#NASH Cup

[watchyourbuck]

it’s the contrast from Buck’s real parents in the front looking upset and disappointed,,,, to Buck’s adoptive parents in the back, looking joyous and proud.

frames people,,, frames.

[wreckedhoney]

killer frequency is a game where you the player save several characters' lives with time being of the essence… wait a minute you're telling me ALL these cups are interactable? ok fellas hold on

[nashscribblings]

It's a *cup.*

It's a fucking *cup.*

You put *drinks* in it.

People are goddamn smuggling these things?! IT'S A FUCKING CUP.

[plutoloulou]

They need to give Athena a rest!

Like damn! What did she do to deserve back to back transportation disasters?

[happyendingsong]

catching up on kate nash's new album :^) the production throughout is giving sims 2 soundtrack i love it

[gilverrwrites]

Man, I need something with Jason's big hands, so big that one hand can cup your entire sex...

He will smack your clit, cup your sex, you'll grind on it and he will do something while cupping your lady bits.

I can live off of your body heat

Jason Todd/Reader, 2.4K

AN: I've actually had mutiple req for Jason and/or Dick slapping and pinching the readers clit which is like so specific, but I get it. Like I feel yall so much. I know Jay being a giant is fanon thing, but goddamn my 5'4 ass wants to be crushed by his hands so bad. CWs: Mentions of Jay's scars, swearing, size difference, Dom!Jay, teasing, Jay being really rough, nipple play, clit pinching, clit slapping. Petnames: Baby, babe, babygirl, good girl, Name-calling: Filthy girl, bitch, slut. Recommended listening: Body Heat - Kate Nash

There’s a scar on his chest. Actually, there are many scars on his chest. However, there’s one in particular that stands out; a long taut piece of skin that stretches from his left shoulder blade, right down to his sternum. Its pale sheen stands out against his tan skin and begs you to trail a finger along it.

Despite the temptation, you don’t.

Jason hasn’t slept this well in weeks so you daren't risk waking him yet. Instead, you watch the gentle rise and fall of his torso under the mellow light of the morning sun until the need to move is too great.

Your feet have barely touched the ground when a pair of sturdy arms close around you, enveloping you in the warmth of the very body you’d just been admiring and pulling you back into the bed. Or more, pulling you on top of his body, primarily by his choice, partially because there isn’t enough room for you both to lay without some overlap. Every time you mention buying a larger bed, Jason vetoes it; says he likes the close proximity. That feeling your body against his helps him to relax and you can’t really argue with that sentiment.

“Where’d you think you’re going?” He asks from the spot in the crook of your neck he loves to nuzzle into. He peppers the side of your neck with sleepy half-kisses.

It would be endearing, were his hands not already under the oversized Red Hood tee you’d stolen from him to sleep in.

“Oh, I don’t know.” You hum, hands wrapping around his wrists, purely for additional skin-on-skin contact. You couldn’t stop him from ghosting his calloused fingertips up your body if you wanted to. It’s strange, and arousing to think that he can, and has trapped both of your wrists in with just one hand.

“You don't know?” He’s rousing properly now, amused by your answer.

“Probably just to shower, make a coffee, maybe read a book until you wake up.”

“I’m awake now.” He reminds you, rolling his hips to emphasise his double entendre. The heat of his mourning wood grinds against your backside, and at the same time, one of his wandering hands finally settles on a target. He cups the underside of your breast, and you can’t help sucking in a breath as he pinches your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Already so brutal, despite the slow, sensual way he’s been exploring until now.

You sigh in relief when he lets go, allowing just enough time for the blood to rush back before he clamps down again, this time in a twisting motion that has your hands shooting up into his hair. “Jay!”

He seems unaffected by your attack on his scalp, chuckling into the tender spot behind your ear, and causing a chill to run down your spine. “Yeah, baby?”

“You should be asleep.” You’d intended to deadpan for comedic effect, but it comes out in short, strained breaths that only serve to make you sound needy as hell.

It’s at this point you hear a snapping sound, followed by the light sting of your underwear’s elastic waist snapping against your skin, drawing your attention downwards just in time to feel Jason cupping your entire sex in just one of his hands. All the while he never stops the assault on your now raw tits.

“Do you want me to stop?” He questions. At the same time, he palms your folds through the fabric of your underwear, pressing the ball of it against your increasingly aching clit.

“Feels nice.” You sigh, letting your head fall back against his shoulder, allowing him further access to the sensitive skin of your neck which he eagerly accepts, honing in to suck and nibble, sloppily leaving marks in his wake. You don’t want to back down, but God, you do not want him to stop.

“Come on baby, I need a real answer. Do you want me to go back to sleep?” He eventually circles back, lips barely leaving your flesh as he speaks. Distracting you from the erotic sting of your nipples and the heat between your legs as his rugged fingers push all the right buttons. “Or do you want me to keep playing with your cute little pussy?”

“Fuck, Jay please- “ You’re ready to give in but as you speak he hooks two fingers under the crotch of your underwear, and the resulting, embarrassingly wet squelch that sounds out as he presses them between your folds has you hissing.

“Please what?” He goads, now upping the pressure. He’s doing it on purpose, cause he’s a fucking tease. “Please stop?”

“No! Please don’t stop touching my cunt!”

“Your cunt? You’re fucking filthy, girl. You know that?” He plants a quick, hard kiss on your cheek and, as if you weigh nothing, lifts you by your pussy, repositioning you for his own ease until your legs are stretched wide, his own wedged in between to keep you in place. The speed at which he moves is enough to give you whiplash. You barely have enough time to gasp at the retraction of his hands before they’re on you again, settling in new positions. With one hand he completely pulls aside your panties, exposing your hot, soaked folds to the tepid air. The other pulls your tee over your head before cupping the back of your head, forcing your gaze downwards. “Don’t move. I want you to watch everything I do to you. Can you do that for me, baby”

Shit. You think your heart might beat out of your chest. All this vehement energy so early in the morning. “Yes, Jay!”

Immediately contradicting yourself, you turn your head to admire his handsome profile. The determined squint of his eyes, the bed head, the morning stubble, you really lucked out with him you think as you lean closer to kiss his cheek. Before you can make contact Jay's grip tightens on the back of your head, sharply turning you back to watch as he dips two long fingers between your slit. Your clit practically twitches at the sight of them; long enough to span from top to entrance in excess.

You try your hardest to watch as he repeatedly strokes your lips in short, lazy motions but it’s a challenge not to close your eyes and get lost in the moment. It’s even harder not to throw your head back and scream when he suddenly sinks his fingers around your clit and starts pinching, it. Tightly rolling the sensitive bud between two curled fingers.

“Shit, Jay.” You pant through gritted teeth. “That hurts so good.”

Just like with your nipples, what feels even better is the rapid return of blood flow when he releases it. He repeats the process twice over, laughing every time you flinch or whine. Whispering in your ear about how you’re his “good girl”, how “you can take it” every time you dig your nails into his arm in an attempt to relieve the pain.

“Help me out here babe. Spread your pussy out for me.” He instructs, playfully gasping into your ear when you pull back your lips to reveal your now dark and swollen core. You’re too turned on to care about the sight of it. Happy to expose yourself, certain that the moment he starts kneading you with care, you’ll cum in seconds.

Jason must be thinking the same as he dips one finger into your entrance, just enough to coat it with your arousal before returning to your puffy clit to rub around it in circles. Even at twice the size, your clit is smaller than the tip of his finger.

“Ohh, I’m gonna cum soon.” Before you’ve even finished your sentence Jay retracts his hand, ripping a distraught weep from you in the process. You’ve been here a hundred times before, splayed out for him, gasping, and begging for his touch, but the red-hot shame at your flagrant desperation never eases. “What the fuck, dude!?”

“Dude?” Without warning, Jay comes back down. Hard. Your whole body shakes under the intensity of the vicious slap he delivers to your clit. “Who the fuck are you calling dude?”

He doesn’t give you enough time to answer before he smacks your open folds again. Flipping the switch in your body from heady to adrenaline-filled arousal.

“Say my name.” He barks as he dispenses a third slap.

“Jay!” You don’t have it in you to say his full name, but it seems to satisfy.

“Say it louder.” His words are punctuated by the lewd echo of sharp, stinging strikes. “I want the neighbours to hear what a dirty fucking slut you are. Want them to know who you belong to.”   

“Jason. You Jason!” You close your eyes and throw your head back, crying with everything you can muster, not caring how raunchy or pathetic you sound. Ignoring the pain of your own nails digging into your flesh. “Jason. I’m yours, Jason.”

“That's better.” He growls. Finally, his arm falls slack. With no friction from your dripping, wanting walls, Jason glides two fingers into your entrance and you tremble, your whole body tingling, ecstatic to finally feel him inside you. It’s just two fingers, two impressively strong, thick fingers that make you feel so full. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

Abashed by his sudden gentleness you open your eyes once more, positioning yourself to look at him as best you can. He’s one to talk. You’re always telling him he could be a model if he decided to quit being a part-time crime lord, part-time crime fighter.  

You’re unable to concentrate on him for long, however, as he starts pumping in and out of you in torturously slow thrusts. After all the excitement, it quietens your mind and eases your muscles. For the first time since he’d repositioned your bodies, you notice the pressure of his cock, pulsing against your lower back. The rigged hardness of it makes you feel fuzzy and content at his equal levels of arousal.

You stay like that for a few minutes, simply enjoying the calm as Jason gently massages your insides until it’s not enough. You need more, your body yearns, your core practically twitching for his touch on your clit again. An orgasm is approaching steadily, but you’ll get nowhere without it.

The heel of his hand is so close, so sturdy, you don’t even think about what you’re doing, you just start undulating your hips, rutting up against him in unstable motions. He doesn’t stop you; in fact he curls his fingers and brings his palm down closer, letting you use him to chase your orgasm.

“That's it, baby. Hump me like a bitch in heat.” He coos so softly in your ear that it would set your pulse racing if it wasn’t already running at a mile a minute. “Remember I'm the only who does this for you, the only one who can make you feel so full and cock drunk on just my hands.”

He's right, he's so fucking right.

“Keep that up, I might just cum too.”

“Fuck me.” You breathe, affected both by his words and the reminder of his throbbing dick squeezed between your bodies.

“Not until you cum on my fingers.” He’s only half joking. “Can you do that for me baby, cum all over my finger like a good little slut?”

Fuck yes, you can. You want to say, but all your energy is focused on riding his hand, fucking yourself on his brawny fingers, and gyrating against his palm like it's your job. His groans and rasps become a motivational mantra as you keep bucking your hips.

“You’re nearly there.” He comments, able to feel your walls tightening around his digits, convulsing uncontrollably as it hits you. It takes all your strength to ride it out; to keep going as you topple over the edge but fuck it’s worth it for the full extent of your release. “That it babygirl, cum for me baby, fucking soak me.”

Worth it for the explicit sound of your wet cum streaming against Jason’s hands, for the rush of ecstasy that bleeds through your body, and especially for the unexpected heat that spreads across your lower back in spaced-out intervals; Jason's own ejaculation seeping through his boxers and dispersing on your skin.         

Simultaneously, you both grow limp, breathing in time with each other until the rapid movements of your chests begin to ebb back to a steady pace.

“You were so good for me, I’m so proud of you.” Jason praises as he rolls your bodies onto their sides, never releasing you in the process, but allowing him a better ability to press a smattering of kisses to the side of your head, lingering along your jawline. You're grateful for his sweet words, but still too fucked-out to speak, but you coo when he lifts a hand to run his thumb along your neck, presumably checking out his earlier handy work. You arch to get a better look at him, and given the subtle, but smug smile on his face, you’re certain he’s left quite the mark.   

“Let me guess.” You find your voice. “It’s not just the neighbours who’ll know who I belong to?”

“Hmmmm.” He tilts his head and puckers his lips in mock consideration. “I think you should donate all your scarf.”

“Jay!” You punch his shoulder, and he has enough decency to play along, briefly leaning back as though you could even make a dent on his towering frame. “Is it really bad?”

“No. No no no.” He’s lying through his teeth, snickering as he leans in to crush your lips with his own. His skin is slick with sweat you realise when you reach up to gently grasp his other shoulder and guide him closer to you. His morning breath is frankly kind of gross, but yours probably is too. Nevertheless, it’s a price you’re willing to pay for his affection.

“What do you wanna do now?” He asks when he pulls back from your mouth, continuing to press kisses down your neck, along your collar, and slinking closer to your chest with each brush. He asks some variation of this same question everytime you fuck. Letting you direct how much you can take from him in one go or what kind of aftercare you need.

“I don’t know.” You hum, imitating your earlier indecision, as you stretch against the mattress. “Shower, coffee, and a book still sounds good to me.”

“Sounds very good. Mind if I join?” He’s not actually asking, that much is evident as he lifts you in his arms and cradles you against his chest as he stands. You’ll both be grateful to get your sticky, cum soaked underwear off. You’ll be even more grateful for the chance to lather and massage your boyfriend up in soapy bubbles, to really get your fingers on those pretty scars that call to you. Maybe you can convince him to take a nap later when you’re curled up on the couch, reading together.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Jay.”

[megalony]

It's Me

This is a new Bobby Nash imagine, requested by a lovely anon. I hope you will all like this, please let me know what you think.

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Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: Bobby likes to keep his personal life private, therefore he doesn't tell the team his girlfriend works with them. But the truth comes to light when (Y/n) gets shot on shift and they have to call their Captain with the news.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Morning sweetheart," A grin settled on Bobby's face as he walked up behind (Y/n).

Both hands settled down on her waist and his chest pressed down into her back while he pecked the back of her head. His fingers skimmed up and down her waist while he closed his eyes, keeping his lips merged into her hair.

When a small hand curled around Bobby's sleeve and gave a little tug, he opened his eyes and leaned his head around to look at the toddler huddled up against (Y/n)'s chest.

"Morning buddy." He curved his left arm around (Y/n)'s lower waist and moved his right hand to cup the back of Jack's head.

The four year old leaned into the touch and smiled up at Bobby with that matching grin and vibrant, bright eyes that matched Bobby look for look. Jack didn't like to feel left out.

When he started to riggle in her arms and stretched his arms out, (Y/n) turned around so Bobby could take him instead. He curled up against Bobby's chest straight away with his arms bound tight around his neck and he stretched up to kiss his dad's cheek.

Bobby smiled brightly when his boy tucked up into the crook of his neck while he had (Y/n) curved into his left arm with her cheek on his shoulder. It was as if Jack thought he hadn't seen his dad in days when really, it had only been a day since Bobby got home last night after the four year old went to bed.

"Morning." (Y/n) wrapped her arms tightly around his torso and squeezed him into her chest. Her fingers danced across his belt and the top of his trousers just to watch him tilt his head down at her with one brow raised. She felt his hand squeeze her hip as if giving her a warning sign before he leaned down and stole a kiss.

It almost looked strange to see Bobby in his everyday clothes when both their shifts had lined up at the station and (Y/n) was used to seeing her partner in uniform.

(Y/n) was happy to steal a few moments with Bobby this morning before she went to work. She was on the morning shift and would finish before tea time tonight, whereas Bobby's shift started at lunch since he had been on the late shift yesterday. At least they both had a few days off together after this shift.

It was getting hard to be at work and play professional. (Y/n) didn't like walking past Bobby and not being able to wrap her arms around him or steal a kiss or brush up close against him. All she could do was give him a subtle wink or rest her hand on his arm just a bit too long when she walked past him.

(Y/n) hadn't long transferred to the 118 and although head office knew she and Bobby were in a relationship, the 118 staff didn't. They wanted to keep things professional and not have anyone make remarks or think Bobby was favouritising his girlfriend or giving (Y/n) preferrential treatment.

Bobby pecked her lips again before he looked down at Jack who was strangely quiet and it made him wonder if his little boy was still tired and possibly half asleep. But when he looked down at him, he noticed there was a distant look in Jack's eyes like he was drifting off in his own world.

"Are you spending the morning with me, hm?" He jostled his boy in his arm and moved to make him a drink when (Y/n) finally unravelled from his chest and finished making the mugs of coffee that had been forgotten on the counter.

"Mummy work?"

"Afraid so."

(Y/n) snook a glance over her shoulder but she grinned when she watched the way Jack looked up at Bobby with that beaming smile and kissed Bobby's cheek. It was more routine for Jack to spend the mornings with (Y/n) and see his dad go off to work. Bobby was the Captain, he had more demands to his job and a lot of the time he had to go in for office time rather than actually being on the station floor.

So it was nice for Jack to be able to spend the morning with Bobby and have some one to one time with him.

Once he'd made him a drink, Bobby held the beaker out to Jack and headed over to sit down at the kitchen table. He loved the way Jack snuggled down into his chest and squirmed to get comfy with him. His head slouched against Bobby's arm with his cheek pressed into his bicep and his beaker clasped between his hands.

Tilting his head down, Bobby pressed a kiss to the top of his boy's head. Sometimes, it still seemed unreal that Bobby was having this experience all over again. That he had a family, a loving partner and a little boy to look after.

After losing Marcy and the kids, he didn't think having anymore kids would ever be in his future. But Bobby didn't realise how much he missed and needed this until that first moment when Jack was placed into his arms. He would take all the sleepless nights, playdates and nursing Jack through sickness bugs, Bobby would take it all with a full heart and a smile.

He murmured a quiet "Thank you," when (Y/n) placed a coffee down on the table beside him and her hand gripped his shoulder so she could lean down and kiss his temple.

"What will you boys be doing this morning then?" (Y/n) sat down opposite them and reclined in her seat. She nursed a cup of coffee between her hands and stretched one leg out so she could brush her foot against the inside of Bobby's leg which made him grin in her direction.

"Baking?" Jack lifted his head to look up at his dad with those big round eyes that could get him anything he wanted.

"You wanna do some baking? What about a cake for mummy?"

A grin spread across (Y/n)'s face when Jack nodded and clapped around his beaker. She had a feeling he wouldn't be smiling this afternoon when Bobby had to tell him that he would be spending the rest of the day with Lola, the babysitter. As much as Jack got along with the elder lady, he wouldn't like Bobby leaving him. (Y/n) had a feeling Bobby would have a hard time getting to work on time and tearing himself away from their boy.

"What time are you coming in?" (Y/n) lifted her foot a bit higher until she could prop her ankle on his thigh next to Jack. And when she did the same with her other leg and reclined in her chair so she was effectively laying out across Bobby, he laughed.

He took a sip of coffee and looked down at his watch to see what time it was now.

"I'll be in around one, think you can stay out of trouble until I get there?"

"Hm, I'm not too sure about that."

Four hours unsupervised, that didn't sound great. (Y/n) knew the rest of the team didn't particularly like it when they had to be on shift without Bobby or when he was only at work for his audits and he didn't join them on calls. It was like marching into battle without a leader.

Whenever Bobby wasn't at the station, there was always someone appointed as shift lead to try and keep a sense of balance and command. But everyone secretly preferred Bobby to be there.

(Y/n) felt safer when he was around. Not that she didn't trust the team or that she didn't think them capable, it just always felt better with Bobby there in charge. His presence was calming and he seemed to give off a natural wave of authority.

Bobby tilted his head back and his eyes followed (Y/n) when she sighed and got up from her seat after a few moments. He watched her walk towards him and seat herself happily on his right thigh while he kept Jack tucked into his left side.

She pressed a kiss to Jack's temple to make him smile before she looped both arms loosely around Bobby's neck. She felt his firm hand pressing into her lower back and his head angled up in her direction, his lips curved into a smile that broadened when she pushed down into his chest.

"Four hours without you, I could get into a lot of trouble, you know." (Y/n) whispered the words against the shell of Bobby's ear before she pressed a tender, shallow kiss to the tip of his jaw.

"Try not to, please. Wouldn't want to reprimand you in front of the team." He began feathering his fingers up and down her back while he felt one of (Y/n)'s hands move to cup his face. He loved the feeling of her thumb tracing his cheek and the way she grinned down at him like he was the only person worth looking at.

The way she kissed him made him smile against her lips and groan at the thought of her leaving him in precisely ten minutes.

It was easier when their shifts lined up. It meant they got to see more of each other both at work and at home and it was easier for arranging child care for Jack. They didn't have to have one parent with him and then switch to another, they could just get Lola or (Y/n)'s parents to watch him after nursery or daycare until they finished shifts.

It also meant they didn't have to miss the other and say goodbye like this. Although, when they headed to work together, they tried to make sure it wasn't obvious they were arriving together. They both trusted the team, but it was easier, for now, not to tell anyone they were involved romantically.

"Oh no?" (Y/n) whispered into his mouth before she captured them completely in a searing kiss.

"Hm, no. That would have to wait until we got home." His hand travelled further south until his hand held her bum. While Jack cuddled up into his arm, oblivious as he faced the other direction to look out the window.

"I'll have to cause some mayhem then while I wait for you."

She felt Bobby tutting against her lips and shaking his head in her hand before he leaned up and captured another kiss. He dreaded to think what sort of mayhem would ensue while he spent the morning at home with their boy.

It didn't bear thinking about.

"Alright, let's get back so we can grab some lunch."

"You know you'll have to cook, right? Cap probably won't be in until later." (Y/n) moved her hands to her hips and tilted her head to one side as she looked up at Buck.

Her words weren't strictly true. She knew for definite that Bobby wouldn't be back at the station yet. She knew he would be coming in at around one o'clock which meant that he wouldn't be back at the station or there in time to cook them lunch, since he seemed to be the designated chef. But she couldn't go telling the team that unless she wanted them to ask how and why she knew Bobby's exact schedule.

It would be down to Buck to make lunch, as he was the next person besides Bobby who showed an interest in cooking.

Buck groaned and rolled his eyes in a teasing manner but he nodded, he was more than happy to cook. He just wanted to eat.

"So, what are you cooking for-" Eddie's teasing voice abruptly cut off when a horrid crack pelted through the air.

A gunshot.

For a second when the noise hit their ears, almost everyone closed their eyes and shuddered. None of them knew where it had come from, but they all found themselves cowering down and curling in on themselves in case they got hit.

But when Eddie opened his eyes, panic was all he could register as he looked across at (Y/n). She had been standing right across from him. Her body turned slightly to the side as if she were trying to look around and find out what was happening. It didn't look like she registered that it had been her who took the bullet. She didn't seem to be feeling any pain or shock or terror, just pure, unfiltered confusion flooded her eyes.

It made Eddie unsure whether he was just seeing things, whether he was imagining the blood that was starting to soak through her dark blue cotton shirt.

But then she stumbled.

Everything seemed to hit (Y/n) all at once. Her feet bent beneath her, her upper body tilted backwards and she seemed to lose her sense of balance. As soon as her back hit the floor, a steady trickle of blood flowed from the exit wound in her back and created a dark, sticky puddle beneath her on the concrete road.

Another shot rung out through the air and had all the team cowering down together, trying to get as small as possible so they too didn't receive a bullet.

Eddie felt Chimney's hands on his shoulders, pulling him towards the truck to keep him safe and hidden from any other shots. He could see Hen was crouched near the back of the truck, hands plastered to the metal and her head bent down near her knees.

And poor Buck was being pinned to the floor by the Captain of the other team that had been here on the scene with them.

No one was with (Y/n).

She was on her own, bleeding out right before their eyes and there was very little her team could do for her.

"Shots fired! Repeat, we're being shot at! Firefighter down, back up needed now. Send help!" Eddie screamed into the radio clipped to his shoulder while he hunkered down closer to Chimney. He repeated his words again and shouted their location down the radio, waiting impatiently for some sort of response to let him know someone had heard them.

All of their eyes kept going back to (Y/n). They couldn't just leave her there in the middle of the road. If she took another bullet that would be it, she would be a gonner. And laid out, struck down and unmoving like that made (Y/n) a lot easier of a target to hit again if the shooter fancied aiming for her.

She was the newest one on the team, she had been with them a few short months. They couldn't lose her so suddenly and quickly when she had gelled with them and become part of their team. They couldn't have their newest friend be shot down and lost on the job like this.

"I- I'll get her!" Buck army crawled beneath the truck, scraping his chin against the floor to stop from bashing his head up against the metal.

"(Y/n)! Hey, I got you." He poked his head out from under the engine and took a quick look round for the shooter but he couldn't see anything. His vision was blurred and hazy and his eyes were moving too rapidly to take anything in. All he could see was (Y/n).

Blood was forming a river beneath her chest and her dark blue shirt was turning black from the rouge blood dribbling down it. She had been shot in the chest, but she was still conscious. Her head slowly lolled to the right to look at Buck and he saw the manic fear and the pain dwelling in her eyes as a meek 'help' bubbled past her lips.

"It's okay."

He didn't know where to grab her or how to reel her back but he had to be quick. His fingers dug into her shirt just near the collar and his right hand pressed into the floor to steady himself when he started to pull.

A violent scream tore from (Y/n)'s lips when her chest ignited like knives were ripping through her skin. Tears blurred down (Y/n)'s face and her wet lips parted to let out another tepid, meek cry when the tarmac scraped against her back that felt like it was on fire.

When (Y/n) was under the truck with him, Buck took a split second to try and breathe and think how they were going to get her down to the hospital from here. His arm was shaking and the muscles were tightening from dragging her with one arm, but he couldn't stop now. He had to keep moving, they had to get her in the truck and down to the hospital before she bled out here on the road.

It was a relief when Buck felt Eddie leaning under the truck with him and he grabbed onto (Y/n) so the pair of them could hastily drag her back to safety with them.

"Everyone in the truck!" Chimney pointed his thumb behind him and swung the back door open.

If they were doing this they had to move now, (Y/n) needed their help and they were going to lose her at this rate.

Trembling took over (Y/n)'s body and she could feel her head spinning around in large circles. She could barely register Buck's voice in her ear telling her to keep her eyes on him and Hen hurrying over, reassuring her that they would look after her. She just wanted the pain to stop.

A burning scream pounded through the air when Eddie leaned over her and lifted her up. He looped one of her arms around the back of his neck, gripped her thigh tight and heaved her up onto his shoulder and chest.

The moment her chest pressed into his shoulder, (Y/n) scratched her nails down his back and screamed, spitting and dribbling onto his shirt as tears poured from her eyes. Her fist weakly bashed into Eddie's back and he groaned as he turned and grabbed the door to help get himself up.

He wasn't sure what (Y/n) was trying to say, her words were muffled and blubbering into his back and she scratched him deeper as he climbed up the steps into the back of the truck. While Buck got in the driver's seat and both Hen and Chimney followed Eddie into the back. The three of them were medics, they would look after (Y/n) as best as they could.

"Sorry (Y/n)." He mumbled as he lowered (Y/n) down onto the row of seats and moved to kneel in the footwell.

Her body writhed and jolted up and down like she was starting to have a seizure and her eyes rolled to the back of her head when it became harder to get a deep breath. All she wanted was to rewind time. She wanted to go back home; go back to this morning and be with her boys where she was safe and the agony was non-existent.

Relief overtook Chimney when he noticed the medic bag was still sat on the backseat, unused and ready for action.

They left the truck door swinging open as Buck got the truck into gear took a sharp turn and jolted the truck to life, juttering down the street to get away from the scene.

"Let's take a look," Chimney sounded awfully calm, too calm for this kind of situation, but (Y/n) could barely hear him. She couldn't even look at him properly when he opened up the medic bag and grab the scissors. He cut a long strip up (Y/n)'s shirt and tossed each loose tendril of fabric over her shoulders to expose her injury.

The black bra (Y/n) wore was starting to soak through with blood and all three of them tried to force calm expressions on their faces. This wouldn't be nice for (Y/n), having her team see her partially undressed, but they had to help her.

The gunshot wound was two inches below her bra on the left side and it was pouring blood like a tap. Blood coated all her chest, trickled down her abdomen and started to pool beneath her on the seats. It was lathered all over Eddie's shoulder and chest too and made him feel sick.

A horrid grunt left (Y/n)'s lips when Chimney pressed a handful of gauze against the wound so deeply it was like he was trying to give her CPR. Her chest shuddered and pushed up from the seats like she was being revived by a defibrilator. When Hen held her hand out, (Y/n) weakly flapped her hand out and took it, gripping as tightly as she could which didn't seem to be very tight at all with how low her energy levels were becoming.

Spit bubbled past her lips and her blurring eyes locked on Hen who leaned over her and tried to smile to keep her calm.

"You're okay, we're taking you to hospital now."

"I sh- I'll be in t-trouble," The words coughed past (Y/n)'s lips so quietly all three of them had trouble figuring out what she was trying to say. And her words confused them. They shared worried looks before determining that it was the confusion and bloodloss making her say that.

(Y/n) told Bobby she would cause mayhem while he was at home, but this isn't what she meant. This isn't what she had in mind.

Bobby was going to be so upset when he found out. (Y/n) was going to be in a Hell of a lot of trouble when her partner next saw her. He told her not to cause trouble and to be good while he wasn't there to supervise and look what had happened now. She had gotten shot. She hadn't been aware of the situation and didn't move in time and now she had been injured, possibly fatally.

"I c- ca…" (Y/n)'s fingers pulled at Hen's hand and her eyes closed when she tilted her head back into the leather seat and pushed her chest out. Her breaths turned to struggling gasps and her body started to convulse up and down, unable to take a proper breath.

"Lung's collapsing, she's breathing into her chest cavity."

Eddie leaned forward, pushing in between Hen and Chimney so he was level with (Y/n)'s torso. He rummaged around in the medical bag until he found a puncture needle and tried to steady himself. He never did this in the back of the ambulance, let alone in the fire truck that was swerving side to side and shaking like they were driving over an earthquake.

His fingers pressed down on two of (Y/n)'s ribs and with a deep breath, Eddie imbedded the needle in the space between her ribs just a few inches to the right of the gunshot wound. He saw the moment he had pushed it deep enough because (Y/n)'s chest inflated up and her lung popped back up to maximum capacity again.

Hen pressed her free hand to (Y/n)'s neck to try and check her pulse which was thready and faint, but at least she was back to breathing now.

All of them winced when they watched (Y/n)'s chest convulse and a cough spluttered past her lips. But it was the blood dribbling down her chin and tainting her lips that made them all feel sick to their stomachs. They could lose her. They could lose the newest member of their team because some stranger decided to take a shot at them in broad daylight.

When (Y/n)'s eyes started to roll up and her head lolled to the side, Hen patted her cheek and tilted her head back.

"(Y/n)? Hey, you stay with us alright? Talk to us."

"Think of your boy, come on, tell me about him. What's his name?" Eddie grabbed some more gauze and packed it against her wound which caused (Y/n)'s chest to slam back down into the chest and start to jutter.

He knew she had a son, she had mentioned him once or twice, considering how private (Y/n) seemed to keep her life. Eddie gathered her boy was a few years younger than Chris and he had seen the lockscreen on her phone which was of her kid.

They had to keep her awake somehow and talking about her family and thinking of them might be enough to push (Y/n) through this and keep her awake and talking to them.

"Jack," (Y/n) gulped and murmured his name again, but tears started to trickle down her face and mingle in with the blood coating her lips and chin.

Was this morning the last time she would ever get to see her baby boy? What had been the last thing she said to him? Was this morning the last time she got to see Bobby too? Was she going to die here, with her team, without her partner beside her? If she was dying, (Y/n) wanted Bobby to be here to hold her hand and see her through this.

She didn't want to die.

"I wan- I want… my…" The words wouldn't pass her lips. All (Y/n) could do was splutter more and more blood while her head felt like it was going to explode from the pressure building up inside of her.

She wanted Bobby. She wanted someone to ring him and get him to her, she wanted him to be the one holding her hand and his face to be the last one she gazed at if this was going to be her last moments.

"We'll call your family for you, don't you worry." Chimney patted her thigh and handed Eddie some more gauze. If (Y/n) wanted her folks at the hospital they could arrange that. They would find out her emergency contacts and get her family to be waiting at the hospital for when she was out of surgery.

"We're here!" Buck jumped down from the truck and slammed his hands against the side of the truck before he pulled the door wider and waved them all down.

Chimney hopped down from the truck and held the door wide open for Eddie and Hen to get (Y/n) out.

Eddie slid his arms beneath (Y/n)'s frame while Hen held her neck and pressed down on the wound to try and prevent anymore blood loss. They carefully climbed down from the truck just as a stretcher and three doctors ran out to meet them. They got the call to be on standby, and they were ready.

He carefully doubled over and settled (Y/n) down as one of the doctors applied pressure back to the wound and another got her head stuck in a neck brace.

"Gunshot wound to the chest, her lung collapsed on-route and she began breathing into her chest cavity. She's lost roughly two pints of blood already."

The team hurried inside after the stretcher but they all faltered when (Y/n) was wheeled through the no-admittance doors. She would be taken straight to surgery. They couldn't go with her, they couldn't reassure her or tell her she would be okay. All they could do was sit and wait around like useless ornaments.

They all seemed to share panicked looks while Buck knotted his hands together behind his head and Chimney stood to one side, hands on his hips and panic in his eyes.

Hen looked between the three men as a thought suddenly dawned on her. "Does anyone know her partner?"

Blank faces stared back at her and the men all shook their heads. (Y/n) never mentioned a boyfriend or a husband. She said she was in a relationship, but she never mentioned a name or a job or a contact number. None of them were close enough to (Y/n) to know that information. They didn't even know how old her son was.

"Who do we contact?"

"I- I'll call Bobby, he'll be on shift soon. He should know her emergency contacts, right?" When the team nodded back at him, Eddie fished his phone out his pocket and took a few steps to the side to be out the way of reception.

Bobby would have (Y/n)'s emergency contact details on file if he too didn't know who her partner was. They could leave it down to him to give the bad news and bring her family down here.

"Cap? We have a problem… we need your help."

"A problem, why what's happened?"

Bobby tilted his head back on the sofa and leaned his elbow on the back of the cushion. While his right arm gently dragged up and down Jack's back to try and keep his boy calm and asleep. He was having a power nap since they had finished baking.

At the moment, Jack was curled up like a little bunny, his arms coiled into his chest with one hand scrunched up in Bobby's shirt. His face was burrowed down into Bobby's chest and he had a pacifier in his mouth as he breathed softly, now sound asleep which was the way Bobby wanted to keep him.

What kind of problem were they having? Bobby had exactly twenty minutes before the babysitter would be here and he would have to say goodbye to Jack and meet the team on shift. Couldn't they wait half an hour for him to get there?

"We were on a call, some crazed idiot nearby had a sniper, he started firing at us. We're down at the hospital, (Y/n) got shot, but none of us know her family or who to call. Can you find out her emergency contacts?"

"(Y/n)?" Her name drolled past Bobby's lips so quietly he wasn't sure he even heard himself, let alone if Eddie did or not.

That couldn't be possible. She couldn't be hurt. Not (Y/n), not Bobby's girl. Not while he wasn't there to protect her.

***

Bobby's frantic eyes scanned around the waiting area while his hands twitched and curled into fists at his sides. He could barely contain the anger and panic surging through him in large waves as he tried to find his team. He was two seconds away from rushing over to reception and slamming his hands down on the desk until his eyes landed on the familiar sight of his team.

They were sitting in the otherwise empty waiting area, right over in the corner.

"Where is she?" The words tumbled past his lips with such a dangerous tone that all four members of the team jumped, unsure who was talking to them for a minute.

Buck slouched back in his seat and started to run his hands up and down his thighs to rid himself of the excess energy rattling through him in great waves. He wasn't the best at sitting still and doing nothing and at the moment, all they could do was sit and wait.

"They took her straight to surgery, we haven't heard anything yet."

They had a long wait ahead of them and none of them were going to hear anything until after surgery was complete and the doctors knew whether (Y/n) was stable or not. The longer the surgery took, the better (Y/n)'s chances. If a doctor came out now, they knew the only news they would receive would be devastating.

"What happened?" Bobby looked across at Chimney who had his hands entwined together behind his head like he had done for the last hour.

Someone had to tell him what on Earth they had been doing for one of their own to get shot.

Being shot at on the job was never something that they feared. Only if they went into a hostage situation with a shooter or someone was armed in a robbery. And they rarely got dispatched to those kind of scenes. This just wasn't normal for them.

"We were about to leave the scene, just a routine call… we were outside and shots got fired."

"We couldn't even see which building they were shooting from. We couldn't do anything," None of them had even seen anyone in a building or noticed someone close by with a gun. They couldn't see anything until (Y/n) collapsed and more bullets bounced off the truck. It was like they had been ambushed but they didn't have any knowledge why.

"(Y/n) got hit… bullet tore through her left lung, clean through. She went straight to surgery, they'll come get us when it's over." Eddie could barely believe it. This could have been him. Or Buck. They had been closest to (Y/n). It could have been either one of them who got that bullet, but fate seemed to decide (Y/n) would take the hit.

Bobby felt like he was going to pass out.

He should have been there. He should have gone in early. He should have been on the scene, maybe if he was, (Y/n) would have been standing somewhere different. She could have been standing beside him rather than in the line of fire. She could have gotten hit, but Bobby being there would have made some sort of difference.

He would of helped her, looked after her, brought her here himself. He would have taken the bullet instead of (Y/n) if he could. Why did it have to be her who got hurt?

"Bobby, did you manage to get hold of her partner? We didn't know who to call for her." Hen rung her hands out together in front of her as she took a step closer to their Captain who seemed to be drifting into his own world.

He was looking at the far wall like it was a movie screen he was so interested in. Both his hands were balled up into fists at his sides and his chest was rising and falling so deeply his lungs might be at risk of bursting.

"Yeah."

"Is he coming down? Hey, who's gonna be with her kid?" A depressed look flooded Buck's face as he straightened up in his seat. Who would be looking after (Y/n)'s little boy if her partner came down here? Who would tell her son that she had been hurt?

"It's me."

Bobby didn't bother to look at any of them while his quiet yet gritty voice filled the air.

What was the point in hiding it now?

Formality had been tossed out the window the moment (Y/n) got shot. Bobby couldn't hide this from the rest of the team any longer. He was (Y/n)'s emergency contact. He was her boyfriend, the father of her child. He was the one who needed to be here and had to speak to the doctors once they knew what was happening.

Bobby was the person who had to deal with this, the one who needed to hold (Y/n)'s hand when she woke up from this mess and who would be looking after her.

He wouldn't be able to hide his worry or his love for (Y/n) from the team if they were waiting with him for news. They would find out sooner or later and it seemed like it had to be now.

"What is?"

"I'm her partner."

Panic flooded each and every one of their faces when they looked up at their Captain. His eyes were hollow. His jaw was set firm, his upper lip was curled and his arms and shoulders were now trembling.

He was (Y/n)'s partner? Why on Earth hadn't he said anything? She had been with the team just over three months now. Why had neither of them told the team this news?

"You?" An edge of hurt layered into Buck's voice as his brows furrowed and his jaw dropped. "Wh- why didn't you tell us?"

"I'm the Captain. It might look like favouritism that I'm dating someone in my own firehouse." His response was snappy and he didn't look over at Buck as he spoke. He thought it was pretty obvious why he and (Y/n) hadn't said anything until now. They didn't want the drama of anyone trying to accuse Bobby of favouritising (Y/n) or picking on her because of her relationship.

But when Buck looked over at Eddie, something seemed to dawn on them, like they had both had the same sudden thought. Their eyes cast down to their attire and Eddie took a deep breath while Buck gulped and grimaced.

They were both drenched in (Y/n)'s blood.

Bobby craned his head to the right when he noticed Eddie take a step away from him. He thought for a moment Eddie was irritated at not being told this news, but Bobby suddenly realised why Eddie was stepping back. Both Eddie's hands scratched at his left shoulder and fisted around his shirt as he looked from his shirt back up to Bobby with panic written across his face.

Once Bobby's eyes locked on Eddie's shirt, his throat tightened and his stomach clenched, threatening to spill his guts all across the floor. That was (Y/n)'s blood. His girlfriend's blood was drenched into Eddie's shoulder, down his chest and lathered over his hands that were cracking with dried blood. And he was dismayed to see the same dark rouge colour lathered on Buck's shirt and caked on the back of his hands too.

Bobby's hand moved to cover his mouth and he scratched his nails into his cheek, dragging his hand down his face while his other hand curled tightly around his hip and he turned away from them.

"So, her little boy… he's yours?" Chimney knitted his hands together in front of him as he took a step closer to Bobby. He wanted to reach out for him and try and comfort him or calm him down, but he didn't know quite what to do.

Bobby nodded and closed his eyes as he tried to gather his thoughts, but it wasn't working so well.

"I took Jack to her parents."

After Eddie's phone call, things had been a bit scattered. Bobby gathered Jack's things and called the babysitter on route to tell her she didn't have to come down after all. He had no idea how long he was going to be here at the hospital, but Bobby suspected it would be all night.

He took Jack to his in-laws who had tearfully took him in when Bobby explained the situation and promised to ring them when he had any news about (Y/n)'s condition. They were prepared to look after Jack all night until Bobby could come and get him in the morning and take him to nursery.

He had called the Chief on the way down here to explain the situation and find cover for the rest of the shift and for the next week so Bobby could be here with (Y/n).

But he had no idea if he would be here at the hospital or not. Bobby had no idea how badly (Y/n) was hurt or if she was going to make it through this.

He couldn't lose another partner. He couldn't raise Jack on his own.

Bobby couldn't manage that.

***

It was usually one of Bobby's skills and traits to remain calm and under control in tense situations. It was part of the job of being in charge of a fire house and running a team on his own. He had to be level-headed and always think clearly under pressure.

Not today.

Today, Bobby couldn't sit still. He had gone from sitting next to Hen in the waiting room, to pacing around the length of the ward to then sitting in the corner with his rosary beads wrapped around his wrist and the cross clutched between his fingers.

He had spent a good hour or so praying that everything would be okay. He asked God not to do this to him again. He would do anything, Bobby would give anything for (Y/n) to be okay. God couldn't take her from him and render Jack motherless at the age of four. That was unholy and beyond cruel. Bobby had lost enough people, he couldn't face losing another.

He had gone back to pacing the waiting room with his rosary beads clasped tightly in his hand to try and keep himself grounded and calm.

He would have to ring (Y/n)'s parents soon and check on Jack and tell them he was still waiting for news.

For the last hour, Chimney and Hen had been sat nursing cups of coffee and speaking in hushed tones to pass the time. And Buck and Eddie were sat worriedly with one another. The pair of them had rushed to the toilets and spent almost twenty minutes scrubbing (Y/n)'s blood from their skin before they dared to face Bobby again.

"Family of (Y/n) (Y/l/n)?"

Bobby wasn't so sure he wanted to know this outcome, especially if this was going to be bad news.

But the moment (Y/n)'s name flooded his ears, something tore at his heart and he pelted towards the doctor while the rest of the team straightened up and leaned forward in their seats. They didn't want to eavesdrop, but they too were tired of waiting.

"How is she? Please tell me she's okay."

"A vein burst during the repair and she haemorrhaged a lot, but we managed to stop the bleed. The shot went through her lung which we've managed to repair, it was a clean shot between the ribs. No nerve or bone damage and surgery went well, she's in the ICU for recovery."

He could feel his knees quivering, desperate to cave in beneath him and let him flop to the floor in relief and prayer all at once.

She was in recovery. They hadn't lost her during surgery. There were no lasting complications they needed to worry about. She could get on the road to recovery now and then Bobby could bring Jack and her parents down to see her.

Tears started to flush Bobby's face again, although he felt like he had cried enough to flood the Atlantic ocean by now. But the relief he felt came with such an adrenaline burst that he wondered if he was about to pass out.

"Can I see her now, please?" Bobby jingled his wrist to loosen the rosary beads which felt like they were constricting his blood flow. And he tucked them back into his pocket. They had served their purpose now, his prayers had been listened to and answered, for once.

The doctor looked up at Bobby before leaning around him and peering into the waiting room where the rest of the team were anxiously watching. "Only immediate family, two at a time for now please."

With a glance over his shoulder, Bobby locked eyes with the team as a silent exchange passed over them. They would wait out here for a few minutes then poke their heads round (Y/n)'s door to get a glance of her and see for themselves that she was alright. None of them ever left a friend in need without seeing for themselves that they were okay. Once the doctor was gone, everyone would check on (Y/n) and then try and get sorted out.

They could all see from Bobby's expression that it was good news and he was sure that Buck was straining hard enough to hear a few words of the conversation.

Bobby followed the doctor down the hall, through the double doors on the right and into the intensive care unit.

He couldn't remember the last time he had been down in this unit, or who it had been for. He hadn't been here for a family member in such a long time, it was usually when something happened to one of the team and he stuck around to make sure they were okay.

(Y/n) had never been in the intensive care unit before. She had never needed surgery before. The only time she had been in hospital was when she gave birth to Jack, and that had been in the maternity unit.

Bobby quietly thanked the doctor when he showed him the right room and opened the door. He was glad the doctor left him alone, he didn't want someone hovering in the background as he checked on his girlfriend and sat with her.

He took his time dancing his eyes all over her frame while he dragged the blue chair closer to the bed and sat down.

(Y/n) had an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, an IV taped to the back of her right hand and monitors stuck just beneath her collar bone. And he could see there was a needle taped into the crease of her right elbow where she was receiving another blood transfusion. He didn't dare imagine what her chest would look like beneath the hospital gown. And he didn't need to look to know that there would be blue and white stickers stuck to her chest in case of a cardiac emergency.

Reaching over, Bobby gently took (Y/n)'s hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed the back of her knuckles and brought her hand up against his cheek, unable to fight off another fit of tears.

"Hi sweetheart, are you with me?" Bobby rolled his lips together and reached his right hand out to glide his fingertips along (Y/n)'s cheek when he noticed her eyes starting to flicker.

His thumb continued to stroke her skin encouragingly and he managed a teary smile when (Y/n)'s drowsy eyes finally landed on him. Her hands squeezed his and she dug her nails into the back of his hand as a croaky noise vibrated past her lips. But when her nose scrunched, Bobby could tell she realised she had a mask over her mouth. She wouldn't like that.

He carefully moved his hand from her face and reached out for her other hand, pushing it back down at her side before she could take off the oxygen mask. She had been through trauma which had damaged one of her lungs, she needed as much oxygen as she could get along with the blood transfusion she was on which would all boost her system and make her recover better.

"You need that on for a while, sweetheart. It's okay."

(Y/n)'s head slowly flopped to the left and she tightened her hand in Bobby's while she tried desperately to open her eyes and look at him.

Shivers tore down (Y/n)'s spine and made her arms jerk at her sides when she thought about where she was and why she felt so groggy. Her right hand tremored as she tried to ghost her fingertips across her chest but she pulled back before she could touch the sore patch beneath where her bra should have been.

"Got… got shot." Her voice was quiet and very croaky as if her throat was as dry as the desert and it made Bobby frown. He hated the panic mingling with pain that he could see across her face and it made him squeeze her hand.

He reached his free hand out to card his fingers slowly through her hair which seemed to help relax her a little. And he loosened his left hand in hers so he could slide his fingers in between hers and hold her hand better. It felt good to feel (Y/n)'s fingers pressing down between the grooves of his hand and have her fingertips tapping against his knuckles.

"I know baby, you got hurt, but you're gonna be just fine. I can't leave you alone for a few hours, can I?"

(Y/n) leaned her head into Bobby's hand and nudged her nose against his wrist as she tried again to blink and clear her vision so she could look at him. His eyes were watering, but his lips were curved into a lopsided smile while he turned his head to kiss the back of her hand.

"Am I i-in trouble?"

Bobby wasn't sure if she was joking with him or not until he saw the tears beginning to trickle down her face and how she bit down on her lower lip behind the mask to stop herself from crying out.

He pushed up from the chair so he could sit down on the side of the bed, leaning against her hip. He moved their entwined hands to press against his chest while his other hand cupped her cheek near the mask and he leaned down to attach his lips to her temple. He breathed softly against her skin and took a few moments to listen to her breathing, reassuring himself that she was here and she was going to be okay.

"No, sweetheart, you're not in trouble. You didn't do anything wrong, whoever hurt you is the one who needs to be afraid." Bobby couldn't believe she thought he or anyone else would be upset with her.

She hadn't been bunking off shift or messing around or doing anything wrong to warrant this. (Y/n) did everything she was supposed to on shift, she just happened to be stood in the wrong place at the exact wrong time to end up getting hurt. Whoever decided to shoot at her was the one who needed to be afraid because when Bobby found them, they would have Hell to pay.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there with you." It seemed awful timing that this happened while Bobby was supposed to be on the afternoon shift. If only he had gone in with her this morning, then he would have been there for her.

(Y/n) leaned into his touch, relishing in the feeling of his lips against her burning temple and his hand periodically squeezing hers. the sight of Bobby was enough to calm (Y/n) down. She thought she might just die without having him by her side and she had wracked her brain to try and remember how he and Jack looked when she last saw them.

Seeing him now calmed down her raging thoughts because if anything else happened, at least she had Bobby by her side, holding her hand.

"Jack?" It was hard to form proper words when her chest kept tightening and tensing and talking made her lungs hurt. But she wanted to know what was going on. If Bobby was here, then where was their boy?

"I took him to your parent's, he's fine sweetheart. If you're feeling better tomorrow I'll bring him down for a visit. Besides, the team want to meet him."

(Y/n)'s heart jumped and she wheezed as she looked up at Bobby with big, round eyes.

"You t-told them?"

"Yeah," His fingers tangled in her hair again as he leaned in to kiss her temple once more. "They wanted to call your partner, I had to tell them he was already here waiting for you."

[bluesidez]

Hi! I saw your opening requests!

I was hoping for Miguel O’Hara x plus-size reader. Reader is a regular waitress who meets both Miguel and Spider-Man. Knows Miguel because he’s become a regular and Spider-Man because the diner gets robbed, but Reader manages to save herself. Also if the reader could have glasses that would be awesome!

It’s up to you! You’re the writer.

Also I just wanted to say I love your Gym rat Miguel series! 😁❤️💙❤️

[Dual]

lab taster: Anonymous Participant 🩻

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x PlusSize!Reader

summary: There's something strange about that guy in the corner...

content warning: fluffy, definitely suggestive at parts, I kind of take a bit from the comic books, but it's still the ATSV Miguel, Kasey Nash is here + a certain someone for like a millisecond, talks of violence, guns, and threats (but nothing too terrifying), also LOTS of mentions of food. like lotsssss

word count: 3.6k, halfway proofread

a/n: I started writing this as if she worked at a fancy restaurant, but then I realized you said diner, so I had to backtrack. ALSO THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE ON GYM RAT MIGUEL!!! 🩵

“I’ve never seen one man eat so much.”

You looked to where your coworker was staring, eyes landing on the man that frequents the corner of the dim dining room.

“He’s a big guy. He probably needs it,” you flipped through your pad in order to avoid looking at the person who’s been wrapped in your thoughts for a few months now.

He always comes in just when the afternoon is turning into evening and the sun kisses his skin through the window. Most days he looks a little tired, lost in thought as he waits for his food.

His order is usually the same: a double-stacked burger with a large fry and a black coffee. Sometimes, he’d substitute the meal with a heavy breakfast, pouring syrup over everything. Other times, he’d order pork chops and gravy with a slice of apple pie to take home.

He always looked a bit sheepish when he asked for a meal to-go, as if you would judge him openly for being a working man.

On the contrary, you wondered why he always came here. From the shine on his watch to the material of his clothes, you could tell he could afford better establishments to eat at.

“If you’re done ogling at him, you can bring him the check,” Kasey snickered at you. “He keeps looking over here and it’s freaking me out.”

“You just don’t like anyone but that flying bug guy.”

“That’s Mr. Spider-Man to you,” Kasey moved so that you could print out his receipt. “And he does something useful with his time like save civilians. That guy just comes in here and looks at you like he wants to eat you for dessert.”

“What?”

You turn to him again and he quickly looks out of the window, plastic cup pressed against his lips.

“I don’t think he even sees me like that,” you mumble, ripping the paper from the machine and placing it onto the clipboard. “He’s just a man who enjoys comforting meals and ambiance.”

“Yeah. An ambiance that starts and ends with you and your ass, maybe.”

An affronted “hey” goes ignored by Kasey who disappears to go serve another table.

She really shouldn’t have put that thought into your head, because now you’re more hyperaware of your actions than usual.

You wipe at your apron and pull your dress down before you head towards his table, steps a bit hesitant.

As you get closer, he looks back at you. Maybe he is interested, but maybe you’re a bit delusional.

“Here’s your check, sir. I hope you enjoyed your meal,” you placed the clipboard on the table. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, thank you,” he holds up the check up with a small smile. “Maybe a name so I know who my tip is going to.”

Your fingers press against the frames of your glasses, pushing them up a little.

Did you forget to introduce yourself to him when you sat him down?

When you say your name, your confusion must have carried over to your face because the way the man brings his hands up is quick.

“Ah, it’s fine Mr.-“ you take a glance at his card, never mind that you’ve already memorized his name, “O’Hara.”

“Miguel is fine.”

“Mr. Miguel.”

“Just. Miguel is fine.”

You nod and smile. Miguel was fitting for a face like that, and your heart felt the same way as you completed his transaction and handed him his receipt.

The thought of him being interested in you was cute to imagine, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up.

Kasey taps your shoulder as she carries a coffee jug back to the machine, “Go clear your table. There’s a tip.”

With a routined step, you start to stack his empty plates. Napkins get thrown into the bin, and utensils are gathered.

A gasp leaves your lips as a stack of 20s reveals itself. A note wrapped around it says your name and “Thank you for always making my nights.”

Maybe Kasey was right. She could never know that, though.

It’s about a week or so before Miguel comes back.

Oddly enough, too much happened at the diner within that time.

Your boss was on your ass about splitting your tips with a manager that was never there. Creeps kept lingering around the corner during closing time. Your schedule was insane and you’ve hit your monthly limit of rude customers.

When Miguel comes in, it’s almost as if white angel wings were attached to him.

“What can I get you today?” you ask with a smile.

“I think just a black coffee to start off,” he looks over you. “New uniforms?”

You glance down at your dress, the neckline of it plunging severely low.

“Yeah. The boss thinks it’ll bring in more customers,” you yank at the back of the dress, still a bit nervous about how high the skirt is on your body. It’s tight in places that no uniform can should be, hugging your curves, and exposing your chest and legs. “I think he’s full of it.”

Miguel is silent for a while, eyes roaming in a way that you couldn’t quite discern.

“He definitely was onto something.”

You blink.

“Uh, is he- He’s not causing any problems for you, is he?”

“No. It’s all good. For now.”

He stumbles his way through his order, corned beef on rye bread with swiss cheese and sauerkraut along with some homemade potato spirals.

“Will that be all for you?”

“Yes, thank you,” he hides behind his coffee mug as you walk away.

While you wait for his order to be done, you watch Kasey run around and chat with some of your regulars. Despite how grumpy she could be, she was a natural at keeping the customers entertained.

Refilling the drinks for a few people at the barstools, your mind drifts to what Kasey is saying to one of the old geezers who’s keen on superstitions.

“I’m just saying, there has to be a motive for why he only strikes in the afternoon!”

“Are you sure he’s just not an idiot desperate for attention?” Kasey removes his empty plate and tops off his water. “Leaving notes with riddles? That’s so been-there-done-that.”

“Kase, I don’t think you get it, doll. His attacks have gotten more and more severe. He’s starting to target a specific demographic.”

A shout and a ding by the window lets you know that Miguel’s order is ready. You place an extra pickle on his plate just because.

Rounding the corner of the bar, Kasey is still bickering about the city’s most recent villain.

“Listen. If I’m ever in dire need,” she turns and sighs dramatically at a news segment featuring Spider-Man flying across buildings, “I know who to call for.”

The old man clicks his teeth and throws a hand at the screen, “What a bunch of rubbish. That prick isn’t worth a hoot. The Fly-Boys are your best bet.”

“As if those douchebags can do anything for me. Hurry up and pay, mister.”

You place Miguel’s food in front of him, mouth moving before your mind.

“Spider-man seems like a nice guy.”

“What makes you say so?” Miguel reaches for the ketchup.

“Oh, I don’t know. Kasey is always going on and on about him, so any doubts I had, she’s already debunked.”

He’s silent, turning over his sandwich.

“And what do you think of him now?”

“I think he’s pretty cool. He must be stressed out from everything, though. I couldn’t imagine taking on so much. What about you?”

He coughs, “What about me?”

“What do you think of Spider-Man?”

“He’s practical, always gets the job done. Maybe a bit too ambitious for his own good.”

“You talk like you know him.”

“I’ve never met him,” Miguel hums. “ Just taking a wild guess.”

The clip switches to Spider-Man throwing a car right at a villain camping out in a park resulting in immediate flames.

“That’s practical, alright.”

Miguel clears his throat, “He’s probably had better days.”

It’s been raining a lot which meant slower business and slower tips.

You’ve spent most work hours folding and refolding the towel in your apron pocket or flipping through the songs on the jukebox to fill the stillness of the diner.

A few lone stragglers were enjoying their meal, keeping quiet to themselves.

The chefs in the back were roughhousing and Kasey was ticking down when she could clock out.

Two more hours and thirty until you could fight through the rain to get home.

The bell to the door rings, opening up to a drenched Miguel.

A smile comes to your face as if you won a cash prize.

“Hey, stranger,” Kasey says as she turns and starts up a pot of coffee as you round the corner. “Glad to see you here. She was worried sick! You haven’t come in for a while.”

“Kasey, hush!”

“No, no, let her speak,” Miguel taps against the counter. “I’d like to hear what she has to say.”

You elbow Kasey before she even thinks to respond, “Would you like your regular seat, Miguel?”

“I would love that. Had a long day.”

“That you should tell her all about over some coffee,” Kasey smiles. “Go ahead, I’ll cover you.”

You sigh as Kasey follows you to wear Miguel usually sits, and gets Miguel’s order down. She fights silently with you over sitting down across from him. Her eyes saying something along the lines of “we can split the tip,” “here’s your chance,” and “that old fart isn’t going to fire you.”

So there you were, sitting across the guy who you anticipate to come in every so often. The guy who loved simple, American-style meals. The guy with the nice build and a pretty face.

The guy who can’t stop looking at your chest right now.

“You said you had a tough day?” you peer at him from over your glasses, a little unsure of what his steady eyes meant.

“Um, yeah,” he stutters. “There’s been some changes in positions at my job. Some higher ups are giving me trouble, but I think they’re scared they’re about to lose their seats.”

“Oh, you didn’t tell me you were a big-shot.”

“I wouldn’t say all of that,” he grins as he bends his head down. The way his hair falls is dreamy and it’s no fair that he still looks this good despite the rain dousing him. “I’m just in an interesting spot.”

Kasey plops down a hot plate of chopped steak and mashed potatoes smothered in gravy with some steaming broccoli on the side. There’s a heaping amount of food on the plate and you give her an incredulous look before she whips out an extra pair of utensils.

“The guys in the back a closing up shop. They want as little dishes to wash as possible.”

“We don’t close until-”

“As little dishes as possible!” Kasey sing-songs, leaving you shifting in your seat.

Miguel picks up a fork, “I hope you like beef.”

He starts to cut into the meat and you’re slow to follow, watching his arms bulge through through his sweater.

You wonder if he could hear your heart rattling in your chest.

The conversation continues and you learn that Miguel works at Alchemax working as a head lab technician.

“Miguel, that’s amazing! I’ve seen old classmates nearly go to war for that position.”

“It’s not all that it’s chalked up to be.”

“It’s still astounding that you got to that level,” you push your fork through some potatoes and take a bite, “You should be proud. And if not, I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you,” he looks up at you while you continue to chew. “You’ve got something here.”

“Oh,” you quickly take your fingers to your lips, embarrassed.

“Here,” Miguel reaches across from you and wipes he corner of your mouth with a napkin. “All better.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Time is lost as you two exchange words, Miguel making you laugh over the smallest things. He’s as sweet as ever, his compliments make you ecstatic, and he listens when you go into your own stories. Your cheeks hurt from how much you’ve been grinning.

“Hey, so, I’ve been thinking,” Miguel starts.

“About?”

He takes a deep breath, shoulders tensing up.

“I would love to take you on a date. Somewhere nice and exciting. That’s if you would want to, of course. I don’t want to pressure you.”

“Miguel,” you stop his ramblings with a hand on his wrist, “I would love to go on a date with you.”

His shoulders relax, and his smile is wide.

The chime of the door rings, signaling another customer coming inside. His hands are in his pockets and his hoodie is pulled tight around him. Not an uncommon sight, but the diner was set to close soon.

You followed his steps as he sat in Kasey’s side of the diner, his leg bouncing repeatedly.

“For our date,” Kasey meets your eyes before she goes to his table. Her hospitable tone switched on. “Where were you thinking of going?”

Miguel begins to answer, but you continue to stare at the other side of the room. The guy is jumpy and from what you can tell, snappy. Kasey looks antsy as she walks back to the counter to grab a cup and a picture of water.

Miguel turns around to look where you’re watch and turns back, “Is something wrong?”

“That guy is making Kasey nervous. She’s hiding it well, but she’s freaking out.”

You both watch as he scans that side of the room, body rocking in the still chair.

It was daunting and quiet. The sound of the rain drowning out the idle noises of the dining room.

“Something’s not right,” you whisper.

From how Miguel gets up, you can see that he can feel the uneasiness, too.

Kasey walks over to him, a slice of thick chocolate cake on a small plate in her hands. She places it on the table, ready to ask if he needs anything else.

Time stops as he grabs her arm and yanks her towards him, the few customers left stopping to watch the scene. Kasey pulls her arm back, ready to put up a fight.

The man pulls something out of his pocket, Kasey’s voice reaching a shriek. You gasp as you see him point it right at her head, nerves nearly failing you. People scramble to corners of the room, some falling to the floor.

Miguel grabs your arm and drags you to the bathroom, your hands covering your mouth as you fight the urge to scream.

You can’t feel anything as he shoves you into a stall, your limbs trembling. Tears are running down your face as you try to think, but Miguel is holding you up to keep you from falling.

“Stay in here, and lock the door. Don’t come out.”

“But Miguel, he has a gun! We, we should call someone. You can’t go back out there!”

“I’ll be ok. I promise.”

“How do you know that?”

“Look at me,” Miguel takes your hands as you slide to the floor. He makes the trip easy, arms solid. “I’ll meet you when this is over, ok?”

“Ok,” your vision blurs as Miguel leaves, face worn with sorrow.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting on the gross bathroom floor, sobbing into your hands.

You could hear shouting and screaming, the yells of the man telling everyone to shut up. A few bangs of his gun went off and you bit your wrist in order to give yourself away. It didn’t feel right to be the only one to make an escape, but maybe you would be next to die, too.

The rain continues outside, a loud strike of thunder echoing off the tiles as lights flicker off. Your heartbeat picks up as you try not to make a sound. The lightning illuminates the room for a second, and the noise from outside stops.

You can’t tell what’s going on, the pit of your stomach falling with every second.

The door bangs open, and you feel like passing out. It sounds like the ocean is roaring in your ears as you try to listen for footsteps.

One second turns into two, two turns into ten, and you lose count of how long you’re holding your breath.

Your stall is pried open as the lightning shines through the window. Even as you see the masked hero, your throat lets out a weak cry.

“Come on,” he says, eyes on his mask squinting. “It’s safe now.”

With your eyes refocusing, you see Spider-Man standing tall and proud, with Kasey latched to his back like a koala.

Your hand moves across the stall before you feel yourself falling forward.

Spider-Man catches you with ease, lifting you into his arms.

“Thank you, thank you!”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

He carries you both back to the dining room where the robber is beaten black and blue, tied up in neon red webbing. People are huddled up together as policemen ask them questions.

Spider-Man places you in a seat and grabs a blanket from the pile that was brought in. You thank him with a soft voice.

“You can get off of my back now,” he tells Kasey. “He won’t hurt you any time soon.”

“No! I think I want to stay here,” she says. Her eyes surveying the side of his head. Her hands rub the side of his mask, “You really are as sturdy as they say. And this suit! It’s so cooling. What’s it made of? Silk?”

“No, it’s- Will you get off of me, please?”

Kasey jumps to the floor, face filled with glee, like she didn’t just get held at gunpoint.

“Where’s my phone? I have to get a picture. Look here! Say ‘whiskey’! Oh, wait, you can’t really smile can you? Can you sign something for me? My friends are going to be so jealous.”

Spider-Man stiffens up as Kacey flits around him like an excited puppy.

You try to be happy for her, but you can’t find Miguel. He said we would be ok.

There’s an old couple by the window, a mom and her son by the bar, a truck driver talking to the police. No Miguel.

“Shock, can you give me a second?” Spider-Man barks as Kasey tries to climb over him again, squealing like a schoolgirl.

“Excuse me,” you tug at his hand that Kasey doesn’t have a grip on, “Have you seen a man, about 6’8 or so? Sweater, khakis, and a lanyard. He- he was with me before the robber came. I don’t see him anywhere.”

“I’m sorry, this is everyone that was here when I came. Maybe he went to get help.”

“Oh, god,” you take in a watery gulp of air. “What if something happened to him out there? He told me he would be ok!”

“Hey, I’m sure wherever he is, he’ll be alright. No need to panic. Everything from here and a few miles out is taken care of. No one else is coming out here in this weather.”

The guy starts to wake up and fight against the webbing.

“I gotta take care of this,” he pulls Kasey off of him. “See you around, ladies.”

“But Spider-Man-”

Oranges, blues, and reds flash before you, Spider-Man flopping the man over his shoulder as he walks through, stoic silhouette disappearing before you.

You sit in horror as everything weighs down on you.

Something, no, someone, was taken from you before it even had a chance to begin.

Kasey’s hands are rubbing on your back as you cry into the blanket in your lab.

You had no idea where Miguel was.

“I’m sure he’s alright,” Kasey whispers to you, “And if not, I’ll kill him.”

A chuckle comes out of you, a bit half-hearted.

The lights of a car beam through the windows, doors slamming as people came rushing through the door.

You look up to Miguel and a man that looked almost identical.

“Miguel!” you run to him, his arms nearly taking you off the ground. “Oh my god, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Your hands shake as you touch across his face. He’s all intact, although still drenched.

“I’m ok, I promised you I would be. I went to go get help.”

“Hot help at that,” Kasey whistles as she looks at the man behind Miguel.

“Are you alright?” Miguel covers the hand you have on your face. “I hope I didn’t give you too much of a scare.”

“I’m better now,” you practically melt into him. “Is that date still on?”

“It was never off. I just need your number now. And we can get out of here, yeah?”

You nod and lean onto his chest listening to his heart sing to you.

It feels familiar.

As always, if you enjoyed, please like, reblog, and COMMENT! It felt very mysterious to write even thought I didn't really mean for it to be.

[redocity]

I've been really stuck on Buck having a secret relationship with Bobby's niece. Idk much else for the request it's just been thought recently and I was wondering if you could do something with it. Your writing is insanely good I've loved literally every piece you've written! 💗

PLAYING WITH FIRE — E.BUCKLEY

why did buck always have to fall in love with really complicated people?

buck x bobby’s niece!reader | 1.0k | fluff? | masterlist.

a/n — thank you so much ml, enjoy 🫶

Buck had always been good at compartmentalising.

At least, that’s what he told himself as he buttoned his shirt in the soft glow of the early morning light.

Behind him, you shifted in the bed, a soft smile on your face even in sleep. Your quiet breaths spilled over the pillow, your arm stretching to find the warmth of the spot he was leaving.

He paused, letting his gaze linger on your peaceful form, just for a second.

Bobby Nash’s niece.

Buck exhaled, rubbing his hand over his face.

You’re playing with fire, he thought. And wasn’t that just his specialty?

The fact that Bobby had no idea made the whole thing worse. Or maybe better, depending on how you looked at it. You weren’t just Bobby’s niece; you were like his second daughter, the one he got to raise like he would’ve his own—smart, compassionate, and fiercely independent.

You worked as a trauma counsellor at the hospital, often crossing paths with the 118 during the rough calls.

That’s how him and you met.

And now you were in his bed. How did he end up here?

It hadn’t started as anything serious.

At first, it was just a shared coffee in the hospital cafeteria after his embolism. The kind of conversation that left Buck’s hands shaking and his heart heavy. You’d found him there, in a hospital bed with a cup of black coffee that had gone cold, and offered him a warm smile and a quiet space to unload.

“It’s okay to talk about it,” you’d said gently, your voice like a balm to his frayed nerves.

And for some reason, he had.

From there, it became a habit. You’d meet him for coffee, sometimes under the fluorescent lights of the hospital, other times at a little café a few blocks away. The conversations started out light—music, movies, shared anecdotes about the job. But then they grew deeper. He told you things he hadn’t told anyone else. About Abby, about his parents, about Maddie and Daniel.

You listened. You saw him.

And somewhere along the way, coffee turned into dinner, which turned into stolen kisses in the shadows of parking garages, and eventually nights like this one—ones that ended with skin-to-skin underneath the sheets, with a connection that felt equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.

But every time he looked at you, a pang of guilt twisted in his chest.

Bobby.

He’d be furious. No—furious didn’t even cover it. Protective didn’t even cover it. Bobby would see this as a betrayal. You weren’t just family to him—you were his heart, one of the last pieces of a life he’d spent years rebuilding after unimaginable loss.

Buck knew he should tell him. Every time you looked at him with those soft, trusting eyes, the words sat heavy on his tongue. But then you’d smile, and he’d think, Just a little longer. Just a little more time.

Now, as he stood by the edge of the bed, watching you stir, he wondered how much longer he could keep this up.

“Buck?” Your voice was thick with sleep, but there was a warmth in it that made his chest tighten.

“Yeah?” He tilted his head slightly, giving you a small smile, trying to play it cool even though his heart was suddenly pounding.

“You leaving already?”

Your eyes were still half-closed, but there was something undeniably familiar in the way you looked at him, like you belonged here with him.

He stepped toward the bed, sitting on the edge, his fingers brushing over your temple. “I have a shift,”

You nodded, but then your hand reached out, gently pulling him from the nape of his neck down to your lips. "Stay a little longer. Just... a few minutes."

Buck hesitated. It wasn’t like him to linger, to let himself be drawn into something that might complicate everything, but something about you made him want to be selfish, just for once.

He pressed his forehead against yours, letting himself believe—for just a little while longer—that the world outside didn’t exist.

That Bobby wouldn’t find out.

That the fire he was playing with wouldn’t burn everything to the ground.

—

By the time Buck arrived at the station, the weight of the morning was firmly back on his shoulders. He was distracted enough that he didn’t hear Bobby approaching until the older man clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“You look like you’ve been up all night,” Bobby said, studying him closely.

“Didn’t sleep great,” Buck pressed his lips together in a smile. He wasn’t completely lying.

Bobby’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t press. “Well, shake it off. We’ve got a long shift ahead. And hey, I invited my niece to come by the station later. Figured it’d be good for her to meet the team properly.”

Buck froze. “Your niece?”

“Yeah,” Bobby said with a warm smile. “You’ve met her at the hospital, right? Smart kid. You’ll like her.”

Buck swallowed hard, his mind racing. “Yeah, I think we’ve crossed paths.”

Bobby didn’t seem to notice the way Buck’s voice tightened. “Great. She’s got the day off, so I told her to swing by around lunch with Athena. Be on your best behaviour, huh?”

Buck nodded numbly, watching Bobby walk away. His stomach churned as he imagined the storm brewing just over the horizon.

You’re playing with fire, Buck, he thought again.

And this time, the flames felt impossibly close.

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: the rat king (mini-series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, physical violence, angst, wound description, threats, some fluff, protective bucky, bucky barnes had issues, cults and religion mentioned, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: hi!! just wanted to say thank you all so much for the love on the last chapter and sticking with me!! i know i hadn't posted in forever with being busy with uni and all so it really made me happy that people still remembered this fic. this chapter (once again) was supposed to cover a lot more but i got carried away lol, so instead i'm posting this half and then the next half soon once i have it properly written up. anyway!! please enjoy!! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love

main masterlist | series masterlist

Gertrude Crowley was a nervous woman.

It was the first thing you noticed about her; her movements were hesitant, as though she feared drawing too much attention. In the dim light, you noticed her face—worn, yes, but not aged beyond her years. Lines of worry etched her brow and framed her mouth. Her greying hair, streaked with darker remnants of its original chestnut hue, was hastily pinned beneath a weathered black scarf, frazzled tufts poking through the holes strewn throughout the fabric.

“Tea, Ms. Crowley?” You asked the woman. Despite your soft tone, the woman jumped in her seat, hand raising to her bosom as she took in a sharp breath.

“I suppose, Dear.” She squeaked in reply

You gave the older woman a reassuring smile, hoping to calm her fears. Her pale blue eyes darted away quickly, revealing a haunted expression. They glanced at you briefly, then withdrew as if frightened by what they might find. She fidgeted with her hands, the frayed edges of her gloves exposing trembling fingers.

“Tea is good for the soul, don’t you think?” You hummed to her softly, your upper half bent over your kitchen table, and you poured the steaming liquid into two cups. You hoped the woman wouldn’t comment on how the ceramic was chipped; the painted flowers faded from years of use. “Always so cold in The Warrens, it warms you up from the inside.”

Ms Crowley nodded stiffly, teacup rattling against its matching plate as she held it in trembling hands. You took a brief moment to observe her, eyes searching her appearance. Her clothing was plain but serviceable—a dark woollen cloak that hung unevenly over her frame, its hem damp and muddied from the streets. Beneath it, a simple grey dress fitted her modestly, cinched at the waist with a cracked but sturdy belt. A brass locket hung around her neck, glinting faintly when she shifted. Though practical and well-worn, her boots carried scuffs deep enough that you questioned if the dark fabric was her socks beneath.

She took a hesitant sip from her cup and looked up at you with a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Thank you, dear.”

You settled into your seat, dragging your cup across the table's woodgrain. “How can I be of assistance?”

Ms Crowley hesitated, her lips thinning into a line as she contemplated a response. You wisely decided to allow her some space, and the steaming liquid cupped in your palm suddenly became the most fascinating thing in the world. 

The older woman stumbled over her words, once, twice, thrice before finally settling on a simple, “I..I have never met a witch before.”

You smiled down into your cup, elbows resting on the table as you slowly looked up at her through a strand of loose hair that had fallen across your forehead. “I think you will find witches are alike most people you would meet—just like any stranger you would pass on the street.”

She peered across the table—as if testing your own words against you. Her tired, pale blue eyes squinting as she examined you from head to toe. “I suppose… I suppose you’re right. And I suppose I should trust you. I ‘ave been told most witches are trustworthy.”

“We are.” You state simply, only pausing to take a sip from your cup. The warm liquid fills your belly, a soft hum escaping your throat as you tilt you head in thought. “We’re salesmen, in a way, sellin’ our wares. There will always be scam artists, a few among the many, but most of us are just makin’ ends meet.”

The older woman contemplates your words. She takes a sip, a long one, then nods in affirmation. “You’re right. I should have some faith.”

“Now, Ms. Crowley, how can I help you?” You query once again.

“Well… I don’t know how this all works…”

“Just tell me what troubles you. From the start, if possible.”

Before she could speak, the door creaked open behind you, breaking the fragile quiet that had settled over the room. The sound was faint, yet it resonated through the stillness like the tolling of a distant church bell. Your breath hitched, fingers tightening around the chipped teacup as a wave of unease swept through you. The air seemed heavier, colder—an unspoken warning curling down your spine.

“Spirit-raiser.”

That voice. Gravelly, familiar. Unwelcome. You sucked in a sharp breath, though it felt as though your ribcage had suddenly shrunk two sizes too small for your organs. The bruises still present across your abdomen ached as every muscle in your body tensed, a tangled knot of shock electrifying your nerves. But beyond that, beyond the anger and disbelief, there was a feeling far more treacherous: relief.

He returned.

Your head whipped around, posture immediately straightening as though your spine was a pole made of steel. There he was—Bucky Barnes, leaning in the doorway like he owned the place, his sharp, stormy eyes swept over you, then flicked briefly to Ms. Crowley, whose face drained of colour. The woman looked ready to bolt, her hands clutching the table's edge as if it might anchor her in place. You couldn’t blame her. A woman already so anxious over the idea of magic she had positively turned green the moment she entered your flat. Now she was face to face with the dreaded Bucky Barnes, the fucking menace of the Sootstone? Many in The Warrens likely hadn’t seen the man in person, maybe at a distance, or knew him through whispered tales. You certainly hadn’t encountered the man until he came crashing into your life, smog and all. 

“Bucky,” you said, his name slipping out before you could catch it. A string of curses nearly left your tongue along with it. How bittersweet could it be that despite all the hurt you felt, you still called him by a name so familiar? Too familiar. The taste of it burned on your tongue. Your heart slammed into a furious rhythm as what could only be described as a smirk graced his lips. How could he act like he hadn’t vanished from your life without so much as a goodbye? 

How could he turn up here and act like all was well and normal?

It had hurt when he had left; yes, that was to be expected. But these past few days, he had avoided you. At least, it felt like avoidance. You hadn’t heard a word from the Smog Boys since your beating at the hand of the Iron Rats, not even a whisper on the sharp winds that rolled in from the dock. Natasha would have told him. In what world would she not have told Bucky that his pet witch had missed the summons because she was trembling, bloodied and bruised on her own floor? 

You had convinced yourself that maybe it was for the better, an escape from Becca’s wrath and escape from the Smog Boys…

“I’m busy.” The words escaped you before you could think.

He raised his brows in disbelief. Your toes curled in their boots, cringing at your own blunt tone. But then again, had he just expected everything to return to normal?

“I need’a favour.” He stepped further into the room, his boots thudding against the floorboards as he surveyed the space with casual indifference. His gait was smooth, gaze unbothered. A morbid part of you wished you could inspect his back and see the damage you caused. It didn’t seem to bother him or impede his movements.

Ms. Crowley made a small, frightened noise, her trembling hands going to her locket as though it might ward off his presence. “I—perhaps I should come back later…”

“What’re you doin’ here?” you demanded, the words sharper than you intended, cutting over Ms. Crowley’s muttering. 

“As I said, I need’a favour.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms as you fought to keep your composure. 

“A favour?” you repeated, the words dripping with scepticism. “After everythin’, you show up here and ask for a favour?”

Ms. Crowley flinched at the tone of your voice, but you couldn’t stop now. Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest crack in his facade of nonchalance.

“Watch it,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t want to push me.”

“And you don’t want to push me neither, Barnes,” You shot back, planting your hands on the table. “You don’t get to leave without so much as a ‘thank you’ and then show up here, actin’ like I owe you somethin’?”

“You say that, spirit-raiser, but…” He sucked on his teeth, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he looked down at you, hands casually tucked into his jacket pockets as he sighed through his nose. “I just spent the last four days cleanin’ up your mess.”

Your brows drew inward, confusion slipping through. The entire time you had spent in misery, licking your wounds and nursing your broken heart, he had been out there defending you? 

A devilish expression crossed his face. “You really thought you could, what? Walk on over to Grimrow unnoticed while under my protection? Do you realise how long it has taken me to talk the Rat King down from marching over the Sootline and wagin’ war ‘cause of you?”

“They crossed the Sootline. They pursued me.” You rebutted, though even your voice wavered, unsure.

“Yeah.” His head tilted, eyes squinting. “You better be praisin’ whatever fuckin’ witch god you follow, 'cause that little fuck up on their end is the only reason why you’re still here playin’ good little spirit-raiser.”

You swallowed. Hard. 

“They hurt me.” You confessed, voice steadying.

“Yeah, I know. Nat told me. Good thing your pretty little face has all healed up. That’s your only fuckin’ worth to me right now after all the trouble you’ve caused.” His words stung; maybe you would’ve believed them true. But you got the sense he was being harsh for the sake of venting frustrations. He wouldn’t even catch your eye as the insults rolled off his tongue. 

For a moment, silence filled the room, thick with tension. You could feel Ms. Crowley’s gaze on you. Bucky’s jaw tightened, his posture stiffening as his eyes finally lifted and bore into yours. His expression was unreadable, a carefully laid mask to cover whatever real emotion raged behind his stormy blue eyes.

Then, to your surprise, Ms. Crowley’s feeble voice cut through the silence. 

“I-I-I should go now—”

You whirled around.

“No,” you snapped, cutting her off before she could rise. Ms. Crowley froze, wide-eyed and trembling, her teacup rattling slightly in her unsteady hands. For a brief moment, you thought Bucky might let her stay, that he’d simply loom in the corner, his presence a warning but nothing more.

But then Bucky huffed a sharp breath, irritation flashing across his face as he shrugged out of his jacket. 

“Get the fuck out,” he said bluntly, his tone leaving no room for argument, his eyes sliding to meet the older woman's as you made a noise close to a whimper. “And keep your fuckin’ mouth shut about all this.”

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, her gaze darting between the two of you. With a frightened nod, she scrambled to her feet, clutching her bag and locket close to her chest.

“Apologies. I ain’t sayin’ a thing. Not a word. I swear.” she stammered, her voice a whisper as she made a beeline for the door.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, you turned to Bucky, a glare sharp enough to cut steel fixed on your face.

“You didn’t have to scare her off like that!” you snapped, grabbing the teacups and stalking toward the sink.

“A waste of fuckin’ time is what she was,” Bucky replied casually, his voice dripping with indifference.

“She was a client,” you shot back, setting the cups into the sink with more force than necessary. “A payin’ client. I need clients, Barnes.”

Bucky leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching you. “You’re actin’ like I don’t pay you triple what they’re offerin’.”

You dipped your hands further into the soapy water, pressing your palms flat against the metal bottom as you sighed, momentarily closing your eyes in exasperation. “You don’t get to decide who’s worth my time. This is my place. My work. You can’t just—”

“I thought Nat was exaggeratin’,” Bucky cut over you, his voice low but carrying an edge that made your stomach churn.

You stiffened, your grip on the cup tightening. “Exaggeratin’ about what?”

“About this.”

Your eyes flew open as his hand caught your chin, tilting your face toward him with an infuriating gentleness. His thumb brushed over your jaw, skimming the faint bruise that lingered there, and his eyes narrowed as they traced the fading split in your lip. A shiver raced down your spine, and you jerked your head away, pulling free of his grasp.

“It’s nothin’,” you muttered, returning to the sink.

“Don’t look like nothin’,” he countered, his tone sharp. “Let me see the rest.”

You froze, your hands hovering over the sink. “No.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” he snapped, moving closer. His voice dropped, carrying a dangerous edge. “I need to see what they did to you.”

You shook your head, your pulse roaring in your ears. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

Bucky let out a low growl of frustration, and before you could react, his hand was on your shoulder, spinning you around to face him. His other hand went to your waist, tugging at the hem of your shirt.

“Bucky, stop,” you protested, grabbing at his wrists. The soapy water made your hands slick, his skin slipping from your grasp. “This isn’t—”

“Quit fightin’ me,” he said sharply, his eyes flashing with something raw and unyielding. “I need to know.”

His words silenced you, leaving you to stare up at him in stunned disbelief. The fight drained out of you, replaced by a reluctant acceptance as you lifted your hands, a trail of water rolling down to your elbows. Your head dipped, staring down at his shoes as droplets dripped onto his boots. With a defeated sigh, you rested your palms on his chest, pressing the wet skin into his buttoned shirt until you could feel the warmth of his body. With a grunt, he tugged your blouse from where it was tucked into your shirt, ripping the fabric upward until it exposed your belly.

The air seemed to leave the room as his gaze fell on the mottled bruises that painted your abdomen, the angry purples and blues. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking as his hand hovered over the worst of the damage, his fingers brushing against your side with an uncharacteristic hesitance.

You heard him swallow audibly, adam’s apple bobbing. A shiver ran down your spine as his thumb carefully ran up to your sternum, then across the band of your brassiere. 

“How many ribs did you break?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

You sucked in a sharp breath as the hair across your body rose on end. Tingles blossomed across your skull as his hand swept down to the waistband of your skirt, tugging it down to inspect the damage still hidden. 

“Three.”

His grunt of acknowledgement was quiet, but the tension dominating his frame was unmistakable. He stepped back abruptly, running a hand through his hair, tongue running over his bottom lip.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” The question gave you near vertigo. 

“I did.” You lie through your teeth

The gangster shook his head, hands resting on his hips as he looked down at you. 

“Bullshit. I’ve seen what you’re capable of. I’ve felt it, doll.” Your gut clenched as he half motioned towards his back. “If you wanted to fight back, they would’ve been dead long before they touched you.”

You pause. He was right. He was entirely right. You hadn’t fought back because you were what? Dejected and defeated? Too swept up in your own pity? Living in your mother's shadow? Or was it just the shadow you had created for yourself?

“You’re punishin’ yourself, aren’t ya? Hm?”

“I’m not lyin’ Barnes—” You begin to speak, voice raising as hysteria begins to bubble within you. Why was he asking you these things? Why was he pretending to care?

“Why?” He cuts over you, 

You turned away, refusing to respond. “I think you should leave now.”

He was silent for a beat. Then you heard the shuffle of clothing as he picked up his coat and swept it over his muscled shoulders. “I still need that favour.”

You sigh, an exaggerated noise as you spin to face him with a scowl. “What now? Can’t it wait?”

“You’re expected. At a meetin’.” 

“Meetin’?” You echoed.

“About what happened. With the Iron Rats.” 

“I thought you said you dealt with it—” You bite back, irritation flaring. 

“Would you just shut your fuckin’ mouth for a second and listen?” Bucky cut over you, voice raised. You clamp your mouth shut in surprise.

“It’s the Rat King.” Bucky meets your gaze. “He wants to meet you.”

—

You would have never described Bucky Barnes as nervous, but the walk to the Sootline almost had you questioning that assumption. Bucky kept his pace steady, though you noticed the subtle clench of his jaw and the occasional twitch of his hand at his side. It wasn’t the demeanour of a nervous man—no, Bucky Barnes didn’t do nervous—but something unexplainable was simmering beneath the surface.

The streets of the Warrens were quieter than usual, the normal hum of life dampened. The sun had grown low in the sky, the usual grey fog warming to a diffused orange and pink glow. The cobblestones were slick beneath your boots, liquids you wouldn’t dare identify, leaving a sheen across the ground that reflected the faint glow of lanterns. You adjusted your coat, tucking it closer against the chill, and cast a sidelong glance at Bucky. 

"Barnes, you alright?" you asked cautiously, breaking the silence. You weren’t one to pry, but the energy engulfing the gangster was strange.

“We’re late,” he muttered, his voice clipped.

You frowned, the sharpness of his tone needling at you. “Well, if you’d told me sooner than five minutes ago that I was needed—”

“And you would have come?.” His words were abrupt, cutting through your protest like a blade. “You do ‘ave a habit of ignorin’ my summons.”

Your jaw clamped shut, a heavy silence falling over the both of you. Further down the twisting, wonky street, you could see streetgoers dashing into nearby stores and homes. Above in the stacked homes that towered above the streets, faces cautiously peeked out, watching as Bucky and you marched past. You observed a group of three children ushered away by their mother, her tightly shutting the rickety window with a grim expression.

“It would be best if you kept your mouth shut during this. Only speak when spoken to. Just agree unless I say otherwise.” Bucky finally spoke, voice gruff.

“Why?” You pry, voice unsure.

“‘Cause I can’t help you if you say somethin’ stupid ‘n end up gettin’ yourself in more trouble.”

Your steps faltered, confusion flashing across your face. “Why do you suddenly care?”

His lip twitched, but he continued with his persistent gait. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“You’re scarin’ me—”

“I have a reputation to uphold, spirit-raiser. Can’t have these rats thinkin’ I’ve gone weak ’cause of some bird.”

The words landed heavily, and you bit back the sting of their dismissal. “What does your reputation got to do with me?”

His stride didn’t falter, but his gaze flicked toward you, brittle and intense. “If I can’t protect you, then what’s to say I can protect the whole of The Warrens, huh? What’s to stop them from marchin’ over the Sootline?”

“So, what’s this, then? You strikin’ a deal, handin’ me over to them, actin’ like you don’t care so they don’t think you’re weak ‘cause of some bird?”

“If I wanted you dead, you’d have been dead a long time ago.” He huffed out in an empty laugh. He stopped abruptly, turning to face you. The weight of his stare rooted you in place. “No, doll, those rats… they fucked up.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as he continued, his voice low and deliberate, every word laced with venom. “I’m gonna get them to bend the fuckin’ knee. Show them whose the real fuckin’ King around here.”

—

The Sootline River separated the two territories like a jagged scar, its sluggish current carrying the city’s filth toward the sea. On either bank, the Smog Boys and Iron Rats assembled in tense lines, a mix of swagger and unease flickering across their faces. The lanterns they carried swayed, casting fragmented shadows on the water as the sun finally slipped beyond the horizon, coating the land in creeping darkness, its coffin-like suffocation only exaggerated by the smoke and ash from the Smokestacks.

Bucky stood at the river’s edge, his posture deceptively relaxed, his hands buried in his coat pockets. His gaze locked onto the figure across the river: Varlan Crey—The Rat King. Varlan was everything Bucky wasn’t—brash, loud, and lumbering, his bulk swathed in a tattered black coat with yellow stitching. His grin was wide, but his teeth were uneven, lending him the air of a predator more accustomed to snapping than scheming. His gang flanked him, a pack of diseased rats, restless and waiting for a signal.

“Barnes,” Varlan called, his voice carrying easily across the water, gravelly and full of mock cheer. “Shame we ain’t meetin’ unda different circumstances.”

���Varlan,” Bucky replied, his tone steady, almost clipped. He didn’t move a muscle, his stance radiating a nearly unbearable calm.

Varlan cocked his head, his smirk widening. “I’m guessin’ this is the bird in question?” He nodded towards you.

You froze under his scrutiny, your skin prickling under the weight of his gaze. The air seemed colder now, and your chest tightened as though the river’s chill had seeped into your bones. 

Bucky gave a single, deliberate nod. “Yes.”

Varlan snorted softly. “A bird from The Warrens, crossing inta my territories ‘n causing a ruckus amongst my boys… you undastand how this looks bad, Barnes?”

Bucky didn’t flinch. His smooth and unhurried tone carried across the water like a blade. “I can. But it weren’t her that was causing the ruckus now, was it? I’m guessin’ these lies you’re tellin’ yourself are why you so recklessly declared war before examinin’ the facts.”

Varlan chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. “Facts,” he repeated, shaking his head as though the word itself amused him. “You’re soundin’ more and more like them fancy wankers up in The Flower Districts, Barnes. Especially in those fine tailored suits a yours.”

A chorus of low laughter rumbled from the Iron Rats side of the bridge, the lines of men with their yellow handkerchiefs grinning amongst themselves. 

“Oh, I can recommend you a tailor, Crey,” Bucky said lightly, his voice laced with faint amusement. “I know one who gives discounts for friends.” 

It was now time for the Smog Boys to stir behind Bucky, muffled chuckles rippling through the crowd. A flicker of a smile ghosted across Bucky’s lips, though his gaze remained fixed on Varlan. With the subtle jab landed, Varlan bristled. His shoulders stiffened, and his smirk turned brittle. He barked a short laugh, more bark than humour.

“Well,” he said, his voice sharper now. “Let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we?”

“Go ahead,” Bucky replied.

You glanced at him, searching for some clue about his thinking, but his expression gave away nothing. Beside you, the Smog Boys settled, hands tucked into their pockets and chests puffed out as they eyed the Iron Rats across the river. Their stillness wasn’t as practised as Bucky's. He held the type of quiet that preceded violence, the kind that made your stomach churn. As you scanned their faces, you noted how young some men were, barely out of boyhood. It might have been a cause for concern, but you knew many sought out Bucky’s leadership out of desperation. Their energy was much better placed under the guidance of someone like Bucky instead of them turning to the streets where their violence and frustration would run rampant. Regardless of their age or status, you had noticed one common theme among the Smog Boys—none were left unfed, and their clothes were always without holes. The same could not be said for other less fortunate souls who braved The Warrens alone. 

“I admit,” Varlan began, dragging out the word with a performative sigh. “That I may ‘ave been… hasty. But ya can’t blame me, not with the information I was told.”

“I guess so,” Bucky replied simply. 

Bucky’s lack of reaction agitated the larger man, a cross expression forming on his greasy face. Then his smirk returned, sly and serpentine. “Well, I am impressed by ya…little investigation. Touched a nerve, did it?”

A ripple of unease passed through you as Varlan Crey lifted his brows, head tilted to match his devious, wide-eyed expression. A subtle dig at Bucky’s involvement—or worse, his attachment to you? You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of both their gazes shift momentarily to you. 

By some miracle, Bucky didn’t react to the provocation. Instead, his voice came low and steady. “I take it you spoke with the witch?”

You felt your face react before you could steel yourself, face scrunching in confusion. Witch? What witch was Bucky referring to? He certainly wasn’t referring to you—you had never met the Rat King before, let alone spoke with him about your misdeeds of crossing into his territories. In retrospect, with the gravity of the situation weighing upon you, it was a foolish assumption to make thinking you could walk into Grimrow unimpeded or unidentified. In recent months, it seemed everyone and anyone knew who you were before you knew them. It was as if you walked your life with a ginormous red hot brand across your forehead that simply said: Bucky Barnes!

“Spoke? Yes,” Varlan said, his voice emerging in a drawl. “Come ‘ere, girl.” 

He turned slightly, and a figure emerged from the Iron Rats’ crowd.

Wanda.

Wanda.

Your chest tightened, bruising squeezing painfully. She walked forward with her usual unnerving grace, her head high, her eyes sweeping the scene before her. Her auburn locks bounced across her white dress, sheepskin draped over her shoulders to protect her from the chill. Coven garb. She was calm. Too calm. The shock of seeing her in the Church of Light clothing almost made you physically recoil. You had never seen the attire in the flesh, but you remembered how your mother had described it—white to symbolise the light and the chosen babe, the Light-bringer. Diviner. 

The voices of the past echoed those names in your mind.

Light-bringer…

Your mother had always been short in her tales, too afflicted by the trauma and illness that had ruled most of her life away from the Coven. She had only spoken of the cruelty and sickness in those temple walls. The white was purity, the end of times, the rapture… but also a symbol of their devotion. The crimson blood of their self-inflicted or sometimes forced punishments showed up best on a fresh canvas. 

How had Wanda inserted herself in your life so quickly? How long had Leofric and his coven of fucking madness been tailing you? And how had Bucky known to bring her? You glanced at him, desperate for a flicker of understanding, but his face remained devoid of emotion.

“It seems my friend, Barnes ‘ere, is obsessed with facts.” The Rat King spoke, pulling you from your confused daze. He wheezed out a laugh, a phlegm-filled cough quickly following as he spat the glob into the filthy churning Sootline.

“Go on then, girl. State the facts.” Varlan instructed with a bark.

Wanda folded her hands in front of her, her voice level and composed. “I invited her to Grimrow.”

A surprised murmur swept over the crowd.

“The Church of Light has been expanding its temple across the Sootline. I was honoured to become the Head Priestess for our new build—”

“Yeah, yeah, cut to the facts, girl.” Varlan cut over Wanda. 

The auburn woman's eyes sparked with something that could only be described as irritation, but it was only a flicker as she expertly composed herself. “I invited her over to celebrate with me, as we have been friends since childhood.”

The word friends felt like a slap. Or even better, a well-placed stab to the abdomen. Your throat tightened as you stared at her, horrified by her ease in lying. How could she say it so smoothly? So convincingly? You tried to form words, but they caught in your throat, leaving you in silence.

“You agree,” Varlan pressed, his voice breaking through your haze, “that you were invited?”

Your lips parted, but no sound came, head spinning. Finally, you forced yourself to speak. “Yes.”

Varlan’s sly eyes narrowed, assessing you. “You say you are both friends but… the bartender and my men witnessed a fight between ya both,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “Why?”

Wanda quickly stepped in, her voice carrying a faint trace of sorrow. “I had expressed my concern. I wished she would stop workin’ for the Smog Boys out of fear for her safety.”

Varlan’s amusement flickered across his face, but you caught the subtle way his eyes darted toward Bucky. It was a jab meant to provoke. Bucky didn’t bite. He remained as unmoving as stone.

“And what do you say?” Varlan asked, turning his attention back to you.

Wanda’s eyes burned into your own, her chin lifting. You could’ve sworn you saw the ghost of a smirk across her lips as she watched you squirm. You couldn’t claim she was lying, or this elaborate fabrication would fall apart. You couldn’t gauge her motive. Was it to make you feel you owed her and the Church of Light? Was it to protect you? Plant seeds of doubt within Bucky, and make it seem like you had hidden parts of your life from him?

“She’s tellin’ the truth,” you surrender, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue.

“And do you have evidence? Of this letter sent to you to invite you?”

Your stomach dropped further, quickly scrambling to come up with a believable lie. “No… No, I burn all my old mail. I use it as kindlin’.”

“Convenient,” Varlan spat out with a slow shake of his head. “Very convenient.”

“I have evidence,” Wanda interjected smoothly, producing a rolled parchment from somewhere on her person. “It is the reply she sent me, confirmin’ the date.”

Bucky’s shoulders subtly relaxed beside you. Had he known about the lie, or was he being strung along by her games, too? Had the two spoken as well? What lies had she told him? Worst of all was the flare of jealousy in your gut—the thought of him talking with that woman, the idea of him trusting her over you—the weight of betrayal was suffocating. Wanda had gone to unimaginable lengths, forging a note in your handwriting to solidify this ruse.

“You wrote this reply?” Varlan asked, holding the parchment aloft.

“Yes.” Your tongue felt thick in your mouth.

Varlan examined the note for a long moment before nodding. “Well, seems you’re right, Barnes. My men were in the wrong. “

“So, we have an understanding now, Crey?” Bucky asked, his voice steady.

“Believe we do, Barnes,” Varlan replied. “Your woman can walk free.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, his hand flexing at his side. For a moment, he didn’t respond; his cold blue eyes locked on Varlan like a wolf sizing up its prey.

“That’s it?” Bucky asked, his voice low, dangerously calm. “She walks free, and we’re supposed to call it even?”

Varlan spread his hands in a gesture of mock generosity. “What more do you want, Barnes? She crossed into my territory. I’ve agreed to let her go, no harm done. This should be the end of it.”

Bucky let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He glanced down at you briefly, his expression unreadable, before looking back at Varlan. “No harm done? Is that what ya think?”

“She’s standin’ here, ain’t she?” Varlan said, his tone oily, his confidence growing in the face of no immediate retaliation. “No blood spilt, no lastin’ damage. Consider this a…generous gesture from me.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. Without another word, he stalked toward the bridge.

The movement drew startled murmurs from both sides.

“What’s he doin’?” one of the Iron Rats hissed, his hand twitching toward his weapon.

“Hold!” Varlan snapped. “Let him come if he wants.” There was a cool confidence to his tone, a confidence that was likely misplaced. 

“Barnes,” Varlan said, his voice rising as Bucky drew closer with deliberate, measured steps. “There ain’t no need for this. I’ve said the matter is settled.”

Bucky said nothing as he reached the other side. His hand slid into his coat, and when it emerged, he held a knife. The blade gleamed in the lantern light, its sharp edge catching the flickering flames.

The Iron Rats stiffened as if momentarily stunned and unable to make a move.

“Let’s be clear,” Bucky said quietly, his voice cutting through the tension like the edge of his blade. “You think you can cross me, threaten a woman under my protection, and walk away with a few pretty words? Is that what ya think, Crey?”

Varlan stepped back instinctively, his misplaced confidence crumbling as Bucky loomed over him. “Barnes, this is unnecessary—”

Bucky moved faster than anyone expected. His boot struck Varlan’s chest in a brutal kick, sending the Rat King sprawling onto his back. Gasps erupted from the Iron Rats, a few finally thawing out enough to jerk forward, but were quickly off-put their heroism by the crowd of Smog Boys inching across the bridge, blades drawn and faces like jackals.

At some point in the chaos, you had lost sight of Wanda, the witch disappearing into the shadows and fog like a ghost in the night.

Varlan scrambled backwards, his hands raised in a panicked gesture of surrender. “Wait! Barnes, wait!”

Bucky crouched over him, the knife hovering dangerously close to Varlan’s throat. “Ya think this is a game, Crey? Well, let’s fuckin’ play then, huh?” he spat. 

“I—I didn’t mean for any of this!” Varlan stammered, his voice high with panic. “I swear, Barnes. Please!”

“Beg,” Bucky said, his voice cold and unrelenting.

Varlan’s face twisted with humiliation, but the knife at his throat left no room for pride. Slowly, he rose to his knees, his hands still outstretched in surrender but his entire form trembling.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I was wrong. Please.”

“Louder,” Bucky demanded.

“I’m sorry!” Varlan cried, his voice cracking. “You can ‘ave the men, do what ya want with ‘em. Is that what you want? Please… just—”

Bucky gripped his balding head with a firm grip, directing Varlan’s watery, terrified eyes to look across the Sootline at you. You had a sudden epiphany, an understanding that Bucky had never been nervous. No. That strange energy, that twitchiness… it had been pure, unfiltered rage.

“Now, say sorry to her.” Bucky instructed, his voice near seething.

“I am sorry! I’m sorry for me actions. And my mens.” The Rat King cried out. Your gaze lifted to meet Bucky’s as he stared back across the Sootline at you. His grip on the man’s head tightened. “Please!”

“Bucky.” You finally spoke up, your voice soft as the breeze as it carried across the river.

As if your brief speech had broken a spell cast across the gangster, Bucky immediately straightened, his expression calm as he sheathed the knife. He reached out and patted Varlan’s head mockingly.

“Good little rat,” he murmured. “You know, I’m hostin’ a party soon. Maybe I’ll invite you, and you can dance and entertain me like the fuckin’ jester you are.”

Varlan’s humiliation was evident, his men exchanging uneasy glances. Bucky grinned wide, showing all his teeth.

“As for the men,” He said, his tone sharp as he turned to face the crowd of Iron Rats head-on. “The ones who crossed the border. Hand them over.”

Varlan hesitated for a moment, his pride still clinging stubbornly. But the weight of Bucky’s gaze, the threat of what he might do, was too much to bear. He nodded quickly, motioning to his men.

As if not wanting to anger the gangster further, the Iron Rats were quick to locate the three culprits and push them ahead, their expressions ashen with terror. Smog Boys emerged from the mist like spectres, grasping the men and dragging them across the bridge before they could escape and bolt back into the depths of Grimrow.

“Take them,” Varlan said hoarsely, his body sunken in defeat. “They’re yours.”

Bucky didn’t even look at them. He turned and crossed the bridge, hand grasping your forearm as he tugged you along. You frantically looked back, watching through the filthy haze as Varlan Crey stumbled back to his feet, cheeks burning, forehead slick with sweat. His men around him looked dejected, their beady eyes following you as you disappeared into the smog.

“Come,” Bucky uttered to you. “We have business to attend to.”

PART SEVEN

[typicalopposite]

we almost had it all

rated T | Trigger warnings: mpreg, blood, miscarriage

Based on this post

Tommy turns the little stick over and over in one hand while he holds the box up close to his face with the other. Damn tiny print… he thinks, still having to squint just to read it. Place a few drops on the test. A few drops?! Who has that kind of control… “Oh…” he says aloud, his voice echoing off the walls of the store’s bathroom— he was so anxious he just went straight there from the register. 

He stares at the little guide doodle showing the mock tester using the syringe— that he didn’t realize was still in the box— to draw up a sample from a cup— that was definitely not in the box— and the syringe is used to manage the few drops. But he has no cup… and he is due at work in less than half an hour.

A lot more might be due if his suspicions are correct. 

He groans and unfastens his pants.

Definitely more than a few drops later and he is pacing the small space of the accessible stall bathroom, the test is face down on the floor in the farthest corner from him, while his phone ticks down three minutes. Please be negative, please be negative, please be negative… he silently chants, knowing good and god damn well it won’t be. 

The timer goes off…

He sulks over to the corner and picks up the test…

He flips it over…

He sees the two blue lines…

He barely makes it back over to the toilet to puke… 

*

Working the few shifts after that… was awkward. 

Or should he say coming up with every excuse to not do much work without letting Lucy and the rest of his team know he was on light duty… was awkward. His captain knew and that was all. So he made sure he was man behind for every call, under the weather for any heavy duty in-house work, and just claimed seniority for anything else that he deemed might be too strenuous for him. 

He just wanted to tell Ev- Buck… first. 

There had never been a doubt in his mind Buck would know about the baby. He just had to wait until they were both free, and by some miracle their calendar’s were still linked together on his phone… so he could see when they would both be off work. Not that having a clear visual on the day he was going to face the man he is madly in love with… but broke up with (because he is likely clinically insane) and broke both their hearts in the process… could really be considered a miracle; more like karma. Karma on him for putting them in the situation that this discussion would be anything less than an overly joyful celebration in the first place. 

Buck was going to be joyful, regardless. Tommy knew that. The man loved children, and talked about having his own someday often. He was going to be thrilled. Hell… after the initial shock, so was Tommy. They were adults… they could act like it and figure out how to raise this kid together.

*

It’s the last shift before Tommy’s 48 off and Buck was already 24 into his. 

The call came in right when the crew was about to call it a day and start getting ready to leave. Two-vehicle collision at the intersection of Victory Boulevard and Lindley Avenue. A semi and a firetruck. Truck driver was stable and three of the firefighters inside were injured but stable; one was in critical condition, requiring immediate air support. 

Please don’t be them, please don’t be them, please don’t be them…

Perhaps it was wrong for Tommy to hold his breath and hope it was any other station. It’s not like his hope helped much anyway. “This is Captain Bobby Nash…” the tired, and stressed sounding, familiar voice came across the radio. “We need an ETA on air support, Firefighter Buckley has fallen unconscious. We need to get him medical assistance fast.” 

Tommy’s entire world seems to start moving in slow motion, while he watches stuck on autopilot and can't do anything. He is off the couch and ignoring his captain’s concerned voice when he asks what he thought he was doing. Tommy would have liked to see him stop him from getting in that helicopter with Lucy. 

He climbs into the cockpit, and pulls his headphones on, letting them know they’re on their way. 

*

“Are you okay…” Lucy has asked a dozen times, when she’s not overly insisting Buck is going to be okay. The bird is high enough in the sky that it makes it easy to control, so Tommy assumes her questioning is due to his death grip being so tight on the controls that his knuckles are turning white. 

“M’fine…” Tommy says, with his jaw clenched so tight he might be cracking his molars. 

The truth? He’s not fine. Not just because he is flying into the unknown in regards to Buck’s fate and that scares the hell out of him… But also— he’s not fine because the moment he heard the distress call over the radio, his stomach twisted into the most intense knot he’s ever experienced and never let up.  

Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay… he repeats in his head the entire flight, and it holds two meanings. He listens as Bobby updates them on Buck’s condition— which is not looking good— and in return urgently asks their ETA. “F- Five minutes…” Tommy manages, trying his damndest to sound calm and professional, knowing he’s probably failing miserably. 

His stomach twists and cramps, and he grits his teeth trying to ignore it. Then he feels it. A small gush of warmth between his legs… and he just knows. 

He navigates the rest of the way, trying to not visually react to what is happening… They arrive at the accident, Buck is loaded into the helicopter, and Tommy lifts them back into the air. He doesn’t say a word, but he listens as Harbor’s medics work on his— fuck… he’s back to just being his ex again, it seems. Nothing tying them together now… 

He blinks back against the tears threatening to spill and thinks… At least everyone will just assume he’s crying over Buck— which he is… of course— and not because he just lost the little piece of Buck he had thought he’d actually get to keep. 

*

“Tommy…” Lucy tries again, and he sharply jerks when she lays a hand on his arm. They have been landed on the hospital’s helipad for a while now… Buck has long since been taken from the helicopter and whisked off through the double doors. “Hey… what’s— what’s going on?” Her brows are pulled so tight together they’re nearly touching; she looks so worried, and he can’t blame her… He’s sure he’s acting incredibly off. 

“You’re gonna have to fly her back,” he eventually says, his voice hoarse and small, and her confusion only seems to grow. “I— I need to go inside…” She doesn’t question, just gives a quick nod, reaching over to squeeze his arm. 

He opens his door and unhooks his seat and climbs out of his seat and Lucy all but screams, causing him to turn back towards her. He sees the culprit for her reactions is the blood he left behind on the seat and he stares at it for a moment. 

“Oh that’s  b- because—” His voice seizes upon his throat and tears begin to build in his eyes… and they are alone out here anyway, why hold them back now. “—because I just lost our baby…” He can’t break his eyes away from the blood stain. He doesn’t even register when it clicks with Lucy what he means and she turns the helicopter off and rushes out and around to him. She catches him just as his knees finally give out, and he cries in her arms until staff come out to check on them, ushering him inside to be treated while Lucy explains the tragedy within a tragedy that has happened. 

Part Two

[cogneartive]

"they're gonna feminise everyone in laurel canyon"

trans neil young: ok

roger mcguinn, egg half-cracked: is that a bad thing?

graham nash (in the middle of being forcibly feminised by joni mitchell): am i not special?

joni mitchell: dont worry baby u are

brian wilson, unaffected: the ronnets...

michelle nesmith: but i already did that

david crosby, with J cups: awesome

chris hillman (she/her): My fuckingh house burnt down

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Ambrosial

summary: he knows your scent— he knows your heart and now he knows your people.

pairing: din djarin x fem!black!reader

contents: longing, pining, fluff, cultural differences

wc: 2.5k

an: this has been a longggggg time coming but this one's for you @cptn-nash and for all of the black women who feel left out of fandom. there’s always space for you.

pedro characters masterlist

The crest always smells like citrus with a hint of cinnamon these days. If Din closes his eyes he can imagine himself standing in an orchard with you by his side.

The warm, fresh smell is all thanks to you— to your hair, your people, and your culture. All things that you hold close to your heart and in turn, Din tries to respect. But, it is not lost on you that he cannot understand the importance of hair to you and your culture completely, not when his is hidden inside of a helmet day in and day out.

What he does know is how much he enjoys yours— watching the way your curls move when you walk, how they pile into the crown when you tie them up, how a bit of them spill out of the silk scarf you wear at night when Grogu refuses to sleep without you and the two of you take over his bed. He has to tear himself away from the sight of you—dark skin lit up in the moonlight and his foundling in his arms— slinking off to your bunk. But there is a reward when he gets there— the sweet, concentrated scent of you rests on the fabric of your pillow.

In the deepest recesses of his mind, there’s a place where there’s just the three of you. Din holds to his creed, unwaveringly so, but here there is no worry of exile. No worry that you or Grogu will be taken away from him on one of your adventures through the galaxy. There is just you, holding his son, curls blowing in some light evening breeze. There is just him, wrapping his arms around the both of you, his nose pressed into the crown of your head as he is able to succumb freely to your scent. He doesn’t let himself go there often, not when he is so unsure that he will ever have it.

The two of you are charted for a bounty when you ask him to make a detour that is quite out of the way— you need something for your hair. And while he’s more than happy to make sure your needs are met, he has to ask.

He glances back at you, his voice soft and not unkind as he asks, “Could you not use my things?”

If you didn’t share the fresher with him you doubt he even had things. He does, though they aren’t as intricate as yours. There are worse things than smelling like the Mandalorian, yes but proper hair care is sacred to you and your people.

You smile at him, shaking your head, “No, it doesn’t work like that. There are specifics, rituals, ingredients.”

“And it is…strict? Necessary?” You can practically hear the confusion in his voice, his lack of understanding.

“As necessary as this,” You murmur, leaning forward and raising a hand to cup the cheek of his helmet.

He blushes within the space of his helmet, unable to bite away the grin that spreads across his face. You and Din teeter on the edge of more— never explicitly naming or acknowledging any of the affection that passes between you, but undoubtedly knowing that the other is devoted. There’s something particularly sweet about his dedication without words. There is no doubt in your mind that he cares for you, but with this lifestyle, with his creed, neither of you make any move to change your relationship.

This is enough. It has to be.

When the silence sits thick between you for a beat too long, you start to ramble, “Like I told you before, hair is integral to our culture, it helps build every facet of relationships in my village. It sounds silly, but it's the basis of community. We would not be nearly as devoted to each other without hair at the center.”

He hums, delicately taking one of your curls in between his fingers. He studies it closely through the dark t of his visor, noticing the intricate way that it spirals. You let out a soft, shaky breath– feeling his eyes on you is something you’ve become used to, but the effect it has on you never dissipates.

“I could show you,” You murmur shyly, feeling the fascination in his gaze.

“Show me?” He repeats cautiously.

“Show you how my momma taught me to take care of it,” You suggest. After a moment of hesitation, you add, “Show you my home as you’ve shown me yours.”

The two of you have gone to Mandalore—just once, to show Grogu what should be his home and collect water from the sacred waters. You’ve always tried not to put too much stock in Din letting you tag along— where else were you meant to go if you’re his travel partner?

His helmet tilts, shock in his sandy voice, “You would take me to your home?”

You gaze with the black void of his visor breaks for a moment before you look up at him through your lashes, “Of course I would, so that you could see where I come from, how I’ve become who I am. You let me see yours. Would you like to see?”

He nods, finally releasing the curl that he was still holding between his fingers.

“Chart the course and then I will show you why I take so long in the fresher,” You say, backing out of the cockpit.

He meets you there just as you finish turning everything the correct way, labels up. You keep it all in a bin that you take to and from the fresher, not wanting to take up too much space.

You can’t see his shock but you can hear it in voice, in the way he tilts his helmet as he says, “This is…a lot.”

You laugh softly, before explaining, pointing at various bottles as you do, “There are different products for different times of year, holidays, special occasions.”

“Special occasions?”

“For one’s birthday or wedding. Even for a funeral. All milestones in life, from beginning to end.”

“And you must have all of it at all times?”

“You are to be prepared for all of the days of your and your neighbor’s life. If we were to meet someone from home during our travel and they were in need of something, then its my duty to help. It is our custom. Our way so to speak.”

Din hums in understanding. He understands living life a certain way more than anyone you’ve ever known. He starts to understand the importance— but this is just the beginning. He wants to know everything about your people, to fuse the two of your cultures into something loving and uniquely your own.

—

It takes the night to make it to your home, allowing you to arrive in the morning. You’d sent a communication to your mother as soon as Din had agreed, and she had excitedly responded, eager to see you after such a long stint away. Eager to meet Din, though you’d given her no indication that things had progressed romantically between the two of you.

When you wake in the morning, you find Din a little nervous to have the conversation that made you toss and turn most of the night. You know that he’s quite fond of Grogu, that he loves him with all his heart. You feel the same way, happy to take care of the little creature in any way that you can. It’s a bit confusing, raising a child with Din despite not knowing explicitly what you are. But, you love Grogu. Though you don’t let yourself think about it much, you love Din. You’d do whatever you could to make things easier for the two of them.

But what would your mother think about such an arrangement?

Din tilts his head at you in concern when you inhale a nervous breath, fingers twisting in your lap. He reaches for your hands, steadying them. “What’s wrong? Have you changed your mind?”

You gaze down at his gloved hand that covers nearly both of yours before you shake your head, assuring him quickly, “No, no, I haven’t changed my mind.”

“Then what is it?” He asks gently.

“I know that Grogu is yours, and I’m not ashamed or embarrassed. But, I think it best he stays on the ship while we visit my mother. I don’t want her to assume anything that would make you uncomfortable.”

He’s quiet for a moment, but you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. “You were nervous to ask me this.”

You snort, “He’s your son, Din, of course I was nervous.”

“I understand,” He says, squeezing your hand in reassurance. “The next visit, we can introduce him to your mother.”

The next visit. He plans to make this habitual?

“You’re sure?”

“It’s your home. I’m sure if you’re sure,” He declares with a shrug. As if the decision is that easy for him.

“Thank you, Din.”

He simply squeezes your hand again before clearing his throat, saying that he needs to make sure Grogu is taken care of before you two land.

—

When the ship door opens, you and Din are met with a plethora of people, headed up by your mother. Din can’t help but notice how much of her is in you— the same rich color of your skin, the curls though they are greying. Some of your beauty comes from her, and some of it is uniquely you.

She gathers you into her arms immediately, hugging you tightly. She guides your curls back so that her lips are at the shell of your ear, “We’ve missed you. I’ve missed you.”

“I know, mama. I’ve missed you too,” You whisper back, pulling back to give you a watery smile.

She turns her curious gaze to Din, looking him up and down. “This is who you’ve been traveling with. A Mandalorian who will keep you safe.”

Din nods his head, and you about melt with embarrassment at the way she’s sizing him up.

“Yes, mama, this is Mando. He is my—“ You start to say but Din cuts you off smoothly, extending his hand to your mother.

“Her partner. Din, Din is my name,” He murmurs, taking her hands into his.

The smile on your mother’s face matches your own— wide, flustered and accompanied by warmth that spreads through your entire body. He may be encased in metal but he can always make a woman swoon.

“Din. Thank you for taking care of my daughter.”

“Mama,” You scold, giving Din a nervous smile.

“It’s a pleasure,” He murmurs to her, his voice just as sandy and nonchalant as ever.

Your mother starts to guide you towards the villages, and Din offers you his arm which you take readily. You’re happy to walk in silence as your mother catches you up on all the happenings— who’s married, given birth, changed professions, or died. All of it goes in one ear and out the other as you try to digest what’s just happened.

He gave her his name. What more is to come?

Eventually, the two of you are sequestered in a corner of your mother’s house as she helps another woman with her hair when Din turns to look at you. You raise a brow at him in question.

He leans closer to you, speaking in a hushed voice, “One day you will teach me to care for my own appropriately.”

“What do you mean?” You whisper back.

You feel his gaze meet yours through his helmet as he says, “When you are truly mine and I am truly yours.”

Your heart skips a beat before pounding rapidly in your chest. You stare into the dark t of his visor, mouth open in shock. He’s full of declarations today, ones that you had hoped would be true but never got your hopes up for. He simply nods his head at you, one of his gloved hands coming to tangle with your own.

Meeting your mother has clearly changed things— all that’s been left unsaid is now cleared up with just a single sentence from him.

His hand doesn’t leave yours as your mother shows him around the village, introducing him as your partner to everyone she can get to speak to her. Din feels a little sheepish, heat creeping into his cheeks by your mothers candidness, by the curious stares of those she speaks to. You keep him close, answering any questions and doing all of the talking if anyone is curious enough to bypass your mother and speak to the two of you.

You don’t even let go to hug those you recognize, holding onto his hand firmly as you wrap an arm around a few of those you encounter. At this, Din’s flush deepens, butterflies in his stomach.

You make him feel like just a man— the most ordinary man in the best way— like he isn’t bound to his creed or this life of hunting. You make him feel like he’s just your Din. A man so desperately in love with a woman that he’d do anything she asked and then some.

Your mother sends you home with droves of oils and butters and soaps. Some of them are for you, but by the labeling and color you can tell that many of them are for Din. There’s a variety, as with the helmet she couldn’t properly see the texture of his hair and gather the corresponding products. It’s your mother’s way of telling you she approves and you hold her tight, murmuring a soft thank you as you bid her goodbye.

The two of you unpack Din’s things, setting the bottles and containers up in a perfect line. You even fetch your own, adding more clutter that both of you are immediately quite fond of. It means more than Din could know, but he’s starting to learn.

He invites you into his bed that night and unlike all of the previous times he stays, gathering you into his arms in the pitch-black space. For the first time, you feel him. He buries his nose into your hair the way he’s always dreamed about.

That night once you’re asleep, Din heads to the fresher, curious about all of the things your mother had sent off with the both of you. You spent a lot of time here earlier— even more than usual. As soon as he’s inside, he sees why. You’ve labeled everything step by step and added his name to the products that are his.

He spends an ungodly amount of time under the water, closing his eyes as he succumbs to the sweet smells. And though they all smell wonderful, he finds himself reaching for your things. He wants to be surrounded by your scent.

When he slides under the covers beside you later, he smells like citrus— that telltale hint of cinnamon. He smells like you. One day, he’ll let you bury your nose in his hair so that you can smell him too. Until then, his helmet is filled with the scent of you and he will have it no other way.

[lyrakanefanatic]

Tig quotes bc I’m incredibly bored

Avery and Jameson after getting into an argument:

Jameson: Can you get me a cup of water?

Avery, slamming down a glass of ice: Wait.

Oren: I AM COMPLETELY LOST FOR WORDS!!

Avery, narrating: Despite being lost for words, Oren yelled at me for the next 20 minutes.

Grayson, bursting into a room: This is bad. This is really bad.

Jameson: What?

Grayson: I kissed [insert phone girls name here]!

Jameson:

Nash:

Avery:

Xander: Wow. I owe Nash so much money.

Grayson: You’re acting extremely overdramatic!

Xander: I’m not acting.

Jameson: I won’t let something controversial or trivial stop me.

Grayson: You mean the law?

Jameson: Yes I hate that word.

Avery: I hate people who use their horoscope as their whole personality. Like, “haha, I’m such a Scorpio!” no Skye you’re just a bitch.

Max: I hate sudoku. It makes me feel stupid.

Avery: Then don’t do it.

Max: Yeah, but if you don’t do it you’re not only stupid, but you’re also a coward.

Max: Just won at chess against Grayson! 😜

Grayson: You threw the board at my face.

Max: Theres no such thing as fighting dirty if you win.

Libby: I love you guys, you’re the best thing thats ever happened to me. 💖

Jameson: We’re the best thing thats ever happened to you?

Libby: Yes!

Nash: ..

Nash: Im starting to feel a little sorry for you.

Gigi: What happens if you press the brakes and gas at the same time?

Jameson: The car takes a screenshot.

Grayson, who is just try to teach her how to drive properly: For the last time, get the fuck out.

Jameson: The risk I took was calculated.

Grayson: Was it really? Look where we are!

Jameson: I never said I was good at math.

Okay thats all but lmk if I should do more! 🫶

[translatemunson]

we play dumb but we know exactly what we’re doing • ttfd

chapter two of the tortured firefighters department

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, no descriptions of reader, banter (because i love it), mentions of food, bobby almost adopting brains, proofread by my bye-lingual ass (let me know if i forgot anything)

Your sneakers made funny noises while you walked up the stairs to the communal room — the mezzanine with a view for the ground floor — at the 118 firehouse. The fresh baked brownies — that you baked the night before, just in time to put it on the blue tupperware and take with you for your shift — jiggled as you approached the top of the stairs.

You checked the garage again, looking for Chimney’s ambulance, when you found the loft empty. Well, not that empty.

“Good afternoon, Captain Nash.” You greeted the man. As a dispatcher, your voice was your most recognizable mark, only giving out your name when necessary. And in your job, it was your responsibility to know the names of the captains. You wished Captain Nash was just an occasional contact, but lately he has been the one on the other end of the comms.

“Afternoon, dispatcher.” He was preparing some lunch for his team. “How can I help you?”

“Is Chimney around? I have something for him. Actually, it is for Maddie and baby Jee.” You motioned to the tupperware.

“He’s gonna be back soon, got stuck in traffic after delivering a civilian to the hospital. But if you are in a hurry, I can give it to him.” The captain was busy with the pans on the stove and chopping vegetables for a salad, you supposed.

“Just left my shift, I can wait. I don’t trust firefighters with carbs and sweets, no offense.” You pulled one of the chairs and took a seat, still watching the man moving effortlessly in the kitchen. “She called in sick and I need to deliver these to her before I have a kid on my doormat demanding more than just brownies.”

“None taken. Can I get you some coffee while you wait?”

“Tell me where to find a cup and I’ll get it myself, don’t wanna delay your lunch.”

“Second cabinet on the left.”

“Thanks, Cap.”

You stood up and walked into the kitchen. You have to admit: they were definitely eating well because it had all the appliances necessary for any recipe, and the smell was divine. Even the coffee had a unique aroma. Who could you talk to in order to get half of what they had in the firehouse? 

“It’s the least I can do for the mastermind behind the calls after that huge traffic jam downtown last week.” He smiled. “How did you manage to divert the teams and the civilians so fast?”

“Just like ants follow patterns, so do the LA drivers. GPS apps can give up the fastest options based on their data, but it takes too much time when it comes to rescuing someone.” You explained as you walked back to your seat. “Glad no one was badly injured that day.”

“I’ve never got to an accident scene so fast. You’re really good with predictions.”

“I think my future could be bright if I used my superpowers for fortune telling and betting,” you joked. “I should be the one thanking you for all your work. And your team.”

“Bring us some of those,” he was clearly talking about the brownies, “any time.”

“Will do.”

As you finished your cup of coffee, you saw the ambulance entering the garage. Chim and Henrietta, his paramedic partner, left the vehicle and went straight for their lockers. A few more minutes wouldn’t kill you.

“Wanna stay and have lunch with us?” Captains Nash offered.

“Maybe another time. Thanks.”

It didn’t take long for Chim to show up upstairs. He looked surprised to see you in the 118 kitchen. You stood up and gave him the tupperware. “I told Maddie how many brownies I got her, so don’t fuck it up,” you warned him.

“Your package is safe and sound with me, Brains. Are you in a hurry?”

“Kinda. I have an important meeting with my bed.”

“Fair enough.” He patted your shoulder, acting like the big brother Maddie warned you about.

“See you soon, Chim. Thanks for the coffee, Cap!”

They waved goodbye, and you looked forward to spending the rest of your day sleeping. No calls, no traffic, no thesis: just you, your recently washed bed covers and fluffy pillows. The only thing in your way was a few miles to your apartment.

“I thought I’d hear you before seeing you again, Brains.”

It was scary how, after one meeting, you could recognize his voice anywhere. 

 “Guess it’s your lucky day, Buckley. Don’t get too happy, I’m already leaving.” You turned around to face him. The black firefighter uniform fitted him very well, even better than the white polo shirt and jeans he wore to the dinner.

“Is everything alright?” He tilted his head slightly, and kept his voice low.

“Yeah, just dropping off something for Maddie. Busy day?”

“Small domestic incident with light injuries, and a foundation problem.”

“So just a normal day in LA.” You knew about the banned Q-word, it was kinda a thing with every single 9-1-1 worker, including dispatchers. “Saved any cats from trees lately?”

“Ha-ha, you’re funny.” His voice was warm, but his face was dead serious. You were playing hot and cold, again and again. “Did moving go well?”

“My arms are sore, but it’s finally over. Thanks for asking.”

“You could start working out to help next time you move. Or if you decide to join the firefighters.”

Both are definitely bad ideas. Why would you need to add another activity into your packed agenda? You turned around and followed your way to your car. “I’ll leave the muscles for you, Buckley.”

“See ya, Brains!” He shouted on your back.

“Bye!” You motioned your hand in a goodbye, but didn’t look him in the eye.

Unbeknown to you, the rest of the crew was watching you both and placing bets on how long until one of you realized the banter was just the first step of something bigger.

author's note: first of all, thank you for all the love on the chapter one!!!! i think it was the first time a first chapter gets so much love, likes and attention on its first week! again: you can share some thoughts and request scenes and blurbs for this series anytime, feel free to be creative! see y'all next week

[silly-little-gooses]

the inheritance games characters at disney!

xander is the only one that can stand to go on the spinning tea cups. multiple times. back to back. his record is twelve times in a row.

grayson pretends to hate it, but “it’s a small world” makes him cry.

avery is the queen of charades/heads up in long lines.

max and xander love to make fun of THOSE disney couples in lines.

libby loves fantasyland and must ride every old kids ride there.

grayson always complains about walking so much when he literally wears dress shoes every day.

nash has a fast past (or genie pass or whatever) specifically for radiator springs racers and nothing else.

gigi always eats way too many sweets and candies and is constantly sugar high, but has a sugar crash at 3pm and they have to drop her off at the hotel to nap.

savannah always has a straight face on roller coasters. no screaming, no smiling, nothing.

contrary to savannah, avery is a screamer on rides. she’s not really scared of any of them, she just likes to scream.

jameson almost cries when he meets mickey. that’s it, that’s the whole headcanon.

grayson is cool with most rides, but refuses to go on space mountain. he says it’s because the seats are too small, but he’s just scared of the dark.

xander lovesss the pirates of the carribean ride. he will sing the song all through the line and on the ride and for about six hours after they get off the ride.

max is a disney bigback. she will eat every snack and food imaginable. she’s obsessed.

the whole group rents out the park for a day or two and just does whatever they want. they’re besties with all the workers too.