#haney writes angst

[andysbubba]

needy

summary | the two times ari needs you, and that one time you needed him.

pairing | ari levinson x reader

warnings | just a tiny bit of angst, an emotionally constipated ari levinson, something about unrequited love and finally a bestfriends to lovers trope!

A/N | hi, i’m haney and i’ve been gone from this app for a long time and i missed writing so here’s a little story that has been ageing in my drafts that i finally finished! hope u enjoy this read! ❤️

—————

ONE

The first time: when he was drunk

"Don't go." He starts, his voice already sounding so vulnerable that you know you'd give him anything he'd ask for. "Please."

You stop in your steps, the hand on the doorknob dropping down to your side and you turn around to face him. You helped him get into bed after a long night out, and you were planning to leave or maybe just crash on his couch since its already late and you're too lazy to get back home.

"Don't have to stay the whole night if you don't want to. Just keep me company till I sleep."

"Okay, grumpy." You traced back your steps, and you tug your jacket off, leaving it on his nightstand before you climb up his bed and settle in right beside him.

His eyes stayed on you the whole time and he shifts closer to your side.

"How ya feelin', grump?"

"I'm tired." He snuggles up into your side and throws an arm around your stomach. "How are you always so warm and soft?" he questioned, like the question had been haunting him.

You hum at his question and raise your hand up to his head and run your fingers through his hair. "How are you always so cuddly when you're drunk?"

He mumbles out something you couldn't really understand and he turns his head to nuzzle into the fabric of your shirt.

You nod mindlessly, paying no attention to what he’s trying to say and ran your fingers through his hair, watching him drift off — heavy limbs, steady breath, muttered nonsense.

---

When you're up the next morning, the spot beside you was already empty. You had no doubt Ari was nursing a shitty hangover from all the drinks he had yesterday. He called you pretty late last night with his words all slurry and draggy. So naturally as his friend, you went to the bar to pick him up and bring him home.

He was grumbling in the kitchen, trudging around with heavy footsteps. As you entered the kitchen, he nods at you in acknowledgement. Too hungover for good mornings.

“How was your date yesterday, twinkie?” he asked, casual, but not really.

You told him it was nice. And he’s cute.

Ari nodded, silent.

He didn’t ask anything else, just rubbed his temple and reached out for the Advil.

You let it go. Pretended not to notice the tight set of his jaw. The way he couldn’t quite look at you.

He didn’t say it, but you knew.

He hated it.

————

TWO

The second time: when his mom was in the hospital

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay, bear. I've got you." Ari crashed straight into your arms the moment he spots you striding into the waiting room. He hides his face in the crook of your neck, and his arms tightened around you. His body shakes as tiny, soft sobs leaves his lips and it sounds muffled as he cries into your neck. "I've got you, babe. Just take deep breaths for me, okay?"

He collapsed into your arms like something inside him had snapped. You held him tight, fingers in his hair, whispering that it was okay — even when you weren’t sure it was.

She was in surgery. Something routine, your colleagues had said. But fear doesn’t listen to facts when it’s someone you love on the table.

So you took him up to your office, let him drink your last Capri Sun and eat the Mars bar you’d been saving.

“Apple juice? Really?” he grumbled, straw between his teeth.

“Stop acting like my nephew and maybe I’ll get you a beer next time.”

He didn’t laugh. But he leaned into you. Head on your shoulder. Arms curled close.

You kept scratching at his scalp, trying to quiet the shaking in his chest.

“I want to be there when she wakes up,” he said quietly.

“You will be. I promise. I told them to call me if anything comes up."

———

When you brought him to the recovery room, his mom lit up.

"Y/n, sweetheart!"

You smiled, embracing her with the same warmth she greeted you with.

“Mrs Levinson!”

The permanent frown on his face eased, softened into something you didn’t see often — a smile. Small, but real. His shoulders dropped, a visible exhale of all the fear he’d carried since the phone call.

“She’s really okay?” he asked, his voice cracking even as he tried to hold himself together.

You nodded from your spot at the foot of the bed, watching the way he reached for her hand like he still didn’t believe it.

“She’s more than okay, bear.”

Mrs. Levinson gave him a tired but loving smile, her thumb brushing his knuckles. “Told you I wasn’t going anywhere yet. Can’t get rid of me that easy.”

Ari laughed — breathy and weak. And you could see it in his eyes, just for a flicker of the little boy he used to be, still afraid of losing the people he loves.

You stepped back a little, giving them their space, heart pulling in your chest.

Because you’d never seen Ari cry before that morning. Not like that. Not that kind of broken.

But he let you hold him.

He called you.

He let himself fall apart in your arms — the same arms he once called just “warm and soft,” like that was all they were.

But now?

Now he knew what they meant.

Now you knew what they meant.

It wasn’t just the comfort.

It was safety.

It was home.

————

A while later, you both stepped out of the hospital room, and Ari was quiet. Too quiet.

The halls buzzed with fluorescent light and the low murmur of hospital life, but he walked beside you like he couldn’t feel any of it. His hand brushed yours once. Didn’t take it. Just… brushed it. Like a thought half-formed.

You stopped just outside the vending machines.

“You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the linoleum floor.

Then:

“You didn’t have to show up today.”

You blinked. “Of course I did.”

“I know but…” He swallowed. His voice went hoarse. “You had a date. With Barber. You could’ve ignored the call.”

“I never would.”

He finally looked at you. And God, the ache in his eyes — it could flatten cities.

“I don’t know what we are,” he said, low. “I don’t even know what I can be to you.”

Your breath caught.

A pause. He shifts his weight, stares at the floor like it did something wrong.

“You always do,” he says, like it’s a problem. “Show up. Stay. Even when I don’t say anything. Even when I’m… not exactly good company.”

You don’t say anything, just wait. Because you know him. You know.

Then, quieter:

“I keep thinkin’ one day you’ll stop.”

You blink.

He finally looks at you — and the look in his eyes wrecks you.

“I wouldn’t blame you.”

—————

THREE

The one time you needed ari

You’d been holding it all in for weeks — the weight of pretending everything was fine, juggling your job, Ari’s complicated family situation, and your own swirling mess of feelings.

The late nights at the hospital, watching Ari pacing the halls, biting his lip every time he got a call from his mother’s doctors.

The phone calls you got from Ari, voice tight and rough, asking about your day, but really needing to hear a calm voice to steady his own nerves.

And then there was Dr. Andy Barber — the “date” you told Ari about just to keep things simple, to keep him at arm’s length. But every time you saw Andy, you felt a pang — a reminder that Ari was watching, waiting, and the tension between you was growing unbearable.

That day at the hospital, you were exhausted, emotionally raw from being the “strong one” for everyone — for Ari, for his mother, even for yourself. When the surgery was over, the relief should have settled in.

But instead, when you stepped outside and saw Ari — looking smaller somehow, his usual grumpy armor cracked — all the fear, all the loneliness you’d stuffed down came crashing out.

You weren’t just tired of the hospital, the stress, the waiting.

You were tired of pretending you could do it all alone.

And Ari… he was the only person who ever saw through it. You didn’t mean to cry.

You’d planned to smile, say goodbye, maybe even tell him to call you later. But your body betrayed you the moment you saw him waiting outside the hospital — leaning against his car, arms crossed, that same tired scowl on his face. The one he always wore when he didn’t know how to say “I’m worried about you.”

“Ari,” you tried to say, but your voice cracked right through the middle.

He looked up.

And that’s all it took.

The tightness in your chest collapsed, and everything you’d held in — all the stress, the exhaustion, the pretending — came pouring out in one stupid, gasping breath.

“I can’t—” you started, before your hand flew to your mouth, trying to stop the sob that clawed up your throat.

Ari was at your side before you could hide it. No words, no hesitation. Just two arms wrapping around you, strong and steady and home.

“Hey,” he whispered, pulling you into him like it was instinct. “Hey, I got you.”

You shook your head against his chest, gripping the front of his jacket like you were drowning.

“I’m so tired, bear.” Your voice was hoarse, barely there. “Everything’s been so much. I didn’t even know how bad it was till I saw you.”

He held you tighter. One hand cradling the back of your head, the other firm around your waist, grounding you like no one else could.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured into your hair. “Not right now. Just let it out, yeah?”

You broke again, face buried in his chest. Ugly sobs, hot tears. And he didn’t flinch. Didn’t let go.

Didn’t run.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, crying into the man who used to sleep on you like a pillow after too many beers. The man who once hated hospitals and late-night phone calls. The man who, for all his quiet, grumpy, impossible ways — always showed up when it counted.

Now, he was the one holding you together.

And it wasn’t until the crying started to slow that you realized he’d been whispering something over and over into your hair, like a prayer he was afraid to say out loud.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

————

He drove you home in silence. One hand on the wheel, the other twitching like it wanted to reach for yours but didn’t dare.

You’d fallen quiet again. Your head leaning against the window. The light of passing streetlamps drawing soft shadows across your face. You looked… wrung out. Tired in a way he couldn’t fix with dumb jokes or aspirin. Not this time.

And Ari hated it. Hated that he couldn’t find the words to make it better. Hated how he wanted to turn the car around and punch the world until it stopped hurting you.

But most of all, he hated the voice in his head that whispered, you’re part of the reason she’s hurting.

Because you were tired. Of carrying everything for everyone. Of being the one people leaned on, cried to, slept against when the nights got too heavy. Including him. Especially him.

He hadn’t thought about what that cost you.

Not until he saw you fall apart in front of him.

And now—now all he could think about was how selfish he’d been. All those nights he called you, drunk and miserable. All those mornings he let you clean up his mess without asking if you were okay.

God, you were always there. And what did he ever give you in return?

His silence. His gruffness. His shoulder on bad days, maybe, but never his whole heart. Because he kept that locked up, buried under excuses like timing and she deserves better.

And now he was afraid he’d waited too long.

When he pulled into your driveway, you didn’t move right away. Just sat there for a moment, blinking slowly.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said softly.

He nodded, swallowing down the hundred things he wanted to say but couldn’t. “You gonna be okay?”

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just need sleep.”

Another silence. The air between you filled with everything unsaid.

You reached for the door handle. And his hand twitched again—like it wanted to stop you.

But all he said was, “Let me know if you need anything.”

You paused. Glanced back at him. And for a second, something in your eyes flickered. Like maybe you were waiting for him to say something more.

But he didn’t.

So you nodded again. “Goodnight, bear.”

The door shut quietly behind you.

And Ari just sat there, both hands gripping the wheel like he was trying not to fall apart himself.

Because he should’ve said something. Anything.

But he didn’t.

And now he had no idea if you’d come to him the next time you broke.

No idea if he’d blown his only chance to be more than the guy you held up when he was down.

———

He didn’t go home. Drove right past his place and ended up in the parking lot of a 24-hour diner he wasn’t hungry enough to eat at.

The engine ticked as it cooled, the heat from the vents slowly fading while his thoughts did the exact opposite—boiling over.

He replayed the whole thing in his head on loop. The way your voice cracked. The way your shoulders trembled as you finally let yourself fall apart. The way you leaned on him, and he—he just froze.

Useless.

And then you apologized. Like it was some burden, the way your heart had broken in his hands.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, sighed into the dark.

Goddamn it.

He always thought he’d be ready. That when it happened—when you finally needed someone, him, the way he always needed you—he’d know what to do. He’d hold you like you hold him. He’d say the right thing. Be the right thing.

But he wasn’t.

He just sat there like some emotionally constipated idiot, whispering “hey, hey, I got you,” like that was enough to patch over whatever it was you were unraveling from.

Maybe it was work. Family. Life.

Or maybe it was him.

The thought turned his stomach.

What if it was him? What if all these years of letting you hold him, letting you be his escape, letting himself need you… what if that chipped away at you little by little?

What if this whole time you’d been slowly breaking, and he didn’t notice until it finally shattered in front of him?

He rested his forehead against the steering wheel.

“You idiot,” he muttered to himself. “You selfish, blind…”

The sound of his own voice made his throat tighten. He sat back again, scrubbing at his eyes. His chest ached. Like something there was unspooling—tight and raw and dangerous.

This was bad.

Worse than when he got drunk and said too much. Worse than when Ma was in the hospital and he couldn’t breathe without hearing your voice.

This was the kind of bad that felt like regret growing claws.

Because tonight, you’d cried. And for the first time, he realized he might not be enough. That he might lose you before he ever figured out how to tell you—

No. He wasn’t even going there. Not tonight.

He threw the car into gear and drove off, the night air colder than he remembered.

———

Ari woke up early the next day.

He’d been parked out front for the last 20 minutes.

Not knocking.

Not texting.

Just… sitting. Gripping the to-go tray with both hands like it might give him the words he couldn’t seem to find.

Two coffees. One black. One with that ridiculous caramel drizzle you pretend not to like but always steal sips of anyway. A croissant. A banana muffin. Options. Because he wasn’t sure what kind of day this was going to be, and God forbid he show up empty-handed.

He should’ve left.

But he couldn’t.

You needed him last night.

And now all he could think was: did he mess it up?

He didn’t want to push. Didn’t want to make it about him. But something in him had cracked wide open when he held you—felt you shaking, vulnerable, not saying much at all.

You’d always made space for him.

And now that you’d let him see you, really see you—he realized he’d do anything to be what you needed. Even if he didn’t know how to say that yet.

He finally got out of the car.

Knocked once.

Waited.

You opened the door in a hoodie three sizes too big—probably his—and eyes that looked like they’d barely slept.

Neither of you spoke at first.

Then he lifted the tray slightly.

“Brought options,” he said gruffly.

You stared at it. Then up at him. Then back down.

And then you stepped aside.

“Yeah. Okay.”

————

The coffee was lukewarm by the time either of you said anything.

You leaned against the counter. He hovered awkwardly by the fridge. Like the space between you had grown too wide overnight.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

His head snapped up.

“For what?” he asked, too fast. Too sharp.

“For last night.”

He looked stricken. Like you’d punched him.

“Don’t. Don’t apologize for that.”

Your throat tightened.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“To what?” he cut in. “Be human?”

You flinched at the weight of it, at how harsh it sounded.

He ran a hand down his face. Took a breath. Tried again, softer.

“You were always there for me. Always. And I never—I never knew how to say thank you without messing it up.”

You watched him. Something crumbling quietly behind his eyes.

“I don’t want you to feel like you can’t come to me,” he said. “I want you to know you can. Even if I don’t say the right thing. Even if I just… sit there and hold you.”

Your hands curled around the coffee cup.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “You did.”

That silence stretched again. Heavy. But this time it felt warmer.

You didn’t fill it. Neither did he.

And maybe that was the point.

Because something had shifted.

You’d cried. He’d stayed.

He brought you coffee. You let him in.

It wasn’t everything.

But it was something.

You turned away to rinse your mug, pretending the sudden sting in your eyes was just from lack of sleep.

Behind you, Ari shifted. You could feel it — the weight of him, the way he hovered like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Like every word was pressing against his teeth, begging to be let out.

And then—

“Fuck,” he muttered.

You turned.

He wasn’t looking at you. Just stood there, jaw clenched, hands braced on the kitchen counter like he needed something to hold him up.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, quiet but shaking.

Your brows pulled together. “Do what?”

“This,” he said again, louder. “Pretending it’s fine. Pretending I don’t care when you walk away at night. When you laugh at something I say and then look away like you didn’t mean to.”

His voice cracked, just a little.

“I’ve been trying to wait. Give you space. Give myself time to get it together. But last night—”

He looked up at you then, and you wished he hadn’t. Because his eyes were raw. Wrecked.

“Watching you fall apart like that—do you even know what that did to me?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

“I wanted to fix it,” he said, voice thick. “I wanted to take every shitty part of your life and rip it apart with my bare hands. And then I realized I was part of the problem.”

“You’re not—”

“I am,” he snapped. Then softened. “I’ve been leaning on you like you’d never fall. And you did. And I just stood there holding you like it made up for everything I didn’t say.”

The silence between you wasn’t warm now.

It burned.

“I don’t want to be the guy you call when everyone else lets you down,” he whispered. “I want to be the guy who’s there before that. Who gets to love you out loud, not just in the dark.”

Your breath caught.

And maybe that was the last thread. Because he took a step forward, chest rising like it hurt to breathe.

“I’ve been falling for you for longer than I want to admit,” he said. “And I’ve been fucking terrified that if I said it out loud, I’d ruin it. That I’d lose you.”

Another breath.

“But I think not saying it might’ve broken me anyway.”

You didn’t speak.

You couldn’t.

Because your heart was pounding so loud it drowned everything else out.

And Ari — strong, stoic, impossible Ari — just stood there in your kitchen, confessing every truth he’d buried like it was the only thing he had left.

No defenses.

No more waiting.

Just everything you didn’t know you’d been waiting to hear.

You stared at him.

And he stared back — chest heaving, eyes wild, like the words had cost him something he might not get back. Like he’d thrown his heart down at your feet and wasn’t sure if you’d pick it up or step over it.

The silence between you was deafening.

Not empty — no, it was too full. It hummed with all the things you couldn’t say. All the versions of him you’d carried in your chest for months. All the nights you stayed up wondering what it would mean if he ever looked at you like this.

And now he had.

And you didn’t know what to do with it.

Ari’s fingers flexed at his sides, like he was holding himself back from reaching for you.

“I’m not asking for anything,” he said, quieter now. “I just… I needed you to know. Before I ruin it by staying silent too long.”

You swallowed hard.

Because that was the thing — he hadn’t ruined it. Not by loving you. Not by breaking open in the middle of your kitchen. But he didn’t know that. He was bracing for it. For the fallout. Like love was a grenade and he’d just pulled the pin.

“I can leave,” he added, voice thin, already stepping back. “If it’s too much. If I made it weird.”

“No.”

You said it without thinking. Too fast, too loud.

His eyes snapped to yours.

And your next breath came out broken. Because it hit you all at once — he really thought he’d ruined it. That loving you out loud might mean losing you.

“No,” you said again, softer this time. “Don’t you dare leave.”

A pause.

Then — “I’m scared.”

The words left your mouth before you could pull them back. Quiet. Honest. Small.

Ari blinked, like he hadn’t expected that.

“I’m so scared, Ari,” you said, voice shaking. “Because this — you, me — it’s not something I can take lightly. And if I let it be real…”

You trailed off. Couldn’t finish.

But Ari stepped closer again, slow, like he didn’t want to spook you.

“I know,” he murmured. “I’m scared too.”

Another breath.

“But I’d rather be scared with you than brave without you.”

And that — that’s when it cracked wide open again. Not with sobs. Not with shouting.

Just with the quiet understanding that everything was different now.

And it had been for a long time.

-

END.

A/N | uhm…….. whaaaaaattttttt??? my heart is burning.

[staycatcher]

왜 이렇게 너무나 빠르게 느껴지는 걸까 이 하루가

Why Do the days go by so quickly?

☁️🌹Happy birthday, Han Jisung!!🌹☁️

Firstly, I would like to just say thank you for your mere existence!! For your shining personality and stage presence!! Thank you for your goofy personality that never fails to cheer me up and for all the shenanigans you get up to, you’re one of the most entertaining people I’ve ever come across!!

But most importantly~ i would like to personally say thank you for your music!! Ever since November 2017 your lyrics and music you make along with 3racha have been bringing me comfort for almost two whole years now, which honestly doesn’t seem long enough!! It feels like I’ve been getting catharsis through your lyrics and falling asleep with a warm hug in the form of your lyrics for forever. It honestly it means the absolute world to me to have access to this kind of healing through music!! So thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart and I’m grateful for you and your members every single day!! I love you!! Happy birthday!!

[sledgefuweek]

Each year we take a close look at the prompts for Sledgefu Week, for those who may be stuck for ideas or not quite sure about what the prompts could entail. Below the readmore are all seven prompts, as well as a short write-up exploring what they mean and some ideas to help get the creative juices going. Enjoy!!

Sickfic

This is a really popular and well-known fanfic trope that I feel probably needs little explanation, but I’ll write a little bit about it anyway! It essentially covers fic where one character is ill and the other cares for them -- it could encompass any kind of illness at all, (including chronic illnesses) and there’s a lot of room to get creative with it. You can go for angst, hurt/comfort, or fluff: it’s just a really good general prompt that I think works nicely to kick the week off!

It suits for Sledgefu pretty well, considering Snafu’s canon mild hypochondria, as well as the fact that Eugene’s dad is a doctor. It could be fun to lean into it: make Eugene play doctor for an actually-sick Snafu, and it could be just as fun to subvert it! There’s really endless options for canon fic: shrapnel wounds turned bad, heat-sickness, seasickness, illness from bad food or bad water or any kind of tropical disease you can think of (malaria is a big one!). You could make one of them (or both) a medic; you could genderswap them and write the gay field nurse fic this fandom sorely needs. And of course if you choose to branch out into modern AU you can begin to think of what might afflict them outside of a war setting: has Eugene been working too much and come down with a cold? Are they hungover, and need mutual care (and lots of takeout)? A lot of the time sickfic focuses on one character doing the comforting and the other character feeling unwell, but there’s nothing to say they can’t both be feeling shitty! I think we say this every year but there’s really no rules at all, you do whatever you feel inspired to do. With Sickfic, just be mindful to tag anything that others might be affected by eg. vomiting, blood, needles, etc.

Tarot

I feel like Tarot is pretty well-known to the Sledgefu fandom, or at least to those who like to write Snafu or his family a little witchy. In case you just have a vague idea of what Tarot actually is and what its purpose or origins are, I’ll explain it as concisely as I can! Tarot decks started life in Europe as playing cards, but eventually began to be used for divination. It’s made up of four suits, or the Minor Arcana, (Wands, Cups, Swords, and Pentacles) as well as a twenty-two card Major Arcana (the imagery of which you’re probably very familiar with). Commonly, tarot decks and tarot reading is used as a means of communicating with the higher self, deities, or with the universe. They can be used as a way to see the future, answer questions, or to give/receive advice. There are different ways of reading them too, depending on how one lays out the cards: I don’t want to make this too wordy, but if you’re curious I encourage you to check out this site to learn more!

For writers, there’s a lot of places this prompt could take you! Probably the most obvious will be fortune teller fic; a classic. Lean into Snafu’s Louisiana roots and have him telling fortunes in the depths of the French Quarter, or go against the grain and have Eugene reading cards and palms and tea leaves as a practice passed down through his family. Or maybe more casual: modern AU Sledgefu flirting through amateur tarot readings with a deck picked up from a junk shop. If you read Tarot and have a connection to it, you can express that through writing! It’s a pretty open-ended prompt, especially if you consider some of the meanings of the cards; you could even write a story inspired by that! The Hermit: Snafu withdrawing, leaving Eugene on the train to spend the next few months in solitude, working through things. The Moon: Snafu and Eugene hitting a rough patch, hiding things from each other. The opportunities really become endless once you start taking the readings of the cards into account! And for visual artists, this must be such a fun prompt: I feel like it’s so a visually rich, whether you’re re-drawing the cards to encompass Snafu and Eugene within them, or making a collage based around some of the things mentioned above: fortune tellers shops, witches cottages, etc.

Trinket

Every Sledgefu Week we tend to have a couple prompts that are a little more open to interpretation, and this year’s ‘Trinket’ is one of those. It might be difficult to try and think of something to base a whole fic or piece of art around, but we really encourage you to let your imagination run wild! There’s already some great trinkets in the show itself: Eugene’s ring, the lighter that Gunny Haney gave him, Snafu’s stolen gold teeth, or their dog tags. Think of small, special objects that you might have: what imbues them with comfort or meaning? What makes you love them? You could have Eugene giving Snafu his ring, or have Eugene musing over war and death and loss while smoking a cigarette lit by his lighter. If you’re into Modern AUs, how could these objects carry through to modern day? Once you start thinking about it, the ideas start rolling in. Feel free to invent special trinkets for them: or maybe trinkets that they hate and want to get rid of, trinkets that remind them of bad times. Trinkets that remind them of each other, or family, or war. So much meaning can be held in the things we own, and I think it’s such a lovely concept to explore!

Crossover

So this prompt was born from the sheer number of suggestions we had for various movie, TV, and book AUs. We didn’t want to put them all to the poll and risk a lot of you feeling disappointed over the one you wanted not being selected, so thought it’d work best to condense them into a ‘Crossover’ prompt so everyone could do whatever they liked. So this is a very very broad one! It would be impossible for me to really go through the prompt and highlight some things that you could do for it, because you can really do anything you want to! Anything! It encompasses movies, video games, TV, books, musicals... if something tells a story, you can do a crossover. So if there’s ever been a film/book/etc. AU you wanted to do for Sledgefu Week but couldn’t quite get it to match the prompts, now is the time!

Vacation

A pretty self explanatory prompt, and one that I think can appeal to people who prefer canonverse and those who like modern AU too! Do you want to send Snafu and Eugene on the holiday of their dreams, or are they gonna be bickering in a gas station over who gets control of the map? Is Snafu gonna drive across a couple states to surprise Eugene by visiting? Is Eugene gonna do the same? There’s a lot of scenarios you can apply to the backdrop of them vacationing, and a lot of emotional journeys you can take them through! And for the canonverse crowd, you have the extra addition of letting them go have fun on an R&R, or taking a road trip post-war, visiting 1950s Paris... you can really do whatever you like!

Historical

This was another prompt like ‘Crossover’ that came from a lot of various suggestions that all boiled down to a similar thing: different historical events or periods. So like Crossover, I won’t linger too long on it (this post is long enough already) except just to say again: do whatever you’re inspired to do! There’s no rules here, you could even take everyone out of the Pacific and put them over in Germany: give them a different experience of war. In fact, you can do that with any war if you wanted to! Wanna do a M*A*S*H AU but made something else for Crossover? You could do it here! Want to put them in the 1920s? You got it. In the 1850s? Yeehaw, they’re cowboys now. 1969, Summer of Love? 1600s, make Snafu a prince? Literally the world is your oyster!

Horror

Past Sledgefu Week prompts have included things that could come under the horror umbrella (Supernatural, for example) but didn’t necessarily have to be made 'horrific’. For the ‘Horror’ prompt this year, we want to see frightening! Disquieting, uncomfortable; creations that either cross over with existing horror franchises, or lean on horrific things you come up with yourself. Horror movies, or TV shows, or books or podcasts or pieces of art all seek to elicit a sense of fear: this can be done by tapping into common phobias, or nightmares, those things which are universally and almost instinctively scary. We want to see things which lean into that, in whatever way you want to do it! 

I’m no horror media expert (not by a long shot) but the opportunities for this prompt are really vast simply because horror has so many subgenres to work with. You could go gothic horror; Dracula, Frankenstein, Wuthering Heights (a personal favourite AU -- Eugene soaked out on the moors, searching for Heathcliff-Snafu? Divine). Or you could go to the opposite end of the spectrum: Jennifer’s Body AU, Final Girl AU -- there’s no set way to do horror, in fact you could even bring horror into canonverse if you don’t like AUs. Think the Terror: some unknown beast lurking beyond the borders of their camp on Pavuvu, or Okinawa. Or you could even take the prompt entirely literally and explore the horrors of war and the toll it takes on them both. Please don’t feel stuck into needing to do Scary: horror is about fear and revulsion and dread, and these feelings don’t necessarily need to come from a haunting! (This is also a prompt ripe for monsterfucking, just FYI).

                                                - - - - - - - - - -

So that’s the prompts for this year! They’re all really really great, and have a lot of potential to make some fantastic stuff :~) And to reiterate something I said right at the start, there are no rules here! I think every year we normally get at least one person unsure whether their idea will be okay for the prompt they’d like to make it for, so I just wanna say here: don’t second-guess yourself! As long as it can be linked back to the prompt in some way or another (can literally be the vaguest way possible) you’ll be absolutely fine. We don’t vet submissions at all, especially not for their content relating to the prompts. All we ask is that you remember to stay respectful in what you’re writing, and when the time comes to post it, you tag and warn appropriately :~)

On the subject of writing respectfully, we’d like to just take a moment to link the document on mindful writing re: race and gender that was made last year. Please take a look at it, even if you read it last year! It’s always good to keep these things at the front of your mind, as fandom is a community sport and we want to keep it fun and safe for everyone involved! So thank you if you’ve made it this far through this whole post, check out the doc, and enjoy the rest of the run-up to Sledgefu Week!

[chernobog13]

I’m liking the new direction of Nightwing after the soft reboot most of the DC titles went through after the Future State event at the beginning of the year. 

The writing by Tom Taylor gives us the Dick Grayson most of us grew up with: hopeful, cheerful, and dedicated to his mission to help people without all the angst we find in other titles.  Also, we see a return to an adult relationship between Dick and Barbara Gordon which is one of the highlights so far.  Infinitely better than the so-called relationship between Nightwing and Starfire over in Teen Titans Academy (ugh!).  I almost consider TTA part of the Haney-verse because the Nightwing there is nothing like he is in his own book.

The art by Bruno Redondo, with colors by Adriano Lucas, is gorgeous.  Redondo is a good storyteller, something not many artists working in comics seem to be these days, and he has a crisp, clean style that reminds me of Kevin Maguire.

Best bit in this issue: Dick telling Barbara that he needs to call his brother, referring to Tim Drake.  Taylor excellently handles the relationship between the two former sidekicks, which makes me wish they would give Tim his own book again so Taylor could write it.  Tim is so much more interesting as the lead character of a book than Damian.

I’m not up-to-speed on all the happenings in the Bat-family, but Tim is back in his Robin costume.  Dick addresses him as “Robin,’ not “Red Robin,” and hopefully DC has put that whole “Drake” codename in the trash heap.

Overall, this new starter on Nightwing reminds me of Chuck Dixon’s run on the book back in the day, and I mean that as the highest form of praise.  Dixon, to my mind, was the quintessential writer for both Dick and Tim, and made both characters very much their own men.

[andysbubba]

promises

↳ he made all those promises but he broke all of it too

steve x doctor! reader

a/n: i honestly got a little sad writing this. soft ending though.

warnings: death. overworking. tears lol. steve and his promises lol. ghost but like in a funny way.

𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

-

"I'll be back soon, okay? I promise." He cups your face with his giant palms, eyes staring into yours intently- needing you to trust him. Just two weeks. He'll be with you again in fourteen days. "I'll see you on the fourteenth, okay?"

He always comes back.

Till he didn't.

---

You drowned yourself in work. You checked up on your patients, gave your diagnosis, signed off medical certificates, prescribed meds, performed surgeries and took all the night shifts. Just to distract yourself from thinking of him too much, from worrying about him too much and from missing him too much.

You kept up with that same, tiring schedule for thirteen days. And then applied for a 3-day leave starting from the fourteenth, saving those three days off to spend some quality time with Steve.

You spent your first day off doing a bunch of chores. Cleaning your apartment, doing laundry and then grocery shopping. What's better to come home to than your girlfriend's homemade apple crumble and baked rice, right? Steve will only come back some time in the evening so you had ample time to prepare dinner.

The baked rice has 20 minutes left in the oven and the apple crumble's all prepped and ready to go into the oven. But you decide that you'll just bake it later while Steve's eating the rice.

You wait on the couch for Steve's text while the TV plays an old re-run of KUWTK that you don't even bother paying attention to. He usually texts as soon as he lands at the compound just to tell you that he'll be over soon.

8.30. It's still pretty early for him to be back.

9.20. He's probably wrapping things up at the compound.

10.14. Maybe the debriefing is taking a little longer than usual?

11.42. Is he okay? Did he get injured?

12.58. You're getting restless, your fingers drumming against the arm of the couch.

You're pacing in your apartment, phone in your hand and god– you're worried sick. There's no text from him. Not a single hint of anything. One thing about keeping your relationship a secret from his Avengers teammates is that none of them knows about you.

If anything— anything, happens to Steve, no one is gonna tell you. No one knows that Captain America has a civillian girlfriend. No one. Only way you'll ever find out is through the goddamn news.

Knock, knock, knock.

Steve.

You brighten up immediately. Steve's home. Your feet pads against the vinyl floor as you step to the door. You don't bother looking through the peephole.

It's Steve. You know it.

"Ste—"

It isn't Steve.

You stood there, stunned and shocked. You never thought you'd ever see her somewhere other than your TV display or your phone screen. So what is she doing outside your apartment?

"Uhm– hi?" You muttered awkwardly, body straightening up when you actually registered that the Black Widow is standing at your doorstep.

There's a solemn look on her face despite the smile she has. But even the grim smile looks forced. You've always been good at reading expressions. And if you're right, it doesn't look like she came with good news.

"Hi." She says. "I'm Natasha. You must be Doctor Y/l/n, right?" She offers you another smile. This one looks like there's a little more effort in it.

How does– Why is she— Where is– oh god.

You're hesitant. And worried. "Do you know me?"

"Do you mind if I come in, Doctor?" She requests, keeping her voice soft and low.

You nod, confused but you stepped aside to let her in and you shut the door close behind the two of you.

She stands in a hooded windbreaker, black jeans and combat boots. Natasha didn't move any further into the apartment so you assumed that she just wanted a more private place to talk.

She takes a deep, shaky breath. "Steve, he—" She pauses and takes another breath and you can see that her shoulder's shaking. Quivering. "He told me that–" Natasha clears her throat, eyes quickly blinking twice. "He said, if anything happens to him, I should find you and give you these."

You didn't even notice that she were holding things in her hand. She holds the things out. You choked on your breath when you see it.

His dog tags. And with it, was a white envelope.

You realised it before Natasha said it.

"Oh my god." You choked, stumbling back on your feet as you tried to get away from those tags. You wish you could get away from the truth.

It's not on him.

It's not around his neck.

Oh my god.

"I'm really sorry, Doctor." Natasha's gaze falls to the ground. "Steve, he—" She takes a few seconds to stare at the ground before she looks up at you again. "During the mission, Captain Rogers passed away."

A loud sob leaves your lips, your hand claps over your mouth– a poor attempt to muffle the loud cry.

"No." You force out a laugh. "You're lying, right? It's a joke? He can't–" Your chest feels crunched. Crushed. Crumpled. There's not enough air and no matter how much you try to gasp for air, it's still not enough. "–he can't die. He promised." You force the words out, refusing to believe that it's true.

It's not.

It's not.

It's not.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Doctor Y/l/n."

Oh my god.

It's true. It's real.

You choked on another sob. Tears free falling out of your eyes now and you don't bother to wipe it off.

You're used to death. You're surrounded by it everyday. Old people die of old age, some come in from an accident and they lost too much blood and you can't save them, patients going through cardiac arrest out of nowhere and god, even watch kids die. It's painful to watch.

You get used to it.

You learn to move on.

But not this. Not when it's Steve. You can't process it, but you reach out to take the tags and the envelope even though your hands are shaking.

Natasha doesn't know you. But she knows of you. Steve trusted her enough to tell her about you. Not Bucky, not Sam, not Tony. Her.

He told her that if he's injured, Natasha needs to look for your name on his phone and call you. If in a once in a lifetime event, he dies in a mission– he told Natasha that there's a bunch of things on his nightstand in his room at the compound.

Steve takes off his dog tags before every mission. And there's an envelope sitting under the tags. And beside it is a little square note with Doctor Y/l/n's address and phone number.

"Nat. Promise me that if anything happens, you'll tell her immediately, okay? If I die, you give all those things to her and everything that's mine is hers. Except the bike and the shield. Give Bucky the bike and let Sam have the shield."

She didn't think too much of it then. Steve's a goddamn supersoldier, he's capable and he won't go down easily. Natasha never thought there'd be a day where she actually has to go into Steve's room and take those things to give to you.

He's a friend. A comrade and a teammate. But, he's also family. Natasha doesn't know you well enough but considering your relationship with Steve, she considers you as family too.

She steps forward and engulfs you in a hug, her arms wrapping around you and her hand gently soothes over your back while you cry into her jacket. She doesn't know you but she knows you need the comfort. It won't make you feel better but she knows you can't be alone at the moment.

She wouldn't want to be.

So Natasha stays there, holding you tightly while you both stood in the same spot for at least twenty minutes.

When you finally calmed down a little, you pulled away. You're still crying and got the pain is still fresh and you hate this feeling.

"Thank you." You breathe, flashing her a sad smile.

It's two in the morning and you're exhausted. And Natasha seems to be tired too. She gives you her number before she left.

"Call me if you need anything, alright? Even if you just need a friend, give me a call. I'll be there." She emphasises, leaning in and giving you another hug.

When she left, it's just you, the envelope and the dog tags. You press your back against the door you just closed after Natasha left. You slid down against the wood, sitting on the floor and you pull your knees up to your chest.

You're holding the envelope in between your thumb and your index fingers.

𝐌𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.

You don't want to open it. If you do, it'll just make everything come true. It'll be real and you can't pretend he isn't gone.

Two more days.

Two more days of crying. Two more days of trying to accept that he's gone. Two more days of learning to deal with this. Two more days of learning to accept that the man you love isn't coming back.

You hesitate to tear the envelope open. But with a heavy breath, you tear through the flimsy paper. It's a paper with printed lines and you recognise his handwriting immediately.

You sob all over again, throat tightening while the tears well up in your eyes. You unfold the A4 paper and you try to read the first word through your blurred vision. You run a hand down your face, wiping away your tears.

𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲.

𝐈 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐈 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭. 𝐈 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐞. 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬.

𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐈 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐈 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐦𝐞, 𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭. 𝐈 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩.

𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡. 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡, 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲? 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨'𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝. 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫. 𝐓𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫.

𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲.

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬.

You can hear his voice in your head. You hear him saying it to you and you can imagine him hunched over a table while writing this letter.

He had the fucking nerve to tell you to not think about him. You're angry and you're sad.

"I'll be back soon."

Liar.

"I'll see you on the fourteenth."

Liar.

Your heart feels as if it's been ripped out and it stings and it burns. As a doctor, you know it's impossible. But as of right now– you're human and you just lost the man you love.

You're waiting for something. Anything.

Natasha to come back and tell you it's a mistake and that he's alive. Or that Steve will call you, tell you he's stranded somewhere.

Anything that will mean that he isn't dead.

You sat there till the sun rises and yet, nothing comes.

Two days.

---

You drown yourself in work after your leave. You're covering the emergency surgeries and the night calls. You rarely go home and you sleep in your office. When you do go home to shower and pack a bunch of clean clothes to bring back to the hospital, you avoid looking at the framed pictures on the wall.

Drowning in work feels different than before. You used to do it so you don't think of Steve and worry about him too much. You knew that he'll come back to you. But now? It's pointless and it's stupid. You're only doing it so you don't have to fully deal with your emotions. Steve's never coming back.

You don't sleep in the master bedroom and you move to the guest room. Steve's side of the wardrobe is left untouch. His clothes are there and you still can't bring yourself to fold them and put it aside.

You don't wear his hoodies and sweatshirts anymore. Technically, all those are yours now. You would've been happy with those news a few months ago. But things change. You don't want to think of him so you avoid anything and everything that has to do with him.

Except for Nat.

She's your angel in disguise. You almost laughed at the irony. Steve probably bacame an angel when he died, didn't he? You won't be surprised if god did pick him to be an angel.

But oh, sweet, Natasha. She helped you. Alot. Helped you slowly collect yourself. Stayed with you at his funeral. A bodiless one. They said there was an explosion and when they got there, there's no sign of the Captain. His shield was stranded, dirty and ownerless. His cowl was half burnt. And your Steve was nowhere to be found.

You met Sam and Bucky. Finally. You couldn't even introduce yourself as Steve's girlfriend. Steve's ex-girlfriend didn't sound appropriate either.

I was Steve's girlfriend.

---

14 October 2022

One year. One year since the world lost their first hero. But for you? It's been one year since you lost the love of your life.

The world's mourning Captain America but you can't do it. They didn't know him like you did. They didn't eat tubs of ice cream with him and they didn't spend all night cuddled in his arms. They didn't help him clean up the wounds he got from a mission and they didn't cry as bad as you did when he died.

You took a moment in the washroom, staring at the mirror and your own reflection. You're a mess. It's a crap day and it's the goddamn anniversary of your ex-boyfriend's death. You can't cry. You won't cry.

Today will just be like any other day. You'll spend 8 hours in surgery for a heart transplant and then you have to check up on your patients in the ICU. Yeah. Today's no different than the last 362 days.

You eventually got called down to the emergency room for an emergency cardiac trauma patient. But the on-call doctor, Doctor Barber, said the last time a patient came in was at least an hour ago.

So someone's fucking with you. God, it's really a crap day, huh?

You spun on your heels, deciding to go back up to your office and maybe get a 10 minute power nap. But the emergency room's quiet. Almost too quiet.

You don't believe in ghosts– you're a doctor, for goodness sake. But Steve's standing there, looking at you. You're hallucinating, you're sure.

But when the all the nurses, patients and doctors started whispering and pointing to him, you're not so sure anymore. You blink once. Twice. And thrice. He's still there. And he's not moving.

If he's a ghost, how the fuck is everyone seeing him? You shake off your thoughts.

He's dead. You're only hallucinating because it just happens to be his death anniversary.

You were sure of your theory. Until he started walking. Striding. His steps getting bigger and he's heading in your direction. Wait, can ghosts move?

If ghosts are actually real, you thought that they would've at least float in the air and skate or something. Walking is so... mundane.

But humans. They walk. And they can touch.

The moment he was close enough, Steve's ghost pulled you into his chest.

Wait– ghosts can touch and pull humans?

Then you feel his chest moving against your cheek.

Why do ghosts need to breathe if they're already dead?

You're tense. Your hands are still by your sides and you can't bring it to yourself to move. He feels familiar– the ghost. He feels like your Steve. Big and warm.

Are ghosts supposed to be warm?

"I missed you. Fuck, I missed you so fucking much, angel."

Ghosts... talk?

You're silent and you're confused. Is this your imagination? Why the fuck is everyone staring? They're taking pictures. Of you. And a fucking ghost?

"Sweetheart?"

Two palms cups your face, making you look up at him. It's familiar but it's different. It's been too long since you felt it. The familiar touch of his hands on your face.

How can a ghost make face-holding feels nice?

"It's me." He begs, looking down at you and his eyes waters.

A crying ghost. Wow.

You're staring up at him but you aren't doing anything.

Steve sniffles. He's here. Why aren't you happy to see him? "Angel, please. I'm your Steve. Please." His voice cracks.

You somehow pulled out of your trance, pulling away from the ghost's hold and you turn to Dr. Barber.

"I'm starting to hallucinate alot these days. Jesus." You huff, running a hand through your hair in frustration until you realise Dr. Barber's just looking at you with wide eyes. "What, Andy?"

"Y/n, Captain America just hugged you and you call him a hallucination?"

Wait– if Andy sees him... then... oh my god.

You gasped, palm slapping against your mouth and you turn back to ghost Steve. Your Steve. Alive Steve. Your boyfriend, Steve.

He's alive?

"Stevie?"

He heaves a sigh of relief, immediately taking your hands in his and he presses his lips against your knuckles. "It's me, sweetheart. I swear it's me."

His hair's longer. There's cuts and little bruises on him, his wrist in a cast. And there's a stubble on him.

"But you– how– mission—"

"I'll tell you everything later, okay? But please, I missed you so much, angel."

It's Steve.

Your Steve.

Steve's alive. Oh god.

A muffled cry leaves your lips as your arms wrap around his torso, pulling him in tight and you notice his wince but you didn't let up on your hold. You know everyone's watching.

But it's Steve. Your Steve's alive and he's here.

His arms tightens around you and he leans down so his lips pressed into your hair. "I'm here now, my love. I'm never leaving you again." He murmurs but you heard him loud and clear.

---

a little fic inspired by episode 15 from descendants of the sun 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

urm hope you kids enjoyed this!! and leave a little comment and tell me what ya think about this. also reblog and like this if you like this fic!!

read the sequel here -> anchor

-haney

taglist: @milea @ajeff855 @fanofalltheficsx @justile @christowhore @amelia-song-pond @melissad1974 @thegirlwiththeimpala @bval-1 @suchababie @ephemeralfics @franzliszts-wife @tenaciousperfectionunknown @worksby-d @hallecarey1 @paintdripsandbrownies-blog @notbrooklynsblog @perfect-peter @alwaysclassyeagle @coffeebooksandfandom @gitasor @mansaaay @iguess-vall @feralherbs @kaiparker-avengerssmut @evansxchalamet @fangirling-galore @severewobblerlightdragon @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @livstilinski

[andysbubba]

anchor

↳ the one where he keeps his promises ++ sequel to promises

pairing | steve rogers x doctor! reader

an | i didn't actually plan to write this and i actually wanted to leave this fic with just the first part. but after some thinking, i guess Steve owes our dear Reader an explanation after DYING for like 1 whole year

warnings | torture- stabbing, experiments, starvation, physical abuse, mental torture (on Steve) i didn't want to make this sad but somehow i still cried writing this because i'm an emotional hoe.

𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

-----

There's so many things to say but he still couldn't put it into words. So he kept quiet and he stayed still. He kept his eyes on the bathroom floor as your hands slides off the necklace around your neck. His dog tags. It's the only thing that you kept with you at all times. It served as a reminder that he was gone.

Not anymore.

He bit the inside of his cheek when you tilted his head up and you put the necklace on him and let the tags rest in the middle of his chest. It's the first time he looked into your eyes in the last twenty minutes.

He rests his hands on your waist when you gently sit on his lap, holding you a little tighter and pulling you a little closer. He needs to feel you. And he needs to know that this isn't just another fragment from his imagination.

He's still even as you lather his face with the shaving cream and when you run the blade down the side of his face, Steve stayed frozen. He gulps and takes a deep, shaky breath when you turn away to wipe the blade with a towel.

"I wa- I wanted to give up." He heard the crack in his own voice and he could feel his lips tremble.

You didn't say anything as you reach out to tilt his head to the side and run the straight razor down the other side of his face. He's quiet but you know there's more that he wanted to say. You turn away to wipe the razor again.

When you reach out again to shave his chin, Steve grips your wrist and he pulls your hand lower before he takes the towel on the sink to wipe off the cream on his chin. He feels vulnerable and he hates that he's recalling the worst, most torturous, and painful months of his life.

"They tortured me. They stabbed and they-" His voice gets shaky when he thinks of the days when he was assumed dead. "—they did so many things and I- I wanted them to finish the job. I wanted to just die and stop fighting but—" He lets go of your wrist and he wraps his arms around you to pull you closer to him. "I thought of you, angel. I wanted to come back to you. You kept me going. I swear, there wasn't a—"

The razor dropped to the floor with a loud clatter and your fist hits his chest. His heart breaks when you choke on a sob and you hit him again. It barely hurts but it burns his heart. He knows you're hurt. He knows you've been holding in your feelings since this morning and he knows that every hit against his chest is laced with every ounce of your pain.

Steve lets his own tears fall. But he's only realising just how much it hurts to see you cry.

He moves his hand to the back of your head and he leans in to press his lips against yours. It's a sad kiss and you pushed him away. Your fist never stopped hitting his chest even though it's getting softer, weaker. Your sobs get louder with every hit and he hates that he's the very cause of your pain.

Steve holds your fist against his chest and he leans in again, watching as your eyes flutter close in surrender. Your cheeks are wet and he pulls you into yet, another sad kiss. It's desperate and it's filled with sorrow. He moves his lips against yours and he tastes the salty mix of both your tears. But it's been so long since he felt this close to you and he needs more.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, angel." He breathes, resting his forehead against yours and both of you couldn't stop the tears.

Yes, Steve went through hell. He had his skin sliced open and it healed, only to have it sliced again. He got punched and kicked and he was starved. But at least, he knew you were alive. He know that if he ever finds a way out of that torture cell, you'll still be outside. And that kept him going. It kept him alive. It made him want to live.

But you? Steve has no idea what he'd do if he ever finds out you're dead. He cannot even comprehend or imagine the thought and he knows that what you went through, thinking he died— is probably worse than what he went through.

You're his anchor and he's yours.

---

It took a while for both of you to calm down and eventually laughed for crying so much. As mad as you are at him, you didn't want to force him to relive the torture he went through. You want an explanation– yes– but you can wait till he's feeling better or has at least gotten enough rest or whenever he's ready to tell you about it.

Steve looks peaceful when he's sleeping. The unshaved stubble on his chin looks a little funny but it's the snores leaving his lips that actually makes you laugh silently.

He was confused when he saw his clothes still in the closet. And he wanted to cry again when he realises why.

You couldn't throw his things out.

And he notices that everything in the room was in its place– the exact same place like last year. Before he left. The bed looks still, as if it's been untouched for too long. And he realises why. He couldn't figure out why you went into the guest room earlier. But he thinks he knows why.

You've been sleeping there instead of this room.

Steve hates his role in this. But you didn't deny when he dragged you to the bed or pulled you into his chest or when he just couldn't keep his hands off you.

His brows furrow in his sleep and he visibly flinches out of nowhere. His lips curl into a frown and his eye twitches. He's still not up from his sleep. But Steve takes a sharp, deep breath with his eyes still closed shut. His face stills for a moment– and you think that maybe his nightmare is over.

He gasps out of a sudden and he flinches again.

"No, no- don't- stop, stop." Steve starts shaking and he takes another deep, desperate breath.

You sit straight up, hands reaching out to touch him. "Hey, hey, Stevie." You gently shake him awake, a palm on his cheek and the other on his chest.

"Honey, c'mon, wake up, sweetie."

Steve takes another deep breath before his eyes open wide, chest heaving with every breath he takes. His eyes were undeniably fully blown with fear, cold sweat starting to form on his temples.

You shuffle closer to him, arms reaching around him as he desperately reaches out to wrap his arms around you.

"Steve, you're okay, sweetheart. It was just a nightmare, honey you're here now, alright?"

You feel his heavy, hot intake of breaths through the fabric of your shirt as Steve nuzzles into your side. His fingers curl around the cotton, somehow gripping you closer to him. He kicks away the thick comforter before he tangles his legs with yours.

He stays there for a few minutes, calming himself down with the sound of your heart beating against your chest and the way your fingers softly run through his hair and scratch his scalp. Your free hand runs down the back of his neck before you're rubbing his back- soothingly rubbing out the tension in his muscles and you patiently wait for him to relax.

Steve pulls away from you, gently tugging you a little lower down on the bed and his head is levelled with your chest. His arm slings across your stomach and his head rests on your arm. He's tempted to nuzzle into your chest, needing to feel you closer.

"It's scary."

His words worries you. Steve was never afraid. He's strong, but even you know he's not unbreakable. Going through nine months alone in torture left him completely vulnerable and you know that he'll need time to heal.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, sweetheart."

He shakes his head. "I want to. I just– I can't get the words out."

You turn on your side, softly smiling at him– not wanting to pressure him in any way. Your hand runs over his shoulder. "You can take your time, okay? I'm not going anywhere, Stevie."

Steve takes a shaky breath, head slightly angled to look up at you.

"The mission. I split away from the team and went to the East side of the base. Natasha and Bucky went to the West. Sam to South. It was supposed to be an abandoned Hydra base, y'know? It was supposed to be safe enough."

He shifts slightly, his finger starting to draw circles on your belly.

"I wasn't expecting like twenty of the militia guys there. I couldn't even call for back-up. It was like they were prepared for me to be there. I had 3 tranquilizer darts shot at me before I even registered they were there." He laughs humourlessly. "I couldn't even put up a fight. Couldn't call for help. Couldn't even tell the team that I was in trouble. But y'know, part of me– I was glad that it was me and not Bucky."

He was helpless. He wanted, no, needed to call for back-up and yet, he couldn't even move his hands. But Steve Rogers is so damn selfless. He was attacked and ambushed, yet somehow, he can find it in him to see the good in things.

"The militia took me away in a jeep, and they blew up the East side of the base as soon as we were far enough. That's why the team had to assume I was dead. I was kept at the militia camp for a few months. Eventually they gave me away to Hydra like I was some goddamn package."

Steve sniffles, and you watch his eyes water. Your fingers wipes away the tear slowly dripping down his cheek but you keep quiet. You want him to know that you're listening to everything he's saying.

"I had my blood drawn almost every day and the scientists were prodding at me whenever I'm not in my cell. The Hydra guys– they took advantage of the situation. It's not everyday that Captain America gets taken in as prisoner, y'know? They had their fun and kicked around. They had this machine that would force me to mentally go through my greatest fear when they connect the wires to my head." He takes a shaky breath when he thinks about what he saw.

"I saw you. I saw you in my position. Every time they turn that machine on, I watched you die again, and again at their hands. And they'll laugh when I just shout for you and kick in the chair they tied me to."

"Steve..."

"It's not your fault, angel. You kept me alive. Even after what I saw, I know you're at home and I wanted to be back with you no matter what."

He shifts and rests his head on his palm with his arm bent. His free hand goes up to your cheek, rubbing the soft spot underneath your eye.

"They slipped up one day. One of their guys forgot to hit me with a tranq dart before he brought me out. It was my only hope– the light at the end of the tunnel after so, so long. And I got out of that place. But even then, I couldn't come back here, not while Hydra was most probably looking for me. And I couldn't contact the team either. It took me almost two months to get to Wakanda."

You lean forward instantly, arms wrapped around his neck and he silently groans when your body bumps into a healing wound on his torso.

"I'm sorry, Stevie. I'm so, so sorry." You breathe out. Those words come out muffled against his neck but he heard it anyway.

His hand gently pulls you away from him, his pointer finger and thumb on your chin tilting your head up to look at him.

"You don't have to be sorry, angel. I'm thankful I'm home and I'm just happy that I get to be with you."

-----

an | *sighs* in stevie :(((( 🥺😟😖 our golden boy went through a lot, huh? now y'all can't get mad at babie for "DYING" – he went through so much pain and hurt but even then, he was still like "I need to stay alive for you." and "Hey, at least it was me and not Bucky."

hope you lovelies enjoyed this one as much as I loved writing this! it made me sad and all but im happy that stevie could actually talk about what he went through and find comfort in his girlfriend. AND HEY HE KEPT HIS PROMISE TO NOT DIE!!! AND TO COME BACK !!!

reblogging with tags when i'm home!

see my full masterlist here -> 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

and if you wanna be tagged in the rest of my works -> 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

- haney

[andysbubba]

unconventional

↳ mr levinson decides to help make your day better— in the back of a rolls royce with the privacy screen rolled up

pairing | bodyguard! ari levinson x secretary of state! reader

an | this didn't turn out as hot as i wanted it to be *sobs*

warnings | ari levinson. oral (f receiving) in a car. "madam secretary" panty dropper ari levinson. maybe beard burn but not really?

𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

bodyguard daddy lookin' like a shnackkkkkk 😮‍💨

-----

"Madam Secretary," Ari says promptly as he opens the door to the car, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he ushers you in.

He follows right behind, settling in beside you and pulling the door shut and he nods at your chauffeur to start driving. He watches as you lean your head back with a deep sigh and run a hand over your face frustratedly. Ari nudges your shoulder.

"Nice speech."

"You think so?"

Ari leans over and presses a button and waits for the privacy screen between the both of you and the driver to pull up.

"Sweetheart, I think you've done a lot. You're easily the most competent politician out there and youths are becoming more and more invested in politics because of you." He rests his hand over yours, thumb caressing the skin and Ari brings your hand up to his lips before he presses a soft kiss on your knuckles.

Ari shifts closer to you, an arm going around your shoulder and he pulls you closer. He leans down and press a kiss to the top of your head. He knows this is what you need after a long day. Sure— whatever this is between the two of you is a little unconventional but Ari needs you to know that he'll always be there with you. Whenever you need a little reassuring when you have to deal with the media or a bunch of annoyingly rigid politicians, Ari wants to be there for you.

You nuzzle into his chest and mumble a soft 'thank you', and Ari's heart warms at the sight. You're a goddamn powerful woman and yet, there's this soft and mundane side to you that no one else gets to see but him.

God, he wishes he can give you the whole world.

Ari looks out the window. It would be at least twenty minutes before reaching your townhouse. A mischievous plan forms in his head. He can definitely work with twenty minutes.

He pulls away from you and unbutton his suit jacket. He hates that he has to be so formal for this job but apparently looking good in a suit and tie is a requirement to be your bodyguard. Ari shrugs off the jacket and sets it beside you before he shuffles down to the floor.

"Ari, what are you—"

"C'mon, shift a little, sweetheart. I'm starving." He grins up at you with his hands on your knees and gently pushing your legs open.

"Ari!" You whisper sharply, putting your palm on his shoulder and softly pushing him away.

He pushes you back down into the plush seats with a palm on your stomach, and he keeps his eyes on you as he brings your leg up to his shoulder.

"Relax for me, honey."

Ari turns his head, lips pressing against your calf and he keeps kissing all the way up till your knee. He slides his huge palms under the smooth fabric of your dress and push it further up to expose your bare thighs.

He would've taken his own sweet time if it weren't for the time constraint. He really didn't want his colleagues to open the car door and see him eating America's favourite politician out. It was already suspicious enough that you wanted him to sit in the back with you instead of the front with the chauffeur.

Ari pulls you down the seat just a little lower and he could've drooled at your scent. He tucks his finger under the waistband of your panties and tug the small piece of fabric down your legs. "You smell amazing, Madam Secretary."

You scoff at his words and let a breathy laugh leave your lips before you softly slap his shoulder.

"And you're insufferable, Mr Levinson."

"Try irresistible, sweetheart."

He winks up at you before he tugs your other leg over his shoulder and immediately presses his mouth over your cunt, just watching your reaction as his warm breaths fans over your heat. He loves when you buck your hips up, mouth falling open and forming an 'o' even though he's barely done anything.

Ari leans down, tongue poking out and licking a stripe up from your hole to your clit and he couldn't help the grin that formed on his lips when your fingers find its way to his hair.

"Shit, Ari."

He presses his nose against your clit, tongue pushing into your heat and he buries himself further between your legs. He hums into your cunt, the vibrations running all the way through your body making you tug on his hair.

He loves when you get all riled up and your thighs tighten around his head, caging him in between your legs with nowhere to go. It only makes him bury himself in you even more. His beard scratching against your skin with the most delicious burn and it brushes against the most sensitive parts of your skin when he nuzzles into your cunt.

Ari takes pride in knowing that he's the only one who can reduce you into this writhing, whimpering mess. Your fingers pull on his hair and you push him closer to your heat, hips bucking against his face to get an ounce of the painfully delightful friction.

He may have started this as an attempt for you to relax and forget about work for a moment. But this is a treat for him as much as it is for you. The first time Ari had a taste of you, he knew once wasn't enough. He knows your career is ruined if this scandal gets out– the Secretary of State sleeping with her goddamn bodyguard. But Ari's a selfish man. He might get blacklisted from any other bodyguard gig but he really doesn't care– not when he has you.

Keeping his boss happy is just a part of his job criteria.

He's done this long enough to know what tips you right over the edge. Ari knows what to do just to keep you tethering on the edge but still not getting that satisfaction you want. But this is your treat. It's his way of telling you to relax and let him take care of you after the long day you've had.

So Ari sucks on the little nub on your cunt, all while staring up at you with those deep blues– knowing that that exact thing sends you right over the edge.

You're suffocating him when your thighs clench around him but Ari doesn't mind. He loves the high-pitched cry that leaves your lips when the dam in your belly breaks, and your pussy gushes for him. Ari takes it all in, tongue lapping at your heat while you come down from your high.

He wouldn't have stopped if he didn't notice the familiar sight of your neighbourhood outside the window. Ari presses a last soft kiss on your clit before he pulls away and tugs the fabric of your dress back down. The smirk on his lips was unmissable when he tucks your panties into the pocket of his pants before he gets back up and sit beside you.

"Damn you, Levinson." You breathe, slightly panting and Ari loves the dazed look in your eyes.

Ari chuckles lowly as he hastily slides his arms into the sleeves of his jacket while you run your hand through his hair. He knows his hair probably looks like a mess– especially after all the pulling and tugging you did. He feels your juices running down his beard and Ari licks his lips at the thought of having the trace of you on him wherever he goes.

You grasp the lapels of his jacket and pull him down, immediately pressing your lips against his and Ari groans into the kiss as your hand reaches down to the bulge in his pants.

It's another thing he loves about you. The dirty little vixen that comes out only when you're with him. The kiss was as filthy as it could get but Ari really doesn't want to risk getting caught anytime soon.

He pulls away with another soft peck on your lips and he straightens his jacket and tie. You reach into the pocket inside his jacket for the handkerchief that he keeps for situations just like this. You wipe his face, ridding the evidence of you on his beard and his lips.

"How do I look?"

You scoff as you tuck the cloth back into his pocket and pat his chest softly.

"Like you just ate me out." With a little bit more thought, you added. "—still handsome."

Ari laughs before he leans down and press his lips on the top of your head. "I'll gladly have you as my last meal, Madam Secretary." He murmurs into your hair.

He sighs when the car stops. Ari pulls away from you, throwing you a longing look before he presses a finger to his comms, listening to whatever the hell your other guards are saying. After a quick second, he reaches and pushes his side of the door open and going out. Ari ends up walking over to your side and he opens the door for you.

"Ari, I don't think I can walk." You whisper, throwing him a quick glance as you grabbed your briefcase and stepped out.

You wish you can ignore the shakiness in your legs as easy as Ari ignored the almost obvious hard-on in his pants. But he was quick to help you, wrapping his arm around your waist and holding you up. He can just play it off later on by saying that you were having a headache or something if anyone asks.

It was hard to hide the mischievous grin on his lips. He leans low enough for you to hear him but it's good enough to not raise any suspicions from his colleagues.

"I'm doing the night shift tonight if you want me to make it up to you, Madam Secretary."

-----

an | now, i dunno about you people but i'm feeling a little bit frisky lately— so would anyone be interested in a little part 2 with america's golden boy? figured no one could get hurt by a little bit of a stevie-ari threesome, yanno?

tell me what ya think about this and reblog if ya like it <3

read my other works here -> 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

if you wanna join my taglist -> 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

- haney

[andysbubba]

Hi babe! I just read your soft Andy fic and I thought of a little request! Like a part 2 of second baby when Andy shaves off the beard as a surprise. You don't have to write it if you don't want to, of course. ❤️ ❤️ ❤️All loves for you babe! I FANCY ALL YOUR WRITINGS

stranger

-> cinnamon rolls and bidding farewell to andy's beard [can be read as a stand-alone fic OR can be read as a sequel to second baby]

on today's episode of things we want AND NEED but can't have:

it's like you read my mind, anon! i've been thinking about writing this for some time now <33

a/n: THIS MAN MAKES ME SO SOFT GOD.

warnings: pregnancy, andy shaves (A WARNING BECAUSE ITS A MENACE TO SOCIETY), andy is such a dad :(, ANDY ALSO BAKES OH MY FUCKING GOD.

𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

-----

Y/n: facetime? [sent 6.21pm]

andy<3: Sorry, sweetheart.[sent 6.23pm]

andy<3: I'm meeting the team soon for dinner.[sent 6.23pm]

Y/n: okay :((( [sent 6.24pm]

Y/n: see you tomorrow handsome <3 [6.25pm]

Y/n: i miss u :((( [sent 6.26pm]

andy<3: Miss you too, gorgeous.[sent 6.28pm]

Y/n: you're forgetting someone🤨😡 [sent 6.29pm]

andy<3: Oops [sent 6.29pm]

andy<3: I miss you AND our tiny human. [sent 6.29pm]

andy<3: Can't wait to be with you two soon.[sent 6.29pm]

andy<3: Good night and sleep well, okay? ❤️ [sent 6.35pm]

Y/n: u took 6 minutes to find that emoji? [sent 6.36pm]

andy<3: No... [sent 6.37pm]

andy<3: I'll meet you at home? I'll lyft home or ask Neal for a ride. [sent 6.38pm]

Y/n: i'll pick u up so u don't have to suffer with that asshole!!!!! [sent 6.40pm]

andy<3: Nope. I'm meeting you at home. You shouldn't drive all the way to the airport alone. That's final. [sent 6.42pm]

andy<3: Gotta go. G'night, honey. I love you ❤️ [sent 6.44pm]

---

You stopped replying so Andy assumes that you're probably starting your night routine or your phone's probably charged on the nightstand before you head to bed.

He sets his phone down beside the sink. Andy glances up at the mirror, a hand reaching up to his cheek and his fingers rubbing the freshly-shaved skin. He's debating if you'll like it or if he should just superglue the beard back on his face. It was supposed to be a surprise for you– but Andy's surprised too. He looks so, so different that he can barely recognise himself in the mirror.

He felt bad about lying to you, but he really wanted to surprise you with the new look. There won't be enough time to shave before his flight back tomorrow so he figured he'll just lie his way out of the video call.

Andy mutters a curse, running a hand through his hair before he grabs his aftershave. He can only hope that you'll like it. He'll grow it back out if you don't but he really doesn't wanna end up sleeping on the couch or the guest room. You've been real scary lately. The pregnancy hormones are making all your emotions kick in so much faster and most of the time, Andy's on the receiving end of those emotions.

He loves you and the baby more than anything in the world but he really misses the time when he can rest his head on your belly without the kid kicking his head.

---

You're waddling into the house when the aroma of cinnamon and something freshly baked hits you. You're grinning like a fool when you rush into the house, heading straight to the kitchen as fast as you could. Being in your third trimester isn't helping at all.

He was pulling something out of the oven when you came in. His chest bare and he only had his sweats on along with your Kiss The Cook apron.

"Andy!"

He looks up immediately, lips curling into the widest grin when he sees you. Andy sets the hot pan on the counter and slides the mittens off before he steps towards you.

He was hurt when you took a step back instead of going towards him, looking at him as if you've never seen him before.

"You're... not... Andy..." Your mouth falls open and the words leave your mouth as if it was in slow-mo.

Shit.

It took him a quick second to remember that he no longer has his beard and he probably looks like a complete stranger to you.

"Sweetheart." Andy starts, slowly reaching out for you.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" You backed away from him, one hand protectively holding your belly and the other grabbing for the baseball bat right outside the kitchen. "Why the fuck are you baking in my kitchen? My fiance's a lawyer, you asshole. You aren't getting away from this shit!" You point the bat defensively at him.

Andy backs away immediately, holding his palms out in surrender and eyes widening in surprise. He was not expecting this reaction at all.

"It's me, honey. I'm your fiancé, baby." He slowly points to the ring on his ring finger– the one you insisted on getting for him. "See this ring– you got it for me, right? It's from De Beers, yeah?" Andy takes a tiny step closer, reaching for the other end of the bat and slowly wrapping his hand around it.

You frown, eyeing the ring before glaring back up at him since you're still not convinced. "Tell me something only I would know."

"Damn it, sweetheart." Andy sighs, frowning at your question as he searches his brain for a memory only the two of you know about.

He couldn't help the smile that forms on his lips at the fond memory. "That night in Malibu, remember? The first time you said you love me. We were slow dancing under the moon and the only music playing was the waves crashing on the beach." Andy chuckles at the memory, knowing what he'll say next will definitely convince you. "You dragged me behind a rock and—"

You drop the bat immediately, the heat burning to your cheeks as you wrap your arms around his torso as best as you can and press your face against Andy's chest. "Oh my god– it's really you."

Andy lets out a laugh as his arm goes around your back, the other palm lovingly pressed against the side of your belly. "I'm really hurt, sweetheart."

You look up, chin on his chest with your bottom lip jutting out. Your palm goes up to his cheek, feeling his bare jaw for the first time in never.

"This is so weird..." You trail off, your palm rubbing his face and feeling the smooth skin. It's so different from the rough texture you're so used to.

"I'm still upset. Thought you said that I'll always be your Andy with or without a beard." He teases, leaning into your touch and turning his face so he can kiss your palm.

You giggle when he leans down and press kisses all over your face. "I know, I know. I was caught off-guard, okay?" You defended, breaking out into a smile when he presses his forehead against yours, his breath fanning against your face.

"Missed me?"

You hum, nodding with your hands still staying on his smooth cheeks. "Miss your beard too."

"Want me to grow it back?" Andy asks, his thumb softly rubbing against your belly, a soft smile on his lips when you almost purr at the feeling.

"Can't decide if I wanna have more of your babies, let you eat me out or sign you up for high school."

Andy pulls away to bark out a laugh at your words, grinning as he presses his lips to yours, softly kissing you.

"We can have more babies when this little one gets out, okay?" He smiles adoringly when he pulls away, bending down and pushing the fabric of your shirt up so your swollen belly's exposed. "Hey, champ." Andy kisses your belly and pulled away just enough so he can talk to the growing human inside you.

"You missed daddy? Did you take good care of momma while I was away? I told ya to not move too much and tire her out before I went away, didn't I? Did you bully mommy?"

Your hand reaches down, combing through his hair as he talks to the unborn child. It's the best scene you've ever seen– Andy talking to him and feeling your son kick in your belly in response to Andy's questions.

"He definitely misses you." You huff, a breathy laugh leaving your lips when Andy turns up to you. "Wouldn't stop kicking till I played that voice recording of yours."

Andy gasps playfully, his palm rubbing against your skin. "Oh no. You're gonna be a giant troublemaker, aren't ya?" He presses another kiss on your stomach and then another on the same spot. "You gotta promise me that you won't wake us up in the middle of the night when you're out, bubba. Momma and I need time to rest too, y'know."

"Alright, alright." Andy laughs when he feels a soft kick against his palm. "A little birdy told me that you wanna try some cinnamon rolls. Daddy made a huge batch for you and momma."

He glances up at you, smiling with those pearly whites and winking at you. "You're not even out yet, champ. But I promise you, bud— there's nothing momma and I wouldn't do for you."

Your free hand rests on your belly, rubbing your skin softly just like Andy's doing. "We can't wait to meet you, charmer."

"Y'know... I prepared some dad jokes."

You scoff, softly slapping Andy's shoulder. "Don't start!"

Andy straightens up with a laugh, pulling you by your hand into the kitchen. "You still didn't tell me if you liked the new look."

"I'll like it even more if you give me some of that cinnamon roll right now."

Andy presses his lips on your forehead when you lean against the counter, watching as he scoops out a piece of the roll for you.

"You sure it's our baby that wants the cinnamon roll? I'm starting to think that you're using him as an excuse to make me bake you things."

"Hey!" You huff, taking a bite of the sweet pastry and groaning at the taste. "Him and I are one person, okay? I'm just letting him get a taste of his daddy's baked goods so he can charm you into making more for us when he's out."

Andy sighs, stepping closer to you and pressing his lips softly against yours. "I love you, sweetheart."

His tongue swipes over the remnants of the glaze on your bottom lip before he pulls away.

"We love you more, handsome."

Andy's brow arched in disagreement. "No, I love–"

"Two beats one." You stop his protest, shrugging as you take another bite of the heavenly rolls, winking at Andy when he ends up lazily smiling at you and leans forward to press a kiss on your forehead.

------

THIS MAN IS THE EPITOME OF PERFECT. THE BEST BOYFRIEND HUSBAND FIANCÉ DAD– OMG I CAN'T EVEN JSZBHSBSHS.

andrew *BEST DAD AWARD shdxhsuw* barber— i just wanna say that you have my heart forever. kinda wanna write another part when the baby's out 🥺

reblogs comments and likes are welcomed please hehe <33

-haney

taglist; @milea @ajeff855 @fanofalltheficsx @Ambinxe @justile @christowhore @amelia-song-pond @melissad1974 @thegirlwiththeimpala @bval-1 @suchababie @ephemeralfics @franzliszts-wife @tenaciousperfectionunknown @worksby-d @hallecarey1 @paintdripsandbrownies-blog @notbrooklynsblog @perfect-peter @blueeyeslut @alwaysclassyeagle @sobluesobeautiful @coffeebooksandfandom @gitasor @mansaaay

[andysbubba]

midnights ੈ✩‧₊˚☾

ೃ⁀➷ in hopes this ends the never ending writer's block

: ̗̀➛ a series of stories and little drabbles, mostly angst or really soft reads with chris’ characters. i can't promise that i will actually write all of these, or even complete one in the first place, but i'm hoping that this will eventually lead to something. this masterlist will be updated as we go along. please be patient with me while i try my best to dig up whatever writer brain energy i can summon hehe

while we're here, i should also add that i'll be making a new blog for any future updates! my taglist got too long and i lost track of most of 'em. its a blank blog for now till i find the time to work on the aesthetics and what nots but in the meantime, follow @andysbubbalibrary!

love, haney ✧

lavender haze

-‘๑’- i just wanna stay in that lavender haze - ,,

maroon

⋆࿔*:･ how the hell did we lose sight of us again? - ,,

anti-hero

-‘๑’- it's me, hi, i'm the problem, it's me - ,,

snow on the beach

⋆࿔*:･ you wanting me tonight, feels impossible - ,,

you're on your own, kid

-‘๑’- i wait patiently, he's gonna notice me - ,,

midnight rain

⋆࿔*:･ and i never think of him, except on midnights like this - ,,

question...?

-‘๑’- cause i don't remember who i was before you - ,,

bejeweled

⋆࿔*:･ don't put me in the basement, when i want the penthouse of your heart - ,,

labyrinth

-‘๑’- oh no, i'm falling in love again - ,,

mastermind

⋆࿔*:･ you knew that i'm a mastermind - ,,

paris

-‘๑’- i'm so in love that i might stop breathing - ,,

high infidelity

⋆࿔*:･ i'd pay, if you'd just know me, seemed like the right thing at the time - ,,