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whumpdoyoumean · 7 months

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Whumptober #21

“What are your choices when someone holds a gun to your head? You do what they say or they shoot you, right? Wrong! You take the gun. You pull out a bigger gun or you call their bluff or you do one of another 146 other things.”

146 other things.

The words echo around in Mike’s mind. It seems a little ridiculous now, as there is an actual gun pointed at his head and he can’t think of a single damn way out of it. Harvey also appears to be at somewhat of a loss, his hands above his head in a fashion similar to Mike.

The armed man is calm, casual. He glances over toward Donna’s desk. She’s crouching behind it, and Mike guesses that she’s calling 911 right this second--if she hasn’t already. The man doesn’t seem concerned.

“Your issue is with me,” Harvey is saying. “Let Mike go. He has nothing to do with this grudge of yours.” His voice is calm, too, but forced. There’s an edge of desperation to it.

The man looks over at Harvey now and smiles.

It freezes Mike’s blood.

“’This grudge of yours,’” the man repeats. “Funny, you say it as though you actually remember me.”

“I do,” Harvey says, voice as level as ever. “I do remember you. Harrison. Joe Harrison. Your case was back when I worked with the DA’s office. Put you away for robbery and attempted murder, isn’t that right?”

Harrison’s face flickers, just for a moment. Then he nods slowly. “You do remember me, then. You remember what you did to me?” His tone is losing its measured steadiness.

“I seem to recall the judge and jury sentencing you to a fair bit of prison time. Why don’t you put the gun down and we can talk about whatever it is that’s bothering you,” Harvey says slowly, reaching forward.

“Don’t move!” Harrison barks, turning the gun on Harvey. Mike starts to move forward, but Harvey gives him a warning look, shaking his head just slightly. “You think I wanna talk to you? Hm? You think I got this--” He waves the gun for emphasis. “--to talk? You think I killed my parole officer to talk? No. No more talking! My brother is dead. I didn’t even get to go to his funeral!”

Mike feels the blood drain from his face, and his stomach turns. This guy’s already killed today. There’s no coming back from that. But Harvey, ever his Harvey self, doesn’t seem phased.

“Your brother,” he says, his voice taking on a gentler tone. “Devin, right?”

“Shut up!” Harrison’s voice is pitched up, and loud, the facade all but gone as he steps forward and holds the gun under Harvey’s nose. “Don’t you say his name! You don’t get to do that!”

Harvey’s remaining remarkably calm, staring at Harrison. All Mike can look at is the gun. He wants to move, but he can’t.

“Well, you obviously came in here with something in mind, Harrison,” Harvey says. The gentleness is gone. There’s poison in his words. His face is hard. Mike wants to tell him to shut up but he’s terrified that anything he does will set Harrison off.

“I’m getting tired of standing here,” Harvey continues, “and my shoulders are sore, so either do what you’re gonna do, or leave.”

Harrison stares. His hand is shaking. He stands quietly for a long moment, long enough for Mike to think that maybe things are going to turn out okay, before he snaps.

“You arrogant son of a bitch!” he shouts, bringing his gun down against the side of Harvey’s head. Harvey goes down, holding his temple as blood starts pouring from the cut.

“Harvey!” Mike cries, shaken from his fear-induced paralysis by the need to make sure his mentor--friend--is okay. He’s hardly taken a step before there’s a deafening crack, and suddenly he’s back against the wall, sliding to the ground. Donna is screaming and Harvey’s shouting his name and it isn’t until he feels the warmth of blood spreading over his thigh that he realizes what’s happened. The pain comes a second later, and he gasps, black spots swimming in his vision.

“Shit! Mike!” Harvey’s yelling, and Mike can’t see him because Harrison is standing in the way.

He answers the moment he catches his breath enough to speak. “I-I’m okay. H-Harvey? I’m okay,” he calls, hoping the pain doesn’t come out in his words.

“Don’t worry, Mike. I’m gonna get you out of this,” Harvey responds. There’s movement behind Harrison, and Mike sees Harvey get slowly to his feet. Harrison is breathing heavily.

“That’s your fault!” he shouts. “I didn’t want that!”

“What did you want?” Harvey asks. He’s holding his head with one hand (a bloody hand), and the edge of his desk with the other. For the first time on this hellish night, he looks scared. His perfectly sculpted hair has fallen partially, hanging down over his forehead, and there’s blood running down his face and neck and settling on the collar of his shirt. Mike has heard that head wounds tend to bleed a lot, but the amount of red is unsettling.

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Harrison is running his free hand through his hair. The other hand holds the gun. “I had a plan, I did, I did, but you--” He points the gun back at Mike. “--weren’t supposed to be here, and neither was she! You mixed me all up!” He stops talking at the sound of sirens, looking up.

Mike’s not a religious guy, never has been, but he finds himself praying that the sirens are stopping outside the building. They do, and Harrison and Harvey make eye contact.

“They’re coming up here,” Harvey says. “No matter what you do, they’ll be here in the next minute or two. This doesn’t have to end with anyone dying.” He straightens up from the desk and puts himself between the gun and Mike. “Joe--”

There’s another gunshot, and Mike can’t stop the scream that rips from him.

“No!”

xxx

Donna watches as Harvey crumples to the ground and wants to scream, but Mike is in hysterics, and she can’t afford to be. Harrison is standing over Harvey, pointing the gun at his head, and yelling incoherently. Donna has no idea what he’s saying, but he’s waving the gun around and there’s no way she’s going to let him kill Harvey.

No way in hell.

She takes her heels off and straightens up from where she’d taken refuge behind her desk, slowly, quietly. She picks up the vase from her desk. Mike eyes her through the window, still in tears, but he quickly looks away to avoid drawing Harrison’s attention.

Atta kid.

Her bare feet don’t make a sound as she takes a few quick strides into Harvey’s office.

Harrison doesn’t turn before she brings the vase down on his head. It shatters (which is definitely going on the company payroll), and the man falls bonelessly to the ground beside Harvey, the gun clattering to the floor. She quickly kicks it toward Mike.

“Mike,” she says, dragging the unconscious Harrison out of the way so she can get to Harvey easier. Mike is staring at the blood spreading across the carpet beneath Harvey. The kid’s face is white as a sheet and shiny with sweat, and his leg is bleeding all over, and he’s gasping and saying Harvey’s name, begging and swearing and saying please be okay over and over like a prayer. Donna had been about to tell him to pick up the gun and hold it on Harrison until the cavalry arrives, but she isn’t sure he could even hold a gun, much less aim or use it if the need arises. Plus he needs to put pressure on that leg and besides, she can hear them coming up the stairs.

“Mike!” she says again, louder, and Mike looks up at her, eyes wide.

“Huh?”

“You need to try and slow down the bleeding in your leg.” She drops Harrison’s arms. He doesn’t move or make a sound, and she wonders vaguely whether she killed him. Not that she cares.

She returns to Harvey’s side and she knows for sure.

She wouldn’t give a shit.

Harvey is splayed on the floor, his white shirt no longer so, and he’s gasping for air. Donna loosens his tie, then moves her hand up to smooth Harvey’s hair back from his forehead. His eyes are open, but they’re glassy and roaming.

“Harvey,” Donna says, only her voice cracks and it ends up being more of a whisper. She clears her throat, swallows.

“How is he?” Mike asks, and Donna flashes him a tight, fake smile (not her best one, but still maybe convincing?).

“He’ll be fine, Mike. How are you?” Her hands are over the wound now, and she hates the feeling of his blood on them. She wonders vaguely if it’ll ever wash off.

“I’ll be fine,” Mike responds.

They both look up as SWAT gets to the floor. The one in the lead looks around the room and lowers his gun partway.

“This the shooter?” he asks and Donna nods. He says something into his earpiece that Donna doesn’t catch, and two other SWAT guys come in and whisk Harrison away. While they do that, he gets down on his knees next to Donna, pulling a pair of rubber gloves out of his pocket and putting them on. “Sir, can you hear me?”

Harvey’s gaze slowly shifts to the man and he nods slightly.

“My name is Pat, I’m gonna help you while we wait on the paramedics to get here. Can you tell me your name?”

“H…Harvey. ‘s Mike okay?”

“My buddy Jimenez is helping Mike right now,” Pat says. “I’m just gonna get your shirt open, get a better look at that wound.”

“Where are the paramedics?” Donna says as Pat yanks open Harvey’s shirt.

“There was a big pile-up, things are a little backed up...they’ll get people here as soon as they can, ma’am.”

“That’s bullshit!” Donna cries, and she can feel the panic she’s been pushing down all night threatening to erupt.

“S’okay, Donna.”

She looks down in surprise. Harvey is smiling up at her. Well, grimacing, really. He’s trying to hide it, but she can see the pain--in his eyes, the way they crinkle at the corners, in the slight downturn of his eyebrows, the tiny ridges between them, in the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down.

“I’m-” Harvey continues. He swallows, blinking hard. “‘m alright.”

“Of course you are. I know that,” Donna says. She looks back at Pat, who’s rifling through a pouch at his hip. He pulls out a clear circle of plastic with a tab on one side. “What is that?”

“This is a chest seal. This is going to keep air from entering the chest cavity and collapsing his lungs.”

Donna has to blink back tears as Pat pulls the backing from the chest seal and presses it over the bullet wound. Suddenly Mike lets out a loud cry, and Donna turns sharply, heart hammering.

“Mike?” Harvey says, eyes widening as he slowly cranes his head, trying to look at him. “Mike?”

“Jimenez?” Pat calls over to the officer next to Mike.

“Had to apply a tourniquet to his leg, sir,” Jiminez says, and Pat grimaces a little.

“Those can hurt,” Pat says to Harvey, “but it’ll get the bleeding stopped.”

“I’m okay, Harvey.” Mike’s words are strained with pain, but Harvey relaxes a little at the sound of his voice.

“Are you okay, Donna?”

Donna looks up at Pat, a little startled at hearing her name. “I’m fine.”

Pat is eyeing her closely. “Are you sure? You’re looking a little pale.”

Donna’s not sure why that’s what does it, but suddenly there are tears streaming down her face. She takes a shaky breath. “I’m fine,” she repeats a little louder.

“If you need to take step away for a minute, take a breather--”

“I’m not leaving him,” she says firmly. Pat nods.

“I understand.”

“Sir?” someone says from the doorway. “The paramedics are here, they’re on their way up now.”

Donna looks down at Harvey and tries to smile. “You hear that, Harvey? Help is here. You’re gonna be okay.”

xxx

#whumptober2023 #no.21 #“don't move”#suits #fic #gun tw #shot #blood #mike ross #harvey specter #suits fic #whumptober #my writing #my fic #whump #whump fic

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catsandgoodbooks · 7 months

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No. 21: “See the chains around my feet.”

Vows | Restraints | “Don’t move.”

TW/CWs: Referenced mind control, murder plots

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Punz stepped forward and immediately the boy in front of them spun around, a sword slipping into his grip and coming to rest against Punz’s neck. “Don’t move,” he hissed. “Wait, Punz?”

Punz smiled. “Hello to you too, Purpled. It’s been a while.” It really had been, and things had changed. Purpled had always been a bit cautious, maybe even paranoid (which Punz supposed was their fault, really, as the one role model parent the kid had consistently through his life), but it had only gotten worse. His whole demeanor was more withdrawn, defensive, now.

“What are you doing here?” Purpled asked, cautiously pulling his sword away from them but still holding it tightly. Good. They weren’t planning on getting killed today. “How did you even find me?”

“I heard that Quackity blew up your base. Thought you might want some help getting revenge on me,” Punz told him smoothly, sidestepping his other question. It wasn’t technically a lie, even if it wasn’t the full truth. Nobody needed to know that.

“Why do you care? I’m pretty sure I didn’t hear anything about Quackity doing something to you, and, if you didn’t notice, we haven’t talked in months.”

Punz grimaced at the accusation. “And I’m sorry about that, but you weren’t exactly reaching out yourself or clammering for me to talk to me. I was also possessed for more than half of that, so,” Punz shrugged, “eh, a bit of a difficult time for both of us.”

Their smile twisted. “And that’s where Quackity came in, of course. Blew me up while trying to get at the Egg. Whole canon life gone in an instant, and it wasn’t even about me.” Punz scoffed. That was some common ground, at least. They were both mercenaries, and that meant they both knew what it was like to be targeted for something you were paid to do (to be treated like a weapon and nothing more, loyalties ensured with coin and that meant you didn’t have to worry about treated them well because they would obviously never desert you, because they weren’t people, and Punz was going to stop themself there).

Purpled relaxed a little bit at that despite their bitterness. “He would fucking do that.” He rolled his eyes. “And that’s it?”

Punz nodded. “Yep. But, well, if you don’t pay back your debts, anyone’s free to take advantage of you. We both know that,” they added.

“Of course.” Purpled narrowed his eyes. “We both know that.” He sighed. “So, you want to help me go kill Quackity.”

“Kill him and burn Las Nevadas down,” Punz clarified, voice clean and even.

“I’m not opposed that,” Purpled commented. “Would be fucking catharic.” He raised his gaze up towards Punz again. “And if I said ‘no, I don’t want your stupid help’?”

“Then I’d leave. Let you deal with it yourself,” Punz responded flippently.

“You wouldn’t tell anyone else about it?” Purpled asked. They could hear the tiny bit of desperation he was trying so hard to stamp out in his voice.

Punz smiled. “Of course not.” They wanted Quackity dead, by any means necessary. (He had to pay for what he had done, and if Dream wasn’t going to come take his pound of flesh, Punz would do it for him instead) No way they were going to foil a murder attempt by going and telling him about it.

“Okay. Fine.”

“Do we have a deal?” Punz asked, reaching one hand out, one eyebrow raised.

Purpled took their hand and shook. “We do.”

#whumptober2023 #no.21 #“don't move”#dsmp #fic #c!punz #c!purpled #mercenary duo #that's the duo name right?#my writing

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spritehouse · 7 months

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It Hurts to Hope for More

read on ao3 here

Prompts: "I'm not as stupid as you think I am" (no. 19), "You will regret touching them" (no. 20), & "Don't move" (no. 21) | @whumptober-archive

⚠️Content Warnings: drug and alcohol addiction + cravings and references/discussion of using both (but no scenes of either) and domestic abuse/violence, including (non-graphic) strangulation Please read responsibly!

Pairing: Luke Alvez/Spencer Reid (main) & Luke Alvez/OFC

Summary: The second time they see each other is the same, just like their first—their real first– “Hey– I– My name’s Spencer, and I’m–” “Hi.” The younger brunette approaches first, finding Luke pouring himself a cup of room-temperature coffee at the refreshment table. “Hey. Spencer, right?” Luke asks as if he hasn’t spent almost every second since the park thinking of him, smiling when he nods. “Want a cup?” Spencer shakes his head, scrunching his nose. “That stuff is gross, and I have a germ thing.” “Yeah, it’s shit,” Luke agrees, sipping his coffee with a grimace, pausing for a beat before making eye contact with Spencer. “Wanna go somewhere better?”

- or, spencer and luke meet around s3 at an AA meeting and get close before luke disappears one day... and reappears 10 years later

The first time they meet, Roxy almost knocks the young, twenty-something Doctor Reid off his feet, Luke chasing her and apologizing profusely–

No.

The first time they meet, strangers locking eyes across the room, Spencer is standing on the stage, stumbling over his words and stuttering through sentences, fumbling with his fingers–

“Hello– Hi, my name is Spencer and I– I’m–”

Freshly sober and craving, desperate, wondering why he’s here instead of in his apartment getting high, floating and forgetting, wishing he was weaker–

“I don’t know what I am.”

And Luke is in the audience, watching a man too young to be an agent, to experience what he has, sipping his shitty coffee silently, nodding because he knows.

But the anonymity of the meetings protects them, letting them keep a safe distance—at an arm’s length, not close enough to let someone with the same self-destructive tendencies touch—the first time they meet is at the park, Roxy almost sweeping Spencer off his feet, then Luke finishing the job with a face the genius can’t forget.

“Sorry, she isn’t usually like this,” Luke apologizes, clipping Roxy’s leash to her collar as she sniffs curiously at the stranger—Spencer, a name he can’t forget, not because of an eidetic memory, but his brilliance and beauty—the younger brunette’s shoulders tensing as she wags her tail. “She’s not aggressive, just too energetic.”

“Dogs don’t usually like me.” He explains, eyeing Roxy apprehensively as she sits beside her owner, whining softly when he pauses. “Can I– Can I pet her? I don't want to upset her–”

“Yeah, of course! She’ll love anyone who feeds her if you want to give her a treat.” Luke offers, Roxy perking up at the mention of food as the younger man shuffles forward, holding his hand out hesitantly.

“Oh, okay,” Spencer nods, taking a treat from Luke and offering it to the dog, watching rigidly while she eats it. “What’s her name?”

“Roxy,” She looks up at Luke as he tosses her another treat, dropping her leash to let her catch it. “And I’m Luke.”

“Spencer,” He smiles, anxiety melting away as he scratches Roxy behind the ear. “Nice to meet you.”

The second time they see each other is the same, just like their first—their real first–

“Hey– I– My name’s Spencer, and I’m–”

“Hi.” The younger brunette approaches first, finding Luke pouring himself a cup of room-temperature coffee at the refreshment table.

“Hey. Spencer, right?” Luke asks as if he hasn’t spent almost every second since the park thinking of him, smiling when he nods. “Want a cup?”

Spencer shakes his head, scrunching his nose.

“That stuff is gross, and I have a germ thing.”

“Yeah, it’s shit,” Luke agrees, sipping his coffee with a grimace, pausing for a beat before making eye contact with Spencer. “Wanna go somewhere better?”

Which is how they end up at an empty 24/7 diner, sharing a slice of pie and drinking too much coffee—one with at least five packets of sugar added to every mug and the other unsweetened—as the sun sets.

“Does it ever get easier?” Spencer asks in a lull between their light conversation. “You know… standing up there, saying it? All that?”

“I don’t know about easier, but you get used to it,” Luke answers honestly, watching his company rub his knuckles together with a hum, studying the people passing on the street.

“How’s Roxy?”

“She’s good; we went on a run this morning, which she loves. It’s been a while since I had time to take her out for a few hours.” Spencer nods, finishing his cup of coffee. “Do you have any pets?”

“I can barely take care of myself.” Spencer scoffs, pouring another cup before grabbing a handful of sugar packets.

“It can help, having something else to take care of; you have to get up for them—forces you to have a routine—and they’ll keep you company,” Luke offers. “I got Roxy after I came back from Iraq.”

“You served?”

“75th Rangers,” He nods. “One of my specialties was animal training, which helped, and she helps with panic attacks.” Luke pauses before adding, “And cats are pretty low maintenance since dogs don’t like you.”

“They poop in a box.”

“And they’re some of the cleanest pets,” The older brunette chuckles. “They’re independent and can be largely left alone for a while.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start.” Spencer shakes his head.

“I’m not gonna push, but I can help if you’re not opposed–”

Spencer’s phone cuts him off, rings cutting through the timeless bubble around their booth, making the younger man frown.

“Sorry, I have to–”

“Go,” Luke waves him off. “I’ve got it. Go catch a killer.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“Next time, then.” Spencer stands, grabbing his coat, then pauses, smiling with a sudden rush of courage coursing through him, heart skipping a beat.

“It’s a date.”

It’s been a week.

“Hey! Boy Wonder! What brings you to my cave of wonders?”

Spencer prides himself in his intellect; that’s no secret.

“Garcia, I need your powers for something… personal…”

An IQ of 187, three PhDs, two BAs, and an eidetic memory–

“I need to get someone’s number.”

–means nothing, he’s learned, when he meets someone who makes him stumble over his words, racing thoughts stuck in his throat, butterflies building in his stomach like a high schooler, forgetting to ask for their number.

“His name is–”

He told himself he wouldn’t ask Penelope—that would be invasive and creepy—that he would ask next time they talked, but it’s been ten days since the team returned to Quantico, and he hasn’t seen the man who has him overthinking more than usual, somehow, revisiting and revising every conversation, they’ve had–

“Hey, you’ve reached Luke Alvez–”

–but, genius or not, he’s also desperate and helplessly head-over-heels for him.

“Hello– Hi, Luke. Hey, it’s Spencer–”

Derek is never going to let him live this down.

It’s another three days until they see each other again, Spencer sitting in the same booth at the diner, tapping his fingers against the table as he waits.

“Hey, sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Luke–” He stands, stopping when they make eye contact, updating every inch of Luke’s face in his memory.

He looks like shit, eye bags dark and heavy around exhausted eyes, shoulders slumped and self-conscious–

“What happened?” Spencer reaches out instinctively, fingers brushing across a dark bruise on his friend’s cheek, pulling his hand away from the black and blue skin when he flinches.

“Sorry, I– I don’t like people touching my face,” Luke says quickly, shaking his head as he sits on his side of the booth before the young brunette can process or profile his reaction. “I had to break up an argument between some friends at the bar; perks of being the sober one.”

“Right… yeah,” Spencer nods, sliding into his seat again. “Look, I’m sorry if I scared you off–”

“It’s not that, I promise,” Luke cuts him off. “I haven’t been honest, and I think I gave you the wrong idea. I’m sorry.” He pauses, taking a deep breath and leaning forward. “I have a girlfriend. We were taking a break when we met—I messed up, and she was mad at me—but she reached out and accepted my apology while you were away, and I’ve spent this week trying to make it up to her. I’m sorry. I know it’s not an excuse to lead you on like that–”

“It’s okay,” Spencer says quickly, slipping into his mask of professionalism as the older man speaks. “You weren’t leading me on, and I’m sorry for assuming. I’m glad everything worked out.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to–”

“Luke,” The younger brunette reaches out, hesitating, hand hovering over his, biting his bottom lip for a second before pulling away, making eye contact with him. “I like spending time with you and talking to you, and it’s nice to have someone who understands my shit. I want to be your friend if you want that; that’s all.”

“Okay,” Luke nods, his grin making Spencer’s heart flutter, smiling to match his mood. “I– Thank you, Spence–” His stomach sinks as the nickname slips past Luke’s lips. “You’re the best.”

The next time they crash together, like waves colliding against the shore, complicating the steady relationship– friendship they’ve built, it’s after midnight months later, Luke’s phone ringing, making his girlfriend groan, covering her head with her pillow.

“Alvez–”

“Luke?” Spencer’s voice is small, cracking as he speaks, making Luke shoot up, holding his phone between his ear and shoulder as he gets out of bed.

“Spencer? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“No– No, I fucked up. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called–”

“No, no, it’s okay, Spence. It’s okay. Just stay on the line. Okay? Keep talking to me. Can you do that?” He stumbles through the dark, grabbing a pair of shoes and a sweatshirt as he listens to Spencer’s quiet sobs, covering his mic to mumble an apology, ignoring Kate’s pointed glares, before leaving the room.

“–Sorry. I’m sorry–”

“It’s okay, Spence. You don’t have to apologize–”

“–it’s stupid. I’m sorry–”

“It’s not stupid, Spence, you’re hurting, and I’m sorry you’re going through this; it sucks, but I’m glad you called.”

“Really?”

“Of course, Spence. We’re friends, and I want to help you. Can you tell me where you are?”

There’s a pause, anxiety building in Luke’s stomach, threatening to overflow into his throat as he starts his car before his phone vibrates, his friend’s location appearing on his map.

“Okay, Spence, I’m on my way. Keep talking to me; tell me about the origins of Halloween or something—just let me hear that beautiful voice. I’m coming.”

He finds Spencer near the park where they met, the younger brunette curled up on the curb, clutching his phone with trembling hands like a lifeline.

“Spence–”

He stands, almost running to Luke, shoving a plastic bag into his hands before stumbling back, shaking as he stares at his friend, studying his reaction.

“Thank you,” Luke speaks softly, breaking the suffocating self-hatred hanging around Spencer, tucking the baggy into his pocket. “Thank you for calling me.”

“I don’t want to be here,” Spencer whispers, eyes glued to the ground, shuffling forward until he’s leaning into Luke’s arms, burying his face in his friend’s sweatshirt. “I want it to stop.”

“I know. I know, Spence. I’m sorry,” Luke sighs, holding him against his chest. “Why don’t we go back to your place–”

Spencer shakes his head.

“I don’t wanna go home… please…”

“Okay,” The older man nods, gently leading Spencer to his car. “Okay, we’ll go to mine—I’ll talk to Kate—it’ll be okay, Spence. It’s okay.”

The drive is quiet, Spencer leaning against the door, watching the world go by, Luke glancing at him at red lights and stop signs, heart racing, roaring in his ears. Spencer’s been to his apartment once while Kate was away, but they’ve never met; she doesn’t even know he exists.

“Is this okay?” The younger man asks when they arrive, watching his friend lean back, taking a deep breath, attempting to steady himself.

“Yeah– Yes. It’s fine. Kate has an early meeting tomorrow morning, so she might not be thrilled about this–” That’s probably the biggest understatement of the century, but Spencer’s guard is down, letting the lie slip past with ease. “–but she’ll understand.”

She won’t do anything stupid with someone over, Luke hopes, holding his breath as he gets out of the car.

“Sorry, I’ll try to be quiet.” Spencer frowns, following his friend, leaning against Luke as he drapes an arm around the younger brunette’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, Spence, really; she’ll understand.”

Spencer hums, following him to the door like a lost puppy—shaking mostly subsided as they enter the apartment.

“Kate?”

All of the lights in the kitchen are on, illuminating a woman with pale skin and blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail waiting for them, watching her boyfriend and a stranger walk in, Luke locking the door behind them.

“Hey–”

She stops him before he can hug her, holding up a hand, an open beer bottle in her grasp.

“It’s one in the morning, Luke,” She turns, looking around Luke, making eye contact with Spencer. “And who’re you?”

“I’m–”

“Kate, this is Spencer, my friend—we met at the park. Spencer, this is Kate, my girlfriend.”

Clear-headed or not, Spencer can profile the blonde easily—how she holds herself with an air of superiority, head held high, shoulders stiff—and Luke’s posture changing in response, leaning forward, shrinking in on himself.

He’s seen this dynamic before.

“Nice to meet you. Sorry for calling so late–”

“You’re okay, Spence–” Kate raises an eyebrow as the nickname slips past Luke’s lips, mouth pressed into a firm line. “Why don’t you wait in the living room? I’ll grab some blankets for you on my way back.”

“Are you sure–?”

“Spencer.” They make eye contact, wide eyes silently pleading with Spencer to leave the room, his heart pounding, every instinct telling him something is wrong, alarms going off in his head.

“Okay,” He relents, seeing the desperation in his friend’s face. “I’ll be in the living room… thanks…”

“Where’d you two meet?” Kate asks, crossing her arms, when Spencer leaves.

“Kate–”

“Luke.”

“An AA meeting.” He finally surrenders with a sigh, watching his girlfriend scowl.

“You brought an addict into our apartment and didn’t think to ask me first?”

“I’m an addict–”

“You like alcohol; you aren’t a fucking junkie–”

“He’s my friend,” Luke spits through grit teeth. “And you can say whatever you want about me, but you will not say that shit about him.” He stands up straight, staring at Kate, challenging her.

Above all else, Luke is a protector, even if it means taking the fall for a friend.

“We’ll talk more later,” Kate responds, her voice low and dangerous, a threat. “I’m going back to bed. Don’t be loud.”

The second to last time they see each other, it’s at the same diner, talking over pie and coffee again as the sun sets, light laughter filling the air between them.

“I’ve missed this,” Spence says between strings of small talk, smiling, despite what’s about to happen—what he’s about to do—practiced words perched on his tongue, lingering on his lips, waiting to be breathed to life. “I’ve missed you.”

Luke’s been pulling away.

It’s hard to miss; how he stopped staying after meetings for shitty coffee and conversation, slowly at first, then disappearing from them, telling Spencer he found a different group that fit his schedule, then stopped answering his friend’s texts and calls, only reaching out to say he’s busy or cancel plans, and Spencer wants to deny it—he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, making it real—but Luke is slipping through his fingers, almost lost to the sea of faces that have left the genius.

“I’ve missed you too. I’m sorry I haven’t been available recently; life’s been pretty hectic.” Spencer nods, sipping his coffee before setting his mug down with a soft thud.

“How’s Kate?”

His silence is sharp—painful—like inhaling in the cold that brings frost-bitten faces and frozen fingers too fast, lungs aching and protesting something so human, the very thing keeping you alive.

“Spencer–”

“Luke,” Spencer reaches out—towards his friend’s hands resting on the table—stopping when Luke pulls away, looking out the window to his right. “I’m worried about you–”

“Don’t. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Luke–”

“She’s my girlfriend and my best friend, Spencer—we grew up together—she knows me–”

“I’m worried about your sobriety.”

The older man freezes, frowning, before taking a deep breath.

“Don’t.”

He might not be a profiler, but he knows how to get in someone’s head.

“I’m not some fucked up addict like you–”

The words still sting, even if Spencer understands he doesn’t mean it, that Luke is just afraid, saying whatever he can to get him to back off.

“I’m not going to drink myself to death,” His words are like venom on his lips, bitter as they bleed together into a twisted knot of deflected vulnerability. “And I might not be a genius, but I’m not as stupid as you think I am, Spencer. I know you want to be more than friends; I just didn’t think you’d go this far to try to get it.”

“Luke, please–”

“You don’t love me; you’re just scared of being alone,” Luke stands, grabbing his jacket before pushing the bill to Spencer. “You owe me one.”

“It’s a date.”

“Bye, Spencer; I’ll see you around.”

The last time they see each other, it goes like this:

It’s the night after Luke left Spencer in that diner, the younger brunette sitting on his couch, letting himself sink in his self-pity, replaying every memory of them when a knock echoes through his empty apartment.

“Luke–?”

“I’m sorry,” He freezes, taking sight of his friend, eyes bloodshot and unfocuses, flitting back and forth, cheeks red and tear-stained, and the bruises, black and blue blooming around his neck in a shape Spencer knows all too well, ones he’s seen enough of to imagine her hands around his throat, squeezing– “–sorry. I’m so sorry–”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Luke,” Spencer pulls himself out of his head, leading Luke inside, locking the door behind them. “It’s okay, Luke. I’m not mad; I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I’m sorry,” His voice is hoarse and rapidly fading, pain seeping through with every syllable as he repeats himself, chanting apologies like a mantra as if saying it enough will erase whatever happened in the last 24 hours. “I’m sorry–”

“It’s okay, Luke. Look at me,” Spencer can’t stop himself before he reaches out, cupping Luke’s face, almost choking on a sob when he flinches away almost violently–

“I don’t like people touching my face.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, Luke; I’m not going to hurt you–” He pauses, frowning when his friend doesn’t react, realizing he’s not conscious, not completely, drifting in a daze, apologies dying before they leave his lips. “Okay, let’s get you to the couch. I’m going to touch you now; is that okay?”

He doesn’t react as Spencer steps forward, gently threading their fingers together to lead Luke into the living room, grabbing a blanket to wrap around his shoulders before sitting him on the sofa.

“Luke,” The younger brunette kneels in front of him, holding his hands as he speaks. “Can you hear me?”

“You were right. I’m sorry,” Luke whispers, leaning forward into his friend’s arms, shaking. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay; I’m not upset,” Spencer assures him, settling beside him and letting him lean on his shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re safe; I’m not mad.”

“I’m so stupid. I’m sorry–”

“No. Luke, listen to me. None of this is your fault. Okay? You’re not stupid—you loved and trusted her—that’s not your fault. Do you hear me? It’s not your fault.”

Luke nods, letting his eyes flutter closed as he lays his head on Spencer’s shoulder.

“Sorry, I haven’t slept…”

“It’s okay; I’ve got you,” The younger man whispers, resting a gentle hand on his head. “Get some rest. I’ll be here the whole time.”

Spencer doesn’t remember when he fell asleep that night, drifting off with Luke in his arms, the time blurring and bleeding together, concern watering down usually vivid memories, his focus fixed on his friend, not the fine details.

But he remembers waking up alone.

He remembers waking up without Luke, a blanket draped over him with care, his friend’s phone waiting on the coffee table for him to find.

Spencer remembers, down to the second, when he realized he had let Luke slip out of his grasp, disappearing into a distant memory.

They meet again for the first time almost ten years later, two familiar figures changed with time, Spencer growing into suits and himself, standing a little taller than he did a decade ago, walking into the conference room and freezing when eyes—still tired but shining in a way they lacked when he was twenty-six—find his–

“Luke?”

He’s different too, more relaxed, sure of himself, his hair longer and a beard where stubble sat, but undeniably him—the man from memories faded with time but never forgotten.

“Spencer.”

Behind him, Hotch raises an eyebrow, watching the scene unfold silently.

“You– You’re here– Why are you here?”

“I’m helping with your escaped serial killer problem.” He holds up a folder, something silver catching Spencer’s eye.

“That’s new.” The younger brunette’s eyes follow his hand, staring at the silver band around Luke’s finger.

“Oh, yeah, um,” He hesitates, fidgeting with the ring. “It’s a… new development…”

Spencer frowns, studying him, eyes unconsciously falling to Luke’s neck, finding a new scar against his skin.

“Right… I bet she isn’t used to it yet.”

Hotch clears his throat as the older brunette’s hand covers the side of his neck, jaw clenched, breaking the unwavering eye contact that would’ve made Spencer’s skin crawl before, both agents turning to the unit chief.

“Reid, Agent Alvez was part of the team that took down our killer, Daniel Cullen, and will be assisting on this case. Will that be a problem for you?”

“No, sir,” Spencer shakes his head, voice and shoulders stiffening. “Sorry.”

“Luke,” Spencer catches the older agent walking to the elevator after the case. “Look, I’m sorry for what I said earlier; I was just… surprised. As long as you’re happy and safe, I’m happy for you.”

“I am, and I’m sorry for ghosting you like that—it was a pretty fucked up time–”

“She almost killed you.” Spencer wants to argue, holding his tongue as Luke speaks.

“And you didn’t deserve that, but things are better now. Kate’s sober and in therapy, and she’s doing better; it’s good.”

“Good– That’s great. I’m glad,” Spencer smiles, ignoring how his gut twists, alarm bells echoing through his head. “And I heard about the job; congratulations,” He pauses, biting his bottom lip and sliding his hands into his pockets, sighing. “Can we… be friends again?”

“Of course, man. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

They grow close again, spending days off at the park and nights at the younger agent’s apartment or the diner, catching up after ten years apart, sharing the good and the bad, the strip of silver around Luke’s finger reminding Spencer of that night, memories replaying in his head.

“It’s not a wedding band; we aren’t married,” Luke says one night, catching Spencer staring at it. “She doesn’t want to.”

“I thought you did.”

“I want a huge wedding with all of my family and friends there,” Luke told Spencer one night, talking about how they imagined their futures. “I’ve wanted it ever since I was a kid.”

“I want her to be happy,” He shrugs instead, “I don’t need it.”

Spencer sighs, pushing the empty pie plate to the end of the table before folding his hands calmly, keeping them in Luke’s sight.

“Luke,” He tried to leave it alone, afraid of driving his friend away again, leaving him alone if– when he’ll help again, but Spencer can’t ignore his instincts forever. “I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, but I’m still worried about you with her–”

“Spencer–”

“That’s all I’m going to say—I’m not telling you to leave her or that I think she’s going to hurt you—I just want you to know that I’ll be here, no questions asked, even if it doesn’t involve her, I’ve got your back.”

Luke nods, staying silent as he stares at his friend.

“Thanks, Spence,” He says after a second, smiling softly, making Spencer’s heart flutter the same way it did when they first met. “Thank you.”

It happens a year later, after Mexico and prison, Cat Adams and Scratch, after their jobs turn everything upside down.

“I’ve been craving a lot recently,” Luke says in the silence sitting between them, two forks poking at a slice of pie. “These past few months have…”

“Yeah,” Spencer agrees when his friend trails off, finishing his third cup of coffee that night. “But we’re both here and sober; that’s something.”

There’s a pregnant pause, hesitation hanging in the air of the quiet diner as Luke looks down at his drink.

“Kate isn’t.” He says softly, Spencer’s eyes widening at the admission.

“When– Why didn’t you–?”

“You were in prison, Spence. I didn’t want to worry you, and you couldn’t have done anything anyway; I’m sorry–”

“It’s okay. I’m not mad, I promise. I’m not mad.” Spencer assures him, rubbing his knuckles together and watching someone standing on the street outside. “Has she…?”

Luke nods, rubbing the side of his neck, fingers tracing the scar across the skin there.

“Okay,” Spencer sighs, leaning forward, placing his hands, palms up on the table between them—an offering. “How can I help?”

“I–” Luke swallows, looking around before placing his trembling hands in Spencer’s, letting him hold them gently. “I’m scared. I want to leave, but I’m so scared, Spence. I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Is she home right now?” Luke shakes his head. “Okay. We can go to your apartment and get some things, and you can stay with me for as long as you need. She won’t hurt you again, I promise.”

Spencer squeezes his hands, watching Luke’s shoulders shake, jaw clenched as he processes everything.

“Okay,” He breathes softly, nodding. “Okay, yeah– yes. Let’s do it.”

“What about Roxy? Does your apartment allow pets?” Luke asks, hands shaking as he grabs Roxy’s things, flinching when he drops her bowl while trying to pack it.

“It does, and if you ever need a break, I know Penelope would be more than happy to take care of her,” Spencer assures him, gently taking Luke’s bag from his tense, trembling grip before picking up the bowl. “We’ll figure everything out–”

“What if she shows up at your apartment?”

“Then I’ll take care of her. She won’t touch you,” Spencer says, tossing Roxy a treat as Luke stuffs a few of her toys into the bag. “And she can’t show up at work; I can tell security to arrest her if she does if you want.”

Luke doesn’t respond, shrugging as he disappears into the bedroom, the younger brunette listening to him dig through his drawers.

“Doctor Reid.”

The door shuts loudly behind her, Roxy growling as Spencer turns around.

“Kate,” He slides his hands into his pockets casually, feigning politeness, eyes fixed on her as he steps between the blonde and the bedroom door. “Nice to see you again.”

“Where’s Luke?” She clenches her jaw, stepping toward Spencer until he stops her with a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t move.” He speaks in her ear, his voice low and dangerous, dripping with disdain, daring her to fight him. “Here’s what’s going to happen; you are going to stay out here– or better yet, you are going to leave until we are gone, and you’re not going to follow us or try to contact him or any of his friends and family again, or I’ll make you regret ever touching him. I will have you arrested for any charges I can get to stick, and then I’ll stick you in the same jail as a serial killer who is obsessed with me and call in a few favors. Do you understand?”

She nods silently, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Good,” He forces her hand open, dropping a silver ring in her palm before pushing her, sending Kate stumbling back. “Get out of here.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Luke emerges from his room with a suitcase, patting Roxy on the head. “All of this is my shit; I’m sorry I dragged you into it–”

“I wanted to,” Spencer assures him, shaking his head. “I’m sorry if I went a bit overboard, but I’m not sorry for helping you with this. You’re my friend, and you deserve to be safe and happy–”

“I love you,” Luke cuts him off, his heart racing, blood roaring in his ears as he blurts out the words that have sat on his tongue for so long. “As a friend, yes—you’re my best friend, Spence—but almost more than that, and I know this is really, really shitty timing, and neither of us is in the right place to start anything, if there is anything to start, but I have to tell you before I move in with you, and if you don’t want to–”“I love you too,” Spencer says, surprisingly calm, despite the sirens screaming through his skin, thoughts shutting down as he speaks. “And I agree, we aren’t in any position to start anything, but I do, and we have six months to figure it– us out before we have to go back to work, and I don’t care if nothing happens between us, I just need you to know that I love you. I love you, Luke, and I have loved you for so long, and I want to wake up next to you and get a fucking cat with you. I love you.”

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supposedlyahuman · 6 months

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tw: Examples of reblog bait/people trying to guilt others into reblogging stuff. I am not actually saying the things below, they're just examples that I have seen.

I fucking hate when people say stuff like this. Especially when it's on a generally good post with valuable information. On the one hand I want to share that information because it could genuinely help someone; on the other, I don't want to spread this type of guilt-tripping and shaming and potentially trigger someone else like me. It's a lose-lose situation. No matter what I do, I am going to feel guilty. No matter what I do, I will feel like a terrible person. It sucks and I just wish people would stop doing this. I know it's shocking, but it is actually possible to make an important and useful post without guilting everyone that sees it into sharing.

#in general i just don't reblog anything that tries to guilt me into reblogging it #there have been so many times where i consider reblogging something and then see people saying the stuff above #and i automatically move along because i can't handle interacting with that sort of thing #moral ocd #serious #my thoughts

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selfhealingmoments · 1 year

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#Social media #true #keep going #keep moving forward #don't take it personally #don't take it too seriously #living in the present #living for myself #new life #new beginnings #new me #new day #new you #reminder #life lessons #life

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geezmarty · 26 days

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hi falin hiiii (titties out vr on twitter)

#dungeon meshi #falin touden #chimera falin #sorry for the coward move but I'd rather not get flagged #also I will be working on that 18+ farcille zine time willing...consider these concepts for that #f #dungeon meshi spoilers #just in case but I don't think anyone is unaware of her

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blinkpen · 2 months

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(i Will go back to everlasting haitus if that GFM slows down too much btw, seeing it to its goal ASAP is my primary focus right now)

#i don't want to move the goalposts but i don't want donations to slow to a crawl just bc they are Halfway there #they obviously do still need to get ALL the way there to get the whole family out + get medical care they need #and they need it -quickly- and i -know- we -can- but it requires people besides me!#please help me help them

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mandos-mind-trick · 8 months

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This also very much applies to fanfics. Some people need to take a step back and think before they make straight fools out of themselves.

#you're not cute for coming into the comments on someone's fic saying you don't like it #just hit the back button and move on #it's not that hard

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ddddd-pixels · 2 months

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For International Asexuality Day, I'm hitting you all with the Ace Beam. ☺️

(This took a lot more effort than I thought it would, lol...)

Edit: 800 notes?! In less than five hours?! Thank you all so much!!

Edit 2: 2000... The most I got on any post before was just over a hundred, lol. You are all so nice!

#pixel art #sprite art #fighting games #neo geo pocket #street fighter #ryu street fighter #hadouken #asexual #asexuality #international asexuality day #i dub this move: museiai hadouken #i know i've not discussed myself on this blog much #but i am asexual!#i'm not really “out” but more in the sense that i don't really need to be #my family's pretty cool about all that stuff lol #and yes i personally headcanon ryu as ace #just hits the vibes ig

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nagisreader · 7 months

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Whumptober 2023 - Day 21

#whumptober 2023 #no.21 #“don't move”#original content #oc #dungeons and dragons #fic #dehumanization

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ruporas · 25 days

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your love returns in tragedy (ID in alt)

#farcille #falin touden #marcille donato #dungeon meshi #dunmeshi #coming face to face with the consequences of acting out of love - marcille u will always be famous #dunmeshi is really a series that keeps on moving bc it's about so many different characters and centered on the journey #rather than like... introspectively on one singular individual so i dont think we see marcille dwell on it but we can see her fatigue #her shock and surprise in the recent ep “don't hurt her she's just confused” Gah. desperately trying to grasp everything thats going on and #not to lose hope. bc undoubtedly the remains she put together was falin's - that short moment of reprieve the party had was with falin #she was able to bring her back her magic did it!! but the violence the fatal swings was not falin at all.#just pondering about holding that guilt... it's such a huge responsibility to be in charge of life in the first place and yet it is #a burden she'll keep trudging with. defying the natural orders to keep the people she love alive... i Lauv her...#also shared sentiment with the rest of the fandom but God. Chimera Falin... she is Everything....#ruporas art

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flydotnet · 7 months

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A Legacy and a Half

WHUMPTOBER 2023, DAY 21: “See the chains around my feet.” Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.”

I have a running gag with myself and my CT fanfiction writing, and it's that I actually really like the Toho trio, but absolutely never write them. I think I wrote Hyuga tops thrice before (in TTNW, my 2023 Matsuyama bday fic and a KojiMaki fic from earlier this month), and he's the Toho dude I've written the most. It's kind of bonkers if you think about it.

So I took the opportunity to fix that and fnally write not only something about the Toho Trio, which to me is the siblings of ever of this manga, but also something centered around one of my fav characters!

It's not obvious unless you've talked to me about CT for a while, but Takeshi Sawada is one of my all-time favs from this manga. I've loved him and his relationship to Hyuga as soon as my first watchthrough of CT 2018 and it's not changed since. I find him to be heavily underrated by both the manga itself and the fandom, so I guess it's up to me to put some emphasis back onto why he's such a cool little guy!! He's just so friend-shaped, you know?

As for why this day in particular, I suppose it's the quote that inspired me the idea of "a burden taken to heart", which would've fit Takeshi so well I immediately came up with the fic. "Vows" was the right prompt for this, I think, while "don't move" gave me the whumpy aspect of it. A match made in heaven! Or Toho I guess.

...wow that was lame.

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A Legacy and a Half

Summary: As Toho's next captain, there's a lot Takeshi has to live up to, and so little time to actually get to that level.

Fandom: Captain Tsubasa

Word Count: 1K words

AO3 version available here.

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Every single day, in school or outside, during practice or after it, there is one thing that comes to Takeshi’s mind: as Toho’s future captain, he has so much to live up to.

It’s not that new to him, he supposes. Back when he was in Meiwa FC, he had to do the same thing when Hyuga graduated; and look where it got him. Nitta’s Nankatsu FC won against them in finals, without even being as technical as he was. All he needed was his determination, focus and speed, all the while Takeshi had to play catchup.

Things have changed, since then. Unlike Meiwa, Toho has won a national championship – there is a precedent he needs to uphold and it’s the highest one reachable. Unfortunately, aside from Takeshi himself, most people who got this title will be graduating by the time he takes the helm, and he’ll have to go back to square one with teambuilding and getting back into the groove of things – and what if it’s as bad as it was this year, when he was clearly lost without Hyuga? He won’t even be able to look up to Wakashimazu this time, and it scares him more than just a bit –

“Takeshi, watch out!!” Sorimachi’s voice snaps him back to the pitch.

He barely avoids Hyuga’s tackle by jumping on top of it. The ball stays between his feet, thankfully, but he messes up his landing: his ankle twists at an angle that just doesn’t feel right, sharp pain following suit, and he falls to the ground before. He watches the ball roll away from him, quickly getting caught under Sorimachi’s spikes, while a surge of tears immediately rises in his eyes.

“Shit, Takeshi, are you okay?!” Hyuga screams as he kneels next to him.

He gulps his pain down, hopes the tears go with it, and nods.

“Hmm.”

“That looked painful,” Sorimachi comments as he picks up the ball. “Are you really okay?”

“I should be fine,” Takeshi answers as he gets up – or tries to, at least.

As soon as he puts weight on his ankle, pain jolts through it again, and he loses his balance. Before he can buckle straight to the floor, Hyuga catches him in his arms. The yelp that exits his mouth is a little humiliating, he must admit.

“Don’t move!” His captain immediately yells at him.

“That doesn’t look like fine to me,” Sorimachi adds. “Let me check it out, okay?”

His teammate kneels to the level of his ankle.

“That looks like a sprain to me,” he continues.

When he presses on it, it’s a gentle gesture – but Takeshi screams anyway.

“It’s definitely a sprain, if you ask me.”

In the distance, he can see Wakashimazu walk up to them as well. Oh no, he’s interrupting practice really badly…

“I agree,” Hyuga chimes in, his tone harsh and set in stone. “You don’t look like you can stand back up, Takeshi.”

It’s odd to see Hyuga actually take his little ankle pain into account, especially with such a hard-set frown. With how high his pain tolerance is and how highly he regards Coach Kira’s advice on letting anything stop you, let alone considering other people’s pain. Or maybe it only applies to your opponents? That’d have matched what happened with Misugi.

Oh, right, he needs to convince people that, like Hyuga, he can carry on as if nothing happened.

“I-it’s fine, I swear! I can just, I don’t know, take a painkiller and continue!” He stutters a bit, but it sounds genuine enough. (It is genuine, he just doesn’t quite believe he could pull what he’s talking about. He’s no Hyuga, after all).

Wakashimazu stops right in front of him, his expression just as hard-set.

“If you need to take something for the pain, then it’s already too late.”

“B-but, I…”

“No buts, Takeshi. If you sprained it, you sprained it.”

“It’s not such a big deal, right?”

Both of his friends communicate with a single exchange of gazes.

“It’s not like you to be this unreasonable,” Wakashimazu comments first.

“Yeah, he’s right. What’s gotten into you?”

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Takeshi realizes the only thing he’s got left is to actually open up about all of the doubt stew he’s been cooking for the past few weeks. It may make him feel better after he’s done, because frankly told, he’s been at a bit of a loss ever since he fully grasped how much it’d mean to succeed Hyuga and Wakashimazu as successful captains of the greatest middle school team in all of Japan (ex aequo, but that’s beside the point).

“Well, if I want to be a good captain for the team next, I need to be like Captain, right? I need to be strong and like I can get through anything! I’m sure Captain can pull through a sprain, right?”

When he expectantly looks at Hyuga, all he finds is… disgust? Is that it?

“What the fuck’s goin’ on through your head, Takeshi?”

“What?”

“That sounds fuckin’ bonkers! Yeah, I can pull through an injury, I guess, but even I know it’s stupid as shit to do!”

Oh. That’s definitely not what he was expecting to hear from him, that’s for sure…

“It’s a thing you do as a last resort, not as a necessary step! And, like, I know that’s unreasonable, I don’t like havin’ to do this, let alone see my guys do that.” He sighs. “Not to mention, if you want to follow a good example, I ain’t the one you should be lookin’ up to. You’ve got better right in front of ya, idiot.”

Wakashimazu chuckles.

“That’s a bit harsh to yourself, Captain,” he says, amused, before he goes back to being serious. “But he’s right, Takeshi. There are things you shouldn’t be copying from either of us. Pulling through an injury unless you really have to is part of those.”

“I-if you say so…”

“You really have that much doubt about your worth as captain, Takeshi?” Hyuga asks, so gently it doesn’t even sound like him.

“…yes.”

“Don’t. You’re the only one who can do this and I’m not takin’ no for an answer.”

“But, Captain… What if I’m not good enough.”

“Don’t worry this much about it, Takeshi,” Wakashimazu tells him in a calm, assured tone. “Focus on doing what you think is right.”

He nods along.

“But for now, let’s get that thing examined. That sounds like a better use.”

“…it does,” he finally smiles.

#whumptober 2023 #no.21 #vows #“don't move”#captain tsubasa #fic

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