started watching hawaii 5-0 (in the big 2025 i know) so i could understand danny and steve’s relationship and characters better (have been thinking about writing a seal!buck fic)
lol why is mcdanno worse than buddie like genuinely how did any of the og viewers survive this they’re unbearable. married couple fr, calling each other babe, the way they are so comfortable with each other, their nattering and bickering
like buddie is so iconic but i’m sorry, mcdanno is actually taking over my life why are they like that how did they never become canon there is no way they didn’t have even a little romantic projected writing. and i heard that even the actors were down for canon mcdanno and the show never went for it???
og h5-0 fans, you are all so impressive for surviving this unbearable (and unresolved) sexual tension
Steve had just arrived in Honolulu. He had been away no more than a couple of weeks but for Danny seemed longer. The Navy had called again; old friends needed big favours and Steve was the best of the best. He left to be part of a classified mission, another Strawberry Field Suicide Operation nobody could neither confirm nor deny. But now he was back.
Steve looked a bit tired. He had lost some weight and he was growing a beard (but not for much longer, thank you very much. These things sting a lot and Danny skin is very sensitive). Yes, Steve was back and he was okay. And it was his birthday!
Steve didn't arrive at the Marine air station. He arrived at Honolulu airport. Danny didn’t know why but Steve wanted to be home earlier and took a flight (three flights actually) straight from wherever he was to Hawaii. Of course Danny was there to pick him up.
Uncharacteristically for Danny he bought a lei. He had been living in Hawaii for a while now and some traditions had to be respected. Wearing flowers was fine. Grace had a lot to do with that. She was amazingly creative, loved pretty things and had learnt how to make beautiful leis at school. Danny had been the fortunate recipient of some of Grace's floral creations in numerous occasions. Steve too, and he proudly wore them, telling everybody his Grace was very talented and gifted. His Grace.
Steve was back, safe and handsome and Danny felt so relieved and happy that he brought his romantic side out. In public. He just wanted to welcome the birthday boy home and wish him a happy day. And give him a lei and a kiss. And love, lots of love.
Steve felt very tired after two exhausting weeks and three endless flights. But he felt so relieved to be back in Hawaii and happy to see his handsome Danno giving him a beautiful lei that he just smiled and let his goofy side out. In public. He hadn't thrown a Shaka in ages!
Aloha! Mahalo!
Aloha au iā ʻoe.
Happy Birthday Steve!
Sorry, I'm not a writer and this short story is bad, I know. I will stick to my pencils from now on.
I used different techniques: Charcoal pencil on paper + black pen + digital drawing & digital image editing
Genres: Fix-it for 2.22 or AU Ending for 2.22, episode related,
Warnings: none
Spoilers: Episode 2.22
Summary: Danny is still sore about Steve's letter and the wording. He knows SEALs operate in the dark, but Danny has hoped he has gained enough trust in Steve to be informed when his partner has to leave the country for an indefinite time. Danny feels responsible for keeping Steve's house in shape, clean, and well-maintained, so that Steve will return to a welcoming home, rather than one filled with dust clouds and dead plants in the garden. That is the innocent idea, but Danny finds himself in a spot where he has no idea how it could quickly escalate into a completely different situation. First, Danny only visits at night, using the darkness as cover to move stealthily through Steve's damn house. He convinces himself that he is just checking on things like leaking faucets, flickering lights, and the alarm system, especially since the house has been unattended for days. However, he tries to fool himself by executing the house-sitting job until he can no longer hide behind the pretense.
Right behind him but it can’t be. It has to be someone else. Or maybe it’s not a joke—maybe Danny’s finally cracked, crumbled under the pressure, the pretense. He’s making it up, he must be—wishful thinking. That’s all it is.
He grits his teeth until they squeak and smart. Kono isn’t by his side anymore; she must have dropped off when he wasn’t paying attention. He turns.
Steve stands behind him, in his dress uniform.
Steve crooks a fleeting smile. His eyes look heartbroken, but the rest of him is lively, spry. Clean-shaven and all sharp edges, he does not look their age. “It’s been a while, huh, buddy? I’m really sorry for your loss. Came to—well, I wanted to pay my respects.”
Oh, and here Danny thought he’d stopped by to get Danny’s stuffed pepper recipe, the one Steve used to say was the best thing he’d ever put in his mouth. His chest churns—anger starts its fine boil in his blood.
“Right,” he manages to bite out. “Well, thanks for coming.” After five years of polite holiday messages, he doesn’t say. After dozens of missed calls that only got returned at times they couldn’t be answered, or with texts offering flimsy excuses. After Steve carefully and determinedly extricated Danny out of his life—their life—of over a decade.
He doesn’t say any of that.
It's up!!!
21 chapters, hoping to post 1-2x/week.
Casting suggestions for the original characters (because my brain requires visual cues to make one):
Ben: this version of Randall Park,
Stella: Drea de Matteo (first so brilliantly cast by kho),
Danny’s mother Clara: Jamie Lee Curtis with her The Bear hairdo (just less inclined to raving rants – I’m sorry, I can’t stand Melanie Griffith in that role), and, last but not least,
You Are So Much More Than Your Father's Son [9,349 words]
Tags: Episode: s02e10 Ki'ilua (Deceiver), Missing Scene, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Caretaking, Aftermath of Torture, Bickering, Angst, Internalized Homophobia, Past Period-Typical Homophobia, John McGarrett A+ Parenting, Flashback, Gay Steve McGarrett, Verbal Fight, Communication, Reconciliation, Comfort, Soft, Love, Affection, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Idiots in Love, POV Multiple, Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending
Summary:
Danny takes Steve home after they come back from North Korea where Steve was abducted and tortured. He attempts to tend to him before frustration and exhaustion mount up into a verbal quarrel. Suddenly finding themselves at odds, they need to accept to communicate to find their way back to each other.
Relationship: Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
The darkness is soft when I wake, not the heavy kind that presses down but the gentle pre-dawn dimness that means morning's coming but hasn't arrived yet. There's movement in the room: fabric rustling, the quiet clink of a belt buckle, the familiar creak of Steve's closet door.
I blink, my eyes adjusting slowly, still caught in that hazy space between sleep and consciousness. Steve's silhouette moves through the room. He's already half-dressed. Cargo pants on, the dark fabric hugging his hips in a way that would normally make my brain short-circuit, but it's too early for that. His shirt's still off, dog tags catching the faint light as he reaches for something on the dresser. (…?) The metal glints as he moves, and I watch the play of muscles across his back, the way his shoulders roll as he pulls open a drawer.
The room smells like fresh coffee and clean laundry, that particular scent of pressed uniforms that reminds me he's going into commander mode. Not the Steve who kissed me breathless last night, but Commander McGarrett, head of Five-0, the man who walks into dangerous situations like he's got nothing to lose.
I should say something. Should let him know I'm awake. But I'm caught just watching him move through the pre-dawn routine, this intimate glimpse of him preparing for the day. There's something mesmerizing about it… the economy of movement, the quiet focus, the way he's already mentally shifting into work mode even as he's still in our bedroom.
He reaches for his tactical vest, and that's when the digital clock on the nightstand catches my eye: 5:17 AM in harsh green numbers.
Shit. Wait-
My brain finally catches up, sleep-fog clearing in a rush of panic.
Five-seventeen. We're supposed to be at headquarters. The case. The surveillance. Am I late? Did I oversleep? Are we supposed to be leaving together?
Panic flutters in my chest, and I start to sit up quickly, the sheets sliding down to my waist. Cool air hits my bare chest, and I remember I'm still naked from last night.(…) Heat creeps up my neck at the memory, but I push it aside because… fuck, if we're late, if I'm making him late…
"What time is it?" I already know, but the question gives me something to say besides don't go. "Are we leaving? I can get ready in-"
Steve notices the movement immediately, turning from the closet with his Five-0 polo in hand. Even in the dim light, I can see the soft expression that crosses his face when he realizes I'm awake.
"Easy, Danno." He sets down his polo, and moves to the bed. "It's early. Just past five. You're not late."
"But you're-" I gesture at him, at the tactical gear, at the time glowing accusingly on the nightstand. "You're dressed. It's five in the morning. I thought…"
"I'm leaving early. Go back to sleep." He sits on the edge of the bed near my hip, the mattress dipping under his weight. His hand finds my chest, palm flat over my heart where it's hammering too fast. "Just for a couple hours. Early meeting about the warehouse surveillance. Nothing you need to be there for yet."
"Yet," I repeat, my brain still trying to shake off the sleep. "What does that mean?"
"Means today's going to be long. Probably run into tonight." The pressure is firmer now, pinning me in place. "You should rest now while you can."
But I should be there from the start, I should be up and dressed and following him out the door like a real detective instead of lying here in his bed while he goes to work without me. I'm his partner, aren't I? His second? I should be beside him, not…
Yet the weight of his hand on my chest and the exhaustion still clinging to my bones makes protest difficult. His hand is so warm, so solid, and I can feel my heart beating faster and faster against his palm.
"I'll call you when it's time to head in. Probably around nine, nine-thirty. That gives you a few more hours." His thumb strokes once, twice, across my chest.
A few more hours in his bed, in his space, surrounded by the scent of him. The thought should probably feel more pathetic than it does.
"And you?" I counter, because I can't just let it go completely. "When did you sleep? Because I know for a fact you were awake after I passed out."
"I'm fine. I've run on less."
"That's not an answer." I try to hold his gaze, though it's hard to be confrontational when I'm naked and horizontal and he's dressed and looming over me with that fond exasperation in his eyes.
"It's the only answer you're getting right now, Danno." He leans down, and I think he's going to kiss me properly, but instead his lips press against my forehead. The tenderness of it makes my throat tight. "Stay here. Rest. And don't forget to eat, there's stuff in the fridge. Don't just grab coffee and call it breakfast."
The specific instructions settle something in my chest that I don't want to examine too closely.
"Tsk, yes, Dad," I mutter, aiming for sarcasm but landing somewhere closer to affection. The word slips out without thought, a verbal eye-roll, and I freeze for a second as I realize what I've said.
Steve's laugh is quiet, dangerous in the pre-dawn stillness. "Dad?" His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, and he tugs gently. My head tilts back automatically, exposing my throat, and I feel the vulnerability of the position even as my body relaxes into it. "That's not what you call me, Danny."
My breath catches. The shift in his tone and the tug on my hair sends heat pooling low in my belly despite the early hour, despite the fact that he's supposed to be leaving. "Steve-"
"That's better." He leans down, his lips brushing my ear, and his voice drops to that commanding tone. "You're going to stay in this bed. You're going to sleep. You're going to eat the breakfast I told you to eat. And when I text you, you're going to come to headquarters. Understood?"
The commands wash over me like warm water, and I feel my body respond before my brain can catch up. Muscles relaxing, resistance melting, that strange sense of relief that comes from having someone else make the decisions.
"Understood."
"Good boy." His lips press to my forehead in a kiss again. His hand tightens for just a second before releasing. "I'll call you when it's time to head in."
His hand stays on my neck for another moment, thumb stroking the sensitive spot behind my ear, and I can feel him watching me, making sure I understand. Making sure I'll obey. Then he releases me, and the loss of contact feels like cold air on wet skin.
I sink back against the pillows, my head still spinning slightly from the combination of sleep and submission, and watch him finish getting ready. He pulls the polo over his head, the fabric settling across his shoulders, pulls on his tactical vest, checks his phone, grabs his keys from the dresser.
When he heads for the door, he pauses, looking back at me one more time. "Stay," he says again, and it's not a request. "I mean it, Danno."
"I will." Even though part of me wants to argue, wants to prove I can handle being there from the start, I won't. Because he told me not to. Because obeying him has become easier than fighting.
Because I'm his good boy, and good boys do what they're told.
The door closes with a soft click, and I hear his footsteps through the house, boots on hardwood, the distinctive sound of his tactical boots that I'd recognize anywhere, the jingle of keys, the front door opening and shutting. The engine of his truck rumbles to life, then fades as he pulls out of the driveway.
The silence that follows is oppressive.
I lie there in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, listening to the house settle around me. The space where Steve was lying still holds his warmth, and I find myself rolling into it without thinking, burying my face in his pillow and gasping for breath.
More… More coffee, metal and that cedar cologne.
The scent of him surrounds me, and my body responds with a wave of relaxation so profound that I feel like I'm in paradise.
My phone sits on the nightstand, screen dark, and I reach for it automatically. No messages yet, but it's only been five minutes since he left. The screen shows 5:23 AM when I tap it, the brightness making me squint in the dim room. I set it down, pick it up again, check the time. 5:23 AM still. Time hasn't moved. I set it down again, this time face-up so I can see if the screen lights up with a message.
Get some sleep, he said. I'll call when it's time.
I should be able to do this. Should be able to spend a few hours alone without feeling this low-level anxiety humming through my veins. It's not like I've never been alone before. I lived alone for years before... before everything went to shit.
But now, in Steve's bed, wrapped in his sheets, the house feels too quiet. Too empty. Like something essential has been removed and the air pressure changed with it, leaving my ears ringing with the absence.
I force my eyes closed, practicing the breathing exercises. In for four, hold for four, out for four. The rhythm helps, slows my racing heart. The exhaustion from yesterday's full day starts to creep back in, my muscles relaxing into the mattress.
Just a few more minutes...
•
•
•
I'm in a car, not Steve's truck or the Camaro, something else. Something unfamiliar but not quite wrong. The dashboard is too clean, the seats too stiff. I'm in the passenger seat, hands folded in my lap, seatbelt tight across my chest. Not uncomfortable, but present. Noticed.
Someone's driving, but when I try to look over, their face is just a blur of features, a suggestion of a person rather than a person themselves. It might be Steve. The build is right, the set of the shoulders, but I can't quite focus enough to be sure.
The road ahead is familiar: Honolulu streets I know by heart, routes I've driven a hundred times. But they're wrong somehow. Too wide, or too narrow, or the buildings are in the wrong places. That restaurant should be on the left, not the right. That intersection shouldn't exist. The light is strange, too, neither day nor night but some liminal space between, everything washed in silver-blue like a photograph left too long in the sun.
We're moving fast. Not dangerously fast, but with purpose, like we're going somewhere important. I want to ask where, but my voice doesn't work. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
The driver beside me says something, but the words are distorted, underwater. I catch fragments: "...almost there..." "...just breathe..." "...trust me..."
I do trust them. That's the strange part. Even though I can't see their face, can't understand their words, my body knows this person is safe. My hands stay folded in my lap, my breathing stays even. I'm not afraid.
The road changes. We're suddenly on a bridge. A long one, stretching over water that's too dark, too deep. The ocean, maybe, but wrong. The water isn't moving the way it should. It's still, glass-smooth, reflecting the strange silver light until I can't tell where the bridge ends and the water begins.
The car slows. Stops. We're in the middle of the bridge now, suspended over this impossible dark mirror, and I realize I can hear my own heartbeat. It's too loud, drowning out everything else.
The driver turns to me, and for just a second, I see Steve's face, really see it. His eyes are that intense blue, fixed on mine, and his hand reaches over to rest on my chest, right over my heart.
"Don't move," he says, and his voice is crystal clear now, cutting through the dream-haze. "Don't breathe yet."
It's not a threat. It's an instruction, delivered in that same commanding tone he uses when he's trying to keep me safe. And my body responds without thought, going completely still, breath held, waiting for permission.
The water below us rises. Not slowly, all at once, like someone flipped a switch. It surges up around the car, dark and heavy. Steve's hand is still on my chest, anchoring me, and his voice cuts through the sound of water against metal.
"Not yet. Wait for me."
The water reaches the windows, and still I don't move. Don't breathe. My lungs are starting to burn, my chest tight, but Steve's hand is there, steady pressure, and I trust it more than I trust my own panic.
The seconds stretch. The burning gets worse. My vision starts to blur at the edges, dark spots dancing, but I don't move.
Just when I think I can't hold it any longer, his hand lifts, and his voice says: "Now. Breathe."
Summary: In the midst of his divorce from Rachel, Danny Williams runs into a kid on the run from everyone and everything, changing the course of both their lives.
Tags/warnings: playing with red string of fate theory, alternative universe, Danny adopts Buck by accident, Steve insists on shared custody, and Eddie would like everyone to know that he can be enough for Buck. Navyseal!Buck
January is for hangovers—holiday or otherwise. Danny’s personal storm cloud looms on the horizon, the threat of turmoil lingering and rumbling through his life, causing him to neglect more than a few things out of a sense of ennui. Rachel has given Danny a bit of a break due to being in a good mood—i.e., she got proposed to by her new man before they’d even settled their divorce, and there’s a new and improved engagement ring on her finger that Danny could never have afforded even if he’d worked all the overtime in the world.
Given she now has a deadline she’s working up against, Rachel decides to turn the screws and informs Danny that she’s getting rid of their dog, Lucy, as she’s moving in with Stan, and Stan’s apartment building doesn’t do dogs on the first Friday in January. Allegedly the reason as Danny really suspects the problem is that Stan is allergic, but he’d had no grounds to object as his building doesn’t allow dogs either, which is a different problem.
Their divorce hearing is scheduled for February 1st, but Rachel tells him to come pick up Lucy, or she’s going to animal control in the morning.
This is how Danny ends up at Joe’s with Lucy in tow, her leash, food and water bowls, dog bed, and food out in the backseat of his unmarked patrol car he’d had to borrow at the last minute. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do, but he’s not letting Lucy roam the streets of New Jersey in the depths of winter.
