#instead I’m laying in bed and just took ibuprofen to help with any swelling

[planetsallalign]

Tattoo days always leave me feeling like I could eat everything in sight. We started and finished the piece today and booked more time in October for some TBD stuff. 10 out of 10 do not recommend a tattoo when you’re on the worst day of your period. BUT luckily I usually sit like a stone so my occasional twitching was not really anything to be bothered with.

#I kept apologizing every time though because that’s just who I am #all I want right now is like a greasy ass burger and fries #instead I’m laying in bed and just took ibuprofen to help with any swelling #I love the second skin stuff she puts over it at the end end now #such a good healing process and I don’t have to worry as I’m basically in peoples gross mouths all day at work. #what I would really love is peanut butter cups and some type of gummy candy #what I’m having is green grapes

[mxtantrights]

past lives | epilogue

a/n: time to look forward. and back. this doesn’t feature a big time jump. I’m gonna make an ending so cheesy... I think I’ve left this story pretty open so that you can insert whatever you want / envision for yourself. Once again thank you all who kept up and read or who’s gonna binge read once this comes out! Love ya <3

You opened your front door and there they all were. Most importantly Alfred. You had to show the man you could cook and fend for yourself if need be. Even though others couldn’t say the same.

“Great you’re all here. Come in, I’ve got the table set up and everything.” you said. 

They walk in one-by-one into your home. You were up last night tossing and turning because it really wasn’t much. They didn’t all live in the manor currently but they all had lived there previously. 

You eyed Damian specifically, to see his reaction to your place. He hadn’t been inside of it yet. Only ever on the fire escape and even that needed some work. You watched as took one swift look around and nodded at you. 

“It’s quaint.” he said.

“Did you just call me cheap or something?” you said.

“It was a compliment.”

“You hesitated.”

-

You wince as Alfred wrapped up your lower stomach. It was to help the swelling he said. You were sitting up on the bed in the guest bedroom. 

“May I ask what caused such bruising.” he asks.

You look over at Bruce who’s out of his nighttime suit and is watching from across the room. 

“A really big box.” 

You see Tim leaning against the door archway, hands behind his back. Bruce was Batman and Damian was Robin. That meant the Tim shaped Red Robin was Tim. He steps further into the room and reveals his hands.

He hands you two pills, “for the pain.”

You take them out of his hands and put them into your mouth. Then he hands you an opened water bottle. You take that and gulp down the pills, you have to tilt you head back a bit. 

When you tilt it back forward you feel the hammering of the punches again. It makes you wince. Alfred had already did the best he could with your face. No stitches thankfully. But just bandages and ointments.

“So how long have you known I was his child?” you ask Tim.

He shrugs his shoulders, “After the gala before the lunch interview”

“You mean the set up to get my DNA.”

He winces when you say that. 

“Tomatoe, tomato.”

Alfred lets you know that he’s done wrapping you and that you should lay down and try to get some rest. Which you don't argue with, you get the feeling that you don’t really argue with a man like him. He helps you pull your shirt down.

So you lean back slowly into the bed. You try to hold back the sounds of pain but one slips past your lips. This makes Tim and Bruce stand over your bed.

“You don’t have to worry. I’m pretty sure I’m not gonna die from a couple beatings from Ra’s.” You say plainly.

And it hurts Bruce. Damian had told him that you were in the league years before. But he could tell the harsh treatment you suffered there stayed with you. You were able to take so many hits from Ra’s it was something he never wanted to witness in his life.

“Any normal person would.” Tim says.

Bruce looks over at him.

“Well after I came out the pit things changed.” You answer.

They both look at you then. You figured Damian told at least Bruce that you were brought back to life by the pit. Maybe he was leaving that to you to discuss. 

“We’ll talk about this in the morning. Get some-” Bruce begins.

Then you hear the incoming footsteps to your new room. Sure enough Damian pops into view in the doorway. He wastes no time in running over to you, stopping short of hugging you once he sees the wrappings peeking through your newly acquired pajamas.

“Alfred says you’ll live.” he says.

You nod you head lightly, as to not start another headache before the ibuprofen kicks in. 

“You got there right in time.”

“I shouldn’t have let him get to you in the first place.” 

“Wasn’t your fault, besides I can handle myself.” 

“Obviously not look at your face.”

“I was in retirement. Cut me some slack.”

Bruce interrupts the impromptu match the both of you were having. Even though a part of him didn’t want to. He wanted to see the two of you interact more, since the both of you were family after all.

“Time to rest, say goodnight Damian.”

Damian takes another look over you. 

“Goodnight.”

He walks out the door with his brother and father. And they shut the lights on their way out. You're thankful you get to shut your eyes for a bit. The homecoming Ra’s gave you was anything but sweet.

By morning time, you wake up to find Damian sleeping in a chair at the end of your bed. He has a blanket pulled over his form, from either Alfred or Bruce you take it.

-

“Thanks for offering to do the dishes with me. I know Alfred is probably losing it in there.” You said.

Bruce looked at you with a laugh, “Yeah.”

When you handed the last dish for him to dry and cut off the sink you didn’t make a move to leave the kitchen. You had some words to say to him now that everything was out in the open.

“I wanna be clear, that day when you hinted at the recorder being on and me hearing your conversation with the others, I wasn’t rejecting you.” 

Bruce stopped drying the plate for a second. You saw him falter. He tried to pick up like it didn’t happen but you saw it. Instead of letting him continue you grabbed the plate from him.

He looked at you. 

“You weren’t?”

You shake your head, “No. I think you're a great guy, from what I know at least. And you had to be or my mother wouldn’t have liked you. Nor would she had wanted me to find you.”

“About your mother-”

“We can talk about her another time. I’m talking about you Bruce Wayne. I wanted to let you know that I do wanna figure out this relationship. I couldn’t say anything before because there was things I was unsure of.”

He cleared his throat.

“Like me?”

“No I wasn't unsure of you. I was unsure of how you would react about me and my past. I was your secret child who had been murdered and brought back to life by a mercenary who trained me to kill. On top of that, I had unknowingly cared for your youngest son before either of us knew anything.” you said.

He nodded his head at your words.

“But I think I knew I was sure of you when you wanted to fake me out about the added information in your interview. When you let me walk away.” you said.

Bruce tried to hide a grin but he couldn’t do it, “I thought you rejected me that day.”

“I was trying to protect you. Before I knew who you were during the night time, that is.”

“So now that you know, how do we do this?” he asked.

You hold up on finger, “First, you will not send me money. I make enough as it is and I do not need more.”

“Maybe just a savings account then.” 

“No, Bruce, no accounts. And no secret accounts either, I’ve heard from Alfred about your little set ups and such.”

“Sneaky.”

“I like him”

- 

When you finally get to the dinning room in the morning everyone, sans Alfred, is waiting for you. You hold onto your wrapping as you take the open seat next to Damian and across from Jason.

“I just wanna say I’m sorry for flirting with you before I knew you were family.” Jason says.

He doesn’t sound that sorry, which makes you look over at Damian. He’s got a proud smirk on his face. You face forward again.

“It’ll never happen again right Todd?” he asks.

Jason mumbles something indescribable. 

Then the room is filled with a moment of silence. It’s not really awkward per say, but you think it’ because they all have so many questions they don’t know where to start.

“So you guys LARP every night?” you ask.

Tim busts out laughing along with Dick. Jason crosses his arms over his chest with a chuckle. Damian, who you can tell is looking at you like you’ve grown another head, isn’t laughing. Neither is Bruce. Like father, like son you guess.

“I think you’re gonna fit right in.” Dick says.

“Speaking of which, are you gonna live here now?” Damian asks point blank.

Bruce beings to apologize for him but you shake your head and let him know it’s alright.

“I’m going to remain at my own residence. If you wanna come over you know the way.”

Jason has a look of shock on his face and Damian stops him. 

“Shut it Todd.”

-

A knock comes from your front door. It must be one of them, maybe they forgot something? You jog over to the door and open it.

Dick Grayson is in your doorway. 

“Did you leave something here?” you asked.

“No, I just wanted to say that I’m glad you're a part of the family. Honestly I’ve never seen Damian so calm before. And not his typical calm where he’s planning out every exit, this is different. It’s like he’s a normal kid.” he said.

You are speechless for a moment. 

“Thank you for letting me know, Dick.” you smiled.

“Gotta get going, a flight to catch.” 

You nodded you head, “Jason said you were in between red-heads. Do I wanna know what that means?”

He chuckled.

“I’ll let you know when I visit again, gotta go meet Wally.” he said.

Then he left with a simple wave. You could tell he wanted to hug you but didn’t want to cross any boundaries you might’ve had. In all honesty you would’ve hugged him back. You can see a bit of him in Damian and you’re thankful. 

You closed the door and turned the lock. 

-

As the rest of the boys cleared out, Bruce slid over your phone. The new one that you thought you had dropped on the sidewalk when you were taken. You reach for it and it’s totally fine.

You look up at him.

“Thanks, how did you get this?” 

“Nyssa.” 

Her name makes you still. She was never going to contact you after that night. Whatever friendship the two of your had was over. It was going to be hard to come to terms with but you’d have to make do.

But why did Nyssa have your phone?

“But this was on the ground last time I checked.” you asks.

“We saw on cctv, she picked it up while you were being put into the van. She had it on her the whole time, she’s the reason we were able to find you. Nyssa turned it on and it pinged a tower.” he answers.

Maybe it would be the last thing she ever did for you. Saving your life. You didn’t know what to think about her actions. It all felt like a past life or something.

You turn it on and see that you have unread messages and unanswered calls. Spanning days.

“How do I have all of this on my phone?” “I might’ve asked a favor from Killer Croc. It’s just the SIM card don't worry.”

“You mean Batman asked Killer Croc to find my phone?” 

“He told me it wasn’t that far from where you dropped it, outside of your building.”

“What I’m hearing is you and Killer Croc talk one-on-one.”

-

About fifteen minutes later, after Dick returned, there was a knock you were expecting. It came from your fire escape. You hurried your way into your room and drew up the blinds. There he was.

You slid open the window.

“Hurry up and get in, it’s fuckin cold out there and I’ve got nothing on.” you said.

He climbed through the window and stood toe to toe with you. 

“I can see that. Nice tank top.” he joked.

You raised your eyebrows at him, “You know I can just kick you out of my home you horny bastard.” 

“Oh but then we couldn’t all the fun stuff.”

“That would indeed be the point Jason.”

He kissed the top of your head. Then he began to peel off his jacket. The same one that he wore to the gala when you first met. He looked just as good right now as he did that night. The cigarette smell might’ve added to that too. He placed it over the chair that sat in the corner of your room near the window.

It was a quick, like lighting really, and you saw him move his eyes away but he looked at your scar below your collarbone. It stuck out like a sore thumb when you two weren’t rolling around in the dark.

But before you can say something to him, he speaks.

“I never told you this, but I think we must’ve ran into each other before all of this.” he says.

You tilt your head, “where would I run into you, Jason Todd?”

“I’m not sure, maybe in a past life or something.” he shrugs.

You watch as he walks past you, heading to the kitchen no doubt. Out of the both of you your fridge is the better choice for actual food and not takeout. You follow behind him, only up until your room’s doorway which you lean your body against. And you think to yourself, you have a couple of past lives now.

#dc x reader #Jason Todd x reader #Dick Grayson x reader #Tim Drake x reader #Damian x reader #Bruce Wayne x reader #batman x reader #batfam x reader #redhood x reader #PAST LIVES

[vmheadquarters]

We’re still playing our game of written hot potato! Dozens of your favorite authors are taking turns to tell a Veronica Mars mystery story. Each writer crafts their chapter and then “tosses” the story to the next person to continue the tale. No one knows what will happen, so expect the unexpected!

Follow the “vmhq presents” and “murder we wrote” tags for all the installments, or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Chapter Sixteen of MURDER, WE WROTE is written by @theshortywrites​. And stayed tuned next week for Ch.17 from @iimdestinyfreereally​ ​ -tag, you’re it!

—————————————————————————————————— CHAPTER SIXTEEN by @theshortywrites​

Veronica stared at her friend, jaw slack with disbelief, for a beat too long--because the next thing she knew, Logan was snapping the fingers of his free hand in front of her face.

“Earth to Mars. Veronica! Come on, Veronica. We can figure it out later. Right now, we need to get back to the house and get Mac looked over before she passes out again.” Veronica shook her head, clearing the cobwebs from her brain before pulling Mac's free arm over her shoulder.

They started the slow trek back to the mansion, Mac tucked unevenly between them, and they had to stop twice because Mac got too nauseated to keep going. Veronica remained quiet, turning Mac’s words over and over in her head. Fresh snow drifted cold and bright from the sky and covered the trail they followed; it slowed them down even more than having to mostly carry a grown woman, who sported, if Veronica had to guess, a pretty significant concussion.

It took longer than she originally expected to see the lights of the mansion begin to glitter in the distance. In some unspoken agreement, the three friends sped up as the trail thinned and the clearing to the house came into view.

“OOF.” Veronica fell, then couldn't stop the short string of curses that followed as her hand came into painfully sharp contact with the ground. The jolt was quickly overshadowed by the throbbing ache of her rapidly-swelling ankle.

“Ugh.” She heard the shuffle of feet and the rustle of clothes as Logan and Mac tried to avoid falling along with her...or, worse, on her.

“Bond?” Mac's voice was muffled with unmistakable pain. “You okay?”

“Hang on, V.” Logan interjected before she had a chance to respond. “We're close enough to the house, I can get help.” Without waiting for a response, he turned back toward the clearing and released a series of shrill whistles.

Mac winced.

“Sorry.” He at least looked a little sheepish as he apologized. “Guess I could have warned you to cover your ears.”

Before either of them could respond, there was a rustling through the snow in front of them.

“Dude!” Dick's voice echoed off the snow and trees around them. “You rang?” Wallace's head poked out from behind the taller man.

“Veronica's hurt.” Logan’s response was calm, but his eyes were a little wild when he turned his head towards the fallen blonde. “Help Mac back to the house. I'll help V.”

Dick stepped in, swiftly taking Logan's spot under Mac's right arm. “Alright, Mac-a-roni. Let's get you back inside and looking a little less like the Walking Dead. Though, can’t say it isn't working for me.”

Wallace smacked Dick's arm from his spot on Mac's left, at the same time Mac groaned out a halfhearted, “Never gonna happen, Dick.”

Logan knelt beside Veronica, still holding herself above the level of the snow on painful hands. “Think you can stand?”

Veronica tested her ankle, tried to lift her foot from the unusually soft ground beneath it. The sharp bite of pain that immediately shot up her leg brought tears to her eyes. She shook her head and huffed out a breath, afraid of what her voice would betray if she tried to speak.

“Shhhhh, it's okay. I've got you, Veronica.” Logan's hand smoothed across her hair and down her back, pressing and prodding as he checked for any other injuries. “Right leg or left?”

“Left ankle.” Veronica hated how watery her voice sounded, but she didn't have time to dwell on that as Logan's hands swept down her thighs towards her feet. Wish this wasn't a pseudo-medical exam in the middle of a snowstorm, while stuck on an isolated murder island. Then I could actually enjoy this. Those thoughts flew from her mind as Logan's hand reached her swollen ankle, wrenching a cry from her lips.

“Sorry, sorry. I need to make sure nothing is broken or unstable before I try to move you.” He sounded genuinely upset that he’d hurt her, but continued, his voice turning wry and the slightest bit ashamed. “If not… let’s just say that's an almost unbearable amount of pain.”

Veronica grunted an affirmation, adding yet another thing to their ‘talk about once were not imminently dead’ list; resigned herself to huffing and hissing her responses as her ex-current-boyfriend-fling-soulmate-now-nursemaid poked and prodded her swollen flesh tenderly.

“Alright. I can't pick you up like this without jarring your ankle. We need to turn you over. I'm going to support your ankle while you turn, then I can pick you up bridal-style, and we can get back inside before hypothermia actually sets in.” Logan's hands wrapped around her ankle, providing warmth and stability she didn't realize she was missing until right then. “I'm ready when you are.”

One deep breath, and Veronica turned as carefully as she could; desperately, she resisted the scream of pain fighting its way out of her as she pressed against bruised and tattered hands, pulling against muscles already battered and sore from her fall yesterday. She tried to keep her leg as still as possible. Once her left hip hit the ground, she collapsed into the snowdrift, only to have Logan scoop her up before the snow could melt against her face. She brought her arms up to grip his shoulders as he fumbled a bit to find his footing.

“Shit, I'm sorry, sugarpuss. Let's get you inside.” Once he found his balance with the extra weight clinging to his front, Logan practically ran out into the clearing and around the house.

Wallace was waiting for them, opening the door as Logan climbed the stairs carefully. “Dick is taking care of Mac. He's surprisingly knowledgeable about first aid. One too many surfing accidents, I guess. They’re in the servants’ quarters off the kitchen, if you want to head that way. They have the whole kit in there.”

The trio made quick work of weaving between the mattresses still strewn across the floor, dodging people and questions and everything not immediately necessary to the much-needed first-aid quest. What they found when the door to the hidden room slid open was nothing like they expected. Dick sat on the floor with his back against a bed, his head drooping to the side in an obviously deep sleep. Mac was sleeping equally hard, a row of neat butterfly bandages across her forehead and her hand caught in Dick’s hair, smushed between his shoulder and cheek.

Logan looked between the two, then tilted his head towards the first-aid kit. Half of it was strewn across the floor. “Grab stuff for a sprain or break from that, please, Wallace. We'll… figure out what this is all about later. Let's find some place private where we won't disturb these two. They obviously need the sleep.”

Wallace led the way, Logan close behind, still carrying Veronica against his chest without breaking a sweat. They slipped out the back of the kitchen, moving away from the living room where most of the others were gathered, until they found the small library. “This okay?” Wallace asked, gesturing to the loveseat and two high-back chairs with ottomans.

Logan didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he crossed the room and lay Veronica carefully onto the loveseat, leaving her ankle propped up on the armrest before arranging the throw pillows behind her head. When she tried to sit up, he pressed her back down. “You have to rest. Wallace and I will clean you up.”

Veronica couldn’t help but shoot a glare at her ex-current-boyfriend-fling-soulmate-nursemaid, fighting the pressure of his hand for only a moment before relaxing back against the pillows in exhaustion. “Fine.”

“You mind taking a look at her ankle, Wallace? You probably have more experience with sprained ankles than I do, given your illustrious basketball career. I’ll get her hands cleaned up.” The men got to work, Veronica occasionally hissing and groaning in pain as they worked. When all was said and done, she had an ice pack tied around her rapidly-bruising ankle, and a gauze mitt around her right hand to protect the deepest of the cuts from her fall.

“Here, take these.” Logan ripped open a small white package, offering three little brown pills. “Ibuprofen. Should help with the pain.” Veronica grabbed the meds; she swallowed them down quickly with a bottle of water that seemed to appear out of thin air. Had she passed out at some point?

“Something’s not right.” Veronica mumbled.

Wallace looked at her skeptically from where he’d settled into one of the wingback chairs; his legs were crossed and propped on the ottoman in a posture far more relaxed than the token-black-man in a horror story should display. “You mean… other than being stuck on murder island with a hidden killer, who seems intent on maiming or killing most, if not all of us? With you being the main target, and now dealing with a concussion, a sprained ankle, and more scrapes and bruises than I want to think about? What could be wrong about that, V? Isn’t this just how our lives go?”

Veronica’s eyelids, heavy with the unavoidable sleep that always follows adrenaline letdown, fluttered as she shook her head. “Not that. Well. That, but not just that.”

“What else isn’t right, Veronica?” Logan prodded, knowing they needed to get it out of her before she fell asleep and likely forgot everything.

“Can’t be Lilly. She’s dead… or she’s… two? Too. Too tiny to kill. Maybe Mac just saw a tiny blonde? Lotsa tiny blonde chicks that probably want me dead, especially… connected to Logan.”

Logan squawked indignantly from his spot on the floor beside the loveseat, where Veronica’s non-bandaged hand lay over his shoulder, pressed against his chest. She patted him groggily. “…is k,” she slurred, fading quickly into sleep. “You have a type. Me, but less fabulous. Still love you.”

Logan shook his head, turning it just enough to press a soft kiss against her forearm. When Veronica’s breath evened out into sleep, he shared a worried look with Wallace. Then they both closed their eyes and followed V into the darkness, oblivious to the shadow creeping along the library wall, and sneaking out the still-opened door.

#veronica mars #veronica mars fanfic #vm fanfic #vmhq presents #murder we wrote #round robin

[aliceslantern]

Serendipity, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 7

ser·en·dip·i·ty | n -- the occurrence of an unplanned fortunate discovery.

It's all fun and games until someone gets pregnant.

Modern AU, zemyx, Ienzo is trans and afab.

Chapter summary: Ienzo is pregnant again.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

It did take a few months; months of rising hope, only to feel the cramping. Ienzo tried to pretend that it wasn’t getting to him, that he didn’t feel a failure. Hard work, to convince himself of it.

“I mean, the first time you got pregnant, you were on top,” Demyx said. Sex didn’t feel like a chore, but it surely wasn’t as spontaneous as it used to be.

“I think. That wasn’t the only time we weren’t careful.” He slid off his underwear. “I’m not sure how long the movie is. We should probably get a move on.” Even and Ansem had taken Emilie to a children’s movie.

“...Jesus. Feeling romantic much?”

Ienzo sighed. “I’m sorry.”

He pulled him into an embrace. “Hey,” he said softly. “Just relax. Don’t think so hard about it. Let’s just be together.”

Ienzo nodded. “Right.”

Demyx kissed him, pulling his hands through his hair. He led him over to the bed and lay down, running his hand along Ienzo’s thigh. “Focus on how you feel.”

He tried. Letting go of that stress was almost impossible. He tried to recall a simpler time, when their relationship hadn’t had any purpose other than loving one another. Demyx’s hand slid between his legs, touching gently, his thumb flicking along the clit, sending something like a current through him. “That is better,” he said.

“Come here.”

Ienzo straddled him. He felt a finger enter him, Demyx’s other hand tracing circles along his inner thigh. “You should--”

“It’s okay. Just relax.” He handled it slowly, a move that reminded Ienzo oddly of tides, eddying from one swell to the next. He gasped a little and clutched at the sheets below him. The feeling was getting stronger now, more electric.

“But I... want it.” He felt the blood rush to his face.

“Yeah?”

Ienzo took his dick against his hand. Begging was undignified, but it was rapidly getting to that point. Instead he just nodded.

“Okay. Okay. Sure, whatever you want.” He laughed.

He lifted his hips a little, enough for Demyx to slide the tip inside of him. Yes. This was the thoughtlessness he remembered from their earlier encounters. Ienzo began to move against him, gratifying in the small moan he heard.

“Do whatever you want,” Demyx mumbled.

He had no trouble listening. He’d missed the ease of this. Every few thrusts he felt Demyx’s hand brush against his clit, only tightening the pit of urgency in Ienzo’s stomach. He took it a bit faster, a bit harder, and felt Demyx clutch at his hips. His back arched a little against the mattress.

It happened almost without warning, a sharp startling pleasure that made him feel vaguely weak. It seemed to startle Demyx, too; he heard a soft “fuck” before Ienzo felt the flush of warmth.

He eased off of him carefully, trying to keep the result inside of him. He tried not to think about what would happen if this didn’t work, and instead on the contentment he felt now, in the moment.

“God, I swear you make me have the stamina of a teenager,” Demyx muttered.

“At least you got me off first,” Ienzo said, with a laugh. “The most important thing.”

He kissed him once. “I think we still have time for a glass of wine.”

He exhaled. “That sounds nice.”

---

Ienzo was again sitting at his desk at work. The day had been oddly stressful; a patron had been trying his patience. He figured he’d make himself some tea, perhaps check in with Emilie’s daycare teacher. When he stood, however, he felt a thick wave of vertigo that had him catch the counter.

Wait.

He looked at his calendar, backtracked, looking for the last little mark he’d made--

He was late, by three days.

He inhaled sharply. His period had naturally been irregular since he’d eased off the testosterone. No point getting his hopes up. It would probably come back with a vengeance the moment he relaxed. No point mentioning this to Demyx, either.

A few more days trickled past. The dizziness continued to come and go, and one evening while he was making Emilie’s favorite dinner of broccoli and noodles, the smell made him heave.

He wondered.

Ienzo moved slowly, as though he might shake it free. He went to the drugstore under the guise of getting some ibuprofen, bought the test. His mind was curiously blank. Demyx was on the couch, playing with their daughter. Thankfully his water with dinner was enough to make him need to urinate.

To think there’d be a time when he wanted anything other than a negative response. He took the test, set it aside. Looked at his watch until the requisite time passed, trying to smother the hope that had started to grow, stubbornly. He shut his eyes. Took a breath. Picked up the piece of plastic.

This was a different test than the last one he’d bought, the results a little less clear. He had to reach for the instructions to figure out what the two lines meant.

Pregnant.

He took a shaky breath, staring at the second of the two lines, as if looking at it long enough would make it spontaneously disappear. Ienzo stood. Slowly. Opened the door.

“Alright in there?” Demyx asked.

“Come here a moment,” Ienzo said.

“...be right back, sweetie,” he heard. Demyx appeared in the doorway. “What’s up?” His eyes flickered over the paper, still on the floor. The box. “Wait--”

Ienzo offered the stick. “It worked,” he said. “It really--I’m having another baby.”

Demyx stared at it. “Oh,” he said softly. He blinked quickly. “Oh my god.”

“I’ll… check again, to be sure,” he said. “See a doctor. But… I’ve been having the same dizziness, the nausea. I think I really am.”

His eyes were watering. “Oh, Ienzo. I--I love you.” He drew him into his arms. “Another baby.”

Ienzo sagged into the embrace, a relief he hadn’t let himself feel overtaking him. He pretended it was the hormones making him cry.

---

Dr. Gainsborough again confirmed he was pregnant. Ienzo wondered if this was how he should have felt when he was first pregnant with Emilie--a strong joy. The weeks seemed to pass more quickly with this one, through the nauseous haze of the first trimester. He again felt that delight, that pleasure.

Though juggling it all on top of his already-living child wasn’t easy.

Emilie seemed to intuit the change in Ienzo even before he started showing. She would rather cuddle than wrestle, would pat his cheek as he came back from getting sick. “Daddy okay?” she’d ask.

Their friends and family received the news warmly, and with good humor. “You really went for another one,” Riku said dryly. “What is it, one of your kinks?”

They started looking for another, larger apartment to accommodate the new baby. With the added stress of moving, Ienzo knew they’d have to tell Emilie. So one rainy afternoon, they sat her down.

“Do you know how daddy’s been tired and sick lately?” Demyx asked her.

She nodded sagely.

“Well, you see, it’s because I have a secret,” Ienzo said in a low voice. “I’m growing a baby.”

“Growing?” she asked.

He pressed a hand to his stomach. “Right here. Like I did just for you before you were born.”

“I come from here?” She touched it.

“Yes. And when the baby’s done growing they’ll be your little sibling.”

She furrowed her tiny eyebrows, looking, for a moment, just like Demyx when he was confused. “How it get in there?” she asked.

Demyx stifled a laugh. “That’s another secret,” he said, holding a finger to his lips. “Only grown ups get to learn that magic.”

“I want to learn now.”

Ienzo looked at Demyx. “I don’t know, do you think we should tell her?”

He considered. “Mm, maybe, but Emilie’s not good at keeping secrets.”

“Am!” she insisted.

Demyx shook his head. “I don’t know. You narced on me to daddy about giving you chicken nuggets for dinner.”

“Am, am!”

He lifted her up on his lap. “Alright,” he said conspiratorially. “See, daddy has a tiny tiny little egg. Like a bird’s. When it’s ready, it grows into a baby. And I help him do that.”

She wrinkled her nose; she seemed disappointed. “Oh,” she said. “Okay. Baby.”

“So you have to be real gentle with daddy.”

“I know,” she said. She patted Ienzo’s stomach once. “Hi baby.”

---

Their new apartment was in an older building, but had more light. Getting rid of the last of Demyx’s bachelor things felt odd. They retrieved Emilie’s baby furniture and put it in the third bedroom; Ienzo caught her napping in the crib more than once, afraid that she might get jealous of the baby. “It’s okay, we can share,” she said to him. She did like to feel it move, when he became larger; her little eyes would get huge. “Them hurt you?”

“No, it doesn’t hurt,” he told her. “You were like this too.”

“I hatched?”

He laughed a little; she kind of had, in a manner of speaking. “No, you were born.”

“Oh,” she said. “I wish I hatched.”

Ienzo kissed her forehead.

---

This baby was smaller than Emilie; though not abnormally so. He was told that, should he wish it, he could try to give birth to it naturally, though in a hospital should there need to be medical intervention. Ienzo didn’t wish it. This child was due in August. The third trimester left him in as much of a haze as it had the first time; on more than one occasion he had to stop himself from snapping at everyone, not always completely successful. Once he yelled at Emilie for getting finger paint on the floor, paint he then proceeded to slip on, only barely catching himself. He’d never raised his voice at her before, and it scared them both; she started to cry. Guilt washed over him, heady and awful. He knelt and took her into his arms.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said, over and over again. “Daddy’s just tired. You did nothing wrong.”

“Why baby make you mean,” she said against his breast. “They need out now. Give me daddy back.”

Early August brought with it hurricane season. Most of the storms only gave rain, though one seemed to be more potent than the last. Even and Ansem insisted that they stay with them. “You’ll be more comfortable,” Ansem said. Ienzo knew they really just wanted to help with Emilie. He was too tired not to take the invitation.

And truthfully? It was a relief, to have his fathers look after her, and Demyx was on break at the college. Even claimed it was much-needed bonding time. He would lay on his bed in his childhood bedroom, which still had vague hints of the person he’d once been; the plastic stars on the ceiling (semi-realistic constellations), the scribbled Anarchy symbol hidden behind a dresser (which Demyx teased him about mercilessly when he found it while unpacking), his teenage self’s favorite books still on the shelf. Demyx would rub his back and feet until he fell asleep, hesitantly, again constantly woken by the baby’s movement, the need to pee.

On the second rainy day of one of these hurricanes, the wind kicked up. Emilie watched it with interest, the way it battered the trees by the window. Even picked her up and started explaining weather; she watched him with interest.

Ienzo picked listlessly at a cold lunch, sweaty and irritable.

“Did you get any sleep?” Ansem asked.

“Not much, I’m afraid,” he admitted. “The baby was very active last night. Now they’re asleep.” He rested a hand on the bump.

“So go lay down for a few hours,” Ansem told him. “I think we can manage.”

“I feel terrible,” Ienzo said. “You’ve been looking after her nonstop--”

“I think we both love the opportunity to spoil our granddaughter,” he said gently. “Your husband’s helping too, don’t forget.”

“Helping? More like parenting,” Demyx added, from the sink.

“Quite.” He smiled. “Rest, Ienzo. You’re going to need it.”

He sighed. “Alright.” He stood and felt it, a heady, sudden cramp; he almost doubled over. “Just a Braxton-Hicks,” he explained, to all the stricken expressions. “Truly. This happened before. It’ll pass.”

As he lay in bed, the storm worsened; he could hear the wind whistling. The power flickered. He could just so barely hear Demyx tell Emilie mock ghost stories, making her screech with a delighted sort of fear.

Another cramp gripped at Ienzo. He took a breath. It would pass. But it was different. They were already thick and deep, not like the whispers of the first Braxton-Hicks he’d had. He sat up slowly. “Are you early, too?” he asked this baby. “Or are you messing with me?”

The next one that came had him gasping out loud, not more than fifteen minutes later. Shakily, he stood. He wasn’t sure why he made himself walk down the stairs instead of just texting someone.

“Why are you up?” Even asked sourly. “It’s alright, Ienzo.”

Anxiety made him shiver. “I…”

Ansem very tactfully led Emilie out of the room. Demyx came over to him. “You’re all sweaty.”

“I believe these contractions are real,” he said, as another one began to gnaw at him.

“Are you certain?” Even asked. “It’s too soon.”

“Only by two weeks,” he said. “Emilie was two weeks early as well.”

Demyx squeezed his hand tightly. “We just have to get you to the hospital. That’s all.”

“In this weather?” Even asked. “How far apart are they?”

“About fifteen minutes--sporadic,” he said. Demyx helped him sit on the couch.

He tutted. “Well, I’m afraid you might have to wait this out for a few hours,” he said. “It’s due to blow over in a bit, according to the news.”

It didn’t.

---

As the hours passed, the contractions grew so steadily closer. Ienzo could feel Demyx’s anxiety rising. He rubbed Ienzo’s hand until it felt somewhat raw. “I hate seeing you in pain,” he said.

“I’ll pull through,” Ienzo said, gasping a little. “Imagine the story. The drama .”

“How long was it between?” Even asked. He came back with a wet cloth for Ienzo’s forehead.

“About eight minutes,” Demyx said.

Even looked back out the window. It was growing dark out now, but the rain was still violent. “I should try calling EMS. See if it’s possible for them to get out here.”

"The streets were all flooded on the news." Ienzo exhaled. “She did say this baby was smaller.”

“Let’s not take risks if we don’t have to,” Even said, patting his leg.

“But we might have to,” Ienzo said, with a trace of panic. “It’s getting--close.”

Demyx bit his lip.

Even seemed to make some kind of decision. “I know this isn’t ideal, and rather humiliating,” he said. “Let me look at you and see where things are.”

Ienzo tried to take a deep breath, a contraction making him wince. “I… suppose…”

Even nodded once. “I’ll go get some gloves.”

“I admit,” he said, when Even was gone, “I didn’t think this day would end with my father seeing my genitals.”

“He’s a doctor,” Demyx said. “I mean. If you feel better, would you want me to do it?”

This was meant to make him laugh; he could only smile wearily. He lay back on the bed and slipped off his underwear, feeling exposed, like a piece of meat. Admittedly, he tried to dissociate while Even prodded at him. “You’re at about six centimeters,” he said.

“What does that mean?” Demyx asked.

“Basically, we’re fucked,” Ienzo said, the panic clamping down now in earnest. “Once you get to a certain stage--it’s been hours.”

Even threw away the gloves. He, again, looked back out the window. “You might have to be brave,” he said softly. “I will call someone. See if it’s possible to get you to a hospital. Don’t move.”

Demyx stroked his hair. “It’s going to be okay,” he said.

“What if they--get stuck?” Ienzo asked breathlessly. “What if--”

“That’s not going to happen,” Demyx said. “The doctor thinks you can do it.”

“The doctor,” Ienzo said. “Get me my phone. I’ll--”

Demyx obeyed. When Ienzo tried to call, though, there was no signal, further confirmed when Even came back. “I can’t get a call out with all the rain,” he said. His expression was neutral, but Ienzo could see the concern in his eyes. “We can see how you fare. But remember. I do have experience with this.” He patted Ienzo’s knee.

“What if it gets stuck?” Ienzo asked again.

Even considered. “I’m positive that, should that happen, I could… handle the situation accordingly.”

Demyx flinched.

“Do you trust me?”

Ienzo blinked the tears out of his eyes. “Yes.”

The contractions only got worse from there, closer together. Ienzo could feel the baby shifting, getting in position. For a while he stood limply swaying against Demyx in a bathrobe in a vain attempt to get comfortable. And the storm continued. His water broke. Demyx sang to him, nonsense songs to try and comfort him, but Ienzo could tell his own panic was only slightly at bay.

Ten centimeters. He felt vaguely dissociated.

“You’ll probably feel the urge to push,” Even said. “Don’t fight it.” He set some clean towels on the bed, above some plastic sheeting. He’d been digging for some time for medications, for instruments. “Your father’s keeping an eye on emergency services." He scowled. "It was his idea to get rid of the landline. Once this rain lets up a little the signal should improve."

Truthfully, Ienzo did feel a vague squeezing in his middle. He lay down. “And if I start feeling it?”

“Then bear down hard on a contraction and breathe between.”

Demyx touched his face, his cheek. “You can do this.”

Ienzo squeezed his hand.

Well.

The urges grew stronger. It felt weird, oddly primal, to do this. The pain was so intense as to be unnoticeable. He could hear them both encouraging him, but he was not in his proper mind to do anything other than try to get this baby out of him.

“I can feel them, Ienzo,” Even said. “It looks like it’s going to be okay.”

It was this relief that gave him the strength to push harder--

“The head is born. Do you feel it? Just one more for me.”

He did feel it--it was one of the most surreal sensations of his whole life. Then that final pull, the final burst, and they left him.

“You did so well,” Demyx said to him. “Holy fuck, Ienzo.”

All he could do was lean against him, exhausted and feeling the echoes of labor and, well, weeping. He heard the baby gasp and cry. Even laid them across his chest.

“A boy,” he said, with pride, “unless he determines otherwise.”

It seemed like all went as well as it could’ve--until he tried to deliver the placenta. Ienzo knew instantly something was wrong. A sharp pain, a tearing. “Take the baby,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” Demyx asked. He wrapped him in another towel.

“Take him. Take--” He reached down before Even could swat his hand away. It came back bloody.

His father went ashen. “A hemorrhage,” he said. “It’s okay, Ienzo. It’s going to be okay.”

The blood seemed so bright against the white towel. Demyx held their son tightly, his eyes wide with fear.

“Get him out,” Ienzo said. “He doesn’t need to see this.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

Ienzo could woozily see Even making something on the dresser, something with a rubber glove--he felt it poke into him. “I’m sorry, love,” Even said, and for the first time he saw how frazzled and terrified he also was.

“What--” Demyx asked, frozen.

“A makeshift bakri balloon, for the bleeding. I know this must be painful. I know.”

He felt dizzy. He knew he should tell Even this.

“Seems to be working, thank god--”

Then Demyx, “I got through. Someone picked up. I need help--my husband just had a baby--”

“Ienzo?” Even prompted.

“I feel… I feel so…”

Not so much blackness as grayness, a sort of quasi-consciousness. When he woke fully he was in a hospital bed. It was still raining. He blinked. He felt horrifically sore, feeling the pull of both stitches and an IV.

“Ienzo?” Demyx’s voice. “Hey. Hey.” He sounded teary.

His vision wouldn’t quite sharpen; his hair was in his eyes. “The baby--”

“He’s fine. I'm holding him. He's asleep.”

He tried to turn his head to see their son, a squish-faced bundle. Demyx eased him gently into Ienzo's arms. “How long have I been out?”

“In and out for a few hours,” Demyx said. He kissed his forehead. “I was so--terrified. We all were. You needed a few transfusions.”

“And the baby?”

“He’s fine. They put him on antibiotics just in case.”

“How’s that for a story,” he murmured.

Demyx laughed, still freely crying.

---

It took him longer to recover from this birth, both the hemorrhage and the process itself. His whole lower body was tender, achy, and even something so simple as going to the bathroom was now an ordeal. Ienzo was constantly exhausted. He took solace in the fact that their son was healthy, though he did--unfortunately--seem to have inherited Ienzo’s hair. “You need rest above all,” Even said. “Physically that was rather traumatic. You mustn’t push yourself.”

He was again making milk; he could feel it beading along his bra. Ienzo was oddly weepy, moreso than the last time. He figured that hormonally he was a disaster. He didn’t want to let go of their son, and when she visited, Emilie. Their presence comforted him. They decided to name him Adrian, a name that, just like Emilie’s, seemed to just fit .

“Oh, baby,” she said, as though with revelation. “Hello. Good baby.”

Even when he was home, it took Ienzo days to do little more than putter around, only capable of changing diapers and feeding the baby. Emilie would bring him toys, pillows, as though this might help. Demyx had told her to be gentle with both of them. “Growing a baby is very tiring,” he said.

But again there was that sense of comfort, holding him and smelling his little head. The pain and the worst of the fatigue faded. “Though one thing is certain,” Ienzo said, “I am not going through that again.”

Demyx kissed him. “I don’t think I would let you,” he said. “I think about that moment too much. I--you were so pale. So pale and so still.”

Ienzo sighed. “I’m sorry.” “Like it was your fault? I… I don’t want to lose you. Nothing is worth that.”

He looked down at the baby, at Emilie drawing quietly in the corner. “No. I need to be here for them, for as long as I can. I just hope things will go back to normal.” “A new normal, maybe,” Demyx said. “Oof, it seems like someone needs a change.” He took Adrian from him. “Come on, little man.” Life ebbed neatly after that. Once Emilie began preschool, and after that kindergarten, they were able to redefine their relationship again. She was a smart girl, much to Even’s delight; not to mention artsy, much to Naminé’s. She was a good sister, gentle with the baby, and would always tell one of them when he cried. They all had things they wanted to teach her, to help her understand an ever-evolving and chaotic world.

Ienzo still worried. About school, about sicknesses, bumps, aches and pains. All he knew was that when Emilie would deign to be cuddled with, feeling that and hearing the occasional “I love you, daddy,” made it all worth it.

It started with a dilemma, but it ended filling a void he hadn’t been conscious of, one he later consciously sought. He realized that before he met Demyx he’d been living too timidly, almost afraid of his own skin. It was necessary to break the rules to achieve anything more than blandness. Simply put, for the experiment to be a success, it had to be helped along by a new, unexpected variable.

Looking at his husband, his children, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#serendipity #demyx #ienzo #zemyx #even (kingdom hearts) #ansem the wise #ienzo is trans

[nutbrain]

A short fic about a pining Bandit I wrote from a discord suggestion. I tried a writing style a little different from what I’m used to, so please let me know if you like it! (~4800 words)

Bandit wasn’t quite sure when the feeling started. It had been insidious, one thing slowly building on top of another, nagging at the back of his mind until the thought was finally brought to his attention; he was starting to get old. It wasn’t something he’d really let bother him until recently. Retrospectively, Bandit realized he’d started to notice courtesy of several offhanded comments. The German had vaulted over a stairway’s railing to finish off a couple terrorists a floor below and hurt his knees on the (admittedly poor) landing. Kapkan had laughed his head off when Bandit had radioed in that since the building was finally clear, he was going to remain on the floor until his legs stopped throbbing. He still cringed at the fact that Mute had to eventually make his way down to pick him up. The young Brit asked him if he required LifeAlert, and of course Pulse had joined in. The helicopter ride back was miserable with his knees still hurting more with every jostle and those idiots living it up through the comm system which he was ordered not to turn off. Kapkan of course wouldn’t let him nurse he wounds in peace when they got back and instead radioed it in to Doc.

              “We have no casualties aside from Bandit’s pride,” Bandit flipped him off which only encouraged the Russian more, “the idiot decided to take up gymnastics and didn’t quite stick his landing. I’d give it a 2.5/10 from what I saw on the cameras.” Kapkan winked as the others started chortling, debating whether or not he deserved more or less points for killing the terrorists on the way down.

Doc had let out a long-suffering sigh when Bandit was hauled into the infirmary by a highly amused Mute. From the looks of it, the doctor had been planning on heading out for the night with his team, as Doc had thrown his white coat on over his sweater and khaki pants while the rest of the GIGN was lazing around the infirmary in their civvies. Twitch fixed him with an unamused look and he flipped off Rook just out of sight of Montagne as the younger man opened his mouth to say something. The shield bearer smiled at him as he limped past, but Bandit steadfastly refused to make eye contact, offering him a quick nod instead. He was already embarrassed enough.

Doc ushered the pair into the office and closed the door after Mute left, giving the German a lightning fast check-up before launching into one of his signature tongue lashings. While the whole tirade was grating on its own, it was Doc’s comment as he cleaned up that really tipped him over the edge.

“You’re not getting any younger, you know. Not that you should have been pulling those stunts ten years ago, but you have to be even more careful now.” He gripped, passing Bandit a bottle of prescription ibuprofen for the swelling and pain. The German glared and silently accept the meds, waiting to leave until he was dismissed. Bandit maybe a bit rash at times, but even knew better than blow up on the doctor (Doc was a force to be reckoned with on his own, but with the rest of the GIGN already upset that they weren’t currently at dinner, there’s no way that would end well).

However, if the Keurig that Doc and the others from the mission happened to use had its water laced with laxatives the next day, well, what could he say.

~

While Bandit certainly wasn’t the oldest operator in Rainbow by any means, he also wasn’t nearly as young as some. After lamenting to Blitz about the comments from the others, the younger German had a few ideas that Bandit wasn’t quite sure he was willing to accept.

               “I think you’re just hitting your midlife crisis.”

               “My what?” Bandit looked at him as if he’d grown another head, though it wasn’t quite as effective since he was currently laying upside down on the couch while Blitz sat in the recliner, making a valiant effort to type up his mission report while also playing counselor to Bandit.

               “Your midlife crisis. From what I hear it happens to people around your age. I mean, you bought that ridiculously expensive motorcycle last month,” Blitz held up his hand as Bandit started to protest, “your pranks have shifted to focus mostly on the younger operators, you actually trimmed your beard within the last week, you’ve started buying work jeans with even more holes in them, and you’ve finally purchased civvies that don’t make you look like a homeless stoner.” Bandit flipped around on the couch to level a proper glare at the other man, whose only response was to roll his eyes.

               “I’ll have you know that I’ve been meaning to buy that bike for years, thank you very much. And how dare you insult the distressed marks on my jeans. I don’t know if you’ve tried, but it’s actually very time consuming to create that look for yourself.” Blitz quirked his eyebrow, disbelieving.

               “Listen, all I’m saying is maybe this would be a good time to find someone nice and give dating a chance. I know it’s hard with our lifestyle, but we’ll all have to retire eventually and you need someone to keep you company when the nights are long.”

               “Ya, you’re probably right,” now it was Blitz’s turn to look at him strangely, not used to hearing those words come out of Bandit’s mouth. “I probably do need a good lay like what you have with the baguette boy.” Blitz’s expression turned to one of horror as his face lit up bright red. Bandit cackled as he exited the room, leaving a sputtering Blitz behind.

~

Despite the jesting, Bandit took Blitz’s words to heart. He spent the next week running through his dating options. Ideally, another operator would be best suited to handle and understand his current lifestyle, so that narrowed down his options significantly. Montagne, Jackal, Lion, and the Russians were out immediately for a variety of reasons. Montagne was so far out of league it was unreal, so he wasn’t even on the list to be checked off. Jackal was attractive and older, so he was one of Bandit’s first thoughts, but the other man was too suave and had enough baggage not to be able to handle any of Bandit’s. Moving on, Lion, as far as Bandit knew, was interested in the fairer sex. As intriguing as the challenge of converting him sounded, he also didn’t think he’d be able to stomach his haughty attitude for long. As for the Russians, they were so tight knit it would be extremely hard to even start to approach one, and in the event that they ever broke up, Bandit had the distinct feeling that he would no longer have to worry about reaching retirement.

Rook, Blitz, Mute, and Smoke were already in relationships, and as much as Bandit enjoyed chaos, he wasn’t about to be labelled as a homewrecker, especially not where Blitz was concerned. After finishing his run through, the only other operator he hadn’t completely ruled out for one reason or another was Jager.

Bandit started weighing the pros and cons of their theoretical relationship. Pros: They’d been friends for awhile and at this point knew each other well, so they could skip a lot of the awkwardness that accompanied getting to know someone new. Not to mention the man was incredibly smart and easy on the eyes. Cons: The problem lay in the fact that Bandit preferred to be pursued rather than to pursue. And knowing Jager, his toolbox had a better chance of picking up on the fact that Bandit was flirting with him. Not to mention he’d be risking their current friendship if he took the direct approach and was rejected.

Bandit sighed a flopped back on his bed, attempting to devise a strategy to ask the mechanic out while also being able to play it off should his advances go awry.

~

As the weeks went on, Bandit occupied his free time with fantasies about pursing Jager. He’d started to grow accustomed to the idea of dating the other German, despite how strange the notion had felt initially. Before Blitz put the idea in his head, it hadn’t even crossed his mind to ask Jager out. The two defender’s friendship had taken long enough to progress to where it was today, with more than a few fights scattered throughout and so Bandit was loathe to potentially ruin what they had. At this point, however, he was committed to winning over the other defender, despite the nagging sense that this whole thing was fueled by a little too much desperation. His usual sounding board, Blitz, was of little help; the man turned to a blushing pile of mush at the mere mention of sex and Rook had all but fallen into his lap, so he was useless for that as well.

Getting Jager’s attention was just as hard as he thought it would be, much to Bandit’s despair. His attempts at flirting were taken as compliments, and all he accomplished was inflating Jager’s already significant ego. At one point it had gotten so bad, everyone was worried the pilot was turning into Echo with how much he was boasting about his ADSs (a statement that said man was highly offended by). Smoke thankfully took him down a few notches by rolling a stink bomb past his ADS during training. Jager had been stuck in the raunchy room until Castle came back to take down his barricades, taking longer than necessary to check all the rooms before finally arriving to rescue the poor German. Bandit felt guilty even if what happened wasn’t his fault, so he decided he’d better switch tactics.

However, his next option, gifts, were also a no go, as they were immediately met with deep suspicion and adamantly refused on the off chance that Bandit was pulling a prank. Despite trying everything he could, Jager still refused to take any of the offered food items or tools. After several attempts on multiple occasions, Doc and Montagne were starting to appreciate the edible items he grudgingly passed their way. The tokens had at least gone a long way to smooth things over after the laxative prank claimed Montagne as an unintended victim. Doc of course had made Bandit eat something from the box the first few times he came by, both to prove nothing was poisoned and to make sure they didn’t taste terrible. As for the tools, which were not electrified as Jager insisted, he kept for himself or passed onto a grateful IQ.

The whole ordeal was a trial in itself, but to make matters worse, the other operators in the workshop had picked up on what was going on and were increasingly amused with Bandit’s failures. He was furious when noticed that the SAS defenders had started a betting pool at his expense, worried that it’d somehow work its way back around to Jager. So far the two had kept their promise to the pilot out of the loop, given the fact that Jager turned down Bandit’s latest gift of his favorite box of German chocolates.

Sighing in frustration, Bandit stalked out of the workshop and headed back towards his room. On the way, he passed the common area where Montagne and Rook were watching some film in French. He veered over and dropped yet another box of chocolates off to a now beaming Montagne, not allowing the other man a chance to speak before he disappeared around the corner without a word.

~

Two weeks and five failed attempts, Bandit had finally ended up at his last option, but refused to take the final step. His attempts had gotten increasingly farfetched and he’d managed to run up a long list of people infuriated with him as he compensated for his anxiousness with pranks. In a rare occasion, both the Bosak sisters were looking to murder him for swapping the contents of closets and lockers (luckily for him, they still had yet to actually work together), he’d switched out all of Thermite’s chemicals with either baking soda or vinegar, resulting in little volcanoes forming all over the lab, and sniffed out the location of Buck’s good maple syrup to replace it with the cheapest liquid sugar he could find.

As if ticking off four operators wasn’t enough, his most recent stunt had Glaz absolutely livid. Bandit had passed out invitations to a ‘gallery’ he’d opened up, which consisted entirely of the Russian’s empty canvases that he’d pelted with paintballs and hung around the common area. While some of the operators were snickering at his latest escapade, they all quieted down upon seeing Glaz enter the room. After a narrow escape from the sniper, the German was constantly checking over his shoulders for the rest of the Spetsnaz, who were currently doing their best impression of a kicked hornet’s nest.

The operators that had been so far unscathed were much jumpier and were anxiously trying to keep him in their peripherals. The younger members of the GIGN in particular had been watching him carefully, knowing they were among his usual targets. In all honesty, Bandit had avoided the GIGN not out of respect, but because he knew if he made Rook cry, Blitz would end his life. And if Bandit was worried Montagne would give him that same confused and disappointed look he had after he ruined his coffee, he certainly wasn’t about to admit it.

~

IQ finally approached him in the GSG9 common area, where he was sprawled out on the couch contemplating life. She sat down heavily, taking the place that Blitz had occupied weeks before when he first put Bandit’s plans in motion.

               “Listen, I’m getting real tired of putting out all of your fires. I found a set of plans today that Kapkan had written up as a way to ‘accidentally’,” IQ made exaggerate air quotes here, “break both your kneecaps during training. I managed to talk him down, but you’re buying Glaz brand new canvases, and they better be the highest quality crap you can find.” Bandit rolled his eyes. While he didn’t like being told what to do, he passed his phone to IQ all the same, showing her he’d already placed an order for new canvases. He’d been planning on offering them as an olive branch after seeing the devastation on the sniper’s face when he first recognized his art materials. The woman huffed and relaxed further into her chair as she tossed his phone back.

               “Listen, I know this isn’t usually the kind of thing we talk about, but I’ve heard the rumors. If you’re going to ask Jager out, just rip off that band aid. No matter what he says, it’ll be easier than putting up with you trying to start World War III with the rest of the operators because you’re too much of a chicken to make a move.” As Bandit stared, unsure how to respond, IQ hauled herself out of the chair and shuffled off to her room, closing the door behind her a bit more forcefully than necessary. Bandit buried his face in the crook of his arm and sighed. IQ was right as usual, and if she felt the need to say something, then it really must have gotten bad. He sat up and began brainstorming the best way to word everything.

Much later in the afternoon, Bandit wandered down to the workshop and slowly waited for the other operators to clear out. Kapkan and Fuze seemed to be attempting to glare him to death, but even they finally left, leaving Bandit, Jager, and Echo in the lab. Jager had his headphones in and was bobbing to a beat Bandit could hear from across the room, so his next actions would go unnoticed. He first attempted to make eye contact with the other operator before giving up. Bandit resorted instead to crumpling up a wad of paper and hucking it at Echo’s head. When he looked up, Bandit mimed towards the door and mouthed “GTFO”. Echo just smirked and shook his head, glance towards Jager and making a kissy face. Time to change tactics. Grabbing a pencil and another piece a paper, Bandit wrote out: ‘I will murder EVERY last member of your drone family.’ The look on Echo’s face went from surprised, to amused, and finally terrified as Bandit connected the paper (and a piece of carefully concealed graphite) between the alligator clips of his battery, sending them up in flames. The Japanese man’s face lost its color as he scooped up his drone and held it to his chest. He hastily gathered his work materials in his one open hand and made a quick exit.

Jager pulled out one of his earbuds and sniffed.

               “Do you smell smoke?” He asked, peering around curiously before his eyes settled on the smoking pile of ashes in front of Bandit.

               “It could be because you’re smoking hot.” Bandit finger gunned and winked. Okay, maybe not his best move he thought as Jager let out an exasperated sigh and turned back to his work. Alright, he just had to do this like pulling off a band aid; nice and fast. A ‘Bandit aid’. Oh gosh, he was going insane and needed to do something now before someone came in, he lost his nerve, or started actually saying half the crap he was thinking right now.

               “Sooooooo, I’ve been thinking about something for a little while.” Bandit wandered over and leaned on the edge of Jager’s work table. The man responded with a noncommittal grunt, but removed both earbuds to better hear what Bandit had to say. It was now or never.

               “I was wondering if maybe you’d want to date me. I mean we have similar work schedules, we’re both attractive, we’re both German, so we wouldn’t have to worry about intercountry nonsense, uhm, and IthinkIkindoflikeyou.” Bandit had steadfastly refused to make eye contact and that last bit came out a little too fast, but he was sure the other man still understood. When Bandit finally looked over at Jager, the other man was staring before giving him an amused look.

               “Haha, no.” That was…unexpected. Bandit had to admit it felt like being slapped, and while he knew rejection was a possibility, he at least expected Jager to turn him down a bit more graciously.

              “Why not?” Anger seeped into Bandit’s tone as he recoiled back, readying himself for a fight if only to make sure the pilot couldn’t see the hurt that was surely written all across his face. Jager set down his tools and ran a hand down his face, leaving a greasy smear in its wake.

              “Because, I don’t want to ruin what we have here. Not to mention the fact that if we ever broke up, not only are we in the same CTU, but we’re also both defenders. We’d never be able to go on the same mission again, and I’d hate to lose that.” Jager broke eye contact and started fidgeting with a screwdriver, his voice quieting for his next statement, “Dom, you’re the only person I completely trust to watch my back out there and I don’t want to lose that. I was kind of hoping that if I didn’t respond to any of your weird attempts at flirting you’d just kind of let it drop and I wouldn’t have to hurt your feelings. Besides, you’re not really interested in me, you’re interested in the idea of having someone and I’m your easiest option.” Oh. The rejection still stung, but Bandit’s shoulder relaxed as he settled back down, Jager’s words hitting home as the pilot had read the situation much better than Bandit had given him credit for.

              “I guess you’re probably right. I really don’t want to screw up our friendship either, though I suppose I’ve just made it incredibly awkward.” Bandit was lost at what to do. He felt like an idiot, but now he couldn’t leave without at least attempting to repair what he’d just potentially ruined. Jager snorted.

              “Naw, I figured you’d pull some stupid stunt like this after Blitz mentioned the conversation you two had. You’re too much of a chicken to ask any of the other operators out.” Jager playfully poked Bandit in the side with the butt of his screw driver to accent his words, as the other German attempted to swipe it away. Jager sighed as Bandit proceeded to stare at floor, the sides of his mouth pulled down into an unhappy grimace.

              “Why don’t we go out and get a drink this weekend? You can save face with the other operators and we can get drunk enough to laugh about this whole thing. It’s only awkward if you make it awkward, Dom. Besides, I’m getting tired of having you being too nervous to sit next to me in here. I’ve had to bounce my ideas off of Fuze recently, and that man carries a conversation about as well as a brick wall.” Snorting at what Jager said, Bandit gave him a nod and smiled before standing up. “Sure, why not. First round is on me.” The mechanic smiled at him proudly, obviously relieved that he’d accepted the peace offering.

Slapping Jager on the back, Bandit headed towards the door of the workshop, leaning back around the door to tell Jager wipe the dirt off of his face before sauntering off to nurse his wounds. Jager heaved a sigh of relief and texted IQ and Blitz to ask them to keep an eye on Bandit just in case he wasn’t as okay as he said he was. The three operators had been attempting to divert this disaster after Jager had expressed his reservations, and while the situation had turned out well, the pilot still felt guilty for not addressing it sooner. After receiving replies from his teammates, he confirmed a time and date with Bandit for meeting at the bar, before sending off another quick text and smiling at the reply.

~

Saturday came around and Bandit rode his motorcycle out to the bar that Jager had specified in his text. The other man had to do some things in town, so they agreed to arrive separately. With his helmet in the crook of his elbow, Bandit wandered into the building and glanced around the room. It was a small, dimly lit dive bar that the rainbow operators frequented, with a couple pool tables in the front and a smattering of booths around the walls. Tonight, there was a group of people playing pool that glanced up upon his arrival and a lone man sitting at the bar, but no Jager anywhere in sight. Bandit was purposefully fifteen minutes late, partly to keep up appearances and partly to make sure he wasn’t left sitting alone at a bar, nursing his minor heartbreak like a loser. Shifting his helmet so he could tug out his phone, Bandit texted Jager informing him that he was a loser who had better get here soon. Resigned to wait, Bandit sauntered up to where the bartender was cleaning glasses.

As he got closer, Bandit realized he recognized the man sitting at the bar, and for all the world couldn’t think of why he would be there. Sensing his approach, the man glanced over and smiled brightly as he recognized Bandit.

              “Hey there Monty. What brings you to this crap hole?” The bartender looked unamused but was by now used to some of the operators being a bit abrasive. Bandit dropped a twenty on the bar and the man passed him his usual, Montagne still smiling like the angelic being he was. Just his luck, not only was he about to get wasted, but now Montagne and the rest of the GIGN would likely be here to watch him drown his sorrows. Jager had better get here soon.

              “I’m here to meet a hot date. It’s our first one, so I’m trying to make a good first impression.” Bandit laughed as he leaned his back against the bar looked around, one of the lights in flickered off and on in the corner and someone angrily shouted from one of the pool tables.

              “You sure picked one hell of a place to try and do that. Hopefully she doesn’t mind the fact that nothing’s been updated in the last century.” Montagne’s smile brightened even further and he leaned forward to rest one of his elbows on the bar and turn the rest of his body towards Bandit.

              “Well, I don’t think he tends to mind places like this,” Bandit perked up at the change in pronouns, swinging back around to look at the Frenchman in a new light, “but the place was picked for us by a mutual friend.” Hope was starting to wriggle its way up into Bandit’s heart, despite him doing his best to smoosh it down. He simply blinked at Montagne, before switching to an attempt to feign disinterest with a half-hearted, “Oh ya?”

              “Why don’t you tell me, Bandit. Do you mind places like this?” Bandit blinked, once, twice, then three times as Montagne’s expression gradually started to dim from his lack of response. The large man leaned back in his chair and Bandit suddenly noticed how close they had been for this entire conversation.

              “I, um, I mean, if you’re not interested that’s completely fine. I just…you’ve been giving me an awful lot of gifts that you could have passed off to Blitz or IQ since Jager didn’t want them. And then Jager messaged and said you were interested and that this was the time and place, so I just figured… I mean I suppose…. Maybe I jumped the gun a bit?” The Frenchman started fidgeting, the expression on his face looking for all the world like Bandit’s had when he’d finally asked Jager out. Seeing something so uncharacteristically anxious from the normally confident man was strangely endearing. After staring for another beat, Bandit allowed a smile to creep into his expression

              “You’re right, I don’t mind places like this. I am a pretty hot date if I do say so myself.” Bandit winked before scoffing and finishing off his beer. “I guess this means that Jager’s not coming after all?” Montagne’s smile returned in full force and he shook his head laughing, Bandit sliding into the seat next to him and ordering another beer. While their conversations were awkward at first, neither knowing where exactly they should start, as the night carried on, they grew more relaxed in each other’s presence and the conversations flowed easier.  After several beers, Bandit recounted the last few weeks, and after several probing questions from Montagne, finally slurred (after even more beers) how he’d thought Montagne would never be interested, so he didn’t bother even trying. By the time the bar closed, Bandit was gotten absolutely trashed with Montagne not far behind. Knowing that neither was fit to drive, Montagne checked them into a nearby hotel and the two passed out blissfully on the beds, content with the other’s company.

 Despite the fact that Bandit was over the moon after this recent development, Jager didn’t get off completely for standing him up. Bandit hid his tools throughout base and followed him around to tell the pilot if he was hot or cold until an exasperated IQ returned with a Bandit’s treasure map of hiding places and threatened bodily harm should Bandit attempt to re-hide anything.

Bandit also made peace with the Spetsnaz, replacing all of Glaz’s canvases and then some. Glaz, though still miffed, was grateful and it went a long way in smoothing tensions with the Spetsnaz. Bandit couldn’t help the warm fuzzy feeling that grew in his chest as Montagne later told him how proud he was that he’d done the right thing. While Bandit played it off, he made a mental note to buy Blitz something nice for setting this whole thing in motion.

 The ensuing relationship wasn’t what Bandit had imagined would happen with Jager. There was a lot of getting used to new routines and hanging out with different people. He got to know Rook a lot better, something that made Blitz unreasonably happy and so was probably worth it. As he and Montagne approached their one-month anniversary, Bandit realized that while they might not last forever, he was more than willing to risk the heartbreak in order to give their relationship a chance.

#r6s #rainbow six siege #r6s bandit #r6s jager #r6s montagne #Bandit is a tire fire as usual #maybe less so here though? #That man's character is hard to pin down

[notarelationship]

Along For The Rides, Ch 10

Blaine and Kurt get their summer romance on. Mostly fluff, awkward flirting, a side of misunderstanding and some hanky panky.

Rating: M, but nothing too intense Words: This chapter ~ 5000 Warnings this chapter: none

Read it on AO3,

Read it on Tumblr

thanks to @honeysucklepink pink for the beta of course, as usual all mistakes are my own.

This is indeed the home stretch. One more after this, for real this time.

--

The only possible explanation for how Blaine feels when he wakes up is that an elephant must have sat on him overnight. His back hurts, his left butt cheek hurts, it hurts when he breathes and his arms don’t want to help him get out of bed.

He knows he’s in Kurt’s bed, that part he hasn’t forgotten. They definitely fell asleep kissing. Or, Blaine fell asleep kissing Kurt. Kurt may have been up longer, he’ll have to ask him. If only he could move.  Kurt’s bed is so comfortable and the sound of the rain on the windows is so soothing that Blaine would like to never leave this spot.

He and Kurt still have some things to talk about, though. Blaine was shocked last night when Kurt finally explained why he had been so upset with him, but lying here thinking about it now - well, he wants to murder Jeff - but also it’s possible Kurt may have gotten some wrong impressions. Blaine wants to fix that.

With Hulk-like effort Blaine manages to get into a half sitting position, his butt complaining loudly that it doesn’t really want to be sat on yet.

“Hey sleepyhead.” Kurt comes in and sits on the edge of the bed, setting a few thing on the side table, including a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water. “How are you feeling?”

Blaine stifles a yawn. Kurt has super adorable bed-head, bangs hanging over his forehead that almost reach his eyebrows, and he’s still in his pajamas, but he looks more awake than Blaine feels.

“Okay. Sore. Like I could sleep for a year,” Blaine answers. “But also grateful.” He reaches over to drum his fingers on the back of Kurt’s hand, and Kurt responds by tangling his fingers with Blaine’s. It’s a small gesture but Blaine’s heart swells with relief when he does it. “Thank you. I can’t imagine how terrible last night would have been in the camper. I really do appreciate what you’ve done, Kurt.”

Kurt smiles at him, but waves off the thanks. If it’s not the shy, flirty smile Blaine was getting earlier in the week, it at least seems genuine, so Blaine will take it.

“I made some breakfast, if you’re hungry. I don’t know what you want to do since it’s going to rain all day, but I’ve got a ton of movies we could watch, or if you think it would help I can get another bath going. Or you could just sleep if that’s what you’re up for.”

Every muscle in his body feels like screaming, but Blaine is not going to sleep away a chance to spend the day with Kurt, and hopefully earn Kurt’s trust, if not his affection. After last night he believes he can.

“Hungry.” When Kurt laughs he goes on. “But I might take you up on the bath again later. Everything hurts.” Blaine winces when he tries to stretch his muscles.

“Oh, here.” Kurt takes one of the bottles he’d brought with him. “Arnica. For the bruises. It might just be a placebo effect, but it helped me when I had them. And I brought you some more pain killers.” Kurt gestures to the side table. “Come on into the den whenever you’re up to it.” Blaine wants to ask about the bruises Kurt alluded to, but Kurt is up and out of the bedroom before he can.

When Blaine finally makes it out of the bedroom he’s overwhelmed in the best way by what he sees.  Spread out on the coffee table is a bowl of cut fruit and a basket of muffins, with a full pot of coffee sitting next to what looks like a warming dish. Blaine can’t see what’s inside, but after five weeks of eating microwavable breakfast sandwiches from 7-Eleven, Blaine wants to throw himself at Kurt’s feet in gratitude. He doesn’t, but he wants to.

“Kurt this looks amazing,” is what he says instead, settling onto the sofa.

“Do you need a pillow or anything?” Kurt asks, after Blaine struggles to get comfortable. When Blaine nods, Kurt helps him shift around until he is both comfortable enough to sit and upright enough to eat. It’s slightly awkward, but Blaine doesn’t really mind all the touching. “I thought it would be easier for you out here than sitting at the table, is that okay?”

Blaine reaches for one of the muffins. “Are these blueberry? When did you have time to get muffins?”

“I made them this morning. You’ll have to let me know if they’re up to coffee shop standards.” Kurt blushes and lifts the lid off the warming dish. “And I made scrambled eggs - it’s important to get some protein in too.”

“You made -?” Blaine breaks a muffin in half and puts the entire half in his mouth. It’s delicious.  “Kurt these are amazing. I can’t believe everything you’re doing for me. You really don’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“It’s no trouble Blaine, I usually cook for my dad anyway, and well, he’s not here.” Kurt stops and swallows, then turns to look at Blaine. “And I’d like to start over, if we could. With less confusion.”

Blaine finished chewing the rest of the muffin, swallowing while he meets Kurt’s gaze. “No.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to start over.”

Kurt looks away, and Blaine can see how disappointed he is before he says anything. “Okay, I -“

“No Kurt, wait. Let me finish. I don’t want to start over because I don’t want to waste how far we’ve come. I don’t want to forget our first date or the first time I kissed you. I want those moments to stay with us, whatever we might have - however long or short it lasts. We’ve only got until tomorrow morning, and I want to make the most of it.”

Kurt’s eyes are big, and Blaine can’t quite read what he might be feeling, but now that he’s started he just wants to get it all out.

“I sort of got the feeling last night, when we were talking in the car, that what you think I’ve been getting up to is a lot more scandalous than the truth of it.”

Kurt’s still watching him, not quite skeptical, but unsure of where the story is going.

“What I mean is that just because I made out with a few guys in the parking lot doesn’t mean I have a lot of experience either. I mean, I barely knew their names.”

Kurt’s expression is blank, and Blaine runs his hands through his hair. This is coming out all wrong.

“I don’t mean I just messed around with anyone.” Blaine tries to clarify. “It’s just that -”

“They didn’t mean anything,” Kurt finishes.

“Exactly,” Blaine says, and for a fraction of a second he thinks that’s an explanation, but he can see Kurt’s expression wobble. “Kurt. You aren’t like them.”

“You keep saying that. But I don’t know how to know if that’s true.” Blaine watches as Kurt silently fills a plate with eggs and fruit and a muffin and then sit back and eat quietly.

“Do you want to know why I took this job? With Sam at the carnival?” Kurt doesn’t say anything, but he does look at Blaine, so he continues. “Five weeks ago I had never kissed a guy either. Sam talked me into coming with him this summer because I didn’t want to go off to college in September a completely inexperienced dork from Ohio who didn’t know any more about sex than what he’d seen on the internet.”

“So, what have you experienced?” Kurt asks. He’s trying to be casual about it, but he’s blushing crimson to his eyebrows. “Have you just made out with these guys? Like what we’ve done?”

For a second Blaine doesn’t want to answer. He almost wants to say it’s none of Kurt’s business - partially because it isn’t, but also because he’s not entirely proud of himself.

But then he looks at Kurt and realizes Kurt’s not actually judging him - but he is curious.

“Your silence speaks volumes,” Kurt says.

“I’m not ashamed of anything Kurt, and I don’t regret anything I did. I mean, it all felt good in the moment. But honestly? Afterward it didn’t feel like much. And it only happened a few times before I had had enough.” Blaine doesn’t really want to go into too much detail unless Kurt really wants him to. But there was one thing he did want Kurt to know. “Then I met you. And I wanted to find as many excuses as I could to spend time with you.”

Kurt is still quiet, but he looks like he’s thinking about everything that Blaine said, so Blaine finally helps himself to some of the rest of the food Kurt had put out. He’s in dire need of coffee too.

“Can I confess something too, while we’re laying it all out there?” Kurt asks. Blaine nods and Kurt goes on. “At first? I thought the same thing. It was two weeks, tops, what could it hurt? You were the first guy - my own age anyway - that looked at me with any sort of interest. And Rachel said - she suggested, I mean, that maybe you were interested in me and I could just have a little fling and, well.” Kurt looks sheepish for a moment, then he shrugs.  “Then I wouldn’t be an inexperienced dork from Ohio either, not that I’m going anywhere.” Kurt refills both of their coffee mugs and then sits back against the arm of the couch so he can look at Blaine, his hands cradling his mug. “But then you were so sweet to me.”

“I swear, I meant everything I said, Everything I did.” Blaine shuffles forward, taking the mug from Kurt’s hands and setting it on the table before taking both of Kurt’s hands into his own. “It feels so incredibly unfair that I finally meet someone special,” he looks at Kurt, hoping he can see just how sincere he really is, “and circumstances conspired to impose an expiration date.”

Kurt shifts so he’s closer, and he’s definitely holding Blaine’s hands, and Blaine can see him looking at his mouth. So he takes the leap, moving in to kiss him, and Kurt kisses back hungrily.

They don’t stop. Kurt runs his hands over Blaine’s body, gasping when he reaches the muscles in his arms. Blaine’s proud of those muscles — he’s worked hard all summer and he’s happy he’ll at least have a nice body to show for it. When Kurt keeps going Blaine does too, running his hands over Kurt’s chest, over his clothes, but when Kurt whines into his mouth Blaine pushes on, sliding his hands under Kurt’s shirt so he can get them on his skin.

“Blaine.” Kurt pulls away, but Blaine keeps kissing his throat. “Should we, um.”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you want to, um --”

It takes Blaine a second, but he eventually realizes that Kurt is trying to get his attention. “Is everything okay? Do you want to stop?” Blaine sits back, wincing when he lands on his bruise. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to push.”

“Blaine, no, it’s okay. I want to, I -- do you want to move to the bedroom?”

Blaine isn’t sure he heard right. “What?”

“I just thought you might be more comfortable lying down.” Kurt is flushed to his ears, and Blaine would find it adorable if he wasn’t about to get horizontal with the sweetest, hottest guy he’s ever met. “I don’t want to accidentally make things worse in the moment, you know?” Kurt is starting to look a little less sure of his question. “Unless you don’t want to?”

“Oh! No, I mean yes! Yes, I want to. I mean if you do.” Blaine glances to the food all still out on the table. “Should we put this away?”

Kurt stands and holds out his hand. “No.”

--

The bed is still messy, and Kurt pushes the sheets over the foot of the bed as he climbs in. He doesn’t know if he should sit up or lie down, or what he should do at all, actually. So he sits.

“Is this more comfortable?” he asks, hoping Blaine can’t tell how completely terrified he is of what’s about to happen. And he doesn’t even know what’s about to happen. “Did you want to lie down?”

Blaine shuffles over on his knees and pulls Kurt into a quick kiss before pressing him down onto the bed. “This is more comfortable,” he says as he hovers on his hands and knees over Kurt. “Is this okay?” Kurt nods.

Then Blaine's mouth is on his neck, and he’s sucking small kisses into Kurt’s skin, and he gasps with each press of Blaine’s lips. Kurt isn't sure what to do or where to put his hands or how to breathe. Blaine is straddling his thighs, knees pressed against them, his arms extended on either side of Kurt’s head and he keeps asking if this is okay, if Kurt is okay, does Kurt want him to do anything, but somehow the only part of Blaine that is touching him is his mouth over and over and over and it doesn’t seem to be enough. Blaine kisses his neck, his jaw, below his ear, across his cheek and after each careful press of mouth to skin he brushes his mouth across the corner of Kurt's and asks him again, is this okay? and tell me if it’s not okay. Kurt can't imagine how it could not be okay, and he really wants to tell Blaine that he doesn’t have to be so careful because it is so okay. Kurt's hands are grasping at the sheet, and he's hard and his hips are shifting into air, into nothing, and he thinks Blaine is hard too but he can't see, because his head is bent backwards so Blaine can get at his neck easier and he thinks he has never felt anything so good or so right in his life, but he still can't tell if Blaine is hard because it’s his mouth that’s everywhere and his body is too, too far away, and Kurt doesn't know where to put his hands. "I ca-d-don't," but that's all that comes out. Blaine's lips drag slow across Kurt's skin, as if he can't separate from it, and Blaine mumbles against  him, sorry, I'm sorry, I'll stop, and Kurt can't have that so he gathers all the sense he has left and says no don't stop I just, just what? Blaine is so careful and Kurt wants to touch him so bad.

"I don't know where to put my hands." Blaine pulls back, just enough to see Kurt's face to look into his eyes with an open mouthed grin. "Where do you want to put your hands Kurt?" Kurt tugs a little on Blaine's shirt, ruching it up toward his shoulders, and places his hands gingerly on Blaine's waist, careful to avoid any obvious injury,  and Kurt's whole body lights up because no one has ever wanted him to touch them like this, and Blaine is all gorgeous skin and taut muscle and he smells like everything Kurt has ever wanted (and a little like Arnica, but that’s okay too). His thumbs press into the skin just at Blaine's hip bones and Blaine makes a noise somewhere between a growl and a whine and presses his mouth to Kurt's again, lips parted, tongue insistent, until Kurt licks back and can't help but shift his hips toward Blaine because he wants so very much for Blaine to get closer, to press his whole body against Kurt but Kurt doesn't know how to ask, so he keeps pulling Blaine but Blaine is resisting and maybe, maybe he doesn't want that. But that doesn't make any sense because he literally can't stop kissing Kurt so he must want more of something, so Kurt keeps pulling, his hands moving under Blaine's shirt and over the skin on his back until finally Blaine pulls further away, leaning back as Kurt follows with his body and sits up in front of him, Blaine rests his forehead against Kurt’s "Kurt, I want, I want  --” And it just sits there and Kurt doesn't know.

"You want?" Kurt asks, like he really has no idea and he doesn't.

"I want to so bad, but if I touch you I won't want to stop and I need to know if it's okay, if you want to not stop too. With me. Now." Kurt leans in and kisses him, less frantic. "I want to. Not stop, I mean, I want to touch you too." He kisses him again, pulling Blaine's shirt up and whispering, "Can you take this off?"

Blaine nods and pulls his shirt over his head a little gingerly, tugging at Kurt's right after. "Okay?"

Kurt nods and Blaine tugs and Kurt can see Blaine's eyes go wide and his lips part as he stares at Kurt's chest and his shoulders, but Kurt isn't done. He slips a finger under the elastic of Blaine's sweatpants, careful to avoid the flat waistband of his briefs. "Maybe these too?" He breathes. He wants more skin, but he's not sure how ready he is to be completely naked. "Blaine?" Blaine is almost panting now, okay, okay and Kurt can see him swallow. "I never, um, I've never been --” Kurt doesn't know what he's going to say so he waits, one hand on Blaine's shoulder. Blaine looks unsure for the first time since they started kissing on the couch. "I've never, um, done this before, with ahh, no clothes on."

He's staring over Kurt's shoulder, but ticks a quick glance back to Kurt. Kurt can only give him the truth right now.  “Me either.”  Blaine nods. “We don’t have to get completely naked yet, if you’re not ready,” Kurt offers. Blaine wriggles out of his shorts, and he’s left in a snug pair of Kurt’s underwear. “God that’s hot,” Kurt exhales.

The corner of Blaine’s mouth ticks up, and he kisses Kurt back down to the mattress. And he keeps going, he kisses Kurt’s throat and collarbone, down his chest until he tongues over one nipple. When Kurt gasps and bucks his hips, Blaine does it again, and again, until Kurt is writhing under him, one hand buried in Blaine’s hair, the other gripping him anywhere.

When Blaine gets to Kurt’s belly button, he licks over it slowly, hooking his fingers into Kurt’s sweatpants. Kurt pushes up onto his elbows, and Blaine looks at him. “Can I?” Kurt nods, and Blaine pulls them off quickly, his attention returning immediately to where Kurt’s cock is thick and obvious in his briefs. Blaine’s hand hovers over it, and Kurt watches as he licks his lips over and over. He wants to close his eyes and let Blaine do whatever he wants, but he doesn’t want to miss anything either. “I want to touch you,” Blaine asks, looking up at him with the question in his eyes.

Kurt nods again. “Uh huh.”

Blaine’s palm is on him quickly, rubbing unsure over his fabric covered cock, until he finally grips the shaft and jerks him a few times in his underwear. Kurt falls back to the bed, but it’s not enough. Any hesitation he had about being naked with a guy, with Blaine, goes out the window and he reaches for Blaine’s wrist, slowing him down. “Wait. Get these off.” Kurt thumbs under the elastic and stretches it over his cock as it flops back onto his hip with a soft smack. Blaine stares, then sits up just long enough to strip completely naked.

“Ready now.”

Kurt can’t stop himself from touching, and he wraps his hand around Blaine’s cock, eyes wide as a drop of fluid pearls at the head. Kurt thumbs over the drop, over the soft head as Blaine curses quietly, a hand in Kurt’s hair. “Fuck, don’t stop.”  

Kurt jacks him slowly at first, wonder and intense arousal churning in his belly. He goes faster when Blaine whines harder, his hips thrusting as he fucks into Kurt’s fist. Blaine loses his balance, propping himself on outstretched arms as Kurt falls back again on the bed. “I’m gonna come,” he whines, kissing Kurt hard before throwing his head back and coming into Kurt’s fist and onto his stomach as Kurt jerks him through every spurt.

“Oh my god,” Blaine exhales, laughing and kissing Kurt again, a bit longer this time. “I was gonna do that to you.”

Kurt isn’t sure what to do, so he wipes his hand on the sheet with a nervous chuckle. “Was that okay?”

“So okay.” Blaine kisses him again, wrapping his hand around Kurt’s cock as he does. “God you feel good.”

Kurt wants to say something hot, or seductive, or any other thing you’re supposed to when you have sex, but all he can do is moan and thrust into Blaine’s hand. Blaine doesn’t seem to mind though, and he keep talking, gorgeous, and so hot, and fuck Kurt spill from his lips. Kurt can tell he’s close, and he spreads his thighs just enough to reach between them, rubbing below his balls and Blaine chokes sliding his hand next to Kurt’s.

“Oh god let me, please Kurt.” Kurt can only whine and close his eyes, as Blaine presses his thumb along Kurt’s perineum.  Blaine he finally manages, spreading his legs further. Blaine slips a finger between his cheeks, pressing, pressing, as he jerks Kurt’s cock faster and Kurt doesn’t know what he wants more and he can’t help pressing against Blaine’s finger, thrusting into his fist, finally lifting off the bed, come splashing across his chest, hitting Blaine across his chin. Kurt wants to think it’s gross, but it’s not and he can’t breathe, so he just thumbs the droplets off of Blaine before he drops to the bed next to him.

“Oh my god,” Kurt gasps. “Ohmygod.”

“Kurt that was so hot,” Blaine says. He’s lying on his back next to Kurt, but his head is turned so he’s looking at him, and Kurt can see desire still in his eyes.

“It was,” Kurt answers, then he starts laughing. Blaine grins and in moments is laughing with him. They giggle together for a while, and when Kurt finally catches his breath, he mouths “Thank you” at Blaine.

Blaine shakes his head slowly. “It was amazing for me too Kurt, no thanks necessary.” Since Blaine is the slightly more functional of the two, he goes to the bathroom for a warm washcloth, cleaning up the worst of the mess before climbing back into bed next to Kurt. “Nap,” he says, pulling Kurt into his arms.

--

Kurt wakes about an hour later with his body half sprawled over Blaine’s, his mouth open to a trail of drool on Blaine’s chest.

“Oh gross,” he whispers out loud, wriggling away to discreetly wipe his mouth.

“Hey,” Blaine says softly, and Kurt rolls back to his side to face him.

“I think I drooled on you.”

Blaine smiles. “You did a lot of things on me.”

“Oh my god.” Kurt turns his head and buries his face in the pillow.

“I hardly minded.” Kurt can feel Blaine’s fingers tracing over his shoulder, down his arm, finally resting on his side. He opens one eye to peek at Blaine, but he’s just laying there looking at Kurt, one arm curled under his head and the other still drawing on Kurt's skin.

“What time is it?” Kurt can’t see light coming brought the window shades, but with the rain it could be any time.

“No idea,” Blaine says. He makes some squirmy motion that Kurt thinks might be an attempt at a shrug, then dips his head to place a soft kiss on the corner of Kurt's mouth. “But not that late, I don’t think.”

Kurt takes a few moments to look at Blaine. His hair is tousled, his lips pink but no longer as irresistibly plump as after they’d been kissing all over Kurt’s body. His eyes are bright, even in the dim room, and such a clear shade of hazel they looked almost yellow.  Kurt runs a hand over Blaine’s chest, stopping at the purpling bruise. “How do you feel?”

“Hmmm, like someone beat me up.” He smirks, but Kurt isn’t sure it’s funny.

“Does that happen a lot?” He asks.

Blaine looks confused. “Does what happen a lot?”

“Getting beat up?’” He’s tracing the scar on Blaine’s ribs with a finger.

“No? Just that first time. And well, weirdly this summer. I did take boxing lessons after that first time, but I have to be careful with my hands.”

“Oh yeah, why?”

Blaine mimes playing the piano. “I start Juilliard in September. I need to be able to play.”

Kurt sits up and stares down at Blaine. “What.” It’s barely a question.

Blaine looks a little sheepish. “I play piano.”

“Why has this never come up before?” Kurt is overwhelmed by the idea that Blaine plays piano well enough to get into Juilliard, but he’s more startled by the realization that even though the past two weeks have been filled with Blaine, and he feels like he has a pretty good idea of who he is as a person, he really doesn’t know anything about Blaine’s life.

Blaine sits up and puts a hand on Kurt’s leg, obviously looking to re-establish a connection that Kurt can feel is a little shaky. “I don’t know? There’s no piano at the carnival?” Concern flickers over Blaine’s features. “Kurt, is there something wrong?”

Kurt considers Blaine for a long moment. He’d definitely assumed a lot of things about him over the past few weeks, starting with the day he dropped out of the camper at the garage. Kurt’s laugh is self-deprecating. “No, no nothing’s wrong Blaine. I just -- I think I need to take some of my own advice about not making assumptions about people a little closer to heart.”

Blaine still looks worried though. “Like what?”

“This is going to sound stupid.” Blaine squeezes Kurt’s fingers. “I don’t know, when I met you you were driving an RV and working for a carnival. I guess the last thing I expect from a carny is admittance to Juilliard?”

Blaine grins and chuckles. “Yes well, we’ve had to rush a few things.”

Kurt smiles, feeling bold enough to lean forward and kiss Blaine on the mouth. “I guess so,” he says quietly. Blaine kisses him back, but they stop before it can get too heated. “How would you feel about a shower and a movie marathon? We can spend the evening playing twenty questions and see how much we don’t know about each other?”

Blaine’s answering smile is bright and soft. “That actually sounds amazing.”

--

Blaine is sitting at the kitchen island while Kurt makes him a care package of homemade sandwiches and snacks for the next few days, then Kurt is going to drive him to the site. They have to tear down today and get on the road to the next, and last, stop. He’s dressed in his clean carnival uniform - it turns out that Kurt is a wonder with stain removal, though Blaine shouldn’t be surprised. Kurt is good at everything.  It might even be the cleanest Blaine has ever seen it.

“So remember to be careful. It’s only two more weeks Blaine. Please don’t do anything that would keep you from New York, okay?”

Blaine shakes his head emphatically. “No way. I’m not touching anything the rest of the summer.” Kurt rolls his eyes.  “If there’s even a chance you’ll be in New York. Kurt, I’ll be there waiting.”

Kurt sighs and puts the last sandwich in a bag. “If I get in you’ll be the first person I tell. I promise.” Kurt packs everything up in an extra bookbag he had that he wasn’t using, and hands it to Blaine with a quick kiss.

Blaine can’t resist looking through the bag when they’re riding in the car. There is definitely more in there than just a few sandwiches. He feels around and pulls a t-shirt out. It’s Kurt’s Hummel Tire and Lube t-shirt.

“Kurt, I love this,” Blaine says, his voice thick with emotion.

He can see Kurt’s worrying his lips with his teeth, and his answer is teasing, but Blaine can hear how vulnerable Kurt is feeling. “It’s really for all the guys you meet the rest of the summer. Warn them off.”

“There won’t be any other guys Kurt,” Blaine says. And he knows it’s true.

“You can’t know that.”

“I can. I do.”

“Well, just don’t forget about me, okay?”

“It would not be possible for me to forget about you.”

They pull into the parking lot, and Kurt gets out with Blaine, walking him to the trailer. The other guys have already gotten started with the teardown, so Blaine needs to join them.

“Okay?” Blaine asks.

Kurt nods, but doesn’t say anything, so Blaine pulls him close, kissing him solidly on the mouth.

“I will text you,” he says when they break apart. “And I will call you when I can.”

“Just be safe, okay?” Is all Kurt says. Blaine says he will, and Kurt gets in his car and drives away.

--

Later that night Kurt is getting ready for bed -- his nighttime moisturizing routine has not been getting the attention it needs, and Kurt fears his skin is starting to show it -- when he gets a text. His dad is home from his trip and asleep already, so it can’t be him. He knows who he wants it to be, but he makes himself finish his routine before he checks.

When he thumbs open his phone he sees it’s a photo, and he clicks on it to find a picture of Blaine, messy hair and huge smile, wearing the t-shirt Kurt gave him. Seconds later another text comes through.

B: I’m all yours

#along for the rides #along for the rides ch 10 #klaine fic #klaine fanfiction

[the--blackdahlia]

The World Stops Chapter 3 (Jared x Reader)

Title: The World Stops Chapter 3

Summary:  (Y/n) was running late to work after taking Jared to the airport the night before.

Warnings: Some fluff, maybe language

New York City

September 12, 2001

 (Y/n) didn’t realize she had fallen asleep. The last thing she remembered was sitting on her and Jared’s bed and thinking…

 Jared.

 The tears started to form in her eyes again. She could smell him all around her. She realized she was wearing one of his t-shirts. He had quite a few and she stole them all the time. He didn’t mind though. He never minded. She set up and looked around for him, but he wasn’t there. Instead, she saw the bedroom door open and Danneel walking in.

 “You’re awake!” She said with a smile on her face. “I was getting worried you had brain damage. But you needed your rest.” She handed (Y/n) a glass of orange juice, which she sipped slowly. “How are you feeling?” (Y/n) just offered a shrug.

 Danneel watched her friend. They had met when (Y/n) stumbled into her hair salon with a major, or in Danneel’s case major, emergency. A kid on the subway had stuck gum in her hair and it needed dealt with. (Y/n) introduced Danneel to Jensen. They had been together for almost a year and she recently moved into his place, where she was happily surprised that (Y/n) and Jared lived about two apartments down.

 But this woman sitting in front of her wasn’t the (Y/n) she met in the East Village almost two years ago. This (Y/n) was so deep in shock that Danneel wasn’t sure if she would ever get out. She decided to stay over with her until they got word about Jared. And if worse came to worse, her and Jensen had an extra bedroom in their place…

 Danneel set on the bed by (Y/n) and pulled her into a hug. (Y/n) hid her face in Danneel’s shoulder, not wanting to cry anymore but this hug was pulling it all out again. Danneel rubbed her back softly. There was a knock on the door then. Danneel excused herself to go answer it. Soon, her and Mrs. Oliver, the nurse who had helped (Y/n) the day before, came back in.

 “Hello dearie.” She said sweetly. “I’m going to look at your ankle, okay?” (Y/n) nodded and watched as Mrs. Oliver went to work on examining her ankle. “Tylenol or Ibuprofen will help with the pain and swelling, but if it gets too bad, I would go to the hospital or at least a clinic or something. They might have to take X-Rays to make sure you didn’t break anything.” She examined (Y/n)’s head again, making sure that she didn’t have any bumps that popped up in the middle of the night. She could see the pain this girl was in, but it wasn’t physical and she wasn’t licensed to help with that kind.

 “Thank you so much Mrs. Oliver.” Danneel said when she was done. She led her out of the bedroom and talked to her out of (Y/n)’s earshot, but she knew what Danneel was asking her. (Y/n) thought she had a valid excuse as to why she wasn’t crying, why she was curling in on herself. She heard the front door close and a second later, Danneel was back in her bedroom door.

 “I need to do a couple things over at my place. Will you be okay by yourself for a little bit?” She asked. (Y/n) nodded. She hated being treated like a child, but she knew she was acting like one. She just couldn’t find her voice. Not with this pain in her heart. Danneel nodded and left.

 Ten minutes later, (Y/n) managed to get herself up off the bed and limped to the bathroom to take something for her ankle. She headed back to her bedroom, her fortress of solitude, when she noticed the sun streaming in through the blinds. She wasn’t sure if the sun would even come up over New York today or not. She made her way to the window and slowly opened the blinds.

 Everything she saw was grey from the dust. Part of her had hoped that someone would’ve cleaned all that last night, but she knew that it would stay until rain washed it away. She couldn’t even remember if there was rain in the forecast for this week. She was about ready to close the blinds and disappear back into her blankets when she spotted something on the sidewalk that stood out against the grey dust. Her eyes widened before she moved back into her room, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a comfy pair of shoes before leaving her apartment.

 ****

 Danneel came back a little later and walked into (Y/n)’s place. It was quiet, but it had been lately, with (Y/n) not wanting to talk. She made her way to the bedroom to check on her, but found it empty. Panic started to creep in as she searched the rest of the apartment but found nothing. She raced out and looked down the hallway, but she didn’t see her.

 “She headed to the elevator.” James said. He had been visiting one of their neighbors and had saw (Y/n) leaving like a woman on a mission. “Is she doing okay?”

 “God, I hope so.” Danneel said. “Do you know if she went to the street or…or the roof?” She asked quietly.

 “I think she went to the street.” James said. Danneel nodded and pressed the down button.

 “Thank you so much.” She offered him a smile.

 “Just make sure she’s okay.” James instructed. Danneel nodded and stepped into the elevator, heading down to the lobby and out onto the dusty street. She didn’t have to look far to find (Y/n) though. She was sitting on the steps of the next building, a dog laying his head in her lap. Danneel stayed back a little ways, watching as (Y/n) talked to the dog.

 “Don’t worry.” (Y/n) said softly. “I’m pretty broken too. But I’ll take care of you. You won’t ever have to worry about not having a home again.” She scratched his ears and rubbed his back. Danneel slowly walked over to (Y/n).

 “What’s his name?” She asked. (Y/n) looked up at her.

 “I don’t know.” She said quietly. “I think he had been homeless a little while though. His ribs are showing.” Danneel set down beside (Y/n). This was the first time she had been outside since the attack. It was a little surreal. There were papers fluttering down the street. The buildings looked so dirty and dingy. Everything looked wrong.

 “How about I go down to the store and get some things for your friend. You take him inside and think of a name for him.” Danneel said. (Y/n) nodded. She led the dog into the building. She was amazed how easy he followed her in. She smiled at him. It was just a little one.

 “I’ll name you Sammy.” She whispered, thinking about Jared’s character. She found some sliced ham in the fridge and placed that on a plate for him while she waited on Danneel, who made it back in record time with things for the dog and food for them.

 They cleaned Sammy up with flea shampoo and blow dried him after he shook once in the bathroom. Danneel put a collar on him she had grabbed at the store, promising to take (Y/n) to a real pet store once her ankle was better. She excused herself to go home and shower. (Y/n) took the hint and cleaned up as well, putting on a new t-shirt. She poured Sammy a bowl of food and gave him some water. Danneel came back as (Y/n) watched Sammy go to town on his food. She was talking for the first time in almost twenty-four hours and Danneel was glad.

 She just hoped that Jared would call soon.

Forever Tags: @petrovadixon @theas-bedtime-stories @aiaranradnay @policeofficerdean @af112992 @jewelsbaby98 @crownedloki @dekahg @cutie1365 @firstgal34 @secretlyshycomputer

The World Stops Tags: @mcalbright @spn-ficfanatic @mariahoedt

#the world stops #jared #Jared Padalecki #jared x reader #jared padalecki x reader #reader #reader insert #fanfiction #supernatural

[glare-gryphon]

Horizon Light - Part 4

~2500 Words

Chapter Tags: Strong Language, References to Substance Abuse/Alcoholism

I modeled Obi-Wan’s quarters kind of after what we see Raleigh & Yanesy sharing in their introductory sequence at the Anchorage Shatterdone. Raleigh & Mako have quarters with a different layout in Hong Kong, but I like the apartment-style layout better.

By the time Obi-Wan is released back to his quarters, having been forced through another medical and psychological evaluation following his and Skywalker’s successful drift, he is not altogether surprised to find Quinlan Vos already waiting. The other ranger leans casually against the cool, metal door to Obi-Wan’s quarters, a pile of empty cardboard boxes at his feet and a bottle of something in his hands. Whatever Quinlan has brought in offering is probably alcoholic and definitely prohibited on base, which is the only reason Obi-Wan doesn’t immediately turn him away and lick his wounds in peace. He has a feeling that he’s going to need to get wasted if he’s going to deal with how drastically his life has changed over the last two days.

“Hey there, Kenobi,” Vos greets. “Word on the grapevine is that we’ve got some celebrating to do. Your reign of terror over defenseless cadets has finally been brought to an end!”

"And how much money did you make off the betting pools with the end of my... What was it? 'Reign of terror'?"

Quinlan's smile turns from teasing to smug. "Enough that I can afford a few more bottles of this," he replies, shaking the drink in his hand meaningfully. "Now are you going to let me in before we get caught with prohibited liquor, or should I just head to Windu's office now and save myself the trouble?"

Obi-Wan huffs, but pushes past him to stuff his key into the lock and open the door. When he does, Quin passes him the bottle, freeing up his hands so that he can collect the stack of cardboard boxes on the floor. "Still had these laying around from when they moved me in with Aayla," he explains. "Figured I'd help you pack your shit up, if you want. The brass give you and Skywalker your room assignments yet?"

"No," Obi-Wan replies, shutting the door behind the other man and cutting off the chatter of passersby in the hall. "They're going to move us tomorrow; there is apparently some debate over where we should be moved to. Half the brass think we need space to get to know each other; the other half think we need close supervision lest we kill each other in the process."

Quinlan barks a sharp laugh, weaving his way through the room to settle in the chair at Obi-Wan's desk. His quarters, at the moment, are hardly fit for decent company. Cleanliness tends to get pushed to the wayside when it's a struggle to simply get out of bed in the morning.

There are clothes strewn across the floor, mugs of half-finished tea resting across any available flat surfaces. Qui-Gon's things are still packed in a stack of boxes beside the desk, with the exception of a small potted plant that rests on the desk's surface among a collection of orange prescription bottles, varyingly full. He hasn't worked up the will to go through it all, yet. If anyone else had seen this place, Obi-Wan would be embarrassed. Quinlan Vos does not classify as decent company, however, so he simply makes his way to the cot, dropping onto it while his friend searches out something to drink from.

Vos pulls two empty, questionably clean mugs from the refuse littered about, blowing into them to clear them of dirt before pouring them both a healthy portion of the liquor. "I hope they aren't intending on monitoring you too closely," he says. "You know what they say about jaeger pilots: if they aren't family, they're fucking."

"You and Miss Secura are not related, nor are you engaged in sexual congress," Obi-Wan points out. "If you were, you wouldn't be here sharing your liquor with me."

"Give it time," Quin replies in a salacious purr. Obi-Wan makes to grab for one of the cups, but Quinlan yanks it out of reach at the last moment. "You aren't on any pain meds or anything, are you? For what Skywalker did to your face?"

"You know Che won't let them give me anything anymore, Quin," Obi-Wan huffs, snatching the cup from him and taking a deep drag from it. The alcohol burns as it goes down, making him grimace, but settles fairly well in his stomach. "Substance abuse problem my ass," he mutters, and pointedly ignores Quin's glance at the pill bottles on the desk; at the empty bottles stuffed in a corner. Instead he glances around the room, taking in the destruction he's wrought these past few weeks. It'd been impeccably clean before, to the point of infuriating Qui. Now it’s starting to look like Quin’s quarters. "This place is a wreck. We're going to be here all night." "Good thing I brought plenty of booze, then," Quin replies, leaning forward to top off Obi-Wan’s drink.

They’re both good and plastered by the time they decide to start packing up Obi-Wan’s things. The liquor is potent, doing its job before they’ve managed to down even half the bottle. Quin takes one of the boxes and starts emptying the wardrobe while Obi-Wan collects the dirty clothes off the floor in his own. Both are appropriately marked, and Obi-Wan can’t help but note that the latter is far fuller than the first. He can’t actually remember the last time he took his things to the laundry; it’s a small miracle he managed to last this long without having to resort to reusing outfits. Trash is stuffed in the can, dishes piled in the sink. They will have to deal with those things in the morning, as they don’t have the patience for it now.

There is something almost soothing in the mindless work of cleaning up. Obi-Wan used to enjoy it, before Qui’s death, and finds himself easily slipping back into that feeling as he wipes a rag over the desk and other flat surfaces to clear away the settled dust. The smell of disinfectant and clean is a pleasant change of pace from the must that’d settled over the space.

“What are you gonna do with this stuff?” Vos asks, nudging the boxes of Qui’s things to draw Obi-Wan’s attention to them. “I know you probably don’t want to go through them, but are you taking all this crap with you?”

“It’s not crap,” Obi-Wan mutters, batting Quinlan’s hands away when he makes to open the top container. They’re moved carefully to over by the door, where the rest of the filled boxes have been stacked for easy transport in the morning.

“Now, you see, I knew Qui-Gon Jinn,” Quin presses, trailing behind Obi-Wan as he works. “The man hoarded junk like an old lady hoards cats, so I am almost positive that most of the stuff in those boxes is, actually—”

“Shut up, Quinlan!” Obi-Wan snaps, dropping the last box on the pile with more force than necessary and rounding on the man. “I won’t have you talking about him like that in my own damn quarters!”

Vos raises his hands in a placating gesture, trying to calm Obi-Wan’s ire. Considering the amount they’ve both had to drink, it’s not particularly successful. “I’m just trying to help, man.”

"I do not need your help, Quinlan."

"Yes you do; this isn't healthy, Obi-Wan."

"And you're just the epitome of mental health, are you?" Kenobi sneers. “Getting drunk every night and hooking up with anyone who’ll spread their legs for you?”

"At least I can get more than fucking ibuprofen when my copilot nearly caves my skull in," Vos shoots back. "You're never going to move forward with Skywalker if you're still clinging to the past like this!"

"There is no 'moving forward' with Skywalker! We're conn-pod partners, that's it! One drift hasn't made me care for him. I’m never going to care for him, just as he’s never going to care for me."

Vos’ lips twitch triumphantly, and Obi-Wan knows what’s about to come out of his mouth before it does. "That's not what they saw down in medical, after you got out of the pod."

"They don't know what they saw," Obi-Wan hisses. "Now if you're quite done making an ass of yourself, I would like you to leave."

A wounded expression crosses Quin's face, but it's wiped away almost as quickly as it came. "Whatever, man," Quin mutters, pressing past him and out the door. "Keep up your damn shit-show. See if I care."

The door slams shut behind him, and Obi-Wan’s anger drains as abruptly as it swelled. It leaves him weary—even more so than the extended drift he’d taken with Skywalker earlier had. He shouldn’t have snapped at Quinlan like that, but he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. There is nothing between him and Skywalker, nor will there ever be. What happened in medical was… a fluke. A side effect of spending too much time tied too each other’s mind too soon.

There are always side effects of long drifts. Ghost Drifting is the most common: a period of time after the completion of a drift where the pilot’s minds seem to somehow remain connected. It’s never as intense as a true drift—there is never transference of thought or memory—but there is the occasional tingle of phantom sensation, or an ability to predict your copilot’s decisions and movements before they make them. Drift specialists chalk it up to their brains still operating on the same wavelength once the bond of the drift is severed, slowly returning to their usual thought patterns as they spend time apart. This, however, is only speculation as studies of Ghost Drifting have been wholly inconclusive.

Despite their strangeness, Ghost Drifts are regarded as one of the more innocent side effects of the drift. More dangerous consequences have been recorded, from codependency between pilots to a total loss of identity. Obi-Wan suspects that these are more what he and Skywalker experienced when they were finally separated. There is no other explanation—not for their behavior. Not for the way Skywalker had clung to him while they set through their medical examinations, the line of his body pressed into Obi-Wan’s side as if that point of contact were the only thing keeping him from simply fading away to nothing. Not for the way Obi-Wan had allowed that touch, soothing the man who had beaten him senseless only a day ago when the nurses had to poke and prod at Skywalker’s cracked ribs and—

The mug of Quinlan’s half-finished drink, which Obi-Wan had collected under the intention of returning it to the sink with its brethren, shatters against the wall. It makes a racket, all those little pieces of ceramic falling to patter onto the tile floor, but there is no one to hear. No one to care. The quarters next to his have been empty for weeks, since they brought him Qui-Gon’s things in a neat stack of cardboard boxes and gave him their deepest condolences for the death of his partner. Like that would make him feel better. Like that would patch the psychic wound gouged into the back of his mind as Qui-Gon bled to death in the conn-pod of their jaeger.

Obi-Wan does not care for Anakin Skywalker. One drift can’t change that—can’t plant feeling in his mind. No matter what the medical staff think they saw. They’d been in the drift too long, too soon. That’s all.

Turning from the spattering of alcohol that’s slowly tricking its way down the wall, Obi-Wan chugs the rest of his own portion before dumping the mug in the sink. He can’t deal with any more of this tonight. The rest of the bottle of liquor, which Quinlan had forgotten in his abrupt departure, is tucked safely away among his clothes in one of the boxes. If he’s caught with alcohol by anyone other than Quin or a handful of others, it’ll certainly be taken away and he’ll be back in the medical bay under observation. Now, with Quin pissed at him and no guarantee of reconciliation anytime soon, he’d rather not take any more risks than necessary.

Dropping onto the familiar, lumpy mattress of his cot, Obi-Wan allows the drink to drag him down into unconsciousness.

It feels like he’s only just fallen asleep when he’s startled awake by the sound of someone pounding at his door. Obi-Wan groans, grasping at his head as though the pressure will stop the throbbing in his skull. His mouth tastes like something curled up and died inside it overnight, and his stomach is twisting itself in knots. Of all the things he missed about alcohol during his forced reprieve, hangovers certainly weren’t one of them.

“Kenobi?” A familiar voice calls through the metal of the door, starting into another round of banging as though it will get him to answer faster. “Kenobi are you in there?”

“One moment, Aayla,” he calls out as he attempts to sit up, if only to make her stop her insistent pounding. The world spins around him in an unpleasant sensation as he fumbles for the shirt he must have stripped off overnight. When he’s presentable, the patterned burn scars his circuitry suit left behind hidden safely away beneath fabric, he somehow manages to make it across the room to throw open the door.

Waiting just outside, arms crossed in impatience, is Aayla Secura. Quinlan’s copilot is just a few years younger than him, built strong and sturdy. Today she’s got her turquoise-dyed hair pulled back into two braids and tucked beneath a brown bandana that matches the color of her leather bomber jacket. “You look like shit, Obi-Wan,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

“Good morning to you, too,” he replies, squinting against the fluorescents in hall—too much for his sensitive eyes to handle at the moment. “What brings you to my door at this hour?”

Aayla uncrosses her arms, waving a strip of paper that’s clamped between her fingers. “Got your new room assignment. Quin said he was coming over here to help you pack last night, then came back in a tiff. Figured you’d need some help getting your things to your new place, since I’m doubting Skywalker’s going to come around to offer his assistance.”

“No,” Obi-Wan says with a weak chuckle. He isn’t sure why that thought makes his heart contract painfully in his chest. “No, I’d imagine he isn’t.”

Even with the hindrance of his hangover, it’s easy to finish collecting his things with Aayla’s aid. Before he knows it they’re loading all his boxes onto a dolly that’s waiting in the hall, and Obi-Wan is hit with the starting revelation that he’s leaving these quarters. Sure he’d thought about it before—he’d packed all his things!—but the full extent of what that means doesn’t seem to have registered until now. He’s going to be moving out of these quarters. He’s leaving this chapter of his life behind. He’d going to spend the rest of this war, or the rest of his life, at Anakin Skywalker’s side—whichever comes first.

The only thing he can think as he follows Aayla through the halls of the shatterdome to his new quarters, is that it should have been Qui-Gon.

#The joke is that Quinlan Vos will never get laid #Obikin #Gryph Fic #pacific rim au #this is also up on a03 now #if that's more your deal #i'll keep posting it here too #but I've fixed all the weird lingo fuck-ups over there #so if you'd like to read the past chapters with the correct terminology #you should head over there #also I haven't mentioned it before #but I threw a coffee link up in my header #i'm not ransoming fics for cash or anything #everything still getting posted #but if you ever feel like throwing a dumb bird a couple bucks it would be appreciated