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angryschnauzer · 4 years ago

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Overnight

Summary: It may have been a mistake to get off the highway, your car breaking down on an abandoned back road. But just in time a tow truck appears, and the mechanics garage isn't far away... but when you find out the parts will be delivered overnight, you storm off towards town... and somehow find yourself where you least expect.

Pairing: AU Mechanic Chris Evans x Female Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Dubious Consent, AU, Greasy Mechanic Chris, Backroads Fic, Unprotected Sex, Thunderstorms, Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, unprotected anal sex, Sloppy Seconds, Kitchen Sex, Dark Chris, Slightly Creepy Fic

A/N: This is a slightly twisted story, i wouldn’t say it was ‘dark’, but it does have a slightly sinister undertone. I’m also tagging it as dub-con (dubious consent) as although reader never says no, she is never asked either. This is very much a work of fiction, and i urge the reader to take responsibility for their online consumption, so ensure you read the warnings before reading and then only proceed once you have accepted what this story may contain. It is not a light and fluffy fic.

I do not operate a tag list, but you can follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications, as every time i post a story i will reblog there. I have too many stories to do a masterlist, but you can find my entire back catalgoue on AO3 through THIS LINK.

A while back i also wrote a Seb AU Mechanic fic, and here is the link for that: Caught In The Storm

Overnight

You should NOT have turned off the interstate. Sure, you would be stuck in bumper to bumper tailbacks in the searing heat, but surely it would have been better than this. The further you’d driven, the worse your car had sounded, the metallic clanking sound getting louder and louder the further you drove. Something made a loud THUD and you felt the power steering go, and glancing in your rear-view mirror a large oil patch was appearing behind your car as it slowly started to cough and splutter, before coasting to a halt on the side of the cracked road. As the engine died you thumped the steering wheel, cursing and screaming at the broken piece of junk, before with heavy limbs you pulled yourself from the car.

Standing on the rough gravel at the side of the road, your hands on your hips, you glowered at the car, a faint hiss of steam coming from beneath the hood. The sun beat down and you could feel the heat of the day sinking into your bones, gnats and midges trying to gnaw at your skin as you slapped them angrily away. Dark clouds grew on the horizon but did little to obscure the beating sun high above you.

Checking your cell phone you weren’t surprised to see the no service icon, you were in the middle of nowhere, more likely to be dragged into the surrounding swamp and eaten by god knows what than to be able to call anyone. Just as you were lamenting your woes, the sound of an old diesel engine came rumbling to yours ears, and glancing down the road you saw an ancient tow truck coming into view. Standing in the road you waved your arms to flag the vehicle down; even if it couldn’t help then maybe it could take you to a working phone.

The truck came to a stop in front of your car, and as the engine cut off and the driver’s door opened, you felt your body go tight. The man that climbed down from the cab looked like sin on a Sunday, long denim clad legs striding towards you, ball cap on backwards doing little to shade his face from the pounding sunshine, and a t-shirt that seemed to be painted onto his broad chest and wide shoulders;

“In a spot of trouble there darlin’?”

You let out a huff, you weren’t about to let some back roads hick try and charm his way into your panties… though said panties were suddenly becoming damper by every second he stood close to you. Shaking your head, you stood tall and puffed your chest out;

“My car has died. If I could borrow your phone to call Triple A, I haven’t got any signal on mine…”

The guy looked you up and down, his gaze resting on your chest as a bead of perspiration ran down your neck and between your breasts, his tongue darting out to wet his lips;

“AAA don’t come out here, its subcontracted out to us locals. I’m on my way back to the garage now if you want a tow Sweetheart?”

Letting out a deep sigh you nodded, returning to your car to grab your purse as the man started to unreel the towing line and called out to you;

“Hop up into the cab Princess, this won’t take a moment”

Rolling your eyes at the pet names you bit your tongue; the guy was after all helping you out. Gripping the handle of the tow trucks door you looked down at the old worn paintwork ‘Evans Autos’. You quickly fished your phone out of your bag and snapped a shot, setting it to upload to the iCloud once you got in range of any signal… at least that way if this greasy backroads mechanic chopped you into little pieces you had left a trail of evidence.

Pulling the door open you let out a small yelp when you came face to face with a big brown dog sitting on the passenger seat;

“Scoot!”

The dog looked at you with utter disdain, and firmly remained sat on the seat. Waving your hands a little you frowned at it;

“C’mon, scoot over!”

Over the sound of the towing winch whining at it pulled your car up onto the truck, you heard the mechanic call out;

“You’ll have to climb over Dodge… he likes the window seat”

Turning back to the big mutt you could have sworn it had a smug ‘so there’ look on its face, and as you climbed up and around the dog, you sat in the middle of the wide bench seat. Looking around you couldn’t find any seatbelts, so just sat with your hands firmly clasped in your lap. The sounds of lockers being shut hit your ears before the driver’s door opened and the mechanic climbed into the seat next to you and grinned;

“Best hold on Babe, it’s a bumpy ride to the garage”

“I’ll be fine, thanks” you muttered as he gunned the engine and pulled away.

He hadn’t been lying; the roads were atrocious. With each bump and pothole you were bounced closer to him, the dog the other side of you seemingly able to spread out across not only his seat but part of yours. You could have sworn the mechanic was aiming for every single bump possible just to be able to watch your breasts bounce as the truck hit each stone.

With each jolt and jiggle your thigh was pressed closer and closer against his, and when the truck hit a huge hole in the road you felt yourself almost lifted from the seat, suddenly pinned back by his strong arm quickly thrown across your torso to hold you down and from slipping from the seat. The skin of his tattooed bicep was pressed against the exposed neckline and chest, his scent invading your senses; a warm spicy aftershave and motor oil and gasoline. You could feel your panties getting wetter as your legs parted so you could plant your feet on the dusty floor of the truck but it did little to alleviate the aching between your thighs.

Finally he slowed the truck and turned the wheel into a sharp left-hand turn, the truck bouncing along a gravel driveway until an old wooden auto shop came into view. Pulling the truck to a stop he climbed out, holding his hand out for you;

“Dodge likes to sleep in the cab…”

Rolling your eyes you took his hand and climbed out as gracefully as you could, your short sundress sticking to the seat before you yanked it down to retain what was left of your dignity;

“So Babycakes, there’s a coupla’ chairs round the side if you want to take a seat whilst I look at your car, and an icebox on the counter just inside the shop, help yourself to a water”

“Umm, thanks”

You glanced at the time on your phone. You’d been waiting three hours; the sound of your car being taken to pieces by the mechanic was all you’d heard for most of that time. The only thing that seemed to have changed in those three hours was the humidity rising and the storm clouds coming closer. Rising to your feet you stretched your limbs and turned the corner of the auto shop, glancing at the mechanic as he lay on the floor below your sorry looking car as it was raised on the hydraulic lift;

“Sir?”

“Chris”

“What?”

“It’s Chris, not Sir…”

“Ok, Chris. Do you know how much longer it’ll be?”

Chris pulled himself out from beneath your car, wiping his hands on a rag that was hanging from the back pocket of his jeans;

“For today, I’ll probably be done in an hour…”

“Great!”

“... but I need to overnight the parts I need, so it won’t be ready until tomorrow”

“What? When were you going to tell me that?”

“I’ve just ordered the parts Honey”

You let out a grunt of frustration;

“Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow… you could have told me sooner”

You turned on your heel and started to walk away;

“Where ya’ goin’?”

“To find a motel, or a guesthouse, or somewhere to stay at!”

“On foot?!”

“YES!”

You had stormed off, anger driving your feet as your white sneakers slowly got covered in brown dust that puffed up from the gravel driveway with every step you took towards the road. Finally you reached the cracked asphalt, taking a sharp right-hand turn and you started along the road. By now the humidity was hanging in the air and it felt like you were walking through soup. Even the midges had given up, their tiny wings not strong enough to cut through the cloying stillness. The sun was now obscured by dark clouds, but you continued on. Finally a crossroads came into view, and you willed your heat-tired muscles to push on, coming to the sign and stopping. The shortest distance was to take a right, so scrambling over the accumulated gravel you continued your journey.

An hour later your legs were weary. Your dress clung to your skin as sweat beaded across your brow, down your chest and back. You held your arms out as you walked, hoping just by moving they would cool your skin, but having little affect.

Finally a small house came into view, further buildings behind it mostly hidden by trees. The hair on your arms stood on end with Goosebumps and you could smell petrichor on the air, you knew the storm was about to break. Quickening your step you found the energy to trot down the rest of the way, past the worn mailbox with most of the letters worn away, the last three just spelling out ‘van’, but you were oblivious, the first raindrop hitting your skin and you sprinted towards the house.

By the time you reached the porch the parts of your dress that weren’t stuck to your skin due to sweat were doing so thanks to the rain. A crack of thunder boomed as a flash of lightning lit the sky, and as you cowered under the porch you heard a bark and a very wet brown dog suddenly ran for cover, shivering on the doorstep. Another crack of thunder made you jump, and the dog cowered against you, you crouching down to wrap your arms around the scared creature. Looking at the name tag that hung from its collar you read it; ‘Dodger’, and your heart plummeted to your stomach. Before you could even fathom what had happened, a familiar voice was behind you;

“You were walking over an hour and you still manage to find your way back here?”

Turning you looked out to the lawn where Chris stood, the rain pouring over him, his t-shirt stuck to every curve of his body and his jeans hanging low on his narrow hips. Slowly striding towards you he wiped the rain from his face as he stepped under the porch, reaching around you and opening the door to the small cabin;

“You took a right and another right, didn’t ya?”

“How did you…?”

“Well, if you hadn’t stormed off in a huff, I woulda told you to turn left at the end of the driveway. Instead walked a giant triangle and found yourself back here”

You let out a strangled noise, not quite a cry, not quite a scream, before your body sagged;

“Can you… can you give me a ride into town?”

“Nope”

“No?!”

“The town is tiny. All we got is a church, a market, and a drug store. Nearest motel ain’t for thirty miles, and you wouldn’t wanna stay there… unless you like cockroaches”

You could feel your bottom lip quiver, trying to hold back the tears before Chris’s voice softened;

“I got a couch you can stay on, no funny business, no obligations…”

He was close, so close. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, and you found your mouth moving before your brain could stop it;

“What if I wanted funny business?”

There was no more preamble, no more hesitating, he stepped forwards, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other on your waist as he pulled your body flush against his own, his lips meeting yours.

The kiss was fierce, your mouth willingly opening as his tongue pushed against your own, dancing together as you tasted one another. His hand on your hip pulled at your dress, curling it up in his fingers until your skin was there to touch, his large hand gripping the soft cheek of your ass. He pushed you back, the hardness of the wooden clapperboards of his cabin rough against your skin, but you were blissfully unaware of it. He pressed one leg between yours and you ground your hips against the firm denim clad muscle of his thigh, in turn the thick hardness that was growing between your bodies he rubbed against your hip, moaning into your mouth as the friction helped release some of the tension that had built during the day.

Snaking a hand between your bodies, your dress had already ridden up so he was easily able to slide a hand into your panties, leaving streaks of motor oil across the pale fabric as he sought out your clit. Pushing two wide fingers down he found your soaked entrance and gathered some of your wetness, before bringing his fingers back and rubbing firm circles against your sensitive bud. His lips parted from yours, resting his forehead to your own for a moment you panted into his mouth, the air between you hot and thick, before those kiss plump lips make their way to your neck, sucking and licking at your jugular as his beard scratched against your skin.

Your head lolled back and rested against the wooden side of the building, the storm raging around you as you felt your orgasm starting to build. Your hands clung to Chris’s strong arms, his skin patterned with tattoos that you yearned to run your fingertips over tenderly. Your body started to shake, your orgasm growing closer as that coil in the pit of your stomach wound ever tighter, your hand finding its way to the firm bulge that was pressing against your hip, and as you squeezed the hot muscle through the denim you started to come, Chris’s mouth finding your own against as he swallowed your cries of passion.

He stilled his fingers as you trembled against him, quickly unfastening the buttons of his fly and pushing the garment down just enough to free his thick cock, taking hold of your thighs as he lifted you. With strong hands he gripped at your panties before ripping them from your body, the ruined pieces of cotton falling to the floor at your feet. You felt the wide tip press against your still trembling entrance and with a grunt he thrust into you, filling you completely as you screamed out his name.

You clung to him as he started to fuck you roughly against the wall, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting being drowned out by the storm now wild overhead. With each thrust your body was sent to heavy, the thick stretch of him inside you making your legs tremble as he held one leg over his hip, letting you try and keep the other held up as he pawed at your breasts, pulling your dress and bra down until you spilled out, your tits bouncing with each of his powerful thrusts.

No words were spoken, your moans the only thing that could leave your lips as Chris fucked you so hard you were sure you’d never be able to close your legs again and made roadkill of your pelvis with his powerful thrusts. You were trembling around him and you were getting closer and closer to coming again. His lips were on your neck again and muttering the dirtiest things in your ear;

“Are you gonna cum on my cock babe? Make me fill you with my cum until its dripping down your legs… you’re squeezing me so damn tight, gonna pump you full then take you inside, make you sit on my face, would you like that? Wanna feel my tongue on your cunt?”

“Oh fuck… Chris, yes… fuck, keep going…”

He laughed quietly before picking up speed, the slapping sound of his heavy sac against your ass filling your ears as the wide root of his cock rubbed and dragged against your clit. With a grind of his hips you were coming, your fingernails clinging to his back as you shook with pleasure, triggering his own orgasm as he pumped hot ropes of creamy seed deep within your womb.

Holding you against the wall, he kissed you, his tongue working against your own before he slowly pulled out of you, letting your feet fall to the floor. Your head swam from the pleasure surging through your body, only partially aware of Chris pulling his jeans up enough to keep them on his hips before he wrapped his arms around your waist and threw you over his shoulder, carrying you inside.

Moments later you were being dropped onto a large bed, the covers messy from when the previous occupant had simply gotten up and dressed that morning, and you watched as Chris stripped his soaked clothes from his body before crawling onto the bed, his gaze feral as he pressed a line of kisses up your sternum before his lips found yours again. His fingers worked deftly against the ties of your wrap summer dress, pulling it open and helping you to wriggle out of it; all whilst his lips never left yours.

Finally he pulled away, his strong arms bulging as he flipped you over and pulled your hips up until you were resting on your knees. His wide tongue pulled a thick stripe through your cum soaked folds, from clit to asshole, before grinding his face against your crotch. His tongue was everywhere, sucking on your clit before moving to your well fucked entrance, then moving up and pressing against the tight ring of muscle between your asscheeks. With more insistence he pushed his tongue against your back door and you sighed into the old sheets below you, your fingers curling in the cotton as he slid two thick fingers into your soaked channel whilst his tongue worked against your asshole. When his thumb found your clit a shockwave bolted through you, your scream into the mattress from sheer pleasure as you unashamedly ground back against him, moaning his name as your legs shook. He pulled his mouth away and spat on your asshole, working a finger in up to the knuckle and you started to cum, his fingers in your cunt rubbing against that spongy spot whilst his thumb worked figure eights over your clit, and you found yourself squirting your release as you screamed with pleasure.

You were aware of Chris pulling away, your body trembling and fluid in the prone position. You heard the quiet click of the cap of a bottle before a cool viscous liquid was slowly spread over your ass. The touch of Chris’s fingers exploring your most hidden of places had you pushing back against his touch, relaxing as he slid two oiled fingers slowly into your ass, massaging you, stretching you. By now you were drooling, your tongue working against the cotton sheet as you bore down as he pushed a third finger into your ass, the quiet squirt of more oil being applied directly inside you had you knowing what was coming, and humming a low moan as you felt his fingers pull away only to be replaced with the well-oiled fat crown of his cock.

Turning your head you watched as he pushed the wide mushroom into your tight ring of muscle, groaning as your secret walls gripped him so hard. His large hands pulled your cheeks apart and he spat on his dick as he started to push into you, filling you, parting your walls with his meaty girth. You could feel every vein and ridge as he pushed harder, reaching around and rubbing at your clit whilst he rocked his hips back and forth before he was finally balls deep in your ass.

“So fuckin’ good, feel so tight around my dick Baby, taking me so well... “

His mouth was as dirty as you had hoped, praising you for taking his dick in your ass as he started to fuck you, pushing his legs open to widen your own and allow him in even deeper. Your hands scrambled at the covers trying to find something to grip onto, some sort of purchase, before he was suddenly pulling your arms behind your back and gripping your wrists with his massive hands. Folding your arms across your sweat drenched back he used them to anchor himself as he fucked your ass even harder, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you as your empty cunt ached to be filled. As if reading your thoughts - or you could even have said it aloud, who knows you were so high on pleasure - he grasped your arms in one large hand before curling the other arm beneath you, pushing three fingers into your soaked pussy as he fucked your ass so hard you doubted you’d be able to sit down for a week without feeling it.

“Fuck… gonna cum Baby, gonna fill this ass with cum so deep…”

“Yes... Chris, FUCK, fuck my ass, I want your cum…”

“My fucking gorgeous anal cum slut, your cunt is gorgeous, but I’m gonna fuck this ass from now on… never had an ass this good, this tight… gonna have you gaping by the time I’ve finished with you… my cum dripping down your legs, gonna make sure you never wear panties again, need you ready for me to bend you over and push my dick up this tight ass to fill you with another load…”

Your orgasm took over, gripping Chris’s dick and fingers so hard it set his orgasm off, a second wave of your orgasm so intense that as you felt your body milking Chris, the room went dark and you blacked out.

The room was dark, the sound of rain outside soothing to your ears as you tried to figure out where you were, then snippets of your memory came back; your car, the garage, Chris… the storm… fucking him… Turning you saw him quietly asleep beside you, you winced as your muscles protested against moving, but the need for water and the bathroom was too much as you quickly slipped out of the room.

Having found the bathroom, you attempted to clean yourself up a little before walking through the small cabin to the kitchen, taking a glass from the counter before filling it and drinking the whole thing at the sink and filling it again. Two warm hands wrapped themselves around your naked body from behind, warm lips and a rough beard found your neck and Chris started to kiss along your shoulders, his hands finding your naked breasts as he cupped them whilst grinding his hard dick into the crease of your ass. Setting the glass down you spread your legs a little wider, and a warm hum of appreciation reverberated through Chris’s chest as he dipped his hips whilst pushing you forwards over the old porcelain sink, the smooth crown of his dick pushing against your used asshole, and you felt the pop as he sank into your cum soaked walls.

Groaning as you leaned forwards and gripped the cool porcelain, you opened yourself up for him as he ploughed into your murky depths, his thick thighs pushing your legs wide apart before he lifted one of your knees until it was resting on the countertop, your other foot only just reaching the floor as you were stood on your toes, Chris fucking your ass harder this time, gripping your hips as he filled you again and again. His hands moved to your breasts and he pinched your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, rolling the hardened teats until they were painfully hard. Snaking his hands up your front he wrapped his fingers over your shoulders so he could pull you back onto him harder, his thrusts increasing in speed. Your cunt was leaking juices down your inner thighs, and with each thrust his heavy sac would slap against it, reminding you of its emptiness, and you found yourself begging;

“Chris please… fill my pussy…”

Chuckling he pulled one hand down and spat on it before pushing three fingers into you, all whilst continuing to fill your ass with his fat cock;

“You like that? You like having all your holes stuffed? You’re just begging to be filled, used, fucked…”

“Oh fuck… harder… fuck me harder…”

With a grunt he increased the speed of his thrusts, the front of your thighs pushing painfully against the sink, your leg muscles screaming at the way you were stretched wide open, but the pleasure was too intense to stop, you needed it, you needed the release.

You came again and Chris fucked you straight through it, somehow finding the skill to fuck you even harder, sliding a fourth finger into your slick channel as he stretched you so wide. Your head swam, the sound of the storm outside closing the world in around you, and as you came again so did he, filling your ass with another load of his cum.

Afterwards he carried you to his bed, wrapping his hard body around yours as you fell into a dreamless sleep, the reality of the world far far away.

Handing over the keys you smiled at Chris as you took them from him. Your body ached and was sore beyond belief, but it was certainly a night to remember. You had slept in until well past midday, only waking when your stomach had growled from not eating anything. Picking at some leftovers in Chris’s fridge, you’d found your soaked sundress draped over the back of a kitchen chair, pulling it on you shivered at the damp touch of the fabric before you’d stepped out of the cabin and found Chris fitting the parts he’d had on overnight delivery to your car. The bill had been more than you had expected - the parts costing more than you had in your purse - so when Chris had smirked at you and suggested an alternative payment, you had sighed with pleasure as he’d fucked you bent over the hood of your car, his dick filling your cunt as he had three fingers stretching your ass. You’d cum so hard you were left shaking, and he had pulled out just before he came only to push an inch into your ass and fill you with another load of his cum.

With your keys in hand you kissed him, your tongues sloppy before you pulled away just as the sound of tyres could be heard on the rough gravel of his driveway, another tow truck pulling up alongside Chris’s.

Sitting in your car you gave him a wave as you pulled away, watching the garage disappear into the distance before you turned your attention onto the road ahead, pulling out onto the dry again asphalt, another summer storm starting to gather on the horizon.

Not thirty minutes later you were standing at the side of the road, kicking the flat tyre before screaming out at the sky in frustration. You checked your cell phone, groaning when you saw the out of service sign, before stashing it back in your purse.

The sound of an old diesel engine could be heard in the distance, and you looked up to the sky before closing your eyes;

“No… it can’t be…”

Taking a deep breath with your eyes still closed, you heard the engine get closer until it came to an idle beside you, and familiar voice greeting you;

“Baby… you need a ride?”

Chris hopped out of the cab, slipping his hand beneath your dress and giving your ass a squeeze;

“Gotta watch out for that sharp gravel, it’ll blow tyres out real bad…”

Sitting in the cab you watched as Chris hooked your car back onto the tow truck, before ducking back inside the truck, this time just the two of you;

“Where’s Dodger?”

“Sleeping on the porch… Now, we’re gonna have to order you a new tyre Baby…”

“Let me guess, it’ll be delivered overnight?”

He leant back and started to unbutton his jeans;

“You never got to taste my dick last night… how about you try it now whilst I finger that ass ready for the next round? Huh Baby?”

Settling onto your knees on the wide seat, you took him into your mouth, sucking him as he started the truck, unaware of the rusty nail that he dropped into the pocket of the door, a small piece of tyre rubber still attached to it… he’d found you, and he wasn’t about to let you drive off into the sunset...

#chris evans fanfic #mechanic Chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #dub-con #dubious consent #chris evans smut #dark fic

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aspiringhorrorauthor · 4 years ago

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With A Little Help From My Friends

For @chaosintheavenue ‘s Fallout Mini-bang Event! I worked with the insanely talented and awesome @paladinthrockmorton for the event, please check their blog out!

Game: Fallout 2

Characters: Chosen One OC, Goris, Lenny, Marcus, Sulik, Vic, New Khans, Darion

Summary: The Chosen One and his crew are headed to the Squat to try and get access to Vault 15, both on request of the NCR and to try and find the fabled Vault 13. On the way, they run into a strange, cloaked man, wandering through the desert alone.

(Read it on AO3 here if you prefer: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27857697)

Without further ado, here is ‘With A Little Help From My Friends’!

Two hundred years of sand, stubborn enough to not have shifted from its spot, flew out of the way of the car tires as the Highwayman sped past. The people of California were used to strange sights in the post-apocalypse; massive mutants, zombie-like people and reluctant heroes with a purpose, but seeing all of those crammed into an antique car, darting through the desert, was another sight altogether.

Add in that they were all wearing scavenged sunglasses, slowing down each time they passed travellers on the road to let them ogle, occasionally leaping out to shoot molerats, and the spectacle was certainly unique. Marcus was wedged in the back between Vic and Sulik, with Lenny sat up front, silently pleased of winning shotgun simply by being the only one who knew how to drive and teaching the car’s owner. The driver himself was Theo, far from his home in Arroyo, and loving the freedom of his car. Lenny was very glad there was hardly anything to run over out here, though.

They were headed to Vault 15, travelling East from NCR, with maybe only another couple of hours to go. The end of Theo’s grand quest was so near, if the stories were to be believed. As soon as he dealt with the squatters, and accessed the Vault’s computer system, he could find Vault 13, where he’d finally get the GECK to save his village. Victory was so close he could almost taste it.

A hooded figure at the side of the road caught his attention as the car shot past, too fast for the stranger to have really appreciated his beloved car. So Theo braked and reversed it to meet back up with them, rolling down his window and keeping his car going at a crawl to match the hunched stranger’s shuffling pace.

“Beautiful day today!” Theo called out cheerfully. The stranger lifted their head, but Theo couldn’t spot their face through the cloak.

“Ideal weather for a stroll,” the stranger agreed, an unusual tone to his voice that Theo couldn’t quite place. Theo scrunched up his face; sure, at this time of year the desert was somewhat cooler, but an aimless stroll in this heat was never a good idea, and who went strolling this far away from civilisation?

“What do you mean, a stroll? You’re days of walking from anywhere, mate,” Theo pointed out. The stranger seemed to shrug under his cloak.

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m heading to NCR, but I may have gotten lost on the way,” the stranger gave an odd sort of laugh. Theo bit his lip; this stranger barely looked able to walk properly, never mind fight off any threats out here.

“Uh, you know there’s rumours about deathclaws roaming around these parts, right?” Theo asked. “Big, sharp fellows, could rip a super mutant apart in a jiffy?”

“Oh yes. Perfectly agreeable fellows, always keen for a reasonable debate,” the stranger replied, his tone so solemn that it was difficult to tell if it was a joke or not. Lenny shot a look of concern at Theo; who would want to debate a deathclaw?

“M-maybe he’s been out in the sun too long?” Lenny suggested quietly, to which Theo sighed. Of course he’d run into someone needing help out here, didn’t he always? Curse his good nature.

“Hey, we’re running some errands first, but we’ll be heading to NCR after. Want a lift?” Theo asked. The stranger paused, peering into the car, where Marcus waved back.

“It seems crowded in there already. I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“Nonsense. Lenny, jump in the back, will ya?”

Theo stopped the car, giving Lenny time to squeeze in between Sulik and Marcus while the stranger settled into the empty front seat. His cloak sat strangely around his body, hanging too long at the arms, and the bottoms were scruffed up from dragging along the floor. The stranger took a moment to get comfortable, as if they weren’t used to sitting in seats. Well, car seats anyway. Theo held out his hand.

“Call me Theo. What do I call you?”

“My name is Goris, I’m a travelling scholar,” Goris nodded slightly, but didn’t shake Theo’s hand, “Forgive the robe, but genetics hasn’t been kind to me. I tend to scare people.”

“Well, you’re in good company here,” Theo laughed, shifting the car into gear. “Hold onto your hood Goris, this baby’s got speed.”

The car sped across the desert like a bullet, Goris desperately holding down his hood while the wind roaring through the open windows tried to blow it off. Marcus offered him a bottle of water at one point, but Goris declined it, seemingly too enraptured by the speed they were travelling at.

The drive was peaceful; they didn’t run into any further trouble on the way. Goris was keen to talk to all of them, asking about each of the towns they came from and grilling them for questions on their histories. Soon they came across the spot that Tandi had marked out for them, the squatter camp located just outside the Vault that was stopping NCR from gaining access. Theo offered to let Goris stay in the car, but the draw of possibly learning the history of the squatter camp pulled him from it.

The Squat, as Tandi had referred to the camp, was a squalid little shanty town bordered by trees, made up of tents and inhabited by nervous looking locals. The tents were weather beaten and worn, the tears spoke of years of being dragged down in a hurry, with patches sloppily sewn into place where the tears had become holes. The greyed out colour of what could possibly be the original fabric was mostly covered by the patches, the only hint it had once covered the whole tent being it’s unusual material and how often it was seen on separate tents. But mostly, the tents looked old, as if they’d been standing when the bombs, and still stood out of sheer determination. At the far side stood a more permanent building than the tents, still crumbling and falling apart. The roof was more of an old umbrella than something to keep out all weather. It was bordered by a rough forest gnarled trees, with a guard patrolling them.

The squatters, dressed in clothes only slightly younger than the tents themselves, watched them closely as they made their way to the permanent building, keeping a distance from the strangers. Theo waved at a child staring slack jawed, only for their mother to whisk them away.

“Don’t you just love a warm welcome, boss?” Vic deadpanned under his breath.

The only permanent building in the camp seemed like the best place to try and find someone who was in charge. Theo knocked on the door, and let himself in, only to narrowly dodge a rock that flew at him.

“Oh no, not dealing with you NCR lot today. Out!” a man on the other side of the door yelled at them. Theo picked up the rock and glared back.

“Hey arsehole, your rock nearly hit my head,” he called out, “Learn to aim, dipshit!”

“I told you to leave. We don’t want your kind around here,” the man insisted Theo tossed the rock back to Marcus, who crushed it between his hands while the man watched, slack jawed and terrified.

“You don’t want to make an enemy of us, old man,” Theo warned. The old man staggered backwards, “good thing we don’t want a fight you. We’ll come back later when you’re in a more agreeable mood,” Theo slammed the door behind him, taking a step back before yelling. “Arseholes! This wasteland has two types of people in it; arseholes, and people who want something from me!”

“What does that make us, boss?” Vic asked in mock offence. Theo rolled his eyes.

“Oh don’t get me started. You needed to be rescued from slavers. You,” Theo pointed at Sulik, “needed a debt paid off. You,” Theo pointed at Marcus, “Needed a murder solving and your mine fixing. You,” Theo pointed at Goris, then faltered. Technically, Goris hadn’t asked for his help at all, “Well, I’m sure you’re just here for the car ride. And Lenny,” Theo turned to point at Lenny, only to find him missing. “Wait, where’s Lenny?”

Everyone else looked around in bewilderment; none of them had noticed him leaving at all, and there were no signs of Lenny anywhere. With a resigned sigh, Theo started to wander between the tents, lifting heavy flaps and yelling Lenny’s name under each one, much to the ire of the squatters within. He eventually found Lenny quietly talking with an older lady, who looked terrified.

“Oh Lenny, did you round a corner too quickly and scare people again?” Theo asked with a mock tone of concern to his voice.

“Her d-daughter’s m-missing, possibly kidnapped.” Lenny stated. All mirth drained from Theo’s face in an instant, as his hand went to his gun. Hero time.

“Your daughter, do you have any idea where she might be?” Theo asked. The lady glanced between Lenny and Theo, biting her lip.

“There’s people in the vault, just East of here. Chrissy’s too adventurous for her own good, I was always catching her trying to sneak out there. The people don’t want us going anywhere near there, so maybe they--”

“Hang on,” Theo interrupted her, quietly stepping back towards the tent flap, dragging it away just in time to see someone rush away from the tent.

“Were they listening?” The woman asked in horror. Theo gave chase as Lenny tried to reassure her but had lost track of the person by the time Theo rounded the tent corner. Instead Theo ran up to the rest of his crew.

“Did someone just run past?”

“Someone just passed that guard over there,” Vic pointed to a guard stood by the edge of the trees, “why?”

Without answering, Theo turned and lead the way towards the forest. The guard, patrolling the outskirts, caught up with them, stopping Theo in his tracks.

“You might want to turn around stranger, there’s nothing to see here.” She said.

“What are you guarding?” Theo asked, standing up on his tip toes to try and see over the guard’s shoulder. She stood up taller to block him again.

“I’m not guarding anything, just making sure no-one wanders off this way.”

“Then why not guard the way into the desert that way?” Theo pointed to the far side of the Squat.

“Why do you care anyway?”

“A young girl has been kidnapped. D-did you see someone pass by here?” Lenny asked. The guard stopped for a minute, looking torn.

“…Yes, they did. Do you think they’re linked to it?”

“Almost definitely.”

The guard sighed, running a hand through her hair and looking back through the trees, before finally coming to a conclusion. “Look, I don’t want any trouble. They hired me to stop anyone passing through after they had troubles with the girl snooping, I’m not with the people that took her, honest. You can go through. Just, don’t tell them I let you in, and save Chrissy, okay?”

Theo gave her a wink and took the lead through the copse of trees, more dense than any forest in a desert had a right to be. But the branches looked gnarled and dead, as if whatever had let them grow in the first place had run its magic and left them to suffer alone. At some point, this place must have been verdant, but now it was as worn down and withered as the Squat itself, a fitting nest for the camp. Theo ran a hand down the bark out of curiosity, pulling away large chunks effortlessly.

The trees thinned out again, marking the edge of the small forest, and bringing into view a shack that stood in a clearing near a wall of rocks that boasted a poorly hidden metal door. Another guard, this time wearing armour unlike any Theo had ever seen, leant against the shack wall, smoking a cigarette. He stared at the crowd, removed the cigarette and rubbed it out against the wall behind him as Theo marched closer, laser pistol in hand.

“The fuck do you want?” The man snarled.

“We’re looking for a missing girl, do you know anything about that?” Theo asked. The man eyed up Theo with a look of disdain.

“Maybe we do? What are you gonna do about it?” He taunted.

“You’re looking at a crew with a supermutant and asking what we’ll do about it? I’ll give you three fucking guesses. Where’s Chrissy?” Theo demanded, gripping his laser pistol tighter.

“As if I’d give her over that easily to a little punk like you. Nah, we can have some fun with her yet.” The guard teased.

“Up yours and eat a bullet breakfast, arsehole.” Theo snapped, getting a lucky quick shot that hit the man straight in his eye. His body slumped against the wall as footsteps from inside the house rushed towards the door, unlocking it.

“What’s--” The woman that appeared didn’t even get a chance to finish her sentence as Marcus aimed his minigun at her, tearing her apart in a flurry of guts. Once the gun stopped spinning, Theo rushed over to the body, searching for the keys and pulling them out with triumph. Meanwhile, Vic and Sulik rushed into the house, weapons at the ready, checking each room was empty.

“There’s a locked door at the back!” Vic called out. Theo rushed to meet up with him, quickly unlocking the door, only for it to fly open in his face as a teenage girl rushed out, kicking Vic in the groin and making for the front door, to find it inadvertently blocked by Marcus and Goris.

“Chrissy, I presume?” Theo called after her, holding his bleeding nose. “Your mom sent us.”

///////////////////

“The mayor’s quite nice when he’s not throwing rocks at me, isn’t he?” Theo snickered, spinning the key card in his fingers as they headed back to the shack. Chrissy’s mother had been overjoyed that she’d been returned safely and convinced the man in charge to let Theo’s crew deal with the raiders in the vault on their behalf. The ones that had taken Chrissy were just the surface crew, and had been paying the squatters in ill-gotten gains to keep the NCR away, but if he could get rid of the raiders, who called themselves ‘New Khans’, then maybe they’d deal with the NCR again. Well, at least he was getting into the vault now. Even if it was to help someone else again, “why is the name ‘New Khans’ so familiar anyway?”

It was mostly a rhetorical question, but the rest of his group looked baffled by it. Clearly it wasn’t for them.

“I think I’ve heard locals speak of some old rivalry between a raider gang and the NCR, maybe this is the raider gang?” Goris suggested.

“Maybe.” Theo agreed quietly. Maybe another of his grandfather’s adventures involved the Khans, and he was just keeping up with family tradition. “Hey, Goris, you don’t need to come with us, you know. We’re going to wipe out a raider camp, it’ll likely get a little hairy and I can’t promise we can cover for you.”

“Oh, you needn’t worry about that. I can handle myself.” Goris assured him. Theo couldn’t keep the doubt from his face.

“They’ll be armed, and deadly. We can come get you after we clear it if you’re desperate to look around the vault, you know.” Theo tried again.

“Thank you, but I am more than capable of keeping myself safe. I do usually wander the wastes alone. I would like to return your kindness from earlier.” Goris insisted.

“Well, alright. It’s your funeral.” Theo shrugged and swiped the keycard in a slot in the door, stepping back and watching the rusted old door slowly open with an ear piercing creak. Beyond it lay a cave lit by primitive torches. With a small wave to tell them to keep quiet, Theo led the way in, running a hand against the wall to keep on track if the torches went out. The rocks were dark dry, but sturdy, Theo couldn’t pull out any stones with his bare fingers; a sensible choice to build a vault in, he supposed. The deeper they went, the darker it got; the rocks seeming to absorb light, until, more often than not, Theo couldn’t even see his own hand brushing against the walls through the blackness. Very easy for the raiders to hide in.

“Who the fuck are you?” Came a sudden bark from further in the cave, causing Theo to jump, hand reaching for his laser pistol. Damnit, he could barely even see down here, never mind shoot. He needed a different plan.

“Uh, new recruit?” He hazarded.

“Oh, right, yeah. Go on in.” The Khan replied. Barely believing his luck, Theo stepped forward, still holding his pistol ready, but the Khan didn’t react, just waved him and his oddly shaped entourage along. “You’ll want to see Darion, he’s on the bottom level.”

“Darion, got it.” Theo nodded. Past a turn, the cave opened up somewhat, with more torches giving him a better view of it. He recognised the vault door, almost identical in design to the one on Vault 8, except this one lay discarded on the floor, far past repair. Some more Khans stood around in the cave, chatting, paying him little attention. They made their way through the empty doorway and through the halls of the vault. It stank of rust, and the lights didn’t seem to work, the same torches from within the cave illuminating the metal hallways with only marginally more success. This vault had long been abandoned; it didn’t have the crisp, clean, almost sterile look to it like Vault 8 had; this was beyond disrepair, it was a health hazard; a tetanus epidemic just waiting to happen. They tried to avoid touching the walls as much as possible as they headed to the old elevator, barely squeezing everyone in.

“We suspect a trap.” Sulik warned.

“Definitely. Hands on guns, everyone, and expect a fight. Got enough ammo, Goris?”

“Don’t worry, I always travel fully armed.” Goris assured him, adjusting his robes but not pulling out a gun.

The lift itself was slow, rickety. It shook and creaked down the levels, and once it stopped the doors crept open. Marcus exited, minigun first, checking the surrounding corridors before signalling everyone else to follow him. It was eerily quiet down here, except for the muffled dull thud of a leak and the gentle crackle of the torches along the walls. Theo headed towards the Overseer’s room, past many closed doors that his companions checked behind him. The door was shut, and when the button was pressed, it opened much faster than it should in a place this ruined.

Beyond the door was pitch black; no torches, no lights, and no sound, as if someone had scared away anything that could make noise. As if the room was holding its breath.

Theo took a step back, ready to leave before the trap was sprung, but his companions hadn’t seen it, and continued walking, knocking him further into the room. The creaky hiss of pistons behind him told him that the door had shut them in, and the torches lit up around the room, highlighting jeering faces and glinting off of weapons. Too many Khans to count surrounded them, each armed to the teeth and ready to shoot. They were surrounded, and outnumbered, and hopelessly outgunned. One khan, an old man, stepped forward, hatred written across his face, sizing Theo up. “You look just like him, that damned Vault Dweller.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” Theo shrugged, trying to look for a way out. But the only way other than the locked door was further into the vault, and they didn’t have emergency exits. Damn. “Are you Darion? Wouldn’t want to waste my ammo.”

“The one and only. I have waited eighty years for my revenge against the NCR. Getting to kill a man that looks like their attack dog is the icing on top.”

“Would a distraction help?” Goris asked quietly. Theo had absolutely no idea what the shuffling scholar had in mind, but anything would be better than nothing right now, so he nodded, not straying from Darion’s gaze.

“You couldn’t kill my grandad back then, and I won’t be killed now. Guess you’ll just have to wait a little longer.” Theo bragged. Darion opened his mouth to speak, but his eyes widened and his jaw dropped instead, as he and his two bodyguards stumbled backwards in shock, a scream tearing from their throats. Theo turned to look where they were staring.

Only to see a deathclaw stood next to him.

Theo stumbled back as the deathclaw threw itself towards the nearest Khan, giving an almighty roar that rattled Theo’s skull. It swept its claws across their helmet, sending it scattering across the floor, the second hand following shortly after, leaving deep gashes down the raider’s face that flooded with blood.

The Khans had stopped screaming and were aiming their guns now, some at the deathclaw, some at Theo and his friends. Theo pulled out his own laser pistol and aimed for Darion’s eyes.

Darion collected himself, and in turn faced Theo, narrowly dodging the laser shot and returning with a flash of fire from his flamethrower. Theo jumped back just in time, the searing heat flashing against his face, and firing another laser at Darion, hitting his shoulder.

A burst of bullets behind Darion hit the man with a yell as one of his guards, in blind panic over the approaching deathclaw, accidentally fired at Darion instead.

“Watch where you’re shooting!” Darion yelled back, giving Theo the window to fire again, getting Darion square in the side of his face, knocking him down to the floor.

The deathclaw had thrown the guard to the wall and leapt instead at Darion, landing on the man’s shoulders before swiping his head clean off in one fell swoop.

Theo backpedalled as quick as his legs could take him, but the deathclaw didn’t even look at him, just threw itself horns first at another khan.

Theo hit a second khan in the crotch, felling the man just in time for the deathclaw to catch him across the neck, before turning to where Lenny stood. Theo went to shout out a warning to Lenny, but the deathclaw had already sprung.

And completely missed Lenny, instead taking down a khan stood behind him that was aiming a shot.

Sulik took down one of the raiders guarding the door, the heavy thud of his supersledge against the raider’s skull making Theo wince as Sulik yelled for the rest of them to retreat.

Vic and Lenny did so quickly; Marcus and Theo backed off while aiming at the remaining Khans, who’d all but ignored them in favour of trying to take down the deathclaw, with little hope. It was too fast, too strong.

By the time Theo reached the door, no Khans were left standing. Just the deathclaw in the centre of the room, breathing heavily and covered in blood. Marcus raised his minigun, getting it ready to fire, while Theo did a quick head count.

Vic, Sulik, Lenny, Marcus… where was Goris? Had he been injured? Theo quickly glanced around the room, but the only sign of him was his robe, discarded on the floor where Goris had last stood. Beside Theo. Where the deathclaw had--

Theo shoved Marcus’ arm just in time to redirect the bullets away from the deathclaw, who had now turned to face them. Lenny and Vic had their guns trained on it, while Marcus shot Theo a dirty look, having just wasted an entire magazine on the wall.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t point your guns at me, thank you.” The deathclaw said casually. The shock very nearly caused Vic and Lenny to drop their guns entirely.

“What evil spirit is this that talks to us?” Sulik demanded in horror.

“It’s fine guys, lower your guns.” Theo tried to assure them, barely keeping the quiver from his voice. He stepped forward cautiously, picking up Goris’ robe. “So, uh, why didn’t you tell us you were a deathclaw?”

A gasp behind him told him someone else had figured it out too. “To be fair, you didn’t ask.” Goris pointed out. Theo had never been this close to a deathclaw, nor had he ever wanted to be. Those thick, grey scales almost seemed to glow in the torchlight, giving an ethereal look to Goris, so different to the sandy coloured scales he’d seen on the deathclaws they’d raced away from in the car. And those legendary claws, thick as a radius bone and sharper than a sword, and blood red after the fight; most waste landers thought it was a good life if they’d never seen one at all, nevermind gotten up close and personal with them. Goris didn’t move, just watched Theo with dark red eyes that didn’t blink anywhere near as often as a human’s did. Theo stepped closer still, every instinct screaming to run, not getting close enough to be in Goris’ reach, and held out the robe for Goris to take, glad it covered his wobbling legs. He didn’t have reason to be afraid, did he? This was still Goris, the desert weirdo who thought debating with deathclaws was-- oh wait.

Goris slowly took the robe back from Theo, giving a quick thanks and quickly putting it back on and deftly retying the cord around the waist. Once the hood was up, he looked the same as before, but Theo could spot all the little details that would give him away, now that he knew what to look for. The hood sitting too far forward from his horns, the overlong sleeves hiding his claws, the way it trailed to cover every inch of him.

“Clever disguise.” Theo complimented, feeling a bit more comfortable now that Goris had hidden himself. “Wish I could do that. Where’d you learn to talk and not kill humans on sight, then?”

“Um, the lift is rattling.” Lenny pointed out, bringing Theo back to the vault again. Right, the other Khans would’ve heard the commotion, and were no doubt on their way to find out what had happened. He pushed his way through the doorway, reaching the corner leading to the corridor for the lift and peering around it. No doubt about it, the lift was in motion.

“What’s the plan then?” Theo asked.

“Going in guns blazing isn’t good enough for you this time?” Marcus smirked.

“No, ‘cause we’ve always got the element of surprise on our side now.” Theo grinned back at Goris. He was still keeping his distance, and everyone else keeping their distance from him in turn, still unsettled by the deathclaw in the room.

“There’s a room just inside this corridor, if I hide in there I can jump out behind them too.” Goris suggested.

“Right. We’ll take cover here.” Theo agreed.

“I think I’ll go with Goris. I don’t do ‘hide and shoot’.” Marcus raised his gun for emphasis.

Goris and Marcus hid in the room, Goris’ tail flicking out with every step now he wasn’t shuffling everywhere, while Theo and Lenny hid behind the far wall, Vic and Sulik by the near. The lift stopped with a ‘ding’, the doors slowly creeped open, and footsteps cautiously marched out.

Theo nodded to Vic, pointing their pistols around the corner, hitting the front two raiders blindly. They gasped out, firing back while everyone pushed themselves against the wall, holding their breaths for what they knew was about to come.

Sure enough, with a loud thud against the metal floors and an almighty roar, Goris jumped into the battle, and they leapt out from hiding. The Khans were too busy screaming at the deathclaw behind them to see their attackers in front of them, and they fell quickly to a hail of bullets, lasers, hammers and claws.

But the lift continued to rattle regardless.

“More Khans?” Marcus asked.

“Ready for round two, everyone?” Theo asked with a smile. Oh, he could get used to this.

#fallout 2 #falloutbang #goris #chosen one #Lenny fallout #sulik #marcus fallout #vic fallout

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wriggleum · 4 years ago

Text

Your Hand In Mine

on AO3 ! Summary: Jack wants to cook dinner for Bitty because he realizes that he's never properly cooked him dinner before. prompt: Jack cooks dinner for @jackzimmermannturns30 Words: 8819 Chapters:1/1 Rating: G Relationship: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann Warnings: Concussions

“What’s wrong? Did I mess up the recipe? My hand kinda slipped when I was seasoning the chicken and I dropped a lot of paprika in the bowl. I thought I fixed it?” Jack had been staring at his plate for what was most likely an awkward amount of time after he had taken a bite of chicken breast. But Jack was just stuck in his head. He had a thought earlier during breakfast. Bitty cooks for him all the time. He makes dinner for them whenever they’re together and if Bitty isn’t around Jack can always just heat up one of the premade meals stocked up in his freezer. Bits is just amazing like that, and he insists that it’s no trouble at all. The thing that’s getting to Jack is the fact that he’s never cooked dinner for Bitty. It’s been bothering him all day, during his run, all through practice, at the gym and when he came home and took his nap up until he hit the ice. It’s not that Jack can’t cook, he can cook just fine. He’s never actually followed a recipe before. His mother taught him how to cook chicken at one point, and he can follow packing instructions perfectly. His food may lack seasoning most of the time —he became aware of that fact at some point his sophomore year, Shitty broke it to him gently after a few bites of whatever he made for dinner that night— salt was pretty much the only thing he had in his cupboards before he met Eric. A spice rack was one the first items Bitty added to his kitchen when he visited for the first time over the summer of his second year. His kitchen has never been the same. Despite the lack of seasoning in his food, it gets him fed and full. His meal plan didn’t allow for much variety. Jack had never minded it. Yet for a while it was eat to bulk up, and eat to keep him going. Then Bitty came in and ruined it all for him with his pies. Jack will be reluctant to admit he’s snuck away with a few extra slices of pie in the middle of the night while he was living in the Haus. At least he’s not living off of takeout like some people he knows. So yes Jack can cook, but he honestly doesn’t know how he survived without Eric’s cooking for the years that he did. His baking is next level, that's a known fact of life, but his cooking is just as good. Meanwhile Jack's cooking looked like lukewarm high school cafeteria food compared to Bittys carefully thought out dishes. The fact is Eric is always cooking for Jack and Jack feels kind of bad about it. It’s not like Bitty isn’t busy with his (second!) book and the Youtube channel and then he goes and insists on cooking for Jack or prepping meals for when he’s off doing bookdeal stuff. So Jack is going to take it upon himself and make a meal for his husband. It’s really the least he could do for him. Looking back down at his plate of perfectly seasoned chicken breast —Eric’s mistake not noticeable at all— surrounded by flavorful green beans and cauliflower. It was all so good and exceeded anything Jack could have made for himself without a recipe. “Bits, there's honestly nothing wrong with the chicken. It’s perfect actually.” Eric squints at him from across their plates. “Ok then why do I feel a but coming?” “But,” Jack chuckled. “You’re always cooking for me. Us.” Jack stabs a bit of green bean and chicken onto his fork, stuffing it into his mouth, chewing for a bit and swallowing “You’ve been so busy Bits and you’re still cooking dinner for us and baking and going all over the place and I don’t know.” Jack paused and took a sip of water gathering himself. “I feel bad.” An outraged look crosses Bitty’s face for a second. He scoffed and says, “You made breakfast for me the other morning! You grill all the time during offseason!” “Scrambled eggs and a toasted bagel can hardly count compared to what you end up cooking, and that takes minimum effort.” Jack gives Bitty a long stare, “Also you season and marinate the meat whenever we barbeque. Here I thought you of all people would understand that premade chicken tenders and a homemade lasagna aren’t the same thing.” Jack goes to eat another bite from his plate but then says, “Also I meant dinner. You’re always cooking dinner. When was the last time I actually cooked dinner?” Bitty takes the time to honestly think about it but looks up at Jack sheepishly a moment later. “That’s what I thought. If you don’t want to cook we just end up ordering take out or we go out somewhere.” Bitty rolls his eyes at Jack, “Well, you’ve got a point there hun I’ll give you that.” They go back to eating, Bitty’s dinner playlist playing softly in the background. Then Jack has a thought. “I’m going to cook dinner for you.” he looks Eric in the eyes, “As soon as possible.” Bitty looks like he’s trying really hard not to laugh, Jack pouts. “Oh honey, that's real sweet of you, and I would love that! Don’t get me wrong.” he picks up his glass of water and tries to take a sip to hide his suppressed laughter but fails. “I’m not laughing at you ok, so please stop with that face. It was just you were so serious about it.” Bitty giggles and grabs Jack's hand next to his and smiles brightly at him, “I really would love to have whatever you cook up!” “Ok so what do you want?” “Oh you know I’ll have whatever!” When Jack doesn’t respond to that, Bitty rolls his eyes again and pulls out his phone and starts tapping away. “Oh ok, ok. I’ll send you one of my Pinterest boards and you can choose something from there, how about that?” “I would really appreciate that. Thank you Bits.” Jack's own phone pings and he smiles down at it. He saves the link to the board to look at later and goes back to polishing off his plate. *** The next day after practice Jack is sitting in the nook scrolling through the Pinterest board Bitty sent him titled Quick ‘n Easy: Beginner Friendly Recipes. When Jack first saw the board he looked at it a bit suspiciously. He couldn’t think of a reason as to why Bitty would have a board of recipes for beginners. It would make more sense if it was for his Youtube but the board itself has no baking recipes in it. Bitty must have had it already made because he had sent it when Jack had asked, and there were a lot of recipes already in it. He’d have to ask Bitty about it later. Now, Jack was struggling with what to choose. Did he want to with the easier option of a pasta dish, or did he want to do something like a steak with a couple of sides to go with it? He really wanted to cook Bitty the best dinner he possibly could. Apparently Jack was stressing about choosing a recipe harder than he thought because the first thing Tater said when he sat down next to him was, “What is matter Zimmboni? You look as if you are making big life decision. You talk to Bitty yet?” Snowy who sat down across from them chimed in, “Yeah man I don’t think you can stick your phone any closer to your face without it becoming a part of you.” Jack suppressed a sigh. Might as well come out with it, these two sure as hell won’t leave him alone without Jack saying something. “I’m going to cook dinner for Bitty.” “Ah, you cook for little B! What are you cooking?” Tater wiggled in glee, peaking over Jack's shoulder to glance at his phone. Handing his phone straight over to Tater, Jack poked at his packed lunch —prepared by none other than Bitty. “That’s the problem.” Jacked sighed, “I don’t know.” “What is it, an anniversary or something?” Snowy asked. “No it’s just Eric is always making dinner for us and I just want to cook dinner for him for a change.” Jack explained. “Ahh gotcha.” It was silent for a second but Jack felt the brunt of Snowy’s piercing stare. He didn’t say anything but Jack could see it in his eyes when he looked straight back at him: what the hell Jack, you don’t cook for your husband? When he’s not only been cooking for you, but he brings in plates and plates of amazing baked goods for the team? Really Jack? For shame. He could hear it clearly in his head in Snowy’s smooth drawl. When Snowy looked down at his own food, breaking the eye contact that went on only for a second or two, Jack chastised himself. Snowy would never seriously say something like that. Chirp him to hell and back? Oh for sure. Jack snapped out of it when Tater exclaimed, “Oh Zimmboni! Cook this, is perfect!” Tater wiggled the phone in Jack’s face. Taking it back he looked down at the screen, it looked like it was no longer on Pinterest but rather on a blog post. Snowy snorted, “Oh yeah? Or is it just something you want to eat?” “Of course I want to eat, if I want to eat it is going to be good for little B!” The two chirped back and forth while Jack scrolled through the blog. It was a blog post with several other recipes in it. There’s a lot of text, the post going on and on about the bloggers family —something about a family reunion?— with so many pictures of people and food. By a photographers standpoint it wasn’t actually that bad. The composition was actually quite nice, and the lighting in all the shots was beautiful. Jack mentally noted to go back to the blog again later but for now he went back to looking for the recipe that he still hadn’t gotten to despite scrolling for a good bit. “So?” Tater looks over to Jack with an eager look. “Euh, what was it you wanted me to cook?” “What! Zimmboni please.” Jack gives his phone back to Tater, feeling a bit like he just was scolded. Tater quickly scrolled through the blog straight to the recipe and showed it to Jack. “This one! It sounds good and looks very easy.” The recipe read, One-pot lemon shrimp pasta. The dish was only five ingredients and the instructions themselves fit into one small paragraph. That seemed simple enough but it also sounded really good. Jack made sure to bookmark the page when Tater handed his phone back to him. “Send updates. I want to know how it comes out.” “Sure Tater, I’ll send you updates.” Snowy snorted between a bite of sandwich, “Can you even cook Zimmerman?” Jack quirked an eyebrow, “Can you?” Snowy said nothing but gave Jack a slight nod of his head as if to say touché. It was a fact that all the Falconers knew, something that Tater brought up constantly, is that Snowy can’t cook to save his life. At least Jack can fend for himself tasteless as his food may be. He really hoped the shrimp pasta was as easy as it seemed. *** The next day Jack facetimed his mother after practice. “Maman, I need your help.” “Oh?” Alicia raised a perfectly plucked brow. Jack explained the situation and Alicia nodded and hummed appropriately. In the end she smiled that superstar smile, all genuine and glimmering white. A twinkle of mirth in her eyes. “I think that’s wonderful. If anyone deserves a home cooked meal it’s Eric.” Jacked nodded in agreement, because that was a very obvious statement. Bitty deserved everything. “But what is it exactly that you need help with? Want me to talk you through the steps?” Alicia ginned. “No maman.” Jack rolled his eyes playfully. “Just. Do you think it sounds good? And Should I add anything else to the food, or on the side? What about drinks that go with it? Should I even bother making a desert or should I just buy it?” “Jack, sweetheart. The recipe sounds delicious. You’re going to have to make it for your father and I next time we visit. And you can’t go wrong with a dry rosé.” Alicia hummed a bit, thinking about Jack’s other questions. “You could add some bread for the side. Perfect for soaking up the pasta sauce. I think you should go to that bakery Eric is always going on about, and maybe get some dessert while you’re there. But I wouldn’t stress about all that, Eric knows you’re not a baker.” Jack thanks his mother for the advice and after the call ends he heads out straight to the store to pick up all the ingredients. Before heading into the grocery he stops by Bitty’s favorite bakery and asks about pre orders and says that he’ll keep in touch. At the grocery store Jack texts his mother a picture of the bottle of wine he picks out just in case; he gets back a string of thumb up emojis and a longer string of various hearts. The recipe called for linguine but he knew Bitty didn’t really prefer it so he stood in the aisle looking at a box of bowtie pasta and a box of penne. Why in the world are there so many types of pasta? In the end he chucked in the penne into his basket because a mother was giving him a mean side eye for taking so long. Thankfully he didn’t have any other issues with getting the other ingredients, so the rest of the trip went a lot quicker. At home Jack put what he could of his supplies in a box and stuffed it in the pantry, the rest went in the freezer and the fridge wrapped up so Bitty couldn’t tell what it was. It wasn’t long after that Jack found Bitty poking around in the pantry. “I’m only looking for flour Jack. Why would I snoop when you told me not to? How could you accuse me so.” he said, thickening up his accent and looking playfully aghast. Jack jokingly shoved him away from the pantry, “Move along Bittle we both know you keep all of the flour in the cupboard.” “Hmm really? I guess I do, don’t I Mr. Bittle-Zimmerman. My apologies I’ll be making my way along to the cupboards then.” *** After all that Jack was sucked into the world of hockey. The playoffs were right around the corner and the Falconers were doubling down in preparation for it. They had a good chance of making it through. So Jack promptly forgot about cooking dinner for his husband and was in full hockey robot mode. Bitty was just as busy with his second book, and he knew how Jack got during the playoffs so he didn’t mention anything. After all, if he really wanted Jack would have all the time in the world to cook when the offseason came around. *** It was an earlier night than usual for Jack. He had to be up extra early for a flight to Pittsburgh and wanted to get enough sleep so that he wasn’t wound up for the whole plane ride. Bitty was getting ready for bed, brushing his teeth in the bathroom. When he hopped into bed and kissed Jack goodnight it was minty and sweet. Before he drifted off into sleep he had a feeling that he was forgetting something. *** They’re a second game into the playoffs, and It’s a home game. It’s warm ups, the national anthem, and then the puck drops. A Penguin wins the face-off and Jack is right behind them. It’s give and take the whole first period, Thirdy gets a pretty goal from the blue line hitting the net right behind the goalie's shoulder. But a Penguin scored one right after, keeping them 1-1 for the rest of the first period and well into the second. Each team took shot after shot on the goal but none were going in after those first two goals from each team. It’s when they come back onto the ice for the third period that it all goes to shit. Jack has the puck and is on his way into the offensive zone, he’s got a huge Penguin on his heels (number 85) and he’s trying hard to push Jack toward the boards. Jack clenches his mouth guard and takes a quick look around to see if anyone is near to pass the puck to. He gives the puck away at the last moment, but Jack was too close to the boards when 85 slashes him with his stick on the outside of his right leg, taking his skates right out from under him and with the speed they were both skating at there was no way to stop 85 from crushing Jack right into the boards. Jack wasn’t sure if he heard a whistle or not, but he was already falling. His shoulder hit the glass first and on the way down his head hit the edge of the dasher board, helmet catching and flying off. His temple hits the ice and it all goes black for a second. When he opens his eye the lights from the rink are blinding and for a very long second Jack panics and then he’s aware of pain and everything blows up around him. He can hear Tater cursing in russin, he already knows he probably has 85’s jersey in his large fists. Thirdy is asking how Jack feels, and he can only blink at him slowly and then he’s cursing as well. Jack isn’t exactly sure how long it takes, but at some point the team doctor is out on the ice blocking his view of the rafters asking him too many questions. What hurts? Everything. Can he move? Sure, but he doesn’t want to. Finally, he asks if Jack needs a stretcher and Jack says no so the trainer and Thirdy help him up and help him across the ice, players around them tapping their sticks on the ice and against the boards. He’s nauseous the whole way across the ice and it takes everything in him not to spue across it. His head is pounding, his ears are buzzing, and the world is spinning. It’s nothing like the smaller concussion he got while in the Q. He’s been lucky so far, but he guessed it was bound to run out at some point. After Jack is off the ice things get a little hazy, the last thing Jack wants to be at the moment is awake. Bitty is looking frantic and now Jack feels guilty and he has a pounding headache. The trip to the hospital is pretty unmemorable to him, and while at the hospital the haze isn’t as bad he’s still having a pretty terrible time. Jack goes through all the necessary procedures, takes too long to answer a few of the doctor's simple questions and promptly gets shoved into an MRI machine and then he’s waking up in a hospital bed, the lights are off. Bitty is sleeping on the most uncomfortable looking couch in existence next to his bed, and he’s really hating 85 right about now. Jack takes stock of himself. His head is unsurprisingly still pounding, he lifts a hand to graze at his temple and it’s tender as hell. Probably already bruised up. His shoulder is stiff, twinging with the slightest movement. And most of all he wants to sleep for a good solid month. Jack tries moving a bit but after his body screams at him he decides he’ll just wither away in the position he’s in at the moment.A gasp to his left shocks him and he winches when he jumps a bit at it. “You’re awake!” Bitty was off of the couch in a blink and next to Jack holding onto his hand in moments. “How’re you feelin’ hun? I know it's probably terrible.” Frowning, Jack thinks back to when Bitty was sprawled on the ice helmet feet away from him. The terror he felt. It’s unfortunately a part of the game and can happen to anyone but Jack still feels bad about the undoubtable stress Bitty probably went through having to watch what happened to Jack from behind the glass unable to get to him. “Sorry Bits.” Confused Bitty responds, “What for? If anyone has to be sorry it’s that 85.” “It’s ju-” Jack was cut off by the doctor entering his room. She explained the situation to both Jack and Bitty but Jack wasn’t really paying much attention. The pain behind his eyes was making it hard to concentrate. Apparently he has a grade 3 concussion and at some point during the hit he popped his shoulder in and out. They want to keep him overnight for observation. Jack was going to protest but thought better of it when he saw Bitty’s glare. Jack would have rolled his eyes if it didn’t cause him pain, so he closed them instead raising the cheap hospital blanket to his chin. Bitty continued to talk to the doctor, their voices a low whisper. Tabarnak, Jack thought. He was out for at least a month, maybe two. Meaning he was done, he was officially out for the rest of playoffs. At least he had more than enough time to heal. He must have dozed off for a few because when he came to again the doctor was gone and Marty was handing a bag off to Bitty. Marty had retired the year prior but hangs out with everyone whenever he’s not busy with his family, and gives Tater pointers from time to time since he handed off his A to him. “Whenever you’re ready to leave you guys just give me a call and I’ll pick you up.” Jack wanted to thank Marty but one second he was blinking and when he opened his eyes again —with great reluctance— he was gone and a nurse was checking out the machines next to his bed, a soft light making its way through the shut blinds. Bitty wasn’t on the couch next to him but the nurse saw him looking around and said that he had only left a few minutes ago, so that left Jack to deal with the nurses poking and prodding him after what felt like zero hours of sleep despite knocking out for a while. He hated hospitals and he hated being incapacitated. Jack knew he was a horrible patient, but he’d always been like that. Though he thought he was polite enough to the poor nurse who had to deal with him. For breakfast they gave him some bland soup and crackers that Jack didn’t really want to eat, but Bitty came back just as they were rolling in the cart, a cup of steaming cafeteria coffee in his hand. He gave Jack a look and it was enough that he begrudgingly slurped at his watery soup. A quick visit from the doctor and some tests later and Jack was free to go home. Not without explicit warning from the doctor and nurses to not strain himself and to listen to their instructions. To get the frown off his face Bitty read the texts from the Falcs and the old SMH hockey team telling him to get well soon, as they escaped by way of a back door straight into Marty’s car to make a clean getaway. “You know the drill.” Bitty said as soon as they made it home, the door locked behind them. Jack sighed, he did in fact know the drill. It was drilled into him by several people in the hospital and as well as Marty on the way home. “Bits. Bud. I stink. I still have to shower.” Jack felt grimmy. He never got to shower after the game and on top of that he has hospital all over him. Bitty scrunched up his nose, “Yeah. You reek.” A quick shower later with Bitty keeping watch on the toilet who gave him a play by play of the rest of the game after Jack’s exit. He was honest with him back at the hospital when Jack asked how the team fared after his exit. Short answer was that Falcs lost in regulation, 1-3 (in the end the Falconers advanced to game six without Jack, they fought hard but it wasn't enough and they lost it all in the next round. It’s hard to lose when you’re so close, but Jack found it especially difficult not being there for his team when they needed him the most). Jack went straight to bed after his quick shower, his mattress felt amazing after laying in the lump of a thing the hospital made it’s patience lay in. He was staring at the ceiling thinking about all the things he wasn’t able to do when Bitty came in a few minutes later, a bowl of steaming something in his hands. “Chicken soup! You definitely need to get something in you, I have no idea what they tried feeding you back at the hospital but it definitely shouldn’t have the right to be called soup, let alone chicken soup.” Bitty was handing it off to Jack his fingertips barely grazed the bowl when it hit him. It was so sudden that Jack physically recoiled, shocking both Bitty and himself. “Bits!” Jack gasped, pulling his hands back. Bitty pulled the bowl back towards himself, almost flingling the contents of it all over the both of them. “What oh my god I didn’t think the bowl was that hot!” Shoving his face into his hands he groaned, “I was supposed to cook dinner for you!” Setting down the bowl of soup on the nightstand on Jack's side he let out a long d’awww, “I wondered how long it would be until you remembered.” He gave Jack's upper arm a little squeeze. “I think you get a pass from cooking. You were all busy getting ready for playoffs and then actually making it to the playoffs! And well...” And he waved a hand over Jack. “Considering your bedridden figure ‘n all. Plus that terrible looking bruise on your head.” “But Bitty it was supposed to be a thing. I even bought everything ahead of time. I was even going to pre order bread from your favorite bakery. I talked to them and everything. Why didn’t you say anything?” Jack only felt slightly betrayed. “Don’t you worry about cooking for me mister!” Bitty scolded, “You had this idea come into your head when playoffs were creeping up right around the corner, you know how you get during this part of the season. And well you just worry about getting better and then you can make me dinner whenever you want.” Picking the bowl of soup back up Bitty hands it off to Jack or he tires to and is unsuccessful because Jack is crossing his arms and pouting in bed like an overgrown toddler. “Oh my god!” Jack harrumphs. “You infant!” Bitty is trying really hard not to smile. “You giant manchild! Are you seriously refusing my soup? Do you think I won’t tweet about this?” Bitty wipes his smile away, putting on his most serious expression. “Eat the damn soup Jack.” he says, making it sound like a warning. “What are you going to do if I don’t eat the soup?” Jack smirks back. Bitty mutters under his breath, “Geez for someone with a serious concussion…” and then he trails off and says louder. “Jack you don’t wanna play these games with me. Not only will I call you mother, who I was assured will come down with the drop of a hat, your father in tow. But I will call Shitty as well.” How quickly Jack uncrossed his arms and grabbed the bowl of soup had Bitty stuffing his laughter behind both of his hands. “My own husband on the cusp of betrayal.” It was Bitty’s turn to smirk. *** The first week Jack caught up on a lot of sleep and listened to one full audiobook read outloud to him from his laptop that he carried from room to room when he felt restless and was sick of lying in bed. That was all he could really do. Listen to his audiobook for a few minutes a time, rest, get up, walk around the house, get a terrible headache, nap, repeat. And worst of all he wasn’t allowed in the kitchen when Bitty was around. Which at the moment was all the time. Jack has never wanted to cook a meal so badly, he was so excited to be able to do something for his husband who works so hard. But Bitty refused to let him cross the threshold between the dining room and kitchen, even if Jack claimed it was just for a glass of water. To which Bitty would then say, “You have a glass and a water bottle and a gatorade next to the bed.” and then Jack would turn tail and lay under the covers because the bright natural lighting from the kitchen was stabbing his eyes like knives. Without hockey, or TV, or physical books Jack was bored out of his mind by the second week. The bruising around his temple had turned a sickly shade of pale greens and brights yellows and browns. The headaches were still there but definitely not as bad as the week prior. But he still wasn’t allowed to do much of anything, especially with Bitty keeping like a sentinel; Guardian of the Kitchen. Jack could admit himself he was getting restless and he was definitely being a grump at times. Bitty thankfully didn’t take his shit moods and would sweetly tell Jack to take a nap if he was going to be ill-tempered, or to take up knitting or something to keep him occupied. After a few days into the second week of The Concussion, Jack was waking up from a mid afternoon nap and was on his way to the kitchen to be a bother when he overheard Bitty talking to someone in the living room. Jack peaked his head in and waved to Bitty who was talking on the phone, pacing back and forth barefoot on their extremely soft white (fake) fur rug. Bitty waved back absent mindley and then did a double take, glaring at Jack he did the I’m watching you hand motion and then pointed sternly at the couch. Jack shrugged and plopped right down in the middle of their couch wrapping a plush throw blanket around himself, catching the rest of Bitty’s conversation. “You know I would love to and I would hate to cancel but Betty, I don’t think I can go.” And nope. Jack had a hunch on what this was about and Jack was definitely not letting Bitty cancel.Getting up from the couch Jack stood in front of Bitty who gave him a curious look. Jack looked right at him and whispered, “Go!”. With a furrowed brow he shook his head, while Jack nodded his. “Yes! Go! I can take care of myself just fine. Bits, go to your convention.” Jack whispered. Bitty bit at his bottom lip, thought about it for a second and then told his agent. “On second thought Betty I think I will be able to make it. You can go ahead and confirm!” The yay! That came from the other end of the phone was loud enough for Jack to hear as he fell back onto the couch. When Bitty hung up with the date and hour of his flight to California written on a notepad, he put his hands on his waist and gave Jack a very squinty glare. “Want me outta your hair don’t ya?” Chuckling Jack pulled Bitty down onto the couch hugging him but then unwrapped the blanket from himself, rewrapped it around the both of them and then slinked his arms back around Bitty. “No Bits. But you have stuff to do and just because I’m not working at the moment means you stop working too. I don’t want you to miss out on all of these opportunities you’re getting!” Bitty went to protest but Jack cut in before he could say anything. “I know you rescheduled a meeting with that publishing company in New York the other day.” Bitty tsked, but then he hugged Jack tightly back. So they came to an agreement and Bitty was on his way to LA by the end of the week. And Jack thought he was bored before. But at least got to practice the dish he was supposed to have cooked for Bitty. Instead he invited Tater over who had a lot of input with how Jack prepared the food and cut vegetables. But he was always good company even when he was nagging over Jack's shoulder the whole time he was cooking. “‘S very good!” Tater hummed as he chowed down on Jack's creation. “Have to facetime Snowy, show that Zimmboni can cook.” “Were you guys seriously doubting me?” “Yes.” Came from Taters phone that he was pointing at his own half eaten plate of pasta. Jack took his own to wash having finished while Tater chattered, shaking his head on the way to the sink. By the third week Jack is still bored out of his mind, but at least Bitty is back, the downside is that he’s really doubling up on his youtube content in anticipation of his second book release. He’s doing several collaborations. He actually already did a few while he was in LA and he’s been editing every day hunched over his laptop at odd hours because he still refuses to hire someone else to do it for him. Jack had forgotten that one of the collabs was with the Falcs social media team, filming something for his own channel and a second video for FalcsTV. So when he walked into the kitchen one Saturday morning and saw the kitchen in full Bitty-Is-Recoriging mode with the addition of Poots, Tater, and Snowy. Jack was actually surprised and thankful he had actually put on pants because his teammates would never let him live it down for walking around half naked in his own home. Unfortunately Jack was having a major headache that day so he only stayed for some hellos and a snack before he retreated back into the bedroom for the rest of the day. He was feeling a little better by the time Bitty came in ready for bed, cuddling up to him and falling asleep in seconds, breath ticking the back of his neck. The fourth week was an improvement from the previous ones. Bitty was away again finalizing book deal stuff so Jack was home alone. But Jack was finally able to do some reading and light trainer approved workouts with the approval of his doctor after a follow up. Now that he had something to occupy his time with he was not only feeling better physically but also mentally. Best of all was the fact that Jack was able to get onto the ice, with the stipulation of not overworking himself. But the sooner he was on the ice the sooner he could get with his personal trainer, and get his ass kicked into shape again. He has to get his stamina back up though, a few circles around the ice and he was definitely feeling it. It would only be another few weeks until Jack was able to officially get to work on putting his body back into shape. By the time Jack was good to go he was hopping on a plane to Quebec for a quick trip to see his parents. He was getting call after call from his father complaining about not knowing what his face looked like anymore— despite several facetime calls. Jack told him he could come down himself and his father said, “I’m getting old Jack, I’m tired of traveling. I've done it my whole life you’ll understand when you get to my age.” “Ok old man I’ll fly up.” “Hey!” Bob protested at being called old by his son, when two seconds ago he was just complaining about getting old. Jack had to shake his head at that. In all honesty the second his father mentioned a visit to his old home Jack was already pulling up listings of flights and had bought a ticket while his dad was blustering on about how good he looked for his age or something like that. Jack had tuned him out a bit. A month and some weeks out of commission, stuck at home with not much to keep him entertained and Jack was itching to get out. Jack would be back home in Providence in time for his birthday —so would Bitty who was still out… doing something Jack wasn’t too sure but he knew it invloed the new book and a possible show? Bitty was being very hush hush about it. He said he didn’t want to jinx anything. Jack wasn’t supposed to have heard that particular conversation but he was in the room first when Bitty answered the phone, so that was all on his husband. It only hit him while he was out having dinner with his parents and they asked him what he was planning for his birthday that he was like huh. Jack is turning thirty. The big three-oh. In reality Jack wasn’t bothered by turning thirty, he was still plenty young. In the hockey world though, it made him sweat a little. He learned not to pay attention to the media long ago, but he still has bad days and when several outlets ragged on about how he’s past his prime years he can’t help but let it bother him a little. He was on the phone with Bitty when his birthday came up again. “So did you want to do anything special for your birthday? We both get back on the 1st right? We can plan something out if you want. We haven’t really had time to talk about it huh?” Bitty’s voice crackled through Jack’s phone. On the screen Jack was getting a spectacular view of his nose and all the hair inside it. Jack laid back onto the overstuffed pillow his mother kept in his old bedroom, having changed it long ago to a guest bedroom changing out his old twin to a full. “I don’t know, I haven’t really thought about it. It’s just another birthday you know? I think I’ve done all there is to do. Or at least all I’ve ever really wanted to do birthday wise.” Bitty shifted, propping his phone up against a pillow or something because now Jack was able to see him from his head to his chest. He was fluffing up pillows and getting comfortable for bed, laying down to face Jack fully. He looked at Jack sideways from his current position laying down. “What about tigers?” “Tigers?” “Oh yeah tigers.” he said with a serious tone "Thirty is kind of a big deal, you’re no longer twenty. I think that deserves a wild party with some tigers.” “Nah, I think that’s more of a fiftieth birthday type of thing.” Bitty paused but then went, “Hmmm Ok then!” Not long after that they said their goodnights and when Jack’s screen went black he squinted at his reflection with an inkling of suspicion. “He’s definitely trying to plan something.” *** It was late but he was back home, suitcase in hand Jack was dead on his feet. Never more glad to be home. He was greeted by the smell of freshly baked pie and if Jack listened closely he could hear his bed calling to him. But first. Bitty. He was sitting at the dining room table typing away at his laptop with a plate left only with pie crumbs next to him. He must have heard Jack walk in because he immediately closes his laptop and turns around with a blinding smile and holds his arms out for a hug that Jack was already going to give. “Welcome back handsome.” Bitty said into Jack’s chest. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in forever.” Jack smiled, “You’ve been busy.” he passed a hand through Bitty’s freshly shaved undercut. Sighing, Bitty losend up in Jack arms, “Yeah it’s all been a bit hectic but I’ve got some exciting stuff coming along.” “Anything you want to share with your loving husband?” “I don’t want to say anything just yet!” “Ok, ok! Well if you’re done here want to get to bed?” “I would love nothing more.” *** Jack sleeps in the next day, he decides that morning the first time he wakes up to take the day off from his morning run. The second time he wakes up it’s because Bitty is getting out of bed, he kisses Jack’s forehead and then Jack out again. The third and final time Jack wakes up it’s because he’s being crushed. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRAH!” Jack shoves Shitty off from him and gives him an icy glare. “What the fuck Shits? And my birthday is tomorrow!” “I know.” Jack exhales loudly and gets out of bed. No use in trying to get anymore sleep with Shitty around. In the kitchen he finds Lardo and Bitty quietly conversing, pie dough rolled out between them and Jack is so sure that a pie is already baking away in the oven, even if the smell wasn’t a dead give away. The day is filled with a lot of pie and catching up. The only time they’ve had recently to talk is the odd facetime call and whenever Lardo and Shitty had time for a game or two in Boston. Shitty is busy with his firm and Lardo has been getting huge commissions from a few major companies so they’ve all been fairly busy with life and being adults. So it’s nice to take a day to talk, have a couple of beers and eat a few pies while screaming at each other over Mario Kart and Smash. It’s later at night when they’ve just finished watching 1917 —Jack’s been wanting to watch it but kept on forgetting about it until Lardo mentioned it when they were all throwing suggestions for movies— that Shitty says. “Hey we’re going out tomorrow for a little bit, just you and me. Two bros out in the town.” Jack laughs out loud and replies, “Sure Shitty.” And the following day at nine in the morning Jack wakes up with Bitty in his arms, his steady breath hitting the side of his neck and he's officially thirty years old. Bitty makes him special birthday pancakes for breakfast —they’re really just maple blueberry pancakes, and everyone else is having them too— and Shitty insists that they pop a single candle in his stack and sing him happy birthday. When that’s all done and they’re all full, Shitty slaps Jack on the back and tells him to get ready. On their way out Bitty gives him a tight hug, Lardo gives him one too that’s less constricting and then Jack is in Shitty’s hands. Shitty’s first stop is at the historic downtown area in Providence where a cluster of vintage stores crowd both sides of the street. They both take their time visiting each store, looking through them and all they have to hold. In one of the stores dedicated to mostly just vintage clothing Shitty finds a horrendously patterned disco shirt, it’s made of a material that squeaks. “Lardo’s going to kill me if I let you bring that home.” “Brah, if I have to wear clothing it might as well be clothes that speak to my soul.” Jack walks out of the store as Shitty is forking the cash over to an all too pleased cashier, and walks into the next one over. And it’s much more what Jack is into. The smell of old books permeates the air, it’s very dusty and books line shelves are stuffed into bins, and there are even towers of books stacked up on the floor all over. He’s already across the room looking through the titles on the shelves in the back when Shitty comes rustling in with his bag that holds the ugliest shirt Jack has ever seen is being carried in. He may not be the most fashion forward, and he may have committed some fashion crimes in his time but come on. Looking down at his watch Jack can’t help but be shocked at the amount of time that’s flown by while they were walking around. It’s well into the afternoon and Jack was getting kind of hungry. So he goes to pay for the little pile of books he’s gathered (one is a personal journal dated from 1946, another was an old mystery novel and cute little vintage cookbook for Bitty.) and asks Shitty if he wants to go get some food. He hums a bit glancing at his phone before answering Jack, “I think…” he types out a text, “We should eat something light. I'm sure Bitty is planning some sort of feast or something for when we get back.” “Ha, you’re not wrong.” So they find a cart selling hot dogs and walk to a park nearby to eat their food at a pickin table by a lake. Jack finished his two dogs in a few bites but Shitty is still on just one. He’s doing a lot more talking than eating, telling a ridiculous story about an intern and a major coffee mishap that invloed a few sick and one injured. By the time Shitty was done with both of his hotdogs and the story it was already half past three. Shitty was furiously texting on his phone, while Jack sares off towards a cluster of trees where two squirrels were chasing each other around the base, upwards, and then back down again. “Ok time to go!” Shitty shouted, slamming his phone down the table. “Euh, ok?” It was getting kind of late so Jack picked up his books and followed Shitty back to his car. When they were on the way home Jack realized what was happening. Bitty had planned a party. A few minutes later his suspicions were confirmed when all along his driveway and lawn were a cluster of cars. Loud music was coming from inside and out of the house. Jack gave Shitty a sidelong glance; his smile was wide underneath his mustache. The front door was already open and when he walked in the party was already underway. He dropped off his books at a table full of gifts before making his way through his own birthday party. Most of the Falconers and the old Samwell hockey team were gathered throughout the house and the backyard. He even spots his mother and father mingling with George by the couches. Ransom and Holster screamed at him and jostled him around when they spotted him. Nursery, Dex, and Chowder were more subdued but still loud enough to draw the attention of Tater and Snowy who greeted him like Ransom and Holster did which was much more obnoxious because he sees them regularly. And so it went, much the same as he made his way throughout the house and into the backyard, meeting old teammates and saying hello to his current teammates' families. When he finally made it to the backyard with a plate full of food in one hand and a cup of water in the other he was greeted by Marty, Thirdy and their respective wives. They chattered for a little while, Jack mostly listening while he ate, when a shrill scream drew his attention away. It was Bitty running around the grass playing with a pack of children and preteens, they all seemed to be playing a fierce game of tag. Jack knew the second he laid eyes on his husband his eyes went soft. Something bloomed in his chest at the thought of Bitty running around with a child of their own in this very backyard. Marty lightly punched his arm, nodding to the group of children currently chasing Bitty. “You talk to him about it yet?” Nodding Jack replied, “It’ll come up from time to time, we’ve talked about adopting.” and they have talked about it. It’s always out of the blue when they’re both silent, in bed or watching TV, or out for a walk. Bitty will say, “We should adopt.” and Jack will agree, and then they both say, “In the future.” But Jack right then in that moment, with Bitty laughing under a dogpile of giggling children, thinks why not now? It’s not long after that Bitty comes jogging up to him, grass stains on his knees, a smile stretched across his face making his cheek so very pink. He stands on his toes and gives a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “Time for cake?” Jack grins and nods and they go hand in hand into the kitchen and the windows can barely stand it when everyone sings happy birthday. *** “There's only one thing I really wanted for my Birthday that I didn’t get yesterday.” Jack is making the both of them smoothies. His mother and father helped them clean up the morning after Jack’s party. They left a while ago telling them to enjoy themselves, so now it’s just Bitty and Jack back in the kitchen where they always tend to gravitate to. “And what’s that?” “I never got to make you that dinner I promised.” Pearls of laughter spill out from deep within Bitty’s chest. “Alright I think it’s about time I get this dinner.” Neither of them wanted to go out so Jack orders the ingredients through a delivery app and in the meantime they bake a pie. Jack has baked plenty of pies with Bitty over the years at this point, he’s become quite the expert at draping the crust just right and his lattice is always laced perfectly. The one they make is more for the fun of it, since they both have had their fair share of sweets during the last few days. The pie is probably going to a grateful neighbor later on. “Yesterday was really nice Bits, thank you for that.” Bitty who’s washing his hands free of flour smiles warmly at him, “Anything for you hun, I just wanted you to have a special day. You only turn thirty once.” Bitty takes a handtowl and wipes his hands dry. “And I’ll have you know it was Shitty’s idea to take out and “distract you”.” “Of course it was” Jack grins, “He did a decent job of it but I had my suspicions by the end.” “Well I wasn’t really trying to hide the fact, but you know how that man gets.” Later on when the ingredients are delivered and Bitty is watching Jack try and fail to neatly devein the shrimp does Jack pop the question. “Did you want to adopt a kid?” Bitty splutters into his cup of wine, “Now?” Shrugging Jack replies, “Yeah now. Well not right this moment obviously it’s a process but, yeah. Now.” Nearly out of seat Bitty gushes, “Yes let's have a kid now! We’ve waited long enough haven't we?” The food is done in fifteen minutes, and they're both on the couch forgoing the dining room for the night. Bitty is profuse with the compliments towards Jack’s cooking, moaning with every bite. “If I had known we had a secret chef in the house I would have let you cook dinner more often!” “Are you actually admitting that you weren’t letting me cook on purpose this whole time?” Instead of replying Bitty shoves a mouthful of pasta in his mouth. Jack fakes being wounded in the chest but they’re both giggling. After the dishes are done they both hunch over Bitty’s laptop looking up the process on how to adopt a child in Rhode Island. At this moment he’s warm and happy, he finally cooked his husband an actual dinner served with fancy wine and all. He'd never thought back when he was teen that he would be here now. Out in the NHL married to another man looking up forms for adoption. It was a thorny path he followed to get here but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

#omgcp #jlz turns 30 #omgcp fic #My writing #zimbits #my first omgcp fic :')#check please #jack zimmermann #eric bittle

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ship-ambrosia · 6 years ago

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A Year in Review for ship-ambrosia - Fanfiction Writers 2018

So I saw a blog I’m a huge fan of do this sort of year reflection of fanfiction writing, and since this was the first year I’ve ever posted my fanfictions, I thought it’d be fun to do!

First off I wanna thank @sweetmemories2606 @allie-and-her-fandoms and @a-fairy-tail44 for constantly encouraging me, being there to bounce ideas off of, also basically being beta readers for me and my hype men... you guys rock. I’m so glad I met all of you.

total number of completed stories

- “Completed” is kind of relative isn’t it? Lol... I have 13 stories posted on AO3, 4 that are on tumblr only, and of those 17 three of them, Heavens Bringer, A Fool Like Him, and Inherit Thunder (previously Heir of Electricity) are unfinished. Three of them are a collection of one-shots from Gruvia, Jerza, and Nalu week, but they’re all so short I’m going to count them as all together.

- There is so much unposted stuff in my backlog that you wouldn’t even believe lol most of it is unfinished though

total word count

- 81000 on AO3. I don’t even want to go and count otherwise

fandoms written in

- Fairy Tail

- My Hero Academia

- RWBY

- Persona 5

- Voltron (behind the scenes)

- Fire Emblem (behind the scenes)

looking back, did you expect to write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?

- Let me just say that posting the first two fanfictions, Inherit Thunder (BNHA, kamijirou) and Liberation (RWBY, Blacksun), were totally on a whim. My roommate encouraged me to do it and see what kind of feedback I got on them. Boy am I glad I did. So let me tell you my motivation and progress has been absolutely astounding to me.

what’s your own favorite story of the year?

- This is so hard, because I’ve been in love with all the stories as I posted each of them, like oh yeah this is it this is my best one. Every time lol. I’d have to say though it’s probably The Droplet (FT, Gruvia). Reading my first gruvia fanfiction Four Degrees, and then going to The Droplet, you can really see not only how well my writing has improved, but also how much better I’ve done in understanding Gray and Juvia. Also I happen to find the beginning of it still really sexy lol that was difficult for me, writing a scene that was sexy that was going to be posted for the world to see.

did you take any writing risks this year?

- I think the style that I wrote A Sound Like Thunder (BNHA, iidamei) and Beauty and the Crow (P5, Akeharu) was a different style than um used to, with the story being told in chunks that didn’t quite fit together perfectly but still built off one another. Basically they could have been multi chapter fics but I wrote them like a short story and both of those stories I had to have read over a thousand times because I wanted them to be perfect.

do you have any fanfic or profit goals for the new year?

- One, to finish Heavens Bringer which I think is very plausible since I’ve been working on the last chapter a lot lately. Another is just to get more consistent with finishing and posting works, because right now it’s just like, here from me every so often and going like a month or two without posting any sort of writing. Maybe even to write less ship-focused works. I love ships but I don’t think all my writing has to be only romantic

best story of the year?

- Certainly one of my Fairy Tail fanfictions, though I’m not sure which. Heavens Bringer definitely has the most effort put in, but both The Droplet and A Fool Like Him (Ft, stingyu) have such in-depth, emotional breakdowns of Gray and Sting respectively and how I see them viewing their primary love interest that I think both of those stories have a fascinating draw. Also, I’m extremely proud of my Nalu Angst week prompts, I go back and re read them all the time. I think some of my best work resides in that collection, most notably the story titled “Miles Apart, Two Inches Away” from when Natsu and Lucy reunite after the post-Tartaros timeskip.

most popular story of the year?

- That’s easily Everything was the Same (Except when it wasn’t), my first Nalu story. On AO3 it has 755 Hits and 72 kudos, the most for both of all my stories. Which I find so funny because I wrote that story in under an hour lol.

story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

- Heavens Bringer, by far. I like to think it’s amazing, and my friends seem to love it, but it’s gotten very little recognition. I’d love for more people to read it, and it has all the big four ships and I’ve devoted soo much time to it. But the feedback I HAVE gotten has been absolutely wonderful!

most fun story to write:

Beauty and the Crow, A Sound Like Thunder, or Nalu Angst Week. I hurt so much while writing all three, but I loved it. Beauty and the Crow because Akechi and Haru’s relationship would be just as tragic as I’ve written it, A Sound Like Thunder because iidamei is normally such a goofy ship and I literally almost killed Iida and made Mei Hatsume cry, and Nalu Angst Week because well... painful feels. But I enjoyed the dark places that my writing went.

story with the single sexiest moment:

Haven’t written (read: published) a ton of sexy scenes. I think The Droplet wins for the part where Gray almost pulls off Juvia’s underwear with his teeth, only to be interrupted by their baby.

most sweet story:

- Nuclear Fusion. No angst, it’s straight up injecting Nalu parenting fluff into your bloodstream lol

“holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you!” story:

- Nothing yet?? Maybe hurting Iida and Mei in A Sound Like Thunder. I need to write a goofy fic with the two of them, honestly.

story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters:

- I’m going to say Inherit Thunder. I used to think of Kaminari as just a total goofball. Coming up with the idea of his parents as villains gave so many deep possibilities to why Kaminari wants to be the “trendy” popular boy or where he could come from, what his motivation for being a hero could be. I could be totally right, or totally off. But it definitely made me so much more intrigued by what Horikoshi could have planned for him.

most unintentionally telling story:

- When you read Heavens Bringer you see exactly what kind of Fairy Tail fan I am. Lol

hardest story to write:

- Heavens Bringer! Lol. Also worked on Beauty and the Crow for a long time, because I couldn’t decide what direction I exactly wanted to take Haru and Akechi - did I want to follow the plot? Did I want to make Haru and Akechi fall in love, or make it a series of moments? Did I want lots of dialogue, or did I want it to be more narrated? It was a lot of stylistic choices that went into that one but I’m totally happy with how it turned out!

biggest disappointment:

- I worked on a Baccana story for sooo long and then I ended up deleting it because it was turning into very cliche, Gildarts-doesn’t-approve-so-he-challenges-Bacchus-to-a-fight and I didn’t want to write a fic that had already been done 30 times (not that Gildarts and Bacchus fighting because Bacchus likes Cana isn’t great... it’s just that most people who like that ship have already written that).

biggest surprise:

- Uhh, Inherit Thunder being as popular as it was received? I’ve gotten dozens of messages asking for a sequel and it’s really an incredible feeling to know people want more of a story. It was originally gonna just be a one-shot, but now I’m writing a second chapter that will probably come out after Heavens Bringer is done.

some stuff in the works for the new year:

- Obviously, Heavens Bringer part 5 and chapter 2 of Inherit Thunder

- Working on several more chapters to A Fool Like Him, it’s basically just all suffering for Sting lol

- A multi chapter Baccana fic AU-ish in which Cana joins Quatro Cerberus during the Tartaros timeskip after Fairy Tail is disbanded

- Multi chapter Gruvia and Gale fic about Juvia disappearing after leaving to search for answers to her origin, leaving Gray and Gajeel desperate to find her

- Stingyu Cinderella/Princess and the Pauper AU

- A Yang x Ilia piece (FINALLY! LOL)

- May eventually clean up and post an experimental fic where I practiced writing combat with Sun and Neptune vs Mercury

- Ryuji x Ann getting together post-canon

- Future Ryuji x Ann single dad Ryuji AU

- Haru x Akechi Military/sort of Fullmetal Alchemist AU?? Idk it was inspired by fanart

- Maybe post some of my Voltron/Fire Emblem stuff eventually? Idk about those

If you read this entire post seriously thank you!! And thanks to everyone who’s read my fics, sent me messages about them, or just talked to me in general!! I love interacting with the communities!!

#random post from bree #bree writes #heavens bringer #the droplet #a fool like him #nuclear fusion #a sound like thunder #inherit thunder #beauty and the crow #fairy tail fanfiction #persona 5 fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #rwby fanfiction #this was so much fun to do #let me know any thoughts you have on this!!#also tag me if you do it too #long post #long text post

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kane-and-griffin · 8 years ago

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PSA

Hi kids!

This is a gentle public service announcement to let you all know that I’m no longer engaging in any more discourse about the kink meme.

This has become a really polarizing topic, I think the fandom’s collective ability to discuss it in a constructive way has eroded quite a bit, and the “callout posts” about it have themselves begun to feed an alarming amount of sensitive or triggering content into public social media spaces, which, quite frankly, runs a far higher risk of landing in front of the eyeballs of someone who needs to avoid it than when it’s safely quarantined in spaces like LiveJournal and Ao3.

It is staying open for at least the next couple weeks, and I intend to keep writing Kabby fic for it and sharing that fic here, as well as on Ao3. I’m a big proponent of people curating their own social media spaces, so if you need to unfollow, block, blacklist, etc. because that is a nope for you, that doesn’t bug me in the least and I don’t take it personally. We all have to know where our boundaries are.

A few last words on this topic and then I’m done.

(P.S. this post contains no potentially triggering references to any of the specific kinks or fics in question. It’s safe for all.)

There are many fics on the kink meme and Ao3 that I can’t and won’t ever read. There are many kinks that squick me out. But if you’re asking me to condemn specific writers or specific fics because they upset you, just know I’m never going to do that. Even if it’s a fic I would never read myself. My position is always going to be that I’m a writer and I stand with writers. Even when I disagree. Even when what they wrote squicks me out.

“But what about this kink? Surely you can’t defend that writer.”

Yes I can.

“Okay, but what about this??? This very upsetting thing involving your favorite character?”

Yeah, even that one.

Free speech is most important when it isn’t convenient. It’s most important when you have to go to bat for the rights of people to say shit that makes you want to die inside. It’s why the ACLU defends Westboro Baptist Church. If I only held to my values when it related to people who agreed with me and did exactly what I approve of, then they’re not values, they’re personal tastes I’m trying to legislate on everyone else.

My best friend and I were discussing this on Twitter yesterday when this cropped up over there. We have very, very different personal tastes. As in, there are rarepairs I write for and kinks I enjoy reading that hit some places of really deep “please don’t discuss that fic while I’m in the room” discomfort for her. And we’ve learned, over the past years, how to be sensitive and respectful to each other about those things. I offered - without her asking - to write a censored version of one of my fics to remove a personal squick of hers so that she could read it and not feel left out of the fun the rest of the group chat was having. She, in turn, never once judged or shamed me for writing the thing that made her uncomfortable in the first place . . . which is just as important. It’s crucial to our relationship that, just as I don’t judge her for her preferences, she doesn’t judge me for mine. And I don’t judge other people for theirs, even when they’re MILES away from things I would ever consider erotic, or even feel comfortable reading. Because another trigger which is very, very real - which for many of us is deeply lodged within our body and our sense of self - is the trauma of being publicly shamed, outed, maligned, or criminalized for your sexuality.

I am gay, and for eight years I was a youth minister at my church. When I was in my mid-twenties, an anti-gay hate group found a video clip online of a documentary about LGBT Christians that I had been interviewed for, and they emailed it to the entire staff of the church where I worked, the school, and the office of the diocese. Until you have been outed by force, against your will, to your pastor, your coworkers, your middle school health teacher, the school moms whose kids are in your youth group, and the fucking Archbishop, with a letter explaining that young people are in danger from your deviant sexuality; until you have been on the receiving end of a campaign of online harassment that went on for four years; until you have read a complete stranger write on her blog, not three months after your mother’s funeral, that she hopes your mom died without knowing she had a gay child, to spare her that humiliation; then you cannot possibly imagine the sense of sexual shame that I have carried for my entire adult life about the idea that the things I do in private behind closed doors, or even the things I think about in the privacy of my own mind, are fundamentally evil and wrong.

This is why I do not make assumptions or judgments about other people’s sexuality. There is a wide gulf between the things that turn you on in fiction and things that turn you on when done to live human beings (including not just your own sex life, but any other area such as the sex trade, trafficking, the porn industry, etc., where real human beings may potentially experience harm).

If I can make a distinction between you enjoying a television show where people have murdered each other without assuming you are a murderer, I’m not going to come after anyone for what they masturbate to, no matter how squicky I find it, by assuming they would practice or endorse criminal sexual behavior in real life.

If you were in a car accident, it might be really, really traumatic for you to watch movies or TV shows that show graphic depictions of car accidents. That’s 100% legit. It would be fair for you to expect a warning about that content so you know what you’re getting into and can skip that episode, close your eyes and look away during that part of the movie, or say “nope this isn’t for me, that’s not content I’m comfortable with.” And nobody would judge you for that. However, there are other people who have been in car accidents who might be fine with it. It might not land in their body the same way. They might find it cathartic to watch the thing that happened to them from a safe distance in a context which is fictional. They might process the trauma they went through - which is the same as yours - in a way that looks totally different.

None of this is universal. There are no hard-and-fast rules about what sexual fantasies are and aren’t okay. For example, I know at least two fics which I’ve seen alluded to as being content that should not exist because it triggers survivors of _____, which were written by survivors of that exact thing themselves. You have every right to protect your own boundaries, but you cannot assume that everyone else’s boundaries are in the same place.

This blog is and remains a primarily Kabby-only blog which I do care very much about keeping a safe space. I have always, and will continue to, post occasional fic here with Raven or Bellamy OT3s, and am absolutely happy to help you out if there is a way I can be more helpful in tagging that content for you so you can blacklist it and keep your Tumblr safe if that’s something that makes you uncomfortable. It is always, always okay to come to me with “hey can you tag this thing so I can filter it.”

In terms of the kink meme, the fic I’m writing and sharing here is primarily Kabby. I have written for some other pairings, which you can find on my AO3 in my collection of kink meme fills (Doctor Mechanic, etc.) but this is a Kabby blog designed for Kabby shippers, so the kink meme fics I’m writing are largely for them. They are also all labeled very carefully when I share them to AO3 with the specific prompt I was filling, and a plethora of tags, in case the kink they’re about hits a button that is a nope for you.

I am always, always open to helping you guys create safe internet spaces by opening up a conversation about ways I can tag fic more helpfully. But just as I do not police who anyone sleeps with or what gender(s) they’re attracted to - because I remember on a visceral gut level the shame and trauma I felt when that was done to me - I do not police what anyone masturbates to, fantasizes about, is turned on by, writes about, or reads about.

Before anyone gets the wrong idea that my inbox has been flooded with assholes, I should be clear that 99% of all the conversations I’ve had on this topic - whether people love the kink meme, hate it, can only handle parts of it, don’t read smut fic at all, or don’t care what anyone else does behind closed doors and just wants to go back to talking about whether Isaiah’s tweet this afternoon legit means Jaha got killed off??? - have been thoughtful and civil and great. The Kabby fandom is awesome and the majority of the really ugly drama has been swirling around around at a distance from our happy little corner. But I still get occasional anons about this which seem pretty clearly intended to draw me into conflict I have zero interest in, so I wanted to state, one last time, very clearly, that I’m not going to be engaging in any of those from this point forward, and explain as thoughtfully as I can the reasons why.

MOM LOVES Y’ALL A LOT, THANK YOU FOR BEING AWESOME

#the 100 kinkmeme #the 100 kink meme #the 100 fandom #fic writers

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theonetheycallhannah · 4 years ago

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The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter Nine: Group Therapy

Characters: Captain Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: A familiar drink brings back steamy memories for Shane (by popular demand), a ghost from the past picks a fight with the present, and the future hangs in the balance for our heroes.

Behind on the drama? It’s cool. I gotchu.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Language, mature themes, violence, smut, alcohol consumption, more feels than you can shake a stick at.

Author’s Note: Guys. Listen guys. I know this chapter is a tad late…not that I have deadlines, I just know y’all want more sooner than I can always get it to you. It’s also, though, a bit longer than most of the previous installments have been. I hope you guys enjoy it. I think it’s my favorite chapter so far…I definitely cried the most writing it…you’ll see why…I’m not sorry. Initially, for some reason, it was hard to stay focused. (I blame my own emotions and feelings clouding my ambitions. Can’t let that happen anymore. Even though the same factors apply. I’ve gotta keep my head in it!) I’m actually pretty sad that there won’t be very much more of this story…they’ve been such good friends to me. I may just have to find a way to keep them going in follow-up drabbles. I don’t know. But I’m open to suggestions.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags:

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

@omgkatinka

@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland

@speakerforthedead0

@tumblnewby

@suavechops

Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

It wasn’t top on Shane’s list of things she wanted to do tonight, but it had been ages since she’d gone out with her friends. It wasn’t totally because she’d been seeing Sy. But more recently, he had become the most prevalent reason she ended up bowing out. Because she had plans with him, or she needed to do things that she hadn’t gotten or wouldn’t get done because of plans with him unless she skipped out. They were bad excuses, but those of an introvert weren’t usually top-shelf, anyway.

It was Heather, the other secretary Marsha and her husband Alec, some of her fellow PTs Cory and Juan, and both OTs, Olivia and Miranda there at Cade’s that night. And Shane and Sy, of course. They were sitting at two tables close together, and after dinner, the guys got up to play darts while the ladies ordered a round of shots.

Heather both requested and paid for the tray of tiny glasses full of dark liquor. Shane knew the aroma all too well. Those were full of Jack Daniels. And she got tingly just thinking about the spirit, especially now.

“Let’s drink the first round to Shane.” She passed them around and held one up. “For landing captain sexy pants over there, and for being happier than I’ve seen her in actual years.” Heather clinked to the middled with the other girls as they completed the toast with cheery responses of “to Shane!” With intermittent whoops and cat-calls. She felt funny saluting herself, so she said nothing, silently dedicating her own drink to the guy she wasn’t expecting, wasn’t even asking for, but who’d been gifted to her, by God Himself, it seemed. Whoever or whatever or why ever, she was grateful for him.

She downed the full measure of whiskey, feeling the familiar pleasant burn down her throat and reminisced about the last time she’d had the drink.

~~~~~~

“No you’re cheating!” She slurred at Sy’s kitchen table.

“Not how I see it!” He smirked, that crooked grin mixing with the alcohol in her already impaired system making a heady and dangerous concoction.

“You’re delib’rately using my PT career against me!” They we’re playing “Never Have I Ever.” And he’d just used “never have I ever measured somebody up with a big protractor.”

“Hey, you’ve been trying to get me with ‘never have I army this, and never have I army that.’ And you just can’t and now you’re mad about it.”

“Ugh, I’m not mad, I just…don’t like cheating okay. Fair play. I’m a Hufflepuff, through and through!”

“As a Gryffindor, I resent your implication against my honor! And I say, drink twice.” They’d run out of mixer, and were down to the straight liquor. She was fine with it. She loved the sweet, oaky burn of Number 7 as she held small swallows on her tongue. Relished the burn of it on the tender skin of her lips like a rough kiss. She took two shots at his insistence.

“Never have I ever…fired a gun!” And they both drank because she had chosen a “never” that she “had ever” on purpose. She liked feeling this way with Sy. She liked being able to abandon her control and feel safe in so doing. Knowing that he wouldn’t let anything hurt her. Including herself.

His eyes began to glimmer in a way that she could always tell meant he was thinking something particularly salacious. Which typically meant something good was about to happen.

“Never have I ever…fooled around in a kitchen.” He waited a beat, then slowly stood, taking a long stride to stand directly in front of Shane, towering over her as she sat limp from drinking and more than ready for whatever he was planning. The kiss he gave her was almost instantly hungry, devouring, consuming. A wild fire that would spread throughout the forest of her. He pulled a stool out from under the table near her, barely having to break the contact and sat down in front of her on it. She leaned into him now, the boneless feeling now overtaken by her craving for him. She tugged at his casual blue tank top that stunned her because of the way it matched his eyes so well. She needed him closer. His hands rested on her thighs, mostly bare in the shorts she'd chosen for tonight, simply for their comfort, and not because they provided any sort of easy access. Not on a conscious level, anyway, she told herself.

His grip was tightening but the pain of the pressure didn't matter. His thumbs and fingers were rupturing tiny blood vessels and she registered the pain and the fact that she would have bruises in the shape of his claiming grip but all that really mattered was that he was there. Near. Present. And touching her.

His hands moved, sliding up her legs, their trajectory shifting inward, their aim to open her up to him.

She was nothing short of willing.

He reached down to the seat between her legs and pulled her closer to him. Yes, she thought. He's too far away. Even though she could smell the whiskey on his breath even as she tasted it, still sweet on her own tongue. He laid a gentle hand on her left cheek, an almost chaste gesture, that snaked into something entirely different as it descended, brushing her neck, between her breasts, and over her abdomen, tumultuous from his touch and the drink.

He made it finally to her apex, easily brushing aside the fabric of her shorts, and teasing her there over her underwear with a soft, measured touch. She threw her arms around his neck, a wordless plea for him to go on. But her body was at odds with her mind.

“Sy, I wanna go slow.” She meant she didn’t want to end up in his bed tonight. Well, not that she didn't want to…

"Don't worry, sunshine. I'll take it real slow." he assured her, pretending to misunderstand her meaning as he teased her over her panties. She couldn't have spoken to correct him even if his lips hadn't taken an urgent hold on hers. His firm but frustrating touch was leaving her speechless and breathless.

Finally, he moved her undergarment aside to touch her, skin to skin. To pull a sweet, euphoric moan from her with just his fingers. He had been right about taking his time. It took him ages to find that space inside her that brought her to her pinnacle, but he made the wait enjoyable, all the same. She had a feeling he could have gone right to it, if he’d wanted to, but since she’d asked for it…

He grinned and chuckled into her mouth a bit as he toyed with her. He finally spoke,

“Hot damn, girl, you should have told me you needed me this bad.” He added a second finger to his game of search and destroy.

She could only grasp at his bare shoulders and the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to ground herself. He quickened, then slowed in sweet torture until her cries of his name became over loud for his neighborhood. The last build up, he added his thumb , brushing it against her aching center.

It hit her in waves of bliss as every muscle in her body responded to his localized, expert touch. Her vision blurred and for a second she could see the electricity flowing through air and matter and into her. Since when did THAT happen to her when she came?

“Sy!” She whimpered, a plea for him to stop but also to never stop.

“I know, darlin’, it’s alright. I’ve gotcha. Go on and let it out.” And she barely realized another climax had been building in her before she was falling headlong into it again, just as intense as the first one. He slowed, gently soothing her body after its small death, rubbing her neck and shoulder on the right side with his free hand.

He took his right hand away from her heat, brought it up to his mouth, and tasted her on his fingers. He poured them both another shot of whiskey, they threw them back, and once she had caught her breath from it all, she said,

“I don’t know the score, but I think you’ve won.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Back in the present, she felt too sober to handle the bombardment of questions coming from her coworkers, no matter how pure their intentions.

“So are you guys a couple, like officially?”

“Have you met each other’s folks?”

“Do you think he’s the one?”

“What is he like in bed!?”

“I bet he’s an absolute fiend!”

“Nah, guys ya think that about are always so vanilla.”

“How big is he!?”

All of these questions seemed to come at one time, or at least before she could answer the previous ones, and it made her head spin.

“Listen, girls. I’m gonna go get myself a strong drink, and when I come back, I’ll answer one question at a time, so figure out the order in which you’ll be asking, and a punishment system for interrupting. Fair?” The hens all nodded their beaks in agreement as she stood to go to the bar. She reminded herself to add a disclaimer when she got back to the table about having veto power over questions she felt weren’t appropriate.

As she stood at the bar waiting for her turn with the bartender, she tensed as she heard an all too familiar voice say her name.

“Shane Benton.” He said in a charming tenor that she now found obnoxiously boyish.

“Elliott Thomas. What misdeed did I do in a past life to end up back in the same room with you?” He ignored her jibe.

“You look well.” He said, surveying her as if he intended to make a purchase.

“Okay.” She would not give credence to half assed, insincere compliments.

“Who’s the guy you’re with tonight?”

“That couldn’t be any less your business.”

“You’ll always be my business, sweetheart.”

She rolled her eyes. “Funny, you didn’t seem to give a shit when we were together.”

“Come on, tell me where ya met this meat head.”

“Back off, Elliott.”

“Come on. He’s in a plaid shirt. He looks like he’s trying to cosplay the Brawny man. How quick does he pick you up?” He raised his eyebrows, driving home his attempt at double entendre.

The rage came suddenly, without warning, and manifested in a firm slap from her right hand to his left cheek. It landed solidly enough for him to have to stretch his jaw and feel it, as if making sure it was still there.

"Well, still got some spunk. Good to know. Not so fast--" he grabbed her wrist as she stepped away from the bar, but she was saved the trouble of getting out of it with her favorite self-defense maneuver, by the solid wall of red plaid and denim topped with his favorite black Chiefs hat. Sy had apparently noticed her altercation at the bar and elected to step in.

"What's goin' on here?" he asked, not brusquely, but so coolly that it was almost friendly. Elliott let go of Shane's wrist immediately and threw his hands up.

"No trouble here, man. Just a little friendly conversation between two former lovers." he said, oozing pure, stinking hubris.

"Oh, you're Elliott. Nice to meet you, man." Sy reached out to shake the man's hand. "I've actually been wanting to thank you."

Elliott looked confused. So was Shane. This guy had broken her heart. What was Sy intent on thanking him for?

"I wanted to thank you for fucking up so bad with this kind, beautiful woman, this graceful and forgiving saint, that she couldn't stand the sight of you any longer. Who knows. If you hadn't been such a dick, she may not have been free to be with me today." all of this, Sy said with Elliott's hand still in his. Shaking it. Apparently not too firmly. Until Sy leaned in very closely and whispered something to Elliott that made him go several shades of puce, and grimace, pulling his hand away, which Sy eventually relinquished.

After Elliott had tucked his tail and ran away, Shane found herself in a far less merry temperament than she'd come in with. She and Sy decided to leave. They said their goodbyes, Shane promising more answers as soon as she could. And they left, her arm around his waist, and his around her shoulder.

About halfway to Sy's truck, Shane heard a solid ping near her ear and the shattering of glass on the pavement nearby, followed by a low growl from deep in Sy's chest. They halted in their stride, Shane turning quickly around, Sy turning more slowly and intentionally in the direction of his would be attacker.

Elliot stood beside the brick exterior of the bar with three other men, none of them within 50 pounds of Sy, and hardly a match for him…individually…but together, she was concerned. She would absolutely try to help fight these guys, but she couldn't take out more than one with the potential weapons she had on her person that she could inventory off hand. Plus, if she had to fight Elliott…he'd get into her head…she knew it. Thank God she didn't know the other guys. She'd hope to get one of them.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Sy said, back to his polite self, not worried about potentially getting into a street fight in which they were outnumbered two to one.

"Just thought you'd like to tell my buddies here what you said to me in there. I mean, I gave them the gist, but I think they'd like to hear it from you." Elliott puffed.

"Ah, somebody can't keep a secret." Sy sigh scolded him, wagging his finger at him as if he was a misbehaved child. "I was gonna let it all go as long as you left us alone. Did you mention that to them before you got them into a whole mess o' trouble?"

"Tell them, you fuckin' coward."

"Big talk from a guy who had to make it four to one before he confronted me." Sy accused.

"Four to two." Shane squared her shoulders, standing next to Sy, and attempting to make herself look more formidable, which was next to impossible given the fact that the man beside her was a massive army captain and she was just…herself. But she'd be damned if she stood by and let Sy take all of this on when it was all because of her. Plus, she didn't want him to reinjure himself.

"How about you jump in if I need ya, sunshine." He whispered to her. She didn't move or reply. "But ya know, since ya asked so nicely, I will oblige. I told this piss-ant friend of yours after he physically accosted this lovely lady here, in no uncertain terms that if he EVER touched MY GIRLFRIEND again, he'd be begging for death for hours before I had mercy on him and put him out of his misery and that his body would never be found." He eyed each of the men before him, his fiery gaze a physical force upon them, letting his promise to Elliott sink in. "Now if y'all wanna defend a man who would put hands on a woman, and then proceed to physically assault a United States Army veteran like myself, I can come up with similar guarantees for all of ya. And carry them out here tonight. But y'all look like ya've got a lot o' shit ya still wanna get done in this life with limbs and dicks intact. So I would encourage all of you fine gentlemen to walk away from this situation."

Two of the men, surrendered, claiming Elliott hadn't mentioned that he'd hurt Shane or that Sy was a vet. One of the men asked to shake his hand and thanked him for his service. The smallest member of Elliott's group, however, remained with him. Shane thought she recognized him after getting a better look. He'd been at a few events she'd been to with Elliott's friend group. She thought his name was Kyle. Clearly he was one of Elliott's oldest and most loyal friends. He still looked skeptical. Unsure that the two of them alone could take Sy. Shane thought he was right to be worried.

"Come on, Kyle!" Elliott summoned his friend to the fight.

"I dunno, man. He's a soldier and I mean…look at him. Look at us!"

"You pussy." Elliott walked up to Sy.

"You don't want to do this, friend." Sy warned.

"I'm not your friend, asshole. You stole my girlfriend." he swung wildly at the larger man, but missed. He was unsteady, Shane could see now, from excessive drink. She hadn't noticed inside.

Sy remained still for one punch that landed weakly on his jaw, barely displacing it. "Are you done, there, Mayweather? We even? Now that you got to hit me?"

"We are not done. Not until one of us is on the ground." Elliott insisted.

"Fair enough." Sy socked him with a jab straight to the nose, knocking him dizzily to the hard asphalt of the parking lot. Kyle came up to him to drag Elliott to a nearby car as his head lolled forward like a rag doll.

"I'll get him to the ER. Explain to them what happened. You guys get home safe. And thanks for not killing him. Or me." Kyle said as he opened his passenger door. Sy helped heave Elliott's comatose form into the seat and shook Kyle's hand.

Shane's eyes were still wide at the entire chain of events. Her adrenaline supercharged from her readiness to fight alongside her man. Which, she was both relieved and disappointed that she didn't have to do. But there was another thing on her mind. She had been mentally replaying what Sy had said to Elliott played over and over for more reasons than his chivalrous and heroic conduct.

When they were in the car and headed to her house, Shane asked him about it.

"So…you called me your girlfriend tonight." she looked at him.

"Shit, Shane, I'm sorry. I've been wanting to ask ya for days to make things official, and I just haven't found the right time. I was gonna ask you over drinks tonight in front of all your friends, but then that asshole fucked it all up. I even have a gift for you." he fished around in his pocket for a small, flat box, and handed it to her. She flipped up the spring loaded lid of the black velvet box, and inside, on a tiny pillow of black satin was a silver necklace with a silver charm. An "S" in an elaborate script with a small emerald set in the lower hook of the letter. "And if you don't want to make it official, you can still keep the necklace, because the 'S' can be for 'Shane,' and the stone can just be an emerald, and ya don't have to think about it like it's my birthstone, and I--"

"Sy, hush. Of course I want to be your girlfriend, officially. I've been dying to say it myself. And I love the necklace. It's perfect."

"Really? You mean it? All of it?" she'd never seen him so desperate. She had no idea why he thought she might not be serious. But she did have an idea of how to prove it.

"Stay with me tonight, Sy."

"It's still early yet, babe. I'll have plenty of time--"

"No, I mean, I want you. Tonight." How could she be more clear than that?

"Oh, you mean…but I thought you wanted to wait until my treatments were over?" He asked, as if he didn't want to get his hopes up just yet.

"When you were on the phone with my boss that day, you said something that I haven't been able to stop thinking about. Something that's gnawed at my will and resolve ever since. You said that life was too short, and you didn't want to wait to be happy when you could be happy now." she was verging on tears. "Well, I'm tired of waiting too, Sy. You make me happier than I've ever been, and I don't see the point in ignoring what we really want anymore. Because the fact is, Sy…the fact has been for a while now," she laughed at her own foolishness for stifling and ignoring it all this time, "I love you. And I think I have from the moment you first called me ma'am." She was fully crying now, and the tears had broken through down his cheeks, as well.

He pulled into her driveway and jumped out of his truck, still running, headlights blazing into her yard. He jogged around the front, but Shane, being uninjured had caught up to him without the benefit of a head start. He caught her up in his arms as if she'd stay there forever. They sobbed tears of joy and relief as they kissed each other with abandon, silhouettes against the footlights and exhaust courtesy of the Ford Motor Company, the PowerStroke engine roaring a soundtrack for this moment as it idled.

"I love you, Shane. From the moment you found me dreading therapy all alone that first day and cheered me up instantly. I knew." he brush the tears and hairs away from her face and held it, scrutinizing her features in the high-beams as if he intended to draw her from memory.

"I didn't know you were dreading it." she laughed, lightening the mood a bit.

"I was. A lot. Never had a lot of luck, especially recently, with PT. Until you."

She smiled, and looked at the truck, a third party to their romantic moment now more obvious to her.

"You're wasting gas."

"Hang the gas. I'm wasting time with you. You wanna go inside?" he asked. She nodded.

"You go get your purse. I'll be right around."

Sy shut off the truck and took his keys out, locking the vehicle from the fob after his arm was back around Shane and they were walking up her front porch steps.

Up Next: Chapter 10- Myofascial Release

#netflix sand castle #sand castle #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson x ofc #syverson smut #sigh for sy #Smut #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x ofc

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theonetheycallhannah · 4 years ago

Text

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Prologue: Onset of Injury (Sy)

Characters: Captain Syverson, various OMCs

Summary: Sy’s POV, the night and the mission that ended his military career and set him unknowingly on a path to true love.

Catch up on all chapters right here!

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Language, violence, attempted military talk, feels…

Author’s Note: Okay friends, most of what I know about military ops I learned from watching movies…so, this may not all be accurate. But I think most of the terms and jargon are in line, even if this mission wouldn’t necessarily go down like this.

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X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

Captain Logan “Sy” Syverson had done a hundred briefings like this one. They were going into a compound with some low level goons, mid-level players, and one big boss. Two teams. Two entrances. One exit. The roof. Air extraction. Minimal undesirable casualties. Five or six mid to high level prisoners.

“Alright ladies, here’s the plan. The compound is central city. Alpha team, we’ll get dropped off by transpo two blocks south of the front entrance, Bravo team, same for you, two blocks north of the back entrance. Bravo, you head east and down once inside, Alpha will go west and up. Standard flanking formation. Stay frosty in there. These guys aren’t cub scouts. They will shoot on sight. Do your best not to be seen. Once the lower levels are cleared, we work our way to the top where we should find the big Kahuna. Do your best not to kill anyone in a suit. Tac gear only, unless it’s your life or theirs. These guys have intel the brass wants. Supposedly.”

Heads were nodding. Lopez raised his hand. The other guys laughed, but Sy appreciated the respect.

“Ricky?” He pointed at him to accept the question.

“Sir, what about evac?” He stood tall and sharp. He was new to the team, but Sy liked him already.

“That’s a great question, and thank you for raising your hand. Take notes on teacher’s pet here, class.” Everyone including Lopez laughed.

“There’s a stairwell to the roof in the master bedroom. That’s the LZ for our helo. They should be less than five mikes out, so we shouldn’t have time to order pizzas or anything after we clear the compound. So once the call is made, you won’t have long to get up the stairs. The helo can’t stay grounded for too long without drawing attention. We will need to keep an eye out for unfriendlies off compound being warned about our presence, and for survivors. Listen, I can’t stress this enough. I know it’s not easy to kill. And I don’t encourage it if it’s not necessary. But these are bad people and they would kill you, the man next to ya, your sister, your parents, or your dog if they could.”

Aika, Sy’s German Shepherd whimpered in the corner but was ignored.

“Kill them for your brothers. For your neighbors. For the children you don’t even have yet. Because what do we do?”

“We embrace the darkness and the suffering.” His teammates that had been there for a while repeated the first part of the sin-eater credo.

“And why do we do it?”

“So that our fellow man is free to live in peace.” they finished the mantra as they had so many times before.

“Fuckin’ A. We roll in one hour.”

~~~~~~~~~

The drop and the entry had gone off without a hitch. Sy's Alpha team were like shadows, the very finger of death for the unjust and evil in the compound. Everyone they encountered was quietly subdued, whether by strategically placed blades, silenced firearms, or in some cases, the literal snapping of necks. Bravo team was just as successful. But Alpha team wasn't finding many prisoners.

The real problem came, though, when they reached the top floor where the big kahuna was supposed to be. Everything had gone dark, even though it had been lit up like Christmas, the Fourth of July, and the Super Bowl all in one when they were making their approach to the compound. Someone had squawked. Raised a silent alarm. Something.

"This…this doesn't smell right, captain." Harztler voiced what was running silently through Sy's mind. "This level was like Times Square when we got here. Now nothing? It stinks."

"I can smell it, Jake. I don't like it." he activated his comms. "Bravo team, we are sitting ducks up here, what is your twenty? Over."

"Sir, we are wrapping up down here, and getting the targets ready for evac. We should be on route in less than ten mikes. Over."

"Push it to five if ya can, private. We don't like the look of this bedroom. Over."

"Is this the moment to be questioning someone's taste in interior design, captain? Over."

"Shitcan that disrespect, private, or you'll be digging latrines alone next time we have survival drills. Over."

"Understood, sir. Will try to push to five mikes. Over."

"That'd be best. Over and out." He signed off with Lopez, amused at the inferior officer’s joke, even though he couldn’t show it openly.

Hartzler has just started to suggest possible reasons for their unease when the sound of rapid automatic firepower rang out from one of the floors below them.

“Fuck.” Both men said in unison followed immediately by frantic shouts from Sy’s radio.

“*crackle crackle* we are taking heavy fire! Kominski is down! Lopez is hit! Alpha team! Captain, do you copy? Over!"

"I'm on my way, Fuller. Hang tight. Over and out." Sy said and looked at the men on his team, "Hartzler, you and Goldberg signal the Helo for evac ASAP and get to the roof. Schmidt, Freeman, you two come with me to back up Bravo team. We meet at the LZ in five. That's not a big window, gentlemen, we'll radio if we hit any snags. Clear?"

"Clear." a round of nods and affirmations came from the rest of the team. Sy turned for the exit to the room, checking his clip, and putting one in the chamber. Stakes were higher than ever.

The last three steps to the ground floor were half blocked by a slumped corpse. Kominski. Sy fought the emotion building in him as he remembered David showing him photos of his two young daughters, Charlotte, who was seven, and Renee who had just turned five. And his gorgeous wife Sasha. His high school sweetheart. He was distracted enough by thought of the soon to be grieving girls, that he missed the pool of blood, Kominski's blood, on the black tile steps. His knee twisted unnaturally. And he could almost feel the protest of his muscles and tendons.

"Fuck! Mind your footing on these last few, boys." he winced, limping on toward the firefight. He signaled the men behind him to stay against the wall and follow him quietly until he gave the signal to attack. There were three men in tactical gear firing from behind a bar in the corner, pinning what was left of Bravo team in their position behind an overturned dining table. It was just Fuller and Lopez now. Sy took the opportunity during a slow point in the enemy's fire to enter, managing to shoot all three immediately, single handedly ending things.

"Alpha team, secure the area. Fuller, Lopez, what is your status?" Sy asked the men.

"Lopez is hit pretty bad in the leg. We've got a tourniquet in place. I am…uninjured. But our prisoners have been…neutralized by friendly fire." Well, fuck. That was the mission blown.

"Ammo?" Sy asked, frustrated.

"Depleted, sir." they hadn't planned for this.

"Fuller, you and Schmidt get Kominski up the stairs, pronto. We ain't leavin' him in this hell hole. Freeman, you watch their backs. Keep 'em covered in case there are any more of these assholes lurkin' around the place. Lopez, I'm gonna help you up them stairs. Can you get up?"

"I'll try, sir."

"Okay, roll out." Sy went to help Lopez to his feet. The boy wasn't hardly 160 pounds soakin' wet.

It was slow going, with Kominski and Lopez in tow, but they made it back to the bedroom just as the sound of the helicopter began to grow, and the roof began to quiver from the wind kicked up by the blades.

Sy made Schmidt and Fuller go first, as they had the biggest burden. Then Freeman, in case they needed another hand getting Kominski's body into the hold. His knee burned after the four flights he'd already done supporting Lopez, but the private had lost so much blood. He thought he'd have to carry him up this last flight to the roof. The boy was pale as a…sheet. He didn't let himself think of an apparition.

When he felt safe enough, and ready, he told Lopez the plan and hoisted him over his shoulder on his uninjured side. His knee protested angrily, but he proceeded, ignoring the pain, forcing it down with those emotions about the Kominski family.

Relief washed over him as he made the last step and his boot crunched against the loose pea gravel of the roof top. They were almost out of the woods.

Until a massive explosion in the HVAC unit knocked him off balance and took him down to his knees, Lopez's added weight a contributing force in what he was certain was now a broken leg bone given a very clear and distinct pop he'd heard even over the noise of the fire and wind. He had heard it from the inside. He thought it would be the tibia, but his knowledge of anatomy wasn't anything to write home about. He dropped the boy with an agonized howl. The heat from the blast bit at his back as he tried to find the strength to stand. But he couldn't. His team was charging toward him and the private. And for once, he was overjoyed to receive help. Fuller and Freeman got Lopez under each arm and dragged him the few yards to the open hold. Schmidt helped Sy up as best he could, but the Captain was in excruciating pain.

"Captain, we gotta go. These assholes are gonna blow up their own property to get us. Come on. It's not far. You can make it." Schmidt let his CO lean on him all the way to the helo.

Sy noticed tied up in one of the bucket seats of the hold, a man in maroon silk pajamas and brown leather loafers without socks. An Iraqi, early sixties, hair and beard still dark black. Their primary target. Mostafa Kassab.

"Where'd he come from?" Sy shouted at Hartzler.

"He was hunkered down in that corner over there when we came up to signal the chopper." the sergeant lit up with pride. "Fuller told me their prisoners didn't make it. I'm glad we found Kassab up here, or the mission would have been a total waste.

As they took off, Sy looked from the covered body of Kominski to the prone form of Lopez, who was paler than ever and glassy-eyed. It was hard in that moment to think that even ten of Mostafa Kassab could be worth one of these men he was lucky enough to call friends.

As he examined his knee, beginning to swell and looking a much different shape than he ever remembered, he thought about what this could mean for him, as a captain, as a soldier…as a man. If he could even call himself a man if he had to take away the title of captain and soldier. This was his calling. He wasn’t sure how he’d go on if…but, he’d wait to think about that when he got back to base and the medic’s tent. After all, what was the worst that could happen? It wasn’t like he was hurt bad enough to earn a discharge letter…was he?

Up Next: Chapter One: Evaluation

#netflix sand castle #sand castle #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfic #sigh for sy #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic

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