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writingoddess1125 · 3 months ago

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We Missed You pt. 2

Welp- Didn't expect this to be liked so much, So to keep with theme. Wrote during a lecture. (After late night brainstorming)

Nikto x FemReader + OOC

<<< Part 1

Warnings: Creepy shit, Stalking, Awkwardness

NOTE: If you've never seen Nikto from COD before he does have acute dissociative disorder, so at times he will refer to himself as 'Us/We' a bit randomly.

Let's see..

'How to share custody with a shady military parent?'

1. Seek legal advice

Yeah that wasn't going to work, Doubt that you even knew Nikto real name. Let alone could think to afford a lawyer nor wanted to legally deal with whatever he was tied into-

2. Prioritize child's care- make sure other parent wants to be involved.

Well- Nikto had seemly wanted to be involved in some way, He hadn't done anything wrong yet...

So far you'd only seen him once more but it had only been two weeks since he seemed to just appear in your home- of course at night which seemed to be his prefered hours of life, Having dropped off a about a 2000 dollars randomly then Once again creepily looked at Ava who has awake that time and the two having this weird game of staring at each other.

Which was something you suppose-

3. Create a Military- Specific Parenting Plan

You sighed, Doubting once again if a guy who literally didn't show his face would really want a legit custody agreement.

'Oh Hey, I'm gonna be gone foorrrr however long in a country I can't talk about- But can I have Ava for the weekend?'

Yeah No-

Welp Thanks Google-

Snapping from your disappointing phone search as you hear the shrill cry of Ava in her crib- Having woken up from her nap for needing to be changed it seemed.

It still baffled your mind that you had started to understand the cries of your daughter- biology is fucking wild..

"I gotcha I gotcha pretty girl"

Rolling up from bed you grab her to bring to the changing table. You are quick to change her and put her in a fresh onsie. Her bottom lip still poked out and eyes watery as she looked up at you still coming down from her crying fit.

"It's okay Ava, All better hm?"

Grateful she was fast to calm down this time around. After a moment you looked to her, seeing how now calm was rocking herself side to side a bit- Something your recently learned was the signs of her eventually able to roll over.

"Welp, looks like its tummy time"

You smile scooping her up you do a quick walk to the livingroom, sliding the little foam mat to you and lay her down on her stomach, Seeing how she babbled and made some random noises- adding some spicy kicks it seemed.

"Really?-"

Laying down next to her you can't help but smile at her random noises. Deciding to just have a made up conversation with her random vocals.

"Oh wow, You're a scholar in the making? And dancing?.. Triple threat right here"

Handing over toys that had random fruit and vegetables on it, seemingly the corn one had caught her attention this time as she held and shook it repeatedly.

"Yeah its Corn-"

She grunted some and continued to shake the toy a little as she gave a loud gargled squeal.

"I know right, It's absolutely A-mazing"

You hum out in a stupid voice, Earning another little babbled squeal from her. As you go to reach for another toy for her you see her gaze go up suddently, Looking behind you as she lifts her head more to look at whatever had caught her attention.

Your face scrunched up at this as you turn and see a dark figure standing over you, Drawing a small shriek from you before you quickly realize who it is.

"God Damn it Nikto!"

You rub your face, Coming down from the spike of adrenaline you'd just experienced. Nikto staring you down, you could practically feel him smirking at you.

"Must you always just appear? You can knock on the door or something-"

Grunting as you get up from the floor rather ungracefully, and glare at him. Nikto crossing his arms as he glanced around the room a bit almost inspecting it before looking back down at Ava clearly ignoring your complaint.

Once again starting his odd staring contest with the current baby who was trying to wiggle in what almost looked like poorly executed swimming.

"I gotta know- What's with the staring game?" You couldn't really help but ask.

"She is my daughter. We can look"

He mumbled rolling his eyes. Smartass..

"Yes. But why do you only look at her?"

Nikto is quiet again, moving his head side to side slowly- A habit you were starting to pick up on when he seemed to be conflicted.

"....She is small..."

You hear the tone in his voice change slightly at saying that as it clicks. He was nervous to pick up his child?

"Well, if you want you can hold her"

He grunted, Shaking his head 'no' almost too fast. You couldn't help yourself as you gave a bit of a dramatic shrug.

"Well, Thats unfortunate. Someone who can break into a apartment but cant hold a baby.. What a shame"

Nikto casting you a intense side glare as he knew damn well you were giving him a small jab to his ego. A hella dangerous game but, You needed some sort of win.

"Fine.."

You cackle at this- bending down you scoop up Ava to bring to her Father. Who was currently holding out his large gloved hands like how one would go to hold a pet, and seemingly unsure of how to even take her from you.

Your as hesitant as Nikto for a split second as he awkwardly picked her under her armpit from your hands, which makes her head bobble and your fast to support it. Nikto seemingly catching on quickly as he pulls her to his chest so she was rested against him.

Ava was able to be easily secured by just one of his hands which almost took up her whole back and bottom, Leaving the other hand just hovering near her like when someone guarded a flame from going out.

He stood almost perfectly still then.

You see a flash of absolute terror in his eyes as he feels her pressed gently to him. Like processing that the child he'd been staring at was actually real and currently breathing and moving against him.

He looks down slowly at her while she stares up at him, Her legs kicking a bit as she did so and still a bit bobbly. The two having that weird game of staring at each other again.

It was like this for a solid minute or so-

Before Nikto turned away from you rather suddently, His back to you completely as you see his free hand shift up to his mask and he slowly pulls it up. His body language was awkward at best as he seemed to be letting his daughter see his face and waiting for a reaction.

For a second your thought you saw a peak of dark brown hair. However you didn't dare go to actually look, Ava babbled a little as she stared up at him still- Drool coming down her chin as she gave a gummy sorta smile and continued her squeals. Her tiny hands grabbing at his hoodie and looking around overall before back to his face. Nikto shoulders seen to relax then.

You hear him mumble something in his native tongue seeming a small conversation- It was impossible to hear really by how soft he was speaking. However it seemed to keep Ava attention slightly, another to were she gave another odd drool filled squeal.

A soft chuckle leaving him as you only seeing his head dip slightly in what you assume was him kissing the top of her head before retracting and pulling his mask back down, Securing it in place before turning back to you to hand her over very carefully. Clearly only willing to hold her for a short period of time.

"You Okay?" You can't help but ask, Seeing the way his gaze seemed to be locked onto Ava still however much softer, almost spaced out. He nodded sharply.

"..She has a middlename right?"

Blinking at the suddently whiplash question- it feeling like there was only pop-ups of weirdness or terror from Nikto everytime he was here.

"Um, Yes? It's-"

"I want add Igorevna to it-"

"What?" Now just confused. Curious how him holding his daughter for a few minutes now was leading to a very minor name change of all things.

"Adding Igorevna to her name. Is that fine?"

"What like a second middle name?"

He gave a 50/50 sign at that, Which you have to surpress the eye roll on. Figuring you shouldn't bother asking what it ment. He probably wouldn't tell you anyway.

This was not a battle you wanted to get into- Besides adding another middle name wasn't terrible. You didn't really understand why this was something he wanted but seemed easy to give at least-

"Sure. I'll call the Vital records office this week an-"

He held up a hand to stop you quickly.

"Dont. We'll have done by the end of the week-"

Ah Yes, You'd forgot that soft terror that plauged you about this man- Of course he would have some magical way to change your daughter's middle name in a week.

"Also I gave you money to get more things."

Setting Ava back down on the mat now on her back with another toy toy.

"Well I used it to get Ava stuff and put the rest to the side incase of emergencies for her-"

"Yourself too. Its ment for you to take care of Ava and You. You need better care, youre terrible at it"

He said casually, Shaking your head mildly offended by him.

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself thank you very muc-"

"(Y/N) you are unable at drinking water, you have had 'snacks' for lunches, you have not done your laundry nor showered in 2 days, all vegetables are frozen and 70% of diet is from the microwave or from box- You care for Ava, not yourself"

....

"Did.. Did you bug my house?"

You manage out, Staring him dead in the eyes at the painfully detailed critiques. He didn't say anything, just stared at you in return with a blank look. A cold shiver doing down your spine at the silent confirmation of his actions.

"Wait how many times have you been in here without me knowing?-"

"We will give more to you. Get better food and all you need-"

He said calmly, Brushing your question off casually as if he hadn't just told you he had been spying on you hard core. Pulling once more a tight wad of cash that was tossed to the near by coffee table. Before Nikto walked off without another word, Leaving you both terrified, shocked and heavily conflicted over what to really do next?..

Oh what the fuck is your life..

You did however comply with his wishes, Honestly too worried at what hed do otherwise- better food was purchased, as well as some clothes that weren't sweatpants, a big waterbottle too and other basic things you had been needing.

It was rather terrifying to know someone was watching your every move though. That and not knowing where he placed the cameras (You had tried to see if you could find at least one but utterly failed) or what he'd already seen..

That was here nor there at this point.

Later that week you went down to the mailbox units to sort through the forgetten avalanche of paper, (youd forgotten in your paranoid frenzy of Nikto watching you) Ava in a stroller currently blowing spit bubbles at you as you sorted through it all- However what stuck out was the rather massive manilla envelope which you had a inkling of what it was.

You open it quickly and sure enough, all new copies of your daughter's information was there. This time with the added Igorevna taxed on.

Looking through the rather impressive display of new documents your face couldn't help but scrunched up a bit- Pulling up a new birth certificate specifically which you see the father was now filled in. Only a Nikto as the front. Which from a Google search you knew ment 'Nobody' and what looked like a redacted last name.

Oh that's so comforting..

"Good Morning (Y/N)!"

You turn to see your landlord walking towards you, Most likely having gotten back from touring an apartment by the slightly winded look she had and one of her braids down from its usually neat neat headwrap.

"Morning Miss Rolle. How are you doing?"

Ms. Rolle was a nice women, a decent property manager and loved to stop you for chats especially when you had Ava. Always cooing at your daughter and offering helpful advice on small children.

Truthfully a godsend the first month of your daughter's life.

"Oh Im good Love just the same old. I just came over about your new unit, it will be ready in a few weeks just to keep you in the loop- Im sure packing is annoying with a baby. Just let me know if you need help, I know one of the maintenance men would be happy to help"

Ms Rolle said as she adjusted the tent of the stroller so it covered your daughter more. However you looked to the women fast and in confusion.

"New Unit?-"

She now looked at you both confused and clearly a bit worried. Probably sleep deprivation getting you.

"Yeah. You had sent an email wanting the 3 bedroom unit- you already gave the deposit and a years worth of rent and paid to break the current on your 1 bedroom too.."

Immediately you rubbed the bridge of your nose as you felt that acute pain of realization hit you in that moment.

Nikto-

However the irritate was short lived by a sudden thought.

Why was there three bedrooms?-

#x reader #call of duty thoughts #call of duty mw3 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod x female reader #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod nikto #nikto x reader #call of duty nikto #mwii nikto #nikto

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 7 months ago

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Pairing: Russell Shaw xf!reader, Reader POV

Summary: The last thing that you wanted was to be woken up in the middle of the night by Colter Shaw for a favor, but when he shows up toting a ruggedly handsome man with green eyes you decide to forgive him. Reader is the niece of Velma and Teddi!

Word Count: 10.3K

Warnings: I'm gonna label this one 18+ just in case I missed anything. Blood, Cleaning Out A Wound, Mentions of Allergies? Gunshots, Some Cursing, A Bit of Sexual Innuendo, Sexual fantasy/reader has active imagination, Self-deprecating Thoughts/Body Issues (reader), Mentions of Infidelity, Reader Is A Single Mom, Appearance Of Creepy-Jerk Ex Husband, Probably a Poor Description Of What It’s Like To Be A Single Mom (I tried my best, please I do not mean to offend anyone❤️), Russell Shaw might be a little bit OOC. Reader is occasionally described as "curvy."

Song Inspiration: Long As I Can See The Light By Creedence Clearwater Revival

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n if any. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! This is my first time writing for Russell Shaw, so, please be gentle. 😅

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

A/N: I finally watched Tracker… Could you tell? 😂

Sunday nights, in your opinion, were the worst.

It was like the last few moments of freedom before you were thrust into a busy work week, like the last few rays of light before the coming darkness that you barely survived with copious amounts of coffee and bloodied fingertips. Monday always loomed, but never as much as on Sunday nights.

The dull thud of your phone vibrating against your wooden bedside table grates on your ears and pulls you from the sweet precipice of sleep before you can fall into the void.

It felt as if you’d just collapsed into your bed and one look at the alarm clock on your bedside table as you blinked your bleary eyes confirmed it. It was 3:58 am, which meant you had been in bed for exactly three minutes.

You were still covered in chocolate cupcake batter, pink frosting, and rainbow sprinkles from the last six hours you'd spent in the kitchen making gluten free, sugar free, and peanut free cupcakes for a bake sale at your son’s school.

Even though you hadn't volunteered Stephanie Jacobson, or rather the wicked witch of the PTA, had cornered you in the pick-up line on Friday afternoon to remind you of your "duties as a parent" and the coming bake sale to support the building of the new gym. And then she’d handed you a list of student allergies and asked you to create something that was safe for everyone.

Taste be damned.

Why the school needed a new gym you didn't know, but the guilt that rose when Stephanie mentioned your "duties as a parent" was enough to make you say yes to whatever she asked you.

You had enough guilt already about raising your kids without a stable father figure, and the last thing you needed was guilt from a stuck up bitch in the PTA.

Stephanie reminded you of the girls in high school that used to pick at their food, the ones that knew exactly what to say to make you feel like a freak, the ones who dated the football players and spent their Friday nights wearing cheerleading uniforms and waving pom poms, and the ones who basically made everyone else's life a living hell.

Everything about her screamed superior. The flawless way she curled her perfect platinum blonde hair, the stylish clothes she wore than never seemed to have a wrinkle or a mashed carrot smeared on the pants, the supple breasts that she swore were real, a perfectly toned stomach that never seemed to change despite her having a child two months ago, and the easy way she handled all of her three children with a flourish of her left hand that housed a 6 karat diamond ring from her gorgeous husband that was so attentive, perfect, and rich that it made you feel sick to your stomach.

All of which anyone could read on her mommy blog that she'd dubbed "Little Mistakes Make Perfect Lessons," and the same blog that she'd created an empire from.

Fuck, you hated her.

Mostly because despite everything you tried you never had enough time in the day to look as flawless as she did.

Your hair never seemed to be as bouncy or perfectly styled, you never had time to put makeup on, you always had mashed carrot on your pants or some form of cheerio or baby food, as many times as you tried to carve out time for the gym you never seemed to make it, the small ring you'd once wore on your finger was sitting idle in your jewelry box upstairs where it had been for the past year after your husband of six years told you that he met someone else, and your stomach and your breasts… you didn't want to think about that right now.

You had two kids and you weren't going to pretend that it did nothing to your body, any part of your body. And as many times as you saw all the other mothers around you who were proud of the way they looked, you never had their confidence, especially not after the comments that your ex-husband had made each time the two of you finally had some time to be alone together.

But that wasn't to say you hated being a mom, you loved it, wouldn't change it for the world. It was just sometimes you wished you had a little help, that, and you wished that Mondays didn't exist.

You groan as you reach for the phone that still vibrates desperately on your bedside table and flip it over to see who's calling before you answer it.

"Colter, why the hell are you calling me at four am?" You half moan, pulling the comforter up over your head as if that'll make Monday go away.

You'd been close to murder several times, first when you found your husband in your bed with his nineteen year-old secretary, second when your local coffee shop was out of espresso and you did your entire shift at the hospital with no coffee, and Colter Shaw waking you up at almost four in the morning was quickly becoming number three.

"Because I didn't want to wake up Emma or Luke. Can you open the door?" He replies, stating the names of your children, sounding slightly out of breath.

"What door?" You groan again, eyes still shut wishing that this was just a bad dream and Colter wasn't calling you because he needed your help… again.

"The front door. Please, I need you to let me in."

"Why are you here? Couldn't it wait until tomorrow? Did you try to call Teddi or Vel-"

"I'll explain when you come open the door."

"By doing that I'd have to get up."

"Please."

You hesitate. Colter didn't usually say please, let alone twice whenever he showed up needing your help.

You'd met him by accident.

Sure your Aunt Teddi had talked about the "rewardist" that she and your Aunt Velma worked with, but you hadn't been expecting to ever meet him. But when Colter got shot on a job and showed up at Teddi and Velma's home you'd helped patch him up. You'd been there picking up your six year old son Luke and your three year old daughter Emma, after work. Teddi and Velma watched them for you when your deadbeat ex Lance couldn't be bothered to give you the support you needed.

Which was all the time despite his continuous arguing that he was in their lives enough and if anything it was your fault that he didn't have more time with them.

Each time he said that it made you want to slam his head in the door of his brand new bright red BMW, the one he'd bought right after you found him in your bedroom plowing his secretary now girlfriend Crystal. Or as you liked to remember her, the girl who still believed that Santa Clause existed and that the U.S government was hiding him from the world.

But Colter had been hurt and it was just fate that you were there at your aunts home to pick up your kids.

Being an ER nurse meant that you knew how to patch Colter up and it wasn't long before he went on his way. That was about four months ago and since then you'd talked to him occasionally when he'd pop by at your aunts home or just to see if you could help him with something.

"Five minutes." You sigh.

This time you crawl out of bed, standing just to the side of it for a second shaking your head to clear the sleep, and grab the long sleeved blue colored duster/robe that was hanging on the back of your bedroom door. Navigating your way down the stairs in the dark as quietly as you can, while half asleep was difficult, but somehow you avoid falling to your death.

Unfortunate, because now you have to go see what Colter wants at freaking 4 am.

The second story home had been you ex-husband's idea, stated that the two of you needed "room to grow" and that the two of you were "investing in your future."

You frown at the thought.

Yeah, room to grow right into your fucking secretary.

As if you needed another blow to your self esteem, but looking at the skinny red-haired goddess that he'd traded you in for that was about as dumb as a rock had been enough to send you so low you might as well be navigating the Marianas Trench in a submarine with a Megalodon chasing after you.

Maybe that means I'd get to be with Jason Stratham.

That thought was welcome. Honestly the thought of any man was a comfort, especially in the dry spell you'd been having since -well- since you'd had Emma three years ago.

Not gonna think about that right now.

The smell of chocolate cupcakes hung heavy in the air as you crossed through the messy living room, wafting out through the open concept kitchen into the space. One look into the kitchen would show enough cupcakes to make anyone salivate, and yes maybe you'd eaten a few before going up to bed, but eating the chocolate didn't count if it was on Sunday night and you could always go to the gym tomorrow…

Yeah. Like that'll happen.

You open the front door. "Alright, somebody better be dying Colter or I swear that I'll-" You stop mid-sentence when you take in the scene on your porch.

Colter is standing there, looking worse for wear. His usual black jacket is gone, he's got a black eye and a scrape along one of his perfect cheekbones, but that's not who you're looking at.

Colter isn't alone.

There's a man leaning heavily on Colter, his muscular right arm is thrown across Colter's shoulders and due to the fact that the man is a little bigger than Colter, he's buckling slightly under his weight. The man is wearing a green army jacket that is soaked around his left shoulder in blood, his dark hair is falling long into his bearded face, and his skin is a few shades paler than it should be. But that doesn't make him any less handsome.

The man still manages to throw you a sly grin, brilliant green eyes shining beneath the strands of his dark hair. "I think you got your wish sweetheart."

"You're not dying Russell." Colter sighs as if he's annoyed. "Hi." He directs at you.

You do feel a little bit bad about saying that now, but you shake it off.

"What the hell happened?" You say as loud as you dare and pull the front door further open so Colter can drag the man, now named "Russell" into your home.

"Shoot out." Colter breathes. "Where do you want him?"

"Kitchen table." You say trying to reach for Russell's left arm to help Colter, but he groans low under his breath and you retract your hand.

"You've got to be a little gentle with me sweetheart." Russell laughs more to himself, but it comes out in a choked sound. "But you can have me wherever you want."

"Colter, he needs to go to the hospital." You say, following behind them, keeping your voice down. "I don't think that I can-"

"Can't, they'll report it. They have to report all gunshots, you know that." Colter grunts, helping Russell lay back on the large kitchen table. "Why are there so many cupcakes in here?"

"Bake sale at Luke’s school." You clip while waving a hand and looking down at Russell who is laying on the kitchen table.

You can't deny that he's attractive, even in this condition. Russell has the perfect ruggedly handsome features that would make the smartest girl stupid and combined with the piercing green eyes that shine beneath the hair that's fallen forward into his face, even you could see yourself being susceptible to his charm.

Fuck.

Deep down you know that Colter is right, that if he did go to the hospital they'd be required to report it and that meant police and an official report. You figured that it was the last thing that Colter wanted.

Then again the guy has so many marks on his record already. You eye the man on your kitchen table. Russell kinda looks like he would have a few marks too.

"Don't want who did this to find him." Colter clarifies.

"So instead you brought him to my house where my children are?" You cross your arms over your chest.

The fear that whatever Colter and Russell had stumbled upon following behind them to your home made a cold trickle of fear race down your spine.

"We weren't followed." Colter soothes. "I promise I'd never do that to you. And I've got Bobby doing a trace to make sure they don't come close."

He actually looks a little hurt that you'd think that of him. Colter was a lot of things, but uncaring was not one of them.

You relax, but don't apologize despite the guilt swimming in your gut. "Fine. Give me a second." You leave the room to find the first aid kit in the hall closet, the same one that you'd made for your aunts to keep at their house if Colter showed up in the middle of the night with this exact problem. You'd even been involved enough to show your aunts how to deal with a gunshot wound if you weren't there.

When you get back in the room, Colter is removing Russell's jacket, and Russell grits his teeth when it jostles his left arm.

You set down the kit and reach for the bottom of Russell's shirt to pull it up off him, and he chuckles.

"Aren't you going to buy me a drink first? Better yet we could have a few bottles of my home brew-"

"She's not going to help you, if you annoy her." Colter interrupts.

"I told you that I didn't need anyone's help, I'm perfectly fine- ow!" Russell exclaims when you accidentally yank the shirt over his left arm. "Your bedside manner is a little lacking." He grunts, but his eyes still twinkle with humor.

"Too bad. I'm tired and I've been making chocolate cupcakes for the past six hours, so you get what you get and you don't throw a fit."

"What?" Russell grins at the rhyme that you often tell your children.

You shake your head, and drop your eyes to his chest. There are two perfect circles on his right upper pectoral muscle, but not high enough to reach the collarbone and one in his left bicep where blood seeps around the bullets, but truthfully you're trying not to notice how perfectly muscular he is. There are dark splashes of tattoos against his skin, swirling around other scars that resemble slashes and bullet wounds that you wish to drag your fingertips across to study each mark, to memorize each one beneath the soft pads of your fingers.

How is he just as beautiful covered in blood?

You clear your throat to focus back at the task at hand, examining the current wounds. "Okay. The good news is that the one on your arm is through and through, but these two," Your hand hovers over the two on his right upper chest. "I've got to extract the bullets. Which means that this is going to hurt."

"Been through worse sweetheart."

Your eyes scan the rest of his scarred muscular chest thoughtfully. "Yeah, you have." You murmur it more to yourself than to Russell, but he still grins.

Colter's phone rings shrilly in the kitchen and he groans. "One second. Try not to make her want to kill you Rus."

"No promises little bro."

Oh, so this is Colter's brother.

You'd heard little bits and pieces about Colter's brother, mostly second hand from your Aunt Velma. One of the best things about going over to Teddi and her home was sitting in the living room and hearing Velma gossip about everything she heard from Teddi while drinking wine and eating fancy cheese that you could never afford.

Russell Shaw was no exception.

"Alone at last." Russell says with a wink. "I didn't think he'd ever leave."

"I'm going to get some water to clean these with." You reply, ignoring him, but when you turn away the end of your mouth quirks up into a smile.

He wasn't what you were expecting based on all the rumors that you'd heard from both of your aunts, in fact, you thought he was kind of charming.

You roll up your sleeves and wash your hands before turning back to Russell. He's sitting up on your kitchen table, hands braced on his sides, with his legs spread wide apart. He doesn’t look like someone with three gunshot wounds, and you wonder if this is a regular day for him. Colter certainly didn't get shot that much.

"So are you a rewardist too?" You ask standing between his legs and trying not to focus on the warmth of his breath against your collar bone.

"Naw. I work for a private security contractor." He breezes.

"Oh." You swallow, looking up into his green eyes for a minute. They're even more beautiful up close, green with flecks of gold around the iris that flicker in the light like stars. "Is it okay if I touch you?"

"You don't gotta ask me that sweetheart, the answer will always be yes."

You flush and brace your hand on his left shoulder, before pouring water into the two wounds on the right side of his chest, trying to clean them the best you can before you extract what's left of the bullets. His skin is warm and smooth beneath the palm of your hand and it's difficult to focus.

Just pretend you're in the hospital and you're treating a patient. You take in a shallow breath. He's just a patient and he's not that good looking.

You know you're lying to yourself, but you were trying your best. It probably didn’t help given the current dry spell you were in or the fact that he even smelled good. Something like gunpowder, leather, and a hint of something spicy that you bet was his shampoo. It prickled under your nose, and activated something in the back of your mind that was having a hard time being quiet. You hadn't been this close to a man you found attractive in a long time.

"Okay. This is going to hurt." You say as you look through the small medical kit that you'd grabbed from the hall closet for the tweezers, trying to calm the thudding of your heart.

"It's okay." Russell replies. "Do what you have to baby. I won't stop you."

You weren't prepared for the warmth that bloomed in the pit of your stomach when he called you baby in the wonderfully rough rumble of his voice.

A voice like that could convince me to jump into a pit filled with alligators with no regrets. Fuck. I'd bet that a voice like that could make me- FOCUS. I will focus. He is Colter's brother and he just got shot. He doesn't need you lusting over him.

Extracting the bullets is as painful for you as it is for him. Watching the way his face scrunches up in pain hurts you more than you thought it would. His hands grip the rim of the wooden kitchen table so hard that they're turning white, and Russell's jaw is clenched so tight that you're afraid that it's going to snap.

You squeeze his left shoulder to give him some comfort. "Almost done." You murmur, searching for the second bullet.

Russell lets out a breath when you finally fish out the other bullet and drop it into an empty cup with a resounding "ping" just as Colter walks back into the room looking worried.

"What?" Russell asks him, looking over your head at his brother.

"That was Bobby. He said that the trace we put on the phone just got a hit a few miles north of here." Colter states. "I'm gonna go check it out."

"Alright, I'll come with." Russell starts to get up, but you push him back with your right hand that you've still got pressed against his left shoulder. Difficult given the fact that he was almost twice the size of you and broader than anyone you'd ever seen. And also difficult because of the way you were trying to ignore how good it felt to feel the pull of his muscles beneath your hand.

"No. You still need stitches and I haven't finished patching you up." You clear your throat, but it still sounds a little hoarse.

"Baby as much as I like you ordering me around-“

"It's alright Russell, I've got this. Just stay here and let her take care of you." Colter interrupts.

Russell frowns at his younger brother. "I'm fine."

"You're not." Colter rolls his eyes. "Stay here. I'll be back in a few hours to pick you up." He turns to look at you. "I'm sorry that we woke you up-"

"It's okay." You shrug. "But you owe me."

"Just add it to my bill." Colter smirks.

Honestly, you weren't as angry as you were when you answered the phone. Something about Russell was different and you didn’t mind helping him at all.

He wasn't like anyone that you had ever met, certainly not in the circles you ran with.

All the dads from your mom friends were blue and white collar workers who worked in the big office buildings downtown, wore suits to work and were more straight-laced, but there was something refreshing about Russell.

He was mysterious, sexy, and his had this aura of self-resilience and survival that you found immensely attractive. Especially when compared to your ex, who couldn't survive without his mocha-caramel double shot latte or wifi.

Russell was the exact opposite of him and you found yourself wanting to know more. More about the almost beautiful scars that curved over his muscular body, more about each tattoo that he’d chosen, and more about him.

He seemed like the kind of guy that hid his trauma under easy smiles and jokes, the kind of person that shrugged off anything that seemed remotely serious with a well placed joke, but you could feel that there was something deeper beneath that he didn’t allow many to see.

And you wanted him to show you.

You weren't sure where any of this was coming from. Russell probably was about as stable and consistent as his brother, and you liked consistency. Spontaneity and surprises tended to make you anxious. But not with Russell.

Though the stability might have been an issue. You were a single working mother, which meant that you didn't want to introduce some random guy into your children's life just to have them get attached and him to bail with no strings attached and-

Calm down. You just met the guy, it's not like he's asking you out on a date.

When Colter leaves and after you’ve cleaned around the wounds the best you can with some alcohol, you realize just how quiet it is in your kitchen.

“You know, I think I’ve seen you before.” Russell says breaking the silence while you search for a needle and thread in the medical kit.

“Really? Where?" You ask looking up.

“In my dreams.”

“Wow." You smile at him. "That line is pretty cheesy."

You shift your right hand over to begin to sew up the wounds on his chest. Russell doesn't even wince when you push the needle through, almost as if he didn't notice it at all.

It made sense, given how many scars and tattoos covered his body. You remember what he said about "being through worse" and it made you feel bad for him, to worry about him. Odd given the fact that the two of you had just met.

"Well I'm a little distracted at the moment sweetheart. It's not often that I get such a beautiful woman to take care of me."

"I thought you didn't need my help?" You smirk.

"Maybe I did." He admits sheepishly.

"Mhmm."

"So how do you know my brother?"

“Why?”

“Trying to see if you’re off limits or not.” Russell tilts his head to the side and flashes a charming smile.

You laugh at his boldness. You’d never met someone so upfront before, it was refreshing. Most of the men you’d meet occasionally at work tended to beat around the bush and made you want to give them a map to get to the point. "We met when he got shot a few months ago."

"Oh so the two of you aren't-" He wiggles his eyebrows and you snort.

"No."

"Huh."

"What?"

"I was just wondering why not?"

"What?"

"Well, you're gorgeous, you're smart, and you're not scared of blood or gunshots. Colter really seems to be dropping the ball."

"Colter doesn't exactly have a stable lifestyle. And I'm kind of complicated."

You were, there wasn't any way around it.

"Why do you think that?"

"Because I've got two kids."

Russell blinks in surprise. "Really?"

"Mhmm." You hum continuing your task, not phased by the blood at all.

His eyes trace your figure for a minute, making a shiver travel down your spine. It was the first time in a long time that you were okay with someone looking at you like that and to be honest, the first time that you wanted someone to look at you like that in a while.

After everything that happened with your ex-husband and his secretary you were more inclined to sit on your couch with a glass of wine and read away your troubles with a steamy romance novel that did more for you than any of your ex-husband's attempts to satisfy you. It also didn't help that you had no interest in going out with your few friends and meeting someone at a club who probably would never call you again and probably wouldn't be as enthusiastic to learn that you were a mom.

You'd only been on one date since you'd broken it off with your husband with your aunts accountant Jerry, and the date stuttered to a halt when he learned you had two children and weren't interested in having an open relationship.

"I wouldn't have guessed that."

“Really? The mountain of chocolate cupcakes wasn’t a clue?” You arch an eyebrow with a smirk, while gently tying off the string to close the first wound before moving on to the second.

“I thought you just really liked baking. And I’m okay with coming home every night to a mountain of chocolate cupcakes if it means you’re there too.” He winks.

“Not sure you want any of those.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because they’re gluten free, sugar free, and nut free.”

The horrified look on Russell’s face makes you feel like you’d just told him that hot dogs do in fact contain trace amounts of dog.

“Why on earth would you make them like that?! They're not even cupcakes anymore!" He exclaims.

You found it funny that he seemed more upset over the mutilation of the chocolate cupcakes than over being shot.

Maybe he's always like this?

"I know. I'm a monster." You sigh. "But Stephanie Jacobson said I had to." You let out a frustrated sigh with her name.

Bringing anything other than what she asked for was a suicide mission. The last person who did that was Gale Smith in the great Fourth of July Cook-out calamity of 2021. In Gale's defense, no one though that the bushes would catch fire so fast, but Stephanie had a memory like an elephant so Gale decided to transfer her children to the school one town over. The last thing you wanted was for your name to go down in history for the Cupcake Catastrophe of 2024.

Russell leans forward and lowers his voice like it's a secret. “Is Stephanie your imaginary friend?”

“No!” You laugh. “She’s this other mom at my son’s school who said I wasn’t living up to my ‘duties as a parent’ and that I needed to ‘participate.’”

"She sounds great."

"Oh yeah, we're practically best friends." You continue to work on the other wounds in the silence that follows.

"I bet you're a good mom." Russell says watching you with an unreadable expression. He's leaning a little bit towards you still, making the smell gunmetal, leather, spice, and just a hint of mint come through the space between the two of you.

Damn he smells really good.

"Uh-huh. You've known me for ten minutes and you haven't seen me with my children-"

"I can tell."

"Is that your superpower or something?" You reach for a bandage to lay over the wound in his chest smiling to yourself. "All the other useful superpowers like being bulletproof got taken?"

"I don't think it's useless if it makes you smile like that when I say it, sweetheart."

Your eyes flick upwards to Russell's face. His green eyes are shining in the light of your kitchen, his dark hair still hanging over his forehead, and he is still just as ridiculously handsome as he was the moment Colter dragged him through your front door. You don’t remember why you were so mad at Colter anymore.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're too smooth for your own good?" You raise your eyebrow.

"No ma'am." Russell cracks an even wider smile and it makes you loose all feeling in your legs. He was just so effortlessly handsome that it made you want to do something stupid, like have sex with him on top of the same kitchen table that you serve blueberry pancakes to your children.

"Hmm." You bite the inside of your cheek. "Well, now you know and maybe now that you're aware, it could prevent you from getting shot."

"Are you saying I got shot because I'm too smooth?"

"Maybe."

"Because usually it has a different effect."

"Huh. Well in that case, maybe try using some of that to smooth things over and you'd avoid getting shot." You begin to wrap another fresh bandage around the bullet wound on his arm, bracing your free hand against his chest, trying to ignore the way his skin is warm and chiseled beneath your palm.

He had the kind of body that you'd never imagined actually existed. Russell Shaw looked like he walked out one of the romance novels you loved so much.

Hell, they should use pictures of him to make the book covers.

"I'll remember that next time." Russell pauses. "But then it means I wouldn’t get shot and I wouldn't get to have you patch me up."

"I guess not."

You didn't think that you'd smiled as much as you had in the past twenty minutes with him than you had your entire five year marriage. Not to mention that it was nice to talk to someone who wasn't trying to convince you why they should be allowed to have a cookie before dinner.

A charged silence passes through the air between the two of you, his eyes locked on yours sending goosebumps over your skin. You weren't sure if anyone had ever looked at you like that before. You'd noticed that most gave you the obligatory skate over, but Russell didn't. He looked at you as if he was studying you as if he were genuinely curious to know more.

Your eyes trace his broad shoulders, toned abdomen, and muscular arms, noting that he's the kind of strong and broad that was made to handle someone a little more curvy like you. And you'd be lying if you said that you hadn't thought about it more than once since Russell came through your front door.

You felt your mind sink into the fantasy of Russell pining you to the kitchen table and feeling the warmth of his rough hands against your body-

Snap out of it. The guy is bleeding, he got shot. He needs to rest.

"I think you'll survive." You smile pulling back from him to clear your head. It was much easier when you couldn't smell him as strongly. "And if Colter isn't going to be back for a few hours you can crash on the couch. It's not the most comfortable but-"

"I'm sure it's fine." Russell shrugs and stands from your kitchen table.

You try and fail to ignore how his muscles pull with the movement as he reaches for his shirt and you step forward to help him put it on, knowing that it might hurt with his injury. "Okay." You clear your throat, that has become thick all of a sudden. "And if you're hungry I've got plenty of cupcakes-"

"Please don't call them that. They're an disgrace to the cupcake name."

"Yeah, but the ones in the microwave are actually cupcakes. I had to make a few that were edible." You gesture with your hand and laugh at how quickly Russell goes to get one.

He doesn’t even bother to pull away the wrapping before he takes a bite and he audibly moans. Russell looks at you awestruck. "Holy shit, you made this? Where have you been all my life?"

"Shut up." You roll your eyes at him.

"I'm serious, this cupcake is my reason to keep living. Here I thought putting sriracha on French fries was the height of cuisine, but damn."

You could feel yourself blush bright red at his compliment. You weren't used to a man going out of his way to compliment you on something other than how you looked, but everything about Russell Shaw was refreshing and nothing like you expected.

"Thank you." You wait another second, watching him eat more of the cupcake and smash icing and flecks of chocolate over his chin. You laugh at him and hand him a paper towel. "You're worse than my three year old."

"Your three year old is a lucky kid, if she’s got a mom like you to make stuff like this for her."

It's like he wants me to fall in love with him. How can someone look so unbelievably cute and sexy while covered in chocolate cupcake?

Don't answer that.

"Sometimes I think I'm the lucky one. I love my kids-" You say before you can stop yourself. You hesitate afraid that it would send Russell for the hills when you brought up the fact that you loved your children.

"Yeah?" Russell's smile brightens as he wipes his face with the napkin.

"Yeah." You blink mildly shocked. Of all the people in the world to talk about your children with, you never expected someone like Russell Shaw. “I do."

Again he was surprising you, and talking to him was just so refreshing and it made you feel like your head had finally cleared, like your chest was lighter and you could actually talk to someone for real without putting out this together image of yourself you thought you had to when inside you were crumbling from the overbearing expectations of the people around you.

The silence is back, filling the kitchen with a palpable energy that you wonder if Russell can feel, but you shake it off.

"I guess I'll see you in the morning. It was nice to meet you Russell, but I'm sorry that you got shot." You smile.

"I'm not." Russell smiles. "I got to meet you."

"Alright Casanova, I need to go to bed, because my kids will wake me up in about two hours." You frown over at the couch. "There's a pillow and a blanket down the hall in the bathroom closet." You gesture with one hand. "I'll see you in the morning." You repeat because you're not too sure what to say.

"Yeah. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

You turn and walk up the stairs to your bedroom, feeling the thin blue robe swishing around your ankles as you do.

And as you fall into your bed all you can think about as you start to drift is the ruggedly handsome man downstairs, with the brilliant green eyes that crinkle with his smile, and the large hands rough from hard work, that seems to be more than what meets the eye.

The alarm clock on your bedside table might as well be employed by the devil for waking you up and the idea of smashing it to bits with the heavy metal table lamp that sits beside it crosses your mind. You weren't sure how many hours you'd gotten in, only that they weren't enough, and you were in desperate need of coffee.

You roll over on your back, looking up at your ceiling as you blink your eyes open, following the familiar sweeps of the paint brush that were left behind.

The memory of the night's events come back in full color and you stiffen remembering exactly why you'd gone to bed so late. Images of last night flash through your mind. Colter dragging a bloodied Russell through your front door, Russell sitting on your kitchen table looking much too attractive covered in blood, him flirting with you with a wide smile that made you feel warm from the inside out…

Oh fuck he's still on my couch. How am I going to explain that to my kids?

You dress in a flash and stumble down the stairs as quickly as you can, tripping and falling into the living room, but when you look you realize that Russell isn't on the couch. The pillow and brightly colored quilted blanket he used are neatly folded on one of the plush cushions, but he's nowhere to be found.

I guess Colter came to get him.

You weren't expecting the wave of disappointment that comes with that realization, but as you turn to go back up the stairs to ready yourself for the day, you hear your daughter’s voice.

"Mommy!" She says. "Look! Rus is making pancakes."

What?

You turn to investigate your spacious kitchen. It was still covered in an alarming amount of cupcakes, but that’s not what’s surprising, what’s surprising is Russell, standing at your crowded stove with a spatula in his hand, sliding a perfectly golden brown pancake around in the bottom of a pan.

You blink your eyes to make sure that you’re not imagining it and make sure that you’re not asleep.

"Hey gorgeous." Russell flashes a wide grin. "How'd you sleep?"

"Um-" You glance at where your daughter is sitting with your son, both eating stacks of pancakes at your kitchen table, the same kitchen table that you were fantasizing about Russell and you-

Nope. Not going there.

Honestly, any fantasy you had about him was blown away by the sight of him standing in your kitchen making pancakes for your children. Something so domestically wonderful that turned you on even more than the image of him shirtless sitting on your kitchen table.

This was something even your husband refused to do, cook. Any day that you tried to get him to, he'd said that it was your "job." And here Russell was standing in your kitchen looking even more effortlessly gorgeous cooking for your family without being asked.

"I sleep good. How did you sleep?" You ask taking a hesitant step towards him.

"Good. Better than I have in a bit actually." He turns back to the pan and flicks his wrist, flipping the pancake inside.

Emma claps happily and Luke watches Russell with a look of absolute awe on his face, while you try not to have impure thoughts about Russell in front of your children.

"You didn't have to make breakfast-"

"I did." He plates the pancake and holds it out to you. "I wanted to thank you for patching me up."

"It wasn't a big deal." You shrug, but take the pancake from the plate, rolling it up like a taco before you take a bite.

Russell cocks his head to the side studying you for a moment. "It was to me." His green eyes are just as hypnotic today as they were last night, tracing over your body in a way that makes pins and needles tickle over your skin. "Plus, wanted to make the kids something that wasn't gluten free, nut free, and sugar free. Emma sure can put away some pancakes."

It was odd to see someone so eager to make himself comfortable in your house, especially a man you barely knew and who you owed absolutely nothing to. Not to mention that Russell genuinely seemed happy to be making breakfast for your children as if he belonged there.

It was so different from every other man that you'd ever met, and you wanted to get used to it. You wanted to get used to having a man around again, to having Russell in your home and in your life. You'd never been spontaneous or wanted to jump headfirst without looking at the pros and cons, but watching Russell standing at your stove, with the sunlight coming through the windows behind him and illuminating his broad shoulders and sifting through his dark hair, you saw absolutely no downside.

"Yeah she's always had a good appetite."

"Hope she doesn't lose that. I hate it when women don't eat." Russell shrugs his shoulders and goes back to make a pancake for himself. "Plus Luke needs to bulk up. He said his dad is going to sign him up for baseball."

You stiffen at the mention of your ex, not sure if you should supply the information, or if you should let it slide. Russell's eyes flick down at your left hand for a half-second, so quickly you could have missed it, but you understood what he was doing.

"He's my ex-husband." You murmur low enough so only Russell could hear.

"Good." Russell replies with a knowing smirk. "Means that I don’t have any competition."

You roll your eyes at his reaction and walk over to where your children are eating. Luke is covered in maple syrup as per usual. He had always been a messy eater, but because he insisted on having his hair cropped short, it never seemed to be too much of a problem.

Just as Emma looks like your ex-husband, Lance, Luke looks like you. He has the same eyes and same colored hair, but he'd always been a little short for his age. Lance usually picked at him for that, but you didn't know what Lance was expecting, Luke was six years old, he'd grow!

"Good pancakes?" You ask, trying to wipe at his face with a napkin but he pulls away with an exclaimed "Mom!"

"What? You're covered in syrup." You laugh, raising the napkin again, but Luke dodges your hand.

"Mom!" Luke says again.

"Alright, fine. But go get dressed, your dad will be here to pick you up any minute." You say, urging him with a hand against his shoulder.

Today Lance was taking Luke to school and picking him up after for a baseball game, before staying with him at his apartment. You’d told your Aunt Teddi and your Aunt Velma that you'd help them plant a garden today, and Emma had been looking forward to it as much as you had.

Velma had been talking about it all through last week, and you’d gotten the day off specifically off for it. Emma was also excited about it because Teddi had bought flowers specifically for butterflies and your daughter loved them more than life itself.

You were looking forward to working out in the sun, feeling the healing rays against your skin, listening to the sounds of the world outside your aunts familiar home soothe you, play with the dogs for a little bit, and finally go inside for a few glasses of wine while Velma, Teddi, and you talked about the book of the month. Book club nights were especially special for Emma as well. Velma always poured Emma's apple juice into a plastic pink wine glass that she'd bought for Emma so she could feel included.

This book had been really good and you couldn't wait to share what you'd thought while eating expensive cheese and cupcakes and while the dogs circled below like raptors.

You loved being at their home. It was always such a comfort to be somewhere where you felt that you could be yourself especially after Lance left you. Your mother had died when you were a kid and your dad had never been equipped to handle things like that so your Aunt Teddi had picked up the slack in your early years and now after she'd married Velma, you had another person in your life who supported you and made you feel like you could be yourself. Both of them had been furious when they learned about what Lance had done and sat with you while you cried into a box of tissues.

It had been difficult to talk them both out of killing Lance. Surprising since your Aunt Teddi was usually the voice of reason.

Luke sighs, but listens to you, getting up from the table to make his way upstairs. You can hear his footsteps as he walks down the hallway above and into his room.

Despite his reluctance, he was looking forward to today as well. Sometimes you thought that he felt left out when you all went over to your aunts house. You knew that Luke longed for the attention of his father, and something broke inside of you each time your ex-husband made him feel forgotten.

You turn to look at your daughter. "Good pancakes?"

"Yes!"

"Did you tell Russell thank you?"

"Thank you Rus!" She sing-songs with a wide smile, before moving her plastic fork back into the pile enthusiastically.

"You're welcome sweetheart." Russell says from the stove, picking up the pancake in the skillet bare handed before he puts a generous stripe of maple syrup along the inside and rolls it up just like you did. "Do you want another one?" His gaze turns to you, warm and open.

Fuck, why is he so damn attractive?

"No I'm-"

The knock on the front door interupts your answer signifying the arrival of Lance. When he'd moved out of the house you'd changed all the locks and then refused to give him a key. Something that he'd pouted and stomped about worse than your toddler, but you'd held firm. You didn't want him in your house and you definitely didn't want her in your house either.

"Daddy!" Emma squeals and before you can stop her, she leaps from her chair like she'd been shot from a cannon and runs down the front hallway to open the door for your ex.

You sigh out a breath to prepare yourself for what comes next. Talking to Lance was always tense and as much as you tried to be civil, Lance didn't. He didn't pull punches, and often lacked the common decency that everyone else had.

Russell's studying you again, his easy smile slipping into a frown when he notes the change in your attitude.

"Stay here. This shouldn't take long." You force a smile, but it lacks the enthusiasm you’d had whenever you talked to Russell before.

Sometimes just the thought of your ex took the energy out of you, as if you were on a space ship and all the air got sucked out into the cold silent vacuum.

Lance is standing on the front step hugging your daughter with one hand while the other holds his phone behind her head, his gaze intently on the screen while Emma chatters in his ear. He's not paying attention though. He never was and never did.

His black hair is slicked back over his head and cropped shorter than the last time you saw him. Now it barely touches his collar but hangs long over the top of his head. His brown eyes glint an amber in the light of the sun, and he’s wearing a tailored blue suit with a dark patterned tie.

“Hey.” Lance clips to you as he stands, releasing Emma who is still trying to talk to him, but he ignores her.

You grind your teeth together. “Hi.”

He sighs audibly sensing the tension, as if it’s you that’s done something wrong.

“Emma, why don’t you go finish your pancakes?” You smile down at your daughter and pat her on the head. “We’ve got to go soon.”

“Okay! Bye daddy!”

“That’s nice honey.” He says absentmindedly, still typing furiously on his phone, while Emma rushes back down the hallway and into the kitchen, that is hidden from view of the front door.

“You know you could put the phone down for once. The world won’t implode if you wait a few seconds to answer a text.” You say.

“Don’t start.” Lance rolls his eyes.

The BMW idling at the curb catches in the early morning sunlight and you see a flash of red-hair. Crystal is in the passenger seat, her auburn hair piled on top of her head effortlessly, her lips painted a dark colored red, there’s a pair of heart shaped sunglasses over her eyes, and she’s wearing black dress low cut enough that her ample breasts spill out through the wide V.

She peers at you from where she sits in the car, her phone perched in her lap, and you watch her dark colored lips twitch into a knowing smirk when she catches you looking at her.

Each time you saw her was like taking a punch to the gut. It made you pull your oversized sweater a little tighter over your chest self-consciously.

“I’m not starting anything. I’m just saying that you should pay more attention to-“ You begin, but Lance interrupts.

“I don’t want to do this with you. I have a deposition due today and I have to finish sending this email.” He snaps.

“Fine.” You sigh, trying to remain calm. You hated when he did this, when he made it seem like no one and nothing else was important except his job. “Luke is getting ready. I have to box up these cupcakes for a bake sale at the school. All you have to do is drop them off and tell-“

“Oh sorry babe. Can’t do the thing today.”

You bristled when he called you babe. You weren't his, not after everything the two of you had been through.

“What do you mean you can’t do the ‘thing’ today?” You plant your hands on your hips trying to comprehend what he's saying.

“With the kid. Sorry. Crystal made plans for us at some fancy restaurant or whatever. Supposed to be the best in the city-“

“What?”

“I can’t take the kid today.” He repeats slowly, this time looking up, but he doesn’t bother to apologize, and his gaze barely meets yours before he drops his eyes back to the hand clutched in his perfectly manicured fingers.

“But you promised Luke that you were going to take him to a baseball game today after school. That he was going to get to spend the night with you and-“

“Sorry.” The apology isn’t sincere and you know it, despite Lance’s attempts to drop his smile into a sympathetic frown. It comes across as more condescending.

Crystal honks the horn of the car as if to tell Lance to hurry up, and it takes a very large amount of effort for you not to flip her the bird.

“No. Luke has been looking forward to this all week! Not to mention I had to ask off for today specifically-“

“And I’ll apologize to him too.” Lance goes back to typing something on his phone. “This dinner means a lot to Crystal-“

“I don’t give two shits what means a lot to that red-haired bimbo!” You snap, the rage and frustration building in your chest. “You made a promise to your son to take him to a baseball game and actually spend time with him and that’s exactly what you’re going to do!”

Lance looks up from his phone, his eyes narrowing. “You always fucking do this.”

“Do what?”

“Pick a fight.”

“I am not picking a fight Lance. All you’ve done since you’ve shown up here is ignore your daughter and tell me that you’re backing out of the one thing I’ve asked you to do in months!”

“I told you that I have a meeting and a deposition due today! Damn it, what do you want from me? To quit my big job that pays for this house?” He steps forward towering over you. Lance was taller than you, but he had always been lanky and thin, unable to gain too much weight or muscle at a time. “Why do you find the need to make me feel like my life isn’t important?”

“What are you talking about? I didn��t say anything about your life! I’m talking about our son’s life-“ You shout incredulous.

“This is exactly why I got out when I did. Because you always try to control every little thing. You’re so damn OCD that if I did one microscopic thing that wasn’t apart of your ‘special plans’ you’d spontaneously combust! You never just shut your big mouth and let me just fucking live my life! You never let me feel like a man! And Crystal understands-“

“Crystal can’t even understand that pickles were once cucumbers! I doubt she can understand whatever warped reality you’re living in Lance.” You spit. “But I’m sorry that me asking you to be a part of our children’s lives is too much for you. That it’s such a chore for you to make them happy.” The frustrated tears had begun to burn against your eyes.

You didn’t know why you expected anything different. Lance had been doing this since your son was born, putting his career above everything else, working late, schmoozing whoever he could, being so damn selfish that he was willing to throw everything the two of you built together for the woman sitting in the car on the curb watching the two of you go at it with a sick satisfaction.

“Don’t fucking do that!” Lance roars and this time he slams his hand against the door frame so roughly that the glass inside shakes and you flinch. “I don’t know why I even try to talk to you. So why don’t you get your big ass up those stairs and-“

“Is there a problem?” Russell’s voice interrupts whatever Lance was going to say, his body sliding into the space behind you so suddenly that you didn’t hear him walk up.

But it felt good for him to be there, to feel the warmth of his body through the air at your back.

He places his hand on the door to open it up a little wider and to seem a bit more intimidating. Russell is easily taller and broader than Lance.

Lance looks up at him confused, puffing out his chest to look more intimidating. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t use that kind of language around the kids-“ Russell says with a tight lipped smile.

“They’re my fucking kids. Don’t tell me how to talk.” Lance’s gaze flicks to you. “Who the fuck is this?”

“I’m Russell.” He replies before you can. “And if you know what’s good for you I’d take a few steps back from her.” Russell’s large hand gently presses against your waist, a comforting weight that you weren’t expecting, but welcome, nonetheless.

It made you feel a little bit bolder.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Lance snarls. “Is this your boyfriend? Really? You finally decided to go out with someone and that’s who you pick?”

“Look buddy, if you keep talking to her that way, we’re going to have a problem.” Russell sighs. “And I don’t want to get any blood on your fancy suit.”

“I’m not your buddy. And trust me she’s not worth the fight.” Lance sneers at you, giving you a once over that makes you want to crawl into a hole and die.

Russell’s jaw clenches tight and he takes a step forward, but you hold out your arm to stop him.

“He’s not my boyfriend and even if he was, it’s none of your business who I date!” You snap back.

Lance only shakes his head, ignoring what you’ve said. “I’m serious pal you don’t want to get involved with her. She’s fucking crazy, not to mention nothing special when it comes to se-“

The next words are lost in the sound of Russell’s fist landing against Lance’s face, the sharp crack followed by the inhuman scream of Crystal at the car. Lance stumbles back off the front step clutching a hand to his face while blood streams through his pinched fingers and over his chin.

“I warned you. Now if you keep talking, I'll make your eyes match.” Russell growls, flexing his hand.

I hope he didn’t rip his stitches.

“You son of a bitch.” Lance sputters, his hand still holding his broken nose. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer!”

“It’s worth it, if it shuts you up.” He replies unfazed.

Lance’s eyes narrow with hate as he looks at you one more time, before stumbling back to his car where Crystal has begun to wail over the amount of blood coming from his nose. The car squeals down the street and out of sight, leaving Russell and you standing on your front porch. Thankfully Emma was still in the kitchen eating her pancakes and Luke was upstairs, you didn't want either of them to see Russell punch their dad.

But that didn't mean that you wouldn't mind seeing it again.

You groaned when you thought about your son. You didn’t know how on earth you were going to explain to him why his dad wasn’t going to pick him up or take him to the game.

But at the same time there was a sickening amount of pleasure that bubbled beneath the surface at the thought of Russell breaking Lance’s nose.

“Are you okay?” Russell asks turning to look at you. There’s anger still simmering beneath the surface. You’d never seen him angry in all the time he’d stayed with you. All you’d seen was the funny, easy going, guy with the gorgeous smile, but to see him like this and especially to see him angry over what had just happened…

Just when I thought he couldn’t get any more attractive.

“Yeah. I’m sorry-“

“Don’t apologize for that asshole. He shouldn’t have talked to you like that.” Russell hesitates. “Does he always talk to you like that?”

“Pretty much.”

“Damn, should have knocked a few teeth out too. He’s got to learn how to speak to a lady, especially one as beautiful as you.”

You felt your cheeks flush. You couldn’t remember the last time that someone called you beautiful and before you can stop yourself you say:

“I don’t think you’re too bad looking yourself.”

“Oh I know. You couldn’t keep your hands off me last night.” Russell’s grin makes you smile and roll your eyes at him.

Again you’re struck by how charming he is and how kind. He didn’t have to do any of the things he’d done today, but he did anyway. He didn’t have to make breakfast for your children, he didn’t have to step in when your ex-husband got mouthy, and he didn’t have to punch Lance in the face, but Russell had.

He'd done more for you in the past few hours than your husband had done in the six years you'd been married to him.

Behind where Russell's standing, Colter’s truck pulls up to idle on the curb in the same place that the BMW had been sitting moments ago, and you raise a hand in a half-wave to greet him. Colter shoots you a grin and waves back.

“Guess my ride’s here.” Russell says glancing back at his brother over his shoulder before he looks back at you.

“Seems so.” You nod. “Are you sure you don’t want me to check your stitches for you one more time before you go? I mean you probably ripped them when you punched Lance."

“Sounds like you just want to catch another peak of me without my shirt on.” Russell laughs, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes and hit him on the arm.

“Ow.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Maybe.” He’s studying you again, the sunlight turning his hair a honeyed brown and his eyes into a sharp jade. The light catches his broad shoulders and traces along his strong jaw that is covered in a healthy amount of stubble that makes him look rugged and more handsome than any man you’d ever met.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “It was nice to meet you Russell. And again, I'm sorry that you got shot."

Russell shrugs. “It was worth it. I got to meet you and I got to punch that asshole in the face so win-win.”

“You didn’t have to-“

“Yes, I did.” Russell’s jaw tightens. “You didn’t deserve any of the things he was saying about you or about the kids.”

“True.” You hesitate.

Should I ask him for his number or is that too forward?

“I’ll see you around.” Russell smiles at you one more time before making his way to his brother’s car, just as Emma joins you on the front step.

“Did daddy leave?” She sounds sad.

“Yeah. He did.” You take her small hand in yours.

“But why does Russell have to go too?” She whines.

“Because he’s going home.”

You felt a twinge in your chest watching him get into the car, knowing that you probably would never see him ever again. It made you sad to know that. You'd been interested in him and you thought he was interested in you, but he hadn't asked for your number.

Maybe he's flirty and charming with everyone.

You hide the frown that comes with that thought. Emma waves goodbye with her freehand, and Russell smiles from the passenger seat, waving back at your daughter, before he raises his gaze to yours again and winks.

Or maybe not.

When you go back inside the house, Luke is still upstairs, and instead of going up to tell him about his father, you turn to go back into your kitchen to clean up. As you near the stove, you notice a bright green piece of paper under one of the magnets on your refrigerator, fluttering slightly in the air-conditioning.

You pull it down to look.

In case you want some more pancakes or if you bake any more of those life changing cupcakes. Give me a call. -Russell.

His phone number was written under his name, next to a smiley face that made you laugh aloud to yourself.

Sunday nights were the worst, but not this time.

A/N: Alright, I had so much fun with this one! I just had this urge to write Russell with a reader who had children and a trash man ex because why not? And I know I said it would be a one-shot… but my mind is already thinking of all the possibilities lol. Mostly because we all know I can’t really write just a one-shot 😅😂

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Likes, and Comments are not required but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y’all think!

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @livya99 @mrsjenniferwinchester

#jensen ackles #russell shaw #russell shaw fanfiction #russell shaw x you #russell shaw x reader #tracker cbs #tracker #tracker fanfiction #colter shaw #justin hartley #jackles #jensen fucking ackles

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sortagaysortahigh · 16 days ago

Text

Nobody Gets Me | Joaquin Torres

A/N: Heyyyyy sexies...so don't be mad but I'm in my angst bag, this is giving Hurt/no comfort and I'm not sorry! I've been in my emo era so EVERYONE SHOULD SUFFER TOO!!! ugh anyways, i might do a pt 2 with a happy ending eventually, but I present: Divorced exes to something hopeful?? HURT!! WOOO HOO! Also, I did give Joaquin a sister for this universe specifically (hopefully i continue it </3) Everyone say thank you to @love-chx for beta-ing this and apologize to her for not having a happy ending <3

Summary: Getting married young had it's risks, unfortunately for you and Joaquin, that marriage didn't work out, it's been years since you've been in contact, so why do your hearts still ache?

Warnings: Hurt/no comfort NO HAPPY ENDING!, OOC joaquin (he's mean, jealous, exhausted fr), the Blip </3, john walker jump scare!, SAM BUCKY SUPREMACY!, heartbreak, angst, failed relationships, divorce, mentions of joaquin's accident, spelling and grammar errors (we all know who I am atp), a lot of crying, mentions of loss of virginity, mentions of sex (no smut/sex depicted). dual perspectives? switching b/w joaquin and reader??? idk im sorry if its all over the place

Word Count: 10.4k (of sadness)

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader (THEY'RE DIVORCED GOD DAMNIT! Reader also has long-ish hair/hair long enough to braid with 2 white stripes by her ears (this holds a future plot purpose </3)

Joaquin baby I'm so sorry for the angst i put you thru in this but maybe next time, do better! </3

Joaquin Torres is amazing at his job, he easily worked his way up in rank during his time in the Air Force, as a Lieutenant he met Sam Wilson, who he would eventually work very closely with and even consider family. It was a no-brainer when Joaquin had become a Captain, and while working side-by-side with Captain America, he was also able to take on the mantle of the Falcon.

He poured his all into his job, and from the outside looking in, he loved every second of every day. Joaquin was always positive, always putting on a happy face, always committed to making sure everything was going smoothly and that everyone was alright at all times.

He truly was a hero in every sense of the word—at least to the public.

After his accident in the Indian Ocean near Celestial Island, he’d spent months in physical therapy and rehab, pushing himself past his limits, working harder and harder with the end-goal of getting back into the sky.

It was accomplished after one year and three months.

One year of long days and even longer nights. A year and three months of being on the ground and being reminded of everything he’d swallowed down, all of the pain, all of the hurt, he did his best to ignore the ache and emptiness in his heart. But when he couldn’t drown himself in work and distract himself with the literal thrill of the skies, all of that bottled up emotion was bound to overflow.

That’s also around the time that he resorted to one night stands. He’d always hated one night stands, not because he didn’t enjoy the sex, but because sex without a genuine emotional connection was never enough for him. If anything, the random hookups had him spiralling even more.

His physical therapist had also told him several times that he shouldn’t have been partaking in any ‘strenuous activity’ which happened to include sex—or at least the kind of frustration fueled sex he was having.

She’d eventually referred him to an actual therapist, who he avoided like the plague, purposefully missing meetings every other week to force the therapist to schedule him bi-weekly. Opening up to a complete stranger was hard enough, but having to provide a co-pay to be questioned about his lackluster decision making and emotional trauma was a lot on him.

Especially after the incident in the ocean.

The therapist had recommended he spend more time with his friends, which he did for a while, and it worked the first few months. Catching up with friends on and off base, but traveling back home to Miami was what had sent him into a downward spiral in the fourth month of his recovery.

Joaquin Torres has always been a family man, he spent his childhood telling his abuela about how excited he was to grow up one day, get a beautiful wife, and have his own little family. As a teenager, he admittedly did have two pregnancy scares with his then girlfriends, except each time he was fully committed to being a father, even at sixteen.

He didn’t exactly love his exes, but he loved the idea of being a father, and he knew that one day, he would be. At seventeen Joaquin had only hoped he’d be married and not screwing anything on legs before having a kid.

The day he’d flown back to Miami he expected his sister to pick him up from the airport. It wasn’t a shock to see Ximena there, clearly on the phone with someone, however when he heard his ex-wife’s name slip past her lips, he was overcome with a sense of nausea that he hadn’t felt since the day in court when his divorce had been finalized.

Joaquin Torres hated telling people that he was divorced, being a divorcee at the age of twenty-nine wasn’t exactly the biggest green flag in the world. Nor was it something he was proud of. It’d been three years since the divorce was finalized, three years that he’d been drowning himself in work and a faux sense of positivity to ignore the rage and hurt he felt deep down.

She’d muttered a series of apologies for being there, stating that her husband couldn’t make it, before mumbling some excuse to Joaquin while simultaneously hanging up the phone.

He couldn’t be mad at his sister, not for having a best friend, even if that best friend was his ex-wife.

You and Ximena Torres met in the fourth grade, quickly bonding over a shared love of seashells. That bond quickly spiraled into running around the playground hand-in-hand while scaring the fifth grade boys—one of which being her older brother Joaquin.

The two of you hadn’t gotten along until your sophomore year of high school, when your then-boyfriend cheated on you and left you sobbing under the bleachers as if it was the end of the world. (To your fifteen year old self, it was the end of the world). Ximena was comforting you, and eventually, she managed to convince Joaquin and his friends to ‘go scare’ your ex-boyfriend and the group of guys he hung around with.

Joaquin was on the soccer team at that point, and he also knew several of the football players as they all did winter track and field together, so the fist fight that broke out two days later was a no-brainer.

The day you’d stormed into his house, quickly greeting his Abuela before rushing up to his room, slamming the door open and kicking his then-girlfriend out before cursing him out for thirty minutes while ranting about how ‘wildly wrong’ it was to ‘organize a fucking royal rumble’—your words not his—had marked the beginning of your friendship.

That friendship would later develop into something else when you complained about lacking a date to your senior prom. He’d been home from bootcamp and had a month before getting deployed overseas, so he simply shrugged and said he would take you.

Prom night Joaquin had taken your virginity, or rather, you’d given it to him on a silver platter.

From there, things just flowed naturally. He’d taken you on a few dates the month before deployment. During his first eight month deployment you’d written to him constantly, and those letters, plus photos, and occasional phone calls, gave him something to look forward to when he got back home.

He left for deployment in June, then came back in January of the following year. He was actually stationed in Florida, closer to Florida State University where you went to college. Although he hated FSU on the principle that he would always be a Miami fan, he had no issue in visiting you on campus. The both of you were casual for the latter half of your freshman year.

Then that summer he asked you to be his girlfriend, ‘in the official sense’—his exact words being ‘well, we’re always together, and I really like you, and you really like me, so will you be my girlfriend in the official sense because you’re already my non-official girlfriend’.

At that point he was twenty and you were around nineteen. The both of you dated consistently for two years before he proposed to you the week before Christmas on the beach. You’d obviously said yes, squealing in excitement as he slid the ring on your left finger.

The wedding happened four months later, it wasn’t anything major, something small on a private beach, but at the time, in 2016, it was the best day of both of your lives.

The following two years were amazing, at least until the Blip happened and Thanos had managed to snap half of the universe’s population away. Joaquin was lucky that he and his wife hadn’t disappeared off of the face of the Earth. But life got harder much faster than expected.

Work was difficult, the sense of impending doom never really disappeared, not when dread was so common amongst global leaders. There were a few positives of the Blip—well, positives if you ignore the long lasting repercussions after the Avengers had reversed the Blip. Homelessness had found some sense of a ‘cure’, politicians using the available resources to make themselves look better, and to finally do something about the hundreds of thousands of people living on the streets and starving worldwide.

The first year of the Blip, things weren’t horrible. Not between you and Joaquin, or on a global scale. The sudden surge of resources did have some positive outcomes, however, the resources also led to a growth in greed. The greed led to a downward spiral on a global scale.

Sure, the global economy might’ve been great from a corporation-based standpoint, but day-to-day life for regular people wasn't.

Job hours got longer, the price of items did increase, inflation was actually an unpredicted issue for a lot of nations, then of course was the need to expand and grow militaries to account for the loss in actual soldiers and enlistments. That directly impacted you and Joaquin, to the point that you had to uproot your life in Florida and move to the West Coast.

Prior to the Blip, Joaquin had been deployed two additional times, one before you were married for six months, and a second for eight months the year after you’d gotten married. Both deployments were overseas, and each time he’d come home, he wouldn’t leave your side for days.

Following the Blip, Joaquin was never home, or never at the house that you’d purchased off base in California. It wasn’t a bad house per-say, it just wasn’t home. It lacked any real warmth, and it felt like it was draining you. It was difficult to find work as a journalist and publicist, not because there wasn’t anything to be done, but because you freelanced, and during the Blip, major news outlets and magazines weren’t looking for freelance writers.

That also led you to working on base, which should’ve brought you and Joaquin closer together, but it did the exact opposite. Especially when he’d see other Lieutenants flirting with the ‘pretty new media relations’ girl, you usually smiled and laughed it off, doing your best to keep your job.

However, Joaquin Torres was the jealous type, and when you’d both get in fights at home about it, he’d constantly say that you were flirting, that you were feeding into it, as if you had asked for men to flirt with you during your day job.

His job was beyond stressful, which also led to him always being irritable, that combined with the grief that both of you were feeling over the loss of family and friends following the snap.

You and him both were shells of who you once were before the Blip.

The blip had lasted five years, your marriage was over by the third. It wasn’t until the Blip was reversed that you’d both finished fighting one another in court.

Prior to that, you’d been sleeping in different rooms, and acted more like roommates that tolerated one another rather than husband and wife.

Once the divorce was finalized, Joaquin stayed in California while you went home to Miami. He hadn’t heard from you since, and he had no idea where you actually had been, considering you were never big on social media, and now it was like you were nothing but a ghost from his past.

He did his best to ignore the nausea in his stomach after hearing your name, it wasn’t just your first name, no it was your full name, as if you’d said something so outrageous that Ximena was yelling at you over the phone while laughing.

Joaquin knew you were still friends with his sister. He’d never hold that against you, but it did hurt.

During his time in Miami, he did his best to ignore his intrusive thoughts, telling him to call you, or to reach out to your family, or to figure out where the hell you’d actually gone, or who you were now. It’d been three years, three years since he’d seen you, three years since he’d heard your real actual voice, not just the recordings and videos on his phone and laptop.

With his skillset, he knew he could’ve found you, but you didn’t want to be found, that much was clear to him.

Whenever people would ask about you, he’d just laugh it off, shrug, and force a smile. He was so used to being positive all the time that he easily slipped into that persona, most people had never seen him irritated, and he liked it that way.

Then he ran into your mother at the grocery store, she pulled him into a hug with a wide smile and started talking his ear off, asking how he was, congratulating him on becoming a ‘real superhero!’, then she’d gone on a tangent about you. That’s how he found out you were in Washington D.C. working directly under James Buchanan Barnes.

The same James Buchanan Barnes that Sam Wilson was best friends with, and the same person that he’d assisted in taking down the Flagsmashers. He’d seen Bucky several times over the past few years, and never, not once, did he see you.

So he knew you were avoiding him. It wasn’t just a weird sense of paranoia, no, Joaquin knew you. He knew you like the back of his hand, he knew the best parts of you and the worst, and he was absolutely positively sure that you’d been avoiding him.

He also knew that both Sam and Bucky most likely had no knowledge of you being his ex-wife, or even of Joaquin himself being married at one point. It was more likely than Bucky knew, mostly because getting the level of security clearances needed to work for a Congressman required several in-depth background checks.

Joaquin feigned happiness as your mother spoke to him, and as soon as he could, he got the hell out of there.

Slowly, but surely, his composure cracked. He wasn’t the happy-go-lucky guy anymore with nothing but optimism. The thread of pessimism within him was unraveling, and he found himself slipping into a never-ending anger.

He used that anger to push through the next few months of his recovery once he was back in Washington. He went on a strict diet, stuck to his training plans, and started pushing himself even more, striving to go back to being the Falcon, to find some sense of purpose, and something to drown himself in.

The only vice he truly had was the lackluster one night stands. It was never enjoyable, but he needed to let off some steam, so he’d go to some of the bars in D.C., flirt a little bit, and go back to someone’s place with them, slipping out in the early hours of the morning without a word. It worked for him, or at least, he told himself it worked for him.

He also told himself he wasn’t going for women that reminded him of you—which was a definitive lie.

Eventually, once he was back in the sky, back running drills, back working on his flips, kicks, and spins he stopped with the unhealthy coping habits. He’d even gotten a new suit from the Wakandans, a gift from M’baku himself after Sam had told him about Joaquin’s accident. The suit was carbon black, had some green detailing, and it was constructed from vibranium, the same vibranium that absorbed kinetic energy and released it.

Joaquin had never felt more unstoppable with the mantle and new suit.

But with the whole ‘New Avengers’ fiasco occurring in New York, Sam had been stressed, and he’d been doing his best to work with Bucky, trying to find some kind of work-around to the ever-present legal issues associated with there being two Avengers groups.

When he got the call that they were headed to the renovated Avengers compound in Manhattan, part of him was excited to finally see the place, but the other part of him was dreading the possibility of seeing his ex-wife. He didn’t know if she still worked for Bucky, and he never bothered to ask, he hadn’t even brought it up again after speaking with your mother.

He was tense on the flight to New York, and when Sam tried to pry it out of him, he lied about having a stomach bug.

By the time that Joaquin and Sam had arrived at the tower, it was nearly seven and the sun was setting. Admittedly, the place was nice, a bit too modern for him, but nice either way.

He followed Sam’s lead, mostly because he had no idea how to navigate the tower and getting lost wasn’t exactly something he wanted to do. But the second the elevator doors opened, he heard your laughter, a series of loud, high pitched, wheezy laughs and giggles that he’d fallen in love with a lifetime ago.

Sam’s brows knit together as he looked at Joaquin, then he looked around the elevator and into the large common space. “You alright kid?”

Joaquin blinked a few times, nodding his head, snapping out of his daze as he looked at Sam. “Uh-uh yeah sorry, I just, zoned out—nothing to worry about. Anyways, where's Bucky?” he was talking too fast, the composure he’d worked so hard on building up easily crumbled. Then he heard your laugh again followed by ‘Wait! Stop—put me down Parker!’.

He must’ve been on fire, that would explain the heat raging throughout his body.

Sam shrugged him off, motioning for Joaquin to follow him as he made his way towards the commotion, Bucky easily spotting them, standing from his front row seat to your ‘fight’ with Peter.

Joaquin quickly followed, jaw clenched as he finally spotted you. You looked so different while also looking just like yourself. Your hair was longer now, pulled into two thick braids trailing from the top of your head, down your back. It also had two large white streaks near your ears, which was different—but then again, Joaquin had been shaving his face religiously because the thought of your compliments on it left a sour taste in his mouth.

He noticed the way you smiled, wide and full of life. A look he hadn’t seen in so long, a look he missed desperately, every single day.

When Peter Parker finally put you down, you laughed again, shaking your head as you sat up, still not noticing Joaquin’s presence. But Joaquin couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. It was clear that you’d been much happier and healthier, having put on some weight—but it wasn’t bad—the opposite really.

The last time he’d seen you, you were stressed, exhausted, and that reflected in your features and body. You’d never been super skinny, and he loved that about you—at one point he loved everything about you—but the years leading to your divorce, you’d dropped weight at an unhealthy pace from the long days and even longer nights.

His eyes traced your entire figure from top to bottom, noticing the small things you’d changed as well. The few new tattoos and piercings stuck out to him, the small gold rings on both sides of your nostrils, and the alligator tattoo on your leg were very apparent. Joaquin also tried to ignore the faded Air Force t-shirt you had on, it was clearly his, and he remembered the shirt well.

Then you finally turned and noticed him. Eyes widening at the sight of Joaquin, and he kept his eyes on you the entire time.

Everyone seemed to notice the shift in the room, well everyone except for Sam and Bucky who were too busy talking amongst one another about a few legal documents, and Sam throwing in several of his typical ‘anti-government’ remarks.

It was as if time was frozen.

You blinked a few times, eyes on Joaquin—your Joaquin.

The same man that you’d loved and hated at one point in your life, you weren’t even sure how you’d felt about him now, but you did know one thing, you had done your very best to avoid him at all costs. Sure, you knew one day it would probably bite you in the ass, but you hoped that was years from now.

Then again, you knew there was a risk when you’d taken the job as Bucky Barnes’s media relations secretary. This was your wheelhouse, you specialized in media relations and journalism, you would’ve been a complete idiot to decline the job.

But now, it was as if karma was coming to kick your ass.

You stared at him, unmoving as you processed seeing him again for the first time in almost four years. He looked different, more mature in a way that you hadn’t expected. He still had that boy-ish charm, but he looked older, stronger, and sturdier.

He still shaved his face, something you always told him to stop doing. Constantly telling him he looked good with facial hair, making sly comments and innuendos in public, giggling whenever he’d pull you into him, burying his face into your shoulder, covering any inch of exposed skin in gentle kisses as you laughed trying to shove him away.

But now he had a very visible burn scar along the right side of his neck, clearly stretching to his shoulder. You knew about his accident, and you’d been traveling with Bucky during that time, having sat in the waiting room while he spoke with Sam.

Part of you wanted to see him, desperately, but you couldn’t do it.

Bucky had asked you several times, stating that he ‘just wanted to make sure’, but each time you politely declined, shaking your head.

The Joaquin you were seeing now wasn’t your Joaquin, not anymore at least.

You knew something was off about him, his eyes weren’t as bright anymore. Then again, neither were yours. Heartbreak and grief had the tendency to suck the joy out of things.

“You alright Lightning?” you blinked a few times, registering Peter’s voice, nodding your head as you finally glanced back at him, then after clearing your throat, you gave everyone an awkward smile before muttering some half-assed excuses and making a beeline out of the room, towards the other set of doors, far from Joaquin.

He watched you leave, scoffing while shaking his head.

Everyone made their introductions, but Joaquin didn’t have it in him to keep up his faux positivity, giving everyone tight lipped smiles and head nods. Mentioning his name and rank a few times, forcing a laugh when Sam made a joke about being the ‘Falcon’. When Peter tried to talk to him about the mechanics of the new Falcon suit, Joaquin brushed him off.

Sure you two weren’t together anymore, but he had every right to be jealous. Even if Joaquin was just your ex-husband. Peter had a nickname for you! That was enough to piss Joaquin off and make him dislike the kid.

When John Walker tried to question the entire interaction prior to the introductions, Bucky shushed him, giving him a pointed look which was received with a small head nod, and a loud sigh. Followed by Yelena elbowing him.

It was clearly a touchy subject.

That night Joaquin couldn’t sleep.

Neither could you.

For the first time in years, you found yourself fishing your old phone and it’s charger out of the small lockbox below your bed, the box filled with some of your most prized mementos, photos of friends, family, birthday cards, small trinkets, a few necklaces, an old camera, the phone in hand, and most importantly, your engagement ring and wedding band.

It had taken a few minutes for the phone to turn on after connecting it to the charger. Then you sat on the floor, leaning against your bed in the darkness, eyes focused on the screen as you unlocked it—your old anniversary being the password.

Your bottom lip quivered as you opened the photos app, the most recent photo being of you and Joaquin at the zoo three months into the Blip, when you were still trying to find a sense of normalcy. Back when the both of you would still go on dates and try to cheer one another up, when you still fought the grief instead of wallowing in it.

He looked terrified while you had a wide smile on your face, three parrots on you, one perched in each hand and the other on the top of your head.

Then you started scrolling, eyes burning with unshed tears as you went through the photos, happy moments forever frozen in time. Moments you wish you could relive, just for a day.

Finally you found it, the wedding video. You turned your phone horizontally, playing the ten minute video, a perfectly edited version of your wedding ceremony and reception, with a few blooper pieces of your family members giving their commentary on the wedding. Ximena put it together for you and Joaquin.

You looked so happy as he held you in his arms, both of you laughing and smiling, embracing the newly-weds title.

The choked sob that slipped past your lips at the sight of your first dance unleashed the floodgates, you were full on sobbing now, watching the video with your knees to your chest, hand perched atop them.

Joaquin used to look at you as if you hung the moon and stars.

You remember that look, the look of unconditional love.

You might’ve had a crush on Joaquin in high school, but he was the one who fell the hardest. He was the first to say ‘I love you’ and the day he proposed to you, he couldn’t stop himself, it was such a candid moment. He had a whole day planned for it, but then you two had gone to the beach, and the sunset painted you like an angel sent from above, the second you’d turn around, squatting to pick up seashells, he knew it was time.

He’d tapped your shoulder that day, as if he was showing you a shell, then you turned around—laughing at the awkward movement while still squatting, then you practically fell backwards onto the sand at the sight of him on one knee with an open engagement ring box.

Ximena had a thing for dramatics, so at the end of your wedding video, she also added in the video of your proposal, which was shakily taken from his phone, propped up against his water bottle in the sand, the angle a little crooked, but it captured the moment nonetheless.

Three knocks on your door interrupted your sobbing sessions. You were quick to wipe your tears away, hoping you’d have enough time to tuck the phone away and climb into bed, pretending to be asleep.

But then Yelena opened the door with Bob at her side while you were trying to grab the box from below the bed, still on the floor. The two squinting into the darkness, letting their eyes adjust to the room with the helpful aid of the hall-way light streaming in.

Bob noticed you first.

“McQueen? Why’re you on the floor—wait, are you crying? Shit, Yelena she’s upset about something.”

You laughed at him, shaking your head as you finally looked over at them, tear stained cheeks, red eyes, and a quivering bottom lip. Not to mention your frizzy hair, and tear soaked sweater sleeves.

They easily entered the room, Yelena turning on your desk lamp as Bob shut the door behind him. Then Yelena was sliding onto the floor beside you, and Bob in front of the both of you.

The both of them were an oddly comforting duo, they were the best of friends, and honestly, after helping Bob start working through a lot of his issues, he had helpful input on most emotional situations. Plus, the fact that he cared was enough for you to let him in, and that went for Yelena as well.

Yelena noticed the phone, picking it up and looking at it, her brows knit together at the sight of the paused video, seeing a younger version of you in the arms of Joaquin Torres, smiles on your face while you flashed your wedding ring. Then she noticed that you were in a wedding dress, and he was in a full suit.

She squinted slightly, using two fingers to zoom into the paused video, eyes widening at the realization that the Air Force Captain she’d met today, was the same man in the video that you were very clearly marrying.

“We got married young. Like idiots. Then the Blip happened and I dunno, we just hated each other after a while, there wasn’t anything to fix. Then we went to court—spent almost a year going back and forth for the sake of arguing. Honestly, I only prolonged the divorce because fighting with him was better than not speaking to him.”

You sighed, now leaning your head on Yelena’s shoulder while the two listened and nodded.

“I don’t think it was idiotic to marry him if you loved him—did you?”

You blinked a few times, glancing at Bob, then down at your hands again. “I do—I did. He used to make me feel like nothing could ever go wrong. Then suddenly, the fantasy all came crashing down.” You sniffled a few times, shrugging.

He nodded, looking at Yelena who was swiping through the different photos and videos, then her eyes widened as she let out a loud gasp, throwing the phone to the side, where it now sat face-up, a video of you and Joaquin in a very intimate position on the screen.

Your eyes widened as you rushed to flip the phone. It wasn’t like a full blown sex tape, but you were half-naked on top of him.

“So I take it you had a healthy marriage at first? Based on that-” Yelena pointed to the phone. Then she finally broke, loud boisterous laughter filling the room. Her laugh was always contagious, and it led to the three of you laughing amongst each other.

They’d managed to cheer you up in minutes, and that reminded you of how lonely you’d felt before meeting them. How mundane life felt, how every single task was draining. It reminded you of how draining life really used to be, when you’d always feel so alone in a room full of people.

When you’d seek comfort in the one person that couldn’t provide it anymore.

“I really do love you guys.”

Yelena smiled, nodding her head. “I love you too, in a completely platonic way, don’t try to mount me the way you mounted him—wait what's his name again?” Her brows knit together as she thought hard to remember Joaquin’s name, but she was drawing a blank.

Bob finally stopped laughing, shaking his head. “Joaquin—I think? Yeah, that sounds right.”

You nodded. “Yeah, it’s Joaquin, Captain Joaquin Torres. Y’know when we were married he wasn’t a captain yet—” you stopped mid sentence, afraid of the potential word vomit or tears that might come out of this conversation.

On the opposite end of the tower Joaquin was pacing back and forth in one of the guest bedrooms. Not only was he angry, he was hurt, so hurt, in fact, that he’d spent thirty minutes crying silently in the shower, hoping the scalding hot water would numb some of the pain he was feeling.

It usually worked for physical pain, but emotional pain? It did little to nothing.

Seeing you was like opening Pandora's box. Joaquin always knew he was angry, angry at you yes, but he was angrier at himself. He’d never really forgiven himself for letting you slip through the cracks, for taking his frustrations out on you, for being overly jealous and never understanding, and for pushing you away. Constantly.

The Blip had taken a lot out of him, he was hurting, but so were you.

He forgot about that, about the pain that you’d been in.

Your mother was blipped, and she meant the world to you. Anytime you’d call your father, you’d lock yourself in the bedroom after, sobbing for hours, holding a pillow against your chest, trying to find some kind of comfort.

In the beginning, he’d slip into bed behind you, arms wrapped around your torso while you silently cried and mourned your mother. You were never really the blind hope type—he was. Joaquin had been there for you, there to comfort you, to bring you a sense of reassurance, and most importantly, to ground you.

His abuela had been blipped, he knew how it felt, the grief, but it wasn’t nearly as substantial as yours was. He loved his abuela, but he also knew she was an older woman who lived an entire life, and anytime they spoke, she’d always say ‘I love you Quino, if this is the last time we talk, just know i’ll always be there in spirit! Make sure you tell my princessa I love her too!’—or something along those lines.

He used to tell her not to talk like that, but his mother said it came from a place of love and of understanding. Every moment with someone was precious and needed to be valued, life was really too short to leave things unspoken.

So how he managed to leave so much? He didn’t understand.

He blamed himself for the divorce, Joaquin knew that he was pushing you away. Then you’d gotten that job on base, and at first he was excited to visit his pretty wife during lunch. But then his jealousy took over, jealousy mixed with pessimism and all of the negative emotions he’d been swallowing down started surfacing.

It wasn’t like you didn’t try. You were constantly talking to him, constantly checking on him, spending nights with your hands in his hair while you asked if he was alright, telling him you were always there to talk.

His job was stressing him out, he was under so much pressure, constantly. Tensions were rising at work, there were deadlines that needed to be met, tasks he didn’t have the time to do, and yet he still had to.

So he’d come home late, and he was bitter about it. Then you’d show up with a small smile on your tired face, mumbling something about making dinner, but he was tired, too tired to eat. He just wanted to sleep.

Some days he’d snap at you, and you were never one to sit and take it.

That’s when the fighting would start, and the screaming for hours on end. You two would go back and forth until eventually you’d slam a door in his face and tell him to sleep on the sofa.

Even now, as he paced back and forth, he remembers the sound of your muffled sobs, the way you’d cry after every fight. Then you’d pad out of the room in the middle of the night with a blanket for him, he’d pretend to be asleep as you covered him, kissing the top of his head, mumbling a rushed ‘I’m sorry’.

You always cared, you did your best.

He didn’t.

He stopped trying, and he knew that. He was just so tired, so angry, so jealous, so frustrated. The world didn’t stop spinning, tomorrow would always come, but he was so angry as he focused on each individual day, then he couldn’t find comfort in you anymore.

At one point, you were able to calm him down within seconds, you’d wrap your arms around him and tell him you loved him, then ask to talk. He’d melt against you, an entire breakdown of his day would follow. Sometimes you’d comment, other times you’d nod your head while he spoke.

But eventually, the hugs, kisses, and gentle gestures stopped. Even the sex didn’t solve anything. It was just another way for the both of you to let go of tension, then he was grabbing a pillow and leaving the room, going to the sofa, and eventually, to the guest bedroom that had turned into his personal bedroom.

What made things worse was that you were both so young when you’d gotten married, young and naive. In a world where alien invasions were common, jumping the gun on marriage wasn’t that irrational, not when you were truly in love with someone.

But sometimes love isn’t enough.

That’s what had truly broken Joaquin, the realization that love wasn’t enough.

Joaquin was twenty-six when the divorce was finalized, you were twenty-five.

When he was twenty-two people told him it was idiotic to get married that young, that it was a mistake. So many people doubted you and Joaquin’s marriage, and now, he had to admit that they were right.

He wanted to hate you, the last year of your marriage was the hardest. It was as if neither of you wanted to let go while simultaneously making one another’s lives a living hell. Buying a house together made it much harder to separate from one another, which also presented its own legal issues in terms of needing to be separated prior to divorcing one another.

Then there was the fact that you’d been married in Florida, seeking a divorce in California, while Joaquin was actively in the Air Force, and you also worked on base. It wasn’t like either of you would’ve been able to avoid one another, and truthfully, neither of you wanted to avoid each other.

The arguments and fights were never ending during that last month. Anytime he’d see you or you’d see him before a meeting with your attorneys, a screaming fest would start. Most of the fights had nothing to do with any divisions of assets, and you’d both already agreed to sell the house.

But Joaquin knew that he preferred fighting with you over never speaking to you.

The sound of his door slamming open caught his attention, his pacing stopped while he turned to look at the door.

Sam stood here with Bucky by his side, a singular brow raised as he shook his head, the two men inviting themselves into the room.

“So you mean to tell me, this entire time, you had an ex-wife? Kid, you were married?” Sam was loud as he spoke, shock evident in his tone as he entered the rooms, hands moving as he spoke. “I had to find out from Buck! Of all people!”

“Hey—what’s that supposed to mean!” Bucky sounded offended while he leaned against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest, shaking his head at Sam’s comment.

“It means, I’ve been working with the kid for almost four years—wait! When we first met, you’d barely been divorced? Is that why you were in Tunisia?! On some finding yourself through work journey?”

Joaquin was frozen in place, eyes wide as he looked from Sam to Bucky, then back to Sam. He didn’t know the best way to approach this situation. Sure, he knew that eventually he would’ve had to come clean to Sam about you, but that wasn’t ever a priority of his, mainly because he preferred to act as if nothing was ever wrong and swallow all of his feelings down.

“Yeah, when you introduced me to the kid, they’d only been divorced for around four months? I found that out from McQueen. Honestly, I’m surprised Joaquin held it in for so long, five drinks in and she was crying on my living room sofa.”

Bucky sounded so nonchalant as he spoke, which only irritated Joaquin. It made sense that you’d be spending time with him, he was your boss. But, you? Drinking with him? Then spending time at his place?

Joaquin’s jaw was clenched so tight he was afraid his teeth would crack.

“Buck, why were you drinking with her—you don’t drink often.” Sam paused, looking over at Bucky.

“I wasn’t drinking, we were at a fundraiser, y’know they’re boring as hell. People kept passing her drinks, she didn’t want to be rude when she was technically working, I told her to just chuck the drinks into some plants—then she started rambling about plants and their root health. Anyways, long story short, she’s an emotional drunk.”

Joaquin stifled a laugh, a sad smile on his face at the story.

You’d always been an emotional drunk, even as a teenager when you and Ximena would sneak into his mother’s liquor cabinet, sneaking out to drink in random parking lots or at the beach. Then someone would inevitably call him to pick you both up, he’d always feign reluctance, but he never had an issue getting the two of you, and whatever other friend was there.

That’s also one of the first times you’d kissed him. He remembers the day as if it was yesterday, you were a junior in high school, he was a senior, it was after the big homecoming game. You were clearly plastered, laughing and shrugging with Ximena, both of you practically falling over with wide smiles on your faces as you stumbled into Joaquin in the parking lot.

He lectured you both that night, Ximena had fallen asleep in the front seat, so you opted to help haul her out of the car with him, giggling as you backed into him a few times. Joaquin kept shushing you, and after you both managed to get his sister into the house, you smiled at him in the dimly lit hallway.

Then you kissed him. It was quick, as if the moment you realized your lips were on his, you were immediately reeling back. Apologizing while giggling, then you’d gone into Ximena’s room, waving at him before closing the door.

“Hey stop daydreaming over there! You’ve got some serious explaining to do!” Sam’s snapping caught Joaquin’s attention as he slowly nodded his head, acting as if he was listening—he very clearly was not.

“Start from the beginning, let’s hear it.”

Joaquin nodded at Bucky, letting out a deep sigh as he sat on the edge of his bed.

He’d spent the next two hours explaining everything to them both, from the start of your relationship, to getting engaged, then to the Blip, and of course, the end of it all. The divorce, the fights, the anger, all of it.

In a way, Joaquin felt like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. He’d spent so long bottling everything up that it had just become normal to him.

“So you’re still in love with her and from what Bucky’s told me—she’s still in love with you. So what’s the issue here? Clearly you’ve both grown up, and Ray Charles once said, time heals a broken heart but time has clearly sat still while you two have been apart—”

Bucky cut him off, “I don’t think that’s how that saying goes, Sam.”

“You shut the hell up, I’m giving the kid some emotional motivation to win his woman back! Sure, they’re divorced, but they’re young and clearly stupid!—no offense Joaquin. It’s been years since they’ve seen each other! You’ve heard her side, Buck, now we’ve heard his! They’re in love!” Sam’s hands moved rapidly as he spoke, constantly motioning in Joaquin’s direction and the opposite direction, most likely where you metaphorically would be.

Bucky sighed, shrugging. “Okay, you’re right—” he turned to look at Joaquin. “I get you two went through a rough patch during the Blip, but I can guarantee, things’ll be better now. At the very least, you should try. Lightning McQueen’s not gonna reject you outright.”

Sam and Joaquin shared a confused look before Sam spoke up. “Why the hell is everyone calling her Lightning McQueen?”

Bucky shrugged. “She wears Lightning McQueen slippers around the tower, sometimes she’ll stop mid sentence and say ‘kachow’. At first I didn’t get it, then she forced me to watch the entire Cars franchise with her. She cried during the last two movies.”

Sam blinked a few times, meanwhile Joaquin couldn’t hold his laughter in.

“That’s one of her favorite movies, something about a coming of age story—I dunno, she’s loved it forever.”

Sam and Bucky looked at one another, then back at him, speaking at the same time, the mixture of “you’re both idiots” and “idiots in love” sounded a bit jumbled and confusing, but Joaquin got the point.

The next few days Joaquin’s only goal was to actually talk to you. It was easy in theory, there were only so many places that you could run off to. However, you knew the compound much better than he did, and anytime he finally caught sight of you, you were gone in seconds.

It was obvious you’d been avoiding him, and that was only irritating him more and more. He’d gone from being slightly hopeful that maybe you two could start over, to feeling himself slipping into that same pessimistic mindset he’d tried to swallow down and drown out with work.

He was hanging on by a thin thread.

That thread snapped the moment he walked into the lab in search of some data on a few samples of adamantium that was recovered near a small island neighboring the Celestial mass in the Indian Ocean.

He still had a job to do, even if he was also simultaneously trying to win his ex-wife back.

The moment Joaquin stepped foot into the lab, you were there, standing beside a large metal table where Bob was laying flat. Not only was the man laying down, he was fully shirtless and your hands were on his abdomen. From Joaquin’s angle he couldn’t see what you were doing, but he did hear your laughter.

Yelena leaned against one of the tables behind you, her arms crossed as she questioned your motions, pointing down at Bob where you’d been stitching him up, “If you go any slower, it’ll prolong the pain.”

You scoffed, glancing at her over your shoulder. “Well, if you hadn’t been sparring with knives, none of us would be here right now. This is the closest thing we have to a med bay, besides, if I go faster, I’ll fuck up the stiching and unfortunately for you, you don’t exactly have health insurance in the state of New York. Actually, I don’t think any of you do outside of Bucky and Walker.”

Bob winced slightly as you pulled the thread through his skin, teeth clenched, one hand over his eyes. “Why couldn’t I have a drink or something again? No offense Lightning, but this hurts.”

You sighed. “Remember your whole addictive personality thing? Sorry, but the best I can do is get Yelena to knock you out cold. But I think that would be another issue. Besides, aren't you supposed to be like a God or something? You’ll heal just fine! Don’t be such a baby!” Then you started laughing.

He groaned, wincing as he laughed as well, which made Yelena laugh too.

Joaquin finally walked into the lab, jaw clenched as he walked right past the three of you, his own metaphorical storm cloud following him. Except this time, you couldn’t run away from him, which he was grateful for, but he didn’t really feel like discussing your past relationship with people he hardly knew.

“Good afternoon to you too, Captain Torres!” Your eyes widened at Yelena’s words, fingers pressing a bit too harshly into Bob’s skin—earning a loud groan.

Joaquin scoffed, nodding his head to acknowledge Yelena while mumbling. “Yeah—afternoon.”

He found a more secluded area of the lab, but it still had a direct line-of-sight to you. So Joaquin sat, stewing in his own jealousy for thirty minutes while you stitched up some gash on Bob's side.

Then Yelena was helping Bob get back up, stating that she’d be back shortly, but once she was out of the lab, the lights dimmed, then flashed red for a few seconds, before settling on a blue-ish hue. That was followed by Yelena’s voice over the intercom. “Sorry Lightning! But you two need to talk it out, or sex it out, whichever you prefer! I’ll shut down the cameras! Oh and don’t try to do any other work, Peter’s shutting down the systems externally.”

Once she finished speaking, you were left in a tense silence as you cleaned up the area. The sounds of metal clinking, plastic shifting, spraying from the disinfectants, and the sounds of your frustrated sighing practically echoed in the room.

“Are you gonna say something to me? Or just be angry and clean the whole time. Not that I’m not used to that.”

You blinked a few times, pausing your motions before practically slamming the metal tray in your hands against the countertop as you slowly turned to face him. He was still several feet away, but now Joaquin was standing up, leaning against one of the larger free-standing countertops that you typically examined samples on.

“I have nothing to say to you Joaquin.”

He shook his head at that. “Well, I have everything to say to you Ms. Torres.” He noticed the way your eyes widened as he shook his head, then he ran his tongue along his top teeth. “Y’know what’s absolutely insane, that I had to find out from Bucky—your boss—that you hadn’t ever gone through with changing your name. So you’ve been walking around with my last name, while fucking whoever the hell you want.”

You scoffed at that, there it was, the jealousy. “Excuse me? I’m sorry that I didn’t feel the need to go through another extensive legal process to change my goddamn name, when I already made a name for myself with the last name Torres. And seriously? Fucking whoever I want? I’ve gone on dates—I’ve had sex with other people. Oh well! Do you want flowers and a fuckin handwritten apology? Like oh I’m so sorry Joaquin that I kept your last name after being married to you for five years! My bad!”

Joaquin let out a sardonic laugh, followed by a scoff before speaking again. “Well, if you hadn’t disappeared off of the face of the earth, maybe I wouldn’t care that much. It’s like the second we were over, you were gone!”

“What the hell was I supposed to do?! Stick around? Fight with you some more?! As if it was ever fucking enjoyable? I choose to leave, I’m not mad about it! I had to get the hell away from you, I had to remember who the hell I was—who I am! I didn’t even know who I was outside of being with you! So sorry if I choose to put myself first and go live my life Joaquin!”

Your voice got louder and louder as you spoke, chest rapidly rising and falling, feeling the waves of irritation and anger rolling through your entire body.

He shook his head. “Did you ever think that maybe—just maybe I didn’t want the divorce. That sure we could’ve used some space and time apart but that I still loved you?! Did you ever consider that! Or maybe I still love you! That I was never able to move on?!”

You paused, lips slightly parted, brows knit together at the confession.

Joaquin scoffed, rolling his eyes, leaning his head back slightly as he looked up, silently praying to whatever God truly existed, that this wasn’t a mistake. Then his eyes were back on you.

“There hasn’t been a single day that I haven’t thought about you. Every single worthless hookup I had, I thought about you, I purposefully went after women that reminded me of you just so I could fucking feel something—anything! But they were never you!”

He ran his hands through his hair. “I swallowed down every shitty emotion I’ve felt for years, drowning myself in even more work, I mean I guess it paid off-or at least it had paid off until I fucking crash landed into the Indian Ocean!”

Joaquin laughed again, sniffling slightly, doing his best to ignore the burning in his eyes “The worst part was, when I woke up from a week long coma, I was delirious and high on whatever the fuck they were giving me for the pain—and I asked for you. I asked every single nurse for you. I get it, you wanted to go off and live your life without me—but you didn’t call, you didn’t text. Hell, I even asked Ximena if you knew and she avoided the subject.”

You cut him off. “Shut the hell up Joaquin.”

He shook his head “No, I’m tired of holding this shit in, and if this is the only chance I’ll ever get to talk to you—then so be it! I waited for you, I waited in that goddamn hospital hoping and praying that maybe you’d show up with your sad smile and concerned eyes and tell me that I was an idiot and things would all be okay. But you didn’t, come to find out, you were there that day—the day they rushed me in.”

You shook your head, jaw clenched, eyes watering. “Joaquin, stop.”

Joaquin laughed again, shrugging. “Bucky told me you were there with him, that you hounded all of the nurses and the receptionists, but you never once went to see me. What? Hate me that bad you couldn’t even spare me five fucking minutes when I’m unconscious after nearly dying?!—”

“Jesus Christ! Shut the fuck up, Joaquin! You don’t know what you’re talking about. For once in your life, shut your big fucking mouth! I’m sorry I didn’t go—you think I didn’t wanna see you?! I was fucking terrified! Terrified that you were gonna die on that table when they were operating on you! I was sobbing the entire time, I was so afraid of losing you—”

You wiped your tears away, brows knit together, bottom lip quivering as you stared at him. “I’d already lost you once. I didn’t have it in me to lose you again. I couldn’t see you like that, I tried—I wanted to. I couldn’t do it. You don’t get to hold that against me—”

You pointed at him as you spoke. “You don’t have the fucking right to hold that against me.”

Joaquin blinked a few times, watching as your walls were crumbling. He knew you were still hurt, that much was obvious in the way you’d been avoiding him—but to know you were hurting like this?

It broke part of him, and for a second he felt like his nineteen year old self again on the night he’d taken your virginity. He remembered the way you tried not to cry, word vomiting your insecurities and vulnerabilities to him while the two of you sat in his childhood bedroom. Joaquin remembered the way you looked, the way you couldn’t meet his stare, the way you held the blanket to your body to shield yourself from him, even if you were still in your dress.

He knew you so well, he used to know exactly how to comfort you, exactly how to make your worries disappear.

Now he didn’t.

Now he was the cause of them.

“I loved you until the very end of our relationship. Don’t ever sit and act like I didn’t—like I don’t care about you. Joaquin, you were my first love, you meant everything to me. I married you when I was twenty-one like an idiot because I had so much faith and hope in our relationship—in our love. I know I was wrong to up and leave once the divorce was finalized, but I didn’t want to work through things just to be your friend. I could never in my life be your friend Joaquin—not when you knew everything about me—every single insecurity, every hope, every dream.”

You weren’t wiping the tears away anymore, a sad smile on your face as you looked down at your hands, then back to him.

“If I could do it all over again, I would. Just to get the chance to love you like that again. That’s why I left, because I knew if I stayed, I would’ve been right back with you—right back to wanting to hate you, knowing I never could and I couldn’t take it.”

He was at a loss for words, tears finally flowing along his cheeks while he looked at you. Joaquin finally processed how he’d broken your heart—broken you. He’d broken you down time and time again, letting his own insecurities, exhaustion, and pessimism get to him.

He’d hurt the one person he never wanted to hurt—you.

“Everyday I think about you. I think about how you’re doing, I wonder what Sam’s got you wrapped up in, I laugh at the stupid jokes you make during press releases and media statements as the Falcon. Hell, I even pray for you, which is crazy because I don’t even know if there’s even a higher power—but the faith that you’ll be okay each and every day is enough for me. I ask Ximena about you all the time. Whenever I go back to Miami, I make sure to go see your family.”

Joaquin was genuinely speechless. This entire time, he thought you just didn’t care. That you wanted as much distance between the both of you as possible. He’d been so angry for years, angry at you, and angrier at himself.

“I don’t think I’ll ever not love you Joaquin, and that in itself, is enough to make me avoid you. I don’t want what we had, I hated it. I hated every fight, I hated watching you leave after we had sex, I hated the sight of you sleeping on our sofa. I hated all of it. I know life was really hard at that point, I know I wasn’t the best wife or partner, but I tried. I tried everyday but you held everything against me, constantly.”

You sniffled, biting your bottom lip while trying to recollect yourself. The tears were flowing, and you couldn’t stop them.

“You were so mean, all the time. You weren’t the Joaquin I had fallen in love with, honestly, I know I was a shell of myself, but you—you were so much worse. You never let me back in—” a short sob slipped past your lips while you cried, looking down at the ground, taking a few deep breaths. “I wanted you to let me in again. I remember purposefully forgetting documents and prolonging our entire attorney experience, just so I could spend more time with you. Because I knew the second it was over, I was leaving.”

The silence was suffocating.

You were doing your best not to sob. Joaquin was processing everything—he’d never truly known how it all affected you. He’d never seen you sob at night, sure he knew you cried, but he didn’t see it, he didn’t notice how broken you truly were.

“I’m sorry.” Joaquin spoke softly “I’m so sorry—baby—I didn’t know. I just—I didn’t realize how bad things were until it was all over. And I was just so angry all the time, everything made me so mad. Then I’d see you, but everyone was always gravitating towards you, and it makes sense because you’re beautiful, funny and so intelligent, but it bothered me.”

He paused, now stepping closer to you, hesitating before gently caressing your face, angling it towards him, away from the ground. His thumbs softly wiping your tears away.

“I was so insecure and jealous and downright mean, and I’m sorry for putting you through hell. You meant the world to me—hell you still mean the world to me. I’ve been so angry this whole time, I thought I was mad at you, but I was mad at me. Mad that I’d fucked up so bad, mad that things hadn’t worked out, that I stopped trying.”

You leaned into his hand, teary eyes now looking into his.

“I’ve never stopped loving you. I want you to know that, even if nothing comes from it. I’ll always love you, there’s nobody in this universe that gets me the way you do, I know it’s been years, but I don’t think I’m ready to just let you go again.”

Joaquin’s vulnerability shocked you, not because you didn’t think he was capable, but because this Joaquin, this was your Joaquin. This is the man that you’d fallen in love with.

“I never wanted you to let me go, Joaquin.”

He’d been the one to suggest the divorce, and it had taken a few months of fights before you’d actually considered it.

By that point, Joaquin was rarely sleeping with you, and the only time the two of you weren’t fighting was when you were both on base at work. Outside of that, the fights and arguments were constant, an unrelenting cycle, and you had finally hit your breaking point.

The last major fight before the divorce ended in you screaming at him before tossing a large yellow envelope on the kitchen island.

You both signed the papers that night. Then the filing process started.

That night you cried into the stuffed bear that he’d won for you at a carnival when you were nineteen. It was one of your first real dates, and you’d been so excited when he’d managed to actually win the ring toss three times in a row, scoring the large panda bear, giving it to you with a dopey smile on his face.

“Please—give me a second chance, I’ll do everything right this time—I won’t fall back into old shitty habits—I promise baby” his voice was strained as he tried not to cry. It took everything in him to not fall to his knees to beg for you back.

You sighed, pulling away from him as you shook your head.

“Joaquin, I think time apart might’ve been what we needed. But I still see the way you look at people around me, I still see the same shitty habits, and honestly, I think we might be better apart for now. We both have stuff to work through, but I won’t up and disappear from your life again”

He nodded as you spoke, biting his bottom lip, watching as you shrugged, sadness pooling in your teary eyes.

“I can’t be your wife again—not now at least. But maybe one day when we’re in a better spot.”

Joaquin sniffled a bit, looking up at the roof, then back at you. “One day for sure.”

Then you kissed him, it was soft, hesitant, but he knew it wasn’t a welcoming kiss. It was similar to the last kiss you’d given him the day your divorce finalized. As if you were saying goodbye again.

Joaquin only hoped that the goodbye would be temporary.

Thanks for reading my lovers <3 as always feedback is appreciated!!!

#joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x fem!reader #joaquin torres angst #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres x y/n #joaquin torres fanfic #joaquin torres imagine #joaquin torres my beloved <3 #joaquin x y/n #joaquin x reader

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jadeoru · 1 year ago

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LOVER, PLEASE STAY.

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓: satoru gojo, 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: reader.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: fluff, comfort -- wc: 3k

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓: being the strongest has an indescribable amount of pros, but it's outweighed by its cons. with such an honor, satoru finds himself unable to open up to you; thinking it would make him weak.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒: fem!reader (gojo refers to u as gf) hurt/comfort, this is sad :[, pet names (baby, pretty, etc), crying (gojo), gojo being a dumbass and not communicating his feelings, kissing, poor gojo just wants a peaceful life with his gf, probably (definitely) ooc, overall just comfort bc I'm GRIEVING and he needs a hug i think a hug could fix him

you always felt safe when you were with satoru. no matter where you were, or what he was doing, if you called him he’d be there in seconds. maybe it was because he was the strongest, or maybe it was because he truly cared, but you always felt at ease around him. you could tell him anything with no fear of being judged (well, even just teased a little bit). regardless, he was always there for you, and you were so caught up in how he always checked in on you; always making sure you were okay, that you forgot to ask him the same. it wasn’t until when suguru geto left that you realised that beneath it all, satoru gojo was a really fragile man; your realisation solidified when you found him like this. you came home from work earlier than usual, opening the door with exhausted gratitude to finally be home, but, you were greeted with silence. huh. usually, when you got home you were bombarded with affection from the moment you stepped inside; barely one step through the door and he was at your heel like a dog that had been waiting for its owner to return. but now was different. It was eerily quiet compared to every other day. was he even home?

“satoru?” you called out into the hallway, it lingered in the air, until it faded out with no response. ‘weird, maybe he’s asleep or something.’ - it’s a stupid thought, considering how at this time, he’s usually (always) going through/recovering from a huge sugar rush, but it was the only thought that made sense. you took your coat off and placed it on the coat rack, quickly discarding your shoes and placing your bag on the counter before beginning the hunt for your boyfriend.

as you went from room to room, hallway to hallway, you couldn’t help but notice the unsettling feeling of emptiness that replaced his absence. as your search dragged on, you struggled to adjust to the growing pit in your stomach. did someone get him? no. there’s no way. he’s the strongest. you shouldn’t have to worry about that; he said so himself. but, still, you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that maybe something did happen. you were so caught up in your thoughts, you almost missed the sound that came from your shared bedroom. almost. it stopped you dead in your tracks; prompting you to quietly make your way to the source of the sound; pressing your ear against the door. that’s when you heard it again. a quiet; muffled noise. it sounded like sniffling. you almost crashed through the door and face-planted into the carpet when you realised what was happening. was he crying? your hands hesitated around the doorknob, before pulling it open. luckily, you regained your composure the moment the door flung open.

there he was: sitting on the edge of your shared bed, his hands gripping the bedsheets with some sort of desperation; a futile way of grounding himself. his head was down, looking at his knees. almost instantly, his head snapped back to yours. if it weren’t for the blindfold obscuring half of his face, you could’ve probably identified what was happening. or at least, you would’ve gotten a brief idea. for now, all you had was a theory; a thought, that maybe, just maybe, your boyfriend was crying. but how could you make sure of it? hell, you’re talking about satoru gojo; the most stubborn man alive. out of all the years you’d known him, never once had he opened up to you; let alone expressed feeling anything about being even the tiniest bit weak.

“you’re home early.” his voice interrupted your thoughts. it wasn’t as enthusiastic as it usually was, most signs of genuine joy were nowhere to be heard; instead it was laced with faux-optimism. shutting the door behind you, you walked towards the bed and took a seat next to him -taking note of how he didn’t attempt to get his usual ‘welcome home kiss’. while, yes, it’s strange, satoru always made sure to kiss you whenever you got home. treating the act as if it were some sort of ritual, or tradition. but now? he didn’t even try. yeah, he was looking at you, and smiling-(fakely), but there was no way he was actually happy. “yeah, my boss finally freed me from my office. he was complaining about always letting me off early, but i was too busy packing my things and getting the hell outta there to listen.” you chuckled, trying to lighten his mood, even if only by a bit. “yeah? old man finally stopped making you his personal servant?” his voice sounded weak, as if the act of speaking was one of the hardest difficulties he had to endure. you nodded, “yeah, finally.” the room fell silent after you spoke. you could hear the cars driving by outside, and the rain pattering against the window, dancing rhythmically in the air. there was nothing else to be said. it was unsettling, if anything. silence was something long forgotten when in his presence. you almost had to double check to make sure that was actually satoru beside you, and not some sort of alien. the situation was so… awkward? conversation was attempted, but it didn’t flow as easily as it always did. it was so unlike him, and it was tearing you apart from the inside. your heart panged with distress; slowly unravelling from within you. there was no denying it anymore, the man that sat beside you, who suddenly found staring at the blank wall very interesting, (or at least, in that direction. - blindfold, and whatnot) your satoru, needed help.

and now, you accepted the task that was getting satoru gojo to open up about his emotions. you shifted in your side of the bed, fiddling with your fingers as you searched for something to say, silently hoping that the right words would come to you if you tried hard enough. "you okay?” - not the most poetic and comforting thing, but it was tried and true. “ you know you can talk to me about anything, right?" you asked, your voice soft and caring; each word laced with pure love. he chuckled, "what makes you say that?" he asked, blissfully unaware of how obvious he was being. you noted how he avoided your gaze, instead continuing to focus on the wall in front of you. "you've just been acting a bit distant lately, and you seem upset. I know how you hate talking about your feelings and stuff.. but I've just been worried." you said, leaning into his shoulder. he smiled, without a trace of cockiness. "I'm fine, pretty. you don't need to worry about me - you never do." he added the last part with a bit of hesitancy. because, deep down he knew he was lying. he was lying to you, and to himself. he knew he should open up to you. he knew that if he did, you'd be there for him, supporting him with open arms. but he was scared, petrified. he didnt even know why. it was as if the act of letting out each feeling and thought, releasing the growing balloon of responsibility and insecurity into the open air, would enervate him; make him weak. he was washed away by a wave of shame. if he wasn't constantly the strongest, the bravest, never sad, never worried, perfect boyfriend, then who was? who would take his place? there was something about opening up to you that made him feel weak. like, if he let his confident, fearless facade down, you would turn your head away in disgust.

he knew that he needed help. but the act of letting out each and every vulnerability that he held delicately within him was bordering the line of impossible. he clung onto his title as ‘the strongest’, as if it were the one thing that defined him.

"satoru." you almost whispered, "not a single person on earth lives their life without a voice in their head bringing them down." you began. your hand slid across the white bedsheets until it met with his; resting your hand on top of his. "feeling sad doesn't alienate you from others. it's a normal thing.

you slowly hovered your other hand above his face, nervously, before you pulled his blindfold down. his eyes were as enchanting as they had always been, but now, they were decorated with tears.

you were right, he was crying. although this was exactly what you had expected to see, the reality was a lot harder to process than you thought.

shockingly enough, that was the first time you had ever seen him cry.

behind the teasing and flirting, all the cocky, boastful comments, was a man full of fear. while, yes, being the strongest had its perks, it was outweighed by an indescribable number of cons; because of his status as the strongest, he always had a bunch of expectations that he had to meet at all times. perfect people couldn't have flaws - that's why they were perfect. he also had to deal with the fact that due to his role in life, eyes on him at all times, you were the second target. when being tasked with the goal of taking down the satoru gojo, their target was always either him or you. everyone with common sense could see how much you meant to him, which meant you would also fall victim to the attempts of taking down the honoured one. he hated it; how he never had a say in the matter - how he was born into greatness. all he wanted was a quiet, safe life with you; a goal he could never reach. it's not like he regrets dating you, it’s just that he hated to have to put you through this.

his cheeks shimmered from the wetness pooling around his eyes, a sight so unlikely you felt overwhelmed by sympathy. it hurt you, both physically and mentally, to see him like this. you felt ashamed of how you hadn’t questioned him sooner, that you hadn’t helped to put the problem at ease before it got out of hand. without saying a word, you scooted closer to him, and pulled him into your chest. he remained perfectly still at the action. the hand that was on his own quickly moved to his hair, running your fingers through it just the way he liked it, the way only you knew how to do.

“even if you don’t wanna talk, i’m here for you, ‘toru.” the tone of your voice was similar to that of honey; a syrupy sweet kindness, that gojo was sure would rot his teeth if he had too much, but he had a sweet tooth unlike no other.“- i just want you to know that it would be so much easier if you let me know what was going on in that pretty head of yours.” you continued. he nodded, knowing that you were right. he nudged himself closer to you, burying his face into your chest, once again concealing the sadness he had spiralled into. “take all the time you need, ‘toru. i’m not going anywhere.” if that wasn’t enough support, you continued, “even if we stay like this till the sun comes up, if you still aren’t ready to talk, i’ll keep waiting.” you pressed a kiss to the top of his head, to which he let out a strange choking sort of sound in response. It sounded like an exasperated chuckle. “what did i do to deserve you.” he muttered, turning his head as he spoke so his words weren’t muffled by your chest. you held him even tighter, if that was even possible. with a smile as soft as your hold on him, you burrowed your face in his hair, mumbling a quiet “i love you,” which didn’t land on empty ears. he heard every word, and clung to each syllable that left your lips like they were a lifeboat, and he was lost at sea. you scooped him up like an angel and he found himself replaying those three words over and over again in his mind. he realised that, despite his strength, you made him the strongest. your constant love and support, like water to a plant, helps him achieve his full potential. how could he ever repay you for all that you do to him?

you hear fabric rustling as he shifts around, tilting his head to the side yet again. “i’ll do anything for you , so… um.. promise me that.. you’ll always stay..” he hesitated. saying those words out loud made him painfully aware of how utterly pathetic he was being. A moment of brief silence passed, and then he continued, “i’ll always be here to keep you safe.. I-. i’ll kill for you if i have to… just please.. please don’t leave me.” his voice cracked at the end of his sentence.

you wanted to speak up, to individually pluck all of these fears from his mind, to allow him to live freely, without carrying the weight of guilt that follows him everywhere; a looming shadow that never seems to leave him no matter how much good he does, or how much evil he removes from the world - none of that can fight away the burden of superiority; the cold, lonely view from the summit. he watches non-sorcerers living their normal lives every day, and behind the blindfold of arrogance that he wears with pride, he’s jealous of them. that’s all he wants in life. - a normal one. despite them being the reason he existed, what he lived to fight, he found that he, himself was the true curse. he was chained to sorcery whether he wanted to be or not. he could never quit, he was needed. he is the best. he saves thousands of people constantly, and does (mostly) nothing but good. and yet, nothing he does will ever bring back his friends - he knows that. but god, he has tried everything to move on.

he continues speaking, a low chuckle leaving his throat. “i’m being really pathetic right now huh? so much for being the stronges-” you cut him off abruptly, your eyes matched his now; glassy and decorated with tears. “satoru.” you began, gently cupping his chin and tilting it upwards, holding eye contact with him. “quit it with that ‘strongest’ bullshit. you have a name. a beautiful name, and you have an incredible personality, and you care for others more than you’d like to admit. having incredible power is just another addition to what makes you such a wonderful person. stop clinging to the title as if it’s a shackle, it’s just another layer to the sweet cake that makes up satoru gojo - and everyone loves cake!” you flashed a dorky smile at him, cupping his cheek with your hands. he remained speechless, staring into your eyes with almost heart-shaped pupils. he looked like a sad little kitty cat. you sucked in a deep breath, waiting for the right words to come to you before continuing. “i love you. I love you so much that it hurts me to see you hurt. you never have to worry about me leaving you, okay? because, i firmly believe that we were put on this earth to be together. you complete me, baby.” for the first time that night, you saw a genuine smile spread on his face. even though it was small, barely there, you noticed it. “that’s corny.” he mumbled, and you laughed. “i guess it is, isn’t it? but it’s true y’know! you’re everything to me ‘toru. i adore you with every fibre of my being.” you placed a kiss on his forehead, immediately taking note of how he leaned into your touch. “i understand what you feel like right now, or at least i think i do. i know you’ve lost most of the people you love, and nothing i say will fully fill the hole they left with their losses. but, i promise you that i will always be here by your side no matter what. i will always be here for you, okay? so don’t ever forget that. and- and don’t you dare try to hide your sadness from me! i get that sometimes you don’t wanna talk about your feelings, and that’s okay. but please, know that you can talk to me. i don’t want you to ever think otherwise. even if it’s something i can’t help with, i’ll always be here to listen. “ your words were like a sweet relief to his aching mind, alleviating most of his worries by the mere promise of comfort alone. god, he was enamoured by you. he moved his hand from your waist, and placed it on top of your hand, which was currently caressing his cheek. he lifted it to his lips, and pressed a firm kiss to your knuckles. you smiled, your cheeks filling with warmth. “I’ll try to be more open ‘n honest from now on.. I promise” he said with an honest expression on his face. you could tell that he was slowly coming back to his former self. “thank you baby.” you kissed him again, this time on the tip of his nose. “no”, he started tracing delicate circles onto your hand. “thank you for bein’ so sweet. you’re too good for me.” his lips curved into the biggest smile you had seen that evening, the sight was almost enough to bring you to tears. you mirrored his relieved expression.

“c’mon, we still have some mochi left over in the kitchen. let’s get some sweets and cuddle up with a movie, i’ll even let you pick this time! or, if you’d prefer, we could keep talking? sound good?” you asked, slowly standing up. you held your hand out to him, and he grabbed onto it in seconds, allowing you to pull him up. he wrapped his arms around your waist, and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. “best girlfriend ever.” he whispered into your skin; his words quickly replaced by goosebumps. you don’t think you could ever stop loving this man.

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 year ago

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Opposites

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x shy/quiet!fem!reader (implied Hondo's sister)

Summary: Hondo finds out you're dating someone, but doesn't expect it to be Jim Street, your total opposite.

Warnings: r is referred to as Hondo's sister but I left this pretty vague (could be half-sister or they just grew up really close!), lots of fluff!

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

A/N: I'm still getting a feel for writing Street, so apologies if he's OOC!

Picture from Pinterest

“Ooh, I know that smile!” Hondo says. “Haven’t seen it since high school, though.”

“Leave me alone,” you demand weakly.

“You talk to your new boy toy like that?”

“Yes.”

Hondo shakes his head as he sits beside you. Growing up together taught Hondo all of your tells. While he will be the first to tease you mercilessly, he is fiercely protective, refusing to let anyone else take advantage of your shyness. Your seemingly sudden and unexplained silences have often been taken as weakness; Hondo has been defending your honor for most of your life.

“So, you’ll admit there is a guy?” Hondo continues.

You tilt your head back against the couch, sighing rather than answering.

“Oh, that’s a yes. It’s been a while, has your type changed since high school?”

“You haven’t.”

“You’re not gonna tell me anything, are you?”

“Nope.”

Sighing, Hondo pats your knee before standing. He has to go to work, and you know he will be thinking about you and your “new boy toy” until he gets answers.

“Hondo,” you call softly. “He’s a good guy, okay? And I’ll introduce you as soon as I’m ready.”

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“And listen to you use it against me? Yeah, sounds like tons of fun, bro.”

“Against you? What kinda guy you think I am?” Hondo replies, raising a hand to his chest. “I’m just try’na help you.”

Humming, you hope he knows you aren’t buying his protective big brother act. You and he both know that it’s not an act and he has overprotective tendencies.

“As long as he’s good,” Hondo continues, “I’m alright with it. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to meet him when you’re feeling up to it.”

You nod, and Hondo waves over his shoulder as he leaves for work. Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you text your so-called boy toy to have a good day, but you don’t include a warning that Hondo is in one of his investigative (read: nosy) moods today.

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking into SWAT HQ the following morning, you tap Hondo’s wallet against your palm. If you catch him while he’s alone, you’ll tease him about leaving his stuff at home or try to get ransom money, but you doubt that will happen. Hondo is rarely alone, and he seems to enjoy watching you squirm at the attention of his teammates. They’re nice but make you even quieter than usual, which Hondo didn’t think was possible until you visited the first time.

Hicks says your name, smiling as he approaches you. “Hondo’s over by the ring. Good to see you.”

“You too,” you reply quietly.

You hear him before you see him, and your shoulders tense when you hear the number of voices mixing with his. Stopping beside a pillar, you wait until he notices you, unable to interrupt their bickering. Street sees you first, his brows furrowing as he looks you over, ensuring you’re okay. When he sees the wallet in your hand, he rolls his eyes, elbowing Hondo’s side and pointing to you. Street smiles when you tuck the wallet behind your back.

“What’s up?” Hondo asks when he sees you.

“Are you missing something?” you ask, keeping your eyes on him rather than the other men looking at you.

“I don’t think so,” he answers after a moment. “Should I be?”

You shrug, and Street steps back to hide his smile from Hondo.

“What’d you take?” Hondo demands.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing. Don’t make me take you into an interrogation room in front of all my lovely friends here.”

You take a short breath at the idea, already shy enough just standing before them.

“Hondo,” Street calls. “Lay off, man.”

“When you get your own shy person, you can decide how much teasing is acceptable, kid.”

Street looks back at you, shrugging as if saying, ‘Hey, I tried.’ You know better than anyone that Hondo can’t be reasoned with.

“So, you’re not missing anything?” you repeat.

“No,” Hondo insists.

You nod, pulling his wallet from behind your back. You take some of his cash and a random gift card from it before tossing it to him.

“Hey,” Hondo warns, holding his hand out for the rest.

“You said you weren’t missing anything, so this isn’t any different,” you argue softly.

“She’s got you there, boss,” Luca comments, leaning against the corner of the boxing ring as he watches the interaction. “But can we get back to work now?”

Hondo looks at you with his brows raised and his jaw set, so you smile and slide the cash into your pocket before waving. After you’re out of sight, you shake your arms, desperate for the comfort of solitude after being on display like that.

Behind you, Street says, “You may call the teasing shots, but she owns you. Can’t blame you for letting her get away with so much, though.”

“What does that even mean, man?” Hondo replies.

“Nothing,” Street answers with a smile. “Now, can we keep sparring so I can take your title, old man?”

Hondo stretches his neck to the side, forgetting about you and focusing on defending his title. His misplaced focus keeps him from dwelling on the soft looks between you and Street.

✯✯✯✯✯

“You good?” Street asks, laying his hands on your shoulders.

You nod, relaxing under his touch.

“I liked your bad cop act at HQ today. Think you should have taken some more ransom money, but you’re cute when you’re trying to be tough.”

Leaning toward him, you wish there was an easy way to hide from him.

“Sorry.”

“What’d you do today?” you ask.

“Can��t tell you that, it’s classified,” he replies quickly.

“Who’d you do it for?”

“Can’t tell you that, either.”

“Do you like me?”

“Can’t tell you- hey, that actually wasn’t bad.” Street smiles as he hooks his arms over your shoulders, pulling you close in a hug that probably looks uncomfortable but wraps you in safety. “I can tell you that and the answer is yes.”

“Why?” you whisper, looping your arms around him.

Street doesn’t answer, raising a hand to brush over your hair and down your back. You sigh, grateful for quiet moments like this. Street can push you just as hard as Hondo, but the moment he takes it too far or thinks he does, he gets sweet and gentle again, whispering apologies and pressing kisses to your hairline that make you even shyer than the original teasing. You are sure he does it on purpose, but you don't care while receiving his affections.

“Hondo figured out that I’m dating someone,” you tell him, pushing a hand under his jacket to rest against his back.

“How?”

“Apparently I have a smile unique to liking someone.”

“Cute.” You huff, and Street adds, “I’ve never had a brother like Hondo, but it seems to me like he really cares about you and just wants to make sure you’re safe and happy. If you want to tell him, I’m prepared to accept the consequences.”

“I don’t want to tell him. He’ll do it again.”

“Do what?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

Street tightens his arms on you until you grunt. If he really thinks touching you more will make you talk, he hasn’t learned anything.

“Well, just know that whatever you decide to do, I’m with you. And if you need someone to protect you from Hondo’s teasing, I’m pretty good at that.”

“Hicks can make him stop faster.”

“Because Hicks is scary.”

“No, he’s not. Hondo just respects him more.”

“You may be quiet, but you have no regard for maintaining my ego, do you?”

You shake your head against him, smiling as he dips his head to whisper, “Luckily, I like you more than me.”

Tucking your face against him, he chuckles underneath you. You don’t know if he can tell, but when he makes you shy, it’s different than when Hondo does it.

✯✯✯✯✯

“I’m heading out,” Street announces, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder.

“Have a nice weekend,” Deacon replies.

“If you have time, our campaign needs us!” Luca calls after him.

“Hard to find time in a busy social schedule like his,” Hondo jokes.

“He’s actually been seeing the same girl for a while,” Luca comments.

“Good for him,” Tan responds.

“I’m right behind him,” Hondo says, closing his locker. “Enjoy your time off.”

As he walks outside, he doesn’t expect to see Street is still there, but what truly surprises him is the sight of Street sitting on his motorcycle, looking up at a woman like she’s the only thing that has ever mattered.

Hondo shakes his head, taking a step toward his car. He stops when he hears a familiar laugh, low and like it’s trying to be hidden. Turning quickly, he calls your name.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What are you doing here?” Street asks, pulling you into a hug when he sees you.

“Missed you,” you confess.

Street pulls back, gripping both sides of your waist as he lowers onto his bike, looking up at you. You drop your eyes to his arms, unable to speak with his attention on you like this. Someone yells your name, and you look up without thinking, immediately stiffening when you see Hondo walking toward you.

“Help,” you whisper.

Street stands, nodding at you before he turns to face Hondo.

“Hondo,” he begins.

“Don’t,” Hondo warns, pointing at him while looking at you. “Jim Street, really?”

“Yes,” you answer. “We’ve been dating for a while.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me? Of all the people you could’ve chosen, you got 20-David’s resident playboy. I know you’re shy, but you can do better.”

“Hondo, stop,” you demand. “That’s not fair.”

Hondo takes a breath, thinking back to the moment he interrupted. That was a side of Street he has never seen.

“Okay,” he says, turning toward Street. “Try to explain it.”

“She is the best thing that has ever happened to me,” Street answers. “But forcing her to talk before she’s ready isn’t going to help this.”

Hondo hates to admit it, but Street is right. You’ve clearly been happy, and in the few minutes he’s been watching, he’s gentle with you, at the least.

“You’ll still talk to me when you’re ready?” Hondo asks you.

“No. Not unless you apologize. You’re judging Jim for something he used to do with no evidence that he’s still like that. You changed, and you preach that people can, but you refuse to see it.”

Your shoulders drop as you finish, losing your anger after defending Street.

“You’re right,” Hondo replies. “And I’m sorry, Street. I just-“

“I get it, Hondo, she’s your sister. But I’m not going to hurt her.”

“You better not.”

Hondo walks away, and you sag against Street’s side.

“Sorry,” you tell him.

“Eh, I’m used to him,” Street replies.

“As a sergeant, not an overprotective brother.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“Not until I have to. He won’t understand any of it.”

“Just tell him opposites attract.”

“Makes it sound like you think I complete you,” you murmur.

“I think we need to get out of here so I can kiss you until you can’t even say my name,” Street whispers in your ear.

You make a sound that you hope conveys your displeasure with his statement. He takes it as an opportunity to keep teasing instead. He really is your opposite, but that’s what makes you like him.

#jim street x fem!reader #jim street x reader #jim street fluff #jim street #swat #swat cbs #fem!reader #shy!reader #requests

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genshin-side-piece · 1 year ago

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Hazy Shade of Winter (Part 1)

Warnings: Yandere Content, Implied Kidnapping, Implied Captivity, Implied Stalking, Implied drug use, Mentions of alcohol, ]Non-Consensual Touching, my bad writing, anything else I missed, 18+, Minors DNI

A/N: Slightly (?) OOC Wriothesley. I think. I'm honestly not sure. But fair warning just to be safe.

You awoke to a loud clang. The sharp noise reverberated through your drowsy skull, pulling you from the heavy slumber that had kept you under until this time. Cloudy thoughts were covered by a heavy layer of fog, making it difficult for you to focus. You couldn’t place the source of the sound. Metal had connected with metal, making it distinctly foreign to you. In all the years that you had lived in the Court of Fontaine, you had never heard anything make such a racket. It was doubtful such a disturbance would be tolerated by the general population, let alone your neighbors. The harsh, cutting quality was enough to wake the dead, yet there were no screams that followed it. Just an echo that quickly faded and the sound of air being pushed through pipes.

Air being pushed through pipes?

The mental fog lifting enough for you to flinch at the bitterness that rested on your tongue. Heavy and salty and altogether awful. Your stomach involuntarily wretched at the taste. You tried to use what little saliva you could muster in the hope that you could wash it away, but that too was in vain. The taste just lingered without any hope of it going away. “Here” The injection of the rich male voice into your world briefly snapped you of your stupor. Out of everything, whether it be the metal or the pipes or the lumpy mattress that was not yours, the most out of place was that voice. You lived alone. When you had returned home last night, at least the small bit that you could remember, you had sworn you had been alone. The two at the bar, who had turned a relaxing cocktail for one into a pub crawl, were nowhere to be seen. You had been wandering the streets of the court alone. Slipping and stumbling the entire way, but at last check, you had been on your own. So where had the man beside you come from?

You blinked up at him, ignoring the glass of water he was offering you. Your hazy mind was too preoccupied with trying to place him. You knew him, no, you’d seen him before. Recently. Had he come into your place of work? No. Perhaps it had been in a shop or on the street? Narrowing your eyes at him, you thought it might be, but it still didn’t explain why he was here. Looking past him, it didn’t explain why you were clearly not at home. The patchwork metal walls and dim lights were a far cry from the plaster embellishments and glass lamps of the court. Though, they seemed to match, if not enhance the scarred facade of the man beside you. “My apologies for the rough awakening.” He shifted, the chains of his attire moving with him. The clanking sound that filled the room as he set the glass of water to one side grated on you. It pierced through the air, causing the throbbing in your head to get worse. “That stuff in your system packs quite the punch.” What? You turned away from him trying to make sense of that statement. What stuff? You couldn’t make heads nor tails of what he meant by the word stuff. “I told them to take it easy on you, especially since they were already plying you with alcohol, but it seems they didn’t heed my warning. You’ve been out for close to an entire day.” Your entire body involuntarily lurched at that news. What? An entire day? How could that be? You’d gone home hadn’t you? His vague references didn’t mean anything, because they hadn’t happened. That was the only logical explanation you could muster. “I was actually getting slightly worried. The head nurse was under the impression something else might be amiss. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to know you’re okay. Though, I suppose she’ll still recommend some restorative treatments.” He made a face, one that echoed both dread and disgust. “I’ll do my best to spare you, but you may have to humor her some. Just for the sake of your relationship with her. I’d hate for you to get on her bad side at the start. It doesn’t make for a comfortable living arrangement if we don’t get along.” You blinked. The casualness of that statement seemed out of sorts given your present situation. How could he speak of relationships or living arrangements when you had no clue as to where you were and who he was? This wasn’t your home. You didn’t live here. Unless-

Your eyes darted around the room again. A foreign place. A bed, a place to refresh yourself, a strange arrangement with an even stranger man. The effects of the stuff you had been given cleared just long enough to allow you to realize the gravity of your situation.

The reaction that followed your epiphany was almost an involuntary one. Your entire body disregarded your drug induced hangover long enough to make the sorry attempt at fleeing. You tried to leave the bed, but the man who later introduced himself as Wriothesley was quick to stop you. His thick heavy arms had come around you before you had even fully sat up, effectively keeping you right where he wanted you. There was a struggle. Despite your queasiness and your pounding headache, you fought him. You twisted and turned in his grasp, desperate to get out of it, desperate to get away. He only tightened his hold on you, cooing reassuring words at you like one would to calm a frightened animal. The notion that everything would be alright. That you just needed time to adjust to your new surroundings. That he would take care of you from now on caused you to retch. How could he say such a thing, when you’d had no choice in the matter? Your life up until this point had been average, bordering on boring, but otherwise fine. Who was he to say that it needed changing?

At some point, after what felt like hours, he let you go. Wriothesley put some much needed space between you, allowing you to absorb the facts he chose to tell you about your situation without the burden of him being wrapped around you. His weight, coupled with the explanation that he had oh so nicely prepared for you would have been a cumbersome thing. It was as you had fear. You had been abducted, but by whom was far worse than you ever could have imagined. It would have been enough if he had been some lord or even a high ranking member of one of the crime families. You would have a level of recourse then. If you managed to get free, you could charge him. You could have him sent away. In the end, there would be justice. With Wriothesley, that wasn’t possible. Though he carried the title of Duke, he was for all intents and purposes King of your new home. Immune from both the laws of the court and the justice you found yourself beginning to crave. It was a cruel twist on what was proving to be a brutish situation. You could only sit there in silence after he finished, smoldering as your fate washed over you.

“You’re taking this quite well.” You blinked, trying to quell the rage that had been building since you had first woken up. The fact that he sounded legitimately surprised did nothing to help your mood or the growing urge to claw his face to shreds. How did he expect you to take it? Did he think you would make a scene? Had he gotten out of bed thinking he would hear screaming and wailing coming from the general vicinity of your door? You rolled your eyes in response to his praise, choosing to turn them away from him. The wall next to you seemed infinitely more interesting than the man who was blocking your only exit. “Come on.” He shifted ever so slightly, the chains on his outfit moving with him, rattling as they settled back into place. “I had to.” He had to. You let out a silent huff at the lame excuse. He was the Duke of Meropide. The only thing he had to do was maintain order in the fortress. Last you checked, having someone spike your drink with a heavy sedative and stripping you of everything you owned was not a part of his duties. Yet here you were, in a strange bed, locked in a strange room, with only a cotton shift to your name. You could only guess that the slim comfort of the bed and modesty of the shift ought to be viewed as a gift, considering he could have left you nothing at all. That fact did little to assuage the fire that was currently shooting through your veins. The sheer audacity of the entire situation was enough to make you want to claw his eyes out. The actual act though would involve you having to acknowledge his existence. An action you weren’t keen on following through with.

He moved again, this time the hard rubber soles of his boots scraped against the metal floor. They stopped after a few seconds, only to be followed by a creak of metal that came from the general direction of the footboard. From the corner of your eye, you could see Wriothesley leaning against it. He obviously wanted a closer look at his hard won prize or maybe he just wanted to test the proverbial waters. You weren’t entirely sure and you weren’t in the mood to find out. Instead you held your focus on the wall, beginning to mentally count the bolts as a means of drowning him out. 1..2.. The bed groaned as he shifted his weight again. 13..14..There was another rattle of chains followed by a soft thunk against the floor. That had to be his jacket. God he wasn’t getting undressed was he? Surely Wriothesley wasn’t callous enough to abduct you and force himself on you within the same day, was he? The memory of him holding you down came back. A cold shiver shot down your spine at the very idea of it, of him using his weight to do more than just restrain you. 27..28.. The bed groaned for a third time, followed by more footsteps. These drawing ever louder, ever closer. Your heart began to slam against your ribcage as he stalked you, closing the short distance between you. The cold that had made it’s way down your spine began to ebb through you with every step he took. The louder they got, the sharper the chill that raced over your skin. You swallowed hard, trying to calm the shivers that were flowing across you like waves. You could hear him now, goosebumps raising all over your skin when the jingling of his handcuffs was so near to your ear. 41.. The footsteps stopped. Above you, he hummed, the rough flesh of his hand slowly wrapping itself around your chin. On instinct, you broke contact with the wall, trying to get away from him, but his nails scraping against your chin stopped you. You whimpered as his jagged nails bit into your flesh forcing your attention firmly back to him. It took almost no strength on his part to force your head in the direction he wanted, yet he still used slightly more than was necessary, just to get his point across. His fortress, his captive, his everything. You held no power here. Not now, not ever.

“For future use and reference.” You swallowed again as you were forced to stare up into those piercing eyes of his. “I don’t care for being ignored. Especially when I’m addressing someone.” Wriothesley tilted his head, a soft smile permeating his lips as he brushed his thumb over your chin. “But I’ll make an exception here.” His tone, which had been annoyingly cocky up until this point, faded into something slightly gentler. Something you could almost mistake for understanding, possibly even empathy for your current situation. A deceptive tactic on his part. Something to play into the fear that was still racing through your entire body and ease you into forgetting that your entire reason for being here was standing before you. Had you just only woken up or maybe if you had still been under the influence of the sedative, it might have worked. You might have bought it. But your benevolent captor had waited a hair too long. He had given you enough time to get your wits about you and because of that, you could catch him in the lie before it was too late. “You have every right to be angry, especially today. I can’t take that away from you.” His hot breath fanned across your face, causing you to momentarily flinch. The sensation was in direct contrast to his eyes, which matched the chill that was coming up through his fingers. The cold that radiated from his skin hurt to the point that it burned. You squirmed in his grasp, trying to get away from those unrelenting fingers of his, but it was no use. He had a firm, to the point of punishing grip on you. One he had no intention of loosening any time soon. “I’ll be generous and give you today.” He paused, thinking it through. “Actually, I’ll give you until after my morning meeting. I can’t accuse you of breaking my rules if you aren’t aware of them and unfortunately, I can’t explain them or my expectations to you right now. So consider this a pass, free of charge.” You wanted to spit on his definition of generosity. He would get the rest of your days to ruin what little life he allowed you to have, yet you were expected to process everything that had happened and would happen to you in an hour? The inequity of it was ridiculous. “Oh don’t look at me like that.” He offered you a cocky smile, the confident tone returning. “If you’re good, I’ll bring you something nice to eat later.” You had to wonder what he meant by good. Aside from the bed, the only other items in the room were a sink, a toilet, and what looked to be a crude form of a shower. Short of soaking your bedding or possibly the mattress, you weren’t entirely sure what kind of trouble you could cause. He had purposefully limited your options to doing more harm to yourself than him. If he was as clever as he had shown himself to be, Wriothesley wouldn’t give you much chance to hurt him directly.

With time things might change. He seemed like he had the ability to soften. Much of the sarcastic act you were seeing was exactly that, an act. If you played your cards right, might he give you an opening to hurt him, but it wasn’t like it would be worth it. The investment for the opportunity would take months and that’s if he ever opened himself up for the shot. If he did, and you were able to take it, the wound wouldn’t be a deep one. It would be superficial at best. A minor inconvenience for him. The hell he could bring after it was enough to end those thoughts before they went any further. The punishment that would follow for the impertinence of trying would be far worse than anything you could even attempt to do. For now, it was easier to acquiesce to some of his demands, at least until you could see how much rein his rules and expectations would give you. “I wish I could stay.” He let out a whimsical sigh. “How nice it would be for us to get better acquainted over the course of the morning, but-” He sighed heavily. “Duty calls.” He pressed your face a little harder, adjusting his grip so he could bunch your cheeks. The discomfort, along with the gentle rocking of his hand pulled what you knew would be many squeals out of you. He only laughed, bending down slightly so he could coo at you. “You’re so ungodly precious.” Wriothesley sighed again, lovingly regarding you for a moment. The notes of affection and pride that were evident on his face made you want to slap them right off of it. “Aw look at that glare. Still angry huh?” A very undignified puff of air through your nose was your only response. One that was matched by a shit-eating grin from him. “You’re cute when you’re angry. Though, you’ll have time to sort through it while I’m gone.” He paused for a beat. “Why don’t you start us off on the right foot and give me one of your charming smiles before I go. I know you’re angry, but it’ll help me get through the monotony of the next few hours.” He let out another chuckle, one of his fingers loosening slightly so he could run it across the base of your cheek. “Now that you’re with me, I may need it all the time.”

You could do nothing but stare at him as you felt your blood pressure spike even higher. Was he serious? Did he really expect you to smile at him after all he had put you through? It was hard to believe. Clever he may be, but in touch with reality, he certainly was not. Thanks to his actions, you doubted if you would ever smile again. “Come on sweetheart.” He tightened his grip on your chin again, giving it a little shake. You flinched, but that was all. The last thing you wanted was to give him the satisfaction of pulling another sound out of you. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” Something dangerous flashed in his eyes, his once confident tone dropping an octave as you refused to follow another one of his orders. For a brief moment, you saw the man who had actually had you kidnapped. His amiability was little more than a tool. It was conditional on whether he got what he wanted. If it failed, that tool would be swapped in for something altogether different. That would happen with every infraction. When one tool failed him, he would simply try another. He would keep doing so until he found what worked best. Whether that was pain or pleasantries, you could tell it didn’t really matter to him. Just so long as he got his way. “It’s just a smile.” His tone had captured the chill that you had become numb too. You nearly shivered from it, but you were able to stop yourself in time. His request was a simple one. An easy one. It required a minimal effort on your part, but it would ultimately be a gain for him. Right now, all he wanted was a smile. A small, yet significant sign that you were willing to obey him. That his deception tactics and attempts to get you to trust him had worked. If you followed through on it, then that gave him license to ask for more. The more you gave him, the less you could refuse later on. Your willing obedience would bring an expectation of behavior with it. One he would never let you forget.

Smile, speak, sit, stand. They were all commands that you imagined he would eventually expect you to learn and perform at his whim and pleasure. He had already made it abundantly clear that you had very little choice in the matter. Yet you refused the command all the same. If he could test the waters, so could you. Your eyes just fixed on his, glaring up at him in utter defiance of his order, daring him to try and frighten you further. “Hm.” He tapped a finger against your jaw, causing you to blink. “Seems like I’ve got some work to do with you. A shame really.” He tilted his head in the other direction, heavily exhaling through his nose. “But maybe some time alone will change that.” Wriothesley broke eye contact first, looking around the room for a moment before those eyes of his found yours again. “I did say you could be upset at me, so by all means, be upset.” He gave your face one final squeeze before his hand fell away and you were finally able to put some much needed distance between you and him. An action that didn’t go unnoticed by him. His displeasure as you shuffled away from him was evident. “When I return though -” He planted a hand on his hip. “I expect that to be the end of it.” He paused looking away for a second. “Or at the very least.” He looked at you again. “We have a polite conversation about the future.” You wanted to ask what future? Did he expect you to politely discuss the future he had stolen from you? The one where you were happy and oblivious to the monster that lurked just below the waves. The same one who had seen fit to breach the safety of the shore, just so he could pull you under.

Or perhaps he meant the other future. The one where you were forever sealed beneath the unforgiving sea. Bound to a man you found neither desirable nor worthy. Forced to smile and obey and be little more than a pet until death saw fit to take either him or you. A horrific, abysmal future that not even the gods themselves would save you from. How could you expect them too, when he had taken you beyond where any of them could ever hope to hear? That was the hard reality of life within the walls of the Fortress of Meropide. A place to abandon the lost, the forgotten, and the unwanted. It was the dumping ground of the world above. A den so rife with vice and sin that not even the gods themselves could ever hope to sort it out. According to many it had improved since the new administrator had taken over. He had ended the corruption and the chaos that had plagued what many had termed the tin hell. Yet miraculously, even with Wriothesley’s efforts it was still a place where the gods found it all too easy to turn a deaf ear to the screams and the cries of the repetent as they echoed up from beneath the waves. Here there were no gods. No heros. No saints. Here there was only hell. Only the sinners. Only Wriothesley to save you from it all. In the span of a night, under the witness of heavens above, he had become your god.

All you could do was stare back and question how benevolent your new god would actually be.

#wriothesley x reader #genshin wriothesley #wriothesley genshin #yandere wriothesley #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader #genshin #genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin fanfic #yandere genshin impact fanfic #genshin fiction #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact fiction

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anundyingfidelity · 1 year ago

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I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy/Ben (Part IX)

Summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader

Word count: 2.3k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings for this chapter: some spoilers and references to S4 and Gen V, mentions of sex, mentions of kindaping, so much lying from these fuckers!!

Notes: idk who's still interested on this crap because my original drafts went to hell once S4 dropped (but also my fault i was waiting for that lol), anyway I'll try to be consistent with this is giving me nightmares i swear. thank you if you're still here 😭

<<< Previous Part

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GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

And if it wasn’t much worse, there he was still, lying down on the other side of the mattress, sleeping and snoring like a stray dog you just took in to protect him from the dangers of the night. Who would have thought? But you wanted this. You fell for it eventually. And you didn’t give a single shit about it, not yet. It was great, you had to admit that. In the end, Ben was right, he could fuck pretty good and could bark about that with good reasons.

Part IX: Nobody’s Business

Rolling on your side of the bed, your eyes fluttered open. There was a warmth coming from the mattress, one that you were not used to every time you woke up. That side always came up empty, but then your mind replayed the memories of last night's events. The small and soft light emanating from the window forced you to sit up abruptly, covering your breasts with the bed sheets. The clock told you it was almost 9 a.m.

But duties are duties, you told yourself, sitting down and reaching your phone on the nightstand. There were six missed calls from an unknown number; you were pretty sure who that was. With a scoff, you got on your feet and full in your naked glory, stepped out of the room, just taking your dress from the floor to put it on as best as you could while you heard the line from the other side.

“Oi, I’ve been calling you, answer the damn phone,” the British voice on the other side spit.

You grimaced, pulling the phone away as he yelled at you before speaking. “I had important things last night. Sorry for having a life,” you lied gracefully, making your way to the kitchen to boil some water for a tea. “Besides, since do you care? I barely fucking know you, so tell me what is it before I hung up.”

Butcher sighed from the other side of the line. “I need the kid back.”

“Ryan?”

“Yeah, and I need something for it. I don’t wanna force him, but tough times require even tougher methods…”

There was a silence coming from you, trying to process his words. Soldier Boy wanted the kid, Butcher wanted the kid, and Homelander of course wanted his fucking kid. You didn’t know who was the best for Ryan. Homelander was out of the league immediately, but maybe Butcher was the only sane motherfucker between them to take care of him. After all, he was his dead wife’s son.

“What do you want me to do? You’re not gonna kidnap him, right?” you asked, unsure of what would happen if you agreed to help Butcher on it.

“No, but don’t play innocent. Can imagine you have plenty of analgesics to take down an army, doctor.”

You pictured that fucked up smirk on his face at his words, and followed his game to see if you could get somewhere.

“And what do I get in exchange? I’m not giving anything for free.”

“Novichok. Put him to deep slumber and can test the strongest drug you have on Soldier Boy without getting killed,” he whispered over the phone, as if someone was hearing his words.

“Alright, deal,” you accepted, taking off a cup to pour your tea. “Send me the address and we can meet today. Just don’t mess with me, I don’t have enough arguments to trust you right now.”

“And I can respect that. Should be receiving it soon, darling.”

With those final words, Butcher hung up the call.

Your head felt spinning, as if something had crushed you so bad. Your body hurted, and you were sore. Probably you regretted it. Not because it wasn’t good, it was something else. What had happened between Ben and you wasn’t supposed to be. It just simply couldn’t. He was a killing machine you were just reaping, eventually discarding him when you took what you needed. However, the right time to test the Anti V prototype had yet to come. Sipping from your hot tea, you heard hard steps from the stairs, and for some reason, you were not prepared to face him the morning after.

“Ah, preparing my breakfast already, doll,” Ben said cheerfully, much to your liking, and approaching you as you faced your back to him.

His arms wrapped around your waist, and as much as you wanted to enjoy his touch, you pushed him away and turned on your feet to see his confused grin.

“First of all, good morning. And second, no. You can make yourself a sandwich,” you replied.

A smile appeared on your lips as his own slowly faded away.

“So, nothing for me, even if I made you feel so good with my cock?”

“God, you’re so gross…”

Ben snorted, leaning to give soft kisses on the skin of your neck as he whispered. “I don’t remember you complaining about it last night.”

As an impulse, you shut your eyes. His touch and lips over your sensitive skin were too intoxicated for you to react quickly and stop him. Ben took the cup of tea from your hand, putting it on the countertop; the place he fucked you so good the night before. He would kill to go again, with you beneath him, yearning and crying for his dick. Or maybe he’d fuck you in the couch before taking you to your bed, exactly like he did after you did it in the kitchen…

“Stop,” you said, pushing him away softly.

He did as you asked rapidly, licking his lips, and watching your lustful gaze intently. You wanted it as much as he did, but it wasn’t the right time.

“I’m still sore,” you continued. “And I have some stuff to do right now. I have to go.”

He nodded. “Right.”

To your surprise, Ben gave you some space and you stepped up, not before taking the cup and your phone between your hands again. You stopped, standing by his side for a moment.

“Maybe later?” you said, watching his face attentively.

That sleazy smirk curved on his lips. “Later.”

You walked away then, feeling his eyes over your figure. God, you were so fucking regretting offering yourself to him already for some reason.

You sat down on the dining table as he settled down a saucer and two cups of tea with a bowl of biscuits.

“It’s not necessary–”

“Nonsense, take it,” Butcher said, taking a seat in front of you.

He served you and him the tea with an elegance only a British man could ever have, not that you expected him to have that inside. Butcher was a soldier once, now an undercover agent whom you had no idea what to expect, besides the few things Grace had told you about him, but she wasn’t there. This meeting was hidden from everyone. Butcher crossed his arms on his chest, looking at you with an expression you could not decode. You were barely knowing him after all.

“I’m not trying to poison you,” he joked, taking his own cup to taste the tea.

“Well, thanks for your kindness,” you took the cup and sipped the warm drink. It was surprisingly good. “So, weren’t you after Victoria?” you asked, following the previous conversation you had with him before sitting down.

“Yeah, cunt’s indestructible,” he remarks. “Can’t do anything now, planning on just retiring and just leaving it all...”

“There’s a fucking outburst right now between Homelander’s cult and Starlight fanatics, Victoria is almost there along with Robert Singer at the White House. Why you wanna give up on that?”

“I’m not part of the team anymore,” Butcher confessed, taking you aback.

“Is that the reason you want Ryan back?”

He nodded and you sensed vulnerability coming from him. The tough facade, the immoral plans, the thirst for revenge for the fucker who screw up his life and made his wife’s a living hell… Even your own thirst for payback and burning Vought to the ground wasn’t as big as his own grief. After all, you were just another piece on the chessboard. Butcher saw you as one, and you did the same with him and Ben. You were just taking in things that would help you to reach your own, selfish goals. One can’t compete with that.

He coughed in the middle of the silence you shared, and you noticed there was a black liquid coming off one of his ears you have never seen.

“Are you okay?” you worriedly asked.

Butcher looked like he noticed your eyes staring at the side of his face and wiped up the substance with his finger, cleaning it up with a napkin.

“You stopped taking the temp V?” you insisted on his silence.

“Yeah, I fucking did, and then had it again. The true V this time, didn’t help. Just accelerated my own death,” Butcher seemed like he didn’t give a shit as he told you.

“Fuck, are you crazy?!” you exclaimed.

“Thought it’d save me, alright?!” he ranted. “Thought it could. So I could say I had more time with Ryan, but I don’t. That’s why you’re here. Do you have what I asked or not?”

Grumbling, with your jaw tight, you took from your jacket a small packet of white powder and tossed it on top of the table.

“A sedative. Will keep him asleep for days if you’re not careful,” you announced. “Give me the gas now.”

Butcher stood up abruptly, and searched for something in one of the kitchen cabinets. He took out a grey cylindrical vessel, similar to a fire extinguisher, and left it on the floor by your feet.

“There you have it,” he said, before taking his seat back.

You didn’t say ‘thank you’, neither did he, but Butcher dared to speak out again.

“Can you come when Ryan is here?”

“Excuse me? I don’t know the kid, I don’t see why I should be here.”

“Another secret is good enough for ya,” he insisted. His face was just as plain as yours.

You didn’t know what else to expect from him at this point, but you followed him up.

“And?”

“There’s something down Godolkin. A virus, created to exterminate supes,” he explained, leaning forward and whispering as if someone else could hear outside the walls. “If your cure ain’t working, maybe you could use some help from there.”

Ben emptied the last drawer in your room. There was fucking nothing. The only pleasure he took in from sniffing into your stuff was checking your underwear, from the most comfy cotton panties to the lingerie he’d love to see on you while he fucked your brains out. And then, nothing. Emptiness. No secrets, no files. Nothing.

Not caring of putting your stuff in place, he just tossed them into the drawer. If you were to indulge back there, you would certainly notice the mess. But he didn’t care if you did. He fucked you good, but that didn’t mean he trusted you. That’s why he spent the last hours of the day checking the whole place after you left him all alone and by himself. The past few days, he had spent checking everywhere to find a clue or something that could give you away easily.

Tired, Ben went down to the living room and checked between the bookshelves, only to find dust and old books he didn’t give a shit about. He scoffed to himself, and walked to the back of the room, where the aisle ended. The carpet felt different, as if another floor was down there. He knocked on the floor with his fist. He was right; there was another floor down the living room.

“What are you fucking hiding in here?” he mumbled to himself, his mind pulling the tricks of any stuff you could probably have down there.

He pulled the carpet away and found a small metal knob, unlocked. He opened it just to reveal stairs and he went down carefully. A heavy metal door stood in front of him, an electronic panel with numbers by the side. The walls were also made of the same material, and he tensed. It wasn’t a good sign. Before, he noticed you would sneak out of your room some nights. There was no other place you should be visiting but here.

He thought of breaking the door, but it wasn’t that subtle. There was a code to get inside, probably he could get it. It had to be something important for you, right? Shouldn’t be so difficult.

But he knew better than to continue playing this fucking game of hiding the thruth from him. Anger seized him in a second, thinking of endless possibilities this could be a hidden lab. You were a doctor after all, he knew what those cocksuckers were capable of. You were no exception.

He clenched his fists tightly, and heard in the distance the sound of your car. Ben quickly climbed the stairs and covered the door to the basement. The click of the door announced you were home and he made his way to the kitchen to take out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

Once you stepped up, he poured the liquor. You left a couple of bags full with groceries on the kitchen counter as Ben gave you a dirty smile and offered the whiskey to you. It was his way of disguising what he really felt.

A quick fuck should do, he thought.

“So, later, right?” he said, taking a sip from his glass.

Immediately, you knew what those words meant.

“You’ve been waiting so long I see,” you smirked.

He pulled you closer with a single hand before claiming your lips in a harsh kiss. He smiled when you moaned against his tongue and he pulled away, this time his lips claiming the sensitive spot on your neck.

“And can’t wait any longer, sugar.”

this fic tags:

@k-slla @syrma-sensei @mostlymarvelgirl @cheynovak @drasticemotions @thesilmarillionblog @deans-spinster-witch @girlsforpjm @delaynew

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy imagines #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy/ben x reader #soldier boy the boys

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