#*through clenched teeth* whatever man it’s fine. I don’t care

[voiddragoncat]

I’m going to see Sonic 3 tonight I’m so excited!!!! I’m gonna YELL if they play any kinda rendition of Live & Learn. I’ll probably yell regardless.

Drew this to celebrate, and because I hadn’t made a finished drawing of Shadow in a while even though it’s literally his year

The majority of the time it took to draw this was spent trying to add his arm and hand

I eventually got too frustrated and just got rid of em but I’m still gonna post one of the sketches because I spent too damn long on that to just. Not.

[iamyoursonly]

Problem Solving? (28/07/2024)

your girl is back. literally cooked this up because i felt like it. I AM NOT CRYING IN MY ROOM DON’T WORRY. anyways enjoyyyyyy. (can you guys tell I’m still in my bakugo phase)

1k words — unedited (might have a pt two)

In times of desperation and despair, I often resort to crying my eyes out instead of trying to solve the problem at hand. As of right now, my tears have been rolling down my cheeks uncontrollably, sobs and sniffles apparent.

I always question myself if I have ever known what I was living for. But until this day, I still do not have the answer. Was it for the pleasure of surprise in life? Or the sense of fulfilment when I succeed one day? I have absolutely no idea. I hate how I look, how I sound, how I don’t fit into beauty standards… How am I supposed to love someone if I’m unable to even love myself?

Sharp pain penetrates through my chest as my emotions flood and then overflows, making me overwhelmed with all sorts of emotions. I clench my teeth to stop myself from screaming out loud and yet the inner voice inside me is telling me to let it go.

A knock, and another. Then the voice speaks, “Open up, lil shit.”

I could recognise that voice anywhere. That rough tone but has a nice touch of kindness inside when they speak to others, a bit loud yet still soft. Bakugo Katsuki.

I snapped out from the thoughts and the emotions. Using my sleeve to rub away my tears, then proceeding to check if I looked presentable in the mirror. To be absolutely honest, I do not look presentable. Eyes red and puffy, face swollen and body bloated from the immense amount of food I’ve consumed. But I’m wearing a hoodie. So I guess it’s fine…

Opening the door, I immediately lock eyes with him. His crimson ones meeting mine, as if they were taking in the image of me and asking me if I were okay. His eyes spoke of concern and care.

As people always say, ‘actions speak louder than words’. Katsuki reached out to me and gave me a big hug, which he never does because he’s not keen on physical touch. And the second our bodies made contact, the tears threatened to pour out again.

“What’s wrong? Tell me about it.” He says, his tone calmer than usual.

I wasn’t sure how I’d respond. The emotions were flooding inside my head, and all I was doing was telling myself not to cry. Reluctantly, I said, “Everything.”

He just kept quiet. His company was soothing, I have to admit. And thanks to him, my inner person took over and the tears fell once again. The obvious whimpering was deafening, I cried like there was no tomorrow. All the emotions I’ve been suppressing since he came in went rushing out, hitting me like a truck.

Katsuki, being the man he is, he soothed my back, once, twice, thrice…

My breathing slowed before I started choking on my breath. I held onto his hug tight, still not willing to let go of him yet I never wanted him to be the one who sees me in this state.

The inner voice inside of me cries, “Everything’s wrong. I hate my voice, I hate my face, I hate my body, I hate what I have done, I hate the way I think, I hate how everything just goes wrong when I do it, I hate that nothing goes right, I hate how I write, I hate how I’m incapable of being better, I hate myself.”

A long moment of silence arrives as I take in whatever I have thrown out of my mouth just now. The realisation was harsh when I knew it wasn’t the rational choice as I might lose him. I can’t lose him.

Katsuki looked at me, “Don’t say that. I love your eyes, the way you look at me, the way you’re nice to a lot of people, how you’re always smiling, hardworking and loving towards others. You’re so beautiful also, the way your lips curl up is unique. And the way your eyes light up when you eat your favourite cake. I love everything about you. I love you.”

He locks eyes with me before caressing my face with his left hand, “Even your flaws are beautiful, they are a part of you. If you don’t learn how to love yourself, how can you possibly love another?”

I was speechless, I did not know how to react to all that information he just thrown at me. The compliments and the hidden love confession that I noticed. A blush creeps up onto my face as I bury my face into his shoulder, “You love me?”

Feeling him smile and his voice comes right after it, “Yes I do. I know it might be unexpected but trust me, I really do.“

“Since when? And why? There are so many better choices than me…”

“Since I first laid eyes on you, because you caught my eye. You’re strong during that entrance exam and I was kinda, surprised. And I’m sorry I was harsh to you in the beginning, I swear I was an immature bitch that didn’t think before he spoke.”

“Katsuki…”

He used his index finger to shush me, “If I love you properly would you promise to love yourself and learn to love me too?”

His feelings may not be reciprocated in this moment but that tingle in my heart feels the genuine care and sincere love in his tone. “I promise.”

“So would you let me, Bakugo Katsuki become your one and only love, your boyfriend?”

“Yes!”

He holds my hand as we walk down to the cafeteria for lunch, all eyes on us. His grip on my hand tightens as he glares at all of them before finally yelling at them, “What are you extras looking at? Is my girlfriend too pretty for you to handle?” A pause and a moment of silence proceeds. ”Good. Just so you know, she is mine. Back off losers.”

I chuckled and kissed his cheek before sitting down at our usual table, “I love you.”

He smiled and squeezed my hand, “I love you too, darling.”

[mxssingmemories]

Hey can write a fic where r is tony kid (dont care for the gender) tony was called to pick up r thinking they did something bad but instead its this

Like r used bear glue and got multiple of them stuck all of the school years later r is part of the avengers and they find out about this little prank

the school incident // tony stark x daughter!reader

summary: you've always been the type to enjoy pulling a good prank. unfortunately, your newest idea gets you caught and in major trouble. what happens when your dad (and the avengers) find out?

wc: 1k~

warnings: a giant penis (NOT nsfw i promise)

a/n: this was so much fun and i am SO sorry it's so late <3

When Tony got the text message that you needed to be picked up from school, he freaked out. His brain ran through so many scenarios so fast it made him dizzy; what if you’d gotten in a fight? What if you started a fight? What if you and Peter messed up big time? 

He shook his head to clear his mind, and ran down to the garage.

“Everything alright, Boss?” Happy asked, eyebrows knitted together. Tony just nodded, and slipped into his car. The fifteen minute ride to your school was filled with worry from him, the foot that wasn’t pressing on the gas pedal bouncing up and down repeatedly. He told himself to breathe; you didn’t need your dad to walk into the office panicking like a mad man.

He pulled into the parking space as quickly as possible, rushing to the all too familiar Principal’s office. “Hi, I’m here for Y/N Stark?,” he told the receptionist. She seemed to forget how to use words when she motioned him to the back. A blush rose on her face as he left, and if it were any other time Tony would have flirted with her just to embarrass you.

The air in the office was tense, and you sat in one of the seats with a blush on your face. You looked up to see your dad’s relieved expression that quickly turned into one of frustration when he realized you weren't hurt.

“Good afternoon, Mr.Stark. I’m sorry to pull you out of whatever..business you were dealing with, but Y/N pulled something we just can’t ignore.”

“It’s perfectly fine, sir. What did she do?” he asked him, his eyes narrowing at you across the table.

“I don’t think there is a delicate way to put this, Mr.Stark, so I’m just going to lay it all out for you. Miss Stark was caught on video supergluing what seems to be a massive..sex toy,” she muttered under her breath,”with one Peter Parker. His guardian has already been made aware of this and appropriate action has been taken. ”

Tony was, for once, speechless. He looked at you, the Principal, and back at you a few times. You could feel your ears begin to turn red as the silence got longer and longer, doing your best not to burst out laughing as it would only make the situation worse. His jaw was wide open, and he finally snapped back to reality when you reached across the table to shut it for him.

“What the absolute hell?” He yelled, forgetting where you both were for a second. You blushed even harder, hiding a snicker behind your sleeve despite your dad’s very obvious anger.

“I have somewhere to be, but I hope you have a good day. Please send me an email with the information about what you’re going to do with her. I assure you this will be taken care of,” he rambled gruffly, grabbing your arm and dragging you out of the office quickly.

On your way out, you passed the foyer. Despite your best efforts, Tony peered through the blinds to get a look at the “issue.” It was big enough to be seen from the office, and this just seemed to piss your dad off more. He averted his eyes quickly. His jaw was clenched so hard, you contemplated sticking your ring between his teeth as a joke, but decided against it knowing it would only make the situation worse.

The drive home was tense. His fist was tightly wrapped around the gearshift, only taking his eyes off the road to throw a glare or two at you. The minute you arrived at the tower, he grabbed your arm once again and took you to the personal floor.

“What were you thinking?! You could have jeopardized your education! Do you realize what this will look like to colleges?!” 

For some reason, you giggled a little bit, and the giggle turned into a laughing fit. Tony quickly joined you, laughing so hard tears were coming out of both of your eyes. 

“I can’t even pretend it’s not funny anymore,” he wheezed, bending over and dramatically falling to the floor. 

“You know what makes it even funnier?” you giggled, looking your dad in the eyes. “That wasn’t even the only one!” you shrieked, putting your head between your knees as you cackled. 

This only caused you both to laugh harder, clutching your stomachs like your lives depended on it. It took about five minutes for you both to sober up from the laughing ordeal, and an extra 5 for Tony to put his serious dad face back on.

“I have to admit it was a really good prank,” he smiled at you. “Even though it was fuckin’ hilarious, you’re still in hot water. I’m going to let you go without punishment this time, little miss, but if it happens again there will be actual consequences. Okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded your head in agreement, already bounding up the stairs to tell Pepper what happened.

“TONY!” She yelled downstairs, and he braced himself for the unavoidable lecture. In his opinion, though, it was worth it.

The team was in the main living room, gathered around a few files dealing with some “official business.” Amidst the normal files, there was one that stood out. It was titled “The School Incident.”

Even though they knew they shouldn’t be snooping, their curiosity outweighed their morals, and they clicked on the file.

In it was security footage from your school, detailing the exact moment the prank was pulled. Everyone sat around the table in shock, silence filling the room as they processed what they’d just seen. Apparently, you’d decided that this was the exact moment to walk in, and the Avengers all stared at you when you made your entrance. Dropping your backpack at the door heavily, you flopped down on the couch exasperatedly. 

“Y’all. I had such a weird day, this guy named- Why is everyone looking like they just saw a ghost?” you asked, confusion spelled out on your face. Your eyes focused next on what the team had pulled up on the screen, and realization flashed in your eyes as you jumped up and ran out of the room. You didn’t even bother trying to explain. The Avengers burst out into laughter as they followed you out of the room, the ruckus so loud it Peter could probably hear it in Queens. You had no choice but to run, and run you did.

[edosianorchids901]

Shatter

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "you never cared"

Cw: anger, sensory overload, alcohol

Rome, 41 AD

Crowley had, somewhat naively, hoped that things were looking up. He’d always enjoyed spending time with Aziraphale, after all. An evening of oysters and alcohol sounded like just the thing to fix whatever was wrong with him.

Only, it hadn’t fixed it. Sure, for about five minutes he was closer to happy as they talked and drank together. But then the storm clouds rolled back in, and the bristling tension inside him had only gotten worse.

He tried taking deep breaths. He tried getting even more drunk. He tried telling himself that he was being ridiculous, and should just relax and enjoy having someone who would put up with him when he was this irritable.

It didn’t work. Instead of getting less irritable, he was getting more. A lot more. More to the point where he wasn’t sure he could keep it in anymore.

And Aziraphale. Kept. Talking.

Normally, that was fine. He liked listening to Aziraphale talking. Enthusiasm was great, and no one did enthusiasm like Aziraphale. Normally, it made him feel less alone.

Today, Crowley wanted Aziraphale, the other diners, and the whole of Earth to shut the fuck up and let him have two seconds of fucking peace.

A steady march of profanity had started up in his head a while ago. He couldn’t manage to switch it off. It didn’t help with the overload, except that it did in some way. Like it was releasing a little bit of the pressure.

But not enough. The pressure was still building, an explosion of panicked rage burning in his chest. Every single noise stoked the flames higher, pushed him further towards a supernova.

The clamor of the other diners rose, laughter from another group.

Crowley twitched. It was fine, nothing to get upset about…

“Oh, and then,” Aziraphale started, “the man said—”

“I don’t care,” Crowley snapped.

He hadn’t meant to say it. But his whole body shook with the overload. Everything needed to stop.

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “You don’t care?”

“No.” Dizzy, Crowley shoved to his feet. The whole restaurant pressed in, crushing him. “Just… stop. I can’t handle you talking more.”

The furrows in Aziraphale’s brow deepened. “You never cared. About me taking before, I mean. You always seemed to like—”

“Just…” Quaking, Crowley held up a hand. “Just shut up! Give me two fucking seconds of quiet!”

Then, before he could blow up, he fled. The quaking was only getting worse, agitation eating him alive. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t stop the mounting explosion.

No amount of steady breaths or calm self-talk helped. He just kept heating up, reaching the boiling point.

It was overflowing now, no matter how hard he tried to choke it back under control. He couldn’t see, couldn’t think.

Gritting his teeth, he paused in the middle of an alley, clenched his fists, closed his eyes. It didn’t help. Nothing helped, and he’d probably pissed off the only person who ever cared about him even slightly.

The overload got worse and worse, a building helpless fury that tumbled out in smoke. He let out a howl, wordless distress.

Lightning exploded around him. Crashing into the buildings, the ground, shooting up into the sky.

It died down with a rumble, smoke still billowing from him, and he snarled as he shook himself off. The anger hadn’t died down, not even with the release.

It never died down.

“Oh my,” a voice said from behind him. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

Crowley whipped around, shaking. He would be shaking for hours at this rate. “What the deuce are you doing here? Why are you following me?”

“Well, you’re quite clearly…” Biting his lip, Aziraphale hesitated. “Struggling, shall we say?”

That was an understatement. But the gentle concern in his voice brought tears to Crowley’s eyes.

The dark glasses weren’t enough to hide the tears. He twisted around, stomped off.

Aziraphale fell in step beside him.

They walked down narrow alleys, through the forum, back into alleys. Crowley was still smoldering, still didn’t trust himself to speak. If he spoke, he might blow up again, and it was bad enough that he’d done it once.

Gradually, though, his strength failed. The tears rose again, and he couldn’t choke them back. He couldn’t push himself, not anymore. He’d run out of energy.

Exhausted, he crumpled to the ground and pulled himself to lean against a building. Aziraphale, who had been walking silently beside him the whole time, vanished.

Crowley couldn’t blame him. After all, who would want to be around someone who got angry enough to blow up?

“Here, I brought you some more wine. I-I thought it might help.”

Startled, Crowley looked up. Aziraphale hovered nearby, a jug in hand. “Why’d you come back?”

Aziraphale’s eyebrow lifted. “Because… I thought it might help? You seem to be having a particularly awful day.”

Crowley opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. He pushed his sunglasses up, wiped his eyes, took a deep breath.

“Awful week,” he finally managed, almost burst into tears. “It’s been an awful week. Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

He exhaled in a gust, worn out. Didn’t have the energy to put it in words.

Aziraphale sat beside him, holding out the jug. “It’s okay. And you don’t have to explain to me, if it’s too hard. We can just share a drink, silently.”

Choked up, Crowley took the jug. Maybe later, he could try to articulate what the helpless anger at existence was like, especially when it surged out of control. But for now, drinking silently with Aziraphale sounded damn good.

[sillysickfics192]

super smash bros

is aged them up just a teeny bit so tyler can drive

Tyler was ready for the school day to be over. It had dragged on long enough, and sitting in eighth period, he was bored out of his mind.

His phone buzzed

Finally something interesting,

a text from Aiden appeared on the screen.

“hey man can you give me a ride home”

Okay, not as exciting as he had hoped, but at least he’d get to spend some time with his friend after school. 

“yeah sure, what’s the occasion?” Tyler knows that Aiden and Ben usually walk home, even on days like today, when Ben stays after school for his session with the guidance counselor. Usually Aiden would just venture the almost a mile walk home easy breezy, so something was off about this.

“nothing just don’t feel like walking home today”

Aiden replied, no punctuation as usual.

“alright. are you feeling okay?”

“i’m fine.”

“okay, meet me by the side door and we can walk out to my car together.”

“👍”

And with that, it was back to the boringness of eighth period.

-

Taylor waited for Aiden by the door they planned to meet at, scrolling on instagram.

As Aiden approached, he noticed something was off. Aiden’s skin was pale and clammy, and his smile seemed dull today.

“Hey Ty, no Taylor today?”

“Nope, she’s got robotics. You sure you’re okay? You don’t look so good, and I’m not just trying to call you ugly.”

“Let’s just get home.”Aiden mumbles through clenched teeth.

When Tyler unlocks the door, Aiden hops into the passenger seat, relaxing into the cushion. Tyler starts the car, turning the vents toward Aiden, who had been fanning himself on the way over.

Before pushing the gas, Tyler reached a hand to Aiden’s forehead.

“Fuck dude, I think you’re sick, you’re literally so hot.”

“You think I’m hot? Thanks man.” Aiden mumbled sarcastically, as if he didn’t already realize he was sick.

“So that’s why you wanted a ride?”

Aiden nodded, closing his eyes and listening to the peaceful hum of the a/c, trying to drown out the pounding of his head and rising nausea

Tyler pulled out of his parking spot, typing Aiden’s address into the gps. He was glad he didn’t have baseball today, it would’ve been bad to make the poor fevered boy next to him walk home.

They got about three minutes down the road, before Tyler watched Aiden’s face somehow lose even more of its color.

“Aiden are y-“

Aiden cut him off. “Pull over.”

“This is kinda a bad spot for that, assuming your about to puke, there’s a plastic bag with some of Taylor’s random shit in it, just dump that stuff on the ground and use that.”

Aiden didn’t need to be told twice, quickly doing as he’s told and snatching the bag off the ground, with little care for whatever is inside. 

Tyler focused on the road, trying to ignore the sounds of Aiden’s vomit splashing into the bag. Tyler is what some might call, emetophobic. He doesn’t have it bad, but hearing Aiden puking up his guts next to him is making his breaths quick and his hands shake on the steering wheel.

The heaves started to get smaller, although still as gross if not grosser, especially when one wave brought with it a harsh wet cough or burp. But by the time they arrived at Aiden’s, he had finished vomiting, taking shallow breaths and holding the almost full warm bag of puke in his hands. When Tyler pulled up, Aiden was quick to exit the vehicle and rush to the front door, fumbling for his house key. He was ready to dispose of the bag of vomit in his hand. Tyler followed close behind.

“Aren’t you going home?” Aiden asked, unlocking the door.

“Of course not. I can’t just leave you here sick like this.”

“But clearly you don’t handle throwing up very well, and something tells me I’m going to be doing more of that today.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s what friends do, right?”

“Whatever you say. Don’t feel like you have to stay if me being sick like this freaks you out too much or whatever.”

“It’s okay. Now let’s get you to bed.”

They climbed up the steps, Aiden holding onto Tyler for some support, his legs felt weaker than ever.

Once Tyler was sure Aiden had everything he needed, he stepped out of the room to call Ashlyn.

It rang twice before she answered.

“Hey Tyler, what’s up?”

“Hey Ash, would you mind coming over to Aiden’s? He’s sick and you’re the only other person who’s not busy right now, I don’t think I can handle him by myself.”

“Is he that much of a handful?”

“Not really, I’m just kinda afraid of vomit. Think you can help?”

“Yeah sure. But just fyi, I have no idea how to take care of someone sick.”

“Just leave the rest to me.”

-

Ten minutes later, the doorbell rings. Ashlyn waits at the door, let in by Tyler and led up to Aiden’s bedroom. The room has a couch, where the two waited for Aiden to wake up. Tyler has had plenty of experience taking care of sick people. He always takes care of Taylor and his mom when they get sick, especially after his dad’s passing. Tyler has already taken Aisen’s temperature (101, which he should keep checking in case it goes up and he needs to take him to the hospital.), one of the first steps when someone gets sick. Now, he just needs to make sure Aiden is hydrated, taking the proper medications, and eaten when he is ready.

Speaking of which, he should probably get to work making Aiden something to eat. He searched the kitchen for ingredients, finding just enough ingredients for a couple servings of noodle soup. He’s not a great cook, but he can easily follow a recipe on his phone.

Ashlyn sat around, feeling useless. That is, until the sound of frantic footsteps above her, telling her Aiden is awake.

“I’ll go check on him” She told Tyler, who was busy with the soup. 

She speed walked up the stairs, unsurprised to find that Aiden was getting sick again. Tyler had left a bucket for him on the nightstand, but Aiden seemingly had tried to make it to the bathroom, but obviously didn’t get there on time. Aiden’s shirt had vomit down the front, and a puddle was forming on the floor. Ashlyn grabbed the bucket and handed it to Aiden, leading him to sit down in his desk chair. Aiden tried to speak between mostly dry heaves now.

“Ash? When- when did you-“ he was cut off by his own gags.

“Shh. Just get it up. Tyler called me since he’s not good around vomit.”

Aiden nodded in understanding through the dry heaves. 

“Aiden I don’t think you have anything left to bring up. Drink some water, I’ll clean this up.”

Aiden wanted to argue against her cleaning up his mess. But he knew he couldn’t do it himself, not without getting sick again. So he trudged back to his bed and let Ashlyn handle it.

Ashlyn cleaned up the mess, which was really gross, but had to be done. It took about ten minutes, in which Aiden had still not fallen back to sleep.

“I can’t sleeeep.” he groaned.

“You have been sleeping for a while already. Maybe come downstairs with me? Tyler is making soup, it should be ready soon.”

Aiden grabbed his blanket off of his bed, wrapping himself up like a cloak over his head, making Ashlyn giggle. 

They carefully went down the stairs. Greeting Tyler in the kitchen.

“Hey germy, you sleep well?” Tyler said, barely looking up from his pot.

“More or less.” he responded, his voice groggy

“Well, your soup will be ready soon. You like chicken noodle?”

“Definitely. I’m starving.”

“That’s good to hear. It’ll be done in around fifteen minutes. Go get comfortable on the couch and wait.”

Aiden didn’t need to be told twice to sit down, his limbs feeling like mush.

“Oh and Ashlyn? Take his temperature.” Tyler called from the kitchen.

Ashlyn grabbed the thermometer, feeling the heat radiating off of the boy before the thermometer told her anything.

“It’s about the same.” she said after it beeped.

Aiden nodded, feeling bored out of his mind.

Ashlyn must have sensed this, because she suggested they play a video game, sitting down next to Aiden, who agreed.

They open Super Smash Bros, and picked out their characters Ashlyn as Yoshi and Aiden as Bowser. 

As soon as the round started, they focused in on smashing the buttons, attacking each other. Aiden seemed to know all of the combos and tricks, while Ashlyn was mindlessly smashing buttons, yet still winning.

Aiden however, did some kind of super move, making a comeback and winning just before the round ended.

“Haha! In your facceeee! Even when I’m sick I still dominate smash bros!”

“Yeah yeah whatever. Round 2?”

They continued to play like this, Aiden winning continuously until his food was ready. Tyler unfolded a couple tv trays, and they all sat on the couch eating their soup. Tyler put on Aiden’s favorite spider-man movie. (The first Andrew Garfield one) And they peacefully watched the movie and slurped their soup. Once he finished his soup, Aiden scooted towards Ashlyn, resting his head on her shoulder, and falling back asleep.

🫶

request are open!

[dandelionpixels]

Hi! I recently started iasip and i’m so sad there’s no good charlie x reader stories! so i was wondering if you could do a charlie kelly x reader x nick miller bc they would be so funny together as they like fight for the reader’s attention. maybe like schmitt and nick go to patty’s pub to help the reader hit on men(charlieeee) and maybe nick gets jelly. you can choose who the reader ends up w but i thought it’d be a cute idea!

omg this is such a good concept!!!! i love it i hopw i can do it justice <33

- schmidt and nick drag you out to paddys, insisting that you need to get out there and have fun

- its a pretty busy night and charlie is almost single-handedly working the bar while the rest of the staff is seemingly having an argument off to the side

- nick points him out, “what about him?” you look for a moment, hes scruffy and panicked but there’s something about him that’s intriguing so you nod, “yeah i like him.” nick does a double take, “okay so- wait what? you like him?” you shrug, “sure” and nick looks affronted, “really?? the bartender with the weird facial hair? he looks like he can barely read.”

- schmidt butts in, “careful nicholas, you’re basically insulting yourself.” nick shoots him a glare and then turns back to you, “fine, whatever. him.”

- a bit later, you guys managed to find some seats at the bar. charlie immediately appears in front of you, speaking so quickly its almost al one word “hi-welcome-to-paddys-pub-what-can-i-get-you?” you pause for a moment and nick steps in, “hey dude, you seem understaffed.”

- charlie spins around to see his coworkers still shouting about something in the back, and turns back to nick, “yeah, do you want a drink?”

- you shove nick lightly, “offer to help him!” nick makes a digusted look, “it’s my night off, you want me to work at a bar that’s not even mine??” you only need to look at him for a moment for him to surrender to your wishes. he turns to charlie, gritting his teeth, “hey man, im a bartender downtown. want some help?”

- charlie grins and it admittedly doesnmake you blush slightly, “seriously dude?? that would be so awesome!!” nick flashes you a tight smile and stands on his chair to hop over the bar in a way that makes your pink cheeks flush darker.

- the next couple minutes are charlie running nick through where everything is and explaining that the health codes are more of a suggestion at this bar. nick just nods and pretends he already knew everything.

- the two of them share a quick fist bump and split up. despite nick being new, he falls into the rhythm pretty quickly and gets confident even quicker. charlie flashes you a smile and sets a cocktail of some sort in front of you, “thanks for the new bartender dude, this one’s on me!” he winks and despite being called dude, it feels like he could’ve been flirting

- before you can even process that, nick hollers your name from the far end of the bar, you turn just in time to see him toss a glass in the air and catch it with a wink in your direction

- the rest of the night consists of the two boys showing off in various more extravagant ways, always making sure to either wink or shoot you with finger guns. schmidt isn’t shy, he keeps leaning over to tell you for the 20th time that they’re flirting with you. on number 21 you swat him on the shoulder, “knock it off!! i’m having fun, just enjoy the view why don’t you!”

- as the night winds down, the crowd wittles down to you and just a couple other people. nick makes his way over, leaning over the bar to talk to you, “finally, i feel like i’ve barely said anything to you tonight.” charlie walks up and leans against the bar, right next to nick, but only looking at you, “thank you guys, really a lifesaver.”

- nick punches him lightly in the shoulder, jaw clenched slightly, “anytime man, pleasure working with you. i really should be getting her home though.” charlie flashes you a lopsided grin, “are you sure? you could stick around here, i should be off soon and i can take you home.” you rest your elbows on your side of the bar, chin in your hands and a smile on your face, “we could all stay a little longer?”

- both boys immediately nod in reluctant agreement, tossing a towel over their shoulders in sync

[wolfs-writing-den]

Snippet #1 - Aftermath

Obi-Wan and Dragon!Anakin escape, with the main casualty being Anakin’s arm. This is the late-night, unedited, rambling edition of a conversation that comes later- after the reveal that Dragon!Anakin is In Fact Vader The Sith.

Dw tho. I’m sure things go fine later. Mace is gonna be thrilled.

•Snippet Below!•

“Vader… your arm needs treatment. This ship’s kit barely has a decent strip of bacta, you need professional medical treatment-“

“Then drop me off at the next spaceport, and go home, Obi-wan.”

The Jedi seemed torn, and at that he could only growl through clenched teeth. The room swayed, another flash of pain left him almost breathless, clouding his senses and adding to the fog coating his thoughts.

Obi-Wan was shaking his head. Why was Obi-Wan shaking his head?

“I’m not going to abandon you.”

“Why not?!”

“Because you are injured! Severely!”

“That has never stopped anyone before!” Anakin’s growl turned thunderous, eyes flashing sickly golden-yellow. Obi-Wan faltered, before setting his jaw and staring back just as fiercely.

“Jedi do not just discard their allies- their friends- so easily.”

“Good, because I am neither-“ Anakin hissed, irritation and pain fueling his ire against this stubborn, stupid old man. “- I am a Monster, Jedi Knight. Worse even- a Sith Monster.” He spat, teeth sharpening into fangs even as a white-hot pounding in his bones warned against any further shift.

“I don't need your mercy or your help.”

The sad look he got from Obi-Wan in response only stoked the flames. With a bitter curse he moved to stand- only to try and brace himself with his missing hand. A guttural cry ripped from his throat as the roughly-bandaged remains of his forearm failed him, sending him to the floor in a rather inelegant heap.

Or well- he would’ve ended up there had Obi-Wan not caught him. He fell limp against the Jedi, his remaining hand clutching the other’s robes as he let himself be guided down to their knees. The gentleness and care that Obi-Wan took startled him, so abruptly different from his usual existence. It felt utterly surreal, like this was all merely a fever dream.

“No monster would’ve saved my young padawan like you did- no sith would’ve taken the care to ensure safe escape for all those slaves at the camp.”

“…” Anakin shivered, falling into the warmth of the Jedi holding him up, breathing ragged and broken. His arm burned, his senses felt muddled- the force was muted in a way it never had been before and instinctively, he knew it was associated with the loss of his arm. It would never be the same again.

“I- I am no friend of the Jedi.” His voice felt hoarse, and his words lost their bite. He was pretty sure he’d reopened something and was bleeding all over Obi-Wan. “You and Ahsoka don’t count. You’re both crazy.”

He got a quiet chuckle at that.

“But I’m serious. What do you think will happen when you bring me back to that fancy temple of yours on Coruscant?”

“You’ll get medical treatment, and proper care afterwards. You have valuable information- a deal could be struck for your safety. A sort of witness protection.”

Anakin could only blink up at the man owlishly, his sheer naivety astounding. “Obi-Wan…. I’ll be put in suppressing cuffs and thrown in the brig. They’ll torture whatever information they want out of me and then kill me if they know what’s good for them.”

Even before he was done talking, the other’s head was shaking ‘no’. Again. Damn him.

“Please- trust me. If you can’t trust the Jedi, trust in me. I won’t let your wounds go untreated- you lost your arm saving us, Vader. If you don’t get treatment now you may lose your life-“ his voice cracked, and to Anakin’s flagging consciousness, the emotion over something so trivial made absolutely no sense.

But… Obi-Wan believed it. The truth of his promise chimed out into the force, even muted as it was. He was so, so tired…..

“Fine.” He huffed, “do as you see fit.” Black spots flitted in and out of his vision- making his head hurt something fierce. He thought he may have heard his name being called as his eyes slid shut and he slumped against the warmth at his side- but he was unconscious again before it could matter.

Obi-wan was left holding his new charge- hoping desperately that he wasn’t making some horrible, horrible mistake.

•✨🐉•

[presidentbungus]

Demo starts scritching at the bottom of Scout’s skull, then slowly starts moving up, humming something he doesn’t recognize under his breath. Scout’s not really sure what he’s doing, but it’s nice. And it’s kinda hard to care when all he can think about is being pressed against Demo and it’s like sitting against a space heater he’s so fucking warm, their legs tangled together in front of them, and Scout just wishes he could see his face.

He can imagine it. Demo always makes the same face when he’s concentrating and he’s always concentrating on something (and right now he’s focused on Scout, just him, and fuck, man). He’s probably squinting at nothing in particular, and he’d be cross-eyed if he had two eyes, lips all stupidly puffed out like he’s clenching his teeth together. Maybe he’s sticking his tongue out just a little, like he does when he’s really in the zone.

… Probably thinking, like, wow, Scout’s so great, his hair’s so soft and nice, boy I’m lucky, I’m never gonna dump him unless he dumps me, in which case I would accept that as a reasonable decision and still be best friends with him afterwards because he’s just that great. Or something along those lines. He has to remind himself to unscrunch his eyes and unflare his nose and do something mostly regular with his mouth, and he spends a few seconds being really glad Demo can’t see his face right now because he probably looks really stupid.

And the whole time those smart, quick fingers keep brushing across his scalp, combing through his hair. His other arm’s got Scout all wrapped up, resting heavy enough against his chest his lungs pinch just a little when he breathes in too deep and don’t get him wrong, no complaints here. Demo keeps humming, probably something about pirates or krakens or taxes. Scout can’t think of anything to say and for the first time in his life nothing’s coming out of his mouth anyway. He’s sweating through the bandages on his hands though. And his heart’s hammering so hard he can feel it in the tips of his fingers, and he’s sure Demo’s able to feel it through his spine, and oh god is that embarrassing? Is he being fucking weird? Did he remember to put on deodorant this morning because oh god he’s so fucking sweaty, and maybe he should say something just to clarify, maybe something like I’m sorry if I smell bad and I’m sweaty, you’re really great and all, I like your arms a lot and your music’s stupid but you’re good at singing it, something like that really quick, oh my god oh my god…

And out of nowhere, right before Scout opens his big stupid mouth and gets himself broken up with, Demo pops his lips and says: “Scout, if you love me, ya gotta wash yer hair.”

“What—c’mon.” Scout’s worried that means the little head massage thing is over, but he still keeps going, thank god, and you know what, whatever.

“No, really.” Demo thinks on it. “Your scalp feels like a nice greasy patch of temperate swamp.”

He finally awkwardly cranes his neck back (trying to make sure Demo doesn’t move his arm and hey, he doesn’t) and sure enough, he’s making that stupid fucking face, tongue out and everything even though he just spoke, and whatever long line of nothing Scout had in his mouth just dissolves. Instead he manages to muster a faint: “Hey.”

“Just a touch of shampoo, Scoutie, I’m tellin’ ye. Could be nice.”

He scoffs. “I use shampoo.”

“You use a three-‘n-one. I’ve seen it.”

“And it works fine, asshole.”

“It could work better.” Before Scout can respond to this, that arm squeezes all the air out of him—probably on purpose—and Demo’s other arm presses on top of it, and his head nudges into the crook of Scout’s neck and says “Please, Scoutie, for me, just for me?”

… Aw man. “Fine, whatever,” he wheezes, and Demo lets go of him so he can throw his arms in the air. “But I don’t know any of that shit.”

“I promise I can work that out,” he hums, already back to scratching down Scout’s scalp. “Thank you, thank you,” suddenly attacking him with kisses down his neck and the side of his face, making the loudest friggin’ smacking sounds he can probably muster.

“Geez—geez, okay, I get it,” and some horrible embarrassing sound that’s probably supposed to be a laugh frees itself from his throat, and Scout barely tries to push him off. It doesn’t work, and he doesn’t stop. Thank god.

[onelastfic]

Basteta and Ronnie Interactions

Wanted to get into writing more Present AU Callyieverse stuff and thought I'd get the juices flowing with some fun interactions. Likely went way overboard but this way a fun dynamic to write 😅

————

The metal door slammed shut behind them, and the hiss of gas began to fill the small, windowless room. Ronnie’s eyes darted around, his face already turning red as the air grew thick with toxins.

"Shit! This ain't good!" Ronnie gasped, clutching his throat. His breathing was ragged, and he staggered against the wall, his hands trembling. "Let us out, damn it! Ronnie ain’t built to be in a gas chamber!"

Basteta, however, stood unphased, arms crossed, her expression as calm as ever.

"Quit screaming will ya. Ya just wasting air." Basteta said, looking around the room.

Ronnie clenched his fists, visibly struggling. "You think Ronnie can just breathe this shit in and be fine?!"

She scoffed, not bothering to look at him. "Ya such a whiner, old man. It’s just some gas, it's not like it’s gonna kill us."

"Ronnie is literally fucking dying over here!" Ronnie’s eyes narrowed as he staggered again. His words came out in strangled bursts as his knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor with a wheeze. "Ronnie… can’t breathe…"

It wasn’t until she noticed his rapid gasping and his desperate flailing for air that she finally seemed to realize something was off. She straightened up, her expression turning serious.

"Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit?!" She strode over to him, assessing his condition. "Ya actually are dying?! I forgot humans aren’t built like me?! Alright, calm down. I’ll get ya outta here."

Ronnie’s gaze blurred as he gritted his teeth. "Ronnie’s gonna be a little more grateful if you hurry up already…"

“Right! Try to Kool-Aid Man this bitch!”

Without another word, Basteta backed up and smashed a hole through the wall with all her might. She yanked Ronnie’s arm and dragged him out, carrying him into the open air with little care for his dignity.

"Next time, ya gotta warn me about ya weak-ass human lungs before I almost unintentionally kill ya."

Ronnie gasped for air, still coughing. "Ronnie… doesn't need saving… But maybe next time… check the damn air first…"

——

Basteta perched on the edge of a rooftop, her tail swishing as she grinned down at Ronnie, who was pacing below.

"Ok, we need cool nicknames for the op!" She called out, her tone laced with mischief.

Ronnie stopped mid-stride, pointing an accusatory finger up at her. "No, we don’t! Ronnie don’t need no stupid nickname!"

"C’mon, don’t be like that, Tropic Thunder." Basteta teased, propping her chin in her hand.

"NO!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the alley.

"Ok, fine." She relented with an exaggerated sigh. "You can be Chocolate Thunder instead."

Ronnie’s face twitched, his hands curling into fists. "Don’t make Ronnie come find you on that roof and whoop your ass! Now focus!"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever ya say, Black Dynamite," Basteta replied with a casual wave of her hand.

Ronnie paused, glaring up at her. Then, after a long beat, he muttered,. "…Ronnie actually don’t hate that one."

——

Gunfire echoed through a narrow alley as Basteta and Ronnie ducked behind a dumpster. Ronnie reloaded his gun, gritting his teeth.

“Damn it, Basteta! What did Ronnie tell you about interrupting his recon?!”

Basteta hissed, peeking around the dumpster. “Oh, sorry, Mr. Perfect! I didn’t realize I needed ya permission to kick some gangbanger ass!”

Ronnie fired off a shot, then glared at her. “Ronnie was scouting! Ronnie had a plan! Then your stupid ass came in claws-first like a goddamn Looney Toon and screwed it all up!”

Basteta threw a rock at a gang member, hitting him square in the forehead. “And ya ‘plan’ was what, exactly? Wait for them to invite ya to their tea party? Some of us like to take action, grandpa.”

Ronnie ducked as bullets whizzed by. “Ronnie ain’t your goddamn grandpa, you overgrown housecat! If you’d shut the hell up for two minutes, we’d be done by now!”

Basteta lunged forward, slashing at an approaching thug before turning to Ronnie with a grin. “Done. What’s ya excuse now, Mr. ‘Professional’?”

Ronnie stood, fists clenched. “Ronnie’s excuse is you, dumbass!”

——

“Ronnie told you not to take the damn vent!” Ronnie’s voice boomed over the comms, frustration laced in every syllable. “It’s a death trap, just like Ronnie said!”

“Oh, shove it, Baldy!” Basteta snarled back, her voice crackling through his earpiece. “The vent was fine until you set off the alarm stomping around like a damn elephant!”

“Ronnie doesn’t stomp—Ronnie moves with precision! It’s not Ronnie’s fault you don’t know how to follow instructions, ya flea-ridden alley cat!”

“Oh, fuck you! Ya the one who couldn’t keep ya big ass from tripping over the laser grid!”

Ronnie grunted, grabbing his rifle and firing off a round at the advancing guards. “Maybe Ronnie tripped because someone didn’t disable the damn grid like they were supposed to, huh?”

“Maybe Ronnie should’ve stayed in whatever back-alley action movie he crawled out of instead of dragging his stupid ego into my heist!”

“Ronnie ain’t here for your ‘heist,’ pussycat—Ronnie’s here to save this damn city, which is apparently too much for your fur-brained ass to handle!”

“Eat my claws, cue ball!” Basteta hissed before her comms cut off abruptly, leaving Ronnie to mutter curses under his breath as he barreled through another group of henchmen.

——

“Ronnie told you to slow the hell down!” Ronnie barked, white-knuckling the dashboard as Basteta’s stolen sports car careened around a corner.

“And I told ya to shut ya big, dumb mouth and let me fucking focus, ya overgrown linebacker!” Basteta shot back, her wild grin visible in the rearview mirror.

“Ronnie’s not joking, dammit! You’re gonna get us both killed!”

“Oh, please,” Basteta purred, yanking the wheel to dodge a hail of bullets. “I’ve got nine lives. You? Eh, maybe two on a good day, Grandpa.”

“Grandpa?! Ronnie’s 24, you rabid hellcat!”

“And ya got the personality of a 60-year-old gym teacher with hemorrhoids!”

Ronnie growled, one hand gripping his sidearm as he fired out the window at their pursuers. “Ronnie ain’t dying in a car driven by a discount Catwoman!”

“Well, buckle up, Baldy, because this pussy’s purring!” She slammed on the gas, leaving Ronnie shouting profanities as the car narrowly avoided another explosion.

——

“Ronnie said keep it quiet!” Ronnie shouted, slamming the door of the safehouse behind him.

“I was quiet!” Basteta snapped, tossing a bloody knife onto the table. “Until ya started firing like Rambo on steroids!”

“Ronnie had to fire because you decided to take on three guys with machetes! What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I was thinking maybe I wouldn’t need backup from Mr. ‘Spray and Pray’ over here!”

“Ronnie don’t miss, you arrogant hairball! Ronnie saves your ass every damn time!”

“Bullshit!” Basteta pointed a clawed finger at him. “If anything, I save your big, bald head from getting popped like a damn watermelon!”

“You save Ronnie?” He scoffed, arms crossing. “Last time Ronnie checked, it was Ronnie dragging your drunken ass out of that bar brawl, remember?”

“Don’t act like ya didn’t start that brawl, ya old sack of testosterone!”

Ronnie’s hands flew up. “Ronnie ain’t starting shit—he’s finishing it! Unlike you, who’s too busy running her mouth and batting her damn eyelashes at every lowlife in Townsville!”

“At least I have eyelashes, chrome dome!”

“You wanna keep talking about Ronnie’s head, or you wanna focus on the mission, huh?!”

“Fine!” Basteta threw her hands up, stalking toward the window. “But next time, I’m letting ya take the machetes, dumbass!”

——

“Where the fuck is Ronnie’s sandwich?!” Ronnie demanded, slamming the Vanguard League’s fridge door shut.

Basteta lounged on the couch, licking her claws. “Oh, that? Yeah, I ate it.”

“You ate Ronnie’s sandwich?!” His voice thundered, making her smirk widen.

“Sure did. You didn’t write your name on it, cue ball.”

Ronnie stormed over, fists clenched. “Ronnie doesn’t need to write his name—Ronnie’s the only one who buys roast beef around here!”

“Well, maybe Ronnie should’ve bought two sandwiches, ‘cause that one was delicious.”

“Ronnie’s gonna put you through the goddamn wall, you thieving little shit!”

“Go ahead, tough guy.” She gestured lazily. “But I don’t think your precious ‘Ronnie sandwich’ is crawling back out of my stomach.”

——

The explosion rocked the ground beneath them, sending dust and debris flying in all directions. Ronnie crawled out of the rubble, groaning, his clothes torn but somehow still intact. He shook his head, brushing dirt from his shoulder as he staggered to his feet.

"Ugh, well that was shitty... Anyone dead?" Ronnie asked, wiping his brow and glaring at Basteta, who laid nearby.

Basteta sat up, looking around at the smoldering wreckage. "Only on the inside, but I was like that before the explosion, so I’m good."

Ronnie stared at her. "You really are a freak, ain’t ya? Explosions don't even faze ya."

Basteta smirked. "That's because I’m built different. You should try it sometime."

Ronnie shook his head. "Ronnie don’t need no lessons from you. But I gotta admit, ya got guts... and a hell of a weird way of using 'em."

"Glad to see you finally appreciate my way of doing things."

"Ronnie sure as hell didn’t say that."

——

Ronnie climbed into the driver’s seat of the hotwired pickup. Basteta slid into the passenger seat, one leg propped on the dashboard, tail flicking lazily as she buckled nothing.

Ronnie glanced at her. “Ronnie don’t see no seatbelt on you.”

Basteta shrugged, lighting a cigarette. “Pssst. What in hell would I need a seatbelt for? What good are they actually for?”

“You’re gonna regret it.” Ronnie said.

She arched a brow, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Why?”

“Because this ain’t Ronnie’s truck so that means Ronnie can do this—”

He slammed on the brakes without warning, throwing the truck into a violent skid. Basteta flew forward, crashing through the windshield in a glorious arc of shattered glass and dirt. She hit the ground with a dull thud, skidding a few feet before coming to a stop.

For a moment, there was only the hum of the engine. Then Basteta twitched, got up completely uninjured, and shook the glass from her fur. Stalking back to the truck, she yanked the door open and climbed back into the passenger seat.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously at Ronnie’s smirking face. “Not. A. Fucking. Word.”

Ronnie snorted, revving the engine again. “Ronnie didn’t say shit. Ronnie showed it.”

——

Ronnie slammed on the brakes at a fork in the road, staring at the map in his hands. Basteta leaned over, eyes narrowed.

“We’re lost, aren’t we?”

“Ronnie don’t get lost.” He snapped, jabbing at the map.

She snorted. “Oh, please. You couldn’t find your own ass with both hands and a flashlight.”

Ronnie glared at her. “Ronnie ain’t takin’ this shit from someone who thought north was where the sun sets!”

“Say that again, dumbass.” Her claws clicked menacingly.

He grinned, leaning back in his seat. “Ronnie said—”

She grabbed the map and tore it in half, scattering the pieces to the wind. His jaw dropped.

“What the fuck?!”

“Now you don’t have a map to pretend to read.” She said smugly, lighting a cigarette.

Ronnie growled. “Ronnie’s gonna throw you out of this goddamn truck.”

——

Ronnie stormed into the room, dragging Basteta behind him as she growled and hissed.

“Ronnie don’t appreciate being lied to, cat!” he shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “Ronnie counted on you, and you fucked it up!”

Basteta rolled her eyes, slamming the door shut behind her with her tail. “What the fuck are you yelling about now, Ronnie? You lose your goddamn binky?”

“You told Ronnie the stash was in that crate!” He yelled, pointing wildly. “Turns out it was full of fucking pillows!”

She bared her teeth in a sharp grin. “Yeah, pillows filled with coke, ya dumb fuck. If ya bothered to check instead of pitching a goddamn tantrum, ya’d know that.”

Ronnie paused, blinking. “...Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Now get outta my face before I shove your precious ‘Ronnie’ right up your ass!”

————

Ronnie belongs to @kururu418

[actress4him]

June of Doom 2023

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Taglist: @painful-pooch

Day 4 - “Does that hurt?” | Delirium | Hypothermia | Stabilization

Day 5 - “It’s not as bad as it looks.” | Handcuffs | Swelling | Flinch

Also qualifies for @whumpawoman ’s Whump Girl Summer, Alt. Prompt - “Look at Me”

Contains: lady whump, graphic broken bone, restraints, fainting, brief emeto mention, captivity

.

.

Isa is still hunched over on her knees, breathing through the pain shooting up her arm, when a hand lands lightly on her other shoulder. Instinctively she jerks backwards, which only doubles the pain. She throws her head back and cries out hoarsely.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, hey, look at me, it’s just me. Just me.” Glancing over, she can see Lainey holding up her hands, cuffs jingling. “Are you…are you okay? That’s a stupid question, obviously you’re not okay, but…crap.” Her hands drop to her lap. “He just…broke your arm, like it was nothing. I don’t…I can’t…” She shakes her head. “I hate him!”

She can’t deal with the chatter right now. “It’s fine. I just…need some time.”

“It’s not fine, would you quit acting like all of this is fine? I know it’s what you're used to, but it is far from fine and you deserve far better than this, okay?”

She knows that being treated like this isn’t alright. Intellectually, at least. It’s hard to remember sometimes, though. In fact, if she’s honest with herself, it’s really only due to Lainey’s presence that she’s started remembering it now. This isn’t normal.

But that doesn’t help her situation any, so she can’t really afford to dwell on it. Maybe that’s why it’s easier to accept that it’s normal for her, at least, instead of worrying about what she can’t change.

Lainey sighs heavily. “Is there��anything I can do?”

Isa starts to shake her head no. She just wants to sit, and breathe, and cope. But she has someone here now who’s willing to help her, and she’d be stupid not to take advantage of that. “There’s a…the cabinet. On the far end.” She motions toward it jerkily before returning to digging her fingernails into her upper arm. “It’s unlocked. There’s a kit in there. And a, uh…a piece of wood.”

Immediately Lainey is up and crossing the room to look in the cabinet she indicated. She holds up the two items in her cuffed hands for Isa to see. “This?”

“Mm-hm.”

She comes back and sits cross-legged in front of her. There’s already a bruise forming on her cheek, matching the ones around her broken nose. “I’m kinda surprised he lets you have first aid stuff.”

“Yeah, well, he…wants me to stay alive…for whatever reason. We have to be careful with it, though. It doesn’t get replenished often.”

Lainey nods in understanding, opening up the kit on the floor. “So…use the wood to stabilize it and wrap these bandages around?”

“Yeah.” It’s good that she has at least a basic knowledge of first aid already. Means she doesn’t have to explain everything, and she can hopefully count on her to do things herself if there comes a time when she can’t help.

Clenching her jaw, Isa carefully moves her arm out where it can be better reached. Lainey sucks in an audible breath through her teeth at the sight of it.

“Ugh. Aw, man, that’s…it looks so wrong.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Isa runs the fingers of her right hand lightly over the misshapen arm. She’s definitely had worse. “Most of it is swelling. Though this…” Her fingers stop on a slight lump in the skin. “This is gonna have to be pushed back into place.”

“Oh, man…”

She glances up at Lainey, who looks a bit paler than usual. “I can do it. I’ve done it before.”

“No, no way. I’m not making you do that yourself. I’m…you’ve got me now, I can do it.” She hesitates, hands hovering in front of her. “Just, uh…tell me what to do.”

“I usually do it against a wall. Makes it easier to brace.” Isa turns her body so that she can splay her arm across the wall, and Lainey scoots herself around closer.

“The fact that you have a usual method for this is…disturbing.”

Ignoring that comment, Isa points to the spot on her arm. “This is it right here. All I can tell you other than that is just…get in a sturdy position and push. And don’t stop if I scream or whatever.”

“Oh man. Okay.” Lainey moves in closer, shoving strands of messy brown hair out of her face. “I can do this. Okay.” Bracing both hands against the arm without pressing down yet, she glances over at Isa. “Alright. You ready?” While Isa nods, she sucks in a deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut, then focuses in on the arm once more.

Looking away, Isa grabs a handful of her shirt and clutches it tight.

“Okay. Three…two…” Before she gets to one, she shoves with all her strength. The bone pops back into place and Isa screams even more hoarsely than the first time before everything starts to go dark.

She can faintly hear a surprised shout and feel herself falling to one side. An instant later, she opens her eyes and finds herself lying on her left side with her arm stretched out in front of her. Lainey is gingerly wrapping the worn, slightly bloodstained bandage from the kit around both her arm and the makeshift splint.

“Hey,” she says softly when she glances over and sees Isa’s eyes open. “You okay? Kinda freaked me out there. Good news is, having to keep you from smacking your head on the floor distracted me enough that I didn’t end up hurling everywhere like I thought I might.”

Isa picks her head up and looks over her bandaged arm. It’s so weird, having someone else do this for her. She’s not used to it, and part of her doesn’t want to trust it, but Lainey seems to have done a decent job. “How’s it looking?”

“Almost done. Wish we had an ice pack to get some of this swelling down, though.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t do fancy things like ice packs.” She glances up at the other girl, who’s tucking the end of the bandage as best she can. “You seem like you know what you’re doing, at least somewhat.”

One corner of her mouth quirks upward. “Softball, remember? We got hurt all the time. I picked up a few things from the medics like splints and recovery position. I’m no expert, though.” Sitting back, she looks over her work. “How’s that? Does that hurt?”

“Yeah,” Isa answers honestly. “But not as bad as it did when the bone was out of place.” She begins sitting up, slowly, moving her arm carefully into her lap. “Thanks.”

Lainey shakes her head. “You need a hospital, and some of those heavy-duty painkillers they gave me when I broke mine years ago.”

“He definitely doesn’t do painkillers.” Using her good hand, Isa scoots herself back to lean against the wall. “I’ll be fine. Like I said, I’ve done this before.”

“You shouldn’t have to, though.”

Isa doesn’t have an answer for that.

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

Alright y'all, here's a snippet of the joel x therapist! reader fic that I have embarked upon in the last couple days. Hopefully I can finish the first chapter by the weekend and post it.

Sidenote: thank you to everyone who has left comments on my rambly posts, encouraged me to write and been so supportive in general of newcomers to writing in this fandom. Joel is an intimidating character for sure but I actually had a lot of fun writing for him.

Pairing: Joel Miller x therapist!reader 

Warnings: swearing, discussions about trauma

Summary: Life after moving to Jackson looks drastically different for Joel, survival mode is over and now he and Ellie can finally put down new roots. Ellie adapts easily but Joel finds himself struggling to settle into this new life, in more ways than some. At Ellie and Tommy’s insistence, Joel begrudgingly finds himself in therapy to try and work through his struggles but what he encounters is more than just painful memories and deeply rooted trauma.

“Tommy, I swear to god if you bring up this damn therapy shit again I won’t hesitate to shoot you next time we’re out on patrol,” Joel growled through clenched teeth, as he walked away from his brother into the kitchen of the house. 

“Boy, it ain’t like I never heard that before,” Tommy quipped sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he followed Joel into the kitchen, pausing in the doorway as he leaned against the frame, hands shoved into his pockets. He observed his brother's rigid stance, the tightness in his shoulders, as Joel stood before the sink while looking out of the window above it. 

This felt like the umpteenth time that Tommy had broached the subject of Joel getting help and talking to a ‘shrink’ as he dismissively described it, for his issues that he was struggling with. Joel was fine. He didn’t have any issues. He was doing just fine and didn’t need any help from some professional who would only scrutinize him, reduce him to his vices, and open old wounds from his past life. He was encouraged to go to grief counseling after Sarah died but by some grace of God, or whatever godforsaken omnipotent entity existed at that point, the outbreak occurred. Forget mental health, physical health and survival, aka not becoming infected, was the only thing that mattered.

Tommy exhaled softly, “Listen, I'm only suggestin’ it because I care about you. Ellie cares about you. You both have been through hell and back in the last year, I mean shit, we all have. But it seems like everything y’all went through is still affecting you, holding you back from letting your guard down and settling in here,” he states plainly, sadness lacing his tone. 

“That’s bullshit Tommy and you know it,” Joel snaps, turning to face his younger brother and leaning back against the counter, arms crossed in defense. His gaze narrows, “I go out on patrol don’t I? Pick up extra shifts wherever it’s needed, help out with the contracting jobs, go out with Ellie in town.” Joel stood up taller, puffing out his chest, challenging his younger brother.

Tommy shook his head, running his hand over his face with an exasperated expression. Heaven forbid Joel did anything for himself that did not involve contributing or providing for someone, period. He just couldn’t shake that from his identity, and Tommy’s heart broke for him as he watched his brother’s stubborn pride, ridden with guilt and trauma, swallow him whole. 

‘Man when are you gonna fuckin’ do something for yourself Joel?!” Tommy asserted, his frustration reaching a boiling point.

“Forget the damn commune, forget the community, forget Ellie for a sec and think about the last time YOU did something for yourself, the last time YOU reached out for help damn it” He pushed off the doorframe and crossed the threshold of the kitchen as he strode towards Joel.

“You’re not on the run anymore brother. You don’t have to just survive. You can have a life here. You can sleep without keeping one eye open and relax without looking over your shoulder. Don’t you want that? Don’t you think you deserve that?! Don’t you think you deserve this?!” as he gestured around to the cozy kitchen and fixed his older brother with a pleading stare. 

Joel’s eyes widened as he tried to step back, the edge of the counter biting into his lower back as he took in Tommy’s weary face, the pain in his soft brown eyes, mirroring his own. His younger brother rarely raised his voice anymore. The outbreak took its toll on his hot headed temperament that never simmered down, even after he was discharged from the army. Joel knew that Tommy cared about him, hell he knew how deeply his brother loved him, after all they had been through respectively in the last 20 years, it had to be serious for him to raise his voice. 

Joel opened his mouth, ready to bite back but his brother raised his hands in the air in surrender.

"Look, this is the last time I will bring this up, I swear. But yesterday I called up the therapist in town who’s been helpin’ folks out, and asked her about the therapy process and she seems real nice, and supportive. She said you could come in for a consultation and talk to her and see if you’re interested,” Tommy said quietly.

Joel’s gaze narrows as he scrunches his eyebrows together in incredulity, “You-”

“I had nothing to lose Joel. And neither do you,” Tommy cuts him off, raising his chin in defiance. “At least go talk to the therapist, if you don’t like her or you’re not feelin’ it, then I’ll drop it and let it go. The office is on the main street, just beside the clothing store, adjacent to the stables and they’re open everyday from 9-5.” 

“Christ Tommy,” Joel leaned back as he looked up at the ceiling, wishing it would collapse in on him. Gotta love that brotherly love.  

“Look I should be getting back now, Maria will be waiting for me. Here’s the number and address for the business. I’ll see you around okay?” Tommy patted through his pockets and retrieved a small piece of paper with writing scribbled on it, placing it on the counter beside Joel. He gave him a last placating look before he walked out of the kitchen, the front door closing behind him with a soft click. 

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply before turning back around to look out the kitchen window. He hung his head in defeat, rounding his back as rested his elbows on the counter and glared into his matte reflection in the sink. He didn’t need any help. He was doing fine. He’s still upright and breathing, with blood coursing through his veins isn’t he? Albeit, he is not jumping out of bed like a sprightly 30 year old anymore. His knees pop and crackle when he gets up from crouching over machinery while doing manual labour, his joints protest the next day when he pushes himself too far, moving slower than usual on job sites.

Hell, even his memory is starting to get cloudy around the edges. If it weren’t for Ellie some days, he’s sure he would leave the house without pants on, what with her always reminding him where things are in the house, special events that are coming up in the community that he forgets to put in the calendar. He had been a bit more snappy than usual, as Ellie so lovingly pointed out one day, but that’s nothing compared to his normal demeanor. 

‘You’re becoming a grumpy motherfucker y'know that? Jeez, who shit in your cornflakes this morning?” she grumbled at him with a mouth full of cereal, after he snapped at her reminder that it was parent day at the local school. Parent day, P.A. day, Joel hadn’t dealt with any of this shit in over 20 years since Sarah was in school. Even then he managed to neglect many of the parental events, seeing as Sarah was the perfect student, with nothing but glowing reviews from her teachers. The fact that Ellie was going to school amidst a fucking apocalypse was enough for Joel to be happy with. 

But still, he’s doing fine, right? Just fine. 

[hopelessromantic5]

That scene from Peaky Blinders with the nuns but it’s Merlin and Arthur and they DO NOT PLAY ABOUT THE CHILDREN

TW!!! Check the tags!!!!

“Arthur if you don’t do something about it then I will.”

It was the first thing out of Merlin’s mouth when he charged into the King’s chambers that morning, the sun not yet peeking above the horizon.

Arthur didn’t bother looking up from his desk just yet.

“Gods above, what is it now, Merlin?” There was no bite or malice in his tone, any longer. Long chased away by fond exasperation.

“Arthur.”

His head snapped up, to meet his magical manservant’s gaze head on.

It must be severe, whatever the case. Arthur hadn’t heard that tone of voice from Merlin in some years.

The moment the King’s eyes fell on the other man’s face, his whole demeanor changed. Merlin had been crying. His cheeks and eyes were red and swollen but the emotion that resided there was not sorrow.

It was pure rage.

“What is it?” It was quiet and almost soft in comparison to his previous question.

Arthur’s instincts told him to go to Merlin, to comfort him and dry the last of his tears. (The Almighty Emrys hardly ever allows Arthur to witness them. Choosing to suffer alone than trust Arthur not to chastise him. The King knows he was an arrogant fool in his youth, but he thought they’d moved past hiding long ago.) The look on Merlin’s face told him to listen first.

“Do you remember the nuns?” He asked between clenched teeth, jaw flexing.

“The nuns that run the orphanage?”

Merlin nodded once. “A child, who was previously in their care, hung herself last night just outside the gates.”

All the air left the King’s chest. He was on his feet without the thought of doing so.

“What?! How could they have allowed such a thing to happen? Where were they wh- wait, why did she…” he trailed off, as the realization finally landed, and the endless list of unimaginable things that could’ve happened to that child ran through his head, circumstances Arthur couldn’t have dreamed in his worst night terror, things he’d heard coming out of other Kingdoms, acts that when they were relayed to him through word of mouth his blood ran ice cold. (He had a list of names in the locked drawer of his desk, kings and lords and blacksmiths and ladies maids, mothers, fathers, anyone he had ever heard was harming children in their care or even in their vicinity. Their time left on this Earth would not be pleasant, if Arthur had anything to say about it.)

“How old was she?” He whispered, stricken and stumbling back into his chair.

“She was nine summers old. She was funny and outgoing and, as one of the oldest, she made it her mission to make the others feel cared for and seen. And normal.” The raven boy’s stark blue eyes were gazing out the window, looking at nothing at all, eyebrows still furrowed in frustration. He took a big deep breath. “Teresa. Her name was Teresa.” Arthur nodded and channeled as much sympathy as he possibly could into a single look.

“The nuns made her wash with a different soap than everyone else. They would lock her away on sunny days when the others got to play. When she spoke out against this abuse, she got lashes. On her back, on her thighs-“ Merlin was crying again, and Arthur’s vision was blurring, blinking them back. “Arthur, there must’ve been twenty different sets of scars. Wounds healing just long enough to be able to survive when the next ones came…and every time I visited, she told me everything was fine. I never even suspected that she wasn’t being truthful, I was a willfully blind idiot. That brings me back to my initial statement. If you don’t do something about it, I will.”

“Of course we’re going to do something about it. And we’re going to do it now, but we need the round table as guards and also to escort the children to the keep when it’s over.” Arthur was up again, but remained at the desk, making a list and talking at the same time. “We may be forced to have a trial just for appearances, but-“ he stopped, having a thought. “How did you find this out Merlin? You said you never knew…before.”

“Initially, it was Gwen. After Gaius told me she was gone, Gwen came to me and told me that she couldn’t in good conscience keep her suspicions to herself. Gwen and Teresa had been much closer, for obvious reasons-“

“Wait, what obvious reasons? They’re both women?”

Merlin looked confused for the first time in the conversation.

“No, w-“ He searched Arthur’s face and when he only saw more confusion, he said,

“Teresa had dark skin, Arthur, like Gwen and Elyan, I thought you knew-“

“Hold on! Is that why the nuns…” Merlin could only nod, morosely.

Merlin and Arthur were mirroring each other’s untamable rage.

Without another word, the King led them out of the room, in search of Leon.

They sat across a dark wooden table, three nuns on the other side.

“You wanted to speak with us, your majesty?”

“Yes.” Arthur nodded once, hands gripped white on the arm of his chair. Yet his face remained unaffected, the perfect picture of regal grace. Perhaps it was muscle memory to him, Merlin was not blessed with ability to keep his emotions from his sleeve.

“All of us, sire? At 6:30 in the morning?”

“Yes.” The King replied, cool. Merlin began to wonder the room, looking in cupboards and checking drawers. Some of which were locked.

The head nun hissed at him.

“Get away from there, fool, have you lost your mind?”

“I’ll do as I damn well please.” Merlin tosses over his shoulder, yet even Arthur can feel the venom laced into the words.

“We do not use language in the house of the lord.” She appeared to be scandalized.

This halted Merlin’s pilfering, he began to approach her.

“Nor do we ‘find fault in the innocent.’ Yet, you do.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You fucking do.”

Beside Arthur, Leon looked somewhat worried about his manservant’s intentions. Leon was the last of his knights to be made aware of Merlin’s ‘gifts’, while he was mostly accepting and curious, there was also something else. Arthur couldn’t tell if Leon began to protect he and his men from Merlin, or if he was protecting Merlin from everyone else.

The nun looked from Merlin to Arthur as if waiting for him to be reprimanded by his master.

When there was no sign of it, she sighed and crossed her hands in front of her body.

“May I ask what this meeting is about?”

“The Crown of Camelot is the only reason your orphanage was able to open its doors and feed these children that would’ve otherwise starved. Giving them a place to live when they would’ve otherwise been homeless. You are aware of this, yes, sister?”

“For which we give thanks.” Her eyes were downcast but Merlin saw the hint of panic there.

He stepped in.

“Reports of a most alarming nature have been reaching the King’s ear, Sister Mary.” He circled the three of them like a hawk circling prey. “It seems you and I have similar tempers, yet unlike you, I wait until I’m matched in size.” He practically spit at her as he spoke.

“And whom, may I ask, reported this to the king?”

“No need to worry about that, Sister. I have all the evidence I need. Children, when kept safe and comfortable, will actually say quite a bit.” The King had spoken to a few of the children before arriving here, he sent them to the keep immediately after.

“Who have they spoken to?”

“You’d have them only speak to God?” Merlin offered.

She sent daggers at him with her eyes.

“God be their witness.”

“There is God and then there is the Crown. This is Camelot, we are in Albion. I am much much closer at hand than God.” Arthur smiled but it was villainous, sinister in a way that sends one of the nuns running out of the room.

“We have in this place, children of the worst sort. They lie as easily as breathe.”

“You had a darker skinned child in your care. You made her wash with a different soap.” Merlin was not allowing her to blame those poor children.

“Sire, your own knights’ sins are legend.”

“Our sins?” Leon spoke for the first time. “Our sins, against the beating of children with whips and tree branches? Our sins…our sins against the child who hanged herself for fear of your temper?”

“I do not see how-“

“Oh, you do not see…” Merlin reached over the table and ripped the glasses off her face, slammed them back down on the table, crushing them.

He held her eye.

“Now put them on.” His breathing was heavy. “Put them on your face, or it will be your eyes that are broken.”

After another beat of silence, his voice, quiet yet slicing,

“Please don’t imagine that I won’t use this minute to do it, or that I am afraid of your prayers, or your crosses.”

After a hesitant look around the room, she slowly picked up the crushed frames and placed them back on her face.

“You see the world broken. Like those beaten children will.” Merlin finally backed away from the table and resumed his search of the premises.

“Now look at me.” The King commanded. She did not obey.

“Look at me!” His voice boomed and echoed through the room. She flinched and did as she was told.

“Funding withdrawn. You will leave Camelot, and Albion, if you are smart and I will never see your faces in my kingdom again. Unless you wish to see the full extent of my wrath.” He stood, as did Leon. Looks of absolute disgust on their faces.

“All children will be taken into the care of the crown.”

“You have no say in where the children-“ she was interrupted by the sound of a small, sharp knife its sheath. The point of Merlin’s blade was aimed at her throat.

“If I come for you, and I still might yet decide to come for you, I will bring an army so that you may hear our approach, and have time to repent.”

With that, he left. Following his King right out the door. Never to step foot in that establishment again.

The ‘orphanage’ was permanently moved into the castle, and every child made a ward of a the King. It made the castle alive with youth and laughter.

Merlin and Arthur realized after a few years, that they were practically married, and parents to a hoard of wonderful children. So they were married and the entire kingdom rejoiced.

[bluemoonperegrine]

Bonus scene: Think Fast

This is effectively chapter 2.5 of "Those Who Wander." It's only 448 words. Much of the key dialog sprung fully formed from @vicarious-rebel's delightful brain.

You don't have to read the earlier chapters to follow this. Basically Marc's crushing on a guy and has no intention to follow through on it. An opportunity presents itself, so Jake does what needs to be done.

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

“Jefe,” Jake murmured as he looked over the cab’s roof. The guy hermano had been so smitten over sat on park bench a short distance away. Peanut shells littered the ground around him. “Your crush is here.”

Hmm? Marc returned sleepily. Where are we... wait. Is that—

The cute park ranger! Steven supplied.

“Yup.” Said ranger stood up and looked at Jake with a big smile on his face. Without a moment’s hesitation Jake waved.

Marc made the mental equivalent of a gasp. What are you doing?!?

The ranger—Jim?—managed to smile harder and waved back.

Let’s talk to ‘im, Steven said. I want to see his eyes again. Oh, good! He’s walking this way.

He was and Marc was close to panic. No! Marc insisted. We’re not talking to him. You’re supposed to be working, Jake.

Jake chuckled. He couldn’t care less about Jim, but hermano did and was too chicken to do what needed to be done. As usual, Jake did it for him. “Okay. We won’t talk to him, but you will. Think fast!” With that Jake stepped back and shoved Marc into the metaphorical driver’s seat. A rush of adrenaline and endorphins flooded the body. Marc would give them a heart attack one day if he didn’t learn to relax.

Marc all but jumped into the cab’s driver’s seat, nearly losing Jake’s hat in the process. “JAKE, YOU ASSHOLE!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

You’re welcome, he responded. You’ll be fine. He likes you. He wouldn’t be smiling like an idiot otherwise. Just talk to him.

“I can’t talk!!”

Steven piped up. You’re talking right now. 

“Not helping, Steven.”

Sorry, mate. Jake was a bit rude—

Was not.

Were too. Anyway, ‘e has the right idea. We’ll be right here with you if you want, bruv!

Marc snuck a glance out the front passenger window. Jim stood on one of the park’s paved paths 15 feet away. Jake was glad to see that Jim had decent social skills; he was looking off to the side while Marc freaked out in the cab.

Silence stretched.

Marc took a deep breath. “All right.”

You got this, bruv!

“I don’t, but whatever,” he grumbled. “Just... thanks. I guess. Fuck.” With a weary sigh, Marc hauled the body out of the cab.

Although Jake was loathe to admit it aloud, he was proud of his brother. This was hard for him, but he was trying. Steven and Marc helped Jake out with the things he wrestled with, too.

Their hands trembled slightly as they strode around the cab to the objectively handsome man. “Hey,” Marc said. “Uh, sorry about that. I had to…”

[The rest of the scene plays out from Jack's POV in chapter 2.]

[cynicalone94]

Sacrifices

“We know who you are.” Antonio shouts as he leans over his teammate, waving the badge in his face. “This comes back on us, we’ll find you.”

But as he turns to step away, Mike speaks up. 

“We’ll take this guy with us. You call the cops old man, go through the procedure and make your statement but you better not tell them anything about us. We’ll be listening. Once we know you’ve followed orders, we’ll drop your pal somewhere.”

Antonio starts, looking over at Mike. Technically this follows the no bodies agreement but this crew has never done something like this before. 

“If you gotta take me fine, just don’t hurt the old man.” Jay says, lifting his head from where he’s doubled over on the floor from Antonio’s punch. 

Antonio stares at him before looking back at Mike. 

“Whatever. We need to get out of here.”

Hastings grabs Jay’s arm and drags him to his feet, shoving him toward the door with a gun at his back. Jay keeps his right arm curled around his abdomen and Antonio really hopes he’s faking to look like less of a threat. He doesn’t think he hit him that hard. 

They reach the van without encountering resistance and Antonio accepts that Voight is going to let this play. Hastings shoves Jay into the back of the van and Antonio busies himself helping Martin stack the bags of stolen Oxy against the front partition. Mike throws a roll of duct tape to Hastings.

“Tie him up. And find something to blindfold him with so we can ditch the masks.”

He slides the door closed and Antonio turns his gun on Jay, backing Hasting’s order for him to lie on his stomach. He’s grateful for the mask in that moment as it hides his clenched jaw. Once Jay’s hands have been bound, Antonio sets the gun aside to unzip the jumpsuit he wears, shrugging out of the flannel he had on underneath it. 

“For the blindfold.” he says, offering the shirt to Hastings. “Tear it up if you need to, its a Wal-Mart special.”

The man shreds the shirt, wrapping one strip over Jay’s eyes before forcing another between his teeth. Antonio bites back a protest to the unnecessary gagging of his friend and works to school his features as Martin takes off his mask next to him. As Hastings sits back, taking off his own mask and spraying another misting of his drugs into his nose, Antonio takes a deep breath and takes off his mask. 

“So how long do you think this will take?” he asks. 

“Hard to say.” Hastings says. “Police don’t always have the fastest response time. But they usually actually care about opioid thefts so maybe a couple of hours.”

He kicks Jay in the side and Antonio can’t stop his surprised exclamation. 

“Best get comfortable.” he jibes. 

They reach the dumpsite and the three of them pile out of the van, leaving Jay lying alone while they move the bags of drugs to the trunk of the car. Then Hastings brings out a six pack of beer and the four of them sit around, joking and laughing while they wait for the all clear.

It’s three hours before Mike’s phone rings and Antonio is twitching to check on Jay and make sure that he’s doing okay. He knows Voight is nearby and that he’ll be here in a heartbeat to untie the younger man and make sure he’s alright once the robbery crew have cleared the site. 

When the phone rings, Mike stands up and paces away from the group. After a few minutes of hushed conversation, he pockets the device again and comes back. 

“Alright. Torch the van.”

“We can dump him over there.” Antonio says, pointing to an open area. “Should keep him away from the fire but make sure he gets found when the fire department gets called out.”

“Change of plans. He’s hanging around a little longer.”

“The heist went off smooth. Why go around drawing unnecessary heat? Just let the guy go.”

“Red’s had a job on the drawing board for a couple weeks. Taking this guy with us wasn’t exactly according to playbook but now that we have, we get to run with it. Because making that job work requires a hostage.”

“I don’t like it. Too much risk.”

“Then you can leave. You did okay tonight, I was gonna let you tag along with this one too but if you can’t stomach it…”

“Is there a good payout?”

“Oh yeah. It’ll be worth your while. And nobody is planning on killing this guy.”

“Alright.” Antonio reluctantly agrees, wanting to talk to Jay, to see if he wants to let this play. 

“I’ll call you when we have a time set up.”

“I’d rather stick close.” Antonio says. “No offense but Hastings already got twitchy and almost blew the no bodies agreement. And I really don’t want to end up tied to a homicide.”

“Sure. We can do that. Help Martin get him in the trunk.”

Martin leads the way back to the van, sliding the door open. Jay has managed to sit up and is leaning against the wall of the van. Martin reaches in and grabs his leg to drag him forward. Jay jolts upright but the inefficient flailing of his motion tells Antonio that he’s faking his surprise at the movement. 

The two of them get him to his feet and lead him toward the other vehicle. As they walk, Antonio tries to figure out a way to let him know about the change of plans and ask if he’s okay letting this continue without tipping off the others that he knows him. 

“Change of plans, buddy.” Hastings jeers as he approaches them and Antonio has to suppress a smirk. “You’re hanging out with us a while longer.”

Or he could just let the unhinged addict do it for him. 

Jay tenses and Antonio shifts to place himself between his friend and the other man. He put a hand on Jay’s forearm offering a gentle squeeze and hoping the man knows what he’s asking. 

“Red needs a hostage for a priority job so you’ve been voluntold.” Hastings cheers, oblivious to their communication. “Told you ya shouldn’ta been eying me back there.”

On the surface, Jay’s reaction shows fear and disapproval. He pulls back, shaking his head with a muffled protest. But he “bumps” against Antonio as he does so, hand landing briefly on his arm with a returning squeeze. He wants to let this play. 

“Stop taunting the guy.” Antonio tells Hastings, pushing Jay toward Martin and then stepping forward to push Hastings back. 

Mike comes over. 

“Hastings, stop making their job harder. Just get in the car.” he orders. “And you two, get him in the trunk and torch the van.”

Antonio turns away from Hastings, trusting Mike to keep him away from Jay for now. Jay fights back, and it takes both of them to wrestle him into the trunk of the second car as Mike and Hastings drive away with the drugs. But Antonio has fought Jay before, has seen the man fight when his life was in danger. If he wasn’t game to seeing this out, they wouldn’t have been able to get him in the trunk, even restrained. 

They torch the van and then drive to a house in Englewood. Antonio and Martin take Jay down to the basement on Mike’s instructions and Antonio hangs back while the others head back upstairs, taking a minute to kneel next to Jay, taking one of his hands. 

“Hey squeeze once for yes, twice for no, understand?”

One squeeze.

“You want to pull the plug?”

Two squeezes.

“You sure, man?”

One squeeze.

“Alright. Hang in there, Jay.”

He rises to his feet and sprints up the stairs.

The night is spent playing cards, drinking beer and watching hockey on an enormous tv. The bags of stolen oxy are picked up just before midnight by a runner that Antonio doesn’t recognize. He knows that Voight will have the team on the street, running the man’s ID and following him back to the drop point. He can’t help but hope that he will lead them back to Irving so that Voight can pull the plug on this end of the operation.

Just after the man leaves, he decides to speak up.

“Should someone run our new friend upstairs to take a leak? Cause I really don’t want to clean it up if we don’t.”

“You volunteering?” Hastings growls, looking up from his cards to glare at Antonio.

“They dealt with him at the dumpsite.” Mike says. “You go escort him to the bathroom. Diaz is right. I don’t really want to smell that.”

“He’s just doing this cause he’s losing.” Hastings says, throwing his cards down and taking another sniff of drugs.

Mike gives him a look and he rolls his eyes but stands up, heading for the stairs. When the door opens again a few minutes later, Antonio’s attention is drawn by a thud and a muffled grunt and he looks up to see Jay angling his head away from the door frame, a red spot near his temple. 

“We need him in one piece for the robbery.” Mike points out lightly.

“Not my fault the guy’s a klutz.” Hastings says, grinning as he shoves Jay toward the hall and runs him into the corner of the wall.

“Just avoid his head.” Mike says, rolling his eyes.

Hastings snorts and the two disappear down the hall, various additional thuds sounding as they go. Antonio throws down his cards (which true to Hasting’s accusation, sucked) and leans back in his chair.

“So,” he says, “What kind of job are we doing that requires a hostage? I thought the brute force grabs were going well?”

“There’s a place downstate that has some different drugs. Red thinks it could be real profitable but the security is tighter so a different approach is called for.”

“How do you like working for Red?” Antonio asks. “You ever get face time?”

“We’ve talked on the phone once or twice but Red doesn’t do face time with anybody except the guys who oversee the stash houses.”

“But its a good gig?”

“Running a heist crew is a pretty sweet gig. Pays a solid cut and even between gigs I manage the sandwich shop which pays a decent salary.”

“Do you sell product out of the shop or just screen customers?”

“Screening only.” Mike tells him. “Pickup takes place elsewhere after I put them in touch with a middleman.”

“Are you cool with running a heist gig or do you hope to move up to stash house level?”

“Trying to get my crew?” the man jokes.

“Hell yes.” Antonio laughs, “Job security, in this economy?”

The three of them are still laughing when Hastings drags Jay back down the hallway. He rolls his eyes.

“Sure, you guys are having a great time while I get stuck with the annoying jobs.” he scoffs.

“Just get him back downstairs.” Mike says, rolling his eyes. “And quit yer bellyaching.”

The door to the stairs slams behind them and Antonio takes a drink to conceal his wince. He really hopes Hastings won’t take his foul mood about this assignment out on Jay anymore than he already has. 

There’s a crash from behind the door and both he and Mike jump to their feet. He allows himself to fall behind Mike as he throws the door open and peers down into the basement.

“He only fell a few steps.” Hastings says from where he’s standing over Jay who is sprawled across the basement floor, kicking his foot. “Get up.”

“I told you to watch his head.” Mike growls, jogging down the steps to push Hastings back a step.

Antonio runs down and crouches next to his friend, examining the blood welling up from a gash at his hairline.

“You said he wouldn’t get hurt.” he hisses.

“I said nobody was going to kill him.” Mike says, shoving Hastings up against the wall, “And you said yourself that Hastings is a little unstable.”

“It’s not like I pushed him.” the man whines. “Idiot tripped over his own feet.”

“He’s blindfolded, you jackass.” Antonio scoffs before turning to Mike, “We may need to consider letting him go. Drop him off somewhere. You can find another hostage for the job but.. head injuries are tricky man.”

“I’ll call Red.” the man says, “Get a medic over here to look him over. Go home, Hastings.”

The man grumbles but seems to realize he’s on thin ice and heads up the stairs.

Jay groans at his feet and Antonio looks down, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Take it easy, man.” he says, “Don’t try to move.”

Mike kneels next to him, pulling the gag free from Jay’s mouth.

“Hey buddy.” he says, “How do you feel?”

“Like I just got pushed down the stairs.” Jay growls. “What the hell is wrong with you people?”

“A lot of things.” Mike says, sounding amused, “I sent that idiot home so you should be safe for the time being. Anything besides your head giving you troubles?”

Jay is silent for a long time before he grumbles. 

“Right side. Shoulder hurts pretty good.”

Mike hums sympathetically. 

“I’m gonna get someone out here to look you over, just try to lie still until they get here, okay?”

“Please just let me go.” Jay begs, his voice losing it’s hard edge.

“We’ll talk after the medic gets done.” Mike says.

“Can you at least cut my hands loose?” Jay asks, “I won’t try anything, I swear. But my shoulder is killing me.”

Mike thinks for a minute before nodding to Antonio.

“Stay with him. I’ve got to make a few calls.”

Antonio nods, leaning over to cut Jay loose as the man jogs up the stairs.

“God, Jay.” he mutters, “Are you okay?”

“I’ve been better,” Jay mutters as Antonio helps him maneuver his arms from underneath him, cradling his right arm against his chest. “That jackass pushed me on purpose.”

“I’m calling Voight.” Antonio says, reaching for his phone. “We’re getting you out of here. We’ll find Irving another way.”

“No.” Jay protests, “I’ve already shed blood for this, let’s give it a chance to pan out.”

“You might have a concussion.” Antonio argues.

“At least wait until the medic looks me over.” Jay says, “If he says its a concussion, you can call Voight.”

When he hesitates, Jay presses.

“There’s a cop missing, Tony. Maybe dead.”

“Well, I’d rather not stand by and watch them kill another one to maybe save the first one.” Antonio bites back. 

Mike steps out into the backyard, dialing Red.

“Hastings messed up, didn’t he?�� she says, sounding annoyed.

He sighs.

“Pushed the bastard down the stairs. He looks okay but he says his shoulder hurts and he took a knock to the head.”

“I’ll send Tuck over to check him over. If he says concussion, you dump the guy at Chicago Med. Killing one cop is bad enough.”

“Understood.”

“And it’s time to cut Hastings loose. This is one too many. If we do end up proceeding, leave him and Martin behind to set up the ‘job’.”

“Martin too?”

“The guy already wants out. He just doesn’t know how to ask. Give him what he wants.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Antonio looks up as a man dressed simply and carrying a medical bag jogs down the stairs, Mike at his heels.

Jay pushes back against the wall that Antonio has helped him prop himself against.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” the man says, crouching in front of him. “Just want to take a look at that shoulder and head of yours. Okay?”

After a moment, Jay nods slowly.

“I’m going to have to take off the blindfold to check for a concussion so you boys either need to put your masks on or clear out.” he warns.

Antonio slides his mask on and Mike does the same, none too subtly resting a handgun against his leg. The blindfold is removed and Antonio watches as his friend blinks against the sudden light.

“You can call me Tuck.” the medic introduces himself. “Can you tell me your full name?”

“Ryan Alexander Sommers.” Jay says and Antonio feels some of the tension leave him. If Jay is coherent enough to remember his full undercover name, he can’t be hurt too bad.

Tuck runs through a few more questions before checking Jay’s pupils and his ability to track movement.

“It doesn’t look like a concussion.” he says, sitting back. “I’m going to advise against gagging him again. If he gets nauseous or complains of being dizzy at all, drop him at the nearest hospital. Let’s take a look at that shoulder.”

Jay reaches to unbutton his shirt and winces. Tuck gently bats his hands aside and undoes the buttons himself, gently tugging the shirt over Jay’s injured shoulder.

“I’m going to go ahead and just cut the t-shirt off.” he tells him and Jay nods.

A pair of medical shears make short work of the cotton fabric and Antonio swallows back a gasp at the yellowing already starting to appear on his side.

“Took the brunt of the impact on your shoulder, I see.” Tuck comments as he starts probing the joint.

Jay gasps but doesn’t pull away. Tuck continues probing the joint, completely ignoring his reaction. Finally, he pulls back.

“Well, you’ll definitely need some x-rays when you get out of here tomorrow afternoon. I would recommend a follow up with an orthopedic specialist as well.”

Ignoring the look of annoyance that crosses Jay’s face, he turns to Mike.

“Don’t restrain him again if you don’t have to.” he says, “It could cause further damage to his shoulder and Red wants to avoid long-term injuries if possible. I’m going to put him in a sling to support the shoulder but I’m green-lighting tomorrow’s robbery.”

He turns back to Jay and gently maneuvers his right arm into the sling he pulls from his bag. Once he’s done he stands up.

“I’ll walk you out.” Mike says, holstering his gun and tossing a roll of duct tape to Antonio. “Get the blindfold back on and tie his ankles. Still gotta be a little careful. And stay with him. If he gets dizzy or nauseous, let me know.”

Antonio nods, watching as they retreat up the stairs before crouching next to Jay.

“Voight can be here in twenty seconds.” he tells him. “You know the whole team is probably watching the house right now.”

“I’m okay.” Jay argues. “The sling is helping. My shoulder barely even hurts anymore.”

“You are the most stubborn twat I have ever met.” Antonio growls.

“You know you love me.” Jay says with a smirk, “Now put the blindfold back on.”

Antonio rolls his eyes but ties the blindfold back into place over Jay’s eyes. Then he wraps tape a few times around his ankles before going over to the stairs and settling in, setting his mask on the steps next to him and pulling out his phone. 

Jay’s asleep, or at least doing a good job of faking it, by the time Martin relieves him around noon. He’s managed to scoot along the wall to put himself in the corner and is leaning his head against the wall. 

The cut at his hairline has stopped bleeding but the skin around it is already moving past yellow and starting to darken. Antonio doesn’t want to leave him but he trusts Martin to at least not deliberately hurt him so he makes his way upstairs and ends up falling asleep on the couch.

Antonio is loading gear into the van while Martin and Hastings get their hostage ready. He hates letting Hastings anywhere near Jay when he isn’t there to protect him but Mike had dismissed his protests, so he reluctantly allows the two men to disappear into the basement, Martin already hefting his automatic weapon from the previous robbery.

He regrets the choice when he finishes loading the van and hasn’t seen them ten minutes later. He jogs down the steps only to freeze in horror at the sight of Jay curled on the floor, hands bound, tape over his mouth and strapped into a bomb vest while Hastings kicks at him.

Martin is standing back, weapon loose in his hands as he looks between Antonio and the scene before him.

This time, Antonio doesn’t hesitate before pulling out his phone and dialing Voight.

“Breach now.” he snaps as soon as the line connects. “And shut down cell towers in the area.”

He brings up his own weapon, focusing his attention on Hastings.

“CPD. Step away from him, now.” he snaps, “Martin. Just put the gun down and keep your hands where I can see them.”

The man stares at him in shocked betrayal but doesn’t raise his weapon so Antonio ignores him to keep his weapon fixed on Hastings.

“Step back.” he snarls. “Don’t give me a reason.”

The man finally takes a step back, eyes blazing with fury.

“Is it armed?” he asks.

“Yeah.” the man snaps. “But I don’t have controls. Red has them. Maybe I should make a call.”

“Reach for your phone.” Antonio says, “I dare you.”

There’s a thud behind him and he shouts,

“In the basement.”

Then his team is at his back. Al takes Martin into custody, leading him back up the stairs while reading him his rights. Erin pushes past Antonio to kneel next to Jay as he presses forward, keeping his weapon up while Kevin slams Hastings up against the wall.

As soon as the man is headed up the stairs, Antonio drops his weapon and turns his attention to Jay. Erin has cut his hands free and removed the blindfold. As she pulls the tape away from his mouth, Antonio can’t take it anymore.

“We should have pulled the plug after the bastard pushed you down the stairs.” Antonio yells at him.“We’ve got nothing more right now than we had yesterday morning.”

“Sure we do.” Jay gasps, blood dripping from his lips. “Because he may be a jackass who pushes people down staircases but he’s also a dumbass who doesn’t know when to stop talking. They’ve got Irving out at the Daisy Field Meat Packing Plant. He’s still alive.”

“Stay with Halstead until bomb squad gets here and then make sure the idiot gets to Med.” Voight orders, stepping up behind him. “The rest of us will take care of Irving.”

Antonio nods and crouches next to Jay while Erin stands,

“Try not to break anymore bones while I’m gone.” she orders her partner before following the rest of the team out of the basement.

“You’ve still got zero sense of self preservation.” Antonio tells the man once they’re alone in the basement again.

“So the answer is no if I ask for your knife so I can disarm this myself?” Jay asks.

“Depends on if you actually know what you’re doing.” Antonio snaps back.

“I hung with some EOD guys over in the sandbox.” Jay says.

“Yes or no.” Antonio growls, “Do you know how to disarm this specific bomb?”

Jay sighs, coughing as the motion aggravates his injuries.

“Then I’m going to make you wait for the experts. We’ve blocked the surrounding towers. It’s safe to wait.”

“Says the guy not strapped to a bomb.” Jay grumbles, easing himself back against the wall.

“What happened anyway?”

“I think Hastings was pissed about being sent home like a misbehaving toddler last night.” Jay says. “Came in, told me the other guy had a gun on me and would shoot me if I tried to fight back. I guess I twitched wrong when he was buckling the vest on cause he slammed my head against the wall, tied my hands and gagged me, and then just started kicking.”

“You nauseous now?”

“A little.” Jay admits. “Can I go home now?”

“Yeah, if you’d agreed to us pulling you out yesterday morning…” Antonio says, “I mean you still would have gotten some x-rays on your shoulder but they probably would have sent you home afterward. Now though….”

“Definitely have a concussion now.” Jay says, sighing again and then grimaces, “Maybe a broken rib.”

“Hurts to breathe?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry bro. I should have fought harder to be the one to help load you.”

“Hastings only told me what we needed to know because he was having fun whaling on me.” Jay says. “If that brings Irving home alive, I don’t mind getting worked over.”

“Yeah.” Antonio says, “Like I said. No sense of self preservation.”

Voight is standing in the hallway, rubbing at his temples. Jay is finally free of the bomb vest and on his way to Med to be checked out. He’s just gotten a full debriefing from Antonio on what went down in that house and isn’t sure whether to put the kid in for a commendation or strangle him. Maybe he’ll do both.

A few doors down from where he’s currently waiting, Kyle Irving has been settled in a room and is being debriefed by his own superiors. 

His phone rings and he glares down at the screen, annoyed when the number is unlisted.

“Voight.”

“Hello Sergeant.” a highly distorted voice says.

“Who is this?”

“You know me as Red. I see that both of your officers have been extracted.”

“You knew they were cops.” he says, pissed off anew.

“After discovering that Joey Mortenson was actually an undercover cop, it wasn’t too hard to guess that the man who suddenly appeared to fill his newly vacant spot on the crew was another cop.” 

The smugness is undeniable and Voight wants to scream.

“Then why agree to let him join?”

“Because I, correctly, guessed that you would replace the security guards at the next robbery with your own people.” is the answer, “And to be honest, I couldn’t resist conducting a little experiment to see how far your boys would go to maintain the Detective’s cover.”

“An experiment?” he growls.

“Detective Halstead’s dedication to his job, and his determination to see Officer Irving come home safely, is truly admirable. It really reflects quite well on him and you as his superior.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know you were impressed.” he says flatly.

“It’s truly a shame that Officer Irving is so undeserving of his efforts.”

“Undercover ops go sideways. Getting made happens.”

“I’m sure it does. But he didn’t get made.”

“So you had him chained up in that warehouse for fun?”

“I had him chained up in that warehouse because he stole money from me and I wanted it back. He told me he was a cop hoping that it would keep me from killing him.”

Voight is silent, rage building as he digests the information.

“You have a nice day, Sergeant.” 

The line goes dead and he feels his feet moving before his mind has processed the decision. All three men look up as he storms into the exam room and Commander Perry starts to speak.

“Hank, I thought I-”

“You son of a bitch.” he growls, only having eyes for the officer seated hunched over on the exam table.

“Hank!” Commander Perry protests.

“He told them he was a cop.” Hank growls, holding the man’s gaze. 

“Why the hell would he do that?” Lieutenant Granger asks.

“Because they were going to kill him for stealing drug money from them and he hoped finding out he was a cop would change their mind.”

“Is that true?” the Commander asks, turning to the officer who has paled.

“I-” he starts but Hank cuts him off.

“Jay Halstead let himself be held prisoner for almost two days to keep his partner’s cover intact long enough to find you.” he growls. “He got shoved down a staircase and still refused to be pulled because it would ruin our chance to save you. He could have been rescued at any time but he turned it down every time it was offered because he didn’t want you to die. Even after he was strapped to a bomb and beaten he still said it was worth it because it got the intel we needed to bring you home alive.”

“Hank.” the Commander says in a warning tone before turning to Irving. “Did you take money from Red?”

“Yes.” the man admits, looking at his feet.

“I will handle this, Hank.” the Commander tells him. “Where’s Halstead now?”

“They finally got the bomb vest off him maybe ten minutes ago.” Hank says, “He should be arriving downstairs any time now.”

“Why don’t you head down and meet him.”

It’s not really a suggestion and Hank nods, giving Irving one final glare before leaving the room.

He arrives downstairs just in time to watch them wheel Jay through the sliding doors. The paramedics have the stretcher at a forty five degree angle and he’s resting tiredly against it, an oxygen mask over his face.

Will Halstead comes out of a treatment room and hurries over to his brother.

“Hey.” He says, placing a hand on his arm, “How are you feeling?”

“Hurts.” Jay admits. “Chest is tight.”

“What did you give him for the pain?” Ethan Choi asks the paramedics as he joins them.

“10 mg tramadol.” Chout tells him. “We kept it light because he’s showing signs of a concussion. But a couple of his ribs are definitely broken.”

Will rubs his brother’s arm. 

Choi positions himself in front of Jay, checking his pupil reactions and asking a series of questions.

“Alright, let’s get him in treatment one and get him on the monitors.” Choi orders. “Just hang in there, Jay. We’ll get you feeling better soon.”

“Thanks Ethan.” 

Hank follows at a distance as they wheel him into the room, rolling his eyes as Halstead tries to sit up and assist with the transfer to the exam bed. 

“Just let us do the work, Jay.” Ethan scolds gently, “We really don’t want you moving around too much until we can get a look at those ribs.”

Jay rolls his eyes but sits back. The doctors transfer him with practised ease and he can’t quite hide the wince.

Hank and Antonio step into the room as soon as the paramedics wheel their stretcher back out but stay back in the corner as the doctors work.

A nurse flits around him, attaching monitors and Ethan pulls back the blanket that is tucked up over his bare chest. 

Another flash of anger passes through Hank as the developing bruising is laid bare. His right shoulder and upper arm are the darkest, having had a day and a half to develop. Even so, they are overshadowed by the reddened outline of a boot print on the left side of his chest.

Will freezes, eyes fixed on the injury, but Ethan maintains a professional detachment, bringing his stethoscope from his pocket.

Jay winces a few times as the man places it against his chest, listening carefully for a moment before moving on to another area. After a minute, he pulls back.

“Well, you’ve got good breath sounds bilaterally so I don’t think there’s any damage to your lungs but I’ll want to get a chest CT just to be sure. You’re definitely breathing more shallowly than I would like but that’s to be expected. Will, can you help me with the x-ray?”

The man shakes himself, giving his brother’s arm another gentle squeeze before letting go and moving to help bring the portable x-ray machine over.

They get several images of Jay’s chest and a couple films of his shoulder before letting the injured man relax, standing shoulder-to-shoulder to assess them.

After a moment they return to the bedside, Ethan making notes on his tablet.

“Alright,” he says once he’s finished, “You’ve got a relatively simple fracture to your shoulder, just on the ball of the joint. I’ll get an orthopedic specialist to look over the x-rays and they may want to come examine the joint themselves but from what I can see you should be good to go with a sling for six-to-eight weeks. I’ve got orders in for a head CT just to double check but it looks like we’re looking at a grade one concussion. You’ll feel miserable for a couple of days but I don’t anticipate any complications. Though we are going to make you stick around for a twenty-four hour observation just in case. We’ll also get a CT of your chest just to double check your lungs and your abdomen to check for internal bleeding.”

“Awesome.” Jay grumbles.

“It gets better.” Ethan says, giving him a sympathetic look. “You’ve got four broken ribs. Straight in a line under that nice boot print on your side. They should heal just fine without surgery but it’s going to be a miserable couple of weeks. We have to stay light on the pain meds at least for a couple of days because of the concussion so we’ll get you started on ice therapy and corticosteroid injections to ease the inflammation. And you’ll need to do some positively enjoyable breathing exercises to help reduce your risk for pneumonia.”

 Jay groans.

Once the kid is wheeled off to CT, his brother taking the chance to go check on another patient, Antonio turns to Voight.

“You look ticked off. You’re not going to yell at Jay are you? Yeah, it was stupid to stay as long as he did but I don’t know that we would have found Irving if he hadn’t.”

“It’s not Halstead I’m pissed at.” Voight says, cutting the other man off as he starts to protest, “And it’s not you either. He was the one getting kicked at, he deserved to call the shots on when to end it.”

“Then who? Hastings? Cause I’d like to have a go at the bastard myself.”

“Irving didn’t get made.” he mutters and Antonio’s features twist in confusion.

“Then why was he-”

“The bastard got greedy.” Voight growls, “ Helped himself to a better cut. And then when they realized what he was doing, he told them he was a cop trying to get some kind of immunity.”

“Jay had to go through this, is going to spend the next six weeks forcing himself to breathe, because Irving is a greedy son of a bitch?” Antonio says tightly.

Voight just nods.

“Red called me.” he adds after a minute. “I think once we stopped them from killing the bastard, the back up plan was to at least destroy his life. Irving didn’t even try to deny it.”

“Then the brass are taking care of it?”

“Commander Perry is handling it personally. Should probably keep the news in house. I doubt they’ll want it broadcasted to the masses. But I figured you deserve to know. So does Halstead.”

“Feels like kicking him while he’s down.” Antonio mutters and Voight has to agree.

Jay glances between them when he’s brought back from CT, clearly worried he’s about to get yelled at. 

“Sarge, I know -” he starts, falling silent at Voight’s raised hand. 

“I’m not going to yell at you, Jay.” he says. “Staying in there was your call. As much as I wish you hadn’t been hurt this badly, you got the job sone.”

Jay’s eyes narrow in confusion. 

“Then why do you look so pissed off?” he asks.

“What I’m about to tell you is need to know only.” Voight cautions. “Brass wants to deal with it in house and hope they can avoid too many people finding out about it.”

“Okay.” Jay says slowly. 

“Kyle Irving didn’t get made.” Voight says. “The bastard got caught stealing money. He thought telling them he was a cop would keep them from killing him.”

Jay frowns. 

“He got greedy.”

“I’m sorry, Jay.” Voight says. “I know that’s a kick in the pants after what you went through to bring him home.”

“He still didn’t deserve to die.” Jay says with an aborted shrug. 

He can’t quite cover up the hurt that he’s feeling, no matter how nonchalant he tries to be about it. 

Voight shakes his head. The brass had better make sure that Irving pays for this. 

Or he’ll take it into his own hands. 

[falling-pages]

Happiest of birthdays to our very own Shadow King, Kyoya Ootori.

-

Kyoya Ootori x Female Reader

-

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Body issues (Reader says she isn't beautiful, Kyoya reminds her that she is)

-

“Are you almost ready, my dear?”

Kyoya fussed with his cufflinks as he heard rustling on the other side of the dressing room door, short nails picking at the thread but not quite able to poke the button through. Damn thing was too small to properly fit, but he messed with it anyways, resisting the urge to take it between his teeth and make it go through.

“Go to the ceremony. I don’t want you to see me.”

At this, Kyoya forgot the link and looked up, still staring at the pale pine wood of the door. His normally punctual girlfriend, who always wanted to dress up and take pictures, wanted him to leave without seeing her? At his best friend’s wedding, of all places?

What on earth had you so worked up that you wanted to stay inside?

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” he said. “The best man has to arrive with his bridesmaid. It’s bad luck.”

“No.” Your voice was muffled behind the door, but he heard the panic raising the tone an octave. “No, it’s tradition for the best man to walk out with the groom. So go do that, Smarty-pants, I’ll meet you out there.”

Something was definitely up. Usually you wanted to show off on his arm, greet guests as you pass and steal the photographer for a few minutes before the ceremony started. He leaned his forehead against the doorframe, eyes fluttering between grains of wood. “Darling, are you sure everything is alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. But Tamaki probably isn’t. Go console him before he gets snot on his tux or something.”

Panic struck his core, nearly making him walk away, but he remembered he still had four other groomsmen back in the room to take care of him by any means necessary. It was only by them covering for him as Tamaki wailed into a tissue that Kyoya could sneak out for a few minutes to see you.

“I want to see you,” he admitted. Swallowing his pride was never easy, but he did whatever he needed for you. “I want to see my beautiful girlfriend in her beautiful dress.”

“No you don’t.” He caught the sniffle in your voice and nearly tore the door off its hinges. Why are you crying? Were you hurt? Did one of the other bridesmaids say something to you?

He jiggled the doorknob, but of course you had locked it. “Yes, I do. Please let me in.”

With the stern warning in his voice you finally relented, unscrewing the lock and allowing him inside. To keep out danger and prying eyes he slipped in and quickly shut the door behind him, scanning for what had happened before his gaze landed on you. Remarkably, you were uninjured, perfectly kempt; he could find no reason for your distress.

You took in his eyes on you, perfectly calm, yet his voice betrayed his confusion. And he looked perfect, of course he did, in his black tux and burnt orange vest and cummerbund and tie, somehow taking that drab color and making it look regal on his handsome frame. He had the face of an angel and posture of a king--and here you were, looking like a piece of overcooked fish.

Similarly, he was trapped for just a moment by your beauty, admiring how your hair was pulled back and to the side, trailing over your shoulder, what the sunset orange gown did for your figure, a v-neckline cut deep across your chest, and leaving your arms exposed. What was it they said about not outshining the bride? It didn’t matter, because in his eyes, you did.

“You look…” his eyes snapped back up to your face, taking in the contour of your cheek, the thick, heavy lashes framing your pupils.

“Horrible.”

“Stunning.”

You shook your head, clenching your fists in the skirt of the gown. “No, no, Kyo, I look like a crack whore,” you sobbed dryly, withholding your tears, though you knew if you smudged any of it, there were more layers underneath to catch. “The makeup artist was like, thirteen, and she tangled my hair and it hurts to blink--it shouldn’t hurt to blink!”

He only chuckled, pulling you into his arms as he rested against the doorframe. “You do not look like any such thing,” he chided, nestling his nose in your hair. “You look quite beautiful.”

“She put me in enough makeup to drown a rat,” you continued. “I am going to break out so heavily after this, why did Renge even choose these stupid colors? I know she likes bold makeup looks and fashion choices, but I don’t, and I feel...why would you even want to be seen with me? Why would you to walk me down the aisle with everyone watching and me looking like this?”

He only held you tighter as you ranted, smothering you against his chest and massaging his fingers gently against the nape of your neck. Seeing you sad broke his heart, but because of your looks? Because you couldn’t see the absolute goddess he had the privilege of laying eyes on each and every day? That’s what nearly broke his soul.

As much as you wanted the tears to fall, to wash away some of the makeup, your eyes stayed dry, leaving you nestled in his chest breathing in the scent of his boutinerre and old spice, wondering how you had gotten lucky enough to snag him. He only continued stroking your neck, letting his fingertips crawl down your back to press your spine, calming, repetitive motions keeping you present.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said quietly, and your heart began to race. His deals and propositions very rarely worked out well for all parties involved. “When we get married, you can choose the colors, the gowns, and the makeup.”

When. You liked the sound of that. Digging your face from beneath his arm, you smiled up at him. “I would have thought that would be on the table, anyways,” you said coyly, a tone which he returned.

“You underestimate my father’s standards for Ootori public events.”

However that may be true, all that mattered to you was the assurance in which he said the sentence. It was a promise, a contract, a vow; and Ootoris were not known for breaking their contracts.

“You’d marry me looking like this?”

Kyoya blushed, standing up to his full height and swiftly turning you against the door, pinning you beneath his gaze. “I’d marry you right now, in this room, with no one but a priest,” he whispered, dipping to press a kiss to your lips. “I’d marry you with makeup, without it, in this gown, a wedding dress, or pajamas. I’d marry you with no hesitation at all.”

With each declaration he kissed you, unworried about smudging the mistoned lipstick, or disrupting the frizziness of your hair as he held your face firm, even as you wiggled, trapped between his body and the wall, but kissing him back just as eagerly, knowing that you, too, would marry him in a heartbeat.

“Are you almost ready? We’re about to walk out!”

The knocking and Haruhi’s voice sent you scrambling away from the door, instinctively pushing Kyoya back until he stumbled into the vanity, a brief noise of surprise and disappointment leaking from both of your lips. The wood was thin--there was no way she didn’t hear what was going on--but you turned tried to regulate your breathing as best you could.

“Umm, yep, I’m almost done.”

Her retreating footsteps signaled Kyoya to come back up behind you, warming his hands on your hips. His weight felt nice, reassuring, as did his laugh as his mouth met the back of your neck.

The ridiculous situation had you laughing with him, eventually turning to more kissing as you turned around, before leaving him with a lingering peck and grabbing your bouquet. “A hundred yen says Tamaki’s pulling his hair out looking for you,” you mumbled.

Kyoya took your chin and gave you one last kiss before opening the door. “I’ll take that bet.”

-

Kofi

[apocalypticgargoyle]

Hey, I adore your work; you are so very talented!! ♡ Would you mind writing a continuation of 'Reverse Your Regret,' in which Sapnap gets possessive over the reader? Perhaps, after their ex arrogantly reaches out to them, asking for forgiveness, the reader thoughtlessly brings it up to the incubus .. I hope that makes sense .. Anyways, wherever you decide to take this AU (if anywhere), it will be magnificent. Just wanted to share a passing thought. :)

I love this. I absolutely love this. Also this request.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊. ⛧ 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐮𝐛𝐮𝐬!𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐧𝐚𝐩 (𝟏𝟖+)

pairing: incubus!Sapnap x afab!reader 

warnings: smut (18+), biting, possessiveness, Dream being an asshole, language, mentions of God and angels

previous part

You furrowed your brows slightly as a knock came to your door. Checking your watch briefly, you swiveled around the corner from your campaign of rifling through the fridge. You were hesitant to peek at who it was, mainly because of the time of night. You stood on your toes, peering through the peephole until your eyes focused on a familiar head of blond hair.

You slumped back against the door, feeling out of breath, and paralyzed with shock. What was he doing out there? You scorned, trying to remember if you had recently texted him when you were drunk, or if he had come on his own accord.

You twisted the knob slowly before inhaling and opening your door to face him. Clay’s eyes met yours, his weight leaning on his hand propped against the threshold lazily. His towering frame blocked most of the hallway light from spilling into your apartment. “Hey,” he greeted easily, voice raspy and low. It had once been your absolute weakness; how simply he could make you unravel by just whispering in your ear or making a snide comment.

You moved an inch to let him into your apartment as if you were on autopilot from his previous actions. After you shut the door behind the two of you, you shoved your hands in your pockets, your fingers brushing against the cardstock that had brought Sapnap to you. His voice seemed to flash into your head when you touched it as if he were consoling you.

Clay leaned against the back of your couch, crossing his arms as he surveyed your body as if he were looking for something in particular. He wet his lips, furrowing his brows. “I really miss you,” he mumbled, looking at you with a softer expression. “I really have no idea what was going through my head when I broke things off,” he apologized.

You raised your eyebrows at him. “I’m not…” you answered, the hesitance in your voice demonstrating your disbelief. “I mean, we really… weren’t healthy…” His eyes drifted to your floor in front of him before darting back up to your gaze.

He stiffened slightly as if noticing something about you. “You look different,” he muttered absent-mindedly. You pinched yourself, wondering how you could have ever vied for his gaze and attention. You used to yearn for him to scrutinize and nit-pick, but now you knew what it was like to have a man that earned your respect, even if he did own you. Clay only took it.

You shrugged slightly, unsure of how to answer him as the pads of your fingers traced the raised print on the card. “I haven’t done anything differently,” you answered, averting your stare to bounce around at his clothing.

He tsked lowly. “No, something is definitely off about you.” He stood, walking to plant himself in front of you. He slowly reached a hand toward you, brushing your hair off your shoulder before gently dipping his fingers between your collar and moving your shirt to expose one of your shoulders. You hated yourself for wanting to lean into his touch and bury your face in his chest.

His fingers brushed against a sore spot on your skin, and you knew instantly what he was looking at: a bite from Sapnap.

Something dark flickered across his expression and he seemed almost fearful as he took a step back from you. He smirked slightly. “I see how it is,” he nipped mockingly, teeth digging into his bottom lip. “I knew your eyes seemed a bit dead, I just didn’t think you would have gone that far.”

You quipped an eyebrow in his direction, your hand moving to rest over the mark. There was no way he could have been able to tell what it meant. Your heart thumped in your chest as you wondered what Clay would have thought of you.

Before you could ask, he spoke again. “I just came by to check up on you. I heard you’d been acting strange.” He chuckled shortly. “I get why now.” You weren’t sure why he was so bitter, in fact, even when the two of you were at your worst, he never spoke to you with such malice. He began to back out of your apartment. “Just be careful. You don’t seem like the type stupid enough to get into that stuff, but from the looks of it, I might be wrong.”

You furrowed your brows, watching him leave as you stood there in shock, unable to piece together what had just happened. You weren’t sure how long you have been standing in the middle of your apartment with your mind running blank.

“What is that smell?” Sapnap’s voice boomed from one corner of your room, making you jump to look at him, your heart seemingly restarting. His face twisted in some kind of angry disgust.

You exhaled. “Jesus! You have to stop doing that!” You bit back as he seemed to further investigate whatever was bothering him, even going as far as opening a window. When you realized how much I affected him you self-consciously sniffed yourself. You smelled fine. “What are you smelling?” You queried, watching as he scoured your living room.

He stopped, looking at you with gleaming eyes. Something seemed to click in his mind and before you knew it, he was standing before you, hand resting on the side of your neck as he took a whiff of you, nose brushing against your neck. You inched away from him out of confusion and discomfort. “You’ve had an angel in here haven’t you?”

You were taken aback, to say the least. “I- what?”

“Who just left?” He asked, covering his mouth and nose as if you were repulsive to him.

You swallowed, crossing your arms over your chest, and folding in on yourself. “I don’t know… It was just my ex-boyfri-“

He cut you off. “Are you fucking serious?” You nodded slowly, wondering where he was going with this, and if these pieces of your story were de-cluttering his puzzle. “That’s why you were so uncomfortable, and why you smell overwhelmingly like rotting flowers?”

You tilted your head. “Rotting flowers?”

Sapnap rubbed his chin slightly. “He could probably tell. Mortals lose a certain light in their eyes after giving themselves to a demon,” he muttered, watching your expression shift. “Those fucking God cops are always in our territory.”

You wet your lips. “Speak plainly, Sapnap,” you insisted, breath becoming shallow.

He smugly grinned at you. “You were prime angel real estate before I came along, baby,” he answered snidely, making heat spread across your body. He got closer to you, pressing his fingertips against the portions of your skin that Clay had grazed over just moments prior as if he were spreading his own scent to cleanse Clay off your skin. “Now, not even God can help you,” he gleamed, teeth tugging at his lip before leaning towards you and pressing his mouth to yours. He broke the kiss only to hover near your ear, one of his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you against him. “Your soul’s mine.”

His body was intoxicating, and while you knew it was dangerous to be with him, you felt safer with Sapnap even if he was blatantly telling you just how damned you were. The news was easier to swallow with his tongue slipping into your mouth and his voice whispering sweetly possessive venom into your ear.

You ground your hips against him as he pressed his lips against your neck, teeth trailing after his contact, fingers digging into your skin or the leather couch beneath you. Your hair tangled with his movements, clawing at his back as his teeth clicked against your chest. His tongue darted over his previous bite that you figured would end up scaring; a permanent homage to him on your body.

He had known the adrenaline rushing through your veins at Clay’s arrival. He’d known the discomfort and the borderline fear you had to edge yourself off of earlier, therefore as he kneaded the flesh of your thighs in his hand, he was sure to validate that Clay could threaten you all he wanted, but while Sapnap was around, he couldn’t hurt you. He had explained in the past that you were his personal plaything, and thus you had gained his protection and respect in an almost sadistic way.

You moaned as his fingers slid beneath your shirt, tugging it over your head while you pulled his own off, letting his lips attack your neck again. You brazenly ground your hips up against his, wrapping a leg around his thigh in a desperate search for more friction.

You knew the heated mix of Sapnap’s possessive urges and your determination to please him would have your knees shaking in no time as he dragged your pants down your legs, fingers clawing at the now bare skin of your thighs as you, carded your fingers through his hair, tugging at his roots and swallowing his moans.

The two of you rushed into your pleasures, letting him push into you and send your mind spending. You were forgetting Clay’s name with each punctuated thrust of his hips as he bottomed out in you. You clenched around him, making him groan into your shoulder, teeth threatening to mark you again.

He pulled out of you, only to flip you onto your stomach, jutting your hips up and against his as he drove himself into you again, pressing your shoulders into the couch. You bit down on your bottom lip preventing yourself from moaning out his name as his fingers dug into your shoulders, teaching you just how much he liked to use your body. With how good he was making you feel, you didn’t give a damn.

He panted out your name, his voice low and gruff as he nearly commanded and controlled your orgasm. You whimpered at his antics and he chuckled darkly. “I should be ripping you apart after you let that thing into your apartment,” he threatened seductively. You moaned out and apology as his lips and tongue met your shoulder blade, fingers tracing the length of your spine. You could feel the pads of his fingers circling each of your vertebrates as he drove himself deeper into you, reaching just where you needed him.

You came undone quicker than you had expected, moaning as he picked up his pace to bring himself to finishing, your vision blurring from the stimulation as he used you. His hand gripped onto your hips as his paces stuttered against you, a groan hissing through his teeth. His hand laced with yours momentarily before the two of you straightened yourselves up.

You pulled your knees to your chest, watching him rebutton his shirt. You slipped your arms further into your hoodie and he looked at you with a small perk of his eyebrow. “What are you thinking about?” He asked.

You chewed the corner of your mouth. “What do demons smell like to angels then?”

“Charcoal,” he answered plainly. “Sometimes just burning.” He sat beside you, pulling you to his side. You snuggled into his warmth, resting your head on his chest.

You inhaled sharply. “So… Clay’s an angel…”

You couldn’t see his face, but you knew his eyes began to glow at the mention of the other species, especially the man you’d been associated with. “Yeah, they call him Dream.” He hesitated slightly. “He’s one of the worst.”

You felt like you were walking on eggshells to ask him more. “Did you know him?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Before I got kicked out,” he joked, covering the obvious hurt in his voice.

“Kicked out of where?” You probed, already somewhat figuring you knew the answer.

He was quiet. “Heaven.”

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