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lovingrosewho · 1 year ago

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Grudges

So here we go again: many many years ago (around 2017), I wrote this Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader! fanfiction, I never published it ‘cause I was always making corrections and re-reading it, I tried to publish it around 2019 I think, but then I lost that tumblr account… anyways. After all these years, I bring it to you again, with no new corrections, just myself from 2017 speaking/writing. Hope you like it!

MULTICHAPTER

CHAPTER ONE

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader!

Rating: T

Word count: 4128

Summary: the BAU is investigating a series of murders in your hometown, and you’re right in the middle of it, but Dr. Spencer Reid takes a particular liking in you.

Warnings: usual tv series stuff (absent father, missing relative, murder and crime scene descriptions)

(set after season 8)

It was just another day at the BAU, Penelope had just called everyone into the conference room to explain the next case.

“Delaware. Three victims. First victim was killed two weeks ago, his name was Adrien Sanders, he was 57 years old, 5’7 feet tall; second victim was killed almost a week ago, Philip Moore, 56 years old, 5’9 feet tall; and third victim, Dennis Barnes, was killed yesterday, he was 59 years old, also 5’9 feet tall. All three were males, and as you can see, with similar physical features” she explains pointing with a laser to the pictures “Although, they were shot in different places; Sanders was shot in the stomach, Moore on the neck and the right leg, and Barnes was shot several times in… pretty much everywhere” García says, getting goosebumps from the images shown.

“He’s escalating, acting out of rage. Are there any connections besides the physical similarity between the victims?” Morgan asks.

“None, apparently. Sanders was a salesman, he was murdered in Pike Creek, getting out of a bar at night, Moore was a lawyer, killed in plain daylight, near his house in Glasgow, and Barnes was shot at his job, a car factory in Wilmington. No witnesses”.

“I believe we’ve got ourselves an unsub who uses his victims as surrogates for someone else due to the extreme resemblance they present. We’ll keep discussing it on the plane. Wheels up in 30” Hotch declares.

“There’s no evident pattern on the map, it just seems like the unsub picked… random locations” Reid says frowning while looking at the map, tracing lines on it.

“If he’s using his victims as surrogates, wouldn’t it be possible that these men are just victims of opportunity? Maybe the man who killed them is in some kind of delusion that they are who he really wants to kill, they cross paths with him, looking almost, or exactly like his target, and then… that’s it. They’re gone”. JJ says.

“Why are we assuming he’s a man?” Rossi questions.

“That’s a good point…” Spencer speaks “Nothing makes it look like it… this unsub… it doesn’t look like he had a special or knowing management of a gun given the places where he shot his victims, he didn’t use his hands, so there are no traces on the bodies, there’s no signature, no murder weapon, no sign that it was personal, there are no witnesses… there’s no way we can know if it’s a man or a woman”.

“Then we’re back at square one” Morgan concludes “We can’t move forward if we don’t even know if the killer is a male or a female ‘cause we’ve got nothing else, no signature, no nothing”.

“Of course we have something: victimology” Hotch points out “Try to stop looking for the unsub directly, start looking for the next victim, who fits the description and how could he be connected to the unsub. When we land, Reid and I will speak to Delaware authorities to find out what else they can tell us about the case, Rossi and Morgan, go to the last crime scene and let us know what you can tell about this last murder, JJ, go talk to the families of the victims, see what they can tell you about them, if they have any suspicions of someone who could’ve killed their relatives, and if they know of any connection at all with the other victims”.

“You got it” JJ assures.

“We’ll meet you again at Wilmington’s offices”.

While the BAU is busy trying to catch the killer in your town, you’re busy going to work riding your bicycle at the same time you brush your teeth.

You get to the flower shop almost half hour late and start giving Irene, the old lady you work for, explanations as to why you are late, she just looks at you all messed up and laughs, telling you it’s fine since it’s the first time you’re late and that it is no big deal.

You sigh, trying to calm your nerves. You stayed up pretty late last night, waiting for Connor’s text, letting you know he was okay. He’s been doing that for the past couple of weeks he’s been missing. At first you wondered if it was really him, he must’ve guessed that, because he sent you a voicenote, telling you not to worry, saying he needed to clear his mind, apologizing for his behavior… since then, he had been texting you everyday at the same hour every night, but last night, he didn’t text you until 4 a.m.

You figured it was normal, after meeting with your father again, who you hadn’t seen in your 25 years, until then.

You think about all of that while arranging all of the flowers on the counter and changing the signboard from “CLOSED” to “OPEN”, when you do that, you sigh again, sitting behind the counter, pulling a book out of your bag, waiting for the doorbell to ring, indicating you have a customer.

It takes less than 5 minutes for it to ring, which is weird. You frown without taking your eyes off of your book until you’re done reading that sentence. You look up with your best smile and ready to work, when you see your dad standing on the doorway. You roll your eyes and pinch your nose bridge on that precise instant, sensing an oncoming migraine.

“What do you want?” you ask, not raising your voice so Irene doesn’t get startled.

“I told you. I want to make peace with you. And your brother” he says, smiling. What a hypocrite.

“Sir. I’m gonna need to ask you to get out” you say, still not raising the volume.

“(Y/N)…”

“I told you that day at the coffee shop… neither me, or Connor, are going to make peace with you… you weren’t here… ever… the few things I know about you, are that you used to beat Connor and my mom up, and that you left the second I was born, how am I supposed to forgive you uh? Tell me” you rant.

“I told you, I am truly sorry”.

“No you’re not… and even if you are… it is not enough. Look, sir, I’m going to ask you to leave again, if you don’t, or if I see you again, I’m gonna call the police and accuse you of harassment, understood?” you state, voice firm and impassive. He looks at you, surprise in his eyes, but nods and turns around, opening the door.

“If you ever change your mind… I’m renting a small apartment here in Wilmington, in front of Stapler Park” he says before getting out and start walking.

“Screw you” you whisper, getting back to your book, when Irene comes to stand behind you.

“Your old man?” she inquires with her Alabamian accent.

“Nah” you say, not removing your eyes from the page you’re in “He’s not my anything”.

A couple of days went by, the team was at Wilmington's offices, discussing the case all over again after each of them had researched enough but came up clean.

"JJ what did you come up with?" Hotch interrogates her, frustrated about not getting anywhere near catching the unsub.

"Not much, I mean... I’m trying to make connections but... the three victims were pretty much... average Joe's... Adrien Sanders was out drinking with a couple of friends, nothing unusual according to his ex wife, Philip Moore was supposed to come home to his son and wife, he was only a couple of blocks away from his house, and Dennis Barnes was working on fixing some car engine, according to his coworkers. Nothing out of the ordinary, no leads..."

"Okay then, let's start thinking, if they're surrogates, who are they surrogates for?" Hotch follows up.

"Could be an ex husband?" Rossi suggests.

"Or perhaps it would be more likely to be an abusive relative?" Morgan thinks.

"Statistically yeah, 3.3 million American children are exposed to domestic violence in their homes each year, 45 to 70% of the same number of children who are exposed to domestic violence are also victims of physical abuse, because of the trauma, they have higher risks of alcohol/drug abuse and juvenile delinquency" Reid states, almost like quoting it from a book.

"The victims were 56, 57 and 59 years old, which means we're looking for someone between the ages of 25-30" Rossi says until Reid comes in again.

"Actually, I think we should consider 25-35 or more, statistics show that it is more likely to suffer from domestic violence when they come from an unwanted pregnancy, which means..."

"Teenage parents" JJ guesses.

"Exactly... we shouldn't even dismiss someone who is 40 years old" Reid assures.

"Okay then what are we looking for? Males or females who suffered from domestic violence, delusional, probably with a criminal record..." Hotch starts.

"Kids who suffer this, don't usually have social skills nor education" Rossi interrupts.

"I think it's time we give the profile" Hotch declares getting out of the conference room.

"We're looking for males or females between the ages of 25-40 years old, who suffered from domestic violence, they're more likely to have a criminal record, no social skills, and barely any or no education at all" Hotch says to the authorities who are present in the room.

"This unsub doesn't know how to manage his anger, he uses his victims as surrogates to what we think might be an abusive relative" Morgan informs.

"He or she might as well be delusional, he kills his victims because he thinks he saw his real target. The victims he's looking for are males from 55-60 years old, with a fair complexion, dark hair, and about 5"9 feet tall. When you relieve this information to the press, let them know the characteristics of the victimology, in case someone knows anyone who has this specific features. Thank you" Hotch concludes before getting back to the office with the rest of the team to call Garcia.

"Ready to act, sir" she answers.

"Garcia we need you to check reports from children who suffered from domestic violence in the estate of Delaware, more specifically in the cities of Pike Creek, Glasgow and Wilmington in the last 40 years" Hotch demands.

"Your wish is my command sir, and... oh... I've got 17,334 results..."

The team keeps trying to crosscheck results for a while, but none fit the profile.

"Maybe they weren't even born here" Rossi says, frankly exhausted.

The phone rings and JJ answers.

"Yeah... could you give me his name? Barry (Y/L/N)... okay, thank you, what about an address? That's okay, thank you ma'am" JJ hangs up and looks at the team "Someone fits the description of the victims".

"Garcia, could you look for a man named Barry (Y/L/N) please?" Hotch asks.

"Right... he is 57 years old, got married in Washington D.C... and... oh my god..."

"What is it babygirl?" Morgan questions, worry in his voice.

"It's just... there are... several anonymous reports of domestic violence... and... he has a daughter. (Y/N) (Y/L/N)".

"What can you tell us about her?" Hotch interrogates.

"She is 25 years old, lives here, on the city of Wilmington, she has no social media handles, but... something's not right".

"What do you mean?" JJ says.

"She doesn't fit the profile even though her father does fit the victimology. She went to kindergarten and the first year of elementary school at Washington D.C, then she continued studying but here in Delaware, graduated from college with honors from the University of Delaware, with a degree in fine arts."

"What about a criminal record?" Morgan inquires.

"None, she's... perfect..." Garcia says, giving up.

"Okay, thanks Garcia" Hotch says and hangs up, frustrated again "It doesn't matter that she doesn't fit the profile, we should still check her out, see what she can tell us about her father. Reid, I need you to take care of that, while the rest of us try to figure out if something went wrong with the profile".

"Why just me?" Spencer frowns.

"Because you're closer to her age, and given the facts Garcia gave us about her, she sounds pretty similar to you, maybe you can get her to tell you something relevant" Aaron tells him. Spencer doesn't look so comfortable going on his own but agrees at the end, when he's about to leave the conference room Morgan yells at him.

"Hey kid! Just wrap it up!" he says mocking him and starts laughing, the whole team starts giggling, except for Hotch who only looks at him and shrugs. Spencer's cheeks turn red and he rushes to get out of Wilmington's offices.

Meanwhile, you get home from the flower shop, still no sign from Connor.

You go to your room, dodging the canvas and cans of paint so you can change into something more comfortable when there's a knock at the door. You close your eyes and frown, waiting to hear Connor's voice.

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)?" a man says through the door "I’m... Dr. Spencer Reid, I'm with the FBI, could you please open your door?".

Panic starts flooding you when the thought of Connor being in trouble pops up.

You walk slowly to the door and open it, revealing the most beautiful man you've seen in your entire life. Spencer is taken aback by your beauty as well, he looks at you in shock, as if he was expecting someone else.

"Are you...?" he starts.

"Yes" you interrupt “Uh... come in please".

When he enters the small house, the first thing he notices is a huge amount of books spread all over the place, you start picking them up and trying to pile them somewhere where they don't get in the way.

"I'm so sorry" you apologize "I wasn't planning on having any visits".

He giggles softly "It's okay" he says, helping you pick up the ones on the couch, leaving them on a table near it.

"Would you um...? Like some coffee? Or tea or water or... something?" you ramble.

"Coffee is fine, thank you".

You bring two mugs of coffee to the table in front of the couch, along with sugar and milk in case he’d like to pour some. You sit next to him, holding your cup between your both hands.

"So... how can I help you?" you finally ask.

"I'm with the BAU... the uh... the Behavioral Analysis Unit, we... profile the unsub... unsub stands for unknown subject... we-uh-we are investigating the recent murders that take place here in Delaware" he explains.

"Oh... okay" you say, still not understanding how can you help them.

"Do you... do you know this man?" he asks, showing you a picture of your father, you look at it, not even taking it to get a closer look.

"Yes, he's the son of a bitch who abandoned my family the day I was born" you whisper, holding your cup more forcefully than necessary.

He looks at you with a look you can't decipher.

"There are... several anonymous reports of domestic violence... I was wondering if... I could ask you a few questions about it, about your life in general" when he says this, it hits you.

"Are you considering me a suspect?" he scratches the back of his head, bowing it down.

"Your father... matches the victimology, and even though you don't fit the entire profile, we shouldn't dismiss any possibilities... I just... I want to know a bit more about you and your family, that's all, I'm not assuming anything".

"What do you want to know?" you murmur.

"What do you remember about your father?"

"Nothing. I told you. He left the day I was born, my mother died 6 years after that".

"What...? What do you mean? Who raised you then?" he looks surprised. You thought he would know that part of your life if he already knew who your father was.

"My brother of course".

He stays quiet for a couple of minutes, staring at you.

"I didn't know you had a brother" he confesses "What's his name?"

"Connor" you look down at your, now cold, cup of coffee, and take a sip.

"Can you tell me more about him?" he asks politely.

"Well... we were both born in Washington D.C... my mother had him when she was 18 and my father was 20, it was an unwanted pregnancy... for all I know, he used to beat my mother up, and Connor as well, when he tried to defend her. 12 years later, my mother got pregnant again… the day I was born, my father left, so my brother started working as a carpenter's assistant... after dating several guys, abusive, just like my dad, my mom got into a severe depression and died when I was 6 years old... by then my brother was already 18, and he had saved up enough for us to move here to Delaware... we've been living here ever since" you explain, the images of your mother, lying dead on her bed tormenting you again.

"So your brother... he worked and studied at the same time?" he questions.

"No... he... he couldn't afford to keep us both in school, he wasn't even able to finish elementary school but... he made sure I went to and finish college. He raised me... as if I was his own daughter" you say, feeling kind of guilty.

“What about his social life?” he asks, worry starting to show up on his face.

“Neither of us has what you would consider a social life… I’m always buried either on my books or my paintings, if not, I’m working on the flower shop, and he’s always buried on his work… we have each other, and that’s quite enough, when we come home we have dinner together, talk about our day, watch a movie or something… it’s… pretty much just the two of us against the world. It’s always been like that” you acknowledge, a single tear streaming down your cheek.

Spencer looks at you almost with pity and cleans the tear with his thumb mindlessly, even though he’s not too keen of physical contact, it just seems appropriate. The gesture sends butterflies to your stomach.

“(Y/N)… listen to me carefully… I need you to tell me where your brother is”.

“What?” you exclaim, fear coming out of your voice “You think he did this? No. Spencer… no, I’m sorry but that’s not possible. You don’t know him. He wouldn’t… no… the fact that the victims are similar to my father is just a coincidence, Connor is just… not capable of this… I mean…” you ramble with your voice cracking at the end.

“(Y/N)” he stares at you, looking directly into your eyes, it is as if he can see right through you “Where is he?”

“I don’t know!” you shout bursting into tears “He disappeared two weeks ago”.

“Why didn’t you report him missing?”

“’Cause he’s been sending me texts every night, letting me know he’s okay! I figured… we saw our father again… after 25 years without seeing him, he found us… I thought… I thought it was normal that he wanted some time alone…”

“What’s his phone number?” he asks, pulling out his own cellphone, dialing a number “Garcia, I need you to run a name for me and track a number”.

“Okie dokie” a woman says at the other end of the line “Shoot”.

“Connor (Y/L/N). He’s (Y/N)’s brother. I just sent you the number”.

“Alright, let me do my magic… mmmh… oh. Wow. This is weird. I’ve got nothing”.

“What do you mean you’ve got nothing?” Spencer says, raising his voice.

“He’s not registered. At all. Not even a birth certificate. And the cellphone’s off”.

“He was never registered” you inform “Our parents never considered it important, so...”

“Where does he work?” Spencer cuts you off in a desperate way, you give him the address of the truck company “(Y/N), I need to go with the team. Will you be okay on your own?”

You nod slightly “Just… call me when you find him… please” you plead, still sobbing.

“Yes. I promise. I will. Thank you” he says reaching for the doorknob “(Y/N)… please be careful. Connor is delusional… please, lock the doors and windows... and stay safe” after telling you this, he leaves in a hurry, leaving his cup of coffee intact on top of the table.

You sit on the couch, laying down slowly, you close your eyes. You fall asleep crying, wishing that when you wake up, everything going on around you is just a nightmare.

Spencer joins the team when they’re about to leave Wilmington’s offices to go to your brother’s workplace, the moment he hops onto the van, the whole team starts bombing him with questions.

“Reid, what did (Y/N) tell you?” Hotch inquires while driving.

“Her father left when she was born, her brother is 12 years older than her which means he’s 37, their father used to abuse Connor and her mother… the anonymous reports of domestic violence must’ve been done by him, but no one ever did anything. They saw their father two weeks ago”.

“That must’ve been the stressor” Rossi affirms.

When the team gets to Connor’s workplace, they don’t find him, but they do find his boss.

“Michael Turner?” Hotch asks a bald man approaching them, showing him his badge “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, this is my team, we’re with the FBI investigating the murders that take place here in Delaware”.

“How can I help you?” Mr. Turner asks unsurely.

“We’re looking for Connor (Y/L/N), I believe he works for you”, Michael laughs ironically.

“Not anymore” he says “That kid hasn’t come to work for days, the last time I saw him, he had to drop some packages in Pike Creek and Glasgow, when you find him, tell him he’s fired”.

“Mr. Turner, why did you hire Connor in the first place if he had no identifications?” Spencer interrogates.

“’Cause he was just a boy… just 18, having to take care of his 6 year old sister… I took him under my wing, how could I not? But for what I see, this is the payment I get” he exclaims angrily while turning around “Excuse me gentlemen, but I have work to do”.

“Thank for your time” Aaron says, turning back to the team “Where else could Connor be?”

“If he’s been looking for a specific target, that could be his endgame” JJ suggests.

“We need to know where his father lives currently, if he’s delusional about people who look like him, his father is his endgame” says Hotch.

“We need to be fast, he hasn’t killed anyone in days, that could mean he already knows where his father lives, I’ll call Garcia” Morgan decides and dials the number “Hey, talk to me babygirl”.

“My chocolate thunder, what can I do for you?” she answers.

“I need you to tell me where Barry (Y/L/N) currently lives”.

“Okay let me check, he… oh no. He just rented an apartment in front of Staple Park, here in Wilmington, I’m sending you the complete address right now”.

“Thanks Garcia, we’re on our way ” Hotch indicates, turning the siren on and starting the engine of the SUV.

When they arrive to Barry (Y/L/N)’s apartment, they discover he is just fine, watching TV on the livingroom.

“Can I help you?” he asks standing up, clearly mad about some stranger breaking into his house, his voice is hoarse from drinking.

“Mr. (Y/L/N), we’re with the FBI, have you seen your son Connor (Y/L/N)?” Hotch asks annoyed by the man in front of him.

“My son?” he chuckles “I don’t think my son will want to see me ever again”.

“He hasn’t talked to you? Threatened you?” Morgan inquires.

“No, but who did threat me, actually, was his sister” the team notices right away that he said ‘his sister’ instead of ‘my daughter’. Barry rolls his eyes “She said she’d accuse me of harassment if I came near her ever again”.

“She’s not our unsub” Reid claims abruptly.

“We know that, Reid” Hotch tells him, dismayed by his sudden behavior “Mr. (Y/L/N), please don’t hesitate on calling if something strange happens”.

“Stranger than a bunch of FBI agents breaking into my apartment?” he huffs “Yeah, okay, I will”.

The team gets out of the house, confused by the pattern Connor has been following.

“He hasn’t killed anyone else, that can just mean that he’s looking for his endgame, the one who made it imposible for him to live the life he wanted or deserved” Rossi intervenes.

“Unless…” JJ starts “Unless his father isn’t his endgame”.

“Who else could it be?” Morgan exclaims, raising his eyebrows.

“(Y/N)” Reid says, running towards the SUV, followed by the rest of the team.

Chapter 2

MASTERLIST

#spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #bau team fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction

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ao3feed-leopika · 26 days ago

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Bridging the Gap

Bridging the Gap Link to fic: https://ift.tt/AIdr1bf by lemonpika When barhopping alone in Yorknew City, the last thing Leorio expects to see is Kurapika standing on the other side of a bridge. This story takes inspiration from art by capripian-arts. Words: 4128, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Hunter X Hunter Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Other Characters: Leorio Paladiknight, Kurapika (Hunter X Hunter), Senritsu | Melody (Hunter X Hunter) Relationships: Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight Additional Tags: Nonbinary Kurapika (Hunter X Hunter), Dreams and Nightmares, Mutual Pining, Angst, Alcohol, Yorknew Art Auction: A Mini-Reverse Big Bang Event (Hunter X Hunter), One Shot, Illustrations via AO3 works tagged 'Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight' https://ift.tt/mBzYa4Q December 01, 2024 at 01:44AM

#ao3feed #leopika

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malec-ao3feed · 6 months ago

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Pride Tape

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/pk1IMm6 by Mandulabogesz Anyone who follows me on Twitter or Instagram knows that I promised a oneshot before my multi-chapter Hockey fic, so those of you who are not familiar with hockey can get to know some terms. I was planning to post this during Pride Month, but life happens and I finished it today. In the first "chapter" I'll just explain a few terms. For those of you who are familiar with hockey, feel free to skip it. The actual fic starts with chapter 2. Have fun. Words: 4128, Chapters: 2/2, Language: English Fandoms: Shadowhunters (TV) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane, Luke Garroway, Clary Fray, Catarina Loss Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane & Alec Lightwood Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Hochey Player Alec Lightwood, Coach Magnus Bane, Hurt Magnus Bane, The Pride Tape ban in NHL, pride tape, Pride, Falling In Love, First Meetings, gay love story, Happy Ending, Because I Promised You A Fic To Know About The Hockey Terms, Oneshot, Malec AU, Malec, Shadowhunters - Freeform, No beta we are Lightwoods and face the consequences, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Magnus Bane Is a Nice Thing, Alec Lightwood Is a Nice Thing, Coming Out, Coming Out_Professional Athlete, Hiding, Closeted Character, Closeted Professional Athlete read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/pk1IMm6

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #shadowhunters #tmi #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #magnus x alec #malec fanfic #the mortal instruments

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ao3feed-sambucky · 11 days ago

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timeless

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2yaCD9d by casdoms (moffwithhishead) Sam huffs, turning the shield over in his hands, “They just saw the blonde hair and blue eyes and ran with it?” Steve huffs, “Imagine if they’d seen me with my freckles. Who the hell knows what they would’ve done.” — Their kids grow up with three loving adults in their lives, and anyone who has the balls to question what Bucky’s role in this is gets cowed pretty immediately by Peggy Carter herself. (No, she did not change her name. — Bucky’s sitting in the good kitchen chair looking out the back window at the greenhouse, drinking a cup of coffee. He’s petting his favorite cat and talking to her so intently, that he doesn’t hear them come in. The radio’s on, playing some top 40’s station. Steve’s never loved him more. Words: 4128, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 68 of captain america & the winter soldier (2021) Fandoms: Captain America (Movies), The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, James "Bucky" Barnes, Angie Martinelli, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Tony Stark Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson Additional Tags: Post-Endgame, Alternate Universe, Emetophobia, Suicidal Thoughts, Minor Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli, Canon Temporary Character Death read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2yaCD9d

#Bucky #Captain America #Winter Soldier #Sam Wilson #James Barnes #Falcon #SamBucky #BuckySam #IFTTT #ao3feed

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fandom-imagines-stories · 2 years ago

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Broken Street Lamp

Don Eppes x Reader

Words: 4128

Summary: When she’s mugged walking at night from work, the reader tries to hide the attack from her fiance and his family.

Notes: This show just snuck up on me and now I’m in love. And not even with the character I thought I’d be. (Don’t get me wrong, I adore Charlie) But what can I say? I have a thing for protective and emotionally complicated older brothers. Let me know if there are any other Don Eppes fans out there because I’d love to know what you think!

Warnings: Assault, robbery, hurt and comfort plot

More Crime Drama Imagines Here

When the mechanic called to tell you that your car wouldn’t be ready until next week, you didn’t think much of it. You could take the train with the rest of the five o’clock crowd. But when your boss gave you a new assignment at the last minute, five turned into five-thirty. Five-thirty turned to seven. Seven became ten. Suddenly, walking the six blocks to the subway station didn’t seem like such a good idea. You could practically hear your fiance fretting over you walking alone at night, so you called him in the hopes of having him pick you up. But at the sound of his voicemail, you realized you were being ridiculous.

Don’s paranoia was rubbing off on you.

You gathered up the last of your work and turned off your desk lamp, casting the already darkened office into an inky black. Your eyes adjusted with the help of the street lights peeking through the blinds and you made it to the elevator with minimal bumps into desk corners. The elevator was being repaired, which meant climbing down four flights in the stuffy stairwell. Stepping into the LA night wasn’t much better.

The building your firm worked in was on a quieter street than most at this time of night. Maybe it should have been calming after the chaos of your case, but instead, it made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You shivered despite the heat and started walking.

Usually, this area was well-lit, but a block down, a street lamp flickered on and off, giving the path an eerie quality. You thought about switching to the other side of the street, but the stubborn logical part of your brain refused to give in to the irrational fear.

You should have switched sides.

Keeping your hand on your cell, almost praying for Don to call you back, you kept walking, getting nearer and nearer to the flashing light. Just before you passed beneath it, it turned off.

Plunged in a few yards of darkness, you took a few faster steps to return to the light, forcing yourself not to full-out run.

You were another block down when a dark-clad arm reached out from an alley and wrapped around your throat.

A hand was on your mouth before you could even think to scream and the arm was swiftly replaced by a switchblade.

“Empty your purse,” the hooded figure growled.

You could only see the bottom half of his face. White, dark stubble, bad teeth. You tried to focus on anything you could, but your mind was racing from the fact that there was a blade pressing into your throat until it drew blood.

“I said empty your purse, bitch!”

“O-okay.” You held your breath, dumping the contents of your bag into his waiting hand. As you moved, you caught the metal of your engagement ring in the light. You flipped your hand around to hide it from him.

He cleaned out your wallet and took your phone. You imagined it ringing from a call from Don.

What if you never saw him again?

It was then the question entered your mind.

Was this man going to kill you?

“Give me your watch,” your assailant ordered.

You unclasped the Christmas gift from Don’s dad and shoved it into his palm. He pushed you harder against the wall, crushing your chest and scratching your neck against the brick. You clenched your fists to try and redirect the pain. He must have thought you were preparing to strike, so he hit first, his fist colliding with your ribs.

“Don’t you move, bitch, don’t move!” He screamed. The knife cut deeper and you felt a small trickle of blood on your neck.

“I’m not, I’m not, please,” you pleaded, “I’m sorry, please.”

Your car was in the shop. That’s all.

How does this happen?

“Give me your ring.”

“W-what?”

He hit your side again. “Give me your goddamn ring!”

The man didn’t wait for you to move this time. He jerked your hand down, straining your shoulder, and nearly broke your finger tearing off the ring.

It was Don’s mother’s.

Such a stupid thing to think about now.

He put his hands on your shoulders and shoved you to the cement before taking off, vanishing as quickly as he’d appeared.

For a while, you couldn’t move. You just laid against the metal wall of a dumpster and tried to remember how to breathe.

After that, you ran. You couldn’t even bear to take the subway, the thought of descending those dark steps clouding your mind with more images of your hooded attacker taking more than your items.

You just ran.

Don didn’t know what time it was when he finally made it home, but seeing your keys on the hook set his worried mind a bit more at ease. He’d been working on a case all night and had missed your call. When he tried to call you back, everything went to voicemail.

“Y/N, honey?” He called into the apartment. The lights were off, but you didn’t usually go to sleep until he got home, despite him constantly telling you not to wait up for him. With no response, he threw his jacket on the couch and opened the door to the bedroom.

You were laying in bed with your back to the door, seemingly asleep. Maybe you’d finally listened to him and went to bed without him.

Don got undressed and climbed into bed, kissing your shoulder gently so he wouldn’t wake you up.

Listening to his movements, you stared at the wall, trying to keep from crying loud enough for him to hear.

His day, just as busy as the last, thankfully ended earlier. Especially since he’d gotten a call from his father reminding him that he and Y/N were supposed to cook dinner at the house that night. Don just hoped that you would have some kind of clue as to what to make.

You were gone before he even woke up, leaving a simple note saying you wanted to get some work done before everyone else arrived. It was odd. Adding onto the fact that you never returned his call from the day before or offered any explanation for why you’d called him at ten o’clock in the evening, he wondered if you were doing alright. He couldn't think of anything that might have upset you, but maybe something had happened at work, hence why you were spending more time there. He tried calling you to check in around lunch, but like the previous night, no answer.

Whatever was going on, he’d hoped to talk to you before dinner, without the obnoxiously curious ears of his relatives listening in. But when he arrived at Charlie/their father’s house, he found you were already there, hands buried in bread dough and surrounded by the smell of pasta sauce.

“Hey. I was wondering when you’d get here,” you greeted, sounding out of breath. You’d been doing well enough covering your nervous state around Charlie and Alan, but as soon as your fiance walked in the door, you knew you’d have to work a lot harder. “Sorry I started without you, but the animals are getting hungry out there and I didn’t want to keep them waiting.”

You kneaded the bread into the counter with a touch more aggression than was probably needed.

“You know it’s not really my strong suit anyway,” Don chuckled. He moved behind you, laying his chin on his shoulder and his hands on your waist. “This looks great though. But will the bread be ready for tonight? I thought it had to sit for a while or something.”

“Oh, I’m just making some for tomorrow since the sauce didn’t take as long as I thought,” you shrugged.

“Well, that’s…” He kissed your cheek. “Nice of you.”

He went to the fridge and opened a bottle of beer, checking around to make sure his brother and dad weren’t around to eavesdrop.

“Sorry I missed your call last night,” he started, his tone revealing more inquiry than his words. “I was totally swamped with work.”

You hit the dough again. “So was I. I was just calling to explain why I was so late, so no worries.”

He took a swig from the bottle. “You haven’t been calling me back.”

“Right.” Your shoulders tensed. He noticed. “I dropped my phone when I was unlocking my car. Stupid, right? Totally busted now. I’ll have to get a new one.”

“Huh.” He took another drink. “I thought your car was in the shop?”

You poured the finished pasta into the awaiting sauce. “Dinner’s ready!”

Doing your best to ignore Don’s concerned, questioning looks, you mixed the pasta and returned to the dough, putting it in a bowl so it could rise. Alan entered the kitchen, thus ending Don’s attempt to get any real answers from you.

“Smells delicious!” Your soon-to-be father-in-law cheered. He eyed his son. “I take it you didn’t have much to do with it.”

“She didn’t give me the chance!” Don defended.

Charlie joined the merry group and you hoped the multiple participants would distract Don from your inability to stop shaking. The four of you headed to the dining room with you carrying the parmesan in one hand, your plate of hardly any food in the other. You tried to take a deep breath to calm down, but it just sent a sharpness through your ribs.

Only bruised, according to your hospital visit that day, but still painful.

“Honey, are you-” Don put a hand between your shoulder blades, leaning in so only you could hear. “Are you feeling okay?”

His hand inched upward, toward the scratches on the back of your neck, hidden beneath your unseasonal turtle neck, which concealed the marks from the knife on your throat as well.

“Yeah.” You jerked away. “Of course.” You gave him a smile and a kiss and took your seat across from him at the table.

The turtle neck was a fashion choice that had not gone unnoticed by your dinner dates. Given that you were in L.A. and it was July, everyone couldn’t help but raise a brow and the dark fabric inching all the way up your throat.

“Are you cold, Y/N?” Charlie asked. “Because I can turn the heat up if you need-”

“No, no I’m fine,” you lied. You could feel the sweat on your back just sitting there. “Just ran out of clean clothes, so I got stuck with this.” You tried laughing it off but could feel Don’s gaze grow more suspicious by the second.

“I bet I’ve got some old t-shirts around here somewhere,” he suggested, probing your reaction to try and catch your lie. Your eyes flicked over at him. The corner of your mouth twitched, just slightly. A tell he’d come to recognize. “They aren’t great, but I’m sure they’d be more comfortable than that straight jacket you’ve got on.”

“That’s okay,” you gulped. “Really. I just want to eat.”

You grabbed your fork with your left hand. Alan caught a glimpse of your hand. More importantly, he saw the lack of the ring. You quickly put your hand in your lap and reached for your glass of wine.

While the other three ate in a silence growing with tension, you pushed your food around your plate. Every time you swallowed, you could feel the blade pressing into your skin. Every time you moved, the soreness in your ribs almost made you wince. You knew you couldn’t keep this up for much longer- not with all three Eppes men looking at you with questions in their eyes- but you tried nonetheless.

With still half of your meal untouched, you stood up and poured the rest of your wine down your throat.

“I’m going to clean up,” you said. You ducked back into the kitchen, staying near the door when you heard the Eppes boys start to talk.

“Is she… okay?” Charlie asked.

“You noticed that too, huh?” Don sighed. His fork clinked against his plate. “I have no idea what could be wrong. As far as I know, things are going well at work, and her family is all healthy. I don’t know, guys. But she does seem off, right?”

“Well,” Alan started, his tone giving away what you were afraid he’d bring up. “Did you do anything, Don?”

“Come on, Dad, don’t you think I would have figured that out?” He huffed, taking another drink of his beer. He gulped. “Why do you ask?”

Alan exchanged a look with his other son, glances at the kitchen door, and back to his oldest.

“Don, she, uh, she isn’t wearing her ring.”

You froze.

Please drop it. Just drop it. Don’t…

“She’s what?”

“Maybe she just took it off to make dinner and forgot, but I saw the way she looked when I noticed,” Alan sighed. “I really think something’s wrong.”

Charlie coughed, his math brain combatting with the part of his brain telling him to shut up.

“I could put recent events into an equation-”

“If you turn my relationship into a set of numbers, I will make you eat your chalk, Charlie I swear to God,” Don snapped.

You couldn’t take it anymore, them turning on each other because of your secrecy. The kitchen door swung open again and you stood before them with your arms crossed to hide your shaking hands.

“I got mugged,” you blurted. All heads turned to you, eyes widening and Charlie’s mouth falling open. You ran your fingers through your hair and held it up for them to see the bruising around where your ring should have been. “So, yeah, Don didn’t do anything wrong. The ring was stolen. Along with my watch, my wallet, and my phone.” Reluctantly, you glanced at Don. “Which is why I haven’t called you back.”

You took a deep breath and grimaced, finally letting the pain show. Your hand went to your chest. Don’s face contorted, his arms tensing, ready to spring into action. With all three of them still watching you, hot tears began to blur your vision.

“You know what, I think I will go change,” you said through trembling lips. “Upstairs right?”

You bolted before anyone could respond.

Don didn’t hesitate to follow, leaving his brother and father in shocked concern.

Once you’d made your way to Don’s old room, you tore off the turtleneck and, despite being out of sight from the others, refused to let yourself cry. You distracted yourself by looking through drawers, but they were all empty.

The door opened slowly and Don stepped inside.

“I’m sorry,” you said, starting to pace in front of the dresser with its drawers all pulled open. “I didn’t want to tell you. Especially not like that.” Your voice cracked and you covered your mouth with your hand to hide the cries.

Don stood there, frozen as he took in the sight before him. The skin over your ribs was a deep purple on the right side and there were marks on the back of your neck like you’d been forced up against a rough surface. And your neck had a thin red line, just starting to scab over, stretched across your throat.

You kept pacing, afraid that if you stopped moving, you’d just feel trapped again.

“Y/N,” Don said softly.

“I went to the hospital. They said everything would heal in no time.”

“Sweetheart-”

“It could have been worse,” you reasoned with yourself. “I know that. It could have been so much worse. I mean, I’m here, right? But I don’t feel like I’m… Like I’m still…” Your breathing caught again, stuck between the pain in your chest and your sobs.

When Don put his arms around you, you let him, burying your face in his chest as you cried. He sat on the edge of the bed, bringing you into his lap.

“I didn’t want you to find out,” you cried. “I didn’t know how- or-or what to say.”

“It’s okay, baby,” he soothed. He pulled back, dark eyes looking into yours. “Just talk to me.”

You both stayed like that until you’d taken a few deep breaths and stood up. Don found a box in the closet with a bunch of his old baseball jerseys. It was nice to cover the bruises, but you couldn’t help but trace the line on your neck, feeling Don’s eyes doing the same.

“The mechanic called me last night and said they couldn’t return my car until next week,” you said. “I didn’t think it was a big deal until I didn’t get done at work until late.” You saw the question in his expression so you answered it. “It was around ten.”

Don’s face fell. “That’s why you called me.”

“I thought, if you were off work, you could swing by and give me a ride, but as soon as I realized you were still busy, I figured I could just take the subway. I didn’t think it was a big deal.” You wiped away more falling tears.

“I didn’t answer.” Don ran a hand down his face.

“It’s not your fault, Donnie.” You took his hand in yours. “I’m sure you could ask Charlie all about the statistics about this kind of thing-”

“I don’t want any damn statistics, I wanna find the guy who hurt you,” he snapped. You pulled your hand away and he exhaled. “I’m sorry.”

You moved to the window, fingers toying with the hem of the jersey. It felt more and more ridiculous the longer you stood there. Your fiance’s childhood bedroom, his college baseball jersey, and a knife mark across your neck.

“I keep wanting to find ways to blame myself,” you whispered, running a finger across the glass. “I try to tell myself I should have just left earlier, or gone a different direction, or called you again.” You turned back around, the sight of heartbreak in his eyes making you cry all over again. “But then I just think about how I thought he was going to kill me.”

“Hey, don’t go there,” Don said. He crossed the space between you, brushing away your tears with his thumb. “It’s like you said, right? You’re here. You’re with me. And I’m going to be with you. Always.”

You nodded and, this time, pulled him to you. Your lips brushed against his lightly, as if just to remind yourself he was there. Don tucked a hair behind your ear, letting his arms fall around your waist.

“So what do you want to do? If you want to go down and make a statement, I’ll be right beside you. If you want, I can look into it. I’ve still got a couple of favors I can call in with the LAPD…”

“Honestly,” you blew out a breath, “I just want to sleep.”

“Okay.” He kissed your forehead. “You want to just stay here? Maybe I can convince Dad to make some of that hot chocolate you love.”

“I don’t want to-” You yawned. “Impose.”

“Are you kidding?” He gave you a small smile. “I’d be surprised if they let us leave.”

The comment pulled a quiet, but well needed, laugh from you and you didn’t even notice the soreness in your chest.

“I should probably go talk to them,” you said.

“Only if you want to. I can go down if you want to get some rest.”

You shook your head. “I’ll be okay.”

Don nodded and laced his fingers with yours, leading you back downstairs.

Charlie and Alan had moved to the living room, though both remained on the edge of their seats. Charlie nearly jumped up when he heard two pairs of footsteps descending the steps.

“Hey, Charlie, it’s okay for us to crash here, right?” Don asked, hand still holding onto yours. “We’re both pretty exhausted.”

“He means me,” you said, holding up your free hand. You noticed their worried expression and felt another round of guilt go through your head. “I’m sorry about before. That wasn’t really the best way to tell you guys what happened.”

“Y/N, are you…” Charlie started to ask but found himself unable to finish. You didn’t need him to.

“I will be.” You gave Don’s hand a squeeze. “Thanks, Charlie.”

“You know what?” Alan stood. “Why don't I make us all some of that hot chocolate you helped me make, hm?”

Don glanced over at you and chuckled. “What did I say? Hot chocolate.”

“That’d be perfect, thank you.” You pulled your hand away from Don’s, looking mournfully at your bare finger. “And Alan?” He turned in the doorway. You took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about the ring.”

“Oh, honey,” Don sighed, wrapping an arm around your waist and gently pulling you to him, kissing your temple, “we aren’t worried about that.”

Alan nodded. “We’re just glad you’re okay.”

“Come on,” Don said, leading you to the sofa where you could lay with your head on his leg and his arm still protectively draped over you.

While you still felt the shadow of that blinking street lamp hanging over you, it was a comfort to know you had someone who would walk you through the dark.

Things did get better. When you explained what happened to your boss, he was more than willing to give you some time off to recover, though it was Don’s idea to take off work. You were pretty sure it was just so he could keep an eye on you.

And you knew it wasn’t your fault and, with the help of much convincing from you, Don knew there wasn’t anything he could have done. Though, you could still see the way the guilt weighed on his shoulders when he walked into a room.

You were at the house, marveling at some of Charlie’s work in the garage when your fiance got back from a case he’d kept very quiet about.

“So what’s this again?” You asked, pointing to an equation on one of the boards hanging from the wall.

“I’m glad you asked,” Charlie grinned. “I’ve been helping Don with finding where a serial killer’s ‘home base’ is, so to speak.”

“I’ve heard of that. Geographical profiling, or something like that right?”

“Right. I’m using the locations of all of the attacks and…” He trailed off, looking behind you.

“Hey guys,” Don greeted, leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets.

“Hi, honey. Charlie was just showing me some of the stuff he’s been working on for your cases,” you beamed.

“That’s great,” Don said. His eyes flicked over to his brother. He cleared his throat.

“Ah,” Charlie exclaimed, understanding, “right. Well, I have to go do… something else… in the living room.” The younger Eppes darted off, his brother shaking his head in his wake.

“Do I want to know what that was about?” You snickered.

Don stepped closer, the intensity of his gaze making you start to worry.

“What is it?”

“Do you remember how I said I had some favors I could call in at the LAPD?” He asked. Don pulled a box out of his pocket. “Well one of them paid off.”

“Don, is that…?” You gasped.

He opened the box, revealing the ring he’d proposed to you with just months before. His mother’s ring that she’d told him to give to the woman that made him whole. There was no doubt in his mind that that woman was you.

“We are able to find the guy,” he explained. “Apparently, there have been muggings in that area pretty frequently in the last few weeks. He was too stupid to realize staying in one spot was a bad business move. And luckily he hadn’t pawned this yet, so…”

Don slipped the ring onto your finger and felt a small part of the weight lift seeing it where it belonged.

“I know that this doesn’t make anything better or change what happened, but I wanted to make sure you got it back,” he said.

You laid your hands on either side of his face.

“Thank you.”

You kissed him until you had to pull back to breathe.

Don smirked. “Well, now that's taken care of, I am treating us all to dinner.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you leaned against his.

“Don’t tell me you’re cooking?”

He laughed and lifted your hand, kissing each finger and ending on your ring finger.

“Pizza.”

You smiled and found his lips again with yours while the light of the garage cast reflections from the diamond around the walls.

“Sounds perfect.”

#agent don eppes #numb3rs #don eppes x reader #rob morrow #david krumholtz #charlie eppes #numb3rs imagines #don eppes imagine #hurt and comfort

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hey-sparcs · 1 year ago

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helping with the ao3 drought, the is the buddie fic i have downloaded as a pdf, leave a comment if you want me to send it <3

ID under the break

The photo is just a screenshot of the fic stats:

title: all that i am is made up of you

author: justhockey

Not rated, creator chose not to use archive warnings

words: 4375 chapters:1/1 kudos:727 hits:4128 published:2022-06-21

characters: buck eddie chris and frank

tags: Mutual pining, not actually unrequited love, denial of feelings, therapy, post traumatic stress disorder, canon compliant, introspection, love confessions, getting together, first kiss, friends to lovers, POV Eddie

#ao3 down #911 fox #911 #911 abc #buddie #evan buck buckley #evan buckely #eddie diaz

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ao3feed--kylux · 2 years ago

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A Happy Wife

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/TeAbIUh

by basaltdyke

You know what they say: a happy wife is a happy life. Caring for three children under four full-time is no small task. Keeping a home in order, while making sure to have dinner ready when his hardworking husband comes home, all while looking effortlessly composed, is easier said than done. Armitage Solo – dutiful wife, mother, and homemaker – is up for the challenge.

All is perfectly ordered in his life. That is until this happy wife discovers his happy life is not what it appears.

Words: 4128, Chapters: 1/10, Language: English

Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Armitage Hux, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Original Child Character(s), Original Characters

Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alien Cultural Differences, Anal Sex, Bottom Armitage Hux, Coming Untouched, Crossdressing, Cultural Differences, Deception, Dominant Kylo Ren, Dubious Consent, Emotional Sex, Eventual Happy Ending, Femininity, Feminization, Fingerfucking, Frottage, Gaslighting, Gay Armitage Hux, Gay Kylo Ren, Gender Roles, Hand Jobs, Armitage Hux in a Dress, Armitage Hux in Lingerie, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Kid Fic, Lingerie, Love Confessions, Memory Alteration, Mind Manipulation, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sensuality, Shaving, Size Difference, Spanking, Suburbia, Top Kylo Ren, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Queer Families

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/TeAbIUh

#star wars: the force awakens #star wars: the last jedi #kylux #kylo ren #general hux #fanfic

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shanie-the-toyaddict · 2 years ago

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He Used To Be Mine - Part 13

He Gets Hurt (But He Learns How To Toughen Up)

(In case you were wondering, my brain decided to make things worse by writing the part immediatley BEFORE the last one I posted. Because I'm deficient like that.

If you want the part after this, go HERE. Otherwise, you can find the first four parts of this saga on AO3)

.....

Rating: T Characters: Kevin Owens, Sami Zayn, Becky Lynch, Seth Rollins Characters Mentioned: The Bloodline, Triple H Pairing: Sami Zayn/Kevin Owens Tags: Concussion, Injury, Angst, Inner Monologue, Missing Scene Word Count: 4128 Kevin lost. He lost hard. So did Sami, in a way.

But also, in Sami losing, he gained something wonderful in return. His fire. His fury. All the fierce and righteous rage that Kevin had found so beautiful in Sami for so long. And as he and Sami navigate the night and morning after the PLE, Kevin is relishing that fire and their renewed closeness.

If only his mind wasn't a fucking sieve from the concussion...

(Story behind cut)

..........

Sami Uso was no more.

That was if he ever really was, to begin with.

And as Kevin joined Sami in the trainers' room to be looked over, there were no words spoken between them. There were no words that could even compare to what just happened.

Plus, between Sami getting spiked in the throat and the pounding in Kevin’s head that made it impossible to hear anything besides the blood rushing through his swollen brain, communication would have been pointless anyway.

Neither one of them was willing to go to the hospital though. It wasn’t what they needed. Not really.

Well, it was what they needed physically. God knew they needed medical attention beyond what the backstage trainers could offer. Sami had been pummeled into oblivion with a chair and Kevin knew full well he was concussed. They’d both had the piss beaten out of them, battered within an inch of their lives. But spending however long in a hospital bed could never heal the true wounds.

Those could only be healed by each other.

So when they finally signed their “against medical advice” waivers and left the trainers’ room, there was no question of what came next.

If there was any volume to Kevin’s voice as he spoke, he couldn’t hear it himself.

“Stay with me tonight.”

Sami seemed to understand anyway, nodding silently.

It wasn’t like Sami had any other option. Every hotel in the area had been booked that weekend for months and, well, it went without saying that Sami Zayn had been suddenly left without a safe place to spend the night. Where they stood on things, where they had found themselves after everything would come later. There were more important things to deal with.

Like making sure they both survived the night.

Kevin knew he’d be fine. All jokes about being hard-headed aside, it wasn’t his first concussion. He knew what to do on his own to deal with it. The rest of his body hurt like hell too and somewhere in his rattled brain he suspected the match had taken at least a year off the lifespan of his career, but that was a problem for future KO to deal with.

Current KO, at that moment, had to deal with more pressing matters. Like protecting Sami Zayn.

Sure, he was in no shape to do so, but he wasn’t restrained any longer. He’d use his own body as a shield if he had to. He wasn’t going to let those assholes hurt Sami anymore.

He took Sami by the wrist, limping through the hallways to the main locker room. It was lucky for everyone that the ringing in his ears made it impossible to hear any whispers that people might be sharing as they passed by. He didn’t need to know what they thought, and they didn’t want him to know what they were saying. He’d gotten his bell rung and his body broken but he wasn’t dead yet; he could still hurt people.

The Bloodline didn’t bother them in the locker room. Why would they? They thought they were so much better than everyone else on every day that ended in Y, relaxing in their posh dressing room with the fancy furniture and shit. Why would they trifle with common folk? Besides, they had time and numbers on their side. Roman was a snake, all he had to do was wait for them to return, whenever that was, and he’d sic his pack of dogs on them both. It was two against four and even Kevin had to admit those were pretty shitty odds.

Then again, they were the best wrestlers in the world, they wouldn’t go down without a fight. Probably still go down though. If he didn’t stand a chance against Roman in GOD Mode, then Sami sure as hell wouldn’t. No, they were going to spend the immediate future getting the shit kicked out of them until Roman got bored and moved on to the next body for the pile.

Kevin’s chest tightened at the thought of Sami’s body joining his on that stack but Kevin was choosing to believe he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try and face his former “family” alone.

He probably was. He was Sami Zayn after all. Reason had never been his strong suit.

Sami stood nearby as he changed out of his ring gear, hovering over him protectively like a hawk, his eyes scanning around the room looking for threats. It made Kevin sad to see. Not the sight of Sami’s fierce nature returned, but the knowledge that he’d forget the sight of it. Kevin stared at Sami, trying to commit the sight to memory, but he could feel it slipping through his mind every time he looked away.

Stupid concussion.

He finished by pulling his SAMI ZAYN FORE❤ER shirt over his head. Kevin loved the article so much, the perfect shirt born of an imperfect situation. Sure, the match had been fun to watch, but the lot of them were far below Sami’s caliber of opponent. Johnny Knoxville and his Jackasses could all suck his dick, Sami was the true Forever.

He always had been.

And, as he stood back up, he couldn’t help but notice the look Sami gave his shirt. The faintest of smiles crossed Kevin’s face as Sami reached out, his fingers brushing against the lettering almost in awe. For a moment, Sami’s eyes met his own and Kevin saw more emotions there than he could have possibly registered. So many emotions, all of which were circling back to the same point.

Pain.

It was fitting, naturally. He was in pain. Sami was in pain. It was just more pain to add to the mix.

But again, they said nothing.

Sami didn’t even bother trying to recover his stuff. He’d left it with The Bloodline and going after it was a non-starter, he wasn’t getting it back from them. It had probably already been shredded, smashed, or thrown in the nearest dumpster or body of water. They’d probably keep his phone though. There were uses for a cell phone beyond the original user. If they didn’t just want to sell it Roman could use it against them once they got into it.

They could if they wanted to. Sami had never been the best on security and Kevin was sure Roman had the connections to hack past a lock screen. If he didn’t already know the passcode.

Sami had always been way too fucking trusting.

People were watching him. Watching and whispering.

It was probably a good thing he couldn’t hear them. Also that he’d probably forget them doing so once his brain unfucked itself.

Stupid concussion.

Becky Lynch drove them back to the hotel. Sami wasn’t in the right frame of mind to drive, and Kevin couldn’t operate a car in his state if he wanted to. He didn’t ask her to but, somehow, yet again, Becky was there to rescue them and get them where they needed to be.

She was good for that.

When they got to the hotel, Becky didn’t leave them. Not yet. He’d no sooner gotten out of the vehicle than she was propping him up the best she could. It made him feel bad, to do that to her, but his knees were crap enough that he could barely get through the lobby and Sami’s back was too messed up to support them both. Somehow, Seth Rollins showed up and ducked under his other shoulder.

It was confusing. When had he shown up? Was he in the car with them? He hadn’t noticed. Or maybe he had and just forgot.

Kevin tried not to think about why the hell Seth would do that.

Probably for Becky.

Certainly not for him.

When the four of them got to his hotel room, Seth held out his hand for the keycard. He gave it to Becky instead. Opening the door for them both, she helped them inside, putting his stuff on the luggage rack as Seth guided Kevin to the bed.

Becky asked him if he was ok. He wasn’t. Hell, the only thing he could register was her lips moving, reading them and imagining her deep brogue inside his still-pounding head

He just nodded. The couple left soon after that, with Seth casting a sympathetic look behind as he did.

Kevin was grateful that he’d forget that part. Far be it from him to be kind to the dickhead at a later date.

Showers were out of the question. So was food. So was pretty much anything except crawling into the king bed on opposite sides and leaving the world behind for the night. Sami stripped down to his boxers for bed, declining the offer of one of Kevin’s spare shirts because of course even then he would be a stubborn ass.

Somewhere, between the haze and fog of Kevin’s vision, he registered that Sami was shaking.

Sami hadn’t looked like himself forever, or, at least, not the version of Sami that Kevin had fallen in love with. But there was something new to him.

Not fear.

Not tears.

Rage.

Pure, unfettered fury edging around Sami’s features that Kevin wasn’t sure if he should be worried about or celebrating. He’d always loved seeing that side of Sami, the side that was unafraid and unyielding, but he also knew that when Sami got emotional, he got stupid.

Kevin decided he’d go with celebrating. As long as Sami didn’t try and do something idiotic like face The Bloodline alone, Kevin would welcome the change in attitude.

Wait…

Kevin’s train of thought stopped. Hadn’t he already considered that?

Kevin looked around… and realized he’d already forgotten how he got back to the hotel room.

God, his brain was so messed up.

“Sami…” he said, wavering on his feet.

In an instant, Sami was beside him, holding him up. He was talking, saying something, but Kevin couldn’t make it out. Everything fucking hurt and the audio feed was nothing but static.

“Kev,” he saw Sami say, and everything else melted together as the world turned sideways.

..........

Kevin was in bed. How had that happened?

He looked to his right… and saw Sami, his back resting against the headboard, and looking at his phone.

The light was on and way too bright but he was grateful for the chance to look around. The hotel room looked like every other hotel room across America, although he wasn’t sure where this one in particular was.

He groaned. Everything hurt.

It got Sami’s attention and a moment later, Sami was off his phone, laying beside him. Kevin tried to get a good look at him through the pain and, fuck he was gorgeous. The fire in his eyes, he’d missed that so much.

Or at least, he thought he had.

What was his brain doing…

Oh.

Stupid concussion.

“You OK?” Sami asked. His voice was off, as if someone was trying to feed it through an old speaker that was equal parts muffled and crackling and, as he tried to register what was going on, it occurred to him that he was in bed with Sami Zayn.

Why…

Why the hell was Sami in bed with him?

“Sami?” he asked, his own voice muffled as well, “Why are you here? Where’s your family?”

He didn’t mean to say it. Or maybe he did.

Regardless, he knew he’d struck a nerve because Sami turned away from him sharply, climbing out of bed and walking away.

Whatever. He was probably just there to finish him off in his sleep or some shit. That was if he was kind enough not to smother him while awake. Still, everything fucking hurt and he needed to turn off, however that might work out.

He reached over, setting his alarm for the next morning. He didn’t even know if he’d set it right but he really couldn’t care less. If he missed his flight he’d get a new one, there was no way in hell he was making it to Raw on Monday anyway.

He knew a concussion when he had one.

Stupid concussion.

Everything hurt, and as Kevin laid on his back trying not to scream, he forced his eyes closed and his brain to sleep.

..........

It was sometime in the early hours of the morning when Kevin woke up with a weight against his chest.

His eyes opened slowly and, fuck, his head was pounding, but something was pressing against his side.

Reaching up to feel it, making sure to be gentle on his wrist which was especially sore for some reason, he found long, sweat-damp curls laying against his chest.

Sami was curled against him. Crying in his sleep.

Somewhere in KO’s mind, he had a notion of familiarity, like it had happened before, recently even. But fuck if nothing was making sense at that point and, actually, what the hell was Sami doing in bed with him anyway?

Kevin’s fingers flexed through the curls as he tried to remember what had led to his current arrangement. He’d had a match against Roman, he knew that. The way his whole body felt like he’d been eaten by a wolf and shat off a cliff suggested he’d lost.

But why was Sami there? Had something gone wrong?

Had Sami been…

Kevin still couldn’t hear him. Everything sounded like he was underwater. Still, Kevin had held Sami while crying enough times to know what he felt like. Shaking him, he said Sami’s name. Once, Twice. Three times. He was on the fourth when Sami startled, shifting suddenly.

“Hey,” Kevin said.

And then, Sami was gone, moved to the other side of the bed lying on his back. It was hard to see him in the dark; the only light was the cracked bathroom door that Sami always insisted on leaving open. But the light was still around the corner and coming from behind Sami, so it was doing little to illuminate him.

Reaching over, Kevin ran his fingers against Sami’s hair, swiping down across his shoulder. He was so stiff and still shaking and Kevin needed to see him, to face him, if he could just get his body to move...

It took effort and sucked greatly but after a bit, he managed to turn on his side to face Sami. It was still too dark to make out details but as his eyes began to adjust to the light, he realized Sami wasn’t even acknowledging him. He was simply laying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

Despite the pain in his… everything, there was still enough extra pain in his soul to register his heart breaking.

Kevin’s hand came to rest on Sami’s bare chest.

“Please,” Kevin said. “Please.”

He didn’t know what he was asking. Or who he was asking.

God, he was so fucking tired.

His eyes began to close again but he fought it. Sami was more important. Sami needed him. Reaching over, he took Sami by the shoulder as carefully as he could and put just enough pressure on it to make his point.

Come back to me.

Back to my arms.

Back where you belong.

Kevin didn’t know you could plead with someone through a touch but there he was, all but on his knees asking for mercy for them both.

There was no response at first but, after an agonizingly long time, Sami shifted, turning to face him. There was still a distance between them, always far too much distance, but it was an improvement. Again making sure not to strain his wrist, Kevin lowered his hand, resting it above Sami’s hip. Strangely, Sami let him.

Something had definitely happened.

He searched his brain for answers and found none.

He sighed.

Stupid concussion.

He wanted to kiss Sami. Maybe if he could just kiss Sami, he’d remember. Taste whatever victory Sami might have earned without him on his lips. But he didn’t. There was no kiss, no profession of love, nothing that would constitute Sami’s willingness to forgive him.

Forgiveness.

Kevin was pretty sure he’d already done that part. How the hell could he stay mad at Sami? Sami, his Sami, his soulmate. All he’d wanted for months was to save him. To protect him. To break him away from The Bloodline for his own good.

Right?

A thought filtered through his hazy brain. An image of Sami standing across from him, wiping blood off his face, smearing it onto his white wrist tape.

Maybe not then. He should get on that.

Sometime. It was an issue for future KO to deal with.

At that moment, he just needed to get through the night.

Sami was still shaking and Kevin wished he could see Sami’s eyes through the darkness; That he could admire and cherish the fire there, the righteous rage from his soul reignited.

Kevin couldn’t help but think it would be the most beautiful sight in the world.

And a little bit scary.

But, he couldn’t see it, the light was far too dim, and even if he could, it would just be another memory stolen from him by the events of the night.

Still, he needed to be closer. He needed it, he craved it, even if he forgot it all, maybe, maybe…

He shifted again and pushed his arm forward, nudging at Sami’s head. Through all impossibility, Sami lifted his head, allowing Kevin to slide under him. For a second, his heart caught for a moment, the tiniest flicker of hope still burning growing stronger. But the distance remained, Sami moved no closer and didn’t relax.

A tear Kevin hadn’t even realized had formed rolled down his face.

It was the most he was going to get. For that night. Potentially forever. And as he tried to hold onto the sensation, he knew in his heart he was going to remember none of it.

Stupid concussion.

It didn’t matter. Again, they just needed to get through the night. Whatever came next, they’d figure it out later.

Kevin felt vibrations against his arm, almost as if Sami was speaking. To speak through the pain and agony whatever was on his mind.

Kevin still couldn’t hear him properly. It was probably better that way.

But in his mind, his concussion-addled mind, Kevin wondered what Sami might have been saying. What words of comfort he might have been trying to speak.

Or, words of aggression.

Kevin’s eyes drifted shut. The pain was too much. The aches and pounding and agony were just too damn much and, against every will or wish that he had, he felt the world slipping away and into darkness.

….......

It was morning.

And his phone was ringing.

Kevin’s eyes cautiously opened as he immediately registered an entire body’s worth of sore.

His phone was still ringing.

Reaching over, he picked it up. The number… he knew that number, what was it...

He hit the button to answer.

“Hello?” he asked. God, he sounded awful.

“Hey Kevin,” a nasal voice on the other end sounded. Funny, he remembered it being sharper than that. “It’s Seth.”

“Wha—” Kevin looked at the number again. “Why are you calling me?”

“Just checking in. You got pretty smashed up last night. Wanted to make sure you were ok.”

Kevin shook his head, immediately regretting it. “Ok, again, why?”

“Hey, I’m not that big an asshole. Just because we have our differences doesn’t mean I want to see you brain damaged.”

Brain damaged….

Kevin thought for a moment, trying to remember what had happened the night before, but it was all a blur. He was in a hotel room, that much was true, but he had no recollection of getting there or of the match that he was obviously beat to hell from. Why the hell didn’t he rememb…

Brain damaged…

Oh.

Fuck, how bad a concussion did he have?

“What happened?” he asked.

“Your eggs got scrambled, Kevin, aren’t you paying attention?”

“No, I get the concussion, that’s why I’m asking. What the hell happened in the match.”

“You lost.”

“I figured that. What happened with Sami? Is Sami OK? Did he…”

A brief flash of the night before came rippling through his mind. The feeling of long, tangled curls against his fingers. Against his chest. A familiar weight resting against his chest for the first time in forever.

“Seth,” Kevin said slowly, “Sami. Was he here?”

Kevin heard Seth sigh on the other end before responding. “Look, if you want a blow by blow, call my wife. You like her better anyway. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t dead. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Kevin scowled. “I’m not dead. Thanks for your concern.”

“Good luck finding a ride to the airport. I was going to offer but I have a qualifying match tomorrow for Elimination Chamber. Maybe you can find your way out of the lobby to an uber. Just make sure there’s an elevator waiting before you step through the doors.”

“Fuck you, Seth.”

“Yeah, figured. Whatever. Just don’t do anything stupider than usual or Becky will blame me.”

Kevin’s jaw clenched. He didn’t have time for Seth.

“Go to hell,” he grumbled and, pulling the phone back, hung up on him. He really was an asshole, regardless of what he said.

Kevin got out of bed and stretched. It was a mistake, he felt like he’d been run over by a freight train, but he managed to get himself up and, after using the bathroom, headed to his suitcase to get ready.

He was midway through getting dressed when he noticed the time on the clock.

12:47 PM.

What?!?

His mind raced as he looked at his phone to double check. Yep, it was after noon and, somehow, his alarm hadn’t gone off. He brought up the app, had he messed up in setting it…

Oh.

The alarm was turned to OFF.

It was set to OFF and there was a note listed for it.

“Check the dresser.”

What the fuck?

Getting up he hobbled over to the dresser. There was a note, scribbled on the hotel notepad.

I turned off your alarm. You needed the sleep. Room’s taken care of for another two nights. Hunter’s handling your flight.

Take your time. You’re on concussion protocol anyway so don’t bother showing up to Raw or Smackdown for a while.

See you whenever. I have work to do.

- Sami

Kevin’s brow furrowed. Sami had been there. He’d not only been there, he’d spent the night.

But why?

He tried to remember, straining against the brain fog but nothing was coming through. Had they turned on Sami? Had Sami tried to save him?

What? The Fuck? Had Happened???

Flashes of black, red, and orange coursed through his brain. The feeling of being chained up, the feeling of being slammed against stairs, being kicked in the head repeatedly, and everything turning to grey.

And, one final flash, the sight of Sami Zayn, holding a chair in front of him… and then using it on Roman Reigns.

Looking at the note again, his fingers brushed against Sami’s name at the bottom. Sami had left a note. He’d spent the night and he’d left a note.

Did Sami care? Were they friends again? Is that what they were? He looked at the notepad again.

San Antonio, TX, it read.

Kevin rolled his eyes. He really fucking hated Texas. Nothing good ever happened in Texas. At least whatever happened this time, he wouldn’t have to deal with remembering it. His pride still stung from being dragged out of Wrestlemania by the Texas Rangers.

Still, he wished he knew what happened. Not in the match, but after. He wanted to know what Sami had said, what he’d done.

If Sami had forgiven him.

His head hurt too much to process it. He put the notepad down and, having a drink from a bottle that someone had been kind enough to leave on the dresser beside the notepad, crawled back into bed. He needed more sleep and if Hunter was handling everything, he was in good hands.

Doing his best to relax, he pulled the covers over himself, drifting away again. And, as he did, memories came back.

Not of the night before. But of a dream.

A vivid, agonizing dream that he couldn’t place. There were no details to it, no context, no plot.

Just one image.

The image of a fallen angel. His angel, transformed into a demon with broken, bloody wings, bared fangs, and crimson horns sprouted from flaming orange hair.

Guardian no more. Now bent on vengeance.

And as that dream faded into oblivion, Kevin Owens headed into the next one.

#Fanfiction #Shanie's Fanfiction #Series: He Used To Be Mine #Sami Zayn #Kevin Owens #Zowens

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