#admittedly its only when hes on meds but still

[jeonqkooks]

congrats, jen! can i request namjoon + “how mad would you be if i kissed you?” for your blogiversary event? <3

feather light | knj

pairing: namjoon x reader

rating: G

genre/warnings: strangers to lovers, fluff, barely any angst unless you count aerophobia as angst?, unedited bc that should be its own warning lol

word count: 1.1k

note: thank you so much for sending in a request!! it's been a while, i know, apologies for the delay!! for some reason i've always wanted to write a drabble where namjoon is a stranger on a plane hahahha i'm glad i was able to incorporate that idea into this request!! i hope you enjoy it heheh ☺️

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

If you’re being honest, you don’t recall much of February 24.

You remember boarding the plane, and finding your seat, and fastening your seatbelt, and gnawing on your bottom lip like chewing gum throughout the pilot’s announcement. It was a relatively short flight, only two hours from your city to the island where your friend’s wedding took place that weekend. Usually, you can handle short flights just fine. You just needed to take your meds beforehand and you’d be good to go.

Except, you’d forgotten them at the hotel, on the counter in the bathroom, before you headed for the airport.

Looking back now, was it divine intervention?

Maybe. The universe works in mysterious ways. You’ll never know for sure.

Then, as you internally freaked out in seat 17A, you just knew that life absolutely sucked. Your own brain was feeding you the most terrible thoughts and painting the most gruesome scenarios of all the things that could go wrong over the next two hours. 

It was great - truly amazing - that you only had your brain for company and nothing to distract you.

You hated every aspect of flying, but takeoff and landing might have to the parts you despised the most. When the plane rumbled to life and began to slowly move on the runway, your hands immediately slapped down on the armrests and held onto them for dear life. You remember squeezing your eyes shut and not even daring to take a breath, as if one exhale could send you and all the other passengers to the nether world.

You remember staying completely still for five whole minutes, until the plane settled into a smooth rhythm and glided through the clouds with ease.

You remember taking an experimental breath, but then something warm moved underneath your right palm and you almost screeched in horror.

You remember opening your eyes to find yourself clutching the hand of the person sitting in the seat next to yours. The events of that day may not be very clear in your mind, but the absolute mortification you felt in that moment still sometimes resurfaces to the front of your brain.

You remember scrambling to apologize for holding his hand hostage and not even realizing it. You remember watching him smile amusedly and reassuring you that it was fine. You remember his soothing voice as he told you that his little sister was scared of flying too, “It’s all good.”

You remember the dimples and the kind eyes that calmed your storm for a split second.

Maybe that’s the real reason why you don’t remember February 24 all that well.

Maybe it was something that you only read in books and watched in movies: Love, at first sight.

You remember your hands getting clammy and he mistook it for your fear rearing its ugly head again. He started talking, no doubt to help distract you from the fact that you were thousands and thousands of feet in the air.

Admittedly, you couldn’t really focus on what he was saying, just that he was telling you how he was getting back from a trip with his friends. Something about being an art collector, something about vitamin B powder…

You don’t even know what you replied to his questions and stories, if you even responded at all or if you just sat there, listening but not really listening.

The task of trying not to make an even bigger fool of yourself in front of this beautiful stranger got you through the better part of the dreadful two hours, until the very end.

When the plane shook, only once and it was just very light turbulence, but that was enough for you to spiral again.

Curse the meds that were probably thrown away by housekeeping at that point, and curse you for leaving them behind.

You were back to square one, even though there were only twenty minutes left to endure. Your hands gripped whatever they could find as a means to ground yourself, and it just so happened that his hands were nearby.

You remember his long and delicate fingers wrapping around your sweaty ones, holding your hand back.

You remember him telling you that everything was fine, that you were almost home.

“Breathe.”

“In and out. 1… 2… 3…”

“That’s it… It’s almost over.”

You remember his warmth not leaving your palm until the plane landed, and the other passengers started getting their luggage from the overhead storage.

When you made it back onto solid ground and inside the safety of the airport, you thanked him for putting up with you the past couple of hours. He said he was glad that he could help, and you asked for his name then, shyly.

“Namjoon,” he answered with a dashing smile. “I told you on the plane.”

You remember flushing with embarrassment once again.

You walked together outside, then stopped to stand in silence as each of you ordered your own Uber.

Yours arrived first, and Namjoon helped you put your suitcase in the trunk of the car.

Sure, you might not remember much of what happened on February 24, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re sitting here, in the waiting lounge of that same airport three and a half years later. This time, you remember to bring your meds, but nevertheless, your leg still bounces in anticipation of the flight you’ll be boarding soon. Until his hand lands on your knee to soothe your nerves, and his voice is clear in your ears.

“Stop that,” he chuckles. “You’re making my seat vibrate.”

You shoot him a glare and your best pout. “I can’t believe you’re making me fly on our anniversary. I should be so mad at you.”

He laughs then, gentle hand moving from your knee to interlace your fingers, diluting this “anger” of yours that’s already as non-existent as it is.

“How mad would you be if I told you that we can do whatever we want for the next five stress-free days? Fancy hotel spas, lounging by the pool all day, dinners right on the beach… I even called your boss and asked for two more days off if you want to stay longer.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling, but he sees right through you. “Still very mad.”

He narrows his eyes playfully, squeezing your hand because he knows he’s already forgiven. “And how mad would you be if I kissed you? My kisses always make you feel better, mhmm?”

You remember that feeling you had on February 24, when you saw him smile for the first time.

— all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 11.03.2023]

#namjoon x reader #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #namjoon x you #namjoon imagines #namjoon fic #namjoon scenarios #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts angst #bts x you #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fic #btshoneyhive #bangtanbathhouse #52hertz #bts #kim namjoon #fic: feather light

[runninggolden]

Certified ‘Pain In The Ass’ (part 1)

Leonard McCoy x female OC (can be read as x reader)

word count: 3530

a/n: Hello! I’m writing again! This is an old fic of mine that didn’t work out. But I liked it a lot so I decided to strip it down to its bare bones and write it all over again and now it works! I’m still editing part 2 but it should be up soon! I’m on AO3 as RunningGolden :)

This was originally an x reader fic but I accidentally gave the reader too much personality so I just made her an OC. Whoops. You can still imagine her as ‘reader’, I don’t describe her looks at all and I only gave her a surname. Her personality is very strong, though.

This is sort of enemies to friends to lovers. The enemies part is more of a backstory though.

summary: Her friendship with Leonard was a strange one. They’d banter a lot, she’d playfully joke with him and he’d roll his eyes and occasionally fail to fight a smile. He’d drag her to med-bay everytime she even got a papercut and she pretended to be inconvenienced by it. Oh, and she was deeply, embarrassingly, in love with him. (part 1 of 2) 

warnings: profanity, injuries, blood, aliens, danger, OC is a little shit lmao, they’re both idiots, literally children pulling each others pigtails, almost painful pining

___________________________________________________

When she met Leonard McCoy for the first time, she quickly discovered how easy it was to annoy him. One, admittedly dumb, comment and he whirled on her with a scowl that seemed to permanently reside on his face and frustration seeping out his pores as he snarled; “Damn it, I’m a doctor not a frog! The bio bed is stuck 5 meters up in the air and you suggest ‘jumping’?! Why does everyone insist on being a pain in my ass today?!” 

She laughed in his face.

That clearly wasn't the reaction the doctor expected if his look of disgruntled confusion was anything to go off. He looked her up and down, seemingly only then realizing that he did not recognize the person he just scolded.

"Hold on, who the hell are you?"

She smirked, his obvious bad mood dangling in front of her face like candy on a string. And boy, did she have a sweet tooth. "Oh, you haven't heard? I’m Chief Security Officer Flynn. They hired me to be a pain in your ass. Anyway, have you tried a trampoline?"

Despite her new job on the Enterprise keeping her quite busy, being Leonard McCoy's certified ‘pain in the ass’ was a role she took up enthusiastically. Annoying the notable doctor quickly became her favorite hobby. Bothering him in med-bay, crashing his drinking sessions with the Captain and proclaiming something dumb to get him to argue with her (much to the Captain's amusement), offering more useless comments for him to rant about. It was all a fun distraction from an otherwise stressful move to a new starship.

It was simple, really. A simple game, a simple back-and-forth, a simple source of entertainment.

But it didn’t take her very long to discover that there was absolutely nothing simple about Doctor Leonard McCoy.

There was just something special about him that kept her coming back for more. She couldn't stop seeking him out, bantering with him, learning things about him, trying to get him to laugh at her jokes. It didn't take very long for her to forget it was supposed to be simple.

He didn't make it easy, either. He claimed to absolutely loathe her and immediately seized any chance to argue with her, to complain about her, to glare at her. And of all the things she's learned about him, his god-awful (and overly dramatic) acting skills might just be her favorite. 

You didn't have to be a genius to tell that despite his colorful language, his words were never harsh. He scowled like he got paid for it but his expressions were never cold. And for someone who claimed that she was the unfunniest person in the universe, he sure covered up a lot of laughs with ill-placed coughs.

If you had asked anyone on the ship, they would’ve told you that he enjoyed their arguments even more than she did.

Perhaps she was also a distraction to him. Perhaps life in between all the action on the Enterprise was so dreadfully boring, that her antics kept him somewhat entertained. Perhaps underneath all the cynical theatrics, he liked having her around.

It took a year into the Enterprise's new mission for them to develop a strange sort of friendship. He begrudgingly made space for her in his life and she toned down her antics. From time to time he stopped acting like she was the bane of his existence and every now and then she opened the floor to friendly conversations. She’d playfully joke with him and he’d roll his eyes and occasionally fail to fight a smile. He’d drag her to med-bay everytime she even got a papercut and she pretended to be inconvenienced by it. They still bantered a lot, but it was softer, somehow.

And it took one moment for her to mess it all up.

She made him laugh, really laugh, and suddenly it all made sense. It was all building up to this, all the bad jokes, all the pitiful attempts, they all came to this moment. And god was it worth it. He let out a hearty, belly-aching laugh and his eyes crinkled at the corners and it was like the stars aligned and heavens opened up. She finally saw the light and was lit up by it from the inside, her heart engulfed in flame by a single sound. It lasted only a moment and she was immediately thirsting for more. Thirsting like she was sweltering in the desert and the only thing that could quench her thirst was hearing that goddamn laugh again. Preferably on her lips. Whilst wrapped in his embrace.

Of course, of course this is what it was about the entire goddamn time!

Oh. Oh, I am so screwed.

-

“Leonard! It’s your favorite patient!” Her call was followed by an exasperated sigh and the screech of a chair. The Med-Bay was quiet that day, only a handful of people littered about and the only notable sound that could be heard was the occasional cough.

“What did you do this ti-“ Leonard abruptly stopped mid-sentence as soon as he rounded the corner and spotted her standing in the doorway clutching her bloody hand. “My god, what the hell did you do?!” He ran up to her and gently took her hand to examine it. She smiled at him sheepishly.

“Challenged Sulu to a duel… again… we got a little carried off.” She chuckled and he gave her the look. His famous ‘I can’t believe I have to deal with this bullshit’ look that most people would whither from in shame. Not her though, no, she reveled in it. She wasn't sure if it was because of her persistent desire to annoy him or that she just liked being in the center of his attention. Perhaps a bit of both.

"Again?! Last time he almost cut you in half and you decided to have another go?!" His arms folded disapprovingly across his chest as he glared at her. Apparently her cut wasn't life-threatening enough to skip a lecture.

She scoffed. “Oh, relax, I was fine, he barely grazed me.”

“You were out of commission for a week!”

“Yeah, because you banned me from moving!” 

“You would’ve ripped your stitches out!”

"I would've been careful!" 

"You seriously expect me to believe that?"

Fair point. “Okay, fine. I promise to never again intentionally get into another sword fighting duel with potentially the greatest sword fighter in outer space.” She promised in a flat voice, fingers crossed behind her back, before grimacing and quickly adding; "Don't tell Sulu I said that."

“You’re a menace.” He grumbled with an eye roll as he led her to the nearest med-bed and started to clean the wound. A stray hair rebelled from his neatly combed hair and she couldn’t help but think how adorable he looked as he continued berating her, each comment decorated with increasingly creative insults.

“Oh, Dr. McCoy… I love it when you talk dirty to me.” She breathed and sent him with a sultry look, successfully stopping his rant short. She snickered as she felt his hands still on hers for a moment before he fixed her with a glare. He drew in a deep breath and opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He shook his head with a sigh, and went back to treating her wound.

Huh, that was weird. Managing to fluster Bones was no easy feat, but shutting him up? That’s rare. She could proudly say she's done it twice before, but this one felt different. Feeling like she was on the verge of something awkward, she decided to change the subject as quickly as possible.

“Besides, next time… I’m finally going to beat Sulu at his own game.” She declared, breathing an inward sigh of relief as he immediately latched onto the distraction.

“What happened to ‘never getting into another sword fight’?” He narrowed his eyes.

“I crossed my fingers when I said that.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “I cannot fathom how someone would let you be the Chief Security Officer on this ship!” He exclaimed dramatically, not for the first time, but only earned a grin from her.

“Obviously someone saw how awesome I am.”

“Obviously!” He repeated sarcastically. She snorted and watched his hands work on the cut Sulu so graciously gave her, admiring the way his long fingers gently applied a healing ointment on her wound.  His hands were steady, precise, practiced in the art of taking care of someone. His fingernails were better manicured than hers could ever hope to be, cut with a surgeon's precision. He had a few scars, faint white lines decorating his skin, along with a few freckles. His touch was soft, so soft she barely felt it, and she wondered, not for the first time, how a man with such a strong personality could be so gentle. Be so kind.

Despite his sardonic wit, brusque demeanor and his immense hatred for stupidity, Leonard kept surprising her with just how big his heart was. He was compassionate and cared deeply about all living things. He could curse your entire bloodline whilst nursing you gently back to health. He could hate space with a burning passion but still follow you into a black hole to make sure you were alright. They could be in the middle of an argument about her clumsiness (or lack thereof, in her opinion) and he’d still grab her just as she was about to fall over, which would’ve won him the argument. She thought about that moment embarrassingly often.

One of his hands picked hers up and cradled it, warm and comforting, as the other picked up a dermal regenerator and let the soft glow illuminate her hand. She barely registered the warmth from the regenerator, the feel of Leonard’s hands was way too distracting. She tried not to think about the fact that he did not need to hold her like that, she’s seen him use the dermal regenerator a million times by now and he never touches someone during the process. It was unnecessary. Yet there he was…

Her heart was hammering in her chest. Silently cursing, she tried to regain control over her traitorous body before the doctor could notice. She was fighting the urge to shiver… and the instinct to grab his face and kiss him.

I’m gonna go insane. I’m gonna go insane because of Leonard’s McCoy’s hands.

“Did you remember to take your medicine this morning?” He suddenly asked, frowning at the report on his tricorder. She shook herself, realizing he had finished wrapping her hand whilst she had her private freak-out. He still gently held her hand with one of his, thumb stroking her palm as the screen distracted him. 

She fought the urge to scream and melt into a puddle, simultaneously. 

“Uh… yeah! Of course.” She lied. Crap. She totally forgot. He didn’t seem to believe her in the slightest.

“Oh, really?” He arched an eyebrow and stared her down. Usually she could stare back all day with the same stubborn attitude as him, but she was so distracted by the feel of his thumb - he's still doing it! - and silently cursed when she felt her face heat up. Looking away, she decided to just give in.

“Okay, I forgot.” She mumbled and he threw his hands in the air. Her shoulders subtly sagged as his hand left hers. Thank god, having a heart attack because of a thumb would've been embarrassing.

“I swear to god, do I need to physically come to your quarters and shove them down your throat so you’ll remember?” He shook his head at her and she would’ve thought he was furious if it wasn’t for the way he looked at her.

That look. God, she knew she had an unhealthy addiction for the man but he did not help when he looked at her like that. Like he was secretly loving this ridiculous thing between them, too. Like their bantering fueled him as much as it fueled her. She mentally begged her face to return to its original color and looked at him pointedly, with crossed arms, faking bravado. His eyebrows inched up as he mimicked her movements.

“I’d like to see you try.” She tried to sound intimidating but couldn‘t fight the smile growing on her face.

“Oh, I will.” He said, leaning forward, the corners of his mouth twitching. For a moment they simply stared at each other, competing in a wordless game, eyes locked in a heated battle, when the sudden clearing of a throat prompted them to look up at a grinning Jim.

“Okay, so whenever you guys are done flirting, I need you to go on a mission.” His grin grew wider as the two people in front of him blushed and Leonard took a step back, furrowing his brows and fiddling with his tricorder. She was about to retort when the latter part of Jim’s sentence registered and her heart stuttered for a different reason.

“A mission? I’m in.” She beamed and was about to jump off the bed when a hand stopped her.

“Oh ho, no, you’re not, you’re hurt.” Leonard kept his hand on her arm to hold her in place. Again with the touching! She rolled her eyes. 

“I’m fine, see?” She flexed her bandaged hand for them to see, it was still painful, but she wasn’t going to mention that.

“It could be challenging and considering you’re still healing, I’m not clearing you. You’re not going.” Leonard‘s tone indicated there was no room for arguments but unluckily for him, she could always argue.

“I’m going.” She whacked his hand away and jumped off the bed.

“You’re not going.” He tried to push her back on her bed but she wouldn’t budge.

“I’m going!” She said with determination. They started staring each other down again, ignoring Jim‘s chuckles beside them.

“Aw look at you two; you’re like an old married couple!” He cooed and successfully made them stop to glare at him.

“Shut up, Jim!” They said simultaneously, making Jim double over with laughter. She grimaced. He was definitely going to tease them about that. She just hoped it wouldn’t be in public, like the last time.

“Captain, permission to go on this mission?” She turned to Jim fully, ignoring Leonard‘s attempts to get her to sit down.

“Permission granted.” He nodded as he tried to catch his breath and she turned to Leonard with a triumphant smile.

“See? Captains’ orders.”

“Jim!“ He yelled at the Captain. „Well I say she can‘t, Doctor‘s orders.“

„Which one is more important?“ She stage-whispered to Jim and he opened his mouth to reply when Leonard cut him off.

„Mine.“ Fine, he wants to be stubborn? She‘ll just have to resort to desperate measures. Sighing dramatically, she melted away the tension in her body and took a step towards him.

„Len…" His eyebrow quirked at her quiet tone, but she ignored it and plowed through. "I really want to get outside, you know how uncomfortable I can get all cooped up in here. Remember the last time I skipped a mission? I almost went insane! It’s not like it’s my dominant hand, anyway...“ She gave him her best puppy dog eyes, hoping to god he‘ll just let her go. She was glad the Med-Bay was nearly empty at this point, her reputation would be in ruins at this pathetic display. 

Darn him and his ability to make her chuck away her own pride. 

He looked like he was about to argue, but she stopped him before he could by bringing out the big guns. "Please?"

She absolutely hated using that word and he knew it. She could tell he was going over her argument in his head and debating whether it was worth it. Glaring at her for a moment longer, he pinched his nose and let his shoulders drop.

„Fine, but I’m giving you a boost so your skin heals faster, even though I’m not supposed to, and you have to promise to stay close.” He relented and jabbed a finger at her. She jumped and beamed at him and he visibly softened. 

“Don’t I always?” She gave his arm a squeeze as a thank you. He shook his head, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Why do I even try?” He muttered. She just wiggled her eyebrows in response, already skipping away to get herself ready for the mission.

„Wait, that worked?“ Jim suddenly piped up, confused as to what just happened.

„Shut up, Jim.“

-

“-It’s a desert area, but there is a forest nearby that we can’t really get a reading on, we’ll just try to stay away from it for now, just in case.” Suited up and struggling with an armful of equipment, she listened to Jim drone on about the mission whilst the rest of the team gathered on the transportation pads. It was a simple run of sample collection but since it was mostly unknown territory, security was required to keep watch. The bright eyed new security recruit and her would have the exciting job of just standing there. But at least she's getting outside. Just the thought of the wind in her hair had her buzzing in excitement.

“Just in case?” Leonard froze and she chuckled.

“It’ll be fine, Len, like Jim said, we’ll only be a few hours.” She shot him a grin and he muttered curses under his breath and something that sounded like ‘fine, my ass’ but she couldn’t be sure as the feeling of transportation took over and her feet sunk in sand.

She closed her eyes and breathed in the sudden hot air. It was warm, almost overbearingly so, and there was a sickly sweet smell in the air. The air, god, there wasn't much wind but the subtle caress on her skin was enough to make her head tilt back and grin towards the sky. Her eyes opened to a captivating mix of pink and purple. Three yellow moons stretched across the atmosphere and she was overwhelmingly glad she got Leonard to stop arguing like a paranoid mule and let her join. She looked down to comment on it when something made her freeze.

She was alone.

Spinning around in confusion only gave her more questions than answers. The sand under her boots seemed to cover a rocky landscape which was dotted with strange cacti-like plants. They were tall, but not tall enough to be trees. Their thorns were larger than that of a cactus and made walking around them difficult. They cast dark shadows that stretched across the barren ground, only interrupted by a few pathetic looking bushes.

It was quiet. The kind of quiet that made you flinch at the sound of your own breath.

She fought the sudden surge of panic as she hastily searched for her comm, ready to ask what the hell was going on, when a voice suddenly piped up from it, making her jump.

“Landing party has successfully reached its destination.” Jim's voice sounded distorted. Was her comm broken?

“Uh, sorry to burst your bubble, Jim, but I think I’ve lost you.” She spoke into the comm as she started walking around, trying to catch sight of her team.

“What?” A pause. “Wait, where the hell are you Flynn?!”

“Ah, Captain, something ----- happened with the transport-----at caused Flynn to be transported els------.” Scotty's voice sounded even worse and he kept cutting out. She turned her comm around, assessing for damage. It seemed fine.

“What do you mean elsewhere? Where is she?” Jim was starting to sound as panicked as she felt. She had a bad feeling in her gut and she couldn’t shake it. She thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and swiveled only to be met with another blasted cactus. She raised the comm to her mouth again, eyes fixated on the plant.

“Jim, when you said forest, was it possibly a forest made of… uh, cacti-looking things?” She asked in a low voice and gripped the equipment in her arms tighter.

“She’s in the forest?! The ‘let’s stay clear of those, just in case’ forest?” Leonard’s voice both soothed her and panicked her even further with its words. Yep, something was definitely off. She looked around again, the back of her neck prickling with the feeling of being watched.

“Calm down, Len, I’m sure Scotty can beam me away…. Right, Scotty?” She tried to calm down enough to reassure them both. She would be fine, Scotty would sweep in any second and beam her up. She was met with silence. “Scotty?”

“Ah, eh, no, not exactly— can’t detect— there’s something in there—- disturbing the process.” He sounded apologetic, but she stopped listening halfway through. She saw movement again, this time right in front of her. Did that… no, did it?

“…any idea of what it is?” Jim asked. The movement happened again, this time enough to confirm her suspicions. Before she could react, the cactus in front of her literally started moving towards her.

“Holy shit!”

________________________________________________

sorry to end on a cliffhanger lmao >:) tell me what you think! part 2 should be up in the next couple of days! it will be longer ;)

#Leonard McCoy #leonard mccoy x reader #bones x reader #leonard mccoy x oc #leonard mccoy x you #star trek fanfiction #karl urban x reader #fanfiction #bones x oc

[freckle-face-ace]

Portgas D Ace X Trafalgar Law

There are two chapters of this. It was meant to be a one shot, but my brain summons the ship sometimes.

1

Law leaned over the counter bored as he watched Luffy round the corner happily chatting away to whomever was a few steps behind. The younger raven flailed his arms emphasizing whatever dramatic part of his story he happened to be telling. That's when his companion came into view.

He ran his hand through his jet-black jaw length waves as a large grin spread across his freckled face. Law let his eyes wander to the stranger's exposed chest. Though fall was settling in he wore a pale orange short sleeved shirt lazily buttoned halfway and a pair of long black shorts.

"Zoro ended up kicking his ass!" Luffy laughed shoving the glass door open causing the bell the jingle wildly.

Law straightened himself out averting his gaze to the muted television on the back wall.

"That isn't surprising." Chuckled the unfamiliar male.

His voice was deep but soft. It hit Law's ear with a velvetiness he hadn't experienced before.

"Ace this is Traffy. Traffy this is my brother Ace." Luffy grinned.

"Law." He corrected evenly, reaching for Ace's already extended hand.

Ribbons of warmth tingled around Law's fingers spreading over his hand as Ace gave his palm a friendly squeeze. Was he running fever? How could a person possibly be this warm without sweating?

"Your hand is freezing." Ace chuckled, "Sorta like a doctor."

"Traffy is in medical school!" Luffy chimed rounding the counter to grab an apron.

"Ooh~ you must be popular with the ladies." Ace wiggled his brows.

"Yeah." Law grunted.

Not that he minded being popular with women. He'd had a girlfriend or two even a couple of heated one stands. But he wasn't particularly interested either which made it hard for him to put any effort and time into a relationship. He already had a demanding school schedule on top of a full-time job to pay for said schooling, there was no time for romantic endeavors.

"Anyway, Luffy you're late the lunch rush will be here soon. Go get more lids and cup sleeves from the back." Law crossed his arms over his chest.

The small coffee shop was located near the college and the clinic which made things convenient for Law. He'd become the shift supervisor within only a few months.

Luffy bounced around the shop cleaning and refilling things while Law made sure he had enough supplies for the most common orders placed.

Ace sat quietly at the counter his garnet eyes occasionally darting up from his phone at the aloof raven behind the bar. He'd noticed Law's unusual sunny eye color almost immediately.

He must be popular.

His rolled-up sleeves revealed thick black tattoos that traveled further up his arms. His slender tattooed fingers worked quickly with a practiced rhythm as he made Ace's order.

The freckled male chuckled admittedly a little impressed - surely this was a skill Luffy could never accomplish, which explained why the older raven kept him busy with simple but tedious tasks. Luffy didn't have the attention span or patience for this.

Ace actually found himself wondering why Luffy even worked here.

"Med school sounds interesting." He chirped getting Law's attention.

"It has its moments." He replied coolly, "What do you do Ace-ya? You're the only brother I've never met."

Ace chuckled, "What an interesting colloquial; the 'ya' I mean. Do you do that to everyone?"

Law almost immediately regretted speaking. He couldn't control his unique vernacular and was suddenly very conscious of it.

"Dunno." He shrugged expression as distant as ever.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to-" Ace stopped himself from pointing out the other male's embarrassment though it had only been a flicker. Instead he circled back to Law's initial question.

"I'm a musician so I travel a lot." He flashed a brilliant smile.

"Anything I've heard?" Law questioned still shuffling around behind the counter.

"Honestly probably not." Ace let out an airy laugh, "I just open up for small acts but it's a living, right?"

Law hummed back looking over Ace's shoulder at the line of people beginning to trickle in.

"Luffy-ya! Register!" He called setting cups out or easy access.

Ace continued to watch his brother and his friend work fairly harmoniously through the lunch rush. The crowd of people kept them busy enough for Ace to admire the fluidity of Law's motions while he filled orders with a small crooked smile that only faltered when he tried reading Luffy's chicken scratch.

"Trafalgar." A sultry female voice floated up to the counter beside Ace.

His eyes rose from his phone immediately recognizing the dark-haired woman. Her emerald eyes flickered to him as a small enigmatic smile graced her lips.

"I'll have your order in a moment Robin." Law murmured.

"Thank you. Watch out for the blond girls at the end of the line." She warned turning back to Law, "They're certain they'll get your number this time."

Law rolled his golden eyes with a sigh. A reaction Ace for some reason appreciated.

"Back from your tour?" Robin turned back to Ace.

"Yeah I'll be home for a little less than a month." His response didn't go unnoticed by the barista.

If Ace was going to be in town for a while surely Luffy would be dragging him along to functions and work. Law certainly didn't mind his presence, he was calmer than expected, sense he was the only brother who looked to be blood related to the hyper active raven.

"We're having a big party on Saturday you should come....Traffy can come right?" Luffy looked to Ace while Law locked the front door of the shop.

"Of course." Ace smiled.

Law turned slowly, he usually turned down invites to the Newgate's parties. Even when their father was there things tended to get out of hand. Besides he hardly had free time to waste drinking with a bunch of delinquents.

"Sure." The response tumbled from his lips before he'd even had a chance to mull it over.

The brothers grinned.

"See ya tomorrow Traffy~" Ace winked over his shoulder strolling away.

___________

"You two get along." Sabo took Law's place next to his brother.

"He's Luffy's friend. Why wouldn't we?" Ace questioned eyes still on Law as he stalked into the kitchen.

"Luffy likes almost everyone." The blond rolled his eyes, "He just isn't really a people person."

"I hadn't noticed." It wasn't a lie, he really hadn't.

All of his interactions with Law had been pleasant, refreshing even. He'd spent the last three days following Luffy to work so he could talk more with the phlegmatic barista.

A tennis ball came sailing across the room landing in Ace's lap quickly followed by their enormous chocolate Labrador. Ace yelped spilling his drink down the front of his shirt while the dog crushed his manhood.

"Chopper!" Luffy shouted as the room erupted in laughter.

"You little shit." Ace coughed pushing Chopper off him.

"He didn't know any better." Sabo murmured.

"Not the dog." Ace stood pulling his shirt off revealing his large back tattoo, "Luffy, ya got three seconds!"

The younger raven leapt over an arm chair and bolted for the sliding patio door laughing wildly with Ace on his heels.

"You've been doing that a lot the last few days." Robin pointed to her lips as she stepped up to Law in the kitchen.

He let the corners of his mouth droop in protest.

"It suits you." She added, "You don't have to brood all the time."

Law snorted.

"You seem to enjoy his company."

"Maybe." He shrugged a small smirk ghosting his lips.

She smiled nudging his shoulder before joining the group in the living room.

Law stationed himself in the kitchen silently waiting for Ace or Luffy to return so he could thank them and take his leave. It was getting late and he had rounds in the morning.

The kitchen door that lead out to the front porch swung open sending a crisp breeze through the room. Ace stepped inside panting, still shirtless with a stream of blood trickling from his left brow.

"Little bastard socked me in the face." He chuckled smearing the blood over his eye.

"First aid kit?" Law asked tearing a paper towel from the roll above the sink and handing it to Ace.

"Upstairs bathroom." Ace nodded toward the small stairwell across from the kitchen door.

He led the way skipping every other step.

"Aren't you cold running around like that?" Law watched the muscles under his tattoo shift and contract with each extended step.

"I don't get cold." The raven chuckled reaching the top of the stairs, "Bathroom is third door on the left." He instructed stepping into what Law assumed was his room.

After collecting the kit Law crossed back into the room Ace had disappeared into. It was a pigsty. The back wall was lined with guitars, a few missing strings and collecting dust while others were in cases cluttered with stickers and patches. Law's eyes fell to the freckled male sprawled out on the unmade bed. He cleared his throat getting Ace's attention.

"Sorry I was dozing off there." His ruby eyes flitted over Law's slender form as he sat up still holding the paper towel over his brow, "Think I'll need stitches?"

Law took a seat in front of him on the bed slipping a glove over his right hand as Ace removed the bloodied paper.

"Hmm it's not so deep. A couple of butterfly band aids will be fine. It probably won't even scar." He rummaged through the small white box and began cleaning the small cut.

"Your hands are cold." He shivered under Law's touch.

"You're just too warm Ace-ya." Law smirked.

Ace's face only got warmer. Law had been avoiding addressing people by name in front of him for the last few days. He hadn't intended to embarrass him - he'd actually thought it was sort of endearing. He watched Law focus on stopping the bleeding, wincing as he applied more pressure.

"Maybe that's why you're bleeding so much. Your circulation is too good." Law chuckled.

That did it. Why was this guy allowed to just walk around being this cute? Why didn't anyone else see it?

Law gently placed the second band aid on his brow and removed his glove glancing over Ace's now flustered face.

"What's wrong does it still hurt?" He asked now searching for other injuries.

Ace shook his head slowly throwing caution to the wind and leaning into Law's personal space smiling when Law didn't move away. He took it as permission inching closer. Both of their hearts sped up intensifying the moment. The air around them pulsed with electricity almost making it hard to breathe normally. Eyes remained locked as their noses brushed against each other. Law parted his lips slightly anticipating contact letting his eye lids drop when Ace's warm breath fanned over his -

A sharp bang on the door jolted them back retracting from each other.

"Everything ok in there yoi?"

Fucking Marco.

#portgas d ace #trafalgar law #his brothers friend #lyndsyh24 #whitebeard pirates #mdni #one piece #heart pirates #portgas d Ace x Trafalgar Law #lgbtq

[plushii-gutz]

Season-of-Love special I started on way too late. I hope yall don't mind how short it is‼️ it isn't very romance-related tbh

"Are you two just.. going to lie here all day?"

Attmoz and Glaishur rested cozily on the couch, the air Celestial with one arm around his partner and the other holding the remote to the small television they owned. Glaishur laid sideways, half paying attention to whatever boring show was on and half drifting in and out of sleep. Furnoss stood nearby with his arms crossed, seemingly unimpressed with the couples' lackluster celebration; especially while they had a visitor.

"Good question," Attmoz hummed, pretending to put any thought into his answer. "Uh.. I think we're fine. Need anything, Frosty?"

"I'm good," he mummbled.

"Yeah.. You take your meds?"

"That's not important."

Furnoss rolled his eyes and left to the hallway, annoyed. He might as well check on the rest.

The kitchen was bustling with activities. Schmoochle had been visiting Air Island to celebrate Season-of-Love, and on the final day of this event, they took a little detour to the Celestials residence. Although they primarily wanted to see Attmoz, they knew it was their duty to spread the warmth of love among every monster, especially those who hadn't celebrated Season-of-Love themselves!

As of now, the less lazy of the monsters were decorating cards or putting together bracelets with cartoony hearts and shimmering white, red, and pink beads. Most of them, that is. Some enjoyed the act of getting, rather than giving. However, as Schmoochle had taught, there is plenty of love to go around! Syncopite listened intently.

"Love comes in many shapes and forms," the two-headed monster explained. "Sometimes it's romantic, sometimes it's platonic. You can love a certain toy or game! You can love a certain monster or celebrity! Every monster experiences love in their own ways - you can't do it wrong!"

"Hey," Syncopite sat up, "is it normal to not really be interested in romance? Or feel it, honestly."

"It's completely normal!" Schmoochle assured. "What makes you ask?"

"Just figurin' stuff out."

"Well, we'll always be here to help! We love to help!"

"Who are these cards going to?" Scaratar added. "I've made over 10!"

"Anyone you'd like! In fact, we can deliver them to monsters across every island! They'll never know where they came from, but they'll know that you cared!"

Furnoss stood at the entrance, his irritated expression growing more somber than anything. At least the others were happy with the day. It's the least he could have asked.

He inched towards the front door of the castle, looking back occasionally to make sure no one followed. He wasn't upset when they hadn't.

It was still rather chilly outside, as it had been for a while, but the sun made its efforts to warm the land. So long as the breeze kept calm, it was bearable. Knowing that Sage had left to spend the holiday with the monsters residing farther out from the small town below, Furnoss crept into the woods and far along the trail he usually had. Deep within the trees and far from the castle.

The fire monsters hands were fidgeting with two items: his phone and a scrap of notebook paper. He rolled them awkwardly over his fingers, debating internally. The scrap had a number on it - one he hadn't dared to call yet after the years of having it. It was too soon, he thought. Far too soon. He was told by Ghazt to only call the number if he were truly ready. He didn't want to mistake loneliness for readiness. It wouldn't be the first time.

After an admittedly short debate, Furnoss slowly started typing the number in. He tried to give himself the "what happens, happens" mentality, but he was still scared nonetheless. What if he says the wrong words? What if no one picks up? This could all be a grave mistake. It might as well be - what else has ever come from the firey celestial following his own advice?

The phone buzzed. And buzzed. And buzzed. It doesn't seem as if anyone is going to pick up.

"Perhaps this is for the better," Furnoss said to himself. He nearly dropped his device once the monster on the other end spoke.

"Hello?" The voice said. Although it was muffled, the celestial was able to tell that it wasn't the right monster. It was far too soft and higher pitch; more feminine.

"Uh - sorry!" He stammered. "I-I probably called the wrong number, I'm sorry-"

"Hey, it's cool!" The monster assured. "I don't get calls all too often anyway. I'm always down to hear a new voice!"

"Oh - uh. Well, it.. it seems we have something in common, hehe. I.. don't supposed you're from Ethereal Island?"

"Ethereal? You gotta be joking!"

The other voice laughed, leaving Furnoss with a mixture of embarrassment and a smidge of annoyance. She did catch herself, though, seemingly remorseful for her slip-up.

"You- you're serious? Oh, I'm sorry!" She apologized. "But uh, you do know that it's in a pocket dimension, right? We can't really visit it with a ship or anything."

"I'm aware," Furnoss mummbled.

"The monsters on there keep to themselves, too. Something about unstable elements or whatever.. Did you actually get a number from one of them?"

"I did. I'm not sure how much I am allowed to tell.. in fact, I probably shouldn't be talking to you."

"Oh. Are you like a secret agent or something? Am I gonna be executed tomorrow? Man, Season-of-tough-Love, huh?"

Furnoss couldn't help but chuckle. Although he was a little annoyed with the monsters taunts, it was nice to have a new voice to chat with. She seemed to have the more outgoing personality that he lacked.

"I'll spare you," he joked. "You seem to have a good head on your shoulders. Best keep it there, huh?"

"Hah! You're cool, I like you. I think. What's your name?"

The fire monsters stood for a moment, thinking. He probably should get off call. Then again, what else was he going to do? He didn't have the courage to call Loodvigg anymore, nor did he have the correct number. The rest were occupied. He might as well humor himself.

"Smithy," he eventually answered.

"Nice to meet ya, Smithy! I'm Bell. I'm guessing I shouldn't dig for answers about the whole Ethereal thing, eh?"

"I wouldn't recommend it. It's personal matters."

"Cool, cool. You do know it's Season-of-Love, right? Shouldn't you have the day off from your possibly illegal work?"

"I would have assumed such," the so-called Smithy sighed. "I don't think I've ever gotten a break in my life!"

"Ah, I hear that! My brother, Barney, runs a talk show with a couple of his friends, and he's moving constantly! Always need help with something, too, and who else to call but me?"

"Talk show? That must be nice."

"It would be if they tuned down the challenges by ten notches! One time, he bought these wack-ass stones and shrunk to the size of a damn bug!"

"They - they what?"

"My Galvana, you've never watched it? Here, I'll send you the title!"

Furnoss's phone buzzed, a message of the title now imprinted in his mind. He'll likely be watching this once he gets the chance.

"They do all sorts of dumb shit," Bell continued. "I used to be a member of the live audience! Had to give up my spot once I moved to Earth Island, though."

"Ah. How is it over there? I don't get off my own island much."

"Oh, it's pretty wild. Coal hasn't been around, though. He probably got ticked off my some minor inconvenience again."

"Coal?"

"The Earth Wubbox. He keeps to himself, so I don't blame you for not knowing."

"I see. I know of the wubboxes myself, albeit not personally."

"Everyone knows the wubboxes, but no one.. knows them. They've been around for so long! You'd expect a bit more fans."

"Ah, believe me, being an infinite number of years old can leave you drained."

"You say that like you'd know! But.. yeah, I guess they're probably all old and grumpy."

"I'd believe it!"

Furnoss, despite his original goal not being far too out of reach, ultimately spent the following hours chatting with a Mammott who resided on an island not far from his own. He learned of its environment, the monsters who lived there, the more popular shops. He learned of who Bell was, what her family does, and her past on Cold Island. In return, he gave details of the made-up life 'Smithy' lived.

Smithy was a drumpler - an epic, to be exact. He was self-employed and worked in a small bakery alongside his partner, Deegz, who was a rare Clamble. They lived a simple, long life together. They owned a small house in an even smaller town where everyone kept to themselves, but they always stuck together if disaster struck. Deegz had an interest in the shadows of the world while Smithy enjoyed the comforting warmth of fire. He wanted to visit Fire Haven someday, but as of right now, he was content with what he had. They had their fits, but they were happy.

But Smithy wasn't real. None of his stories were. Neither was Deegz's. It was less of a story for Furnoss. It was a wish. A wish that could never be true. Never again, at least. Such a short-lived dream.

Bell found the 'drumplers' life to be nice. She spoke of her own experiences of love, having met a lovely gal on Cold Island before she had moved.

"I miss her every day," the mammott sighed. "No one seems to know what happened to her. I hope she's alright."

"I'm sure she's fine," Furnoss offered words of comfort.

Someone else seemed to be on the other end alongside Bell. Their voice was coarse, but it was clearly demanding for Bells assistance.

"Aw man, I have to go. I had fun chatting, Smithy! Maybe we can call again sometime in the future."

"That sounds," the celestial hesitated. "Lovely."

Bell said her goodbye, hanging up. Furnoss looked over the number on his cell, realizing an error: he had typed the original number incorrectly. There was still a chance that the other number was..

He silently blocked it, forever hiding himself once more. He left to the castle, bidding a permanent farewell to his friend, Bell.

There was a new air in the old building. Attmoz and Glaishur hadn't moved from their spot, although they changed position to be more comfortable. They were covered in stickers, glitter, a little bit of their fur now colored in markers. It seems the kids grew tired of the cards and moved on to the next best thing to decorate.

"Syncopite!" Furnoss raised his voice, knowing any questions he had wouldn't be answered by the two in front of him. "What happened here?"

"Kids made 'em shiny."

"And.. you didn't stop them?"

"Nah."

"Why?"

"It's funny."

"I don't really care, 'Noss," Attmoz yawned. "I'll let 'em have their fun. Just this once."

Glaishur didn't seem to mind, either, though that could be a result of him having been asleep for most of the process.

"I think I look great," he said with a stretch.

"Are - are your nails painted?"

"That was Scaratar's idea."

Looking around, it seems Schmoochle and Scaratar were cleaning up the mess that had been made while the rest cleaned themselves up. The love monster planned on giving away the mass amounts of cards made to their designated Mythicals, Ethereals, and even other seasonals. It was getting close to the darker end of the afternoon, and there was still much to do as a last hurrah of Season-of-Love.

"We had a wonderful time," the right head spoke. "But we have monsters waiting for us on other islands," said the left.

"I see. Well, I appreciate you stopping by and allowing us to have our own Season-of-Love," Furnoss thanked them. He and the rest said their goodbyes, having enjoyed another holiday. Schmoochle flew out the door, only leaving behind a few small feathers. The fire celestial could only sigh.

"Where did you run off to?" Scaratar asked with a hint of sass.

"Ah, just enjoying the sun. You know how rare it is to have a warm day."

"In fact," Syncopite chimed in, "I think a lil sun would be nice for everyone. How does an outdoor dinner sound?"

The other celestials got into a sort of circle, debating amongst each other in a cartoonish fashion. It was admittedly very funny to see them so focused, but the older monsters kept that to themselves. They ultimately agreed, finalizing their decision with a nod. Outdoors would be good.

"I guess the meeting went well," Furnoss teased. "You guys go ahead and head outside - I'll have Attmoz and Glaishur help me."

"Season-of-Love ain't over," Attmoz perked his head up. "I'm still celebrating."

"Yeah," Glaishur shifted to be more comfortable, "might need a couple of.. months."

"You're a funny lil fella, Snow-Cone."

"I'm feelin' the holiday spirit."

"You Holly and Jolly? Merry as a faerie?"

The cold monster snorted, causing Attmoz to have his own little chuckle.

"You laugh at everything. That wasn't even funny!"

"I don' laugh at everything."

Attmoz sat himself up, facing Glaishur directly. They held eye contact as he slowly moved closer. He whispered.

"Hammed burger."

Glaishur wheezed, nearly falling over from laughter alone. It was hysterical! The air monster fell back onto the couch, dragging his laughing partner with him and providing a plentiful of forehead kisses. Furnoss gritted his teeth.

"That's great," he finally said, clearing his throat. "What should I make?"

"Actually, I think I'll take over," Syncopite said. "You can head on out. I wanna work with the grill tonight."

"Are - are you sure? That's usually my task."

"I might as well practice telekinesis, don'cha think?"

"Around fire? You'll blow yourself up."

"Furnoss, go outside."

"Make me."

It wasn't very hard for Syncopite to chase Furnoss out, more than likely due to the fact that he simply didn't want to be in the castle any longer. He'd never admit as to why, at least not willingly.

Outside, Furnoss was surprised by many cards and loving gifts, each handmade and crafted to the liking of both the kids and himself. Crude drawings of himself on pink construction paper cards, scribbled writings of thanks and love, shimmering stickers with cursive writing, chocolates galore. Schmoochle hadn't left; they stood there alongside the kids, holding up a tray of heart-shaped sugar cookies.

"The cookies were my idea," Torrt boasted.

"I.. I don't know what to say," Furnoss whispered. Syncopite hopped past him to join the rest.

"We've actually had this planned for a while," they admitted. "With Season-O-Love coming up, we decided to kinda mix everything together. How 'bout you guys take care of this old scrap of metal for me so I can get the grill set up?"

"Scrap of what?"

Before Furnoss could process what he had been called, he found himself being dragged from the front lawn and around the back. There, a plentiful of activities had been set out; all of which provided by Hoola, who sat at a wooden table playing a game of tic-tac-toe against herself.

"Finally!" She said with a hop. "What took you so long?"

"Doesn't matter," Scaratar said with excitement, running over to hang out with her seasonal friend. "We're here now! Catch me up - what's the tea over on Seasonal Shanty?"

Although he is still worried about Syncopite's safety, the fire celestial allowed himself this break; just this once. It would be rude not to accept such a meaningful gift.

They played the classics, such as tag, hide-and-seek, simon-says, zuuker-zuuker-gobbleygourd. Hoola provided them with Cornhole, kickball, ring-toss - anything you'd expect at an outdoor celebration, really. As awkward as Furnoss felt, he found comfort from the encouragement the rest provided and was more drawn to the play. It was the perfect Season-of-Love gift.

"You two aren't gonna get up, are ya?" Syncopite asked, turning their attention to the living room.

Attmoz and Glaishur shared a look for a moment, the former giving an annoyed huff and trying to hide his face in the cold monsters hair.

"I'm gettin' up," Glaishur assured. "Just need a second."

"Yeah," Attmoz begrudgingly agreed. "But only to help you out. I'm going right back to sleep after."

"How 'bout afterward you play Elden Sing while I pretend t' know whats goin' on?"

"That can be arranged."

Ordering the others to grab certain items, Syncopite confidently marched outside to join the rest. Furnoss was circling the perimeter, Torrt running behind as fast as his legs would let him. The fire celestial came to a quick stop as Scaratar jumped in front of him, causing him to change directions with a swift turn.

"He has four legs! This isn't fair!" Torrt yelled, pulling at his hair. Scaratar broke out into laughter at the comment.

The three new arrivals shared a look. They decided as a group to indulge in the play a little, perhaps catch up with their summer-song friend. It was a lovely afternoon to share.

#my singing monsters #fallen stars msm #msm #fallen stars au #msm au #fanfiction #Season-of-Love

[dimorphodon-x]

Empty

The final part! Admittedly, I might've put a little too much humor into this? Hopefully it's not too obnoxious lol

SG sentient LL au by @cuppajj

—

—

“I mean the vibes are definitely haunting, but so far nothing has happened. No ghosts or stowaways,” the shoulder mounted camera turned on its swivel to point at Cloutchaser’s face. His pet metal wing had crawled into his backpack and was nervously clucking as he looked around. The Decepticon, though, seemed more disappointed and perplexed than worried as he made eye contact with his camera.

“I did do a bit of reading up on this ship’s history, but nothing had explained why it became abandoned or what happened to the crew of Autobots. I mean… people like them, especially Rodimus who was their captain, don’t just… disappear…” Cloutchaser paused and narrowed his mismatched optics as he spotted something laying on the floor of the long hallway just up ahead. His camera followed his gaze and zoomed in. It… looked like a body.

He was proven right as he approached the form, his camera’s light illuminated the faded red-grey armor.

“Oh. I… I think I know this guy,” the light shined onto the figure’s face, revealing a set of curved horns that at one point were bright orange and hollowed out cheeks. The face’s expression was locked in a mix of shock, sadness and fear.

“It’s Cyclonus,” Cloutchaser hummed, turning his camera away from the body and back onto himself, “he used to be a fierce warrior way back when, but often struggled with following orders and was impatient. Apparently he lacked loyalty and was often manipulated or tricked by the Autobots. I’m not sure how he got mixed in with this crew. Some say it was an accident, others think manipulation or that he decided to switch sides. We may never know what happened, sadly. I like to think he always had good intentions, but whatever. Hopefully he went out like the great warrior he was.”

Something told him that wasn’t the case though. Aside from the expression on his face, Cyclonus was missing his left arm and leg, and the stumps left behind were too clean for that to have been from an attack. Plus his sword was still strapped onto his back. His observations weren’t bringing up any answers though, only more questions, so he moved on.

“Another one,” just five minutes after leaving Cyclonus’ remains, he stumbled upon another body, “hmm, this looks like… Blaster? Yeah, Blaster. Looks like he’s missing some parts too.”

Not far from Blaster was what was left of Getaway, his head laying on a pile of his own limbs. The further Cloutchaser walked, the more the bodies and body parts piled up.

“What’s weird is that they weren’t violently ripped apart,” he commented as he examined a dismembered servo, “someone carefully cut them up. If any of my viewers are experts in… I dunno, examining the dead or whatever, please do send in your thoughts in the comments! I think we’re onto something bigger than previously thought.”

Snapster squawked and pulled his head into the safety of his backpack. Clout quickly turned around to face whatever had startled his buddy. 

There was nothing.

“Huh. Don’t worry, Snap. I’m sure it’s nothing. Corpses may be scary but they can’t hurt you,” he received a small chirp in response and continued down the littered hall. He passed by a small door, maybe a closet, and tried to pull it open.

“Locked. Oh well,” he shrugged and left it, oblivious to the figure watching his every step from the shadows.

…

Starhawk snuck out of the Decepticon ship. He was a little surprised he could still sense the two other sparks nearing the med bay. Hm. Maybe this was his chance.

The Lost Light may be the ship itself, but even they couldn’t focus on everything going on inside. Plus, it probably thought he was still locked up dead in that closet, and if it did then it’s focus would mostly be on the intruders than anything else. If he acted fast, he might be able to grab Rodimus and leave!

‘Oh yeah,’ the remaining part of his face twisted in a wide grin of both excitement and anxiety as he scurried through the vents and gaps with less caution than he always had before, ‘it’s all coming together.’

…

“Wow. Just… wow,” Cloutchaser stared wide eyed at the state of the medical bay. It was a mess. Not in bodies (well, there were plenty of little fragments scattered about along with old energon stains) but just how everything was kind of everywhere. All of the tools were out, but not a single one was discarded onto the floor. The… not so dusty floor.

“Ok, that is just weird,” he muttered to himself as he crouched down to run a finger along the floor. He raised his servo up to the camera, “the floor is pretty clear, see? Meanwhile, out in the hall, there was a lot of dust on the floor and even in the air. Plus, all of the tools are out, but they’re also clean and look to be well cared for and used. This could mean that someone has been using this med bay and cleaning these instruments.”

Cloutchaser’s eyes paled at the realization and he swallowed nervously, his spark pulse starting to quicken, “oh god, we’re not alone on this ship, are we?”

His soul nearly evicted itself from his chamber as Snapster let out a shrill alarm call and flew from his backpack. He spun around, hands fumbling for his gun.

“Who is-?”

“Here,” a stranger clad in purple armor with red spines protruding from their back, head and shoulders stepped out of the shadows, blocking the doorway. They had one of their hands casually raised while the other was held neatly behind their back.

The Decepticon vlogger fell back on his rear end and pointed his handgun at the stranger. Snapster was flying around the room squawking in panic.

“You’re… Cloutchaser, right?” The stranger flashed a friendly/not-friendly smile.

“What’s it to you? You a viewer of mine or something?”

“Something like that I suppose,” they shrugged. Cloutchaser looked them up and down, gun (and camera) still pointed at them.

“Stalker then. Alright,” he hissed, “give me one good reason not to pull the trigger.”

“You’re free to try,” their smile widened a bit, “but it won’t do anything for you.”

“You threatening me? You threatening me in front of my son?!” He pointed at the panicking metal wing, “my good boy?! He don’t need more traumatizing! He’s already stressed out enough!”

The purple mech raised a brow at him and glanced at Snapster, “I really don’t care about your pet-”

“-Son-”

“Pet.”

“Well-whatever,” Cloutchaser snapped, “my pet, my son, my buddy and pal! Whatever! What do you want, weirdo?!”

“You’re being an incredibly rude guest,” they glared down at the Decepticon with disdain, “walking around like you own the place, recording my dead crew (are you still recording?) and now you point a gun at me. I should kill you right where you sit.”

Cloutchaser shrunk back as the strange Autobot loomed over him. He heard Snapster hiss and snap his jaws in a threat.

“But, I won’t,” they straightened their back and clasped their hands together with a loose smile, “no, that would make a mess of things here, and your pet will just get more worked up. He’s already loud enough as is.”

The Decepticon yelped in surprise as the stranger grabbed his arm and yanked him up.

“Ooh. A lot lighter than I was expecting.”

“I’m pretty hollow,” he stared at the stranger cautiously, but also greatly confused. They just smiled and tugged him towards the exit of the med bay. Snapster followed after his owner, “where are we going?”

“Somewhere else, so I can properly punish you,” their grip on his forearm tightened.

“Uh-how about no?” Cloutchaser hugged a startled Snapster under his free arm and gave a hard yank against the Autobot, his arm popping off at the elbow.

As the stranger was left with his spazzing limb, he turned and bolted.

“Hey!!”

‘Fragfragfragfragfrag!’ Clout picked up his pace as the walls suddenly shifted and cords shot out to try and grab him or knock him over. Good thing Clout was a pro at running away, expertly twisting, turning, leaping and sliding out of the grasping cords. He could hear the stranger shouting, but it was like their voice was everywhere at once.

He never expected the stranger to just materialize in front of him. His heels dug into the floor, sending a spray of sparks as he tried to skid to a halt. The air was knocked from his frame as that falter allowed a cord to grab him by his midsection. Snapster squawked as he flew from his grasp, but quickly righted himself in the air and flew out of sight into the shadowy hall.

“SNAPSTER!” Cloutchaser shrieked, his remaining hand stretched out to try and grab what was already long out of reach, “don’t hurt him! Do whatever you want to me but please don’t hurt him!”

“Your pet isn’t a priority,” the purple mech scowled, the con’s limp arm still in their grasp. They glanced at it and held it up at him, coincidentally making his own servo point at his face, “and by the looks of it, you aren’t either anymore.”

“Huh?” He blinked and made an attempt to retrieve his arm. The stranger didn’t stop him.

“You have been nothing but a waste of time!” They snapped, their red eyes flashing angrily behind their matching visor, “time that I could be using to-!”

They stopped, their eyes unfocusing. Cloutchaser stared blankly at them, confused as to what exactly was going on.

After a moment their narrowed eyes widened in shock, “oh no. No no NO!”

“What-” Cloutchaser was dropped to the floor and both the cords and stranger disappeared, leaving him sitting alone in the hall, utterly confused.

…

“How?! I killed you!” Lightlost glared at the mangled white jet standing in front of the captain’s seat. Starhawk grinned, holding Rodimus snug against his chest with both arms and tendrils. The tendrils were tightly tangled around the smaller frame, and Hawk was holding a talon right up against the prime’s throat, ready to sever a vital cord within an instant.

“You did, yes,” he chuckled, “but I’d hate to leave a promise unfulfilled.”

Lightlost bristled and balled their fists in frustration. They perked as it suddenly struck them.

“It was you! You bit the captain! You were the one picking through the deceased!”

“All me, baby!” He laughed, “I can’t believe I managed to actually trick you! Maybe being sparkless does have its perks!”

The entire ship rumbled with rage. Lightlost grit their teeth, “I’ll kill you again!”

“You’re free to try,” Starhawk cooly cocked his hip, “but one wrong move, and I might accidentally hurt the captain. Or worse.”

He pressed his talon into the soft mesh of an artery for emphasis. The avatar’s eyes widened and they backed off.

“You wouldn’t. You… you love him too much to ever do such a thing.”

Hawk frowned, “you were quick to judge during my first attempt. And while I do care about Rodimus, if it means he must die in order to be free from you, then I will end his suffering.”

“‘Suffering’? I was keeping him safe! I was keeping him with me!”

Starhawk hissed, flaring his wings out, “he’s mine to protect! You’re just a ship. A space boat. You were supposed to merely bring us from point A, to point B. Nothing more. Now get out of my way.”

The ship again rumbled, Lightlost’s expression became murderous. The sparkeater further hooked his claw into the prime’s neck and the tendrils tightened around his frame, his armor audibly starting to give under the pressure.

Lightlost again backed down. Their face was twisted in frustration. It almost looked like they would start to cry, honestly. After another moment, the avatar vanished.

Starhawk smirked, but narrowed his eye suspiciously as he stepped out into the hall with his prize and started to walk at a brisk pace, phantom spark pounding as he remained on high alert in case the ship tried anything. But considering that his claw was in Rodimus’ neck and tendrils wrapped around delicate joints, they probably wouldn’t. They cared too much about the captain.

His fast walk turned into a full sprint as he neared the hangar. The Decepticon ship’s lights were a beacon. Starhawk couldn’t stop the excited laughter bubbling up from his chest as he ran inside and plopped down into the pilot’s seat. He hugged Rodimus even tighter and nuzzled against his cheek. He was surprised to find it wet with tears, and his eyes, wide and bright, stared up at him.

“I did say that I’d save you, didn’t I?” Rodimus just blinked at him.

His laughter subsiding, Hawk freed one arm to start the ship and steer it out of the hangar. When had they last seen the stars?

He should also try calling Slingarm once they were far enough away. Rodimus could honestly benefit from a licensed doctor. Even a crazy one.

He started to laugh again.

…

Lightlost wasn’t sure what to do. They had messed up. They wanted to transform and snatch the runaway Decepticon ship up and hold it close and never ever let Rodimus go again, but Hawk would surely kill him if they tried that.

They stumbled to the control room and stood at the doorway.

The pale red Tagonopterox was perched on the head of the captain’s chair. He looked at the holoavatar, chirped, then returned to preening the rotors on his wing.

This wasn’t fair. Their captain should be sitting there, like he always had. It was so empty here. Why was everyone gone?

Lightlost shuffled to the empty chair, dragging their feet like they weighed several tons, and collapsed on the armrest. They buried their face in their arms and screamed, startling the metal wing away.

They screamed and screamed, even after their avatar dissipated, the entire ship continued to scream.

A forgotten Decepticon vlogger could only watch and record as bit by bit, the Lost Light started to shut themself down.

#fanfic #my art #transformers #shattered glass #sentient lost light au #lost light #transformers oc #cloutchaser #snapster #starhawk #rodimus #rodihawk #oc x canon #Cloutchaser and Snapster are gonna be fine lol #they have a weird habit of not dying #note entirely sure if I’m happy with how I wrote LL at the end but I’m tired 💀

[arobinwithoutbatman]

Rumor has it you've been talking to Two-Face pretty regularly.

... you do know what he did to Dick, right? What makes you think the second the cuffs are off and there's no plastic between you, no fear gas to make you look more pitiful than usual, he won't do it to you, too?

Inhale... exhale...

because Robin has admittedly been visiting Two Face. And Two Face had attacked Dick yes but that was technically as Robin and Nightwing. Not as Dick Grayson. Far as he's aware anyway. Dick rarely spoke about Harvey and it was always clipped, clinical and brief on the rare occasions he did. Tim didnt ask anymore.

No one should be connecting Dick Grayson and Nightwing.

"I have." Time to throw himself under the bus for a bit. If it distracts from the possibility that someone has learned Dick's identity, he'll do just about anything.

"Humans are social creatures, we're not meant to be alone,it quite literally drives us insane after a while. And if his only socialising is with the other rogues, many of whom also suffer with various forms of mental illness, well that's just gonna cause one big feedback loop of awful especially if anyone at Arkham is having a bad day. So I'm trying something different. I'm trying to tackle part of the problem at the source. My visits are consistent and safe. We talk about nothing in particular. Logic puzzles at the moment. I don't think it's wrong to give him a reason to stay at Arkham, where he has access to the meds and therapy he needs. You can set a watch to my visits, I'm not even a second late. The consistency? The casual conversation? It seems to be helping a little. It won't cure him, that's not something I'm capable of, but it's helping. The same way taking a shower and grabbing a snack helps take the edge off of a depressive episode."

He shifted then, standing a little taller, his voice suddenly turning sharp.

"And for your information, that incident you're referencing wasn't from fear gas. It was sensory overload. And Two Face, despite only having his wrists cuffed and having easy access to the door, chose to sit down on the floor where I was. He chose that. I had no influence over that and frankly still don't really understand why he did that. I'm well aware of the things he has done to this city, its citizens and my fellow vigilantes. When he breaks out and causes trouble, I'm still there keeping the people safe and asking why he's made this choice.

Also, fear gas is awful and how dare you imply that anyone is pathetic when they're exposed to it."

#Tweet Tweet! #Encrypted Whistles #ic #Robin The Wonder #v: Knighthood #o: lawyer

[ebonniewashere]

Aestiva in Ludovico Ville: Ch 1

I like writing fanfics when writing doesn’t make me want to kill someone. Rest of the fic is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35942866/chapters/89609881

would you believe me if I said this was a college au lol

Whenever Jack felt like death, he sang to himself. 

The hums of childhood ring through him and out into the quiet halls of his dorm. Filling the crooked halls, followed by groans of silent agony. It's been hard this season, and Jack is fresh out of his meds. His body felt like fire, sweat clinging to his forehead and rolling freely onto his damp pillows and sheets. He'd flip it over in a more workable state, granting himself some sparse feeling of relief. Unfortunately for Jack, he dislocated his only functioning, nonmechanical arm last night, and the rest of his sore body was as usable as sandals in Snowchester. 

So, he lay bed-bound, with nothing but his frail body and futile mind. And as such, he could only sing. 

Or at least try.

Jack rarely sings, a pastime he keeps to himself and only himself. The most he'll do around others is a hum, or at least when sober. The skill lost on him at first, the tune starting out a strange mix of two songs Jack never really could tell the difference from each other. He mumbles out first notes, stopping and starting again till it sounds right, the exercise clearing some of his acute deliria. He then attempts to clear his throat to meet a fit of dry coughs, the last tasting of his acidic blood. 

Jack groans and sighs, cursing himself as he mentally prepares to get up. He looks to his left. A cup of lukewarm water lies untouched on his bedside dresser. A mental conflict is set as Jack weighs the pros and cons of simply moving his arm toward the cup and possibly spilling it on his face while drinking it or hurting himself even more if he attempts to sit up. 

Jack tenses his entire body, pain spiking as he quickly sits up, pulling his legs towards his chest and his arm squeezed at the side. His head is spinning, exhaustion weighing him down. He lays his head between his knees, wrapping his arms around his legs, wheezing out hot and damp breaths. The sheets beneath him pulled off of his skin lamely. His back was cold and wet, sweat beads rolling over moles and stretch marks.

Jack had discarded his shirt to the heat hours ago to find no relief in the disrobing. The shirt lay crumpled at his feet, alongside his sweatpants and blankets. He poked the pile with his foot; it was surprisingly dry with sweat and blood and crunched under his touch. Ew. God, he's gross. Cringing as he pulls back his foot, Jack realizes the tension in his body, his hand trembling and shoulders shaking as he, admittedly, failed at breathing. Finally, he lets go, tears falling down his face as he attempts to take low, deep breaths. But, of course, these hurt also, exhaling heat as blood, drool, and sweat roll from his mouth and face. It dries quickly, caking grossly on his face and body.

Luckily, The hard part is over. 

Jack adjusts to this new position, taking a moment to feel the nice breeze around him as he somewhat escapes the heat trap that is his bed. Not even bothering to wipe his face, Jack flexes his right arm, testing its strength. Still very much dislocated. A stupid idea emerges in Jack's head; at this point, he doesn't care to get it out. Jack shifts towards the wall beside his bed, lining his arm against it in preparation. Jack presses his arm on the wall to feel around. The dislocation was merely backward, which makes this plan much more manageable. Bracing himself, he slams his body against the wall to relocate the shoulder. A clean pop could be heard, and a shiver ran through Jack's body as the pains subsided from his arm. His body still ached to no end, but at least his dominant arm was functional again; his left one still needed to cool down as it just required a lot more energy to use than whatever Jack was currently running on. Heavy metal, but at least it was thermodynamic.

A newly functional arm made the task at hand a lot more manageable.

Once again, he braces himself as he reaches for the glass cup, hands trembling slightly. His hand reaches out, sizzling as his hand meets the cold glass. Jack hissed, bringing the cup close to his face slowly. Cup to his lips, he breaths in and gulps. Steam rises from his throat, spilling out of his mouth in ribbons as he sighs. Placing the cup back down, he lays his head against the headboard, feeling the wood burn under his seething head. He doesn't smell smoke, so he doesn't bother moving.

The water didn't even help, most of it evaporating his throat before anything meaningful worked. Nevertheless, he was up at last. At least his mouth didn't taste like blood anymore.

Jack can only imagine how he looks. Something of a rotted, jangly corpse in the heat. His skin-tight, tearing at his joints and cuts lining his lips and hand.

Jack looked like shit. Hell, He felt like shit.

He thinks back to the song, Aestiva, in Ludovico Ville.

His mother sang it to him on cold nights in Thunderdome when he still lived in the Nether, usually accompanied by a cup of hot tea and her loving presence. Thunderdome was a harsh climate, where ash and smog covered everything, and the sky remained black and frozen. Comfort was not a choice word to describe the volcanic town. At least when those nights were unforgiving, his family was there.

Things he had neither of right now.

It's hard to say when he started crying again or why. Maybe it was the pain, Maybe from homesickness; the loneliness finally reached its peak. Jack can't bring himself to an honest answer. His thoughts scrambled and slowed with his fever. He hasn't seen his friends in days, and it's really kicking in how needy Jack is and how lonely his little life is without the little family he's made here. He likes it here against any better judgment, even with the added health risks and heartbreak. But, His body isn't meant to be here, nor his mind, it seems. He'd love to be anywhere else, honestly.

As of now, though, he was supposed to be in class. While Jack's phone was chucked into a corner a while ago, the sun rising gave him a good idea that he's missed his morning lecture and that Dr.Harman is going to have his ass for missing tech lab and lunch together for the second time this month.  

It's really gotten worse this month.

The flare-ups have doubled with the winter months, even more so this year. Cracked skin and joint pain were common for Jack, just day-to-day life with limb enhancements and chronic pain. But, the heat death his body enacted was different, his temperature doubling overnight, leaving him restless and delirious.

It made absolutely no sense. Jack was utterly baffled as to why his body was now malfunctioning like this, of all mornings. Jack lived in the thick ashy mountains of Thunderdome, a cold town that rivaled Snowchester in temperature. His body doesn't regulate heat like Lavabornes; Jack could handle the change in the seasons. Or at least that is what he thought.

Before thinking became a chore and his body completely shut down, Jack had gone through his notes and archives to explain this game-changing development; he lasted an hour before his legs caved in, and his arms tired quickly after.

Shifting to his phone on his bed, shirtless and heaving for air. He debates texting his mother, though there were little luck prying answers from her, especially at those hours. His contact list is short, his parents, Wil, Niki, and Phil. He rarely texts these days, not really a caller, given how close everyone is nowadays on campus. Wilbur is useless, Phil already has too much on his plate, and he can't bear to bring Niki into the mess that is his decaying body and soul.

So, he continued searching, using his library account, and looking for a study, book, or anything on why he was like this. Now Jack wasn't new to this. Spending hours researching his ailments and disorders, accepting his fate as his body rejecting everything around and inside of him. It was heartbreaking watching his family cope with it, and he'd instead not put his family in that kind of position, especially with how burdened the Watson's already are with their own issues. No need for another problem child.

He's alright. He's fine

Jack's grown independent in the years; he's ridden the waves and knows the game. And when he doesn't know, he goes and finds out how. No need for other eyes on him, that kind of attention, that pity wasn't Jack's style.

Sure, it got to Jack sometimes, unable to call anyone, sleeping in an empty dorm with no one who could hear his groans or cries. And maybe he is tired of making up excuses on why he disappears for days at a time, dwindling down his friend group to what it is today. His friends may offer an open shoulder, maybe even cornering him to get answers out of him, but Jack isn't ready for that kind of vulnerability yet, and he's not sure if he'll ever be.

Okay, it scares him. Not being able to open up to anyone, a hollowing feeling fills Jack's chest at the notion. It's suffocating to think about how messed up he's gotten these days. The rationale he's developed to cope with his pathetic existence. He's accepted rotting and dying young, but it seems Jack's too selfish to rot in peace. Too scared to die alone and just too selfish to let go.  

God, he's panicking now, which isn't helping the overall death he's feeling like. Tears aren't even falling off his face, dehydrated and cracked, blood dried as the wounds throb. Short and meek gasps of breath can be heard, echoing in the dark halls of his dorm, almost to mock him, haunt him. Jack leans forward, the emotional distress somehow more unbearable than the hellfire in his skin. He's clutching his chest, whole-body sobbing turned into hiccupping.

His head is spinning. His body is crashing and shutting down on itself. It's almost over.

Sometime tomorrow, Jack wakes up. He's sore but better than he was last night(?) It's dark outside, so it could very much just be night, but something in Jack tells him he was out cold for a day and a half, which displeases him greatly. He sits up, unfolding from the awkward position he was last in. He swings his legs off the bed, and his metal right foot clunk rings out. With a great sigh, he stands up, letting go of the breath as he takes off his bed.  

Jack didn't bother stretching, walking towards the definitely broken remains of his phone, still sitting in the corner he chucked it at. Picking it up, he can see it split into two, a clean split with little spillage, the case keeping it together as a case to a severed finger. He could salvage this; it wasn't the first time he's broken his phone, and this won't be the last time he'll fix it. The various dents in the wall paint a consistent picture; Jack reaches out with his left arm to touch it, sighing before walking towards the door.

As he exits his room, it becomes evident that Jack hasn't eaten anything properly for over 48 hours and should before he gets nauseous again. Though, he really should fix his phone before anything and tell everyone that he, in fact, didn't die and is just a lazy nit. Heading to his workstation next door, Jack gets to work. As a chronic hothead, he's made plenty of replacement parts for his phone, having modded and developed it consistently.

He takes his time with his craft and engineering, a science that stuck with him. He grabs his toolbox, gentile and precise in handling. He unlatches the lock and gets to work.

Time passes with ease, and the phone is fixed. Jack turns on his cell phone in anticipation with a new battery pack and a note to make a better phone case. He knows Niki's probably worried sick, the pair walking to campus every morning to check up on each other, a small ritual of theirs over the months. After years of failed meetups, the two could finally hang out in person, making up for the lost time.

To his disappointment, no calls.

No DMs.

Nothing.

Jack almost felt hurt if not for the other messages he had acquired. As of now, it seemed only Dr.Harman had noticed his extended absence, first anger, melting into the closest thing to concern without outright expression.

- From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

"Jack, I swear to God if you miss this lab, I'm coming for your neck, on all things holy if you don't come here, ill make sure that dissertation is living hell." - Jack swipes right, - From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

"you better not be hiding from me kid, I know your schedule and I will hunt you down. for christ, just let me know a head of time when you cant show."

- From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

"the hell are you kid, talked to one of your little friends and it seems like they don't know where you are either. better hurry up and make yourself appear, the blonde one seems to be panicking." - Jack sighs. There goes dying alone.

#jack manifold #thunder1408 #jack manifold fanfic #jack manifold fanart #niki nihachu #jack manifold centric #fanfic #fanfiction #chronic pain #mcyt #rpf #high fantasy

[angelkurenai]

Oh baby dear - Chris Evans x Reader

Title: Oh baby dear

Pairing: Chris Evans x Surrogate!Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: After a trip that gives the chance to Chris to take a long-overdue break from his job, he comes back home with his mind made up to change his life. And even if it weren’t for the trip itself or meeting you, even though he had no idea if he’d ever see you again, he was determined to not wait any longer. Feeling ready to become a father he starts looking for a surrogate mother, only to end up finding you of all people.

“Son of a guy. You meant it.” brown eyes were wide, and for the first couple seconds no other sound could be heard in the room. It almost felt like the words could echo in the room.

“You're really doing this.” the man's voice was filled with just as much shock as was painted all over his face. At least the woman behind him was more calm, sipping on her drink with an ease that would have been troubling, especially in such a case, if it wasn't known that she had long ago heard the news.

“I wouldn't have brought it up in the first place if I wasn't seriously considering it.” the other man in the room couldn't take his eyes off his friend, trying to gauge his reaction the second it came through. It was bound to be the most honest one, no second thoughts, and he only needed his friends' honest thoughts. Not that, and he was sure of it, the other man would intentionally tell him anything but the truth.

“You- wow.” the shocked expression was still there but there was no mistaking the smile that was slowly but surely appearing on his face “Seems like Evans is finally joining the club, who'd have thought? That's what I call one heck of a year, quickly Scarlett note the date down! It's going to go down in the history books, I tell you. Oh you're in for one hell of a ride, buddy! Wait you knew about this, didn't you?” he turned to the woman but shook his head soon enough “Never mind. You're gonna have to look for a godmother but I do get to be the godfather, right? I really need to start making preparations, nine months are not even remotely enough. I gotta-”

“Take a deep breath and calm down, Robert. That's what you gotta do. Otherwise this kid won't get to meet its one-of-a-kind godfather. And we would never want that to happen, would we?” the woman interrupted his rambling, a teasing smile on her own lips as she noticed Chris himself chuckle.

“Oh goodness forbid that could ever happen.” Chris laughed some more, his chest feeling lighter than it had in the past couple days “And besides that, there has not been a surrogate found just yet. Papers got approved only a day ago, it will take more time than that.”

“You say that as if the second every woman finds out you're on that kind of market, won't volunteer to have your baby. Heck, I know most of them would gladly volunteer to do it the old-fashioned way! You'll see, you will be getting news very soon.” Robert brushed his friend off and got up from his seat, making his way to the mini bar to grab a drink for himself “Which means, I really gotta start preparing everything because a) this is Evans' kid and b) I'm the godfather and it'll get only the best!”

Scarlett couldn't help but laugh, while Chris shook his head with a chuckle, before she added “As you can see, he is going to be more trouble than the kid.” she ignored the look that was shot at her from Robert and kept going “But, speaking of it, I never asked: Did you never really consider adoption?”

“For most of the time that's what I had in mind, yes, but-” he sighed, easing back in his seat “I asked about it and my chances were sadly very low, given my job and everything, not to mention how lengthy of a process it all was. Sebastian was actually the one to suggest it and you know I haven't been able to stop thinking about it ever since. Granted, it is just as hard to find a surrogate who is also willing to be the biological mother but I feel like I have more to hope for this way.”

“You have every reason to be hopeful, I'm sure this will work out just fine. Besides-” she offered her friend a warm smile “There is no other man that I can think of that could be a better father than you. This child will be very lucky.”

“...The part of Robert being the godfather excluded?” Chris added with a smirk, eyeing his friend who narrowed his eyes at him, before both Chris and Scarlett burst into laughter.

“Life isn't perfect, what can you do?” she grinned as she took a sip of her drink.

“I'll try to be the better man, as always, and not comment on any spiteful comments against me. You're just jealous I am going to be the world's best godfather. Anyway, that wasn't what I was going to comment on.” he plopped back on his seat and gave the blue-eyed man a sly smile “Sebastian you say but I'm wondering: was it him or that summer trip to Italy that really prompted you to become a dad? Maybe a certain someone you met there? What was her name...”

“Don't-” it was all he had time to get out, his eyes wide and voice very warning; but there was never any stopping the man when he wanted to speak his mind.

“Ah yes.” Robert grinned widely “(Y/n).”

“What- Who?” Scarlett frowned, tilting her head to the side “How come I haven't heard of her before? I thought you told me everything about Italy.”

“She's nobod-”

“Probably the love of his life. Something like his soulmate. One he talks about a lot in his sleep, hence why I should hold more parties and have you guys over. The info I get is golden. Anyway, think of it as the star-crossed lovers but one where he isn't the Lana Del Rey young and beautiful, you know? Heard she's something like a med or psych graduate or something. So come to think of it all, Italy, soulmates and age difference, this is like another version of Call me by your-”

“And that's it for you. Enough words spoken for one day.” Scarlett said, not hesitating a second to place a hand over the man's mouth who admittedly didn't give up even if his words were only an incoherent mumble after that.

Chris' eyes were wide and there was no mistaking the way he wanted to not talk about it, as if there was some unparalleled sadness that came with the mention of your name, a deep ache and at the same time yearning perhaps because he missed you, just like there was no mistaking the tint of pink that was on his cheeks.

“That's-” he cleared his throat, avoiding looking at his friends in the eyes because he knew how easy it would be to tell that even so many months later the feelings were fresh as much as the day he had to leave, the day he left a part of himself on the airport with you – a part he knew real well he wouldn't get back again, certainly not from any other woman he got to meet. That missing part of him, even if the rest held all the beautiful memories dearly to itself and felt truly blessed, he knew was obvious. It was all on his face that he was missing something, even if he'd gotten so much. And he knew she would see it, it all became so obvious when he thought of you.

He shook his head when he realized he had taken longer than needed to reply “It was way too long ago, I can hardly remember it now. Hell, as if barely anything happened to begin with. She was just-” a lump in his throat, too painful “I made a good friend, a really good friend yes, who helped me see my life in a different way. Helped me make my choice and see the things that really matter. Couldn't keep in contact and yes that's a bit sad but- That's all there is to it, nothing more nothing less.”

Scarlett regarded him for a couple seconds, even as he tried to keep himself busy with getting another drink, before she finally spoke “If you say so.” she nodded her head “At least we now know who we owe this to and who to thank for our family growing, don't we?”

“Then-” Robert's smile was softer, yet also sad, as he raised his glass a bit “Let's drink to that, if not your baby just yet. To (Y/n)?”

“To (Y/n).” Scarlett nodded her head “For helping you make the best decision of your life, wherever she may be now.”

Chris hesitated, the unspoken truth of you not only being the one to help him make the decision but also be part of that decision, part of the family he wanted to build, was ready to break free from his lips but he held it back “Wherever she may be.” he said in a low hoarse voice, raising his glass as well “To (Y/n).”

He had not allowed himself to say your name in a long time and thinking back to it, the effect had been evident not only in his chest, in his heartbeat, but also in his lips, how painfully strange it felt when all he had been doing was think about it for months to no end, down to his throat that closed up with emotion. And he had allowed himself to say it not only so that he would make sure his friends would drop the subject but also because it had been a long time, he felt the need to and he knew that he wouldn't get the chance to do so, not anytime soon for sure.

And yet, only seconds ago, the name had left his lips for the second time in barely a couple days.

His brain could barely keep up with the fact, all the information he had to currently process seemed to make things even harder. Saying your name this time certainly had the same effect, his throat closed up and his heart leaped to his throat, but it felt like it was for an entirely different reason. He blinked several times, trying to make sure that what he was seeing was also true, to make sure that it wasn't wishful thinking and that him holding his breath had not reduced the levels of oxygen to a point where he couldn't even see straight. Truth be told, he felt pretty lightheaded.

“(Y/n) (Y/l/n).” he repeated your name for the third time, the third time in only a couple days his mind nearly screamed at him, but it didn't feel the same this time.

“Yes, I would say she seems like one of the most, if not the most, suitable candidate for you case.” the woman behind the desk gave him a warm smile but his brain was still currently stuck on the word 'candidate'.

“I'm sorry. There seems to be some misunderstanding here and I- I don't know whose part it is on, but-” he licked his lips, trying to swallow over the lump in his throat “When you say- What you're trying to say- I'm sorry.” he shook his head and let a couple seconds to pass in silence; he knew she wouldn't ask before him.

Taking a deep breath he decided to speak, even if his voice was hoarse he hoped she could make out the words “Candidate for what?”

The woman frowned a bit but it was gone faster than it could register, as she spoke in a calm voice “Your case. To be not only the surrogate you are looking for. See, her current, and according to her permanent from now on, residence is in New York City and very close to the residence you have listed as your permanent one. It is important, you understand, if we take into consideration that she will be the biological mother of the child. You might want the child to be able to stay in touch with her, and vice versa, so the close proximity does help. Of course that is always up to you, but in most cases we've seen it hap-”

“When did she sign up for this?” he asked, barely able to keep himself to wait for her to finish her sentence.

“Pardon?” she blinked and only then he realized how he might have sounded.

“You're right. I apologize, that came out as wrong.” he cleared his throat again “What I mean is... does she know who I am? That she- she's signing up to be a surrogate for my child.”

“Every surrogate must be informed, of course, of you as you are informed of her. She too must know whose child she will carry, don't you think it's fitting? But if you are uhm-” she hesitated “Concerned about other children, then, you need not worry. It's not my place to say this but it seems like-” she smiled a bit, almost knowingly “That you have already chosen, so I believe it wouldn't really be against any rule to say this. Consider it an extra bit of information.”

'Seems like you have already chosen.' would be a vast understatement. It was like every cell in his body was screaming 'Yes', chanting it over and over again that he was seriously worried he might have projected it somehow. He could barely control the words that came out of his lips anyway. If anything, the second he had come across the file with your name he had been glued to it, his eyes and all of his attention orbiting around the single file as if he was Earth and you were his Sun. Not far from the truth either.

But it also must have shown- No scratch that. He was sure it had shown because he had done no effort to hide it, too stunned and happy and eager and giddy and blessed and so many other things, to try to hide it. And she had clearly noticed.

“So, no, she has not mothered another child. As a matter of fact, Miss (Y/l/n) is doing this for the first time.” the woman leaned back in her chair “She came to us with the belief that there was too much sadness out there and, amongst other things, she decided to do this little one thing to help someone out. To make someone happy. I believe she didn't really have any further expectations out of this, no further plans, other than wanting to do some good. We only informed her of your case and she said she'd like to help, nothing else.” she shrugged softly “For any further reasons behind her choice you could ask her, I suppose. If you do think she could be the right choice to be the mother of your child, then-”

“She is.” he said, maybe a little too fast, but he didn't care. He didn't find a single part of him that cared for how eager he looked at the prospect of you being the mother of his child. Granted, it wasn't exactly how he'd imagined it but it was so much more than he ever thought he'd get, of what he thought he deserved, when he had told you goodbye that summer.

He cleared his throat again, trying to straighten his back and look as formal as he should in the suit he was wearing. He offered her a small smile “She is the right one. I think I've decided. I-” he paused, glancing at the pile of files and therefore other candidates which he had absolutely not even taken a glimpse at and he hoped she wouldn't comment on it “I've thought things through, yes.” because no man could make such a decision so hastily, he knew, and yet he looked like he just had “I'm glad for all the candidates it means a lot but uhm Miss (Y/l/n) seems to be indeed the right one. I think she will do just fine yes.”

“Wonderful.” she smiled more, nodding her head “If it means anything, she seemed happy when she was presented with your case.” oh if only she knew just how much it really meant to him, ask his wildly-beating heart and everyone would know just how much “Now, you understand that while you seem pretty sure and confident with your choice, you will have to give it some more time, more than anything to get in touch with the surrogate herself and discuss through any specific terms you might have. We will be the ones to set a meeting. Of course there are legal issues that need to be taken care of, but you're a lawyer yourself so you probably know that better than anybody else already.”

“Y-yes uh of course, yes, legal terms. Mr Wilson will represent me on the matter of course. But you said-” he folded his hands over his lap and threaded his fingers and it was either that or let his nerves show “Meeting her? Will I get to meet her in person soon or...?”

“That, Mr Evans, is completely up to you, how ready and sure you are, how much time you need and how fast you want things to progress.” she said as if she'd had this conversation many times over and she probably had “It could be within a week, a month, or, if you have no doubts, within three days the soonest possible. So, do you need time to think over-”

“The soonest possible. I'd like-” he nodded his head, straightening his suit's jacket “I think it would be best if I could meet with her the soonest possible. She's just what I was looking for.”

#marvel #mcu #the avengers #chris #chris evans #chris x reader #chris evans x reader #chris imagine #chris evans imagine #chris fanfiction #chris evans fanfiction #chris one shot #chris evans one shot #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers one shot #rdj #robert downey jr #scarlett johansson

[fruitcoops]

Can I please ask for some protective Cubs and/or Coops. I adore these boys and I love the fics where they always have each other’s backs. It could be a similar situation to Remus and that Stan guy or something different. No pressure or anything and if you don’t vibe with this prompt don’t stess bestie

Yes, I love protective Lions! For the anon whose meds got mixed up: I'm so sorry that happened, and I hope this provides the comfort you were looking for in the form of Cub lovin' <3 SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for panic attacks, forgetting to eat a healthy meal

It was Sirius who noticed first. Then Remus. Then Finn.

He was still kicking himself over that one, to be honest.

Sirius moved like a solid wall, murmuring in quiet French as he led Logan out of the gym and into the hall with Remus hot on their heels. A pang hit Finn right in the heart—I want to understand, he thought, fervent and afraid as he set the jump rope down. I would build the Tower of Babel again to understand how to help.

His pulse picked up; sweat itched at his forehead even after he stopped exercising. “Something’s wrong,” Leo said under his breath as they hurried into the hall.

Obviously, Finn bit back. He should have known since the second Logan started snapping his fingers in a nervous tic, should have seen the fucking signs—

“Everything alright?” James asked cautiously from the weight bench where he laid. “Did someone get hurt?”

“Just—just hang on a second.”

“Respire.” Sirius sat crosslegged across from Logan, whose eyes were squeezed shut as he leaned his head against the wall about ten feet from the door. “Logan, respire.”

A gentle but firm hand moved Finn out of the way by his shoulder; Remus slipped past them with a cup of water. “Drink this,” he ordered as he took Logan’s twitching hand between his own. “Open your eyes if you can.”

“Gonna throw up,” Logan managed, his voice high and reedy.

“Lo?” Finn’s mouth was dry. Logan hadn’t had a panic attack since their last year at Harvard together—he barely remembered what to do.

Logan’s chest caved at the sound of his voice, and one pale green eye cracked open to stare at him in sheer terror. “Finn. Finn, it’s happening, I don’t know what to do—”

“Move.” Finn’s throat hurt, but his brain kicked into autopilot. I can fix this. “Leo, get some damp paper towels from the break room. Cap, give him space.”

Leo disappeared from his stunned place by his side; after a moment’s hesitation, Sirius held his hands up and backed away. Logan was still gripping Remus’ hand with white knuckles. “How do I help?” Remus asked as soon as Finn knelt next to Logan.

“Grab some more water, and granola bars.” Slowly and deliberately, he reached up and cupped the side of Logan’s face. He had never allowed himself to do it at Harvard, but Logan always came back to himself quicker with a grounding touch. “Logan, can you look at me for a second?”

He shook his head. “Gonna throw up.”

“Alright.” With a shaky exhale, Logan leaned into his palm. “There you go, good job. Are you still dizzy?”

“Little bit.”

Past adrenaline rush, past collapsing, moving through dizziness. Finn ran through his mental checklist like it was just yesterday that Logan had crumbled after a bad game in from of scouts. “Cap was right, you need to breathe. I’ll do it with you, okay?”

He watched Logan’s chest move up and down, erratic at first before slowing to match Finn’s steady pace. Something damp and cool brushed against his free hand and he pressed the paper towel to Logan’s forehead, then kissed Leo’s cheek in gratitude as he sat down. “What happened, love?”

Logan swallowed hard and licked his lips, but his eyes were opening. “Dunno. I was almost at the end of my reps. I was fine.”

“Did you eat?” Sirius asked quietly to his left, waiting with his arms crossed. Despite his stance, he didn’t look angry.

“Bagel for breakfast. Coffee.”

His mouth tilted down. “That’s not enough.”

“Desole.”

“We’re not upset,” Finn assured him, sliding the makeshift washcloth to his temple. “Just worried.”

“It’s really warm in here,” Logan panted. His pupils had dilated so far they almost masked the green entirely. Past dizziness, into dehydration. “Is anyone else warm?”

Finn’s sweat was already cooling on his body as he handed him the water glass. “Drink.”

In twenty seconds, half of it was gone. A decent amount spilled over the front of Logan’s shirt from his shaking hands, but that didn’t seem to bother him. Leo’s whole face was lined with concern. “Better?”

“Oui.”

Finn glanced up at the others and gave them a quick nod. We’ve got him. Sirius squeezed his shoulder as he passed, and Remus passed him a couple energy bars before heading back into the gym. Logan’s breaths were coming easier; they waited in silence until the rest of the water was gone and his face regained some of its color. “You can’t skip breakfast on heavy workout days, Lo,” Finn said, folding his legs under himself. “You know that’s how these get triggered.”

“It’s been long enough that I thought I’d be alright.”

“Does this happen a lot with you?” Leo asked. Insecurity flickered over his face and Finn felt a stab of guilt.

Thankfully, Logan shook his head. “Not for a while. They used to, back in school.”

“Then why’d you skip breakfast if you knew it might happen?”

“I slept weird. Didn’t wake up hungry, and by the time I was, we had to go.”

“We can take another five or ten minutes to make sure you eat instead of having a panic attack.” Just to make that extremely clear, he added in his mind. “For future reference.”

Logan’s nose twitched as he looked toward the gym door. “Sorry for interrupting your practice.”

“Health comes first,” Leo said firmly. “Practice won’t ever be more important than your safety.”

“It’s our job—”

Finn held his hands up in a timeout motion. “Panic attacks aren’t something we fuck around with, remember? The guys will understand. Coach will understand. Besides, we’re your boyfriends. It’s our job to take care of you when you’re feeling shitty.”

Logan looked between them, sighed, and leaned forward to rest his forehead on both their shoulders. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Leo said into the soft skin of his neck with a light kiss.

Finn rubbed small circles onto the back of his hand and buried his face Logan’s slightly-sweaty curls. “Love you, three. Ready to head back in?”

“Only if you’re ready for me to kick your ass in squats.”

Leo snorted. “Bold of you to assume Cap’s letting you near anything heavy for the next 24 hours.”

“That assumes he lets you in the gym at all,” Finn amended.

Logan rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“And I’m sure he’ll believe you, after you’ve been cleared by every doctor in a four-mile radius.”

“I’ll make him let me in.”

“Now that I’d pay to see,” Finn laughed. He internally cheered at the rosy splotches of temper that lived a semi-permanent life on Logan’s cheeks.

Leo nodded. “A true battle of wills.”

Logan’s jaw ticked at the side. “You’re the worst boyfriends ever.”

“Nah, we’re just protecting you from your big bad older brother who is fully capable of banning you from the gym if you don’t play your cards right.” They heaved him to his feet by his hands; if Finn spent a little extra time dusting his back and thighs off, that was nobody’s business but their own.

“Are you done?” Logan asked with clear amusement written all over his face.

“I’m protecting the booty,” Finn said solemnly. Next to him, Leo fought a valiant battle against the grin trying to take over his face. “It’s a very important booty, you know.”

“Like you’d know, Pancake O’Hara.” With a playful smack to his—admittedly lacking, in comparison—rear end, Logan strolled back down the hall to the gym and pulled the door open.

“Yoga mats,” Sirius said without preamble. Leo clamped a hand over his mouth and hid his face in Finn’s shoulder.

“But—”

“Yoga mats. If you even breathe on the weights, I swear to god I’ll sit on you.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Love you, too.” Sirius narrowed his eyes down the hall. “You two have absolutely no excuse to chill out here. Congrats, Harzy, your rotation for the bench press just started. Knutty, Bliz is waiting for you by the ice baths.”

“Oh, god,” Leo groaned.

Even Sirius looked sympathetic as he moved aside to let Logan in. “It’s only fifteen minutes. You’ll sur—Logan, put that down!”

#logan tremblay #finn ohara #leo knut #sirius black #remus lupin #oknutzy #coops #cubs #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #panic attack

[datleggy]

Ok I have one more thought on like the med school au thing which is buck and Eddie love in the same building/next to eachother (if they’re renting houses on the campus the med school in my area does this so it may not be universal) and buck gets annoyed with Chris crying cause as much as he loves kids he’s trying to study and that’s not easy with a kid crying loudly so he goes over to Eddies to complain but when Eddie opens the door and buck sees how dead on his feet he is he instead offers to help while Eddie takes a break and this completely catches Eddie off guard for two main reasons one this is his like rival at school and two every other neighbor has just complained so this is a change of pace

oh. oh no. this is--I'm screaming, this is perfect.

here's a short drabble bc that scene will never leave my dumb lil skull otherwise and its all ur fault anon 

It's been about a half hour and even with headphones in Buck can still hear the insistent wailing outside his door and it is driving him up a wall.

He's read the same sentence in his textbook now eight times in a row and still not a single word has been committed to memory. He knows for sure that golden boy Diaz lives in that apartment and he has no clue what would make the guy think that agreeing to babysit for whoever the hell he was babysitting for in the middle of finals week was a good idea.

Maybe he's not so smart after all, Buck thinks, sighing and finally giving into his impulse to go see what all the crying is about. He shrugs on a sweatshirt and a pair of light joggers before making his way across the hallway and knocking on the door, folding his arms over his chest and huffing in annoyance the longer it takes for anyone to come answer.

He's not expecting the normally put together and admittedly handsome boy wonder to open the door looking quite so...human, for once. 

Diaz is wearing a stained t-shirt and a pair of old basketball shorts, his hair looks like it hasn't ever seen the good end of a brush, there are bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, and in his arms is the very fussy and very loud source of the apartment complexes complaints.

"Look," Eddie says, exhausted as can be, while he tries to rock the kid back and forth, "You're the millionth person to come knocking at my door. And I get it. He's loud. He's a baby and he's sick. So I'm sorry but--"

"You look like crap." Buck blurts out.

Eddie blinks, frowning. "Thanks?"

"You're welcome." Buck presses his lips into a thin line and nods over Eddies shoulder. "So, you gonna let me in, or?"

Eddie blinks at him again, this time looking at him as if the blonde has grown another head right in front of his very eyes. "What?"

"I need to study, can't do that with a crying baby next door," Buck sighs, "So for the love of god let me help you so that we can both pass exams this week, Diaz."

It's probably only because he's sleep deprived, or maybe because he's so overwhelmed by the first and only offer to actually help that he’s received since...well, forever, now, that makes Eddie step aside without further argument and let Buckley inside. 

“Have you ever even dealt with a sick child before?” Eddie half shouts over Christopher’s sobbing. 

Buck makes impatient grabby hands until Eddie finally relinquishes the baby to him. And suddenly it’s as if Eddie is seeing a whole new side to the med student. Buck is gentle and soothing, holding Christopher upright and whispering calm sweet nothings, instead of rocking about, he simply paces the room and after a few minutes the baby goes quiet, his eyes drooping shut, his little hands curled into loose fists on Bucks chest. 

“How...” Eddie gapes. 

“Magic touch.” Buck smirks, but the smile softens when he looks down at Christopher’s sleeping face. “It’s better if he sleeps upright like this, he sounds congested.” 

Eddie nods, still in complete awe. “He is. I--thanks, seriously.” he’s not sure what else to say, but he’s beyond grateful. This isn’t the first time Christopher’s gotten a cold, but it is the first time someone’s gotten him to go to sleep so quickly during one. 

Buck hums. “You can thank me by quizzing me on Chapters ten through fifteen for tomorrows advanced organic chemistry test.” 

Eddie huffs, amused. “You could’ve literally asked for anything just now,” he tells him as he reaches into his backpack for the right text book, “Hell, I could just about kiss you.” 

“In your dreams, maybe.” Buck makes a face. “Now c’mon, quit stalling Diaz.” 

“Alright Buckley,” Eddie smiles, speaking in a soft tone so as not to wake Christopher, when he asks, “Orbital hybridization has two important consequences, what are they?” 

#this was too cute not to jot down SOMETHING #911 fox #premed college AU #buddie #christopher diaz #buck buckley #eddie diaz #single dad eddie #sick christopher #drabble #long post is long #long post

[astraphel]

Demon Slayer | Tomioka Giyuu Trope: Hanahaki 500 Words | SFW

Flash Fiction ✰ Master List ✰ Main ✰ Daily GIFs

You should have seen this coming. Thinking back, the signs have been there for months.

He started taking longer to recover after missions, even ones that should be a breeze for a Hashira. He's had more wounds, as if he couldn't use his skills to mend them until he got proper care. Sometimes, he'd seem more pale than usual. But you never thought to pry. Shinobu was the one who handled his care. Besides, he's always been so quiet; how could you ever know? You tried your best to be friendly when you first started working at the Butterfly Mansion. It began as a concern for his isolation and soon turned into meeting him where he was at.

You'd notice his routine and made sure he had hot meals ready, as he often dined alone and at different times than everyone else. You'd pay attention to what thing's he'd leave unfinished, making adjustments to his meals until you received only clean plates. You always kept things brief if you needed to talk to him. It became a game, even. Trying to be as succinct as possible. One night, you had dinner with him in the med bay while he recovered after fighting a lower moon. Eating in complete silence was an admittedly new experience but not an unwelcome one.

To be honest, you felt intimidated by him, despite knowing objectively that you had no reason to be. You often wondered if he even enjoyed your company or if he simply tolerated it. Maybe he thought you were some sort of Hashira fanatic.

How did it come to this? You should have noticed. You should have said something.

You sat in the med bay; Giyuu was unconscious in the bed before you. His breathing was hollow and ragged.

"- and it's quite severe in its current state," Shinobus sentence ended. You hadn't heard the rest.

"I'm sorry, I'm having a hard time understanding." You said, your mind was foggy with confusion and worry.

She handed you a small metal tray with a pile of...flower petals?

"These have been growing in Tomioka's lungs. Demon Slayers brought him to me, who said he coughed these up and passed out after saving them from a pack of demons. He's said your name several times in his sleep, so I wanted to see if you knew anything."

"I-" You paused, racking your brain for anything. Flower petals growing in his lungs? You had never heard of such a thing. Shinobu said that he wasn't at risk of dying. Still, he'd be suspended from his duty as a Demon Slayer until he recovered.

"I'm sorry," tears welled up in your eyes, "I can't think of anything." The fear of losing him suddenly gripped you by the chest and heaved. You barely made it to a trash bin before you retched.

"I know how hard this must be for you," Shinobu said softly, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "You spend a lot of time together."

#giyuu tomioka x reader #tomioka giyu x reader #kny x reader #giyu x gn!reader #giyuu x reader #🔮☆gif. #🔮☆flash fic.

[dogbearinggifts]

What are your thoughts on tua S2? Did you feel like the characters grew? What did you like? What did you not? I’m interested in your perspective. Your analysis are super thoughtful and interesting!

Aw, thanks, Anon!

Overall, I really enjoyed S2 and thought it was a solid follow-up to S1. I do have my quibbles about it, so I think (for ease of reference and because my thoughts are a little scattered today) I’ll list some of my personal highlights (in no particular order) before getting into what I didn’t like as much.

Big spoilers ahead.

Allison. I thought they handled her storyline especially well. Of all the siblings, I think she had the most difficult obstacles placed in her way (not only is she a Black woman landing in 1961 Dallas, but she’s a Black woman landing in 1961 Dallas who can’t even speak in her own defense for a year) and they sugarcoated exactly none of it. The writers pulled no punches when showing what civil rights protesters went through, which just made their nonviolent response all the more breathtaking. Allison’s fear and anger during those scenes were palpable even as she kept them hidden. But along with that horror, we see the kindness and warmth of the Dallas Black community, the women who take her in simply because she needs their help, and her love for Ray, perhaps heretofore THE most thoughtful husband ever portrayed on screen. I loved him, and I loved him and Allison together. While I understand and respect his choice to stay in 1963, I wish they’d gotten more time together. They both deserved it.

Vanya. We got to see how much the baggage from her past affected her by glimpsing what she might be like if it were taken away. It’s an interesting philosophical question, and it was explored well, in my opinion. She finds it easier to love and be loved, and she stands up for herself more readily—but she also doesn’t hesitate to use powers she can’t quite control and threatens Five without fully realizing how dire her threat is (or how it might dredge up traumatic memories she doesn’t know exist). The moment where Ben finds her curled up, fully convinced she’s a monster, was heartbreaking. I loved watching her find happiness with Sissy, even if that was fleeting (and dear god, Sissy deserved her happy ending with Vanya, dammit, I don’t care if it would fuck up the timeline). Her patience and sweetness with Harlan were just beautiful. And the way she used the confidence she gained during her amnesia to fully come into her own not to exact revenge on her siblings, but to save them, was fucking phenomenal.

The humor. There was a lot more humor this season, and it was awesome. So many iconic scenes—Olga Foroga, Luther babysitting two homicidal Fives, Elliot awkwardly lecturing his guests on the history of Jello, “NEW TIMELINE NEW ME,” “Your vagina needs glasses,” AJ the fish gobbling up the cigarette bubbles, Five getting to say “fuck”….this season was a lot funnier than the previous one, and I think that was one of its strengths.

Klaus’ cult. It was played for laughs, which I both expected and thought was the best way to handle it. He didn’t want to start a new religion with himself at the center; he just wanted to not get thrown out of any more diners, but Destiny’s Children had other ideas. The “I too am a fraud!” scene was hilarious and tickled the question of whether or not a religion founded on false pretenses can still help those within it find meaning.

Luther. Getting him away from his dad, his siblings, and the Academy was exactly what he needed to become the pure of heart and dumb of ass genius we always knew he was, but his first major step in that direction was heartbreaking. We all knew he’d be rejected once he got to the Academy. We all knew Reginald would rip his heart out and stomp on it in his admittedly fashionable shoes. It gets Luther out on his own and forces him to become his own person apart from his dad, but that doesn’t make it any easier to watch. He got the positive character development he needed, but the catalyst was tragic.

Diego. We see, for the first time, exactly how Reginald kept him in line—not with meds or with PTSD-inducing torture, but with words. Even when he knows Diego as little more than a stranger, Reginald is able to rip off his skin and fling it in his face with a single diatribe; and even at 30, with years away from his dad, Diego is left unable to speak, feeling as if all of his accomplishments up to that point were the work of a dumb kid who thought he was smarter and more capable than he actually was.

Luther and Diego sharing a braincell. Luther has bad ideas. Diego has bad ideas. When they put their bad ideas together, they get terrible ideas. I loved watching them work together as a team, rather than being at each others’ throats for most of the season, even if I’m left hoping Olga Foroga had a pleasant and quiet day after that phone call.

Reginald. At first glance, it may look like the writers were trying to make him likable so they could parade him around as your average abusive-parent-with-a-soft-side. But it’s more nuanced than that. Abusive parents (and abusers in general) often fly under the radar because they fool outsiders into thinking they’re good people. They’re active in their communities. They give to charity. They have friends who attest to their virtue, significant others who think they’re the greatest. And that’s what we see with Reginald. We see him as the rest of the world did: an intelligent, eccentric man with a sharp sense of humor who cared deeply about scientific advancement. That’s how he evaded suspicion—because there were stories from years past of lively parties at his mansion, of what a gentleman he was to Grace and of how he did everything he could to save little Pogo. But those stories would all have come from people he considered his equals. When he’s with people he considers his inferiors—aka, the Umbrella kids—he’s openly condescending and demeaning. We get to see how he fooled the world, and it is chilling.

Elliot. He deserved better, and you can ship him with any one of the Hargreeves kids and get the cutest thing ever. 

The Swedes. They said so much while speaking very little.

Ben. He got more personality and screen time, and it was glorious. His love of his family and resentment toward Klaus practically leapt off the screen. The way he says “I’ve missed you all…so much” once they’ve all left was one of those right-in-the-feels moments; and watching him get so much of what he’s wanted for years when he possesses Klaus was beautiful.

Now, as for things I took issue with….

Ben. I understand why they ended his arc the way they did. I get that they were probably afraid the Klaus/Ben dynamic would grow stale if they didn’t change it somehow and wanted to give him a larger role in S3. His death(???) was heartbreaking and extremely well-done. But it also wasn’t foreshadowed. We never got any sense of what ghosts in the TUA ‘verse are, so the fact they can be destroyed by a ton of sound-turned-energy or by going too far into someone’s psyche or whatever happened….it’s not that it doesn’t make sense so much as there’s not enough evidence to determine whether or not it makes sense. It feels like the writers just kinda made that up so they’d have a reason to change Ben’s relationship dynamics, but if that’s the case, couldn’t they have done it another way? Couldn’t they have made it so the immense energy or psychic woo-woo or whatever gave him a power-up instead of destroying him? Vanya transferred some of her energy into Harlan and brought him back to life. Couldn’t something similar have happened with Ben? And if it tied him to Vanya as well as to Klaus, great! More fodder for angst and humor! (”Vannyyyyyyyy, stop hogging Ben!” “You got him for 17 years, Klaus, you can part with him for 20 minutes.” “Guys, don’t I get a say in this?”) I’m glad they didn’t write him out of the series entirely, but I still wish they’d kept him and all the character development he’d gotten throughout S2.

Episode 10. It looks like they tried to cram half a season’s worth of developments into 45 minutes. Twenty minutes in, I’d already said “Wait what the fuck” half a dozen times. A lot of those moments were explained later on, and I was able to make enough inferences to fill in any lingering plot holes, but…still. Too much stuff, too little time. E9 was a perfectly satisfying ending to the season. Yes, it leaves the siblings stranded in 1963, but they could’ve tied up those loose ends in the S3 premiere.

Lila. She’s an incredibly fun character, but her arc is kind of a mess. Most of that is due to E10, and I do feel that more time to let her arc breathe would’ve worked wonders, but I’m left feeling like her turn from “Handler is the best mom ever and I lurve Diego too” to “KILL DIEGO AND HIS EVIL FAMILY” to “Handler is a bad mom and Diego is right” happened too quickly.

The Commission. Okay, so, the Handler announces the entire Board has been killed, and she’s stepping in as director even though everyone appears to know she’s been demoted (and demoted pretty severely—she went from having an office bigger than some apartments to being a case management drone). There’s suspicion and lots of it. But then, La Resistance is….ten or so people in a single room? And when she calls the temps agents to her side, thousands of them show up ready and willing to fight and die? I dunno. Just seems like there should’ve been more splintering going on there. Again, I think they needed more time to tie everything up.

Aside from those complaints, I loved the season. I set aside most of a day to binge it, and I do not regret that decision at all.

#the umbrella academy season 2 spoilers #tua s2 spoilers #umbrella academy season 2 spoilers #The Umbrella Academy #Umbrella Academy #tua #luther hargreeves #Diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #reginald hargreeves #grace #pogo #number one #number two #number three #number four #number five #number six #number seven #anon #answered

[angellesword]

SAVE ME | KTH (01)

summary: You were determined to kill yourself, but instead of ending your life, you ended up summoning the devil of death.

Alternatively:

The Devil: I’m here to ruin you, I’m here to save you.

genre & content warnings: demon au, e2l, angst, fluff, roommate au, suicide attempt

pairing: Devil!Taehyung x Doctor!Reader

word count: 950

SERIES: CHAPTER 2 | FINAL CHAPTER (15)

You had a terrible habit of cutting your hair short whenever shit happens, and for you shit happens actually meant you were sad.

Just like back in third grade, you cut your tailbone length hair until your armpit because Lee Hyun, your classmate, refused to be your drawing partner.

You would never forget the scowl on his face and how hard he closed his sketchpad as he said "I don't want to be your partner! You're ugly!" To you. Eight year-old you cried on your way home that day.

You also remembered your mom asking if you were okay, but you were too heartbroken to answer so you just went inside your room and then you slammed the door shut and locked.

You were still weeping when your hands shakily grabbed the black scissors in the drawer. You couldn't even breathe as you cut your hair like crazy.

"Sweetie, are you okay?" You heard your mother knocked on your bedroom door, yet you refused to answer. All that's on your mind was to cut and cut and cut.

"Baby, open the door for mommy please." The swivet in your mother’s voice reached your ears, but you dismissed the idea of letting her in.

‘I needed to cut my hair.’ This was the only thought inside your silly little head.

"Oh, God! What are you doing!?" Your mom was hysterical when she finally found the key to your room.

Your mother was crying too. She snatched the scissors away from your hand and you thought, like you really, really thought that your mother would stab you with it, but she just engulfed you into a tight warm hug and suddenly, you found yourself encircling your tiny hands around her waist as you told her about this stupid boy who broke your heart at the age of nine.

The second time you cut your hair was during fifth grade. The black scissors were vigorously cutting your midback length hair until your neck when your mother barged in your room. She’s quick enough to snatch the enemy from your shaky hands. She didn't say anything because as usual, the only thing she could do was to embrace your frail body.

"Park Ji-hyo is playing Alice!"

"Oh, sweetie..." Your mother sighed as you proceeded to tell the older how unfair the world was. Your classmate named Ji-hyo was going to play the lead role in your school's stage play while you were chosen to just portray cat, Alice's sidekick.

Tragic.

The third time you felt the need to cut your hair was when you failed to pass the entrance exam at Cornelia University, one of the best schools for medicine in your country. You were so heartbroken that day, your feet were frozen on the floor, but your hands were already grabbing the black scissors inside the drawer.

You were cutting your hair again. You cut your waist length hair until your neck and that was your mom's breaking point.

"Stop it! Just stop it!" She still held you in her arms and you still told her how painful it was to study nonstop only to fail.

You felt better whenever you told your mother the things that were bothering you. Your mom was always there when you needed her the most. She never failed to snatch the black scissors away from your treacherous hands before you turned bald. Admittedly, your mom was the one who fixed all of your problems.

Back in third grade, your mother gave candies to Lee Hyun just to make him want to draw with you. She also bribed the head of the stage play so her spoiled kid could play Alice. She then paid Cornelia University a ridiculous amount of money just so you could pursue your dream to be a doctor.

Your mother was the best, but every good thing had an equivalent bad thing. When you moved at the university's dorm, you instantly realized how dependent you were to your mother.

Shit always happened at Medical school. When shit happened, you cut your hair. This time, however, your mother was not around to snatch the scissors away from your hands. You cut your hair from time to time. Med school's really the worst that you graduated with a pixie cut.

Now that you’re already a doctor, shit still happened and your mom's too dead to save you from cutting your hair.

Today, You were holding the black scissor again, but it's not for its usual purpose. The last time you butchered your hair was when your mother died. It's been two years now and the length of your hair at this very moment was until your shoulder blades.

You didn't have any plan to cut it now. The only thing you were cutting with these scissors was your life.

You did not want to live anymore.

"W-Wish you were here, eomma." You bit your bottom lip as you stared at your sad face in the mirror. You pointed the scissors in your neck—aiming at the carotid artery.

You inhaled deeply as tears continued to wet your cheeks.

Just as you’re about to stab yourself, a stranger appeared right behind you.

The stranger snatched the scissors away from you just like what your mother used to do. But this person wasn’t like your mother. In fact, he didn't look like a human at all.

"Who are you!?" You flinched; your eyes grew big because of fear and confusion.

The stranger smirked. His golden eyes sparkled as his tail wagged.

"Me?" The corner of the intruder's mouth turned up. His reflection in the mirror made your heart skip a beat.

"I'm the devil and I'm here to save you."

MASTERLIST

#kim taehyung #bts taehyung #taehyung romance #taehyung fluff #demon taehyung #devil taehyung #taehyung angst #taehyung smut #taehyung x you #taehyung x oc #taehyung x y/n #taehyung x reader #taehyung roommate au #taehyung fic #taehyung fantasy au #taehyung enemies to lovers #taehyung e2l

[mari-beau]

GIVE ME A REASON: PART SIX - A Rogue One Fanfiction

This is a shorter installment, and maybe pointless… maybe I’m dragging this out too long… But also, who cares, I’m doing this for fun. I just love playing with them!

Read on AO3

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Title: Give Me A Reason: Part Six

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Jyn Erso POV, Cassian Andor

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn (mostly pre-ship?)

Spoilers: Rogue One; Episode IV A New Hope

Setting: Post-Rogue One AU (Cassian & Jyn live); Also during/post A New Hope

Warnings: Some coarse language. References to wounds. And… Cuddling?

Words: 1,720

Story Summary: Jyn’s entire universe has been turned on its head, so maybe she’s clinging a little too hard to the one thing she feels certain of (strangely enough) as she tries to figure out her place in the galaxy. And maybe she’s being a little overprotective of a wounded captain.

Also can be found on AO3.

The Death Star had come for them.

Again.

But Jyn couldn’t bring herself to care. It did seem a little strange to have been spared the last time only to probably be destroyed this time, barely a week later. But either way, it was the end to her life she now knew to be her fate, or whatever. It just felt right. It just was. Not the Death Star specifically, but,

Jyn Erso would die in Cassian Andor’s arms.

Whether it should’ve been on Scarif. Or it was here on Yavin 4. Or the next day. Or thousands of days in the future.

And there was a sort of peace in knowing that. One that allowed her to climb into his bed, slide her arms around him, and bury her face in his shoulder. He stirred and her heart skipped a beat. It was easier when he was unconscious, to consider how she felt about him, how she’d been attracted to men before, even had something akin to a relationship with one or two, but it had never felt like this.

“Jyn…?”

“Yes, it’s me. We’re on the base on Yavin 4. Safe. In your quarters.” It was easier to preempt any confusion or alarm Cassian experienced when he woke from his heavy, partially drugged, mostly just exhausted from his body’s healing, sleep.

“How long?” he asked, then realized there were static-laden voices broadcasting over the basewide intercom. “What’s going on?”

“You’ve been asleep for 12 hours,” Jyn said, moving closer and partially on top of him to prevent him from trying to get up in a rush and falling flat on his face. Also, she was admittedly afraid on some level, afraid to be alone and facing death. When he was near her, when they were physically entwined in some way, she felt like everything would be okay. Even if she died, if it was in Cassian’s arms, then everything would be okay. Irrational, yes. But that didn’t make it any less her truth.

“The Death Star is here,” she said, once she could tell he was awake enough to understand, not muddled by pain meds. “The Alliance is scrambling their forces to engage. They’re leaving the comms open, since you know…”

“We’re all dead if they fail.”

His arms wrapped around her and engulfed her in his warm embrace. Cassian Andor, a man who, she didn’t think she was wrong to guess, hadn’t received much at all in the way of affection in his life, somehow was so good at holding a person he made the pain of the universe go away, made the entire universe fade away except for his hands on her body, gentle and undemanding but also firm and reassuring, his breath hot on her neck, sending shivers down her spine, and his body beneath hers, so strong despite his injuries.

“Are you okay?” she asked, remembering the physical state of him.

“Mmm… Yes.” His hands tightened their grip on her side and shoulder, reflexively, a gentle squeeze as he murmured into her neck. “Feels good.”

He probably meant he felt fine, but oh, yes, it did feel good. Or maybe he was still quite medicated?

“My weight isn’t putting pressure on your injuries?” Jyn asked. “Maybe I should…”

“No.” Somehow he managed to pull her further into him, her breasts flattening against his chest, her hip practically fusing to his, her breath hitching momentarily and then joining the rhythm of his own breaths...in and out… in and out… in and out...

Cassian sighed, made a frustrated, growling sound.

“I need to use the ‘fresher,” he said, loosening his grip on her.

Jyn rolled off from him, swung her legs around to sit on the side of the cot and waited to see if Cassian could manage to stand. He slid to sit on the edge of the bed next to her and took a moment. She didn’t press him, though an instinct inside of her wanted to offer assistance, wanted to take care of him, wanted to ease the pain and struggle his recovery was.

He stood, again pausing for a moment, then walked slowly across the small room to his private refresher facilities. Apparently, it was one of very few benefits to his officer’s rank, for the small quarters were nothing more than a glorified closet. But she supposed it spared him from having to sleep in a large barracks with a bunch of others, not that it would’ve deterred Jyn in the least from crawling into his bed.

Part of her felt like she shouldn’t watch his laborious movements, out of respect, but she couldn’t look away. What if he needed her?

Force, what if he didn’t need her? Not like she needed him? Aw, fuck. She needed him.

She watched the muscles in his naked back twitch, stiff from inactivity and injury. But her eyes were inevitably drawn to the perfectly uniform lines of small circular marks running down his spine. She knew there was a matching sort of trail along his ribs. Injections of some sort of bacta cocktail meant to speed the fusing of the fractures in his vertebrae and ribs, injections straight into the bone. How painful would that have been if he’d been conscious, she couldn’t help but wonder, couldn’t help but want to wrap her smaller body around as much of Cassian as she could, run her hands gently over his scars, old and new, make sure his wounds were healing and his bruises fading, hear him sigh contentedly against her skin, hold him forever.

As he disappeared into the ‘fresher, Jyn realized she was hopeless.

Cassian Andor had taught her about hope. And had made her absolutely hopeless at the same time.

But why fret about it? What did it matter?

Jyn was used to dealing with life moment by moment, day by day. And she might not have many more moments, anyway.

The loud, static-laden voices crackling over the basewide intercom announced the launch of yet another squadron of fighters, then abruptly switched over to some ship’s communication officer announcing visual confirmation of the target. The Death Star.

Looming on the horizon like a moon, a harbinger of death, bringer of eternal night. Cold, austere, which made it somehow more terrifying, somehow worse than staring down an angry brute about to put a knife in you. It was just so inevitable, indomitable. Made her feel so small, insignificant, so alone.

“Do you mind if I turn this off?”

Jyn startled. How had she not noticed Cassian reappear in the small room? He pointed at the comm, which was broadcasting the prelims of a battle to determine all their fates.

She didn’t want to listen to it either.

“Please do,” she said, already feeling less… alone.

She watched Cassian lean over to switch the speaker off, wincing in sympathy with him as he straightened again, taking a deep breath that expanded his chest and shifted the muscles beneath his skin, mesmerizing her more than a little. His mostly naked body preoccupied far too many of her thoughts.

But what else had she been supposed to do? She’d woken up drenched in sweat that first night in his quarters, had to strip out of the heavy infirmary clothes, found Cassian tossing in his sleep, nearly feverish, removed the sweltering clothes from his body, as well. Little did she know, how enthralling she’d find his lean muscles, the shape of his body, the feel of his bare skin, his-

His hands cupped her face and Jyn looked up at Cassian Andor, his kriffing gorgeous dark eyes fixed on her. His fingers swept some stray hair from her forehead, tucked it behind her ear, returned to swipe gently over the nearly-healed scar above her eyebrow, in her hairline.

“Are you okay?” A knot formed in her throat. Cassian was a good man, despite every questionable thing he’d done and tortured himself over. Of course he would care about her wellbeing. It didn’t mean-

“Ow!”

“Your blaster wound still hurts?” His fingers feathered over her shoulder, not touching the freshly healed injury this time.

“It does when you jab your finger in it.” She grabbed his wrist and tugged his hand away, throwing him off balance so that he fell into her and she managed to catch him and ease him onto the bed, right where she wanted him.

A chuckle escaped him and he smiled, making something flutter inside of her. And then he was reaching for her, pulling her close.

His embrace was everything she’d never known she’d wanted. His hands stroked her back and he buried his face in her neck, nuzzling a sensitive spot just behind and below her ear.

She sighed, wrapping an arm around his middle and burying the fingers of her other hand in his messy, soft hair. She pressed gently as she massaged his scalp down to his nape, eliciting a hum of pleasure from him that vibrated against her bare skin and into her flesh.

If this was to be her last moment, Jyn held no regrets. It was a good moment.

“Jyn?” His voice had a lethargic but happy edge to it, thick and low and sleepy. She could sympathize.

“Yes?” She twisted her finger in a lock of hair curling about his neck.

“Please don’t let me sleep so long this time.” His whisper tickled her ear. “No more than 10 hours. Okay? Please?”

He wanted her to wake him up in 10 hours… Like there wasn’t a battle raging in space nearby… Like he didn’t believe they were quite probably going to die soon, incinerated by a weapon her own father helped design. Like he didn’t believe they were going to lose, after all. Somehow, he believed they would be there, together, ten hours from this moment.

Hope.

Such a man as Cassian… The most unexpected thing she’d discovered about him was his belief in hope. That he possessed any at all after all he had done, all he had seen. And then he’d given it to her.

And again, it warmed her, deep inside, that small seed of hope. She snuggled closer to the man, hoping for something she couldn’t even begin to conceive of. But yearned for it, with every fiber of her being.

#fic: Give Me A Reason #Rogue One #fanfiction #rebelcaptain #my fic #Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso #Cassian x Jyn

[my-writings-and-musings]

Hello! I don’t know if you’re still doing this prompt but how about the Oxygen Loss but with either Rung or Ratchet? I’m not sure how you would do Ratchet, maybe he’s away from the Med Bay at the time the LL is being attacked?

I've got some of my favorite bot Rung for you, and Ratchet is in part five listed below! Let's have some angst with the good phsychiatrist!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: You're Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Rung

·Perhaps being human just made one think differently from Cybertronians in the most unusual of ways, but you truly never understood how anyone could forget the lovable phsychiatrist, though you have quite a few unique reasons to remember him. While he's actually rather sociable and energetic, the two of you most often enjoy relaxing together in his office. Today you're doing just that by chatting away about the various pieces of earth media you think he'll enjoy. Whether or not he actually ends up having interest in any of them, he takes great pleasure in discussing your suggestions. Not only does it give him a better glimpse into earth and the culture of its inhabitants, but it also allows him to hear about your own tastes in entertainment, and that alone could keep his interest for days. Just hearing you talk about yourself so happily is a delight.

·Unfortunately the fun times are interrupted by an emergency broadcast, one the two of you are equally baffled to find is little more than a garble of indecipherable warnings and instructions. Before any kind of explanation can be requested, the line goes off completely, fading out to silence that doesn't even register static. Having served on many ships in the past, Rung has theories straight away as to what could be going on, and they vary from trivial to concerning. For this though, he wants to err on the side of caution. That means getting somewhere safe. If something is indeed wrong, he explains, help can always be found in a number of key locations. Considering where his room is, he knows the closest safe place is the medical bay.

·Wanting to be wary but not panicked, Rung admittedly struggles over whether or not to get moving. Though he doesn't say why, you know one of his biggest fears is being unable to protect you, something he worries he can't do being adverse to combat. A small smile of encouragement naturally lights up your features as you lay a hand on his. You promise him you trust his judgement no matter what. A look of gratitude is knocked off his face when his whole office trembles, and it's replaced entirely with a look of terror as the ship gives a mighty buck, sending your tiny body flying. An athletic dive saves you from crashing into anything, and instead you find yourself held in a pair of trembling hands when the world levels out. On his knees and quite frazzled from the jolt, the first thing Rung does is ask if you're okay, and he lets out a sigh of relief when you confirm you are.

·The incident gives him the impetus to make up his mind; the two of you are going to head for more secure territory. In agreement despite being so frazzled, you let him take the lead and try to convey just how grateful you are to have him at your side for all of this, holding onto his digits as he prepares to get moving. There's so much obvious planning in the processor behind his furrowed brows you can practically hear the metaphorical wheels turning. He wants to be ready for any possibility, so much so that he grabs his rarely used combat staff from the corner. Despite the circumstances, your heart actually flutters a little; to you he's always looked quite dashing wielding the weapon.

·There's silence when he enters the hallway at last, and it drives him to hug you to his chest in a move that comforts himself just as much as he hopes it comforts you. It certainly helps you feel secure, as the move puts you right beside his spark, one that leaves no doubt as to its status as brightest on the ship. A soft and melodic humming seems to pass straight through his chestplate at all times. Pressing against him, you let the sound soothe the tension from your much smaller body. Even if you can hardly protect him from much of anything, you hope he feels a bit safer in your company, though he's hardly struggling to move boldly through the ship. From a distance one might have even missed the light tremble in his frame.

·Scared as he might be, he's faced situations similar to this before, and came out with the knowledge that it's best to move as he is now; quickly, but quietly, so as to avoid being taken by surprise. However, he had the aid of his natural resilience to get him through past situations alive. Incredible healing abilities have always been a literal life saver, but now, the fact that only he would be saved... The thought of recovery is just as agonizing as any wound when he thinks of you not being there when the physical pain faded. Fear of such an outcome makes him freeze when the first sound of movement meets his audials; there's something rather large nearby, and it isn't an Autobot. Nor is it a Decepticon, further inspection tells him when he listens intently, as he can hear how unnaturally it moves even from his makeshift hiding spot. It has to be one of the attacking forces.

·Rung looks down as you hold your breath, having heard the same sound and doing your best to make sure the alien doesn't find either of you. For an instant you're both left frozen and the air is tense enough to feel as if it's smothering you. Scouting the situation as best he can, the small mech takes note of the fact he only has one usable path to the medical bay from this position, as any other course would require a great deal of backtracking there simply isn't time for. The only viable way forward is this one, and as there's only a single enemy... Looking down at you one final time let's him make a decision. This has to be done, for your sake, and he quickly sets you down in an open yet depowered electrical hatch, one likely left this way by a bot abandoning it in the midst of some maintenance. Hopefully it will keep you safe...

·You know what he's doing when Rung whispers for you to stay down and make a run for it should things "end poorly", but you don't even get a chance to try and stop him, the fear in his optics all but breaking your heart as he disappears from view. Alone in the hatch, a million thoughts storm in an attempt to form a plan. Being so tiny leaves you very few options... Yet a forgotten tool, some kind of Cybertronian screwdriver, opens up a slew of dangerous possibilities. What you assume to be adrenaline fills you so fast you get dizzy, but you don't let that stop you as the makeshift weapon is clenched between your shaking hands. Unbeknownst to you, Rung executes his first attack at the same instant, finishing off an impressive ambush with a ferocious stab intended to end a fight before it can begin.

·Rung isn't surprised when his attack merely staggers his opponent; just dissapointed as the brute turns to retaliate. Bloodied weapon in hand, he simply doesn't have the reflexes to avoid the hit that comes next, though he does manage to land a small puncture wound as a powerful blow slams him against a wall. As he is pinned by the overwhelming weight of a much larger being, he can only think about you... The weapon is immobile in his hand, as useless as he knows he is, and he prays this commotion will at least enable you to escape. Pressure hard enough to crack his armor suspends any thoughts beyond pain as the alien goes in for the kill. Only, it's interrupted by a very unexpected attack at the base of one of its legs, one that staggers it as something tiny and very sharp is stabbed as deep as it can go... by you.

·There's no time to celebrate before a reflexive kick sends you sprawling, your tiny body rolling across the ground from a mere glancing blow. Between the window of opportunity and the glaring rage on your behalf, it's all Rung needs to turn the tide of battle. Though he's sloppy from anger and pain, his staff finds a weak point and the bladed end sinks deep, sending the gargantuan being toppling like a gigantic tree. Before the thud has finished echoing Rung is by your side, kneeling on a visibly damaged leg to look you over. Despite the strength of what hit you, there's something off in how bleary you are as his face spins above you, as if the world is slipping away. Your injured partner can see it too. In fact, anyone could see you're struggling just to breathe, and that sends a chill through his spark. Whether or not this level of incoherencey makes any sense for your manner of injury, he doesn't have time to ask questions, needing to get you somewhere safe instead. All he takes the time for is to plead that you remain awake.

·Before he can damage his leg further by attempting to struggle into a standing position, luck arrives in the form of a squadron of armed bots, who heard the sound of combat and came to investigate. The sight of the ship's tiny phsychiatrist and the hulking alien he obviously killed makes most of their jaws drop. In a rare loss of composure, Rung begs them to take you to the medical bay as fast as possible, tears hidden only by his lenses. Slipping out of consciousness while you're lifted by dexterous hands, you can only be glad he'll be okay, and that despite your tiny size you made a difference... A quick thinking bot heeds the instructions and carts you off for treatment. Rung can only pray help will be given in time, and as he's helped along after you the bitter sense of failure hurts worse than any injury; how could he be so worthless as to let you down in this of all moments?

·The feeling is not at all relieved when he arrives for care of his own and is told that you'll live, only because the true cause of your sudden deterioration strikes him hard. You were suffocating, tiny organic body failing from a lack of critical resources, and yet you'd been forced to save him. Did this mean he had hurt you more than anything else today, because he'd been unable to handle himself, making you waste precious oxygen and energy? As soon as he's patched up he requests to stay alone by your side, which is rather difficult due to how many bots want to praise his efforts in taking down an enemy. Their intentions are at least appreciated. Yet he's left to agonize as he waits for you to stir, removing his glasses so he can hold his head in his hands while the emotions overwhelm him.

·Upon waking, it's hard to ignore the fact that most of your body hurts in one way or another, particularly in a few stretches of your arms and legs where bruises will no doubt be blossoming soon. Yet the mask on your face is what really gives you pause, especially as you open your eyes to see the interior of a medical bay suite. A familiar dash of copper catches your attention before you can think too hard. Rung is just beside you, yet you can't tell if he's awake or powered down by the way his helm is leaning so heavily against his palm. The question is answered as soon as you stir, and his usually bright optics snap open to reveal an exhausted grey. Despite the visible anguish, he smiles as soon as he sees you, reaching forward to brush your cheek as he softly says your name. Static blurs his voice into an uncharacteristic croak.

·A tad bit accustomed to worried minds in confusing situations, he gently relays what led to you being here, trying to remain neutral but slipping in a bit of self admonishment as he gets to his failed defensive effort. The memories flood back despite the injuries you suffered and the lack of oxygen in the moment. A far different scene comes back in your mind's eye, one of a mech valiantly charging into a fight just to give you a chance at escape, and you take hold of his digit despite the pain of moving your arm. When he tries to stop the action you cut him off gently, saying that he's not just the reason you're alive, he was the source of your own burst of courage that resulted in you saving his life. Your love for each other is why you're both here to live another day.

·The devotion in your words takes him by total surprise. For all the adoration he has for you, he's not even accustomed to being remembered by anyone, let alone treasured. Honest as can be, he can only silently wipe away a few happy tears as he requests you forgive him for the self imposed criticism. Smiling back, you promise to do so, and to always help him remember that he's worth all the love you have for him. With tenderness only he could possess, Rung leans down to leave a soft kiss on the side of your head in silent thanks. There simply aren't words for the happiness you give him even in the hardest times...

#transformers #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #lost light #idw #tf #my writing #my asks #anon #rung #rung x reader #human reader #self insert #requests

[winterscaptain]

infirmity.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: part four of our 100 arc, covering 5x02, haunted! I forgot how much i love this episode, so i really leaned into this one. it’s a labor of love!! i can’t wait to hear what you all think (i crave feedback and affection) and if you reblog, i’d love to see your cheeky lil thoughts in the tags!!

an ajf fic arc that happily stands on its own! one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

words: 4.3k warnings: language, bad decisions

summary: “a friend should bear his friend’s infirmities” - william shakespeare, julius caesar.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

You knock on the door at 8:30 sharp. Almost thirty seconds pass before he answers, and you note the hand on his holster as he opens the door. 

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you chirp. “Ready to go?”

He turns, gathering his things. “What do we know about this case in Kentucky?”

Thrown a little by the lack of greeting, you follow him into the apartment. The sight of the Foyet files on his desk aren’t foreign to you, nor are they a surprise. They’ve been there every time you came over during his leave (in fact, you’ve sat on them more than once), so why you expected them to go away once he was back you had no idea.

“Um, no connection between Call and his victims. They’re canvassing, but no sign of him so far.”

“Start with his recent history. Find the stressor.” His voice is flat, impassive, and you frown. 

He was just getting better…

You’re about to head back toward the door when -

“Don’t move.”

Right. The alarm. 

He stands by to arm it. “Ready?”

“Are you?”

+++

You arrive at the tarmac, Hotch in the passenger seat of your car. He looks a little resigned, but straightens and takes a breath before he opens the door, settling into his role as he steps out and straightens his suit jacket. 

It’s always a little funny to watch him transform. You’re honored you get to see it, even if he’s in rough shape. 

Especially then. 

You climb the stairs and follow him in, settling in your usual place. 

“Good to see you,” Dave says as Aaron scoots down the aisle. It makes you smile. 

“You, too.”

Aaron gets settled and you shift, trying not to hover but finding it difficult to be separated from him after his weeks of absence. He greets the rest of the team, exchanging pleasantries and checking in with Reid about his knee. 

“Any other attacks?”

JJ shakes her head, while Spencer elaborates. “Call’s proven hard to track. He’s never had a driver's license so he’s probably still on foot.”

“Or public transportation,” Emily notes.

You hum. “He wouldn’t take the bus. His face is everywhere.”

“Has anyone found a stressor?” You weren’t sure if Aaron’s brusque affect was going to continue once you made it to the plane, but his tone just about answers your question. 

Stepping back into authority quickly, there, Aaron. 

“He just lost his job,” Garcia supplies. “He’s worked at a factory since 1990. Made appliances since forever and not a single promotion.”

Derek tilts his head. “That’s a long time to be bitter.”

“Or he doesn’t care?”

JJ looks at Spencer and shakes her head. “Not if he’s got a family to feed.” 

“Actually, he’s of the hermit variety as far as I can tell. He’s got no one. No wife, no kids, no parents.” You watch Garcia’s eyes flicker around the screen as she talks to you, doing what she does best. 

“Nothing to live for.”  Derek’s looking a little too pointedly at Aaron for your taste, but your evaluation is interrupted. 

“So why hasn’t he killed himself yet?”

Your brain sputters at Aaron’s offhand delivery. “What?”

“Sprees usually end in suicide. If he’s got nothing to live for, why hasn’t he ended it?”

The energy in the room grows uncomfortable, fast. Aaron’s voice is still flat - you might go so far as to say it sounds dead, but that inspires a kind of heavy sullenness in your chest you’d rather not subject yourself to. 

You wish Haley was around for no other reason but to kick his ass. 

You’re thankful for Spencer when he answers Hotch’s question. “Because he isn’t finished, yet. We know he has displaced anger. He took it out on the first victim.”

“Well,” Aaron continues, “the stock boy represents someone. We need to know who.”

You meet Derek’s eyes and you can tell he’s trying to read you - trying to see if you’re as concerned as he is. You don’t give him the satisfaction. 

+++

Later, you corner Morgan on the plane before landing, keeping your voice low. The case is in your lap so there’s a valid distraction when you need one. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

He stops and turns. “I thought Hotch was cleared to drive.” 

“He is.”

“Then why did you pick him up this morning?”

You shrug. “I wanted to.” His eyes bore into the side of your head and you look up with an exasperated huff. “What?”

He sighs. “He’s only had a month off.”

“Well,” you say, aware that you’re being pedantic before you even get there, “thirty-four days. That’s a little more than a month.”

His stare is withering, but you’re impervious. “And you think that’s long enough?”

“Are you asking me as his coworker or as his friend?”

“Is there a difference?”

You shrug. “Maybe.” Yes. “But if you don’t think he’s had enough time, you should tell him.”

He scoffs. “No thanks. I like my job.”

“You like him more.” A little smile crosses your face. “Though, I know you don’t like to think so.”

“No. I like you.” Derek corrects. “He also happens to like you, so I tolerate him for your benefit.”

“Much appreciated.” You return to your work, but Derek’s eyes linger. You don’t look up as you ask, “What?”

“What if he has PTSD?”

Still writing, you answer with a general air of nonchalance. “He was evaluated.”

“Oh, come on. We wrote those questions. Hotch knows exactly -“

You slam your pen down and lean back with your arms crossed. You draw Spencer's eyes and lower your voice again. “So, what? Are you going to pick at me until you get me to say something you want me to say?” You let out a sardonic chuff, settling back to work. “If that’s the case, you’re gonna be here a while.” You tip your head a little toward the little table by the window. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

You admittedly feel a little bad for being short with him, but everything seems to be testing your patience today. 

And if you’re honest, you’re worried about Aaron, too. 

After a few minutes of work in silence, you call out to him again. There’s the smallest of apologies in your voice. “Derek?”

He looks at you, dark eyes open and yielding - concerned and forgiving. “Yeah?”

“He’s back because he has to be. He needs to know we’re here for him.”

“He knows that.”

You offer him a small smile. “Don’t let him forget it.” You pause, your head wavering a little bit as your tone turns a touch facetious. “I can’t do all the heavy lifting around here.”

You get a laugh out of him - just a little one - and it’s enough. “Don’t push it, kid. I remember when you were dead weight.”

You roll your eyes. 

That’s enough, for now. 

+++

Even your seemingly-endless patience with Aaron rapidly wanes as you spend more time at the crime scene. It’s frustrating. 

“He was on an antipsychotic?” You ask with a little frown. 

The pharmacist nods. “Well, that’s why I wanted him to calm down. He’s been off of them at least a month, now.” 

“And when were you going to tell us this?” Aaron asks, harsh and sharp. 

You look at him, your frown deepening. 

What the fuck is that attitude?

“He’s armed, he’s delusional. Who’s his doctor?” Hotch’s tone grows even pointier, somehow, as he pushes harder. 

“I don’t remember - my computer…” She gestures behind the desk, where the computer has been fried by a bullet. 

“Great. That’s great.” He walks away, already making a call. 

“Excuse us,” you say in an attempt to recover. Derek echoes you and you try to avoid running after Hotch as he strides down the aisle. 

Long-legged asshole. Slow down. 

“Hotch,” you call. He doesn’t listen. 

“Call JJ and tell her about the meds.” He’s still walking. You’ve caught up. 

Derek chimes in, gesturing back at the pharmacist. “This is not her fault.”

Aaron turns on him. “Morgan, he’s in a psychotic break. It changes everything.”

“You want to talk about this?” Derek asks, taking another step closer. 

Squaring up to Derek’s shoulder, you’re ready to pull them apart if they get really heated. 

Wouldn’t be the first time.

In some ways, Morgan’s admission on the plane was truer than he let on. You are the link between Derek and Aaron, almost like a balm. You see things in them that they can’t see in each other. It helps. 

With a pang, you think of Haley, for some reason. 

You miss her. 

“No.” Aaron’s interruption is sharp and it startles you out of your thoughts. “I want to find him - Garcia,” he turns, continuing on his warpath forward, “he’s been off his antipsychotic for a month. What else did you miss?”

Your mouth drops open and Derek’s about to deck Aaron while his back is turned. You push in front of Derek, getting between them to give him a chance to cool off. The last thing you want is to handle more wound dressings - for either one of them. 

Aaron hangs up and walks out after what you imagine is a rather unilluminating update from Penelope. You turn, putting your hand on Derek’s shoulder and looking him in the eye. 

Still think he’s alright? His eyes ask.

 You grit your teeth. I don’t know. 

+++

The psychiatrist and patient lay dead on the floor, Call nowhere in sight. Derek directs the local officers to check the perimeter, just in case. 

You look at Hotch, who still doesn’t look completely checked in, himself. 

Or maybe he looks too checked in?

I don’t know. 

You’d be lying if you said his behavior didn’t freak you out. Though he’s standing beside you, you miss him. 

Come back to me. 

You miss the man who pliantly sat under your hands as you washed his wounds and brought him takeout and forced him to take naps in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday. 

You miss the man who fought you for the remote and stole far too many of your fries, who would change the channel if you made the mistake of going to the bathroom on a commercial break. 

That man was with you as late as Saturday. Returning has brought something else out in him, the part of him that spent (often very) late nights looking for Foyet has risen to the forefront. 

“We’re too late.” 

Before the rest of you can do anything, Aaron leaves the room, pushing past Dave in his haste to leave. 

Emily calls after him, but he’s long gone down the hallway. They look at you. 

All you can do is shake your head with a downturned curve of your mouth. 

+++

After a little while, you go downstairs and find Hotch outside. Before you can say anything - 

“I should have seen the blinking on the video.” 

You huff at him. “Hotch, it could have been a nervous tic. You couldn’t have known - none of the records were available, yet.” 

“But it wasn’t a tic. It’s a classic sign of long-term antipsychotic use, and I missed it.”

You step in front of him, squarely meeting his eyes. “We all missed it.” 

He’s got another pessimistic jab that you choose to ignore just before Emily and Dave arrive with news from Garcia. 

Oh, Aaron. 

+++

The officer huffs. “I don’t care why he took him.” 

Aaron had, once again, escalated the situation with local police. Tensions are high, and you only hope he can get his shit together at some point. “You should.” 

Goddamn it, Aaron. 

He continues, advancing on the police captain. “Call’s memory is no longer suppressed. He’s reinventing his past and unless we understand how, we’re not going to find either of them.”

“Well, I’m not gonna just sit around and speculate.” 

It’s an old-fashioned Western standoff, now. 

Who’s Clint Eastwood?

Well, Hotch has the looks but -

Quit. 

Fine. 

“Then don’t.”

The captain turns to you, Emily, and Dave. “You don’t think we should chase him either?”

“We need to get ahead of Call,” Dave answers evenly. 

The captain looks at Aaron once more before storming off. The rest of you approach Hotch, and Emily’s a little frustrated when she reminds him, “There’s a kid missing.” 

“They don’t need the extra manpower.” 

You squint at him. “Since when?”

“If we had studied Foyet’s initial crimes -”

Oh for the love of fuck. 

“- we would have known that a survivor didn’t make sense.”

“What does he have to do with this?”

Great question, Emily.

“All we had to do was stop and look at Foyet’s history. But we didn’t, and we lost two couples and a bus full of people. I am not making that mistake again.” He leaves the three of you stunned in his wake. After a moment, you follow him. 

You always do. 

+++

“Let’s go.” 

You’ve got the address to the unsub’s home and you take the car with Aaron, the rest of the team following behind you. 

He drives fast, but that’s nothing new. He throws the siren and floors it. You call SWAT yourself, getting Derek prepared for staging. 

When you get out of the car, you throw your vest on, helping Emily with the straps across her shoulders before she can reach them themselves. 

“Prentiss,” Aaron says, putting his earwig in. “Check in with the lieutenant, see if there’s anything we can use.” 

She nods. “Yes, sir.” 

“You good?” You ask, looking over at him. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” 

You throw your head to the side, and he takes your flank as you get closer to Emily. Her briefing with this particular lieutenant could go sideways, but you don’t want to leave him feeling trapped. 

“...The kid’s in there. We got this. Tactical teams are covering the exits. He’s still focused on the old man.”

Emily squints, adjusting her comm. “For now, but we’re gonna have to figure out the safest way to get that kid out.”

“I’ve got a team in the back and one on the way. We’re going to infiltrate.” 

“You do that and someone else dies.” The balance of firm and collaborative rests delicately on her tone. She’s doing well. 

“Either Call or a child murder. Flip a coin.” 

His tone frustrates you, but you leave Emily to her devices, checking your magazines for the third time. Your sidearm is in place, as is your backup. 

“It doesn’t have to end like that. We get a confession out of Jarvis and he goes away, and Call gets his answers. No one else has to die.” She pauses, and a streak of white flashes in your peripheral. “Hotch!” 

You whirl, ready to sprint after him as he walks decisively past the rest of you, past the gate, and into the house. After a moment’s hesitation, you make a break for it. A wall of arms stops you, and you know Derek’s behind you when you hear, “What the hell is he doing?”

No vest...Is he even carrying his gun? 

“Let him go.” 

You turn on Dave, your face plastered with fear and fury. “What do you mean let him go. Rossi -”

“I’m not letting him go in there solo.” Derek pushes against Dave again, but to your surprise, he’s locked in tight. 

“We have to trust him.” 

That cools Derek off, but not you. You thrash, freeing yourself from one of the local cops. “The hell we do.” 

“Kid - wait, no.” The roles reverse, and Derek catches up to you and locks you in his arms before you can breach the perimeter. Your elbows don’t land against his vest, but you sure try. “You’ll get him killed.” 

There’s only stress and silence as you stop struggling. All you can do is wait. 

Derek keeps his arm around you, but you almost feel like the contact is for both of you. You take deep breaths, trying to slow your heart rate. It’s through the roof. 

“What’s he doing?” Emily asks into her mic. 

Dave leans into his comm. “Stalling.” 

You can almost feel Derek’s jaw tightening. “He has nothing to lose.” 

He has everything to lose. 

You have everything to lose. 

Don’t be a hero, Aaron. Don’t do anything stupid. 

You hope that he can hear you somehow. 

Too late. 

Hotch appears in the window, followed by the boy. 

There’s a quick SWAT conversation in your ear. 

“Do you have the shot?”

“Negative, negative.”

He’s blocking the shot. 

Goddamn you, Aaron. Goddamn you. 

“Bringing the boy out,” a faceless voice on the radio says. The hostage runs down off the porch and you catch a glimpse of Aaron before he disappears behind the door again. 

You turn your head a touch, keeping your eyes on the door. “Get him out of there.” 

Dave shakes his head. “That’s his call.” 

Your body is wound tighter than a coil and you’re not sure if you’re ready to storm in there or just start walking home. 

There’s a gunshot, and you’re out of there like a bat out of hell. You launch yourself over the short fence and attach yourself to the first SWAT agent you see, remembering your training at the last moment. 

You breach the house and find Aaron cuffing Darin, whose father is dead in the armchair in front of him. Your jaw has never been tighter. 

Once you confirm that he is in fact still alive and still only has nine holes in him, you turn on your heel and you storm out of the house. You don’t stop until you’re leaning on the front of one of the cars, trying to catch your breath. Your hands shake and you don’t trust your knees to hold you up. 

The relief wars with something hot and unpleasant, leaving you more exhausted than you’ve been in weeks. 

You keep your head turned away from Aaron as he approaches you. It’s petty, but you also don’t want him to see the fear on your face. 

He calls you with a sigh in his voice and it finally ignites the fear into anger. 

“I can’t fucking believe you,” you spit. Your voice isn’t loud, but it certainly carries. JJ’s eyes flicker to you from the other side of the yard. “What kind of stunt are you trying to pull? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” 

His jaw tightens. “Let’s not do this here.” 

Your brow draws across your eyes and your mouth opens, indignant. “Let’s not do this here? You’re fucking kidding me.”

In his current state, nothing is off the table. His temper is running short and you know you’re capable of pushing him until he breaks. It hasn’t happened yet, but today might be it.  

Much to your surprise, a sigh leaves him, and he knows he’s stepped in it. “It was stupid. I’m sorry.”

You scoff, shaking your head. 

His remorse only stokes your anger. Go figure. 

“You’re sorry? You’re sorry. You could have died, Hotch. What you did was so beyond protocol I don’t even know if I should start with the necessity of your life because we need you as our unit chief or the importance of your safety as my friend -” You cut yourself off and look away from him, frustrated you even got that far. 

He has nothing to say to that. You’re completely right. The guilt might as well be written across his face in Sharpie. 

His absence fucked with you, to say the least. It felt awful, empty, in the field without him. And then when you were home - well, back at the apartment, he was only ever in pain. 

Overall, your anxiety regarding his health and safety is riding high. 

Much to your frustration, your eyes water, and your lower lip shakes - angry tears an ever-present threat. Your arms cross over your chest. “I can’t even look at you right now.” 

He reaches out for your arm, but you throw him off before he can make contact, turning your head. You stare at the ground, watching him flounder out of the corner of your eye. 

“Go. Go do your fucking job, Hotch.” His nickname is acid in your mouth. It feels like a punishment, a lash of a whip. He doesn’t move, and you turn on him, meeting his guilty brown eyes with your flinty ones. “Go. Make the arrest. They’re waiting on you.” You throw your chin to Derek and Emily, who are indeed waiting for him on the porch with the unsub. 

With another heavy sigh, he turns and rejoins the rest of your team. 

You stay where you are, directing coroner and local law enforcement personnel to relevant staging areas as the crime scene is processed and handled. Aaron’s eyes try to find yours, but you avoid them, focusing on someone, anyone else with crisp professionalism that hardly belies your fear. 

You’ve never been so angry in your life. Even if you have, you can’t remember it feeling this wretched.

+++

He sits beside you on the plane once you’re up in the air and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. The rest of the team sleeps scattered around the cabin, but you suspect that at least one of them is faking it, waiting for some kind of spectacle or spectacular blowup between the two of you. 

You haven’t spoken to Aaron since leaving the crime scene. You drove back to the precinct with Emily and Dave, staying close to JJ and Spencer while you packed your things. There’s a part of you that feels bad for creating what Strauss would call a “hostile work environment,” but the other part can’t bring itself to care. 

You can’t even begin to articulate the fear that coursed through you as you waited for him outside that house. You couldn’t begin to explain the extent of your fear, but after the stabbing and the removal of Haley and Jack from your lives, the prospect of losing him in the field was beyond unbearable. 

It’s frustrating to feel so comforted by his proximity while you’re still so angry with him. The familiarity of it all hardly blunts your anger. If anything, the relief at having him back at your side sharpens your anger into something that scares you. 

The impossibility of it is beyond measure. You’ve known for some time now, but this is the first you’re willing to admit it. 

I love him. 

Fuck.

You love him. You love his son. You love his wife. 

You love the weird look he gets on his face when he has to say “penetration” while he’s delivering a profile. You love the way he tries not to smile when Emily beats Spencer at chess. You love the way he twiddles with pens when he’s thinking or nervous or both. You love that each of his smiles feel like a gift just for you. 

There’s nothing you don’t love about him. 

Except, of course, the way he, with profound idiocy, endangered his life today for no particular reason in addition to his generally asshole-ish behavior. 

“I would say I’m sorry, but I’m sure you know that.” 

You do.

He waits on you, quiet and still. 

You take a deep breath, finally looking at him. “You scared the hell out of me.” 

He nods, his jaw flexing. 

“Don’t do it again.” 

He blinks once, slowly. You know he can’t promise that, but you appreciate his acknowledgment nevertheless. There’s quiet for a moment. 

“Aaron…” You look at him, nothing but concern in your tone. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t.”

“I was just going to say…” You swallow, trying to find better words but coming up short. “We’ll get him.”

+++

Derek’s voice echoes down to the bullpen as you finish up the last few pieces of your paperwork. “I will not stand by and watch this man kill himself.” 

Aaron’s door is closed as he works. You’re not sure if you’re thankful for that, or if you’d rather he hear it. You can’t really hear Dave - not that you’d want to, you’re almost as pissed at him as you are at Aaron - but it doesn’t matter. You know what he has to say. 

Derek’s voice drops lower than you can hear. Dave drops his head. 

Moments later, Derek flies back down the stairs, grabs his jacket, and takes his leave with a cursory goodbye thrown in your direction. Dave returns to his desk and Aaron’s door finally opens. 

You look up as his lights turn off, gathering your things at your desk. With a little sigh that looks a bit like defeat, he stops at your desk. The smugness doesn’t completely leave your tone. “Need a ride?”

Of course, he does. “Please.” 

You rise and walk to the elevators together. In the silence, you tell him, “I’m still really mad at you.” 

A sigh. “I know.” 

+++

You walk him upstairs and take care of the alarm while he removes his suit jacket and throws it over the couch. 

“Do you think Call’s gonna be okay?” You ask, still facing the alarm. 

“I don’t know.”

“He got his answers,” you note, turning to him. “He killed the man who haunted him.” 

His eyes are fixed on a spot on the carpet. “And what else is there?”

“Years of torture.” You both know you’re not talking about Call anymore, but it’s nice to pretend. It gives you the opportunity to say things you wouldn’t - shouldn’t - say to him. “Fear. Grief.”

“Think he’ll get over that?” 

“How could he?” A humorless smile pulls at one corner of your mouth. “But at least he doesn't feel like he’s alone.”

He finally meets your eyes. “He doesn’t have anyone.” I don’t have anyone, his brow says. 

“He has Tommy. He’s not alone.” 

You have me. You’re not alone. 

His brows pull low over his eyes, and you take another opportunity as it comes. “Do you want me to stay again tonight?”

“No, I’m alright.” He takes a little breath and you round the corner, pouring him a couple fingers of whiskey before making a slow, purposeful trek across the room. “Thank you,” he says, taking it. 

“Of course. Anytime.” Now, you both know you aren’t talking about the drink. 

Nevertheless, you pat your pockets for your keys, phone, and various federal paraphernalia, finding them all where they belong. “I should head out, then. Call if you need anything.” 

He nods, watching you with quiet eyes as you close and lock the door behind you. 

+++

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