#anyway here we go catching up with the four prompts i skipped yes yes

[smimon]

Käärijätober day 17: Low squat

[alexa-fika]

HEY! HEY! HEYYY! IT'S MEE

Anyways today is now birthday 😍🎂 (A.k.a April 4)

Can I request a whitebeard pirates x fem child reader?

Like the reader is like nezuko from demon slayer

Let's say that reader comes with ace to find a cure

So basically ace was figthing jinbe and whitebeard arrives and then ace and whitebeard starts fighting until ace pass out but before ace can pass out reader attacks then because she's very protective of her family 🥺

Then they basically distract reader so that they can aboard ace into the ship then out of nowhere reader starts running around because the sun was rising and she has no option but to go with the whitebeard pirates

So basically everyone was suspicious because why was reader wearing a muzzle? And why does reader only comes out in the night or stays in shades?

But if anyone tries to question ace gets really defensive because he thinks they'll kill reader because she's a demon

So in the end whitebeard first found out then Marco then thatch (f u Blackbeard) then izou then everyone?

Thank youuuuu ✨✨

Demonically adorable (Whitebeard pirates x f!child!reader!)

Part 2 (Reactions)

A/N, im not gonna lie cosmo, I was totally gonna skip this one and leave it for later but I got to actually reading and looking back at when ace joined and omg the ideas just started flowing, some things are not exactly as your prompt or don’t go as in depth so I really hope you enjoyed this, because I certainly enjoyed writing it

Reader here is replaced by dokucha which stands for Reader in Japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

Dokucha's eyes widen as she runs towards Ace, trying to shake him awake, growling at the giant in front of them

“Hmm? So he has a little brat with him?”

The only response he receives is the sound of hisses and growls behind the child’s muzzle

“Back down, Dokucha, you’re no match for him…my father’s rival,” he grunts out

“I won’t lose,” he growls, beginning to stand up and ignoring the worried fussing of the child

“Heh, so you've still got some fight left, huh? Look, I'm not going to kill you today; you are far too valuable to someone to die here”, the man said, gesturing at the small child next to him

“Join me and become my son,” he says, reaching out his hand to the flame man

“Don’t screw with me, old fart,” he growls, slapping his hand away and launching himself toward the Emperor, only to be knocked back

Dokucha let out a sound close to a cry as she ran towards Ace, trying to shake him awake once again, snapping her head up at the sound of Whitebeard’s steps approaching them

She growls, standing in front of Ace, shielding him, her eyes shrinking to slits as the man continues to approach the two, her eyes glancing behind him as a blue flame approaches them

She watches as a blue flame grows closer until she is able to discern the shape of a bird landing next to the man

“Are we taking him with us?” He asks, glancing at Whitebeard

“Yes, he’s knocked out. He will be no problem, but I reckon the little one won’t go as easily.”

“I can handle her, Pops; Thatch will take care of the boy and his crew.”

“So I said, but you aren’t making this easy,” he sighs, evading another lunge from the girl

“And here I thought the other one would be the troublesome,” he spoke, catching a kick that he sent his way and pushing her back

She catches herself, gripping the ground with all fours as she immediately leaps towards him again, growling at him and showcasing the sharp canines now on full display, the muzzle long gone as her body begins to mature rapidly.

He quirks his head at that,

“That body of yours, is it the Toshi-toshi no mi?” He questions, flying out of the way to avoid her attack

She grits her teeth, looking at the airborne phoenix, preparing to jump up to meet him in the air until he suddenly flew down and trapped her between his talons

He hums, glancing at her expression, noting how the angry expression she had worn at the beginning had shifted to a worried one as she kept glancing around, presumably looking for Where they had taken Ace

“Hey,” he calls, frowning as she ignored his call as she tried to free herself

“Oi, Calm down, I'm not gonna hurt you,” he hollered, trying to settle her down

“You’re just trying to protect him, right?”

She pauses her attempts to free herself at the question

“We’re not going to hurt him; all the contrary, we want to help him,” he explained, huffing as she narrowed her eyes suspiciously

“I promise,” he said, returning his upper body to his human form as he raised his hands in a surrendering motion

“Listen, how about I take you to him? You can stay with him, and we can talk about this in the morning.”

She looks at him, nodding, as her body slowly returns to her original childish state

He kept her for a few seconds, trying to determine if she was really giving up, removing his talons when it was clear she had no more fight on her

She yawned, glancing around her to take in the room she was in; remembering the events of last night, she jumped off the bed, grabbing her umbrella, and poking her head outside of the room.

“Hey, pumkin’, I see you’re awake,” a voice pipes in

She looks towards the voice, spotting a man dressed in Chef clothes smiling back at her

She looks at him for a few moments before reaching one of her hands towards him, opening and shutting it as her other hand held the umbrella

He grins and easily picks her up

“What’s with the umbrella sweetpea?”

She points her hand up

“Hmm? The sun?”

She nods

“Are you sensitive to sunlight?”

Another nod

“Well, I’ll be damned, Marco did mention you were quite unique,” he said, looking her over, deciding not to comment on the bamboo piece between her teeth

“But just as cute, aren't ya, darlin?” He said, tickling her neck

Muffled giggles escape her at the action as she nuzzles deeper into him, trying to escape the sudden attack

They both turn at the sound of a door slamming open, looking as a disheveled Ace left the room, looking around, confused

“Looks like sleeping beauty finally woke up; how about we go say hi?

She leans the umbrella against his shoulder to free her hand as she pulls at his clothes

“Something wrong?”

She points at Ace, puts her hands together, leans her head against it in a sleeping motion, and then puts her wrists together, joining and separating her hands

“A sleeping crocodile?”

She shakes her head, repeating the motions

“Are you… are you trying to say he is snappy when he wakes up?”

She beams, nodding her head

He snickers at that

“I like you,” he said, walking closer to Ace as he threw himself against the walls of the ship, sliding all the way down and gripping his head only to snap it up at the sound of Thatch’s voice

“Hey, there; I'm Whitebeard’s fourth division commander, Thatch. I'm a good friend to have if you’re going to be joining us he said, sitting down on the railing, gingerly placing Dokucha on his lap

“Shut up!” He growls

“And give me back my sister he said, standing up and snatching the small girl from him, returning from his previous position as he hugged her

“Hahaha! She was right; you are kind of snappy when you wake up,” he teased as he continued to explain what had happened when he passed out, teasing him further when he questioned the lack of restraints on him, replying that such a thing was not needed on him.

The next few weeks were but a blur to the small girl, every day following the same pattern for a while. Every day, Ace would ask her to stay behind as he would go after Whitebeard only to be launched back repeatedly. During these times, Dokucha took to bonding with the different brothers on the ship, as they cared for her when Ace was busy with his assassination attempts.

“How many times has it been already?” Questioned Vista as he watched as once again Ace was thrown out of the Captain’s quarters

“More than a hundred”

“How could such a sweet thing be able to deal with that hothead, always madder than a wet hen, ain't that right pumkin’?” Thatch questions as he bounced the small girl on his legs, smiling at the muffled laughs that escaped her.

“Stop moving so much, Izou,” grumbled as he continued to work on the girl’s hair upon her request

“There you go,” he said, backing up with a smile

She beamed, jumping off Thatch’s lap and twirling around, showcasing her new hairdo

“Say, how come you wear that muzzle all the time?” Someone questions

“Mind your own business,” Ace grumbled, dripping wet as he passed them and snatching the small girl up as he went, who gave the men behind her a wave as she left

“I think your brother should be about done with his daily attempt. Should we get this to him?” Marco questioned the girl on his hip as his other hand held a bowl of soup, smiling as she bounced her head up and down

He chuckles at the action as he exits the kitchen and walks over to the spot where Ace laid, gently putting Dokucha and the bowl of soup next to him

A whine escaped the girl as he left, running after him as he took his leave

“Hey, what’s wrong? You can stay here with Ace. “ his actions differed from his words as he picked up the child again

“Tell me, why do they call him pops?” Ace grumbled, watching the interaction between the first mate and his sister

“Because he calls us sons, it’s just a word, but it’s nice, isn't it? Most of us are hated by everyone and don’t have families of our own, so that alone means everything to us,” he said, watching him for a moment and sighing, walking over to him and kneeling down, placing the girl next to them

“Hey, when are you going to stop this? I'm sorry to rain on your parade, but you aren’t strong enough to kill him, so you have two options: leave and start anew or stay and bear Whitebeard’s mark on your back,” he spoke

“Do try to keep your sister in mind when you make your choice, will you?

I do hope you decide to stick around; we’ve grown fond of the little miss.”

Ace found himself deep in thought; it seemed like only a day ago he had been mulling over if he would stay or if he would go; now he found himself mulling over if he should become a commander under Whitebeard or not; he glanced behind him as Dokucha ran circles between Marco and Thatch, the men struggling to keep up with her zigzagging.

He sighed as he made his final decision.

“Dokucha, come here”

So I don’t have full fledged scenarios on the reactions the crew members would react to the news but I do have already thought out how they would react so maybe I can do it in a headcannon format? 👀 Also I really tried to lean in into southern Thatch, without making it too much, what do yall think?

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

[goaskbarnes]

Grumpy Sergeant

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Peter x Reader (platonic)

Summary/Request: Ooo we can request???? Maybe reader being best friends with Peter and Bucky getting super jealous because he wants to date reader but thinks Peter is her boyfriend 🤷🏻‍♀️ via anonymous

Warnings: jealous!Bucky, language, fluffy ending

Words: 1399

Authors Notes: Thank you so much for this request! Really hope I did justice and you like it anon! ☺️ the dumb side of me didn’t know if you meant Peter Parker or Peter Quill 🙈

If only that phrase Sam used often ‘if looks could kill they would be dead by now’ was true, then Bucky wouldn’t be here worrying about Peter.

Bucky has been watching the two of you hang out almost everyday for the past couple of days. You’re one of his best friends and knew if something was going on you might have said something, but since you haven’t, Bucky can’t ignore the annoying nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

You look far too comfortable in each other’s presence for anything to be platonic. Peter was constantly touching your arm or you would laugh at his really ridiculous jokes that weren’t even close to funny. Bucky didn’t understand it, and as the days went on, he thought more about it. The more he thought about it, the more moody he became.

Bucky’s had a thing for you for some time now, you’re his ray of sunshine on a rainy day. And since Peter has been in the picture, you’ve kind of disappeared from his routine and he doesn’t like that, he doesn’t like that at all.

“Do you want a drink?” You ask Peter, standing up from the couch and stretching your arms above your head. Your shirt rises up, and Bucky notices Peter’s eyes on your exposed skin.

“Oh! Yes, can I have some ice water?” He licks his dry lips and focuses on something else. You nod and practically skip into the kitchen area.

“Hi Bucky!” You cheerfully say, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek, something you do all too often. Bucky smirks when he sees Peter looking at your interaction.

“Hi Y/N. It feels like it’s been a long, long time since I saw you.” He says, tapping his metal fingers against the marble counter. His eyes follow you around the kitchen, and watches you prepare two glasses of ice water. You’re taken aback by him using your name, usually he would give you one of his infamous pet names - your favourite being ‘sugar’ or ‘sweetheart’.

“We should hang out soon.” You say, dunking some ice into the glasses.

Bucky grunts in response, knowing full well that’s not going to happen any time soon. You don’t think to question the grunt, it wasn’t unusual for Bucky to have off days.

A couple more days pass and Bucky’s moods just deteriorate even further to the point he’s snapping at Steve almost constantly. The recent snap was in the gym, Bucky was getting pissed off with Steve’s orders on what to do.

“I know what to fucking do! Do you think I’m some kind of idiot?” Bucky rages, throwing the dumbbell down on the ground that it echoed off an horrific hang against the four grey walls.

Steve shakes his head, he’s used to his friend’s outbursts by now. But this was something else.

“What is wrong with you? Are you having nightmares again?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and is about to give it to Steve when the sound of your laughter fills his ear as you step into the gym with… surprise… Peter on your tail.

“And that’s what I said!” Peter finishes his story with a laugh. Your hand is on your chest from laughing too much.

Steve quickly connects the door and pats his friend on the shoulder.

“You know, it’s not what it looks like, right?” Steve asks in a hushed voice.

“And how would you know that?” Bucky frowns, his body language suggesting he’s about to implode with rage.

“I just do.” Steve shrugs and Bucky wants to punch the smug grin off his face. You catch his eye as you skip past the super soldiers. The tension is thick in the air that it’s almost suffocating you.

“Everything okay?” You ask, wrapping your earphones around your neck and shifting your focus from one soldier to the other. Steve shrugs while Bucky seems uninterested in your presence. Since that day in the kitchen, he’s been more and more distant with you.

“What’s it to you?” Bucky asks with a grunt. Again, you’re taken aback by his tone, making you step away and downcast your eyes to the floor. “And besides, your boyfriend over there is waiting for you.” He adds with a huff, your eyes widen in surprise but he’s already out of the door before you can correct him. You look back to Steve who offers an apologetic smile for Bucky’s mood, one you don’t accept because he couldn’t have gotten the information more wrong if he had tried.

Peter was your best friend and he was like a brother to you. It was strictly platonic, and you weren't about to lose Bucky because of some misinformation he may have heard.

You look back at Peter who is waiting for you by the treadmills, you smile and throw him your unopened bottle of water. “I’ll be back soon, I’ve got to go and talk to him.” You smile sadly and Steve offers words of encouragement.

Turning on your heels, you sprint after Bucky, unaware of where he could have gone, you grab the attention of Friday.

“Friday, where is Sergeant Barnes?” You head is turning in every direction, peeping through the glass windows of the doors on your way through the hallway.

“Sergeant Barnes is in his room.” Of course he would be. He spends most of his time there hiding away from other people, especially during one of Tony’s extravagant events.

You head straight to his room, not bothering to talk and find him with his head in his hands, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I need to talk to you.” You say breathlessly from the running you just did to get here. Bucky looks up slowly and clasps his hands together before scoffing.

“I’m not the one you need relationship advice from. How come you never told me about him anyway?” You don’t appreciate the tone he’s using, treating you almost like a teenager who kept a relationship secret from their parents.

“Bucky… I’m not sure where you heard or who told you but it’s not what you think. Peter and I are just friends, that’s all we’ve ever been and that’s all we'll ever be. Peter is like my brother, and you’re- you-”

“I’m what?” Bucky asks standing from the bed and in front of you. His blue eyes seeping into yours and for a moment you forget where you are.

“You’re- you’re-.” It suddenly all clicked into place: his moods, his distancing, accusations that you were dating without asking you first. “You’re jealous.” A smile tugs at your lips and Bucky averts his gaze, something he regularly does when he’s been caught or is nervous.

“No I wasn’t.” He argues

“Yess you were. That’s why you were acting like a grumpy old man.” You tease, jabbing his chest and giggling. Your fingers squeeze his cheeks and laugh.

“Stop! Leave my cheeks alone. Anyway, why does it matter if I was jealous which by the way - I wasn’t.” He shifts on the balls of his feet and folds his arm.

“The real question is James, why were you jealous to begin with? Why did it matter to you if I was dating Peter which by the way - I’m not.” You mimic his words and grin.

He sighs in defeat and shakes his head. “Fine, I was jealous okay? But only because I’ve had a crush on you for a real long time and the thought of you in a relationship with someone else made me crazy because he wasn’t me. And it’s really selfish of me to act like that but-”

You cut his rambling off by pressing your lips to his and wrapping your arms around his neck, his folded arms digging into your chest and you smile against his lips when you pull away.

“Then you should have asked me out on a date instead of being so grumpy.”

“I’m not grum-” and each time an excuse flew from his lips, you would cut him off by kissing him until he finally sighed and rested his forehead against yours.

“Fine, will you go on a date with me then?” He rolls his eyes playfully, prompting you to do the same.

“Fine,” you mock with a smile. “Okay yes. If you stop being so jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous.”

“Yes you were.”

Taglist: @writerssblockk @belovedadam

[glowingspence]

Can you do a platonic hotchreid with prompts 64 and 65???

"There was a kid with him, he is sitting in the waiting area but we can't get him to talk." The nurse tells Morgan when he arrives at the hospital.

Hotch had gotten a call that Gideon had been brought into the ER after someone tried breaking in and was surprised by him being home. Shots were exchanged while a bullet hit Gideon in the torso.

Hotch had called the team immediately, directing Morgan to drive down to the hospital for a reason he didn't understand because he and Gideon are hardly close, he knows he would rather have Hotch there but he had not been able to change his mind. Something had Hotch determind to check out the apartment.

"A kid?" Derek questions sceptical. He knows about Gideon's son, but they don't have any contact.

"Not a kid but a young man. Maybe a teenager. I can't tell you."

"Can you lead me to him?"

"Of course." The nurse leads him down the hall while she continues talking, "He seems distraught by what happened and he doesn't really let anyone talk to him but maybe you get lucky if you tell him that you are a friend of Agent Gideon."

"I will try, thank you." Slowly he walks into the waiting area that is apart from an old man in the corner and a woman reading a book empty. "Hey"

The man doesn't look up to him, he looks down on his blood soaked converse, the shoe lashes are open and have left a red pattern on the white floor.

"My name is Agent Derek Morgan, I work with Jason Gideon. Can you tell me who you are?" The man keeps on shuffling his feet over the ground, his thin hair covering parts of his face as he holds himself. "Did you call the ambulance?"

He nods and then looks away, still to the floor but more down the hall. "Can you tell me what happened?" He shakes his head and starts moving his leg left and right, "Is it okay if I sit down with you?"

"Agent Morgan played chess with me today, for a minute I thought that man is gonna outplay me." He recites and Morgan looks at him with confusion on his face.

"Did- did Agent Gideon say that?"

"Did Agent Gideon say that? Yes" The kid answers and looks up to him for the first time, eyeing every inch of him until something else catches his eyes and Morgan sees Hotch approaching them with fast steps before pulling the man in his arms who leaves out a strangled whine,

"Thank god you are okay" Hotch moves out of the hug and cups his face, "I know- I know no touches but I was so worried." He hugs him again, this time the young man presses his hands between them and pushes him off, "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"They took Gideon." He speaks with huge eyes, "They took him. They wouldn't let me help."

"It's okay they are gonna take care of him okay?"

"Hotch?" Derek questions sceptical, "Care to explain what is going on?"

"Right, right." A little bit flustered Hotch gets up from the ground, "This is Spencer, Spencer is living with Jason and will work with us in the future. Right?"

"No"

"No?" Hotch questions with a frown, "Why not?"

"Need to write all the tests." He states as he rocks back in forth, "Kid I will make us a cup of coffee and then we can study- Spencer get down- get down-" He yells the last parts while he takes his hand up to his head, hitting it.

"It's okay, it's okay, you are safe. Deep breath." Hotch crouches down in front of him again, "Spencer hey!"

"Where is the painting? Where is the painting? Fuck why are they home? Why are there two? Only the kid was supposed to be here. Stay on the ground. Stay on the ground. Stay on the ground. Stay on the ground."

"Did they say that? Where there more than one?"

"Home" To their surprise he gets up from his seat, his ears still covered as he aims for the hallway before Hotch stops him with one hand around his waist, causing him again to leave out a high pitched noise.

"Where do you wanna go? Tell me"

"Today is the 3rd. Tomorrow is the 4th. Need to study. Today is the 3rd. Last chance. Gideon needs to help me. He was gone all week, now we need to study all of it in one night."

"Then let's drive to my home okay? I'll help you study."

"Fast" Spencer starts walking again while Hotch stays back for a second.

"Call JJ have her pick up Spencer's text books, they already must be on the table if they wanted to get started." Hotch orders.

"You can't be serious? How can he think about a test right now?"

"Better a test than this. Just do it." Hotch looks at him in a way that tells Derek not to ask any more questions and to just do what he just has been told.

"You remember Haley right?" Hotch questions when he unlocks the door to their house, "My wife?"

Timidly Spencer nods and steps into the house, a light shining in the kitchen, "Let's get our shoes off and then see if we can find us a good coffee to get us through the night."

"Books"

"Agent Jareau is going to get your books. It's going to take a few minutes though." Hotch smiles at him apologetic while he gets out of his shoes and places them near the others, "Come on."

He leads him into the kitchen where Haley is already up and preparing something to eat for him and two cups of coffee, "Hey you" With a warm motherly smile she places the cup in front of where Spencer sits down, "It's two sugar, right?"

Offended Spencer frowns at her and shakes his head while Hotch leaves out a chuckle, "She was kidding. You can have as much sugar as you want." She places the sugar next to him, watching him put multiple spoons in, "You are gonna get a heartattck one day."

"Good heart. Past physical." He taps his chest a few times.

"I heard" Hotch sits down next to him, taking a sip himself. "Why don't you go to the bathroom real quick? There is a lot of blood on your face and clothes. I will bring you new ones okay.."

Spencer shakes his head and grips a pen that is lying at the end of the table, "We can start studying when JJ was here? We have enough time that you can take care of yourself first."

"Seven hours and four minutes" He states and looks back at the ceiling.

"Good that you have that brain of yours then."

"No time"

"There is enough time." Hotch takes a warm wet washcloth from Haley and gently touches Spencer's head who immediately leaves out a whine and starts hitting Hotch with his hand, "It's okay, you are okay."

"No time, no time."

"Shh it's okay." He keeps on trying until Spencer forms his hand into a fist and hits him into the side with full force making Hotch grasp for air for a moment,

"Aaron!"

"No time. No time."

"I won't touch you again, I promise." Hotch places the washcloth on the kitchen, "It's okay, I am sorry."

"Only Gideon and Mom."

"I know I am sorry"

"No touching."

"It's okay."

"Only Gideon and Mom."

"I know that's okay. I respect that." Skeptical Spencer sits back down on the chair but keeps his eyes on Hotch and when Haley moves flinches and looks where she is going, "You are not in any danger."

"Want Gideon"

"I know." Slowly Hotch keeps his hands in sight and sits down, "The hospital is gonna call me on this phone if there are any news."

"Morgan?"

"No not Agent Morgan. He was there because I send him." Hesitant Spencer grabs Hotch's phone, "I drove down to Jason's place to see if you are there."

"Drove with Gideon."

"That was okay."

"Blood"

"I can imagine." Hotch has to hold back to not physically comfort him again. "Do you really need to study? Or are you just a little paranoid-"

"No time! Need to study!" He slams his hands down on the table, "Need to study"

"It's okay, it's okay we will study"

"Aaron-" Haley makes a motion for him to follow her out the room but he shakes his head and grabs an old bill from the corner of the table and the pen from Spencer's hands.

"Alright name everything you need to study." It takes some time till JJ gets the books from the crime scene and Hotch finds out that Gideon is right and that Spencer really does get too much anxiety over exams even if he can perfectly do it. So in the morning they are running on no sleep and the third cup of coffee, "Okay Agent Morgan is going to drive you, alright? He is going to wait for you to finish the test and then drive you to the hospital."

"Okay" Concentrated Spencer keeps fiddling with the pen in his hands, "Okay, okay, okay" he mutters while Derek looks at him with worry.

"There is gotta be a way that he can skip the test. Look at him. He hasn't even washed off the blood."

"I tried all night. Just drive him. I told him you will drive off at 7:20 am with him. Don't make it late."

"Okay, okay, okay" Spencer is still muttering under his breath while rereading the same pages for what must be the fifth time and when he climbs into Morgan's truck he starts rocking back and forth.

"Kid?"

"No time."

"Did Hotch give you at least something to eat?" Morgan questions and Spencer nods, "Did you eat it?"

He shakes his head and Derek reaches to the back, grabbing two protein bars and a soda can. "Eat and drink or you brain won't work."

"For me?"

"Yes kid, eat this while we drive."

"Thank you, Sir"

"No problem." They get quite a few stares when they walk into the room like this and Morgan walks up to the Agent supervising the test announcing he will sit in.

"He was not with Agent Gideon was he? I heard what happened." The old man questions while watching Spencer take a seat in the back.

"Kid got lucky but I would feel more comfortable sitting here, have an eye on him."

"No worries he will be done in twenty minutes anyway."

"Twenty?"

"Kid got a brain even Jason Gideon can't compete with." He tells him and offers to get him a stool and Spencer shyly looks up and waves to Derek who shoots him a smile back and when Spencer hands in his test like expected he even gets away with a pat on the shoulder. "You answered everything?"

"Yes, sir"

"Gideon will be proud of you."

"We will see him now right?"

"Yes of course." He looks at the kid a moment longer, "Does Gideon normally come with you to tests?"

"I get really anxious in tests so he does when he can. It was very nice of you to sit in, Sir."

"Of course."

"Do you think when I will start working at the BAU, you will still work there too?"

"I hope so."

"Will we be friends then, Sir?" He questions much to Derek's surprise. It's not something people ask usually but Spencer doesn't seem to mean this in a mocking way.

"That I am betting on." Encouraging he places his hand on Spencer's shoulder again, "Have you met anyone else from the team yet?"

"Only Gideon and Hotch."

"I am sure you will love the rest too."

"I wouldn't really say I love Hotch" Spencer states with a slightly sorry face that makes Derek break out into a chuckle.

"It's okay, you will."

"He is nice"

"And he loves you a lot."

"Really?"

"Really." When Spencer reaches the hospital he is first shy and timidly walking into the room before Gideon opens his arms for him,

"It's good to see you"

"I got through my whole test!"

"That's amazing, kiddo." He hugs him, ignoring the pain, "Hotch hold me you studied together"

"Yes he is a great study partner" Spencer sits down on the bed, "And Derek said we can be friends when I join the team."

"That's amazing." Proudly Gideon smiles at him, "Come here again, lay down." Spencer stripes off his shoes and then curls up against Gideon's healthy side, "I am glad you are okay."

"You too"

[Prompt list]

[hanoella]

Affettuoso- With Feeling (Part 4)

Pairing: Bucky x Pianist!Reader

Set after the events of TFATWS: In an effort to start over and make a home in Louisiana, Bucky meets a friend of Sam’s who ends up being his landlord. With only a driveway to separate them, he finds that he’s not the only one looking for a fresh start.

Series tags/warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Bucky x Reader, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Canon Level Violence

Part 4 Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: Thanks again for all your support! Every heart and comment motivates me and is just so wonderful

Taglist!: @vicmc624

Read Part 1; Masterlist

The icon that marked where you were currently typing in your text blinked as you bit your lip. Looking back from where you were sitting at the kitchen table, you took stock of the open pantry once again. You were low on just about everything. With physical therapy exhausting your shoulder, it was hard to find the energy to lift any heavy bags. You had texted Sam for help, but unfortunately he was out of state.

“Bucky’s home, just ask him to go with you. He won’t mind” He had texted back.

You slouched back into the chair and groaned. You had only seen him in passing since he had helped you with the furniture. What was he, your live-in-caretaker? Was he just there to help you up and down the stairs and help you across the street? Sliding onto the floor, you made a small grunt as you felt your back straighten out and adjust to the floor. Resting a moment, you held your phone up and stared at the blinking bar. You hadn’t texted him before. Should you just call him? Or knock on his door? Ugh, why was this so hard. Whatever.

“Hey Bucky, I’m having trouble carrying stuff right now. Would you mind helping me out with grocery shopping sometime today or tomorrow? If not, no worries.”

Without a second thought, you sent it and set your phone down next to you. It was around 1PM, the only thing you having done up until then was getting dressed while sipping on coffee. Opting for a lazy look, you had worn soft leggings with an oversized sweater and fuzzy socks. Two simple braids and a headband kept your hair out of the way for when you eventually practiced. Only a few more weeks until you practiced with the actual orchestra. You should probably figure out something to wear besides lounge clothes.

The buzz on the floor caught your attention and you took a peak at your home screen

1 New Message:

Bucky Barnes: Sure, is now good?

Shoot. You quickly got up and walked to the bathroom. Your hair wasn’t too messy. Why do you look so tired? Opting for some mascara, you texted Bucky back before digging around in your makeup bag.

Yeah, meet at my car in a minute?

---

Bucky pocketed his phone and took a quick look in the mirror. Should he shave? Scratching his beard, he made a face before deciding against. It would take him more than a minute. Why didn’t he just say thirty minutes from now? Running a hand through his hair, he grabbed a jacket and walked out of the apartment.

As he walked over the freshly fallen leaves in the driveway, he opted for leaning against your car. He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned his head to look out over the water. It had been quiet lately, just chilly enough to silence the summer chorus of buzzing and croaks. Now all that was left was the occasional honking of geese flying overhead.

He had only been there for a couple of minutes when you came out onto the porch. You had hastily thrown on some brown leather boots, the left one still untied. The little bit of mascara and lip gloss you put on made you feel better about not looking like death. It was nice to do a little something, even if it was just the grocery store.

“Hey!” you said, slightly breathless as you bounded down the stairs, keys jingling in your hand.

Bucky echoed your greeting back to you with a small smile and wave.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” You said, clicking the key fob to unlock the car.

“Oh it’s no problem. I didn’t really have much to do anyway.” He said, ducking his head to sit in the passenger side seat. He noticed how as soon as you closed the door, you clicked the locks shut. Then you brought your left heel up on the edge of the seat so that you could tie your shoe.

“Thanks so much. I really appreciate it. Usually, I don’t need too much help, but I need cases of waters and stuff like that. I was gonna get someone to help me at the grocery store but I realized I’d still be left in a lurch once I got home. I figured if you needed, we could just get groceries together this time,” you explained while double knotting the laces.

Starting the car and putting on your seatbelt, you looked behind you out of habit to make sure you weren’t going to hit anything as you backed out of the driveway.

“Huh. It looks like it’s going to rain.” You said, observing the darker clouds and the wind picking up. Putting the car in drive, you started down the driveway.

“Music?” You offered, gesturing towards the radio.

“I don’t really know what’s been playing these days… or for the last sixty years if I’m being honest.” At least it’s nice not to have to lie about it, Bucky thought.

“Well, we have a lot to catch you up on then.” You said, stopping at the end of the driveway and grabbing your phone. Scrolling through your music, you hit the bluetooth button on the console.

“This playlist has all my favorite classics on it. Feel free to skip anything you don’t like.” You said, handing him the phone and turning onto the road. The music started, prompting Bucky looked down at the phone. September- Earth, Wind & Fire.

---

Four songs later you were at the supermarket, grabbing a cart and discussing favorites.

“That last one was good too. Which one was that?” Bucky asked.

“That’s Stolen Away on 55th & 3rd. Dave Matthews Band. Now mind you, some of those are way older than others. The only thing they all have in common is that they’re all at least ten years old.”

“Huh.” He’s really missed out on a lot.

The two of you continued chatting as you went through the various sections. A couple cases of water. A bag of salad. Deli meats and cheeses. Bread. Ground beef. Pasta and pasta sauce. The topic turned to older music from Bucky’s time.

“I’m surprised you have heard of her.” He said, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

“Well, I’m going to be honest, the only reason I have any knowledge of it at all is because I had to take a lot of Music History classes in college. For whatever reason, they thought that to play music, you needed to know every which way that it’s evolved throughout the years. Though, I have to say,” you paused, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now, I’m kind of glad I did.” You looked up at him slightly, face just a tad warm as he met your eyes. You both looked away and he coughed awkwardly. Feeling embarrassed, you scan the shelves of snacks before hearing him quietly say behind you-

“… I’m glad you did too. It’s different. And kind of nice to talk to someone about it. Who actually knows what I’m talking about.”

Trying to keep your smile small, you continued to look at the array of cookies on the shelf. A hand passed over your shoulder to take a pack of shortbread cookies.

“Hmm. Shortbreads.” You say, holding your arms behind your back. “Verrry interesting.”

“What?” He replied defensively.

“You can tell a lottttt about a man by his snack preferences.”

“Well, what do shortbreads say?” Bucky asked, leaning his forearms on the handle of the cart so that he was now eye level with you. It was too late this time to hide your smile. You turned back around to grab a pack of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

“If I tell you what they mean, you’ll just pick the kind that you think has the best traits. You’re not fooling me anytime soon.” You said with a laugh before you whisked yourself around the corner.

“Hey, that’s not fair, come back!” He pushed the cart around the corner where he ran into you hugging Sarah. The boys were with her and they went absolutely ballistic.

“Uncle Buck! Uncle Buck!” They shouted as they bombarded him.

“AJ! Cass! Stop acting crazy in the grocery store!” Sarah said, reprimanding them. You chuckled at the sight of Bucky being slowly overwhelmed by the two boys. He pried them off his legs and crouched so that he was eye level with them.

“Hey, I missed you guys. I haven’t seen you guys since the last time Uncle Sam and I came back-”

“-from fighting bad guys, right!” AJ said, getting a little too excited and causing Sarah to give him the look. Bucky tried not to laugh and held a finger up to his mouth to signal that they needed to be quiet.

“Yes, from fighting bad guys.”

You turned towards Sarah with a grin and put your hand on her arm.

“We’ll have to have all of you over, come see the new house. Will you text me a day next week when you, Sam, and the kids are free?”

“That sounds great. I’m so glad you got to move down here. I’ll let you know about next week!” Sarah said. She also walked around the cart and gave Bucky a hug. He returned it but glanced towards you nervously; You were already looking away. When they pulled away from each other, Sarah glanced in your direction and then at Bucky, a knowing smile on her face and eyebrows wiggling. Bucky made a face with wide eyes, letting her know to cut it out. Sarah laughed slightly while saying goodbye:

“It was good to see you, Buck.” Sarah said, laughing as she rolled the cart away, AJ and Cass in tow, who were both shouting goodbyes at Uncle Buck.

“Good to see you too…” He trailed off in her direction.

“Man, those boys really love Uncle Buck.” You said teasingly, making him jump slightly and turn around. You laughed and walked towards the next aisle, leaving Bucky red in the ears.

---

It was just starting to rain when you parked the car in the driveway. You grabbed some of the lighter bags and ran up the steps, hurrying to unlock the door. Bucky was piling on the grocery bags as the rain got heavier. He hauled everything inside as you held the door open for him. He lifted the groceries up onto the kitchen counter and made his way down the stairs again.

“Still have to get the cases of water.” He explained in response to your confused face. The rain was still getting heavier. Hauling the two jumbo cases onto his shoulder and carrying the last one by the plastic in his hand, he made his way up the porch, slower this time. You held the door open, looking incredulously again at how easy it was for him as he passed.

By the time he had set the waters down, you had grabbed a towel for him, extending it to him while looking away at from his drenched shirt.

“Thanks,” he said, toeing off his shoes and drying his hair with the towel before draping it over his shoulders.

“Please, let me make you some tea. You must be freezing.” You said, already digging through the pantry for some.

“Well, if you’re offering, I won’t say no.” He said, taking a seat at the kitchen island.

“Yeah, hold on, it’s kind of dark. Let me turn on the lights…” You trailed off as the light switch did nothing. Flicking it a few times back and forth, you sighed.

“I’m so sorry, the real estate agent told me it’s pretty easy to lose power in this area since there’s so many trees. They usually have it back on pretty quick though I’m told.” You said, now digging through another cabinet.

“It’s completely fine, you can’t control that. I’ll just take a raincheck-”

“Found it!” You said, cutting him off and proudly presenting the gas-powered single burner. You set it down in front of Bucky who watched as you also grabbed a tea light and a lighter from in the drawer.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” You asked while lighting it.

---

Three more tea lights and a kettle of hot water later, Bucky was sitting with the towel draped over his shoulders, sipping on the warm cup of green tea. The flames created flickering shadows as you added the pasta to the pot of boiling water.

“I knew this was going to come in handy. I’m glad I saved it.” You said, setting a timer on your phone as you leaned on the counter across from Bucky.

“Why do you have it in the first place?” He asked curiously.

“I kind of had to hop around for a little bit before I got down here. I would stay in hotels but I didn’t want to eat out every night so this came in handy. Ole reliable.” You said, looking down at one of the tea lights.

There was a moment of silence before you pursed your lips.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked, setting the cup down.

“Has Sam told you… how I ended up here?” You asked, now looking straight at him. The look on his face told you the answer before he could respond.

“I see…”

“Hey, I’m sorry, I-”

You held up a hand to cut him off, soft smile on your face.

“No, it’s okay. I told him that if it ever came up, he could talk about it. I’m pretty open about it. How much did he tell you?” you asked, wrapping your hands around the cup to absorb some of the warmth.

“Just the basics. You two were together, then he got… violent. And you trying to leave.” He said, looking down into his cup.

“Yeah, that just about covers it… He kept following me after I got out of the hospital so I had to get a rental car and hotel hop for a while… When I got the house down here, I finally got my actual car and just booked it here. He’s never been to Louisiana before and he doesn’t know that Sam lives here now, instead of DC. I’m hoping he’s frolicking in city traffic, getting run over as he looks for me. Bucky snorted and tried not to laugh, which made you laugh.

“Sorry, it’s not funny.” He said, covering his mouth.

“Oh, it totally is.” You said, talking in a way where he could tell that you were smiling.

You both laughed as you grabbed a strainer out of the pantry. Draining the pasta, you both settled into a comfortable silence.

“Well, I’m glad you can joke about it.” Bucky said, watching as you poured pasta sauce into the pot to warm it up before chucking the rest of the pasta in.

“Some days are better than others. I’m just happy that I can stop running. Still, I do get a bit paranoid sometimes. I feel like I’m going to turn a corner and he’ll be right there.” You said, rubbing your arms as if you were comforting yourself. At that moment, Bucky looked at you and noticed for the first time how truly tired you looked. Dark circles underneath a sleep deprived gaze. Eyes clouded by worry and paranoia. Bucky’s seen that look on himself before. Before Steve found him in Bucharest, before he could trust his own mind. When he had to avoid being recognized, avoid being found, avoid falling back into Hydra’s grasp.

You exhaled as you uncrossed your arms, mixing the pot before sprinkling cheese on top. “Dinner’s all done.” Bucky sat peacefully, enjoying the aroma of the tomato and basil. Taking a deep breath, he slowly exhaled before speaking up again.

“Well. I’m here now.”

“Hmm?” You called back, not quite hearing him over the clanking of the bowls you took out.

“I’m here now,” he repeated, this time with more confidence. “So… you don’t have to worry about it. If you ever get worried about it, just call me. Or text me… Or knock on the door… and I’ll talk to you or I’ll check it out, keep an eye on the house from the apartment, or just be in the house with you. It’s not a bother, if it’ll give you peace of mind. I’ve been through something… similar. With, uh, the whole Hydra… thing…” Bucky trailed off as you stared at him with a neutral face. He was getting ready to backpedal, hand reaching for the back of his neck out of nervous habit, until you spoke.

“You’d do that?” You said, face unchanged, eyes searching his.

“Yeah… Yeah, I would.”

You blinked a few times before looking aside and trying to clear the frog from your throat.

“I don’t even know what to say but thank you. That is such a big relief.” You said, voice wavering slightly, one hand coming up to touch your forehead out of relief. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Nobody should have to go through that alone.” Bucky said softly.

You touched his hand softly, giving it a gentle squeeze before stealing your own back. You turned around to grab a drink when you paused, looking out the window.

“It stopped raining.” You stated, watching as the little bit of sunlight brightened the colors of the changing leaves. Bucky, on the other hand, was watching how the little bit of sunlight brightened you. He rubbed his thumb against where your hand had just been, trying to recreate the feeling of your hand on his.

[2manyfandoms2count]

Four months later, my contribution for the @mlwritersguild April event! The prompts were the snake, ladybug, cat, ticket and treble emojis.

Note: I started writing this after Truth and Lie aired, and I tweaked it to be set after Gang of Secrets, but before the rest of the season; it's basically what I hoped would happen before all of the Ladynoir drama unfolded this season. I hope you'll enjoy this take!

Read on AO3

---

Of irony and trust

Sometimes, Ladybug liked to take a break and muse about how ironic life could be. The topic of such instances varied from I got grounded for skipping class and of all the places in Paris, the one I had to sneak out to because of a freaking Akuma happened to be the place I would have been in had I not been grounded in the first place to I’m the holder of a luck-associated divine artefact, yet out of two love letters and a constipation medicine prescription, guess which one ended in my crush’s hands .

Tonight’s boiled down to being caught stalking her ex-boyfriend (if they’d ever made it to the defining part of their relationship) in, granted, a fairly discrete manner, since she’d been transformed at the time, to check he was still doing okay after his akumatisation, and ending up not only being thanked for her concern and for saving him, but also being apologised to for falling for Shadowmoth's promises again, something which she still considered she’d been largely responsible for (even though Alya insisted that her secret had probably just been the metaphorical last straw, and that Luka would have broken down about truths sooner or later).

She sighed, looking into the sunset as she played with the two tickets Luka had offered her by way of thanks, wondering what she could, and should do with them.

In spite of everything, Marinette was bound to get one for herself any day now; Kitty Section were opening for Jagged Stone at the annual Bastille Day concert, a week from then, and if her friends didn’t invite her directly given the circumstances, there was a high chance that she’d get an invitation from Jagged himself to thank her for designing his latest album cover.

That being said, she wasn’t sure she even wanted to go. Watching Luka play on stage would only remind her of the fact that she couldn’t be in a relationship until all the Miraculouses were back in the box, even though it had felt amazing to be distracted from Miraculous matters for a bit.

Her mind wandered to Chat Noir, who was uncharacteristically late. She was faced with a very peculiar dilemma at the moment, one she could have used Master Fu’s wisdom to resolve; on the one hand, revealing her identity to Alya had been one of the best things to happen to her in a while. She felt a lot lighter, and it really made her wonder if sharing her identity with her partner would be such a bad idea. On the other hand, her mentor’s warning and her glimpse at an alternate reality where caution had seemingly been thrown to the wind still echoed in her mind like a tolling bell.

She knew Chat Noir trusted her, like she trusted him; a lot was left unsaid in their peculiar relationship, but that was something they’d never lie about - or at least she hoped so. She also knew that having revealed her identity to somebody who wasn’t her partner, and not even telling the latter about it, was a dangerous flame to play with. One maybe hanging out with him more, say, to start, at a concert, might help dampen ever so slightly.

It wasn’t like she could invite anybody else, and especially not Adrien, anyway…

An unfamiliar thunk, followed by a short skidding sound, startled her before she could reconsider her other options, and had her scrambling to her feet to assume a defensive stance, eyes darting around to find the source of the sudden interruption. Had somebody been Akumatised? What was their power? And where on Earth was Chat N-

“Sorry, don’t panic, Ladybug! It’s just me,” a voice sounded from slightly below her, drawing her attention to the edge of the rooftop, and to the lyre that appeared to have been thrown at her feet. The magical instrument made her shake off the thought that the voice had sounded a lot like her partner’s, and sure enough, instead of the black-clad superhero, it was a green-hooded one whose head emerged from the side of the building, slightly breathless from the climb.

“Adri-, I mean, Aspik?”

“Hey,” he hoisted himself up and brushed off some white dust from his suit. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I wasn’t expecting you to already be there,” he added sheepishly. “I thought I’d have time to recover from scaling the building.” He bent over, resting his hands on his knees to try and catch his breath.

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” She chuckled lightly at his pun. His humour was almost as good as Chat Noir’s. “You know that the lyre does enable you climb up things, though, right?” She smiled as she plucked a chord. A music staff appeared between them, and she demonstrated by starting to climb it, as if it were an elaborate staircase. The soft notes of a scale echoed around them as her feet landed on the lines.

As she turned towards him to gauge his reaction, she saw that he looked at her with something between fascination and mild annoyance.

“Chat Noir didn’t show you, did he?” she asked, jumping down and giving him the lyre back, a small blush dusting her cheeks.

“I’m not sure he knew himself,” Aspik muttered back.

“Right." She smiled tightly. "Miraculous powers was actually something I wanted to talk to him about tonight.”

“Ah. You weren’t expecting me, then, were you?”

Ladybug paused. She’d honestly forgotten about Chat Noir asking her if he could borrow the Snake Miraculous; it had happened right after Marinette had told Alya about being Ladybug, which had kickstarted a whole lot of research to ensure her friend was protected. She’d of course managed to make it to patrols physically, but even so, her mind had been a little elsewhere.

She just remembered Chat telling her that he might be busy in the upcoming weeks, but that he refused to leave her alone on patrols. She’d felt a little guilty about the comment and apologised yet again for the ones she’d missed, but her partner had brushed it off with a smile.

“Not really, no. But I’m very glad to have you here with me!” She poked his arm as playfully as she could muster, but his cocked eyebrows told her he wasn’t fooled in the least. “To be completely honest with you… I’m not sure who I was expecting.” She smiled sadly. “We haven’t exactly discussed bringing heroes back since most of our temps’ identities were leaked, so really, it could have been anyone new, or you, or…” She glanced down at her tickets again, and his eyes followed hers.

His understanding nod turned into an inquisitive look as her gaze darkened. She had to admit that she was relieved Viperion wasn't the one Chat Noir had chosen to replace him (temporarily, her partner was absolutely irreplaceable - she made a mental note to tell him as much again the next time she saw him) tonight; she wasn't sure she would've survived two surprise conversations with him in the same day. There was just too much guilt weighing on her heart when it came to him, although she hoped that time would eventually lessen it.

“Um, Ladybug?” Her companion probed.

“Yes?” She shook herself out from her guilt-ridden daze.

“Are you alright? You seem a little… troubled.”

“It’s nothing, really.” She tried to give him a convincing smile before sitting back down on the edge of the rooftop. When had it become so hard to act bubbly around Adrien? It was kind of nice not to be a blabbering mess for once, but she wished she could feel a little more upbeat.

“Sure? I’m here if you want to talk, you know; it’s kind of in my job description.” He sat down next to her and nudged her elbow.

“You have a job description?” One of her eyebrows shot up.

“Well, you know… It’s not because Chat Noir can’t be here tonight that he doesn’t want you to feel supported.”

“My sweet, thoughtful Kitty,” she shook her head with a smile, before sighing. She didn’t notice Aspik’s cheeks pinken, just under the fangs of his mask. “To be quite honest with you, I’m a little worried about him.”

“You are?”

Ladybug paused, uncertain whether she should continue or not. Aspik’s encouraging look helped her make up her mind. “It’s just something he said not too long ago… about only having fun when he’s with me.”

“Ah.” Aspik twiddled his thumbs.

“He brushed it off like it was a completely natural thing to say, but I still find it concerning.”

“I guess the wording isn’t very reassuring,” Aspik said cautiously. “It sounds worse than it probably is, though; he does, I mean, he must have friends, and he must have fun with them. Maybe… maybe you just caught him at a bad time?”

“I suppose it had been a pretty long day.” She pouted thoughtfully after a short pause. “But I don’t know, it scares me. I… Well, things haven’t been easy in my life either, especially lately, but there’s a part of me who’s afraid to tell him just in case… in case he really meant it. I really don’t want to spoil his fun.” She bit her lip, then shook her head with a nervous chuckle. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” That was half a lie. Adrien was a friend she knew she could trust, one whose presence felt very comforting. Maybe the sunset was getting to her head, making her feel like they were above time and reality, but she almost believed that they were in a safe bubble.

“I really don’t mind, if you don’t. Miraculouses come with professional confidentiality anyway, right? Whatever you say will stay between us. I promise.” He smiled. Ladybug could tell it was genuine, but there seemed to be something brave about it, too, as if he were ready for a band aid to be ripped off. “What could you possibly tell him that would ruin his time with you?”

She looked at him lengthily, gauging him. “Firstly, I don’t want him to worry about me. And secondly…” She was about to tell him about sharing her secret identity with Alya (without naming names, of course), when the thought that if Chat wasn’t the first to learn this information, her guilt would deepen, crossed her mind. “Ugh, see? I’m doing it again, opening up about stuff that would concern him directly with other people, instead of telling him directly. I’m such a bad friend.” She put the tickets to one side and held her head in her hands.

“I don’t think you are.” She felt him pat her back tentatively. “Actually, you… You kind of remind me of one of my friends.” She peeked at him through her fingers; although his hand was still soothingly rubbing her shoulder blades, he was looking at the street below, a soft smile on his lips. “I think you know her, Marinette Dupain-Cheng? Anyway, she’s a really great person, but sometimes she makes mistakes, too. It’s alright, though, because she always means well. Like you.” He smiled at her, this time. She felt her cheeks warm as their eye contact lingered. “My point is,” he cleared his throat, “Chat Noir knows you, and trusts you, right? You just need to trust him.”

“I already do.”

“Then what are you risking? Is what you did really that bad?”

“Not in the grand scheme of things, I guess.” She paused. “I don’t think I had much choice, anyway. But even if I don't really regret what happened, I'm concerned that he won't understand why there are some things I can't open up to him, specifically, about.”

“Honestly, you'd be surprised at how much he'd be ready to let slide when it comes to your relationship," Aspik said quietly. "It's no secret how much he, erm… appreciates you."

"I love him very much, too," Ladybug whispered. "And that's why I don't want to see him hurt. Ever." Ever again , she thought. "And this… This will definitely hurt."

"Okay, but look at it this way: sparing him is an honourable reason to withhold information from him, but if you don't tell him what you can soon, it might end up hurting him even more, for instance, if he somehow learns about it from somebody else. Or, depending on how important that information is, he might feel hurt that you kept it from him for so long." He bit his lip and eyed his bracelet.

"You're right. I know you're right." She grunted and leaned back, looking at the swirling orange clouds. It reminded her of another warm sunset exchange she'd had, after spending an afternoon in what had felt like the coldest world ever. "It's just so difficult for me to wrap my head around, I can't imagine what it'll be like for him."

"You might have to give him a bit of time and space, then,” Aspik warned her. "But eventually I'm sure he'll come around."

“I hope so.” She sighed. Her yoyo beeped, signalling the end of patrol time. She hesitated to ignore it; Adrien had proven to be a very enjoyable partner - not that she’d doubted he’d be when he’d shown up, really, but something about talking about Chat Noir had helped her keep a rather level head with him. She knew she had to head back, though. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to remain coherent if they switched topic, something she felt like they'd need to do soon if she didn't want to say too much, and beyond that, she had an important essay to outline and write for the next day. “Well, I think that’s our cue. Thank you for keeping me company tonight.” She smiled, pushing herself up and holding a hand out for Aspik. He took it and she helped him up.

They stood facing each other for a bit, smiling, unsure about how to properly end the patrol. It wasn’t like they could walk each other home, really. A small gust of wind ruffled the tickets which still lay on the ground, under one of Ladybug’s feet.

“Oh, hey, you’re forgetting this.” Aspik bent down to retrieve them and handed them to her.

“Right, thanks.” She looked down. Their discussion had boosted her confidence regarding talking to Chat, but she still didn’t know who to give her second invitation to. If she gave it to anyone.

“Who’s the second ticket for?” He nodded towards her hands, as if reading her mind.

“I was actually trying to figure it out before you arrived.” She smiled. “I kind of feel like I should gift it to you as thanks for being so great. Tonight! Just tonight, of course. Although I’m sure you’re just as great every single day,” she winced at her awkwardness. “But you’re going to be there anyway, aren’t you? And on stage.”

“If I can even make it. My schedule’s been a little all over the place lately.” His eyes darkened for a fraction of a second as he toyed with his bracelet, before lighting up again so fast Ladybug thought she’d dreamt it. “But I think you and I both know who you should give this to.” He gave her a pointed look. “I think it would be a great way to butter your partner up before delivering whatever bad news you’re withholding from him.” He winked.

“Very smart. And very practical. You know, you’re a lot like Chat Noir, actually. It’s a compliment,” she added quickly as she saw him tense up.

“Well, I sure hope so, my Lady,” he chuckled. The words sounded foreign, and yet right, in the hooded boy’s mouth.

“What… what did you say?” She gaped.

“I'm obviously not used to this Miraculous, I accidently activated it when I played with it. It doesn't happen with the ring, you see." He smiled and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly as she looked on, slightly bewildered. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you won't remember any of this, but since we're here... I’d be happy to find a way to join you at the concert, my Lady." He bowed and kissed her hand. "It was lovely chat-ting with you tonight, I'm not sure I'm looking forward to what you have to tell me, but you know what? Thank you for the heads up.” He straightened up and squeezed her hand in his. "I'll be waiting for your call, after we're really done with our conversation." He placed his other hand on his wrist, and Ladybug's hand immediately flew to it, eyes almost feverish in the setting sun.

“Adrien, I mean, Aspik, Chat , wait-”

He paused, looking at her expectantly.

"Why?" Her question came out as softly as the hand that was suddenly cupping his cheek. "Why pretend you couldn't come tonight?"

"I had a couple of things I felt like maybe getting off my chest, if I got the opportunity.” He shrugged, leaning into her touch. “I just wanted to make sure I could backtrack if I made a mistake.”

“Oh." Ladybug gulped, and looked down. "Chaton, I... I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me about your own problems.” Her piercing gaze met his again as she ran her thumb along the edge of his mask. “If something’s burdening you, I’ll be more than happy to help carry the weight. You can trust me, you know that?”

“I already do my Lady.” He winked at her and kissed the palm of her hand quickly before touching his bracelet again. “Now, I don't trust you not to be mad if I run out of time, though."

"Yeah, I don't think I'd be ready to let that slide just yet." Her eyes twinkled in the dusk light.

"In that case... Second chance.”

[blackberry-gingham]

I just finished reading your Teddy!Beatles and Square!Reader fic and it inspired this prompt and it’s extra chessy cause cringe culture is most certainly dead. When the lads notice the feelings between George and the Reader but no action they decided to take matters into their own hands and set up George and Reader themselves! They phone Reader pretending to be George and ask Reader out on a date and similarly come up with a plan to invite George.

(Hey! This is the prompt anon is referring to!)

Lmaoooo I love it! Perhaps the boys should consider voice acting at this rate 😂😂 Also, sorry this took sooooo loooong btw 💀💀 I’m trying to do follow up requests like these first from now on so things make more sense on the time line skskssk

I just hope the wait was worth it, and thank you for the request! Enjoy!

---

It's been a few weeks now since the big gig break out, and all went according to plan... The gig was a smash hit of course, and to top that off, neither you nor the boys were caught for skipping.

But in the meantime, something... interesting, has been going on between you and George.

Stealing glances. Shy giggling. Sitting beside each other at your lunch table. Walking home together after school...

It's obvious to the three of them that there's a match to be made here. George is one of the lads and well, they've known you long enough to know that the two of you'd be good together. So naturally they've been waiting for George to make a move at lunch or school. Or even, just to be surprised one day with the big news!

But they wait. And wait. And wait.... Nothing.

And after yet another day at lunch with nothing more then some shy glances and a half hearted flirtation that didn't translate as such... John pulls Paul and Ringo aside for a talk.

"This had better be worth it Lenny, if get late to class one more time i-"

"Yeah yeah, of course- Anyway... I can't be the only one here who sees what's happening with George and square, right?"

Paul and Ringo nod.

"Good, cause I'm sick of it! I say, we need to help them along..."

"And how do you propose that..."

"... I don't know, bu-!"

Paul rolls his eyes and walks off. He really can't be late again...

"Wha- Now hold on Paulie, we're supposed to brainstorm!", John jogs after Paul, leaving Ringo to catch up. But, while those two bicker on their way to class, the gears start turning in Ringo's mind...

Later, after school is out and you and George have spilt off, Ringo shares his plan. "So uh, I was thinking..."

"Well, first time for everything..."

John elbows Paul in the ribs, "Go on Ringo!"

"Well, you know how last time we got square out of school with that call? Well... What if we use that same trick and get the two of 'em out on a date!"

"Now that's just plain stupid! We got lucky pulling that trick last time, there's no way we can get away with it twice. And Anyway, how is this even supposed to wo-?"

"Oh shut up Paul! This is brilliant! Listen here, we'll call square, pretending to be George right? We, as George, pick a time and place to meet, then all we have to do is make sure we bring George to the same spot, and boom! Bob's your uncle!"

Ringo nods excitedly, while Paul stands silently with a sour face. It could work... but he has pretty high doubts.

Later that week, the lads wait until they know George is occupied somewhere else, and not with you to make their move. Today he's in town helping his mum, and you're at home diligently doing your homework.

John rubs his hands together and approaches the phone, "Alright mates, I'll go si-"

"What? But you went last time! Besides, it was my idea!", Ringo cuts in and takes a few steps towards the phone himself.

Paul gives an exasperated sigh and snatches the phone off the hook, "Are you two kidding? With those big hooters? You know square isn't deaf, yeah? The whole point is to sound like George, you clods!"

"Oh... Yeah...", Ringo looks as though he'd forgotten that little detail, while John claps a hand to his nose.

Paul dials your number and it begins to ring.

"It's not big!", John retorts.

"Is too!", Paul puts a hand over the speaker and whisper yells back, before shushing the two quickly.

"Hello?"

Right before their very eyes, Paul seems to become a different person. He leans on the wall casually, and in a scarily good George impression, Paul responds, "Hey square! Whatcha doing?"

"Who-? Wait a minute.. Sorry, I think my phone is acting up, you sound a bit off... But anyway, hi Georgie!”

Paul must be dreaming, it can’t be this easy. He’ll never hear the end of it from John... 

“Just finishing that chemistry work I was helping you with yesterday. Oh, I meant to ask! How'd that do for you? I was worried I was going to fast..."

Paul manages to shake himself out of his daze, keeping up the charade without a hitch, "No no! It went fine, thanks!"

"Oh good! Anyway, did you need anything? I thought you were out in town today?"

"Uh, there was a change in plan! Yeah, and with all the free time, it got me thinking... Would you like to um, meet up?"

John clenches and bares his teeth, making a severe face at Paul, "You're blowing it"

Paul makes a face back, demanding silence, while you ask if he needs more homework help tonight. "No no, I mean like... Maybe as a date, you know?"

You gasp, "Oh George I'd love to! Do you have a where and when in mind?"

Paul suspends his disbelief once more and turns to the lads for ideas. Ringo holds an imaginary ice cream cone and licks it furiously a few times, while John mouths the word "Saturday" and holds up two fingers.

"Uh, how about Mr Whippys... Saturday at 2?"

"Sounds great, I'll be there!"

"Great! S-see you then!"

You say your goodbyes and Paul hangs the phone it's receiver. Either he’s really good at impersonating George, or he needs to have a talk with you about gullibility…

"Does George know you can do that?"

"Yeah, could've fooled me even", Ringo marvels.

"Thanks, I thought I did a right good job too... and anyway, square seemed convinced, eh?"

The other two nod in agreement. "Now uh, how do we get George?"

The three are silent for a moment, then John smiles deviously, "Not to worry lads, I think I have a plan..."

Luckily, George is kept in the dark on his friend's shenanigans and Saturday arrives the next morning. All four teds walk down the sidewalk in town, and as far as George knows, this is just some guy time with the lads.

They chat and joke all the way till they reach the top of the hill with Mr Whippys just over the crest. And right on schedule, you’re waiting patiently outside the double glass doors. Time to execute the plan...

John breaks up the chatter with a loud voice, “Hey George, look, it’s square!”, he points right at you in a grand gesture to snare George’s attention.

George perks up, “Really? Oh, so it is!” In what could possibly be a subconscious effort, he straightens his leather jacked then licks his hand and runs it over his pompadour.

Trying very hard not to groan at his love sick friend, Paul gives George a hard shove in your direction, making him stumble several steps forward. “Hey! What wa-?”, but when he turns around to look, the other three have vanished into an alley way like thieves in the night.

Of course, with all the noise, you spot George at last and walk over briskly, “George! There you are!” You look fantastic, all done up and ready for a proper night about town. George’s heart feels as though it’s about to beat out of his chest at the sight of you.

He takes a gulp of air, “H-here I am?”

“Yes silly! For our date!”, you take his hand, and if George though his heart was beating hard before, now it feels set to burst. “Don’t tell me you forgot?”, you tease, as you walk to the ice cream parlor together.

“Our... date... I, um”, George throws a few looks over his shoulder, just barely catching sight of his three mates. Ringo and John snicker while Paul gives him an exaggerated wink and a thumbs up. George looks back at you, and sees the utter joy written in your eyes as you glance over at him.

It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together... He doesn’t know how they pulled this off, but that’ll have to be saved for later.

George takes a breath and smiles confidently back as he grips your hand properly, “Course I didn’t forget! There’s nowhere I’d rather be...”, he gives you a wink and your hand a little squeeze before he releases you to open the door. You give a shy giggle and thank him.

Before George follows you in, he takes one last look at the others. They’re out on the sidewalk now, high fiving each other, while John appears to be bragging. At George’s staring, they stop. George smiles gratefully and gives his friends a little salute as they whoop and cheer him on.

Their shouts follow him into the parlor until the glass seals them out. 

He couldn’t ask for better mates.

[redrobinfection]

(16) Graveyard

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober (2018) - Day 16 “Graveyard”

Tim & Damian | Implied JayTim | Implied DickDami | College AU | No Capes | Crack | actual discussion of literature | Dick Grayson was adopted by the Drakes instead of the Waynes | Want to write/create with me? Find the prompt list here!

~*~

"How about four out of seven?" Tim asked with a shrug, winding up the toilet paper roll again.

Damian, his fellow barista, threw his roll at Tim's head, missing wildly. He glared. "You cheated, Drake!"

Tim rolled his eyes as he retrieved Damian's roll and began winding it up too. "How could I cheat at coffee cup bowling, ‘Wayne’?"

"You wind your roll too tightly. It doesn't unravel as much when you pitch it and thus has more mass by the time it hits the cups."

Tim raised his eyebrows. "What are you now, a physics major? That just sounds like strategy, dude. You are free to roll your roll as tightly as you'd like. That isn't against the rules."

Damian fumed. "The rules you made up! This is why I said we should use the rice crispy ba--customer."

Tim whirled on the spot, seeing that, indeed, a paying customer had entered their little, semi-enclosed coffee shop. Outside, a few students sat or sprawled over the sectional couches that filled the large basement of the university student union in which the shop was located.

Tim turned and vaulted over the counter. He heard a quiet "-tch-" from Damian as he walked to the hinged raise-able section of the counter and let himself in.

Tim straightened his apron and stepped up the register with a smile. The customer stood about five feet from the register, head tilted back, studying the menu board over Tim's head with bleary eyes. The guy was like a zombie, he was that exhausted. Tim cut his eyes over to the clock on the wall. 3:45 am. Hell of a time for coffee.

Tim glanced over his shoulder at Damian, who was reawakening the cranky espresso machine with deft fingers. Seven hours and forty-five minutes with Damian "the Demon " Wayne down, only four hours and fifteen minutes to go. Tim turned back to their customer and sighed. This was going to be a loooooooong morning.

At second glance, there was something familiar about the guy, but Tim couldn't put his finger on where he knew him. The guy had pretty teal eyes, but they were reddened and dull, like he hadn't closed them except to blink in way too long. He was also pretty well cut, Tim noticed, with clearly muscled arms and pecs so defined that Tim could clearly see them through the man's sweater. Maybe that's how Tim knew him? Maybe he'd seen him in the UREC weight room?

The guy's most eye-catching feature by far was the white forelock that curled down over his forehead. He was the third person Tim had met to have a whitened forelock like that; the other two were fraternal twins who had had small patches of albinism right at their widows peaks which affected both the skin and hair. Tim idly wondered if this guy's white lock was natural too. In any case, it looked frickin' cool, a lot cooler than his own; the best thing he could say about his own hair was that he could pull off the 90's curtain cut plus semi-mullet well enough that he could go an entire semester on a single haircut.

Tim was drawn out of his thoughts when dude finally stepped up to the counter and began to speak.

"Uh, hi, could I get a large, double-shot caramel latte?"

"Absolutely. How many pumps of caramel do you want?" Tim asked cheerily.

The guy looked up from digging through his overly stuffed messenger bag. "Uhh…the normal four should be fine."

"Okay, that will be $6.47. Can I get a name for the order?"

The guy didn't look up this time. "Uh, Jason. Gimme a sec', I know my wallet is at the bottom of this thing somewhere."

"No problem, take your time. It's not like we have a line, anyway," Tim joked.

This guy looked so dead right now--inside and out--that if he didn't find his wallet, then Tim would probably just buy the coffee for the guy himself. He understood better than anyone the sudden need for caffeine at odd hours of the day. He's not sure how he would have finished half his computer science projects this term without a much-needed double-espresso every couple of hours, to be honest.

The guy--'Jason' apparently--finally fished out a small money clip then handed over a student ID card. "Put it on my Dining Dollars, please."

"Yeah, no probl- wait a minute!" Tim cut off, staring. Suddenly, it had hit Tim where he knew this guy. "Aren't you that kid who always sits at the front of Professor Hyatt's nine-fifteen, Tuesday-Thursday, Modern European Literature and answers all the questions?"

The dude raised an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah. Why…? Wait…" He squinted and leaned in. "Aren't you the kid who once tried to sit all the way back in the AV booth, since, and I quote, 'the back wasn't far enough back'?"

Tim grinned as he swiped the ID card through the register. "Haha, yeah."

Damian moved as if to step up to the counter, the guy's drink in hand, but stopped dead about a foot away. He stared.

"Wait. Aren't you the guy who always comes in, gets tea, and sits in the window over there and reads romance novels?" Damian asked, eying him appraisingly.

The dude huffed. "Yes. My name is Jason--by the way--and they're not romance novels, it's classic lit. Now can I get my coffee?"

Damian handed the coffee over the counter, but raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You mean to tell me Rebecca is not a romance novel?"

"Wait, what!? Do you mean Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca?" Tim asked as he handed Jason's ID card back over the counter.

Damian nodded wordlessly. Tim snorted, then said, "That's not a romance! That's a totally a murder mystery! You must be confusing it with Jane Eyre. I get those mixed up too."

Jason nodded in agreement, tucking his ID away before taking his first sip of coffee. He moaned, his eyes fluttering for a moment as he savored in the sweet bliss of piping hot caffeine at 3:49 in the morning, then he looked at Damian and said, "Well, actually, I'll give you that one, uh…" --he paused to squint at Damian's name tag-- "...'Damian'; Rebecca is a modern romance novel by classification, but it's also a crime thriller just like--whazzatsay?--'Tim' said."

He turned to Tim. "I'm not surprised you'd confuse it with Jane Eyre, considering that a lot of scholars believe du Maurier adapted it from Jane Eyre."

"Wait, really?" Tim said with a laugh. "I'm glad I'm not the only one thinking that! Rebecca is like the less boring version of Jane Eyre."

Jason froze halfway into sitting down in one of the arm chairs that lined the wall closest to the door and looked up at Tim as if he had just suggested burning down the library or something similarly unthinkable. "Whaaaaaat?! I can't believe you just implied that any of the Brontë sisters' works is boring!"

Tim laughed again. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I was only twelve when I read Jane Eyre, so maybe I'd enjoy it more if I read it again now--with a mature perspective--but I remember Rebecca being a blast for thirteen-year-old me so…" He smiled, then shrugged.

Jason stared. "Twelve? Thirteen? Jeez. What else were you trying to read that young?"

"I mean, I read Moby Dick the year before that, in sixth grade," Tim admitted, shrugging until his shoulders hit his ears.

Jason gave him a flat stare. "Moby Dick? Moby fucking Dick? You've gotta be kidding me. And lemme guess, you also thought Herman Melville's masterpiece was a load of crock?"

Tim laughed, but shook his head and waved his hands placatingly. "No, no, no. I only understood, like, every fifth word--so.many.whaling.terms!--and it took me four months to get halfway in only to realize there was no way I was going to finish it by the end of the school year--I ended up skipping to the end and guessing for a lot of the AR test questions--but I definitely got the sense that it was a seminal work and that I was just too young to appreciate it. I've always meant to go back and try it again, but I still haven't gotten around to it."

"Why the hell were you trying to read Moby Dick at the age of twelve?" Jason asked incredulously, leaning back in the chair and taking a long sip of his coffee.

"Eleven, but, ah, well, my mom was convinced I had to be The BestTM in everything, so she pushed me to max out my Accelerated Reader level by the end of sixth grade and demanded that I always get the most AR points of anyone in my class, so I read a lot of the 20 point-and-up books." Tim tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I think Moby Dick was 47 points...Rebecca was 25...Jane Eyre was 33..."

Jason stared, shaking his head slowly. "So…what? You're fine with Moby Dick, a romance of the American Renaissance, but a gothic romance of the British Victorian era like Jane Eyre isn't good enough for you? Next you'll try to tell me you think Wuthering Heights is a snooze fest!"

"Well, I mean, I never could get into it, so…"

Jason slammed both hands down on the arms of his chair, incensed. "Okay, Mister, get your butt over here and sit down, we need to have a talk about Victorian Gothic and why, hands down, it is some of the best literature ever written."

Tim laughed again, then bit his lip, considering the offer. He glanced around the nearly empty coffee shop. Then he leaned over the counter and looked out into the lounge--there were exactly four people there and only one of them wasn't completely asleep in their books. Yeah, he could probably afford to humor the man.

He turned to Damian. "Hey, Dames, I'm going to make myself a coffee and take my break. You good to hold down the fort?"

"I told you not to call me that," Damian snapped, but there was no real heat to it; he liked to pretend that he hated the guts of all his coworkers, but Tim knew that he was Damian's favorite. "However, yes, I think I can manage. Go take your damned break, but when you come back I fully expect a rematch in bowling…and don't you dare cheat this time!"

Tim rolled his eyes and groaned, then turned toward trying to coax Ol' 'Spressolino--their affectionate name for the cantankerous espresso machine--into spitting out a double-shot for him. "It's not cheating, but fine, we'll do it your way," Tim replied. "But I'm telling you, you have to buy those rice crispy balls. I definitely don't want to have to explain to Barbara why some of the food on sale looks like it went through the spin cycle in a dorm washer."

Damian grinned smugly. "My pleasure. It will be a small price to pay in order to ensure your swift defeat."

Tim shook his head, grabbed his espresso in one hand and two biscotti off the front counter in the other, ducked under the counter drawbridge, then slid into the armchair across from Jason. He offered one of the biscotti to the other man and Jason accepted the free food with an appreciative smile. He already looked ten times less zombie-like, thanks to the caffiene, and he was honestly pretty damn attractive.

"Okay," Tim said, peeling the wrapper off his own biscotti and dunking it into his bitter cup of joy, "Educate me."

Between sips of coffee and bites of biscotti, Jason began explaining his thoughts on the romantic period of literature, but barely a minute into his lecture, a plastic-wrapped, ball-shaped rice crispy treat about the size of a cantelope whizzed by their feet and crashed into the ten extra-large paper coffee cups arranged in a bowling triangle at one end of the coffee shop, scattering them in a definitive strike.

Jason jumped in his seat and looked around wildly. "What the fuck?"

Tim sighed. "Daaaaaaamiaaaaaaan…"

"Shut up, Drake! I'm practicing. I need to hone my skills and adjust my form so I can thoroughly crush you in our next round," Damian called back. He marched from the counter to the end of the shop to retrieved his plastic-wrapped projectile.

Jason blinked in confusion. "I repeat: what the ever-loving fuck?"

Tim sighed again, then explained, saying, "It gets pretty boring in here during the graveyard shift, so we invented a game, coffee cup bowling. Normally, we'd sleep or study, but Damian finished his exams two days ago and I don't really study for exams, per se-"

"And sleep is for the weak," Damian finished, nodding as he walked past them carrying his sweet, gooey ammunition.

Tim nodded sagely, in agreement. "Sleep is for the weak."

Jason glanced over Tim's shoulder at the coffee cup bowling 'pins' and then over his shoulder at Damian as he lined up another throw. "You guys are insane," he declared.

Tim made a dismissive gesture. "I mean this is my third graveyard shift in a row and Damian here is almost 20 hours into a 24-hour stint. After that much sleep deprivation, you'd lose your sanity too."

Jason tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Fair enough."

"If you want, you're welcome to join us after we finish our coffee and literature talk," Tim offered amiably.

Jason watched as Damian threw another strike, sending one cup so far it landed in the pot of the ficus in the corner, and raised his eyebrows. "You know what…why not." He turned back to Tim with a grin. "I could use a bit of fun before I go back to work on my Native American Lit paper."

"Are you a lit major?" Tim asked curiously.

"I am."

Tim nodded. "That makes sense."

"And you?"

"I'm a CS major--computer science."

"That makes sense," Jason echoed, grinning.

Tim grinned back at him and waved a hand. "Okay, so as you were saying…?"

"Yes, as I was saying…"

Jason continued his little lecture while they continued sipping their coffee and nibbling on the biscotti. When they had finished--the coffee, not the discussion, because Tim was pretty sure Jason would go on for hours about literature once you got him started--they joined Damian in a game of "ten-cup."

It was in the middle of this heated battle of cups and marshmallow-bonded puffed-rice cereal balls that their next customer found them fifteen minutes later. The man, dressed in flower printed leggings and a black hoodie with "Gotham University Aerial Arts" printed across the chest in blue, took one look at them and grinned.

"Oh, hey! Coffee-cup bowling! I love that game! Do you think I could interrupt you guys for just a sec to get some hot chocolate?"

All three of them--the two baristas plus their customer--turned and stared.

"Hot… wait, what?" Jason said, laughing a little. "Man, it's like 4:30 in the morning. Why are you getting a hot chocolate at 4:30 in the morning?"

The man laughed, too, shrugging before he explained, saying, "I don't like tea or coffee all that much, but I just finished a 20 page paper on ethics in police enforcement and I need a pick me up. I need to get my warm fuzzies going again."

Tim rolled his eyes and sighed, moving back toward the counter to get the man his drink. "You're going to end up being the cuddliest cop on the street, Dick."

"You know it, Timmy!" the man--'Dick' apparently--exclaimed, pulling Tim into a bear hug when he made the mistake of passing too close to Dick on his way to the counter. The hug escalated into a full on octopus hug as he lifted his legs to wrap around Tim's hips. Tim, for his part, ignored the grapple, opening the leaf in the counter and hobbling over to the drink bar with the human cephalopod still attached.

Damian and Jason stared. Damian cleared his throat and eyed Dick with poorly disguised interest. "Wait, do you know this man, Drake?"

Tim blinked dully as he turned around, a cup in one hand and a packet of instant hot chocolate in the other. "Yes. He's my brother." Dick made a squeeing noise and nuzzled his head into Tim's neck. Tim sighed. "My adopted brother," he amended testily.

Dick laughed, dropped his feet back onto the floor and stood up. He nearly wrung Tim's neck as he tried to hug him around the shoulders. "Awww, don't be like that, Tim. We haven't seen each other in two whole weeks and I needed my Tim-hugs! Gotta meet my cuddle-quota."

Tim shook his head and handed the hot chocolate back over his shoulder. "You're insufferably, insatiably clingy when you're this tired, Dick. Go home and sleep."

Dick finally released him to take the drink. He took a sip of the hot chocolate, sighing in appreciation. "Thanks, Tim, and yeah, but, only if you do the same. You're just as bad as me when you haven't slept, if not worse."

"Can't. Working," Tim answered curtly, vaulting the counter to escape before Dick's grabby hands could reach for him again. His brother wasn't wrong; Tim was always up for a good cuddle after a long stint without proper sleep, but he didn't like public displays of affection.

Dick took one look at the nearly empty coffee shop, the three of them, their game, and then laughed out loud. "Ahhh, the days of getting paid to drink coffee and make up games at 4:30 in the morning. I kind of miss it."

"Would you care to join us," Damian asked abruptly. Dick brightened.

"Absolutely!"

And so that was how the four of them ended up bowling for empty coffee cups with rice crispy treats the size of spaghetti squash while blasting ABBA’s greatest hits--Dick's terrible, wonderful idea--until the sun rose and their shift ended, at eight AM.

By the time the four of them walked out the door, Dick was trying to convince Damian to join him in the aerials gym before breakfast, and Damian, clearly eager to do anything with the handsome college senior, accepted readily. Jason and Tim, on the other hand, were back to discussing literature over coffee--now focused on the merits and downfalls of contemporary science fiction and fantasy as an art form--and making their way to the East Campus Dining Hall, so they could continue their discussion over breakfast.

Tim snorted softly as he listened to Jason list all the ways Dune defined an era of sci-fi/fantasy, then smiled at the way Jason took his hand--without seeming to realize it--to pull him forward after the crosswalk light changed out of Tim's line of sight. Oh, yeah, this one was totally gay/bi/pan and he was definitely asking him out the minute he saw the opportunity, Tim decided.

He smiled. Who would of thought he'd come out of last night's graveyard shift not only having seen his demon coworker and his older brother hit it off--of all things!--but having met someone for himself too! He laughed, thinking, you never know what crazy things you might see, or the people you might meet, at the campus coffee shop at 4 o' clock in the morning!

[hawkinsindiana]

we’re safe now

ALMOST PARADISE: PART TWO - CHAPTER TWELVE OF FIFTEEN

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 3.3k

a/n: ahhh i’m sorry this is coming a week late! but i really appreciate everyone being patient while i sort out all the issue with my health. luckily, i’ll be able to post the next chapter next week so we’re back on schedule! again, i can’t thank you all enough for the support and overwhelming love i’ve received recently, so this is for you guys <3

masterlist

Almost two weeks have passed since that night. You’ve been counting the days like some twisted tally, unable to stop reminding yourself of the events that occurred. It bothers you to no end - why you can’t seem to get them out of your head.

The nightmare certainly isn’t helping you cope.

You can’t recall all of the details; you just remember how it felt when your body jolted, how your fingers rushed to grab the smooth grip of the pipe resting beneath your bed - until you realized it was only your subconscious mind playing tricks.

That shadow cast by your dresser wasn’t Billy Hargrove. 

It’s only been five days, but sleep has eluded you ever since.

It seems that everyone’s already moved on. Their lives haven’t stopped or slowed down by what happened. Even Will’s adjusted well, or as well as can be expected. Every little bit of progress is like ten steps in the right direction for the Byers’ boy.

“Hey-” The eraser on the end of Steve’s pencil jabs you in the arm, bringing your scrambled thoughts back to reality - back to him.

“What d’you think about ten? A or D?”

Your eyes drift from Steve, sitting in the chair beside yours, to the worksheet on the table. You’d completely forgotten about it - the pen in your hand had been drawing circles absently onto the paper.

“I, uh-” You clear your throat, gaze bouncing between the four questions you managed to answer, “I didn’t get there yet.”

Steve scoffs as he leans over to take a look; he doesn’t believe a word of it. You always get through these faster than him. But when he realizes that you haven’t flipped to the second page, a touch of worry settles in his stomach.

“Jesus, Henderson. Where’s your head at?”

Steve asks it like it’s a joke. You don’t know if you appreciate or despise the delivery.

On one hand, you’re happy that he feels lighter than you do. Your troubled mind is thankful for the levity it desperately needs. 

But then again, you don’t feel like you’re really here - you think you could just fall right through the floor, forever destined to drown in these emotions.

Dustin says that’s typical until the concussion wears off; but you’re not concerned about physical trauma.

You reply to Steve just as the bell rings, marking the end of the school day.

“Well, uh… the kids wanna get together tonight, but now that there’s so many of ‘em, Karen won’t let them hang at the Wheeler’s. Mike’s been on my ass to help find a spot.”

That’s not a lie - it has been on your mind. Mike has been bugging you about it, desperate to spend more time with El now that she’s returned. That’s cute and all, just as long as you’re not being dragged into it.

Steve’s brow creases before grabbing your bag from the back of your chair. He swings it over his shoulder, carrying his own books by his side; until your hand heals, you’re not going to have to lift a finger.

“Why can’t you just have it at your place?” 

“Not enough room for them all to stay over,” You respond, “Max and Mike refuse to sleep on the floor. We only have one couch.”

As soon as the pair of you step out into the crowded corridor, your eyes catch the snide glances in your direction.

It didn’t take long before people started to figure out what happened.

The injuries that litter your faces were quickly connected to Billy’s split knuckles - which he’s been showing off proudly. To no one’s surprise, it sparked a whole array of rumors. 

Don’t forget the shocking twist that Nancy Wheeler showed up to class with Jonathan Byers on her arm, prompting even more whispers and speculation. Needless to say, it’s been a rough couple of weeks at Hawkins High for you both.

But as soon as you’re free from the fluorescent lights and greeted with autumn’s crisp afternoon breeze, peace starts to settle in. 

“They could hang out at my place.”

Steve’s comment causes you to spin around and stop in your tracks. Your confused expression meets his plain one; he simply shrugs, not acknowledging your reaction, “You know, if they wanted to.” 

He continues on, brushing past you on his way towards the parking lot before you pick up the pace.

“Wait, seriously?” You question after coming to Steve’s side, baffled that he would offer such a thing, “You know that you don’t have to do that, right?”

Steve chuckles a bit, amused by your tone and the shock you radiate, “What, it’s not like anybody’s using it anyways. My parents won't get back until late Sunday night.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into, Harrington?” You add after approaching the passenger’s side of his car, “They’re even worse when the world’s not at stake.”

“I’m pretty sure I can handle it,” Steve replies, tossing your belongings into the back seat. He shuts the door before opening yours. A touch of concern floods his mind, “Wait, you’re coming too right?”

You fold your arms over your chest; a small smirk curls your mouth upwards, “I thought you could handle it.”

“Well, you know… there are six of ‘em-”

“Relax!” You laugh, shoving Steve lightly. The action makes you realize that you hadn’t noticed how close he’d gotten - it makes your heart skip a beat. He mirrors your bright smile as you finish, “Of course I’ll be there. I’m not that cruel.”

—

One word. That’s all it took to convince them. Dustin, on the other hand, was on board with the idea as soon as you mentioned it.

The door chime rings once, then seven more times before Steve finally swings open the front door. He’s met with Max’s smug grin, pointer finger pressed against the doorbell. 

Steve frowns when she doesn’t let up - the annoying sound still echoes through the house. Just as he’s about to tell her to quit it, Lucas slaps her hand away; the action earns him a prompt shove on the arm.

“I heard there was a pool,” Max says. 

Her overnight pack is slung over her shoulder, sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose. The group is huddled onto the step, all carrying their belongings with them.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve steps back, pulling the door back with him, “Down the hall, take a left-”

“I’ll find it. Come on guys.”

The girl pushes forwards, with Lucas and Will pursuing closely behind her. Mike and El follow soon after - El’s hand is wrapped tightly around his elbow.

Steve starts to grow concerned when he doesn’t see you or your brother. Maybe you ditched him to go hang out with Hargrove. 

He hates that he thought that. Of course you wouldn’t. It still bothers him though, why you said yes.

But then Steve hears your bickering cut through the chilly November breeze, and he can’t help the warmth that spreads through his chest. 

“Here, take this-”

“No! I’m not carrying your shit!”

The corner of Steve’s mouth curls up at your tone. He hopes he gets used to your arguments - god knows he doesn’t want to lose either of you.

And then he thinks about what was admitted that night. That maybe things would be better if he realized how happy you make him.

That he’s happier when he’s with you than he was with Nancy.

That scares him. He doesn’t know why.

—

Max couldn’t get into the pool fast enough; she was still wearing one of her socks when she drove in. She quickly found out it wasn’t deep enough to do so.

“I still can’t believe you convinced Hop to let her come,” Steve mutters, approaching your side before passing you a can of Coke.

As much as you might wish it was something stronger, you’re not sure you’d like to be tipsy around any of the kids. Who knows what secrets could spill.

Steve gestures to El, who’s perfectly content just dipping her toes into the warm water; you taught her how to roll her jeans into tight, clean cuffs as to not get her clothes wet. She watches the others throw around a foam football, clapping anytime someone catches it successfully - which isn’t often.

You shrug a bit and gladly accept the drink, “As soon as he heard I would be there, he was fine with it. You know, I’m trustworthy.”

Steve’s standing a little too close - his arm brushes yours every few moments. Every touch has been amplified since you felt the undeniable electricity; any nudge or tap makes your heart rate pick up, no matter how small.

Steve doesn’t get to reply, Will’s pass just misses Mike’s hand; the ball bounces against the concrete before landing against the fence on the other side of the yard.

You sigh while sending a nasty glare to the boys, setting down your soda, “Wait, I’ve got it.”

Steve chuckles as you walk over, waving off their excuses and holding conversation; he can’t hear the banter over the radio that’s blasting the hits. And then something comes to mind, something you’d hate. 

He kneels down next to El - her curls bounce as she turns her head to him. Steve keeps his voice low, eyes bouncing between you and the young girl, “I’ve got an idea.”

“Mike, you missed a perfectly good shot!” You say, siding with Will in the argument. 

“Thank you!” He exclaims, “At least somebody notices talent around here.” He smiles when you send him a sly wink and a thumbs up.

Mike’s words stutter as he attempts to defend himself, “My-my hands are WET! We’re in a POOL! It’s not my fault!” He’s motioning wildly now, splashing water around as he speaks.

You start to approach the water’s edge, spinning the ball between your fingers as you answer, “Yeah, tell that to the other thirty times you miss-”

As soon as you come close enough to the pool, you’re pushed a few feet forward, limbs flailing rapidly in surprise. A wave cascades over the group as you land in the water, quickly drenching them and turning Dustin and Lucas into sputter messes; they can’t tell if they’re coughing or cackling.

Once your head comes up from the surface, Steve and El’s laughter grabs your attention. Steve offers his hand for a high-five, which she eagerly returns, “Nice job, kid - that was awesome!”

You brush your hair away from your face and begin blinking rapidly to rid it from your eyes, “You two are so gonna get it!”

“It was Steve’s idea,” El replies between giggles, to which the boy in question deflects the blame, “Wha- you’re the one who did it!” 

“What the hell was that?!”

“Oh come on, that was funny!” Steve answers your outburst, relishing the moment that came before, “You should’ve seen the look on your face, Henderson. Absolutely priceless.”

The frown you have cracks a bit at his joy. It’s hard to not let his infectious happiness influence you. The water’s deep enough to come up to your chest as you wade over to the pair of them, “But now my clothes are all wet! These are my good jeans!”

Steve exhales, feeling a bit of guilt wash over him at your whining, “Alright fine. I’ll help you up, come here.”

But as soon as Steve’s fingers wrap around your bicep, yours tighten on his wrist - Dustin would recognize your mischievous expression anywhere.

“Wait, Steve-”

Your brother’s comment comes too late, because you’ve already yanked Steve in too. Another splash covers the kids; Lucas wipes water from his cheeks, “Oh, come on!”

“There. Now we’re even,” You add as Steve combs his hair back. It sticks up in chunks in random places, making your mouth curl up in a smirk.

“I guess I deserved that,” Steve coughs as he pulls his soaked sweater from his skin, before turning to you when a laugh bubbles from your throat.

“You should’ve seen your face, Harrington.”

There’s a pause before Steve responds. He’s overwhelmed by your actions, how that glint in your eyes makes his heart flutter, makes him speechless for the first time in a long time.

Instead he lunges, an arm wrapping loosely around your waist to pull you closer, only to splash more water in your face. 

“You’re so dead!” You shout before pushing Steve back underneath the water, but his hold strengthens, pulling you down with him briefly before popping up again. 

There’s a moment that occurs right after breaking the surface. 

Your hand comes to rest on Steve’s shoulder, the fabric of his clothes twist in your fist as your gazes meet. Heat crawls up your neck when his palm slides over your back, and his focus is drawn to your lips. 

God, he could kiss you right now. 

But he’s still in love with Nancy. And nothing about this is fair to you.

Then the realization hits - the kids are still here. 

“I’ll uh-“ Steve clears his throat, moving himself away as you drop your hand. When his touch finally leaves you, the exhale you were holding releases into the sky, suddenly expelled from your lungs.

Steve nods once, a somber manner about him, “I’ll find you something dry to wear.”

You swallow harshly as the feelings start to settle; your stomach aches. Turns out that things between you and Steve weren’t going as well as you thought they were.

Maybe what he said didn’t mean anything. Maybe he’s just confused. Maybe he’s just using you as a way to get over his heartache.

You feel like you could throw up.

You’re barely able to look at the kids, who are all staring silently in your direction, puzzled by what they just witnessed.

“If you guys need anything, I’ll be inside,” You say softly before hoisting yourself up on the metal ladder.

Lucas is the first to speak once you’ve retreated inside.

“Alright, please tell me we all saw that?”

—

You can’t sleep. Not that you’re surprised, you weren’t expecting to.

You just hate how this feels - uncertainty and fear don’t mix well inside your brain.

Even if everything is shitty, at least your relationship with Steve seemed to be better. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. 

But you can only lie here and listen to Max’s light snores for so long; you need some fresh air. Turns out, you’re not the only person with the same desire.

It’s your voice that draws Steve’s attention.

“You know, the last person out here alone got snatched up, Harrington.”

He can’t help the small smile that spreads over his face at the sight of you, standing there wrapped up in one of his mother’s expensive throws; the hood from his sweatshirt pops out a bit at the top, helping to keep you toasty. 

“Oh yeah? You got a death wish, Henderson?”

You go silent for a moment, hesitating with your response - your exhausted brain can’t seem to come up with a reply. The mixture of the cool November air and the heat that rises from the pool washes over you in waves. It makes your body desperately wish that it could relax.

“No, no I don’t,” You finally reply, moving to sit down next to the water’s edge, “Not yet, anyways.” 

Steve grows confused at your answer. It’s not at all what he expected you to say. He waits a few seconds, pondering his options before deciding to join you. 

His skin tears slightly at the contact with the rough concrete, his eyes are cast towards the ground. 

Your breathing begins to steady once Steve takes a seat by your side, leg pressed to yours. You feel better having him here - you don’t like being alone anymore.

“I can’t sleep either,” He says.

You don’t even have to mention it; he recognizes that look on your face, the desperation for a hint of rest. But he doesn’t know if that’s because he’s still reeling from the harrowing experiences, or if it’s because Nancy’s not there next to him anymore.

“Will went missing about half a block from here,” Steve continues, “It still freaks me out to think about that.”

“There’s a street light right outside my window,” You add, picking at a loose string on your pajama bottoms, “Nine times out of ten I think it’s that thing. And I know that there’s no way it could be...”

You sniffle after trailing off; Steve shifts his gaze to you, watching as you peer out over the calm and quiet landscape, “But that doesn’t stop my mind from imagining it.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. He wishes that he had known about this sooner. Maybe he could’ve helped you move on.

He wants to keep you talking. He hopes that would help you, but he doesn’t want to cross any boundaries. 

That was never something he thought about before. But juggling with these new feelings about you has him reconsidering everything about your friendship. He doesn’t want to make anymore mistakes; you don’t deserve that.

“How are you holding up otherwise?” Steve asks.

Your brow furrows as you hold your hands in your lap, grimacing at the sight of your healing bones. There’s no wonder why you haven’t been able to adjust - a constant reminder is always in sight. 

Your chest heaves as a warm breath expels into the air, “I just… I can’t get rid of that feeling.”

“Which one?” Steve’s eyes are now on your face, studying you softly. The lights from beneath the pool’s surface gloss over your features - it’s absolutely mesmerizing. 

“I’m still so scared, Steve,” You gulp, gaze trained on the water ahead, “I’m so scared that something’s gonna happen again.”

“Eleven closed the gate,” He says, “We’re safe now.” 

You shake your head slightly, pulling the blanket closer to your chilled frame, “That’s not what scares me.”

You don’t need to continue for Steve to understand. He can’t imagine what’s been running through your mind, although your behavior from the past few weeks is starting to make more sense.

A light dusting of purple and blue still covers your jawline. God, how he wishes he could wipe it all away, forget that ever happened, forget that it’s his fault you’re burdened with the memory of that night. He didn’t do enough. 

Maybe if he had, you would have been spared.

“I’m terrified of what he did to you.”

Steve’s admission hangs in the air for a moment. He almost grows embarrassed of it, but being vulnerable doesn’t scare him as much as it did. 

He’ll never be able to get that image out of his head. You, bruised and bloodied at Billy’s mercy - he sees it when he closes his eyes at night.

You don’t know what to feel at his words, you just know that it makes your heart race. You don’t think you’ve ever had someone say anything like that to you before. 

Steve’s forehead creases when he feels your fingertips brush his knuckles, still tender from trying to beat Hargrove senseless.

He adjusts to intertwine your hands, feeling a sudden wave of relief come over him as your palms press together. Then, somehow you’re both inching even closer, head resting on his shoulder as it becomes painfully clear.

He knows why he was scared before. Because this, this feels real. 

“It took me a while to get over her too,” You say, voice just above a whisper, “She has a way with people, you know.”

Steve doesn’t understand how you can make something sound both emotionally heavy and soft at the same time. 

His lips are pressing a kiss to your temple soon after - reassurance that he’ll be here for you. You squeeze his hand tighter in response, closing your eyes as the anxiety dulls.

“Yeah, I know.”

—

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[imagining-supernatural]

The Fifth Check-In

Part 23 of Seventy Percent

Series Summary: When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary:  You have a panic attack on the day you get another round of test results back

Word Count: 1,744

Warnings: The Magicians season 5 spoilers right off the bat. Skip the first few paragraphs if you don’t wanna be spoiled!!

“Look, all I’m saying is that Quentin should have lived and that was a shitty ending.” After stating your opinion, you sat back in the chair and waited for Brenda to respond.

She finished writing something in a chart and nodded over at you. “But the whole season was kind of culminating to that ending, wasn’t it? Quentin had Eliot right there the whole time, but it wasn’t Eliot. They were so close, but couldn’t be together. Then, when the Monster is finally gone, they still can’t be together.”

“Okay, but sacrificing himself like that? God, Q’s been suicidal his whole life and having him basically commit suicide, but wrapping it up with a nice bow of martyrdom is probably the worst way they could have handled it. This is fucking fantasy. You think the writers could have found a better way to keep the angst and tension of keeping Eliot and Quentin apart rather than, you know, killing the character so many people who struggle with depression can identify with like that. Make one of them stuck in another world. Have one be sent back in time or something.”

Brenda regarded you with narrow eyes, taking in your words.

Conversations like this were the reason she was your favorite nurse in the hospital. Both of you shared interest in so many TV shows that it was an instant connection and she would constantly come fill out charts in your room for the company.

“I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

“Mm, well, I have all the time in the world lately to mindlessly scroll through posts online. I never thought I’d miss being able to go out to, like, bars and shit.”

“Well, once you recover from your surgery in January, you’ll be able to do that again.”

You nodded and absently picked at the hem of your shirt. Mid-January was one month away. Yesterday and this morning you’d been run through the gambit of tests and you’d be meeting with Dr. Chowdhury later today for the results. In the three weeks since Thanksgiving, you’d gotten so weak you could barely walk up a flight of stairs without having to pause in the middle to catch your breath. You hoped to God that meant the treatment was working.

If this treatment wasn’t working, there likely wouldn’t be any reason for you to stay in the clinical trial.

Would there be any reason to stay in New York if that happened? When you’d made the deal with Sebastian to stay married and get treatment, you’d agreed that once the treatment was over, you’d get a divorce. But things had changed, hadn’t they?

Brenda got a page and left the room in a hurry, giving your thoughts more space to multiply.

Had things changed enough?

And if you were kicked out of the clinical trial, was it fair to Sebastian for you to stay? You’d known each other almost exactly three months. That wasn’t enough time to expect someone to endure watching your cancer kill you in the last few weeks of your life.

Of course, you hadn’t even known him a full twenty-four hours before he was offering to fly you to New York, offering his home to you, and offering his medical insurance.

The cry of a child down the hallway drew you from your thoughts enough for you to recognize the beginning of a dark spiral. Without thinking too much of it, you pulled your phone out to call Sebastian. On the first ring, you realized he was probably shooting a scene and wouldn’t be able to answer. On the second ring, you decided to just leave a short voicemail. Nothing too worrying.

And on the third ring, he answered. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Oh, hi. I wasn’t expecting you to answer.”

“You called at a good time. Just finished shooting for the day.”

His voice alone was enough to help lessen the tension that had gathered in your shoulders and you found yourself relaxing further back into the recliner. “Wow, short day. What’re you going to do with all of this free time?”

“Thought I’d grab some food and relax until you called. Did you already meet with Dr. Chowdhury?”

“Not yet.” You shook your head, even though he wouldn’t be able to see you. “I’ve still got another hour and a half ‘til the appointment.”

“You nervous?”

You let out a snort of laughter. “A bit, yeah. And by a bit, I mean I’m overthinking everything way too much right now.”

“Talk to me, baby. What’s on your mind?”

“Besides the ever-present worry that the tests come back bad? I don’t know…”

“Y/N…” he prompted.

Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes. As if that would make your thoughts easier to bear. “If this treatment isn’t working, what happens then? I-I-I… God, I know I sound like a broken record, but if the results aren’t good, I’m out of options and I can’t help but worry. I mean, what? I go back to Utah and try to make myself accept that I’m going to die? It took me a while to wrap my head around that earlier this year. I don’t know if I can do it as… as peacefully as before. Peacefully isn’t the right word, but I can’t think of it right now. I just… Seb I need the results to be good today. I need good news. I fuckin’ need it.”

“Hey, sweetheart, there’s no—”

“At the very least I need to stick around long enough to see the new season of The Magicians. I’ve put in far too much time looking up fan theories online to die before it airs.” You were rambling. You knew it. But you couldn’t stop. In fact, you just kept talking faster and faster, tripping over your words. “And have I ever told you about when I watched the finale of the last season? I was crying so much that when I left my room to get ice cream, Jasmin told me she could hear me crying all the way from her room. Like, fuck, that can’t be the last scene I see of The Magicians. That would be far too cruel of a joke for the Universe to play on me.”

“Y/N, breathe.” You did as he said. He waited for you to take a few more breaths before speaking again. “Baby, where’s all this coming from? You were fine this weekend before I left, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I was. But now it’s here and this is the last round of these tests like this. The next time I have tests run, it’ll be to see if I’m ready for surgery. Not to see if the treatment is working. These are the last progress tests. And, historically, I haven’t had much luck with those. The first round of tests with Helen showed that my cancer was more aggressive than my doctor back in Salt Lake thought. Then there were the tests before you left for that week of interviews when we found out it was even more aggressive than we thought because it hadn’t shrunk any. Then—”

“Hey, baby, baby.” Sebastian cut off your recap of bad luck. “I know. I know there’s only really been one round of tests that didn’t give you bad results. Trust me, I know how scary this is. I’m fuckin’ terrified too.”

In a soft, meek voice you asked, “You are?”

“I am. I don’t want to lose you, and there’s nothing I can do at all to change the outcome of any of this. God, I wish I was with you right now.”

I don’t want to lose you.

That was the first time he’d said anything about seeing a future with you, besides a few offhanded comments about next year. Sure, it was a loose interpretation, and it was something people said at times like these, but it still made your heart calm down a bit.

“I wish you were here too,” you admitted quietly. Something about hearing him admit that he was scared calmed your nerves. “Can… can I call you and put you on speaker when I meet with Dr. Chowdhury? I know it won’t be the same as you holding my hand but…”

“Yes, please. I was about to ask that, actually.”

Relief flowed through your body. “Thank you, honey. I didn’t want to go through alone. I’m glad you had a short day today.”

“Mmhmm.” He agreed.

“Anyway, I should probably let you go for now. Go grab some food and head back to your room.”

“You sure? I can stay on with you. I can multitask.”

A smile forced itself onto your face at his offer. “I know. And I appreciate the offer, but I’m coming down from that little panic attack and I think I’m going to fall asleep. So you get your food and I’m going to take a nap while this machine keeps pumping toxic chemicals into my body. I’ll talk to you in an hour and a half.”

Your leg was bouncing faster than your heart was beating. Or was it the other way around?

Either way, you were nervous as hell.

“So, to be on track the tumor has to have shrunk at least twenty percent, right?” You asked Dr. Chowdhury as he looked through your file. “That’s what you said when we changed the treatment. Twenty percent by now, and another fifteen percent before surgery?”

He nodded. “That is correct. Dr. Abara agreed that if your tumor shrinks at least thirty-five percent since your previous scans, your chances at having a successful surgery are much higher than if it does not shrink that much. Considering how you have reacted to the treatment thus far, twenty percent is a fair amount.”

You blew out a long breath and heard Sebastian shifting on the other end of the phone.

“So?” you asked Dr. Chowdhury, gripping your phone so tightly you were scared it might break. “Where am I at?”

“Your scans show that the tumor is twenty-five percent smaller than it was at Thanksgiving.”

He was smiling at you and Sebastian was saying something, but your brain couldn’t process the news that quickly.

Twenty-five percent? More than anticipated? Good news?

“That’s… that’s good news, right?”

A short bark of relieved laughter came through the phone speaker from Sebastian as Dr. Chowdhury nodded. “Very good news.”

“Holy shit.”

You could hardly believe it.

Good News!!! And I would apologize for ranting about The Magicians, but I had EMOTIONS that needed a VOICE and this was the time and place, apparently. Anyway, I was rereading this and saw the line about being able to go to bars and shit in January and just laughed a bit. Ah, the world before COVID. I miss those times. So, do you guys think the treatment is going to continue to work? You think the surgery will happen? And if it does... what happens after Are they gonna stay married? 

CHAPTER 24: THE AIRPORT

[baldwin-montclair]

Baldwin’s Nightingale (Part 16)

Characters: Baldwin Montclair/OC

Timeframe: After the S1 Finale, TV Show canon MOSTLY with some S2, Shadow of Night and Book of Life.

Summary: With Baldwin hunting an intruder around the environs of Sept Tours, Alisha spends time with her tenants, step-daughter and the various creatures at Sept Tours.

Tag requests: @christi14 @poemfreak306 @pookie-cleary @hofficoffi @stormyheart326 @simplytimeless @wonderlander594 @madamquacklemore @thereadersmuse @livia-valerie-rown1793 @kynthiamoon @she-who-is-named-katie @ordinarymom1 @fuzzyflowervoid @raspberrypierocketeer @maybelightning @lady-lazarus-declermont

The Story So Far

———

———

Alisha changed quickly, the long dress no longer seeming appropriate for the situation.

Instead, she pulled on some jeans, a vest top and a warm sweater, hoping to quell the chill settling into her bones. She also exchanged her heels for some ballet flats.

The roaring fires and many guests downstairs did nothing to banish that same chill.

“Three ways in,” Marcus was giving orders to his Knights as a very attractive man approached her.

“Madame de Clermont,” he gave a slight bow, “not the best time for introduction but I suppose it is out of my hands. Fernando Gonçalves.”

“It is nice to meet you, even under the circumstances,” she looked around, “I have to apologise, I’m still getting caught up on my in-laws, I’m sure Baldwin mentioned you-“

“You’re sweet to say but he most likely didn’t. I’m not a de Clermont, not by blood anyway.”

“Oh,” she pondered before realising, “so, you’re mated to one, like me?”

“Yes, my darling Hugh, rest his soul.”

Alisha nodded solemnly.

“From what Baldwin’s told me, he was very special, and loved by a lot of people. I wish I’d had the chance to meet him.”

“As do I.”

“Fernando,” Marcus called, “first watch south door.”

“Yes Seigneur.” Fernando called to Marcus and gave Alisha a respectful bow before attending to his duties.

“You changed clothes.” Ysabeau commented with a hint of disapproval.

“Restrictive dress, high heels, not good in a crisis.”

“You will be nowhere near any sort of action, I guarantee it!”

“Maybe not but I want to help the people here and it’s much easier to do so like this.”

“What is your directive, Madame?”

Ysabeau asked the question but it was far from a request for orders and more a test.

“Alright,” Alisha nodded, thinking, “We have a wedding feast already prepared, lets skip the fancy table settings, get everyone together around the table and fed, at least then they’ll be in the same place and accounted for.”

“It’s what I would do, which is why I have already arranged it,” Ysabeau gave her an approving glance.

“And the boy who lost his father, his mother, where are they?”

“In the sitting room.”

“They probably won’t feel much like eating but they should still have something, just in case.”

“I agree,” Ysabeau gave a curt nod, “which is why you will bring them some food, talk to them.”

“Me?”

“You are Madame de Clermont-“

“Not to them, they know you and they trust you. Those people have lost someone they love, it’s not the time to subject them to me and my training wheels. I don’t have your way with people.”

“You don’t, that is true. But, they already have one of me, they do not need a copy. Besides, you too have known loss recently, be you, be honest and connect with them.”

Alisha nodded, reluctant, but resigned.

“I’ll need a translator.”

“Your tenants are extremely well educated,” Ysabeau answered with a hint of offence, “they will understand you.”

“Alright, I’ll go see what the kitchen-“ Alisha stopped when Marthe approached with two plates and holding a bottle of wine under her arm.

“No need.” Ysabeau stated.

———

As their tracker, Baldwin, backed up by Verin, took to hunting the killer from the site of his crime. Gallowglass and Stasia secured the perimeter to ensure there were no potential problems.

Freyja was charged with control of the immediate environs of Sept-Tours.

Baldwin was easily the strongest in the family but never the fastest, which is why Verin was taken aback when he sped from her, towards something he sensed that she did not.

By the time she made it to his side, the offending vampire was on his knees, snarling and struggling with Baldwin’s arm around his neck.

“He’s infected by the rage,” Verin stated plainly, the black appearance of his eyes betraying his affliction.

Baldwin sank his teeth into the creature’s throat, searching through it’s memories.

He saw the murder of his tenant, some deer and a sheep but nothing beyond.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Verin admonished when Baldwin dropped the vampire on the ground.

“What is it?” Gallowglass asked as he joined them in the clearing.

“We know nothing about the disease or how it spreads and you fed on someone that you know had it?” Verin was yelling but Baldwin didn’t say a word, instead, he walked to the small stream to wash the blood from his hands and face.

“I can sense your wife,” Stasia stated plainly.

“Aye, but there’s no way granny’s letting her leave, nor would she even make it out this far.” Gallowglass answered with a frown.

“And it’s not just from you,” Verin told Baldwin as she stood over the dead creature’s body and noted a strip of material tied around the arm, “it’s coming from th-“

Baldwin’s hand was on her wrist before she could touch the fabric.

Instinctively, she growled but the deeper, more commanding one she received made her bow her head slightly, breaking the eye contact, retracting the challenge.

Baldwin released her and she stepped back, away from him.

“What is that?” Gallowglass asked when the tense moment subsided.

“It’s Alisha’s but she brought no clothes from New York, I purchased a new wardrobe for her. Whoever sent me this message was in her home.”

“You fed on him, did it not tell you anything?” Verin pushed.

“Just the shepherd, some animals, everything before that is blank.”

“Could that be a temporary side effect of the rage?”

“Or magic,” Stasia suggested.

“Possibly,” Baldwin shook his head, none of what he was sensing made sense, “and since I do not know this dead creature, I assume he is not the person sending me this message.”

“He was mad with the sickness, most likely turned and set loose.” Verin added.

“If we were to create a list of potential grudges we would be here a while!” Stasia retorted.

“None of those are particularly new,” Verin reminded, “we need to ask ourselves why now?”

“I assume you have a theory on that, sister?” Baldwin’s words dripped with warning.

“Not one I’m inclined to share.”

“Wise decision,” he turned back to the dead creature, “we can ponder the possibilities once we secure the borders and make sure he was alone.”

“Whoever dropped him here, they could be on a different continent by now.” Gallowglass pointed out.

“Trust me, there isn’t a piece of land on this earth that’s safe for them.” Baldwin assured.

“Well this one is neutralised. At least you can return to your wedding evening.”

Baldwin shook his head.

“We’re not nearly done. Every inch of this place must be secure.”

“How?”

“Four quadrants,” he decided.

“That was a game,” Verin rolled her eyes, “one of father’s misguided attempts at fostering family unity.”

“I’ll take the first quadrant,” Baldwin ignored her protests, “Gallowglass two, Stasia three and Verin Four.”

“I suppose I asked for that.” Verin complained at the seasonal muddiness of that section.

“Not at all,” he determined, “we do this four times, by the end, we will each have searched every quadrant so that if one misses something the others won’t.”

“Thorough.” Gallowglass agreed.

“Excessively,” Stasia added, prompting a glare from Baldwin.

“We have tenants, guests and family here,” he corrected, “even this measure does not completely reassure me.”

“We must first dispose of this poor creature.” Gallowglass suggested, trying to break the tension.

“The furnace.” Baldwin responded without a thought.

“That’s for animal remains.” Gallowglass answered quickly.

“He killed a tenant for no reason, what is that other than an animal?”

“A pawn, a victim, you can’t-“ Gallowglass grabbed Baldwin’s arm when the older vampire turned to leave but quickly found himself face down on the forest floor with Baldwin’s knee on his back and the other trapping his arm.

“This is not a democratic process and I do not know what fanciful notions any of you may be entertaining, but my marriage has no bearing on how I intend to lead this family. Any comments?”

Verin had many, it was obvious from her expression. Still, he did not begrudge her thinking them so long as she was not careless enough to voice them.

“Good,” Baldwin stood and offered an arm to help Gallowglass to his feet, which he accepted, “Verin and Stasia will get started on their areas, we will dispose of the body.”

Gallowglass voiced no objection a second time.

———

Alisha?” Marcus placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking her from the silent reverie she shared with the fatherless farm boy.

His mother was still asleep as she sat holding his hand in comfort.

“Marcus,” she excused herself for a moment, letting him lead her from the boy to the window, “is everything okay?”

“They’re doing the final sweep now.”

“Did they catch the killer?”

“It was never about catching him, you realise that?” He reasoned and she nodded in solemn understanding.

“Did they stop him?”

“They did,” he answered carefully, regarding her with concern, “are you alright?”

“I’ll be better when they come back, and really,” she glanced at the bereaved family, “nobody has suffered more than they have.”

“I’ll stay with them.”

Marcus greeted the boy with familiarity, they clearly knew one another and she left them to talk.

By the time she rejoined the gathered guests, all talking amongst themselves, quietly at first, then louder until recriminations and accusations were passing between them.

“Miyako,” Alisha was grateful at seeing the familiar face, “they’re scared and confused, where’s Ysabeau?”

“On the ramparts with the witches, she told me to fetch you this.”

Miyako handed Alisha the violin case, the one left in Baldwin’s tower. As his daughter, she obviously had access to it.

“What is this?” Alisha looked at the sheet music Miyako handed her with the violin.

“I have no idea,” the vampire shrugged, “it was on top of the instrument, I assumed you placed it there as a choice.”

Alisha shook her head with a smile, either Marthe or one of the de Clermont’s other servants could have subtly left it whilst cleaning, a request.

“Do you require accompaniment?” Miyako asked.

“You would...play with me?”

Miyako looked momentarily offended.

“Grandfather was very strict about our learning music, he believed it instilled discipline and patience. I may not have your instinct but I can play several instruments more than moderately well.”

Alisha smiled widely, tamping down the urge to hug the other woman, partly to make it easier to hide the tears of heightened emotion pricking the corner of her eyes.

“I don’t doubt that, and I meant no offence, I’d be honoured to play music with you.”

Miyako nodded and took her hand, giving it a light squeeze.

“I know Grandfather had a cello here somewhere but I’ve been unable to find it. I suppose I will have to play second with the viola.”

Alisha followed after until a thought occurred to her.

“Wait,” she stopped, “what instruments does Baldwin play?”

Miyako shook her head and kept walking.

“That is his secret to tell!”

———

“Quadrant clear!” Stasia reported with palpable irritation after meeting up with her other siblings, all finished and waiting.

“It would have been much easier without the heels!” Gallowglass teased.

“Then the search is complete,” Baldwin confirmed before Stadia could respond to her Nephew, “but now the hunt begins.”

“Do you intend to hunt down those responsible tonight?”

“No,” he glanced in the direction of home, “but be assured that you will each be notified when I decide on the action that is to be taken and you will share nothing more than the fact that we stopped the culprit. I won’t worry Alisha unnecessarily, not until I know more.”

“A bit early in the marriage to be keeping secrets.” Verin poked.

“I could say the same to you in reverse, does Ernst know all of your secrets?”

Verin fumed in silence.

“I thought not,” he turned back to Gallowglass, “go back to Sept Tours and bring my wife to the Chateau, we will be spending the next two days there.”

“And what of us, are we to remain at Sept Tours, awaiting your command?” Verin asked spikily.

“No, you can leave whenever it pleases you sister.”

———

Backlit by candles, Alisa Montclair performed for her husband, the same music she played when she first felt his presence.

This time, however, instead of sensing his gaze in a crowded concert hall, he was propped up against the pillows in their bed wearing just his dark pyjama bottoms. She stood illuminated at the foot of the bed through the thin gauze of the four post bed it was a much more intimate setting than a crowded concert hall.

Wearing just an ivory coloured and very thin silk slip, she was very much aware that he could see so much more than a human could, the candles highlighting her every curve in the silhouette of the candles.

Never had playing been such an erotic experience for her.

When the song ended, she performed a curtesy in response to his soft clapping.

“That was beautiful my darling, thank you,” his voice was thick with emotion and desire.

“You are very welcome, my Lord,” she put the instrument away and approached the side of the bed, “if it pleases you, it pleases me.”

She crept towards him and straddled his lap.

“You please me,” he sighed in contentment, “and not just because you’re beautiful and talented. You demonstrated tonight that you are ready to assume the responsibility that comes with being Madame De Clermont, as well as Mrs Montclair. I understand you played for our guests as well, accompanied by Miyako.”

“Who told you?”

He lifted his phone from the bedside.

“Don’t worry, I only wanted to show you this. You can be rest assured I will be switching it off for the duration of our time here together.”

She settled into a seated position between his strong thighs, his chest reminded a cool marble statue, immovable.

He lightly rested his chin against her shoulder and pulled up the video on his device.

It was of her and her step-daughter, playing together as the crowd was silent.

“Who took this?”

“Marcus, he sent it to me, I’m sorry I missed it, you play so well together” he mused, lightly kissing her shoulder and continued up her neck.

“She’s very talented,” Alisha grinned in memory of Miyako’s revelation, “so what instruments do you play?”

He sighed in resignation, switching the phone off and placing it back as promised.

“Piano, Harpsichord, Organ-“

He was cut off by her burst of giggles.

“Organ?”

“Yes, why is that so funny?” He smiled, happy to hear her laugh.

“No reason,” she shook her head.

He growled a little, but she could easily read it as a playful, exasperated expression.

“Alisha,” the stern tone that drove her wild was back as he lightly nipped at her neck with his teeth before soothing the area with gentle suction.

“It’s just,” she gasped at the sensations he was firing within her, “you already enter a room like there should be organ music playing in the background, I didn’t realise you could compose your own theme song.”

His chuckle was low and she felt the deep rumble of it in his chest.

“Are you calling me dramatic?” He murmured quietly against her ear.

“Big yes,” she nodded, involuntary shifting in her position due to his uncanny ability to make her laugh and turn her on at the same time.

A slight groan erupted from his lips as she realised that her fidgeting was having a direct effect on his own arousal, judging by the sudden bulge growing against her tailbone.

“What else?” She asked, armed with this new knowledge she targeted her innocent squirming to very slight and easily denied stimulation.

“What else what?” He asked in confusion, his breath a little more stilted than before.

“What else do you play?”

He didn’t immediately answer but the reason for that was clearly the diverted blood denied to his brain to feed a hungrier organ.

Just as sudden, his hands on her hips instantly stilled her movements. She took in a sharp breath, realising just how much self-control her husband had.

“I can play one more instrument,” he started, clarity returning to his words, as one of his hands drifted up from her side to ghost up her chest and clasp her breast through the thin material, radiating his granite coolness on the sensitive area.

“W-what’s that?” She asked, her ability to move and tease him hampered by his arm braced across her torso.

“Guess,” he teased, his finger tracing circles around her puckered nipple as he continued to nip and lick at the skin on her throat.

She realised too late the Venus trap she had fallen into and now she was under his complete control, her body practically bared to his whim.

The slight inhale from Baldwin told her he had sensed the wave of arousal that washed over her upon realising her predicament.

“Um, flute?” She whimpered.

“No,” he answered gently as his free hand settled on the inside of her thigh.

“Is it a wind instrument of any type?”

“Cold.”

“Percussion?

“Colder.”

“Reed?”

“Arctic,” he grinned, his hand gently and slowly inching its way up to its target and building anticipation as it went.

“There aren’t any more.” She argued, with a shudder of excitement as he neared his target.

“You’re forgetting the most obvious one.” He directed her vision to the violin case with his hand, loosely around her neck.

“Strings?” She gasped.

“That is the one you forgot but this instrument is so rare it belongs in no classification. The music she makes when you touch her just right...”

The slight mewling gasp she let out upon his fingers tiptoeing lightly over her panties made him smile.

She understood his meaning instantly, he could play her as well, if not better, than she could play her own violin, and he did, his fingers diving, dipping and playing her body like an expert musician stopping only to relieve her of the slip.

“I want you see you, all of you, take them off,” he ordered, “and lie down.”

His tone had the edge of command and it made her desire stronger.

She shimmied her way out of the underwear and lay on her side beside him, trying - and failing - to look sultry.

“I have seen you naked already sweetheart, why so shy now?” He teased, making her blush more pronounced.

“Because you were also naked,” she retorted, “and you were too occupied to study me.”

“Do you think I haven’t already committed your every peak and valley to mind,” he ran his hand down her waist and over her hip, “I have, I wager I could draw from memory your every freckle, especially this one.” His hand rested on her buttock and he pulled her to lie on her stomach.

She felt the slight playful nip of his teeth on the flesh under where his hand had rested.

“Baldwin!” She squealed in between giggles.

“Apologies,” he kissed the spot and continued placing light kisses up her spine, “so plump and inviting I couldn’t resist.”

“Hmm, charmer,” she accused, folding her hands beneath her head and glancing back at him.

In the candlelight, the rich copper tones of his hair were more obvious and the style was less strictly managed and more wild than usual. Between that and the darkness of his eyes, he was a vision of feral beauty, equal parts terrifying and magnificent.

“I‘m not as fragile as you think, you do know that?” She asked, hoping he understood her meaning.

“Vampires play rough sweetheart.” He warned, placing a tender kiss between her shoulders.

“I trust you,” she turned and captured his lips with hers.

He hastily joined her in complete undress and immediately she was enclosed in soothing coolness. It was a welcome contrast to her passion inflamed skin yet did nothing to quell her desire.

She yielded easily to his claiming of her, this time, however, the fit was more challenging on account of their position and she gasped at his fullness within her.

“Do you need me to stop?” He asked and she shook her head emphatically.

“Don’t you dare!” She moaned.

Accepting her answer, he slid his hand down between the mattress and her body, slowly building her arousal as he gradually increased his tempo.

Alisha was lost in a myriad of ecstatic sensations, between the spot within her that he somehow manage to reach every thrust to his ministrations upon her clit.

When he enclosed her throat in his hand to better access her scent, he felt her breath catch as his senses picked up a wave of pheromones from her that urged him forward. A subtle change in her scent intrigued him, something beyond her sweet apricot aroma. It was both unknown yet familiar at the same time.

“Baldwin,” she moaned, the very sound seeming to him more holy than any sermon or choir he had ever heard.

She was almost at her end, he judged from the way she tightened around him. He too would not be long after.

“You are bound to my will, remember?” He murmured low against her ear.

“Always!” She turned to look at him and he kissed her deeply, feeling her melt into him.

“My will,” he answered, “is to feel you come apart in my arms, can you do that for me?”

She nodded mutely as he kissed her neck, nibbled playful at her earlobe.

“Oh God,” she gasped, signalling how close she was to the edge.

“That’s it,” he coaxed gently, “just give in, I have you.”

Her movement was extremely restricted and yet, she felt unbridled, free and for the first time in a long time, safe.

Baldwin held her tight to him throughout her climax.

“You changed my life.” He kissed her temple with tenderness of which no-one could imagine him capable, and took his own pleasure.

After several seconds of quiet contemplation, he withdrew from her and rolled over onto his back. She was the first to let loose a satisfied sigh.

“So, I changed your life?” She grinned, moving to rest her head on Baldwin’s shoulder as her hand closed over his heart, still beating faster than his usual vampire rate.

He chuckled lightly.

“You never fail to surprise and impress me little nightingale.”

“To be fair, you did most of the work, next time I get to ride you like the stallion you are.”

“Noted,” he peered down at her, tucking her hair behind her ear, “and I meant your studies.”

“Huh?”

“Mi hai cambiato la vita,” he grinned, closing his eyes, “you don’t have to be modest, your grasp of Italian is commendable, and yes, you have changed my life.”

The drop in her stomach was made more pronounced by the way his relaxed posture grew more rigid. She realised that he hadn’t spoken the words in English and she had been too out of it to differentiate.

“Alisha,” he sat up, bringing her with him, “vampire’s are programmed to sense panic, it’s how we identify prey. What did I say that upset you?”

She averted her gaze, no words came to mind.

He framed her face in his hands, giving her no choice but to look at him.

“Alisha, tell me what’s wrong!” His tone was calm, gentle even, yet she knew he was not leaving this without an answer and with his senses, a lie was not an option.

She had to concede that the choice was made for her.

“Baldwin, there’s...” she took a deep breath, “there’s something you should probably know.”

——

PART 17

[k-writer1998]

Who Said Love Was Easy? (12/12)

      There are many different kinds of people who come and go from your life. Some will stay constant and sturdy like a river, growing alongside you, others will come like a whirlwind who wreaks havoc and leaves just as quickly, then there is everything in between. In this twisted maze of connections, that is where our story begins. A steadfast boy, a girl with a past, a little bit of alcohol, mistakes, and some love. Where can you go wrong with that?

angsty fluff

w.c: two words short of 2.6k 😃

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

      I’ve been staying at Changbin’s for a week and a half now because we both knew that me alone wouldn’t be a functioning person at the moment. After initially talking to Jaehyung to let him know not to expect me in my apartment for the time being, I’ve tried to avoid him. Always scared that the next call or message would be my bright neighbor’s weakened voice telling me he lost the building… What I hated the most about my current state though was the fact that I’m still worried for Jeongin even after everything. If I told Changbin he would call me a fool but I couldn’t help it. He was a good kid aside from the fact that he is blinded by his… “love”…  There was a small hope that he would change his mind as if salvation had found him and opened his eyes but there are no miracles. Why don’t I ever learn? Safe to say I didn’t go out much for the time being and maybe skipped a class… or three. Sadly Changbin coerced “encouraged” me to go at least to the pub so here I was back in my usual corner and watching everyone move about the pub. A reminder that life continued even if I wished it stopped. Seungmin was the one to take my order and once he brought it over he sat across from me.

“Hi?”

“I wanted to check in since you’ve been hiding.”

“You and everyone else. Get in line,” I quip playfully.

“Seeing as though I’m the most involved, I have rights,” he shot back.

“I see your point… I’m fine I guess, there’s nothing more I can do on my part after all.”

“I meant you personally, not the situation. I heard it got a little… complicated.” 

“It’s not a big deal, I’m already over that. Not like he’s the reason for the response in the first place, wait that doesn’t make- well you know what I mean.”

“Can’t really say it's good you’re better when you aren’t, no matter how hard you try to play it off, but I did want to say thank you.” Seungmin is perceptive as usual, maybe that’s where Jeongin learned it from.

“For being dumb and getting my feelings hurt? I think “sorry” is more appropriate, but what did I do to deserve such thanks?”

“You got the clock turning again, I see things getting better soon.”

      It was nice to talk to Seungmin because he never tried to avoid talking about Jeongin like everyone else but I hated myself for that feeling. I said I couldn’t watch him do it yet I’m grasping at any thread of news about him. Please you idiotic heart, when will it be enough before you stop chasing after this guy who doesn’t want us? Swallow down that surge of hope, experience has shown it’s nothing but bad news.

“I’m too sober for cryptic messages and empty promises, Seungmin.”

“I’m serious. You know better than anyone that the people involved tend not to see what’s going on right in front of them. He kept a lot of it to himself but he is working for a change.”

“Good for him.”

      I couldn’t help the edge in my voice. It’s frustrating to know that it took me blowing up and leaving for him to finally get his act together. It almost feels like I was a stepping stone and I’ve served my purpose… will there be no way back to him? No y/n, not again. Don’t get sad when you’re the one who burned that bridge. I’m pretty sure Seungmin saw the change in my mindset because the conversation slowly changed directions. When I got back to Changbin’s I flopped down on the couch, tired out from trying to appease Jaehyung and his whining to visit him more often. Just as I was wondering where Changbin was he came storming in, fuming.

“Hey, hey, hey,” I stopped him from going to his room. “What’s up? You seem actually angry and not like… slightly annoyed kind of angry.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You know you’ll lose out in a game of persistence, just save yourself the trouble.”

“It’s just work stuff, you don’t want to hear it.”

      Ah. He specifically doesn’t want to tell me. Of course that means he probably had some type of interaction with Jeongin. It was inevitable with a new project coming through with him at the head of it… it’s gonna need to be advertised. I roll my eyes and turn him to face me before crossing my arms.

“You know that “all-knowing” thing in best friendship is a two-way road right? What did Jeongin do? I can’t avoid the topic forever and it’s not like he can say anything else that could hurt me.”

“I hate you… Okay don’t get mad...”

“I-” I stop myself to mentally prepare not to get mad. “Talk.”

“I told him to stay out of your life.”

“Did he say something to you to prompt this?”

“No?”

“Seo Changbin you’re lucky best friend privileges are keeping you alive right now. Why would you say that when it’s been pretty clear that that’s how things were going already?”

“I wanted to make sure that everyone was on the same page.”

“I both love and hate your overprotective ass,” I sigh. “But anyways, that doesn’t explain why you’re so peeved.”

“Well… He said it was your choice where your friendship went and I had no say.”

“I mean… he has a point.”

“Are you really gonna forgive him after everything?! Not even gonna consider your best friend’s warnings?”

“Of course I will but you have a one-strike-you’re-out rule while I have a three-strike-”

“He’s gone past three strikes if you ask me,” he grumbled.

“AND I consider the positives that counteract the strikes,” I continued with a roll of my eyes.

“But he sent you into pattern four and you’ve only ever done that like once.”

“There were other things and you know that, although yes it was all based on his actions but-”

“You’re too nice for your own good, if he comes back you're willing to forgive him aren’t you?”

“I mean if there were changes made before then yeah… forgiveness doesn’t mean everything is swept under the rug though.”

“Fine, fine. You won’t listen to me anyways. Just don’t let yourself get hurt again because if there is a next time I won’t hold back even if you beg.”

      I jokingly pulled him down for a hug as he whined and complained. After a bit I let him go do what he needed as I retired back to the guest room. Jeongin is doing… something… From what Changbin says it seems that he wants to apologize and Seungmin was hinting that there was a positive change. Now, whether that positive change is a good thing for me or not is the question. Aside from hearing things from all these outside sources, the man himself has yet to speak to me so is it all a bluff? Then there is the thing with the pub and all that business stuff… was he able to put a stop to it? He did combat me on that though saying there was nothing he could do so maybe not? Things are too vague, I won’t be able to come to any conclusions. Can I handle seeing him? A week’s definitely not enough time but I do miss him. With a groan I ruffle my hair in frustration. Make up your mind y/n! Or better yet let’s sleep and think about it another time, my brain chimed in as I buried my face in my pillow and that I did.

      Days ticked away as I was still stuck on all of this. Everything has been quiet and I couldn’t help the sliver of hope that flickered to existence. I didn’t let it grow any bigger though. Just because he saved the pub doesn’t mean everything between us, whatever mess we’ve made of it, is fixed. After a few days Changbin, fed up with me lost in thought constantly, advised me to go outside… meaning he literally took me out then abandoned me. His response, after a long chain of “choice” messages I sent, was I needed fresh air and sunlight like some plant. At least Changbin dropped me in a semi-familiar area so once I spotted a familiar café name I bought myself a pastry and a coffee and sat by the window. My mind started to drift off as I started people watching. Might as well try to enjoy the outside. There was the pair of high schoolers giggling amongst themselves and running off to the arcade across the street. Then there was the tired office worker who entered the café, probably sent to pick up coffee for the team because- wait. Why does that worker look familiar? As I racked my brain, I hadn’t realized I was staring at him until we made eye contact and he waved at me. The drunk night.

“Hey Jeongin’s friend. It’s been a while, are you here to surprise him?”

“Haha no, I was just in the area,” I forced a smile. 

      Why didn’t I notice why I knew this area? Of all places, why did Changbin leave me here?! His stupid ass probably didn’t realize… ugh. And of all things why did this man approach me?! I mean my bad for staring but you could've just ended with the wave.

“Well if you’re free you should check in on him, he’s been working so hard lately. You kids need to learn how to take a break every now and then.”

“I just might,” I responded cheerily.

      After that his order was called and we said our goodbyes. My body slumps back into my chair as a sigh passes through my lips. Whatever, I don’t care if this is near Jeongin’s work, I’m not leaving. It’s not like I did anything wrong so why do I have to hide? Plus if that manager already grabbed coffee it's not like he would show up… Stop. We are here for coffee, don’t play those stupid “what if” scenarios right now. So what if he shows up? He doesn’t own this place so I can be here if I want, why do I have to worry? With the renewed confidence I sipped my drink and finished off my pastry as I continued my game of people watching. It was back to having a good time until I saw a tuft of hair weaving around the crowd. Hmm, who's chasing that person? The moment the person broke through the crowd I instinctively turned away as they hunched over to catch their breath. How in the- why is he- I quickly moved, hoping he didn’t catch me at the window. God, I tried so hard to hype myself up but here I am still running. Moving close to the door, the moment his figure entered and started looking around I took the opportunity to slip out. As my feet took me further from where he was, the tension slowly seeped out of my shoulder as well. That is until I heard it and although everything in me screamed to keep moving my heart had control of my feet which froze in place.

“Y/n wait!”

      Against better judgement I turned to his disheveled figure approaching me although he stopped a few steps away. His hair was a tousled mess and his chest huffed for the oxygen all that running had deprived it of. Unsure of what all this was for, I opted to keep quiet and let him settle a bit so he could make the first move.

“Uhm… hi…”

“What are you doing Jeongin?”

“I don’t know… sunbae said he saw you at the coffee shop and I felt like if I didn’t try to see you now, I don’t know if I would ever see you again.”

“And do you think that’s because of me or your own cowardice?” I didn’t want to be so icy but all my energy was going towards protecting my heart so none was spared to protect his feelings.

“Probably my own cowardice. Things were left in a bad state so I didn’t think I had a right.”

“If you know then why are you here?”

“I may not have the right but I don’t want to lose you-”

“Don’t. Stop making it sound like there’s something when there isn’t.”

“Sorry… but those are my honest feelings, you are important to me y/n.”

“But what’s changed other than your mindset? Sadly there were a lot of other pressing matters that caused such an… explosive dispute.”

“I know, believe me. To ease what I’m sure you’re most worried about, I was able to convince my dad of a better location to open his franchise so the pub is safe.”

      Relief immediately washed over me but I steeled my expression to hide it. Be strong y/n at least try to keep your word to Changbin and not forgive him so quickly, there are still things that hurt you personally that haven’t been addressed.

“I’ve also had a proper talk with Gahyeon, which included properly confessing and getting rejected although it didn’t hurt all that much cause you were right… I was clinging to something that wasn’t there anymore.”

“Well that’s all good for you and everyone at the pub… If that’s it I’ll just-”

“Wait! You haven’t heard the most important one yet!”

      He took a deep breath before looking me dead on and there was that gaze again as if he could see me and not just see “me”. Although he’s rambling he is trying, I’ll give him that. Giving him an apprehensive look over, he took that as an okay and continued.

“I’m sorry… for a lot of things.”

“What? Did Seungmin tell you about what I said the other day?” I responded flatly.

“Wha- no! I’ve felt sorry since the argument. I didn’t mean to let things escalate to that level.”

“If you’re referring to my reaction I’m already over it. You weren't the one who created that response so no need to blame yourself for it.”

“It shouldn’t be like that though y/n! That shouldn’t have to be your normal but I should have known better, as you said, especially after seeing how you act around your family. But more than that I never stopped to really consider your feelings in all of this and acted so selfishly.”

“Well thanks for the apology then. I’ve already served my purpose though, right? You’ve started to move forward so I can just-”

“Y/n why are you doing that? I mean… I can’t ask you to forgive everything and go back to how things were but you aren’t even-”

“Jeongin. I have to be distant. The more you’re around me the more I see what I can’t have and I can’t put my heart through that anymore, I just like you far too much to stay friends…”

      My feelings spilled out before my mind could process them but it was honest. This feeling for Jeongin is so intense it sent me into a pattern I only fell into once before because of my brother. It's selfish but there is no going back to friends right now with my feelings as they are… not unless through some miracle that throughout all his changing, his feelings for me changed as well.

[adventuresloane]

"I told you you'd get sick", because it is such prime fluff starting material..

((So I made this way longer than originally intended and followed the prompt in the most tangential of ways. No one should be shocked at this point.))

As was her wont, Lup knocked on the front door, didn't wait for a response, and phased into the house through the two inches of wood. "Alright, I'm here to make chicken soup and accidentally scorch your petunias," she said, "and I've already...well, sorry about that."

Rather than remarking that he had planted those all of four days ago, Kravitz skipped over her greeting altogether. "You know, Lup, this is going to be your home in a few months anyway." Not to mention that she dropped by just about daily regardless. "You don't have to knock every time."

She shrugged, causing the flames that rose from her shoulders to shiver upwards before falling again. "Still gotta wait until I get my body back before I enjoy that bedroom you got picked out for me. How's Taako?" This was usually one of the first things she asked, although it was a particularly relevant question today. "That doofus had better be sleeping."

"He's trying, I think. It's hard for him, though. He says he hasn't slept in the past decade. I'm sure he's out of practice if all he does is Trance."

"Right, right," she said, then turned her black, featureless face inside her red hood back towards him. In the same tone that she'd had when she'd floated in, she continued, "Well, he's lucky he's capable of lying in a bed at all."

"Yes," Kravitz said, right before he said nothing. For a few moments that felt too long and slightly sweaty to him, he stared at Lup, and presumably she stared back, in spite of the fact that he couldn't tell where her eyes were. Her spectral form bobbed slightly up and down in the air, and flames with dark red centers licked off the char-black bones of her hands, and suddenly he was rather glad she always knocked rather than, say, floating up through the floor unannounced when she felt like it. And now the silence was decidedly awkward. He pushed aside one of several unopened cardboard boxes with his foot. "Um, it's his own fault, really. Taako's been spending all his time trying to unpack and organize the house at the same time he's getting things organized to start his school. It's no wonder he's fallen ill--"

"Language." He turned to face her when she piped up. "Just say 'got sick.' No one says 'fall ill' anymore."

He huffed.

"Hey, you were the one who asked me to correct you when you talked like an old geezer."

This was true. It was also true, he was sure, that she enjoyed chastising him for a change, when normally he was the one telling her what to do during reaper training. He moved on. "So I did what you said. The chicken's been slow-cooking for several hours now."

"And you put all the seasonings he likes under the skin like I said? You got the rosemary in there?"

"Yes."

"And the parsley?"

"Two teaspoons of dried."

"And the oregano?"

Kravitz balked and gawked at her. She only kept waiting expectantly. There was no way. He had double- and triple-checked the list she had given him in the knowledge that this had to be made perfectly. How could he have concentratedpassed over something like--?

She laughed. "I'm fucking with you. Lighten up, dude." She attempted to pat him on the shoulder as she floated past him into the kitchen. Her hand passed right through him a couple times, but eventually she  hard enough to make contact. Sometimes she spent a lot of time trying to touch corporeal things. Maybe that was how she'd burned the flowers. "Anyway, who's gonna use oregano when you've already got a buttload of rosemary in there? Come on."

But that was what he was here for today, to be her hands. According to her, there was precious little room for error when making this soup if they wanted to do it The Right Way, no leeway for her to accidentally drop in too much celery or pepper. There was precious little room for error, Kravitz reminded himself as he followed her instructions to strip the chicken meat from the bones.

"I bought a few different kinds of noodles, since I wasn't sure what was best," he said. "There's those twisty egg noodles, thin pasta, the flat ones--"

"Flat," Lup answered rather like a patient schoolteacher, "and don't break them up when you put them in the soup. He'll slurp them up one-by-one when no one's watching, but he'll never admit that. That comes later, though. The noodles cook separately, and it doesn't take long."

"Oh. Sure," he responded quietly.

"We used to make the noodles from scratch back on the ship and save them for rainy days, but store-bought's gonna have to do. Hey, do you have a pepper mill?"

"A what?"

"You know, for grinding up fresh-cracked pepper. Taako likes a lot of it."

"Oh, right. I think we do, but it might be in storage." Kravitz clumsily tried to get his nails under the papery skin of a garlic bulb, trying to peel it off. "Did he tell you he likes it fresh-ground better?"

Lup cocked her head a little. "I don't think he told me, per se. He just...well, he always used to like it that way, at least."

He nodded, stiffly. Then he continued nodding through a litany of other questions and corrections from her, about how much water he's already added and how much he needs to reduce the broth later and how to extract the flavor from the bones and how much salt was needed. There was a temptation to remark that he could, in fact, operate a stove. But he would say this for her: for someone who came across as so impulsive sometimes, she was surprisingly fastidious when it came to cooking. She knew everything about this dish. About what Taako liked about it. Given that he didn't feel hunger and as such hadn't done much in the way of cooking for hundreds of years, he had little choice but to listen to her. Although it would be nice if she could stop instructing him long enough for him to try to absorb what he was doing, so that he could remember all these details himself, for the next time Taako got sick.

He was so busy trying to keep up with her that he barely registered it when she abruptly switched to praise. "You're not half-bad, Skele-friend."

"Huh?" he responded, all dignity. "Oh, well, I'm just doing what you tell me. Or trying to."

"Yeah, well, you're doing a good job of it. Especially since you haven't taken orders from anyone less than a goddess for, what, a few centuries?"

"And you haven't made this recipe in quite some time. It's incredible how well you remember it."

She paused. "Taako's the one who always used to make it, actually," she murmured. "I'd be the helper. Unless I was the one who was sick. Then he'd do it himself. I feel like it's about time I returned the favor."

Kravitz couldn't keep from grinning at the thought. "I had a feeling he'd be a caring older brother."

"He's not my older brother. We're twins."

"Who's older, though?"

"Neither, we were born at the same time!"

"So you're the younger one."

She attempted to give him a playful shove. "Of course you'd take his side," she said in an exaggerated grumble. "I suppose you've had siblings?"

"Yes," he said quietly. He returned to stirring and said nothing else. Mercifully, she got the hint. After a moment, she materialized a white wand of sharpened bone into her hand (one of Barry's ulna's that he'd gifted to her, she'd told Kravitz once, which...said something about their relationship, alright). He watched her point it into the broth.

His side-eye must have been more obvious than he'd suspected, because she huffed when she could sight of him staring. For someone whose face was little more than a black void with an ember-like glow of red at the center, she could give quite the eye-roll. "Relax, Mr. Death Cop. It's healing magic." She stopped for a moment, apparently to judge whether she could push her luck. "Though, you know, necromancy is hardly different from the stuff clerics do every day."

"I'm no arcanologist, Lup. I just take down cultists. And you know that whether or not clerics do it doesn't matter to the Raven Queen. Whether it's Vampiric Touch or Revivify, it's still a corruption of fate."

"Alright, spare me the speech, please. I'm just saying," she said with another shrug. "I am an arcanologist, and I can tell you that it's the same kind of magical energy to heal or hurt, just flowing in different directions."

There had been an eon when he had felt that as opposed to simply knowing it, back before he'd had a scythe or a home in the Astral Plane. When he could ease his mother's headaches with a song.

"Shit," she shouted out of nowhere, as the blue flames from the gas burners shot up suddenly. Kravitz scrambled for the heat dials. "Shit, wait, doesn't everything he eat taste like Gogurt now? What if he can't even taste the soup?"

"It's okay, Lup," he responded before she could go on. "I've asked him about that. He said soup doesn't count for the curse. He'll be able to taste it."

"Oh." She sounded as though she'd let out a sigh of relief, though she lacked lungs. "Okay, I just wasn't sure. Magnus had to tell me that, you know. I wouldn't have even known Taako was cursed otherwise."

Kravitz glanced her way. "Does that bother you?"

"It's not like he has to tell me," she said quickly. Everything else came out much less enthusiastically. "It's just weird that I...don't already know, I guess. I've just--you'll want a chef's knife for that."

"Which one is--?"

"Curved blade. And it's easier if you don't move the knife back and forth. Just pass the carrot under the blade while you chop." She sighed. "Anyway, I just missed things. A lot."

Kravitz bit his lip. "Well...you still know him like no one else. You realize that, don't you? I feel like I'm playing catch-up with all the rest of you. You all had a hundred years to figure him out. And you in particular had quite a few more."

"You're not doing too bad on that front already, bud." He could have sworn he saw a smile peek out from under the hood. He didn't recall her ever calling him "bud" before. "Not from what Taako's told me, anyway."

He stopped stirring the wooden spoon through the golden fluid for awhile. "I guess it's good you'll be moving in with us before too long, huh? We can bring each other up to speed."

"Listen, this shit's gonna be done before long. Why don't you take it up to him yourself?"

Kravitz looked her way. "You sure? It's your soup. You don't want to come up with me?"

"I'll see him plenty later. I'm sure I will."

Minutes later, he was knocking on the door of Taako's bedroom--their shared bedroom, now, with a new king-sized bed and mattress. There were a few instances of throat-clearing before Kravitz heard a croak of "Come in."

He pushed through the door, steaming bowl in both hands. "Hey, darling, have you slept at all?"

"Can't sleep at the best of times, babe." Taako followed up the answer with a snort. "This cold's some bullshit."

He chuckled. "I told you you'd get sick if you kept working like you've been."

"Can it, Bone-Hands McGee." He sat up and struggled to sniff some air through his stuffed nose. "Hey, is that--?"

"Lup helped." He lifted his shoulders in a way that he hoped would come across as self-effacing, as if the soup in his hands didn't smell like absolute heaven.

"That so?" He wiped his nose with a tissue, though not before Kravitz saw the blush creep into his warm cheeks. He saw that blush a lot, and just at the moment that the two of them met eyes. Each time was a gift just for him, whether Taako meant to give it to him or not. "Let's give it a whirl then."

Kravitz sat next to him on the bed and watched the whole while as Taako held the bowl under his nose, let the steam waft up into his sinuses, tipped his head back to show his smooth neck and closed his eyes and drank the broth slowly. Then he licked his lips abruptly and said, "Not bad for someone who considers fancy wine to be an entire meal. Hey, get out of my bed of contagion. You're the one who's gonna get sick next."

He chuckled and ran a hand through Taako's already pillow-ruffled hair. "That's the nice thing about being dead already, sweetheart. I can't really get sick." To prove the point, he kissed his cheek.

He kept doing it, in fact, as he and Taako sat together and as the soup was slowly consumed. He hummed softly, then sung more so. And a few times, when he touched his lips to his boyfriend's skin, he tried to dredge up the kind of magic that he hadn't hadn't used for centuries, for the majority of his life. Not since he'd been alive. It felt far different from the kind he used to electrocute or grapple a necromantic cultist, and at first it felt like trying to run water through a pipe that hadn't seen a drop in decades. But he felt the warmth of the magic like he felt the vibration of his vocal chords, energy coming from deep inside of him, from nothing. Taako seemed to breath more easily as the Healing Word took effect.

It was after the bowl had been sitting empty for awhile that Kravitz felt Taako's breathing slow next to him and take on the rhythm not of meditation, but of sleep.

[cagestark]

WinterIronSpider Ch. 2

Read chapter one here. 

Story spurred by this prompt: There's a meme about a poor college student being robbed; the robber, upon learning just h o w poor, stopping and giving the (empty) wallet back and being sincerely concerned. "You... you live like this?" What if the winter soldier/bucky barnes breaks into struggling college student Peter parker's apt and all his pre-serum steve instincts are triggered by the state of the place and how /tiny/ Peter is. 

Chapter warnings: dubcon/noncon discussed, not between any of the OT3. 

A note: In the brief teaser I gave of this fic before I’d written chapter one, Steve had skipped timelines to live his life with Peggy. But that is no longer the case. 

-

Tony stands lounging against the back of the sofa, watching the elevator doors. FRIDAY alerted him moments ago that Bucky and his guest had entered the building—those are the exact words she used. Bucky and his guest. He finds himself drumming his fingers against his legs, filled to the brim with fizzing carbon bubbles of energy. They’ve been dating for two years now, and Bucky has never brought anyone back to the Tower. He’s tempted to ask FRIDAY to bring up video feed, to get a glimpse of whoever Bucky is bringing home, but the elevator is rising, rising.

“Here, boss,” FRIDAY warns, soft, redundant.

“Quiet from here on out, baby girl,” he reminds her. She doesn’t respond.

Then the doors open.

His eyes go to Bucky first. He can’t help that. Tony will never get enough of him, spends an embarrassing amount of time staring out of the corner of his eye (or unashamedly when the other man is sleeping). Bucky’s hair is past his chin, wind-swept and tangled. He’s dressed casually with his dark jeans and t-shirt—Tony’s, it’s Tony’s t-shirt, he notes with a burst of warmth in his chest—his gloves on, the soft leather ones that Tony had custom made. He stance is guarded, from the low eyebrows to the hunched shoulders.

Tony glances down to the figure at his side and sees why.

It’s a boy, man, maybe, anywhere from sixteen to twenty-six, if Tony had to take a guess. The sad, tired eyes belie the youthful features, so it’s difficult to tell a specific age. He’s petite to an extreme (sickness? Tony wonders. Cancer?), dressed in what appears to be the common man’s version of his Sunday best—dress slacks, a collared, long sleeve shirt with cuffs that gape around his tiny wrists. Paleness verges on sallowness, skin tinged faintly green, lips faint white. But he’s handsome: sharp features, if a little too gaunt, dark eyes and dark curls that are still damp from a shower, or maybe the rain on the way over.

Then he spots it: the hero worship. The kid has stars in his eyes. Tony can spot a fan at fifty paces, the slack mouths, the wide eyes, the oh my god, you’re Iron Man! And it gets him, gets him like a knife between the ribs. He loves the praise. It flatters him, it waters his ego (which isn’t ever flourishing the way the press makes it out to be).

Coming from the right person, it makes his cock hard.

Tony knows he cuts quite a figure, even in his sweatpants, socked-feet, and tee. His hair is un-styled, soft the way Bucky likes it. He’s wearing the blue-tinted glasses that contain his latest AI, his latest baby—but he’s always wearing those these days, even when he doesn’t have EDITH active. He must look soft, relaxed, alien, because the kid looks like he’s seeing something from outer space and not upper Manhattan.

“Hey, cupcake,” Tony says, hands in his pockets, watching Bucky nearly carry the kid out of the elevator. His face is white as a sheet, mouth quivering. “Who’s this?”

“This is—” That’s as far as Bucky makes it before the kid swoons. His eyes roll, body going lax, a puppet with the strings cut. Bucky, quicker reflexes, catches him before his head can hit the tiled floor. Kneeling with the boy in his arms, Bucky gives a tentative smile that looks more like a grimace. “—Peter. He’s sick.”

Tony clutches his heart. “And here I thought it was just my influence. FRIDAY, diagnostics please. Give me some biometrics.”

“Scanning, boss.” Peter’s eyelids flutter at the disembodied female voice, but even if he is regaining consciousness, Tony doesn’t think he’ll remember it.

“Send it to E, Fri.”

No response, but the words appear in front of his eyes. Sex: male presenting. BMI: 16. Which is—yeah, that’s too fucking low. Temperature: 102.8 degrees Fahrenheit. His girl manages to narrow the age from 20 to 24, and she has more. The information goes on and on: he’s sick with the flu, it looks like, but now it has blossomed into the beginnings of pneumonia. Evidence of long-term vitamin deficiencies. A heart murmur—probably benign.

Gonorrhea.

“I got medicine for him,” Bucky says, holding up the pharmacy bag. There’s where Bucky used his card, then. “He took some in the car on the way over, and didn’t cough so much after that.”

“He’s got pneumonia, cupcake. Nothing over the counter will help that. It won’t help his gonorrhea either.”

“He’s got VD?”

Tony hums. “Can I ask what he’s doing on my four-thousand dollar leather sofa?”

“He’s sick,” Bucky says. “I thought you could help.”

“How’d you two know each other?”

“We met today.”

“How?”

“I—don’t want to say.”

Tony softens. Bucky’s skills of deception are honed enough that he could have lied without Tony being the wiser. In the beginning of their relationship, it was a serious problem: Bucky hiding things from Tony that he was worried would upset him. It’s taken a long time for him to know that he can keep secrets if he wants to, that telling Tony I don’t want to say would, under most circumstances, be enough to end the line of questioning.

“Alright. But I feel obliged to say this: there’s no legal way you could have met that I would blink an eye at.”

It’s Bucky who blinks, once, long and slow.

“You met illegally?”

“You’re getting very good at reading me,” Bucky says. Which is nice of him, considering there are still days where his lover seems like a closed book to him. “Could we, like, get him a doctor? Do you have a doctor who makes house calls? Do doctors make those, these days?”

“I’m rich enough to afford one,” Tony says. “And luckily, I have a very discreet one on container. Fri, ask Bruce to come by. Tell him it’s an emergency and to bring whatever he needs to treat pneumonia and gonorrhea—God, I wish I could see the look on his face when you tell him that. FRIDAY, take an image capture of Bruce’s face. Don’t think I didn’t notice you sidestepping the question, either, mister. We talked about your extracurricular activities—”

“I couldn’t leave him there, Tony,” says Bucky, voice tortured. “He’s sick, and he’s got no food, no health insurance. I don’t want him to go back there.”

While they’re waiting for Bruce, Tony wets a rag to put on Peter’s burning forehead. His eyes flutter, and he is looking less pale—no chance he’ll be out much longer. “Here’s a list of things that are acceptable for you to bring home with you: stray dogs, some of those pastries from that cafe we love, a downright egregious number of sex toys–actually, a few of those things I would even encourage you to bring home. But Bucky, baby, a stray human is not on that list.”

“I know that, but he–” Bucky cuts off.

“Yes?” Tony prompts. He lifts a hand, slow, fingers still damp from the washrag to tuck some of Bucky’s hair behind his ear. It’s getting longer and longer these days, and the other man doesn’t trust any professional to cut it. That leaves Tony for the job: Bucky shirtless in their bathroom, hair damp, split ends being carefully trimmed to rain down around their bare feet.

“He reminds me of Steve,” Bucky admits. “Before the serum. Small, and sick, and with a heart bigger than his stomach. I didn’t turn away then, and I can’t turn away now.”

Steve isn’t a name they mention often, not since Thanos. For Bucky to bring it up now shows how serious he is for this. How much it means to him. That’s all Tony needs to hear to be sold. He’d give Bucky the moon, if he could.

“My sugar baby wants a sugar baby,” Tony sighs fondly. “What does that make me?”

Bucky’s lips twitch. “A sugar granddaddy?”

Peter stirs. His eyes open, bloodshot, tender, honey-tinted eyes. They get wide again when they see Tony kneeling by the couch he’s resting on. He holds out a shaking hand, palm down, like he wants Tony to kiss his knuckles. “Mr. Stark,” he breathes, tongue thick and clumsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Behind him, Bucky snorts, the softest exhalation against his neck. Tony reaches out and takes the burning grip in both of his own hands. Peter is short for a man, certainly underweight, and though he has long fingers, they are thin and spindly, swallowed whole by Tony’s larger, tanned hands. The size difference between them makes him swallow—the size difference between Peter and Bucky? It’s—indecent. “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Parker.”

“Oh, call me Peter, please,” he says. The softness, the earnestness charms Tony.

“Peter, then.”

A coughing fit comes on, lasting until the younger man’s face is red and tears are at the corners of his eyes. Tony fetches him some water that he sips at. He blinks like he’s trying to focus his eyes. “Did I faint?”

“Gracefully, if it makes you feel any better. Welcome to Stark Tower, kid. Sorry the experience has been less than ideal.”

The younger man gives a dopey smile—more than likely high off of whatever he took in the car. “The only way it could have been better is if you’d caught me, sir.”

Tony fights to keep his twitching lips from blooming into a downright grin. Bucky’s face is red, the only indication that he’s holding back laughter. “I’m sorry to say that my days of being quick enough to catch damoiseaux in distress are about ten years behind me. Luckily, Bucky was here to act as my hands. Trust me, kid, he’s got nicer biceps to cling to anyway.”

“Oh, I noticed that when he helped me to the car,” Peter says, craning his head back to wave frailly at Bucky behind the couch. Seeing Bucky wave back, stiff and straight faced, is a sight Tony will cherish for many years to come.

The elevator opens. Bruce is there with his bag in hand. He looks like a man who is about to face the gallows—but at the sight of Peter sitting on the couch with the half-empty glass of water in his hands, his eyebrows raise. This could hardly be what he was expecting when FRIDAY told him to come to the penthouse floor.

“Hello,” he says carefully stepping into the room. “Someone rang?”

“Bruce!” Tony rises on creaking joints to greet the man. The warm hug takes the younger man by surprise based on the way he tenses, returning it hesitantly. Tony says under his breath: “He doesn’t know he has the clap, and he wouldn’t understand how I know. Proceed with caution.”

“What have you gotten yourself into?” Bruce mutters, patting Tony awkwardly.

“Oh, you know how it goes. In for a penny, in for a pound.” Then, louder: “Peter, this is Dr. Bruce Banner. Bruce, this is Peter Parker.”

“Pleased to meet you, Dr. Banner,” Peter slurs. He’s looking remarkably like a damsel with the way he’s lounging on the sofa, the back of his hand pressed to the cloth on his forehead. “Call me Pete.”

“You’re not looking well, Pete. Under the weather?”

“Uh-huh. ‘ve got the flu.”

Bucky and Tony stand back while Bruce pokes and prods the kid, taking his temperature, listening to his heart and lungs, interrogating him about his symptoms, medical history, and current medications. He examines the bottle of cold medicine that Peter drank from on the way over, face serious and stern. His diagnosis only backs up FRIDAY’s findings: atypical pneumonia, something most people Peter’s age would have been able to fight off alone.

“I’m prescribing an antibiotic to help you along,” Bruce says.

“Oh, I can’t afford that,” says Peter.

“It’s on the house,” Tony calls from where he and Bucky are setting the table for three. “Consider it complimentary—like the bottles of shampoos at hotels. Bruce, are you joining us? It’s Thai.”

“No, thank you,” Bruce says without offering an excuse. He packs up his back but leaves the antibiotic on the solid fiberglass coffee table. If Peter wonders why Bruce already had the antibiotic on him, he doesn’t question it, just stares at the bottle looking a little glossy-eyed. Bruce gives Tony a pointed glance. “That there is azithromycin, which could clear up a wide range of illnesses. But Peter should still be seen by a doctor who can perform a thorough examination. Understand?”

“Understood.” Tony salutes. He owes the younger man one; actually, a million ones, considering how many sticky situations Bruce has gotten him out of over the years. With nothing but a tense smile, Bruce sees himself to the elevator. Once he is gone, they turn their attention to the young man on the couch who is cradling the bottle of medicine to his chest like a drunkard might the bottle. “Hey Peter. Are you hungry? Do you like Thai?”

“Starving,” Peter says. “And I’m not picky, I’d eat anything. But you don’t have to go through any extra trouble for me, Mr. Stark. I’m just honored to be here.”

“No trouble at all,” Tony insists. “The food is already here. I hope that someone eats it, lest it go to waste. Need help making it to the table, kiddo? Bucky here makes an excellent chariot. Quite the ride.”

The look Bucky gives him might send a lesser man cowering: the perfect mixture of scathing and unamused. But when Peter does nothing but sigh and say, I’ll bet, the former assassin gets distinctly red around the ears. And that is an interesting development, in all of this. It isn’t a stretch that Peter would be attracted to Bucky (anyone with eyes would be), but for the first time, Tony wonders if Bucky’s interest in Peter isn’t entirely platonic.

Peter stumbles on the way to the table, giggles, buzzing off of the cough syrup he drank on the way over. Bucky is nothing short of a gentleman, stiffly helping Peter to a chair, offering him first servings from all of the boxes of takeout. Tony makes a note to himself: no funny business. The kid isn’t in his right mind—even on his best days, he’s obviously vulnerable. As cute as he is, the idea of the kid as prey turns Tony off entirely.

Over dinner, they make small talk. Peter and Tony do, that is. Bucky listens, thoughtful and solemn while he fills and clears his plate twice. A few times, he smiles, when Peter does something absolutely goofy—like missing his mouth with the fork and smearing food on his cheek—and the look he gives Tony is so fond, a shake of his head, like he’s known Peter all his life and is telling Tony, Get a load of this kid, always so silly.

“Bucky tells me money is tight for you,” Tony feels comfortable enough to bring up after the plates are cleared, boxes are emptied, all of them reclining back in their seats, bellies full and sated.

Peter looks sleepy, eyes half-closed. He nods. “It is. I applied to NYU when my aunt and uncle were still alive. They said they’d help me pay for it, since my parents weren’t alive to help themselves. I got a scholarship that was going to do the rest, and everything seemed great my first few semesters. Then they passed away. I tried the work-study program, but there are limits on how many hours they’ll work students. So I worked a few other jobs too—but it just made everything worse. My grades slipped and I lost my scholarship.”

“Jesus,” Bucky mutters. “You’re one unlucky kid.”

“Look—Peter. It’s no secret that I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. Bucky here has taken a liking to you—” Peter gives a soft aww, looking so tender and touched “—I hope that you’ll let me help you out with some expenses. Get you back on your feet and focusing on your studies. How does that sound?”

Peter hums, one hand resting on his rounded stomach. “Mr. Stark—it sounds like a dream. Honestly. I’ve had like, three different dreams with hot older—uh—wait—what was I saying—”

“No, please, go on.”

“I just mean—I want to say yes.” His face grows serious, the thin, pretty mouth down-turned, a furrow between his eyebrows. “Not having any money—being poor, I guess—it’s really hard. And I know that I’m luckier than a lot of people. At least I’m not sleeping on the street. At least I’ve got, got clothes and stuff, you know. At least Mr. Rumlow lets me suck him off in exchange for rent. But my aunt and uncle, they didn’t raise me to—”

“Sorry, Pete, let’s back up,” Tony says. On his respective side of the table, Bucky has stiffened. He sits, stoic, hands clenched into fists on his lap, staring down at his empty plate. His jaw is a sharp enough weapon without it being clenched tightly enough to grind his teeth. Tony works hard to keep his own expression neutral and unalarmed, even though he feels nothing short of horrified. “Who is Mr. Rumlow?”

“Mr. Rumlow is the super. He runs the Lafayette Hall.”

“And you’ve got an arrangement with him.”

Peter hums, nodding. He coughs a little, and they wait, still like statues for him to continue. “I was late one month with rent. Single room apartments are so expensive. Mr. Rumlow was real understanding, though.”

Bucky gets up, chair screeching against the floor. He mutters some excuse and stalks to the balcony, opening the doors and stepping out into the wind. It’s starting to mist, and Bucky looks like a phantom haunting the building, a handsome gargoyle dressed in black, hair dripping, standing perfectly still with his hands on the railing. No doubt with his enhanced senses, he can still hear their conversation, but at least with his face turned towards the city, he can react however he needs to.

“It sounds like it,” Tony says, heart clenching. “Is that—something you like?”

“What’s not to like?” Peter asks. Something about this must be reaching through his drug induced fog, because his eyes are a little wider and more alert; perhaps, the haze of the cough syrup is fading. He sits up a litter straighter in his chair. “Free rent, Mr. Stark.”

“I mean to ask (and forgive me, kid, tactfulness is not in my DNA) if you’d engage Mr. Rumlow that way without the—ah—benefits.”

“Probably not,” Peter says. He looks down at his dress pants. The knees of his khakis are faded, worn, and he rubs at the spot anxiously. “He’s not really my type. But sometimes it does make me feel less lonely. Is that bad?”

It’s terrible. It’s heartbreaking. It’s illegal in New York. It’s immoral—the nerve of a person to take advantage of another’s financial vulnerability and coax them into prostitution—it makes Tony want to explode. But that’s not going to benefit Peter.

And that’s certainly not how Tony is going to get even with this Mister Rumlow. “No,” Tony says, soft. “I don’t think that’s bad.”

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, blinking slowly. “Could you call me a cab? I’m—I think I’m about to fall asleep on your table. It’s a nice table though. I’m sure it’d be very comfortable.”

“I’m sure that it wouldn’t, kid. I could call you a cab if you want. We’ve also got spare rooms here at the Tower, though. Why don’t you stay here tonight, take your first round of antibiotics and stick around for Bruce to be close by in case you need him?”

Peter turns pink, tickled at the offer. “You’ve already been so nice—I couldn’t—"

“You could. Like the Thai food, kid—if you aren’t enjoying those organic cotton sheets, then no one is. In the morning, we can talk more over breakfast. How do you feel about waffles?”

That sells him. The kid already looks hungry. “Alright. If you insist. Is Mr. Bucky okay? He’s been gone for a minute.”

“Mr.—” Tony laughs long and loud, unable to stop himself even as Peter’s face turns red. Out on the balcony, Bucky hunches over, and Tony thinks that maybe he’s laughing too. Smiling at least. Because the kid really is too fucking cute. “You can just call him Bucky. Formalities make him nervous. How about we check out the meds Bruce set you up with and then find you a room?”

“Sounds great,” Peter says. He’s the picture of contentment. “But I don’t have any way to repay you for all this, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony, kid. And don’t worry about it; I’m not looking for reimbursement.”

“I could suck you off,” Peter says, a little breathless. Coy, looking up at Tony through his eyelashes—only, no, that’s not coyness, it’s shyness. And instead of turning him on, the offer makes his heart break. “It works for Mr. Rumlow.”

“That doesn’t work for me, kid. Thanks, but no thanks.” He helps Peter out the chair, but with food in him, still feeling the benefits of the medicine he took, he is much steadier. Once he’s sure that the kid won’t tip out, Tony gives him space. He feels like a creep, thinking how adorable the kid is when obviously other people have seen it to—and abused it.

“In the morning, can I put peanut butter on my waffles?” Peter asks.

“You can put caviar on your waffles for all I care, kid.”

“I’ll stick with the peanut butter, thanks.”

After Peter has taken his first dose of antibiotics (and spent several long minutes ooo-ing and aww-ing over the guest room), he asks if he could speak to Bucky for a moment. Bucky is still on the balcony, soaked and unmoving. If he hears Peter ask, he doesn’t show it. Tony waves him ahead, standing back far enough that he knows he’ll have no chance at overhearing. Let Pete have his privacy.

Bucky is pale and solemn when he turns, blinking rain out of his eyes. The railing is twisted where he hands have been, but Tony doesn’t think that Peter notices. They exchange brief words, and then Peter hugs Bucky, wrapping thin arms around Bucky’s waist, resting his head against Bucky’s broad chest. They look like yin and yang. It’s art, he thinks. FRIDAY, image capture, please. The tenderness with which Bucky lifts a hand to cradle the back of Peter’s head is—God. Tony loves him.

When Peter comes back in, Bucky is on his heels. Peter’s shirt is wet from where he pressed against Bucky, and his cheeks are flushed, maybe with returning fever. Maybe. “Goodnight, Mr. Stark,” Peter says.

“Goodnight, kid. You need anything, just step out of your room and shout. Bucky here is a light sleeper.”

That makes Peter’s face turn even pinker as he bobs a nod and then disappears into the guest room, closing the door behind him softly.

“Are we, like, fucked over this kid?” Tony asks, jerking a thumb towards the guest room.

Bucky just shakes his head, and that’s all the answer Tony needs.

-

Tips not required but very welcome. Leave behind a prompt and I’ll write you a drabble in exchange. <3 Ko-Fi is here. 

Tag list: @shinycreatoroafbonk @kkomusume @bound-vivisection @sorgmantel @phoenixwench @latenightsintherain @bros-before-ghosts @starkerthanreality @richieleeparker

If you want tagged please let me know. Not tagging my current starker taglist because since this is winterironspider, I wasn’t sure if you’re interested. <3

[makeste]

BnHA Vigilantes Chapters 59 - 65: Emergency Catch-Up Blog

before I start, please be advised that the following post will contain a potential MAJOR SPOILER FOR CHAPTER 253, which has not yet been released! please don’t be an idiot like me and spoil yourselves, guys. stay safe.

but anyways yes, this is my recap post for Those Chapters of Vigilantes. at long last. hooray! by the way this is barely edited at all, on account of it being a rush job (see re: the “Emergency” bit in the header). just some raw, unfiltered, [CENSORED SPOILER THING] thoughts and feelings! hopefully it’s readable; when I have more time I’ll try and clean it up a bit more.

so now, first off, credit where credit is due because omg

bless you anon, you saved my life

but let me backtrack! looool so guys, I did a dumb thing and peeked at a spoiler, and read the name “Shirakumo”, and was like FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK and noped out, but it was too late lol. so then I was like “HOW DO I CATCH UP ON THE ENTIRETY OF VIGILANTES IN LESS THAN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS”, fully aware that I probably wasn’t going to do shit and would most likely just spend tomorrow apologizing and shrugging my way through the new chapter. and by the way guys, I’ll go ahead and throw in one of those apologies now, because I’ve had at least a dozen anons implore me to pick up Vigilantes, and I’m fully aware that Aizawa’s past has been covered (including one (1) cloudy boi), and that it’s really good. I just haven’t had the energy to do it! because reading and liveblogging are two very different things, and the latter just takes so much more time and energy honestly. so I kept putting it off and off and off, and now here I am

but then this ask came along telling me exactly which chapters to read in order to get the context I need! so seriously anon, you are the MVP of my week, and I appreciate this so, so much. I am now off to read those chapters, and I apologize to everyone again, but while I will liveblog them, it’ll probably be kind of a rush job due to the circumstances. like I won’t get into every single detail here, because it’s six whole chapters. but I’ll do my best

hmm I don’t know what constitutes the second half of chapter 59 lol so here I am reading the whole damn thing

AIZAWA BEING FRIENDS WITH MIDNIGHT, AND MIDNIGHT HAS A CAT OH GOSH

looool

personally, Aizawa hated school. he would never ever dream of becoming a teacher. how ridiculous. irrational af

“we’ll have you teaching at U.A. soon enough” psssh. not this man, sister

he’s hanging up on her now. honestly I am glad I did not skip the first part of this chapter lol

some wolfman is chasing the protag of this series whose name I forgot, as well as a little girl and ANOTHER CAT. this series has so many cats?! apparently!?

Aizawa is saving the cat. the hero we deserve

the protag whose name I am about to look up wants to adopt the cat, which prompts Aizawa to launch into a 2500-word essay on why he should not adopt the cat

okay the kid’s name is Koichi. he’s apparently 19 in the series, but I don’t know how old he is in this particular scene though because I have the vague impression that the series at large takes place in present-day BnHA time, which would mean this is definitely a flashback. so. ??

OHO, NOW IT’S A FLASHBACK WITHIN A FLASHBACK!!? so this is the Aizawa past thing everyone’s been all “!!!!” about. well here you go guys

young Shouta is staring at an abandoned kitty in a box in the rain

he left the cat, but also left his umbrella over it, awww

and he arrived at class all wet. and his teacher says he can go change his clothes, but he’s all “NAH I’M EMO SO I’LL JUST STAY LIKE THIS”, wow

“I’m powerless” jesus christ Shou get a grip

here comes Present Mic to forcibly lift his best bud’s spirits. they’re in second year apparently

Present Mic, and I mean this in the most loving and affectionate way possible, is the most annoying man on the planet

how was he not just constantly punched in the face at all times. like constantly walking around being punched by people

well well well

something horrible is sure going to happen to you, isn’t it? here I thought you were probably dead, but I’m kinda getting the inkling [SPOILERS, FOLKS, I’M SERIOUS] you’re gonna maybe show up in the latest chapter of the main series, so I guess not! congratulations I guess?? OR MAYBE NOT

“dammit Shirakumo” oh so it’s like that

their teacher deserves a raise. never thought we’d see another U.A. faculty member more done with life than Aizawa himself

hey Shirakumo is giving Shouta his umbrella back, but what about the cat?! SHIRAKUMO ARE YOU REALLY A NICE GUY, I’M NOT SURE YET

meanwhile he’s stripping naked in the middle of class. oh yes. I forgot Vigilantes was like this

he’s using his cloud quirk to censor himself where it counts

“and inside this cloud... is this charming little creature” lol we think he’s talking about his penis but then he pulls out the cat! WELL NEVER MIND THEN SHIRAKUMO

so Shouta is sitting around thinking emo thoughts that are gradually giving way to some decidedly un-hetero thoughts about Shirakumo, who’s doing that shounen thing where he smiles with his eyes closed while being silhouetted against the bright sun. maaaaan. Aizawa you are hella gay my dude

okay next chapter and they’re being assigned internships

Shirakumo’s hero costume is... well let’s just say it’s a good thing he’s got such a badass quirk

he’s riding around on that cloud like Goku. like a fucking Lakitu from Super Mario

now the teachers are talking about the three boys and whether they’ll be able to land internships

“Yamada shouldn’t have a problem. his voice quirk has applications in battle, rescue, and entertainment. but the boy’s a bit distractible.” okay first of all how the hell would Mic ever rescue a person with his quirk. fucking scream them to safety or what. and second, by distractible you mean punchable right. again, all the love

oh my god he’s so cute

lmao this is seriously my favorite picture of Aizawa ever. GO GETTEM SLUGGER

so Shouta is getting bullied by some guy with a decidedly Katsuki-ish quirk, except he shoots jets of fire out of his hands. but anyway he says that fighting Shouta is boring. SHUT UP, YOU. YOU’RE BORING

Shouta is so emo. but he really does want to be a good hero, he just doesn’t know how. he seems very frustrated

he’s lecturing Kumo on not giving people-food to the cat. and now he has picked up the cat and is cradling and bottle-feeding it like an infant. bless

this manga really has a gag panel of the cat pissing on Shirakumo afterwards, like. see this is another reason why I haven’t exactly been in a rush to read it sob. my sense of humor doesn’t really seem to align with Furuhashi’s

oH MY GOD

high school Midnight is the coolest person I have ever seen and I want to be just like her when I grow up

aaaaand she is literally not wearing any clothes except that belt and those boob-holsters. which, I mean, it’s not like she really dresses any differently in the main series, but this being Vigilantes, I’m sure we’ll get another half a dozen pages showing extreme close-ups of her costume from various angles. again, another area where this series and I don’t quite see eye to eye, but it’s all right since we’re just passing through here

and one year later they wrote a literal law limiting how much exposed skin a hero costume can show. oh Midnight. meanwhile I forgot how much this series makes me appreciate Horikoshi, flaws and all. I’ll take a thousand Minetas over this shit honestly. at least Mineta always gets his comeuppance. but anyway

they have named the cat “Sushi”

Midnight is straight up taking the cat lmao

Yamada got an internship. one down, two to go

Midnight’s back and showing them a video of the cat pooping. one joke about the cat’s bathroom habits in a single chapter was not enough, we’re going for two. not like we have anything more important to cover, like Aizawa getting an internship and something terrible and tragic happening to his boyfriend. let’s just keep talking about cat poop

okay here we go, Midnight says her boss will take them as interns

“Loud Cloud” lmao. home run hero name. GOAT

so Shouta’s chasing a villain and nearly got crushed by a safe that he threw at him, but he’s being saved by some guy who I’m guessing is his boss

oh my

this is the kind of weirdness that only a manga can get away with. I wonder how this idea came into being and whose idea it was, Horikoshi’s or Furuhashi’s. maybe the two of them hitting each other up back and forth in a text chain. “so I’m doing Aizawa’s flashback now, who do you want to have him to intern under?” “hmm I don’t know but I was thinking literally Prince”

Prince is chewing Shouta out something fierce

I thought I was prepared for these Aizawa flashbacks, but some things you can never be prepared for

lol he asked Shouta how he fucked up, and Shouta started listing all of his tactical errors, and Prince interrupted him and is all “I’M TALKIN’ ‘BOUT THAT GLOOMY FACE” listen son just who do you think your intern is. THAT’S JUST HIS FACE LEAVE HIM ALONE

he says Aizawa wears his stress all over his sleeve and bums people out

he’s telling him to smile! now where have we heard that philosophy before

hello

I’m just reblogging this panel because of reasons

so Shouta is sulking in the locker room, and Shirakumo is showering off and says his MO is to keep smiling even when he screws up

now Midnight is texting Shouta 500 cat pictures

lmao we can’t see Shouta’s face, but Kumo is streaking in and is all “THERE’S THAT SMILE, SUNSHINE!!!!”

OH SHIT NOW IT’S A FEW DAYS LATER AND THE VILLAIN IS BACK BUT THIS TIME SHOUTA DONE GOT HIM SOME GOGGLES!! the path from adorable to sexy begins. the Longbottoming

oh shit the goggles belong to Shirakumo. the gayening. and they were roommates

Shouta’s using his quirk!

and the bad guy is all “I don’t need my quirk to crush you” and straight up demolishing the fucking pavement yikes

and Kumo is leaping at him from above and whomping him on the head

yay they caught him. and Shouta is...

he’s trying. they’ll coax a real smile out of him yet! just show him a Youtube compilation of Logical Ruses

now he and Shirakumo have matching pairs of goggles. I’m just gonna assume this means they are married

the fire hands bully guy from earlier is coming over to start some shit again

he says he also realized the importance of eye protection through his internship. and Mic says he stole the idea from him

now the class is partnering off for two-on-two battle training, and Kumo is partnering with Shouta

they’re going up against Mic and Fire Hands, and for some reason they’re making a wager of it. whoever loses has to stop wearing glasses. this is easily the stupidest thing I have seen in this series yet, not to mention the most accurate

Kumo’s grinning at Shouta and saying the goggles symbolize their friendship and they have to defend them. you know, lovable scamp stuff

now Shirakumo and Shouta are double teaming the Fire Hands guy and taking him out in seconds because OF COURSE THEY DID. lol he never fucking stood a chance

but Shouta’s handing the glasses back and says that two-on-one isn’t fair so he’s calling the wager off

aaaand Fire Hands is snatching them back and stomping on them. and says he doesn’t need them

listen you dingus, yes you do fucking need them. and also he says he didn’t lose! wow this guy really has his head up his ass. I’d say he reminds me of a CERTAIN SOMEONE, but you know what, I’ll give Mr. Certain Someone his fair credit though, because he managed to get his shit together long before his second year. Fire Hands still needs to grow up

the teacher is telling him he missed the point of the exercise, and FH is literally ignoring him and running off wow

apparently Mic also gave up his sunglasses and got himself a pair of goggles. well we know that’s not gonna last. and for that matter, Shouta’s gonna change out his goggles for a different model as well. ohhhhh some tragedy is on the horizon I just know it, this is gonna hurt

Shirakumo says the three of them should start their own agency. ahhh. buddy I’m here reading this from the future, and I gotta tell you, son... shit’s awkward as fuck

and he’s pointing out all the different ways they complement each other’s strengths and weaknesses

Shouta says he can’t do anything on his own, but Kumo says that just means he’s suited to teamwork

Kumo’s inviting Midnight to join them, but she’s declining lol

Shouta’s looking at the sky all dramatically. oh baby this is it isn’t it. things are about to get rough

“one week later”

NOO THEY HURT MY PRECIOUS PRINCE

SOMEONE IS CALLING FOR BACKUP AND THE CAMERA IS ZOOMING IN ON A BUSTED UP PAIR OF GOGGLES, FUCK EVERYTHING

now we’re cutting to Mic and Fire Hands and FH replaced his sunglasses with a pair of goggles. goggles are just the in thing now

Fire Hands talks about Aizawa so much I’m starting to ship the two of them now as well. damn Shouta how many high school boyfriends did you have??

so they’re fighting off some toad monster and it’s absorbing all their attacks

meanwhile Shouta and Kumo are literally helping kindergartners to cross the street

look at this

it’s beyond my comprehension how anyone could possibly mistake this man for anything but a future teacher

even Kumo is commenting on how natural he is at working with kids

oH MY GOD the kids waved goodbye and said “bye Eraserhead” and it prompted a little smile

Kumo says Shouta psychs himself out and convinces himself he can’t do stuff, but really he can do just about anything if he puts his mind to it. aww. and he’s right!!

oh shit here comes the toad

so this toad’s name is Garvey, and he’s literally wanted for murder oh shit. and he has a Fatgum-like quirk that can absorb attacks and store them up to release them

and some idiots hit him with a combined attack that ended up powering him the fuck up. well shit

so Prince is placing a rose in between his teeth and getting ready to fight this toad off. do it I believe in you

now a lot is happening all at once, jesus. Shouta and Kumo were trying to evacuate the kids but then the toad just appeared right there like wtf, and then Prince also showed up out of nowhere and went to hit the thing with a flying jump kick

aaaand he’s getting blasted into a building

oof. and getting even further blasted now. welp

Kumo’s protecting the kiddos with his Nimbus quirk!

OH FUCKING SHIT AND THEN HE GOT CRACKED IN THE HEAD BY A GIANT FALLING ROCK

um

is this bitch fucking dead now. I can’t believe they fucking Obitoed my bro Shirakumo

so now the toad is looming over them, and Shouta realizes he’s the only one left standing, and all his doubts are filtering into his mind as he desperately tries to think of how to stop him

and Shirakumo’s... gourd... thing... is klunking in out of nowhere, and it has a little speaker on it, and it’s all “YOU GOT THIS AIZAWA” and wtf. this is like something out of a weird fever dream

OH SHIT BOYS AIZAWA SHOUTA DONE GOT HIS GAME FACE ON NOW

THE LONGBOTTOMING CONTINUES

so now he’s leaping fifty feet into the air, somehow, and thinking that his Erasure quirk will at least level the playing field. well all right then! you go boy

now it’s raining and of course bolts of lightning are dramatically hitting the ground all around them

Shouta’s kicking off the lil power toad lumps one by one lol

literally just jumping all around and kickin’ stuff

oof he took a bad hit. but he’s sitting back up!

Kumo’s disembodied gourd voice keeps shouting encouragement at him though, idk. so there’s that

he says Shouta’s strong and he won’t lose, and Shouta is all “RAHHHHHHH.” you guys, if 1-A ever found out about this flashback they would never let the man live it down. hell I’m not gonna let him live it down. okay then. Mr. RAHHHHHH

he’s doing some weird stuff with his capture weapon now. I think maybe he grabbed a rock with it and chucked it at the guy

and now the guy is shooting all his toad lumps at Shouta all at once! WELL ALL RIGHT THEN

yooooo Shouta literally grabbed them all with the capture weapon and he’s CHUCKIN’ EM ALL INTO THE DUDE’S MOUTH Y’ALL THIS IS SOME REAL FUCKING SHIT LMAO GET WRECKED

so the guy is blowing up from the inside out. yeah that’s what you get for murdering Shouta’s childhood friend you piece of shit

and Shouta’s collapsing in exhaustion but happily shouting “SHIRAKUMO I DID IT” before he passes out. oh my god don’t tell me Kumo is already dead and Shouta just hallucinated his voice or some shit. THEN WHO WAS GOURD omg

oooooof here we go

[places both hands on Shouta’s shoulders and looks him dead in the eye] son I don’t know how to tell you this, but Shirakumo has been dead for twenty years

wow can someone just fucking tell Shouta already so he stops depressing everyone and making an idiot out of himself. geez how long are you all gonna stand around despondently shooting knowing looks at each other in the rain

so they’re picking up the gourd speaker thing and OF COURSE it’s visibly broken and there’s no possible way Kumo’s voice could have been coming out of it. especially since he has been dead for twenty years. here’s a picture of his grave. oh shit what’s that little grave right next to his?? OH MY GOD IT’S THE CAT. OH MY GOD

oh fuck me

Y’ALL REALLY DID THESE BABIES LIKE THAT. HORIKOSHI!! FURUHASHI!! GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW I WANT A WORD!!

so now Fire Hands, who is trying his best to be comforting but is just SO BAD AT IT, is all “Aizawa you went toe to toe with this thing and beat it YOURSELF!! ALL ALONE!!!” jesus christ I need a minute

OH DAMN A CALLBACK TO THE RAIN “THIS KINDA FITS OUR VIBE RIGHT NOW” LINE but now it’s saaaaaaaad oh no

I mean. I knew going in that this was going to be Aizawa’s sad childhood flashback about his friend Shirakumo whom something very terrible happened to. it’s not like I’m even surprised. I knew what I was getting myself into here. but damn that still hurts

do you guys think that having a permanent image of his best friend forever immortalized as a cheerful seventeen-year-old, and being forever haunted by the memory of that seventeen-year-old being cut down in the prime of his life, might have given Aizawa Shouta lasting trauma which carried over into his adulthood and makes him do desperately reckless things when children are at risk, such as leaping into battle against an army of villains all alone. dammit now I want to grab every single problem child of 1-A and shake them roughly and scream at them for all the sleepless nights they have doubtless caused this man

so now here he and Mic are both being sad

aww Mic. I’m sorry I keep wanting to punch you in the face. it’s just reflex

and now it’s one year later and the class is gearing up for the sports festival

well look who is almost fully done with his metamorphosis

you will soon be a beautiful butterfly

he is literally going to sleep in the middle of class. well depression makes people tired. sigh

he’s got his familiar goggles now! and he’s kicking FH’s ass and lecturing him on how to fight better. damn his character development is complete

and he’s helping FH to his feet aww. definitely boyfriends. this man gets around

his teachers now say that Shouta has gotten too complacent, if anything, and phones everything in once he knows he’s got a passing grade, and only gets passionate when it comes to practical exercises

and now we’re cutting to the gym and Shouta is indeed training passionately while Mic sits in the corner looking bummed. all these kids have been through far too much in their young lives

Shouta’s handing in his career aspiration form, and he wrote that he wants to start his own agency and focus on “fighting, and nothing else”

his scruffy facial hair is already starting to come in now. it’s true what they say, having a tragic past does indeed make you hotter

anyways but can we get this boy a hug!? anybody?? hello??!?

now they’re graduating and Shouta is disappearing in a poof of smoke and now there’s this big panel with flashbacks to his career up to the current point in Vigilantes!

and we’re back in the ~present~ and he’s telling Koichi to take good care of that cat. aaaand, I guess that’s that. geez. that was a lot

so there you go! the Aizawa flashbacks! they were very sad! all in all I really enjoyed them! so now, if Shirakumo isn’t actually dead (seeing as it’s a shounen manga that pays homage to comic books, so safe to say that People Not Actually Being Dead is a Certified Phenomenon, like it’s definitely a THING THAT CAN SOMETIMES HAPPEN), well then. tomorrow’s chapter is sure going to be interesting to say the least. lulz but maybe I’ve got it all wrong though. guess I’ll find out!

[deathfrisbeeinthetardis]

“Move out of my way before I make you.”  Yes please- maybe Shane threatens this to Ryan because Ry won’t let him go in a cursed cupboard or something (maybe Ryan holds him back like during the Annabelle ep) and Ry adamantly blocks him anyway and Shane inevitably ‘makes him’ move

Thank you so much for the suggestion!! This little thing was so much fun to write, I hope the dynamics are alright. Also bless the people who sent me asks for prompts, anons or otherwise, I see ya’ll, but I am sorry when I say I make no promises on delivery time. Love you all the same

Here we go!

Wood creaks. Ryan hates everything about this room. 

From the distinct lack of dust on the furniture to the delicately billowy white dress that hung between the beams of the ancient four-poster bed, the covers rumpled and pushed back as if someone had just slept in them.  

He especially hates that look in Shane’s eyes as his friend assesses the scene in front of them, a sly curve to his mouth. 

“That’s where the daughter hung herself,” Ryan half-whispers into the silence. They’re on their own for the moment, go-pros strapped to their chests and cameras in hand. He shivers as his brain very helpfully presented him with the crime scene photo in full color, sometimes it really isn’t good for one’s health to have a good visual memory. “People say they have trouble breathing here, pricks on their wrists, that sort of thing, cause she slit hers before, well." 

Shane’s eyes are bright with interest, leaning over the guard rope into the enclosure, making full use of his stature to get his nose within three feet of the dress itself. He sniffs at it and Ryan stares at him. Sometimes he wonders why his stupid heart chose to beat for this man. 

"Dude get back, that thing is cursed!” Ryan grabs Shane’s arm and tugs, and the other man leans back but doesn’t budge his feet, turning to level Ryan with a long-suffering grin.

“Oh really?”

“Yes really,” Ryan huffs, letting go of Shane so he can point at said piece of clothing accusingly, “The people who’ve touched it after her death have all suffered in some way, serious injuries, depression, psychic breaks. Every, single, one.”

  "Impressive,” Shane hums, tapping at his chin with a hand while he studies the layers of fabric so light any whiff of air would send them trembling. “That’s one hard-working ghost! The spiritual PAs gotta get the lady an employee of the year award." 

"Yeah she’s got a pretty good track record,” A nervous laugh escapes him at the words, the air in the room weighing heavy in his lungs. Ryan had expected the stuffiness with the age of the house, but it hadn’t really hit him until the lights had gone out and the silence descended. The only sound is the gentle rustle of their clothes and small creaks in the floorboards as Ryan shifts his weight around, fiddling with the seam on his jacket sleeve. 

“You think she’s gonna come out and haunt me if I touch it?” There it is again, that look in Shane’s eyes, half mischief and half insurmountable determination to keep giving Ryan heart attacks. 

“I said it back at the studio and I’m still going say it now, you taunt the ghost all you want, just don’t bring me into your shit.”

“You did join me against our old pal Goatman,” Shane’s eyes twinkles and Ryan’s chest does a thing. 

“Tha-that doesn’t count,” He sputters, indignant, “There wasn’t anything there that time, we got lucky.”

“Says the guy who keeps trying to prove ghosts are real,” Shane grins, “Come on Ryan, wouldn’t it be great evidence if I get murked by a ghost? Then you can go celebrate with your Boogaras.”

“Fine by me.” Ryan mutters darkly, rolling his eyes when Shane pantomimes death, with explosive hand-blood spurts and everything. By the end of it, Ryan’s pointing the camera down at where Shane has melted onto the floor, both of them giggling like preschoolers. All ghost hunters are like this, Ryan thinks, they must be. Some good serious work right here.

“Phew,” Ryan wheezes, wiping a tear from his eye and holding out a hand to help Shane up despite himself, “Okay we need to get started, we’ve gotta leave enough time to sleep here too.”

“The Shanster does need his beauty sleep,” Shane quips, chuckling when Ryan looks at him somewhere between fond exasperated, “Okay okay, you said the daughter’s name is Elizabeth?”

Ryan nods, stretching out his arm to extend their audio recorder into the enclosure. This is one of the more active locations they’ve been to, and no way is he going to give Shane the opportunity to blame the EVPs he’s going to catch on their own clothes.

“Elizabeth? Or Eliza, are you here with us?” Ryan asks, feeling the pressure in the room again, but he’s done enough of these investigations that his voice is steady, “Our colleagues have seen you before, can you move something or say something to show us too?”

“You could rustle that dress right there,” Shane says, and the seriousness in his voice brings a smile to Ryan’s face, maybe if that respect can last they’ll actually get something good.

“Were you cursed?” Shane’s sweeping his eyes over the room, and the silence stretches for a good while, then he turns to Ryan and shrugs, “Nothing, I’m getting nothing.”

“I’ll scan the audio later, in the meantime,” Ryan ducks down to dig out the spirit box from his pack, fiddling with the dials and turning it on. He winces with Shane when the thing gives a loud screech before settling into the rhythmic skipping of channels. “Whoah there, was that you Eliza?”

“We need to bring earmuffs next time,” Shane mutters just loud enough to be heard over the noise and Ryan bats at his arm, straining his ears to pick out any response. He didn’t see Shane get that look in his eyes again.

Movement, his brain registered, oh shit it’s the ghost, Ryan thinks, whipping his head around to look, and oh shit Shane’s gonna touch the dress. Instinct kicks in, and he almost drops the spirit box as he leaps over the guard rope to stand in the other man’s way. 

“No,” Ryan half shouts, Shane coming to an abrupt stop in front of him, tilting his head and looking at the bundle of silk over Ryan’s shoulder, still with that sly smile on his face.

“No.” Ryan says again, firmer this time. 

“It could make her show herself.” Shane looks down at him, and sure he’s got a point. But. 

“It’s dangerous,” Ryan doesn’t really like the slight whine that creeps into his own voice, but fuck it, with all he jokes about killing Shane, he can’t not care. “It’s not worth it.” He says stubbornly.

“Aww, are you worried for me?" 

"I have to be! You’ve got like negative self-preservation.”

“Do you want evidence or not?” Shane quirks an eyebrow at him and takes a step forward, there’s barely a foot of space between them now, Ryan swallows. 

“Yes but not if it gets you killed, or-or cursed!’ He sounds breathless to his own ears.

"But it’ll be for science! Think about it Ryan, you’ll finally have concrete proof of death by a ghost, caught on camera.”

“Nope, not happening." 

Ryan’s expecting Shane to drop it, to back away so they can continue on their usual routine of questions and a bit of insulting for the ghosts. But Shane leans forward, forcing Ryan to tip his head up to look at him, the other man’s face set with determination, eyes twinkling.

“Move out of my way before I make you.”

Ryan shivers, he couldn’t help it, painfully aware that the motion is made more obvious with their bodies so close together. Shane’s eyes have gone dark, or maybe that’s just the shadows playing tricks on him. For a man who’s a big goof ninety percent of the time, the big guy can sure pack some intimidation points. Pity Ryan’s gotta fight him on this. 

"You’re gonna have to make me.” Ryan’s voice shakes just a little, something in his stomach fluttering and fingers flexing around the sharp lines of the spirit box. His face feels hot, but he hopes Shane won’t notice in the dim light, he really doesn’t need more things to make fun of Ryan for right now.  

“You know I can just reach over your shoulder right?" 

"I’ll fight you.” Ryan warns, though he doesn’t sound too threatening. He would have brought up his arms too, if only there was space for them. 

“Are you now?” Shane’s smiling down at him, eyes definitely darker than usual. He crowds Ryan until the smaller man takes another step back, “Careful now, you’re awfully close to the dress yourself.”

“Well fuck, guess I’m dead then,” Ryan says weakly, feeling the phantom cold of fresh air brush against his back. He should have at least two more feet of cushion, he’d eyed the distance when he jumped in front of Shane, but how many steps has he taken already? It’s hard to keep track when he could feel Shane’s breath on his face. “Better me than you.” he manages, barely. 

“How noble of you.” And then Shane’s leaning down even more, still not letting up on the space between them. Ryan’s breaths are starting to speed up, fast, shallow little things that rush in and out of his lungs without actually doing their job. He can step away, he should really, the cameras are still rolling. But Shane’s face is so close and there is a headiness to the tension between them and all the places they’re not touching. 

For a second something like uncertainly flickers in Shane’s face, his eyes search Ryan’s face for… something. Ryan can hardly move, his own gaze glued to the other man. What Shane sees must confirm his beliefs, since he sinks his head down, lower. Ryan’s eyes flutter closed.

And Shane kisses Ryan’s nose. 

“Wha-” Ryan makes an indignant noise and has to catch himself before he takes a step back and curses himself via ghost dress. He feels plenty cursed already, what with his heart beating thunderously in his ears and his stomach doing all sorts of acrobatics he hasn’t given it permission to. 

“What was that?” He had meant it as an accusation, but a small smile escapes him as he looks back at Shane, watching in quiet wonder when the brief worry melts away from his brow.

“A truce.” Shane’s voice is quiet, a soft tilt to his mouth, and Ryan’s knees feel weak. His body parts are just all ganging up on him today huh. 

‘Oh, um sure,“ Ryan stammers, breathing still unsteady, "Jus-um just don’t touch the dress, please.”

"Lets trade,” Shane’s eyes are twinkling again, mischief dancing in them, “I leave the dress alone and I get to kiss you, properly." 

"That’s not how it works,” Ryan grumbles, ducking his head and flushing furiously, but he knows Shane sees anyway. Shane’s full-on grinning now, Ryan doesn’t think he has ever seen him with this much gently suppressed excitement. I gave him that, he thinks, wild. 

“Okay fine. Just this once.”

“I’m good with that,” Shane sinks his voice a few octaves deeper and says with mock seriousness, “But Mr. Bergara! I do believe further such business negotiations would be beneficial to–”

“Oh stop,” Ryan chides, staring into Shane’s laughing eyes as he bunches a hand in the other man’s collar to pull him in, “Just kiss me, you idiot.”

And he does, and Ryan can’t remember a room he likes this much.