#carrying this piece for the rest of my life. i need a physical copy some day | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goodtoseeyouhen · 2 months ago

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Tommy has been hearing about Eddie all night. It’s not the first time, it won’t be the last time - he knew exactly what he was signing up for when he kissed Evan - but it’s not usually this stressful.

“I don’t know what to say, Evan. I can’t help you strategize if I don’t know the full story.”

“It’s not mine to tell,” Evan says, again. “And I - I don’t think even I know the whole story.”

Tommy sighs, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “And I respect that, I do. I just - I don’t know how to help.” Tommy’s like most firefighters he knows - give him something actionable, like say flying into a hurricane, and he’s on it. Something more abstract, like Chris is gone and Eddie is sad please help, and he has no idea what to do. There is nothing to do, not when Eddie all but kicked Evan out of his house because he apparently needed space (bullshit) and Evan insists Chris needs time to settle before anyone tries to get in touch.

“I know,” Evan says. “It’s killing me that I can’t just fix it. I don’t like Chris being out in Texas with his grandparents. They tried to make Eddie give him up after Shannon died and now they’re just gonna be right in his ear twenty-four seven.”

“That might solve itself. Sounds to me like a great way to annoy a teenager into wanting to cut his visit short.”

“Maybe,” Evan says, visibly unconvinced. Which probably has something to do with the reason why Christopher is in Texas, which is the key piece of information Evan won’t share, and Tommy really does respect his protecting the kid’s privacy like that, but Evan got here an hour ago and they’re still standing in the kitchen with the beers Tommy got for them just going in circles. Tommy is exhausted.

“Okay,” he says briskly, because he needs to be done circling, “we can’t fix anything right now, but we can order dinner and watch a movie.” He takes out his phone, opens up DoorDash, and tosses it to Evan. “You order us something. I personally could use some fucking whimsy and I’ve got Mary Poppins somewhere around here, so I’m gonna go dig that up.”

‘Someday,” Evan says, already flipping through the app, “you’re going to join the rest of us in 2024 and subscribe to a few streaming services.” He still looks unhappy, but he’s relaxing a little around the edges. Accepting the blatant attempt at distraction. Tommy’ll take it.

“And someday you’ll realize you only have to pay for a physical copy once, Evan.” They do this routine every now and then, a little different every time.

“You’re just mad about your old man collection going obsolete.”

“Mm, I seem to remember somebody being pretty happy I had that Dogma DVD.”

“What was that? Extra pineapple on your pizza?”

“For that, we’re watching it on VHS.”

Evan doesn’t order extra pineapple, or even order pizza at all, and they do not watch the movie on tape, because it would look like dogshit on Tommy’s TV. They settle in with something from a little Brit-Indi place that’s pretty good, and Tommy cues up the Blu-Ray.

He had hoped that a Disney film, especially one with literal decades of lore, would serve as further distraction by unlocking the extensive store of Disney trivia he knows for a fact Evan carries around in that bewildering brain of his, but that plan is DOA. Evan’s watching the movie, but his mind is clearly somewhere in Texas. When Mary Poppins describes herself as “practically perfect in every way,” Evan points his fork at the screen and says, “She’d have fixed it by now,” and that’s about all Tommy gets.

Honestly, he’s relieved when his phone starts buzzing frantically in his pocket.

are you working tomorrow

this is an important question

no one else can do this for me

HELP ME TOMMY-WAN KINARDI YOU ARE MY ONLY HOPE

“What - ? Oh, absolutely not.”

“What’s up, is everything okay?” Evan, who slid in closer the moment they were done eating, leans further into his space to look at the screen. Tommy turns it away, because if Evan gets hold of Tommy-Wan Kinardi it will spread like wildfire and his life as he knows it will be over. Chimney, at the very least, will never call him anything else ever again.

“Marisol,” he explains. Evan freezes.

“Marisol,” he repeats. “I forgot about Marisol!” His stricken tone makes Tommy himself forget what he’s typing, looking up to see Evan’s equally distraught expression.

“What - ?” he starts, but Evan just shakes his head.

“Why is she - ? What does she want?”

Tommy reads through the next rapid succession of texts. “Someone to vent to, about something only I seem to qualify for.” He lets Evan watch him reply, pausing only to drop a kiss near the corner of his eye when he grumbles I haven’t said it that many times.

Marisol asserts that yes, it is hers to tell, and Tommy lowers his phone and turns to look at Evan directly.

“Is it?”

“I - oh, man.” Evan frowns, taking a moment to think. “I don’t know if that’s my call to make? But,” he adds quickly, perhaps because Tommy’s exasperation with that is visible from fucking space, “I do know that - she deserves to have someone to talk to about it. And if you’re the one she’s comfortable talking to, then, uh. Yeah, I don’t really get a say in that.”

“So I’m good to go?” Tommy confirms.

“If you want to.”

“I wanna help her out.” He checks the screen again. “At brunch tomorrow.” A brunch date is an easy ask, it’s something he can do, and he does actually like Marisol. It’s too damn bad she got the short end of whatever the hell stick this is. “And then of course, conveniently, I’ll know what’s going on without you having to tell me.”

Evan flushes guiltily, which is adorable enough to wipe out the last of that burst of exasperation. “I meant all of that! It’s like the least we can do. But, okay. Yeah. Maybe a little that too.”

Tommy kisses him for that, and as he finishes making plans with Marisol, Evan is smiling his first real smile of the night.

After brunch, Tommy just sits in his car for a while, resisting the urge to beat the shit out of his steering wheel or whatever other stupid macho bullshit might occur to him. Say what you like about the kinds of person he’s been in the past - letting his anger get the best of him has never really been his thing.

Though it was probably just as well that he put his knife down long before Marisol said he thought she was Shannon.

Jesus.

Yeah, he gets exactly why Evan was so fucking neurotic last night, even if ninety percent of what came out of his mouth was about Eddie. Tommy’s gonna go ahead and let him do that heavy lifting. He’s not feeling very charitable toward Eddie fucking Diaz right now.

Christopher, though . . .

Well, he and Marisol are in similar boats, aren’t they? Obviously Chris knows plenty of people who know Eddie, but, judging by how he’d reacted to Marisol, he probably doesn’t want to talk to most of them right now. The association with Eddie will be too tight and run too deep.

But Tommy hasn’t been around all that long, and his visits to the Diaz household - first solo, then mostly with Evan - have revolved just as much around Chris as Eddie, if not sometimes more.

(He remembers that first visit with Chris home, the look in Eddie’s eyes as he’d introduced them promising that if Tommy failed this test, their burgeoning friendship would be over. He’d actually been a little nervous.

But it turned out that he and Chris have the same sense of humor, and that thirteen is still young enough to be a little overawed by the whole firefighter pilot thing, so it had gone just fine.)

Yeah. He pulls his phone out to send a text. There are a few messages in their text chain, mostly Chris asking him to pick up something Eddie had told him not to ask Tommy to pick up or just outright said no to, and Tommy (after surreptitiously checking in with either Eddie or Evan, he’s not an idiot) nonchalantly agreeing.

. . . there are more of those than he’d realized, actually. It became kind of a running joke at some point, at around the time Tommy had stopped bothering to check with any relevant parental figures. Stopped bothering, because it had become clear that Chris knew exactly how far he could push.

There are also exchanges resuming movie discussions they’d had with Eddie fondly looking on, several of which, Tommy remembers now, had resulted in a spontaneous FaceTime when Chris was feeling too passionate about a topic for his hands to keep up with his thoughts.

And memes, memes too, examples of Gen Z/Gen Alpha humor Tommy had found borderline incomprehensible more often than not and had retaliated against with classics like all your base and dragostea din tei.

Christopher Diaz has taken up space in his life, and he’d hardly noticed.

“I’m friends with a thirteen-year-old,” he says to his phone, baffled. “What the hell?”

Okay, then. He probably is the adult in Christopher’s life that he’s most likely to talk to.

Heard what happened. If you need someone back home who’s not your dad or Buck to talk to, I’m around.

That will at least get Chris’s attention - it’s the first time Tommy has ever used that stupid nickname without Chris scolding him into it. He’d call it another running joke, but it’s also about twenty percent stubbornness on both their parts. Tommy gives in long before anyone can get genuinely frustrated, of course, but.

If Evan had a problem with Tommy not using that nickname, he’d have said something by now. He’s a big boy. Tommy thinks he can be trusted to use his words.

He figures it’ll be a while before he hears back. It hasn’t been twenty-four hours yet, so Chris is probably busy settling in and resting after the flight. But even as he’s moving to start the car so he can quit wasting battery on A/C and get on the road, his phone plays the little video game fanfare he let Chris program into it for his contact notifications.

who told u

He’s tempted for a second to claim it was Evan, but the many ways that could backfire come to him before the thought has finished forming. For this? He’s going to have to be completely, scrupulously honest with Chris for this.

Marisol. She needed someone to talk to.

The screen lights up to inform him that Chris is FaceTiming him. I accept the charges, he thinks.

“Hey, kid.”

Christopher looks exhausted and miserable in a way that makes Tommy’s stomach twist.

“Why her? I would have thought it would be Buck.”

“Well, Buck was trying to respect yours and your dad’s privacy, and Marisol doesn’t have anyone else to talk to about it.” Tommy briefly imagines trying to explain the situation to someone well outside the 118 sphere of chaos. Yeah, not a chance. He wouldn’t even try it with Lucy and he knows she knows how they are.

Chris sighs. “I knew you two would make good friends,” he says, then, “How pissed at me is she?”

Any other time, Tommy would feel a bit of fond amusement at that - experimenting with off-color language outside of Eddie’s hearing - but as it is, he’s taken aback.

“How p - Chris, nobody’s mad at you.”

He can feel the flatly unimpressed look Chris gives him right through the screen.

“I mean it. She understands that you were upset. We all do.” He winces at the alarm that immediately threads through Chris’s expression. “By which I mean, Marisol, me, Ev - Buck, and your dad.” He knows Evan’s not telling, and he’d bet twenty bucks that Eddie isn’t exactly screaming his idiocy from the rooftops either. “It’s nobody else’s business.”

Smooth, Kinard. Great work there. The alarm has passed in favor of a more general no shit, Sherlock kind of look, though, so. It’s probably fine.

“None of us is angry with you,” he reiterates, because it can’t possibly hurt to say it again, and because it happens to be true. Okay, he hasn’t talked to Eddie yet, but the guy’s an idiot, not a monster; Tommy can’t imagine him being angry with anyone but himself.

And hopefully not-Shannon, because what the fuck even was that.

“Not even -“ Chris cuts himself off as Tommy hears a door open. He doesn’t think he heard a knock.

“Christopher, I thought we agreed you were resting,” says a voice that must belong to Grandma Diaz.

“I am resting.” There’s a defiant edge to Chris’s tone. “But Tommy texted and I wanted to talk to him.”

“I told you you could keep your phone as long as it wasn’t a distraction. Clearly, it is.”

“Abuela,” Chris protests, “he’s still -“

“I’m sure your friend will understand. Phone.”

Chris lowered the phone when he started talking to his grandmother, which gives Tommy a clear look at the way his jaw tightens for a long moment before the blurred rush of handing the phone over.

Then he hears, in sugary tones, “Sweetheart, could y - oh,” and he finds himself looking at the confounded face of a woman who did not expect “Tommy” to be a grown man.

Well, it’s not the first time. It’s just usually funnier. Lower stakes.

“I could go get my mom,” he says, “but that would involve a little light graverobbing.”

She doesn’t smile, or really even acknowledge him except in the way she keeps her eyes on him as she says,

“Christopher, who is this?”

“Tommy,” is the unhelpful, sulky reply. She does look at Chris then, with an expression that makes Tommy’s spine straighten and results in, “Buck’s boyfriend.”

Right, great, there’s gonna need to be a conversation about when and how to deploy strategic information and when you maybe don’t out someone to someone else, even if they’re not in the closet, especially when you’re in fucking Texas, because Mrs Diaz looks back at him and he knows exactly what math she’s doing in her head.

He tries a friendly smile.

“Tommy Kinard, ma’am. It’s nice to more or less meet you. I’m glad Chris had somewhere he could go to get some breathing room.”

She considers this, then nods once, decisive. “Helena Diaz. You and I should talk.”

“I expected someone who wasn’t Eddie to reach out to Christopher sooner rather than later,” Helena says once she’s settled into what appears to be a tidy living room, “but I thought it would be Buck, not his - ?“

“Partner,” Tommy supplies, because he is fucking forty-five years old and the window on going around saying he had a boyfriend closed twenty years ago. “I was friends with Eddie first, actually.”

She doesn’t need to know it was only by two weeks.

“And I assume you’re aware of the” - she pauses delicately - “situation?”

“With the doppelganger? Yeah. Just found out, wanted to let Chris know I was around if he wanted to talk.”

She also does not need to know that he found out from Eddie’s ex.

“We were hoping to minimize Christopher’s contact with anyone in LA until we feel he’s ready.”

Until they feel. Okay. Tommy can work with this. He keeps his expression relaxed and sincere.

“He is thirteen. Seems old enough for him to have a say.” Being as how he had clearly, in fact, wanted to talk.

“Oh, of course. But there is a reason thirteen-year-olds aren’t left to raise themselves, even the ones without his particular limitations.”

Tommy knows he himself isn’t exactly on the cutting edge of progression when it comes to disability, even if he is miles better than he used to be. But it’s been so easy to fall in line with Eddie’s approach to Christopher’s condition - treating it as an incidental fact of life in the Diaz household, as just one part of who Christopher is and far from the most important part at that. It’s easy to forget in that house that many, if not most, people will look at Chris and see his CP first.

It’s a shock to hear Chris’s own fucking grandmother do it.

He wants to say as much, so badly, but he cannot start an argument with this woman if he wants any kind of contact with Chris while he’s out there.

Later, he tells himself. Once Chris is home. Then he’ll give Helena Diaz a call and tell her exactly what he thinks of her shit.

Instead, for now, he says,

“I understand your concerns. Protecting him from anything to do with Eddie right now - I’m not exactly thrilled with your son myself.”

He’s going to owe Eddie an apology by the end of this conversation, he just knows it.

“Then you realize that, as much as it breaks my heart to consider Christopher’s own father someone he needs protecting from, it’s still necessary. He is in no fit state to act as a parent and I won’t have any attempts at contact facilitated behind my back.”

“I have no intention of trying that. Like I said, Chris needs the space you’re giving him, and he’s the only one who can really know how much for how long. I just want to - to be someone he can talk to, about whatever he wants, who doesn’t have anything to do with this whole mess.”

“And what, Mr Kinard, do you even talk about with a thirteen-year-old boy?”

There it is. For all he knew it was coming, for all he knows that it is in fact her responsibility to make sure he isn’t some random guy preying on Chris’s vulnerability, it still stings like hell, because that’s not the only reason she’s asking.

Fine. He still remembers how to eat shit with a smile.

“Anything. Star Wars. Girls he likes, because he says I’m the only adult he knows who doesn’t get all mushy about how fast he’s growing up. 9/11, once, from our respective generational standpoints. That was an interesting one.”

“. . . I see,” Helena says, clearly not having expected any kind of comprehensive response. Tommy smirks inwardly.

“Treat kids like people you like being around and they can be pretty cool,” he says, and nevermind that he learned that himself with Chris. “I like Chris, Mrs Diaz. Not just as my friend’s son, but as a person. Look, when it comes down to it, you and I both just want what’s best for him. And right now, what’s best for him is having support while he deals with this” - storm of bullshit probably won’t go down well - “. . . Hitchcockian nonsense.”

Well, that’s not better.

Helena blinks, then, to Tommy’s considerable surprise, a flicker of humor crosses her face. “This is all giving you vertigo too, hm?”

Tommy laughs, as much from relief as anything else, and wonders exactly when he passed her test. “It was not how I was expecting my morning to start.”

She’s looking at him more thoughtfully now, more like he’s a person and not just a potential threat. “All right,” she says. “You can keep in touch with Christopher. But if I get even the slightest hint that it’s affecting him negatively . . .”

“Understood,” Tommy says quickly. “Thank you, Mrs Diaz.”

“Helena is fine. Christopher won’t be needing his phone today, but he’ll have it back tomorrow, along with an understanding that it’s a privilege in this home, not a right.”

Tommy had intended to at least text Evan right after brunch, but after those conversations - he needs a minute.

He gets almost a whole hour before Evan takes matters into his own hands.

u will not fucking believe what’s happening here

i don’t wanna text about this

ur probably still driving anyway

call me when u can

please

Tommy glances briefly at the screen with each message. He’s seen the aftermath of texting and driving too many times to do it himself, but with Evan’s tendency to send half a dozen short texts at a time in a sort of stream of consciousness style of communication, he’d compromised by purchasing a bracket to post his phone on his dashboard so he can keep up without being distracted by text notifications every three to five seconds. This particular stream is capped off by a string of emojis that he doesn’t even try to parse individually, but which give off a general sense of fury.

Oh, good.

Tommy doesn’t talk and drive either, when he can avoid it, but if he remembers correctly, that new little wine shop he’s been wanting to check out is more or less in the area, and this feels like a conversation he’d rather have sooner than later. Maybe he’ll find a good pairing for whatever new bullshit Evan is about to drop on him.

He calls about half an hour later, half-heartedly perusing the Malbecs, and is greeted with,

“Bobby retired, except he says he never filed the paperwork and it was really just something he talked about with Chief Simpson. At the ceremony.” Contrary to the emoji storm, there’s more hurt in those last few words than anything else.

“Retired?” Tommy repeats, giving himself a second to catch up. “No warning?”

As if he would have been hearing about anything else, even Eddie, if there had been.

“No.” Definitely hurt. Tommy eyes an especially cheap-looking bottle, wondering if dumping it over Bobby’s head would count as breaking the man’s sobriety. “He said he’d get it taken care of but it might take some time, and . . . Tommy, guess who the new captain is?”

In retrospect, Tommy will realize that he should have paid more attention to the mix of anxiety and indignation creeping into Evan’s tone.

“They got the new guy in already? We used to have to wait weeks between captains sometimes.”

“They - yeah, they . . . it’s Gerrard.”

If Tommy had been holding the bottle he was glaring at, he’d have dropped it. He almost feels a phantom bottle slip through his fingers.

“. . . Tommy?”

“Does he know?”

“Know what?”

“About you, Evan, does he know that you’re not straight?” Maybe -

“He does now,” Evan says scornfully. “I told him.”

Told him. Of course he did.

Because Evan isn’t a coward.

“He called me into his office,” Evan is saying, “and tried to . . .” he trails off, audibly searching for words, because yeah, when Gerrard isn’t being blatantly racist he can be surprisingly subtle.

“To draw you into a white boys’ alliance against the big scary minorities without actually using any of those words?”

“Yeah. That. I didn’t even know what he was doing at first, just that he was being friendly and it was kind of giving me the creeps.”

“I’m assuming you didn’t tell him to go fuck himself -“

“- not that I wasn’t tempted -“

“- so what did you do?”

“Uh. I asked him who his favorite Mary Poppins character is.”

The laughter this surprises out of Tommy is loud, loud enough to turn the heads of the few other browsers and the annoyed-looking woman at the counter. Okay, now he has to buy something. Worth it. “You what? No, wait, of course you did, god, Evan.”

“It was the first thing I thought of!” Evan protests, also laughing. “He stared at me like I’d lost my mind, so I told him my boyfriend and I watched it last night for date night.” The cheer fades out of his voice as he continues, “He, uh. Suddenly didn’t want much to do with me after that.”

Tommy sighs, the warmth that had been spreading in his chest vanishing.

“What did he say.” It isn’t a question, not really.

Evan hesitates, clearing his throat awkwardly. “He, um. Uh, something, something about you getting to me. How you can’t trust anyone’s influence these days.”

Tommy wonders if Evan, too young to remember the AIDS crisis, hears the hidden word there.

Got to Evan. Infected him.

It doesn’t seen to have tripped anything for Evan, or if it did then he is, like Tommy, choosing not to say it, because he keeps going. “Yeah, the Mary Poppins thing was kind of the highlight. It’s been - kind of awful. No one’s really talking, I can’t tell if Hen and Chim are in shock or just still taking it in, and he’s making them do a bunch of cleaning anyway. Like the stuff we save for the new probies kind of cleaning. I wasn’t allowed to help earlier but I don’t think he’d care now.”

“I wouldn’t try it,” Tommy advises, hating how easy it is to slip into Gerrard’s mindset. “They’re being punished. You’d just make it worse. Trust me, you and Eddie and Ravi will all get your turns.”

“Eddie,” Evan repeats, voice distant like he doesn’t realize he’s saying anything, then, “Brunch! How did - I, I mean I really shouldn’t be talking about it here, but how did - ?”

“Marisol filled me in. You’re just doing a twelve today, right? Come over after you’re done, we can talk then.”

Evan’s twelve turns into more of a fourteen with a last-minute building fire call, so when he arrives, exhausted, Tommy just kisses him and points him to the shower.

“I ordered pizza already, and we’ve each got a bottle of rosé with our name on it.”

Evan brightens a bit. “When you say you ordered pizza . . .”

“Yes, I got you your warm tropical fruit.”

Evan grins and gives him a quick kiss before heading for the bathroom, calling back over his shoulder,

“I keep telling you, the acidity cuts the fat and carbs!”

“And I keep telling you, that’s what the tomato in the sauce is for!” Tommy calls back, grinning. Evan closes the bathroom door on a laugh.

The pizza arrives while he’s in there, and by the time he’s out, Tommy has everything set up. Two pizza boxes, which he opens when he hears the door, with accompanying plates even though Evan won’t use his, and two open bottles of wine with glasses that they will both be using because they are not animals.

Evan, of course, shoots him a wicked look as he immediately grabs his bottle and swigs directly from it.

“What?” he asks off the look Tommy gives him, which he suspects is not nearly as annoyed as it should be. “Why dirty a glass if I don’t have to?” He taps his temple. “One less dish to wash.”

“Is that why you never use your plate with pizza?”

“I use my plate with pizza,” Evan lies, in that way he does when he is convinced he is telling the truth despite the evidence of reality. It shouldn’t charm Tommy, but it does a little. Maybe because Tommy’s pretty sure that’s what was happening when Evan said so abruptly that he’d been trying to get Tommy’s attention.

“Okay,” he says, because file that under arguments not worth having, and picks up his own wine bottle.

He slides a glance at Evan, then takes a long swallow. He feels a bit ridiculous doing it, but Evan’s triumphant laughter erases that almost instantly.

“See?” he says. “No one even died.”

“You” - Tommy tilts the neck of the bottle at him, carefully - “are very lucky I like you.”

Evan’s smile softens. “Yeah, I am.” He sweeps an arm toward the set-up on Tommy’s living room table. “I come home - well, here - after a really bad day and I don’t have to do anything because you’ve got it all taken care of.” He looks at Tommy, blue eyes dangerously earnest. “You’ve got me taken care of. You even ordered me pineapple.”

“And I might not even make you brush your teeth before you kiss me after,” Tommy says lightly, leaning forward to set down his wine and grab a slice of his normal human pepperoni pizza. There’s a brief beat of silence, then Evan snorts.

“Thinks he can say that and still get kissed.”

“Yeah.” Tommy smirks at him. “I do.”

The movie he picked for the evening is some inconsequential nothing, a supernatural cop drama made for about five bucks that they can talk over as necessary without missing much, and, aside from a brief interlude with Evan protesting that polygraph tests don’t work like that Tommy what are they even doing, it serves its purpose.

Not that they need the full runtime for that - the conversation about Chris and Eddie, now that they can finally have it, is simple, brief, and brings Evan’s mood down considerably.

“At least you got to talk to Chris a little,” he says. He’s put aside his half-full wine bottle for his phone and is somehow managing to compose a text to Chris as he talks. “And you’ll get to talk to him again. I don’t know if he’ll be ready to talk to me right away, so at least with you he’s got some kind of lifeline.”

“Hey.” Tommy shifts a little on the couch, wraps his arm tight around Evan’s shoulders. “That kid loves you, plus you’re not the one who brought not-his-mom home. I’m gonna be old news in no time.”

“I dunno, I think I’m on the shit list. I did try to talk to him for Eddie, and, okay, yeah, he is starting to do that teenager thing where he’s too old and too cool to hug us, but.” Evan shrugs the shoulder Tommy’s hand is wrapped around. “He just walked right past me when he left. A-a-and look, I’m not trying to make it about me, I know he didn’t mean anything by it and it wasn’t personal -“

“Like you said, teenager,” Tommy says. “He might have meant something by it.” Something about his conversation with Chris drops into place even as he winces a little at the half-hurt, half-indignant look he’s put on Evan’s face. “You know, before Helena cut him off, I think he was trying to ask if you were mad at him.”

It makes the most sense. He’d already asked about Marisol, Tommy himself has no reason to be angry, and Tommy doubts very much that Chris would be asking anything about Eddie so soon.

“Mad at him? Why would I - ? Oh.”

“Yeah. So if he did mean it, I don’t think he does anymore.”

Evan chews this over for all of a second before he picks up his phone, types i am NOT mad at you and decisively hits send.

“It’s weird,” he says, “this is usually the kind of thing I would talk about with Eddie. A-and listen, I know you said you were pissed at Eddie yourself and I get it, but maybe you could, you know, be cool about that?” Evan sits up straighter and turns to face Tommy, eyes serious this time. “I know what it looks like when he’s beating himself up. There’s nothing you can say to him that he’s not already telling himself. He just kept his head down all day today, didn’t say a word that wasn’t about work. He isolates himself when things are bad and this is the worst it’s been since Shannon. And that - really got out of hand. I can’t try to pull him back from the edge if you . . .” Evan trails off, uncomfortable.

“I can be civil.” He can, too, with his initial fury having settled into a manageable level of steady anger over the course of the day. “Not exactly going to be going out of my way to talk to him anyway.”

“Oh,” Evan says, air of melancholy fading in favor of realization, “I haven’t asked you yet. Ravi’s got us all coming in an hour before shift tomorrow for a Taylor Swift dance party.”

Tommy - pauses, for a moment, to absorb the conversational whiplash. “What.”

“Yeah, they’re really popular right now? And he says it would be good for morale to do something fun together before work, and serve as a clear message to a guy like Gerrard that we’re not gonna just lie down and take it. He said you should come. Hen’s gonna bring Karen, Maddie said she wouldn’t miss it, and he invited Bobby and Athena too. Uh, and Chim said to tell you he’s gonna give you exactly as much shit as you think he is, whatever that means.”

Probably shouldn’t have included that in your sales pitch, Tommy almost says. Almost, but doesn’t, because Evan looks so hopeful and there’s only one real answer to the implied question anyway.

“Yeah. Of course I’ll come. Wouldn’t miss the look on that asshole’s face for the world.”

Or the one on Evan’s face right now, almost as happy as he’d been about the damn pizza. Totally worth an hour of Taylor Swift and Howie rubbing it in Tommy’s face about how he’d been right about her unparalleled genius all along.

“Great! And, y’know, we’re using the employee parking lot and we’ll need all the space we can get, so if you could drive and we could pick up Eddie on the way, that’d be one less car to worry about. Your shift’s at noon, right, you’ll have plenty of time to get there after.” He pauses. “And, maybe you could take a minute to talk to Eddie, if you wanted.”

Tommy sighs. “I should, shouldn’t I.” Another question with only one answer.

Evan is nodding a little as he says, “Yeah. You should. Chris needs us, but Eddie does too, even if he thinks he doesn’t deserve to.”

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll talk to him. I’ll be nice. Hell, maybe I’ll even dance with him.”

“Oh, like I’m gonna let you go anywhere.” Evan kneels up on the couch, bracing himself on the back of it, and leans down for a kiss.

The movie finishes playing on its own.

Even with the detour to pick up Eddie, they’re a little early. Evan, who has been sharing Taylor Swift facts from Wikipedia for much of the drive, puts his phone away and catches Tommy’s eye to glance pointedly at Eddie and back to him, saying,

“I’m gonna go help Ravi finish setting up.”

Tommy gives him a slight nod. He smiles and all but bounces out of the car.

Other than a thanks for the ride, Eddie has been quiet in the back, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. The only sign that he didn’t just fall asleep is the way his head has been tilted toward Evan through his monologue, faint smile playing around his mouth.

Jesus.

Eddie takes his sunglasses off, meeting Tommy’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Thank you for reaching out to Chris.”

With the sunglasses on, he’d looked tired, a little pale. Without them, he looks exhausted. Breakable.

A substantial portion of Tommy’s anger just kind of - dissolves.

“Not exactly a hardship. Though I did have to talk a little shit about you to your mother to maintain access.”

“Hey, if it helps Chris, throw me under the bus as many times as you need to.” His tone isn’t quite as light as his words, but, well. Those words themselves aren’t very light in this context, are they?

‘Will do.” Tommy turns in his seat to face Eddie head-on. “So, how this is gonna go is, if Chris tells me anything that you should know about as his parent, I will tell you. But that’s it. You don’t get anything else unless he says it’s okay, and I’m gonna tell him the same.” He’d been thinking about it last night, awake long after Evan, and it’s the best thing he’s come up with to have Chris both feeling safe and actually safe.

Eddie is nodding. “I, yeah, that’s along the lines of what I was thinking. It might kill me a little, but he needs to know he can trust you. Thank you, Tommy.”

“I was fucking furious when Marisol told me what happened,” Tommy says abruptly. “I’ve had time to calm down and I’m still not happy with you, but.” He blows out a breath. “We’re all on the same side here and I’m not gonna lose sight of that - no, Diaz, thank me again and I’m gonna find a bridge to throw you off.”

Eddie shrugs, unapologetic. “I’m just grateful he has so many people who care about him.” He slides his sunglasses back on and pops the car door open, leaving Tommy feeling vaguely like an asshole.

Ravi’s put together a nice little set-up, with a pretty generous amount of dance space and even a table with pastries and some to-go boxes of coffee. Tommy has just enough time to make a mental note about finding out what he should chip in for expenses before:

“Tommy,” Chimney calls, gleeful. “Just in time for your favorite.”

Tommy knows what he’s going to hear before the first note even plays.

You're on the phone with your girlfriend, she's upset

The new vocals are an improvement, at least.

Obediently, he groans on cue. Evan looks up from where he’s fussing over Jee - for all that they were early, they seem to have been the last to arrive - and asks,

“Okay, what’s the deal, because if you’re one of those guys who hates Taylor Swift just for being Taylor Swift, then I’m gonna have to reevaluate some things. Right, Jee?”

“Right,” she agrees, nodding in that firm way that only little kids can really pull off.

“Oh, I come by it legitimately,” Tommy says.

“Eh,” Howie chimes in, having stationed himself right next to Tommy, rocking his hand in a so-so gesture.

“In 2008, 2009, I spent a year in this shi - this lousy cheap apartment so I could put a little extra away while I was house hunting. It was pretty close to Howie, so we started carpooling. Guess who he was obsessed with?”

“A shining new talent who, even as we were listening, was already singlehandedly rescuing the country music genre from the likes of Toby Keith and would go on to revolutionize the music industry as we know it.”

Hen clears her throat.

“Right alongside Beyoncé,” Howie concludes without missing a beat.

“Or, in other words,” Tommy says, just barely keeping his poker face, “a teenage girl who was sad her BFF didn’t love her back. Not once on his weeks to drive did he ever play anything else, Evan. Not once. I don’t hate Taylor Swift. I have a Howard Han-induced allergy to Taylor Swift!”

“That’s a real tragedy, Tommy,” Evan says, laughter in his voice and all over his face. “I’m gonna dance with my niece about it and then you’re next.” He’s been bouncing to the music with Jee in his arms this whole time; now he takes her out onto the dance floor, such as it is, sets her down, and they start dancing in earnest.

“Tommy.”

“Chimney.”

“I may have been tormenting you on purpose. Just a little bit.”

“I may have noticed,” Tommy says, and looks over at Chim to see his own repressed humor mirrored in Chimney’s eyes. They both break and start laughing, and Tommy feels the tension of the last couple of days ease off his shoulders.

Fuck it, he decides. “Hey Maddie, mind if I borrow your husband?”

“I told you,” Maddie says immediately, pointing at said husband. “That’s dishes for a week.”

“Why do you know this guy better than me,” Chimney complains half-heartedly, accepting the hand Tommy extends.

“Because I listen to my brother when he talks about his boyfriend. Now get out there while there’s still some song left.”

Their joining Evan and Jee on the dance floor seems to be an unspoken signal. Bobby and Athena follow close behind, striking up some kind of ballroom-style dance that has nothing to do with the tone of the song but works perfectly for them; Karen throws back the last of her coffee before she and Hen descend. Maddie and Eddie stay on the sidelines, gravitating toward the refreshments, and Ravi alternates between monitoring his phone and watching them all, looking quietly satisfied.

“I’m letting him handle the timing on the playlist,” Chim says. “He knows his cues.”

“Generous of you.”

(— driving to my house in the middle of the night)

Howie rests his free hand unself-consciously on Tommy’s shoulder, so Tommy places his lightly above Howie’s hip

(know your favorite songs and you tell me bout your dreams)

and imagines, fleetingly, going back in time, maybe in some other universe where he sacked up and got his shit together sooner -

“Red. The rerecording, not the original,” Chimney says, yanking Tommy back to the present, to this universe where everything played out better in the long run anyway.

“What?” he asks, blank.

“For when you decide you owe Taylor a second chance.”

He could point out that Taylor has half the planet under her thrall and will survive without his joining their numbers, but.

“Thanks,” he says instead. Chimney gives him a curious look.

“Any time.”

“Chimney?”

“Tommy?”

“It’s great to see you so happy, man. You deserve it.”

“. . . thanks.” Chim looks over to Jee, his entire face going soft with wonder. “I got really lucky.”

Tommy follows his gaze to watch Evan carefully “twirl” Jee, who’s giggling almost too hard to manage much more than a sort of stomping turn.

“Good job!” Evan exclaims, scooping her back up as the song winds to an end.

“Not doing too bad myself, I guess,” Tommy says, knowing that, if he cared to turn around, he’d see Eddie watching them too.

Chimney snorts and claps his hand on Tommy’s shoulder, then goes to claim his daughter as the next song starts.

“Papa song!” Jee shouts. Chimney laughs and says,

“That’s right, Papa song!”

Evan lingers for a moment to watch them before he turns toward Tommy. Before he can do much more than that, though, there is the distinct sound of a throat clearing behind Tommy. He himself turns to find Athena there, looking at him with an air of arch expectation.

Sorry, Evan. Tommy does not hesitate, holding out his hand in what he hopes is a debonair contrast to can’t stop won’t stop cruisin.

“May I have this dance?”

“Oh, since you asked.”

He hasn’t seen much of Athena since the cruise ship, where his one attempt at a Sergeant Grant had been met with people who help save my husband’s life call me Athena. So they’re on good terms in general, he knows, and Evan told him all about Bobby giving their relationship his blessing, so it’s not unreasonable to assume he’s in good with Athena there, too.

Still, somehow, he’s suddenly got the feeling he’s - if not on trial per se, then at least under investigation.

“I’m afraid my dancing isn’t quite on your level,” he confesses.

“I’ll take care of that,” Athena tells him. “You just keep up.”

She goes easy enough on him that he picks up her rhythm quickly. He may not be a dedicated dancer, but he is well in tune with his body and knows how to make it do what he wants. He has to, to do half the things he does.

“My first time meeting Bobby isn’t the only first meeting of mine you’ve been there for,” she says. “I met Hen the night of that mudslide.”

Getting right to the point, then. He maintains easy eye contact with her, much as part of him doesn’t want to. Sure, that was the call that got the ball rolling, that had Sal dragging him and O’Connell and a couple others out after shift to talk about how to deal with Gerrard for real, but. It shouldn’t have been. That should have happened sooner. Tommy should have - “I’m afraid I didn’t quite witness that historical moment.”

She studies him for a long moment, then:

“I don’t bring it up to have anything out with you. That’s Hen’s business, if she even decides there’s anything left to bring up.”

“You just wanted to see how I’d react,” Tommy says, because it’s obvious enough.

“Bobby trusts you, and I trust his judgment,” Athena answers. “But now it’s looking like you might be around awhile, I needed to see a little something for myself.”

Helena is fine flashes across his mind and he asks,

“Do I pass?”

“It’s not about passing. It’s about never stopping. And you don’t intend to. It’ll do for now.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” he admits.

“You’ll get there.”

She smiles, and that sense of being investigated evaporates. He realizes a new song has started just seconds before Evan is at their side. Athena steps away from Tommy and turns toward Evan immediately with that same expectation, though tempered now with amusement.

“Athena,” Evan complains, even as he also wastes no time accepting the unspoken request.

“You dragged your man out here, the least you can do is let him get a coffee,” she says.

“Next one,” Tommy tells him, then takes his cue and retreats to the refreshments.

Maddie and Eddie have gone off to dance, but Ravi is still there, now with a coffee cup in one hand and his phone in the other. Tommy sets about pouring and doctoring his own coffee, saying,

“I can probably handle that if you want to get out there for a minute.”

“Chimney specifically said not to let you anywhere near the playlist. I’m fine here, anyway. It’s not really about the dancing.”

“No,” Tommy says, “I suppose not. Evan said something about sending a message to Gerrard?”

“To Gerrard, but to them too.” Ravi nods toward his teammates. “Especially Hen and Chimney. It’s not the early 2000s, or even the ‘10s. It’s 2024. Even with someone backing him up, he can only get away with his crap for so long. He’s not gonna win.”

Tommy takes a swig of his coffee. It tastes like it’s pretty good when it’s fresh. “I’m not sure winning is the point for him.”

Ravi shrugs. “It’s not about him. He doesn’t matter. It’s about us. And we’re gonna leave him in the dust.”

Tommy smiles a little against the rim of his coffee cup. He’d already known, just from listening to Evan, that he’d like Ravi. He had failed to guess how much.

It occurs to him, for the first time since Evan dropped this little bomb, that Gerrard has no idea what he’s up against.

“Damn right,” he says.

They have a moment or two of companionable silence to what sounds to Tommy a lot like a more somber take on “Goodbye, Earl” and which he is absolutely fine with having left for Evan to dance with Athena to. For all his protests, Evan is smiling as he and Athena talk, looking happy and relaxed.

He also lets go of her the millisecond the song fades out, with an unapologetic grin that makes her laugh and swat him on the shoulder, saying, “Go on.”

Tommy sets his half-empty coffee on the table as Evan all but stalks toward him. He’s slightly flushed, eyes on Tommy like he’s the only thing Evan can see, and Tommy is all too glad to be dragged out onto the dance floor.

I never trust a narcissist but they love me So I play ‘em like a violin -

“Wait, this is Taylor Swift?” Tommy asks. “I haven’t heard this in years.”Evan blinks at him, thrown; Tommy smirks, drapes his arms over Evan’s shoulders. “It was playing in every club I went to for a while after I came out,” he says, and drops his voice just for Evan to hear. “I did a lot of grinding to this song.”

Evan, to his delight, smirks right back. “We should probably keep it PG,” he says lowly, “but.” He grabs Tommy’s hips, yanking him closer. “That doesn’t mean we have to leave room for Jesus.”

Fuck. Tommy doesn’t kiss him, because if he did then he might not stop, but he does let his gaze drop to Evan’s mouth, makes sure he knows exactly what Tommy’s thinking.

They say I did something bad Then why’s it feel so good?

It’s a long, breathless, suspended moment, heat rising in the little bit of space between them -

A wadded-up napkin bounces off the side of Evan’s head and Maddie shouts,

“Hey, you two! Nothing you wouldn’t do in front of Jee, because you are actually doing it in front of Jee!”

Evan tries to look huffily annoyed, but he can’t hold it, falling into giggles instead. He leans his forehead against Tommy’s, shifting his hold up and around to Tommy’s back, almost respectable. “Sorry, Maddie!”

“Sorry!” Tommy echoes, not in any way giggling a little himself. “Raincheck?” he asks Evan.

“Holding you to it. Also I’m keeping you to myself now.”

“Not going anywhere,” Tommy promises. He came to support Evan, to have that talk with Eddie, and with both of those taken care of, and his fair share of socializing done (complete with shit to unpack later, or maybe not), he just wants to stay with Evan, keep his mood up for the rest of the allotted hour, help him start his shift in a good mood.

The next few songs wash over them; they don’t bother keeping up with changes in tempo, instead swaying together, breathing each other in. He’s going to take Evan dancing, he thinks distantly. To a club at least once, for some of that grinding, but he’s also gonna ask Bobby and Athena where they go. They’ll know some nice places he won’t have heard of.

He and Evan get about three and a half songs together before another one abruptly cuts in. This is one Tommy knows from his clubbing days, too. He realizes belatedly that he heard a car pull up a few seconds ago.

I don’t like your twisted games Don’t like your tilted stage The role you made me play, of the fool No I don’t like you

Evan snorts, looking over Tommy’s shoulder. “Subtle.”

Tommy reluctantly lets go of him (Evan’s hand slides immediately into his), saying, “A little on the nose,” as he turns, knowing exactly who he’s going to see.

It helps, being braced for it this time instead of blindsided.

Gerrard is staring at their little group with distinct displeasure.

“What,” he says, “is this.”

The questions that aren’t questions and never have a right answer. God, Tommy hated those.

Eddie takes off his sunglasses and hooks them into the front of his shirt, looking at Gerrard like he’s the least interesting thing in the world. It is, somehow, mildly terrifying.

Under better circumstances, it would also be kind of hot, which is not a thought Tommy appreciates having right now.

“Taylor Swift dance party, sir,” Eddie says, with no inflection.

- look what you made me do Look what you made me do

Gerrard stares at him just long enough to make it clear that he will not be dignifying that, or Eddie, with a response.

“Anyone who is not with the 118,” he raises his voice to say, “is free to leave.”

“C’mon, Captain,” Evan says suddenly. Tommy grips his hand a little harder as Gerrard’s attention snaps right to them. “Bobby and Athena brought coffee and pastries. There’s still time if you want to grab yourself something, maybe join us?”

It sounds like he’s sucking up; the sarcastic way Gerrard’s mouth tilts says that’s what he’s hearing. But he doesn’t know Evan. He doesn’t know that what it really is is an olive branch, because of course it is, of course Evan is offering him a chance to change his mind even as he knows it’s just going to get smacked away, because who would Evan be if he didn’t try?

Tommy -

Tommy looks at him, his profile and his birthmark and his sincerity, and loves him.

Loves him, loves Evan, and what a moment to realize that.

He doesn’t hear whatever Gerrard has to say in response, just sees Evan’s expression fall, and eases his hold on Evan’s hand so he can give it a gentle squeeze.

Evan squeezes back, and Tommy can’t look away from him.

“- nard. Kinard.”

“Tommy!” Bobby’s voice from across the lot cuts through the pink static, allowing Tommy to wrench his gaze from Evan. He blinks. He’d forgotten, just for a second or two, that Gerrard was here.

Gerrard does not look pleased to have been forgotten.

“Besides,” he says, glancing briefly at their joined hands, “Pawed-over leftovers, when I have a pretty good idea of where some of your hands have been?”

I’m sorry, the old Taylor can’t come to the phone right now Why? Oh - ‘cause she’s dead

“Think about that much?” Tommy didn’t mean to say that, didn’t even know he was going to speak. He shouldn’t have, not when he’s not the one who’s going to pay for it.

He’s having a hard time caring right now (look what you made me do).

Gerrard’s glare narrows in on him.

“Unless you’re here to ask me to talk to your captain about a transfer, Kinard, you don’t belong here anymore.”

“Tommy.” Bobby again, behind him this time, hand delivering a warning squeeze to his shoulder. “Got time for breakfast before your shift? ‘Thena and I would love you to join us.”

Tommy gives himself a mental shake.

“Yeah. Thanks, Cap, that sounds great.” He turns to Evan. “Thanks for inviting me,” he says, sounding mostly normal. Probably. “I had a great time.”

Evan smiles. Tommy doesn’t want to go to breakfast or to Harbor. Tommy wants to bundle Evan back into his car and take him home.

“Me too.” Evan leans in and kisses his temple. It’s not enough, but fine; they don’t really need Gerrard expiring of a heart attack on the spot. “I’ll text you after my shift.”

“Okay,” Tommy says. Even closer to normal this time. Reluctantly letting go of Evan’s hand. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Evan looks a little like he did after Tommy kissed him that first time. Less poleaxed, but shining with -

God, Tommy’s screwed.

0 notes

cyanidedrinkers · 5 months ago

Note

If i may add-on to this: Phillip 'Marine' 'I do shit my way to protect my team' Graves would HATE Trump. No Doubts, Piece of shit 'School shooter victims need to suck it up and get over it' Trump. Trump who, While in office, Did nothing but hurt our military. He'd hear about the shooting and be the first person to say 'I wouldn't have missed' Phillip would see people on twitter saying "That shits so tough, The hero America needs" Then take a good long look at his shadows. At the men and women who's bodies are littered with scars, At the discharge papers of Shadows who couldn't continue serving because of being physically disabled after a mission gone wrong, At the countless times he's checked up on discharged vets only to realize they offed themselves because everywhere they went people would mock them and yell at them, At the 'I regret to inform you' papers he has to send home to families that never get easier for him to write because you know damn well he hand writes every one of those and they're not copy and paste. They're meaningful and show just how much he carried for every shadow. You can't tell me he wouldn't look at all that and like Trump. No. Phillip Graves is Trumps #1 hater and he'd be the first person to point at how bullshit it is that Trump has no problem telling victims of School shootings to 'Suck it up' but the moment he gets shot at it's all crocodile tears and cameras flashing. The same day trump got shot a bar in Alabama got shot up. 4 dead 10 injured, I had to hear about that from my friend who lives near there because the only thing my local news was reporting on was Trump. You can't tell me Phillip Graves wouldn't be the first person to yell 'Fuck the government' at the top of his lungs because he's a quirked up white boy that loves his job and loves the people he works with. He'd give his life to protect his Shadows and he sure as hell wont let some 'Mayo is to spicy' looking MF make their lives worse. And before anyone says 'Graves is a Marine he wouldn't hate the government' My grandfather was a Marine, His father was a marine, and two of my cousins where and still are all Marines. I ask any of them how they feel on the US government they'd go on a rant talking about how shit the US government is that the candidates are horrible people. The governments biggest haters are the military personnel. Why? Because legally their government property and they know what it's like to get fucked over by them ever day, 24/7, for the rest of their lives.

Phillip "America" Graves is sobbing right now.

-Graves is the kind of mother fucker to buy those stupid mugs that say covefee

-Graves is the kind of mother fucker to have a truck that flys two flags. The American flag and a MAGA flag

-Graves is the kind of mother fucker who follows three people on Twitter (I will never call it X). Donald Trump, Elon Musk, and his mom.

-Graves is the kind of mother fucker to own an account on "The Right Stuff" dating app.

If Trump ended up with a cheek scar like Graves, he would fucking LOVE THAT SHIT

NO! NO! NO! NO! DO NOT BRING THAT STINKY RACIST BASTARD INTO MY BELOVED GRAVES’ PERSONALITY!

And no, he’s flying two flags, the American one, and the dont tread on me flag, or the confederacy(not cause he’s racist he just loves the south)

he would definitely hate Biden, but for the sake of my own sanity, I’m going to say he’d also hate Trump, but just because of some of the Project 2025 stuff(some of that stuff is shitty, did we just go back 100 years?) and the riots, since he’d think everyone was acting like cattle, and we all know Graves isn’t a fan of following the group. He also wouldn’t like the felony charges.

honestly though, I don’t think he’d be big into politics, and frankly, I think if you asked him he’d say he just wants “anybody else” like the rest of us, or he’d probably just say “me” because, well, because he’s Graves.

#Dont come at me with this “Graves is a Trump supporter bullshit”#He'd shoot the man in a heart beat and he wouldn't miss

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years ago

Text

If I Fell For You (Part 15) - Trouble In Paradise

Summary: The reader is enjoying settling into her newfound children’s book career and shares how important the bracelet she gave Jensen is to her. A rainy day allows the reader to enjoy her shift into motherhood despite all of the bumps that go with it. But not everything is smooth sailing for the happy couple...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Word Count: 5,600ish

Warnings: language, angst, mention of past abuse, nightmares, major angst

A/N: Uh oh. Big uh oh. Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

________

Two Weeks Later

“Honey bun,” sang Jensen as he stepped into your home office you’d set up in the small reading room in the house. “Must you work today?”

“I do occasionally have to work on that drawing thing,” you said. He pouted and laid out on the daybed, picking up a copy of the third book. “Give me another hour to finish with these pages.”

“Can I hang out and watch you draw?” he asked.

“Knock your socks off,” you said. You picked up your stylus again and went back to your pad, Jensen sitting up and watching from the other side of the room. “You can sit closer if you want.”

He got up and pulled over a chair, crossing his legs in it.

“I basically draw using my stylus and this pad and it shows up on my laptop screen,” you said.

“We could get you a better screen, like your own separate work computer. I know your stories are picking up a lot of steam.”

“I’m okay for now. All I need to do is finish illustrating this book and my five book deal is done and ready for print,” you said.

“Can I make a request?”

“I would love to put in a giraffe for Zepp but the story takes place in the woods,” you said.

“Baby giraffe? Maybe just in the background?” he asked.

You backed out of your current page and went to the last two where the foxes and wolves were playing with their friends. You tapped on a tree and erased it, sketching out a loose shape.

“Look up a giraffe for me?” you asked. He tapped away on his phone and pulled up a picture. “Thanks.”

You drew a picture of a rough giraffe, softening it some before adding colors.

“You’re really good at that,” he said.

“The characters are easy. Backgrounds can get boring,” you said. You went back to your original set of pages and worked quietly, Jensen watching carefully. “Yes?”

“Just wanna spend time with you is all,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Okay, baby,” you said. You worked for another hour, Jensen asking the occasional question but mostly staying silent and close by. After you sent off the pages for review you turned to him, Jensen offering a soft smile in return. “All set with work for the day.”

“Awesome,” he said.

“Where’s the munchkins?”

“A movie,” he said. You ran your fingers through his hair and he leaned into it. “Tell me a secret.”

“A secret? I don’t think I have too many of those left from you,” you said. He opened his eyes and looked at you through his lashes. “What?”

“You said you got this on vacation,” he said, holding up his wrist, the bracelet you’d put on him two weeks ago still there. “When we were down there, I was talking to Ray and he kinda implied it wasn’t just a souvenir.”

“I was upset that day when he bought it for me. It meant I was safe was all,” you said.

“How long after did your mom…”

“A few months. She went on bed rest after that trip.”

“Y/N, I know when you’re holding back, honey. I would never judge or tell anyone anything. You know that.”

“You got hurt because you lost someone and you got hurt and it sucks right? But it’s kinda like something happened and then you heal from it right?”

“Yeah…” he said. “What don’t I know?”

“You know how anxious you were to get in the car and drive down to the beach?” you asked as he nodded. “You’ve never been afraid of a person, Jensen. It’s like that feeling...but everyday and you’re expected to live your life normally when you constantly have that over your head.”

He was quiet, glancing past you as the room grew darker from some passing clouds outside.

“Canada wasn’t the first time you saw your father since you were adopted, was it,” he said.

“You wouldn’t believe what a good lawyer and shitty laws will do for a piece of shit like that,” you said.

“You were a kid.”

“With zero physical evidence. Everything was circumstantial. So he got out and he came to apologize or some bullshit and Ray decked him.”

“The more I learn about Ray, the more I like him.”

“My mom kicked him in the nuts.”

“I really like that woman,” he said. You smiled and he moved his chair closer, pulling you into his lap. “I don’t mean to make you talk about your dad. I was curious was all.”

He went to take off the bracelet when you put a hand over it.

“I don’t want to remind you of something bad, sweetheart.”

“Like I said, I was upset. Very upset and in public and I went down to the beach to try to hide away. Ray bought that for me and told me I was safe when he put it on me. All it means to me is that you’re safe.”

“What about you? What do you have?” he asked quietly. You cocked your head and moved your hand to rest over his chest. “Alright, sort of a dumb question.”

“Not dumb,” you said, trailing your fingers down his chest.

“Guess you’ll just have to stay as close as humanly possible.”

“I don’t have a problem with that,” you said.

“Do you have a restraining order against your father?”

“No but that’s only because Ray managed to get him kicked out of the country. He found some loophole law. He was born in the Yukon so technically he’s not American and he got him kicked back.”

“Scratch that. Ray is my new favorite person,” he said. “If only we could send him someplace we’ll never visit like...a deserted island. Or Hell.”

“I appreciate the thought but I’m not scared of him anymore,” you said. “I am however afraid our plans of lunch at the brewery are going to get rained out.”

“We can enjoy ourselves right here. I’ve never heard a complaint yet about my grilling.”

“You know what? I got the perfect idea.”

“Okay,” said Jensen, sliding the foil packet off the grill and onto JJ’s plate. You’d decided to have lunch on the grill, sitting out under the covered back patio off the playroom. It was pouring rain but you were plenty dry there. “Chicken, marinara sauce and cheese. Then we got chicken, ketchup and baby carrots for Arrow. Zeppy wanted to try barbecue sauce and onion which sounded good to me and then Y/N went for the salmon and lemon.”

You helped the twins open up their foil packets and get their food on their plates, dicing up the chicken for them before going to your own plate.

“Daddy,” said Zeppelin while he chewed on a big piece of chicken. Jensen hummed and worked on his own food. “Can we play race cars after lunch?”

“Sure,” he said, JJ shaking her head.

“I don’t wanna play cars,” she said. Zeppelin stared at her and his bottom lip wobbled. “You’re a cry baby.”

“JJ, that’s rude,” you said, Jensen glancing at you and nodding. “Apologize to your brother.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“We’re gonna play cars after lunch and you’re welcome to join,” said Jensen. “Your brother goes along with what you girls want to play quite a bit so I think you can do the same for him.”

“I still don’t wanna play cars,” she mumbled.

“You play cars with the Padalecki boys all the time,” you said.

“Not little kid cars,” she said. “He doesn’t know how to play right.”

You saw Zeppelin getting upset again and sighed.

“There’s no wrong way to play,” you said. “Zepp’s littler than you. You gotta be the big sister and do what he wants sometimes.”

“Mom would have played dress up,” she grumbled. “Not stupid cars.”

“Enough,” said Jensen. “You’re old enough to know better.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Your brother wants to play cars. We played horses all morning long and you barely let him have a turn at that so like I said, we’re gonna play what he wants and you are welcome to join us but if you don’t want to, you can play something else,” he said.

“Baby,” she said under her breath. Jensen didn’t catch it but you did.

“JJ you’re in timeout after lunch. Ten minutes,” you said.

“I didn’t-”

“You just called him a baby. You want to make it fifteen?” you asked.

“You’re not my mom! You can’t give me timeouts,” she said.

“Half an hour now,” said Jensen. She stared at him and he shook his head. “Eat your lunch.”

Zeppelin spent half of it crying quietly and JJ barely touched hers before she was following Jensen inside. You threw your head back and sighed before you went inside to get some tissues. When you came back out Arrow was hugging him tightly.

“Let’s clean you up, buddy,” you said as you squatted down beside them. She let go of him and you wiped off his face and helped him blow his nose. “Feel better?”

“We can play dress up,” he said. You picked him up and hoisted him on your hip.

“We’re gonna play cars. Arrow, do you want to play with us?” you asked. She smiled and nodded. “Hey how about you go wash your hands and then you can bring out the bucket of cars and we’ll play out here. How’s that sound Zepp?”

“Okay,” he said. Arrow went inside and you carried him around as you collected the trash and threw it in the bag you brought out. You tied it up and left it in the corner to put in the bin later before you you walked to the edge of the covered patio, rain coming down at a decent rate. “Y/N you’re my mom right?”

“I’m one of your moms,” you said. “I’m gonna adopt you that way everybody can know I am though.”

“Cool,” he said softly, resting his head on your shoulder. “Mom can we play in the rain?”

“Hear any thunder?” you asked. He shook his head. “See any lightning?”

“Nuh uh,” he said.

“Then we can play in the rain all you want,” you said. You walked out to the grass and spun around with him, getting a giggle out of him. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” he asked. You spun around again and he laughed.

“There it is again!” you said. He giggled and you spun around a few times until you were dizzy and took a seat. He hugged you and kissed your cheek as you noticed Jensen leaning against the post of the patio. He was smiling and you hopped up with Zeppelin, waving him around in the air until you were back under cover. You set him down and he ran over to Arrow, picking out his favorite cars from the bucket and handing her some.

“Well that might have been one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen,” he said.

“You took a picture, didn’t you.”

“Oh several,” he said. He glanced back at the twins and then at you. “It clicked for you just now didn’t it.”

“Being a mom? Yeah.”

“You didn’t look to me on how to discipline JJ and you made him feel better and you made him laugh. You went full mom there and I’ve kinda been waiting for that.”

“I know it’s just playing they’re arguing over but I just hate...there is so much of you in him,” you said.

“I know and that feeling will never go away but it means you love ‘em and loving them is my only requirement for us working so this was actually a really good thing.”

“Those two are so sweet,” you said.

“It’s the twin thing. Oh what fun we have to look forward to when they are teenagers and they lie to us for one another,” he chuckled.

“Yeah but I’ll take it. Did you really give her a half hour timeout?”

“Fifteen minutes. She needs to share more and he doesn’t like confrontation so he goes along with what she wants but it’s not her road or the highway.”

“She’s been a little…”

“I know. Since we told them about the engagement,” he said. “We gotta talk to her on her own.”

“Let me take a crack at her first?” you asked.

“You got a hunch?”

“I don’t think having a mom again is a problem. I think the idea of losing a mom again is.”

“That makes sense considering she was attached to your hip before all this.”

“I’m gonna go see if I can get to the bottom of this. Now go play cars,” you said. He kissed your cheek and you headed inside, drying off some with a towel in the laundry room before you went up to JJ’s bedroom. You knocked and cracked open the door, catching her splayed out on her bed. “JJ. Can we talk?”

She rolled and put her back to you. You sat down on the edge of her bed and took a deep breath.

“You know your brother did what you wanted all day. You have to share,” you said. She didn’t say anything and you lay back on the bed, turning your head. She rolled back the other way and you sat up. She rolled again and you tilted your head back. “JJ do you want me to be your mom?”

“No,” she mumbled.

“Are you lying?” She didn’t move and you sat back, her face scrunched up. “Are you scared if I’m your mom something bad will happen to me?”

“I don’t want two dead moms,” she said.

“I have two dead moms,” you said. She blinked her eyes open and sat up. “My first mom, I never met her. She died giving birth to me.”

“You only had a dad when you were born?” she asked. You nodded and pulled her into your lap. “Did he get married again?”

“No. My dad was very mad my mom died. He took that out on me. He was a bad guy. He went to jail and I got adopted by my mom when I was your age. Ray was her boyfriend. He acted like he was my dad in a lot of ways. I was sixteen when my mom died. I understand it hurts, sweetie, and that it’s scary and you don’t ever want to feel like that again.”

“I thought if I was bad you and daddy wouldn’t...and then I don’t have to feel bad again.”

“I am so sorry honey but you can’t stop that feeling from never coming back. The only way you could not get it would be to not love anyone or anything and that’s not a life at all. It’s the price you pay for loving someone. Your mom was an accident. But Daddy is young and I’m even younger and I promise you will not have to feel that way about me for a very, very long time.”

“How long?”

“How about fifty years?”

“Fifty years? That’s forever,” she said.

“I’ll give you fifty years if I can be your mom and you stop picking on Zepp. Deal?”

“Okay. I’m sorry I made him cry.”

“I’m not the one that needs an apology,” you said. “Now do you want stay in here all by yourself or do you want to come play with us?”

“I can play?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” you said. You got up and carried her down on your back, setting her down to let her run off out to the porch. Jensen got up from his seat and held up a finger, ducking back inside to where you were.

“That’s what I like to see,” he said as she gave Zeppelin a hug and he handed her a car.

“I did have to promise not to die for fifty years.”

“Fifty? You got off easy. I had to promise a hundred after the accident,” he chuckled. “I should have noticed she was scared.”

“I have more experience being a scared little girl than you do. I got experience with letting people get close again too,” you said.

“How’s that working out for ya?” he smirked.

“He’s lucky he’s hot,” you said. He threw his arm over your shoulders and grinned. “Do you want to get married in the fall?”

“This fall?” he asked.

“Can we pull it off that fast?” you asked.

“Yeah. We don’t have to book a venue which is the hardest part. I don’t see why not. What’s the rush?” he asked.

“It’s easier to adopt them if we’re married,” you said. “I don’t really want to wait longer than we have to if that’s alright.”

“I’d say let’s go drive down to city hall and get a justice of the peace right now if I knew my mother wouldn’t kill me for it. How about I call up the lawyer and ask him to start prepping the paperwork as if we already were so it’s all set to go,” he said.

“You have a lawyer?” you asked. “They’d do that?”

“Y/N, honey. My taxes alone frighten me not to mention I own a business with employees and what qualifies as a business write off still confuses me and wait you don’t have a lawyer for your book deal?”

“Should I have one?”

“Greg is your lawyer now,” he said. “He’s good. He’ll do all the paperwork for us.”

“Oh good cause all the forms online were confusing the hell out of me,” you said. He shook his head and pulled you in close.

“Silly goose,” he said, a loud boom of thunder shaking the house. “Let’s get the crew inside before it pours.”

“Who wants to build a fort?” you asked that afternoon. JJ jumped up and down on the couch and Jensen walked in with an arm full of blankets and sheets. Three little hands shot up and Jensen lazily tossed the blankets on the couch, covering the three of them.

“Hm, where’d those three munchkins run off to…” he said, Arrow ducking her head out first, hair all in her face. Jensen giggled and she rolled her eyes, the other two climbing out. “Alright. I’m gonna grab clothes pins and a few more things. You guys start designing.”

You stood back and let JJ organize, figuring out her first choice of blanket for a roof was too small. Jensen returned with a bag of clips, some twine and the step ladder, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder.

“How they doing?” he whispered.

“Picking out the roof,” you said, Arrow rushing over and grabbing his hand as Zeppelin climbed on JJ’s back and held up a sheet over the two of them with one hand. You smirked and she let out another eye roll.

“Daddy, can you pick up Zeppy so then he can put the blankie up? I told them they’re too small,” she said.

“Sure,” he said. “Tell me where you want it to go.”

Twenty minutes later the family room was covered with sheets, tied off to the stairs, chairs, the ceiling fan after Jensen broke out the larger ladder to get up there and assured you it wouldn’t bring the whole thing crashing down.

“Can we sleep in here tonight?” asked JJ.

“I don’t see why not,” you said. “There’s plenty of room on the couch. We’ll bring down your comforters when it’s bedtime,” you said.

“Can we watch Cars?” asked Zeppelin, glancing at JJ.

“Okay,” she said. She gave him a hug and picked him up, Jensen smiling to himself as he looked on.

“Can we get pizza for dinner like a real sleepover?” asked Arrow.

“We did cook up all the chicken at lunch,” you said, giving Jensen a side eye.

“Yeah we’ll get one,” he said. “Why don’t you turn on your movie okay? We’ll be right there.”

You let Jensen pull you into the kitchen, smirking as he picked you up and sat you on the counter.

“Seems like today’s crisis has been averted,” you said.

“I’m sure they’ll go back to tormenting each other tomorrow but I’ll take it,” he said, reaching into the drawer next to you, pulling out a menu. “So. You interested in pizza?”

“Oh that looks interesting,” you said, taking the pamphlet out of his hand and tapping at a special. “One cheese, one speciality, boneless wings and garlic bread? My little carb loving heart is in love.”

“She’s not the only one,” he said, leaning up on his tip toes and kissing you.

“Are you coming?” groaned JJ from in the fort. You shook your head and Jensen kissed your neck, even nibbling before he pulled back. You smacked his chest and he set the menu down, giving you a wink.

“We’re coming in right now. Don’t wait for us kiddo.”

You woke up sweating, Jensen shushing you, arms wrapped around you. You took a deep breath and caught the clock said it was almost three. You turned in his arms and buried your head in his chest, his hand rubbing up and down your back.

“You’re okay. Bad dream is all,” he said softly. You nodded and started to relax, flinching when there was more thunder. “Hey, it’s okay. Nothing’s gonna get ya.”

The thunder shook the house and you tensed up. Jensen pulled the covers over both your heads and you crammed in as close as humanly possible when more thunder hit.

“Honey look at me. Please look at me.” You lifted your head and saw a horrible face in front of you, a scream ripping out of your throat.

“Y/N,” you heard as you woke up absolutely drenched, Jensen’s hands on your face. “Honey, talk to me. Can you hear me?”

“Night terror,” you said quietly.

“Yeah, JJ used to have them. I didn’t know adults could get them,” he said.

“Can I have a cold washcloth? And some water?” you asked. He got out of bed and padded into the bathroom in his boxers, settling back into bed and handing you the water. You drank it down while he wiped off your face and neck, running it over your head. “Thanks.”

“You okay?” he asked.

“Mostly feel embarrassed.” He frowned and you put the glass on your nightstand, staring down at your sweaty shirt.

“Should I call Ray?”

“It was a stupid nightmare. I’m fine,” you said.

“You were sat up eyes wide open and talking and shouting and I couldn’t wake you up,” he said. “I know adults really shouldn’t be getting night terrors so maybe something triggered you or something during the day.”

“I know my triggers and I know when it’s just a stupid nightmare. Back off,” you said. You got out from under the hot covers and went outside to the balcony, the air nice and cool from the storm earlier. The slide of the door was loud in the the quiet and you rubbed your arm. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve seen you have nightmares. That was a lot worse,” he said.

“I thought I saw someone watching the house earlier.”

“What?”

“It was the neighbor’s kid, the teenager. It was his friend and he came over late but I thought...it freaked me out. That on top of thinking about the fact my father is not rotting in a jail cell most likely sent me over the edge,” you said. He walked in front of you, resting his hands on your arms. “I’m okay. Needed some air was all.”

“Alright. Tell me if something like that happens again?” he asked. You hummed and he gave you a kiss. “Okay, sweetheart. Let’s head on back to bed.”

“What do you mean?” you growled into the phone the next evening. Jensen lifted his head from his book in the family room and you walked away, stepping out to the private patio area on the side of the house. “That’s not possible.”

“It’s been fifteen years. He has every legal right to be in the country.”

“In the country! He got an apartment seven minutes from where I live!” you said. “I have little kids here, Finn. Tell me there’s something I can do.”

“I can get a restraining order-”

“That doesn’t mean shit to him. I need him fucking deported. I need him gone.”

“Y/N, you know me. I have never agreed to it but he paid his debt as it was assigned and he quietly followed the law. He did what he was supposed to and I’m sorry but until he does something, I can’t do anything besides help you and your fiance’s family get a restraining order.”

“So until he does something horrible again, I can’t do anything about it.”

“Y/N.”

“No Finn. I appreciate the heads up but...I have to go.”

You hung up and squeezed your phone tight. He knew where you lived. He was minutes away and there was absolutely zero help until something went wrong. You sat on a bench and bounced your leg. Nothing could go wrong. You couldn’t let anything go wrong. Who knew what the son of a bitch would do to any one of them.

You stopped bouncing your leg just as you heard the door open. You lifted your head and stood, spinning around to Jensen standing there.

“Everything alright?”

“Actually no.”

“Who was on the phone?”

“My ex,” you said, swallowing. You crossed your arms and thought of the things Jensen had told you about acting and getting in character and all that. You were gonna destroy him. Fuck you were going to end up shattering him into a thousand pieces he’d never put back together.

You couldn’t really lie just to keep them away from him, could you?

You saw Arrow run past in the house and made your face hard. Broken heart but safe kids was worth it.

“I thought you didn’t talk to him anymore,” said Jensen. You turned up your chin and he smiled. “You are the worst actress in the world. Who was it really?”

“I think we’re moving too fast and I want to take a break and I would appreciate it if you gave me my space to figure this out on my own.”

“Uh, what?” he said. You brushed past him and he followed you in, all the way up to your bedroom. You got out a bag and he flipped it shut. “What the hell is going on? Who was on the phone?”

“My boyfriend,” you said. He stared at you and you sighed. “You’re a great guy but I’m sorry. I can’t do the house and kids thing. I want to go see the world and not be tied down and you’re just...you’re too damn old for me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Maybe you should have trusted your first instincts when you saw me and Doug,” you said. He stared at you while you shoved some clothes in a bag. You slung it over your shoulder and he caught the backside of it. You took off your ring and put it on the table by the door, Jensen dropping his hand. “I just can’t do this anymore. It wasn’t you. I’m sorry. I really need to go.”

______

A/N: Read Part 16 here!

#spn #supernatural #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen x reader #jensen series #rpf #rpf series #spn fanfic #jensen ackles fanfic #supernatural fanfic

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gusu-emilu · 3 years ago

Text

Ship: Wei Wuxian / Wen Ning

Summary: Wei Wuxian gives Wen Ning a heartbeat, but not in the way either of them expected.

Rated T, No Warnings Apply

POV Wen Ning, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, references to WWX's poor health, First Kiss, Pining, Cuddling, Presumably Unrequited Love, or more accurately: whatever these two have going on, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, and the inherent homoeroticism of necromancy

Ch. 1/2, 6k, read on AO3 above or on Tumblr below

Wen Ning has always known that Wei Wuxian is not someone to hesitate.

The moment Wen Ning enters the Demon Subdue Palace after packing up the last sack of turnips, Wei Wuxian grabs his wrist.

“Come look!” He tugs Wen Ning deeper into the cave, slender fingers wrapped around Wen Ning’s wrist. He grins at Wen Ning over his shoulder. “I’ve made some more demonic devices, probably my best batch yet. I’d like to see the impersonators down in the town copy these!”

Wen Ning steadies his balance, not fully recovered from Wei Wuxian suddenly whisking him away.

Wei Wuxian has never hesitated to touch him. Wen Ning still isn’t quite used to it, having grown up in a family of doctors whose every touch felt calculated, and among clansmen more focused on war and strength than friendship. Clansmen who rarely respected him, never mind showed him affection.

Even now, he exists in a constant state of volatility due to his outbursts of resentful energy. Every family member in the Burial Mounds is careful around him, even A-Yuan at times.

But not Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian is entirely different. Has always been different.

The first time they spoke, Wei Wuxian had already been comfortable with casual touch. Wei Wuxian hadn’t hesitated to lay hands on him to adjust his archery posture—steady hands he can still imagine on his upper arm and around the side of his ribs, friendly pressure like a heavy quilt, as Wei Wuxian comforted and praised him.

Then the war began, and Wei Wuxian choked him in Lotus Pier—furious, merciless hands like paws of a frightened animal. Wei Wuxian hadn’t hesitated then, either. He would’ve fully choked Wen Ning had he not held back enough to let him speak.

Then the war ended. Now Wei Wuxian uses him as an armrest, fixes his hair, arranges talismans on him, even once tried to pick him up and carry him as a joke. (He'd been a bit too weak to manage it for long. Wen Ning hadn’t thought that part was funny.) Now he drags Wen Ning around by the hand, all without hesitation.

Had Wei Wuxian hesitated before raising him from the dead?

Wen Ning isn’t sure which answer would comfort him.

“Take a look at this one,” Wei Wuxian says as he places a stone tablet in Wen Ning’s hand. A faint black cloud winds around the tablet, the smoke’s path tracing the red fulu writings carved into its surface. “Still pretty weak, but I’m getting closer to replicating yin iron with just regular stone.”

Wen Ning glances back and forth between the tablet and Wei Wuxian’s tired but enthusiastic smile. His eyes are bright with joy, but dark circles frame them. He hasn’t eaten much in the past few days, instead focusing relentlessly on his experiments, despite needing to save energy to heal the stab wound from Jiang Wanyin.

But Wen Ning still hasn’t figured out how to make him rest. Maybe admiring the new batch of demonic devices will help calm his inventive frenzy.

He nods, giving a small smile at Wei Wuxian. “That’s good.”

“Weak yin iron will be much easier to use. Better for small applications here and there, less dangerous…” Wei Wuxian squats by the scattered piles of demonic cultivation tools and notes, rummaging through to find another invention, the tablet already forgotten.

The black cloud around the tablet continues to swirl, small wisps seeping into Wen Ning’s skin. The tablet feels more like a block of dust than like stone, but despite his dulled senses, he notices…something else. A second sensation.

A throb.

“Wei-gongzi?”

“Yeah?” Wei Wuxian says, squinting at a page of especially messy notes.

“Does…does this have a pulse?” The stone continues to throb weakly, more of a resonance than a physical sensation, its aura cold like resentful energy.

Wei Wuxian looks up from the papers, one eyebrow raised. “It’s still doing that?” He stands and takes the tablet, examines it. “Hm. This might be good! I’ll have to find out what flow pattern of resentful energy caused this.”

Wen Ning closes his hand. Strangely, he wishes for the tablet to still be pulsing against his palm. It had felt kind of pleasant, if disturbing. “Resentful energy can create a heartbeat?”

“Well, it’s not exactly a heartbeat. But yes, if channeled the right way.”

“…Does that mean I have one?” Behind his back to prevent Wei Wuxian from noticing, he presses three fingers to the inside of his wrist, where years ago Jiejie had taught him how to read the flow of his blood. A black vein of resentful energy now covers those lifeless pulse points. “I’ve never felt it.”

Wei Wuxian turns the tablet between his hands thoughtfully. “No…you don’t have a heartbeat.” Then he grins, one of those sly grins that crosses his handsome face slowly, as if an idea has rushed into him so quickly that he needs to pace his smile just to contain it. Wen Ning doesn’t like those grins, because they make something flutter inside him.

“At least, not yet!” Wei Wuxian adds. “Do you want one? I could figure something out—”

“No, it’s okay. I’m fine without one.” The last thing Wei Wuxian needs is another project to stay up all night for—least of all an unnecessary project that Wen Ning requested by accident. Wei Wuxian has done enough for him already.

“I’m serious!” Wei Wuxian says. “It shouldn’t be too hard. I can test it right now.” He trails a finger over the blood-red writing on the tablet and mutters a few words under his breath. The black smoke around it thickens. “Just something temporary, to see if the idea works.” He steps closer.

Nervousness immediately jolts through Wen Ning. It’s unfortunate that death has muted the nerve endings in Wen Ning’s skin but has done nothing to quiet his anxious mind, which is always at both its most overactive and sluggish around Wei Wuxian.

Wen Ning watches the tablet’s red markings begin to glow, watches Wei Wuxian’s expression harden to a chiseled concentration.

“Come here,” Wei Wuxian says.

If Wei Wuxian’s hunch works, Wei Wuxian will ignore his health until he finishes developing the method to give Wen Ning a permanent heartbeat. If it fails, Wei Wuxian will still ignore his health, this time trying until he finds a different method.

It’s best to not let him try. To give him a firm “no.”

But Wen Ning has never been good at those. Especially when it comes to Wei Wuxian.

He has also never been good at lying to Wei Wuxian. Although he must do so for the sake of Wei Wuxian’s health, it’s hard to admit that he doesn’t miss his heartbeat.

He misses many small details of his body. Jiejie had taught him the ways of Dafan Wen medicine, made him attuned to the evidence of life in himself. He knows how fast his heart rate is supposed to be while lying in bed, knows which pressure points she once worked at to calm his anxiety, knows the irregularities of the breaths he no longer takes.

He used to like his heartbeat, his breath, their soothing rhythm as he fell asleep. It was comforting to understand that much about himself, to follow this evidence of life, when in childhood a piece of his soul had been snatched and left the rest of him a puzzle.

Now the lack of this evidence of life feels like a testimony against him.

Wei Wuxian could return some illusion of life to him. Would be happy to do so.

Selfishly, Wen Ning wants him to try. Being a walking experiment has its unsettling moments—more accurately, a constant hum of discomfort—but there is something morbidly enchanting about letting Wei Wuxian mold him into whatever he envisions. Into the magnum opus of a genius.

An even more selfish part of him wants to beg Wei Wuxian to try, because how symbolic would it be for Wei Wuxian to restore his heart, of all things…

“Wen Ning?” Wei Wuxian asks softly.

“Okay,” he answers, and instantly regrets it.

Wei Wuxian smiles again, this time the smile he saves for when he is about to tinker with the Ghost General. Wen Ning has learned all of his smiles by now, and he still doesn’t believe that there is one specially for him. But Wei Wuxian gives him that reassuring nod, the warm curve of his lips, the eager yet slightly rueful glint in his eyes, and Wen Ning can only recall seeing that expression the previous times Wei Wuxian rewrote pieces of him.

Wei Wuxian explains exactly what he’s going to do and how the resentful energy will flow. Wen Ning nods, and Wei Wuxian rests a hand on Wen Ning’s chest—casually, moving without hesitation, like always. “It won’t actually restart your heart. Just give the illusion of a pulse for a few minutes.” He furrows his brow as his focus intensifies. “That is, if it works.”

The feeling of Wei Wuxian’s hand on the center of his chest is stabilizing, yet it sets Wen Ning’s mind into disarray, despite how many times he has felt this before.

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes, preparing to reroute the resentful energy inside Wen Ning.

A cool stream of energy enters Wen Ning. Growing colder, gushing rapidly—

Freezing—

Then over almost instantly.

Wei Wuxian opens his eyes. “Feel any different?”

Wen Ning feels a bit dizzy, which is new. He hasn’t experienced vertigo since becoming a fierce corpse. But that fades quickly, and soon he is left with only the feeling of thick fabric pressing against his chest where Wei Wuxian’s hand rests.

He shakes his head. “Do…do you feel anything?”

Wei Wuxian shifts his hand, presses harder against Wen Ning’s chest. Waits, then sticks three fingers in the groove of Wen Ning’s neck, and that feels nice. Wen Ning almost wants to hold his hand there—

“No. I guess it didn’t work.” Wei Wuxian sounds much more tired than before. He removes his hand.

“That’s okay. I don’t need a heartbeat.”

“You want one though, yeah?” Wei Wuxian begins sifting through the inventions scattered across the cave, perhaps looking for another device, perhaps just hunting for kindling to spark an idea.

Wen Ning had been too selfish by agreeing to this. Who knows how long Wei Wuxian will research this now?

“I don’t want you to start another project,” Wen Ning says, and the faint thread of anger in his voice is stronger than he intended, even though that anger is mostly directed at himself. It's been harder to control his emotions since resentful energy began feeding them.

Wei Wuxian looks up, startled. Then he grins and gives a small laugh. “Are you turning into your jiejie now? Bossing me around…”

The joke only strengthens Wen Ning’s resolve. It reminds him that he can invoke Jiejie’s authoritativeness. He has never been good at following in his sister’s footsteps, but calling upon her immovability is almost as effective at steeling him as resentful energy. “You should sleep or come help us outside instead of always working in here.”

Wei Wuxian rubs his eyes. “I know, I know. You’ve all told me many times.” He seems to regret the slight bite in his tone. He tends to snap once in a while, the effect of stress lashing out from behind his mask, but it always dissolves as quickly as it appears.

“I’ll listen to you,” Wei Wuxian says, gently this time. Wen Ning feels a wave of relief. But then Wei Wuxian smirks and adds, “For now. I really do have some theories I want to test.”

“But—Wei-gongzi—”

Wei Wuxian rises to his feet and walks over to him. Stands and looks at him for a while, then says, almost murmurs, “I have enough projects for myself.” He tucks a strand of hair behind Wen Ning’s ear, and Wen Ning nearly melts. “Let me do something that’ll make you happy.”

This is bad. Very bad.

Wei Wuxian isn’t even telling the truth. His projects are all for the protection of Wen Ning’s family, not for himself. But the fond touch, combined with the sweetness in Wei Wuxian’s voice, is already enough to make Wen Ning bend.

He would much rather take care of Wei Wuxian than be taken care of. But if he weren’t worried about being a bother, he would tangle his hair just for Wei Wuxian to run his fingers through it, to twirl and comb and braid it the way he unravels and reorders the resentful energy inside Wen Ning.

“You really don’t need to. Getting a heartbeat was just an idea,” Wen Ning mumbles.

“And a good idea! We all need more comforts around here, don’t we?” Wei Wuxian nestles three fingers in the groove of Wen Ning’s neck to search for a pulse again, his brow knit in thought. Despite himself, Wen Ning can’t help but be glad that he can feel that touch a second time.

When Wei Wuxian experiments on him, the tugs and surges of resentful energy don’t exactly feel good. It’s like ice cracking under his skin, leaving shards that poke out of him. Or like the bony hand of a skeleton yanking at his insides, ripping him apart and rattling the pieces around.

The pain and discomfort frighten him. Remind him of what Wei Wuxian is capable of. What Wen Ning is capable of.

Yet he finds enjoyment in the fear, in the icy fingers of resentful energy, because those are the shadows of Wei Wuxian’s hands on him, reshaping him.

And before Wei Wuxian experiments on him…that feels too good. The doting—almost loving—attention, the careful examination, mumbled words, soft touches…

Wei Wuxian pulls his hand away and brings it to his own throat. His glance darts around the cave as he seems to calculate something in his mind.

Then he grabs Wen Ning’s hand and presses Wen Ning’s fingers into his neck. The sensation comes delayed, but Wen Ning feels it.

A pulse. Wei Wuxian’s pulse.

Wei Wuxian continues looking around the cave and thinking, as if this is just another ordinary step in a routine. But to Wen Ning, this is—this is—have they ever done something this intimate? How can Wei Wuxian let him feel the rhythm of his pulse, of his life force, and act like it’s nothing?

Somehow that makes it even more intimate, that Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to mind…

Wen Ning counts the beats to himself.

Too slow. Not by much, but Wei Wuxian’s heart rate is too slow for his age, his size.

Wen Ning would make a mental note to tell Jiejie, but he knows she’s already aware. Wei Wuxian’s health has been deteriorating since he stepped back into the Burial Mounds.

“Wei-gongzi?”

“Mn?”

“I…I have a different idea.”

Wei Wuxian lifts Wen Ning’s hand from his neck, but doesn��t let go. He smiles. “What’s that?”

“You can just give me the tablet.” Wen Ning looks down at the slab of stone, thin black wisps of smoke swirling around it. “I can feel its heartbeat.”

“You don’t want your own?”

He shakes his head.

Wei Wuxian playfully taps the back of Wen Ning’s hand a few times. Four times, to be exact. Wen Ning can’t help counting. “That heartbeat isn’t very human, though.”

Neither am I, Wen Ning wants to say, but he knows Wei Wuxian will scold him if he does. “It would be more than enough,” he says instead.

“You’re going to make the Yiling Laozu feel like a fraud if you let him give you scraps and call it ‘more than enough.’” He sighs and glances down at the tablet. “But you can take it until I come up with something better.”

“Then…is there something that you don’t think is a scrap?”

Wei Wuxian brings Wen Ning’s fingers to his neck again, and the warm pulse hums through his fingertips. “Well, there’s my heartbeat.” He winks. “I’d still call that a scrap, though.”

“No it isn’t,” Wen Ning blurts.

Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows. Then his expression turns thoughtful. “Would you rather keep feeling mine?”

Wen Ning doesn’t reply, but he knows his face says everything. Not even rigor mortis can hide the answer.

“Forget about that useless rock, then.” Wei Wuxian pats his chest. “I’ll be your heartbeat for now.”

Wen Ning is sure that if he still had blood flow, he would be flushed. Panicked energy begins to twitch inside him. “N-No, it’s okay—”

“You don’t want my finest craftsmanship, and you don’t want my scraps! What am I going to do with you?”

“Nothing,” Wen Ning answers quietly.

“Yes, something.” He takes Wen Ning’s hand and tugs him toward the slab of stone he uses as a bed. “Hm. How should we do this? Maybe—”

“Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning says, exasperated. He likes that Wei Wuxian never hesitates, never slows down—it’s attractive, in a frustrating kind of way—but it often leaves Wen Ning in the dust with his mind still sputtering and struggling to function.

“Alright, sit here.” Wei Wuxian gestures toward the bed. “If you want to,” he adds.

It’s pointless to ask if Wen Ning wants to. He wonders if Wei Wuxian knows that he doesn’t need Chenqing or yin iron to make him do just about anything.

Suddenly filled with dread, a dread that he is going to like this too much, he steps forward and awkwardly sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Perfect,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. He taps Wen Ning’s knee twice. “Spread your legs.”

Now Wen Ning is certain that he would be flushed if he were alive. “S-S-Spr—what?”

“Hey.” He smirks and points a finger at Wen Ning. “Who taught you to have thoughts like that? Don’t worry. I just need you to make room for me.”

Wen Ning gets out some garbled form of “okay” and spreads his legs, creating enough space for Wei Wuxian to sit on one of his knees.

Which Wei Wuxian does.

Sit on his knee.

He also wraps his arms around Wen Ning’s neck and pulls him closer until his cheek touches Wei Wuxian’s chest.

“I can’t do all the work myself.” He cups Wen Ning’s chin. “You have to move too.”

Wen Ning swallows—by habit, since he doesn’t really need to do that anymore—and positions himself so his ear rests over Wei Wuxian’s heart. He can’t feel Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat through the robes, but the gentle sound of thum, thum seeps into him right away.

Warmth, too. A lot of warmth.

“Good?” Wei Wuxian hums.

Wen Ning makes a small noise of contentment in the back of his throat. He fiddles with his hands in his lap, trying and failing to find a good place for them that isn’t Wei Wuxian’s legs. “I hear it.”

“Only hear it?”

He opens his mouth to object, but he knows that Wei Wuxian will spot the lie before it leaves his lips.

Wei Wuxian opens the collar of his dark outer robes and lets Wen Ning rest his head on the thin red inner garment.

Even warmer. Softer.

He can feel Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat.

He hasn’t felt something like this since he was a child. It’s…not what he expects.

Jiejie had taught him how to take a person’s pulse. How to place three fingers on each wrist and find the six pulse positions corresponding to the meridians of the body, to identify the different types of pulses—their depth, width, length, strength. How sometimes the pulse feels like beads rolling along a table, while other times it feels like the crisp pluck of a guqin string, and so on, each revealing secrets of the body, guiding how to best heal the patient.

All that knowledge had once been exciting. It seems mundane, now.

The medical analogies for a pulse at the wrist, Wen Ning realizes, don’t work to describe what a heartbeat from the chest feels like when it’s pressed against his cheek.

It’s like wading in a warm stream, sunshine beating on him. The gentle lap of current, its smooth rhythm—thum, thum—like the most natural and simple form of expression.

Wen Ning wishes Jiejie had instead taught him how to decipher a person’s soul by listening to their heartbeat, because with this strange, steady language reverberating in his ear, it almost seems possible.

“Now?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Wen Ning doesn’t make a sound this time.

He counts Wei Wuxian’s heartbeats and tries to guess how many fit into a minute. They remain like that, long after Wen Ning loses count, with Wei Wuxian’s warm body in his lap. They both relax, and Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat eventually fades into Wen Ning, like it’s his own.

His awareness returns when he notices Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat slowing even more. He pulls away, immediately missing the comforting solidness of Wei Wuxian’s chest, and looks up to see a calm, drowsy expression on Wei Wuxian’s face. His eyes are heavy-lidded and almost fully closed.

“We’ve been telling you,” Wen Ning says softly. “You don’t sleep enough.”

Wei Wuxian rubs his eyes. “You really are becoming bossy.”

“I just want you to take care of yourself.”

“You and your jiejie are like a pair of vultures. Circling me when I’m weak and picking at me!” He gives a wan smile and reaches around Wen Ning’s back to rub his shoulder. “But I appreciate that you care about me.”

Wen Ning absorbs the feeling of Wei Wuxian stroking his shoulder, the thrum of Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat still lingering in his ear. “I appreciate that you care about me, too,” he mumbles.

He’s not sure if Wei Wuxian hears, but figures he knows anyway.

* * *

The next day, Wei Wuxian lets Wen Ning listen again.

And the day after.

And the day after that.

It becomes a pattern, as reliable as the beat of Wei Wuxian’s heart. Wei Wuxian is more likely to skip a meal or lose a night of sleep than he is to shirk his self-proclaimed “heartbeat duty,” and Wen Ning begins to wonder if Wei Wuxian likes it as much as he does.

Then Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli show up in Yiling.

That night, Wei Wuxian drinks like he wants to waterboard himself.

He forgets about heartbeat duty after that. Wen Ning lets him.

* * *

Two weeks later, Wen Ning brings a medicinal draught Jiejie prepared to the Demon Subdue Palace. The sun outside sank long ago, leaving behind deep blues and browns that bleed into the entrance of the cave. A single candle flickers on a rock shelf in the cave wall, illuminating the craggy wall and the floor strewn with bits of metal and wood and crumpled talismans.

Astoundingly, Wei Wuxian is not hunched in the corner scribbling away. He’s in bed scribbling away, his sleeves rolled up and his tied-back hair slightly disheveled the way they are when he digs in the mud pond for the lotus pods that won’t grow.

He hadn’t come out to farm since the day before. Wen Ning wonders if he’s fixed his sleeves or his hair since then.

Wen Ning steps over as quietly as he can manage with his clumsy feet and waits beside the bed, holding the draught with both hands and feeling a faint sensation of its warmth. “Wei-gongzi?”

Wei Wuxian presses the wooden end of his brush into the corner of his mouth. “Do you know how to make a Spirit-Attraction Flag attract only ghosts of a certain age?”

“…No.”

“Mn. I—wait—” He cuts off and draws what looks like disjointed pieces of an array scribbled in the margins around rejected brushstrokes.

Wen Ning lets him write for a while, then says, “My jiejie made this for you to drink.”

“And why,” Wei Wuxian asks without a pause in his writing, “is she spending resources on me instead of saving them for A-Yuan and the others?”

“You need medicine, too. Because your stab wound still hasn't healed, and—and Jiejie says your body still isn’t used to not having a gold—”

Wei Wuxian abruptly stops writing. Wen Ning clamps his mouth shut, and wishes he hadn’t said anything.

With a lack of pleasure that he fails to hide, Wei Wuxian scribbles a few more things, then stands up, slices a cut in his finger, and begins trailing red lines on a Spirit-Attraction Flag. “I’m going down the mountain to test this.” He looks over at Wen Ning with a softened expression and walks out of the cave.

Wen Ning doesn’t need him to say that it’s an invitation to follow. He always accompanies Wei Wuxian down the mountain. He’d rather Wei Wuxian sleep, but at least leaving the Burial Mounds always puts him in a better mood.

After they pass through the final protective array and the forest around the path begins to change from grim black leafless trees to green trees shaded blue by moonlight, Wei Wuxian seems to relax. But instead of testing the flag in the clearing where he usually does, he continues walking.

They reach the edge of the forest. A few clouds in the sky hide some of the stars, but the moon is out, a bright half of a silver coin. They pass the town from a distance, still close enough to see amber dots of light from the few lanterns lit at this time of night, but far enough that even Wen Ning’s sharp vision can’t discern clear shapes of the buildings. Wei Wuxian stares at the town once in a while, as if he can see something in the muddied blocks of light.

They enter a different patch of forest and stray just far enough inside for tree branches to reach across the sky again.

Wei Wuxian holds up the flag and examines it.

He lowers the flag to his side.

“Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning says quietly.

“Yes?”

“Did you…”

He trails off when Wei Wuxian begins slowly rolling up the thin canvas. “I think I just wanted to go for a walk,” he says. “I’ll let the spirits rest today.” He sets the folded flag on a large rock and sits on the ground, his back against the stone, looking out at the plains and town from the recesses of the forest.

“I like walking with you,” Wen Ning says, and sits beside him.

Wei Wuxian usually buries his sorrow in his projects, in the crop fields, in his games with A-Yuan. This aimlessness is the closest glimpse Wen Ning sees of Wei Wuxian’s true state of mind. Wei Wuxian ensures that he is alone whenever he truly lets in his sorrow, but Wen Ning accompanies him during the times when he comes close. As if Wei Wuxian wants him to see—wants someone to see—but refuses to reveal everything.

No one else but Wen Ning has sat next to Wei Wuxian while he draws portraits for no particular reason (he never shows them to Wen Ning, but Wen Ning can guess whom he draws), no one else has slept across the cave from him while he mumbles in his sleep, no one else has wandered down the mountain at night with him.

Wen Ning doesn’t know if he should feel privileged or worried that Wei Wuxian lets him see this much.

He doesn’t think he deserves to know Wei Wuxian’s deepest thoughts, but he wants Wei Wuxian to pass more sorrow onto him, let him shoulder some of the pain. Wen Ning’s heart is dead, he can take it.

“Wen Ning,” Wei Wuxian says. He smooths his robes, adjusts his fitted sleeves. “I haven’t done heartbeat duty in a while, have I?”

“You don’t need to.”

“Maybe I want to.”

Wen Ning looks down at his knees, but Wei Wuxian scoots closer.

With their backs against the rock, Wei Wuxian hugs him in, rests his hand on the side of Wen Ning’s head, cradling him against his chest. Wen Ning tucks his arms away, trying not to touch Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian takes one of his hands.

“It’s okay,” Wei Wuxian says.

Wen Ning waits a moment, wishing he had proper breath to steady himself, then carefully wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian, nestling close to his slender frame.

It feels different this time. Not because their position is different, or because Wuxian’s heartbeat is any faster or slower, stronger or weaker.

There is no purpose this time. It isn’t for Wen Ning to experience sensations more fully. It isn’t for Wei Wuxian to find comfort.

They are just two bodies cast aside from life, bodies that struggled to catch each other during their fall until they landed in each other’s embrace.

Holding Wei Wuxian feels as natural as his heartbeat, as inevitable as each thrum beneath where Wen Ning rests his head.

And just as fleeting.

Wei Wuxian is more alive than any person he knows, yet is wasting away more each day, having given up everything to protect the Dafan Wen.

And Wei Wuxian is not his. Only one thing ties them together: they have each made the other into a member of the living dead.

With whom did it start? Was it Wei Wuxian, who brought Wen Ning back as a fierce corpse, or was it Wen Ning, who held Wei Wuxian down as his core was removed? Or was it the world that did this to both of them?

But despite the thread of shared death that ties them together, Wei Wuxian could break that connection if he wanted to.

Wen Ning is bound to his family, bound to this unnatural body, bound to Chenqing's laments. He can never reenter the world.

But Wei Wuxian...

One day, Wei Wuxian may have the chance to belong in the world again. With his shidi and shijie, with Lan Wangji.

Wen Ning will always be banished to the margins of the world.

“How long are you going to live with us?” Wen Ning finds himself asking.

Leaves rustle quietly in the forest, clouds disappearing above their heads to reveal more stars against the dark liquid sky. An owl hoots questioningly far behind them.

“Until tomorrow,” Wei Wuxian says. “Ask me again tomorrow, and I’ll tell you again.”

“I can’t ask you that every day.”

“Then don’t ask me at all.” He strokes Wen Ning’s hair, over the back of his head and down his back. “I’m not leaving.”

Wei Wuxian continues playing with Wen Ning’s hair, running his fingers through it, stopping occasionally to work out a tangle. Not for the first time, Wen Ning wishes he could feel touch more strongly. He had dreamt of moments like these as a teenager, gentle caresses from Wei Wuxian, impossible moments. He hadn’t realized he would receive them one day after they had given up their lives for each other.

“When do you think we’ll get our next visitor?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Think I can make that Spirit-Attraction Flag into a Guest-Attraction Flag?” He chuckles. “We can hang it at the ridge. People will be drawn from miles to come talk to us. Tell Uncle Four to get lots of fruit wine ready." He fiddles with the sleeve of Wen Ning's robe. "I’ll have you test out the flag. Wear it like a cloak, and go walk around Yiling to see how many friends you make.”

“I can barely get anyone to buy turnips from me.”

“Change of plans, then! I’ll make a Customer-Attraction Flag, and we’ll finally be rich.”

Wen Ning smiles. “What are we going to buy once we’re rich?”

“Toys for A-Yuan.” Wei Wuxian rubs across Wen Ning’s shoulders, back and forth. “Every toy in Yiling.”

“We should buy every toy in Lanling, too.”

“That’ll need a lot more money. We’ll have to grow bigger turnips.”

“A giant one.”

“A single giant turnip?” Now there is real laughter in Wei Wuxian’s voice. “I’ll have to plant you as the seed to grow something big enough. Don’t tell your jiejie. Although she might figure it out when you disappear, and meanwhile a turnip the size of the Burial Mounds takes over Yiling.”

“I still won’t tell her.”

Wei Wuxian makes a low humming sound. “I can always count on you.”

Wen Ning melts more into Wei Wuxian’s embrace, surrounded by his warmth.

“Too bad that no matter who we bury in the lotus pond,” Wei Wuxian says with a sigh, “those plants still don’t want to sprout.” This time he doesn’t rub Wen Ning’s back or fiddle with him while he talks.

He’s never said something like that about the lotus crop without following it up with a confident proclamation—But when have I ever not achieved the impossible?, They’ll poke their heads out soon!, My lotus flowers will be the biggest you’ve seen, just wait!

He’s never left hanging the chance that the lotus crop might not grow.

Wen Ning waits for the cocky remark, but it doesn’t come. “They’ll sprout if you’re the one growing them,” Wen Ning suggests, filling in the declaration that Wei Wuxian missed.

“…Yeah.”

Wen Ning’s stomach sinks. He looks up. Wei Wuxian smiles at him and guides him to rest against his chest again.

“It’s only been two weeks. They might take a while,” Wen Ning says, his face nearly turned into Wei Wuxian’s robes.

“I’ll just cheat and make a Lotus-Attraction Flag.”

“I’ll help you.”

“Of course you will. You’ll also help me with the flag for attracting guests to marvel at the beauty of our lotus pond!”

Guests again.

Wen Ning knows that Hanguang-Jun had visited on the day his consciousness returned. Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli had met with Wei Wuxian soon after. Both left marks on Wei Wuxian.

Is he thinking about them?

Wishing he had warmth of his own to give Wei Wuxian, Wen Ning hugs him tighter. He's not sure if they lower to the ground in one movement or slowly slide down, but eventually they lie on their sides, facing each other, arms tight around each other. Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat speaks, and Wen Ning listens.

I’m lonely, it whispers. I’m so lonely.

Who is there in the Burial Mounds for Wei Wuxian to feel the same affection toward as he feels about Hanguang-Jun? Or to provide the same comfort as the company of his siblings?

Everyone in the Burial Mounds has tried their best to provide the support of a new family for Wei Wuxian. He has even called them his family. But try as they might, how could the Dafan Wen replace his shidi and shijie?

The shidi and shijie Wen Ning helped Wei Wuxian save, only to steal him away from. He knows that it was Wei Wuxian’s choice to lead the Dafan Wen to the Burial Mounds and live with them, but would he have made that choice if he had never formed a relationship with Wen Ning and his sister? The thought makes guilt churn in his stomach.

“Wei-gongzi?”

Wei Wuxian runs his thumb in gentle circles over Wen Ning’s shoulder. “Yes?”

“Is that something you want?” He pulls away from Wei Wuxian’s chest to look up at him, though not quite into his eyes. “Guests?”

“Don’t take that all so seriously. If guests come, would they be as good of a drinking buddy as Uncle Four, or as good of a storyteller as Granny, or as energetic as A-Yuan? They couldn’t compete.”

“But you meant it,” Wen Ning says, surprised at the force in his own voice, quiet as it is. “I’ll help you bring guests here.”

Wei Wuxian smiles and brushes his thumb over Wen Ning’s cheek, the touch warm and soft like hushed words. “You’re already too good to me. Don’t worry about me.” He sighs and looks up at the sky. “Each of us will have things we want, but can’t have. It’s just part of living.”

Wen Ning, too, looks up at the star-studded sky through the dark silhouettes of trees. The full shapes of the constellations are broken up, but he can picture which stars are waiting behind the black hands of tree leaves.

As he follows the disjointed forms of the constellations, he decides that he will relieve Wei Wuxian’s burdens.

He is not sure at what moment he makes the decision, but it settles into his bones and becomes his purpose for the night.

Not just for the night. For as long as Wei Wuxian is by his side.

The day Wen Ning’s consciousness was restored, he had heard A-Yuan singing a song about walking the “single-log bridge.” Curious, Wen Ning had asked where A-Yuan learned the song.

“Xian-gege,” had been the answer. The song’s lyrics had been about Wei Wuxian walking alone into darkness.

Wen Ning will not let him walk alone.

If Wei Wuxian wants to walk the single-log bridge, Wen Ning will carry him across it.

“Will you tell me about them?” Wen Ning asks.

“About what?”

“The things you want, but can’t have.”

* * *

Thank you for reading! Next chapter is coming soon. If you enjoyed this fic, come visit me on AO3!

#ningxian #mdzsnet #theuntameddaily #wen ning #wei wuxian #mdzs #cql #the untamed #mdzs fanfic #cql fanfic #the untamed fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #cql fanfiction #the untamed fanfiction #emilu creations #emilu fics

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an-annyeoing-writer · 3 years ago

Text

vulnerability. – chap. 2.

Story info:

Pair: Byun Baekhyun x Reader

Rating: +18 for mentions of s*x and violence (future chapters)

Genre: angst, smut

Chapter info:

Release date: 4th June 2021

Word count: 2 751

Warnings: mentions of criminal activity

Vulnerability Masterlist || Fanfiction Masterlist || Ko-Fi

Taglist:

@shesdreaminginoverdose @mybiasdashboard @marimsun @byuns-asscheeks @multi--kpop--fanfics @vunv @making-me-blush @skittlez-area512 @bloopbloopkai @byuns-asscheeks @baekyeonoreo @kimcarinaa

Please, always comment on the newest chapter if you wish to be added to/removed from the taglist. I will be also checking the tags, so if you're shy – feel free to leave a note this way.

Previous (Chap. 1.)

Chap. 2.

“What’s my name?”

“Baekhyun.”

“Wrong.”

A stroke of the riding crop over her chest makes the woman whimper. She’s older than him, but it doesn’t matter. Right now, everything about her – her age, name, wants and aversions – they’re all reduced to the leather collar around her neck.

“How are you to address me?”

“Master” she doesn’t hesitate.

The man does, though – he stares her down just for a few seconds, as if to judge her, before he speaks again.

“Good.”

Her gaze follows him as he walks slowly around her, observing her body’s reaction. She’s not to move, not to ask questions. She’s to accept it.

“I’m going to beat you with the crop now. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Bend over.”

* * *

The day was long, but Baekhyun found himself relieving stress in one of his favorite ways.

This time, he sat in The Queen of Spades alone, sipping whiskey and silently watching people around him, eventually ending up staring into the alcohol’s surface instead, until it disappeared entirely and there were only a few pieces of ice at the bottom left to look at. Once they melted, he’d drink them up as well – and it would probably happen, as he wasn’t about to leave anytime soon. There was not much to do.

His eyes landed on the small cut on the inside of his palm, placed next to the glass; the cut was still fresh, but not deep enough to require medical assistance, or even bandaging for that matter. Accidents happened – in some jobs more than in others. The best he could do was to make sure that accidents like this would not follow him back home.

He heard his phone vibrate, but it took him a few seconds to pick it up.

“Hello.”

“Hi there, Hyunie.”

The familiar voice made him sigh deeply with annoyance.

“You don’t sound happy to hear me,” the feminine voice on the other side spoke in slight offense.

“Sorry, it’s not your fault, Luna, I thought I’d be off for the night,” he admitted honestly; the woman’s presence was not something he minded much, but she wasn’t one who ever brought good news, so his mood instantly dropped the moment he heard her voice.

“Well, tonight you can rest, I have something for tomorrow, though.”

Baekhyun exhaled, already rubbing his temples.

“Spill it, I guess.”

“It’s an office. They have a very good security and our hacker couldn’t get in, so we need someone to go there and get some physical copies out, take a few pics and then leave them where they were. No footprints. We need the copies by Monday, and I’ll send someone to give you the details in person tomorrow.”

“Alright. I’ll be waiting.”

“One more thing.”

“What’s that?” He was ready to hang up; thinking became too tiring. But tomorrow; tomorrow, he’d consider this; now was his time off.

“You did leave footprints today, everyone knows. That you got in trouble, and the police were called. What if they recognize you?”

The man snorted in response.

“No way, I know our safety measures. I wouldn’t let them see my face. It was just an accident, okay. A harmless one. I know better and it won’t happen again” he elaborated, feigning confidence – anything just to make this conversation end.

“Are you sure it was harmless?” Luna was the most composed as she spoke, her voice completely ridden of emotions, and that was what started to worry him. As he knew, carelessness and light humor were typical of her, not this seriousness and solemnity.

“What do you mean?”

“The police have a sample of your blood” she finally spilled. “It wasn’t enough to extract your DNA, but it’s already something. Be careful next time, could you?”

His heart dropped. Confidence was gone.

“…Got it.”

“That’s all. Just take care of yourself, Hyunie.”

“Yeah…”

“Sleep well tonight. You have a long day ahead.” She made a quiet smooch sound.

“Goodnight, Luna.”

The line went dead.

For the next few minutes, Baekhyun stared straight ahead, seemingly deep in thought.

In fact, though, he was depleted of thoughts. He was stuck in the bubble of no thinking, no reasons, no emotions, as his brain processed the information it just gathered, but the process was happening outside of his consciousness.

He wished to stay in his thoughtless bubble for longer, but the thin barrier between his consciousness and his internal dialogue finally broke, and he was flooded with everything that he’d been keeping at bay ever since the conversation started.

And so, Byun Baekhyun started contemplating all the things that he preferred to keep away from himself, so as to not spiral into depression and frustration.

He chose a job, thinking, that the breach of law will give him the freedom he desperately wanted.

He ended up dependent on other people to the point where not even the law could protect him anymore; exactly the opposite – the law didn’t seem much of an obstacle anymore, in comparison to all the other things he got tangled in. It wasn’t a lifestyle that one could escape, and he’d learned it way too late.

He tried to achieve independence, but he became a pawn in other people’s hands, irrelevant to the big things happening around; trusted and respected, yet simply disposable at someone else’s command.

There was only one way he knew that could help him regain the sense of control.

And that was how Byun Baekhyun coped.

* * *

“Bend over.”

She obliges without a question, leaning over the table in front of her. Apparently, he’s interested in her behind, rather than the chest that was only a bit pink from the previous hits. She’s an obedient, but slightly frisky one, one that aims to please while also hoping for some pleasure for herself, getting bored easily, but also fussy if something goes not as she wants. Baekhyun breaks her spirit every time they meet, ridding her of any remaining selfishness.

But she enjoys the pain. He makes sure she enjoys nothing else.

The first hit makes her moan, rather than resist. Her skin is smooth, with no scars, and he makes sure it won’t stay this way for much longer, at least for the next few weeks that it will take to heal after he’s done.

The next few swats must feel nice as well, but then her voice falters and turns into quiet whimpers. She doesn’t try to move away, instead, she leans back, at least for the next few hits until it becomes too much and she tries to move away instead.

She doesn’t speak, and neither does he; the sound of the riding crop hitting her bottom mixes with her breath becoming strained and whines becoming louder from pain.

* * *

It was a few days later that Baekhyun sat again in his favorite, cozy area of The Queen of Spades, with a man taller, but younger than himself; it was not so difficult to be taller than Baekhyun, but at the age of 29, most of the people in his circle of closest friends were younger, while most of the ones in his work field were older, which was some sort of a good sign, meaning that he’s worth more than most people of his age.

29 years old – a confusing age. He should have had his life figured out by now, and, to some extent, he had – he knew what he was good at, and what he could do to slowly ensure himself a stable retirement. But to say he was pleased with his career of choice would probably be a misstatement. Yet, that was what he had, and that was what he needed to accept.

They sat on the leather couch that he usually occupied. The taller, bar-styled table and two chairs were on the right side of the couch – he usually used them when carrying on serious conversations. But currently, he was there just to rest, and so in use was the couch. He glanced at the man on his side – leaning his head on Baekhyun’s shoulder, looking fragile despite, in comparison to Baekhyun, being the stronger silhouette.

“Don’t fall asleep, Sehun.”

No answer came, and he didn’t feel a strong need to disturb the other’s rest. Maybe it wouldn’t be too appropriate to sleep in such a place, making an impression of getting drunk over the limits – which was not really the case, alcohol wasn’t the reason for Sehun’s tiredness – however, in fact, who was there to judge them? Especially with Baekhyun being a regular customer who knew everyone else with such a title; and most of them knew what he was up to as well, and why the people he came with usually were not in the most energetic moods.

The music playing in The Queen of Spadeswas usually quiet and climatic, R&B and jazz tunes mixed with the voices of people, and people coming here usually didn’t try stir the bar’s aura.

In fact, it was exactly the opposite.

The moment a person entered the bar, welcomed by the dim space of browns, beiges, woods, and crystals, their soul instantly filled with the calm atmosphere. The aesthetic and climate gave a clear cue, that intruding them wouldn’t be worth much; it was the best to accept and follow, to allow the place to create the unique experience.

“Sehun, are you sleeping?” Baekhyun glanced at the other, and the man only hummed lowly in response. Baekhyun’s shoulder began to cramp, so he gently lifted the other’s head and rested it on the couch’s backrest instead. Sehun instantly moved a little to adjust, but it didn’t seem like he’d want to get up anytime soon. Baekhyun eyed the bruises on his neck – slowly darkening fingerprints of his own.

The bar’s door suddenly opened, catching his attention with noise when the door accidentally hit the wall. Two girls walked in: one of them he saw come here a few times before, alone and not, and the other… well, the other he had not only seen before, but would most likely see in the future as well. What a coincidence.

[F/n] looked nothing like when he last saw her; primarily because, at the museum, she wore modest clothes that suited the situation. Now, in tight fitted pants and a loose shirt exposing a fair amount of cleavage, she looked way more like a girl of her age, similar to many others that came to the bar every day. If not for the fact he knew her, he wouldn’t have paid her much attention now; however, he did know a bit, and if not her appearance, then at least the personality behind it kept his eyes on her until she looked over her shoulder, sparing him a shy glance, as though either knowing he’s looking at her, or, at the very least, expecting him in the same place as he usually was – in fact, he guessed it would be the latter.

She smiled at him softly, and he reciprocated the smile, tension on his face dissipating; the smile grounded him, in a way, reminding him of the fact that, just as he could watch anyone now, he could also be watched. His presence also didn’t make her as tense as it did before, which was relieving – he started worrying if he didn’t go too far during their official first meeting. The word sensitive written on the page of his notebook wasn’t taken out of the blue. She was fragile, he could tell; not in a bad way – but he knew how his demeanor impacted her back then. But that was sort of a proof in itself, a proof of her determination, because despite this impact, she didn’t back out when she had the chance to.

He still felt that she’s not completely aware of what came with the lifestyle – hobby? activity? – that she was getting herself into. Yet, when he thought about it, how could anyone know that for sure, before they had a taste of what’s it like? If anything, he could give her a chance, he thought; a trial, to see if not only she’s in for her own indulgence, but if she can handle what he himself is interested in.

“Wazzup?” Sehun’s voice sounded by his side. The man was undoubtedly good at recognizing his changes in moods. When Baekhyun didn’t feel confident enough to say too much, it was usually Sehun who asked the questions, allowing him to spill out what was on his mind.

“Nothing much. There’s a girl, though, she wants to join” he explained slowly. Sehun’s face didn’t change at the statement.

“You want to take her?”

“Not sure yet.”

“Ah, so.”

“What do you think?” Baekhyun glanced down at the other; Sehun didn’t look at him, his eyes remained closed.

“Well, I don’t know her. But since Byeoli moved out, your circle’s been kind of empty. There’s me, Chaejang, Lisa… well, yeah, that’s it. You haven’t taken anyone new in a while, and old ones are leaving… Aren’t you getting bored?”

“I’m not bored with any of you.” The statement was simple, but meaningful; Sehun smiled softly at that.

“Well, but you seem to have a lot of free time now, and when you have too much free time, you do stupid things.”

Baekhyun scoffed.

“I mean it.” Sehun looked at him directly now. “You’re getting lonely. You need stimuli.”

To the last statement, there was no answer. The men sat there in silence for some more time, until the glasses became empty, until there was nothing more to sit there for, and until the night became so deep that it threatened with becoming the morning soon.

* * *

“Will this be all?”

“Yes, thank you.”

You gave the customer in front of you a bill with the price of his purchase – an average one, just some grocery; not like you paid it much attention – and took the calculated amount of cash from his hand. No change, no problem. You shared a warm smile, as warm as you could muster up at the late hour. It was one of the days when your natural shyness and introversion didn’t get in the way, and you could enjoy the few polite words exchanged with the people passing the store.

“Thank you, goodnight.”

Right as the door closed behind the man, your phone suddenly called and you reached under the counter, where some of your personal things rested during your shift, ready to reach for if necessary.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Am I disturbing you?” Your heart skipped at the familiarity of the voice. However, this time it wasn’t due to anxiety – you started to look forward to his response, and it was like butterflies in your stomach when you received one. You probably should save his number, though.

“Um… Not much” you replied honestly.

“Is your Friday afternoon free?”

“This Friday?” It was Wednesday, you consulted your imaginary calendar.

“Yeah” he replied shortly.

“Um… Sorry, I have the night shift. Saturday?” You counteroffered right away, not wanting him to take your response as a rejection.

“Won’t you be tired?”

“I’ll sleep it off before the afternoon. I’m used to it.” Your free hand fiddled nervously with the strap of your ID badge.

“Hm, okay then. Can we meet at The Queen of Spades? I live nearby too.”

“Where are we going?”

“To my place.” He hesitated for just a second or two. “Are you okay with that?”

The statement made all the cogs in your head move. You hesitated now, too.

Was it what you thought it was? You couldn’t be sure – it could have been just another one of the ordinary meetings, one to get to know each other better, one to pass free time. It was still soon – you didn’t expect it to happen so fast. Even in the span of the time that has passed ever since seeing him for the first time, till reaching this particular point – it still felt so fast, as though after all these years of hopeless yearning you weren’t ready for jumping into the deep end and bringing your dreams to life.

Yet, your instincts were at ease, no red flags, no suspicions. You didn’t feel a need to refuse, or to wait. What would happen if you did – wouldn’t you end up regretting it? Would you be stuck in your safe-zone forever? Although you felt naïve in your trust, you still trusted your instincts foremost.

So the answer came naturally.

“Yes. Yes, I’m in.”

* * *

Please, reblog if you enjoyed, it'll help me a bunch

Author's note: How's everyone doing~? I hope you're enjoying yourselves. Please let me know your thoughts on adding that little criminal thread! And, while waiting for the next update, consider checking out my masterlist~

Next (Chapter 3.)

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holykillercake · 4 years ago

Text

Love Ordeal

SANJI X f!READER

word count: 2k

summary: The Strawhts decide to play Secret Davy Treasure and Sanji doens´t stop asking whom you got.

highlight: ¨Sanji,¨ you sighed ¨I love you, but if you don´t stop, I will be forced to throw your cigarettes in the ocean and straighten your eyebrows.¨

warning: F.L.U.F.F.

notes: Guys! This a part 2/3 of a request for a fluff where they have a s/o that made them a thing with crochet and how they would react. Also, Secret Davy Treasure is like Secret Santa, but you know. ALSO, there is a surprise at the end!

𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘, 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊!

¨Just pick one, Luffy!¨

¨But which one?¨

¨It doesn´t matter!¨

¨Hmm, can I pick two?¨

¨NO!¨

Earlier that day, an old lady told Nami that whichever path Luffy chose would always lead to another Winter Island. So with the end of the year approaching and the cold weather, you decided to play Secret Davy Treasure, a great South Blue tradition.

It consisted of the participants writing their names on a piece of paper, mixing them in a bowl - or Luffy's hat - and drawing them. Whoever’s name you picked is who you will buy or make a Secret Davy Treasure.

You should have guessed that even something that sounded so simple would be complicated in the Thousand Sunny. The crew didn´t seem to understand nor follow the rules of physics, reality, and the game.

At first, Zoro folded his paper with his name on the outside; then Brook picked himself and didn´t tell anyone. Now you were struggling with Luffy, who couldn´t pick one because A) he wanted to know what was written inside, and B) he wanted to pick more than one.

While Franky, Usopp, and Chopper yelled at him, trying to make him understand, Brook laughed at the whole situation, and the rest of you wished to die and get reborn as clams.

Sanji adjusted the blanket around your bodies and hugged you tighter, chatting until the commotion was over.

¨Will you tell me?¨ he blew some smoke, and you tilted your head to look at him.

¨Tell what?¨

¨Who you got.¨

¨What? Of course no!¨ you laughed ¨This is not how you play it!¨

¨But we are a couple, Y/N-chan!¨

¨.., and?¨ you sang the word.

¨We shouldn't keep secrets from each other!¨

A cloud of white smoke came out of your mouth when you giggled before snuggling deeper in his arms.

¨Okaay,¨ Usopp crawled closer to you, defeated and holding Luffy´s hat ¨he will be the last one.¨

Despite your captain yelling that he should be the first to pick, you were all getting tired and opted to ignore him.

¨Thanks!¨ you used the blanket to cover yourself as you unfolded it.

A chuckle left your mouth when you saw the name written, and the blonde behind you tried to peek over your shoulder. But you were faster to put the piece of paper with the name of your boyfriend inside your bra.

You turned and gave him a peck on the cheek while he pouted.

You would have one week to come up with a Davy Treasure for Sanji, and you knew exactly what to do, but some butterflies still flew in your belly, wondering if he would like it.

As a matter of fact, he loved everything you did, from sweet love to extremely salty culinary disasters. He would find perfection in every little thing done by you.

Enjoying your last days on the island of Snow Globe Pole - yeah, almost as bad as ¨Long Ring Long Land¨ - you decided to tour the city, looking for what you needed to make your gift. Or rather, to crochet your gift.

That was the easy part, for you were on a winter island, yarn and wool were pretty abundant. Every style possible of every possible color, anything that crossed your mind was available in the store. It would have been distracting if you didn´t have the colors already chosen.

But again, so much for an innocent game. So much for a bit of fun. So naive to believe that Sanji would stop asking you whom you picked.

In his defense, he had gotten calmer during the first night. But after seeing the bag you brought from the store, he became even more annoying.

Charming, loving, but still annoying.

¨It´s not Franky, right? His hands wouldn´t fit in it.¨

¨His regular-sized-robotic-mannequin hands would.¨ you looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

You could almost see the gasp stuck in his throat and his heart skipping a beat.

After that, he kept bringing you desserts, offering massages, and doing everything in his power to bribe you. Skypiea Sanji was not the real Love Ordeal. Secret Davy Treasure Sanji was the real Love Ordeal.

¨Sanji,¨ you sighed ¨I love you, but if you don´t stop, I will be forced to throw your cigarettes in the ocean and straighten your eyebrows.¨

He grumbled ¨I love you¨ back among some other things and marched to the kitchen with flames on the top of his head. You chuckled and went back to your colorful wools.

Before you chose his gift, you thought about Sanji and the things that he liked or needed. From cooking to smoking and women.

Cooking for him would be outrageous. You wanted to give him something amazing, and you couldn't compare to him in the kitchen. At all.

Women. You were the only woman he wanted and needed, and honestly, you were the woman for the job.

Now, smoking. You would not buy or make him cigarettes, obviously. But he had this adorable and clumsy thing of always burning the tips of his mittens whenever he lit a cigarette.

Because of that, you decided to crochet him one of those fingerless gloves that come with a mitten flap so he could cover his fingers once he was done. Like that, he would be warm and natural disaster-free.

¨There is orange, Y/N-chan! You got Nami, right?!¨ you jumped and almost stabbed yourself with the hook when he yelled in your ear.

¨Oh, my sweet Davy Jones, give me strength...¨ you whispered ¨There is also purple, Sanji-kun. It could be Brook or Robin.¨

He pondered over it a little, frowned, and made his way to the door.

¨Hey!¨ he turned with sad puppy eyes ¨Is this really important to you? To know who I got?¨ he nodded.

You gestured with your head, telling him to come closer. A big and bright smile appeared on his face, and your heart beat stronger. That smile, you would punch the Red Line broken to create another All Blue for that smile.

Oh, how you love this cook.

¨Ok! Just because I am asking I´ll tell you first, ok?¨ he spoke with a lower voice but still sparkly. You smiled and nodded. ¨I got Chopper! And I bought him a new backpack with a lot of compartments for his medical stuff.¨

The way he paid attention to the tiny details made you melt. He was always taking care of others, complimenting the crew - except Zoro - and celebrating even the smallest of the successes.

He showed you the blue backpack, very similar to Chopper´s current one, but a lot stronger, prettier, and more practical. He would love it, no doubts.

¨Well,¨ you began ¨I got... Usopp.¨

You felt terrible about telling him a lie, but you couldn´t spoil your surprise.

¨Since we´re going to winter islands, I don´t want his finger to get tangled when, Uhm... he´s picking his Ketchup Stars, Green Stars, or Let´s-scare-creepy-girls-to-death Stars. I really hope he likes it.¨

If you were not paying enough attention, you would have missed Sanji´s disappointed look, which he quickly hid with a kind smile.

¨You always think about everything, Y/N-chan. He will love it.¨ he kissed your forehead and went back to the kitchen.

You waited until he closed the door to cringe ¨You are going to hell, Y/N.¨

Finally, the Secret Davy Treasure day arrived. You would exchange gifts and then have a nice dinner if Luffy didn´t make a party out of it. He definitely would.

But you were also grateful that today was the day. Since you told Sanji that you had picked Usopp, he has been acting a little upset. The other guys didn´t notice, but you did.

You would always notice. And you had an idea why.

The gift exchanging rules were pretty simple. The Secret Davy had to offer information about the person receiving the treasure, and the others had to guess.

It started with Usopp, whose Secret Davy was Franky. He gave him a bunch of super tools and some colored light bulbs for the ¨Party Nipple¨ idea.

Franky´s Secret Davy was Robin. He gave her a journal with waterproof pages he created.

Robin´s Secret Davy was you, and she presented you with a beautiful copy of a fictional adventure book since you were always reading them on the ship.

Then it was your turn. You held the gift wrapped in a shiny blue paper and began to describe your Secret Davy.

¨My Secret Davy is... slightly annoying sometimes.¨

¨It´s the stupid-eyebrow.¨ Zoro said.

¨Shut up, marimo head!¨

You continued after Nami punched them. ¨My Secret Davy always takes care of us.¨

¨It´s Chopper!¨ you shook your head.

¨Hmm... my Secret Davy is an exceptional fighter! Really strong!¨

¨It´s me!¨

¨No, Zoro! It´s me! I will become the Pirate King!¨

¨Shut up, you two!¨

¨My Secret Davy is...¨ you looked at Sanji and smiled ¨... loving and caring.¨

He looked back at you, confused. Why would you say those about Usopp? Not that he wasn´t loving and caring, but... still.

¨My Secret Davy is... the man of my dreams, the prince of my fairy tale, and the love of my life.¨

A minute or two passed while everyone waited for Sanji to say something, but he remained frozen with a perplexed expression.

¨Sanji-san, I think the treasure is yours.¨ Brook said calmy.

The cook made his way to you slowly, taking the gift from your hands and opening it gently, without tearing the wrapping.

Did he get upset because of your lie?

¨Sanji...¨ you called him, but he kept staring at the gloves.

You saw his eyes fill with water before he excused himself and exited the deck, leaving everyone staring at you.

¨I don´t... I´m gonna...¨ you pointed and left too.

When you entered your room, he was standing, back turned to you. Was he really crying, or you saw things?

¨Sanji-kun?¨

¨You remembered...¨ he turned around, still holding the mittens ¨These colors...¨

¨Yeah, they don´t really match, but...¨

¨I wanted it so much, Y/N. When I saw it, I wanted it so much.¨

He rushed in your direction and hugged you tight. He hugged you and you felt all his emotions, you felt the weight he carried in his heart. Not a bad weight, just the weight of missing someone you love.

You knew that that was the reason he was pestering you so much, the colors. You had chosen the colors that Zeff, Sanji´s mentor, wore.

The fingers were orange and purple, like his striped shirt. You added yellow details of his hair; the blue of his ascot, and the white of his apron.

As you said, they didn´t match, but apparently, Sanji didn´t care.

He would always share stories about their lives and cook recipes that Zeff taught him. Despite him always calling him old man or damn geezer, the Red Leg was his father.

¨Thank you, Y/N-chan. I loved it.¨

The sound of him sniffing made you hold him stronger.

¨I miss that damn geezer.¨

¨I´m sure he misses you too, Little Eggplant.¨

¨Oi!¨

You squeaked and laughed when he threw on the bed.

¨I´ll show you Little Eggplant!¨

Hey, Guys! SURPRISE! Here´s my first decent art? hahaha THE MITTENS!

I don´t know if the quality dropped. I´m using krita and still don´t know how to adjust the settings stuff when I´m saving a jpeg. Anyway, I hope you liked it!

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lovehotelreservation · 3 years ago

Text

(Re)spite

Summary: Hathe and Emet-Selch needed a break.

For Hathe, it was to preserve her energy and ease her nerves before ascending The Ladder for the daunting task of putting an end of Vauthry.

As for Emet-Selch?

He just needed for the glint of that painfully familiar shard to stop tormenting him so.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: WoL!OC/Emet-Selch

Continuation to “Mea Culpa”

BEEP BEEP SAD GRANDPA SEXINGZ ON THE WAY !!!

THANKS SO MUCH TO MY LOVELY COMMISSIONER FOR THIS BLESSEDLY ANGSTY OPPORTUNITY!!!

----------------

It just wasn’t the same.

There was a time when Emet-Selch set his eyes upon the Warrior of Light as something more than just a pawn in his plan, more than a fascinating subject in his observation of the mortals within the First.

An era long lost, but one he yearned so dearly to return to--it was during those blessed bygone days when he mockingly called out to the savior of the realm as not “hero”, but Azem.

As much as he wanted to deny it, he preferred truth over delusion.

The shard of his beloved Azem was here, lingering within the possession of the Warrior of Light.

Hathe.

But now, as he found himself lingering around the proximity of The Ladder in the mortals’ ongoing efforts to thwart Vauthry’s plans while the Kholusian sun mercilessly bore down upon him, his eyes were not softened with affection as he gazed towards her, but fixed in a scrutinizing stare.

It just wasn’t the same.

Hathe’s aether.

Corrupted cracks had since formed during her adventures in the First, all because of her misplaced faith in the Crystal Exarch.

Honestly, for all the glares and huffs that he received from her, it truly was baffling that she did not do the same to The Crystarium’s leader.

His lips were beginning to form a pout from this biased treatment.

“How are you not boiling in that thing?”

But then his lips curled into a grin as his gaze shifted to the eyes of the inquiring voice.

Lounging beneath the shade of one of the old workshops was Hathe, who retreated to this distant corner of The Ladder to preserve her energy before the ascent up to Mt. Gulg while the other Scions and the Eulmorans worked together to get the Talos running once again.

Clicking his tongue in a tsk, Emet-Selch threw his arms open wide in overexaggerated faux shock as he remarked, “My, my, hero--how brazen of you.”

He approached where she sat in a saunter, crossing between the distinct line on the pavement to where the blazing sunlight treaded no further into the cool shade as he continued, his voice donning a playful innocence, “Did you wish for me to strip for you so badly?” Tilting his head, he pressed a thoughtful finger against his cheek with a smirk as he purred, “Have you missed my warmth in your bed that much?”

A roll of her eye and a sigh out of her painted lips.

“I should have just stayed quiet and enjoyed the peace.” Shaking her head, her arms folded over her chest as she reclined further back against the wall. Her eyes shut, hoping he would take this as cue to leave her alone.

But the sudden presence that appeared right by her side entailed otherwise.

As did him crouching down, a silent affirmation of his intentions to stay.

Not even the sensation of gloved fingertips cradling her chin had her look towards him, let alone fluttering her eyelid open to perceive his existence.

“Oh come now, you act like my presence hasn’t enriched your life for the better--”

He drew closer to her.

“--truly, wouldn’t you prefer I over the Exarch?”

The heat of his breath fanning over her ear never failed to make her shudder, a sensation that she was ever reluctant to enjoy.

She had a feeling as to where this was going. Though her better judgment would have her shoo him away before matters progressed further--especially given their relatively close proximity to the rest of the Scions and the others--it was either indulging in pleasure or quietly stew in thought over both the task of sending Vauthry crashing down while dealing with the Light that was poisoning her aether.

But that didn’t mean she was going to be that compliant with the man who was meant to be her nemesis.

And thus her eye opened, the sight of which made him wish she didn’t have to keep that eyepatch of hers on.

Azem’s eyes were among the features he cherished most about her after all.

But as ever the contrast between his lost love to the fragmented soul who stood before him, she huffed in defiance, “I’d prefer you let me relax before I pick up the pieces of your meddling.”

Her tone was soft, but the irritation laced around each word was as prickly as could be.

Emet-Selch only smirked in response.

“Meddling I object to, but letting you relax--” His thumb traced over her lips, caring little for the smudge of rouge that stained the whites of his glove--if anything, he relished it.

Continuing on, he kept her right in his sights as he tsked haughtily, “--honestly, by now you should know to be more direct with me on with your desires, hero.”

The distance separating them closed further as he drew his thumb away, eliminating the space between his face and hers until their lips were barely an ilm apart as he mused, “Has anything else even come close to having that beautifully battleworn body of yours be at ease like my touch?”

She expected a kiss next.

But ever full of surprises, Emet-Selch only smirked as he teased, “Save for those ruffians who have felt the might of a keg of ale smashed upon their heads during those bratty youthful days of yours, of course.”

Hathe’s eye narrowed with sheer annoyance. “Gods, you really need to shut up.”

And it was with those huffed words that her hands cupped his face as she brought his lips to hers in a kiss.

A kiss for distraction.

Hathe and the tumultuous road that she was due to tread any moment now.

Emet-Selch and a yearning that he never could bring himself to ever relinquish in the days that have passed.

As delightful as it was to indulge in the gorgeously toned physique of the renowned hero during their many trysts in the nights since passed in her personal suite, it was still an utterly peculiar experience for his fingers to roam over physical familiarity with a soul that thought him to be a stranger, an enemy.

Ever more the thorns that had long formed around his heart embedded further and further.

In the end, she was just to be a vessel to enact his life’s work, his purpose to continue and carry on the will of his people.

And yet, he still found himself being so attentive, doting even, to Hathe’s pleasure as he shifted her clothes around--being mindful to not rip, else risk being punched back to The Source as she warned--, his lips kissing over her breasts, his tongue skillfully lapping over her nipples while his gloved fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her pants, seeking to press and caress over her panties.

A warrior like her could handle some roughhousing, as he would often tease while fucking her into the mattress during his numerous late night visits to The Pendants.

But here, in this moment, hidden away in the shade, while she was more eager to peel off his robe, he was more in mind to take his time with her.

Bodies intertwined, an affair meant to exist only in the shadows.

She lied beneath him upon the ground while he eased his cock in and out of her core. Far from pounding but nowhere near delicate, he pumped himself at a lively pace. More kisses than bites were pressed onto her neck, one hand clasped around her waist while the fingers of the other slipped between their bodies to rub slow--and dare he say sweet?--circles against her clit.

It just wasn’t the same.

“What’s with the tenderness?” Hathe murmured breathlessly, her back arching as she continued to find her senses stimulated all the more. Though there was a teasing inflection to her voice, he could hear a layer of pure curiosity at its foundation.

The question genuinely caused Emet-Selch to halt in place.

Even if just for a few seconds.

Only before he snorted, his lips curling into a smirk. “You will never see Ascians as capable of love, do you, hero? Since you insist--”

His hands reinforced their grip on her waist, squeezing tight as he quickened the pace of his thrusts.

She was right, however.

Tenderness, affection, love--those were reserved for Azem.

A shallow copy of the woman he loved most was in no need of such pure and precious joys, especially when she was fated to become a vessel for his plans.

The leading role of his grand theatrical production was to take her place in the showstopping climax of the show, and he was ever so delighted to have front row seats.

And yet, his mouth still sought out to kiss hers nonetheless.

A kiss longing for someone he couldn’t have anymore.

A kiss affectionate for someone he needed for greater purposes.

But as they rode out their orgasms, soon falling into one another in a pleasured heap, he still embraced her close to his chest with a grip that did not want to let go in the slightest, his face hiding into her neck.

So familiar and so far at the same time.

It just wasn’t the same and never would things return to how they would and should have been in a kinder life.

#emet selch #emetwol #emet selch x wol #wol x npc #wol x emet selch #Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV #Fic #super freaknasty writing

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firebrands · 4 years ago

Text

chances are | steve/tony

1.9k, T, unconscious acts of affection as told through the avengers’ POVs + fluff and getting together | “stony bingo prompt fill: unconsciousness | on ao3

***

1. Acts of Service

Clint’s halfway through his cereal when Tony walks in, suit jacket in hand. His sleeves are rolled up and his tie loose around his neck. He takes one look at Clint and sighs dramatically.

“I hate being alive,” he says, slumping over the coffee machine and mournfully pressing buttons to make himself a drink.

Clint snorts in response, used to the melodrama of Morning Tony.

As if on cue, Steve enters, carrying a box of donuts and a cup of coffee.

“Tony!” He says, grinning brightly. He sets the donuts down. “Glad I caught you before your next meeting.”

Tony remains slumped over the coffee machine, making a sad sound as it slowly whirs to life.

“I got you coffee,” Steve says gently. He places it on the counter in front of Tony, and from where he’s seated, Clint can see that his smile has faltered, a little.

Huh, Clint thinks to himself.

“God answered my prayers!” Tony says, jumping to life and taking the cup. He takes a sip, then turns to Steve, surprised.

“You know my order?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, coloring slightly. Clint only notices because he’s watching them closely. “I remembered you had a big meeting today and figured you’d need a pick me up.”

Tony looks down at his coffee, trying and failing to hide his smile.

“Thanks,” he says.

The kitchen goes quiet, save for the coffee percolating.

“Well what about me,” Clint cuts in, because it’s just too much.

Steve laughs, and looks a bit grateful for Clint’s interference. “I got the team donuts.”

“Well, I’m off,” Tony says, clearing his throat. “Thanks for the coffee, Cap.”

“You’re welcome.”

Tony hesitates at the door, and he turns to say something else, but Steve beats him to it.

“And don’t worry about your report from yesterday, I got it covered,” Steve says in a rush.

“Oh,” Tony says. He blushes a little, and Clint briefly considers stabbing himself with his spoon. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Steve waves Tony off. “Go on, you might be late.”

“They can wait,” Tony says, smirking at Steve. “But okay. Thanks, really.”

Once a few moments have passed and Clint is sure Tony’s out of earshot, he turns to Steve with a raised brow.

“Never expected you to play favorites,” he teases.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Go eat your donut.”

2. Quality Time

It’s a perfectly normal Tuesday afternoon. That in itself should have been warning enough, but Bruce is sitting comfortably beside Tony on the couch, and he figures that he ought to make the most of the silence. Tony hums absently to himself as he adjusts calculations on his tablet. He’d come up from the workshop earlier to ask for Bruce’s help, and elected to stay upstairs in case he needed Bruce’s input again to save him the trip.

Then Steve steps out of the elevator, evidently freshly showered.

“Hello,” he says, smiling at them. Bruce nods in response, then goes back to reading.

“Hey,” Tony looks up from his tablet and stands up. “How was the mission?”

“Fine.” Bruce tries not to eavesdrop, but can’t seem to focus—he’s read the same sentence thrice now.

“Wanna get a snack?” Tony asks. “It’s been a minute.”

“Yeah?” Bruce looks up just in time to see Steve scratch the back of his neck, looking vaguely embarrassed and a bit flushed. “I’d like that. If you’re not too busy.”

“Of course not,” Tony says, smirking. “Come on, there’s an apple pie in this cafe I found that has your name on it.”

Bruce frowns back at his book. Tony had mentioned earlier that he was working on something urgent, hence the need for Bruce’s support.

Evidently, it wasn’t as important as getting pie with Steve.

He hears the doors to the elevator slide open.

“Oh, shit,” he hears Tony hiss. “Bruce?” He shouts, across the living room.

“I’ll pass,” Bruce says, waving his book at them. “Enjoy the pie.”

He bites back a smile when he sees both of them blush at the same time, then look away from each other. If he were a more scheming man, he’d discuss this with the rest of the team. But he isn’t, and he goes back to reading.

3. Words of Affirmation

Thor slumps down on one of the seats in the quinjet and lets out a sigh of relief. The battle earlier was exhilarating, but he hadn’t gotten any rest the night before.

He’s about to nod off when Steve speaks. Thor cracks an eye open to look at Steve talking to Tony.

“The new suit you made,” Steve says, patting his side as if to make his point, “it fits like a glove. I have a much better range of motion.”

“Great.”

“Seriously Tony, thank you. It means a lot that you keep working on upgrades for us.”

Thor watches as Tony turns an amusing shade of pink.

“Yeah, it’s—it’s whatever.” Tony turns away.

Thor sits up a little straighter. “Indeed, Anthony,” he says. Tony stops in his tracks. “Even I, for all I’ve seen, am amazed at your abilities.”

“Oh,” Tony says, looking shocked. “Thanks.”

Steve beams up at Thor. “See. Like I said, you’re amazing.”

Tony’s blush deepens, and Thor laughs.

They arrive in the Tower soon enough, and it’s still early in the day that Tony can still make it to meetings. Steve and Thor are eating their second breakfast in front of the TV when Tony steps out of the elevator, looking immaculate despite the frown on his face.

“You okay?” Steve asks. He shifts forward, as if to get up, but stays seated.

Thor quirks an eyebrow at the movement, but Steve doesn’t notice.

“Yeah I just.” Tony waves his hand around, not finishing the rest of his sentence. “I think I need a coffee, or fifty.”

“Sure, let me,” Steve says, apparently deciding to finally get up.

“No I—I was just saying,” Tony sputters, following Steve into the kitchen.

Thor huffs, brings his bowl of cereal, and goes into the kitchen as well.

“It’s the least I can do,” Steve says, already pouring some beans into the grinder. “Seriously, Tony. You’re already doing so much, it’s honestly kinda amazing how much you juggle every day.” He turns to Tony, looking a bit embarrassed before he finishes by saying, “Well, I guess my point is, you weren’t exaggerating when you said you were a genius, huh?”

At the compliment, Tony turns to Thor with a look of disbelief.

Thor scoops a large amount of Froot Loops into his mouth. From behind Tony, Steve gives Thor a look.

“Indeed,” Thor says, chewing a little before adding. “You are a marvel.”

Tony makes a few strangled sounds, accepts the cup of coffee from Steve, and turns to walk out.

Thor is sure that both he and Steve notice that Tony stands a little straighter, despite his sputtering.

4. Physical Touch

Natasha notices it first over dinner. Tony touches Steve almost incessantly, first to get his attention to pass the salt, then a pat on the back to say thanks for cooking, then ruffling Steve’s hair when he makes a joke.

She decides, as Steve and Tony jostle over who does the dishes, that this is for further observation.

Then, as it is, the world’s on fire.

Still, on the quinjet, Natasha turns to Clint and tilts her head toward Tony and Steve’s general area, her eyebrows raised.

Clint looks, then snorts. “Maybe we should put up posters.”

They don’t have time to say anything else, arriving at the scene of the AIM attack. Natasha’s too focused on staying alive, listening on the comms for the next move, when she notices that a line has gone silent just as the battle winds down.

She finds them first; surrounded by rubble and quiet. The tenderness of the scene almost takes her breath away. “Is he—” she starts. Tony looks up, startled, his hand stopping mid-motion from stroking Steve’s hair away from his face.

“Yeah, I. Medical’s on the way.” Natasha breathes out, and fully takes everything in now that she’s adjusted to the threat level.

Tony’s helmet is on the ground, right beside Steve’s. She picks them up as she walks toward them, watching the way Tony cradles Steve’s head to his chest, keeping his head elevated. With his other hand, the one not carding through Steve’s hair, he’s pressing down on a hole in Steve’s stomach. He keeps touching Steve, his hand moving erratically from Steve’s hair, to his face, to his shoulder, his neck. When Natasha finally gets close enough, she can barely hear Tony whispering.

“Stay awake, I got you,” Tony says, and Steve is looking up at him, probably too exhausted to speak, but his eyes are open. There’s a bit of blood on the side of Steve’s mouth, and Natasha only notices it because she was wondering why Steve was smiling.

5. Giving Gifts

Steve takes a deep breath before he punches in his code for the workshop. As he enters, the volume of Tony’s music goes down considerably.

“Ah, Steve,” Tony says, lifting goggles up and off his face before turning to smile at him. “C’mere.”

Steve keeps his hands behind his back as he walks, his fingers flexing around the book he’d brought along. He takes another deep breath.

“Before you,” Steve pauses. “I mean, I was out this afternoon and.” He pulls the book out from behind him—a first edition copy of Tolkien’s Unfinished Tales. “You mentioned it was the only one missing from your collection,” he finishes.

Tony looks down at the book, taking it gingerly in his hands before looking back up at Steve. “You remembered,” he says, sounding shocked. “I mean, thanks. Wow. You remembered?”

“Yeah,” Steve tries to smile. He’s not sure if he actually achieves it. “Anyway. You said you wanted to talk?”

“Oh,” Tony says, looking away. If Steve wasn’t so focused on his own shyness, he’d say Tony looked a bit timid, too. “Well, this is perfect, really, because I got you something too.”

He turns around and pushes things around his workbench, then turns to Steve with a flourish. “A few weeks ago you talked about how you never got to see Europe during peacetime, and well…” Tony pauses and licks his lips. “I figured you’d never gone on vacation, either. After everything. So.”

He hands Steve a piece of paper, and when Steve glances down at it, he sees a printed ticket and an itinerary.

“I have a bunch of places there anyway, so you can stay wherever you want, JARVIS can set you up,” Tony says in a rush.

Steve holds the paper, then looks up at Tony, smiling a little.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well,” Steve stops himself from fidgeting, and swallows hard when he meets Tony’s gaze.

“Maybe you’d like to take some time off so you can read.” he gestures to the book in Tony’s hand, only to notice Tony's white-knuckled tony’s grip on it.

It gives Steve a sorely needed boost in confidence. “I was thinking we could go on vacation together.”

Tony makes a soft, choked sound. “Huh?” Then he holds up his hand. “Wait. Really?”

Steve bites his lip and looks away. “I mean, if you have the time.”

“If I have the time,” Tony repeats to himself, sounding disbelieving. “Steve.” He steps in front of Steve, forcing him to meet Tony’s gaze. “I have all the time in the world for you.”

A laugh bubbles out of Steve, joyful and unbidden, and a little bit shocked. “Good,” he says, reaching out and holding Tony’s hand, which is as disgustingly sweaty as his own. “Good.”

#stevetony #stony #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve rogers #tony stark #mcu #clint barton #thor #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #things i write #fluff

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avengerscompound · 4 years ago

Text

The Surrogate - Chapter 16

The Surrogate: A Clintasha Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Word Count: 1714

Rating: E

Warnings: Pregnancy

Synopsis: A freak end of the world incident leads to meeting your two best friends, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff. While your friendship with the two Avengers is anything but conventional, they are your all-time favorite people. When you find out that Clint and Natasha want to start a family but have exhausted all their options, you realize your powerset might allow you to give them what they want. Having your best friends’ baby might seem like a good idea on paper, but when you are as close as you, Clint, and Natasha are, will doing something so intimate mean feelings get a little mixed up?

Chapter 16

Natasha and Clint had both been attending birthing classes with you. It made sense really, they both planned to be there and this was their baby you were growing, even if you had started to think with the word ‘our’ more now. The classes were a little scary. Having to watch birthing videos made you worry there would be some kind of complication. It was one thing for your body to stretch to let out the little girl growing inside you, but if they had to do a cesarean then you were pretty sure she was going to get stuck. There was no way your body would allow itself to go unhealed long enough to cut her out of you.

Still, even though the classes were a little stress-inducing, it was nice to see Clint and Natasha respond to them. They each had their specialties and weaknesses and seeing them working together, it was easy to understand how they worked so well as a team. While they both were fine watching the birthing videos, Clint watched on like it was a horror movie and he was waiting for the Xenomorph to punch its way out of the mother’s chest. Natasha was much calmer about it, like seeing a baby passing out the birthing canal was just another standard day for her. Clint was terrible at helping you with breathing exercises, he just couldn’t take them seriously and if you followed along you’d be prone to hyperventilating. Whereas, Natasha was nothing if not calm and serious about them. On the other hand, Natasha struggled to change a diaper on a doll, whereas Clint could do it blindfolded and with one hand tied behind his back.

The classes were just held by the doctor who would be delivering your baby at the compound and a couple of the nurses too. Obstetrics wasn’t used a lot on-site, and while the doctor and one of the nurses were both experts, the rest of the staff were more versed at emergency patch-ups so they’d come along to brush up their knowledge before the big day. It was good to not have to worry about people treating you strangely because Natasha and Clint were celebrities or because there were three of you. Everyone at the compound was used to what the three of you had now.

As you left the class Clint was babbling about whether or not drugs would work for you for the pain. “I don’t see why the drugs wouldn’t work. I mean, my body would probably physically reject the needle if I got an epidural, but pethidine would be okay and they said they’d be me Nitrous Oxide if I want.”

“Can I use it?” Clint asked.

“No, you can’t, birdbrain,” Natasha teased. “Go get your illegal drugs elsewhere.”

“You can just squeeze Nat’s hand extra tight,” Clint said. “But not mine. I need them for my job.”

Natasha laughed. “And I don’t ever use my hands?”

“Not the way I do,” Clint argued.

You laughed and opened the door as you looked back at them. “You guys are such…”

“Surprise!!”

The shout of the group of people currently in the apartment made you jump and you spun around to see the room filled with people to almost breaking point. The place was decorated with pink streamers and matching pearlescent balloons. There was a banner along the wall that spelled out ‘Baby Shower’ in a gold script. Pink pieces of card cut into circles hung from various points of the ceiling with the words ‘Baby Shower’ repeated again and again in the same font. The dining table was laid out with fruit, finger sandwiches, dips, cheese, and crackers. At the center of it all, sitting on a raised cake stand was a round cake with pale pink frosting. A banner made out of sugar paste flags spelled out ‘BABY GIRL’ around the side and a sugar paste stork stood on the top holding a pink bundle.

The coffee table had been moved to the side and was stacked high with gifts, all wrapped in some combination of pink, white, silver, and gold.

At the front of the group was Kate Bishop and Wanda Maximoff stood holding out glasses of champagne with what looked like red flowers blooming in the bottom of the glass. “Happy baby shower, guys,” Kate said.

“You bad girls,” Natasha scolded, kissing each of them on the cheek and taking a glass. “I thought we were doing this in the function room.”

“Yeah, but a surprise is better,” Kate said. “Don’t you think?”

“I think you’re both lucky none of us were armed,” Clint said, taking a glass for himself. “I was ready to kick some ass.”

“Why do you think we chose immediately after your birthing class to do this?” Kate teased, handing a glass of champagne to Clint. “We know Doctor Harding doesn’t let you take weapons with you.”

“Here this one is for you,” Wanda said, handing you a glass. “Non-alcoholic sparkling grape juice. I know it’s not that exciting, but at least you can participate.”

“It’s lovely, thank you, Wanda,” you said. “What’s the flower at the bottom?”

“It’s a hibiscus,” she said. “Kate and I were looking up ideas, and it seemed nice and fitted with the theme.”

“Is the theme pink?” Natasha asked.

“I wanted to go purple,” Kate said. “But Wanda wouldn’t let me.”

“Damn it, Wanda,” Clint joked.

“It’s not just your baby, Clint,” Wanda huffed.

“Oh, Wanda,” Natasha soothed. “It’s lovely, you both did a great job.”

The three of you were practically dragged into the party and began to mingle. Kate and Wanda had done a great job with the guest list. All the Avengers were there, as were a lot of the other staff you, Clint, and Natasha were close to. There were also family and friends from your old life pre-avengers, though they looked very overwhelmed by the whole experience.

Unfortunately, the sheer number of people at the party meant the apartment was over capacity. There was barely any room to stand let alone sit. As you mingled shoulder to shoulder with your friends, you started to long for a comfortable seat.

There was a tapping of glass and you turned around to see Tony standing on the arm of a chair. “I think we all agree that surprising these three was a lot of fun, but this apartment is too small for this. So how about they open gifts and we all move it to the function room?”

There was a cheer and you, Nat, and Clint were shuffled to the couch where you were made to take a seat and open gifts.

There were a lot of gifts.

It wasn't long before you started losing track of everything among the cute little onesies and tiny shoes, the three-tiered cakes made of diapers and bottles, stuffed toys, rattles, teethers, and little wooden pull-toys. There were a few standouts. Kate had gotten a little onesie with a purple chevron that looked like the exact copy of the t-shirt Clint practically lived in. Carol brought an onesie that had I love my mommies and daddy on it with three big cartoon bunnies around a much smaller one. Tony, Pepper, and Morgan bought a stuffed giraffe that was so big his horns brushed the roof. Pepper made it clear it had nothing to do with her and all Tony and Morgan’s doing.

When all the gifts were unwrapped everyone started grabbing food and party games and carrying them over to the main building. It was amusing seeing the huge flock of people moving through the halls carrying plastic babies and plates of sandwiches.

When the group arrived it spread out like fluid, expanding to fit the function rooms’ much larger space. Food was laid out on the tables. Games were set up. People started helping themselves to drinks from the bar.

You grabbed yourself a drink and a selection of food and took a seat on the couch, putting your feet up.

“Is it wearing you out?” Steve Rogers asked, coming to sit beside you.

“Yeah, I’m always starting to wane by now, she’s really active in there,” you explained. “And with the birthing class as well.”

“Is she kicking now? Can I feel?” Steve asked.

“Sure,” you said, taking his hand and pressing it where she was currently kicking. It took a moment, but she soon shoved against his hand with what felt like all her might.

“Wow, she’s a strong one,” Steve said with a smile.

You chuckled. “Well look at who her parents are,” you agreed. “She’s going to be a fighter.”

“I guess she is,” Steve smiled. “It was very selfless of you to offer to do this for them. Especially given you must have had feelings for them when you did.”

“Well, the sparks, I guess,” you confirmed. “They were my best friends - are my best friends. This was their only chance to have kids, and you of all people should know what it feels like when there’s a good that can be done and it’s in your power to do it.”

Steve smiled affectionately at you. “I guess I do.”

“It’s moot now anyway, we’re all in it together,” you said.

“How do you feel about that?” Steve asked.

You smiled and nodded. “It’s a little scary. Didn’t exactly plan to be a parent. But I’m excited.”

“Well, good,” Steve said. “It’s not really conventional, and I’m not sure I totally get it, but I understand love, and Nat and Clint were never conventional. I think the three of you have got this.”

“Thanks, Steve,” you said. “That’s always good to hear.”

“Attention everyone!” Kate called out, over the P.A. “I think it’s time to play some games, and I don’t know about you, but I’d like to see which of the three future parents can change a diaper the quickest. So get up here you three. Anyone else, if you’d like to challenge them, we have plenty of dolls and diapers, and there’s a prize.”

Steve chuckled. “Sounds like you’re up.”

You laughed and shook your head as you pulled yourself to your feet. Today was going to be a long and very strange day.

// NEXT

#clint barton #natasha romanoff #clint barton x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #clint barton x natasha romanoff x reader #clintasha #clintasha x reader #clint barton x natasha romanoff #hawkeye #black widow #hawkeye fanfic #black widow fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #pregnancy #the surrogate

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mallowstep · 3 years ago

Text

(caller id)

cw: referenced child abuse

One of Stonefur's coworkers texts a link to their group chat.

i've worked with this org b4. if they're looking for support they need it. anyone have a few bucks?

He clicks on the link.

* * *

"I'm sorry, we don't give information about our clients out."

Stonefur taps the desk. It's a good policy. He wouldn't want them to make it easy. But.

"I might -- look, I don't want you to give me any information. But...is there a way I could prove who I am, and you'd maybe pass that on, if I'm right about who this is?"

The phone worker sighs. "If I can clear it with my supervisor, and if you can prove who you are, and if we do have who you think we have, and if they were to agree to it, maybe."

For six years, Stonefur has been trying to find a way to get home. Greystripe visited, actually, but the school said Featherpaw was no longer enrolled, and he wasn't allowed to even knock on the door of Tigerstar's compound.

Every weekend, he pours over the news that comes out of his hometown, looking for some sign that things are different. That they have a chance.

For six years, Stonefur has failed. This is the closest he has been to any chance of finding Mistyfoot and Featherpaw since he first carried Stormpaw off the compound.

"I'm looking for Mistyfoot, daughter of Oakheart," he says. "I'm Stonefur, son of Oakheart. She might be with Featherpaw, I have her brother, Stormpaw."

"I'll speak with my supervisor," the worker says. "Can we call you back at this number?"

* * *

He still can't fly. His identity is somewhere between fake and real, but it won't hold up to airport security. He packs the car for a week, loads Stormpaw and Greystripe in, and takes to the road.

After spending months walking across the country, a few days is nothing.

* * *

"Okay, Stonefur, you're on speaker."

His heart is beating so loud, it must be audible over the phone. He's practised this, prepared what he'll say, but he never could have imagined how this moment would feel. He forgets everything he planned.

"Mistyfoot?"

There's a long pause.

"I'm here."

It's her voice. It's a little older, but it's her voice, the same voice he has grown up with. He's not sure how to describe the feeling, the way it snaps his rib cage in two, the way his head feels light, the way his shoulders release, a hundred pounds vanishing off of them.

Stonefur starts to cry.

* * *

Four months after Stonefur first called, and they finally arrange a meeting.

They're informed not to arrive early, and Stonefur drives around the block three times until they can park. A woman meets them at the front doors.

"I'm their caseworker," she says. "This is how this is going to work. Our security guard is going to pat you down, and then I'm going to check in with Mistyfoot and Featherpaw. If they've changed their minds, you're going to leave. If they haven't, you come in. If they ask you to leave at any point, you leave. Got it?"

Stonefur nods, and Stormpaw copies. The woman sighs, and he can't read the emotion behind it perfectly. It sits somewhere between relief and stress.

The security check is fast: Stonefur expected it, and had them dress in simple clothing without any bulky sections. Whatever building they're in is clearly rented. They wait outside a set of double doors, and the caseworker opens them, smiling.

"You're good."

Stonefur walks past her. Mistyfoot is standing, her hand laced with Featherpaw's, but it is her, really her. He feels tears at the corners of his eyes, and he doesn't bother to try to stop them. Mistyfoot's expression shifts, softening, and she lets go of Featherpaw's hand, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I love you," she says, and he hugs her back. He doesn't think this is real. He doesn't think, after all this time, he has found her again.

"I love you," he says. "I love you so much."

She takes a shuddering breath, and he feels her tears against his neck, and she is real and alive and whole.

* * *

"She didn't want to talk to me," Stormpaw says, after.

Stonefur sighs. Reintroductions now made, he has Mistyfoot's number. She's sent him,

featherpaw's asleep

i'll call you tmrw

tell stormpaw i love him

and he's sent back,

Tell Featherpaw we love her. We're free all day, call me whenever.

"I don't get it."

Stonefur sighs, watching Stormpaw's frustrated pacing. "Mistyfoot said she's sleeping," he offers. "I think she was just tired."

Stormpaw huffs. "She left after..."

"If she didn't want to see you, she wouldn't have," Stonefur says. "But it's a lot to take, and...I think it's good that she left. She didn't ask us to leave. I'm guessing, but I think that means she wants to see you again."

* * *

"You can't hold them," Featherpaw says. "And you have to wash your hands."

She's holding two of the infants in her arms, swaddled and asleep. Mistyfoot holds the last one, who's awake, but not moving.

"We already washed them," Stonefur says.

Featherpaw stares pointedly at the sink.

After, he sits next to Mistyfoot.

"This one is Frogkit," she says. "Featherpaw has Hawkkit and Mothkit."

Featherpaw leans her head against Mistyfoot, smiling at Frogkit.

* * *

When they're three months old, Featherpaw's statement changes to, "You still have to support their heads. And wash your hands."

Stormpaw smiles at her, and she pulls Hawkkit a little closer to her.

"They're not going to take them," Mistyfoot says.

Featherpaw glances at Stormpaw. "Do you want to hold him?"

Mistyfoot rubs her shoulder, and turns to Stonefur. "Here," she says. "You remember how to hold babies, right?"

"I practised on a doll," he says. "Are you sure?"

Featherpaw hands Hawkkit to Stormpaw, correcting his hand placement. Mistyfoot nods. He takes Mothkit from her. She smiles at him.

* * *

After they've all moved in, to an apartment that's still too small but has just enough space, Stonefur watches Mistyfoot and Feathertail's routine sigh in relief. Stonefur helps Feathertail and Mistyfoot feed them, and Stormheart finds himself pacing with a crying Hawkkit.

"Give him here," Feathertail says, holding out her arms.

Hawkkit quiets instantly, and she rocks softly, holding him against her. She kisses the top of his head. "I'm still your favourite," she murmurs.

* * *

"I heard you were back in town," Shadepelt says. "It's good to see you."

"Good to see you too." Stonefur runs his hand through his hair. He hasn't seen Shadepelt since she was a kid, maybe ten or twelve. "I'm sorry it's-"

Shadepelt hugs him. "I'm not an idiot," she says. "I follow the news. I'm just happy you're safe."

* * *

Stonefur takes the kids for a walk with Feathertail. She pushes their stroller to the end of the block.

"I've got them," he says, and she releases the handles. "You okay?"

"I thought physical therapy was supposed to make me less tired," she says.

"Well, it takes time," Stonefur says.

* * *

Mistyfoot curls up on the couch. Stonefur puts his hand on her shoulder, and she flinches. Stonefur draws back, and she relaxes, but unnaturally, like someone has cut a puppet's strings.

Her hands were curled into balls, but they release, and he sees angry marks from where her nails dug into her hand. She rubs the heel of her hand against her forearm, and opens her eyes, glancing at him.

"I didn't..." Mistyfoot swallows, blinking rapidly. "Sorry. I didn't realize it was you."

* * *

Shadepelt arrives at six in the morning. She doesn't complain, even though they're only paying her ten dollars an hour.

He's glad he asked her to come early, because Feathertail walks her through the kids' schedule at least three times, and Shadepelt dutifully take notes, asking the occasional question. Stonefur has walked her through everything, but she won't be able to contact them once they're in the courtroom.

Stonefur drives them, and Stormheart sits in the passenger seat. He's missing school to be here, but he doesn't seem concerned. Feathertail sits in the middle seat, her head resting on Mistyfoot's shoulder.

The prosecutor told them to wear whatever was comfortable, as long as it was reasonably presentable, but Mistyfoot and Feathertail had gone shopping. Mistyfoot still seems uncomfortable, but that might be indicative of where he's driving.

Feathertail's phone chimes, and she doesn't wake.

When he pulls up to the courthouse, it's barely past 7:45, and there's already a scattered flock of reporters. Mistyfoot wakes Feathertail, and Stonefur sends Stormheart while he goes to park.

* * *

"Remember," the prosecutor says, "you're not on trial." She's not saying anything they haven't heard before, but it seems like a reassurance. "I won't lie to you. The cross-examination is going to be brutal. But you can always take a break."

She sighs. "We might not get to Feathertail today. But if we do, Mistyfoot, you can hold her hand, and that's it."

* * *

"All rise!"

Feathertail grips Mistyfoot's arm, bracing herself.

* * *

Stonefur and Stormheart sit on either side of Feathertail. She's not watching Mistyfoot, but she glances towards her occasionally.

Stonefur has come to most of the days of trial. In that sense, he's prepared for when they start. Stormheart isn't, and his anger shows in white knuckled rage. He glances at Feathertail occasionally.

"And why do you believe he said that?" the prosecutor asks.

Mistyfoot has kept her gaze trained to the side, avoiding Tigerstar. He's dressed well, and his lawyers take frenetic notes.

"Objection, speculation."

"Sustained."

Mistyfoot takes a sip of water.

The prosecutor pauses, and she retraces her steps. "Had you seen any examples of consequences for similar infractions?"

"After our brothers — after Stonefur and Stormheart had escaped, Tigerstar said Feathertail and I were corrupted. He used that as a rationale for punishment. I was the only person Feathertail has regular contact with."

"Were you led to believe your actions would have an affect on Feathertail?"

"I..." Mistyfoot blinks. Feathertail folds a piece of paper in half, and then in quarters. "He said she needed a good influence in her life. And that if I failed to provide one, he would make sure she was corrected."

"What kind of corrections did Tigerstar use?"

"Um. It depended. Denial of food. Manual labor. Usually it was more than one person could complete." She takes another sip of water.

"Can you give-"

"But the big one was...um. Corporal punishment. And it was always...he wanted you to feel small. He usually made things as embarrassing and public as he could think of."

"Can you give some examples?"

Mistyfoot glances towards Feathertail. She closes her eyes for a moment. Feathertail's hands are shaking uncontrollably. Stonefur places his hand out, where she can reach it. Feathertail takes it.

Stormheart glances at Feathertail again. She's gripping Stonefur's hand tight enough to hurt.

"Do you want to leave?" he whispers. Feathertail shakes her head.

* * *

(You're supposed to be watching the testifying witness. You know that.

But it's hard not to watch the others. Tigerstar is calm, like Mistyfoot is not describing a litany of public humiliations he had her suffer, his face neutral.

On the other side, Mistyfoot's family is fighting with the edge of permissible expression. The teenaged girl grips the man's hand, her head not lifting, and the teenaged boy beside her looks livid, glancing back at her often with a softened expression.

In a few days, the situation is rearranged. You've learned all their names, now, and it is Feathertail who takes the stand. She clutches Mistyfoot like a lifeline, and you see her look too far in one direction. As soon as she sees Tigerstar, she looks close to tears.

Her brother, Stormheart, is notably absent. You speculate he didn't think he could maintain composure through her testimony.

You can't blame him. She answers the prosecutor's questions with uncomfortable forthrightness. After adjusting to Mistyfoot's tendency to find a neat, formal way of saying matters, it is jarring to hear Feathertail respond to, "And how did he punish you for that?"

"He beat me until he broke skin."

You are just as grateful as Feathertail when her request to take a break is granted.)

* * *

When they get home, every night, Feathertail goes straight to bed. Mistyfoot brings the kids in to say hello, and a plate of food, but she doesn't make an appearance beyond that, either.

* * *

Stonefur had made a promise to himself, that he would remain calm. Whatever happened, he wouldn't risk being removed from the courtroom, and he wouldn't make things worse by being angry.

It is a hard promise to keep.

* * *

They don't celebrate when Tigerstar is sentenced.

It's a normal day. Stormheart goes to school, and Mistyfoot kisses Feathertail on the forehead before she leaves for work. Now that everything is settled, Stonefur's been fixing his paperwork so he can apply for a job.

The kids are starting to transition to just an afternoon nap, and they're tired when Feathertail herds them upstairs.

Stormheart gets home when Stonefur wakes up the kids, although Hawkkit climbs into bed next to Feathertail.

"I'm quiet," he whispers, although it's not that quiet. It's probably best to leave him.

Feathertail blows bubbles for them while Stonefur cooks dinner, and no one says what today is.

#mine #human misty au #long #feathertail #mistystar #stonefur #stormfur #hawkkit + his mom <3 #he does not do that most afternoons tho #he has a lot of energy #however he sees an opportunity and takes it]

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soulmate-game · 5 years ago

Text

Part 1 … Part 2

“So, How was your first day of school in America?” Lois asked as her small family all sat around the table eating dinner. It was almost painfully ordinary, traditional. A married couple and two kids eating a normal dinner and talking about their day.

All of them appreciated that one piece of normalcy in their worlds of superheroes and villains and PTSD.

Marinette snorted, almost choking on her forkful of food. After managing to somehow swallow without causing herself discomfort, she smiled at her mother figure.

“Honestly? I know Jon could fly and I could teleport to school in practically no time at all, but somehow Damian still manages to seem more impressive.”

“Right?!” Jon agreed emphatically, leaning over the table towards her and almost getting his whole plate of food smashed against his chest. “Probably because helicopters are huge and look awesome, but we’re still just us when we use our powers.”

Marinette nodded sagely at that reasoning as if it was something actually serious. Tikki, who was sitting next to her plate with a half-eaten cookie, giggled.

“That makes sense. But be careful Kaalki doesn’t hear you referring to them as ‘not impressive—‘“ Marinette was cut off before she could even finish her sentence.

“Too late, I already heard that blasphemy,” the other Kwami’s voice carried down from upstairs, making Lois and Clark’s lips twitch up in amusement. “I’m a god, dear, I have even better hearing than Kal-El,” for some reason the little horse god always referred to the boys by their kryptonian names, but they didn’t seem to mind much. “Not as impressive as a helicopter, hah! See if I let you use my fabulous powers anytime soon, Guardian or no Guardian.”

Marinette just rolled her eyes. Technically she could just command Kaalki, but that was against her morals and the horse god would never keep her from responding to an Akuma attack anyway. This was just harmless teasing.

And it was really nice in contrast to everything they were used to dealing with.

“Okay, but besides the helicopter,” Clark pressed gently after everyone’s chuckles quieted down. His face was open with genuine curiosity, and a little bit of worry that Marinette caught onto instantly. “I know Damian isn’t always the easiest person to get along with or understand. Did the rest of the day go by alright?”

Marinette actually set her fork down on her plate, her smile turning a little gentle. “Actually? Yeah. When we first spoke I thought he was a stuck-up jerk like some of my ex-friends and a bully of mine from Paris. But he’s just not good with people,” Marinette’s smile turned even softer as she gazed down at the table, at some memory nobody else could see. “It reminds me of my friend Kagami, from Paris. She acts pretty similar. Really impersonal and prickly on the outside, but once you get to know her she’s the most loyal friend you’ll have. Her mom is really strict though, and Kagami never got to interact with a lot of kids her own age, so she still has issues figuring out how to behave around others sometimes,” Marinette actually ended up laughing a little, rubbing the back of her neck. “We uh, we actually had a crush on the same person back when we first met and it sparked a pretty rough rivalry for a while. Once we got past that though, we ended up being best friends.”

Jon snickered, trading knowing glances with their parents. They had already agreed that, unless Damian or Bruce told her themselves, Marinette would have to figure out the Bat’s identities on her own.

“That sounds very familiar,” Jon stated with a little nod. “Me and Damian fought when we first met, too. Legend has it that Dad and Bruce, Damian’s dad, didn’t get along right away either.”

It was Clark’s turn to snort. “I think it’s just a Wayne thing,” the man agreed, amused. “They don’t like getting close to anyone right off the bat,” Lois kicked his leg under the table for that pun, but Clark cheerfully ignored it. “It is pretty funny that you have a similar experience with someone completely unrelated, though. Maybe we should invite her over sometime? Do you know when her school’s next break is?”

Marinette sat up straight in her chair, her smirk wide and almost blinding at the prospect of seeing one of her closest friends in person again. They video chatted and called often enough, but it wasn’t the same. “Actually! Kagami told me that she’s going to Gotham next month for a fencing competition. She’s an Olympic hopeful, you know. She has to make a good enough impression in different national and international competitions to be selected,” Marinette was almost bouncing in her seat, looking like a female version of Jon for a moment with her vibrant blue eyes shining with rare unhindered excitement and her body unable to stay still from the energy.

“I heard that Gotham was holding the World fencing finals this year,” Lois remarked, but kept eye contact with Clark for a moment as the two communicated silently in a way even telepaths couldn’t copy. Marinette recognized the hesitance in their faces, and her bouncing stopped immediately. She knew why they would be reluctant to let her go.

“I know Gotham is dangerous and I still have attacks pretty often,” Marinette’s voice was suddenly soft, but firm in a way that the rest of their little family hadn’t heard from her much at all. It made Clark and Lois look at her, waiting for her to finish making her point patiently. “But self defense isn’t really an issue. Even without any powers, without transforming, I…” Marinette took a breath to steel herself before continuing. “I learned martial arts from Maman. And I’ve used the Miraculous so long that all the combat experience of the previous Ladybugs is mostly muscle memory by now. And Kagami is more than just a fencer, her mom’s trained her in all sorts of sword fighting her whole life. Trust me, nobody messes with Kagami and gets away with it easily,” Marinette actually looked down at her hands, watching as she essentially had a thumb war with herself to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes.

“I don’t think physical attacks are what we’re worried about,” Lois admitted slowly, frowning. “I mean, yes, it’s a concern. But if I remember the dates for the competition correctly, I’ll be out of town for my first long distance job since you came to live with us. Clark will be at work during the day on the weekend, though maybe he can get a day or two off,” Lois gently worried her bottom lip with her teeth for a second. “I suppose, if Jon wants to go with you, it wouldn’t be as much of a problem if something happens…”

Oh. They weren’t worried about people attacking her. They were worried about her own mind. Which, after the last few months? Was perfectly fair.

“I don’t mind if—“

But, as life usually ended up, they were interrupted from their peace. Everyone jolted in their seats as the door was unceremoniously kicked down, and a man in his early twenties walked in carrying a mountain of boxes in his arms. Marinette blinked, no longer on guard since the rest of her new family immediately relaxed. But still, she was confused. Nobody said anything about having a visitor today.

“I know, I know. I haven’t been in touch for way too long, give us a little forewarning, blah blah blah. I brought presents this time though,” the man said, cheerful and casual and blasé. With the boxes on the center of the dining table, Marinette could finally get a good look at him.

He was probably about twenty four or twenty five, if Marinette’s ever-sharp eyes were correct (they hardly ever weren’t), and his hair was spiked up with a bit of gel, but not too much. Just enough to give it kind of a tousled-rebel look, and it was cropped close to his head on the sides. He had on a black leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders and slightly down the arms, with slightly baggy black jeans and a plain, worn red shirt. Dark black sunglasses rested on the top of his head, even though the sun had been down for a while.

He did not meet the usual Kent aesthetic of a charming, traditional nuclear family. He was more of an… oddly joyful punk. It actually gave her slight Luka and Jagged vibes, and made her relax a bit into her chair. Contrary to what most might think, Marinette had a bit of a soft spot for the punk rocker look. Most people, that she had met at least, who wore it on a regular basis were amazing people with great senses of humor and large personalities.

“Old man, I got you socks,” he called out with a lazy smirk, chucking the first small box over at Clark. The man caught it with a fond eye roll.

“You always get me socks.”

“Maybe if you stopped being boring, I’d get you something better,” the stranger mocked with good humor. “Lois, jewelry that you’ll never wear,” he handed the box over to the woman with significantly more care, before sliding over one of the bigger boxes to her as well. “And a new camera that you will actually use.”

“Hey, Wait a second, you know you don’t have to—“

“And for the squirt,” the man interrupted without letting Lois finish saying that there was no need to spend so much money. He tossed the last big boxes over to Jon one at a time carelessly, smirking the whole time that Jon playfully scrambled for them. “Video games, geeky shirts, and inside jokes,” he stated happily.

With the table now clear of boxes, he finally noticed the extra body. He blinked, making silent eye contact with Marinette for a tense moment.

“Okay, she’s too old to be a secret child. Did someone make another clone? Did Jon get a girlfriend that looks freakishly like a long lost Asian family member? What did I miss?” He asked, never taking his eyes off Marinette. Clark grimaced.

“If you didn’t break your phone so often, maybe we would have been able to tell you sooner,” the man said slowly, cautiously, with his eyes never straying from the stranger. “This is Marinette. Marinette, this is Connor. He’s… Jon’s brother,” the pause there was a bit odd, and Marinette frowned at the look on Clark’s face. It was like he didn’t know what to say at all, or how to say it. “Marinette is living with us for the foreseeable future. If we get the chance we might officially adopt her, so she isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Woah woah woah, what?” Marinette’s voice came out a lot squeakier than intended, the girl thoroughly whiplashed by this situation. It was hard to think straight. “I— we never talked about adoption.” Clark’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, not in as many words,” he conceded slowly. “It would be incredibly hard, and we wanted to give you time to settle in before asking. But… well, you’re officially an American citizen and we all feel like you’re family already. So…”

“You wouldn’t have to change your name,” Lois was quick to interject, watching Marinette’s face worriedly. “And you can say no. You’re already a Kent. We would just like to make it official legally, if and when you’re ready.”

“Okay, stop making the poor girl freak out,” Connor interrupted, eyes also on Marinette and gentle in their concern. He gave her a lopsided smile. “Ignore them. Clark never had great timing that wasn’t related to legitimate danger. So, sorry I didn’t get you anything,” he leaned back casually, thumbs hooked on his jacket pockets lazily. “Didn’t expect I’d have a new sister when I came back to visit.”

Marinette calmed down a little, but emotions still overflowed in her head, her chest still tight and the air feeling too thin. She offered Connor a shaky smile before standing up, looking over to Clark and Lois. “Um, I— can I— I’m tired.”

Clark sighed, nodding even as his face fell at Marinette’s state. “Yeah. We’ll talk about the competition some more in the morning, get some rest.”

The girl only nodded before making a hasty retreat up to her room, even forgetting to take care of her only half-empty plate. Tikki did her best to calm her bolder down from her place hidden in the girl’s hair, but it wasn’t doing much good. She just needed space, and time to try and process everything.

—*—*—*—*—*

“Aren’t you cold?” Connor’s voice made Marinette jolt, looking over at him with wide eyes. Nobody had ever followed her on her post-nightmare trips before. She wasn’t even transformed. She just sat, in her pajamas, on the empty terrace of her old home. It hadn’t been sold yet so she wasn’t worried about scaring anybody.

“I… should have expected you to be the other Superboy, honestly,” Marinette deflected with a weak smile before turning to look over the city again. She licked her lips, trying to calm herself down. “And yeah, I’m a little cold, but it’s no big deal. I’ll just go back home before it gets too bad.”

“You’re trembling,” he pointed out casually. And she was, her whole body was practically vibrating against the terrace railing. Marinette only gave out a pitiful laugh.

“That’s not from the cold.”

Connor only sighed, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall behind them. Gave the girl a little space.

“What did… What did Clark and Lois tell you? About me?” Marinette decided to ask tentatively. Connor raised one brow, honestly a little surprised that she didn’t also have super hearing to go with her powers. It was slowly becoming more and more obvious that Marinette was not exactly like the other Kents, and Connor only liked the jumpy little girl more for it.

“As much as they could without feeling like they were crossing a line,” Connor admitted. “That they took you in after an accident during a metropolis attack a few months ago, when you had nobody else reliable enough to take care of you. That you’re not Kryptonian, but still special and knew about all of our identities already. But strangely enough they didn’t mention teleportation or the fact that you were a Parisian superhero, not that I’m really all that surprised.”

Marinette smiled, snickering a bit at that last part before sobering again. “Is it… weird?”

Connor silently examined the girl for a moment, she probably expected him to ask what she meant. And maybe if he was anybody else, he would have.

“To suddenly come home to a new person that I’m suddenly supposed to accept as a part of the family? Not really. In fact, you’re probably the most normal surprise I’ve dealt with in years.”

“But,” Marinette looked back at him, eyebrows furrowed and blue eyes swimming with uncertainty. “But I just show up out of nowhere, and you really just accept me? Just like that? I mean, you’ve known me less than a day and you just saw me teleport to Paris in the middle of the night— you aren’t worried at all? Or suspicious, or— you really just accept me just like that?”

Connor couldn’t help but chuckle, pushing himself off the wall to lean over the terrace railing with her. “You know, technically I’m only eight years old.”

Marinette flinched with surprise at the subject change, eyes wide. “Huh?”

Connor laughed at her confusion, rustling her hair a bit. “I’m a clone. I was made with Superman’s DNA, and that of another asshole we won’t mention. Don’t tell Lois I swore. Anyway, I was ‘born’ as a teenager,” he used finger quotations to show that he wasn’t exactly born normally. “With all the mental development and knowledge of a sixteen year old. Pretty much, anyway, but I was still a newborn,” he shrugged. “Clark wasn’t exactly thrilled. Jon was eight at the time, which is why Clark can never decide if I’m the older or younger brother, and he wasn’t exactly planning on another kid back then. Not to mention the whole ‘created in order to kill Superman if he ever went bad,’ and ‘might be a spy because I was made by his arch nemesis’ thing,” Connor waved his hand as if this blasé info dump didn’t actually matter. Marinette just gaped at him, which made it hard for the guy not to smirk. “Point is, Clark was suspicious. Didn’t exactly want anything to do with me. Can’t say I completely forgive him, but it’s mostly water under the bridge nowadays. Especially when we found out that I did have trigger words, and I was unknowingly dangerous. Don’t worry, those trigger words were erased ages ago. Anyway, Clark eventually got his act together. Gave me the Kryptonian name Kon-el, had me live with him for a little bit. We worked it all out,” Connor turned back to Marinette, taking his sunglasses off so he could look her in the eye properly. “I really don’t think a Ladybug is exactly threatening in comparison.”

Marinette was silent for a moment.

“You know I could throw you off this balcony, right?”

“Eh, I can fly.”

Another moment passed before Marinette couldn’t help it, and started giggling. Those giggles turned to laughs, which quickly turned into joyful bellows. Connor joined in, smiling as he laughed alongside her.

“But… you like it with them, right?” Connor suddenly asked, looking over at her. “I know Jon can be a bit overexcitable, and Clark is an annoying boy scout.”

Marinette just shrugged. “Well, it’s not too bad,” she said softly. “I mean, at least neither of them can die by getting crushed by falling debris. So that’s an improvement at least.” Marinette instantly went pale at her own words, slapping a hand over her mouth. Connor snorted, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s the exhaustion talking. C’mon, let’s get you back in bed before Clark accuses me of corrupting you.”

Marinette just nodded, doing the world’s quietest transformation before opening a portal back to her room. She was already detransformed, Connor having one hand on her doorknob, when she spoke up again.

“Uh, Kon?” She fidgeted, not able to look up at him. “Thanks.”

The man just smirked, shrugging his leather-clad shoulders. “That’s what family’s for, right?”

Marinette smiled, huffing out a tired laugh. “By the way? I’m glad at least one of you Supers has a sense of fashion.”

“We heard that!”

Connor and Marinette broke back out into guffaws, and the girl couldn’t help but think that she was really grateful for her new family. Maybe she wouldn’t call Clark dad or Lois mom anytime soon, those wounds were still too raw, but maybe eventually. And she’d never had brothers before.

Yeah. This was nice.

—*—*—*—*—*

Part 4

I don’t think this ended up as good as the others..? But this is the best way I could write this part. Why is this story turning out longer than expected? Geez I need to learn self control. At least this one was actually kinda fluffy.

@fantasiame @thestressmademedoit @amayakans @resignedcatservant @too0bsessedformyowngood @chocolatecatstheron @mooshoon @jeminiikrystal @bigpicklebananatree @thezestywalru @bugaboosandbees @ironspiderstark @mikantsume @marinettepotterandplagg

#ml x dc #maribat #mlb x dc #platonic jonette #pre daminette #platonic connette #marinette joins the kent family #marinette kent #jon kent and marinette #connor kent and marinette

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idga-buck · 4 years ago

Text

Some and Others, 3/?

Earth’s mightiest heroes save the city again, but that’s never the end of the story.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 4,301

Content: canon typical violence, death, destruction, swearing

Bucky was going to call. He just didn’t. He was surprised you hadn’t and overwhelmingly disappointed that it meant if he was going to apologize, it was a conversation he’d have to initiate himself. It could wait though. Just a little longer while he figured out what he wanted to say.

A week later, the Post ran a story about the same gossip site that had leaked your photo of him being shut down after many of their stories and photos were found to be fake. A rarity for the world of journalism these days, Sam noted casually as they stopped at a newspaper cart. Bucky bought a couple candy bars and watched the man with the thick black mustache and the gold chain slip copies of the article in front of a few of his worst sellers. Could he actually be that lucky? It was an easy out after a week of dodging questions and trying to remind the world to stay out of his business.

“So that photo of you? The secret girlfriend?” Sam waited for Bucky to respond, but when the centenarian opted to buy a Pay Day instead, he watched closer. Bucky hated that. Sam said he had a staring problem, but Sam was the one with x-Ray vision. He could read people, read a room, read Steve’s body language from across a battlefield and adjust his position without being told. As annoyed as Bucky acted when paired up with Sam Wilson, he was one of the few people in this century that Bucky Barnes respected. Truly. Except for that moment on a street corner when brown eyes were scanning his complete lack of guts and deciding what was worth commenting on.

“Yeah,” Bucky ripped open the wrapper a little too aggressively and responded with peanuts between his teeth. “It wasn’t real.”

Sam nodded and stuffed his hands in his pockets while Bucky stuffed his face. “I don’t know how you land the fake girlfriend story, when I’m right here,” they started walking away from the stand while Sam jabbered on. “And lookin’ as fine as I do? Come on, man,” he danced ahead of Bucky a few steps, forcing him to look up. “You know this would make a better story.”

Before Bucky could say anything, a loud crash echoed between the buildings. Nothing was visible from their block, but both men, trained for combat, were instantly on alert.

“That for us?” Sam asked, eyeing the busy intersection.

“No,” said Bucky, a clipped tone in his voice as he shook his head and started walking again.

Another crash, this time accompanied by the faint human noises that usually follow tragedy.

“You sure about that?” Sam’s eyebrow shot up.

Sirens from every kind emergency response vehicle blared in the distance, growing louder then quieter again as they wove their way through the streets, changing directions to avoid traffic.

Bucky pointed at a passing fire truck, waiting until it had turned down another street before speaking. “See? They got it.”

Then Sam’s phone rang and Bucky swore, planting his hands on his hips while whoever was on the other line confirmed that the emergency growing in the distance was in fact for them. Sam placed the call on speaker and gave their current location. Stark’s voice was muffled and metallic, the way it usually was while calling from inside his fancy helmet, but he told them to stay put as he did a fly by with Sam’s equipment.

“Tell the Tin Man he’s got a special delivery,” Tony informed them from somewhere overhead.

“They're your wings,” Bucky grumbled, looking up from the ground as the familiar glare of Iron Man’s thrusters came into view. “And your robot.”

“First of all,” Sam informed him. “Red Wing isn’t a robot. He’s a drone.”

“It,” Bucky corrected, “is a robot.”

“I’m gonna tell him you said that,” said Sam before pointing up to where Iron Man had doubled back to get a better angle. “And… unlike some of us present, my body is exactly as God created it, flesh and bone.”

“Pop up, deep center,” Tony’s voice rang out obnoxiously through Sam’s phone once more.

Bucky watched a black bundle falling from the sky, trying to position himself under it and pushing more than one pedestrian out of his way to do so. “Actually, I was a catcher back in ‘32.”

“THEN CATCH!” Sam hollered just before the EXO Falcon gear landed square in Bucky’s chest, forcing him off his feet and onto his ass, skidding to a stop on a sidewalk while the people around them scattered, gasping and grabbing at their phones to take pictures of the two Avengers. Bucky laid flat on his back, both arms still wrapped around the bundle, and took a deep breath when Sam stood over his head, arms shooting out to his sides as he yelled “SAFE!”

Bucky groaned and tossed the black bag up into Sam’s arms, hard enough to make him stumble but not enough to knock him down. “Should have said ‘out.’” Bucky grumbled and Sam chuckled as he dug through the bag for his equipment. “Safe makes it sound like I-”

“You really wanna argue about baseball right now,” Sam laughed, securing his wings over his torso and releasing them both with a flash as if stretching before a fight. “Or are we gonna go save the world?” Bucky didn’t answer, just took off running in the direction of the screams. “That’s what I’m talking about,” said Sam to himself, shooting up into the air.

…

Robots. Drones. Whatever they, Bucky Barnes has decided that he hates them.

Fighting Nazis was easy. Not physically. Not when your gun isn’t really yours and the food sucks and you’re almost as worried about losing your toes as you are losing your team. But it made sense. These men in their wool coats wanted innocent deaths. Something in Bucky that had been there all along was born anew in the war. He was a protector. Of his sisters, of Steve, of his country. It made sense.

Nothing about Hydra made sense and the therapist he stopped seeing told him it was okay to think about those years differently than the rest. So he did.

When T’challa presented him with a black vibranium canon for his left side, the enemy was otherworldly. Literally. They didn’t bleed like men. They made horrible screeching noises when they died, but even that was different from me. They rode disgusting creatures with teeth that could have scratched his arm if he’d let them get close enough. They were invaders, their leader sought destruction on an even greater scale than the War. Bucky was a protector again, protector of Earth, of life in the universe. An unimaginable title for the boy he’d been, sitting in front of the radio with his family and marveling at the president's voice. It’s not like he was eager to do it again, but space invaders whose goal was universal genocide would be met with the business end of Bucky’s favorite rifle.

Fighting robots, however, was fucked up.

Bucky was still processing his new life, still getting used to the idea that people carried plastic cards in their wallets and could pull money out of the walls with just a few buttons. There were movie theaters with screens two stories high. Cars plugged into the sides of hotels. The cell phone in his pocket was overwhelming as is. In a few minutes, he could buy all the clothes he’d ever need, pay for dinner, and talk to people across the country. It was baffling.

All this technology, all this progress, and of course there were people who weaponized it. Bucky hated that. He remembered science fairs, remembered Howard Stark’s big promises. There was so much hope in him as a young man. He’d live to drive a flying car, his children would learn about the world through a holograms in their livingroom, his grandchildren would live on the moon. The possibilities were endless. So much so that people with horrible intentions for the world also believed that the possibilities were endless, forcing Bucky into his current position.

His thighs were wrapped around the base of a machine, arms wound near the top. He threw his shoulders back with all of his might, squeezing his legs in the process, and didn’t stop until the metal gave way. Bucky fell onto the pavement with his own momentum, the enemy in two pieces with wires exposed and frizzling as they died. He dropped the robot and rolled to his side, observing the scene around him. Steve used a cleaner approach and sent his shield flying through the air. Three more bots’ were sliced in two, the last of which was pinned by the shield into the side of a brick building. Sam circled above, with Redwing swooping below to draw laser fire away from bystanders while Wanda tried her best to herd them away, spinning to throw angry red energy at anything that came their direction.

“Sergeant Barnes!” The familiar and overly excited voice of the kid in blue and red spider gear startled Bucky. The kid swung in unexpectedly, decked out and ready to help. Bucky didn’t care that he was probably skipping school to do so and swung his vibranium arm behind him, the metal of another droid crunching under his elbow. “How can I help?”

Bucky squinted, a little dumbfounded at the question. There was a six block radius being overrun with droids, drones, robots- whatever- and people were terrified. “Pick something,” he grunted, taking the robot's head… top part, between his hands and twisting until it gave way and the bottom half dropped powerless to the ground.

Just then the sound of metal screeching pulled both their eyes to a city bus being thrown around like it was weightless, crunching the vehicles nearby, and sending more people into a frenzy as buildings were still evacuating onto the street. “That! Pick that!” Bucky commanded and the kid flew away, attached to a white string like a kite. Two more robots were approaching from the sidewalk, red eyes glowing and ready to fire. Bucky looked around the street for something, anything that he could use before deciding on a minivan. The windows looked clear, driver and passengers already scampering away at the first sign of trouble, so Bucky planted his boot into the back door and kicked. The door caved in and the vehicle flipped onto its side before skidding to a halt on the sidewalk and crushing the robots beneath it.

“Uh! MISTER BARNES, SIR, SARGE-!”

Bucky turned back to look at Peter, propped up on a light pole and leaning so far back his body was almost parallel to the ground. The only thing keeping him upright was the two thick white webs attached to the bus, one at the front and one at the back. It was tipping over dangerously low, trapping a small group of people between the bus and two buildings, one that had smoke billowing out the windows. This was a mess.

Bucky ran through the street, jumping onto the hoods of abandoned cars to avoid weaving between them before leaping off an SUV and rolling back into a run on the sidewalk. A laser struc Peter, knocking him clean off his perch, and the webs supporting the bus went dangerously slack as it started tipping toward the trapped people again. Bucky jumped, wedging himself between the building and the collapsing bus with great effort. His shoulders dug into the brick behind him and his thighs burned as he shoved the bus away from the wall, gritting his teeth as he felt it slowly start to tip away from the ground. The kid was now on the ground somewhere out of sight and Bucky had to hold back from sending the vehicle flying, lest he squash Stark’s favorite spider in the process. The tension in his legs grew as he held it steady, adjusting his feet and shoulders until he felt it wasn’t going anywhere.

“Hey!” He called out to the people below him. “Get out of here, go!”

There were rushed thank yous and lots of tears as the crowd dispersed from their trapped position. But one voice stood out among them and it made Bucky’s heart speed up.

“Bucky?! Oh my god, BUCKY!”

Bucky’s eyes were closed under the strain, but he’d know your voice anywhere. He opened them just in time to see Peter recover and zip off in a new direction. Bucky released his breath and shoved his feet out hard, tipping the bus back. He dropped from the wall and grabbed you as the bus wobbled precariously in both directions before finally falling into traffic and directly onto the roof of an empty red sports car.

Bucky hadn’t realized how tight he was holding you until you said his name again and the word was broken. His arms relaxed a bit, but you made no move to run away… or let go of his jacket. The two of you just stared at each other, breathing heavily, before screaming drew your eyes away. The small crowd of people you’d been stuck with were running away from where you stood, but the two in the back collapsed, their bodies charred and heavy as they hit the ground. You screamed then and Bucky pulled your back into his chest, hugging your stomach as you keeled over. He’d seen so much death in his hundred odd years, it was hard to witness it with these fresh eyes. You weren’t prepared to watch two innocent people’s skin melting under lasers. Hell, neither was Bucky and while you cried in his arms, the smell of burning flesh stung his eyes. He’d never get over that smell, no matter how many world wars he participated in. His face was buried in the back of your head, shushing you as he lifted you up. He took careful backwards steps until you were both hidden in the same alley you’d just been trapped in. Bucky looked up at the burning building and decided he had a minute before you were both in danger here.

“Hey,” he said softly when you went limp against his chest. “Hey now,” he repeated, spinning and almost dropping you when he realized you hadn’t just relaxed… you were unconscious. “Shit,” Bucky dropped to his knees and let your body lean up against his chest, slapping at your cheeks and calling your name to try and wake you up. Half of your face was red with blood from a wound he couldn’t see somewhere in your hair. Break up or no break up, he couldn’t leave you like this. Any other person, he’d run them to safety and double back to continue clearing the streets. But this wasn’t any person. It was the girl he dumped in the middle of a restaurant and had continuously put off calling to explain himself. He hadn’t gotten the chance to clear the air and leaving you to wake up in a few hours in the middle of a destroyed midtown was just too cruel. He did like you and now it felt like he owed you.

Bucky picked you up like a doll and slung you around to his back, crossing your arms over his chest as your legs dangled behind his knees. That wasn’t going to work, he decided after only a few steps. “Can you hold on a little-“ Bucky drifted off as he turned his face to see your face hidden behind him, your forehead limply resting against his shoulder. “Of course not,” he berated himself and stopped to adjust again. This time he stooped, grabbing one of your arms and one of your legs with his hands. You were slung over his shoulders like a backpack, the same way he carried goats in Wakanda, only much easier since you weren’t kicking or screaming and he had two hands with which to wrangle you.

His steady march out of the fray was interrupted once by Wanda. After directing pockets of people to safety, she’d sought out the source of the invasion. Bucky looked around for a safe place to stow your body and found an SUV that was abandoned but still running with the doors unlocked to lay you out across the backseat, carefully tucking your feet in before slamming the door behind him. He liked Wanda, despite not knowing what exactly she was capable of, but liked her a lot less when he found himself immersed in a glowing red forcefield and being lifted into the sky. When he was forced through the large glass window of another building only to look up and find her floating gently through the hole his body had created, she shrugged.

“This way was faster,” she said, Sokovian accent much softer than their first meeting.

“Right,” Bucky groaned, making a mental note of how many Avengers could zip through the air with ease and the odds of being the one she found on the ground.

They raced up the final set of stairs and Bucky ripped the maintenance door to the roof off its hinges. It was unlucky that Bucky and Wanda had been the ones to find the bastard responsible. If it had been Steve, he’d been bound and handed over to the authorities. Tony might have thrown him in armored vehicle and shook him around a bit before demanding answers. Bruce… depending on the day wouldn’t have been much better. Nat would have gotten answers easier than either of them and Sam was easily the most noble of the bunch, so Bucky had no idea what he’d do. The right thing, whatever that was. But Wanda wasn’t particularly fond of people who harmed innocent people. The motivation didn’t much matter to her when the sounds of children crying could be heard in the streets. Bucky didn’t have much grace for people who were smart enough to help, but broken enough to hurt. Like the bastards in Hydra, who healed him, kept him alive, gave him extraordinary strength then weaponized him. Anyone who had this level of technological advancement and chose to bring destruction with it was a waste of air. Wanda hoisted the man up into one of her angry red orbs while Bucky broke the control panel into as many pieces as he could, destroying anyone else’s opportunity to learn from this guy. Neither of them had anticipated this guy to be so well armed. It looked like a pistol, but whatever it fired managed to get through Wanda’s energy field and pierce her shoulder, breaking her focus just enough for him to drop back onto the roof. He took off running to the edge and leapt, but Wanda recovered faster, using her powers to yank him back. Bucky caught him in the air and squeezed, locking the man in a painful hold until he noticed glowing red numbers counting down behind the man’s neck. Shit.

“Bucky!” Wanda pointed at the man’s hands, wrapped threateningly around a plunger that could only mean one thing.

Without a better option, Bucky turned back to edge. He released the man and as he tried to stumble forward, Bucky’s boot landed square against his sacrum, launching the man through the air and into a neighboring building in a ball of fire. Both Avengers watched the corner offices go up in flames, disgust and horror in both their eyes.

“The whole block was evacuated,” Wanda said softly and Bucky nodded. There was a distinct lack of screaming coming from the direction of the building and sirens soon flooded the streets below as first responders made their way into critical areas. From the ledge, both of them watched as the remaining bots dropped to the ground before their team, disengaging en masse. Steve looked up from atop a bodega and saluted the sky in their general direction, lifting the shield as a second acknowledgment before jumping down to the street to start… whatever Captain America does once the threat has been neutralized. The PR and clean up stuff wasn’t Bucky’s scene and he turned away, making it all the way across the roof, still observing the scene below, before remembering that you were somewhere, either still unconscious or just waking up, deeply confused in the back of a stranger’s car.

“You okay?” Bucky asked, wanting to make sure before asking Wanda for any favors.

She pulled her hand away from her shoulder, black nail polish and red blood looking menacing and downright witchy against her pale fingers. “I’ll be alright,” she assured him, eyes already glowing red as she prepared to offer more aid.

Bucky stopped her and nodded over the side of the building. “Gimme a lift?”

She snorted and waved her fingers without looking at him and soon enough, Bucky found himself falling on his ass once again. He needed to work on his dismount if this was going to become a regular pairing. Thankfully or maybe not, you were trying to wake up as Bucky slipped into the driver’s seat and commandeered the vehicle. He turned back to watch you whine in pain as you tried to sit up, before slipping back into sleep when he told you to stay down. You were in and out for most of the drive, which helped Bucky weave up and over curbs to avoid stagnant areas where everyone had abandoned their cars out of fear.

…

You woke up with a headache, exasperated by the bright lights of the emergency room. Bucky could see the moment you came to by the hard squinting that melted into a grimace. You’d had a couple false starts, but when your eyes opened and locked on his, Bucky knew it was the real deal this time. He stood to pull back the curtain and immediately a nurse was shimmying her way into your space, brushing her chest against Bucky’s in the process. He nodded and gave her a tight smile. It had been like that since he walked into the ER with you. Avengers carrying blacked out civilians get a lot of attention, but they also get speedy service. Which is what Bucky told himself when he stuck around once you’d been admitted. You’d get better care if he stayed with you, so he did. Feet propped up on the end of your bed and dropping whenever someone came to run another test. He wasn’t family and didn’t claim to be, so they told him nothing, but nurses managed to smile flirtatiously in between doing their job. In another life, Bucky would have… done something. Anything. He smiled. He was a hundred, not dead, but there was something off putting about receiving these looks when you were asleep right there between hanging curtains in an overrun hospital as ambulances and families started to arrive from the mess he’d just left.

You answered their questions slowly, but correctly. Your name, where you were, what year it is, who the president is. The doctor would be in soon and Bucky took the minute of alone time to scoot the chair they’d brought in for him. You were watching him expectantly as the legs scraped across the floor, just a few inches before he could reach a hand out to yours. You looked down curiously at your hand in Bucky’s.

“They spelled my name wrong,” you murmured and Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut as you lifted your joined hands to observe the little plastic bracelet closer. He shook his head, wanting to apologize, but also hoping you wouldn’t connect the dots that he’d given them your information incorrectly. “Bucky?” He looked up to find your eyes wider than usual, a little more vulnerable than he was used to seeing you and wanted to do something to make you feel better. But like the entirety of your relationship, he had no idea how to do that.

“You’re okay,” he nodded, telling himself as much as he was telling you.

“Thank you,” you squeezed his fingers as your voice shook.

Just then a man in a white coat, pushed back the curtain and Bucky stood reflexively, dropping your hand in the process. He turned back and saw your face fall before crossing your arms over your chest and looking away from him.

“Sergeant Barnes,” the doctor addressed him first.

“Bucky,” he corrected without thinking and turned his body, opening up the room a bit and directing attention back to what mattered. The patient. You.

“Thank you for bringing her in,” the doctor continued, then looked back and forth between the two of you. “We’ve got it from here, if you need to-”

“He can stay,” you piped up. The doctor asked if you were sure, but you were. The doctor nodded, turning fully toward the bed and while that was Bucky’s goal, he now felt completely out of place in the tiny space.

“First things first,” the doctor started. “You and the baby are just fine, so I don’t want you worrying about that at all. Do you have a OB or a-”

Bucky stopped listening at that moment and focused on the roaring ocean in his ears. He looked to the bed where you were listening intently to what the doctor was saying, nodding and shaking your head mechanically. While he stared, you stole a glance in his direction. Your face was blank and he didn’t spend much time trying to read it.

“This sounds personal,” he said, voice flat and vibranium hand already reaching for the curtain at the end of your bed. “Take care.” Without sparing another look, Bucky walked through the busy emergency room with his left hand tucked into his front pocket, making him invisible to anyone who didn’t know he was there.

A/N: Here we go! It’s happening. I’m not sold on the way this ended but it was getting long as is and don’t worry, Bucky will have his chance to make it up to you.

Tags: @fangirl-swagg @learisa

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky Barnes x reader fic #bucky x female reader #sebastian stan characters #idga fic #some and others

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swiss-cheeze · 4 years ago

Text

French Road, East || Spencer Reid

Request: YES/NO: Hi! Do you take requests?? If you do, can I please request a Spencer x Reader (Including the BAU), where they are dating and the reader is a year or so younger than spencer, but just as smart and very loved by the team, and one day she has to save the team from an unsub and gets really hurt and after everyone is safe they are all really worried about her?? Idk if that made sense at all. Love you work!

A/N: OKAY SO, myself and a few other tumblr accounts got sent this exact same request from the same requester. I have spoken with all of the accounts i know of that have gotten the request and we have all mutually agreed that we will continue with our own fics in our own way on the basis/sense of ‘every writer is different and it's cool to see how others interpret the same request’, please go check out their fics too but please also dont message any of us about this little thing thats happened or saying one was better than the other because that's not what we’re doing here.

We write because we love writing and we love making worlds and being creative, this is a mutual agreement, yes we’re not too pleased with this happening but we are fine with going ahead with both of our fics.

Thank you.

A/N: I also got a little carried away with this little thing and kind of forgot about the ‘they get hurt’ part and instead left the end open for angst purposes; possibly a second part if requested? I don't know. This is also 10 full pages on Google Docs.

Words: 5727

Gender: they/them, none.

Warnings: descripton of people being beaten, kidnapping, mention and use of drugs, previous trauma of the BAU team brought to light, mentions of sexual abuse and assualt, mentions of possible rape.

Description: when 6/8 of the BAU team gets kidnapped, it's up to you and Garcia to find them before it's too late, but what happens when an old nightmare may consume someone's life again?

PART 2: https://snitchthewitch.tumblr.com/post/626602019637149696/french-road-east-apartment-23-spencer-reid

------

Spencer had slept over at Dereks after they had both consulted over their paperwork while you had gone to yours and Spencer's apartment alone, normally you two would arrive at work together with coffee ready for the day but today it just felt...off. Coffee in hand you entered the elevator and checked your work phone for any missed messages.

Derek Morgan phone (4)

Derek Morgan imessage (6)

Spencer Reid phone (2)

Spencer Reid imessage (4)

Okay, that was a bit weird. They normally called once, maybe twice, had your phone shut down last night? As you entered onto level 6 you stepped off to the side of the opening on the hallway, out of people's way, as you opened your phone for the messages, Derek first.

‘Going out with Spence and Pen’

‘Spencer misses you’

‘Pen says she wants to hug you’

‘We’re fucjlkeddd’

‘I don't think somethings okay’

‘Pick up’

Fuck, okay, maybe they just encountered a mugger? Spencer next.

‘mISS YOUUU’

‘Derek ssaysys he doeessdnt frrl ojay’

‘Someoned follow us’

‘French road, east’

What the fuck? So apparently they got followed? And then? What the hell is french road east? Was it an actual road to the east? Maybe the voice messages would help.

“HEY (Y/N/N)!” its Derek, “WE’RE HAVING OUR BEST TIME! WISH YOU WERE HERE!” the music was as loud as Derek was shouting in your ear, you couldn't help but smile.

“(Y/N)!” Spencer, “I MISS YOUUU!” you laughed at his drunk talking, “SHOTS!” and it finished.

“Hey (Y/n), we’re uh,” a laugh, it's Derek, “we’re walking back to my place now, with Pen and Pretty Boy over here,” you heard a faint shout of your name before laughter and the call ended. There was one voice message left, “someones following us. Under six foot, black clothes and looks disarmed but I can't tell from where we are and it's dark. I'll update you later (Y/n), i'll keep Pretty Ricky safe. I promise” and that was it. You brought your phone away from your ear and looked at it skeptically, Derek's story was backed up by Spencer because they both said they were being followed, Garcia hasn't messaged you though, she probably got cut off from her phone before anything happened, probably in Derek's pants pocket. Maybe they were playing a prank? No they wouldn't, Derek’s voice was too certain to be a prank. You shook your head from the thoughts before walking into the Bullpen and dumping your bag at your desk and looking around, Anderson, Mike, Daffey, even Esmerelda was at work today and yet you couldn't spot a single one of your teammates.

Okay, maybe they all slept in? You walked up to Hotch's office and knocked before putting your head through the door; looks the same as it was left. Funny. Hotch was always the first one in, if he ever left at all. You walked to Rossi's office and yet this was the same as Hotch’s; untouched and unmoved. Okay, this was a little scary, you made your way to the conference room with quick feet as the creek of the door being opened sent a shiver down your spine as no one was waiting for a case or even grabbing coffee, but you did notice the one folder that sat alone in the middle of the table. Cautiously, you made your way over to the file, picked it up and opened it, the photos inside the folder almost made you throw up.

Hotch, Emily, Derek, Spencer, JJ and Rossi were all sitting against a wall, beaten, bruised and dirty, arms positioned behind their backs. Underneath the photo was a piece of paper with bold red writing, almost blood like.

YOU WERE WRONG.

Your throat constricted as your breathing increased, you started hyperventilating as you heard the click clack of a certain pair of heels.

“(Y/N)!” Garcia yelled, she was running as quickly as she could with her platform, a file and laptop in her arms, “the-the team they've” she took a breath, “they've been taken, captured, abducted!” it took Garcia a few seconds to realise that you were close to fainting. Garcia put her things down on the table as she directed you to sit in a chair, got you a cup of water and started the breathing exercises that she remembered Spencer teaching her, he taught everyone tricks to help those when having a panic or anxiety attack as its something they would definitely encounter during their time with both agents, victims and unsubs, a few minutes passed and you finally calmed down.

“T-they, they tried to contact me” you said quietly as you looked at Garcia who was red eyed.

“And i was there (Y/n), they dropped me off home and where going back to Dereks, i didn't know if they made it or not because i had already past out by the time my head hit the pillow” Garcia reminded you, it took you a moment to realise but you where both in the same situation, and you nodded as the plan started coming together in your mind.

“Okay,” you stood up as Garcia opened her laptop, “when did you find out?” you asked, you needed to determine how long each of you knew the team was missing.

“I unlocked the batcave and I had the same file on my desk, when I saw the photos I ran up here and then to you,” you nodded as Garcia spoke.

“Okay, I want cameras of every place each of our team members have been, bars, apartments, anything and everything. See if there are any recurring cars or bikes or vans that drive past the streets, do facial recognition on anyone following them like with Reid and Morgan, see if it's happened to all of them.” you took a breath as you called in someone from the bullpen and handed them both the files you and Garcia had been given, “Get this to the lab for fingerprints, this is top priority; we have a team missing” you'd told them, they nodded slightly scared and confused before walking off as Garcia started talking.

“I've got the filters on and they're searching but it's going to take some time,” Garcia said sadly.

“Look up previous cases the BAU has had including the words ‘you were wrong’, ‘French Road’ and ‘East’, possibly other words like ‘it was wrong’, ‘they are/were wrong’ that type of thing, date it back to Rossi's days,” you ordered Garcia.

“(Y/n), a lot of those files are physical if you go back to Rossi,” the tech analyst reminded you.

“I know but still, set filters for that and go as far back as you're able, tell me if you get any hits, i'm going to go down to the file room and i'm going to go back as far as Rossi's days for the physical copies until he started going digital,” you told Garcia, she looked reluctant to let you go so you moved to where she was sitting and you gave her a large hug, “we’ll find them Pen, i promise” you mumbled into her cherry scented hair.

“What about Spencer?” she asked softly as the two of you let go of each other.

“He sent me a message saying ‘french road east’, that has to mean something,” you smiled, “i'm going to try and find that road through all of DC and if there's a hit i'm going to go there and see what's up with it, it might be where they were taken or a street Spencer noted as an important thing for us to know” Garcia nodded and quickly sat back down and started typing on her laptop as you left.

God only knows what your teammates are going through right now.

-----

“YOU SON OF A BITCH” Derek yelled as J.J. was dragged to the middle of the floor and repeatedly beaten.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT” Hotch yelled as J.J. started to whimper, the people stopped at Hotch's comment and left J.J. on the floor, Emily and Spencer scrambling with their hands bound to get to their teammate, making sure she was okay.

“What do we want? We want you guys on our side!” one of the people said, he was happy, how could this make anyone happy?

“FBI agents in our group? We’d rule the world!” another one exclaimed as the rest of the group laughed.

“It obviously took a lot of time and planning didn't it? To capture all of us” Hotch said cooly, though on the inside he was boiling.

“Six months,” someone said, it was a new voice that came from the entrance of...the sewers? Poor Spencer was probably having an attack with all these germs.

“Hey boss! We got ‘em” another one said, god there was too many to remember.

“I can see, you missed two though” the Boss said as he looked at the team, a few of his men dragged Emily, Spencer and J.J. back to the wall they all sat at, “genius's lover, and the black guy's girlfriend” the man noted as his men became eerily quiet.

“The blonde girl was with that skinny guy,” a man pointed to Spencer, “And that one,” he pointed to Derek, “but they kept going to crowded places and bumping into people that we couldn't get them, and the other...one”

“The sexy one?” the boss's voice rang out with a grin.

“YOU LEAVE (Y/N) OUT OF THIS YOU BAS-” Spencer yelled before one of the men kicked him in the stomach, causing him to cough harshly.

“Shut it druggie” the Boss said, the looks on the teams faces gave him all the pleasure, “oh yeah, we know all about you guys; how Hotchner lost his wife, Rossi has had 3 divorces, Morgan was sexually abused, Prentiss has had an abortion at 15 and J.J., sweet little J.J. had a miscarrige” snickers from the men could be heard as the team looked away, embarrassment? No, just confused as to how these people knew such intimate things about them.

“And that little lover of yours, genius?” another voice questioned, the voice came toward Spencer, gripped the poor boy's hair and ripped his head up to look up at him as a pained expression came over the doctor, “they’re in for it big!” he cackled, “gonna have a lot of fun with them when we get them later,” and with that he threw Spencer against the wall, Spencer groaned as a few of his teammates called his name but he didn't register it, only the pounding in his ears and the feeling of blood rushing down his head. And with that, the men and their boss left, the door to the sewer room shut and the click of a lock echoed around the room, the silence the team heard afterwards was loud, deafening.

------

“What’ve we got Garcia?” you asked the analyst as you walked back into the room, placing 3 files on the table in front of her.

“Okay, very few cases including those words you gave me, a lot of the cases were only one unsub or two and I highly doubt there were only two unsubs so I crossed them off and? I got nothing,” the girl sighed as she got rid of the tabs to continue working, “the facial recognition software and car registration is still going, i've got hits for all of our friends being in the places that they mentioned, all of them had unfortunately been walking at the time but they go from one camera to another and then suddenly they're gone,”

“So our unsubs are sophisticated, this definitely took time to plan and get the right things for,” you mumbled as you looked at the victim board Garcia had hastily made up on the clear plastic, each member of your team's faces were up there along with a few other colour pieces of paper for the unsubs, and that's it.

“I haven't gotten any hits on the cars either” Garcia mentioned softly, you nodded.

“Okay well, i've got three cases here that all mention those words from before. First one is a group of five unsubs from Rossis and Gideons days but a lot of them are in jail if not all of them, the second is a cult group from Missouri and the last one is a gang of over thirty people; and not all of those thirty people had been found, prosecuted, jailed, killed and etcetera you get it” you fanned out the files and opened each of them.

“Which one do we think it is?” Garcia asked, we had no leads of which one it really is, so you took a breath and read over the files.

“Okay well, the five unsubs are all in jail and only two have been let out of prison in the last six months and it wouldn't be them because they only have two people in their gang, they’re loyal so they wouldn't start a new group without the originals” you closed the file and pushed it away and moved onto the other one, “the cult is rather big but they’re based in Missouri and i don't think they’d travel all the way over here to kidnap agents. This isn't religious or anything and they are so, definitely not them” you closed the file and landed on the last one, “okay, this one,” you looked over the file as Garcia started typing away, “fifteen have gotten out of jail in the past 2 years, five where never found and the rest are still in jail” you looked to Garcia, “this could be it”

“AH HA!” Garcia exclaimed, “i have a hit on three of those people who are in the system and they are following our lovely friends” Garcia typed another second as multiple video cameras came up showing your friends walking (or stumbling depending on who it was) along with one of three people following behind them a few feet.

“It has to be them then,” you said, “i'll go back down and find the rest of the files, Garcia i want you to find every bit of land, buildings, warehouses and houses they have ever bought, i want to know what they ate for breakfast on the third of january last year, i want to know what plumbing system they used in 2016; i wante everything” you said, albeit forcefully, as you walked out of the room and towards the file room again as Anderson walked back into the conference room and handed Garcia a few papers.

“Thank you Anderson,” Garcia mumbled as he looked over the paper, and sure enough there was fingerprints that matched one of the people who followed your teammates, Garcia then pulled up the video surveillance of the BAU and the facial recognition was quick to find the man enter the room, place the folder down with glove-less hands before walking out, he had a visitors pass.

-------

The scraping of metal against the floor awoke each member of the team slowly as a few people walked into the room, placed food trays on the ground in front of each team member, uncuffed the team and then walked out. The team looked to each other as a voice floated through a P.A. system above them.

“It isn't poisoned, and if you don't eat it then that's up to you but you will starve,” and the system shut off with a harsh beep.

“Hotch?” Derek asked.

“Eat unless you want to die,” was all their unit chief said before he moved forward and started eating the sandwich he had. Emily followed suit and gave a throaty moan as she drank the water from the goblet on the tray, the others soon followed.

-------

“There's nothing,” Garcia said as you entered the room again, “they don't have any land or anything,”

“Well find something then,” you said harshly, Garcia jumped slightly at your harsh tone but started typing again as you pinned up photos of each of the members out of the prison, “have you done a deep search on each person that's out of prison and that wasn't found?” you asked Garcia.

“Yes! Yes, five of the fifteen have alibis from the night our friends got taken and i can't find the rest nor can i find those other five that were never found, they really are off the grid (Y/n)” Garcia said as her fingers flew fast against the keyboard, you looked at the clock on the other side of the room.

“Ten hours,” you muttered, “god only knows what they’re going through,” you rubbed your hand over your face and paced slightly, “we have 15 persons of interest and we can't find them, do the ones with alibis have addresses?”

“They all do, three have work and home and the other two dont work and are stay-at-home-dads, all of their names and addresses have been sent to your phone” Garcia told you as a ping from your phone sounded.

“Okay, i'm going to go and check out that place Spencer gave me before he got taken, i'm gonna grab a few other people to go to other addresses because it'll save time and then regroup back here,” you said as you pulled your phone to your ear and started calling a few people.

You parked the car and made your way to French Road which was, as Spencer did say, to the east of the FBI headquarters. It looked like any other little street, a few cafes and a few empty blocks, it wasn't in the city but it wasn't in the suburbs; it wasn't deserted but it wasn't crowded, you noted this. Spencer and Derek weren't taken from here because they were in the middle of the city at the time of abduction, so there has to be something here that Spencer saw to make you come here. You looked in every alleyway on both sides of the street, doing a shallow dig in the dumpsters, opening a few cafe doors and asking a few questions but ending up with nothing. You let out a huff as you looked up and down the street again, until you realised something.

This was a dead end street. The end was a large circle so cars could do a U-turn and go the opposite way, stationed at the end of the street is a path to some sort of forest/secluded jogging track, this had to be a lead, it has to be. The leaves and sticks crunched as you walked along the track, your gun positioned next to you in your hand, ready for action whenever needed, that's when your phone made a large shrill and scared you half to death.

“What is it Mike?” you asked into the receiver after realising it was the other team who was out asking questions.

“We have a lead for the group from one of the stay-at-home-dads; they’ve been planning this for awhile but haven't put effort into it except for the past six months. We couldn't get a name because the guy was too loyal and was convinced they’d come after him but he did tell us that they tried to get in contact with him to regroup, he obviously refused but they left him alone after that, one phone call and nothing else,” Mike said, you could hear the slam of a car door as he got into one of the SUVs with his partner.

“Okay, that's good Mike, get that to Garcia and see if she can try and trace that call and what tower it's pinged from,” and with that you hung up as you heard Mike say ‘got it’ before the line went dead. You looked as far down the path as you could from where you stood but didn't go any further, if this was a lead then you would need backup and probable cause as to why you're there.

“All five of those men checked out with the same story, they each got a call asking them to rejoin the team and they refused, the caller disconnected right after that but they haven't gotten any threats since then. Unfortunately i couldn't find a tower it was pinging from and the number was from five different burner phones too,” Garcia said as you looked over the victim board.

“Background searches with those ten we had earlier?” you asked, “found anything else?”

“Um one, he's only 26 and but its a loose thread,” the picture came onto the screen, the man looked like he could pass as 16, “James Micheal, 26, the only thing i could find was that his credit card has weird transactions over the past six months so it fits our timeline however, i can't find the account it's going to so it must be a bugged one or fake or something similar” Garcia said as she brought up the transactions.

“Found him on the streets?” you asked, Garcia grinned and brought up a video feed, and upon further inspection, plus audio, you now had a profile.

-------

“Right-o,” a voice said, the metal door screeched open causing the team to wince as he and 2 other men stepped in, “who wants to go first?” he questioned, the sickening grin could be heard through his speech as the sewer was way too dark to see 3 feet in front of them.

“Grab the kid, he had the addiction,” another voice muttered before the men moved forward.

“HEY FUCK OFF,” Spencer yelled as two of the men tried to pin him down, Derek started scrambling towards Spencer to help but after a nasty blow to the jaw he backed away with guilt.

“Get the needle,” one of them said, this caused Spencer to tense, fuckfuckfuckfuck, this can't be happening, no way are they gonna inject him again.

“Look nerd, it's your old friend!” the first man said as he shook a small clear bottle in the slim stream of light from the roof, and sure enough there was a label with the one word that caused Spencer's fight or flight to make its appearance, Dilaudid.

“NO, DON'T YOU D-” a punch to the jaw caused Spencer to splutter and breath heavily as his arm was grabbed roughly, tied and the needle entered into his skin and vein, he sobbed. The team heard Spencer whimper as he felt the liquid inject into his veins and bloodstream, the telltale shortness of breath was quick to take its mark along with the immediate drowsiness as the men walked out without saying another word.

“SPENCE” J.J. exclaimed as the man in question fell into a slumber and the team crowded around the twitching boy, it was just like last time.

“Protect him,” Hotch said, “don't let them take him in this state, fight, bite, kick, i dont give a single shit,” the team looked at Hotch and nodded as they all took a silent oath to protect their friend.

------

“Our unsubs are up to ten people, possibly fifteen or more if they have recruited new people,” you started the profile with Garcia standing next to you, “we have one person of interest as of right now, James Micheal, we have video evidence and audio evidence of him speaking to each member of the BAU team trying to proposition them, as you all know a few of our team members would have ignored him, and a few would have talked or said a simple no; those who didn't say anything he continued to walk next to and annoy until that team member said something,” you took a breath, “we have evidence of James stalking the BAU team for the past 4 months from their work, to their home, to where they go for dinner on a special night or the bar; this includes both myself and Garcia in this stalking pile, we have added extra security to our own homes.”

“James has been making up to five thousand dollar transactions to some bugged account for the past six months and another two thousand dollars to a seperate account 2 months prior to those first six months,” Garcia was now delivering the digital trail, “this means he has been with this team for at least eight months, possibly more, he is most likely new, shy and unsure of what he is doing. James is being used and he knows he is but he has no way out as our unsubs keep saying things like ‘ill kill your family’, ‘you're nothing without us’, stuff like that,” Garcia used her hands to talk as she also pointed to the victim board to the photo of James’ driver's license.

“This team on unsubs are highly dangerous and we must proceed with caution around and with them, they all have gotten out of jail in the past 2 years and they obviously have a vengeance plan, please remember this. We also have a lead to where this team of unsubs could possibly be hiding but until we have James we cannot infiltrate the area. There is a fake missing person report out for James so we can hopefully get him into questioning, thank you,” and with that the people around you filtered away back to where they were meant to be going. You turned to Garcia.

“Do you think that was enough? What if we don't get to them wh-”

“Garcia stop, we cant think like that, we are the best of the best even without the team, okay?” you held Garcia enough to ground her as she nodded and wiped her tears.

“SSA (L/n)?” a new voice asked, you looked to the glass doors and sure enough, James Micheal was waiting there.

“James,” you said as you walked towards him.

“I saw the flyers and I just have one proposition,” James said, his voice was deep and definitely didn't match his face.

“What is it?” you asked as you walked to the interrogation room and allowed James to sit down in front of you with your back to the mirror, Garcia and Anderson were already standing in the small room before the interrogation room.

“I want protection until those guys are back in prison, i don't want them anywhere near me and i don't want them to find me,” James said, his voice was ridden with anxiety, you nodded.

“We can do that James, it's alright,” you reassured the man in front of you, “can you tell us who is in this group? Where are they staying?” you asked, James nodded.

“There's ten in the group, they're off the beaten track down some street in the east-”

“French Road?” you questioned, James nodded.

“Yeah, yeah that one,” he agreed, that was everything you needed from the previous encounter, “they don't have a lot of security but they’re pretty sophisticated with what they have on hand. They know everything about all of that team though,” Jack mentioned, “Emily got an abortion and that Red dude?”

“Reid” you corrected.

“Reid, they know of his Dilaudid thing and Hotch and his wife - they know everything,” Jack was shaking now, “they-they said they were going to use that against the team, the addiction, the trauma all of that”

“They’re going to dose Reid?” you asked with your shaken voice, that wasn't a good thing. Jack nodded as he looked to the clock.

“Most likely have already,” he whispered, you looked to the clock, 12 hours since the disappearance. Fuck. You nodded.

“You’ll be taken by another agent to a safe house and let out when this team is apprehended,” was all you said before walking out of the room and letting the door shut behind you. Your throat tightened and you couldn't breath as you sunk to your knees, Garcia and Anderson rushing to you.

“Breath (Y/n), breath” Garcia reminded you, “breath with me my sweetness” she said, Garcia made more effort to show her breathing as you tried to copy her, a few minutes passed before you had finally calmed down, tears streaked your eyes as you bumbled your words.

“I-its French road, Spencer was onto something,” you mumbled softly, “th-they know everything, from Reid's addi-addiction to Emily, and Hotch's wife,” you took a deep breath, “I-I want S.W.A.T. stationed with me, w-we’re going to infiltrate that place with the hel-lp of Jack and his direction-ns, possibly a map,” you looked to Anderson who nodded and walked out while taking out his phone to call for S.W.A.T., “Garcia i dont want you there,” you said, looking at the girl, she nodded in understanding as you stood up and started walking towards the way of the S.W.A.T. team.

------

J.J, Derek, Emily, Hotch and Rossi all whimpered as each member got kicked, punched, pulled, twisted and everything in between, Spencer was only just coming to from the drugs.

“N-no, dont,” Spencer whimpered, he was weak and could barely open his eyes but soon slipped back into a slumber.

“Y-you won't get away with this,” Emily whispered as one of the men gripped her jaw, her voice hoarse and scratchy.

“Oh darling, we will,” the man grinned as he threw the girl to the floor as the others piled the team on top of the others, all groaning and silently crying.

In retrospect, (Y/n) was rather glad that all members of the team were in the room when the door was busted open.

“FBI, PUT YOUR HANDS UP,” you yelled, the words echoing around the room, the men snickered as S.W.A.T. trained their guns on the men.

“It’s alright boys,” the boss said, your eyes trained towards the voice.

“Let. My team. Go,” you said calmly, gun now cocked, the man laughed.

“Go on boys,” the men moved out of the room but the boss stayed standing.

“Grab the team,” you said to S.W.A.T. behind you, the men walked in slowly and trusted you with your trained gun as they started carrying or walking out your team members, one having to cradle Spencer bridal style, “ambulance,” you said into the mic on your vest, “we need an ambulance for a poentional OD, Dilaudid was used, possibly a cocktail of other drugs but its unknown. Dont use other narcotics and if i find out you do i will be going to jail due to murder of doctors and nurses,” the sirens wailed in the distance.

“You’ve got tendencies too,” the boss said in front of you, “murder, killing, everything” you scoffed.

“Everyone does, its whether we have the empathy and understanding of ‘that's wrong’, which is why we don't do it unlike you people,” you seethed through your teeth, “hands up, you are under arrest for the kidnapping and torture of six FBI agents,” the man stayed silent for a moment.

“(Y/n) (L/n),” the man said, “pathetically in love with Agent Spencer Re-”

“It’s Doctor,” a voice said behind you, the cock of a gun could be heard before the tell-tale sound of a bullet being fired next to you, your natural reflexes made you dive to the right (as the bullet came from the left) as the boss was hit in the forehead and fell to the floor. You looked to the gun carrier.

Spencer Reid.

Gun held out straight, no tremble and a stern look.

Spencer looked to you and tears immediately spilled from his eyes as you stayed stone against the floor, “i see you got my message,” Spencer said softly with a smile before he collapsed to the floor in a heap of limbs, the gun clattering to the floor as paramedics rush to Spencers aid.

It seemed to go in slow motion, everything whizzed past you as other paramedics helped you to your feet, your eyes glassy and vision blurred as you got brought to the back of an ambulance. Around you each member of your team was being attended to, brought to a stretcher and taken in another ambulance, eight ambulance’s in total.

It was okay, you got all of the men, all of your team was safe.

Except.

“HES FLATLINING”

“We need to get him to the hospital NOW!”

“HE'S GOING TO O.D.”

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