#Surveillance Bed III

[zegalba]

Julia Scher: Surveillance Bed III (1994)

[ramp-it-up]

Peach, Part II

Part I Part III

Summary: Steven Grant Rogers is Bucky Barnes' best friend and business parter in crime. He has decided to get out of the life with Bucky because it's the right thing to do. When Steve meets you at one of his businesses and lies to you about a myriad of things, It becomes a sticky situation, especially since the attraction you feel for one another is so sweet.

Pairing: Bartender/ Art Dealer (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Reader (Peach)

A/N: I love these two and there is so much to say. More parts to come.This fic is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and occurs up to the events in the Bucky Barnes fic You've Got me Thinking. I'm so done for with Steve and Peach. The next part will be published next week! ☺️

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Angsty angst! Steve is called ‘Steve’ and ‘Grant’ alternately, depending on POV. Mutual pining, masturbation, financial difficulties, mild stalking/surveillance, Steve lying, Steve using an alias, exotic dance life; wild thoughts, flirting, hand holding, intense sexual tension, kissing, making out, feeling each other up, third base, dirty talk, voice kink, praise kink, fingering, finger f ucking, betryal. Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

November

“Peach…” 

Steve whispered it like a prayer, or a spell, trying to conjure you to appear next to him in the king sized bed with Egyptian cotton sheets at the Four Seasons. His voice was a gravelly groan and he tried to keep his hands off himself despite the lurid thoughts playing behind his eyelids.

He couldn’t stop thinking of you and he couldn’t calm down. 

And it was all your fault. 

Steve felt as if he had a hangover although he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol. His mind was clouded with dreams of you all night. Your eyes, your voice, and your wit were drawing him to you. 

The image of your body and that pole, the sway of your generous hips, the swell of your breasts made him breathless and made his cock thicken under the covers. It rose and pounded to the beat of his heart when he thought of those eyes. 

The fantasy of those eyes blown with lust as you opened your mouth wide to deep throat him impelled his hand to his thick staff and tight balls.

“Fuck!”

He wasn’t going to do this. 

Steve flung the sheets away as he stood up to pull on some basketball shorts and a t-shirt, grabbing his key card as he left his room on the way down to the hotel gym. He only nodded politely at the hot brunette who smiled at him as she got on and stood too close. Steve shifted away and stared up at the floor indicator panel as he thought of you.

There was no one else in the world as he floated to the treadmill on a cloud of thoughts of you. As he increased his speed, he replayed all of the different colors in your eyes as you talked to him yesterday. He ran toward an impossible dream of you and him together.

Yeah. Steve Rogers, known to you as Grant Stevens, was screwed.

—--

You woke up with a gasp as your body convulsed from your wanton dreams. You sat up in bed and tried to capture the wisp of your vivid imagination that had gotten you there. You were so wet for a certain new bartender at your night job.

The only thing you could remember from the dream was the image of Grant’s lips and the sensation of his fingers on your hand from the day before. You ran your hands down your body and tried to imagine what his touch and those lips would feel like everywhere you wanted them to be. 

Your fingers found your clit and your tight nipples, squeezing, pinching and rubbing in time with your desperation for Grant. You came quickly as you imagined those lips replacing your digits and his deep voice in your ear. 

After, you lay in bed a moment longer, satisfied for the moment, yet yearning for the real thing. It had been too long since you’d had human romantic contact.

But you barely knew the man. You shook your head as you padded to the shower to start the water and then to the coffee maker to turn it on. 

Your real-life daily routine had no time for Grant Stevens. 

Sorry to that man.

—

Steve sat in the coffee shop at the corner of Peachtree and West Peachtree street at 10:30 am. He grumbled to himself thinking of all the streets similarly named in Atlanta which also reminded him of you. 

But the streets weren't making him stalk you at your day job. He was there to research his investment. 

That was it.

He looked down at his laptop, open to the file that his tech guy, Miles, was able to send over to him in just under two hours. Thanks to the information therein, Steve knew that you would be in at any moment to get the typical online pick up order for your morning break. He also knew that you’d been at work since 8:30, which was amazing considering you got home at 3:45 am. 

Steve learned that you worked as the Adult Dance Coordinator at the Atlanta Ballet, which seemed like a high end job, but when he saw your salary, 40K a year, he realized that was just a little over $700 a week. Your bank balance was at zero and your student loans were astronomical. 

He understood why you worked your second job.

Your degree was in Dance Performance and Choreography from Spelman, and based on the look on your face when you went into Regine the day before, the way you were immersed in the music when you warmed up, and the way your body moved, he knew that you were good at it.

Steve looked back at his laptop to see that you also had your own fledgling dance school, Peach Preserves. The photos on the website made him smile. He could feel your energy with the kids through the screen. It warmed his heart to know that you were trying to make your dream work.

He happened to look up at the moment that you entered the cafe. He almost ducked under the table, but you didn’t see him, just went to the counter, picked up your drink and chatted briefly to the barista. Then you headed out of the door, in the opposite direction of Atlanta Ballet headquarters.

Five minutes later, Steve was tailing you on a walk around the huge Atlanta city block as you sipped your coffee and smiled at almost everyone.

You were such a cutie, from your sickeningly cute, sensible heels, to the fucking cute pencil skirt that conformed to your curves and caused more than one person to crane their necks as you passed them, to the damn cute cashmere sweater that wasn’t tight, but still molded to the body that Steve itched to feel for himself.

As you went back into your place of employment, Steve felt a loss at you being out of his sight. He felt like a 14 year old kid watching his crush go to class. 

But this was not that, he thought. He had to know what type of employees Regine had, and you were the sample. He was just handling business.

That was all. 

—-

Steve was busy the next couple of days straightening out the finances and employees at Regine, especially Sully, who had taken a sudden leave of absence in the middle of the night and would not be missed.

Steve decided to keep the club, and that would be far more work than getting rid of it. Bucky was annoyed, but he wasn’t anyone’s boss. Rebirth and its holdings was a group project.

Despite all that he had to do, Steve could not stop thinking about you. There were numerous times that he caught himself daydreaming about being with you, but he did not allow himself to believe it could really happen. 

It was an impossibility. 

When he came in to Regine on Friday, you were sitting at the bar with your head in your hands. It was 2 pm and you were about an hour and a half early for work. 

He was instantly concerned. He was about to crash out, knowing that he would never rest knowing that someone out there might have hurt you, or made you sad. He would either kill them or fix it.

But instead he took a deep breath.

“You okay, Peach?”

You looked up at him, those gorgeous eyes watery. You gave him a weak smile, and he just wanted to take you into his arms. He didn’t know you wanted the exact same thing.

“Yeah, Grant. I’m just great.”

You shook your head and then laid it down on the bar on your crossed arms.

“Wanna talk about it?” 

He slid into the barstool next to you.

“Well, a lot of shit has happened in the last couple of days, but long story short, I left my work bag all the way in Kirkwood, and I’ll never get there and back on the bus in time. It will take all night.”

Steve was confused. He looked down at the bag on your lap.

“Is that not your bag? Why are you going on the bus?”

He had so many questions.

You took the bag in your hands and huffed, frustrated.

“Yes, this is my bag, but it’s my dance class bag with my day job clothes in it. I usually leave it in my car when I come in here. But my car is… in the shop…”

You started crying in earnest and jumped slightly when Grant put his hand on yours then relaxed. His touch distracted you, but you were still upset.

“How long will it take in a car? I can give you a ride.”

You looked up hopefully, then your face closed, wary.

“About 45 minutes, but I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. As a comrade.”

You looked up into his eyes again and sniffled.Grant was a nice guy. And you felt that you could trust him. 

“I’d owe you big time.” 

Steve smiled, making you feel warm inside. 

“Give me five and we’ll be ready to go.”

He left to go talk to the other bartender and was back by your side in moments.

“Car is out here.”

Stepping into the cool November Atlanta night let you take a deep breath and clear your head, but now your nerves were ramping up for another reason as you walked next to Grant until you came to a red Audi RS7.

You peered up at him as he held the door open for you. 

“Nice car for a bartender.”

Why did your voice come out all breathy like that?

Grant smiled down at you, making your stomach do that little flippy thing it had been doing the past few days when you thought of him.

“It’s a loaner. My car is in the shop, too.”

You nodded slowly and settled into the leather and wood interior thinking about your story. You looked over at him as he drove, the afternoon light from the road playing over the planes of his face, and marveled at his profile.

Those eyes, the cheekbones, the lips. He glanced over and caught you ogling him. Your cheeks heated and you smiled.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just… can I tell you something?”

—--

Steve had been driving, keeping his eyes on the road and his hands on the steering wheel in order to get you to where you were going safely. Your scent in such close proximity was making his mouth water and his dick hard.

Thoughts of pulling over and dragging you over onto his lap were driving him crazy. He was lost in thought until the hair stood up on the back of his neck.

Glancing over, he saw you staring at him. Your flush and shy smile made him even harder.

Were you checking him out?

Did you want him too?

He raised his eyebrow at you, his heart beating double time at the thought. 

But then you asked the question.

Can I tell you something? 

You were basically asking if you could trust him. Shit.

You sighed, your breasts rising and falling with the filling of your lungs. He tried to keep his eyes on the road, but it was hard. He was hard.

“What do you need to tell me?”

“My car is not in the shop. It was repossessed.”

There. You said it. The truth was so freeing. You felt as if you could be yourself with Grant, not put up the thug front that you did with everyone else.

He looked over at you, switching quickly between you and the road until you hit a red light, his jaw ticked tight with some mysterious emotion. 

Your stomach flipped when the heat of his full attention was on you.

“What?”

“Yeah. Happened the other day. Woke up and my car was gone. My neighbor said they saw it towed about 2 am.”

Steve's mind whirled, thinking of the financial information in your file. 

“But I thought you—” 

He stopped short, not wanting to give himself away. He did want to pull over so that he could see your face, but he knew that you were anxious to get back to the club.

“I mean… you seem to have it all together. Are you okay?”

His sentiment had you in your feelings.

“Yeah. I’m used to hustling. I’ve been juggling finances ever since I graduated college. Spelman is a great school, but it’s hella expensive. 30K a year after my scholarship. I owe close to 100K on student loans, and then there’s rent on the studio.”

You looked over at him, barreling ahead despite knowing that you were word vomiting all over him.

“I’m trying to start a dance school. It’s my dream. But it costs money. So I took out a title loan on my car, even though it was paid off.”

“Wow.” 

Steve cleared his throat. Those predatory title loan places often didn’t legally record the loans, just charge outrageous interest and repossess at the first missed payment. That’s why it wasn’t in your file.

“What about your folks?”

“My parents died in a car accident my sophomore year at Spelman. No insurance. My family is aunts and uncles and cousins, and they help when I ask and if they can but…”

Your eyes glazed over as the car pulled to a stop light.

“I’m pretty much my own family.” 

Steve looked into your eyes and wanted to belong to you. He looked down and took your hand. You took a shuddering breath as your stomach flipped.

“Grant…”

He frowned as you called his name.

“I’m not telling you this to ask for money. I just need a ride. Just wanted to be honest with you.”

Steve felt like a jerk. He wanted to tell you the truth.

“Peach…”

“I’m serious. If I have another night like I did Tuesday, I got it. I need three stacks to get the car back..”

The wheels were turning in Steve’s mind. 

“Okay. You should easily earn what you need tonight.” 

He’d make sure of it.

You relaxed and smiled at him, noticing that he still had your hand in his. He rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand and you shivered.

“Thank you for telling me, Peach.”

“Thank you for listening, Grant. And for not trying to rescue me. I really appreciate it. Not that you could. You probably don’t have over a hundred K just lying around…”

He threw you a look while driving, his expression unreadable.

“Anytime, Peach.” 

His voice came out gruff. He cleared his throat. 

“I do know of a private endowment in New York that might be able to help. It’s called the Rebirth Foundation. It’s an Arts organization. They have awards up to a million dollars a year. You could apply…”

“Hmmmm. How do you know about this endowment?”

“I’m from Brooklyn. It’s a thing up there.”

You smirked.

“I knew you had a funny accent, Been trying to place it.”

“I have a funny accent?”

“Asshole!”

You hit him on the shoulder. He chuckled. 

“Anyway, I know a couple of people who’ve benefited from the endowment. Worth a shot.”

You were skeptical, but he was just trying to help. 

“Okay, send me the information.”

“I’ll send it to you when we stop. Just put your number in my phone and I will text it to you.”

Grant handed his phone to you.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was an elaborate scheme to get my digits.”

Steve laughed. He already had your number, but now he’d have an excuse.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Fuck you, Grant Stevens.”

He cleared his throat, thinking he’d allow you to fuck him. You riding him in the back of a town car as you drove around New York City was in his top three. 

“Cool. You know, you don’t have to pretend to be angry. You can just ask to use my body...”

You scoffed.

“You know what? I think I hate you.”

“I think it’s the opposite, but you have a wall up.”

He was right. You didn’t hate him, you just hated how he read you right then.

“Grant–”

“Okay, we’re here...”

You stared at him until he raised his eyebrow at you. Then you lowered your eyes and chewed your bottom lip. Next thing you knew, his hand was on your chin pulling your lip from between your teeth, rubbing his thumb over your mouth. Your eyes went wide as saucers as you gasped for breath. 

Steve dropped his hand rather than push his thumb into your mouth like he wanted to. He nodded at the studio. 

“Do you want me to get your bag?”

His voice was gravelly with desire and you struggled with the ability to speak. You wanted this man.

Badly.

You were doomed, was the companion thought.

“No… no. Tameka is holding it for me. I’ll be right back…”

“Okay.”

Steve was holding the wheel in death grip and staring out of the window. He watched you go into the studio and thought of all the reasons why what he was happening was a bad idea. Women were a means to an end for him, occasional companionship, physical satisfaction. 

No strings. Ever. 

The ones he dealt with knew that very well. 

Unfortunately, you had him tied up in all kinds of strings with knots at the moment.

—--

By the time you got back to the club, Steve sent you a fake website that Miles had constructed in 30 minutes. As soon as the application hit, more money than you needed would be headed your way.

He just needed you to actually apply.

The night went by painfully slowly. Grant insisted that he give you a ride home after work and you agreed, causing some weird anticipation anxiety thing that was, for you, only alleviated on the stage. You zoned out and earned the most tips you ever had, partly because he was your inspiration. 

Customers were making it rain. You felt Grant’s eyes on you all night and the more you danced for him, the more money came your way. The tension between you was only building, and you both knew that him driving you home would be the climax. In more ways than one.

After work, at three am Saturday morning, with over $2K in your bag, Steve drove you to your place. This time, both of you were silent, and both your eyes were on the road. It was like time and all coherent thought were suspended. 

When the car pulled up in front of your apartment, you turned to him.

“Want to come in?”

It was a simple question, and one that would make Steve’s life infinitely more complicated if he took you up on it.

Yet he didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

—

As soon as he stepped behind you at your door, the raw animal in Steve was activated. He crowded you, standing much closer than necessary, breathing on your neck and making you shiver as you unlocked the door. But you didn’t mind. No. Not at all.

He was overwhelming this close, but in a good way. His scent, his warmth, his power. You wanted all of that. All over you.

When you got inside, you turned around in the entryway and he.

Was. Right. There.

You looked up at him under your eyelashes as he stared at you, nostrils flaring and jaw ticking with restraint.

Damn him, it should be illegal for him to look that fucking good. 

“I’m just itching to kiss you Peach. Can I? Want to so bad.”

His blue eyes roamed your face, then down your body in a possessive glare. 

God, it made your nipples tight and panties wet.

“Please…”

The way he begged for you broke any resolve that you may have had. You reached for him, grabbed the white tee shirt that was underneath his flannel and pulled him close to you. 

His jaw relaxed as his mouth slanted in a side smile as your arms reached up and wound around his neck, fingers tangling in the long, thick hair spilling over his collar and pulled him down as your lips connected. 

The kiss was tentative: slow sweeps of lips over lips, and shy reaches of tongue to tongue. Then, the urgency increased with nips and licks and sucks of thick lips on lips with tongue and teeth. Moans and gasps and whimpers spilled out between you.

Grant raised both hands to palm your head as he tenderly pulled himself away from your lips and rested his forehead on yours. 

“That was…”

His thumb swept the moisture from your lips and this time you captured it between them, sucking it while looking him in the eye. Steve’s cock throbbed even harder. 

“Fuck. I want you…”

Your eyes looked down to see the bulge in his jeans, up to the clench in his jaw and that goddamn pretty face of his, and you bit your lip, causing him to groan. 

You reached down and palmed his hard on as he pumped his thumb in and out of your mouth. He pulled his finger out, groaning as he watched your lips and you whimpered, causing him to silence you with another kiss. 

His hand drifted down your body, exploring until his long fingers reached inside your sweats to find your panties drenched and sticking to the wet folds of your pussy. 

“Fucking soaked, Peach. I-I need this. Need to feel this. N-need to eat this…”

Grant’s raspy baritone and the stutter made your head fall back against the wall as your pussy clenched. His brilliant blue eyes found yours when he felt it. He kissed the side of your mouth and you chased his lips, a fiend for him.

His tongue invaded your mouth again just as his thick fingers pulled your panties to the side and parted you, the calluses on his fingertips feeling just a little like heaven against your wet, sensitive skin.

He leaned down and whispered in your ear. 

“You’re so wet, and soft, Peach. See? I can slide through these fat pussy lips so easy.”

He was skating, rubbing between your folds along your slit, teasing your entrance and your clit. 

Your hands were yanking his shirt free of his jeans so your hands could feel his thick, hard abs, and your nails could scratch his skin. Grant shuddered under your touch.

Steve felt like it was his first time touching a girl, the way his heart was fluttering in his chest. As he felt your perfect little body, he realized that he was aiding in the ruin of himself for anyone else.

He collected your wetness and proceeded to pull his fingers out and push them into his mouth, making you watch as he suckled them, his eyes rolling back in his head. He concentrated to regain thought as he slipped his fingers back in and pinched your clit, then plunged up and down the split of you, finally breaching your entrance. 

Your legs were shaking and your thighs clamped around his hand. You held on to his shoulders as you rolled your hips into the thrusts of his fingers. He was full-out fucking you now, kissing you in rhythm with the thrusts of his fingers. 

“So fucking tight, Peach. Tightest fucking pussy I’ve ever felt.”

Your body bowed into him at his filthy words and he watched your face with rapt attention. You’d given him the key to you. His words.

His fingers pushed deeper inside you and curled, making you moan and quiver. 

“That’s right, Peach. Take my fingers like a good little girl.” 

He whispered it calmly against your ear, not betraying how feral he was on the inside. 

You pressed your lips together as you clenched down at his words.

“You’re so sweet. So cute. So desperate.” 

His fingers reached that bundle of nerves, causing your brain to short circuit. 

“Needy.” 

Grant licked your neck as he dragged his long fingers in and out of your sodden, dripping cunt. You tried to stifle another moan as he curled his fingers inside you. 

“What I need is to hear you, Peach. Been dreaming of you screaming for me for the past three nights.”

“Please!”

You were practically sobbing now, a result of the skill with which Grant was playing your body. His neck was craned as he marked your neck, and he was searching your skin underneath your shirt with his free hand. 

“You're so beautiful Peach, and wet for me. So warm and snug.”

He leaned over again to suckle on your pulse point and then whisper into your ear.

“But you’re gonna struggle to take my long thick cock in this tight little cunt.”

“Fuckkkkkk!”

You erupted into a mind-blowing orgasm, shuddering between Grant and the wall, holding on to him for dear life as your knees gave out. He held you up, gingerly removing his fingers from around you and hugging you to him, his heart gone from his body and now in your possession. 

He never wanted to let you go.

But then you spoke again.

“No one has ever…”

You giggled and looked up into his impossible blue eyes. He smiled down at you. For a split second, you were the happiest you’d ever been.

“No one had ever done that to me as effectively as you, Grant Stevens.”

Steve’s smile fell. 

He felt the power of his betrayal in advance of you finding out who he really was. 

Not only had he lied to you, he wasn’t good enough to be around you, let alone touch you. 

He looked down to see that you were steady on your feet now, and straightened your clothes for you. He felt terrible, knowing what you expected to happen next, if nothing more than intimacy with someone who was honest with you.

He kissed your forehead, then your lips again, chaste this time.

“I’m so sorry, Peach. We can’t do this.”

“What?”

He kissed your forehead again and left your apartment, leaving you standing there wondering what just happened.

—-

When you went to work that night, they said Grant quit. The number you had for him was disconnected. He’d vanished into thin air.

You were a thug, so you powered through the night but you spent all day Sunday in bed wondering what you did wrong. And what he was really about.

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, you were grateful to go to Hilton Head and get away with your family. You heard about your cousin’s big adventures in the City with her Mr. Big and crew.

You teased her relentlessly for being a simp, and continued to swear that you were a thug. You were a complete comedian, putting on a show for your family until the moment the man you knew as Grant Stevens stepped into your Aunt and Uncle’s home.

Except his name wasn’t Grant Stevens.

It was Steve Rogers.

And you were a fool.

——-

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Next part

[gauloiseblue]

Medic!Reader × Poly!141

Part I | Part II | Part III

[Tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, a love confession if you squint]

Taglist: @rainlovesyou12 @nijiru

When you're back at the base, the first thing that you get from your team is collective stares

"What happened to your cheek?" Price asked, visibly concerned

"Got punched by an asshole." You replied, still holding the ice pack against your face

"How did it happen?" He then glares at Graves, "You let this happen on your watch?"

He throws both of his hands in the air, while maintaining his smug face, "Easy there, soldiers." He said, "Sorry that I got your princess harmed, but it's necessary for the mission."

"Necessary?" Price growls, "Watch your mouth when you speak, Graves."

"Alright, alright. I'll leave." He then pats on Gaz's shoulder before turning around

The group immediately approaches you after he leaves, trying to look at your wound

"Whoa, he really gave you a nasty punch." Soap commented, "He wore rings?"

"All over his fingers."

"It'll take long before the bruise heals." Ghost interjected, "Since you're the medic here, I'm sure you know what's best for you."

Price nods before he looks at you, "You don't have to work today, you can rest after a mission."

"No, I'll come to work." You said, "Don't worry about me, captain."

He seems reluctant, but lets you do it anyway

Thankfully, your job requires you to use a mask, so most of your bruises are concealed.

At dinner, Graves brings quite a lot of alcohol to celebrate their mission. (The team had retrieved the important documents, as well as eliminating the target, so It's pretty much a success)

You usually skipped alcohol, but tonight you feel like you need it, so you join in

The table that you're in is pretty big, so three other soldiers are sitting with you and you team

Surprisingly, your team can handle their alcohol very well, but Soap is a lively drunkard, he talks a lot, and keeps the alcohol flows

Meanwhile, you're a chatty drunk. You can't keep a secret when you're drunk

"He touched me with his filthy hand, so of course I'd slap him." You confessed, "But then he dared to punch me in the face. The audacity."

"That's rough." Gaz winced

"But y'know, sometimes our job comes with those kinds of things." One of the men shrugged, "I didn't ask for it when I got shot or tortured, but then again, that's the consequences of my job."

"I didn't ask to be a surveillance." You hissed, "I'm just a medic, for God's sake."

"You could've ask him—"

"I did! I even tried to reason with him but nooo, he did care." You grit your teeth, "Even after roping me into this, he never once gave me any info for the mission and told me to be pretty and meek. At least I could've prepared if he told me things I could be dealing with during the mission."

"Cut it out, boy." Price stopped him before he could reply, "Y'know Graves was in the wrong here. We always brief our soldiers before missions."

"I'm not defending him."

The other man, who's silent for the whole interaction, finally speaks, "Maybe he did it because you've been using his name for unnecessary things."

You snort, "Somehow borrowing his name equals me almost getting raped?"

He shrugs, "Sometimes mentioning a certain name equals death."

"Yeah, okay, I get it." You immediately got up from your seat, "I'm just a spoiled bastard who can't handle the slightest discomfort aren't I?"

"Where are ye goin'?" Soap called when you're walking away

"My room. I'm tired of this shit."

Once you get into your room, you don’t bother to change your clothes as you go straight to bed

Of course, after getting angry and all, you can't immediately fall asleep. It takes about 15 minutes, before you're free from your anger

Then, you hear a knock on the door, before you hear a voice calls your name softly from outside

"Are you still awake?" You heard Price spoke

You contemplate whether you should answer or not, and decide to pick the first one

"Can I come in?" He asked, and you said yes

He steps inside, and pulls a chair by your bed. You turn around to see him, not hiding the tears streak on your face

"I'm sorry for what happened earlier, I hope you know he didn't mean that."

"I know." You frown while looking away, "I know all of those soldiers didn't mean to yell, or use hurtful words, I understand that, but I always try to comfort them, not telling them to grin and bear it."

He nods understandingly, "The constant threat in the field does make people numb to other's needs."

"Why are you here? Are you apologizing on their behalf?"

"No, I just got a feeling that you'd change division if I didn't clear it up."

You let out an amused snort, "I was just thinking about leaving. I hate Graves anyway."

"I won't force you to stay but I'll be very sad if you don't, you know how much I love your food." You roll your eyes at him, he chuckles, "Please hold on for one more month, then we'll go back home, to our base."

"Well, I can't disobey you if you say that, Captain."

"You better be."

You chuckle at him, and he gives you his usual (and sweet) smile. "Thank you, Price. I really do."

"No prob." He pats your arm, "You can talk to me whenever you want."

"I'll keep it in mind."

The next morning, when you're preparing your medical equipments, a patient comes into the room, and catches you by surprise as you recognize his face

"Johnny? Oh—" You hurriedly come to his side, "What happened to your face?"

"Got into a fight last nite." He grins, "Y'should've seen the other guy tho."

"My God, why did you do that? Who was it?" He looked away when you asked him, "... Don't tell me,"

"Ye don't 've ta worry 'bout it, bonnie."

"You can't make me not worry about you." You retorted, "They could've given a penalty!"

"Nah, they won't. 'M too valuable for that."

"Still," You let out a sigh, "You didn't have to do that."

"Yer angry at 'em."

"But it's only for a moment. I'm… used to that."

He looks at you for a moment, before pulling your hand into his. "Bonnie, ye kno' when you asked me to be a fake boyfie, ye told me that no one in the group'd be willin' ta help ya?" You furrow your brows at him as he continues, "Well, t'was a lie. They won't hesitate ta help ya, bonnie. But I didn't tell ya because I don't want 'em to."

You open your mouth to speak, but no word comes out of your mouth.

He chuckles at your silence, before giving your shoulder a pat." Make of that wha' yer will."

With that, he left the room. Leaving you there, dumbfounded, before you realize you haven't even treated him yet

You thought about him for half of a day, until lunch came and you sat down on the table without looking around. You didn't hear when the chair beside you was pulled, before someone took a seat

"Man, I miss your cooking." You snapped out of your thoughts, as you turned to see Gaz. "Everything tastes bland here, I can't even tell the difference between one dish and the other."

You chuckle when he pokes out his tongue in dismay, "I miss cooking too," You stare down at your plate, "... Helped me clear my mind."

"What's on your mind?" He asked, "Care to share?"

"Not sure if you'd wanna hear it though."

"What are you saying?" He retorted softly as he gave your shoulder a squeeze, "You know I'd listen to you."

"You're sweet, Gaz." You chuckled, "But really, I just wanna go back to our base. But at the same time, I feel like I'm just retreating back to my shell. I know that I can't be choosy for this job, but I wish I could be with you guys for a long time."

His gaze stays on you for a while, before he speaks in a hushed tone, "Don't tell anyone that I say this to you, but last night, me and Price were discussing about your contract, and," He leans closer, "It's possible to do a rescission for the contract. Since you've been put in harm's way."

"Really?"

He nods, "He might pull some strings to get you back, but the higher ups would dismiss it since you're not an operator. We're confident that this'll work, since Laswell herself has approved it."

You look at him for a moment, before pulling him into your arms. "Thank you." You said to him, "I don't know what I'd do without you guys."

You feel him smile before he pats your back, "People said that you're a spoiled princess," He grinned, "But we certainly don't mind spoiling you."

"You'll regret it someday."

"You're worth the regret."

His words stuck with you for the rest of the day, and somehow it lifted up your spirit as you took care of the wounded with ease. At night, when you're walking back to your room, you spot the masked man in the hallway. His head turns when you call his name, and you wave at him.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"Are you done for the day?"

"Mostly." He replied, "Just need to fill some paperwork."

"Alright then."

The two of you would bid goodbye, if you both didn't hear the angry stomp echoing in the corridor. You turn your head towards the sound, and your blood runs cold as you recognize the face

"I need to talk to you." Graves said with an unmistakable rage in his voice, "My office. Now."

You're about to open your mouth before you feel yourself pulled, until your body bumps against a hard muscle. It takes a second before you realize that Simon has his arm wrapped around you.

"Get outta the way, boy." He warned with a glare, "It's none of your business."

"No." He stated, as he kept you by his side

He snorts when he hears it. "No?" He sneered

"If it's about the revocation of the contract, she's not the one who filed it." He glared, "I did."

"Oh." He raised his brow in a mocking manner, "So you're the one who wrote those things?"

"Affirmative." He responded, "I was the one who saw her during the assault, so I'm eligible to give the account as a witness."

You see his muscles harden under his neck, as he hisses to the masked man, "I hope you're ready for Russia because that's where I'm sending you."

"Go ahead and try."

Just like that, the storm has passed by.

You don't know how long you stand there, before he reluctantly lets you go from his arm. You clear your throat as you step aside to face him.

"Um… Thank you." You told him while looking down

You feel his eyes on you, before his hand reaches up to pat your head. "It's nothing."

He bids you goodnight as he tells you to return to your room. You obey as you walk to your door, but when you look back to see him, you still find him standing on the same spot

The next morning, when you deliver your report to the Captain's office, you notice a familiar figure by his desk

The two men were talking, before they lifted their head when you walked in

"Hi." You greeted them, "Hope I'm not interrupting?"

"Not at all." Price reassured, "We were just discussing over something."

"Somethin' ta help fo' yer case, bonnie." His captain nudged him when he said it, "Wot? 'M sho she a'ready knew."

"Is it about Graves?"

"Well," He sighs, "It is. We were just talking about the things that he submitted as evidence."

You shot him a puzzled look, before you turn to Soap.

"The letters, bonnie." He grinned, "I gave him the letters tha' bastard wrote."

"You still had those with you?"

"'Course!" He chuckled, "Ah wanted to use it to rile him up, turns out they're useful for yer case."

"While they won't be included as real evidence, they're enough to convince Laswell to give her approval."

You look at him, while hugging the file close to your chest. "Price, I don't know if I could even repay you back—"

"Don't worry about it, (Name)." He dismissed it by a flick of his hand, "It's my job to ensure your safety."

"And out job ta keep the valuable member o' the team by our side." Soap added with a pat on your back, "Graves can bugger off with his shite."

"Oh…" You cover your mouth, trying to contain your emotions. "Thank you, I—"

"Stop it, bonnie." He said as he pulled you against his chest, "You owe us nothin'."

You didn't cry joyless tears, but they didn't know since you couldn't speak through your sob. You feel bad for causing them to panic, since you cry not out of distress, rather, you're touched by their kindness. When you feel Soap's embrace tightens, and your Captain's hand on your back, you can't help but indulge for a little while

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ scenarios | dating billy

♡ fandoms; The Boys

♡ characters; Billy Butcher

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; explicit sexual content

♡ notes; he’s the bane of my existence + love of my life tbh

reader isss implied to be working with Billy and in my mind a supe but i made it ambiguous since i didn’t write a meeting section :v but i love the idea of Billy falling for a supe so much

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

I. Kisses/ PDA

> he doesn’t like PDA…or at least that’s what he claims

> Frenchie and Marv give him shit- and Hughie is so supportive it makes him angrier than the others giving him shit

> but tbh they’re all happy to see him happy, and he knows that somewhere under that thick skull off his

> so when you give him a kiss or hold his hand or hug him in the base he grumbles, but he never pushes you away or actually complains

> and sometimes he’ll haphazardly pull you against him without saying a word, cheeks a bit pink as he mumbles something into your hair

> usually a ‘good job’ if it fits the occasion, otherwise a comment about how his coworkers are idiots

> now undercover, it’s a different story

> everyone is a potential threat then- and even worse, everyone is potentially going to bother you

> if he even gets a whiff of someone looking you over he’s got an arm around your waist and a hand not so subtly on his holster

> if you want to get any actual surveillance done you have to shoo him away so he doesn’t scare anyone off

> and even then he’s checking in way more often than he needs to

> it’s hard to get mad at, because it’s sweet in his stubborn, assholeish way

> and if you don’t care about surveillance it’s easy to get him riled by playing into it

> and then he’ll kiss you hard right in front of whatever chucklefuck was eying you

> “hope he’s enjoying the bleedin’ view”

> he’s a big cuddler when you’re alone- another thing he’d never admit

> but he loves when you snuggle up with your head on his chest, listening to his heart and nearly dozing while he goes through files

> or when you’re exhausted on the van ride home and make sure no one is paying attention as you hold with his hand in the front seat, rubbing his probably bloodied knuckles and pressing soft kisses them

> he likes your little late night rendezvous the best, though

> you’re both bad at sleeping, so most nights in the base he’ll find you in the kitchen near midnight brewing chai

> you’ll be sitting on the counter in one of his shirts and smile brightly despite the bags under your eyes

> and then when he comes over and puts a hand on either side of you, you trap him in your legs

> the kisses are sometimes heated, sometimes chaste

> but either way you enjoy the tea, and spend the rest of the restless night together

II. Sharing a bed

> when you’re all living in hiding, space is tight under the pawnshop

> you’ve both got shitty little twin beds, and he’s always complaining about space

> but the nights are getting cold and the heater barely works, so you hatch your evil scheme

> evil scheme might get giving it too much credit. like way too much

> all you plan on is asking to snuggle and never leaving his bed

> but he’s taking forever to get whatever he’s doing done, and you’re tired

> no biggie, you’ll just crawl in and wait for him so you can ask

> the next thing you know it’s two a.m. and he’s nudging you

> “oi. who said you could be in here?”

> you whine and give him the biggest pout, eyes all hazy from sleep

> and not wearing all that much either

> he sighs but you can hear the smile in his voice “c’mon then love.”

> before you can scooch over he’s pulling you on top of him completely, making you feel tiny on his broad chest

> he tried not to seem too delighted when you’re there again the next night

III. Let’s get kinky

> listen. i swear i don’t think every character has a daddy kink. just all the ones i’m super attached to

> but he canonically referred to himself as daddy and that’s not leaving my brain anytime soon. so.

> he refers to you as so many sweet nicknames- and he likes to pair them with a healthy mix of degradation and praise

> “you’re a filthy fuckin’ whore aren’t yah sweetheart?”

> his default is rough. he’s a frustrated man, and he’s been pent up for a while now

> but you can take it. probably.

> he likes choking. and spanking, he loves when you’re a brat and he can bend you over his knee

> mostly because then he can finger fuck you right then and there when he’s done and make you a complete mess

> if you wear makeup he thinks it’s twice as nice with your lipstick smudged and mascara running down your cheeks

> and you look prettiest to him on your knees, already a bit teary and sucking on his fingers until you’ve earned the real thing

> he wants to breed you so bad it makes him look stupid. (tbh not literally, even if it is possible, but god the dirty talk is so good that it doesn’t matter)

> his favorite position is reverse cowgirl- he loves seeing you whine and slowly ease yourself onto him

> and to me- he’s an ass man lmao, he loves watching it as you bounce on his cock

[starwarsart]

Julia Scher, Surveillance Bed III (1994) || Revenge of the Sith (2005)

[cosmicanger]

Julia Scher: Surveillance Bed III (1994)

[visualpoett]

Surveillance Bed III (1994)

Artist: Julia Scher

Materials/Props: Bedstead, steel, wood, foam (15 x 150 x 200 cm), 4 monitors, 4 cameras, 1 infrared-camera, 2 computer video switchers, 2 video players, 1 video recorder, 1 microphone, 1 amplifier, 2 speakers, 1 ARRI light (with red filter), cable, bedsheet, blanket.

[resideinar]

Finding the Best Girls PG Near Sharda University: Comfortable and Secure Living Options

Looking for the best girls PG near Sharda University? The area surrounding Sharda University, Greater Noida, offers a range of girls' paying guest accommodations that combine comfort, security, and affordability. Whether you're a student or working professional, finding the right PG is essential for ensuring a balanced lifestyle and a conducive environment for both study and relaxation.

Key Features to Look for in Girls PG Near Sharda University

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Safe and Secure Environment: Security is a top priority for students and parents alike. The best girls PG near Sharda University offer 24/7 security with CCTV surveillance, guards, and secure entry systems to ensure residents feel safe at all times. Some accommodations also provide biometric access, ensuring only authorized individuals can enter the premises.

Fully Furnished Rooms: Most PGs offer fully furnished rooms with all the essentials, including beds, study tables, chairs, and storage spaces. Many PGs also provide options for single, double, or triple occupancy, catering to individual preferences and budgets. The rooms are well-ventilated, clean, and designed to create a comfortable living environment.

Affordable Rent and Inclusions: Affordability is key when choosing a PG, especially for students. Rent typically ranges from INR 7,000 to INR 15,000 per month, depending on the amenities offered and the type of room. This often includes utilities like electricity, water, and Wi-Fi. Many PGs also offer meal plans, so you don't have to worry about cooking after a long day of classes.

Food and Dining Facilities: A major advantage of living in a PG is the availability of healthy and home-cooked meals. The best girls PG near Sharda University offer in-house kitchens or tie-ups with nearby tiffin services to provide hygienic and nutritious food. You can expect options for both vegetarian and non-vegetarian meals, catering to different dietary needs.

Laundry and Housekeeping: A hassle-free living experience is important, and most PGs offer daily or weekly housekeeping services. Laundry facilities, either in-house or nearby, are also available, making sure you don’t have to spend extra time on chores.

Wi-Fi and Study-Friendly Environment: High-speed Wi-Fi is a must for students, and most PGs near Sharda University provide uninterrupted internet services. Study rooms or quiet areas are often available for students who want a peaceful space to focus on their studies.

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Top Girls PG Near Sharda University

A R Residency: Located in Knowledge Park III, A R Residency is one of the most popular choices for students at Sharda University. It offers a secure environment, spacious rooms, and all the necessary amenities, including Wi-Fi and home-cooked meals.

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Conclusion

Finding the best girls PG near Sharda University requires considering factors like location, safety, amenities, and affordability. With numerous options available, you can find the perfect accommodation that suits your needs, whether you're looking for proximity to campus, affordable rent, or a secure and comfortable living environment. The right PG can enhance your academic experience by providing a supportive space to study, rest, and socialize, ensuring you make the most of your time at Sharda University.

[rabb1thearted]

ex machina: an introduction

above- screenshots from my 'ex machina' pinterest board

At first, starting to make artwork in a new city, studio, building, environment etc was daunting, especially as I had no pre-established theme or brief. Having this much creative freedom to make a body of work was wonderful but also challenging, as I often have multiple ideas for different creative projects that I'm developing simultaneously. In previous projects, I have always been given a brief/theme, which I then have to fit one of my own existing concepts into. Although I didn't really like this process, it often forced me to narrow down my contending ideas, making choosing one much easier, as I am a very indecisive person.

above: deus ex machina etymology via wikipedia

After looking over my previous project ideas, i eventually settled on 'ex machina' as it was a theme I had been wanting to do a project on for a while.

above, left to right- Thierry Mugler for vogue '95 via zegalba, Monica Byrne via mysharona1987, Schiaparelli 'The Mother' dress via 53v3nfrn5

below: screenshot of the wikipedia page for switchboard operator

Initially, my main goal with this project was to focus on artificial intelligence and its relation to femininity. When drafting concepts and collecting imagery for this project over the past couple of years, I found that a lot of the ideas I was drawn to revolved around the idea of women and their correlation to capitalism and the creation of artificial intelligence systems (alexa, cortana, siri etc.)

above: both via inkskinned

As my project progressed, I later tweaked this idea to technology and its relation to humanity as I wanted a broader spectrum of ideas to work from. Additionally, I also wanted to be able to include some of my ideas surrounding capitalism/advertising and felt that these two concepts would work well together.

below, left to right: Julia Scher- surveillance bed III via zegalba, crowd strike (2024) via howtobleachyourhair

[ramp-it-up]

Knock You Down: II

Summary: James Bucky Barnes is an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. But when he meets you, he finds out that sometimes love comes around, and it knocks you down. Bucky has to answer some hard questions on date #2.

This is a follow up to Part I

Word count: 3 K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: This fic was in part inspired by Seb Stan's latest pics and this press run 🫠, and partially inspired by an old song by some problematic people, lol. This is the result. As usual, I am Basil Exposition, so this is broken into parts.

Part III will be posted on Sunday, 10/13. I think it will be the final part. 😓

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Slow burn, cursing, mutual pining, daydreams of: oral sex (f receiving), marking, edging, & overstimulation. High potential for phone sex? Narrowly missed masturbation; a pet name in google translate Romanian; voice kink; drunk messaging/calling; Bucky has you under surveillance; AAAAngst. The heat is ramping up, but still no sex!

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

———-

Bucky woke with his lips tingling for want of you.

After your first date, sleep had been elusive. His thoughts of you led to a physical condition that he was used to taking care of right away, one way or another.

He decided that only you could solve his problem.

You had him as hard as a rock and Bucky knew that your soft curves were both the culprit and the cure

In his dreams, he had been eating you out, the smell in his nostrils a mix the your natural scent and perfume on your wrist as he went down on you. He couldn’t actually taste you, but he just knew that you were delicious.  

Knowing that he would be distracted all day, Bucky tried other means to work out his frustration. He got up, worked out, and concentrated on not being a simp. 

Unsuccessful.

At the stroke of 8 am Bucky sent you a good morning text and inquiring about your sleep. He hoped that your dreams were as full of him as his were of you.

Bucky chuckled as he pressed send. Good morning texts were not in his repertoire, quite the opposite. He was a pro in dodging follow up texts from his conquests.

After 10 minutes, he put his phone down, because he realized he was staring at it waiting for your response. In the shower, the stream of cold water was meant to calm the lava in his veins at the thought of you still asleep in bed. He needed to stop thinking of waking you up with his head between your legs because then his erection would never go down.

Back in his bedroom, Bucky saw that you had responded. His heart was in his throat at just the notification of not just a text, but an image sent on his screen. He had to sit down.

I had sweet dreams.

Image sent from Y/N

The image was a pic of you in your bed, hair tied back and no makeup. The morning sunlight on your skin was everything and the soft smile on your face looked so kissable.

It appeared that you were wearing a tank top. He could see your neck and the tiniest bit of cleavage, but it was enough to have him raging hard again. 

The highly rational urge to mark you up as a punishment for torturing him came to him like a bolt of lightning.

God, the thought of punishing, maybe edging you all day, or better yet, having you beg him to stop making you cum as he overstimulated you sent his hand to his dick under the towel, but his other hand was reaching for your contact. 

He groaned when he realized what he was doing. One hand had to stop. He wasn’t going to do this.

Bucky unhanded himself and sighed as your phone rang, then his stomach dropped as he realized you probably wouldn’t pick up. 

“Hullo? James?”

Your morning voice. The fantasy of how to wake you up took hold again.

“G-,” Bucky cleared his throat, but it didn’t help much.

“Good morning Frumoasă.”

Damn, his voice. Yeah. You had a voice kink. You felt the urge to ask for a picture of him.

And you knew where that would lead.

The rest of your day depended upon not revealing how much of a slut you were for him already, so you decided to crack a joke.

“Fumosa? What does that mean? You calling me fugly or something?”

Bucky laughed, and the sexual tension was broken. You were so fucking charming. He was definitely feeling you.

Bucky wanted to do so much more than to just be physical with you; he wanted to just be with you.

“Far from it, Y/N. Frumoasă means beautiful in Romanian. Ești foarte frumoasă. You are so beautiful.”

You could hear his smile as he replied.

“Hmmmm. Well. Good morning to you too, James. And thank you.”

Bucky smiled at his bedroom wall, reclining on his unmade bed, not caring that he would be late for work. But he was the boss, so it didn’t really matter. He wanted to hear that moan-hum thing you did again, so he repeated himself.

“Ești foarte frumoasă.” 

You were shook. When Bucky spoke in Romanian, his voice lowered an octave or two. It left you squirming.

You stifled another moan and Bucky shifted, his towel moving again.

This phone call was getting dangerous. 

“James…”

His heart beat double time when you said his name, as if you were asking for so much more than just his attention. One word from you and he would would make you see stars over the phone.

Damn, he was hard as a rock.

“Yes?”

The way his voice broke over that one little word left you speechless, trying to make a wise choice of words. Now was not the time for phone sex, no matter how much you wanted his voice to talk you through it. This man had you caught up, but you were trying to chill.

“See you in a few days.”

Bucky smiled again. You were constantly changing the game, a Queen to his Knight. But he was determined to capture you.

“See you in a few days frumoasă. I can’t wait. Have a great day.”

—

After that, you two stayed away from phone calls, subsisting on texts and anticipation for the next four days. 

But you couldn’t get away from thoughts of Bucky, especially since Nat showed up at your favorite coffee shop that morning. She claimed that she lived nearby while hinting that Bucky liked you a lot. You just smiled and tried to be enigmatic, not the blushing schoolgirl that you felt inside.

Hungry for more pictures of you, Bucky followed you on Instagram. You didn’t habitually reveal a lot of skin, but what he could see of you made him want more. 

You noticed his follow, (accompanied by several gossip rags) and took note as you blocked them and made your page private. James Barnes gave no fucks who knew about you. You smiled all day long at that knowledge.

On Wednesday, he noticed that you posted girl’s night out, apparently to celebrate your friend Sydney’s engagement.

You looked good, skin glowing, body giving, and those brown leather pants making him dizzy just by staring at them through a screen. He knew he’d be feral if he saw them in person.

Bucky fantasized all evening about you coming home to him that night.

When Bucky liked the post your heart rate increased and you felt like you were in a race.

“I’m winning!” 

You whooped it up with your friends and ordered another bottle. That’s when you saw Sam out of the corner of your eye. You invited him over for drinks, much to the delight of your friends.

Your drunk text to Bucky when you got home and the following exchange had him grinning as he went to sleep that night. Friday evening would be interesting indeed.

You woke up Thursday morning, wondering why you had a picture of a shirtless Bucky Barnes as the lock screen on your phone.

Your eyes almost fell out of your head as you opened your messages and saw this exchange:

Hey James. I want to fuck your voice. Especially when you speak Romanian. 🫠

But I can’t fuck until date number 3 sooooo

*Voice memo from James

*Voice memo to James

Image sent from James

Thank you Daddy. 💋

You are welcome, Frumoasă. 😏

You threw your phone.

You called him Daddy????

And you told him about the three date rule.

You were out of control.

You immediately sent him another message.

Good Morning, James. I apologize for last night. Please, burn your phone and destroy all messages from me. Have a nice life. 🫣

Good morning, Frumoasă. Last night was harmless fun. 😉 Have a wonderful day. See you tomorrow evening.

You grinned because although you were embarrassed, he was right. And also because he was a chaotic, but harmless gentleman. He just gave you what you asked for and didn’t take advantage of the situation. And his left arm tattoo sleeve was sexy as fuck.

What a man.

——-

When Steve and Sam caught him staring your picture during an auction that morning, Bucky just grinned as his best friends razzed him. He realized that you were worth it as he serenely endured them busting his balls. 

Later that day Sydney sent you some very interesting articles about Bucky Barnes and his business and called to check up on you. Your heart sank as you assured her that you were okay and thanked her for being a friend.

There was a different vibe for you now; James Barnes might not be the perfect guy. But you tried not to overreact.

Everything that was posted online wasn’t necessarily true.

You decided to exercise to clear your head, but lo and behold, when you looked to your left at SoulCycle, there was Steve Rogers, Bucky’s best friend. You managed to dodge a conversation by rushing off to work.

You were looking forward to your date, because James Barnes had a lot of explaining to do.

—----

When Bucky picked you up on Friday, you opened the door and quickly retreated to get your coat and purse as soon as he entered.

“Hello James,” you said from across your living room. 

Buck couldn’t put his finger on what shifted, but something had. He raised his eyebrow at you as you stood out of his reach and he felt the chill in the air.

“Hello, Frumoasă.”

He didn’t hide his admiration at your dress as he bit his bottom lip, positive that he could probably just flip up the hem and slip his… Bucky forced his eyes back to yours.

Damn, he looked good in the brown suit and black crew neck shirt. His eyes were everything on those colors. You noticed him checking you out and you looked down at your mustard dress.

“I hope this is okay. I wore this to work. Got out a little later than I expected. Billie, my assistant, and I were setting up for the opening tomorrow.”

Bucky smiled.

“You look amazing. And I can’t wait to see the exhibit.”

You cleared your throat. 

“About that. Are you sure you want to come?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at you.

“...Yes. We agreed when I conceded to your price on Monday. What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing, we’ll talk about it later. Are you ready to go?”

Bucky let you have whatever space you were needing at the moment.

“Lead the way.”

You chose the venue of this second date, a Harlem Renaissance exhibit in the eponymous borough. Bucky remained the perfect gentleman, taking your hand as he helped you into the car, but keeping his distance as you rode uptown.

If it were not for his all consuming stares and the desire in his eyes, you would think he wasn’t attracted to you. But you couldn’t let your libido have you make a terrible decision. You were deep in thought the entire ride to Harlem.

—---

You were in awe of the exhibit as much Bucky was in awe of you. You caught him admiring you instead of the art more than once, but you just smiled and launched into a conversation about the pieces, discussing the merits of the exhibit.

“That’s very astute. So good. Beautiful and smart.”

Bucky’s proximity to you during your banter was not helping your resolve. His voice in your ear cooing praises was making you weak. But you had to be strong. When he took your hand again as you walked to dinner on Frederick Douglass Boulevard, the thousand butterflies which had taken residence in your stomach on Monday afternoon fluttered their wings. 

Damn. He had you down bad.

After you were seated, Bucky tried to break down the wall that you’d seemed to throw up between you.

“Alright, Frumoasă. Tell me. What is going on in that beautiful brain of yours? You’ve been in your head all night.”

You looked around, trying to avoid those perceptive blue eyes of his, and noticed that the rooftop terrace seemed to be deserted except for the two of you. You had been so caught up in your inner turmoil that you hadn’t noticed the surroundings.

“James…”

He was staring at you again, mouth open, and that tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Yes, Frumoasă…”

“Did.. did you reserve this rooftop just for us?”

Bucky smiled and leaned back, clearly pleased with himself. He took a sip of wine before he answered.

“I may have called in a favor of the owner.”

“It’s Friday night! That is quite the feat.”

“Someone as striking as you deserves to be surrounded by beauty. Always.”

You shook your head at him.

“I’m serious James. I’m not your type. We come from two different worlds. You can have anyone you’d want. What would you want with me?”

Bucky sobered up, sensing your anxiety. He moved his chair closer to yours.

“I never make a promise that I can’t keep. And I don’t string women along. I try to make sure that everyone knows what it is with every encounter. Most women know that what happens is a one time thing.”

He stared at you with the ocean depths that were his eyes.

“And I hope you understand that you are not most women. Remember what I said Monday night?”

You nodded, remembering the rush of feelings and wild thoughts. 

“That was the first of many dates. I haven’t been on a second date in… I honestly don’t know how long.”

You digested what he was saying, really wanting to like him, and more. But you had to clear the elephant from the room.

“Speaking of honesty. What do you really do for a living, James?”

Bucky looked at you strangely.

“What do you mean? I-”

“James. You have one chance to tell me the truth.”

Bucky digested the look on your face; he knew you were serious.

“It seems that you have read some things. Or someone has said something to you.”

You shrugged and said, “Both.”

You were anxious and relieved that he didn’t insist on the lie.

“Okay. Then.”

He sighed and looked at you carefully with those eyes, giving you a minute. After he told you the truth, there would be no going back.

“I’ll give you the cliff notes version: 

When we moved to America when I was 10, my dad Jimmy fell into the family business, which was crime. He always expected me to take it over, training me from a young kid. Steve and I grew up together. Nat and Sam came along later. I dove in deep as soon as I was old enough and brought them with me, thinking that's what I wanted."

Bucky shook his head at his own miscalculation.

"It took five years to realize that it was no way to live. When my father died seven years ago, I could finally see a way out. I started the art business because it really is what I love, and I can divest myself of any connection to illegality be completely legitimate in a little over three more years.”

You sat back and crossed your arms. His explanation was too neat and tidy.

“You have a timeline to be done with crime?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but yes. I had a ten year and a five year plan. I’m working the plan with the help of my friends. And I’m doing it for them as much as for me. And if I'm thinking about a future with someone...."

Bucky reached over and took your hand as he stared at you.

"I'd be doing it for my own family as well."

You wanted to melt, but remained strong, pulling your hand from his.

“So you’re saying you aren’t a dangerous man? That I won’t be putting my reputation, my employment, and my life on the line by dating you?”

Bucky sat back as you posed your questions. He had never had to consider them before. He had never ‘dated’ anyone before. He just got what he wanted and they were safe because he never saw them again.

But now that what he wanted was you, and for far more than a one night stand, he was terrified.

“Y/N. I told you. I won’t lie to you. Yes. I am still a dangerous man. And yes, being associated with me can be dangerous. But I want you, Frumoasă. And I will stop at nothing to protect you."

You saw the ferocity of his emotions and you thought of all of them these past few days.

“Nat, Sam, and Steve. Those weren’t coincidences. Were they?”

Bucky gave you a wry smile and dropped his gaze. His voice got soft, as if he were chastened.

“No. They weren’t coincidences.”

Suddenly, you felt stifled, that there was no air avaiable. Even though you were outside.

“I- I need to think. I want to go home.”

“Come. I’ll take you.”

You rose and stepped away from Bucky.

“No. I need some space. I‘ll call a rideshare…”

“Nonsense. Nico is outside. He will take you. I can call Steve to pick me up.”

You looked up into Bucky's sad eyes.

“O-Okay.”

You fought the urge to bury yourself in his arms, and in a few minutes, Bucky put you in the car and you were rolling toward Brooklyn before you realized it.

——-

It wasn’t until you were in your tank top and sweats on your couch having made your head hurt with all of the thoughts for an hour, when you realized you never ate dinner and were starving.

You sighed and picked up your phone.

In just about another hour, your favorite takeout was on its way, comfort for a tumultuous evening. When you answered your door, your stomach flipped at the delivery person clad in white t-shirt, grey sweats, and a backwards ball cap.

You smiled at Bucky.

He grinned back.

“So. Is this date number three, orrrrr?…”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“You can drop the food off in my kitchen. This way, James.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, the heat in your gaze unmistakable.

Bucky smiled and thanked the heavens as he followed the sway of your hips into your home.

——-

Please let me know if you like it! 😊

Next part here.

[thewomanofrevelation]

julia scher, surveillance bed iii [x]

[vaishaliiiii]

Skin Cancer (Melanoma)

I. Introduction to Melanoma

Melanoma, the deadliest form of skin cancer, arises from the uncontrolled growth of melanocytes — the cells responsible for skin pigmentation. It poses a significant public health concern due to its aggressive nature and potential to metastasize to other organs. Typically triggered by excessive ultraviolet (UV) exposure, melanoma can manifest as abnormal moles or lesions, demanding early detection for optimal treatment outcomes. This introduction highlights the urgency of understanding melanoma’s risk factors, pathogenesis, and clinical presentation to improve its management. Through effective prevention strategies, heightened public awareness, and advances in medical interventions, the battle against melanoma continues to evolve, emphasizing the importance of timely intervention and education.

II. Types of Skin Cancer

Skin cancer, a prevalent healthcare issue, encompasses various types, with melanoma and non-melanoma being prominent categories. Melanoma arises from melanocytes, while non-melanoma types, including basal cell carcinoma and squamous cell carcinoma, develop from other skin cells. Melanoma’s aggressive nature demands early diagnosis and intervention due to its potential to metastasize. Non-melanoma variants are generally less aggressive but still require timely treatment. These diverse skin cancer types underscore the significance of dermatological healthcare, urging regular skin examinations, preventive measures, and patient education. By addressing each type’s unique characteristics and risk factors, healthcare professionals can enhance patient outcomes and reduce the burden of skin cancer on individuals and the healthcare system.

III. Risk Factors

Several risk factors contribute to the development of skin cancer, emphasizing the need for proactive preventive measures. Excessive exposure to ultraviolet (UV) radiation, whether from the sun or artificial sources like tanning beds, is a primary factor. Fair skin, especially when coupled with a history of sunburns, increases vulnerability. Individuals with numerous moles or atypical nevi, as well as those with a family history of skin cancer, face elevated risks. Genetic factors and certain medical conditions can also play a role. Recognizing these risk factors empowers individuals to adopt sun safety practices, undergo regular screenings, and seek healthcare guidance to mitigate their susceptibility to skin cancer.

IV. Pathogenesis and Molecular Mechanisms

Skin cancer’s pathogenesis involves intricate molecular mechanisms triggered by DNA damage and mutations. Ultraviolet (UV) radiation, a primary culprit, induces genetic alterations in skin cells, disrupting the cell cycle and apoptosis. Genetic mutations, such as those affecting BRAF and NRAS genes, activate signaling pathways that promote uncontrolled growth and evade immune surveillance. Dysregulation of these processes fosters the transformation of normal cells into malignant ones, ultimately giving rise to skin cancer. Understanding these molecular intricacies is crucial for targeted therapies and interventions aimed at halting the aberrant signaling and promoting apoptosis in cancer cells, thereby offering promising avenues for improved treatment strategies.

V. Clinical Presentation

Skin cancer’s clinical presentation varies, necessitating vigilant observation. Melanoma often appears as atypical moles or lesions that exhibit the ABCDE (asymmetry, border irregularity, color variation, diameter >6mm, evolving) characteristics. Non-melanoma types like basal cell carcinoma may present as pearly nodules, while squamous cell carcinoma can manifest as scaly patches. Early detection is vital for effective hospital management. Timely biopsies and histopathological analyses confirm diagnosis and staging, guiding appropriate treatment decisions. Regular self-examinations and professional dermatological evaluations aid in identifying suspicious growths, enabling early intervention and potentially reducing the need for extensive hospital-based interventions.

VI. Diagnosis and Staging

Diagnosis and staging of skin cancer are pivotal aspects of effective healthcare management. Dermatological examinations and biopsies facilitate accurate identification and classification. Staging, often following the AJCC system, assesses tumor size, lymph node involvement, and metastasis extent. Precise staging guides treatment strategies and prognosis prediction. Advanced imaging technologies aid in evaluating cancer’s spread. Early diagnosis through these measures optimizes healthcare management by enabling timely interventions, potentially reducing invasive treatments and improving patient outcomes. Regular screenings and collaboration between medical professionals ensure thorough diagnosis, appropriate staging, and well-informed decisions that align with the best practices in skin cancer healthcare management.

VII. Treatment Options

Skin cancer treatment options encompass a multidisciplinary approach tailored to the cancer type and stage. Surgical interventions involve excisional biopsy, Mohs surgery for precise removal, and lymph node dissection for metastatic cases. Targeted therapy utilizes BRAF and MEK inhibitors to block specific mutations. Immunotherapy employs checkpoint inhibitors and T cell therapy to enhance the immune response against cancer cells. Chemotherapy and radiation therapy may be considered for advanced cases. Evolving treatments, like personalized therapies and clinical trials, offer promising avenues. Choosing the appropriate treatment strategy depends on factors such as cancer progression and patient health. Collaborative efforts among healthcare professionals ensure comprehensive care for optimal treatment outcomes.

VIII. Prognosis and Survival Rates

Prognosis for skin cancer hinges on factors like cancer type, stage, and patient health. Melanoma’s prognosis varies across stages, with localized cases having better survival rates than metastatic ones. Early detection and intervention significantly enhance outcomes. Five-year survival rates offer insights: localized melanoma averages high survival, whereas advanced stages pose greater challenges. Non-melanoma types generally have favorable prognoses due to their lower metastatic potential. Prognostic tools, genetic testing, and personalized medicine contribute to more accurate predictions. Patient education, routine check-ups, and adherence to treatment plans play crucial roles in improving prognosis and overall survival rates in skin cancer cases.

IX. Prevention and Sun Safety

Preventing skin cancer relies on practicing effective sun safety measures. These include applying broad-spectrum sunscreen, wearing protective clothing, and seeking shade during peak sunlight hours. Avoiding tanning beds and promoting awareness about UV radiation risks are vital. Hospital management plays a pivotal role in prevention by integrating educational programs into patient care. Hospitals can offer skin cancer screenings, disseminate sun safety information, and encourage regular check-ups. Healthcare providers can educate patients on self-examination techniques and the importance of early detection. By actively engaging in sun safety advocacy, hospital management contributes to reducing skin cancer incidence and promoting overall community health.

X. Public Awareness and Education

Public awareness and education initiatives are critical in curbing skin cancer’s prevalence. Campaigns, workshops, and educational materials raise consciousness about risk factors, early detection, and sun safety practices. Promoting the ABCDE rule for mole assessment empowers individuals to identify potential warning signs. Schools, community centers, and healthcare providers play essential roles in disseminating information. Increased public awareness fosters proactive behavior, encouraging regular skin checks, preventive measures, and timely medical consultations. By equipping individuals with knowledge, public awareness efforts contribute to a healthier society, reducing the burden of skin cancer and improving long-term outcomes through informed decision-making.

XI. Conclusion

In conclusion, addressing the challenges of skin cancer necessitates a multi-faceted approach encompassing early detection, education, and effective management. QMe Hospital Management and Information System’s commitment to patient care is exemplified through proactive awareness campaigns, regular screenings, and leveraging innovative Information Software. This software streamlines patient records, aids in risk assessment, and facilitates personalized treatment plans. By integrating hospital management with cutting-edge technology, we enhance patient outcomes and empower individuals to take charge of their skin health. Through continued collaboration among healthcare providers, public awareness initiatives, and technology-driven solutions, we can make significant strides in preventing, diagnosing, and treating skin cancer, ensuring a healthier future for all.

[ro-is-struggling]

Undercover || Bucky Barnes x Plus size!Reader

Part I: The Preparations

Summary: Your first mission with the Avengers proves to be more difficult than you expected when you discover you have to go undercover with none other than Bucky Barnes. Spending so much time together posing as an engaged couple leads to the development of feelings that you fear will change your relationship forever.

Warnings: slow burn, mutual pining, fake dating, forced proximity (only one bed trope), mentions of the reader being insecure about her body, probably overuse of pet names (doll), eventual smut (part 3 coming soon ;) )

English is not my first language

Word count: 7900+

Notes: if you’re plus size there’s absolutely nothing wrong with your body, we’re all beautiful in our own ways and you shouldn't feel the need to fit into any standards!! I know a lot of plus size!reader stories focus on the reader insecurities and it sucks. But that being said, this story is a lot a little self indulgent so the reader has some of my own insecurities, sue me!

Tagging my bestie @caritobbg

Part II Part III

When Natasha told you she needed to talk to you, you didn't think she meant anything serious. Maybe she wanted to discuss something about your training routine or give you some feedback on your performance so far. You had little meetings like that all the time given that she had taken you under her wing after you joined the Avengers relatively recent. She had been training you and helping you integrate into the team, teaching you how things worked there and giving you tips on how to operate on the battlefield.

However, when she led you into Steve's office, you knew you weren't going to have one of your routine meetings. He was waiting for you, sitting behind his desk as he flipped through some files. Bucky was standing in the corner, his eyes scanning a folder identical to the one Steve was holding. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed in concentration and you couldn't help but think he looked adorable. As you entered the room both men raised their heads in your direction, Bucky's eyes locking onto yours. You shifted your gaze quickly, concentrating on the photographs and documents resting on the desk as you felt the heat of embarrassment settle on your cheeks.

Steve thanked you for showing up there and asked you to take a seat before he began talking about a case he was working on. It involved a known mobster who had apparently acquired a very dangerous biological weapon and had to be stopped before he had a chance to use it. He gave you details about his routine that they had obtained after countless hours of surveillance and told you some of the theories he had regarding his future plans. As you listened to Steve talk about a charity event that he believed would be used to cover up criminal activity, you couldn't help but wonder what you had to do with any of it. You were still being trained and the closest you had ever come to participating in a mission was the time you had stayed behind to analyze the intelligence they had on their target to help them capture him. You didn't understand why Steve was giving you so many details about the case since you didn't usually participate actively in missions.

"I'm sorry, but why exactly am I here?" You asked, a mixture of confusion and curiosity in your voice. Everything Steve was telling you sounded interesting, but you'd rather know what he was expecting from you before you continued.

"You're here because we need your help on this one." 

"I thought I wasn't supposed to go on missions yet."

"Well, you have to start somewhere, right?" Steve offered you a smile. "You've been training and following our lead all this time, and Nat and I were talking and decided you're ready to start to go out in the field with us a little more." 

It was good news to hear Steve say that all your hard work had paid off. You had worked all this time to get a place on the team, training day and night in preparation for the future. Getting out in the field and participating in missions was what you wanted. However, you didn't feel the overwhelming joy you thought you would feel when you heard those words come out of Steve's mouth. The situation was quite delicate and dangerous so you wondered if you were ready to face it. Suddenly you began to doubt your abilities and the judgment of Steve and Nat for choosing such a dangerous mission for you to make your debut.

"Are you sure I'm ready for this? I mean, it all seems kinda dangerous, are you sure you want me to be a part of this?"

"You are stronger and smarter than you think you are, Y/N." Steve assured you with a smile.

"And your powers can help us get to him without drawing unwanted attention." Natasha intervened.

"We are not going to force you to do this. You can come with us or stay behind if you don't feel ready, the choice is yours." Steve spoke in a soft voice as he noticed the hesitation on your face. "There's no shame in that, but just know that we think you're ready."

"Besides, you wouldn't be alone. Steve and I would be there as back up, making sure you're okay. And Bucky would be there by your side all the time." At the mention of the super soldier, your eyes traveled to his figure standing tall in the corner of the room. He was looking at you, your eyes meeting momentarily. Your heart raced, feeling small under the watchful gaze of his intense blue eyes. You wanted to scream because he wasn't even doing anything and yet the blood rushed to your cheeks. How could you work with him when you weren't able to control your stupid crush? 

It was a bad idea. You weren't ready and Bucky's presence would only distract you and make you more nervous. You knew it, you were sure of it. It always happened when you trained. You were a perfectly normal, functioning person until he walked into the gym and then your brain would stop working, leaving your mind to focus on him and no one else. It was stupid, but you couldn't help it and you doubted you could do it in the middle of a mission. In fact you were pretty sure it would be worse, your mind being distracted by him and by the nerves you would inevitably feel being on the battlefield for the first time. 

You should decline the offer, wait for a less dangerous mission to come along or at least one where you didn't have to work with Bucky. You knew that and that was what you intended to do when you opened your mouth to answer. However, the words that came out of you were the complete opposite.

"Fine, I'm in."

You really should have waited to know more about the mission before agreeing to participate. You should have asked about the details of the plan and your role in it all, but no, your mouth had decided to speak before your brain had time to process the words and now you were doubly screwed. Not only were you feeling the pressure of this being your first mission—considering the risks involved and the great danger you would unleash on the world if you failed—, but you were also feeling nervous after discovering that you would have to go undercover, maintaining a character that was nothing like you.

According to what you had discussed with Steve and Natasha you were supposed to attend the charity gala that the target would present in a few weeks under an identity they had fabricated. You were supposed to be a wealthy woman who loved to spend her family fortune on clothes, accessories and traveling around the world, and cover up her superficiality with charity and philanthropy. But you wouldn't go alone, no, that wouldn't be torture enough. Bucky would be by your side at every moment, playing the role of your fiancé. When they told you that detail you almost choked on your own saliva, your soul leaving your body as you imagined all that would be involved in keeping up that charade.

Honestly, you should have imagined that something like this would happen. Luck had never been on your side and fate loved to surprise you in the worst ways. It always laughed in your face, so why would this time be an exception? So now you not only had to concentrate on a highly dangerous mission and try your best not to screw everything up even though it would be the first time you stepped on the battlefield, but you would also have to find a way to control your stupid heart so it wouldn't explode from cardiac arrest the moment Bucky took you by the hand. No pressure.

"I don't think I can do this, Nat." you muttered as you inspected the clothes your friend and teammate had chosen for your character. Everything looked so... loud. There were so many colors and different textures that you felt overwhelmed. They were very nice clothes, but they weren't your style at all. It was too much. Too colorful, too fancy, too revealing in some cases. You admired women who wore those kinds of outfits, but they weren't for you. You didn't feel comfortable in them and you didn't think they looked good on your body. Your figure wasn't exactly what was on the minds of those who designed those kinds of outfits. However, Natasha didn't seem to see the problem.

"You'll do great! You're ready for this, trust me." She tried to cheer you up as she handed you some heels to try on. They were very pretty, but there was no way you could walk with those on your feet.

"I'm not a spy or an agent. I don't know how to be someone else. What if I fuck things up? You should go in my place."

"I'll be there, just doing something else. Don't forget we need your powers for this."

"Yeah, like you couldn't get the information out of him yourself." You rolled your eyes, dropping onto the bed in frustration.

"Oh we all know I can, but we need to be more… discreet. You can get inside his head and find the code we need without him knowing what is going on and that's exactly what we need right now."

"That is if I get close enough to touch him." You pointed out, reminding her that your mind-reading skills only worked when you were in contact with the person. "And even then I could still fuck things up."

"Where is all this coming from, Y/N?" Nat asked you, putting aside the clothes to sit next to you. "You were more confident than this when we trained."

"I don't know." You shrugged, not ready to talk about the thoughts going around in your head. "I guess I'm just nervous. I have never done something like this before... I don't know if I can be someone else for so long. I'm not used to changing personalities every few minutes and I'm scared I'm going to ruin the mission."

"That's normal, Y/N. These things take time, practice. You'll get better with time." Natasha smiled at you, giving your hand a light squeeze as a sign of support. "You have to think of this as acting. You're not you, you are a character in a story, Elizabeth in this case. You have to try to put inside Elizabeth's shoes, see the world through her eyes."

"Easier said than done." You huffed.

"If you have trouble getting in and out of character you could try to keep some characteristics of her always present in your mind. You know, like talking with her voice, using her mannerisms, dressing in her clothes all the time, that kind of stuff."

"But these clothes suck." You joked looking at the pile of outfits with disgust. "And I don't even think I can walk in these." You added pointing to the pair of heels Nat had previously passed you.

"Oh, that's a problem." The redhead spoke in a more serious tone than you expected. Were heels really that important? "Okay, let's go." Nat got out of bed, taking the shoes from your hand and walking over to the bedroom door.

"Where?"

"I need to teach you to use these. You'll have to wear them for the gala and I have to make sure you can walk, you know. If things go south you'll be grateful that I taught you how to run and fight in these." Natasha explained, waving the shoes in her hand before disappearing out the door.

"Fight? Nobody mentioned anything about fighting in high heels!" You reproached with concern, getting out of bed to follow your friend, her laughter echoing down the hallway. "Natasha, come back! I don't wanna do this anymore!"

After spending all day learning to move with agility wearing high heels you were convinced that they were the worst invention of mankind. They were nothing more than an element of torture, a tool of the oppressive patriarchal system to keep women tired, preoccupied with their aching feet and not with the problems of the world. It seemed impossible to you that a person would choose to wear those things on their feet voluntarily and you did not look forward to the time when it would be your turn to wear them again.

You collapsed on the living room couch, too tired and sore to walk to your room. Your plan was to rest there for a while, maybe take a nap, and head to your bed when your legs responded again. You settled in between the pillows and turned on the TV so that the sound would quiet the voice in your mind that reminded you that your long list of complications had just had one more added to it. You would be surprised if you managed to accomplish this mission without disaster. You flicked through the channels without paying much attention, opting to leave the reruns of a sitcom in the background as you struggled not to let the negative voice in your head win yet again.

You didn't know how long you sat there alone in silence. The sitcom laugh track sounded distant, mocking you as you lost yourself in the depths of your thoughts. Your eyes were glued to the television, but you had stopped paying attention to your surroundings, focused on the internal fight between the positive and negative voices in your mind that sought to cheer you up and tear you down respectively. You were so distracted that you didn't notice the couch sinking beside you under the weight of the body of someone sitting next to you. 

"Are you okay?" Bucky's voice brought you out of your thoughts. You turned to look at him, confused at first and then embarrassed as you realized the state you were in.

"Oh, yeah no I'm fine… I was just training with Nat." 

"She can be a little rough while training."

"Oh I'm used to that! But this was a different kind of training. She was teaching me to fight in high heels. And let me tell you something, it's uncomfortable as hell. I'm pretty sure its a form of torture, really." You joked and Bucky let out a laugh that awakened butterflies in your stomach. He looked adorable when he smiled, his lips curved upward and his eyes sparkling with amusement. You felt proud to be the one to cause such a response in him, even if it was over a stupid joke. 

"Copy that. I'll stay away from high heels then." This time it was your turn to laugh. Imagining someone as tall and burly as Bucky struggling to walk in heels helped push some of the negative thoughts that were weighing you down.

The room fell into silence once again, cut only by the sound of the television in the background. You pretended to pay attention to the plot unfolding in front of your eyes, but your mind was elsewhere. Your initial concerns had been aggravated by Bucky's presence, which was a problem in itself. You never knew how to act around him, your brain short-circuited when he approached and you forgot how to talk and be a normal human being. 

You wanted to be friends with him, but you were afraid that your crush would be too obvious if you opened your mouth. So you stayed silent most of the time and only spoke to him if he talked to you first. The problem was that Bucky, just like you, was a person of few words so most of the time you spent time together you did it in silence, sharing a couple of words until one of you left. You always felt awkward in those situations, wishing the earth would swallow you up or magically grant you social skills. And you always wondered if he felt it too or if it was another one of those cases where you were overthinking things. You used to remain silent no matter what for fear of making the situation worse, but this time you made an effort to keep the conversation afloat.

"Do you think we'll be okay?" You asked, glancing away from the television to look at Bucky. "The mission, I mean. Do you think it'll be okay?" You added noticing the confusion in his eyes.

"Why wouldn't we?"

"I don't know, it's my first time in the field." You shrugged. "An undercover mission to stop a mob boss from using a biological weapon seems a bit dangerous and intense for a first mission, don't you think?

"You're gonna do great. And you won't be alone so stop worrying about it. If something goes wrong it's everybody's fault because we're a team." Bucky smiled at you and that gesture did more to calm your nerves than his words, although you appreciated them too. "I'm going to be there with you the whole time, I've got you back."

"Do you really think people are going to believe we're together?"

"Why wouldn't they?"

"I don't know… what if I suck at acting?" You said so you wouldn't have to admit that you were actually the one who found it unbelievable that someone like Bucky would date someone like you. 

"We'll be fine." He assured you. "But if it makes you feel better we could practice."

"Practice?"

"Yeah, like spending more time together and getting to know each other a little better so we are more comfortable with each other."

"Oh." You muttered, unsure of what to say. It seemed like a good idea, although you weren't sure you could stand his proximity for long without making a fool of yourself. "Yeah, sounds great."

"Good! So… what are you watching?" Bucky moved closer to you, his leg brushing against yours as he settled on the couch to watch TV.

"Oh it's nothing, just background noise to keep me company as I rest my sore legs." You explained moving your feet that were resting on the coffee table. "But we could find something to watch together."

The next few days were not as terrible as you thought they would be. You continued to prepare for the big day, training and refining the details of the plan with your teammates, and even though you still felt a little insecure, your nerves had been considerably reduced. Much of it was due to Bucky.  You had been spending more time together, cultivating your friendship to feel more comfortable on the day of the mission, and that had helped you a lot. You still felt butterflies in your stomach every time he looked at you or uttered your name, but your brain had learned to respond correctly in spite of it. You felt less uncomfortable around him and you were no longer afraid to share moments of silence with him since they no longer felt awkward. 

You could say that you had become friends and surprisingly that helped you keep your crush under control. He was no longer just the perfect, unattainable man who melted your heart with just a smile and whom you admired from a distance, but now he was your friend. You knew him a little better and felt more confident when you were with him. And even if that didn't make your feelings for him disappear, it helped you see him from a different perspective. 

You liked being friends with him. Bucky was someone fun and relaxed when he wasn't on the battlefield or fighting his own demons. And once you got to know him, you found him to be easy to talk to. He was just like you, quiet and reserved around strangers, and talkative and relaxed when he was with his friends. You found that to be a good thing, one more thing you had in common.

Bucky was also very good with words. Somehow, he always managed to say exactly what you needed to hear. Whenever your nerves would flare up Bucky would find just the right words to calm you down, reminding you that Steve and Nat had trained you well and that everyone supported you and trusted you. He gave you confidence and reassurance. In spite of everything, you were grateful to have him as your mission partner. He was more than qualified for this and you now felt comfortable enough with him to trust him. 

You talked a lot about the mission in your time together as well. Bucky understood that part of your nervousness came from the lack of control you felt you had over the situation. There were too many variables that could negatively affect the plan, things that neither of you had control over. So he did his best to help you focus on the ones you did, discussing details of your characters' backstories and theorizing about different scenarios that could play out. You even discussed what levels of physical contact you were comfortable with. You were supposed to be engaged, so closeness was unavoidable. You both agreed that you were comfortable with all kinds of physical contact and displays of affection, from holding hands to the occasional kiss, although you couldn't deny that the latter made you feel a certain way inside.

When Bucky asked you if you were willing to kiss him if necessary, you could feel the blood in your whole body rush to your cheeks. So far it hadn't occurred to you that there might be a situation where you would have to kiss—you were engaged for God's sake—, and as much as the idea didn't disgust you or make you uncomfortable, you weren't sure you were ready for something like that. You didn't think you could taste his lips, find out what it felt like to kiss him, and then go on with your life as if it had never happened. But you couldn't tell him that so you nodded, hoping that there wouldn't be a situation where you had to kiss.

When the day of the mission arrived, your stomach was a roller coaster. You barely ate all day as you nervously awaited the moment to depart the avengers compound for the expensive hotel where Steve had paid for a room for you and Bucky. He and Nat would not stay with you so as not to compromise your covers. In fact, you wouldn't even fly together to your destination. They would board a Quinjet loaded with all the equipment they needed to help them elude the event's security cameras, while you would fly on Tony's private jet to reinforce the image of wealthy people you were supposed to be.

"Here you have everything you'll need for your stay." Natasha told you, handing you a suitcase full of clothes that she had prepared based on your character. "And this is what you have to wear now. You can change in the jet if you want, just make sure to have this on when you land." You peeked inside the bag she had handed you and grimaced in disgust, remembering how much you hated the style of clothing you were supposed to wear for the next few hours.

"Thank you, Nat." You thanked her as you hugged each other goodbye. Once you boarded your flights you would not see each other again until the end of the mission, communicating only through calls or your intercoms.

"You're gonna do great! Just relax and remember our training. Oh and also keep Elizabeth in your mind at all times, I put some stuff in there to help you with that." She said pointing to the suitcase she had just handed you. You nodded to yourself, wondering what she had meant by that as you watched her enter the Quinjet.

Once Steve and Nat took off it was your and Bucky's turn to get ready to fly. You decided to change your attire before boarding the jet, thinking that maybe that would help you get into character one step at a time. Although you refused to put on your high heels until it was completely and utterly necessary.

"You promise you'll catch me if I fall down while wearing these?" You joked sitting barefoot on the Jet, your heels resting on the side beside you.

"Always, doll. I got your back." Bucky smiled at you and butterflies exploded in your stomach, not only because of the sweet smile on his face, but also because of the use of that pet name. 

Doll.

He had never called you that before. You liked the way it sounded coming from his lips.  It made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, more than normal. You liked the idea of Bucky using affectionate nicknames to refer to you. You had never heard him call anyone that before and for a moment you allowed yourself to get lost in the fantasy that it meant something. You knew he was probably just getting into character, acting more affectionate with you because he had to pretend you were engaged, but you didn't care. As the blood in your body rose to your cheeks you allowed yourself to imagine what it would really feel like to have Bucky call you that all the time, showing you the love and affection you so desperately craved. 

When you finally arrived at the hotel the sun was beginning to set. Bucky took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before walking through the large glass doors of the building and approaching the front desk. He took it upon himself to speak to the receptionist, giving her the false information under which you had booked the room. You were grateful that he had taken the initiative because your brain was overwhelmed, concentrating on keeping your balance on those high heels, trying not to forget that you had to act like a completely different person and, as if all that wasn't enough, trying hard not to giggle like a schoolgirl at Bucky's proximity.

With your keys in hand, you walked with your hands intertwined to the elevator, parting only when the metal doors closed. You leaned your back against the mirrored wall, letting out a long sigh. You hadn't done anything and you were already tired. You didn't want to imagine what the next day would be like.

"Are you okay?" Bucky's soft voice brought you out of your thoughts. You looked up at him, giving him a small smile.

"Yeah, I'm just tired I guess." You shrugged. "Over-thinking every little thing I do is exhausting."

"Well, you got tonight to relax and get ready for the big day. We can stay inside and order room service."

"That sounds nice." You smiled at him just as the elevator doors opened.

The first thing you did as soon as you entered the room was to kick the high heels off your feet. Bucky laughed softly at the exclamation of relief you let out at being freed from those instruments of torture, shaking his head as he closed the door to the room. Once you were settled you contacted Steve and Nat to let them know that you had arrived at your destination, and spent a couple of hours discussing the plan and adjusting some details following new information you had obtained about the security of the event. It was nothing too important, just a couple of extra steps Nat would have to do in order to help you trick the security cameras and guards. Your part of the mission remained the same, so you tried not to think too much about the changes so as not to get more confused or nervous.

When the call finally ended, Bucky took it upon himself to order dinner using room service. You were pretty sure it would be quite expensive given the type of hotel you were staying in, but you wouldn't be paying for it so you didn't care. Tony had enough money to cover that expense and staying in your room was the right decision right now so you felt no guilt.

While you waited for the food, you decided to change your ridiculous outfit for a more comfortable one. Since you didn't plan on going out again, you opened your suitcase in search of pajamas that you could wear without feeling strangely out of place. However, after inspecting the clothes Nat had packed for you, you only found one pair of pajamas that, like the rest of the clothes, were not at all your style. It was a pink satin two-piece set. The shorts were a decent length. They covered your butt well but left more thigh exposed than you'd like, especially considering Bucky was with you. The t-shirt, however, was a short tank top that you felt barely covered you.

"I'm gonna kill Natasha when this is all over." You muttered under your breath as you rummaged through the pile of clothes looking for something else you could wear. If this was her way of making you get into character you hated it. You knew it could have been something much worse—she could have packed a sexy nightgown or something—, but that didn't make it any better.

"Why?" Bucky's curious voice behind you startled you.

"She packed this ugly satin pajama for me to use as a way to get me into character I guess and I have nothing comfy to wear." You complained, pouting. There was nothing you wouldn't give at that moment to have your leggings and oversized t-shirts. They would clash with the luxurious room you were in, but at least you would be comfortable.

"Here, use this." Bucky threw you one of his t-shirts that he took from his suitcase, effectively hitting you in the face with it. "I always have some extra t-shirts just in case."

The shirt smelled like him, a mixture of his cologne and his signature body scent assaulting your nostrils. "Thanks." You thanked him with a smile before disappearing into the bathroom so you could change.

You took advantage of the moment of solitude to wash your face and calm your emotions a bit. You needed to concentrate and stop complaining. You were there for a very important mission. The lives of thousands of people depended on you doing things right, that should be your priority not a pair of uncomfortable clothes you didn't like. Bucky was a professional and you were sure he wouldn't be noticing how bad you looked in those clothes, let alone commenting on it. He had his mind on the mission and you had to do the same. 

Determined not to let little things keep bothering you, you changed into your pajamas. The shorts barely covered your butt and mid-thighs, the imperfect skin of your legs completely exposed to the world. You pushed your insecurities aside, taking the T-shirt Bucky had given you and pulling it over your head. It was long enough to almost cover your pants, resting loosely on your figure. You were a little surprised. You knew Bucky was much bigger, taller and sturdier than you, but for some reason you didn't expect his clothes to fit so loose. You were grateful though because at least one thing you were wearing made you feel comfortable.

When you emerged from the bathroom your eyes met Bucky's defined bare back, the muscles of his broad shoulders flexing as he rummaged through his suitcase. You froze for a moment, glued to the bathroom door frame as your eyes admired every little detail that adorned his exposed skin. He had a couple of old scars all along his back, some sharper than others, and you wondered how many of them dated from his time as the Winter Soldier. You resisted the urge to cross the room to touch them, though you really wanted to know what it would feel like to caress his back, to feel his warm skin under your fingertips.

"Oh, sorry!" You exclaimed, finally exiting the bathroom, though keeping your eyes glued to anything but him. "I didn't know you were changing." You cringed at the awkwardness in your voice, praying that he didn't notice the way in which his exposed body affected you.

"It's fine, doll, I don't mind. You're my future wife after all." Bucky joked, but your brain was too distracted by the nickname he had once again used to refer to you to respond. Butterflies awoke in your stomach and you had to resist the urge to fold into yourself and explode with joy as your mind imagined different romantic scenarios that would never happen.

"Are you okay?" Bucky asked when you didn't answer, turning to look at you. Your eyes fell again on his figure and to your luck you discovered that he had put on a T-shirt. Although nothing about what he was wearing really helped you much. The fabric of the t-shirt emphasized the width of his shoulders and the gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips didn't leave much to the imagination. For the sake of the mission and the sake of your mind you locked your gaze on his face, refusing to lower your eyes beyond his neck. 

But then you noticed that Bucky's gaze was focused not on your face but on your legs. It was only for a split second, but you could have sworn you saw him wander his eyes down the length of your figure, pausing momentarily on your thighs before returning his gaze to your face. Your heart raced, the blood from all over your body rushing to your cheeks as you discreetly tugged at the fabric of your shorts for a little more coverage.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm just a little tired." You lied, ignoring the tension in the air. You walked to the bed, pushing past him to settle on the mattress, using a pillow to cover your exposed legs.

The rest of the evening went on as normal. The tension in the air was quickly forgotten as soon as dinner arrived. You hadn't eaten much all day so you were starving, your stomach growling at the mere smell of food. You ate dinner to the sound of the big TV in the room, flipping through the channels until you found something interesting. You settled on a thriller movie that neither of you had ever seen before. The plot sounded interesting so you let yourselves get lost in the images so you didn't have to think about what had happened minutes before.

The movie turned out to be longer than you expected. It was getting late and you were starting to get sleepy, but you didn't mention anything until the credits rolled on the screen. Not because you cared that much about seeing the ending, but because you didn't want to think about the sleeping arrangements. There was only one bed in the room and as big as it was you weren't looking forward to the moment when you would have to lie down next to Bucky. If the scent of his cologne permeating the T-shirt he had lent you was enough to arouse the butterflies in your stomach you didn't want to imagine what feeling the warmth of his body next to yours would awaken. 

When the movie came to an end it was Bucky who turned off the TV, amazed at how late it was. He let out a yawn as he stretched, mumbling something about how it would be better if you went to sleep because you had a long day tomorrow. You nodded, getting out of bed to move the many decorative pillows to the side to make room to sleep. When you were satisfied with the number of pillows on the bed you headed to the bathroom where you locked yourself away for a few minutes to fulfill your nightly routine.

As you brushed your teeth you tried to mentally prepare yourself for the night ahead. The bed was big enough for the two of you, as long as you kept relatively still during the night you would have nothing to worry about. That was if you managed to get any sleep, but you tried not to think about it. Taking a couple of deep breaths to calm your racing heart, you opened the bathroom door. 

You expected to find Bucky already lying in bed or at least arranging his side, but you were surprised to find him lying on the couch. "What are you doing there?" You asked in confusion. The couch was too small for a super soldier to spend a whole night there. Bucky was huge, there was no way he would sleep comfortably in that tiny space. "Come to bed."

"You can take the bed, I'm fine here." He mumbled without opening his eyes.

"Bullshit! That couch is tiny. Come to bed with me." It would be awkward, but you weren't going to leave Bucky sleeping on the couch. Not only because that was cruel considering how small it was for him, but also because you needed him to be well rested for tomorrow. It would do you no good to have him by your side at the gala if he was tired and sore. You didn't know why he had chosen to sleep there, but you wouldn't leave him.

Unless he had done it because he didn't want to sleep with you next to him. You wouldn't blame him if that was the case, he probably found it strange to have to share such a small space with you. Especially considering the pajamas Natasha had packed for you. Embarrassment flooded your insides as you listened to the voice of insecurity in your head. "I mean, if you want to, obviously. I know it can be a little, humm, a little weird sleeping next to me, but, humm, I don't mind sharing the bed with, humm, with you." You mumbled incoherently, cursing your nerves for making you sound like a complete idiot.

"It's not weird." Bucky hurried to say, afraid that he had hurt your feelings by accident. It was the last thing he wanted to do, especially since he thought the opposite. There was nothing else he wanted more at that moment than to lie down next to you and wrap you in his arms for the rest of the night. But you didn't want that, so he thought it best to give you space. You were nervous enough as it was, so he didn't want to add to your problems.

"I just… I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, that's all."

"Well, you won't… So come here." You said, patting the empty space on the bed next to you. Bucky got up from the couch and walked over to the bed, arranging the side opposite yours before settling under the sheets. You did the same, adjusting the pillow before lying on your back, eyes glued to the ceiling. "Good night, Bucky." You whispered before turning off the lights, glancing over to his side for a moment to make sure he was already settled.

“Night, doll.”

There it was again.

Doll.

He said it so naturally, as if it were a common nickname he used with you. His voice didn't tremble when he uttered it, while you had to bite your tongue to keep the incoherent schoolgirl squeals from escaping your lips. You didn't know why he had started using such a pet name with you, but you honestly didn't want him to stop. It made you feel special. And yes, you knew it was stupid, but you couldn't help but enjoy the tingle that affectionate nickname awakened inside you when it left his lips. 

With a small smile on your lips, you rolled over on your side to sleep, turning your back to Bucky. You were sure you would be unable to close your eyes if you had him in front of you, your curious mind desperate to discover what he looked like in his sleep. You also made sure to keep as much distance as possible between your bodies as you didn't want Bucky to feel uncomfortable or accidentally invade his personal space. You also didn't want the opportunity to find out what it felt like to sleep next to the warmth of his body. You feared that once you found out you wouldn't be able to sleep alone in your bed again.

The night was as hard as you had imagined. Your brain refused to shut down, hyper-aware of your surroundings. Your eyes were glued to the clock on the nightstand, watching the minutes tick by as you listened to Bucky's breathing get deeper and deeper. You envied him for being able to fall asleep so quickly. You wondered if he had ever been trained for it or if it was just one of his many talents.

You tried not to move too much in bed. The last thing you wanted at that moment was to wake Bucky and have to explain to him the reasons behind your insomnia. But at the hour mark, your body forced you to change position. You rolled onto your back, admiring the ceiling of the room in the dark. The street lights coming in through the window formed figures on the surface, and for a while you amused yourself by finding shapes in them. 

Eventually your eyes strayed to the figure of the sleeping super soldier beside you. He was lying on his side facing you, his chest rising and falling with his breathing. The muscles in his face were relaxed, giving him a peaceful, almost angelic look. It was strange to see him so calm given that most of the time he walked around with a frown on his face, regardless of being angry or upset about something. But you liked seeing him like that, the calmness suited him. You had the urge to stroke his cheek and brush back the strands of hair that rested on his face, so you moved to turn your back to him once more. You needed to control yourself before you ended up doing something you would regret.

You closed your eyes and tried to sleep, counting sheep and concentrating on your breathing so you could relax. You tried everything, but still nothing worked. Your mind always found a way to divert its attention to something else. Sometimes it was the sound of Bucky's breathing or his slight movements on the bed. Other times it was the mission that awaited you tomorrow, the worry of having to work without any sleep ironically keeping you awake. And sometimes simple things like the sounds of the street would throw you off your concentration, ruining all the progress you had made.

"Stop moving so much." Bucky's hoarse voice from behind you startled you. You thought he was asleep.

You were about to apologize for disturbing him, but the words got stuck in your throat when you felt the weight of his arm on your body. His hand clutched your torso and very lightly pulled you closer to him, using his strength to slide you across the bed as if you weighed nothing. You wanted to ask him what he was doing, but then you felt the heat of his body against yours and your brain short-circuited.

"I'm sorry." You finally whispered in the dark. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. It was a nightmare." Bucky was so close to you that you could feel his warm breath crashing against your hair as he spoke. It awakened a tingle that spread throughout your body, making you shiver.

"Oh." You whispered, not knowing what to say. Your brain was fucked up, completely overwhelmed by Bucky's body pressing against your back while his arm held you in place. The only thing that allowed you to have a semblance of normal cognitive functioning was the fact that your eyes couldn't see his face. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nah, it's fine, doll. Don't worry." He spoke against your hair and your heart raced at the mention of the nickname. There was something in the raspiness of his voice that made you love him even more. "What I would like to do is go back to sleep, but I can't do that if you keep moving like that." There was a hint of amusement in his voice that let you know he wasn't upset with you.

"So what? Are you going to keep me trapped under your arm like it's a weighted blanket?"

"If I have to, yes."

"Bucky!" You protested although a slight chuckle escaped your lips. You tried to move, but Bucky tightened his grip, successfully pinning you under his arm. "Allright, you win! I'll stop moving."

"I don't know if I can trust your word, doll."

"What? Bucky! C'mon, let me go!"

"The hand stays until you fall asleep."

"Fine! It can stay, just not there." You accepted, taking his hand between yours and moving it to rest a little higher. "I don't need you clutching my belly rolls all night." You spoke in a light and funny tone to hide the fact that it was one of your biggest insecurities. You hated it when anyone touched your belly because you yourself hated your belly. In your mind everyone felt the same way you did about your body, seeing the same imperfections you hated. And every time someone hugged you from behind and rested their hands on your stomach, all you could think about was how exposed and vulnerable you felt, convinced that the other person would be judging you for your body shape.

Bucky thought to tell you that there was nothing wrong with your belly. He knew you felt insecure about it, he could tell by the way you always tried to cover it up or how you tensed up when someone hugged you from behind. He didn't understand why it was such a big issue for you. When Bucky looked at you he saw a beautiful woman, perfect from head to toe, and he didn't understand how you weren't able to see yourself the same way.

He wanted to tell you how beautiful you were, to teach you to look at yourself the way he saw you. But now was not the right time. It was late and you were in the middle of a mission. You both needed to sleep and he feared that such conversation would take a long time—not to mention that it might even make you uncomfortable. So instead of insisting, he accepted your change, adjusting his arm a few inches higher so as not to bother you. 

"Whatever, doll," Bucky said. "Just stay still and try to get some sleep. You're gonna need it."

You thought it was easy for him to say that since he usually closed his eyes and fell asleep in a matter of minutes. But you were surprised to notice that your tired eyes began to grow heavy, closing on their own. Your body relaxed under the weight of Bucky's arm, reveling in the warmth he radiated. As you leaned further against his chest to get more comfortable you thought you could get used to it. Bucky was a comfortable pillow and your bodies seemed to fit together perfectly. 

As you slowly succumbed to sleep, you couldn't help but think that there was no way you could ever sleep alone again after discovering what it felt like to be trapped in Bucky's arms. You were completely and utterly screwed.

[bri1234]

My Favorite Quotes from the Halloween Heists

I rewatched the 8 Brooklyn Nine-Nine Halloween Heists to find the funniest/best quotes!

Season 1 - Episode 6: Halloween I

Holt: Where did you get those birds?

Jake: By using my big fat brain!

Season 2 - Episode 4: Halloween II

Jake: Those guys at the impound. Did they really smash my car?

Holt: No. In fact, I had them wash it.

Jake: Ha. Good one, Captain. You can't "wash" a car.

Season 3 - Episode 5: Halloween III

*wailing at Boyle’s cockroaches*

Gina: If I die, turn my tweets into a book!!!

Season 4 - Episode 5: Halloween IV

Hitchcock: Attention, everyone.

Rosa: Enough. We know. The heist is happening.

Hitchcock: No, my ex-wife just died. No more alimony, baby!

Season 5 - Episode 4: HalloVeen

Holt: You’re not Cheddar, you’re just some common bitch.

Season 6 - Episode 16: Cinco de Mayo

Captain Holt: She's making it up. The pregnancy scam was my idea. Jake: No. No, no, no, no, Amy. Wait, is that true? Did you just lie to me about our baby? Charles: Yeah, did you lie to us about our baby?

-----

Captain Holt: How many cummerbunds are you holding right now? Zero. It's one bund to none, son!

Season 7 - Episode 11: Valloweaster

Amy: Sorry, sir, that no one wants to bone your dusty old skeleton.

-----

Captain Holt: Is this about the surveillance system I set up in your apartment? [flashback to Holt watching Jake and Amy in bed on a monitor] Captain Holt: Sleep, sleep, you ugly morons.

Season 8 - Episode 9: The Last Day

Jake: So the heist is actually going to be the perfect goodbye.

Amy: What does that mean?

Jake: Drama, glamor, shocking twists and turns. And the whole heist ends up with everyone at the Brooklyn Bridge.

Amy: Is that meaningful? Have we ever been there together as a squad?

Jake: Uh, yeah.

[theme music plays over clip from opening credits]

Jake: I'm not sure why we all looked so intense, we were just getting falafel.

Amy: I mean, that falafel stand is really good.

Jake: True that, yeah.

—————

Holt: Well, your intel is of no use since we’re locked in here. Unless… you smash your gigantic body through the wall.

Terry: I AM NOT THE KOOL-AID MAN!!!

Obviously, there are so many more funny quotes from this show. I just love these 😁

If there are any other quotes that you found funny in these episodes, feel free to drop them in the comments!

[wyn-n-tonic]

Golden, Like Daylight -- Part IX

Word Count: 3,087 Warnings: PTSD. Children. Fluff. Angst. Emotions. Dialogue heavy bullshit. Author's Note: Welp... this is it, y'all. I posted the first chapter of this on March 4, 2021, and it's coming to a close today on April 5, 2021, and I'm... a goddamn mess. I'm not ready to let these characters go, both the TF boys and my own character in Leah. I really appreciate all your kindness and encouragement throughout writing this, my whole heart belongs to you. Thank you, I hope you love this as much as I love you.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

Her room is painted like a sunrise. He remembers the first time he went up there, like it was the first breath he ever took. All rising pinks and melting blues.

He wanted her to feel that freedom from the beginning.

Leah’s hands climb his back, a kiss pressed to the hot skin between his shoulder blades as he dips to pluck his peaceful little girl out of slumber.

“Baby, let her sleep.”

But he’s shaking his head, careful with hers in his hand, “she can sleep later, I need her with me now.”

“Hmm,” she hums, turning him to guide him back to their bedroom, “keep that enthusiasm.”  

Their shuffle is quiet, Luna’s big eyes slipping back to sleep nestled into her fathers shoulder.

He’s been home for over half a year and as he crawls back into bed, baby and wife clinging to him, part of him still can’t believe it. That after everything he told her, she let him stay. That, like tonight, she’s soothed the new nightmares like the old. That he celebrated Christmas with them, Luna’s first.

That he watched her lift herself up and take her first steps. That after all he had done, those first steps were towards him.

That he helped blow out the candles that he helped light, on the cake he helped make for the little girl who has her daddy’s eyes. His dimple. His smile.

One hand splayed across each of their backs, he’s talking to Leah but directing it at Luna when her bright brown eyes open again to find his.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers, Leah’s soft hand falling on his under her small back, “I’m sorry that mama and papa woke you up.”

She reaches a tiny hand up to his face and he melts into the small touch of her, his heart swelling at the unbelievable luck he has in chances granted again and again when a little, “papa,” tumbles forward in the softly lit room.

He feels Leah jump and his eyes snap to hers before they both fall back to Luna, just over one year.

“She just sa—“

“Say it again, baby,” Leah coos, tears spilling over Frankie’s eyes.

She doesn’t understand but as she grabs for him, the small voice repeats, “papa,” and he didn’t know his heart could feel so full despite all the compounding moments of fullness she’s brought to him. That they both have.

He bites his lip while looking into Leah’s glassy eyes and knows that her heart is just as swollen in this moment and all the others.

“The next one’s first word will be mama,” his hand finds the small swell of her lower belly, “I promise.” —————

She presses a coffee cup into his hand before taking a seat across from him on the living room floor, baby toys and blankets strewn across the space between them.

“What happened?”  

He takes a deep breath, finding the words he spoke out loud to his team in Lorea’s mansion, “A serious fuck up.”

“I figured that much, Francisco, but what happened?”

So he tells her and she lets him.

He tells her about the seventeen grand of Santi’s own money. How he promised himself no live fire and let himself and his desperation to give her and Luna and himself the best lead him into shattering his soul again. Ripping it up as life drained from the eyes of his fellow human beings and how he didn’t even have the protection of a flag on his shoulder to ease a semblance of that pain. How even if they were bad guys, they weren’t his bad guys to worry about.

He tells her about the helicopter crash, the result of his own greed for the money and for a lack of conflict led to more loss and conflict. How he doesn’t know if he’s the one who fired first on that village but he knows he fired, an automatic weapon slung across his shoulders as easily as the diaper bag he carries through the grocery store for her.

He tells her about the crumbling mountainside, how all he saw at the bottom looking down was himself never coming home to his girls. How that’s when something within him finally snapped, when he and Will silently decided to take the reigns from Tom and Santi’s hands.

He tells her about the fire, burning hundreds of thousands of dollars to keep warm in the freezing air that wrapped around the Andes. About the gunfire that followed them through the rocks in the morning sun.

About standing over Tom’s dead body, the relief and guilt crashing inside him like a warm front meeting a cold one. How he thinks he’ll feel those both every day that he wakes because, unlike the survivor’s guilt easing through you on active duty at the knowledge that this just happens sometimes, this time was different.

He tells her that, after all of that, he threw millions of dollars down a snowy ravine in the middle of Peru where no one would ever see it again, not even his girls who needed it so much because he realized it wouldn’t be fucking worth it for them to have it if it meant not coming home.

He tells her how he almost shot that kid in the jungle. How he would’ve shot every kid standing between him and the boat to get home to his own.

He tells her that he thinks, at the end of it all, Santiago and his plan ended up doing more damage to that country than not.

She listens intently, focused wholly on him. Her face never breaks but he can see the cogs turning behind her eyes, trying to take it all in. Trying to understand.

“I understand if you want me to leave, if you never want to see me again,” he reaches out for her hand, a shiver of shock running through his spine when she doesn’t pull away from him.

Blinking as the words catch up with her, her head shakes, “I just got you back, Francisco, you promised me you wouldn’t leave again so why the fuck do you think I want you to go now?”

“Because what I did is unforgiv—“

“It’s not, there are terrible men in this world who do worse everyday,” he sees the slight sheen of tears coat her lashes, “and you helped stop one of them.”

“There will be others to take his place,” he says around a sip of his drink, his coffee gone cold in the spaces between all his words.

Her hand gives a squeeze to the one it holds, “there will always be others to take his place.”

His breathing evens out, anchored in his chest by a warmth he doesn’t deserve, “there's something else you need to know.”

He tells her about the five million dollars they were able to make it to the boat with, “we signed it all over to Molly and the girls. Will and Benny and I, we decided to do so while Santi was sleeping. We figured, ya know, at least we were coming home. It wasn’t really money we were losing since it was never ours to begin with, Tom’s family lost everything and they didn’t even know it.”

The tears do come now, streams running down his face, “I couldn’t stop thinking about how close you came to losing everything and not even knowing it too.”

His stunted words around the hiccups in his throat draw Luna’s attention, her babbles reaching out to him the way she tried to soothe Leah’s over the weeks prior. Their attention is on her now, eyes wide as she lifts herself with the couch for leverage.

She toddles one step towards his still shaking body before tumbling forward, his hands dropping the now empty coffee cup and Leah’s hand to catch her.

He pulls her small body close, hiding his face in the crook of her neck to inhale the scent of baby lotion. As she giggles in his ear, he looks up to Leah’s soft face, “the boys and I still took three hundred thousand.” —————

“You're fucking insane,” Deana doesn’t quite whisper into Leah’s ear, “a whole ass baby with another one barely even a year old, have you heard of a condom?”

“How many mimosas did you have already, D?”

Kristyn struggles with her key in the door, a large bag in hand, “judging by the slight slur, I’m going with about three so far.”

“Fuck off, K,” she points, turning back to Leah, “I'm just saying that if that big goofy idiot husband of yours goes on another of his boy’s trips, I will kill him this time.”

Her fingers are still quoting around the air as the threat falls around them, Frankie’s attention at the other end of the room grabbed away from the pureed carrots of Luna’s lunch.

“Well,” Kristyn interjects, holding the bag forward, “that’s why I come bearing the gift of one Benjamin Miller, he couldn’t be here because of a boy’s trip.”

“What do you mean?”

Leah looks back at Frankie, his eyes now turned to the conversation. She sees the pain and confusion there, he didn’t know.

Kristyn follows Leah’s gaze before looking back at the older sister in front of her, “he promised me this was his last one and he’s sorry it had to take place during your baby shower but,“ she holds the bag out again, “he says you’ll like this one.”

“It's not a shower,” Leah rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kristyn interjects, “a sprinkle. Whatever.”

“It’s not even that since, ya know,” she looks down at the tiny bundle in her arms, “he's already here.”

“A birthday present then,” she beams, “Benny says he’ll set it up when he gets home.”

Frankie’s laughter finds them now, choking around the baby food he’s trying to convince his stubborn daughter of—she’s not and she’s learned how to voice that disgust with all thanks given to her Uncle Benny.

“Baby, it’s another military surveillance camera.”

Kristyn laughs, “yeah, our whole house is strung up with them at this point but they come in handy to watch the neighbors since I’m nosy.”

“When did they leave?” His voice is small, a slight worry behind it.

Kristyn lets out a breath, “about four hours ago, he made me promise not to tell you until he was gone.”

He just nods his head, a silent clock beginning to tick in his brain. —————

It’s been two weeks since he heard from Ben or Will.

The boys have been here day in and day out since they came home last year, always were before that and even more so now that all they truly had was each other and the families they were making with and around each other.

Benny ran through Kristyn’s apartment complex screaming her name so loud as he started to bang on her door that he was met with a baseball bat. Now that idiot was going to be his brother because the sight she was met with was one of Benjamin Miller on his knees with a ring in his hands.

They gave them space with the baby’s arrival, small and short visits until Leah felt ready to have them all over again. He spoke to them that morning as he shaved the night’s stubble away, they talked like they were coming by and how they couldn’t get enough of their new nephew. How they were getting him the best present.

Frankie runs his forefinger and thumb along his mustache now, the compromise of facial hair he settled on. He didn’t want his full and sparse beard but he also felt lighter at the way Leah laughed into him with every brush of his lips.

He’s pacing the living room, bouncing the baby as Leah and Luna nap upstairs. There's only silence and the soft gurgling of a newborn when the quiet knock comes.

Already close to the entryway, he closes the distance and whispers a silent prayer to himself. A prayer that this isn’t bad news. That this is Will or Benny, not using their keys out of courtesy to the newness of little life inside his home.

He opens the door and is met with the tired eyes of Santiago Garcia.

“Hey, Frank,” he says. All bravado of his being seeped from him and replaced with, what sounds like, apology.

He adjusts his son in his hold, ushering the shorter man in so the warmth of the house doesn’t keep seeping out, “I thought you were in Australia.”

“Yeah, well,” he turns to face Frankie again as the door closes, “I make some really shit decisions sometimes.”

Frankie scoffs, half a laugh hidden in the sound. He’s not wrong but he’s not exactly right either.

“Can I get you something to drink?” He’s walked through to the kitchen, the shorter man falling in pace beside him, “we’re a dry household right now with the baby and my therapy bu—“

“Nah, Fis-Frank,” he stutters, “just came to talk to you. And Leah. She around?”

“She’s resting but I can pass along a message if I like it.”

Santi reaches into the leather folder he always carries around and produces a booklet, the one from the lawyer in St. John’s.

But different, a different cover and date, a different name stamped across the front.

“The boys sent me to give you this alone, said we needed to talk about a few more things than just this. Said I needed to apologize to you and to your wife, that I owed you that for so much but especially roping you into that shit last year.”

“Water under the bridge,” Frankie replies softly, changing direction to move through to the living room, “I gave up on an apology a long time ago and Leah never expected one, but nobody’s mad at you.”

Frankie carries the bassinet into sight from the kitchen before walking back, “what is this, Pope?”

“It’s your cut, we went back.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re stupid and greedy and we fucked ourselves up getting it in the first place so we figured we’d go back and we figured we fucking owed you.”

Frankie squints at the shorter man, searching his eyes for the hint of a joke he’s not laughing at. There is none. His cold brown stare is dead serious.

“This is my apology to you, Fran—“

“Frankie,” Leah’s voice filters into the room, he can hear her sleepy shuffle as she pads across the carpet now, “did you feed Santiago while I was asleep or should I?”

“I fed him, baby,” he calls over his shoulder.

He looks back at the man who helped shape his life, tears welling in his eyes, and hears Leah talking about ordering Chinese for dinner as she crosses the threshold but he doesn’t hear her. He can’t hear anything over the squeeze around his midsection, Santi’s quiet strength taking all of his air and senses.

He lets go as quickly as he grabbed him, Leah’s presence heavy in the room now and he crosses the room to gather her in his arms, a kiss pressed to each cheek and then her hair. He’s careful not to hug as hard as he had Frankie, conscious of her still healing body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between them, “for everything I’ve done and everything I wasn’t around for.”

She’s trying to catch her breath, trying not to cry herself, “it's oka—“

“I should’ve been here for you guys.”

Her small hand comes up to pat the curls, a little more gray than a year ago, “you are now.”

He pulls away from her, a hitch in his voice as he says, “can I hold him?”

“Yeah,” she nods, “but you gotta wash your face and hands, no tears or snot on my baby.”

He mumbles to himself about how that makes sense as he moves to the sink, fumbling over the soap in the holder as he shakes with nerves.

She makes her way across the kitchen, wrapping her still sleepy being around that of her wide awake husband. The low lying winter sun is filtering through the windows, bathing everything in soft, warm light.

She sees the golden cover of the booklet on the counter and taps it, “what's this?”

Daylight Family Trust is stamped across in big bold words.

“That was the boy’s trip,” he whispers, “that’s our cut.”

He watches her as she slowly reaches for the document, the one that explains how this all works and looks between the men.

“How much?”

Santi rips a paper towel from the roll, “about thirty-five million.”

Frankie holds her as her knees start to give out but she’s still looking at Santi, she’s still looking for the joke he never made.

“Daylight's your call sign, you know,” he says cooly, “all the wives get one too, did he ever tell you?”

She shakes her head, looking at her husband now and thinking of all the times that very word fell from his lips.

“On our last real deployment,” Pope continues, “he was flying as the sun was setting and the sky was pure gold over the desert—“

Frankie’s eyes never leave hers, arms tight around her now.

“—he said it reminded him of the way the gold flakes in your eyes reflect the sunlight back at him, he called you Daylight until he got home and shed the callsigns altogether.”

“Frankie?”

He presses his lips into her forehead, his hand a heavy weight on her lower back that says, I’m right here.

“Your daughter has the same golden flakes in her eyes, like you, Daylight.”

Frankie runs his thumb along the swell of her cheek, "all I wanted to do last year was get home to you both, all I wanted was to make it right and see that reflection of light back at me through you both again.”

He leans down to softly press his lips to hers before nuzzling his nose into her hair, “our son has them too, the same gold in his eyes, it was the first thing I said to Ben when I walked out of the delivery room.”

"It was the first thing they said to me," Santiago says, "when they got off the plane." 

“Like me?” Her voice is soft, the heaviness of sleep still clinging to her limbs.

“Mmhmm,” Frankie hums, “like Daylight.”

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[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding IX

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Part I - - - - - Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV  - - - Part V - - - - - Part VI - - - - - Part VII - - - - - Part VIII

Content Warning: This chapter contains potentially triggering material, particularly aftermath of attempted suicide as well as discussions of bodily injury.

Cody woke up the morning after the...drunken keldabe still feeling uneasy. He spent half an hour attempting to read over reports in preparation for the Umbaran campaign before giving it up as a lost cause. He distracted himself for a little while by pouring over last night’s cantina surveillance, before giving up on that as well and sending a message to General Skywalker.

‘Any updates on General Kenobi’s status?’

He watched the comms as communications from everyone besides the General trickled in. He answered a few requests for requisitions, forwarded some medical reports, and ignored an irritating handful of overly-personal questions. 

Agonizing over it the whole time, he opened a comm-text link to Obi-Wan. It took nearly an hour, but he managed to send two sentences. ‘Hope you’re recovering well. Look forward to upcoming mission discussion.’

He immediately wanted to retroactively delete the message, mortified by every word and deeply concerned at every second that passed without a reply.

He spent the next 30 minutes hunched over, quickly closing every incoming CT and CC communication, justifying the time to himself as ‘technically on leave.’

He lurched forward when he finally received a General’s comm code, but slumped in disappointment when it was Skywalker, not Kenobi.

‘Not as drunk but still seems a little high. He says he wasn’t drugged. He’s taking the rest of the day off. I’m monitoring.’

Taking the rest of the day off. Did that mean he wasn’t carrying around his comm? Kriff. Should he more or less concerned that the general was actually taking a day off?

He decided to be more concerned.

‘Thank you for the update. Respectfully request information on any changes.’

Hopefully that would encourage Skywalker to keep him informed even if he stopped freaking out over his vod’s behavior.

Stowing the remote comm, he stood up and exited the temporary planet-side office, throwing himself into cleaning up the mess that was nearly 20,000 clone troopers simultaneously attempting to get the most out of a very brief R&R. 

Shortly before mid-day, he received another update from Skywalker.

‘Just managed to get him to medical. Healer cleared him of drug interactions but Obi-Wan’s still acting strange (not crying, but a lot of hugging).’

Cody stared at that for a long while.

‘Any other verbal indications of upcoming danger?’ he finally asked. Skywalker didn’t reply. 

Shortly after nightfall, his incident reports were interrupted by a call from an unknown temple number. He quickly opened it, and a holo of an unfamiliar Mon Calamari female healer appeared in miniature on the desk.

“Commander Cody. Thank you for answering so quickly. Are you somewhere private?” she asked, voice deliberately neutral.

The Commander tensed up. “Yes, sir. I’m in CC office space, alone. The room and the channel are both secure. Is this regarding General Kenobi?”

“Yes.” She replied. “My name is Master Bant Eerin; I’m a temple healer as well as a personal friend of Obi-Wan’s. He’s...he’s in the healing halls right now. We’re still trying to understand exactly what happened- I’ll tell you what I can but first we need to rule out any possible drugs he may have contact with. I need you to describe in detail anything he may have been exposed to that could have possibly had mind-altering effects.”

The Commander was a professional. He swallowed back his fear, his questions, and his demands to know what was going on.

“Of course. Everything on the Negotiator was GAR Standard, and I was with him when we left the ship. We went directly to the lower levels. The first time he was exposed to anyone outside the 212th was when we left our transport on level 3915. I...actually have footage of him the whole time night after that point. I’m sending it over right now, sir.”

“That would be extremely helpful, thank you.” He watched as she pulled it up on a second comm, sound barely audible. 

He continued with his report: “One of the boys took it without permission. He didn’t mean anything by it, he’s just an idiot; I’ve already issued a severe reprimand. In any case, he brought it to me after I issued surveillance on the cantina, it tracks everything the General did- as far as I can tell, he had a glass of house grub wine, two shots of rancor blood, and an unnamed mixed cocktail ‘on the house.’ You can see everything the bartender added- as far as I can tell nothing was slipped in. He just... blacked out suddenly after the fourth drink, and quickly startled awake, confused by his surroundings.”

“I see.” Her tone was still carefully neutral and Cody didn’t know how to read her expression. He waited, wishing he was wearing his bucket so he didn’t have to keep schooling his face into professional patience.

“You brought him back to the temple...correct?” 

“Yes, sir.”

She let out a deep breath, gills fluttering slightly. “We’ll probably have more questions later, but please understand our inquires are entirely based around determining how we can best help Obi-Wan. This call and any future ones are not intended, and should absolutely not be interpreted, as indications of blame. He’s actually spoken to me about you before, I know he has the deepest respect for you, personally and professionally. Someone will likely be assigned to talk to everyone whose spent time with him recently, including myself.”

The sick feeling in his gut from last night returned full force. “I...believe I understand sir. His condition is serious, then?”

Her gills fluttered again.

“Even now, I think we can safely anticipate a full physical recovery. He...there’s no easy way to say this...it appears he attempted to end his own life. Knight Skywalker got to him just in time, and he received bacta within minutes of the initial burn. I...like I said...we’ll began work to figure out why-”

Her voice broke and she stared up, large tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. She hastily wiped them away.

“Rest assured commander, he’s getting the best treatment possible. Thank you for your assistance. I’ll do my best to answer any questions you might have right now. This is my personal comm link- please feel free to reach out to me at any point for updates.”

“I-” Cody cleared his throat. “Can I come to the temple? To...” he trailed off, not sure how to finish.

“Not tonight, I’m sorry. The healers need to focus; he’s not allowed any visitors until he’s out of Bacta, I’m afraid.”

“Skywalker must be throwing a fit at that” Cody remarked numbly.

The healer winced. “Knight Skywalker is currently sedated. He was...injured in the struggle to keep Obi-Wan from further harm. Master Windu witnessed part of it, but we’ll have to wait until its safe to wake him to get the full story. I’ll be notifying Captain Rex of the situation after we finish speaking.”

“I’ll do it.” Cody offered immediately. “Tell me what happened.”

Eerin hesitated. 

“Please, Sir. It will be better coming from me and...if he’s the only other trooper who’s being informed at the moment...”

“Of course,” she said quietly. “We don’t know the full circumstances, but at some point in performing emergency care for Master Kenobi, Knight Skywalker was stabbed in the lower abdomen with a vibroblade. It pierced his large intestine. The blade was pulled out shortly before healers arrived, causing some further damage and blood loss. He’s already finished surgery, and should only need a few hours of Bacta at most. Considering his extraordinary past recovery rates, he’ll likely be out of bed tomorrow and fully healed by the end of the week.”

“General Kenobi wouldn’t...” Cody trailed off again. He was having a hard time putting coherent sentences together.

Bant looked at the ceiling for a moment, seeming to collect her thoughts.

“Psychosis can have many manifestations. Even with- with conventional injuries, people can mistake help for harm. There’s just too much we don’t understand, and only so much we can learn before they wake up. Are you certain you wish to be the one to inform Captain Rex?”

“Yes.” That was about the only thing the Commander was certain of right now. “Is there anyone else in the GAR I should inform of...anything?”

“The military aspect of this isn’t my area of expertise. If there’s someone you trust who can be a support for you, I don’t see why you shouldn’t be able to tell them in confidence. Some form of what happened is going to get out eventually.” she replied. “Please use your discretion, I suppose. It’s...not really my speciality but I imagine you’ll receive further orders on how much to release to the GAR once Obi-Wan’s stable.”

Right. Discretion. Because Obi-Wan wasn’t just Obi-Wan- he was a high general in charge of nearly 1/3 of the republic’s forces. If word of this got out to the wrong ears it would cause mass panic, maybe even an emboldened separatist advance. It was an insane amount of responsibility for one person, no wonder - he deliberately didn’t finish the thought.

“I’ll comm the Captain immediately. Thank you for the information, General.” he said out loud.

“Feel free to contact me for further updates, and tell Captain Rex he’s welcome to do the same. I’ll message you when its clear to visit the halls.”

“Yes, Sir.” Cody responded, saluting automatically. 

“Take care of yourself, Commander Cody”

The hologram blinked out. Cody sat motionless for several long moment before sweeping his desk off, sending the assorted flimsies and redundant comm-units of various designations to the ground.

He stared at the empty desk, then tapped a button on his wrist comm, opening a private audio channel. “CT-7567, please come in” he said calmly.

“Cody?” came the alarmed reply. “I’m here, what’s going on?” Why did he sound so panicked? He had deliberately used his calmest voice. Oh well.

“Please report immediately to CC Office 12 in Guard Headquarters”

“I’ll be there in 10″

Cody hung up. He stared at the blank wall. He knew something was wrong with how the General said goodbye.

He opened the single desk drawer and dumped the odd wires and coins inside to the floor. Eerin had said burn. That could mean a lot of things, but lightsaber was the most likely. 

Cody puked profusely into the empty drawer. He stared at the vomit for a moment before carefully closing the drawer. He still felt a little sick. He hadn’t even said anything back to the General, he just stood there, frozen. 

He stared vaguely at the wall across, wondering if he was going to puke again.

Rex burst into the room. “Cody! What’s going on?! You- kark, what is that smell?”

“I puked in the desk drawer” Cody explained.

Rex shut the door behind him and slowly walked over. He knelt down next to the desk, gently taking Cody’s hands in this own. “Cody. Vod. Talk to to me.” 

“Obi-Wan tried to kill himself.”

Rex’s hands tightened over Cody’s compulsively and Cody squeezed back harder. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at Rex’s expression.

“Some of ghost company went out for drinks last night. Obi-Wan started acted oddly. We flew towards the temple. He started crying. We got to the temple. He Keldabe kissed me. He told me goodbye. I didn’t say anything back.”

“Oh, vod” Rex whispered. He gently pulled the slack Cody off the chair and onto his lap on the floor. Cody continued mechanically. “I did reports today. Skywalker said he was with him. I left Obi-Wan a message. I don’t think he saw it. He tried to kill himself. Skywalker must have left him alone. He saved him. Obi-Wan stabbed Skywalker.”

Rex froze, still holding on to Cody. 

“The healer called. Asked about drugs. They don’t think its drugs but they had to ask. She said they’re both going to heal completely fine. I have a link if you want to call the healer directly. That’s...it. I have reports to do now.”

Rex held Cody tighter. “Not right now”

“It’s war. People get hurt. People die. I have work to do”

“Not right now,” Rex repeated. “You have the right to be upset. You have the right to grieve. You’re a person, of course you have feelings.”

“Obi-Wan said that.” Cody whispered. Then he started crying. He continued to quietly sob for some time, hurt and bewildered and scared. They sat on the floor together; Rex barely moved, simply held on to his older brother as he fell apart.

Inevitably, Cody’s tears dried up and he pulled away. 

“I don’t know how to clean this,” he said gesturing at that closed drawer. 

“I’ll take care of it. Let’s just get you to bed. There’s CC bunks here, right? 

“Yes but...”

Cody didn’t really like sleeping so isolated, but he also couldn’t imagine facing the 212th right now. 

“I’ll stay here with you. We’ll go to the temple together in the morning.”

Rex shepherded Cody to the fresher. He stared at the mirror with a vague sense of recognition before automatically moving through a standard sanitation routine. By the time he finished, Rex had joined him in his room.

“What did you do with the vomit?” Cody asked, suddenly exhausted. They slipped into bed together.

“Swapped the whole desk with Pond’s. That bastard knows what he did.”

Cody let out a snort. Then, much to his surprise, he sank heavily into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Part X