Wanda knows it the second she steps through the door -- knows it in the way the air sits wrong, thick and unmoving, like even the dust is waiting for something to break.
She hears the soft slam of a cabinet in the kitchen.
Your cabinet slam. Small, sharp, frustrated.
Her heart drops. She caused that. She caused all of this.
“Y/n?” Her voice is cautious. Too cautious, even to her own ears.
She finds you standing at the counter, hands braced on either side of the sink, shoulders tense. You don’t turn when she walks in. You don’t even pretend.
Wanda swallows hard. She deserves that.
“You left,” she says quietly. “Before we finished talking.”
You let out a breath that sounds like you’re trying not to cry or yell or both. “Yeah. Because you weren’t listening.”
Wanda closes her eyes. That’s fair. That’s painfully fair.
She takes a slow step forward. “I was listening, dorogaya. I just--”
“--don’t trust yourself.” You cut her off with a tired laugh, shaking your head. “I know, Wanda. I know. It’s always the same thing. You’re scared you’ll hurt me. Or touch me wrong. Or lose control. Or--”
“Stop,” she whispers, the word cracking. “Please.”
You finally look at her.
And that alone almost brings her to her knees.
Because you’re not angry. You’re hurt.
Quietly, deeply, devastatingly hurt. And Wanda would rather be shot than be the reason for that expression on your face.
She takes another step toward you. You don’t back away, but you don’t soften, either.
“I laid rules down because I love you,” she says, voice low, steady only because she wills it to be. “Because I’ve lived my entire life being told my power destroys everything it touches. That I destroy everything I touch.”
Your jaw tightens. “Wanda, you don’t destroy me.”
She lets out a breath that sounds like surrender. “I’m terrified I will.”
Silence. Not angry -- just heavy.
You push your fingers through your hair, pacing once before facing her again.
“I don’t need you to be perfect,” you say quietly. “I don’t need you to be safe. I just need you to stop assuming the worst version of yourself is the only one I get to love.”
Wanda’s throat goes tight. Painfully tight.
Because she hears the truth in your voice -- the exhaustion from fighting to be close to someone who keeps putting distance where you’re trying to build a home.
She steps closer. Close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off her, the little static flickers of power under her skin.
She has spent years repressing that warmth around others--but around you, she wants to offer it.
“You shouldn’t have walked out,” she murmurs. “You shouldn’t leave in the middle of a fight. Not with me.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I wasn’t going to scream at you in your own house, Wanda.”
“I didn’t want a fight.” Her voice lowers. “I wanted you to stay. With me. Even if we were angry. Even if it was messy. I don’t… I don’t want distance with you.”
Your heartbeat stutters. Her eyes follow the movement in your chest like it matters more than anything else.
She exhales shakily. “I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you. And that should make me happy, but it terrifies me because wanting you means I have something to lose.”
You soften. Just barely.
“Wanda--”
“No,” she says quickly, stepping even closer until your bodies almost touch. “You need to hear this.”
Her hand lifts -- slowly -- and hovers near your cheek but doesn’t touch.
Not until you lean in the tiniest bit.
She cups your jaw with trembling fingers.
“I lay rules down because I am selfish,” she confesses. “Because if I ever hurt you, I wouldn’t survive it. I would rather chain my own powers, silence myself, cage every part of me that scares me—than risk losing you.”
Your lips part, breath catching.
Her thumb brushes your cheek in a feather-light stroke, and your eyes sting because god, she’s trying. She’s really trying.
“I love you,” she whispers, like she’s bleeding it out. “I love you so much it feels dangerous. And I don’t know how to do this without being afraid.”
You step forward until your forehead meets hers.
“Wanda,” you say softly, “loving someone doesn’t mean controlling all the ways they could get hurt. It means letting them stay anyway.”
She closes her eyes.
Her breathing steadies against your skin.
“I don’t want to lose you,” she murmurs, voice small in a way she never lets anyone hear.
“You’re not going to.”
She finally opens her eyes--bright, emotional, glassy but not broken.
“You left earlier,” she reminds you, voice cracking again.
You shake your head gently. “I walked out, Wanda. I didn’t leave you.”
Her lips part like she’s tasting that difference for the first time.
Then she whispers, “Come here,” and pulls you into her chest, arms wrapping around you with a desperate tenderness that isn’t rough or magical or frantic.
Just human.
Her face buries into your shoulder as she exhales a shaky breath against your neck. One of her hands slides into your hair; the other presses flat against your back like she’s trying to memorize the exact shape of you.
You melt. You forgive. You breathe again.
“You always think you’re too much,” you whisper into her hair. “But you’re not. You’re just scared. And that’s okay. But don’t shut me out when I’m the one person you’re safe with.”
She swallows hard, pulling back just enough to kiss your forehead with a slow, reverent heat that promises more but doesn’t rush.
“Don’t walk away from me again,” she whispers.
You smile, small and tired and full.
“Then fight with me,” you answer, “not against me.”
Wanda lets out a tiny laugh -- pained, relieved, unbelievably soft -- and kisses you again, this time on the corner of your mouth.
“You’re stubborn,” she murmurs.
“So are you.”
Her lips ghost over yours, barely there, asking for permission without words.
You give her a quiet nod.
And when Wanda finally kisses you -- carefully, hungrily, terrified and hopeful all at once -- everything in the room exhales with you.
It’s not fixed. It’s not perfect.
But it’s real. And it’s the kind of love she never thought she’d have.
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description: years after a sudden breakup leading to absolute no contact, Jake decides to get drunk at the Hard Deck on the one night Bradley decides to visit…
word count: 3.8k+
first part : here
warnings: drinking, angst(?)
author notes: this is technically the second part to a fic i’ve posted (a make up to the break up) but you don’t have to read the first part however it would help woth context and also its a fun, short read! please let me know any feedback or what you enjoyed or anything at all - i love hearing back from people!
It had been a good day. It was rare to have a day with no stressful conversations, no talk-back from the pilots at the academy – just a relaxed day of watching over the students fill out forms and completing written exams with a calm, not-yet humid heat welcoming the beginning of summer.
He sauntered away from the bar, a new beer in hand, with Amelia shouting after him that that was his final drink of the night.
“Yeah, yeahhh!” he called back, snickering.
Standing still was the least Jake could do to gain a bearing of his surroundings after flocks of younger people flowed right past him, leaving him disoriented in his intoxicated state.
After regaining a solid bearing of where he was, he continued his path towards Nat.
“Soooo, why’d you come back? I thought you were farrrr off and away, flying far away from here,” Jake’s hand that wasn’t curled around the bottle neck was extended far in front of his face, emphasizing just how far he thought she’d gone.
An easy smile graced Nat’s face, a sweet nostalgia pairing as a chaser to the beer she’d just swigged. “Well, y’know, I thought it was about time to come back and see this place again,” she rapped her knuckles against the solid wood of the booth she was sitting on, “and I’m on leave at the moment!”
Her eyes fell upon Jake’s glassy expression and felt a remembrance for the Hangman who couldn’t wait to fly for the navy, the Hangman who knew that would be the only path he would go down. When she spoke next, her expression and tone softened, “You good here? You like teaching?”
An affirming grunt came as the response.
When Bradley walked out of their home, ending their engagement, Jake had been entirely consumed with guilt and found himself unable to even leave the house for a better part of a week. People came knocking on his door to see if he was alright. Phone calls and texts arrived in masses yet he didn’t return a single one. Eventually, he’d run out of any more food to eat, and he knew when enough was enough, even if it was his endless dry heaving as a result of non stop crying that pushed him to leave his house, just to go to a place where not every single thing reminded him of Bradley.
The pain Jake had felt in place of the absence of Bradley’s warmth slowly started to fade away over the years as the ferocity of their memories together subsided, eventually leaving him with occasional thoughts of a now stranger. At this point in time, it would’ve been almost more difficult to ask Jake to recount the feelings of love and passion that he’d felt with him than to ask him to recount every answer to a question that he’d memorised that could be asked by a Top Gun student.
During these years, Jake learned to push away the suffocating memories of their past and view them with indifference when brought up, that ended up including any thoughts of working as a naval pilot in his future – those dreams had all been tossed away with his engagement ring.
Pushing away the memories seemed to help him, on the occasional evenings when he felt particularly alone, he’d go home with a good looking guy who’d ordered him a drink from the bar or take some girl back with him who’d come over to him as he relaxed on the beach.
But nothing ever stuck. Nothing ever mattered. It was only for a night and then gone, it was over.
“Mmm so, what’s it like to be up in the air allllllll the time?” Jake’s gaze returned to Nat, eyes heavy lidded and a hiccup escaping.
To answer his question, he received several grounding pats to his shoulder and a ‘yeah, yeah it’s good…’ and if more words came from her, Jake would not be the person to ask. No, Jake was now only focused on the door where the sea of people parted for the garish blue shirt that carried a booming laugh beginning to make its way through the crowd.
Holy fucking shit.
“Hangman, you good?” Nat’s hand stilled on his shoulder and he realised he must’ve let it slip out from his head and past his lips.
Jake frantically shook his head ‘no’ and tightened his mouth securely shut before racing out the back door and bent over double.
It had been so long since he’d last heard the sound of that voice, that very very specific voice.
With his right arm raised with his palm pressed firmly against the cool exterior of the building, he covered his mouth with his left hand. The sound of Rupert Holmes singing about pina coladas and getting caught in the rain created a freight train of noise when accompanied by the hoots and cheers inside of the bar.
His entire body seemed to convulse as he attempted to swallow down the burning feeling of bile flooding up into his mouth until it got too strong and he conceded to the awful feeling, placing his left hand to his knee and letting the acrid vomit splatter onto the floor, tears now following into the pool on the floor.
Moans stemming from the mental shock he’d just experienced and his queasiness seemed to flow in a never ending stream; his nose crinkled at the knowledge of what had just happened as his head spun with inebriation.
When he felt certain that no more was going to come up, he pushed away from the wall, defeated, and walked down towards the calm lapping of the water before abruptly stopping and sitting down, putting his hands in the sand behind him and feeling each grain pass between the gaps of his fingers.
He exhaled. Hard. He closed his eyes and breathed in again.
“Shiiiiiiiit.”
Jake knew that his mind was racing at a thousand miles a minute, he could feel it, but he couldn’t grasp onto a single thought; all he could currently feel was the confusion of Bradley being at the Hard Deck after all those years.
Despite the lingering taste of vomit clinging to his tastebuds, he had yet to sober up and could definitely tell how much alcohol was still racing through him as he clambered back into his feet, stumbling and floundering around before finally finding his balance again.
Fighting against the sand to make it back into the Hard Deck, he let out many grunts and groans whilst a new feeling he couldn’t yet decipher filled him with an emotion he couldn’t figure out, but he knew he didn't like it.
When he made it to the crown of the beach, warm lights once again hitting him, he made his way through the doors into the bar and searched around for the sight of his familiar friend. He could’ve sworn he just saw her dark hair fly past him but he couldn’t be sure, not with everything being a passing blur to him.
He pushed himself past seemingly infinite groups of people blocking his way into the bar.
It felt strange to be this uncoordinated. He hadn’t been like this since…”Bradley.”
It came out as a whispered revelation as if he’d just realised who he’d seen entering earlier. But no, he knew who he’d seen all along and now he knew that he could not be spotted by him, although his traitorous actions spoke otherwise.
“Bradley! Bradley, where are you? Bradley?” He waved his arm around in the air like a lunatic, trying to grab the attention of the man he’d been calling out to, “Bradley, c’mon, let’s talk it out! Mmmm nice name. Braaaadley, come here! Let me see your stuuuupid shirt-”
A hand squeezing his shoulder shut him up.
“Not Bradley yet, to you it’s still Rooster.”
Within the span of a couple of seconds, Jake’s body tensed, relaxed, spun around and leant against the wall of Bradley in front of him, a tear or two scorching a path down his cheek as he whimpered out, “Bradley.”
Not even Jake knew the last time he’d been this drunk, probably not since college. He couldn’t wrack out a single coherent thought other than ‘Bradley’.
Suddenly, large arms enveloped his body and he let out a calming sigh, finally where he was supposed to be.
When he opened his eyes, he noticed they were now sitting, he realized the noise from the bar had become distant and the lights were now gone, only the moon and its watery reflection lighting up the scene.
“How much did you drink?” Bradley asked, because Jake was absolutely, undoubtedly, one hundred percent wasted. There was no other word for it. He was past gone.
“Mmmnnghhh Bradley,” he mumbled before taking a deep breath in against the flexed arm holding him up.
“I come back and I find you truly fucked,” Bradley scoffed out an amused laugh, “typical.”
“Mm mm,” Jake’s head shook side to side in denial, “you left today, 7 years ago, mm mm, you got me fucked today. But,” a high pitched laugh, almost able to be considered a giggle, came out, “but youuuu saved me, mmm you found me.”
“Yeah, well you were pretty hard to miss shouting my name like-”
Jake felt his mouth form some other words to rebuttal Bradley’s unfinished claim but his brain couldn’t figure out what he was saying before everything went black.
--------------------
After waiting so long to dare to move from his position behind Hangman, Nat had long since gone home and the bar’s doors were now locked shut for the night.
Bradley was well and truly screwed.
He had no clue where Jake had moved to and the passed out lump of the aforementioned man wouldn’t be any help. No one would be happy with him at this time of the now-morning to receive a call asking for Hangman’s address.
No, no way could he find out where he lived. He couldn't know, he had to keep himself clean from any part of Hangman’s new life, he’d just have to wait until he woke up and could drive himself back.
For now, he could carry him up the beach into his bronco and figure something out from there.
“Fuck, man, you got heavier,” Bradley, doubled over, out of breath, raises his head with a grimace pulled across his face to look at Jake’s sleeping form. But no, this wasn't Jake, this was Hangman, the one who always took it too far to the point of no return, never backing out.
Bradley sighed before sliding into the driver's seat and closing his eyes for a moment of quiet thought. When nothing came to mind, he looked back over to Jake, “what am I gonna do with you-”
His eyes now widened after finding the crucial evidence, the saving piece to the mystery of where Jake now lived, or, still lived.
A red loop of string lay carelessly out of Jake’s front pocket and after gently tugging on it, an attached silver key followed out.
“Oh, Jake.” A deep-set frown formed as realisation hit – he’d never left, never moved out.
He stayed.
Pulling the key into his palm and clenching a fist around it, he felt the warmth from it being pressed against Jake’s body, he felt the familiar bumps and edges of the key they’d once shared.
Bradley once again sighed heavily as he shoved the key into his pocket and started up the car.
He knew the route to the house; it had been years but god if he didn’t know these roads like they were his first language, navigating them with simple ease, making it a stark sight if anyone were to see his whitened knuckles of both hands tighten around the steering wheel and his tense neck keeping his eyes pointed forwards, sparing his passenger not a single glance.
Usually Bradley would be humming along to a song, drumming his fingers on the wheel, but not today.
‘Jesus, Jake, you should’ve moved out, fuck, you should’ve moved on.’ Yet these words reached deaf ears, or rather, passed out ones.
The rest of the drive went by with only the sound of the engine and the rush of the wind to keep him sane.
Now that he was outside the house, their house, he felt frozen. There was no way he could step foot back in there again, not after leaving everything behind.
The past seven years hadn’t necessarily been easy for Bradley either, moving out of state as soon as he could, building a new life for himself, but regret still lingered sometimes. It came back to squeeze his throat shut on cold winter nights, it came back to kick him in the gut when his new crew couldn’t predict his next move in the air, it came back to softly kiss his forehead when he’d lie on the sofa with his dog tucked between his arms. Regret tormented him like a high school bully who came back stronger and packed more of a punch as it grew each year.
Yet he learnt to live with it, he had to or else he’d be stuck never progressing into his future, the reason for this soulless few years.
“Fuck it.”
Brashly, he opened his door and slammed it shut, the force reverberating through him before making his way to the passenger’s side. He carefully unbuckled Jake’s seatbelt and scooped the pile of muscles to rest over his shoulder, kicking the door shut.
The walk up to the door felt like the walk to his execution, fear and guilt and shame and sympathy coursed through him when he fished around his pocket for the key and heard the ‘click’ of the door unlocking. With a final deep breath, he pushed it open.
Clean. The house was clean. It was completely tidy, nothing even an inch out of place. Jake had always been the clean one of the two, ensuring everything was left spotless despite the mess Bradley would cause by just the simple act of picking an outfit for the day or making a bowl of cereal after a long day of training. But the house was too clean, no photo frames of the two of them on their first date, no polaroids of their trip to London when they were both on leave together for the first time stuck up on the pinboard, it had been stripped bare of any memories that filled these four walls with homeliness.
Denying even the thought of tears forming, Bradley focused on getting Jake into his bed and made his way up the stairs and into the bedroom.
Upon entering the bedroom, he suddenly became aware of just how much time had passed – the bedside tables swapped for newer, chicer ones, the layout of the room being entirely switched. Nothing was as he remembered. It came out as a whisper, practically inaudible. “It’s for the best.”
Jake had been laid carefully on his bed, the duvet crinkled beneath him and the rather thick blanket from the end of the bed strewn across his body. Just before leaving the room, Bradley turned back to shuck Jake’s shoes off; he knew how much he’d despise waking up to his heavy, dirty boots resting on his bed, so he pulled them off and brought them to leave downstairs, softly shutting the bedroom door behind him.
--------------------
Harsh rays of light shone through Jake’s windows, forcing him awake.
“The fuck?” he grumbled out, pressing a pillow, hard, over his eyelids to shield out the offending sun.
When he swallowed down the saliva in his mostly dry mouth, he could taste his extreme case of morning breath, face contorting in self-disgust. He must’ve been truly gone last night, no memory of getting home but it was probably Nat hauling his ass back. If he was honest, he’d admit to having no memory of anything after the first hour at the Hard Deck.
Teeth brushed, boxers changed, white tee pulled over his head and slippers on, Jake made his way down the stairs. As he walked to the kitchen, ready to prepare a large mug of coffee to push away his absolute grogginess, he heard a quiet noise from the living room so he went on a detour to uncover what it was.
“What. The. FUCK?”
Bradley scrambled around in fear, shooting up straight into an upright sit, hair tussled and eyes puffy from sleep.
“What the everliving fuck are you doing in my house, Rooster, c’mon man, you can’t be doing this to me.” His voice was laced with anger and desperation, nothing made sense right now.
“Listen, look just, listen. You were too drunk, everyone else had gone home, the bar was shut, and I just wanted you back safely.” He was talking so fast at this point, rapidly trying to explain, “We might not've spoken in years but still, y’know, I wouldn’t just leave a drunk guy lying on the beach.” By now Bradley was standing up, defending his presence.
Jake’s stone face twitched slightly with bone deep embarrassment. The first time he’d seen Bradley in almost a decade and he couldn’t even remember seeing him. He felt his throat constricting and he couldn't breathe.
He slowly turned and began to walk to the kitchen, getting several feet away and giving Bradley a look to ask if he was coming. When he made it to his destination, the kitchen table, he sat and pointed with his hand to the seat facing his and Bradley, forever the smart one, took his lead and sat down.
“So.” Jake started.
“So.”
“Are you gonna let me know what happened last night?”
“Look, I walked into the Hard Deck and a while later I heard you shouting for me, I pulled you outside for some fresh air and so I could hear ya but before we could properly talk, it was lights out from you. I hauled your heavy ass into my car and saw the key in ya pocket. I drove back here and carried you to bed and by that time I was past tired and knew I couldn't drive safely. I’m sorry, man, I just, shit, I’m sorry.”
The shared silence hung in the air like a suspended breath, neither of them daring to cut it off.
“I’m sorry.” Jake broke it first, just as a whisper, but it had been broken.
“Hm?”
“I’m sorry Bra- sorry, Rooster,” Bradley shook his head as if to say, ‘it’s alright, continue,’ and so he did.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry for last night, shit I should not have drunk that much, it was just, like, my first full day off in forever and I knew I had today off, no, that’s not what I’m tryna say. Look, Roo,” his eyes started to prick with tears but he made no move to wipe them away, “I didn’t mean for it to happen like it did, ‘m not talking ‘bout yesterday, I mean when you left, when I fucked it up. It’s on me, Rooster, it’s on me. I did it to myself, I did it to you, I know that, it’s been the better half ten years and I’ve still not forgiven myself.” He paused to give himself a break, eyes fixed on Bradley’s untelling stare, “It was wrong of me but no matter how hard I tried, and God only knows how hard I tried, it wasn’t hard enough, was it? Seventh anniversary of that fucked up day and you come waltzing back into my life, into this town, jesus, into the state, and everything crumbles.”
A beat.
“Y’know I forgot? Or tried to at least. I forced myself to forget what it was like to be with you, but even just breathing the same air right now, I can’t do it, Rooster.”
No reply came.
“Please, say something, just say something,” he begged.
“I’m sorry.” A heavy breath filled his lungs. “You really did fuck it up real bad, Hangman, but it’s been seven years and I still can’t seem to figure out why I left everything we had. I needed some time, sure, but I should’ve come back, not just gone radio silent to you for years.” He ran a palm across his face, catching some lingering sleep from his eyes. “K, I’m gonna go, I’m sorry 'bout last night, Jake.”
He watched Bradley get closer and closer to the door, head reeling with deja vu as he watched him slip from his reach once again. Before he knew it, the door had opened and the thick air came in waves, but the sudden brightness from outside seemed to snap something in him and he was now up on his feet, catching up to the man leaving.
“Roo.”
Bradley’s head spun around so fast it was a wonder he didn’t get whiplash.
“Come back, we gotta talk some more, don’t just leave again, yeah?”
He received a nod and was followed back to the table. When they resumed their seats from before, he breathed out and placed both palms on the table, squaring his chest before delving into what it’s been like since Bradley left… “But I guess all it takes is the sight of you to crash that wall I’d built.”
“Jake,” it came out almost as a whimper, “Jake, I missed you, I wanted to come back,” by this point Bradley let his tears fall freely, dampening his white tank beneath the open blue button up, “I just, I left and I didn’t think I could come back. I thought I wasn’t allowed to forgive you, but fuck I want to forgive you.”
“Stay.”
It wasn’t a command, it wasn’t even a suggestion. It was a plea. A plea to take him back, a plea for their old life, old love.
A slow but sure nod met his plea. Charily, they both stood from their chairs and stepped towards each other. After what could've been seconds or hours of eyes staring into eyes, Bradley broke first and let his arms wrap around Jake, immediately after, if not simultaneously, pulled in by the other.
They could figure out the logistics of what this meant after, but right now they had each other and that’s all that mattered as they made their way back to the bedroom, hands never leaving the other's skin as if it were a lifeline, and right now, they were exactly that.
🎭 Tickletober Day 6 – Hashira Group: “Costume Party Chaos”
The Hashira had gathered for a costume party, each more elaborate than the last. But the moment Zenitsu saw Inosuke in a full boar costume, he couldn’t resist.
“Boar-boy!! Hahaha, your sides look ticklish!!” Zenitsu shouted, fingers already darting under Inosuke’s arms.
Inosuke squealed, trying to shove him off. “W-wait!! Hahaha! I’ll get you back!!”
Soon, Tanjiro and Nezuko were dragged in, and Genya found himself pinned by Sanemi as fingers poked, prodded, and danced across every ticklish spot imaginable.
Chaos erupted: swords forgotten, laughter echoing through the hall. Shinobu tried to maintain grace but ended up squealing as someone discovered her weak spot at the ribs.
By the end, the Hashira were in a tangled, breathless heap, costume pieces askew, hair messy, and faces red with laughter. “Next year,” Sanemi muttered between laughs, “we must have rules.”
For @anonkp, who wanted a continuation of my previous story, “Shattered Beyond Repair”. (I originally said the companion fic was a different title, but that is incorrect).
***
We’ll Make it New
The past three weeks has been miserable. While Deeks had officially ended their relationship, he hadn’t left NCIS or LAPD. At least not yet. Apparently he’d handed in his resignation, but told both Bates and Hetty he would stay on until they found his replacement.
It was a unique kind of torture. Seeing Deeks every day made her chest ache with longing, yet she coveted every moment they had together. To make it a little easier on her, Sam and Callen had taken to splitting she and Deeks up more days than not.
Thankfully they’d refrained from making any comments so far. Small favors, she supposed.
Today, started out with a debrief in OPS as usual on a suspicious double murder. Instead of standing next to Kensi as he once did, Deeks took position near the back of the room. As though he was physically distancing himself as much as he was emotionally.
“What do you think, Deeks?” Callen asked after Nell and Eric had gone over all the current details. Everyone turned to face Deeks, unusually quiet these days, and he considered the question for a few seconds.
This new version of him was quieter, more serious, more prone to deliberation. Like so many things recently, she regretted ever wishing that Deeks would less talkative, less the jokester…less him. She regretted not appreciating what they had.
“I think it’s suspicious that Lt. Anderson knew both victims and just rolled back into town two days ago,” Deeks said eventually. And that was it.
“Ok, then Sam and Kensi you can go talk to the Lieutenant. Deeks and I will interview his immediate superior,” Callen decided.
***
“How you holding up?” Sam asked as they drove to the Lieutenant’s home.
“Barring my father’s death and the times I’ve thought Deeks was dead, these have been the worst weeks of my life,” Kensi answered truthfully. “And I know what you’re going to say: I told you so,” she added with an exhausted sigh.
“Actually, I wasn’t. I don’t take any pleasure in your or Deeks’ pain,” Sam replied. “I do think you have some considerations to make.”
“Like what?”
“Well, you two are clearly both miserable. Deeks wants out, you don’t. I’d say you need to figure out if there’s a way that you can make both of those happen while existing as a couple?”
“Well, if it were that easy, I wouldn’t be single or searching for a new home.” She didn’t mean to snap, but she was on edge and feeling judged.
“I never said it was easy.” Sam chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “Believe me, Michelle and I had this “conversation” more than once.” He smiled softly. “When Michelle got pregnant, it was a big surprise. She was the one who decided to resign from fieldwork, but we argued a lot about whether I should stay in or not. In the end, we decided that me staying would work.
“I wouldn’t say that I regret that decision, but I missed out on quite a few bedtimes, school events, and all over the years. Those are times I can’t get back. And I can’t get back the missed date nights with Michelle. Or the days when she had to be the only parent to our kids.”
“I’m getting mixed messages here,” Kensi said with mild annoyance.
“Sorry. Basically, if being an NCIS Special Agent is what does make you happy, then that’s fine. If not…maybe it’s time to reconsider,” Sam said. “Work will always be there, people won’t.”
***
Kensi found herself rethinking Sam’s advice for the next several days. Somehow, once he’d laid it all out for her, it did seem amazingly simple. She wasn’t happy or content, even if she didn’t find some amount of pleasure in her work. It all seemed dull and worthless without Deeks by her side.
Which is why four days after talking with Sam, she found herself walking up the cracked sidewalk to the address she’d convinced Nell to give her. She knocked on the door before she chickened out and waited, heart pounding.
When Deeks opened the door a few moment later, he blinked in apparent surprise at finding her on his doorstep.
“Kensi, what are you—?”
“I quit,” she blurted out before Deeks could even voice his entire question. Which was not what she’d planned on saying at all.
“You quit?” Deeks repeated slowly, shaking his head slowly. “As in…?”
“NCIS. As of this morning, I’m not an NCIS Special Agent.”
Deeks’ face lit up for the briefest of seconds before he sobered, his expression shifting to one of disbelief. “Why?”
“Because I want you,” Kensi said reaching for his hand. She didn’t let his lack of response dissuade her.
“That didn’t make a difference before. At least not enough of one,” he reminded her. Kensi dipped her head, acknowledging his comment with a short nod.
“Yeah, well, I had a talk with Sam and he gave me reconsider some things.”
“He’s pretty good at that,” Deeks murmured softly, with a hint of his usual humor.
“He is.” She lifted her head, tears pricking the back of her eyes, as she took a step closer. “And I really missed you. More than any position, or mission could ever make up for.”
“But Kensi, you love field work. You love everything about helping people, the intrigue, and danger of it all. I can’t live up to that.” Her heart ached at the quiet hope tinged with resignation in Deeks’ voice.
“Yes, you can,” Kensi insisted fiercely, grasping his hand and pressing it to her chest. “Because I love you. More than anything. I can find ways to help people and fulfill my inner daredevil that won’t put me in danger the way that fieldwork does.”
“Are you sure?” Deeks whispered, his thumb gently rubbing over the back of her hand.
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Yes, I want to be with you.”
Deeks made a sound that was a cross between a gasp of relief and a sob, drawing her into his arms. Kensi cupped her hands around his jaw, almost desperate in her need to kiss him.
“I love you,” he whispered, burying his nose in her neck. She felt him shudder against her, and held him even tighter.
She’d come so close to losing this, him, forever. She’d never make that mistake again.
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one time again | 2/5 | Cyno/Alhaitham | Time Loop AU / Samsara AU | Rating: E
“What is your problem?" Asks Kaveh. "Today’s a big day. You two lovebirds are finally seeing each other after weeks. I thought you’d be ecstatic.”
“Is that what we are?” Alhaitham asks, without opening his eyes.
“Huh?”
“Lovers,” Alhaitham mutters. “He was supposed to be back three weeks ago. Do you truly think he loves me?”
--
Time Loop AU where the Samsara happens first. Alhaitham and Cyno relive the day of their reunion again and again and again, until they fall apart. Loosely follows the events of Sumeru’s AQ.
Concept has been on my mind since this song showed up in the Azirephale playlist on Spotify
I haven't finished the second season yet so no spoilers really.
"Can't Take My Eyes... Off Of You"
#making up #serinade #musical number #dramatic declarations of love #I was wrong dance
Aziriphale is angry with Crowley,
Or as angry as his nature can tolerate without feeling guilty. Which in Azeriphale's case consisted of feeling rather disappointed, cross, and a little hurt, rather than the standard intense urge to call forth lighting to smite down who ever displeased you.
He did want to forgive Crowley. forgiveness is one of his favorite things, and he got immense satisfaction from doing it and he feels he's quite good at it.
At this moment though.
Abstinence, he felt, is also a good virtue that he, as an Angel, can exemplify*
*(unless of course he was asked to abstain from partaking in sushi, chiffon cake, filet mignon, crepês, oysters... well I think you see the point)
After Crowley's latest flame-up *(in that he had been both very ubset and on fire) the "I was wrong" song/dance just wasn't going to cut it...*
*(he'd already tried)
He was going to have to do something terrible, something unthinkable for a demon. So embarrassing that if anyone else saw what he was doing he would never be taken seriously again by heaven or hell.
It could mean the death of him...
⬇️ Continued...
Crowly serenades Aziriphale using a song by "Franky Valley" (an Azirphale favorite). He hopes that by using the lyrics as a viechle, he can say what he feels honestly without his demonic rationalities* (or rather the insecurrities that had gotten him into this mess with Aziriphael in the first place)* interfering.
His voice cracks like the words are being painfully strangled out of him, forcefully and against his will. figuratively speaking though it could be said to go even a step further than that.* (it should be also said that at the way it's going, he may have to physically start to strangle himself to put an end to his nervous hissing)*
Crowley, as he begins his prostrated psalm, is engaged in a heated battle of wills within himself as he bites out mawkish lyrics that, despite their fluff, cut into his deeper feelings like a sharp doctor's knife and then began to rip them out of him, like they were to be displayed in jars of formaldehyde like feet and tumours and other grotesque specimens collected by resurrectionists.
But to Aziriphale, unaware of Crowley's painful effort, it seems like Crowley's usual begrudging-ness to apologize, only slightly elevated due to the increased humiliation he was no doubt struggling to endure, but still lacking in the humility Aziriphale thought he deserved from the demon.
He steels his resolve further, to remain un-budged by the display...
Sensing Aziriphale turn colder, Crowley plunges further to dig out his forgotten heart and force it open. Like going full gas, 100 mph in a 33' Bently through blazing hellfire all over again, he resolved himself to see it through. Even if he caught fire (which he was beginning to feel like he might... Again... )
And he thought that if he could do that, then he could damn well get through this song!
He's singing now, actually singing, not just spitting the words out like they were a fly in his mouth.
He'd gotten past the hard bits of the song. The bits about Heaven, and God, and a 4 letter word beginning with L that he sort of muttered, his pronunciation sounding like he had only just managed to stop himself from being sick.
But now he was singing, his voice carried out and he felt embarrassed at the number of emotions that seemed to tremble through it.
He couldn't remember when the last time he sang was, if he had ever at all. Maybe it was before he had "sauntered vaguely downwards", when he was still a part of the heavily choir praising god (when he wasn't busy building galaxies and nebulas and constilations).
Or maybe it was a couple of centuries ago in a bar drawling out a funny tune in merriment with sloshed company. Or it could've been yesterday singing along with Freddie absentmindedly knowing all the words from their constant repetition. The point was he couldn't remember if he had ever actually sung, but he certainly had never sung like this before.
He began to move too,
He had planned to dance. He didn't plan a dance perse *(attempting to choreograph a dance for a confession/apology was taking the embarrassment too far he felt)* He just sort of glided and swayed in the way only he could, in a manner that felt the right way to go about it when he'd seen it performed by others. Dancing certainly had felt more natural than singing to him till now.
Azeriphale's eyes widened in astonishment and he could feel himself start to twitch. He'd started to feel sort of tingly all over, like his body was trying to tell him something but his thoughts just hadn't caught up yet. All the chocolates, that he had indulged in earlier like he was attempting to stuff a deep void, felt like they had transformed into a swarm of rowdy caterpillars and were now dancing the gavotte! *(Of course the chocolates-turned-caterpillars could've been dancing any number of dances but the gavotte is what Aziripheal knows best)*
Crowley was staring at him.
This wasn't new and it wasn't as if he'd only started again a second ago. He had been staring since he'd come into the shop, he'd felt it and it hadn't ceased. But Aziriphale suddenly felt embarrassed about it. As Crowley sang, Azeriphale suddenly got the feeling that they were both remembering 6000+ years of that stare. And suddenly it wasn't just a stare, it never was, it never had been.
6000+ years and only now he knew what it had meant. The meaning it held now as their eyes glued together.
Crowley slid forward.
Aziriphales's face grew hot, the catterpillars had metamorphosed into butterflies that we're now fluttering in a hurricane of anticipation.
He took in a sharp breath.
The black slits of Crowley's eyes shook, advancing further, finishing the refrain...
"You're just too Good to be true...
Can't take me Eyes... Off of You~... "
•••
Wanted to just jot down my idea and ended up with a full-on drabble of at least 1000 words (I think anyway, I didn't count). Hard to write out and illustrate in words what you see as more of a colorful musical number visualisation in your head.
Divine inspiration triggered by the "I was wrong" dance from episode 1 of season 2 (It lives in my head rent free) and a favorite of mine "Can't take my eyes off of you" by Frankie Valli.
What if Crowley and Aziriphale fought and the only way Crowley could think of to get Aziriphale to accept his apology is to confess his feelings and the only way to do that was to masquerade them in an"I was wrong" dance trojan horse?
(side note I need a gif of Crowley doing the I was wrong dance like I need air to breathe and food to eat, additionally I would give my left arm, my college tuition and my soul to see David Tennant as Crowley perform this song)
Here's the lyrics to the Song for added context but you could also listen to it using the link at the top of the post
Day in and day out, all seemed to be the same. It had been a few years already, a decade maybe? It didn't seem to matter, most days had been the same for a long, long time.
Gabriel Agreste, also formerly known as Hawkmoth, was still serving his time for the super powered threats and attacks he had committed against the city of Paris. Despite the ludicrousness of it all, he had been found guilty. His son hadn't spoken to him for years.
Until now.
“Agreste, you've got a visitor.” The guard called out rather lackluster into his cell. Gabriel was surprised to see that it was his son Adrien.
“Adrien.” He simply acknowledged, getting Adrien to tense up.
“Father.” Adrien responded in that same tone his father had used.
“Why are you here?” Gabriel questioned, an eyebrow raised. Adrien wasn't really looking at his father. The last time they had spoken, they had fought about why Gabriel did what he had done, why he had turned almost everyone in Paris into a supervillain at one point. Last he knew was that Adrien was taken in by his former bodyguard and that had been it since. The silence was deafening.
“Well?” Gabriel added, not desiring his son to waste anyone's time by just sitting there, glaring at the ground with his arms crossed.
“Well...” Adrien started with a sigh, unfolding his arms and reached for something on his right.
“I figured you should at least once meet your granddaughter.”
Gabriel fell silent, as Adrien picked up the baby carrier with a sleeping child inside.
“This is Emma.” Adrien said, smiling down at his child as he stroke her cheek, gently waking her up from her slumber.
“She's almost 3 months old.”
Gabriel wasn't even really listening, his eyes fixed on the little baby girl, with the hair of her mother and the eyes of her father and grandmother. He couldn't really articulate how or why, but the fact his son, his wayward son, brought her to him after all this time and the numerous ill words they had last exchanged, touched something within him that he hadn't felt even long before his days as Hawkmoth.
Adrien grew still at his fathers attempt to subtly wipe away a tear and smiled.
“Well, I wouldn't want her to take a bad example from you.” He admitted, gaining back his fathers attention.
“But maybe if you clean up your act, you can see her more.”
“You're making demands of me?” Gabriel asked with a scoff, but there was little hostility behind it than it would have been just a few minutes ago.
“My child, my rules.” Adrien spoke with a kind of confidence he wouldn't have had towards his father outside the mask he used to wear.
“And I'd do anything to protect her from evil.”
Another scoff escaped Gabriel, as he looked back at the child with a small smile.
Maybe Adrien was right and maybe, he would clean up his act.
