#Orders from the Chief (ANSWERED)

[eureka-its-zico]

Residuals Pt. 4

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: First, I read an article on burns to try and make this as accurate as possible, (article here by the NIH) but it’s still not terribly accurate. So, please, I tried lol. Secondly, I’m still screaming at the amount of love you guys have shown this series. Truly, I appreciate it more than y’all know. Thirdly, enter in a little extra dash of drama by Gloria (who redeemed herself in ep.12 but we ain’t there yet) and ya girl is just having a rough-ass day. Fourthly, yeah…she’s a thick chapter. Hopefully, it's still good because I’ve edited it as much as I can. As always, I hope you all enjoy. Thank you for the support and for being here. Much Love, Jenn

Warnings: Mentions of death, language

Words: 10k +

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Whitaker proved to be an adept student. He followed directions well and answered whatever questions you threw his way about proper wound care at home and possible infection risks around the burned areas. When you’d finished with the first patient, you ensured he knew to return to the emergency room immediately if they experienced any new or persistent discomfort, like pain or tenderness in the area, increased warmth, discoloration, or advanced swelling. 

“If the infection is invasive and takes hold of the wound, what is the main course of treatment, Dr. Whitaker?”

“We would contact surgery.”

“Correct. Why?” 

“The need for surgery would be based on the high concentration of the bacteria levels found present in the wound.”

“We’d check for signs of possible sepsis and a full check-up to narrow down if it's gram-negative or positive bacteria, which tells us further about our treatment plan. What is the chief cause of burn wound infections?”

“Staphylococcus Aureus - MRSA.”

“How would we verify the patient had MRSA or any other type of possible bacterial infection?” 

“By taking a sample from the area for testing -“

“You guys aren’t about to cut me up or anything, are you?”  

The sudden input from the patient caused a nervous tick from Whitaker. It halted his hands from finishing the last few loops around with the gauze. The patients' eyes darted nervously from you to Whitaker and back again. You gave your best reassuring smile while making sure the dressing was secured on his chest and shoulder.

“Well, Kyle, the faster we get you out of here, you take the antibiotics I prescribe you, and make sure you keep your burns dressed and away from exposure to possible germs, then no. We won’t be ‘cutting you up’ today.”

“Okay. Cool. Because that sounds really uncool.”

Dilaudid truly did wonders for conversations. You’d have to make sure the discharge papers were clear on his care and warning signs to look out for. Plus, add extra emphasis on trying to make sure not to share any items in the frat house bathroom. 

In truth, it wasn’t him, but his fellow frat boy neighbor in four that had you worried. So far, he showed no obvious signs of infection, but once the adrenaline of the moment wore off he noticeably seemed to slip into shock at having half his face, eyelashes, and eyebrow singed off. Not enough shock, however, to keep from asking if he’d make a handsome Harvey Dent for Halloween. 

The burns to his neck and chest indicate to you he was closer to the fire pit than his buddy Whitaker currently patched up. You’d ordered blood work, x-rays, and a culture swab on two-face and his friend just to rule out any surprises. 

You did your full assessment, asked questions, and directed Whitaker the best you could. You wanted to be the good mentor like Adamson and Singh had been for you. A good mentor like Robby was too. You would never admit it out loud but a small piece of you wanted Robby to see how capable you were. A silent bid to prove he could trust you with his interns and medical students. Between Robby, Abbot, and the previous attendings you knew you could teach. 

It wasn’t a hidden thing that you’d both meet here during your residency. Yes, it was Adamson’s circus, but Robby thrived under Adamson’s direction and the insanity the Pitt offered. He was funny, charismatic, incredibly smart, and showed a level of empathy that bordered on worrisome at times. A tidal wave of grief encapsulated him and carried him under if he wasn’t careful. Robby was exactly the physician any patient should want taking care of them when they arrived in the ED. 

And hell, you weren’t blind. Anyone with eyes could see that Robby was handsome. Painstakingly, stupidly, egregiously, fucking handsome. It was fucking criminal. 

Robby taught you so much in the time you’d spent here and you knew he probably still could but that would mean being around him. The two of you standing closer than you’d been in years was proving to be a dangerous thing. He’d fallen back into the habit of stealing touches and you’d fallen back into the habit of shamelessly teasing him with things he’d usually make you pay for later trapped between his body and whatever surface in your house.

It was a dangerous game neither of you realized you were playing, and both of you were losing fast. Instead of having your focus one hundred percent on the patients and being back in the ED for the first time in years, your focus repeatedly returned where it shouldn’t. At first, you could lie to yourself and say you were simply scanning the hallways and nursing stations to make sure you didn’t see him. Of course, that’s what you wanted to believe; to coast through this shift without any additional emotional trauma following you home. 

It was fucking impossible.

You could continue to lie to yourself all you wanted, but the truth was blatantly clear. Your eyes didn’t comb over the hallways and desks in hopes of not finding him. You didn’t quickly peer into rooms in anticipation that he wouldn’t be in one. You wanted to see him just as much as you denied that you didn’t. 

The day you left, you made sure to do it while Robby was working because you knew, that if he’d been home and asked you to stay, you would’ve. And if he didn’t fight for you - never uttered a singular word of pleading to keep you from leaving, you weren’t sure you could survive it. 

So now you found yourself hopelessly looking for him in all the places you swore you’d never go again. You may have chosen to leave, but it never meant you stopped loving him. The fact you were still in love with him made seeing the lost look in his eyes sting harder. You watched as he spoke to the parents of the kid who overdosed with no possible hope of waking up again, and you wanted to go to him. It was the shattering look of grief that made you forget how to move. Robby knew what was coming better than anyone else did. 

How many times was Robby the one in charge of giving the heartbreaking news that loved ones weren’t coming home? Shouldering the burden of listening to the breakdown of their world and being the pillar of strength and comfort while families struggled to rearrange? 

You hadn’t realized the black hole of anxiety was leading you down a rabbit hole until the sound of Whitaker calling out, “Dr. Fullerton,” at your side left you practically jumping out of your skin. 

Shit. How long had you been zoned out? Hopefully, you hadn’t said anything weird. Or incriminating.

“Sorry,” he swiftly followed up. “I was trying to ask where we were off to next, but, uh, you seemed a little…preoccupied.”

“Oh, yeah, no sorry. You can go back to the red zone. I’m just going to help McKay up in triage.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No, not at all. You’ll have more of a chance to learn with Langdon and Collins.” What you actually meant was to see more if that was what he was into. “Also, maybe check on your last patient I pulled you away from earlier.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” You watched him take your advice and, in real time, get ready to dispute it. “Why am I checking back in with Mr. Milton?”

What should you tell him? In the Pitt, it was easy to be thrown from one patient to the next - forgetting their faces and names as the minutes blurred into hours. Easy to forget they were waiting on test results that needed to be read by you and needed a treatment plan discussed and planned by you. Major issues could present as something small, something easily missable until further testing exposed the truth of the situation. If you went just the smallest amount of time without checking the results, without popping your head in for a visual, well, it wasn’t hard to imagine how sometimes those major issues finally presented themselves and everything got much, much worse. 

“Look, Whitaker. As much as the powers constantly stress about getting people in and out quickly like this is a drive-thru, we have an obligation to each patient to give them the best care we can. It means staying on top of orders and checking in regularly. Trust me, Whitaker, things can change quickly down here.”

“Okay, yeah. That makes perfect sense. Thanks, Dr. Fullerton.”

“You bet. See you around, Whitaker.”

He gave you an awkward wave and didn’t move right away. It wasn’t until you turned away from him that you heard him shuffle on his feet. A part of you was curious if you glanced behind you he’d still be standing there, deciding where to go.   

All that mattered to you was that you currently needed a new patient. It didn’t matter what the chief complaint was. Ideally, for the all-seeing eye of admin, quick and easy ones would look better. At this rate, you were positive your Press Ganey score was dipping. You were seeing patients at the speed of an R3; two patients per hour and they were after fast and loose results. But you wanted something with the capability to keep you occupied for hours. Preferably something that would require so much of your attention it would force you out of your head. 

Yeah, that would be good. It was too damn early still to be spiraling into a midlife crisis just because you had to work with your ex. An ex, you realized, who was wearing the damn navy blue hoodie you’d bought him on his last fishing trip to Canonsburg. 

No. No. Nope. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about him or stupid hoodies or the gold chain of his necklace that used to drag over your collarbone. How your fingers curled around the thin chain, using it like a lead, to bring him down on top of you on the couch. Absolutely not - you were at work and he was your ex. He was your ex and you shouldn’t fucking care how you could still tell after all these months he was sleeping like shit. 

You were almost back to Dana’s station, the monitor looming overhead like a beacon to salvation when you noticed Whitaker walking in tandem beside you. You cocked a brow in question that Whitaker rushed to answer. 

“The board is this way, so…”

Right. You knew that. 

“I was trying to talk to you but I think you were in deep thought or something. Again.”

Or something. God. That was twice. Twice your head was everywhere else but where it needed to be, which was at work. You should’ve fought harder when Gloria came to reassign you, but none of this should’ve mattered. 

You were a damn good doctor. You’d trained under the best, learned from the best, and kept progressively learning and didn’t stop. You spent years of your life on this because helping people was your passion. It shouldn’t matter where you were placed if you were down here to help for days, months, or years. 

Yet, in the matter of an hour, your mind waded into memories that were better off left for dead with your eyes searching for someone you shouldn’t. 

You didn’t know how to answer him. “Sorry, I should remember where everything is but find myself stuck daydreaming about the past and looking for signs where I shouldn’t and sexually fantasizing about your attending”, didn’t seem appropriate to tell a med student. So, you ended with a weak, “Sorry about that,” which passed for understanding. It made you feel like an ass, but you didn’t trust yourself to speak. 

You came to a stop just a few feet from Dana’s desk. Her back turned to you as she went through folders preparing patient's charts for transfer upstairs. Her eyes shifted up at the board and over to a newer resident you hadn’t met yet. 

Her gaze was fixed on the monitor; eyes scanning rapidly down the chart as if there was a code that needed cracking. You knew that look. It was a shared one you’d no doubt mirrored only an hour ago. 

“What do you need, Fullerton?”

Your head swiveled back to Dana and found her now facing you, her glasses removed, and waiting for your answer. 

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Are you kidding?” The question fell out of her in a chuckle. “You’re the only one I know who goes around taping on every damn surface when they’re thinking. You act like my five-year-old grandson, just less noisy. Barely.”

“That’s offensive,” you pointed out. 

“For who? You or my grandson.”

You felt the first crack in your defenses tug at the corners of your mouth. If you weren’t careful, Dana’s whip-smart comments were going to make you fold back into a routine you hadn’t been a part of in a while. It wasn’t just you who was slipping at this point, and you clocked the moment Dana began to realize it too. 

She was supposed to be upset with you - grumpy, mean remarks only. You were supposed to take them and dish them back so you could comfortably stay in your bubbles of denial and anger. The denial of what, exactly, was achingly easy to see. 

You both missed each other. More than either of you were willing to admit. 

Your reply sat cocked and loaded on your tongue when you remembered what transpired half an hour before. As much as you missed one another, you had to be careful with what you shared around her. It was obvious, whatever the ‘It’ may be, Robby would magically seem to find out. 

“Any quick ones up here? It’s only 8:30, and Robby’s already on my case for being too slow. I can usually at least make it to lunch before he starts hounding me.” 

Your attention swiveled back towards the resident. Her gaze fixed on the board before glancing between Dana and you. Hopefully, her question wasn’t meant for you to answer. You weren’t very good at picking off the board either. 

“Cut him a little slack today, ok? It’s the anniversary of Dr. Adamson’s death.”

Of course, Dana would cover for him. Intercept all incoming rapports of Robby being prickly and sometimes downright mean to bury them under the rug of understanding. 

Yes, it was the anniversary of Adamson’s death. It always would be. Grief wasn’t easy. It was messy and unrelenting in the moments it chose for sights, smells, and touch to materialize memories that recalled moments you wouldn’t get the chance to share with them again. A constant reminder of all that we lost. Time didn’t seal up that cavern their loss created; it just became more manageable over time. 

Robby never coped. Never allowed himself to grieve, heal, and thrive in the good memories he did have. The doubts and guilt haunted him every day in every step, every decision, he made. He housed it inside him like a ghoul in a cemetery feasting on the remains of who he was before Adamson’s death - before the pandemic. 

“That’s sad. But it’s still no reason to take it out on me. I’m just saying.”

You liked her. She got it. You wanted to properly introduce yourself. By the look on Dana’s face, you need to do it quickly before she breaks out into a lecture. Luck wasn’t on your side because Whitaker beat you to the punch. 

You didn’t want to eavesdrop on their conversation but you also didn’t want to go back to having a conversation with Dana, either. It left you the only option of staring back up at the beloved board. You’d just decided on 7 North when Dr. Collins walked by, her hands digging in the glovebox on the wall to retrieve a pair. Her eyes were on Whitaker and yours were on her. 

It wasn’t a secret that Robby and Heather had dated. Well, maybe to those in the Pitt, and not including Perlah or Princess because they suspiciously seemed to be psychic. Or just really loved to gossip. No, you’d learned about them when a friend spotted Robby and Heather out on a date. You’d only assumed it was a date because she repeatedly kept using the word cozy. 

And why should you have cared? It’d been almost a year since you’d left. You chose to leave and that meant making him free to date and find new love or whatever. You didn’t have a right to lay claim to him just because he’d been yours. And Heather? She was gorgeous. She was fucking brilliant, with a beautiful smile, and it suddenly made you feel uncharacteristically subconscious. 

Whether it’d been a date or they just seemed cozy (it was a damn date) you shouldn’t have felt jealous. You were fine. It was perfectly fine and healthy for people to seek out relationships and companionship. It was normal and you were fine. You weren’t any saint either. You’d dated someone briefly and, if you were honest with yourself, you could’ve stayed in that relationship. It was nice and easy. Simple. But you didn’t love him and you weren’t sure if you ever could. 

The problem of loving Robby - still being in love with Robby - was that he stood witness to your most intimate memories of love. There were stories woven into your bones that bore witness to the man he was and how he loved you. They were told in joy and tragedy, laughter and sadness. When Nathan kissed you, the earth kept spinning. He didn’t taste of bourbon or smell of leather and sandalwood. He didn’t spend time in the backyard sanding down tables or staining decks. He didn’t wear glasses that somehow slid minute by minute inch down his nose until he subconsciously tilted his head back to see.

In the end, you left because of one glaring fact: Nathan would never be - could never be - Robby.  

Dr. Collins told Whitaker to come with her for a teaching experience - an unconscious unhoused man was being brought in. Whitaker quickly moved to follow her lead in grabbing a pair of gloves just in time for the paramedics to wheel in the gurney. Said man was very much unconscious and appeared very much unhoused. 

Your time playing the gawking bystander had come to an end and you needed to get to 7 North. You pushed away from the counter when you were stopped by the resident from earlier barreling into your line of sight. 

“Dr. Fullerton? I’m Dr. Samira Mohan - R3. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Dr. Mohan stuck out her hand and you accepted it warmly. Besides the obvious annoyance from Robby hounding her existence, it seemed Dr. Mohan was friendly. She held a kind air about her that reminded you of Robby - only now that kindness held an edge of grumpiness because his empathy was playing an overwhelming game. By the sleepless bags under his eyes, you could tell he was losing. 

You wanted to point the probability of this out to her, maybe offer her a consultation for Robby’s apparent hard-ass demeanor, but quickly shoved it off. 

“It’s nice to meet you, as well, Dr. Mohan.”

“Would it be okay if I could confer with you later?” Dr. Mohan’s eyes shifted to where Dana stood only inches away. “In private?”

You weren’t sure if you should be flattered or wanting to run for the hills. Dana’s eyes practically bore into the back of your head, waiting to hear your answer. You knew no matter what you chose to say this was getting back to Robby. 

Fuck it. 

“Of course, Dr. Mohan. I’ll come and find you after my next patient.”

“Thank you. I look forward to speaking with you.” 

She cut a cautious glance over her shoulder and turned on her heel towards the south hallway. It must have been nice to make an easy exit. It was definitely something you were down to try but Dana stood closer to the counter, her glasses down the bridge of her nose, and accused you with a look of being a troublemaker. Your only defense was a shrug. 

“What?”

“What the hell was that about?”

Your brows converged together as you shrugged again. 

“How am I supposed to know, Dana? I haven’t even talked to her yet.” 

“Talked to who about what?”

Fucking kill me. 

What was with today? Were you unknowingly walking around with a ‘Kick Me,’ sign written by life? You’d gone over two years without ever running into Robby and within an hour in a half, you couldn’t seem to avoid him. 

And why was he standing so fucking close again? 

You didn’t need to glance over to your left to know he was close. The heat of his body, the nudge of his elbow against your arm informed you at breakneck speed you were close. Too fucking close, Michael. 

“Mohan seems to want to speak with Fullerton. In private.”

“You couldn’t just wait for me to answer, Dana?”

The words rose up your throat like bile, acidic with its irritation. You couldn’t help it. You didn’t need this shit. You didn’t know what Dr. Mohan wanted but the cryptic way she asked wasn’t doing you any favors. It was at this moment you finally chose to look in Robby’s direction. He was leaning into his elbow that rested on the counter. Even with his body slightly slouched the height difference was substantial causing you to crane to look up at him. 

The problem with this? He was close enough that your temporal lobe was overloaded with thousands of memories of his thumb gliding across your lips. Large hands taking hold of your neck and tilting you back at just the right angle for his lips to claim yours. 

When you were no longer held hostage to the sensory manipulation your brain concocted, you prayed to whoever was listening that you didn’t look as lovestruck as you felt. By the dark glint in Robby’s eyes, you were doing a piss poor job at being Switzerland. 

“What? So you can conveniently disappear by the end of the shift without any context or explanation? No, thanks. Been there. Done that. Not a fan of the outcome.”

“This bipolar verbal assault is getting real tiring, Dana,” you huffed. 

“Alright. Alright, enough!” Robby cut in. “I expect this behavior from patients, not my staff. Now, Dr. Fullerton, what did Dr. Mohan want to discuss with you?”

“Jesus Christ,” you sighed, “I have no fucking clue, okay? She just asked if she could speak in private and seeing as how she did ask for it to be private, I don’t see why you need to know.” 

“Ugh,” a dry huff of what might have passed for a laugh - a cough maybe? - exited his lips. His brow was drawn tight while he looked at you. No doubt wondering where you’d gained the audacity. “Because this is my emergency department. I’m in charge of the entire thing and I think I need to be aware of what is going on with my staff.” 

“Well, maybe if you stopped acting like an ass to said staff they wouldn’t be seeking outside counsel.”

A mirthless laugh exploded from between his lips. The sound carried part of the disbelief his eyes showed while he took you in. He was no longer leaning against the counter but had his arms crossed against his chest. You weren’t sure if he was looking at you like he wanted to throttle you or found you unbelievable. Neither option would make you a winner if you guessed right.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he grumbled under his breath. “Are you a fucking counselor all of a sudden?”

“And what if I was? I would ask if you’d require my services, but we both know you’re allergic to seeking help.” 

You should’ve stopped while you were ahead. You were bringing up personal shit - inviting a possible fucking mess to happen - and yet you couldn’t help yourself. You kept poking the proverbial bear and damn it, you weren’t exactly sure you felt bad about doing it. Were you so desperate for a reaction from him - after all this time? What the hell was it going to prove? 

You watched the storm of emotions roll in. The deep set of his forehead and the dark clouds that zapped all residual warmth from his eyes. You weren’t sure if Robby was even aware he’d taken a step towards you, jaw flexing, and body slowly seeping into whatever free space you had left. 

Whatever words he would’ve said died in the aftermath of hearing shouts a few rooms down. It jarred you both out of your staring contest and sent him into action. One minute he was standing in front of you, the next, he was running to see what the commotion was. 

The second Robby was removed from your space, you took a deep breath in. Why did it feel like you were in a constant state of fight or flight? Your answer came in a set of blue eyes who homed in on you the moment Robby was gone. 

“When’s your next smoke break?” 

“Who says I still smoke?” 

“Dana, be serious. The day you quit smoking is the day hell freezes over. So - when?”

She regarded you for a moment. The scale in her mind no doubt weighed if this was going to be worth her time or possibly ruining her nicotine break. 

“I usually take it around 9:30. Why? You suddenly have the urge to open up?”

“Do you want to talk or not?.”

She could bitch, make jokes, and moan and groan all she wanted. You knew offering up a chance to talk would be all Dana would need to agree. Was it something you honestly wanted to do? Not really. Were you willing to do it so that at least you had one less person hounding you the rest of your shift? 

Abso-fucking-lutely.

“Ah, what the hell. I’ll see you on break kid.” 

A sigh of relief eased through you and you prayed Dana hadn’t noticed. You didn’t think she’d agree but, now that she had, you had a tiny ounce of hope this day wasn’t going to be so much of a shit show. 

“What was all that screaming about?”

You knew the question wasn’t directed at you. Robby must have made his return and the soft laughter wasn’t what you expected to hear. 

“We seem to have involuntarily just admitted rats,” he replied. 

“You’re kidding?” Dana scoffed. 

“If only I was. Whitaker was saying it was about three or four of them.” 

“And on that note,” you drummed your hands on the counter, “I am going to 7 North.” 

It wasn’t until you went to take a step forward you noticed the weight on your left foot. A weight that felt like something was sitting directly on it. You looked down just in time to watch a rat - a damn rat - scurry off your foot to run around the edge of the nursing station. 

What you did next wasn’t your proudest moment. You even used to pride yourself on being rational when it came to rodents. The shout that clawed its way from the depths of your stomach proved you wrong at lightning speed. 

You felt your body jump backward and collide with Robby. His hands were on your hips to steady you. You were bouncing back and forth on your heels, eyes scanning the area to make sure no further surprises snuck up on you. Your arms were bunched up at your sides and you were trying to talk yourself down from sweeping the remaining area with your leg. Just for good measure.

It was the feeling of his hands on your waist, the soft sound of his chuckle touching your hair that brought you careening back down to earth. Robby was close. Not like last time when your arms touched - closer than when he followed behind you into Allan's room. Even through your scrubs, you could feel the scorching heat of his palms spreading like wildfire through the fabric that sent your heart racing. 

He should’ve let go by now. The threat of you possibly knocking him over or you both tripping and falling was over. He could let go. He could just let go, but Robby’s hands were holding you firmly in place with neither of you willing to move. You refused to look behind you - afraid of what he might see if you did.

You were afraid of what you might see if you dared to look too. 

Slowly, you took a step forward, disengaging his hands from you. The sensation of loss was instant and you almost stepped back into him. Your body and mind were at war between desire and being rational. Fuck being rational. There was nothing rational about the way your heart brutalized your ribs. The need to ask stupid fucking questions that no longer mattered. The consuming way your body craved for him to wrap his large hand around your throat, whispering words of filth into your ear. 

You had to get away before you made a mistake. 

“Sorry about that. I’m going to just, ugh, go do my rounds now.”

You didn’t turn around while you softly spoke. You may have been delusional at times, but you weren’t crazy. If you looked back and Robby’s eyes gave away any hint of emotion - anything that sparked that dying ember of hope inside you - you would crumble. 

You should’ve fought harder to stay upstairs in family medicine or threatened Gloria with firing you. You were safer there. Now, you were rushing off to remember what patient room you were going to with Robby’s cologne clinging to your skin. 

You were a pain in the ass. But you were his pain in the ass. 

Used to be, his mind reminded him. 

Could still be, came his stupid heart's reply. 

Robby used to love it when you challenged him; called him out on his bullshit. You weren’t afraid to stand in the current of his disapproval or to openly have a debate, especially when you could see he was missing something. You challenged each other to be open-minded to change, because it happened so fast, and to accept that being wrong wasn’t failure but a moment to grow and learn. 

When you both stopped being open with one another, and being honest with yourselves, was when the challenging energy took a turn. Everything felt like a confrontation. Even in moments when the constructive criticism came from colleagues - from you - it felt like an attack he had to defend against. 

Robby saw it in you too. The small hints of walls slowly being built to keep the inquiries at bay. When your responses become short and brief or not at all. 

Now, before nine o’clock, you were in the Pitt not only wreaking havoc on his already fragile mental state but accusing him of…what? When you’d thrown the counselor's comment at him, Robby wanted to rage. How many times was it the main part of your arguments near the end of your relationship that he needed to talk to somebody? Anybody. How many times did he deny it? 

You’d thrown it in from the sidelines and it jarred him so much, Robby felt disoriented. For the briefest moment, Robby forgot that you were no longer together. His mind reflexively thought you were arguing about the same old tired thing. He’d taken a step toward you and wanted to ask, “And what about you?” 

You who wasn’t as honest and open with yourself just like him. There were things left unsaid between the two of you - the things that eventually buried the hatchet too far in to safely remove. 

What about all the times he’d found you in the bathroom sitting against the tub crying in the middle of the night? Your panic attacks and OCD tendencies that started after…

Every time Robby reached out to be there for you, your response was always the same. 

“It’s nothing, Michael.”  “I’m fine.”  “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sure, Robby wasn’t open and was guarded in his own right but neither were you. Where he used to read the transcript of your emotions so delicately on your face, you’d closed yourself off to him and he no longer knew how to get in. 

An angry shout from down the South hallway thankfully tore his attention back to reality. His feet were already moving him robotically forward where he could see Olson entering Central 15. 

“Whoa, whoa what is going on?”

Robby directed the question specifically to one of his many team members in the room. Thankfully, Kiara started to explain or, more appropriately attempted to explain but he couldn’t fucking think through all the damn shouting. 

“Ok, ok, okay ENOUGH!” Robby couldn’t believe he was already raising his voice. Yelling at grown-ass adults like they were children. “This is a hospital. This isn’t ‘ The Jerry Springer Show’.” Although it was really, really starting to fucking feel like it with the morning he was having. “Ma’am, nobody’s trying to take your child. So why don’t you stay here with him while your husband talks to our social worker outside and straightens all this out?”

“Well, I don’t want him speaking for me and my son.”

It was clear by the wavering of her voice, that this was a tough spot for the mom to be in. Robby could sympathize but what he couldn’t sympathize with was starting a miniature war zone in one of his rooms. 

“Well, it is either you or him. Your son is not leaving, but you can be escorted out and even arrested if you refuse to cooperate. Nobody wants that. So you tell us. What do you want to do?”

Robby knew the answer before she replied. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that this mother didn’t fiercely love her son. Whatever situation the husband did to get them in this position was unfortunate, but the only option they had now was to press forward. 

“I’m staying with my son.”

“Ok, great. You do that. Are we all on the same page here?”

The last question he sent out was rhetorical. A feeler to see if anyone else was confused about what was about to happen and if further clarification was needed. God, Robby sincerely hoped it’d all been made crystal clear what the only two real options were; the only choice being to cooperate. 

“You okay?”

Robby could see Langdon was shaken up. It could be a lot dealing with a combative patient - harder when it was a parent just trying to make the right choices for their child. You were always the best at coming in and soothing cases like this one. Somehow able to give relief and comfort while giving the most gut-wrenching news of a parent's life while calmly explaining the next steps. You were able to keep people from feeling lost in the bad news and prepare them for the onslaught of change. 

Robby waited until Langdon confirmed he and Dr. King were good before he walked out of the room. Regarding parents with kids, Robby almost forgot Teresa asked to speak with him about David. 

Central 12 was just a few steps away from Langdon’s patient. It was close to being comfortable but too close to give Robby time to think. He felt out of his element here because he was running out of options. He wanted to help Teresa, because, while she did this to help her son, she knowingly put her own life at risk to get him the help he needed. 

But isn’t that what parents did?  

At times, they blindly waded into the fire if it meant that their child would be safe. 

All Robby could do was watch and listen while he told her about how he left. While he followed up her questions with his own and did his best to try and ward off the sick feeling burying itself inside his gut. 

“Do you think David would hurt anyone?”

Even allowing the question to come out of his mouth made a rush of nausea swell back behind his tongue. He didn’t want to ask it. Nobody wants to ask any parent if they think their child - a fucking child - could be capable of harming another human being. 

Robby carried his thoughts on the reasons why young men are more prone to violence these days. With idiotic podcast hosts spewing their hatred for women who were goal-oriented and not focused on babying them like their mothers. Boys who were told to bottle up their emotions: “Don’t share your feelings. Don’t get caught crying,” unless you want to be told that you were weak. There was so much bullshit in the world for kids to have to contend with these days that Robby didn’t find it surprising a lot of them were overloaded - overwhelmed by a constant flurry from the world to be someone different than who they are. 

Robby had plenty of talks with Jake about these things. He found it easy to lean into him with the both of them connecting during shared trips and quiet nights at the house. Robby made sure his stepson knew that Robby would always be a safe place for him to land. When the world got too crazy and if he couldn’t tell his mom Janey, Robby would be there. 

Because that’s what parents do - willingly walk through fire if it meant their kid would be okay.

“The nasal swab came back negative for COVID, RSV, and Flu - which is a good thing.” 

“Then what’s wrong? What about her eyes?”

The her in question was a three-year-old named Jasmine who was vocally letting you both know that she was not in a good mood, which was very fair. Nobody liked being sick. The only issue with her actively voicing her bad mood was that any high octave screams were soon followed up by a violent cough. 

The moment you stepped inside the room you’d been worried about RSV, especially because of her age. Lungs sounded clear with slight wheezing indicated in the upper left lobe. Thankfully, all major possible viruses came back negative. The unfortunate thing was that this specific viral infection just meant mom was going to have to ride it out.

“It’s still a viral infection. The conjunctivitis, since it started coming from both eyes this morning, it’s from the infection and sinus blockage. The whites of her eyes aren’t red in any way. The best thing to do is apply a compress every few hours on the eyes to help with drainage, saline drops, or spray on the nose to help clear up the congestion and suction as often as you can. Over-the-counter cough medicine is fine unless you need a prescription?”

“No, no, it’s okay. We have some at home. So, she’s okay?”

“Yes, perfectly fine. I just recommend having her sleep elevated to help with drainage and if you have a humidifier, use it. Follow up with her pediatrician in two to three days or come back to the ER if any new or persistent symptoms occur.”

“Thank you so much, doctor.”

“You’re so welcome. Make sure to wait for a nurse before leaving. I hope you feel better, Jasmine.”

 You gave them both a wave before exiting out of the quiet of the room and back into the noise. The nurse assigned to the room came over and held out a tablet and pen for you to take. Quickly, you scribbled a signature down, because doctors were notoriously known for sketchy penmanship, and began to walk towards a nursing station. 

Technically, you did have a second option you could take before throwing yourself into the next patient room. Dr. Mohan asked to speak with you. She didn’t necessarily give a time or a preference. It was more focused on secrecy, which you found a little odd. This was Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center - it was a rare thing to have a private conversation here. You were curious to find out what it was Mohan wanted, a bigger part of you wasn’t ready for the headache of Robby undoubtedly finding out later. The worst option: is if you were the one who had to tell him to be the advocate for his resident.

The scent of his cologne still held tight to the fabric of your scrubs. Slowly, it was beginning to fade but if you leaned in close enough to your right shoulder you could almost get a hint of -

“Dr. Fullerton.”

You were a millisecond away from calling out, “I wasn’t doing anything!”. Was it too early in the shift to consider a name change?

Glancing over your shoulder, you find Gloria making her way towards you. Each step in your direction sent your fight or flight raging back into gear because fuck no. Between Gloria and Robby, the two of them were about to have you so damn stressed out there was a high chance for premature balding to occur. 

“Oh no. I’ve had enough surprises from you today.”

“I just wanted to have a chat - “

“And definitely enough of those,” you shot back. 

You weren’t exactly sure why you kept moving. If previous experiences told you anything, it was that she would follow you until you stopped on your own or she got you into a corner. At least stopping to face her was a choice compared to being cornered with no way out. 

Resigning to your fate, you took in a big meditative breath through your nose and turned around. 

“What can I help you with, Gloria?”

Your voice was so monotone you sounded like a robot. 

“I’m glad you’ve decided to stop running and actually talk to me like an adult.”

“I’m sorry, Gloria. You brought me down here to assist in decreasing triage wait times and that is what I am doing. Stopping to have a chat with you will reflect poorly on my scores.”

“Cute,” She bit back. The smile on her face was too harsh to be genuine. “Well, it’s funny you mention scores. I’ve been keeping an eye on the numbers and the system is showing barely any signs of process or improvement. Can you explain why that is?”

The simplest answer you could’ve given her came with one name, one word, and one human being. Robby. Robby was your fucking problem; the bane of your existence. 

Gloria shoved you down here not knowing all the variables that could hinder productivity. There were moments of clarity where your brilliance shined through and in a matter of seconds it evaporated again. Realistically, it was your fault. Your inability to control your stupid fucking emotions - you didn’t need to react every time you saw him. 

How could you not react when Robby did exactly the same? 

You weren’t stupid. You’d spent years, months, days, and hours with him. Every minute is accounted for in conversations and touch. It wasn’t insanity (although the jury was still out on that one) that made you believe - to fucking notice - Robby was affected too. 

But no way in hell were you divulging any of your innermost thought demons to Gloria. 

“Look around, Gloria,” you said, arms opening up to motion around the Central rooms. “There are no beds available. You ask for solid care, for good patient satisfaction scores and that requires multiple factors. To be a good doctor you have to listen to the patient's chief complaint that they’ve been waiting almost eight hours to tell you.”

“I am well aware of the current wait times in triage, Dr. Fullerton.”

“Oh, that’s awesome. Problem solved then because once we assess them and decide they need monitoring and tests to ascertain the issue, it’s only another three to six-hour wait. Maybe longer if it’s life-threatening. Not to mention if any trauma patients come rolling through the red zone adding another twenty-five to fifty minutes on their time.”

“I don’t see what any of this has to do with not having any beds. Not every situation in triage necessarily requires a bed to be seen.”

“Gloria, your precious Press Ganey scores are going to stay low if a patient doesn’t get back to a room. You can make beds available by sending people upstairs or how about removing the deceased guy in nineteen who’s been posted here since before I arrived?” 

“Robby is in charge of contacting the coroner's office about picking up the deceased.”

“And yet, the body is still here,” you pondered. “I know Robby, Gloria. He wouldn’t knowingly leave someone’s loved one here if it didn’t mean the coroner is backed up, which means our morgue must house him until then. And why are you complaining to me like I'm attending here? Robby is the attending - “

“I’m well aware of that - “

“You keep saying you’re well aware, Gloria but the fact is it feels like you’re not. It’s easy to come down here making demands but the reality is without the proper staffing and moving boarders out of the emergency department to free up space the numbers will never fucking change. Sending one doctor down here isn’t going to change shit.”

“Are you just about done, Dr. Fullerton?” She did a dramatic pause to allow you time to cut in. “The board and its administration are well aware of the pressures that staff face down here in the emergency department - that all hospitals are currently facing shortages. The fact of the matter is studies show close to seventy-five percent of ER visits are non-life threatening, which means more than half of those patients could be fairly seen in triage without needing a room.”

You could feel your mouth opening; primed for a response that Gloria was not going to let you detonate. Her hand waved to warn you not to cut her off. 

“I don't want to hear any more about boarding or staffing. I want to see the results, Dr. Fullerton. It’s already bad enough that there are rats inside.”

“To be fair, they piggybacked on an unconscious unhoused man, so,” you shrugged. If looks could kill, you’d have dropped dead right then and there. “Not helpful?”

“No. Not helpful,” she confirmed. “I do, however, have a proposition for you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth. The earlier annoyance at seeing Gloria twice in less than two hours of your shift changed course. Dread ice cold and paralyzing coiled in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t like where this was going. 

“Is there a pass option?”

“This is an offer from myself and the administration. So, no, there isn’t a ‘pass option.’ How would you like to be considered for an attending position?”

“No.” 

The word barreled out of you without thinking. You didn’t need to think about this proposition Gloria, the administration, or whoever was trying to dangle in front of you. It was any doctor's dream to become an attending at a facility - it made you the doctor. 

You didn’t want it like this. 

“You didn’t even hear the terms.”

“I don’t need to hear them to know that you’re trying to be sneaky.”

“Robby is failing to meet standards -“

“Robby is a fucking good physician.” You fumed. “He’s one of the best physicians in trauma medicine you have here outside of Abbot.”

“No one is disputing that, Dr. Fullerton. The board is open to having you both down here during the morning shift, maybe even making a swing shift for you to help between shifts.”

You raked your hands over your face scrubbing hard to try and cut off a mirthless laugh that came out in patches between your fingers. 

“No - you want me to be a Judas. It’ll be a swing shift until you can get whatever data you need to confirm whatever fucked up plan you’re making.”

“Dr. Fullerton -“

“No!” You didn’t mean to shout the word at her. Or maybe you had. Whatever it was, it surprised you both. You should be quieter - don’t draw attention but your heart was thrashing wildly. Your hand swiped through the air to cut her off before she could attempt to continue. You didn’t want to fucking hear it. “Robby is a damn fine physician and to try and - I don’t fucking know, get rid of him because he doesn’t kiss the boards or your ass is fucking stupid. I don’t know half of what Robby or Abbot knows. I’m not them and it would be beyond idiotic to lose him.”

“Your opinion will be taken into consideration and I’ll dismiss your…outburst, for now, because of the current situation. But make no mistake, Dr. Fullerton this will move forward with, or without, you.”

You wondered if any natural disasters were named Gloria. It seemed possible since she came and created an instant upheaval of your day, completely devastating it in a matter of minutes and once she was done simply went about her day like nothing happened.  

She left you to deal with the aftermath. The rushing thoughts with a million questions - thousands of things you should’ve said to defend Robby. There were dozens of ways you could prove her wrong about him - that he fucking cared about his patients and was such a damn good doctor, phenomenal at times, that to equate all that he was and all that he did down to a simple metric of numbers was fucking ridiculous. 

All the sound in the room began to drown out around you. Somewhere in the background of the hum you heard a shout for help. It could be Code Blue. It could be anything. You tried to get your body to react, but the hurricane of anxiety was sweeping in fast and you were running out of air. 

You needed to sit. You had to act normal because the last thing you needed was Princess or Dana or fucking anybody else coming over to speak with you. Your hands used the counter like a rope to pull you along to the nearest computer. You quickly sat down and swiped your credentials to enter the computer, quickly clicking on anything just to appear busy. 

“How are you holding up today?”

The last person you expected to see at that very moment was Heather Collins. What did you expect? This was an emergency room and doctors worked inside of it. She offered up a close-lipped smile that matched the kindness in her eyes. She was genuinely wanting to know how you were doing and for the first time, you hated the question because you couldn’t answer it. 

Not truthfully, anyway. Who was ever truthful in answering that specific question?

So, you painted on a grin that more than likely resembled a grimace and prayed you didn’t look as tired as you felt. 

“It’s been…an adjustment.”

“What’s taking adjusting?”

Good god, this man was fucking everywhere. 

Robby came into view as he moved across the station to get to the opposite computer. The question was thrown out carelessly; he didn’t expect a response. He was pulling out his glasses and sliding them over his nose, his full focus on the screen. Test results thankfully took priority over your response. 

You were quickly forgotten by Collin’s who walked over to where Robby read the test results. She waited until he removed his glasses and stood to his full height. 

“Please don’t tell me you are going to intubate that poor old man?”

“It’s what the family wants.”

“So what? They want to torture him?”

“I explained all that.” 

It was painfully obvious this was a case you knew nothing about. By the sound of it, you were willing to bet five dollars that it was one of the elderly patients from a home who came in a little after 7:30 that morning. It meant it wasn’t your case. You didn’t need to know the information and you could continue counting down backward from ten while you reminded yourself that no, you weren’t Judas and -

“Dr. Fullerton, if a family came in -“

Fucking hell, you needed to stop zoning out. You brought your attention back to the two of them, wondering what you missed.

“You don’t need to ask her,” Robby interjected.

Collins continued like he’d never spoken. 

“And they had durable power over an elderly family member who had a pre-existing DNR. His family wants to intubate. It’s not what he wants. Whose choice do you honor?”

“What are you doing?” 

A singular brow of hers arched in defiance. 

“Asking for a second opinion.”

“I didn’t ask for one.”

They continued to bicker about the decision Robby made to not fight for a dying man’s wishes. You would’ve told Collins to let it go because once Robby’s mind was made up, it was like talking to a wall. Maybe she already knew that. 

God, what fucking twilight zone episode were you stuck in? You actively wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Your eyes darted to the time on the bottom of the screen and you had to fight to keep your forehead from landing with a thud on the keyboard. It was only 9 o’clock. There were ten more hours of this day and you needed it to be over. 

Robby released a sigh that reflected how exhausted you felt. It wasn’t a physical exhaustion but one of the soul; a weariness that vines grew thorns and were beginning to tear you slowly open. You could feel your legs wanting to shift out of the chair and go to him. The urge was so strong your hands scrunched into fists to keep from moving - to quell the urge because he wasn’t yours anymore and you weren’t his. 

“Shit.”

“What?”

Robby’s best magic trick? Deflecting. Whenever he wanted the current conversation to end, and didn't like where it was heading, he diverted it completely into something else. Anything else that kept him from having to continue down a conversation he wanted no part of. You knew that trick all too well. 

“I got to go tell those parents their 18-year-old son is brain-dead.” 

“You want me to go with you?”

It should’ve been you offering to go with him. A comfort to the harbinger of bad news because it was never easy to give it. Never easy to stand in the storm of grief and simply be a bystander while their world ends in a matter of words. 

What did it matter who went with him? Who offered? At the end of the day, a family was forever going to be encapsulated by a loss too many people unfortunately knew. 

Vaguely, you caught the end of their argument. Robby wanted to perform an apnea test and a cerebral perfusion study. Dr. Collins didn’t agree. It offered the family false hope but Robby was right - maybe it did offer a false sense of hope, but with each test completed and results read off it was a graceful way to ease a family into acceptance. It gave them the time to process and grieve and come to the very heavy realization their son wouldn’t be going home with them. 

“They need time to process before they can accept what’s happening.”

“You ever consider taking that advice? Physician, heal thyself.”

Dear floor, please fucking open up wide so you can just swan dive right on in. Thanks a bunch. 

Heather knew. She fucking knew about the wall of grief - of acceptance - Robby himself was unable to accept. The King of dishing out advice left and right but unyielding in taking it. Suddenly, all the cool reserve of not caring about them dating evaporated in a crushing wave of heartbreak you shouldn’t have felt in the first place. 

Did he tell her about you? Did he share with her about…about what happened? Was he able to open up to her in ways he stopped doing with you? Their relationship was gone, but the respect and care were still there. 

The irritation came off him in waves. You should’ve told her Robby’s least favorite thing is being told to take his own advice. Or to heal for that matter. Oh, and to also maybe seek therapy. All three of those would turn his mood sour and aggravate him to peak levels at hyper speed. 

He shoved his hands down into his hoodie. His head swiveling between Collins and probably anywhere else in the ED. 

“Don’t you have patients?” 

There it was. The dismissal. The, in not so many words, “I’m done talking to you about this and everything else,” so he could make a quick exit. The magician's last trick before his temper was lost. 

Don’t look up. Do not look up. Don’t fucking do it. 

You didn’t need to look up. There wasn’t any reason to do so. You weren’t on their radar the last half of their conversation. You were just a bystander to a miniature car crash. The issue with crashes? Everyone who drove by couldn’t stop themselves from looking. 

The itch between your shoulder blades was your first warning sign. The weight of his gaze was bearing down on you. You didn’t have to react to it but it was a reflex to look up for him. To search for him in every crowded room and find yourself wishing he was there when he wasn’t. 

Your eyes found he was still looking at you. An in-house debate flashed across his features. If it was whether or not to come to you, you hope he chose not to. You just need a few moments of space. It was too much. You’d run from him and now he was just here all the time and -

“Why are you looking at puppies? You getting a dog?”

“What?”

For the first time since you’d opened the computer, you realized whoever was on it last left it open to an ad for a puppy. 

“Oh, no. This wasn’t me. Hey, earlier did someone shout a Code Blue?” 

You could also perform your own magical change of subjects. Robby took a moment to answer before giving a curt nod. 

“Whittaker’s patient that’d been placed in the hall. If you heard it, why didn’t you go assist? All hands on deck for a code, you know that.”

God, was he chastising you right now? A flood of irritation rippled over your skin. You wanted to snap at him. You weren’t a med student. But he was frustratingly right - you’d heard it and instead of running you’d kept yourself here. 

And Whitaker. It was his first patient of the day. He’d been so excited that he’d done good. He’d gotten praise from Dr. Robby about his work up and Whitaker wouldn’t shut up about it. It meant something to him. 

“I’ll go see if they need someone to switch.”

You went to get up but Robby was too close. If you got up from the chair you would bump straight into his chest. 

“You okay?”

The sudden care behind the question jarred you. How did he expect you to answer? There was no way you could be honest with him - not at that second. He was supposed to go break the worst news a parent could ever receive and he was worried about you. He should be worried for himself. You could warn him about Gloria but what good would it do if he thought you might possibly be in on it with her? Your sudden reappearance, while inconvenient, hadn’t raised suspicion like an ulterior motive waited in the wings just yet. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Never better.”

His smile held every worn line of fatigue that signaled his lack of sleep. His attempt at strength in a moment he refused to seek outside help. You found the same words Dr. Collins asked moments before crawling their way up your throat before you swallowed them back down. He wouldn’t change his mind and agree just because it was you. 

You wanted to be there because whether he voiced it or not, this kid whose family was seconds away from being told was gone wasn’t that much older than Jake. A single accident of taking non-prescribed Xanax ended his life. Jake was a good kid. You wanted to reach out and take his hand and tell him Jake would never - Jake was different. 

Jake was still a kid. 

Robby didn’t wait for you to reply before he headed towards the room. You kept telling yourself to get up and move. Go find Whitaker and the team performing cpr on his patient and do your part. Between everything that’s happened this morning: being forced down with Robby, seeing Robby, Dr. Mohan requesting to speak with you, Gloria’s ultimatum and now the news this young kid didn’t make it you were officially mentally exhausted. 

You needed to move but by the time your legs finally lifted out of the seat, Robby told them. The mother’s wail of agony resounded through the room and rose in octaves. The soul-wrenching loss of her child, her baby, turned the Pitt into a mausoleum of mourning. Her cries followed you down the hallway until you reached the curtain where Whitaker and others were on their third round of Epi, and you could see the continued despair evident in the room. 

It was barely 9 AM and you already wanted to fucking go home. 

As always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

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[heich0e]

"so... how's work?"

you accidentally click the edge of your wine glass against your teeth as you tip it back, jarred by the strange question from the man standing at your side. you swallow the tiny mouthful of wine you manage to sip, turning to look at suna in bewilderment.

"work?" you ask him incredulously. "why are you asking me about work?"

suna rintarou doesn't care about what you do for work. truthfully speaking, you're not sure he even knows what you do for work—you certainly don't remember ever telling him, and the memory would stand out quite starkly considering all you ever seem to do when you run into him is bicker with him uselessly.

suna is a friend of a friend. or a friend of some friend's ex. or something. all you know is that every so often the two of you end up at the same social event, and there's something about the guy's face that just... makes you want to pick a fight.

and he has yet to turn down your instigation.

your friends all think it's funny—like you're some kind of comedy duo, and this is your special bit—but you don't see the charm in the slightest. you suspect they've started inviting you both to events just to have some entertainment.

"what?" rintarou asks, fiddling with his cellphone in his hand—pinching it between his thumb and his ring finger while he twirls it with his index. "i'm not allowed to ask about work? isn't that normal small talk for a christmas party?"

you're a little taken aback by his words. first of all, because he's right (which you hate). second of all, because he seems strangely defensive about it.

"normal for other people, maybe," you mutter, more to yourself than anything, before taking another tiny sip of wine. you swallow it, but somehow it doesn't help the dry feeling in your mouth. you're not sure you like this particular wine, you think, as bitterness clings to your tongue. "work is... fine."

suna perks up beside you at that, and you feel his eyes on your profile like he's waiting for you to go on.

"things get, uh... things get slow this time of year, so I'm mostly just answering stupid emails and ordering gifts online while i sit at my desk." you swirl the glass of wine in your hand, watching the way that the light catches in the deep red surface. "my section chief has kids and loves the holidays, so she's been pretty checked-out lately, herself. makes it easy to get away with slacking off."

you risk a glance over at him, and are somewhat dismayed to find him listening intently.

"must be nice to get a little break," he offers.

"yeah, i guess," you reply. your words are in agreement with him, but still your brow furrows.

what the fuck is going on?

you look around the room, as though checking for a hidden camera, or some other sign that might give away what the hell this guy's motives are. but around you is simply a room of friends enjoying each other's company—sipping drinks; eating finger foods the hosts had been carefully set out to graze on; chatting amongst each other about their lives, their holiday sweaters, their work.

everything seems totally normal, other than what's transpiring in the quiet corner where you and suna rintarou find yourselves standing side by side.

"how is... your... work?" you manage to ask, though it sounds as though the question is pulled from you with considerable effort. stiff and strained in every way a question so innocuous doesn't have any right to be.

suna laughs a little under his breath, masks it with a clearly fake cough, and then rests his hand over his mouth. he's smirking. you know he is. he's revelling in every second of your discomfort like the twisted little freak he is.

you're about to tell him as much, but he cuts you off.

"it's good," he replies to your pained question with an unexpected sincerity. "we're coming up to the half-way point in the season, so training is still pretty intense. we do get a day off for the holiday though."

right, he's a volleyball player. you'd learned that upon your first meeting, before your opinion of him was quite so hostile. you remember thinking at the time that he looked like a volleyball player—tall, lean, with big hands that made the beer can he'd been holding look almost laughably small in comparison.

you glance down at those hands again, still idly fidgeting with his cellphone. he's not drinking a beer tonight, and you wonder if maybe it's because he's in the middle of his season.

you think about asking him.

but you don't.

suna seems to be waiting for you to say more, but when you don't, he continues on the conversation himself. "i thought about taking the train to hyogo for the day, but it wouldn't really make sense just to go visit for a few hours."

you take another sip of your wine. you decide that you do not in fact enjoy it.

you hum a bit, ditching your mostly full glass on the edge of a table that rests within reach. "tough to just make a day trip, especially since the weather's so..." you trail off, gesturing vaguely with your now empty hand in a way that's supposed to indicate the unreliability of the winter climate.

suna laughs.

you look at him in confusion.

"the weather?" he asks you, rubbing at his mouth again like he trying to hide the expression underneath his fingertips. it might work if his eyes didn't crinkle at the corner when he smiles. "we're talking about the weather now?"

your lips part indignantly at his jibe. he's the one who'd initiated this hellscape of small talk, and now he had the nerve to chide you for it?

"oh, i'm sorry," you guffaw, feigning remorse, "is there some pressing matter you'd rather discuss?"

rintarou dips closer to you from his greater height, and the fact that he's so much taller than you are only irritates you more.

"there is actually," he says with a nod.

"oh, yeah?" you roll your eyes, gearing up for a fight. you turn to face him properly, tilting your chin up to meet him eye to eye without wavering. "and what's that?"

"are you aware that we've been standing under mistletoe for the entirety of this conversation?"

you slowly look overhead.

like something out of a horror film, you find that for once in his life (or at least the few months you've known him) suna's chosen to say something factual. overhead, a little bundle of mistletoe has been affixed to the ceiling with a piece of tape that seems to barely be hanging on—the decoration at risk of falling at any moment.

you feel sick.

"so what?" you ask him, swallowing down that feeling of dread and maintaining (what you hope is) an air of indifference.

"so that means we're supposed to kiss," he tells you matter-of-factly, almost a bit pointedly, like he can't believe you didn't know.

"i'm aware of that," you hiss. "i don't, however, bend to the whims of plants, as a general rule."

"weird rule," he remarks, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

you feel a throb of irritation behind your eyes.

"you're the one who came over here to bother me," you point out. "if you knew there was mistletoe hanging up there, that means this is your fault."

suna shrugs a bit.

you keep going, your pulse thrumming beneath your tongue and fanning the flames of irritation churning in the pit of your stomach.

"if anything, that makes you the weird one for coming up with some scheme to trick me. we're not children. if you wanted to kiss me so bad you could have just aske—"

"can i kiss you?"

what?

"i asked if i can kiss you," rintarou says, and you're not sure if that means you voiced your thought aloud or it was just plainly written across your face. he inches closer to you, and though you would usually shift away to accommodate for the intrusion, the table where you'd discarded your glass of wine keeps you mostly trapped in place. pinned. cornered. "you said that if i wanted to kiss you, i should ask. so, i'm asking if i can kiss you."

why?

suna sighs after a moment of contemplating the look of abject shock on your features, slumping forward and resting his forehead on the wall beside your head, caging you against the wall with his lanky frame. you can't breathe with him this close—too startled by the proximity and the warmth radiating from him to even think about drawing air into your lungs. too confused by this entire situation to meet your basic human needs.

"you really don't get it, do you?" he asks quietly. he's so near that you feel his words more than you hear them—especially since they were spoken so quietly just next to your ear.

"get what?" your own voice sounds distant—sounds strange—to you when you finally manage to speak.

suna pulls back just far enough to meet your gaze, and you're shocked to see just how pink his face is. he looks mortified—and desperate—as his eyes find yours. he tilts his face towards you, and when he speaks again you feel the warmth of his breath break against your lips.

"you're the only person in this room who i'd enjoy listening to talk about the weather."

and it's not until much later, when the lingering bitterness from the wine has been replaced by something much sweeter (though entirely unexpected) on your tongue, that you realize rintarou was the only person in the room tall enough to reach the ceiling.

a/n: for nana, who forced me to write this entirely against my will but whom i love dearly in spite of it

[firewasabeast]

Summary: Tommy has to go before a disciplinary board for stealing a helicopter. The 118 shows up to have his back.

“Firefighter Pilot Thomas Kinard, are you aware as to why you are here today?”

Tommy cleared his throat, leaning in closer to the mic. “I was told it was to discuss potential disciplinary action for alleged recent behavior.”

A panel of five men and women were seated in front of him, all there to decide his fate. He settled into his seat as they introduced themselves one by one for the record.

“Aiden Gioseffi, Fire Equipment Dealer.”

“Martin Kaden, State Fire Marshall Appointed Designee.”

“Carol Haney, Administrative Officer for Los Angeles County Fire Department.”

“Roy Simpson, Los Angeles Fire Department Chief.”

“Tina Eason, Administrative Officer from a Building Department Representing Los Angeles County.”

“What was that last one again?” Tommy asked, head tilted.

“Administrative Officer from a Building Department Representing Los Angeles County.”

Tommy shook his head, letting out a sigh. “I’d hate to have to keep repeating that title,” he mumbled. “Maybe ask them to shorten it to AOBDRLAC. Or-”

“Let the records show Mr. Kaden will be leading this meeting today,” Simpson interrupted, giving Tommy a glare. “Are we ready to begin?”

“Ready as ever, Sir.”

“I’m going to begin by stating what we’ve been told,” Kaden informed Tommy. “Then you will have a chance to confirm or deny the allegations one by one. Understand?”

Tommy nodded. “Loud and clear, Sir.”

“Okay, two months ago, on April 17, 2025, you overheard on the radio about a situation happening with your old station, the 118, at SoCal Tech BioMed. You decided of your own free will and volition to contact a member of the 118, along with a police sergeant, and take a helicopter to then use as a distraction against the army and the FBI. When you were ordered by the army to stand down, you proceeded to lie and tell them you had orders of your own, which you did not, and started a helicopter chase through Los Angeles. You ended up landing inside the Los Angeles Coliseum, with another firefighter and a prisoner in tow. Afterward, you were escorted back to the bio lab, where you barely managed to escape federal charged of domestic terrorism and treason.”

When Kaden had finished, the other members of the board appeared speechless. Tommy’s eyes wandered to each of them as he waited to be allowed to speak.

“Is there anything I have said that you would like to deny or challenge, Mr. Kinard?”

“You can just call me Tommy,” he replied, folding his hands and resting them on the table in front of him. “And I’d like to challenge the treason charge. I wouldn’t consider it that. If anything, maybe light treason.”

Eason pulled her mic closer. “Light treason isn’t a real thing, Mr. Kinard, and it’s not the main reason you’re here. You’e already been cleared of those charges.”

“Again, Tommy is fine,” he corrected. “But, um, no I think the rest is all fine and good.”

“I don’t think I’d call it ‘fine and good,’” Haney muttered.

“So, you’re not going to try and challenge anything that was mentioned?” Gioseffi asked. “These are serious allegations, Tommy.”

“I’m aware of that, Sir, but I don’t see a reason to try and lie. What you’re saying happened is what happened. Do whatever you think is necessary, I won’t fight it.”

“But we will!” A voice boomed from the back of the room. Everyone looked up at once, and Tommy turned to see Howie, Buck, Hen, and Ravi all bursting through the double doors.

Tommy’s eyes widened, “Guys, I don’t-”

“What you’re doing here is a travesty of justice!” Chimney exclaimed. The entire group walked up until they were standing directly behind Tommy. “And we won’t sit by and watch it happen!”

Hen leaned down closer to Tommy. “The grand entrance was Chim’s idea,” she whispered. “He wouldn’t let us come in until the perfect time.”

Chief Simpson sighed, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his temple. “What’s happening here?”

“Nothing,” Tommy answered quickly, shooting a glare over to Buck. “They’re confused. It’s been a rough couple of months and-”

“No one’s confused,” Buck interrupted.

“Evan.”

“No, Tommy. First of all,” he held up a finger, other hand on his hip as he turned to Tommy, “you told me you were working overtime today. You lied. We’re talking about this when we get home. Second, I know you’re not telling the whole truth here because you don’t want me to get into trouble, and I’m not going to let that happen. Third-”

“Okay, can everyone just hold on a second!” Kaden interrupted. “Who are you people and why are you here?”

“Sir, my name is Howard Han, better known as Chimney.” He placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “I’m here to defend my good friend Tommy Kinard today, along with my colleagues, Henrietta Wilson-”

“Hen,” she interjected.

“Evan Buckley-”

“Buck.”

“And Ravi Panikkar.”

Ravi nodded. “Ravi’s good.”

“And I’d like to add,” Buck continued, “that I’m also his boyfriend, and we’ve recently moved in together. I’d agree that starting a new chapter of our relationship by lying to your partner about where you are and why you’re there is not great.”

“No one said that,” Haney replied. “And Mr. Kinard-”

“Tommy.”

“-doesn’t need to have people here defending him. This is a very simple meeting to discuss what disciplinary actions should be taken for stealing a LAFD helicopter for personal use.”

Tommy sighed. “I’d just like to say, I did not ask them to come.”

“That’s clear, Kinard,” Simpson answered.

Hen stepped forward. “We’re here to make sure Tommy gets fair treatment. He may have broken a couple of rules, but he did it with good intention and, in the end, he helped save the United States, and possibly the world, from a killer virus far more dangerous than Covid.”

Well, that wasn’t so bad. And it seemed to grab the attention of some of the board members. “Thanks, Hen,” Tommy said, giving her a nod when she turned back to him.

Then Ravi stepped up. “Plus he’s not the only one who committed crimes.”

Tommy groaned, head falling to his hands. “Please, stop.”

“I did things the army specifically told me not to do. Now, usually, I wouldn’t be admitting that here in front of you all. But recent events and, I believe, longterm exposure to this team, has made me more likely to speak out.”

“And it’s not even the first time he’s done it!” Chimney exclaimed.

“Dude!” Tommy screeched.

“Last year, took a helicopter straight through a hurricane to rescue our captain and his wife from a capsized cruise ship.”

“That was never brought to our attention,” Eason said.

“And it’s not the issue now,” Simpson clarified.

Buck nodded. “Yeah, he got a medal for that. We all did! And I’m sure he didn’t tell you-”

“Evan, no-”

“-that I was the one who asked him to steal the helicopter. I- I knew we’d never get Chimney the cure if we didn’t distract the FBI and the army. It was our only shot at saving him. So I called up Tommy, knowing good and well that, even though we weren’t together at the time, he’d do it for me. He’d do it for any of us. Th- That’s the kind of guy he is. Any one of us could call him right now for help and he’d be figuring a way out of this meeting, straight into a chopper!”

Tommy reached out and took Buck’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Babe, I love you, but you’ve gotta stop talking.”

“You know what?” Kaden said, looking like he was seconds away from pulling every remaining hair out of his head. “I think we’ve heard enough. I’m going to suggest a one month suspension at half-pay. Anyone object?”

Tommy squeezed Buck’s hand tighter when he went to open his mouth.

“Great, no objections. You, uh, the- the boyfriend?”

“Evan Buckley, Sir.”

“Yeah, you were the one who called Mr. Kinard and asked him for the helicopter?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Two weeks paid suspension and you won’t have to come sit in front of the board yourself. How’s that sound?”

Before Buck could answer, Chief Simpson spoke. “Sounds fair to me! We’re done here, yes?”

“We’re done,” Kaden confirmed as the board members began to stand. “Have a… a day, I guess. I don’t know anymore.”

*****

The walk out to the parking lot was a quiet one.

“Hen drove me,” Buck said, clearly still annoyed that Tommy had lied to him, “so we’ll be heading home together.” He kept walking to the truck, even as the rest of the group stopped.

Tommy grabbed his wallet from his pocket, pulling out a card and handing it to Hen.

“What’s this?” Hen asked.

“That’s the number for Chris Oletto. He’s a pilot I trained, works at Harbor. A loose cannon and annoying as all hell.”

“Why are you giving Hen his number?” Chimney questioned.

“Because I want you to post it up on a cork board somewhere,” Tommy replied, “and the next time you guys need someone to steal a helicopter, call him!”

“Tommy, let’s go!” Buck yelled, pulling on the handle of Tommy’s locked truck.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said, shooting Buck a fake smile and a wave, “I’ve gotta spend an hour in traffic getting yelled at by my boyfriend.” He gave Chimney a pat on the arm, nodding to Ravi and Hen. “Thanks for coming, guys, really. It means a lot.”

The three watched as Tommy walked off, then Chimney plucked the card from Hen’s hand. “We’re not really gonna call this guy the next time we need a helicopter, are we?”

“Nah,” Hen scoffed. “Tommy’s our guy.”

[sightseertrespasser]

Odds of Survival part 10 Finale

First contact, take two.

Go check out @keferon as the creator of the AU!

———————————————————————

Prowl stared at the lifeless body on the floor.

Visor dim, chest closed. Were it not for the absolute silence it offered, one might, without listening closely, assume it was merely an unconscious mech.

He ran the numbers again.

Odds of Survival 17%

The edge of his desk pressed a hard line against the backs of his legs and the palms of his servos. A steadily growing back log of frantic comms messages plinked across his processor like marbles rolling down a flight of stairs.

Red Alert: 13 messages and counting.

Velocity: 2 messages.

Elita One: 3 messages. . . 4 messages.

Odds of Survival 15%

Knocking- no, banging at the door. Red Alert, 76%.

Muffled, “Prowl open the door!”

“Answer your comms!”

“What’s happening in there?!”

Red Alert, 99%.

Slowly, Prowl moved his doorwings in a slow arch, quadruple checking that everything in his office was exactly where he needed it to be. Maximizing his chances.

“Open the door. Now.”

Elita (98%) was still speaking to him and not physically breaking into the room by force.

Odds of Survival 20%.

Without looking away from the body, Prowl unlocked the door to his office.

Guarded and cautious, the captain and security officer entered the room. Elita had a weapon drawn, but kept her blaster aimed at the floor, locking onto the body with an iron focus.

Conversely, Red Alert sucked in a vent at the sight, immediately raking his optics over every visible surface, searching frantically for signs of danger.

“What happened-how’d he get in here-who’s he work for-why’d you stop responding-where has he been-WHAT HAPPENED?!”

The mech was practically bouncing off the walls, static crackling with enough excess charge to diffuse the room with a heavy scent of ozone. The only reason Red Alert wasn’t currently tearing the place apart already was the way he looked at every object like a potential improvised explosive.

Ignoring the smaller mech, Elita ordered an answer, “Prowl. Explain. Now.”

His fans were audibly running high. Prowl did nothing to mask the obvious sign of stress. He carefully recited his script.

“Roughly one cycle ago, I rescued an unconscious mech from deep space after he’d fallen from a quintesson gate tear. He was friendly, albeit very unfamiliar with his surroundings. Including some of the very common alien species on board our transport.”

Calmly, Prowl looked up to read the other mechs reactions so far. Elita was remaining mostly focused on the body, but sent a sidelong glance aimed towards the tactician. Meanwhile, Red Alert looked ready to burst, about to interrupt Prowls script.

“You may search my office as I explain.” The security chiefs engine practically growled by the fourth word of being given permission, and dove behind Prowls desk for frantic inspection.

The captain nodded her head for Prowl to continue.

“Over the course of our short time together, I collected more unusual details about this mech. Compiling them in an effort to better understand “Jazz” as he refers to himself.” With a flick, Prowl brought up the conspiracy board for Elita Ones review.

The blue glow helped illuminate the dimmed office interior.

The alternate Functionalist Creation Theory was already deleted, leaving just the alien theory.

“On route towards the pick up location, Jazz, through somewhat clunky common, explained he was built specifically to fight quintessons. This claim immediately became verifiable when we were attacked by a not inconsiderable quintesson force.”

His doorwing twitched another scan.

Without turning around, Prowl knew the exact moment Red Alert discovered Jazz’s shoulder piece he’d stashed in his desk to be found. The sound of sudden disgust followed by a dropped clunk was reassurance enough.

“He then saved my life, multiple times and at significant injury to his own frame, as you are no doubt aware of Captain.” She did in fact look more closely at the fresh welds along the shoulder she’d seen barely clinging on not forty breems ago.

“After sustaining these injuries, I assisted Jazz with some basic field repairs. During which I discovered they had no previous experience with anesthetic and generally seemed to expect significantly harsher treatment than what I would consider “normal or ethical” medical care.”

Prowl vented, nodding towards the screen. “Bluestreak can verify the accuracy of these statements. There are some transcripts of our conversations on the board as well.”

Faintly, Prowl could hear Red Alert mouth the words, “ -don’t always die either, sometimes they just go crazy??” in quiet horror.

Odds of Survival 25%

The increase steadied Prowl slightly as he continued. “On our way to the medbay, Jazz expressed some anxiety over being treated by a professional. He-“

The praxian swallowed.

Prowl couldn’t really act, but luckily he didn’t have to. “He requested not be restrained or sedated, and gave- permission, to use force against him if he did become.. ungovernable.”

For the first time, Prowl released a servo from the desk and used it to gesture broadly to the whole situation.

It fell somewhat limp at his side.

“Velocity preformed the necessary repairs, noting a sudden decline in Jazz’s language capabilities as well as strong evidence for prior medical abuse.”

“Shortly afterwards, Jazz temporarily fled the medbay.”

That eleven letter word was a load bearing component of Jazz’s survival.

Some of the tension returned to the room as they were all reminded of the inciting incident. Prowl had significant practice in withdrawing his emotions, and now more than ever did he need to appear neutral.

“Jazz escaped by utilizing a strong magnetic grip to both damage the locks as well as scale the ceiling through the blind spots of the cameras. He traveled only a short distance into Rune’s office, where the therapist was able to talk him down somewhat. Jazz then sought to “tell me something important” encountering Whirl along the way.”

Red Alert had finished tearing apart Prowls desk, and was now carefully inching his way closer to the body still on the floor. Hesitantly, as if it could strike without warning.

Prowl resisted the urge to tense.

“Both mechs can corroborate the timeline. Shortly after, I discovered Jazz lost in the halls and brought him to the nearest room I had control over. My office.”

Inspecting the frame for subspace pockets it didn’t have, the security chief crackled lightly with frustration.

Snippily, Red Alert snapped at him, “So the oil pot got you alone, in your office no less, under the pretenses of distress JUST like I said he would.”

“Red Alert.” The smaller mech jolted but looked his Captain in the optics. Elita One held a steady, cold Calm over the room. Her field not to be overruled. “Have you found anything yet?”

“Well, no. But I haven’t looked everywhere.”

The Captain silenced him with a raise of her hand. “Then finish your search, and Prowl will finish his report.”

She nodded for them both to resume their parts.

Odds of Survival 33%

The tactician nodded gratefully in return.

“Jazz was behaving irrationally. Nervous. Confused. He made statements that didn’t make sense and given his helm injury, I had strongly suspected he was crashing. Or his species equivalent to it.”

Prowl watched very carefully as Red Alert finished his search, faster than expected. The total lack of any signs of life coupled with the mention of crashing made the mech’s optics go impossibly wide. “Did he- is he?”

Prowl passively waved his servo at the body. “He’s not dead, although by cybertronian standards it may appear that way. This state is relatively normal from what Velocity has noted.”

“So if you thought he was having a medical emergency, why didn’t you call for help?” The captain didn’t quite relax, but did seem to accept Jazz wasn’t going to spring up at any moment.

No no no no. Please god no.

Prowl snapped out of the memory. Once more resetting his optics.

“He. . asked me not to. I chose not to risk agitating him or his injury further.” Prowl’s wings twitched minutely, tracking Red Alerts movement towards Greens habitat.

“And then?”

“He confessed to me he was an alien.” Prowl stated mirthlessly.

For the first time Elita took her eyes off the body, cycling her optics and turning towards Prowl, who could only press his mouth into a thin line.

“Jazz was totally unaware he was completely isolated on an unknown alien vessel. At least until very recently.” Prowl finished.

There was a flicker of some other emotion through Elita’s field. He’s had enough people pity him to recognize the sensation.

A yelp from Green’s habitat had both Prowl and Elita One rounding on Red Alert. The mech was clutching his servo like it’d been lacerated.

“It tried to bite me! It tried to bite me!”

Sure enough, a low throaty hiss emanated from the top of Green’s enclosure. The flyt glared down over the edge of her highest platform at the short mech. Her crest and throat were flushed a dark purple with territorial fury.

“An erratic mech is forcibly intruding on her personal space. The urge to bite is a sympathetic one.” Prowl growled, stood in the center of his completely overturned office.

“Leave the damn flyt alone Red. Prowl, get to the fragging point.” At last, Elita holstered her weapon, glowering at them both.

Odds of survival 45%

The tactician turned back to the captain, “Between the shock, exhaustion and his injuries, I believe Jazz went into his species version of an involuntary shutdown. I have done everything I can to stabilize him from crashing.”

He rubbed his helm where his own would-be crash had wanted to form, “I have the relevant experience.”

Elita One studied Prowls face with a piercing gaze. Narrowing slightly.

“Why did you stop responding to comms for almost a full breem?”

His fans still running on high, helm burning and sensor net itching, Prowl put all his will into suppressing any exhaustion born sass.

“I nearly crashed.”

“You nearly crashed.” Elita reiterated.

Prowl nodded.

The captain considered this for a time.

“Red Alert, I want this ship deep cleaned. Full search and scan from top to bottom. Get the ceilings covered and figure out something for the locks to counter the super magnet situation.”

Optics brightening to luminosity of head lights, Red Alert stammered in reply, “E-even your quarters Captain?”

Elita looked like she was contemplating the taste of a fistful of nails, rolling her optics as she grit out, “Yes. This one time, and you explicitly do not have permission to place any form of surveillance inside.”

Red Alert saluted so hard he left a dent.

“YES CAPTAIN I WON’T MAKE YOU REGRET THIS CAPTAIN THANK YOU CAPTAIN!”

“Go!”

The red mech had his sirens blaring before his tires even hit the ground. Leaving the remaining mechs almost alone.

The sound of Elita One’s peds clacking against the metal floor made Prowl’s wings twitch.

Arms crossed, she stared the praxian down.

“Tell me everything you just redacted.”

Prowl did not immediately respond, still staring down at the body on the floor. His doorwings rotated satellite slow.

Without a word, Prowl took his weight off of the desk, walking up to Greens enclosure, where he gently pushed the flyt aside and collected what was hidden beneath her.

“This-“ Prowl cupped his servos around a small white and blue form, “is Jazz.”

——————

The logic cascade nearly consumed him.

Prowl was holding Jazz’s spark.

Jazz.

The mecha’s chest plate had opened. Revealing only the faintest glow within, washed out entirely by the harsh overhead lights of Prowls office.

Irrationally, Prowls higher functioning stalled out and his processor defaulted to some spark deep coding to make sense of what was happening.

He’s exposing his spark. He’s showing me his spark and he’s still crashing.

He’s going to crash and die with his fragging spark out in my office Oh fragging Primus Not here not like THIS.

A ringing.

Shrill and strangled. A dissonant sting.

An EM field.

Jazz’s EM field.

Faint. Faint but sharp, like an almost invisible shard of glass that only becomes known once it’s lodged itself beneath your armor.

The scream warbled and popped like a blown radio speaker. Some-thing fell forward from Jazz’s chassis.

His spark his spark his spark is falling out of his chest.

Jerking forward on instinct, Prowl cupped his servos and caught what wasn’t a spark- that’s not a spark this is NOT A SPARK.

A body, limp and silent. Tissue paper light in the way only non-metallic life forms can be.

It’s in his servos it’s in his servos it’s in his ser>%$.

Prowl was static. From his mind to his body. Pure static. Frozen yet screaming internally on his knees, staring down at everything that made Jazz alive.

He held the Spark-body-organic-not spark- Spark-SPARK-SPARK-ITS NOT JAZZ-NOT A SPARK ITS \#}>%*!? JAZZ-IT IS JAZ%-IT IS-IT IS- in his servos.

Gently.

Sparks Organics were very fragile.

He knew that. Prowl held onto that. Gently. Very gently.

He slotted the simple equation into place.

How to keep Jazz not-spark alive.

Odds of Survival. . .

——————

The weight in his palms felt imaginary. Too small to be real.

Yet here was Elita One as his witness. Thrown Off was a look seldom worn by the Captain and it was clearly an uncomfortable fit.

“This is Jazz?” She echoed Prowl, reaching out a servo to the unconscious whatever Jazz was.

The praxian stiffened, manually canceling the move to pull Jazz away from the other mechs reach. He didn’t, however, quite manage to cancel his vocalizer, a “Please be careful.” busting out despite himself.

Elita shot him an affronted look, plucking Jazz from his servos. “I know how to not kill an organic Prowl.”

She turned her servo over, using her thumb to roll the alien onto its back. “You let me hold Green.” She muttered.

“Green is much larger and I actually know what she is.” He was hovering, Prowl knew he was hovering and that Elita hated it when people hovered but it was really just a race to see who pissed off who first right now.

“Okay, okay, so what’s wrong with.. this one?”She gestured with the digit she was using to prod Jazz, closely examining the unconscious organic.

Not for the first time that day, Prowl rubbed a servo over his head, “I-I am unsure. It’s incredibly faint but he is breathing. I did mean it when I said I think he fainted from shock and possibly exhaustion. Organics typically require rest and fuel much more frequently than us and Jazz was extremely active for a highly extended period of time.”

Prowl cleared his vents, “At least, compared to a flyt. I do not have many other data points for comparison.”

Considering this, Elita frowned at the aliens inorganic casing and then at the motionless mecha on the floor. Definitely an aesthetic match. She considered something for a moment, frowning.

“Do you- Ew, ew, it’s twitching. Take it. Take it back.”

Not quite panicking, Elita effectively half-tossed half-dropped the alien back into Prowls anxious servos.

For several long and ancient clicks, neither mech moved, holding perfectly still as the alien shifted in Prowls servos.

Holding him like this, Prowl can feel Jazz’s field again. Faintly, like the sound of rustling branches on the edge of conscious hearing, the field tickled his palms. Unlike the mecha, Jazz’s visor wasn’t opaque, allowing Prowl to see the faint scrunch of his face and the way it smoothed out again once back in Prowl’s care.

His field dropped back into a near silent whisper.

Prowl made a ball of his servos, sealing off Jazz from anything else that might happen.

“We can set them up in a holding cell or something.” Elita said quietly, flicking her hand in exasperation. “Maybe under a glass bowl. I’ll arrange for someone else to handle questioning.”

The praxian straightened up at that, looking back to his captain, “Sir, I am the best suited to question Jazz.”

Arms crossing, Elita One gave Prowl an appraising look. “You said so yourself that you nearly just crashed. Why can’t anyone else do it?”

Nodding in understanding, Prowl pitched his counter argument, “As it stands, I have the best rapport with him. The only other mechs Jazz has met is Bluestreak, Velocity and yourself.”

“Jazz gets along with Bluestreak, however my brother is not well suited for interrogations.” Which wasn’t entirely true, Prowl kept to himself. Subjecting detainees to Bluestreaks small talk for several groons frequently made said individuals much more receptive to questioning by subsequent officers.

That currently didn’t help however.

“Velocity is a medic, which Jazz is terrified of and has zero experience with interrogations.” The knowledge of where this chaos began was still fresh. Fresher still was Prowl’s memory of Jazz pleading to not wake up on a table.

“And I mean no offense captain, but the last time Jazz saw you, you had threatened to rip off one of his arms and beat him with it.” Elita shrugged and gave Prowl a “Fair Enough” look.

“Statistically speaking, Jazz is most likely to answer honestly to someone he considers an ally. Regardless of how others may view my reputation, Jazz did specifically choose me to explain himself to before he lost consciousness.”

Venting, Elita considered the facts and stepped slightly closer. Prowl held his posture as formally as he could despite how his servos were positioned. The harsh look in his captains optics softened only slightly hearing his fans continue on high power.

“Are you sure you can handle this? Medically speaking?”

In a rare break of form, Prowl let his doorwings sink to a less physically taxing position. “The initial shock has passed. I will not crash.”

Probably. 67%.

Breaking eye contact, Prowl stared at the mess of data pads now scattered on his office floor. 85% of which was commissioned work directly from Megatron.

“I do not know how long it will take for Jazz to wake up. I do know I will not be very effective at my job until this is resolved.”

Finally stepping back, Elita had the look of someone using comms. “Officially, I’m putting you on medical leave for the next couple cycles. Megatron will have to make his own poor decisions for awhile.”

She paused by the body. “What do we do with this?”

It was heavier than it looked. Prowl knew now from experience. The mechs needed to remove it would add to the list of possible loose ends to an already sensitive situation.

“We can leave it for now. I will not allow Jazz access to it until I am more certain of his intentions.”

She hummed in response. Eyeing where Jazz was currently contained, Elita made her way to the door, “I need to go do damage control, alert me the instant their condition changes. Yours too.”

“Understood. And thank you. For listening.”

Awkwardly, Prowl looked anywhere but the captain, and Elita wordlessly waved him off. Both mechs quickly abandoned the moment of mutual care and thankfulness in favor of their usual personas.

Soon enough, Elita was gone.

Cracking open his hold, Prowl peeked at his alien charge.

Still sleeping.

Almost imperceptibly, Prowl could make out the slight rhythmic expansion of his chest. Limbs tucked close, Jazz was loosely curled on his side into a ball, showing no signs of waking.

Odds of Survival 63%.

The gauntlet was over, now it was all up to Jazz.

——————

Prowl lay slumped over on his desk.

His arms fenced in a pile consisting of every instant cold pack he kept in his office, which were currently arranged to completely bury his head.

After two and a quarter groons, the packs were mostly room temperature but the way they blocked out most light and sound was nice.

The door to Green’s habitat was left open. It was a risky move but a pleasant surprise that the flyt chose cuddles over consumption in regards to the small alien. Prowl hadn’t counted on her getting protective over the fellow organic, but it was certainly a relief.

Placing Jazz back in Greens nest seemed the safest option at the time. Soft but contained. Green certainly had no qualms and arranged herself as she saw fit. Prowl figured she must know more than him about this and let her be.

Currently, the flyt had started trilling happily. Prowls doorwings twitched. Scanning the room for the umpteenth time before relaxing again.

The only other sounds were the noises the Lost Light usually produced and Prowls own body functions.

It was quiet. As quiet as his office normally was anyways. The flyt continued her quiet song.

Actually, Green was trilling very loudly right now.

Then, Prowl picked up on a second, much stranger pitch.

Speech. Specifically speech in the tone of cooing.

Rising from his mountain of maladaptive coping, Prowl lethargically turned his helm to the habitat. The cooing continued unawares.

Standing now, Prowl looked into Greens nest to see what was going on.

The flyt had her beak almost tucked against her belly, forehead pressed against Jazz’s chest.

Awake, and lying on his back, the alien was reaching around the flyts comparatively massive head to scritch and scratch at the back of her neck. Paying special attention to the crease where Green’s crest met her head, causing the flyt to trill like crazy.

All the while, the alien matched her vocal tone, speaking absolute nonsense in his native language. {D’aww you like that big guy? Yes you do! You’re just a giant love bug aren’t you?}

It took a couple tries, but after several resets Prowl believed his optics were working.

The alien noticed him at last and smiled at him from around Green. “Oh hey Prowler!”

“Are-“ his voice clipped.

Resetting his vocalizer this time, Prowl tried again, “You are remarkably calm right now.”

Not stopping his ministrations, Jazz hummed nonchalantly, “Well yeah, s’not like this is real.”

Prowl felt he had underestimated Jazz’s capacity to screw with his head.

“What.” He searched for any signs that he had fallen into defrag. Finding none.

“You think this isn’t real?” Prowl asked incredulously.

Jazz raised an eyebrow, smiling at the tactician.

“Prowl. Babydoll. I’m petting a {dinosaur.}”

He said with the most “you serious right now?” look reserved for only the most ridiculous of questions.

Prowl, might, kill Jazz himself.

Very hide-able body.

Very feasible.

He’s hidden bigger.

Instead, Prowl schooled his emotions. He would not, under any circumstances, allow himself to loose control like he did during Jazz’s confession.

Bringing his servos together as if he was a praying mech, Prowl calmly asked, “Why do you think this isn’t real?”

Jazz shrugged, “I mean, which is more likely? That I fell through a space spanning portal only to be rescued by some handsome alien who’s entire species just so happens to look exactly like mechas? Or that going through that portal permanently damaged something in here?”

The alien pointed at his own head for emphasis, carrying on, “And this is all some end of life {hallucination} my brain came up with where I’m actually fine, dinosaurs are pet-able and robots turn into cars.”

Prowl stopped Tacnet before it could take the prompt. Because it would calculate those odds, it would agree with Jazz, and then Prowl would crash for real this time.

“Well then can you at least pretend this is actually happening?” He was getting angry. He was getting angry again and he needed to stop before he did any more damage.

His doorwings and servos shook from how tightly he was holding them. He would stay calm. He would stay calm.

His field was seeping out again, but Prowl now knew from experience that trying to stop it now would just cause whatever hold he had on it to break loose.

[PROWL]: Jazz is awake. I am handling it]

[ELITA-1]: Keep me appraised]

[ELITA-1]: If Jazz turns out to be a liability he’s gone, and you’re going to scour the outside of the shop for all those “listening devices” Red Alert is now freaking out about]

The cold packs had done wonders earlier and Prowl was about to undo all the good they’d done.

He let the anger stay but cool into something usable. “Listen to me.”

Prowl leaned in just close enough to feel the bare hint of Jazz’s field. It was still incomprehensible but maybe he’d understand Prowl’s.

“My boss is currently demanding to know what you and your intentions are, and if I can’t provide a satisfactory answer we’re both going out of an airlock.” Prowl hissed.

Jazz stilled.

He looked over Prowl again, then back to Green. A melody Prowl hadn’t been aware of juttered to a stop, and that reedy dissonant sting reappeared. The alien looked down wide eyed at Green, slowly raising his hands away from the massive animal.

“Oooooh Fuck me this is actually real.”

The wonderful scritches having suddenly stopped, Green clicked unhappily and shoved her forehead more forcefully against Jazz’s chest.

The alien wheezed as all the air in his body was forced out, eyes bulging and panicked. Jazz began rapidly tapping Greens head, trying to speak without breath, “Help. Help help help help help.”

“Green! To me!”

The flyt thankfully followed the hurried command, only needing to flap once to clear the distance between her nest and Prowls pauldron. The sudden gust of wind had Jazz jerking into a ball at the gale force buffeting.

Lightly keeping one servo on his flyt, Prowl leaned in close as he could to check Jazz over for damages.

No bodily fluids leaking, no screaming, still breathing. Good.

Jazz uncurled slowly, making intense eye contact as he pulled air back into his body.

He coughed, “Uh, hi.”

“Hello.” Prowl unconsciously copied the motion, clearing a vent, “Are you hurt?”

Jazz patted his chest in a few places, “Nothing broken. A little dizzy but I’ve felt worse.”

A little bit of relief went a long way right now, and Prowl pretty much sagged with it. “Good. Right. Now, if you could describe what insane circumstances resulted with you, inside of that, I would greatly appreciate an explanation.”

Prowl waved his free servo over to the mecha still on the floor. He didn’t miss the way Jazz’s eyes lit up seeing it and the following look of concentration as he suddenly realized how high up he was.

“Right, right. Okay, I’ll try.” Jazz swung his legs over the side of the nest, needing his arms to keep himself upright.

Idly, Prowl pet Green to keep her content on his shoulder, as Jazz centered himself to try and bridge the gap of misunderstanding.

———

About a decade and a half ago, my world started to end.

Giant fuck-off aliens descended across the Earth, destroying everything in their paths. They didn’t know the difference between cities and savannas, just plowed on through from one to the other. Maybe they actually did but it just wasn’t a difference that mattered.

That all changed once we fought back.

Conventional weapons worked at first, but then they started sending bigger, faster and meaner motherfuckers. The first wave didn’t care, just dug around in random places.

But the second wave?

We were fucked.

The biggest problem was that the thing’s barely cared what was attacking them. Civilian casualties skyrocketed. Fighter planes couldn’t keep their attention and tanks couldn’t maneuver well enough through the shattered landscape.

There was one thing the fuckers never seemed to ignore though.

Statues. Big ones.

Christ the Redeemer, The Statue of Liberty, if it was huge and human shaped the invaders would B-line for them.

One day some genius pitched the idea of J-Boy and Lady Libs bitch slapping some aliens, and most of the world was at the “Fuck It” stage anyways.

Next thing we know, there’s this, gigantic, fuckin’ robot stumbling around the West Coast.

The first ever mecha.

Built from hopes and dreams and I think a couple decommissioned battle ships, the Vanguard had one real job.

Draw away the invaders, take hits and probably blow up.

Story goes that one of the pilots decided this wasn’t going to be a suicide mission anymore.

They fought, and they won.

San Francisco. The first city to have more living than dead after an attack. My home.

After that day? The mecha program was officially formed. More mechas were made, more pilots were trained, and ten years later we’ve fought the invaders to a standstill.

Someone finally suggests taking the fight to them, and bada bing bada boom ya boy Jazz is getting shot into space.

———

“Then a, what was it, a quintessential showed up.”

“Quintesson.” Prowl corrected through his servos.

“Thank you! I kicked it in the face, we fell through the tear into some kind of command center. Everybody freaked out, somebody reactivated the portal machine thingy and well, you know the rest!” Jazz at last stopped emoting with his hands, letting them come to rest on his lap. His story complete.

Prowl had to get a chair halfway through.

He was not going to crash.

He fragging wasn’t.

The fact that his face was buried in his servos and that Green was anxiously trying to preen his chevron meant nothing.

He listened to Jazz say one insane thing, and put a pin in it. He then heard a second insane thing, and added a second, larger pin.

And so on.

There where quite a lot of pins at this point and Prowl wasn’t entirely sure how to grab just one without poking himself on another.

His fans were on again.

The tactician wiped his servos down his face, “Who- who are your allies? How many planets does your kind control?”

Meeting his gaze, Jazz frowned. “Do you mean alien allies? Cause no, it’s just us. One people, one planet.” He said holding up a solitary finger.

Currently Jazz was sat on the floor, leaning against Greens nest. Earlier, the pilot had tried to stand briefly but nearly collapsed. Waving off Prowl’s concern with an “I’m fine! This is normal.”

One. More. Pin.

“Hell, you’re the first alien I’ve ever met that didn’t want me dead.”

Shaking his helm in disbelief, Prowl started cutting back logic branches that’d surely result in a cascade. “This, this is a lot to process.”

Jazz had the audacity to laugh, “Hey, you’re tellin’ me.”

Eyes roving Prowl’s frame, Jazz sat up a bit straighter as they realized something.

The alien rubbed the back of his neck, “Uh, I’d like to also apologize. For what happened earlier.”

Resting his elbows on his knees, the space around Prowl’s optics tightened, “Yes. Well, I did not behave in a manner I will ever be particularly proud of either. I assure you I do not usually loose control like that.”

“I hope you can forgive me.” Staring at the floor between his peds, Prowl’s doorwings fell low in apology. He was so caught up in his own self righteous rage he’d screamed down at a mech who’d needed him. Who trusted him.

Jazz however, just seemed confused. “What? You didn’t do anything wrong, I was the one getting all handsy on the bridge.”

The praxian snapped up straight.

“Right. That. I also, yes. That.”

“In my defense,” Jazz raised his hands and bowed his head, “I thought you were a guy in a suit like me. Didn’t know I was actually grabbing the real you.”

Resetting his vocalizer, he spoke much more quietly. “Yes, well. It was an understandable mistake.”

“Still would though.”

“What?”

“What?”

They stared at each other in silence for several clicks.

For all his expressiveness, Jazz had a way of totally shutting off any visible tells the second he wanted to. The only tell of any kind was a practiced deceptively neutral smile beneath his visor. His mouth twitched.

The silence finally broke when Jazz growled.

Immediately leaning back defensively, Prowl wrinkled his nose when Jazz started laughing like crazy, snorting a bit before finally loosing steam.

Taking deep breaths, Jazz closed his eyes.

“Sorry, sorry, that wasn’t directed at you. My stomach does that when I haven’t eaten in a while.” He rolled his head over to look at Prowl, eyes peeking back open. “Could’ya help me back to my mecha? I’ve got some rations in there.”

Prowl was already moving his servo inside before he could think better of it. From there, Jazz did not so much climb as he did roll over onto Prowls open palm. Sitting crisscrossed.

Something faintly like a pleasant hum touched his field.

Once out of the enclosure, the tactician studied the now conscious creature curiously. Bright eyed and without hiding it, Jazz studied him as well. A melody he didn’t recognize played against the pulse of his wrist.

He found that if he turned Jazz just the right way, the light from the theory board would turn his visor opaque. Every time he turned Jazz back, the visor cleared, and the subtle shock of sudden eye contact had him repeating the motion. Prowl got lost in trying to find the exact angle where Jazz was halfway between hidden and revealed.

Every time he did, Jazz would shift almost imperceptibly. Hidden and revealed again at his own discretion.

They stood there together, longer than either had expected.

Eventually, it was Prowl’s turn to break the silence, “You trust me. Why?”

Finally moving towards the mecha, there must have been some proximity sensor on Jazz’s person that triggered the chest plates to open.

Wings fluttering, Prowl subconsciously averted his gaze as Jazz scooted off his servo and into the cavity. The sound of tiny boots clanking.

Still not looking, he heard Jazz answer, “Breaking it down into three layers, there’s number one: I don’t exactly have any other options.”

A quick doorwing scan revealed the incredibly complex interior of Jazz’s suit, which somehow felt even more inappropriate than openly staring. Prowl pinned his wings together and stared resolutely at the ceiling.

“Number two: If you were going to kill me, you would have by now.” The sound of Jazz rustling around in their mecha abruptly stopped as the pilot spoke to Prowl more directly. “Hey, you good?”

Determined not to address this right now, Prowl simply shook his head. “I’m fine. Continue.”

He could almost hear Jazz thinking at this point, “Oooh right, the open chest cavity is probably pretty gross for you huh?”

Prowl squinted harder at the ceiling, “Not. Exactly.”

Jazz made some sort of noise of interest but thankfully choose to leave it for now. Instead, Prowl felt him clamber back onto his servo and heard the chest plates close back up.

Prowl finally looked back down at the human who’d gathered a backpack full of supplies. He carried him back to his desk and sat, releasing the small alien and leaning down low to look him in the face.

Jazz smiled back at him, “Reason number three: I like you.”

Prowl reset his optics and swore that made Jazz smile even harder. “Why?”

“Beats me.” Jazz shrugged, pulling out some ration packages.

“It’s probably a bunch of little things all added together. Super smart, fun to piss off, likes animals, can hold down a job, didn’t freak out and squash me like a bug. Hard to say for certain, but yeah, I like you.”

That was an exceptionally rare opinion to hear.

Gradually, Prowl began to feed all the information Jazz had provided into Tacnet in an effort to focus on more productive things.

There was an alien species capable of monumental destruction currently at war with the quintessons. Jazz liked him. Jazz held a favorable opinion of Prowl and could possibly be convinced to view Cybertronians in general with similar affability. Jazz was a fantastic ally on the field. There were multiple other fighters like Jazz on his home planet. They might also be convinced to “like” cybertronians.

The entire reason Prowl had been in deep space that cycle was because he was on a mission to find potential allies with other alien civilizations.

On the transport back, Prowl had written the mission off as an abject failure. Organics generally either hated Cybertronians, or feared them to the point of uselessness.

And yet.

Prowl crossed his arms on the table, getting more comfortable.

[PROWL]: My original mission has become a tentative success]

[PROWL]: Jazz has been cooperative so far, and if we can verify everything he’s told me, we could potentially form a highly favorable alliance with his people]

[ELITA-1]: He’s not freaked out about being tiny and squish-able any more? How’d you get him to talk?]

[PROWL]: I simply listened. He’s a shameless flirt]

[ELITA-1]: What]

[PROWL]: I will elaborate later. I am technically on medical leave still]

[ELITA-1]: Prowl what]

A rare sense of smugness filled Prowls field. He watched as Jazz played keep-away with Green for his limited rations. To give him some peace, he recovered the flyt, and Prowl set his mind to finding this Earth as soon as possible.

———

Jazz folded his hands behind his head, staring blankly at the star map.

“So?” Prowl prompted.

The human looked relaxed, maybe almost disinterested, however that dissonant ringing sting was back in his field. “I have no idea what I’m looking at.”

Fine. Fine. This was fine.

The map probably wasn’t formatted in a way Jazz was used to viewing. Prowl skipped around through a few other maps, landing on some deep space photographs instead. “Okay, well, what’s the farthest your species has traveled into space?”

“Our planets moon.” Jazz smiled in a tight-eyed sort of way with too many teeth.

Prowl stalled out, “I- How?!? How does your species have the technological development to create drivable weapons shaped like people but you lack the technology to reach past your own moon? What method of space travel are you using where the moon is the limit?”

“Big missiles.”

The tactician slowly raised his servos to his face.

“Jazz.”

“Yeah Prowler?” He said with faux casualness.

“When you said that you, and I quote, “got shot into space.” Prowl took a long deep vent. “You were being literal?”

At the very least Jazz had the decency to look sheepish. Risking a glance, he saw Prowl’s irises spinning like crazy again.

The tactician brought his chevron back down to his most used pillow, his desk. He crossed his arms over his helm for good measure, willing his helm to not explode.

What kind of demented species was so overly specialized for combat that projectile explosives were considered a reasonable form of transportation?

. . .The same kind that can hold off a Quintesson invasion by themselves.

He needed Jazz. The whole Decepticon movement needed that alliance with his people. They were spread too thin. Too many enemies. Not enough support.

Megatron barely approved Elita-one’s proposal to attempt to establish trade relations with known organic civilizations. And only under the condition that the trade heavily favored the Decepticons.

But these were fellow combatants. For all the high command’s xenophobia, they at least respected exceptional acts of violence.

It was a solution just out of reach.

Earth was presumably located on the edge of the Quintessons territory. Given the necessity of using rifts to approach the planet, there was likely a dedicated Quintesson Gate Station somewhere within the Human’s solar system. When asked to describe the type of Star his planet orbited, Jazz answered with a less than helpful “Yellow.”

If roughly 18% of the average galaxy had yellow stars, then that would still be around 80 billion stars. Even excluding stars without Earth sized planets, that’s easily still twenty billion different stars in just one galaxy. If they could somehow accurately survey up to 8 planets per breem, it would take a little over 761 Vorns to finishing sweeping one galaxy under Quintesson control.

Assuming the Quintessons didn’t kill them first that is.

He’d need to find another way.

The human blew a raspberry after Prowl didn’t move for a good forty seconds. “Are you calculating our “Odds of Survival” again?”

Peeking through his forearms, the praxian squinted at him, Tacnet whirling away, “No. Just yours.”

“Ah, gotcha.” Jazz, who was feeling much better after eating properly, expertly slipped past Prowls barrier a breath away from his face.

“Is it more than zero?” He said leaning back against Prowls arm.

“It’s a decimal point.” Prowl muttered. “With many, many zeroes before the point.”

And now those damn sounds were back again.

It had to be Jazz’s field, there was no other correlation.

It was always on the edge of perceptibly, like a song playing in another room. Prowl had to constantly check he wasn’t imagining things, because EM fields did not make sounds and yet here was Jazz, breaking everything he knew about what was possible.

Currently, the field brought to mind a steady smooth hand on a bowed instrument. A couple notes plucked in a major key.

“Then I’ll survive.”

Scrunching his brow, Prowl pulled away so he didn’t go cross eyed looking at the little impossibility. “That’s not how this works. Your odds of survival are microscopic, Jazz.”

“Buuut there’s a chance yeah?” Jazz pulled himself up to sit on Prowls forearm. “It’s more than zero, and I’ve worked with zero.”

Prowl tapped his digits, “We’ll have to convince the captain and her crew to keep you aboard.”

“I’m effortlessly charming.” He winked.

“Everything will be dangerous for you here.” Prowl pointed out.

“Everything already was.” Jazz shrugged.

He wiped a servo down his face, not even sure why he was arguing with him, “It’s going to be statistically impossible.”

“Prowl.” Jazz stood, “I am impossible.”

The silence ran to the Earth and back.

Neither broke the eye contact, waiting for the other to break first. Desperately, Prowl needed something to keep Jazz from making him crash. This could not become a pattern.

Quickly, he considered every data point he’d collected on the pilot, and compiled it into an extremely temporary equation.

<< Jazz + [Odds of Survival] = 99% >>

Something in Tacnet wound down finally, and Prowl actually relaxed. It was a lie. But it was a lie that Tacnet didn’t need to know about. For now.

Automatically, Prowl held out a servo and Jazz hopped on.

“Finally believe in me?” He said, lightly grasping his thumb as a hand hold.

“No, but it will literally kill me if I don’t try.”

Prowl turned down the hall, trying to ignore the subtle auditory hallucination of an energetic leitmotif. Picking up a little speed despite himself.

“Before anything else can be done, we need to make our case. Are you ready Jazz?”

“This is something straight out of a TV show Prowler. Hell yeah I’m ready.”

Together they would face the music.

———————————————————————

Coda

———

Humanity’s Finest: “Yeah we don’t know why but for some reason these things just fucking hate giant metal people.”

Jazz, being introduced to Cybertronians: “I have a theory.”

1 Breem = 8 minutes

1 Groon = 320 minutes or 5.3 hours

1 cycle = 16 groons or 3.5 days

1 vorn = 50 years

Well how about that. What was started as a four parter evolved into ten.

This’ll be where I’ll leave Jazz and Prowl off for a time. Other stories wait in line.

Thank you to everyone who’s followed along for this and a special thank you to @keferon for laying the groundwork for the story and for @glitchgh0sty’s absolutely amazing fanart of Odds of Survival.

Still crazy to me how much talent and care random folks can put into things to share with one another.

Also huge shoutout to the people who leave comments! You guys are awesome and hearing about all the stuff that sticks out to you or made you go crazy really does help me as a writer! I learn things! Woo!

Thank you all for reading, and I wish for each of you a very high Odds of Survival.

-SSTP

<- First

[asxgard]

Open Secret | one shot

Dr. Frank Langdon x chief resident!fiance!f!reader

Requested

Summary: A patient just won’t take no for an answer — making your relationship with Frank all the more obvious.

[ Masterlist ]

Anon Request: request for Frank and the reader where they are engaged and enjoy the privacy until the patient the reader is consulting on, continuously asks her out and ignores how she says no. Just making the reader uncomfortable

Note: I apologize for how long this took! I hope you like it

Word Count: 1.5k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: foul language, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, patient making reader uncomfortable, reference to past violence against healthcare workers, sexual harassment

not beta read

It had taken Frank a lot of hard work, but he came out on the other side — now an attending in the Pitt. You had been promoted to chief resident, and then came his proposal. Sweet, to the point, after a fancy dinner and a vow of everlasting love. You had, of course, said yes.

The Pitt was known as a gossip mill for a reason, so while you never wanted to keep your relationship a secret, you wanted it private.

Especially to keep as much stress off Frank as possible.

You had seen him through his hardest times, and he had promised you the best after rehab, from there on out. Robby was hesitant and made his caution obvious, but the Pitt ran on as normal.

After busying yourself for most of the morning, you began evaluating the next patient, trying not to ground your teeth in annoyance. You were a pretty woman, but patients flirting with you almost always set you on edge. You had to laugh it off, smile, gesture to the engagement ring on a chain around your neck and try to let them down easy — rinse, repeat whenever necessary.

This patient — a thirty-five year old male with a scruffy beard and a helluva lot of persistence — was only souring your mood further. Frank had been freed from the confines of resident overtime, but you were still expected to pull your fair share, even as chief resident.

“Come on,” he drawled, “I can take you out, relax you real nice.”

His shit-eating grin sent shivers down your spine.

You forced a smile, “I’m sorry, it’s unethical to go out with any patients of mine. And I don’t think my fiancé would be all too thrilled.”

You tried to busy your hands on the computer, going over his history. He had cut himself pretty good on a construction site, and then proceeded to faint, hitting his head on his way down.

“He clearly ain’t doin’ his job! You’re wound tighter than—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Halverton, I’m going to go order your MRI. I’ll be right back.” You were quick to exit the room, throwing a warning glance at Perlah who was coming into the room.

At the charge desk, Frank immediately caught onto your foul mood, as you were typing forcefully like it might calm you.

“What did that keyboard ever do to you?” Frank asked, a smile lilting his voice.

“You know if MRI is backed up?” You asked instead of answering.

“Aren’t they always?”

Your frown deepened.

“Something wrong?”

You let out a long sigh and shrugged, “I can handle it.”

He raised an eyebrow at you but didn’t say anything. You excused yourself to check on a few other patients. You were just wasting time, but why was this patient getting to you? You had certainly dealt with worse. With a huff, you figured to just face your problem head on and move on with it. Once he was stitched, you would have no other reason to see him except to check on him — and surely, you could pass that off to Mel or Whitaker.

“Sugar!” He said as you entered, and you winced.

You reiterated your name to him, repeating your last name twice so perhaps he would catch the hint.

“Aw, your boyfriend not use pet names with you, dollface? You not used to a man’s affection? That’s a damn shame.”

Your jaw tensed, “Fiancé.” You corrected tersely, “Now I don’t talk about any personal matters at work, especially with my patients — so if you could stop, I would appreciate it.”

“Appreciate it enough for a date?”

Your eyes flickered to his chart again, double checking he wasn’t drunk or high. Both negative, so he was just an irritating dick who couldn’t take no for an answer. Had you been at a bar, you would have at least been able to walk away, or leave — but you were getting close to passing him off to Frank or Robby and just be done with it.

“I’m not going to ask again.”

“Feisty! I like it.” He chuckled before wincing, looking back down at the gash along his arm. “Maybe you can kiss it and make it all better? Sure would love that mouth—”

“Mr. Halverton, we need to get you stitched up.” You said, cutting him off, “Let me go get that set up for you.”

While Mel was capable, Whitaker made more sense — plus he was less likely to be flirted with. You could supervise and hopefully that would force the man to shut up.

As always, Whitaker was happy to help — especially when you offered to get him a muffin afterwards. He had been confused by the offering until he stepped into the room.

“Oh, sugar, he ain’t gonna do — I want you.”

Your jaw locked into place and Whitaker looked back at you with wide eyes.

“Mr. Halverton—”

“Ted, please.”

“Mr. Halverton, this is a teaching hospital and Dr. Whitaker is a very capable resident.”

Mr. Halverton’s eyes flickered between you, then he raised a brow. “And I can refuse. I want to be seen by someone who’s not a resident.” He smirked like he had won, “Know you want to get your hands on me, come on.”

A dangerous smile curled on your lips, “Well, if that’s what you want, then I will be sure to do that for you. Whitaker, come with me. I’ll be right back, Mr. Halverton.”

You escorted Whitaker out of the room, eyes scanning for Robby.

“That guy’s a real piece of work.” Whitaker said, glancing back to the room.

“You get used to it.” You told him, leaning on the charge desk.

Whitaker frowned, “You shouldn’t have to.”

You let out a long sigh, “You’re right, but we still do. Can you go find a nurse for me? I’m going to get Robby.”

Whitaker raised a brow in question.

You smirked, “I’m still a resident.”

His eyes lit up at the revelation, smiling to himself. He darted off to find a nurse.

Frank slid beside you, “Looking for someone?”

“Have you seen Robby?”

“Trauma-1. Can I help with something?”

You pursed your lips, “You’re not going to like him.”

He raised an eyebrow and you drank in his handsome features. His smile and blue eyes always seemed to steady you, and the deep breath you took felt like you had finally gotten some air.

“Patient wants someone who isn’t a resident.” You explained with a shrug. “Just needs some stitches and an MRI.”

Frank hummed beside you, “I’m free for a few minutes, want me to take a look?”

You side-eyed him, “You’re really not going to like him.”

“Puh-lease, I could do stitches in my sleep.”

“Alrighty then, Central-5.”

Frank disappeared into the room with Princess trailing behind him with a suture kit. You glanced back up at the board, looking for something on the other end of the Pitt. You made small talk with Dana as you assessed who would be your next patient.

“Give a guy a little warning next time.”

You jumped, startled by Frank suddenly beside you.

“I told you that you wouldn’t like him.”

Frank narrowed his eyes at you. “He kept demanding to see you and I informed him you were a resident — our best resident, but still — and I was going to be handling his case. He was pissy and uncooperative after that. Said he needed your number because I quote, ‘her boyfriend clearly isn’t satisfying her’. Boyfriend.” Frank’s lips set into a deep frown at the last part.

“Why did you think I wanted Robby for a cut-and-dry suture?”

With a frown, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Are you pouting?”

“No! Just…”

“He was being a pig, Frank. Every time I steered him away from flirting with me, he rounded back with even more persistence and gross comments. Even after I reminded him about the morals of going out with a patient, having a fiancé and being generally uninterested. Several times.”

“You could’ve come to me sooner.” He said. “Could’ve gotten Ahmad to stand in there with you.”

“I was uncomfortable, Frank, not in danger.”

“You know things can escalate from 0 to 100 around here. You deserve to be safe and not be harassed.”

You sighed, remembering all the times it had, “Yeah, I know.”

He rubbed his hands along your arms with a sincere smile, “Gotta ask for help if you need it, sweetheart.”

“Not sure asking my fiancé to come in to fend off guys flirting with me will really deescalate the situation.”

He scoffed, “I’ll defend your honor every day of the week. As your attending…and maybe a bit as your fiancé.”

You chuckled, “Did you give him a piece of your mind, then?”

A sly smirk stretched across Frank’s lips and that was answer enough.

“He wasn’t so subtle.” Perlah said, dropping off a chart.

“So I suppose our engagement will be the shot heard ‘round the world.”

“Engaged? Thought you were only dating, congratulations!” Princess said, coming to stand next to Perlah, who undoubtably had gossiped about Frank’s interaction with Mr. Halverton.

For as much as an open secret you regarded your relationship, Perlah’s voice carrying across the Pitt made it much more open and not so secret.

And honestly? You were okay with that.

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged @pastelbunnelby @jetjuliette @that-one-fangirl69 @moonlightmvrvel @andabuttonnose @boldlyherdream @cosmosnkaz @brnesblogposts @concentratedconcrete @satanxklaus @gardeniarose13 @qardasngan @kmc1989 @deeninadream @casualfansoul

All: @nixandtonic @alexxavicry

I’m really struggling to get through these requests huh lol most of my hyperfixation has switched to the mcu whoops

[mayakern]

I honestly don’t know how to write this; I have spent all week attempting to figure out what to say.

Last Monday I was informed by our factory that our merchandiser and direct point of contact with the factory passed away unexpectedly two weeks ago. She was someone who I have spent a great deal of time speaking to ever since we switched factories two years ago. She helped us realize designs for new products, sent us samples of garments extremely quickly and kept track of all our orders. She went to bat for us if something went wrong with our print shop or if I was unhappy with how a garment pattern was interpreted by their team. As their first American client and a brand that focuses on size inclusion, something that is not typical of their other clients, she handled a lot of crazy requests from us without blinking and she was dedicated to ensuring that both us and our customers were happy. We talked nearly every day, and though it was work related she was one of the kindest people I have had the pleasure interacting with daily.

She was beyond dedicated to her work and to working with us. Turkey has an 11-hour time difference from me in California, which means when she was emailing me at 2pm in the afternoon it was 1am there. You can sure bet that I extended her the same courtesy and tried my best to answer her emails at night too, even when I would rather just be sleeping.

It was also clear just how much she loved her job, and now much she loved you guys. She had been silently watching our social media since we first started working with them. She got just as excited as we did on launch days and would often email me unprompted about how she was glad people were leaving such positive comments and reviews. She read your feedback when no one ever asked her to do that or even expected it of her. She did it because she really, really cared.

Even though she was miles away and we never met in person, she was like a coworker to me and the loss of her is like losing someone on our team.

The Maya Kern team, as a whole, has been dealing with a lot lately. I personally just moved (which took far longer than we expected) and Maya and Devin are gearing up to move back to Minneapolis pretty soon. With the loss of our merchandizer, it has taken the wind out of my sails a little bit. I was trying to push through, even though I am exhausted, and carry out the photo shoot for our new products this weekend, but it has become clear that my body just can’t handle it. My arthritis has finally told me to stop moving, so unfortunately, we are going to have to reschedule the shoot for later on.

We are doing everything we can to make sure our next product drop on the 21st still happens. But as of right now, due to this sudden loss, the garments haven’t even shipped from the factory yet and I am not optimistic that they will clear customs and get checked into the fulfillment center in time for the launch. This means the drop is likely going to be pushed back to December 5th and instead of a full photo shoot, we will probably have to settle for taking quick photos of everyone at home, and likely with our phones. 

We work really hard to deliver not just garments we believe in, but also pictures of said garments on bodies that our customers can relate to, and unfortunately I just do not think that is possible this time. As always, we really appreciate your patience and understanding during what has been a very difficult time for us.

Ash

Chief Operations Officer

[olderwomenenthusiast]

drinks, kisses & the morning after (emily prentiss)

PAIRING: emily prentis & fem reader DESCRIPTION: the tension between emily and you finally snaps CAUTION: alcohol use, fingering, oral, swearing WORD COUNT: 2.5K

The case had been a brutal one, days of chasing a killer through dead ends and red herrings, long hours of tension thick enough to suffocate, and crime scenes that left an ache in your chest that wouldn’t fade, no matter how many times you told yourself you’d done your best.

But it was over now.

The unsub was in custody, the families had their answers and the team was finally allowed to breathe again.

So when Morgan threw an arm around your shoulder and declared, "We’re drinking tonight, no excuses," no one argued. Why would we, it'd be foolish.

The bar was a dimly lit place, a little rough around the edges but comfortable, familiar; somewhere you and the team had found yourselves more times than you could count after cases like these. A place to shake off the ghosts, even if just for a little while.

Garcia had claimed the largest booth, already waving over the bartender as you all slid in. "Drinks are on me tonight, my beautiful crime-fighting warriors," she announced, her red lips curving into a grin.

"You mean drinks are on the FBI’s budget," Rossi teased, settling in beside her with an amused smirk.

"Tomato, to-mah-to," Garcia said, waving a dismissive hand.

Hotch, who had originally looked as though he might slip away and retreat to his hotel room, surprised everyone by staying. He nursed a bourbon, sitting back in his seat with the faintest ghost of a smile as he listened to the team banter. The case had drained him too, you could see it in the set of his shoulders, the weight he carried that no amount of whiskey could shake.

Morgan ordered a round of shots, setting one in front of each of you with a challenging look.

"Come on, no backing out now," he said, nudging Prentiss with his elbow. "Even you, Hotch."

The unit chief gave him a dry look, but to everyone’s surprise, he downed the shot in one smooth motion, setting the glass back on the table with a quiet thunk.

Garcia gasped dramatically. "Who are you, and what have you done with Aaron Hotchner?"

That earned a chuckle from Rossi, who clinked his glass against Hotch’s.

The conversation drifted from the case to lighter topics: Rossi sharing a ridiculous story from one of his early years at the Bureau, Garcia recounting a disastrous first date with a man who thought quoting The Godfather in a bad Italian accent was peak romance.

You laughed, the tension in your chest finally starting to loosen.

And then there was Emily.

She had been sitting beside you, her thigh pressing against yours, her presence a force even in a room full of people. The bar’s warm lighting cast a golden hue across her skin, making the sharp angles of her face softer. But her eyes, dark and smoldering beneath the sweep of her lashes, were anything but soft.

There was something in the way she looked at you tonight. Something that had nothing to do with the case, nothing to do with the whiskey. Something that sent heat curling in your stomach.

"Another round?" she asked, her voice low, teasing.

"Trying to get me drunk, Prentiss?" you shot back, raising a brow.

Her lips quirked into a smirk. "Do I need to?"

Your breath caught.

Morgan, oblivious - or maybe just enjoying the show - grinned and clapped you both on the back. "Oh, it is definitely happening tonight."

"Shut up, Derek," you muttered, feeling the warmth creep up your neck.

Emily just laughed, the sound smooth and rich like the whiskey burning its way through your veins.

The drinks kept coming, the conversation blurring into a haze of warmth, laughter, and the constant awareness of Emily beside you. The way her fingers brushed against your thigh, the way she leaned in just a little too close when she spoke, the way her lips lingered on the rim of her glass before curling into something wicked.

God, she was going to be your undoing.

By the time the team started to dispers, Hotch calling it a night, Rossi tipping his glass in farewell; you and Emily were locked in a stare that neither of you seemed willing to break.

Garcia sighed dramatically as she stood. "Well, my loves, it has been a pleasure, but some of us have cats waiting at home."

Morgan stretched, his grin knowing. "Yeah, and some of us don’t need to stick around for whatever this" he gestured between you and Emily, "is about to turn into."

Your stomach flipped, but you didn’t look away from her. You couldn't bring yoursel to.

The team left. The bar quieted. And still, neither of you moved.

Until Emily leaned in, her lips a whisper against your ear.

"You keep looking at me like that," she murmured, "and I’m going to have to do something about it."

This time, you didn’t stop her.

Her sharp inhale was all the encouragement you needed before her mouth crashed against yours, her hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against her. The music, the bar, all faded into the background. There was only the heat of her body, the press of her lips, the way she tasted like whiskey and something distinctlyEmily.

By the time you stumbled through the hotel door, both of you were breathless, your hands frantic, greedy.

Emily pushed you up against the wall, her lips trailing down your jaw, her teeth scraping along your neck. You gasped as she bit down, hard enough to make you arch against her.

"Mine," she murmured against your throat, her voice rough with possession.

The word sent a shudder through you, a deep pulse of want settling between your legs. God, you needed her. Needed her to claim you, to leave her mark, to remind you who you belonged to tonight. And maybe more than just tonight.

Emily's hands were everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding beneath the hem of your dress, fingers trailing over your thighs. She pressed her knee between your legs, applying just enough pressure to make you whimper. Your mind was spinning, anticipation tightening every nerve in your body.

"You sound so pretty when you do that," Emily purred, dragging her tongue along the shell of your ear causing you to shiver under her touch.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, desperate to feel more of her, to strip away every item of clothing between you. She chuckled, a low, sinful sound, before reaching back and yanking the fabric over her head in one fluid motion. You bit your lip but before you could react, she was on you again, kissing you hard, pushing you toward the bed. You barely had time to catch your breath before you landed on your back, Emily following, straddling you, her thighs bracketing yours.

Her lips curled into a smirk as she slid down your body, hands dragging your dress up, exposing you to her gaze. Her fingers traced lazy circles along your inner thigh, teasing you, never quite touching where you needed her most. The teasing was maddening, your body aching for her touch, for relief.

"Emily," you gasped, squirming beneath her.

"Patience," she murmured, her voice like silk. "I want to take my time with you."

And then finally, her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, sliding through the wetness pooling between your thighs.

A sharp, loud cry escaped your lips as she circled your clit, slow and deliberate, drawing achingly patterns. Your hips bucked, desperate for more, but she only hummed in satisfaction, keeping the pace torturously slow. Every movement sent fire coursing through your veins, your thoughts dissolving into pure need.

"You're soaking for me," she murmured, voice thick with desire. "Look at you, falling apart already."

Emily's words sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. You were burning - burning from the inside out, from the way her fingers worked you open, the way her breath ghosted over your skin. You felt like you were drowning in her, losing yourself to her completely.

She added more pressure, drawing tighter, faster circles, her other hand sliding up to palm your breast, rolling your nipple between her fingers. The combination sent you spiraling, your back arching, hands fisting into the sheets. Every touch was electric, your body strung tight like a bow, ready to snap.

"Emily, please," you gasped, your voice breaking on the last syllable.

She grinned against your skin. "That's my girl."

And then, with one final stroke, she pushed two fingers inside you, stretching you, filling you, sending pleasure crashing over you like tidal waves.

You shattered beneath her, a broken moan spilling from your lips as you came, your body trembling, your mind blank with bliss. The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure consuming, leaving you breathless and utterly undone.

Emily didn’t stop, at least not right away. She worked you through it, her fingers slowing, her lips pressing reverent kisses against your skin. Only when the tremors subsided did she finally pull back, her dark eyes meeting yours, something softer hidden beneath the hunger.

But you weren't done. It was your turn.

Flipping Emily onto her back, you moved between her thighs, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her stomach, enjoying the way her muscles tensed beneath your tongue. You nipped at her hip bone, making her hiss, before finally dragging her panties down her legs and tossing them aside.

"Look at you," you murmured, spreading her open with your fingers, watching the way she glistened in the dim light. "So fucking gorgeous."

She let out a shuddering breath, her hands threading into your hair. "Don't tease. Please.."

You smirked, but you obeyed, dipping your head and licking a broad stripe up her slit, moaning at the taste of her. She was intoxicating, her arousal coating your tongue, making you desperate to pull every last sound from her lips. She sounded so beautiful, and you felt a sense of pride knowing you were the one causing her to make those sounds.

Emily's hips jerked, her fingers tightening in your hair, urging you closer, needing more. You gave her what she wanted. Of course you did.

You flicked your tongue against her clit before sucking it between your lips, reveling in the way she gasped, her thighs trembling on either side of your head. Your fingers dug into her hips, holding her still as you devoured her, your tongue circling, teasing, before plunging inside her, fucking her with slow, deliberate strokes.

Emily's moans grew desperate, her breathing became ragged, and her body writhed beneath you. The way she responded to you, the way she came undone, made you feel powerful, made you crave more.

"Oh, fuck, yes!" Her voice broke, her whole body tensing, her breath stuttering as she teetered on the edge.

You slid two fingers inside her, curling them just right, and that was all it took, Emily shattered beneath you, her body convulsing, her thighs clamping around your head as she came hard, her moans spilling into the air unrestrained.

You didn’t stop until she was trembling, until she was gasping for breath, her body utterly spent. Only then did you pull away, pressing one last lingering kiss against her inner thigh before crawling back up her body, capturing her lips in a deep, satisfied kiss.

She tasted like you, kind of like sin and satisfaction, and when she pulled back, her dark eyes were still heavy with hunger.

"You're insatiable," she murmured, a lazy smirk tugging at her lips.

You grinned, rolling your hips against hers. "You love it."

Her hands slid up your back, nails dragging just enough to make you shiver. "Damn right, I do."

And then she was flipping you over again, pinning you beneath her, promising another long, breathless round.

The morning after, you woke in tangled sheets, Emily's body curled against yours. Her arm was draped over your waist, her steady breathing tickling your neck. You watched her for a moment, memorizing the way the soft morning light painted her skin, the way her dark lashes fluttered slightly as she began to wake. The night had been more than just desire, it had been something deeper, something unspoken. At least you hoped it was.

When she finally stirred, her dark eyes met yours, a small, sleepy smile playing on her lips. "Morning."

"Morning," you murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder. "So... last night wasn’t just a mistake, right?"

You smirked, grateful you weren't the only one feeling this way. "I’d say calling it a mistake is the last thing on my mind."

Emily chuckled, her fingers tracing absent patterns on your skin. "Good. Because I’d like to see where this goes. If you do."

You reached for her hand, lacing your fingers together. "I do."

The moment felt intimate, safe - until the door suddenly burst open.

"Rise and shine, my lovely besties!" Garcia’s voice rang out, far too loud for this hour.

JJ was right behind her, but she stopped dead in her tracks, eyes widening as she took in the unmistakable scene. "Oh my God."

You barely had time to scramble for the sheets, tugging them up to cover you and Emily as best as possible. Emily let out a low groan, burying her face in your shoulder. "Kill me now."

"Oh. My. God." Garcia clapped her hands together like a kid on Christmas morning. "I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT!" She spun on her heel, already reaching for her phone. "I have to tell the team! I called this! I called this weeks ago!"

"Penelope, if you send so much as one text, I swear..." Emily started, but the threat only made Garcia squeal in delight.

"Oh, Emily, Emily, Emily. You wound me. As if I would betray your trust like that," she said, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. "But I will be telling them in person the second we leave this room."

JJ smirked, arms crossed. "So... breakfast? Or should we give you two a little more time to ‘talk’?"

Emily groaned again, pulling the sheets over both your heads. "Go away."

"Absolutely not," Garcia chirped. "We have so much to discuss! How did this happen? When did this happen? And most importantly, how scandalous was it? Give me details."

You peeked out from under the covers, half-laughing, half-exasperated. "Penelope, it’s too early for this."

"Is it? Or am I just the best friend you could ever ask for?" she countered, grinning. "Now, do you two need extra time, or should I expect you both fully dressed and glowing in twenty minutes?"

Emily sighed dramatically. "Fine. Give us twenty minutes."

Garcia’s face lit up. "Yes! Best morning ever. Don’t keep me waiting, lovebirds!"

With that, she dragged JJ out of the room, the latter still shaking her head in amusement. As the door clicked shut, you turned to Emily, laughter bubbling up between you.

"So, that happened," you said.

Emily groaned again, flopping back against the pillows. "I am never going to hear the end of this."

You grinned, leaning over to press a soft kiss to her lips. "Maybe not. But at least we’re in this together."

She smiled against your mouth. "Yeah. We are."

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

[2stepadmiral]

After the reconstruction of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, Han Solo's constant presence at the Temple begins to confuse the younger knights and apprentices.

At first, it makes some degree of sense. He usually shows up with Leia or one of his kids, and he is well-known as a friend and ally of the Order, so it makes sense for him to eat meals with Jaina, or attend meetings with the Masters, or assist Corran Horn in overseeing pilot training, or walk little Ben around the Stealth-X hangar. Plus, Lando Calrissian, Wedge Antilles, Booster Terrik, and Talon Karrde, also prominent allies and friends, are frequent visitors as well, so it makes sense.

But one day, some of the apprentices start noticing that Han is around a little bit more often than a non-member really should be. Maybe its been a while since he came for a briefing or training exercise, and maybe his reasons to visit lately have become a little too casual. Now, he's showing up alone just to try out the flight simulators new Chiss clawcraft program, or because it's nerf sausage day in the cafeteria, and more often than not, its on days where his kids are off on missions and Luke and Mara are tied up in council business.

It reaches a whole new level during a pilot exercise led by Corran, Kyp, and Jaina, when one of the apprentices ask who's the best pilot they know, and three of the Order's premiere pilots, two of whom are Rogue Squadron veterans and all three of whom spent most of the Yuuzhan Vong war in a cockpit, unanimously agree on Han Solo.

Then, two months later, when the Temple's security system is being updated and Master Kyle Katarn gives strict orders that no one is to enter or exit the temple until the update is completed, Han casually walks right up to the two senior apprentices guarding the temple entrance. When told that there's a security lockdown due to system updates, Han doesn't "want to hear about security updates, I want to know where my wife is. It's our wedding anniversary and I'm taking her someplace nice in the Falcon, now tell me where she is so we can get going." After several minutes of arguing, a visibly frustrated Han decides to just go get her himself, and when one of the apprentices tries to stop him, Han somehow disarms him of his lightsaber and throws it outside of his telekinetic range, leaving him chasing after his weapon and his partner following Han, trying to talk him into stopping. All while Jaden Korr is watching, shaking his head, and mouthing, "You'll be sorry."

Han quickly finds Jedi Knight and former New Republic Chief of Staff, and SHOCKS the two apprentices with his absolute immunity to her infamous and feared anger before sweet talking the lifelong diplomat into leaving the temple in the middle of the lockdown for an anniversary escapade. Then, he casually walks out of the Jedi Temple in the middle of a security lockdown like it's kriffing nothing with one of the most prominent Knights in the Order. And when the two apprentices finally get a hold of Master Katarn to advise that Han Solo just infiltrated the Temple and absconded with Jedi Organa-Solo, his reaction is something like "<pause> and you idiots actually tried to stop him?" "Well, yes, Master, you said no one comes in or out." "<pause> Yes, but what in the Sithspit made you think that you should try to stop Han Solo from getting to his wife on their anniversary?"

A month after that, he walks up to the High Council chambers right in the middle of a serious meeting. The apprentices standing watch outside (one of the same from the security incident) assume that he's been summoned to answer to the rumors that he started hosting a weekly Sabaac tournament in one of the temple classrooms (the rumor is completely true, just last week Kenth Hamner nearly ragequit after Han cleaned him out for the fifth consecutive week) and assure him that the Masters will call him when they're ready for him. Han ignores this and walks right in, right as the masters are in the middle of a discussion about potential Dark Jedi sightings on Corellia, to demand that Mara make good on all the lost bets she owes from the previous few Sabaac nights. After several minutes heated discussion (the Dark Jedi are almost forgotten at this point), the entire council comes out, and Master Cilghal informs the incredulous apprentices that Mara owes Han so many lunches from the Sabaac nights that it was agreed that she would just treat the entire council, as well as Han, to clear her tab. Mara is semi-sternly lecturing Han about interrupting council meetings for something so trivial, while Han is good-naturedly wondering if she's been deliberately scheduling meetings at lunchtime to avoid paying up, causing her to go curiously quiet (the apprentices are FLOORED that the infamously terrifying Mara Jade Skywalker isn't plugging him full of laser bolts for this whole interaction).

As the last one to leave, Luke stops to ask the apprentices if they're okay, having sensed their immense confusion.

"Well, Grand Master, it's just... it seems like Captain Solo gets away with whatever he wants. It's like the rules don't apply to him, and some of us have been wondering..." she gulps before continuing. "If it's maybe possible that Captain Solo is secretly not only a Jedi, but more powerful than you, and secretly the real Grand Master of the Order."

Grand Master Luke Skywalker, completely unable to resist this particular urge, rubs his chin thoughtfully, pretends to carefully consider the question for a moment, and then, with a small grin, responds: "That's a interesting question, Apprentice. Perhaps he is," before walking away, grinning like mad, while the apprentices stare incredulously at his back.

[pathologicalreid]

heyyyy how ruu

english is not my first language so i hope you can understand this u.u

this idea has been consuming my brain for days, sooo basically i was thinking about bau fem reader and reid doing undercover work (idk) and when they see the unsub, reader's first thought is to kiss reid so the unsub can't recognize them (and he wouldnt waste time in 2 ppl kissing???), then when reader sees the unsub going towards the exit even though she doesnt want to she breaks the kiss and everything is awkward but in a cute way??? yea idk if this makes sense feel free to change anything or to not do it at all :]

in plain sight | S.R.

your quick thinking (in an attempt to protect him) leads to a thankful spencer

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: reader is explicitly referred to as a woman. general cm violence. making out (for the plot). haphazardly proofread. word count: 1.19k a/n: no worries anon, i understood this perfectly! thank you so much for requesting!

Your firearm was digging into your hip as you leaned up against the wall of the bar. You were on high alert as you looked around the building, scanning the faces of people who walked by.

“L/N, Reid, anything?” Hotch called into the radios. The team was across the street in a surveillance van.

Quickly, your eyes met Spencer’s, “No sign of the suspect.” Silently, you hoped that Hotch would pull you from the bar and let you go back to the hotel for the night, but you knew that wasn’t the way your unit chief played the game.

You were more or less trapped inside a college bar, your shoes were sticking to the old wooden floor, and because you and Spencer were the youngest members of the team, you were voluntold to go undercover.

Reid had never looked more out of place, but he was twelve when he started college, so you supposed he had never really been in a dive bar like this one before. “Hey,” you said softly, “Are you alright?” You knew he had a thing about germs, and if you were bothered by the sticky floors, you couldn’t imagine how he was feeling.

“I’m sure this comes as a surprise, but this,” he gestured to the partying college kids around you, “isn’t really my scene.”

A small laugh bubbled up from your throat, “Oh, no. I never would’ve guessed,” you played along with his sarcasm. “I’m afraid my shoes are going to come off when I try to walk,” you admitted.

He smiled slightly, “I’m trying not to think about it.”

Tentatively, you moved a little closer to him so you wouldn’t have to shout over the music. “I thought the UnSub hunted around ten?” You questioned. All of the bodies were usually found at midnight with lividity just barely beginning to show, meaning the victims were picked at ten, killed by eleven, and found at midnight.

They were calling him the Countdown Killer because he kept on such a tight schedule. “He should be,” Spencer answered, glancing down at the watch on his wrist.

You looked around the bar, the both of you had your backs to a wall, so you weren’t exposed on that side.

“Remember, if you spot him, do not engage,” Hotch ordered through your radios. You and Reid were simply there to find him, the rest of the team would handle the chase. “He’s likely been watching the news, so he may recognize your faces – don’t let him.”

While you weren’t entirely sure how you were supposed to hide your face from the suspect without seeming suspicious, you confirmed the plan with Hotch anyway.

 A gleam of blonde caught your eye, narrowing your eyes, you focused on the figure. “Spencer,” you swatted at his hand, “two o’clock.”

Discreetly, Spencer’s gaze flickered over in the direction you had suggested. “Turn around,” Spencer said, “Don’t let him see your face.”

You turned around so that you were facing Spencer, looking away from the suspect. “What about your face?” You asked, surely the both of you staring at the brick wall would seem suspicious.

“He’s killing women. I don’t want him to notice you,” he responded, momentarily looking past you and at the suspect.

Surprised, you furrowed your brows at Reid’s statement, by having you face him, he was trying to protect you. You turned your face into your shoulder, “Suspect is in the bar,” you whispered into your mic.

There was recognition from the rest of the team before it went quiet again. “He’s approaching us,” Spencer said, faint alarm springing onto his features. He wasn’t talking into the radio; he was letting you know.

Spencer might’ve been outside of the victimology, but you couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him if the suspect recognized him.

Instinctively, you leaned up on your tiptoes and pressed your lips against his. You were kissing Spencer.

At first, he was surprised, but his hands quickly found a home on your waist as he kissed you back. Your lips worked gently on his as he eased his mouth open, deepening the kiss. Abruptly, Spencer dragged you closer to him by the waist. The sudden movement caused your eyes to flutter open.

In your periphery, you could see the dangerous blonde walking away. He must’ve walked right past you, and Spencer had pulled you away from him. You let your eyes fall shut again.

You reached up to sling your arms over his shoulders as he experimentally slipped his tongue into your mouth. Your heart raced as you were fully making out with Spencer in the college bar.

Reluctantly, you separated yourself from Spencer, “Is he gone?” You whispered, peering up at him through your eyelashes.

Spencer nodded, swallowing thickly. His cheeks were tinted pink, and you were sure you were flushed as well.

You pressed your mic button, not taking your eyes off Spencer’s, “Suspect’s exiting out the rear door,” you notified the team. Suddenly, your job was done, and you became conscious of Spencer’s hands where they still remained on your waist.

Hotch asked you to report to the van, and you took Spencer’s hand and led him out of the bar. The cool night air calmed your rushing blood. “Thank you for that,” he said from behind you as you halted to look for passing cars.

You spun on your heel to look at him, “Did you just thank me for kissing you?”

“I thanked you for distracting the suspect, so he didn’t recognize me,” Spencer corrected, squeezing your hand.

Instinctively, you dropped his hand, “Right, me and my quick thinking.” There was not a single clear thought in your head. You started crossing the street as Spencer called your name, obviously confused.

You yanked your earbud out while the rest of the team was rambling on about the takedown over the comms. “What just happened?” Spencer asked.

“We made out in a bar, and you thanked me for it,” you answered stiffly, leaning your back against the white van. “So, you’re welcome,” you said. Really, you didn’t know what you wanted from him, and you knew that Reid’s experience with women was limited at best.

Surprisingly, Spencer rested a hand on either side of your head and leaned intoxicatingly close to you, “Did you want me to say something else to you?”

You looked up at him, you weren’t sure you had ever noticed the green flecks in his eyes, “I had a few ideas, yes.”

“Here was my other option,” he told you, dropping his head so that your lips met once again. You gasped into his mouth in surprise. Hesitantly, you placed one hand on the side of his neck and the other in his hair. He used both of his hands to cup your face, kissing you with less urgency than you had in the bar as if you had all of the time in the world.

The both of you jumped when the passenger side door to the van swung open and Emily poked her head out, “You know we can see you in the side mirrors, right?”

[heli-writes]

A dragon's heart, part 17.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: explicit description of torture

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Note: Please applause our first translator entering the scene! Can you guess who it is? Spoiler: It's not our favourite broccoli!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Alright, you boot-licking weak-ass excuse of a warrior, I ask you one more time: What orders were given to you by your king? Answer or your comrades will suffer even worse”

When the Todoroki soldier doesn't answer, Katsuki turns the knife that is already stuck in the man's leg. The man howls and fights against the restraints that bind him to the chair he's sitting on. When the pain ebbs away, the soldier spits blood at Katsuki's feet. He looks up at the chief with anger and determination behind his eyes.

“Fuck you. I not tell you everything. With honour, we die.”

Katsuki gives him a long, hard stare. Then a cruel smile spreads on his face. They've been torturing the Todoroki prisoners for a couple of hours now. They picked one by one, leaving the remaining stewing in fear for when they come for them. This one is the last one.

So far, they weren't very lucky. The four others that were brought in before this one didn't speak a word of Drakona and could only twitch in pain at the knives of their captors.

“Ah, so he can speak. Seems like it's your lucky day, bastard. Means that we two get to spend more time with each other.”, Katsuki grins at the man.

The man looks at him with exhausted eyes but the deep circles under his eyes don't hide the hatred in them.

“Do worst”, the man spits back and Katsuki only chuckles.

A good half hour later, Katsuki didn't get anything useful out of the man. Mainly because the man's hard to break. Most of the time he only spits out insults in very broken Drakona. Katsuki wonders if the information the man can give them will be of any worth considering how hard he is to understand.

Katsuki washes off the blood on his hands in front of his tent before entering his shared living space with y/n. There is no need for his mate to see that. The tent lies empty and silent upon his arrival. Katsuki frowns upon y/n's absence. He left her this morning munching on some bread before taking off to take care of the prisoners.

Did she run away again?, Katsuki ponders, I didn't give her any reason to be cross with me today, I think.

An unease settles over him, like always when y/n is up to something he doesn't know about. Of course, there is no harm in y/n wandering about the settlement and socializing with the other tribe members, but it's just... unexpected. Most of the other women don't, or at least only to a minimal degree. Furthermore, Katsuki's always on edge thinking that y/n might change her mind and take flight.

Katsuki turns on his heels and stomps through the village of tents with an air of authority. He doesn't want to ask any of his men if they've seen his mate. Probably, nobody would care but Katsuki thinks they might assume that he has no control over his own mate.

“Hey, Kats, where you off to?”, a voice calls out to him.

Katsuki was so deep in thought that he didn't notice that he was passing by Kirishima's tent. For a moment, he hesitates.

“Just lookin' for y/n.”, he tries to answer casually.

Kirishima laughs. “Always the attentive mate, eh?”, he teases and Katsuki feels the tips of his ear burning.

“I think I've seen her walking towards old woman Tomoko with a bunch of clothes. Maybe try your luck there.”, Kirishima tells him and Katsuki gives him a grateful nod.

Katsuki walks over to the old woman's tent and makes himself noticeable before walking in.

Y/n is standing in the middle of the room in one of her new dresses. Old woman Tomoko crouches next to her and cuts off the fabric at y/n's feet.

“Chief Bakugou.”, Tomoko greets her leader, “Have you come to check my progress with your mate's clothes?”

Katsuki does not know what she's talking about but doesn't want to look clueless in front of her, so he only agrees.

The woman stands up and holds up another dress. It is a thinner dress in a pink hue.

“We've already altered this one. Made is shorter and a bit firmer around the hips. Told her she might not want it firmer considering she might be with child when next summer comes, but she was very firm on this. Your mate certainly has her own head, don't you think?”, Tomoko chats away. Katsuki can only agree with her on that last part.

“Anyways, right now we're altering this one.”, Tomoko continues, “It's more suitable for the weather in the mountains, at least for her kind, I suppose. Although I've got to say I find all these dresses kind of ridiculous, don't you think? The fabric's so heavy, the skirt so long and even her arms aren't free. How can anybody move in clothes like these?”

Katsuki hums in agreement. “Don't know, but all the kingdom women wear clothes like this.”, he offers an explanation. Tomoko nods.

“Sure, sure, you're right. Then again, these women probably don't need to move much, don't they? The ones you brought at least don't seem to leave their tents very much.”, Tomoko points out.

“I guess so.”, Katsuki only answers. He doesn't feel like explaining to the old woman that that probably has different reasons.

“Well, I'm glad y/n's different. Poor thing doesn't understand a single word, but at least she's a bit more outgoing than the others, isn't she? Some may say she's a bit slow in the head, but I think she's a breath of fresh air around here.”, the old woman continues to chatter.

Katsuki's expression immediately darkens. “Who said that?”, he immediately wants to know. The old woman stops mid-movement sensing she probably shouldn't have mentioned that in front of the chief.

“Oh, you know, how people are...”, Tomoko tries to play it off, “It's just she's so slow at picking up our language so people assume she's not..., you know, so bright. But then again, it's hard to learn a language without a teacher and she's not a child anymore. Children are so much quicker at picking up these things. Anyhow, it's a pity I never learned the kingdom's language. You know, I had an aunt who was a half-blood and she spoke it fluently. Her mother came from...”

While Tomoko drifts off in a long explanation about her family's history, Katsuki's ears are still rushing with blood. Thinking about how members of his tribe say that y/n is mentally challenged does not sit right with him. Suddenly, there's a tuck at his hand. Y/n walked up to him and demands his attention. She presents him with a woven bracelet.

“Oh, yes, that. She made that out of fabric I cut off her dress. I wondered what that was about. It's quite pretty, isn't it? Your woman is quite resourceful, I have to say.”, Tomoko explains.

Carefully, y/n slips the bracelet over his right hand while Tomoko continues to explain the various things one can make with leftover fabric. Katsuki's head feels like it's about to explode. He forgot how much the old woman liked to talk. Y/n smiles up at him. Katsuki pinches her cheek in appreciation.

“Alright, old woman, I've got to get back to work. Make sure the dresses are altered the way she wants it.”, Katsuki interrupts Tomoko's torrent of words. The old woman abruptly stops her chattering and bows her head respectfully.

“Of course, chief, they'll be done by tonight.”, she tells him. Katsuki squeezes y/n's hand and turns to leave. He doesn't see the look of disappointment on y/n's face. She hoped that he would stay longer.

~*~*~*~

Katsuki lets the Todoroki soldier stew for the rest of the days. He's given a minimum of water. The knife in his leg is taken out and the wound is covered so that it doesn't get infected. After all, he shouldn't die on them that quickly.

He decides to visit the man before dinner. Maybe the prospects of food will make him talk. He enters the tent with a plate of hot stew and a slice of bread.

“Hungry?”, he asks while sitting down in front of the soldiers. The man stares right ahead.

Katsuki takes a spoonful of stew and shoves it inside his mouth.

“Ya' sure you don't want any?”, he asks challenging but the man doesn't answer him.

“How many days since you've last eaten? Two? Three? You must be starving.”, Katsuki points out.

The man grinds his teeth. “Not want the poison.”, the soldier bites out. Katsuki clicks his tongue.

“Poison? Buddy, we keepin' you alive. Be grateful, ya friends ain't gettin' any.”, he tells him. A mean grin spreads on the soldier's face.

“Sorry, mean I will not eat shit.”, he tells Katsuki. Katsuki grinds his teeth.

“Oh, sorry our food ain't good enough for the mighty soldier. Then again, maybe I should feed you like the pig you are.”, he replies and empties the hot content of the bowl into the man's crotch. The man howls in pain.

“Fuck you.”, the man grits out. “Ya, ye keep sayin' that. How's that workin' out for ya?”, Katsuki smirks.

“Now, I was nice to ya' but seems like ya' can't appreciate that. Maybe I should go back to doin' things the traditional way.”, he tells him and rams his thumb into the wound on his leg. The soldier screams out in pain.

“Katsuki!”

Katsuki whips around at the sound of the shocked voice behind him. Y/n's standing at the entrance of the tent looking white in the face. Slowly, Katsuki takes his hand off the man and turns around to her fully.

“What the hell are you doing?”, y/n demands to know. Katsuki assumes she wants an explanation, but someone else answers for him.

“What does it look like, honey? He's torturing me.”, the soldier says and lets out a croaked laugh.

Y/n stares at the soldier wide-eyed. For a moment, Katsuki is unable to move. Y/n storms past him, but Katsuki manages to catch her arm. However she twists towards the soldier on the chair.

“What do you mean? What's going on here?”, y/n asks the soldier. It's only then that Katsuki understands that they're speaking the same language. Of course they do, he curses internally.

“Well, you see honey, this lovely bastard over there...”, the soldier starts but he doesn't get to finish as the edge of Katsuki's hand makes a hard impact with his throat. The soldier makes a choking noise.

“Katsuki!”, y/n yells appalled and struggles against his hold but to no avail. He pulls her towards the exit of the tent. Y/n definitely shouldn't talk to this man. Who knows what lies the soldier will tell her.

“Bastard!”, the soldier chokes out in Drakona. Katsuki freezes for a second and turns back to him.

“You should better be careful how and to whom you talk around here.”, Katsuki says cooly but the man only grins at him.

“Scared I tell you girl the true?”, the man says and Katsuki sees red. Letting go of y/n, he storms towards the man and pushes him into the back of the chair.

“You don't talk to her. She's not yours to talk to. Don't even look at her. You understand that?”, he growls but the soldier only laughs.

“Best you knife my tongue then. But can talk no secrets then. Pity you.”, the soldier bites back. Katsuki takes a swing at him but y/n catches his wrist.

“Katsuki, don't. Are you insane?”, y/n yells. The soldier laughs in return.

��Clearly, he is.”, he points out, “But then again, he's from the dragon blood tribe. Haven't you noticed that, sweetheart?”

Y/n stares at the miserable man in front of her. His ragged clothes clearly are the remains of the kingdom's soldier uniforms. She's seen the uniform before on her brother when he said goodbye to her before joining the army. The soldier's face is covered in dirt and grime and his dark, purple hair sticks to his forehead in thick clumps.

She only wanted to look for Katsuki to tell him dinner's ready. She didn't expect to find him to torture a man who is clearly from the kingdom. She swallows hardly. What on earth is Katsuki up to?

“Cat caught your tongue, love?”, the man laughs.

Before y/n can respond, Katsuki interrupts. “You. Don't. Talk. To. Her.”, he presses. The soldier looks at him unimpressed.

“She not dragon blood tribe, right? Kingdom clothes and kingdom tongue. You steal her? Bet she prefer fuck me than you. Maybe she run away with me.”, the soldier spits into Katsuki's face in Drakona.

Katsuki doesn't want to lose control over his anger in front of y/n but the bastard makes it hard not to. “This is the last you see of her. Make sure to remember her form. It will be the last woman you ever see.”, Katsuki tells him.

Y/n's head whips back and forth between Katsuki and the soldier. Clearly, they're having a conversation she can't follow. She turns towards the soldier in front of her. Carefully, she asks: “Do you understand him?”. The soldier raises an eyebrow. “You don't?”, he returns the question. Embarrassed, y/n shakes her head.

Next to her, Katsuki yells something indecipherable and grabs onto her arm again, trying to pull her away again. Y/n struggles against him again. This time, Katsuki's grip isn't so hard since he gained some control over his emotions again. Y/n manages to free herself from him and takes a few steps back.

Y/n just stares at Katsuki. He's still red in the face from his outburst earlier. His breathing is hard and he tells her something pointing towards the exit. The soldier watches them with amusement.

“You know, he wants you to leave.”, he tells y/n. Y/n presses her lips together.

“Thank you, I figured as much.”, y/n replies and the soldier chuckles. Katsuki says something again, louder this time and tries to reach for her arm again. Quickly, y/n steps back.

“Want me to tell him something, sweetheart?”, the soldier offers.

Y/n stares hardly into Katsuki's eyes. It's one thing that the man she's stuck with is torturing somebody. That alone is a whole issue. Y/n isn't a violent person even though she knows in some situations one has no choice but to make use of it. But torturing an unarmed, tied-up man is something only people with no honor do. It's a whole other thing to hide that from her, get angry when she does find out and give her no explanation.

Y/n stands up more proudly. Shoulders pushed to the back, staring Katsuki down. He still looks angry as if it's her who is doing something wrong here.

Without looking at the soldier, she says:

“Yes, tell him that he's a dick.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[generalsmemories]

The general has escaped... again

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ synopsis: what's more stressful than managing the internal affairs of luofu you ask? making sure that your husband actually stays in one place when he's ordered to.

✧ contents: established relationship, fluff, humor, mentions of other characters, spoilers for 1.3 trailblaze mission, spoilers for the end of IL Dan Heng's companion quest

✧ a/n: under one patch update (1.3) this man has managed to run away from bedrest a total of 3 times, as such i'm obligated to write this - behold, the brainrot of the week. once again, jing yuan only appears at the very end, but this whole fic is just how everyone is stressing over how this overgrown cat can escape from right under their noses. not beta-ed as usual fellas.

There's a heavy silence lingering in the air around the Realm keeping commission. For once, the commission has been closed to the public for an hour to discuss internal affairs - is what the citizens of Luofu believes at least.

You don't seem affected by the tense silence, Yanqing notices. He's standing before you, glancing around the other tense officials that's seated by their own desk. The two alchemy commission members present with him seem equally as confused as to why you've summoned them here.

It's only when they hear you place your brush down that they all stand up straight, attention back on you now that you've started to move again.

"I have a favor to ask," you start off, looking at the three people in front of you.

"The general is currently still on bedrest, and the master diviner has temporarily taken his role as the acting general master while he rests, correct?" you ask, to no one in particular.

But it's the newly appointed chief alchemist, Yuluo that answers you, "That is indeed correct."

"However, knowing the general he might start to move the moment he feels some sort of movement come back to his muscles," you point out, having risen from your chair during the (mostly one-sided) conversation to stand before your desk, leaning slightly back towards it with your arms crossed.

"Which is why, I need you all to keep an eye on him," you declare in the end, "The general won't be straying far away from the Exalting Sanctum for reasons you all might know, so I would have to trouble both you and Jinwen to make the trips back and forth from the alchemy commission to assess his conditin from time to time. But Yanqing, you'll mostly have the responsibility to ensure that he doesn't try to do anything else than rest, okay?"

You were already fully aware that you gave the three people before you an impossible task.

And the three people before you was also aware of the fact, but what more could they do but bow their head slightly in confirmation with a resounding, "As you order."

Yanqing is pouting before you, picking at his food before you whilst you merely gaze at him from the other end of the table, "Not hungry? I thought this was your favorite restaurant," you say, in response Yanqing merely levels a glare at you. It doesn't reach his eyes because he has no animosity, you're pretty sure he's just irritated.

"... I tried," he membles after another few minutes of silence. The quiet confession making you chuckle, "I'm aware, I'm surprised you even managed to keep him laying down for so long."

"... I even nailed down a few swords by the covers so it would be harder for him to pull them off," he adds, stabbing a stray tomato with one chopstick to emphazise his point before shoving it in his mouth, "But then he's already dressed and waiting by the door when I went to the toilet to attend the ceremony that was held for the deceased! [Name], he was even waiting for me with a smile!"

Your smile softens upon hearing his complaints, a finger pushing a glass of water towards the boy before you as a silent suggestion for him to drink it, "I already anticipated that he would do that, so why the long face still?"

"Because he refused to go back to rest right after the ceremony ended! And what else can I do, but heed his order with so many people around?" Yanqing huffs, crossing his arms as his food is now forgotten with his irritation overturning his appetite.

"Well he's resting now isn't he? Jinwen is currently staying at the manor to make sure he doesn't step foot outside. The day of the ceremony would've also been one of the last times he could get in contact with our guests from the Astral Express too, I'm sure he wanted to give them that jade abacus himself."

Not to mention the fact he personally went to the shackling prison right after handing it- alone nonetheless.

You omit the part of information from Yanqing. The topic itself still brings a tense atmosphere between you and Jing Yuan after all.

But before you can placate the small lieutenant any further, you can feel hurried footsteps making their way towards your table. And when you turn your head around to look at the commotion, you find Jinwen panting before you, right behind her one of the Cloud Knights assigned to the manor. And even with a mask on you just know that they're not looking at you.

"[Name]..." Jinwen starts, and you hum whilst fishing up your wallet, "Yes?"

"The general..." she starts, reluctantly looking around, fiddling her thumbs in nervousness. You just hand Yanqing the money before standing up, "He's escaped again, hasn't he?" you confirm, eyebrow raising up in question.

The healer before you merely nods, "I-I'm sorry, I have no idea where he went, I went back to the kitchen to prepare the next dosage of medicine and when I checked again he had suddenly just vanished - the guards didn't even know anything either."

"Even if they knew, they can't really go against their general, can they?" you point out with a laugh, patting the distressed healer on the shoulder before looking over at the Cloud Knight behind Jinwen, "Gather some more Cloud Knights and tell them to meet up at the alchemy commission as soon as possible."

You let out a sigh, rubbing your templates as if that would soothe the headache that's about to form from listening to the Disciples before you yap away whilst getting their hands bound behind their back.

"I want to preface that with the main disaster onboard the Luofu is over, you are aware that we have more personnel at the ready to apprehend you?" you point out, directing your gaze away from the harbor of the alchemy commission where the trailblazer, Dan Heng and Jing Yuan were currently standing to face the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus before you.

Knowing your husband, he's already aware that you're here.

"... And the fact that even after you failed to eliminate Jing Yuan back in september 5 times, and yet still tried again today - and even trying to take two Vidyadhara's along with him? I understand the confidence you had back when the disaster first struck, but now?" you laugh is disbelief. You're aware that it's futile to try to discuss the matter with the Disciples, but everything was worth a shot.

They'll always give the same response after all. Once the general is gone, everything will go more smoothly, once you see the true vision you would agree with them and so on.

It was getting quite tiring.

"Either way, I've contacted the Ten-Lords commission, we will probably have to make a trip to Scalegorge Waterscape to check for any stragglers, but I'm sure the Ten-Lords will have this matter under control..." you mutter, noticing the trailblazer and Dan Heng approach you, "Trailblazer, and mister Dan Heng, have you finished the matters at hand?"

Dan Heng nods, glancing at the tied up Disciples before you, to which you only wave it off, "Yes... And thank you for taking care of the ones over here," he mumbles, giving you a curt nod.

"All in a day's work, do have a safe trip back home though," you voice, "And if you were to ever return to the Luofu for whatever reason, do send me a message. I can at least assure that you'll be somewhat safer than today. I apologize for the inconvenience that these people have caused you," you add on, gesutring towards the Disciples while ignoring the surprise in his eyes.

Dan Heng doesn't say anything, only giving you another nod as a confirmation before walking off.

"Well then, with all that done..." looking back over to the docks, you find Jing Yuan already staring up from his spot at you, giving you a small smile and a small wave of his hand.

"... Of course he's overexhausted himself."

"Do you enjoy making everyone around you worry? I think Jinwen aged a couple of decades with the stunt you pulled today," you start to nag the moment you're within earshot of Jing Yuan - your husband merely chuckling at your exasperated face as you stomp over.

"I apologize, dear. I just had an inkling that something would go awry with their journey. Finding you would've taken longer and Lady Fu Xuan is already busy as the acting general in my absence. So I figured this was the best course of action," he tries to reason, but he can never reason with you when it comes to his wellbeing - no matter how many times he's tried in the past.

So you don't answer him. You only stare at him, close enough for him to see your dissatisfication, but far enough for him to not be able reach you or hold you in his arms.

"... I do admit I'm pretty weary though, I think this is the last time I'll violate the healers' order," he admits in the end with a defeated sigh, raising his arms a bit as a silent request, "Can I request the assistance of my dear spouse in these trying times?" he jests.

However, Jing Yuan is well aware of the fact that you're still very much weak to the few times he does request help.

As with any matter with Jing Yuan that you're inevitably forced to pick up, you can only sigh as you step closer. Weaving your fingers between his own to pull him a bit closer before leaning in to give him a brief peck on the lips.

You then weave your fingers away from his own in favor to wrapping your arms around his waist in a snug embrace, Jing Yuan taking the chance to wrap his own arms around yours before he leans his entire weight on you.

The extra weight makes you let out a grunt of surprise, but Jing Yuan has already buried his face into your neck, letting out a deep exhale into your skin which makes it tingle while his shoulders slump, "... You big lion, you're rivaling Mimi's clinginess at this point," you whisper with a chuckle.

"I haven't seen my dear spouse since they had ordered me to be bedridden, I'm sure you can handle a little clinginess," Jing Yuan mumbles back, kissing the juncture of your neck.

"Yeah, yeah. As an apology for caring about your health, what about we try to get home so that you can properly rest on a bed instead of leaning your entire weight on your dear spouse?"

Jing Yuan hums in appreciation, leaning back to cup your cheek with a smile, "I think that sounds wonderful," he confirms before pressing his lips back on your own.

[crowdedimagines]

Tailspin III - Bradley Bradshaw

summary: Bradley is a single dad and his new neighbor catches his eye. The only thing is, she might have more baggage than what's in the moving truck... 4.3 K 🫶🏼

series list warnings: domestic violence, stalking, blood

“Matt. What are you doing here?” She asks, her pulse racing for both of them to hear. Matt looks up from her face to the machine, almost proud of the effect he has. Goosebumps raise all over her arms, she doesn't think it’s just from the chill of the air conditioning. 

“You were hurt.” He answers, scooting closer in his chair making Y/n flinch. 

“No Matt, what are you doing here?” 

“I actually was already in California, believe it or not.” His proud smirk returning. Y/n can spot the evil in it now. He stands, his grip on her hand unwavering as he leans against the edge of her bed. “I wasn’t in Southport yet, I hadn't connected that dot yet. But when I got the call I came rushing.” 

He reaches out a hand to touch her hair. She flinches again and he brushes his hand over her hair, ignoring her recoil. He was already in California?

“What call?” Her voice a whisper. Where is the doctor? Where is a nurse?

“I’m still your emergency contact on your insurance.” His smile full of malice, his grip dropped from her hair to her face. He doesn’t caress her cheek like Bradley does. He holds it there, trapped and forced in place. He’s almost broken this jaw before. “They called me when you were brought in, and I was so concerned. How could this have happened?”

The call button. 

“You’re in the ER.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Her quick tongue getting the better of her. 

Y/n’s hand races to grab the bed remote at her side, but Matt’s reflexes are better than hers. Especially in her state. 

“How stupid of you.” He leans in closer to her face, she recoils even further into the bed, “Trying to use a nail gun yourself? How foolish could you be?”

He leans impossibly closer, his breath hot against her neck. She tries to turn even farther from him, attempting any distance possible. 

“What? You don’t have anyone to help you anymore?” 

“I don’t need anyone. You aren’t supposed to contact me, you’re voiding your parents' contract.” She reminds. She wants to add that he’s violating his restraining order right now too, but she’s too aware of the fact that she’s alone in this room. No matter how close the nearest person is.

“My parents are idiots.” He sighs, reaching a hand over her hair again. 

“You need to leave.”

A nurse walks by the open door and Matt straightens himself up. She doubts he’s taking her word for it, more likely the reminder that they aren’t alone in his penthouse. Not in a soundproof room with distant neighbors. No, she will never be there again. He sets the bedside remote on the floor out of her grasp and grabs his jacket off the chair next to her bed. 

“I’ll be seeing you, Y/n.” He slides his arms through the sleeves of the jacket, “Missed you, darling.” 

He makes his way out the door and the second he’s out of view Y/n swings her legs over the side of the bed. She reaches down with pain in her thigh, but manages to grab it and press the call button. She hits it over and over and over- 

“Miss L/n-” 

“I need the police immediately.” 

✿

Bradley races through the emergency doors with a kid at each side, Nat parking the Bronco. He looks around the near empty emergency room. There’s one lone family in the far corner waiting. Bradley makes his way to the main desk, he knows he’s seen the woman at reception before. He’s been at the hospital numerous times for work. 

“I’m looking for Y/n L/n. She was taken in by EMTs earlier this evening.” 

Bradley has to wait to sign them in as visitors and she reminds them that visiting hours will be closing shortly. He manages to pull some chief strings and she drops it completely. She walks them to the hall Y/n’s in and lets him know she’ll send Nat in their direction when she gets in.

He can’t tell if he’s pulling the kids, or they’re pulling him forward to her room number. They all act as a magnet for her door. Bradley pushes open the door to her room slowly, with almost no point as the kids tear off in front of him. The lamp next to the bed is on, casting a warm hue over the room rather than the bright overhead lighting. Y/n is awake and sitting up in bed when they open the door. Nick is the first one at her bedside, surprising them all. Bradley places a hand on top of Sadie’s shoulder to slow her down a little, taking their time in approaching the bed. 

“Are you okay?” Nick asks, his breathing ragged. Bradley had been the one panicking the most, so the reaction from Nicky had to have been buried under the shock of it all. Bradley lets out a deep sigh of his own. He knew falling for someone came with the risk of someday losing them, but selfishly he didn’t consider the fact that it was a possibility for his children too. Y/n has been apart of their movie nights for weeks now, Bradley was afraid Nick may never warm up to her. 

“Yeah, I’m okay buddy.” She smiles. Her eyes dart to Bradley’s for a second before her full focus comes back to Nick in front of her. Nick sees this and turns to look back at Bradley, tears in his eyes. Bradley simply nods to him, encouraging him. Nicky turns around and pulls himself up onto Y/n’s bed to give her a hug. 

“Awe, Nicky.” She sighs, wrapping her arms around him tightly. One hand holds him close while the other rubs back and forth on his back, his grip tight around her neck. Her shock is apparent while looking over his shoulder to where Bradley and Sadie stand patiently at the foot of her bed. 

“I’ll take you fishing.” He mutters, his words choppy while his breathing is still evening out. If it weren’t as quiet as it is in the room, he’s not sure she could've heard the words. 

“I would love that.” 

Her hand continues to rub his back, trying to get him to calm down. Giving him the time to pull away first. Sadie’s patience wears thin and she moves closer to try and climb up in the bed too.

“I don’t like hospitals.” Nick admits. Tears gather in Bradley’s eyes at his son’s admission. It doesn’t surprise him one bit, he’s never been a fan. 

“I don’t either.” She whispers back.

“Be careful, please.” Bradley helps Sadie get up on the bed, careful to avoid the thigh that has white bandages wrapped around it. She joins the two of them, Nick and Sadie each taking a side. Bradley stands on guard, ready to yank his kids off of climbing all over her. 

“Babe, are you okay?” Bradley asks, he can fully take her in now. Her thigh is bandaged and from what he heard she had to get stitches on her upper thigh because of how close it was to an artery. That’s why there was so much blood. In the process of passing out after calling 911, she fell and got a concussion. Her head wrapped in a similar bandage. 

“I think so.” She smiles, Bradley finally lets out the breath he’s been holding since he found her door left wide open. 

“You managed to call 911 before passing out. They think you hit your head pretty hard too, likely a concussion.” 

She simply nods, “That would explain some things.” 

Nat eventually finds them, bringing snacks with her. She claims hospital food is worse than a nail recoiling. Bradley manages to pull strings to stay the night with her. The kids also refusing to leave, sharing the couch. Nat takes the Bronco back to the house so she can stay there. She wants to take care of the mess at both houses before they all come back. Between the melted ice cream and the blood puddle, she’s got a busy night ahead of her, but she’s happy to help. The kids have long since passed out on the couch by the time Y/n convinces Bradley to ditch the chair and climb into bed behind her. 

They talk quietly for a little while until Bradley looks up seeing someone walk in the open door. Two police officers, one reaching out to lightly knock on the door. Bradley stills, and Y/n next to him tries her best to sit up. Bradley knows them, frequently seeing them on the scene of crimes the rare times things actually happen in the small town.

“Matt was here.” She finally admits, Bradley’s face drops. How was this not the lead? He doesn’t like not knowing. 

“I didn’t want to dive into that topic with them.” She nods to his kids sleeping on the couch behind him.

She feels guilty for buying the lead and letting it go on for so long without telling him.  She never planned to hide it, but it wasn't exactly a conversation she wanted to have right away. 

“Hello Miss. L/n.” The officer states, “The nurse called us and informed us of the situation. We just need to get your statement.”

“Frank, is there any way we could do that tomorrow morning?” Bradley asks, he stands from the hospital bed and makes his way over to them by the door. He tries to speak quietly due to the sensitive subject and the sleeping children. The officers nod right away, they see Sadie and Nick and Y/n nods from the bed. 

“Yeah, Bradshaw.” They both nod, “We pulled her file. She already has a good case against him and he violated the restraining order. We’re just waiting for the hospital’s security footage to add to the report, we can wait on her statement for tomorrow.”

Bradley thanks them and gives them both a handshake. He climbs back in bed next to her, his heart racing at the revelation. 

“He was already in California.” She admits, “He was contacted through my insurance emergency contact.”

“What did he say?” 

“He said that he’d be back.” She shudders, “He’s delusional. He was acting like we were still together. He called me foolish and stupid for the accident.” 

Bradley pulls her closer to his chest. Partially for the comfort of holding her closer, but also to hide his face. He doesn’t want her to see how angry he actually is.

“He’s never gonna get close again.” Bradley promises.  

Shortly after that, Bradley reaches to turn off the lamp so they can sleep. The rest of the night is rough. Bradley is a warm and comforting presence, but with the ache in her head and the throbbing in her leg, it’s hard to sleep. The wires attached to her monitoring her status are not helping the situation. 

“You need rest.” Bradley’s voice is soft. He hasn’t moved a muscle in a long time. Has he really been awake this entire time too? The doctor told them she needs rest while she’s being monitored. Her body went through a lot today.

“I know.” She pulls his arm around her, but she can tell he’s being cautious. She might as well be wrapped in bubble wrap. He spoons the backside of her, but she just wants to feel him. “This just isn’t how I pictured our first sleepover.”

“What? You didn’t want my kids to be sleeping five feet away from us?” He exhales a soft laugh from his nose and it makes Y/n join in. 

“Yeah, it’s safe to say not what I had planned.”

“Planned?” His voice holding intrigue. 

“Yeah, you should’ve seen what I had picked out to wear. Might’ve stopped your heart on the spot. Maybe it’s a good idea we’re in a hospital, I wonder if Nat would drop off-”

“You’re evil.” He lightly pinches her ribs to cut her off before she can continue. She snickers, but leans into his touch a little more.

“Hold me.”

“Y/n-”

“Please.”

He could never say no to that. With caution, he lets the full weight of his arm drop around her waist. He stretches his legs forward to weave between hers. He does it slowly and with care, waiting for any wince from her. 

She finally gets her sleep. 

The next morning Nat brings coffee for all of them, the doctor briefing them on everything they need to know for treatment. She is being discharged, they really only kept her for the night to be on the safe side. The cops circle back now that she’s feeling better and get her full statement. Bradley talks with them about keeping an eye out for her and they give him the advice to keep a close eye on her because it’s obvious Matt won’t be moving on so easily. 

“She has a concussion so she should be under supervision for the next 24 hours. She’ll need to come back next week so we can check the stitches and run a couple tests.” 

“Trust me Doc, I’m not letting her out of sight.” Bradley chuckles, his hand squeezing hers. 

Bradley pushes her out in a wheelchair, which was required for her release. She can walk perfectly fine, even if Bradley wants to fawn over her every need. Nat has already pulled up the Bronco to the front. Nick pulls open the passenger door for her and Bradley helps her get up to her feet. It’s uncomfortable to put full weight on that leg so soon, but doable. He helps her up into the truck and returns the wheelchair before climbing in behind the steering wheel. 

They drive back to their houses and he parks in his driveway. They’ve already determined she’ll be staying with them until she’s doing better. Bradley is serious about the supervision. 

Bradley does help her make the trip back over to her own house to help her get everything she needs for the next few days. The first thing she notices when she walks in is how clean the floor is. The house smells like fabuloso which tells her someone cleaned for her. The blood. 

Bradley doesn’t say a word about it, she has a feeling Nat is responsible since Bradley hasn’t left her sight since last night. He helps her pack everything she points out that she wants to bring. He lets her make the brave decision to walk back without any support, Bradley just carrying everything for her. The doctor said she would be feeling better today already but he wasn't convinced. By the time they reenter the Bradshaw home Sadie has drawn her a ‘get well soon’ card and is eager to present it when they return to the Bradshaw home. Nat is working on breakfast for everyone in the kitchen and there's a new guest sat at the barstools. 

“Well you must be Miss Y/n L/n.” The blonde man nods, sizing up the women following Bradley into the house. 

“and you must be Hangman.” She smirks, quick to catch on to who this must be. 

“Oh no, what have you heard?” He asks, “All bad I hope.” 

She rolls her eyes. Well, he lives up to the stories. 

“Hangman, you better give her space. She’s got a concussion and your face is gonna trigger the nausea.” 

Bradley breaks out to a loud laugh at Nat’s dig. 

“Jake here is gonna keep an eye out on the house.” 

“What?”

“Just for peace of mind. It can’t hurt to have another person around right now. At least until they find Matt.” 

She gulps back her surprise and watches the gazes shift between each other in the room. 

“Can I talk to you?” Y/n asks, Bradley’s head snapping back up in her direction. 

He nods and follows her up the stairs to his bedroom, softly shutting the door behind him. She paces slowly, twisting the loose ring on her finger while she goes. 

“I want to give you an out.” She blurts. 

“An out?”

“An out. I know this has been a lot really early on in this relationship, and I want to give you an out. It’s your first relationship since Anna, and I don’t know if I’m the best way for you to ease back into dating.” 

“I don’t want to ease back into dating.” He scoffs, “I want to date you.” 

He takes her hands in his, mostly to get her to stop spinning that ring and walks them over to the edge of the bed to sit. 

“I wasn’t suddenly ready after five years and you just happened to be there. You moved in, that’s what was significant. Are there people with less baggage out there? Yeah I’m sure. You’re someone I choose everyday to be in my life. I’ve lost a lot in my life, and I don’t give the people I love up so easily.” 

“The people you what?” Her head snapping up. 

“I’m being serious, I love you.” He pulls her head in close to press a kiss to her hairline, “The last twelve hours have made things clear if I didn’t know it already.”

“I love you, too.” 

“Your past doesn’t scare me. Matt doesn’t scare me. You don’t scare me. Losing you does.”

✿

The rest of the day they take it easy. The two kids fight to help a couple times, racing to get water for Y/n. Fighting to grab a blanket or a pillow. Hangman tells a few stories from over the years, some from their pilot days and some recent. Nat ends up taking the kids down to walk on the beach and Jake has to head back to the firehouse. Y/n ends up taking a long nap on the couch, she’s feeling much better than before by the time she wakes up.

“Nat is gonna put the kids to bed for me, you feeling up for a walk?” He asks, pulling her up from the couch when she nods enthusiastically. 

They leave out the backdoor and Bradley leads her down a trail that leads past all of the houses and heads down in the direction of the marshes. 

“Let me know if you need a break.” He says over his shoulder, they continue to follow the trail by the waterline. 

“Where exactly are we headed?”

“You’ll see.” Bradley smiles and reaches a hand back for hers to pull her along. They round another corner and in the short distance a lighthouse comes into view. Y/n knows she’s seen it way off in the distance, she can see it from her bedroom window but had no idea she could access it from their backyards. Bradley walks right up to the door and pulls a key out of his pocket for the lock. 

“How do you have a key for this?” She asks, genuinely curious how he’s opening this door that looks older than the town itself. 

“I’m the fire chief.” He answers with a smirk and a shrug of his broad shoulders. 

“You say that like it should be the answer for everything.” She rolls her eyes simply. 

“It kind of is.” He pulls the door open widely to reveal a spiral of stairs curving round and round as it goes higher. “Alright, get on.”

“What?” She asks.

“You think I’m letting you climb up those stairs?” He rolls his eyes, squatting down lower in front of her again. 

“Bradley, I’ll be okay-”

“Baby, I literally train for this.” He turns back around to face her and insists yet again, “I could do this in my sleep.”

“Whatever you say.” She shrugs, knowing she won’t be the one to win this argument. He’s careful with his grip on her legs while carrying her. They circle round and round until they finally make it to the top. There's a small glass door that leads outside to the outer gallery. He sets her down and they step out to where he’s set up blankets, pillows, LED candles. 

“Sorry you couldn’t have the real thing. That would’ve been too dangerous for me to live with.”

“You are in fact the fire chief.” She teases. 

He pops a bottle of champagne and pours them each a glass and they sit down, legs hanging over the edge, forearms resting on the rails. The sun is slowly making its descent below the horizon causing the sky to burn orange. 

“This is where I had wanted to tell you I love you, instead of blurting it on you this morning.” 

“I love how you told me anyway.” She nods her head against his shoulder. 

“And I love you for that, but that twice now we’ve made a big step while worrying about something else. I want to be able to sit here, just the two of us, and tell you I love you.”

He takes a big gulp and Y/n reaches out a hand for his. 

“I love you, Y/n. I didn’t know if I would ever get the opportunity to say that to someone again. Didn’t think I would get to.” She watches him closely, her fingers brushing along the edge of his jaw. 

“After everything that happened with the kids’ mom I started to lose hope. I thought that love just wasn’t in the cards for me anymore. My life has only been about them. Just surviving and being solid for them.” He clears his throat, “Then you moved in. You didn’t just show up for me, you showed up for them. You and Sadie were thick as thieves in an instant and somehow you’ve broken down Nick’s walls.”

“Bradley.”

“You make them feel safe. Seen. And you make me feel like I can dream again. Like I’m allowed to want more than just holding it together.” He reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind her ear that the wind had taken. 

“You mean all of that?”

“Every damn word.”

“I never thought I would be someone's future.” She shakes her head, “I didn’t know I could feel this loved. This wanted and cared for.” 

“Well get used to it.” 

They stay wrapped up in each other, watching the sun completely disappear. The sky is still light, but with pink splashed throughout. 

“So, just to be clear if I suddenly insist on matching tee shirts, you’re still in.” She teases. 

“I survived a jet engine flameout midair, I can survive matching tee shirts.”

“Don’t tempt me.” “I’m not saying they wouldn't somehow go missing in the laundry after a couple weeks.” He chuckles. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

“You wouldn’t stay mad.” He leans in to press his lips to her ear, “You loveeeee me.”

“Yeah, for whatever reason.” She rolls her eyes and turns to press a kiss to his neck. He shivers when she makes her way up to where his jaw meets his neck.” 

“This is dangerous territory for two people who have to go back to a house full of people.” He sighs. She continues her work on him, catching his lips every few kisses leaving him breathless. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just showing a little affection for the man I love.” Her voice convincingly innocent. He draws in a breath when she trails a finger down his chest. 

“You’re kissing me like you’re trying to charm me out of my pants.” 

“Trust me, I’m trying.” 

He turns into her now, their lips finally meeting longer than a few seconds. This is hungrier, more breathless. He pulls her into his chest, leaning his back against the pillows that sit on the floor behind them. He pulls her along with him and his lips have a hold on hers. They only break when Y/n starts to laugh. 

“God, you kiss like a man who’s been on a dry spell.” She chuckles, “It’s only been a couple days.”

“Before you “dry spell" was my middle name.” 

“Mmm, Bradley Dry Spell Bradshaw. Has a nice ring to it.” She carefully and slowly swings her leg over his lap in order to straddle him. 

“Yeah? You want me to make it wetter?” He grins as he places confident hands on her hips. 

“That was terrible.” She shakes her head, leaning down to connect their lips again nonetheless. 

“You love it.” 

“I love you. The terrible jokes are something I tolerate for the abs.” She won’t deny her grin, he leans back taking her with him. A cocky grin is plastered to his face. 

“So the mustache, the abs, and the kids. Good to know what I really bring to the table.” 

“Don’t forget the pilot uniform. That’s gotta be lying around the house somewhere.” 

“It definitely is.” He nods, already trying to remember which closet he has them tucked away in. 

“Well, I do have a birthday this year.” He bursts out in a laugh.  “Noted.” 

“So, am I going to have to beg.” She asks, her hands reaching for the button of his jeans. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” 

“Yes, Bradley.” “Are you sure, because-”

“I see this lighthouse everyday. I would think about you and I, right here right now every time I look out and see this lighthouse. Every time I look out my window.” 

“Tempting.” He whines. 

“My bedroom window.”

“Tempted.” He closes his eyes, her voice and his imagination, having the better of him. He can’t deny how much he would love that. Every time she looks out that window she would think of the two of them together? Too good to pass up on.

“Won’t you just love on me?” 

He reaches to brush hair back behind her ear again, his hand lingering on her jaw to pull her close again. 

“You won’t have to ask me that twice.”

more. to. come. this will not me the last of Matt.

AHHHHHHHH!! another part is already in the works you guys! i so so appreciaite the love this has been getting, this family is something else i stg. THANK YOU!

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Let The Rain Fall | Bucky Barnes x Autistic!Reader | Short Series - Part 4 of 4 - 2.5k

Bucky isn't the only person looking to talk to you after you rescue the jet. But you're feeling far from heroic. But Bucky's seen you struggle before, and he's going to help you again too.

Warnings: description of a meltdown, angst, workplace bullying, negative introspection, but also fluff, Bucky being the softest and the sweetest, and...a kiss!

A/N: thank you to everyone who has read along, I'm so glad I finally shared this fic with you all and I hope you enjoyed it :)

<- Part 3

Masterlist | Let the Rain Fall Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

The compound was calm again, the debris from the attack was being cleaned up by Stark’s crew and everyone was back to their day jobs as if nothing happened. But Bucky couldn’t move, couldn’t go back to the gym or paperwork, and just forget what he’d seen. 

“She was just standing there, Steve, controlling the jet, she saved them all - I- what happened? What is she?” 

Steve didn’t look up from the report he was reading, “I told you, she has her own skills.”

“What skills?” Bucky paced back across the room and in front of Steve’s eyeline. 

“Can you sit down? You’re making me dizzy.” Steve shuffled up slightly to accommodate Bucky on the sofa as well. “Stop. Pacing.”

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know, her envelope is sealed. You’ve managed to get more out of her than any of us combined. So, I’m sure she’ll tell you in her own time.” He looked up at Bucky pointedly before returning to his report. 

"You know, don't you?"

Steve ran a hand down his face and then back up, ruffling his normally neat hair.

"I do, if I tell you, will you promise to leave her alone?"

"Honestly? I won't lie to you... But I still need to know."

"To save you getting in trouble, opening people's files, I'll tell you what you've already seen. But then you have to leave her alone. I can't fight HR about you again."

Bucky sat down finally, watching the side of Steve's face.

"Telekenisis, that's what I heard when she joined." Steve went back to his paperwork, feeling the pressure of Bucky's stare before, turning to him. "Three years at Xavier's before graduating, she worked there for a while, then college, then here. To my knowledge she's only used her powers during emergencies, no field work, never requested it and always turned down our offers. She just likes being here, doing a normal job, and Stark likes having -" Steve paused, unsure of the word to use, "people with powers, on site, none combatant, just in case."

"She came out in the field with us though? Why?"

Steve laughed, pointedly looking Bucky up and down before slapping his friend on the shoulder.

"Why indeed. Now, keep it to yourself, don't go gettin' yourself in to trouble."

Despite Steve’s insistence that you were left alone, his orders didn’t trickle down to the other swat and tactical teams in the compound. 

For the rest of the week you found team leaders, colleagues and even a few other agencies dropping into your inbox and asking you to help. 

After a few days with no responses the Team B chief tactical officer even turned up at your door, banging on the wood and demanding to speak to you. 

“Come on Agent, you know you’d be valuable in the field -” she’d paused, waiting for you to answer. But your words were gone, your mind foggy, incapable of anything but sitting quietly and staring out of the windows.

You could see some trees waving in the distance and focused on the way the top branches danced together. The view wasn't as nice as the one from Bucky's apartment and you tried to tell yourself that's what you were missing, the view, and not the man himself who would surely distance himself from you after this ridiculous display.

Fresh tears poured as your sub-conscious continued to berate you internally.

“Don’t you think it’s selfish to keep your talent to yourself? Think how many people you could save!” 

You gave the Officer nothing, staying silent, the clouds slowly filled in behind the trees, drifting, drifting, your nails biting into your palms, shoulders bumping the chair as you rocked to and fro in time with the trees.

“Alright, think of how many people will die because you’re too fucking selfish and lazy to help them - have it your way, stay here behind a desk, let your fellow agents injure themselves needlessly doing work you should be doing.” 

With that the Team B Tactical Officer stormed off back down the corridor, and you burst into tears. 

“It’s not selfish,” you whispered to yourself, squeezing the blanket tighter around your shoulders, “it’s not selfish, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

Your corridor was quiet, as it always was. No sign if you were in or not apart from the muddy boots left outside of your door. Bucky heaved in a breath, preparing for you to send him away. He knocked and waited. 

Nothing. 

He knocked again. 

Nothing. 

“Look, I know you’re in there.”

“Go.” 

Your voice sounded broken, tired. 

"Just wanted to let you know we caught that guy, so…everything's safe for you to come out now."

"Okay."

“Are you okay?” 

“Fine.” 

Bucky sighed, “please just let me in, we don’t have to talk, just let me make sure you’re okay and then I’ll go.” 

The handle turned and the door cracked open almost imperceptibly. Bucky pushed it further, quickly stepping in and closing it behind him. You were very particular about your space, so he made sure to leave his coat and shoes by the door before slowly making his way to your living room. 

Like your office, your apartment was cosy and comfortable. He found you curled into an armchair by the window, your furniture the same Stark issued items that were in his own living space. But you’d made everything your own with cushions and throws, blankets neatly folded on every arm and a huge, plush rug demarcating the space. You looked small in the chair, a huge fluffy hoody pulled down over your knees, the hood up so you were just a pair of sad eyes, watching him from your personal den. 

“Hey, Doll.” Bucky gave you a weak smile, perching on the coffee table in front of you. It was littered with books and half full mugs of cold tea, multiple packets of your favourite biscuits, crumbs and ring marks where you’d run out of coasters. It wasn’t like you at all. 

He looked back at your doe eyes, red from crying, staring unblinking at a spot above his shoulder. If it was anyone else he’d think you were staring at his arm, but he knew better than that, you’d never stared at him like that, you weren’t even looking at him now. “Do you need to talk about anything?” He offered. 

Your eyes didn’t move from their fixed spot, but you shook your head from one side to the other, slowly. 

Bucky furrowed his brow in confusion. He’d never seen you like this. Since getting to know him he’d found you chatty and buoyant, excited to share things with him and even if you never looked at him for very long, you certainly didn’t stare vacantly through him. He always knew you were listening, despite your tendency to fiddle and fidget, because you asked him about things later, recalled the most minute details of his day, and it struck him how much he already missed talking to you. 

“Can I get anything for you?” You continued to stare, shrinking into yourself, but silent tears began to track down your cheeks. “I’m going to run you a bath, okay, and light some candles.”

Bucky sat on the edge of the tub, scrolling through playlists until he found one that seemed calming. He liked to use music to make himself feel better, relying on tunes from his childhood mostly, and while he wasn’t sure what you’d like he figured something upbeat and instrumental was probably a safe bet. 

When the bath was mostly full, bubbles spilling over the side and candles lit on the shelf, he went to collect you, expecting you to be in your robe or a towel. But you were still there, staring. 

He sat again and reached out, “your bath’s ready, Doll, do you want me to help get you in it?” 

“They could’ve died.” Your voice was a whisper, almost silent. 

“What?” 

“They could’ve died, if I did it wrong. I took a risk. I could’ve killed everyone. I shouldn’t. I promised.” Tears continued to flow and judging from the pinched line between your eyes you were beginning to get dehydrated.

He bent forward and scooped you into his arms, tucking you into his chest while he allowed your tears to pour out in sobs. Your whole body shook as he held you, rocking side to side and hushing gently in your ear. 

"I don't like doing it, I never controlled it right and it's too much pressure, Bucky, I just can't. Every time is like this - this - weight and-" you sighed, inhaling a shuddering breath, "it's just a lot of responsibility and I don't want it. I didn't ask for it, I just want to be me, in my office, with my paperwork, where I can't hurt anyone."

“No one was hurt, no one was hurt because you helped.” He soothed, “let’s get you in the bath, clean up your cheeks-” he pulled back, rubbing his vibranium thumb under the tears shimmering down your face, “you must be tired, you worked so hard.” 

“It wasn’t enough, I nearly dropped it.” 

“You did a wonderful job.” 

“It wasn’t good enough.” You replied, hotly, stumbling away from his embrace. 

“No one was hurt, you saved the pilot and the ground crew. What more could you have done?” 

“I could have put him down in a safer place, found the attacker, got to the airstrip faster, I could’ve been better. I should’ve been better. If I trained, if I was on a proper team…” You stalked to the bathroom, rubbing at your tear stained face. “This is- this is why I can't be an agent. I can't do this every time something happens, I can't feel this guilt that I should've done better and yet -” you sobbed, “they come here and, they tell me I'm selfish. Maybe they're right. But I can't put myself through this every. Single. Time. I didn't ask for this. I didn't want it. I just wanted to be useful.”

“Doll,” Bucky's voice cracked. Is that really what you thought? That you had to be useful to be worth anything? “You don't have to do anything you don't want to. I just want to help, no one has to be useful to be worthy you know and -"

“Thank you for the bath.” You mumbled, cutting him off and shutting the door with a slam. 

Bucky stared at the door and listened to the sound of you climbing into the bath. He’d been ready to help, he’d wanted to help. But he knew this was for the best and he was two strides towards the door, jacket in hand, when he stopped. 

You been angry when you finally went into the bathroom, but before then it wasn't anger. You’d been sad and withdrawn and he thought back to the lonely evenings he’d spent staring out of the windows after his first therapy sessions. The way everyone had left him alone to his thoughts and it had somehow been so much worse. How he'd turned his own anger in on himself, berating himself for what he should've done.

He paused, putting his jacket back and surveying the now dark room. Light, that’s what you needed, the soft light from your many table lamps. He lit a candle on the coffee table and fluffed up the pillows from your nest of an armchair. 

Taking a risk, he peered into your bedroom and, spotting your pyjamas on the bed, spread them out neatly along with a dressing gown and some soft socks. 

You’d be hot after your bath so he made sure there was a bottle of sparkling water in the fridge, and plenty of cocoa in the jar, in case you wanted something hot. 

Then he waited, trying not to listen to the soft sound of water moving over your body or the way you started to hum along with the song.

"You take as long as you need, okay? I'll be right here when you get out. If you need to talk, if you need to just sit. I'll be right here."

There was quiet, the water still, and then your voice floated out, "thank you…I'm sorry."

"Never had to be sorry to me, Doll, beaten myself up enough times to know you're feeling worse right now. I just want you to remember one thing okay?"

"Okay?"

"You're enough exactly as you are right now."

The water moved again, "thank you." You sighed the words on an outbreath and Bucky heard the faint plash of tears again.

He walked away, as much as he wanted to push the door open and wrap his arms around you, this wasn't the time. So he settled onto the sofa, ready to wait.

You had emerged from your bath to the sight of Bucky passed out on your sofa, a book half open in his lap.

The pyjamas he’d left for you on your bed were so comfortable and for a minute you’d bathed in their scent as deeply as you had your bath. But then you were craving something else, something more grounding than floating away in your thoughts again and suddenly all you could think about was Bucky.

You’d been so rude, slamming the door on him, and part of you dreaded seeing him again and facing up to your behaviour. So finding him asleep in your living room was certainly not what you expected. 

“Oh, hey Doll, sorry, must’ve passed out. You alright?” He blinked awake, pushing himself up again and you watched the way his long shirt  rumpled around his waist, exposing the slightest slither of skin before it was hidden again. 

“I’m really sorry,” you mumbled, “you’ve been so kind and -” 

“I told you, nothing to apologise for,” he gave you a sleepy, lopsided smile and patted the cushion beside him, “come and get comfy, you want a snack?” 

You stared at him and watched the smile fall from his face. 

“I’ve overstayed my welcome, sorry.” 

He stood to go and your thoughts whirled, panicking, he can’t go, you needed him here, stay, stay, stay. Why wasn’t your mouth working? Stay! But nothing came out, you just carried on staring until - 

Your voice was broken, but your body wasn’t, and instead of asking him to stay you went careening into him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your cheek to the worn material of his Henley. He smelt so good, warm and safe and your thoughts went quiet, your heart stopped racing. You sighed. 

Bucky looked down at you, one arm finding its way around your waist, the other cupping the back of your neck.

You looked up and his lips met yours, gentle, loving, understanding. He tasted of cinnamon and chocolate, his lips perfectly soft against your own.His hands flexed, holding you tighter, pressing into you and drawing you closer against his body.

“Stay,” your voice was swallowed by his kisses and he hummed his agreement, holding you tighter against him. You pulled away, resting your forehead against his. “It’s best -” you twirled his dog tags in your fingers, “if you’re really clear so I understand.” 

“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me,” he smiled before finding your lips again. 

[blackcoldcrackedheart]

Tw/spoilers: major character death and grief

"He hasn't cried or gotten angry or anything. He's just quiet." Eddie sighed into his hand as he continued to look at Buck, they had just gotten back from the service and were at the station for the reception.

"I tried talking to him, but he kept saying he's fine. Maddie is trying to talk to him, but he just keeps shutting her down." Chimney looked over at where Athena, May, Harry, Michael, and David were standing, being surrounded by Bobby's mother and brother, Ann and Charlie, and the fire chief. What ever the chief was saying was a lot for Athena and Ann.

"I'm surprised he hasn't opened up to you about all this." Chimney admitted, eyeing Eddie as though he was keeping a secret. "Usually Buck tells you everything."

Eddie's eyes turned somber, he looked uncomfortable and cleared his throat. "Usually, not this time."

Eddie had tried. He knew how much Bobby meant to Buck, Buck never hid the fact that Bobby was like a dad to him and Bobby never hid the fact that he had a soft spot for Buck.

He figured Buck would open up to him.

But....

"It's not about me."

It was said with no emotion. Devoid of anything. Just cool with such a flat affect that Eddie was truly worried that his best friend would explode.

He looked to find Buck standing with Tommy, Hen, and Karen. Karen was consoling Hen, wiping away Hen's tears as they talked amongst themselves. And Tommy?

Tommy was standing close to Buck. Not touching each other, like Hen and Karen, but standing closer than most would.

"You think he talked to Tommy about losing Bobby? I know they're not da-"

Chimney snorted, "Oh wow, you're seriously out of the loop."

Eddie frowned, looking at Chimney and then at Tommy and Buck. "They're back together?"

"I don't have to run past everything by you."

Chimney let out a soft hum. "Pretty sure they are. Tommy's been by Buck's side since we lost Bobby."

-

Things were wrapping at Hen and Karen's house, the couple had decided to invite the group to dinner at their home. A small gathering to unwind after today. They had been up since 7 am for the mass and the wake.

The mood was somber, numb. Despite ordering food for the group, hardly anyone ate.

"Hey, have you seen Buck?" Maddie asked, hitching up a sleeping Jee on her hip. Chimney was quick to take Jee in his arms, "He's not here?"

"No."

Chimeny frowned and looked around to see Ravi talking to May. "Hey Rav, have you seen Buck?"

Ravi looked around, clearly confused and surprised at somehow missing Buck. "Actually, I don't think I've seen him for over an hour now."

"He left?" Eddie suddenly asked, Chimney tried not to jump.

"Wait, you haven't seen him?" Maddie asked, her worry palpable now as she peered at Eddie as though this was his fault.

Eddie shook his head "No", "I tried talking to him, but he brushed me off. Said he was exhausted and walked off."

Chimney felt his brows reach his hairline at that. "Ooookay." He caught Karen's attention. "Hey, did you see Buck leave?"

Karen turned to Hen, ready to say or ask something, but Athena beat her to the punch. "He left."

"Wait, what? He didn't even tell us or say goodbye?" Maddie asked incredulously. She pulled out her phone, pouting as her call to Buck just led to his voice mail. "You dont think he's going to do something stupid, right?" She turned to Eddie, "Did he tell you if he was going to go home or anything?"

Eddie looked pensive, scrubbing his face to save some time in answering.

"I don't think Buck is in the mood to talk to Eddie or any of us right now." Chimney explained as he looked at Eddie, knowing there was more there than Eddie was willing to admit.

Athena shook her head, her lips pulled up in a shadow of a smile. "Notice there's someone else missing too?"

-

The station was of course opened, the firefighters that were scheduled for overnight were mostly from other stations covering for those who attended services.

They didn't say much to Buck, except their condolences for losing Bobby.

He took a deep breath in and out as he stood on the roof. The night was cool, a slight breeze present that usually would have Buck shivering.

But he had been his formal uniform all day and he was starting to feel warm now. He pressed his hand against his forehead, feeling the sweat and warm skin.

"I have the perfect stew to make you feel better than. Old family secret, so don't try to cheat like last time."

"I know the family secret, Bobby. It's ginger and star annise." Buck chuckled, "You told me last year after I got the flu."

Bobby rolled his eyes, "True, but I like to pretend I have some cooking secrets left to share." He joked. "You know I love coming up here. It's probably one of the few places in the city where you can just hear yourself think."

"Yeah." Buck loosened his tie and unbuttoned his coat. "I know. I figured it's what I needed, after today. Today felt like a nightmare."

Bobby hummed softly. "You know what I like to do during days like that?"

Buck arched a brow, waiting for a reply.

"I like to pray."

Buck scoffed, he hated how his voice broke as he admitted, "Not really in a praying mode, Bobby." He sniffed, "That was always your thing more than mine."

Bobby laughed, crossing his arms, "Yeah, I know. Usually I say something that I know would make you feel better." He pressed his lips together, "I don't know if there's anything i can say to you now that will make you accept that there was nothing you could have done, Buck."

Buck's vision became blurry with tears, he felt his face grow warm, "I-I could have tried. I-I should have broken down the door or something. I should have stayed with you."

"So you could die too?" Bobby asked, sounding annoyed. "Listen to me Buck," he stepped closer to Buck till they were face to face. "You're an important person in my life, Buck, one of the most important. I wouldn't have wanted you down there with me if it meant we both die. You mean too much to me for that."

Buck's lower lip wobbled, he wiped his nose with his sleeve. "Bobby, I-I don't know if I can- how do I-"

Maybe it's the cool air.

Maybe it's just Buck running a fever or something.

But he feels Bobby's hands on his face. "You're gonna have to. Not because the others need you to be strong, but because you need to be able to live." He patted Buck's cheek, "You worked too hard to not be happy, Buck. I've had the pleasure and honor of watching you grow up into this amazing and capable adult and I'll continue to watch you grow."

"You promise?"

"Evan?"

Buck turned to see Tommy standing behind him. He looked worried, his eyes searching for something. "Are you okay?"

Buck sniffed, wiping his nose against. "Yeah, I was just talking to -" He turned around.

To nothing.

No one.

No Bobby.

"Evan?"

It wasn't about him.

Bobby had a family. He had Athena and the kids. He had his mom and brother.

It wasn't about him.

That's what Buck had told himself.

"I've got you. I got you." Tommy murmured into his curls, Buck was gripping Tommy like he was a life saver as he broke down. Sobbing loudly into Tommy's shoulder, three days worth of despair and anguish. "I've got you." Tommy repeated. He pressed kisses into Buck's hair, "I'm so sorry, Evan."

[a-certain-romance]

Annoyed

Synopsis: Making their in-game ‘Annoyed’ voicelines all about you (smut no angst)

Characters/Ships: fem!reader x Rahu, Zoya, Chameleon, Bai Yi, Du Ruo, Angell, Eirene, and Shalom (Separate)

Warnings: dom/sub dynamics, oral (Shalom & Rahu), Rahu has a cock, spanking (Zoya), fingering (Chameleon, Bai Yi, Angell), slight mommy kink (Du Ruo), strap on (Du Ruo), face sitting (Eirene), inexperience (Shalom & Angell), loss of virginity (Shalom & Angell), reader sometimes referred to as Chief

A/N: Format is a bit different bc so many characters. It seems the smut gods possessed me I finished this in just a few hrs. Will probably make a pt 2 using ‘special attention’ voicelines as well for other charas.

“You’re the chief of the MBCC, yet you’re doing such things…have you no shame?” She grunts out, trying to maintain her composure despite the way your hand is currently pumping her leaking cock. “Do you want me to stop, Rahu?” You ask from between her legs. She eyes you warily. “Someone will walk in and see us.” “The door is locked.” “Seems like you have an answer for everything,” she scoffs. Rahu’s hands grasp the chair’s arms in an attempt to stay clear headed. It doesn’t it work. She huffs, ripping the mask off her face and grips it tightly in her hand. “Make it quick…” she growls, head tilting back in pleasure. “Will do~” you smirk triumphantly before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her tip.

You and Zoya were in the middle of a meeting with other higher ups in the Leigon. She always radiates power and confidence wherever she goes. You thought you were used to it by now. But seeing her give out orders in such an authoritative tone made you weak in the knees. When she sat back down in her chair, your hand made a journey from her knee, to her thigh, and now rests dangerously close to an area that will surly get you in trouble later. “Are you…provoking me?” She grits out at a volume only you could hear. You smile, “I’m being discreet.” “Discreet my ass.” Zoya grips your hand from underneath the table to stop it from moving further. “You want me that bad? You’re such a needy fucking brat. Just wait until this meeting is over.” When the meeting comes to a close, Zoya locks the conference room doors. “I thought I trained you better than this,” she sighs in disappointment. She pulls out a chair and manhandles your body over her lap. “You’re going to count every slap I give you and if you lose count, we’re starting over.” She lands a harsh swat to your exposed rear. “One…”

Chameleon is an alluring woman, and her seductive tactics only render you to be more compelled by her every word. She leans forward from where she was seated and traps you in your chair, her hands planted on either side of the seat you’re in. “I know what you're thinking about... no subconscious impulses go unnoticed before my eyes.” She brushes a few strands of your hair behind your ear. “So tell me Chief,” she murmurs, “do you want me to take control?” Her question hangs in the air for only a second before you allow it with a breathy “yes”. She smiles dangerously, a glint in her eyes that every sinner gets when they know they’ve won. “Perfect,” she whispers, trailing kisses down and around your neck, leaving bright red marks before moving on to the next. Her hand slides underneath your pants, glides under your panties, and only stops when her fingers meet those slick waiting lips she’s been vying for. “Just let it happen.”

Bai Yi tends to be the ‘top’ in your relationship. She can’t help but want to overstimulate you with orgasm after orgasm, drinking in the sound of your moans and your sweetness on her tongue. “Oh? How unusual. Are you taking the lead today? In that case, let’s have some fun…” Bai Yi grins as you lean over her. “But are you sure? You just look so damn good in this outfit, I really want to ravage you.” She whines playfully. It doesn’t take long for you to turn her into a crying, moaning mess. “O-okay no more edging, please let me cum!” She begs. “I’ve been so good for you, haven’t I? Why won’t you let me—” “Where are your manners?” You scold, stilling your curled fingers right before they hit her g-spot. “Ask me nicely and maybe, maybe, I’ll give you the release you so desperately crave.” Bai Yi curses, biting her lip as she sobs in pure ecstasy. “I’ve been such a good girl, chief. I deserve to cum after all that edging and torment.” She pouts, awaiting your decision. “You make a good case,” you sigh, leaning near her ear, “but I think you can take a little more.”

Du Ruo was reading through one of her many mythological books as she laid in bed. She was deeply enthralled by the information she was learning, but her focus broke when a pair of arms wrapped around her waist. “Stop messing around…” she giggled melodically over your wandering hands. Your arms moved up to wrap around her neck, your head resting on her plush chest. “Aw, is my baby needy for attention?” She coos, “Want me to take care of you?” You nod, and she closes the book with care before setting in on the nightstand. From the drawer below, she pulls out the contents needed for her to wear a rather large strap on. “Are you comfortable?” She asks sweetly. Du Ruo places her hands on your bare hips, letting the tip gather your wetness before she dares to push in. “Good, now hold still for mommy~”

“You seem anxious. Do you want me to do something?” Intimacy was almost foreign to Angell. It took a while for the two of you to form a relationship, but it was worth all the effort and more. Angell wanted to try her best—the best is what you deserve really. But there was one thing she wasn’t so keen at. “Something as in…?” “Let me pleasure you.” She asserts, and the rare sight of a blush dusts her cheeks a light pink. She crawls onto the bed towards you and her body towers over your frame. “I want to learn how you make you feel good. Teach me.” And so you show her. Angell takes off your clothes with great anticipation. Her eyes rake over your body and you swear you’ve never seen her desire you more in any other moment. “I’ll talk you through it,” you say softly before guiding her hand down to your core. “Once your fingers go in, do whatever feels right to you. Stroke, scissor or curl your fingers or—oh my god—“ you moan abruptly at her ministrations. “Yes, like that, Angell that feels so good.” She continues to pleasure you, her eyes zeroed in on how her fingers disappear into your wet heat. When you climax, she tentatively brings her slick fingers to her lips and sucks. Angell’s eyes widen and in a flash her fingers enter you once more, her mouth moving lower to get a better taste of you. It seems like it’s going to be a long night.

“If there is something you desire, just tell me honestly. You and I, we don't need to play this game.” She cocks an eyebrow, waiting for your next move. Eirene is analytical. Eirene is patient. Except when it comes to you, and how good your tongue feels inside her after a long stressful day. Eirene weakly grinds her cunt against your mouth as she sits on your face. Your tongue laps at her greedily and she can’t help the sinful moans that escape. Her hand moves to cover her mouth in an attempt to conceal them, but a harsh slap to her thigh convinces her to grip the headboard and be louder instead. “Chief!” She cries out, spreading her legs wider so you have more to work with. “I’ll never get enough of you. Please, don’t hold back.” Eirene lets out a gasp when she reaches her climax. When you try to move her off, she holds up your head to meet her eyes. “Again.”

“Okay, okay, okay... This is a "virgin" territory for you, huh? Now, give me your hand. I'll teach you how to do it properly.” You didn’t expect today of all days to be the one where Shalom takes your virginity, but you weren’t complaining. “I’m going to put your legs over my shoulders now, just let them rest there while I pleasure you.” You nod and try to calm yourself, but you can’t help the nerves that rise to the surface. “Chief,” she nips the inside of your thigh playfully, “I won’t hurt you. We can stop whenever you’d like.” You put your trust in her hands and give her the green light. She delves in, and although this is all new, it feels so damn good. You let her awaken every new sound you never knew you could make. It’s almost too much. You grasp for the bedsheets, or maybe that was a blanket? Your hand settles on her head and you can’t help but push her in further. Your legs shake involuntarily and the pressure in your lower region starts to build up. You call out Shalom’s name as you experience your first orgasm. “Relax, I’ve got you.” She says, moving any hair away from your sweaty forehead. In your afterglow, you shift around to curl up against her. “So, how do you feel now that you’ve experienced your first?” She asks. “…Can we do that again?”

[hueseok]

( 16. ) A LOVER’S KISS.

a friends with benefits relationship never ends on a good note. unless, both parties are not dumb fucks who find themselves falling for each other along the way of their agreement, of course.

and in yours and jeongguk’s case, you should have known better than to think the two of you would be an exception to the so-called curse of being friends with benefits with someone you already hold dear to you, since not even five months since it was agreed upon—the line between being only friends and being a little like lovers only continue to get hazier and hazier.

━ jeongguk x reader ━ 4.1k words. ━ 18+ ━ smut | angst | fluff | friends with benefits au | idiots to lovers au | college au | yearning? pining? | ft. swimmer!jeongguk, editor-in-chief!reader (small appearances from swimmer!jimin & associate editor!taehyung) ━ warning/s: swearing

note. no smut for this part, but i’m keeping the rating 18+ and have the smut label above since this drabble series overall isn’t suitable for minors !!

[ chapter index. ]

EPISODE 16. the one with a lover’s kiss !

jeongguk couldn’t sleep the night before the competition.

it’s not the first time this happened, of course. one can guess that he should be used to it at this point due to the nerves and the pressure and his desire to do great for the sake of the university’s reputation and for his own reputation as well (and maybe because of the expectations of his coach too who often wasn’t that kind in order to push him to the farthest of his limits). 

however, as made apparent by you before you attended class earlier, he didn’t just have the game to keep in mind for tomorrow, no—because as you have explained to him and cruelly reiterated when he called you a few minutes ago just for the purpose of hearing your voice before he tried to sleep—tomorrow was also going to be the day in which you were going to tell him your decision on whether you were willing to fully take him back again or not after the whirlwind of events that happened to your relationship these past weeks.

he wanted to believe that he had a good chance in winning you back; he wanted to confidently say that there was perhaps no way you would reject him, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up too high either. god knows how much that could hurt once you give him your answer and it turns out to be the opposite of what he was guessing. though a part of him was already convinced that surely, you wouldn’t have entertained his sweet gestures this week since making up if it wasn’t going to lead to you taking him back, right?

right? 

you possibly couldn’t be that brutal.

though in your defense, he didn’t think he had the right to be angry if leading him on was your plan all along. truth be told, he has been both intentionally and unintentionally brutal to you before to have the nerve to complain, that if you were going to take this opportunity to get the revenge you wanted, then he should just be a man about it and accept it the way it is.

***

“i don’t see her.”

jeongguk couldn’t breathe. he took a dramatic inhale to calm himself and regulate his heartbeat. “anywhere? you don’t see her with the guys and just—somewhere in the bleachers, maybe?”

“nope.” jimin glanced at him. “why? is ____ not coming? haven’t you two made up already? don’t tell me you did something stupid again.”

“we’re fine.” he rolled his eyes, slightly unsettled by his own statement. “it’s just important that she’s here.”

“yeah, i know, she’s your lucky charm, blah blah blah.”

“it’s not that.” jeongguk huffed. “well, it’s a part of it, but it’s bigger than that. is it wrong for me to want to try and find her before the competition begins?”

“yeah, coach would kill you if he doesn’t find you here when he arrives, so i advise you to just chill and be patient. maybe she’s just running a bit late.”

“yeah, you’re right. i’m just paranoid, am i?”

“what are you even exactly paranoid about?” jimin asked.

jeongguk frowned. talking about it out loud made it too real, and he preferred not to do it because of that, but he figured that he should at least tell someone about it if he wanted more insight perhaps. at least jimin has been a far better partner to yebin than jeongguk ever was to you to not be the person suitable to talk about this with. “she said if she doesn’t attend, that means she’s dumping me.”

jimin’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. “really? i never thought ____ had it in her.”

“she made it clear that she’s not going to see me anymore if i don’t see her today. i’m practically on the verge of death right now—or the start of my emo boy era.”

 jimin snorted. “didn’t you already go through that phase?”

“no, i haven’t.”

“yeah, you have. you’ve been moping for a few solid weeks when you and her weren’t okay. can’t say that you don’t deserve it. after what you did, you realize that it’s fair for her to play you around a bit, right?”

jeongguk wanted to strangle jimin sometimes because of his bluntness and desire to always tease the hell out of the people he’s close with (which unfortunately included jeongguk). but at the same time, he couldn’t deny that it was good to have a friend like him who could slap the facts in your face in order for you to see the truth and the implication of your actions—and be sometimes funny with it, for that matter.

“is it really?” jeongguk asked.

“well… i mean, it is in a way that you should see how lucky you are that you’re going to get your answer straight away. if i was her, i would have dragged this winning her back thing for a whole year before dropping the bomb that maybe we should just stay friends.”

“you seriously can’t be that cruel, jimin.”

“i could be, if someone really fucked me up.” he laughed. “but ____ isn’t like that. and i know she has strong feelings for you too. so maybe the best course of action now is to just trust what she decides for the both of you and live with it.”

this wasn’t the pep talk that jeongguk was expecting to receive before the tournament.

“and what am i supposed to do if she doesn’t come and that means we’re really over?” he questioned again.

jimin sighed. “then i guess you just have to go back to your emo tendencies and move on.”

***

the first time jeongguk personally asked if you could go to one of his matches, you and him weren’t secretly sleeping with each other yet. you were still in that weird phase of being great friends when you have the rest of the gang with you, but suddenly being really quiet and awkward with each other when it was just you two. he never even thought of inviting you alone when it came to his scheduled races, believing that he was doing the both of you a favor by not putting yourselves in a situation wherein you and him will just fall back to the usual cringeworthy interactions that will lead him physically wincing whenever he remembered them.

but that time, you overheard his conversation with taehyung who was apologizing that he couldn’t come for his match that weekend because of a project he needed to work on, and jeongguk, upon hearing him explain, visibly expressed his disappointment at the news because he wanted a friend to be there just so they could take a proper picture and video for him that he could look back after (if it wasn’t mentioned yet, jeongguk was obsessed with always doing a better performance than his last).

“i can go,” you volunteered before, your eyes focused still on the monitor inside the campus publication office but your ears were paying attention to them. “i’m free this saturday.”

jeongguk looked at you afterwards with a look that showed absolute hesitance. he was thankful that you weren’t peering at him to notice. “oh. you sure, ____? i wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“it’s fine.” you flickered your gaze to him. “though, if you don’t want me to be there, that’s totally okay too—”

“what? don’t be ridiculous.” a very very awkward chuckle tumbled out of jeongguk’s lips, one that taehyung furrowed his eyebrows at because of how fake it sounded. “why wouldn’t i want you to be there? of course you can come. i’d be really glad if you do.”

he didn’t know what response he was expecting, but you grinned, nodding in an skeptical manner, and then returned to what you were doing like nothing happened. jeongguk decided to face taehyung again afterwards, the latter staring at him with a similar dubious yet funny look, but he punched his arm and opted to flee from the office, muttering that he was going to be late for class if he stayed any longer.

fast forward to when the tournament came and he finished first place, he was ecstatic, brimming with pride because of his accomplishment—and when he met you outside the locker room to thank you for really coming and taking shots of him that he would review that night, he was a bit startled when you congratulated him with a tight hug, not used to that kind of affection from you.

sure, he always knew you were sweet to your close friends. you were like that to goeun, taehyung, and haru.

to him, though? that was the first.

“i’m so proud of you, guk!” you told him, the smile on your face so bright that he thought he might have to squint to look at you properly. “this is your first win of the season, right?”

jeongguk nodded. “yeah, i think it is.”

from that point forward, things weren’t so awkward between the both of you. your friendship solidified further when he asked if you wanted to help him with something at his uncle’s newly built restaurant, and you agreed, recognizing the same newfound comfort he was beginning to feel that you were eager to foster it more because it didn’t sit right with you how you were alright with everyone else and yet weird with him.

now, he didn’t want to think of the possibility of things being like that again. he barely survived not talking to you that much during the soomi fiasco and the period wherein he purposely avoided you to not cause any more damage than he had after the confrontation. it was one of the driving forces why he made up his mind in truly pursuing you—the realization that he wasn’t fond of the idea of not being able to talk to you every single day, of not being able to tell you the most random things and be certain that you would always know what to say next.

entering the natatorium, jeongguk didn’t appear as if he was hiding the fact that he was searching for you among the crowd. he already quickly spotted taehyung, haru, and goeun at their spot (you weren’t there), and then he tried searching for yebin, hoping that you decided to accompany her instead this time to create some kind of suspense (you still weren’t there when he saw her). so, all he could do after was let his eyes explore the whole venue as fast as he could, his heart hammering harder at every instance he failed to find you.

was this going to be the end of it all?

were you not coming?

was yesterday the final moment he got to hold you?

“guk,” his coach abruptly called his attention, “take your jacket off. it’s about to start,” he said, noticing jeongguk’s stiff posture as he stood there at the starting platform, immobile while the other players he was competing against were already removing their clothes.

jeongguk took one long scan again.

he still couldn’t see you.

and although he has yet to dive into the water, it felt as if he lost the ability to swim and was drowning to the bottom of the pool.

****

“congratulations!”

jeongguk could at least afford them a genuine smile as taehyung, haru, and goeun pulled him for a group hug. they simultaneously and continuously patted his back, the two boys doing it in a harsh manner to annoy the hell out of him that jeongguk had to groan and shove them off to prevent them from doing further damage to his aching body, though not without laughing and muttering his thanks for both being here and congratulating him.

“you did great back there,” haru said with a proud grin. “you’re definitely going to be the cover of the next issue again with the victory. i doubt i have to get ____’s approval just to make that happen.”

at the mention of your name, jeongguk’s attempt to seem fine crumbled a little. it didn’t go ignored by the rest of the gang with him; although they weren’t aware of the deal you and jeongguk had, they could understand that your absence today meant that something was wrong.

goeun cleared her throat, the silence insufferable that she couldn’t resist finally speaking up. “well, uh, haru mentioned that he’s also treating us today.” she placed an arm around haru’s shoulders, tiptoeing and struggling in the process. “right, ru?”

haru glanced at her. “i am?”

“you are.” taehyung chimed in, linking his arms with haru as if to lock him in. “you said you would if jeongguk wins first place.”

“i did?” haru’s tone remained confused.

jeongguk had to chuckle at their dumb effort to lighten the mood again. it was obvious that no conversation which involved haru saying that he was going to treat them later if jeongguk indeed won occurred. 

“don’t worry,” jeongguk said to haru, “i already messaged my uncle about the win and he’s gonna cook for us at the restaurant.”

“thank god.” haru exhaled a relieved breath. “because i do not have enough money right now to pay for all of us.” he glared at goeun.

“sorry, but someone had to say something,” she muttered.

“and you thought saying that i was going to treat everybody was the perfect thing to mention?” asked haru.

her shoulders lifted up in a shrug. “you’re the most generous out of us three.”

“no, he’s not,” taehyung butted in, “i think that title goes to me.”

“is it?” goeun asked. “you’re probably the most frugal of us all.”

“sensible is the right term for that,” defended taehyung.

jeongguk was about to join in the banter, to divert the teasing towards taehyung more as some sort of payback for the back slaps he got earlier, but just as he was opening his mouth to get a sentence out, he saw you coming into view.

you were here.

you came.

but you were late. what did that mean?

“____,” jeongguk breathed out.

the group automatically shut up, whirling around to see where jeongguk was staring at.

he was very much tempted to run to you, but his knees stayed put, somehow frozen in place. a part of him perhaps knew that talking to you immediately might be the wrong choice. he was afraid that the reason why you arrived late today was because you were still planning to reject him, that you were just being nice about it by doing it in person instead of text—but that was more cruel, in his opinion. he rather you don’t see his face when give him the news that you’re not willing to be with him again.

“hey,” you said, looking directly at him before diverting your attention to the rest of the crew. “you guys mind if guk and i speak alone?”

a pause.

“yeah, it’s cool.” haru was the first one to say, followed by taehyung, and then goeun.

“thanks.” you smiled.

they awkwardly shuffled and made their way to the exit of the locker room. they gave one last look to jeongguk just as they disappeared into the hallway, as if they were wishing him luck or reassuring him that everything was going to be okay, and looked at you too, as if they were sending a similar message that translated more into ‘please don’t break his heart or else this friend group might turn weird’.

when they were gone and definitely out of earshot, jeongguk finally had the courage to take a step forward. “____,” your name tumbled out of his lips again, “what are you—”

“i told you so,” you cut him off. you were going to lead this conversation, you made that mental note to yourself earlier prior to leaving your place, and you were going to say everything you had to say to him that maybe you never had the courage to do so in the past. “you didn’t need me here to win.”

he frowned. “winning is the last thing on my mind today, honestly.”

“that’s not a good mindset for an athlete.”

“it isn’t.”

you pursed your lips. “still, you won.”

“i guess, i did, huh?”

“without me there too.”

“yeah, you already said so.” although he didn’t appear resentful, he sounded bitter. “are you going to keep repeating that because you want to prove that even without you, i’ll be okay?”

“that wasn’t my intention.”

“then what is your intention exactly? i thought you said that if you didn’t come today, then that would mean that you’re not willing to give me a second chance.”

“and yet… i’m here, guk.”

he raised his eyebrows. “you are, but you were… you’re late.”

“because i chickened out.”

“you chickened out?”

you moved forward and sat on the empty bench across him. it was a lot easier to pour your heart out when doing that was only done through your imagination. “i was supposed to be here earlier. it’s just, uh, i… i’ve been—i’ve been stalling.”

it was true. you were adamant last night that you were going to give him a second chance. you were confident that for the past few days, regardless of how short the span was, jeongguk managed to prove to you that he was serious in wanting to commit to a real relationship with you. you saw that in the manner he always looked after you, in the manner he made time for you, in the manner he didn’t shy away from showing you affection when he felt like it—you were convinced that even though he never said it out loud, he really liked you, because the things he did… you were positive that you didn’t just do that to someone you didn’t like.

but you were also really fucking scared. it dawned to you last night (while you were overthinking everything and talking to yourself) that it indeed hasn’t been that long and that you were being too easy again for jeongguk; you were laying yourself out to him without him struggling that much. and why? because you loved him, of course. because you were afraid that if you prolonged this, he would give up and you were going to be alone and hurt once more.

“hey.” jeongguk placed his hands over yours as he knelt in front of you, hair wet and expression sincere; you didn’t notice him walk towards where you were, you were too preoccupied in your thoughts again to catch it. “you don’t have to…” he struggled with what he was going to say, mostly because it wasn’t what he wanted to happen, “you don’t have to give me a second chance if you’re not up for it.”

“really?”

his heart dropped. it was only a hypothetical statement; he didn’t expect you to bite the idea.

“um…” he tried to speak, realizing that acting like a martyr isn’t part of his portfolio, but he was willing to act one right now to not make this harder for you. “i mean… it’ll suck ass, and i’ll probably cry for months, and i’ll beg you first not to date anyone else while we’re still studying in the same university—but after that, after i stop being a big baby about it,  i’ll…”

“you’ll what?” you were waiting for what he was going to tell you next. the corners of your mouth were turned slightly upwards at the hint of playfulness in his tone.

he scooted closer to you. fuck his knee; the high probability of it being bruised if he stays kneeled on the ground was the least of his worries. “i’ll stay by your side and i’ll try harder until you get tired of me. it’s what i told you the other day, didn’t i? i won’t ask you to be gentle with my feelings—i’ll let you torture me and walk me around like a dog. i’ll follow you wherever you’ll go, just patiently waiting ‘til you decide i’m worth your time. i’ll let you hurt my feelings, ____, because between us two, i know that it’s my heart that deserves a pretty good beating.”

you snorted at how dramatic his speech sounded. “hurting you is far from what i want. i’m not that sadistic.”

“then what is it that you want?”

“you.”

jeongguk couldn’t stop the smile from conquering his features. he got the answer he wanted to hear. “i want you too.”

“i don’t mean that in a horny way, okay?” you quickly clarified and he had the strength now to laugh. “i want you to be here for me—all the time—is what i mean. i want you to continue being my best friend, and i also want you to kiss me whenever you feel like it. i want you to annoy the shit out of me, i want you to hug me, i want you to volunteer to do the most random stuff just to help me, and i want you to keep proving that you want us to work, guk. i want you to always remind me that it’s safe to let my guard down and give you my 100% all the time.”

“i’ll do that, if that’s what you want,” he promised. “you can trust me, babe. you can even exceed that 100% and make it 200 or a thousand—” your laughter echoed in the locker room.

jeongguk joined you, laughing as well, but as he did, it was also sinking in that what happened between the both of you left a huge mark that made it difficult for you to trust him. he couldn’t blame you, no, not after what he did, and he was eager to change that. he was optimistic that he could do that—because he knew it inside him that he has strong feelings for you. he could even say that he loved you and it would feel right.

“i’m sorry for being late,” you said.

he shook his head. “don’t be. i kind of deserved it.”

“well, you’re not wrong.”

“wow. you’re not a sadist, huh?”

you snickered; jeongguk grinned. he could stay in this moment forever, just you and him staring at each other, this unexplainable yet gooey feeling in your chests making it seem like everything was going to turn out fine.

and then he asked, “can i kiss you?”

your eyebrows rose. you remembered the last time he asked you that, when you were both in the middle of sex and you were hesitant to grant him that kiss because you were afraid of the repercussions that would soon come after once you did. yet, thinking more about the moment, he didn’t really ask you before, really. it was more like a demand, a plea, and it was different from what he was doing right now because despite appearing like he could beg just to get that kiss, it was still so sincere and was done out of—

love.

love? he hasn’t said that out loud before. you didn’t want to assume. but the way he was gazing at you…

you placed your palms on his cheeks while he didn’t hesitate in extending his arms so that they were circled around your waist, pulling you closer that unconsciously caused you to open your legs to make space for his upper body. 

“doesn’t your knee hurt?” you whispered.

jeongguk pressed his lips together. “it’s tolerable.”

there you were again, with that infectious laugh, leading jeongguk to be tempted further to just kiss you without waiting for an answer. “okay, guk.”

he gave you a questioning look.

you rolled your eyes. “yeah. you can kiss me. but if you do...” you trailed, “that would mean that you’re taking the lucky opportunity of being my boyfriend.”

“i’ll make sure to thank you every day for that wonderful honor.” he allowed himself to push forward and kiss your lips. it was what he was dying to do for the past week; it wasn’t enough that he was only close to you or had the permission to hug you every now and then—his body craved to have you close, not in a manner that was horny like disclaimed just seconds ago too, but for all the reasons that you illustrated as well. 

kissing you gave him the signal that you were close. and god, did he always want you close.

“i’ll be better,” he murmured, kissing you continously. “i’ll treat you better, ____.”

you didn’t answer. you just smiled and kissed him further.

when for the past months, having your mouth on his was the thing you had to avoid the most, finally having the liberty to do it now just drove you to do it over and over again.

note. hehe surprise? this update took so long that i think it took two whole damn years before i got the motivation to write again and finish this 😭 apologies for that lmao. life has been a whirlwind but since i'm now in a much happier state, i decided to try continuing this and i'm glad that it ended up with me finally concluding the story :D

honestly, i'm not too sure if got the vibes / essence of the story still since i haven't touched this mini series in such a long time. nonetheless, i did reread it and i hope that i brought justice to what you might have thought the ending was going to be! (also, i might edit this later on for improvement bc i just realized that my writing perhaps did not improve lmao but for now, this is what i can only offer >.<)

as always, THANK YOU FOR READING & FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED ! ♡(ˆ‿ˆԅ)

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