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softguarnere · 1 year

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Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 20: Standing Fast

Summary: If she really thinks about it, it’s kind of like D-Day – just not in any of the ways that count. A/N: When I said that the last chapter felt like the beginning of an intermission, I did not intend to disappear for a week - my bad! But now I'm back from a (much needed) vacation, and I'm excited to work on this fic for the rest of the summer :) Warnings: mentions of war, mentions of alcohol, improper binding Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @lady-cheeky @latibvles @lieutenant-speirs @mrs-murder-daddy @ithinkabouttzu

France, 1944

A few nights later, a bunch of sergeants get drunk during a poker game and wreck the barracks. Bunks are torn piece from piece. From what she hears of it later, fists and sharp words both fly as they take out their tension on each other. Based on the damage Bill and Shifty (one of Easy Company’s newly appointed sergeants) describe to her later, it’s a night they’ll pay for dearly.

Except there’s no time for that.

The order reaches them first thing the next morning. “After breakfast, stand fast.”

“What’dya reckon they mean by that?” Popeye asks as they make their way from the barracks.

“Nothing good,” McClung sighs.

Zenie is just sitting down with her food at breakfast when a hand on her shoulder practically drags her off the bench. Eugene’s brows are furrowed and his lips are pressed into a severe line. For once, his attitude is as dark as his hair – something Zenie never would have thought possible, even after what she’s overheard about his response to Winters and Welsh when they didn’t know how to help Captain Heyliger after he was shot.

“How many bandages you got?” He asks in a low voice when they’ve stepped out of everyone’s earshot.

Zenie blinks, trying to comprehend the suddenness of his question. “Huh?”

“Bandages. How many you got? And health sponges, too. You been usin’ ‘em?”

“I haven’t needed any in a while. And I think I have one role left. Why?”

“Here, take these.” Angling himself so that no one can see the transaction, he presses a role of bandages into Zenie’s hand. She quickly shoves them into her jacket. As soon as it’s over, Eugene is firing more questions at her. “You gone to the bathroom this mornin’?”

Doc Roe might know quite a bit about Zenie and her situation, but getting so many rapid-fire personal questions at such an early hour still takes her aback. When she doesn’t answer, he repeats the question with more pressure.

“You better go now,” he warns. “While no one’s around.”

“But my breakfast – “

“I’ll guard it for you. Hurry. You ain’t got much time, and you won’t be able to be alone for a while.”

“Why? Gene, what’s going on?”

There’s limited time and Eugene has told her as much. Still, he lets out a short sigh through his nose and leans in further, just in case.

“Don’t tell anyone, comprenez vous?” She doesn’t speak French, but she gets the gist. “They just told the medics that we’re movin’ out after breakfast. Lots of travelin’ ahead.”

“To where?”

Gene’s eyes dance around the room as he replies, “I dunno yet. But they’re talkin’ like it’s pretty far.”

Not willing to waste any more time, Zenie rushes to the latrine and back, ignoring the wondering looks her friends give her when she returns and takes her seat, which Roe has been occupying, as promised, hunched over her plate. Babe frowns as Gene vacates her seat and heads off again, on the move. She brushes off their questions and bolts her breakfast, leaving her coffee untouched and not even daring to think about water as a just in case.

They all finish their meal. Nothing happens. Stand fast. Nothing new. Hurry up and wait.

With nowhere to go, they clean the barracks. Zenie can feel someone’s eyes on her the entire time. Babe throws her a strange look every now and then, his brow furrowed and his expression thoughtful as they waste time. Under her friend’s watchful gaze, she has to be extra careful as she stashes her new roll of bandages in her belongings.

Something pokes her finger as she shoves the roll into the bottom of her bag. Careful to keep the bandages covered, she grabs the sharp edge and tugs it out; her postcard from the Eiffel Tower. She smiles at the memories, smiles at the thought of beating Marilyn to the landmark.

Unless, she realizes, her sister has beat her there. Travelling with the Red Cross, there’s no telling where Marilyn has been. And it’s not like Zenie would know.

It’s a bad idea, she knows as she takes a pen from her bag and scrawls on the card. She shouldn’t do it because it’s risky, she tells herself as she slaps on a stamp. But, she reasons, if she sends the card home, her mother will get it and know that she’s okay – and then her small brag will reach her sister.

When no one is looking, Zenie slips the postcard into a bag of mail that’s due to go out soon. Hopefully no one will read too much into “Dear Marilyn, Think I beat you here. – Z.”

There’s a movie playing. Zenie’s seen it before. She takes a seat toward the back of the room and smiles when Shifty seats himself in the chair beside her. When the lights go down, he moves his hand so that it rests on his leg between their chairs. Zenie does the same and smiles into the darkness when he curls his pinky finger around hers.

This is more than pressing their knees together in foxholes. This is better.

“What do you think is going on?” she whispers as the movie’s score soars over the opening credits.

From the corner of her eye, she can see him bite his bottom lip as he considers the possibilities.

“I don’t know,” he says finally. “But interruptin’ R and R like this?” He shakes his head. “I doubt it’s good.”

“They can’t send us back. We have no gear. What do they want us to do?”

There’s a commotion from the front of the room.

“Shut up!” Joe insists, turning around to face Luz. “I’m trying to watch!”

Other men shush them. Zenie waits for the noise to die down before she whispers again.

“At least we got to go to Paris first. No more wondering and avoiding.”

Shifty tightens his finger around hers. “No more,” he agrees.

“I love this part!” Luz exclaims from the front of the room. Even with his back to her, Zenie can picture the expression he uses for this particular impression – one that he’s very proud of. In a low, sultry voice he begins asking, enunciating a different word every time, “Got a penny? Got a penny? Got a penny?!”

“Got a penny?” The movie asks, making George erupt into laughter. He’s so loud that she thinks Joe might spin around and knock his lights out.

Whatever he’s planning, he doesn’t get the chance. With no warning, the doors at the back of the room fly open. Zenie and Shifty jump apart as if electrocuted while footsteps, hard and fast, march past them and to the front of the room. “Quiet!” A voice booms before anyone has the chance to properly protest.

The lights come up and the movie sputters to a stop. Now the men begin to protest. Booing and cries of “Awe, come on!” join the cacophony of Zenie’s pounding heart. Surely no one saw them, even though they were taken by surprise. She can only hope.

“I said quiet!” The order is repeated. This time, the crowd falls silent. Just in time to hear the announcement of, “Elements of the 1st and the 6th SS Panzer Divisions have broken through in the Ardennes Forest.”

Through the crowd, Zenie can see Luz throw his head back – a telltale sign that he’s giving a dramatic eye roll. Though other men are hanging their heads in disappointment, George’s reaction is what they all surely feel as the realizations set in: no more passes to Paris; no more movies; no more Rest and Relaxation. It’s back to the line for Easy Company.

Mutters break out before the announcement is properly finished as people start speculating about what it all means, how it will all play out. After all, there’s nothing for them to fight with, they’re keen to remind each other. Although the people sending them off should know that.

They file out of the theater, lips pressed into thin lines that are more severe than when the order of the day was simply “stand fast.”

“Favorite movie and I didn’t even get to finish it,” Luz complains.

Joe sighs. “Luz, you weren’t even watching the damn thing.”

“No but I was enjoying it, and that’s what matters.”

“Probably won’t be enjoyin’ anything for a while now,” Popeye muses.

“Yeah,” Zenie agrees. “Not if it’s like Holland – just sitting around in foxholes and waiting.”

Amongst the choir of muttered protests from the clumps of soldiers, one question rings out loud and clear: where the hell is Bastogne?

If she really thinks about it, it’s kind of like D-Day – just not in any of the ways that count.

Like that night in June, they pat their friends on the back and wish each other well. Except this time there’s no ice cream, no specific knowledge of where they’re going, no plan for when they get there. More importantly, they have precious little equipment. And hardly a chance to say goodbye.

Zenie’s fingers tingle with the memory of Shifty quickly intertwining their fingers together before boarding the planes. There’s no chance for anything like that now, with everyone rushing around, trying to figure out what’s going on. Instead, she has to settle for flashing him a smile while Popeye offers her a smack on the shoulder when they go their separate ways.

The effort that it took to help load their fellow soldiers into the C-47s is missing as well. Rumbling engines tear through the velvety black night, the truck’s floors shaking as they jump into the backs with what little gear they have. The planes had been solemn and filled with excitement and prayers. These trucks are packed full of people who huddle for warmth, and air gauzy with cigarette smoke in their pitiful attempts to warm themselves up and pass the time.

For the hundredth time in this war, Zenie thanks God for Gene. If he hadn’t warned her, she would have been crammed into the back of this truck with no warning. And as they rumble along in their endless journey, he begins to feel more and more like some sort of guardian angel.

“I just wanna know where they’re sendin’ us,” Babe says as they bounce along. “What the hell are we gonna do with no ammo?”

Over all the noise, from where she sits, Zenie can hear the drivers of their truck pause their conversation when they hear Babe’s question. Their part of the Red Ball Express. She remembers seeing articles in the papers about them after the jump back in June. If anyone knows anything about where they’re going, surely it will be them. She shifts towards them.

“Have y’all been to where we’re going?” Her question startles them.

The driver and the man in the passenger seat share a weary look. Not a good sign.

“Yes,” the driver finally answers.

“That bad, huh?”

“Oh yeah, you could say that,” the man in the passenger seat agrees. “That’s why you guys have to walk the last leg of the journey.”

“Why?” The words have no sooner left her mouth when the truck shakes, followed by a loud, booming sound that reminds her of summer thunderstorms shaking the house at night.

“That’s why,” the driver says. “Besides, we have more men to move.”

These drivers have a job to do, same as the paratroopers. War is a machine, and every outfit is a small piece that operates in it. That much has become obvious after successful operations, like Overlord, and not so successful ones, like Market Garden.

“You need four pairs of socks, minimum!” Skip Muck calls over the sounds of the truck. He’s lounging on the floor of the truck bed, which is the only place where there was space left for him. In his cramped position, he frees one of his hands to count on his fingers as he lectures one of the replacements traveling with them. “Feet, hands, neck, balls.”

“Extra socks warms ‘em all,” the rest of the men finish in unison.

“Yay, we all remember that one!” Muck exclaims. “But no one remembered the socks.”

The trucks begin growling to a stop as the booming of explosions and the cracking of gunfire draw closer. Men attempt to stand as tail gates are lowered, and then they’re hopping to the ground on numb legs – a jump from nowhere near as spectacular heights as on D-Day. Someone makes a joke about a tailgate jump.

“Thanks, y’all.” Zenie taps the edge of her helmet and nods to her drivers as she moves to leave the truck.

“You’re southern, too,” her driver notes. “Where from?”

Too, he had said. It’s been so rare to find men who aren’t taken aback by y’all.

“North Carolina. The mountains. What about you?”

The driver grins. “North Carolina – the piedmont!” They laugh over their shared geography.

“Seems like everyone else is from Pennsylvania.”

The man in the passenger seat waves. “That would be me.”

It’s Zenie’s turn now to exit the truck. Before she does, she flashes them both a smile. “Well, I’ll see y’all back at home.” She leaves the truck feeling a little better than when she climbed into it.

The biting cold threatens to dispel any warmth that has entered into her heart, though. Around her, men all step around some parked trucks to relieve themselves after the long ride. Others bustle through the crowd with gasoline containers which they dump into pits in the ground. Tall flames blaze to life when a book of matches is tossed onto them, and men eagerly gather around them for warmth, drawn in like moths to a flame.

Footsteps approach. More men coming to get warm –

“Christ,” Babe mutters around his cigarette.

Columns of men appear, but they aren’t heading for the fires. Darkness cannot hide the grim and fearful expressions that haunt their features as they trudge past. Zenie and Babe gawk at them. The passing men won’t meet their eyes.

“Bill! Bill, Joe, look at this!” Babe exclaims.

Their friends appear beside them, adding to the onlookers.

Bill has never looked more confused in his life. “Hey, you’re goin’ the wrong way!”

From the corner of her eye, Zenie catches a flash of familiar movement; McClung and Popeye passing by. She steps away and follows them to one of the fires. Falling into place beside Earl, she stretches her hands towards the open flames, trying to catch the warmth while she can.

“What’s that all about?” Earl asks, nodding towards the lines of men leaving the very place that Easy Company has just been ordered into. No one asks the real question: what they hell are they sending us into now?

They don’t have to wonder for long. The men leaving Bastogne begin handing over any spare gear and ammo that they can. Easy Company men load themselves down until their hands are full, and then try to find someone else to hand off extra supplies to. Zenie finds herself weighed down with three bandoliers and a knife. She hands off some grenades to Joe and pockets half a pack of cigarettes that one retreating man presses into her hands.

The parade has hardly ended when Easy Company receives the word to keep moving. With whatever borrowed weapons and ammunition that they can carry, they start off in the opposite direction of the retreating soldiers. The world shakes with gunfire as they push through the darkness, following the road.

“Huh, would you look at that.” Bill nods up at a sign that stands on the road. It’s got arrows pointing every which way, giving every sprawling road before them a name. “It really is a crossroads.”

Without looking back, they gather their courage and follow the arrow pointing towards a place labeled Bastogne.

#was going through something and felt unable to write anything good because of all the negativity it gave me #my bad though I did not intend to dip like that #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers x ofc #band of brothers x oc #shifty powers x original female character #shifty powers x ofc #shifty powers #my writing #oc zenie mcglamery #like a girl (like a man)

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midnightshard06 · 8 months

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Flufftober Day 19

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50489362/chapters/128767369

Summary: Metal gets an unprompted memory file pop up but can't see much of it. It gets him thinking about things, mostly Sonic.

Pairing: None

Warnings: None

Word Count: ~850 words

AN: Takes place in my Heart of a Hero au

@flufftober

Sonic tucked into a ball as he dashed through some badniks. As he skid to a stop he sighed. The doctor didn’t seem to be trying too hard this time. Glancing around Green Hill he couldn’t see too many other badniks roaming around, which meant one of two things. One, Eggman was trying to distract him from some bigger plan. Two, the doctor was just bored. Considering what he knew about the doc, which was more than anyone else besides the man himself, Sonic was willing to bet it was the latter option. He’d been keeping a close eye on Eggman’s known bases and hadn’t found any new ones. Not like Eggman really had time to build any new bases with Sonic breaking his stuff all the time.

It didn’t take long to clean up the few remaining badniks and a quick look around told him that the doctor wasn’t actually here. A shame really, that would have made things more interesting but Sonic didn’t mind the break. Just as he was about to settle down, perhaps for a nap or something, he heard a startled cry. Well, a hero’s job was never done he supposed. He sped off in the direction of the noise.

Apparently he missed a couple badniks since as he got to the source of the noise he saw a trio of motobugs cornering some flickies. He came to a stop in between the animals and the badniks. “Can’t say I approve of harassing innocent animals.” Sonic stretched his arms out in front of him. “Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. What’s it gonna be?” The motobugs glanced at each other before shooting forward. “Hard way it is then.” Sonic grinned and curled into a spin dash, making short work of the bots and freeing the animals inside. He waved goodbye to the animals he’d saved before lying down under a nearby palm tree. Another day, and more innocent animals saved. The doc was still being forced to keep his operations small and Sonic still had no trouble dismantling whatever plans he came up with. Today was good.

Metal would sigh if he could. He could only make out bits and pieces of the memory file that had randomly popped up. Why pop up at all if he couldn’t properly watch it? At this point nothing was going to happen with it any time soon, so he just pushed it to the side to be dealt with later. Maybe it would actually be watchable at some point. He got up from his position resting on one of the bean bag chairs in the resistance’s main base and waved to Mighty who was in the common room as well, working on something. The armadillo waved back, but didn’t look up from his work.

Now would be a good time for a walk, so Metal set a mental path and let his feet take him. As expected his mind drifted to Sonic. The hedgehog who was apparently the key to stopping Eggman. His thoughts had been pretty consumed by the hedgehog since they’d retrieved the emerald, but could anyone blame him? He had some sort of connection to him yet he knew what felt like next to nothing about him. Well no, he did know some things. Sonic was a hero, and had apparently been fighting Eggman for years before vanishing. Sonic saved people, and kept the world safe. Sonic seemed… happy. All things that Metal found himself wishing he could say about himself, yet something deep down stopped him.

Metal shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to think about that. All that mattered right now was that they found Sonic. Not that he could do anything about it this second. For now he should try to relax. Obsessing over this wasn’t going to help. “Metal!” Metal turned around at the sound of Tails’ voice. When had he stopped walking? “Everyone’s gathering for movie night. Did you wanna come?” Tails looked excited.

‘Movie night huh? Well how could I miss out on that’ Metal nodded. Tails grabbed his hand and led him back towards the resistance base. Well, maybe he was more like this Sonic guy than he thought. He was fighting Eggman now, and had been even when he was with the doctor. He had saved people, mostly just Tails and Silver but still, and was trying to make the world safe again. He was… happy he was pretty sure. Despite everything he did think he could honestly say that. Was he a hero though? He didn’t think he could call himself that yet, but as he entered the main room of the resistance base he couldn’t help but feel like he didn’t need the title. Not yet, maybe never. Here were the people he was fighting to protect. The people he wanted, and would, keep safe. As he settled down next to Tails to watch whatever movie was going to be put on, after Charmy and Ray stopped arguing about what to pick, he felt like maybe just maybe he had it a bit better than Sonic.

#flufftober2023 #day 19 #sonic the hedgehog #sonic fandom #metal sonic #ao3 link #Heart of a Hero AU

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400legends · 1 year

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The Key, the Gear, the Room (Day 181)

The Java Data Center 21 cafe - the virtual cafe, I should say - was filled with the glorious notes of Hanadarian composer Misha Mali's opera, The Winsome Widow. My new wireborn friend, Marty, grinned at me and said, "OK Doctor Quinn, of all the places you could go, you picked the JDC? Do you know how many corridors there are on the station, how many rooms?"

I shrugged. "This is just a test of our VR rigs. But my friends are here. Uh, there. The other JDC. The real-- Well no, this is real. This feels real."

The music volume changed to a soft undercurrent to our conversation. Marty shook his head. "First time, huh? I guess I should have guessed. Are you really a Proxy?"

"Oh yes. Thank you for asking that, actually because.... I mean, you see...." I hadn't thought to use this visit into VR as a reconnaissance opportunity, but here was an opening. I began again. "The Curators, my creators, they gave us the directive to explore, to seek and to see, to experience, and then to return to Olara to share the bounty of all those moments." I paused, suddenly a little overwhelmed by the thought of the home I had never seen.

"That's beautiful, man." Marty nodded. "That's deep."

"And something that I want to explore is the Veeruxian culture. Any, uh, pointers on that?"

Marty froze for just a moment. "Hold. That. Thought." Six seconds later he said, "I don't get you. Your vibe is cop, but you're clean. My sweeps would find anything if you were layered. So, Veerux, huh? I mean, I think they're real. Nacora's a big, big, big place, right? It's a galaxy, man. Anything that can happen, will happen. So why not a murderous society built on baseless prejudices?"

"I understand that there are places here, in the virtual reality, where people costume play as Veerux. It's too much to hope that you know anything about that?"

Marty laughed and clapped his hands. "Best moment of the day, of the week, talking with you. Are you, like, fresh out of the tank or whatever? Listen, VR is good for two things: sex and violence. The safety protocols prevent violence unless you go into a room where safeties are off. What you're looking for, the safeties are off, way, way off."

"I understand."

"I'm not sure you do but alright. You like opera; you like Mali, so you're OK in my book. Find the corridor, get a key, and I dunno, try not to die, Doc."

***

Everyone returned ladened with weapons, armor, and gear. Cosmic Peanut handed me a carbon fiber breastplate and the plasma batteries I'd asked for. I transferred funds to her account as she asked about the VR rigs. I related the essence of Marty's advice.

Merrin said, "The dark web will have the info we need. Let's take a look." It took EDI's help to find what we wanted, but we located the cosplay room and a key code. "Not exactly subtle about this," muttered Merrin. "We should have told EDI to throw up about 800 aliases."

I said, "If we can help rescue Cosmic Peanut's parents from that Veerux prison ship, it's worth whatever risk."

"You really think that crashing a cosplay room is somehow going to help? I mean, you might be right. Six months ago I didn't think Veerux were real, and now they're blowing up planets."

"Allegedly," said EDI. "The investigations are still ongoing into the cause or causes of the destruction of Hanadaria."

"Point taken, EDI," I said. "And to your point, Merrin, that's exactly my rationale - very few people know anything about the Veerux. It's all legend or thousand year old reports, wild rumor. Trying to gauge Veeruxian armor and weaponry from what a group of coplayers are doing seems as valid as anything else."

Just then Cosmic Peanut's voice came over the comms. "Quinn, Merrin, any luck?"

"Indeed, Captain," I said. "We know the corridor and the room."

"We just need 600 credits to get the key," added Merrin.

Before Cosmic Peanut could react I said, "Captain, I have 15,575 ill-gotten credits. I will buy the key."

Requiem came on the comms. "We can all pitch in. Let's meet at the rigs. I'm almost positive that we're on the right track."

When we'd all gathered in the hangar, Requiem said, "That picture Quinn found of the cosplayer - I don't think that is just coding. I think that's real armor 3-D scanned into VR. This AlphaRuxMore, he's got real Veeruxian armor. I'd bet on it."

"You are betting," said CP. "600 credits' worth."

"Yeah," said Esmae, "I've been thinking about our budget. I don't think that this AlphaRuxMore is going to welcome a Glabrau or a Maeshar and certainly not a Hanadarian. We're going to need to buy skins."

"And weapons," I said. "My friend Marty said that VR is only good for sex and violence."

"He's not wrong," said the captain. "But I don't usually need to take out a loan when I jack in."

20,000 credits later we were outfitted with Demosian bodies, Veeruxian costumes, and - just in case - weapons. I'd gone cheap on the body and unintentionally cheap on the costume. I'd shown the Ixian shopkeeper a picture of the red priest we'd met way back on Lush, and moments later, for 250 credits, I had a robe almost identical to the picture.

Cosmic Peanut had opted to be similar to a character from F&F LXIII named "Lil' Ryan." "Little" due to being a toddler. "For a hundred credits, it's the perfect disguise," she insisted. "And besides," she added, "I wanted something I could use again." To the Ix she said, "Make me a baby monk."

Esmae was a male Demosian with dark hair and a scar. She picked a Veeruxian warrior outfit that was based on a cartoon she found. The boots had curved spikes at the front and 3 inch soles. There were spikes along the outside of her arms and legs.

Requiem studied Esmae's avatar. "I'm thinking fewer spikes, more grace, more...." She flexed her virtual body. "More movement." She held the picture of AlphaRuxMore out to the Ix. "What is this going to cost me?"

"Those dings in the armor don't come cheap," said the Ix. "2,300 credits."

Requiem silently nodded. She'd already spent over 4,000 credits for her Demosian body.

"I'll get weapons for us," I said before I looked at the prices. A disruptor shotgun cost 4,500 credits. A pistol was only - only! 2,000 credits. "Um, so I can afford two shotguns and two pistols."

"This is real money for fake things!" said Cosmic Peanut.

"I can't think of a better way to use the money I stole from the casino," I said. "Better to be prepared. No safeties, remember?"

A few minutes later my words came back to me. We stood in front of a door, and as Requiem touched the handle, a giant message popped up: “Safeties are off beyond this door. Select Yes if you understand.”

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crownedone9x9 · 1 year

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journal 01/12/23

So unless I share this somewhere now one but me knows this journal/blog exists. Which honestly makes this a lot easier. Unless you're like me and believe that even my paper journals get read. The ones on google are no less secure. If you know me at all for like the past 7 or so years I have been talking about two things. The “voices” aka the conspiracy. Which I believe are real, and for some reason. Well, maybe I'll get honest about that one day too. They are everywhere and nowhere. Always watching and always either stressing me out to push me forward. Like when they ease off and leave me alone its either because im in recovery or in my addiction and dont give a fuck. I have struggled with suicide for a very long time. Believe me I have thought how easy it would be. Three things have kept me going. One God, whatever you want to call God. Having a higher power is kind of important. Even if you are your higher power. Prayer and meditation really do save peoples lives everyday. Say what you want about your mom. My mom's prayer kept me alive. Not to mention the sea of people who look at the man inside. Who knows sometimes from personal experience or from God that everyone deserves love and forgiveness no matter what. Second, my future wife. Now I know he said he is pan-sexual. Well guess what everyone in NA asked what your DOC or drug of choice. Mine is a woman, period. Been attracted and have gone both ways, but I have gotten honest about it as of late. Now if you know all of my story like some of you do. Which again no one reads this lol. I have been abused and have been the abuser. I have never been violent. No one has ever told me the words “Stop”. If they had, I would have. Now in my addiction I have watched as people almost die in front of me. In some cases they did wind up dying. Some of those people were important to me and can never be replaced. Just like I am to some people. So when I say the amount of poetry I have not and will never release. One day I want her to read it. If somehow has not already. Which reality is right well in my head. I do know who she is but can’t bring myself to be honest about it because of the voices. It's the weirdest shit ever. I have tried to run away from my feelings by having lots of sex with everyone and all to run away from one woman. I fell in love with her heart, her voice, and how she loved people. That was because of jesus. I know there are other women like her but I just. Look, I give her to you God right now. Still not going to kick it in the long run believe me. Third the hope I can make a difference in this sad painful fucked up world we live in. I want people to look at me the same way I looked at her. They see Jesus and want to be better human beings because of the change that comes from accepting him. Give me ten years. Everyday choosing God. Everyday choosing to be clean and sober. Every minute of every day trying to be a better man than I was yesterday. So that tomorrow I will be a better man than I am today. Wake up excited to live another day and watch the sunrise and how beautiful it is and then watch the sunset even if it's boring. It's the little things. Anyway I am going to finish my homework. 10 things that I am powerless over. Every day for a week then if I miss one I have to start over. God was like, as many things that I'm powerless over there are alot of things that I control, Crazy huh? Good night weirdos!

#journal #WTF #God is good #jesus #love #real talk #her voice #suicide

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irrfahrer · 2 years

Note

breathe - muse a holds muse b closely to help them wind down after a stressful day/event (from siri 💗)

The second the door swiftly moved open before Siri, Ziv knew that this was a bad day. It was normal that the sickbay reeked o adrenaline- troopers were scared about their injuries, troopers were in pain, trooper had bad dreams caused by the medication, so humanoid adrenaline was hanging so heavy in the air the Tynnan was sure she would be abel to grasp it if she would just reach out for it. She however did promptly smelled the scent Siri brought in- adrenaline that was sour from stress and tensed, aching muscles going along with the noise of heavy footsteps that sounded so tiered it was more a scufflign as if her feet were made of stone. Promptly the young womans fluffy ears jolted up and she looked over the edge of the datapad she had been reading about the Troopers medication who was laying quietly on the biobed beside her.

"You are patched up, Cookie, now sleep.", Ziv swiftly hung the datapad at the end of the biobed, ears alerted turned in Siris direction. The Trooper looked up, eyebrows wandering so far up his forehead they seemed to melt with his head of hair: "Huh? Doc, its not even night-time yet." Nimbly the young woman cleaned her small paws with a bottle of vinegarwater, before drying them on her apron, not even looking at her patient: "Don´t make me use the kriffing soporific, Cookie.Turn around and sleep now." "But-", he started but the Tynnan only rose a webbed finger as if she was a teacher warning a unruly student- in her head she already went through the proper steps to help Siri: mak her sit down, prepare her tea, put on the aromatic oil with the naboolavender, make sure she eat something... : "Soporific, Cookies, just think of the kriffing soporific." The trooper opned his mouth to say something, but the Tynnans finger was stil up so eventually he just closed his mouth with a huff, leaned back and pulled his blanket over his head. "Good pup,", ziv commented before she hastily smoothened her pelt and walked over to Siri- the sickbay was quiet around them with only the breathign of the sleeping patients and the beeping of the medical tools swirling through the room like a lullaby.The screams and groans of pain were long gone with the rests of adrenaline hanging in the scent of the room still as their witness, yet now it was quiet and only calm sleepieness of treatened patients on their way to be healed, remainded.

Ziv still had a horrible eyesight so she could only see the blurred colours of Siris cloth melting in a blurred shape that wa sthe other woman, so she took a deep sniff, trying to figure out what the other was feeling through her pheromones. The young woman reached with her short arms up as if the other was a child needing a hug: "Come here, what works for pups also works for adults. I know what fluffy, warm and purring things do to your brainchemistry so why not use your natural reaction. You are safe now, don´t worry. " As if she was a teacher Ziv held up one clawed finger in a warning: "Just saying, if you ever mention that before the troopers I will mix herbal itching powder between your clothes and I am a kriffing apex predetor with the toebeans of a kriffing killer and a kriffing perfect natural mindshield, so shadow or not, you will never see me coming and never know where I will be but just know that that itching making your skin burn had been cuased by mean while I am kriffing evily laughing. I needed kriffing long until the troopers respected me enough to let me do my kriffing job and that is kriffing hard with a adorable little face like mine."

[ @stillfocvsed ]

#stillfocvsed: siri tachi #stillfocvsed

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demondean-for-kingofhell · 7 years

Text

If You Only Knew

Part 3: Inhibitions || This is a repost to fix the masterlist.

You paced the house, your mind racing. He was severely unhinged; he had to be. To bring a complete stranger into… a mob hit? Was that what you witnessed last night?

Although, you hadn’t actually witnessed the hit. You saw Sam with the gun… and heard it go off. That didn’t mean Sam actually shot that kid. Right? Of course not. The way he treated you, how sweet he was… there was no way he shot Adam.

You nearly went into cardiac arrest when your cell phone rang and rushed over to it. “Dea- sir?”

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you… you don’t need to call me Sir,” Dean grinned into the phone, pausing. “Unless it’s in the bedroom.”

You rolled your eyes at his stupid joke. “How can I help you, sir?” After the night you’d had, you weren’t in the mood to deal with his bullshit. You paid enough attention to him that you were able to hum a few times, agree to something, and then get off the phone with him before he could ask if you wanted him to come over.

You spent most of the night tossing and turning, unable to get the image of that young kid out of your head. You’d left your phone on silent after your call with Dean, opting to deal with whatever people needed the next morning.

When you woke up, you were surprised to see a message from Sam.

If you’re up for it, I’d love to see you again.

He was giving you an out.

Or was he?

You shook your head and ignored the text. You were supposed to be playing hard to get anyway.

By noon, your nerves were frayed beyond repair. You went for a pedicure, hoping that would at least lift your mood. You even stopped for coffee on your way home, leaving your government-issued sedan in the driveway.

You noticed them as you neared the front door.

Dozens of flower arrangements, littering your front porch. In the center of the largest arrangement was a small card with ‘Kate’ written on it. You stepped through the flowers, making your way to the card. When you opened it, you saw a messy handwriting that you assumed was Sam’s.

‘Please give me another chance. Tonight, 7pm?’

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled; someone was watching. You hastily shoved the card into your pocket, leaving the flowers on the porch and stepping into the house. You quickly shut the door, falling back against it.

“What the fuck…?” You breathed, your eyes on the ceiling.

The next few days went without any weird incidences. As you came in from grocery shopping, you were barely able to save the paper bags in your arms as your eyes bugged out of your skull. A box of Debauve & Gallais’s Le Livre sat innocently next to not one, but six bottles of Dom Perignon 2003 Rosé.

You admitted that you didn’t know much about them, but your desktop and Google did. You nearly choked on your water when you saw the price tags. “$550 for chocolate is…” you trailed off and put in a quick search for the champagne. “Christ! 330 dollars?! Each!”

You tapped the touch screen to close the browser and shoved everything in the fridge, not wanting to look at it a second longer. You couldn’t stop the thrill that went through you at knowing Sam was spending so much money to win your attention. Though it was a thrill you immediately slapped away; this was work. You couldn’t let yourself lose focus.

You forced your mind to think of something other than Sam all night. Anything else.

Instead you just went to bed frustrated.

By the fourth day you were itching to text him back with an excuse, erasing half of a message four different times before you went on a run, leaving your phone at home to keep you from temptation.

You came back not an hour later to a box on your porch. That solidified your theory; he was definitely having you watched.

You grabbed it and hurried inside, locking the door behind you. Although that didn’t seem to help keep Sam out. You unwrapped the box, not sure what to expect. A black dress caught your eye, along with strappy gold high heels.

You snorted and shook your head. He was definitely getting desperate. You told yourself to stay strong and hung the dress in the front of your closet, knowing you would end up wearing it on your next outing with Sam.

The next morning you were woken by a UPS driver hand delivering a small box to your door, making sure you signed and checking your ID twice. Well, your fake ID. You knew it had to be from Sam, he was the only one you were using a false identity with.

You sighed and ripped open the brown box, moving the bubble wrap and lifting out a black velvet jewelry case with gold trim. Great. You pulled open the box, your jaw dropping as you caught sight of the necklace inside. There was a piece of stationary stuck to the inside of the lid and you carefully pulled it out.

I’ll pick you up Friday. Wear this with the black dress.

-Sam

You had to admit you were impressed, but this was not getting a call back from you. You set the necklace on your dresser gently, stripping down to get into the shower. One good thing about working undercover was your beauty regimen was amped up. After being bored all morning, you went to get a facial and your eyebrows waxed; something you had been meaning to do for a long time.

You grabbed your cell as it rang, checking to make sure it wasn’t Sam before ignoring it. Not that it would kill him to actually call you.

“What the fuck?!” you barely had time to press the brake as you whipped the sedan into your driveway to avoid bumping fenders with a brand new 2017 Tesla Model S, complete with a bow on top.

You let out a heavy sigh and stared at the shiny vehicle as it if had personally offended you. This was getting out of hand. You couldn’t have totaled what he had spent on you this week if you tried.

You grabbed your cell and dialed his number.

“So, what was it, Kate? Maybe the necklace, it’s gorgeous though not quite as you are.” He saw the look you gave him. “No, no, it was the car. I knew you’d call after you saw it.” He gave you a smug smile, perched next to you on the backseat of the SUV.

“Sam, you really don’t have to do all of this.” You waved your hands vaguely, trying to encompass all the gifts that weren’t even with you.

“I know I don’t have to,” he whispered in your ear. “I want to.”

You’d be lying if you said that didn’t send a shiver up your spine. He leaned in closer, putting an arm around your shoulders. “I can give you whatever you want, Kate. You name it, and it’s yours.”

Your confession to operating the biggest drug smuggling ring in 100 years would be nice.

“Sam, really.” You protested weakly, those hazel orbs boring into you. Your next sentence was swallowed by his lips when he pressed his mouth to yours, a hand sliding up your thigh to grab your ass, kneading gently with his fingers.

You could get lost in kissing this good. You responded immediately, arching your body up towards his, trying to get closer to him.

Too soon he was pulling away, leaving warm breath on your neck as he chuckled lightly. “I knew you’d call.”

Yep, you had definitely drank too much.

Enough to lower your inhibitions on the way home from the club. You grinned as you climbed into Sam’s lap, somehow keeping your clothes on and not fucking him in the backseat.

Or maybe you hadn’t had enough to drink. You were fully aware of his presence behind you as you shoved the front door open after a night out with him.

He watched as the SUV pulled away and locked your door, a small smile gracing his lips as he watched you kick off your shoes, the dress hugging every curve on your body. He wanted you; and your week long game of denying him would cost you dearly.

“Kate, where is the Dom Perignon?” He called as he moved into the kitchen.

“Fridge!” You yelled from somewhere in the back of the house. Sam grinned and pulled the first bottle he could reach, frowning when he realized the box of chocolates was unopened. He tore his eyes from the fridge, searching three different cabinets before finding champagne glasses.

You leaned against the doorway of the kitchen, watching Sam move around the room as if he belonged there. He handed you a glass and you took a sip, the drink a little too dry for your taste.

“So,” he ventured. “Took you long enough to call me back.”

“Well, I couldn’t very well ignore the beast of a car in my driveway now, could I?” You smirked over the rim of your glass.

He only gave you a half smile in return, a dark promise in those hazel eyes you loved so much.

“Come on, to bed with you.” He held his hand out and you took it, letting him lead you up the stairs and down the hall, following your direction to get to your room.

“Answer me when I ask you a question,” he whispered seductively into your ear. You shivered, shutting your eyes and tilting your head as he kissed your skin. You weren’t sure how you’d ended up here, standing in the middle of your bedroom with Sam, but you knew he had his hands on you, and you never wanted it to stop.

“Yes.. yes please.” You could feel the smirk on his lips as he pressed another kiss to your neck.

He had the gold zipper of your little black dress all the way down your back, not yet taking the material off your body. “Yes what? You gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

You needed to stop, to pull away. This was your chance. Your mind was telling you to think, to not let it go too far.

It was a case.

Sam Winchester was a damn criminal.

He was running the most dangerous drug operation of the last century.

“Yes, please, fuck me.” The words spilled out before your brain had time to process them. You whimpered when his hand trailed down your back, his fingertips skimming and leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Sam…”

His hand was suddenly in your hair, fingers tangling in your locks and tugging gently. “I’ve got you, sweets.” You were already weak in the knees, desperate to feel his body pressed to yours, desperate for another kiss or tug of your hair, and he knew it. He pulled away from you and let your hair cascade down your back once more. You adjusted, wanting to feel him again, but he disappeared. “Keep your eyes closed, pretty girl.”

You kept still and did as he told you, waiting for something. You weren't sure what. Before you could think too hard, the black dress was pushed down your shoulders, off your arms until it slid down your body and pooled at your feet.

“Go ahead.” You almost jumped at his voice, but then he tapped your thigh gently. You understood and lifted your leg, stepping out of the dress. “Good girl.” His words made heat pool in your stomach. Sam chuckled. “Glad to know you like that.”

You were shaking under his touch. Sam could feel the barely-there shiver as he stood tall, green hazel eyes taking you in. His hand went over the lace bra, and a smirk appeared on his lips when you moved, arching your back just enough for him to cup your breast. “Sam.” His name was quickly followed by another whimper.

Sam moved behind you, unclasping your bra and letting it drop to the floor before he took your hand and finally led you to the bed. “You can open your eyes, sweetheart.”

When you finally did, you were standing between his legs and his hands were on your waist, a predatory smile on his lips. “You’re still dressed.” You were a little dumbfounded, cheeks flushed pink at his laugh.

“I am.” There was that smirk again. He left you standing as he started unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes never left yours, and it took all your self-restraint to not go for his pants. His eyes followed yours when they drifted down. “I’m impressed. You hate the slow burn, yet you’re being a good girl for me, doing as I say.”

“And if I wasn’t a good girl?” You challenged, biting your lip.

“Do you really wanna find out?” He asked, both hands on your hips, forcing you to take a couple steps back. He stood again, towering over you. “Answer me, Kate.”

“Yes.”

The silence was almost deafening as you both stared each other down, then suddenly his hand was back in your hair, tugging until your head tilted back. “Bad girls don't get to cum, Katie. You sure you wanna play games with me? I don’t think you can handle it.”

You shut your eyes once again, moaning softly when he pulled again on your hair.

You weren’t sure when he moved, but he was standing behind you now. His chest was to your back as he stepped forward, forcing you to move until your knees hit the bed. He didn’t have to instruct you. You climbed up, ready to fall on your back when he grabbed your hip. “No. Just like this, darlin. Gotta show you who's in charge here.”

“I don’t think I can show you from here, Sammy,” you teased, though he couldn’t see your mischevious smile. You jumped when his hands went to your panties, pulling until they were down your thighs. He lifted your left knee, then the right to get rid of them and slipped his hand between your legs, fingertips barely brushing against your pussy. You pushed your ass back against him for more, but he quickly pulled away.

“Don’t get greedy on me.”

You weren’t expecting the smack that landed on your ass, though it drew a loud, needy moan from you.

“Learning more and more about you every minute, huh? You like saying you’re a good girl, though you clearly push the limits.” He smacked you again. “You like getting punished for talking back. Hmm.”

“Sam, please…” He had been right about everything he’d said so far, including that you hated the slow burn. You were gripping the sheets on the bed by the time you heard the zipper of his pants. You stared forward at the headboard, tempted to glance back to see if that would earn you another slap on your ass.

He dug his wallet from his back pocket and grabbed the condom he’d slid in there before picking you up for your date. He dangled the small package from his teeth so he could get his hands on his slacks, finally getting rid of them as you waited impatiently on the bed.

You finally glanced over your shoulder to see him rip the package open with his teeth. He locked eyes with you and smirked as he rolled the condom on. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

You blushed as his eyes roamed your ass and thighs, pupils blown with lust. “Guess not, sir.” You saw a genuine grin replace his smirk. “Looks like I’m finding out what you like too then, Sam.”

“Face the headboard.” His tone held no room for argument, and you turned just as you felt the bed dip behind you, your breath catching in your throat as a riot took place in your head. You turned again when his hand went to your lower back. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly at you. “Sweets, really now?” His hand slid up your back and tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck. You suddenly found your head against the mattress, his weight keeping you immobile.

You could feel his cock pressed against your ass and you tried in vain to wiggle your hips, hoping to spur him into action. He only pressed harder against you, using one of his knees to wedge your thighs apart.

You were white knuckling the bed sheets, small gasps leaving your lips with every small movement he made. “Sam…” Your voice was too high pitched to your own ears, needy and desperate for a man you barely knew to fuck you into next week.

“I told you to be a good girl, and you didn’t listen.” Sam’s voice rang in your ears as he smacked your ass harder than the first few times. His cock was at your entrance, and whatever smart-ass remark you had ready for him disappeared from your mind as he filled you in one smooth motion, his breath hissing between his teeth. “Goddamn, pretty girl. Fuck!”

Your own expletive was lost in the sheet as your muscles clenched around him, and you were so glad he paused for a second, even if it was just to press a kiss to your spine. He started a quick rhythm, each stroke sure and deep. He let go of your hair only to grab onto your hips, making sure he controlled every second of pleasure he was giving you.

“Fuck,” he muttered again. “Look so goddamn beautiful like this.” His breath was ragged as he fucked you into the mattress. You whimpered at this words, your hand slipping between your thighs. Your fingertips had barely grazed over your clit when his voice echoed off the hardwood floors. “No. Not yet. Hands above your head, Kate. You know what happens to bad girls.”

“Yes sir,” you whimpered, both hands reaching above your head to grab the headboard. You could already feel the muscles in your lower belly tightening as you neared release. “Like this, sir?” You weren’t sure how you managed those three words at all.

Sam wanted to chuckle at your question, knowing well that you were fucking with him, but he settled for increasing the pace, pounding into you almost brutally, each thrust hitting your g-spot with expert accuracy.

“You’re close, baby girl.” He growled, fingers digging into your hips. He refused to give you even an inch of power, keeping you locked in that position as he chased after his own high. “I can feel it. Let go for me, baby.”

You could only take what he gave you, your body absorbing every little movement. You screamed out loud when your orgasm hit you like a freight train, fire erupting in your belly as white spots danced behind your closed eyelids.

Sam never let up on you, quickly bringing you to a second orgasm before he was near finished with you. Your body was already spent when he buried his cock deep inside of your fluttering walls and came with a loud cry of your name. You could feel your cum trickling down your thighs, and his chest was pressed against your back as he fought for control of his breathing.

“Good girl.” He praised you as his hands finally let go of your hips, one slipping around your waist as he drug you both onto your sides, his cock slipping from your pussy with an obscene wet sound. You hummed softly, letting him hold you close as you laid there, your mind racing with the realization of what you had just done.

What was worse was you didn't want him to go; to leave you alone in this huge house that you hated. When his arms disappeared from around your waist, you almost panicked. “Sam?”

“Yeah sweetheart, give me a minute.” He disappeared from your bedroom into the adjoining bathroom. You propped yourself up on your elbow and watched as he padded across the floor after a minute, coming back with a towel. “On your back.”

You obeyed without a second thought, managing to keep your squirming to a minimum as he cleaned up your thighs with the towel, making sure to take softer strokes over your pussy.

“Better?” He pressed a kiss to your left thigh. You nodded, and he laid back down next to you. “Sleep, baby girl.”

You were already dozing off, but you kept your tired eyes open until his arms were back around your waist, pulling you across the bed until you were pressed against his naked chest. The warmth and pressure of his body against yours was comforting, and it didn’t take long for your breathing to even out.

Sam ran his fingers through your hair and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Good night, princess.”

@bailieinabottle for you sweetie!

#good thing I never clean out my docs huh?#oh Sam #man now I may have to write more of this #i see it in my future #of course these tags are useless for searching for the chapter huh #sam x reader #sam winchester #if you only knew

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bbrandy2002 · 2 years

Text

Fools Rush In

Chapter 21

Book: TRR

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Series Premise: With two weeks before he is set to marry Madeleine, the guys throw Liam an impromptu bachelor party that results in him (and Drake) leaving Vegas with more than he bargained for.

Word count: 3900 -ish

Warning: Language

Soooo ... hey lol It's been a hot minute since I've written or posted anything (or just been around in general). Anyway, I came back to several messages asking about this chapter. I actually had 90% of it written back in October and just thought it was pure shit and gave up on it ... actually, I gave up on writing altogether. Having some time this week, I opened up the doc, rewrote some things, deleted out some stuff and finally managed to finish it. It's still not even close to what I wanted it to be, as it's the end of this arc, but I've decided to just have fun writing again. If there's anything Ive learned during my time away it's that none of us will ever write the perfect story, or use the perfect words, or have the most compelling characters and it's okay; I think I finally have accepted that. Just have fun doing it!

This concludes my TedTalk

---------------------------

“Doctor ... Wolfschitz?” a bewildered Alyssa questioned.

“That’s no damn doctor!” Drake bore his eyes into the former prince, who was already howling with laughter, dodging a pillow that whirled in his direction from Drake. “What the actual fuck is your problem, Leo?”

Leo clutched his side, trying to catch his breath. “The look on your face, man … I can't. I really had you going there for a minute didn’t I, Walker? Afraid you were about to lose that new pee-pee, huh?” He continued to laugh riotously at Drake’s expense before his gaze hastily shifted its attention toward Alyssa. “Why’d you blow my cover, thong girl?”

“Thong girl? Alyssa muttered, absentmindedly crossing her legs while attempting to hide the fact her face was quickly glowing bright pink. How’d he know I was wearing one?

“Why are you here, Leo?” Drake repeated as Leo casually strolled up to his bed and scooped up a chocolate pudding cup from Drake’s food tray. “And how in the sam hell did you even know I was in the hospital?

“Came with Liam,” he replied nonchalantly as he plopped his ass down on the end of the bed and peeled off the top of his pudding cup, licking the plastic wrap clean. “He’s down the hall with Riley right now. Seems my little brother is a prized stud after all … got that Rys sperm in him, ya know? Knocked her up real good yo. Hafta say … I’m impressed.”

“Knocked her up?” Alyssa gasped before stepping closer to him. “Hold up; Riley’s pregnant?”

Leo nodded and shoveled a giant heap of pudding into his mouth. “Yeah. I’m going to be an uncle again --” he eyed Drake’s plate contemplatively, “ -- You gonna eat the rest of that meatloaf, man?” Drake scowled and pushed his tray toward the hungry Prince.

Alyssa quickly put all the clues together. “So that’s why Riley was so sick earlier? She didn’t have a concussion, --” she smiled endearingly, “ -- she just had morning sickness. ... Well, is she okay? Is the baby okay? The fall didn’t hurt them, did it?”

Leo, concentrating on finishing the rest of that meatloaf, languidly shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Well, did they at least give her something safe for her back pain yet?” Alyssa probed further.

Leo shoved another large bite of meatloaf and again answered. “I dunno.”

“Oh my God! Do you know anything?” A frustrated Alyssa finally asked.

With a mouthful of food, Leo tilted his head back in deep thought and replied the best he could, “I know this meatloaf is fucking BOMB, dude. Not too shabby for hospital grub.” He swallowed heartily. “The pudding on the other hand … absolute shit.” He tapped the edge of the plastic container with his plastic spoon as he spoke to it, “Snack-Pak, you disappoint me.”

Desperate for an answer, Alyssa reached out and grasped Leo’s shirt, jerking him closer. “Fuck the snack-pak, Wolfshitz; what about Riley?”

“Riley? Oh, she never disappoints me …” Leo sideways glanced with a frown. “Liam on the other hand ...”

Stunned by this strange man’s erratic and seemingly unhinged behavior, Alyssa shot a wide-eyed glare at Drake, who just shook his head slowly. “Don’t try to make sense of him, Alyssa. Just don’t. You’ll never be able to figure him out.”

Needing to be reassured, Alyssa pulled a cell phone from her back pocket and started furiously shooting off a text to Riley. While her back was turned to the men, Drake couldn’t help but notice the way her ass hugged perfectly in those skinny jeans and soon realized his new body part had showed up in tandem with his sudden arousal. With Leo’s interest remaining focused on the damn meatloaf for the time being, Drake eased a hand under the white sheet covering him and felt around the area below his waist; his breath hitched with relief at the rock-solid bulge that had erupted. Feeling a little giddy that everything was working as it should, the euphoria soon subsided when he caught a glimpse of Leo’s saucy gaze on Alyssa.

Overcome with a strong sense of jealousy over the girl he’d just caught sneaking a peek at his naked self less than five minutes ago, Drake quietly urged through gritted teeth, “Stop looking at her like that, Leo! She’s not some conquest you can just sack for your sick playboy pleasures.”

“Says the guy who caught panty crickets from a $2 hooker and needed a dick transplant.” Leo retorted with a smirk. “Besides, father always said, ‘I see it, I like it, I want it, I got it.” He wagged his tongue in lust. “And I see that.” He motioned to Alyssa’s backside.

“Your father was an idiot. And that was Ariana Grande, you dumbass!”

Leo curled a brow as a cheshire grin slowly spread. “Where do you think she got it from?”

“You lying sack of shit!” Drake protested, cognizant of his volume so as not to draw Alyssa’s attention while she continued to text Riley .“You didn’t sleep with Ariana Grande.”

“I sure as hell did,” Leo boasted, while continuing to stare at Alyssa’s backside. “Who do you think ‘One Less Problem Without Ya’ was written about?”

Drake pursed his lips. “Now THAT I believe.”

The three of them stayed in Drake’s room, getting acquainted over small talk and arguing with Leo over his ceaseless barrage of dick jokes and puns directed at Drake. There were shared glances between Alyssa and Drake, both of them feeling this attraction and curiosity about the other, but soon enough, an E.R. nurse presented a grateful Drake with his discharge papers, freeing him to finally go. There was some relief felt on Drake’s part that Liam was in Las Vegas too. Since Pinquee Kittee mugged him in the hotel elevator -- essentially making off with his plane ticket and what few bucks he had left in his wallet -- he now had a way back to Cordonia.

But as he shuffled along through the hospital with Leo and Alyssa, he couldn’t help but be disappointed that he’d never get to know this sweet girl beside him. Someone who seemed to accept that not all of his body parts were originally his. Maybe even have dinner or go to a show with him sometime … If he could keep Leo’s slimy mitts off her first.

--------------

There was really nowhere for the three of them to go, as they found a section of empty chairs in the corner of the waiting room.

Drake and Leo were pretty much at the mercy of Liam for getting out of there and hitching a ride back to Cordonia -- both were broke. Alyssa had money, but didn’t want to leave the hospital without seeing Riley first. But soon enough, the royal couple finally emerged into the waiting room where they met up with their anxiously awaiting friends; both were elated to show off freshly printed pictures of their little royal peanut.

“Congratulations, brother.” Drake pulled Liam into a celebratory hug, clapping him on the back, never so happy to see his beaming face. Drake was genuinely happy for his best friend, knowing how much Liam had wanted a family. It was also nice to see his meal ticket again.

“That’s going to be one lucky kid to have a father like you.”

Unable to contain himself, Liam smiled as he pulled away from their embrace. “I hope so, my friend. It all seems so surreal right now. Actually, everything that has happened since we were here a few weeks ago has been incredible … amazing -- “ Noticing Drake’s face turn dismal, knowing his buddy had not had the same kind of luck, Liam suddenly dropped the giant grin and searched Drake’s face with concern. “Wait, are … are you okay, though? I mean … everything … works again?” He lifted a curious brow.

Unlike the treatment he got from Leo, Drake knew Liam never judged or joked about him and felt comfortable answering as he lifted a shoulder. “I mean, I think so. I haven’t gotten to test it out just yet, --” Drake slyly peeked over at Alyssa who was busy gushing over ultrasound pictures with Riley and slowly grinned, “--but … I hope to real soon.”

Liam shook his head with a smile. "That's great news, Drake. But are you sure you should be pushing yourself so soon?"

Drake smirked and waved the hospital discharge papers. ".Doctor's orders."

After the mini-celebration in the waiting room, the group made their way out of the hospital where Liam -- who had called ahead -- had two cabs waiting out front to take them to their next destinations.

“I hope the three of you don’t mind …” Liam looked between Alyssa, Drake, and Leo, as he wrapped his arms behind Riley and kissed into her hair. “But my wife and I were hoping to get some rest before we head out in the morning.” Wanting to get back to Cordonia already, Drake groaned, knowing damn well Liam had no plans to rest. “I booked the penthouse at the Rio again for all of us, but I need you three to go to Riley’s house and pick up her suitcase … and perhaps stay out for a few hours.” He nuzzled his nose into Riley’s neck, letting out a purring sound onto her warm flesh.

“We’re on it!” Leo hollered, eagerly snatching the credit card out of Liam’s hand that was initially held out to Drake.

“No … We’re NOT on it!” Drake bit back, ripping the card back away from Leo and holding it high above his head as the former prince made mad jumps for it. “I haven’t spent the last six weeks of my miserable existence in pure hell just to get this close to finally going home, only to find out I now have to prance around Vegas with fucking Leo another night.” In the worst power-fueled move ever, Drake squared his shoulders and rose to his tallest stature before Liam, as if he were God himself, and glowered at the equally tall King. “I am commanding you to take me to the airport this instant and fly us back to Cordonia tonight! Do you understand me, Your Majesty?”

You could have heard a pin drop. That’s how silent the other four members of their party became in an instant. No one -- especially Liam -- knew exactly how to respond to him; and even with giving Drake time for a moment of clarity to think about what he had just said, he continued to stand his ground.

Leo waited with bated breath for his brother to kick some ass, maybe slap his best friend around a little, go Will Smith on him.

Clearly, Drake was stressed to the max, and who could blame him? He hadn’t been home since their plane landed weeks ago after a 10 hour flight from Vegas, where thanks to a cunning Leo who tipped off the World Health Organization, the commoner was immediately thrust back onto a plane and returned to the States. This was on top of having major genital surgery in Boston, picked up on a warrant for failed child support out of Clark County, Nevada that turned out to be a case of identity theft, and lastly being mugged by the same hooker who gave him all those venereal diseases in the first place -- a true “coming full circle” moment.

Liam rolled his neck, opting to choose his words carefully, given the circumstances. “Drake,” he eventually said, “I’m going to ignore that outburst, knowing you’ve endured far more than your fair share of hardships lately and would never willingly disrespect me otherwise. I can assure you, we will leave bright and early in the morning to head home. I’ve spoken with the captain and take-off is at 8 a.m. sharp, local time. You have my word, I won’t leave you behind.”

At that assurance, Drake scrubbed a hand over the back of head, brimming to the gills with regret. “I, uh … I’m sorry -- I shouldn’t have said what I said to you. I’m just so damn tired and desperate to get back --”

Liam held up a hand to stop him as he shook his head. “No apologies needed. It’s forgotten. I just want you to be okay.”’ He clapped his hand comfortingly on Drake’s shoulder, who let out a heavy breath before giving Liam a grateful smile in return.

Leo cast a disapproving gaze between the two men and scoffed. “What the hell was that? I’ve seen better fights between father and that bearded gypsy woman down in the laundry room than that.” In the blink of an eye, Leo saw his opportunity to get Liam’s credit card back from an unaware Drake. With the quickness of a cheetah, he reached out and snatched the Visa from his grip. “HAHA! I call shotgun, losers!” The former prince took off toward the waiting yellow taxi-cab by the curb before anyone could stop him.

“I hope I’m not being too forward …” Alyssa hesitantly piped in, her words directed at Drake. “But I’m a lot of fun to hang out with. And I know of this great little mom and pop Cuban restaurant not too far from here that makes the best ropa vieja and mojitos you'd ever try” She reached out and grabbed his hand softly, flashing those brilliant blue eyes that already had him completely under her spell. “Let’s give Liam and Riley some time alone. We’ll go get her suitcase, then after that, I’ll make sure you have the best time in Vegas: we'll get some food, maybe catch a show, take in some of the nightlife, and before you know it, you’ll be boarding that plane back to your home. I promise it'll be great and I'll make sure Leo doesn't bother you. All you gotta do is trust me. Do you trust me, Drake?”

Now donning a lopsided grin and another reminder that his dick worked, Drake nodded appreciatively.

"I trust you, Alyssa."

---------------------------

The next morning, as scheduled, Liam and Riley blissfully boarded the royal jet, having made up for two days without sex and each other.

"Mmm, pussycat," Liam moaned into Riley's ear after pulling her down to straddle him in his lap, grasping hold of her ass. "I believe half of goddamn Vegas knows my name after last night. I swear I've never had a woman beg me for mercy before, but I gotta say … I liked it."

Riley arched her neck allowing him easier access to feast on the bare skin just below her jawline; the things this man could do with his mouth was something legends were built on and drove her absolutely wild. "Liam," she breathed, her dainty fingers gliding through his hair. "I have no feeling left down there."

"A king has to mark his territory, my love." Liam pulled away, hitting her with that same sweltering gaze that knocked her panties right off. "And let me just say … you were succulent."

Just as the two went in for a kiss, heavy footsteps could be heard in the back of the plane, tearing them from each other's lips.

"Sounds like Leo and Drake finally arrived," Riley mused as she hopped off Liam who let out a heavy groan while he adjusted himself at their terrible timing.

"Great."

They watched as the curtain flung aside and a seemingly perturbed Leo came stomping through the cabin before flopping down into a seat across from them. Liam and Riley waited for him to say something and to address his peculiar behavior, but instead the normally precocious prince sulked quietly like he was pissed off at the world.

The seconds tucked by while Liam allowied time for his brother to reveal whatever dumbass thing had him so upset. Remaining silent except for the sound of his nostrils flaring, Leo hadn't caved yet. Liam looked to Riley, shaking his head, knowing he had to ask what was wrong and doing so with the understanding he probably didn't want to know the answer.

Liam eventually let out a heavy exhale. "Alright, I'll bite. Is there a problem, Leo?"

"Yeah … I'm going to kill Drake Walker," He growled, his voice menacing and never making eye contact with either of them. "He did a terrible awful, Liam."

"Oookay," Liam replied, "Do you perhaps want to tell me what this …terrible awful thing Drake did?" He took a gander out the airplane window and looked back at his older brother. "And where is Drake, anyway? Neither of you showed up at the penthouse last night."

"He's probably burning at the gates of hell!"

Concerned about her own friend, Riley leaned forward in her seat, treading lightly with her tone. "Leo, sweetie… is Alyssa okay?"

Having a soft heart for his sister-in-law, Leo finally glanced over, dropping some of his rough attitude. "I don't know. After I married her and that … that … spawn of Satan. She went with him back to your place for --"

Stopping him in his tracks, Riley jumped to her feet. "What! Backup. Alyssa married Drake?"

After Leo confirmed with a nod, Liam could do nothing but drop his head at yet another sudden twist in his best friends sordid tales of woes. "All of you are banned from visiting Las Vegas again, do you understand? You can't handle it."

"Anyway," Leo continued. "Right after we left the Puppetry Of The Penis show -- which was slamming last night, by the way." He began to chuckle at the memory, despite everything he was still angry over. "Lyssa and I got … Drake," he snarled, "to volunteer to go up on the stage and perform. A couple of shots down him and that asshole was willing to do anything. Him on that stage contorting and twisting that wang into hearts and poodles was about the funniest damn thing I've ever seen in all my livelong days. Hafta to say, Father was right: Tricks aren't for kids."

"Oh, God," Liam grumbled, feeling suddenly sick to his stomach. He pressed two fingers to the middle of his forehead, not sure he wanted to hear the rest of Leo or Drake's newest shenanigans.

"Well, obviously you're not upset over him and Alyssa together … you married them after all. So I'm left to wonder what else there is you're not sharing with us."

Riley could tell Leo was struggling to get the words out and stepped over, taking a seat beside him and squeezing his hand. "It's okay, Leo. We just want to understand the situation better is all so we can help you work through it."

Liam scoffed to himself. I just want to know what the hell is going on so we can go home already.

Taking her by surprise, Leo dropped over into Riley's lap before grabbing her hand and raising it to his head, beckoning her to caress his golden mane. As she did so, his raspy voice finally broke through all the stalling.

"I found … my mom."

An actual serious problem? That wasn't what Liam was expecting as his brows shot up to his hairline. "You … you found Henrietta?" His brother nodded somberl with a face that, resembled that of a lost "That's not what I thought you were going to say. How -- when? Where? I mean you've always wanted to see her again."

Leo lifted Riley's hand from his head and pushed himself back up to a slumped forward position, looking completely defeated. "Her name isn't even Henrietta anymore and I didn't exactly see her. Not on this Vegas trip anyway."

"I'm not sure I follow," Liam said. "You mean you saw her on the last trip we took here?"

"Uh-huh,. 'Cept I didn't recognize her with all the wrinkles, makeup and fishnet stockings. Plus I was fresh off a prostate milking and trying to marry you two kids so I had a lot of shit on my mind -- "

"Hold on … " It took a second to piece together the little hints his big brother was dropping, but soon enough realization at Leo's words slowly started to dawn on Liam and he wasn't sure he could even believe what his mind was trying to betray him of. "Are you trying to tell me … oh my god … that … and that's why you're so mad at Drake? Because he ... There's no way, Leo. "

"Way. Old man Burt told me everything. I saw her pictures in the house and the more he talked about her it all started becoming clearer ... Leo began to wail out. "My mom is a tuna casserole making, chain-smoking, diseased hooker who got fucked by Drake Walker."

Riley brought her hand to her mouth, "Pinque Kittee."

Once more, Leo fell over into her lap, lazily flopping an arm around her tiny waist. "Hold me Riley, I'm triggered."

All she could muster was slow, heavy pats on his back as both she and Liam sat flabbergasted, mouths agape, stunned into silence. Like clockwork, they both noticed a movement out the window from the tarmac and the King scrambled to his feet upon seeing a yellow taxi and an enraged Drake emerging out of it, angrily tossing Alyssa upon his shoulder, firemen style, who didn't appear to mind.

"Shit!"

Taking note that Drake already seemed pissed about something and knowing Leo was prepared to push his buttons even further, Liam knew there was about to be an all out brawl on his plane if he didn't do something fast. With his pregnant wife in the thick of the action, he snapped his eyes to her. "Riley, find some place to go and lock yourself in, now," he ordered while rushing his way to the back in hopes of cutting Drake off at the door.

It sounded like a beast was herding up the rollaway stairs when Liam screeched to a halt at the door. He spread his arms out, locking them in place at each side of the frame, praying his strength would sustain him from the stampeding Drake.

The denim-clad man had fire and brimstone shooting from his eyes as he stopped on the landing before Liam -- not exactly the look of a newlywed groom

"Out of my way, Liam," Drake demanded, attempting to push his way through Liam who was refusing to budge.

Still hoisted over Drake's shoulder, the bobbing head of a gleeful Alyssa peeked out from Drake's side and waved. "Hey, Liam. Love the plane."

"Alyssa," he acknowledged before diverting his attention back to Drake and to hopefully diffuse the situation before it could get worse. "Listen buddy, I don't know what the hell you're upset about right now --"

"Leo," Drake gritted, "I'm going to destroy that little beady-eyed, sex-crazed, father spouting, son-of-a-bitch."

"OK--OK, I need you to just calm down" Liam stammered, the dry desert heat not the only thing causing him to sweat profusely. "I'm going to buy you another plane ticket and you and Alyssa can take a separate flight. Go anywhere you want, I don't care. Call it a wedding gift from me."

"We're not fucking married," Drake spat back as Alyssa reached around with a paper in her hand and held it out to a confused Liam. "Thanks to your stupid ass brother."

"It's all in this paper, Liam," she said as she waved the crisp document. "We're hoping you can fix it."

"What is it? Liam eyed the paper curiously before loosening his grip on the door frame, hoping Drake didn't try to break past him, before taking it from her.

"It's supposed to be a copy of our marriage certificate, but … it's not," she replied as Drake continued to seethe in fury.

The document was instantly recognizable to Liam as a Cordonian marriage certificate. Why they had this version instead of the standard American issued one was odd, but given Leo married them and seemed to hand the damn things out like candy to whoever wanted one, there was no point dwelling on it further. One glance was all that was needed for Liam to figure out what the problem was as he shot a wide eyed look back up to Drake who was now close to welling up.

"Tell me you can fix it, Li. Tell me it's not real and this is just one big fucked up nightmare," Drake begged.

Liam inhaled deeply through his nose, preparing for the onslaught of his best friend's wrath at what he was about to confirm to him.

"I'm sorry, Drake. I -- I wish I could, but … it's appears that you and Leo … are married."

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aquanova99 · 3 years

Text

Checkup

“Well, what did he do this time?”

“Great to see you too, Doc.” Steve answered

“Sorry Doc, Steve threw his shield at the guy who blew up the place. We caught the guy but he still managed to get a hit on us.” Sam tried to explain

“Uh huh. And I’m assuming he didn’t tell Tony or anyone else what his plan was so he got the brunt of the explosion?”

“I’m sorry I was trying to make sure everyone was safe.”

“No, you were trying to be the hero again. You could have easily asked Tony to cover you when you threw your shield it would have taken 2 seconds.”

You could cut the tension in the room with a knife.

Sam exhaled, “Well I’ll leave you to it Cap.” He didn’t wait for an answer as he left the room.

“Alright, where most of the damage? It wont take long to heal but I need to sure theres no debris anywhere.”

Steve just turned to show his right forearm. Y/n noticed his head some dried blood as well. She turned to collect all the supplies she would need.

“Alright. WHats your problem with me?”

“I don’t have a problem, Captain America.” She said as she rummaged for extra bandages.

“Seems like you have a problem with the way I do things.”

“I have a problem with you unnecessarily putting yourself in harms way.” She said as she put alcohol on his arm and began cleaning. Steve winced. “Every single time you’ve come in here your injuries have been avoidable or perhaps not as severe. For someone who talks a lot about team you don’t seem to let your team in on what youre thinking. And as much as I love these lovely conversations we have,” her voice dripped of sarcasm, “I’d rather you be more careful.”

Steve wasn’t expecting that answer. Truth be told he knew she wasn’t wrong but he was too prideful to admit it. As much as he complained having to go into the med bay, he enjoyed that y/n never seemed to hold back how she was feeling. Everyone else treated him like he never made mistakes, like they always had to be on their best behavior. No on talked to him in full confidence, except maybe nat. She began bandaging his fore arm.

“I’m not trying to be a hero.”

“No?” He could hear how little she believed him

“Maybe I am, I just don’t want anyone getting hurt on my watch.”

“Pretty sure thats being a hero. You aren’t the only willing to put their lives on the line for others. That’s what makes you guys the avengers. Your team wants to protect you just as much as you want to protect them.” She said as she finished

“Thanks,” Steve stood up to leave

“Don’t even think about it Rogers. I need to make sure your neck is alright.” Steve had completely forgot about that. He had focused on putting pressure there first so it was all dried over.

“I don’t want anyone to risk themselves for me again.” Steve confessed as she put a rag to his neck to dab the blood. Y/n froze for a second. Everyone knew about Bucky and what a sensitive subject it was to talk about for not just Steve, but Bucky, and Tony as well.

“I imagine it isn’t easy carrying that guilt around. But if you continue to do this, one day there wont be a Captain America, and I imagine it wouldn’t be an easy loss for the team. You’re their family.” She finished cleaning his wound, “try not to end up in here on the next mission, okay?”

“What if I said I come in here just to see you.”

“I’d say Nat is rubbing off on you. And you’re lying.” Y/n smiled at him, “Have a good day Captain America.”

“Its just Steve. You’re right, I haven’t come in here just to see you. But I think I might now.”

“We’ll see.” Y/n doubted he meant any of that. What would an avenger want to do with someone like her? She turned around to begin cleaning up her work area. Steve reached out and turned her back around.

“I promise I’ll be more careful.”

“O-okay…” Y/n never got this flustered, but Steve had gotten the confidence he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“I promise not to come back into the med bay next time, if you go on a date with me.”

“Are you bribing staying alive for a date with me? I am not worth all of that.”

“No, believe me you are.”

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @artaxerxesthegreat @aunt-pipie @avyannadawn @imtoanonymousforyou @lacychick @minghao3o @quarthly @volturiwolf @ajeff855 @user13cabs @vxidnik @nenchiro

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mixed-theater-faisty-tings · 2 years

Text

Lovin’ Kind

Chapter Two

Pairing: Riff x Latina! Summary: With Tony back it means The Jets hanging around Doc’s more often and Catalina has some stuff to figure out that Riff and his intolerance isn’t helping.

A/N: Here comes Chapter 2 thanks so much for reading and I will see you Thursday for Chapter 3! As always feel free to message me for tags or even feedback!! Enjoy!!!!!

———————————————————— Riff Pov

“Now that Tony is back everything can be as it used to be and we can get our turf back. Those no-good spics ain’t worth shit.”, I rally at my guys. “Riff, Tony ain’t want nothing to do with us?”, Ice says. “He just needs time okay he just got back.”, I defend. “Face it he done with the jets.”, Diesel adds. “Ain’t no such thing as done with the Jets. Meet at Doc’s at 2 and we will talk to him.”, I order before walking off.

Ever since Tony left I took over as leader of the gang but, I ain’t as confident as him and I don’t have the ideas he does or even the self-control. I start running my mouth and get us in deeper trouble than we need. I sorta blame myself for him landing upstate…that dumb Egyptian King was running his trap so I boasted up Tony causing him to nearly kill the kid. We created the Jets it’s our only source of family and I couldn’t let it fall apart after he left. As I walk towards Doc’s trying to make it there before the rest of the guys I begin to think about my conversation with Tony last night. He was blabbing about wanting to change and be better but I don’t know what he is going on about. He has never been as angry as some of us Jets and I think Catalina had something to do with it those two were about as close as Tony and I outside of the gang and i’ve never hated her for being around but, the guys and I do poke at her causing her utter annoyance. I’d bet everything I got which isn’t much…that she hates me just for being me and getting Tony sent away. Maybe I should’ve been there for her when he left she was alone with the old bat. She probably would’ve laughed in my face. When I finally approach the entrance of Doc’s I see Cat sweeping the floors and dancing around to music from the juke. I walk through the door and lean against the doorframe watching her glide across the floor. I am unaware of how long this take places until she spins around dropping the broom and letting out a small squeal.

——————————————————————— Catalina Pov

I love having music playing while I am cleaning it fills the empty space surrounding me. I am dancing around the store sweeping when I turn around and find Riff just standing there watching me causing me to jump, drop my broom and squeal. “What the hell are you doing?”, I say picking up the broom and praying it sounded like I was mad. “Watching you dance? I think?”, he smirks, god that smirk. STOP IT! “You never just stand there like a creep and what do you mean you think?”, I roll my eyes walking away from him. “Well that’s not how ya dance sweetheart.”, he snickers.

“Sorry was it too Puerto Rican for you”, I spit. “Why so catty?”, he follows me. “Knock it off! I’m not dealing with you today.”. “Well clear your schedule cause yes you are. The Jets are coming by today and isn’t today the only day the old bat never sets foot here? Leaving you to fend for yourself?”, He remains on my tail. “And you know this how?”, I face him. “You may ignore me but doesn’t mean I ignore you.”, his eyes locked on mine. What does he mean by that? “Why don’t you go find some wall to paint on. Preferably a blank one that doesn’t have a Puerto Rican flag”, I push him away and go behind the counter.

“Come on don’t dump on my best work. Thought it needed some touch ups.”, he boasts. “No Riff! It was disrespectful and you knew that. It was hurtful to us and you know that but, that is what makes you happy huh seeing everyone around you miserable except for the Jets. We left Puerto Rico to find better opportunities the same way your people did and all we have been met with is hate by people like you! Screw you and the Jets all we want is a home just like you!”, I am livid. “Well at least you got family! The Jets are the only source of family I have and we aren’t letting some dirty spics ruin that!”, he fires back. “Look around gringo! Where’s your family now? Causing a ruckus without their hot shot leader. Half of us leave our family behind sometimes because they can’t come. My dad left my mom and me so we came here for my Tia and within a few years of us being here my mom fell extremely ill causing her to leave me too. My tia is all I have left and these Puerto Ricans that are “stealing” your turf are my family the way the Jets are yours. Ever think about that? No of course not! All you ever think about is you!”, I spat in pure anger, careful not to let my tears fall no way was he gonna see me this way.

“Cat? I-“, he stumbles through his thoughts. “Catalina. Just leave it alone Riff, I have a job to do.”, I get back to sweeping. Tony comes upstairs for the first time all morning ready to get to work. “Morning Catalina. Oh hey buddy boy what you doing here.”, Tony smiles unaware of the spiel I let out. “Came here to see you. The Jets are on their way we all need to talk business.”, Riff says acting like nothing happened. Typical. Why do I care? “I told ya I ain’t getting involved in that.”., Tony says taking the broom from me. “There ain’t no leaving the Jets you know that”, Riff steals the broom from him.

“Okay if you two are going to argue about this can you do it elsewhere so I can do my job. Just because Valentina doesn’t come in today doesn’t mean this place can be unorganized.”, I steal the broom from Riff and push past the boys. “Riff I have to start work can‘t we talk later?”, Tony pleads. “Sure I’ll just sit here and watch you and the princess work till the guys get here.”, he takes a seat at a table crossing his arms and a smug look across his face. I roll my eyes and tell Tony how we keep the store clean and organized. After he brings up some inventory he and I start to stock up the shelves. As I fill up the Snickers I notice Tony removing them. “Would you stop they need to be filled up.”, I laugh at his small joke. “What do you mean it’s a ghost.”, he chuckles tossing the candy back into the inventory box. “Uno de estos dias lo juro.(One of these days I swear)”, I say.

The bell rings signaling someone entering the store, a click of heels hitting the floor and a voice I know. “Alta como estas?’, Anita walks towards me not noticing the two white boys in the store with me, “Anita..que haces aqui? Mi tia no viene hoy? (What are you doing here? My aunt doesn’t come in today).”, I say meeting her closer to the door. Riff sits up in his chair amused at the sight in front of him and Tony is frozen in his tracks. “Medidas necesarias pero pareces ocupado.(Needed measurements but you seem busy)”, she says finally acknowledging the boys. “Hola señora”, Riff comes closer to us. “Riff back off”, Tony says catching everyone’s attention.

“Tony watch the store. Anita follow me. Riff don’t steal anything.”, I say guiding Anita towards the back of the store so she could get what she needs. “There’s a white man working here? And The Jets leader is just sitting there?!”. “Tony is harmless my Tia offered him a job after he was released from prison”, I explain. “Prison! Como que harmless!”. “It’s a long story. Tony is my friend and unfortunately Riff is his best friend. Please don’t think different of me.”, I beg. “I could never..you are one of us. Just be careful I don’t want you getting hurt.”, she says. “I have my ways around them…don’t tell Nardo please I don’t wanna deal the Sharks getting territorial”, I ask of her.

She nods and gets her measurements while I poke at her for details about my dress that she is keeping from me. I walk her out finding Tony and Riff exactly where I left them. “Acabo de pasar por el apartamento el jueves y haremos los toques finales. Puedes llevar el vestido a casa después de eso para la danza.(Just come by the apartment Thursday and we will do final touches. You can bring the dress home after that for the dance)”, she smiles giving me a hug. “English ladies.”, Riff says with yet another Milkyway in his dirty hands. I roll my eyes ignoring him. “Gracias. I will see you Thursday and tell Maria I said hi.”. “Of course. And Junior said he would be happy to escort you so we can all meet there.”, she explains. “I look forward to it. Adios.”, I say as she walks out.

“So kitty cat is going to the dance huh?’, Riff mocks. “Of course I am.”, I say taking the candy from him. “So do you know Junior?”, Tony asks. “I’ve met him a few times. He is pretty nice. They just wanna set Maria and I up with some nice Puertorriqueños.”, I walk towards the shelves to finish stocking. “Don’t wanna make like your tia and marry a white man?“, Riff interjects. “I don’t care about that and if you knew me at all you would know that.”, I spit. “Just saying I could always take ya to the dance doll.”, leaving Tony and I confused.

As if perfect timing, the bell rings again and in walks the rest of the Jets followed by some of their girls Graziella, Velma, and Minnie. Grazi and I were on okay terms since she was Tony’s girlfriend before he went away but I guess she is keeping Riff company now. After hugging Tony she places herself in Riffs lap causing my stomach to churn. “Cat it’s been a while.”, Diesel says scooting close to me. “Not long enough.”, I say moving away. “Don’t be like that. Come on.”, he pulls me back. “Enough!”, Riff shouts causing everyone to look at him. “Touchy touchy.”, Ice chimes in. “Mind your damn business”, he spits back. “Grazi calm your man down”, Ice chuckles.

Tony and I exchange some looks, listening to the nonsense these guys were talking. I could feel Riff’s eyes locked on me for some reason as I went about my duties. “Anyway the reason we are all here is for Tony boy! He’s back and ready to reclaim his position as leader right?’, Baby John, the youngest and least harmless of the Jets speaks up. “I told Riff I can’t be getting mixed up in all that.”he glares at his best friend. “Ya know his parole officer and all that he can’t get sent back.”, Riff pushes but the Jets don’t buy it. “Riff is right. With Tony’s parole if he gets caught doing something dumb he can get sent back and they won’t be as nice as they were.”, I defend. “Just give me some time to figure things out.”, Tony says clearly upset with his two best friends. “So ya’ll hear about that dance next week?”, Velma speaks up. She never talks much. Just kind of hanging around I’ve tried to play nice with her but, she is closer to Grazi.

“Yeah. Everyone is going. Shark and Jets alike.”, Riff smirks in my direction. “You and Grazi will have loads of fun dancing together.”, I push at him. “No gang business please let’s just dance and have fun.”, Grazi begs him. “I make no promises.”, he looks back at the girl in his lap. “I’m leaving you dogs to your love fest”, I walk away from the conversation and place myself behind the counter to count the till.

After a few hours and a lot of back and forth the Jets leave their hangout leaving Tony and I to have a conversation. “Why would you do that? I thought we were friends.”, He says. “You’re my best friend you know that. I guess I was trying to help Riff in a way.”, I admit. “Help him?”, he is as confused as me. “Yeah I mean when he took over as leader he forced it on himself so he didn’t lose them. I figured if I backed him up a little bit with the whole parole thing maybe they would take him a bit more serious.”, I explain. “Neither of you are wrong. My parole officer will kill me if I get involved with anything hence my want to stay only in Doc’s and lay low.”, he looks at me. “I’m sorry you know I’d never do anything to get you into trouble with anyone.”, I plead for forgiveness. “You’re lucky that as my best friend I can’t stay mad at you.” He hugs me. “Good now make sure you can see your reflection in the floor or Valentina is going to murder us both.”, I giggle. We clean around the store humming to ourselves till it was time to close.

————————————————————-

A few days pass

It is now Monday and the Jet’s have been at Doc’s every day. Today my Tia gave me the day off so I decided to go around to the markets and maybe find a new dress just for me. I have always been very scarce with any money my tia pays me at the store but I had saved enough for the classes Maria and I had discussed since I had been thinking about it for a while and had a few cents to spare. I invited Tony out but he declined and my tia didn’t need any errands done so it was just me in the hot New York Sun. I was encapsulated by this beautiful skirt that was the perfect shade of dark red and it flowed perfectly with a black off the shoulder top I had hidden at home. Lost in thought I don’t realize that there is a body now next to me.

“Oh buying something pretty to wear for our date?”, the body speaks and I turn over my shoulder to see Riff. “No you see the skirt is actually for you. I’ve heard you’re just a vision in red.”, I remark. “You’ve heard correct.”, he does his signature smirk. If a look could send me it would be that one. “What are you doing here? Following me like a puppy?”, I say. “Woof woof sweetheart.”, I can’t help but let out a small laugh at that. “Seriously why are in the market?”, I ask. “I wanted to thank ya for backing me up the other day ya know.”, he looks down at his fingers.

“I did it for Tony”, I half-lie. “No no i’m sure I just..it made the guys respect me a bit more.”, he admits. “Good now get them to leave the Puerto Ricans alone.”, I say. “You know I can’t do that and even then I won’t do that. We were here first.”, he says. “What are we five years old fighting over the sand box?”, I say aggravated. “I’m just saying that we don’t share.”, he doesn’t help his case.

“So let me get this straight. You’re allowed to terrorize us but we can’t fight back?”, I ask. “Exactly see you’re getting it. Thought you were supposed to be smart.”, he remarks sarcastically.

“Between us two..I am the smart one and that isn’t fair. We don’t purposely come after you and your guys. The only reasons the Sharks do anything back is because they won’t let themselves be disrespected. You guys just start everything but the Sharks are determined to finish it”, I explain. “That is the problem right there.”, he points out. “No the problem is you.”, I say walking away from him. I push past the groups of people shopping realizing I didn’t get my skirt. I sigh to myself and go over to Maria’s.

—————————————————————————— “Maria want to go get some coffee?”, I ask. “Sure let me grab my purse and tell Nardo.” She smiles.

We both head over to a diner that was decently neutral territory nothing ever happened here thank god for that. She talks me through all the things Anita and Bernardo have said about Junior and I they have some high expectations. Although we are not blood they are like siblings to me but, sometimes they treat Maria and I like kids. “I know I agreed to go with Junior but, I am kind of rethinking it.”, I admit to her. “Why?”, she asks. “I’m not a kid..i am eighteen years old I can find my own dates to things and who is to say that I even want to be in a relationship.”, I say. “ Is there someone else?”, Maria inquires. “What? No. I just mean I can get my own dates.”, I defend. “Okay mentirosa”, She sips her coffee picking at her piece of pie. “Cállate”, I say eating my pie.

“Kitty cat what brings you here this afternoon.”, Diesel says pulling out a chair next to me. “Diesel now is not the time. Please leave me alone.”, I beg. “Shooing me off before introducing me to your friend.”, he looks at Maria who has now gone silent. “You don’t need to know her. Don’t you have to meet the guys at the docks or something?”, I say. “Nah they won’t mind if i’m a little late on the account of pretty girls.”, He wraps an arm around me. “Diesel please.”, I beg beginning to get nervous. Diesel is the more angered one of the Jets he doesn’t care. “Please what?’, he says his index finger tracing down my arm.

“Diesel back off!”, Riff’s voice booms through the diner. “Come on bud it’s Cat I wanna see how scratchy she can get.”, he looks at me. “If I have to tell you one more damn time you’re going to be limping out of this diner.”, his voice stern and stance strong. “Whatever. I’ll finish this later.”, he whispers in my ear before leaving us. “Are you okay Catalina?”, Riff asks. “Screw all of you.”, I say through gritted teeth, and setting money down on the table and leading Maria out of the building.

“How do you know them?”, she asks me. “ I grew up at Doc’s and so did the Jet’s usually they pick on me but, never to the extent of what they do to the Sharks or the rest of us.”, I explain. “Who was Riff?”. “He is their leader. Just never make eye contact with them okay.”, I say. She nods and I walk her back to her apartment before returning to Doc’s finding a worried Tony. “Are you okay!? Riff told me what happened with Deez did he hurt you?’, he asks checking my arms and legs for evidence. “No he didn’t do anything he was just slightly touchy and saying things that were uncomfortable but I am okay.”, I pull my arm away from him. “Riff was worried about ya.”, he admits. “Sure he was. I’m going to bed think you can handle locking up?”, I ask.

Tony nods and I head off to my little corner in the back of the store. Laying in bed I mourn the dress I left at the market and wonder why Riff would be worried about me he has never once in his life showed he cared about anyone besides himself and after our conversation at the shops I expect no different.

@whisperofsong @theforgottenmcrmy @belenchies @riffheartsgraziella @dellaspinstales

#mike faist #wss 2021 #wss riff #riff #riff west side story #west side story #west side story 2021 #riff x oc #riff x latina #riff wss

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glitteryhellhole · 3 years

Text

alright lets do this

here we go

Title: The Tent Fandom: Z nation Pairing: 10K x female reader Word count: approx 3k Rating: 18 Description: fluffy smut with awkward cinnamon roll 10K

A gas station. A real life, untouched gas station. Apart from the bloody handprints smeared on the concrete walls.

It didn't take long to sweep and secure the area, then fill up the truck and the reserve cannisters. Afterwards Warren gestured with her gun to the convenience store. “Look for anything useful.”

The place had been untouched since day one. Mummified hot dogs still sitting on a rack. The register hanging open- perhaps in the beginning some people had looted cash, but it didn't take long to realise money didn't mean anything anymore.

You shoved bottles of water and packets of candy into your rucksack before following Addy's gaze to the toiletries shelf. Pads and tampons, little travel-sized bodywashes, an actual toothbrush.

“It's a whole new kind of mercy,” she whistled.

You picked up the first aid kit and the two crushed boxes of painkillers, turning to ask Doc if they'd be any good- and found him and Murphy kneeling on the counter, pulling away the plastic panel which guarded the cigarettes.

Priorities, huh.

Loaded up, you looked around you. Warren was on watch so 10K had let his guard down for once and was poking at the faded magazines. You saw his pink lips move as he mouthed the titles to himself. Something familiar caught his eye, probably the one with guns all over, and he reached up- and the whole top shelf came tumbling down. Suddenly 10K was surrounded by glossy double-page spreads of unnaturally bronzed and perky breasts and butts.

He froze like an animal in a trap.

“Found what you're looking for?” Doc's voice was loud and his arms were cradling an impressive quantity of alcohol. “There's a lot of generic lesbians, over forties, asian fetish, but for a beginner I'd recommend-”

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by a crash as 10K backed rapidly out of the shop, cheeks ablaze, taking down a stand of air fresheners and sending sunglasses skittering across the floor in every direction.

The rest of you laughed, for the first time in a while. Back in the truck and passing round bags of only-slightly-stale chips, you all agreed that the gas station was your best find in quite some time.

Except perhaps for the tent.

A little way back, a stranded family had been incredibly grateful for a tow out of the ditch, and had gifted you their spare tent. No ordinary camping gear, this thing was foil-lined and had a built in waterproof, cushioned underlayer. On an especially hot night you'd probably want it to yourself but the rest of the time it comfortably housed two people, keeping in the heat. You'd been taking turns each night, with priority to the injured, meaning that every morning there was at least one person who was fully rested and recharged. Ideal when every day was a battle for survival.

Of course, there was one other advantage to the tent. Privacy. Human needs didn't really get talked about in this un-human world, and whatever got overheard in the night would also go unspoken.

It was nearing dusk and you were pulling over to make camp. “Who's turn in the tent?” Murphy called out as he threw himself down on the ground. “Dibs.”

Warren, who was unloading a heavy bag, gave him a kick in the side. “Get up and help. I don't think 10K's had a turn yet.”

“Neither's she.” He nodded at you.

“Settled then.”

Murphy sniggered.

Since there was plenty of water, there was a rare chance to wash up a bit. Ladies first while the men stood watch with their backs turned, and then vice versa. Nowhere near to having a hot shower in privacy, but it was something. You noticed that 10K didn't bother putting his shirt back on afterwards as he squatted by the fire cleaning his weapons, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

How could somebody so skinny be so strong? Must be the result of life outdoors.

He raised an eyebrow and you realised you were staring. Oops.

“Here.” Somebody passed you a can of cheap beer that had come from the store along with the snacks and cigarettes. It was almost like being at a camp-out. The beer was gross but it gave you a nice warm feeling in your chest, and the idea of lying down somewhere soft started to seem quite appealing, so you said your goodnights and retreated into the tent.

You weren't sure how long it was until you were joined, perhaps you'd started to drift off- the sound of the zip jolted you back to your senses as 10K flopped unceremoniously into the tent, stretching out next to you. “Beer makes shoelaces hard.” He complained.

You giggled and sat up to help. “When was the last time you slept without shoes on?”

“Probably before my voice broke.” He scratched his head while watching you remove his boots and then said, “I'm not good at talking, especially to girls, but you don't scare me.”

“Thanks for the compliment, I think?” You laid back down, closing your eyes and pulling your blanket over you. There was silence for a minute but it was oddly comfortable, the security of a warm person breathing next to you.

“What was your first word?” You asked into the silence. “I bet it was gun.”

“Actually it was primrose.”

“Huh?”

“My momma's favourite flower.” He rolled over onto his stomach, closing the gap between you, and rested his cheek on his folded arms. “I was six. Doctor said I wasn't learning but I was paying attention to everything. She used to take me to the library in town to look at all sorts of books, that where we learned to sign.”

You couldn't help but ask. “When did she...?”

“When I was nine. Pops wanted me to try and be a normal kid but once she'd gone he didn't want anything to do with the rest of the world and stopped sending me to school.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's ok.” He wriggled a little to get more comfortable. “Can you talk for a bit now?”

So you talked about your own parents, and your hometown, and it surely wasn't very interesting but 10K watched you intently as he sobered up, studying your face, and you hoped you weren't blushing. After a while you came to a natural conclusion in your story and realised that his fingers were twitching, as though he were nervous.

What's up?” you asked softly.

He blinked slowly. “Ain't always easy to tell when you're supposed to say stuff and when you're not.”

Unsure what to expect, you gave him an encouraging nod.

“Can I... touch your hair?”

Your heart started to beat a little fast and you nodded again. 10K's fingers reached out timidly to feel you hair, twisting strands and brushing them away from your face.

You hadn't felt human touch in so long, and you couldn't help but rest your head on his arm as he stroked. The pair of you seemed to breathe in unison. It was almost peaceful.

Almost. Apart from the little sparks of electricity that seemed to fizzle into life where your skin touched his.

Could he feel it too? It didn't seem so. There he was growing more and more serene, while you were warming up in a way that had nothing to do with the insulated tent.

“Um...” You fidgeted awkwardly, trying to choose the right words. “10K? You know why they were giggling right?”

“Uh-huh.” His eyes were closed. “People do stuff in the tent. Its pretty obviously I've never... y'know.”

“Does it bother you?”

“A bit, but its not like I can go meet a girl and ask her Pops if I can take her to the barn dance.”

You couldn't help but laugh a little. “I mean the teasing.”

“Oh.” He blushed slightly as he opened his eyes to look at you. “I get why, you're near my age and you're pretty. Any guy would be lucky to date you.”

Oh indeed. Maybe he did feel it then.

“You could...” You bit your lip and steeled yourself. “You could pretend that you were.”

He sat bolt upright, making you jump, and a wide grin spread across his face. “I could ask you on a picnic, at my favourite place in the woods.” His words were tumbling out fast from nervous excitement. “Make nice bread, Mom's special recipe with the dried fruit. And we could talk like we did earlier and I could pick you flowers and then I could kiss you.”

His lips were clumsy as they first met yours, but eager, and didn't take long to find a groove. You sighed and leaned in, one hand reaching up into his hair, and-

A single gunshot cracked through the air.

In an instant 10K was lurching for the tent entrance where his gun was propped. You reached for your shoes, panic rising in your chest.

“False alarm.” Doc's voice came from outside. “Nothing to worry about. Hey, you okay in there kid? Need me to give ya a quick pep talk on anything?”

“I'm good.” He zipped the flap back up then turned back to you. “Actually do you think maybe I should? I don't really know what to do.”

You couldn't help but laugh again. He was way too innocent for someone so good-looking.

You put and hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “Just do what feels natural.”

“Okay.” He gave you another wide grin, showing those adorably crooked teeth, and then practically launched himself at you, so you landed on your back and he was on top of you, lips moulding to the shape of yours. You gasped for air and 10K made an apologetic sound without pausing the kiss, propping himself up on one elbow so that you could breathe.

His hand rested on your stomach, fingers still for a moment before balling up your shirt and gently navigating the exposed skin. Tentative. Like soothing a spooked animal.

You reached your hand up to touch his shoulders, feeling hard muscle under surprisingly soft skin. Tracing his collarbones and around the back of his neck. He shivered and broke the kiss, and you saw his tongue dart out to wet his lips.

“Maybe I could take your shirt off too.” He mumbled. In answer you sat up and held your arms above your head. 10K pulled your shirt over your head- sending the little lamp tied to the tent roof swinging- then looked confused as his thumb hooked into the shoulder strap of your sports bra. You kind of wished you'd been wearing something nicer for this occasion, but you'd dressed for practicality before hitting the road.

“Here. Let me.” You wriggled out of the bra, trying not to elbow him in the process.

“Wowee.” 10K let out a whistle. “You look even better without clothes on. Why would anyone want to look at random pictures?”

It seemed like he could have sat there and stared forever, but you didn't have forever, and so you pulled him in to kiss again. He trailed his lips across your face and on to your neck, one arm supporting you from behind and the other hand landing on your chest, squeezing experimentally.

“Not so hard,” you gasped.

“Sorry. They're squishier than I expected.” He let out a humming noise into the crook of your neck as his fingers found a hard nipple and brushed back and forth.

You dipped your head down too, lightly touching your teeth to his throat. A low growl escaped and he pushed you back down, pressing his body close to yours, and you could feel his eager hardness against your hip.

10K tried the same move, nipping at the skin under your ear. His breathing was very shallow and rapid as he licked and sucked experimentally, moving down over your breasts.

“You taste good. But not in a zombie way.”

Your hands rested on his hips, fingers splaying out to softly squeeze his ass and then dipping below the loose waistband.

“Oh, wait.” He rolled off you to shed a pile of concealed knives and the little sharp discs that he used in the sling shot.

“What else are you hiding down there?” You smirked. For a moment he turned beetroot red and covered his crotch with his hands, but then met your smile with one of his own.

“Just means I like you and I like this.” He shrugged. “Do you-”

“Mmhmm.” You reached out to ease his trouser buttons undone, fumbling slightly, but you weren't nervous. It just felt right with him. “I like you. And I like this.”

He groaned softly as the restriction on his hardness eased and grabbed you for another kiss, this time hungry and slightly sloppy. 10K's fingers found the fastening of your own jeans and made quick work, tugging them down to your knees. Then he paused for a moment, putting a finger to your lips.

There was no noise from outside.

“We're good.” With a bit of awkward shuffling, you both shed your trousers and then looked at each other.

“We probably shouldn't go all the way,” you said almost reluctantly. “No protection and all that. But there's still stuff-”

“Anything.” 10K blurted out without a second's pause. “Everything. I'll do whatever you want. But not what you don't want.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips again as he stared at you earnestly.

You felt a shiver travel down your spine. Nobody had ever looked at you quite like that before. Not just lust but something deeper, as though he was seeing through your skin and right inside you.

“Come here,” he whispered huskily, grabbing your waist and pulling you onto his lap. You sighed into the kiss and slowly moved your hips, letting your centre rub against his as you straddled him, tangling fingers in his messy hair.

10K moaned something that sounded like “shucks” and you couldn't help but snort. What would it take to make him swear? You dug your nails in a little, catching his lip between your teeth.

“Want to touch you.” He moaned, gripping your hips. “Want you to touch me.”

You trailed your hand from his cheek all the way down to cup the pronounced bulge in his boxers and his eyes rolled back in his skull, but then he visibly shook himself and swatted your hand away. “Ladies first.” The hand slid a little clumsily down into your knickers.

You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against 10K's, feeling how hot his skin was. His curious fingertips traced your labia and in between.

“It's wet.” He sounded surpised, and brought a thumb to his mouth to taste.

“That's a good thing.” You felt a little self-conscious as you explained, watching him suck his thumb. “It means I'm, you know, turned on.”

“Show me how to make it feel good,” he murmured, lifting you off his lap and laying you back down before tugging your knickers all the way down and spreading your legs.

You took his hand in yours and guided him, showing him your clit. His marksman fingertips quickly picked it up and he kissed you again as he touched you. “Am I doing it right?”

“Yeah you're- oh, yeah thats good.” Your voice was high-pitched and breathy. 10K made a satisfied “hmph” and nuzzled into your neck. He smelled of safety. Less dirt and blood than usual, traces of soap, whatever he was using for hair gel, engine oil. Sweat but not in the just-been-running-and-fighting way, in the musky hormonal way.

The feeling swelling inside you was something you hadn't experienced, hadn't even thought about, in a long time. But here and now it was growing, consuming, and you couldn't imagine anything other than his touch, his hot breath on your cheek.

“Hey.” 10K's voice was husky again. “You need something else?”

You became aware that your hips were twitching. “A bit faster maybe?”

A moan escaped your lips as he obliged, and 10K grinned. “That's hot.” Then he cocked his head to one side, raising his eyebrows. “I assume girls can- y'know-”

“It looks a bit different but yes.” You were gasping now as you spoke, chest rising and falling.

“Do it for me.” He murmured, watching you as though hypnotised and biting his lip. His words and his gaze loosened the coiled spring that was weighing down your abdomen and the endorphins came rushing as you climaxed.

“Shh.” He pressed his mouth to yours and swallowed your moan, pressing his fingers harder as you moved beneath him until it became almost too much. “Do you want them to hear us?”

You shook your head, trying to control your breathing.

“Maybe you do.” He raised an eyebrow again as his fingers finally slowed to a halt. “I kinda do. So they all know what I just did to you.”

“Do you want your turn or not?”

That shut him up. He glanced down and you followed his gaze. He was still very much erect, and there was now a distinct wet patch where he'd leaked a little in excitement.

You pushed 10K onto his back and settled yourself next to him. “Let me know if something's not ok,” you told him. “I won't do anything you don't want.”

He nodded and closed his eyes. He flinched a little as you pulled his boxers down but then his face relaxed and his lips parted as you touched him.

“Have you done this to yourself?” You asked. “So you know what you like.”

He nodded, looking somewhat bashful. “A few times. But this is different. Better.”

It was your turn to grin as your fingers circled his erection and found a rhythm. 10K's head tilted back and the smallest of high-pitched noises escaped his open mouth. You lowered your lips to his exposed neck and sucked gently at the skin. There was a red mark when you pulled away.

“Mmmph.” He rasped through gritted teeth. “Again.”

“It'll leave a bruise.”

“Don't care.”

You began to create a trail of little hickeys down his throat and across his collarbones as you continued to stroke, and his tiny whimpers grew more frequent. You knew it wouldn't be long.

10K was holding onto you tightly, nails digging in, droplets of sweat visible on his forehead. “I think I'm gonna- ahh....” He seemed to lose the ability to speak as you attacked his neck again, eyes rolling back. A few moments later, his hips bucked and you could feel hot sticky warmth coat your fingers.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck.”

So he did swear after all.

You kissed him again, and then looked down. “Um, got anything to clean up with?”

Still breathing heavily, 10K sat up and reached for his trousers, pulling a bandana out of one of the many pockets. “It's my least favourite. I'll burn it.”

Like the gentleman he'd been raised to be, he wiped your hand off first before tending to himself, then tossed the soiled cloth out of the way and pulled you close. You rested your head on his chest. You'd heard the term 'afterglow' but never really thought that it was a thing; it apparently was. The chemicals your brain was releasing and the protective hold of his arms made you want to laugh, and cry, and drift off to sleep, and run a mile, all at once.

Just for a moment, there was no apocalypse. There was only you and him and the little lamp above your heads.

It was 10K who broke the spell. “I need to pee.” he said apologetically. “Like, real bad.”

You laughed at the face he was pulling and threw his trousers at him. 10K slithered with some difficulty into them, kicking the side of the tent, and then stumbled outside.

You realised how cold it was now and reached for your own clothes. As footsteps indicated 10K's return, you could have sworn you heard the sound of a high-five.

“What was that?” You demanded as he re-entered the tent.

“Never mind.” He grabbed the blanket and laid it over you.”I want to do that again. But we should probably get some sleep.”

“The whole point of the tent is to get proper rest right?” You scooted closer as he laid down, offering the blanket, but he refused, tucking it round you and then wrapping his arms round too so you were tightly cocooned against his side.

“Yeah. Sure.”

>>>>>Thanks for reading! This is the first fanfic i’ve done in literally years. Open to feedback and even perhaps requests :) PS i am v english so I apologise to any Americans insulted by my attempts at your words

#z nation #10k #ten thousand #10k x reader #10k imagine #z nation fic #tommy 10K #10kxreader

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ragingpancake · 3 years

Text

I Got You

A/N: I watched Echoes the other night and frankly, I just needed to write this. Sort of an unofficial sequel to The Road to Nowhere Leads to Me.

They’re almost back to Atlantis from the mainland when Rodney realizes that maybe something’s a bit off with Sheppard – er… John (and he has to remind himself to start calling Shep—John by his first name because this whole… thing between this is still relatively new and it’s probably not social acceptable for one to refer to one’s boyfriend by last name only). No one would ever really call him chatty, but this level of quietness is almost unsettling, especially when Rodney tries to goad him into some gentle bantering and he’s just not having it. “What’s wrong with you?” He asks finally as the city is just coming into view. “Huh?” Rodney squints, mouth turning down in a frown. “I certainly didn’t stutter, Colonel.” Maybe that’ll get his attention.

He waits a moment, and then two. Nope. Nada. The lights are on but nobody’s home. “… John.”

At that, John lifts a hand and presses the heel of it against one of his eyes, wincing and Rodney notices for the first time how not well the other actually looks. “I’ve just… got this killer headache that won’t go away,” he says and it actually sounds pained in a way that Rodney isn’t quite used to from him. He watches as John squints at the city in the distance. “Maybe I should take over?” For a split second, he thinks John might be considering it before he shakes his head. “Nah, s’alright. I know how much you struggle to fly in a straight line.” There’s the smallest hint of teasing in his voice but Rodney doesn’t rise to the challenge because it’s such a weak attempt on John’s part that he knows he’d absolutely assassinate John with a comeback and where’s the fun in that? “Are you sure? Because, because I’ve been in one of these things when it’s crashed into the water, if you remember correctly, and I really have no intention of repeating that, so if you aren’t feeling well, I’d rather just--.” “Rodney,” John says and now, there’s a trace of a bite to his tone. Wow. Hostile. “Okay, I’m just saying--.” “I know,” John says. “But it’s fine. I’ve got it.” Rodney resigns himself to believing that for about a split second until he glances over again and notices the blood dripping from John’s nose. “John--.” “Dammit, Rodney! I said I’m--.” And whatever lie John was about to tell dies on his lips as he slumps over, head smacking the console. Immediately, Rodney leaps into action, grabbing John before he slips out of the pilot’s chair to ease him down onto the floor, his head lulling to the side sickeningly. “Jumper 1, this is Atlantis, come in. Your course has drastically shifted.” Radek’s voice comes through the comm system in the jumper and Rodney suddenly realizes that no one is, you know, actually piloting. “I need a medical team to the Jumper Bay. Sheppard is down, I repeat, Sheppard is down.” He scrambles into the pilot’s chair and manages to jerk it upwards approximately three point five seconds before the jumper crashes into the ocean. “Rodney?” It’s Elizabeth’s voice now, and she sounds about as worried as Rodney feels. “Carson’s here. What happened?” “Can’t talk now! Trying to fly and not, you know, crash and send us both to our deaths in the horrifically vast ocean. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.” “Rodney!” “Just have them standing by!” He cuts off the comm system and glances down at John who has not yet regained consciousness. “Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay.” It becomes his mantra as he somehow manages to navigate the jumper back to the city and into the bay. He barely has time to lower the door before a med team is swarming in and before Rodney has a chance to so much as breathe, they’re gone, John with them. There’s a small bit of blood on the floor from where John was laying and Rodney has to work very hard not to throw up. ---- It’s dark in the hallway, save for the faint blue glow emanating from the center of the wall closest to him. He reaches out, hand pressing against it and he can feel the thrum of hurt intensifying, adding to what’s already there in his head. He staggers at the force of it, drops to his knees and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes in an attempt to stave off the pounding of his head. But this isn’t his hurt, he realizes after a moment. It’s hers, and that thought alone is enough to force him back to his feet, hand reaching out to touch that blue light again. This time, he feels an almost burning heat fanning out from the center of his hand as the blue expands and he watches as it begins to creep across the wall, almost as if it’s beckoning him to follow. He’s never been good at following orders and he has the record to prove it, but he finds his feet moving, seemingly of their own accord, allowing the glow to lead him down the darkened hallway for what seems like forever until it stops, finally, at a room he doesn’t quite recognize. “Why am I here?” Because I need your help, she answers

back, the words cool and gentle within his mind. Find me, John Sheppard. Before it’s too late. “Before what’s too late? What are you trying to tell me?” But she’s already receding from his mind and all he’s left with is a light so bright that penetrates the darkness as John opens his eyes. --- Rodney’s there when John finally comes to under the bright lights of the infirmary. “Oh thank God,” he says as he slumps back into the chair, running a hand across his forehead. “Far be it from me to say I told you so, but--.” He doesn’t get a chance to finish before John is sitting up so quickly that it makes Rodney a bit dizzy, kicking the blankets off of his legs. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He stands up, pressing a hand to John’s shoulder to ease him back down onto the mattress and Ronon is on the other side of the bed, doing the same. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” The Satedan asks in his natural rumble. “I have to help her,” John says and Rodney suddenly finds himself a bit miffed at that. “Help who?” He asks and if he sounds a little pissy, he thinks he’s probably allowed because you know, he’s the one been sitting at John’s bedside for the last several hours, worried very much about the possibility of brain damage and now that he’s awake, the first thing he mentions is some second rate harlot and--. “The city,” he rasps and he grabs Ronon’s wrist, trying to force it off of him. “Something’s wrong with the city.” “What? The city is fine,” Rodney says, but he’s reaching for his tablet anyway, pulling up the city schematics to scan over quickly, searching for any indication that something was not right. “See?” He says, and he turns the tablet to face John so he can see for himself. “The back up teams cleaned everything up nicely, there’s absolutely nothing that would indicate--.” “Rodney,” he says and there’s an almost wild look in his eyes as he glances up at the scientist, seemingly pleading with him to just listen. “They missed something. There’s something wrong, we have to--.” “Aye,” Carson greets, a smile on his face. “There ya are. Ya had us quite worried there for a bit. I’d still like to run a few scans--.” Rodney tunes him out as he searches John’s face and he supposes that there is a possibility that something was missed. It’s a huge city, many parts that they’ve yet to explore and the Wraith attack had been devastating. He rationalizes that this could also possibly be attributed to some sort of brain injury, what with the bleeding and the passing out and everything but something in John’s eyes gives him pause. Whatever’s brought him to this conclusion, John seems to truly believe that there’s something wrong with their city, with their home and while Rodney isn’t apt to act without actual evidenced based data, he finds that he can’t quite let this go without investigating. “Stop,” he says, holding up a hand to Carson. “We need to go.” “Go? What are ye on about?” Carson asks, clearly annoyed at the interruption. “We still don’ know what caused the bleedin’ an’--.” “Something’s wrong with the city,” Rodney says, echoing John’s previous statement. “We have to go.” Ronon glances at Rodney from across John’s bed and when Rodney gives a barely there nod, Ronon crowds Carson, gently ushering him away. “Sorry, doc.” “Oh, ye can’t be serious! Rodney!” “Can you stand?” Rodney asks John, and he reaches for him, carefully like he’s not sure where it’s okay to touch, especially in public, but John’s hand grabs his wrists and he squeezes gently. “Thank you.” “If you really want to thank me,” Rodney says dryly, “you can do so by not passing out on me again during what is sure to be a long trip around the city. “I’ll do my best,” John answers solemnly and Rodney supposes that’s as good as it gets. --- It’s dark outside, the Lantean sun having set several hours ago. They’ve split up into groups, Ronon and Teyla, Lorne and McMasters, John and Rodney. They’ve had absolutely no luck in finding anything of consequence and Rodney is trying very hard not to lose his temper because he’s

tried to show John on the tablet several times now that everything still shows all is well, but John is insistent. Desperate even, only growing moreso the farther away they get from the heart of the city. “Teyla, Ronon, this is McKay. Anything?” “No, Rodney,” Teyla answers back almost immediately. “It seems as though everything is still working as it should over this way.” “Lorne?” “All good here, doc. I’m gonna suggest we call it, at least for the night. Some of these labs haven’t properly been cleared yet, I’d like to--.” “No,” John says and when Rodney glances over to give him an exasperated glare, he realizes that John’s nose is bleeding again. “John, what are you--!” “This is the hallway,” he tells Rodney, reaching up to wipe the blood away, smearing it to his cheek. “This is… she needs us…” He reaches out and touches the wall and Rodney watches as it pulsates under his hand, a blue glow flickering to life. He’s always known that Atlantis liked John better than she liked anyone else, has seen it in the way rooms light up for him, the effortless way in which John activates all her tech, but this… this is something else. She’s actually communicatingwith him, he knows it. “Three levels above the east pier,” Rodney says into his comm. “Teyla—” “We are already on our way,” and over the radio, Rodney can hear the heavy footfalls of their feet against the floor. Rodney doesn’t realize that John has walked away, not at first, until he turns to see the glow halfway down the hall, barely illuminating John’s figure as it guides him further into the darkness. Rodney follows, and suddenly, John stops outside of a door. “Is this it?” Rodney asks, but he already knows the answer to the question. He slides his hand over the crystal, but the door doesn’t budge, not that Rodney expected it to. “Okay,” he says, and his voice is gentle now, perhaps more gentle than it’s ever been, but there’s something about the pinched look on John’s face that honestly, truly worries him. It reminds him of how he looked on the jumper, right before he, you know, passed out. He checks his tablet, but he knows it’s a moot point because the city is off-line down here, which is why they never knew there was a problem. The sensors just don’t reach this far, but he thinks he should be able to still get the door open. “John,” Rodney says, and there’s no response. “John.” But John seems not to hear him as he reaches for the door, fingers gripping the edge as he tries, desperately, to pull it open. “Oh, oh. Yes.” Rodney puts the tablet down carefully and he moves to the other side, glancing at John to follow his lead and as John pulls again, the noise that escapes him sends a shiver down Rodney’s spine. He screams as the door finally slides open and now, Rodney notices the blood trickling out of John’s ear, just in time to grab John as he crumples, guiding him to the floor. “Rodney!” Teyla’s voice echoes down the hallway, and Rodney calls back, voice nearing on hystericalas he situates himself below John to pillow his head on his lap. “Here! We’re here!” Ronon comes into view first, gun aimed, followed quickly by Teyla. “We heard screaming, what—John?” “It’s Atlantis!” Rodney says, “She’s using John to communicate, there’s something--.” Ronon needs to hear no more as he slips through the opened door and a second later, there’s the sound of laser fire. Rodney’s petting over John gently, shaking him gently, pleading with him to wake up but it’s to no avail. Teyla has disappeared inside of the room that John brought them to and Rodney risks a fraction of a moment to lean down, letting his lips brush against John’s forehead. “Please, please, please wake up.” John resolutely does not. --- “Did we do it?” He’s somewhere quiet and he’s alone, but he can feel her around him, leaving him warm and comforted, reminding him very much of being wrapped up in his mother’s embrace when he was seven and had the flu. He remembers that because before coming to Atlantis, it was the last time he felt well and

truly loved because she’d died less than three weeks later. You did, and he closes his eyes, letting her warmth wash over him. The pain is gone, both his and hers, he realizes and there’s a feeling of contriteness that settles inside of him, like she’s saying she’s sorry and he guesses she means for basically hijacking his mind. But, as unsettling as it should be, he finds that he’s always known she was there, really. The gentle thrumming, the quiet humming of her power he feels tucked away somewhere in the back of his mind. She wasn’t trying to hurt him, he knows. It’s not just his found family that cares for him, not just Rodney… but her too. There will be no lasting damage, she promises him and the warmth begins to recede, just a bit. To either you or me. But please tell Doctor McKay not to be too angry with me. The darkness is fading now with her and he’s not really sure why she thinks Rodney would be upset with her. He tries to ask, but the feeling of a gentle hand in his hair, a quiet murmuring of voices, breaks through and John closes his eyes, letting it guide him out of the dark. Thank you once again, John Sheppard. You saved us all. --- “—still don’t understand how we didn’t know it was here,” Elizabeth says and Rodney has to fight not to roll his eyes because they’ve been over this, he’s explained it ad nauseum. “The life signs detector is tied in directly with the city’s power grid,” he says exasperatedly and he thinks about reaching for his tablet as a nice visual aide but somewhere along the way, his hand had settled into John’s hair and it’s so soft that he kind of doesn’t want to pull it away. He doesn’t know if it brings John any comfort, but it brings him some, feeling the warmth of the other under his hand and damn if he’ll let anyone take that away from him. Even at the sake of his own sanity for having to go through this again. “That part of the city still doesn’t get any power. No power means it can’t communicate with us. We never would’ve known.” “… never would’ve known what?” The raspy voice from the bed asks and Rodney very nearly topples out of his chair as he yanks his hand back, gaping down at John, and “oh, thank god!” “Wraith,” Ronon says by way of explanation, like it’s the most natural thing in the world and Rodney supposes maybe it is. After all, at least for right now, it’s the Wraith that’s proved to be their biggest pain in the ass. “Technically, a Wraith transmitter,” Rodney corrects and he can’t quite tear his eyes away. “The Wraith was.. well, indisposed, as it was. How are you feeling?” “What d’y’mean ‘indisposed’?” “It blew itself up when it realized that the room was heavily shielded and that the beacon couldn’t get through,” Ronon says and Rodney glares at him, because he’sthe one who likes to do all the explaining, thank you very much. “Blew a hole in the wall almost the size of a jumper.” “Yes, well,” Rodney says, steering the conversation back, “somehow, there was some sort of a fail safe built into the city’s infrastructure. There was a kind of a force field where the wall used to be, not unlike that of the cells, but with no power, it wouldn’t have held much longer. When it failed, that thing would’ve sent our coordinates to every Wraith hive ship in the galaxy and well, the ruse would’ve been up. But enough about that, how are you feeling?” “Kinda like I got hit by a truck,” John says and he shifts on the bed to sit up a bit more. “The transmitter’s been taken care of?” “Blasted into almost as many pieces as the Wraith,” Ronon says proudly and Teyla squeezes his arm gently. “We are very glad that you are awake, John,” she says diplomatically, “but perhaps it would be best if we let you rest?” “Whaddya mean? That’s all he’s been doing,” Ronon scoffs, but Teyla tugs at his arm anyway, bless her. “Come,” she says. “Elizabeth, perhaps I could help you in your office, go over the schedule for the teams set to search the rest of the city?” And whatever look she shares with Elizabeth has her nodding, turning to give them both a

smile. “Of course, thank you Teyla,” she says and she reaches out for John, squeezing his arm gently. “Good to have you back with us, John.” John lifts a hand in response as everyone filters out, leaving him and Rodney alone. “You’re an idiot,” Rodney says, just because it’s expected of him, has become part of their standard routine whenever John lands himself in the infirmary. “For what?” “Oh, I don’t know, for letting a sentient city scramble your brains.” “She said she’s sorry, you know,” John says and Rodney rolls his eyes. “Of course she did. And when did we decide that she was a sheafter all? I suppose it makes sense, what with the way women across twogalaxies fawn over you, the famous Colonel Kirk.” “It’s okay to be jealous, Rodney.” “Excuse me? I am not jealous! I just think it’s a little funny that--.” “She even said she hopes you’re not too mad at her,” John interrupts. “What? Why would she care about that?” “I dunno,” he shrugs and he lays back against the pillow, closing his eyes. “Guess she knows how important you are to me. Probably wouldn’t wanna get in your bad graces…” He still can’t get used to this, this… thing. Where they care about each other, but have finally matured enough emotionally to say it out loud. “Yes well,” Rodney sniffs, and settles his hand back against John’s hair, “I’ll forgive her this time. But you tell that harlot--!” “Rodney,” John groans, “she said she’s sorry.” “Alright, alright,” he says and he leans forward, maybe a bit hesitantly, before he presses his lips against John’s. “I’m just… glad you’re okay.” “Yeah,” John agrees. “Me too, buddy. Now how about less talking and more hair petting?” Frankly, there’s nowhere else Rodney would rather be. “Go back to sleep, dummy.” “With pleasure.”

#mcshep #sga fic #fandom: sga #john sheppard #rodney mckay #john sheppard whump #sentient!atlants #post the siege #unofficial sequel #stargate atlantis #sga #john sheppard/rodney mckay

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notmrskennedy · 3 years

Text

Friendliness

A/N - ha so i just wrote this - no editing we die like men. here’s the alternate ending to my other post Likeability (this one is the more predictable one y’all will probably like whoops) if you’ve read the other one, just skip to the end it’s all the same in the middle

Summary - The Team meets a very unfriendly scientist which Spencer’s taken a fancy to

W/C - 2.9k (whoops)

Warnings - Mild Anatomy/bones/etc discussion, a pinch and change of swearing

----

Luke is holding his stomach in his hands. He could usually pride himself on keeping his cool, keeping his head—and stomach—together during a case. He’d seen enough dead bodies that this shouldn’t have thrown him like he’d just sailed twelve foot waves in a dingy.

But he is, after all, standing over a mass grave. Watching a too giddy scientist dig up the bodies.

You’ve captured everyone’s attention, for various reasons. Rossi is vaguely amused by your joyous shouting of bones and your rat moustached assistant. Luke can’t tear his eyes away from the car wreck—are you supposed to swing bones around like baseball bats? Reid seems more interested in your bad jokes and coveralls than he is in solving the case.

The rat assistant—Stewart Walsh—squeezes between Luke and Reid, scuttling like some kind of diseased turtle. “Doctor Y/L/N!”

You barely stop pouring over the mud covered pelvis in your hands to even acknowledge him.

“I just thought you should know that Dr. Evanston just got here.”

You look up, toss the bone to him, and snort. “Tell him the soil samples are four miles due east from here.”

“What’s wrong with Evanston?” Luke asks to no one in particular it seems, waving Stewart off to run for a group of approaching nerds in coveralls.

Ignoring the question or maybe Luke, you just turn back to your search. Elbow deep in mud, being nice must not have been on the to-do list. Reid leans over, hands in his pockets, and whispers, “Evanston stole one of her research papers. I thought he was going to get his teeth kicked in—“

“Skull!” you holler. Luke isn’t stupid enough to miss the glare reserved for the sheepish Dr. Reid.

He clears his throat. “Thoughts so far, doctor?”

“I’m thinking beetles,” is all you say before turning back to your skull. Luke might not know many scientists, but he doesn’t think that most of them look at human skulls like its the Mona Lisa. Like this fat piece of bone held the answers to the universe inside its empty eye sockets.

“Beetles?” Luke coughs. Rossi just shakes his head. Pretends this isn’t a conversation he’s having. Reid is still studying you like Luke might study infiltration schematics. Stewart runs up, out of breath, very rose coloured.

You’re eyes are sparkling as you wade over to them with a new radius bone in your hands. Everyone bends like they know what they’re looking at and you point along the edge of the bone. “It’s a subtle difference but these bones have been cleaned before being buried. My guess is carrion beetles. They’re very hard workers. And—“ you switch to pointing at the radial head— “minute scoring and kerf marks. These look pretty old, so I’m assuming we’re getting close to the bottom.”

“So our unsub dismembered his victims,” Rossi begins, “then cleaned the pieces?”

You nod and hand off the bone to a very blushing Stewart. “I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to examine all the bones. There’s nothing definitive yet. What a hobbyist though, right?”

You chuckle to yourself and dive back into fishing out more finger and wrist bones. Luke turns, runs his hands over his face, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Where did we find her?”

Rossi shrugs, “FBI easter egg hunt.” Luke blinks, while Rossi chuckles at his gullibility. “Come on, the doctor’s the best in the field. Good kid, I can tell.”

“Y/N’s great,” Spencer absently adds on, too busy staring at you. You’re explaining different types of dismemberment to Stewart like you’re discussing the rain. Luke grips onto his stomach just a little tighter.

“Y/N, huh?” Luke teases, momentarily forgetting the unsettling feeling in his gut about you. “You two, uh, friends or something?”

It’s Reid’s turn to stumble. “Yeah, but it’s—we’re just—we’re just—.”

Rossi shakes his head, slaps Reid on the shoulder. “Oh yeah, just friends. So, tell me. Do you talk about dismemberment before or after you make out?”

JJ wants to beg Emily not to make her go down into the basement. You’re down there. She knows it’s childish to be this avoidant—you are just a person after all. A creepy, psychopathic weirdo that makes JJ’s gut churn. She gets why Spencer’s taken to you—shared love of science and random trivia. She does. But that doesn’t mean JJ enjoys the cold ass morgue, smiling along as you ramble. Most of everyone’s limited contact with you has involved random facts and Stewart’s too intimate knowledge of fracture patterns.

There had been ten minutes of reassurance from Emily that you were, in fact, not a horrible person. Ended with JJ making the cold and dark trek down to the morgue. She couldn’t imagine working down here all day long. No one to talk to, no one to strategise with, no where to go. Maybe it suited you. No one would have to listen.

“—don’t know what to do!” echoes across the bottom of the stairwell, the morgue’s doors cracked open. The distress breaks JJ’s heart. Your voice stops her dead in her tracks.

“They don’t hate you,” Spencer’s voice comes after. Gentler, softer. “They—they just don’t know you yet.”

“They don’t want to, Spence!” and JJ winces with the words. It always hurt more when the truth came out in that tone. “I get it! You know? I work with human remains and don’t bring my people skills with me when I’m on the job, but—that shouldn’t matter!”

JJ winces again, tries to ignore how those are nothing short of teary sniffles echoing through her ears. She leans back against the wall and has no idea what to do. Spencer had obviously been down here for hours. Knew you well enough to get the teary truth. What could she do now? Interrupt?

She’d walked into hostage situations less freakin’ stressful than this.

“You’re right,” Spencer soothes, steadfast and strong, “it doesn’t matter. This isn’t—“

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. JJ doesn’t want to hear the strangled touch to your voice. Doesn’t want to hear the break. “They’re your friends and I’m just your—“

“Doctor!” Stewart calls and JJ could scream. You’re his what?

At least, it’s as good as any moment to intrude.

“What, Stewart?” you snapped, already broken away from Spencer with wet cheeks and stained glasses. You wipe them off haphazardly with the tail end of Spencer’s sweater sleeve—JJ couldn’t help but smile, even if it’s a little strangled.

Stewart jumps like a wet cat and tosses a bundle of files into your hands. “Beetles.”

One word snatches the tears from your face. Snatches you away from Spencer’s side for one of the dozen skeletons on the tables. There was no reason to think that she’ll get her report from you now. With a rib bone in one hand and contemplation in your features—JJ can’t decide how unnerved she is—you’re a little too concentrated.

Stewart scuttles around you. A little too attentive. A little too cherry tinted. Yep. No reports to be had from either of you. JJ turned to Spencer instead, hoping that maybe he’d be helpful. Plastered up like a billboard, JJ knows that saccharine smile isn’t going to get her anywhere.

“Spence?”

He hums, halfheartedly tearing his eyes away. “Yeah?”

“I need the latest report for Emily, but I don’t think—“

“I’ll—just a second, JJ.” Spencer grins, sugary sweet, and slips away. JJ doesn’t miss how he places a hand on your shoulder as he passes. How you barely even notice that quite intimate contact. She also doesn’t miss how Stewart’s face sours at the action, how his eyes narrow enough that Spencer feasibly should’ve noticed.

Reports in hand a minute later, JJ leans over to Spencer. Elbows him in the arm. “Stewart seems pretty jealous. Any reason for that?”

Spencer shrugs. “Wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

Rossi doesn’t have an opinion. Everyone keeps asking—oh Rossi, you’re the wisest of us all, what should we do about poor little Y/N? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. You are just some scientist who is doing a thousand percent better job than any other forensics ‘expert’ he’s had the pleasure of working with.

Your lab doesn’t smell. You don’t smell. Is there anything more to ask for?

But he does get the brute of having to make the trek down to the morgue—god, his knees alone—and receives most of the reports from the not as horrible as everyone thinks Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Who is joyfully humming while squinting over one of the skeleton’s hands.

“Hey, doc,” he calls and you look up at him with an adorable sort of grin. “Got anything new?”

“Sure,” you chirp. Hesitate to wave him over. “If you want the details, that is.”

Rossi shakes his head, pulls up a stool to sit next to you and your subject. “I like to have as much knowledge as I can. You never know what will lead you to your un-sub.”

You settle your elbows on the table, straighten a stray finger bone. The team shouldn’t be worried about you being a psychopath. You’re dedicated, careful, attentive. Rossi hopes that if he ever gets turned into human remains, you’re the one looking over him. There’s been more care put into one skeleton than into his three combined marriages.

“You’re in luck,” you answer, “I’ve got a lot to tell you about our attacker. You’ve got time, right?”

Rossi nods, smiles. “Plenty.”

Penelope still hasn’t met you and that kind of pisses her off. You haven’t made it upstairs once? She flies into some dingy Wyoming hovel of a police station for like a week and no one’s thought to bring you upstairs? Rude.

She’s sitting in JJ’s desk chair, waiting for her and Luke to get back from interviewing a potential lead—some ex-felon who fit your makeshift profile. Reid’s scouring over some boring geographical profile, trying not to get annoyed as she nervously—angrily—rants about the case to him. She knows he’s tuning her out, but her work’s been put on the back burner until someone comes up with something to give her.

There’s only so much a computer can find and she’s no profiler.

It’s about five minutes after Reid snapped and left to get a coffee refill, when she picks up a call from the desk. “Hello?”

Creaking metal and shuddering breathing comes first. “Set the scalpel down” comes second. She swallows, silent, and panicking. What the heck is she supposed to do? Paying attention to those hostage negotiation seminars that she definitely didn’t go to would’ve come in handy right about now.

Said scalpel clatters onto some metal table, followed by a strong, “You really don’t want to do this. Please put the gun down.”

Oh god, this is happening.

“You just—“ a male voice snips, bellowing out, “YOU DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

“I do look at you, Stewart,” you plead just as JJ and Luke clamour through the bullpen’s door. Penelope puts the call on speaker, mutes it, and screams for them.

“I don’t know what to do,” Penelope sobs professionally, “someone’s got a gun.”

JJ runs for Emily’s office while Reid returns heedlessly. Luke puts a soft hand on Penelope’s cold one and squeezes. Newbie or not, it’s appreciated as the man’s voice returns. “I’ve tried for so long to get you to—to just—just look at me! I’ve done so much!”

“I know, Stewart,” you ease and Reid tenses. Nearly drops his coffee. “It’s not your fault. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Yeah,” Stewart sobs; Penelope can only imagine how crazy this kid must be.

“Did you leave all those bodies for me, Stewart?” you question and everyone holds their breath. Luke squeezes harder on her hand. Reid’s twitching like a rabbit’s nose, a death grip on his mug, frozen as a Michigan pond.

Stewart sniffles. Probably nods. Penelope doesn’t know whether to run or sit or cry. She decides it’s probably cry, but instead her fingers start moving to record the call, trace the office origin.

“It was a great puzzle, Stewart, it was really genius. It was a fun case to follow, you know that.” You swallow hard, metal tinkles through the speaker. Please, Penelope begs, don’t let them kill each other. I haven’t met the doctor yet!

“Why did you kill these girls, Stewart?” your voice is so gentle and lulling Penelope almost forgets that she’s listening to you try to save your own life.

“I wanted you to look,” he says, sniffles. “I wanted you. I want you, Y/N. I want you to love me.”

It’s either her computer beeping or someone falling through a table or a gunshot. She doesn’t know. She’s crying too hard to care.

Tara doesn’t know when she started to run—probably just after JJ, Luke, and Reid barrelled passed her by the bathroom shouting about the situation—but she’s almost to the morgue doors, right on Reid’s heels. Lord almighty, she feels so stupid. She’d had enough little one on one chats with Stewart to know he was some sort of psycho in disguise. To know that something was wrong with that kid. No one could last more than three minutes with your grad student assistant without wanting to take an eyeball out—his or theirs it didn’t matter. She’d let herself believe you when you told her that all forensic anthropologists seem like that. That there was nothing to worry about.

Nothing to worry about her ass.

Luke’s the first to storm the morgue, expecting what Tara is: you, dead, on the floor with Stewart on the brink of killing himself. But they stop and they stare and Reid beams on with the absurd look on your face.

You’re shaking with rage, pointing a gun at a very unconscious, crumpled, bleeding Stewart Walsh. Your teeth are bared in what Tara would consider out of a comic book—ludicrous and of someone who’s completely lost their mind. JJ makes the mistake of asking if you’re alright.

“Alright?” you chirp, feral and ravenous. JJ and Luke shrink back as you shout, “I lived in Honduras for three years! This isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. It’s my third fucking kidnapping!”

“T-third?” Luke croaks.

“Third!” you shout again and recklessly set your gun on the table. Spencer grins, which sets you off further. “I’ve been nice. I’ve been accommodating. But this is my fourth psychotic grad student! I fucking swear—!”

Stewart groans—thank god he’s alive—and Spencer, thankfully, rushes forward to catch you before you can take anything else out on the kid. Tara’s heard rumours about mysterious other instances of your being under arrest. Illegal transportation of goods was one thing, police brutality was another. The scalpel sticking out of his knee is bad enough.

She helps Luke haul Stewart to his feet, reeking of desperation and a much needed psych eval. JJ follows close behind, closes the morgue doors behind them. But not before they hear your muffled sobs and Spencer’s smiling.

“You got him, Y/N.”

“No, Spence,” you correct, and Tara can’t help but be proud, “I kicked the snot out of him.”

Emily is barely awake when she sees it. JJ’s soft breathing next to her is lulling by itself, let alone if you add in Rossi’s rhythmic snoring and Luke’s idle whispers of sleep talk. Emily could do with some sleep and maybe a few days off. They could all use a few days off, especially after coming to terms with the fact a grad student had killed 12 women just to get a little action.

From a scientist who freely admitted to enjoying the company of bones over real people.

Alive people.

No wonder Stewart had done what he’d done.

Emily turns in her spot, lays back against the wall of the airplane and the seat. After nearly five decades—she’s never thinking about that again—of plane rides, she can comfortably say she can sleep anywhere. With any amount of noise, or cold, or pain.

But her eyes are accidentally open when she peaks around the seat cushion. Spies the Wild Dr. Reid in his natural habitat, reading some ridiculously long book and…carding his fingers through your hair? He’s got a lock curled up around his finger, gently twisting it as he reads. You’re sleeping—knocked the fuck out—in his lap, gripping loosely onto his leg.

You deserve the sleep, Emily decides with a smile. You’d worked the hardest on the case, up for nearly four days with as little rest as you can manage. How Stewart managed to stay awake enough to attack you is beyond Emily. She’s missed out on a few hours just today and she’s losing the battle with her eyelids.

No one ever asked her opinion of you. Probably didn’t have to. You were not the easiest to like, but you’d captured her respect and a bit of her heart when you’d said at the beginning of the case: “I’m an excavator by trade—I’m at archeological digs most of the time—so it’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that these ladies are murder victims. I don’t think I’ll sleep until I’ve got names for them. And maybe the murderer on my table.”

Emily understood the unease, the apprehension. Why everyone was relieved when you’d turned down the plane ride she’d offered you. How they all bit back groans when Emily had insisted. But they’ll have to get used to it, Emily thinks and she settles again. Because they’ll see you again. No doubt about it. The way you’re wrapped up around Spencer, how you hold tighter when the jet bounces a touch, says just that much anyway.

#no editing lads #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #reid #reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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ladyfogg · 3 years

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Heal My Wounds - Part 1

Heal My Wounds - Part 1 of 3

Fic Summary: After you meet the infamous Kit Walker, you realize that he cannot possibly be guilty of everything they say he is. Determined to treat him with kindness and compassion, you end up falling hard for the handsome man with gorgeous dark eyes. But you both are playing a dangerous game and you must decide just how far you’re willing to go to save the man you love. Part 2. AHS Masterlist.

Fic Rating: 18+

Fic Song: War by Poets of the Fall

Pairing: Kit Walker/Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut, Slow Burn, tw: mental illness, tw: asylum setting, tw: violence

A/N: I ended up finishing this a lot quicker than I thought I was going to. Enjoy! For @tatestripedsweater and @kitwalker02.

You’ve seen many things during your time at Briarcliff. Being a nurse, you deal with truly awful alignments, either self-inflicted or acquired under “mysterious” circumstances. This usually means that a guard roughed the patient up or Dr. Arden can’t be bothered to treat them himself. You learn to expect the worst, not in the patient but in what they are afflicted with. In truth, your heart goes out to every one of them. Regardless of what sent them to Briarcliff, it is always your mission to treat them with the respect and dignity they deserve.

Which is why, when you hear that the infamous Bloody Face, aka Kit Walker, has been transferred to the asylum, you try not to be concerned. You knew all about Bloody Face and what he’s done and when they arrested Kit, you aren’t ashamed to admit that your first thought was, “Good riddance!” However, you force yourself to change your tune once you learn you’ll be treating him at some point. Plenty of dangerous people had come and gone through Briarcliff’s doors. You aren’t going to treat him any differently than you would the other patients.

No matter how dangerous he is.

It isn’t long before you find yourself face-to-face with him. He is there less than a day before he’s brought in to see you, his lip and his nose a bloody mess, the red a stark contrast to his pale skin. His appearance surprises you even though it shouldn’t. You read the papers; you’ve seen his face. Yet, in person, he’s so handsome it takes your breath away and you need a moment to compose yourself.

“What happened?” you ask Kit as the guard forces him to sit on the bed. He is bound with cuffs and chains, an overkill if you ever saw one.

“He got into a scrape with another inmate,” the guard says in a gruff voice. “Bloody Face here got the worst of it.”

“They’re called patients, not inmates,” you correct him with a glare. “And I wasn’t asking you, I was asking Mr. Walker. That is his name, that's what he will be called while he’s under my care.”

The guard, whose name you think is Hardy, looks taken aback by your words. He is a new one who hasn’t had to deal with you yet. While many of the female staff are nuns, you are not. You are there purely for medical purposes, not religious ones. Therefore, you have no reason to force politeness to the guards. After all, why should you? They never show you any. The sooner Hardy learns you will not tolerate his bullshit, the better.

You have been talked to by Sister Jude several times regarding your attitude but since you are appointed by the state, there is nothing more she can do. Eventually, the both of you came to a mutual understanding. In fact, you suspect she admires your non-nonsense attitude as it most often gets results. If there is a patient in your infirmary, you can call the shots. Of course, the male guards don’t like that, but they can get fucked.

When you turn back at Kit, he has a surprised look on his face.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” you ask.

“Just my face,” he answers. “And my hands.”

You glance down and see his bruises and bloody knuckles. Clearly, he defended himself but given the fact that the other patient hasn’t been brought it, you assume Kit got the worst of it. You go about collecting what you need to disinfect his wounds.

To Hardy, you say, “Remove his chains.”

“No can do. Not for this one.”

“His knuckles are bleeding, and I need to examine his hands to make sure nothing is broken or fractured. Remove his chains.”

There is an intense stare-off between you and the guard before he relents and unbinds Kit. Once his restraints are gone, you wave Hardy off. “You may step outside.”

“Now hold on a minute! This man—”

“Has rights. He deserves the same privacy as every other patient. Besides, I won’t have you getting in my way while I patch him up. You can step outside and wait. I’m more than capable of handling myself.”

Hardy snorts, annoyed and done with arguing. “Fine by me. Don’t complain if you get killed.”

“I won’t, considering if that happens, I won’t be able to. Or are you not aware how death works?”

With a sneer, he stalks away, and you heard him mutter, “Stupid bitch.” under his breath.

“Smart bitch actually,” you call after him. “And shut the door on your way out, please.” It slams behind him and you return your attention to your patient.

Kit looks at you with awe. “Forgive me for saying so, doc. But you’re one tough broad.”

You laugh, pulling a chair over so you can sit in front of Kit. “I’m not a doctor, I’m a nurse. And you have to be though, especially in this place. The gentle don’t last long. Now, let’s take a look at those hands.”

Kit extends his hands, and you take them in your own, examining his wounded knuckles. After moving each finger and his wrists, you determine there was nothing broken or fractured so you set about cleaning the scrapes. Kit watches you the entire time. Even though you don’t look up from your work, you can feel his eyes on you.

“I think you’re the only person in this place who’s not afraid of me,” he says after a stretch of silence. “This is the first time I’ve been treated like a person since this whole thing started.”

“Should I be afraid of you, Mr. Walker?” you glance up and are immediately taken in by the soft expression on his face.

“Call me Kit,” he says. “And I never hurt anybody. All the things they say I did are lies. I have no idea what happened to those girls and I have no idea what happened to Alma other than they took her.”

You consider his words for a moment and pull away, letting his hands fall to his lap. The bloody towel you hold is tossed onto your tray of supplies before you sit back and cross your arms. “Alright then, Kit. Tell me why I should believe you.”

Kit doesn’t seem to know what to say at first. You’ve dealt with numerous patients who swear up and down they didn’t do what they were accused of. Most of them had. Because of that, you are pretty damn good at reading people because even the best liar has a tell. An eye twitch, a knee bounce, a lip bite…anything. You trained yourself to look for these things because, in your line of work, it means the difference between life or death.

The man in front of you doesn’t look like he’s hiding anything. More to the point, you don’t feel scared of him. You aren’t made of stone; you feel fear just like everyone else. You are simply better at masking it. However, that violent vibe you’ve learned to sense doesn’t radiate from Kit and as you look into his deep brown eyes, all you see is fear, frustration, anger, and sadness. They all pass one after another on a loop.

“I don’t have a reason,” Kit finally says after a long pause. “If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t believe me either. But you showed me kindness no one else has and I’m grateful. Really.”

“I think this place wouldn’t be half as bad as those colleagues of mine showed a little kindness too.” You go back to work, cleaning his hands. “This is going to sting a bit.”

Kit flinches as you pour alcohol over his cuts. Carefully, you clean them some more before you are sure they won’t get infected. Once that’s done, you wrap them in bandages.

“There, good as new. Just try to keep those bandages dry for a bit. You can take them off tomorrow to let the cuts breathe. Let me make sure your nose isn't broken.”

Kit remain still as you gently cup his face, turning his head left to right in order to take stock of his injuries. Being so close, you realize how handsome he truly is. That jawline is to die for, and his dark curls looks so soft, you want to run your fingers through them. Once that thought entered your brain, you scold yourself. He is your patient and is in the asylum to see if he is fit to stand trial for murder. Thinking about him in any way other than professional is a dangerous game. And very stupid.

“That bad huh?” Kit asks with a slight smirk.

It isn’t a malicious one by any means. In fact, it’s almost hesitant. Like he is afraid to be so comfortable joking with you. You don’t blame him considering what he has gone through. You offer him a smile in return.

“Just a split lip and it doesn’t look like your nose is broken. It’s not even swollen. There shouldn’t be any permanent damage.”

You grab a fresh towel and dip it in warm water before gingerly cleaning the blood from his face. But before you can get far, Kit reaches up to stop you. Instinctively you freeze, worried that you may have hurt him. Maybe his nose is worse off than you originally thought?

“Did I hurt you?” you ask.

Kit shakes his head. “No, I’m just…” He pauses as if he’s not sure what to say next. “I’m sorry but I just...why aren’t you scared of me?"

“You really want me to be, don’t you?”

“What? No! Of course not. I’m just…” He stops when he sees you holding back a smile. “You’re messing with me.”

You shrug and go back to your work. “A little,” you admit. “But to answer your question, I’m not scared of you because I believe you. I don’t think you killed or even hurt anyone. I just don’t sense that sort of evil in you. As for what you claim to have witnessed, that I don’t know about. But I do know crazy, Kit Walker. And you’re not it.”

It is like the remaining tension leaves his body and Kit slumps against you, a few tears running down his cheeks. Without thinking, you pull him into a tight hug, letting him rest his weary head on your shoulder. The warmth of him is invigorating and you savor the feeling. It’s been a long time since you’ve been touched in any way. Long work hours make your social life non-existent and you carefully keep your distance with your patients.

Except Kit, it seems. You don’t know why your well-constructed walls are crumbling under the weight of one interaction with one man.

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that,” he says, his voice muffled by your uniform. “No one will listen. No one believes…”

“I’m listening. But first, sit back before you get blood all over me.”

With a weak laugh, Kit pulls away. He wipes the tears with the back of his hand which you’re grateful for because you were about two seconds away from gently brushing them away. Pulling yourself together, you continue to clean his face while he tells you his story. It’s definitely strange. The idea of being abducted and probed was one you’d rather not think about.

But you don’t just listen to his words, you watch his expression, pay attention to the tone of his voice and his body language. Even though you’ve heard some of it through the papers, it’s different hearing it from him directly. Once he’s done, you’re even more certain he didn’t kill anyone. No one who talks about their missing wife that softly and heart felt could possibly be a vicious serial killer.

It’s his eyes that give him away. There’s so much emotion and depth, you can’t help but believe him. You wish you can explain it, but some things are beyond explanation.

“You sure I’m not crazy?” Kit asks when you don’t respond to him right away.

“After that story, you’re absolutely batshit.”

He chuckles when he realizes you aren’t serious. You pull your hand away, finally done getting rid of all the blood, but he stops you with a gentle touch to your wrist. “Thank you for listening. I could tell you weren’t judging when I spoke, and I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”

“It’s not my place to judge. Only heal.” You sit back, breaking all contact with him, hoping it’ll clear your spinning head. “There. Now you’re just as handsome as you were before. Do me a favor and at least try not to get majorly hurt again for the rest of the day?”

“He started it.”

“Everyone always starts things here. And given your current situation, it’s best to keep your head down as much as possible.”

“What’s the point? They’ve already made up their minds about me being guilty,” Kit says bitterly as you roll your tray over to the sink. He sees a pack of cigarettes on your desk and nods towards them. “Mind if I have one?”

You wave for him to go ahead as you clean up. “I wish I had words of encouragement for you. I wish I could say it will all work out. But unless they catch the real Bloody Face, your choices are either here or the electric chair.”

Kit pops a cigarette in his mouth and lights the end. “I have to see the state-appointed shrink. My last hope is to convince some head doctor that I’m not crazy.”

Your heart goes out to him. His situation really is a double-edged sword. If he proves he isn’t crazy, then they are sure to send him to trial and his death. If he keeps spouting off about strangers abducting him and his wife, then they will keep him at Briarcliff. Either way, he loses. It isn’t fair.

“Stick to your story,” you tell him. “If it’s really the truth and that’s really what you know happened, then stick to it. I mean, it’ll probably get you confined here for life. But at least you’ll be alive.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?”

You don’t get to respond. The door bursts open and Sister Jude strolls in with Hardy right behind her. You wonder how long he waited outside before running to tattle on you.

“Why is this patient not restrained?” she asks in that stern voice of hers.

“I needed to clean his hands and couldn’t very well do that when they were bound,” you say. “He’s all set now.”

“In the future, I would appreciate it if you would leave the door open. No young woman should be alone with this one,” Sister Jude says, motioning to Kit. “Not until he’s been properly medicated.”

“He deserves just as much privacy as any of us do when being medically treated.”

“Not here. Not under my roof,” Sister Jude counters. “I like you, girl, but don’t push me on this. Kit Walker may have the looks of an angel but he’s far from it.”

“She didn’t do nothing wrong,” Kit says angrily.

Sister Jude motions for Hardy to grab Kit. Anger courses through your veins when you see how he is manhandled. “Hey, be careful! I don’t want to have to treat a dislocated shoulder,” you say.

Kit sends you a grateful smile which Sister Jude unfortunately notices. She steps up to him and in a low voice says, “Quit your leering! You don’t fool me, Kit Walker. You can keep spouting that innocent act all you’d like but I know there’s darkness in your soul.”

Kit’s body tenses and you see him clench his fists in anger. The nun yanks his cigarette out of his mouth and puts it out on your desk.

What a bitch.

As he is led away, Kit dares to look back at you and you see the glimmer of another smile before he is gone. The empty room suddenly seems more so without him there. It’s strange how comfortable you feel around him, especially considering the circumstances. After cleaning up the remnants of his cigarette, you sit back at your desk. But focusing is not in the cards for you. The rest of the day, you find yourself constantly sidetracked by the handsome brown-haired man with the deep brown eyes. So much so that you get angry with yourself.

You are hardly ever swayed by just a pretty face. Then again, there’s more to Kit than that. Although, it certainly helps. The way he stood up for you even when he was in trouble spoke volumes about who he is a person. You don’t think there is a selfish bone in that man’s body.

The next day during meds, you don’t see him in the Day Room with the others. It suddenly occurs to you that after the fight the day before, he probably was thrown in solitary. You hate solitary being used for any of your patients but the thought of Kit in a small dark room, bound and alone makes your heart break in your chest. All you can do is hope he’ll be out of there soon.

At least three days pass before you see him again, mostly because you spend most of that time in the infirmary rather than in the common areas. It’s early morning and you are enjoying a rare moment of silence when the door opens, and Kit is led in. He’s bleeding from a cut on his forehead, which has already begun to bruise and swell.

“What happened?” you demand as you leap to your feet.

The guard, a brute named Dixon who you can’t stand, forces Kit onto one of the beds. “He slipped and fell.”

You doubt it. Your eyes slide over to look at Kit, who gives you a subtle shake of his head. “Oh really?” you ask Dixon, narrowing your eyes in distrust. “This seems like a pretty big bump just to happen from a slip.”

“Just treat him so I can get him back with the others,” Dixon orders.

“He hit his head. I’m going to have to keep him here for a few hours to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion.”

“Fine.” Dixon shoves Kit until he was laying on the bed. When he reaches for the restraints, Kit fights back.

“No! Let me go!” Kit struggles against him.

“Those aren’t necessary,” you declare, crossing the room to try to stop Dixon.

But the guard isn’t having any of it. The next thing you know, he pushes you away, hard enough that you trip over your feet and fall right on your ass.

“You son of a bitch!” Kit exclaims. He leaps up and punches Dixon square in the jaw.

What happens next is a flurry of blows and swears as the men fight each other. Knowing this can only end poorly for Kit, you manage to get back up before prying the two apart. “Enough!” you snap. “No fighting in my infirmary!”

Dixon is practically snarling as he wipes blood from the corner of his mouth. “You don’t scare me, Bloody Face. If I had my way, you’d be in the furnace by now.”

Kit makes a move to go at him, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. “Mr. Walker, lay down so Dixon can bind you. If you don’t, I know the right injection that’ll make you so tired, you’ll wake up next week.”

Kit’s eyebrows knit together as he looks at you with concern. You throw him a subtle wink. Breathing heavily, he sits back on the bed and allows Dixon to restrain him. Even though it pains you to do so, you help to keep up appearances. But you don’t tighten them as much as you should. Kit’s jaw is clenched as he watches Dixon’s movements, as if he’s waiting for him to attack again.

Once Kit is secured, you reach into your pocket. Unbeknownst to the guards, you carry around a sharpened scalpel for your own protection and the second Dixon lets his guard down, you press it to his neck, making him halt his movements.

“Listen here, you sick fuck,” you growl. “If you ever lay a hand on me again, I’ll shove this so far into your neck you’ll have to take your meals through a tube. Are we clear?”

Dixon sneers and takes a step back. “Whatever you say, woman. Call us when this psycho is ready to go back to his cell. And I’d be careful who you threaten. You wouldn’t want to end up like one of your patients, now would you?”

His threats send a chill down your spine, but you keep your hand steady, the scalpel still pointed at him as he backs away. It’s not until he’s out the door that you cross the room so you can lock it behind him.

“Are you alright?” Kit asks the moment it’s clear the two of you are alone.

You cross the room, pocketing the sharp instrument as you go. “I’m fine, Kit. Don’t worry about me.” As quick as you can, you undo his bindings. “Sorry about this. I fucking hate using bindings, but it was the only way to get Dixon to leave. He’s got a nasty streak in him; I’d stay clear if I were you. Are you okay? What happened to your head?”

“That asshole smashed my face into the wall,” he says as he sits up, rubbing his wrists. “He caught me wandering out of the Day Room.”

“Now why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?” you ask, hands on your hips. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your head down?”

“I just needed some peace and quiet. On my own terms and not in a dark dirty cell. Besides, others wander. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because the others aren’t wanted for murder. They mean to make an example out of you, Kit.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

You sigh and head to the icebox in the corner of the room. As you put together an icepack for him, you say, “These guards will look for any excuse to get rough. And they especially have it out for you. You have to be careful.”

“I hate this. I hate all of it. I feel like I’m going crazy. My head is so cloudy, and I can barely feel anything.”

“Those are the meds. Meant to keep you docile.” You carry the ice pack over to him along with supplies to fix up his head wound. “And suppress other impulses.”

“It’s inhumane, that’s what it is.” Kit barely makes a face as you clean the cut and dress it. “How am I supposed to defend myself if I don’t even feel like me? I think I’m slipping, doc.”

“I told you, I’m not a doctor.”

“Well, what should I call you then? You never gave me your name.”

You tell him your name and press the icepack to the bump on his head, “Here, hold this. Your nose is bleeding…again.”

Kit does as he’s told. After a moment, he says your name. It’s soft and beautiful coming from his lips and you can barely focus long enough to hear his question. “Can I confess something to you?”

“I’m no priest or nun.” You start to dab at his nose with a damp towel.

“It’s not that kind of confession. I wasn’t just wandering for the sake of wandering. I was trying to come see you.”

You pause, heart pounding in your chest as your eyes flickering up to meet his. “Why?”

“I feel safe here.”

You go back to your work. “I’m glad you do, but I don’t want you to get yourself hurt just to see me.”

“I didn’t know that asshole was gonna beat the shit out of me just for wandering.”

“Say you have cramps.”

Kit raises his eyebrow. “What?”

“If you want to see me…I mean, come to the infirmary, tell a guard or one of my assistants that you have cramps or a stomachache. It’s something most people don’t question since stomach stuff is really common, ‘specially around here. It usually comes with vomiting or diarrhea and no one wants to deal with that.”

Kit smiles. “Good to know.”

You finish cleaning him up and add, “But don’t overuse the excuse. Otherwise, if something is really bothering you, they won’t listen.”

“Understood. Do you really think I have a concussion?”

“No. Your eyes are clear and you’re not slurring your words. I figured it would at least give you a little reprieve from everything out there.”

Kit’s smile widens. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Although, I will have to at least keep your feet bound. That way if the guard comes back, I can quickly bind your hands before they enter. The lock will only temporarily slow them down since they have keys.”

“Hey, if it means spending time here with you instead of out there with everyone else who thinks I’m a vicious murderer, I’ll take it.”

Once you have him settled in the bed, you give him a cigarette before going about your daily routine. It is nice having Kit there. Occasionally, you talk as he smokes, but for the most part, the both of you enjoy each other’s company. He asks you about yourself, minor things, nothing too personal or probing, which you appreciate. You feel like he’s also trying to keep some distance between you, understanding your position and what a friendship with him could mean.

A few hours later, when you hear footsteps coming your way, you quickly bind Kit’s hands.

It takes a second for the door to be unlocked but then it opens and Dixon enters just as you’re pretending to check Kit’s bandages. “Walker here needs to see the shrink,” he says gruffly, crossing the room towards you.

“I was just about to call you.” Your lie is so effortless it even impresses you. “He doesn’t have a concussion. You can take him.”

Dixon is rough as he unbinds Kit and yanks him off the bed. To his credit, Kit doesn’t fight back or resist, understanding the stupid rules he needs to follow if he’s going to get anywhere in this place. Once he’s gone, you start to wrap up for the day, finishing any last minute tasks before getting ready to go home. As you’re straightening up your desk, your eyes catch the medication logbook, and an idea strikes you.

Sitting down, you flip through the pages, taking a look at the medications that are prescribed to each patient. At the bottom of the list is Kit’s name and, with a quick flick of your pencil, you manage to subtly cut his doses in half. It’s not much. You wish you can outright stop giving him the meds but that’s impossible. Hopefully, this way he’ll start to feel like himself.

You expect to be worried or guilty for what you’ve done. But honestly, you don’t. It feels right. Far too many patients have lost themselves in Briarcliff and you’re determined not to let Kit be one of them.

---

Kit’s world is not even recognizable anymore. One day he’s home with his beautiful wife, the next, she’s gone, and the police are accusing him of murder. He sees those damn creatures every time he closes his eyes, hears that loud noise echoing in his ears. If it’s not that he’s hearing, it’s the screams of the other patients.

When he saw you for the first time, heard you snap at the guard for mistreating him, he thought he was still dreaming. You have to be a dream. Nothing that good or sweet can possibly exist in this place. The way you look at him makes him feel seen for the first time in months.

He can’t get you out of his mind. After that initial visit, all he could think about was your warm embrace and the concern in your eyes.

To have someone care enough to worry about him meant everything. Especially during such a dark time. Trying to sneak away to see you had been a stupid idea but one he thought was worth the risk. He needed to know if he would have the same feelings each time, the same security and comfort. Do you really believe him or are you just a great actress?

The second time, you’re just as kind and generous as the first, and Kit knows that he is in trouble. A different kind of trouble than he already is in. This one is emotionally based and has the potential to end very badly.

Kit knew himself well enough to recognize the signs that he is falling for someone. You have only known each other a short while but already he can’t get you out of his mind.

The day following his first appointment with Dr. Thredson, he sees you in the Day Room and has to stop himself from immediately going over. It’s clear you’re busy, making the rounds and checking in on the other patients. Kit watches from a distance, smoking a cigarette as he leans against the back wall. Your kindness extends to everyone you come in contact with. He watches with admiration as you sit patiently with Pepper, checking on the small scrapes and abrasions she has.

You smile and his breath gets caught in his throat. Fuck you’re gorgeous.

Curiously, Kit watches as you slip something into Pepper’s hands before moving on to someone else. It turns out to be a small chocolate, which Pepper immediately devours before going back to her book. Kit smiles.

You catch each other’s eyes across the room just then. It’s a charged moment, like nothing in the world matters but the two of you. He makes a move to walk towards you, unable to help himself anymore. But then meds are called, and the moment is lost. Kit stubs out his cigarette and gets behind Lana as everyone lines up for their medications.

“This is bullshit,” Lana mutters under her breath. “Not all of us need medication. I don’t like that they force it on us. Makes my head all foggy.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Kit asks, echoing your sentiment from the day before. “Keep us under control.”

“I have a point. One I’d like to shove right up their asses.”

Kit snorts at Lana’s blunt phrasing. At first, she had been weary of him but now the two have developed a mutual understanding. Neither one of them belongs there and it’s better to support each other than fight. The line moves and Kit watches you join your assistant to make the medication process go faster.

When it’s his turn, you hand him his cup and briefly, his hands touches yours. It’s like a bolt of electricity shoots through your fingertips and into his, coursing through his veins at such a speed it makes his head spin. On the outside however, he remains calm, bringing the cup up to his lips to knock back his meds. Except, he notices they look slightly different than the days before. His eyes briefly dart to yours and there’s a subtle change in your expression. Your eye closes just enough to seem like a wink without fully being one.

Kit downs the meds with less hesitation than before.

Sadly, he can’t talk to you after that. Once meds are distributed, you go back to the infirmary and he’s left alone once more. Briefly he considers faking a stomachache to see you again, but your warning is still ringing in his ears. The fact that you offered him the excuse was risky on your part. He doesn’t want to get you in trouble by overstaying his welcome in the infirmary. Even though he is curious about the medication change, he lets it go.

It’s not until he’s in his room that night that he realizes he’s feeling clear-headed. Usually, once lights out comes around, the meds have him so loopy he rolls over and goes to sleep. Or at least tries. This time, however, he feels more like himself. Of course, that also means he’s more aware of the dark and the loud screams, but once they subside, he’s left with silence and his own thoughts.

She must have lowered my meds or something. She’s fucking amazing.

Kit smiles, curling onto his side as he allows himself to think about you without worry or fear. Again and again your meetings replay in his mind and when he closes his eyes, he can almost smell the scent of your laundry detergent and perfume. The way your soft hands gently held his made him flex his fingers instinctively. Those lips of yours…he’d given anything to kiss them.

Kit’s eyes fly open when he feels his cock swell. It’s been so long since he’s felt any kind of sexual desire even before being medication. It’s a wonderful change of pace, however now he has a slight problem. Kit feels ashamed of himself for thinking of you sexually. All you’ve done is show him kindness and he’s thinking about doing all sorts of things to you. With a frustrated sigh, he rolls onto his stomach and tries to ignore it.

This turns out to be a bad idea. The pressure of his body against the hard mattress causes wonderful friction and Kit finds himself pressing his hips down for some semblance of relief.

Fuck it, he thinks, shoving his hand in his pants. I need this right now. I need her.

It’s been a long time since he’s done this himself. It takes a second to find the right angle and rhythm. He stays on his stomach, arching his back just enough to give his hand room as he jerks himself off. Burying his face in his pillow, he bites down to stifle his moans as he pictures you in your nurse’s uniform. The way it hugs your frame suddenly assaults his vision. When you had leaned over him to check his head, he had caught just the barest hint of cleavage. Then, he had purposefully closed his eyes to be respectful.

Now, it’s all he focuses on, thinking about how he’d love to run his tongue across your salty flesh while his hands cupped your tits. He’d bury his nose in your skin and inhale your scent before kissing and sucking every bit of you he could reach.

Would you moan his name? He bets you would, and he bets it would sound fucking fantastic.

Kit grips himself tighter, speeding up his movements as he keeps the fantasy going in his mind. Suddenly, the angle is too constricting, and he rolls onto his back, biting his bottom lip as he hand brings him closer to coming.

He pictures it being your hand. Pictures him laying in that hospital bed, you leaning over him and jerking him off as you watch his face. He thinks of you telling him to come for you and as soon as that thought crosses his mind, he explodes, coming all over his own hand as he quietly moans your name.

Sweating and panting, Kit lays there in his bed, heart racing and head spinning. He uses his blanket to clean himself up, tossing it onto the floor before curling into a ball. He expects the shame or guilt to hit him any moment, but he can’t find it in himself to feel either. All he feels is aching in his heart for the real thing.

The next morning, when they open the cells, he remains in bed. Once he hears the guard come closer, Kit begins to moan in agony, clutching his stomach.

Thankfully, Hardy is the one who check on him. Ever since you told him off, he’s been mostly tolerable to Kit. At least to his face.

“What’s wrong?” the guard asks.

“My stomach,” Kit moans. “I think…I think I ate something bad.” When Hardy kicks Kit’s soiled blanket aside, he adds, “Wouldn’t touch that if I were you. I felt real sick last night.”

Hardy wrinkles his nose and gestures for Kit to get up. “Come on. I’m taking you to the nurse.”

Laying on the theatrics, Kit forces himself up, still hunched over with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

You’re sitting at your desk when he enters. The morning light is filtering in through the barred windows and it catches you ever so slightly. Enough to almost make Kit forget he’s supposed to be in great pain. When you see him, your face grows concerned.

“This one is moaning about a stomachache,” Hardy says. “Where do you want him?”

To his dismay, Kit notices you’re not alone today. There’s a patient asleep in one of the other beds. You’re out of your chair in a second, pressing one of those soft hands to his forehead.

“He’s burning up.” Your ability to lie so smoothly makes Kit admire you even more. “Here, let’s get him on this bed right here.”

Hardy and you help Kit onto one of the beds in the corner of the room, one that’s hidden behind a divider. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” you say, tucking Kit in. “It’s probably just food poisoning. I’ve told the cook a million times they need to store the food better.”

“Think he needs to be tied down?” Hardy asks.

“No, of course not. Have you ever dealt with a patient who’s tied down and soiling themselves? My job is hard enough as it is. I won’t be dealing with that today.”

Kit makes retching noises if for no other reason than to see Hardy grow pale and uncomfortable.

“Oh, you better go before he starts up,” you urge, shooing the guard away.

Kit keeps up the act until he hears the door close and you turn to him, giving him a wide smile. “Wow, bravo. Great work, Kit.”

He smiles, sitting up. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll have a shot as an actor when this is all over.”

You chuckle and glance over at your other patient to make sure he’s still sleeping before sitting on the chair by Kit’s bed. “How are you really feeling this morning?”

“Better, actually. Do I have you to thank for that?”

“Well…it did seem overkill to have you on such high doses of medication when you aren’t mentally unstable. I’m sorry I couldn’t take you off them completely.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Kit says, reaching out to lay his hand over yours. “If anything, I’m sorry for you having to take that risk. I don’t want you to get in trouble, or worse, because of me.”

You look down at his hand and he immediately draws it back, worrying he may have crossed a line. There’s something in your expression that puts him on edge. He can see that you’re struggling, which only makes him feel worse. He berates himself for foolishly giving into his desires. Already things are tough, and the future is scarily uncertain. He’s on the hook for murder for fuck’s sake.

Before Kit can continue the self-deprecating spiral, you surprise him by carefully getting out of your seat and sitting next to him on the bed.

“Kit…” you say. “This friendship between us…I don’t know if it can continue.”

Kit’s heart sinks and he looks away from you, his gaze now fixated on the floor. “I don’t blame you,” he says. “It’s not safe being near me in any way. Honestly, it was stupid of me to come here like that. As much as I like spending time with you, I never want to put you in a compromising position. I’ve seen these guards and I know how they treat women. You’re in just as much danger here as I am.”

Your hand takes his, and he snaps his head up to look at you.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” you say. For the first time since you met a few days ago, he hears the slightest crack in your voice. “I’m worried because, if we continue this friendship, I know that for me, one day, it might not be enough.”

His heart speeds up at your confession. Kit can’t believe his ears. The fact that you are feeling even the slightest bit of the attraction to him that he’s been feeling for you is enough to give him the sliver of hope that’s been severely lacking over the last few weeks.

Kit hesitantly links his fingers with yours, giving you every chance to pull away. You don’t. When he says your name, his throat is dry, and he has to clear it before he can go on. “I have no right liking you as much as I do. I don’t believe in God, but I can’t help but think that you’re my damn guardian angel. Because of you, I’m actually starting to think that maybe there’s a way out of this. Or at the very least, staying here won’t be so bad so long as you’re here.”

Your gaze softens and you look away, trying to hide the tear leaking out of the corner of your eye. With his free hand, Kit reaches up to wipe it away with his thumb. He can’t stop himself from cupping your cheek, needing to feel the warmth and softness against his palm. You shut your eyes, leaning into his touch, a shaky exhale escaping through your parted lips.

Your lips.

Kit’s eyes can’t look anywhere else. They look so inviting. He bets they’re just as soft as the rest of you, maybe even more so. Without even stopping to think what he’s doing, he starts to lean in, so slowly that you don’t seem to notice until you open your eyes to meet his. You pull your head back. Not abruptly or angrily, but enough where he gets the message to stop. Kit sighs with disappointment at the refusal. But a second later, you’re leaning in this time, at the same achingly slow pace he had been before.

Your lips brush and there’s a heated charge that soars between you, making you pause before you even properly get a kiss. Your eyes are wide as they meet his, searching for the same thing he’s looking for in yours: permission, acceptance, desire.

Kit closes the distance.

With one hand still cradling your face, he kisses you deeply, drawing your body as close to his as he dares. He feels you melt under his touch and it urges him to keep going, to keep kissing you, to deepen the kiss so he can savor the intense waves of desire washing over him.

You let him, opening your mouth so that his tongue can glide along yours.

It all becomes too intense for the both of you and you have to break the kiss, panting as your foreheads rest against one another’s.

“This is such a bad idea,” you say, the breathlessness of your voice making Kit’s cock twitch. “We have to be smart and we have to be careful. If we really can’t stay apart, then you have to listen to what I say and follow my instructions. Okay?”

“I can do that,” Kit says. He’d honestly agree to anything you say at that point. “Trust me, baby. I know the stakes.”

“Me too.” You take a deep breath and pull away, breaking all contact with him. It immediately leaves him cold and wanting more. “My assistants will be coming to collect the meds any moment. I need to go prepare.”

You reach out to cup his cheek and Kit holds your wrist, keeping your hand there for another moment so he could savor the contact. The way your eyes soften at him only makes him want to kiss you again. Instead, he settles for a peck on your palm before letting you fully pull away.

As you stand and collect yourself, you take a step towards the divider before you pause and look back at him. “No one can know, Kit. Not if you want to stay under my care. If anyone finds out there’s something between us, they’ll transfer me somewhere else and I won’t be able to protect you.”

The fact that you’re scared for him in this scenario and not yourself makes Kit want to throw you on the bed and ravish you. “I promise, I will find a way to clear my name,” he says. “Then once I’m out of here, I’ll take you away. Far away where this place can’t reach us.”

You smile and reach out to stroke his cheek again. “Easy there, Mr. Walker,” you tease, stroking his bottom lip with your thumb. “Keep talking like that and I may think you’re already falling for me.”

He watches you walk away, only one thought on his mind. Too late for that.

#kit walker #evan peters #ahs asylum #kit walker x reader #kit walker x you

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arrowflier · 3 years

Note

oh my god your xmen au!! i've just recently thought about them having powers and ian should def be a healer ❤️

it's so good, i'd love for you to continue or like... do another mutant au (same setting but later? im not picky haha)

as always, your writing is truly amazing!

Yeeesss thank you thank you thank you. I've been wanting to so bad but I'm already neglecting all my WIPs so I needed this excuse.

For everyone else, original here. I'm also tagging this for A.U.gust (hosted by the amazing @gallavichthings) because their professions are inspired by prompts 7 and 19.

---

Ian was crouched over a client, hands flat on a wrinkled and twisted back, when Mickey fell through the door.

Ian stiffened, and not just because his gift was working on the man stretched out on the table in front of him. Mickey attempted to straighten himself on the coat rack by the door, but only succeeded in knocking it over, hands slick with blood.

Not his own, by the looks of it, and that was the only reason Ian kept working.

“What’s that racket?” his client croaked, trying to lift his head, but Ian pressed harder and pushed his gift deeper into the man’s muscles, forcing his neck to relax.

Ian winced as his own neck tensed further, but forced his head straight so he could watch as Mickey stumbled through the room before finally collapsing onto a chair. His head was down, but Ian could see faint streaks of red at his hairline, glistening in his dark hair when he ran a shaky hand through it. The spikes on his shoulders, exposed by a tear in his black shirt, lay flat and weak and similarly wet against his pale skin.

Ian swallowed hard, and removed his hands from the body in front of him.

“You’re done,” Ian rasped, waiting for the usual weariness and weakness to fade. He rubbed his eyes with a hand that felt more gnarled than it was, and grimaced. His eyelids felt like sandpaper.

“That’s it?” his client asked. They weren’t one of his usuals, just someone that heard about him from a friend. Ian tried to accept new clients where he could, especially those that found him by word of mouth—there wasn’t much else he could do in the way of advertising without a license or registration for his unorthodox mutation.

“That’s it,” Ian confirmed, and tapped the edge of the table impatiently, waiting for the man to get up and leave. He should be perfectly capable of that sort of movement for at least a few days, if he didn’t do anything too stupid with his newfound physical freedom.

“I heard you offer…other services,” the old man said slyly, twisting to look at Ian as he sat up and swung his legs toward the floor. “For a price, of course,” he added, smiling like he knew something.

Clearly, he did not.

“No anymore,” Ian answered shortly. “And never for patrons of your type.”

“Of my type?” the man repeated, voice now rising with suppressed anger. “And what does that mean, you mutant scum?”

“Means he don’t like wrinkly old man balls no more,” Mickey called out from across the room, and Ian had never been so grateful to hear his rough voice, despite what it was saying.

“It doesn’t,” he assured his client. “I mean, I don’t, but—”

“No need to explain, boy,” his client stated—probably ex-client now, and Ian should really feel worse about watching him leave.

Instead, he held his breath until the door slammed behind that narrow, weak back, and then immediately darted over to throw the bolt.

Room secured, Ian took a moment to breathe, in and out, as the last of the other man’s fatigue finally left him.

“You gonna stand there all night?” Mickey asked, somewhat quieter, behind him. “Or are you gonna come patch me up, doc?”

Ian turned to see Mickey struggling to rise from his seat, and was there in a few long strides to push him down again with a firm hand on his shoulder. Mickey hissed as Ian rubbed his spikes the wrong way, but let himself be secured.

Without thinking about it, Ian stroked his hand down, following those dangerous barbs along the length of Mickey’s bare arm. He wasn’t worried about them; he had seen firsthand the danger they could do, throughout the years, but never had Mickey harmed him.

Well, at least not without reason.

And he had clearly come to Ian for a different reason, this time. It had been a few weeks since they’d seen each other, and in that time Mickey had apparently found someone new to piss off, judging by the blood on his spikes. Someone that didn’t already know all his tricks.

“You have to stop doing this,” Ian said accusingly, gesturing at Mickey in general, and the other man snorted, then winced when it opened a cut on his face.

“Define ‘this’,” he challenged, and Ian shrugged.

“Picking fights, I guess,” he answered. “I know you have that new gig at the bar, security or whatever—”

“Bodyguard, doc, it’s a little more impressive—”

“But you don’t always have to jump straight to violence.”

“Why” Mickey asked, quirking a bleeding eyebrow. “I’m paid to be a badass, Gallagher, and you always fix me up just fine.”

Ian shook his head, eyes scanning for the worst of Mickey’s injuries. Thankfully, they were few—a slowly seeping gash at his hairline, the source of the blood about to drip into his blue eyes; an oddly bent finger; a patch of quills at the base of his neck that looked nearly torn out, like someone had gotten hold before Mickey flexed them.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Ian insisted absently, trailing his fingers from Mickey’s shoulder to his neck, to his face, heedless of the red trail they left on pale skin.

“Please,” Mickey scoffed, bending his head obediently when Ian pushed it back for better light. “The principle is that you like havin’ an excuse to get your hands on me.”

“Could get my hands on you anyway,” Ian mused, digging his fingers roughly into Mickey’s hair as if to prove a point.

Mickey hissed, but smirked through it.

“Oh yeah?” he questioned lightly. “Think I'm that easy, huh?”

“Know you’re that easy,” Ian murmured, leaning in closer than he strictly needed to to finish surveying the damage.

Mickey blinked, eyes only inches away from Ian’s own.

“Get those healin’ hands on me then,” he breathed, and Ian didn’t bother to point out that they already were.

Instead, he moved one hand over the scratch on Mickey’s scalp, one hand to the damaged quills on his neck, and his mouth to Mickey’s bottom lip.

And he reached inside himself for his power, and pushed.

They both gasped, deepening the sudden kiss almost by accident as Ian’s power coursed through them, between them. Mickey’s cuts started to heal even as they opened on Ian’s skin, quills bristling and growing strong again as tiny pinpricks of red showed on Ian’s own neck.

Let go of her, Ian heard in his mind, Mickey’s voice ordering some creep to release the girl he was trying to carry from the club.

I’m just gettin her home, man

Thin fingers reach for Mickey’s jacket, Ian’s jacket, their jacket. Grasp the hem, tug faintly, fall again on a limp arm.

I don’t fuckin’ think so

Pain in his fists, then pain on his back as someone else joins the fight, someone Ian can’t see. Sharp fingernails in his hair, on his neck, gripping, twisting.

A flare. Quills puffing from their sleek layer against warm skin, finding their target. The slippery wet feeling of blood on his shoulders, wetting them down again.

Okay, it’s okay now as frail hands grasp at him again to stand straight. Come on, it’s okay.

Ian’s hands fell from Mickey’s wounds as the last ones finally closed. He ignored the wetness in his eyes, the wetness on Mickey’s face, pretended they were blood and not tears.

“You did good,” he whispered against Mickey’s searching lips. “So good, Mickey.”

“Shut up, doc,” Mickey murmured back. “Give me something different to feel good about.”

So Ian did.

He kissed him again. Bit his lip, licked it clean. Ran a finger over the indentation, felt the bite on his own mouth as he soothed it. He scratched at Mickey’s back, didn’t recall when it was bared, felt hot lines down his own and couldn’t tell if they came from Mickey’s dirty hands or his own neatly trimmed nails.

It was always like this, when it happened. A feedback loop, not knowing where he stopped and Mickey began as they hurt and healed and hurt again. Hurt in good ways rather than bad, ways they had been hurting and helping each other since they were just children in a schoolyard chasing bullies. Ian lost himself in it, lost himself in Mickey’s mouth and eyes and skin and his own touches upon it, a constant blooming sensation deep in the reserves of his power.

He wondered what it felt like for Mickey, but then he didn’t have to. He never had to. He could feel that too: the tug of quills pushed the wrong way, the press of them into skin at both point and base, the prickling sensation when they settled, flared, settled again within sensitive skin and muscle.

But they never stabbed on purpose. They never hurt more than he could take; than they could take. And as he let Mickey stand, let him walk Ian back toward the bedroom on newly strengthened legs, Ian embraced all the feelings it invoked in the both of them.

Tomorrow, Mickey would most likely leave again, possibly even before breakfast. He would go back to his job, the one Ian didn’t like, and work and live and thrive until he needed Ian again.

It would feel worse, that separation, if Ian couldn’t feel the truth in every movement they made against each other in the night.

Mickey didn’t need Ian to fix him up; he never had. He had been doing fine on his own long before they met.

No, Mickey didn’t come to Ian because he liked to pick fights. He picked fights because he liked to come to Ian, and for now, that was enough.

#daily speedwrite #x-men au #A.U.gust #gallavich #ian gallagher #healer ian #mickey milkovich #bodyguard mickey #tw: mentions of violence #tw: blood #injured mickey #fanfic

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criminalmindzjunkie · 4 years

Text

The Reward of Suffering (Part Six)

previous chapter

Summary: Spencer comes face to face with a ghost from the past.

A/N: Hey... how y’all doin? Long time no see, huh? Sorry about that - hopefully this extra long update will make up for my absence. This has definitely been my favorite part thus far, and I had so much fun writing it. I hope you guys enjoy reading it. You guys know the drill by now: SPOILERS for season 12. Also, shoutout to @zhuzhubii for posting the absolute best set of gifs right in time for this update - you’re the coolest.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: cursing, mentions of death, mentions of rape, mentions of mental illness, kidnapping, choking

Word Count: 10.3k

With every clack of my heels on the concrete floors, the nervous feeling in my gut grows into full blown nausea. It’s been nearly two months since I last walked these halls, but somehow it feels like a lifetime has passed. Considering everything that transpired in the last forty-eight hours, it makes sense that I feel that way.

I hadn’t been on the team when Lindsey Vaughn first came into the picture ten years ago, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t familiar. At the time, I thought nothing of the kind neighbor that I sometimes passed in the stairwell on my way to Spencer’s apartment. I mean, why would I? I had no reason to be suspicious. Our interactions never went beyond the usual pleasantries – polite smiles and the occasional greeting – and I never gave her a second thought.

Maybe if I had, Cassie wouldn’t be dead, and Spencer’s mother wouldn’t be missing.

I shake my head at the thought. Now isn’t the time to ruminate on what ifs. I would have plenty of time to blame myself when all of this is over. Instead of torturing myself, I focus on trying to steady my breathing as I come to a stop just before I reach the interview room of the Milburn Correctional Facility.

I know what lies beyond that door, and I’m equal parts excited and worried. Excited, because I’d finally be able to see Spencer after two long months of daydreaming about when I’d finally hold him in my arms again. Of course, it was very possible that Spencer wouldn’t want to see me. After all, I promised to keep his mother safe, and instead of doing that, I let myself get swept up in moving in to my apartment, and now Diana was God knows where.

I was so sure that he wouldn’t want to see me that I’d initially suggested that Emily be the one to go to the prison and get him. My idea was met with a sad smile and a pat on the shoulder.

“I think that if it was anyone but you standing there when they open that door, it’d break his heart.”

Her reassurances did little to assuage my nerves. I spent the entire ride here running over every possible scenario that I could imagine, scrambling to form some kind of game plan. But now that I was here, any semblance of preparedness left me the second the guard reached for the door handle.

“You ready, ma’am?”

Yes.

No.

I don’t trust my voice, so I settle on nodding my head. The door opens with a groan, rusty hinges creaking in protest, and with shaky legs and a heart that threatens to beat out of my chest, I step into the doorway.

It’s like the world stops turning on its axis when his eyes meet mine. Those familiar pools of caramel stare back at me with such an intensity that I force myself to look away, petrified at the prospect of seeing disappointment in them.

I trail my eyes over his frame, drinking in every inch of him - every bruise and every scrape feeling like a dagger to my heart. My eyes linger on the bandage adorning his left arm, before trailing down to the one on his leg. Emily had warned me about happened, about Spencer injuring himself in order to secure his safety. It was smart of him - that I knew - but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t horrified.

His hair has gotten longer, and his curls hang limply around his face. The usually clean-shaven Spencer I once knew was a thing of the past - replaced now by a more disheveled, scruffier version.

Clean-shaven or not, he still looks just as breathtaking as always.

I hesitantly raise my eyes up to his again. He’s staring at me still, mouth parted in shock. He doesn’t look angry, just confused, and that fills me with a tiny sliver of hope.

“Hi, Spence,” I murmur, voice thick with emotion. It’s not until I speak that I realize I’m crying, and I hastily wipe at my cheeks with my shirtsleeve.

The dazed look in Spencer’s eyes washes away when he hears my voice and he blinks hard.

“What… H-How are you…?” he trails off, eyes moving up and down my body.

It feels so fucking good to hear his voice again, and I find myself unable to hold back a sob.

“M’ here to take you home,” I choke out.

It’s like all the tension in Spencer’s body is expelled at once and his shoulders slump in relief. I open my mouth to elaborate, to explain how Emily had managed to pull this off, but I’m stunned into silence when Spencer’s body collides with mine. I hadn’t even had time to process that he was moving before his arms snake around me, tugging me forward until there’s no space in between our bodies. Spencer’s hands collect fistfuls of my shirt, clinging desperately to the fabric as he nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck.

Once I get over the initial shock, I’m hugging him back, arms locked around his torso in a vicelike grip. He doesn’t smell the same – the usual fragrance of cinnamon and vanilla is long gone, replaced with that of some generic detergent – but the way his broad shoulders feel underneath my palms is something so familiar that I can’t help but smile against his chest.

This is still my Spencer.

Spencer lets out a shaky breath against my skin and I let out an involuntary shudder at the feeling.

“Missed you so fucking much,” Spencer whispers. “I-I can’t believe you’re here. Thought I was imagining it.” Spencer takes a shaky breath in, nuzzling further into my neck. His next words are muffled from the way his lips press against my skin, but I’m still able to make out the quiet ‘I’m sorry’.

“You’re sorry?” I hiccup, eyebrows scrunching up in disbelief. I attempt to pull away so that I can look at him, but Spencer only tightens his grip on me. Something about it makes my chest feel incredibly warm, but I push that feeling aside for now. “I’m the one that’s sorry. I should’ve done more – I should’ve visited more often. I let myself get busy, and if I’d just been more careful, then your m-mom… she wouldn’t be-”

“Stop that,” Spencer interrupts, and this time he’s the one that pulls away. He holds me at arm’s length and those beautiful brown eyes lock with mine. “This is absolutely not your fault.”

Spencer’s hands come up to cup either side of my face and his thumbs wipe away at the tears on my cheeks. “You’ve done so much for me – for her. I’m sorry that I took you off the list. Things were getting so bad here, and if something would have happened to you…” Spencer pauses, closing his eyes and leaning down until his forehead rests against mine. “It was never because I didn’t want to see you, I promise. And… And your letter - I can’t even begin to explain how much that helped. I’m sorry that I couldn’t write back. I didn’t know what to say. Especially not after…”

He doesn’t elaborate, but I’m able to fill in the blanks myself. I bring my hand up and rest it on top of his.

“S’okay, Spence. I know,” I whisper. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I understand.”

Spencer hums and a ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

“Time to get you out of here, Doc.” I remove his hand from my face and give it a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s go get your mom back.”

Spencer opens his eyes and for the first time in two months I’m on the receiving end of my favorite smile in the whole world.

I lead him from the room, never once removing my hand from his. Now that I have him back, I don’t ever want to let go.

For the second time today, the clacking of my heels against the concrete floor is the only sound that can be heard. Spencer moves silently beside me, his face pulled into a somber expression as we stalk down the long corridor. His hand brushes against mine, and I long to reach out and intertwine our fingers like I had only hours before. I suppress the urge, stealing one last, poorly concealed glance at him before I settle my gaze on the door at the end of the hall.

In the last several hours, the entire case had been flipped upside down. We’d been wrong all along – Scratch wasn’t to blame for the shit show that had transpired over the last three months. It’d been an easy enough mistake to make. After the incident with Tara’s brother, Scratch was the obvious choice. Pair that with the fact that Spencer had been drugged and we had no reason to suspect anyone else.

Cat Adams was the last thing on everyone’s mind when Mexico happened. It’d been over a year since Spencer outsmarted her in that restaurant, and she was very much out of sight and out of mind. She was in a maximum-security prison, for fuck’s sake. That alone should have rendered her unable to carry out a scheme this convoluted.

But apparently that meant nothing, because Cat had somehow managed to be the mastermind behind this whole ordeal, perfectly orchestrating the entire thing from her cell in solitary confinement – using Lindsey Vaugh as her metaphorical puppet on a string. We’d sorely underestimated Cat, and our arrogance had come back to bite us all in the ass.

A guard that stands at the end of the hall opens the door for us, and I feel an intense rush of foreboding as we step into the room. The sound of the guard closing the door behind us brings a sense of finality to the situation; there is no turning back now. Either we walk out of here knowing Diana’s whereabouts, or we miss the mark completely and loose Diana in the process.

I cast a worried look at Spencer, whose eyes are trained on the double-sided glass. The tension has returned to his shoulders, and his fists are clenched tightly at his sides. There’s a sort of fiery determination in his eyes – a sort of menacing resolve that I’d never seen in him before.

Spencer looks intimidating, and nothing like the Spencer that was led from the courtroom three months ago. I pull my eyes away in favor of looking through the glass.

Reid had been able to see through Cat’s mind games the first time, but the Cat that sat on the other side of that door is a far cry from the one he encountered a year ago. If she’d looked cold and calculating before, she looks downright deranged now.

“Are you sure you want to go in there alone?” I ask after a moment. “I could-”

“No,” Spencer cuts me off. His tone is hard and definite, warning me not to argue. “I can’t ask you to do that. Emily shouldn’t have made you come in the first place.”

“Emily told me to come with you because she knew that there was nothing she could do to make me stay.” I pause long enough to shoot him a weak smile. “Hope you enjoyed your three-month break from me, because I’m going to practically glued to your side from now on. You’ll be dying to get rid of me in a month’s time.”

Spencer’s lips twitch, threatening to turn up into a smile.

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“We’ll see,” I breeze. “But I’m serious, Spence. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here the whole time – I’m not letting you go in there alone, and I’m not going to leave you.”

“Promise?” Spencer asks, finally pulling his eyes away from the window in favor of looking at me. There’s a sadness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, and the weight of his gaze is so heavy that I worry I might buckle under it.

I reach for his hand and hook my pinky finger around his, lifting our intertwined hands to eye level.

“I promise.”

Spencer’s pinky finger squeezes mine and he closes his eyes.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve the world, Spence.”

For a moment I think he’s going to say something else, but then Spencer’s lips press into a tight line and he only nods in response. He releases my hand and I let it fall limply at my side. Spencer rolls his shoulders back, and that stony expression returns to his face. He reaches out and pulls open the door, and I follow closely behind him at he steps over the threshold.

It’s as if I’m invisible; Cat doesn’t even spare me a glance when I enter the room. Her eyes, narrowed and sparkling with amusement, hone in on Spencer immediately.

“Spencie,” she greets, smiling deviously up at him.

“Where’s my mother?” Spencer asks, completely devoid of emotion.

“I missed you.”

“What did you and Lindsey do to her? How did you-”

Cat raises a hand, effectively cutting him off. She points a finger at him, and the smile that she previously wore is replaced by a grimace.

“Now, stop. You don’t get to walk in here and hiss at me like I’m the criminal. No – we’re going to do this my way.” Cat kicks the chair that sits on the opposite side of the table and Spencer reaches out to grab it. “Have a seat.”

Spencer complies and Cat’s smile returns.

“How was prison? Did you like it?”

“No.”

Cat hums.

“It’s not fun, is it?”

“Unlike you, I didn’t deserve to be there,” Spencer retorts.

Cat leans forward, crossing her arms before resting them on the metal table.

“How did you stay sane? A brain like yours needs stimulation in such a gray place.”

“I worked in the laundry room and I played chess.”

“That’s three, maybe four hours, tops. What about the other twenty?”

“I read.”

Cat shakes her head. “That’s still not enough. You have to… go someplace.” She taps the side of her head. “Up here. Or else you go crazy. Do you want to see where I go? I’ll show you.” Cat crooks a finger at Spencer, and I tense at the gesture. The idea of that psychotic bitch getting any closer to him makes my skin crawl. I clench my fists together and the feeling of my nails digging into my palms is enough to ground me.

Spencer leans forward, mimicking Cat’s relaxed position. She reaches a hand out towards him, and before I can think better of it, I speak up.

“Hands off,” I warn.

Cat halts her movements and fixes me with an irritated expression, looking me up and down distastefully before turning her attention back to Spencer.

“Close your eyes,” she instructs him. Spencer complies. “Good. Now keep them closed. Sit back and relax. When you open your eyes, I want you to look at me like I’m the first woman you’ve seen after being in prison for three months.”

I clench my jaw at that. Something stirs in my chest – something foreign and possessive that has me bristling. I tense, watching closely as Spencer opens his eyes and smiles that beautiful smile at Cat. My stomach turns painfully at the sight.

“Hello, Cat,” Spencer greets her, and all the contempt his tone previously held is gone – replaced with a neutrality that bordered on happiness.

Cat lets out a pleased laugh.

“You’re here!” she exclaims, throwing her arms out as she gestures about the room. “You’re really here.”

“There is nowhere else I would rather be,” Spencer replies, sounding startlingly genuine.

This is all an act, I remind myself. Spencer’s just playing a part. None of this is real.

Cat crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at him.

“You’re good at this. You’re so good at this that I almost believe that you don’t want to kill me.”

“I don’t want to kill you,” Spencer says with a shake of his head.

“No?”

“No.”

Cat narrows her eyes at him.

“What if I let your mother die?” she inquires. “Then would you kill me? Or would you just…” Cat trails of as she leans forward. “… Hurt me? Would you pin me down and leave bruises that don’t go away?”

I swallow hard against the bile that threatens to crawl its way up my throat. Spencer might not want to kill her, but I do.

“Is that what you want?”

Cat shrugs her shoulders.

“I guess I just want to know if you would – if you could.”

Spencer gives a small shake of his head.

“No.”

“No?” Cat taunts, cocking her head to the side.

“It’s not the kind of man I am.”

Cat’s face drops and her eyes narrow into slits.

“Do me a favor and tell your little chaperone over there to step aside, because we’re going to play another game. And this time, we’re going to find out exactly what kind of man you are.”

Spencer’s eyes flit to me and he nods towards the door. I open my mouth to argue, but the pleading look in his eyes has me clamping it shut. It’s okay, his eyes seem to tell me. I know you promised, but I’ll be fine.

Cat waves at me as I reluctantly move towards the door. When the door clicks shut behind me, Spencer takes it as his invitation to continue.

“Let’s play,” his voice sounds through the speaker to my left.

“Let’s!” Cat exclaims before resting her head in her hand.

“So, is it the same game as last time?” Spencer inquires. “I answer every question you ask honestly?”

“No,” Cat sighs out. “This time you get to ask the questions.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow at her. “About what?”

“Well, I know a secret about you. And you can ask me as many questions as you like to figure it out. But you only get one guess as to what it is. If you guess correctly, I take your phone, I call our friend Lindsey, and I tell her to release your dear mother unharmed. If you don’t…” Cat trails off, before mimicking bringing a gun up to her mouth and firing.

Crazy fucking bitch.

“Is there a clock?”

“There’s always a clock.” Cat holds out her hand, eyes flicking down to Spencer’s watch. “Give it to me.”

I cringe when Spencer hesitates – I know what he must be thinking. That’s Gideon’s watch. The only thing he has left of him. I’d never seen Spencer without it in the two years I’ve known him.

Spencer reluctantly slips the watch off of his wrist and hands it over.

Cat smirks and slides the watch onto her arm.

“Now, you’ll have four hours.”

“Do you want to give me a hint before we start?”

Cat chuckles. “Do I look like a girl that gives hints?” “Actually, you do.”

Cat takes pause, looking Spencer up and down before speaking.

“Okay, how about this; it’s a secret you’ll never admit to.”

“I know what the secret is.”

Cat quirks an eyebrow up at Spencer.

“You do?”

He nods. “Why else would you put me through all this?”

“Ooh, phrasing it in the form of a question that way it doesn’t count as a guess. Very smart, Doctor.”

“I’m gonna walk you through a scenario, and your face is going to tell me how close I am,” Spencer murmurs, an amused smile on his lips. He leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. “From the moment I arrested you, you watched and waited for the right time to take your revenge. When you learned I was going to Mexico, you took it. You and Lindsey framed me for murder so I’d be put in a prison and treated like a criminal, and then you kidnapped my mother so I would know how it feels to have a parent manipulated, because you want to prove that you and I are the same. Am I right?”

Cat feigns a yawn in response.

“Mm. Sorry, I couldn’t hold that in any longer. What were you saying?”

“Psychopaths tend to get bored easily.”

“You’re right. Let’s speed this up,” Cat sighs with a roll of her eyes. She pushes away from the table, standing up and walking over to Spencer’s side of the table. I fight the urge to barge in when I see her take a seat on his lap. Cat runs a hand down Spencer’s chest before she continues. “Shall we? What do you think about all the pain you’ve suffered in your life? What would I capitalize on, do you think? Is it… the death of your mentor, SSA Jason Gideon?”

I can see the way Spencer’s jaw clenches and it makes my heart lurch painfully in my chest.

“No, because we caught the man who killed him.”

“What about Agent Morgan and your guilt over not visiting his little boy?” Cat whispers in his ear as her hands fiddle with the collar of his suit.

“I was in prison.”

“Yeah, but you had time before that. Why didn’t you go?” she presses as she grazes her nails down the length of his throat. I see red when her hand loosely circles around his neck. Spencer absolutely loathes being touched by anyone other than those closest to him, and I’ve no doubt that he’s horribly uncomfortable.

“Truthfully, I got distracted. I was trying to figure out a way to help my mom. She didn’t have time. Morgan, Savannah, and little Bobby did. So, there’s absolutely no shame in admitting that. Morgan would understand.”

“I agree. That’s why that’s not the secret,” Cat divulges, brushing her nose against the side of his face before pulling away and standing up. I let out the breath that I’d apparently been holding and allow myself a moment to run a shaky hand through my hair. If I was getting this frazzled from being a bystander to this conversation, I can only imagine how Spencer must be feeling.

When I look back up at the mirror, Spencer’s looking over his shoulder at me through the glass. I know he can’t see me, but I can’t help but feel guilty for losing my cool.

“Good job, Spence,” I murmur to myself as I pull out my phone. After a few rings, Rossie answers.

“Go ahead, Y/N. You’re on speaker.”

“Cat has an extremely deep background on Spencer. She knows about everything – Gideon’s death, Derek leaving the team, his mom’s condition,” I inform them, tapping my foot nervously against the concrete.

“She’s throwing him off-balance.”

“Yes, but Spencer also purposefully gave the wrong name of Derek’s son and she didn’t correct him,” I point out.

“She must’ve gotten her hands on Reid’s confidential FBI file,” Emily chimes in. “It would mention pertinent team information but it wouldn’t name Morgan’s son for confidentiality reasons.”

“We were thinking she’s been getting help from someone inside the prison. This goes deeper than that,” Rossi sighs.

“Call us if she says anything else of any importance,” Emily signs off. I mumble a quick goodbye before pocketing my phone and turning my attention back to the window.

“Working deductively, the secret wouldn’t be any of the topics you’ve already volunteered, because you wouldn’t want to make it easy on me,” Spencer reasons. He clasps his hands together and sits back in his seat before raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“Genius, truly,” Cat taunts sarcastically as she twirls the watch around her finger.

“So, what is left that I wouldn’t want to admit?” Spencer muses, eyebrows drawn together in contemplation. Cat shrugs her shoulders at him and another moment of tense silence passes.

“Love,” Spencer utters, and Cat’s incessant twirling of the watch comes to an abrupt halt.

Got her.

“Is that what this is all about – love? For my mother?” Spencer whispers, and when Cat fails to respond, he shakes his head. “No, not for her. For you. You want me to admit that I’m actually in love with you.”

Cat purses her lips together.

“Don’t get me wrong – I love my fairy tales as much as the next girl – but I’m not delusional,” Cat says as she crosses her arms.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Very sure. So sure, in fact, that I had Lindsey leave a clue for you in that little scrapbook in your apartment.”

I scrunch my face up at that. The clue in question had been a message inscribed on the back of an old photograph;xx-xy. We’d originally deduced that the message, the female and male chromosomes, was to confirm that Lindsey was working with Scratch. But now? Now I didn’t have a clue what Cat was talking about.

“I couldn’t have you come all the way down here and make a guess until I was positive. That is…” Cat pauses for dramatic effect, a sly smile on her lips. “… until I tested positive.” Cat punctuates her words by placing both hands on her stomach, and the action makes me raise a hand up to my mouth in shock.

No. There’s no fucking way.

“What, you’re pregnant?” Spencer asks, confused.

“No, we’re pregnant.”

I feel my knees buckle upon hearing the admission and I blindly reach for the chair to my left.

This cannot be happening.

“No,” Spencer says, shaking his head adamantly.

“Oh, yes,” Cat replies. “Mazel tov.”

“Here you are, ma’am.”

I reach for the file, my movements stilted and awkward.

“Thank you,” I mumble to the guard, who gives me a peculiar look before leaving the room. I waste no time in flipping through the file, heart pounding wildly in my chest as my eyes skim over the page until –

Positive.

I slam the file down on the table.

“Fuck!” I yell out in frustration. I’m thankful then for the thick, concrete walls, because neither Spencer nor Cat show any sign of having heard my little outburst. I place both palms down on the cool metal of the table, my breaths coming out in haggard puffs as I try to rationalize it all.

“- not possible,” Spencer’s voice coming through the speaker snaps me out of my thoughts. I cut my eyes to the window to find Spencer pacing the room. “Even if you are pregnant, the baby’s not mine.” Spencer comes to a stop behind his chair and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Except for the part where it is.”

“That’s completely preposterous. You’ve been in prison,” Spencer points out as he once again takes a seat across from her.

“So have you.”

“And we’ve never-”

“I know. We’ve never…” Cat trails off with a suggestive waggle of her brows. “Ask me how I did it. Come on, ask me.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, but he indulges her nonetheless.

“How did you do it?”

“I had Lindsey dose you in Mexico. You lost time. And I gave her very specific instruction on how to get you in the mood,” Cat admits.

“What?” Spencer snorts cynically. “Did she pretend to be you?”

“Why, would that have worked?”

Spencer leans forward and shoots Cat a cruel kind of smile.

“No.”

For a split second Cat’s face falls, but only for a moment and then she goes right back to smiling that wretched grin.

“Yeah, I know, I know. Believe me, I know exactly where I stand on the Spencer Reid hot or not list,” Cat sighs. “So, ask me again.”

“How did you do it?”

“I told her to pretend to be Y/N.”

For a second I think that I misheard her – the blood rushing in my ears almost overpowered her admission – but the way Spencer’s entire body tenses before he looks back at the window tells me that I didn’t.

Why me?

Spencer gulps hard before he turns back around. I find my way to the chair nearest me and collapse into it.

“How do you know about her?”

Cat gives him an unimpressed look.

“It wasn’t hard, seeing as she’s your very best friend in the whole wide world,” Cat teases as her eyes wander from Spencer to the glass behind him. She waves at me, endlessly amused, before turning her attention back to Spencer. “But that isn’t all that she is to you – is it Spencie? At least, Lindsey didn’t think so. At first, she thought the two of you were tangled up in some kind of sexy little tryst. But then I had Lindsey do a little digging, and, well, that’s when we found out about the boyfriend.”

“Stop.”

“Oh, it seems I’ve struck a nerve!” Cat trills gleefully. “Shall we call her in here to join us? I know she’s just on the other side of that glass. I’m sure she’d love to hear all about how pathetic little Spencer Reid pines after her like a school boy with a crush.” She pouts her bottom lip out in mock sadness. “There’s just something about unrequited love that really tugs at my heart strings.”

Oh.

For the second time since arriving here, my hand comes up to cover my mouth as I struggle to process Cat’s words. She can’t be right, can she? Spencer had never done anything that eluded to him seeing me as any more than a best friend. Perhaps she got it wrong. Lindsey saw me come and go and she just assumed it was something that it wasn’t. There was no way that Spencer -

“I said stop.”

The underlying plea in his voice is enough to make tears well in my eyes. If what Cat is saying is true, that means that Lindsey . . .

“All it took was Lindsey saying she was Y/N for you to crumble like a house of cards. You really made it too easy.”

“You’re lying.”

Cat chuckles. “Listen to you, you’re not even trying to deny it.”

“It didn’t happen,” Spencer argues, voice so quiet that I have to strain to hear it.

“Hey, I was thinking, if it’s a boy, we should definitely call him Spencie Jr.”

Spencer pushes back from the table so abruptly that both Cat and I flinch, and he’s almost out the door when Cat delivers one final dig.

“-But if it’s a girl, I think we should call her Y/N. I mean after all; she played such a huge role in in her own conception!”

The sound of the door slamming behind him as he trudges into the room is enough to make me bolt up from my seat. Spencer comes to a stop at the center of the room, eyes wide and full of remorse as he looks over at me.

“I-I… I’m…”

I try my best to muster up a smile but I worry that it comes out more as a grimace.

“Later,” I murmur, and Spencer winces before nodding his head in defeat. I walk over to the table and open up the file. “She’s not lying about being pregnant.”

Spencer joins me at the table, eyes skimming over the document.

“She’s three months, and the timeline matches, but that doesn’t mean-”

Spencer yanks the file off the table and hurls it at the window, shoulders rising and falling rapidly as he runs a hand through his disheveled hair.

I take a step back and Spencer curses under his breath.

“I’m sorry. It’s not you,” he sighs. “I just… need a minute.”

I press my lips together and nod.

“Take all the time you need. M’gonna go call Emily,” I murmur.

Spencer closes his eyes and lets his head hang low.

“Yeah, okay,” he whispers dejectedly, and the despair in his voice is enough to stop me in my tracks.

“Spence?” I call out. He looks up at me from underneath his lashes, more than a little bit timid and scared. “I’ll be right back, okay? I’m not leaving you.”

I open the door and step out of the room, but it doesn’t close before I hear the quiet ‘thank you’ drift from within.

Spencer waits until the door clicks shut behind her to push away from the table and head back into the interrogation room. He couldn’t bear the thought of her overhearing any more than she already had. As far as Spencer was concerned, Cat had just singlehandedly ruined the one good thing he had going for him, and at this point, he had nothing left to lose.

“Let’s pretend you’re telling the truth,” Spencer starts. “That means I guessed it, right? The secret, the one I don’t want to admit to? It’s my child?”

Cat looks up at him with bored eyes and Spencer feels his unease begin to give way to rage.

“Is that your guess?” Cat asks. “You only get one, remember?”

Spencer takes pause, before shaking his head.

“No. It’s too easy,” he decides.

“Believe me, getting pregnant with your baby was not easy,” Cat mutters, and Spencer’s lips press into a tight line. The implication of it is enough to make his skin crawl. He feels violated and absolutely disgusted, but still he tries to school his impression into one of indifference. Spencer thinks about his mom, scared and confused, and that’s enough incentive to make him focus on the task at hand.

“You misunderstand. It’s too easy emotionally,” Spencer explains in a clipped tone as he sits down. “Because I can take your child from you. The child I had absolutely no role in creating, but a child that I would care for better than you.”

“That’s rude,” Cat seethes as she slowly lifts her head from off of the table.

“It’s true. You can’t be a mother, Cat. I’m not trying to insult you – it’s your psychological makeup. You literally do not have the emotional skills to care for another human being. You’d lose interest in your own baby the way a six-year-old loses interest in a pet hamster. This baby is simply a means to an end, which is to keep me here and playing your game, guessing like a fool and assuming something that I never should have assumed in the first place.”

“And what would that be?”

“My mother’s already dead,” Spencer says, and the words taste positively foul in his mouth. “She was dead before I walked in here”

Cat’s lips pull into a frown.

“She’s not dead-”

“Yes, she is,” Spencer reiterates as he rises from his chair.

“No, because that would be cheating and I don’t cheat. You cheat!” Cat panics, voice growing louder the closer Spencer gets to the door.

“I’m done playing,” Spencer says as he turns away, reaching for the door knob.

“Get back here!”

Spencer pulls the door open. “Goodbye, Cat.”

He has one foot out the door when;

“I’ll let you talk to her!” Cat yells out as she slams her fist down on the table.

Spencer lifts his eyes up from their spot on the floor, and it’s with a jolt of surprise that his eyes meet Y/N’s. It feels to him like it always does when he sees her – like some great relief that floods through his entire body in an instant. He feels guilty for it, now that she knows, but that doesn’t stop him from basking in it. The feeling grows when a triumphant smile graces her lips, one that says you’ve got her, Spence. You’ve got her right where you want her.

Spencer is positively rejuvenated by that smile.

He reluctantly pulls his gaze away from her and focuses back on Cat. He’s come too far now to fuck it all up.

Spencer pulls his phone from the depths of his suit pocket and hands it to Cat. He watches on as she dials the number, and his heart beats so fast that he wonders if she can hear it. The sound of the dial tone ringing fills the room, and Spencer can only hope that the call will be long enough for Penelope to trace.

“You’re early,” a voice that’s unmistakably Lindsey’s calls out. Spencer lets out a shaky breath of relief.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Did he guess?”

“No, not yet,” Cat sighs. “We need proof of life.”

“All right, hold on,” Lindsey says, exasperated, and her words are followed by several seconds of muffled rustling and what Spencer deems as some sort of liquid being poured.

“Spencer!”

His heart practically bursts out of his chest as he lunges forward, yanking the phone out of Cat’s hand and bringing it up to his ear.

“Mom - mom, are you okay?”

“I don’t… know-”

Spencer opens his mouth to reply when the gut-wrenching sound of an explosion rips through the tiny phone speakers, distorted and so loud that it makes Spencer’s ears ring.

“Mom!” Spencer desperately yells into the phone, but all he gets in reply is a ‘gotta go’ from Lindsey before the line goes dead. Spencer growls out a string of swears, throwing his phone down on the table before leaning over the table.

“What the hell was that?” he yells, and he’s vaguely aware of the sound of the door opening, but he can’t focus on anything other than his own rising panic.

“I don’t know,” Cat replies, opening her mouth to continue but Spencer cuts her off.

“Lindsey said you were early. Was that a signal?” he bellows.

“Spence, come on,” Y/N tries to interject. Spencer feels her hand on his shoulder but he shrugs it off before bringing his fist down on the table.

“Was that a prearranged signal to kill my mother?!” Spencer snarls, eyes wide and teeth barred. He feels positively feral, images of his mother in all sorts of terrible states of distress flashing through his mind like some grotesque picture show. “Tell me the truth!”

“No! I am!” Cat shouts back.

“Tell me the truth!”

“I am!” Cat spits out, eyes flashing angrily. “You wanna know the truth? Your mother is an Alzheimer’s-ridden moron who’s getting dumber by the day and if she’s dead, it’s your fault!”

Something comes over Spencer then, and in an instant, he’s shoving the table out of the way and pushing Cat against the wall. His hands find purchase on her throat, not dissimilar to how hers had on his hours before, but instead of dragging his fingers against her neck, Spencer’s clamping down on it as hard as he can, taking great pleasure in the way she gasps for air as his hands tighten. Everything around him fades away until all that he can focus on is that way that her pulse feels under his hands – the way it starts off strong, before tapering, slower and slower until he can barely even palpate it anymore.

“I’m going to kill you,” Spencer hears himself whisper as he presses down hard on her windpipe. “M’gonna fucking kill you.”

Cat’s eyes are fluttering closed now, and Spencer shouldn’t enjoy the way the light in her eyes starts to dim. He shouldn’t but he does – in fact, it prompts him to press harder and harder and –

A harsh yank pulls Spencer away from Cat, and as soon as his hands begin to loosen Cat splutters in an attempt to catch her breath.

“Spencer, she is pregnant,” Y/N yells in his ear, and just like that his tunnel vison fades away and Spencer feels the adrenaline leave his body. He only realizes that his hands are still on Cat’s throat when Y/N yanks at his arms again. “Fucking let her go, Spencer!”

His entire body goes limp and he allows himself to be drug away from Cat and out of the room. Spencer’s heart still pounds and his blood is still roaring in his ears, but the satisfaction has given away to shame. He steals a glance at cat as he’s being pulled from the room, and despite her ruffled appearance, she’s grinning at him – smiling as if to say see? I told you that you were just like me.

Spencer stumbles into the other room, steadying himself on the wall to keep from faceplanting onto the cold hard floor. Now that the adrenaline has expelled itself from his body, he’s left shaky and panting and ashamed.

The feeling of Y/N’s eyes on him as he braces himself on the wall only exacerbates his mortification. What will she think of me now? Will she think me to be some kind of monster? Spencer wouldn’t blame her - he’s held that same opinion of himself for months now.

Spencer stands there, face turned downwards as he catches his breath, and when he can take the weight of her gaze no longer, he darts out of the room and down the corridor.

Being alone is preferable to being a disappointment, Spencer thinks as he flees the room.

It doesn’t take long for her to find him sitting in the floor, knees to his chest with his face downturned. Spencer hears her before he sees her, and he prepares himself for the yelling that’s surely to come.

She surprises him when she slides her back down the wall until she’s sitting beside him, legs sprawled out in front of her. He doesn’t look up – fearful of what he might see when he looks into those beautiful eyes of hers. There had been love there, before all of this happened. Not the kind of love that was reflected in his own, but it was love just the same and Spencer thinks that it might kill him to see that love replaced with disgust. So he doesn’t look. Instead, Spencer just sits there, slumped over and pathetic, hoping that she doesn’t pick up on the fact that his hands are shaking.

“Richmond County police just reported a gas station explosion. One victim – male. Whatever Lindsey did, we have to assume that your mom’s still alive,” Y/N murmurs. Spencer lets out a shaky breath and his grip on his knees tightens. It’s good news, and he’s grateful, but it does nothing for the overwhelming guilt that’s eating away at him.

“Hey,” she whispers when he doesn’t reply. “Can you look at me, Spence? Wanna see those pretty brown eyes. Please?”

Spencer chokes down the sob that threatens to come out. He shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened in there. That… That’s not me. At least, I don’t want it to be,” Spencer whispers. “Emily should’ve sent someone else with me. I never wanted you to see me like that.”

Her small, incredibly soft hand comes to rest on his own and Spencer closes his eyes at the feeling. Y/N flips his hand over and intertwines their fingers and Spencer can’t help but think that’s she’s showing him way more kindness than he could ever deserve. But he’s selfish, unable to deny himself of the feeling of her hand in his, so he clings onto her hand for dear life.

“I’m so scared that this is who I am now,” Spencer mumbles, prompting her grip on his hand to tighten.

“No, Spence. Don’t say that,” she chastises him. “You’re the best guy I know. Everyone has a breaking point – Cat just knows how to bring you to yours, is all.”

“You… You don’t know…” Spencer trails off, still unwilling to look her in the eye.

“I do know, Spence. I may not have been able to visit, but I asked about you every day,” she says as she shuffles closer to him. Spencer can smell her perfume now, subtle and sweet and comforting. “I know that two inmates, Frazier and Duerson, killed your friend in front of you. I know that they wanted you to move heroin for them, and I also know that if you didn’t, you would’ve been next. Anyone in your spot would’ve done the same.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

“Hell yes, I would have,” Y/N persists, and Spencer can’t help but to look up at her from behind where his unruly curls fall into his face. “I would have, Spence. If someone was threatening my life, you bet your ass I would have done the same thing. It doesn’t make you a bad person – doing whatever it takes to survive does not make you a bad person.”

She must pick up on the hesitancy that lingers in Spencer’s eyes, because she decides to continue.

“You know who does think like that? That – that in you doing what you had to do in order to survive somehow makes you a psychopath?” Y/N pauses long enough to point her thumb towards the direction of the interview room. “She does.”

Spencer watches the realization wash over her face, and for a split second he’s terribly confused. It isn’t until a ghost of a smile pulls at her lips that he catches on, and when he does, he has to stop himself from doing something terribly stupid like kissing her.

“She does,” Y/N reiterates when she sees that Spencer finally caught on. “Because she knows.”

“That’s the secret,” Spencer thinks aloud. He pushes himself to his feet and begins to pace down the corridor. “The one that I don’t want to admit about myself.”

“Hold up, Spence. Let’s talk through this, because she will not lose to you twice. She already said that this wasn’t about the two of you being the same.”

Spencer scratches the back of his next, nodding to himself.

“Then she’s all about the game. She thinks that I cheated the last time because I lied about her dad, so it’s integral that she beats me by following the rules.”

“But, Spence, she’s the one that makes the rules. She can change them to ensure that she wins.”

“-Which means that I’m locked in-”

“Like she is.”

“She needs me locked in, playing by her rules, a game I can’t win, so she-” Spencer pauses then, and an actual, honest to God smile creeps its way across his face – the kind of smile that was only reserved for Y/N. “I got it.”

Spencer doesn’t elaborate, because he doesn’t need to. He can tell with one look that she understands, because somehow, she always does. Spencer offers her a hand and hoists her to her feet.

Spencer almost laughs as the two of them step back into the room. Of course, she would be the one to figure it out. It seems like she’s always saving him, these days.

“Guess that’s one way to get you to put your hands on me.”

Spencer feels a twinge of guilt, but he pushes it to the back of his mind as he holds a hand out to Cat.

“Dance with me.”

Cat lifts an eyebrow at him.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want the people watching to hear what I’m about to say.”

Cat is still suspicious, but she takes his hand and lets him pull her to her feet anyways. Spencer puts his arms around her and the two of them begin to sway back and forth. Spencer suppresses the urge to pull away when her hand lowers and intertwines with his own. It’s rough and calloused and cold – a direct contradiction of Y/N’s – and Spencer positively loathes it.

“You had eyes on me while I was in prison, didn’t you?”

“Spencie, don’t ruin the moment,” Cat groans.

“I don’t want to, but I’m on the clock. Answer my question, am I right?” Cat places her head on Spencer’s chest, her hair smelling of some generic bar of soap, and Spencer wishes more than anything that he was smelling the familiar notes of honeysuckle and vanilla instead.

“Yes, you’re right. I wanted to make sure things were just as uncomfortable for you as they were for me.”

“That’s how you timed everything so perfectly. Like sending my mom and Lindsey to visit me when I thought I was at my lowest.”

This piques Cat’s interest and she lifts her head up until her eyes meet Spencer’s.

“Thought? You’re sure you weren’t?”

“No, I wasn’t. Because I didn’t feel bad – I felt scared at how much I enjoyed poisoning the other prisoners. I had a hundred ways of getting myself out of that situation, and I picked the one that would cause them the most pain.”

“Well, look at that,” Cat hums. “You might end up saving your mother’s life after all.”

A moment of silence passes as Spencer contemplates his next move. Before he can get the words out, Cat breaks the silence.

“They won’t get there in time. They must be on their way, right? Your team is too good to wait around, but you know me. I always have a contingency plan,” Cat murmurs, hands dipping under Reid’s suit jacket. She rubs her palms across his chest in slow circles and Spencer tries hard not to squirm. “They’re walking into a trap, and the only way out is if you give me your phone and you guess – right now.”

Cat removes her hands from Spencer’s chest, crossing her arms and fixing him with a pointed look. Spencer reaches down and pulls the phone from his pocket, passing it to Cat who wastes no time in taking a seat at the table once more.

Spencer’s skin tingles, half from anticipation, half from fear. They’ve come too far for him to misstep. He thinks of his mother – of how the next two minutes will determine her fate, and Spencer clenches his hands into fists at his sides.

Here comes the moment of truth.

“When we first sat down, you said you were going to show me what kind of man I am. And you have.”

“Every time I dial a number, you’re getting warmer.”

“At first, I was furious, because the secret had to be the baby inside you. How could it be anything else? But then I realized that somehow, you knew I liked hurting those men.” Cat dials another number, prompting Spencer to continue. “Now, I know it’s both things.”

“So, which is it, Spencie? Come on, don’t fumble it now. You’re at the one-yard line.”

“You’re not pregnant with my child. You got pregnant with Wilkins to put me in as compromised a position as possible. But it should be mine – I wish it were mine. Because you and I… we deserve each other. That is the real secret.”

By the time Spencer finishes speaking, tears are steady falling down Cat’s cheeks. With a shaky hand she presses the call button, and Spencer watches on with bated breath as the phone rings.

“Kill her.”

When Cat receives no reply, she pushes out of her seat and begins to pace around the room. “Lindsey, I said kill her.”

“You bitch,” Lindsey curses, sounding positively heartbroken in the way only a jilted loved could. “You’re pregnant?”

“Lindsey, sweetheart, it’s complicated, okay?”

“No, it’s not,” Lindsey whispers, and then the sound of the dial tone is all that’s left.

Not a second later, Y/N bursts through the door; the figurative light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

“We’re clear.”

Spencer snatches his phone from Cat’s hand before turning to face Y/N.

“Is my mom okay?”

“Yeah. She’s fine.”

“We do deserve each other, by the way,” Cat calls out, prompting Spencer to pivot and face her. She slides back into the seat and shrugs her shoulders. “You guessed right.”

Spencer falters for a moment, but then a voice in his head is reminding him that he deserves the world. And that voice sounds a lot like Y/N.

“You lied, by the way. You were going to kill my mother regardless.”

“Yeah, I think you really liked hurting those men. Once you cross that line, you can’t ever go back. And you’ll never get her to love you, either. You and I are too fucked up to be loved.”

Spencer takes two steps forward before he bends down, reaching out and clutching Cat’s forearm in a tight grip. Without breaking eye contact, he slides his watch off her wrist and back on to his own.

“Watch me,” Spencer whispers, and without so much as a parting glance at the broken women sitting at the table, Spencer walks towards the light.

The elevator ride up to the bullpen is a quiet one, not unlike the jet ride before it. I had about a million questions that I was dying to ask, but I thought it best to let Spencer stew in silence. The poor guy had been through enough in the last twenty-four hours – he didn’t need me hounding him on top of all of that. Besides, I wasn’t entirely sure where to start in the first place.

So, Spence – how was prison?

I heard you got the shit kicked out of you. How interesting, so did I! Wanna trade war stories?

I hate to put you on the spot like this, but was that little tidbit about you being hopelessly in love with me true? Just curious.

As wonderful as all of those conversation starters were, I didn’t really think that now was the time to breech any of the aforementioned subjects. So, instead, Spencer and I communicated in stolen glances and shy smiles, and that more than sufficed for the time being. We had all the time in the world to talk later - there was no need to rush.

I can practically feel Spencer shaking with anticipation when the elevator ride comes to a close, and the two of us share one last, longing glance before the doors open and Spencer steps out and into the arms of his mother.

There’s not a dry eye in the house when Spencer and his mother reunite, and it takes Emily ushering us all away to keep us all from devolving into sniveling messes right in front of the elevator. We all scatter about the bullpen, and after a quick trip to the bathroom I meander to Emily’s office.

“Derek Morgan – you are a sight for sore eyes,” I whistle as I walk into the room, not stopping until I’m pressed up against two-hundred pounds of rock-hard abs.

“Ah, little bit. I sure have missed you,” Derek laughs as he presses a kiss to the top of my head.

“To what do we owe the pleasure? I’d be hard pressed to believe that you just decided to drop in at three o’clock in the morning.”

Derek lets out a sigh and the smile drops from his face.

“I wish I was just here to say hello, but we may have bigger problems. I got a text from Penelope saying that Reid was out of prison and that he wanted to see me. And that he was staying in an FBI safehouse where he was putting his mother up for the night.”

I cast a glance at Emily, who shakes her head.

“I didn’t approve of that,” she explains, and just like that, a weary feeling settles over everyone in the room.

“I think we all know what this sounds like,” Derek says.

“A trap.”

“I know we’re all tired, but we may have a new lead on Scratch.”

“Somebody did a bang-up job of cloning my cellphone to send Morgan a text luring him to a nonexistent safehouse. And whoever that somebody is has mad skills,” Penelope explains.

“The kind of skills Scratch has,” Stephen mutters, earning a round of murmured agreeances.

“Were you able to trace where the hack came from?” Luke inquires, earning an affronted glare from Penelope. She shakes her head at him before turning to Derek, who’s watching on with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Do you see what I have to put up with?”

Derek chuckles and gives Luke a pointed look.

“Alvez, you’ll always get a location with this one.” Derek reaches forward and rubs Penelope’s shoulder, and it’s impossible to miss the way Luke’s eyes zero in on it.

“Down boy,” I whisper at him. “Green isn’t your color.”

“Shut up.”

I roll my eyes good-naturedly before turning my attention back to Emily.

“Obviously, Morgan can’t come with us. He’s a civilian now.”

“We’ll miss you out there,” JJ chimes in.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it out there in the field with you guys. I think about it every day. But between my old friends and my new friends, you guys are gonna go out there, you’re gonna handle your business, you’re gonna make people feel safe, and then you’re gonna go home. And that’s all that matters.”

“Civilian life has turned you into a sap,” I tease.

“Is it just me, or has this one gotten mouthier since I left?”

Penelope pats him on the arm.

“Someone had to fill the silence.”

After everyone has the opportunity to tell Derek their goodbyes, it’s a mad dash to get everything we need to roll out. I pull my hair into a ponytail and shuck off my blazer, only to replace it with my Kevlar. I’m in the middle of securing the last strap as I hurry down the hall when I come in harsh contact with the front of someone’s chest.

But it’s not just someone – it’s Spencer.

“I thought you left already?”

Spencer lets out a strained chuckle.

“Uh, yeah. I was on the way out when Penelope texted and said Derek was here. Mom’s sitting with Anderson while I go talk to him.”

I nod in understanding.

“Good ole Anderson,” I manage to say, trying hard not to cringe at my awkward choice of words.

“Yeah,” Spencer mutters, shuffling his feet as he looks anywhere other than my face. “There’s a case, I’m assuming?” he says, gesturing to my vest.

“We think we have a lead on Scratch, actually.”

Now, that gets Spencer’s attention. His eyes finally settle on me, and his brows furrow.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me? I need to go with you-” Spencer makes a move to brush past me, put I stop him with a hand on his chest.

“Back it up, Spence. There’s absolutely no way Prentiss will sign off on that, and even if she did, I’m still saying no.”

“And I’m supposed to listen to you?” Spencer tries to keep his face neutral, but his lips twitch as he fights back a smile.

“Mm. What I say goes, and I say that you need to go home and not even think about work for at least a month. You certainly could use the break.”

“A whole month, huh?”

I nod, looking up at him with a faux serious expression.

“I better not see you around here for at least that long, or there will be repercussions.”

Spencer finally does smile at that, and I can practically see the way he’s mulling over his next move in his head.

“Does… Does that prohibition extend only to the work place?”

I tilt my head to the side.

“I’m lost.”

Spencer scrunches his nose up and his eyes dart across the hall before eventually settling back on me.

“It’s just that, well, I don’t really know where this leaves us. Will I still see you outside of work, or is that all messed up now?”

“Why would that be messed up?”

Spencer closes his eyes and he lets out a haggard breath.

“Are you really gonna make me say it?”

Even though he can’t see me, I smile up at him anyways.

“On any other day I absolutely would, but things are a little… hectic right now. How about we put a pin in this conversation until things slow down a bit?”

Spencer slowly opens his eyes and they roam over my face, searching.

“You’re not uncomfortable? Considering everything that, uh, she said about me? Especially the part that pertained to you?” Spencer asks, meek and unsure.

I shake my head.

“I think you’ll find that I am very much the opposite of uncomfortable,” I reply. We stand there for a moment longer, just basking in the fact that after three long, miserable months, we’re finally together again.

Spencer opens his mouth to say something, only to be cut off by Emily calling my name from further down the hall.

“Duty calls,” I chuckle, pulling away from Spencer. “Tell you mom I said hi, and I’ll be by to visit once you have time to get settled in,” I call over my shoulder.

I make it a good ten feet down the hall before Spencer’s tugging at my hand and pulling me flush against his chest. He hesitates for a moment, and a flash of uncertainty clouds his eyes, but then he’s pushing it down and pressing his lips to mine.

Spencer’s lips are slightly chapped, but so, so warm as they move against mine. My response is instantaneous – I don’t hesitate for a second before I’m kissing back. The kiss is slow and tentative, as gentle and tender as it is intoxicating. It’s everything that a kiss should be and it ignites a fire in me that has me grasping at Spencer’s shirt, desperate for more. The hand that isn’t cupping the side of my face presses firmly against the small of my back, urging me forward until absolutely no space is left between us.

Every drag of his lips against mine acts as gasoline to a flame, and I can’t help but think that Ray Bradbury said it best. It is a pleasure to burn.

I’m the first to pull away, but it isn’t because I want to. What I want is to stay just like this – entangled in Spencer Reid – until not an inch of our bodies lay unexplored by the other. But when Emily calls out my name yet again, I force myself to stop.

“I really need to go,” I murmur regretfully, and Spencer nods.

“Yeah, I know.”

But that doesn’t stop him from going in for one last, delicious kiss. This time when we break away, it’s his doing. I don’t have the self restraint to pull away twice.

“Pinky promise you’ll come back to me in one piece?” Spencer says as he lifts his pinky finger up in offering. I link mine with his, and I smile a dopey grin at him.

“Of course, I will,” I reply. “After all, you and I are due for one hell of a conversation.”

I shoot him a wink before I’m running down the hall and slipping into the elevator just before the doors close. My teammates all shoot me curious looks, but I pretend like I don’t see and I lean against the wall, trying and failing to slow the rapid beating of my heart.

It’s Stephen who approaches me when we all file out of the elevator and into the parking garage.

“Spencer Reid wouldn’t have anything to do with that love-sick look on your face, would he?”

I attempt to school my expression, but one pointed look from Stephen has me devolving into a fit of giggles like I’m a goddamn school girl.

“Possibly.”

“Possibly my ass. When we get done with this case, I expect a full explanation,” Stephen chuckles as he climbs in the back of the SUV.

“You gossip like a teenager, Walker,” I tease as I climb in after him.

“What can I say? You kids keep me young.”

I let out a loud laugh at that.

“Best shrink a girl could ask for.”

If suffering brings wisdom, I would wish to be less wise.

- Unknown

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