#> i hate testing sometimes i need to fall on the floor dramatically and sob. brother. it is broken. 💔

[waloeders]

ok i stole this from twt but work has been driving me crazy today. toji bullying me back.

[pigeonp0st]

Oh you could write one where reader and Supergirl are fighting together against some supervillain and reader gets hurt and almost dies and Kara is freaking out because she can't lose her girlfriend and just... angst (please don't kill reader though, i'm begging you)

Kara Danvers x Reader #5

Words: 1,905

Warnings: Angst, Explosion not described in detail. Just an aftermath.

Notes:

MWHAHAHA! I technically didn’t listen to your plead...so i’m sorry? (Thank you for the request and sorry for all spelling mistakes)

——

They were kids.

You weren’t bulletproof like Kara, definitely not grenade proof, you knew that...but they were kids. Kids clutching onto their mom looking terrified. Terrified that their mom would get hurt, terrified that the three of them were going to die.

You’re terrified too. Lately as your life has gotten better with Kara, beautiful, caring Kara, you’ve been getting more scared everyday, scared that something was going to happen to ruin your happiness.

The fear is almost enough to paralyze you when you see the latest National City supervillain get ready to throw the grenade, but alas...when the man throws the grenade the stupid instinct to protect overtakes you and you jump into the air to catch it like a ball, before it can get to close to the family.

You’re more invincible than them, even if you’re not nearly as invincible as Kara...it’s time to test that theory, you think bitterly.

Turns out—when the grenade goes off and a piercing scream hits the air—you’re not that much more invincible than a regular human.

Kara, you think, tears running down your face, Kara, Kara, Kara. Kara. Everything hurts but all you can think about is Kara and whether or not she’s going to be okay fighting without you. Forever, possibly. Fighting without you forever, and just thinking about your death feels like ice water being poured over you until the cold sinks in and it’s just panic.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

It takes moments before she’s by your side, moments that feel like a lifetime, she was slowed by the kryptonite she was fighting against and wasn’t able to get to you in time when the grenade went off but now she’s here, and she’s sobbing. Sobs that wrack her body, and you’re trying to sit up despite the ringing in your ear.

“Kara!” You yell, eyes wide, and you don’t want to be doing this to her, you want to pretend like you’re okay with this—you want to be strong for her—but you can’t. You can’t, because holy fuck. Fuck. “I can’t feel my legs, Kara. Baby, I can’t feel anything. I can’t...why can’t I move?”

Kara places a hand on your chest, and you can feel that, it hurts, “Alex,” she says into the comms, “it’s Y/N...she’s badly injured. I can’t bring her to the DEO, I can’t fly; the kryptonite is still in the air around us, and I can’t move her away from it either.”

You hear Kara’s panicked voice next to you, and when you focus you hear it in your own comms.

Alex’s voice crackles through immediately, and even she sounds scared, “how bad, Kara?”

“She says she can’t feel her legs, and she...she’s losing a lot of blood. She’s cold, too, and her breathing is labored,” Kara’s practically ranting now, her fingers shaking against your chest. “I’d put pressure on the wound but there’s a lot of blood and I don’t know—”

You turn your face away from Kara when her hand travels to your cheek, and you try to tune her out, because her face...it really says everything about your condition, and you don’t want to hear Kara talk about all of the ways you’re dying.

You catch the last thing Alex says and it fills you with dread that makes your bones feel even heavier, “keep her awake, Kara. There’s no telling if she’ll wake up again if she falls asleep now.”

Kara’s resulting sob rips your heart to shreds.

“I didn’t realize until I met you how much I don’t want to die,” you tell her after a moment filled with her cries. You’ve never felt so scared in your life (besides after Kara’s fight with Reign) “but I really don’t want to, Kara. I really don’t want to.”

“You won’t,” Kara says, trying to give you a reassuring smile, “you won’t because I need you to stay. What am I supposed to do without you?” She tries to laugh afterwards but it’s really just a choked sound, and you can hear the fear in her words.

The iron taste that was on your tongue felt like death, but now as you slowly start to taste it less, and as the smell of gasoline slowly slips away, you wonder if this is really a sign of death. The reapers signature.

“You’ll live.” You say, “you have to. There’s no other choice.” Your voice is filled with too much certainty for a dying woman, “It’ll be fine. You’ll get to eat the last popsicle in the fridge,” a humorless chuckle forces its way out of your throat, “I hid it. It’s under the frozen peas.”

You can tell by the look on Kara’s face what she’s thinking about. A half empty bed when she goes home alone to your shared apartment, your favorite mug sitting on the counter half full of cold coffee, your dishes still in her sink—your sink—your clothes in the washing machine, your…

“I can’t,” Kara whispers, her voice filled with the amount of sorrow only she can manage, “I can’t lose two of my worlds. I’m not strong enough.”

Kara Zor-El not being strong enough. It’s a humorous thought. You know Kara will fight, she’ll fight because it’s all she knows. She’ll find her reason. She won’t give up on the world, even if she gives up on herself for some time. It’s the one thing you need to be sure of right now.

“Yeah you are,” you mumble, trying to lift your shaky hand to cup her cheek. She grabs a hold of your hand and helps you to your destination. You try not to scream curses at the world at the sight of your blood on her pale cheek. “You, Kara Danvers, are an anomaly in the way you never let anything knock you down.”

“This is enough,” Kara promises, and it’s the last promise you’d ever want to hear from her, “you’re enough to ruin me.”

“Kara,” you whisper, hating the world so furiously in that moment for all it wants to take. “That’s the last thing I want to hear...I only ever want to build you up.”

“And you do,” Kara says, “but love really does both, doesn’t it? Sometimes it hurts as much as it heals.”

“That isn’t fair,” you whimper out, and Kara nods against your hand, closing her eyes and trying not to breathe in the smell of your blood.

Moments later Kara opens her eyes in a panic after realizing that you haven’t spoken, only to see you trying to blink your eyes awake. She squeezes your hand repeatedly, trying to get your attention. “Y/N, it’s not time.” She tells you desperately, “it’s not time.”

One of her tears fall against your cheek, causing you to pout. “Stop crying,” you slur, delirious from the blood loss, “I resent it when you cry because of me.”

Kara shakes her head, only crying harder.

You smile up at her sadly, “I'm sorry i’m dying.” And you mean it.

“Stop saying that,” Kara pleads, like it’s breaking her, “stop.”

You wish you could give Kara what she wants but your eyelids are getting heavier and heavier and you don’t think you have much time. “Just tell Alex to name a kid after me, or at least tell her to name a fish after me.”

Kara’s shaking her head and shaking your arm, trying to get you to open your eyes again, “Y/N! Hey! Stop, come on, baby, just open your eyes…”

You try, you really do, you’ve never tried so hard to listen before, and it works for a moment, just for a second you manage to open your eyes, much to Kara’s relief, and that’s when you finally notice a crowd of people and a slumped alien (the man you two were fighting) a little ways behind you and Kara. When did Kara do that to him? When did the people come?

It’s when you see Alex though, rushing out of a black van, that you feel some sort of relief. Alex will protect Kara when you’re gone. You’re sure of it.

—

“Wake up! Wake up,” Kara sobs, “Alex, Alex—please, she’s not—”

—

“She died, Kara, in the van, we managed to bring her back...but things are looking uncertain right now. For now, the best thing you can do is look after yourself”

Kara’s glowing red eyes snap up from the floor towards Alex. Her powers have been going haywire since they arrived at the DEO. “Save her,” Kara pleads, voice hoarse from crying. “Please.”

—

It’s late at night after Kara hears your heart stop (the second time) that she gets placed in kryptonite handcuffs.

Alex doesn’t want to do it but Kara isn’t in control of her powers anymore, and she almost seriously hurt someone. Multiple times.

Kara doesn’t leave your side after they get your heart going again, she can’t hear your heart with the kryptonite on so the only thing she can take comfort in is the beeping of your heart monitor.

—

You wake up two weeks after your accident.

Kara’s asleep next to you when you do.

You’re confused and thirsty so it takes you several long moments for you to remember what happened, and once you do you’re sobbing hard, crying loud enough to startle awake a sleeping Kara.

She freezes when she sees you, you’re curled up in the hospital bed and shaking with your relief and the leftover fear, and she’s watching you like she doesn’t know what to do now that you’re awake.

She’s been praying for this moment, imagining it, waiting for it day after day, minute after minute, second after second, but now that it’s actually happened she’s paralyzed with her overwhelming emotions.

“Y/N?” Kara stutters, eyes filling with her own tears of relief.

You laugh at Kara’s face, loud and completely joyful, and suddenly she’s sobbing too, grinning all the while, because you’re here—finally— you’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay, and you’re laughing, and the world is finally okay again too.

“Damn, weren’t we dramatic?” You smirk, paying no mind to the tears running down your or her face.

Kara laughs, pulling you into a careful hug (she got her handcuffs taken off only a day ago). “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” you whisper back, tightening your hold on Kara as much as you can and simply breathing her in. Breathing life in.

“I feel like i’m dreaming,” Kara says after a while, voice trembling. You feel like you're dead...and like you're in heaven. Is this heaven?

“You aren’t,” you reassure Kara anyways.

She nods against your shoulder, shaking even harder than you were. “Are you okay?” You ask worriedly.

“you’re the one who had to go and die two times.”

“Nearly three times,” Alex says from the doorway.

You notice Kara tense and shift in front of you until she realizes it’s just Alex, and you think that’ll probably be something you two will have to talk about, but for now you roll your eyes at Alex and say, much to both Kara’s and her amusement; “the only reason you tried so hard to save me is because you didn’t want to name your kid after me, isn’t it?”

Alex’s shrug and “maybe” gets a glare from Kara and a smirk from you.

[abraxos-is-toothless]

Surprises (18)

And here is the next one! This might feel like a bit of a filler chapter but this is just what my brain wanted me to have for this one so I’m sorry if it’s not the best:)

Warning: just a little hint at characters self hate/struggles but only a tad. Also some implied sexy times at the end of the chap.

Surprises Masterlist.

Full Masterlist.

Yet another Noorhelm gif because softness.

---------

Elain watched as Azriel got more and more frustrated trying to walk on his prosthetic. He’d been fitted for it a few weeks ago now and was told by prosthetist to make sure he used it around the house, and when he was confident and comfortable enough, he could start going out with it. The process was difficult to say the least, especially when he’d first tried walking to kitchen by himself. She told him that time that she wouldn’t look because she didn’t want him to feel pressured or like he had to do it to impress her. Azriel had fallen half way there, putting all of his weight on the leg by accident, and had broken down on the floor of the hallway. Elain’s heart had broken at the sight, holding back tears when he sneered at her, saying he didn’t want nor need her help. She’d called for Cassian and when he’d come to help she disappeared to lie down for a little while, now starting to feel tired all of the time. When she’d woken, Azriel was laying in front of her, fingers stroking down the side of her face and curling around her ear, apologising for being an asshole.

Now, he was testing himself in the garden, pushing himself to try and walk down the few steps from the decking and onto the grass. Elain walked forward when he cursed again, backing out once again from stepping down, holding her hand out to him. He eyed her hesitantly for a moment before sighing, taking her hand to interlace their finger, and only then did he take that first step, Elain right by his side. When they were finally on the grass, they walked together slowly over to the picnic table, sitting in a peaceful silence together. She was happy, just to sit there with him, pressed into his side with his scarred hands holding her own in his lap. After a while, he shifted to his left slightly, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to her lips and pressing their foreheads together and mumbling into the space between them. “I really thought I could do it by myself that time.”

Elain stared at him, smiling gently. “You’ll get there, it takes time remember? It’s okay to accept help sometimes you know, it doesn’t make you weak, Az.”

“I know, I just...” He trailed off, eyes fluttering closed and she rubbed her nose against his softly, watching the way his mouth quirked up at the corners.

“You just what?”

“You’re over five months pregnant now, Ellie. I want to be able to move around on my own, to actually do things independently again. I want to be able to actually help you when she’s finally here, to get up in the night when she’s crying so that you can rest. I’m her father, I’m supposed to fucking take care of her too.” There were tears falling down his cheeks and she brushed them away gently before holding his face in her hands.

“You will, you will be able to do those things. And even when you can’t, even when I can’t, we have a big family in that house who want to help. Please, stop this self hating you have going on, thinking that I’m upset. I don’t fucking care about any of it, I’m just glad you’re actually here, that I didn’t lose you because of my asshole father.” Once upon a time she loved her father with everything she had. She loved the man who used to read her stories before bed, the man who made silly faces whenever she fell and scraped her knees. Most of all she missed the man who loved her back. But then her mother died and all of that disappeared, and Nesta was basically left to raise her and Feyre on her own. Giving Nesta everything she wanted most in the world could not repay her for she did, for the childhood she gave up for them.

“Is there any news on your father yet?” Azriel asked her gently, hand and eyes resting on her stomach, feeling as his hellish daughter kicked Elain again. She always got very excited when he put his hand to her bump, like she knew the difference between who was holding her. It would explain why when Cassian always asked to feel, the troublemaker would stop kicking and make Cass pout sadly; messing with her Uncle already.

“Nope, absolutely nothing. The police still can’t figure out where he’s gone and they keep asking us if we know where he might be. I haven’t got a clue and it’s starting to piss me off. He almost killed the three of you, you lost your leg, he should be punished for it the coward.” His hand moved up so that his thumb could smooth along her cheekbone, it was only then that she realised she was crying. Again. Honestly she’d had enough of these ridiculous hormones, making her show every damn emotion against her will. Az opened his mouth to speak, no doubt to soothe her, but suddenly there was a bang from inside and muffled yelling. The two moved as fast as his leg would allow, but he seemed to move with ease now that he wasn’t so focused on it. Making their way through the kitchen once they were inside, the two stopped in the doorway to the living room, Az blocking the space which forced Elain to stand on her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder. She honestly didn’t know what to make of the sight before her.

There was a beautiful gold haired girl in the middle of the room, face full of anger but also a little bit of sadness, throwing random objects at both Cass and Rhys. The former tried to hide behind Nesta, who kept shoving him away in annoyance. The former seemed to have accepted his fate, standing still and catching each item the girl threw at him.

“You absolute fuckheads! I haven’t heard from any of you in weeks, you left me stuck in that stupid boarding school with nothing! I got back from France last week, planning to surprise you all, so I went to your mother at the hospital to ask her where you all were.” Mystery girl threw a book at Rhys, which Elain realised was her new gardening book from Az, when he dared to open his mouth and interrupt her. “I am not finished Rhysand! The three of you were in a car accident and you didn’t think to tell me, to let me know you were okay? That’s all your mother got out before I left, coming straight here.” Her girls chest was heaving from her furious ramblings, head twisting at speed to where Elain and Azriel stood when he said gently;

“Mor, calm down would you?” She watched as ‘Mor’ dropped the newest item in her hand, lifting it to cover her mouth, gasping in shock when she trailed her eyes over him. She made to move towards him, arms open as if she were going to hug him, but for some reason Elain didn’t like the thought of that considering she didn’t know the other girl. Stepping forward, Elain took his hand in one of her own again and interlaced their fingers. Mor stopped at the gesture, eyes dropping to Elain’s protruding stomach, widening when she looked back to Azriel.

“Tell me that you did not go and get a girl pregnant, please tell me that is not what I am seeing right now.” Elain glared at her, pressing herself closer to him, relishing in his warmth. He looked down at her, eye warm and smile soft, not looking away from her as he declared.

“Mor, I’d like you to meet Elain. My sunshine, my love and yes, the mother of my child.”

“Why do I always miss everything?” She pouted, before glaring and smacking Azriel in the shoulder. “And that’s for not telling me I’m going to be an auntie for god's sake.” He rolled his eyes, rubbing the spot where she’d hit him.

“Yes, yes, we’re very sorry.”

Rhys muttered across the room, “My cousin ladies and gentlemen. Now you know where my dramatics come from.” Mor scoffed, turning to give him the finger.

“Oh no that’s all you, you are so much worse.”

Feyre laughed, reaching up to gently pat her boyfriend on the head. “Hate to break it to you baby, but you really are worse.” He leaned in to kiss her gently on the nose.

“Cruel, wicked thing.”

Mor gagged and suddenly took Elain’s hand, dragging her away from Azriel and towards the sofa. “Enough of your gross shit Rhys. Now, Elain, tell me all about how that fool managed to sweep you off your feet and I want all the nitty and gritty details.”

Elain did, she told her everything once everyone had fully calmed down, the boys clearly happy and excited to have her home. She told Mor about that first drunken night, and the morning after, how she was so fucking scared. Told her about what Azriel had done on that field when Elain had told him, how he had walked away, leaving her hurt and crying and alone. He went pale at the reminder, reaching for her hand at her other side and apologising once again when Mor called him every name she could think of. Then came talks of her first ultrasound, her little scare and how they’d had to tell everyone, the gender and her father’s outburst. Finally they got to the car crash, forcing Elain to close her eyes at the onslaught of memories, the sight of Cassian broken and sobbing on the hospital floor. When she was done, she looked up to see that Mor had a few tears in her eyes.

“I should have fought harder when my parents told me they were sending me away, I should have done something. I should have been at home where you all needed me, and to save you girls from these blithering idiots, because it’s a miracle none of you have killed them yet.” Nesta chuckled from her seat in the arm chair, Cassian sitting at her feet while she braided his hair.

“Believe me I’ve come close, but there’s still time.” Cass only hummed, eyes closed and Elain had to hold back a giggle at his next words.

“I’ve told you about the dirty talk sweetheart. Those death threats of yours do something to me and you have got to stop doing it in front of people.” Elain’s sister merely pulled on his hair in response, making her boyfriend hiss in pain. She frowned when she finally connected with that first part of what Mor had said, looking at the golden haired girl curiously.

“Why did your parents send you away? You don’t have to say anything if you don’t wish to talk about it.”

The other girl sighed but shook her head, lifting her hand to tuck a few curls behind her ear. “No, no, it’s alright. They had found out that I am very, very much into girls. They thought that maybe by sending me to that stupid school, it would keep me away from ‘temptations’ and it would ‘fix’ that part of me.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Why did parents have to be so awful sometimes?

Mor laughed, eyes full of mischief as she smirked. “It’s quite alright. What they didn’t realise was that I was going to meet some very pretty French girls.”

They all stayed together for hours after that, just talking. Elain and her sisters getting to know Mor, while the boys got her caught up with everything while she’d been away. Long after dinner, and when it was finally dark, Elain felt herself begin to fall asleep, head dropping against Az’s shoulder every now and then. She jolted when he stood and put his hand out to her, much like she had earlier in the day. “I think it’s bedtime for you, sunshine.” All she could was nod and take his hand, slowly making herself stand which was something that was becoming a bit of a difficult task. Just as they reached the stairs, she turned her head back to look over her shoulder.

“It was lovely to finally meet you Mor.” The other girl grinned widely.

“And you. Now go get that beauty rest and make that idiot give you all of the massages.” Elain laughed before turning to make her way up the stairs. It took Az a little while longer, but he did it.

When they were finally settled in bed, he rolled carefully onto his side to face her, eyes sparking in the low light. His hand reached for her, bringing her close to him, before he teased her with slow, trailing fingers across her chest. “I’d quite gladly give you a massage, baby.” That devil of a hand dropped to the hem of his shirt that she was wearing, slipping his hand underneath, making goosebumps rise on her skin as it drifted up her stomach, settling on her breast and cupping her firmly. Elain’s breath hitched in her throat, swallowing dryly.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm.” He leaned in to place hot, opened mouthed kisses along her neck as she wrapped a leg around his hips. She pulled him in close, her own hands grabbing at his shoulders, dragging her nails down his back and revelling in the moan she received in return. His eyes darkened when she brought her face closer, her lips brushing his before she trailed them along his jaw, moving up to his ear and taking the lobe into her mouth and biting gently. Azriel moaned again, pushing his hips into her hers when she whispered against the shell of his ear.

“Do your worst, my love.”

-------

Ah Mor is here! Did you think she wouldn’t be here? She was there in my mind the whole time with this thing in my head about her outing but it just never appeared in the fic. I’m actually sorry it took me this long but, it’s just the way the story went.

Tags: @drunken-starz​ @myfriendscallmeraba  @thesirenwashere @empress-sei @elrielllll  @stars-falling​ @lacewilde​ @verifiefangirl  @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn @fancyclodpaintercookie​ @acourtofterrasenandvelaris​ @silver-flames​ @queen-of-glass​ @bamchickawowow​ @empress-ofbloodshed​ @sleeping-and-books​ @b00kworm​ @kvi-arts​  @tswaney17​ @awkward-avocado-s​ @courtofjurdan​ @junkiejosten10​ @mu-si-ca-l​ @agem10​ @harmonyindark245​ @slightly-sane-fangirl​ @tanaquilpriscilla​ @my-fan-side​ @whimsyrhys​ @starrynightsbooks @maastrash​ @kendarbahr   @elriel4life​ @illyriangarbage​  @thewayshedreamed​ @snowflakesandstarlight​

[valor-selfships]

Children of Omen: Prologue Side S

So I followed through on that plot idea I had. I’ll be reblogging this post with a link to it on AO3 and to the full summary, so check the notes for that. Now, on with the story...

SUMMARY: In response to an omen from a trusted advisor that the birth of a child to one of his Capos in December will mark the beginning of the end of his reign, the Boss orders the death of all children fitting that criteria. Unfortunately for Bruno Bucciarati and Risotto Nero, they are both fathers-to-be of children under that umbrella. Unwilling to sacrifice their flesh and blood, they defect from Passione with the rest of their teams, knowing full well the dangers they face, and allying with each other despite their differences in order to protect the innocent lives whose only mistake was being made.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: pregnancy, talk of infanticide, period mention

RATING: T

PROLOGUE SIDE S - RISOTTO NERO AND PROSCIUTTO

Prosciutto likes to think that he doesn't make foolish decisions. But now, sitting on his bathroom floor, staring at a positive pregnancy test? He's really not so sure of that anymore.

Either he is and always has been a fool and just didn't want to accept it, or he has made exactly one (or... well, maybe more than one, but only one that matters in this case) foolish decision in his life, that has led him here. Both possibilities are difficult to accept.

He clenches his jaw so hard he can feel the muscle start to cramp up, but fuck, he really doesn't see that as much of an issue right now compared to what he's facing down right in front of him. This is, by far, the most formidable foe he has faced in his entire life.

Who would have ever thought that it would end up being the child his body is working to protect and grow right now?

Putting his hands over his face, Prosciutto leans back against the cabinet underneath the sink, his breathing heavy and uneven. He doesn't hate the baby, and honestly, that's the worst part about all of this. No, he doesn't hate the little life he's made with the man he's chosen to love. In fact, he's already starting to grow attached to them, and he's certain that as this pregnancy progresses, he's only going to fall more in love with them. That's his baby, for God's sake. Something would be wrong with him if he felt nothing at all, he thinks.

But, again, that's just the problem. Getting pregnant in the first place was a terrible move on his part, and now starting to grow attached to the life that's only barely just begun is turning out to be his next terrible decision.

And to think this whole debacle started with an email, of all things.

Two hours previously, Prosciutto enters the private room of Risotto Nero. It's a room he's become very familiar with over the past year; in this room, they've stood and talked, made out in the closet, and made love on the bed, far more times than either of them care to count. For the time being, though, he's just here to talk with his Capo.

"You called me in?" The blonde asks, slowly making his way over to Risotto. He's hunched over the laptop on the desk in the corner, black-and-red eyes focused. "Is something wrong?"

"... it's a message from the Boss," Risotto says lowly. "And I'm not entirely sure why, but I have a very... disturbing feeling about it."

Prosciutto goes to his side, reads the message in its entirety.

To all Passione Capos,

Greetings, and apologies for the sudden and urgent correspondence, but it has come to my attention that there will soon be a traitor among our ranks.

A source close to me whom I trust dearly has let me know of a message most dire: there is a plan by a group of fanatics to remove me from my status as your Don. According to my source, they are heavily involved in the occult, and believe that the birth of a certain child in this year's month of December, to one of my Capos, will mark the beginning of the end for me.

I believe you understand why this cannot happen. And you may have started to understand what I am ordering you to do.

I know all of you are loyal to me completely. But no chances can be taken. If you, or anyone on your team, is to give birth to a child in this year's month of December, you will be expected to bring the child upon its birth to the location enclosed within this email. At that time, you may either dispose of it yourself, or there will be someone there to dispose of it for you. You are free to do what you wish with the remains once it is over; that is of no concern to anyone. But there cannot be any child left living born to any member of this organization during this year's month of December, unless we wish for the organization itself to crumble into dust.

This must be done for the sake of us all. Needless to say, if it is discovered that any of you do not come forth... you will be seen as working with those who wish to betray me. And traitors do not meet peaceful ends.

I trust you all will do the right thing.

By the end of the message, Prosciutto's face has gone deathly pale. Risotto turns to look at him for just a moment.

"Prosciutto," he says, his voice low and soft. "Is there a chance. Any chance at all?"

Prosciutto swallows heavily, finding his mouth and throat suddenly dry and tight. "My period is three days late," he says quietly. "And I - cannot recall how successful we were the last time I had you pull out of me." To be fair, the couple normally has condoms on hand. But that night, there were a few key differences in their situations: they were both incredibly drunk, and very sexually frustrated, in desperate need of each other's release. God damn everything.

Prosciutto stands. "I am going to go down to the corner store down the road and buy a few of the early detection tests. They tend to be more accurate, anyway. I..." He takes a shuddering breath. "I would like to be alone while I take them, so I'll do that back at my home. As soon as I can, I will let you know the results of the test."

And thus, we return here, to Prosciutto sitting on the cold tile floor of his bathroom. He gives a slow, steady exhale, scrubs his hands over his face one last time, and then stands.

He needs to speak to Risotto, and then they need to talk to Melone. Time is not on their side, and they need to know immediately how far along he is and when he is due to have this baby.

Prosciutto's gut feeling tells him this is not going to end in his favor.

---

"Alright, well, if the data I've got from you about your last period is accurate, as well as the information I figured out from the pelvic exam, then you, Prosciutto, are close to eight weeks pregnant."

It's been about an hour since Prosciutto hurriedly told Risotto that he is indeed pregnant, and then proceeded to drag him from his house all the way into his waiting car and then to Melone's residence. Prosciutto is nearly manic, on the verge of breaking down into either hysterical laughter or sobs the whole time (but, by some miracle or the grace of God, managing to do neither). 

Risotto has never seen him like this, and does not wish to ever again.

And now here they are.

Upon hearing how far along he is, Prosciutto finds himself far too scattered to do the math himself, so he asks: "Melone, assuming I carry to full term, when is the baby due?"

"Hmm... should actually be sometime around Christmas," Melone replies casually. He doesn't know yet about the letter, so the confusion on his face is evident when Prosciutto stands straight up, his face completely blank.

"Excuse me for a moment," he says, half in a mumble and half in a whisper, before turning on his heel and almost running down the hall.

"Is he okay?" Melone asks Risotto as he, too, gets to his feet, albeit not nearly as dramatically. "I mean, I get that this's pretty shocking, but I've never seen him act like this before. Are you two fighting or something?"

"I'll tell you everything as soon as I can," is all Risotto says before taking off in the same direction as Prosciutto had a few moments earlier.

As it turns out, he doesn't have to look very hard to find Prosciutto. All he really has to do, actually, is listen.

From the other side of the thick bathroom door at the end of the hallway, Risotto can easily hear Prosciutto's heartbroken cries. He's crying. He's so upset, that he's resorted to shedding tears. And the very worst part is...

Risotto isn't sure if there's anything he can do or say right now to ease his lover's inner turmoil.

Even so, he needs to try. Risotto pushes open the bathroom door after knocking a few times. Prosciutto is hunched over the sink, bracing himself against it with the palms of his hands and his arms, his head hung low as he sobs freely. When Risotto steps up beside him and puts a hand between his shoulder blades, Prosciutto looks up a little to look into his eyes.

"What - what have we done, Risotto?" He barely whispers. "What have we done?"

Risotto thinks for a moment on how to answer that, then reaches up to thread his fingers through Prosciutto's soft, silky blonde hair.

"What have we done?" Risotto repeats, as though analyzing the question. "Oh, tesoro, cuore mio, we have done nothing wrong. We have created the most beautiful thing any human could ever dream of: a life. A child. Un nostro bambino." He rests his hand -- so large, warm, and safe -- on Prosciutto's belly after pushing his shirt up just enough so that he can trace circles on his bare, pale, beautiful skin. "Ultimately, the decision on what to do about this is yours. I would never dream of forcing your hand." He pauses for a moment. "Either way, two clear paths lie before us: either we remain loyal to the Boss and Passione by following through on the orders we've been given..." Prosciutto fights back another sob, blinking away more tears before focusing on Risotto again as he continues to speak. "... or we become traitors against the Boss and Passione, and risk our lives and everything we are -- everything we know -- all for the sake of the beautiful little child we've made together."

Prosciutto sniffs, wipes his hand across his face. "Risotto... it isn't you who has forced my hand here." He rests his hand over Risotto's -- the one on his belly -- biting down on his lip before continuing on. "I -- I don't care who the damn order came from. I don't give a shit about what happens to some man whose name and face we don't know and have never seen. I love you, and I love the little piece of you that you gave me, that I gave a piece of myself to, that became the life that depends on me now." Prosciutto swallows heavily. "Fuck the Boss. Fuck Passione. I only want -- I only need -- you, and our child. I will -- I will never sacrifice any child of ours for any reason. I know full well what this means, but we aren't the best assassins and criminals for nothing."

Steeling his resolve, Prosciutto finally lifts his head and straightens up.

"I choose to have this baby with you. And if that means the end of my days of crime forever? Then so be it. It's a small price to pay for a treasure as beautiful and perfect as the one we have made together."

Gently, Risotto turns Prosciutto around to face him fully, then cups his cheek with his free hand. Despite the severity of what they're doing, and the danger that they are no doubt throwing themselves into... he feels no fear, nor dread within him. He only feels an immense and powerful love for the man standing in front of him, no doubt the bravest man he's ever known, if only because of this moment.

A beaming smile stretches across Risotto's face as he leans down to press his forehead gently against Prosciutto's. "In that case, I will stand by you, vita mia. Il mio cuore batte solo per te."

Prosciutto lets out a tiny, soft laugh. "Dammi un bacio, you hopeless romantic."

The two of them kiss, and it's perfect, and passionate, and filled with desire and love and hope for the future. They both know what they've done, what they're doing, and what they're about to do. This is the right thing.

Their journey has only just begun.

[buckleyirondad]

x. unconscious

Everything medical addressed in this chapter I know from first-hand experience.

Tony loved movie night. It was a Friday evening tradition with his kids. The same thing happened every week, like clockwork. One of them would choose the movie, which would take a good few hours. Peter would tell Morgan that he’d stay awake and watch the whole thing, but he would then proceed to fall asleep in the first ten minutes.

It was the end of the week, Peter needed to hibernate after working his ass off at school for five days straight and then swinging around the city, protecting its citizens. So, Tony couldn't blame him for passing out.

Morgan usually ran around the room, commentating the events of the movie and playing whatever games she laid her hands on, by the end, her energy would be spent, and she’d fall asleep in Peter’s arms.

Pepper would return from work when both kids were passed out, and Tony had gotten them into bed. “I’m gonna brush my teeth!” Morgan announced as she dropped the Lego she was playing with and charged upstairs. Tony stretched his arms over his head as he yawned, “Okay, baby.” Morgan was unbelievably spritely for a Friday night. Normally, she’d be fast asleep, scrawled across Peter’s lap. Tony knew she’d be running on adrenaline, because she won an award in class, for being the most helpful student of the week, she was rightfully proud of herself.  Peter was curled against the corner of the couch, out cold. Tony didn’t want to wake him up, but from the way Peter was positioned, he didn’t seem comfortable. Tony didn’t want him to have an uncomfortable sleep, not when he had a perfectly good bed upstairs.  He also refused to carry him. The kid was all arms and legs which made it impossible to get him up the stairs.    “Hey, kid…” Tony extended his foot, gently kicking Peter’s ankle, “It’s bedtime.” Peter didn’t stir. Tony jumped onto his feet, and clapped his hands together, “I’m not carrying you again…” He pressed his hand against his back for dramatic purposes, “I’ll throw my back out one of these days.”  He reclined his head back and groaned defeatedly. He knew this would end with him scooping Peter into his arms and taking him to bed. He couldn’t help but melt around Peter, especially after five years without him; he was at the kid’s beck and call, twenty-four hours a day. “Uh, okay Pete. You win.” He bent down, placing a hand on the kid’s arm, so he could manoeuvre him, “You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, don’t you?” 

Tony’s fingers brushed against Peter’s hand, and that was when he started to panic. Peter was not a heavy sleeper, he was on high alert all the time, but sometimes, after a hard week, he crashed. That’s what Tony thought this was, but it was apparent that it wasn’t.  Peter’s skin was ice cold to the touch, but contrastively, it was clammy. Abnormally clammy for someone who’d simply been sleeping for the past hour and a half, “Pete?” Tony pressed his hand against Peter’s cheek, the kid’s head lifelessly dropped towards his shoulder, “Peter!” Tony threaded his fingers back through Peter’s sweat-ridden curls, “Hey kid, can you hear me?” Tony turned, so he didn’t shout in Peter’s direction, “Friday, scan him.” He ordered, the AI didn’t respond, “Friday?” Shit, Friday was in the middle of an update. Tony scheduled them to happen at low-risk periods of time, which meant he never let her do one when Peter was on patrol. Today was meant to be a low-risk time when Morgan and Peter were safe in his sights. Screw updates; Tony had to find a way around them. “Fuck me.” Tony wiped his thumb across Peter’s cheek, “You’re gonna be alright, kid.” Peter hadn’t been acting out too out of the ordinary. He’d been slow and a little clumsily, he’d tripped over his feet a fair few times while playing with Morgan, but it was the end of the week, he was always a little spaced. He hadn’t been injured on patrol, Tony got immediate alerts whenever that happened, even a paper cut.  Tony tried to rack his brain and find a warning sign that he hadn’t noticed before; Peter had been late home from school because band practise stretched from early morning to five in the afternoon. They were preparing for a performance.  Reality hit Tony, and he pressed a quick kiss against Peter’s forehead before charging to the medicine cabinet.   Peter had zero self-preservation skills. Michelle and Ned weren’t in the band, so it was likely that Peter got caught up in practice, and had forgotten to eat lunch. Peter had to consume more than Steve and Bucky collectively did, so it was dangerous if he skipped a meal. All his symptoms added up to one daunting conclusion. Hypoglycemia. Low blood sugar. Thankfully, Tony knew exactly how to deal with that but first, he had to make sure he was right. “Daddy…” Morgan hiccuped, a slight quiver in her voice. Fuck, Tony had been so busy ransacking the cupboard for a Blood Test Meter, that he’d completely forgotten that Morgan would head back downstairs after she finished cleaning her teeth, “What’s wrong with Petey?” “I don’t know, darling…” He spoke gently, as he found the Meter, and rushed back to Peter, “But he’s gonna be okay.”  Morgan cautiously moved closer to Peter, “Is he poorly?” “Yeah…” Tony knelt, and unzipped the small bag the meter was in, “He’s poorly.” He held Peter’s hand in his palm, and washed it with an alcohol wipe, ready for a finger-prick blood test. “Wait, Daddy!” Morgan shouted, her assertiveness stopped him in his tracks. She marched over, holding up her arm in a defensive manner, “Petey doesn’t like needles.” Tony’s heart fluttered at her innocence, “I know, honey.” He held the device up, “It’s just a small prick. He won’t feel it.” Morgan glared at the inanimate object like she was ready to fight it, if it dared hurt her brother, “I’m gonna hold his hand.”  “Okay, baby…” He watched as she locked her hand around Peter’s spare one, “You can hold his hand.” “Don’t be scared, Petey.” She whispered softly into his ear, Tony blinked tears away, as he pricked Peter’s finger and waited for the result on the meter.  “Shit…” He leapt into action, charging back over to the medicine cabinet. Peter’s blood sugar levels weren’t just low, they were life-threateningly low if Tony didn’t do something about it now, “Shit...fuck, come on.” “Daddy...?” Morgan sniffled, a clear wobble in her voice. Morgan was too young for this, and he hated that she had to witness it. She blew him away with her resilience and bravery every time. She loved Peter fiercely, and even if she was asked, she’d never leave his side. At times like these, she had the intelligence and bedside manner that could marvel full-grown adults, but she was still a child, and she was terrified.  “Not right now, Morguna…” Tony called back, trying his best not to accidentally snap. He didn’t want to scare her or ridicule her for asking questions. “Petey…” Morgan cooed desperately, “Petey, you’re scaring me! Petey!” She shouted, though her voice wobbled as a sob caught in her throat, “Daddy, he won’t wake up!” “I know...I know…” Tony pushed boxes out onto the kitchen floor, “Come on…” He nervously stomped his foot against the floor, “Morgan, I need you to keep talking to him, can you do that?” “Okay…” She cried, “Petey…” She spoke gently, the same tone she used whenever she read or told a story, “Petey, you can choose the next week’s movie. I know it’s my turn but I want you to do it.” Her voice cracked, “You gotta wake up and tell me what we’re gonna watch. I don’t like scary movies though…” Tony’s eyes landed on what he was looking for. A glucagon injection. He snatched it, and ran back over, “Don’t worry, honey. Peter would never choose a scary movie.” Tony hadn’t watched a horror movie with Peter since before Thanos. The kid had claimed to love the genre, but he clearly didn’t, as Tony ended up having to sleep on his bedroom floor that night. “Is he gonna wake up now?”

“Soon.” Tony placed the glucagon down on the coffee table, “Morguna, you're gonna have to let go of his hand, just for a second. I need to put him on the floor, is that okay?” “And then I can hold his hand again?” “Yes, yes, of course, you can.” Tony saw the conflict in her eyes as she let go of Peter’s hand, “Thank you, honey.”  Tony bent down, folding one arm behind Peter’s back and the other under his legs, he hoisted him up into his arms, and then gently laid him on the floor, in the recovery position.  Morgan wasted no time in charging over and grabbing Peter’s hand, “What’s that?” She asked as Tony prepared the Glucagon. “It’s gonna help him.” Tony pushed Peter’s pyjama shorts out of the way, he stabbed it into his thigh. Morgan whimpered as she tightened her grip on Peter’s hand. Tony knew the result wouldn’t be immediate, so he spent the time gently brushing his fingers through Peter’s curls while muttering soft reassurance to his kids. Morgan didn’t speak. She held her brother’s hand close to her chest, as she hovered, waiting for him to wake up. Tony let out a breath of relief when Peter smacked his lips together, and his face scrunched up as he extended his limbs, “Kid?”  Morgan lay down onto the ground, until she was almost nose-to-nose with Peter, “Petey?”  “Morgan?” Peter slurred as he blinked his eyes open, “Hey…” Morgan locked herself around him and buried her face against his chest, “What’s…” Peter draped an arm over her as he looked up at Tony, “What’s going on?” Tony squeezed his shoulder, “Low blood sugar, kid.” “Oh…” Peter said, still somewhat spaced, “Sorry.”  “Don’t worry…” Tony told him, he moved his hand back and scratched the back of his head, “But I think we’re gonna have to review your...glucose intake.” “Sounds...Riveting.” Peter joked as he turned his attention to his sister, “Hey, M.”  Morgan sat up, folding her legs as she looked at him, with misty-eyes, “Daddy stabbed you with a needle.” Peter narrowed his eyes, “Betrayal.” “Betrayal, huh?” Tony scoffed. “Thank you.” Peter held up his hand, and Tony carefully lifted him up, “I’m not a baby.” He complained.  “Totally not, Spider-Baby.” Tony mocked as he placed Peter back onto the couch, he bopped his nose, "Next time you feel off, tell me. I’d rather deal with it before you pass out on me and…” Morgan jumped onto the couch, leaning her head on Peter’s knees. “I’m sorry,” Peter said as he twiddled his fingers through Morgan’s hair.  “You’re okay now…” Tony sighed, he held up the Blood Test Meter, “But I am gonna have to test you again in a minute to see where you are now.” “Lucky me.” “Don’t worry, Petey.” Morgan sang, “I’ll hold your hand.” “Thanks, munchkin."

[red-pill-blue-pill]

You gave me a reason. Ted Logan.

(gif by @mostexcellentkeanugifs )

A/N: This was requested by the lovely @ringa-starr 💞. Sorry it took me so long! I hope you like it. I might’ve shed a tear while I was writing this but I’m on my PMS so whatever. Also, I tried to portray the illness as real as I could. If someone feels offended please tell me and I’ll change whatever you ask me to change. 

 ps: peep the Lana del Rey and the Friends references  👀. 

ps2: i didn’t proof read this so deal with my typos, wrong use of words and wrong verb tenses. 

Summary: A walk to remember inspired. 

Warnings: Angst (like a lot, I’m so sorry), illness, implied death.

Word count: 2.764

You lied in bed, your head rested on your pillow and your black hair was sprawled around like a halo that vaticinated your unfortunate fate. Your heavy-lidded eyes closed against your will and you tried your best to keep them open so you could continue watching the world that unfolded outside your window. If you couldn’t experience it to the fullest at least you wanted to watch how others did. 

This situation was common for you. It felt as if all the energy was suddenly drained from your body, like a dam gate opening and letting the water flow freely. Your limbs turned heavy, so heavy you couldn’t even lift them, and your head felt dizzy. This happened at least four times per week, sometimes even more. All your friends already knew. They had made their peace with it. It’s not like you can hide from your loved ones for so long.

-

The first time you felt something weird was going on was the year you finally became a senior. It was your first week of high school and you were happily talking to your peers. It had been an exciting summer and you were dying to tell everyone you had finally visited Italy. 

You had just gotten through second period just fine when you started to feel uneasy. You started to feel hot, your forehead was burning up and your vision clouded. All of a sudden you were lying on the floor, a circle of classmates around you and a teacher crouching down beside you asking you frantically if you were okay. You internally rolled your eyes at her questions "yes, Mrs. Ford, I'm perfectly fine, I just like falling and hitting my head." You thought.

They rushed you to the hospital and called your parents. You thought it was nonsense, you were perfectly fine, it was just a little fever and nothing else. But when they gave you the results of the physical exam your world seemed to crumble around you.

"It might be Leukemia. We still have to run some blood tests." The doctor said carefully.

Your mother couldn't suppress the cry that broke in her throat, she had always been the most dramatic one. You just stared at the doctor, slowly processing her words and trying to keep your most tranquil façade. Your father kept asking questions to the doctor “Are you sure?” “What can we do?” “When will we know for sure?” you could feel the desperation in his voice.

You knew the doctor’s choice of words was an intelligent one. She was sure the diagnosis was what it was, she just tried to give your family some time to process before fully confirming it, the tests being merely procedural. 

The doctor opened the door and your parents stepped out. You turned around to look at her. “Is it serious? I mean, do I have a chance to survive?” you asked hopefully. A million different scenarios ran through your head, from the worst to the best. The doctor's face gave it all away. 

“I don’t know, as I said, we need to run more tests but we could see on the physical exam that your spleen and lymph nodes are swollen, that means it may be in stage III. I’m sorry.” Her face was full of sorrow and compassion and you felt a weight on your chest as you realized that was the way people were going to look at you from now on.

Weeks passed by and the blood test results gave away your family’s biggest fear: Leukemia stage III. That meant chemotherapy was the only hope for you, and it might not even work. Your parents were shattered over the news but you were oddly quiet, the only thing running through your mind was how you were going to tell your loved ones, how bad it would make you feel to break their hearts that way. You were a conformist person, in a good way though. It was easier to accept that you were going to leave this world than to endure all the pain and suffering of receiving chemo. You had made your choice.

That’s how you ended where you were: enduring recurrent headaches, joint pains, and continuous fatigue. It was alright, you still managed to do everything you had to. You enjoyed life. 

No one besides your friends knew you didn’t want them to. It was enough with the constant attention from your parents and friends, there was no need to add the pitiful and compassionate stares from people who never gave a damn about your existence. 

But there was this one boy, Ted Logan. You had never talked to him before but he approached you in science class asking for private lessons. It was true that you were the best of the class and he was failing almost every exam but you didn’t want to start a new friendship. At first. He kept bugging you every day, telling you how his father would send him to a military academy if he didn’t pass this class, how he would pay you whatever you wanted. 

“Okay, fine. I will teach you. Today at 6 pm at my house. Now please, leave me alone.” you finally snapped. 

He smiled and shook his head to get his hair out of his face. “Excellent!” He did his signature air guitar solo and you smiled at his goofiness.

Eventually, the private lessons became your favorite part of the day. Ted made you forget about your pain and everyday struggles. He had such a bubbly and energetic personality it was almost impossible to be sad or upset if he was around. He was a good student but with the attention span of a small puppy, almost nonexistent. His grades went up in record time and he brought you a treat every time he passed an exam as a way to say thank you since you wouldn’t let him pay the lessons.

You knew you were starting to develop feelings for him but you knew better than anyone you had to swallow them and deal with it by yourself. You couldn’t hurt another person, hurt him; the only though made your heart ache and tears well up in your eyes. What you didn’t know is that he felt the same way about you, he couldn’t hold back his smiles when you were around, you made him happy.

One day as you were going over the last lesson you caught him staring at you with his goofy grin plastered on his face. You mimicked it.

“What?” 

“You are a total babe when you talk about science.” he said and you raised an eyebrow questioningly while your face grew hot. “You always are but you are even more when you are sciencing.” 

“Th-thank you I guess.”

He reached across the table to grab your hand. “Would you like to go, like on a date with me?” 

Your eyes widened and you quickly freed your hand from his grasp. Everything you didn’t want to happen was happening. “I can’t Ted.” saying those words aloud hurt more than you ever imagined. 

“Bogus! Why?” he cocked his head to the side and your heart ached even more. 

“I didn’t tell you everything about me. I don’t wanna hurt you.” by this point tears were rolling down your face, unable to keep them in anymore. 

“Then tell me what’s wrong.” his usually happy face was now shaded with concern, you had never seen him like this. 

“I’m going to die. I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but the last thing I need is hurting another person I love. I can’t stand it.” you were a sobbing mess.

“What do you mean?” he was completely shocked.

“I have leukemia, Ted.” you said, your voice cracking.

He didn’t think twice as he stood up and engulfed you in a much needed hug. You sobbed against his chest as you mumbled I’m sorry's to which he answered by rubbing your back and whispering sweet nothings into your hair. 

-

A knock on the door startled you from your deep thoughts.

“Come in.” you mumbled putting your hand over your forehead. Fever was back again. 

The door creaked slightly as Ted made his way in your room, a big smile on his face as he closed the door behind him. 

“How are you feeling?” he sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down to kiss your cheek and you smiled.

“Suddenly I’m feeling a lot better.” You joked as you reached out to comb his hair with your fingers. “How was your day?” You moved, making room for him to lay down with you.

He rested his head on the pillow next to yours and stared at the ceiling. “It was okay. People started murmuring after you left today.” you could feel the anger in his voice. He hated when people commented about you, it was the thing that angered him the most. 

You put your hand on his chest. “It’s okay Ted. I don’t care about what they say.” 

He just stayed silent and put his hand over yours, intertwining his fingers with yours and rubbing circles with his thumb on the back of your hand. 

“I was thinking about when we got together.” you said and he smiled.

You studied his face. His profile was out of this world, his jawline was sharp and his full lips made you feel warm inside. The freckles peppered on his cheeks and nose gave him the sweet aura that characterized him. 

“I do it often.” he said as he turned to look at your face. His eyes were full of love, no had never seen anything like it. He adored everything about you and he always let you know. “I remember when you thought you were going to scare me off by telling me about your illness.”

“Yeah, how stupid was I.” you chuckled and he squeezed your hand. 

You silently stared at each other, studying each other's face and wondering if it was possible to be more in love than you already were. He slowly leaned down to place a sweet kiss to your lips. Your stomach did cartwheels every time he did it. You opened your mouth, granting him more access and he slipped his tongue in, making you instinctively grab the neck of his shirt and pull him closer to your body. His hands roamed your body and stopped at your ass to squeeze it gently. You tried to straddle him but a sharp pain shot through your kneecaps and you winced against his mouth. 

“Are you okay?” he asked after pulling away from the kiss.

“Yes, it’s just this stupid joint pain.” you huffed in annoyance as you let yourself fall against the mattress once again. That was the worst part. It had been three weeks since you last had sex and you were dying to feel him fill you up again. 

“It’s okay, babe.” he smiled reassuringly as he hugged you close to him, your head resting on his chest. 

“If I wasn’t so fucked up I’d fuck you all the time.” you mumbled against his chest, laughter making it rumble. 

“You are the best babe in all land.” he said as he ruffled your hair.

“I mean it, Ted!” you said as you laughed too. “I’m warm for your form.” you tried to put on the best sexy voice you could but it ended up making you both laugh. 

It was moments like this when you felt like all the pieces of your life fit into place. The happiness you felt was enough to make up for the years you were going to miss. A small part of you thought missing good morning kisses from Ted, moving in with him, having your own family with him, growing old by his side. It made your heart break every time so you tried to push it away for as long as you could. 

-

An ambulance rushed down the street. Its bright lights lit up the buildings and the siren echoed through the empty road. Despite the space being so reduced a lot of stuff was going on. One of the paramedics rushed with a bag of serum, another one checked your pulse and the third one put the oxygen mask on your face. Ted was sitting next to you holding your hand. 

You were staying over at his house for the night when you suddenly started feeling sick. Everything happened too fast. First you were rushing to the bathroom and then you had passed out on the floor, no air reaching your lungs. Ted didn’t hesitate one second and picked his phone to call an ambulance that would rush you to the hospital. You squeezed his hand and smiled at him. You were proud of his reaction; not everyone would have managed to stay so calm and poised in his place. 

When you arrived to the ER they called a doctor to check on you. Ted stayed by your side the whole time, talking to you, trying to keep both of your spirits up. Your parents arrived some minutes later and rushed to your side while you waited for the doctor to come. 

After a blood test and some tests a nurse came back.

“You have pneumonia.” she said and everyone sighed in relief but she kept her serious face. “Taking into consideration your medical history and your illness I’m afraid it’s going to be hard for you to recover.” 

You looked at each other, your mother’s eyes filled with tears again and your father held her as she cried. You turned to look at Ted and you caught him wiping a tear away from his cheek. His hand found yours again and you squeezed it softly. 

You didn’t want to die. Not now. Not like this. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. They told you this was going to be slow, it had to. It was so unfair.

“I don’t want to die.” you said as tears slid down your face. “I don’t want to die yet.” you cried.

Your mother hugged you tight carefully with the cables and vials you had attached to your arms. “Mom, I don’t want to go.” She cried with you as your father and Ted watched the scene, unable to hold back their tears. Until then you had always been the strong one, comforting your loved ones as they cried about your unjust fate. Seeing you so broken and fighting the idea of leaving this world was even more heart shattering.  

You had encouraged your parents to go to the cafeteria to grab a coffee so they would leave you and Ted alone. You didn’t know where to start. You still had so many things to say to him, and most of them were inexplicable. 

“Come here.” you whispered, motioning him to lay down with you on the small hospital bed. He obliged and you turned to look at him. He was avoiding eye contact knowing he would burst into tears the second he looked at you but you grabbed his face, forcing him to look into your eyes. You saw how tears slowly welled up in his and you smiled sweetly. 

“I love you so much.” you whispered trying not to force your damaged lungs. A tear slid down his cheek and you quickly wiped it away. “You gave me a good reason to look forward to my future. This illness has ruined my chance of having one but it can never take away all the love you’ve given me and all the love I feel for you.” 

You removed the oxygen mask, instantly knowing its importance, and cupped his face. His eyes darted from yours to your mouth and you leaned down, kissing his soft lips, trying to make him feel what you couldn’t put into words; the immense adoration and affection you felt towards him. 

When your lips parted you put your mask back on as he stared at you. “I love you too, babe. I will always do. You are the most excellent thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

He let you cuddle by his side as he drew patterns with his fingers on your back, his slow traces lulling you to sleep. Your parents came up an hour later to find you two hugged to each other. 

“At least she will go happy.” your mother whispered before more tears fell from her eyes as your father hugged her again.

[crackedship]

Cheeseburger Cravings

See my masterlist to read other chapters.

Feyre was freaking out.

In all honesty, she caught herself smiling about it, but she couldn’t tell if it was happiness or just a whole other level of panicking.

Her period was late. Wich wasn’t a big deal, since it was prone to be a bit all over the place and anything could influence it. She didn’t take the pill (simply because she hated it) and was too scared of medical stuff to try anything else, so her doctor had said everything was fine and she didn’t have to worry as long as they just got used to using condoms.

Except that, well, it was a new adjustion, perhaps that one time they were so drunk they forgot. And condoms could fail too, even if that was a single chance in a million.

But how did that happen did not matter much now, she decided. It had happen and now she needed to deal with it.

She had realized before her period was late, but she had brushed it off. Headaches, mood swings, sensitive breasts, exhaustion, her appetite suddenly changing. But she had been stressed with work- none of her illustrations seemed to be enough to that asshole of a writer, who was always frowning upon her for being a woman, as if her job was less because of it.

So when she combined all of that with her period being late, they all blamed the stress. It wasn’t until the second week she decided to do something about it.

She took some days off of work secretly (yes, she had spent the week pretending she was going to work when in reality, she left the house and just turned around the block until her boyfriends had left, just to go back inside and spend her whole days crying over ice cream) and went to the hospital alone to get a blood test. And now, five days later, the envelope with the result was tight against her chest. She had opened it, not surprised at all about the screaming positive on the first paragraph of it.

She was lying on the floor in the middle of the hall in their new house. She was well aware that she looked crazy, all in sweats, clinging to a paper on the floor, face streamed with tears.

Really, she wish she could be more dramatic and be on the bathtub with a glass of whine, but the tub was really uncomfortable when it wasn’t filled with water, and she couldn’t drink alcohol anymore. That was when she cried, and then went to fill a glass with chocolate milk and lay on the floor, because at least it was cold and not as overwhelming as every other surface.

The truth was that she didn’t know how to deal with children, and having one scared the shit out of her. She didn’t like playing, didn’t know how to discipline and did not have any patience for them at all.

She always told herself that her kid would be different. Now, she kept thinking the kid would hate her, that her boyfriends wouldn’t want her anymore after all of it, or she would fail her child in every way. That they would be bullied in school for having three parents or, gods, she didn’t even know.

She knew she was overthinking and that she actually really wanted them. Just wasn’t expecting it now. She was just 26, for gods sake. Feyre, Rhys and Lucien were together for just four years now and they just got their new house. What if they didn’t want it?

For all that she feared, she knew she could do it alone. But she would want it way more if her boyfriends were happy about it. They probably would be, and would support her through any decision that she wanted to make, even if it hurt them. And that was a problem since she wanted their thoughts first, not their immediate posture of support just because she needed it.

“Feyre, why are you lying on the ground darling?”

Shit, she thinks, stopping the attempt of balancing the glass on her forehead. She had been so deep in thought she didn’t see her boyfriends arrival.

“I’m having a mental breakdown,” she says, looking at them. Both stop to seem so amused when they realise that she is actually serious.

“Over what, love?” Lucien just picks her up while Rhys takes her cup, going to the couch, were they just nuzzle her between them.

“And is that why you are having chocolate milk on a wine glass?” Rhys frowns looking at it, trying not to laugh.

“Sort of,” she says, and still holding the paper with one hand but using the other to pull her hood on and pull the strings until it was completely covering her face.

Feyre sighs, and they wait. She can tell they are worried, since she was home when she should be at work, and her eyes were red, and she looked like a whole mess. She didn’t think this through, but she didn’t want to look at them when she told, afraid of their reaction.

Should she just rip it like a bandaid, really fast? Or start with an explanation, or give them the envelope to read, or wait and do a surprise or-

“Love,” Lucien whispers, apparently having reached the point were worry overcomes patience. “Look at us,” he thugs on the hood, but she just pulls her head the other way. “Tell us what is going on,” he says, both him and Rhys running their hands softly through her waist, her legs.

“I..” she stumbles, quickly deciding that telling fast was better. “I’m pregnant.”

She lets her head fall on Rhys shoulder. She can feel them freeze, and then, after what seems like forever, they grip her tighter, closer. She knows they are looking at each other and then at her, talking in that annoying way that consists just of eyes and expressions, but she doesn’t see what is written in their faces. Helpless, she starts to cry and hands them the results blindly.

“I just.. Things were weird and I didn’t think it was true,” her voice is low, words cut by sobs. “I should have told you before,” she raises her head while one of them starts pulling her hood off. “Especially because I had to go to the hospital alone and the nurse had to hold my hand because I was so scared of the needle I cried.”

Lucien, who was uncovering her face, chuckles and wipes her tears. She only sees that Rhys has thrown the envelope to the side, her chocolate milk glass in the coffee table, and then they are both laughing and kissing her face and her neck and hugging her and suddenly they were lying on the couch, both of them looking completely pleased and wondered.

“Yes, you should have told us. We are always the ones to hold your hand through it,” he pokes her side lightly, trying to act angry, but all he could do was laugh. “But we’re not mad about it. This is actually amazing, darling,” Rhys says, almost sounding out of breath, tears lining his eyes.

“I bet this is why you have been so desperate for cheeseburgers lately,” Lucien jokes, his hand hovering her belly in the most softest, protective way. “How did we get so lucky to find a woman like this?” He says to his boyfriend, while she just cries harder, burying her face against his chest.

“So you are happy about it?” her voice comes muffled. “Both of you?”

“We are absolutely euphoric, Feyre,” Rhys says, fingers running through her hair. “We love you so much. I love you so fucking much, there is nothing more that I could wish for than to make a family with both of you.”

“You, on the other hand, don’t seem very happy,” Luc tenses slightly, after she stays quiet, still crying. She can feel Rhys doing the same. “Don’t you.. want to keep it?” He whispers, broken.

She turns to look at him. Then she starts to laugh, because no, this was not really what she had expected at all. She knew they would be happy, but she was panicking for weeks and scared, so, so scared they would leave her or fight her or something.

“I want this as long as you want it too,” she says when she finally calms down, and they relax. “But I was scared and I didn’t know what to think.”

“Was that why you were crying on the floor?” Rhys says, resuming his caresses.

“No, I was crying because I wanted to have wine so bad,” she smiles, watching Lucien bark a laugh so hard that he almost fell from the couch. “You really shouldn’t have brought up the cheeseburger, though. Now I want it.”

He grins, kissing her pout. “You don’t have to worry, babe. I’ll take care of all your food cravings.”

“And I’ll take care of all other cravings,” Rhys’s says, the look on his face almost devilish with delight. “We will spoil the fuck out of you.”

Lucien mockingly glares at him, covering her belly. “No swearing in front of the baby.”

*******

Hey! This is my first AU. Sorry if there are any mistakes, english is not my first language so sometimes it slips and i don’t realize.

This whole thing is based in two things: one is A Change in The Game, by @howtotameyourillyrian , because I wanted Feyre to be pregnant on that one chapter so bad but she wasn’t so I had to write something to make my dreams come true. The second thing is that I actually feel like crying for a cheeseburger now, but i don’t eat meat bc i’m generally disgusted by it so yeah my mind screws me over sometimes. I'm not pregnant tho, just hungry and sappy.

Thanks for reading/like/reblogs ❤️

[oh-roman]

“delicate”

Y/N has her period.

i.

Bill wants to cry—a real dramatic sob; curling into a ball and balling his eyes out. He knows it sounds cliché, but his heart hurts—he can almost feel his heart muscles aching each time he exhales. Besides the sound of his blood pumping in his ears, Bill has his ears fixated on Y/N—she’s whimpering from the bedroom. Bill hates leaving the same room she’s in (during this time of the month), but he knows tea subsides the pain (sometimes) and his mother’s recipe for chocolate chip cookies makes her feel all warm and gooey inside. She hasn’t been able to take pills for the pain and Bill thinks that’s okay for several reasons (partially because it gives him an excuse to bake for her).

He’s standing in the kitchen in a gray tee (with small wet blotches from Y/N’s tears) and gray sweats. In one hand he’s got a small, dainty paper covered in his mother’s slanted cursive characters for the recipe. It’s not until Bill places the pan into the oven and looks down at the recipe sheet for the oven timing, does he notice how intensely his hands are shaking. The paper might just slip from his fingers and Bill wonders if it’s because his blood sugar is low—he’s barely eaten anything, except taste-testing the meals he’s made for Y/N. He wants to grab some water or make himself a small snack, but he can’t—Y/N calls his name in a small whine and he swears his heart falls to his stomach.

She’s curled up on one side of the bed, clutching a soft, white duvet to her chest. He can see her body trembling beneath the blanket and that prompts him to sit next to the bed and stroke her cheekthat isn’t pressed firm against the mattress. Ever since the beginning of their relationship (after her first period), Bill has had an established relationship with “the chair”—an old, black computer chair he didn’t want in his office anymore. It’s settled right next to Y/N’s side for times like this when he just needs to touch her lightly—or other times, when she’s nauseous and he’s got to stroke her back.

His hand is shaking immensely and he’s stuttering a little (feeling like his world is crashing down), but he needs to make her feel safe—needs to show her how much he loves her and how bad he wishes he could take the pain away.

Y/N—she looks how sugar tastes and honey feels. She’s the best thing Bill has ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

“I know,” bill coos, “I know it hurts, love,” He’s thumbing over her trembling cheek and he has to glance up at the ceiling and exhale before seeing her tear stained cheeks again. There are select times like this, when it’s just too much—watching his girl lie in pain, knowing there’s not much he can do.

Every month, Bill takes off a week from work (no matter the filming or table-reads) to stay home with her. He thinks it’s the worst and he has to just hold her body and rock her to sleep—it absolutely kills him when she’s in pain, but when she’s asleep with her face smushed against his chest in bed, he always feels all warm inside.

Bill finds himself starring at her face and blinking himself awake from his daydream. She’s still sniffling, but not shaking as hard—Bill is. “Baby,” Y/N chokes, furrowing her brows and feeling his shaky fingers clutch onto her shoulder. Bill has no idea what’s happening and he grows even more worried when he feels himself crying. He’s shaking his head fast, wiping at his face and stuttering an “I’m fine,” but Y/N only reaches up and grasps his hand. “Baby,” she repeats (the pet name keeping his worried eyes on her). “Calm down, for me,”

Bill is full-on crying now (completely silent with an occasional sniffle). His teeth sank into his bottom lip so hard it might bleed. It’s strange—Bill thinks he doesn’t deserve to cry; doesn’t deserve to break down when his girl is going through a much larger problem. “Sorry,” he chokes, “Supposed to be strong for you,”

Eyes all reddened, Bill is stifling some whimpers and hiccuping through his tears. Y/N can hardly feel the sting in her abdomen when he starts really sobbing—buckling forward to cry into his hands m, with elbows on his knees. His broad shoulders are bobbing with each exhale and he’s mumbling “sorry’s” beneath everything. Bill doesn’t get overwhelmed much—just a bit down sometimes and he ends up sleeping it off. But, Y/N knows what this is—he’s having a proper panic attack and she’s afraid she’s not in the right setting to help him. So, she only reaches out for his hand and grasps it (let’s him know she’s here).

It’s only nine in the morning (and Y/N couldn’t sleep all night due to cramps) but she thinks it’s appropriate for a long cuddle and overdue nap right about now. To say that Y/N’s cramps are terribly bad during her period, would be an understatement—she’s in so much pain, sometimes it’s hard to move anything—sometimes she can barely raise her hand to wipe her own tears. “I love you,” is all Y/N can muster for now, “Love you so much,”

You would have to feel how tight her heart is clenching around the sound of Bill crying. You would have to feel the migraine growing in her skull and the salty tears pricking the corners of her eyes, if you really wanted to know what Y/N feels like. Mixed with the painful strain in her abdomen and the guilt from causing his mental break down, Y/N strokes his hand and hopes he’ll be alright—because it seems like speaking and hoping is all she can do.

…

Soon (several minutes later), Bill raises his shaky head and knuckles at his eyes with one hand while squeezing her hand with the other. When he looks up at her from his position on the floor, she wishes she could kiss the hurt away. He looks awful—sniffling and blinking slowly like a lost puppy. He doesn’t say anything—just let’s go of her hand (Y/N whines) and uses the bed as leverage to stand up. He sniffles again and finger combs his hair before scurrying off to the kitchen.

He comes back with a steaming cup of tea and a napkin. He walks steadily, trying not to spill it, but his post-panic attack jitters are no help and there’s tea spilling with every step. Once he’s reached Y/N, he cranes his neck down and “carefully” sets the mug on the nightstand. She mutters a “thank you,” and Bill nods a little before sniffling again and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You know,” Bill begins, (clearing his throat so his voice doesn’t crack). “—this doesn’t mean anything,” Motioning toward his face with a hand, Bill wonders what’s going through her head right now. “I can still care for you,” and Y/N’s heart basically shatters. “—for as long as I’m breathing, I’ll love you; no matter what,”

Y/N feels her tears at bay, but she’s not sure if it’s from the sudden jolt of pain running down her thigh (that has her buckling over) or Bill’s sudden confession.

Bill’s worried again when she hurls forward and he skips over to his side of the bed instead of the chair. The mattress is warm and Bill instantly feels himself growing sleepy. He wraps a careful arm around her front and presses his lips to her exposed shoulder. “Just wish I didn’t get you so worked up,” Y/N mutters, “—couldn’t even help you,”

Bill smiles when she blames herself—90% of the time, it’s not even her fault. “It’s alright, love,” He whispers, “Just needed to cry, is all,” Wiping at a stray tear, Y/N rolls her body around so her front is facing his and she snuggles herself into his chest. He snakes a hand up to her hair and begins stroking it slowly—gently massaging her scalp and feeling her body expand with every inhale. She, on the other hand, has her hand resting on the side of his rib cage. It’s a warm position and they each have their eyes closed—comforting one another for different reasons.

There’s flour dusted atop his hair strands from baking and he smells like fresh chocolate bar and lavender (from his favorite soap). He smells so sweet and Y/N only pulls him closer—bunching the cotton fabric of his shirt closer to her face. They lie like this for a while and for some reason, the feeling of Y/N’s fingers trancing circles on his back, prompts him to speak. “Don’t worry, love,” he mutters, “—we’re gonna have a baby,” Relaxing her eyes open, Y/N blinks slowly—fluttering her eyelashes against his shirt. She’s only listening to him for now; loves it when he talks softly. “Just the sweetest little thing you’ll ever meet—and softest too,”

Y/N doesn’t know she’s smiling at first—just knows that he always knows how to make her melt. They’ve been trying for a baby for so long and sometimes Y/N can’t help but feel miserable about not being able to conceive. “What should call him or her?” She murmurs; lifting her chin to peek at him.

“Whatever you want, bunny,” he taps her chin a little and rubs his fingers through her hair again. He’s craning his neck down now and grinning when smiles. “—whatever—you—want,” Bill says, between kisses to her lips. She tastes so sweet, Bill has to lean in and kiss her again—pressing a longing one to her lips and moving a hand up to thumb over her cheek. Parting his lips a little, Bill laps his tongue over her bottom lip and hums. He wants to keep going (thinks he could lie here all day in the comfort of her lips), but he knows she should rest and so, he pulls away with a small smack. Her face falls back to his chest and he smiles in content before kissing the top her head.

She’s got butterflies making a frenzy within her tummy and a tickle in her chest, now. It’s an unexplainable feeling—his body heat intermingled with her’s. His fingertips trancing lines on the nape of her neck; his breath fanning on her forehead; the little snores he’s making when once he’s fallen asleep.

It’s hard to explain what you don’t understand—she just knows her stomach feels all knotted up and mushy when she thinks something so obvious, yet so reassuring.

He’s here to stay.

[thegreatwhiteferret]

I Just Wanna Be A Kid Again

Summary: Richie is most definitely the crybaby of the Losers Club.

Pairing: Reddie

A/N: This was a request from a lovely Anon who wanted to see a story with Richie being a huge crybaby. I’m sorry it took so long, I hope you love it! You also didn’t specify if you wanted smut...but it’s kind of my thing, so it’s NSFW, I hope that’s okay!!! 💖

Richie Tozier was to put it nicely….a crybaby. He would pout his lips and stomp his foot when he didn’t get his way. Thick tears would roll from behind his glasses when he felt like there was injustice. He was just a soft and sweet boy under all of his raunchy and sarcastic commentary.

The thing is, Richie isn’t allowed to cry at home. When he was seven years old, little Richie Tozier had come home from school in tears, some older boys Vic and Patrick had cornered him in the boys bathroom and shoved his face into the toilet, flushing repeatedly, while they called him names. He was covered in Derry Elementary’s toilet water, and he was rightfully sad about it. He had barely stepped through the door when his father saw the tears, a disgusted snarl coming across his face. Richie stopped dead in his tracks, but it was too late. His father slapped him so hard across his face that his glasses flew across the room.

“What do you have to cry about you little pussy?” He spat, landing another blow this time to Richie’s left eye. Richie knew better than to answer, if he sunk into himself, it would be over faster. “That’s all you are, you little faggot. A pussy. Real men don’t cry. Now stop your blubbering before I give you something to cry about, and go get me a beer.”

Richie ran to his room and steeled away his nerves. That would be the last time that he ever cried in front of his father. The last time that Richie would cry anywhere but in the shower when he was alone with his thoughts, until he was fifteen.

The years of forced repression of his emotions corroded Richie’s mental health. He copes as best as he can with self deprecating jokes and being over the top. He accepts the nickname of Trashmouth, even though deep down the name really hurts him. They’re sitting in the Hanscom basement when it happens. Richie stumbles in after a brutal lecture from the school guidance counselor about his wasted potential. He opens the freezer in the corner that stores the snacks that Ben’s mom keeps stocked for them and pulls out the empty Fudgsicle box.

“Where are the Fudgsicles?” Richie asks, eyebrows furrowing and mind going slightly fuzzy. Mike quickly shoves something in his mouth and then throws the evidence behind him. Eddie and Bill look incredibly guilty. Bev and Ben shrug slightly, and Stan Uris sits with his legs crossed as he shamelessly licks up and down the side of a glorious Fudgsicle.

“Sorry, Rich. We must be all out. I’ll let my mom know and she will get some more when she goes to the store.” Ben says, frowning. “There are some other popsicles in there. Bev and I just had rocket pops and those were good…” He stops when he sees Richie’s lip start to tremble.

They all freeze, and then it happens. Richie starts bawling his eyes out. He sinks to the ground and he’s shaking. Snot and tears running down his face as he chokes on sobs. Bill swoops in immediately, wrapping his arms around Richie and letting him cry on his shoulder. He rubs his back like he does for Georgie when he’s upset. When he calms down a bit the fear of their disgust and rejection hits him. He tries to push back from Bill’s embrace.

“I’m so...sorry. I don’t know what happened. I know that boys don’t cry, I’m sorry, I’ll go.” He mutters out, fixing his glasses and tries to stand. Bill pulls him right back down.

“Wh-what are y-you talking about, R-rich?” Bill asks, he looks confused, in fact all of them do. Richie doesn’t have an answer.

“Richie, it’s okay to cry. Everyone cries sometimes. Why would you think that it wasn’t okay?” Eddie asks gingerly.

“M-my dad.” That’s all he has to say, they understand. Suddenly he has six bodies cramming around him and pressing him into one giant group bear hug. The knot in Richie’s chest releases, and he lets the years of holding everything in melt away. He knows that he doesn’t have to hide his emotions in front of his friends anymore, they’re his real family.

From that day forward Richie becomes known as the crybaby of the group. They don’t tease him over it, they just accept that if something goes wrong, Richie will probably have a mini meltdown about it.

He literally cries over spilt milk. They’re in Bill’s kitchen, making plans for some Renaissance Faire trip that Bev is dying to go to and Mike accidentally swings his arm back and hits the cup that Richie had patiently been mixing for the past few minutes. The chocolate milk goes everywhere, and as Bill moves to get the mop and paper towels to clean it up, Richie starts.

“Oh my God, No! Why do bad things happen to good people?” He’s full on crying, staring at the chocolate milk puddle on the ground.

“Richie. Are you fucking serious? It was just a cup of milk, Mike didn’t mean to knock it over, it was an accident.” Stan says, mildly irritated with the level of dramatics coming from the other boy.

“IT WASN’T JUST A CUP OF MILK, STANLEY! IT WAS THE PERFECT RATIO OF NESQUIK TO MILK!!!” Richie punctuates every other word by stomping his feet, and Eddie just sighs and pulls Richie out of the room before the conflict escalates. He was not letting his boyfriend get in a fight with his best friend over a glass of spilt fucking milk.

Sometimes he cries over things that don’t even apply to his life. The Losers Club go to see The Lion King in the theater. Everything was going fine until Scar throws Mufasa off of the cliff and tells Simba to leave and never come back. Richie loses his shit. They all stare at him wide eyed as he stands up and screams at the animated characters on the screen, “THAT UGLY ASS BASTARD! NO SIMBA!” They all sink into their seats, praying that they aren’t permanently banned from the movie house. Richie leans into Eddie’s shoulder and cries until he calms down. They decide as a group to skip all Disney movies in theaters going forward.

Eddie thinks that it’s pretty much like dating a toddler at times. Sometimes it’s avoidable, Eddie really didn’t need to refuse to leave the house for their anniversary dinner until Richie changed out of his hideous rainbow tie dyed Grateful Dead bear button up….except his brain said he really freaking did. Some were not. Eddie couldn’t control the fact that his mother banned Richie from her house for a month and bolted his window shut.

The Richie Ban has just been lifted when one of the unavoidable times happens. Richie is beaming, he just got a ninety three percent on his statistics test and he’s running down the hallway to tell his friends, when a foot jets out to trip him. Richie flies through the air and crashes to the ground. Richie looks up and sees Belch standing over him laughing.

“Leave me alone. I didn’t do anything to you.” Richie says shaking and flinching from the way the bully is looking at him.

“You little queer, you think I need an excuse to pummel your stupid ass? You’re not going to do anything about it because you’re weak, and your friends are weak. Stupid fucking gay Losers.” Richie doesn’t respond, he’s too busy getting his ass kicked and his glasses are broken again.

He’s sitting at Eddie’s kitchen table after school when he’s handed an ice pack. He takes it and presses it to his cheek. Eddie sits down across from him and starts working on mending his glasses. He thinks that now would be a perfectly acceptable time for Richie to start crying, but he’s sitting there with his thinking face on.

“Why is the world so awful, Eds? I’m always getting picked on. My glasses. My fucking ADHD. The fact that I’m gay. How could the world hate me for loving you?” Eddie holds his hand, he knows that the world isn’t fair and that Richie has to deal with an unnecessary amount of bullshit. This warm feeling is a little overturned when Richie starts whining. Eddie feels like an awful boyfriend, but the sound of Richie whining really turns him off. “Ughhhhhhh. I just wanna be a kid again, so I can go back to not giving a shit again.”

Richie starts crying again, and then starts crying over the fact that he cries so much. Eddie needs for it to stop before it becomes a full on episode. So he decides to go with what seems to most effectively distract Richie.

“Baby.” He drawls out biting his lip, waiting for Richie to look at him, but his boyfriend is too busy wallowing in self pity. He tries again, “Mmmm, Rich?” Nothing. Eddie is being his best little slutty self and his boyfriend is totally ignoring him. “RICHARD!” He screams.

“Jesus, Eddie. What the fuck?” Richie responds, looking at Eddie like he’s grown three heads. “I’m having feelings and I’m trying to share them and you’re yelling at me.”

“Oh my God. Oh my actual fucking God.” Eddie drops his head to the table, before just putting his ultimatum on the table. “If you stop crying, I’ll blow you right here and now.”

“In your mother’s pastel yellow kitchen, you’re going to blow me?” Richie was still sniffling a little, residual tears falling.

“On my knees. In my mother’s pastel yellow kitchen. With the front door unlocked, and I’ll even let you cum on my face.” Richie’s jaw hit the floor, Eddie never let him do that, always so particular about the mess being made, and ‘seriously Richie, is it not bad enough that I’m letting you put your penis, which you piss out of, in my mouth, you want me to let you ejaculate on my face? What if it gets in my eye and I go blind?!?!” Richie was a crybaby, but Eddie was a hypochondriac. They made quite a pair. “Deal?” Eddie smirks, as Richie nods enthusiastically. “Drop your pants then, Baby Boy.”

Richie didn’t have to be told twice. Eddie made it clear what was going to happen, he was in control, not Richie. Richie pulled his pants and boxers down, letting them pool at his ankles. Eddie sized him up, looking down right predatory, before motioning for Richie to take his shirt off too. Richie did and stood there, awkwardly naked in his boyfriend’s kitchen.

“Mmmm, please, Eds.” Richie moans, he needs something other than Eddie’s stare on him. Eddie clears his throat, sucks his teeth, and lifts an eyebrow.

“Excuse me? Did I give you the impression that you’re in control here?” Richie’s eyes grew wide. “You’re not in control, Baby. You’ll take what I give you and be satisfied. Understand?” Richie nods. “Good boy.” Eddie sinks to his knees, still not touching Richie, just lets his breast ghost over Richie’s dick.

Richie stays still. He knows that if he doesn’t stay obedient, that Eddie will call the whole thing off. He’s rewarded for this when Eddie strokes his dick with his hand, pumping up and down slowing, making sure that Richie is fully hard. When he’s satisfied, he uses his tongue to swirl around the head. Richie has to bite his hand to control the moans.

“Take your hand out of your mouth. I want to hear you, hear all the little noises that you can’t keep in because you’re such a desperate slut. I want to hear you scream my name.” Richie takes his hand from his mouth and uses it to grip the table, knuckles going white.

Eddie takes the head in his mouth and sucks, his right hand gripping the base of Richie’s cock. Richie whines, throwing his head back. Eddie takes him down, all the way down. He let’s the head hit the back of his throat and swallows around it.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eds. Ugh. That mouth. Ugh.” Eddie keeps working, pumping any of Richie’s length that’s not in his mouth at any given time. He reaches for Richie’s hand with his own free one, and places it in his hair, moaning when Richie grabs his hair. He nudges back into his hand, letting Richie know that he can fuck into his mouth. Richie stops leaning in the table and stands up. He holds Eddie’s jaw in one hand and the back of his head in the other and thrusts forward. Eddie moans around his cock and grabs his ass, encouraging him. Richie began thrusting at a brutal pace, pleasure taking over, when he got a little overzealous, Eddie tapped his hip and Richie knew to calm down, Eddie was still in control. Richie was making noises like crazy. Moans and groans slipping out. It fueled Eddie. He snuck his hand down and cupped Richie’s balls. “Ahhh, ugh, fuck yeah.” Richie felt the burn in his lower abdomen start to coil, growing and growing.

He pulled his cock from Eddie’s mouth, and began pumping it in his own fist, drawing closer and closer to the edge, but knowing that he had to wait for permission. Eddie tilted his head back, preparing to be coated in his boyfriend’s cum. He looked Richie dead in the eye.

“You can cum now.” The words were barely out of his mouth before Richie tumbled over the edge, his cum landing in streaks across Eddie’s face as he screams his name. He stroked until he was sure that he was empty. Richie’s knees feel weak. He looks down at Eddie.

Eddie is still kneeling. Eyes squeezed shut with Richie’s cum all over his face. He looks incredibly uncomfortable.

“Eddie, are you alright?” Eddie doesn’t answer right away, and it scares Richie a little bit.

“Can you wipe this off of my face? Right. Now.” Eddie asks,moving his lips as little as possible. Richie lets out a little laugh but races to get a wet towel before Eddie kills him. He wipes off all traces of Jizz off of Eddie’s face. Eddie opens his eyes slowly, trying to make sure that nothing got in them. Richie helps Eddie up off of his knees and for the first time Eddie notices the wet spot on the front of Eddie’s pants.

“Holy shit. Did you cum just from sucking me off?” Richie wondered out loud. He regrets the words as soon as they are out and Eddie sends a glare in his direction.

“I may have cum when your cum hit my face.” He says without emotion. Already preparing himself for how obnoxious Richie is going to be about this. “Do not say a word. I’m just happy that you feel better and have stopped crying.”

“Eddie, will you be honest with me?” Eddie nods at his boyfriend's question. Of course, he’s always honest with him. “Do you think that I cry too much? Am I a crybaby.” Eddie takes a deep breath and thinks about how to phrase his response.

“I love that you feel comfortable with sharing your emotions. It shows how strong you are.” He starts, dreading the next part. “But you do cry over some things that are a little excessive. You don’t have to work yourself into a fit every time something hurts a little. You have to find a happy medium.”

“Okay.” Richie nods, “I’ll try to be more rational and cut down on the crybaby fits. I can accept that I meltdown over some simple things...and that I should be more mature.” Eddie hugs Richie, he knows how difficult that was for Richie to admit that.

“I love you, Crybaby Trashmouth.” Eddie says from where his head is resting on Richie’s chest.

“Yeeesh. Okay one more complaint. I hate the nickname Trashmouth. It’s hurtful. Really hurtful. And adding crybaby to it? That’s a nope.” Eddie’s eyes widen at Richie’s confession.

“Jeeze. You’ve never said anything about that, it’s a legitimate complaint!” Eddie throws his hands up. “I love you, Richard ‘Sweetmouth’ Tozier.” Richie smiles down at him.

“I love you, Edward Spaghetti Kaspbrak.” Richie expects the shove and the annoyed look.

“BEEP BEEP RICHIE!”

[hamlet-writes]

Private Lesson

Sometimes even the Riddler needs to be taught a thing or two.  (Un)fortunately for him, Jonathan is a very eager teacher.

"No."

It was the third time Jonathan had asserted his response in the past five minutes.  Unfortunately for him, Edward Nygma was not one to take no for an answer.  The man had been waiting for him on the less-than-pristine couch that was the only piece of furniture decorating Jonathan's admittedly dingy apartment, lounging nonchalantly along the cushion with the fewest number of springs sticking out of it and greeting him when he walked through the door.  That part hadn't surprised Jonathan in the least- in the past few months he'd known the man, he'd learned that he had a penchant for making overly dramatic entrances.  No, what had surprised him most was the man's outlandish request.

"Oh, come now, professor!" Nygma argued, as Jonathan busied himself with rearranging his notes. "Surely you can spare one tiny little vial?"

"I certainly could," Jonathan agreed, still facing away from the man. "But I won't."

"Why not?" Nygma whined.

"What do you even need it for?" Jonathan countered.

"Well, I can't just tell you," Nygma said with a frustrated huff, as if that were the most obvious assertion in the world. "It's for a game of mine."

"If that's the case, then I certainly won't be giving you any," Jonathan said. "I don't need you drawing any more attention to me from the police than I've already done on my own."  

"Are you sure?" Nygma asked, sidling towards him until they were side-by-side.  Jonathan flexed the hand still wearing his fear gauntlet from the night's earlier excitement, casting the shorter man a warning glance.  People only got this close to him when he was the one boxing them in.  He was very particular about his personal space.  Nygma didn't seem to notice, though.

"I'm told I can be very persuasive," Nygma said, dropping his voice to a sultry whisper.  Jonathan turned to face him now, which proved to be a mistake. Nygma pushed himself up onto his toes, planting one hand on Jonathan's chest and leaning into him.

"Perhaps we can work out a private arrangement, hmm?" Nygma purred. A mixture of rage and repulsion boiled up in Jonathan, and before he even knew what he was doing his hand shot up.  Nygma let out a pained gasp as the fear gauntlet sank into the exposed muscles of his side, losing his grip on Jonathan's shirt and sinking back to the floor.  

"You wanted some of my toxin so bad, huh?" Jonathan snarled, retracting the gauntlet before stepping back and brushing off the spot where Nygma had touched him with a look of disgust. "Fine. Have some."  Nygma's eyes grew wide as the toxin began to set in, and he clenched his fists, taking a wobbly step backwards.

"No..." he said, staring up at Jonathan with exhilarating fear. "No, no, no, no..." Despite himself, Jonathan felt the corners of his mouth curling up into the beginnings of a grin.  He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been curious as to how Nygma would react to fear toxin- he'd refrained from using it on him these past few months as thanks for saving his life, but now that'd it'd already happened there was no use squandering the opportunity.

"No what, Edward?" Jonathan purred, taking a step towards him. "What is it that you see?"  Nygma recoiled with newfound fervor, tripping over his own feet in his desperate attempt to escape.  He crashed to the floor, still fixated with a look of abject horror on Jonathan.

"No, I- I didn't- Don't-!" Nygma begged, scrambling away from Jonathan. "P-Please!  Leave me- leave me alone!"  His voice cracked at that, and Jonathan couldn't help but laugh, advancing on the man with predatory intent.

"Alone?" Jonathan asked with a derisive sneer. "Why, it's just us two, Edward, how much more alone can we be?"  Nygma clawed at the ground in his panic, apparently not noticing how he was tearing up his fingertips against the rough flooring.  He gasped as his back hit the corner of the room, and his eyes darted frantically back and forth, searching for any escape.  He whimpered when he found none, pressing himself as flat as he could against the wall and drawing his knees up to his chest.  

"Oh, you are pathetic, aren't you?" Jonathan scoffed, kneeling down in front of his quarry.  Nygma somehow managed to make himself even smaller, turning his head away and squeezing his eyes shut with a terrified sob.  Jonathan reached out with his free hand and grabbed Nygma firmly by the chin, turning his head so that he was forced to face him.  He noted with a laugh how much Nygma was trembling underneath his fingertips, shaking uncontrollably as tears streamed freely down his face.  

"What's the matter, Edward?" Jonathan asked with mock sympathy. "You seem frightened.  Surely an important man like you isn't afraid of anything?"  Nygma barely stifled a sob, squeezing his eyes even more tightly shut.  Jonathan's grin widened, and he reached up with the hand still wearing the fear gauntlet, tracing a delicate question mark across the sensitive skin of Nygma's cheek with the tip of one needle.  

"It's a shame I didn't have any forewarning about this," Jonathan mused. "You have one of the most violent reactions to fear toxin I've observed as to-date.  I'd have loved to get it on recording."  He leaned forward, practically touching Nygma's nose with his own.

"Open your eyes, Edward," he hissed, tightening his grip on his subject's face. "Open your eyes, or I'll make you regret it."  Something in Nygma's fevered brain registered the threat, for he peeled his eyes reluctantly open, trembling even more violently when he found himself gazing into Jonathan's yellow glare.  Jonathan laughed when he saw the look of pure, raw, undiluted fear in his eyes.

"Oh, how the mighty fall," Jonathan whispered. "You've spent all this time building yourself up from the ground, making yourself into this intellectual giant.  But look at you now- it seems that big brain of yours you love to boast about has betrayed you."  Nygma whimpered, trying to jerk his head away.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, boy," Jonathan growled.  That was the ticket.  Nygma went ramrod stiff, forcing his gaze back to Jonathan with a look of mute terror.

"Interesting," Jonathan noted. "You don't like being called that, do you, boy?"  All the color drained from Nygma's face, and he clenched every muscle in his body.  Frozen with fear. Through his research, Jonathan had come to realize that that was a learned reaction to fear, usually in response to some recurring threat.  He wondered...

"What do you have to say to your father, boy?" Jonathan growled.  Bulls-eye.  

"I didn't do it," Nygma whimpered, frantically spitting his words out. "I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I-"

"What didn't you do?" Jonathan hissed excitedly.

"I didn't cheat!" Nygma cried, lashing out at his attacker in a panic.  Jonathan grunted when his subject's fist connected with his stomach, releasing his face and stumbling backwards from his kneeling position.  Nygma curled up into as tight a ball as he possibly could, gripping the brim of his hat and pulling it down over his eyes.

"I didn't cheat I didn't cheat I didn't cheat I- I- I-" he sputtered, then sobbed. "I did cheat."

Jonathan stood, smoothing out his coat and studying Nygma with a curious glance.  

"Subject's breathing is beginning to slow," he noted with a hint of disappointment. "Parasympathetic system is slowly regaining control."  

He busied himself with meticulously unstrapping and removing his fear gauntlet, laying it out on his desk, all the while listening as Nygma took shaky, shuddering breaths in an effort to calm himself.  Soon, a stiff silence had settled through the dimly-lit apartment, until Jonathan almost could have forgotten about his verdant interloper.

"A simple 'no' would have sufficed," Nygma said weakly.  Jonathan turned to look at him, slightly amused by the mixture of embarrassment and anger slowly replacing the look of fear on his face. He clutched his crumpled hat so tightly in one hand that his knuckles had turned white, while the other was pressed to his no-doubt aching forehead.  He pushed himself to his feet with difficulty, hissing with pain and grasping at his side.

"This was a new suit," he complained, picking at the blood stains blossoming from the torn green fabric with a shaky hand.  

"I think you'd do well to remember not to touch me like that ever again, Mr. Nygma," Jonathan said with a hint of hostility.  Under normal circumstances, he was sure that Nygma would have had some sharp comeback, some obscure quotation or asinine riddle designed to chastise; however, these were not normal circumstances.  

"...Right," said Nygma meekly.  He smoothed out his hat the best he could, tugging it back over his disheveled hair and looking anywhere but at Jonathan as he snatched his cane from its hook on the wall.  Jonathan couldn't help but feel a hint of satisfaction at that- the man needed to be brought down a few pegs.  Still, he didn't dislike Nygma, and he'd proven to be a valuable ally.

"Watch yourself out there, Mr. Nygma," he warned, stepping forward and grabbing the door for him. "The Bat's been awful busy these past few nights.  Hate to see you get caught off-guard."  For the first time since he'd met him, Nygma had no response to offer Jonathan.  He shuffled out into the creaky staircase, leaning heavily on his cane as he descended.  He paused halfway down, conflicted, before turning over his shoulder and muttering a curt, "Dr. Crane," with a tip of his hat.  Jonathan watched him go with a burning curiosity.  The man really was an enigma, and that voice in the back of Jonathan's head was screaming at him to pursue him, to drag him back and pick his brain apart bit-by-bit until he'd learned exactly what made him tick.  Jonathan pushed the thought aside, closing the door and making sure it had properly locked.  No matter what he was left wondering, Jonathan wanted the man on the same side as him.  He would refrain from any more tests, for the time being.

Besides, there were bound to be plenty of opportunities in the future.