#i miss doc so fucking much it physically pains me

[euclidity]

madness combat fans are funny because it's 80% people who didn't play mpn and 20% people who did and the people who don't/ didn't finish clutch onto those who did and go WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK AM I MISSING. and then it's like oh yeah there's a level where hank becomes a sentient orange peel you didn't see that

[jeewrites]

🌈 Sunshine & Rainbows 🌈

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader Equalizer 2 AU: What if Dave survives the fall from the watchtower?

WC: 10.1k (whoopsies) Rated: Explicit, minors do not interact

Content/Warnings: Dave is divorced from Carol (no kids), reference to previous smut, Dave gets a few nicknames, reader is also an assassin but sassy, reader has a nickname and hair that can be pulled, mention of traumatic injuries to Dave, medical jargon, discussion of physical therapy, stalking/murder/torture not described, please remember I had to google “How to preserve an eyeball” for this fic, is murder a love language?, arson, treadmill hate, use of daddy just once, no y/n

A/N: My first Dave fic and my first fic challenge! I got ‘amnesia’ to pair with Dave for @burntheedges's Roll-A-Trope Challenge! I had so much fun trying to wrap my head around Dave as someone who leans towards fluff and feels, so I hope you enjoy my take on our favorite murder daddy. Thank you to @bloviating-vy for being the best beta-reader and encouraging me to write fics in the first place. Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Roll a Trope Masterlist

It’s the pain that wakes him. Every part of his body screams. The tight stretch of skin, itchy and hot. Bruises to the bone. Bones shattered. The sun shines too bright despite the curtains. The increasing beep of the monitor is too loud. How is it possible to hurt like this?

He hears the shuffle of footsteps and the murmur of voices just above the screaming of his body before a shadowy figure appears. He can sense them to his left, but not see them. Is this how he dies? Drowsiness steamrolls him and he slips back to a blissful drug-induced unconsciousness.

It’s been 48 and a half hours and no check-in from Dave. You stare at the burner phone, willing it to beep or ring. Anything. But there is no text. No call. Just the flick and snap as you flip the phone open and close.

Dave has never, ever missed a check-in. Has he come close to the 48-hour deadline after an op? Sure. But never late. And never this late.

You’re not exactly in panic mode yet because it’s Dave, one of the most ruthless and effective killers you know. But you can’t help the anxiety starting to build in your belly and another feeling you can’t quite pin down. It’s not like you love him. But god isn’t he a good fuck, perfect for blowing off steam between covert ops. 

And he understands what you do. He understands you and you understand him. Plus, he was the only one who ever almost got a jump on you when a client hired both of you without telling one about the other. That was almost a clusterfuck that ended up being the best fuck of your life.

The burner phone stares back at you, silent. Fuck it. Now it’s time for you to do what you do best. Find people. Find Dave. 

The doctor keeps calling him John — as in John Doe. While he can’t for the life of him recall his name, he knows definitively, John is not his fucking name. He’s also tired of talking. He doesn’t have any answers, just more questions piling on top of the questions the doc, a psychiatrist, keeps lobbing at him. Everything still hurts, a dull, perpetual throb throughout his brain and body punctuated by acute pain if he happens to breathe wrong.

He’s in a different building since the last time he awoke in crippling pain. This place seems like a public-run long-term health care facility out in the boonies instead of the large hospital downtown he was in before. The doctors and other health care professionals seem harried and perpetually understaffed. While his room is relatively clean, the decor is dated, all the walls a sickly yellow or green. And everything smells strongly of disinfectant. It could be worse, he supposes, at least it’s clean here. 

The psychiatrist leans forward towards him, “Let’s call it a day and let you rest. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

He grunts in response.

Something in his gut tells him to be wary of this doctor, of sharing too much if he ever remembers a goddamn thing. He knows he can trust his gut when it comes to reading people. Watching a steady flow of doctors, nurses, aides, social workers, and janitorial staff in his room, he doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows when someone is trustworthy or a threat. He can read body language at the most minute level with startling clarity.

The head nurse Kathleen is no nonsense and won’t tolerate any bullshit. Nurse Sally does the bare minimum and has sticky fingers. Gotta keep an eye on that one. He likes the neurologist who doesn’t sugar coat things. He’s pretty sure his physical therapist, Ryan, is secretly a sadist.

The night nurse, Brian, is a steadying comfort, always checking on him, “Doing all right, boss?” in the quiet loneliness of the evening. Brian alleviates the pressing annoyance of not knowing his own name by constantly switching up nicknames for him. Calling him buddy, champ, or hot stuff much to his amusement. 

He also knows someone tried their damndest to kill him and make it hurt in the process. Gouged out left eye, stabbed between the ribs, sliced tendons, broken bones, internal bleeding, wrapped in a myriad of bruises and tossed from a significant height. He’s been told repeatedly what a miracle it is that he survived at all, washed up on the beach on the brink of death before being found.

For now he bides his time, giving his body the opportunity to heal and recover. He knows he won’t get far in the current condition he’s in after the multiple surgeries and months and months in the ICU. In physical therapy he can barely manage to walk a few steps without assistance, and he’s still adjusting to the eye patch and the use of his remaining eye. He’s relatively safe for now, he thinks, identity a mystery and off the beaten path. Although a small part of him wonders why no one has come to find him. Did he not have family, friends, or anyone who missed him? 

Dave doesn’t make it easy on you to find him. Of course he doesn’t. Before he went private, or over to the dark side he liked to say, he made sure to replace all of his biometrics in various government databases with false ones. You have to go old school and retrace his steps from the sparest details he did share with you. Brant Rock the text message had read.

You find Resnik, Ari, and Kovac in the local morgue shortly after the hurricane blew through. Kovac and Ari are identifiable easily enough, but Resnik takes a moment, having most of his face blown off. It’s a shame about Kovac and Ari, they were good enough guys and you didn’t mind working with them on occasion.

But that bastard Resnik had once joked, thinking you were out of earshot, what a good fuck you’d be and you were so vulnerable with only the four of them around for miles and miles. You had slid the safety off your weapon at the same time you heard Dave threaten to rip his balls off through his throat if Resnick dared to try anything with you. You were planning to do worse, but hey, it was the thought that counts, right? That was when you knew you could really trust Dave. Resnik, not so much. 

As you approach the next cold locker, for a moment you can’t breathe, suffocating in the thought that the next body you pull is going to be Dave. But to your immense relief, it’s not Dave. Dave isn’t in any of them. It’s not until you slip out of the morgue into your car a few blocks away that you realize you’ve been holding your breath. You allow yourself to sob, forehead against your steering wheel. Crying, such an unfamiliar sensation. Where was he?

It takes you nearly two weeks to find Dave. Listed as a John Doe at the big trauma center downtown, you disguise yourself as a nurse and sneak into his ICU hospital room late one night. Nothing prepared you for his condition. 

“Did Mac do this to you, Yorkie?” you whisper as you trace your fingertips along the ashen skin of his forearm. It seems like the only part of him that is uninjured. The only sound in the room is the hiss of the ventilator and soft beeping of the heart rate monitor reminding you he’s actually alive. Barely. He’s unnaturally still for a man always on the move. You gasp softly when you take in his face, his beautiful face marred with wounds and a patch covering his left eye. Your chest tightens as you turn away to collect yourself.

Refocusing, you pull up his chart. The more you scroll, the more your rage builds at Mac or whoever did this to Dave. Your Dave. Severed tendons and ligaments, shattered ribs, crushed vertebra, multiple stab wounds, ruptured spleen, so much internal bleeding it’s a miracle he’s even alive. What the fuck happened?

He is in no condition to be moved. No matter, you think. While he heals, you are going to hunt down who did this to him and exact revenge. Excruciating revenge. Before logging out of the system you program it to send you any alerts to changes in his condition or if he’s moved to another facility.

Before you leave, you take one last look at Dave, gently run your fingers through his soft brown hair, marveling at how peaceful he looks despite the myriad of tubes plugged into him. You almost make it out of the room without shedding a tear until you really see his nose. Broken, shattered, scarred. Even if you don’t love Dave, you love his beautiful, strong aquiline nose. The way he’d nuzzle it into your neck in rare, soft moments. Press it against your mound when he pulled pleasure from you over and over. The quiet moments after you were both sated and sleepy, and he’d let you trace his brow, the strong curve of his nose, his plush lips, as he anchored you against him.

You are going to fucking destroy whoever did this to him.

The doorbell footage at Dave’s apartment confirms that Mac is the culprit behind Dave’s injuries. 

The Robert McCall visit. The tense conversation outside with Dave and his guys and Robert. The false cheerfulness, the underlying tension bubbling underneath in the clench of Dave’s jaw, the threat from McCall to Dave and the guys, “The only disappointment in it for me is that I only get to kill you each once.” You bristle with barely contained rage at his words.

Good thing you know enough about the human body to resuscitate it. Looks like you’ll just have to give Mac a lesson on how to kill someone over and over. How unfortunate for him.

The most popular bets to his previous profession are linguistics professor or foreign service.

He discovered his fluency in Farsi when he overheard family members of another patient speaking it in the hallway outside of his room. It took him a moment to realize he understood what they were saying. Shortly after, he overheard several nurses conversing in Spanish and realized to his amazement he understood them too.

“Wonder what else you can speak, professor,” Brian the night nurse muses as he pulls out an assortment of chocolates in a gift tin. That’s a new nickname. “Here, have some French chocolate. Someone gifted them to me when they were discharged.”

He reaches for one gingerly, focusing on the pincer grip to pick a chocolate up. It has been a struggle learn how to use his entire body again once it healed enough to be subjected to OT, PT, talk therapy, and other forms of torture.

He frowns at the sweetness of the truffle as he takes a bite. 

“No good?” Bri asks.

“Too sweet,” he mumbles. “But thanks.”

Belgian is better, he thinks to himself before pausing. How does he know that?

Brian grins at him before setting down the tin and checking his chart, “That just means more for me, champ.”

Glancing at the tin, Dave stifles a sharp inhale when he realizes he can read the French printed across the lid.

Discovering or rediscovering who he is has been… interesting. Some of the discoveries raised his spirits, like discovering his impressive ability to guess who was walking into his room based on the sound of their gait or how much a person weighed within a few pounds. Some discoveries though left him questioning what kind of person he really was. An emotional rollercoaster he’s ready to get off of immediately. If only he could just fucking remember!

Aside from being able to read people insanely well, he’s put together that he’s a bit of a control freak and likes things neat and orderly. The bullseye tattoo on his left hand had one nurse guessing that he was an olympic sharpshooter, but no olympian in recent memory remotely looked like him. He knew he had been found in a camo pullover and cargo pants, or what remained of it. Another nurse guessed that perhaps he liked hunting for sport. After all the speculation around the bullseye tattoo, Brian started only referring to him as killer. Curiously, he didn’t seem to mind that nickname. The wedding band tanline made him wonder if he is recently divorced or actually married, but took his ring off for more nefarious reasons. Was he a cheater? Did he have kids? What kind of man was he? 

The strangest discovery came the first time orange slices appeared on his lunch tray. He found himself comforted by the smell of citrus as he ate them. Relaxed even, for the first time since he woke up. And also inexplicably aroused. His body had been so broken it had been months since he felt any tingle or whisp of desire, the feeling so unfamiliar it shocks him. What kind of kinky shit was he into?

That night he dreams of rain forests and citrus, relaxing in a familiar embrace he can not name. He wakes up the most refreshed he’s felt since he woke up in the ICU, body screaming in pain. And yet still he can’t explain why.

Sweat pours off of him as he grips the side rails of the treadmill. The PT room is absurdly bright and cheerful for the types of torture it routinely sees.

“You did great, man,” Ryan, his favorite physical therapist, praises. “Going to be running marathons in no time.”

He just grunts in response. He hates running. This he knows in his bones. Hates it. But he has come a long way from barely managing a step with assistance to walking on the treadmill for the first time. A stupid long painful way.

A sudden frustrated yell across the room jerks his attention to one of the newer patients across the room just as an exercise ball is flung in his direction. He reacts before can think, ducking and moving, assessing in a split second the source of the danger and prioritizing three different options in subduing the threat. He misjudges the distance of a table corner, bruising his hip as he dashes by. Damn his depth perception issues, he thinks. Just another thing to work on.

He surprises himself when he finds himself expertly pulling the patient off balance into a chokehold until security arrives. His body knows exactly how much pressure to put to neutralize the threat without killing him. Why does his body know this? Christ.

“Holy shit, man!” Ryan exclaims, helping to pull him up from the ground. “Where’d you learn to do that!”

“Can’t remember,” he groans as he feels his body protest the sudden intense movement. “Think I set myself back with that stunt.” He slumps over in a chair as sharp pain shoots up both his arms. He allows Ryan to fuss over him before one of the aides brings him back up to his room in a wheelchair. One step forward, three steps back it feels like.

It’s not until he’s settled into the privacy of his own room with a healthy dose of painkillers does he start to tally all of his mysterious abilities. He rubs the itchy scruff growing on his face with irritation. He hasn’t had a proper shave since he got here. And he probably won’t, at least not until his fine motor skills get better to do it himself. The staff are just too overworked here. He huffs to himself. He’s probably more of a danger to himself than anyone else right now. 

With all his language skills, keen sense of observation, and now apparently mad jiu jitsu skills, what did it add up to? Who the fuck was he?

In the weeks following your visit to see your Dave in the ICU, knowing he has a long road to recovery gives you the time and space to track and hunt Mac. In true Dave fashion, he didn’t give you much to work with, just one single conversation about Robert McCall, but that is all you need.

Shortly before Dave missed his check in, he let you wrap yourself around him as the big spoon after having his way with you. He was uncharacteristically spooked, he told you, after running into his former team leader while out on a run. Robert McCall, Mac, was presumed dead. Dave swore he saw him die that day over seven years ago, setting off a chain of events leading to Dave going private with his guys. The impact of Mac’s death, the grief and the disillusionment that followed after leaving the service. 

You knew about the job in Brussels—Susan—and the difficulty Dave was having tying up loose ends. Especially now with Mac resurrected from the dead and digging into Susan’s murder. He briefly mentioned Mac showing up at his apartment and confronting him and the guys a few days after the unexpected reunion. The doorbell footage you found confirmed this conversation.

You asked him if Mac was now a loose end.

Turning to face you, his eyes darkened with affirmation, “But I have a bad feeling about it, Sunshine.” 

Mentally you beat yourself up for not pressing Dave more about this bad feeling at the time because you were too busy preening at the pet name. It marked the first time Dave ever met you at your place, raising an eyebrow at your maximalist design choices. It’s like a rainbow and unicorn threw up in here, he had grumbled. Too bright, so sunshine-y. You’re just jealous your place looks like it was decorated by someone allergic to color, you had quipped before he hauled you over his shoulders into the bedroom with a growled I’ll show you jealous, Sunshine.

You tried to smooth the furrows between his eyes. “Can I help?” you whispered before pressing a kiss to the curve of his nose.

He tensed before pulling back to look at you, “No. Don’t want you anywhere near him, baby. Mac’s a killer. He — he taught me everything I know.”

You protested but the look he leveled you with ended the discussion even if you wanted to push back and insist. 

“You’re helping right now,” Dave consoled you, laying you back and slotting himself between your legs. “Reminding me I have this to come home to.”

The brief realization he had referred to you as home, quickly disintegrated at the pace he set, burying himself in you, sliding deep into the place only he could reach— the place you think of as his. He left early the next morning, pulling a black beanie over his head before kissing you goodbye. “See you in 48, Sunshine.” 

You believe Dave when he said Mac was a killer, the best he knew. So you are meticulous in your tracking. In rare form, you make sure your contingency plans have contingency plans, even if you prefer flying by the seat of your pants. You only allow yourself to feel the quiet thrill of the hunt in order to keep the raging fury that threatens to make you slip up at bay. You summon patience you didn’t know you possessed as you slowly lay your trap and draw Mac in. 

Robert McCall has a weakness for damsels in distress. And for extracting his own sense of justice in situations he came across, serving as sole judge, jury, and executioner. It rankles you to see him decide the fate of others, to right a wrong according to him and him alone. 

But who are you to judge him when you decided to be his judge, jury, and executioner? So you lure him in and give him exactly what he always looked for. In the end, he is just like any other man really. A talented man, a ruthless killer sure, but he could never match your cunning combined with your wrath, your fury at what he did to Dave. 

You keep the feelings at bay as you set the trap in motion until he is soundly in your snare. And even then, you don’t let the rage get out of control because you know your weakness in close combat. You won’t give him an opening to escape or kill you because you can’t stay cool and collected.

By the time you’d laid your trap for Mac, you got a ping from the hospital notifying you of Dave’s transfer to a long-term rehab facility. You pat yourself on the back for the perfect timing. Execute the target and then go check on Dave.

In the end, Mac isn’t that much different from any other kill you executed on the job. Just more satisfying in the end. You did it for Dave, afterall. Your Dave.

He decides that even if he doesn’t like the colorful scrubs the new nurse aide wears, she seems trustworthy enough, even if he struggles to get a more accurate read on her. It’s the first time he’s had trouble reading anyone since he woke up. So he sets aside the puzzlement as Brian introduces him to her. Maybe it’s because of how pretty she is, beautiful really, and how attracted he is to her, a pull that takes him off guard.

“Hey Killer, want to introduce you to our new nurse aide,” Brian says, gesturing to her as she stands a bit shyly next to him. “She’s gonna be helping me out so I don’t feel like a vampire all the time with these night shifts.”

“Killer?” she blurts out making an incomprehensible face before hiding behind a small smile.

“Gives me a reputation. I don’t mind.” He shrugs, smirking at the nickname. “At least until I figure out my real name, no one’s going mess with me. Nice to meet you…?”

The aide makes a funny noise in her throat as he extends his hand to shake hers. She recovers quickly as she takes his hand in hers. Something flickers behind her eyes, something warm, familiar before it fades away as she murmurs her name, Sunny, and tells him to let her know if he needs anything. The pull towards her strengthens as soon as his hands envelope hers, so soft and warm, that he doesn’t want to let go. Something feels so right at her touch. He murmurs her name before she pulls away to make the rounds with Brian.

You aren’t prepared to see Dave. You thought you were. You mentally talked yourself through it before you made your way up to his room with your new supervisor, Nurse Brian. You memorized everything from his chart, and know that he still has severe amnesia, still struggling with remembering anything at all, but nothing prepares you to be in the same room as him and not have a flicker of recognition across his face. His remaining deep brown eye levels a coolness at you that you haven’t seen since the first time you met and tried to kill each other. 

This is bad. After everything, the missed check-in, the frantic searching, the revenge-ing to avenge him, the utter lack of recognition across his beautiful face cracks something in you. You barely recover enough to shake his hand and leave his room upright, telling Brian you have to go to the restroom before meeting any other patients.

Tears prick your eyes and you try to calm your breathing, not wanting to face the tsunami of feelings crashing down on you. When did these feelings for Dave get so out of hand? 

You haven’t needed anyone since you cut off your abusive family and left home to find your way in the world. You learned to be alone, thrived at working alone in a corner you carved out for yourself. You filled your home with art and color and brightness after you realized you had the power to make your own sunshine. Who else would? Definitely not your shitty family. 

And plants. So many plants, your bedroom painted a shade of deep, lush green. Filled with plants. It was like your own personal rainforest. So what if you worked in the dark, creeping in the shadows, a killer for hire? It didn’t mean you had to make it your whole damn personality.

Oh, but Dave. He was the unexpected cherry on top, a force of nature who brought more exciting ops to your life, along with mind-numbing pleasure. Intermittently at first, then regularly. You liked the control you’d cede to him after months of dancing around each other, building trust, moving from fucking in seedy motels after ops to his place or yours. The way he could fuck your worries and stress straight out of your pretty head. Apparently something had shifted without you realizing. Pesky feelings.

Fuck. You care. More than you were willing to admit before Dave almost died. You were too full of rage to feel anything else. You convinced yourself that the revenge you sought when you hunted down Mac was exactly that. Revenge. But now that the rage and fury had ebbed, you face down the why behind your need for revenge, realizing you did what you did because you cared. About Dave. Maybe you lo — lov — Fuck. What if he never remembers what you had together? What exactly did you have with him before, anyway?

He looks good though, even with the patchy scruff and fading scars across his face. The slightly lost expression on his face. Even if you can sense his discomfort in his body, in the way he sits by the window pretending to read a book. He looks so different, skin warm and golden, so alive, from the last time you saw him in the ICU. And his nose, the nose you love healed after all, healing back into its original strong curve.

As much as you want to run back into his room, yelling his name and shaking him until he recognizes you, telling him everything, you know you have to steel yourself for this next part, to allow him to heal and remember at his own pace. Wasn’t that what the doctor had written in his chart? Pushing him too hard will have less-than-ideal outcomes. 

You sigh as you wash your face and take a deep breath. This part of the journey is going to be infinitely harder than finding Dave and killing Mac. But at least now he has you to help him jog his memory and watch his back. You lift your head up to walk out of the restroom, refusing to acknowledge the question prickling down your spine. What if he never remembers you’re his Sunshine?

It storms the first night of your shift, winds howling as you make your rounds and tend to the patients assigned to you. You do most of your menial work with one eye watching Dave, learning his routine and keeping tabs on him. It comforts you to know that he has a genuine rapport with nurse Brian, and has been making significant progress in his physical therapy. You get a sense he doesn’t trust the psych doc very much and has been frustrated at recovering his fine motor skills from the nerve damage in his arms. Must be why he doesn’t shave much, you think to yourself. The facility he’s in is fine for a publicly funded place, but you can tell the staff is overworked and underpaid. Your hourly wage is laughable. And everything is painted in this drab yellow that is an insult to the color. You’d read in his chart that the local precinct had put out feelers trying to identify the resident John Doe without much luck. You hope the luck holds out long enough for Dave to heal sufficiently so you can break him out of here before someone who shouldn’t find him does.

The bright flashes of lightning and roaring thunder keep you awake in the wee hours of your shift, strong winds whipping tree branches against the building, even as the patter of rain threatens to lull you to sleep. As you walk the sterile corridors, passing by Dave’s room you hear him yell out in panic, in fear.

It’s all you can do to stop yourself from sprinting into his room, ready to take out whoever is attacking him. You realize in the darkness of his room, illuminated only by a small night light, Dave is alone in his room, still asleep.

You realize he’s having a nightmare as you watch his eye work beneath his eyelid as he mutters, “Show yourself. Show — Show yourself Mac…” before trailing off. His face winces in pain as he jerks under the covers, panting to catch his breath before flinging his arms around like he’s trying to throw a punch.

For a moment you’re frozen, unsure of what to do as you realize he’s likely reliving his last encounter with Mac in real time. Careful not to use his real name, you put a firm hand on his arm to calm him, hey hey hey, to wake him up before he strangles himself in his sheets. As you make shushing noises he jerks the arm out from your grip, grabbing a hold of your throat before gasping awake, right eye wide in terror.

He apologizes profusely once he really wakes up and gets his bearings. It’s the same dream that haunts him every time it storms outside. Bubbling up from his subconscious every time it storms. He’s up high on a tower or lighthouse by some body of water. Rain whips across his face as the waves crash against the shore. He’s impatient, livid, but also… scared? Somehow he knows the before version of him would never admit the last thing.

He’s waiting for someone who is a danger, a threat. What’s taking so long? He remembers yelling, calling a name, Mac, — who is Mac?— before the dream shifts and he’s in indescribable pain. The most pain his body has ever felt slashes through him, punches into his ribs before he’s falling, falling, falling. It’s the icy cold that wakes him every time, shocking him back to consciousness. But this time he wakes up looking into the eyes of the pretty new aide with one of his hands clutched around her throat.

Well, this isn't the first time he’s had his hands around your throat. The dirty thought skitters across your mind, although that situation is preferable to this one. The thought amuses you, even as you start to feel the oxygen deprivation. It is a nice memory though, you think, being bent over your sink while Dave took you from behind. Arching you up with the tug of your hair to watch him in the mirror. It was after the one time you were almost late for a check-in and he was punishing you for it. For making him worry. If you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re on time, you’re late, Sunshine. Simpler times, you think. 

You inwardly sigh and try to figure out how to get out of his chokehold without hurting either one of you. You settle for anchoring one hand to the one on your throat and twisting out of his grip while leveraging his elbow as gently as you can manage to avoid setting him back in his recovery. 

He’s still gasping for breath as you try to soothe him with your voice, now scratchy from his grip. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” you comfort as you pat his back.

He starts apologizing immediately, a litany of shit, I’m so sorrys, until you level him with your best stare and quip, “I see where you get your nickname from, Killer.”

He stops long enough to bark out a laugh, before asking again if you really are okay. 

“I should be asking you that,” you respond. “Seems like a hell of a dream.” You see him retreat back into himself, at whatever horrors had surfaced in his mind.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you venture, sliding a hand over his. It’s clammy and cold. You feel him start to pull away before stopping.

“I think it’s what happened… before,” he finally answers with a thick swallow, looking away. “No one needs to hear that shit.”

You squeeze his hand for encouragement. “Try me.”

To your surprise he does. After Dave recaps his nightmare as best he can, his hand still in yours, you begin to think that you let Mac off way too easily. Shoulda tortured him more before pulling the plug, you frown internally. Because holy shit, that man really put Dave through the ringer. 

“Thanks for — for listening, I think it helped,” Dave squeezes your hand and looks at you with a surprisingly soft expression. Soft Dave, you never thought you’d see the day.

“Of course, Killer,” you squeeze his hand back before offering to get him some water. He accepts and hesitates as if he wanted to ask you something else. You stand but linger by his bedside giving him a moment.

“Will you — will you stay? Just for a bit, until I fall asleep?” 

After you get him some water, you stay — your hand in his — until he drifts off into an uneasy sleep.

He decides he likes Sunny, not just because she’s pretty, but because she keeps him on his toes with her quick wit and dark sense of humor — to match his own he learns — that makes the days go by faster. Just another thing he learns about himself that just brings more questions than answers.

He can’t help smiling as she checks in with him for the day, wanting to know if he needs anything. “Brought you a present,” she smiles at him so brightly it leaves his brain stuttering to respond. “Your room is so boring, figured you could use a plant.”

She places it by the window before turning with a look to see if he approves. He does. He doesn’t know why but the little green thing feels familiar, a comfort like home. He scratches at the irritating scruff on his cheek before finding his words to thank her. 

“I have some extra time today, do you need a shave?” she asks, like she can read his mind. “Looks itchy.”

“Yes. Please.” The look of relief on his face must be palpable because she immediately leaves to grab a razor and shaving cream. 

The thought that she could read him so well, as if his mind is an open book screams to the front of his mind. His stomach twists at the thought. A creeping suspicion fills him as she approaches with the razor. What if she actually knows who he is, but he just doesn’t remember her? It would explain the inexplicable familiarity that came whenever she visited his room. What if the sunny personality is all an act and she’s actually a cold blooded killer sent to finish him off? Perhaps he should be more suspicious of her. He’d only known her for a week and she is the only person he couldn’t get an accurate read on. 

His chest constricts at the recurring fear that someone had wanted him to hurt badly before trying to kill him. It really was only a miracle he survived. And now he was willingly allowing this stranger into his personal space with a sharp object. Could you kill someone with a disposable razor? Not ideal, he thinks, but possible.

“Everything okay?” she asks him as she sets up the side table with shaving accessories. 

He hesitates, conflicted with his most recent revelations as she moves closer to him.

“Look, if I was going to sever your jugular a disposable razor wouldn’t be my first choice,” she dramatically rolls her eyes at him before looking at him for consent to start.

He lets out a nervous giggle, a sound he’s pretty sure he’s never made in his entire life.

“Not my second, third, or fourth choice either, okay?” she continues. “You have nothing to worry about. I’m not the one with the nickname ‘Killer.’” 

She has a point. And she did just bring him a plant. And comfort him after one of his ridiculous nightmares the very first night she was here. If there was a moment when he was most vulnerable, that was her chance. He pushes away the feelings of suspicion and nods, allowing her to get started.

He couldn’t help leaning into her touch as she gently washes his face and smoothes on the shaving cream. The way the fading light from the window caught the flecks of colors in her eyes as she focused on the task at hand. He couldn’t help but think how cute she looks with her furrowed brows, all her attention on him. He decides the odds are low she was there to kill him considering how careful and gentle she is. He closes his good eye and allows himself to enjoy himself. Who knew getting a shave was such an intimate experience? He could feel himself relaxing under the warmth of her touch and the delicate scent of her citrus-y shampoo wafting across his nose at this close proximity. Something tugs on his mind at the scent, but she interrupts the thought.

“So what do you think, Killer?” she asks.

As he cracks open his eye, he realizes she’s holding up a small mirror. Time slows down at the same time his heart rate speeds up as he takes in his clean-shaven reflection. It’s like he suddenly remembered why he walked into a room after forgetting all this time.

His name is Dave. Dave motherfucking York.

When he says his name out loud, you let out an audible gasp you tried to cover as true surprise.

“This is huge! Dave, do you — do you remember anything else? Last Name?” You blurt out. 

His lips briefly purse before his face flickers just for a moment, his tell, before he shakes his head no. 

Liar. You immediately know he’s lying to you. He fucking remembers. You can see the cogs whirring in his brain, assembling all of the new information he unlocked when he looked at his reflection.You busy yourself tidying up the shaving accessories, watching him from the corner of your eye, hoping that he recognizes you.

It’s coming back to him, you can just tell from the way he’s holding himself up now, even just sitting in the chair, his posture is different. The lost expression is gone. The calculated, commanding presence of the Dave York you know is emerging right before your eyes. 

Dave York is remembering.

He startles you when he speaks to you again, low and almost menacing, “Don’t tell anyone else. I’m not… ready to share yet.” His expression flashes dark at you.

Ah yes, the patented Dave I’m-telling-you-not-asking-you York.

“Of— of course. Take all the time you need,” you respond.

The next time you glance at him, he has that expression on his face where he’s assessing someone, assessing you, deciding if they are a threat or not. Great, the last thing you need is Dave trying to off you before he remembers who the fuck you are. 

“I promise. I’m not going to say a word,” you try and reassure him. 

He offers a nod, a dismissal really, before turning to look out the window, back to whatever memories may be emerging from the abyss of his mind.

You’d think that Dave remembering would be a good thing, but unfortunately the feds figure out who he is at the same time. You’re on shift, loitering by the nurses’ station when you see two nearly identical government looking guys turn the corner into the wing of the facility just after dinner. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, you think. And they reek of federal agents. FBI, specifically. Shit.

Dave has been more withdrawn since remembering his name. Brooding by the window. Typical Dave. You keep up your act, checking on him and chatting with him, hoping really for any glimpse of recognition, but still none so far. You can tell he’s still assessing you, trying to decide if you really are just a peppy aide or dangerous foe waiting to strike.

You busy yourself nearby as the feds chat with Brian, eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Wait, that guy’s wanted for murder AND treason??” Brian exclaims. “But he’s so… docile.” You quietly snort to yourself at that word being used to describe Dave York.

“And a whole list of other things, but those are the big ‘uns,” one of the feds responds.

They continue to chat with Brian, trying to determine how much Dave remembers and what condition he’s in in order to transport him.

“Psych notes still say he doesn’t remember very much. But physically he’s actually almost ready for out-patient rehab,” Brian scans the electronic chart.

“Gotta put in the transfer ’n get him to our medical facility,” Tweedle Dee nods to Tweedle Dum. “We’re going to post someone on the floor to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”

Shit, shit, shit.

“Well, as long as they’re discreet,” Brian warns. “Don’t want to disturb the other patients on the floor.”

“Roger that,” Tweedle Dum responds before pulling out his phone to make a call.

The agents nod at Brian before walking back down the hallway. You see them briefly stop outside of Dave’s room before continuing on their way. 

Well, it looks like you’re breaking Dave out of here whether he remembers you or not. This should be fun. Hopefully he doesn’t try to kill you in the process.

Dave senses something is off before he even sees the two feds walk by his room on the way to the nurses station. He knows they’re there for him. By their gait and posture, they don’t seem like they’re in a particular rush to storm his room, so he bides his time, even as he slips a scalpel up his sleeve. He can’t run. All he can manage is a quick walk with a limp. There’s no way he can run fast enough or long enough to evade two federal agents, even if they look like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Fuck, he thinks. He should have pushed harder in PT. 

He resumes sitting by the window, angling himself into a better position to attack if they decide to take him in today and waits. Hopefully, it won’t come to that. 

He holds his breath when the agents walk by his door again, pausing for just a moment. He makes sure to observe them so he’ll be able to identify them again if, when, they return. Fuck, he needs to come up with an escape plan. 

He lets out a sigh of relief as they walk away. What the fuck is he going to do? Where is he even going to go? He’s sure he doesn’t have much time, a day at most. Of everything that has returned to him, he still cannot remember any of the safe houses or stashes of money/fake IDs he’s sure he has… somewhere. 

Remembering has been… more bitter than sweet. His rough childhood and divorced parents both deceased, his own divorce from Carol, the stint in the military, black ops, the DIA, before going private. Then it all gets hazy. Were the dreams about Mac real? But how could they be if Mac was dead? Was Mac actually still alive? Remembering all of the heavy stuff was like grieving it all over again, all at once. It was fucking depressing.

As he shuffles to the bathroom to splash water on his face to help him think more clearly, he hears someone walk into his room. By the sound of the light stride, it’s the pretty aide that still talks to him even if he almost strangled her in his sleep. What if she’s making the move to kill him now, after all this time, because she saw the feds coming to take him away? As she rounds the corner, he moves out of instinct, pinning her against the wall with a forearm to her neck, scalpel out and ready. 

She lets out a squeak as he expects, before he cuts off her airway. What he doesn’t expect is her to roll her eyes at him as he presses a scalpel to her jugular.

You aren’t sure when Dave got a hold of a freaking scalpel, but it doesn’t surprise you in the least. Of course he found something sharp to play with.

“Why the fuck aren’t you scared?” he demands. “You got a death wish or something??” 

He eases his forearm off of your throat, but still holds you pinned against the wall. You inwardly sigh. In another time and place, this would just be foreplay, but right now the scalpel is still just a little too close to comfort. Probably shouldn’t push it with him, not too much anyway.

“That’s what you want to ask me, Yorkie?” you croak. You decide on no sudden movements though, in case it spooks his hand to twitch in the wrong direction.

He frowns at the pet name. Right, he never told you he remembered his last name. Oopsies. 

“You’d never hurt me,” you whisper. “At least, the Dave I remember wouldn’t. Not — not unless I liked it.”

Your eyes search his brown one, for anything, any recognition, but still none comes. Why are you tearing up? It’s not like he’s crushing your windpipe anymore. 

“How do I know you’re not the one trying to kill me?” he growls. Well, at least he sounds like the Dave you love. Love? Wait, what??

“Don’t you think if I wanted to kill you, I woulda done it the first night?” You roll your eyes again. You’re getting impatient now, if anything just to have the pointy blade removed from the vicinity of your neck. Maybe you could have done without the eye roll though.

His brows are still furrowed and you are so tempted to raise your hand and smooth the double crease away with your thumbs. You miss the way he’d melt under your touch, even if he’d never admit to liking it. He stares you down for a handful of breaths before you see the moment he makes a decision that reflects across his face. 

The moment he shifts the blade an inch away, you pounce, leveraging the blade away from him and reversing your positions. Shoving him up against the wall, you flinch when you hear his head smack the wall a little harder than you prefer, even if you know you’re not strong enough to hold him there very long. You press the dull side of the blade against his inner thigh, right at his femoral artery.

“This bring back any memories, Yorkie?”

He blinks hard a few times, as if he is surprised to find himself pinned against the wall by you. He glances down at where you have the scalpel pressed against his inner thigh before looking back up again and you brace yourself because you think he’s about to fight you off. Then you realize he’s looking at the plant you left on his window sill and then back at you, really looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

His eye widens as he softly inhaless, “Sunshine?”

The citrus bodywash, the plants, all the fucking plants, the too colorful scrubs. His Sunshine. Unlike all his other memories that came back gradually in waves, with you it was like a switch was flipped and he went from not knowing you to now remembering everything. He feels a surge of emotion — relief, excitement, desire — but the most prominent is trust. He has someone he can truly trust, who knows him, again. 

All it took was a scalpel to his femoral artery. Figures. How he met you is a core memory after all. 

He feels you lessen your hold on him, tucking the scalpel away, eyes wide as you pull away from him in disbelief. But he doesn’t want you to be further away from him, he wants to keep you close. And so he tugs you flush against him.

“Say my name again,” you ask, eyes still wide.

He brushes a thumb across your soft cheek and takes in your bright, discerning eyes. “My Sunshine.”

“You really remember,” you whisper, pressing your face into his chest for a deep inhale, before looking back up at him. “I missed you so much, Yorkie.”

He just looks at you, takes you in, tracing the outline of your lips before pressing his mouth to yours.

You and Dave don’t get much of a reunion, a single kiss, before you hear footsteps approaching. By the sound of the gait heavily favoring the right side, it’s your supervisor Nurse Brian. You immediately move, pretending to prop Dave up over one of your shoulders like you’re helping him to walk before Brian turns the corner.

“Everything okay here, Sunny?” Brian calls out as he approaches.

“Yep, all good. Just helping Killer here back from the bathroom. Looks like he… tweaked his knee pretty bad in PT,” you respond, trying to hide how breathless you are from one kiss. Dave gives you the most dubious expression before you elbow him in the side and give him a look that says just go with it okay?

Dave has never been a fan of improvisation like you, preferring his contingency plans having contingency plans, all neatly laid out in his cute little spreadsheets. Which… you can appreciate. You love a good spreadsheet, but sometimes flying by the seat of your pants is just so much more… fun and exciting. Maybe this is why the two of you make such a good team, a bit of intense control and structure and, well, a lot of whatever it is you feel like doing in the moment.

You can tell the moment Dave decides to play along when he drops a chunk of his weight on you and you nearly stumble trying to keep the both of you upright. You keep up a rambling monologue at Brian as you settle Dave back into his bed while Brian shuffles awkwardly around the room, obviously trying to herd you out of the room. Your spidey senses tingle — something is about to happen. Before you leave the room, you surreptitiously slip the scalpel back to Dave and give him the most reassuring look you can manage. 

Just outside Dave’s room Brian finally spills the news that the feds got approval to transfer him later tonight. Perfect, you think. Just enough time for a bit more improvisation to break Dave out of this place. And get you out of here too. If you have to give another sponge bath or assist with another bowel evacuation you might start killing people.

“Turns out Killer is actually a killer,” Brian whispers, shaking his head. “I’ll be damned. Just make sure you don’t go into his room by yourself anymore.”

Boy, do you have news for your supervisor. 

During your next break, you comb the facility looking for something to create a distraction. A big one. As you pass by the PT room, the small row of treadmills call to you and a burst of inspiration hits you. Yorkie will be so pleased. He hates running.

The fire is a lot bigger than you expected. Apparently all the foam roller things in the PT room are also highly, highly flammable. Piled together by the treadmills you rigged to spark, you didn’t expect it to make quite the towering inferno it did. But you know what? Mission accomplished. 

In the chaos of the fire alarm and subsequent evacuation, you sneak Dave off in a wheelchair (and the plant you brought him, gotta save the little guy too!) and into a car you had borrowed before you started your very brief career in healthcare. Parked in an alleyway cleared of cameras, you almost giggle at the getaway going so well. The only person you had to kill was the fed left to watch Dave’s floor. Yorkie, on the other hand, is still tense with apprehension apparently.

“We’re not clear yet,” he growls as you flip on the radio and peel out of the alleyway.  

“Don’t make me tranq you,” you threaten with a smile. “Raining on my brilliant plan.”

He grumbles something unintelligible while pinching the bridge of his nose, but keeps quiet as he looks out the window as Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car comes on over the radio. As the miles roll by, it occurs to you that it’s the first time he’s been outside of a hospital or facility in almost a year and the uncertainty of the future, now on the run, sobers you up a bit for the rest of the drive. 

It takes a subway, a bus, and a boat, and another borrowed car, before you make it back to your place. You didn’t want to give the feds a chance at tracking either of you, so you took the extra long, long way home. You’re both quiet most of the journey, only communicating when necessary when switching modes of transportation. 

The only time he asks you anything is when it starts to rain, water streaming along the wide windows of the bus. He whole body jerks when he remembers something he wanted to ask you, “Mac. Was he the one who… Is he — is he alive? Or dead?” You can hear the absolute terror in his whispered confusion.

You slide a hand over his to calm him, “He was alive. He didn’t die all those years ago.” You can feel his entire body tense even more. “He’s gone now though, Yorkie. Can’t come after you anymore.”

He stares at you, stiff as a corpse.

“I took care of him for you, baby.” You pat his hand, willing him to take a breath and relax. 

He continues to look at you, wanting an explanation, but you’re not about to confess to murder and torture on a bus, even if it is mostly empty. 

“Later, Yorkie,” you murmur as you snuggle up next to him, hoping he will finally relax. There’s still a way to go before you both get home.

He crashes immediately after getting to your place. You can tell he’s overexerted himself and is likely in more pain than he’s letting on. Still too wired from being on high alert and making sure Dave was okay on the long trek home, you curl up in an armchair by the bed and just watch him sleep. Perhaps you’re afraid if you take your eyes off of him for a moment, he’ll vanish again. 

There’s a warm shaft of light emanating from the bathroom, casting soft shadows around the room, highlighting the outline of his form, those broad fucking shoulders and soft brown hair. He’s so still you’d rush to check for a pulse save for the slow steady rise and fall of his chest.  

Even with all the progress he’d made in physical therapy, he still has a ways to go. You push aside the concern and anxieties of tomorrow to appreciate that he’s warm and safe in your bed right now. Your eyes trace his face, those plush lips you’ve only gotten to kiss once since he remembered you. Following the arch of that nose you love to the two deep furrows between his brows. How does someone look so grumpy even in their sleep? It delights you.

When you can’t take the distance, however short, from Dave, you slide into bed as slowly as you can. He’s usually such a light sleeper, but he doesn’t move an inch. You gently smooth a thumb between his brows until you feel him melt. You close your eyes and allow his steady breathing to lull you to sleep.

“You’re going to cook? Breakfast?” you almost fall out of bed as you try and untangle yourself from the sheets, still half asleep. Who is this man and what has he done with Dave York?

He grumbles something before raising his voice, “I miss real eggs. That place only ever made the powdered shit.”

You shrug and gesture at him to knock himself out, while you busy yourself with making coffee. Coffee always first. Then food. This is the correct order of things. As you hear the fridge door swing open, you feel Dave freeze, standing stock still while letting all the cold air out. Ugh, Dave.

“Sunshine…” he seems to be at a loss for words. “Why the fuck do you have an eyeball in your fridge?”

“Oh, I forgot!” you exclaim. “It’s your welcome home present, Yorkie.” 

His head pokes out from behind the door and he frowns, “You know it can’t replace the eye I lost right?” 

“Oh, I know. It’s what’s left of Mac,” you explain as you slide by him to grab the oatmilk for your coffee. The eyeball stares down at you, suspended in formalin, from its clear jar on the top fridge shelf. “Eye for an eye right?” 

He just looks at you and then at the jarred eyeball in the fridge, and then back at you, speechless.

“Well, except he’s dead and you’re not.” You smile and shrug as you finish stirring the milk into your coffee and take the first blessed sip, extra pleased with yourself. “You’re welcome, Yorkie.”

“Fuck baby, sometimes you scare me you know that?” 

You just smile at him, looking so at home in your colorful kitchen with his tousled hair and grumpy expression before you go to sit on one of the kitchen island stools. “I think that’s exactly why you love me.”

He rounds the island counter and cages you in with his arms. You take in his handsome face, so handsome it’s sometimes hard to breathe, as he just takes you in. He finally rumbles, “Yeah, I guess that’s why I do.” 

“Yeah?” you look at the floor at the admission, swiveling back and forth on the stool, not quite ready to look at him again.

He tilts your chin up with one hand, “You really take care of Mac for me? All by yourself?”

You consider reminding him that you offered to help in the first place, but somehow an I told you so felt like it would ruin the moment. You just bite your lower lip instead.

“Mmh hmm.”

“Why, baby? I — I almost died,” he presses. “He coulda killed you! You didn’t know then if I was even going to make it or not.”

You frown at this. Did he not understand?

“And I’m still so — so broken. Never going to fully recover and be who I was. Not worth anything to anyone anymore.”

He definitely does not understand. And you haven’t had enough coffee for this conversation. You quell the urge to roll your eyes as you grasp the front of his shirt and pull his face down level with yours.

“Yorkie, that’s exactly why I killed him.” Your words are firm even if you feel yourself shaking at what you’re about to admit. “He doesn’t get to try to kill the person I love and get away with it.”

His eyebrows shoot up at your disclosure, that pesky L-word. Should it really be a surprise at this point though? After everything? Even if it terrifies you to admit out loud. You did all of this because you love him. Your Dave.

“After I — I saw you in the hospital, everything Mac did, there wasn’t another option,” you murmur. “You mean everything to me, Yorkie.”

Dave forgets about the stupid eggs as he drags you back to bed and reminds you exactly why you love his nose so much. Fuck, you missed this. 

You suppose from one assassin to another, there’s no declaration of love like getting all murder-y and revenge-y for them. It might as well have been a proposal of marriage. Even with so much uncertainty about your futures and how much rehab Dave still has to go, you figure as long as he doesn’t start trying to back seat assassinate, you’ll both be fine. You’ll take care of your Yorkie until he can be Murdah Daddy again.

[diejager]

I dont know if you write about it and it’s fine if you dont but I just wanna share my thoughts, if it’s alright with you. 🙂

Know what would make the siblings with Ghost fic? Inc*st. You’ve already laid the groundwork for it, tbh.

Being together most of the time in public and in private settings, men not being able to approach Doc due to Ghost intimidating them, the physical intimacy that is present and constant, and both being closed off to anyone else but to each other. It’s all there, just a bit more darkness and…tada!

I wont say anything anymore as I do not wish to offend you if this is not your cup of tea. But if it is, then I will look forward to your great work, as usual. Thank you and have a good day. 🥰

You, anon, are so blasphemously brilliant. Inc*st isn’t something I’ve done, and isn’t good per se irl, but this is fictional works. So, yeah, here ya go :D And like I said, I’m pretty loose with what I’m willing to write. PS. I am SO going to hell for this-

Pairing : big brother Simon “Ghost” Riley x lil sister reader

Cw: DARK, INC*ST, smut, yandere, DUB-CON, fingering, self-hate, tell me if I missed anything. Wc: 1.4k

NOTE: You've been warned about the content, if you don't like Inc*st, don't read it. Just don't report it, cuz that would be annoying.

YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY AND YOURS ALONE.

He knew it was wrong, the sheer sinful shame of his acts towards you made him a monster, a vile creature, one worse than the abusive father you shared. His intentions, his thoughts, his needs, they were so wrong, too wrong that he had to choke down the disgust that riled in his guts. 

I’m disgusting, he repeated those words a dozen times, a hundred times, a million times, how many times he needed to get them to stop himself. I’m so fuckin’ disgusting.

Being able to look at himself in the mirror made the sinking feeling worse, he could see the face of the monster he was, not the one who wore a mask or hid behind a moniker; the face he glared at was Simon, the face that shared similarities to yours: the blond hair and the brown eyes. He had red-rimmed eyes, unlike your softer ones, full of life and power. He’d felt the need to break the mirror, shattering it into small pieces and watching his face crumble into fragments and blood, but it would make you worry so much. The blood in the bathroom tiles, wall and sink, his bloodied and roughly wrapped hand and the missing and broken glass would give him away; albeit a shattered mirror was enough for you to rush to him in a flurry of worried words and hushed comfort. 

He felt so fucking disgusting, you cared so much about him, so much care and dedication you devoted to him and him alone since you’ve been young. The words you’d whisper in his ears at night when his regrets crawled out, burdening his mind with bloody and visceral images that terrorised him. You were his solid link, the anchor that held him firmly alive and sane, able enough to keep going. 

You were his lifeline as he was yours, you clutched onto him for love and comfort while he latched on you for the same, but he had needs, dark ideas and images he made with you. His sacrilegious dreams and thoughts violated his image of you, the sweet girl he protected from your abusive father that would beat you and him. 

Stop, this is disgusting, he kept reminding himself, screaming the words to himself in the bathroom, the shower head pouring scalding water upon his request as punishment. Stop it. Stop it, Simon, he screamed, but it never helped, the burning water, the frozen winter, or the pain from wounds, they all numbed until he seaked you out. Then, he couldn’t stop himself, his hands and mouth were so hungry.

You were always with him, and he was always with you; you were stuck by the hip. He came to you by habit, by instinct, by heart. You were his comfort and the only thing that mattered. That's why he was doing this, his need for a physical relationship, the carnal hunger he had, the darkness he wanted to share, all for you. The more selfish side of himself told him that he deserved it and that he was doing this for you. For you, anything.

“Si, are you sure?” you mumbled, breathing in the sweat and cologne on his throat, the thick muscle of his neck bulging when he gulped down harshly. “Si, I’m- I-“

“You trust me, don’t you, love?” he asked, wording his words in a way that would make you less hesitant, and question his intentions less whenever he called you love. It was the nickname everyone at home called you, the youngest of the family, the baby. “Do you?”

“‘Course I do, Si. Of course, I do,” you had a quirk of repeating your words when you got stressed, became so nervous that you’d stutter. It only happend with him or the team, feeling comfortable enough to let them in, to let down the wall you built around you and him enough so that they could see the real you. Task Force 141 truly became a new family, to him and to you.

He shushed your nerves, hands trailing down your backed back to your hips, thumb rubbing circles on your warm skin. You straddled him, he told you that it would make him feel better, it would help him relax and take the edge off. One hand went back to cradle the back of your neck and pushed your closer to him, his head laying on top of yours. His other went further down your back, cupping the fat of your ass, kneading with the softness. His blunt nails dug into your ass, index finding the tight rim of your anal hole. 

You whined and clutched the back of his shirt tightly when he went lower, fore and middle finger bumping into your shaved lips, sliding to your slit and rubbing your clit. You opened your mouth to ask him once more, still hesitant to Simon’s idea, but a moan left instead. His hand rounded your thigh to deftly circle your button between his clothed torso and your sheer nakedness. You wanted to hide, feeling his rough, calloused pads writing eights on your sensitive nerve.

You fidgeted, writhing quietly over him, hip bucking forward and mewling when his forefinger would dip slightly into your cunt, tip sliding in before he pulled back to tease you. Although his intentions were to tease you, pleasure you, you felt the nagging discomfort of sharing this with Simon, he was your brother, the eldest of your family and the only one who you could seek comfort with. It never felt the same when you went to the other men, Simon never liked it either. 

This wasn’t what siblings usually did, or should at all, but how could you deny him, tell your only family no. The burden of pulling back from him in his time of need would hurt more than the discomfort you felt at the moment, the buzzing in your mind and the tingling pleasure he was giving you. This was anything but normal, but for him, for Simon, you’d see it through. 

“Si-!” you jerked back when he slipped a finger in, voice breaking when you cried out, huffing loudly onto the skin of his neck, where he kept you. “Wait-“ your nails sunk into the meat of his back, tapping him, telling him to slow down or wait a bit. 

“I got ya, love,” Simon whispered calmly, adding another finger to pump in and out of your soaked cunt, your body reacted naturally to stimulus even if you’d cried no or stop, please, the body and mind were separate things. “I know, (Name), let me help ya.”

Help wasn’t what you’d qualify this as; although your body reacted to him, any body would do the same if they were on the receiving end. You wanted out, you wanted him to stop, but you also knew no one would love you the way Simon did, or the way Ghost did. He was your haven, your safe space that no one else could become, you already had him, why would you need anyone else. 

“That’s right. Ya got me, so ya don’t need anyone else, right?” 

You couldn’t reply, lost in the drowning sensation of being so full and stimulated by Simon, his big fingers dragging over the spot that made your mind numb and curling just right to make you see stars. Your body shook, crying out his name as pleasure washed over you, walls clamping on his digits, your hips bucked as you rode his hand. 

This is wrong, this is so wrong, Si, you wished you could tell him, but the orgasm made all thought disappear. When was the last time you fucked someone, or dated? You couldn’t remember having anyone significant other than family in your life. Sure, you’ve laid with some soldiers and boys when you were younger, more spry than your current age, but those were long ago and none were as big as Simon was. Men were rarely his size and height, he was a rivalling force in the military and in life. 

He was loving and tender, slowly pushing you over the edge a second and third time before he felt the need to stop, too ashamed of himself to relieve the unbarring and painful sensation of his hard cock straining against the tightness of his brief and pants. You were his priority, your pleasure being the sole purpose of this moment: locked in your shared room, walls reinforced to be sound-proof from the inside and being at the mercy of his skilled fingers. 

He gazed at you, eyes squinting at the fiery blush on your cheeks, warm and sweaty, your eyes dazed and teary from him, tired even, and your breath and heart rapid, loud and gasping. Your eyes met his and you smiled at him tentatively, unsure of how he felt now. Did he feel better? What happened that made him so riled up, mad? 

“I won’t let anyone touch ya, (Name),” he swore, caressing your cheeks sweetly with his clean hand. He loved you too much to lose you to someone else, he couldn’t let another man or woman take you from him like they did with his family. “I love you, (Name),” he said those words like they were a mantra, sacred words meant for you alone. 

“I love you too, Si.”

Only for you, Si. It’s wrong but for you, anything.

[nevadas-night-time-novelist]

More 2B x Hank x Reader

I am hungry

Polyamory am i right lol

2B x Reader x Hank

CW: Gore, Hank gets fucked up (when don't they tho), mentions of medical bugs

Doc worried when he needed to send you and Hank out, terrified that the implants in your spine would read [TERMINATED] and he'd have to hurry to anchor your souls and forcefully pull you back to the world of the living.

Hank was a loose canon at the best of times, but adding their much smaller, adorable lover into the fray made them go into reckless overdrive. He would do anything, absolutely anything to shield your body from harm. They were used to it, pain was something they'd come to expect and deal with, but any harm to you would cut deeper than any physical wound would ever.

And that lead to your current situation, you posted up on a chair next to Hank's bed as they deliriously slurred their words, high as a kite on whatever Doc had pumped into his system to quell the pain while he was reattaching a severed arm with small, precise sutures.

You hadn't seen it coming, an attack from behind, yet Hank did. In a split second, he thrust his body in the way, assailant's sword cleaving through his arm instead of your spine. Your back still sustained damage, but nothing nearly as terrible as it could've been.

Hank's giant hand squeezed your tiny one, breaking your reflection on the mission, and despite the delirium, they offered a smile. "Tiny.... Hands."

"Screw the mission!" Sanford barked as he lunged into the driver's seat, you and Deimos helping support Hank's weight as you two climbed into the truck bed. "What little we got will have to do, I ain't riskin' an ass whoopin' from Doc 'cause we let you two get fucked up."

Medical stuff was more of San's field, but so was driving, and a quick get-away was needed right now, with two MAGs thundering out of the base towards the vehicle. Deimos took off one of Hank's many, many decorative belts, and used it as a makeshift tourniquet to try and stop them bleeding out all over the truck because he would have to clean it otherwise.

"I can take them-" Hank tried to sit up and throw his missing arm, but you pushed them back down and chastised them.

"Don't be so stupid Hank, the last thing I need is you getting more hurt." And that settled them down.

Sanford had seen to your back once the four of you arrived home, Doc preoccupied with Hank's more severe injury. "Don't think you'll even need stitches Lucky, just a bloody cut that'll need disinfecting and a bandage."

"Can you move your fingers?" Doc spoke up, and Hank raised their reattached arm, slowly wiggling the digits. "Good, keep it clean or you could get an infection, and I really don't want to have to bring out the medical maggots again."

Doc sighed and rested an arm around your shoulders after taking off his bloodied gloves, mindful of your aching back. "You two will be the death of me, I swear." He took off his mask and sighed again, he looked stressed and tired.

"Sorry sweetheart." You kissed his scarred cheek, and he offered a relaxed smile. "I know it's scary sending us out, but I promise Hank and I will keep each other safe, and be more vigilant."

Doc returned the kiss, taking your chin into his hand and meeting your softer lips with his rougher ones. Hank grunted when your kiss lingered too long. "What about MY kiss?" They grumbled while casting their gaze between you two, now sitting upright.

"Alright Hanky, don't get so butthurt." You giggled, both you and Doc going in to showering him with love too.

[verdemoun]

Oh my god I wanna hear about Sean going to the dentist. All of them going to the dentist and doctor regularly please. Wanna see Arthur Morgan going to the doctor like "Jesus fuck you have the lungs of a man who's been chainsmoking since birth. Did you have some kinda lung disease" "haha whaaat that's crazy 🤯" how does the gang handle the doctors. Is Dutch antivax. Is Micah being as much as a asshole to the nurses as I think he'd be

Sean had to go to the dentist for complications involving a) smoking and b) y'know literally having teeth pulled and not healing correctly and assumed he would be fine with it because unstoppable Sean Macguire. Calmly talking about yeah got a tooth ache and sometimes this hole in my gum starts oozing randomly. Laying back in the chair making jokes about give me some of that good shit doc right up until they tried to put something in his mouth. Proceeded to jump up, punch the dentist at full strength hard in the jaw, throw the nurse over and sprint back to the reception room where several of the gang were waiting with tears in his eyes before going 'lol classic Sean' at himself. Hyperventilated for 20 minutes in the car 'hahahaaa what's wrong with me am I dying'. They found him a dentist who they very much warned about what happened to the last dentist and he absolutely has to be knocked out before they do anything even vaguely near his mouth. They've tried when he was almost out of it and he still started trying to fist fight and threw himself onto the floor before it fully kicked in.

Most of the gang go to the same doctor who is both scared of them and for them. Sees Bessie Matthews has made an appointment and just feels fear what strange old-fashioned creature has she found today! Unmedicated hyperactivity who will not stop making jokes but explode into violence if touched in the wrong place, with what look like cane scars over most of his back and ass? Semi-verbal adult who must come with another adult because he will stare at the fish tank so intently he will miss hearing his name called despite being fully aware and very compliant with picking up and taking his medication on time? Another mysterious oddly polite 40 year old with very obvious gunshot scars over far too much of their body? Adult women who have not heard of condoms and need a triple appointment to even understand the concept of birth control? Every. Single. One. Needing. Every. Single. Vaccine. Desperately wanting to know what cult they escaped to have missed so many. Getting a frantic phone call from the CDC that antibodies for smallpox were found in a blood sample he sent away for testing.

Arthur is so paranoid about his health. He went through feeling his body degrade and fail him and feeling like he was drowning in his own lungs when so much of his identity before then was being the workhorse and the enforcer and strong man. Getting a second chance in a body magically restored to the exact moment before he was infected with TB was as glorious as it was horrifying. Never wanting to feel sick again. Coughing because he swallowed wrong and immediately booking an appointment with his GP because he is terrified of getting sick. Modern medicine is his religion. Will never not use nicotine patches but is making a conscious effort to quit smoking because cigarettes bad for lungs. No longer having the gunshot wound on his shoulder from Colm but getting phantom pains. Plenty of other older injuries he had accumulated over his life he experiences pain from as he keeps aging. Sees a physio twice a week for trying to take care of himself physically.

Dutch is not anti-vax but he is very anti-big pharma despite relying on a colorful candy-like assortment of drugs to maintain balance. Acts like a victim despite never having to actually pay for his own meds and care because the VDLs cover it to make sure he is in a stable, positive environment. Goes on the biggest lectures about pharmaceuticals being a scam and the corrupt power of branding and lack of peer-reviewed studies into the effect of specific medications over time only to be called over by his doctor to discuss a new alternative to one of his current meds and excitedly skipping over 'oh goodie!!'.

Dutch is in the psych ward watching House MD and it becomes part of his identity.

Yes. Micah is a creep and doesn't believe women can be doctors. He is the token anti-vax. Nurse showing him to the exam room and he's like 'slow down lemme see that little canter' biting his lip fuckboy emoji. But he also goes to a dodgiest clinic in his sleezy local area so the fact he isn't actively groping the nurses makes him one of the less offensive people they have to deal with. Most of his visits to the clinic are because he's gotten pepper-sprayed or wrecked by a woman with self defense training yay go women I love women beating up Micah Bell.

[karlachismylife]

I feel so loved lol, also just imagining me and Ghost downing pills in the morning (cause pain ain't the only thing wrong pfft) just like 'cheers?' 'cheers' but seriously thank you, I really feel like people think I complain too much about it so when people let me rant and talk about it esp in this type of form where it's multiple messages (I'm a message spammer in heart, love just sending a million messages about anything my brain is thinking) it just makes me really happy. Cause like I don't really have many outlets for it as I haven't been able to see a physical therapist for my issues just a general practitioner which means all I have are meds right now so there's no progress other than my day to day issues so i feel like people get really tired about hearing about it or me talking about it

(previous post to get what we're talking about)

Well great, cuz you are loved! And yeah, that's exactly how it goes! And when Ghost takes his mood stabilizers he's like "this one's for you lovie". And the obligatory after-pill kiss! It might be a bit sticky and maybe even bitter after all that drug goodness, but it's just as important as pills, you know.

I dunno, love, I feel like if you're in CONSTANT PAIN you kinda can never complain ENOUGH about that shit. And I love getting many messages! It's a conversation. Makes me feel better that I didn't accidentally say the wrong thing too, you know, so we're all benefitting from this :)

Ooof but I'm still sad you couldn't see the specialist, I hope you can some time soon. Price would absolutely get you to the best one he can find; this man somehow avoids doctors himself like plague (pun intended), but you and the boys? Nuh-uh, no chance of slacking or missing appointments or postponing or whatever complication prevents you from going - Price has already dealt with it, get into the car, let him do your seatbelt cuz he's a gentleman like that, and off you go. Even if you have your physical therapy at home (his name's Johnny and even he insisted you go to a real doc no matter how much he likes taking care of you himelf).

Whatever instructions they would give you for what to do at home, though, Price makes sure to pass it down to Gaz, who's more than happy to do it with you. And he'll also probably do some excersises outside it with you too, maybe even get you both in a yoga class or something after you start to feel better. Or just you two in a living room with some youtube training video playing (I immediately went to 80s aerobics classes in my mind and imagined Kyle in bright pink leotard, fuck) or those audio instructions from apps like Nike has (I think?) in your earbuds.

And Ghost, Soap and Price just standing in the doorway/sitting on the couch and admiring the view. Yeah, physical therapy and some soft excersises. For health.

[newwritergirl]

On the brink | Part 4

Masterlist

When a case hits too close to home, is Jay able to keep it together or is he going to lose everything.

Summary: With Lily in the hospital because of Jay, the team has to wrap up the case without the two partners. But the most important question is, are they able to overcome this disaster?

Trigger Warnings: OCC, OC Lilian Grace Harper, asthma, past child abuse, protective Intelligence, Jay fucks up his friendship, canon divergence!

Word Count: 2.4k +

A/N: Here is the next chapter of my first Chicago PD fic, thanks for reading. This is more on the slower side but don't be afraid there's some more drama on the way :) thanks for reading

Will has to keep his rage in check after Ruzek told him what had happened earlier. He can't believe that his brother hurt the only woman who was always by his side, no matter what. She caught him after his bad heartbreak with Erin, she helped him during some bad episode of PTSD, she's his best friend and she could have been so much more, but he fucked up, royally. He has to help his brother to fix the broken pieces of this friendship but when he enters the treatment room and looks at Lily, shaking and absolutely broken in the hospital bed he doesn't know if they will be able to fix this ever.

With cautious steps to not startle the strawberry blonde further he draws closer until he takes a seat beside the bed.

"Hey, Lils. You're okay. Everything is going to be okay." Will grabs her hands and gives her a gentle squeeze.

"Will…" A heartbreaking sob is leaving her mouth. "I couldn't help him. I- I should've have tried harder…"

But the red haired doctor interrupts his friend immediately. "Lily, look at me, please. There's nothing you could've done. We both know Jay. He's a stubborn asshole. HE should be the one apologizing to you. He hurt you physically and I'm probably right when I assume that he also hurt you mentally the last weeks."

"But…" Lily tries to intervene.

Will stands up from his position on the uncomfortable hospital chair to sit down beside the shaking woman on the bed, gathering her smaller frame into his chest.

"No buts, Lily. He's to blame. I know he's your best friend and you would do everything to protect him, but this is on him. But we will fix this, HE will fix this. You're going to be okay."

---

The car ride to the young woman's house was quiet. With her raging headache and aching lungs she tries to concentrate on her breathing. Adam on the other hand occasionally casts worried glances in her direction. He doesn't want to leave her alone after being injured, with a concussion and after her bad asthma attack but he's needed at the precinct, with her and Jay down, cause Voight sent him home.

"Sunshine? Please stop worrying. We got the prick, it's over." Adam reassures her. At least they can close the case, the Jay-problem is the only thing they have to work out and Adam will move heaven and hell to get the two back on track. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see her nodding tiredly.

"I talked to Voight, you're off for the next days. Will is going to check on you later or tomorrow. But please call one of us if you're getting worse. Our doc wasn't too keen to discharge you that early."

A nod is all he gets from the woman beside him. Lily is clearly under shock. Not that she got injured in the line of work, she misses her partner. She needs Jay's closeness and she can't help it, she blames herself for the outcome of this whole dilemma. That's what she is, always protective of the people she is close with, blaming herself for their mistakes. She's the best cop in their unit, Adam thinks and softly strokes her left hand which limply laying in her lap.

"We gonna be okay, sunshine!"

---

The silence in her house is so loud with all the thoughts running in her concussed head. Memories of her childhood, insults of the guys in her old unit, happy moments with Intelligence, cuddly Sundays with Jay, everything is morphing into a painful chaos raging inside her brain.

Curled into a small ball on her couch she's staring into space when a loud knock is bringing her out of her thoughts. She doesn't want to open the door. She doesn't want to see anyone. Why can't they just leave her alone like everyone did in her past? She closes her eyes to shut the world out. But another round of knocks now louder are echoing through her silent living room. Lily pulls the blanket over her face, not ready to face another human being.

---

What has he done? He destroyed everything. The only person on this earth despite his brother who is family for him is hurt because of him. Lily is hurt and he doesn't even know how she is doing. How severe her injuries are. Is she still at the hospital? Is she alone at home or is Adam still with her? Jay fists his light brown hair into his hands when he hears keys jiggling in the lock and his front door slowly being opened. He looks up from his bent forward position on his couch. There are only two people who have a spare key to his apartment and one of the two is probably still in the ER because of him.

"Thought you wouldn't open the door if I would've knocked. Got something to eat for us." Will announces as he enters his brother's living room, taking off his thick coat and boots before making his way over to the brunette detective. Jay doesn't answer the red haired man, he sure as hell knows what happened today. Maybe even treated his partner in the ER.

"Cat got your tongue?" Will says as he lets himself plop down beside his brother.

"What do you want, Will? I got a shitty day and want to be alone" Jay replies annoyed not in the mood for the shit his brother is probably going to give him.

After Will finished his shift at Med he thought about going straight to Lilian but he wanted to talk to his brother first, after all Adam messaged him that the young female detective is safe and sound at home and resting, so he wanted to give her a bit more time to let the whole situation sink in and maybe sleep off her shock.

On the way to Jay's house he had to downscale his rage against his brother. He understands that this case hit too close to home for him. Ruzek told him a bit about the last days and that today was just the sad peak. He needs to talk some sense into him, Jay needs to fix this and that fast.

"Yes I know. That's why I'm here. Lily has a minor concussion, had to glue a laceration on the back of her head. She had a bad asthma attack but Ruzek was able to help her administer her spray at the scene before bringing her to Med."

Will saying his partner's name makes Jay immediately looking up. She has a concussion because of him? She even had an asthma attack because of his previous actions. Despite the huge tension in the last days he noticed that she looked sick. He knows the signs and under normal circumstances he would've forced her to take a break, but he was in his own head for too long. The dead veterans were more important than his partner, his best friend, the woman he loves.

"Is she still at Med?" The brunette man asks with a shaky breath.

"No. She wanted to go home. I was not happy to let her go, her lungs didn't sound as clear as I like them to be, but she insisted. Adam took her home, texted me a while ago that she's resting." Will tells Jay while showing him the message of the other detective.

"Jay, Ruzek told me. Are you fucking out of your mind? Lily is the best that ever happened to you. I thought…" But the redhead can't continue his speech when the man beside him suddenly jumps up and starts to pace in front of the coffee table.

"You think I don't know that?" Jay shouts at the older man who's patiently sitting on the couch. He knows what he did and he hates himself for that and not only for what happened today. His behavior the last days is disgusting him now. When Lily only wanted to help, to cheer him up and be there for him, what did he do? He pushed her away both figuratively and literally.

"Jay, stop it. JAY!" Now it is Will’s turn to shout at his brother. As much as he is pissed at the other man he is also there to calm him down and help him to face his demons. Jay stops pacing and for the first time since Will's unannounced arrival he looks at his brother, a tear slipping down his cheek.

The red haired doctor pulls the detective into a tight hug. "It's gonna be okay, man. You'll fix this. WE are going to fix this. But first of all, let us eat, before the take out gets even colder. Then we gonna talk about a plan how to fix this mess."

"IF I can fix this." Jay breathes in defeat.

"Look at me." Will grabs his brother's shoulders in a tight but not painful grip. "Lily loves you, you know that. She blames herself more than she blames you. She needs you just as much as you need her."

Jay needs some seconds to respond. After he dropped his gaze he now looks his older brother deep into his warm brown eyes. "That's the problem, Will. She is way too good to be true…"

---

"I know that you're at home, Lilian. Open the door or I will kick it down." The raspy voice of her sergeant can't be ignored that easily and Lily knows he will keep his threat and destroy her front door if she won't open it in the next seconds.

On shaky legs and a heavy head she makes her way to her front door. The cool air hitting her when she's greeted by a worried looking Hank Voight. In an attempt to make him some room she takes a step back but a wave of dizziness is hitting her hard. Two strong hands immediately grab her forearms to steady her swaying body.

"You good, kid?" Voight rasps in a soothing voice. After shutting her door with a thud he leads his youngest detective to her couch where she camped out the last hour.

"Lilian, you good?" He repeats his question clearly growing more worried each passing second the woman in front of him is not talking to him.

"Hank… Yeah, sorry. Just a bit dizzy. Got a tiny little concussion. Nothing too serious." She looks up at the older man crouching in front of her still holding her steady with her arms in his gentle grasp.

"I should've killed Halstead…" He mumbles as he makes his way over to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water for Lily.

She didn't know how thirsty she was until the cool liquid hit her tongue.

"Why did they discharge you when you're clearly not fit?" Voight asks rather annoyed as he takes a place beside Lily on the couch.

"I insisted, I wanted to be home, Hank. Will - Dr. Halstead is going to check on me." The strawberry blonde answers in great hope she can convince the older man that she's not as bad injured as he might think.

"Halstead? So now we're trusting that other Halstead guy when his brother is the reason for you being at Med in the first place?" Hank said in an annoyed slightly aggressive tone.

"No, no, no. It's my fault…" But her attempt to defend her partner is interrupted by a violent coughing fit. The urge to cough takes her by surprise causing her to bend over slightly in her seated place on the couch. She can feel her sergeant's worried eyes glaring into her hunched over form.

"Easy, kiddo. Do you need your spray?" The Intelligence Sergeant asks ready to jump up into action.

Lily shakes her head no and tries to calm down her painfully fast breaths. When she's calm enough to form a coherent sentence the young woman looks up at her boss beside her in an attempt to get the elephant out of the room. "How's Jay? You need my statement, don't you?"

Of course his first reason to drive to the house of his female detective was to check on her and see for himself that she's doing okay after being discharged. But he also needs her statement of the incident. He needs to know how he should handle the whole situation. He could suspend Halstead for his stunt, have his badge, let him go on patrol for the next weeks. But he wants to talk to Harper first.

"It - it was an accident. I slipped, that’s what will stand in the report." Lily looks up from her trembling hands in her lap. "I don't want Jay to get into trouble. I guess you already had his ass, back at the station."

"Lilian, he crossed a boarder. In my unit, we look out for each other. He didn't have your back. He hurt you…" The older man knew beforehand how Lily wants to handle this. Her protectiveness over people she's close with is nearly indestructible.

"Yes, he hurt me. But he's my partner, my friend. The closest thing I have, had to a family. Even if this is not going to work out anymore, I don't want to destroy his career. Please Hank." Her eyes are filled with unshed tears, the whole situation slowly sinking in. Will they fix their work and private relationship? A long time ago she vowed to herself that she will never be a victim of abuse again. But it was just the difficult case they had, Jay would never hurt her.

She feels Voight's hands on her shoulder squeezing slightly giving a bit comfort in that confusing situation. Her head starts to pound painfully and her glazed over eyes are the last straw for the sergeant to know that he needs to leave his young detective.

"Rest, kiddo. We can talk in the next days. Call if you need anything."

When she's finally alone again the adrenaline wore off, her whole body starts to ache and the cold is back in her bones. Too weak to make her way to her bedroom she lays down on her couch, snuggling into the soft cushions and into the thick blanket her partner gave her for her birthday last year.              

[rroaddkill]

Deja vu, a chucky fanfic told through the perspective of Tiffany Valentine, a reflection of how much her child looks like someone she used to really know well.

I wrote this for @stinkysstuff bc of a headcanon they have.

-

"Deja vu? What a strange feeling, I've never felt it before." Words I shouldn't say, because I have. It gives me anxiety every-time I do, wracks my brain with constant stress and pain. I remember too much, I live in the past. I live in a world where my son and his sister didn't exist and it was still us, he looks so much like you now it's almost like looking into a mirror of all my mistakes, it makes me sick. ill. And i hate being sick, I hate it with every fiber of my mind and body.

 I almost feel a sort of grief? It's like God's constant reminder of what I took away from myself years and years ago over something stupid, oh I remember it so vividly too..in full color, every sound made in that moment, every emotion, everything. My life changed forever…but it was for the better wasn't it? Was it not what gave us the life we have now? Even if we're apart, and I'm all alone with my thoughts. Knowing I can never fix it. I want you back so badly, but I'll never get any of that back. 

I grieve a lot about how much I fucked up, I FUCKED UP! I cheated the kids out of a present father, I cheated myself out of the best relationship and only relationship I've ever had..and for what? Because of something that happened and didn't cause me any physical harm at all? Fucking hell, I hate myself. I'm going to vomit everywhere, vomit my guts out, my blood, my tears can flow with it.

"Mom? You alright there?" A sweet and kind voice called out to me, breaking my intrusive thinking.. "yeah..ah..I'm fine, sorry honey." Glen smiled at me, his smile, his laugh, the way he looked and what he wore..everything brings me back. "I was asking if you liked my outfit, mummy?" The only thing that differs you from him is the slight accent, a slight British accent. I always found it cute, adorable that he holds onto it even though he's in a different body than his doll one, but..I digress, 

his outfit reminds me of you, fashionable like you were too, a black trenchcoat with a grey tweed material, I could've swore it was the exact one you had..a white sweater and dark purple plaid pants, his shoes being doc marten boots..oh he looks so much like you.. I miss you.

"Yeah, sweetface..you look great." I smiled lovingly at him, I knew that when him and Glenda left, whenever that'd be..I would end up going upstairs, reminiscing and sobbing my heart out, and god I hope I don't puke.

Come back to me, in a dream, or when I'm dead and decaying.

Come back to me, I won't rest comfortably until you do.

Even if it means death, I'll find my way back to you piece by piece.

Till death do us part, 

Remember?

[jade-kyo]

Red vs. Blue season 15-17 retcon pros and cons:

Season 16

Oh sweet 16…. Yeah I don’t like this season so expect a very long list of pros to this potential retcon as there are a lot of things I’ll be more than happy to say goodbye to

Pros:

No time travel bullshit

No Donut is Jesus

No gods

Everyone is so unnecessarily mean to Doc. I get that they’ve never exactly been nice and Doc did betray them but somehow they managed to push it to the point of feeling ooc

Oh god the absolute butchering of Tuckers character

The absolute butchering of Sarges character

I’m serious I will never forgive what they did to my boy Tucker

Painfully bad sex jokes

Grif straight up tries to kill himself???? Bro I think I blocked this from my memory 💀

The Tucker and Kai stuff is painful

The whole Sarge recruiting historical figures thing

Jax’s entire movie thing

NO FUCKING GODS

That fucking cyclops

Just… the entire cyclops thing.

I feel like animation is overused in this season

I forgot there was a second cyclops

Trying to explain time travel. Just give up, only one series has ever successfully done it and that is Steins;Gate and you’re not Steins;Gate

The way certain jokes would actually be funny if they were said by different characters. The whole bit where Jax is telling Sarge to hide in the closet but Sarge keeps saying his choice out loud would be way funnier if it was Caboose instead of Sarge. That kind of humor just fits way better for Caboose

King Tucker. I refuse to comment further on this.

Gods

Saying the word penis and seeing if people laugh is not comedy

The whole carwash joke. I get it’s poking fun at how the fans reacted to the “take off your suit” line, believe me I know, I was one of them (shhh I was 15 give me a break) but now it’s just awkward. I’m pretty neutral towards the ship now but I just don’t really care for making jokes this directly about any ship that isn’t canon

Again saying the word penis and hoping people laugh is not comedy. There is an art to a good dick joke.

This weird insistence on explaining the jokes

Saying your super powerful gods that can blow up moons, summon swords from nothing, change peoples physical sizes etc, are AI does not change the fact that functionally they are still basically gods with like one or two limitations. If they’re going this route they should’ve made the gods as powerful as Church was in the floaty ball with just a few extra powers since he never fully unlocked everything he could do with it. Or just follow whatever rules Halo canon has for the floaty ball thing.

Like I get it the aliens worship technology but if you didn’t want them to be actual gods then don’t give them god like powers on that scale

However on a funnier note, all of this being Church’s simulation is VERY funny. Especially when you think about how often he either jokes about being god or has actually been worshipped as a god. This makes everything much more entertaining that’s for sure.

The way Tucker basically just completely redoes his Chorus character development. The scene between Tucker and Kai on the space balcony thing is fine on its own until you realize it’s basically just a rehash of a scene between Tucker and Wash in season 12

Time travel bullshit (can you tell I really don’t like time travel)

Cons:

No Tucker wanting to bring Wash a whole pizza

No Donut is Jesus

That one cop voiced by Jeremy Dooley

Tucker being the one who shot Flowers. I actually didn’t mind that one (can you tell I’m desperate for things to put on the cons list)

there’s actually this really good conversation between Tucker and Kai about missing when things were silly and fun and they didn’t have to worry about messing up. That was nice.

Docs whole sad past with his brother like damn okay I can vibe with that. Was not expecting the tragic backstory from Doc.

I forgot Tucker killed Hitler that actually got a good laugh out of me

Wash and Carolina. That is all.

Wash’s disability

You know what? I like Grif and Huggins dynamic.

Caboose not knowing that women have butts (again I’m desperate to find cons and that joke made me laugh)

Caboose beating monkeys with a stick

As much as I despise what this season did with Tucker, Kai calling him out was very girl boss of her

Donut

Everything with Wash

Wash’s entire speech

Carolina telling Wash the truth about his disability. The entire scene is so good.

“My brain is fuzzy and I do good” Caboose says this line and I have always thought it was an absolute crime that we didn’t get some good Wash and Caboose moments about this

Muggins speech at the end. It’s very good.

DONUT

Donut vs Doc is actually a pretty cool fight

Verdict:

If the retcon is real I am truly not sad to see this season go. I really can’t stand it. Tho I do want to say that if this stuff had happened in the Blood Gulch Chronicles I probably wouldn’t mind it. I’ve always said that you can retcon the goofy stuff but once you do you can’t go back and that’s what this feels like. It feels like it’s trying be Blood Gulch again with how ridiculous and absurd the whole thing is and very simply you just can’t go backwards with this stuff. It doesn’t work.

However this all being Church’s simulation is a VERY entertaining thought and it makes this season much easier to watch that’s for sure.

[onemattwolf]

I like (hate) that I went from, "when will my sex drive return from the war 🥺" to "wait wow this person is PUSHING MY BUTTONS, oh yay my sex drive is back! ima have sex with them on friday and actually be properly into it this time 🥳😈" to "oh fuck my period started" within 24hrs.

and i just. Can't do period sex. T already causes ouch pain, add in period-based tenderness??? Nah. Also i'm cranky and feeling sorta gross and not feeling up to meeting someone new.

Just my luck. Like, before I *could* get aroused. And certain people have had an easier impact on me. But my body has been so fucked by hormone imbalances, things just aren't 100% fixed yet physically. And even though my T levels have been stable, my libido is.... Off.

It more matches the type of sex drive I had pre T. Add in the fact that sex has been overall a pretty meh experience so it's getting harder to get excited by the idea of sex with someone new especially. Dunno if the fit will be there.

T has caused some changes, I can explain pretty well how to make it work regardless, but it's been hard finding someone that will listen and adjust. Like, not even a "skill issue" or whatever, honestly it's been the best with people who aren't the most experienced but are enthusiastic. The worst with people who are all, "oh i've been doing this for years" and just do the same thing they do with everyone else and don't listen at all.

Everyone new has something to teach yknow?

And i think what got me going with this person was that they seemed to go about sex in a similar manner as I do. Blunt, enthusiastic, to the point. I need that *ping* now of "oh I think this person'll be a good match" before my sex drive actually gets going again i guess.

Eh hopefully i flirted good enough that they don't mind waiting til I've kicked this period to the curb. I forgot how well i can flirt when I'm actually horny lmao

I mean i've been able to be horny. But it's rarely directly at someone or even at the idea of sex (see before: sex has been eh). Just a few months ago i was so chronically aroused, I didn't even really have to be feeling it with the person to make the sex work. I was just GAAAHHH HORNY all the time. I miss that. Genuinely.

Because now, to make sex work i first need that PING, then i gotta be warmed up *slow* which is just, annoying. And on top of that it needs to be someone who's able to listen and be flexible.

The last person I saw, who I will see again because he's chill and I enjoyed getting him off, main issue is a pretty sizeable language barrier. We aren't quite understanding eachother, so even though he's enthusiastic and wants to be flexible and listen, things aren't quite connecting. I mean, I don't notice the language barrier as much out of the bedroom, but there's nothing like arousal to make your non-native language make less sense lol. If arabic wasn't a ridiculously hard language to learn i'd pick up some phrases for sex purposes....

Hoping these last few tests my doc ordered shine some light about why things are still funky.

[rhymingtree]

As promised. Here I aaaam! I vow never to be late for any more releases (at least until the break ends). I'm just so glad school is over and I get to do fun things without worrying over deadlines. 😌😌

Time for my cathartic suffering to recommence.

They’d planned on closing her in, tightening their circle until she was trapped in their line of sight.

She's gotten very good at squeezing her way out of tight circles. I thought they'd know that by now.

Literally it doesn't matter how much tighter the circle gets, she has either squeezed out of it or she just cuts through.

— “You wanted to play a game of death and destruction, eh, Doc?” — Bucky flinched, the voice shooting through his head at the same time a headache pierced behind his eyes. A wince rocked through him at the sound. He bowed his head, avoiding the sun as it broke over buildings.

hmmmm what

Now is a very not good time for good ol Soldat to be making himself known

Who the hell was that?

bro its your giiiirl

“You need some sleep.”

you don't get to tell him what he needs and doesn't need, oliver

Ooh Nat is doing some very stressed out detective work

I mean, she's always doing stressed out detective work, but now she's super stressed

this whole ordeal is giving me trust issues too. Which is a lot considering I already have trust issues.

I love how absolutely oblivious Sam is.

And everyone bullies him for it. It's okay though. he'll get there.

oooh they're figuring something out

 “Where are you going?” “Away from you,” Sam said, “You’re gonna get me in trouble. Again.”

Im sorry Nat I laughed at your expense

Yes Nat, you're onto something.

Come on and figure it out, the more the merrier.

If merrier was the right feeling.

YEAAAH SPIDERMAN

And... the New York... Shadow?

Omg I forgot his name

His smile widened as he knelt to unlace his boots before he silently kicked them off and crossed the room in a pair of strides as he tossed off his mask. He was under the blanket before he could blink, wrapping his arms around his husband as he slept.

They're so fucking cute.

“You’re back late,” Duke croaked through half-lidded eyes. A smile curled to his lips as Jack pressed a kiss to his jawline. “Early,” he hummed lowly, “It’s early.”

My excuse when I go to bed an hour before sunrise

“I’ve missed your eyes. Fuck me, they’re beautiful.”

I'm going insane about this

Am I envious and awed by the connection and unmoving love and affection these two share with each other that is a perfectly kept constant in the entire series? Yes. My jaw is on the fucking floor.

Am I terrified that all of this is going to amount to one of them dying or getting hurt or getting brainwashed (as you have threatened to do you devil) and tainting every happy memory I (and they themselves) have with blood and pain and destruction? YES ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY

These two make me cry.

When I finish this chapter I'm going back to their wedding so I can have a proper weep.

The sticky one EW

“You’re Spider-Man’s sidekick?”

Yes, Jack the full grown, adult, married, taxpaying(???) man is the 15 year old's sidekick. Ain't the craziest thing I've heard.

He was older…But Spider-Man had been a superhero for longer…right?

Bro you've been fighting bad guys in New Orleans and beyond before Peter even lost his Uncle Ben. 😐 You've got seniority. It's fine.

After weeks of chaos in his head and physically around him, it was like he’d finally figured out how to find peace. Even if his brain was going a million miles a minute—even if all his senses were picking up things he never knew existed—the instant he was with his husband, it all slowed down. And everything made sense. Even in the unfathomable, unpredictable world they had been thrown into, they made sense.

Right yeah I'm full on crying now.

Fuck you Darke.

Oh no... Sleepy Boone's a cockblock.

“I don’t know if she will.” “You did.”

Y'all are being wonderfully optimistic about this.

He still didn’t understand how that worked.

Does anyone really get how it works, though...

This may be because I haven't read BS:A in a month and I might have forgotten some things, but I have never related to Sam more than I do in this moment.

He’d been confused for the past month and a half. And, once he’d thought they’d figured something out, he was confused again.

Same bro.

Maybe everyone was simply stressed. Or sleep deprived.

This is either a high-stakes confidential investigation into a suspected HYDRA spy... or a day in my life trying to survive exams season.

SHE'S NOT A NAZI OH MY GOD

I love how close everyone is getting to answers but then it all blows up in their faces just before they could come to a solid conclusion...

Are all these trust issues going to lead to a Civil War-esque conflict

because if it is, I'm excited

And maybe that was what someone was counting on.

YEAH 👀👀👀👀👀 You could say that again

No really say it again, a bit louder this time so some ginger asshole 😐👀👀👀👀 prancing around Europe 👀👀👀👀 can FUCKIN HEAR IT

You know what I never understood about Peter Parker

He's a conventionally attractive intelligent kid in a science school. And yet he's getting bullied and isn't getting any attention from anyone (except probably MJ)

Sure he's scrawny and a bit awkward but I'd have thought that would be endearing and attractive.

I mean, I'd have a crush on him if he went to my school... to be fair, if you were to put him in my school, the bar would be so fucking low.

But STILL

And now he was dismantling the weapon himself. Mr. Stark wouldn’t mind. Peter would just do most of the work himself and then take the pieces to Stark. If anything went wrong…he’d say that he’d found it like that. Yeah…that’s it.

Wow. That's really fucking stupid, Peter. Congrats, you've reached the first of many lows.

“Some guy tried to vaporize me with it.” “Seriously?” “Yeah.” “Awesome,” 

Never change, Ned.

Okay, so he was called Shadow ok.

I still can't get over how serial killer-y the New York Shadow sounds to me

Yes, Ned should meet the Shadow.

i think the Shadow would like him.

Anyone in the right mind would like Ned. And the Shadow.... is not necessarily in the right mind right now but that's okay he'd still like him.

“Ned!” he whisper-yelled at his friend as Ned looked around in confusion. He waved him closer, “Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on.” Ned raised a brow in bewilderment, shuffling slowly toward him as he glanced between Peter and the two men that were sneaking down the hall.

Never change.

He swallowed thickly, reaching for his web shooter and switching the settings from shooting web fluid to a tracking device he’d gotten from Agent Romanoff after the fiasco in Colombia.

I never really thought about how or why Peter got all this cool stuff in his suit that he knew how to use before he disabled the trainwing wheels protocol but now I know.

It's not canon in the actual MCU but not even MCU writers gives a fuck about what's canon in the MCU now.

What Darke says goes. Her will is final.

The Shadow was definitely right. He was gonna need some help with this one.

The delinquent teeager with a growing hero complex admits to needing an adult supervisor. Fun.

Yay time for Ghostie and her psychopathic buddies fun trip through Europe again woohoo

I think we can safely say that Ghost is displaying signs of a personality disorder that is definitely trauma-related and it gets my gears turning.

It's also so daunting to see her fall apart mentally like this, contrasting her with Ghost from the flashbacks and especially Ghost from Origins.

And, when they did decide to shut up, Athena decided that you needed to be informed of something.

Hehehe ok that's funny. She's an instigator.

Travel Trip number god-only-knows-what-number: make time to rest and eat... also maybe don't stray too far away from your planned accommodations because now you're trapped in the middle of Europe being chased down by a rat and your very persistent boyfriend.

Doctor Novak has impeccable timing... don't tell me he was just watching her have a breakdown in the corner like the creep that he is.

Omg that mental image reminds me of the baby lizard in the corner of my room that was staring at me at 3am while I was crying.

He is now baby lizard. A very evil, coldhearted lizard.

Oof, I'm now imagining him as Silco. Not a friendly mental image.

 A large binder was set on the table, marked with an array of tabs and spattered with red pen.

He's just getting help for his research thesis is all.

Trying to make light of the situation right before reading a really graphic torture flashback made my stomach churn and I'm sorry.

A little too… Obedient.

I'm gonna puke.

No but I'm actually gonna love this scene aren't I

I am I definitely am

“You look perfect.”

Knowing how emaciated and downright ghoulish she proabbly looks right now, that's just... disturbing.

Even if he saw her as a weapon, she isn't in her prime right now. His idea of her being perfect is when she's close to breaking down, inches away from dying because of self-inflicted damage, which in this case was still being inflicted by him. All of what she is now is just the long term effects of his handiwork.

Ew. But also woah.

Oh he bought her coffee?? Novak knows his way to a psychopathic woman's heart.

Or at least my heart but I don't wanna think about that.

As you…A-As you did what you were told.

Darke what the fuck...

“And you think you can control me?” “No, no. Of course, not. Even I cannot control you, Ghostie,” 

The thing is, he is in a way, still controlling her. He knows it. She's in denial about it. He's enjoying it.

But your fingers couldn’t wrap around the object. You couldn’t reach it…even if it was within your reach. A pained gasp left your lips as you tried again, “What are you doing?” The words came out in a panicked huff as you began to shake. “I am doing nothing,” he said, watching you carefully as he lifted his pen and began jotting down notes.

Ooh the first thing that came to mind is the pheromone lock thing that Dreykov put in the Widows, but I don't think that's what's happening here.

The second thing that came to mind was that scene in Moon Knight when Steven was trying to hand the scarab to Arthur Harrow, and one of the other alters (probably Jake) was physically stopping him from handing it over.

You could kill Ollie before he even knew you were there. You could kill him and everything would go back to normal. Then you could go home.

But it never ends with going home, does it?

Darke, that was one of the best scenes I ever read.

What the fuck are you doing to your poor protagonist

The Shadowman 😭😭 What, is he some washed up magician in Las Vegas now?

If Mr. Stark was so busy, Peter would take care of it himself.

PETER NO

NO NO NO NO NO

🙂

If this was a very persistent canon event unfolding, at least Miguel would be happy about it.

Ugh I hate that I'm now annoyed reading Bucky's POV because Ollie IS ALWAYS NEXT TO HIM AND HE KEEPS OPENING HIS FUCKING MOUTH

Oh no

She didn’t move, staring at their car as it came ever closer. “Move. Move. Move,” he whispered under his breath, the word coming out like a prayer. She stayed where she was, staring them down without any emotion. No. No. No.

oh wow...

“Maybe she has someone inside Aftermath,” he cut him off with a shrug, ignoring the glare he got from the man. “What—” “She’s been one step ahead of us from Colombia.” He licked his lips nervously, “Maybe you need to check your seals.”

Yes well about that...

“She was aiming at you. And, to be fair, you kinda deserve it.” “Who’s side are you on?” “At this point? It’s varying.”

This would be a really funny fight if I wasn't so stressed out

She wasn’t thinking. She was following orders.

Well, they're figuring this out, at least.

All this stress is making me miss Wakanda even more...

Oh Peter... you child.

Honestly, Jack, what did you think was gonna happen, trusting a kid to hand over a highly hazardous alien technology to a very busy sleep-deprived old billionaire who's got a lot on his plate

Before Jack could get away from the kid, a shot of white webbing went hurling at him. It wrapped around his wrist and sent it into the wall, trapping him there. A growl echoed through Jack’s chest as he pulled against the webbing and it didn’t give, “Seriously?”

HAHAHAHA

What makes it funnier is that it takes hours for webbing to dissolve so if Pete leaves him there, he's really not going anywhere

HAHAHA

aw dang super soldier got out of the webbing too fast. What a killjoy.

Oh no... now Peter thinks he's one of Ollie's guys

Which means he could tell Ollie about the Shadow guy... who's trying to help him take down the people providing Ollie with weapons...

Oh. No.

“Spider-Man and the Shadowman ride again!” “I already regret this.”

Oh god if this becomes a mentor/mentee thing...

Darke, you know what happens to Spidey's father figures!

IT'S A CANON EVENT

WHAT ARE YOU DOING

“I-I don’t know!” You cried, “I-I don’t miss. I-I never miss. I can't miss. I didn’t miss. I swear.”

So.... Jinx?

Psychosis?

Borderline insanity?

Hmmmm

He was your mission. And you weren’t going to fuck it up again.

Girl I'm scared.

I'm feeling a lot of emotions right now but scared is the overwhelming feeling.

You write her breakdown so well though... the way she's scared of what she's becoming, of how she reacted to Novak. It's great. I love it. I'm terrified.

The stress you're putting your characters under... oh my god.

Bucky's persistence to getting to Ghost and helping her, even though he's thought of all the possibilities of what's going on, why she's doing this; like, he's considered that she was genuinely a sleeper agent and he's still trying to help her... where do I find a man that dedicated?

WHERE!? I need one!

And the Homecoming Arc is going so well!! I love it!! I love how now that the Avengers are genuinely busy and stressed out trying to find Ghost, them not paying as much attention to Peter and the concerning shit he's getting into doesn't feel like them being assholes towards him.

Like we know what they're going through. They're not just ignoring him and sweeping him under the rug for no reason. Idk, that kinda bugged me watching Homecoming, because Tony's not that busy in the movie. Now, he's got valid priorities.

I'm just scared you'll hurt Jack now. I can hear Miguel's theme in the back of my head.

I'm heading into ch93 nowwww woohoo

Still scared though.

CHAPTER 92: SINS OF THE FATHER

To all my live reactors,

Please, please, please, hide your reactions under a Read More cut. I don’t want any spoilers floating around. 

&

To all my Anonymous Avengers, 

If you want to react in my asks, feel free. However, I won’t be answering any of them until at least Wednesday if they contain spoilers. 

Thank you,

Darke

┍━━━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━━━┑

No. No. No. No. No.

It couldn’t be him. No.

Athena would have told you if he was in the city.

He wouldn’t come anywhere near you. Not when you were like this. He was smarter than that.

Your chest tightened as the crowd around you brushed past you and you slowly turned to face the man in the window. His dark, nearly black, eyes met your and, in an instant, your mouth went dry. Your body went rigid. Your breath was caught in your throat as your stomach tightened in endless knots.

— “You think he is going to save you?” he asked, staring down at you as you fought against your restraints, “You think he is going to be the one to release you?” —

— A screech tore through your throat as the Soldier simply watched the blade slip across your shoulders. He didn’t move. Didn’t react to your pleas for help. —

— “He is not a hero,” the Doctor whispered, slashing the blade through more skin, “He is a weapon. And weapons, my dear, they do not weep. They do not scream. They do as they are told.” —

┕━━━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━━━┙

» CHAPTER 92: SINS OF THE FATHER

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♜♠ Tʜᴇ Sᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ & Tʜᴇ Sᴘʏ

⧗ Tʜᴇ Rᴇᴅ Rᴏᴏᴍ

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[xjoonchildx]

greedy | myg x reader | epilogue: bases loaded

summary: being a loner has never bothered yoongi until now.  until you.

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 1.3K

notes:  thank you endlessly for reading, reviewing and sharing this story. i’m so in love with this tough-but-secretly vulnerable yoongi and you’ll never know how happy it makes me that you guys love him, too. i hope you enjoy how the story ends. either way, i’d love to hear from you! please send me an ask here and tell me what you think.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

*******************

Fuck, it’s hot.

The forecaster called for a high of 91° today, but he must have missed that mark by at least a hundred degrees.  There is no breeze and absolutely no respite from the unforgiving sun here in the cheap seats.

The Lions batter connects with the ball -- finally -- and Yoongi winces as he watches it sail right over the foul line.

Beneath his sling his arm feels sticky, itchy. 

He’d love nothing more than to rip that sling off and go to town on his arm with his fingernails, but any moment now you’ll be back from the concession stand.  You’ll probably hold his hot dog hostage if you catch him.

So Yoongi tries to focus on the game, not the itch.  But the game sucks and Yoongi curses under his breath when the next Lions batter flies out on the first pitch.

Nine weeks ago, Yoongi never would have guessed that surgery would be the easy part. 

Going to sleep for a few hours and letting doctors cut into his skin and bone turned out to be a breeze compared to everything that’s come after.  The physical therapy has been grueling and painful.  Simple tasks like dressing and showering, even pouring a bowl of cereal have become a complete pain in the ass.  

He’s not sure he could have gotten through any of it were it not for you.

By now, he’s lost count of the ways you’ve taken care of him.  Lost count of the meals you’ve cooked for him, the loads of laundry you’ve done for him, the very, very creative ways you’ve come up with to make love to him.  He’s probably due for a new couch at this point. The damned thing started creaking last week.

So he’ll buy a new couch. 

He’ll buy a hundred new couches if it means you come home to him at night.

The days of arduous physical therapy are long forgotten when you shower and slip into bed beside him.  When you warm those forever-frigid feet against his under the covers and curl into his side.  When you wake up in the morning and make coffee and tell him wild stories about strange objects you’ve pulled from someone’s strange orifice the night before.

That’s how most nights go.  But not every night.

So it’s not enough.

It’s not enough because no matter how much Yoongi gets of you, it’s never enough.  He still wants more.

He walked to the drugstore before the drive to Daegu today.  He bought you a brand new toothbrush, one of those fancy electric ones with all the bells and whistles.  And he’s been waiting for the right time to tell you all afternoon, appreciating your pretty eyes and sunburnt cheeks.  

Waiting for the right time to tell you that he really wants you to stay.

***************************

“Wow, that line was brutal,” you mutter, and Yoongi looks up from beneath the rim of his snapback to find you balancing two hot dogs and a basket of fries in your hands.  You drop carefully into the seat beside him, grinning.  “I thought I was going to have to fight this kid for the last ketchup packets.”

Yoongi can’t help but grin back.  

The game sucks and the heat sucks and his arm sucks -- but you?  You definitely don’t suck. 

“Can’t get arrested for fighting kids at the concession stand, Doc,” he teases.  “The lockup here in Daegu is not exactly swanky and I can tell you that from experience.”

He reaches over with his one good arm to steal a french fry but you wrinkle your nose, pulling the basket away childishly.

“The hot dog is yours.  These are mine.”

“Wow,” Yoongi huffs.  “You’re gonna deny a one-armed man french fries?  That’s dirty.”

 “I’ve seen your bloodwork, Min,” you shrug.  “It’s time to back off the cholesterol.”

Yoongi chuckles, shaking his head.

“So how’s it going?

“Bears are still up by five,” he sighs.  “Can’t believe I waited my whole life to watch them play this shitty in person.”

“Poor thing,” you tease, cutting your dark, sparkling eyes at him.  You begrudgingly hold a french fry out to him; a greasy consolation prize.  “Okay, fine.  I’ll give you one.”

Yoongi leans into you, pretending to go for the fry but stealing a kiss instead.  

“Sneaky,” you breathe, lips soft against his.  “But I’ll allow it.”

“Nothing to allow,” Yoongi smirks, grabbing the fry out of your hand.  “I already got it.”

You smile, turning away to look out onto the field.  

The stadium is nearly empty by now, most of the hometown fans leaving after the 7th inning when it was clear this game was headed straight into the toilet.  A Bears batter hits a line drive that whizzes right past the Lions shortstop’s glove and Yoongi claps a hand over his face.

“Swear to God, they haven’t had a season this bad since I was nine years old.”

You tut and hand him another fry.

“Namjoon offered me a job,” you announce, eyes still on the field.

Yoongi freezes, mid-bite.  

He knew this was coming, of course.  Namjoon had taken him aside one afternoon and spelled out his plan to extend the offer.  Yoongi knowing all too well that the Gajog has never been in need of a full-time doctor.  The offer is a gift, an extension of family protection.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t know,” you grumble, rolling your eyes.  “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Okay, fine,” Yoongi grins.  “What did he say?”

“He said he’d set me up with a clinic space,” you murmur, watching another Bears lineman crack a base hit.  “Unlimited supplies.  Nurses, if I need them.  And he said he’d pay me more every year than I think I’ve made altogether since leaving medical school.”

“So are you gonna take it?” Yoongi asks carefully.

You’re quiet for a moment, dark eyes serious before turning to him.

“No.”

He knew that was coming, too.  

“I’ve worked really hard for this,” you say softly.  “And I want what I’ve earned the right way.  This isn’t judgement on you or them, but it’s not for me.  You understand, right?”

“Of course,” Yoongi says and he means it. You press your lips to his cheek before resting your head on his shoulder.

Secretly, he breathes a little sigh of relief.

He likes that you’re his piece of peace separate and apart from family business.  He likes that you’re his oasis away from the ugliness and bullshit that come far too often in this line of work.  He likes that you’re not some hand-me-down from a mothballed church widow or an act of charity from Kim Namjoon.  

He’s earned this thing with you all on his own.

“Doc,” he whispers, planting a kiss in your hair.  “I need to tell you something.”

“Go for it,” you whisper back.

“I bought you a new toothbrush.  It’s super fancy.”

You pull away from him, feigning shock.  “How fancy are we talking here?”

“Like, two hundred settings.  Video calls.  Takes bitcoin.”

“Ooh, that does sound fancy,” you breathe, smiling.  “What’s the occasion?”

Yoongi takes your hand into his, laces his fingers into yours.  

“I want you to move in with me,” he murmurs.  “If that’s what you want.”

You go quiet on him again.  Only this time, your mouth quirks into a soft smile before you lean in to press it to his.  You kiss him slow and unhurried, lips tasting like peanut oil and salt, and in that moment Yoongi decides it’s his favorite flavor of you.

“So is that a yes?” Yoongi asks, grinning when you pull away.

“Yeah.  That’s a yes.”

You both turn your heads when what’s left of the crowd starts to boo.  The Bears have just loaded the bases, top of the ninth inning, no outs. 

“This game is terrible and it’s blazing hot,” Yoongi groans.  “We should go somewhere to cool off.  And celebrate.”

“Hmm,” you sigh happily.  “What do you have in mind?”

“If you’re up for a walk, I know a place nearby,” he murmurs, planting a kiss behind your ear.  “Great milkshakes.”

You smile.  

***********************

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST 💕💕💕

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[nastybuckybarnes]

In a Heartbeat  -  Seven

Pairing: Fireman!Bucky X Reader

Summary: You’ve always been careful with your heart. With your condition, you don’t exactly have any other choice. The last time you let someone in, you paid the price. A price you don’t plan on paying again. Until Bucky comes in and shatters your carefully crafted world.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Injuries, Fluff, Fluff, FLUFF

Word Count: 4.1K

A/n: Here she is! Part seven! I’m gonna write a little epilogue but the fic can very well end here! I love this series with my whole heart and soul omg

Series Masterlist

~*~

He’s numb.

So damn numb.

Nothing even matters. His ears are ringing, the bright lights bouncing off the linoleum floors are fucking with his eyes but he doesn’t care because you’ve been in the operating room for hours and all he wants is to see you, to make sure you’re okay.

No one’s said a single thing to him about whether or not you’re okay, and it’s taking all of his self-control not to break down that door and see for himself.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, jolting him from his thoughts and bringing him back to the loud sounds of the waiting room.

He furrows his brows at Steve, confused out of his mind until he sees Tommy in his other arm, head resting against his father's shoulder and a casted arm hanging limply at his side.

“Hey Tommy, how you feeling?” The brunet asks, his voice rough and hoarse with lack of use.

The six-year-old only whimpers softly in response, burrowing further into his father’s neck.

“He’s okay. Doctor’s got him on some painkillers. Said it was a clean break from pounding on that window.” Bucky stands up, rubbing his nephew on the back. “You’re a hero, buddy. Just like your daddy.” Tommy sniffles and nods, the sight breaking the man’s heart.

“You should head home for the night, Buck. Shower, rest, then come back in the morning.” He clenches his jaw and swallows hard, shaking his head.

“I-I can’t, Steve. What if... what if she comes out and I’m not here? Or what if...” He trails off, not even wanting to entertain the idea of the other option.

“I saw Nat on her way down here. Ask her for an update and then go home. You’ve had a long day. And when she’s out of surgery she's gonna be upset to see that you’ve exhausted yourself out here in the waiting room.” Steve has a point. Both men are still in their fire gear, having rushed to the hospital directly from the fire.

It’s after midnight now.

“I’m taking Tommy home. Take care of yourself tonight, Buck. If not for you, then for her.” He nods, eyes on the floor as the blond leaves, his son curled up against his side.

“Barnes? You’re still here?” He looks up at the sound of Natasha’s voice, desperation evident on his face as she walks over to him.

“I’ve got no update other than she’s unstable and that they’re doing everything they can. It’ll be another few hours before she’s out of surgery and even then, she’s going straight to the ICU and won’t be awake for at least a day or so.” He lets out a terribly shaky breath but nods, rubbing his eyes then pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Y-you’ll call if there are any updates, right? I’m just gonna pop home and shower and sleep for a few hours but I'll be back first thing in the morning.” She nods, taking his hand and squeezing tightly.

“I’m off for the rest of the night, so I’ll be sticking around bugging the nurses for updates whenever I can. Might even bribe an intern with good coffee, not this hospital shit.” Bucky chuckles softly, shaking his head.

“Okay.” He takes a step towards the exit then hesitates, looking back at the redhead for a. moment. “Do you think she’s gonna make it?” He asks, his voice soft and broken and nearly lost among the sea of people.

Natasha swallows hard and avoids his eyes, taking a deep breath before answering.

“The doctors are doing everything they can.” A rehearsed answer. An answer she gives to relatives to let them know that they shouldn’t expect much.

He says nothing, only gives her a firm nod, then turns and leaves the hospital.

Hot droplets of water rain down on him, washing away the stench of smoke and the physical reminder of the events of the day. But no heat and no water pressure will wash away the sorrow in his soul. The absolute unadulterated fear that grips his bones and seeps into his bloodstream. That is something that won’t be washed away by any amount of water and suds.

His movements are mechanical, scrub, rinse, dry, dress.

The sleep that finds him is restless and fitful, filled with nightmares that will haunt him for nights to come. Every thought, both waking and otherwise, are occupied by you. Your face, your smile, your laugh, and the thought that he may never experience any of them again.

He's back at the hospital at six-thirty, coffee in his metal hand because his flesh one is shaking too much.

Just as he’s walking to the reception desk, he sees Natasha walking towards the waiting room. Her face is unreadable when she sees him, but he notices her take a deep breath.

“What is it?” He asks, not bothering with pleasantries.

“She’s out of surgery. She’s still unstable, hasn’t woken up yet, but she’s been out for about three hours. She probably won’t wake up until this evening.” He takes a few deep breaths then nods, a bubble of relief hugging him tenderly.

“Where is she?” Nat sighs and turns on her heel, leading him towards your room.

“James, I’m not going to sugar coat this for you. She’s not doing well. There’s still a fair chance that she won’t wake up.” She stops, looking up at him with vulnerability in her eyes, tears brimming.

“What is it?” He’s nervous, his heart feels like it’s going to explode.

“They’re saying she needs a transplant. That her heart won’t last for much longer and if she wants any hope of surviving more than a couple years, she’ll need a new heart.”

The air leaves his lungs in a whoosh, almost as if someone punched him in the gut. He stumbles back a step, coffee dropped and hands coming to the tops of his thighs as he hunches over, trying to catch his breath.

“That’s a best-case scenario. Worst case is she... well... we should’ve said our goodbyes. But she’s strong. She’ll pull through. She has to pull through.” That last part is whispered so softly that the brunet almost misses it.

“Nat,” his voice breaks, it cracks and splinters and shatters in pieces on the linoleum that he doesn’t have the energy to pick up. He can’t pick himself back up. Not if you might not wake up. He just can’t.

“Sit down, c’mon.” She helps him lean back against the wall, sliding down until he’s seated, arms draped over his knees and his head hanging heavily between them.

He can’t breathe.

A sick voice in his head screams that this is what you must’ve been feeling, this terrible tightness in your chest, this inability to draw in a single damn breath. It’s unbearable and for just a moment he realizes he wouldn’t blame you if you gave up, if you just let it take you. But he shakes that thought from his head and instead focuses on you fighting. You need to fight. If you can pull through, then they can find you a new heart and you’ll be okay.

You’re going to be okay.

You have to be okay.

~*~

Everything feels still. Dry. Bland.

If you could pin it to a colour, that colour would be beige.

Everything feels beige.

You’ve been awake for a little while now, gathering your bearings and trying to remember what happened. The last thing you remember is the fire bell... Wanda telling you not to go... and then running back into the building to find Tommy.

Tommy.

Your heart picks up in speed, pain flaring through your chest at the action, and an alarm starts beeping rapidly.

It takes only seconds for the door to open, nurses and doctors flooding into the room and checking the various machines around you while you grab at the front of your hospital gown uselessly, trying to alleviate the pain.

“(Y/n), I need you to take a big breath with me, okay?” A doctor says, her brown eyes focused on yours. You nod, inhaling with her for a moment then exhaling. You do this a few times and the machine gradually stops, your heart slowing as whatever they injected into your bloodstream takes effect.

Nurses slowly trickle out, leaving just you and the doctor.

“Well, you sure know how to make an entrance,” she says with a smile, looking over your chart.

“What can I say, Doc? I’ve got a flair for the dramatic.” Your voice is weak, far weaker than it should be, and that alone scares you.

She chuckles softly, smiling at your words before tucking the chart under her arm and looking at you straight on.

“You being alive right now is an absolute miracle,” she says softly, taking a step towards the bed then motioning to the chair beside it, asking wordlessly if she can take a seat.

You nod, taking a few deep breaths as you prepare to hear whatever news she has for you.

“Your heart stopped twice on the way to the hospital, and the second time we almost couldn’t get it going again. Your heart is weak, and what you endured nearly ruptured your left atrium and you had severe lacerations of your ventricles. It is most comparable to a very severe heart attack, and you’re lucky to have survived.”

She doesn’t look like she’s delivering good news. No, she should be happy if you’re lucky to have survived. That fact alone puts you on edge.

“What is it? What... what’s wrong with my heart now?” You know it can’t be good judging only by the look on her face. It’s a look you’ve seen far too many times.

“With the rate you’re going, your heart will give out completely in three or four years. And it won’t be a pleasant process. You’ll be in pain, bedridden and hospitalized because you won’t be able to move. The only alternative is a transplant.” The world around you shifts from beige to grey, the clouds dark and the room sorrowful.

Your ears start ringing, loud and painfully and it takes everything in you not to rip them right off.

“S-so that’s it then? I’m gonna die in three years if I’m lucky? I’ve only got three years left?” She sighs and looks down at her hands, “the only other option would be to put you on a waiting list for a new heart, but we cannot guarantee that you’ll get it in time, but it’s worth a shot.” You shake your head, tears falling from your eyes and splattering on the ugly blue hospital blanket.

“I don’t want a new heart! I don’t want to go through a process and get my hopes up over something that I won’t get in time.” You sniffle and shove your face in your hands, the steady beeping of the machine next to you making you want to cry even harder.

“I’ll give you some time, (Y/n).” The doctor gets up and leaves, a sad look on her face as she turns to the pair waiting anxiously outside your door.

Natasha pushes herself to her feet, her eyes wide with curiosity and desperation.

“I recommend you give her space. She’s... processing everything,” Doctor Palmer says softly, giving Natasha a sad smile before walking away to handle her other patients.

Nat exchanges looks with Bucky then slowly walks to the door.

“Just give me a minute to see how she’s doing, okay? I’ll tell her you’re out here waiting, I just wanna see if she needs anything.” He takes a deep breath but nods, understanding that Natasha would be able to tell, if only from a medical standpoint, what you need.

You keep your face in your hands, tears wetting your palms, as the door opens again.

“Beans?” Nat’s voice makes you stiffen, sniffling and wiping your eyes before peeking up at her.

Her heart shatters in her chest at the sight of you.

Skin dull, eyes heavy and sunken. She’s seen a lot of sick people before but never would she have put you in the same category as them. Now though? Now, you look the part.

“I uh... I heard the news. Bugged the nurses for updates and they finally caved.”

Your bottom lip wobbles and then a sob bubbles out of your chest.

Nat’s face falls and she slides onto the bed beside you, pulling you into a tight embrace while you sob.

“Oh beans,” she whispers, smoothing your hair away from your face.

“I don’t want a new heart!” You cry, tears soaking her shirt. She hugs you, holds you tightly while you cry out your frustrations, your sorrows.

It’s agony.

She has so many questions, so much she wants to say, but she knows better.

She holds her tongue, wanting you to be in a better headspace before she talks to you about your options. It’s too soon. The wound is too fresh.

Bucky sits impatiently outside of the room the whole time, leg bouncing and flesh fingers trembling.

Natasha comes out of your room a short while later, sniffling and wiping at her cheeks.

“What’s happening? Is she okay?” The redhead nods, taking a few deep breaths.

“I’ve seen a lot of sick people, Barnes. A lot of them. But seeing her... seeing my friend so weak and tiny...” She shakes her head, looking up at him with glossy eyes.

“I’m scared, Buck.” Bucky pulls her into a hug, his own breaths shaking.

“It's okay. It’s gonna be okay.” She sniffles again then speaks, “she’s asleep again. She should be good to see you the next time she wakes up though. I’m sure she misses you.” He squeezes his eyes shut but nods, trying to mentally prepare himself to see you in such a fragile state.

~*~

Bucky doesn’t know how to feel.

He doesn’t even want to feel.

Helpless.

That’s the word that sums it up the best.

Seeing you on that hospital bed, tubes attached to your face, arms, and chest, he feels absolutely helpless.

“Hey,” he murmurs, smiling gently when you look up from your book.

“Bucky... Hi.” Your voice is raspy and hoarse, and he has to take a few shaky breaths to stop from crying.

“You mind if I sit?” You shake your head, motioning to the chair beside your bed.

He takes a seat and looks at you closely, his eyes welling up with tears.

“How ya feelin, pretty girl?” You huff a breath out through your nose then shrug, trying your hardest to stay strong in front of him.

“I uh... I’ve been better, I gotta say.” He chuckles weakly then nods, sniffling and dropping his gaze for a moment.

“Nat uh... Nat told me what the doctors said. About your heart and stuff. That’s... intense.” It’s not the best word but it’s the only one he can find.

You blow a breath out through your mouth and nod.

“It’s scary,” you whisper, not looking up from your hands even when he takes them in his.

“I’m scared. I don’t want to be put on a waiting list only to not get one in time. And there are people who need a new heart more than I do. People who want one more than I do.” He furrows his brows and cocks his head to the side in confusion.

“What do you mean, you don’t want a new heart? Why wouldn’t you want one?”

You sigh heavily, “because, James. This is my heart. It’s the heart that I’ve lived with for my whole life. I don’t want a new one because this one is mine. This is the one that’s dealt with heartbreaks and betrayals. This is the one that’s gotten me through the bad days and the good. And this is the one that chose you. I don’t want a different one. I wanna keep this one. And don’t you dare tell me that my days are numbered if I keep this one because my days are numbered regardless.”

You finally look up at him, fire in your eyes as you express everything that’s been going on in your mind.

“We’re all gonna die someday, and it may not be the way we expect or the way we want, and we won’t ever be fully ready for it. But it’s gonna happen. I’d much rather know that I spent my life doing what I wanted on my terms. If my days are numbered, I'd rather enjoy them than spend them waiting for a heart I may never get. My heart’s still got a few years left in it. Careful years, yeah, but years no less.”

Tears stain his cheeks and he nods, sniffling twice then pressing a kiss to your hands.

“I’m not going to try and change your mind, Doll. The choice is completely yours and no matter what you decide to do, I’ll stay by your side through all of it, I promise. You’re my girl, my best girl, my only girl, and I want you to do what’s best for you.” You squeeze your eyes shut, having mentally prepared yourself for him to put up a fight, not for him to be so supportive of your decision.

“I love you, (Y/n). And I’m gonna cherish every fucking moment that you let me spend with you because I love you. I thought,” he pauses, pulling a hand back to scrub the tears off of his cheeks only for more to fall.

“I thought I’d lose you before getting a chance to truly tell you. But I’m not gonna waste any more time because life is a precious gift. I love you, (Y/n). So much. To the fucking ends of the Earth. I love you and I don't want a day to go by where you don’t know just how much I love you.”

You whimper, his confession making warmth spread through your body and tears rain down your cheeks.

“I-I love you too, James. With every ounce of my heart, I love you. And I don't want to let you down and I never want to hurt you.” He closes his eyes, content to bask in the weight of your words for a moment longer, a private, intimate moment.

He eventually settles his head on the bed next to your hip, and your fingers find their way into his luscious brown locks, twirling the thick strands around mindlessly.

“When are you getting discharged?” He asks, his voice muffled by the bed.

“I’m not sure yet. Doctor Palmer said she wants to keep me here for at least another week or so to monitor my heart and take me off the medication, and then maybe some more time after that depending on how weak I am.” He nods, nuzzling against you some more.

“I’m not going back to work ‘till you’re out,” he says matter-of-factly.

You only giggle, shaking your head.

“James, that’s not even plausible. You’ve got bills to pay. Besides, you’ll get tired of being here. I’m gonna spend most of my time sleeping or bugging the nurses for some real food.” He lifts his head, eyes full of vulnerability.

“I just don't wanna leave you and then...” He trails off but you understand his concern.

“I’m gonna be okay. Doctor Palmer says I’m doing okay. I’m sure Nat will continue bugging her for updates and she’ll let you know if there’s anything concerning happening. But I’m gonna be fine, I swear.” He watches you for a moment longer before nodding and pressing his head against your thigh.

A thought bubbles into your mind and you tug gently on his hair to get his attention.

“What happened to Tommy?” You ask, voice tight and filled with apprehension.

Bucky only smiles gently.

“Lil guy’s a hero. He busted that window open, that’s how we found you two. Broke his arm but he’s okay. Says he looks like me so he likes it.” A smile finds its way onto your face at the idea of Tommy looking up to his uncle so much.

“He’s already gotten everyone at the firehouse to sign it, and I’m sure when he’s back to school he’ll get everyone there to sign it too. But the lil guy’s a hero. Gonna make a good firefighter.” You nod, mind flashing back to those last few moments in the school.

“I was so scared, James. I-I couldn’t protect him and I didn’t know what to do.” He reaches up and strokes your cheek gently, shushing you softly.

“It’s okay, pretty girl. It’s okay. Everyone’s okay.” You take a few deep breaths and nod, trying to calm down before your heart rate picks up too much.

“You need to worry about yourself, and not everyone else. Focus on getting better, okay? And then, when you’re ready, I’m gonna take you out on a date and show you just how much you can enjoy life, okay?”

You nod, smiling at him.

“Okay.”

~*~

“Miss (Y/l/n)!” Tommy runs at you full speed, nearly knocking you over when he barrels into your legs.

Bucky’s quick to steady you, opening his mouth to reprimand his nephew but you stop him, raising a hand to cut him off.

“Hey, Tommy! How’s my little superhero feeling?” He pulls back and smiles up at you.

“I got another cast so now my arm looks just like uncle Bucky’s!” You glance at the new blue cast and smile brightly.

“Look at that! And you’re a hero just like him too, huh?” He nods excitedly then digs around in his pocket for a moment.

“Here!” He hands you a sharpie then points to a blank space on his cast.

“I made sure to leave room for you to sign it!” Your face softens and you crouch down in front of him, signing your name and drawing a small picture.

“Thank you, Tommy.” He nods, glancing over his shoulder as his dad calls his name.

“C’mon Tommy! You gonna help us move or are you gonna help miss (Y/l/n) get organized?” He looks between you and his dad then runs over to the moving truck, excitedly grabbing whatever his little arms can carry then bringing them into the house.

Bucky wraps an arm around your waist and presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“You ready?” You look up at your new house, then over at him, nodding without hesitation.

“Absolutely.”

The moving process is long and tedious, and after seven hours of lifting, unboxing, cleaning, and organizing, you’re about ready to call it a day.

“Pizza’s on its way, and Nat ran out to grab some beers,” Bucky says, coming up into the master bedroom. Concern immediately colours his features as he sees the way you’re sitting. You’re on the bed, hunched over with one hand on your mouth and the other on your lower abdomen.

“(Y/n)?” He asks, coming to a crouch in front of you and trying to get a look at your face.

You take a few deep breaths then nod, opening your eyes and offering him a weak smile.

“You okay?” You nod again but he seems unconvinced.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You take a deep breath and reach for his hand, squeezing it gently.

“I uh.. not really. I wanted to tell you in a better way but I guess this is as good as it’s going to get.” His heart is in his throat, absolutely terrified of what you’re going to tell him.

You’ve been going to the doctor a lot more frequently, and your energy levels have plummeted.

He knew you didn’t have time left but it hasn’t even been six months since the fire.

You pull his hand to your stomach and rest it there gently, eyes finding his as you wait for it to click.

He stares at his hand in confusion, that confusion melting away as he realizes what you’re telling him.

“Wait, are you...?”  His eyes are wide, eyebrows raised and heart pounding.

You only nod, tears welling up in your eyes as he launches up and wraps his arms around your frame.

“Oh my god. Oh my god! I’m gonna be a dad!” You giggle wetly, tears of joy falling and getting soaked up by his shirt.

“We’re gonna have a baby.” He pulls back, hands on your small baby bump.

“How far along are you?” He asks, cradling the bump delicately between his hands.

“About three months. And the doctor said that they’ve already got a birth plan ready, and different pills for me to take to calm my heart.” His glossy eyes look up at you, so full of love and adoration.

“I can’t believe it. I...” he stops, leaning in the gently kiss your lips then pulls you into another tight embrace.

“Thank you, (Y/n). Thank you.”

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Grunge-Metal Geralt 3

its finally time 😂 after months of staring at an empty google doc i finally had a useful idea - also y’all, go listen to ‘Brighter Side of Grey’ by Five Finger Death Punch bc that’s the song i based this on and its fire and i love it also all of ffdp is one whole witchery mood

Warnging: vague discussion of a car crash where Geralt was severely injured, big emotionaly vulnerability, swearing?, listen to the song then you’ll get the vibes i promise

__________________

“Give them a break, guys,” Eskel sighed as he wrote down his coffee order, “They had a close call. It’s not like they’re always this…”

“Gross. Skel. The word you’re looking for is gross.” Lambert snatched the paper out of his brother’s hand and stalked out of the room with Aiden in tow. 

Jaskier scrunched his nose and called from where he was tucked under Geralt’s chin, “Did we drive them away? I can get up if it’s too much.” Even as he spoke, neither he nor Geralt so much as twitched to make good on the offer. 

“Doesn’t bother me,” Eskel shrugged. 

Lambert and Aiden, mainly Lambert, were getting fed up with Geralt and Jaskier cuddling and cooing and doing general new couple bullshit. Especially since they’d been together three years now. They were recording a collaboration song, meaning everyone had to be there, but it seemed the two vocalists only really cared about each other. Jaskier sat on Geralt’s lap, played with his hair, stole kisses whenever he could… at one point Lambert caught Geralt tracing Jaskier’s lips and forced a coughing fit to get his attention. He probably thought it was subtle, even if no one else did. So to take a break and get some of what he called ‘patience juice’ (coffee), Lambert ran to their favorite coffee shop while Eskel laid down his bass line. 

It’s not that they were intentionally this annoying, not all the time at least. After the car crash, especially once Geralt started doing well in his physical therapy, the couple just couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Not to say that was the only relationship Geralt was suddenly extra involved in, it was just the most noticeable. 

Finally, after tea and coffee was distributed to everyone it was time for Geralt and Jaskier to, well, do their jobs. Jaskier was fidgeting and humming little scales, doing anything to calm the sudden nerves he felt bubbling up in his stomach. 

“You alright?” Geralt purred, nudging him with his elbow as they stood side by side at their respective microphones. When Jaskier only shrugged he continued, “What's wrong?” 

“I’m just not used to so many people being here while I…” Jaskier motioned to the mic before glancing around him and taking a deep breath, “it’s a vulnerable song…” 

Geralt’s worry lines in his forehead melted as he pulled Jaskier into his arms, “I can kick them out if you want?” he whispered. 

Shaking his head and inhaling Geralt’s scent deeply, something Jaskier had learned not to take for granted, he steeled his nerves, “I’ll be fine. Maybe a little weepy, but fine.”

As they were about to start, listening to the instrumental track and humming their parts of the song, Lambert brought Jaskier a bottle of water and set it on his music stand. He gave him a quick side hug and kissed his hair, offering a small “sorry” for all his teasing. Jaskier just giggled in response, the kind that only bubbles over from too much anticipation. He missed it, but Geralt mouthed a small ‘thank you’ to Lambert as he sat back down on the other side of the glass. 

Jaskier hooked his pinky around Geralt’s as the guitar intro started, needing that little bit of contact for the first line. When they’d written it it felt perfect. The audience knew exactly what kind of song they were about  to hear and Geralt really hadn’t known if he would pull through. It took Jaskier right back to the dimly lit hospital room where he scrawled and scratched out lyrics to keep Geralt distracted from his upcoming surgery. The fear, the desperation, the little pockets of joy when they forgot where they were, the overwhelming love that Jaskier thought he’d never be able to fully give to Geralt all crept back up his throat as he took a breath for that stupid fucking first line. 

His voice cracked partway through as he sang, making him fully grip Geralt’s hand, “I’m writing this in case I’m gone tomorrow,” By some miracle, he found his support for the next line, “I’m writing this in case I’ve moved along,”

For a moment he thought he’d gotten over the worst of it. A couple lines passed in relative ease, emotional but not so much it interfered with his craft. If he focused on looking at his microphone and keeping his breath supported he might make it through. Then Geralt joined him for the chorus. 

“When the lights go down, Know that I am never far away. When the sun burns out, I’ll be waiting on the brighter side of grey.” 

His harmony faltered and he involuntarily heaved a broken gasp in the middle of a line, desperately trying to focus on the mic that was now warped by the tears in his eyes. 

Geralt broke off after the first word of his verse, turning to Jaskier and pulling him in again, “You alright, love?”

“I’m fine. I’m sorry,” Jaskier groaned in embarrassment as he clung to Geralt’s frame, “I’m being a baby. I wasn’t even the one hurt.” 

“No you’re not,” Geralt argued, running his knuckles over Jaskier’s cheeks to wipe away his tears, “Here,” he moved their mics and stands close enough that they were shoulder to shoulder and their fingers could comfortably lace together. 

Jaskier squeezed his hand gently and gave him a brave smile, “From the top?” 

“From the top.”

This time Jaskier tried watching Geralt as they sang. He made it through the first chorus and got to just watch as Geralt sang his verse. The pang of emotion in his chest was still ever present, but it was manageable. Until he noticed Geralt having trouble. 

On “All you get to keep is what you’ve shared,” Geralt squeezed his eyes closed and his grip on Jaskier’s hand tightened. The folk singer prepared, relaxed, readied himself to take a breath in. He was expecting that one to hurt after how much Geralt insisted upon it. How he threatened to get out of that hospital bed and scribble the line himself if Jaskier didn’t put it in. He wasn’t expecting the last line of the stanza to hurt. It had been comforting to the both of them at the time.

Geralt’s lip quivered and his voice was almost pinched as he sang out, “Remember no one ever really dies.”

Even being the one to write the melody, Jaskier missed the first three notes of the chorus, “Fuck. Shit. I’m so sorry.”

“No, that was on me,” Geralt sniffed and chuckled, “I knew you’d lose it if I did.”

“How do you do this?!” Jaskier exclaimed, chugging half the water bottle to keep the breakdown at bay. 

Aiden’s voice came over their headphones, “Half our songs are his trauma and another quarter are group trauma. He’s got practice sweetheart.”

They tried a couple more times, even got through the whole song once with only minimal tears and one tasteful cracked note. But it was still a struggle for Jaskier to keep it together, and the more they sang, the more Geralt lost his iron grip on his composure. 

“Look at me,” Jaskier instructed, moving Geralt to face him and adjusting their mics so they could sing to each other, “Just like when we wrote it. Except a little less pain.” 

The joke earned a snort out of Geralt, exactly what Jaskier was aiming for, “This is supposed to be easier?”

“We can try?”

Jaskier did wonderfully for his verse, singing to Geralt was familiar and safe, even if the subject matter was terrifying. The chorus went well, but as soon as Geralt started to sing, Jaskier couldn’t exhale and it was all he could do not to sniff and ruin the take. 

“If you’re hearing this I know you’re probly scared,” had tears falling down his cheeks again and Geralt’s voice cracked as his eyes welled up, “Nope,” he choked, “that’s worse. Much worse.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier gave a watery giggle as he wrapped his arms around Geralt’s middle, “Why did we decide to do this again?”

Geralt pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s hair, sniffling and holding him tight, “I think we’re sadists.”

“Back to back,” Eskel’s voice crackled in their ears, “Try it back to back.” 

Leaning back to watch Jaskier’s reaction, Geralt hummed, “Do you want to? Or do you need a break?”

“Fuck it,” Jaskier shrugged, spinning Geralt around and following suit as he moved his equipment. 

As they stood waiting for the tech to start the audio, Jaskier felt like he could really inhale for the first time all day. Geralt was there, he could feel his ribs expand against his back and his fingers tapping like a metronome on Jaskier’s palms. This is what they were missing when they wrote the damn song. The comfort of knowing someone is always at your back, that they’ll be there when it’s hard and even when you’re separated. 

A warmth spread through Jaskier as the intro started and he felt ready. He still pressed back into Geralt on the harder lines, reminding himself he was still there, but they both made it through two full takes. 

On the final one, as the recording of the softly picked guitar faded out, Jaskier couldn’t help but repeat two more lines, “When the lights go down, Know that I am never far away.”

His voice hung in the air for a beat, the sense of finality reverberating through the studio and bringing everything else to a stand still. 

Geralt was the first to breathe, “Shit, we made it.”

“We fuckin made it,” Jaskier huffed, emotionally drained but immensely satisfied as he turned to hug Geralt from behind and press his cheek to his spine, “I love you.”

“I love you too. Let’s get a snack?”

“Yeah.”

When the sound tech played the potential mix for the first time, he tacked on an echoing, distant sounding recording of their conversation. Everyone looked at each other and nodded, goosebumps on their arms and that feral sparkle in their eyes that every artist gets when they’ve stumbled on something really exciting. They re-recorded some guitar and drums, but they kept the vocals exactly the same. 

For the album art they wrote “I love you” on the tattered hospital stationary that had the lyrics and chords written on it and took a picture. Jaskier had the original framed and hung in their house as a little reminder. 

[sashi-ya]

{+18} - Law x Fem Best Friend ♥ CH. 5 – FINAL PART

♥ Daily living with the Heart pirates crew AU. ♥ Spoilers after Dressrosa Arc. Law´s backstory. Wano kuni arc.  ♥ Female reader. Little physical description. Everybody is 18+, canon ages.  ♥ TW: NSFW, violence. Drama (a lot of it), some broken bones. And fluff, a lot of it. No further warnings. If you think I should include some feel free to tell me ♥A/N: thank you so so much for reading until the end of this story. I enjoyed writing these chapters so much! I hope you enjoyed it as much as me. I’ll be pleased to accept any request or commentaries on this or other fics.

Word count: 5.0K

» List of parts: {CH1}  {CH2}  {CH3} {CH4}«

 Chapter 5

Next thing I remember was opening my eyes and seeing Law’s face. He was carrying me in his arms, my hearing went from a loud buzzing to his voice. “Y/n-ya, answer me, come back, are you with me??”, my best friend kept asking me while running. I gave him a smile, and the only thing I could say to him was, “I’m sorry”, until I passed out again. 

The night sky was deep blue, full of stars and a big moon that enlightened the whole room. I recovered my senses a few hours after, since Law has saved my life, once again. He was next to me, brushing his hand over my forehead, looking straight at the door with his katana on the other hand. I was lying on my bed. Around me, a whole disaster, everything I owned was scattered over the floor. 

Once again, the first words that came out from my mouth were “I’m sorry”. I have put my whole crew, Law, and even my life in danger just because of my stupid pride… My personal doctor smiled at me and told me to shut up. He began to cry, openly, looking directly to my face. He was not hiding under his hat, not even over my chest. He was showing me how hurt he was, and this was for sure the very first time I’ve seen him cry like this. “I am the one who should be sorry. I left you alone, I abandoned you. Everything because I was scared, because I didn't want to accept how much I love you, I was afraid of changing, of putting you in danger. Look how you’ve ended because of me, they were searching for me…” he said, hitting his chest with his hand in a fist. He continued, “That’s the reason I wouldn’t really admit that the love I felt was more than just caring for a friend… I’m sorry Y/n-ya. I’m sorry… everything I said, it was a lie… I’ve loved you since...forever. You were always my star, the only person I could look at, when I was in the dark, you shine so bright, you light up my soul…”. I tried to get up from bed, but a throbbing pain on my ribs stopped me from it. “ugh… Law…”, he told me to remain still on bed, and informed me that 5 of my left ribs were broken. I wanted to say so many things, to tell him it was alright, that I wanted to go back to the polar and resume our journey as if nothing happened, but… it wasn’t that easy, I was hurt too. I remained silent, looking through the window, searching for the best words to say, to express everything I had inside my chest. 

I finally decided to speak. Law was still crying, but he wouldn’t guard down, he was protecting me. I said, “Oi, dumbass… how did you find me?”, “I followed your vivre card, of course” he answered sobbing. “Yeah, but… how did you get here so fast? where were you?”, I asked. I guess his cheeks turned to red, he seemed as if he was blushing, and after stuttering a little, he confessed, “I.. we.. I stayed in the submarine on the other side of the island, I was scared. Everybody agreed on waiting for you…”. 

He was always here?... of course, he was, his vivre card would always point to the same place. And... that time I went exploring the whole island, I thought I saw the guys in the distance, on the shore… I... thought it was just my imagination… I began to cry and laugh at the same time, covering my eyes with my hands. “I love you, dumbass. I love you more than anything, you were always here, you didn’t abandon me”. Suddenly I was so happy, I knew he wouldn’t leave me, I knew he would always protect me... I knew it. I was full of joy...  

Law laid next to me in bed, softly because he knew how hurt I was, hugged me and kissed my forehead. He had the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. He looked so relieved. The warmth I felt on my chest when I had his vivre card over, I was now feeling it all over my body. 

We stayed like this for a few minutes until Law said, “You need to rest, and I need to be alert in case some more bastards come”. I calmed him, “they won’t come here, they think we are on the submarine, leaving this city… Do you remember your vivre card?”. He looked at me, worried. I continued, “I’m sure you think that yonkou’s subordinates have found and stolen your vivre card from here, right?”. He nodded and said, impatient, "yes, when I was beating the shit out of them, I heard that they have finally found it, how come they don't have it?". “If I have learned something from you throughout all of this years is to plan things out… Yesterday morning, before leaving home I got the feeling that I should carry your vivre card with me…” I slowly pulled the little paper from my bra and showed it to him. He widened his eyes and was about to say something, but I resumed speaking like a smart detective, “Yet, a few days ago I thought of how dangerous it was that someone could find your vivre card, my dear ex Shichibukai…so, I made a fake one, I used some fish scales that I took from a fish of the river to make it, write your name on it, and leave it on that little box you now see empty over the dresser. So, I think they might be following that fish...”. Law’s face was priceless, at first, he was dumbfounded, but a few seconds later we both burst into laughing. 

Despite how painful it was to laugh with a few broken ribs I couldn’t help it. It was too funny, and it was the first time I laughed since a long long time. I missed those days when we were younger, had no place to stay and even if the cold was getting into the bones, a few stupid phrases of Bepo or Penguin made us laugh uncontrollably. It was, after all, our "Laugh Tale".

“Oi, you should eat something, are you hungry?”, asked my doctor, to which I replied with a sexy smile “I am hungry for you, doc”. “I’d love to fuck you right here, right now, as hard as I want, but It wouldn’t be ethic, you’ll be in pain…” he said straightforwardly to my face. I gasped; I love how Law gets when he is horny… “Now, tell me where the food is, I’m going to cook something”, he said and I pointed to a few groceries that were still on the counter. 

Law gathered a few of the things that were scattered all over the floor and promised me to clean everything up tomorrow. He was acting like a husband, how cute.

I contemplated how he focused on cooking frowning. The last time I saw him cooking was when we were little, sometimes he woke me up with breakfast, sometimes he would broil some potatoes, but somehow every time he did, his eyes got sad. So, before Penguin, Shachi and Bepo arrived I normally cooked for him.  

“Here, let me help you sit on the bed”, he said, bringing two plates of some risotto he made for us. He left the plates over the floor, hugged me, put a pillow behind my back and sat me on the bed. 

“Mmmh, where did you learn to cook risotto, Law? This meal is delicious!”, I said, delighted with the taste of the food. He looked at me with one of his cheeks poofed with food and smiled with his eyes. My heart skipped a beat when I saw that smile, I’m so in love with him, damn it…

The foliage of the trees that surrounded my little room began to move every time the autumn breeze blew through them. Everything was so calm. I felt as if no more danger was around me, as if nothing that could happen from now on, could be worse than being apart from Law. 

We chatted for a little bit while eating, we were happy, no worries, Law never stopped smiling and neither did I. He helped me to lay down on bed again, and he did the same next to me. “I love you”, Law whispered to me while grabbing my face with his hands, softly caressing my cheeks with his thumbs. Our noses touching, both smiling. “I love you too…”.

Morning came and a sweet smell of honey woke me up. Law was softly kissing my forehead with a cup of tea on his hands. “Good morning darling, I made you a green tea with honey”. I covered my mouth trying not to laugh, but it was impossible. I broke out laughing. Don’t get me wrong, I thought that what he did was the most cute thing ever… but… can you imagine Trafalgar D. Water Law being all cute and romantic? “This is the first time you call me “darling”, I’m sorry”, I said and kept giggling. His face changed to a poutier one so I stopped laughing, “I’m sorry Law… I mean… babe?.” I said and took a sip of the tea. 

He gave me a little smirk, and directed his sight to the floor while saying, “I’m ok with any name you call me, I like “babe”, It makes me happy”. This was the first time I saw him in love, and it was… with me. 

After breakfast, he washed the dishes and called Bepo. “Aya aya, Captain!! how are you? is Y/n with you? is she ok?!”, screamed the polar bear on the other side of the line. “Oi Bepo, yes, she is with me, she is ok. Are you ok? did you notice something suspicious or any movements last night?”. Ah… Law, always talking like he is some sort of a secret agent of the marines…. “Captain, Penguin speaking. We saw two ships leave the coast at night, they got the Beast pirates flag. They didn’t see us; we were hiding as you told”. “Perfect, Y/n-ya has five broken ribs, I put them in place, but she will have to rest on the mainland for a few days, the pressure of the submarine could make the pain worse if she goes immediately underwater. Please, keep informing me at any suspicious movement. And don’t worry, they aren’t following my vivre card”, Law informed my nakamas and hung up the den den mushi. 

“Y/n-ya... darling… I should change your bandages and treat your wounds, are you up for it?”, he asked like the good doctor he is. “Yes, honey, let’s do it. I’m sure you already know, but there are some supplies in the bathroom, but If they aren’t enough, you could go and ask Dr. Saturn, I’ve been working with him as his medical assistant”, I told him. He looked at me, and suddenly his eyes turned to fire. Law rarely loses his taciturn countenance, but that time his face transformed into pure hate. “What is it?”, I asked him without any clue of what was happening. “That bastard, that “doctor”, he sold you to the pirates”, he almost shouted. Profoundly shocked, I mumbled “What? how… how did you know?”. “I investigated while we were apart, I didn’t mean to follow you or else, but… I was worried, I wanted to protect you… even though I let these things happen to you”, he said now with a guilty tone, while unfolding the bandages. “It’s ok, it’s now over, from now on we will be together to protect us” ... I told him with a side smile that soon turned into a little wince. 

Soon I was left with no bandages on my body, my torso naked, covered in bruises and scuffs. Law softly brushed some cotton embedded on alcohol over the scuffs, he was so delicate that It felt almost as a tickle sensation. His hands always worked as stethoscopes because of the Ope Ope no mi, so he then placed a hand over my heart and checked my heartbeat. The cold breeze and the soft touch of his hands over my nipples made them turn hard, and a little gasp slipped out of my mouth. The touch of skin over mine lit a fire inside of me.

Law looked at me top to bottom, finally worshipping with his intense grey eyes, my boobs. Licking his upper lip, he slowly approached his mouth over one of my erect nipples. He licked it from bottom up, fixing his eyes on mine, smirking sexy. My body squirmed as the sensation of his wet tongue struck me with a wave of pleasure. Even if It hurt, even if I had a few broken ribs, that little action made me wish he fucked me hard, I needed to, I had a real lust for him. 

He kept on using his mouth, he would lick, softly bite, suck both of my tits, gently enough to avoid my ribs hurt. 

“Oi, let me put you some bandages, if not… we can’t continue…”, he said. And I, that I was lost in the arousal that Law was producing on me, agreed. He started folding my torso with the elastic bandages, the pressure over my skin that sometimes hurt, also contributed to the heat of the moment. “Imagine if instead of bandages, I used some ropes…” he softly whispers next to my ear from behind. 

I turned my face to the side and reached for his mouth. We kissed passionately, lustfully, erotically. 

The bandages were so tightly snuggled that I couldn’t feel any pain. Law managed to tight them perfectly so they could be holding my ribs but letting my breasts free of them. 

My lover delicately laid me down on the bed, took off his shirt and settled over me. Law ran his hand over my face, caressing my skin, while maintaining his weight with the other arm at the side of my head. I kissed his palm with the side of my mouth. This moment felt magical for us, our eyes interlocked with pure love for each other, it was more than just pleasure. He was making love to me, and I did too. 

His fingers travelled from my face to my sex, getting moistened with how wet I was. His tattooed index finger lingered over my clit tracing circles around and over it. A few moments later he put the finger on my mouth requesting me with a “taste your flavour” to lick his finger. I sucked it so lewdly, that made him groan loudly. 

He knelt in front of me and used his middle and ring finger with a “come hither” motion inside of me, spotting the G point, making me arch my back and moan loudly. And as if that pleasure wasn’t enough, he also used his tongue over my pleasure button. I cummed so hard, squirting his whole hand. 

Far from being exhausted I invited Law to release the bulge trapped into his trousers and to come near my mouth. “I want you to jack off and fuck my mouth, babe” I asked him with an inviting obscene tone. The surgeon gasped and as fast as he could took his pants off. I opened my mouth with my head over the pillow sticking my tongue out, awaiting to taste his sweet member. 

First, I licked it, then I grabbed it with my hands and placed it inside of my mouth. Law was so heated that couldn’t resist himself and hold my jaw in order to fuck my mouth, first cautiously, but then violently as he left himself go with the desire and the pleasure he was experiencing. I fixed my teary eyes on his, choking with the length and width of his hard rock pennis. He didn’t finish, but instead, went straight to fuck me. 

Again, he was settled over me, delicately penetrating me, with soft thrusts at first but increasing the pace with every pounding. He strongly held my wrists over my head while fucking me. 

Letting me go he approached his body to mine, letting the side of his abs slightly rest over my stomach in order not to put so much pressure over my ribs. He charged all of his weight over the right side of his body and his elbow on the bed and kept on fucking me. The penetration was slowly just for the both of us to feel every movement in detail. Law stroked my hair as I whined more and more with pleasure. We both came almost together, with our mouths pressed moaning “I love you”. 

Three days after, I felt better enough to take a walk, so after the guys confirmed that the city was free of dangerous enemies, we left the house for the first time. The fall had fully arrived at the island, warmth colours, chilly breeze that softly made some far away sunflower fields dance, the floor covered in dry red and brown tinted leaves, a few pumpkins that the citizen had on their porches, some shop owners already putting up Halloween decorations and a few kids playing on the street were part of the scenery of our walk. Law didn’t speak much as always, and I was enjoying how his tanned skin got bathed by the orangey tones of the afternoon sun. 

Eventually, we arrived at the city centre, where the local producers market was taking place. I told Law that I wanted to buy some flowers from Mrs. Ann stand at the fair as I always did. He smiled at me, showing he agreed, and I started almost running. I recognized that I could be a little childish and impulsive sometimes, especially for someone like Law. “Oi! don’t run babe!!” he warned me and grabbed my hand in order to stop me. I looked back at him; my hair got blown by the wind as well as my skirt. I gave him a wide grin, slid my arm so that he could now hold my hand and pulled him towards me. The very first seconds he looked so mad at me, but then he let himself go and followed my pace with a big smile. We were almost running, holding hands, making the crows and larks fly off the streets scared of us. 

“Hello Mrs. Ann, I’m here to buy you some pretty flowers, what bouquets do you suggest?” I asked the florist. “Hello, my dear! you seemed so happy today! who is this handsome young man that joins you today?!”, she said curious. My smile quickly faded, and I realized that we still haven’t talked about what we actually are, so, “Uhm… he is…”, “His boyfriend, I’m his boyfriend”, Law ended my sentence with a straight face. I blushed and giggled, I felt as if a hundred butterflies were flying inside of my stomach. Mrs Ann smiled at us, with genuine happiness, and said “So, this time we should let him pick the flowers for you, right young man?”. Law pointed to the sunflower’s bouquet and timidly said “Those, her favourite flowers are sunflowers, so I guess I’ll take those”. “Good choice boy, you know why sunflowers are so special? They usually face the sun, but whenever it is cloudy, they face each other so they get enough energy… Same goes with couples, whenever there are clouds in the sky, they should count on each other, until the sun comes back again, and both can enjoy it together”. Law smiled at her and then at me, I know for sure that we both count with each other, I know we do.  We bought some more groceries and ended up having a picnic on the fields. This life was somehow better than I thought, but soon our couple time should be over. Our journey must continue, our missions should be complete, and we were young, we would have plenty of time once we achieve our goals to grow old together. 

Two days after we returned to the submarine, and despite spending the last two days thinking of a better way to communicate with our crew that we… were dating, we couldn’t find the perfect way. Law was mortified, he hates to show emotions, and whenever our crew knows the big news, the amount of energy it's going to be too much to handle. 

We could sight the Polar Tang that was moored on the coast, everybody was on the deck waving at us, shouting our names. Law was slowly hiding under the coat collar with every scream, and I was waving at them. I have missed them so much. “Guuuuuys!! guuuuuys!!! oii!!” I screamed, Law grabbed my hand and said, “be careful, you are not fully recovered yet”. “I’m sorry doc, I’ll behave… I promise. That means also no more sex until I get fully healthy, right?” He looked at me with a “how dare you?” expression but I kept talking, “fufufu… don’t worry I was joking, I couldn’t say no to getting railed by you, babe…”. I winked at him and he smirked saying “You are a lost cause…”. 

The whole crew hugged me, expressing to me how much they have missed me, that I shouldn’t ever leave again and asked me why the hell I had left the submarine in the first place. I told them that tonight we should have a party and that Law, and I would explain everything in detail. My nakamas agreed on such a good plan and began to prepare everything to set sail. 

I saw Law carrying my stuff inside, so I followed him. He entered his room with my baggage, and I stopped at the door… “Law, why are you putting my stuff in your room?” I asked, a little confused. “We are going to sleep together from now on, this should be your room too, right?” I widened my eyes, what have I done to the cold emo boy I once knew? I was pleased but surprised for sure. “Well, I’m fluttered, are you willing to hear me snore every night from now on?”, I asked, mocking him. “I’m ok with hearing you snore, if that is the price I have to pay for fucking you every night and cuddling with you”, he said, with a calm attitude. We both laughed and he helped me to unpack everything. While putting everything in place I saw an old polaroid we took back at Dressrosa after the big fight over his nightstand, and over it there was the necklace I had returned to him last time I was in the submarine. “Oi, babe, can you put me the necklace back, please” I said, holding it in my hands and showing it to him. Law smiled, approached me, and while he passed the chain on my neck, he said “Next jewel I’d like to put on you will be a ring…”. I giggled a little and kissed his cheek. 

The night came and we were already in the middle of the sea, the sky was garnished with little stars that lit up our party, and the guys were drinking, dancing, and shouting.  I decided that I’ll never leave them again, whatever comes to us, whatever happens between Law and I, this was my family, and I would be always with them no matter what. 

I went inside looking for a blanket because the night breeze at the open sea could be quite cold. We usually keep some blankets in a little room next to the kitchen for easy access in case we emerge, and someone has to guard on the outside. Suddenly someone hugged me from behind. I instantly recognized my beloved sweet scent. He placed his chin over my shoulders, and his hands wrapped around my low stomach. We remained like this for a few moments, enjoying our company, dancing to the music that came from outside. We began to kiss gently, and Law closed the little door. We laughed while our lips were still pressed and then with our foreheads also. The joy and intimacy I experienced was so cute, as if we were just married… "stop, let me help us with something, SILENTO" I said, and snapped my fingers, creating a safe space where nobody in the submarine could listen to us with the power of my Nagi Nagi no mi. "Nobody can hear us now, we can be as naughty as we want'' I told him with a lascivious expression while grabbing him by his chin. That probably fanned the flames even more, so he pushed me against the wall and while kissing me, he started unbuttoning my trousers, and then almost ripping my panties off too. He put 2 fingers on my mouth for me to suck on them just to made them wet with my saliva. He shoved them into my pussy and moved them as he only knew how to. While he was fingering me, with the hand that until then was on my breast, he took off his pants revealing a huge erection that was about to be inside of me. 

He grabbed one of my thighs, holding it up, just to spread my legs even more so he could fuck me even deeper, right there, standing, with my back pressed against some sort of metallic wall. I wasn't able to think anything besides how I wanted him to fulfill me with his hard cock. He fucked me so hard, I almost lost full control of my limbs, thank God he was holding me as If I weighed anything less than a feather. Damn, how strong he is. We let ourselves go, and after lustfully enjoying our fleshly lusts, we decided it was time to come back to the party. We were unaware that we climbed the leather to the deck holding hands and smiling at each other, so all of a sudden, the music stopped, as well as the murmur of the crew. Shachi shouted, “I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT! of course everything that happened was because of this!” I closed my eyes, waiting for Law to shout and order them to shut the fuck up, but instead he said, “Of course it was because of this, it doesn’t take too much to come up to the conclusion… you idiot”. I started laughing, followed by my nakamas. The whole night came by with us celebrating my return to the submarine and the new couple...

 A few adventures and two years after. End of the Grand Line, Laugh Tale Island…

I could still hear Mugiwara and Law laughing, we have achieved the last island, and you won't believe what the “One Piece” was, but that is  just a whole different story that maybe I’ll tell you about it other time. 

I was over the deck of the Polar Tang, admiring the beauty of the island that left the horizon back at us… I was thinking how many things we have been through to finally get here. Life hasn’t been easy to none of us, but surely, we made it happier, together. I wonder what our future has prepared us from now on. 

A strong wind blew my hair, and I could sense as if someone was behind me. I thought it was Law, but when I turned around, I saw a blond man, wearing a blue feather coat, a heart patterned shirt and a hat that I could recognize real fast. His image wasn’t clear, but I could see him though. “Hello, Mrs. Trafalgar, please don’t freak out. I’m sure you know who I am… I came here to thank you. Thank you for taking care of my little boy, how big he got…”. I knew he was “Cora-san”, I wasn’t scared, I knew he was the kindest person in the world. “Thank you, Mr. Rosinante, you saved Law’s life, I’ll always be grateful for what you’ve done for him. He is who he is for you”. The guy with a blue mark under his right eye, and some lipstick that made his smile even bigger, nodded and said, “by the way, congrats, Rosinante could be a great name, plus it goes well with the D…”. Next, I heard Law calling me “Y/N-ya, what are you doing here all by yourself?”, I turned around and he was coming my way, with a confused expression. I looked back at where Rosinante was, but he had already disappeared. 

 Law hugged me, he was happy and placed his head on my chest. “Did I tell you how much I love to hear your heart beating?”, he asked me still with his head over my chest. “You did, darling, it won’t ever stop beating for you”. Law smiled but suddenly his face turned to a more serious one. He stopped hugging me, and asked with a worried face, “Babe, how many hearts do you have?”, “You are a cardiac surgeon, I’m sure you know how many hearts I have, Law”, I said laughing. “Yeah, because I know that people normally have one, it’s not normal that I hear two hearts beating inside of… wait…” He stopped talking, looked at me and concluded everything in no time. “Babe… are you?... Am I going to be... a father?”, he said with tears on his eyes. “Congratulations, daddy”, I said, and Law hugged me so tight, holding me up in the air crying with pure joy in his heart. We remained hugged until a little bird flew past over us and a blue feather felt over us… 

The End ♥

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[buckaroosboogara]

911 week - Day 4:

“It’s always been you.” + love

(1700~ words, Buck and Eddie, blackout fic.)

@911week

"How long have we been here? Are you okay?" Buck asked, his throat begging for water.

"We have been here for," Eddie looked at his watch, the only source of light in the elevator. "3 hours."

"Are you okay?" He asked one more time.

Eddie's silence dragged for almost a minute before Buck spoke again.

"I need to know if you are hurt."

"I'm fine... physically." He finally said, taking air sharply. "The darkness and tight space... it reminds me of..."

"The well accident. Fuck."

The first thing Buck noticed when he woke up was that he was in a dark place.

It was hot, closed, and pitch-black. Tight.

He didn't like the implications of that.

He tried to move from his laying position only to be stopped by a stabbing pain in his skull.

Buck hissed as he laid on the floor again and a voice sounded in the dark, quiet but worried.

"Hey, hey, Buck, you are awake," The voice said out of breath. Buck felt a hand come to his shoulder clumsily and pat him. "Welcome back."

Buck grunted. His throat was dry and his mouth felt like sand, contrary to his skin which felt soaked in sweat. At least the pain was more bearable.

He turned on his back to sense the voice's owner, Eddie, sitting next to him on the floor. "What happened?"

"What happened was that we were helping a woman out of this elevator when the lights went off again and the elevator went down some stores before I pressed the emergency button." Eddie explained, with his breaths still shaky. "You hit your head pretty bad and I bandaged it with what I could. The radios don't work here, so I'm hoping Bobby will notice we are not out there with them."

Buck's hand climbed to his wet forehead where a piece of cloth was held to his skin with two pieces of tape. Rough but it would work.

"What happened with our coats' flashlights? And our helmets?"

"They ran out of battery, we used them for 8 hours straight Buck." Eddie yawned. "I took mine off as well as yours, this place feels like an oven. And the helmets... they are somewhere here."

"I kind of became desperate when I couldn't see or hear you. I haven't been able to look for them." Eddie huffed.

"And how long have we been here? Are you okay?" Buck asked, his throat begging for water.

"We have been here for," Eddie looked at his watch, the only source of light in the elevator. "3 hours."

"Are you okay?" He asked one more time.

Eddie's silence dragged for almost a minute before Buck spoke again.

"I need to know if you are hurt."

"I'm fine... physically." He finally said, taking air sharply. "The darkness and tight space... it reminds me of..."

"The well accident." Buck said with a huff. "Fuck, Eds I..."

"I am fine." Eddie forced out through his gritted teeth.

"Eddie-"

"No. I'm fine. End of conversation, we need to keep the oxygen."

Buck nodded although Eddie couldn't see him.

So he would of course avoid the topic.

He heard Eddie place his head against the metallic wall and breathe with difficulty.

Buck rolled his eyes, he knew how stubborn Eddie could be and he didn't need that in stressful moments like that one.

"Have any news about Chris?"

"Nope. My phone died like an hour ago," Eddie answered. "I couldn't find yours."

"Well, that's because mine is..." Buck muttered as he looked for the device on the back pocket of his pants. "Safe on my ass."

Eddie snorted a laugh and Buck smiled, mission accomplished.

The phone almost slipped from his hands and the air was taken from his lungs.

He turned it on and the light made him hiss. He could now see the elevator - it was indeed very small - and he could see Eddie, who was very much shirtless. His shirt was on his shoulders, missing the piece that was on his head.

"I-I guess I'll have to buy a new one. Great." He said, avoiding to look at the man by his side.

The device buzzed with a notification of very low battery, only 5%, and Buck noticed the screen had cracked in the fall.

"I could buy you one, after all, it's my fault that it's broken. Now give me." Eddie spoke and Buck did as told.

"So, what's the diagnosis doc?"

The former medic proceeded to turn the flashlight on and crouched in front of Buck to check his pupils.

"Pupils are matching, but you will need a CT scan once we get out of here."

Buck groaned again. He hated those.

Eddie passed Buck his phone but stayed still in front of him for some seconds.

Apart from being very much shirtless, Buck noticed he was very much pale and shaking. There was fear in his shiny eyes, which were scanning him in detail.

A hyperfixation.

Buck closed his eyes as he sighed, he should have known.

"Are you having a panic or anxiety attack?"

Eddie went back to his side feeling embarrassed and huffed a humorless laugh, "Honestly... I don't know. It just feels bad."

Buck shifted positions to look fully at Eddie. "It's okay. I'm here Eddie, I just need you to breathe. Will you do it with me?"

Eddie nodded, the world went black again.

His phone had died.

Eddie's breaths went faster.

"No, no, don't do that. You are going to hyperventilate and we don't want that." Buck grabbed Eddie's hand and squeezed it. "I'm here okay? I'm here with you. We are going to breathe together, how about that?"

"O-Okay."

"Inhale, one... two... three... four... yeah like that, and exhale, one... two... three... four..."

Some minutes later Eddie could calm down, the shudders went away with the cold sweat and they stayed in silence. Buck's hand was still tangled with Eddie's, on the other man's lap.

That encouraged Eddie to voice his thoughts.

"I... I hadn't remembered what it felt like until today. Not for years." He whispered into the air.

"I could have died. But I remembered a promise I made Chris once." Eddie turned his head to watch Buck. He found pitch-black that somehow made it easier to talk. "That I would always fight to come back to my family."

Eddie looked at the front again and simply said, "You are my family."

He felt Buck's body tensing by his side as he started stuttering. "I- I Eddie-"

"Why did you think I changed my will? I trust you more than I trust my own parents." He scoffed bitterly, squeezing his hand.

"I... I thought you only saw me as your best friend."

"If you knew..." he shut his mouth quickly. He had gone too far.

How could he have gone that far? Voicing his thoughts didn't mean telling Buck the truth about the things he felt for him. About the warm wave of happiness that washed over him every time they locked eyes. Every time Buck smiled. Every time Buck was with Chris.

The feeling of home never faded whenever he was with Buck, instead, it gained strength every time they saw each other.

"If I knew... what?" Buck asked and Eddie could feel his look on his side. His cheeks started to burn.

"Eddie-?" Buck was cut by hot lips on his cheek, giving him just a sweet short peck and going away. He gasped and Eddie tried to untangle their hands but Buck grabbed him tighter.

With his heart running wild on his chest, he reached a hand into the darkness and found a chest, he went up until he found Eddie's chin and clumsily made their lips meet halfway.

The kiss turned to be as good as a kiss in the darkness could be.

So unexpected, so romantic.

It was a mess. Both were a hot, sticky mess - in the good way, not the horny one - in a dark elevator at 5 am, sealing their mouths in their first kiss.

Buck loved it.

Eddie loved it too.

They separated to catch up with their breaths and smiled to the dark.

"If you knew," Eddie started, feeling Buck's head resting on his chest. "That it’s always been you, Buck.”

"I always saw you, Evan Buckley. For who you are, your good things and your bad things. I've seen your worst and your best, and I wanna be there for and with you in them for the rest of our lives."

"Ever since I saw you in the firehouse for the first time, since I saw you smiling in your car when we went to look for Christopher after the earthquake, since I saw you pinned under that truck... I have always known it's you. You who I want to experience life. You who I wanna watch Chris grow. You who I wanna marry someday. You who I wanna grow old with." Eddie answered with a smile.

"I love you too."

"Eddie... Oh god, all this time you... Fuck, I- I want that too." Buck chuckled, placing his hand carefully on his jawline and pulling him for another kiss.

"I love you."

The last thing they expected next was to hear the 118 outside the doors, having heard half of the conversation.

"As much as I love listening to you two getting your shit together-" Hen's voice cut through the elevator's doors. "And I really love it, we need to get you two outta there so, Albert! Bring the jaws!"

Then cheers were heard as both were freed from the elevator, coming out half hugging the other.

"You should have told me it would take you some hours in a sauna to get together! I would have gladly paid!" Chimney teased them.

"Amen, you said it, Chim." Hen agreed, making Buck seat on the gurney and transporting him down with the rest of the crew.

She checked both of them once they were in the parked ambulance and exclaimed to the street, "You all owe me 20 bucks each!"

The couple heard the whole 118 groan before they closed the ambulance doors and started making their way to the hospital, the light of the sunrise illuminating the city which was slowly recovering the electricity.

"You had a bet on us?" Buck whined from the gurney.

"Yup, and I just won. Took you three years and a month, but who's counting?" Hen smirked.

Eddie rolled his eyes fondly and took Buck's hand. "You can have all the bucks you want Hen. I already have the one I love."

(Tagging: @perfectlynervousbeard bc they asked me)

Chimney cried from the front, "Ugh, they are going to be that type of couple."

...