.
There was none of that now. Levi remained perplexingly silent while Hange disinfected the open wounds on his face and knuckles, cleaning smeared blood and palpating the joints, checking the swollen flesh for signs of damage they couldn't hope to fix in their parents' tool shed.
This had been their routine for a little while, a semi-regular occurrence since the first night Hange had found him crumpled over a bench in the park, sucking wet breaths through his teeth and trying in vain to stem the blood flow from a yawning gash on his arm. He had colourfully refused Hange’s offer of calling him an ambulance, and had vehemently denied that he needed to see a doctor, but he had eventually resigned himself to at least allowing Hange to help however they could with the first aid kit in their kitchen and what little medical knowledge they had absorbed from their mothers medical journals.
He had been a relative stranger to Hange, then. They’d seen him around sometimes, in school corridors between classes, or in the lunch hall, or around the back of the science block, where Hange had caught glimpses of him sparking up or stubbing out a cigarette, but besides these sporadic sightings, Hange's knowledge of Levi came only from whispered rumours.
The rumours, more than anything, made Hange worry that this was not a solitary incident.
“Just come to me,” Hange had said, as they'd finished wrapping the bandage around his wounds. “If you need help again. I kinda like my evening walks, and I think it’d ruin my night if I found you dead next time.”
In truth, Hange hadn’t expected him to take their offer seriously at all. Shocked as they were to see him turn up bloody and bruised at their window, they had stayed true to their word. Levi had tolerated their needling questions with surprising resilience, but eventually acquiesced to give some vague answers when Hange had suggested that he might be involved in something highly illegal.
“You’re in a gang,” they’d said.
“Like hell.”
“Selling drugs?”
“You think I’m stupid?”
“I got it—human trafficking."  
“For fucks sake, four-eyes! I’m not—no, what the hell is wrong with you?”
Hange had accused him of every offense under the sun, but as it had turned out, there was nothing so terrible, nor so immoral or unlawful, about Levi’s affairs.  
“I just get in fights, sometimes. I live in a rough neighbourhood. Tensions are high, people snap easy.”
“Do you? Snap easily, I mean.” Levi had given her a noncommittal shrug.
“Depends,” he had said. “Whether something’s worth snapping over.”
Hange had never asked what held that kind of wealth, for Levi. He had a deceptively calm aura about him whenever Hange saw him in passing; a little grumpy perhaps, with his thin eyes and drawn brows and pouted lips, but he never exuded the crackling energy of a bomb ready to explode.
Now, though, he seemed stormy. There was an intermittent twitch in his jaw where the muscle bunched and flexed. Despite Hange's close proximity, sitting with their knees tucked between his splayed legs, his gaze remained resolutely fixed somewhere over their shoulder. His freshly bandaged fists rested clenched atop his thighs. There was a pallor to his skin, the sickly hue of it exacerbated by the fluorescent glow from above them; the angle of the light deepened the shadows beneath his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks. He looked, if possible, more sullen than Hange had ever seen him.
Perhaps more tenderly than intended, Hange smoothed their thumb over the last steristrip on Levi's cheek. Something in the softness of the action must have caught his attention, for he drew his gaze towards Hange's face for the first time since turning up tonight. Hange tilted their head at him.
"Are you okay?"
Levi scoffed. "Do I look okay?"
No, Hange thought. You never do. "You've looked better."
"I'm fine."
Hange fought the urge to roll their eyes.
"Like pulling teeth," they mumbled. Levi shot them a look, something petulant and withering. Hange poked their tongue out at him, and winced when he aimed a kick at their ankle.
"Stop being difficult," Levi said. Hange looked at him incredulously, chest swelling and cheeks puffing with indignation. Levi was watching them calmly now, his brow quirked, and Hange felt the futility of arguing with him before they even began. Instead, they blew out a long, calming breath, and began packing the first aid supplies back into the kit.
Silence swelled between them, broken only by the crinkle of plastic as Hange, perhaps with more force than necessary, jammed spare wipes, swabs and bandages into place.
For once, Levi broke it.
"Oi, Hange."
Hange, not looking up from repacking their first aid kit, huffed loudly, and tried their best to ignore him. In the end, though, curiosity won out. "Mm?"
"If—" Levi began, then cut himself off with a harsh huff, and ticked his tongue against his teeth. "If anyone bothers you. Come to me, okay?"
Hange looked up at him, surprised. Levi wasn't looking at them, head turned away and eyes cast down towards the floor.
They weren't friends, exactly. Outside of their strange arrangement, they never really spoke to one another. Hange had, once or twice, caught Levi watching them with a curious expression on his face, but he never spoke to them in public. Hange was mostly at ease with the whole thing. There was an itch of intrigue they longed to scratch, but Levi's responsiveness to questioning had already made itself well known. Excluding their meeting in the park, they had never shared a single word with one another beyond the confines of the tool shed. Why, then, would Levi expect Hange to approach him anywhere else?
"Why would anyone bother me?" It was an earnest question, but Levi met their questioning gaze with a scowl. He opened his mouth with the kind of frustrated ferocity that preceded an argument, then closed it again, and huffed through his nose.
"I heard some things," he said. Hange said nothing, only blinked openly at him, and Levi was pressed to fill the silence. "Someone saying shit. About you."
Hange's brows lifted towards their hairline. "Oh?"
Levi scuffed the toe of his boot over the floor, face twisted in a sneer. Hange found it difficult to tell where his disgust was aimed; at whatever conversation he had overheard, or at himself for bringing it up.
Hange shuffled forward in their chair, one of their knees bumping against the inside of Levi's thigh. His eyes flickered down to the point of contact, then up to Hange's face. Hange nudged his leg harder.
"C'mon, you can't say that and not tell me."  
When Levi showed no signs of budging, Hange sat up straighter and folded their arms over their chest. "At least tell me who."
Levi rolled his tongue between his cheeks, deliberating. His gaze flitted over Hange's face as though he was hoping he might find something reflected in it. Whether he found what he wanted Hange didn't know, but after a long moment, he slumped back in his chair and crossed his arms to match Hange, and said, with no absence of venom, "Zeke."
Ah. That at least explained some of Levi's seething. He and Zeke had a history. Hange was unclear on the details, and much of the story was based on rumours passed down in hushed whispers, morphing with each new retelling, but what was clear enough was that the two disliked one another. On Levi's part, it was all clenched fists and frosty glances, while Zeke carried himself with a mix of smug satisfaction and barely restrained resentment.
Still, Hange found it hard to believe that Zeke would have anything too terrible to say about them. Their communication had been inconsequential at best—he had an air of self importance that Hange found a little grating, and an overconfidence in his own opinions, but the handful of instances in which they'd spoken to one another hadn't been unpleasant. Hange told Levi so, and watched with interest as a hint of colour rose in his cheeks and his frown deepened.
"He's a creep," Levi said. Hange's brows arched even higher.
"What, did he threaten me?"
Levi said nothing.
"Is he gonna beat me up?" Still nothing. "Did he call me ugly? Say I smell bad?"
"You do smell bad."
"Did he perv on me?"
Levi's response was both fascinating and telling. He tensed visibly, spine snapping straight, fingers curling tight into his palms—even his thigh, still resting against Hange's knee, clenched hard. Hange's grin widened.
"Jackpot," they said. Levi curled his lip
"Well, I'm honoured by your chivalry, Levi. But you didn't have to pick a fight with him just because he thinks I'm hot. It's kinda flattering, you know?"
"He doesn't even mean it," Levi said harshly.  "He's just saying it because I—" but Levi cut himself off again, sharply, and pressed his lips into a thin line. The forming scab tugged, threatening to tear anew.
"Because you what?"
But Levi had had enough. He stood quickly, barely avoiding the low hanging bulb, his chair scraping back with a clatter. The new angle of the light cast his nose and brow into deep shadow, and illuminated his cheeks with a bright glow—despite the washed out look the light gave his skin, Hange could see twin strips of pink on either cheek.
"Thanks," he said. Hange blinked owlishly up at him, their mouth open. They wanted to press him, demand he finish saying what he'd started—and perhaps they would have, perhaps this time, curiosity would win out, and Hange would succeed in wrestling an answer from him for once, but he didn't give them the chance.
He ducked around the bulb and moved to brush past Hange's chair and out the door. Beside them, he stuttered in step and paused; Hange thought—hoped—that perhaps he might be debating telling them the full story. He opened his mouth, and closed it again, opened, and snorted quietly to himself.
Then he raised a bandaged hand, and ruffled it into the messy hair atop Hange's head.
"Thanks," he said.
And before Hange could speak, could move, could do much of anything but stare ahead in shock, Levi had gone.
**
If, come the following morning, Hange was at all surprised to see the cuts and bruises colouring Zeke's face—a rather delightful collage of red and purple, black, and blue—they hid it very well.
Levi's self-satisfied smirk was far less subtle.
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thunder-at-dawn · 3 years
Text
June 3rd
i really liked writing this one!! it ended up being way longer than i thought it would though lol
word count: 2,563 (jesus christ)
prompt: gang tickles
character: eret
warning: this is a sfw tickle fic! don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable :]
Attachments.
No matter if it was toward a person, place, or a noun, people always developed attachments to certain things.
Eret had always found themselves getting attached to things in life. They became attached to the pet sheep they had found roaming around the museum. They had been attached to L’Manburg at one point, it was their first real home. They were attached to Puffy, Foolish, and other friends they had met.
But right now, at this very moment? Eret was growing an attachment to...a couch.
There was a sectional couch in the library of the castle. It was red, made of velvet material, and in Eret’s words, “a really fucking nice couch.” It could easily fit six people, maybe seven or eight if people squeezed together. There was also an ottoman where, if rolled into the right spot, could make a larger space on the sectional that resembled a mattress. Eret had been laying across this couch for a while, reading a fantasy novel that they had found while browsing through the shelves of the library. Their crown was placed on a table nearby, as they didn’t feel the need to wear it at the moment. They looked up when they heard the sound of the door opening, wondering who was currently visiting.
“Foolish!” Eret sat up, happy to see their old friend. “What are you doing here?”
“Hey, Eret.” Foolish waved, and the king was quick to notice that he wasn’t filled with his normal, bubbly charm. The god walked over to his friend, leaning over and resting his arms on the sectional’s armrest. “So, uh...I have something to say. And you might not like it.”
Eret blinked in surprise, placing a bookmark in their book and gently closing it. “Okay? What is it?” They asked. “Is something wrong?”
“Well, um...You know how you told me that you didn’t want to tell anyone details about your past until we figured out more stuff about it?”
“...Yes?”
“I...” Foolish hid his face with his hands. “I accidentally let some stuff slip in conversation. When I was talking to...um, Puffy.”
Eret could feel their heart skip a beat in their chest, but they kept their composure. “...Okay...did you tell anyone other than Puffy?” They asked.
The god let out a groan of frustration, sitting down next to Eret on the couch. “No, I didn’t, but I accidentally brought up how we were reading together a while ago, and she was like “oh, what book were you guys reading?” and I didn’t want to lie, and I got put on the spot, so I told her about the wither cult, and I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean for it to happen, and-“
“Oh, thank god.”
“Wait, what?”
“When you said that you told someone, with how nervous you looked, I thought you were talking about like, Dream, or someone else untrustworthy like that.” Eret let out a sigh of relief, placing a hand on their chest.
“Wait, so you aren’t mad?” Foolish asked.
“No, of course not! Accidents happen.” They shrugged. “And honestly, Puffy was the first person I planned to tell after we figured this all out. So, if anything, you actually did me a favor.”
“Really?! Whew, that’s a relief!” Foolish could feel his muscles untense as he also let out a heavy sigh, leaning back into the couch. “I thought you were gonna be so pissed off at me!”
Eret laughed softly. “Foolish, when have I ever been known to be upset in front of you?” They asked. They weren’t an easy person to provoke, it was pretty rare for them to lose their cool.
“You’re right, you’re right.” He nodded, aware of how Eret had never really gotten angry in front of him in all of the months he had been in this land. “You’re not easy to anger. However, back in the day, you would get a little bit intense when you were angry.”
“Really?” Eret looked over to their friend with curious eyes. “How so?”
Before Foolish could begin to explain, they were both distracted by the door of the library swinging open. A familiar face approached, closing the door behind themselves.
“So, someone told me that you used to be quite the warrior. And you don’t remember, so I’d like to see if I can help out with that.” The sheep hybrid greeted, pulling down her sunglasses and sending the two a wink.
“Apparently, I was a warrior!” Eret chuckled, waving to Puffy.
“Puffy, hey! Come sit down with us!” Foolish said excitedly, tapping on the free couch seat next to him.
“In a second!” Puffy made a beeline to the bookshelves, skimming through the words on the spine of each book. “What was the name of the book you guys were reading again?”
“The history of withers, I’m pretty sure!” Foolish nodded.
“Right...author name?”
“Umm...last name started with an H, I think?”
“...Hodgman?”
“Yep, I think so!”
“Careful, it’s quite heavy.” Eret warned her, but was surprised to see that Puffy was easily able to hold onto it, with seemingly no struggle. She walked over to the other two, sitting to the side of Eret so that they were in the middle.
She looked at her son and grinned softly. “This is his first time on the couch, isn’t it?”
“This is such a nice couch!” Foolish said as he sunk deeper into his seat, much to Eret and Puffy’s amusement. “How come I’ve never sat on this before?!”
“It’s your fault for not exploring the wonders of my castle enough.” Eret joked as Puffy placed the book in their lap so that all three of them could easily access it.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Foolish rolled his eyes, sitting up to get a closer look at the reading.
The three of them sat together on the couch for a very long time, investigating more of the book that Foolish and Eret had read previously. Foolish would often have to help transcribe words in ancient languages that the other two didn’t understand, and Puffy would often need context and explanation for quite a few things, but still tried to help as best as she could. They would laugh at Foolish’s stupid jokes and share exchanges in between their research, still finding fun. However, after a while, they found it to be draining.
“Okay, how much have we accomplished in the past two hours?”
“What? Foolish, there’s no way we’ve been at this for two hours.”
“Actually, we have.” Puffy nodded, checking the watch on her wrist. “We should probably take a break.”
“I’m down for that.” Foolish was quick to go limp and sink back into the couch.
“Mhm...” Eret nodded, looking out of the castle windows. It was golden hour, and the sun was setting over the horizon, leaving a beautiful, golden gleam to leak through the windows and into the library.
“You tired?” Puffy asked them.
“Not really tired, just drained.” Eret nodded as they turned towards the sheep hybrid.
“I can tell, you look tense.” She said before gently grabbing them by the shoulders and moving them so their back faced her. “Here, let me help.” After observing no signs of discomfort, Puffy started to gently massage Eret’s shoulders.
“Thank you, Puffy.” Eret smiled, leaning back into Puffy a bit as she massaged them.
“It’s no problem.” Puffy smiled back, continuing to lightly rub at Eret’s shoulders. The three of them sat in a peaceful silence, all of them illuminated by the golden glow of the sunset. Man, this was nice. Eret found themselves relaxing quite a bit...but not for long. Puffy lightly pressed her fingers against Eret’s shoulderblades, and they let out a squeak of surprise before quickly covering their mouth.
“Woah- are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Puffy asked, quickly letting go when Foolish sat up, curious to see what was happening.
“What? No, you didn’t do anything. I’m fine, Puffy.” Eret said, trying to throw what had just occurred under the rug. They noticed Foolish staring out of the corner of their eye, knowing damn well that he had noticed.
Foolish blinked, continuing to stare, before a smile appeared on his face. “Ooooh, right. Puffy. I have known Eret far longer than you have, and there’s something about them you might not know yet.”
“Hm?” Puffy looked up curiously.
Eret immediately knew what Foolish was referring too. “J-Just ignore him, Puffy.” They said to her.
Foolish smirked, now fully sitting up and moving closer to them both. “See, even if Eret doesn’t remember the past, what I do know is that they have stayed pretty similar to their old ways, including their strengths...and their weaknesses.”
“Like what?” Puffy asked, now intrigued with what Foolish had been saying.
“The truth...is that Eret...”
“Foolish, don’t tell her.”
“Is very...”
“Foolish.”
“Very...”
“Don’t you dare.”
Foolish paused, a wide grin on his face, amused by the situation. Eret leaned back, but couldn’t do much with Puffy sitting near him. He didn’t necessarily mind this, but it was a bit embarrassing.
“...Ticklish!” He finally commenced, leaning over and digging into Eret’s underarms. The monarch let out a surprised yell, quick to erupt into laughter.
“Yohohou AHAHASSHOHOLE!” They yelled, squirming around as they were laid across Puffy’s lap.
“Aww!” Puffy laughed a bit herself as she watched the scene unfolding in front of her, ruffling their hair.
“DohOHOn’t lahahaugh! Ihihit’s nohoHOt fuhuhunny, Puhuhuffy!”
“Then how come you’re laughing so much, Eret?” Foolish asked, grinning happily.
“Shuhuhut uhuhup!” Eret snapped back through their laughter.
“Wait, wait, stop, I want to try something.” Puffy said suddenly. Foolish drew his hands away, letting Eret catch their breath. After a few moments, Puffy scooped her arms underneath Eret, and after a bit of struggle, managed to pick them up.
“Woah, wahait!” Eret yelped in surprise, clinging onto Puffy as them was lifted off of the couch. The captain smirked, lightly tossing Eret onto the other side of the couch. The ottoman was pulled in currently, so there was more space for them to move around if needed. Puffy was quick to sit down next to him, lying him down.
“So, Foolish. Overall, how ticklish do you think Eret is on a scale of one to ten?” Puffy asked her son.
“From one to ten? Hmm...” Foolish paused to think. “It can vary, depending on the spot but...I’d say an eight! Maybe even a nine!”
“A nine?!” Eret repeated, the now mischievous look on Puffy’s face filling them with a bit of nervousness. “Absolutely not, I am a seven at the most.”
“Well, with conflicting answers, I guess I’ll have to find out for myself!” Puffy said, slowly closing in on her friend before digging right into the hallows of their underarms, just as Foolish had done before.
“NohOHOHO- waHAhaihit!” Eret yelped, squirming around on the couch and holding onto Puffy’s wrists.
“Man, I remember when we were at a party this one time, and you were a bit tipsy, and you nearly fell over and I grabbed your waist to catch you. And you started laughing and, I dunno, I just had this strange feeling that it wasn’t from the alcohol! So I squeezed at your sides again, and you started laughing more, and I put two and two together.” Foolish laughed a bit himself, thinking about the memory.
“Their sides, you say?” Puffy’s eyebrow raised up curiously.
“Yeah, just like this!” Foolish quickly leaned down and grabbed onto Eret’s sides, a shriek emitting from their mouth. He squeezed and pinched at the area, sending the monarchy into a squirming, giggling mess.
“SHIHIHIT- GUHUYS!” They laughed, attempting to bat both pairs of hands away.
“I also remember you being quite a sneaky gal, but you can’t try and sneak your way out of this one!” Foolish said, finding as much enjoyment out of this as Puffy was.
“Yeah, you’re definitely past a seven.” Puffy declared. “Just like Foolish said, you’re an eight, possibly a nine.”
Foolish quickly stopped with one hand, using it to cover his mouth as he quickly whispered something to Puffy. The two of them nodded before Foolish went back in with his free hand, and Eret continued to laugh. They were squirming around a lot less now, probably getting a bit tired out. The other two slowed down, giving Eret time to breathe.
“Alright...” Foolish said quietly, looking at Puffy, then looking back down at Eret. “Three... two... one... NOW!” At the god’s signal, they both dug their hands into Eret’s ribcage, Foolish tackling the upper ribs while Puffy got the lower ones. Another shriek tore out from the monarch’s mouth.
“FUHUHUCK- HAHAHAHA!! WAHAHAIT-“ Eret threw their head back, attempting to squirm and defend themselves with their hands, but they were simply too tired to do so.
“Oh, forget what I said earlier, you are absolutely a ten.” Puffy said with a smirk.
“I agree! Ten all the way!” Foolish nodded in agreement.
“I’M NOHOHOT A TEHEHEHEN-” Eret cackled, a small hiccup escaping from their mouth.
The two of them continued the attack, before Foolish drew away, and signaled for Puffy to do the same. “Alright, I don’t wanna actually kill them.” He chuckled a bit.
Eret was still a giggling mess, even after the two of them had stopped. The golden light from the sunset reflected on their glasses as they reached a hand up behind them to wipe a tear from their eye. Readjusting the glasses, they let out a sigh. “You guys are both jerks.” They said lightheartedly before giggling again.
“Aww, but we’re your favorite jerks, aren’t we?” Foolish asked, moving and sitting down next to Eret’s head.
“Yeah, sure.” They rolled their eyes.
“The king of the SMP called me a jerk. That’s something to cross off of my bucket list.” Puffy said out loud, making the other two laugh, and she too, laughed along with them. Eret finally sat up, and their two friends readjusted to sit next to them.
“We’re not sorry for wrecking you into another millennium...but, we hope you can forgive us anyway.” Foolish said as he ruffled Eret’s hair.
Eret couldn’t help but smile at their old friend’s antics. “I forgive you both, but don’t think I’m not going to get you both back soon.” They said, fixing up the mess Foolish had made.
“That’s fair.” Puffy leaned into Eret. The king laughed softly, putting an arm around each of their friends.
Eret suddenly remembered that they had something that they wanted to say. “Oh, and Foolish?”
“Yeah?” Foolish turned his head.
“...Thanks for fucking up earlier and accidentally telling Puffy about the Wither Cult.” They smiled. Puffy laughed at the statement, grinning wildly as well. Foolish snickered lightly, and now all three of them were happily smiling.
“It’s no problem, old pal.” Foolish said with a sincere smile.
Eret looked out of the window. Golden hour was starting to come to an end, and the golden gleam from the windows was starting to fade.
They had made a new memory today.
It was moments like these that they had to cherish. Fun times to be had with friends. Between the stress of all of the wars, rivalries, and new nations rising up, it was definitely important. And as Eret sat with their friends in a peaceful silence, they knew that this something they needed.
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write-out-hysteria · 3 years
Text
Care
Matsukawa x gn reader fluff
Author’s Note: This is sort of a prequel to my first fic? It’s a lot longer though and uh, tw disordered eating maybe
For as long as Issei had worked this job, he had been an early riser. He rose before the sun, sitting down on the edge of the bed while you lay fast asleep. He stretched and popped and cracked instinctively before getting up to brush his teeth. He’d walk, eyes still half closed, to his ‘home gym,’ or the space in the guest bedroom he had converted, knowing full well you wanted it in the garage. ‘It’s too spooky in there in the morning,’ he’d laugh, both of you knowing he just wanted to work out in the air conditioned room.
He’d finish off with yoga and meditation, centering his mind, body, and spirit, before hopping into the warm shower. He’d always leave the bathroom door open in case you woke up, ready to goofily tease you before you even remembered where you were.
“You like what you see, baby?” He’d wink, holding his Discobolus pose as you shook your head.
“Put some clothes on, Zeus,” you rolled back over but soon heard footsteps approaching.
“I’m offended that you’d compare me to the most promiscuous man on Mt. Olympus,” he kneeled next to the bed, grabbing your chin in his hand. “I’d prefer to be Perseus, and have my Andromeda ruling at my side.”
“It’s too early,” you dragged out the syllables as Issei rested his hand on your hip beneath the covers.
“What do you want for breakfast, sweetie? I can make pancakes,” he pressed a kiss to your hand resting on the pillow. You nodded, pulling the blanket back over your shoulders.
“I’m sure Perseus wore pants.” He rose, grabbing a pair of cobalt blue boxer briefs from the shared dresser.
“I’m sure Andromeda made the pancakes.”
Your arms found their way around Issei’s firm torso while he flipped each finished pancake on either of the two plates on the counter. He had a system, every other pancake was chocolate chip, “maybe you’ll be sweeter to me if I give you sugar,” he’d always say. The plain ones were for him, though he would spread peanut butter over them anyway. He’d learned that from you the first time he had made you pancakes, the first time you had spent the night in his arms.
“Do you want anything else, angel?” You shook your head against his back. He carefully turned around, handing you your plate. “I’m surprised you’re up so early,” he laughed.
“It was cold last night, had you brought out the winter blankets like I asked, I probably wouldn’t be.” You had made your way to the stool at the counter by now, cutting into your pancakes eagerly. It was his turn to hold you now, nuzzling his face into your neck after leaving a soft kiss on your jaw.
“Just say you missed me, baby. That’s okay, too.”
“Do you want to meet at that ramen place for lunch?” Issei was getting ready for his break, awaiting your text response. He was going to go anyway, he hadn’t packed any food. He just wouldn’t mind picking you up on his way.
“I can’t, I have a lunch meeting.” He frowned, those usually meant the worst for you.
“Do you want me to drop something off for you?”
“I’m not hungry,” he rolled his eyes before putting his phone back in his pocket, walking calmly down the street.
He had been battling your loss of appetite due to stress for the entirety of your relationship without much luck. He had never been one to push, but sometimes the only food he could assure you ate was breakfast. He had only gotten you to eat breakfast by making dinner early, leaving you starving by morning. It was only on bad days, it’s like your body would forget. Sometimes you noticed, but were afraid of getting sick if you ate something when you had already felt “full.”
He ate his ramen, debating bringing some back for dinner. There had been weeks where you ate the equivalent of one large meal a day. Every ‘not hungry’ made him fear a week like that, making food that you’d barely touch and praying you’d take it to work with you tomorrow so you wouldn’t wither away. His only solution up to this point was eating, and reminding you that normally this is when you’d eat too. Using your love for routine against you was his only hope, and it hadn’t been working as well as he wanted.
He could tell you felt bad about not eating, that you felt bad about worrying him. What else were you supposed to do if you simply weren’t hungry? Force feeding only made you feel inadequate, you felt full after half a sandwich or a few bites of pasta. The thought of eating a full protein made you sick. At your lowest points you’d start crying while watching tv with him, watching him snack on something you couldn’t bare the thought of consuming. ‘Issei, what’s wrong with me?’ He never knew what to say. When you got stressed your body simply refused fuel, and that worried him.
“How was work, angel?” His job had given him the ability to appear entirely composed regardless of the environment. You could never tell if he was stressed unless he dropped the facade and told you. When it was about you, he’d never tell you. When it was about you, though, you could tell. Issei was always caring. If he could tell you were in distress he’d pull out all the stops. He’d light lavender candles, he’d cook, he’d clean the counter. He wouldn’t complain if you wanted to watch something he didn’t, he wasn’t planning on taking his attention off of your subtle emotional responses.
“It was okay,” you lied. He already knew it wasn’t, but you didn’t want to talk about it. He always got home before you did, he didn’t have nearly as many responsibilities as you did. His work didn’t change, yours did. New projects meant new worries and new responsibilities.
“I’m almost done making dinner,” you had dropped your things by the door as soon as you stepped inside, making your way towards the man slaving over a pot of chicken soup. “I took the winter blankets out, I thought this might help warm you up.” You snaked your arms around his waist, hiding your face into his back as it warmed up, holding the tears welling up in your eyes. You could eat a little bit of soup, just a little bit, if it would make him feel better.
“Thank you,” you let out a deep sigh into his back. “I’m gonna shower.” He was already in his ‘pajamas.’ Issei ran too hot to sleep in anything but underwear, but enjoyed lounging around the house in your oversized Batman pants. You’d offered to buy him his own so you could match, but he said it wouldn’t be the same.
You both sunk onto the couch, searching for something comforting to watch. Maybe a disney movie, or something else you’d seen a million times. “You know how I played volleyball in high school?”
“Yeah, why?” You hadn’t forgotten. He even taught you how to play so your beach trips would be more fun.
“After practice Makki and I would compete to see who could make the better protein shake. I always won.” You laughed, probably way too much.
“You’re bragging to me about protein shakes you made 10 years ago?”
“What? They were good! Have some faith in me,” the movie kept playing, he tightened his grip around your waist. “I have no clue how I’d drink one everyday, though. If I had one now I’d probably puke. Oh, the joys of youth,” he laughed.
“Are you still hungry or something?” He wasn’t, his teenage athlete appetite had gone away as he aged.
“I was thinking about dessert.”
“I’ve had your protein shakes, I wouldn’t consider them a sweet treat.” He gasped, feigning offense.
“You know how much I hate protein powder, you think I was downing that everyday in high school?” You looked at him confused. His current protein shakes weren’t bad, for a protein shake at least. “It’s an acquired taste, and I still hold my nose and chug it.”You laughed at one of your favorite Matsukawa quirks.
“So why'd you stop making them taste good?”
“I was too broke in college to buy all that ice cream.”
“Ice cream? For protein shakes?” He rolled his eyes before pausing the movie.
“I’m gonna make you one, you’re underestimating my 17 year old metabolism.” He stood up, gesturing that you stay put. Issei was having another chaotic urge, apparently.
You turned on the couch, facing the kitchen instead of the tv. He began pulling every sugary food out of the pantry and fridge. Every flavor of ice cream, cookies, granola bars, peanut butter, anything and everything sweet. “You’re using all of that?” He nodded, haphazardly throwing everything in the blender followed by some milk, chocolate syrup, and two scoops of his protein powder. This really was a chaotic recipe, straight from the mind of a gross teenaged boy.
He came back to the couch with glasses for each of them, they looked like they had been filled with a child’s birthday cake puke. “Drink it, I promise it’s good! It’s so you can’t taste the protein powder.” It probably just tastes like chocolate and peanut butter, but you were still hesitant to drink it. “I promise, the team always liked mine better than Makki's.”
You held the glass up to your mouth, slowly drinking it, widening your eyes when you realized how good it actually was. You understood now. Your 26 year old bodies would cease to function if you had these everyday. You couldn’t pull the glass away until you were done.
“Yeah, I definitely didn’t think it’d be that good.” You laughed, wiping your upper lip.
“You couldn’t taste the protein powder right?” You nodded, watching him sip slowly on his, as his face suddenly scrunched up. “You know, I ate a lot at dinner. I probably shouldn’t drink the rest of this. You want it?” You shrugged, taking the glass out of his hand, drinking the rest like you hadn’t eaten anything all day. Oh wait, he thought. You haven’t for 14 hours. Oh wait, he thought, this is it. This was the solution to his biggest worry. A hidden reset button, your sweet tooth.
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winterscaptain · 3 years
Text
infirmity.
Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader
a/n: part four of our 100 arc, covering 5x02, haunted! I forgot how much i love this episode, so i really leaned into this one. it’s a labor of love!! i can’t wait to hear what you all think (i crave feedback and affection) and if you reblog, i’d love to see your cheeky lil thoughts in the tags!!
an ajf fic arc that happily stands on its own! one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven
words: 4.3k warnings: language, bad decisions
summary: “a friend should bear his friend’s infirmities” - william shakespeare, julius caesar.
masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!
You knock on the door at 8:30 sharp. Almost thirty seconds pass before he answers, and you note the hand on his holster as he opens the door. 
“Hey.”
“Hi,” you chirp. “Ready to go?”
He turns, gathering his things. “What do we know about this case in Kentucky?”
Thrown a little by the lack of greeting, you follow him into the apartment. The sight of the Foyet files on his desk aren’t foreign to you, nor are they a surprise. They’ve been there every time you came over during his leave (in fact, you’ve sat on them more than once), so why you expected them to go away once he was back you had no idea.
“Um, no connection between Call and his victims. They’re canvassing, but no sign of him so far.”
“Start with his recent history. Find the stressor.” His voice is flat, impassive, and you frown. 
He was just getting better…
You’re about to head back toward the door when -
“Don’t move.”
Right. The alarm. 
He stands by to arm it. “Ready?”
“Are you?”
+++
You arrive at the tarmac, Hotch in the passenger seat of your car. He looks a little resigned, but straightens and takes a breath before he opens the door, settling into his role as he steps out and straightens his suit jacket. 
It’s always a little funny to watch him transform. You’re honored you get to see it, even if he’s in rough shape. 
Especially then. 
You climb the stairs and follow him in, settling in your usual place. 
“Good to see you,” Dave says as Aaron scoots down the aisle. It makes you smile. 
“You, too.”
Aaron gets settled and you shift, trying not to hover but finding it difficult to be separated from him after his weeks of absence. He greets the rest of the team, exchanging pleasantries and checking in with Reid about his knee. 
“Any other attacks?”
JJ shakes her head, while Spencer elaborates. “Call’s proven hard to track. He’s never had a driver's license so he’s probably still on foot.”
“Or public transportation,” Emily notes.
You hum. “He wouldn’t take the bus. His face is everywhere.”
“Has anyone found a stressor?” You weren’t sure if Aaron’s brusque affect was going to continue once you made it to the plane, but his tone just about answers your question. 
Stepping back into authority quickly, there, Aaron. 
“He just lost his job,” Garcia supplies. “He’s worked at a factory since 1990. Made appliances since forever and not a single promotion.”
Derek tilts his head. “That’s a long time to be bitter.”
“Or he doesn’t care?”
JJ looks at Spencer and shakes her head. “Not if he’s got a family to feed.” 
“Actually, he’s of the hermit variety as far as I can tell. He’s got no one. No wife, no kids, no parents.” You watch Garcia’s eyes flicker around the screen as she talks to you, doing what she does best. 
“Nothing to live for.”  Derek’s looking a little too pointedly at Aaron for your taste, but your evaluation is interrupted. 
“So why hasn’t he killed himself yet?”
Your brain sputters at Aaron’s offhand delivery. “What?”
“Sprees usually end in suicide. If he’s got nothing to live for, why hasn’t he ended it?”
The energy in the room grows uncomfortable, fast. Aaron’s voice is still flat - you might go so far as to say it sounds dead, but that inspires a kind of heavy sullenness in your chest you’d rather not subject yourself to. 
You wish Haley was around for no other reason but to kick his ass. 
You’re thankful for Spencer when he answers Hotch’s question. “Because he isn’t finished, yet. We know he has displaced anger. He took it out on the first victim.”
“Well,” Aaron continues, “the stock boy represents someone. We need to know who.”
You meet Derek’s eyes and you can tell he’s trying to read you - trying to see if you’re as concerned as he is. You don’t give him the satisfaction. 
+++
Later, you corner Morgan on the plane before landing, keeping your voice low. The case is in your lap so there’s a valid distraction when you need one. 
“What’s wrong with you?”
He stops and turns. “I thought Hotch was cleared to drive.” 
“He is.”
“Then why did you pick him up this morning?”
You shrug. “I wanted to.” His eyes bore into the side of your head and you look up with an exasperated huff. “What?”
He sighs. “He’s only had a month off.”
“Well,” you say, aware that you’re being pedantic before you even get there, “thirty-four days. That’s a little more than a month.”
His stare is withering, but you’re impervious. “And you think that’s long enough?”
“Are you asking me as his coworker or as his friend?”
“Is there a difference?”
You shrug. “Maybe.” Yes. “But if you don’t think he’s had enough time, you should tell him.”
He scoffs. “No thanks. I like my job.”
“You like him more.” A little smile crosses your face. “Though, I know you don’t like to think so.”
“No. I like you.” Derek corrects. “He also happens to like you, so I tolerate him for your benefit.”
“Much appreciated.” You return to your work, but Derek’s eyes linger. You don’t look up as you ask, “What?”
“What if he has PTSD?”
Still writing, you answer with a general air of nonchalance. “He was evaluated.”
“Oh, come on. We wrote those questions. Hotch knows exactly -“
You slam your pen down and lean back with your arms crossed. You draw Spencer's eyes and lower your voice again. “So, what? Are you going to pick at me until you get me to say something you want me to say?” You let out a sardonic chuff, settling back to work. “If that’s the case, you’re gonna be here a while.” You tip your head a little toward the little table by the window. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”
You admittedly feel a little bad for being short with him, but everything seems to be testing your patience today. 
And if you’re honest, you’re worried about Aaron, too. 
After a few minutes of work in silence, you call out to him again. There’s the smallest of apologies in your voice. “Derek?”
He looks at you, dark eyes open and yielding - concerned and forgiving. “Yeah?”
“He’s back because he has to be. He needs to know we’re here for him.”
“He knows that.”
You offer him a small smile. “Don’t let him forget it.” You pause, your head wavering a little bit as your tone turns a touch facetious. “I can’t do all the heavy lifting around here.”
You get a laugh out of him - just a little one - and it’s enough. “Don’t push it, kid. I remember when you were dead weight.”
You roll your eyes. 
That’s enough, for now. 
+++
Even your seemingly-endless patience with Aaron rapidly wanes as you spend more time at the crime scene. It’s frustrating. 
“He was on an antipsychotic?” You ask with a little frown. 
The pharmacist nods. “Well, that’s why I wanted him to calm down. He’s been off of them at least a month, now.” 
“And when were you going to tell us this?” Aaron asks, harsh and sharp. 
You look at him, your frown deepening. 
What the fuck is that attitude?
“He’s armed, he’s delusional. Who’s his doctor?” Hotch’s tone grows even pointier, somehow, as he pushes harder. 
“I don’t remember - my computer…” She gestures behind the desk, where the computer has been fried by a bullet. 
“Great. That’s great.” He walks away, already making a call. 
“Excuse us,” you say in an attempt to recover. Derek echoes you and you try to avoid running after Hotch as he strides down the aisle. 
Long-legged asshole. Slow down. 
“Hotch,” you call. He doesn’t listen. 
“Call JJ and tell her about the meds.” He’s still walking. You’ve caught up. 
Derek chimes in, gesturing back at the pharmacist. “This is not her fault.”
Aaron turns on him. “Morgan, he’s in a psychotic break. It changes everything.”
“You want to talk about this?” Derek asks, taking another step closer. 
Squaring up to Derek’s shoulder, you’re ready to pull them apart if they get really heated. 
Wouldn’t be the first time.
In some ways, Morgan’s admission on the plane was truer than he let on. You are the link between Derek and Aaron, almost like a balm. You see things in them that they can’t see in each other. It helps. 
With a pang, you think of Haley, for some reason. 
You miss her. 
“No.” Aaron’s interruption is sharp and it startles you out of your thoughts. “I want to find him - Garcia,” he turns, continuing on his warpath forward, “he’s been off his antipsychotic for a month. What else did you miss?”
Your mouth drops open and Derek’s about to deck Aaron while his back is turned. You push in front of Derek, getting between them to give him a chance to cool off. The last thing you want is to handle more wound dressings - for either one of them. 
Aaron hangs up and walks out after what you imagine is a rather unilluminating update from Penelope. You turn, putting your hand on Derek’s shoulder and looking him in the eye. 
Still think he’s alright? His eyes ask.
 You grit your teeth. I don’t know. 
+++
The psychiatrist and patient lay dead on the floor, Call nowhere in sight. Derek directs the local officers to check the perimeter, just in case. 
You look at Hotch, who still doesn’t look completely checked in, himself. 
Or maybe he looks too checked in?
I don’t know. 
You’d be lying if you said his behavior didn’t freak you out. Though he’s standing beside you, you miss him. 
Come back to me. 
You miss the man who pliantly sat under your hands as you washed his wounds and brought him takeout and forced him to take naps in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday. 
You miss the man who fought you for the remote and stole far too many of your fries, who would change the channel if you made the mistake of going to the bathroom on a commercial break. 
That man was with you as late as Saturday. Returning has brought something else out in him, the part of him that spent (often very) late nights looking for Foyet has risen to the forefront. 
“We’re too late.” 
Before the rest of you can do anything, Aaron leaves the room, pushing past Dave in his haste to leave. 
Emily calls after him, but he’s long gone down the hallway. They look at you. 
All you can do is shake your head with a downturned curve of your mouth. 
+++
After a little while, you go downstairs and find Hotch outside. Before you can say anything - 
“I should have seen the blinking on the video.” 
You huff at him. “Hotch, it could have been a nervous tic. You couldn’t have known - none of the records were available, yet.” 
“But it wasn’t a tic. It’s a classic sign of long-term antipsychotic use, and I missed it.”
You step in front of him, squarely meeting his eyes. “We all missed it.” 
He’s got another pessimistic jab that you choose to ignore just before Emily and Dave arrive with news from Garcia. 
Oh, Aaron. 
+++
The officer huffs. “I don’t care why he took him.” 
Aaron had, once again, escalated the situation with local police. Tensions are high, and you only hope he can get his shit together at some point. “You should.” 
Goddamn it, Aaron. 
He continues, advancing on the police captain. “Call’s memory is no longer suppressed. He’s reinventing his past and unless we understand how, we’re not going to find either of them.”
“Well, I’m not gonna just sit around and speculate.” 
It’s an old-fashioned Western standoff, now. 
Who’s Clint Eastwood?
Well, Hotch has the looks but -
Quit. 
Fine. 
“Then don’t.”
The captain turns to you, Emily, and Dave. “You don’t think we should chase him either?”
“We need to get ahead of Call,” Dave answers evenly. 
The captain looks at Aaron once more before storming off. The rest of you approach Hotch, and Emily’s a little frustrated when she reminds him, “There’s a kid missing.” 
“They don’t need the extra manpower.” 
You squint at him. “Since when?”
“If we had studied Foyet’s initial crimes -”
Oh for the love of fuck. 
“- we would have known that a survivor didn’t make sense.”
“What does he have to do with this?”
Great question, Emily.
“All we had to do was stop and look at Foyet’s history. But we didn’t, and we lost two couples and a bus full of people. I am not making that mistake again.” He leaves the three of you stunned in his wake. After a moment, you follow him. 
You always do. 
+++
“Let’s go.” 
You’ve got the address to the unsub’s home and you take the car with Aaron, the rest of the team following behind you. 
He drives fast, but that’s nothing new. He throws the siren and floors it. You call SWAT yourself, getting Derek prepared for staging. 
When you get out of the car, you throw your vest on, helping Emily with the straps across her shoulders before she can reach them themselves. 
“Prentiss,” Aaron says, putting his earwig in. “Check in with the lieutenant, see if there’s anything we can use.” 
She nods. “Yes, sir.” 
“You good?” You ask, looking over at him. 
“Yeah, I’m good.” 
You throw your head to the side, and he takes your flank as you get closer to Emily. Her briefing with this particular lieutenant could go sideways, but you don’t want to leave him feeling trapped. 
“...The kid’s in there. We got this. Tactical teams are covering the exits. He’s still focused on the old man.”
Emily squints, adjusting her comm. “For now, but we’re gonna have to figure out the safest way to get that kid out.”
“I’ve got a team in the back and one on the way. We’re going to infiltrate.” 
“You do that and someone else dies.” The balance of firm and collaborative rests delicately on her tone. She’s doing well. 
“Either Call or a child murder. Flip a coin.” 
His tone frustrates you, but you leave Emily to her devices, checking your magazines for the third time. Your sidearm is in place, as is your backup. 
“It doesn’t have to end like that. We get a confession out of Jarvis and he goes away, and Call gets his answers. No one else has to die.” She pauses, and a streak of white flashes in your peripheral. “Hotch!” 
You whirl, ready to sprint after him as he walks decisively past the rest of you, past the gate, and into the house. After a moment’s hesitation, you make a break for it. A wall of arms stops you, and you know Derek’s behind you when you hear, “What the hell is he doing?”
No vest...Is he even carrying his gun? 
“Let him go.” 
You turn on Dave, your face plastered with fear and fury. “What do you mean let him go. Rossi -”
“I’m not letting him go in there solo.” Derek pushes against Dave again, but to your surprise, he’s locked in tight. 
“We have to trust him.” 
That cools Derek off, but not you. You thrash, freeing yourself from one of the local cops. “The hell we do.” 
“Kid - wait, no.” The roles reverse, and Derek catches up to you and locks you in his arms before you can breach the perimeter. Your elbows don’t land against his vest, but you sure try. “You’ll get him killed.” 
There’s only stress and silence as you stop struggling. All you can do is wait. 
Derek keeps his arm around you, but you almost feel like the contact is for both of you. You take deep breaths, trying to slow your heart rate. It’s through the roof. 
“What’s he doing?” Emily asks into her mic. 
Dave leans into his comm. “Stalling.” 
You can almost feel Derek’s jaw tightening. “He has nothing to lose.” 
He has everything to lose. 
You have everything to lose. 
Don’t be a hero, Aaron. Don’t do anything stupid. 
You hope that he can hear you somehow. 
Too late. 
Hotch appears in the window, followed by the boy. 
There’s a quick SWAT conversation in your ear. 
“Do you have the shot?”
“Negative, negative.”
He’s blocking the shot. 
Goddamn you, Aaron. Goddamn you. 
“Bringing the boy out,” a faceless voice on the radio says. The hostage runs down off the porch and you catch a glimpse of Aaron before he disappears behind the door again. 
You turn your head a touch, keeping your eyes on the door. “Get him out of there.” 
Dave shakes his head. “That’s his call.” 
Your body is wound tighter than a coil and you’re not sure if you’re ready to storm in there or just start walking home. 
There’s a gunshot, and you’re out of there like a bat out of hell. You launch yourself over the short fence and attach yourself to the first SWAT agent you see, remembering your training at the last moment. 
You breach the house and find Aaron cuffing Darin, whose father is dead in the armchair in front of him. Your jaw has never been tighter. 
Once you confirm that he is in fact still alive and still only has nine holes in him, you turn on your heel and you storm out of the house. You don’t stop until you’re leaning on the front of one of the cars, trying to catch your breath. Your hands shake and you don’t trust your knees to hold you up. 
The relief wars with something hot and unpleasant, leaving you more exhausted than you’ve been in weeks. 
You keep your head turned away from Aaron as he approaches you. It’s petty, but you also don’t want him to see the fear on your face. 
He calls you with a sigh in his voice and it finally ignites the fear into anger. 
“I can’t fucking believe you,” you spit. Your voice isn’t loud, but it certainly carries. JJ’s eyes flicker to you from the other side of the yard. “What kind of stunt are you trying to pull? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” 
His jaw tightens. “Let’s not do this here.” 
Your brow draws across your eyes and your mouth opens, indignant. “Let’s not do this here? You’re fucking kidding me.”
In his current state, nothing is off the table. His temper is running short and you know you’re capable of pushing him until he breaks. It hasn’t happened yet, but today might be it.  
Much to your surprise, a sigh leaves him, and he knows he’s stepped in it. “It was stupid. I’m sorry.”
You scoff, shaking your head. 
His remorse only stokes your anger. Go figure. 
“You’re sorry? You’re sorry. You could have died, Hotch. What you did was so beyond protocol I don’t even know if I should start with the necessity of your life because we need you as our unit chief or the importance of your safety as my friend -” You cut yourself off and look away from him, frustrated you even got that far. 
He has nothing to say to that. You’re completely right. The guilt might as well be written across his face in Sharpie. 
His absence fucked with you, to say the least. It felt awful, empty, in the field without him. And then when you were home - well, back at the apartment, he was only ever in pain. 
Overall, your anxiety regarding his health and safety is riding high. 
Much to your frustration, your eyes water, and your lower lip shakes - angry tears an ever-present threat. Your arms cross over your chest. “I can’t even look at you right now.” 
He reaches out for your arm, but you throw him off before he can make contact, turning your head. You stare at the ground, watching him flounder out of the corner of your eye. 
“Go. Go do your fucking job, Hotch.” His nickname is acid in your mouth. It feels like a punishment, a lash of a whip. He doesn’t move, and you turn on him, meeting his guilty brown eyes with your flinty ones. “Go. Make the arrest. They’re waiting on you.” You throw your chin to Derek and Emily, who are indeed waiting for him on the porch with the unsub. 
With another heavy sigh, he turns and rejoins the rest of your team. 
You stay where you are, directing coroner and local law enforcement personnel to relevant staging areas as the crime scene is processed and handled. Aaron’s eyes try to find yours, but you avoid them, focusing on someone, anyone else with crisp professionalism that hardly belies your fear. 
You’ve never been so angry in your life. Even if you have, you can’t remember it feeling this wretched.
+++
He sits beside you on the plane once you’re up in the air and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. The rest of the team sleeps scattered around the cabin, but you suspect that at least one of them is faking it, waiting for some kind of spectacle or spectacular blowup between the two of you. 
You haven’t spoken to Aaron since leaving the crime scene. You drove back to the precinct with Emily and Dave, staying close to JJ and Spencer while you packed your things. There’s a part of you that feels bad for creating what Strauss would call a “hostile work environment,” but the other part can’t bring itself to care. 
You can’t even begin to articulate the fear that coursed through you as you waited for him outside that house. You couldn’t begin to explain the extent of your fear, but after the stabbing and the removal of Haley and Jack from your lives, the prospect of losing him in the field was beyond unbearable. 
It’s frustrating to feel so comforted by his proximity while you’re still so angry with him. The familiarity of it all hardly blunts your anger. If anything, the relief at having him back at your side sharpens your anger into something that scares you. 
The impossibility of it is beyond measure. You’ve known for some time now, but this is the first you’re willing to admit it. 
I love him. 
Fuck.
You love him. You love his son. You love his wife. 
You love the weird look he gets on his face when he has to say “penetration” while he’s delivering a profile. You love the way he tries not to smile when Emily beats Spencer at chess. You love the way he twiddles with pens when he’s thinking or nervous or both. You love that each of his smiles feel like a gift just for you. 
There’s nothing you don’t love about him. 
Except, of course, the way he, with profound idiocy, endangered his life today for no particular reason in addition to his generally asshole-ish behavior. 
“I would say I’m sorry, but I’m sure you know that.” 
You do.
He waits on you, quiet and still. 
You take a deep breath, finally looking at him. “You scared the hell out of me.” 
He nods, his jaw flexing. 
“Don’t do it again.” 
He blinks once, slowly. You know he can’t promise that, but you appreciate his acknowledgment nevertheless. There’s quiet for a moment. 
“Aaron…” You look at him, nothing but concern in your tone. 
He shakes his head. “Don’t.”
“I was just going to say…” You swallow, trying to find better words but coming up short. “We’ll get him.”
+++
Derek’s voice echoes down to the bullpen as you finish up the last few pieces of your paperwork. “I will not stand by and watch this man kill himself.” 
Aaron’s door is closed as he works. You’re not sure if you’re thankful for that, or if you’d rather he hear it. You can’t really hear Dave - not that you’d want to, you’re almost as pissed at him as you are at Aaron - but it doesn’t matter. You know what he has to say. 
Derek’s voice drops lower than you can hear. Dave drops his head. 
Moments later, Derek flies back down the stairs, grabs his jacket, and takes his leave with a cursory goodbye thrown in your direction. Dave returns to his desk and Aaron’s door finally opens. 
You look up as his lights turn off, gathering your things at your desk. With a little sigh that looks a bit like defeat, he stops at your desk. The smugness doesn’t completely leave your tone. “Need a ride?”
Of course, he does. “Please.” 
You rise and walk to the elevators together. In the silence, you tell him, “I’m still really mad at you.” 
A sigh. “I know.” 
+++
You walk him upstairs and take care of the alarm while he removes his suit jacket and throws it over the couch. 
“Do you think Call’s gonna be okay?” You ask, still facing the alarm. 
“I don’t know.”
“He got his answers,” you note, turning to him. “He killed the man who haunted him.” 
His eyes are fixed on a spot on the carpet. “And what else is there?”
“Years of torture.” You both know you’re not talking about Call anymore, but it’s nice to pretend. It gives you the opportunity to say things you wouldn’t - shouldn’t - say to him. “Fear. Grief.”
“Think he’ll get over that?” 
“How could he?” A humorless smile pulls at one corner of your mouth. “But at least he doesn't feel like he’s alone.”
He finally meets your eyes. “He doesn’t have anyone.” I don’t have anyone, his brow says. 
“He has Tommy. He’s not alone.” 
You have me. You’re not alone. 
His brows pull low over his eyes, and you take another opportunity as it comes. “Do you want me to stay again tonight?”
“No, I’m alright.” He takes a little breath and you round the corner, pouring him a couple fingers of whiskey before making a slow, purposeful trek across the room. “Thank you,” he says, taking it. 
“Of course. Anytime.” Now, you both know you aren’t talking about the drink. 
Nevertheless, you pat your pockets for your keys, phone, and various federal paraphernalia, finding them all where they belong. “I should head out, then. Call if you need anything.” 
He nods, watching you with quiet eyes as you close and lock the door behind you. 
+++
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wiypt-writes · 3 years
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Stark Spangled Rebirth
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Chapter 1: Flowers In The Window
Summary: Steven Grant Rogers, the dumb kid who was always too stubborn to run away from a fight, was never gonna allow a bunch of no-good low-lives to hassle a dame in the street, even if it was going to lead to him getting his ass kicked. For once, however, the ass kicking has an upside as the dame in question seemed particularly grateful, a fact she displays a few days later at the Stark Expo.
But it wasn’t the only encounter that fateful night that seemed set to change his life when Dr Erskine throws him a bone, meaning Steve can finally do the one thing he’s been desperate to do for years.
Join the army.
Warnings: Bad Language words. Nothing much… Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark
A/N:  So here it is…my take on what would have gone down so to speak should Katie have been part of the CA: TFA timeline and my contribution of sorts to the CATF 10 Year Anniversary Challenge. I’ll be trying to keep this fic as accurate to the time period and the movie as possible, just like with the other SS fics.  I really hope you enjoy this, there will be some creative license because, let’s face it, what is Fan Fic other than self-indulgence?
Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.
SSR Masterlist // Main Masterlist
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June 1943
It started just the same as any normal Friday morning for Steven Grant Rogers. He unlocked the back of the Grocery Store on the corner of Berry Street in Brooklyn, using the entrance down the alley way reserved for staff. Once inside, he grabbed his beige coloured linen apron off the hook and smiled at the items he had to work with today. Fridays were always a treat as they took the rare delivery of freshly cut flowers ready to be sold for the weekend. This week there were boxes of bright white gardenias with their waxy petals and shiny, leathery dark green leaves, bunches of bright purple heliotrope which always reminded him of one of his mother’s scarves, and plenty of white, blue and purple asters. Steve bent down to take in the strong, vibrant fragrance of the gardenias, closing his eyes. It was easy to imagine he was in some garden somewhere, or even the middle of central park…not some little shop in Williamsberg.
“Don’t be inhaling enough of that to set your asthma off!” Mr Tromley, a kindly faced, portly man in his fifties greeted, and Steve turned to look at him, smiling a little shyly.
“I won’t Mr T,” he assured him, “they’re just so darn pretty…”
“Well set yourself a few aside.” Mr Tromley smiled, “you can take them home and sketch them.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.” Steve protested, the way he always did when Mr Tromley tried to slip him something for free be it scraps of meat he couldn’t sell from the counter that would be given to dogs, bread that wasn’t as soft as it had been in the morning and would be fed to the birds, milk that was going to turn, cheese that was slightly past its best. Mr Tromley ignored all his protests though, usually threatening to sack Steve if he didn’t take it. The man knew what it was like to come from a hard background, which was part of the reason he’d taken a shine to that sickly, twenty-two year old orphan with a degree in fine arts that had come begging for a job some three years ago. He couldn’t pay him much but he could do other things to make sure he got by.
“Well if you don’t take ‘em Steve they’ll just end up withering and a-dyin’, so reckon you’d be doin’ em a kindness.” Mr Tromley shrugged “Now, my Ada has some coffee going, you want a cup before we open the doors?”
Steve glanced at the clock above the counter, more out of habit than anything as he knew full well that he arrived with an hour to go.
“Mr T that’d be swell.” He smiled.
“Okay, you get started and I’ll fetch it down.”
Steve began in the usual way, pulling some simple bouquets together, varying in size and price, ready for the busy men to pick up on their way home from work, a nice present for their dame’s for the weekend. Once the stalks and lower foliage were trimmed and stripped, he fastened and tied them in simple brown waxy paper using plain brown string. Steve always insisted on using plain wrapping as anything else would detract from the beauty of the flowers. He placed the finished bouquets into one of the green buckets of water Mr Tromley fetched from the back, before he then carefully and delicately trimmed down the remaining flowers before placing them loose in their own buckets according to type, ready for the ladies, and occasional gentleman, who had the time and desire to create their own bunches.
Impeccably organised, as ever, Steve finished his work fifteen minutes before the store was due to open. He then set about helping Mr Tromley as they arranged the buckets outside the shop window on the sidewalk, before they set up the other stalls of seasonal vegetables. There wasn’t much fruit to go by at the moment, but that was a sign of the times really. But what they did have, namely a selection of apples and oranges, they set those out ready too. Once that was done, Mr Tromley handed Steve a thick wedge of fresh bread which had been delivered that morning from the local bakery, along with some of his wife’s home-made jam which was sold from their shop. Steve took his breakfast with a mumbled thanks, averse to taking the daily handouts as ever, and Mr Tromley sighed.
“Steve, when are you going to realise that a piece of bread and jam for breakfast ain’t gonna bankrupt me?”
“I just don’t want to appear to take advantage, that’s all.” “Ah quit it.” Tromley waved his hand, shaking his head “If I didn’t want you to take advantage of it, I wouldn’t offer it would I? Now, eat that and get behind the counter.”
The morning passed much the same as they always did. A flurry of activity at opening, a steady stream of locals and regulars through to the usual peak of activity just before lunch. Like clockwork, Mr Tromley closed the doors bang on midday for an hour and Steve gathered his sketchbook along with the brown paper bag which contained his cheese and bread, and headed outside into the sun. At Mr Tromley’s instruction he selected an apple from the display and crossed the road avoiding the yellow cabs and cyclists and trams, taking up seat on the bench which sat directly opposite the shop front.  He chewed his lunch, washed it down with the tin bottle of lemonade that Mrs Tromley had filled for him earlier, and then once he had finished his apple he tossed the core over to a pigeon who instantly began pecking at it. He then untucked the pencil that was behind his ear, opened his sketchbook and resumed the detailed landscapes he was doing of the buildings surrounding the shop front. Drawing was his escape, something he did any chance he got. He dreamed one day of travelling the world, drawing all the different sights he could, but that was out of the question. Well, until he finally got into the army. With four failed attempts under his belt already, most men would have given up but not Steven Rogers. Stubborn, tenacious and plucky to a fault, he was already planning his next attempt at enlisting, this time he was going to hail from New Jersey. Well, as good a place as any.  
Steve glanced up, checking the detail of the window to the cobblers next door, and that was when he saw her, just walking down the sidewalk. She wore a red high-collared, cap sleeved tea-dress which flared out slightly from her hips and finished just below her knee. It was cinched in at the waist with a black belt, and was detailed round the hem and sleeve edges with pretty white lace. On her feet she wore a pair of simple, elegant black block heel courts with a T-bar buckle. Her hair was a silky, shiny chestnut which hung around her face in bouncy waves and she had a soft, gentle profile with high cheekbones, slightly flushed cheeks and ruby lips. She stopped outside the shop, examining the flowers with a smile, and then she looked up at the shop door and saw the CLOSED sign in the window. She can’t be from around here, Steve thought to himself, everyone in the neighbourhood knew when Tromley closed his doors and opened them, you could set your watch by it. Still, she hung around, softly picking up a gardenia and holding it to her nose, smiling to herself as she inhaled.
Steve found the innocent act breath-taking. He felt a little, well, shameful in a way, to be watching her so, intruding on what was clearly a private moment but he couldn’t help it. She was beautiful, grace personified, and he felt a little sad as she replaced the flower, gave the buckets one last look, before she continued on her way. Steve sighed, wishing to God that the shop had been open, it would have given him an excuse to maybe see her a little more closely. Perhaps talk to her. Or not as the case maybe, Bucky was always telling him how useless he was when it came to striking up conversations with ladies. But, for now, he had to settle for watching her walk away. Only he wasn’t the only one.
“Hey pretty thing…” Steve heard a voice and turned to his left where a group of men, most likely in their late teens or early twenties, had spotted her. As Steve watched he saw one of them push himself off the lamppost he’d been leaning on and cross the street towards her. The lady stopped, looking at him with her eyebrow raised. He spoke to her again, Steve couldn’t hear the conversation but a smile tugged at his lips as the lady looked the boy up and down, disdain etched all over her pretty face before she shook her head and laughed. She made to move past the kid but he reached out and grabbed her arm.
And Steve just couldn’t help himself.
“Hey!” He called, jumping up and hurrying across the street. “Let the lady go.”
“Back off, this has nothing to do with you.” The man rounded on him, looking at him before he snorted at Steve’s stature. “Besides, what you gonna do about it anyway? Runt.”
Steve took a deep breath, he was used to people looking down their noses at him, both figuratively and literally. That was part and parcel of being only five foot four inches tall. He also knew that at hundred pound give or take, he didn’t cut a formidable figure either, but he was damned if he was going to let this bully manhandle a dame in the middle of the street.
The woman wrenched her arm away from the man’s grip and glared at him, furious green eyes bored into his as she snorted and looked the guy up and down. “He’s clearly twice the gentleman you’ll ever be. Didn’t your mother ever teach you basic, good manners jack ass?”
“What did you just say?” a sudden darkness crossed the man’s face as he looked down at the woman who stood, un-yielding, clutching her purse as it hung around her shoulder.
“You heard me, well unless you’re deaf as well as ugly.” She shrugged slightly. At that Steve really couldn’t hold his face straight anymore and he felt the side of his lips curl up into a smirk. He was sure the pretty dame’s eyes flickered to his but he must have imagined it as when he stole a glance back at her she was staring straight back at the man who’d been giving her the trouble.
“Mouthy little broad you ain’t ya?” He snarled.
“Show some damned respect.” Steve shot out, and this time the man rounded on him. Steve stood stock still, his mother’s words echoing clearly in his head- you start running, they’ll never let you stop and he was aware in his peripheral that the other 2 men who’d been observing until now were starting to circle like sharks who had just had their first taste of blood.
He braced himself, ready for the inevitable fight, legs slightly apart, hands balling into fists by his side. But it was no use. He was never going to be fast enough or strong enough for one of these guys, let alone three, and as the fist connected with his face he heard a scream and a yell as he fell backwards into the display of oranges and apples which he had lovingly helped Mr T prepare before.
Steve staggered to his feet, readying himself for another hit but it didn’t come. Instead one of the guys was sent sprawling to the ground besides him, shortly followed by the other. He wheeled round to see Bucky had the one that was left standing pinned up by the collar against the brick wall to the side of the shop and Mrs T was on the door step brandishing a broom handle, a string of Italian expletives leaving her mouth.
“Get outta here!” Bucky shoved the one that he was holding harshly into the road where he narrowly avoided colliding with the side of a yellow cab. Then turns to Steve and pulls him up.
“Seriously?” Bucky groaned and Steve shook his head, dusting himself down “You pick a fight with three at once?”
“He didn’t pick a fight with any of them.” A soft voice spoke and both Steve and Bucky turned to look at the dame in the red dress who was dusting herself down as her eyes flitted from Bucky, to Steve, then back again. “He came to help me when one of those bozos was getting a little too familiar.”
“That’s Stevie, a regular Knight in shining armour.” Bucky ruffled Steve’s hair as he gave an exasperated sigh, pushing himself away from his best friend. “Especially when there’s a beautiful dame involved.”
 The lady looked at Bucky, arching an eyebrow before she looked back at Steve and he gulped slightly as for the first time he took her in properly. There was nothing else to say other than she was drop dead gorgeous. Deep green eyes that sparkled like emeralds looked back at him from a heart shaped face, nose speckled with freckles which twitched a little as she smiled revealing a row of perfectly straight, white teeth
"I guess I should thank you Stevie." She spoke, and Steve felt the heat rise in his cheeks.
"It was nothing...I just.." he stopped dead as she reached out and straightened his tie, long eyelashes blinking against his cheeks as she smoothed over his shoulders and dropped a kiss to his cheek.
"My hero"
Steve swallowed and looked at the woman as she stepped back, smiling at him.
“I err, it was…my pleasure.” Steve stuttered and the lady arched an eyebrow, a grin on her face.
“Interesting choice of words.”
“I mean, not pleasure, obviously. No one likes seeing a beautiful dame getting hassled, I mean woman, not that…” he shook his head, as Bucky nudged him. He was rambling, as per usual. “I err, I should…”he gestured to the shop as Mr and Mrs Tromley were now looking at the mess of fruit all over the floor.
“I’m sorry about that.” She turned to the shopkeepers who looked at her, Mrs Tromley waving her away.
“Not your fault, dear.”
“Can I at least buy some of the flowers?”  She asked, a little shyly. “That is what I actually wanted to do after all.”
“Of course, Steven, can you…” Mr T nodded to Steve and then his eyes fell on Bucky “James Buchanan Barnes, what are you doing here?”
“Got a week or so’s furlough, Mr T and Ma sent me for some stuff, I gotta list.” he nodded, fishing it out of his pocket.
Tromley took it from him, scanned it and then turned to walk into the shop, beckoning for Bucky to follow him. Steve’s eyes followed his friend’s broad back as Bucky paused in the doorway and stopped, turning back to the woman. Steve groaned inwardly, he knew that face, Bucky was about to turn on the charm and she was no doubt going to fall in a pool at his feet, just like most of the other girls in the neighbourhood.
“You’re not from round here, right?” Bucky asked.
“What makes you say that?” She countered with a question of her own, looking Bucky up and down as she spoke.
“Never seen you before.”
“Know all the girls in Brooklyn, do you James Buchanan Barnes?” She asked, and Bucky gave a chuckle as she repeated his name to him and winked.
“Only the pretty ones.” “Well I suppose with most men joining the army the moment, even the pretty ones can’t be choosers.”
At that Steve let out a snort of laughter as Bucky blinked in surprise. “Ouch.” He gave a little scoff and shake of his head before he turned to walk into the shop.
“He always like that?” The lady looked at Steve who took a deep breath and smiled a little.
“Yes Ma’am. And to be honest it normally works.” Steve glanced at Bucky before he looked back at the woman who was looking at him, her eyes twinkling. “Most girls just can’t seem’ta say no!”
“Well, I’ll let you into a secret.” She grinned and leaned closer to Steve. “I’m not like most girls.”
Steve swallowed again, nervously brushing a hand through his hair as she straightened up and smiled at him. “I’m Katie by the way, seems only fair you know my name seeing as I know yours.”
“I err, that’s a pretty name.” Steve smiled and then inwardly cursed himself again.
Pretty name? Really? That’s the best you can do?
“Thank you.” She giggled, and then she turned to the buckets “So errr, do you wanna make me a bouquet Steve? Something pretty for my room.”
Glad of the distraction, Steve nodded and turned to the various bunches of flowers. “I err, I noticed you were admiring the gardenias, so…” “You were watching me?” she spoke and Steve looked at her, ready to start protesting that wasn’t what he’d been doing when he spotted the glint in her eyes and he shook his head giving a sigh. She grinned “I love gardenias, lilies are my favourite but gardenias are pretty too.”
“Yeah we don’t have any lilies, unfortunately.” Steve shrugged “They were my Ma’s favourite too.”
Steve set about gathering a generous bunch of flowers as she instructed him to make it a large bouquet and then she followed him into the shop where he wrapped them in brown paper and string as Bucky was leaning against the counter, chatting to the Tromleys, Mrs Tromley laughing loudly at something he’d said.
“You are a cad, Bucky Barnes!” She looked at him, shaking her head “Isn’t it bad enough you joined the army? You’ll give your ma a heart attack one of these days.”
Bucky shrugged “It wasn’t so bad, he never caught me. Even on a bum ankle I was faster.”
“You been caught in places you shouldn’t be again Buck?” Steve looked at him and he shrugged, grinning.
“You know me, Stevie!”
“Yeah, yeah I do.” Steve rolled his eyes before he tied off the bouquet with the string and then handed it to Katie. She smiled.
“You have talented hands.” She spoke gently and Steve flushed once more, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Yeah, he’s good with them.” Bucky spoke and Steve glared at him. Katie turned to look at Bucky again, a smirk playing on her lips.
“Makes a change, in my experience most men don’t know the first thing about how to use them.”
Mrs Tromley choked a little on her coffee as she looked at the younger woman, flashing her a wink. Katie bit her lip, her mouth curling up into a small smile as she rummaged in her purse, pulling out a small leather wallet.
“How much do I owe you?”
“No charge.” Mr Tromley spoke suddenly but Katie shook her head.
“I insist, I was responsible for your display getting trashed, least I can do is pay for these.”
“Oh trust me,” Mr Tromley smiled, “seeing you put that toe-rag into them was worth it.”
“Yeah, you had some pretty vicious moves for a dame.” Bucky looked at her and she shrugged as Steve frowned.
“Wait, you…” “Don’t look so surprised.” Katie smiled “A girl should always know how to defend herself. But if I’m honest, it’s always nice to have a man do it for you.”
At that she smiled and slapped some money down on the counter, stepping back. “Keep the change in insist.”
Mr Tromley looked at her, then at the note, his mouth falling open a little.
“Thank you again Steve.” She picked up the bouquet. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“I hope so, I mean…yeah…come back soon.”
She smiled and with a final look in his direction she left, the bell ringing as the door opened and shut behind her. There was a pause until Bucky turned to Steve.
“Come back soon?” he looked at him “Really? That’s the best you could do?”
Steve groaned. “Piss off Bucky.” He shot, giving a yelp as Mrs T swatted at his head.
“Language, Steven!” She scalded, as Mr T chuckled and slid the money she’d left to Steve across the counter. Steve blinked and looked at it, before he shook his head. Mr Tromley glared at him.
“You don’t take that you’re fired.”
With a groan Steve folded the $5 note up and slid it into the pocket of his slacks. Mrs Tromley muttered something about going to check on her scones which were in the oven upstairs and Mr Tromley headed into the back, leaving Steve and Bucky alone.
“You know, that dame was practically begging for you to ask her out on a date.” Bucky picked up the paper bag containing the groceries he had come for and Steve looked at him, snorting.
“You’re joking right?” the smaller man shook his head “Dame’s like that don’t want a guy like me.” “Clueless.” Bucky shook his head “Absolutely fucking clueless.” Steve watched him head to the door, before he stopped and turned back. “Oh that reminds me. Ma’s expecting you about 6 for dinner. She’s making meatloaf and told me that if you refuse she’s gonna, and I quote.” Bucky cleared his throat and spoke in a light, airey impression of his Ma, “march round to his house and drag him outta that apartment by his ear.”
Steve rolled his eyes well naturedly. He hadn’t been to the Barnes’ for dinner for a week so he wasn’t surprised Winnie had sent Bucky with an invitation that was more of an instruction than anything. “Okay, thanks Buck.”
Bucky gave him a salute before he headed out of the store, whistling to himself. Steve took a deep breath, shook his head and turned back to his work, pushing all thoughts of the stunning young woman in the red dress out of his mind.
*****
“You just don’t know when to give up, do you?” She taunting voice of his opponent rang in Steve’s ears as he staggered to his feet. This wasn’t how he’d planned his trip to the movie theatre going, not one iota. But when the loudmouthed asshole had done nothing but show total disrespect to those fighting overseas as the infomercial was showing, his temper had gotten the better of him and once more had led to him getting into a fight. As far as Monday’s went, this one was pretty crappy.
Which of course he could never walk away from.
“I can do this all day.” Steve huffed, swinging his fist at the guy again. The jerk easily blocked Steve’s feeble punch with his arm, delivering a huge jab with his left which sent Steve sprawling straight into the side of the trashcan from which he’d picked up the lid before. As Steve lay dazed, he heard a familiar voice breaking through the fog.
“Hey! Pick on someone your own size.” Bucky yanked the guy backwards by his jacket, shoving him a little down the alleyway. The guy swung at Bucky who dodged it almost lazily, before delivering a punch of his own, placing a firm boot up the guys ass as he retreated hurriedly. Watching as he scooted away, Bucky turned to Steve who was stood with his hands on his knees, steadying himself.
“Sometimes, I think you like getting punched.”
“I had him on the ropes.” Steve replied, pressing the heel of his palm to the cut above his eyebrow, wincing a little from the various blows he’d taken.
Bucky said nothing, instead he bent down to pick up the enlistment form that had fallen from Steve’s pocket and with a sigh he glanced at it.
“How many times is this?” His eyes scanned the information and he arched an eyebrow “Oh, you’re from Paramus now? You know it’s illegal to lie on the enlistment form. And seriously, Jersey?”
Steve ignored him, and then for the first time looked up at his friend to see him stood tall in his full army uniform. Which could only mean one thing. “You get your orders?” he frowned a little.
“The one-o-seventh. Sergeant James Barnes. Shipping out for England first thing tomorrow.”
Steve sighed, great. Just what he needed to hear. “I should be going.” He shook his head dejectedly.
Bucky looked at him sympathetically before he smiled, and looked an arm round his shoulder, pulling him closer in a friendly gesture as they both began to head back down the alley towards the main road.
“Come on, man, it’s my last night! Gotta get you cleaned up.”
“Why? Where are we going?”
“The future.” Bucky handed Steve the newspaper he was holding. Steve opened it to see the ad for the World Exposition Of Tomorrow.
“Buck…” he began to protest but Bucky stopped him.
“Seriously? My last night before I ship off to bust Nazi’s and you’re already tryin’a bail?”
“No, I just…” “Stevie!” Bucky whined. “Since I got my draft last September, I’ve hardly seen you other than when I’ve been home…”
“I know, but…” “No buts, man! I mean who knows when I’m gonna see you again now I’m actually being sent into combat and not just back to Camp McCoy. You know, London is a little further afield than Wisconsin “
“I’m well aware of that.” Steve rolled his eyes.
“So come on! Let’s go, have some fun. Cut loose a little. It’ll do you good.”
Steve looked up to see Bucky’s eyes shining with mischief, his handsome face grinning at him and he rolled his eyes “Fine, but you’re buying the hotdogs.”
“What else is new?” Bucky grinned, grabbing Steve in a headlock and ruffling his hair a little.
“Jerk.” Steve said furiously, pushing him away.
*****
A couple of hours later the two of them entered the Expo, Steve taking in the sights around him. It was crazy busy, a buzz of excitement around the air and it was hardly surprising. Howard Stark, the guy at the centre of it all was somewhat of a celebrity. He’d founded his company some four years ago at the age of twenty-two, and it had grown from strength to strength, with numerous pioneering technological advances to his name. Steve would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little excited to see the latest and no doubt flamboyant invention the guy had come up with, but his mind was still on his failed Army application, the feeling of inadequacy exacerbated even more by the fact Bucky was going to be leaving him behind to serve his country, something that Steve felt he should be doing right along with his best pal.
Sensing his brooding nature, Bucky nudged him and opened his mouth no doubt to make some wise crack, but Steve shook his head.
“Buck, just don’t”
“I don’t see what the problem is.” Bucky shook his head as they wandered down the steps towards the main pavilion area “You’re about to be the last eligible man in New York.” Bucky grinned, and Steve sighed heavily. Yup, there it was. “You know, there’s three and a half million women here.”
“Well, I’d settle for just one.” Steve muttered and Bucky grinned, Steve allowing a little smile to spread across his face at his own joke.
“Good thing I took care of that.” Bucky grinned and waved to two girls, a blonde and a brunette, who stood a few feet away and Steve stopped dead as one of the girls waved back, calling out to Bucky.
Great, here we go again.
“What did you tell her about me?” Steve groaned. “Only the good stuff.” Bucky smirked as they walked towards the girls, Steve brushing his hand through his hair, making sure it was as tidy as he could.
Bucky introduced the girls as Connie and Bonnie. It was obvious from the start that Connie was the one Bucky was trying his luck with, although to be fair Bonnie might as well have been with Bucky too for all the attention she paid to Steve. As they wandered into the Pavilion, Steve stopped to purchase a bag of sweets before he followed on behind the other 3, glancing around at the various exhibits.
“Welcome to the Modern Marvels Pavilion and the World of Tomorrow.” The expo announcer spoke “A greater world. A better world.”
There was a little bit of murmuring from people in front of them as they stopped, glancing at the large stage in front of them which was currently dark, but then there was movement, music struck up and Connie grabbed Bucky’s arm in excitement.
“Oh, my God! It’s starting!” She squealed and yanked on Bucky’s hand, pulling him closer. As Steve stood behind them he saw the stage light up to reveal a row of women all dressed in black and white striped waistcoats, short jackets and top hats. One of them walked across the front of the stage, smiling as she spoke into a microphone
“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Howard Stark!”
Smooth and cool as a cucumber, Howard Stark strode onto the stage, taking off his top hat, whilst he smiled, handing it to the announcer before kissing her as the crowd cheered. Howard smirked a little, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket which he used to dab at his mouth before he addressed his audience.
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” at that point Steve held the small paper bag over towards Bonnie who looked at it, then him, almost scathingly as Howard continued his speech. “What if I told you that in just a few short years, your automobile won’t even have to touch the ground at all?”
“You know…” A vaguely familiar voice spoke and Steve looked up from where he had been examining his bag of bonbons, wondering what was wrong with them, to see the woman from the shop a few days ago, Katie stood to the side of Bonnie. She was dressed in a simple grey dress which sported a pencil style skirt, with a light blue cardigan covering her shoulders. “When a gentleman offers you a sweet and you don’t want one, there’s really no need to be such a rude bitch about it.”
Her eyes were narrowed as she gave Bonnie a scathing look. Bonnie floundered a little as Katie reached out, dipping her red nailed, manicured hand into the paper bag and taking a bonbon. In doing so, she jostled Bonnie forward a little with her elbow, and turned to the stage, popping the bonbon in her mouth, giving Steve a little wink. Steve felt his cheeks flush as Bucky turned, his attention drawn to the slight scuffle behind him. He saw Katie stood next to Steve and he grinned.
“Hey Dollface!” Katie turned her head and looked at Bucky as Steve rolled his eyes. However, just like at the shop, she payed Bucky no attention other than a flick of her eyebrow, before her eyes moved back to the stage, Steve doing the same to see that Stark was now stood by some sort of podium.
“With Stark robotic reversion technology, you’ll be able to do just that.” Howard spoke, and with that he turned to fiddle with a few switches on the podium and the car started to hover ever so slightly off the ground. Steve felt his mouth drop open in awe as in front of him Bucky let out an astonished mumble.
“Holy cow!”
But he spoke too soon, as the jets making the car hover suddenly malfunctioned and the car fell back onto the stage with a loud crash, sparks flying out round it.
Bucky turned to look at Steve, smiling as Steve’s eyebrows raised, and besides him, Katie gave a snort.
“I did say a few years, didn’t I?” Howard laughed, leaning on the bonnet of the car.
“Few years my ass.” Katie mumbled and Steve looked at her.
“What?”
“Nothing, doesn’t matter.” She shook her head. “Listen, I gotta go-”
“Oh, ok.” Steve tried not to sound disappointed but Katie smiled at him softly, cutting him off.
“Meet me at the Cider cart in an hour.”
“I err…” Steve stuttered, before he frowned. “You sure, you wanna meet me?”
“If I didn’t I wouldn’t have said so.” Katie grinned. “One hour, don’t you dare be late.”
“Yeah, an hour, got it.”
Not quite able to believe his luck, Steve watched her go, smiling to himself before he glanced around and his eyes stopped on the familiar Uncle Sam poster pointing at him, with an arrow directing him to a recruitment centre. What the hell, he had nothing to lose…and an hour was plenty of time. Decision made, he followed the signs and jogged up the steps into the building, pausing to take a look around as people were milling in the carpeted hallway.
“Come on soldier!” a woman giggled at her male company, pulling him away from a mirror making him look like a soldier. Once he was gone Steve stepped in front of the mirror but he was too short to fill out the face. His shoulders slumped and then suddenly, a strong hand gripped his right and Bucky chuckled.
“You’re kind of missing the point of a double date.” He said, shaking his head as Steve stepped away, turning to face him “We’re taking the girls dancing.”
“You go ahead. I’ll catch up with you.” Steve replied, hands dropping into his pockets.
“What, you had a better offer? From Dollface?”
“Her name is Katie.”
“Oh my God I’m right!” Bucky laughed. “Good for you, Punk!”
Steve rolled his eyes and then watched as a man strode past him in an Army Uniform and when Steve looked back at Bucky, his friend’s face now sported an exasperated expression as he’d clearly realised what Steve was planning. “You’re really gonna do this again?”
“Well, it’s a fair. I’m gonna try my luck.” Steve answered with a little shrug.
“As who? Steve from Ohio? They’ll catch you. Or worse, they’ll actually take you.” Bucky’s voice was frustrated and Steve gave a little smile.
“Look, I know you don’t think I can do this, but I’m more-“
“This isn’t a back alley, Steve. It’s war!” Bucky cut him off.
“I know it’s a war. You don’t have to tell me that-“ “Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs.” “What am I gonna do? Collect scrap metal-“
“Yes!”
“-in my little red wagon?”
“Why not?”
“I’m not gonna sit in a factory, Bucky.” Steve argued, shaking his head.
“I don’t…” Bucky protested once more and Steve cut him off.
“Bucky, come on! There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me.”
“Right. Cause you got nothing to prove.” Bucky said gently and Steve took a deep breath. But before Bucky could say anything else Connie called out to him.
“Hey, Sarge! Are we going dancing?”
Bucky turned back to the girls, his arms held out to the side. “Yes, we are.” With that he turned back to Steve, shaking his head a little, his shoulders slumped in resignation. “Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.” He instructed as he started to walk away.
“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Steve shot back and Bucky shook his head, giving a snort.
“You’re a punk.” He walked back towards Steve and hugged him goodbye.
“Jerk” Steve said gently slapping Bucky’s back. “Be careful.”
With a pang of sadness, Steve watched his best friend walking away, not quite sure when they’d see each other again, if indeed ever. He licked his lips and then called out to Bucky once more. “Don’t win the war till I get there!”
Bucky stopped and saluted him before he strode down the steps, “Come on girls. They’re playing our song.”
With a deep breath, Steve headed into the recruitment centre, past an older gentlemen in a brown suit. He was given the usual forms to fill out, this time going with Ohio as his place of birth-thanks for that one, Buck- and he was shown to the medical examination room. After the short physical was over, he was just fastening the sleeves of his long shirt up again when a nurse walked into the room and whispered something inaudible to the doctor.
“Wait here.” The Doctor turned to him, moving to the curtain.
“Is there a problem?” Steve asked, frowning a little.
“Just wait here.” The doctor repeated his instruction before he walked out.
Steve paused for a second, glancing over his right shoulder at a sign warning against lying on enlistment forms before he glanced at the curtain, cold dread filling him. Shit, Bucky was right, they’d caught up with him. Jumping down off the bed he sat heavily in a chair and began to pull on his shoes when someone entered the cubicle. He glanced up and saw a Military Police officer looking at him and he swallowed a little nervously. But before he could say anything another man entered, the man Steve had walked past about forty minutes or so previously in the foyer, and he was clutching a file in his hands.
“Thank you.” The man spoke to the Police Officer who left, pulling the curtains closed behind him. Steve watched as the man turned to face him, his hands behind his back. “So, you want to go overseas.” The man pulled the file from behind him, opening it “Kill some Nazis.”
“Excuse me?”
“Dr. Abraham Erskine.” The man closed the folder and walked over as Steve stood up, shaking his hand “I represent the Strategic Scientific Reserve.”
“Steve Rogers” Steve nodded, noting the man’s accent as he placed the file on the medical bed and started to look through it. “Where are you from?”
“Queens. 73rd Street and Utopia Parkway. Before that, Germany.” He adjusted his glasses as he glanced at Steve “This troubles you?”
“No.” Steve replied honestly, shaking his head.
“Where are you from, Mr. Rogers?” Erskine asked, resting both his hands on the bench “Mmm? Is it New Haven? Or Paramus? Five exams in five different cities.”
“That might not be the right file.” Steve began to try and get out of whatever trouble he was in but Erskine was quick to cut him off.
“No, it’s not the exams I’m interested in. It’s the five tries.” Erskine closed the file, picking it up “But you didn’t answer my question.” He strode over and stopped in front of Steve “Do you want to kill Nazis?”
Steve glanced to the side before he looked at Erskine “Is this a test?”
“Yes.” The man replied bluntly and Steve took a deep breath, before he answered as honestly as he could.
“I don’t wanna kill anyone.” He shook his head, raising his eyes to meet Erskine’s “I don’t like bullies. I don’t care where they’re from.”
“Well, there are already so many big men fighting this war. Maybe what we need now is the little guy, huh?” Erskine smiled before he turned to leave “I can offer you a chance” he said, whipping the curtains open “Only a chance.”
Steve couldn’t believe his ears. Was this Doctor guy actually telling him he’d done it, that he’d finally made it into the army? He had no idea what the Strategic Science Reserve was, or why Erskine had questioned him so, but right now he didn’t care.
“I’ll take it.” He said, hastily grabbing his belongings and following Erskine out.
“Good.” Erskine placed the file down on the desk and picked up a stamp, before replacing it and reaching for another “So where is the little guy from, actually?”
Steve smiled “Brooklyn.”
Erskine smiled back, stamped the form before closing the file and handing it to Steve. “Congratulations, soldier.”
Steve hastily opened it up and did a double take as he saw the stamp was a 1A this time, not 4f. He let out a deep breath and glanced up to thank the man, but he’d already left.
“You’ll be sent your papers and instructions shortly” Another man spoke to him, taking the file off him and handing him back the recruitment slip. Steve nodded. “Be ready, the SSR are on a schedule.”
Steve nodded, before he was shown out of the room. Still in a daze he clutched the piece of paper in his hand and wandered back to the area where he’d left Bucky before. And then he remembered Katie.
Shit.
He hastily made his way outside the building and headed back to the pavilion, weaving his way through the crowds. He found the cider cart and saw her waiting, chatting to the man behind the counter, her brown hair hanging round her shoulders, rouged lips which curled up into a smile as she spotted him approaching.
“You’re late.” Katie looked at him and Steve flushed. “I was beginning to thing you’d stood me up.”
“I wouldn’t do that, my ma taught me better.” He gave her a small smile “I was just...” he waved his enlistment paper at her and she frowned a little
“You enlisted?”
He nodded “Yup.” “Wow.” Katie blinked, “Erm, congratulations, I guess. Is that the right word?”
“It is when you’ve tried and been rejected several times already.” Steve shrugged before he snorted “Story of my life.”
“That girl before was fuckin’ rude.” Katie’s eyes narrowed and Steve blinked at the profanity coming from her mouth before she rolled her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that!”
“Like what?”
“Like the fact I swore means I’m gonna go to hell.” She snorted “If it does, then I got that particular ticket a long time ago.”
“Sorry, I was…” he took a deep breath. “For such a pretty woman you certainly…er…”
“Have a filthy mouth?” She asked and Steve snorted, shrugging as he looked away, his lips curling up into a crooked smile as he raised his eyebrows. She leaned closer to him, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered “You have no idea.”
Steve swallowed at the blatant innuendo causing her to laugh at him even more before she nudged him with her elbow “Come on soldier, what do you want to drink?”
Soldier…that was the second time in ten minutes he’d been called that, and Steve liked it much more coming from her. He watched her for a second before he realised he was staring and she jerked her head towards the stall.
“Cat got your tongue, Stevie?” She grinned and he took a deep breath. “What do you want?”
“Erm, an ale…please…hang on.” He began fishing in his pocket but Katie gently wrapped a hand around his wrist.
“No need.” She smiled, as the man behind the counter held out the ale for Steve along with a cup of cider for her. She took it with a thanks and smiled, taking a sip. “Put it on the tab, will you?”
The stall attendant snorted and nodded “Whatever you say, Katie.”
She turned away and started walking slowly over to an exhibit, Steve falling into step besides her.
“How does he know ya?” Steve asked. Katie looked at him as she swallowed a sip of her cider
“Because I work here,well, I do at the moment.” She smiled as Steve looked at her blankly “I helped organise this.” She waved her hand around.
“You work for Howard Stark?”
“In a fashion.” Katie shrugged. “Now come on, I’m not working now and I wanna see how everything looks.”
They walked around the expo grounds, taking in the sights and various attractions. Steve was surprised to find his awkwardness ebbing away with each minute he spent in Katie’s company. She was down to Earth, easy to talk to and made him feel comfortable about himself…although his good spirits might have also been due to the fact he’d finally made it into the army. His meeting with Dr Erskine had baffled him a little, all truth be told, but he’d liked the man. There was something about him that told Steve he could trust him, and Steve was normally a pretty good judge of character.
By the time they’d done pretty much a lap of the main area of the Pavillion, stopping to examine The Synthetic Man in great detail, Steve was surprised to find that he’d spent over an hour with a woman who hadn’t been seeking to lose him at the first opportunity, quite the opposite in fact. On more than one occasion he noticed men looking in her direction, then to his with puzzled expressions on their face, and he had to admit was it the other way round he’d also probably be slightly surprised to see them together. She was a good two inches taller than him, but he was used to that, she was pretty, vivacious…well out of his league all things considered. But she was good company, and he was thoroughly disappointed when they seemed to be heading back towards the place they’d started, signalling their time together was likely coming to an end.
“So, do you need to find Barnes or…” she looked at him and Steve chuckled.
“Er no, no. He’ll be busy.” Steve shrugged
“What, he just ditched you for those girls?” Katie frowned.
“No, not entirely. I ditched him, well, I went to join the army. He doesn’t approve.” Steve finished, explaining slightly.
“Approve of what?”
“Me signin’ up.
“Why not?”
“Doesn’t think I can cope.” Steve shrugged. “I wasn’t exactly a healthy kid so…”
“Well they let you in so you can’t be that bad.”
Steve wrinkled his nose and shook his head slightly. “Some doctor in there offered me a chance, what can I say? Said that there were so many big guys fighting, maybe they needed a little one.”
At that Katie stopped walking and looked at him. “Wait, it was a doctor that accepted you?”
“Yeah,” Steve frowned
“You mean one of the Medical Recruitment Officers?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Steve’s frown deepened “He was with some Scientific Division.” He looked at Katie, who was looking right back at him, her eyes wide “Wait, is there something wrong?”
“No, nothing, just surprised me a little, that’s all.” She looked around, as if she was searching for someone and Steve watched her, a little confused as she chewed her lip with an air of contemplation before she looked back at him, her green eyes locking onto his with a softness in them that made him go weak at the knees, well, weaker than normal. “Thank you for keeping me company tonight Steve, I had fun.”
“Me too.” He said earnestly. “Hey, if you want, I mean only if you want, we could maybe meet up again, you know, before I get my posting?” At that Katie’s face fell and Steve sighed, he’d blown it. She’d only asked him to accompany her round he expo out of politeness, duty even as a thank you for his intervention on the street a few weeks back, and now he’d put her on the spot. “It’s okay.” He started to back track. “I get that you’re probably busy and get asked that all the time…”
“No, it’s not that.” She shook her head “I’d love to go out with you Steve, but I leave town tomorrow. I’m needed back at, well, my other job.”
“Oh, okay.” Steve popped a shoulder up, trying to hide his disappointment. “Well, I err…good luck. With whatever that job is.”
Katie laughed. “It’s me who should be wishing you good luck, trust me.” She cocked her head before she took a deep breath. “Just remember Steve, the world needs men like you, be a shame if we lost you all in the war.”
At her compliment he felt himself once more flush, and the heat in his neck rose even more as she leaned down and pressed her lips softly to his cheek. She pulled back a little, locking her eyes onto his and he swallowed, the lump in his throat now only rivalled by the one he was starting to feel in his slacks. And then, he had no idea how it happened but her lips were suddenly pressed to his. He froze momentarily, but then he went with his instinct and mirrored her movements, his eyes fluttering closed. Her hands gently curled over his shoulder, his automatically falling to her hips, shaking a little against the fabric of her dress as the kiss deepened slightly, the warm edge of her tongue flicking at his lips. He parted his mouth a little, allowing her to curl her tongue against his, a movement that made him shudder and he was beyond disappointed when she pulled away. She smiled against his mouth, her nose bumping his slightly as his cheeks felt hotter than the sun. He knew he was blushing, furiously, having just had his first proper kiss in the middle of a huge exhibition, but Katie seemed completely nonplussed as she smiled at him.
“For luck.” She whispered, stepping back slightly, before she turned and headed away, casting a glance back over her shoulder at him, flashing him another cheeky little wink. “See you around.”
Steve floundered a little, mouth gaping as he watched her disappear into the crowd, and with a final shake of his head and a deep, steadying breath he headed for the exit.
*****
 As it turned out Steve didn’t have long to wait for his posting at all. The following day he received his papers assigning him to Camp Lehigh in New Jersey as part of his recruitment to the SSR’s “Operation Rebirth” programme, whatever that was. He assumed he’d receive more details upon arrival. It wasn’t that which surprised him the most however, it was the date upon which he was ordered to report. Wednesday. As in, tomorrow. Whilst it didn’t give him much time to prepare, it didn’t bother him too much. He had meagre belongings anyways and anything he didn’t want to take with him he packed up into smaller boxes with the help of Bucky’s teenage sister Rebecca, Buck’s dad promising to keep it safe for him until he got back.
Winnie was beside herself when Steve broke the news that he too was enlisting, but she wished him well and made him promise to write. As did the Tromleys, who both took the news even worse than Bucky’s family had. Ada having first burst into tears then hugged him so hard he thought she was going to crush him half to death, whilst Mr Tromley had shook his hand and warned him that if he didn’t come back alive, with all 4 limbs, he’d kill Steve himself.
The morning rolled round ridiculously fast and both the Tromleys and Mr and Mrs Barnes insisted on seeing him off.  Once more Ada and Winnie hugged him tightly before Mr Tromley and Mr Barnes shook his hand, the latter promising Steve he would sort out everything with his landlord, taking the key to his small apartment in the tenement building where Steve had lived in all his life. Steve felt a little pang of emotion at that point, this was the last physical tie he really had to his mother but he took a deep breath letting it go slowly. She’d been dead now for seven years and anything that remained of hers in the building was all safely stored.
No, Steve had absolutely no doubts about what he was doing. This was all he had ever wanted, to follow in his father’s footsteps and so, at six am on the 16th June 1943 Steve Rogers boarded the Army bus that arrived at the bus station to take him and a number of other recruits to New Jersey, leaving the place he’d called home for his entire life behind.
**** Chapter 2
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rosy-cheekx · 3 years
Text
I Want To Be A Real Fake
@kaiserkorresponds said: Black and White + "I want to be a real fake" + formal clothing <3
Prompted fic that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since I received it! Hope you like it, Kaiser!
-
Jon would not consider himself fashionable. He has a distinct sense of style, yes, but that style lately has been Tired-Academic-Works-in-a-Cold-Office,-Steals-Sweaters-When-Necessary-core. Not exactly suitable for the business casual dress code The Magnus Institute “requires” (no one seemed to pay attention to the Archive staff’s choices of attire), but certainly not suitable for the small rectangle of cardstock Elias Bouchard hands him, on a quiet spring morning in the Archive.
“What’s…what’s this?” Jon asked, staring at the neat, printed text as if it was Greek. (If it were Greek, at least, he could decipher parts of it. He was an English Lit student, after all, and he had really enjoyed etymology.) The card was a stiff black and white, with the black owl logo, the symbol of the Magnus Institute, printed in the top middle. Glancing down at it, he saw a date, and the words: “black-tie.” Shit.
“My apologies, I forgot how tired your position tends to leave you.” Elias’s voice was prim and polite, but Jon still winced inwardly. “As a head of a department, you are now strongly encouraged to attend the fundraiser I host in April each year. Our donors are fascinated by our departments, and especially the Archives. Gertrude’s disappearance has raised questions as to her successor, and I trust you can assuage the concerns of our donors at your accomplishments in the position.” Jon chose to believe that Elias’s keen eye didn’t sweep the mountains of paperwork that surrounded his desk as he surveyed the small, poorly lit office. “I’m certain you’ll be able to find appropriate attire for the occasion.”
He turned on a heel, halfway to the door before seemingly considering something. “Ah, and Jon, one more thing. Gertrude always requested she bring an assistant. Would you like to do the same? I am happy to accommodate one more for the catering count.”
Jon snapped his mouth shut, utterly dumbfounded by the responsibility just thrust upon him, and nodded mutely, before clearing his throat. “Ah-um, yes, I would appreciate that. Does it matter which one?”
“Someone who can make a pleasant impression, please.” Elias raised an eyebrow, nodded almost imperceptibly, like he had made a decision, and rapped his knuckles on the doorframe on the way out. “I trust your judgement.”
Jon counted to thirty, to be certain Elias wasn’t coming back, and slouched into his office chair, scanning the save-the-date again, without the immense pressure of Elias’s eyes on him.
“The Magnus Institute Fundraiser Gala,” it read below the embossed owl, within a thin black border. “23 April, 7-10 pm. Black tie. Catered.” Jon traced the owl with the pad of his finger, flipping the card over to see, in Elias’s thin cursive: Make a good impression, Jon.
God, this is going to suck.
-
“Sasha, come on.” Jon wasn’t one to beg, but desperate times and all that. He had cornered her in the breakroom, while Martin was on a research trip and Tim was getting takeaway from the chippie down the street. “It’s only three weeks away, and you’re the one I trust the most. Please.”
“Jon,” Sasha sighed, smoothing her skirt patiently. “I would if I could, I swear to you. But my sister’s wedding has been planned for months, I’ve already requested time off, and I can’t undo all that for a work party.”
“Fundraiser,” Jon corrected instinctively, even as he signed in resignation. “Fine. I just really didn’t want to go alone.”
Sasha scoffed, shaking her head to herself as she opened the fridge and pulled out her bagged lunch. “You have two other assistants you know. What about Tim? Or Martin?”
Jon wrinkled his nose at the thought of bringing nervous, rambling, doe-eyed Martin to the gala. “God no. Martin would be too much; I need someone who can handle themselves and hold a decent conversation. I need someone who can attend a black-tie gala and look more at-home than me.” A withering look from Sasha.
“So why not Tim, then? He can do all those things.”
“Do all what things?” Jon jumped and spun around to see Tim, carrying a grease-spotted bag in one hand and a paper soda cup in the other. He surveyed Tim in a moment: the button-up shirt, red and printed with tiny black balloons, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, dark black hair artfully mussed. High cheekbones dotted with freckles, and what Jon swore could be the faintest bit of eyeliner.
“Tim, would you like to go to a fashionable, catered work party with me?”
“Boss,” Tim lowered himself to a knee and held out his soda solemnly. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“Tim, that’s backwards. The kneeler isn’t the one who accepts,” Sasha chuckles helpfully.
“You’re just jealous of our love, Sash!”
Good Lord.
-
Jon was really hoping the food would be good. He was in Tim’s flat, in the toilet, checking himself in the mirror one final time. His hair was carefully braided, courtesy of Tim’s deft hands and coiled into a thick bun at the base of his skull, gold and emerald hairpin snugly in place. His suit was nice: a respectable white shirt, dotted with tiny lime-colored flowers he had to strain his eyes to see, under a dark green suit jacket and matching trousers. The suit itself was cut in a rather androgynous style, pulling tight at Jon’s waist in a way he rather liked, and contrasted beautifully, he thought, with the smooth brown of his skin. He flicked an invisible piece of lint from his thigh and, satisfied, stepped into the hall to tell Tim he was ready to go.
“Tim, I’m all-woah,” the exhale was accidental. Tim’s suit was certainly not subtle. He was wearing a deep blue turtleneck, hair perfectly coiffed. Over the turtleneck, the suit jacket was white, a spray of water-color flowers in all shades of blue and purple shifting with every movement. The navy blue heeled suede boots on his feet accentuated his already-tall frame “Tim, you look good,” Jon breathed.
“Ouch. No need to sound all surprised. I know I clean up well; I dirty pretty damn good too.” Tim chuckled and adjusted his sleeves. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. ‘I don’t want anything too crazy.’”
Jon grinned shyly, rocking on his heels of his own, less intimidating dress shoes. “I like it, I think. It feels nice.” The excitement over how good he felt in the clothes had, all too briefly, suppressed the impending doom he was feeling about the evening’s events. “Are you ready for tonight?” he asked for what must have been the fiftieth time, spinning the solid black ring he wore around his finger.
“Yes, Jon. Talk about the reorganization process as a structural renovation, converting files to audio formatting for future accessibility, don’t talk about artefact storage even a little, don’t get caught up with anyone too pretty, I get it.” His voice was flat, bored by the repetition. “This is going to be fine.”
“What-what if it isn’t, though, Tim? What if they ask about Gertrude or how their money is being used, o-or how the restructuring is going? I can’t bloody well tell them I’m using a tape recorder that’s probably older than I am.”
“Jon,” Tim’s well-manicured hand was on his shoulder, nails the same blue of his turtleneck. “Take a deep breath. For Gertrude: be honest. It was a tragedy, and you hope she’s found, but until then you’re doing your best to act on her wishes as her replacement. And for the rest, be vague. Restructuring is going ‘as well as can be expected’ or ‘is running quite smoothly with the help of your three wonderful assistants.’” He winked. “And tell them you’re using a multimedia system, that’ll confuse those old boomers enough to move topics. And it is technically true. Laptops and a tape recorder are multiple medias. Anything else we can riff, you know? I can talk with the best of them.” He eyed Jon meaningfully. “This will be fine. It’s one night. And we’ll get chips after. Promise.”
Jon nodded and closed his eyes, breathing steadying. He was grateful Tim had been available. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
-
“So, how did you know what black tie meant?” Jon asked, eyeing Tim across the seat of the cab. They’re on their way now and Jon’s hands are steepled tightly, pressing his fingertips against each other until it hurts to do so. “I had to Google it last week when I went shopping, in case we had to wear literal black ties.” He needed to talk about anything, anything but this stupid fundraiser they drove steadily towards.
Tim grew silent for a moment, considering his words. “My brother was an extra in a movie once and started dating a stylist for one of the leads. He fibbed his way into getting us tickets for premieres, so I’ve made my way through a few high-fashion events.” He shrugged, fiddling with a thin silver bracelet along his wrist, were Jon knew the letter D was carved in delicate cursive. “I like it, too, you know? Dressing up for events. It makes me feel debonaire, like a spy.”
Jon shook his head in disagreement. “Makes me feel fake,” he mumbled, eyeing the lorry floor beneath them. “Like everyone knows I don’t belong. I hate having their eyes on me and knowing they’re better than me.”
Tim prodded Jon with his elbow gently, raising his eyebrows in a comforting manner. “That’s it though, isn’t it? We aren’t fake. We worked our way here. Hell, you’re the boss of an entire department, Jon. We’ve gotten to where we are in the Institute because we deserve to be here. And anyways, everyone at that party next week is gonna be fake. They’re pretending to care about our jobs, and we pretend to care about their money, and they pretend they’re even the ones who write the checks and not some snooty financial advisor in Wales.”
Jon shrugged, trying to keep himself from biting back that he wasn’t enough, didn’t earn this spot, that Sasha deserved it more than he did and was doing nothing to prove to Elias he was up to the monumental task of being the Head Archivist. He didn’t, though, and instead took a steadying breath, nodding to Tim’s comforting words.
“And anyways,” Tim continued, shrugging. “Even if we have to be fake for a night, it’ll be fun. We get to be a part of ‘the queen’s high society,’” he added in a high-pitched, overly fake RP accent, eliciting a chuckle from Jon. “And Rosie said the catering Elias orders is divine. Apparently we should keep an eye out for tiny samosas?”
As if on cue, the cab shuddered to a stop. Jon thanked the driver, paid, and followed Tim out.
-
The Institute looked different under the pretense of wealth and success. It was still the same building of course, but the floor was clear of the rain mats and the smooth marble floor paved the way to the library, the main sitting room of which had been cleared as a rather respectable grand hall to host a party. Tables lined the cordoned off books, hot plates and silver trays steaming slightly. Bottles of wine lined a bar, behind which a vested individual with slicked-back hair was pouring small glasses and taking orders. A quiet orchestra completed the scene, cello and piano in a delicate duet. Before tonight, Jon couldn’t have imagined this many people in the Institute alone, least of all the library. Not that it’s packed. There’s maybe thirty or so well-dressed individuals milling about, the din of conversation white noise in comparison to the floating of the music.
Tim’s hand is on his back, pressing kindly into his spine. Oh yes, he remembers dimly, and nods, allowing Tim to guide him into the library and hand him a glass of wine. They stand out a little, two beacons of color around what is a pretty drab spectrum of black and grey, save for a few spectacular dresses in the crowd. Jon finds he doesn’t mind it, except that it may lead to unwanted conversation. It’s not his looks he fears being judged on, but that he be found wanting when it came to his capabilities. He was always selectively self-conscious like that, some things utterly meaningless, others inexplicably important.
Jon isn’t a huge fan of wine, but he finds himself clinging to the glass as a lifeline as he and Tim meander through the crowds, largely ignored. The music is intoxicatingly simple; he finds himself caught up in the deep reverberations of the cello as they walk, feeling it deep in his chest. There were, in fact, samosas, as well as small cannoli, and he and Tim piled plates as high as they could without garnering stares.
There weren’t many people Jon recognized; he didn’t even see Elias as he scanned the crowd for faces. Wine in one hand, a plate in the other, he thought maybe the night wouldn’t be too bad.
Jon shivered, the sensation of being stared at prickling the back of his neck. He spun around, trying to appear casual, and spotted Elias at last. He was standing with a large man, broad and wearing a deep blue suit, scruffy beard a mix of tawny and white. Elias crooked his finger, smiling primly. As Jon made his way over to the pair-who he could’ve sworn he hadn’t seen previously, he was intercepted by a short bald man in a plum velour suit, leaning heavily on a cane.
“Ah, Archivist,” he smiled warmly, extending a hand to shake before seeing Jon’s hands were full, and nodding his head instead. “Congratulations on your promotion. Elias has told me he expects great things from you.”
Jon smiled politely, glancing over to see Elias and the other man gone again. Regretfully, he turned his attention back to the man. “It’s a shame about Gertrude, yes, but I’m hoping I can do her proud,” he said in a practiced tone. He glanced over his shoulder. Where was Tim? He was just with him.
“Of course, of course. I was hoping I could have a word?”
“W-with me?”
“Yes, you see, I was rather concerned when I heard Gertrude’s position had been left open. When Elias said you yourself where at the junction to take over, I wanted to meet you for myself. I worry about the Archivists in your institute, so many of you do such monumental work for so little recognition. Do you worry your work to be meaningless?  Your name insignificant when it is all said and done?”
(It is this conversation he remembers, months later, when he demands to record Prentiss’ attack. He refuses to be another mystery, a name on a placard to be wondered about.)
“I-ah, yes? No?” What was the right answer here? Jon stammered out a half-assed reply about doing his best, midway through when he felt a hand firmly on his shoulder, where his neck and collarbone met. Glancing to his peripheral, he saw a golden ring, an eye, and was frustratingly grateful to hear the cool tones of Elias Bouchard over his shoulder.
“Now Simon,” he said, voice even, “you aren’t trying to scare my dear Archivist, are you?” He gave the shoulder a squeeze but remained put. “Jon, I believe you’ve heard of Simon Fairchild, a significant donor to our establishment.”
Jon nodded wordlessly, not really listening to the two bureaucrats delve off into some topic or other, craning his neck to look for Tim. The music had picked up, he registered dimly, a orchestral melody led by a violin, sharp and whimsical.
“Jon?” Another squeeze to his neck, and Jon tried not to wince. “Wouldn’t you agree,” Elias asked, voice patient at surface level. “That the best way to move forward is to restructure the Archive?”
Jon nodded, trying to recall the answer he had rehearsed. “Yes, ah—my team and I have worked quite hard at recording the statements a-and organizing them in a way that will last long-term.”
“Ah, what a delight,” Simon—Mr. Fairchild—said warmly. Jon was reminded of the voices adults would use when they spoke to him as a child, when his inane facts about space or etymology had moved from endearing to obnoxious.
The conversation lasted for what felt like days, Jon feeling rather like Mr. Fairchild’s cane: a statement piece, contributing nothing to the conversation but unable to find a smooth exit. Leading questions from Elias led to thankfully rehearsed answers before Simon found his own exit and walked away smoothly, eyes wide and taking the room in.
“I-I really should find Tim,” Jon muttered, glancing around the room anxiously.
“Nonsense. He’ll be back,” Elias said, releasing Jon’s shoulder and taking his elbow in turn, “I would like to introduce you to a few dear friends of mine. I believe Tim is keeping one occupied at present.” Jon sighed inwardly (and maybe outwardly as well) and allowed himself to be led around the room. His wine glass was empty, as was his plate and he found it snatched away by a member of catering. He had nothing to cling to, to keep his hands busy, and was struggling not to pull out his delicately-placed hair pin just so he could fiddle with something.
Jon was taken on a tour of old rich people of England. Names flew past him, conversation buzzed around him, and still Jon felt like nothing more than a well-dressed trophy to be ogled at. Did Gertrude do this every year, he wondered dimly. No wonder she disappeared. He fiddled with the ring on his finger, nodding and smiling at the appropriate times, speaking when needed, and feeling the swirl of the orchestra build up in pressure behind his eyes. The music was beautiful but hard to listen to. Something about it was ugly, hiding a dark secret behind the innocent melodies.
Eventually, the evening was so much of a blur that he couldn’t even begin to fathom how much time had passed. It may have been weeks, may have been merely twenty minutes. Jon glanced down for his watch before realizing he had taken it off at Tim’s flat and never strapped it back on. Pity. It only added to the dreamscape reality he seemed to be participating in.
At last, Elias led him towards the large burly man that was suddenly in view (hadn’t he always been? Jon wasn’t quite sure. The wine must have affected him more than he thought with the nerves) and Jon saw Tim, similarly trapped in conversation as he had been. He smiled apologetically as Jon and Elias approached and the larger man smiled warmly at the newcomers.
“Ah, Archivist. I hope you don’t mind I stole your companion away briefly. I was curious about the nitty-gritty of your Archive. Timothy here was very informative.” Tim winced at the use of his full name and a part of Jon smirked, relating to the sentiment of being called Jonathan or worse, John.
“I’m glad he can answer your questions.” Elias spoke before Jon could open his mouth. “I’m quite proud of the Archive staff. Jon chose well and I am sure the four of them are going to do great things together. Jon, you remember the Lukas family?”
Jon nodded, confused for a second before the man in front of him extended his hand. “Peter Lukas, at your service.” The hand was cold, and a feeling of dismay washed over Jon as he shook it. He couldn’t help the feeling that the shake of that hand was a seal of his fate.
The orchestral music had picked up, a swirl of strings and piano, ascending in pitch until it grated at Jon’s ears. No one else seemed to react to it, however, as the manic notes pulling at something inside Jon’s brain, something he couldn’t explain. It was almost like a migraine, but sharper and deep in his spine and in his ears. Elias let go of Jon’s arm at some point during the conversation with Peter Lukas, a discussion about boats, maybe? Travel? This was the conversation Elias was so keen on Jon being a part of?
As Jon felt that grip relax, the glint of the ring on Elias’ finger seeming to wink at him, Jon took a staggered step backwards. “Mr. Lukas, ah-Peter, it’s been a pleasure. Elias, ex-excuse me.”
Jon turned and dashed out of the library, feet carrying him on instinct through the winding halls and down the stairs of the institute, deep into the Archives. He stopped when he felt his feet echo against the cold, solid lino of the archival storage and bent over, hand on the wall, gasping in shallow, rapid bursts. It was too much, it was too much, he thought he could do this but it was too much and he wasn’t enough for them-
“Woah-boss.” Tim was there. When did Tim get here? Was he speaking out loud? Shit. “Jon, yeah-hey, Jon. I’m here. You’re okay. Take some deep breaths, okay? You’re going to black out if you’re not careful.”
Jon felt his suit jacket being shrugged off of him and the newly allowed freedom of his shoulder helped. He took a deep, sputtering breath, the sweet oxygen flooding his system and sharpening his thoughts.
“The-the music and the talking,” he said under his breath, Tim craning to listen without infringing on his personal space. “Too-too much.”
“The music? Jon, hey, hey, just focus on calming down, okay? That was a dick move of Elias to separate us immediately. I was talking to that Lukas guy for way too long. Not even sure what we talked about. I think he’s just one of those guys.” Jon smirked to himself as he focused on the floor beneath his feet, breathing slowly until his heart rate had resumed a normal rhythm.
“Says you,” he mumbled, eyes closing as he pressed his warm cheek to the cold wall.
“You bastard!” Jon felt a light swat on his shoulder. “I listen to people! I have meaningful conversation; just ask Martin and Sasha and Alexa from Library and Calvin from Artefact Storage. I am practically a professional listener.”
Jon smirked, satisfied with his jab and turned around, now pressing his back to the wall. “God, Tim, I do not want to go back in there.” It was hard to admit out loud, even if the evidence was written all over his face.
“Okay. So, we won’t.”
“What?” the answer was so mind-bogglingly simple, Jon reeled.
“We don’t want to be here. We’ve talked, we’ve eaten. Let’s just leave. I can tell Elias I had an emergency and you had to escort me home, like a true gentleman.”
“Lie to Elias? I feel like that cant end well.” The offer was tempting, Jon hadf to admit.
“I mean, Sasha has keys to my flat. I could ask her to start a fire, if you think that’s sufficient?”
Jon barked out a laugh at that. “Ah, no, lets save a fire for something big. Yes. Let’s-let’s go, Tim. And-er, I suppose I should thank you. For coming tonight. I know its not an ideal way to spend an evening.”
“Are you kidding?” Tim did a twirl, Jon’s own jacket slung over his shoulder. “I look hot. You think I’d pass up an opportunity to dress up like this? You’re dreaming.” He smirked and took Jon’s arm, leading him back up the stairwell. It felt different than Elias’s touch. That had been a cold tug, directional and leashed. This felt…snug, more like a link in a chain than anything else. Comforting, reassuring.
(Luckily, they weren’t laughed out of the Nando’s they popped into late at night. Lemon and herb and spices covered their hands, but they were careful to keep their jackets clean. Jon, when looking back on the evening; remembers this moment, talking and laughing and letting the fresh night air was over them. Elias, Lukas, and Fairchild be damned. He’d deal with that tomorrow.)
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lifeofkaze · 3 years
Text
When Stars Ignite - Chapter 14
HPHM Rockstar AU
A/N: Katriona Cassopeia (in mention) belongs to the gorgeous @kc-and-oc
General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.
Specific Warning:
~~~
Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.
~~~
This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist
Taglist: @slytherindisaster @carewyncromwell @night-rhea @thatravenpuffwitch
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Man, we were killin' time We were young and restless We needed to unwind I guess nothin' can last forever Forever, no… ~ Bryan Adams - Summer of ‘69 ~
Much to his relief, Orion’s fear of having been discovered seemed to prove unwarranted. Skye was a direct person, never shy to speak her mind; if she had truly seen something not meant for her eyes during the interview, Orion was sure she’d have already come and spoken to either of them.
But nothing of the sort had happened. She had acted just like she always did and his first surge of worry had died down again. Sometimes even the most focused mind was prone to being tricked and, as he had to admit to himself, focus was something he found himself lacking in these days.
It wasn’t only because of Lizzie’s teasing getting riskier that he found his mind wandering more often than not. Ever since the show they were meant to be playing for the children from the foster system had shown its face on the horizon, an ever present restlessness had been growing in Orion.
Dreams that he had pushed to the edges of his mind a long time ago had started haunting him again; they kept coming back whenever they held an event stirring the buried memories of his childhood. He loved seeing the light in the children’s faces when they were spending time with them; he knew it was a rare sight, after all. The emotional mess Orion carried back with him afterwards was the dark side of the coin, however.
The charity event was scheduled for the next day; they were to play a small acoustic set for the children in the afternoon and their regular show only a few hours later on top. To keep their spirits high before the double load, Ethan had scheduled a day off for them.
The weather was still uncharacteristically hot and so most of the band and crew had found themselves at the small pool on the rooftop of their hotel. Much to everyone’s surprise, even Artemis had joined them.
Charlie had followed Skye’s advice to take Artemis for drinks a few days prior. He had been unusually tight-lipped about it when they had asked him how it had gone down.
“It was good,” he had shrugged, “told you she’s not as bad as you all think.”
While the young pyro tech still kept her distance from the rest of them, Orion had seen her chatting with Charlie outside of their work on stage since then. He was glad she seemed to be taking a step into the right direction, lowering her armour even for the tiniest bit.
But Artemis’ tentative attempts at integrating herself with their group lounging by the pool were counteracted as soon as she took her shirt off. Everett audibly wolf-whistled at her black bikini with surprisingly colourful patterns crisscrossing it. Her withering glare was met with a lewd grin as Artemis picked up her stuff and dumped it on the deckchair farthest away from them.
Lizzie gave Everett a smack on the back of his head. “Well done, Ev, you’ve scared her away. I wanted to have a chat with her.”
Everett looked at her over the rim of his sunglasses. “I’m not stopping you. Two beauties in bikinis getting close? Who would I be to object? You could rub her back with sunscreen.”
He laughed to himself. “If Artemis isn’t up for it, I’m always here for you, gorgeous.”
A hint of the same irritation Orion felt flickered over Lizzie’s face. “You’re a real mood today.”
She got up from her own deckchair and started over in Artemis’ direction anyway, but was stopped by Charlie catching onto her wrist.
“Woah, where are you going, little rockstar?”
“Go and talk to Artemis, see if I can convince her to come over if Ev shuts up.” She gave the singer lounging in his chair a dark look.
“Nah, I don’t think so,” Charlie said and pulled her down next to him. “Trust me, if you push her you’ll be the one scaring her away. She’ll come over if she wants to.”
Lizzie opened her mouth to object but Charlie shook his head. “You can’t force her, sunshine.”
“Fine,” Lizzie snorted, not pleased by the situation, “so what’re we gonna do now?” She nodded in the direction of the pool. “Anyone up for a round of water polo?”
Everett declined, preferring to seek a better place to tan, while Merula did the opposite and withdrew to the shade with a book. So it was Charlie, Lizzie, Andre and Skye who made their way to the water. Orion would have joined them, but he was preoccupied with some ideas that had been floating around in his head since that morning; he wanted to write them down before he’d forget them.
He was lying on his stomach on his deckchair, notebook open in front of him, but found it hard to concentrate. The match of water polo going on in the pool had turned into some kind of wrestling match, like it always did eventually. Lizzie and Skye were sitting on Charlie’s and Andre’s shoulders respectively, trying to knock the other into the water; a lot of giggling and shouting was involved as they fought for the upper hand.
What really distracted him though, was the way the sunlight was refracting in the water droplets on Lizzie’s skin when she moved. It let her slender body shimmer, her tan she always got so quickly in the summer months a beautiful contrast to the vibrant red of her bikini. Her wet hair looked a lot darker than it actually was and it was clinging to her back.
Skye almost managed to knock her off Charlie’s shoulder and Lizzie laughed as she righted herself again. It was the kind of laugh that made her stand out amongst all the others, bright and captivating. It gave her an aura that was impossible to escape, drawing eyes whenever she entered a scene. She had the ability to light up a whole room with her smile, as fresh and beautiful as a sunrise.
“I’d say I’m 95.9 % sure what you’re staring at, my friend,” Orion suddenly heard the voice of Murphy next to him, “or should I rather say who?”
Orion tried not to let his surprise show; he had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard his best friend approach. “Your meaning is obscure to me,” he answered evasively. “I’m simply trying to work here.”
Murphy couldn’t hide his smirk. “When you’re working, your attention is usually 87.5 % focused on your work, more if no one is distracting you. Four out of five times you don’t even react when spoken to.” He glanced down at the mostly blank page of Orion’s notebook. “Today I’d say your focus is reduced to abysmal 30.9 %.” Never missing a detail, his eyes flicked to the still on-going wrestling match in the pool.
With a sigh, Orion closed his notebook and rested his head on his arms. Murphy was far too observant to be lied to, but he didn’t have to know all the details either.
He indicated their laughing friends with a slight nod of his head. “It is good that our friends are having a great time, it strengthens their bond of friendship. But they are making a lot of noise, it’s bound to draw attention.”
The dismissive sound Murphy was making clearly showed that he wasn’t buying it. “It’s obvious they’re distracting you. But from what I’ve seen, 95.5 % of the time you’ve spent looking at them were devoted to one of the pairs, and while I do have to admit that Andre’s new gold bangles are surprisingly flashy and apparently water resistant, I highly doubt it was him that drew your attention, same goes for Skye, although her hair usually is an eye catcher, I’ll give you that. That leaves Charlie and dear Lizzie, and last time I checked, you weren’t one for redheads, that’s more my thing. Not that I want to say I find Charlie particularly attractive, although some might say so, but I digress. So only one option remains, and as the one and only master of logical deductions, the great Sherlock Holmes, once said, ‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable…”
“...must be the truth’,” Orion finished with a sigh. “I know the quote. You're quoting numbers all day every day, do you really feel the need to go into literature as well now?"
Ignoring him, Murphy was grinning from ear to ear, clearly satisfied with his conclusions. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
Orion wasn’t answering immediately; he didn’t like Murphy’s prying at all. “Are you done, Detective McNully?”
“Fine, don’t answer me then, I don’t need confirmation,” Murphy snorted. “The stats never lie, my friend.”
Orion rolled his eyes, hoping Murphy wouldn’t delve into another one of his statistical sprees. Although he was right in that his numbers were seldom wrong, Orion himself preferred a more open-minded view of his surroundings to Murphy’s cold, analytical observations; especially, if these observations were directed at his own behaviour.
But of course, Murphy wasn’t deterred. “To the attentive observer, which of course you know that I am, all the facts are there. Eight out of ten times your mood changes for the better when Lizzie enters the room. Seven out of ten times she starts smiling when she looks at you. You two look at each other during shows and soundtracks 46.4 % more often than at the others and yes, I factored out the times when you need to because of the cues she’s giving you, thanks a lot for asking. You hug each other at the end of the shows significantly longer as well. When you leave the backstage area, you’re never leaving together but almost always in close succession.”
The blond sound technician crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Are you really sure there isn’t anything you want to tell me?”
Orion was more than a little shocked at all the facts Murphy had just thrown at him. “I had no idea it was that obvious.”
Murphy shrugged, a sly smile appearing on his face. “Only to me. You’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember, and my above average observational skills, which of course not everyone possesses, solved 82.3 % of the mystery.”
“What’s with the rest?”
“What I can offer in facts, I sometimes lack in interpreting. Katriona connected the dots.”
“Obviously,” Orion sighed.
“So, what’s the deal with you two? Are you dating?” A frown appeared on Murphy’s face. “I thought you had a clause about this in your contracts. Ethan’s not going to like this.”
Orion vehemently shook his head. “No, you got that wrong. We’re not dating, everything is just like it has always been. We’re just enjoying additional pastimes, which - I’ll give you that - may exceed a regular friendship.”
He looked at Murphy intently. “No one besides you knows about this, and I would appreciate it if it stayed that way.”
Murphy made a non-committal sound. “Of course this doesn’t include Katriona.”
“As if any of us could keep a secret from her.”
“I normally don’t go for absolutes but that’s 100 % true,” Murphy laughed. He looked at Orion curiously. “So how long has this thing between you and Lizzie been going on now?”
“A while,” Orion answered evasively.
“The definition of ‘a while’ ranges from two weeks to up to a year. Judging by my numbers, it’s definitely not the former. Doesn’t sound like a short lived fling to me.”
“I wouldn’t call it a fling,” Orion said; it was surprisingly hard to put what was going on between them into words. “But we’re definitely not emotionally involved with each other. It’s not a matter of the heart, more of a physical extension built on the base of our friendship.”
Murphy leaned back into his wheelchair and grinned. “The old classic, friends with benefits.”
“If that’s the label you want to stick on it.”
Murphy hummed in response, following Orion’s gaze to the pool again. His voice was quieter when he spoke this time. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“Why wouldn’t it be? We are both on the same page about it.”
“Just saying, things like these seldomly work out as well as they start. Approximately 89.6 % of physical relationships end in chaos, tears or both.”
The memory of his own initial worry emerged in the back of Orion’s mind. He watched as Skye gave Lizzie a final push that sent her toppling from Charlie’s shoulders. She shrieked before she crashed into the water, but was already laughing again when she resurfaced; Orion firmly pushed his concerns away.
“It won’t escalate with us,” he said. “Both of us value our friendship, and the fate of Equinox even more so. We’ve established very clear rules. I appreciate your worries, but they are misplaced.”
“As much as I love rules for the structure they’re bringing, rules can easily be broken,” Murphy said. “Just be careful, okay? Mixing friendship with sex can be a lot of fun but the devil’s in the detail.”
They both watched Lizzie climbing out of the pool and heading over into their direction. When she passed Everett, he pulled down his sunglasses and watched after her, his eyes very slowly travelling up and down her body. He said something to her Orion couldn’t hear, but Lizzie only rolled her eyes, shot something back and continued on her way. Murphy's eyes flicked from her to Orion.
“Aren’t you bothered with Ev hitting on her?”
Orion shrugged. “Why would I? She’s not my girlfriend, and she can perfectly handle herself, as you’ve just seen.”
“That she undoubtedly can,” Murphy laughed, “I’ll better be off now and leave you two alone. I wonder where my beautiful wife is. I haven’t seen her in quite a while now.”
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morganaspendragonss · 3 years
Text
someday, i’ll breathe again
prompted by @mimierose, idea by @theworld-is-out-there. thanks guys, so sorry it took me so long to write! i hope you both like it!
A shout from above grabs their attention, followed by the pounding of feet coming down the stairs towards them. TK’s able to shove Mateo out of the way, but the guy forcefully collides with him as he goes past, his momentum knocking TK off balance and sending him tumbling down the stairs to the landing below.
He lands hard, stars exploding in his vision, the pain in his head masking the sharp sting in his arm.
ao3 | 2.1k | warning for references to needles and past addiction - this is not a relapse fic
The ambulance arrives at the scene just behind the truck, and TK grins when he climbs out, spotting Carlos already deep in conversation with his dad. Nancy hits him as she walks past, any initial reservations she’d had about him joining their team long since forgotten.
“Head out of the bedroom, Strand,” she says, rolling her eyes at his show of offence. 
“I’ll have you know my head wasn’t even close to the bedroom,” he protests, following her to the back of the ambulance. It’s not even a lie; he’d actually just been thinking about how much he was looking forward to their movie night later. They haven’t spent much time together properly in a while, shifts rarely lining up, both of them too tired to do much more than sleep when they do.
Becoming a paramedic has meant that some of the danger has gone out of TK’s job, but the workload has increased more than he realised it would. Medical get far more calls than fire in a day, and much as TK loves it, he can’t deny the bone-deep exhaustion at the end of most shifts.
He wouldn’t trade it, though, not for the world.
Nancy sends him a withering look, but she doesn’t get a chance to respond before Tommy’s striding back over to them, having consulted with his dad.
“What are we looking at, Cap?” he asks.
“PD needs some help clearing the building,” she responds. “It’s due to be demolished in a couple of weeks, but there have been some reports of squatters, gangs, local kids, hanging around. They want to make sure everyone’s out, and they want medical on standby just in case. Ordinarily, we’d wait out here, as you know, but Captain Strand and I have agreed that it would be more efficient and useful to have you inside. There might be people in there who don’t have the time to wait to be carried out.”
TK grimaces, hearing Tommy’s implications loud and clear. Her gaze flicks over to him, but she doesn’t comment, and TK tries to pull himself together as she continues laying out the plan.
“We’ll be going in in teams of three - two firefighters, one paramedic. TK, you’re with Judd and Mateo; Nancy, you’re with Marjan and Paul. Captain Strand and I will be waiting out here - keep us updated.”
“Yes, Cap.”
He and Nancy nod, turning to gather supplies into their medical bags. They work silently and efficiently; TK had been surprised by how easy it was to fall into a natural rhythm with his new team, but it feels normal now, like he’s been doing it forever.
Tommy takes his arm before they join the others, pulling him to one side. “You good to do this, Strand?” she asks, voice firm but caring. TK appreciates the thought - he’d told her about his history during his interview in case she wanted to think twice about hiring him - but he knows that he can do this.
He nods, adjusting the strap on his bag. “Yes. I’m good, Cap.”
She smiles. “Good. Now, go, and both of you be safe.”
TK jogs over to the others, arriving just in time to hear Nancy bemoaning him and his distinct lack of driving skill to Marjan.
“That’s so rude, Gillian,” he protests. “I’ll have you know I used to navigate New York traffic and never once got in an accident.”
“And yet you can’t take the ambulance more than five yards without threatening to crash it.”
“I’m surprised he can get it that far,” Judd puts in, which TK thinks is wholly unnecessary. It’s not his fault that the firetruck is totally unmaneuverable, or that the ambulance is only barely better. 
He opens his mouth to tell Judd this, but his dad chooses this moment to call them to attention, so he’s forced to settle for a glare directed at the back of Judd’s head.
“You’ll take alternating floors,” Owen tells them. “Judd, Mateo, TK - start on the ground, work your way up through the even numbered levels. Paul, Marjan, Nancy - the same, starting on one and doing the odd floors. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Cap.”
“Good.” Owen looks round at them all, eyes seeming to linger on TK for the briefest second longer. “The structure seems stable, but stay alert. We don’t know what you’re gonna find in there, and I’d like to avoid any injuries. Police will be around for back up if you need them. Good luck.”
They spring into action, heading towards the building as a unit, and TK has to admit that he’s missed this. Doing rescues with the team, adrenaline pumping through his veins, never quite sure what’s going to happen from one moment to the next. 
He sticks to the back of their little group, letting Judd and Mateo go ahead of him as they sweep the ground floor. There’s no-one there so they move onto the next level, TK’s nose wrinkling as the smell gets worse the higher up they go. They work without speaking, for the most part, though judging by the numerous backward glances Mateo keeps sending him, TK suspects that it won’t last.
Sure enough, as they’re moving from the fourth floor to the sixth - their last but one target - Mateo falls into step with him.
“It’s been weird since you became a paramedic.”
Ahead of them, Judd groans. “Here we go again.”
“What?” Mateo protests. “It has.”
TK looks between them, curious. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just weird that you’re not on call with us anymore,” he says, shrugging.
“I am literally on call with you right now, Mateo.”
“Yeah, but not with us,” Mateo sighs. “And it’s not like you’re at every call, and you don’t do rescues, and you ride in the ambulance now. I know that this is what you want to do, and that’s really cool, seriously, but it’s just -”
“Weird,” TK finishes, laughing a little. He nudges Mateo with his shoulder. “I get it. It’s been weird for me, too.”
“Really?” He seems surprised, looking over at TK with wide eyes. TK sends him a wry smile.
“Really,” he says. “But -”
A shout from above grabs their attention, followed by the pounding of feet coming down the stairs towards them. The guy - a squatter, more than likely - freezes when he catches sight of them, but only briefly, before continuing to barrel down to them. TK’s able to shove Mateo out of the way, but the guy forcefully collides with him as he goes past, his momentum knocking TK off balance and sending him tumbling down the stairs to the landing below.
He groans, vision swimming as he attempts to push himself upright. His bag is lying a couple of feet away, contents spilling everywhere, and the thought crosses his mind that Captain Vega’s going to be pissed if he loses anything. He tries to get to his feet to collect it all, but the pounding in his head quickly informs him that’s not happening any time soon. 
Judd and Mateo’s faces appear in front of him, their mouths moving but no words coming out. Or… That’s not right. TK focuses as best he can, trying to blink some of the haziness from his mind.
Eventually, their voices reach him, as though underwater. “You with us, brother?” Judd asks, worry evident in his tone.
TK nods, then instantly regrets it as another wave of dizziness washes over him. Hands grasp his shoulders, pulling him up to rest against the wall, and it’s then that he notices a sharp sting in his right arm. He must have cut it on something, which isn’t ideal, given how dirty everything is here.
“Alright,” Judd says, his voice clearer this time. “I’m gonna need you to focus up for me, okay? You’re the paramedic here; you’ve gotta tell us what to do.”
TK huffs a small laugh, closing his eyes and taking a moment to clear the fuzz in his brain. “Definitely have a concussion,” he mutters. “Must have hit my head on the way down.”
He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, but he can feel Judd’s eye roll. “Yeah, no shit. It don’t look too bad, though; you’ve got a bit of a scrape on your cheek, but it seems fine. Hurt anywhere else?”
TK hums, doing a mental check. His entire body aches in some capacity, and he’s probably going to be bruised as hell tomorrow, but his cut is the only other injury he can detect. “Arm,” he says. “Think I cut it on something. Glass, maybe?”
Judd pushes his sleeve up, then sucks in a sharp breath. “Aw, shit, kid,” he murmurs, and TK gets the distinct impression he wasn’t meant to hear that. “Probie, let the captains know? Then go join the others; tell them they’ll have to finish the rest of the building themselves.”
TK frowns, forcing his eyes open. Mateo’s moved too far away for him to hear whatever he’s radioing in, so he turns to Judd instead, panic flaring at the pained look in his eyes. “What? What’s going on?”
Judd hesitates. “That wasn’t, um. That wasn’t glass you landed on, kid.” He shifts, carefully picking something up from the floor, pursing his lips before holding it up for TK to see.
A needle.
All the air feels like it’s sucked out of the room, a band tightening around his chest as his eyes blow wide, fixating on the object in front of him. His heart is racing and his thoughts are scrambled in a way that has nothing to do with the concussion because he just landed on a needle, oh god.
And TK had never been one for any of that stuff, not like some of his friends at the time were, but sober is sober, and he can’t lose that, he can’t, he won’t -
“You haven’t, okay? Just breathe, brother, that’s it. Breathe.”
Judd’s words reach him from far away. TK wants to comply, but his body doesn’t feel like his own, and his shaking fingers scrabble frantically at his uniform collar, the choking sensation only getting worse. A distant noise lets him know that Judd is still talking, and TK tries to latch onto that, leaning into the solid and grounding presence at his side.
Slowly, the panic starts to subside. He still feels on edge, weak and shaky, but he can breathe again, which counts for something.
“Sorry,” he gasps out when he’s able.
Judd’s mouth twists into a grimace. “None of that, now. You okay?”
TK nods, though he doubts it’s very convincing. “I will be,” he amends. “Give me a minute.”
At that moment, Judd’s radio crackles to life. “Ryder, what’s your status?” his dad’s voice says, very carefully professional.
Judd looks over to him. “Think you can stand?”
At TK’s nod, he grasps his radio. “Me and TK are on our way out, Cap,” he reports. “Be with you in a few.”
“Copy that.”
TK groans, taking a shaking breath before planting his hands on the floor, attempting to heave himself upright. He makes it to a half-crouch before his balance gives out, and it’s only Judd’s reflexes that save him from face planting the ground again.
“Jesus, TK,” Judd sighs. “Let me help you.”
His tone leaves no room for argument - not that TK could put up much of a fight at the moment if he tried. He leans his weight on Judd, letting him do most of the work to get them down the stairs and out of the building.
“Sorry for freaking out on you,” he murmurs. “I just…”
“I know, kid,” Judd says softly. “You’re alright, though.”
TK doesn’t say anything, not entirely convinced that Judd is right, but comforted by the sentiment anyway. It’s not until they’re nearing the ground floor that he realises something else, and it’s almost enough to make him want to turn back.
“This is going to be so embarrassing.”
Judd frowns. “What?”
He points between his head and his arm with his good hand. “I’m going to have to go to hospital to get these checked out.” He sighs. “A paramedic needing a ride in his own ambulance. I’m never going to live this down.”
Judd laughs, long and loud, and it’s enough to make a smile tug at TK’s own lips. “You’re something else, kid,” he says, gently ruffling TK’s hair.
TK grumbles and bats him away, but his heart isn’t in it. He’s never been more thankful for Judd, truth be told, and he knows he can trust him to understand. And as they head outside, TK starts to believe that maybe Judd was right after all. 
They’ll be alright, in the end.
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