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toosicktoocare · 3 years

Text

writing a 3-chapter 911 fic set after 911 S4 Ep 3 and 911 Lone Star S2 Ep 3 :)

Also found on AO3

Buck thumbs at the screen of his cell phone, eyes blurring faintly around the edges. He taps to his messages, working around a yawn as he types out a quick text.

[To: Eddie] made it

Even through the dirt and pollen prickled across his windshield, the apartment complex before him looks nice, modern, and somehow a little out of place. His phone buzzes in his hand, and he frowns when he spots Eddie’s name flicking across his notification bar. It’s late… Well, Buck thinks, looking at the red 3:16 AM time blinking at the corner of his jeep’s radio, it’s actually really early, and Eddie should definitely be asleep right now.

[From: Eddie] Good. I was worried.

Buck doesn’t miss the faint blush that creeps up his cheeks, and yet, his eyes all but sink at Eddie’s text. The warmth flushing his cheeks is superficial; it doesn’t touch his eyes with bright colors, nor does it guide his lips into a smile. It just… hurts. His chest feels tight, and his heart feels too small against a towering, empty rib cage. Sighing, he taps back a message.

[To: Eddie] you’re such a worrywart

The sudden low rumble of thunder overhead scares Buck. He jumps, and his phone flies from his hand, hitting the passenger seat floor with a thump. “Shit,” he mutters, feeling around for it in the dark, snagging it only after it buzzes with a third message.

[From: Eddie] how am I not supposed to worry when you tell me you’re taking a solo boy’s trip right after a 24-hour?

[From: Eddie] I’m pretty sure the single gray hair I found on my head is not because of Christopher.

[From: Eddie] He’s bummed you didn’t take him, by the way.

Buck skims through the messages, shaking his head.

[To: Eddie] tell Chris he’s my wingman for my next 10 trips

[To: Eddie] also go to sleep old man

His phone lights up with a series of emojis, some of which don’t actually make sense, and Buck can’t help but laugh quietly to himself. He and Hen have been teaching Eddie to use emojis more in his texts so he doesn’t “sound like such an old geezer,” as Hen so nicely puts it, and since then, he’s been using every symbol he can get his hands on, unaware of how inappropriate many are. It’s cute, and that alone is enough to have Buck’s smile curving back downward, and the pain that was temporarily pushed back by harmless messages of angry face emojis comes back to the center of his chest, a heavy pressure he can’t shake. His eyes flick across Eddie’s final message.

[From: Eddie] I can hear you groaning from here, so I’ll stop. Seriously though, get some rest, Buck. I’m pretty sure my old man heart can’t take another 20 hours of you driving back on no sleep.

[To: Eddie] will do. night Eddie

He locks his phone, and for a moment, he just stares at the raindrops drumming lightly against his windshield. They mix in with the dust and grime of a twenty-hour road trip, streaking down in inconsistent zigzags that blur the apartment building in front of him. Even enclosed in the car, he can feel the thickness of humidity pushing against his jeep, and he can only imagine how heavy it is when paired with the rain.

This is stupid, he thinks. He shouldn’t be here. Sure, he can give spontaneity a run for its money on many an occasion, but this? Twenty hours in a car on no sleep? Exhaustion doesn’t even begin to cut it, neither does the headache pounding dully against his temples. Still, he knows that if he didn’t come, he’d be spending yet another sleepless weekend alone, with only his thoughts twisting into daggers in his mind.

He works through his nerves, breathing low and deep, focusing on how wide his lungs can expand along his rib cage and not on the fact that he’s sitting in his jeep twenty hours from home ridiculously early in the morning in a different state.

“Come on, Buck,” he tells himself, shaking out his arms and rolling his shoulders. “Just go.” He follows his own verbal lead, hopping out of his jeep with a low gasp. The rain is somehow suffocatingly hot against his skin yet cold enough to have him trembling. He curses under his breath, wrapping his arms around himself as he jogs up to the apartment building, whipping past rooms until he stops on the number he’s read everyday in a text for the last three weeks.

He’s tucked under an awning, staring at the door that somehow seems far too large and daunting, just like everything else in this damn state. “Knock.” He rolls his eyes at his own voice and lifts his hand, rapping his knuckles quickly against the door.

It takes a moment for a light to flick on behind the closed blinds, and then Buck can hear locks clicking. His breath goes tight in his throat, stopping just before his lungs, and his shaking slows until he’s impossibly still on this foreign apartment step. The door opens, and he frowns, eyes briefly flicking from the tall, dark, and very shirtless man and back to the number on the door that he knows he got right.

“Hey, man. Can I help you?”

“Uh,” Buck drags out around a nervous laugh. He smiles sheepishly, and on instinct, rubs at the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry. I was looking for—”

“—Buck?”

The man’s face twists, his jaw tightening into a sharp line, and Buck leans over, looking past the man’s shoulder to see TK walking into what appears to be a combo living/dining room from a dark hallway. He looks tired but openly worried, and Buck can feel what little composure he’s hanging onto by a frayed thread crumbling.

“Woah, wait. This… This is Buck? This is the guy from LA you’ve been texting for weeks?”

TK rolls his eyes, but the furrow in his brow remains, so prominent against his pale face. He pads quickly across the room, squeezing into the doorway. “Stop, Carlos,” he mutters, sharing a quiet look with Carlos before he turns back to Buck, frown deep. “Buck? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Buck can only imagine how he must look: pale, drenched, tired, broken. He can feel his eyes stinging, and he swallows thickly. “Do you remember when I asked you if you wanted to hang out sometime if you’re ever in LA, and you told me you have a boyfriend?” The words are practically spilling from his tongue. He practiced. For twenty hours, he ran through just how exactly he planned to initiate this impromptu visit, but now that he’s living the scenario, his mind’s a jumbled, shaking mess.

“Uh, sure?” TK cocks his head to the side, and for a moment, he holds an expression that shows how lost he is, but then his face softens, and Buck can already hear the apology mixing in with recognition.

“Shit, Buck. I didn’t mean to insinuate—”

“—no, it’s…” Buck struggles with his words, his voice shaking. He laughs again, but the small huff of air cracks, and even though he wishes he can blame the sudden dampness on his cheeks on the rain dripping coldly from his hair, he knows his eyes are overflowing wells he can no longer control. “I just… I guess I’m just really confused, and… I wanted… You seem so confident, and I just—”

“—Hey, it’s okay,” TK tries softly. His eyes, Buck thinks, are endless pools of understanding that tug him in.

“Why don’t you come in?” Carlos starts, stepping aside. “You’re shivering.”

Buck jerks through a nod, swiping the back of his hand across his eyes, and he follows TK and Carlos inside, arms wrapping back around his middle tightly, whether to warm himself or keep himself from breaking, he’s not too sure.

“Do you have any clothes to change into?” TK asks, frowning as he plucks at Buck’s wet, short-sleeve shirt that’s clinging to his torso.

“Ah, no,” Buck laughs weakly, eyes falling to the floor. “I didn’t really… I kind of just left?”

“Okay,” TK nods carefully, eyes holding onto Buck’s shaking frame for a moment. “Carlos, do you have something he can borrow?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Buck watches as Carlos disappears into the dark hallway, and then, he just sort of checks out. He can feel that he’s being ushered into a bathroom, and he’s faintly aware that the bathroom is nice. It’s large, open, and for a moment, he’s mutely in awe. But then there’s dry clothes being shoved into his arms, and he stares blankly at them, frowning.

“Buck?”

Buck’s slow to pull his gaze from the clothes to TK, but when he does, TK’s still frowning, and Buck offers a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry. I’ll just be a minute.”

TK’s nod is hesitant, matching his motions. He stops to pull open the mirror and rifle through it before he slips out of the bathroom, and Buck stares, tired and numb. He’s slow and shaky when removing his wet clothes, but when he’s slipping into dry clothes that, though are a tad short, fit him fairly well, he begins to feel more present and aware.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. He paces the length of the bathroom, eyes catching onto his flushed, worn reflection. “Shit,” he repeats, louder, because he’s staring in a mirror in a bathroom in an apartment in freaking Texas.

“Hey, Buck? You okay?”

Buck turns to the knock on the door. “Y-yeah. Coming!” He shakes out his arms again, briefly bends over to splash some water on his face, and then he slips out of the bathroom, feeling an odd concoction of apologetic and embarrassed.

“Better?”

TK’s eyes are mutely narrow, almost to the point that Buck thinks he’s being looked through not at.

“Yeah, thanks.” He steps after TK until he’s dropping down onto the couch after TK motions toward it. “This place is… it’s really nice.”

TK opens his mouth to speak, but Carlos cutsin, slipping from the kitchen and masterfully balancing three coffee mugs between his two hands.

“Thanks. Coffee?”

“God, yes,” Buck all but groans, and he eagerly accepts the mug, his fingers stretching and wrapping around it, leeching the warmth. Carlos drops to the couch beside him, and Buck smiles softly, turning back to see TK sitting down on the edge of the coffee table across from him, his coffee going untouched.

“Look,” Buck starts, clearing his throat. “I’m really sorry. I should have called.” He takes a moment to see that both TK and Carlos are now sporting shirts, but their hair is still rumpled, and though both are alert and focused on him, he can still catch the hint of interrupted sleep in their eyes. “And I should have not shown up stupid early in the morning.”

“Well,” Carlos drags out, leaning back against the couch and propping his feet up on the table. “You’re here, so let’s hear it.”

“What?” Buck knows what, but the question’s quick to slip from his tongue.

“What you said at the door,” TK clarifies softly, leaning forward to pat Buck’s knee. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Buck pulls his gaze to the mug still wrapped tightly in his hands, his eyes watching the dark liquid, the steam still billowing faintly up, breaking at the rim. “How’d you know?”

“That I’m gay?” TK supplies, and Buck nods, keeping his gaze trained downward.

Laughing, TK leans back. “It’s kind of just something I always knew. I just never thought of women the same way my friends did.”

Frowning, Buck pulls his gaze up from the cup, working TK’s words around his head, new gears slotting into a stuttering machine. “What if I like women, and I thought I only liked women, but—”

“—then you met someone, who happens to be of the same sex, that you click with so well that it’s almost scary how right it feels?” Carlos interrupts, and Buck whips a wide gaze to him, nodding quickly.

“And you think maybe you’re just really great friends with this guy, but then you start to think about how you can’t imagine what your life was really like before him, and you really don’t want to imagine what your life would be like without him.”

“Holy shit,” Buck breathes, nodding still. “Yeah, all of that. How’d you…”

“Have you considered that you may be bisexual, Buck?”

Buck turns back to TK, frowning. “No? I mean, maybe?” He groans and leans forward to set his coffee mug down before he throws himself back against the couch, running his hands down his face. “I guess I haven’t really tried to label it? It’s not something I really thought about before—”

“—Eddie?”

Buck drops his hands to his lap, sighing, his entire body deflating against it. “What gave it away?”

“Every other text you send me has something to do with him or his son,” TK supplies, and Buck nods, a weak smile trying at his lips.

“Sorry about that.”

TK shrugs. “It’s cute. You two seem really close, and it’s obvious his son thinks the world of you.”

Buck smiles again, and though small, it feels natural, real, and he stops looking at the plush carpet as if it’s the most endearing thing in the world and pulls a slow gaze back up to meet TK’s present, encouraging eyes.

“You haven’t told him.”

It’s not a question, but Buck still shakes his head anyway. There isn’t a single inch of his entire being that doesn’t want to tell Eddie, that doesn’t want to open up to Eddie, to tell him that he’s the only constant that makes complete sense in his life. It’s maddening, enough, apparently, to drive twenty hours to Texas to confide in people he’s really only just met.

“I don’t know how,” he mutters, his voice cracking. His eyes are stinging again, and he doesn’t try to blink back the tears. “I’m so… scared,” he adds, his hands smoothing down his thighs. “I almost ruined everything between us once—I can’t… I don’t want to risk that again.”

“At some point,” Carlos starts, leaning forward and clapping a hand to Buck’s shoulder, “you’ll have to tell him. Not for him, but for you. You go on like this, and you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

“Plus, while I don’t know Eddie personally, from what you say about him, it sounds like he’ll be understanding regardless of how he ends up really feeling.”

Buck’s gaze, though blurry, shifts between TK and Carlos, back and forth, two warm, kind faces that encompass him. He knows, deep down, that they’re right, that Eddie will understand no matter what because that’s just the type of person Eddie is: impossibly kind and endlessly forgiving. Still, since he’s accepted that something’s wrong, that his heart’s sporting some cuts and bruises that’ve been building over the years, he’s afraid. He’s scared of what will become of his own mind if he tells Eddie how he really feels because of all things he faces on a daily basis, his thoughts are the most frightening.

“I just,” he tries, a hushed sob ripping up his throat. “Sorry. I just… I’m not usually this—”

“—emotional?” Carlos finishes at the same time TK cuts in with “feverish?”

“What?”

“I second that,” Carlos starts, frowning. “What?”

TK grabs the ear thermometer he snagged from the bathroom minutes before, waving it before Buck’s face. “Your skin’s warm to the touch, and people aren’t usually chilled after running around in humid, Texas rain.” TK leans forward, pressing the thermometer into Buck’s right ear, and Buck can only frown, pressing the back of his hand to his own cheek and sluggishly equating his headache to the heat that brushes against his knuckles.

“101.4,” TK mutters when the thermometer beeps. “When’s the last time you slept?”

Buck cocks his head to the side. “It’s Saturday morning, and I worked a 24-hour Thursday to Friday, so Wednesday?”

“Jesus, Buck!”

“You drove here after a 24?” TK spits out, slipping to his feet and crossing his arms. “With a fever?”

Wincing, Buck makes to get to his feet, slipping until he’s perched only on the edge of the couch. He’s heard this disappointment before, always after he’s done something others deem too reckless, and he’s found the best remedy is to remove himself from the situation, to reflect alone, work through his own, warring thoughts. “Sorry, I’ll go—”

“—what?” TK stammers at the same time Carlos almost growls “you most certainly will not.”

Buck blinks slowly. “Sorry, I’m confused?”

“Buck, you’re definitely not leaving this apartment to venture out into a state you’re unfamiliar in with a fever.” TK softens his tone, and his expression follows suit. “Sorry for yelling; we’re just worried.”

“Oh,” Buck mutters, his lips rounding. “I’m probably just tired.”

“I wonder why,” Carlos teases, and Buck laughs around a yawn.

“Are you guys sure, though? I can find a hotel—”

“—Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.” TK cocks a brow, and Buck smiles, sheepish and small but real.

In minutes, he’s set up on the couch with blankets and medicine already pumping into his system, and in the short time it’s taken to get him settled, he must have thanked the two, at least, forty times, stopping only when Carlos slammed a pillow into his face. He assured the two, repeatedly, that he’d wake them if he feels worse, and once they were sure he wasn’t lying, they slipped off to the bedroom, leaving Buck alone.

It’s nearing four in the morning, and Buck’s already nodding off, the weight of exhaustion and the heat of the fever pulling him down, but when his phone begins buzzing, he jerks forward, squinting at the name: Eddie’s (Dumb) Landline.

Eddie doesn’t call from the landline; he specifically calls from his cell phone. Christopher however… Buck can’t press the answer button fast enough.

“Chris? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is your dad okay?”

“Hi, Buck.”

“Hey, Bud,” Buck says, voice tight, worried. “What’s going on?”

“I had another nightmare.”

Buck’s face falls, and he gnaws lightly at his lower lip. “Yeah? How come you didn’t wake your dad?”

“He’s tired. He said you’re on a trip.”

“Ah, yeah,” Buck mutters, smiling softly. “I drove to Texas to visit some friends.”

“How come you didn’t take me?”

“Because,” Buck draws out, “I had to make sure they were prepared to meet the single coolest person on the planet.” Christopher laughs on the other line, and then he tries to hush himself, mumbling how he has to be quiet, and Buck smiles wider.

“You should go back to bed, Chris. It’s really late. Remember what we talked about: you’re stronger than any nightmare.”

“I’m stronger than any nightmare,” Chris parrots back, and Buck nods, more to himself.

“Night, Buck. Love you.”

Though Buck’s heard it countless times, hearing Chris so openly express himself to Buck never ceases to catch Buck’s breath, to spread warmth across his chest, press band aids against wounds only he can see.

“Love you too, Christopher.”

#911 fox #911 lone star #9-1-1 #9-1-1 lone star #buddie #evan buckley #Eddie Diaz #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #christopher diaz #fanfiction #9-1-1 fox #we out here #making our own canon

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

Three word prompts: “not my own” for whoever you want :)

CW: PTSD flashback, panic attack, referenced past pet whump, referenced collaring, BBU, briefly referenced past noncon, Angst™

For the Angst Anon(s)!

TIMELINE: Jake's safehouse, post-he and Kauri getting together. Chris is in college and approximately 23 in this drabble.

Cool night air scented with spring flowers makes its way gently through the open window when Kauri wakes with a gasp on his side, fingernails digging into soft jersey sheets, blue eyes wide and nearly sightless. There are ropes tying his ankles, he thinks, thick heavy soft rope that Owen buys at a special store and brings home and Kauri has to smile and pretend he likes it, pretend he's happy, or Owen will get angry and take off the collar and-

His collar isn't there. Kauri reaches one hand up, still more asleep than awake, for the comforting weight of the heavy white gold and sapphires only to find nothing but bare skin.

There are ropes tying his ankles together and his collar's gone.

Kauri whines, nearly soundless, in a sudden terror. He's not safe. He's not safe if the collar is gone, he's in danger, he will never be safe until it's back, Owen is angry, Owen is upset, Owen-

Owen is-

The bed shifts with the movement of a warm body next to him and Kauri's heart tries to beat its way out of his chest to escape his fear, pounding in throat and temples and down to his fingers.

Owen is here.

Kauri lays perfectly still, breathing in shallow silent gasps. He can see the stars through the window but his mind doesn't allow him to understand they’re not the exact same view from through Owen’s window.

The warm body in the bed behind him shifts, hum low and deep, slides an arm over his waist and pulls him close, back to Owen’s chest, one of Owen’s favorite ways to sleep. Kauri feels caged.

Hot breath on the back of his uncollared neck.

A murmured, soft, affectionate, Hey, Kaur-

Kor-Bore.

Kauri’s breath catches in his throat, and the whimper he makes in response is small, barely a whisper.

There’s a pause, and Owen moves behind him. A heavy hand closes over his shoulder, and the body behind him moves, looms over him in the dark. Kauri breathes, panting almost in fear, telling himself to smile, smile and be happy to see him, Kauri, you have to be happy to see him.

Without the collar, it’s so much harder. Without the collar, there will be hands around his neck, choking-

A brush of fingers over his skin and Kauri jerks into motion, moving to roll off the bed, aware he’ll be punished for this but he can’t stop. Some part of him recognizes cold hardwood floors and not the plush soft carpeting his memory insists should be here, but it’s not a strong enough part. It’s not in control. It’s not in charge.

There’s a muffled, confused exclamation behind him but Kauri is already at the door, flinging himself into a-

A hallway?

He stumbles to a stop halfway down, blinking, trying to understand, even as his heart pounds and his breathing comes so fast he feels dizzy, like he’ll fall over, collapse. There’s no hallway like this in the condo, the rooms are all right together. Not like this.

Not like this.

A cold hand with long, thin fingers touches his shoulder and Kauri spins in a panic to find a stranger-

Stranger-

Short cropped hair dyed light blue growing out after the-

Scar on his forehead-

“Ch-Chris?” Kauri’s voice is barely there but the word is hissed out in a whisper anyway. “Why are you-”

Why are here, why are you in the condo, why am I...

“Kauri?” Chris’s hand presses, lightly, and Kauri turns almost helplessly to look into his wide eyes, nearly colorless in the darkness, barely green. “Are, are, are... are you, um, you you... okay? You’re...” His eyes drop, and he might blush, just a little. “You’re, um. Naked.”

Kauri blinks and looks down and, for the first time, feels the air on his skin. Really feels it. “I... I’m naked,” He repeats, dumbly, and something about that seems to break him out of his strange half-awake half-trance.

“Yeah, um, you’re, you’re... naked. In, the, the the the, the... the hallway.” Chris’s voice is hushed, warm and deeper than it was when they first met, grown into himself in ways Kauri hadn’t imagined when he was a shaky kid who hid under beds and around corners. “Why, why are you...”

“I woke-... I woke up-... I was-”

“Kauri?” It’s Jake, pulling a shirt over his head still as he steps out into the hallway, eyes wide and frightened, full of worry. He’s so tall, bending to avoid the doorframe to their room, but he stays back, hands visible, carefully showing the empty palms, in the darkness. Harmless “You okay?”

“I...” Kauri’s hand moves up over his collarbone, feeling the twisted skin there, the very old scar. No metal circles, no soft blue glow in the darkness. Breathe in. Breathe out. “I forgot where-... where I was. My... I wasn’t...” He trails off, looking down at the pale skin of his hand. “I wasn’t my own, I was... his, again.”

“I can tell,” Jake says gently. “Can you come sit down? I’ll turn on the light, and we can name everything in the room one by one.”

“I-... I could, I...” He shivers, suddenly aware of how cold he is, how hard his heart is beating. He feels like he’s been running for miles, worn out and breathless. “I could... I could do that, I could... name-”

“I’ll, I’ll, I’ll sit with, um, with you,” Chris says, gently. “I’ll get, get, get... get you a, a, a a a a... a glass of water.” He disappears down the hallway, and Kauri allows himself to be led by Jake back into the bedroom, flinchy and jumping at shadows, nervous, catching shadows of a home that he’ll never be locked up in again in the corners of his eyes.

Jake gives him a shirt, and it smells like Jake’s cologne and soap, and Kauri pulls on his own boxers. Safe. Safe to breathe, to see, to think. Jake leads him to the bed, settles him under covers while he shivers against the memory of the condo’s always-on air-conditioning.

Chris appears with a glass of water and climbs right in, settling on Kauri’s other side. Between Jake’s muscle and Chris’s affectionate embrace, Kauri’s breath comes more slowly.

And more slowly still.

Together, they name everything in the room. A lamp. A side table. Kauri’s book of poetry, marked with a ribbon. He whispers the color - blue, nearly the same as Jake’s eyes. Not the shade of his own. A photo of Jake and Kauri framed on the wall. About twenty photos of Chris scattered just about everywhere. Jake’s book on financial management. The blanket. The pillows.

“Jake,” Kauri whispers, finally, a hand on Jake’s thigh under the covers, warmth finally settling further than his skin. “Right here.”

“Right,” Jake murmurs, helping Kauri slowly lay back down, head on a pillow. “Right here. Always.”

“Chris,” Kauri whispers, and Chris moves himself under the covers, too, lying there with sparkling eyes, grabbing onto Kauri’s hand and holding tight, his feet rubbing against each other in what Jake affectionately calls ‘cricket feet’, down by Kauri’s. “Right here.”

“Chris,” Chris repeats, and Jake rests his forehead against the back of Kauri’s collarless neck, and Chris leans forward to rest his against Kauri’s own. “Right, right, right here.”

They fall asleep like that, the three of them, warm in the big bed.

Safe.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump , @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary

#erase to control #whump #nightmares #ptsd tw #flashback tw #referenced past noncon #very vague allusion #past pet whump #collar mention #angst #angst with fluff #chris the strawberry blond romantic #jake the shelter guy #box boy #box boy universe

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one-boring-person · 3 years

Note

Hey! It's my birthday! I was wondering if maybe you could write smth about Iceman surprising the reader for her birthday? Thank you!

Happy belated birthday!! I hope you had a great day! I'm sorry this is so late, but I hope you like it!😊💛

Happy Birthday!

Tom "Iceman" Kazanski x reader

Warnings: none

Masterlist.

I do my best to stifle yet another yawn as I throw up the bed cover and tuck it neatly into the corners of the frame. I remember to take great care of this action, knowing full well the consequences of having messy quarters. The air in the room is icy, it being one of the many downfalls of being stationed in some God forsaken carrier in the middle of the ocean somewhere The thin cloth of my uniform never does much to keep me warm, unlike back in training, where it used to be the bane of my existence, making me hot and sweaty every damn day I was there. As I straighten up again, I roll my shoulders and let out a huff, rubbing my hands together to generate some warmth, before going to the dresser to the side of the small room, glancing at it as I fix my hair one more time.

On the table is a calendar, each date left mostly blank, except for one, which has a small star scrawled into the space below. Normally, that would bring a smile to my face, but now it doesn't. No one really has time to celebrate a birthday these days.

Sighing, I smooth down my uniform one last time and go to leave the room, only now noticing that there is a small envelope on the floor by the door, the sender clearly having stuck it underneath the frame earlier this morning. Frowning, I pick it up and turn it over, eyeing the handwriting sceptically, only now recognising it, the neat letters unjoined and perfectly legible, spelling out my name. Turning it over again, I tear it open and pull out the letter inside, smiling as I read over the words lining the centre of the page:

(Y/n),

Happy birthday!

I'm on a patrol right now, and I know you have one, too, so come find me afterwards and we can celebrate together.

I love you,

Folding the letter again, I place it in my pocket and leave the room, just catching my RIO, Jolt, as he walks past, falling into step beside him.

"Hey, (Y/n). Sleep well?" He asks as he sees me, smiling pleasantly.

"Yeah, not too bad. You?" I respond, a little disappointed at the lack of remembrance.

"It was alright." He frowns, then, saluting an officer as they walk past, "I wish they didn't have to get us up so early though, it sucks."

"Yeah, it does."

We go the rest of the way in companionable silence, only splitting up again when we reach the changing rooms. I enter the female ones, going to my locker. Opening it, I grab my helmet and pull it out, placing it on the bench behind me, taking out my flight suit, too, the buckles and straps on it clinking quietly in the silence of the room around me. Stripping off the uniform I worked hard to make smart and flawless, I fold it and put it away, pulling on the flight suit with a grimace, pulling a face at the strong odour that has long since become ingrained in the fabric thanks to hours and hours of flying in it. I tighten it around my body until it is mostly comfortable. Shrugging my shoulders, I crack my neck and grab my helmet again, checking the inside briefly before leaving the room again, going out onto the runway instead this time. Three of the others are already waiting there, Maverick and Goose amongst them, the third being another RIO; all three of them turn to look at me as they await briefing, a smile breaking out over the farmer's face.

"Cobra! Happy birthday!" He exclaims, clapping me on the back as I near them, grinning widely.

"Thanks, Mav." I smile back, happy that someone remembered, beside Iceman.

"It's your birthday today, (Y/n)? Why didn't you say so?" Goose says, looking jokingly surprised.

"I did, Goose."

"I know, I'm teasing." He winks, turning to face the changing rooms again as Jolt and the last pilot step out, "What took you boys so long?"

Neither of them reply, only coming to stand beside the rest of us as we wait for the commanders to show up. After a while, they do, briefing us before sending us off to our respective jets, the six of us climbing up into the cockpits with practiced ease. As I buckle myself in, I pull on my helmet and check the earpiece, contacting the tower to request take-off authorization. I receive it quickly, allowing me to taxi out onto the runway, waiting for the ground staff to prepare the jet for launch.

A groan escapes me as I stretch out my cramped muscles under the relaxing flow of the water from the shower head above me. The flight was much longer than expected, meaning that we've been sitting down for far too long. The seats of the small jets had quickly given me the cramps and aches that plague my body now, my back cracking as I straighten it properly. Massaging my temples, I wash out the shampoo that I've already lathered into my hair, my only goal now being to get out and to find Tom as quickly as possible.

I take around ten minutes to finish in the shower, going into the actual changing room to pull on my uniform, straightening it and patting it down as much as possible. I intend to make myself look as smart as possible, though my slightly hasty attempts end up appearing a little more haphazard than normal. Cursing myself, I adjust my shirt and hair, before going to leave the room, having already secured my helmet and flight suit in my locker when I first came in. Internally, I make a note to get my suit washed, seeing as it absolutely reeks, though I am well aware that I will likely forget about this very quickly, my thought process not quite focusing on my duties right now.

Leaving the changing room, I immediately turn down the corridor and start walking towards the bunk rooms, saluting and smiling at the relevant officers that pass me, a few "happy birthday"s coming from some of the aviators who know me well enough, the pilots and RIOs never stopping to say more than that. I don't think much of this, simply happy that they actually managed to remember it, considering my own RIO completely forgot. It doesn't take long for me to find Tom's room, my fist lifting to knock on the door as soon as I am in front of it, the metal ringing slightly from the impact.

It is opened swiftly, a grinning Iceman greeting me as he does so, his blue eyes glittering in the bright fluorescent lighting above us.

"Hey, baby. How's your day been?" The pilot asks me as he lets me inside, standing back from the door so I can pass him.

"Not great, honestly, but it's better...jeez, Tom, where'd you get that?" I trial off, pointing at the large cake sitting on the desk a little way away.

He chuckles, coming up and wrapping an arm around me as he replies, pressing a kiss to my temple.

"I called in a favour with one of the cooks." He shrugs, pulling me closer to him.

"That must've been a big favour." I lift an eyebrow at him, but he only smirks, taking me by the waist as he leans closer.

I suddenly find my lips occupied, his mouth moving over mine lovingly as he kisses me passionately. His hands moving to pull me into him even more, my own running up his chest to intertwine in his hair, tugging slightly on it as his grip tightens. Yanking him closer, I kiss back happily, moaning slightly as he licks at my lips, asking for entrance, which I am only too happy to grant. His tongue dips into my mouth and explores as much as he can as thoroughly as possible. At the sensation of these ministrations, I feel myself starting to get a little light headed, my knees going weak.

Eventually, we pull apart for air, a smirk instantly finding his lips again as he mutters huskily to me.

"Happy birthday, (Y/n)."

I smile back at him, kissing him once more before moving to inspect the cake, only now noticing the gifts lying beside it.

"Are they for me?" I ask in surprise, confused as to how he managed to get them onto the carrier in the first place.

"Yeah, they are." He affirms, coming to stand behind me, "Go on, you can open them."

Still shocked, I pick up the nearest one, unwrapping it to find a framed photograph of the two of us on our last day off, both of us standing on the beach looking cheerful as the sun beats down on our backs, a beach ball held between us, reminding me of the time we spent playing volleyball there. Thanking him, I set it down and pick up the second, which turns out to be purse, which I open to find a little Polaroid tucked into one of the compartments, this one portraying the two of us in a more intimate light, a blush coming to my cheeks as I recall that night. Tom sees this and laughs, before handing me the last gift, which is a box-shape. Unwrapping it, I feel my eyes widen as I catch sight of the necklace lying there.

It is fashioned to look like one of our dog tags, the writing embossed on it neat and legible, though upon closer inspection I find that it spells out both of our names and the date we first got together, a small line of three kisses adorning the bottom row. Turning to look up at him, I feel a wife smile break across my face.

"Tom, I don't know what to say…" I murmur, immensely grateful for the gifts he's given me, the pilot clearly happy with my reaction as he sweeps me up into his arms again, kissing me gently.

"Happy birthday, (Y/n)." He repeats, before pulling away and looking me in the eye, "I love you."

Blinking in surprise, I barely have time to register that my lips are moving before I'm responding.

"I love you, too!" With an ecstatic grin I throw myself into his arms, kissing him much more passionately, his arms returning to my waist as he goes to continue our actions from before, only to be interrupted by an insistent knocking on the door.

Pulling apart, I frown and look up at him.

"Who's that?" I ask him, annoyed at the distraction.

"That'll be the others." He smirks, going to open the door, pausing before he does so.

"The others?"

"What, you didn't think we'd be celebrating this by ourselves, did you?" Tom grins as he throws open the door, allowing the rest of our friends to pass inside.

#top gun iceman #top gun imagine #top gun #val kilmer #request

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passable-talent · 4 years

Note

could you do one where the reader has always been zuko’s right hand and has feelings for him but when the whole ba sing se incident happens and they return to the fire nation the reader sees how close he is with mai and just gives up all hope because they just want him to be happy, it can end however you want

I felt like there would be 10x more angst if I combined these so HERE I GO

You were what was considered a wild card.

From a young age, you had been enrolled in the same academy that the young prince was. You weren’t quite a prodigy, no, but you were gifted, and very determined. This was what got you attention from the teachers, and your noble blood was what got you the ability to visit the palace and your friend, the prince.

Twofold were the reasons that you left the Fire Nation to travel to the earth kingdom. First was your boredom- you were a firebending master, at the age of fifteen, and you felt that academy training had no more to teach you. Second was your crush on the prince.

You missed him. The two of you hadn’t been that close, as you grew into being teenagers, but you hadn’t spoken a bit since his banishment. It upset you, and you almost wanted to go find him, somehow.

So you travelled to the earth kingdom. You figured that, since the avatar was back, he would show up at the active front of the war. However, when you were there, you began to see the truth of your nation. The devastation, the pain, the grief it caused. You were horrified, and for a year relinquished your ties to the Fire Nation, hoping that you could live your life here.

But, one winter, you found the avatar.

Okay, you didn’t exactly find him. He stumbled across your booth with his friends while looking for something to eat. When Fire Nation soldiers wandered by, you gave them refuge.

“Can I be honest?” You asked, nervous, as you gave a cup of tea to each of the water tribe siblings, then the avatar. Aang nodded, hospitable.

“I’m from the Fire Nation,” you admitted, and cringed at the sudden expression of distrust from Sokka. “I’m not a spy, though. I defected a year ago. I’ve been in hiding here, ever since.”

“Defected?” Sokka repeated, narrowing his eyes to you. “Why’d you do that?”

“Well, I came here to explore the world and help with the war, maybe find an old friend, but when I got here...” you trailed off, setting down your tea. “I wasn’t happy with what I saw. I knew I couldn’t support the fire nation.” Katara nodded, solemnly, and you lifted your chin again. “But the avatar- you could use someone who knows a lot about the fire nation, right? I could help you. Maybe even join your group.”

Sokka was hesitant to trust you, but eventually he was persuaded. You came to regret your decision to join them not long after, when it came up in conversation that they weren’t just being chased by the fire nation, but by Zuko himself. Your old friend. They were surprised you’d once known him, but understood when you insisted that he couldn’t know it was you. You’d be mortified, not only to see your old crush but also to be on the opposite side of a fight.

And for a while, a brief while, you managed to succeed. He didn’t know it was you. Aang and Katara helped, never letting your name slip, in fact, calling you by an entirely different name whenever Zuko was around. Huan- Katara said she’d run into at least three Huan’s so far, and so figured that it was a common enough earth kingdom name. It felt safe.

And yeah, Katara and Sokka were real pissed at Aang for not delivering the letter so that they could find their father. And yeah, that was a stupid and petty thing to do, and Aang was completely at fault. But you couldn’t imagine abandoning the avatar for it- he still needed help. So you went with him, when Katara and Sokka left, because he still needed at least one friend.

Aang noticed the shirshu quicker than you did, and stood on Appa’s back, staff in hand.

“Stay with Appa, and then you can hide,” he said, knowing that you wouldn’t want to face Zuko and risk blowing your cover. You nodded, and watched him dive, hunkering low in Appa’s saddle until the bison landed. But when he did, you noticed Katara and Sokka, being dragged away, paralyzed. It dawned on you that Aang didn’t have any help. You watched, terrified for him, hesitant but waiting for the moment in which you would jump to your friend’s aid.

It came when the shirshu and Zuko both had him backed to the wall.

“Aang!” You shouted, leaping from your hiding spot and running across the courtyard to him.

“Huan, no!” He yelled back, trying to preserve your cover, but you’d decided that his safety mattered more.

You targeted the shirshu first, two hands coming to your hip as you lifted then planted your front foot, as your fists, one atop the other, struck toward the shirshu’s tail with an impressive and hot plume of fire. The animal yelped and turned to you, it’s tongue striking, but this much you’d anticipated. You split your hands, palms open, spreading a wall of flame that singed its tongue as it passed through. The shirshu called out in pain and stepped back just enough to let you dive to Aang’s side, standing in front of him and ready to deflect any fire that the prince could offer.

“Y/N?” He said, surprise lowering his guard. Luckily, you didn’t need to fight him, as a wall of perfume dropped between the two of you, sending the shirshu into a fit that paralyzed both its rider and the prince. You handed Aang’s staff to him and walked back toward Sokka and Katara, or you would’ve, if Zuko hadn’t called out your name.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” He said, his voice sounding almost betrayed enough to pity. You shut your eyes tightly and left the scene with Aang, not prepared to face his questioning.

You didn’t see Zuko again for a long time. Not, in fact, until he had invaded the Northern Water Tribe. You stayed with Katara to guard Aang, though you hadn’t realized you would be doing so against Zuko.

If you had been asked, you wouldn’t have said that you avoided the fight. You weren’t going to admit that you didn’t want to fight Zuko. You were protecting the princess, that’s all, when Yue ran, you followed, making sure she was safe. That’s all.

You kicked yourself for it when he managed to take Aang. If you hadn’t been so much of a coward, maybe Aang would’ve been saved.

Well, when the moon was at its highest, and the four of you went out to save the avatar, still you avoided the fight. This time, your excuse changed- it was that Katara was going to win so easily. Why help?

But then, you dismounted Appa to help return Aang to the saddle, and you saw Zuko half buried in snow, covered in bruises and cuts and burns, and you wondered what had happened to him. His lips were ajar, and his breath fogged against the snow, and it seemed like he was already shivering.

“We can’t leave him here!” You shouted, running toward him in the snow, your firebending blood only barely keeping you warm under your layers.

“Sure we can,” Sokka said, climbing up onto Appa. “Y/N, let’s go.” You could hear the warning in his voice- he didn’t want you to give him reason to distrust you.

“If we leave him, he’ll die,” Aang said, coming to your rescue, and he helped you lift Zuko from the snow, and took the both of you into Appa’s saddle.

While your friends were worried for the safety of the moon spirit, and you were too, you couldn’t help but let your focus drift to the prince. You heard him move, and turned to see him about to leap from Appa’s back.

Briefly, your eyes connected with his, and the tension was unbelievable. Would he attack you? Would you expose him? Would he say anything? Would you?

He dropped from your view, and you didn’t even manage to see where he slipped away to.

After that day, you didn’t see much of Zuko. It was like he’d given up his search for the Avatar. You, on the other hand, constantly found your thoughts with him, wondering for his wellbeing, wondering what his thoughts were on the moments that you’d caught with him. You didn’t see him again for months, but your mind was with him all the time.

So when you found him again in Ba Sing Se, you couldn’t believe your luck.

You’d slipped away from the house that you’d been given in the upper ring with the rest of the gaang to wander, slipping between the rings to find the people who wouldn’t judge you quite as harshly. When it got cold, one night, you decided to slip into a small tea shop to warm up before you made your journey back home.

You stepped in the door, and saw Zuko.

You froze at the threshold, staring, like you couldn’t will your feet to move. You stared, in fact, until he’d noticed you. For an instant he had a similar reaction, holding your gaze in shock, and it was that sight that knocked you from your stupor. You turned, ready to walk back out the door.

“Wait!” He shouted, and you heard steps behind you, then felt a hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, please, stay.” You closed your eyes and tried to deny him, but that was something you’d never been able to do.

Looking back on it, you must’ve only met with him three or four times before the fall of Ba Sing Se. But if you asked your heart, it would’ve felt like years that you spent sneaking away to sit with him in his uncle’s tea shop. It was like old times, only better, as not only did you get along swimmingly but now you had so much more to talk about, so many stories to share. He didn’t feel like your enemy anymore, as his hunt for the avatar was abandoned, just like you’d suspected. It was like old times, only better, because before he was banished, you’d never kissed him. Now, you did.

Iroh found you first, when he rushed from the palace to the house of the avatar. He knew of you, and your relationship to his nephew, and to the avatar. (Iroh, really, knew much more than one would expect.) He enlisted your help, and Aang’s, in rescuing Zuko and Katara, and as you cared for both of them, of course you agreed. It was Zuko, though, that you hugged when you found the both of them, which brought confused looks from your friends.

You were what was considered a wild card.

Because when Azula and Zuko took up arms against the Avatar- so did you.

You could believe in the faults of the fire nation. You could believe in the effort of the earth kingdom to win the war- you could believe in the message of the avatar.

But you could also take up fire against him. You couldn’t- you couldn’t take up fire against Zuko.

You, Azula, and Zuko returned to the Fire Nation. You hadn’t been home in a little over a year, and it all seemed so different. There was so much red! Where was the green? The plants? Why was it so hot all the time? And why were you looked at like a hero when you walked down the street?

A hero? You betrayed the avatar. You were being called the greatest spy in Fire Nation history, you were being called instrumental in the avatar’s defeat, a gifted strategist who managed to earn the avatar’s trust, can you believe it?

It didn’t feel as nice as it sounded.

You had chosen Zuko, and you didn’t regret it. You loved him- and had for a lot longer than you’d ever realized. Sure, he was clearly with Mai, and you had no idea how long that had been a thing, but you loved him anyway. He didn’t pay much attention to you anymore, because he had Mai, but you loved him anyway.

Seeing him happy made it all worth it. All of it- leaving home, being friends with the avatar, letting Zuko win too many times when you know you could’ve stopped him, letting him get away, letting Azula kill the avatar. Betraying Aang, betraying Sokka, the look on Katara’s face when she realized that you were just like every other evil firebender. The look on Iroh’s. It was all worth it, because Zuko was happy, and home, and safe, and you got to be by his side, even if it wasn’t the way you wished it to be. It was all worth it.

Wasn’t it?

-🦌 Roe

edit: part 2

tag list: @lammello @kittyddandnyla @caitff

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mikrowrites · 4 years

Text

lost

John B x sister!reader, JJ Maybank x reader

summary: Y/N Routledge looses everything to the sea.

warnings: angst, major character death (but not really *wink*)

a/n: how dare outer banks steal my heart like this!

Y/N had once been scared of the ocean.

When she was five years old John B was so excited to teach her how to surf. The six year old boy was a natural, and had convinced their father to allow him to teach Y/N.

They both sat on a board, the waves bobbing them up and down. John B paddled with her as they dove under a wave together, coming up to stand as he held Y/N’s hand in his. After a steady surf off the wave, they suddenly were flung backwards, off the board and into the churning sea.

Y/N’s lungs burned with salt water, the currents pulling her back under as her limbs flailed, gasping in the seconds she emerged from the surface. She could briefly hear the shouts of her brother and father until they were muffled by the deep blue waters as she screamed.

Suddenly a pair of strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her up and onto a board, Y/N coughing up water as warm hands guided her onto her side.

“That’s it, sweetheart, you’re okay. I’ve got you.” “Big John” Routledge reassured his daughter, pulling her shaking and crying form into his chest.

John B had apologized profusely and cried for hours, but Big John was sure to calm him down and Y/N made sure to show she was fine.

But ocean scared her for some years.

Once the HMS Pogue was acquired when Y/N was 13, she began to warm up to the waters that surrounded her home. JJ Maybank had been an extraordinary surf instructor and John B loved hauling in fish with his sister.

Y/N prided herself on straying from the annoying little sister stereotype. Sure, she and John B would ruffle each other’s feathers from time to time, but they were thick as thieves. Others would assume they were twins without prior knowledge. John B was the brawn and Y/N was the brains. However, a few unlucky kooks learned not to get in a scramble with her.

And Y/N adored her father. He wasn’t always present and was obsessed with the Royal Merchant, but she was a daddy’s girl through and through. She would brew his favorite coffee in the morning, walking into his office where nine times out of ten he was passed out exhausted, his head rested on his desk. Y/N would set the mug on the usual coaster, brush his messy hair aside and kiss his forehead, before closing the door behind her.

Kiera had been a best friend in a time Y/N needed one most. Big John and John B were clueless when it came to “girl stuff”, and Kie was there to be a sister to the girl. How to braid, tame, and cut Y/N’s wild hair, the right amount of mascara needed, a quiet tampon distributer, Kie was there to teach her and pass knowledge onto Y/N’s oblivious brother.

Pope always extended help towards the girl for homework and studying. Y/N made an effort to maintain her grades and would always make Pope smoothies every time he helped her. Y/N would do grocery runs with him to make some spare cash while John B worked on Mr. Cameron’s boat.

And then there was JJ. Ever since the scrappy blonde entered her life, Y/N found herself close to him. He taught her to surf, roll and hit a joint, to ride a dirt bike. JJ was the one who enabled her against John B and Big John’s wishes. Y/N wouldn’t lie that she harbored a crush towards the boy, but would never, ever, admit it.

So of course her heart beat faster as JJ wrapped his arm around Y/N’s shoulders. The girl was shaking, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint if it was the cold stormy air or the fear.

Yes, maybe it was fear.

The fear that ripped through her chest at the sight of John B’s bloodstained hands, how she anxiously hoped for him to evade the police. The fear that squeezed her heart as she embraced her brother so very tight, before he and the Phantom pulled away from the dock.

John B and Sarah Cameron were out there in the storm, and Y/N was so incredibly scared.

The thunder boomed and the tent walls flapped in the wind as the four pogues sat in uncomfortable plastic chairs, waiting to hear what was next. JJ had begun rolling circles on Y/N’s shoulder, whispering sweet assurances in her ear.

“Your brother knows how to sail a storm.”

“They’re probably in Mexico by now!”

“Drinking Piña Coladas on the beach.”

“The Phantom’s gonna get them there, she will.”

Y/N looked up to see three police officers emerge into the tent in neon raincoats, eyeing the teens with a sad look.

She knew that look. She knew it all too well.

Y/N was sitting on the porch strumming her ukulele, looking out at the marshes as the sun rose. John B was out with JJ getting breakfast, and Y/N smiled at the thought of the touristy food at The Wreck.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by a soft knock on the screen door. Y/N turned her head to see Peterkin leaning on the doorway. “You’re getting real good at playing that, Y/N.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Y/N politely responded, smiling nervously. “Is everything okay?”

Peterkin sighed, stepping over to Y/N and sitting in a chair across from her. “No honey, it’s not. Is your brother here?”

Y/N sat up, laying the ukulele aside. “No, he’s... out—why? Did he do something? I swear, if he got into a fight, he was defending himself—“

“No, Y/N. It’s not about your brother.” Peterkin sighed, leaning forward in the chair. “I suggest we wait for him, thought. I don’t want you to hear this alone.”

Luckily John B and JJ turned up about 10 minutes later, the two boys shouting as they ran up the wooden stairs with boxes of food. John B halted in his tracks at the sight of his sister nervously sitting on the couch and Peterkin sitting across from her. The police officer turned over her shoulder. “Hey, John B. Come sit with us.”

The boy nodded, loading all the food into JJ’s arms as he ushered him inside, John B turning and sitting next to his sister.

And Peterkin gave them that look. The glint of the eye, a sagged demeanor, that deep frown.

It was pity.

“Your father has gone missing. He is presumed lost at sea.”

Y/N stood before any of the other pogues could, walked up to the police. She couldn’t force a single world to spill from her lips, she just looked at them desperately.

Officer Shoupe looked a the young girl. Out of the two Routledge kids, Y/N was always the peacemaker. He knew her by that, so much like her gentle father.

Shoupe rested his hand on her shoulder, turning to the three other teens who had now gathered closer. “Did you find them?” Pope questioned.

The officer sighed, squeezing Y/N’s shoulder. “No.”

“So they got away?” Kiara implored them to elaborate, JJ turning to look at Y/N, who kept her gaze fixed on Shoupe.

Shoupe looked to the other two police officers before in a grave voice responded:

“We lost them. I’m sorry.”

Y/N felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. Like the wind had suddenly escaped her lungs. The word “lost” echoing in her head.

“Lost”, like her father had been.

“Lost”, like her brother was.

Her ears began to ring, the noise around her dulling. Y/N’s eyes shifted over Shoupe’s shoulder, staring at the raging sea. The officer was saying something to her, but it fell on deaf ears.

Around her Kie, Pope, and JJ broke down, mourning the loss of their friend, their families entering the tent to help ease their sadness.

Y/N couldn’t hear the sobs, just the words, “lost, lost, lost”. It was when Shoupe removed his hand from her shoulder everything came back like a slap to the face. Her faculties returned and overwhelmed her. The thunder and pounding rain, the hysterical sobs of her friends, Y/N’s own heartbeat.

She noticed JJ attempting to fight the cops, screaming at them and accusing them. Y/N felt a lump rise in her throat, unsure if she needed to throw up or scream.

JJ had been pulled away and brought into an embrace by Pope’s family, and that’s when it clicked to Y/N. She looked at the Heywards, then to the Carreras, and her lips began to tremble. Her chest heaved for air as she watched the families grieve.

Because now, who would be there to grieve with her?

Y/N’s family was dead. Her family was lost.

Her knees connected with the ground, the girl hunched over as the first sob ripped from her throat. Y/N grasped her arms, eyes squeezed shut as tears began to drip down her cheeks.

JJ felt his blood run cold when he heard her scream.

He turned away from the Heywards, immediately running over to Y/N and sliding on the ground, gathering her up in his arms and hugging her so incredibly tight. Fuck, why hadn’t he thought of her? Why hadn’t he comforted her before trying to start a fight with Shoupe?

Y/N screamed into his shirt, gripping the material in her hands. JJ rested his chin on her head, looking up at Kiara and Pope who were still embracing their families.

JJ let himself be selfish for a moment, thinking “lucky for them to have family to cry to”. He was brought back to reality by Y/N sobbing something, the boy looking down at her in confusion. “What was that?”

Y/N heaved a few heavy breaths, her voice heavy with heartache. She repeated the same word over and over, JJ feeling a new bout of tears welling up in his eyes as he pulled her closer.

“Lost.”

#outer banks x reader #outer banks imagine #routledge!reader #john b routledge x reader #john b x reader #john b x sister!reader #john b x sister reader #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #jj x routledge!reader #outer banks x routledge!reader #john b sister #john booker routledge x reader

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knockknockchicagopd · 3 years

Text

A SERIE WITH HANK VOIGHT. CHAPTER I.

❚❙ WORDS: about 1.3k

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted. — The parts of this writing in italic are situations in the past.

❚❙ GIF credits: to my wonderful @sonsofeorl .

❚❙ Tag list: @melblacc @rebelwrites @skyofficialxx. If you want to be added to my tag list, send me a message.

“OFFICER SHOT! Repeat, we have an officer shot! I need an ambulance and backup in Hyde Park boulevard with Kenwood avenue!”

Your eyes are lost somewhere over the gleaming tiles, sitting on the floor with your back against the white wall and your legs curled to your chest. With your arms resting on your knees, you're putting away your shaky hands covered in your partner's blood from your view field. It has been almost forty five minutes since you arrived at the hospital, holding her hand from the ambulance to the inside of the surgery.

“Stay with me Lucy, please… Don't close your eyes… Look at me… Look at me, please”.

You couldn't barely breathe, pressing your hands over her chest, trying to stop the wound from bleeding. The bullet trespassed her vest, you didn't even see that guy coming. When you heard the shot, it was too late to push her away.

Three years patrolling the 21st District. Three years living together. Three years of memories that, now, are being played like an old black and white movie in front of your crystal eyes. You can't even think about catching her killer, trying to assimilate that you are not going to hear her voice anymore; nor to spend your free nights watching movies at home or drinking beers at Molly's, nor to complain about the senior cops who always ask you for coffee as if you were their secretaries.

“Lis—Listen… I will let you wear my red dress, okay? But you have to be strong… please… I can't lose you, Lucy. You are my family”.

She closed her eyes when your hand loose hers, coming into the surgery. Will stopped you at the entrance putting his hands on your shoulders.

“We'll do our best, I promise”.

But the bullet punctured an artery close to her heart and no one in the hospital could do anything for her life.

You don't even hear the heavy and fast strides coming closer to you. You only notice his presence, when he cups your wet cheeks between his palms. The contrast of his cold hands touching your warm skin makes you shudder, causing you to break into a bitter cry again uncontrollably. Hank embraces you tightly, helping you to stand up over the black military boots, guiding you to the closest bathroom.

Putting your hands under the tap as the water starts to run, he washes off the dry blood of Lucy, after pressing her chest until the sanitary came. Your eyelids are strongly closed, barely breathing and feeling your life escaping away from you with every tear shed. And you only open them again when he speaks.

“Look at me, sweetheart… We will find him, you hear me? And I, personally, will make him pay”.

His hands land on both sides of your neck, using his thumbs to lift up your face, urging you to look at him. You believe in his words. Of course you do. You do trust him with your life. Briefly nodding, Hank wraps your waist and your back with both arms, to hug you trying to comfort you somehow.

You have been sitting now in the locker room for almost thirty minutes, finding yourself anxiously breathing when you hear some knocks on the door. Cleaning your tears with the back of your trembling fingers, you take a deep breath still assimilating what has happened two hour ago. Licking your lips and withdrawing the salty taste of your tears impregnated on, you stand over your feet to grab your backpack and step outside. As soon as you reach the hall of the police station, everyone there becomes quiet. Every pair of eyes laid on you, leaving your badge and your service gun over the desk.

Platt doesn't know what to say, being aware that I'm sorry doesn't fix anything. She has decided to give you some days off to rest, but the real reason is that you aren't allowed to be part of this investigation.

“I know it's too soon, but do you think you can give us your testim—”.

“Not now!”

The hoarse and angry voice appearing from the stairs at your right earns all the attention. Voight is walking straight to you, taking your bag from your hand to place his free arm on your shoulder. If looks could kill, Platt would be already dead.

“Let's go for a ride, hm?”

Your eyes continue glued to your badge being grabbed by the inspector, to keep it under the desk. Your chin moves from the top down in a soft nod, letting him turn you around to come out from the police station to the private parking. His SUV is stationed close to the fence, opening the copilot seat door for you before going to the truck to keep your stuff, Hank hurry up on abandoning the place. You can't be there. You don't need it.

At first, he thinks about taking you to your house, but seeing you so broken he knows that you shouldn't be alone. Lucy was all your family, since your parents moved to Arizona; everything you had is your job and your friends. The man doesn't ask you, thinking that the best is to bring you to a quiet place. The loading bay. Where he goes after a hard day to clear his mind. Hank needs your testimony to catch the murder, but he needs you first to be focused, to be calmed.

Stepping out from the car, after turning off the engine, you follow him by inertia. Raising your eyes from your feet, the imposing city of Chicago stands in front of you. Red, blue and white small lights all around the jungle of buildings, captivating you instantly.

“(Y/N)...”

“I told her that I was hungry… I didn't take anything for lunch and we were close to Brandon's pizzeria… I… I made her stop… It was my fa—fault”.

The tears fill up again your reddened eyes. The anxiety is oppressing your throat. The lack of air is suffocating you. Hank doesn't let you blame yourself, welcoming into his arms without hesitating.

“I need to know how he looked to catch him”. After some second in silence, with your face hidden into the crock of his neck, he has to continue the talk.

Pulling yourself away, making the biggest effort of your whole life, you nod in the meantime that he cleans your cheek using his fingers.

“He came from… nowhere. I don't know… I don't know if he was… wa—waiting inside a shop, or… if he crossed the road. I don't know… He was wearing a black hoodie… and, uh… a pair of worn jeans. Blue… That kind of blue only Levis produces. And a… A pair of sneakers. Nike Air Force One. They were too clean, too white, too shiny to have more than… one month. Maybe a couple of weeks”.

You're trying to give him the most minimal detail, so it could help him to trap him sooner.

“His face was co—covered by a bandana. Black. But… But it had some white ornaments… I don't remember them. He was far away and they were too small… I'm so—I'm sorry, Hank… I don't remem—”.

“It's okay, it's okay, sweetheart. You have given me more than I could find myself”. His encouraging words make you feel somewhat better. “I will call Antonio to tell him, so they can start to work”.

You're sure that now he has your testimony, he will take you to your house. But you can't. You don't want to go. You don't want to be alone. Stopping him by grabbing his forearm covered by the leather jacket, you close your fingers tightly around it.

“I don't wanna go home”. You whisper with a fine thread of trembling voice.

Coming back on his tracks, Hank places his free hand on your nape to lean forward and press his lips on your forehead. Two long seconds that feels like an eternity.

“I got you, (Y/N)”.

#lemme know what you think in a comment! ⚡#hank voight x reader #hank voight imagine #hank voight #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd x reader #chicago pd #one chicago

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obxparadise · 4 years

Text

Red Flags

JJ Maybank x Reader

Word Count: 1,937

Requested: @maybebanks

~A fic in which JJ finds out you’ve been abused by your boyfriend, Rafe~

Warnings: Mentions of abuse and drugs

A/N: If you enjoyed this, leave a comment!

*GIF is not mine. Credit to the owner.*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re stupid.”

“You’re worthless.”

“I don’t know what I see in you.”

Another day, another insult, another bruise.

The diamond tile floor is cold against your body. Blood is pumping through your veins, dripping from your lip, and soaking through your white tank top. Words are on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t speak. You know better. Speaking would be signing your death sentence, and you aren’t ready to die just yet. There’s still some fight left in you.

Rafe Cameron stands over you, his once pale face now red with fury, hands balled into fists that have drops of your blood on them. He breathes hard, eyes wide and darting around the room in a frenzy. His arms are shaking and his pupils, usually small and scrutinizing, are larger than normal. There’s only one reason for it.

Cocaine.

And he loves it more than you.

That was the first red flag. His obsession with cocaine clouded his mind, fucked with his ability to think straight. At the start of your relationship, he hid it. Three months later, you walked into his room and caught him snorting the end of a line. And you ignored it.

He’d stolen from his father Ward, several times. That was the second red flag. Rafe was blessed to have been born into a wealthy family. He never worked a day in his life. The drug money came from Ward’s private safe, or from gold watches Rafe had pawned off without his father’s knowledge. And as you watched Rafe steal ten thousand dollars from the safe, you ignored it.

You arrived at his house three minutes later than you said you would. The party had gotten out of hand and you lost track of time. As you tried to explain and calm him down, his hand connected with your cheek. Red flag number three. Ignored.

“I used to get chills looking at you,” Rafe says, emotionless. “Now? I’m fucking sick of looking at you.”

There was a time Rafe Cameron did love you, if only briefly, if only for two months. He courted you, kissed you, held your hand in public. He opened doors for you, complimented you, and made love to you.

No more.

His kisses? Replaced with bruises.

Compliments? What were those?

You watch as Rafe stiffens, the sound of a car door slamming shut startling the both of you. The glass table in the dining room is just out of reach. You peer up at Rafe through wet lashes just in time to see him pull you to your feet.

His thumb collects leftover blood from your lip. It’s the closest thing to a tender touch you’ve received in years. As you stare into his eyes, you notice his pupils have shrunk down to their normal size.

“Rafe, I--.”

“Get yourself changed,” he says, eyes flickering to your blood-stained shirt. With one last look, he turns his back. “And get out of my sight.”

~~~

The Chateau is your safe haven. Though old and run down, John B’s little shack feels more like a home than the spare bedroom in the Cameron mansion. The room is occupied by whoever decides to crash there, either by yourself or JJ. This time, it was yours.

Standing in front of the mirror, you slowly lift your shirt, sucking in a breath at the sight of the bright purple bruise decorating your hip. Slightly pulling down your bathing suit bottoms, you sighed as you noticed another bruise, small and brown. How are you supposed to go swimming like this?

“Knock, knock,” Pope says, tapping the door. You pull down your shirt just in time. “Ready to go?”

No, you’re not, but staying back will only cause suspicion, and the last thing you need is the Pogues asking questions.

~~~

The sun is warm on your skin, water cold as your feet hang off the side of the HMS Pogue. A beer in your hand, you watch as Kiara and Pope play a game of Marco Polo. John B treads in the water, staying close to you, while JJ continuously throws himself off the boat.

“How was that splash?” JJ asks, lifting a hand to block the sun from his eyes.

“Eh, I give it a four,” you tease. “I’ve seen better.”

“Show me how it’s done, then,” JJ challenges, pulling himself up onto the boat. Water drips from his sun kissed skin, bathing suit clinging to his thighs. “You haven’t even gotten in the water yet today.”

“Today?” John B snickers. “We’ve been out here four days this week. You love to swim, Y/N, what’s up with you?”

You offer John B a shrug. “Just you know, not feeling it.”

“That’s code for time of the month,” JJ grins, screeching as your hand barely misses hitting his leg.

“That’s what tampons are for, JJ,” Kiara shouts.

You snort and take another swig of beer, cringing underneath John B’s skeptical gaze. Normally, he’s able to see right through you. Right now, you pray he can’t.

~~~

“Y/N, there’s pizza out here,” Pope calls out.

“I’ll be right in,” you answer from the spare room. Stripping off your bathing suit, you throw it in a pile on the floor before pulling on a pair of black sweatpants and an old OBX hoodie. The side of your hip throbs slightly and you wince, lifting the hoodie to reexamine the bruise. Your fingertips brush over the swollen flesh just as John B pushes open the door, freezing in place.

A breath is trapped in your throat as you quickly cover the bruise, swallowing as John B’s eyes burn into yours.

“Y/N…” John B says slowly. He approaches carefully, noticing the apprehension on your face. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

“It’s a bruise,” you reply simply. “I fell down the last few steps at Rafe’s house. No biggie. Y’all know I’m clumsy.”

“Y/N,--.”

“John B,” your voice has an edge to it. “I’m fine. It was an accident,” you pat his cheek softly, offering a smile. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

~~~

“I need to talk to you.”

As you, Kiara, and Pope tend to the bonfire, John B pulls JJ aside. His lip is raw from the constant biting, wondering how he is supposed to break the news to his best friend.

“What’s up, man?” JJ asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He notices the uneasiness in John B’s eyes. “Bro, you good?”

“I think,” John B pulls a hand through his hair. “I think Y/N is in trouble.”

JJ stiffens. “What kind of trouble?”

“Rafe trouble,” John B replies, gnawing the inside of his cheek. “I don’t want to make any assumptions…”

“Spit it out.”

John B sighs. “I think he hits her.”

Tension in the air is thick as both boys remain unmoving. The blood in JJ’s body runs cold as the words process in his brain. “What do you mean you think?”

“On her hip,” John B says, lowering his voice. He pulls up his shirt, demonstrating. “There’s a huge bruise. She acted like it was nothing, but JJ, I swear to you, I saw it.”

“Where’s my gun?” JJ asks, fists balled tightly as he begins to head back toward the Chateau.

John B’s hand stops him. “Not now, bro. You’re on probation. This isn’t the time to be stupid. I just figured maybe you could talk to her, since you know…” John B motions to the fading black and blue rim around JJ’s eye.

“This is Y/N we’re talking about,” JJ shoots back, voice pained. “I’d die for any one of you. But for her, I’d kill a man.”

~~~

You search the Chateau rooms, gathering as many blankets as your arms can carry. Pope is fixing the fire as Kiara sets up individual chairs for everyone to sit in.

Checking the spare room, you peek under the bed for any extra blankets, and the bedroom door slams shut, startling you. Peering over the bed from your knees, a distraught JJ stands with his back against the door.

“I’ll be out in a second, just getting blankets.”

“We need to talk.”

The four words no one ever wants to hear. Swallowing, you pull yourself to your feet, reminding yourself to keep your composure. “What’s up?”

JJ says nothing at first, eyes directed at the floor as he flicks the lighter in his hand. Sweat drips down your back as he finally looks up at you. “How are you, Y/N?”

Not what you were expecting. “I’m good. How are you?” You step up to him, abandoning the blankets in your hand to touch the ring around his eye. He flinches, and your heart breaks. I know how it feels, you think to yourself. “Your eye is looking much better.”

“Better than your hip,” JJ mutters.

You step back, blinking. “W-what?”

“When the hell were you going to tell me Rafe beats you?” JJ’s voice is gravelly as he steps toward you. “What the fuck happened to Pogues for life, huh?”

“JJ, what are you talking about?” You ask defensively, praying your face doesn’t betray you. “Rafe doesn’t hit me. Why are you accusing him?”

“So you’re saying he doesn’t?” JJ sneers. He pulls a hand through his blonde hair, tugging the ends before slapping his palm against his thigh. “I noticed today your lip was split down the middle. How’d that happen?”

The walls seem to close around you. Your chest constricts, labored breaths leaving your mouth. You can’t speak, only stare as JJ’s eyes scan your face. “I, uh, b-bit it too hard.”

Unconvinced, he steps forward, grabbing your jaw before you can move. There’s hurt in his eyes, and fear in yours. “Lift up your shirt.”

“JJ, don’t--.”

“Lift up your shirt,” he repeats quietly, lip quivering. “It’s just you and me.”

Tears gather in your eyes as the realization hits you. He knows.

Your fingers shake as they grab the bottom of your hoodie, lifting slowly to reveal the bruise. JJ immediately sucks in a breath, the size of the bruise unsettling. His hand goes to your hip just as you pull away from him. JJ’s heart sinks as a tear slides down your face. He reaches out and collects it with his thumb, gently rubbing your cheek as your head leans into his touch. “How long?”

“Two years,” you say, hiding the bruise once more. “I would’ve hidden it longer if J.B. didn’t open his mouth.”

“He shouldn’t have had to tell me,” JJ responds, gaze fixated on your face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What would you have done?”

“I would have been there for you!” He says it without hesitation, offended that you even had to ask. “You were the first person I told about my father. Shit, you were there for me more than anyone. You didn’t let me struggle by myself. And now…and now I find out this whole time, you’ve been letting yourself suffer when you know any one of us would’ve helped you.”

His words hurt, but they’re the truth. “I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

JJ’s hands find your face, cupping your cheeks as your fingers wrap around his wrists. “I am always going to worry about you,” he rests his forehead against yours, and there’s something intimate about the gesture. “Always.”

Sighing, you pull JJ in for a hug, nestling your face in his neck as his arms circle your waist. His embrace is warm and you sink into it. A protective barrier. And for once in your life, you feel safe.

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years

Text

10. You confessed your feelings and we’re about to kiss but we get interrupted

36. Friends with benefits and both people catching feelings

Wavetide

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E (we’ll be working up to it) Chapter: 1/7

Summary:

She never tells anyone. Well, she admitted it to Ned once because he caught her staring at Peter in a way that was too difficult to deny, but she’s never confessed to the fact that her love for their friend isn’t a solitary tsunami of longing; it sweeps in and out in waves.

Michelle Jones’s life is a world-record attempt at most times falling in love with the same person. She’s loved Peter Parker on-and-off dozens of times since they were 10, and they’re only 12 now, so it’s almost a weekly thing. He’ll make her laugh right when they’re coming in from recess and she’ll love him. He’ll pick her for his squad when they’re doing wind sprints in gym and he’s her thoughtless best friend again. She never tells anyone. Well, she admitted it to Ned once because he caught her staring at Peter in a way that was too difficult to deny, but she’s never confessed to the fact that her love for their friend isn’t a solitary tsunami of longing; it sweeps in and out in waves.

When they wake up, Peter will be 13. A teenager. They’re camped out in the Leedses’ living room in anticipation of the big event. His aunt and uncle are going to host the actual party at their apartment tomorrow, with cake and balloons and everything, but tonight, the three friends have Ned’s pup tent set up indoors (was supposed to be outdoors, but it’s raining). The scenario feels strangely like a farewell to their mutual childhood and Michelle’s having a hard time falling asleep.

Ned’s been asleep for half an hour, but she doesn’t realize Peter hasn’t joined him until she rolls over on the air mattress and he turns his head to look at her. Ned’s on the far end; they always banish him to the edge for snoring. Peter’s hair shushes against the cotton pillowcase as he adjusts, still watching her.

“Do you think it’s after midnight?” he whispers.

“Maybe. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.”

He smiles at her and Michelle draws her knees up to her chest inside her sleeping bag, hugging them in place. She’s grateful that the three of them are still allowed to do this, have sleepovers in confined spaces and all sleep on the same air mattress.

Peter garbles something through a large yawn and she snickers, shuffling closer. The confusing tug of her reluctance to grow up eases when she concentrates on him.

“What?” she asks.

“I wonder if it’s still raining,” he repeats.

“We could go see?”

Ned’s house after dark is weighted by dense silence. Michelle doesn’t have to ask if Peter feels it too, because they’ve discussed it on other occasions when Ned was the first to conk out for the night. The Leedses’ home is a fascinating place for two kids who’ve grown up in apartments. The lowness of every window looking out on the ground floor, the quiet of no neighbours on the other side of the wall. It’s almost creepy.

They shift their weight carefully, wriggling off the air mattress like commandos crawling under barbed wire, trying not to jostle Ned in his slumber.

“Bouncy castle,” Peter hisses at her and pumps his arms against the mattress to make them both sway on their hands and knees.

“Stop it,” she says, giggling as her eyes flick to Ned. It’s ok, he’s still asleep.

With a rub of nylon, they slither out of the tent. Peter darts his arm back in to snatch his sleeping bag. Michelle glances sideways to see how he’s bundled about half of it into his arms as they pad across the carpet. Ned’s mom drew the blinds and Michelle shuffles over to part them, but Peter pulls her wrist and they go to the back door instead. With a flip of the lock, he slides the glass door open, letting the sound of chittering insects pour through the screen. The rain’s done. There’s a big oak in the yard and Michelle can see the bright lightbulb curve of the moon above its crown before she and Peter sit cross-legged on the floor.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

“No.”

But it’s nice when Peter unzips his sleeping bag all the way so they can pull it around their shoulders like two kings with one luxurious cape. Michelle grips the corner over her left shoulder, Peter over his right. Even a year ago, this might’ve been the moment where she confessed to how tired she was and felt him gather her close, making sure the sleeping bag tucked around to cover her knees. Tonight, she has a soft white bra under her pajama top because she’s too aware of her friends being boys to take it off, even to sleep. Under that, she has a heart that gushes and swells with this feeling she gets whenever she sneaks a look at her friend’s sleepy face, the hair that tumbles onto his forehead and curls up above his ears.

“Fireflies,” Peter points out, scratching his finger against the screen when he gestures too fast and misjudges the distance. He’s right. They’re blinking yellow all over Ned’s yard.

“Yeah.”

“You think they’re lucky?”

“Not that lucky. They only live for two months. I read that,” she says. There’s a mosquito bite on the back of her arm that makes her currently unsympathetic towards bugs.

“But what if I want to make a wish on them?”

“On a firefly that’s going to die in two months? Why would you?”

“Lit birthday candles last way shorter than that,” he counters, “and we make wishes on them.”

“Well, that’s just because men are obsessed with demonstrating their dominance over fire. Man master of fire!” Michelle elucidates in a Neanderthal grunt.

“That’s not really why we blow out candles, is it?” Peter asks. She shrugs next to him. “It can’t be,” he says with more certainty. She doesn’t respond. “Still, they’re pretty.”

Michelle looks to see him watching the fireflies, eyes darting to each flare of light in turn. She’s on the dock of her childhood and she can spot the next wave rolling in.

“What would you wish for?” she asks.

Peter scoffs and twists a little so he can focus on her.

“I can’t tell you.”

“You can as practice. The wish only doesn’t come true if you talk about it after you blow out your candles. Allegedly,” Michelle adds, because they aren’t children anymore and she, for one, will not be taken in by nonsense on the arcaneness of birthday wishes.

“A real lightsaber.”

“That’s dumb.”

“It’s not your wish!” he says.

“No kidding.”

He shrugs off her sarcasm.

“I don’t really want anything.”

“Don’t pout just because you can’t be a Gemini.”

“Jedi.”

Oh, she knows what they’re called. She’s employed this particular taunt many, many times.

“Pick something,” Michelle urges.

“I do, uh…”

Peter drops his gaze and plays with the string dangling from the edge of the sleeping bag. This is suspicious behaviour. She studies him, attempting to recall the information on reading body language she’s picked up from true-crime books and fake-crime TV shows. Her parents don’t like her reading or watching that stuff ‘at her age,’ but she’s a firm believer in a running start to teenage rebellion.

A warm breeze rustles the oak’s green leaves and washes over their faces.

“I do want one thing,” he mumbles. It’s barely spoken―the gentle wind is making more noise.

There’s something off and it makes Michelle nervous. Everything inside her, apart from her brain, thinks it knows where this is going when Peter licks his lips and flexes his hands briefly like he does when he’s making a decision. She’s waited for this. She’s scared of this. How it’ll change them. She almost wants to go back to five minutes ago, when they were side by side in the tent with nothing to make them feel older except her feet hanging off the end of the air mattress when she scrunched down to get her head aligned with Peter’s so they could talk softly in the dark. Michelle asks her best friend what it is he wants, but only in her head.

“I want to kiss you,” he says, looking at her.

“Why?” she blurts.

“I just do.”

Her heart’s galloping. The wave’s about to crash.

“I guess it makes sense,” Michelle bluffs. Her whole body feels numb with the anticipation.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ll be starting high school in a year and people are going to start getting together so I guess I get why you don’t want to be left behind or whatever.”

Peter faces forward again and she can see him well enough to watch his throat jerk as he swallows.

“MJ, that’s not why.”

“Sure it is. You want practice.”

“It’s not like that,” he says and she’d bet he heard that somewhere, all the old movies he watches, because it sounds too grown up for her Peter.

“Do it then.”

His head snaps up and he looks at her.

“What?”

“Do it. Kiss me.”

She tries to square her shoulders and be the self he knows her to be. The Michelle who steps between bullies and her boys. The Michelle who isn’t scared to hold a bug or go to the section of the Halloween store with the really disturbing rubber masks that have, like, eyeballs dangling out of their sockets.

“You want me to?”

“Yeah, I want to see if you’re good at it,” she says toughly, chin up in a challenge.

“You’ll probably be good at it,” Peter mumbles under his breath as he scoots to face her instead of the door. Michelle mirrors him.

As he leans towards her, she can feel herself inside the wave―water all around and her twirling in a complicated pattern as it decides what to do with her. Not wanting Peter to get all the credit for going through with this, Michelle bends in his direction. Their knees make contact and she glances down at where her best friend’s shins cross. She sees fine brown leg hair, then squeezes her eyes shut as she tilts her face up, scared of however he appears in this moment. She’s surprised that she doesn’t flinch when his fingertips touch her cheek. He exhales in a soft puff, close.

“I really like you,” he murmurs.

Michelle’s underwater and can’t speak.

And then, “COOKIE!” someone yells in the night. A dog yaps sharply in response.

Michelle and Peter spring apart at the sound of one of Ned’s neighbours. Are they going to persevere? Get back in kissing distance and find out if they have some kind of spark that’ll tell them they’re meant to be more than friends? That’s how it seems to work in the old movies she watches and doesn’t tell the boys about. She’s not sure yet where rom-coms fit in the image of herself she’s only beginning to sketch, so she keeps them quiet.

Because she’d rather make a wrong action that’s all her own than react to whatever Peter decides to do, Michelle scrambles swiftly to her feet.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” she says. It seems like the least romantic thing she can say. Peter stands too, eyes searching hers uncomfortably. The shared sleeping bag is neglected at their feet.

She strides off and he doesn’t try to grab her to stop her. She’s not sure what she’d do if he did. The bathroom’s down the hall and when she looks back, she sees him in his t-shirt and pajama shorts, scooping up the sleeping bag. A distinct longing to swim out to him surges inside her, but the wave of more-than-a-friendship-kind-of-love flings her away and she faceplants on the beach of Unrequited Crushes. Maybe… soon… they can still try? Because they’re both too embarrassed tonight when she eventually returns to the tent. And she acts like nothing happened during his birthday party. When his uncle dies suddenly and terribly, she can’t put any kind of expectation on Peter for them to be anything but friends. He needs her as a friend. The memory of him standing at the back door with his arms full of sleeping bag lingers. In Michelle’s mind, she turns away from the ocean. If she doesn’t look, she can’t see the wave.

To be continued!

#my writing #Wavetide #spideychelle #spideychelle fic #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

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honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

Rain Boots and Puppy Paws

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect)/Reader

Word Count: 2,087

Warnings: None

When Ezra and Cee returned to some kind of normal, Ezra didn’t expect Cee to be begging him for a puppy. But he’s a huge sucker, despite not being a pets kind of person. He is, however, a flirt, and his newest target is the cute trainer who exercises the dogs.

“Please?” Cee begged. She’d been trying all sorts of tactics to get Ezra to say yes to looking at dogs, and so far, nothing was working.

“I’ve told you a thousand times now little bird, we are not getting a dog,” he said. “We are currently preoccupied with recovery.”

Cee pouted. “A dog could help!” She said eagerly, leaning across the table so her cold fingers touched Ezra’s hand. “If we got a service dog it could help you with your arm!”

Ezra huffed. “I’ll consider it.”

Immediately, Cee was up, happily taking a lap around the kitchen and racing off to her room. Ezra chuckled, watching her go. It had been a little over a year since he’d been appointed her official guardian after almost a year and a half of various legal battles, and she’d bloomed so much under his haphazard care. They’d settled down on a small Earth-like planet with air that was, thankfully, breathable and not toxic. In that year, Cee had started attending school while Ezra worked from home, creating a nice pattern for them. Cee was no longer sullen and silent, although she had her days, just like Ezra, when the past caught up to her. For the most part, however, they were a happy semi-functional found family.

Ezra sighed, grabbing his tablet and unlocking it. Setting it on the table, he one-handedly typed in a search for good dog breeds.

Three days later, he gave in to Cee’s begging.

“Fine!” He said, smiling when Cee bugged him about it again. “We can look at dogs! But, little bird, if we get one, it will be your responsibility.”

If Ezra though Cee got excited when he said he’d think about it, then this was pure joy. She bounded around the table and hugged him, smiling. “Did you see any you liked?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ezra said with a grin.

Cee snorted, settling back down at her seat. “You always do your research before making a decision,” she said. “Did you see any you liked?”

Ezra shrugged, stabbing the unidentifiable meat on his plate with his fork. “I saw some with promise,” he finally said. “And there’s a shelter in town we can visit.”

“Tomorrow?”

Ezra chuckled. “Hold your horses little bird. We can go this weekend.”

Of course, in the time it took to reach the weekend, Cee and Ezra did extensive research. They both agreed an overly fluffy dog would be a bad idea, even if Cee fell in love with the husky puppies. A small dog wasn’t ideal in any way, but neither was a huge one. Some breeds weren’t good for what they needed, and some came down entirely to personal preference.

“We’ll just have to see what they’ve got,” Cee said finally on Friday night. “I still think a german shepherd is a good idea,”

“And I still don’t want a dog that will shed a fuck ton,” Ezra finished, shutting his tablet down for the night. “Go get some rest. We’re leaving early tomorrow.”

As Cee ran off to go get ready for bed, Ezra cleared the table off, leaving the dirty dishes in the sink. He couldn’t really do the dishes with one hand, so Cee did them whenever she got the chance.

Ezra went to bed that night anxious. He’d never been a pets person, despite having the faintest memories of a cat when he was little. Especially with how his dreams were plagued by the Green and his right arm stump still hurt and ached with phantom pains, he wasn’t sure if a dog was the right thing right now.

And then he thought about Cee, and how happy she had been when he’d agreed to look at dogs. This would be good for her, to have a lively animal running around instead of his lazy ass.

The sun rose early, shining brightly through the blinds and waking Ezra. He rolled over, rubbing his face and beginning to slowly stumble through his morning routine.

Cee passed by the open bathroom door as Ezra smeared a numbing cream on his stump, pausing and watching with nothing short of immense guilt on her face as he winced while rubbing over a tender spot.

“Good morning little bird,” he said, not pausing in his action or turning from his reflection in the mirror. “Haven’t I taught you that staring is rude?”

Cee jumped, her guilt turning to surprise. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Ezra ran the sink and pushed his hand under the water, wincing at the heat. “Are you almost ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Cee mumbled, reaching around Ezra to grab her hairbrush. “Are you?”

Ezra nodded. “Just need a shirt, then we can head out.”

They left not long after that, taking the train into the city. Ezra stood so Cee could sit, her eagerness returning with every passing minute.

“Have you decided on a breed yet?” She asked when they stepped off the train, the twin suns warming their skin.

“Not yet,” Ezra said, locating the small shelter. “It depends on what they have.”

Immediately, upon walking in, Ezra and Cee were met with animals of all shapes and sizes. Cee lit up, seeing a litter of puppies snuggled up next to their mother. “Ezra,” she said happily. “Thank you.”

Ezra smiled. “You’re welcome little bird.”

They spoke briefly to a receptionist, who took them to see the dogs.

“We have a bunch of different breeds,” she explained, gesturing to rows of kennels. “If you want, some of our dogs are out back with one of our trainers.”

Cee thanked the receptionist before heading down one of the aisles, cheerfully greeting every dog she saw. Ezra trailed behind her, making a mental note whenever he saw a dog he liked.

“What about this one?” Cee asked, pointing to a black and white dog that looked like a skinny panda with really short fur.

“What’s the breed?”

Cee squinted at the card. “She’s a one year old whippet.”

“A what?”

“Whippet,” Cee repeated. “Remember? We looked at a few. They’re like greyhounds but smaller.”

Ezra shrugged. “I like her. Let’s see what else we can see, but keep her in mind.”

They eventually headed out back, where a figure was chasing around a bunch of greyhounds, happily shouting to the pack to give back the frisbee they’d stolen.

As soon as they turned, giving Ezra a clear view of their face, he stopped short. Oh fuck. They were goddamn beautiful.

———

You laughed, grabbing the red rubber frisbee from TomTom, giving it a tug before commanding the dog to drop it. He did, allowing you to fling the frisbee across the yard, sending all five greyhounds chasing after it. As you watched them go, you realized you weren’t alone.

“Hey!” You waved, gesturing the two people closer. “Are y’all looking for a dog?”

The younger girl nodded, grabbing the older man’s hand and pulling him closer. “Yeah! What breed are these?”

You gestured to the dogs, who were now wresting for the frisbee. “Greyhounds. Fast as hell for all of fifteen minutes before they become the biggest couch potatoes.”

The girl introduced herself and who you assumed was her father until she called him by his name. He was handsome in a way you couldn’t describe, a way that made you pause and think about every word you spoke to him. A way that made you think you were in love.

“Can I go play with the dogs?” Cee asked, nudging Ezra’s side.

“Yeah,” he said. “Be careful little bird. And do not get horribly attached.”

Cee nodded and ran off, joining the fray as she tried to take the frisbee.

You turned to Ezra. “She’s a wonderful kid,” you commented loosely.

Ezra blinked a few times, eyes on Cee. “She’s not mine. At least, not by blood.”

Ah. That explained a lot. You shuffled, smiling at the dogs and Cee playing. “How long has she been begging?”

“Hm?”

“How long has she been begging for a dog?” You repeated. “You don’t seem all that interested in this.”

Ezra smiled. “A while. Keeps insisting it’ll be good for me.” He gestured to his right arm, or lack thereof. “I guess I finally just gave in.”

You laughed. “I hate to agree, but a dog would help.”

“Mhm,” Ezra hummed, nodding. “Okay, traitor.”

Before you could respond, the frisbee whizzed past your head, along with five very eager dogs chasing after it. They crashed into you and Ezra, sending you toppling to the ground, him landing squarely on top of you.

“Oh shit!” Cee shouted, racing over and helping Ezra sit up so you could also straighten. “Are you okay?”

Both of you nodded, immediately becoming targets for the dogs. They circled around, sniffing and licking, causing you to giggle.

“TomTom! Nuki! Georgia! That’s enough!” You laughed, shoving Georgia off you. She snorted and instead decided that licking Ezra’s entire face was a good idea.

Cee smiled. “I think she likes you.”

Ezra made a face beneath Georgia’s tongue, causing you to laugh again. “Georgia, hon, leave Ez alone.”

Georgia, thankfully, stopped licking Ezra’s face. Of course, she decided that instead, she wanted to plop herself down in Ezra’s lap, which was exactly what she did.

“They’re lovebugs,” you said, scratching behind Georgia’s ears. “Greyhounds are people dogs, and it shows.”

Cee smiled, reaching out and giving Juliet, who had collapsed on your leg, a few scritches. “Are any of them up for adoption?”

“Well.” You thought it over, trying to remember. “TomTom was claimed last week, we’re waiting to hear back from Juliet’s forever family, Nuki is going home tomorrow, but Georgia and Julek are both available.”

Julek, who had been settled in the grass, heard his name and wandered over, sniffing around your ears.

“Yes, you’re a good boy,” you said happily, petting Julek. “But if you wanna adopt Julek, I have to tell you he’s super attached to this one cat we have, so they’re a package deal.”

Ezra gave Cee a pointed look. “We’re only getting one.”

Cee nodded. “That’s okay. I think I want Georgia.”

They ended up leaving with Georgia’s paperwork and a promise to come back for her next weekend. She barked at them as they left, and you laughed. “Georgia, honey, they’re coming back for you,” you promised.

Your promise held true, as seven days later, Cee and Ezra eagerly came back for their dog.

“That should be it,” you said, checking over the paperwork. “Georgia is officially your dog.”

Cee smiled, bending down to give Georgia a kiss.

You passed the paperwork back over to Ezra. “Keep that somewhere safe. If you need to train her, call this number here.” You pointed to a phone number on a business card. “This number is the vet service we use, and it’s really close by. And that number is the one for the here, in case anything goes horribly wrong.” As you explained, you walked them to the door, until the three of you were standing outside in the warm sun.

“What about that one?” Ezra pointed to a plain business card with a handwritten phone number on it.

You smiled. “That’s my number.”

Before you could elaborate, the train pulled up, meaning Cee and Ezra had to leave.

“Call me!” You shouted across the platform, waving to Ezra.

He waved back, giving you a thumbs up before disappearing onto the train.

You didn’t have to wait long for the call. As soon as you walked back into the shelter, your phone rang. You answered the call, stomach twisting in knots. “Hello?”

“Hey.”

You smiled, hearing Ezra’s voice, albeit a bit tinny. “You called fast.”

“I had a question that just couldn’t wait,” Ezra said, the sound of the train chime interrupting him.

“And what would that question be?” You asked, opening the door to the shelter with your hip and settling down at your desk.

“I’m off on Wednesday and was wondering if you wanted to go somewhere with me?”

You laughed. “Ezra, are you asking me out?” You teased, despite knowing this was exactly what was going to happen when you picked up the phone.

“Yes I am.”

“Well,” you fiddled with your pen, already writing the date in your calendar. “How does five sound? We can get dinner.”

Ezra paused, as if he didn’t expect to get this far. “Five sounds fine.”

“Then it’s a date.”

“Yeah,” Ezra agreed. “It’s a date.”

#prospect #prospect movie #ezra (prospect)#ezra #ezra x reader #ezra x you #pedro pascal #my writing

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glimmerglanger · 4 years

Text

Whumptober 2020 - Day 9

Day 9 of Whumptober, part 9 of the oof!au. And now we come to the turning of the tides. This one is SUPER long (6k) and is also the only part of the series to have a split POV.

General Info: Post Order 66 Vader-Captures-Obi-Wan AU. Eventual happy(ish) ending. Past/eventual Codywan. One-sided Vaderwan.

WARNINGS: Mentions of past torture and loss of a limb. Implications of non-con. Mistreatment of a prisoner. Fall-out of mind control. Mentions of/thoughts about suicide. Death (including a major character. For the sake of spoilers, I’m not going to say who dies, but if you need to know before you read shoot me a msg and I’ll tell you).

No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?

On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

Victory left Vader feeling warm inside, pleased. For a time. He got what he wanted, what he deserved, Obi-Wan begging for his forgiveness, using his proper title, obeying. He got all the apologies he was owed, and it only cost a few bodies, slumped against a wall.

Obi-Wan’s agony and horror filled the entirety of the Force, ratcheting higher with each clone that died. He was such a weak fool. They were nothing, just things, and broken things at that, for all that Obi-Wan carried on, his pain so large it felt like a living creature, sucking up all the air in the room, filling every possible piece of Vader’s mind, battering at him from across their bond.

He’d never, actually, felt pain like that from Obi-Wan before. Never once. It brought back memories of their time on Zygerria, where similar emotions had swirled out of Obi-Wan’s head, but… Obi-Wan had more control, back then.

Under Vader’s command, he cracked and broke, shattering like glass each time Vader so much as threatened one of the clones. It was ridiculous. Every single one of them would happily put a blaster bolt in Obi-Wan’s head, and yet he fell to his knees and he groveled and he said, obediently, whichever words Vader wanted.

He did whatever Vader wanted, without protest, without hesitation, for all that his expression was some blank and empty thing. Sometimes, Vader had one of the clones shot, anyway, just to make sure Obi-Wan didn’t lose track of the stakes.

He did everything Vader wanted, so agreeable, the great General Kenobi brought so low. Finally put into his place. Agreeing, with the rasp that remained of his voice, that Vader was right to take his arm, stretching it out, head bowed, fair was fair, after all. Agreeing that he’d been wrong. Agreeing while his agony curled through the Force, staining everything.

Vader worked to hold onto the initial pleasure of his victory, fought for it, temper growing worse as Obi-Wan spoiled things, once more. He could barely breathe, around Obi-Wan’s cursed emotions, by the time it became obvious that Obi-Wan needed to go to the medbay, no longer shaking, no longer doing much of anything but breathing shallowly, gone pale all over, staring at the troopers, intently.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan was murmuring, barely audible, as a pair of troopers lifted him and carried him away - strange that they had not dragged him, Vader considered, but only briefly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he kept repeating, as they carried him through the door. He had been slurring the words for some hours.

Vader appreciated the apologies, but, truly, they were far too little too late.

He turned away as the door shut, moving to look out over the open viewport along the side of the room, staring out across the lava fields below. He curled his hands around the railing, breathing hard, and reassured himself that he had, in fact, gotten everything he wanted, finally.

He turned away from the view, eventually, and went to check the messages his Master had sent him, over the past days.

Cody warned Crys to watch his expression when they were out of the medbay. To control his emotions. Vader was one of the few Force sensitive people left in the galaxy, as far as Cody knew. That meant he could, technically, pick up emotions.

Cody worked to keep his feelings contained. To stay as blank as possible. But there was fury in him. Fury and rage and guilt and hurt and--

And Obi-Wan had taught him, back during the war, how to breathe slowly and deeply, how to settle himself when the noise in his head got to be too much. Cody remembered sitting beside him, quietly, meditating in a dimly lit room with the sweet smell of incense all around them, listening to Obi-Wan’s breath and falling into the same pattern, so they were breathing as one and, he had imagined, perhaps their heartbeats even changed to match--

Obi-Wan floated in a bacta tank as Cody walked back into the medbay, hours after he’d left, leaving Crys to continue on with their preparation. Obi-Wan’s remaining limbs curled close, like he was trying to make himself small, even while unconscious.

Cody remembered everything his body had done. Remembered, so clearly, giving the order to shoot Obi-Wan down on Utapau, the cool slide of satisfaction in his mind as he’d watched his General plunge into the waste-water pit. He remembered moving out, remembered reassignment, remembered people begging, pleading with him--

He dug his nails up into his palms, when the memories got to be too much, and marched forward, back towards where he’d left Bones. Who was… bent over another trooper, when Cody entered the room, and who snapped, “Don’t say a word.”

And so Cody didn’t, because you listened to the medics when they gave you orders, even when you, technically, out-ranked them. He waited, patiently, moving a bit around the side of the bed to watch as Bones did… something to the side of their brother’s head.

It didn’t take very long before Bones shifted, pressed a bacta patch into place, and looked up at Cody, scowling, to snap, “Chips.”

“Excuse me?” Cody said, considering that the aneurysm may have caused more damage to Bones’ mind than they’d first assumed, adjusting his plan to work around that, and--

“There are chips in our brains,” Bones said. “Frontal lobe. I assume that’s what’s controlling us, because I’ve removed four of them so far, and the results have been favorable.”

Cody blinked at him, struck, abruptly, by how good it was to have his brothers back, to have help, to remember that Bones was every bit as competent as he was, if with the tools of the medical bay instead of combat planning. “Where are they?” he asked, “The ones you freed?”

“Waiting for you,” Bones said, mouth quirking, his eyes hard and flat as Cody’s felt. “I sent them to the barracks and told them not to draw attention to themselves. Guv is going to stay here, though. He’ll help me, we’ll move twice as quickly.”

Cody nodded, calculations streaming through his head. There wasn’t much of the 212th left. Their men had been thrown onto the front lines in the immediate aftermath of the war. He didn’t believe for a moment that hadn’t been intentional, another jab at Obi-Wan, even though everyone had thought him dead.

Palpatine and Skywalker had wanted them all dead, at first, just because they were Obi-Wan’s.

The survivors were mostly clustered on Mustafar, such as they were. “How long to free them all?” he asked, as Guv started to stir around.

Bones shrugged. “A few days? Maybe less, if I can find another medic or two.”

Cody reached out and gripped his shoulder. He said, “Good work. Stay out of the way in here, you hear me? Just leave if Skywalker comes by.” To see Obi-wan, he did not add. He didn’t think he needed to. “But make sure I’m informed.”

“Will do,” Bones said, and Cody left him to his work, a piece of his plan that he’d dared only hope for slotting into place. He’d been prepared to bring this entire place down on his own, if necessary. It looked like he was going to have help. He could work with that.

He looked at Obi-Wan again, on his way out of the medbay, bile burning in the back of his throat, and then set his expression. He stared forward and worked to keep his expression cool and blank. Empty. Just like the faces of all of his brothers.

Cody knew every face around him. His men, wiped clean. Emptied. Screaming inside their own heads, the way he’d been. Begging for someone to help, where no one could hear. Trying desperately to regain control of themselves long enough to - to make it stop.

Cody had spent three long years trapped inside the prison of his own mind, watching his body commit atrocities. All he’d wanted was the opportunity to put a blaster to the side of his head and pull the trigger. It had seemed, for so long, the only way to escape.

He’d managed to fight his way to a different kind of freedom. He didn’t understand why he hadn’t been strong enough to do it weeks ago, before--

Before Vader had gotten his hands on Obi-Wan. Before he’d made Cody--

Cody fought to keep his breathing steady and lost, but none of his brothers looked his way as he reached out, bracing a hand against the wall, back curling over as his heart lurched, off-rhythm and agonizing.

He’d beaten Obi-Wan. With his own hands, he’d-- he’d thought about the best ways to cause pain and then he’d done it, methodical. Effective. And he’d - he’d - Force - Obi-Wan had begged him not to and he hadn’t been strong enough to stop, he’d--

Never again, he thought, straightening and continuing towards the door to move through all the expected motions and to check on his brothers, such as they were. The bunk room. That was where Bones had sent those he’d freed.

They were all packed in, barely enough room to walk between the beds. The space felt claustrophobic and empty at the same time, because even when the bunks were all full it was silent. No one talked. No one laughed. They just… moved about. Silent. Ghosts made flesh.

Cody walked between them, memories of the past dogging his steps, drawing to a stop by Swoop, who was… sitting like all the rest of them. They were supposed to be cleaning their blasters. It looked like he’d started the process and abandoned it.

He was sitting, staring straight forward, blaster in hand and shaking, badly, as he slowly raised his arm, his finger on the trigger. Cody’s heart lurched in his chest and he reached out, without even thinking, grabbing Swoop’s wrist with one hand, stripping the blaster away with the other.

He said, quietly, hoping Bones would understand, “Report to the medbay.”

Swoop stared forward, breathing shakily, his ear shiny with red blood, and Cody swallowed, wishing he could do more. “I’ve got you,” he said. “Just go to the medbay. That’s an order.” He’d been able to hear things, while he was trapped.

Swoop must have been listening, because he let out a shuddery breath, and stood, moving without a word towards the door. Cody checked on the rest of his men - his brothers - and found those Bones had freed clustered together, looking over to watch him with haunted, shadowed eyes.

“Come with me,” he said, as he reached them, tilting his head towards the door. He had so much to do and intended to waste no time accomplishing it. He gave them instructions and sent them on their way, smiling grimly as they moved off. He turned on his heel; there was so much to do, and had a moment where he thought everything might go wrong, when he stepped out of the barracks and found Vader walking down the hall, ridiculous cloak flapping behind him.

He resisted the urge to go for his blaster. It wouldn’t work, he reminded himself, and instead drew to attention, the way he’d been forced to do for so long. Cody stared forward, face carefully blank, focusing on being...empty, inside.

He hoped Vader wouldn’t glance towards him and his heart lurched, unpleasantly, when Vader drew to a stop before him. Cody saw his own reflection in the side of Vader’s helmet, the lines on his face deeper, a distortion of himself.

“2224,” Vader said, something pleased and thick in his tone. Gloating. Smug. “Obi-Wan asked if you were alright. Did you know that? So worried you were hurt. The things he did, to make sure I allowed the droids to tend to you. Can you imagine them?”

There was no reason to tell him. No reason at all, except to revel in the hurt he was causing Obi-Wan. Vader, as far as Cody knew, thought they were all… dead inside. Cody fought with himself; he’d been doing that without respite for three years. He’d gotten very, very good at it, apparently. His expression did not twitch as he said, blank, “No, Lord Vader.”

He expected Vader to notice how very badly Cody wanted to kill him. Instead, Vader just said, “You’ll report to my quarters when he’s recovered. I think it’s time we ended his fascination with you.”

And he turned away, resuming his march. Cody exhaled, harshly, as Vader exited through the doors at the end of the hall, heat from the volcanos beyond sweeping in, temporarily, before the doors closed. His hands itched, not with the urge to reach for a blaster. He’d rather beat Vader to death, he realized, with a dark, twisting slant of his emotions, beat him the way Vader had forced him to beat Obi-Wan, until he wasn’t moving anymore and--

But that would have to wait. He was not ruled by his emotions or the flat, cold fury inside of him. He had one possible opportunity to get Obi-Wan out of here. To rescue his brothers. He wasn’t going to waste it.

No one cared where he went around the base. Vader had, after all, left him in charge of so much, ever so confident in the power of his control, in his ability to make Cody do whatever Vader liked. Well, Cody considered, heading for the munitions bay to check on Crys, keeping his expression studiously blank, he was in the mood to do what he liked.

He’d always favored explosions.

Vader wanted nothing more than to enjoy his crowning moment of victory for a little while. He didn’t see why, after all he’d done for the galaxy and his Master, that could not be allowed. But, apparently, he had been silent for too long after his successes.

His Master had sent Tarkin to check on him, as though he were a wayward child. Vader recalled being quite impressed with Tarkin, once. He’d seemed sure of purpose, during the war. Willing to do what needed done.

Currently, Tarkin only irritated him. Lectures appealed not at all to him, but he had his orders and, besides, Obi-Wan would be in the medbay for some time yet. Vader had been forced to punish him, to remind him of his place, to take a pound of flesh; it was nothing Obi-Wan hadn’t taken from him.

And when he recovered enough to be stable, Vader would take the rest of what he was owed.

Tarkin asked after his current projects and sneered at the base and was, generally, an irritant. Vader resisted the urge to lift a hand and strangle the man. His Master would be displeased, if he did.

His irritation built up behind his bones, restrained and held back. This was Obi-Wan’s fault, anyway. If he hadn’t distracted Vader so much, he’d have completed the tasks set before him and wouldn’t have to deal with Tarkin’s overbearing presence, for however long the man decided to stay.

Vader scowled behind his mask, and resigned himself to playing the unwilling host for nearly three days, before Tarkin finally left, apparently satisfied that he’d thrown his weight around enough.

It left Vader’s temper surging through his veins, burning hot and stinging. He sent an order to the medbay that Obi-Wan be dragged from the bacta, ignoring the droid’s complaints that he was not fully healed; apparently, there was some kind of internal damage. “He’ll live,” Vader snapped, “I want him brought to me.”

He needed to settle the pressure in his head, the rage in his blood.

It was, after all, all Obi-Wan’s fault.

Cody worked unceasingly for three days, getting everything moved into place. Exhaustion beat at the insides of his head, forcing him to get his head down for a few hours at a time. He wouldn’t risk ruining the mission because he was kriffing tired, so he made himself wedge into a bunk and shut his eyes, determined.

The nightmares woke him after what felt like moments, leaving him gasping and jerking to sit, vomit rising in his throat. In the nightmares, he saw Obi-Wan, every single time. Begging, bloody, held down and hurt and--

And Cody was the one hurting him, every time.

He swallowed, hard, panting and feeling sweat break out across his skin. His stomach hurt, terribly and his head throbbed. But a few nightmares were less of a punishment than he deserved, for what he’d done. He was going to get Obi-Wan out of here. He was going to drop the entire base into a volcano. He was going to kill Skywalker, with his bare hands, if possible.

And then he’d think of a way to pay for what he’d done, and pay the cost, gladly.

Until then, he scrubbed a hand across his face and stood. He’d slept a few hours. More than long enough. It would have to be. He couldn’t bear the thought of putting his head on the pillow again, of shutting his eyes, of leaving his subconscious free to return to the monstrosities he’d committed.

He loved Obi-Wan. Had loved Obi-Wan for so kriffing long. And he’d still--

Cody pushed the thoughts away, rising from the bunk and meeting Reck’s eyes from the bunk across the aisle. Reck nodded, just a little, barely a sign of movement, but enough to show he was in there.

So many of them were free.

Soon everyone on the base would be themselves again. They’d gotten lucky in that regard, Cody knew. The visit of the Admiral had distracted Skywalker, something Cody hadn’t anticipated. Thus far, Obi-Wan had been the only thing that adequately kept Skywalker occupied and--

And Cody hadn’t been willing to use that distraction again. Skywalker was never going to raise a hand to Obi-Wan, ever. He was never going to get the chance.

Cody held onto that thought, moving out into the base, expression studiously blank, just in case. He threw himself into the last stages of his preparations; making sure the base was wired appropriately was important. Taking care of the ships in the hangar needed handled, as well. They needed one clean - free of any tracking devices - and the rest… well.

Cody wasn’t taking any chances. There’d be no way for Vader to get off of this rock, if somehow Cody failed to kill him directly. He didn’t plan to fail, but having contingencies never hurt anyone.

He spent hours in the hangar, ensuring everything was just so, nodded grimly once finished, and moved back through the base, looking for something else to keep him busy. It was so vitally important that he stay busy. It kept the memories away, kept his thoughts from spiralling inward in a way that made him want to reach for his blaster.

He didn’t think he could kill Skywalker with it. Yet. But lifting it, pressing it to the side of his own temple, was…

He swallowed, marching blank faced down the hall. Those were thoughts for another time. Save Obi-Wan. Kill Skywalker. Blow up the base. Get his brothers out of here. Those were the goals he needed to hold onto. And he gripped them, tight. Focused on nothing else and nothing more.

Cody went to the medbay. There was generally something to do there, and most of the rest of his preparations were complete. Bones almost always had a brother in recovery, someone who needed explanations and comfort, who needed to be told it was alright, now, that it was over, the long nightmare they’d all shared.

Cody went over all the completed preparations one more time, as he reached the medbay, making it two steps in before a jarring sense of wrongness swept over him. He froze, gaze jerked towards the bacta tank where Obi-Wan had been floating, last he checked, and--

“They took him,” Bones said, fast, coming forward and gripping Cody’s arms, his expression distraught, openly so. “Sir, they took him, the droids had orders and Crys and--”

“To Skywalker?” Cody asked, hoping that - maybe - the answer was no. That maybe they’d just dragged him to his cell. That would make everything so much easier. Cody planned to keep Obi-Wan away from Skywalker’s execution, if at all possible.

Obi-Wan had loved the man Skywalker had been, once. He didn’t need to see what Cody was going to do to him.

“Yes,” Bones said, sounding gutted. “What are we going to--”

“How many of us are still chipped?” Cody asked, feeling something cold settle across him, ice itself moving through his veins. There was no more time to wait, then. He’d already failed his promise not to let Skywalker touch Obi-Wan again, but-- Running off immediately wasn’t going to serve any of them.

He needed to set everything into motion. Then he’d run off.

“Less than a dozen,” Bones said, “but it’ll take me hours--”

“Order them to board the ship,” Cody cut in. There wasn’t time to waste on explanations and fretting. “Tell them I’ve ordered general quarters. Lock them in. We’ll deal with them later. I want them out of here now, before anyone can start issuing orders. You’re to stay on the ship with them. Get the medbay made ready. We’re not getting out of this without injuries.”

“Yes, sir,” Bones said, nodding, and turned, just like that, motions suddenly calm and controlled. They’d all been waiting for this such a long time, Cody knew. He certainly had.

He turned on his heel, walking out of the room, ignoring the droids watching them curiously. A few droids were no longer a concern. They wouldn’t be able to get word to Skywalker, anyway. Not if he were - were distracting himself with Obi-Wan again.

Cold fire spread in Cody’s gut as he walked. He’d almost made it to the barracks when an order came over the comm in his ear. It seemed he was wanted, immediately, in Skywalker’s throne room.

He could guess at why, and grinned, small and tight. Skywalker would invite him in, would not even be startled when Cody showed up, because Skywalker had called him. Made it easy, over confident and sure he was in utter control. The throne room was more of a problem than his private chambers. There were automated defenses in there. But Cody had prepared for this eventuality. His knuckles itched.

Cody continued to the barracks and gestured, silently, when he stepped inside. The few of his brothers still under the control of the thing in their heads never even looked up, never saw the signs Cody sketched through the air.

The rest of them, those freed, those ready to fight, stood with grim, determined looks, checking their blasters and straightening their armor. Cody looked over all of them, heart beating steady and sure in his chest, and nodded. They were as ready as they were ever going to be. And he was so tired of waiting. He marched through the halls, men falling in at his back, without a word or hesitation.

He gestured again as they reached Skywalker’s throne room. His brothers nodded, spreading out, pressed to the walls, blasters drawn, ready and waiting, as he blanked his expression and waved the door open, stepping in to get a look at the exact situation they were dealing with before he called in all his back-up.

The throne room smelled like blood and the poisoned, volcanic air from outside, in a way that dropped the bottom out of Cody’s stomach. The room was brightly lit, not even the brief mercy of shadows there to hide the sights that awaited.

Obi-Wan was there, and Cody’s heart ached to see him. He was kneeling on the floor, head down, beside Skywalker, who was sitting on that throne of his, the ugly, brutal shape of it looming through the smoke that had been allowed to billow into the room. Cody resisted looking towards the open window, an itching sense of anticipation in his bones.

Skywalker had his legs crossed, a chain wound around one hand, connected to the collar at Obi-Wan’s throat. Obi-Wan’s right arm hung limp by his side, unbond. Cody swallowed bile, the abbreviated end of Obi-Wan’s left arm a condemnation, another way he’d failed, and he’d--

“Come here,” Skywalker ordered, voice a boom, and Cody remembered when he’d sounded like a boy, those first few months of the war. That boy had grown into a monster. Cody wished, absently, that he’d killed Skywalker long ago. Years ago. If only he’d known.

He walked forward, assessing the situation. Some of his brothers were already in the room. But that wasn’t a surprise. Skywalker liked to keep guards around, and perhaps he intended to force Cody to kill them. Or, Cody considered, eyeing the blasters they already held, perhaps they were to be his executioners.

They were all but two of them awake.

He hoped Skywalker enjoyed the surprise he was about to get. It had been far too long in coming.

Cody came to a stop in front of the throne, staring forward, waiting for the perfect moment, and Obi-Wan hitched in a breath, rasping - his voice was still barely a whisper, strained and hoarse, “Please, please, don’t--”

“I didn’t give you permission to speak,” Vader snapped, jerking on the chain, and Cody’s hands tightened into fists. He fought to keep his emotions calm and still. “I told you,” Skywalker continued, after a moment, “that 2224 has been experiencing defects. I think it’s time we resolved that.”

Cody watched Obi-Wan go still, strangely and totally. Centering himself, Cody realized. Preparing for something.

“I know how I’d prefer to handle the execution. We could see how long it would take, if you like,” Skywalker continued, voice thrumming with implications. “But you could, perhaps, convince me to make it painless.” He tugged on the chain, again, jerking Obi-Wan forward against his legs, even as he uncrossed them, and Cody was going to--

“Yes, Lord Vader,” Obi-Wan said, before Cody could signal the other troopers, sliding his hand up Vader’s leg, and there was no more time to wait because Cody wasn’t letting this happen again. Never again. Never--

He made a sign, sharp and short, by his hip, and everything went mad, all at once.

Vader made a harsh, furious sound, standing and throwing Obi-Wan back, viciously. Cody blinked, because there was a flash of red, and for a moment, Cody thought that Vader had drawn his lightsaber and killed Obi-Wan and--

The red went with Obi-Wan, who hit the ground, rolled, and came up on one knee, glowing lightsaber in hand and blood streaking down his chin as he rasped, “You’re not going to hurt them, ever again, Anakin.”

That was when the first explosions started going off, right on schedule.

It was when Vader roared an order to kill him.

And it was when his two chipped brothers opened fire.

Vader told Obi-Wan, when he was dragged in and dumped across the ground, that he had a special treat planned. He enjoyed the way Obi-Wan shuddered at the words, the way his emotions tangled and warped, dread and even still some scraps of determination threading through him.

Obi-Wan still thought he had a chance, even after everything. Even after Anakin had taken his arm - and he thought, perhaps, after he handled 2224, he’d take a leg, make Obi-Wan see exactly what he’d done, make him live it. He was going to undo Obi-Wan, utterly. It simply might take longer than he’d first hoped.

In any case, wrapping Obi-Wan’s chain around his hand and dragging him closer had settled some of the anger left behind by Tarkin’s visit. Obi-Wan still moved like he was hurt inside, carefully, a soft sound punching out of him as Vader dragged him into place.

He considered, for a moment, that something should be done about Obi-Wan’s right arm. There was no easy way to restrain it, though, and anyway, what was he going to do? The collar around his neck prevented him from acting against Vader’s will. And, if that failed, well…

There were troopers in the room. They’d proven so effective at getting Obi-Wan to listen. Just the threat of their deaths was more than enough to have Obi-Wan begging for mercy he wasn’t going to receive. A few executions were a good way to remind Obi-Wan of who was in control.

Still, Vader planned only one such execution for the evening. He’d grown tired of seeing 2224’s face around the base. He had a sneaking suspicion that Obi-Wan was thinking about the defective damn thing, that, even when he was with Vader, his thoughts were elsewhere. Another betrayal.

Besides, 2224 deserved to die for everything it had done during the war, for taking Obi-Wan’s focus away, distracting him.

Vader called it in, sitting back on his throne and relaxing. Tarkin had gone. He had Obi-Wan. He’d soon be rid of 2224. He’d gotten what he wanted and shuddered, just for a moment, at the way the realization left him feeling strange and hollow.

He focused on the twist and ache of Obi-Wan’s emotions as 2224 marched in to face its execution. Obi-Wan’s agony was so rich, so complex. He hadn’t hurt nearly so much when Vader took his arm. That had just been… pain. Physical. Fleeting. The way he split open as Vader told him exactly what was going to happen to 2224 was so much thicker. Choking. Spilling into the Force.

Vader’s mouth twitched behind his helmet - it was wrong that Obi-Wan cared so much about some thing, a clone, anything that wasn’t him - and he jerked on the chain, only slightly mollified when Obi-Wan slid a hand up his leg.

How many times had he thought about Obi-Wan touching him like this? Obi-Wan kneeling between his spread legs, head bent forward, focused on making him feel good? They should have had this before, Padmé would have understood, Vader could have made her understand.

His respiration quickened with anticipation. He knew exactly when he planned to order 2224 executed. He’d order it to kill itself, he decided, after making it watch. After he had Obi-Wan’s mouth on him, after--

His sweet musings were interrupted when Obi-Wan’s emotions shifted, all at once, agony and grief peeling away to reveal something cool and calm and flat. He jerked at the same instant he felt Obi-Wan’s fingers curl around his lightsaber, and--

Vader shoved him back, immediately, with the Force, the saber activating even as he tossed Obi-Wan across the room. A second later and it would have carved up through his gut. Obi-Wan had activated it while it was pressed close to his skin, had intended to kill him and--

Fury and betrayal swirled through Vader’s mind as he lurched to his feet, drawing the Force around him, watching Obi-Wan grip his lightsaber, the red blade glowing across his skin, his eyes fierce and blue, sharp all of a sudden, all the misery he’d worn just pulled away, like a mask, like they’d been put-on, which was impossible.

Vader snarled, reaching for the controls for the collar, and the ground shook under him. Around the room the troopers were moving, suddenly, opening fire on 2224, who jerked away, impossibly, he should have stayed where he was, unmoving, not fired back at them, grunting when a blaster shot caught him in his side before some of the other troopers opened fire, taking out each other, not--

Vader didn’t understand what was happening. It didn’t matter. He moved to activate the controls, to bring Obi-Wan to heel, and 2224 said, “Skywalker.”

Vader blinked, surprise making him look over, sure he’d misheard and--

“For Trip,” 2224 said, calm and flat, as he shot the controls on Vader’s arm, sparks jumping out of the suit even as the rest of the troopers not on the ground opened fire on him. Vader roared in fury, unsure how Obi-Wan had managed this, how he’d managed to corrupt the clones’ programming, but none of that mattered.

Vader could figure that out later. After they were all dead. He lashed out with the Force, throwing them back, lifting three of them into the air at once, grip choking around their throats. He would kill them, oh yes. All of them, one after another, the entire 212th, ending with Obi-Wan. He’d make Obi-Wan watch each of them die, make sure he couldn’t look away, make sure--

He tightened his grip in the Force and made a hoarse, surprised sound when the troopers fell, anyway, his power pulled apart. The Force shifted in the room, swelling up, sweet and sharp, and he looked over, confusion coursing through him, to find Obi-Wan on his feet, saber shaking, breathing hard, what remained of his left arm stretched out.

“I won’t let you hurt them. Ever again,” Obi-Wan panted, eyes blazing, power coursing out of him, holding Vader back, which was impossible. Obi-Wan had ever been able to match him, but Vader had taken care of that, restrained him--

And the collar lay on the floor, twisted, the edges still smoking faintly from the blade of his saber. Vader snarled, moving towards Obi-Wan, fury building in his bones, all his focus on his old master. Blaster bolts hit across his shoulders and back, his chest, deflected by all the shielding in his suit, and then there was another explosion, closer, rocking the room.

Sparks jumped inside his systems, when it hit, a few warnings going off and silencing at once. His respiratory system stopped responding; as did his cardiac. The next blaster bolt hit true, and he stumbled back a step, and then another, as more bolts hit him.

He needed to get out, get away from this madness. Institute repairs. His chest split with agony as his heart struggled to keep beating without mechanical support. He wheezed, gasping for breath inside his helmet, driven back further, until he hit the wall, gripping at the edge of the window.

“No!” he panted, raising one hand, rage and sharp fear echoing through him, allowing him to pull hard on the Force. He lashed out at Obi-Wan, the source of all of this trouble, and heard him cry out, sharply, as half the room came down in the grip of Vader’s power.

Stone and rock spilled across the floor, choking dust swirling through the air, giving Vader a moment to sway, his access to the Force no longer so restrained. Everything hurt. He didn’t - it was impossible. There were alarms going off, everywhere, and no one had come to help him. He hurt. He’d--this was all wrong. Impossible and wrong.

He looked around, as the air currents rising off of the lava moved through the room, clearing some of the smoke. He found cold, furious faces everywhere, and Obi-Wan, up on one knee, somehow, looking up at him with his shining blue eyes, saber dropped so he could extend his right hand, shaking with the effort of restraining Vader’s use of the Force.

The troopers opened fire on him, all at once and it - his suit wasn’t working properly. He felt each impact, terrible.

“Master!” he wailed, unable to breathe, heart stuttering, tripping, because Obi-Wan had so many weak spots and he knew he was one of them. Obi-Wan wouldn’t let them actually kill him. It wasn’t the Jedi way, after all.

A blaster shot caught him dead center in his helmet, shoving him back, almost over-balancing him. “For Dart,” 2224 said, flat, as Vader gripped at the edge of the open window. 2224 stared at him, his eyes dark and terrible even as he bled from the blaster wound in his side, even as he made a sharp sign with his hand and the blaster fire stopped. “For all our brothers.”

Vader gasped, choking, planning to take advantage of their foolish mercy. He started, “Obi-Wan--”

And 2224 said, “Yes,” grimly. “For Obi-Wan.” And he pulled the trigger once more, stepped forward while Vader was reeling, and kicked him, impossible force behind the blow. Vader made a sound, heard it echo in his helmet, as he overbalanced, grabbing for the edge of the window and missing and--

Cody leaned out over the side of the window, listening to further explosions go off, exactly as they should have. The EMP had worked well, he thought. A nice touch. It would have been enough to take Skywalker out, even without Obi-Wan’s help.

But Obi-Wan’s help meant they hadn’t lost more men, and--and that split something open, inside Cody’s chest. Obi-Wan had still fought for them. After everything, he’d tried to put himself between them and Skywalker.

And so Cody stared down into the lava, so far below, watching as it closed over Vader’s head, his one outstretched hand. He ignored the pain in his side, hot and cold at the same time, and the feel of blood sliding across his skin. The shot had gone clean through and he knew he was losing blood, lots of it.

It didn’t feel terribly important, at the moment. “Sir?” Crys asked, stepping up beside him, blaster still in hand. “Did you get visual confirmation?”

Cody spat over the edge, turned away, and said, “Yes. He’s dead. Let’s go.”

They weren’t done.

Not yet.

He’d killed Skywalker. He’d freed most of his brothers and the rest were going to be sorted. All that was left, he considered, turning away from the fire, was getting Obi-Wan out of here. Making him safe and never letting anyone hurt him, ever again.

#whumptober2020 #no.5 #rescue #clone wars #fic #torture #mentions of non con #mentions of suicide #character death #loss of a limb #mistreatment of prisoners #mind control #oof!au #my writing #codywan #vaderwan #please heed the warnings #i've been waiting for this part for so long

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toosicktoocare · 3 years

Text

prompt: i would literally commit a crime for a buddie sick fic in these trying times,,, i don’t even care what the specifics are just,, hngg buddie sickfic ❤️👄❤️ (big mood, anon)

(I got another anon that asked for Buck taking care of sick Eddie as well. I just lost the dang ask before I could post the fic.)

Ever since Maddie’s kidnapping, Buck cannot, for the life of him, sleep well. His subconscious is gripped in a muted fear, keeping him trapped in interrupted, light slumbers. Maddie and everyone at the 118 pester him regularly about it, giving him various options to help with sleep, but he’s afraid of the foggy mind that comes with over-the-counter medication, so he convinces himself he can run on low fumes, boosting with caffeine as needed because a tired mind is still a clear mind, albeit a little slower.

When his phone rings at 2:07 a.m., Buck jerks awake, mind previously edging the line of a dream, and he fumbles blindly for his phone, squinting at the light to see “Eddie Diaz” flashing across his screen.

His stomach bottoms out, and he presses answer and swings his legs over the bed, feeling cold with fear. “Eddie? What’s wrong?” He can hear crying on the other end, and he balances the phone between his ear and shoulder as he kicks around in the dark for his abandons shorts. “Eddie!”

“Hey, sorry. One sec.”

Eddie sounds panicked, Buck thinks, taking the steps down to the first floor two at a time. He can hear Eddie trying to reassure Christopher that everything’s going to be okay in the background, and he pauses, briefly gripped in a paralyzing fear, briefly brought back to the tsunami, to losing Christopher.

“Look, I’m sorry for calling so late. Chris has been sick since the end of my shift, and I just can’t get his fever down. With his CP... I’m taking him to the ER.”

Buck’s half out the door, shoes barely on his feet, when he realizes he’s still shirtless. He snags an LAFD zip-up off the back of a chair and stumbles back to the door, arms sliding into the jacket. “What hospital?”

“I... I didn’t even ask. You’ll come?”

“Of course I’ll come,” Buck spits out, already out the door and taking the steps out of his apartment building two at a time. “What hospital?” He repeats as he runs out of the building and all but rips his jeep door open. He nods absently when Eddie rattles off the details, mentally mapping out the quickest route.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“Be careful.”

Buck rolls his eyes because of course Eddie is going to still worry for his well-being, and he ends the call and peels out of his parking spot.

***

“Hi,” Buck starts, breathless, heart trying to catch up to the rest of him, “my name is Evan Buckley, and I’m looking for a young kid. Christopher-”

“Buck.”

Buck whips around from the receptionist desk to see Eddie slipping out a set of large double doors, and for a moment, he doesn’t move, he only assesses. Eddie’s pale, which, Buck thinks, is to be expected if he’s been up in a near-constant state of worry after a 16-hour shift. His cheeks are red, and Buck’s quick to peg it on exertion, on Eddie racing into the hospital with Christopher, his own heart also working to match the rest of him. And, he’s shaking, and Buck knows cold nerves all too well, still feeling chilled himself.

His eyes fall to Eddie’s, and then he crosses the room to him quickly and gathers him in his arms tightly. Eddie slumps against his chest, and Buck tightens his arms around him.

“How’s Chris?”

Eddie lingers for a moment, clinging to Buck, before he pulls away with a low sigh. “He’s okay. Just a persistent virus.”

Buck nods, a frown playing at his lips. Without Eddie’s body flush against him, he feels colder than normal, and on instinct, he smooths the back of his hand to Eddie’s forehead, lingering there before moving to cup Eddie’s neck.

“You sure he’s the only one with a virus? You’re really warm.”

“I...” Eddie sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ve been feeling a little off, but Chris...”

“Right, where is he?”

Eddie leads Buck to Christopher’s room, and as soon as he steps in, Christopher’s face lights up in such a way that Buck’s steps falter.

“Buck!”

Though sounding a little weak, the contagious energy is still centerfold, and Buck leans toward it, finding his footing and matching Christopher’s smile with his own.

“Hey, buddy! Heard you aren’t feeling so hot.” Buck eases himself onto the edge of the hospital bed, staring at Christopher’s vitals for an extended moment before turning toward him, assessing the same way he assessed Eddie.

“Yeah, I feel bad.”

A sympathetic frown pulling at his lips, Buck spares a glance to see Eddie flopping down onto a chair pulled to Christopher’s bedside. “I bet you do, but you’re going to feel better in no time. You’ve got the Diaz genes.”

“And daddy will feel better too?”

Buck finds Eddie’s eyes, and he opens his mouth to speak, stopping when Eddie shoots him a very clear look that all but screams “don’t.”

“I’m sure your dad will feel a lot better when you’re better.”

“That’s good,” Christopher mumbles, and Buck nods, patting Christopher’s leg.

***

Buck’s carefully quiet as Eddie putters around his house, watching as Eddie measures out Christopher’s medicine, as he hovers over Christopher until he falls asleep, and he only intervenes when he’s sure Eddie can breathe deeply without the fear that Christopher is going to take a turn for the worse.

“He’s finally asleep,” Eddie mutters, coughing into his fist. “All dosed up, fever’s finally down. I’ll contact his school in a few hours before my shift; see if Carla can take him for a the full day.”

“You aren’t going in.”

Eddie stops around a yawn. “What?”

“I texted Bobby. He’s pulling coverage for the next few days so you can rest.” Buck can pinpoint every emotion that flicks across Eddie’s face: confusion, frustration, exhaustion. He’s seen them all, sometimes daily.

“Buck-”

“Eddie, you have a fever. You’re exhausted, and you are only going to get worse if you go on three hours of sleep.”

“Since when did you become the responsible one?” Eddie sighs lowly, and Buck laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“It’s my week to be responsible. You had it last week.”

Eddie hums around a small smile and rubs at the ache on his forehead. “I really appreciate you coming, Buck. I don’t think... I just... It was really nice to have you there.”

Buck gets to his feet, and, for the second time that night, crosses the room and pulls Eddie right to his chest, hoping that he can ease some of the worrying pressure, even if just for a moment.

Eddie snuggles into him, frowning as he thumbs Buck’s bare chest, exposed where his zipper’s slipped down a little.

“Where’s your shirt?”

“Ah, I kinda forgot one when I rushed out.” Buck smiles sheepishly when Eddie pulls back, and he cups a hand to Eddie’s cheek, too warm for his liking.

“Okay, Diaz, it’s your turn.”

“My turn for what?”

Buck snags Eddie’s hand and guides him to the bedroom, ignoring Eddie’s questions the whole way. He makes easy work of tugging Eddie’s jacket and jeans off, and he urges him into the bed in nothing but a short sleeve under shirt and boxers.

“Buck-”

Buck disappears into the bathroom, still promptly ignoring Eddie, and he comes back with a glass of water, a bottle of ibuprofen, and a thermometer.

“Buck, I’m fine.”

“Mmhmm, sure. Open.” Buck waves the thermometer in front of Eddie’s face until Eddie sighs and opens his mouth wide enough for Buck to slip the thermometer under his tongue. While waiting, he presses two fingers to Eddie’s neck, counting the flutter of heartbeats beneath his finger prints until the thermometer beeps.

“101.7,” Buck reads aloud, frowning. “Heartbeat’s a little fast. Any other symptoms?”

Eddie gives him a knowing look, but Buck doesn’t back down, matching Eddie’s narrow gaze until Eddie caves.

“My head and throat hurt. I’m freezing, and I’m tired.”

Nodding, Buck tugs at the blankets until they are covering Eddie up to his chest. He shakes a couple of pills into his hand, offering them to Eddie with the water.

“Seems like you definitely got Christopher’s virus.”

“Perks of parenting,” Eddie mutters around a wince, the pills grating against his throat. He hands off the cup, sighing contentedly when Buck smooths a cool palm to his forehead.

“You should save yourself. This thing apparently moves fast.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Eddie grabs Buck’s wrist and pulls his hand away, a tight frown on his lips.

“Buck, you have a shift in a few hours. You need-”

“Bobby took me off the schedule, too. At least for today. I’ve been instructed to call him later to update him on how you and Christopher are.”

“And you agreed?”

“Someone has to make sure you and Chris are okay,” Buck says as if it’s the most obvious thing and the world and equally the easiest decision he’s ever made, and Eddie shakes his head.

“No, Buck, you really don’t have to... What are you doing?”

Buck’s just kicked his shorts off across the room, and he’s setting an alarm on his phone as he crawls into the empty side of the bed.

“Okay, I’ve got an alarm set for 6 to check Christopher’s temperature, and I’ll wake you at 7 to check you over.”

“Buck-”

Ignoring Eddie, Buck drops his phone on the night stand and cuts out the light, snuggling into the bed with a low sigh.

“Evan.”

“Shh,” Buck shushes, patting blindly until his palm cups over Eddie’s mouth. “I’m sleeping.”

“You’ll get sick.” Eddie mumbles, slapping Buck’s hand away.

“Okay? I don’t know if you remember, but I got a clean bill of health from the hospital, so bring it.”

“You’re so dumb,” Eddie sighs, and Buck laughs, blindly reaching around to pat Eddie’s too-warm cheek.

“Sleep, loser.”

#9-1-1 #9 1 1 #9 1 1 fox #9-1-1 fox #Buddie #evan buckley #Eddie Diaz #sickfic #fanfic #prompt #my writing #my 911 writing #christopher diaz

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keys-to-the-kinkdom · 3 years

Note

Head empty, just lactation+medical examination+(oh idk *spins wheel*) yennefer or ciri or eskel, someone with lovely tits

Wish I had something better for you for an inaugural prompt set but my brain clocked out early for the weekend - 💛

Your prompt is wonderful even if your brain took off early because it has been living rent free in my head since I got it. I hope you enjoy this filth <3

Eskel squirmed on the hard wooden chair. The door remained firmly shut, no matter how he stared at it. They were using one of the old tower rooms having decreed that Yennefer’s room was too familiar and the old medical suite held too many past terrors. Instead, they’d set up this room. Eskel had helped her to carry in a variety of furniture then left her to it. Really, he had very little idea what lay behind the door and every minute he sat waiting to find out was another moment of torture.

The door opened and Yennefer stepped out. She was wearing a very plain black dress with practical boots and no jewellery. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun. She looked even more intimidating than normal.

‘Eskel?’ she said, sounding bored.

He stood and made his way through the door behind her. The room was brightly lit by torches and there was a cheerful fire burning in the hearth. One side of the room was taken up by a large, paper covered desk with an uncomfortable looking chair behind it. There were a couple of bookshelves that were filled with esoteric texts on medicine and anatomy. On the other side of the room was a bed, covered in a sheet of linen that had been treated with beeswax to make it water resistant. It was something he’d only ever seen court physicians use. Beside the bed was a table with a tray of various implements resting on the top. Other implements were arrayed on shelves around the room. He swallowed thickly.

‘Take a seat,’ Yennefer ordered, gesturing to the bed.

He sat.

‘So. What are you here for?’ she asked.

‘Umm…’ Eskel murmured, ducking his head so that his fringe flopped over his face.

‘Spit it out. I have other patients to see. I doubt it’s anything I’ve not heard before.’

‘Well, it’s my chest,’ he said, trying to spit the words out as quickly as possible. Even though they’d spoken about this, even although he knew she knew what he was going to say already, a tendril of humiliation still snuck through him.

‘What about it?’

‘It’s… well, it’s odd. I seem to be… well… I seem to be lactating.’

‘I see,’ she said, looking him up and down. ‘I assume there’s no chance of pregnancy?’

‘No, I mean, I don’t really have the right plumbing.’ To his embarrassment he let out a ridiculous stangled laugh.

Yennefer simply looked at him until he flushed and bowed his head.

‘So, I am to understand that you are a male, with a penis and testicles and you have begun experiencing lactation?’ she asked.

He felt a burst of embarrassed arousal at the clinical way she discussed his body. He nodded at her, temporarily unable to find words.

‘Well, that is unusual. Perhaps this won’t be a complete waste of my time then. Take off your shirt and I’ll have a look.’

He had known he was going to be asked for this. He had specifically worn a soft, loose shirt that was easy to remove, just for this purpose. Yet, still his face burned as he undid his buttons and pulled the shirt over his head. He sat, twisting it in his hands. Yennefer looked down her nose at him.

‘Set it on the chair,’ she ordered, waving a hand at a low stool that sat by the bed.

He folded it carefully and set it down. She was kind enough not to call him on the fact that he was blatantly stalling for time. He felt suddenly too big for the room. He hunched over, trying to avoid Yennefer’s gaze. His chest ached lightly and there was a slight draft winding its way under the door making goosebumps shiver into life along his arms. Yennefer stepped closer to the bed and adjusted the thin pillow that lay at the top.

‘Lie down,’ she said. ‘Have you experienced any pain? Swelling? How often would you say you are discharging?’

He kicked his boots off and lay back on the bed. The sheet was cold and a little tacky under his back. It was surprisingly difficult to resist the urge to cross his arms across his chest. It was an incredibly vulnerable feeling, lying half-naked under Yennefer’s penetrating gaze. For all she was slight, she wasn’t a small woman and his position only emphasised her height.

‘They ache a little,’ he admitted. ‘They’re larger than they were, but there’s no lumps or anything. I need to discharge at least twice a day, but…’ he trailed off for a moment. ‘Sometimes they leak a little, in between,’ he whispered.

‘Hmm.’

She stepped closer to the edge of the bed, close enough that he could feel her warmth against his arm, even although she wasn’t touching him. He drew in a lungful of her scent, warm and feminine and overlaid by her characteristic perfume. It was familiar, but not particularly comforting. He had no expectation of her being kind.

Her hands were cold when she placed them on his chest. Her fingertips were like little points of ice that made him hiss in a breath through his teeth. She was unsympathetic. First, she palpated the skin around his collarbone, moving out towards his shoulders and down. She worked her way towards the soft mound on his chest and he groaned as she touched them. The coolness of her fingers felt good against the light ache of being overfull. She pressed, gently at first and then harder, and he watched as small beads of milk welled up.

She pressed her finger to one, sending and electric jolt through him, and then lifted it up. She smelled the liquid and rubbed it between her fingers.

‘You do, indeed, appear to be lactating,’ she said. ‘How odd.’

She returned her hands to his chest and pressed against the nipple. He groaned. She pinched it between two fingers and pulled. It did very little, other than causing his cock to begin filling in his breeches. She did something, changed the placement of her fingers in some way and tugged and Eskel felt the distinctive sensation of his milk letting down in a stream. He whimpered.

‘Doctor Vengerberg,’ he protested.

‘Hush. It is necessary for me to see exactly how your body reacts to stimulus in order to give you the most accurate diagnosis.’

Eskel rolled his shoulders against the sheet, which had quickly warmed to his body. He endured as she pinched and pulled and tugged and occasionally wiped up a stray drop of milk that threatened to get too near her neat sleeves. Otherwise, she left them to run down his chest and make a wet, sticky mess of his stomach. He breathed through it, trying desperately not to show how much it was affecting him, but there was no way she hadn’t noticed the tent he was pitching in his breeches. Every tug of her fingers felt like it went directly to his cock.

‘I believe I may have discovered the problem,’ she said eventually, standing back and staring down at him. ‘When was the last time you engaged in intercourse?’

‘Pardon?’ he squeaked. That wasn’t what he had expected her to say at all.

‘When was the last time you engaged in intercourse?’ she repeated, in a voice that implied she thought he was simple. ‘Have you ejaculated recently? Been fucked?’

The sound of the word ‘fucked’ in her perfect, calm voice nearly undid him, but he held it together long enough to answer.

‘It’s been… some time,’ he admitted. ‘Three months or so,’ he continued when she simply raised an eyebrow at him.

‘As I thought. You are putting your body under undue strain by not attending properly to your needs. It is expressing those needs to you in unconventional ways. I can cure this, but you must make sure to pay more attention to yourself in the future. I will need to drain the lactate and I will also need to stimulate the prostate in order to clear the build up of hormone that is causing this. Stand up and remove the rest of your clothes.’

His head spun with the technical terminology. He peeled himself off the bed and stood, ducking his shoulders and averting his eyes. Yennefer busied herself over by the shelves of medical supplies while he stripped out of his boots and breeches. He hesitated with his hands on the top of his underthings. It was ridiculous, but he didn’t want to take them off. It felt like clinging to his last little piece of safety.

‘It’s nothing I’ve not seen before,’ she called over. ‘Hurry up.’

He swallowed hard and slid them down his legs. He folded his trousers and placed them on top of his shirt. He paused for a second, then hid his underwear underneath, face painted red with shame. He’d thought he was long past any body modesty he’d once had, but now, for some reason, he felt keenly every little imperfection of his flesh. She was going to be looking at him. Worse, he knew she was going to see him.

She sauntered back over with two pieces of glassware and a tin in her hand. She looked him briefly up and down and put the things she was holding on the table.

‘Good. Now, I’m going to need you to bend over the bed.’

He stepped up to the bed and bent, so that his elbows were pressed into the tacky sheet and his arse was pointing up. He tried not to think about how stupid it must make him look to her.

‘Can you hold that position without allowing your chest to touch the bed?’ she asked. ‘If not, I will need you to adjust so that you can. It will damage the equipment if you do.’

He wriggled a little until he knew he could manage what he was asked. He locked his muscles and pressed down into his elbows, determined not to move, regardless of what she did to him. She reached over to the little table and picked up one of the glass things. It looked a little like one of their alchemy flasks, but not entirely. The bottom was a bulbous sphere which tapered into a narrow cylinder with a thick, round lip. She held it in front of his face.

‘I will attach these to your nipples in order to drain the lactate from your breasts,’ she explained. He flushed at hearing his chest referred to in such terms. ‘It should not hurt, but it may feel uncomfortable. If you experience pain at any point, it is imperative that you tell me at once. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ he mumbled into the silence.

‘Good. Now hold still.’

The glass was smooth and cold against his skin. She reached underneath him and rubbed at one nipple until it was standing at a stiff peak. Then she slipped the opening of the flask over it and held it in place. Her fingers flared briefly purple and he felt a tight suction as it adhered to him.

‘Do try not to dislodge it,’ she said flatly.

He understood the order for what it was and held still as she repeated the process on the other side. Once both were attached to her liking, he saw another brief flare of violet chaos and then he inadvertently moaned as they began milking him. He didn’t know how it was doing it and he didn’t much care either, but he could feel his milk let down as the suction increased and decreased rhythmically, pulling at his nipples and draining them into the empty spheres. He had never quite felt relief like it before.

‘Excellent,’ Yennefer said. ‘Those will drain your breasts. As they work, I will need to perform the prostate massage to release the build up of unnecessary hormones. It is liable to feel pleasurable. There is no need to be embarrassed if you become erect or even ejaculate. It is a perfectly natural reaction.’

He nodded, still a little distracted by the tugging sensation around his nipples. It felt almost like a mouth, latched on and drinking from him, except it was missing the warmth. Somehow that tiny bit of impersonality made it even better. He was so focused on that feeling that he flinched when Yennefer touched his thighs, encouraging him to spread his legs. Her finger brushed his hole, dragging something slick and silky over it to create a smooth glide. She rested it there for a moment as he consciously untensed his muscles. He wanted this and he trusted Yennefer, but having someone at his back when he had been forced into such a vulnerable position was terrifying. Especially knowing that she was looking at him. His cock twitched and her finger pressed forward. He choked on a groan. It felt so good. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her it had been a while. The Path had been long and hard that year and he’d been reduced to the company of his own hand for much longer than he really wanted to admit. The feeling of her pressing her long, slim finger into his most intimate place was a heady one.

She pressed gently for a moment longer, then began working her finger in and out, thrusting slowly. The drag of skin on slick skin lit up his nerves and he felt the tip of his cock begin to drool with precum. He felt the tightness beginning to ease, his body accepting the intrusion as pleasurable rather than something to be rejected. Once her finger was moving steadily inside him, she added a second, making him whine and push back against the stretch. She repeated the process of slow thrusting and stretching until he had relaxed enough to take them easily.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now, I will begin the prostate massage. Remember, you must stay still.’

He nodded. He had no intention of doing anything to disrupt the perfect pressure around his nipples. He’d never before considered them particularly sensitive, but ever since he’d started producing milk, the barest brush against them could get him hard. This focused suction was driving him insane. He wanted more. As Yennefer’s fingers pressed deeper inside, he got it. She crooked them and pulled, pressing forward and finding his prostate unerringly. A garbled noise of pleasure fell from his mouth without restraint as she pressed insistent circles into it.

The torment seemed to go on forever. The suction around his nipples was steady and predictable while the pressure on his prostate was constant but varied in both pressure and speed. He could feel his pulse in his cock, could feel it dribbling a puddle of precum onto the floor beneath him. He wanted to blush, wanted to hide his face and pretend nothing was happening, that he wasn’t getting off on a necessary medical procedure, but it was undeniable. It would have been easier if Yennefer were a less attractive physician, or if he were less pent up and desperate, but she was gorgeous and he needed. The pressure and pleasure built and built until all he could think of was the desperate ache between his legs and the hard press of her fingers deep inside. He could hear the constant dripping of his milk as it splashed into the collection device and it just spurred his pleasure higher. It was all he could do to stay still, to not give into the trembling of his limbs and fall forward or give into his instincts and thrust back, fucking himself on her fingers until he came. He had to do as he was told and hold still though.

In the end, it was inevitable. One hard press of Yennefer’s fingers, combined with a well timed increase in suction around his nipples and he was lost. His vision whited out in a flurry of sparks and he shouted, his muscles locking up as his cock emptied itself across the flagstones. Yennefer gentled him through it, one small hand pressing between his shoulders, the other continuing to finger him gently. She stopped pressing on his prostate, but left her fingers in his arse to give him something to clench on. As he started to come down he groaned at the feeling. Her fingers were so long and slim and competent. He loved watching her work with her hands, the purple of her magic sparking around them and limning them with light. It accentuated the delicate strength of them. He burned with the knowledge that her hands, hands that casually wielded the power to topple cities and burn empires, those hands were being turned to his pleasure. As the aftershocks of his orgasm rolled through him, he bent his head forward and panted.

‘There now,’ she said, ‘No doubt that will feel much better. Stay where you are for a moment and allow me to properly detach the lactation aids.’

She withdrew her fingers slowly and carefully and he heard her cross the room to the small basin and pour some water out. There was splashing as she cleaned her hands of the slick. He focused on following her movements to distract from the tugging on his chest that was slowly edging from pleasurable into painful on his oversensitised nipples. It didn’t take long before she was back by his side and the pressure ceased. She detached each one with another quick flare of chaos. They were around three quarters full with his milk, the white liquid sloshing slightly as she set them aside. He whimpered and reached one hand up to press at his chest. It was flatter now, no longer quite so full, but it was still tender and aching from the stretch.

‘You can get dressed again,’ Yennefer said, crossing to her desk.

He stood and began the process of putting his clothes back on. His underthings were first, covering his rapidly softening cock from her sharp gaze. As he redressed, she continued speaking.

‘It seems that the problem is slightly worse than expected. Your breasts are producing a large amount of lactate and your prostate was rather engorged. It is likely that you will require repeated treatments to deal with the issue. You should take care to drain your own breasts at least daily, if not twice daily and you should engage in frequent masturbation. I would like you to return again next week for a follow up appointment. I will assess your condition then, but it is likely that you will require at least one further prostate massage at that point. I would recommend that you take better care of your sexual health in future to prevent issues of this nature arising,’ she said, staring at him over the pile of papers she was looking at.

‘Thank you, Doctor,’ he mumbled.

‘Yes, quite. Now, off you go. I have other patients to see today.’

He nodded and let himself out, closing the door firmly behind him.

#keys writes #keys prompt fill #keys lactation cw #keys medical/examination kink cw #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #yellow heart anon

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wherevermyway · 4 years

Text

step out! do what you want (chapter two)

pairing: reader/bang chan  side pairings: established changbin/minho, past jisung/reader, a moment of changbin/chan flirting but it’s brief and not serious rating: explicit | 18+ warnings: alcohol, party drug use, violence (fist fights), a little angst because everyone loves drama, lots of profanity, smut, unprotected sex, a bit of exhibitionism, minho is definitely a bit of a hoe and a bad influence word count: about 11,100! also on my AO3 here! chapter/series navigation

chapter two: hello stranger, who the hell are you?

recommended tracks: just disappear by takayan, the last by agust d, phobia by stray kids, fairy of shampoo by tomorrow x together, dynamite by bts, dumb litty by kard. playlist can be found here!

note: this chapter is much longer than chapter one and it’s a wild ride. I hope you enjoy it as much as I loved writing it!

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

side note: for the love of minho’s cats, don’t mix party drugs or drugs with alcohol.

The soft light of dawn comes through the window behind you, gently causing you to wake up. For a brief moment, you forgot where you were, but last night comes crashing down on you like the slight headache you have from your body being mad at you for having a bit too much fun with drugs last night.

The bed shifts next to you as Christopher starts to wake up. He reaches his hand over your abdomen and pulls you back into his chest. “Morning,” he sleepily grumbles, half-awake, “how’d you sleep?” You smile, enjoying the warmth of his embrace.

“This bed is really nice.” You run your hand across the sheets, then slowly turn to face Christopher. “I think our escapade last night helped me sleep pretty well. What about you?”

He grumbles and ducks his head under your chin. “You absolutely wore me out last night. I feel like I slept like the dead. What time is it, anyway?”

“I’m not really sure, let me check.” You say, starting to roll over when Christopher stops you, his grip tightening on your waist.

“I thought we agreed to have a repeat of last night this morning?”

“Yeah, yeah, but maybe we should eat something first,” you manage to squeeze out of Christopher’s grip as he groans dramatically with feigned despair, pulling yourself to the side of the bed and reaching down to your jeans. It takes some skilled fumbling to get your phone out of your back pocket with only one hand, but you manage to get it. Miraculously, when you press the side button, your phone comes to life - there’s still some semblance of battery left.

‘Holy shit,’ you think to yourself as you see your screen. Eight missed text messages from Minji and three missed calls. You expected the mass of texts, but she must have had a really good time last night if she called you.

As you open your texts, you briefly scan through them and your stomach falls to the floor.

What?! No way!

Eonni, you seriously can NOT be hanging with THE Bang Chan?

Babe, he is dangerous, you need to get out of there.

Oh my god. Why aren’t you answering my texts?

Chan’s a kkangpae, like, he sells a lot of drugs and shit. Why do you think I broke up with Hyunjin last year? He got involved in that and I wasn’t gonna deal with it anymore.

Oh, I never told you I dated Hyunjin, did I? Oops.

Eonniiiiiiiii I swear you better not be dead. I’m going to bring you back and kill you if you’re dead.

Seriously, I thought after you were done with Jisung you swore off music producers?? Girl, you have bad taste lol.

“Well?” Christopher’s voice scares you and you involuntarily drop your phone to the floor in surprise. “What time is it? Hey, are you okay?”

You shake your head in disbelief, but somehow compose yourself enough to nervously laugh it off. “It’s, uh, like 10:30.”

Your answer doesn’t really convince Christopher that you’re actually fine. He places a hand on your shoulder, gently giving you a squeeze, and you flinch in response. “Are you sure you’re okay? You dropped your phone and you look like you’re gonna be sick.”

Chan’s a kkangpae. It feels like Minji’s text is burned in your head; it’s all you can think about. A bout of nausea washes over you - the red flags you had pop up last night were right. The nice apartment, the drugs, the cool demeanour, hell, even the way he looked - everything clicked into place. This man wasn’t just a music producer, he was something way more serious.

Christopher gets up out of bed and walks to the kitchen. He shuffles around for a minute before he comes back with a bottled beverage in his hand, kneeling down in front of you. “Babe, you look terrible. Drink this, it’ll help you feel better.” He takes his other hand and gently rubs his thumb over your knee. The look on his face is deceptively calm and inviting. How was he so dangerous?

You shake your head and grab the drink, briefly glancing over the label. Some cold ginger tea blend that you’ve had a thousand times before. The thought of drinking something right now was really off-putting, not due to nausea, but this crippling, suffocating feeling in your stomach.

“The washroom’s through that door back there,” Christopher says as he points behind his shoulder. “I’ve gotta check on something, but I’ll be back in a minute. If you need anything, just yell for me, okay?”

You still can’t manage to look him in the eyes, but you will yourself to nod your head weakly. He pushes himself up onto his toes, kissing your forehead softly before he walks over to his closet, ruffling through the clothes hanging up. It’s a good moment to take off to the washroom, if anything just to wash your face and get your bearings straight.

Time seems to stand still. You’re not sure how long you stand with your head hanging over the sink, water starting to dry on your face. The fact that Christopher was a kkangpae seemed foreign and odd, like the word didn’t actually exist anymore, the more you mulled over it in your head. You came to the conclusion that he himself couldn’t have been that dangerous, but that the people he involved himself with were probably really dangerous. Right?

Knowing that you had slept with someone with dangerous connections didn’t bother you as much as the fact that you liked sleeping with him, that he was arguably one of the best guys you’d fucked. If the circumstances were different, you would probably try and keep whatever you had going. The thought of dating someone like him didn’t seem so terrible, except for the fact that he was a goddamn drug dealer.

“Fuck,” you groan as you look at yourself in the mirror. You decided you had to get dressed, come up with some excuse and get out of there. “Right.” Instilling a fake air of confidence, you straightened up and opened the door back to the bedroom. As you walked through the doorway, you could see Christopher in the kitchen through the corner of your eye. In the time it took you to get your head on straight, he had dressed himself back up in a nice button up shirt and some dark blue jeans.

“Oh!” He calls after you from the doorway, “I grabbed a shirt of mine and a pair of pants that I think will fit you? They’re on the bed.”

‘Great,’ you sarcastically thought to yourself, ‘I’ve always wanted to wear a drug dealer’s clothes. Very cool.’

You grab your underwear and bra from last night and slip them on, feeling gross and like you needed to get back home now, if anything, so you could shower and wear fresh clothes. Since you were already pretty deep in, you decide to just wear Christopher’s clothing and hope that he didn’t want it back. It was kind of cute, an obviously worn band t-shirt, and comfortable, yet somehow flattering black joggers. If this were another lifetime, you could see yourself stealing Christopher’s clothes more often.

Alright, you were nearly ready to go. However, when you went to grab your phone to respond to Minji and let her know you were okay, you were foiled by fate and it was dead. “Motherfucker,” you grumble as you grind the heel of your foot into the ground in frustration. Life was not on your side today.

You decide to suck up your pride for a bit, after all, shit was already bad enough, how could it get worse? With a bit of a lazy shuffle in your step, you make your way out to the kitchen, weakly shaking your phone. “Hey,” you squeak out, “I don’t suppose you have a charger, do you?”

“Wow!” Christopher’s eyes light up at seeing you in his old clothes, “You look really cute in that. Yeah, I’ve got a charger in there, come here,” he walks over towards you, grabbing your hand and guiding you towards the far side of the bed in the bedroom. “Here,” he says as he bends down and hands you the end of the cord. “I think this will work? Looks like you’ve got an iPhone too.”

“Thanks,” you say, plugging your phone in. The way that he looks at you so softly warms your heart a bit - it’s been a long time since you felt so cared for, and you felt guilty that you were going to try to dash out of here as soon as possible and leave all this behind. “Of course,” Christopher smiles and kisses your forehead again. “I’m gonna make something for breakfast real quick. It’ll be ready in a bit, so try not to fall asleep again, alright?”

The pit of regret in your stomach grows a bit. “Yeah, sure thing,” you say with fake enthusiasm.

Christopher’s footsteps fade from your ears and you have a moment’s reprieve before you hear a ringtone that isn’t yours. “Oh shit,” you hear him exclaim from the kitchen, “What happened now?”

“Changbin,” his voice turns dark as you hear him answer his phone. “Shit, yeah, no, I got your text messages. Wait,” he sounds slightly panicked, “you’re here? Goddammit, this is that bad, isn’t it?” There’s a lengthy pause. “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. Whatever. You know where I am.” You hear his phone hit the countertop as Christopher sighs heavily and shouts, “Fuck!”

‘This is bad,’ you think, unconsciously gripping the sheets beneath you. The silence in the apartment is deafening; you swear you could hear your heartbeat beating out of your chest. Then, suddenly, footsteps come back into the bedroom as Christopher says your name, firmly and seriously, before sitting down next to you on the bed.

“I’m so sorry for this, but,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “someone I work with is coming over and it’s serious. Can you stay in here for a bit? After he’s gone, I’ll order us something for breakfast, something nice. Okay?” As you space off, lazily gazing towards Chris, you notice that he’s staring down at your right hand, gently placing his atop yours and softly wrapping his fingers around your hand. You noncommittally nod your head yes in reassurance, too distracted to really answer.

He’s a kkangpae, the reminder pops up in your head again. You swear that you can hear it in Minji’s voice. You know should get out of here, just bolt up and leave, but you can’t bring yourself to leave quite yet.

A pounding on the front door rips you from your thoughts. As Christopher bolts up to his feet, a chime comes from his phone. He pulls it from his back pocket, glancing at it briefly before relaxing the tense look from his face for a second. “Don’t worry, he’s friendly,” he says, getting up and walking out of the bedroom. “Well, friendly enough, at least. Stay here, I’ll deal with him.”

A moment passes, and you hear some light shuffling.

“You dense motherfucker,” an unfamiliar voice comes from the entryway, immediately followed by the door slamming. “The Chan I remember was never this stupid.”

“Changbin,” Christopher’s interjects, his voice terse.

“You went out after I explicitly told you not to and you brought a complete stranger back to your apartment? You absolute moron.” The voice, you assume belongs to Changbin, sounds more irritated than angry. “Hyunjin was spotted at that party last night. I don’t know who took it, but that photo of you and that woman is making the rounds in the group. Who only knows who all saw that? I thought I told you both to stay away from all of Itaewon-dong this week?”

The name Hyunjin causes your breath to hitch in your throat, piquing your interest. You pull yourself up to your feet, quietly walking towards the bedroom door. Cautiously, you poke your head over the doorframe, glancing into the kitchen. Christopher is standing behind a barstool, his hands ruffling through his hair before he casually tucks them in his pockets. A shorter, lean man with dark brown hair walks on the opposite side of the countertop, nervously pacing back and forth.

“Changbin, look, it was a mistake,” Christopher tiredly pleads, “I admit that I fucked up, yeah, but-”

“You fucked up?” Changbin cuts him off, punctuating his sentence a sarcastic laugh. He turns back to face the fridge and you hear the door opening, the sound of items shuffling echoing through the quiet apartment. “Yeah, you definitely fucked up. I’m drinking some of your beer. Gonna fucking need it. You know,” he slams the door shut, “you’d better hope you weren’t tailed. If they find out where you live, well, I can’t protect you from that.”

A soft tss comes from what you assume is Changbin opening a can of beer. Christopher catches your eye as he reaches down to the can that Changbin placed in front of him. He looks down, then looks back up, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second, lips parting and his eyes widening in surprise. You quickly hide behind the wall, knowing you shouldn’t have spied on their conversation.

“What?” Changbin’s voice perks up for a second. “Oh my god. She’s still here?” He somehow sounds more annoyed at this and lets out an exasperated groan. “Goddammit, Chan, what happened to you? Oi,” he stresses, footsteps coming closer to the bedroom, “Get out here, this involves you too.”

“What, you thought the high heels were mine?” Chris sarcastically scoffs as you walk out of the bedroom. “Changbin, this is-“

“Yeah, I know.” Changbin cuts Christopher off, throwing his free hand up in frustration, as if he was dismissing Christopher, “trust me, I fucking know.” He grumbles out your full name and adds, “Some model from northern Japan, Korean mom, Japanese dad, right? Graduated from Todai a couple years ago; bachelor’s in economics.” He glares at you as he takes a swig of beer from his can, clicking his tongue in disapproval and muttering something under his breath. “Typical, just your fuckin’ type.”

“W-what?” You stutter out, completely floored that he knows so much about you. “Chris, how does he know all of that?” Panic starts to overtake you and your hands start to tremble.

“Babe,” he whispers, a look of pity painted on his face. Christopher stands up and walks over toward you, but you step back into the wall, waving your hands in a frenzy.

“No, no, no, don’t do that. You don’t get to do that until I know what’s happening.”

Changbin sarcastically chuckles and crushes his can. “Here we go,” he says, digging in the fridge once again. He pulls out two cans of beer and puts one of them on the corner of the counter closest to you. “You’re gonna need one of these, too.”

Your head is spinning, from the window, the skyline of Seoul seems to blur together as you try to make sense of everything that’s happening. If you understood it correctly, Christopher was indeed a drug dealer, just under Changbin in their group’s hierarchy. Hyunjin was also involved, but sold trafficked guns and other weapons in and out of the group.

Christopher went out to that house party in Itaewon last night when Changbin ordered him not to (he stressed that point several times), someone from a rival drug dealing gang saw both him and Hyunjin, snapping photos of them both, as well as a photo of you sitting next to Christopher, his arm around your shoulders, clearly enjoying yourselves.

What made it worse was that someone mistakenly spread a rumour that you and Christopher were an item, that you were a close girlfriend of his, and it put a target on your head so that they could specifically shake up Christopher. Changbin had said that he was unsure exactly how much danger you were in, but it would be best if no one knew where you were. Neither of you were to leave this apartment without someone escorting you.

A nervous laugh came bubbling up from your stomach, erupting into a full-blown, wild cackling fit. There was no way that any of this was real - you were just out with a friend last night, you left with someone else to have a one night stand, and now you were having some sort of crazy fever dream thanks to the drugs you took last night.

“This is crazy,” you say in between laughs, “Christopher, you can’t be serious. This is a joke, right?” You calm yourself, no longer laughing as you look at both Changbin and Christopher, their faces stone cold and free from expression. “Oh my god,” the realization hits you and you sink further into the couch, hoping that it will eat you alive so you don’t have to deal with this mess. “What about Minji? She ran off with Hyunjin last night. Is she okay?”

The men looked at each other with confusion. “I only heard about one woman, and that was you,” Changbin says, leaning back in his chair, throwing his arm over the back of it. “If there was someone with Hyunjin, this is the first time I’m hearing of it. What’s her family name? I’ll have one of my guys keep an eye on her.”

“Moon. Moon Minji. She models with me. Lives in the apartment across from me.” You were somewhat relieved, shaking your head in disbelief. Naturally, you were happy that Minji was safe - for now - but you couldn’t believe this was happening to you.

Changbin stands up, pulling his phone from his back pocket, “Alright. I’m gonna make a call. Don’t go anywhere, either of you.” He starts tapping on his phone and ducks off into a room on the opposite side of the kitchen.

Christopher gets up and sits next to you on the couch. He cautiously reaches his hand out to your thigh. You want to swat his hand away, but you don’t have the energy to do it. “I am so sorry,” he says in a soft tone, his voice sounding like it’ll break at any second, “If I had known, I wouldn’t have brought you here, wouldn’t have risked this.” He sounds genuinely apologetic, but you don’t really register it. He takes his free hand to brush your hair back behind your ear, rubbing his thumb soothingly on your cheek.

Honestly, this conversation had exhausted you. Your life was turned upside down because of this man, this dangerous, but wonderful man. Part of you resented him, but the way he tried to calm you by stroking your face made you less angry at him. For all the shit he put you through, his genuineness did make you forgive him - at least somewhat.

“Chris,” you start to say, looking up at him, before Changbin opens the door and loudly walks back into the room.

“Your friend’s going to be fine. I’ve got one of my best guys following her,” he interjects, walking to the fridge, grabbing another can of beer, “she’s gonna be tracked until we get this shit sorted out. Hyunjin texted me and apologized, for whatever the hell that’s worth. You two are idiots.”

Christopher sighs heavily, furrowing his brows in frustration as he looks up at Changbin. “Oh, yeah? That time we were in Shanghai? Want me to bring that up?” He drops his hand from your face and stands up.

Changbin closes the fridge door and loudly slams his unopened can of beer on the counter. “You bastard, that was entirely-” Christopher cuts him off, advancing towards him.

“Entirely what, different? You easily lost us, what, a hundred million won? Or was it three hundred?” You swivel your head around to see the two of them get in each other’s faces. “And for what, Minho?”

Whatever that meant, it snapped something inside Changbin. “You motherfucker,” he gritted, taking fistfuls of Christopher’s shirt into his hands before shoving him backwards. “I’m gonna fucking kill you. Don’t you dare bring him up like that again.”

A growl came from Christopher as he rolled up his sleeves, “It’s your fault that he got shot and you know it. You’re lucky he didn’t die.”

Changbin managed to take his elbow and ram it into the side of Christopher’s face, causing him to collide with the kitchen cabinet. He wound his arm back and threw a fist towards Christopher’s face, trying to get him one more time. He ducked, running his shoulder into the shorter man’s chest, pushing him back a few steps before he fell to the floor with an audible thud. Christopher towered over Changbin, fists tightly clenched. He knelt down and drew his right arm back, ready to deck the smaller man.

“Fuck you!” Changbin shouted as he flailed underneath Christopher, grabbing a fistful of his shirt with one of his hands, pulling his right arm to the side, winding up another punch.

You started to panic, yelling at them to stop. You did not need this happening on top of everything else. However, your words fell on deaf ears as the guys kept yelling at each other, thrashing around on the floor.

Suddenly, the movement stops, and you hear Changbin pound on Christopher’s chest. “I’m never going to forgive myself,” he chokes out, his voice laden with regret, and it almost sounds like he’s holding back tears. “I can’t even look at him without seeing him lying there, dying. And I know it’s my fault. You don’t have to fucking remind me. Knowing I almost got Minho killed haunts me. I’d give anything to trade places with him so he didn’t have to experience that pain.”

Christopher sits back on his heels, offering Changbin a hand to sit up. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. That was a low blow, I’m just fucking panicking.” The brunette accepts his hand and sits up, his face red and slightly puffy. His eyes were red and glossy as he rolls them in your general direction.

“I’ll make sure nothing happens to either of you. I know you barely know her, but if she got hurt or killed, I know you’d never forgive yourself either.”

“Thanks,” Christopher says, pulling Changbin to his chest. “I’ll make it up to you somehow. Not by blood, by the code, yeah?” Changbin grunts in agreement, slapping his hand against Christopher’s back.

“Not by blood, by the code.” Changbin repeats back to Christopher, who is offering his hand to help Changbin stand. You could tell there was an exhaustive history between them and you were only scratching the surface of it.

“Alright,” Changbin says, setting a couple of bags down on the coffee table. “I grabbed some jjajangmyeon from that place you like and some more alcohol since I’ve been drinking all of your beer.”

“You didn’t need to do that, we have plenty in fridge in the studio,” Christopher sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, I didn’t say it was for you anyways,” Changbin continues, looking at you, “Minho’s gonna swing by in a bit. I asked him to go out and get you some clothes since you’re gonna be here for a while. I’d have done it myself, but I don’t know shit about clothes. He always goes shopping for the two of us.”

You’ve been sitting on the couch for a few hours now, barely moving. The sun was behind the building now, so you assumed it was probably some time in the early evening. Christopher was nice enough to bring you your phone so you could tell Minji that you were fine, but you were sick so you wouldn’t be around for a while. Thankfully, you didn’t have any gigs planned for about a month and a half, but you knew you’d have to get a hold of your boss eventually.

Christopher was on the couch next to you, an awkward gap apparent between the two of you. Neither of you had spoken much to each other today, conversations mostly happening between Christopher and Changbin. He has, however, kept his hand on top of yours the entire time. Before Changbin returned from his errand run, Christopher apologized to you several times, genuinely upset that he brought an innocent person into this. You were thankful that Changbin returned when he did, because if you had to listen to Christopher apologize one more time, you were ready to lose it.

“Here you go,” Changbin says as he starts emptying a paper bag, placing a couple takeout boxes of jjajangmyeon and side dishes in front of you. “I grabbed some soju and beer for us, think we could use it.”

“Haven’t you had enough beer today?” Christopher sarcastically says, reaching over to grab a pair of chopsticks and a box of food, putting both in your lap before he reaches for his own food.

“Look, man,” Changbin started, bringing a few bottles to the table, “after the day we’ve had, there ain’t enough beer in the world to deal with what’s happened. Might as well have fun for now, yeah?”

You don’t say anything and just reach for the closest bottle of soju, tilting it back and forth a couple times before opening it, lifting the bottle to your lips and taking a hearty chug. The aroma of strawberry perfumes your mouth as the alcohol burns all the way down. You didn’t really like strawberry soju, but tonight was gonna be different. You slam the bottle down on the table and smile widely. “Let’s do it.”

Christopher and Changbin are staring at you with their mouths hanging open. This is the most active you’ve been in over an hour, and it had taken them by surprise. “Alright, that’s my gal,” Changbin says with a smirk, grabbing his own bottle of soju and downing an equally long swig. He shakes his head, scrunching up his nose in disgust, and coughs, “Oh shit, that’s a terrible idea. Why the hell did I get flavoured shit?”

You grab a bottle and put it in Christopher’s hands. “Your turn,” you say before turning to open the takeout box in front of you. The warming smell of the black bean sauce brightens your mood a bit, excited to eat one of your favourite meals.

Christopher’s pensive, although he decides to suck it up as he reaches down to a fresh bottle of soju, shaking it, “Yeah, fine, whatever,” he says, cracking open the bottle and sucking down a couple of hearty gulps. “Fuck, Changbin, blueberry?” He coughs before reorienting himself, “Really? The fuck is wrong with you?”

You stifle back a laugh, taking a bite of your jjajangmyeon. “You’ll be fine, you can do it,” you say, reaching back down to the bottle of strawberry soju in front of you. “This will help make things a bit more bearable, yeah?” You look at Christopher with a toothy smile, hoping he’ll lighten up at least a bit.

There’s a soft knock at the door, and Changbin perks up. “That’s probably Minho.” He stifles a smirk, looking down at his phone as it chirps. He gets up, walking to the door with purpose. It takes a minute, but he eventually opens the door. You casually look over your shoulder, trying not to obviously stare, noticing the small man embrace the dark-haired man that walks in. The man isn’t much taller than Changbin, maybe only a couple of inches taller. Their embrace is soft, warming, like you can tell that they care about each other.

“Hey there,” he says softly, and you catch him plant a soft kiss on Changbin’s cheek. His voice is low and calm, “I grabbed the things you asked me to grab, but are you sure you’re alright?”

“Aish,” you hear Changbin shush him, “I’m fine, don’t worry about me, baby. Come in and hang with us. I got some soju for you.”

The shorter, black-haired man comes up in front of you, “Hi, I’m Lee Minho. Changbin’s probably talked about me by now.” He bows slightly before dropping the bags he has behind the table, taking a seat across from you, opposite from the chair Changbin’s was occupying. The man grabs a bottle of soju off the table, shaking it up and down twice before cracking it open and drinking a quick swig from the bottle.

“Oh, ew,” he groans, a clear wince on his face, “Peach? Binnie, what the hell’s wrong with you?” He whines, looking at Changbin as he grimaces.

“Yeah, yeah,” Changbin waves a hand in the air dismissively as he sits back down, “I know, I wasn’t looking when I grabbed the alcohol, okay? I was a bit distracted. Fuck you guys,” he grumbles, reaching down to his soju bottle. “If you don’t like it, go to CU and get your…. oh.” He stops in his tracks, bottle halfway to his mouth. “Shit, my bad. Want me to go get something different?”

You’re about to dismiss it, but Christopher looks at Changbin, “Yeah, go get something better, especially if Minho’s gonna be here for a while. We’re gonna need it.” He sounds cold, taking a quick drink from his bottle. “We’re gonna need to stay entertained tonight somehow, yeah?” He turns to look at you, reaching out to grab your thigh again, a sly smirk on his face.

You can’t help but blush. You turn down towards your lap, grabbing a large amount of food with your chopsticks and shove it in your mouth. “Mmmpfh,” you manage to grumble out, in a seeming sense of agreement.

All of the guys share a soft chuckle, then Changbin excuses himself with a grumble before walking up to the front door. “I’ll be back in a bit, alright? Don’t go anywhere.” The door closes with a soft thud, and a few moments pass as the three of you sit there quietly.

“So,” Minho smiles, looking at both you and Christopher with purpose, “Changbin told me that you two seem to have taken a liking to each other already.”

You swear you hear Christopher choke on a mouthful of food before looking at you through the corner of his eyes. “Um,” he manages to squeak out, swallowing the food in his mouth, “I suppose you could say that? It’s only been a day, though.”

“Well, I guess you’re going to get to know each other really well here soon.” Minho shrugs his shoulders, grabbing the peach soju he was drinking earlier. “Oh,” he exclaims, beaming with a smile, “when Binnie gets back, we should play a drinking game. That’s a good way to get to know someone, isn’t it?” Admittedly, it did sound fun at the beginning. However, when you were on your third bottle of soju and Changbin and Minho were getting flirty and handsy with each other, you were a bit jealous. You and Christopher were starting to get closer and you were really feeling good, but it would be weird to be that playfully touchy-feely with someone you’ve known for less than 24 hours.

“I have an idea,” Minho turns to look at both of you, “you know what’ll help you even get closer?” He gets up, walks towards the kitchen counter and starts rifling through Changbin’s bag.

“Oi! That’s my stuff!” Changbin proclaims from his seat.

“Relax, babe, not like you don’t go through my stuff,” Minho quips, waving his hand dismissively in the air. “Ah,” he exclaims, “found ‘em.” He comes back to the coffee table and puts a film canister on the table, the container rattling the entire time. Changbin sighs and rolls his eyes, realizing what’s in it.

“Aish,” he groans, “what is with you and this stuff when you drink?”

“Oh, shut up. You still love me, especially after one of these.” Minho says, with a laugh, suggestively looking at Changbin for a moment. He pops the lid of the canister and pours out the contents on to the table. Out comes a few baby blue tablets, similar to the ones you took last night.

A memory of you sitting on Christopher’s face, struggling to stay upright, shouting his name, flashes through your head. Your face gets hot and you look down, visibly flustered. He must have noticed, because Christopher squeezes your thigh, then moves his hand up to your shoulder. “What’s up?” He asks.

“Oh,” you look up at him, then back down to your lap. “The pills just reminded me of something.”

Christopher looks at the table, letting his thoughts register for a moment. It must have hit him, because he sucks in a breath through his teeth and giggles a bit. “Ah, yeah, last night, right?”

“Oh my god,” you groan with frustration and put your head into your hands.

“Hold up,” Minho perks up, a giddy smile on his face, “What happened last night?”

“That’s a bit rude, Min.” Changbin says in a disappointed tone, playfully shoving Minho’s shoulder.

“You both know that I’m nosy. So, what happened last night?”

Christopher rolls his eyes, then sits back on his hands. “We took some ecstasy and had a couple lines last night, so we were rolling pretty hard. We felt pretty good, one thing led to another, you know.” You feel eyes bore into the back of your head, and turn to look at Christopher. He’s got a big grin on his face, clearly happy with himself. “Any time I can make someone shout my name at the top of their lungs is a good time.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you groan and drop your forehead to the top of the coffee table, sighing in embarrassment. You sit back up and glare at Christopher, ready to be mad at him, but the way he smiles melts any anger you had towards him.

“Nice,” Minho hums as Changbin nods his head in approval. He grabs the pills on the table, and gives one to everyone. The guys immediately pop theirs into their mouths, and you sit there, pill in hand, just staring at it.

“You alright?” Christopher asks, rubbing a hand on your back. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, baby.” The word ‘baby’ slipped from his lips naturally; he clearly didn’t mean to say it, it just happened. “Uh, um, sorry.”

The next thing you know, the pill is halfway down your throat and you’re finishing up your third bottle of soju. “It’s all good, baby,” you say, jokingly mocking Christopher. You turn to look at him, and give him a wink. He smiles back to you, scooting himself up next to you and wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“Ugh,” Changbin grumbles, rolling his head back, “you’re already insufferable.”

Christopher picks up a lid from an empty soju bottle and tosses it at the brunette. “Oh, shut up. You and Minho were all over each other just a few minutes ago. Not to mention, you’re going to be even worse once the E kicks in. The last time we were down in Busan and we all were tripping and you started fucking each other in front of me, remember that?”

“You enjoyed watching it, though, quite a bit from what I recall, “Changbin quips, “I very clearly remember you whipping out your dick and taking things into your own hands while we were putting on a show.” Hearing this makes your eyes widen in surprise, spinning your head to the side to look at Christopher, who’s blushing and covering his face with his hand.

Minho starts laughing really hard, and it causes the frown on Changbin’s face to crack into a smile. “Aish, you’re so cute when you laugh.” He leans over and gives the dark-haired man a peck on the cheek. “And I don’t care who knows how I feel about it,” he smirks as he turns to look at Christopher, raising his eyebrow in jest.

“Yeah?” Christopher taunts, slipping his hand down your shoulder to your waist and pulling you closer. “You should hear her when I -“ Before he can finish his sentence, you take your elbow and dig it into his ribs.

“They don’t need to know everything,” you whine.

“Yeah,” Christopher smirks, “They’ll probably get an earful of it tonight, anyways.”

Both of the men across the table groan in feigned disgust. “Anyway,” Minho stresses, trying to change the subject, “Why don’t we bust out a couple beers and play some truth or dare?” Changbin stands up, walking to the fridge. “Sounds like we’ve already opened up quite a bit, yeah?”

“I’m on it, I’ll grab a couple for everyone. Don’t say I don’t do anything nice for you,” he scoffs as he enters the kitchen. Minho starts putting all of the emptied soju bottles, except for one, in a bag. The last bottle, he takes and lays it on its side, putting it in the middle of the table. You look at the bottle, then turn to look up at Christopher.

“Hey,” you whisper in his ear, “was that story actually true?”

Christopher blushes again and stifles a laugh, “Yeah, yeah it was true. Not my proudest moment, but have you looked at them? Anyone would’ve done it, too.”

His honesty makes you laugh a bit, and you lean up next to him, nuzzling your head up against his shoulder. He’s warm, and comfortable, and he rests his head on top of yours, reaching down to grab your hand. Even if you were stuck here in this near-stranger’s house for longer than you’d like to be stuck, the little moments of comfort like this were helpful.

“Alright,” Changbin chirps up, setting down a couple cans of beer in front of you and Christopher. “Perk up, lovebirds, let’s party.”

“Okay!” Minho excitedly claps his hands together before cracking open his beer. “We’ll spin the bottle, and whomever it lands on gets to choose between telling the truth about something or a dare. If you back out, you’ve gotta take a drink of your beer. Got it?”

The game started off innocent enough, all of you were sticking to truths, and the questions were relatively mild. However, things started to take a turn when the drugs started to kick in. Minho wouldn’t stop touching Changbin, his fingers constantly trailing over the brunette’s chest. When it’s his turn, he spins the bottle, landing on Changbin.

“Dare,” Changbin says, confidently looking directly into Minho’s eyes.

“You’re gonna regret that,” Minho says, smirking as he turns to Christopher. “I dare you to make out with Christopher, if he’s okay with it, of course.”

“What?” Christopher spits out in shock.

“Aish, baby,” Changbin groans, “Why do you get like this every time we roll? You just want to watch me make out with other men and make them miserable.”

Minho grins, leaning over to Changbin to kiss his cheek. “It’s because you’re hot and you know it.”

You can feel a look of complete bewilderment being plastered on your face. Your mind couldn’t help but wonder, ‘Was this seriously about to happen? Have they done this before?’ Almost as if it was on cue, Christopher turns to look at you.

“Are you okay with it? I know we’re not, like, dating or anything, but,” his voice trails off and he bites his bottom lip in, darting his eyes down to the floor.

“Yeah,” the word slips from your mouth before you have a chance to actually think about it. You were admittedly curious, thinking it would be kind of interesting to watch Christopher be a bit physical with someone else.

Christopher gives you a quick peck on your cheek before he turns to Changbin, “Do your worst.”

Without saying a word, Changbin crawls over towards Christopher, straddling his lap and taking his hands to Christopher’s face. The smaller man presses his lips to the blond’s lips, almost timidly at first, until Christopher takes his hands and grabs Changbin’s hips, pulling him in. “You can do better than that,” he whispers.

“Oh shit,” Minho says, leaning onto the table with a grin. “Binnie hates being teased, Channie.”

Changbin grumbles under his breath, reaching his hands up to Christopher’s hair, pulling his head back as he grinds down into his lap. Christopher lets out a small whimper from the pain and looks up at Changbin with half-lidded eyes. “Don’t talk back to me, hyung,” the brunette warns with a serious tone.

Changbin licks Christopher’s bottom lip before taking it in between his teeth. He bites it somewhat firmly, eliciting a gasp out of the man beneath him, then goes to let his tongue explore his mouth. The men let their hands travel on each other while kissing with a burning passion.

Admittedly, this was one of the hottest things you’d ever seen, all of this was causing you to feel warm and tingly as you watched it. This is what Christopher looked like when the two of you were rolling around in bed last night, and it was hot. You made a mental note to take control of your makeout session and to pull his hair the next time you were able to.

“Oh my god,” Minho groans, “Okay, that’s enough, I can’t watch anymore, it’s too good.” He sits back and takes a drink of beer from his can, dramatically fanning himself with his free hand. Changbin pulls away from Christopher and smirks, and Christopher has a blissed out smile on his face.

“You’re not my type, but I’ll admit you’re good,” Christopher says, wiping his lips with the back side of his hand.

“Yeah, I know,” Changbin says with a laugh as he gets up and walks back to his spot. He sits down, a wide grin on his face, before he takes a hearty drink from his beer. “Minho tells me all the time.”

Christopher turns to you, gets a bit closer, and pulls your face to his, kissing you passionately for a good few seconds. He breaks away from the kiss and moves to your ear. “I want you,” he whispers quietly, so Minho and Changbin can’t hear, “I’m going to make you mine again tonight.”

His words make you blush and smile. He pulls away from you and takes a drink from his beer. “That was something else,” you say, looking at Changbin, then Minho, then Christopher. “You’re all… close?”

Minho laughs, “Nah, we’re not normally like this. When we’ve been partying a little hard, though, things get interesting between us. Nothing more than this, though. I don’t wanna share my Binnie that much, just enough to make him squirm and come crawling back to me.”

Changbin rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Yeah, you’re insufferable when we party hard like this. It’s always, ‘Binnie, make out with me, Binnie, make out with that hot guy over there, Binnie, Binnie, Binnie’ with you.” Minho playfully shoves Changbin’s shoulder and laughs.

“I wouldn’t do it if you didn’t like it, or me, so much,” he says, taking another drink of his beer. “Alright, Channie, it’s your turn.”

“Okay,” Christopher says, reaching out to spin the bottle. It takes a couple rotations, then it slows, and stops, pointing at you.

“Oh,” you say, looking at the bottle, then looking at Christopher. You weren’t feeling brave enough to do a dare, so you say “truth” with an upward inflection, almost like you were asking a question.

“You’re no fun,” Minho pouts. “Make it a good question, Channie.”

“Hmm,” Christopher brings his index finger to his chin, thinking for a moment. “I’ve got it, what’s the most embarrassing sex story you’ve got?”

Your face flushes and you look down to the floor in embarrassment. You begrudgingly admit there was the time a couple years ago with your last boyfriend, Jisung, that you had gotten a bit too eager and a bit too drunk, sneaking off to the nightclub’s washroom. Your boyfriend had propped you up on the sink, one of your legs was up in the air and over his shoulder. Right when you two were in the middle of having the fuck of your lives, some guy had walked in and immediately walked back out, since neither of you had remembered to lock the door. There was a definite walk of shame as both of you immediately got dressed and left as soon as possible.

Christopher busts up laughing, because apparently he’s walked in on something similar to that before. “I mean, it’s kinda hot to see something like that in public, but if it happened to me, I’d be mortified. I’d never show my face in public again.”

Changbin looks at Minho and grins, “Yeah, sounds like that one time I came back from Taiwan and you were too excited to see me that you couldn’t wait until we got home and demanded that I take you in the airport parking lot.”

Minho laughs in response, playfully slapping Changbin’s shoulder, then moving to spin the soju bottle. “You had a good time, so you don’t get to complain.” The bottle spins, eventually landing on Christopher. “What’s it gonna be, Mr. Voyeur?”

“Get bent,” Christopher scoffs, “let’s do a dare this time.”

“Ooh, fun,” Minho says. He opens his mouth to speak, but Changbin leans over to whisper something in his ear, slyly looking at you as he whispers. “Oh, good idea,” Minho chirps, grinning deviously at the both of you. “Go into the studio and record the vocals of you both having sex, then play it back for us when you’re done.”

“What?” You yell out in surprise, your face turning beet red.

“Challenge accepted,” Christopher says cooly, grabbing your hand and pulling you up before you can wrap your head around it.

“Wait, I don’t get to say anything about this?” You shriek out, slightly panicked, as you stand up and follow Christopher.

“C’mon, baby,” he says soothingly, “I’ve got you.” He stops in front of the door that Changbin was in earlier, opening it and turning the lights on. He guides you through the door, closing the door behind you. “Just sit in that chair right there,” he points to the chair in front of the control panel. “I’m gonna get some stuff set up behind the mic and then we can get started, okay?”

If you hadn’t taken the ecstasy tablet earlier and had a few drinks, you definitely would’ve said no to being recorded, but you figured it would be funny to see the reaction on Minho and Changbin’s faces when they heard both of you. Something about it really got you excited. Christopher adjusted some things in the recording booth, then came back out to the control panel, opening his laptop and flipping some switches on.

“Okay,” he says as he turns back to you, reaching his hands out to yours. “Let’s go.”

You let Christopher pull you up and lead you into the recording booth. Your stomach was doing backflips as you entered the room, taking in the atmosphere. It was calm and relaxing; the spotlights were dim and it made everything seem comforting. The foam padded on the walls absorbed most of the ambient noise, making everything seem abnormally quiet.

Christopher sat down on the padded chair and pulled you into his lap. You crawled on top of him, straddling his hips. The positioning was probably going to be uncomfortable, but you didn’t mind. He takes his hands and slides them up your shirt, pulling you closer to him. “Let’s give them a show, baby,” he says in a low whisper before he brings his lips to yours, kissing you with an intense need.

You decided to not waste any time, reaching down to pull the shirt you were wearing off, tossing it behind Christopher. Your bra follows in succession, and the man beneath you sighs as he stares at you, slowly looking you up from your torso to your eyes, “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” He kisses you again, this time in short pecks, before he moves his fingers to grab the waistband of your pants. You get up on to your feet, helping him pull your joggers and panties off, then go to undo his jeans, slipping them along with his boxers down to his ankles.

Christopher sucks in a breath as his cock springs up, free from his clothing. “I’ve been sitting out there so hard since Changbin wrecked me. I can’t wait to have you ride me, baby.” He looks down at you, his eyes completely glazed over as he bites his lip.

“I’m gonna make you feel amazing,” you say in a breathy voice, kneeling down in front of Christopher, your face right up next to his cock. He looks at you, eyes widening, about to say something, but you take him into your mouth before he can say anything. You slowly work him completely into your mouth, and he lets out a primal groan as he throws his head back, gripping the sides of his chair with a vise grip.

“Fucking hell,” he moans out, “that’s incredible, baby, don’t stop.”

You come back up, sucking your cheeks in and letting his cock leave your mouth with an audible pop. “I want to feel you, too. I’m just getting you prepped.” you whisper in a sultry voice as you crawl back over him. Christopher looks up at you with a pleading face, upset that you stopped giving him head. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll give you all the attention you need later. I want you right now.” As you say that, you reach down and guide him inside of you.

Christopher grabs your hips, helping get himself into you. As you slide down onto him, there’s a warmth that spreads throughout you, making you feel like your nerves are on overdrive. A breathy, shaky moan unintentionally escapes your lips. You open your eyes and look down at Christopher; the blissed out look on his face is something you could drink in for days. He looked like only wanted you, that you two were meant to be together, at least for now.

He breathes out your name as you slowly grind your hips down into his, then take them up, almost removing yourself from him completely. You bite your lip, smiling at Christopher, before you thrust yourself right back down on him.

“Fuck,” he groans, digging his fingernails into your hips as his chin falls to his chest. “Baby, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he says as he looks back up at you, taking one of his hands to the back of your head, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss. It’s passionate and messy and you can’t get enough of it; the way his tongue rolls around in your mouth as you ride him up and down causes your nerves to tingle from head to toe.

Just when you think you have enough stimulation to start building you up to your orgasm, Christopher removes his hand from your head, interrupts your kiss to lick his thumb, and he starts rubbing it up against your clit. Your eyes snap open and roll backwards as you groan into his mouth, your entire body starting to feel like a supernova with all of the stimulation.

“I’m gonna make sure you come with me,” he breathes out, continuing to roll his thumb in circles against you. “You’re mine and only mine. Fuck,” he moans as you grind up on him, “Tell me who you belong to.”

Your mind is reeling from all of the stimulation, the ecstasy and the alcohol causing everything to feel magnified, like you would never feel something so good in your entire life again. “You, Christopher, you,” you breathe out, panting heavily, “I belong to you.”

“Yeah,” he groans, taking control and thrusting in and out of you faster, “You’re mine. Now come for me, baby.”

Something about the way he demanded you to come made all the tension inside of you release, caused all of your nerves to sing in harmony for a moment. Christopher did one more rotation of his thumb against your clit, and that was it, it was enough. Your orgasm completely took control of your body, making you arch your back and writhe against him. You shouted his name so loud, you were sure that Changbin and Minho could hear it through all of the soundproofing in the studio.

“Good girl,” Christopher praises, breathing heavily, “I’m gonna come inside you, baby, I want you to take it all for me.” His voice seems like it’s across the room, like you’re so far away from him that it’s difficult to hear. Everything, even the air, feels soft against you. You manage to mumble out something, although you’re not quite sure what it was, as you collapse into Christopher. His breathing speeds up as he digs his fingernails into your back as he grinds up into you one last time, and you feel his cum fill you up.

It takes a few minutes for both of you to come back to reality. When you do, you notice how sore and sticky you both are, like you could use a shower right now. You nuzzle up to Christopher’s neck, giving it a few light kisses before you sit up and look at him. “Wow,” you say, “that was mind-blowing.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, looking at you with a silly grin on his face, “that was somehow better than last night. But I definitely need a shower. Who would’ve thought that this studio got so hot?” Both of you laugh in agreement, and peel yourselves off of each other. You both get dressed and walk out into the control room; Christopher fumbles with his laptop and turns off some of the switches on the panelling.

“Shall we?” He says, walking up to the door. “We can make them listen to it in here.” He opens the door for you, and you both see Minho kneeling on the floor in front of Changbin, his head bobbing up and down in a familiar motion.

“Shit! Minho, stop!” Changbin exclaims with a whine, trying to get Minho off of him. They fumble around a bit as you turn around in secondhand embarrassment.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Christopher groans, “Really? You couldn’t wait until we went to bed?”

“You two are loud,” Minho whines in protest, “And with you and Binnie earlier I couldn’t help it!”

“Oh my god,” you groan, bringing your hands to rub your temples.

“Well, the recording’s saved to my laptop, so we fulfilled the dare,” Christopher says before grabbing your hand and walking you both towards his room, “We’re gonna shower and go to bed. Have fun, lovebirds.”

“Fuck off,” you hear Changbin groan as you both walk into Christopher’s bedroom.

“Well, that was,” your voice trails off, still in disbelief from what you had seen, “unexpected?”

Christopher groans again, removing his clothes, “Nah, they do this all the time. If it’s just the three of us and we’ve been drinking or taking drugs, Minho can’t control himself around Changbin. It doesn’t bother me, but I’m sorry you had to witness it firsthand. C’mon, let’s go shower.” He wiggles his fingers in a come-hither motion before he slips off into the washroom.

“It’s fine,” you say, disrobing as you make your way to the washroom. Christopher is already in the walk-in shower, setting the temperature to something tolerable. “It was unexpected, but it didn’t bother me. They obviously care about each other and I respect that.”

Christopher laughs, motioning for you to get in. “Yeah, they’re really good for each other.” You step in the shower behind him, enjoying the warm water as it splashes on your skin. “Changbin was an absolute asshole before he met Minho, though. You might think he’s abrasive now, but he was completely cold and closed off back then.”

You stick your head under the shower head, wetting your hair down, then turn to look up at Christopher. “I’ve known Changbin since we were in middle school. He was always quiet and nobody really wanted to be friends with him because he was so standoffish. Always rubbed people the wrong way.

“We didn’t mean to become kkangpae, it was just a matter of survival. Producing music got us nowhere financially, but one of the connections we had said we could make enough money to live if we just sold some stuff now and then. Turns out, we were really good at it. But the bigger you grow, the harder you fall.” Christopher sighs, sticking his head under the water for a minute before he leans up against the wall.

“A couple years ago, we were in Shanghai. Changbin and I were ordered to secure this big deal with the Triad, worth a couple hundred million won. It was a big fucking deal, and incredibly dangerous. Shit went south really fast. One of the new guys, Minho, was ordered to come with us to learn the ropes. He wasn’t supposed to come with us when we met with the Triad’s higher ups, but Changbin was angry that shit wasn’t going right and he ordered Minho to come with as a ‘learning experience’.”

You listened attentively with bated breath, watching the water bounce off of Christopher’s skin as you focused on his story. Based on what you heard earlier between the argument between Christopher and Changbin, you knew this wasn’t going to go well.

“It was horrible,” Christopher sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “The Triads were pulling out of the deal and Changbin got pissed. I’d never seen him so angry in my life. We were working on leaving, trying to get away before things got violent, but one of the guys on their side was trigger happy - must’ve been new too. He pulled out a pistol and aimed it directly at Changbin. Fucking Minho…”

Christopher sucked in some air through his gritted teeth, and you could tell that reliving this experience was painful for him. He was biting back tears and his eyes were turning red. “Minho pushed him out of the way, which is what you’re supposed to be willing to do for your superior, but he got shot in the lung and in the leg because of it. Changbin was furious, he wasn’t gonna let them kill one of his men. He had his gun in his hand, ready to shoot at them, before I intervened, somehow getting us out of there. Honestly, I don’t know how we made it out of there alive. Minho was in the hospital in Shanghai for a couple of months, then was sent to a rehabilitation facility here in Seoul when he was stable enough to travel.”

Christopher looks over at you, seeing the look of concern on your face. “He’s fine now, but he doesn’t work in the field anymore. Changbin helped nurse him back to health once he was back home in Seoul, visiting him at the rehabilitation centre every day for three months straight. I think there was something going on between them before Shanghai, but after they spent all of that time with each other, they really fell hard. They’ve been living together ever since. Changbin doesn’t want Minho out of his sight, understandably.”

“Holy shit,” you say, shaking your head, “that’s horrible. I never would have guessed.”

“Yeah,” Christopher says, standing back upright and wiping under his eyes, “this life isn’t for the weak-willed. A couple of brothers have died just in the past two years. Most of us have gotten shot or stabbed or had the shit beaten out of us. We’ve got enough money to bribe the cops to stay off our backs, but it’s exhausting to never have the comfort of security. I’m so sorry to have brought you into this. I never wanted to drag another civilian into this.”

You reach up to his face, stroking his cheek with your thumbs. “It’s alright, Christopher. We couldn’t have predicted this. Now, we just need to get through it one day at a time.”

He looks up to you and smiles weakly. “Well, in that case, I hope I can make you happy during the time we’re stuck here. I’m here for you.”

“I’m here for you, too. How about we finish up showering and go to bed? It’s gotta be late.”

“That sounds like a plan,” he says, leaning down to give you a short, soft kiss.

You wake up in Christopher’s bed, wearing an oversized, well worn t-shirt of his. The voices of Changbin and Christopher float in from under the closed door, but you can’t really make out exactly what they’re saying. After a minute of slowly waking up, you slip on the pair of joggers Christopher loaned to you yesterday and head out to the kitchen.

“Morning,” you groggily say as you make your way to the countertop.

“Oh, morning. Did we wake you?” Christopher says in a hushed voice, standing between the island counter and the refrigerator. Changbin is sitting on a barstool on the opposite side for Christopher. You look around for Minho and see that he’s still passed out on the couch, softly snoring away.

“No, no, I needed to get up.”

“Ah, alright. I’ve got some stuff in the fridge. Changbin was nice enough to grab some groceries and prepped food for us, so I’ll make something nice for lunch in a bit. There’s some mugs up here and I have coffee pods for the maker right here,” he pulls open a drawer and there’s an array of various different types of coffee, which is just what you needed.

The idea of a home-cooked meal sounded really nice. You wondered if Christopher was a good cook or not; judging by the fact that his fridge was pretty empty yesterday, you assume that he’s probably too busy to cook, and likely eats a lot of takeout, you weren’t confident that he was good at cooking.

You fumble a coffee pod into the maker and grab a mug from one of the cupboards. Christopher gives you a soft peck on the top of your head and turns back to Changbin.

“Anyway, it wasn’t a big deal,” Changbin continues their conversation, taking a swig of coffee from his cup. “After your call with Xiaojian the night before last, Han reached out to me and said he’d come here later today to take care of the deal you’d been working on. He just got back from Beijing last night.”

Han. Hearing that family name made you do a quick double take. It had been a year since you and Han Jisung had split, coming to a mutual agreement that your relationship wasn’t going anywhere. You were busy travelling thanks to your career, and he had just taken up a big job that he didn’t like to talk about. The way he acted over it, you assumed he was probably having an affair and just used his new job as a cover.

The coffee maker made a gentle ting noise as it finished brewing your cup. You take the mug and immediately bring it up to your lips, grateful for the warm beverage to help wake you up.

“Han?” Christopher questions, shifting his weight on to one foot. “You really trusted Han Jisung with that?”

Holy shit. You spit out your coffee as soon as it touches your lips and haphazardly slam the mug on to the counter. “I’m sorry,” you exclaim, “Did you say Han Jisung?” There was absolutely no way that they were talking about your ex-boyfriend. No way. He had a relatively common name, but hearing it still shocked you.

Changbin and Christopher turn to look at you, surprised by your question. “Yeah, Christopher says, an alarmed tone to his voice, “You probably don’t know him, though. He’s quiet, introverted, and doesn’t get attached to people.”

Oh shit.

“The Jisung I knew was introverted but he would bleach his hair every month or so; he likes to stick out a bit from everyone else. Looks cute when he eats because his cheeks puff up like a squirrel. He also produces music and he’s about your height.” You ramble off random facts you remembered about him, but the more you divulged, the wider Changbin’s eyes got.

“Fucking squirrel,” Changbin sighs. “How do you know him?”

Your heart sinks into your stomach as you look at Changbin, the look on his face making you uneasy. “We dated for a few years before he left me for a new job. I thought he was just saying that because he was having an affair and felt guilty, though.”

“Shit,” Changbin sighs, and lets his head fall into his hands. “He said he had broken up with his girlfriend when he joined up with us. She was a model, too.”

Christopher looks mortified. “What?” He shakes his head and looks at you, wide-eyed and taken aback. “You dated Han?”

Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse this week, it seems like your expectations had been lowered yet again.

#stray kids smut #bang chan smut #chris bang smut #skz smut #stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #bang chan x reader #chris bang x reader #drug dealer au #i am so emotional over this chapter holy shit #putting the bang in bang chan lol #changbin x minho #seo changbin x lee minho #step out do what you want #skzsmutnet #skzsmutnetwork #wherevermyway

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