#will be thinking about this until further notice

[discontinuedepisode]

When the ghost told him that her baby was still in that alley, Danny hadn't believed her, but anything he discovered would probably help anyway.

In her defense, he did find a baby. One with a faint aura of death lingering. Faint enough that the living wouldn't notice it with Danny around.

But then the woman begged him to take care of her baby. Not even two seconds later, he shed any plan of leaving him by an institution or a house and accepted his fate instead. The observers had to be laughing for the first time in eons.

That night, Myriam of the alley left satisfied at last.

His name, he finds later, is Damian.

Danny soon realized that the kid was odd. Beyond noticing the presence of blobs ghosts pretending to babysit him.

So maybe he was a bad influence, but the kid was weirder for not seeing them, truly! He just needed to pay closer attention. Because even though ghosts mostly didn't want to be seen by the living, Danny's close circle got leeway. And Dami was going to stick around.

A month later, they took a quick trip to Central City via portal to inform Tucker and Sam, at their latest exciting stop in the search of normality, that they now had a nephew until further notice. The duo had been in the middle of solving another impromptu supernatural case that involved moving foliage, so they wished him good luck before promising to get together sometime next month because, "the trees are gone, Sam!"

Some time later, Ellie stayed in his apartment for a week to remind him that everything his was hers and to inform him that news of her nephew were masking rounds in the Ghost Zone. Jazz apparently wanted to see them, too.

Soon enough, Jazz cooed at Damian's round cheeks for what felt like hours. All while scolding Danny for not thinking in advance about babies getting cold in the Zone. Since there were so many records of that. Oh, and Danny needed to think of a way to inform his parents, too.

He had many things to look forward to these days.

Meeting Batman for the first time had been a wake up call.

Unlike the elegant little bat with the sewn mouth he sometimes saw around. He was a nag who didn't believe him when he defended his treasure chest as an honest payment that was rightfully his to expend in rent and groceries.

He was oddly upset when Danny passed through him to get Damian.

Danny had almost called for Frighty that day but reconsidered. His toddler would not be harmed from the exposure, so Danny allowed himself to enjoy a longer session in the Zone, away from the overbearing Bat and his unending army of spooks.

Damian is de-aged to a baby and lost in Gotham. A magic user hit him with some kind of spell. His legs don’t work as well and he has trouble walking. That’s when a man appears and squats down with a tilt of his head.

“Yea, you are definitely not supposed to be out here, little guy.”

Damian glares at the man, early twenties, stubble along his jaw, ragged clothes, and dark bags under his eyes.

The man turns his head to look at the brick wall.

“Are you sure?”

And now he was talking to a wall. Curses. Of course he would be found by a crazy person.

The man suddenly hangs his head with a deep sigh. He regains himself quickly and stands. Moving closer to put his hands under Damian arms to lift him to perch on his hip.

Damian squirms to get down but refuses to make a sound. The last time he opened his mouth like this it was a pathetic baby sound. He couldn’t let this man see him like this.

“Looks like you’re coming home with me, little guy. I can tell you’ve got some spirit in you. Good, you’ll need it.”

Not ominous at all.

Damian stays with the man, mostly because he couldn’t physically drive a car, but also because he was almost always with him. The man would talk to air at the most random times. Obviously a schizophrenic. But Damian had to admit this man, Danny he comes to find out through a neighbor baby talking at him, has been genuinely trying to take care of him and take care of him well. Well, to the best of his abilities anyway. 

He feeds him organic purées that don’t taste half bad, except the carrots, that one was unacceptable. Danny cleans him regularly despite his crappy apartment and makes sure he is dressed appropriately for the weather. He makes an effort to take him out to the park to play in the sandbox or just walk around discovering ‘new’ things.

Damian doesn’t need a parent, he outgrew the concept when he was five and technically he already had one, but he could tell Danny would make an excellent father. Some mistakes can be overlooked compared to the effort he was putting in.

The only concerning thing was the talking to thin air. It took Damian an embarrassing amount of time to figure out the reason Danny was visiting all these random people and the graveyard. (Sometimes he will set Damian down to ‘play’ in the grass at the cemetery. It was quite odd.)

He was talking to ghosts. It wasn’t thin air or imaginary friends, no it was actually dead people. The reason Damian actually believes this is for two reasons.

One, Danny shows true results. Damian observes closely whenever they visit a ‘client’ and Danny always has accurate information despite never looking up or researching anything going in.

Two, he never calls himself a medium or psychic. He doesn’t boast about his ability to see ghosts. He does what he does to help the ghosts move on to the other side. Closure is what Danny always says. Closure for the family and the victim. In Gotham, there are a lot of victims.

Damian adjusts to his new life with Danny. It’s been five months and he’s getting used to being small and vulnerable. He’s allowed to be messy and whiny and childish. Danny never scolds him like Mother did. The man has never hit him or raised his voice at him and never expects anything from him. He encourages his progression to speak and walk, but doesn’t expect the best out of him.

It’s… nice. A good break if anything.

They are at the park when one of the bats spot him and pauses. Danny is blowing bubbles into the air and Damian tries to pop as many as he can. It’s a silly game with no clear rules, but Damian finds it entertaining nonetheless.

“Hi there! Is he yours?”

Dick Grayson wears a bright smile, but Damian can see the tightness around his eyes.

“Huh? Oh, yea, this is Damian,” Danny answers.

He had written it with the wooden blocks Danny had given him one week in. Danny took one look at the name on the ground, laughed loudly and ran with it.

“Do you mind if I say hi? He’s so cute.”

Danny looks puzzled by the request but ends up shrugging his shoulders, not seeing a problem with letting a stranger get close to Damian. (Damian knew Danny’s intense eyes were watching Dick’s every move. He was very protective like that.)

“Sure.”

Dick squats down to search Damian’s green eyes. Damian stares back just as intensely.

“Hey there, Damian. My name is Dick.”

Damian gives him a flat look at Dick’s terrible introduction.

“Grayson.”

Although with his little baby teeth not fully in it sounds more like ‘way-shah’.

Relief flashes across Dick’s face and he gives Damian a reassuring smile. It’s not as reassuring at he thinks it is. It promises to bring him home and restore him to his original age. Damian doesn’t know if that’s what he wants anymore.

Dick stands and gives Danny some imaginary excuse to leave quickly. Damian watches him go and so does Danny.

“Funny guy, huh Dami?”

Damian doesn’t respond and Danny notices his change in mood.

“Come here, little guy.”

He knows what Danny is going to do and willingly goes. He is pulled up into the man’s lap and held between two surprisingly muscular arms. Danny’s hugs are nice and warm. They aren’t too tight like Dick’s nor are they stiff like Bruce’s. He never thought he could enjoy human contact, but Danny has been showing him things about himself he didn’t ever know. Turns out he does like hugs and playing airplane and when Danny runs his fingers through his hair when he’s really sleepy.

“Let’s go home a little early today, huh? I’ll make spaghetti and you can be as messy as you want,” Danny promises.

Damian hums. Yes, that sounds nice.

That night Batman comes in through the window. Damian is waiting.

“Damian,” Batman whispers.

“Bah-mun.”

The flat, unamused stare is what gives him away.

Batman lets out a breath silently and reaches into the crib Danny had gotten him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Batman jerks into action, twisting to face Danny who had appeared suddenly. The door behind him is still closed.

Batman stays quiet, silently studying the man before him dressed in pajama pants and a worn t-shirt.

Danny tilts his head as he does the same. Damian has never seen the man so serious. He silently worries for the man. He didn’t want him getting hurt to unnecessarily protecting him from his father.

“I’d have to break your arm if you tried to do what it looks like you’re doing.”

Danny says it so plainly. So simple.

Batman straightens.

“He isn’t yours.”

He doesn’t say Damian is his. He doesn’t claim him as his own. Just that Danny shouldn’t have him.

Damian silently agrees because technically he’s right. He doesn’t deserve Danny. He can’t keep playing house like he’s an actual baby. But Damian is also selfish and over the last few months has been taught that it’s okay to ask for things he wants even if it’s not inherently beneficial. The stuffed dog he sleeps with every night is proof of that.

So Damian says nothing.

“He is now,” Danny answers simply like there was no other answer to such a statement.

“He needs to go back to where he belongs.”

“Over my dead body,” is the immediate response.

They stare each other down until Danny scoffs.

“Don’t think I’m not petty enough to fight you, Batman. I’ll fight anyone who wants to take him from me. Damian is mine.”

When Batman tries to forcibly take him, he ends up with a concussion, a blood nose, and two broken arms. Red Robin finds him in a dumpster the next morning.

The story continues with Damian learning how to be a child his age, Danny protecting him and doting on his brilliant son, and the Batfam’s frequent failed attempts to kidnap Damian back to them.

[hitomisuzuya]

Wanderer stumbling upon reader bathing in hot springs alone after an exposition and joins? (nsfw) but with breast praise/service

wanderer (scaramouche) x fem!reader. smut. nipple play. clitoral orgasm. praise.

to be honest, i wasn't sure what you meant by exposition 😅 forgive me.

there is just something about a quiet, open air bath in a hot spring. the peace to soak in the warm water alone with no one else around is unmatched. you hadn't counted on any intrusions, being as late as it was at night.

wanderer was trying to find a quiet tree to hang out in. he didn't know the true meaning of the word temptation until he saw you, standing naked in the hot spring, your back turned to him, letting water cascade down your body.

he knew he should've fucked off the moment he saw you, but he is frozen in place. his eyes drawn to the curve of your ass, the side peek of your breasts as you bent down to cup more water into your hand.

he considered just quietly going up into a nearby tree to watch you bathe unnoticed when you suddenly turned around. he'd been too distracted by the teasing curve of your hips.

clearly startled to see him, you immediately sank into the water to cover yourself, putting your arms over your chest. "oh my, you scared me. there usually is no one here at this time," you exclaimed, the flush on your cheeks wasn't caused by the warmth of the hot spring.

wanderer wore a similar one. "sounds like a you issue and not a me issue," he scoffs, crossing his arms. "i'll just turn around and walk back the way i came," he didn't want to. and he wouldn't. he knew the perfect tree to hide in so he could keep shamelessly staring at you.

you shook your head, looking away shyly. "you don't have to leave. you can come in if you want. this is a public hot spring," you cutely huddle further down into the water. "besides it's probably nothing you haven't seen before. the human body is a very natural thing, after all," you have a habit of talking a lot of when you are flustered.

you have always seen this boy wearing a glare that made your heart pound in ways you didn't even think were possible.

"oh yeah?" wanderer could tell you are fighting the urge not to look at him as he took off his clothes, "then why are you trying to hide it?" he teases as he gets into the hot spring.

"because it's more dignified that way. shut up," you bat some water at him with your hand.

"i gotta say, you are cute when you are shy and angry," it is so satisfying to him to see the blush on your cheeks darken as he settles into the water next to you.

for wanderer, time seemed to stand still for him. and he didn't quite notice when time returned to normal again, with you straddling his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck while he tongue devours your mouth.

water sloshes quietly around you as he adjusts you in his lap. your pussy had just brushed against his cock, filling him with the overwhelming need to feel tucked between your folds. "you know," he murmurs, pulling away to nip at your lower lip, "i always thought temptation was a very human word. until i saw you," he snatched your lips up in another deep, open mouthed kiss, swallowing a groan as his cock throbs against your pussy.

you tangle your fingers in his hair, opening your mouth for his tongue. you moan softly into his mouth as he grinds his cock on your pussy. seeking more friction, you move your in hips to meet him halfway. you shiver as his tongue glides against yours. "your lips are so soft," you marvel, a little dazed as he pulls away again.

grinding into his lap, you move your head down for another kiss. wanderer smirks as he scoffs softly, "pretty, needy thing, aren't you?" he puts a hand on your chin to stop you. the soft whine you let out at being stopped made his cock harder against your pussy.

"being up against you just so happens to feel good," wanderer can absolutely tell your blustering nonsense to cover up how shy you feel. you probably have never done anything bold like this before. it is genuinely adorable how easy it is to work you up.

his eyes travel to your tempting breasts. "i think i'll indulge myself," he cups your breast, skimming his thumb across your nipple, "you just keep moaning all pretty for me," the tip of his tongue flicks out across your nipple.

you sigh shakily, arching your back to bring your chest to his mouth. taking this as an invitation to do as he pleases, he swirls his tongue around your nipple. "so soft," he marvels, squeezing your breast before giving your nipple a gentle pinch.

he quickly scoops your nipple into his mouth. the way his tongue flicked against your sensitive, hardening nipple as he sucked felt like he was exploring the sensation of it on his tongue. the way your body shivers as he pinches your other nipple is intoxicating to him.

you whimper, seeking friction from his cock on your throbbing clit. "you sound as pretty as your body feels responding to me," keeping an arm braced around your back, he kept your chest anchored over his mouth as he moved to your other nipple.

he greedily wants more from you. you just sound too fucking sweet, whimpering touch starved with need for him. his hand lingers, groping on your breast before it drops into the water. he is eager to feel and hear how you would sound if his fingers were working your clit over.

you couldn't stop your moans as his fingers rub and pinch your clit. your thighs tremble as you grind into his fingers. "that's a good girl," he moans, wagging his finger across your clit, "let it all out."

wanderer's sucks are eager on your nipple. the more you twitch and tremble in his hands, the more he pursued you. his cock aches to feel you shake while you cum. he chuckles hearing you moan a little louder when he praises you.

"my pretty, pretty girl. i think i'll keep you," he swirls his tongue around and around your nipple, "a delicate pet all for me," he rolls your clit between the pads of his fingers.

overwhelmed by pleasure, your thighs tremble as he coaxes your orgasm into building up. the only thing you could do was helplessly moan while he experimented on your body, sussing out what made you moan the loudest.

"how obedient, practically cumming already for me," he purrs, increasing the pressure on your clit. it throbs underneath his fingers, fraying the knot of your orgasm apart suddenly. he drinks in the fucked out haze clouding your eyes, your body quaking in his hands from the intensity of your orgasm.

panting, your head drops down onto his shoulder. "wanna go home with you," you murmur softly, nuzzling your cheek against his neck as he rubs your clit through your orgasm.

wanderer has already made up his mind though. you weren't going to spend the night doing anything else but being impaled on his cock.

[cutiecusp]

Safe.

A continuation of this

A Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Soaps sister fic.

What happens when you knock on your brothers door for help, and Simon answers?

Tw. Brief dv implication, sexual talk, a kiss or two. MDNI.

The rain was heavy as you ran to your brothers house, heels long forgotten, just you in a ruined dress and a bruised eye.

You don't stop as you hear him calling your name, urging you to get back in the car, that it would never happen again.

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you reach your brothers flat, both hands battering down the door, hoping you were louder than the rain.

"Johnny, Johnny please!" You scream, your voice heavy with worry.

The door opens mid pound, making you stumble into a broad chest, and an accent unlike your brothers spits out.

"Oh little dove, who did this to you?"

You feel his gaze flicker down his body, his eyes stopping at the bruises on your face, the split lip, and then travelling down to your torn dress, your bare feet.

Ghost.

The one man you knew other than Johnny who would protect you with his life.

You shake, your body exhausted from the adrenaline boost, and being caught in the rain.

Ghost wraps his arms around you, gently pulling you out of the rain, passing you a blanket from the chair to cover yourself with.

You stiffen as you hear heavy footsteps behind you, the weight of them forever in your mind.

"I see, running straight into another man's arms, bitch?" Jake snarls, alcohol giving him the bravery to stand there in the doorway.

He doesn't get any further before you are shoved to the side, and a spurt of blood erupts from Jakes nose.

Ghost stands there in your place, snarling like a guard dog, shaking his knuckles.

"Watch your mouth around her." He advises cooly, taking in your (ex) boyfriend, his unnerving stare relentless in its dominance.

Jake staggers to his feet, clasping his nose.

"She ain't worth it, wouldn't give it up anyway, frigid cunt." He spits a ball of blood, landing on Ghosts shoes.

Ghosts eyes flick to yours, pushing you further in the house, shutting the door behind him, leaving you alone to find some of Johnny's clothes to get warm in.

Outside, you hear scrapes and five small high pitched screams, just barely louder than the rain, before Ghost steps in, his face a cool mask until his eyes meet yours.

"He won't bother you again." He grumbles, his deep voice filling the room.

You settle on the sofa, using the blanket as a shield.

"In fact. He probably couldn't touch a woman again in his life with the way I broke his fingers." He scoffs.

Looking over at your pale, shivering form, he gives an apologetic look.

"Sorry. No filter. Johnny's not back until tomorrow evening. I'm looking after the flat till then."

You nod, you had always had a light friendship with Ghost, and you knew there was a dark soul under the light smiles you always recieved.

"Let's take a look at ya." He gestures to your face.

"Looks like he got you pretty good." He says, standing to get the first aid kit.

You swallow down your embarrassment as you felt his touch on your face.

"You probably think I'm stupid-" you began, but he silenced you with a look.

"You remind me of my mother." He states plainly, wiping down your bloody lip and smoothing a balm over it.

"She was my father's punching bag, especially when he'd had a bottle. She was funny, kind, and didn't deserve it either"

You take in what he's saying, Johnny never told her about Ghosts home life, only it was a sad one.

"One day, she snapped back. Stood there and gave it back, her face a rainbow of bruises, but she fought back." He continues softly, almost as if he's talking more to himself.

He applies more balm over the cut on your cheek, a dark glance as he noticed it matched Jakes ring.

"What surprised me at the time was no one helped. Everyone knew about it. My mum was a good person, but she had no one. You have someone. You have me. " He decides, seemingly happy with his handiwork.

You nod, unsure what to say.

"Thank you." You muster up instead.

He nods, packing away the kit, before flicking on the kettle.

You two sit in a comfortable silence, mug clasped in both hands as you relax into the sofa.

Your eyes drift shut, you feel Ghost take your cup out of your hands and place a quick kiss on your forehead.

You are fast asleep soon enough, too asleep to hear Ghost pull out his phone and call in a favour.

"Gaz? Gonna need info. Jack Darrington. And a clean up crew." He listens for a few minutes before hanging up.

"You'll always have me." He says out loud to you as he slips out into the night.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.

@kaeyasfuturewife @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @eggy-yoke @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @skeletonsucker

[curlyburp]

[IMAGE ID: A series of Threads (I think? or Bluesky or Twitter, not sure tbh) from user arosenfield2016:

Boycotts. I've worked corporate retail for twenty years. It's literally my job to know how and why consumers spend. ONE DAY WON'T MEAN SHIT. Stop buying EVERYTHING except essentials. Until further notice. If you're serious about making companies pay attention, long term action is the only way.

Delete all of your retail apps. Unsubscribe from all emails. Go to the actual site and leave site reviews telling them exactly what you're doing and why. Every company tracks NPS scores, consumer sentiment, to direct future plans. Email customer service. Daily.

Fill your carts and abandon them. But don't fill with crazy high ticket ones. Fill with what you would normally purchase. High ticket items they'll ignore as flukes/bots. People whose shopping data they already have, who fill and abandon, they'll pay more attention to.

Not everyone can boycott places like Walmart, I know, I grew up in a super rural area. Research brands they carry that are the lesser of all evils if nothing else and buy those. The big brands will lose market share. They HATE to lose market share. They'll scramble to figure out why and where it's going.

Seeing the impact will take time. Its earnings call season for most retailers who ended their fiscal years on 1/31. We won't see their Q1 2025 results until May. HOLD THE LINE. //END IMAGE ID]

[luveline]

Jade I’ve entered my Fred Weasley era and a special friend owns me. Almost finished with my second read through and will probably immediately roll into my third. From the bottom of my heart, it hits different. I was wondering if you’d do one where ghostie gets overwhelmed in the shop and spontaneously decides to take a walk to clear her head. And Fred assumes she’s just stepping out for a moment to get air and promptly freaks out when he sees she’s gone? Doting, overprotective Fred makes me melt 🥹

The Weasley’s do three for two on Thursdays, drawing a large crowd without fail and despite a sore lack of their most common demographic. The school kids, often too overwhelmed with their schoolwork to mail in, and too far away to come in person, send their parental gophers with lists and good intent. 

“And, uh…  Genovian powder,” the white-haired woman says, peering at you through a pair of wonky glasses. Behind one green half moon and a purple star lense, spider-leg lashes blink slowly. 

“Peruvian?” you offer nervously. 

“No, don’t think so.” 

“We have Peruvian Darkness Powder, or there’s Calesthian Dragon Powder, but if there’s a Genovian one here I haven’t seen it,” you say with an apologetic frown. “But I can ask George.” 

“Who’s that?” 

“One of the Weasley’s. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

Working like this as someone to help and appease customers makes you cringe at yourself. Hearing how you talk to people. It’s not as though there’s shame in giving the customers patience or working, but there’s definitely something to be said about how fake it feels on you. Your poor attempts at being easy-going can make your chest ache in slow, overdue regret hours after you’ve turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED. You’re still worrying at your cheek when you find George where you’d suspected him, demonstrating firecracker poppers disguised as hair ties to a crowd of frowning parents. 

He thankfully abandons the task quickly when he notices you waiting. “What, ghost?” 

The nickname is said without thought. Anyone listening won’t get it, but it doesn’t matter. You feel a little bit better when he says it because getting it marked the first time anyone ever noticed you enough to care, and whenever they use it now, it’s reinforcement. Like a reminder that you’re their ghost, whatever that is (a too long definition). 

“Genovian powder?” you ask. 

“No, not us. Calesthian–”

“I asked her, she’s sure it was Genovian–”

“They’re all bloody sure until you show them the box–”

“I know, but I don’t think she’ll believe me–”

“She’ll bloody well believe me, then,” George says, giving your arm a shake before he rounds you. He spots the woman and her Technicolor glasses immediately, jumping into a spiel they give about the Darkness Powder as he goes. 

“Can you show us the Pygmies?” someone asks you. 

Pygmy puffs, fake love love potions that explode in your face when you try to use them, help with a return, bathroom break, tight jeans with a stiff zipper, bruise on your elbow from the back door, customer doesn’t know where the stairs are to get to the second floor, you’re on the second floor, a flash of lovely Fred by the till, his loving smile, encouraging, his huff and the hair on his forehead ruffling about. 

You nod toward the door. Fred nods back, hurried, It’s fine. 

The second you’re through the door you can take a breath. The further you get from the shop, the looser your chest feels. You hurry down the alley past the dragon popcorn machine and just keep walking. Some of the other shopkeepers are around and greet you quickly, but there’s barely anyone to see. Everyone must be in the Weasleys’. 

You spot a few sturdy looking boxes down the side of the Magician’s Tree pub and sit down hard. Your face feels greasy and itchy, your hands are aching from the Pygmies, a scratch running in a road line down your wrist. You feel at it with your thumb nail. It looks like you could’ve done it on purpose. 

What if Fred thinks you did it on purpose? 

You scratch at the thickest part, which isn’t any wider than the edge of a nail, not even deep enough to scab. It’s just two lines one after the other where whatever hurt you must’ve been jagged. It’s a scratch. It isn’t– you couldn’t have done it with intent, and Fred will know that. You picture his worrying and feel sick to your stomach suddenly, dropping your head back against the wall to take deep, cold breaths. He won’t mind the scratch, and he’ll believe you when you tell him it wasn’t you, but he’ll worry first. 

You aren’t sure where you are for a little while. Eyes slipped shut, someone else’s hand on the wheel. 

He’ll worry, you think insistently, standing up. 

You make your way back to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and shoulder open the door. 

The displays are a mess. A stack of potions that promise to turn your skin a modern, appealing green have come down. Ones come unstoppered, leaking a bright yellow liquid in an oval across the floor. You think vaguely that you should clean it and kneel beside it, pulling the slight of your wand from your back pocket. “Tergeo,” you whisper, curling your wrist. 

The potion disappears. 

Standing, you hold your arm wide and pull, thinking a meagre moving spell that deigns to work, upping the display and shuffling each potion back onto its shelves. 

You hadn’t thought you were gone so long as for it to be closing time, but perhaps it was nearly the end of the day. You give most things a clean with quick magic or elbow grease, closing the shutters and locking the door. You go up the staircase to the second level and do the same, before retreating back to the ground floor and heading past the tills to the stairs to the flat. Fred and George will be making dinner, or George might’ve gone home already, though he usually says bye first. Yesterday he stole a sideways hug and disappeared a half a step away from you, clothes whipping in his wake. Fred called him a prat, and a few seconds later George had apparated back, sure that Fred had said something cruel. I know you were, brother mine. Their freaky twin sense knows no bounds. 

The boys aren’t in the flat. The door to the bedroom is open wide and there’s an obvious lack of them —if Fred were here, you’d hear him. Humming or mumbling or making the bed. 

A slip of white fog slams its way into the room in a swoop from the kitchen, a hurried magpie curling around your shoulders to hold itself, flapping pearly wings an inch from your face. GHOST, it whispers, WHERE ARE YOU? MEET ME AT THE FLAT, NOW. 

You blink at it. “I’m here,” you say, startled again when it disappears in a burst like sand. 

A minute later and there are footsteps barrelling up the stairs. You let your wand fall back into your hand and point it at the entrance through doorways, not actually sure what you’d do if it were an intruder. 

The logical part of you knows that it’s Fred, but the relief doesn’t come until he’s opening the door and stopping short. “Oh,” he says, sounding as cracked in half as he can be while still physically whole. His lips part again as though he’s got more to say, but he crosses the flat to you in four big strides and wraps his arms around you instead. He squeezes you hard enough to make the bones in your back click. 

“What happened?” you ask worriedly. “Are you okay?” 

He says your name, again like he means to keep on. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, pulling away to take your face into cold hands, missing nearly all of his usual tenderness. This is the touch of lingering panic, slowly melding itself into love. “Are you? Where did you go?” 

“I went– just went past the Magic Tree. Did you close?” 

“When I couldn’t find you, yes, I closed. I looked up and down the alley twice, I didn’t see you.” 

“I– sorry–”

“No, it’s okay, it’s fine if you’re alright.” He gazes at you imploringly. “Are you?” 

“I don’t know,” you admit, a little diffident in the face of all this worry. You hadn’t thought of whether you were alright or not, you’d just walked off, and now you’re not sure you were fully you when you came back. The longer he holds you in his palms, the worse you feel. The pinch of his mouth brings tears to your eyes. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks quietly. 

Obviously you aren’t. You show him the scratch anyway. 

“Ow,” he murmurs, sympathetic as his hands fall from your face to hold your elbow and wrist instead. It seems deeper while he looks, longer, and it stings as he presses his thumb to an edge. “Shall I mend it?” 

“Yeah. Yes.” 

Fred pulls your arm to kiss the crook of your elbow, and then the cut is healing, from red to pink to purple to white, a second and then gone, his non-verbal cut-mending charm practised, perfect. Tomorrow, you won’t be able to see the scar. 

He smiles at you. “See that? Magic kiss.”

“That was good.” 

“They’re all like that, you know,” he says, which is as much warning as you want or need as he ducks in to kiss you. Kisses twice, a third time, nose tapped into yours and breath warm as it skims your lips, your Cupid’s bow, and your soft cheek. 

“Fred.”

“Ghost, I thought you were going to have a sit down outside of the shop like you do, but you– why’d you go all the way to Magic Tree?” 

“I didn’t mean to walk that far.” 

You can see his tongue behind his lips, running against the line of his teeth. He’s frowning without meaning to, deeply, his eyebrows drawn and his usually gentle eyes dark, like he’s angry, or he could be, but it never turns itself on you. 

“No?” Fred asks, his voice dropping in register, “Where’d you mean to go?”

“I didn’t mean to go anywhere.” 

“You don’t have to cry,” he says under his breath. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m not,” you say back, because you don’t want him to worry, because you’re not sure if you’re gonna cry or not and it wouldn’t matter if you did, only you don’t think you can stand the look on his face now, like you’ve accidentally hurt yourself and he feels sorry for you, like you could be sitting in the hospital wing at school right now waiting for a verdict. 

“What happened?” he asks. 

“The scratch?” 

“Everything, lovely.” 

“I cleaned up downstairs.” 

He nods. “Okay. Thank you.” 

Fred guides you wordlessly to the sofa and waits for you to sit before sitting right next to you, not a lick of space between you as he bunches an arm around you and presses your forehead to his mouth, but he doesn’t kiss it. He hugs you, occasionally adjusting against you like you’re slippery, and he doesn’t speak. 

“I scared you,” you croak. 

“Yeah, you did.” 

You feel a sob like a bubble in your throat. You squeeze your mouth shut and press your face into Fred’s shoulder, nonplussed by your own emotion, hating to make a show of things. Fred shushes you gently, already waiting to rub your back as the tears start, and when they won’t end. “It’s okay,” he says, twice, three times, until it’s one word. “S’okay, you’re okay, it’s alright, Y/N. It is.” 

You don’t make a sound that isn’t sucking in air or the worst kind of whine at the back of your throat. You don’t sob out loud. You don’t try to say sorry. 

Eventually, you scare Fred worse. “Baby,” he says into your forehead, more touch than sound, “you need to calm down. You’re gonna make yourself sick.” 

You nod emphatically and cling to him, worried he’ll move. He stays where he is, humming approvingly when your tears begin to slow. You must sniffle into his shoulder for a quarter of an hour without his complaint, an odd relief in his hand as he rubs circles against your upper back, like this is a good thing. A part of you thinks he must be furious and annoyed to have to do it, but the reality, and that you’re familiar with, is that Fred just loves you, so he doesn’t mind. 

You don’t say sorry. You won’t try. It’ll upset him more. 

“Alright?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“Want a drink or something?” 

“No.” 

“Sure you’re okay?” 

“I don’t know what’s wrong.” 

“You don’t have to know,” he says, pulling away to rub a nice finger down your cheek. He dries salt tracks and carefully, carefully brushes the last of your tears from your eyelashes with a pale fingertips. His cheeks are blushed from your hugging. His freckles are like paint flecks wet against his skin. “We can have a cup of tea, or hot chocolate or coffee. I can make you cream of chicken, if you want. It’s about dinner time.” 

“I don’t want anything. Do you want something?” 

He smiles. Endeared. 

“No,” —he follows the bridge of your nose with a fingertip— “I don’t need anything.” 

“Okay,” you say, more to yourself than him, paying a great deal of interest to your lap. 

“Are you feeling at all better?” 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” 

He draws a line across your jaw, past your chin to shy of your ear. “It’s okay if you don’t feel better.”

“Do you want me to?” 

“Feel better? Of course I do.” 

You let yourself sink into his lap. Shuffling and collapsing, his hand falling to the small of your back.

Fred holds you for a long time. After, he makes dinner, and you get misty eyed at the table, and he can’t pretend he doesn’t notice, and you struggle through every bite and ask him if he was really, truly scared, and he says he was. He doesn't protest when you ask to go to bed while the sun is still up, only closes the curtains and casts a charm to keep the light out, only tucks you in, only rests his weight against you with his hand held lightly across the bottom of your face. You kiss his palm. He lets his index finger brush under your nose, like he’s looking for a seam.

[futbolfatale]

Love at first scent

Pairing: Alpha Lucy Bronze X Omega Reader

Summary: you meet Lucy at a club on Halloween night

this is super short

This has dead ass has been sitting in my drafts since October.

It had taken the entire Month of October for your friends to convince you to go out for Halloween. Alpha’s Pheramone’s tended to go crazy on Halloween making it all the more dangerous for an unmated omega like you. You had planned to stick to your tradition of buying a bag of candy and watching whatever scary movie you were in the mood for but they had other plans. 

Well, One plan, and that plan was to go to the club in slutty dresses with whiskers drawn on your face and cat ears on your head. It was basically putting a target on your back for any alpha who wanted to flirt.  The whiskers may not be your best look but considering the way people have been staring it's not that bad. The club is packed it usually is on game nights and with it being Halloween.  The game ended hours ago you had hoped people would find other places to be so your friends would want to come early but that was anything but the case.

You dance with one of your friends in an effort to pass the time quickly. Between the grinding and the energy around you, your pheromones are going crazy. You look up not expecting anyone to be paying attention to you only to be met with green eyes staring right at you. The woman is well-dressed in dark blue slacks and a white blouse glasses perched on her nose. She smirks and you look back at your friend quickly. That woman radiates alpha energy and you really shouldn't be getting involved with an alpha on a night when they are known to be extra aggressive. By the time you have you have the courage to look up the woman is gone or so you think until someone is pressed against your back forcing you to grind further against your friend. Though she doesn't even notice 

“Were you looking for me love” She asks her accent clear as day. “Yes. Who are you” You ask breathlessly as she grinds against you her cock against your ass. “I’m Lucy but You can just call my mommy” She growls into your ears her scent growing stronger. It’s vanilla with an undertone of espresso. “What makes you think Im into that or into you” You tease. “Your scent reeks of lust and the way your grinding against me says that you want me to fuck you.” Luch mummers her voice softer if only for the moment. “How about we get out of here,” She asks and you quickly nod.

[thewitchblue]

"Did you join the fucking military?"

Jason asked Tim, who blinked blankly at Jason until he noticed what he was holding. Jason was holding your military tags, which Tim's selfishly kept to himself when you "lost" them. Technically, he stole the tags from you, but you can always get a new set. You'll be matching! He did feel a little bad that you got in trouble with leadership when you asked for new ones, but he's sure you'd be fine without the old pair.

"No."

Tim didn't elaborate further. The tags have practically lived on him since he stole them. He only ever takes them off for showers, which is how Jason found them. Jason scoffed,

"Good. You'd be a shit soldier. Why do you have military dog tags?"

Tim tried to take them back, but Jason held them above his head. Your dog tags are air jailed until he gets answers. Jason needed to know.

"Answer or I'll find a place to smelt them down."

Tim knew he was serious by the gleam in Jason's eyes, so he said,

"My girlfriend is in a special forces unit for the marines. She refuses to tell me which unit she's in, but I've narrowed it down."

Jason was too stunned to notice that he dropped your dog tags. Tim snatched them off the floor and put them safely around his neck again and tucked under his shirt where they belonged. He likes to say that you're closer to his heart with your tags under his shirt with the bonus of protecting him from any potential bullets. Even when you are gone, you promise that you will always come back. He's used to your deployment and the limbo you have him in.

"When do I get to meet her?"

Dick said from the doorway. He was passing by and overheard. His little Timmy has a girlfriend? When did that happen?

Tim touches the tags while thinking of what to reveal and what to keep private. He's never been good at respecting privacy, but he has been learning for you. He knows to keep anything you say to him a secret, but what about other things relating to you?

"Whenever she wants. I'm not her keeper."

Tim answered vaguely. He's flying to see you soon, and he doesn't want to be followed. You've been together for three years, but you met kind of awkwardly. You tackled him to the ground and wrestled with him after mistaking him for one of your friends.

Your willpower eventually overcame his reflexes, and he stopped struggling. You had laughed when you pinned him down and ruffled his hair in victory. It was embarrassing to him how quickly he submitted to you. He watched your eyes widen when you noticed he's not your friend. You took in the scene too slowly. You, straddling who you had assumed was your friend with your hands pinning his wrists to both sides of his head, and Tim blushing underneath you. Tim didn't know how to react either, so you both stared at each other before you started awkwardly apologising.

Tim was a mess, but he was an adorable mess. His hair was ruffled, and his clothes were wrinkled, but there were no bruises nor any scrapes. You were always careful to leave no injuries. He was breathless, just staring at you with wide eyes and a shyness that almost made you smile. He was so cute that you wanted to squish him.

You quickly got off of him once you realised how long you've been staring at him. You pulled him up from the ground when he didn't make a move to stand by himself and actually almost fell right back to the ground because his legs refused to work for him. He was understandly stunned.

This is awkward. How do you explain the tradition of you fighting your friend on sight? Your friend does the exact same thing with you. It was excellent training for your deployment to fight each other on sight without any prep. Enemy soldiers aren't going to reveal themselves before attacking, so surprise attacks help keep your reflexes sharp.

"Sorry. I thought you were someone else."

He couldn't get the image of you pinning him down out of his head. Nobody has ever pinned him down so intimately. You were gentle. Your hold would have been easy to break out of if he didn't stop struggling. It was like you only played until one of you got pinned, and then the fight was over.

Tim was still trying to remember how to function. What does he do? What does he say? He's all shaken up. He had to look away from you. He managed to say,

"It's fine."

He tried to sound like it was no big deal, but it sounded strained. He was pretending like the wrestling really took it out of him by fake panting, but you both knew better. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, but pat his back and attempted to leave.

Attempted, being the key word. Tim caught your wrist loosely and nervously said,

"I, uh... would you... Can we... Let's... I'm sorry."

He didn't have the words with you looking at him like that. He was nervous. You smiled softly at him, and he forgot how to speak entirely. He could only stare until you took the initiative and asked him to go on a date before you leave for boot camp. He nodded, and that was that. You gave him your number and continued your run like nothing happened.

The date went amazing. It was a bit unconventional as you took him to a paint gun fight after showing him the gun and explaining the rules. You grinned every time he landed a hit and even wiped away the paint that splattered onto him with a fond expression. You opened up about the fear you have about joining the military, but your desire to help. You want to make a difference, however small or large that may be.

You kissed the bruising wounds softly and banaged the bleeding ones before he could even reach for the first aid kit you brought. You helped him up with a wild grin, and he kissed you until the adrenaline ran out. The guns were empty, and you both were messes, but your hearts were full, and Tim can safely say he hates paintballing. You took him to see a movie like a normal person next date.

Jason and Dick watched their brother soften further and further as he went down memory lane. Dick was ecstatic and already plotting to meet you, but Jason was confused why anybody would date Tim. Yeah, he's had his fair share of partners, but he's surprised every time he gets a date, let alone a girlfriend.

You were his mystery girl, and their family loves a good mystery.

[minnimstar]

°Forgotten Anniversary°

pairing: Seo Changbin x reader

genre: fluff, angst

warnings: swearing(once), a little arguing, pet names(hon, honey, baby)

summary: It was a busy time for him and the guys, as their schedules were pretty much overflowing. In the midst of that though, your boyfriend forgot your anniversary. You tried to not care, but deep down you were hurt. Thankfully, he noticed and did his best to make things right.

Masterlist

Changbin had left for the studio early in the morning, yet again. It was what you were used to though, since he was a busy man.

It was your anniversary today, however. You spent the day cleaning up and wrapping the gifts you had gotten him, and spent the evening cooking his favorite dish. Everything was going perfectly so far, until it wasn't.

The table was set up nicely, a plate of food for each of you resting on the table in front of the seats with a glass of wine and a candle lit in the center of the table, along with the lights dimmed.

You sat down on one end, and checked your phone for the time.

6:52

Changbin should've been home about 20 minutes ago, but you figured he was just running late so you left it for now.

So, you waited, and waited, and waited, until you got a notification on your phone.

[ binnie💪💚 ]: hey hon. I think I'm just going to stay at the studio tonight with the guys. We've got a lot to do and only a couple weeks to finish

[ binnie💪💚 ]: is that alright with you?

You stared at your phone and read over the message a few times, and felt your heart sink to your stomach.

With a deep breath, you typed out your message then set it down on the table and stared at the food that you had prepared earlier. It was no doubt cold now.

[ You ]: Yeah, of course.. see you tomorrow.

Standing up, you blew out the candle then shut the lights off completely before heading straight to your room and going to bed for the night.

Changbin arrived later that morning, taking his shoes off by the door before walking further into the house.

"Hey, baby! I'm-"

He stopped short when he walked past the kitchen, seeing the set up table and full plates of food sitting there.

"..home. Shit."

It was in that moment that Changbin had realized his mistake, and just how badly he had messed up. Quickly, he turned around and made his way to the bedroom where he found you laying, your back turned towards the door.

He walked up to the bed and let out a shaky breath when seeing that you were awake, and that your eyes were red and puffy, most likely from crying.

Hesitantly, he placed a hand on your shoulder and gently turned you over to face him before sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Honey, I'm so, so sorry. I've been so busy lately and it just slipped out of my mind that it was our anniversary. Please, let me-"

"It's fine." You interrupted, your voice hoarse from lack of use and crying.

"No, it's not. Baby, please, just-"

"I said it was fine, Changbin. I get it." You interrupted, again.

Changbin let out a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to figure out what to say. You were stubborn, and he knew just words weren't enough to make up for what he had done.

"Just let me make it up to you, please?" He tried again.

"Don't bother. I said it was fine."

You turned back around on the bed, your back facing Changbin.

He reluctantly stood up and left the room, then began to do what he could to make it up to you.

He started by cleaning up around the apartment, but paused once he saw the gifts that you had wrapped so neatly for him sitting on the counter. It made his heart hurt, and yet another reminder of what he had done.

He quickly finished up, then went out to get some things from the store.

You had ended up falling asleep, but once you woke up you were greeted by the smell of food coming from the kitchen.

Confused, you got out of bed and walked towards the kitchen, and froze upon seeing how clean everything was and your boyfriend standing at counter preparing some food while meat simmered on a pan on the stove top.

"What are you-"

Changbin jumped in surprise, as he didn't hear you enter the kitchen, and he quickly turned around to face you.

"I didn't hear you come in..!"

You looked from Changbin to the stove, then to the clock and the food, and then looked back up at him.

"What are you doing?" You asked again.

"Oh, I'm.. I'm making you dinner. I know it's not much, but I want to atleast try to make it up to you. Look, I even got you something!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box then handed it over to you.

You eyed the box suspiciously and slowly took it, but before you could question it further he cut in.

"Open it."

You obliged and slowly took the lid off, then pulled out what was inside with a soft gasp. It was a necklace you had been eyeing for months, but could never bring yourself to buy due to how expensive it was.

"Again, I know it isn't much, but-"

"Oh, it's beautiful.. Thank you, baby."

You carefully set it down before taking a step towards him, then pulled him into a hug.

Changbin let out a sigh of relief, and he quickly returned the hug and held you close.

After a moment the two of you pulled away, and you took a moment to really look at the food.

"You got Minho to help, didn't you?" You questioned.

"Oh, yeah, 100%." He confirmed.

You let out a soft laugh, and Changbin felt so relieved at seeing you happy again.

He finished up cooking dinner while you sat at the table, and carefully placed a plate of steaming hot food in front of you before placing his own in front of his seat.

"Would you like me to put your necklace on for you?" He offered.

"Oh, yes. Thank you.."

Changbin grabbed the necklace before stepping behind you, and he carefully clasped it around your neck before sitting down himself.

"It looks stunning on you." He complimented softly with a smile.

You returned the smile, and reached out to hold his hand before the both of you began to eat.

While it wasn't your preferred choice, you appreciated the effort Changbin had made into making it up to you. He genuinely felt bad, and you couldn't stay mad at him for long. Especially not with how he did his best to make you feel better, aswell as how busy he had been recently.

[ninyard]

a thought that's been spinning around in my head is what if jeremy did relapse? like what could drive him to that and how he would move forward considering the whole self hatred of "i'd rather die than be that person again" and shame in asking for help bc "ill never forgive you if you backslide"

OKAY so i’ve been sitting on this just thinking about it for a few days and although it’s not a theory that i believe would/will happen, it’s one of the few ideas i can come up with as to what could cause him to backslide

(i do believe him when he says he won’t. but god, for my own selfish reasons, do i want to see him crash out monumentally)

SO

Jeremy’s mom/stepdad stop allowing him to stay over at Laila/Jean’s place because of what happened to Bryson, how dangerous they think it could be, and how dangerous they think Jean is. Everything that has happened has made their control over Jeremy a thousand times worse. It’s torture for him, his final year, commuting to and from the university every single day for practices and that’s it; no parties, no free time, just practice, and classes, and then home. He’s forced into isolation, almost, but he still talks to the guys on video calls, and lies about having practices that don’t exist just so he can see them. But it’s few and far between. For him, mentally, it takes a huge toll. He hasn’t felt depression like this in a long time, if ever, really. It’s not good - He’s stuck with Bryson far more often that he’d like, and the only solace is those few hours a day where he gets to relax with Jean, Cat, Laila, and the few trojans he gets a chance to see outside of practice.

The guys notice this heaviness in him; Laila in particular gets worried to a point where she shows up at his house a handful of times just to make sure he’s okay, but the Wilshire household is a hostile place for her to be, and Jeremy hates her being around them if it at all can be avoided. Even the diplomats daughter excuse fails Mathilde and Warren: Jeremy has to focus on his LSATs, and he can’t afford outside distractions stealing his attention.

Jeremy pushes sitting the exam further out, and further out. He comes up with all the excuses he possibly can until he’s exhausted every single one, and with Bryson’s threats, he fails the first exam he sits. and it makes everything so much worse.

His phone is taken away from him at night, he’s not allowed to go for runs when he’s unaccompanied or without sharing his location the entire time. Everything the same as it’s been, but amplified, so much more suffocating than what’s healthy.

While all this is going on, the Trojans are doing well. They make it through to the Spring championships as expected, and one night Mathilde allows him to stay at Jean’s place, with the condition that he’s home by 10am the next morning. Its supposed to be a night of relief, a well deserved day off, but he cries in his friends arms and tells them that his family is destroying his life, and he doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t know what to do. Laila only looks at him with mild dissatisfaction as he spends most of the night sitting on the balcony, or out the front of the building, with cigarette after cigarette between his lips. They try to come up with a million ways to get him out of there but he knows none of them will work - he’s trapped, and there’s really nothing he can do.

Bryson corners Jeremy again, when he learns that he’s finally taking a resit exam, and tells him he has to fail this one too. Jeremy almost accepts the consequences of not doing what he says, that some planted coke or pills would be far less of a punishment than living in this prison is, but he takes the test, and he fails. It’s only half intentional, too. His mental health is in the gutter, because he’s a social butterfly, and he needs people around him to feel like himself. how can he focus on studying when he’s spending most of his days bored and resisting the temptation of the escape promised to him all those years ago?

The Trojans qualify for the semi finals, and then they qualify for the finals. It’s the Trojans V Penn State, or by another miracle, it’s the Foxes again. The date has been set. It’s a Friday, the same time of year that it usually is. It’s hard to enjoy the well earned chance at victory when he’s spent most of the year just trying to survive that big house with all its empty rooms and ghosts that walk the halls.

Warren has had enough of his failures, of course he has, the silly achievements of college sports irrelevant on his tall ladder of expectation. Jeremy spends a full night being berated, and belittled, called every name under the sun, full of vitriol and hatred for the disappointment of a son who refused the name of success and landed himself in such a position. Twice? He’d slammed Jeremy’s poor results on the table in front of him. Are you stupid, or do you faggots just get off on being embarrassments?

That night he texts his old dealer from high school, but when the response dings into his inbox, Jeremy deletes the message. He can’t. He thinks about Noah, and he thinks about everything riding on his sobriety. He can’t. He can’t do it.

But he wants to, so badly, and after that, he spends every waking second trying to prevent himself from asking again.

A morning or two later, Mathilde neatly sticks a sticky note to the top of the LSAT guides Jeremy has been pretending to study.

“What is that?” he asks, a date and time scribbled in her fancy scrawl across the green paper.

“It’s your exam, because you insist on avoiding it.” She says, turning around to do something else, like this was unimportant and meaningless to her. “I took the liberty of booking it for you. You aren’t going to fail this one.”

Jeremy picks up the piece of paper and stares at it. “I can’t do that date.”

“That’s too bad,” She almost laughs, sickly sweet. “It’s the only one they had this side of the month.”

“No, mom, I can’t do this date.” Jeremy’s head is in his hands already. This can’t be happening, and he doesn’t have the energy to argue anymore. “We’re flying out to Pennsylvania the night before. We play that evening. It’s the finals.”

She shrugs like that meant nothing to her, and Jeremy isn’t stupid enough to be surprised.

“Well,” She puts a hand on his head and endearingly rubs a thumb over his forehead. “You should have thought about that before failing the other two, Jeremy.”

He calls Cat as soon as he manages to pull his head out of the clouds of disbelief. It’s not long before the other two are on the other end of the line begging Jeremy to just leave, and they’ll figure it out later.

But he thinks of his life, that rides on a good relationship with the Wilshire empire, his reputation, and the Wilshire’s ability to ruin any potential recruitments he might have dreamt about in the future. One leaked document and every pro team in the country will know about Jeremy’s past, and his multiple run ins with the law. He thinks of his documents hidden under floorboards he’ll never find or safety deposit boxes he’ll never have access to. For a moment he wishes David Wymack had spent his time coaching a pro team, so maybe then he’d have a chance. He spends all his time agonising, trying to find a way, but everything in his life feels like it’s falling apart. He’s drinking so much coffee that he feels like his heart is going to burst. He’s barely even able to focus on playing anymore. He’s just about failing ceramics, for gods sake, and he’s not sure about most other classes - he has barely attended more than a lecture or two in weeks.

He spends hours, days, begging his mom to understand that this can’t be negotiable, it can’t be. He can’t let the team down at this point. Even Rhemann attempts to talk Mathilde down from her high pedestal, but Warren’s strong hand on her shoulder stops her from backing down. Jeremy’s dad stops answering his calls, not interested in being interrupted in the middle of the night to listen to the son he never cared about’s woes.

So the night before the championship finals comes, and Jeremy texts his teammates to have a safe flight, and he calls his dealer. They can’t meet anywhere suspicious, so he asks him to join him on the route he’s forced to run on. He knows his mom watches his every move when he leaves the house for even a second these days - he can’t stay still for too long either.

It’s not long later before he’s running home, with too much cocaine in his pocket, too many tears running down his face at what a disappointment he’d become. Noah would hate him for this; To be let down again, a promise broken, again, looking down from heaven at enough white powder to trigger a heart attack beforeJeremy even gets the chance to sit the exam.

He doesn’t take any of it that night; he knows he can’t fail again. The temptation is incredible, though, and it’s a very difficult thing to resist. He settles for some adderall he stole from Bryson’s room, and crams as much as his frazzled mind can take it.

He cries as much as he studies, every now and again just looking at the clear baggie that he hid in his wallet, heart racing every time he remembers that rush, that feeling.

The exam goes about as well as he expected, but he manages to find an hour somewhere afterwards before he’s expected to be home. he turns his phone and location off, and finds the nearest booty call to him in his contact list.

The coke goes down much easier than he was expecting it to, as if being out of practice would have made it different, but by the time his pupils are tiny and his heart is pumping, he’s at the front door of a bad idea. He doesn’t even feel able to question himself, unable to spend a half a second in his body to remember how much he’s destroying his life all over again, in that moment, because his brain and body are in seperate places. He doesn’t remember driving home, if his hookup kinda drove his car and got a cab back, or if he’d drove high out of his mind for the tedious 45 minutes that it takes. He hoped it was the former, but knew it was the latter. He just hoped he hadn’t caused an accident somewhere on the way.

His mom doesn’t stop him to ask how it went before he’s shutting his bedroom door behind him. He has a few hours to kill before the game, so he spends his time wisely between putting his nose in the bag, or smoking out of his bedroom window like a teenager afraid to be caught. By the time the game starts his paranoia has set in, an old and unwelcoming friend, and he hides his cigarettes deep in his closet for fear the tabloids would leak a photo of him smoking 10 cigarettes in an hour.

He cries when Jean takes to the court. He almost snaps his phone in half when Cat gets injured. When Derrick steps back from a fight, when Cody calls a timeout for an injury, all he feels is this hollow, empty pit in his stomach. When the Trojans lose, he can’t keep it in, and he feels his world start to crumble.

He wonders if this is how Noah felt before he made that decision to jump. He wonders if he’s high enough off the ground for it to work.

Laila calls him an hour or two later, and her face drops at the sight of Jeremy. When she asks him to hold the phone up to his eyes he smiles, an empty smile, obliging before she starts to cry. She hangs up, not out of anger, or rage at his decision to relapse, but sheer heartbreak at seeing him in such a state, alone, alone, alone, not able to do a single thing to stop it.

Cat calls him back minutes later, and he doesn’t feel heartened by how her voice cracks when she asks him what he’s taken. He’s angry, he thinks, a ball in his stomach and a voice in his head saying, “how dare they make this about them?”

She tells him to call his sponsor. She begs him to think this through. She knows she lost him when he’s half lucid and forgets he’s on a video call, dipping his head down to his bedside locker to snort a line he’d lay out earlier.

There’s an ending here, somewhere, a happy one, maybe, a complete one more likely. He said it himself; he can’t live with himself if he gets high again. He’d rather die than feel like that again. So maybe that’s just how it goes.

[wallpapertown]

Stuck Between an Arcane Gate and a Hard Place

Gale Dekarios x Tav (Genderless)

(Inspired by the Flumph’s mating rituals book in the under dark)

Gale of Waterdeep has finished all his books & needs something to keep him awake.

SMUT 18+ BELOW LINE

Gale’s Perspective, all fantasizing, no touching actually occurs. No physical descriptions of Tav.

—————————-

The sky is a dark and comforting blanket over camp. It’s been a long day, for you especially, and Gale has offered to keep first watch. He only wishes he remembered his lack of reading material before he volunteered. Considering the potential literature of his companions, he decides you’re his best chance for an interesting read. Not wanting to wake you or invade your privacy, he casts mage hand and deftly steals the small book tucked into your pack. He’ll return it before you’re awake, he justifies to himself. Sitting by the fire, he opens the novel. “The Pact of the Chain” He quirks an eyebrow at this but turns the page. Warlock knowledge has little value to him, but he wonders what it holds for you. Could you be considering a deal? Had you already made one? As he scrutinizes the words, they start to jumble and distort, before rearranging themselves. He realizes an illusory spell had been cast on your book. He flips the book back over and looks at the cover that now reads “Chained by Desire”. He opens to the first page and begins reading. His eyes widen. This is no warlock guide. This is a romance novel. Frankly, romance might be too generous for what he’s laying his eyes upon. This is much more..carnal. He sits up and brings the book in closer. His cheeks fill with warmth, but he’s unsure if this can be blamed on the campfire. Did you like this stuff? He felt ashamed for unintentionally grabbing something you wished to keep hidden. He told himself he would return the book, until he noticed a dog eared section. He was already this far. Surely one more page couldn’t hurt? He finds himself looking upon a passage where the protagonist of the story has gotten stuck midway through an Arcane Gate with their lower half of their body stuck on one side and their upper half on the other. They are being helped out of the small gate from the front end, when a curious stranger starts touching and pleasing their lower half. They force themselves to resist moaning in front of their rescuer. The drawing in the margins prevents him from being able to read any further. It’s a doodle of the portal he found himself stuck in that YOU helped him out of. You’d written “I’ll give you more than a hand Gale.” below the doodle. He slams the book shut. This wasn’t for his eyes. He shouldn’t have seen this. He leans back against a log and lets out a shaky exhale. His imagination runs wild. Images of your lower half sticking out of a gate while he pleasures you anonymously. Images of his upper half trapped in a gate, as he’s forced to work harder with his hands and mouth to get you off. He knows he’s gotten carried away when he feels his cock straining against the fabric of his garments as he thinks of how the sixty nine position would work with you in that scenario- Would he be able to hear your moans through the gate? Or would he simply see your body writhing as the pleasure runs through you? No. He needs to see your face when it happens for the first time. Needs to see that pretty little expression you make when you finish. Pressing his palm to his aching cock provides small relief. It’s not exactly as if he’s in a position to do anything about his little predicament though. He’s got to keep camp safe. Forget that. He’s got to keep YOU safe most importantly. Shaking away the distracting thoughts, he grabs a quill and ink and is about to scribble a note in your book but can’t bring himself to deface it without your permission. He grabs a scrap piece of parchment and writes “If you’re reading this, I want you to know I’m sorry. I borrowed your book with innocent intentions, but I should’ve asked your permission first. I also would like you to know that though my Mirror Image is only illusory- I’ve yet to show you the Unseen Servant spell…” and tucks the note into tav’s book along with a piece of dried Mergrass, and shoots a nervous glance around camp before sneaking the book back into Tav’s pack.

Author’s notes:

Thank you for reading!

Mergrass is an ingredient for detect thoughts so I think that’s Gale’s way of saying “I’ll be open with you, with or without magic”

I’m thinking of a part 2 where Tav finds the note and reacts!

I highly appreciate reblogs and comments!

[anchorandrope]

Hiya! Do you think 28 is a Larry number or just a Louis number? I feel like cuz Louis is the one who has it tattooed and a brand named after it then maybe it’s a Louis number but idk. Harry has made subtle references to it through the timing of his music but it’s definitely more associated with Louis nowadays. Just curious on your thoughts!

hey!!

i think it's a larry number, but i also think louis made it very much his own over time because if that number symbolizes something related to harry (like whatever it symbolizes for them and also personally for louis - i.e his relationship, sexuality, etc; stuff that he's proud of but a lot of people told him otherwise yk "wonder what they'd think if they could see us now") it's something i think he took from 2015 onwards with everything that happened as a symbol of resistance/love/self-identity at a certain point.

what i mean is that the 28 was consolidated as a "louis' thing" in 2015 because until that year it was something, i'd say... quite fully larry (especially after 28/09/2013 - which is debunked) but it was something that even many antis said was "ours" (larries) and had nothing to do with louis. but when he got it tattooed in 2015, exactly 3 years after getting the ship and compass tattoo with harry, that started to became his own thing.

i think the 28 must mean something about them to each other but that must be a couple of things, and im also quite inclined to think that the "section 28" (01/02/1991-18/11/2003) plays a part in the significance as well. for me 28 clothing is further evidence of it. louis has always been known in the fandom for communicating through his clothing - to give clear messages on many topics not just sexuality, and that he has named his clothing brand designed by him "28" is very symbolic. not only because of the trajectory of that number in the fandom and his life - but also because its a unisex clothing brand whose isologotype is a "white rose of york" (symbol of yorkshire... his home... again "home" and "28" hand in hand). besides... "official programme" really? seems to be a mockery of "clause in official governmental act". and while we're at it, pride is a 28.

the posts and tags show why we think 28 is a larry number. i think it's a harry thing too because come on...why else would he put 28 boops in sunflower vol6, por example? 😅

what i mean is that i understand why people are inclined to think in recent years that it's a "louis only" thing, as he was much more obvious than harry in terms of his references (ahem... a tattoo is no small thing hahshs) but i see his winks quite present. also i think the number started out as something they both created, so if it's something they wear proudly to this day - surely it must still be meaningful to both as a couple in some respect. maybe not necessarily a romantic-couple-thing, but as gay-men-going-through-a-situation-where-they-suffer-from-homophobia-together, you know?

i think louis as he had and has a very tough closeting situation (i mean he is the one who usually goes out to deny it, he has the bbg and had the beards for a long time, etc) he took it as something very much his own because he just knew it was something obvious. he knew that we fans were going to relate it easily with something larry/lgbt because from the first moment it meant that. i always believed (and i believe) that he uses it so much because it is one of those little things that he can use without anyone "noticing"... no one except us. that's why he uses it so much and for so many things. he links so many things with that number, it helps him to explain stuff because that's what it's for. his old playlist, for example, we started to analyse it strongly because it was called "28 songs". place where that number is, place where we fans put our eye very carefully and with a lgbt lens.

i think at this point i would go as far as to say that is his own pride symbol, because that's what i see when i hear him using it that much and talking about it. it's very him and i love that!

[fushiguruuzzzz]

OUT THE DOOR, INTO THE LIGHT.

you hated missing osamu miya. what you loathed even further was him being just out of reach.

a request for my 700 event from @cherrysurf but I got a little carried away and decided to format. exes to something anew. sort of hurt/comf but not entirely. not proofread. first time writing for osamu. word count of about 1.1k.

a/n: okay now I work on mattsun texts and school work.

missing osamu miya was the most agonizing thing you had ever had the misfortune of experiencing. what was once a sunny world, filled with rapid heartbeats and the nearly imperceptible smell of cooking that seemed to cling to the cotton of his t-shirts, was now a dreary nothingness filled only by the aching of your heart. it was louder than any sob you had allowed to tumble from your lips, those that were once pressed to his but were now left in solidarity. you did not let yourself cry over him, no, choosing to grasp desperately to the last crumb of composure you had access to, but the wails of your soul rang louder in your ears than any verbal expression. the yearning was a wicked spirit, seeping into your skin and invading your nerves with messages that chanted his name. that and some other profanities directed at yourself for causing it at all, but that was not the most haunting sensation.

thanks to the curse that seemed to have doomed you from the very beginning, you had a rather awakening discovery: missing osamu miya was agonizing. having him close was much worse. as you sat in the passenger seat of his car, the cool press of leather on your bare thighs the only piece of you that was not burning up in pure shame and self-loathing, this was more prominent than it had ever been. it baffled you, the mere concept of hurting even more when he was right beside you than you did the first moment he was not. disoriented, you were, but aware nonetheless.

the ache in your chest drew attention to itself, leaving you defenseless to withhold as the words tumbled from your lips. “i’m sorry.”

each syllable cut through the moonlit ambience of the vehicle, burying deeper and deeper into the silence until it shattered under the pressure of unresolved turmoil. his eyes flicked to you, and they looked more gray than you had ever seen them — or were you forgetting his face already? that was a thought you were unready to face head on.

“don’t be,” he murmured, the simple, withdrawn answer packing more material onto the wall that had risen between you. he was silent again. he was always, as restricting as it was, always silent. his fingers flexed around the steering wheel, the action such a subtle display of tenseness that you would not have noticed, had you not felt the exact same way.

he paused as you came to a halt, the crimson glow of the red light casting over his features. softer than those of his twin, worn by taste tests and his deep rooted love that led him to his career, but alluring all the same. “why’d ya’ call me?”

barely a whisper, as if he could not resist asking. you felt embarrassment pump through your veins as you tried to think of an explanation that seemed at least relatively normal. any sort of answer that was not sorry, it was late and I knew you would be up because you watch television on fridays as a treat for yourself or I simply remember your routine, because I used to share it with you, and remembered you were in the area. instead you said something far less extravagant, but still lacking the nonchalance to cover up the meaning.

“figured you’d be awake,” you replied.

“ah.”

it was the truth. you needed a ride, and the convenience of calling osamu was your only source of reasoning. not because you wanted to see him.

another gaze that seemed to bore heart shaped holes in your head, and you were starting to wonder how long it would take for the light to be green. was traffic always this slow so late at night?

osamu took a breath, the air pouring into his lungs and filling his chest for a long moment. the subtle movement was not lost on your eyes, for despite being fixed on the road ahead, they simply could not resist analysing him.

“i’m glad you called me,” he said.

for someone so steady, so calm, he had a way of taking you by surprise. there were many things you had expected him to say to you. you expected him to lecture you, to bring back the sorrowful memories of how things had been — actually, you had not expected to find yourself this near to him at all.

“you are?”

he nodded, a strand of hair falling into his eyes and curtaining him in gentle shadows. he had let it grow out, never really bothered to follow up with his barber as often as he once had. he looked good, really, just… tired. as though he could not be asked to care anymore. “yeah.”

you let out an exhale. you had been almost sure you had misheard him, but the confirmation made something content and nostalgic bubble in your chest.

for the first time that night, you lifted your eyes from the dashboard and looked at him. really, truly looked at him in the flesh. it was a refreshing change from the fuzzy lenses of your memory, contorted by longing and the dread for the next day set to be lived alone. he looked much more real like this, much more human. his eyes met yours and there was something that clicked, the tension in the air fading and melting into blissful nothingness. a clean slate, possibly.

he hesitated before he continued, but decided to go for it, and chalk it up to exhaustion in the morning. “missed seeing your face.”

a small smile pulled at your lips, and you had to bite your cheek to refrain from letting the satisfaction bleed any further into your face. “did you, now?”

he shot you a glance as the car began to move again, unimpressed. “don’t push it,” he replied, but there was a hint of fondness concealed beneath the stubborn command. in truth, he was just happy to see a bit of your spark again.

he let out a small huff of amusement, breathing into the car and ridding it of any tethers to the past. the crushing pressure weighing down on your frail heart seemed to lift, eased by the simple sound of his voice. every passing streetlight felt like a step closer to something different, something more right than fleeting moments and the knowledge of the end. it felt familiar, and yet entirely new at once.

missing osamu miya was agonizing. having him close felt worse, but ultimately, was all you had ever yearned for.

🏷️. - @sh0ot1ngst4r @Azinniya @Kashee-h @fiannee @bubybubsters @lizbix @mayyhaps @adoresia @gumims @cinnamxnangel @sickpatientt @aldebrana @cancelledkat @wizzzierr @jadeyaps

[starogeorgina]

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Warnings: Smut, swearing

1.02

The wind carries the acrid smell of burning flesh as the stench of death reaches your nostrils. You toss another black bag into the already burning pit just on the edges of the quarantine zone you lived in. Clad in grimy clothing, trudging through the charred remains of the once-bustling city. You heave a heavy sack of garbage filled with a day's worth of waste onto the fire, the sound of plastic groaning under the strain echoing through the desolate streets.

As you continue your grim task, you can't help but steal glances further along the road at the larger fire blazing beside the one you’re assigned to. Your mouth goes dry when you notice Joel; his brows are pulled together as he drops a body into the fire. He was hauntingly beautiful. There were so many small things you missed when you weren’t with him, like the way he hummed when kissing you and his sarcastic mannerisms. If Joel was telling you a story that made him happy, he’d trace his fingers up and down your arm. He did that often when talking about his brother Tommy.

As Joel walks back towards the truck to retrieve another body, he lifts his head and briefly makes eye contact with you, but just as you smile, his tired eyes swiftly move to something behind you.

“Sad, isn’t it?” A woman with red hair approaches you and says, "Sad, isn't it?" “I’m thankful I’m burning people's trashe and not their bodies. I did it once and had nightmares for weeks.”

“Yeah, it will do that.”

“Where’s Tess? I thought she was on the same shift as you.”

“She swapped them.”

The redhead raises her brows and says, “Oh, that’s handy, I suppose, always having someone in your apartment. The building next to mine got raided a few days ago.”

You think of your sister sneaking around the roof at night, her rifle slung over her shoulder as she scans the horizon for any signs of movement. You weren’t sure if that was for her protection or to protect whatever contraband she was trying to smuggle. According to your sister, she and Joel have been ‘upping their game’ for months now, but you try your best not to ask any questions.

As you stand there, lost in thought, a sudden chill runs down your spine. You pause, trying to shake off the unease that has settled over you.

—

Joel rips the condom packet open with his teeth before rolling the rubber over his hard cock; his rough fingers grip onto your hips as he sinks into your cunt. You groan loudly, feeling him moving his hands to spread you open as he moves your feet so they are resting on either side of his head as he thrusts into you.

“Fuck! You’re so sensitive,” he says before swiping his thumb across your clit. He smirks when your legs start to tremble. “Do you like that, baby girl?”

All you can do is nod pathetically.

Without pulling out of you, Joel wraps his arms around your waist and changes position. You’re now sitting on his lap, your legs dangling on either side of him as Joel sits on the edge of the bed. The new position makes him feel much deeper than before; your fingernails dig into the side of his neck.

“You take me so well,” he pants. “When I’m done pounding into your tight little pussy, I’m gonna kiss it better. Do you want that?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” You lean back, Joel takes one of your breasts into his mouth, his tongue swirling around your nipple, and then he abruptly stops thrusting. “What the hell—“

He covers your mouth with his hand and quietly asks, “Are you sure Tess is working late tonight?”

You nod.

“Shit,” he lifts you off his lap and whispers. “Don’t leave this room until I say so.”

You are slightly confused as he effortlessly lifts you off his lap, moments after the orgasm that was on the brink of consuming you was abruptly interrupted. It takes you a moment to process what’s happening. It’s not until he closes the door behind him that you fully register what’s going on. Someone was trying to break in. You scramble to your feet and quickly start to redress, but before you pull your pants up, three gunshots go off outside your room.

You get the gun that’s hidden beneath your mattress and aim at the doorway, waiting to see who comes through as the door handle starts to turn.

“Don’t shoot; it’s only me.”

“What the hell just happened?”

Joel brushes his sweaty hair out of his face. “Raiders, they managed to unlock your door from the outside, but I can fix it.”

“Oh my god.”

You go to leave the room, but he takes hold of your arm and says, “Trust me, you don’t want to see.”

“But we’re going to need to clean it up before Tess gets back.”

He lets out a deep sigh and holds onto your shoulders. “Finish getting dressed; I’ll deal with the bodies.”

You cared a lot for Joel, probably a little too much, but the one thing you hated was that he acted as if you were made of glass. Both he and Tess seem to forget that blood surrounds you every day.

Joel lets go of you to find his clothes that were scattered across your room; he had only slipped his boxers on before leaving the room. You watch as he ties off the condom before shoving it into the bottom of the trashcan in your room. While you studied him, you had no way of knowing how terrified Joel was of losing you moments ago. Joel's heart raced at the sound of someone trying to break through the front door; his first instinct was to save you; he killed two men without regret because it meant you were safe, but yet he had no intention of saying these thoughts out loud.

—

Your hands shake as you nervously fumble with the box in them. Now or never. Hearing the click of the door opening, you pull a used towel over your lap and frown at your sister, “Jesus, Tess, have you ever heard of knocking?”

Without even glancing in your direction, she goes directly to the sink, immediately rummaging in the small cupboard underneath it.

“I’m trying to pee here.”

“Then pee!” She tosses a few empty tampon boxes to the floor and grunts, “I’ve got to leave to meet this guy about a weapons shipment, and it looks as if I’ve been stabbed from the waist down.”

“Seriously, you need to get out.” You huff like a teenager, wishing more than anything that you had a bathroom with a lock that worked. “Seriously, go now!”

“Alright, alright,” she says, holding her hands up in defeat. Tess turns around, her eyes drawn to something on the floor. “What the fuck is that?”

Your heart races as you notice the small stick lying on the floor. Damn it. It had slid out of the box. Tess crosses her arms over her chest, her gaze fixed on the pregnancy test.

Dropping your head into your hands, you sigh, “Don’t, just don’t.”

“Please tell me you’ve got that for someone else,” her voice low and guarded.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of your secret bearing down on you. You shift uncomfortably under her gaze, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “I’m late,” you mumble, trying to sound nonchalant. “But it could be from a lack of sleep and stress. This isn’t the first time I’ve been late.”

Your sister lets out a harsh laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “But you've obviously been screwing someone to even think there is a chance you could be. Fuck.”

You feel a stab of guilt as your sister's words sink in. She's right, of course. You had been screwing someone, but you and Joel both agreed it would make things complicated if other people, including Tess, knew.

“Have you taken it yet?”

“No, I was about to when you came barging in.”

Tess pulls a couple of tampons out of an old makeup bag. “Silver lining if you are knocked up? We don’t need to fight over these anymore.”

—

Putting all your weight on your shoulder, you push the door leading into the next door’s apartment open by slamming into it. Dirt and grime cover the walls, revealing overturned and broken furniture. A layer of thick dust coats everything, indicating that no one has been here for a long time. The windows remain boarded up, and the only light from outside comes from the small cracks in the boards.

“Holy shit.”

As you and Tess both search through the apartment, you can't help but notice the tension building between you. She has been acting strangely for days, and you struggle to understand her feelings towards you, as all you've received, except for a few words, has been silence. Every time you try to make eye contact with her, she looks away quickly and becomes visibly uncomfortable.

“Are we just not going to talk now?”

“So, who’s the father?” When you don’t answer, Tess scowls at you and says, “Jesus, tell me you know who the father is.”

“Of course I do,” you snap defensively. “I’m not some whore who sleeps around, if that’s what you’re trying to imply.”

She gives you the same look your mom gave you as a naughty kid. “I never said you were, but you’re the one who’s put us in this position by being so reckless!”

“We used condoms every time.”

Tess shakes her head while picking knocked-over furniture back up. “Condoms are only ninety-eight percent effective, meaning two people out of a hundred fall pregnant, and of course you are one of them.”

You throw two fusty-looking pillows into a black bag, trying to hold back the tears you feel welling up. “Don’t you think I know that? I—I—I can’t tell him.” You think of the devastation in Joel’s eyes every time he spoke about Sarah; not telling him about the positive test result right away was your own way of protecting him. “I need to get my head straight first. Think clearly before I speak to him about it.”

“Do you have any idea how hard this is going to be?” She asks, sounding more like a disapproving parent than a big sister. “Will the father even step up? Will he just be another Paddy and leave you to raise a child on your own?”

Tess has always looked after you. When you were a teenager, she took you in after your dad found out about your pregnancy and kicked you out of his house. She stayed by your side the whole time your son was sick and would babysit so you could study or work extra shifts. You owed Tess everything, yet a part of you was mad because, despite everything you’d been through, she was still treating you like the teenage girl who appeared on her doorstep, begging for a roof over her head.

“I know it’s going to be hard.” Trying to hide the tears that have fallen, you start throwing more junk that was left behind into the trash bag. After a few moments have passed, you take a deep breath. “I think he will be shocked and in denial at first but will want to be involved.”

The truth was, you had no idea how Joel would feel or react, but the second you saw those two thin little lines appear, you wanted to bury your head in the sand, so you imagined this would rip the floor out from underneath him. Joel was a brutal, hardened man, but yet, you’d still trust him with your life. You weren’t scared of telling Joel because of his reaction; you were just scared of the reality of the situation.

“You know, if you don’t want to have this baby, there are still places that can help you.”

“I just...” you cut yourself off, taking a deep breath. “I need to sleep on it for a few days.”

"I'm not asking you to tell me who your father is so I can judge you. I’m asking you to tell me because I’m your sister; whatever shit goes down, we go through it together.”

“I don’t want you to have another reason to be upset with me.”

“I won’t be angry,” she sighs. “I just don’t want to go around assuming it’s every guy you’ve spoken to. Is it one of the medics?”

“No.”

“It’s not… a soldier?” She asks jokingly.

“I’ve been sleeping with Joel Miller.”

Tess laughs, “No, you haven’t. Because Joel told me he’s—“ Immediately her demeanor changes; she’s seething. “You’ve been seeing him and never told me?”

The flicker of hurt on her face takes you aback. “I’m sorry. It’s complicated; I don’t even—”

Before you can finish your sentence, Tess storms out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

[fanfic-scribbles]

Flowers For

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You give Bucky flowers, because friends can give each other gifts and it doesn’t have to mean anything. This time, though, it ends up meaning everything.

Quick facts: Romance – Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff!, background Steve/Sam/Natasha, everybody’s a little shit

MCU Timeline: Set some nebulous time after CA:TWS (though while I do make allusions to the MCU “Civil War” we’re familiar with…it didn’t happen like that. I mostly just wanted Ned and MJ and Peter around for a cute mention.)

Words: 2787

A/N: I badly needed fluff and this just sort of happened. Enjoy <3

~

Bucky seems…sad, lately.

You don’t know how to explain it. He doesn’t look any different than he normally does. He doesn’t speak any different than he normally does. But there is an air around him that feels almost melancholic, and though most of your other friends treat him the same as always, you do catch Sam and Steve looking at him a few more times than normal, which confirms your suspicions. You just don’t know what to do about it. Sam and Steve are both closer to him than you are. Surely they can fix whatever is wrong, and you should just butt out. …Right?

The first flower is a fluke.

You find it by the curb of the sidewalk. Dropped in a rush, a few of the rose’s petals have been pulled off by whatever event cast it aside in the first place, but it is still overall lush and gorgeous. You pick it up– carefully, because curiously there are a couple of thorns– and dust it off. You carry on to the park where you’re going to meet up with Bucky.

And there he is, looking almost lost as he casts his gaze out to some unknown point. It’s pointless to follow– you get the feeling that, whatever he’s looking for, isn’t even here. And to further cement your worry, he doesn’t even notice you until you’re almost within arm’s reach. He leans back to cover the small flinch, and he smiles at you, in a way that if you were only able to see his eyes you wouldn’t even be able to tell. “You made it,” he says gently.

His focus moves down to your hand and his expression takes on a tinge of curious wonder. It’s not out of place or character– Bucky has a lot of little plants he tends to. Some herbs, a little vegetable seed he’s experimenting with, some–…flowers…

“Whatcha got there?” he asks and tilts his head to one side.

If it didn’t have the thorns, you’d be tempted to put it behind his ear. It would look beautiful– more beautiful. Because it’s him, and he’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever known, inside and out. But you can’t say that. You can’t risk not having him around.

You lift the flower towards him and say, “It’s for you.”

His eyes light up, but he looks between you and the flower a few times. “How come?”

“Just because,” you say firmly, and hold it higher. It feels right, and it feels even more right when he takes it and his face relaxes, showing some of the tired lines of the age that doesn’t yet show, but there’s a small genuine smile that bends the edges of his eyes, and makes your heart bloom into a flower all its own.

~

The next time you meet up, you’re more prepared. Buying a whole bouquet seemed…silly? Too much? But you got what you could find and so most of the flowers are stashed at your apartment, looking pretty in a cup, and you have a select few in hand, tied with a little ribbon you had lying around. The price tag hurt so bad it almost feels insulting these flowers don’t actually have any thorns, but, stupid expensive idea or not, you want to see how this goes.

Bucky is sitting on a ledge outside the museum, shaking his leg absently, but when he senses you nearby, he stops, sits taller, and turns. His eyes go immediately to the flowers and he smiles, but quashes it down almost immediately again.

“Seriously,” he says as you approach and hand them over. His eyes squint at you with some suspicion. “What’s the occasion?”

“Flowers are pretty,” you say without thinking. “And soft. And nice.”

“So why give them to me?” he huffs, derision shading his words as he casts his gaze down again.

You put the flowers in front of him, insistent enough that he finally takes them. “Because they’re pretty, and soft, and nice, and you like them,” you say. And I like you, you think but do not say. And when he lifts them to his face, getting lost in a thought, the soft petals graze his skin, and briefly touch the corner of his lips, and it’s so beautiful you think this is all very, very worth whatever price tag comes with it.

~

But you do find a florist that sells flowers by the stem. You actually find more than one, because, after a few times of coming in, the comments they made were…not mean, no, certainly not, but pointed. And you just can’t deal with that right now. Because Bucky is such a good friend, and he has enough to deal with without also worrying how you’d take his rejection– or, worse, that you’re just another person to want something from him. He’s had so much stress, and pain, and it just doesn’t do to imagine you contributing to more of that. Besides– flowers are, in fact, nice, and pretty, and soft, and fully capable of being utterly platonic.

Even if the way Bucky smiles every time he receives one (or two, or five,) makes your stomach do a flip.

“You know, bringing a fella flowers when you’re out to dinner with him is gonna give people some ideas,” he says, a smirk playing at his mouth as he flips the menu over.

“Not when they see the person giving you the flowers,” you say, trying to match his teasing tone. But as you go for your menu, he catches your hand. You stop and look at him. He stares at you for a few moments that almost make you squirm, but then he lets go, his hand sliding slowly, (so wonderfully slowly), away from yours.

“Then they’re idiots,” he says decisively, as if daring anyone to actually say that to his face. He even scowls a bit and looks around. Before you can apologize for your bad joke, he adds, “No one talks to my bestie like that,” and goes back to his menu.

It surprises a laugh out of you, and he’s smiling again. “We might need to cut down on your hangout time with Peter,” you say, and pick up your menu for real this time. You can still feel the ghost of his hand on yours, and you savor the memory of it. He doesn’t…touch, like that. It was nice.

“MJ,” Bucky says. He glances at you a few times and pulls some of his hair behind his ear. “She helped me cut my hair.”

“She did a great job,” you say earnestly. It’s not super short, still falling down enough he could ostensibly put it in a tiny ponytail, but it had been getting quite long, before. While it had looked nice, supplying one with many fantasies of running fingers through the full length, or braiding, or– …well, ultimately, you know the maintenance of it had annoyed him, and that’s what really matters.

“I want it shorter, but this was as much as I could manage,” he admits. He brightens. “Those are good kids.”

He tells you about his day, and how the three-man “Spidey-crew” somehow made an absolute wreck of one of Tony’s training rooms despite only one of them actually being enhanced, and as much as you’re riveted by the story, you can’t help but notice how Bucky’s right hand keeps drifting over to pet the flower petals throughout the night.

~

“Hey.”

You look up– and squint at Steve. You don’t know exactly what that look on his face is, but you know trouble when you see it. Not bad trouble, like someone’s dying, but that Captain “The Biggest Little Shit In The World” America is going to make trouble. “Hey,” you say cautiously. You look around. You’re supposed to be meeting someone else today. “Is Bucky okay?”

“He’s doing great,” Steve says, and there it is– that grin that means you are going to regret whatever comes out of his mouth next– about zero point three seconds before he adds, “He seems to be collecting enough flowers to be able to open his own shop though. Don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

“Mm, no,” you say, because Steve Rogers is not the only little shit in the area. God, at this point Bucky practically collects them.

“Interesting,” Steve says, with a little too much…well, interest.

You bristle. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve says, feigning innocence. “I just said it’s interesting.”

“And what would your boyfriend think about that?” you ask. You then try not to actually think about what Sam would have to say about it.

Of course, you don’t get away that easy. “He’s also wondering when you’re going to make an honest man out of Bucky,” Steve says, dropping the pretense.

You scowl. “He already is an honest man.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Steve says, gently, but…it’s true. He’s the one who took on the world for him. And won. “Hey,” he says and sits next to you. “It’s fine, just…you know Buck’s going to wonder about all this.”

You swallow. “He won’t bring it up,” you say. You hope. “Even if he kn–… He wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings.” He’s so good. He’s too good.

“He might also not bring it up because he’s as afraid of rejection as you are.” Steve squeezes your shoulder, then stands. “But from here on, it’s not up to me– it’s up to the two of you.” You don’t even get a chance to fully absorb all that before he adds, “That said, you should be more concerned about what my girlfriend thinks about all this.”

You immediately feel your blood go cold.

~

The knife of Natasha hangs silently over your head. Silently, because she made sure to stop by just to stare at you a little too intensely and a little too long. At this point, you’re not sure who’s actually more protective of Bucky– Steve or Natasha. You’re pretty sure the latter is the scarier of the two, though. Only pretty sure though, because Steve probably only backed off because he knew she was going to step in.

You sigh, and watch the rain fall outside your window. Maybe you never should have– but, no, you can’t bring yourself to regret it. It made Bucky happy. It makes Bucky happy. Overprotective friends or not, it’s worth it.

…And if you do get dead and buried, you’ve probably bought enough flowers for Bucky that he won’t even have to buy any arrangements.

There’s a knock at your door and you scramble up, but at the quiet, familiar, “It’s me,” you relax again. And then you scramble to go hit the light. Bucky can’t see you yet so he doesn’t know you’ve been brooding in the dark, but it suddenly feels a lot sillier, all told. Then you answer the door, and he’s smiling, and oh boy, you really are in trouble, aren’t you.

“I got something for you,” he says, and unzips his jacket, bringing out…

…A small bundle of flowers.

You freeze. You should have expected this– Bucky is the kind of guy to get and then give in equal (or more) measure, but there’s something about Bucky, with his nice new haircut, showing up at your door, giving you flowers, that makes your heart ache. But the longer you stand there, the more his smile starts to wilt, until he finally says your name in such an uncertain tone that you snap out of it.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful,” you say, and take them to go get a tall cup or something to put them in.

He breathes a sigh of relief and starts pulling off his jacket and shoes. “Thank God; I wasn’t sure what kind of flowers you like, but I put those together and they just felt right, you know?”

You nod agreeably, even though you think if Bucky showed up with them half-rotted and smushed with most of their petals gone, you’d still have been equally choked up. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say gently and turn to face him, and oh, he is suddenly very, very close.

“I wanted to,” he says, and doesn’t back down. His eyes flick from place to place, though, and he swallows. “Just…because. That’s good enough, right?”

“It is,” you agree, because it is, and you stand by that. But the way Bucky is looking at you is searching, and you feel your chest clench. What is he looking for. Did Steve snitch. Natasha wouldn’t (she loves leverage a little too much for anyone’s full good) but if you have to kill Captain America for being a bitch you will–

“What if it wasn’t just because,” he blurts out. And there’s no other way to describe it; the words fall right out of his mouth like they didn’t even mean to. But you both freeze, and Bucky stands tall, and he doesn’t take them back. He looks right at you and says, “What if…what if they meant something?”

It’s so quiet. Rain pats against glass in waves, but even it is softer now, and you swallow. “What would…they mean?”

And, because there is no hiding the hope in your voice, Bucky relaxes, and once again becomes the kind of person who would look at an angry chihuahua of a man and think befriending him was a good idea. “Well,” he drawls, leaning into you more, but your lower back is against the counter and he rests his hands on it, on either side of you. “It’s not your birthday…it’s not a holiday…”

“And what kind of holiday would you get me flowers for?” you ask, deadpan, because he– he wouldn’t actually make fun of you for this. He’s not that cruel. So this has to be going one place, and you think you know what it is.

Right?

“Valentine’s Day?” he suggests. But his eyes are intense, and for a few moments neither of you say anything, but his mouth is right there, and yours opens just a bit in a Pavlovian response you absolutely should not have but that you desperately want a reason to develop.

“Seems like that might be kind of a statement,” you say softly. You swallow again. “If you. Did that.”

“Yeah?” he asks and leans in, somehow, impossibly closer.  “Maybe I just wanted you to have something nice. And soft.”

His lips are almost touching yours, so close, so close. “Maybe I’d like something else,” you say, more breath than words, and then there he is, there he is closing the distance at last and his lips are on yours and your lips are on his and his chest presses hard against yours and the counter is digging into your back. But his arms wrap around you, and no flower petal can hold a candle to his lips, you think deliriously, wrapping your arms so tight around him that if you had enhanced strength, you think you’d crush him. His lips are mostly soft, but you can feel the little ridges, a hint of a split that must have happened in training this morning, and his tongue and yours. When you finally separate, it’s slow, and while you both take a moment to breathe, you try to wrap your head around…all of this.

“Man,” you murmur. “If I knew all it would take is some flowers…”

Bucky lets out a hoarse laugh, and passes the tips of his fingers gently across your cheek. “What can I say?” He smiles, and it makes his eyes crinkle. “I’m a cheap date.”

You smile too, and say, “We’ll see about that.”

~

When you go to meet with Bucky for your first official date, you bring flowers– and so does he. He hands you your little bindle, but you go about sticking your selection right in his coat breast pocket– and find something familiar about the new broach he has. It’s a little pin containing three rolled dried rose petals in resin, it looks like.

“Is that…” you ask, and he nods.

“I wanted to keep it,” he says, and adjusts the fresh flowers in his pocket. You didn’t plan it like this, but they look so perfectly at home, and when he smiles at you it nearly makes your knees weak. “You look amazing,” he says, gently, and holds out his hand. “Shall we?”

In one hand you hold firm stems and soft petals. Your other hand, you slide into his– against skin calloused and creased and warm and, despite all of its supposed imperfections, better than any flower could ever hope to be. You grip tight, and say, “We shall.”

~

[nachiah]

Spoilers for Chapter 14 of Tokyo Debunker under the cut

Chapter 14 only made me love the Mortkranken duo even more!! I'm just gonna kinda ramble as opposed to my usual, more organized stuff with screenshots and whatnot: I really like that it focused mostly on Yuri's backstory - namely the things he would refuse to tell us otherwise. It goes to show that his bravado and somewhat self-centered nature is mostly for show. He's hiding just how bad he's been hurt by others, and keeping his guard up. As for Jiro, we get a little more of an idea of the sort of sheltered upbringing he had. It's becoming clearer and clearer that he didn't spend much time in the outside world. There are places he wanted to go, but couldn't for whatever reason. And now, it's not like he can just go anywhere. Yuri needs to be there with him - and we learn why: It's his stigma. The injection he received in the immortal patient chapter was probably something to further damage the anomaly without damaging Jiro too, too much. He has no control over his stigma, so *anything* that happens to him - including the effects of poisons and injections - happens to the one that inflicted it. My hopes for his stigma being something like that were realized. Perhaps at the point of making the pact, he wanted retribution. He wanted those that inflicted pain onto him to suffer the same fate. That, however was a bit of a double-edged sword, because now he can *only* be treated by Yuri - but we have no idea why he's unaffected. I personally think it has something to do with a certain level of trust, but that doesn't account for the coma... unless he already knew Yuri back then. Now for the ship-related stuff, and boy did we eat good this time: Yuri rips Nicholas a new one after letting the Frostheim thing slip, and gets mad when people mention that house in general... But when Jiro asks about the funding he could've had, he's met with a calm and direct answer. The way he stepped between Yuri and the Frostheim students when they tore into Yuri (and when he probably noticed Yuri couldn't handle it himself). That man was absolutely ready to throw hands. When Yuri was crying in the infirmary, Jiro said something interesting... to "wait until *we're* alone." Not "you." "We." This means, of course, that Yuri has let his guard down in front of Jiro before. More than once, I would assume with that kind of response. Then the tenderness when he asks MC to "keep him from losing his way..." I also have to note the proud smile he had when Yuri was revealing the truth of the matter to everyone. I love their dynamic so much. They clearly depend on each other, but they are independent enough to not give in to each other when there's a difference in opinion. Just a match of wits with a touch of snark. But when something does happen, they do whatever they can to help one another. Even having just struggled to awake from a small coma, Jiro uses everything he's got to relay that important tidbit of information to Yuri. Jiro *needed* to tell him about the discrepancy. I loved it all - start to finish. While MC took a bit of a back seat in this one, I feel like it was necessary to really show both Jiro and Yuri's overall dynamic and to keep the spotlight on Yuri this time.

[schrijverr]

Chris? Chris! Christopher!

Divergence from chapter 7, where there is an emergency at Chris’s school that the 118 answers to. Buck is more worried about whether or not Chris is safe than keeping his distance for the life he might lose, causing the others to find out about his marriage to Eddie.

On ao3.

Ships: Buddie (pre-slash)

Warnings: fire at a school, no one too hurt

~~~

Hen is bored. Today isn’t a quiet shift per se, but it also isn’t very eventful either. She isn’t going to risk it of course, but she wouldn’t say no to a little action. Maybe something harmless, like a cat stuck in a tree or something?

She sighs again and looks over to where Buck and Chimney are crowded around the pinball machine together.

Chimney has been trying to beat the high score she set during a slow shifts for the past two years now. Unsuccessfully, she might add. Seems like he recruited Buck to help now. That thought makes her smirk and she is about to go over and gloat when the alarm starts to ring.

Now, Hen will never be happy people are in an emergency and need help, however, a small part can’t help but be relieved at the action.

That is until the details start to filter in. There’s a fire at a school. It’s being evacuated and other units are on their way too, but it’s always scary to have kids in danger. Her stomach ties itself in knots at the news and she can’t help but he glad the school they’re going isn’t Denny or Harry’s school.

Then she notices Buck across from her in the rig, looking absolutely pale. He isn’t looking at any of them, just typing on his phone with shaking hands.

She is about to ask him if he’s okay, thinking that maybe he’s struggling with the idea of kids being in danger like this, I mean, it’s his first big school fire, but before she can they roll up to the scene. There are a bunch of kids on the lawn and fire blazing big in one of the wings.

There is already another house at the scene, so their Captain is in charge of the scene. Bobby instantly checks in with her, while the others go and get the gear from the truck, since they can guess that it will be necessary.

Buck keeps looking over to where the kids are and Hen follows his gaze. There are tears and scared faces, but there are also a couple of kids who appear to be playing a game. A paramedic is going over all of them and Hen wonders if they need more help.

Hen also hopes that the amount of kids will calm Buck’s nerves. She understands that a call like this isn’t fun and she hopes there is no fatality, because those are the worst for her. However, Buck needs to keep his head on right, he can fall apart after this fire is out.

Before she can say something, though, Bobby returns saying: “Not every kid is accounted for, two are still missing, but the 221 is too busy trying to get the flames under control. They just got here too. Someone needs to go check.”

“I’ll go,” Buck volunteers immediately.

Bobby eyes him critically for a moment, he probably saw the same things Hen did and needs to asses if Buck is up for it. Apparently the determination on his face is enough, because Bobby nods and sends him out there with a: “Keep us updated on the radio and don’t go too far in. Teachers assured us the burning part of the building has been evacuated. It’s no longer stable.”

As Buck jogs off with a promise that he’ll be safe, Bobby turns to Hen and Chimney saying: “Hen, you’re with me on getting these flames out. Chimney, go help check over the kids.”

“Yes, Cap,” both say, setting to their task.

As she and Bobby join the 221 in fighting the fire itself, they listen to Buck update them on clearing the building. It’s almost impressive how fast he’s moving, she is never making fun of his gym bro tendencies again.

He speed runs the not burning side of the building, moving closer and closer to the flames. As he goes, he’s not finding the kids and Hen can feel her own heart beating faster as Buck’s voice gets more frantic.

They’ve managed to stop the flames from getting further and are actively diminishing it, but there is still very much fire when over the radio comes: “This part still looks stable, I’m moving further towards it. Over.”

“Buckley, do not. If they were there, they won’t have made it. Over,” Bobby radios back, voice sounding wrecked at the thought.

“No, I see a door that looks to be okay. I’m checking it out. Over,” Buck voice crackles back and he ignores Bobby’s further orders.

As they hold the hose, they watch the building creak. A part at the far end collapse and they all hold their breath, praying that it doesn’t domino further to where Buck is.

It doesn’t crumble and both let out a breath. Bobby radios again: “Buckley, parts are collapsing. Get out of there now! Over.”

“I have one of the kids. I don’t see anyone else. Bringing her out now,” Buck radios back. “She’s still conscious, but heavy smoke inhalation. Transport has to be ready. Over.”

“We’ll have it ready. Over,” Bobby promises, nodding to Hen to get that ready. She nods back and turns off her hose to go help the kid.

She goes to get Chimney then a gurney. As they’re moving towards the entrance to intercept Buck, Chimney comments: “That crazy kid. He’s gonna get himself killed one day.”

“Yeah, but today he saved a kid,” Hen points out, both not mentioning that there had been two kids unaccounted for. Hen is sure this will haunt Buck, first losses always do.

At that point they’re at the entrance that Buck is coming out of, a small girl in his arms. The idiot gave her his mask and there is soot all over him, he probably has smoke inhalation too now. At this rate, Hen is going to die of stress that their probie will give her.

However, not the time. Hen and Chimney get her on a gurney as Buck updates them through coughs on her condition. Then he coughs: “I’m gonna go back. Look for the other kid. They might still be in there.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” Hen immediately says. “You need medical attention too Buck.”

More medics come running, taking the gurney from them. One of the medics from the 221 smiles kindly as he says: “Go take care of your own. Fire is dying.”

“Thank you,” Hen has the mind to smile back, before her and Chimney go to hold Buck back.

“Let me go!” he struggles.

“No, you idiot. It’s not safe. Cap said no,” Chimney says, nearly getting knocked over.

“I have to get back in there! I have to look for him,” Buck shouts.

Hen isn’t sure they would have won, Buck is already strong on a good day and he is way more motivated now than then. She doesn’t know why he wants to get himself killed so badly, but she isn’t going to let him.

However, salvation comes in the form of the radio crackling: “Second kid located. He’d wandered off to the playground. Over.”

Instantly Buck stops fighting them, instead sagging as he exclaims: “Thank god!” Hen can share the sentiment, grateful all the kids made it out alive today.

She is about to tell Buck to sit his ass down so they can look at him, but he is off again. This time not towards the burning building thankfully, but still. Her and Chimney share a confused look, before running after Buck calling out for him to sit down.

Buck does not sit down.

He beelines to where the kids have gathered, scanning all their faces as he calls out: “Chris? Chris! Christopher!” voice getting more frantic as he doesn’t find what he is looking for.

As she watches him, she gets a sinking feeling she knows why Buck was looking so pale in the rig, why he kept looking at all the kids and why he was so eager to get into that building when he heard there were still kids missing. Buck knows a kid that goes to school here. Maybe has a kid that goes to school here.

That feeling is confirmed when a young boy on crutches makes his way through the crowd, calling out: “Papi!”

“Christopher,” Buck sounds heartbreakingly relieved when he sees him, face breaking out in a big smile. Immediately, he starts making his way over to him, scooping him up in his arms with a: “Hey, Superman,” as he kisses him on the cheek.

“Papi,” Chris whines, rubbing the soot that is now on his cheek.

“Oh, I’m sorry, buddy,” Buck says, not seeming sorry in the slightest as he hugs Chris tight.

“Am I hallucinating or is Buck holding a small kid who is calling him papi?” Chimney’s voice next to her breaks her out of the moment she’s watching.

“Uh, yeah, I think you’re not hallucinating, I’m watching the same thing,” Hen says. In a way it makes sense to her now. They speculated he declined drinks to hook up or party, but being a parent – and probably a single parent with how old that kid looks and Buck’s flirting – would be a good reason too.

“What the actual fuck,” Chimney says passionately.

Hen elbows him in the side for that, hissing: “Chim! There are kids here.”

“Sorry.”

They look back at Buck, who is both bashfully yet proudly grinning as Chris excitedly talks about how cool all the firefighters are and how his papi is a hero. It’s kind of adorable, Hen decides. Buck seems to be a good dad if Chris is so comfortable around him and in awe of him. She can see how he could be with what she knows of him.

Bobby comes up to them asking: “Did Buck come out okay? The girl on her way the hospital? All the other kids looked over?”

“Uh, not yet everyone looked at. Girl’s on her way to the hospital, but Buck walked away before we could check him. Idiot probably has smoke inhalation,” Chimney tells him.

Before Bobby can ask where he went of to, Buck starts coughing, pulling their attention back to him and Chris. Hen can see the relief on Bobby’s face when he sees Buck, then the confusion at him holding the kid, before realization dawns when the kid asks: “Are you okay, papi?”

Buck puts Chris down, coughing some more as he squeezes out: “Papi’s okay, buddy. Just something in my throat.”

“Yeah, that something is smoke,” Hen tells him, deciding that this is a good time to interrupt the two of them. “Sit down, Buckley, and let me check you over.”

He pouts, but sits down. Hen suspects it’s to give a good example, she knows she would and she sees nothing wrong with using that against him. She shoves an oxygen mask over his face and takes his vitals just to be safe.

As she is checking him over, Chris is peering over her shoulder, small frown on his face. “Is he gonna be okay?”

Hen smiles at him reassuringly and says: “Your papi is gonna be okay. He was out there being a hero, saved a little girl, he just got a little smoke in his lungs, but we’re giving him some extra air and he’ll be good as new again.”

“I will?” Buck asks hopefully excited.

“But he’ll still have to go to the hospital,” Hen tells him pointedly. She has noticed how he doesn’t seem to like medical checks very much and she isn’t going to let him duck out on this. If he didn’t want to go to the hospital, then he shouldn’t have taken his mask off.

Buck makes a face, but he doesn’t complain like she thought he would, the glance he gives Chris tells her enough. She can tell Chris has CP probably, so she can understand Buck not wanting to give him the idea that hospitals aren’t fun. So, his forced cheery: “Yay for doctors,” makes more sense.

“Yay,” Chris cheers for him and Hen just melts. Buck being a dad is not what she expected to find out today, but he seems good with the kid and Chris is adorable.

Bobby and Chimney have left to do their own jobs, since the fire is still smoldering and more kids still need to be checked over. Buck seems to be doing okay, but she doesn’t want him to do anything strenuous yet, especially not until they can transport him.

So, she turns to Chris and says: “I’m gonna continue checking other kids, why don’t you keep an eye on your papi for me. Can you do that?”

“I can,” Chris promises with a big smile.

“Good kid,” she praises him, ruffling his hair, before telling Buck: “Sit.”

“I’m not a dog,” he complains, but he is smiling anyway, looking grateful as he pulls Chris into his side and asks him how his day has been before the fire. More kids surround the two as Hen walks away with Chris obviously glowing at the attention that his dad saved the day.

Hen smiles and shakes her head, before joining Chimney. The school is starting to call parents, but all the kids are still hoarded together for now so they can be checked. Most evacuated pretty soon and didn’t even come close to the fire, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

As she squads down next to him, he nods over to Buck, asking: “Probie playing the hero?”

“Ach, let him have this,” Hen says, she knows Chim is just teasing.

“Fine,” Chimney winks. “Though, the kid is a surprise,” he adds, a clear fishing for gossip.

“Yeah, but it makes sense I suppose,” Hen replies.

“Because he’s promiscuous?” Chimney asks.

“No,” Hen gives him a look, “because he’s good with kids.” A beat. “But yeah also that.”

“How old do you think he is?”

“I don’t know, around six or seven, there about.”

Chimney whistles. “That’s teen parent territory.”

Hen nods, she has also done that math. Buck can be smarter than he seems and with his frat boy attitude, she always wondered what he was doing at the firehouse. He’s not a legacy and, as far as they know, he doesn’t have an experience with first responders that drove him there, which is a little unusual, but a small kid at a young age with medical bills? She can see why he picked this career path. A whole new level of respect towards him unlocks.

They quickly check the rest of the kids as parents start to arrive, most absolutely panicked and rechecking their kids, some forcing Hen or Chimney to look at them again. It’s a little annoying, but Hen can’t blame them, she’d want to be absolutely sure if it was about Denny. God, she can’t imagine what Buck must have felt like when they got the call.

After Bobby has cleared up, they all reconvene at where Buck and Chris are still sitting in the grass. By now Chris is wearing Buck’s helmet, absolutely glowing, while Buck has ditched the turnout coat.

Buck also still has his oxygen mask on, probably also courtesy of Chris, but he smiles through it as they arrive, asking: “Everything done okay?”

“Yes,” Bobby tells him. “We’re all wrapped up here, so we’re getting you to the hospital for a final check up. Are we going to have a passenger?” he adds, nodding to Chris.

“Ah, yeah, uhm, if that’s okay?” Buck replies, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “I kind of told his teacher I could sign him out and it’s okay. Sorry about this, by the way, uh, this is Chris. Chris, this is my Captain, Bobby, I mentioned him, remember?”

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” Chris says politely.

“It’s nice to meet you too, kid,” Bobby smiles, though his eyes shine a little.

Buck quickly also introduces Chris to Hen and Chimney, both getting polite ‘nice to meet you’s as well.

With that done, Bobby says: “We can bring him in the ambulance. I’m driving back in the rig, but I don’t want to see you back to work until you have a clean bill of health, am I clear?”

“Crystal, Cap,” Buck promises, looking a bit saddened by the news nonetheless.

“Good,” Bobby nods, then quickly turns around and walks away, his steps almost mechanical in nature. Hen wonders what that is about, but doubts she’ll get an answer; Bobby is a closed book to all of them.

Putting it to the back of her mind for now, she turns back to Buck and says: “Let’s get you to an ambulance.”

“I can walk,” Buck immediately says.

“But we provide such great service,” Chimney pouts. “But alright, you can walk.”

They haul him up on his feet and Buck helps Chris up, before they all make their way to the ambulance together. There Buck is ordered onto the gurney, while Chimney crawls behind the wheel, leaving Hen with Chris in the back.

Chris is super excited to be there, which usually isn’t the case for people riding along. However, it seems Buck talks to him a lot about a job – maybe a bit too much – because Chris asks Hen all sorts of questions about all the equipment and procedures with incredible detail.

Hen doesn’t mind answering all of it and handing questions he knows to Buck so he can be the cool one with answers. She knows what it’s like to have your kid be interested in your job and think it’s cool, she wants that for him.

Buck and Chris are definitely related. She can see in him the same enthusiasm she sees in Buck. It’s adorable now that the knowledge that Buck is a dad has settled.

A part of her wonders why Buck – who chronically overshares – never told any of them about Chris and just let them think he’s an irresponsible frat boy. However, she also gets it. As a teen parent, he probably got a lot of hate and judgment, she gets not wanting to share. While she never regrets always having been out, which is in part comparable, she knows it made it harder on her.

Then Chris asks: “Are the doctors going to take you when we get to the hospital?”

“Probably not immediately,” Buck tells him. “We’re going to have to wait in the waiting room, because there are other people who the doctors need to see first. I’m not that hurt, they just need to check to make sure. Others need medical attention more urgently.”

Hen is about to offer to stay behind to watch Chris, since Buck will have to be separated from him for testing and stuff and she’s sure Bobby would sign off on it, when Buck says: “But it won’t be too boring. Daddy is coming to keep us company and he’s bringing your book and art supplies, remember? He said so when we called.”

In the front of the ambulance, Chimney sounds like he’s choking on his piece of gum. Hen can’t deny she can’t keep the shock of her face either. Daddy. Another parent. Somehow that is one of the more surprising pieces of information that has come to light about Buck today.

It’s not the queer part that throws her off, she’s seen Buck make eyes at some of the guys on calls, though he doesn’t flirt with them the way he does with women. It’s the other parent part.

Of course, it’s not impossible to conceptualize that Buck might be raising his kid with someone else and daddy doesn’t mean the other dad isn’t also Chris’s bio parent… it’s just that Buck never acted very married. I mean, he flirted a lot. Gave out his number too.

Though, then again Hen never saw him actually hook up with anyone and with the whole being with a man means he could be trying to hide the gay. Even if he didn’t try very hard now. Also, he never did confirm he was with the other parent. Just that he is in Chris’s life. It could be that he is coming to the hospital to check on Chris, since he was just in a fire, not really Buck.

All those thoughts flash through her mind in the split second after Buck’s words. Chris seems oblivious, promising: “I’ll make you a card. The best card. For saving everyone.”

“Ahw, thank you, Superman,” Buck grins at him, ruffling his hair.

For a moment, Hen thinks this will be it. Buck is going to gloss over it and ignore her and Chimney’s reactions, even though he definitely saw her expression.

However, Buck then explains: “Uh, Eddie is Chris’s dad. Other dad, I suppose. He- We’re- It’s a little complicated.” His smile is tight. “But I’ll be okay. Eddie is my best friend and medical proxy, not to mention a medic. He’ll make sure I won’t kneel over when we get home.”

“Uh-huh,” Chris backs him up, nodding very seriously, “daddy is the best at making your scrapes go away. He kisses my scrapes better, he’ll kiss papi’s scrapes better too.”

Buck goes absolutely bright red at that and Hen snickers. It’s a little funny how embarrassed Buck is by getting kissed better by his… Eddie.

Still the ‘it’s complicated’ might be correct with how he splutters a little, not to mention the way he referred to Eddie as best friend and nothing else. She isn’t going to pry though, she has her own ‘it’s complicated’-story with Eva and she doesn’t appreciate people asking either.

In the end, Buck squeaks: “It’s not really like that. We’re co-parenting. Living together right now, ‘cause it’s easiest. Eddie got injured in the service.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain,” Hen smiles gently at him, privately tucking the information away for now. It sounds like a divorce, but amicable. Maybe Buck is still carrying a torch with the way he doesn’t take anyone up on their offers after flirting and the way he looks when talking about Eddie, but she isn’t going to get involved in that. Way too messy.

“Oh, okay. Thanks,” Buck smiles back, looking a little relieved.

At that point, they’ve arrived at the hospital and Buck complains about getting wheeled out, especially since they’re just going to dump him on a chair somewhere, since they need the gurney back again. However, it’s stifled a little by Chris’s giggles at riding the gurney with them.

Hen does the sign in for him, while Chimney theatrically leads Buck to a waiting room chair with Chris. He is also taking Buck’s turnout coat and pants from him, so they can take them back to the firehouse with them and Buck won’t have to deal with the bulky and unwieldy clothes here.

Chimney has brought the clothes to their ambulance has come over to see where Hen is at, because she got caught up in talking to one of the nurses she’s friends with. “Come on, Hen. Bobby is probably getting nervous about us taking so long.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. Bye, Hannah,” Hen says, turning around and planning to say goodbye to Buck and Chris, before leaving.

As she does, a man comes rushing through the ER door, frantically looking at everyone there. He is handsome looking, brown hair and brown eyes, as well as a slight stubble. She is about to dismiss him when his eyes fall on Buck and Chris and he exclaims: “Gracias a dios, you’re both okay.”

He’s over by them in a second, pulling Chris in a hug as he exclaims: “You had me so worried, mijo.”

“I’m okay, daddy,” Chris assures him, hugging Eddie – because that must be Eddie – back. “Our class was out really quick and papi saved the day. He ran into the building and got Amberlee out! It was so cool.”

“That’s nice,” Eddie smiles, cupping Chris’s face and looking at him once more, as if to for certain assure himself that Chris is in fact okay. Then he whips his head over to Buck, who’d been looking fondly at the scene and demands: “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Uh, that I had to do my job?” Buck replies, sounding almost unsure of himself.

Eddie deflates a little at that, realizing that Buck is right, however that doesn’t prevent him from pouting: “Well, at least do your job correctly then. What happened to your mask? I know they’re required, I helped you study.”

Buck gets a goofy grin on his face at that, before it turns sheepish: “Uh, I gave it to the girl. She’d been exposed to it all for a lot longer.”

“Of course you did,” Eddie shakes his head fondly.

“I had to do it.”

“I know.”

They look at each other for a moment, understanding passing between them. Hen doesn’t know what their relationship is exactly, if they’re divorced, never together to begin with, or still trying, but she knows that those two are in love. That they care deeply for each other.

Chimney leans in and softly says: “Do you think it’s awkward to say bye now?” which makes Hen snort as she shakes her head.

She makes her way over and smiles at Eddie, holding out her hand as she says: “Hi, I’m Hen. It’s nice to meet you. We drove the man of the hour here,” she adds teasingly, ruffling Buck’s hair as he ducks his head with a flush.

“Ah, Hen,” Eddie replies, shaking her hand. “It’s nice to put a face to the name.” He turns to Chimney next to her and holds out his hand: “That makes you Chimney?”

“It would. Nice to meet you,” Chimney smiles, shaking his hand.

“Thank you two for keeping him alive,” Eddie says, nodding to Buck, who lets out a: “Hey!”

“Of course. He did something really brave today, even if he was a little dumb for giving that girl his mask,” Hen replies, usually not one for boosting men’s ego, but curious enough about the reaction to do so. Besides, it was Buck’s first big fire and he didn’t even panic that much, despite the possibility of his son being in there. He deserves some credit for that.

“Well, that’s Buck,” Eddie says without missing a beat. “Our very own hero.”

“Oh fudge off, Silver Star,” Buck blushes, bumping his shoulder against Eddie’s side, trying to play it off and maybe giving something away. Not many people walk away from a Silver Star uninjured, which might explain the ‘easier for now’ about the living together. Though, if he was, Eddie seems to be recovering well.

“I hope you’ll be cleared soon,” Hen tells Buck.

“Uh-huh, won’t be the same about your probie-ness,” Chimney jokes.

“Wouldn’t wanna leave you hanging,” Buck rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning.

“Are you leaving?” Chris pipes up, pouting at them. In that moment they can clearly see Eddie in his face and Hen notes Buck and Eddie must both be his parent.

“Yeah, buddy, sorry. But we’ll probably see you around again,” Chimney assures him, melting a little into Uncle Chim that he is with Denny.

“And you’ll answer my questions about the ambulance?” Chris asks hopefully.

“Of course we will. We need someone to tell your papi about the ambulance,” Hen jokes.

Chris brightens immediately and eagerly says: “I hope to see you soon! Thank you for looking after papi and my friends.”

“I hope to see you soon too, kid,” Chimney says, he always gets choked up when it’s kid thanking them. “You did well out there.”

“It’s what we do. We’ll see you around,” Hen promises.

Buck smiles gratefully at them, then turns to Chris, saying: “Now say bye, Superman, Hen and Chim have more people to save.”

“Bye!” Chris waves cheerfully as Eddie also says his goodbyes to them, while the two of them leave the family to the waiting room.

As they drive back to the firehouse, Chimney says: “So… that was sure something.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t know what about all this I’m supposed to be most surprised about. What do you think is up between him and Eddie?”

“Honestly?” Hen answers. “I have no clue. I would say divorced based on what Buck said, or maybe it was a one night stand and they’re trying to make it work, but aren’t together, but…”

“But romantic with the way they were acting,” Chimney fills in.

“Yeah,” Hen agrees.

“Well, hopefully Buck gets that clean bill of health so we can question him next shift,” Chimney says optimistically. He’s always in a good mood when there is gossip to go around.

However, Hen can’t judge him, she’s exactly the same. It’s why their friendship works. Besides, this is the most fun she’s had at work since Bobby took over. Buck being a parent too, not to mention maybe, probably, being a queer parent, is exactly the thing the 118 needed.

Thankfully, as both had hoped, Buck returns next shift with a clean bill of health that he proudly presents to Bobby.

“Ah, this looks to be all in order. Thank you, kid, good to have you back,” Bobby smiles at him paternally, before leaving to file it. Hen has noticed Bobby warming up more since Buck joined the team. It’s good to have the kid around.

But it’s not just good because he’s helping their Captain become more part of the team, it’s also good because with Buck comes newly discovered gossip. So, she comes over to him the second that is done, greeting him: “Buck, hi! Good to have you back. Eddie a lot of a mother hen or does he come across like that more than he actually is?”

“Oh, no definitely also a mother hen. I think it’s just his dad instincts honestly. I didn’t mind that much, though, we ordered food from my favorite place and Eddie did the laundry. It ruled,” Buck tells her with the excitement only he can have about that.

“Wow, that sounds thrilling,” Chimney says, half-genuine and half-sarcastic.

Buck doesn’t seem to notice just nodding. “I also got this cool new drawing from Chris and a bunch of kids in his class also drew me pictures. It’s the best. They’re all so sweet and cute.”

“That’s nice,” Hen says genuinely, smile on her lips. Then she switches topics to what they’re truly curious about: “So, what’s the deal between you and Eddie?”

He clearly hadn’t expected her straight forwardness, blinking at her a few times, but Hen usually preferred it if people just asked instead of danced around. And if he seemed uncomfortable, she was totally prepared to drop it.

However, luck is in her favor, because once Buck gets over the surprise he waves his hand around as if swatting a fly, as he shrugs: “Long story, but me and Eddie are husbands, I guess. For now.”

The sentence clears up exactly nothing, which Chimney lets him know for them by saying: “What do you mean husbands you guess and for now?”

“Uh,” Buck responds, looking a bit like a deer in headlights. Hen is about to elbow Chimney to drop and change the subject herself, when Buck explains: “Well, it’s- it’s a marriage of convenience, not anything real.” He swallows, then plasters on a smile, definitely carrying a seemingly in his opinion one sided torch. “We got married so I could adopt Chris while Eddie re-enlisted so we could pay off medical bills, you know.”

“Wait, you adopted Chris,” Hen says, delighted by the knowledge that not only does she share being a queer parent with Buck, but also being an adoptive parents. Though, she’s also surprised, since she would have sworn Chris was Buck’s.

“Yeah, I- I did?” Buck replies, sounding unsure about what they’re expecting from here.

Quickly Hen assures him: “Nothing wrong with that, I mean, would be hypocritical of me. I just thought Chris was yours and Eddie’s, since he’s so much like you both. He makes the exact same face you do when he’s asking questions.”

“Oh.” Buck looks surprised for a moment, before a pride flush spreads across his face along with a big grin. “Thank you,” he says and she has never heard anyone mean those words more.

“Course,” she smiles back. There is something special about someone seeing you in your kid. She knows it well and she is glad to have given Buck a chance to feel it now.

Then Buck blinks the expression off his face. “No, but uhm, me and Eddie both cis. I’m bi though, but Eddie’s straight. Like I said, just convenience.”

There is an undercurrent of hurt in his voice now and Hen knows enough. Buck clearly carries a torch for Eddie and while she swears it’s mutual, she also doesn’t know Eddie and if Buck says Eddie is straight then it might just be her.

Chimney also picks up on it, or he picks up on her not gearing up to push further. Either way, both of them drop it.

However, Buck doesn’t get that memo or wants to explain, because he continues: “Yeah, so we were planning on divorcing after Eddie came back, but obviously I wasn’t going to leave him and Chris without insurance of income while Eddie recovers – he was injured during his service – so we’re still married now, but we’ll probably divorce when Eddie is up to work again.”

“Divorce can be rough,” Chimney sympathizes. He might not have had divorced parents himself, but he knows about families splitting up and new people coming in.

“Yeah, it’s gonna suck,” Buck agrees, seeming downtrodden about it. “I’m going to miss Chris so bad.”

Wait. What?

“What the fuck do you mean with that?” Hen asks, the words out of her mouth before she can stop them, despite her resolution not to push moments earlier.

Buck frowns back at her: “What do you mean with what do I mean?”

“I mean, what do you mean you’re gonna miss Chris? You’re still going to see him, right? How long have you been raising him with Eddie? Are you two not going to split custody?” Hen asks.

“Uh, I’ve known Chris for about three years now, helping for two,” Buck answers, voice slightly wobbly. “And we haven’t really talked about it. I guess I kind of assumed, since Chris is Eddie’s kid, I was just there to help. It’s not as if he wanted me specifically.”

Fucking hell. Hen’s heart just breaks at that confession and one glance at Chimney shows that he feels the same. Of course Buck wouldn’t mention any of this, he’s already mourning a family he might not even lose, because he’s assuming he will.

“Buck… buddy,” Chimney starts, hesitating, before he continues: “Shouldn’t you and Eddie talk about this? I mean, I don’t know either him or Chris well, but that kid loves you. You’re his dad too. Don’t you think it’ll hurt him when you just disappear like that?”

By the looks of it, Buck never even considered the possibility that he might be missed back. Hen isn’t sure if she wants to hug or strangle him more.

“Oh, yeah, uhm, maybe?” Buck replies dumbly after a beat that lasts a bit too long.

“I think you mean definitely,” Hen tells him with a stern look so he knows she means it. When that has sunk in, she smiles, before wrapping an arm around him: “But that is a conversation for you and Eddie. Come, I wanna know more about Chris. I think he and Denny would get along, you guys open for a play date?’

That out is one Buck takes gratefully. Hen gets it, they’re just coworkers and this is pretty personal. Gossip is one thing, messing around in someone’s business is another. Still, she does hope it works out between him and Eddie, in whatever form that is. They have a nice family.

But for now, she’s getting Denny another potential friend and another name on the roster for emergency babysitting. It’s nice to have other parent friends.

~~

A/N:

Nearly put Chris in the burning building, but I didn’t. Because I’m nice like that <3

Also the call to Chris’s school is such a classic one and I love it so much, can’t believe I didn’t think of this one earlier, but very thrilled to write yet another take on it :D (I also did in The Permanence of Saying It Out Loud, which fun fact, is the inspo for the back story in the I Do verse!)

I contemplated not adding that bit after the hospital, but I felt like it would be nice for Hen and Chimney to get more context. And I love adding the possibility of them communicating so much earlier and maybe avoiding the cluster fuck that is the main verse lol