#the tension as he drags himself out of there on crutches

[franklespine]

They really didn't do enough with the sam seeing visions and thinking that they're from God, when really they're from Lucifer plotline in s11, because holy crap that was good. There is something that is just so devastatingly fascinating about sam, desperate to believe in a force greater than himself, and for that force of divine intervention and purity to have chosen him. Then to have these visions show him his deepest and most central traumatic wound, to lead him back towards this suffering. Oh the TURMOIL.

Sam has always craved purity - he has always wanted desperately to belong, to be pure like everyone else. The little kid who thought he could never go on a holy quest because he wasn't clean enough, who went on to find out about the demon blood fed to him when he was an infant and thinking this is the puzzle piece he was missing - this is the answer to why he feels the way he does - he is impure and wretched on a biological level. He is filled with self-doubt in s1-2 as to his powers and what this means for him, clawing at faith (faith in Dean and their policy of saving people as much as faith in a religious sense) to feel stabalised. He is frustrated and angry in s4 at this demon blood in him, the fact that there is something innately evil in him that he can never 'rip out' or 'scrub clean'. Then by the time s8 rolls around he LEAPS at the chance to purify himself. Yeah, cause that's healthy. All of this is to say that when sam gets his first vision after praying in the hospital chapel, he wants so desperately to believe that it is God who has looked down on him and thought him worthy. That, for once, the divine have been the ones to put their faith in him, not the devil.

And then the reveal. It was never God. It was never something holy.

Evil has kept its claws in him since he was six months old and he will never be clean of it. It was the devil all along. This realisation is crushing and I will never get over Sam's face as he realises, wide eyed with shock and horror as a tears spills out of his eye. Devastating.

But yet the deep seeded horror of this plotline is so underexplored. Like, call me biased but I would have really stretched this idea out a few more episodes at LEAST. Place more emphasis on this moral conundrum between wanting to have faith and yet this faith asking you to do something no person should ever go through.

In fact, I loved the first few episodes of s11, they had me on the edge of my seat. The black veined virus thing?? Amazing - I want more. It would have been cool to have seen this be a continuous thing across the whole season. Like if the season slowly devolved into this kind of wrought post-apocalyptic thing. Ik that probably wouldn't work but I would have loved to see it. And creepy baby Amara and that exorcism stuff - so cool. Anyway, this post is kind of a mess, but I just loved how s11 started; the darker tone, the boys completely out of their depth, the idea of this biblical plague that makes people 'unclean, in the biblical sense' - super fun ideas. It's not that I didn't like where s11 ended up, but I just feel like at some point the tone completely changed and it just got a bit... goofy. I blame Lucifer, mainly (and chuck). Every scene with Lucifer and Sam I was pulling my hair out cause WHY IS SAM SO CALM?? This guy literally tortured him for centuries and had him so dreadfully freaked out at the start of the season and now its like yeah whatever. And it's not like I expected it to take centre stage or anything but in theory, the idea that the Winchester's bestest bestie Cas is possessed by Lucifer, who they actually now need to stop Amara should have been some crazy psycho horror shit. Sam should have been seeing Lucifer's mannerisms like second nature, thinking he's going crazy. Dean should be worried that Sam's is going off his rocker and yet also feeling something so fundamentally off with Cas. But they just didn't feel the need to delve into that whatsoever I guess.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that I really loved the ideas, particularly surrounding Sam, that were going on at the start of s11. I think using this as a springboard would have been a really interesting exploration of character for him, and Dean too as he is forced to confront how Sam's relationship with faith and purity differs from his own, and then ultimately a revaluation of the way he sees him. I mean, he wasn't exactly supportive once he found out Sam having demon blood had some side effects. Even when he didn't know about Sam drinking demon blood or Ruby, even when Sam was truly just saving people he called him a monster, told him that if he didn't know him, he's want to hunt him. Crazy times.

#supernatural #sam winchester #spn #dean winchester #castiel #lucifer #spn s11 #poor sammy #I have similar ideas about the s7 beginning #The start of s7 is just amazing I love it also #shit just keeps happening #there is nothing like the pit in your stomach that falls when at the end of the second episode sam and dean are in the ambulance #sam's passed out dean w a broken leg and dean goes which hospital are you taking us to? and the paramedic is like sixous falls #the place where the leviathans are #just damn #and then the escape from the hospital?? #omg there is nothing like the true vulnerable horror in which Dean scrambles out of the hospital like another one of my favourite scenes #the tension as he drags himself out of there on crutches #leviathan doctors hot on his tail #wow

[t3kandson]

Stranger

Word count; 2,863

Pairing; Reader X Lee Jeno

Characters; Lee Jeno though he calls himself Hyoshin

Warning; Alcohol consumption, Arrange Marriage, loss of virginity, Size Training, Oral (Receiving) & Fingering & Slight Parental Abuse.

Notes; Happy Birthday to one of my Ult wreckers and NCT ult Jeno 💚🎂

The second you arrived to the hotel room, the sexual tension from the night erupted. Your body caged against the wall was rough but excitedly being attack by the man you had only met just a couple hours prior. It was noticeable a mile away he was a fuck boy and like the rebellious desire at having your future ripped from your control, you needed this moment.

If you was forced to marry a stranger then you could fuck a good looking one that you chose. However, you doubted your ability to continue when he buckled his hips against yours. His large thick rod was noticeably felt against your own crutch, stealing moans at the impact. The sound seemed to spur him on as his eyes darkened further, wild even. Hands roughly falling to your ass above your revealing dress, his kisses got more hungrier.

Though the air was filled by silence it wasn’t awkward, you had revealed your needs and he was happy to oblige. This was one night before your future was stolen from you. However, you had kept from him that you was a virgin, that everything right this second was new, fresh and slightly out of your league. Yet despite his hungry heaviness he was leading without the knowledge of what he was about to take.

You didn’t feel threatened, minus the now reminder of the size of his manhood. Which had your mind panicking before his next movement helped relax and remove it. Fingers find your zip he pulled it down making sure his little finger rubbed down your spine following. Back arching as moans filled the air, detaching yourself from his lips had him deeply stifle a chuckle. Just the goofy grin on his face melted you in the moment. His beauty spot under his eye came in to your view, you had not noticed in the dark club. But right now is was beautifully sat their adding to his perfection. Infact the light of the room showed how perfect he really was. His chiselled jaw, Your heart skipped a beat when he smiled earlier, his eyes smalling to moon crescents. It was what showed you that though he was clearly sex hungry, he wasn’t a monster. Just someone after a good time with no after connection to complicate life.

“What you thinking about pretty?” he suddenly asks with his finger under your chin to look him directly in his eyes. “How bloody gorgeous you are,” you confess as you feel your cheeks heat. “Cute,” he said deeply that made your core burn.

Tugging the bottom of your dress it fell to the floor as your sure you hear him gulp. As if his eyes couldn’t get any hungrier, his fingers rush to remove your bra to expose your breasts. Chuckling wickedly he licks his lips before taking his finger to your chest. Eyebrows arched his fingers drags down your skin towards your navel, all while biting down on his lower lip. Placing his hands around your hips to bring you closer, his lips press to your neck. Tangling the elastic band of your pants he rips them as you wash down his sniggers before he discards them to the floor. Your fingers find the button of his shirt as you fumble to reveal the skin of his abs. As the material rests just on his shoulders your hands explore the skin. Yours lips part to view it in detail as you gasp. He looks after himself extremely well with his perfect physique.

“Oh pretty you can’t be a mess already,” he teases as you look him in the eyes with a sudden anxiety rush. One look locked with him and it’s chased away. Rolling his tongue down his inner cheek fills you with confidence you didn’t believe you owned, when you rushed your lips back to his startling him suddenly. Your own shaking fingers attacking his shirt to the floor as your lips locks got fiercer. As you fumbled with his jeans you struggle with the button. “Slow down,” he chuckles breaking the contact between your lips before his own hands did what you wanted to do. His eyes heavy focused on you as you watched him remove his last pieces of clothing.

You could have had a heart attack when you saw his member full in its glory. “It’s ok, I’ll get you good and wet so it won’t hurt as much,” he smiled warmly cupping your face. “I’m a virgin,” you stuttered out as you stood back from him as he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Huh?” He gasps as his eyes tenses further. “I’m a virgin, I’m new to this, I wanted you to know,” you explain shakey as he tilts his head in your view. “So you wanted to lose it with a complete stranger? are you crazy,” he said with concern. “I’m going to lose my whole life to a stranger that I won’t choose tomorrow, so why not now,” you said as his face softens. “Please don’t change your mind, Please let me have something I’ve chosen,” you plead as he looks at you in deep thought. “But what if tomorrow he is what you want?” He asked as you fear the moment slipping. “He won’t be, he’ll be old and powerful and no doubt ugly,” you moan as your hand rubs your arms cold from the chill suddenly. “Why didn’t you tell me you was a virgin?” He moaned turning his back to you. “Because I didn’t want to admit that I’m so inexperienced,” you said shyly looking to the floor as a awkward silence hit the room.

“Suppose it’s my job to teach the wife to shag her husband then,” he said turning to you softly.

Walking towards you he gently places his hand along the side of your face. “You have to be honest, if it hurts, if it feels good, I need you to be vocal,” he whispers. “I was going to ruin you, but seems I have to go with an alternative plan,” he said rubbing his thumb up your cheek bone. “What’s that,” you asked as he attempted to hold his chuckle back. “For me to know and you to find out,” he smirks kissing your nose.

Lips reuniting, his hands brush up your naked back. He rolls your ass against him that your heat clashes. The impact has your breath hitch as you feel him harden at each roll. Feeling a little confident your hand falls to hold his meaty member. You can barely get your thumb around it and you feel your heart thunder.

He lifts you as he continues to kiss you as he Carry’s you to the bed.

Tossing you down that your muscles rebel at his heavy handedness. “Opps sorry,” he apologises with a slight worried glance before his eyes fell to your naked torso. “Pretty, I’m going to make you feel good, I promise,” he said sweetly as if the fierceness from earlier disappeared. Getting between your thighs he smirks up at you that has your core tighten. Pressing kisses along your bikini line you close your eyes to the warmth feeling. Your eyes flash open when you feel the wet warm tongue of his lick up your folds. Teasingly pressing the tip of the wet muscle round the entrance to your core, has your stomach fill with butterfly’s. Dragging towards your nub he suckles on your sensitive spot as you whine. He enjoys shifting between the different places his tongue and lips can explore your dripping cunt. Feeling your blood rush to your head in excitement, your head falls to the pillow. But when you feel his tongue invade your heat completely as it fucks against your wall, you can’t help but close your eyes as you feel your core burn.

“Fuck Hyoshin,” you pause as his speeding pace steals your breath. “This feels so good,” you manage to choke out as his tongue leaves you to lap back at your nub. He continues with his tongue fucking as you feel your thighs tremble. “Hyoshin ya,” you cry as your hand flys to remove his mouth but his hand catches your wrist as he continues. Before you can protest you feel your body explode as you feel a rush of heat attack your body. His tongue seems to lap faster as if he’s in a frenzy high off your juices.

You hiss as you feel over sensitive and he leaves your cunt with your slick coating his face that smirking at you. “Told you pretty I would make you feel good,” he smiles your way. “Now let’s get your pussy ready for me,” he said sitting on his knees. “This bit may be uncomfortable a little, but it’ll be worth it I promise,” he said as his fingers find your nub swirling around that has you whine.

Placing a finger into your heat he slides it around before adding a second one. He makes them curve that your walls squeeze as he presses his tip harder against what you presume is your G-spot. Pumping with a third digit it’s a stretch that has you hiss before you settle to his rhythm. “Good girl,” he praises as his thumb occasionally brushes along your nub. “I’m going to start fucking you now ok,” he said giving you a chance to back away. “If it hurts you have to tell me,” he instructs as he removes his fingers from your core. “If you want me to stop just say,” he adds as he hovers over you while you nod.

“It will hurt to start with but stay with me, I promise I will make it feel good,” he whispers as he presses small kisses up your jaw. “I trust you,” you gasp as his lips press to your neck. Rolling his body against your heat your hands find his back in an anxious shift. “Pretty, it’s ok I won’t penetrate you till your ready,” he reassures you as his lips find yours. Rolling himself again his member slides between your thighs. “Are you on the pill?” He asks as you shake your head. “Ahh virgin yes, good thing I got a condom in my wallet,” he smiles as he leaps off to fetch the birth control.

You can’t help but be intrigued why he carry’s such items. But then you remember you chose him because he seemed a fuck boy, someone to forget you, forget this later on.

You gulped watching as he covered himself, yet one second of that tongue of his poking through his cheek had your core respond.

Getting between you once more he rolls the tip of his shaft around your nub. He toyed it around your entrance as your thighs tense slightly. His hands rubs the slight trembling muscles as he smiles your way leaning to kiss you once more. Pressing himself gently just the tip has your eyes shut as you hold your breath. “Your doing well,” he coos as he stills for a while before pressing it in a little more. “It hurts,” you whimper as he stills again, his lips searching for yours as to help relax you. He rolls himself once more pushing further, your nails dig into his skin as you cry feeling as if your being ripped apart. “Pretty, pretty it’s ok,” he reassures as his finger slide between your body to your nub swirling.

“Just one more and your have me fill you up,” he says between kisses. One more push has him fully in you as your feel tears soak your face as you cry. “Remember pain then pleasure, I promise,” he whispers when he rolls himself back to slide back in.

“Count to ten, feel the pleasure attack,” he instructs as you nod. As you count, he thrusts into you, stilling between. But by the time you reach 7 the pain is less as your body starts relaxing against him. When 9 is reached it’s not cry’s of pain but of pleasure that’s engulfing you. “You doing so well pretty,” he coos proudly before he sets a more usual pace.

“You feel so good hugging me so tightly, fuck Mirae,” he moans speeding his pace. His thrusts become a little heavier as they hit against your cervix which has your walls throbbing around him. The pressure of his cock hitting the entrance to your womb, has screams of the deepest pleasure you’ve ever experienced. “Pretty, cum on my dick,” he asks as if it’s the most thing he could desire. It’s not long before that sensation returns as you chase your high. The sounds of his own moans alongside the slapping skin of your bodies, has your high tether that your nails dig into his skin. “Mirae I’m going to cum,” he cry’s as if he can’t hold himself back. As his thrusts become more precise he leans his forehead against yours as your eyes get lost within each other. Just the view of him alongside the sounds your body’s are making, pushes you both off the edge together. Your body convulses underneath him while he pumps warm hot cum into his condom till his pace stills.

“Fuck your husband will be one lucky man,” he compliments panting as his lips crash to yours once more. “And so is your lucky ladies,” you pant his way making his lips depart from yours. “I don’t know what your implying,” he giggles as you feel him slip from you. Rolling over to the space by your side you smile at him before you get up to leave. “Wait you not staying for the night with the man you chose to lose your virginity with,” he teases as you look deadpan his way. Puppy eyes and bottom lip out shows you that he wants you to stay. You relent throwing yourself into him as he throws his arms to hold you tight.

You wake to Hyoshin sleeping frame holding you into him as he spoons you. Realising that it’s time to dash you carefully prise yourself from him as he doesn’t wake. Looking at your mobile you realise it’s 5am, you close your eyes knowing your mother will scorn you. But looking at the man who made you become a woman you know it’s worth it. After slipping into your clothes, stealing his boxers due to him tearing your pants, you take one last look at the perfect man who took care of you as you left him behind.

You knew you would be scolded when you found your mothers arms folded when you sneaked into the house. “If your father knew that you had only just come home, just hours before you meet your future husband he would never talk to you again,” she hisses into your face as she tosses you into the shower that you know will be cold. It’s like she knows what you’ve done as she scrubs your body with anger beneath her finger tips as you remain silent. Closing your eyes you cherish each memory from the night to endure your mother’s angry antic.

It was like you was there to put on a sales man show. However, you was selling yourself as you stood in the car park to your home. The gravel beneath your feet as anxiety pulsated through your body. Your life, your future as CEO daughter inlaw to their first born was not the life you wanted. But here it was being thrusted upon you, having your father sell his own daughter to save the family reputation and home. Your mother was the CEO’s former lover and so it was his way to keep her close. It felt seedy and wrong but there was nothing you could do but pray he would look after you.

As the car pulled up Luxury as ever you knew your instinct would be right. The large gentleman that you guessed from your mothers delighted smile was your future father inlaw as you watched them greet each other. One look your way has him look at you with delight as he made his way towards you, his hands falling to yours as you bowed. “Oh Chaeyoon isn’t Y/N so beautiful,” he said as you smiled his way. “She and My son will make beautiful babies,” he complimented as your body inwardly shivered at the future that was about to be thrown at you. “Where is he, could he not make it?” your mother asked sounding disappointed. “No he’s here he’s in the car, business calls and everything, he will join us shortly,” he said looking back at the car hiding your future.

As you all turned to make your way into the house you heard the car door bang behind you. “About time,” his father moaned twisting back to face his way. “Apologies,” you heard the voice that shot shivers up your spine. Turning to Face your future fiancé was your Hyoshin, his face equally shocked to view you. However, he wasn’t Hyoshin, because your future husband was Lee Jeno of Dream enterprise. Like you with him he must have used a different name.

Sequel Saviour

Masterlist

#kpopidol #fiction #kpop smut #nct dream smut #nct smut #lee jeno smut

[bearsinpotatosacks]

A Heart Can Belong to More Than One - Multi-ship fic

The Bradshaws are very loving people. They're with Maverick, and recently Ron. Maybe they can help Iceman with his dilemma.

~~~

For a prompt list, prompt was "A kisses B in the rain"

Words: 1858

Goose held the cigarette between his lips as he fumbled about trying to find his lighter. Once the cold metal landed in his hand, it was always the other pocket, he flicked it on. Orange flames lit up against the overcast sky. A sizzle came as the cigarette lit, that first inhale always managed to ease any tension. He turned to Ice, leaning on a post as they hid from the rain. 

"Don't tell Carole about this, okay?" He said, taking a drag. "She's not a big fan of smoking."

"Why do you do it then? You seen to do everything for her,"

"Stress relief," he said. "And the past few weeks have been a little stressful, so, I'm smoking."

He then added with a chuckle, "But if you ask her what I do for stress relief she'd probably say 'her'."

He heard Ice laugh. It was a rare occurrence really, even when he knew him in the Academy he was never one to laugh too much. 

"How long are Mav and Slider going to be?" He asked.

Ice shrugged, "They said they had some questions for the doctor, so they could be ages, Ron used to doctors so is usually quite thorough," 

Nick thought back to those days before the Navy. There was one night, in the rain, when Ron came to him in tears and told him everything about his family. His sister used crutches and had seizures, something they told him he could have.

"He really cares about you, and Carole," Ice said. 

"Good, I think I do too," he tapped his forehead. "Had a lot of time to think about it, you know, coma and all."

Ice just gulped and shuddered. He'd been told about how guilty he felt. The Iceman who made no mistakes, responsible for almost killing one of his team? He'd tried to tell him it wasn't his fault, apparently everyone had, it had been ruled an unfortunate accident. Not that he listened, of course.

"Mav cares a lot, too, more than people give him credit for," 

They both knew he meant himself. Nick gave him a reassuring smile that didn't seem to do much.

"Most of what he does is because he cares, just doesn't show it like others do, that's all," he said, taking another drag and tapping the ash off the end onto the floor.

"Yeah, cares-"

There was something strange about the look on his face. A glimmer at the thought of Mav, he knew plenty about those, but another, more uneasy flash told him there was something else.

"What is it?" He asked.

Ice rubbed the back of his neck.

"Look, when you, Carole and Ron hooked up, she might've taken that to mean you two were open to go with anyone, because-" he closed his eyes then blurted out. "-because I saw her kissing Mav when visiting you and thought you should know."

He laughed around the cigarette and watched the smoke puff out of his lips like a dragon. Ice was fairly confused. He guessed he should give him an answer.

"I'd hope so, I mean, they do love each other separate from me,"

He knew it was a tad unfair to say he enjoyed the confused look. Maybe it was because Tom hardly ever showed any sign that he was invulnerable and he wanted to take advantage of that, just a little bit.

After a moment, though, he put him out of his misery, "I've been with Carole and Mav since 1979, Tom, she's not cheating on me," he said. "Although, I appreciate you telling me, not everyone would."

Ice took a second. He moved his hands around and mouthed things to himself. God, it was really entertaining, but open relationships were confusing, so better explain.

"I started dating Carole in early 1979, then we started dating Mav, now we've got a thing with Ron," 

"Right, that kind of makes sense, yeah," he said then looked down.

That glimmer was back. Nick had a feeling there was another reason for this conversation. He could guess as to what it was, he’d seen the looks between him and Mav. Him, Carole and Slider actually put bets on how long it would take for them to get together. Nick was thinking he may win.

"All of your relationship stuff makes my dilemma seem easy," he said, 

Nick nodded at him while taking a drag. Ice sighed and raked a hand through his hair. He met his gaze as if pleading not to talk but Goose wouldn't take no for an answer, not about matters of the heart.

"Fine, I've been hooking up with Ron as long as he's been my RIO, but since Top Gun, and more since your accident, I think I've been falling for Mav," he carried on. "And I've been fighting myself over having to choose when I didn't even realise I could choose both."

Nick shrugged, letting smoke curl up his face, "I mean, they're both up for being with multiple people, so it's not like that'll be much of a problem."

Then, he thought of the nights he'd spent listening to Pete complain endlessly about Tom. Nick was invested in this rivalry, kind of, but not this much. He wasn’t talking non stop to Carole about Ron, well, not in a negative way anyway. 

"I had an inkling, anyway, so I think you may have a shot."

Tom's eyebrows darted up. Hope flashed on his face. For a moment, he was just Tom, not the unbreakable Iceman.

"An inkling?"

"Yeah, it's called Carole Bradshaw." They laughed. "She knows people more than me."

And as if they summoned her, a car pulled into the hospital and stopped outside the doors. Nick tried to put out the cigarette in time but she must've been too eager, as she was already running out of the car. Her look of glee fell as she realised what he was doing.

"Nicholas Bradshaw, what are you doing?"

He didn't say anything as the cigarette hung from his lips. Ice was trying not to laugh behind him.

"Smoking."

"Why?"

"I was gonna say stress relief but that feels silly, now."

"Cancer and COPD and lung disease are not silly, Mister." She plucked it from his lips. "I don't want to see you doing this again, it's a dirty habit."

He nodded, "Uh hu, very dirty."

She gave him a smirk and kissed his nose. 

"Gimme the rest,"

He pouted as he handed over the packet of cigarettes and cheap disposable lighter.

"What were you two talking about anyway?"

Ice stopped laughing all of a sudden. Nick stopped pouting and gave him a grin. He started to shake his head but it was too late.

"Tom was that telling me he's been holding a flame for our dear Peter, oh and his own dear Ronald,"

Her smirk held as she circled his middle with her arms.

"Really?" She said, then looked up at him again. "Means you might win the bet."

"Bet? What bet? You were betting on me?" Ice exclaimed.

"Perhaps."

She nuzzled her nose with Nick, "We may have put a bet on who would make the first move, and Nicky may have said you'd make the first move."

Nick went in for a kiss but Carole pushed him away, muttering something about him tasting horrible from the cigarette. 

"Yeah," he said to Tom, giving up on getting a kiss. "So if you could just go for it I'd really appreciate the 80 dollars, okay?"

Ice chuckled but Nick made sure not to. His smile dropped as Mav and Slider finally exited the hospital. Slider took his place by Nick’s side, slipping his arm behind his back. Mav settled against the post Ice was lent against. 

"I'm serious," Nick said.

Ice tried to get him to shut up but it was too late. Mav didn’t like to be out of the loop, that was one of the reasons behind his imposter syndrome, so turned to him with a wistful gaze.

"What's he serious about?"

It was fun to watch Ice splutter. Red filled his cheeks as he fought about whether he should go for it like Nick said. They met eyes, Goose nodded with a smile.

"What's this about?" Slider whispered.

"I told him about all mine and Carole's relationships and it gave him the nudge to tell Mav how he feels," he said, leaving out the bit where Ice talked about wanting to be with him.

"Right, nothing to do with the bet, then?"

"Nope," he said and kissed his cheek with a wink.

By the time they'd finished talking, and Ron's face had cleared of being flushed, Ice had made his decision. 

"Maverick, Pete-" he gulped, then stood upright as if he'd been called to attention. "I like you, when are you free for a date?"

Ron spat out in uncharacteristic laughter. Nick joined in with his goose honk and soon Carole's giggle was part of the chorus.

"What?" Ice asked.

"Oh my god, you're awful at asking people out," Ron said, wiping tears from his eyes.

Tom snarled, "Oh yeah? Well when are you free, dumbass? I wanna take you out too."

"What with a sniper or something?"

"No, for dinner," Ice went sheepish again. "With Mav, too, if that's cool?"

Ron's mouth snapped shut. Nick knew that look well, he and Carole made him look like that often in the bedroom. 

"Yeah, yeah, I-I'm free Saturday."

"Me too," Maverick said, much more put together, although Nick knew he'd fall apart later.

"Good, we'll sort it out later, yeah?"

They all nodded. Tom avoided all eye contact, Ron was still fumbling whereas Pete seemed strangely pleased with himself. He lent on the post like Frank Sinatra and gazed at Ice for a moment.

Carole smacked her hands together, "Come on, kiddos, in the car, I've got a cake at home and a four year old trying not to eat it, so the clock's ticking as to whether it'll still be there when we get back."

Pete pushed himself off the post as Ron helped Nick to the car. He just saw Pete approach Tom and kiss his cheek. His words, "Looking forward to the date," floated as he was packed into the car.

They waited a minute or two for them to come inside. Rain hammered the ceiling, why did it have to rain when they were in California, as they left them to have a moment. Until Ron got impatient and opened the window to shout at them.

"Get inside, dickheads, I'm going on that date too!"

"Not for long with that attitude," Ice called back as he climbed into the car.

"Yeah, idiot," Mav reiterated while sticking his tongue out.

"Don't start that, pipsqueak, or I'll steal Goose and Carole off you."

Nick rolled his eyes and shook his head at Carole. She pulled away from the hospital, from those horrible memories, and listened to them all argue. 

"Are you done? Are you all done now? Because I'd rather be back at that hospital if you're not."

That shut them up.

Welcome to the Top Gun polycule, all Goose, Mav, Slider and Ice will all end up together. Goose, Mav, Slider and Carole end up together, and Carole gets Penny too. Everyone loves everyone and Bradley gets too many parents.

Also Goose smoking is inspired by Mark Greene smoking in s4 of ER and @emo-machine42 's art.

Thanks for reading!

#top gun #slooserole #goosecarole #icemav #slicemav #slice #goosemavcarole #nick goose bradshaw #carole bradshaw #tom iceman kazansky #ron slider kerner #pete maverick mitchell #nick bradshaw #goose bradshaw #goose top gun #tom kazansky #iceman kazansky #iceman top gun #slider kerner #ron kerner #slider top gun #pete mitchell #maverick top gun #maverick mitchell #top gun polycule #bear writes #a kisses b in the rain #fluff #first kiss #goose lives

[heytheredeann]

Whumpcember, Alt. 1 - Nightmares (Geralt&Ciri)

(Ao3 version)

She has always had nightmares.

At first, she would wake up whimpering, occasionally screaming. She would look at her surroundings and shrink on herself, trying to hide her tears. He was hesitant to comfort her, avoiding her eyes for a few moments in the hopes of being kind. He would offer a joke if he could, some light conversation if he couldn’t, trying to give her a reminder that he was there, that she was safe, he would protect her.

He likes to think it reassured her somewhat, given how she’d usually drift back to sleep at the sound of his voice.

The first time he comes closer, it’s when she wakes herself up with a scream.

She jumps in a sitting position, eyes wide and terrified, trembling hands covering her mouth as she frantically looks around, shoulders heaving and tears streaming down her face. When her eyes finally land on him, though she doesn’t say a word he can hear her plead for him to help.

He is on his feet before he can weight his options, crutching down in front of her to offer a touch on her shoulder and quiet words of reassurance. It’s only after some tension has left her and she isn’t trembling as much under his touch that he gently pries her hands off her mouth, not encountering much resistance. He guides her as she lies back down, keeps close and talks in gentle tones until she falls asleep.

He pretends not to notice her fingers holding tightly onto his sleeve the whole time.

Then, she starts calling for him in her sleep. It warms him, in a way, that he’s the one that she instinctively calls when lost in the terror of her own mind, but it doesn’t do much to soothe the ache in his chest at the sight of her tears. No child should have to suffer the nights like this. And especially not this child.

Every time, he comes closer, offers a gentle touch, some reassurance, some meaningless chatter, and he lets her cling to his sleeve as she drifts back to sleep.

Eventually, she wakes up whimpering, the sound soft and subdued but still enough to drag him out of his own light sleep. He is already pushing himself up, about to stand and offer whatever comfort he may give her, but for the first time he doesn’t need to, as she doesn’t simply curl up on herself and wait for him to approach. Instead, she gets on her feet and covers the distance between them as fast as she can, jumping in his lap without asking and suffocating her tears in his chest.

He’s frozen only for a few moments, gaping at her as she utters his name like a plea, fingers clawing at his shirt and her shoulders shaking. He gathers her in his arms then, slow like he’s still expecting her to change her mind and run, and it’s kind of surprising, just how small she is, how easily she disappears in his embrace.

He sits there for as long as she’s awake to cry, and he doesn’t let go.

#whumpcember2022 #dadralt #geralt and ciri #ciri and geralt #the witcher fic #the witcher #geralt x ciri #not spn #my fanfic

[faofinn]

No. 31 "I thought that I was getting better."

Emptiness | Setbacks | "Take it easy."

Fao had had a good day. He’d gone out for coffee, actually feeling relatively human. His pain had been decently controlled, his meds working for once, and his head had been less of a dick than usual. He’d met Steve, and they’d chatted about work, about getting Fao back into it. It had been nice, to feel that spark again, knowing he was good, he was wanted, the possibility of working again was something to keep him going. Because he’d felt good, he’d done loads. After coffee with Steve he’d gone shopping, bought himself some new clothes, stuff that had caught his eye, something to wear when he was a bit more on his feet, even a new suit that he was determined he was going to wear to an interview. 

He’d been tired but okay when he got home, and after a nap had still felt decent. He’d helped Fred cook, even managed to laugh at his jokes and generally enjoy himself a bit, after everything he’d had to deal with. He’d gone to bed that night tired but content, feeling like he was finally getting somewhere. 

And then he woke up the next morning nauseous and in agony. It was like a huge ‘fuck you’ to just how good he’d been feeling the day before. He rolled half onto his side, burying his face in his pillows, and didn’t move. He didn’t want to move, he just wanted everything to stop. He’d been finally getting somewhere, finally feeling like his old self, and now there was just nothing. The spark he’d felt the day before had gone, leaving him feeling empty and hollow, and suddenly it was like everything he’d been working towards had been for nothing. He wanted a smoke, but even that wasn’t enough to get him out of bed, so he resigned himself to being miserable about that too, the tension headache irritating above all else. He went to take his meds, but the cup by his bed was empty, and he ended up with the bitter taste of his tablets on his tongue and no way to actually take them, which just made the nausea worse and offered no relief for the pain. 

The way he’d retched had got him out of bed quick enough, crutches forgotten as he rushed to the bathroom. On his knees in front of the toilet he lost what little he’d eaten, as well as the damn tablet. Rinsing his mouth out didn’t help, he could still taste the horrible bitter meds on his tongue, and he felt just as sick every time he swallowed. Getting to his feet had gone just as badly, and he’d nearly fallen over when he’d stood to the sink, having to grip it hard just to stay upright. 

He just about made it back to his room, gripping the wall to keep his balance, and forced himself to get dressed. He called a cab, told Sheila he was going out, and then headed to the cemetery where Alex was buried. She was the only one he wanted to talk to. He loved his family, but they fussed too much, and he didn’t want to upset them. The pain was awful, but he’d given up on the idea of taking anything for it. 

He paid the taxi, got out and limped through the neat rows of graves until he reached Alex’s. There were some flowers there, likely left by her brother, but Fao didn’t have anything to leave. He did, however, have a pack of smokes in his pocket, and he lit one to rest on her headstone before he lit one for himself, and awkwardly settled on the floor, taking a long drag.

“I really thought I was getting better, ‘Lex.” He said after what felt like an eternity. “I had such a good day yesterday, thought like I was really getting somewhere, going places. Like getting a job wasn’t a stupid idea, like I could be myself again. Now look at me. I’m in agony, can’t even take my stupid painkillers, can’t do anything right. Maybe it’s just a setback but it feels like more. It feels like every time I do anything good I’m doomed to fail, doomed to suffer. It’s not fucking fair. I know recovery isn’t linear, that some days are gonna be good and some are gonna be bad, but this feels like such a fucking kick in the teeth, to have had such a good day followed by such a shit one. What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to keep going? It fucking sucks.”

#whumptober 2023 #No. 31 “I thought that I was getting better.” #oc #fic #emptiness #setbacks #whump writing #whump prompt #faolan blackwood #alex taylor #talking to a grave #depression #recovery #whump #vomiting #painkillers #poor use of crutches

[bluiex]

Hullo! First off, loved your double life cheating one-shot. It hurt in all the good ways. Second, I'm glad to announce that I am almost done with this hurt/comfort third life desert duo fic I've been writing for the past, like almost 4 months at this point lol. So, in terms of celebration for all of my suffering, here's a little extract from a scene I wasn't gonna add, but decided to anyways. Warning, mention of animal death, hehe

--

Scar stared at the carrot, out of focus. He could almost see Mr. Bubbles, if he was smaller. He lost his giant bee too, he realized. Dogwarts not only killed Pizza, but they kill the innocent Mr. Bubbles. His hands trembled. This was all his fault.

He was the one who got attached to those animals. He made himself vulnerable, he knew that. And yet, it still hurt. And yet, the urge to kill them didn’t fade away, no matter how slow he breathed. They were gone, forever erased from this world, leaving him alone.

Scar gasped a breath, noting how heavy his body felt, noting how he couldn’t bring his arm higher to eat the golden carrot, noting his vision was blurry, not out of focus. 

He heard the flutter of wings and the footsteps before hearing and feeling Grian’s panic. Grian fell onto his knees, putting his hand on Scar’s cheek to raise his head. For red eyes to meet green ones. Scar turned to look away, drip landing on his forearm, cold against his warm skin. Grian tried to hold his wings still, but they flapped and ruffled, making him slightly groan. He focused back on Scar, hand on his thigh and, woah, since when was Grian’s hand so warm?

“Scar, buddy, what’s wrong?”

Scar sniffled and tried to swallow the ball in his throat, to no success. Cheeks became wet quicker than his fall in the ravine. 

“Is—” his throat constricted, and he swallowed again, “—is she truly gone?”

He didn’t know how Grian understood what he said, his voice was merely a whisper, jumbling over words, it even sounded wrong to his ears. But when he looked back to his partner, his concerned look was back. 

“Oh, Scar,” he murmured.

Scar let out a sob and curled on himself, ignoring every tear in his body, ignoring the stretch on his wound and the piercing pain it gave, ignoring his surroundings. He just couldn’t understand, even if it made perfect sense. 

Pizza was gone. 

Pizza was dead.

And that’s when it hit him. They were all gonna die eventually. All disappear from this world. No survivors, no more alliances, no more wars, no more stealing cookies. Just like Pizza, everyone’s life held on a string, just waiting for the punchline to cut it. 

But Pizza was dead.

And it hurt.

Something hit his lips, and when he opened his eyes, his appreciation for Grian only grew. The avian had the golden carrot in his hand and helping Scar eat to close up the wound. Scar obliged, and they sat in the silence of the crunch and the slight moos from the cow deep underground. 

A wave of energy spread throughout his body, easing the tension but not the ache in his hips. It seemed the rest of the day was crutches day.

“Can we have a funeral?” he asked, voice quivering and quiet. 

Grian gave him a warm smile.

“Of course.”

Grian was the one who did most of the work. Digging a hole large enough to bury Pizza, dragging her corpse in it, and helping Scar build a coffin to cover the uneven ground. He placed the headstone while Scar wrote the epitaph on a wooden plank. Grian hammered it above the coffin and join Scar, both staring at it as the sun turned to dusk. 

Rest In Peece Pizza. Friend, Sister, Moter

Scar could only stare at the wooden structure. He couldn’t shed any tears anymore. The ball around his throat became bigger, and Scar was ever so grateful when Grian placed his hand on top of his, running his thumb across his knuckles. The cries of mobs surrounded them when the sun disappeared in the horizon. Grian nudged him to come inside, but Scar remained impassive, gaze never leaving the coffin.

Grian grew a bit more restless, wings fluttering behind him. 

“Scar.”

Scar shook his head, grip tightening around the handles of his crutches. Grian sighed, let go of his hand and went back inside. Scar tried to make his mind stop wandering, stop thinking of taking his netherite sword and plunged it on Grian’s back, stop contemplating blowing their base to the ground. 

He rested one of his crutches on the coffin and placed his hand on top of it.

“They’ll get what they deserve,” he murmured in the cold wind, not that he could feel it. “They’ll regret the day they took you out of this world.”

He took back the crutch and joined Grian inside. His partner was sharpening his sword but jumped when he heard the door opening. He poked his head out of the door that lead to the kitchen, eyebrows frowned. Scar sent him a wavering smile and passed him to sit on their bed. 

His mobility aids were both leaning against the wall close to him, in case he woke up one morning not being able to do much. Even with this enhance senses and strength being red gave him, it wouldn’t dim the consequences of whatever affected his body. 

The shuffling of feet approaching dragged him out of his head. Grian had a hand on the door frame, wings held tight together. Scar simply sighed and patted the bed. Grian cautiously joined him, wings itching to wrap around them. 

Scar let out a chuckle, leaning against him despite their height difference. Grian opened his mouth, only to close it promptly, red on the face, and let his wing wrapped the both of them against the chill of the night—or Scar assumed, since Grian’s chin wasn’t trembling anymore. 

Grian placed his hand on Scar’s thigh, and despite Scar absolutely beaming at the touch, it felt like this little weight made the ache even frailer than it already was. He took his partner hand and settled it on Grian’s thigh instead. 

Grian squeezed his hand and they stayed like this for a while, in the silence of the desert. No more buzzing of wings, no more small braying, just their breathing and the far away awakening of mobs at the foot of their mountain. Scar had never wished for the world to be louder.

-- tired Bloop anon bc it is 1 am in the morning when I sent this

Hehe thank you I'm glad you liked it an it hurt <3

AYO THIS IS JUST *yells and sobs into a pillow* I CANT-- SCAR POOR SCAR hnnhgfbhd dude I'm really excited for the full fic

#bluie gets an ask poggers #long post #tw angst

[aproseofroses]

should I move on since no one’s here

She just couldn’t understand it. In all of the possibilities, she never would have thought he was capable of this. She finds herself trying to justify it, maybe she was too overbearing or too concerned with her career and the new baby. Maybe this was preventable, and this was his way of telling her that the love she so readily gave was no longer satisfactory. Maybe he couldn’t do this anymore. That thought sent a wave of nausea through her. She watches the frantic expression of his face, but no longer sees him. She hears the desperate tone coloring his apologies and excuses, but no longer listens to them. All she can focus on at this moment is the pain in her heart and the burning of her eyes as she tries to hold back her tears.

The candles in the kitchen were still lit, flickering gently against the draft brought in by the open window. The flat was clean and smelled of jasmine and she had finally gathered up the energy to wash the baby smell out of her hair and change out the frumpy maternity clothes she had become so used to wearing. She figured special news like this required extra special effort and she had been so excited to tell him for weeks.

But, he had cheated. He cheated on her.

She gazes at his face, notices how the light of the evening sun makes his hair glow a fiery red and distantly acknowledges the light hazel of his eyes even though they are swollen with grief and red with regret. He kneels in front of where she sits at the edge of the bed and grips her hand and a wave of disgust washes over her. How dare he touch her after he has done what he has? She snatches her hand away from him and takes in the utter despair on his face. Good. She can’t make herself feel guilty for it.

“I know, okay? I know I shouldn’t have done it and I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry! I’ll never be able to show you how sorry I am,” he pleads with her.

But maybe that’s the problem. He’s always sorry. Ever since his brother died, he’s caused her pain and embarrassment all in the name of alleviating his own. Sometimes she feels as if he is punishing her, for some misguided insecurity that she’s settling for him in place of his brother or perhaps himself, for being alive without the presence of his twin. She was okay with being that crutch for a while, but she had figured he finally took her seriously with the birth of their son and when they eloped, despite the opposition from both of their families. She thought she could trust him. Angelina had thought that the days of drowning in alcohol and the fear of commitment and the days of hurting her were over. She had obviously thought wrong.

“I just don’t understand,” she whispered. She sounded so broken, so exhausted and hurt it made George wince. “I thought we were okay. You were happy. You, me, and Freddie. You said we were happy.”

There was a whine from the left side of the room, the sound of their son waking up and becoming disgruntled, probably from the tension in the atmosphere. The sound temporarily snapped both George and Angelina out of their fog and they looked over at the baby. She was overcome with anger. How could he do this to her? To their son? His grief and his resentment of the past was poisoning their future that she so desperately tried to bring him to. How could she ever look past this?

She got up and roughly moved passed him, grabbing the baby, and tried rocking him, a futile effort to calm both of them down and distract herself from the tears running down her face. She watched him sit down on the edge of the bed, putting his head in his hands and the urge to cry came back stronger than ever.

“You don’t see me. You never have. I waited for you to heal, and I kept you afloat when you did nothing but drag the rest of us down. You’ve embarrassed me and you’ve strung me along and like an idiot I sat here, and I waited for you! I waited for you to get your act together, to realize that I was in it for the long haul, to realize that we could do this. We could be in love, and we could be happy. And all you’ve done is take me and my love for granted! You don’t care about me, about this family! You don’t care at all,” she was sobbing by the end of her outburst, her tears loud and messy and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Freddie was bawling along with her, scared, and upset at the grief so plainly being emitted from his mother.

Angelina felt as though her heart was being ripped out of her chest. She couldn’t believe how stupid and gullible she had been. He was still the same unsatiable boy he had been at Hogwarts, always on the hunt for something more exciting, never satisfied with what he had. He had never been satisfied with her and that realization left her with a coldness that she would never recover from.

George didn’t say anything. He just looked at her like he was being gutted from the inside out. How could he even stand to act like he cared about her when he probably hadn’t thought a thing about her the night he stormed out, upset and eager to drink away his problems. He didn’t try to get up and comfort her or apologize again. She wouldn’t have believed it anyway.

“I can’t stay here. I can’t stay in the pl-” she choked on her words. “I can’t stay in this place. You brought this woman into our home, George. What do I do with that?” she had never sounded so defeated.

He stared at her and for the first time he truly understood what a force his wife was. How he had chipped and withered her away until there wasn’t much left and for that he had never felt so disgusted with himself. He didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t know if he could. He wanted to try though, despite the numerous times he had hurt her, and despite the already insurmountable requests for forgiveness he had become accustomed to asking for. He opened his mouth, to say what he wasn’t sure, but he was interrupted by her statement.

“I’m leaving.”

He looked up frantically and reached out to her, but the utter grief on her face made him pause. He had done this and now he had to deal with the consequences. She walked out, carrying Freddie and the sound of her grunt as she lifted something, more than likely Freddie’s overnight bag, rang in his ear before he heard the click of the front door and the sound of her walking away. She never felt comfortable apperating with the baby.

He glanced around the room and looked out into the kitchen, taking notice for the first time of the effort and hard work she put around the flat. The hard work she had put into him. Rubbing his face, he got up to clean up, a small pink box wrapped in a white bow caught his attention. He walked towards the chest it was sitting on and slowly opened it up before being overcome with the silent tears falling down his face.

In it was a stick showing a positive sign and a single pink bib, with only the words, Daddy’s Newest Invention, written across it.

#angelina johnson #georgelina #george weasley x angelina johnson #george weasley #angst #harry potter

[spakonamoved]

He feels complicated. About everything. About nothing. About where he is and what his path to hell now looks like. He’s alone in it, just like he should be. Doesn’t like the idea of dragging people along for the ride. Collateral, that was a word he’d read once. Followed up in a dictionary about it. Something paid back when something went wrong.

His luck, always something went wrong. Easier to fix it when it’s just him. He’s got his mind all made up about it. Only thing keeping him from walking out the door is a frantic pace of a man who knows peace even less than Kaldar does.

It’s because Kaldar’s made peace with his lack of peace, so he thinks to himself. That’s the difference. He knows what’s waiting, and he accepts it with open arms. It’ll kill him, but he’s okay with it. Ready to go -- he’s been ready to go for a long, long time. He isn’t even thirty yet.

There isn’t any reason to work together anymore. His usual seat in the bar is his last one, the glass in front of him filled with lemon lime soda like it usually is. He’s never had a drop of liquor to drink, and he never will. Not as a crutch, not as a celebration, not as a goodbye. It really isn’t all that complicated. He knows what’s next. Trying to be smarter than he is is really a waste of time.

Kaldar stands up, and that’s when it’s clear. He’s not changing his mind. No matter the ethos, pathos, or logos. Kurdan will die. Cooper will die. Every last person they throw at him will die. Until Kaldar’s dead, he can’t stop doing the one thing he was meant to do. He doesn’t know how to be anything else. Maybe he doesn’t want to.

He meets The Devil’s look, the twist of his face like a sneer contrasting with the stony resolve of Kaldar, obscured by the shadow of his hood. The way he holds Kaldar by the shoulders conflicts with the way Kaldar’s hands ball into fists, ready to punch back. Scared. Angry. Haunted. Jealous.

The Devil leans in, his lips against Kaldar’s in a weird game of chicken. A threat Kaldar didn’t think he’d make good on. It’s complicated. The tension in the air seems to deflate all at once, like a balloon popping. Complicated. Kaldar’s never kissed anybody before. Devil looks like he’s just been slapped. Kaldar scowls like it wasn’t the Devil that started it. Complicated.

And it doesn’t stop being complicated as Kaldar looks at the man like he wants to fight him, but grabs him by the collar to kiss him instead.

It’s clumsy. It’s messy. It’s angry and lost and honest. The Devil tastes like liquor and cigarettes. Now he knows what they taste like. It’s the only way he’ll drink it.

“Forget me.” He grunts, pushes him back with all the strength he can muster, “You did your job. Time for me to do mine.” 

And he walks out the door.

an accidental kiss that confuses you both, but only a moment pass before you crash your lips back against each other's    /     the devil @aamusedly​

#HEH #aamusedly #aamusedly / the devil. #kaldar / ic. #ic / ask.

[the-witches-you-couldnt-burn]

Living with what you’ve done

Uhhhhh

UHHHHHHH WHAT

Ok so I started writing the 100 special but then I got to 120!?! Wtf when did this happen?

Though I would like to thank each follower personally I have social anxiety and would rather not randomly message strangers following me. Here is my public thank you!

Idk what I did while writing this but it seems I managed to copy-paste the beginning four seperate times. This brought the word count up to 5.9k but it is now edited and brought down to 2.3k

Inspired by my friend @deltaxxk who loves angst and told me I have to write a follower special

Other prompts used: One, Two

Also! There are movie references within this fic, if you get them all you get a virtual lollipop 🍭

Ao3

Disclaimer: THIS FIC IS MAJORLY ANGSTY PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS IF ANY OF THE WARNINGS WILL TRIGGER YOU

Warings: blood, fire, death (+graphic descriptions of dying), injuries, grief, human trafficking and mentions of psychopathy

———————

“Robin we’re out of time! We must leave, we’re out of time!” Her yo-yo strained with tension as she swung into a goon, sending their body flying away from her team.

They had gotten a lead on a meta trafficking ring that involved some of the Gotham elite’s children disappearing. The lead brought them to the dock, GothDrill’s warehouse sat just off to the right. Its fluorescent lights signifying signs of life, Marinette knew most weren’t there willingly.

“Make more time!” He snapped back. Ladybug fumble slightly before regaining her footing, she wasn’t expecting the coldness in his tone.

She jumped back into the fray and watched from the corner of her eye Damian take on four goons by himself. She stifled a sigh before punching the man in front of her square on his jaw, ‘must he always prove himself when he has already?’ Damian edged himself closer to the garage doorway of the shed before disappearing into the building.

Focus her attention back on the battle around her, she saw Red Hood downed under a steel beam. She rushed over, and with her enhanced miraculous strength to lift the offending metal. He groaned with pain, the beam had pinned his legs, forcing him to lay stomach down. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, supporting the majority of his weight to get him to his feet. Pain throbbed in his left leg and they stumbled onto the dock to hide behind down GothDrill crates.

Ripping the seams of his pant leg, she revealed a dark purple bruise that was rapidly spreading. She also discovered the beam had broken his femur and shattered his kneecap, how he wasn’t screaming in pain was beyond her. Pink light danced between her fingers before drifting down to his wound. Jason bit his hand to prevent any cries from leaving his mouth. He didn’t want another confrontation in his state.

The sound reached her before the light did. Jason panted as he looked up to see what distracted her from his healing. Reflections of orange and yellows dancing across her cerulean eyes. “Damian.” She whispered frozen stock still.

Something within her very core snapped and cardinal urges overtook her common sense. Shooting up like a bullet she sprinted towards the blazing inferno, her ears numb to the world around her.

Inside was worse than the burning exterior. She could see where the explosion originated from, big barrels of flammable chemicals blazed white with heat. The smoke and burning chemical gases penetrated her airways, coughs racked her chest.

She could see flames running up the walls and the lit barrels but the rest was black. The smoke was a blanket of darkness that wrapped around her.

And then she heard it. The screaming.

Multiple voices, so raw with pain, masculine and feminine, old and young. Running towards it she hoped to spot Damian but luck wasn’t on her side. Instead she found the trafficked civilians, their bodies red with burns with their hair and clothes set ablaze.

She ran full speed at the wall nearby, shattering the melted bolts. The fire blazed brighter at the new source of oxygen. She directed the victims out, the dove towards the water. The goons had fled during the initial explosion leaving the Batfam free to help.

She looked down at the bodies of those who didn’t survive. Some were burned beyond recognition, she kept looking, scouring for Damian.

She heard Red Robin calling her name, she looked up to see the scaffolding holding the roof breaking apart and falling to where she stood. She felt her body tackled out of the way and another thunderous crash hit the floor.

She was dragged outside and placed into the care of a newly arrived ambulance. Her eyes, red from the smoke and ash, looked out the back door of the vehicle. Firefighters and police had arrived on scene along with news reporters and the public. Families of the trafficked were reunited with their lost love ones and others mourned their deceased. Red Robin stood there, watching her.

“You can’t just follow me into fire.” She croaked to him, her oxygen mask muffling her.

The whites of his black cowl narrowed and his fists clenched. “Then don't run into fire,” he growled at her before walking off.

Her body moved without thinking, removing her oxygen mask against the protests of the paramedics. Ladybug reassured them she’ll be alright and that they should help the others who were more injured than she. She walked back towards the building but the black-clad figure of Batman stopped her stride.

“You’re not using your cure.” He stated. Her eyes widened, the cure could save his missing son, save the trafficked from their injuries and deaths. Who was he to deny the will of a god’s favoured?

Using the cure in Gotham was always straining and the Batfam knew that. On multiple smaller occasions, she was prevented from using it due to the amount of damage and crime being reverse causing serious health concerns they observed in Marinette. But she never thought it would also be denied on an occasion like this.

“I have to! Robin cou—“

“No, you could die.” He cut her off, her foggy mind becoming more enraged.

“And he could live!”

Without a reply he injected her neck with a sedative, her body collapsed from the drugs and exhaustion. The world going dark around her.

+++++++++++++

Three days after

Her blaring phone distracted her from her dissociative state. She was staring lifelessly at her TV, she could say what happened in the show even if her life depended on it. She scrambled to her phone, Dick’s name lit up the screen.

She accepted the call, answer with a hoarse “hello?”

“Marinette? Are you able to make it over we have some things to tell you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Pressing her phone to her ear with her shoulder she ran around her apartment, grabbing her keys, shoes and jacket. Rushing out the door she rapidly fired questions at him, “What is it? Did you find him? Is he there?” All of which were answered with silence.

“It’s best that we discuss this when you get to the manor.” And with that, he hung up. The click seemed to echo in her car, even though she knew it didn’t. Driving towards the outskirts of Gotham where Wayne manor resided, she felt a spark of hope rekindle in her chest. Although Dick didn’t give her much to go on she still hoped they found him and everything could go back to how it was.

Fate wasn’t merciful to the naive it seems.

Her world shattered around her as she saw the crisped cape on the table. The smell of burnt blood permeated the room. Her eyes stayed locked onto the cloth as she spoke, “But this is only his cape, not his body. He still could be alive somewhere! He is injured and hurt and we have to find him!”

No one spoke. Their eyes flicked to one another.

Jason limped in her direction, his crutch clicking against the stone flooring. He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, his eyes brimming with unshed emotions. “The cape was found with the body, everything else was unsalvageable except the cape.”

A silent “we’ve found him, just not how we wanted,” resounded throughout her being.

She glared at Bruce, “He could be alive if you didn’t stop me! I could have saved him!” She lashed out, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“And we would have been having this exact conversation with Damian about why we didn’t stop you. The best outcome for this situation was you living.”

“No the best outcome was both of us being given a chance at survival” Marinette screamed at him, his face was emotionless. How could he be so uncaring to the fact of his youngest son dying?

Running out of the Batcave and manor she gasped at the cold night air. A sob escaped her mouth. Her head banged against her steering wheel, tears dripping onto her pyjama pants. There was no way she’d be able to sleep tonight.

++++++++++++

Twelve days after

Fire danced in her peripheral. A medley of bright oranges and golden yellows. She remembered the times when the two of them would watch the sunset in silence, sipping on hot chocolate and green tea. This blazing inferno was different. Its colours more violent and foreboding.

The screams. They were different from the ones she heard that night. They were his screams.

She saw her body encased within his burnt arms. Damian was little more than a burnt corpse, his eyes blazed green and his bone was replaced with metal pipes. The cure resurrected him but he was not wholly there anymore.

She awoke screaming. Not in control enough to remember she had neighbours; mentally pleading that they’d understand. They knew of his disappearance but not of his death. She was still heavily in denial.

She isolated herself away from everyone, afraid she would hurt anyone else that got close. She couldn’t stop wanting to hurt Bruce for making her unable to use her cure or the goons for setting the place alight and killing her fiancé. She wanted to go scorched earth.

She snuggled into his pillowcase, his faint scent of honey was still present. She willed herself to fall back asleep, his scent surrounding her. His pillow, his shirt, his ring; but she was missing him.

++++++++

Two hundred and eighty-seven days after

Red trickled down her finger. It took her a moment to move the fabric away from the dripping blood source but managed to before it stained. It had been years since she had pricked her finger with a needle, but her subconscious must have needed to feel something; even if it was pain.

She looked around at her juvenile pink room. She had moved back into her parents six months after Damian’s death. Three months into her stay and she still had most of her belongings in boxes. The only decorations in the room were scattered commissions and a wooden blanket.

Looking down at the puddle of blood that was growing on her white desk she wonders if Damian bled before the fire cauterised his wounds. She had researched that burning to death was one of the most painful ways to die, it takes hours, each nerve ending burning. The burn victim usually passes out after a few minutes but she could imagine Damian desperately trying to put himself out, only to find more fire encompassing him.

His cape was bloody so she hopes he bled rather than burned. Or maybe he was crushed by the falling roof and killed instantly. She hoped he didn’t suffer for long.

Similar intrusive thoughts plagued her mind constantly but she kept her focus on her art to push through the days. Gazing down at the wound she found Tikki had held her and Wayzz had wiped the puddle with tissues.

Today she’ll live for them. Tomorrow she might live to try her father’s new recipe of cinnamon macarons. Last Tuesday she lived to hear Luka’s new song. Next month she might live just to pat the stray kitten that lives in the alley behind the Chinese restaurant two streets over.

++++++++++

Five hundred and twenty days after

She froze at the sight before her. Thinking it was another hallucination or she was having another nightmare. “You thought,” The glass in her hand cracked under her grip. Her brain couldn’t process what was happening. She hasn’t disassociated this much since the day he ‘died’.” That by faking your death, you could find out who you could rely on?”

“TT, yes. Now that I know everything can go back to the way it was.” She swigged her glass again, wishing it were whiskey instead of water. When they had met, Jon and his family had warned her that he was severely emotional constipated from his upbringing but this was in the psychopathic area of emotionless.

“No.”

“What?” His shock almost seems real. His eyes had widened and his body language was unsteady.

“No, we aren’t done talking about this! How ignorant do you have to be to think this won’t affect our relationship? Won’t affect me?”

“It wasn’t real. I’m here.” He stepped forward, arms rising to hug her. He never was one for physical contact. She pulled back, grabbing a steak knife and placing it between them. He told her he had set the place aflame. He found the lead for the trafficking ring. He planned it all. And now he was back, almost a year and a half later.

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt! I’m going to have nightmares for the rest of my life! How selfish, how, how stupid do you have to be to not consider what it does to someone who cared about you?!”

“Cared?”

“Do I need to spell it out? We’re done. I don’t want to see you ever again,” She seethed. “You think everything can go back to how it was before? Well, it can’t. I spent months of my life mourning over a guy who wasn’t even dead. Who didn’t even care about me enough not to toy with my emotions. My life isn’t a game Damian!”

“I only did this because I thought—”

“I don’t care. Get out. Out of my house. Out of my life. Just get out.”

“I didn’t intend to hurt you, I just wanted to know.” Hot, rage-filled tears ran down her cheeks. She jabbed the knife at him, stopping inches before his chest. She had backed him down the stair and to the front door. Neither of her parents were home and he was more unpredictable than ever.

“I hope you can live with what you’ve done, le miel”

#maribat #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #damian wayne x marinette dupain cheng #daminette #angst #major angst #psychopath! Damian Wayne #grieving! Marinette Dupain-Cheng #faked death

[youbloodymadgenius]

Happiness is Everything (Modern!Ivar x reader)

A/N: This wasn’t requested; I needed to give my boy some love, and a strong bond with Hvitserk. It’s nothing but a silly comfort fic.

@geekandbooknerd​ - Thank you for beta reading this for me 💖

@zuxiezendler​ - Thank you 😉🌸 (and you know why)

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Ivar doesn't want any more set-ups. Hvitserk’s stubborn girlfriend disagrees.

Warnings: a tiny bit of angst due to Ivar’s temper and insecurities; an obvious lack of plot; lack of creativity; fluff+++.

Words: 2575

Stifling a hiss of pain, Ivar flops down on the couch, leaning his crutch against its armrest. 

 "Here." Hvitserk joins him, handing him a beer before gulping a long sip of his. "So, brother," Hvitserk's face is slightly crumpled as he looks at him, "There's a last-minute change." 

 With a tight-lipped expression on his face, Ivar frowns. He hates last-minute changes with a passion. "What are you talking about, Hvitserk?" He asks curtly while massaging his right thigh absently. 

 "Thora will be with us tonight." Hvitserk shrugs, his discomfort obvious. 

 "Okay." Ivar tilts his head, confused. Every Thursday night, he and his brother spend the night together. Usually at Hvitserk’s place, eating frozen pizzas – a lot of them, Hvitserk being Hvitserk. Most of the time, Thora, who enjoys spending time with her friends, leaves them alone. Sometimes she stays home though, and honestly, it's fine. The truth is, he likes Thora. She's smart and funny, and uncomplicated. Sure, he didn't warm to her right away. It took time. But now, it's okay. He probably won't say it out loud, but yeah, he likes her.

 "So…" Raising a brow, Ivar takes a sip of his beer, "It's no big deal." As Hvitserk keeps silent, Ivar scrutinizes him. His brother is clearly nervous and not at ease at all. Ivar slowly licks his lips. "What are you not telling me, brother?" He knows he's right when Hvitserk lowers his gaze.

 "Well…" Hvitserk clears his throat, "She won't be alone."

A wide-eyed look on his face, Ivar snarls, pursing his lips. "What does that mean, Hvitserk?" The icy cold tone of his voice matches his hard stare, his knuckles turning white as he clenches his hands into fists. 

 Hvitserk winces, "You know what it means, brother," before taking a seat in the armchair across from Ivar, the small coffee table between them suddenly highly appreciated. One can never be too careful when facing Ivar's anger. 

 "Are you fucking kidding me?" Clenching his jaw, Ivar bangs his fist on the table, and Hvitserk immediately leans forward, catching his brother's beer just before it falls down. 

 "I'm not, Ivar. Listen, I'm sorry but Tho–"

 Ivar cuts him off, running nervously his hands through his hair. "I can't believe it! Remember the fiasco with Thora's cousin? And then with her colleague? What was her name? Livia? Lisa? See, she didn’t even stay long enough for me to remember. Anyway, I thought I was pretty clear after that, wasn't I? Maybe you and your girlfriend should go and check your hearing, what do you think, hm, brother?" His voice dripping with sarcasm, Ivar gives Hvitserk dagger eyes, his pointer finger tapping the side of his head. "No more set-ups. That's what I said, right? Sounds pretty clear, huh? Do I need to tell it again, brother? Look at my mouth, I wouldn't want you to miss it this time,” He points to his lips then in a sarcastic manner, “No. More. Set-ups. No. More. Blind. Dates." Bottom lip quivering, Ivar, who's boiling mad, struggles to hold back his anger.

 "I know, brother…" Hvitserk swallows, rubbing his hand over his face, "but you know Thora means well, don't you? I briefly met Y/N once and honestly, she seemed nice enough. Plus, Thora's not really setting you up. We'll be together, the four of us, here, just eating pizza, it hardly counts as a date, don't you think?"

 Disgruntled, Ivar heaves an exasperated sigh, his nostrils flaring. "Stop playing dumb, Hvit, and don't tell me you've never heard of double dates!" He stares at his brother, his pupils dilated, shading his eyes darker blue. "Anyway, it doesn't matter." As he reaches for his crutch, a scowl on his face, Hvitserk stands up, his brow furrowed. "What are you doing?"

 "Isn't that obvious?" Ivar mocks him while adjusting his legs in front of him. "I'm leaving!" Shifting his butt forward, he laces his left arm through the metal loop of his crutch, places his right hand on the coffee table, and then slowly hauls himself to his feet, grunting and swearing under his breath. He has a false start, where it seems he's going to fall right back onto the couch, but Hvitserk catches him skilfully, gripping his upper right arm. As soon as he's sure his baby brother has found his balance, Hvitserk releases his arm and Ivar gives him a tight, thank-you smile. 

 Hvitserk barely nods, as if nothing happened. And gosh, Ivar may be mad at him about this stupid set-up-non-set-up thing, but right now he's feeling mostly grateful. His brother not making a big deal out of his struggles never fails to amaze him.

With any other of his brothers, it wouldn't have been the same. 

Bjorn would have looked at him as if he were an utter failure, and then maybe helped him – out of pity, Ivar is sure of that – but not without paternally patting him on the shoulder; or even worse, on the head. The thought makes him cringe and he shakes his head, chasing it away. Bjorn is no longer around anyway, busy traveling around the world with his fourth wife. Or maybe it's the fifth? Ivar lost count a long time ago. 

 Sigurd would have kicked his crutch out from under him while Ubbe would have forced him to sit down, hovering beside him for far too long, afraid he would slip or stumble, or break a bone. Between Ubbe and Sigurd, between plague and cholera, Ivar is honestly not sure which one is better. Or worse. After all, it's all a matter of perspective. 

 Fortunately, Hvitserk – his favourite brother, and it is no coincidence – never treats him differently; never belittles him; never mothers nor smothers him. With him, Ivar feels like he's normal.

 Gratefulness flooding his mind, a pang of guilt suddenly hits him. He knows that if he leaves, he will put his brother in a difficult position. Though his resolve remains unshaken, Ivar puts a hand on his brother's shoulder, and when he speaks again, it's in a softer voice. "Listen, brother, just tell them I cancelled because I wasn't feeling well, okay?"

 Technically speaking, it's not even a lie. Today has been what his beloved mother would have called a 'bad leg day'. The pain coursing through his lower limbs worse and the muscles stiffer than usual, his right leg barely moving due to its swollen joints, he had taken a double dose of painkillers earlier, regrettably with little to no effect.

 "Well, brother," Looking out of the window, Hvitserk grimaces, an uneasy grin on the corner of his lips, "I'm afraid it's too late." 

 As if on cue, the door busts open and a girly chuckle can be heard. Ivar clenches his jaw and tightens his grip on the handle of his crutch. As you and Thora take off your coats and shoes in the doorway, Hvitserk mutters, his mouth on his brother's ear, "Behave Ivar, please. For my sake." 

 Ivar snorts, exhaling deeply. "I'll try." He closes his eyes and, shaking his head, he mumbles, fighting a lump in his throat. "It's… It's not that easy. Fuck Hvitserk, you don't even know…I wish I wasn’t so angry all the time. I… I might have been happy." His voice, barely a whisper at this point, cracks at the end, and he hates himself for that.  

 Astounded, Hvitserk isn't even sure he heard right. There's no time left to ask Ivar to repeat himself though, so he somewhat haphazardly decides to comfort him, nevertheless. "You'll get there, brother." He eventually breathes, still stunned by his brother's unexpected admission.

  "We're coming!!" Unaware of the tension in the room, Thora shouts enthusiastically before crossing it in two long strides. All smiles, she joins the brothers, winking at her lover and squeezing his hand, and gives Ivar a peck on the cheek followed by a wholehearted hug. She then steps away, gesturing toward you as Hvitserk wraps his arm around her shoulders. "Ivar, this is Y/N."

 Reluctantly, Ivar looks in your direction and the moment he sets his eyes on you, his breath catches in his throat and he knows he's screwed. Already smitten. Gods, you're glowing and insanely beautiful. He barely hears Thora's next words. "And Y/N, this is Ivar, Hvitserk's little brother."

 A beaming smile on your face, you wave at him before taking two shy steps forward. "Hello, Ivar." Even your voice is wonderful, sweet, and silky, and he can't help but smile back at you, annoyed with himself for being so weak. 

 Even if he can see the sparkle in your eyes as you look at him, even if your smile is devastating, he knows better. 

 It won't last. It can't.

 For now, standing tall in his brother's living room, he's aware you surely find him attractive. With no false modesty, Ivar knows about his good looks, his huge blue eyes his greatest asset. Of course, you must have noticed the crutch, but the crutch per se is barely a turn-off. You can't see his titanium leg braces, which he stubbornly wears under his pants, even if they often bruise the thin and delicate skin of his calves. You can't see his crippling pain, his struggles. You can't see his distorted bones and his hideous legs. You can't see how disabled, how crippled he really is. But he knows that as soon as he takes a step, you'll get a small glimpse, and then the sparkle will leave your eyes, replaced at best by polite indifference, at worst by pity and disgust. 

 Yet, there's nowhere to hide from the inevitable. So, he decisively closes the gap between you and him, leaning heavily on his crutch, dragging his useless right leg behind him, and eventually standing right in front of you, he extends his hand. "Nice to meet you." His gaze never leaves your face, Ivar awaiting for you to avert your eyes, but you surprisingly don't. And as you reach out and offer him a firm handshake, your smile never falters, the sparkle still dancing in your eyes. 

 *** One year later ***

 You stir and turn toward him, your hand searching and finding his chest, and then lay your head on his shoulder. Groggy with sleep, you just mumble his name, eyes still closed, before letting out a content sigh and Ivar can't help but smile; you're so adorable.  

 Wrapping his arm around your waist, he draws you closer, running his fingers along your back and pressing his lips to your head. Rewarded by kisses in the crook of his neck, his free hand settles on your hip, your skin warm and smooth under his fingertips. "Hi," he greets you and buries his nose in your hair, deeply inhaling your scent.

 "Hi." You eventually mumble with a raspy voice, now peppering light kisses all over his broad torso. "What were you doing, my love?" Your eyes flutter open and, propping yourself up on your elbow, your other hand flat on his chest, you offer him a warm smile. There's so much love in your eyes, it takes his breath away. 

 "I was remembering." Ivar smiles fondly at you, grabbing your hand and bringing it to his mouth. "Do you know what day it is?" He asks, gently kissing your knuckles one after the other. 

 "How could I have forgotten?" You scoot even closer, your breast against his chest, your mouth barely an inch from his. "Today is the anniversary of the day we met, my love. That's what you were thinking about?"

 Ivar nods before laying you down on the bed tenderly. He then sits up, running his hands through his hair. "I remember as though it were yesterday, you know? I still can't believe you didn't run away." Sitting behind him, you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders, trapping him in your embrace, in your love. "You stayed…", his voice trembles as he gestures to his legs, hidden under the sheets, "… you stayed in spite of… of them…" He swallows loudly and your heart aches.

 Resting your head on his left shoulder, you shake your head. "No, my love, I didn’t stay in spite of your legs, but because of them." 

 Ivar is looking downward but as soon as the words escape your lips, he snaps his head to the side, a frown flitting across his face, and gives you a confused and slightly upset look. "What do you… What do you mean?" He stammers, suddenly tense.

 Shifting in the bed, you carefully straddle him, tilting his chin with a curled finger and forcing him to meet your gaze. "Don't get me wrong, Ivar. I'm not especially attracted to your legs. It's not some kind of weird fetish. I stayed because of what is in here." You put your finger on his forehead, and then over his heart. "And here. But your legs made you who you are. And you're different. A good kind of different. You don't think like other men. That's what I love the most about you. You're unpredictable; you always surprise me. You wouldn't have been who you are without your legs." A gentle hand sliding under the sheets, your fingers graze his scarred skin. "With two working legs, who knows what you would have been. You probably would have been a presumptuous womanizer like Bjorn. Or you might have been as boring as Ubbe; as careless as Hvitserk; as annoying as Sigurd. You are who you are, infuriating, smart, and stubborn, and, I must say, breathtakingly handsome, and I love you exactly the way you are." 

 Ivar just looks at you for a long time, a small smile playing on his lips. Raising his right hand, he cups your face. "Never stop telling me you love me, Y/N. Please..." You never saw him so willingly vulnerable before, and it breaks your heart – you never want him to doubt himself – as much as it fills you with joy – he trusts you enough to share his insecurities with you. 

 You answer him without missing a beat. "I won't. I love you more than my own life. I love you bigger than the sky and its stars, I love you to the moon and back. I love you like I never thought I could. Loving you is a blessing, a precious gift, the meaning of my life. I love you and only you, Ivar Lothbrok."

 Blinking a few times, Ivar heaves a shuddering breath. Tears come to his bright blue eyes and the expression on his face is unreadable; fragile and strong all at once. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it. Staring into space, he seems lost.

 Stroking his cheek, you bring him back to the here and now, back to you, kissing his earlobe, his jaw, his neck, before returning briefly to his mouth. "What is it, Ivar?"

 Your lover shrugs, "Nothing, really," and pulls you closer, his hands on your back, his breath on your face, his manly scent enticing you. "Or more accurately…", he whispers in your ear, "… Nothing, yet everything." 

 Not understanding what he's getting at, you keep quiet, just staring at him, confusion obvious in your eyes. He then offers you a mind-blowing smile, and your heart nearly jumps out through your mouth at his next words. 

 "I may be happy. Actually, I think I am."

 🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @waiting4inspiration​ @saldelys​ @gearhead66​ @inforapound​ @readsalot73​ @milkkygirls​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @shannygoatgruff​ @zuxiezendler​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @hecohansen31​ @lonewolf471​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​ @peachyboneless​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​ @ethereallysimple​ @destynelseclipsa​ @coco2315​ @mlchael-guerin​ @pieces-by-me​

#ivar #ivars heathen army #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #modern ivar #modern ivar x reader #modern!ivar #modern!ivar x reader #modern-ivar #ivar imagine #ivar fanfic #ivar fic #ivar fanfiction #ivar vikings #vikings ivar #vikings fic #vikings #comfort fic

[corie-the-writer]

Ignite - Chapter 10

Chapter 10 Kelly and Chloe had spent majority of their time in bed that day until Hank had came knocking on the door, letting them know that he had made dinner. Chloe had tried to get him to go away by shushing him, but the low growl of his voice reminding her that she was eating for two caused Kelly to chuckle with his eyes closed, agreeing with her father and then kissed her forehead. Chloe had crawled out of the bed and then moved to help Kelly up from the bed even though he had protested. He had commented that he had to pee but he refused to let her help him into the bathroom. Since the fracture in his knee wasn't too severe, he had gotten away with being able to wear a brace for four to six weeks. The firefighter had went to the restroom and then headed out of the bathroom to head into the kitchen as he wobbled down the hallway. "Shouldn't you be using a crutch?" Chloe commented as she looked to the man who was using the wall for support. "It's fine Chlo..." Kelly grumbled lightly, "It's not that bad, just hard to adjust to." "Whatever you say, but if you fall, I'm not lifting you up." Chloe joked playfully. "I'll be fine." Kelly made his way towards the kitchen table and plopped down letting out a breath causing Chloe to giggle. "For a firefighter..." Chloe began to joke but Kelly playfully glared at her. "Shut it." Chloe had looked to the plates that were already laid out on the table for their meal to see a large steak, baked potato and salad, and her mouth began to water with how hungry she had been. Chloe didn't even bother speaking as she cut into the meat and began to eat. "My god, this would be amazing if I could drink a beer." Chloe commented, seeing both Hank and Kelly's eyes on her, "I am obviously not going to drink." Chloe added with a dramatic eye roll, causing Kelly to shake his head with a small laugh as he continued to eat. The sound of a knock on the door caused everyone to freeze for a moment since it was going on eight o'clock in the evening. Hank looked to his daughter, "Stay here." Hank ordered while Kelly stay up a little straighter. Chloe had finished the food that was in her mouth before pushing her plate away when the sound of the front door opened. Chloe listened quietly to see if her father was speaking and heard the familiar sound of her partner, Adam Ruzek. "It's just Adam." Chloe moved to stand up from the table just as Hank and Adam walked into the kitchen, and she had sat back down and grabbed her plate to finish. Adam sat down at the kitchen table and Hank grabbed another round of beers for the men. Hank sat down and reached for the files that Adam had laid on the table. Chloe reached for one but Kelly had stopped her, "Finish eating first." Kelly commented knowing that once she had started to look at the files she would forget about her food. "So what did you find out so far?" Chloe questioned to her partner as she focused on her food. "Well we checked every building around your apartment." Adam explained, "It took some time but we were able to track down the make of a car. It's a beat up old honda." Adam explained, "It was parked near the alley by your apartment. We decided to check the street cameras from the location of the fire, it was parked a block down." Adam explained, "The only thing is there are two names on the title of the car. Matthew Decker and Bryan Decker." "Photos?" Chloe finished off her food, pushing the plate away and reaching for the file and began to look at both men, seeing that they were twins but one Matthew had blonde hair while Bryan had brown, "Do you recognize either of these guys?" Chloe questioned pushing the file to Kelly who was nursing his beer. Kelly looked over the file trying to see if he had noticed either man or if anything had stuck out to him. Kelly had read the report at least a dozen times, something was sticking out to him but he couldn't place it. "Babe?" Chloe furrowed her eyebrows as Kelly stared at the file in front of him while Hank and Adam had went over the second file that Ruzek had brought in. "There was a fire at their childhood home." Kelly explained, "Their father was really pissed off, wouldn't leave the house so we had to drag him out." Kelly added, "I don't remember either guy being there though." "Did anyone get injured?" Hank questioned and watched the firefighter shake his head no, "Okay, so let's run their names through the database, see if there is any record behind their names." Hank stated. Chloe had gotten up from the table to grab her work laptop and headed back to the table. The Detective had ran the first twin's name, Bryan while Adam ran Matthew's name. "Bryan is married with two small children, works for a real estate agency up north in Chicago. No record outside of a couple of speeding tickets and seatbelt violations." Chloe explained reading the laptop screen. "Matthew has a rap sheet..." Ruzek commented after Chloe had finished reading on his brother, "Mostly drugs, a couple of hit and runs..." "Wait..." Kelly furrowed his eyebrows, "What sort of car did you say it was?" Kelly questioned. "It's a 1993 Honda Accord." Hank commented, "Why?" "Do you have a photo of the car?" Kelly questioned and watched as Adam gave a nod and pulled the photo out, sliding it to Severide, "We responded to a call a few months ago, the front end was practically demolished. I remember having to help the guy out of the car, he was high as a kite, he had a passenger that overdosed." Kelly explained, "He was trying to help the chick but I had pulled him out of the car so Brett and Foster could try to revive her, but it was just too late." Kelly explained. "Do you remember if he said anything to you?" Hank questioned. Kelly shook his head no, "I know that we had to do a report because of the death, I can call Matt and have him find the report for it." Kelly answered, "You think he's targeting Chloe because of me?" Kelly found himself questioning. "Anything is possible right now." Hank stated, "Especially if he's on drugs." Chloe watched as Kelly's shoulders slumped, "Hey, we don't really know if he's involved or not." Chloe tried to ease the tension is Kelly, "And it's not like you could have known, there was nothing you could have done." Chloe added reaching to squeeze his thigh under the table. "Kelly can you get ahold of Matt and have him bring the report in tomorrow?" Hank questioned, "Ruzek, I want you to start asking around about Matthew." Hank stated and grabbed ahold of the files. Chloe watched as her partner gave a nod, and then moved to stand up from the table after finishing off his beer, "On it boss." Ruzek stated, "Chlo, we'll talk soon, okay?" Adam suggested and the dark haired woman nodded her head, and she moved to put the plates in the sink to wash. "I got it." Hank commented as he approached her, "Go take it easy." Hank added. Chloe rolled her eyes, "Just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean I am incapable of doing dishes." Chloe commented. "No, but the doctor said that you needed to take it easy for a couple of weeks." Hank pointed out, and Chloe nearly growled but stormed out of the kitchen with Kelly slowly following her. . . Kelly had laid on the bed while Chloe had disappeared into the shower to try to wind down. He had been thankful that he had showered at the hospital so he wasn't too worried about showering for the night. He felt like all of this was his fault. If it weren't for him then Chloe and their unborn child would not be in harms way. He almost hated himself for putting them in this sort of situation. Laying in the large bed, Kelly knew that Netflix was playing but he wasn't paying attention to what was on the screen. His eyes would occasionally glanced towards the opened bathroom door, seeing the woman standing in the steamy hot shower. It didn't help that he wanted to join her but couldn't. He was growing frustrated from everything, plus the pain of his injuries. The Lieutenant closed his eyes trying to clear his mind. He had focused on his breathing instead of the thoughts racing around in his mind. "Baby..." Kelly felt the bed dip and fluttered his eyes open to see that Chloe was out of the shower, dressed in a pair of panties and one of his fire t-shirts she had stolen from him, "You want to talk about it?" Chloe questioned to him. Kelly looked to her as she sat indian style on the mattress facing him, his arm stretching out to spread his hand across her thigh, "I don't even know where to start." Kelly found himself sighing, "You're pregnant and there is someone out there stalking you." Kelly began, "I can't help but to feel like it's my fault. Finding out someone is pregnant is suppose to be a happy time, and we have to stay in your father's house and hide out." Kelly continued, "Then I can't even actually do anything to protect you, because if I weren't injured I'd be out there hunting this piece of shit down." "Kell..." Chloe smiled softly, "It is a happy time. I mean granted, we didn't plan for this pregnancy to happen, but I believe that it happened for a reason. As much as I want to question why everything is happening the way it is, I can't." Chloe explained, "I would drive myself mad if I did that, the only thing I can do is be thankful that the baby is okay, I'm okay and you're okay. That's what I focus on." "But aren't you worried?" Kelly questioned, watching as the woman nodded her head. "Of course I'm worried." Chloe let out a laugh, "I'm extremely creeped out, but as I said, I choose to focus on the three of us being okay." Chloe stated, "We are safe in this house, and I know that Hank and the team will stop at nothing to make sure whoever is causing this shit storm is caught." Kelly gave a nod in understanding, "You're right." Kelly stated, "I need to just be grateful that we are all okay." Kelly rubbed his hand along her thigh, "What are you wanting? A boy or a girl?" Kelly questioned looking to the dark haired woman. "I hadn't really even thought about it yet." Chloe explained, "But I almost want a little girl. Train her to be a detective." Chloe teased and watched as Kelly shook his head no. "Let's agree that our child has a simple job, like a teacher, or librarian." Kelly joked as Chloe moved to lay against him. "As much as I would love that, this baby is going to be a cop or firefighter. It's in their bloodline." Chloe chuckled causing Kelly to groan, "Let's not worry about that just yet, we have quite a while until we get to that point." "You're right." Kelly joked, "I wouldn't mind having a boy though. If bean is a girl, god forbid she looks anything like you cause I'm gonna be in a world of trouble." Kelly added. As Chloe and Kelly laid in the bed talking about what their unborn child would look like, who they would act like more between them, the sound of a cell phone chiming interrupting them. Chloe had reached over Kelly to the night stand to check their phones and noticed that her screen was lighting up. Unknown. "It's him..." Chloe answered, "He's calling..." Chloe added quickly, grabbing the phone and rushing off the bed to her father. "Answer it..." Voight instructed. Chloe felt her stomach turn for a moment, her hand trembling as Kelly hobbled into the living room just as she answered the phone. "Hello?" 'Detective...it's so good to hear your voice...' "Why don't you tell me your name instead of leaving me guessing." Chloe suggested, as Kelly sat down on the couch, watching her intently. 'Soon enough Chloe, soon enough. If you want to know who I am, why don't you come meet me?' "That sounds great. Why don't you meet me at the station?" Chloe questioned causing the man to chuckle. 'Detective, don't play games. You wouldn't want anything to happen to you or that abomination you're carrying, now would you?' Kelly nearly lost his shit when he heard him speak of their child and went to move from the couch but Hank had stopped him. Hank had kept his hand on his un-injured shoulder. "You are obviously trying to get my attention, so tell me why." Chloe stated not entertaining his comment about the baby, "You have my attention, so say what you need to say." Chloe instructed cooly. '"I thought I would take you away from him since he took her away from me but then I saw you...you're so much better for me than she ever was. I see the angel that you are, being drown by his darkness. I can save you...I wasn't able to save her, but I know that I can save you." Chloe furrowed her eyebrows looking to her father, "Did you set my apartment on fire?" Chloe questioned. "It was suppose to be him in there, not you." "And why would you send all those photos of me and..." Chloe began but got cut off by the suspects voice. "Don't you dare say his name!" "Look Matthew, this needs to end before someone gets hurt." Chloe stated, "If you turn yourself in we can make a deal. I can meet you at the station, but if one of my team members find you, the deal is off the table." Chloe added, "Let's make this easy, okay?" "You'll meet me?" "I will meet you at the station, no where else." "Do you think I'm stupid Chloe?!" Chloe looked to her father who mouthed, 'Ruzek tracked his call' her body instantly relaxing at the news, knowing that the team was going to get this creep behind bars where he belonged. Chloe knew that it was just a matter of time for the team to bust down his door, and found herself zoning out as he began to rant about how Kelly was tainting her mind, that he wasn't as stupid as she thought. "CHICAGO PD!" Chloe heard the sound through the phone and found herself crying as she ended the call, never had felt that huge sense of relief. Kelly instantly pushing himself up off the couch and rushing to her as she fell to her knees.

#Kelly Severide #kelly severide imagine #kelly severide x oc #kelly severide one shot #kelly severide x reader

[icyymocha]

Say You Won’t Let Go

Pt. 1

@the-romanian-is-bae I got your request for Pt.2, I hope you guys like it! It’s a bit long and I got a bit too carried away haha. But I hope you guys enjoy your stay!💚💚

Warnings: fluff, lots of fluff, bits of angst

pairings: Bucky x Fem!reader 

word count: 2,736 

Summary: Bucky was worried about the reader and later find out that the reader is pregnant with his kid. Bonus, Bucky remembering the memories and nightmares of his life with you. 

The tension in Bucky’s head was threatening to spill. It was dark and ominous inside his blackened soul. He was sitting in a corner of his room, shaking with violence. the screams, it won’t go away. Bucky’s head was pounding, he wanted to scream; to tell the voices to shut up. Just so he could think properly. if you squinted properly inside the pitch-black room, you would see his shredded bed, books were thrown in a hazardous way, and clothes were piled up in a bunch. It was a mess—he was a mess.

Clouding inside his own little world, Bucky didn’t realize someone was pounding at his door. Or maybe that was the ringing of guns and violence inside his head? He couldn’t tell. He didn’t hear the door open nor the soft patter of footsteps coming near him. Bucky screamed when he felt a hand on his shoulder; it burned hot. He remembered how Hydra ripped his arm flesh by flesh, rebuilding it with stone-steeled metal. It was painful. Bucky could still feel the pain that lingers on his left side; he missed his fleshed hand. 

Gripping the intruder’s wrist, he snarled. His pupils were dilated and his body was shaking. His senses were clouded, he wasn’t himself. Bucky was in his winter soldier mode. Yet, the intruder did nothing but relaxed under his touch. No, no, no, they should be afraid of him. Why aren’t they cowering away? He was bemused. His eyes trailed up to the stranger’s wrist to their eyes. 

Bucky’s whole body was rigid. It was her. His breath hitched harshly when he saw those worried eyes full of love. There was a frown plastered on her face. Not from the vice grip he had, but the state he was in. 

Wetting his dried lips, Bucky’s voice was hoarse and itchy. He just wanted to sleep everything off, but he can’t. Not when the nightmares crept up his spine and whispered nothing but triggering words, of the blood that was spilled by his bare hands. 

“Y-you shouldn’t be here” he croaked 

Noticing the bruise that was starting to form on their wrists, he loosened his tight grip. He cowered away from them, backing away until his back hit the wall. 

y/n didn’t say anything but cautiously took a step forward the ex-assassin. she watched as he shrank making him look small. Her heart broke hearing his choked cries, so broken and numb. Standing in front of him, you sat down. Watching as Bucky hunches over, brings his knees closer to his chest even more. 

She waited, waited, and waited. Every tick of the clock ticking, waiting for the right moment until Bucky can compose himself. Humming to herself a song she knew when she was a little child from her childhood. Bucky's tensed body relaxes when hearing her voice as it pulls him over. He doesn’t know how long the day has passed but it felt like centuries with just you and him. Listening to his ragged breath calming down, you kept humming. You gazed as he slowly shifted in his seat, putting his hands onto his lap. Peering into those crystal blue eyes that showed how tear-stained they were, your heartbreaking even more. 

Slowly, the young woman reached her hand out. She watched as the broken man flinched, dissatisfied with his reaction. Inching her way towards his personal space, moving until he finally says “stop.” 

Carefully putting your hand on his shoulder as if Bucky was made out of glass, you’d stand by patiently. Seeing that there is no reaction in him, you dragged your hand from his shoulders to his neck, to his cheek, the. stopping at the middle of his hair. Steadily, you threaded your fingers in his hair, noticing how he grunted and quietly groaned in approval. 

Watching as he finally eased up and gazing at you with something behind his blue eyes. Did you see hope in his eyes? Like he was waiting to see if you were the one? To give him a chance? To be normal? Your eyes softened when you stared at each other. Pulling away from his hair, Bucky struck his hand to grab at your wrists again. Your eyes widened. 

“Mm keep ���em there...it...felt nice” he mumbled. Easing his grip on your wrists, he placed your hands in his hair again. getting rid of your shocking moment, you quickly found a rhythm of motion, raking your fingers through his hair as if you were petting a cat. Oh your fingers, they were so delicate and soft to the touch. Bucky wanted more. He almost started purring like a kitten. 

You felt your knees ache about how long you have been kneeling, somehow Bucky noticed. Using his non-vibranium arm, he scooped you up and put you in his lap. Securing his arms around your waist.

“You’re okay….just know I’m here for you James…” you whispered softly underneath your breath. Bucky gulped. Letting his eyes wander anywhere but you. 

The tension in the room washed away with a feeling of tranquility. It was peaceful. You hoped you didn’t make him uncomfortable just now? But what if you did? Oh, how you wanted to know what was going on in his head—

“....thank you…” his voice raspy and quiet. Your ears straining to hear the quiet thank you. You smiled to yourself, letting your hands drop to his shoulders. Wrapping around your arms, you hugged him. Bucky tensed but quickly relaxed into your touch. 

Y/n didn’t need to voice out her welcome for Bucky as he knew she welcomed him with open arms no matter what. Bucky felt loved. 

Recalling that memory of when he first met you. He couldn’t believe your bold movements to come out of your way by comforting him for your first time meeting him. He couldn’t be more grateful to be greeted with a kind soul. Then, he remembered how months later, Bucky was warming up to the 21st century with you by his side. His eyes linger on your form as you talked with the widow herself, Natasha Romanoff. He watched as you noticed him staring, giving him a warm smile in his direction. Bucky’s lips quirked upwards. He loved seeing your smile. Throughout the night, the both of you danced and drank your hearts out. He chuckled worriedly when the drunken state of you threw up in the toilet. Bucky carefully held your hair up, making sure it didn’t get in the way. Bucky smiled to himself fondly. 

During that incident, he watched as you smiled over your shoulders when he called out for you. His heart still flutters every time you smile at him. No matter how many years the two of you have been together, Bucky could never get over the warm feeling in the depth of his stomach. It made him feel like a middle school teenage boy in love. For years he thought he was stone-cold sober but when Bucky pulled you closer to his chest when you asked him to stay over for the night. He couldn’t help but say yes.

“I already told you I’m staying,” Bucky said, pushing you down gently to your bed, smiling. You had a goofy smile as you pulled him down. 

“But Buuucky,” you whined out, making a gesture of granny hands at him 

He sighed but pulled the blanket over the two of you. Flushing you closer to his chest. 

“You should get some rest Doll. You’re gonna get a huge hangover the next morning” he muttered. Waiting until your chest rose evenly and your breathing calmed. Smiling to himself, he hugged you closer as both of you slept.

Just when years had passed by, Bucky knew he loved you before you guys started dating but you’ve never known because Bucky was always so stiff and he tried to play it cool. Because even then, Bucky knew he was scared of letting go, needing you every second of the moment in his life. He never showed it but Bucky wanted to stay with you until the both of you grew grey and old. Resting his head on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your lower stomach. Bucky couldn’t hold his emotions. 

“Just say you won’t let go Doll” he pleaded, nuzzling into your hair and breathing in your scent. 

“You know, I wouldn’t let you go for the world Buck,” you reassured the brunette. Intertwining your hands together tightly, and letting him fall on top of you. Letting sleep take over as you both cuddle on the couch. 

It was a beautiful morning outside, birds were chirping and flowers were starting to bloom. It was spring. Rays of sunlight peered through the creeks of the closed curtains. Letting the light lit the pitch-black room of the couple’s bedroom and hitting Bucky's sleepy form in the eyes. 

Bucky groaned, feeling the sunlight on him. Knowing it was time for him to get up. He squinted his eyes, drowsy from sleep. Blindly, he reached for you on the other side of the bed. Did he always feel this cold? Bucky tried to feel the bed on the other side, only for it to be cold and empty. Bucky immediately sat straight up; alerted. You weren’t there. 

Kicking off the blankets, he immediately went into a panicky mode. Bucky becoming the assassin he had become. Using his super hearing from the super-soldier serum that pumps rapidly through his veins. He heard groaning. Cautiously, Bucky walked up to the bathroom doors. Opening the door, he got into a fighting position, vibranium arm out; ready to kill. 

Seeing you are not harmed and no suspicious activity, Bucky relaxed. 

There was a frown upon his face as he watched you throw up in the toilet. Your back hunched up and crutching your stomach in pain. Bucky sighed. Reaching out, he held your hair just like the drunken night years before. Grimacing when you threw up for the millionth time. Bucky rubbed your back up and down your spine. He waited until you finished.

He watched as his beloved coughed and wiped away the drool off her chin. She groaned and pushed him away slightly. Y/n tried to stand on her trembling knees before she could fall, Bucky quickly caught her with his quick reflexes. Wrapping her arm around his shoulders, securing an arm around her waist. 

“Are you okay doll? What happened?” Bucky grimaced. His eyes are full of concern. 

She nodded her head. Letting her head rest falling on Bucky’s shoulder. Y/n took moments of heavy breathing before taking a small step forward towards the skin. Bucky followed through. Bucky sighed as she threw up again. Rubbing circles on her back soothingly. 

Hours passed by quickly and soon enough it was the afternoon. Bucky observed his darling behaviors when they ate and sat on the couch. He watched as she winced slightly and the growling in her stomach even when she tried so hard to hide it from him. He notices how you wouldn’t finish your plate of food Bucky made, upset that you declined to eat anymore. Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed, missing your warmth when you ran to your guy’s shared bathroom; throwing up again.

Seeing you in pain made him upset. He didn’t know what to do, to help ease your pain. Bucky sighed. The former super-soldier decided to get some painkillers for you at the store. Grabbing his jacket and gloves, he left. 

Hearing the soft click of the door opening and Bucky’s footsteps fainting in the distance. You pulled out your self-care cabinet to which Bucky didn’t dare to open. He didn’t want to intrude on your privacy (even though Bucky didn’t know why you had to use those skin products. When his curiosity got the best of him, Bucky still won’t dare open your cabinet). Kneeling in pain, you found what you were looking for. A pregnancy test. 

You remembered when you told Natasha and Wanda about starting a family with Bucky. You smiled when you watched the two women scream in excitement; happy that they get to be aunts soon. You chuckled when you heard Natasha planning out your baby shower and Wanda carefully telling you to get a pregnancy test before you start doing it. Thank goodness, you listened to your closest friend’s advice. you ripped out the pregnancy test out of its box and bid your business.

No fucking way…. 

Your jaw dropped open seeing the test in your hand. No fucking way. The results indicated you were pregnant. Wait, there’s no way you’re pregnant? You stood there waiting for the gears in your head to turn. Reality hit you like a truck. Holy fuck. You really are pregnant! You squealed to yourself, jumping up and down with excitement. You were going to be a mom. And Bucky. Oh, Bucky. You bit your lips to contain another squeal. Bucky is going to be a father and you couldn’t wait to see his reaction. 

Buying all the things Bucky knew that would comfort you, he went home. Looking at his watch, his eyes narrowed. Fuck. He’s late for dinner. He knew it was going to take a while but damn it, he didn’t think it would take that long. And so, Bucky ran with bags in his hand. Slamming the door open, Bucky puffed and panted.

A variety of smells washed over his senses. His nose scrunched up smelling food? Wait did he smell steak? Kicking the door close and making sure it’s locked, Bucky put the bags of goodies on the kitchen counter. His brows knitted together, looking everywhere for you. 

“Doll? Are you out of the bathroom yet!?” He shouted—half-jokingly. Putting away the treats and the painkiller in the medic cabinet. He heard footsteps from a mile away. Turning on his heels, Bucky rose an eyebrow seeing you all giggly. Mischief in your eyes. Before Bucky could say a word to you, the timer went out. Rushing to full of pots boiling, you turn off the pots before it explodes before turning around to meet your lover. 

Dragging him to the diner table. He saw a small box wrapped in wrapping paper with care. Bucky raised his eyebrow higher as you giggled, nudging him to open it. Bucky squinted his eyes playfully at you before opening the box. You held a breath in waiting for his reaction. Opening the box, Bucky took a glance. He tensed up. Seeing him tensed up made her worry. Shit…The atmosphere was off, the anticipation eating you up. Bucky’s face was unreadable and stoic. Turning his attention to you. You twiddle your fingers nervously. 

“Is it true? Are—are you really pregnant?” Bucky choked out

You gulped and smiled nervously. Oh god. Did he not want to start a family with you now? Is he going to abandon your guy’s child? Oh god, the pregnancy hormones are getting to you.

“Doll…you’re really pregnant?...” Bucky said slowly 

He watched as you nodded slowly. Bucky put down the box along with the pregnancy results on the table. Putting his hands on your stomach instinctively. His jaw dropped, his eyes blew from shock, and his eyebrows raised. Bucky couldn’t believe it. After many trials and errors, you’re finally pregnant. You have a child in your stomach—his child. Bucky licked his lips. He is going to be a father soon. A Father… That word rang loudly in his ears. His shocked face soon morphed into one of happiness and joy. His smile grew wider and wider until his eyes were small crescents. 

Lifting you off the ground, he screamed in joy. Startled, you laughed along. There were tears in both of your guy’s eyes. After the high adrenaline, Bucky put you down. Placing his forehead against yours. A few tears slipped down your face, your smile hurting your cheekbones but you didn’t care. Bucky kneeled and pressed kisses against your stomach. 

“Hey there kiddo, I’ll do anything to protect you and your mom, I’ll make sure of it,” Bucky promised, his eyes shined with stars and a newfound love and determination. You smiled warmly at him. Bucky stood up, grabbing your hand and twirling you in circles. 

“We’re going to be parents, darling!” Bucky laughed breathlessly. You laughed as you sniffled. You both slowed dance around your guy’s shared apartment, smiling about your guy’s future. The future of your own little family. 

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky oneshot #bucky fluff #bucky angst #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky fic #bucky fucking barnes #bucky blurb #bucky fandom #james buchanan barnes #marvel #MARVEL FANDOM #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel angst #marvel fluff #marvel x reader #marvel oneshots #marvel bucky barnes #spicymocha #spicymocha'smasterlist #tfatws

[firemedicdiaz]

The Road Will Lead You Home Again

Fandom: 9-1-1. Pairing: Buddie. Word Count: 2201. Genre: fluff. Rating: teen+. Summary: Eddie goes over to Buck’s to pick up Christopher, or how 4x08 should have ended. Warning(s): alcohol mention. Note:  Beta’d by @fireladybuckley​.  AO3 link here. 

Buck jumped as his apartment door was thrown open and Eddie rushed in, his expression bordering on unhinged.  Buck hadn’t been expecting him for at least another five minutes given the distance between Eddie’s house and his apartment, but it was unsurprising that Eddie had taken speed limits and stop signs as suggestions more than anything considering the fear and restless energy rolling off him in waves.

“Christopher?”  Eddie barked, glancing around frantically.

Buck stepped closer, putting a hand on Eddie’s chest to stop him.  

“In the bathroom,” Buck explained.  “He’s fine.”

He could feel Eddie’s chest heaving under the strain of his emotions and a frantic rush up three flights of stairs.  Buck watched Eddie’s face, waited.  It took a few moments for his words to sink in, but Eddie finally relaxed a fraction, dropping his shoulders and meeting Buck’s eyes.

“I’m sorry about all this,” Eddie said with a shake of his head, reaching up to run a hand through his hair.  “We’re going to have a long, hard talk about boundaries when we get home.”

Buck shook his head, dropping his hand as Eddie calmed.

“Not until you’ve slept on it,” Buck said softly.  “Christopher is going through some stuff right now and he needs kindness, not a reprimand.”

Buck could feel the tension return to Eddie’s body even though they were no longer touching.

“You think you know how to parent my son better than I do?”

Buck raised his hands in an attempt to diffuse the tension as Eddie went on the defensive.

“I’m not saying that,” Buck said quickly.  “I’m just saying that we had a heart-to-heart and that I really think Chris could use some reassurance that this - you dating Ana - doesn’t mean that he’s going to be left behind.”

Eddie almost visibly flinched at Buck’s words, the anger leaving him in a rush, replaced by a sudden chill, an understanding.  Eddie cursed quietly and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Is that what he said?”

Buck nodded, turning on his heel and making his way into the kitchen.  Eddie followed along, leaning on the counter as Buck pulled two beers from the fridge and uncapped them, sliding one across the marble at Eddie.

“Between the shelter in place order and you dating again, he feels like everyone is leaving him,” Buck explained, taking a sip of his beer and regarding Eddie.  “He told me that you promised him the two of you would try new things together after the whole skateboarding debacle, but this kind of came out of nowhere.”

Eddie cursed again, the conversation from that day coming back to haunt him.  Of course Christopher was upset; bringing someone new into the family was a huge step, and Eddie hadn’t even asked Chris how he felt about it.

“Maybe you do know more about parenting him than I do,” Eddie said with a bitter laugh, his voice hollow.

“Come on, man, you know that’s not it,” Buck assured him, setting down his beer and coming around to Eddie’s side of the counter.  He put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze, and Eddie would be lying if he said Buck’s touch wasn’t exactly what he needed right then.  “Christopher came to me because he needed a friend, but he’s going to need his dad to walk him through this new normal.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Eddie lamented.

Buck’s hand stayed in place, its weight grounding Eddie as anxiety gnawed at him.  It was terrifying, the realization that Christopher was growing up, understanding more than Eddie was giving him credit for, and Eddie wasn’t sure he was ready to take on some of the big conversations they needed to have.  Shannon would have been great at it, and with her by his side it might not have been so dizzying, but he didn’t know how he was supposed to manage on his own.  

“Nothing worth doing is ever easy,” Buck said sagely like he was reading off a motivational poster.  “But it’s worthwhile, and you’re not alone.  You’ve got Bobby, and Hen, and - and you’ve got me.  I may not be a dad, but I was a pretty messed up kid.  If nothing else, I can tell you what not to do.”

Eddie’s heart ached at Buck’s attempt at jest.  Setting his beer down, he turned slowly to face his best friend, meeting Buck’s eyes.  There, under a veil of confidence and conviction, behind the hurt at memories of his own childhood, Eddie saw a shadow of something different, something more.  It was gone in a flash, before he could even begin to delve into it, but it made the gears in Eddie’s head turn a bit as he processed what that look might’ve meant.

Clearing his throat before he could get completely waylaid, deciding it was neither the time nor the place to dwell on whatever moment had just transpired, Eddie glanced around the apartment again.

“Christopher’s been in the bathroom a while, I should go check on him.”

“I’ll get him,” Buck interjected.  “Make yourself at home.”

Eddie agreed with a nod, watching Buck disappear further into the apartment before making his way to the couch.  Christopher’s crutches were propped against the side of it and Eddie relaxed a fraction at the tangible proof that Christopher was there and safe.  He rested his elbows on his knees as he sat, dropping his head into his hands and wondering just where he’d screwed up parenting so badly that Christopher didn’t think he could open up and talk to him about what was on his mind.

“If we need to take a break, I’ll understand.”

Eddie smiled and held up a hand.

“Hold on, hold on.  He and I can figure this out.  In the meantime, I don’t want you going anywhere.  Got that?”

Ana’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, not that he’d noticed it at the time.  He’d been too busy looking ahead to a future where he wasn’t so cripplingly alone.  Of course he had his coworkers and his family.  He also had Buck.  

Buck, who would drop everything to help out even without Eddie having to ask.  Buck, whom Christopher looked at like he’d hung the moon.  Buck, who was in his heart and on his mind even when he was miles away.  

But he needed someone in the in-between.  Someone whose touch could calm him, ground him, who could reassure him that maybe he wasn’t making an absolute mess of parenting, learning, and growing as a person.  Someone who could be his heart and his soul.  His best friend.

But he already had that too, didn’t he?

“I got it,” Ana’s voice called to him through the cobwebs, returning him to that moment.

“I’ll uh, talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

Eddie shook his head, dispelling the unwelcome flashback.  His heart beat heavily in his chest at the implications of the memory and he nearly jumped as a weight landed on the couch beside him.  Looking over, Eddie found Christopher sitting at his side, his head bowed and looking so much younger and more innocent than Eddie was used to seeing.

Any remaining anger that Eddie felt disappeared as Christopher worried with the hem of his shirt, not meeting Eddie’s eyes.  Eddie shifted closer, putting an arm around Chris’ shoulders and pulling him close, pressing a kiss into Christopher’s hair.

“I’m glad you’re safe, mijo,” Eddie murmured, holding Christopher tightly enough that the boy squirmed in his grip.  “You scared me.”

“Sorry, dad,” Christopher said quietly, keeping his gaze averted.  “I won’t do it again.”

“I appreciate that, but I want you to know that I’m not mad at you.  I understand.”

Eddie’s compassion piqued Christopher’s interest and he finally looked up, cautiously meeting Eddie’s gaze.  Eddie smiled, brushing a few stray curls away from Christopher’s forehead.

“I was wrong, buddy, and I’m sorry,” Eddie said softly.  “I should have talked to you before I started dating again.  That’s on me.  I made a promise to you and I broke it, and now I’m going to make it right, okay?”

“How?”  Christopher asked.

“By starting over,” Eddie replied with a courage that he wasn’t sure he could live up to.  “By breaking it off with her and by starting again with someone else, but only if that’s okay with you.”

Christopher considered the words for a moment and smiled, nodding as he leaned into Eddie again and wrapped his arms around him.  Eddie let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and embraced Chris, holding onto him for a long moment.  He glanced up as he sensed movement in the periphery of his vision and found Buck watching the two of them from the kitchen.

“Can you start over with Buck?”  Christopher asked, and Eddie’s heart nearly stopped as he wondered whether Buck could hear them from his vantage point.  Buck’s face gave nothing away, and Eddie operated on the hope that they were out of earshot as he agreed to something he thought he’d have a little more time to process before acting on.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Eddie whispered, holding Christopher just a little tighter to borrow some of the boy’s unbridled courage and enthusiasm.  “Do you think he’ll say yes?”

Christopher giggled.

“Yeah!  He promised he wasn’t going anywhere.”

Eddie’s heart leapt at the implications of Buck’s promise to Christopher, settling into a quick, erratic drumbeat as he wondered whether Buck’s sentiments would stay the same once Eddie came out and admitted that he’d love nothing more than to have Buck in their lives forever, and not just for evenings and weekends.

“Okay,” Eddie said quietly.  “Do you think I should do it now?”

Christopher nodded, giving Eddie a playful shove to get him going.  Eddie took a slow, deep, steadying breath and stood, slipping his hands into his pockets to keep himself from fidgeting as he made his way into the kitchen.  He could hear the drag of fabric on fabric as Christopher swiveled on the couch and he could feel Chris’ gaze on him as he made his way toward Buck.  Buck’s expression was quizzical as Eddie approached and he slid Eddie’s beer in his direction again as though sensing Eddie’s nervousness.  

“Good talk?”  Buck asked casually.

“Yeah, I think so,” Eddie replied.  “We came to an understanding.”

Buck raised an eyebrow, wordlessly encouraging Eddie to go on.

“I’m breaking up with Ana.”

Eddie had expected surprise, disbelief, maybe, but not the warmth and approval that Buck’s expression held.

“You’re a good dad, Eddie.  Chris is lucky to have you, and I’m sure you’ll find someone even better for you one day.”

Eddie picked up his beer and averted his gaze as he took a long swig.

“I’ve already got someone better.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie watched Buck tilt his head curiously.  He could feel those blue eyes burning a hole straight through him and he took another sip before setting his beer down.  The clink of glass on marble was louder than he’d intended as the bottle slipped from his nervous fingers and it didn’t escape Buck’s notice.

“Eddie?”

“I’ve had someone better for a while,” Eddie continued before he could talk himself out of it.  “I just hope he’ll have me back.”

Eddie looked over pointedly to meet Buck’s gaze.  He watched Buck process, the other man’s expression changing from confusion, to realization, to acceptance, and then to something else.  Something that made Eddie weak-kneed as he realized just how desperately he’d wanted to see it in Buck’s eyes for so long.  For longer than he cared to admit.

Approval.

“You mean… me?”

Buck had to be sure, of course.  He had feelings of his own, feelings his tone and the way the words caught in his throat when he’d asked Eddie about his date had nearly belied.  He’d never been good at reading people, though, and as much as he knew Eddie inside and out, he found it even harder to read him, and so he’d kept those feelings to himself.  To see them being reciprocated was something Buck was both desperate and completely unprepared for.

“Yeah, Buck, I mean you.”

Their gazes stayed locked as Eddie moved around the counter between them, closing in on Buck.  Eddie bit his lip, feeling suddenly shy, unsure of himself, and Buck’s heart swelled with love.  Buck broke into a soft, easy smile, reaching out to wrap his arms around Eddie as the other man stepped into reach.  Eddie sagged into Buck’s embrace, locking his hands around Buck’s waist and holding onto him, breathing him in.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

Eddie pulled back just enough to be able to see Buck’s face.  He chuckled softly, inhaling sharply a moment later as Buck tilted his head, pressing his lips to Eddie’s, effectively stealing his breath away.  The joy Eddie felt as they connected was so deep and fulfilling that any doubts he had went up in smoke and he smiled into the kiss as Chris’ cheers of celebration filled the air.

#9-1-1 #Buddie #Evan Buckley #Eddie Diaz #Christopher Diaz #9-1-1 fanfiction #fanfiction #missing scene

[tails89]

No Place I'd Rather Be

Pairing: Evan Buckley x Eddie Diaz

1.5k words

Summary:

“Bucky's my favourite,” Chris declares, then pauses, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “After you, dad.”

“He’s my favourite too.” Eddie says, gathering Chris up in a hug. “But you’re my most favourite.”

“I’m happy he gets to live with us. I hope he stays with us forever.”

Eddie stands up, stretching out his back as he rises. “Yeah, me too kiddo.”

Read on AO3 (or below)

Eddie silences the alarm that blares, sighing softly as a quiet hush settles back over the room. He’d set it with the intention of getting up early and making the most of his morning, but now that the it has actually arrived, all he wants is to curl back into the warmth at his side and go back to sleep.

He may as well enjoy it. He’s probably got ten minutes, if that, before Chris is up and crashing through the house in search of breakfast. Eddie has no idea how one kid makes so much noise and can’t wait for the teenage years everyone keeps warning him about; sometimes he thinks he wouldn’t mind a kid who sleeps in past eight AM.

Curling his arms around the warm body beside him, Eddie presses a kiss to the top of Buck’s curly head.

“You need to get up.”

“You need to get up.” Buck rolls over, pulling the quilt up over his head. “I don’t need to do anything, it’s my day off.”

Propping himself up on an elbow, Eddie drags the covers back down.

“You were the one who promised Chris a trip to the zoo,” he reminds his boyfriend. “And pancakes beforehand.”

“It’s the asscrack of dawn, Eddie,” Buck whines, squinting up at him. “The zoo doesn’t open for hours. This is inhumane. Moving in with you was a terrible mistake.”

Eddie laughs. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Right on cue he can hear the click of Chris’ crutches down the hallway. If they’re lucky, Chris will turn on the TV and they’ll get another twenty minutes before he comes begging for breakfast. A few minutes later, the sound of Chris's favourite morning cartoons echo up from the living room.

“Nope, no more sleeping,” Eddie teases, noticing Buck’s eyes have drifted shut again.

“’m not sleeping.”

“Really?” Eddie leans over pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Buck’s mouth. “Are you sure?” He trails his lips down along Buck’s jaw, smirking when Buck turns his head towards him, ducking to capture Eddie’s mouth and draw him into a long lazy kiss.

Kissing Buck was always a rush; it leaves Eddie dizzy and breathless and desperate for more. He doesn’t pull away until it feels like his lungs will burst and even then, Buck follows, pressing soft kisses into the hollow of Eddie’s throat.

“You better not be starting something you can’t finish, Diaz,” Buck whispers, his breath hot against Eddie’s skin.

“Oh, you’ll finish alright, Buckley.”

~~

They pile into Eddie’s car after breakfast, Buck and Chris chatting a mile a minute about what they want to see first and ranking their favourite zoo animals.

“—but you don’t have to see everything in order,” Buck points out. “We can go and see your favourites first.”

“But they’re all my favourites,” Chris says. “And if we start at the start we know we won’t miss anything. I want to see all the animals.”

They keep up their friendly, teasing bickering the whole way too the zoo and Buck is still trying to convince Chris to start at the otters when Eddie pulls into a parking space and cuts the engine.

Chris ultimately wins. He always does, he’s got Buck completely wrapped around his finger. Eddie’s waiting for the day Buck will have to tell his son no and stand by it—there will probably be tears, most likely from Buck. Fortunately today is not that day.

They buy their tickets and head on in, studying the map.

“Australian animals are first,” Eddie says, pointing off to the left. “It says here you can buy feed for the kangaroos.”

“Did you know koala’s can get chlamydia?” Buck says conversationally as they follow the path down towards the enclosures.

“What? No, I did not know that,” Eddie says, glancing towards Chris who has got ahead of them. “How do you know that?”

Buck shrugs. “Chris had that assignment on animals native to other countries, remember? I think I read about it then.”

“Sure, because that comes up in a fifth grade assignment,” Eddie says and Buck flushes. He’d probably fallen down the Wikipedia rabbit hole. Again. “So what else do you know about koala bears?”

“They’re not bears, dad.” Chris has stopped to wait for them at the entrance to the themed enclosure.

“Yeah, Eddie.” Buck mirrors Chris’s tone exactly. “They’re marsupials. Right, Chris?”

Chris nods enthusiastically.

“Look,” he shouts, pointing to the sign in the exhibit. “You can get photos with them. Can we? Please.”

“Yeah, buddy. Let’s do it.” Buck digs into his pocket for his wallet.

“You want to get a photo with one?” Eddie asks, incredulously. “After you just told me they all had STIs?”

“Just the wild ones,” Buck promises. He gestures for Chris to lead them onward. “Actually, it’s a massive problem, there’s just like, one place left where they’re not infected.”

“Oh.”

~~

They get a photo of the three of them crowded around the koala. The small grey animal- marsupial?- sleeps through the whole thing but Chris is ecstatic, excitedly telling Buck that they were this close to a real live Australian animal.  

He loses his mind when they feed the kangaroos and laughs at Buck who cowers behind Eddie when they come across the emus. The giant birds are behind a fence, but one of them manages to snatch the map out of Buck’s hands.

“It’s not funny,” Buck grumbles. “Those things are terrifying. Look at their eyes, they remember being dinosaurs.”

 Eddie laughs and wraps an arm around Buck's waist. “They’re flightless birds, how bad can they be?”

Buck looks Eddie, his face serious. “Look up the emu war some time Eds, and tell me if it doesn’t change your perspective a little.”

“Wait, there was an emu war?” Chris asks. “Who won?”

Buck’s lips twitch. “The emus.”

~~

By the time they’ve seen the primate exhibits Chris is getting tired, so Eddie decides it’s time to stop for lunch.

He puts Buck in charge of finding them a picnic table while he takes Chris up to order food.

“Are you having a good day, mijo?”

“Yep, it’s the best,” Chris tells him beaming. “We should come back next weekend.”

“I’m working next weekend,” Eddie reminds him as they make their way to the front of the queue. “Maybe another time?”

“Or, maybe Buck could bring me?” Chris looks up at his dad with an expression of such hope, it’s clear why Buck can never say no to him. It’s a look that makes Eddie’s heart swell with love and joy.

“You’ll have to ask him.”

There had been a small part of him that had worried that Buck moving in, becoming a more permanent fixture in their lives and taking on some of the responsibilities of living with a child, would cause some tension. The dynamic shift from fun best friend to potential step-parent was a tricky one, but Buck and Chris seemed to have both taken it in stride.

“Hey, Chris.” Eddie crouches so that he’s level with his son. “I’m really glad you like spending time with him.”

“Bucky's my favourite,” Chris declares, then pauses, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “After you, dad.”

“He’s my favourite too,” Eddie says, gathering Chris up in a hug. “But you’re my most favourite.”

“I’m happy he gets to live with us,” Chris says. “I hope he stays with us forever.”

Eddie stands up, stretching out his back as he rises. “Yeah, me too kiddo.”

~~

They return to Buck with a tray loaded up with burgers and fries and drinks. He’s found a table for them in a shady spot overlooking the giraffes, and he waves them over when he spots them.

After lunch they carry on, taking the park train around to the big cats, arriving just in time to watch the talk about tigers.

Chris gets chosen as a volunteer to hold a chicken wing with a pair of tongs through the fence. The zoo keeper helps him hold it steady while Buck and Eddie take a hundred photos of his beaming smile.

It’s getting late by the time they make their way back to the entrance of the zoo. Chris is exhausted so Buck gives him a piggyback ride towards the gift shop, while Eddie follows carrying Chris’s crutches.

“Don’t forget the photo, Dad,” Chris shouts as they’re about to head out the exit.  He nudges Buck to turn around but Eddie waves at them to keep going.

“You guys wait outside; I’ll go grab it.”

He turns back towards the counter and waits while the attendant searches the computer for the photo.

“Here it is.” She brings it up on the screen so Eddie can see. “You’ve already paid for one copy, you want any more?”

Eddie ends up purchasing a second copy, thinking it might be something his abuela would like.

“Here.” The girl hands over the packet with their photos. “You have an adorable family.”

Eddie glances down at the photo then across towards the exit. He can see Buck and Chris sitting just outside. Chris is telling a story, his hands gesturing wildly as he talks and Buck is laughing along loudly.

“Yeah, I do.”

#911 #buddie #evan buckley x eddie diaz #evan buckley #eddie diaz #fluff #911 fanfic #my911fanfic

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Crutches- Prompt Fill

cw broken bones, food, internalized ableism, dizziness, headaches

Card by the wonderful @celosiaa! I am still accepting bingo prompts! Please send me more because the starred ones are back written already! Send me a prompt and a character and let me know if you want a drawing or writing!

Navigating the London underground on crutches had been trying to say the least.  But, Jon has gotten very good at navigating it with his cane, so out of sheer spite, he managed it without incident. 

He is still clumsy on them, and by the time he reaches the university, he is more than out of breath, having to stop and use his inhaler before he can reach his classroom.  (He will not be sharing that information with Martin, no way.  He is Fine, and that would only cause worry, and Martin has enough to worry about being an EMT).  

Of course the annoying thing is that he broke his Good leg.  

Of course he manages to break his one more functional leg.  What a very Jonathan Sims thing to do.  

He sighs.  He does not want to explain this to his students.  (And he certainly doesn’t want to explain this to Tim and Sasha, but of course they are coming over for dinner.  Actually… he’s grateful that they don’t already know.  Somehow he actually managed to calm Martin down and talk him out of calling them.  Jon leaned hard into the look I’m fine!  It’s a clean break!  It hardly hurts!  It’s fine!  I’ve had much worse, please don’t fuss!  I’m still conscious and everything! Thing.)

Frankly, it’s embarrassing.  

He misses the days where he would just… heal.  

He might still.  Well, he certainly would the old fashion way, but his recovery might be faster than normal.  Physical injuries are still a little aided by his connection to the Eye, however weakened that connection might be.  Doesn’t do Shit for illnesses, but as much as his EDS causes him to bruise, the bruises don’t stick around for too long.  

Just have to wait and see.  

His students stare.  

Jon shivers.  

He tries not to think about the Institute.  He tries not to think about the prickle on the back of his neck… the feeling of eyes on him when there was no one around.  Don’t be daft, Jonathan, you can see the students right there.  You can see their eyes.  You are just their odd professor who looks even more haggard and beat up than usual.  

He Feels much more haggard than usual.  And he’s shaking from the albuterol.  

“Professor, what happened?” One of his students ask as he maneuvers the podium so he can drop his bag.  

He curses at the lack of chair in the lecture hall.  He’s asked for one.  Repeatedly.  And he’s dragged his office chair in with him before, but… he doesn’t exactly have the hands to do it.  

He has to balance on one leg to dig is computer out so he can connect it to the projector.  

“I’m fine,” he answers automatically.  He was.  He is.  Just tripped like the idiot he is, and broke his good leg.  His bad leg had been throbbing since he got on the tube.  

He ignores it.  

His students eye him with clear suspicion.  Which… Jon would have worried about if… they weren’t perfectly justified.  

They had seen him faint many times, pop his hip back in place, watched him dislocate and relocate his arm, and there was the time he had the concussion, and the time he had a migraine and had fainted when someone tapped him on the shoulder, and the time when he had come to class feverish.  

These students have called Martin so many times by now.  

He deserves those cautions glances.  These kids (not really kids, but sue him, they look like kids in his eyes) are ready to call him on his bullshit.  

“I fell the other day.  I’ll be fine.  Just a broken tibia.  I’ll be fine in couple months.  Let’s get on with the lesson.”

One kid raises their hand, and Jon calls on them.  “Yes?”

“Professor Blackwood-Sims, isn’t that your good leg?”

Damn these overly observant students.  If only they payed that much attention to his lectures.  (No, that’s not fair, they are all good students.  The ones who struggle, have good reason to, and Jon has managed to get them to all come talk to him and tell him what they need to do better).  

Jon smiles tightly.  “Well… it was.  Okay, on with the lecture.”

His leg hurts.  The not broken one.  The broken one… well that hurts a little too, but not nearly as much as the one full of holes.  (They are both full of holes, but one was wormed much more thoroughly and hasn’t been the same since.)

Balancing on one leg proves difficult as he’s hit by dizziness.  He’s been standing too long.  Too long on his bad leg, and the tension and pain have given him a headache bad enough that he’s had one of his students turn off the lights.  He can’t face the light of the projector, so he gives the lecture angling away from it.  

One of his students offers to run the PowerPoint so he can sit in one of the desks as he teaches, but he turns her down.  There are only a few minutes left.  He can make it.  Then he can get home and take some painkillers and shower before Tim and Sasha come to dinner.  

He knows he can cancel, but he doesn’t want to.  He’s more dreading having explain what happened.  

He reaches the flat quickly enough.  He should have time to shower and cook.  He hopes.  

He swallows some painkillers dry (just a few so he can still take more before bed and not worry Martin by pushing the recommended doses too far) and works his way out of his work clothes while sitting on the bed.  It isn’t fun.  

He swallows his pride and uses the shower seat.  He hates it.  He hates that he needs it, yes, but honestly it’s more an issue with the textured plastic under his naked skin.  It feels… wrong.  Both because it reminds him of the circus, and because it’s just a bad texture.  It also feels gross… as in unclean.  He cleans it vigorously often, but it still doesn’t feel clean to him.  

Between the headache, and the dizziness from the hot water and several nights of poor sleep (from nightmares and trying to sleep with a cast on which gave him More nightmares), and the pain in both his legs, Jon fights back the darkness around the edges of his vision.  

He will Not pass out now.  

No.  

Will not happen.  No thank you.  No.  

He fights to keep upright and conscious.  And, surprisingly, wins that battle.  He sits on the bed again while dressing, and while braiding his hair. 

It takes him a long time.  There is a lot of hair to work with, and his scalp hurts with the intensity of his headache.  He also dallies, the more time this takes, the longer he can sit.  He should consider dragging a chair in front of the counter and a chair in front of the stove.  That could make cooking less painful.  

Well, in some ways.  

The unnatural angles are hell on his wrists when chopping.  

Lesser of two evils, however, he supposes.  

Shit.  He isn’t going to have time to finish dinner by the time Tim and Sasha arrive.  

And Martin isn’t going to be home for another hour.  He knows, he knows (not Knows, though), that they won’t mind.  Tim might even Help him cook, but… he doesn’t like being a bother.  He wants… well frankly he wants to erase the years of hurt with food (Christ, Martin has worn off on him.  Not that he minds.  He loves Martin).  

The sauce is almost done, but he hasn’t even started the pasta by the time Tim’s voice drifts through the door.  Sing-song and loud.  No knocking (thankfully).  

Jon hates that he needs the crutches to get to the door.  He hates that his vision is swimming by then too.  The painkillers took the edge off the pain, but can’t do much about the other stresses on Jon’s mortal frame.  

“Be there in a moment, or you can just let yourself in,” Jon calls back.  He has to pause and lean on the wall.  This is all very irritating.  

Apparently, Tim had already been halfway through unlocking the door, because he’s in before Jon can even finish the sentence.  

“Jesus, Jon, what did you do this time?”  Sasha exclaims, quickly, but gracefully pulling off her coat, hanging it on one of the hooks by the door.  It’s less a question than a statement.  

“Hello Sasha, Tim.  Dinner isn’t quite ready, but it’s not too far away.  In the meantime there’s wine.  Martin will be here soon, but his shift isn’t over yet.”  His eyes are closed.  Head tilted back against the wall.  The room finally stops spinning around him.  

“What did you even do?”  Tim this time.  

Jon… doesn’t meet his eyes.  He knows he is blushing, but there isn’t much to be done about that.  He mumbles.  He doesn’t know why.  He knows it won’t work.  Shoving out the words too fast to be understood.  

“What was that Jonny?”  That is a cackle.  Tim is cackling.  Tim, is very irritating… but he does love him, even when he’s teasing.  

“Tripped over my cane.”  Jon says as quickly and quietly as possible.  

“Only you, buddy.  Only You, could do something like that.  Now PLEASE SIT DOWN BEFORE YOU FALL OVER.  I can finish making dinner!”  Tim herds him to a chair.  In the kitchen, because Jon knows that Tim knows Jon won’t actually relax on the couch or the bed if he’s told to.  

“Okay, Jon, what’s left to do… No buts!  This smells amazing and I can’t fuck up pasta, probably.  At least I assume you planned pasta, because there is a box on the counter.”  Sasha says this brandishing aforementioned pasta.  

Sasha makes him tea.  Tim makes the pasta.  (Tim is absolutely the chief between the two of them.)  

“When did you last have painkillers?”  Tim asks.  

“Not too long ago.  Really I’m fine.”

Tim hmmms.  

Jon finds himself nodding off at the table by the time Martin comes home.  

He knows he’s being talked about.  

“Hey, sweetheart.  Hey?”

Jon sleepily raises his head from the table.  “Sorry, I went to work.”  

“Love, I thought you were going to Zoom in today.”  Martin doesn’t sound Angry.  But he doesn’t sound happy about this.  In Jon’s defense, he did say he would see how he felt, and he felt fine in the morning.  

Jon whines, he hates disappointing Martin.  

“We can talk about that tomorrow.”  Martin presses a kiss to his forehead.  

“Hey!  No sleeping until we eat!”  Tim.  Mock serious.  Although he will be very serious if Jon tries to skive off to sleep without some food.  

“Dinner, then I vote we cuddle Jon until he gets some rest!”  Sasha this time.  

Just like old times.  

He knows he will be teased for How he broke his leg.  He knows he and Martin will have a serious chat about him pushing himself.  

But for now there is food, and cheer, and his loved ones.  

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #timsasha #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #sasha james #tim stoker #timothy stoker #cw internalized ableism #cw food #cw injury #my writing #my words #my art #my fic #fic

[ritualslaughter]

41 + bakutodo ♥

read on ao3 | bakutodo & “comfort food”

Shouto hates hospital stays on principle; they’re too much like home, but the wrong kind of home. The one he’d rather forget; the clinical, impersonal home, steeped in a melancholy so thick he can taste it behind his teeth, like the sickly sweet scent of white lilies on a windowsill and the thump of boots on hardwood floor. Like an irrational, tinkling bell, his heart monitor still kicks up at the sound of heavy feet on linoleum just beyond the door, weakly longing for the merciful subtlety of the carpeted dorm halls.

He’s gotten too used to Sero’s snoring through the paper-thin walls, the smell of Satou’s baking in the morning; when had laughter in the kitchen turned from a strange curiosity - so out of place in what Shouto had thought normal - to something expected , so engrained he feels lost without it? 

Even the muffled pop of explosions from the room below him had become routine; waking up with the sun to the steady, earthy crackle of Bakugou teasing out the nighttime wrinkles in his quirk.

Well, at least one thing from home seems to have followed him here this time.

There’s no whip-crack of explosions to signal dawn, but Shouto assumes that’s less out of courtesy and more because Bakugou’s hands are still too blistered to burn off the nitroglycerin. Instead, it sticks to their shared room and fills up his senses; the sweet smell of burnt caramel is a different kind of saccharine - one that sits on Shouto’s tongue and lingers, but doesn’t sour.

Even with the room free of Bakugou’s incessant grumbling (something Shouto never thought he’d actually miss), he can still taste him on every inhale. 

The thought sends a curious shiver up his spine.

Not that he needs any help with that - the hypothermia frosting up half his body is doing enough, fighting off frostbite in his extremities; he’s lucky his heart’s a half inch closer to the left, so he’s only stuck with unthawing a frozen liver, kidney, and lung instead of chilling in the morgue. 

They really overdid it this time. And of course Recovery Girl is away helping with tsunami relief up in Fukushima, so Shouto’s just left with the world’s most turbulent lifeboat to stop him from drifting off to sea.

A lifeboat that seems to be rounding the corner, if the growing sound of raised voices is anything to go by.

“I got it, I got it- do I look like I need help?” 

Bakugou very much does look like he needs help, leaning heavily on a crutch with his left hand, a tray of food balanced precariously in his heavily bandaged right, dragging an iv drip behind him as he bursts into the room. A small army of nurses trail behind him, singing out a cacophony of woes.

“I made it up two flights of stairs already, what makes you think I’m gonna collapse now ?”

He took the stairs ? League of Villains be damned, Bakugou’s pride is going to finish him off before Shigaraki can get his deadly hands anywhere close .

He somehow manages to shoo away the nurses, letting out a heavy, disgruntled sigh when the door closes behind them.

“Jesus, fuckin’ leeches… If I wanted someone up my ass, I would’ve requested a single room and signed up for conjugal visits.”

Shouto feels the corner of his mouth quirk up in a half smirk. There’s that grumbling he’d missed so much.

“I don’t think that option is on the intake form,” he quips, looking up at Bakugou through his hair. “And even if it was, who would you possibly request?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Bakugou mutters, and then does something completely incomprehensible - he sets the tray of food down on top of Shouto’s blankets, crawling to sit cross-legged on the end of the bed, facing him.

For a moment, Shouto’s stunned into silence. Then:

“What are you doing?”

Bakugou pauses, looking up from where he’s splitting his wooden chopsticks, giving Shouto a pointed look that says are you stupid?

“Are you stupid? What does it look like I’m doing?” he nods to one of the bowls on the tray. “Go on, I’m not gonna fuckin’ feed it to you, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

Shouto’s eyes drift down to the tray, head cocking to the side when he sees the cafeteria plate of cold soba and matching bowl of sauce. He blinks, taken aback.

“That’s… Did you know this was my favourite?”

“D’you always ask so many goddamn questions?” Bakugou huffs, but Shouto can see the hint of a blush under his bruises. He shovels a spoonful of curry into his mouth, continuing ineloquently: “Are you gonna eat it or not?”

Shouto tries his best to fight back a smile, and fails, following Bakugou’s example of hiding behind a mouthful of noodles. He hums softly at the familiar, welcoming taste, chewing happily.

They eat, the silence settling around them comfortably in a way it never has for Shouto - silence has always meant the calm before a storm, the build up of tension, ready to fight or flee. But this just is .

Funny, that he’d find respite in a volcano constantly on the verge of erupting.

“Thanks,” Shouto says softly, not to break the silence, but just to pause it. Bakugou grunts.

“Whatever… they keep giving you hot soup to warm up your popsicle-looking ass, and there’s no way in hell you’re getting outta here before I do,” he doesn’t look at Shouto, but the smell of candy grows a little stronger. “I’m just tryin’ to even it out.”

Shouto lets himself smile, and grants Bakugou mercy in not questioning him further. The silence comes to rest once again, growing warm and peaceful in Bakugou's presence like the sweetest aftertaste, the gentle, ebbing memory of caramel on his tongue.

#fic requests #bones.writ #tokugou #I HOPE U LIKE IT 💖💖 #todobaku #bnha fic #todobaku fic #tdbk