#pls just the idea of him huddling in a corner so no one can hear him 🥺 as he speaks softly to you 🥺

[willowser]

i think katsuki just answers his phone by barking out, "bakugou." no hello, probably doesn't even look at the caller id LOL when he hears it's you, though, i think he breathes out the tension he didn't realize was coiled in his shoulders, and says a lil, "hey," 🥺🥺

and i think when he calls you, and you answer with your sweet, "helloooo ??" he is so soft 😌 just mumbles out a quiet, "what'chu doin'?" and listens as you tell him, before saying what he needed to 😌

[f1a1w1n]

Centre of it all (Cal Kestis x (f!) reader)

Part one

Summary: You, a jedi hides on the most remote plant in the galaxy. No one can find you, or so you think. Enemies to lovers, Friends to lovers etc.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: none

Authors note: I'm writing a new fic. if you have any ideas pls tell me, comment or tel me in the google form at the bottom. love ya pls enjoy

~

Rain. 

A stupid amount of rain. Not that it bothered you particularly or anything, its just your speeder was rusted at this point and left at home, and you were so used to the dry weather and walking everywhere that it had become a habit to walk to the market whenever you needed anything. 

It was a small town that you lived on the outskirts of, on a small planet, in a small system on the outer rim of the galaxy. The town you live in was mainly made of wet grey bricks -now covered in blooming green moss. You stand on the steps of a small grocer, a small shel of wet rock your only cover. The grocer - if you can even call it that, it's just old Syue with her imports and exports of the week, sometimes it's fresh produce and sometimes it's best to stick to the non-perishables. 

As you wait foolishly for the rain to stop you think back to two weeks ago - a strange disturbance in the force, something bright, energetic… terrifying. The small planet was your only refuge, growing tired of moving around - this small gem was your lifeline in a never ending cesspool of politics. That presence in the force was alluring to you, your mind constantly flicking back to it. What was it? 

“Fuck it.” You say. You bolt down the street, groceries clutched in hand. You turn the corner ducking under cover whenever you can. Eventually you reached your small house, on the very edge of town. Surrounded by foliage and dense grass your house stood defiantly against the rain, brave little thing. 

You kick off your shoes and dump the groceries on the counter. You squeeze out as much water from your hair as you can. You glance at the clock. 

“Ugh.” It was time for work. I mean as bad as jobs go, this wasn’t the worst. You can’t really find jobs as a jedi can you? No - you can’t, and working as a waitress isn’t horrible?

Your blanket and pillows still remain on the floor from when you had fallen out of bed this morning, a vivid dream burned into your eyes. A bright red energy in a field of dull grey reaching out to you. “No” you say in your dream. The red energy creeps forward. “Who are you?” No reply. Suddenly the energy takes a vague form, it's a man. You can barely hear him say something. “Pardon?” you say. 

“...who are you…” you barely catch the man say - then all of a sudden you flung from your dream and you wake up on your floor. 

Dreams like this have been clouding your mind for months now. You're barely getting any quality sleep.

~

Jido Kara’s Tavern

For the most part, this evening was the busiest shift you had seen in a long time. Practically the whole town was there. You speculate its cause of the most recent import of alcohol, courtesy of Old Syue.

Wring the rag between your hands as you sit down your boss sits next to you.

“Why don’t you call off early? Rica is coming in to cover your shift.”

“Okay, sure. I’ll just get a drink first.”

He gives you a pat on the back and waddles off to the back. A game of sport is playing on the tiny tv at one side of the bar - close to the door where everyone is huddled. Cries of yay’s and boo’s chorus through the bar as the town's favourite team play. Obviously, you choose the opposite end of the bar to sit. The bartender, Deonor, pours you a drink and winks.

“On the house.” 

You smile gratefully, unable to make small talk. He doesn’t chide you for it. What seems like an hour goes by when you occasionally look at the game and sipping at your drink. Deonor refills it. Then suddenly you see a head of red hair poke through the crowd which surrounds the small tv. He boo’s and cheers with the rest of the group. You wave Deonor over. 

“Do you know that guy?” You carefully point to him. 

Deonor thinks for a second. “Hm yeah, he’s new. He’s been coming in for the last two weeks getting drinks if I remember correctly.”

“Oh right.” You say as nonchalantly as possible.

“Why?”

“Oh, no reason, just curious.” You say lost in thought. Why does he feel familiar? You can’t help but stare at the back of his head. Maybe if you stare long enough you’ll know. 

“I think he was looking for someone.” Deonor says. But you barely hear him, too intent on this man’s familiarity. 

“Uh huh.” you say, taking another sip of your drink. You can barely make out his face, only his hair is visible over the small ground of sports enthusiasts. 

“I think he was looking for you.” Deonor says. 

You almost spit out your drink. “I’m sorry what?” just as you say this you lock eyes with the man. You can almost feel your face flush as his bright eyes scan your face. But just as quickly as he looked at you, you turned around and high-tail for the back exit. 

“Wait” the man says over the crowd. 

You ignore him speed walking back home. Why did he feel so familiar? Just to be sure you reach out with the force scanning the crowd and sure enough, a bright red presence at the centre of it all.

If you want to be tagged, or recommend anything, fill this out. 

[lale-txt]

I s2g this is the last idea I will send in pls do not feel obligated to write them all my darling

Can I please have a modern/coffee shop au where Rosi falls for his regular barista? He makes a mess and they always help him.. Or they make sure to not make his drinks hot enough to burn him when they get to know him... Sneak him pastries for free bc they have a crush... Thank you darling I love and adore you (gives u a pocket sized Rayleigh)

brave of you to request that from a person who had like a total amount of three cups of coffee in their entire life and hated every single one of them. ALSO YOU CAN HAVE ALL THE ROSI FLUFF YOU WANT FROM ME. thanks for the pocket sized Rayleigh ahh <3

🍰 coffee shop AU: Rosinante falling (literally) for his barista

word count: 585

"That's 500 berry."

His slender fingers. The blonde hair falling into his face. The painted lips. Everytime he popped into your coffee shop you noticed another little detail about him that made you fall for him even more.

At first you were just a little amused by his clumsiness. How he burnt his tongue on the hot cocoa (you quickly learned not to make his drinks too hot because it would happen several times) and how he set himself on fire when he was trying to light his cigarette outside. The amount of spilled drinks after he took three steps to his table. How he dropped all of his coins while rummaging through his portemonnaie, scattering them all over the floor and how you helped him picking them up; both of you on all fours, your heads so close, almost touching as you reached for the last silver coin... now that you think back, that might have been the moment where your heart skipped a beat for the first time.

When his beautiful brown eyes met yours, you forgot how to breathe for a second. You felt like you could get lost in them, in their depth, their warmth, if only you could stare into them long enough. They were like amber when the sun hit them directly, a whole universe itself, you wanted to drown in it. And oh, his lips...

Every morning when you opened your shop, you were looking forward to seeing him again, not a day would pass where he didn't drop by. Most of the time he was waving from the outside through the shop window already, a big smile on his painted lips, overly happy to see you. You were wondering if he could hear the sound of your pounding heart in your chest or if he noticed your blushing cheeks whenever you greeted him by his name; a name that sounded like a love song coming out of your mouth. Rosinante.

Sometimes he would come by late at night when you were already cleaning up, preparing everything for the next day. He would give you a helping hand with the chairs and tables, though often he would accidentally make a whole mess as he stumbled and crashed. You didn't mind though. It meant spending more time together, chatting about everything and sharing wholesome laughs. Sometimes you shared the leftover cakes from the day together, huddled next to each other in the corner of your shop window with the many pillows, your secret favorite spot of your café.

"You have strawberry cream all over your face.", you laugh and without thinking you reach over to wipe it away with your fingers until you freeze mid movement, realizing what you were just doing. You're flustered to the max.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..."

But before you can pull away your hand, he takes yours into his, pressing them gently against his cheek. He closes his eyes and hums softly. A smile hushes across his lips when he turns his head slightly to kiss the palm of your hand, so gentle it almost made you cry.

You don't pull away. Neither does he.

Sometimes the beginning of a love story is written in milk foam and cake crumbs, spilling over and over again with whispered confessions, a warm feeling in your belly and the certainty that he will always come home, back to you, no matter how far you're apart. It's a promise as sweet as strawberry cream.

[h0tchner]

go team hotchner!

pairing: dad!aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: aaron is coaching jack’s soccer game & reader is in the crowd! aaron & reader are happily married, but another woman’s mean comments and blatant flirting makes the reader jealous. fluffy shenanigans ensue!

word count: 2.5k

includes: FLUFF, jack hotchner is the sweetest, you & aaron are married, jealous!reader, kissing, family planning, & AARON IN A GREY T-SHIRT

rating: 18+ (for VERY brief mentions of sex and a little smidge of cursing)

a/n: i wrote this for @ssahotchswife​’s soft hotch saturday! this is my first published fic, so i hope y’all enjoy. PLS (!!!!!!!!!!!) interact if you liked this, rb, comment, like and/or send me a request if you have ideas for future fics! i love y’all! - rivka💞

“Atta boy, Jack!” Aaron yells from the side of the field, clapping his hands as his son scores another goal.

Beaming, you holler from the benches along with the crowd. You watch as your husband jogs up and down the sidelines with ease, keeping up with Jack’s soccer team. It’s a stunning Saturday morning and you are thrilled to spend every moment of it with the Hotchner boys. Your Hotchner boys.

When they asked Aaron to coach the team, how could he say no? After losing Hayley, he promised himself that he would do everything in his power to be there for Jack. When you first started dating, Aaron was hesitant to introduce you to his son. It wasn’t because he didn’t want you in Jack’s life, but rather he didn’t want to scare you away. You were a 26-year-old NCIS agent and he was a 40-something FBI agent. You knew he had a son, you knew he was a widow, and you knew he was older than you: but you didn’t care. You loved him. It took a little coaxing to get Aaron to open up to you about his fears, but once he did, you assured him then and there that you weren’t going anywhere. He introduced you to Jack the very same day. Four years later, you and Aaron are stronger than ever.

The ref blows the whistle, calling a break. Aaron motions for the kids to huddle in. He squats on the floor to get on their level, enthusiastically whispering, walking them through the next play. Your heart swells watching him talk to the group of children. Aaron Hotchner, always the hero, the role-model, the leader. Gentle yet powerful: he was intoxicating.

Your eyes dart over his crouched figure; the soft, heather grey of his t-shirt clings to his broad shoulders. You draw in a breath, a memory of last night flooding your senses, remembering how you held on to those shoulders for dear life as he pounded you into the bed. You feel your cheeks blush red, and you look up to the sky, shutting your eyes to collect yourself. Damn. Even just the thought of touching him gets your blood up.

You open your eyes, letting your gaze travel back to Aaron’s body, admiring how good his butt looks in those black Adidas track pants. You bite your lip a bit, feeling overwhelmed with joy, knowing that beautiful man, inside and out, was all yours. God, what you wanted to do to...

“Damn he is HOT. Way hotter than the old coach. I think his son is on the team?” A woman’s voice rings out from behind you.

“Yeah, I think so. Did you hear what happened to his first wife? So sad, lost her when his son was little. Apparently he’s shacked up with some 20-something-year-old now.” A second woman’s voice chimes in.

“No way. Him? Married to that? He needs a real woman, not some child. A man that experienced should be with someone his own age. I’m gonna talk to him after the game, see what his deal is.” The first woman replies, voice dripping with venom.

“I think you should!” Agrees the second.

“Oh, I will. I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.” Snickers the first.

They both laugh as you sit frozen in your seat, blinded by a wave of anger and sadness.

Some child? Someone his own age? Their hurtful words pierce right through your heart as you furiously blink back tears.

The ref blows the whistle, and the team scatters back onto the field. The ladies cheer behind you as the game starts back up. It takes all your strength not to break down under the crushing weight of their conversation. You take in some deep breaths, mulling over their comments. You weren’t “some child!” You were a grown-ass woman! You had a job! You were a federal agent! You loved Aaron and Jack: they were your whole world!

As you continue to give yourself a mental pep-talk, the hurt begins to dissipate as you realize how stupid those woman sounded. They didn’t even know you, or Aaron, or anything about your relationship. In that moment, you tell yourself that instead of wallowing in self-doubt, you would stand up to them and make it known that you were the only one for Aaron.

Just like that: you begin to feel a bit better. You focus all your attention on Aaron and Jack, letting the game fly by. You ignore the ladies gossiping behind you, and, by the time the kids are lining up to give the other team high-fives, you had pulled yourself together and come up with a plan to put these ladies right back in their place. You just had to wait for the right time to make your move.

“Wish me luck!” squeals the first woman. You can feel her getting up from the bleachers behind you.

“Go get him, girl!” sasses the second.

You watch as the woman walks down the aisle, her straight blonde ponytail swishing as she goes. She’s wearing blue-jean shorts and a white lace top: an outfit you’ve seen before on a hundred women who looked just like her. In any other circumstance you’d applaud her efforts (girls supporting girls, right?) but this was your man she had her sights on. No way. Not a chance. She wasn’t going to lay a single pink manicured finger on him.

Aaron is talking to the ref and the other team’s coach when she taps him on the shoulder.

Oh HELL no. You think, frowning.

He turns around and gives her a small, polite smile. You can’t hear the exchange, but after a few moments, she sticks out her hand to shake his, laughing. Aaron curtly returns the shake and turns back to finish up his prior conversation; but, this time, the blonde woman puts a hand on his arm again, lightly pulling him away. Your blood begins to boil. She gestures to the pack of kids, now getting drinks and snacks from the fold-up table next to the bleachers. Aaron nods, pointing over to where Jack is standing, sipping on some lemonade. She puts her hand on his arm again and tilts her head.

You decide it has been long enough. It’s go time.

You walk down the bleachers, picking up the hem of your baby blue floral sundress so you wouldn’t step on it as you descended.

The woman is still all over Aaron, clearly flirting. Aaron’s arms are crossed over his chest, lips in a terse smile. It didn’t take a profiler to know that his behaviour screamed “get me out of here.”

You fluff your hair a bit, letting it fall loosely around your face. With confidence, your feet hit the soft grass and you head towards your husband.

“Aaron!” you call out, waving and smiling as you near him, shooting daggers at the blonde woman by his side.

The moment he sees you approaching, you watch his entire demeanour change.

“Y/N!” he grins, excusing himself from the woman.

She whips around to face you with a vengeance as Aaron scoops you up, tanned arms firm around your middle. He spins you around as you laugh, surprised, looking down at him with pure elation.

He sets you down and, before you have a chance to say anything else, grabs your face in his hands, crashing his mouth into yours. You throw your arms around his neck and card your fingers in his hair, kissing him with the same fervour.

You can practically feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. It’s hot and dominating: something about winning a game makes Aaron primal and giddy. You certainly aren’t complaining.

He breaks the kiss and lets his hands fall to your waist, squeezing lightly.

“Congrats on the win, Coach Hotchner.” You smile as you brush a lock of sweaty black hair off his forehead.

“Couldn’t have done it without my favourite cheerleader, Mrs. Hotchner.” He winks, pressing a light kiss to your forehead.

“Oh yeah?” You prod, cocking your head, looking into his gorgeous hazel eyes. “Who would that be?”

“Hm.” He pauses, looking up pensively.

He wraps his arms even tighter around your middle and dips his head down, whispering one word in your ear: “You.”

You laugh, swaying with him for a moment, capturing his lips in another kiss. As you pull apart, out of the corner of your eye you watch as the blonde woman stands frozen to the same spot, mouth agape. You smirk, feeling satisfied and self-assured knowing your little scheme was a success.

Then, like a rocket, you see Jack running towards you with a mile-wide grin on his flushed face.

“Y/N! Did you see? Did you see me make two goals?” Jack exclaims.

“Yeah buddy, I saw the whole thing!” You capture him in a bear hug, kissing the top of his head. You ruffle his hair and kneel down, looking into his soft brown eyes.

“I’m so proud of you. Did you have fun?”

“Yeah! I love soccer!” Jack nods.

“You did a great job Jack.” Aaron says, helping you stand. He wraps an arm around your waist and looks lovingly down at his son.

“You’re our soccer superstar.” You add, glancing between Jack and Aaron with unbridled joy. “Now go! Go back to your friends!” You laugh, shooing him away, back to the group of sweaty 8-year-olds and their snacks.

You stand there with Aaron, snaking your arm around his back to match his around yours. You both watch as Jack bounds off. A quick glance to the side shows that the blonde woman is long gone, probably stomping back up to her friend to whine and call you more names.

“Is she gone?” Aaron murmurs into your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head.

You stutter, “How... how did you?” You trail off in disbelief.

“Oh please,” he smirks, “I had to stop you from practically biting her head off when you walked over.”

“Aaron!” you yelp, mocking upset. “You should’ve let me at her.”

He chuckles, lips twitching into a smile as he quirks one eyebrow up. “I couldn’t have my wife fighting with the aunt of one of my players. It’d reflect poorly on me.”

“She called me a child. Said that you should be with someone your own age. I think that warrants a free pass.”

His joking manner stops abruptly at your declaration. “That’s ridiculous and you know it,” he furrows his brow, shaking his head lightly.

You reach up and run your fingers over his scrunched forehead, soothing the lines into something softer.

“I know,” you nod.

Aaron pulls you into his side, wordless. Fingers tracing lightly over your hip. You knew he was thinking the same thing: no matter what they said, you knew in your heart that you and Aaron were meant to be. Age be damned. He was yours and you were his: forever. Simple as that.

“Mmm,” you sigh, taking in the beauty of the moment. You smile at the clear sky, the fresh air, and the feeling of the man you loved, right by your side. You two watch Jack as he talks and laughs with the other kids. He looks so happy to be surrounded by them: a natural conversationalist. You can’t help but start to think about how he would be the best big brother in the whole world. It makes your breath hitch in your throat a bit.

“What is it?” Aaron gives your side a squeeze.

Of course he could sense when your thoughts began to wander. Aaron was a man of many talents.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” You look up at him with a reassuring glance, returning the squeeze.

“Y/N...” Aaron trails off, hazel-brown eyes searing into yours.

Damn your gaze, Hotchner.

You look away, letting your arm drop from his waist and move to step away a bit: he grabs for your hand instinctively, keeping you next to him. His big hands engulf your small ones, fingers entwined.

You know he is still staring at you, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him yet. Your eyes refocus on Jack.

“I was... I was thinking,” you begin. “I love you. I love you so much, no matter what anybody else says. And I love Jack like he’s my own.”

You breathed in, prepping yourself mentally for what you were about to say next.

“Jack is so good with other kids.” You continue, “He loves being social, being a teammate.”

You gather the strength to meet your husband’s famous glare.

“And watching you coach these kids? You’re so good with them, Aaron. You make every one of them feel special. You give 110% of your heart, and I am so lucky to be your co-coach in life.” You tell him in earnest.

“Aaron,” you carry on, emboldened, “I think it’s time we added a new member to the Hotchner team” you finish, searching every inch of Aaron’s face for recognition.

You watch as he takes in the information. After a few beats, it clicks.

“Y/N,” his expression softens, “Do you want to have a baby?”

You bite your lip and nod, eyes wide and hopeful.

Aaron nearly explodes with happiness; his eyes crinkle as he smiles down at you, unable to speak. And then, his warm body envelopes yours, solid but soft: unmistakably Aaron.

You let out a shaky laugh and bury your head in his neck, breathing in the smell of cologne and light sweat.

He pulls back a little, one hand tilting your chin up to look at him.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Does that mean yes?” you ask, in a small voice.

Aaron laughs again, letting out a sigh. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, letting his hand linger on your cheek. You lean into his touch.

“Yes,” he says, giddy. “Let’s have a baby.”

The sound of children laughing fills your ears as you grab the back of his head and pull Aaron into a soft kiss. The kiss is full of promise: a gentle pact, sealing the deal. You and Aaron were going to have a baby. Jack was going to have a little brother or sister.

You pull away, arms still around his neck.

“I love you, Aaron.” You breathe out.

“I love you, Y/N.” He whispers back.

Nobody on this planet could shake the bond you and Aaron had. Suburban soccer moms be damned.

[spencer-reids-adventures]

Hello, I don’t have a prompt or nothing cuz I’m not that mentally creative, but !!!! can i pls get autistic Reid with Morgan angst and like a frens to luvers fic blurb thingy? god im terrible at this I’m sorry 🙈

(you are certainly not terrible at this and i love this prompt!!)

Also this ended up longer than I expected so it's posted on AO3 also!

-

Spencer Reid is excellent at reading victims, witnesses, suspects, and unsubs - it's what he does for a living, after all - which makes it all the more frustrating that he can't read Derek Morgan. At least, not what he wants to read about Derek Morgan, which is whether he shares the same feelings as Spencer. The fluttery-tummy, the smiling every time he hears his voice, the pining.

At first he hopes the feelings will go away - that it's just a silly crush, and he'll move on. But after three years working together, the feelings are stronger than ever, and that's when he decides he needs to do something about it.

So when the team is going to a club one night after work to let off some steam, and Derek asks Spencer specifically if he'll come this time - even though Spencer never comes out with them - this time he gives in and says yes.

He changes at home beforehand, hoping if he makes himself look "normal" then maybe acting "normal" will come easier to him. He puts on his one pair of jeans and a soft fitted purple t-shirt he bought to wear on a date once, and he switches his contacts for his glasses, because his eyes are tired. In the interest of "normalcy," he leaves his satchel at home, carrying only his phone and wallet in his pockets.

"Pretty boy!" Derek calls when Spencer walks in the door. "You made it!"

Spencer tries to focus on Derek's voice, his smile, his apparent happiness at seeing Spencer, and ignore the loud music, flashing lights, and crowds of people that have him immediately on edge. He waves to the rest of the team, who are all dancing, and walks over to stand next to Derek at the bar.

"What are you drinking?" Derek asks, and Spencer tries to weigh whether alcohol will make this better or worse. He decides he'd rather be in control as much as possible.

"Shirley Temple," he says, and when Derek laughs, it's friendly, not mean.

They take their drinks to a table, and Spencer realizes he should have brought his bag, if only to have the strap to fidget with, or one of the soft pieces of flannel he keeps inside to rub against his skin. Instead, he taps his feet and pretends he can hear what Derek is saying over the noise, and when he invites Spencer to come dance, Spencer says he'll catch up in just a moment. The minute Derek is gone, Spencer bolts.

He heads to the bathroom first, locking himself in a stall and covering his ears, trying to block out the thumping bass that feels like it's pressing in on him from all sides. He has a headache from all the perfumes and colognes and drinks and sweat and he lifts up the bottom of his shirt and holds it over his nose, trying to breathe through it like a filter. The flashing lights are gone, but one of the bulbs in the bathroom is flickering, and every part of this is too much.

Spencer finally decides that if this is what it's going to take to get Derek's attention, he might as well give up on ever being with him, because he absolutely, positively cannot do this. He doesn't even realize how hard he's punching his arm until it turns dark red, like it's about to bruise, and it's the last straw because even the bad stims aren't helping, and he can feel himself starting to fracture, lose the single thread he still seems to be hanging by.

He sneaks out the back door of the club and runs all the way home, keeping his focus on the way his leg muscles feel, and the slap of his Converse on the sidewalk, and the wind in his hair, and it's not until he's back in his apartment, huddled in his closet, screaming into one pillow and punching a pile of others, that he even thinks to check his phone.

From: Morgan Hey Pretty Boy, where'd you take off to?

From: Morgan Kid, seriously, where are you?

From: Morgan No one else has seen you and I checked the bathroom. Tell me you're okay

From: Morgan Spencer, you're really freaking me out

Missed call from: Morgan (11)

"Fuck!" Spencer screams into the pillow, and it's the last straw.

He throws his phone across the room and starts to rock forward and backward, hard enough that his head slams against the wall, flapping his hands as hard as he can, losing himself in shame and frustration and rage and humiliation.

He doesn't hear the knock at the front door, and the doesn't hear the door open, and he doesn't hear anybody enter the room, and when his hand hits something warm and solid he just punches it, and when he rocks back and his head hits a pillow instead of the wall, he starts to scream, and then to cry, and when he finally tires himself out, he collapses on the wood floor and falls asleep, and still doesn't realize there's someone else there, someone who carefully picks him up and lays him on his bed, removing his shoes and laying a blanket over him.

Spencer doesn't sleep for long, and when he wakes, Derek is sitting in the armchair in the corner, reading one of his books.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Spencer asks, trying to piece together the last several hours and finding no memory of inviting Derek over.

"You scared me, kid," Derek says, putting the book down. "You disappeared without saying anything, you didn't answer your texts or my calls. I thought something had happened to you! I was about to call the police before I figured I should check your apartment first. By the way, don't leave your front door unlocked."

"I don't usually," Spencer mumbles.

"What happened?"

"I just had to get out of there," he tries to explain. "It was-- everything was too much, and I thought I could be normal for one night but I was wrong, and I'm sorry I ruined your night--"

"You didn't ruin my night," Derek says. "Is that why you never want to come out to the clubs with us? Because it's... too much?"

"I get sensory overload," Spencer says quietly. "And I left my bag at home."

"Your bag?"

"I carry things that help. So I don't flip out like this all the time, especially on cases."

Morgan nods and moves from the armchair to the foot of the bed, where Spencer is now sitting up, still wrapped in the blanket.

"And when you got home?" Derek asks carefully. "When I got here, you were, uh..."

"I can't-- I can't talk about this right now, Derek," Spencer says desperately. "Can you just, I don't know, Google autism when you get home?"

"Yeah, of course I can," Derek says, raising an eyebrow. "If I'd known, I would have done that a long time ago."

"You didn't know? Really?"

"No, I just... I don't know. Thought you were--"

"Weird?"

"Quirky," Derek says. "But now that I know, I'll learn about it. And you can always share things, if you feel like it. If you think they would be helpful for me to know."

"Why do you care so much?" Spencer blurts out. "You don't have, like, an obligation to take care of me, just because you know now. You can pretend this never happened."

"I care about you," Derek says, moving closer to sit next to Spencer on the bed. "I care about you a lot, Spencer."

"Y-you do?"

"More than I should, maybe," he says with a small laugh. "I've cared about you since the minute I first saw you."

"Care about me like... the way friends care about each other?" Spencer whispers, and when Derek shakes his head no, Spencer reaches for his hand.

"If I'd known clubs were so painful for you, I would have invited you somewhere else. I just wanted to spend time with you. I always want to spend time with you."

"Derek," Spencer says, squeezing his hand, and before he can lose his nerve, Spencer leans in and kisses him softly on the mouth.

He pulls back and blinks a few times, waiting for Derek to tell him he's got the wrong idea, that he should leave, that this was all a misunderstanding. Instead, Derek leans in and kisses him back, deeper.

"I thought I'd never get to do that," Spencer murmurs.

"Me too," Derek replies.

"Can we-- do you want to go on, like, a coffee date with me?" Spencer asks. "Maybe tomorrow?"

"I'd like that very much. That, uh, doesn't mean we have to stop kissing now, though, does it?"

"Absolutely not." Spencer smiles, pulling Derek closer and deciding that maybe "normal" is overrated.

[who-ever-said-i-was-nice]

OH MY GOD THOSE LEO SHORTS WERE PERFECTION!!!!!! 😍😍😍 a bouquet of potatoes loooooool I was HOWLING 😂😂😂 your Leonardo is so on point I literally cannot - this is exactly how I picture him! Thank you so much you beautiful human 😊❤ I'm so so sorry but I love your writing so much can I make another request? the suitors comforting an mc whose social anxiety flares up while they're out in town/having a panic attack? If you don't feel like it or aren't comfortable with it that's 100% alright 💖

I’m sooooooooo sorry for making you wait this long. i feel like I’m going o be apologizing for all eternity. I am really happy you like my work. ahahhhaha I try. XD Anyhoooo of course I will make this. I can honestly write about anything, if I’m writing ,even if the thought would bother me in real life, it seems so much more acceptable. idk is it just me. Maybe it’s because I get to control the events. Yeah so I will stop wasting your time and I will get into it. Also I would like to say that I have never had a panic attack. I’m writing this from the information I got from my friends who had experienced this. So if this is not accurate pls don’t come for me.

Warnings: Panic attacks pretty self-explanatory since it’s in the asks but I’ll put it here just in case

Comte

So you were walking with are friendly neighborhood gentleman

it was pretty ok since most of the road was pretty empty

but when you turned the corner you suddenly found yourself in the most crowded road there could possibly be

you kept brushing shoulders with random people and you felt like everything was closing onto you

you breathing sped up and yet no matter how much air you breathed in it felt like your lungs where hollow

you staggered and leaned into Comte

he noticed you where in distress and immediately pulled you aside

he sat on a bench and pulled you into his lap

he gently stroked your hair and whispered soothing words in your ear until you calmed down

The next ones are in the following location: a very, very crowded street, during a festival

Leonardo

You were just about half way into your outing when Leo noticed you where acting a bit strange

He quickly caught on when you started breathing rapidly tho

Internally he’s like oh shit oh shit but he’s actually super chill about it

Like Comte he will pull you aside and sit you down on a bench 

He however, places his two hands right next to you, blocking the view and caging you in between his arms

He smiles down at you softly and caresses your hair until your breathing becomes regular again 

Arthur

Ahahahahahahhahahhaha he’s dead

When he sees you he immediately knows

I mean he’s a doctor, come on

He pulls you aside as quickly as humanly or vampirely possible

He will twirl you into an empty alley and pull you into a tight hug, while peppering your face with kisses

He will whisper sweet nothings into your ear and will tell you that everything will be alright

He holds you like this for a long time and even after you’re ok he doesn’t want to let you go

Theo

Poor boy almost had a heart attack

He will immediately notice

He’s not sure exactly what’s going on but that does not stop him from pulling you away to a quiet part of the street and hugging you saying something like “It’s alright Y/N. I got you.”

He used you name OH MAH GAWD

No I’m kidding sort of

He will hold you close with your ear pressed up against his chest, allowing you to hear his heartbeat 

After you calm down he’ll kiss the top of your head chuckling “ My silly little Hondjie”

Vincent

Heart attack nr.2

He will immediately pull you aside and will ask you what’s wrong

And that would be cute and all

If you could actually answer

Poor boy has no idea what the heck is going on

In the end he will hug you and start to cry and beg you to stay with him

When you recover and realize that the love of your life, this sweet baby angel little boy is crying, you instantly feel guilty

You explain to him that it’s ok and this happens sometimes when there is a big crowd

This little bean thought you were dying

He will get it once you explain it to him tho

Dazai

He knew what’s going on

He scooped you up and took you to a quiet corner and squatted down in front of you patting your head gently and smiling reassuringly

He places your hand on his heart and whispers

“ Can you feel that Y/n? That heart beats for you. Let it sooth you in your time of need.”

Smooth motherfucker 

You calm down and you look at his still smiling face

Even though he smiles you can still see the worry in his eyes

He pulls you close

“Are you feeling better Toshiko-san?”

Mozart

This boi…... nope nope nope

He can’t handle this

As soon as he sees you hyperventilating he panics as well

On the inside

On the outside he seems super calm about it

He leads you away from the crowd and sits you down on a bench

He rests your head on his shoulder and starts humming a soft melody 

His angelic voice calms you down and you look up at him and give him a grateful smile

He returns it and takes your hand in his and you just sit there in a comfortable silence

Isaac

Unlike Mozart this baby would be losing it

He has no idea what’s happening

He quickly pulls you aside

He’s awkwardly patting your back and praying you’ll be ok

When you calm down he will pull you into a tight hug and tell you never to scare him like this again

Since then the two of you have never been seen on an overcrowded street

Not that Isaac minds

Jean

When he notices he scoops you up and hurries to a secluded area

He lets you lean against a wall but your knees buckle and you slide to the ground

He kneels before you and cups your cheek staring at you intently

You slowly start to calm down and Jean is hesitant at first, but then a pulls you into a hug letting your head rest right above his heart

When you calm down completely and try to get up since you have to keep going Jean refuses to let you go

You scared the ever loving daylights out of him

So you two end up sitting there and honestly it turned out to be much better this way

Napoleon

He immediately notices that something is off

He looks down at you, huddling into his side, and realizes what’s going on

He picks you up bridal style and runs for the nearest deserted area

Once he’s there he drops down to the ground and hugs you close, rocking you slightly

Slowly you start to calm down

You look up at the former emperor and you are surprised to see tears glistening in his eyes

He never wants to see you hurt and seeing you like this made him feel terrible and like the worst lover ever

He pulls you even closer

“ I swore to protect you nunuche, I’m sorry.”

You’re quite shocked 

You cradle is cheek and the give him a sweet kiss reassuring him that it is not his fault

Sebastian

Being from the 21st century he is sort of  familiar with the symptoms of a panic attack

So when he notices the change in your behaviour, he knows

He gently guides you to the side of the road and sits you down on a bench 

He sits next to you and holds your hands drawing soothing circles on them

when you calm down you look at him gratefully

and he

FLICKS YOUR FOREHEAD

But then he kisses you so I guess it wasn’t that bad after all

William

He is ready to stab whoever upset you

Then he realizes he would probably need to annihilate an entire street worth of people and ain’t nobody got time for that

He takes your hand and leads you to an empty bench far away from the crowded street

He strokes your hair and whispers sweet words in your ear

You calm down and he gives you a charming smile

You practically throw yourself at him and hug him tight while thanking him

That little gesture made him the happiest made on earth     

[dalgikiss]

there is only the space between me and you // o. miya

it’s not so much your fault you forget important things when you’re drunk

genre: romance, angst, 

a/n: this was inspired by a tiktok that i saw! i hope you guys enjoy bc i wrote this at 4am when i couldnt get it out of my head and never looked back at it once so pls dont call me out for the quality

The buzz of alcohol sings in your veins, the dopey smile on your face never leaving even as you let the door of the bar slam shut behind you. Your drunk friends laugh and scream over mundane things, while the sober ones record your antics with a smile and frantically take care of you. 

“You can make it home safe, right?” warm hands curl around your wrist, the other one lifting your chin, “how many fingers am i holding up?””

“Mmm, I’m not that drunk,” You wrinkle your nose and swat their hand away from your face, “and you’re not holding any fingers, you’re just holding me”

They laugh, the cheerful sound carried through the wind. You press your warm cheek against the palm of their hand, appreciating the cold on your skin. 

“I’ll get home safe,” you yawn, waving them away, “I’ll get going now”

They let you go, reminding you to text them when you get home before they’re off, running to catch your drunker friend that was racing down the sidewalk. 

“Ah, I have to…” Your eyebrows furrow, fingers fumbling in your pockets as you search for your phone, “I need to call him”

Your phone screen is too bright for your alcohol ridden brain to process the words properly but it doesn’t seem to matter, your fingers tapping away on the screen with the confidence that only someone with no inhibitions could have. 

The phone rings once, and then twice. You shiver, huddling deeper into the collar of your jacket. Why isn’t he picking up, he always said he’d-

“Hello?”

There he is

“Hi!” You giggle brightly into the phone, letting his voice soothe the muddled voices in your head, “I drank a lot with my friends today, sorry”

Osamu takes a look at the electronic clock on his bedside table, 3:33am

“It’s late,” he murmurs, voice low, “Hurry up and go home”

“I am!” You shift your weight from one foot from the other, ignoring the stares from other late night passersby. The sound of Osamu’s voice combined with the alcohol swimming in your vein pools into the bottom of your stomach, pleasant warmth replacing the cold you felt in your fingers. 

Something feels weird, the wide smile you sport on your lips slips for a moment, I’m forgetting something

You cross the street, pressing your phone closer to your ear as though it’d bring you physically closer to him. You shake your head, pushing the feeling further back.  “You’re up late,” Your words come out slurred, “Are you home?”

“Yeah,” Osamu hums, “I’m home”

“You didn’t drink today?”

“No.” He sits up from his bed, resting his head against the headboard and wonders who you went out to drink with. It was probably that guy with the green eyes, Eric? Eren? His lip curls with disgust at the idea, jealousy blooming in his veins and his fingers twitch. 

It doesn’t matter,  he reminds himself, exhaling slowly to calm his thundering heart, it doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t matter, she can do whatever she wants now, we’re-

“Ahh,” You laugh, the sweet sound ringing through his phone, pulling him away from the green haze surrounding him,“Then you’re the only one who’ll remember our conversations again!” 

Your smile twists, the corners of your lips dropping a little. Why does he sound like that? You pause in the middle of the sidewalk, letting people push past you with their shoulders. He sounds like… 

There’s sudden pressure on your chest, the buzz from the alcohol slowly releasing their grips on your thoughts. He sounds like he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore

Something twists in your heart. That can’t be right. 

“I miss you,” you can barely hear yourself as you take deep breaths to calm the thundering of your heart, “Can I see you?”

I’m forgetting something, something important.

Osamu looks at his bedside table, the electronic clock reading 3:40. She should be walking past the 7-11 at the end of the block now, he hums quietly, she’ll be home soon. 

“I’ll buy you your favorite snacks from the convenience store,” You laugh weakly, feet rooted to the ground. The 7-11 lights have never seemed so far away. 

What am I forgetting?

“Wait for me, I’ll take a taxi to see you” You hope he can’t hear the shakiness of your voice. Please let me see you

“[name],” 

Your heart drops at the tone of his voice. 

“We broke up,” 

Osamu’s words come like a slap in the face, the little warmth the leftover alcohol provided immediately disappeared, leaving you with the cold of the wind and the dark of the night sky.

“We broke up a week ago,” Osamu’s voice is quiet like the world around you, even as the ground spins underneath your feet, “So you don’t have to check in with me after drinking or walking home late anymore” 

(“I think we need to break up,”

“That’s not a very funny joke, ‘Samu”

“I’m serious”)

“[name]?” His voice is hesitant, “Are you still there? Are you home yet?”

“Yeah! I’m here,” Your voice rises in several octaves, desperate to keep your voice stead. Your throat tightens, hot tears threatening to spill out from your lashes. Osamu’s fingers grip his phone tighter when he hears your voice waver. 

“You’re totally right,’ you laugh, it all sounds fake in your ears, “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry for calling you, I was drunk and everything, it’s so late too, I’m really sorry for waking you up-”

You’re rambling

She’s rambling, Osamu sits up from his bed and glances at his jacket hung on the back of his chair. Was it too late to go out and look for you? 

“I’ll just go now. I’m really sorry for everything” You trail off awkwardly, “Sorry”

The phone call ends without another sound and Osamu wonders if you ever made it home. 

[hqxreader]

I-I taylor it just turned into a brain ramble pls accept my sachi x idol reader tots 😔🤲

Saichi going to a shoot for his bab on a day off n he was roped into bein an extra because come on look at him perfect face boi n then they make him do the kabedon or poses where theyre super close on the reader for the photoshoot then y/n is all flustered because its not an actor but her 11/10 boyfie doing it. (BOUNS POINTS HES IN A CRISPY SUIT OOO) Embarassed af and then Sachi is all happy like ‘this my puppy and only I can make her this embarassed hehe’ and the rest of the staff still teases her in the future about it like ‘come on put a ring on him, such a keeper owo’ and she keeps all the photos from the shoot into her phone like its a treasure we must keep and the fangirls start coming in like ‘who is this handsum handsum man? Is he also an idol owo’

Extra: His siblings see it and are kinda jelly like ‘were pro players but baby brother is more popular then us from 1 photoshoot? 👁👄👁’

P.s. Feel free to add anything u think of cause sachi thoughts are /chefs kiss/ immaculate 🥰

P.p.s. ILY STAY HYDRATED U AMAZING INCREDIBLE CUTIE PATOOTIE STRONG HUMAN BEING U CAN DO ANYTHING 😩💖

i’ll always accept them love 💕

this idea tho, i sat and thought about it for awhile cause damn.. Sachi in a suit?? who do i ask to draw that for all the sachi stans?

but anywho~ i did have to look up kabedon cause i didn’t know it was actually called that?? i knew it as the ‘goodbye personal space’ pose lol showing how intelligent i am

p.p.p.s ILY YOU STAY HYDRATED TOO OKAY?? YOU ARE AMAZING, GOT IT?? DON’T LET ANYONE TELL YA OTHERWISE!! OMG I LOVE THE CUTIE PATOOTIE  💕💕💕

okie dokie i hope you enjoy! 💕this got super long oh jeez

-

Series Masterlist

-

Warnings: Sachi gets a bit dirty sorry folks, embarrassed reader, horrible writing, and Sachi in a suit and tie cause that’s totally a warning 

Word Count: 1.1k (holy shit damn) 

You were more than happy to learn that your PR team had gotten you an ad photo shoot with a popular clothing line/company/whatever. They wanted to advertise some of their more professional clothes, suits and dresses, yada yada. With a quick kiss goodbye to Sachirou, you made your way over to the photo shoot location.  

Arriving there, everyone was rushing around more than what you would consider normal. You heard various people saying, “I can’t believe he got sick, what are we supposed to do today? Should we reschedule?”

Going to your PR team you asked what was going on, confused. They explained to you that the extra who was supposed to model with you got sick, and they were trying to find a replacement. “Well, um,” you started, “Sachirou’s off today, do you think he could work as a replacement?” 

Your team knew who Sachirou was at this point, especially after his surprise backstage for you. They eagerly agreed, saying that would be amazing.

Walking to a more quiet corner of the studio, you gave your boyfriend a call. “Hey Sachi?” “What’s up Puppy?” “How would you like to be a model for a day?” 

And with that, Sachirou made his way over to the studio, excited for the shoot. 

When you introduced him to the photographer and she was very happy with him, even mumbling, “maybe even better than our sick idiot.” 

And with that, they sent you both to the changing area to get all dolled up and such for the shoot. 

You were dressed in a dark red sleeveless dress that rested just above your knees with black heels. plus your hair and jewelry was all nice and fancy i’m not getting into that sry.  

Leaving the changing room, you saw Sachirou wearing a black crisp(y) suit, a white dress shirt with his tie matching the color of your dress. His hair was slicked back unlike his usual wild hair. You couldn’t help but let your jaw drop, when the hell had your boyfriend become even more handsome?? 

“Like what you see, y/n?” Sachirou walked over to you, smirk on his face. You felt your face warm up at his comment. “’Cause I’m loving what I see.” Cheesiest ass line ever

Before you could respond with a comeback, the photographer called both of you over to discuss what you’d be doing for the shoot. “So y/n, I’d like you to stand with your back against the wall, Hirugami, I’m going to have you put your arm next to her head and lean over her, like a kabe-don pose, okay?” 

You simply nodded and Sachirou gave her a thumbs up. Taking your hand, he walked you over to the set where the were two walls set up, one for you to lean on and the other for the background. 

You leaned against the one wall, getting situated before Sachirou placed one hand next to your head and the other slid into the pocket of his black dress pants. 

Your cheeks warmed up to what felt like a blazing temperature from the close proximity of your faces. Sachirou’s face was only what felt like an inch or two away from yours. 

You both maintained eye contact. His lips turned into a smirk, a mischievous glint in his eyes along with something else. “Is my puppy being a good girl? A good little model?” he murmured in a husky voice, and only you could hear his words. sorry ima go now

Your eyes widened at his comment and your mouth formed a small o-shape. “Y-yes, I’m being a g-good model.” You couldn’t help but stutter over your words, embarrassment seeping through your body. 

The camera went off various times, the photographer capturing the moment between you two. “’Cause I have the best little puppy, don’t I? She’s very smart and beautiful, knows how to follow directions, yeah?”

All you could do was nod, your legs buckling a bit underneath you. Sachirou moved his free arm on your thigh, keeping you stable.  “Does my puppy need some support?” Gasping at the sudden change of position, you couldn’t help but cover your face with your hands. More shuttering sounds were heard as the photographer continued to take photos.  

“No, no, no, puppy. Let me see your beautiful face, don’t hide it from me.” You slowly moved your hands to rest on his broad shoulders, one hand messing with his tie. “There we go, there’s my beautiful puppy.”

More shuttering.

“Okay guys, I think that’s pretty good! Nice job to both of you!”

Sachirou pushed off the wall, taking a step back. He grinned, the former horny teasing attitude gone. “Nice job, love! I’m sure the people will love it!” 

You continued to stare at him in shock, how in the world did he go from whispering dirty words in your ear to this energetic man? “Y..yeah the people will love it, Sachi,” you said slowly.  

“Alright well, I’m gonna change and head back home, see ya in a bit?” You simply nodded with a small smile and watched him walk back to the changing rooms. 

Still leaning against the wall, the photographer chuckled at you. “You’re keeping him right? I sure do hope so, you don’t find guys like him very often.” Your smile grew and you wholehearted agreed, “He’s a keeper, no doubt about it.”

“When you gonna put a ring on his finger? Huh, y/n!” 

You glared at your manager for a moment before giggling, “soon,” you whispered. Finally moving away from the wall, you walked off to the changing room while they uploaded the pictures to the computer. 

Giving one final kiss goodbye to Sachi as he left, you walked back out to the studio to see everyone huddled around the computer. “Did they come out good?” you asked, walking over to everyone to see what the big hubbub was about. 

“Oh y/n, they came out amazing.” 

Peering over to see the screen, you were astonished by how well they came out. They looked like a natural kabedon between two people, not something fake that would’ve happened with the sick actor. “Can you, uh, send those to me? Please?” 

Everyone smirked at you and the photographer agreed to send them as soon as she could. 

A few days later, you received them all, and you put your favorite one as your home screen background. 

A month later, the best photo came out for the ad and your fans couldn’t stop buzzing about it. 

“Who is that? He’s really cute!” “Isn’t that her boyfriend?” “Is he an idol too? That’d be crazy!”

You never heard the end of it from Sachirou.

Extra:

A few days after the ad was released and everyone started going bonkers over Sachirou, said man got a phone call from his siblings. 

“How?! How are you more popular than us!? We’re pro-volleyball plays that have been in sports magazines!”

“Well big bro, I guess I just got the good genes.”

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed horny sachi 💕

Taglist: @yams046 @sunarincakes @kkoalaworld @sachirou-senpai @osamusriceballz @edvigelacivetta @tris-does-stuff @ylxxia @kageyuji @isentsworld @aaakaaashii @disneyloving-muggle @ahkaahshi @sachrious @pretty-setters

[boykisserbuckley]

BUCK + TRAPPED UNDER RUBBLE PLS 💕

love that you’re the first to send a prompt :) this is 100% designed to hurt you specifically. have fun!!

(we’re playing fanfic bingo if anybody wants to join in)

Buck really needs to stop jinxing things. It happens every time; the moment he lets himself think that things are going to work out for him, for the team, it all goes to shit immediately. It’s like the universe is listening, waiting to show him just how much bad luck a person can have in their life. He’s getting pretty tired of it. But, endlessly optimistic as he always tries to be, he lets himself hope things will work out anyway. Yeah, maybe it’s a little bit out of spite. Suck it, universe.

Of course, that just makes the universe hit him harder, because it doesn’t like being insulted, apparently. He’s out on a call with the team this time. They’d had a minor earthquake, much smaller than the one they’d had when Eddie was still a rookie, but it was enough to cause some structural damage and put a couple of people in need of rescuing. No big deal, right? That’s Buck’s specialty.

The house they pull up to is a nice one. Three stories, old and elegant; it’s one of the few Victorian-style mansions still left in this area of the city—which was designated as a historic preservation zone in 1983, Buck announces, even if Chim laughs and teases that they didn’t ask—but it doesn’t look like it’ll be standing much longer. The roof has caved in over the wrap-around porch, making it a bit of a challenge to reach the door, and Buck can tell the upper levels are beginning to strain. Dispatch had informed them that there were two people on the second floor, where a doorway had collapsed and trapped them in their bedroom.

Buck and Eddie head in, picking their way over the wreckage of the porch. Buck eyes the ceiling warily when they make it past the door, noting one of the larger cracks that’s opened up in a corner. The house might be mostly in one piece, but it’s definitely not stable. They’ll have to be quick.

“Looks like the stairs are still viable,” Eddie says, testing his weight on the lowest few steps. They hold.

“Convenient,” Buck says. He follows Eddie up, and they find the issue, clear as day. Just like dispatch had said, the doorway of the bedroom had collapsed, and parts of the third floor had come down on top of it, making the whole front section of the room impassable. Unless, of course, you’re a firefighter with heavy equipment designed specifically for this purpose.

Buck gets himself set up to start shifting debris while Eddie calls out to the couple, trying to gauge how far they are from the wreckage, or if there are any injuries. Thankfully, it seems like they’d managed to get themselves out of the way; they’re unhurt, and huddled in the corner of the room that still has a ceiling.

They get the couple out in record time, and Buck feels lucky for the first time in a while. Eddie leads the way back down the stairs while Buck follows, keeping the couple between them. It’s easy. No one’s hurt this time. They’ve had simple calls all day, and they’re nearing the end of their shift with nothing major having gone down at all. It’s probably the first time in months that they’ve had a relatively relaxed shift, and it’s almost nice.

Just then, the ground rumbles. Buck steadies himself on a wall as the aftershock ripples underneath them, setting the house trembling all over again. He can hear the old wood creaking ominously.

They’re so close to the door. Eddie is nearly there already, kicking out debris to make room to get the couple safely outside. Buck rights himself and moves, herding his charges towards the opening Eddie has just created. He can feel the aftershock fading, but they don’t want to waste any time, because that crack he’d spotted earlier is larger than before and no one wants to get caught when this building comes down.

It’s just as he helps the man they’d rescued through the doorway and gets ready to climb out himself that Buck realizes he’s done it again; the universe hates him, and he’d had the audacity to think this was going to be easy. The walls groan loudly, and he makes the mistake of looking up, just in time to see the fissure in the ceiling widening further. Oh, shit, he thinks.

Buck scrambles desperately for the doorway, but he only makes it far enough to catch Eddie’s wide eyed expression for a split second before the ground shifts, tilts, and the walls come tumbling inwards.

~~~

Buck comes back to himself in a haze of pain. It’s everywhere, a whole body ache that won’t let up. So this is what a house feels like, he muses, and then frowns when he realizes that doesn’t make any sense. His mind feels sluggish, like it hasn’t quite caught up to what’s happening, and he can’t bring himself to focus on anything past the fact that everything hurts.

He tries to shift, and the pain flares harshly, slamming him the rest of the way into consciousness as he tries to breathe through it. He blinks his eyes open to darkness, the faint shapes of wooden beams above him, and plaster dust coating everything in a fine layer of white. There’s noise coming from somewhere by his ear, and it takes him a moment too long to realize that it’s his radio, still clipped to his uniform. It clicks again and Buck’s head lolls to the right, trying to listen.

“Buckley!” Bobby’s voice crackles through, sounding like this isn’t the first time he’s tried to call for him. How long had Buck been out? His head aches too much to try to think, so he lets it go. It doesn’t matter anyway.

He feels like he should answer. His captain is calling for him, so he should respond, right? He can’t ignore Bobby. He doesn’t want to get fired again.

Buck tries to reach for his radio, only to pull up short when his left arm won’t move. Why won’t it move? He rolls his head over to his other side, blinking slowly, and—oh. It’s stuck. It’s stretched out past the little pocket of space he’s found himself in, meaning it wasn’t protected by the larger beams that are holding the rest of the debris up from crushing him completely.

Without thinking, Buck tugs on it, trying to get it free. His mind doesn’t register how bad that idea was until his vision nearly whites out, agony lancing up the limb all the way to his shoulder. He’s panting by the time it fades back to a slightly-less-debilitating ache, and he decides that he’s definitely not going to try that again. Instead, he reaches for his radio with his right arm, which seems mostly fine. His team is still calling for him, and he wants to respond, but the best he can manage when he fumbles for the button is a low whine. The clamoring voices all stop, briefly, and then—

“Buck?” Bobby again, more tentative than Buck has ever heard him.

“Bobby,” he groans, finally getting his voice to work.

“Oh, thank god,” Bobby says. “Just hold on, son, we’ll get you out of there.”

Buck feels himself drift for a second. Everything feels a little fuzzy, but he can’t find it in himself to worry, not when he knows his team is coming for him. They’ll get him out.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie’s voice from the radio brings him back, just barely. “You still with us, buddy?”

Buck hums affirmatively.

“Gotta give me more than that, man,” Eddie chastises. “You know the drill. Stay awake, keep talking. How about you tell me how you’re feeling, so we know what we’re lookin’ at when we get you out of there?”

“Mmm, yeah,” Buck murmurs. He blinks languidly. “Head hurts.”

“I’m sure it does,” Eddie says. “You were out for a bit.”

“Think I fucked up my ribs,” Buck continues, “an’ my arm. It’s stuck.”

Eddie lets out a low whistle, and he sounds sympathetic when he prompts, “Anything else?”

“Don’t think so,” Buck says. He blinks again, eyelids feeling heavier than before. Why is he so tired? “Gettin’ sleepy down here, Eds.”

“None of that, bud,” Eddie responds, “How about I tell you what Christopher is doing for his history project? He’s learning about dinosaurs.”

Buck knows Eddie is just trying to keep him awake, but he actually does want to know what Christopher is learning, so he agrees. Eddie launches into the dinosaur spiel easily. Buck just listens as he talks, letting his arm fall across his midsection now that he doesn’t need it to press the button on his radio.

Belatedly, he recognizes that his side is wetter than it should be. He hadn’t even registered it amidst all the pain from his arm, but now that he’s got his hand pressed up against it, he can feel the warmth seeping out against his fingers.

Huh, he thinks, bringing his hand up to look at it. He can’t make out much in the dark, but it’s definitely dripping with something.

“Eddie,” he calls into the radio, trying not to let it slip out of his slick fingers. Eddie stops in the middle of his sentence, but before he can ask, Buck mutters, “Think ‘m bleeding.”

“Fuck,” Eddie hisses, mostly to himself, it seems. Buck can hear him call out to Bobby, before he’s back again. “We’re almost there, Buck, don’t worry. We got you.”

“I jinxed it,” Buck says quietly. He thinks he should put pressure on the wound, or something, but his body feels heavy and he can’t bring himself to move his good hand. He wants to keep talking to Eddie.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“I jinxed it,” Buck repeats, his words coming out a little slurred. “Thought we were gonna make it. But th’ universe hates me. Made me fall.”

He thinks Eddie responds, but he can’t really be sure. He feels like he’s underwater. The sounds of shifting rubble are distorted and distant, and he’s losing his precarious grip on consciousness again.

“Buck luck,” he snorts, half out of it. His hand slips off the radio. He dimly registers someone calling to him, from somewhere close, but his energy is spent. He lets himself fade out, and hopes his team gets through to him in time.

~~~

Buck really needs to stop jinxing things. This is, what, the fifth time he’s ended up in the hospital? Sixth? That’s too many. He’s so tired of hospitals. At least this time, they’ve got him on the good painkillers, so he doesn’t feel quite as shitty as he did when he was stuck under two floors worth of rubble.

He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and gives himself a moment to focus, letting his eyes adjust to the dimmed lights of the room. He takes stock: left arm in a heavy cast from wrist to elbow. Side and chest wrapped up, head still aching like a bitch but better now that there’s a pillow under it rather than a pile of stone foundation. Right hand being held by someone else. What?

Buck frowns and looks down at his hand, where it’s grasped between both of Eddie’s, who is fast asleep and spread out across two hospital chairs. Buck stares at him for a moment, debating whether or not to wake him. Ultimately he decides not to, because he doesn’t really want him to wake up and decide to take his hand back. Near-death experiences call for a little hand-holding, right? So Buck is just going to let himself enjoy this for a minute. He sighs and settles back, still tired enough that he wants to fall straight back into sleep. After another moment of studying the way Eddie’s hands are clutching his, even in sleep, Buck closes his eyes again. His last thought as he drifts off is, maybe my luck isn't so bad, after all.

(posting the card again here so ppl know which prompts have been claimed!!)

[meat-husband]

Pls more yandere!Vincent

Somehow this is turning into a thing and I’ve got more coming soon lol

Related to this post.

—

Six days without food was the longest you had ever gone. A surprisingly heavy weight sat in your stomach, the feeling of a growling hunger twisting in your guts until you felt sick. You had been sick, too, during the first few days, but with nothing in your stomach to expel, it had only made your mouth sour and your head hurt. It kept you in constant pain, but so far you had continued to refuse any opportunity to eat.

Really, you weren’t even hungry anymore, despite the emptiness, but a new desire had replaced the hunger - thirst. Two days after you had last eaten, they had stopped giving you water. You hadn’t been stupid enough to turn away water even when you refused food, but four days without either one had taken its toll. Your limbs shook, body trembling with the effort it took just to sit upright, and the joints in your fingers were stiff. More than once you had needed to be carried around the room, scooped up and taken from place to place while Vincent worried and whined over you.

Your tongue was dry and swollen in your mouth, a constant reminder of your thirst. Even without that, water was all you found yourself thinking of, wondering how long they would keep it from you, of what you could do to convince them to give you more. That was more important to you now than the growl of your empty stomach. It had been the brother, the one who’s name you had either never heard or couldn’t recall, who had made the decision to withhold it from you, but you were too distracted now to even be angry about it.

When they took the water away your feeding schedule had become more regular. Twice a day you were carefully carried up the stairs, guided on wobbly legs into the kitchen and sat at the table. Whatever was offered you always refused, but you knew that now that the thirst had set in, you wouldn’t be able to hold out for another day. Dehydration was worse than the hunger and your mind could think of nothing else but how good it would feel to have a drink, especially when all you had to do to earn it was fill your aching stomach.

Today, you know that you’re going to give in. The usual firey resistance you felt, the outrage at being kept like some kind of pet, it had all disappeared in the face of the desperation you felt now. You’re going to eat whatever food they put in front of you, as quickly as possible, and you’ll beg to be allowed a sip of water if that’s what it takes.

When he comes to you for the first time that day, huddled into the warm quilt and too weak to raise your head to look at him, you’re relieved. You don’t protest when he gathers you in his arms, gently and with soft, reassuring pats on the head.

“Hungry?”

There’s not enough energy to nod your head, but you manage to get out a quiet noise that you hope sounds like a yes.

At the top of the stairs you expect to be sat down, put on your unsteady feet to shuffle into the kitchen, but he walks over the threshold into the living room with you still tucked into his arms. You feel yourself perk up, a little more alert when the usual routine doesn’t play out.

The living room is a mess, furniture pushed around the room haphazardly and junk scattered over the floor. It’s a big change from the usually well kept room you’ve seen before, and you wonder vaguely if something had happened here to put things so out of place. With one foot, he pushes the corner of the couch forward until it’s almost back in it’s usual spot, and carefully places you in the middle. Your legs dangle over the edge, your exhausted body nestled back into the cushions, but you’re too tired and thirsty to question this new situation.

Big hands grab at your ankles, lifting your legs and pulling them up onto the couch. A stray pillow is placed next to you, tucked securely into your side, and after that he stands back, watching you from a few feet away. You don’t move, relaxing into the cushions with a sigh. Something inside tells you to pay attention, that you shouldn’t be closing your eyes, but the unexpected comfort overshadows the fear.

He waits a moment, swaying slightly in place as he looks at you, but he seems to come to the conclusion that you’re in no condition to try to escape and quietly steps away. You listen to his footsteps retreat, wandering around the room in short bursts, before he reappears next to the couch and you slide your tired eyes open to watch him. A worn blanket is draped over you, tugged up over your shoulders and tucked in against your sides, and you don’t protest at all when you realize that your arms are wrapped up underneath.

The weight of the blanket feels secure, a light weight over your body urging you to stay on the couch, and your eyes close again. You can’t stop yourself from thinking of running, but the idea doesn’t sound very appealing now. The distance between yourself and the door behind you isn’t far, but you doubted that your wobbly legs would take you far enough to reach it, let alone get out of town. After being kept downstairs, locked up in the basement with no natural light, the little bit of sunlight filtering through the blinds makes your head throb. Even if the door had been wide open, you wanted nothing more than to sit where he had left you, pressed into the cushions.

It isn’t quite dark outside, only a hazy half light, but the orange light behind the blinds makes you think that the sun is setting. The thought of sunset makes you tired, your eyes feeling heavy even when they’re closed. You can still hear him, moving around somewhere close, but the noises don’t concern you now. You feel comfortable, the first time you’ve been able to relax the tension in your body for weeks, and even the hunger and thirst are less painful.

The weight of someone else settling on the couch next to you startles you awake. You hadn’t been aware that you were sleeping, drifting in and out of wakefulness while he moved around. He’s sitting on the edge of the couch, closer than you had expected, a large, warm thigh pressed up against your own.

“Hungry?”

A plate of food sits in his lap, a fork stuck into the red mess of sauce and pasta. It doesn’t look appetizing, even in your half starved condition, and you are almost about to answer negatively before you remember the rolling hunger in your stomach and the weakness in your limbs. Your eyes dart to the side, noticing with sudden lust the plastic water bottle sitting on the coffee table. You want the water, but you open your mouth anyways when a small bite of food is offered to you. If you eat, you think, then he has to give you the water too.

It’s a slow process, accepting each small forkful of food and struggling to swallow it with a dry throat, but the ease of pain in your abdomen is a relief. The food tastes amazing, making your dry mouth water each time you get more, but you think it must be the hunger - the food looks to be the same stuff as usual, a plastic tray that was probably frozen solid five minutes ago.

You watch his hands as you wait for another bite, working to carefully scoop just enough onto the fork before offering it. His hands are pale, you notice, much paler than the strange, flesh toned mask over his face and that thought makes you look up.

His eye, the only one you can see, is focused on the food in his lap, but you see the crinkles at the corner of his eye - he’s smiling. Happy, you suppose, that you’re finally eating again, but when he looks back at you to bring more food to your lips, the small expression becomes brighter.

The food is only half finished when he places the fork back on the plate and you go tense, eyes on his hands again. Your limbs tremble, but this time not from weakness when you realize what he means to do. When he brings the bottle of water to your lips, you’re eager to reach for it and it takes all of your willpower not to wrestle out of the blanket and snatch it from him. Your first drink is only a sip, but it is cool and fresh, and the trickle of water down your throat is the most satisfying thing you can remember. You can feel it, cold and heavy, settling into your stomach.

When he pulls the bottle away, you protest quietly, “Please, I need more water.”

He pauses and you think for a moment that you’ve messed up, but after a second the bottle is offered again. You sit up, the blanket sliding down your shoulders, and you flail one arm to the side, pulling it out. Without thinking you grab at the bottle with your free hand, covering his own but too eager to drink to care. Even when the water is gone, the plastic bottle drained, you cling to it when he takes it from your lips. He places one of his hands over yours, carefully peeling your fingers away from the plastic.

“Hungry?” He asks again, holding up a small bite of food.

You nod, opening your mouth to accept it. The hunger is still there, but your thirst is half satisfied, and even that much relief from the desire for water has relaxed you. Maybe this will only make things more difficult going forward, but you feel like you understand the rules now - if you won’t eat, you aren’t going to drink either. Food you could go without, for a certain amount of time, but these past few days had proved to you that this game was not one you could afford to keep playing.

[chloebeale]

I was rewatching episodes of AF and the scene where Brittany tells Roxy she doesn’t want her there, that gave me major idea vibes of Chloe Beale having an argument with Beca’s father and kicking him out of their home at Thanksgiving for disapproving of their relationship and never supporting his daughter, spending much of Beca’s life absent from her life except to show up and pass judgement. Cause nobody belittles or upsets Beca and gets away with it.

TURNING TABLES

RATING: T.WARNINGS: Homophbia.PAIRING: Bechloe.WORDS: 3.3K.NOTES: Let’s pretend Beca’s father isn’t the same one from Barden pls. Thank you for this, I could totally see it too!

Chloe can count on one hand the amount of in-person interactions she has had with Warren Mitchell. (She’s willing to bet Beca could count hers on two.) Beca doesn’t really talk about him, and given the way he didn’t even walk Beca down the aisle at their wedding, and instead sat in the back with his wife and proceeded to leave before the reception, Chloe already has a pretty clear picture of the type of person he is.

So, Chloe understands why Beca is currently so jittery, why she’s seemingly lost in her own world as she rearranges the place settings at their Thanksgiving-ready table for what feels like the millionth time, and Chloe finds herself watching the other woman sympathetically from across the room.

“Bec, everything looks great,” Chloe states in a gentle tone—though not quite gentle enough apparently, because Beca jumps slightly along with the sound of her voice.

“Yeah,” Beca nods, clearing her throat somewhat awkwardly. Her gaze scans over the table, and while Chloe can’t actually read her mind, she knows she’s still questioning the seating arrangements. Almost like she’s forcing herself away, Beca slowly turns from the table, and Chloe catches sight of just how exhausted she looks. It’s worrisome, considering the day has barely begun yet, but again, Chloe understands it. “I just feel like I need to be doing something, you know? You won’t let me help with the food.” Her brow wrinkles in that familiar way Chloe can’t help but adore, and prompts a subtle smirk in return.

“You remember the green beans last year?” Chloe reminds her, auburn brow arching knowingly. “We were still finding them under the fridge at Christmas.”

“Fine,” Beca grumbles, turning back toward the table without missing a beat. Her hand outstretches to pick up Warren’s name label, though Chloe decides it’s time to intervene.

“Hey, stop,” she mumbles soothingly, pale arms wrapping delicately around Beca’s middle. While she hears a sigh fall from her lips, she also feels the way Beca’s body relaxes into the embrace. “It’s going to be fine,” Chloe continues, her chin resting gently against Beca’s shoulder. Her heartbeat drums gently, hopefully reassuringly, against Beca’s back. Slender fingers settle on top of her lightly freckled arm, and Chloe allows herself a brief glance down toward the wedding ring on Beca’s finger, painted lips tugging up into a contented smile.

Soft fingers squeeze delicately onto her arm, and Chloe tightens her hold slightly. “You just…” Beca’s shoulders slump, volume lowering some, “You don’t know my dad.”

READ THE REST BELOW OR ON AO3!

Given how genuinely wonderful her own parents are, Chloe really can’t relate. She does know she’s glad they’ll be there to act as some kind of buffer today, though. But that doesn’t help Beca’s situation, that doesn’t help to calm her nerves, so Chloe simply pulls her body closer to her own, pushing a gentle kiss into the crook of her neck. “I know,” she whispers softly, “But it’s going to be okay.”

If it were up to Chloe, Warren wouldn’t be joining them at all. But he’s in town for the first time since they moved into their new home, and when Beca had panicked and invited he and Sheila to Thanksgiving dinner, Chloe had been nothing but supportive. She’s very protective of her wife, but Warren is her father, and if Beca wants to try to salvage some kind of relationship with him, then Chloe isn’t going to stand in her way.

Over the years, Chloe has learned to read Beca Mitchell. She knows when she should try to coax something more from her, and when she should leave her to her own thoughts. Right now feels like the latter, and Chloe realizes she’s correct in thinking so when Beca finally releases another soft sigh of defeat, before twisting her body to face her again. Chloe’s arms loosen slightly, though they remain wrapped around Beca’s middle, while Beca’s rise to drape comfortably around Chloe’s neck.

“You look pretty, by the way,” Beca comments, the corner of her lips tugging up into a half smile. “Have I told you that yet?”

Chloe’s soft smirk returns, shoulder shrugging gently. “Mm, once or twice.”

Even after spending the better part of ten years together, it’s easy for them to become entirely wrapped up in one another, completely consumed by the other’s presence alone. And that’s fine when it’s just the two of them, though the sound of the front door opening promptly pulls them back to reality, with Beca freezing in Chloe’s arms.

“Knock knock!” Marie Beale chirps, bright grin plastered across her face as she comes into view. With her dark green dress and small bow holding back her red curls, she’s essentially just an older version of Chloe. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

Chloe’s arms unwrap from around her wife, and she can see the clear look of relief on Beca’s face. Still, even in the company of the most approving of people—Chloe’s parents very much fit that bill—Beca doesn’t love PDA, and tucks a chunk of hair almost shyly behind her ear as she steps out from Chloe’s embrace.

“Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Be—” Beca begins, though corrects herself upon seeing the warning glance shot her way. “Uh… Marie, Andrew.”

“That’s better,” Andrew grins, stepping forward to wrap his daughter into a welcoming hug. Marie quickly pulls Beca into her arms, too.

“Girls, everything smells great,” Chloe’s father comments, stealing himself away toward the kitchen to admire their work.

“Oh, that’s all Chloe,” Beca corrects, following dutifully behind.

Marie shoots Chloe a knowing look. “Green beans incident?”

Chloe nods her head in response, smirk settling onto her lips. “Green beans incident.”

For about ten minutes, there’s a very relaxed, cheerful atmosphere surrounding the four. The food is pretty much ready, and everyone takes the time to huddle on the couches, chatting casually amongst themselves. Beca isn’t a big wine drinker, but she accepts the glass Andrew pours for her, and drinks it perhaps a little too quickly, Chloe notices. However, she chooses not to comment; she knows Beca is stressed, and if a little liquid courage will help her to relax, then who is Chloe to stop her?

For a brief moment, that stress seems to leave her, though the sound of the doorbell almost has her dropping her empty glass, and Chloe quickly glances toward her, offering her a reassuring smile. “Want me to get it?”

Beca shakes her head, handing the wine glass over to Chloe. “No, it’s okay, I’ve got it.”

Chloe responds with a short nod, though exchanges a knowing glance with both of her parents, trying hard not to focus too intently on the sound of Beca greeting her father and step-mother. However, Warren’s first words (“That’s your Thanksgiving attire, Beca?”) are hard to ignore, but Chloe bites her tongue, and proceeds to stand in polite greeting, just in time for Beca to lead both Warren and Sheila into the living room.

“Mr. Mitchell,” Chloe beams, focus shifting to his wife momentarily, “Mrs. Mitchell. You look really nice. Can I take your coat?”

The energy shift between the arrivals of the Beale’s and the Mitchell’s is incredibly apparent, though true to their nature, Marie and Andrew make a point of welcoming the two newcomers warmly into their small party, and both swiftly ignore the judgmental looks they receive in return.

“What are you drinking?” Warren questions, blue-gray eyes moving between the two glasses in Chloe’s hands.

“Oh, just water,” she explains, shaking her glass gently.

“And the wine?”

“Chloe’s favorite!” Andrew responds for her, though Warren has already made his way over to the table, and proceeds to peer curiously at the almost empty bottle.

“This is what you’re serving?” Warren’s brow arches, head tilting as he studies the label, before quickly dismissing it. “Never mind, Sheila and I brought better stuff.”

It’s those comments, the ones that prove Warren Mitchell thinks he’s of a much higher class than everybody else in his vicinity, that cause Beca’s shoulders to sag and her cheeks to darken a shade, but Chloe knows how to play nice, and simply responds with a kind smile.

He doesn’t stop there, of course. He has comments to make about every little thing, it would seem. His chair is uncomfortable, the table is too small, the potatoes aren’t properly mashed. Fortunately, for every negative comment Warren has, both Marie and Andrew have something positive to say, and Chloe does well to bite her tongue. It’s a little upsetting, the way she feels Beca tense up whenever Chloe’s hand slides into her lap reassuringly throughout their meal, but yet again, Chloe understands the resistance. She knows Warren isn’t the biggest fan of their relationship, and while Chloe doesn’t care much for his comfort level, she doesn’t want to make Beca uncomfortable in her own home, too.

“I see you got your mother’s culinary skills,” Warren mumbles as he inspects a shred of turkey. Not for the first time, Beca looks entirely embarrassed, and turns to shoot Chloe an apologetic look, though she’s met with another kind smile, and Chloe gently shakes her head.

“Actually, Mr. Mitchell, the food was all on me this year. If it isn’t good, you don’t have to eat it. I can go whip up something else for you, if you’d like?”

Warren’s brows raise in what Chloe perceives as an entirely judgmental way, and a sickeningly smug look overtakes his weathered features. “Leaving the cooking for someone else? Even more like her mother,” he sneers, turning to shoot his wife a look. Sheila responds with a small snicker.

Again, not for the first time, Chloe bites her tongue, and it’s Beca’s turn to reach for Chloe’s hand under the table this time, giving it a small, reassuring squeeze. The feeling of Beca’s wedding band, the way it sits so comfortably on her finger, only adds to the gentle reassurance.

Apparently, Mr. Beale senses the tension. “Hey, why don’t we do gratitudes?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a great idea, Andrew,” Beca chimes in quickly, clearing her throat. Her father, meanwhile, practically chokes on his food.

“Mr. Beale,” Warren corrects, “Have some manners, Beca.”

“Oh, no, Andrew is fine,” Marie pipes up, her kind smile the same one Chloe wears. In many ways, Chloe and her mother are very much alike; their fiery red hair, their piercing blue eyes, both with gentle demeanors that will quickly switch when triggered. They both know how to play nice too, though—something Beca is incredibly thankful for. “We’re Beca’s in-laws. We like her to call us by our actual names.”

Warren simply picks up his wine glass, shoulder shrugging briefly, before taking a long swig from his glass. The bottle sits beside him, and he seems to notice the contents are not going down very quickly.

“You know, when someone brings wine to a meal, it’s polite to at least try it,” he says, glare pointed toward Chloe. It doesn’t surprise her that he isn’t her biggest fan, and if her reluctance to try his wine offering is the most he has to throw at her, that’s fine by her.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure it’s great,” Chloe nods, though motions toward her glass. “I’m fine with water, though. Thank you.”

Her choice in beverage hasn’t been an issue until now, though unlike Beca, Chloe is a wine drinker, and the conversation seems to catch her parents’ attention.

“Is everything okay, honey?” Her mother questions, a look of concern filling her eyes.

“Just try the damn wine,” Warren urges, standing from his seat and picking up the bottle to hand it across the table.

“Dad, no,” Beca interjects, “Chloe…” She trails off, gaze moving toward the woman beside her. Chloe sees clear fear filling her eyes, and honestly, the sight is heartbreaking. Yet again, she shoots her a reassuring smile, hand reaching out to take ahold of Beca’s beneath the table.

“Chloe?” Marie pipes up, that same look of concern still filling her eyes. “Is everything okay? What’s going on?”

Now’s not the time, not with Beca’s very judgmental father seated at the same table, but all eyes are on both Chloe and Beca, and the two exchange an almost cautious glance, before Chloe gently nods her head.

“Uh, yeah,” Beca proceeds, fingers wrapping tightly around Chloe’s. She clears her throat, and Chloe swears she can feel Beca’s palm beginning to sweat. “Everything’s fine. Great, actually.” Blue eyes point downward toward the food, and something they’ve been so excited about for the last two months now suddenly feels like the most terrifying thing in the world. So much so that Beca can’t even continue, not with her father’s stare burning into her the way it is, so Chloe decides to take over.

“Okay, we weren’t going to say anything yet,” Chloe continues, strong gaze shifting between the four sets of eyes on the two of them. “I’m not drinking because,” she glances toward Beca, a softness filling her eyes. “Well, we’re going to have a baby. I’m pregnant.”

“What?” The response is one of shock for the briefest of moments, before Marie rises quickly from her seat, an excited yelp sounding from her throat. “Pregnant? Oh, Chloe! Andrew, we’re going to be grandparents!”

Despite the prior atmosphere, despite the presence of Beca’s father, Chloe can’t help the wide grin that spreads across her lips as both of her parents pull both she and Beca into their arms in congratulatory hugs. She can even hear Beca chuckling softly from the middle of Andrew’s bear hug, and for just a moment, it’s easy to forget that there are two other people in the room, neither of whom has said anything thus far.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Warren suddenly pipes up, the newly stern tone to his voice catching everybody off guard.

Even Sheila reaches out a hand to settle gently on his arm. “Warren, don’t,” she warns quietly, though he promptly shakes her off, clear anger written across his face.

“No, Sheila. It’s bad enough that she insisted on marrying a woman, but now they’re going to bring a kid into this? Mess up your own life all you want, Beca, but a child’s, too? Really?”

For a second or two, it would seem everybody is in shock. Beca opens her mouth to speak, but swiftly closes it again, and Chloe can just tell how hard her wife feels like she has just been punched in the gut. She doesn’t like what Warren says, but it’s that look on Beca’s face, that sheer, undiluted pain, that has Chloe finally seeing red.

“Excuse me?” Apparently, Chloe is done biting her tongue.

“Chlo, leave it,” Beca whispers, hand reaching out to settle on her arm the same way Sheila’s had on her father’s only seconds prior.

“No,” Chloe shakes her head, brows tugging together. Both Marie and Andrew have taken their seats again, and it’s clear that nobody else is going to try to stop her, so Chloe continues. “Mr. Mitchell, we invited you into our home to spend this holiday with us, something Beca won’t admit, but that she has wanted to do for the past only God knows how many years. Her whole life, probably.”—Beca doesn’t correct her, so Chloe proceeds—“We invited you to our wedding, because Beca wanted you to be apart of one of the most special days of her life, and you didn’t even have the decency to stay and actually celebrate with us. You’ve come into our home and basically insulted your own daughter any chance you’ve gotten, and now you think it’s acceptable to talk that way about our unborn child?”

As taken aback as Warren looks, he evidently still has his own strong—and in Chloe’s mind, wrong—opinions, and continues with the same conviction. “A child is supposed to have a mother and a father. You realize it’s going to be bullied, right?”

There’s a rage deep within Chloe that she hasn’t felt before, not like this. While she’s normally the epitome of respect for her elders, Warren Mitchell has lost his right to that by now, so Chloe chooses not to hold back.

“Right, the same way Beca had a mother and a father? I don’t know you, Mr. Mitchell, but I do know that I have spent more holidays, more celebrations, more time with your daughter than you ever have. And the way Beca has been so terrified of you showing up here today, so desperate for your approval, I can guarantee that our baby will never feel that way. Our baby will never have to fight for our affection, because we are going to be incredible parents. Beca especially, and you want to know how I know that?” By now, Chloe has risen from her seat, and again, nobody has tried to hold her back. She hasn’t exactly lunged toward Warren, she’s still in her place, but she towers above him as he glares up at her from his seat, and it’s clear who has the dominance in the situation. “Because you’ve given her the perfect example of what not to do.”

There’s a surge of venom behind Chloe’s words that is almost unrecognizable even to her, and it has Warren glaring back at her, red-faced. “How dare you—” He begins, though Chloe cuts him off abruptly.

“No, Mr. Mitchell, how dare you? This is our home, and I’m sorry, but you’re just not welcome here anymore. I think you should leave,” Chloe states firmly, never breaking eye contact. “That’s not a request.”

It’s not often that Chloe loses her temper, not really. But this is an exception, and honestly, she feels like she’s well within her rights. However, her blinders are up, her pointed glare on Warren and his wife as they rise from their seats, so much so that Chloe doesn’t even think to check on Beca, to make sure that this is okay. Instead, she pushes back her chair and quickly escorts the two toward the front door, ignoring the grunts and grumbles sent her way. It’s only once the door is closed on their unwanted guests that Chloe finally comes back to her senses, back pressed up against the hard wood of the door.

And suddenly, she wonders if perhaps she went too far.

Even more so when the sight of her wife, wide-eyed and almost disbelieving, comes into view.

“Bec, I’m so—”

“Do you know how much I love you?”

The words catch Chloe off guard, stop her in her tracks. It’s not like she doesn’t know it, but a part of her had been expecting a hysterical Beca, or at the very least for her to yell. But she doesn’t. Instead, Beca takes a few steps forward, until small hands are rising to delicately cup Chloe’s blush-covered cheeks, blue eyes meeting blue.

“Of course I do,” Chloe nods, finally finding her words. “I’m sorry, I know he’s your dad, I just—”

“No, you don’t have to apologize.” Beca’s voice is gentle, kind. It’s like all of the fear, all of the hesitation built up inside her has suddenly dissipated, and Chloe suddenly recognizes her again. She’s her Beca again.

“He doesn’t get to talk to us like that, he doesn’t get to talk about our baby like that. And everything you said, it’s all true. You’re going to be the most amazing mother, Chlo. Our baby is so loved already.” She pauses, one hand falling from Chloe’s cheek to rest feather lightly against the small, barely visible swell of her stomach hidden beneath the loose fabric of her dress. “We’re both in the best hands possible.” Beca stretches up slightly, soft lips brushing against her wife’s.

“Seriously, Chloe,” Beca whispers, closing the gap between them. She doesn’t care that Chloe’s parents can see, doesn’t care that there’s anybody else in the room with them. It’s just the two of them in Beca’s mind—or three—and she chooses not to hold back, the same way Chloe hadn’t only moments before. “Thank you.”

[mosylufanfic]

31 for rebelcaptain, pls? :) alternatively 43 but I would want that to be lighthearted and I feel like that's not what this list is about *lol*

31 - “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.” and 43 - “Are you drunk?”

The prompts may be angsty but my mood is not! Some lighthearted silliness just for you.

Extraction

"Cassian," Bodhi hissed in his ear. "You need to leave."

"Yeah," Jyn added, "what's the hold-up? We're going to miss the rendezvous."

He felt the knot between his shoulder blades loosen slightly at her voice. She was back safe, at least. But he couldn’t relax quite all the way because - "Look," he murmured into the comm. "I can't. Every time I try to slip away, they reel me back in." Behind him, glass shattered and raucous laughter broke out. 

Through her black-market contacts, Jyn had caught wind of a heist on an Imperial supply warehouse, and it had turned out to be the perfect cover for her lifting some security codes that the Pathfinders badly needed. 

Cassian had talked his way into the crew performing the heist to make sure that it succeeded and didn’t bring the Imperials down on them at an inconvenient time. He’d also ensured that none of them noticed there was another heist going on, so that whenever they were caught (and they would be caught eventually, no subtlety whatsoever), they wouldn't have any beans to spill on Jyn.

The whole business was almost wrapped up, but he'd reckoned without the crew's exuberant celebration, and their surprising insistence on sharing that celebration with their new pal, Jeron.

"Do you think they suspect?" Bodhi asked.

"I don't know. But you need to make the rendezvous with the security codes. If you have to, leave without me."

Jyn made a rude noise. "Kriff that. I'm on my way."

"Wait, what - " He clamped his lips shut before her name escaped. “Stay where you are.”

“Too late,” Bodhi said. “Already gone.”

"What is she doing?" he asked with a certain sense of foreboding.

"Who knows," the pilot said, sounding much more cheerful than he had a moment ago. 

"Get her to come back."

"Oh please, as if I could. Or wanted to. You have to stop defaulting to 'leave me behind, it's for the good of the Rebellion' every time you run into trouble. We're here for you, you know."

A hand clamped on his shoulder. "Jeron," a voice bellowed. "What are you doing huddling in the corner with your comm all night? It's a party! We got the goods! Time to celebrate!"

"It, I, uh," he said to the head of the crew, and the man who'd insisted he join them for the celebration of their ill-gotten gains. "It's just my - bedtime."

Bodhi snorted in his ear so loudly he almost lost his train of thought.

"Bedtime," Ignack said skeptically, and took a drink.

"My . . . children's bedtime. Yes."

"You have children? I didn't know that." He frowned. It hadn’t taken Cassian long to realize that Ignack liked to think of his crew as young, sexy, devil-may-care outlaws thumbing their noses at any and all authority or responsibility. Like a bad action holo where everyone met, performed crime, and bonded into family in a matter of days.

"I'm not likely to talk about them to this crowd, am I?" Cassian said. "They don't like to go to sleep before I come home."

"Well, that's what a nurse droid is for. Tell the little brats to pipe down and get to bed or they'll get what's coming to them." He leaned over to the comm. "Hear that, brats? Papa's going to wallop - "

Cassian flicked the comm off. "Please don't terrify my children," he said calmly. "Is there any spotchka left?"

Ignack lost interest in Cassian's fictitious offspring and dragged him back to the bar. "Spotchka!" he shouted. "For our new friend!"

Cassian was trying to choke down some of the noxious local brew when a voice called out, "Jeron!"

He froze. No. 

Well, of course.

"Jeron, I know that's you, you son of a bitch!"

He turned to find Jyn shouldering her way through the crowd, staggering every few steps. Her eye makeup was thick and smeared, her clothes rumpled. She looked like a hot mess, and he drank in the sight of her.

"Jeron," she said, grabbing his arm. "I'm so - hic - so sorry."

He had no idea where she was going with this, but hopefully out the door was included. 

She leaned into him, slouching like a boiled noodle, somehow putting one hundred and fifty percent of her weight on his arm. "So sorry," she blubbered again. 

"Are you drunk?"

She sniffed loudly. "Jus' little bit. You don't know how hard it is, being away from you. Since you kicked me out." She shoved him. "You son of a bitch."

"It was your own choice," he said, aware of the eyes they were drawing, the glances being exchanged between the other members of the crew. Apparently Jeron was having some drama in his personal life, those glances said.

But clearly, none of them felt called to intervene, just to watch with varying levels of amusement and discomfort. 

Jyn grabbed him again, tipping her face up to his. "You have to let me come back. Please. I'm - I'm dying without you."

"Liana, please, not here  . . ."

"Youuuuuuuu - you think I'm 'zaggerating," she cried. "I can't do it, Jeron. I miss you so much. I can't keep kissing strangers pretending they're you." She buried her face in his shirt, sobbing.

"You didn't have a problem with it before you left," he said.

Her head popped up like a jack-in-the-box, eyes narrowed. "Before you kicked me out! Bastard. Well, I regret it. Is that what you want to hear? I do, I regret it. Now can I come back ho-ho-hoooooooommmme . . ." She burst into loud howls that had everybody around them cringing into their drinks.

He stared stony-faced down at her. "You haven't even asked about the babies."

It caught her flat footed, her mouth gaping for a split second. But she recovered brilliantly, wailing, "The babies. Do they miss their mummy?" She snorfled. "Their mummy misses them, so so much - "

He looked over her head to Ignack. "I'm sorry," he said. "She's just - we broke up." He looked down at the messy bun in her hair and patted her shaking shoulders with a grimace. "I should get her somewhere to dry out."  

"Yeah," Ignack said, looking uncomfortable at the domestic holonovel playing out in front of him. "Good idea."

"I'll try to come back, but I've seen her like this before. It could take quite some time to get her settled. I'm sorry to miss the party."

"Won't be the same without you," Ignack lied, clearly desperately to get the bawling, drunken woman out of his celebration. 

"You have my contact info, right?" He patted his pockets as if looking for his comm, or a bit of flimsi he could scribble his information down upon. "Any more jobs I can help with - I've got four children to support, you know - " 

Jyn snorted into his shirt.

Ignack just looked dismayed. A man with brats at home and a hot mess of an ex wasn't exactly how he pictured his crew. "Yes, yes, just um - " He frowned as Jyn grabbed a bottle off the bar. "I'm not paying for that."

Cassian pried it out of her fingers. "You don't need that. Let's go."

"Go? Where are we going? Are we going home? I'm not going anywhere with you, you bastard - "

They staggered through the crowd and out onto the street. Jyn, no rookie, kept up a stream of pleas, threats, and drunken ramblings until they'd turned two corners. Then she elbowed him hard enough to steal his breath. "Babies?"

He staggered a step or two away, laughing in spite of himself. "Our sweet babies," he said, righting himself and putting his arm around her shoulders. "Whom you abandoned, you degenerate, leaving me no choice but to turn to a life of crime so as to put food on the table."

"Ugh, kriff you." She leaned into him, giggling. 

"Shame on you, Liana," he said merrily. "Such language for a mother."

She elbowed him again. "Come on, Jeron. Let's go home."

FINIS

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

Heartsick (chapter 3)

@tonystark5ever and I are back with a new chapter. Finally. Progress :D

Tagging a few folks here. If I forgot somebody, pls, let me know. 

@i-fucking-love-the-avengers @random-fandom-stuffdom @keltainen13 @giulisetta @bad-days-and-beautiful-nights @ashleymarie1684 @itsafandomaddict @konoriart @swanheart69 @almhw85

Link to chapter 1 (masterlist)

---------------------------

Chapter Three

“Dr. Rhodes?”

A young voice, quiet and unsure, pulls his attention away from Stark’s retreating back, stopping short his intention to follow after the man.

He turns, frowning slightly at the skinny, curly-haired teen that stands behind him, fiddling nervously with the line of his IV pole.

“I’m… I’m… I’m Peter.  Peter Parker.”

Rhodey feels his lips twitch into a smile despite his unpleasant mood.  “Ah, yes, Mr. Parker. I had the pleasure of listening to you play just now.” He nods toward the room the teen has recently vacated. “Very impressive.” And it had been, the bit he’d heard.

His grin widens as the teen ducks his head at the praise, the tips of his ears flushing pink.  Adorable, Rhodey thinks, amused, and feels the uncomfortable sting of anger at the idea of Tony Stark doing anything that might put the kid in harm’s way. “What can I do for you?”

“I...uh….” Peter starts fidgeting with the IV pole again; throws a hesitant glance at Rhodey’s face.  “I heard your argument with Mr. Stark just now and…”

“I see.” His mood sours instantly; Tony Stark is the last thing he wants to talk about with this kid. He frowns, waiting for the boy to continue with whatever was on his mind.

“You need to get him to hire you back!”

The unexpected nature of the request and the heat of the conviction behind it bring him up short.

“What?”

“I… I mean….” Peter takes a step back, flustered, his gaze dropping back down to the floor.  “Mr. Stark, he’s… he’s a really good guy.  He… he takes care of everyone around him, but he doesn’t really… he doesn’t let others take care of him.” The kid looks up again, brown eyes intent. “And he needs to,” he insists heatedly.  “Especially now. His heart-”

“You’re defending him…” Rhodey can’t quite hide the incredulity coloring his voice.  “Even after what he’s done to you. Taking your place in line?” he adds at the puzzled expression on Peter’s face.

The teen’s expression darkens, his large brown eyes hardening in clear disapproval. “That was my decision,” he says mulishly.  “Mine and my aunt’s. We came to Ms. Potts when we found out from Tony that things were getting worse. We made her agree not to tell him, as a matter of patient confidentiality. He was never supposed to find out about it.”

“Is that so?” Somehow Rhodey had assumed that Peter and his aunt had been kept in the dark. The fact the kid knew about it almost made it worse. “And why is that?”

“Because he never would have allowed it if he knew.” Peter shakes his head, heaving out a dejected sigh before he plops tiredly onto the nearby bench. “I just wanted to help him. I wanted… and now, because it’s me, because he knows it’s me, he won’t…” The teen trails off, eyes momentarily squeezed shut; wraps his fingers around the IV pole in a white-knuckled grip.  When he looks up again, the desperate intensity of his stare nearly forces Rhodey to take a step back.  

“I wouldn’t even have a place in line if it weren’t for Mr. Stark. He is the reason I have a chance to live, Dr. Rhodes! And I… I can’t be the reason he loses his!”

And that right there? Definitely not what Rhodey was expecting to hear.  He frowns down at the earnest, wide-eyed gaze that meets his; bites his lip at the guilt-tinged despair he sees there.  

“Alright, kid.” He knows he’s already given in; doubts there’s anyone alive out there who can stay strong in the face of these imploring puppy eyes.  He just really hopes he doesn’t come to regret this later. “There’s a couple things I need to get straight, and I think you’re the one to help me.”

“What do you mean?”

“How about you tell me all about Tony Stark over a cup of hot cocoa, huh? Start with why you think you owe him your place on the organ recipient list.”

Peter watches him silently for a few moments, his expression wary. Nods, his curls flopping over his forehead. “Okay.”

***

They settle on a bench outside some ten minutes later, Peter cradling a cup of chocolate ice cream he opted for instead of hot cocoa. It’s nice and quiet out here, the air pleasant, tinged with a mild spring morning chill, and Rhodey finds himself relaxing just a bit, letting go of the angry tension he’d been carrying around since daybreak.

“Thanks Dr. Rhodes,” Peter speaks up beside him, poking hesitantly at the mound of chocolate in his cup. “Dr. Banner told me to try and beef up my calorie intake since I can’t eat much.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy it,” Rhodey responds, smiling encouragingly as the teen scoops up his first spoonful.  Urges mildly, “Whenever you’re ready, Peter.” He doesn’t want to push the boy, but time isn’t exactly a luxury he has to waste.

Peter’s expression darkens, the second spoonful dropped half-heartedly back into the cup.   “I’m… I’m not supposed to tell anyone about this. I could get in big trouble, but even worse Mr. Stark could get in big trouble. I had to sign some huge non-disclosure agreements, there were lawyers there and everything, it was crazy. If anyone ever found out I told you, then they could sue Mr. Stark and he could even go to jail.” He shoots Rhodey a slightly anxious, pleading look. “So… you… you won’t tell anyone, right Dr. Rhodes?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Rhodey agrees, his curiosity piqued.

“No, no, I need-- you have to understand. No one can know.”

“Peter. I promise. On my word as a doctor, doctor-patient confidentiality, do no harm, Hippocratic oath. I won’t tell anyone.”

This seems finally enough to reassure Peter and he leans forward, a frown of worry on his face that speaks of a lot of fear and anxiety… more than he would expect for one so young. “Okay, well. It all happened about two years ago. The hospital was losing money, all the political stuff going on right? So they hired a consulting company to come and make it profitable again. You have to understand, there were talks of closing the doors.”

“Right,” Rhodey nods his understanding. He’s not surprised, even given the hospital’s reputation for excellent care; healthcare in general was facing a major crisis and there were systems all over the world taking the same kind of steps in order to keep their doors open.

“So the first thing they do is fire all the administrative people here,” Peter goes on, ice cream forgotten. “Let them go with severance only. I remember it a little bit because the nurses and doctors were in a huge uproar about it, it wasn’t pretty.”

“I’ll bet!”

“Well yeah. So they hire this new guy, Thaddeus Ross.”

Somehow Rhodey thinks the shudder that goes through Peter at the mention of that name has little to do with the morning chill.

“Ross… Yeah, I’ve heard of him. He did some great things for that hospital system in Orlando.”

Peter scoffs. “Wherever you heard about that, I’ll bet it didn’t mention a body count,” he counters darkly.

“No… it didn’t as a matter of fact.”

“Well, I can practically guarantee you that there was one. Because Ross doesn’t come in and fix things, he comes in and he cuts corners. First thing he did after firing the administrators was fire all the experienced nurses and techs. Forced some of the higher paid doctors into early retirement -- claimed their judgement would be called into question and their malpractice insurance would go up, that kind of thing.”

“Peter,” Rhodey cuts in, trying, rather unsuccessfully, to keep the skepticism from his voice, “even if that were true, how could you possibly know about it?”

“Because I’m one of the schmucks that almost got killed!”

“Oh…” He pulls back, stunned silent by the teen’s outburst.  Motions for him to continue.

Peter nods grudgingly, huddles in on himself.  “I was born with hypoplastic left heart syndrome and had, like, three surgeries when I was a baby and all that. I was doing good, real good, until a year ago I got bit by a spider. So like, not normally a big deal, but for me it was. I got super sick. But Dr. Banner… he’s my cardiologist, right? He found a treatment, and it seemed like a miracle because there was nothing anyone else could do. I mean… it was a miracle. Only the drug I was on was crazy expensive, like $20,000 a dose.”

Rhodey lets out a low whistle and Peter huffs angrily in response.

“I have to take it every three months for three years,” he says, nodding toward his IV bag. “Obviously, there was no way for us to afford it. Our insurance wouldn’t cover it because it’s technically not even approved by the FDA. So the hospital was writing it off. You know. They were using it as a charitable donation, which means it technically doesn’t cost them anything because they get the money back in tax credits and government payouts. Only...” Peter falters, a muscle in his jaw twitching.  “Only they weren’t making money off it.” He gives a vicious stab at his now mostly-melted ice cream before hurling the cup into the garbage can with a bit more energy than was strictly necessary.

“Right.” Rhodey can already see where this is heading, and he feels his own fingers itch with the urge to curl into fists. Money. Of course. Of-fucking course! Everything always comes back to money. It was one of the reasons why he’d gone into medicine, to do something about this kind of thing, to do surgery for the right reasons and not to make a buck.

“Yeah! Right!!” The teen slaps his hand palm down on the bench, agitated. “I mean, can you believe I had the audacity to exist and want to live and not have a disease that the hospital could benefit from? Ross came through and he eliminated most of those programs. The ones that helped people.”

“Why don’t people know about it?” Rhodey interjects. “Why wasn’t any of this on the news?”

“Oh it was.” The sharp bitterness in the teen’s voice surprises Rhodey. For as broken, small, and sick as the kid appeared, he had clearly developed quite the backbone.  “The headlines were ‘Local CEO Turns Failing Local Hospital into Model of Health Care Efficiency.’ He’s a jerk but he’s not an idiot! Dr. Banner did what he could but they were threatening his license. There were a couple of assault charges thrown around when Dr. Banner got really mad during a meeting and punched the guy. Satisfying, right? Except now he was suspended and I was getting sicker and sicker because no medicine. And this is the only pediatric cardiac hospital in three states that’s able to deal with my problems. We were looking at moving to Colorado but I was too sick and May, my aunt, had been out of work to take care of me so no money. I was…”

There’s a suspicious hitch in the teen’s voice, his breath coming a little harsh, a little fast. He shakes his head viciously, swipes irritably at his cheeks where thin trails of tears cut a path across anger-flushed skin.

“I was so tired,” he admits in a whisper, “I wished I could just die and get it over with!”

“Okay,” Rhodey exhales past the stunned horror of the teen’s admission, “okay.” Reaches out haltingly to put a soothing a hand on the kid’s trembling shoulder. “Do you… uh… do you need a break from this?”

“No.” It takes him a few moments, but Peter swallows down his emotions; manages to steady himself. “Sorry. It was just… it was hard. I hated it. I was sick and things were getting so much worse. It was hard to see these things taking their toll on May.”

Rhodey gives the boy’s shoulder one last squeeze before letting his hand fall away.  “I imagine she must have been pretty upset.”

“Upset doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Peter scoffs.  “She was furious. And she wasn’t taking it sitting down either. She was calling our legislators, trying to see about the legalities, but we weren’t having any luck. She tried to go after him directly, you know, suing him for medical malpractice. Failure to treat. Medical neglect.” He shrugs, exhaustion written into every line of his body.  

“Like I said, it got ugly.  And here I am… dying because my heart is failing, and I get sick on top of it and it’s looking like the end for me. They start talking about hospice and making me comfortable, but I’m in the ICU in the meantime…”

“What happened?” Rhodey prods cautiously, afraid to push too hard because the kid is a walking war wound and it feels like even the slightest amount of pressure could cause him to bleed out.

Peter blinks as though coming out of a trance, his expression softening, pale lips pulling into a small smile. “Tony Stark happened,” he murmurs, sounding simultaneously awed and fond. “He got admitted the same time as me, just on the adult side, and he was being monitored because he was on some weird drug that was giving him trouble, but he was not so sick as me. He bumped into May in the hallway one time, and they got to know each other a bit. They had a lot in common, you know? Going through all this. Tony, see, he wanted to help, he offered to pay for everything. And May, she was real thankful and she wanted to take him up on it, but the thing is? Ross could just turn around and do it again to some other kid and their family. May said if it happened again it was because of them not fighting so she wanted to keep pushing on.”

Rhodey shakes his head, a bit conflicted. On the one hand there’s an already familiar flare of annoyance at Tony Stark, whose answer to everything seems to be to throw money at it.  Yet on the other - it was a hell of a thing for him to offer to do for someone he had just met.

He also can’t help but admire May Parker’s bravery and tenacity. To go up against the hospital with all of its money and its fancy lawyers all on her own? That took guts.

“One night, Ross himself comes by and says he has a court order to withdraw treatment on my case.”

Lost in thought, it takes Rhodey a moment to realize that the kid is talking again, and once the actual meaning of the words registers, he feels himself grow cold all over. “What??”

“Yeah.” Peter swallows hard several times, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “See… what he’s done is… he’s accused May of child abuse. For doing all these expensive treatments and prolonging my life. He got all these doctors to say that it wasn’t in my best interest, it was causing pain and suffering. He had all these records that showed it was harming me and wouldn’t save my life in the end and he said a third party should be asked to make medical decisions on my behalf. Basically, Ross made it so the government had medical decision-making power over my course of treatment.”

Rhodey sits back, stunned silent once again. He knows there are certain laws for that kind of thing, but they are meant to protect kids from abusive parents, who use medical diagnosis to harm their kids-- Munchausen by Proxy, that kind of thing. He can’t believe anyone would do what Peter’s describing.  It’s… it’s... unconscionable!

“Ross and May get into a big fight, and May… she’s in tears, alright? I hadn’t seen her like that since my uncle died. She starts pleading with him.  Promises to back down if Ross doesn’t withdraw treatment. Says she’ll stop the lawsuits and the push to get the laws changed - drop the whole thing just… just to keep me going.” Peter grits his teeth, his breath hitching once again.  “Ross was in my room, see,” he continues, voice tight with barely controlled emotions.  “He didn’t want anyone witnessing what he was doing, and he’s right in her face, laughing at her tears. And I’m… I’m just lying there like a rag doll, useless!”  

Peter’s face screws up as if in pain, eyes squeezing shut, and Rhodey can’t help reaching for the teen once more; lays a gentle hand on his back.  Peter nods in mute thanks; breathes, slow and deep, in an attempt to calm down, in and out, in and out.

“And then Mr. Stark walks into the room, out of nowhere,” he continues, hoarse, “with like three lawyers in tow. I don’t know who called him or how he got there so fast, I don’t know any of that. He’s just there, looking like a king even in a hospital gown, you know? The lawyers, they’re talking fast, serving Ross with all kinds of notices and cease and desist orders, and there’s even…”

Peter’s voice chokes up a little, and he fists his hands around the edge of the bench, white-knuckled fingers digging in.

“There’s even a restraining order, so he has to leave us alone. He can’t say anything to May or me, not ever again. And he never… he never does. Ross never has talked to us again.  And I start getting my medicine. Because of how sick I got without the medicine, I was moved way up on the list, but then thanks to Mr. Stark, I’m okay now. I’m good to wait. It’s actually good for me to wait, to get stronger, let this medicine heal my body.”

He turns, his gaze boring into Rhodey, intent, pleading.  “But Mr. Stark, he… Dr. Rhodes, he can’t wait anymore. He passes the rope again, he, maybe, won’t be around when a chance comes back up again. That’s why… that’s why we went to Ms. Potts about giving him my spot.”

Rhodey nods grimly, digesting that information.  “What about Dr. Hammer?” he wants to know.  “He did the surgery on Mr. Stark, didn’t he? How did that--”

He trails off, taken aback by the abrupt shift in the teen’s expression.  Peter’s whole face darkens, lips twisting into an ugly, bitter grimace.

“Hammer’s a hack,” he spits out with such venom that it leaves Rhodey gaping at him in frank surprise.  “He botched that surgery.  On purpose probably, too, I’m willing to bet!”

“Come on, Peter…” Rhodey shakes his head in disbelief, because an accusation like that? It’s utterly ridiculous!

“Ross threatened Mr. Stark, did I tell you that?” the teen cuts in as though Rhodey hasn’t spoken.  “When they were arguing in my room, when Mr. Stark told him to get out? Just before he left, he pinned Mr. Stark against the wall and he told him, told him Mr. Stark would regret doing this.  And you know what the last thing he did before leaving the hospital for good?”

“He assigned Dr. Hammer to do the surgery,” Rhodey guesses, feeling a horrible numbness spread forth within his chest. “But… why?”

“Hammer’s a butcher,” Peter sneers, voice dark with resentment, “everyone knows that.  He only ever got to be a surgeon thanks to his daddy’s money and Ross’s influence.  He never should have… he never should have gone anywhere near Mr. Stark.”

“He… I heard the nurses talk after. Hammer ignored the warning on Mr. Stark’s chart; gave him a drug that should never have been combined with the medicine Mr. Stark was taking.  Nearly killed him right on the operating table. It’s what… it’s what’s killing him now!”

The teen grits his teeth; drops his gaze to where his hands are clasped impossibly tight in his lap.  “I visited him the day after his surgery.  He looked… he…  I’ve never seen him look so bad.  Like… like death.  And he was in pain.  He was trying to hide it, but I could tell.”  He looks up again, his face twisting in anguish.  “He’s dying, Dr. Rhodes. And there’s no one who can help him but you.  Miss Potts, she told me, she said you’re the best in the field.  That’s why I told her to take my spot, so you could… so you could save him. And then I hear he fired you, Dr. Rhodes, and I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”

He looks at Rhodey with such raw, open worry that Rhodey wonders if he’s ever felt worse in his entire life, as if he’d kicked a puppy or pulled the wings off a butterfly. Killed a mockingbird, all that. Guilt and shame spread through his chest with hot prickles, as well as a burgeoning fear that he’d done something irrevocably foolish. He’d just thrown away the one chance he had to save someone… someone who is, despite what he’s been initially led to believe, utterly worth saving.

At the same time, he’s not sure how much he can rely on the opinion of a child, much less one so obviously emotionally compromised. There’s a chance that Stark had manipulated him, he hates to think it but it is a fact. People do... desperate things when they are desperate.

But Peter seems so damned earnest.

“Peter. I… I didn’t know any of that,” he manages finally -- as close to “I’m sorry” as he can get.

Peter nods gravely, brown eyes boring into Rhodey’s, dark, urgent. “I know, sir. I know. But… the thing is. Now you do. So what are you going to do about it?”

***

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, he really doesn’t.  He went looking for Pepper after he dropped the Parker kid back in his room, and he will honestly blame his conversation with the teen - the conversation that left him so thoroughly shaken and off his game that he doesn’t become aware of his surroundings until he nearly collides with a group of interns that huddle in an oddly conspiratorial-looking clique in the middle of the hallway in front of Pepper’s office. It is only then that he snaps back to the here and now.  It is only then that he becomes aware of the raised voices coming from behind the closed office door, and of the awkward glances the interns are throwing each other as they wait for Rhodey’s reaction.

“I refuse to allow it, Tony!” Pepper’s voice rages from behind closed doors, and Rhodey can see through the haphazardly open blinds as she paces angrily in her spacious office.  “I can have you blue slipped!”

“A psychiatric hold, really?” Stark sounds peeved, his temper from earlier having escalated even further. “Don’t think I won’t sue you if you pull that crap, Potts! My lawyers are faster and smarter than your corporate lackeys. I’m not your hostage or your science experiment and you agreed, you agreed! I say when I’m done. And I’m done!”

“Well I take it back! You can’t do this! I won’t let you!”

Pepper is shouting now, her voice - a heart-rending mix of anger and despair, and Rhodey doesn’t even have to pretend not to overhear them now. Everyone in the vicinity can hear their argument, and the interns once again begin talking in low voices to each other, flicking awkward glances in the direction of the office.

Rhodey has had enough.  Calling on his most authoritative tone, he shoos the interns back to work.  Waits a few beats as he watches them disperse, chastised, and then marches determinedly toward the office, trying his best to ignore the angry rise of Stark’s voice.

His ears register an abrupt, almost choked-off cessation of Stark’s response just as his fingers curl around the door handle, followed by a clatter of office supplies being knocked off the desk and a heavy thud of a body hitting the ground. Alarmed now, he yanks open the door and freezes, just out of their line of sight, struck momentarily dumb by the scene that opens before him.

Stark sits on the floor, slumped gracelessly against the desk, his legs splayed out before him. His eyes are closed, ashen face pinched in pain, his trembling left hand tugging unsuccessfully at something inside the pocket of his pajama pants.  

Pepper is kneeling before him, wide-eyed and almost as alarmingly pale as Stark himself, one hand resting on his rapidly heaving chest, the other gently pushing Stark’s hand out of the way to take out what the former has been so desperately trying to reach.

A bottle of pills.

Odd, Rhodey thinks, squinting as he tries to make out the label.  Because he doesn’t remember seeing any mention of any specific pills in Stark’s chart.  And yet...

“How many of these did you take? Tony? How many?” The undeniable urgency in Pepper’s voice cuts off his train of thought, and Rhodey notes the undisguised worry on his boss’s face.

“Three,” Stark huffs out, barely audible, eyes still stubbornly closed.

Pepper pulls back, lips pressed together into a thin white line, the bottle clasped tight within her trembling fingers.

“You know that's not safe,” she says finally, sounding like she’s pleading with Stark.  “You know they're just supposed to give you time. They’re not a cure! Tony, these damage your heart if you take them too often, you know this! You know--”

“Yeah,” he cuts her off abruptly, pain-glazed brown eyes sliding open to stare back at her with tired defiance. “Yeah, I do know Pepper. I’m the one who helped develop the damn things. Mixing Palladium and Epinephrine, not in the usual bag of tricks. So yeah. I know.”  He nods weakly to the bottle almost completely hidden within her crushing grip.  “I need one now, though.  Please.”

She watches him a heartbeat longer; sucks in a quick, shuddered breath.  “Okay,” she concedes finally, carefully jiggling one out into her hand. “Okay, Tony, you win.”

Dejectedly she hands the pill over to him; stretches to get a bottle of water from her desk, while he pops the pill into his mouth.  Reaches out to support him as he drinks, washing down the pill. It takes another few minutes before he nods to her, shifting as though to get up, and she helps pull him to standing, careful, anxious, her hands lingering on his shoulder, as if unable or unwilling to let go.

“Please, Tony, please promise me you won’t take any more of these today,” she pleads, and there’s an uncharacteristically vulnerable note in her voice, one Rhodey has never heard before. “Just… just give me some time, I’ll sort this out somehow--”

Stark smiles in response, weary and almost apologetic.  Leans in to place a soft kiss on her cheek.  

“Okay. Time. Sure,” he agrees placatingly. “All I got is time, Pep, you can take all of it you need to.”

The words sound wrong somehow, coming out of his mouth, like their meaning is different, like Stark is saying goodbye. And Pepper must sense the same thing, for Rhodey sees her open her mouth in protest…

Stark shakes his head, presses a gentle finger against her lips, silencing her.  “We both knew it was a long shot, Pep. Part of the journey is the end, all that; I've been on borrowed time, I'm not about to borrow any of Peter's. We knew this doctor was a hail mary and it didn't work out. Let me leave, Pep. Okay? Just for a little bit.  I'll see you soon.”

Rhodey doesn’t stay to hear her response.  Steps back outside, letting the door close softly behind him.  Mere moments later the door creaks open again, and Stark walks out, shuffling slowly toward the elevators.  Rhodey watches him go, wondering briefly if he should go after him and stop him.  But there are things about him he still feels he needs to know, needs to understand.  So after a moment of hesitation he turns on his heel and pushes his way back into Pepper’s office before he can change his mind once more.

***

He finds Pepper seated back at her desk, face buried in her hands, shoulders trembling ever so slightly.  It’s an uncomfortable sight, to be sure, and he has half a mind to tuck tail and run, but she raises her head just then, a pair of tear-filled blue eyes pinning him firmly in place.

“Dr. Rhodes.” She straightens out, a professional mask slamming back into place.  “What can I do for you?”

And he flinches despite himself.  Because this is Pepper.  He’s known her for years, been a close colleague of hers for years.  And he has been “Jim” or “Rhodey” to her for nearly as long.  But the look in her eyes now is cold as ice - the same look he’s seen her level at those who dared cross her, and he finds it frankly terrifying to be on the receiving end of it.

Though, to be fair, he supposes he deserves it.

“I… I formed an opinion about a man based on the word of someone I don’t respect as a surgeon and barely tolerate as a human being,” he begins carefully, stepping closer to her desk, gauging her reaction.  “What I have seen until recently seemed to have confirmed that opinion for me.  And yet…”

“And yet?” Pepper prods, blue eyes narrowing in silent warning.

“I can’t help feeling that I’ve missed something,” he admits.  “A couple people pointed out to me that maybe I was wrong in my initial assessment.  That… that I should get a second opinion.”

He takes a deep breath, trying his best not to fidget under her steely glare.  Squares his jaw in quiet resolution.  

“So this is me,” he finishes softly, spreading his arms out to the sides, “asking for that second opinion.”

TBC

[frickfracksnatchisback]

( meeps back into existence) I have the hurt comfort sad moon in submits for you....Also, 1: I LOVE THE STEAMPUNK AND PLS TURN IT INTO A REAL AU and 2: the next prompt could be....Metallic and affectionate! ( I'm failing at being sneaking. I just really want more insight on steamjumper) - Silver

((Already posted the other two things, just using this ask for the prompt)) Alright, I’ve got the new prompt for you as well! Robotic (as in the AGIT AU) and Anger. I feel like we need more angry Moonbot in our lives, so why not?

Here we go again with Steam Punk Hat AU!

***

“YOUDID WHAT?!”

Moonjumpercringed at the shouting, knowing very well who it belonged to. He washiding behind the basement door, having cracked it just enough so hecould listen in on the conversation.

Hattiehad been visiting him for the past couple days after she had freedhim. At first, Moonjumper planned “fix” her so she could be withhim forever and later they could make their escape. But after a bitof negotiation, Hattie had somehow convinced him to go with a betterplan. To instead, live with her and her family and not turnher into a robot. (She had told him over and over that she wasperfectly fine with being human, though he didn’t quite understandwhy)

Hattiehad told him to stay in the basement until she talked things overwith her father. But Moonjumper was pretty sure he knew what kind of“father” she was dealing with. And an inkling feeling in his veryCore told him that this plan wasn’t going to work at all.

“Pleasedon’t be mad at me! I just wanted to-”

“Itold you not to go down there! Do you have any idea whatcould’ve happened to you?!” the shouting returned, cutting offthe little girl’s words abruptly. “You could’ve been hurt or-”

“Orwhat?! Find the robot in the basement that you locked up?!”Moonjumper felt himself gasp at Hattie’s words. Had it been underdifferent circumstances, he would have found her retorts ratherhumerus. But the atmosphere was extremely tense, with his fate beingon the line. Would she even be able to convince her traitor of afather to let him be free?

Moonjumperleaned closer, listening intently as there was a short period ofsilence.

“H-howdid you-?” the creator spoke, clearly phased. But the disbeliefonly lasted for so long. “Listen, I know it looks bad. But trustme, there’s a good reason for why I-”

“Nothere isn’t! You locked him down there without even giving him achance!”

“Thatthing down there isn’t a ‘he’. It’s just a machine-”

“Nohe ISN’T!” Moonjumper startled at Hattie’s angryscreams. “He’s a person and his name is Moony! And he told methat you-”

“HarrietJeannette Tyme, that is enough!” Moonjumper could feel achill in the air after those words were spoken. He felt incrediblynervous. With such an authoritative parent like that, how on earthcould Hattie get through with this plan? But he also felt incrediblyfurious. How dare his creator call him a“thing”! He barely had any room to talk, treating him like just amindless “machine”! He had feelings, and at least Hattieunderstood that he-

“Youknow what? I’m not going to tolerate this any longer.” Moonjumperwas immediately snapped out of his thoughts, as he heard footstepsquickly approaching.

“Daddy…?Daddy where are you going?” littler steps followed, and Hattie’svoice clearly sounded panicked.

“Ishould have lock that door up when I left that monster downthere.” the footsteps continued to get closer and closer, until hiscreator was right at the foot of the door. He heard the clinking ofkeys after, which almost sent a shock through his system.

“NO!DADDY PLEASE DON’T-”

HearingHattie’s pleads was enough to send Moonjumper over the edge. Andwith incredible force, he burst through the door. He could hear a cryof surprise, as his creator lost his bearings and fell to the floor.The keys hit also hit the floor with a clank, right in frontof Moonjumper’s wheel.

Moonjumper’seyes were bright red, and full of rage. He looked down at hiscreator, who was laying on the floor and looking up at him in fear.His eyes switched from his creator, to the keys on the floor. Thecreator noticed this, and before he could make to grab the keys back-

Moonjumpersnatched the keys from off the floor. He made his creator watch,horrified, as he crushed the keys in his metal grasp. With horriblecrunching noises, Moonjumper destroyed the keys until they werepractically unusable. He then dropped the mangled and bent keys,letting them fall to the ground once more. His creator simply watchedas Moonjumper towered over him, his large shadow looming over thefloor.

“N-n-not…apri…soner…” Moonjumper growled, his clawed handsoutstretched above his head. “W-w-won’t lo…ck me a…way!”he yelled, ready to pouch on his creator and-

Moonjumperfroze, as he finally heard the sobs of a child.

Heturned his gaze away from his creator, only to see Hattie huddled inthe corner. And she was crying, her face in her hands. Moonjumper’sarms fell to his sides, his eyes turning back to yellow.

“H-H-Hattie?A-a-are you o…kay?”Moonjumper called to her, in a softer and much gentler tone. He startto roll away from his targeton the floor andtowards her instead.

“No!You stay away from her you-” Thorcalled out to him, readyinghimself to jump up off the floor and intervene. Fearfulfor what his creation would do to his only daughter, he made to stopMoonjumper.

Buthewas too late, as his creation was right above his poor, defenselessdaughter. Thorfroze,as he saw Moonjumperleaningcloser to her and-

…huggedher?

“S-s-shhh…It’so…kay…”Moonjumper tried to soothe her, rubbing her back and holding hertighter.

Thorstood there, dumbfounded, as his creation begantocuddlehis daughter. And his daughter returned the affection, holdingMoonjumpercloserand crying into his metal body. Thorsimply watched, feeling a mix of dread, guilt, and confusion buildingup inside him.He was still afraid of what his creation was doing, andwhywouldn’t he be? But seeing his daughter cry like that…while hecreation was the only one calming her down. Well, that made him feellike he made a big mistake as father. But at the same time, why washis creation being so…nice? And emotional?

“I’m…I’mso s-sorry, Moony!” Hattie sobbed, hiccuping in between her words.“I d-didn’t…I just w-wanted to help-”

“I-i-it’salright…you…r fine…”Moonjumper kept on, starting to cradle Hattie in his arms. As Hattiewasn’t looking, he took a moment to glare at Thor. Pure hate was inhis eyes, with them slightly turning red before going back to yellow.

Thorfelt a deep jealously growing in his heart. Hewas supposed to be the one caring for his daughter. And instead, thisrobot was the one drying her tears and comforting her. It shouldn’teven have emotions! And yet…

Yet…

Therealization struck Thor. It didhave emotion. Actual, human emotion. Could it be? Did the “Core”piece really bring his creation to life? Tim had warned him about it,but it’s not like he believed in all that magical mumbo-jumbo atthe time. He’d just thought of it as a power source and nothingmore. But now, he finally realized the truth. And there wasirrefutable proof, right in front of him, to prove it.

“I…”Thor felt himself speak up, grabbing both Moonjumper’sand his daughter’s attention. “…I’mso sorry.” he tried to apologize, recalling all the things he hadsaid or done. Moonjumper gave him a skeptical look, but he kept on.“I had no clue that you were really alive. I just…thought thatyou were-”

“A-a-amind…less ma…chine?”Moonjumper frowned at Thor, still holding Hattie close to him. Thorfelt slight anger at that response, but it was true.

“Isthere any way thatyou can forgive me?” Thor asked, still feeling guilty. Thatis, until he realized his mistake. Once he uttered those words,Moonjumper and Hattie beamed at him with excitement. AlbeitMoonjumper’s smile was a bit more malicious that Hattie’s, whichThor quickly noticed.

“CanMoony stay with us then?!” Hattie said rather excitedly, hoppingup and down in Moonjumper’s grasp.

“Y-y-yes…S-s-stayhe…re?”Moonjumper added in malevolently,that devilish smirkstillon his face.

Thorfelt extremely reluctant, not liking the look on Moonjumper’s faceone bit.Butif it would really make his daughter happy…

“Alright,he can stay.” Thor gave in, letting out a defeated sigh.

Hattieand Moonjumper looked at each other in surprise and glee. AndHattie started to giggle, as Moonjumper lifted her off the ground andinto his arms. He spun around, making both him and Hattie laughwith childish glee.

“Hey!Be careful with her!” Thor fussed, still not trusting Moonjumperwithin an inch of his life. And Moonjumper did stop, with Hat Kidstill laughing in his arms.

“Again!Again!” she clapped her hands together. But, to Thor’s surprise,Moonjumper shook his head.

“N-n-no,no…H-h-have to…be care…ful!”Moonjumper told her, mocking Thor with his tone of voice.

“Awww…”Hattie faked her disappointment, snuggling back into Moonjumper. AndMoonjumper rested his head on top of hers, givingThor a smug look that Hattie didn’t even notice. But Thor did, andMoonjumper had wanted him to see it. Finally, little Hattie was allhis! Well…sort of, but he could work that out later. He chuckled tohimself, as Thor shook his head at them and turned to leave.Moonjumper pretended not to notice, sighing as he cuddled his Hattiewithout a care in the-

“Ihope you realize there are other robots living here! You’ll have toshare!” Thor called back, before he disappeared out of sight.Presumably back to his workshop. Moonjumper eyes snapped open insurprise.

“Ohyeah! You haven’t met Mu and Snatcher yet!” Hattie exclaimed, asMoonjumper had lifted his head up to look at her confusedly. Hestared at her for a few minutes, until a nervous grin spread acrosshis face.

“S-s-share?W-w-with fri…ends?”Moonjumper asked her, slightly cocking his head in question. AndHattie nodded at him.

“Mhm!I think you really like Snatcher! He’s really funny, like you!”Hattie smiled at him. Although Moonjumper was trying to figure out ifthat was a compliment or not. He was too busy trying to process allof this, anyways. Otherrobots? As is other robots he had to sharehis Hattie with? Moonjumper thought deeply about this, as Hattiesnuggled into him once more.

Thatmight be a problem…

[sunlightdances]

— it’s the end of the world. you’re craving a human connection, and discover that the winter soldier has a more open heart than people give him credit for.

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader warnings: no real warnings - mentions of a panic attack and some harsh language. disclaimer: i don’t own marvel or bucky. the plot is mine. please don’t post my work on any other sites (including ao3) without my permission! reblogs are fine and welcomed! author’s note: this is my first time writing anything marvel-related. pls be gentle!

Horns are blaring on the streets as bumper to bumper traffic struggles to get out of Manhattan.

What’s the point, you think bitterly, your mind an endless loop of panic and resignation. The world is ending. Another alien attack, and no sign of help in sight. People were buzzing about seeing Captain America on the subway, but what the hell would he have been doing down there?

You press your phone to your ear one more time, trying to get through to your parents. It’s hopeless, you know, but you can’t help but try. The line goes dead. You sigh, feeling tears build up behind your eyes.

Suddenly, a hand grabs your shoulder, and you bite back a scream, whirling around, ready to throw a punch.

“Wait!”

It’s— you’re starting to think the world already ended, because it’s The Winter Soldier standing in front of you, blue eyes blazing with urgency and— you don’t know what else. Panic, you guess.

“Wait, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

A disbelieving laugh bubbles out of you, “Startle me?!”

“You need to get inside. Anywhere. Find shelter.”

“What the fuck are you doing down here?” You ask, gesturing around you. “The world is ending and you’re— trying to make sure people are inside when they go up in flames?”

“You need to get off the street.” He says quietly, meeting your eyes. “This isn’t the end. But it could be if you don’t find somewhere safe.”

“Bucky!” A voice shouts and you both look up, seeing a man with sandy blonde hair perched on the roof of the building in front of you. “Time’s up. Gotta move.”

“We have these comms for a reason,” Bucky mutters to himself. “Come on,” he says, dragging you by your elbow into the empty bank building. There’s a few people inside, huddled in a corner, and they look up with wide eyes before scattering at the sight of Bucky Barnes. He rolls his eyes.

“What’s the difference between being in here or out there?” You ask, ripping your arm from his grasp. “We’re all going to die anyway.”

His eyes narrow a tiny bit. “You’re not going to die.”

“This is worse than last time,” you point out. This battle has been going on for nearly a week, the invasion having started even before that. “You and your friends can’t stop it.”

“You’re panicking.” He points out, cocking an eyebrow. He looks around you, out into the street, like he’s looking for someone.

“No shit!” You laugh, almost hysterically. “How is this happening. I’m— oh god, I don’t want to die.” You feel your breath start to speed up, but you can’t calm down. “I don’t want to die, but I can’t do anything about it, and I’m not even going to die at home with my family! I’m going to die here in some credit union with The Winter fucking Soldier—“

Bucky is saying something to you, but in your blind panic, you don’t hear any of it.

You also don’t see the look of determination that crosses his face, or the deep breath he takes right before he leans in and kisses you, hard.

To say you’re shocked is an understatement. You freeze against him, your breath feeling bottled up inside your throat, but his touch softens just a fraction, and it’s like warmth starts seeping into your veins. You practically melt against him, your shaky breath leaving you on a soft sigh, and a shiver runs up your spine at the feeling of his hand gently pressing against the small of your back.

You feel as if you were meant to be kissing Bucky Barnes for all of eternity.

He makes a soft noise, something like surprise tinged with satisfaction, and it makes you want to cling to him and never let go.

The floor shakes under your feet, quite literally, and the two of you break apart with a start. He runs a hand through his hair, looking at you sheepishly, though his steel blue eyes are laser-focused on you.

“You were freaking out.” He says with a shrug, and you can’t help it - you laugh. A loud laugh that has you gripping your sides.

He smiles at you, but just for a half second before his fingers go to the comms device in his ear again, his face smoothing back into seriousness. “Sorry. I have to go. I-- I shouldn’t have done that.”

You’re still a little speechless, so you just shrug. “... ‘m not really complaining.”

He grins. “You’re going to be fine. It’s all going to be fine. You’ll see.”

“Don’t you have to go save the world, or something?”

He takes a few steps backwards, eyes still on you. “Find somewhere safe. Don’t come out until someone comes to get you.”

“No one knows I’m here!”

“I do,” he replies with a wink, and then he’s gone, back out onto the nearly empty street.

“What the fuck.” You say to yourself, but you end up doing what he says. The bank of the bank near the vault seems safe enough, you think, and despite the panic wanting to rise up in you again, you think of Bucky Barnes smile and the way he touched you, and you try to stay calm.

.

.

.

You’re in there for almost an entire day, you think. You’re feeling panicky again, ready to just give up and go outside to see what’s happened and accept your fate, but there’s the sound of footsteps nearby that stop you.

You never thought about it before, but you think hiding out in a bank was probably the stupidest idea. If anyone else survived, where else would they go to try to loot?

“... down here, if she actually listened to me, instead of--” a familiar voice says, and when you hear him, relief shoots through your veins.

You come out of your hiding spot, hands on your hips. “Who tells someone to hide in a bank when the world is ending? You just-- and I listened to you, even though this is the dumbest place--”

“That’s her.” Bucky says, cutting you off, the grin on his face nearly a mile wide.

“I like her.” The man next to him says, coming forward to shake your hand. “Sam Wilson,” he says, and you just stare at him until Bucky gets your attention.

“Told you you’d be fine,”

“Now’s really not the time to be smug--”

“Actually, I think it’s the perfect time--”

“While you two keep flirting, I’m going to go…. Somewhere else.” Sam says, and you blush, avoiding looking at Bucky at all, because he’s just-- you’re remembering how badly you panicked the last time you saw him, and you didn’t have time to be embarrassed because you thought the world was going to end.

But now--

He takes a step closer, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You lived,” he says.

You barely restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. “So did you.”

“You know, I never got your name.”

“Why did you come back for me?” You ask, ignoring his non-question.

He blinks. “I told you I would.”

“What-- what happened out there?” You ask, your brain going rapid-fire. “Oh, god. I need to call my parents. I don’t--”

“You’re freaking out again.” He says, and when you look up, he’s even closer than you remember, those blue eyes pinning you in place. His hand is hovering next to your waist like he wants to touch you, but isn’t sure if he’s allowed.

The world almost ended. You’re feeling a little bold. “Guess you better shut me up,” you say flippantly, and he laughs. You decide it’s quickly becoming your favorite sound.

When he kisses you this time, it’s not a thing born out of desperation and panic. It’s slow and sweet, like he’s savoring the feeling of his lips pressed to yours and his body pressed up against yours, and all the little sounds he’s able to draw out of you.

“Thanks,” you whisper when you break away to get some air.

“Anytime, really.” He says, sounding cocky, and you decide that just won’t do.

You plant a kiss on him to rival the one he laid on you, and feel gratified when you feel his metal hand sink into your hair to tug slightly, a groan escaping his lips as they part against yours.

“Ahem,” a voice clearing breaks the two of you apart with a start, and you’re glad he’s still partially holding you up, because getting caught making out by Captain America normally would make you melt into the floor until you disappeared entirely. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, his voice tinged with amusement, “But we’ve got a lot of debriefing to do. Cell service is out, mostly,” he says, looking at you, “But we’ve got the jet and we can drop you somewhere if you need to check in on anyone.”

He smiles and then heads back out the way he came, leaving you groaning in embarrassment against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Your parents,” he murmurs, and you nod in agreement.

“Yeah.” After a few seconds, you smile at him. “Y/N. My name, since you asked for it.”

He beams at you. “Bucky. James. Whatever you want to call me, honestly.”

You blush again. “God, there were aliens here, and you’re still-- incorrigible.”

He shrugs. “Comes with the job description. I’m used to it.” He takes a step back from you. “I gotta go. And so do you.”

You frown.

“But--” he continues, “Let me know when you’re back in the city.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” You ask, and he grins.

“Big tower. It’s got an “A” on it. You can find me there.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “You’re awful cocky, you know. What makes you so sure I’m going to look you up when I get back?”

“Because I stopped you from having a panic attack in the middle of an alien invasion. I figure that at least guarantees me a pizza date.”

The team drops you off at your parents’ place. They’re fine. The world is-- mostly fine. Struggling to deal with the aftermath, but the people you love are okay, and you know you will be too.

You can’t really stop thinking about a certain blue-eyed super soldier, and so when you finally come back to New York, after the trains are running again, and after things are sort of back to normal, you show up at the famous Avengers Tower, wringing your hands together with nerves.

A ding from a nearby elevator makes you look up, and the smile on his face wipes out all your previous worries.

“I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me,” he says as he gets closer, his strides sure as he walks towards you, “And I didn’t want to assume anything, but I thought despite the circumstances, we really hit it off, but--”

You cut him off by meeting him halfway, taking his face in your hands and pressing your lips to his. The sigh he lets out is music to your ears, and his arms go around your waist instantly, pulling you as close as you can get.

“You were freaking out,” you whisper afterwards, and his laugh rings out around you, settling into your bones.

[magdaclaire]

hiiii mer, can u pls write me a mob winteriron au with mob boss Bucky and daycare center worker tony? preferably with secret identity porn and some angst

It does not have identity porn, but it does have angst! 

Hope you enjoy it under the cut, Joanis! 

Ao3 Link

Tony clenches his jaw, leaning against the wall stubbornly and jutting his chin up at anyone who makes eye contact, though few are brave enough to even try. Even if people don’t know who he’s attached to, they do know the kid that’s huddled behind his thigh, sucking on her thumb with a cast on her arm. Tony only has to make the right expression to the right person for someone to run off and get who he’s looking for, and that’s a kind of power he never expected to have. He doesn’t even particularly want it, but it’s fine. Everything is fucking fine, after all.

Except the kid. She’s not fine, and if he doesn’t get his ass in front of Tony, begging for her forgiveness on his knees right the fuck now, Tony is going to kill James Buchanan Barnes. A few people offer him a cigarette when he has to wait more than a minute for Steve to run and go get James, but Tony declines. He doesn’t smoke, least of all in front of kids, and maybe Tony will read James that riot act after he’s done reading this one, which he just might read in front of all of his little friends.

Some might say that calling the entire mob “James’s little friends” wasn’t very good for Tony’s self preservation, but see if he gives a flying fuck. James likes him too much to have him killed, and everyone else is too afraid to even piss Tony off, let alone the man himself.

He feels like a fucking mob wife in the ‘30s and nothing pisses him off quite like that.

“Tony! Baby, what are you doin’ here? Becca? What happened to your arm, sweetheart? Are you okay?” James asks, hitting his knees in front of the pair just as he fucking should. Becca tells him the story of her sprained wrist when she lost her balance on the monkey bars, how an attendant had attempted to catch her but she had fallen too fast, how Tony had tried to call him three times before the ambulance even got there, but he never answered. James looks up at Tony with wide eyes and Tony gives him a flat look, the clench of his jaw accented by raised eyebrows. He revels in how James winces.

“Princess, how about we get you layin’ down for a nap at Aunt Peggy’s? I’ll read you a sleepy story after me and Tony have a bit of a talk,” James promises her, grinning awkwardly, but Tony shakes his head, calling Steve over with just a finger.

“How about Uncle Steve reads you a story? Me and Bucky need to talk for a bit longer than you might be able to stay awake, sugar plum, and I don’t want you to miss your whole story,” Tony advises, to which Becca nods.

“Yeah, okay. Uncle Steve, can you pick me up? My feet hurt,” Becca requests, making the gesture for up to her older brother’s best friend. Steve picks her up with a nod and doesn’t even get a confirmation from James before walking her up the stairs, out of the basement and presumably over to the house he shares with his fiance, a fierce brunette woman who holds an even higher rank than Steve himself. Tony turns his sharp eyes on James once he sees her go in the building, drumming his fingertips on his opposite bicep. James grimaces, knowing where things are going.

“Guys? Clear out. Me and Tony need the floor,” James says, to which grumbling begins as various mobsters put down their cards. Dum Dum brushes his knuckles across Tony’s shoulder as he goes out, obviously sorry for something that he couldn’t have controlled, but Tony brushes him off. He doesn’t need apologies from anyone but James, and James hasn’t even begun saying his piece. At this rate, he may never finish. Dernier is the last one to leave, bowing his head at Tony.

“Go soft on ze boss, eh? He has been doing better lately,” Dernier says, to which Tony gives a straight jawed nod. He’s not going to go easy on James, not even close, but it’s fun to think that someone wants him to. Tony sits in a seat across the table from James, one of the most direct ways to call an opponent in James’s world, but he’s okay with that. He’s not exactly looking to reassure James at the moment.

“Tones, I know you’re mad, doll -” James starts, but he knows to stop when Tony tilts his head, already madder than a fucking snake. Anything that starts with I know you’re mad is only gonna make things worse, and James knows it.

“You wanna tell me why you don’t know how to answer a fuckin’ phone, James? You been down here all afternoon? Actually, don’t fucking answer that second one, asshat. I don’t care if you’ve been down here for seventy fucking years, you still get service in this hole. So, back to the first question. How, in all of your infinite knowledge and wisdom, in the fuck did you forget how to answer a phone?” Tony asks, voice sharp as he leans his chin on his hand, carefully keeping his expression cool.

“We were…” James trails off, rubbing the back of his neck, “We were celebratin’ somethin’. Started playin’ about four hours ago. She don’ even get outta school for another hour, Tony, I - I didn’t even think about it, darlin, and I’m sorry.” He sounds almost sincere enough for Tony to want to drop it, but he remembers the fear he’s been holding in the bottom of his stomach for almost three hours, for all of the time that James hadn’t answered the phone, for all of the time that he hadn’t known where James was or what he was doing. He only knew where James was, that James was even okay because Steve answered a text.

“Honey, did you forget what you do for a living? Did you honestly forget?” Tony asks, to which James tilts his head. “You didn’t answer the phone. You didn’t answer a call, didn’t answer texts, satellite GPS on your phone doesn’t work well down here. James, I thought you were fucking dead. You don’t answer the phone, I have to assume the worst don’t I? I take care of Becca during the day. I’m the one who reminds her that it’s okay to have friends at the daycare, that she’s okay, that she’s safe. How am I supposed to tell her that she’s safe when you don’t even answer the phone when she needs you? What if it had been worse?”

He doesn’t mean to go on this rant, on the guilt tripping, awful thing that makes his throat hurt with the fact that he’s about to cry, but it’s easier. He can’t admit that he was terrified that he was about to lose the man he loves before he even got to tell him. He can’t admit to James that he’s caught feelings that feel much more permanent than their relationship. He isn’t proud of how James seems to choke on this argument, how his eyes cloud up with the first bit of tears, but it’s easier.

“Tony,” James says, choking on it, before he closes his eyes, steeling himself to continue. “I’m sorry that I made you deal with that. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there. It will never, never happen again, I promise you that. You’ll never have to deal with us again.” There’s a note of finality there that freezes even the breath in Tony’s lungs, and he feels like he’s dying.

“James, what are you saying?” he asks, freezing in his posture as well as he sits up and stays in some sort of stasis, completely caught off guard. He knows that James has a guilt complex, knows that he can take things to heart better than anyone else, but he doesn’t… he doesn’t know what James is saying.

“The daycare experiment was a bad idea. I’ll get Peggy’s friend to start teachin’ her again, and we’ll keep her within the guard. I’m sorry that I disappointed you, and I’m sorry that I wasn’t better to both you and Becca in this situation,” James says. It sounds just like one of the cuts in one of Tony’s father’s business meetings, just like the way that things end, and Tony can’t have the end, not yet. He stands from his seat and sits down on the table in front of James, just like he always does, just where he belongs. He usually feels safer here, but there is no safety in the way that James does not make eye contact with him, staring straight ahead, nor the way that James keeps his hands firmly on the arms of his chair.

“I don’t want either of you to go. I can’t - I can’t lose her,” Tony says instead of admitting that he can’t lose James, because that’s so much and so new and Tony can’t. He gets flashes of his father in his head, quiet reminders that no one will ever want him when he’s not inventing, no one will ever want him now that he’s a burnout, no one will ever want him now that he’s soft, now that he’s simple. Tony can’t lose either of them.

“Visits can be arranged if you want. I’ll have Steve organise them,” James offers, kinder than he needs to be, but Tony makes a noise that sounds like a wound has been ripped through him. James finally looks at him at about the same time that Tony is sliding into his lap, clinging onto the other man desperately. As confused as he obviously is (stone body structure, just the side of his expression out of the corner of Tony’s eye), he still puts his hands on Tony’s back, holding him with such care that it’s painful.

“I can’t lose you either, dipshit. Half the reason why I’m fucking mad and he misses it,” Tony mutters against the mobster’s throat, but he knows that James hears it for the way that arms tighten around his waist.

“I love you,” James says, just as quiet as Tony’s muttering, but Tony hears it anyway. He feels like he’s about to cry.

“I love you too,” he admits, and it doesn’t feel as much like a weakness as it did just before.